I have this umm...uncontrollable urge to break into highly involved, hiphop choreography every time I find myself alone in an elevator. I feel like the space isnt utilized to its full potential until I blast a beat in my earbuds and have at it. Since I live on floor 6 with a relatively fast moving lift, it has proved consistently hard to get through a whole routine. However today, I had the good fortune of finding a slow moving elevator to a meeting in a midtown building. After a productive rendezvous, and a booty popping sequence to lobby level, I ran into a security guard who noted with a large smile, Nice moves. What can I say? I am pretty oblivious of my surroundings when music holds my butt hostage. In fact, over the years, I have been caught in some compromising positions by strangers unwilling to take the stairs to accommodate my need to shake it while trapped in mobile metal boxes. Their lack of consideration for my unique condition doesnt bother me as much as their inability to join in on the fun. Not a single person who has caught me in such a moment of self expression has ever joined in. Sobering reality isnt it? I know street dance often invades subway cars in partnership with an empty, upturned hat, but sod that, dancing should be participatory. I call it Clubbing for Commuters. You heard it here first #MTA. It would make an otherwise ass to ankles, rush hour ride so much more fun for hundreds of people. If we all sang and danced more, our endorphins would be through the roof, we would have no wars, and everyone would settle their differences with a dance off, possibly in chorus. It does console me to know that I am living it up in a 24/7 improv Broadway production, at least in one parallel universe.
Posted on: Tue, 08 Jul 2014 22:25:23 +0000
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