Monday, May 15, 2006
Lord Of The Dance
Chain, chain, chain, chain, chain, chain, Chain, chain, chain, chain of fools
Five long years I thought you were my man, But I found out I'm just a link in your chain
You got me where you want me; I ain't nothing but your fool
You treated me mean oh you treated me cruel....
Chain, chain, chain, chain of fools
Hello, my name is Sara and I have a problem I am an impulse dancer. I can’t seem to stop myself, largely because I don’t try to.
If the downbeat of the above song is heard at any time, any location; I will immediately begin my imitation of John Travolta in “Michael”. This has happened in grocery stores and at work (where I am a professional nurse).
I have danced with the poles in my basement. We will say no more of this.
I do the butt dance in my car. I shimmy across my living room. I do the “Night At The Roxbury” head bob at the drop of a hat.
At weddings I always say I’m going to sit quietly like a dignified woman and watch the younger folks dance. Then I start feeling “it”. The funk. It’s in my Caucasian blood. The African Americans at work call me soul sister. I start tapping my hands on the table. I start the butt dance again. Pretty soon I’m out there with whomever I can drag along.
I will do the chicken dance, the Macarena, the Cha Cha slide, the Hustle, the Hokey Pokey, polka, slow dance or if so inspired, the Elaine Benis kick dance from Seinfeld.
I should admit at this juncture that I am not a good dancer, but I am an enthusiastic one. I dance a lot at work. A lot more than a nurse should dance whilst at work. Some of the patients dance with me. I think it’s therapeutic. The doctors have grown accustomed to it and just smile and keep on walking, they rarely join in. I think they could use a little boogie in their oogie. I once had a room full of schizophrenics doing the Cha Cha slide when I was supposed to be conducting group therapy. It was a very successful group once we got going in the same direction. I have led a giant Electric Slide down the hallway with people who claimed they were too depressed to take a shower.
I’m telling you, dancing is better than any medicine I know of. . It’s pure joy. It’s all the muscles and tendons doing what they were meant to do. It has nothing to do with talent. My husband is the worst dancer I have ever danced with, but when the lights go down and he takes my hand to lead me in a slow dance, he’s got me wrapped around his little finger at the same time he’s crushing my instep. I don’t care about his skills, it’s just perfection to be in the moment.
So next time you’re feeling a little down or bored or scared or confused, I recommend dancing your way through. Just crank up the stereo and get down with your bad self. If you’re from around here, people won’t be alarmed because they’re used to me. If you’re not from around here, I’m sure your area could use a little impromptu monkey, mashed potato or pony. If you don’t know what those are, you need to get moving; you’re falling behind.
Still not convinced? Click on the link below and then get jiggy one time.
11 You turned my mourning into dancing...