part one: billy's inebriated recollections
Strut - Cheetah Girls (mp3)
(Yes, I posted this song last year, and I will post it next year if I go. It's just too cheesy and perfect not to.)
Tonight was Strut Night. Or, as a classmate of mine put: “This is the best night of the year.”
While it’s up for debate whether he would state that so confidently without having imbibed an excessive amount of alcohol, his aim was true. The Bessie Smith Strut, now in its young adulthood as an annual tradition.
I don't want to ruin my mood or the spirit of the Strut by getting too verbose, but I can't help but break down the following 30-second video with the passion of Kevin Costner reviewing the Zapruder film.
Let's work from the right. Or, as Costner might say, Back... and to the left.
In the background, right-center of the screen, is what we delightfully referred to as the Quiet Grinders. The guy hardly ever moved. The woman hardly ever moved. But very, very, very subtly, they were grinding. Just trust me on this.
Next, the guy with the funky cloudy Hawaiian shirt thing. At first, he just looks kinda funny. But watch again. And again. If you pay attention, he starts to look like a marionette. In fact, if you can zoom in, you will see strings dangling from his left arm and both legs. I only know for sure because I did this exact same dance with one of my puppets back home when I was in 4th grade.
The guy in the yellow shirt. I love his shirt. I wish I owned that shirt. Actually, I'm pretty sure I own that shirt. Also, that's exactly how I bob my head when I'm at a concert I love. Also, I used to own jorts just like that. Holy shit. It's my twin brother from another mother!
And now, to the true star of the show. I've had to watch CARS roughly 100 times in the past few months because of my son's unhealthy obsession with the film, and I'm almost positive that the woman with the visor is the original owner of Mater, the tow truck voiced by Larry the Cable Guy. Early in this video, you see her playing the fabled Air Guitar. But what you fail to realize, because you weren't there, is that this laid the important groundwork for a later part of the dance where she stops playing the fret part of the Air Guitar, and it becomes more of a Madonna-esque, public masturbatory kind of experience where it's just her and the strumming along her private region.
In a better world, I'd love to tell you this was the kind of thing we watched, but it wasn't. It was bad. Real bad. So bad you start using bad English and stuff. So bad you start drinking Miller High Life and enjoying it. And drinking it faster so all of you can leave with the excuse of needing another beer.
And then there's the sideshows.
The preachers -- who, for the record, have finally realized that telling everyone they suck and are going to hell isn't working -- got nicer. Their big signs just have general vague non-threatening Bible verses on them. They scream stuff about love and forgiveness. They don't have goatees. In short, they're a lot more boring. But in a way Jesus would find highly relieving.
The vendors. This year's best item was the "OBAMA got OSAMA" shirt. I'm posing (in disguise) at right with the vendor.
The sales girls. At left, I'm posing with the sorority sisters who drew the short straw and had to chaperone the Oscar Mayer (Anthony) Weinermobile. This picture is the closest I've ever come to exposing a large wiener via social media, and I hope for my sake and yours to keep it this way. What you can't quite tell from this picture is that these girls, bless their hearts, really really didn't want to take this picture. They were just being nice. OK, maybe it's obvious. But bless their hearts for trying not to make it TOO obvious.
Here's your final advice for the night, at least from Billy and "part one": the food. Chicken on a Stick from Champy's should be the next menu item on the list if Heaven ever offers a 7-course meal. It was fried and just a little bit spicy and had potatoes and onions and chicken, and I'm honestly shocked that no one shot anyone else this year at the Strut merely from fighting over these delicious wonders.
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