Tuesday 16 April 2013

Dance, Baby! Dance!

I thought that I should clarify yesterday's post. I have nothing against dancing. In fact, watching people who can dance, who love it, who have trained and honed their skills and bodies to absolute perfection, is breathtaking. The grace, the poise, it's beautiful! So I have nothing against it, it's just that I can't do it. I'm not built like an athlete, nor do I possess any measurable amount of grace. I'm built like a wrestler (and at times when I get lazy and don't exercise, I'm built like a sumo wrestler). Plus, I'd have no idea what to do when I actually get on the dance floor. People tell me to feel the beat, to let it become part of you, to let it dictate what your body does. If that's the case, I'd probably wind up doing things like this:


I'd get looks of incredulity, of disbelieve or downright confusion. People would assume that I'm trying to attack them, or that I've gone mad, or that I'm having some sort of seizure. The point is that at some point I'm going to be asked to leave, and to never ever do that again. Pretty please.

I really was not joking when I said that people have mentioned to me that the classic Genesis song applies to me:

"I can't dance,
I can't talk,
The only thing about me is the way that I walk."

So I think that I will watch people who can dance. I will appreciate them. I will even envy them, but I shall not unleash myself onto a dance floor and freak them out. Let's face it, I may be the sole reason why they say most white guys shouldn't dance!

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