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Thursday, June 24, 2004
proceed with caution
So. There`s been a recent development that is downright embarrassing... a rather unfortunate (or fortunate, depending on your persepective) recognition. We`re talking hazukashii of epic proportions.
I can`t dance anymore.
(SILENCE all of those who question bleatingly, “But Naomi, when could you??” TRAITOROUS FOLLOWERS)
The brother recently sent me a couple of Supa Mix CDs, and while bopping along to one of them, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror...
I looked like humpbacked old aunty with two broken legs, trying to balance a 30lb fish on her head.
Needless to say, it was oogly.
What has happened to me? It never used to be this bad. I was supposed to be destined for a rhythmically secure life...I mean I lived in UHS`s music department (formative clubbing/dancing years), have friends who sure can cut a rug, and was even a figure skater for seven years (proud owner of a Junior Bronze sew-on patch)! Alas, it`s probably my horrid lack of coordination that is warping any sense of rhythmic sensibility. But it was at least passable before. I could get through a night by showcasing some old standards like the esthetically pleasing Running Man or the reliable Robot, usually for moments of levity needed during long sets of heavy hip hop. Mix that in with some dancey-shoulder-hicupping moves, and I was set. But now...ugh... let`s just say movement is less than inspired.
Maybe you`re thinking, “Naomi, you should just try some other forms of dancing instead?” Well, two days after watching Billy Elliot, I found myself in an empty meeting room at Shikitsu during lunch. It was clean, quiet... and had smooth, polished hardwood flooring. And I was in socks. I couldn`t resist. I tried doing a bunch of pirouettes a la Billy, checking myself after each turn in the mirror (like a real dancer!), and waited for genius. By the third time I felt horribly dizzy and almost fell on my butt. Though it was fun at the time, ballet is definitely not an option.
Being in Japan hasn`t helped in my search for grooviness. I`ve started to listen to more Japanese and guitar music, which is light years away from groovy a la Mary. And watching Japanese pop stars perform is probably stunting any inclinations towards creativity. Is “cool Japanese dancer” an oxymoron? (apologies to the cats at OCAT). But I am still charmed by fantastic Western beats, like that first Outkast song on Supa Mix CD 1. It`s too bad my bodily interpretation can`t do justice to deeliteful songs. Sigh. You know it`s time to retire from public dance venues when the coolest accompaniment you can come up with is jumping from side to side. Yet another vestige of my youth disappearing.
So don`t expect anything when I`m back and we`re out and about. It`s safer that way…no one will be traumatized, and I won`t have to invest in that MiB memory-erasing doo-hickey.
So. There`s been a recent development that is downright embarrassing... a rather unfortunate (or fortunate, depending on your persepective) recognition. We`re talking hazukashii of epic proportions.
I can`t dance anymore.
(SILENCE all of those who question bleatingly, “But Naomi, when could you??” TRAITOROUS FOLLOWERS)
The brother recently sent me a couple of Supa Mix CDs, and while bopping along to one of them, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror...
I looked like humpbacked old aunty with two broken legs, trying to balance a 30lb fish on her head.
Needless to say, it was oogly.
What has happened to me? It never used to be this bad. I was supposed to be destined for a rhythmically secure life...I mean I lived in UHS`s music department (formative clubbing/dancing years), have friends who sure can cut a rug, and was even a figure skater for seven years (proud owner of a Junior Bronze sew-on patch)! Alas, it`s probably my horrid lack of coordination that is warping any sense of rhythmic sensibility. But it was at least passable before. I could get through a night by showcasing some old standards like the esthetically pleasing Running Man or the reliable Robot, usually for moments of levity needed during long sets of heavy hip hop. Mix that in with some dancey-shoulder-hicupping moves, and I was set. But now...ugh... let`s just say movement is less than inspired.
Maybe you`re thinking, “Naomi, you should just try some other forms of dancing instead?” Well, two days after watching Billy Elliot, I found myself in an empty meeting room at Shikitsu during lunch. It was clean, quiet... and had smooth, polished hardwood flooring. And I was in socks. I couldn`t resist. I tried doing a bunch of pirouettes a la Billy, checking myself after each turn in the mirror (like a real dancer!), and waited for genius. By the third time I felt horribly dizzy and almost fell on my butt. Though it was fun at the time, ballet is definitely not an option.
Being in Japan hasn`t helped in my search for grooviness. I`ve started to listen to more Japanese and guitar music, which is light years away from groovy a la Mary. And watching Japanese pop stars perform is probably stunting any inclinations towards creativity. Is “cool Japanese dancer” an oxymoron? (apologies to the cats at OCAT). But I am still charmed by fantastic Western beats, like that first Outkast song on Supa Mix CD 1. It`s too bad my bodily interpretation can`t do justice to deeliteful songs. Sigh. You know it`s time to retire from public dance venues when the coolest accompaniment you can come up with is jumping from side to side. Yet another vestige of my youth disappearing.
So don`t expect anything when I`m back and we`re out and about. It`s safer that way…no one will be traumatized, and I won`t have to invest in that MiB memory-erasing doo-hickey.
// posted by naomi @ 1:54 a.m. 
