I searched the Internet Wednesday for songs that are group-friendly or dance-related to prep for Saturday. I discovered if I searched “dance,” “street,” or “moron,” I’d find something suitable for me.
My personal favorite was Fatboy Slim’s “Praise You,” an idiot-savant of a video that bull's-eyed all three search terms. The “dancing” of Spike Jonze is an inspiration to rhythmically challenged stumblers everywhere. (See 3:02 of the clip for his “best moves.”)
Thanks to my search, I added several songs and dance moves to my ever-growing list. I also flashbacked to other purposefully buried memories of my dancing in public. Why do I not learn from my mistakes?
In high school, my friends Mike Connor, Al Carlson, and I worked up a routine to a somehow-popular Three Stooges-inspired song called “The Curly Shuffle.”
We practiced our moves in advance, performed that night at the talent show, and then were supposed to end the skit with Mike slapping a pie in Al’s face.
Guess who was surprised by the behind-the-scenes scheming that flipped the script on that one?
I got dumber with age at Allentown College. I was chosen to compete in a few “Mr. A.C.” events that were intended to “crown” a “winner” via lip-syncing performances.
On a campus rife with female dancers and nurses, the male-to-female ratio whittled down my competition. Especially since most other guys couldn’t spell lip-syncing. Or crown. Or Mr. A.C.
Somehow I coerced my friends to be my backup crew, which shows what guys will do on a campus surrounded by cornfields and friends like me.
One year, I went old, old, old school and we danced to the “Heat Miser” song from 1974’s “Year Without a Santa Claus,” where I was the Heat Miser and my friends were mini-me’s in red sweatsuits.
I didn’t win that year's event, or others I entered at Allentown. Of course, I blame my multiple backup crews. It couldn’t have been my dancing.
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