i haven't been dancing since i started my new job and after missing the Blue Ball due to extended family obligations (baby-sitting my godson who's more into X Box than X) i was really looking forward to the White Party . . . had a better time than i did last year when i thought the whole thing seemed pretty tired . . . the new venue, Capitale, an old bank building in Chinatown, gave the night a certain frisson tho i can't say the promoters did much to implement the Alice In Wonderland theme or fill the cavernous space with sound . . . still, the fact that my ears didn't ring the next day probably is a good thing and the marble basins in the restrooms certainly were an improvement over Roseland . . . D, DA and i arrived around 4 a.m. and squeezed our way onto a dance floor that seemed to be crowded with other circuit seniors . . . Thunderpuss got my butt grinding very quickly but an unpleasant drug reaction soon made me lose my metronomic sense of rhythm if not my stubbornly strong inhibitions . . . i much prefer positive energy to a feeling of disorientation but until i find a reliable supplier i never know what i am going to get . . . for the time being, i’ll just have to rely on the Crackerjack approach to recreational drug use . . . fortunately, i managed to keep my balance by focusing on a sweet couple whose youth and beauty were restorative . . . one had hair down to his bare shoulders, an anomaly in the midst of so many shaved and balding heads . . . the other wore a red ski cap and dark sunglasses that would have been perfect attire for an outdoor rave in Iceland or possibly even the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party . . . i have seen the future and it's pretty i shouted into D's ear . . . they must have heard me because they smiled . . . things began to improve as i gradually regained control of my faculties and recognized S from Boston, the guy who gave me the key to circuit city last year at Octagon after the Black Party . . . he rushed over, and at the same time that he kissed me with soft lips, he grabbed my hand and put it on his dick . . . must be some kind of secret handshake . . . the things i don’t know . . . the music peaked with a remix of "The Look of Love," an ABC song from the early 80s that certainly got me higher than the drug i had taken . . . normally i don't like the kind of retro set of "la la music" i associate with Warren Gluck but for some reason it seemed to work . . . aside from the Moody Blues interlude which he plays midmorning every year according to D whose recall of circuit parties past is always much better than mine . . . that nostalgic i can't get especially with the lights up and everybody reaching for the disco ball as if it were a shrine at Lourdes . . . that probably would have been a good time to leave but D insisted on hanging around until he could get a screwdriver . . . i found myself butt dancing with a humpy couple who rejected me unceremoniously when one reached into my pants hoping to grab a boa but catching only a garter snake instead . . . u know how they say some guys can't chew bubble gum and walk at the same time? . . . i guess i'm just a different breed of multitasking failure, one who can't shake his booty and stay hard at the same time . . . no matter: the dancing was stimulation enough and probably less logistically complicated . . . after all, i'm practically a born-again virgin.