To be honest, I don’t really remember that much about Oriol’s birthday party. It was a beajoulais noveau birthday party (9 bottles for 15 people!) mixed in with 6 bottles of rosé Lambrusco for all of the guests that didn’t like young red wine, plus some Tequila when Victor and I started doing shots before attempting to liven up the dance floor. I remember that the party was a lot of fun, but until I saw the videotape, I didn’t even remember that I’d been recorded. There were no Paris Hilton moments, but I’ve nonetheless edited the official version to maintain some self-respect. My mom might see this!

As you will see, Victor Aloi, one of nuroa’s star employees and one of my closest friends, is undoubtedly the star of the video. His dance solo in the middle of the video is priceless. In general, he’s a lot of fun. A bit like Clark Kent — very timid and quiet in the office, but after a couple of drinks he’s the life of the party.

The main thing I remember from Saturday night is that I got into a “Breakin´“-type, 80’s style New York street battle with Victor (luckily, it was not captured on tape). He’s 25 and I’ve 33, so at first he was beating me. His moves were younger, fresher. A crowd had formed to see who would win.

“Go Gary! It’s your birthday!”

“Did you see that move that Victor just did? It was incredible!”

Things were getting tight. I think we were dancing to some diva or the other. My iTunes playlist tells me that it was Whitney Houston’s “It’s Not Right, But It’s Okay.” Apt words indeed. I was being eclipsed, and it wasn’t right, but it was okay.

I’m too old for this shit!”, I thought to myself. The youngster had more agile movements and more confidence, and it was clear that I’d soon have to retire my crown. I walked over to Oriol, and he gave me a nod of sad agreement that said: “Yeah, we’re getting old.”

But luckily I went over to my other best friend, also named Victor, and he gave me a look of utter disgust, but with an extra bit of bitchy French attitude, suggesting complete and utter contempt.

“Gary, what’s wrong with you?” he said. “You don’t normally give up. You’re better than this! You can beat him! Just believe in yourself!”

That Rocky-like pep-talk saved me that night. I was reinvigorated. I went back to the dance floor to take on my Brazilian arch-nemesis. Suddenly Amerie’s song “One Thing” came on. I’ve never danced to it before. I usually just listen to it on the stairmaster in the gym.

I still don’t remember which moves I did or where they came from. I just know that I FELT that song. I was a man possessed. Like a black John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever.

Four minutes and three seconds later, I felt vindicated. There’s still some life in these 33-year old bones.

That being said, I’m still a little sore today . . . .