I can't dance

Dear reader,

I recently attended an event at Swinburne last Friday, the 'dance party' organized by the dance club to raise money for their new dance studio. I just used the word 'dance' three times in the same sentence. That has to be some kind of personal record. Anyway, about this 'dance party', I gotta say, I was disappointed. The theme was 'Evolution of Dance: What happens when all eras clash?'. There were supposed to be performances with 70's, 80's, 90's and present-day dances--on the ticket it actually said 09's, can you believe it? Not 2009, not even, simply, today but the 09's. But I won't nitpick about that. Even excluding the obviously incorrect year-labeling--is that even a word?--there's no shortage of things to nitpick about. Instead of the most well-known 70's or even 80's dance moves the audience got common b-boy steps set against music from different time periods in history.

Okay, so it went down like this: there was at least one performance for each time period. In between performances, they opened the dance floor for everyone else who wanted to take a whirl...or cut their respective rugs. Or whatever. Let me just say one thing. I can't dance. Period. Maybe if I'm at home, alone, the music turned up so loud I can't hear my own self-conscious thoughts. Maybe. But not in a club-like environment with everyone just there. It doesn't matter if they're watching me or not--actually, I'm pretty sure nobody was watching me. People don't usually notice anything beyond what they themselves are doing. And I'm not exactly noticeable in a crowd. I just can't dance in public. 

Anyway. During these interludes, people were going crazy, like it was so fun. I'm sorry, but I don't get it. What's so fun about flailing your arms around like a wounded animal and making a total fool of yourself? Dancers are show-offs. They dance to get attention. I'm not talking about professional dancers, those who actually get paid to do it, or do it as a job not just as a hobby. I'm talking about the countless, nondescript hip hop crews that come together to practise once a week after classes and hold mini concerts in malls or at school. You know the ones. Show-offs, plain and simple. Of course, this could just be my jealousy at their ability to make their bodies move exactly how they want it to--and my inability to do the same--manifesting itself. You have to be pretty comfortable in your own skin to dance in public. I guess I'm not. And everybody shows off. They just show off differently. I use words, they use dance moves.

Oh, and there was this one guy, a classmate of mine. Apparently he likes me. I'm assured it's a totally platonic kind of 'like', but I don't like the way he treats me. He treats me like a puppy. Or a small child. And he laughs at everything I do, like I'm some kind of pint-sized comedian put on this earth for the sole purpose of amusing him. So. There I was, standing there. Just standing still in the midst of a crowd of dancing people. And I had my bulky, oversized jacket on. I was cold, so sue me. He walks over and goes "You're cold?!" and laughs at me. Typical. But then he grabs my hand and starts coaxing me to dance, as if I'm his six-year-old niece who's being shy and silly. I'm serious. So I start getting even more self-conscious than I already am and dancing--there was a small probability of me swaying a little to the music if he wasn't there--is now a sheer impossibility. I am not a chihuahua, nor am I any other species of toy dog, regardless of what my height may be. I don't perform on demand.

So, in conclusion, the performances were fun, I suppose. But not memorable, or in any way relevant to their alleged time periods. For the 70's, I can't remember what the dance was like.  Hence, not memorable. I expected the dancers to be decked out in full 70's regalia: bell bottoms, love beads, afro hair. Nope. The only 70's thing about the performance was the music. Oh, and that seatbelt-hand-dance-move-thingy. You know, point your finger in the air then down again...whatever. As for the 80's, no MC Hammer moves to be seen. I'm dead serious. How could they not do the 'can't touch this' move? That's a classic 80's dance move! As for the 90's, they did a salsa-ish number to 'Mambo No. 5'. Meh. Not exactly the 90's song I would have chosen to summarize that entire decade in music history. Why didn't they choose a Britney Spears song or Backstreet Boys, even? The answer: they wanted to show off their sexy salsa dance moves. Speaking of salsa, there was actually a real salsa performance after that. I don't remember which time period it claimed to belong to, and I don't really care. I didn't even see the performance, I was sitting in the bleachers in the back of the hall.

I retreated to the loo a few times. Just to get a little peace. I felt like I was handicapped in some way. Like I had this sickness or disadvantage that I didn't want other people to see, so I hid my insecurities in a toilet cubicle. Oh, I didn't cry or anything. I just wanted to sit and be still in a place where no one could see me or judge me. Or worse, feel sorry for me. I guess I was just tired and bored. And frustrated. I don't like not being able to do a certain thing, especially if everyone else is able to do it, effortlessly it seems. I don't like feeling helpless or speechless or unsure of what I'm supposed to do next. I don't like that feeling of floundering, like you're trying to tread water, but you keep sinking. That's why I like guidelines so much. I actually like rules and instructions. Because then you know what to do, you know what's expected of you. I'm not a goody-goody two shoes. And I'm not, like, depressed or anything. I just think too much about how I look like on the outside.

Yeah. The whole thing just wasn't my scene. It was more for the hardcore clubbers or dancers...or people who routinely shed their inhibitions in public, just for the heck of it. So my sister picked me up before the whole thing was over. I was tired and, frankly, a little bit disgusted at all the gyrating body parts by then. We went to a place called Basaga. It's this really cool bistro/cafe that has a whole open air section with wooden tables and little wooden stools instead of chairs--there were no tablecloths on the tables but they had those little candles in glass cups that you get in Italian restaurants. And the atmosphere was great. After the whole techno-music-pulsating-in-my-head atmosphere it was a relief to just chill out there under the stars, and sip on a mocha smoothie. 

Oh, and on the way there I saw these two girls. They were having a picnic, right there on the grass embankment in front of a block of shoplots. At least I thought it was a picnic. There was a cloth that they spread out between them, and they were lying back with their legs in front of them talking and laughing to each other. I like that. Very much. There are different kinds of spontaneity. The 'flailing your arms around like a wounded animal and making a total fool of yourself' spontaneity, and the 'lying down in the grass having a picnic in front of a block of shoplots' spontaneity. I think I'm more inclined to the latter version.

Okay, dear reader. I've said all I have to say. Pretty much. So, til next time, I remain...

Yours,

Figgy: Neither a Chihuahua Nor Any Other Species of Toy Dog