Fifty and Fierce!

What happens when midlifers party? The earth moves, quite literally. When we do work hard enough to disinhibit our jaded selves from truly having fun, our expanded girths and our inflated body masses shake the ground.

Last night, prime suspect, Jun Del, celebrated his 50th with his closest and dearest and threw a party like nobody else has--actually getting some ageing, creaky joints to boogie on down. After a gourmet dinner courtesy of Mrs. Prime Suspect, Gail (a degustation of crab fat risotto, ceviche, Belgian fondue, moules frites, and a main plate of roast lamb and three types of flavored mashed potatoes: truffle oil, pimiento, and wasabi, all made from scratch, without the aid of recipes, and completely by herself. Whew! She is our beloved overachiever), the dancing started.

I don't recall exactly how. As far as I know, getting midlifers on the dance floor is as difficult as finding Osama Bin Laden. But someone played some Eighties dance music and then someone else said, "Let's Dance!" But I believe it was the ebullient Allan A. who retorted, "Dance? How? The old way of clapping, snapping fingers, and puckering the mouth?" This elicited the laughter necessary to kick the party spirit into gear. Before we knew it, there was dancing--a healthy show of wild abandon from fellows who toil hard to support themselves and their families and who, in their personal capacity, try to change something in the world. There might be nothing quite as liberating as raising one's arms and moving one's body to music, as in dance. Because when one does, negative emotions, and inhibitions simply fall away, de facto. It becomes more meaningful when older people do this because it is almost second nature for the young ones to be carefree and uninhibited. The older generation needs much prodding and an altered state of mind to do so. Most of the time, some good liquor helps.

Last night, it was definitely that plus the sanctuary provided by the company of friends. In other words, walang tawanan! Of course the best male dancer was the celebrant--so freaking coordinated. And the revelation among revelations was chef Nikki, who definitely had the moves. It is extremely rare to see a big man--over six feet tall and with a kilometric shoulder span like a pro ball linebacker's--to have as much grace as he does. Among the ladies, Marivi's shoulder shimmy, is the sexiest, fiercest move, this side of the Pacific. Margot, on the other hand, was the life of the party, and burned that dance floor as though the world were ending in the succeeding minutes. Ageless, flawless Tweety, was the eye candy on the dance floor and my man, JP, totally smoked the others out with his killer moves! But the coup de grace was from little suspect, Anton, who left the older generation speechless, when he finally came on to strut. This young man speaks with his body and he has a lot to say.

So did we have fun? I have the achy bones and muscles to show for it.

To the celebrant, I dedicate a passage from the great Ralph Waldo Emerson:

"To laugh often and much, to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children, to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends, to appreciate beauty, to find the best in others, to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch...to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded!"

Happy 5-0!