This post is endorsed by Pat Benatar*
It was Friday night, and the birthday of a very close friend. The chum in question is a pretty excellent dancer, and is sweet enough to indulge my love of throwing shapes even though I have all the grace and finesse of a hobbled ostrich. With brain damage. And so it was that we found ourselves at Ultimate Power. This is a club night at the Scala in Kings Cross which plays only power ballads.
Yep – you read that right. They ONLY play power ballads. All night long. Big hair, reproduction inhibiting trousers, and fist pumping – good. Poise, dignity and anything which doesn’t involve saying ‘baaaaaaay-behhh’ – bad. This isn’t Guilty Pleasures. There is only one flavour and that flavour is SOFT RAWK \M/. Once you’re through those doors, you’re committed.
I was in frickin’ HEAVEN.
I’m not sure at what point I went from smirking at Foreigner and singing along in an ironic way to eschewing the infinitely cooler charms of my i-pod to actively seek out a bit of REO Speedwagon on Youtube. It’s all a bit worrying. I found myself tearing up to Journey’s Faithfully at my desk the other day. Seriously – what the fudge? Even my father (purveyor of dad rock) is mildly perturbed. He’s all like, “This is NOT my fault! I brought you up on Deep Purple and The Zep!”
But I’m OK with it. I am. Really, I am.
Two things quickly became apparent on Friday night.
Firstly, despite the fact I’ve been in a relationship for seven years, I’m overweight, unkempt, generally too drunk to be even slightly capable of flirtatious behaviour, and dance like a special needs ostrich, many people seem to think I could do with a good groping. On walking to the bar, a man in the cloak room queue shouted ‘look at that hair’ while pointing at my hair (OK, I’ll give him that – it’s a slightly odd colour) and then swiftly followed up with ‘AND LOOK AT THOSE TITS!’ at which point he proceeded to fondle my fun bags vigorously. Is that common practice? Genuine question. I fear my normalcy levels are skewed now because this shit happens to me ALL THE TIME.
Secondly (and I’m not even exaggerating) I KNOW ALL THE WORDS TO NEARLY EVERY POWER BALLAD EVER WRITTEN. I realise this sounds like the hyperbolic claim of a mad woman, but I swear it’s true. I literally have no clue how it is that on any given day, I can’t remember whether I fed the cat or sent an important e-mail to the regional office, but I can remember every single lyric to These Dreams by Heart.
I’m afraid that roughly 79% of my brain is taken up with clichéd lines which I have never actively sought to learn, let alone retain for 20 years, and that this is stopping me reaching my full potential as a human being.
However, this will not stop me from going to Ultimate Power next month.
*This post is in no way endorsed by Pat Benatar