Tuesday, 8 June 2010

Paddy's Going Dancing - part 1

So, you may have heard, I'm taking part in a Hip Hop dance class this evening. Yes, this is actually happening. I plan to write about it afterwards, but thought I'd also tell you my thoughts going into it, and how this came about.

Actually, I'm not entirely sure how it came about. Some friends on Twitter suggested I go, and then some more people joined in, mostly because they thought it'd be funny. I ended up promising the teacher that I would indeed go along, just as soon as I got back from New York. How that happened, I couldn't tell you. I'm not a dancer, I've never had any desire to be a dancer. I don't think I'm really built for it, being a tall, skinny, gangly sort of type who doesn't really move particularly gracefully. Those of you who have been (un)fortunate enough to be with me at a club, or a wedding, or some other location where dancing happens will have already witnessed my attempts at dancing. These can be boiled down to three categories.

1) Dad Dancing. Yes, despite not having any children of my own, I believe dad dancing is a fairly accurate description of what I actually do on the dance floor. Sway a bit, move somewhat awkwardly from point A to point B, then sway a bit more. Repeat as necessary, all the while feeling vaguely self concious and embarrassed about the whole ordeal.

2) The Piss Take. This usually happens after a few drinks. I suddenly lose the embarrassment and gain a level of self awareness. I know I can't dance, I think to myself, so fuck it, why not really let go! And I do. I start flailing away and moving wildly, taking up as much of the dance floor as I can. Sometimes this will involve me breaking out a ridiculous dance from my uni days, or busting some moves with my trusty air guitar, a stupid look on my face the whole time. It mostly gives the effect of a giraffe having an epileptic fit, but fuck it, it's fun.

3) The Rock Club. No one dances in a rock club. They kind of stamp around a bit and nod vigorously. I look less ridiculous in these environs. Why do you think I frequent them?

But tonight, I'm actually going to be attempting Hip Hop dancing, or Street Dance, as it's also known. I've seen it on the tele. Done well, it looks pretty impressive. Fair play to those who can do it. Am I one of them?

Not a chance in hell. But fuck it, I'll give it a go. For the last couple of weeks, knowing I'll be doing it, a small part of me has actually been looking forward to it. I have no idea what to expect from it, but it could be fun. However, as it draws inexorably closer (about an hour and a half now), I'm actually starting to get a little apprehensive. I'm not going to pull out, after all, I did promise, but dear lord, my category 1 moves probably aren't what they're looking for. And what if the natural high from the endorphins that excersizing gives you pushes me into category 2? No way that ends well! What if I offend the other dancers and they kill me? Rhythmically?

I suppose I'll find out soon enough. I'll do a post mortem later on. And hey, as a couple of people have pointed out, you never know. I might turn out to be really good at it!


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