I’m revising my thinking about the Groucho Marx quote, “I don’t want to belong to any club that will accept me as a member.” My husband and I like to dance so much that we WILL belong to the Lone Star Café and Club, as long as they will tolerate our jump jiving. We grew up in an era where spinning 45 records in the garage was our Saturday night. Girls could get teenage boys to dance, if we put out big bowls of potato chips and grilled hamburgers in the backyard. This was a long time ago, I know, and the worst trouble we could stir up was a game called, “Spin the Bottle.” If we were really bad, the bottle was a beer bottle that one of us had emptied out of the sight of chaperones.
These days, really cool people still eat hamburgers, but they don’t sweat to oldies. If they sweat at all, it’s with a trainer, but not to rock and roll. Most of the guys still playing this music live are the crowd to which Elvis was crooning,
You can knock me down
Step in my face
Slander my name
All over the place
But, honey, you better lay off my blue suede shoes
My honey doesn’t wear blue suede shoes, even though a certain shade of sapphire suede is really hot right now. We’ve danced together so long I don’t step on him much either. But, we really sweat all over each other and we like it that way. It’s my theory that people who love, really love, to dance with each other seal the deal on their relationship by moving to music that was born out of passion. And who can stay mad, when this music starts. If it’s haute cuisine that you seek, Lone Star is not your scene. If it’s a glamorous emotionless nightlife that draws you like a moth to a flame, this is not your bar. But, if it’s old time music, a good burger, and great collection of vintage double-entendre signage that sets your feet on fire, then jump-start that Chevy and become a member of the club: the Lone Star Café on Northwest Highway. They love how you love them.
You can’t dance and stay uptight
It’s a supernatural delight when
Everybody is dancin in the moonlight..
See you out on the floor…we’re in the sensible shoes, now.