I'm giving this a quick edit Sunday morning, and am thinking maybe I'll try dodging the rain and visit the Tremont Art District.

Anyway, back to last night:

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I'm bored. It's not a bad mood or anything, I've just been in this weird malcontented headspace all day, dying for just an ounce of intellectual stimulation and/or conversation.

I wanted to get the hell out of the apartment, but I didn't want to just go sit at some bar, getting drunk to some sports game on TV that I don't give two hoots in hell about. My gears are getting rusty; they need a good oiling and to get spinning again. Well, tonight I ended up going the dull route. Tried to feign interest at the C.H. in the OSU football game, and there were a few very well executed plays by both teams, but it after a short while I found myself getting progressively more annoyed.

I'm sure there's an infinite number of fun (and far more stimulating) little things to do in Cleveland, but the problem is finding the info. There are tons of websites, and Cleveland has its hippie paper like every other city: The Scene. It's difficult when you spontaneously say "hey, I want to do something." to comb through the dazzling amount of information.

So there I was at the C.H., getting progressively frustrated by my lack of enthusiasm over college football. Remember the good-smelling lady I spoke to a few weeks ago? She was there, and walked over to me to say hi again. And she still had on that wonderful perfume. She went back to her seat, so I went over to her and chatted for a bit, but she gave me the "Well, it was nice seeing you again." line, so I took the hint and sat back down. I bought her next drink and she waved me a thank you.

I left and hit the streets with my bike in search of... I don't know. Just something. Stopped by this frozen custard stand that's been there since the fifties, replete with tons of neon. I've driven by a bunch of times, but never stopped. Had a tremendously delicious sundae and rode on. Ended up at an old comfortable dive I'd never been to, but which is next door to the SaveALot I frequent. An ad in The Scene mentioned they had a band tonight.

Turns out, I was the only representative of my generation there. Seriously. After a good scan of the crowd, I could only guess the next youngest person was maybe 45... but you want to talk about a visual feast of jaw-dropping milfs in black pants and strapless tops!! It was actually kind of adorable to watch them compete for mens' attention, standing there with their boobs stuck out, and then coyly deflect advances from the guys all dressed up with three buttons undone, baring hairy chests and thick gold chains. You just know that back in the 1970's when they were in their twenties, they were doing the same exact thing. It's just as I'd observed of today's college crowd at O'Feenies.

Anyhoo, there was a live band, and I was in the mood to dance. The second they kicked into a K.C. and the Sunshine Band tune, I had to join the crowd and hit the floor. A lady who had been sitting a seat or two from, and who was just out there dancing by herself as well, told me that I was the best dancer out there. I said "Thank You!", and building from past experience, kept dancing, only this time I turned to face her instead of retreating back into my own little world.

That's twice my dancing has been referred to in superlative terms, and honestly, I don't see why. Maybe it's the enthusiasm, because I feel like I look like a doofus when I'm dancing. I just get my neck loose, my hips going, march back and forth with my feet, and kinda keep my hands close and wave my elbows around in what could only be described as a sort of sensual chicken dance.

(of course, get me in an industrial/techno club, and I just go tribal.)

After I went back to my seat near her, she told me it was nice I was the only guy out there who smiled while I was dancing. We got to chatting, and it turns out she works for the local PBS tv/NPR radio station complex, and I told her that's what I listen to almost exclusively. My internal monologue was going "*GASP* Someone with brains!!" After mentioning where I'd just moved from, she said "I know Troy. I'm friends with a journalist from there: Bob so-and-so."

I shot back "Holy Shit!! I knew Bob & Nancy too!!", and we shared a mutually amazed laugh. It's a small small small little world.

She and I danced quite a bit through the evening. Her friend (whom we encouraged to come dance with us, but she wouldn't), the DD for their evening, had to leave so she left with her in lieu of walking home.

Went to ride my bike back home, and passed the dance club mentioned in earlier posts. It looked open, so I asked the door people what kind of music they were playing. "Arabic" they said, and I mentioned that sounded cool, and that I was sick of the same-ol' same-ol' everywhere else. They told me it was a private Arabic party, but (I mean, they were very nice about it) maybe they could get me on the list for next saturday's Serbian night.

Nah. I'm sure even if I got in, I'd get crap about being American.

I've never been racially discriminated against before. It was really humiliating. Nevertheless, I shook the door guy's hand and told him to have a great night. I'm sure he figured me for some random happy drunk or something.

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The band was excellent, and the dancing was a blast, but I'm still bored, which is just plain silly considering the adventurous evening I've had. Even the Jamiroquai CD I borrowed from the library yesterday is failing to amuse me.

I am really really really really under-stimulated. I am so freaking bored.