Stayin' Alive
I may have been abducted by aliens during most of the 70's. I have long suspected that, for the first six or seven years of that decade, I was on some extraterrestrial spacecraft and that I only managed to get back during Spielberg's showing of Close Encounters Of The Third Kind, when I returned just in time to stumble into the world of disco, which reached its peak when Saturday Night Fever was released in 1977.
Now, I was never a disco dancer. I must have been too bewildered from my extraterrestrial adventures to figure out what all the commotion was about, although, I must tell you, the first time I saw a disco ball, well, something clicked, something connected in my mind. I can't say anything more about that, because I think part of my memory was excised somewhere southwest of Andromeda. I do suspect, however, that the spaceship, the one in which I was abducted, may have had the outer appearance of a disco ball.
Of course, all this is not to say that I couldn't have been a fabulous disco dancer. I could have, I'm sure. I have great hips that can swivel hither and yon. I have great dexterity. Ihave had great hair, and I could have easily had it coiffed into a mullet like John Travolta. I can point my fingers in two different directions at the same time, while cocking my knee and making a very, very sexy pout. I could and did wear classy, expensive suits, with a vest ... even had a white one. I too loved Olivia Newton John, with her pert little nose, not to mention all her dirty secrets of unbridled passion.
I had all the tools, but I missed all the hubbub of the disco cultural phenomenon. I just wasn't "there." I must have been "spaced out," a technical term describing people who return from outer space adventures. The truth is that I might as well have been holed up in a fall-out shelter or drifting miles above the Earth in a zeppelin, uh, make that a Led Zeppelin with possibly a side order of Pink Floyd.
Don't you wish we could have the disco days back? Just so I could shake my tush a bit, maybe make a video, and post it on YouTube?
Here, let me try ...
... oh crap, anyone got some Bengay?
I may have been abducted by aliens during most of the 70's. I have long suspected that, for the first six or seven years of that decade, I was on some extraterrestrial spacecraft and that I only managed to get back during Spielberg's showing of Close Encounters Of The Third Kind, when I returned just in time to stumble into the world of disco, which reached its peak when Saturday Night Fever was released in 1977.
Now, I was never a disco dancer. I must have been too bewildered from my extraterrestrial adventures to figure out what all the commotion was about, although, I must tell you, the first time I saw a disco ball, well, something clicked, something connected in my mind. I can't say anything more about that, because I think part of my memory was excised somewhere southwest of Andromeda. I do suspect, however, that the spaceship, the one in which I was abducted, may have had the outer appearance of a disco ball.
Of course, all this is not to say that I couldn't have been a fabulous disco dancer. I could have, I'm sure. I have great hips that can swivel hither and yon. I have great dexterity. I
I had all the tools, but I missed all the hubbub of the disco cultural phenomenon. I just wasn't "there." I must have been "spaced out," a technical term describing people who return from outer space adventures. The truth is that I might as well have been holed up in a fall-out shelter or drifting miles above the Earth in a zeppelin, uh, make that a Led Zeppelin with possibly a side order of Pink Floyd.
Don't you wish we could have the disco days back? Just so I could shake my tush a bit, maybe make a video, and post it on YouTube?
Here, let me try ...
... oh crap, anyone got some Bengay?
