Friday, November 21, 2008

Out of Step

I don’t dance in public anymore. Okay, maybe every once in a RARE while, when I’m out of town, out past my bedtime and liquored up real good. Why? Because I think there is an age-appropriateness to getting down.

When I was a young club kid, I could do all the dances of the day (no, motherfucker, NOT the Lindy Hop.) People would actually complement me on my moves. But that type of dancing lives in a certain age. And the minute you step on a dance floor and start partying like it’s 1999, well . . . you just look stupid.

I made this admittedly ridiculous policy after seeing one of my dear friends, an incredibly handsome, together man hit the floor. Being a few years older than me, I was shocked to see the 70’s sensibilities in his moves. He went from being this tres cool guy to being a geek in about 9 seconds flat.

Lately, though, I’ve been dancing around the house a lot. My beloved and I spent the better part of an evening and a good bottle of tequila bouncing around the living room to John Legend and Andre 3000’s infectious new groove, “Green Light.” It was so much fun, I was actually considering lifting my ban.

Then I saw a commercial for Prilosec, which featured a woman who looked older than me, but probably wasn’t, dancing in a club while talking about not letting her heartburn slow her down. She was on beat, but horribly dated in her moves. She punctuated the spot—and reinforced my discomfort—by waggling one finger in the air. Apparently, “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy” was the scratch track for this spot. Shudder.

Now, had the scene been a party full of old people, this might not have been so bad. But she was in a CLUB. Shouldn’t oughta be no cougars in da club. In addition to being a less-than-fresh dancer, she just reminded me of that divorcee who trolls the nightspots trying to snare a piece of her lost youth via some hot young thang. Now before you go calling me sexist, this rule should apply EQUALLY. I don’t want to see some forty-something giving himself arthritis trying to keep up some perky titties on the dance floor either.

Maybe we should all try ballroom? God, I feel old all of a sudden.


Anonymous said...

Maybe if you're dancing for fun from your soul and the music feels so good inside you. Then it just doesnt matter your age or your style or what the old queen in lime green converse tennis shoes holding back his inner dancer has to say about your finger slicing the air and this moment without worry in this very weary world world we live in.
Maybe it just doesnt matter.

hokgardner said...

Oh lord. I've known you for quite a while now, and I just can't picture you dancing.

Matty D said...

I'm assuming you're still cool with doing the Funkytown dance...yes?

Monika said...

Since my hubby "put a ring on it" I have been out of step. But I remember when the "Old heads" or "O'l ni**a in the club" came a calling. Jerry curl drippin', turtle-neck wearing in the summer-time brandy drinkers. Yuk! Or the courgers dressed in their kids clothes remembering their feathered hair days. Gulp! I save it for the bathroom with the music blaring and the door...LOCKED.

You're sharp as a tack. Rita said I'd like you.