Bad parents love disco!!
Oh! Oh! I am so offended! I got called a "don't-wanna-grow-up parent" in the Washington Post today! Me! ME??! I don't even drink (much) anymore. Or ride on the back of David's motorcycle. Or sleep past 7. AND I moved last year to a place called Dullsville because "the schools are good." What's more grown-up than that?? The Talbots dress that I wore to work today?
Good grief!
The problem: Me and my friend Meg took our girlies (that would be Lucy and Anya) to an event called Baby Loves Disco. It took place in a very hipster-ish club in one of the coolest neighborhoods of DC. (For example: First I parked David's car next to a sidewalk pile of clothes for homeless people to pick through, and then we all went to a coffeehouse where I eavesdropped on cute boys planning out their band's play list. It's THAT kind of neighborhood.)
The actual event featured my kind of play list: Gloria Gaynor, ABBA, Dexy's Midnight Runners, etc. The bar was full of Elmo apple juice boxes and organic pretzels, and there was a bubble machine, and hula hoops, and IKEA tents. The girls absolutely loved it! They jumped off the stage like maniacs, and then we swung them upside down in front of big gilded mirrors. Upstairs, under these creepy cow skulls, there was a manicurist for small children. (I know...horrifying...) And a balloon artist. And hummus and carrots and green grapes and strawberries.
We had a great time!
And all this becomes new evidence of parents who just want to forget their bundles of joy, and re-live their glory days of Long Island Iced Teas and independent music?
I just had water!!
I have no idea how how old Petula Dvorak, the WaPo reporter, is. But I imagine her as a 20-something single gal, stuck on the Sunday through Thursday shift, and horrified that her dorky editor has sent her to "Baby Loves Disco," as if it's REAL NEWS! She is thinking, Jesus Christ, there's a better story in that pile of ratty T-shirts and black pleather shoes on the sidewalk. But, oh no, this is the decline of journalism. We'll write about suburban parents getting their groove on, in some vain attempt to "connect with readers" on the "issues that they care about."
She is also thinking: God, I never want kids.
Well, whatever. I'm still buying extra copies because there's a delightful picture of Lucy and Anya. And I'm still feeling much more blithe than Meg, who not only got indicted by the Disco police, but also got an official health notice from the school system last week because Anya doesn't like underwear. Hee.
That girl is a born rocker.
P.S. Here's the link.
Good grief!
The problem: Me and my friend Meg took our girlies (that would be Lucy and Anya) to an event called Baby Loves Disco. It took place in a very hipster-ish club in one of the coolest neighborhoods of DC. (For example: First I parked David's car next to a sidewalk pile of clothes for homeless people to pick through, and then we all went to a coffeehouse where I eavesdropped on cute boys planning out their band's play list. It's THAT kind of neighborhood.)
The actual event featured my kind of play list: Gloria Gaynor, ABBA, Dexy's Midnight Runners, etc. The bar was full of Elmo apple juice boxes and organic pretzels, and there was a bubble machine, and hula hoops, and IKEA tents. The girls absolutely loved it! They jumped off the stage like maniacs, and then we swung them upside down in front of big gilded mirrors. Upstairs, under these creepy cow skulls, there was a manicurist for small children. (I know...horrifying...) And a balloon artist. And hummus and carrots and green grapes and strawberries.
We had a great time!
And all this becomes new evidence of parents who just want to forget their bundles of joy, and re-live their glory days of Long Island Iced Teas and independent music?
I just had water!!
I have no idea how how old Petula Dvorak, the WaPo reporter, is. But I imagine her as a 20-something single gal, stuck on the Sunday through Thursday shift, and horrified that her dorky editor has sent her to "Baby Loves Disco," as if it's REAL NEWS! She is thinking, Jesus Christ, there's a better story in that pile of ratty T-shirts and black pleather shoes on the sidewalk. But, oh no, this is the decline of journalism. We'll write about suburban parents getting their groove on, in some vain attempt to "connect with readers" on the "issues that they care about."
She is also thinking: God, I never want kids.
Well, whatever. I'm still buying extra copies because there's a delightful picture of Lucy and Anya. And I'm still feeling much more blithe than Meg, who not only got indicted by the Disco police, but also got an official health notice from the school system last week because Anya doesn't like underwear. Hee.
That girl is a born rocker.
P.S. Here's the link.
posted by Mary Ellen at
8:26 AM
7 Comments:
I was going to take Nicholas to that yesterday in Philly at the Shampoo nightclub. But the poor little guy has a high fever. So I guess I don't want to grow up either! What is the link to the Post story? I want to read it.
What's so bad about not wanting to grow up?
Oh my God, if Nebraska weren't so bereft of irony, we might have the opportunity to take April somewhere like this!!! How great!
Oh, how I worry Lucy will be banned from our bad influence...
Frankly, I was much more mortified over the toddler manicurist--and the fact that Anya and Lucy chose girly hot pink over a hipper green or blue nail color-- than I was over very, very light drinking going on.
Rock on, Lucy!!
I don't know, I think this sounds like fun. It's ridiculously popular in Boston. I can never get my act together to buy tickets on the right day.
And re: your comment on my blog, you're the perfect person to do NaNoWriMo this November. It's fun! I'll cheer you on! Okay, fine, I just want company in my insanity!
What a fun event! I was wishing they had a similar event in South Florida, then I see one is scheduled next month for Fort Lauderdale. It's too bad my nieces are too old for it.
Jane from South Florida
See, we're all fun people...
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home