Tuesday, January 2, 2007

dancing with myself

I took Max out to a classy lunch at Subway today for his last day of winter break. Rap music filled the sandwich shop, and I couldn't help but move around to it. "Can you stop moving??" Max questioned.

This past weekend I danced more than I have in a long time. It all started with Nicolette's wedding on Friday night. From about 9 to 11 I tore up the dance floor. My date, Justin, and I danced to a few songs together, including "Summer Wind" by Frank Sinatra. I can probably count on one hand how many times in my life I've danced with someone...I was the one stepping on his toes, but other than my mis-steps, it felt great to move around as a pair.

My hair, which I had spent an hour straightening for the event (so as for one night not to get mistaken for a 12-year-old...which has happened 3 times in the past year), became a wacky, wavy mess by the time we left the banquet hall because I sweated so much.
But the night didn't end there.

We then continued onto the Infinity Room in Lincolnshire to partake in an Oldies dance party benefit that my sister put together with help from the True Oldies Station--94.7 morning DJ, Scott Mackay. 100% of the proceeds went to my sister's college roommate, Kelley, who was in a diving accident this past summer that left her paralyzed from the waist down. The event raised $3300!
I immediately took to the dance floor and pretty much didn't leave it until 2:00 in the morning. The only people there the last hour (the event technically ended at 1) were my sister, Scott Mackay, and myself. My sister had to drive the van home because I could barely walk through the parking lot.

Saturday was a new day. Full of new dancing potential. I went with my family to see the matinee performance of Mama Mía at the Cadillac Theatre. It took all the self-restraint I could muster to not jump out of my seat and start dancing in the audience. The 80-year-old woman sitting next to me seemed to be having the same problem. She shared in my enthusiasm when they started singing my favorite ABBA song, "Take a Chance on Me," and clapped her hands and let out a joyous squeal. By the time the ABBA medley encore began, she and I--without speaking, much less even making eye contact--synchornized seated dance movements, waving our hands in the air from side to side.
After the show I met up with Amy and her friends who were in town from Texas. We walked around the city for awhile, and ABBA, having infected my brainspace, made its way through my body and I found myself randomly dancing to invisible songs. "Alyse--there isn't even music!" Brant said. "There is in my head!" I rationalized.

Then came Sunday. New Years Eve. Amy, the Texans and I went to a party at the new McCormick Freedom Museum. I spent the first hallf hour or so checking out some of the exhibits, but the empty dance floor was taunting me. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore and single-handedly (along with Jenny and José) started the dance portion of the party. Eventually the rest of Amy's crew joined us, but it was a good hour or more before the rest of the party patrons took to the floor. Despite the all-rap music all the time [i.e. there are only so many movements one can do], I still managed to never stop moving and to piss off a few hardcore guests when I requested "Twist and Shout" by The Beatles...which was by far the best song played all night...I mean it's bad enough that they played a song that's main lyric was, "I wanna fuck you"....but then they played it AGAIN later that night.
My mom called at 12:01 a.m. to wish me a happy new year, and well, let's just say I had a few drinks in me and when she asked how the museum was, I shouted/slurred, "ISTARTEDTHEDANCEPARTY!" to which she deadpan responded, "That doesn't surprise me." I briefly passed out on the car ride to Amy's house, but as soon as we got inside, I was rarin' to go once again.

So I started thinking about my origins in the dance world and how I've gotten to this point, where I am no longer a "dancer," but I'm pretty much dancing all the time. I didn't decide to start walking until I was 18 months old. Less than a year later my mom enrolled me in my first dance class. After that first year at the park district, I transferred over to Bonnie Lindholm School of "the" Dance (still unsure about the reasoning behind the "the") until I graduated high school. I am not going to get into my experience as a member of their dance company right now because there is enough material to write a novel, but I will say that I probably spent more time in that dance studio/performing around Chicago than I did in my own house.
The result: a dance-crazed maniac.

I just bought this shirt for myself yesterday:
I'm pretty sure it was made for me.

So to answer your question, Max, no I can't stop moving. And I'd like it to become infectious.
So everyone turn up your speakers and start your own personal dance party to my theme song by Billy Idol:

"Well there's nothing to lose
And there's nothing to prove
I'll be dancing with myself"

more wedding photos
more oldies photos
more new years photos
shirt photo courtesy of threadless.com
video courtesy of youtube.com

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