I was riding the elevator ascending to the swanky mid-town offices that is currently doing business as “McGraw-Hill.” This building was designed by someone who was either blind, stupid or had some sort of fetish involving a checkerboard.

But I digress.

Playing, rather mawkishly, over the speaker in the elevator was a commercial for a local riverboat casino. Now, this riverboat isn’t actually in a river. It’s in a puddle next to a river. The boat doesn’t actually move. I suppose it’s really a building in the shape of a boat, imitating a boat. If the area flooded, would it float? Probably not.

But I digress.

The commercial informed me that, if I partake in the gambling activities that this particular casino offers that I could, in fact, “Wang Chung tonight.” Yes. Wang Chung.

Now, I’m hardly a prude. I like adventure. I like doing things that are exciting and off the beaten path of normal entertainment. I enjoy letting loose and partying like it’s 1999. I’m adventurous. I like offensive movies and music that no one has ever heard of. I’m not afraid of wearing Mickey Mouse underwear. Hell, I grew up in the eighties.

But, I have never actually Wang Chunged. I have gotten down. I fought for my right to party. More than once I’ve shook my groove thang and let my freak flag fly. I’ve even gotten the party started. However, I have never in my life had the opportunity to Wang Chung.

But the commercial went on. It was adamant. If I gambled there, I could Wang Chung.

Does this casino hold the secrets of Wang Chung? Could this casino actually be the center of the Wang Chung universe?

I don’t know. Because, I have absolutely no idea how to Wang Chung. If I’ve seen Wang Chung in progress, I may not have understood it. Just like the time I went to the modern dance recital and watch the fall of Rome performed. I thought I was watching a reimagining of Fame. But I was wrong. But they had naked ladies cavorting and it was art.

Maybe that was Wang Chung? I don’t know.

Once I went to an art exhibit where a man painted pictures of various religious figures out of dog feces. At the exhibit was a man with silver hair and a cane. He was followed by a group of young boys and a pale, rail thin woman. Perhaps they would Wang Chung later while drinking mimosas and discussing the finer art of dog feces.

What is Wang Chung? Is it a state of mind or an action? Is it an ancient Oriental art that has been passed down for centuries from generation to generation of the chosen people? The truly enlightened?

Did Buddha Wang Chung? What about Jesus? Or was Wang Chung before his time? Can you safely Wang Chung in the street, or do you do it in private?

Probably not. If you can Wang Chung at a casino, it must not involve anything perverse.

Can children Wang Chung, or is it an adult activity? If I happened to Wang Chung at Disney World, would I be asked to leave? Or arrested?

These are the things I think about. Welcome to my mind.

I have to go now. I have to find Mickey’s Monkey who may be doing the Watusi with the Shimmy Shimmy Coco Pops.