Have you ever watched the television show, So You Think You Can Dance?  I could write a whole posting on how incredibly OBNOXIOUS that woman judge is who screams.  Did someone tell her that she should do that because the television audience “will just eat it up.”?  And, her teeth are so big that they get dry and her upper lip gets accidentally glued to the top of her gums.  You’ve seen that before, I know...especially back in the seventies after puffing on a reefer...we called it ‘cotton mouth.”  But we’re talking about dance, aren’t we

Yeah, I think I can dance.  I don’t ascribe to the new moves of contemporary dance today, but I can waltz, two step, samba (well I could learn that one fast) and I think I do the fox trot without knowing that is what I’m doing.  For faster music, I have my own ‘general boogie’ on which I can always rely, keeping in mind, that it’s a Caucasian boogie.  I think that’s an oxymoron, but we do try.  I can keep time to the music as well.  There are people who say they can dance, and maybe that’s true, but they are dancing to the beat of a different drummer...certainly not the drummer in the band.  It’s a music piece that’s in their own heads, and they want everyone to see it.  These are the same women who dance by themselves in a slow, swaying, circular motion that has nothing to do with ANYthing that is going on around them.  I call it The Lesbyterian Shuffle (with no intended offense to any lesbyterians out there...okay, maybe the ones who can’t dance)

I wish I could dance more often, but that would require some sort of male dance partner, and I’ve forgotten who those people are or where to find them.  Sal and I go out every so often, to a honky tonk, but you know, you get what you pay for, and the lineup of potential dance partners at a honky tonk require a descent into low self esteem on my part...something I am no longer willing to do

So, I’ll just keep dancin’ in the shower.  That may be a disturbing visual as you go about your day, but you’ll forget about me soon enough.  Five, Six, Seven, Eight............

KK

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So….I think I can dance.  My whole life has been a dance of some sort.  I like Garth Brooks’ metaphor for the dance of life, “I could have missed the pain, but I’d have had to miss the dance.”  Beautiful.  And so true.  I guess that means that love is grand, then it all falls to shit,  but it’s worth it.  That’s how I always  interpreted that song

I love to dance and I have really good rhythm and commitment to the beat.  I love the way it feels to let go and let the music lead the steps.  Unfortunately I cannot do that at the honky-tonk because KK has told me she will act like she doesn’t know me.  I have to dance only with men which is a shame because when KK and I hippie-danced to music at the big country-western clubs in Santa Fe in the seventies, we were really good.  Granted, we were stoned out of our minds (usually on LSD or mescaline) but I think we really were a sight for sore eyes.

So now I can only dance with men and that usually means you have to go backwards, especially when doing the Two-Step.  Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against men.  Bless their little pea-pickin’ hearts, they do the best they can and most of them clean up really well in hopes of nailing some poontang at that particular outing

Who was it that said Fred Astaire was a great dancer but Ginger Rogers did it backwards and in heels?  I sit and enjoy my Lone Star Beer and sway to the music, dancing every once in a while with some good-ole-boy who I’m sure means well but ends up denting the tops of my black ballet flats.  My life has also degenerated into this perfect metaphor.  And I will go ahead and dance backwards with a nice guy, but…not in heels

SalGal