I enjoy club life at the Gateau Croissant, even if that doesn't always (or mostly) mean dancing. Besides, too much loud noise is bad for your ears. But it's interesting to watch human behavior, everything you can see when perched on your own quiet corner of the sushi bar — across the room, one couple making out. Nearby, a couple-to-be flirting.
This is how I learn about how people behave when they're together, and the best part is it's completely non-threatening. When I feel like I've had too much, I can just log off, and this world — this other world — goes on, but is relegated to the background. It becomes the diminished reality. And I go about my bio, which is no less interesting or awesome, but definitely a lot quieter. Oh, and we still have Zima Twist here.
I can be the stoic one of the bunch; I've friends who are club promoters, fashionistas, and socialites, and they're glad to have me and my hair — all bunched up with a fleural poking out — around. I provide a source of reliable amusement, from my ultra-rapid handclaps to my recitation of sci-fi trivia, but I know despite all the vapidness with the nightlife, I've grown beyond being a circus attraction. I'm thankful for their company, too. We can all get together and really be our otherselves sans bio-specific slop, and that's what makes this club so enjoyable. Some call it escapism; I'd like to believe we're bettering our personalities over time so we're well-equipped to deal with both faces.
And to stretch out the value of what Peacehol said, wouldn't it be nice to be famous for one half of your life and live the rest in obscurity? That's my approaching condition.
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When I read what you write litl pin pricks of light explode in my head. I've always been a loner. I missed much.