What is love? ‘Tis not hereafter;
present mirth hath present laughter —
what’s to come is still unsure.
In delay, there lies no plenty,
so come and kiss me, sweet and twenty,
youth’s a stuff will not endure.
The after-party for Friday supposedly had a Mardi Gras theme, though I saw only a few beads and masks floating about. No naked flesh was delivered on, alas.
I spent most of the evening working the room. I did step up to dance once or twice, mainly to note that apparently early nineties dance music has finally and firmly established its credibility. My generation — my stupid, stupid generation — has come into its own.
I particularly noted Haddaway’s What is Love, which also played twice at the after-parties for the Kansas City Fringe. The only reason that song still exists is because of the Saturday Night Live sketch; otherwise, it would have vanished into oblivion a decade ago.
(My dark secret being that I actually kind of like the song.)