What is there to say? I'm not very interesting. I'm not a good writer. I don't even dress well. If you insist on knowing something about me just wander through the archives. It's all there.

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

On jumping around like a crazy person

If one of our neighbors were to peer into the window on certain days at certain time, they would be tempted to call 911. Their poor neighbor would be in the throes of a spastic fit. In reality, I am “dancing”. Sometimes I like to put loud music on the stereo and jump around the house with abandon. You might notice that I put the word “dancing” in quotes. I did so because my actions cannot and should not be used to besmirch the fine art of dance. It is when I swing my arms and butt around while shuffling and jumping around in a semi-rhythmic motion. It resembles the actions of a delusional adult who is leading a spirited session of “Choo Choo Train” with an invisible group of pre-schoolers. It is dancing in only the broadest and poorest sense of that word.

The music accompanying these embarrassing displays is usually, what my kids call Stone Age Rock (ex. Jump In the Fire by Harry Nilsson) or Dinosaur Disco (ex. Wang Dang Doodle by The Pointer Sisters). It can be anything from Commotion by CCR to Rock Lobster by the B-52s or almost anything by the Talking Heads. Songs with a window shaking bass beat are often the culprits. Even some selections by contemporary artists like the Black Eyed Peas and Eminem had been known to bring on a spell of my unfortunate physical contortions.

There are a lot of reasons why I engage in this bizarre activity. It embarrasses my children. It allows me to lie to my doctor as to how often I engage in aerobic exercise. It makes my wife hesitate before she suggests that we go out dancing in public.

The biggest reason is to celebrate the fact that I am able to do so. I had an eighty-seven year old neighbor whose house sat against a steep hillside. Leaving his house by the front door involved walking down and then, up a long, steep flight of stairs. From his back door, which was at ground level, it was a gentle sloping stroll down the driveway. Every morning, he would walk out of his front door and down, then up the stairs several times to retrieve his newspaper and then, his mail. I once asked him why he didn’t take the easier route out of his back door instead of braving that long climb up the front stairs. He said, "I climb these stairs every day, because if I don’t; I won’t be able to. I need to prove to myself that I still can."

I jump around like a crazy person, because I am lucky enough to be able to say, “I can”.


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