Tonight's impromptu social function involved a dinner of seafood paella at a Eurodisco in a luxury suburb. People with bleach blonde hair, much younger women seemingly on the make for much older (but presumably well-heeled) much older men, the kind of place that might be featured in a Cosmo article or an ad for cosmetic surgery.
This was the type of place where the Prince videos played during the good moments, and the bad moments featured all one zillion screens showing video of the house band, with a Clairol blonde woman in low-riding tight jeans and her "wish I were Bono but I'm singing Disco Inferno" sidekick, being backed by a rather humdrum band. It was like some huge time machine to bad 80s Eurotrash discos past, only for some reason it reminded me more of standing in line at an office building deli when Ecstasy was still legal, hearing frat boys in 800 dollar suits brag about pickups and X.
In those days, the best Dallas Eurodisco had a special "coded drink" that came with X. I've never been into controlled substances, finding my sins in chocolate and personal failure/wasted potential, but the rich vein of memories tapped into my mainline. But I don't miss those days. I like the days I live.