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It's Monday, and I just wanna dance, dance, dance ...................Paul Ryan
Or rhythm, for that matter. God, how I hate not having rhythm. But no matter how poorly I dance (which is very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very poorly), at least I know the proper etiquette when "busting a move", as the kids say. When I was at the dance club Saturday night, taking a sip of beer every four seconds while swaying from side to side (my patented dance move), I actually saw someone more pathetic than me on the dance floor. Naturally, such an occasion is so rare that I felt the need to point out the guy to everyone I could, to prove I was only the second worst dancer in the club. The young pathetic man in question was roughly 8'3" tall, with spiky hair, nerdy glasses, and a fake gold chain hanging outside his collared shirt. If basketball star Manute Bol were caucasian, had an astigmatism, and had somehow found a way to fornicate with Mr. T and produce a child, this young pathetic man would be their child. But it wasn't his looks that made him more pathetic than me. No, it was the fact that whenever he tried to dance or "grind" (as the kids say) with the women on the dance floor, it appeared as if he were trying to perform wrestling moves on them. He would saunter up to a woman, dance in front of her, watch her turn away in horror, and then grab her from behind and try to pull her closer. The woman, obviously terrified of being stepped on, would flail her arms and work to escape his grasp multiple times before finally breaking free and running away. He would then dance after her, at which point the woman's friends would form a protective wall, and kick him to make him go away. Like an overly-sugared baboon, physical violence seemed to be the only way to make this pathetic man understand his advances weren't wanted. I saw one group of girls kick him, another group push him, and yet another group yell at him while giving him the finger. He didn't seem to be drunk, so I can only assume his lofty height made it difficult to see what was happening way down there on the dance floor. I was going to go up to him and suggest he strengthen the prescription on his glasses, but I was afraid he would mistake me for a woman and try to grind his groin into my face. Watching the utter failure of this man became the highlight of my night at the dance club. If there's one thing I love about clubs, it's watching people on the dance floor interact without speaking. It ends up looking like some sort of humorous silent film or poorly choreographed musical. No matter what happens, whether a person succeeds or gets turned down by another person, they must continue dancing. After getting kicked, the pathetic man couldn't just walk away. He had to dance away, pretending the slight limp in his leg were part of his dance technique.
Someday I'll buy a video camera and make a short film, showing this primitive-looking form of communication. Then I will take footage of myself dancing, and use advanced CGI to make myself look and move like an Ultimate Dancing Hero Updated today: Perverted Poll
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I went back home to Minneapolis for the long holiday weekend, and ended up spending a few nights with my brother and his friends. The only downfall to hanging out with my brother is sometimes he and his friends go to dance clubs. I hate dancing. If you gave me a choice between running naked through an Old Country Buffet restaurant or dancing fully clothed for the same amount of time, I would choose streaking through the buffet line. At least that activity doesn't require any sort of talent or coordination.
. Then I will title the movie "Ultimate Dancing Hero
