Although he thinks that with his dance and breaking skills he should be in the finals of the Red Bull BC One b-boy battle, when he gets out on the dance floor the question arises as to who will get hurt first – him or those dancing around him.  Although he has “mastered” the likes of the Electric Slide, the Hustle, and the YMCA dance, people often ask if he is okay when he dances because it appears to the casual onlooker that he is having some type of seizure on the dance floor.  God forbid if he ever discovers MTV or Youtube because I don’t know if we can handle his loose (and by loose I mean train wreck) interpretations of Jerkin’, the Stanky Legg, the Ricky Bobby, or Swag Surfin’.

Aah..!!Another poetry… jus outta the blue… it struck me to write sumthin like this

please bear with me… cos this a topic im passionate abt

The Dancing Queen

She took a deep breath

Wondering what would happen

Albeit the feeling of unease

She got out in the open

She raised her hand

Took the first pirouette

She lost her balance And still

Managed to maintain etiquette

She inhaled deeply

And closed her eyes

Let the music pervade her

And then began to rise

She moved her hands…

With swift movements

Her body moved gaily

Like a piece of adornment

Dressed all in white

She looked angelic

Silver dance shoes

Made her look chic

A tiara perched

Atop her black crest

Like the star adorning

The skies Northwest

Her slender arms..

Her nimble feet..

Hair held up, tripping..

Everyone’s heartbeat..

She let her lithe body

Respond to the music

As she swayed. Oh my!

She looked aesthetic

She took another turn

Few curls fell around her face

People all gasped

Lost in her moves and pace

She ended her performance

With great grace and poise

People all cheered and

The claps came down with noise..!!

She took a bow in style

There’s none like her to be seen

There she was standing tall

Their dancing queen..!!

Do let me know how you found it… this was my first attempt on something that wasnt too abstract

You and your friends decided to switch it up a little and not go to your regular hangout.  Instead, someone suggested going out to the local bar with a DJ and dance floor.  Sounds good everyone thinks; however, little did they know those were famous last words.  You arrive, get a lay of the place, and head over to the bar for the first round of drinks.  After the third round, the women in your group are swaying to the beat and singing along to the chorus of the music playing.  As anyone knows when you’re out with girls in a club, those are two of the universal signs that it’s time to move out to the dance floor before someone tries to get up and dance on the table or a chair.  Preemptively cutting off a scene with a bouncer or having someone crumpled up in a ball on the floor with a twisted ankle, everyone picks up their drinks and heads to a nice looking spot on the dance floor.  You’re feeling the song and have just enough liquid courage to be coordinated and look pretty good out there.  Things are going well and everyone is having a great time until you notice him dancing alone behind one of the girls in the group.  He didn’t come with you, no one seems to know him, and no one invited him over to dance with you guys.  So the question on everyone’s mind is who exactly is he?  In case you haven’t figured it out – spoiler alert – he’s the creepy old guy at the club.

We’ve all encountered him on a night out with friends.  Similar to the guy who pops into other people’s photographs, he’s the guy who creeps around in the shadows of the club only to emerge at opportune times when he can slither onto the floor and dance with unsuspecting ladies.  Materializing on 80s Night or other events that cater to women such as “Ladies Night” or half-priced martini drink specials, he always appears to be the one club goer who is out of place.  Wearing a Member’s Only windbreaker, “mom jeans”, and sensible sneakers, he hangs out on the sidelines until he locks on to an unsuspecting target.  Doing what can only be described as an awkward shuffle and head bob, he slowly moves towards circles of friends, and especially women, on the dance floor.  Careful not to draw attention to himself, he doesn’t directly ask anyone to dance.  He tries to remain inconspicuous while dancing behind and alongside women preoccupied with their friends and having a good time.  But if he is ever caught or levied nasty glances by the group, he sheepishly dance-shuffles back to the shadows to stalk his next target.

You almost feel sorry for him – the key word being almost.  Hey, he’s got a pretty good life.  He’s got his own efficiency apartment with a futon, a sweet black light, a terrarium with a pet snake, and his own mini-fridge well stocked with Hot Pockets.  He drives a 1987 Toyota Corolla in near average condition.  He’s got a good job as a telemarketer for a male-enhancement supplement company.  And he’s got the entire box set of Buffy the Vampire Slayer for his viewing pleasure.  This tiny dancer is certainly living the high life so please don’t pity him and his club behavior.

Dunque, in un’altra vita avrei potuto essere una violinista. Questo ha detto il mio maestro oggi.
“Peccato che tu non abbia iniziato 10 anni fa. Sei un po’ una violinista mancata. 10 anni fa ti avrei detto: arriviamo al diploma”.
Che felicità. Non posso rimproverare nessuno. Certo, non ho iniziato da piccola. Certo, avrei potuto iniziare a 16 anni. Avrei potuto iniziare a 25. Inizio ora a 35, ma sentirmi dire così dal mio insegnante, dopo 7 lezioni, è una gioia infinita.
Non ho voglia di recriminare, sono solo grata a M. per aver tirato fuori dal mio cassetto (e dal suo) questo sogno. Che non è un capriccio, non è uno sfizio o un vezzo intellettuale. E’ una parte di me. E oggi qualcun altro l’ha vista, non perchè mi vuole bene, non perchè vuole compiacermi. Non era un complimento, anzi. Era un “mi dispiace, non voglio infilare il coltello nella piaga, ma è così”. Davvero? che gioia, che gioia, che gioia.

I can’t remember whether Michelle Pfeiffer was singing dirty here . . . It was just a sexually charged scene. Classic.

I thought this post over at Popeater was cute:  Britney’s ‘3′ and the Most Blatantly Sexual Pop Songs. But why did they put Britney’s song in as Number 1?  Because it’s about threesomes?  YAWN! Go look at it and tell me if it isn’t the most sterile thing you’ve seen since . . . Well, since the last time you saw a Lady Gaga video.

I think the all time sexiest song/dance act goes to Prince. But maybe it’s because I was barely out of high school when Purple Rain hit the airwaves. I just can’t figure out why that little man is so sexy. Is it the androgyny?  Or is it the look on his face?

Inspiracional y conmovedor video del Festival Pangea Day.

Classical music makes you smarter–or so I’ve heard.  Isn’t that why They say to play Mozart to babies in the womb?  And why They also created movies for babies to watch with Beethoven as the soundtrack?  Why does this only work for babies?  Wait, isn’t it a psuedo-science?

Ahh, it’s so nice to hear an orchestra over the bus speakers.  I silently thank N.P.R. for their benevolence and languid radio waves. Violins, flutes and French horns seeping through those hundreds of metal pinpricks in the ceiling, strategically placed so each and every rider can get a healthy dose of the Classical or Romantic music periods.  I imagine everyone is taking multiple breaths that nearly touch their diaphragms, while their minds ease into a moment of semi-deep reflection.

I feel inspired, ready to listen intently to each and every professor I sit in front of today.  I’m encouraged to read the newspaper, eat a low-calorie breakfast and perhaps go for a brisk walk.  I will do well today.

(8 Hours Later.)

Oh goodness, I needn’t have ran to catch the bus idling in the streetlamp’s glow.  Looks empty, I’ll get a good seat.

YOU ARE THE DANCING QUEEEEN–YOUNG AND SWEET, ONLY SEVENTEEN OH YEAHHHH

I used to love this song.  I remember when the A*Teens remade it.  I think this version is the remake.  ABBA didn’t seem quite so–

DANCING QUEEEEN, FEEL THE BEAT FROM THE TAMBOURIIIINE

–enthusiastic?  Or perhaps I’m overestimating the group’s gusto, it could be that the volume is up to “11″ on this one.

YOU CAN DANCE, YOU CAN JIVE–HAVING THE TIME OF YOUR LIIIIFE

The bus speakers go one louder.  That really is quite loud.