I Don't Dance

2007-04-03 1:14 p.m.
I don't dance.

Not at all. I have no inclination to dance. It's not necessarily that I can't dance (which I can't). More specifically, I choose not to. I have no reason, motivation or urge to dance.

I have rhythm. I tap my feet constantly regardless of the presence of music as I usually have a tune or 4 between my ears. I can turn tables Well for hours (vinyl only please), I drum beats on every surface in my vicinity and if there are none then on my own body, including snapping odd and intense beat patterns. I sing along horribly, I hum worse and whistle even worse yet, but have no mistake about my rhythm.

It's not a matter of embarrassment, though it had been when I was young and awkwardly tall. Luckily, the only dancing respected by myself and my peers at the time was break dancing, which I could never do well anyways (BBoying was huge in the mid 90's. Don't make me out to be a decade older because you saw break dancers in flash dance).

I never found the need to shake my ass. I don't jump up and wiggle and shake when nobody's looking. You wont find me air guitarring in my underwear a la Tom Cruise when home alone. When excited I don't shake my groove thing, jack my body, slide electrically, strike poses, shuffle, hustle, jitterbug, twist, step, stir soup, run in place, foot-hop, pop, lock, uprock, 1990, windmill, flare, brush my shoulders, krump, twurk, jook, get hyphy or even raise my hands in the air carelessly.

I never watched dance TV shows on Sunday mornings or John Travolta movies and wished I could look so smooth on the dance floor. I don't feel dancing will relieve my tension. I don't care for women who will sleep with me because I'm a great dancer. I don't have any deep seeded need to strut amidst a line of groovy people.

It doesn't reflect anything traumatic or harrowing in my past. I don't feel I'm less of a man for it. Or even more of a man for that matter. Some of the coolest cats I know can shake their asses fairly well when put to task. I commend them for such abilities, but I don't envy them.

Now, sure, I might find the urge to take salsa lessons or some bullshit at some point. But not tomorrow. And most definitely not today. And yes, on a very rare occasion, you'll find me awkwardly bobbing around on a packed dance floor. This is called being drunk and bored. If you find I am drunk and bored, ie dancing, you may have failed the evening (what, you think I'm here to impress YOU?!).

(There is one exception. VTD never fails and she shows me basic stepping moves when she's in town.)

So that's it. If you require the man of your dreams to be wicked on the dance floor, you are likely attracted to homosexual men. There are a select few men who dance well and still deserve to be called men. The rest of us are making asses of ourselves because women tell us that dancing proves that men can fuck.

I'm positive that watching some drunk shlub bob around awkwardly gets the women all gooey.

Fuck that. I'm not playing that bullshit. You want to know how well I fuck, lets talk for a bit, get to know each other well enough that we might decide we should fuck and then go at it like deranged wild animals bent on being devoured by one another. You might find it's worth the extra effort. Maybe more telling than the 10 minutes of seductively persuading some loser while he grinds unrhtyhmically into the night.

Otherwise, go tear up the rug with your little monkey boy and see what else you can make him do. I'll sit this one out.