Hola, mi amigo bueno! Thanks for returning to the #1 Neurotic-guy-goes-to-Jazzercise blog on the internet! I’ll assume it’s due to your enjoyment of my musings and you’re back for another installment! But, in light of some confused emails I’ve been receiving, it’s equally possible that you are here due to a misspelled URL, and so I welcome all the “Mezza Sides: a Forum for Lebanese Appetizer Recipes” folks with open arms to our burgeoning collective. It may have been a feta accompli that brought you here, but we’re very grateful to have you among hummus.
You’ve undoubtedly heard the ancient Zen Buddhist Koan “If a tree falls in the forest, does it make a sound?” as a topic to meditate on. An equally perplexing puzzle I’m working on is this: “When we observe the average, Midwestern, Caucasian man in his natural habitat, does he ever intentionally dance for enjoyment?” With binoculars in hand, I’ve been conducting field studies, trying to observe this rare behavior and dutifully jot it in my logbook. A sample:
May 27th, 2014. Wedding. Witnessed an already red-faced and tipsy well-dressed lawyer-type finish his bourbon and be pulled by his arm onto the dance floor by his pleading wife, where he proceeded to stand in the same spot and move his arms in a circle while the DJ spun Bobby Brown’s “My Prerogative”. Disregarded due to drunkenness of subject, and his abandoning the song completely before the kickass breakdown part where Bobby talks to the audience.
June 16th, 2014. Dance Club ( the Lava Lounge), 80’s night. Examined what looked to be a frat boy set down an empty Heineken next to a row of other empty Heinekens, leave his group of friends at the bar and head over to a crowd of females who were already dancing. At first, awkwardly swaying near them to the sounds of Sugar Hill Gang’s “Rappers Delight”, and then finally moving in for a full on pelvic grind with a less attractive one that he deemed receptive to his advances. After the song, the females were perceived rolling their eyes, collecting their heels from the corner and relocating themselves across the room from “that annoying Chad douche”. Disregarded due to being an affront to the female subject, and general lack of game.
August 21st, 2014. A concert by my own Reggae band, “The Pressure” @ The Thunderbird. Observed several in crowd bend at the knees a little to the groove for a few songs, remark to each other that music “just wasn’t that good” and “also very weird that the guy singing was staring at them curiously and writing in some sort of notebook mid-song”, and then sit back down in the bar area and avoid eye contact for the rest of the night. Disregarded due to lack of sufficiently appealing music.
And the list goes on and on! To this day, there still has been no AH-HA moment of irrefutable, substantiated evidence proving that it happens. I still haven’t given up hope, though. Murphy’s law states that on the day I choose to abandon the pursuit, I’ll accidentally eavesdrop on two men hunting in a tree blind, and one will turn to the other and say “I can’t wait for Sally’s wedding next weekend so I can bust out some moves I’ve been polishing up in front of the mirror. Do you think the DJ will play “Uptown Funk?’”
We can only speculate on reasons behind the general lack of interest in dancing in this demographic, but I can tell you, dauntless devotee, that I’m working to buck the trend. I have a new found satisfaction in the protocol of getting funky in predictable intervals, doing my best to unburden myself of preconceived notions or judgment, and just do what I derive enjoyment from. If I want to do a sassy hip walk to an Enrique Iglesias song, I’m doing it, and I don’t care if those around me mock me, judge me, or yell angrily from their car windows to get out of the middle of a busy intersection or that I’m blocking the entrance to Costco.