Tuesday, July 21, 2009

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 1 Issue 13

I’m not sure about other people but there are essentially two times that I ever have the desire to cut a rug, bring the funk, or otherwise showcase (embarrass myself) my skills of dance. The first of these two usually has slim to no consequences after said demonstration of dance moves; when I’m totally alone. Now the majority of the times when I think I’m alone the chances are I’m basically correct on that assumption but there is always at least one exception to the rule (or two for me). The first happened my freshman year in college when I had just transferred from Marietta College up to Wittenberg for a multitude of reasons that have no relevance to this story so we’ll tuck those away for a rainy day. In any case I transferred mid-year and had only been at Witt for about a week and really didn’t know many people aside from the ones in my classes. And for that matter really didn’t know them that well so like any normal NKOTB (new kid on the block) you want to make a good first impression. I was on my way back down to Marietta the first weekend of the semester to grab some things I had left when I came to the realization that I was alone in the car and began bringing my funk (via Nelly’s “Luven Me”, interesting song choice I know). I was dominating that front seat with my moves for a good five minutes or so when I looked over at the car next to me at the stoplight, busted. Laughing hysterically at me was a very attractive girl from my Psychology class (awesome first impression).

The second exception to this rule would undoubtedly have to be when I was in my manic episode last year and made a trip out to San Jose. During this time in late February I was about a month away or so from moving from Denver to San Jose for a new job position and therefore needed to find a place to live and what not in San Jose. I took a flight out there (during which my episode really kicked in at DIA and I was somewhat convinced that I was in the Emerald City, very cool and very freaky at the same time) and stayed with a couple of friends while there. My flight left around 8 at night on Sunday to go back to Denver so I wanted to make sure I didn’t miss the flight and got to the airport roughly nine hours prior to the flight (I’m totally blaming mania for that one). During my entire day in the San Jose Airport there were some interesting things going on in my head (none that really apply to this entry but I’m sure we’ll soon enough discuss them) and one of those feelings was of oneness or wholeness or some sort of connectivity with everything. To express this feeling I luckily was able to find an observation deck located outside the airport attached to the terminal that I could go to dance (most people use it to watch the planes fly in but where’s the fun in that?). Needless to say I spent a good hour or so (not too sure how long as timelessness sort of set in again) busting moves on the top of the observation deck. Now no one was around so I felt totally comfortable with my display of random body movement and convulsions known as dance moves. However I’m sure the video surveillance tape of me dancing on the observation deck is a cult classic at the airport.

Ok so the other times that I feel like dancing are when I am three sheets (great show BTW) to the wind. When I’m at the point in the night where I forget my name, pretty good chance I’m on the dance floor mopping up fools (in a matter of speaking). Other than almost getting into fights (with groups of girls, big of me I know) I can not recall a night when I ended up in a dance-off or a time when I’m jamming out in my car that wasn’t fun. The only times I feel awkward or embarrassed is when I get caught, or better known as the instant when my comfort level is suddenly dropped due to my perception that I think someone else really cares about what I’m doing. At this point I’m sure they more than likely can only conceive that what I’m doing has to be some tribal ceremony that I’m trying to perform (otherwise known as dancing). I know it really shouldn’t matter if I look like a fool to someone else, because why should I care? But I think that’s a result of just being human, we care what our peers think because we are part of them; it’s like a form of connection. So by being part of this connection I shouldn’t worry about the people standing on the wall or in the car next to me, but the ones challenging me to my next dance-off. I’m working on being myself and I think a part of that is not putting so much weight on what other people think of me, if I can do that I might never stop dancing (once again, good for me and even better for humanity).

Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!

Coming Correct,

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