“Some dance to remember, some dance to forget,” sang my favorite band, Eagles, in a song called Hotel California. But as I learned on Thursday evening at the Guggenheim, there are also some people who dance to explore the “social interactions and political ideologies that unite and divide us [and] allow for a collective emotional reckoning about what it takes to be a community”.

Though I didn’t fully understand what that meant, I figured it would be neat to be at the museum overnight and checked into Hotel Guggenheim for Agathe Snow’s 24-hour film premiere/dance party titled Stamina as part of the museum’s Storylines series.

(Important note: The Guggenheim is not actually a hotel, but a museum. People spend nights at hotels all the time, but not at museums and that is why it was a unique event.)

•••

6.20pm. I arrive at the museum with a box of granola bars, a pack of Trident gum and a sweater in case it gets cold.

6.30pm. Before I go inside, I talk with two women named Leila and Fran who are sitting outside. They are not going in because Leila doesn’t want to pay the full price. However, they wish me luck and tell me that I should make sure to dance with some of the pretty girls that are currently entering.

“I wish,” I say, “but this is my first reporter job and I have to focus on upholding the standards of good journalism.”

“That’s nice. You can tell them you’re a reporter as an excuse to introduce yourself,” says Leila.

6.45pm. I enter and say “Wow.” In the middle of the 96-foot-tall gallery rotunda – known most famously as the location of the gun battle in the Clive Owen movie The International – there is a large dance floor made up of clear squares that are lit from underneath with flashing neon lights.

6.48pm. I look up above the dance floor and say “Wow” again. There is a big movie screen split into seven sections on which Stamina is being premiered.

Snow held the original 24-hour dance party in 2005 as an artistic response to 9/11. That party was filmed by nine cameras and was meant to be pitched as a reality show.

Over this past year, Snow compiled the footage from the seven cameras that survived the party and edited it into the film, which is playing in real time in relation to the party currently taking place at the museum.

7.10pm. I am very nervous when introduced to Agathe. She tells me that the film is “like a secret diary that’s been locked away for the last 10 years. I hope they’re going to be happy with what they see,” referring to the friends at the original party who will be attending tonight.

Also, she assures me that her sandals are comfortable enough for the entire marathon and that she got them from Chinatown. I admire that because it likely means they were reasonably priced.

After my last question, Agathe says: “That’s it? Oh. Not too complicated.”

7.22pm. I stare at the still-empty dance floor while “Not too complicated” repeats in my head. It made me sad when she said this, but she is right. I’m just a simple guy from Buffalo, New York, who likes the hot dogs they sell in the Home Depot parking lot.

7.25pm. I cheer up when I spot two girls entering with McDonald’s iced coffees.

7.27pm. There is no one on dance floor yet but people stand around the perimeter so that it sort of feels like a school dance.

It felt the same way the time I brought a date to a dance party held at the Natural History Museum. I think it’s because the security guards remind me of chaperones and also museum floors are made of the same stuff they use for school hallways.

(Important side note – I just looked it up and it’s called terrazzo flooring.)

7.35pm. I think night-time museum events have become popular lately because people have romantic visions of sleeping underneath a beautiful painting or kissing someone next to a taxidermic bear.

7.36pm. Also, since many New Yorkers live in small apartments, I think big museum spaces makes them go wild.

7.51pm. I use the bathroom for the first time. There is no line. It feels great.

8.02pm. The first band IUD begins to play and I wonder who will be the first person to dance.

8.05pm. The first person to dance is a young man wearing a short sleeve button-down shirt. As a frequent wearer of short sleeve button-down shirts, I am very proud.

8.15pm. Hat tally: four people in baseball hats, two fedoras – one on a man, one on a woman.

9pm. Another hat tally: five people in baseball hats, two fedoras – one on a man, one on a woman, one white bucket hat. It’s like an upscale version of a bucket hat, not the more casual bucket hat worn by the lead singer of the New Radicals.

9.30pm. More people are starting to move. Even though there is a guy with a saxophone on stage, the party hasn’t reached a tipping point.

10pm. I have to leave for the next few hours to perform at a standup show. I am sorry, this is not upholding the standards of good journalism but I gotta do it.

10pm to 1am. Perform standup and eat a granola bar.

1am. When I return and see how many people have stepped out for air and cigarettes, I know I have missed something good.

1.05am. I ask Simon, an Irish guy in a baseball hat, what I have missed and he said that the band that just played really got people hopping. He told me that I also missed a woman who was 6’8” tall.

1.15am. Even though it was 10 years ago, it is 1.15am at the party onscreen too. It’s hard not to compare who is having more fun.

1.25am. I am glad I wasn’t at the the party 10 years ago. Having to watch a younger version of myself dance would make me uncomfortable.

2am. The people onscreen at the 2005 party are getting wild. The people in real life are starting to seem a little tired.

2.35am. It doesn’t take an artist to know what would really get people moving again: the opening piano chords from Old Time Rock N’ Roll. If not Bob Seger himself, the museum maybe could have got a Bob Seger cover band such as The Hollywood Nights. Or even Turn the Page: the Ultimate Bob Seger Tribute.

3.15am. Some party-goers begin to lay down and fall asleep in the pillow area.

3.30am. Bob Seger still hasn’t shown up.

4am. Dance floor rebounds! 15 or so people are dancing like they’re not even worried about the Greek debt crisis.

5am to 6am. I lay down and rest my eyes for a minute (an hour).

6am. I am a little embarrassed when I wake up. Falling asleep was not upholding the standards of good journalism. A nice museum employee tells me that the best way to stay awake is by moving your feet. “That’s OK,” I decline. “I have to observe and take notes.”

6.11am. Step outside for fresh air and to see sunrise over the Jackie Onassis Reservoir.

7am. There are eight people on the dance floor, four people sleeping, and 10 security guards watching them.

7.53am. The staff turns on the rotunda lights.

8.02am. Floor cleaning begins.

8.38 am. Floor cleaning continues. Not only do they have a machine but two other employees with big mops.

8.45am. The only thing on the screen is a French man talking about how much he loves cocaine who then does some cocaine.

9.29 am. The screen is blank and no one is on the dance floor. I apologize but figure that it’s OK to leave. Otherwise, I will just keep writing about how clean the terrazzo floors are.

10.30am. Back at home, I turn on After the Thrill is Gone by Eagles and try to fall asleep. All I can dream about is the flashing dance floor squares. It’s weird to think that they’ll still be flashing for another eight hours.

10.35am. “Oh no!” I wake up, before coming up with this pithy conclusion.

The art of Stamina wasn’t just in the movie, but in the experience. The experience was a dance party (on screen and offscreen). And dance parties are about making connections.

I was too busy trying to upholding the standards of good journalism that I didn’t dance. And by not dancing, I didn’t make any connections – to my fellow party-goers in either 2015 or across time in 2005.

And when the pretty Guggenheim employee told me I should move my feet, she was asking me to dance. Perhaps cause she wanted me to understand the event better or maybe even because she wanted to make a dancing connection. I’m such a dummy – I should have listened to Leila and Fran, those romantic old ladies outside.

At least now, it all sort of makes sense (for the most part). Next weekend, I’m going clubbing.