It's the chance I've gotta take
What a joy it is to reawaken something in you that you had always felt stirring slightly, rustling from time to time, bubbling within. . .
In my case, it's the absolute thrill I get from dancing. I stopped taking dance lessons at the age of 16, in 2004. My dance teacher was very good at incorporating modern moves and I think I followed her direction well. I'd always been complimented on my innate sense of rhythm at school dances and this continued on into college when I would get down almost every weekend (save for most of my confusion- and anxiety-filled freshman year), wearing tons of makeup, fancy outfits, dripping sweat. They were like dance recitals, the parties I attended. Often I would find myself in the center of a circle of clapping, happy people, cheering me on- or on a coffee table with music pounding within my very soul, stretching my muscles and the boundaries of good taste.
It was sheer euphoria.
When Drag Ball approached this year, I finally decided to return to the stage. After a fall of musing to friends and stretching and getting reacquainted with my leg muscles, I finally obtained mp3s of Tevin Campbell's "Stand Out" and "I 2 I," the popular songs by "Powerline" in A Goofy Movie, my unabashed guilty pleasure. They each had their infectious beats and anthemic choruses. I decided to choreograph a dance to "Stand Out" because it was faster and the message was more universal. After finding a rather harsh critic in my sister (knowing she was mostly kidding), I left it on the back burner for a few months.
Then came February. I was practicing from time to time, mostly shakin' and groovin' whenever it was late at night and/or I had a drink in hand. Then came the week before Drag Ball. I had no routine planned. I had every intention of mapping out a 2-minute dance but it didn't quite pan out that way. Cut to the day of Drag Ball. After watching several videos of Michael Jackson dancing, I just decided to wing it. I knew most everyone at the show would be rooting for me so what would be the harm in not having my moves down to a T?
My plan worked like a charm. Dressed like the King of Pop, I took the stage and rocked everyone's face off by busting out a dance that was made up literally on the spot. I couldn't have been more proud and humbled (simultaneously!) when people started clapping in time to the beat and screaming in approval during the hastily-edited version I threw together of the 1995 pop masterpiece.
Truly an honor. Truly an experience. Truly a rebirth.
See it for yourself:
In my case, it's the absolute thrill I get from dancing. I stopped taking dance lessons at the age of 16, in 2004. My dance teacher was very good at incorporating modern moves and I think I followed her direction well. I'd always been complimented on my innate sense of rhythm at school dances and this continued on into college when I would get down almost every weekend (save for most of my confusion- and anxiety-filled freshman year), wearing tons of makeup, fancy outfits, dripping sweat. They were like dance recitals, the parties I attended. Often I would find myself in the center of a circle of clapping, happy people, cheering me on- or on a coffee table with music pounding within my very soul, stretching my muscles and the boundaries of good taste.
It was sheer euphoria.
When Drag Ball approached this year, I finally decided to return to the stage. After a fall of musing to friends and stretching and getting reacquainted with my leg muscles, I finally obtained mp3s of Tevin Campbell's "Stand Out" and "I 2 I," the popular songs by "Powerline" in A Goofy Movie, my unabashed guilty pleasure. They each had their infectious beats and anthemic choruses. I decided to choreograph a dance to "Stand Out" because it was faster and the message was more universal. After finding a rather harsh critic in my sister (knowing she was mostly kidding), I left it on the back burner for a few months.
Then came February. I was practicing from time to time, mostly shakin' and groovin' whenever it was late at night and/or I had a drink in hand. Then came the week before Drag Ball. I had no routine planned. I had every intention of mapping out a 2-minute dance but it didn't quite pan out that way. Cut to the day of Drag Ball. After watching several videos of Michael Jackson dancing, I just decided to wing it. I knew most everyone at the show would be rooting for me so what would be the harm in not having my moves down to a T?
My plan worked like a charm. Dressed like the King of Pop, I took the stage and rocked everyone's face off by busting out a dance that was made up literally on the spot. I couldn't have been more proud and humbled (simultaneously!) when people started clapping in time to the beat and screaming in approval during the hastily-edited version I threw together of the 1995 pop masterpiece.
Truly an honor. Truly an experience. Truly a rebirth.
See it for yourself:
Click to view