Wednesday, November 4, 2009


That a song called "I Don't Feel Like Dancing" makes me want to shake it like a paint mixer.

I'm not a significant fan of disco - in fact, there are several songs that make me want to tear my eyes out with paperclips. (Okay, not literally, but they clearly inspire me to plumb the deepest depths of hyperbole!) However, when that song begins, I need to MOVE. If I'm at home, it becomes Face-making Mirror Mambo, the DustRag Disco and the Laundry Lambada. If on the road, the Stoplight Shimmy or the Train-Crossing Tango, the Seatbelt Samba or the Waist-up Waltz.

Instant mood-lifter. Like candy but with reverse results - as far as I know, you can't develop tooth decay or diabetes as a long-term consequence of too much dancing.

A delightful friend had an extra ticket to see the Cuban Music All-Stars tonight and invited me - she didn't want to be seat-dancing by herself. I mentioned that I had been doing that same thing all day and was only too happy to continue. I discovered at the concert that I have no rhythm (like the rest of the pasty, smiling Canadians that made up the audience) but we sure had a good time.

I shall dream of trumpets, bongos, and salsa. (Or disco balls and Andy Garcia... who knows?)

Do you have a bust-out trigger song?


  1. Aw, that was a delightful night. Thanks for dancing like a white girl with me.

    I'm Marcy, right?


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