Okay, so on Saturday me and my boo went up to the island of Chincoteague to check out this band. For those of you who don’t know, Chincoteague is famous for their ponies and no cell phone reception. Actually, it’s a quaint little town with establishments like Mr. Whippy’s and Bustin’ Britches. The band was playing at a place called Cap’n Fish’s which is a huge open air restaurant. The floors are concrete and there is a beautiful view of the water. We sat on rickety kitchen chairs at rickety tables. The waitresses had seen better days but they were efficient. The hostess … not so much. Anyway, the food was great and the drinks were horrible. This was one of those rare times I wished I was a beer drinker. Beer is usually safe. I ordered a martini and I don’t know what kind of crap they were passing off as vodka back there but someone needs to be brought up on charges. Seriously. I drank one and was like, “What the hell is going on?” I didn’t feel sick or anything … just real woozy. After one drink. I made B take me back to the hotel for an hour or so just to get my head right before the band started.

Lesson learned: Ask for the liquor that you want: Grey Goose or Stolle.

We came back to Cap’n Fish’s to check out the band. Party band. Keeping the people on the dance floor. Let me just say this: It’s been several years since I went to a Black club. Why? First of all, my clubbing days ended in my early thirties. Secondly, Black clubs are boring as hell. I think a few years ago a girlfriend of mine convinced me to go out for a girls night (I hate that terminology … I’m grown). I reluctantly went and was quickly reminded of why I hate going out. This place was packed with a bunch of people who are standing around trying to look cute. I hate that. I like to dance and I wanted to dance … however, I’m old-fashioned and have to wait for a gentlemen to ask me to dance. Needless to say, as fine as I am I sat the whole night. Never again.

Not the case at Cap’n Fish’s. White folks love to dance and have a good time. They ain’t worried about lookin’ cute. They don’t care if they have a partner. They don’t care if they can’t dance. They came out to have a good time and they did. I loved it. Since I was recovering from my bad liquor experience I wasn’t dancing but I loved the people watching:

There was the 60-year old couple (who looked to be in their 40’s) that were celebrating their anniversary. You couldn’t drag them off the dance floor.

There was the guy with the t-shirt that said, “An awkward morning is better than a boring night”

There was the guy who was dancing with the two zaftig women at once and he kept taking it to the floor.

There were the two guys who thought they were dancing with two chicks … but the two chicks were actually trying to get the attention of the trombone player and weren’t thinking about those fools.

Then there was the little girl who was playing these two dudes on the dance floor like suckers. She came with one … then switched to the second … then the first guy cut in … then the three of them ended up leaving together.

Maybe it was the liquor. I don’t know but these people were having a good time. What happened to the days of just cutting loose, acting silly and just having a good time? When did going out turn into a fashion show and a meat market? Please don't mistake my cultural observation as a complaint. Like I said, my going out days are long gone ... unless it's band related. I live at the beach and there are usually festivals and music events going on all the time. It's always the brothas and sistas that are walking around with their faces turned up and the white folks in the middle of the happenings laughing, dancing and enjoying themselves. What is that?

When did we stop having fun?