Back in college, my roommate described a certain class of music as "ooka chicka" music. Techno/Electronica/Dance/Trance, somewhere in there you'll find the genre of which I speak.
Tonight, I went to my local dance establishment. I'm delighted that there actually is a local dance establishment. They've got a program of events ("dances", if you like) that includes latin, cowboy, swing, and a few others. Tonight's was ooka chicka. Which is fine - I like a good synthesized beat laid in underneath a nigh-unrecognizable mishmash of 80s samples. Give me a good beat, I'll find something to do on the dance floor.
Mostly, when I go to this place, the proprietor makes a point of how broad a selection of music he's going to play that night. Benny Goodman, New Order, B-52s, Van Morrison. All good, the variety keeps me on my toes. Yeah, come to think of it, it literally keeps me on my toes. If you play anything too long, I might tire and sit down.
So. Tonight, two hours each of ooka and chicka. Interspersed, of course.
I think I've enjoyed dancing more with a variety of music. I think I've enjoyed dancing more with an older crowd. The proprietor likened tonight's atmosphere to that of a frat party. Yeah, that's about right. If a girl is on the dance floor with a bottle of beer, that's not dancing, that's drinking. If a guy is on the dance floor with a bottle of beer, that's obnoxious. Ah, but that's just the old cantankerous coot talking.
Ah well. It's not like I own the place. They had fun in their way, I had fun in mine.
On the way home, I passed by a sign saying "ACCIDENT AHEAD - CLOSED TO THROUGH TRAFFIC". It took me a while to register what that meant, and when it did, I backed up and took the long way around the block. Turns out the actual closure was at the next intersection, so my long way around the block didn't help at all - I had to go the long way around the NEXT block - 8 miles on twisting roads makes one miss city life. A bit.