Well, you can tell by the way I use my walk, I'm a woman's man: no time to talk. Music loud and women warm, I've been kicked around since I was born. And now it's all right. It's OK. And you may look the other way… Actually, I’d prefer that. I’m all those things when I’m in my room, or in the shower, in any other place where there is nobody around, I have some sweet dance moves. I’m part Danny Zuko, part Michael Flatley, part some of those campy young elastic hopefuls you see on that abomination So you Think You’re a Twat… But that’s when I’m alone.
Philosophically, if a man lifts one foot and pushes the other backwards in a forest, does he really moonwalk? No, not really, because philosophically dancing is as much being watched as it is moving, apparently.
The thing is I have a wee phobia of dancing in public. In effect I have a small window of opportunity somewhere between about six drinks and when I fall down (which is very shortly after six drinks) when I can get out on the floor and tear it up. The problem is my dancing window is the same as my obnoxious and immature window. It’s a dangerous place to aim for. Innocent people can get hurt.
But dance I did. The last time was quite a few years ago, but a combination of hanging with my favourite in-law clan and being at a wedding where I did not have anything to do, and being surrounded by people I either loved, didn’t know or didn’t know and loved was an intoxicating mix. Was the D-Floor in danger of spontaneous combustion, Daughter of TJ style? No, but dance I did.
It wasn’t pretty, I’m sure. My partner, a fine, sexy, lithe young thing who’d been making eyes at me across the mandatory six or seven drinks provided confidence boosting/sapping direction… “Keep your arms down… Lower your center of gravity. Don’t sing. No, really, DON’T SING…”
So, phobia conquered. Friends made. Friends lost. Will I be doing it again? Maybe, but probably not for a bit. I hope you all enjoyed the show. Either way, thanks for the opportunity, Liam and Veronica, and congratulations and apologies...
The dance-floor is my cathedral: grand and pure, dark and electric, the house of my religion. I go to the podium as humans go to worship... From their lofty summits, I view my past, dream of the future, and with unusual acuity I am allowed to experience the present moment. My strength renewed, my vision cleared, my hips gyrating, and my arms flailing, on the d-floor I celebrate creation. On each journey and with each disco hit, I am reborn.
ReplyDelete- Daughter of TJ
P.S. Stoush, don't be too disheartened, I had to gyrate for years before I got my centre of gravity right on the d-floor.