Wednesday, August 4, 2010


I've been taking a hip hop dance class the past few months.
A lot of people find this pretty funny. It is funny, I guess, because I'm pretty terrible. I wasn't allowed to dance as a kid and now I want to know how to work it out to my beloved hip hop beats.

I was terrified at first, standing in my sneakers and workout clothes in front of a wall of mirrors, trying to learn to count and copy the reverse image moves of the charming b-boy instructor and not mortify myself in front of a dozen college-aged dancers.
But then I realized that no one's looking at me, they're concentrating on themselves, and now it's okay, funny even, hilarious, because no matter how much I/we screw up, cheerful Rex says, Good job, you guys are doing great. And sometimes he jibes us--what's with the jazz hands?--and we all laugh.

Commit, guys, Rex adds. If you act like the moves are weird, they'll feel weird. Throw yourself into it. At least if you screw up, you'll screw up trying.

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