Monday, March 30, 2015

Currently Watching 3.30.15

I really love going to clubs. I'm definitely at the “stay-at-home wet blanket” end of the social spectrum, but it's the one thing I'm always down to do. I love dancing to radio garbage remixes. I love dragging wallflower strangers out onto the dance floor and pulling people together and making them dance with each other once they've relaxed. I'm like the Robin Hood of awkward club goers. Sadly, my closest friends have scattered across the continent like leaves in the wind, and unless we're basically friend-married, there's no easy way for me to ask, “so... wanna hit up da club and get crunk?” (Hot tip: probably don't ask anyone this.)

I'm not an actual dancer with any sort of background in... physical activity of any kind. When I bust a move, the move is called “busting a move.” But I really love to wiggle to music, preferably with a friend who is willing to wiggle back, and I haven't been able to lately, at least in a space larger than my room, which has about as much floor space as a postage stamp has surface area. Plus I have a roommate and I don't want to feel her judging eyes on me.

While procrastinating some desperately needed studying, I started feeling that urge. That urge to bust a move. Alas! It was ass o'clock at night and I had a paper due in the morrow. So, because my homework situation was so dire, I started idly browsing youtube for terrible dance vids, trying to recreate that club atmosphere from the comfort of my haze of existential dread/computer chair. But then something magical happened. I suddenly remembered: wow, dancing is an actual art form and I can watch talented people bust moves semi-professionally.

(The choreographers were talking about this like “the story is that the clowns' bigtop is closing and they're mad” and I still didn't go back to my homework.)

So You Think You Can Dance is a really, really tacky show. The host's comments all make me cringe. The clips they play of the dancers practicing before the actual performance, possibly meant to be charming, are painfully manufactured and unfunny. One judge has the worst voice in the world, probably in all of human history, and screams constantly. But the dancers and the choreography are really impressive, and the dances are all under two minutes, which is helpful if you want to justify just one more video at 3AM the night before a midterm. Which I still need to study for. So, here's a breakup song.

Dedicated to my classes this semester.

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