I'd managed to go twenty something years without ever actually dancing, but it was becoming increasingly clear that my streak was going to end tonight. I'd always envied people who could dance. They made it look so easy and fun, which was how it was when I danced in the mirror, but the thought of dancing in front of other people mortified me.
"Come on, man. Go with them! Dance!"
We had met a couple girls on the cruise, and like any girls, they wanted to dance. Somehow all girls are built with this ability, while a good number of us guys become borderline disabled when led to a dance floor. I noticed that in direct contrast to his goading, my friend wasn't making any effort to join the dancing masses himself.
Desperate to find some reasonable excuse to stay put, I scanned the room. The dance club doubled as a show room during the day, which meant that all of the chairs were facing the stage. An audience, I thought. Great.
And then I saw him: the man who was to change my dancing career forever.
On a ship where everyone was tan, or at least bright red, his near-albinism stood out like a sore thumb. His thumbs, meanwhile, were prone to randomly shooting out in random directions, like Elaine from Seinfeld. In apparent contempt for the beat of the music his legs flailed and stomped. His arms, tracking a totally different rhythm, swung wildly.
And he mimed.
As Lil' Jon yelled, 'And sweat drops down my balls,' my new idol mimed it. His hands started out next to each other in front of his eyes, and in full jazz-hands motion, fluttered down to... well, his balls.
I stood up and confidently walked to the dance floor. I had no idea what I would do once I got to the stage, but I knew one thing with certainty: no one would be watching me. They would be watching him. I might be a terrible dancer, but he was worse.
Six hours later only two people remained on the dance floor. When my short and tube socks wearing friend and I realized that everyone else had left, we nodded to each other knowingly and went our separate ways. I didn't know if I'd have the nerve to dance again soon, but I truly had a blast.
Blanco, on the other hand, danced every night. He was the first one on the floor and the last one off. He was such a spectacle and was so absolutely immune to the gawking of the onlookers that everyone wanted to dance with him. He happily obliged. He was by far the worst dancer I've ever seen, and simultaneously enjoyed dancing more than anyone I've ever seen.
haha!:D thanks ty, had a good laugh reading this.. letting go can be the best fun ever, especially if you have great friends with which to share those moments.
Another thing to add to this: Watching people interact over the years has led me to believe that it's a "boring" dancer that you don't want to be; women are attracted to the confidence and self-esteem required to dance when you suck at it.
Not only that, but if you're remotely musically minded, you will get good very quickly if you enjoy yourself. I never danced and was awful at it until I was 18 and started going out drinking and dancing with one of my good mates who shares your opinions on the liquor, but not the dance. He's a dancing machine, and it rubbed off. Nowdays, I can attract a sizeable posse of buff half naked gay guys during the morning hours at a rave, which is pretty good for a fat bearded straight guy :)
I used to go to an engineering school, so I am familiar with many a breed of super-nerd. But, once every year there was one that just stood out among the others.
This kid would be so clueless in relating his behavior to the world around him, so completely absurd and in his own world... that everybody loved him.
This kid was a Blanco.
We need more Blanco's in the world.
They bring out the best in people, often times without even realizing it.
Hanami means "flower viewing" in Japanese. It gets its own special word because the blooming of the cherry blossoms here is a huge deal. Meteorologists visit the trees every day trying to predict when they'll bloom, signs go up around the city that say Sakura (cherry blossom in japanese) on them, and restaurants even have special Sakura cookies for sale.
People get into it.
The cherry blossoms don't last long, though. After a week they fall to the ground, which means that there is one big weekend for cherry blossom viewing.
Okay, so I'm breaking my rule again. These featured videos are supposed to have something, anything, involving pianos, but I am going to abandon this rule for the second time this month in favor of one of the most beautiful, brilliant, and ingenious performances I have seen in a long time. I am generally not a fan of reality shows, but I have to admit that I love the show "So You Think You Can Dance". This show travels all around the country to recruit some of the best dancers to compete for the title of America's Best Dancer. The contestants are physically, artistically, and emotionally challenged every week by having to perform choreography and dancing styles that are often not their own. It's an amazing show to watch. In a recent episode, a young man by the name of Teddy Tedholm danced in the Boston Auditions. When auditioning, dancers are either chosen to do choreography or, if they are already extraordinarily good, get a ticket straight to Las Vegas (where the contestants are whittled down to a mere Top 20). Teddy, or Mr. Fancy Pants, got a ticket straight to Vegas. Even the judges could not deny how original and clever he was. All of this happened on the strength of his performance (which by the way is danced to a sweet little song by Jason Mraz called "If It Kills Me"). It is whimsical, comical, magical, brilliant, gorgeous, and even a little heartbreakingly sad. I absolutely LOVE this . . . [youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GtTnodKUQgY] I have come to find out that Teddy did not make it into the Top 20 in Vegas, but wherever he is, I hope he keeps on dancing. Imaginative people like him are like the purest of diamonds--of a clarity and brilliance rarely seen and highly treasured. Thank you so much, Mr. Fancy Pants. -g