The trick is to get it before it breaks. And then to nurture it … to protect it with everything you have. Because once it’s broken, it’ll never be the same. And that’s when compromises are made. That’s when people start to give up. But no one really realizes how important it is to keep it pure until after it’s broken. That’s why all these middle-aged married couples sit next to each other on the couch and stare at the TV. They are numb. They don’t care anymore. They can’t get hurt anymore, but they also can’t love anymore. It’s too sad for me to think about.
How fun is this: In the middle of their workday, office employees in Midtown Manhattan have started trekking to lunch-hour dance parties held at nightclubs.
These include Laurie Batista, 31, an executive assistant at an advertising agency…
… she was wearing purple lensless Wayfarer-style glasses, waving a footlong foam glow stick and mouthing the words to Warren G’s “Regulate.”
Around her, hundreds of other revelers did similar things: a guy in Chuck Taylors moonwalked across the dance floor, a man in a hoodie threw up his hands to form the “W” that stands for the rap group Wu-Tang Clan. Strobe lights bounced off a giant disco ball. Sweat glistened on foreheads. “Gin and Juice” thumped. Cheers erupted. It was midday, but inside Marquee, it could have been 2 a.m. [NYT]
Sounds far less pathetic than eating over my keyboard.
The DJ’s at these affairs include Questlove of The Roots, and aside from the all the twenty- and thirty-something attendees are some retirees.
“I just happened to be walking by and a young lady gave me a flier and I said, ‘O.K., I have nothing else to do for lunch,’ ” said Dorothy Vazquez, a 68-year-old resident of Brownsville, Brooklyn, who happened on the latest Lunch Beat. Ms. Vazquez said she normally dances at her local seniors center. She smiled, surveying the people filing into the club. “I’m looking forward to boogieing,” she said.