Dancing On The Block

One of the hottest summer days so far, last Saturday on Dickinson Street, really someone's driveway in Cambridge, was well roasted and relaxed by the time the music stopped that night. But at the beginning, which was about five for me, I heard the pulse from three blocks away and smiled. Dancing On The Block #2 was "Open to Public," and later I saw the public sitting outside its orange perimeter in the adjacent park, stupefied as if the dance party barbecue was a TV program. It may have had the same effect as watching MTV'S The Grind, except no pool, though there were handheld spray fans, bubbles and unused neon badminton rackets.

Dancing didn't really begin until the sun dipped and shadow cast across the DJ tent. Until that point people stood behind the speakers by the portable toilets, in one of which was an empty bottle of Captain Morgan. The captain visited whoever emptied it early in the festivities.  I tried to stay hydrated between sips of a rather good and dry sparkling wine served by a cheerful guy who danced when he wasn't pouring.

I didn't eat because it was too hot.  When I got close to the grill I had to back away. "Yeah," said the red and sweaty guy in an apron who cooked the hot dogs and hamburgers. My friend's sleep-deprived friend Omar ate a hot dog.  He seemed impervious to the heat in pants and a long-sleeved black shirt, but didn't start popping and locking until after dark, over by the massage tent. Yes, there was a massage table, which didn't lend itself well to the weather either but it was novel. 

After enough "Brut" sparkling wine I gave myself over to silly talk.  "Someone just turned up the sexy knob on the mixer!"  The daylight disco became evening deep tech and the block proved to be the gateway to the next event and then the next.  "So where are we going next?"  That destination was Think Tank, a few streets down and less thought was the theme.  The Dickinson Street crowd gradually migrated and the Kendall Square bar transformed into a house music party after the party. 

But I could barely dance after sharing a perfect burger, flatbread pizza and banana split that was mostly whipped cream.  I ate the Think Tank food with an eager appetite as if I'd been swimming for a while.  It was the same satisfying feeling.  Then I hit the wall, sunbaked and digesting.  So I cabbed it home.  On the way, the night breeze through the window was reassuring of the deep sleep to come.  I closed my eyes and let my face relax.   

next dancing on the block: september 3rd

more pictures:  beantown boogiedown