Clubbing’s never been my thing. When my teenage friends tried to cajole me into crawling out the bedroom window to crash the Odyssey disco on Beverly Boulevard, I passed, preferring to catch up with Tootie’s exploits on The Facts of Life or flip my Cabaret LP to side B. I like vodka, I like dancing, and I like music. But the combination of all three in nerve-shattering superabundance sets me reeling.
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