Celebrated Summer--A Dirge

I'm going to wax a little nostalgic as is my wont. I can remember my American history teacher in high school saying that she never saw a group of people so young reminisce so much as my friends and I did.

Yesterday, the major players of summers past assembled around a familiar kitchen table for a short reunion, reminding me that our small corner of Indiana has people as varied and interesting as almost anywhere in the world. Even though I've had a really great summer, bouncing around Cambridge and Spain in indigence with some of my best friends in the world, I couldn't help but be a little saddened upon my return to Indiana. The time spent in Bloomington with old friends, and the week to come in the Region cause my mind to wander into the pockets of past summers at the waterpark, the cafe, and the houses of friends. It also sparked the creation of alternate realities which I find I'm able to create as easily as if I had lived them. The breakneck spiral of St. Patrick's Day at the Cantab echoes in my brain as if I had witnessed the Lush handing out doritos and pointing to the drummer, Schnocone collecting the pieces of a shattered lamp, and the Italian with Shick Chick discussing her parents watching Wheel of Fortune and drinking kickaboo juice. The other alternate reality I like to kick around is my American 21st Birthday Bash which never happened but has still been colored by cliches and flourishes.

Anyways, enough of that noodling, I know you probably want to know about my week in Bloomington at a campus that isn't included in Playboy's list of top party schools because they don't think it's fair to include a professional in a list of amateurs.

So first, I want to relate the various quotes that came out of this week.

"I'll have a walnut egg."--Schnocone, trying to order pecan walnuts at Waffle House.
--(Waitress--We don't have that. Schno--Ok, I'll have a walnut pancake...walnut waffle. Waitress--We have pecan pancakes. Schno--That's what I said. Walnut egg. (actually he said "That sounds fine" but I find this response funnier.

Schnocone: Mmmm, this popsicle was created by Jesus.
Hoosier Lush: The only thing Jesus ever created was pointless suffering.

Hoosier Lush: Baby's in a baaaad mooooood. (To Schnocone, repeatedly, when he was having none of it.)

Hoosier Lush: The only thing Bighead knows about is God.

So here are other things that happened during this past week.

All my friends went out to Bullwinkle's in Bloomington. The best part about Bullwinkle's is that it's Bloomington's gay club, but it's housed in what used to be the old Moose Lodge of the area. How hilarious is that? Well, we went to Bull's in order to see the Wednesday night drag show over the opportunity to sing karaoke at the Office Lounge. At first it seemed like a mistake since the drag queens had quit in a huff that very day over some pay dispute or something. We went in anyway, and after some much needed lubrication (maybe I should be more careful in my word choice), the Lush and I decided to hit the dance floor where we went absolutely bonkos. I'm not much of a dancer, but we were so infected by the mixes that we went absolutely crazy, taking up probably almost a third of the dance floor with our routine that ranged from swing-ish arm moves to a recreation of a bull fight to faux Pulp Fiction hand moves and writhing on the ground, a la Madonna doing Like a Virgin at the first VMAs. It was possibly the most fun I've ever had dancing anywhere. We were out of control.

Friday night we went on a bar crawl for one of our friends there. It all began over Sink the Biz at Nick's, which was a big, loud, blast. Afterward, we went to Kilroy's which proved that Bloomington may not be the coolest place based on the music selection of American Pie and Ob La Di and Build Me Up Buttercup. That's not to say I didn't enjoy it, but Kilroy's is pretty bad. From there we went to the Bluebird which was my uncle's favorite place back in the day. Their night's attraction was Headbanger's Ball where they had a hair metal cover band. How I was able to endure it is beyond me, but the general ridiculousness of it actually cracked me and everyone else up. Some audience members were a little too into it, though.

That may be about it in terms of general craziness. If I remember anything else, I'll post, but I think I've bored you enough.

Oh, here's something that is currently pissing me off. On the list of VMA performers, Shakira's duet partner Alejandro Sanz is missing, which means that I think they're replacing him with Ricky Martin. This is unfounded, but the fact that he's even at the event makes me think, this to be true, which would really, really suck, as he lacks any of the hardcore sexuality needed to make the song work, making La Tortura as autoerotic for Shakira as a Walt Whitman poem. The only thing worse would be if Shakira performs an English song.

Over and Out.