Good morning and welcome to Summit Up, the world’s only daily column glidin and swervin, poppin and breakin, writin and excitin, lovin and livin and givin the rhythm to anyone who needs a little nudge to get them doin like disco superheroes. We were dancing and inspiring in banton (heavyweight DJ champion) dreams Friday night at the club.We say dreams because it was jazz fire during reality at the show.We introduced ourselves as “Cupid Manifesto” to some new friends and told them our birth name later.The club crowd was resonating at super-planetary, borderline galactic levels, boosting its awareness through group exercise: celebration, the physically aesthetic creation came in waves of revelation, and our names became something unspoken and our expressions became our language they often seem to define us better. Music was the initial motivation, that and three of the most beautiful people we know who we got to go to the party with.When we got there, we saw so many good friends: Some that made us think of way back when, and others who glanced and smiled and romanced the room to the brinks of swoon, which is usually what we go out for. We love the feeling of people with grooving energy, we love the graceful timely touch of the uninhibited and the abundant yearning and the constant pleasure of “this music, this crowd, this life is too good not to do what you love.”We believe that there’s an agreement between all of us that this life is supposed to be a joyous journey and a mystical montage of moments, so we didn’t surprise ourselves this time when we found ourselves rapping and singing to a beautiful new friend. We remember this spoken-word chorus that we made up:”Here we’re all blessings in time:funky, sexy, divine.”The syllables FUN and SEX were accented and lingered upon. 😉 (lovin’ you kiss, hug, rock on!!!)After that we went into our typical rhymes highlighted by a rap build climaxing at roaring points of punkfunk singing with these lyrics:”So our resources must be used to feed the hungry! Clothe the cold! Cure the sick! And increase the peace!”Is this too much? Are we overstepping our Sunday Summit Up bounds? Does someone’s Almighty know about this Pompeii-esque (except without the volcano and the subsequent and unfortunate “guilt and armageddon is what you get for hedonism” metaphor) movement we’re trying to create? How about Santa Claus? Do you think he’ll annex the Summit County residence we’ve been asking him for, for like forever?Ah, the questions that matter to us seem to fly through the source of fear and ignorance, leaving us unscathed to any major degrees and with new knowledge.We have the number and we promise we’ll call.Also, the stellar live band we jammed our hearts out with let us go up front and film a multi-themed medley for the website, so visit http://www.summitdaily.com/vinyl to get a visual taste for what was cookin our vibes all Goldilocks just right … if you feel like it.Next, we’d like to summon our friends and the folks we haven’t met yet alike to throw us your favorite party stories at email@example.com.This is our new contest, so please do a good job, or at least write something funny like about the time you saw a dude with a pet monkey and the monkey ate the dude’s girlfriend’s lipstick and then spit it on the dude. Stuff like that works for us.And so on.Oh yeah, the name of this contest is THE ULTIMATE WRITING CHAMPIONSHIP. We would like for writers to write stuff that can be printed alongside other funny/weird/scary/neat stuff so that we can have duels and showdowns and all that.Finally, we left the club with six members of the opposite SEX (touchdown, baby!). And when we drove all the hot carpoolers home, we had a remarkably stimulating conversation with our hot roommate. We also got a kiss on the lips from a hot musical maestra. We love everything!***We’re out, complimenting everyone.
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