Every afternoon for the past few weeks, between 5:45 and 6:15 pm, the vintage diamond and crystal necklaces and earrings I have hanging on my ceiling fan in the livingroom, spring to life when the sun enters the west window. Suddenly the room is filled with little floating dots of all colors, spinning and twisting, doing their best impression of a Disco Ball. I love it! I've been playing one old disco anthem each day, until the sun's angle is wrong, or the trees are in the way or whatever variable will get in the way. For a few minutes each afternoon this spring, I'm at Greg's Blue Dot or Probe or Studio One in Los Angeles, 12 West or Limelight or Pyramid or Mars Needs Men, or any number of Manhattan clubs I frequented back in the day. I'm missing my friends from those days, especially Andy. Who would have thought that I would be the one that made it through the plague-ridden 80s and 90s? It's not right.
The disco song of the day today is the still-sultry Runaway Love, by Linda Clifford—for everyone that isn't here to enjoy it today.
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