When I was 10 or 11, I convinced my mom to enroll me in a Jazz class. Unfortunately, like gymnastics, tennis, Brownies, horseback riding, piano, and every other activity I had ever enrolled in up to that point in my life, I quit.
Why? I wasn't flexible, I wasn't as good as the other girls in the class, I thought the leotard made me look fat, I had to perform in front of people, and the mirrors we had to dance in front of ruined every image I had of myself as graceful and cute.
Shortly there after, I declared a moratorium on all things feminine. I was convinced I would always fall short as a girl and decided to try my hand at being a tomboy. I took up basketball and bought all my clothes in the guy's section. Fortunately, the 90's lent itself to this without too much attention being drawn my way.
Behind my closed bedroom door and in front of my own mirror (which reflected things much differently than the one in the dance studio), I danced and sang everyday. I got my cheerleader friends to teach me their routine after basketball practice. That year's Dance Mix (and later Much Dance) never left my boombox.
After turning 19, I was delighted to be able to go to the bar and dance. I know many girls use this as a medium through which to attract males. Not me. They cramped my style. I just wanted to dance. Just dance. Da-da-doo-doo-mmm j-j-just dance.
Since then, I have had very few opportunities to shake my groove thang. Last year I even signed up for a community hip-hop class for shits'n'giggles. Ask C, I practised the dances we learned all the time.
Today, though, I live vicariously through So You Think You Can Dance and America's Best Dance Crew. Most of the time, I am gobsmacked by their abilites. I am moved (to tears, to laughter, to gasps) by their movements. The odd time, however, I am overcome with jealousy that my body never learned to move that way-- that I will never be able to express myself as clearly as they do, not even in words. I know that I never could have been that good, but I sure do wish I would have tried.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
5 comments:
OK.
a) My Mom put me in ballet when I was five... after the first class (the FIRST class) the teacher pulled my Mom aside to inform her I wasn't exactly, umm, graceful and suggest I try my hand at something more "masculine"... true story.
b) To this day I am convinced I can't dance. The only time I've ever danced in public is when I've been ridiculously, ass-backwards drunk. Then people say I remind them of Molly Ringwald in 'The Breakfast Club'. Sadly for my dance career I think my ass-backwards drunk days are over.
c)I was almost in tears when Jose's family made a circle around us and made us dance at our wedding... you could blame it on the pregnancy or the fact I was surrounded by people born with that Latin rhythm but I know I was being ridiculous. Sigh. If the baby hadn't kicked Jose and distracted everyone I swear a tear would have fallen.
d) I think me and you and Babies G and N should take Salsa Babies classes and get our pontentially ungraceful, unrhythmic, but most importantly unapologetic groove on... you in?
We are absolutely in. Oh and since G will teach N Spanish, I picked up a Baby Signing book so N can teach G sign language.
I can't believe some of the stuff they do- it boggles the mind. The only thing I do with that much talent and that much dedication is smoke cigarettes. There is no show for that.
So You Think You Can Smoke-Smoke-Smoke... All right, everyone, welcome back to So You Think You Can Smoke. Up next is the ever-astonishing Repliderium and her partner The Marlboro Man to perform the French Inhale...
I think synchronized smoking could be very cool-- creatively lighting it, blowing smoke rings around each other, putting it out in the judges' faces when you don't like what they say... I mean, we have a show for everything else!
YES!!!!! It could be like the weird ribbon/dancing/gymnastics but with smoke!!!!
I would excel.
Post a Comment