What a Nice Guy by Phil Torcivia

Wednesday, March 14, 2012

Dance Partners Not Required

Since my DJing days back in the early 80s, I've always noticed the strange phenomenon of people dancing with themselves. It's odd but certainly not in a bad way. I encourage it. You can express yourself without trying to match or complement the moves of another. It's a form of masturbation that you can do in public.

Last Sunday night, a Las Vegas lounge featured a talented cover band and three patrons who spent the entire night dancing solo. I admired their bravery.

The first was a tall, thin, cleanly shaven black man. My sister refers to such as a "Cocoa Puff." (She's allowed to do that because she's quite tan as well.) I admit he was pretty. He was a good dancer so, naturally, I made assumptions. The ladies in our group must have had their signals jammed.

"Wow. Look at him move. I'm going to go dance with him."
"I wouldn't do that."
"Why not?"
"I don't think he's interested in your type."
"What type?"
"The type with all innies."
"So, you think he's gay just because he's attractive and fit with nice clothing and can dance."
"Prove me wrong."

She strutted out and within two moves he shut it down, said "oh, hell no," and stood at the side of the dance floor with his arms crossed until she vacated his area. I laughed and pointed like I saw her walk into a sliding glass door.

Dancer number two was a woman around sixty dressed in a lovely striped dress and heels. She tilted her head back and smiled seductively as she slowly moved to what's probably not the ideal song for such: "Everybody Wants Some" by Van Halen. My female accomplices pushed me to join her so they'd have retribution. I avoided rejection by feigning a low-ankle sprain, which I medicated with bourbon.

The third dancer was man in his mid-sixties dressed to the tees with a white derby and white fringes hanging from his pant legs over his shiny shoes. He would dash out to an open area on the floor and go through a number of poses. (Think the final move of every Michael Jackson video.) He'd spin, crouch, grab his hat, and give a bug-eyed look of determination. Yep, he was high on mushrooms.

Would you dance alone? I wish I had the balls. I feel like dancing every time I hear a song. I just don't want to be judged by critics or people-watching freaks like me.

3 comments:

  1. I admire those willing to dance by themselves. I wish I could be that free. I can be if I'm not with certain people. If I'm byself, watch out. I'd let it all play out.

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  2. Ah, once you reach a certain age, people figure you're probably senile.
    I have plenty of practice dancing alone in my living room, and one of the bestestest parts of motherhood is embarrassing one's children. Put all three together, and I am no longer afraid to shake my booty all by my lonesome.

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  3. I too admire people who have no inhibitions to dance alone. It used to take a few drinks to loosen me up. Now that I'm older and rusty, I'm looking for healthy ways to get my groove back.

    You're a funny guy. I look forward to reading more blog posts - and maybe some of your books :o)

    I have two cats too.

    T

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