Random: I, Too, Bless the Rains Down in Africa

I had originally planned to write about how my Tuesday evening seemed to arc from the sublime* to the bittersweet to the surreal, but I’ll spare you the details and cut to the chase: After cutting short my sojourn to Williamsburg so that I could go home and recuperate from my week of travel and family, I ended up back in my neighborhood and received a text from JK: Barrio Chino, 10:30? Me, I don’t say no to these sorts of things. So JK and I traipsed down to Broome and Orchard, where Barrio Chino was decently, but not prohibitively, crowded, and took our seats at the bar. About 10 minutes into our mojito (JK) and wine (HT), I noticed that they were playing “Time After Time,” the 1985 Cyndi Lauper classic. A slightly odd choice for a place like Barrio Chino, but I wasn’t going to complain – I do love that song. I started humming along. And then conversation ensued, such that JK and I didn’t notice what the next song was until the song was already 1/3 of the way in. Africa. Yup, Africa. The Toto song. I’m not going to try to jog your memories because I know you know what song I’m talking about. And I know you know because everyone knows that song. JK and I found ourselves singing along. Loudly. And then we noticed that everyone else at the bar was singing along, too. Loudly. There was head-bobbing. There was faux-bongo-playing. It was amazing. In 2002, I celebrated my 28th birthday by throwing a 'Guilty Pleasures' party, whereby all guests were asked to bring a CD that they loved, but would normally never admit to enjoying. And we played parts of all the CDs that ended up in a stack by the stereo. It was a great time. Everyone found out about my love of Genesis' Invisible Touch album. I outed an ex's secret enjoyment of Counting Crows. (It's just that one song!, he kept insisting.) It was like that episode of Beverly Hills: 90210 where all the girls have a pajama party and share their deepest darkest secrets, and it's discovered that one girl is addicted to pills and another girl loves Brandon. Only at my party it was sans addiction or Jason Priestley -- just musical skeletons in the closet. It was great. My point? Toto would not have made an appearance at that party. There is no guilt with Toto. Only pleasure. I think we all proved that last night at Barrio Chino.
* BP, over at Soundbites, can wax (and photo) much more rhapsodic about this than I can.

1 comment:

more mad said...

it was def in my 45's collection.
too bad i threw them out years ago...