Notes for New Year's Eve 2005:
I suppose I didn't really want to go out and even be a little social for New Year's. Nonetheless, I managed to haul my rear out at 11pm, planning to either hit the Castle or Channelside.
Having chosen to see fireworks, I went for Channelside (eventually -- had to go past Ybor first). However, due to a supremely byzantine parking and traffic flow setup, I managed to get lost twice. Hence, at 11:45 I decided that the Castle would be the safer bet.
Notes for the Castle:
12:01-ish, I walk into the Castle. Hence, I have missed any sort of toast, etc. Sigh. Ah, well, I'll make the best of it while I'm there. (Aside: initial impression on entering the dance room: lots of folk standing around or milling about. Little dancing. It's almost as though people aren' t quite sure why they're there.) Dancing, people watching, and an occaisional drink ensues (note: if there's a rush on the bar, the bar staff aren't ignoring you per se, they're just very busy.)
Hot women in various forms of corset and skirt, or dress. Of course. Almost all of them with boyfriends in tow. Of course. Had a minor lecture on body language from a good-looking and apparently friendly guy ("You don't look inviting!" "I'm not trying to." "Body language man, just look more open!" "Thanks" -- I suppose it did help a bit.) Talked and had a dance with a cute, if short, girl. Found out that Monday nights there might be worth checking out. Overheard something about SG, but didn't follow up on it. Saw one of the most horrifying sights that I hope to never see again: an older gentleman in a tiara, an almost transparent neglige, a...*shudder* thong, and nothing else. I did my best to physically ignore this man. Ew. Went home solo. I'll admit I'm bitter about it, but at the same time it's about what I expected.
The Drive Home:
Fog. Thick, deep, 1/4 mi. visibility max fog. The kind of fog that would consume ocean-going ships, back in the days when boats were the primary transatlantic transport, and ship travel had a romantic air to it. There was something sort of portentious and vaguely spiritual about driving through it. This was helped in part by me putting in a Hilliard Ensemble cd.
All in all: a weird night. Still, beats the hell out of sitting at home, playing WoW.
I suppose I didn't really want to go out and even be a little social for New Year's. Nonetheless, I managed to haul my rear out at 11pm, planning to either hit the Castle or Channelside.
Having chosen to see fireworks, I went for Channelside (eventually -- had to go past Ybor first). However, due to a supremely byzantine parking and traffic flow setup, I managed to get lost twice. Hence, at 11:45 I decided that the Castle would be the safer bet.
Notes for the Castle:
12:01-ish, I walk into the Castle. Hence, I have missed any sort of toast, etc. Sigh. Ah, well, I'll make the best of it while I'm there. (Aside: initial impression on entering the dance room: lots of folk standing around or milling about. Little dancing. It's almost as though people aren' t quite sure why they're there.) Dancing, people watching, and an occaisional drink ensues (note: if there's a rush on the bar, the bar staff aren't ignoring you per se, they're just very busy.)
Hot women in various forms of corset and skirt, or dress. Of course. Almost all of them with boyfriends in tow. Of course. Had a minor lecture on body language from a good-looking and apparently friendly guy ("You don't look inviting!" "I'm not trying to." "Body language man, just look more open!" "Thanks" -- I suppose it did help a bit.) Talked and had a dance with a cute, if short, girl. Found out that Monday nights there might be worth checking out. Overheard something about SG, but didn't follow up on it. Saw one of the most horrifying sights that I hope to never see again: an older gentleman in a tiara, an almost transparent neglige, a...*shudder* thong, and nothing else. I did my best to physically ignore this man. Ew. Went home solo. I'll admit I'm bitter about it, but at the same time it's about what I expected.
The Drive Home:
Fog. Thick, deep, 1/4 mi. visibility max fog. The kind of fog that would consume ocean-going ships, back in the days when boats were the primary transatlantic transport, and ship travel had a romantic air to it. There was something sort of portentious and vaguely spiritual about driving through it. This was helped in part by me putting in a Hilliard Ensemble cd.
All in all: a weird night. Still, beats the hell out of sitting at home, playing WoW.