Today was a task-ride kind of day. I rode my bike over to K.’s in the morning so we could go shop for party supplies for my late-late-late birthday party. Afterwards, I rode down to the Quarter to pick up some things I’d forgotten at the place I was apartment sitting. And tonight I rode down to the Marigny for a Michael Jackson tribute dance party. Now, it was hot out all day, and the night didn’t cool down at all. I was a sopping mess by the time I made it to the bar. The crowd inside didn’t bode well for cooling off, but the thing about summer in New Orleans is, you just have to give in to the sweat. And give in I did. I was positively drenched after dancing in the middle of the floor to “Billie Jean” with half the city. I’m not personally terribly moved by Jackson’s death. In fact, I haven’t even thought about the man in years and years. I headed out tonight fully expecting to be annoyed by the odd public outpouring of memory about this guy. I understand the collective grief as a kind of grief for a lost generation, a lost youth, a lost something, other than this man. But again, I’m not terribly moved by it all. But what did move me was the sheer undulating mass of folks wanting to dance to his great dance songs. And great they were. I had a hot, sweaty, uncomfortable, wonderful night. And then I rode my bike home, happily creating my own breeze.