time machine

We decided at the last minute on Friday to do the '80s party at The Fonda Theater. The out of town friends I've gone with in the past weren't able to come, so it was just us two. Terence cobbled together an '80s ish ensemble accessorized with sunglasses and hairstyling the creepiness of which amused us immensely. Meanwhile I steamed into submission the eighty yards of lace and tulle that constitute my Madon'ta getup. Then we hopped on a surprisingly empty train to go get footloose amongst the taffeta, pumps, and popped collars of a few hundred other New Wave-loving hosers, jocks, and nerds. Jury's still out on which camp we're in.

These events are hilarious if only for much the crowd is "on". You can't help but feel like you're in some mass performance piece. Everyone is doing The Robot or the Axl Rose snake dance, and being super deadpan about it. Like, no irony here folks. This is some serious shit. The Eighties will be respected, goddamnit. 

As they should be. As they should be.

The band was fantastic, totally over the top goofy, and really the whole effort is worth it for me just to hear Your Love live - even if it is just a cover. There are no great life lessons to be gleaned from an '80s party, though I did have a moment at the end of the night, slow dancing to Journey, when I found myself rather astonished by a feeling of unity. Like, We all know these songs as well as we know the Pledge of Allegiance. And they all mean something different to us, something special enough to embarrass ourselves into participating in the ultimate throwback Thursday, all in an effort to reconnect with some younger version of ourselves - some version connected with this music.  

Overthinking and cheesy for sure, but there really is something magical about it, if you're willing to give yourself over to the past for a few drunken hours. 

It's the closest you can get to a time machine, anyway, on a Friday night in Hollywood, California.