There are a variety of reasons as to why I've really gotten into dancing in the last few months. I can't think of all of them now but I'd say the biggest one involves me being in the company of friends and enjoying the music. If I'm diggin' the music and I'm having fun, I just let loose on the dancefloor. All the years of watching Michael Jackson videos (especially "Beat It" and "Bad") and James Brown live footage come out much to some people's surprise.
For a while I didn't know if I made a complete fool of myself at Matt's wedding by clearing the dancefloor when Gloria Gaynor's "I Will Survive" came on. Matt, Chris, Tim and Marshall have all assured me that they enjoyed it in a fun way by cheering me on instead of laughing at me. When I have that kind of support from my friends, I let the arms and legs do the talking.
A few weeks ago, while I was bopping my head to the sound of Northern Soul and other Mod-related music at the Smoke, I couldn't help but let go. The friends I was with did some dancing but I just couldn't stop when they stopped dancing. I had really nothing to lose in an art space filled with people dressed up in Mod clothing and Mod films (ie, Blow-Up, Quadrophenia) screening in the back. I let my bird legs and floppy ears move to the pulsating beat.
Saturday night, I went with Nick to a live art show with a DJ spinning. The music was thankfully not mindless techno music; rather it was a lot of uptempo 80s Top 40, old school funk and old school rap (like Kurtis Blow's "The Breaks"). I, along with Nick and his friends, couldn't help ourselves and danced on a small section in front the DJ's set-up. White boys are often lampooned for not understanding rhythm but I think we did a pretty good job of blending in.
There is something freeing about letting go through something like dancing. I get the same feeling when I run: time is only based on how fast I run or how long the song is and not according to a clock. I'm not someone who wishes I could live in that world all the time but it's fun to take a short trip into it.
For a while I didn't know if I made a complete fool of myself at Matt's wedding by clearing the dancefloor when Gloria Gaynor's "I Will Survive" came on. Matt, Chris, Tim and Marshall have all assured me that they enjoyed it in a fun way by cheering me on instead of laughing at me. When I have that kind of support from my friends, I let the arms and legs do the talking.
A few weeks ago, while I was bopping my head to the sound of Northern Soul and other Mod-related music at the Smoke, I couldn't help but let go. The friends I was with did some dancing but I just couldn't stop when they stopped dancing. I had really nothing to lose in an art space filled with people dressed up in Mod clothing and Mod films (ie, Blow-Up, Quadrophenia) screening in the back. I let my bird legs and floppy ears move to the pulsating beat.
Saturday night, I went with Nick to a live art show with a DJ spinning. The music was thankfully not mindless techno music; rather it was a lot of uptempo 80s Top 40, old school funk and old school rap (like Kurtis Blow's "The Breaks"). I, along with Nick and his friends, couldn't help ourselves and danced on a small section in front the DJ's set-up. White boys are often lampooned for not understanding rhythm but I think we did a pretty good job of blending in.
There is something freeing about letting go through something like dancing. I get the same feeling when I run: time is only based on how fast I run or how long the song is and not according to a clock. I'm not someone who wishes I could live in that world all the time but it's fun to take a short trip into it.
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