Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Monday, December 12, 2011
Friday, December 2, 2011
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Monday, November 7, 2011
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Saturday, October 8, 2011
Friday, September 30, 2011
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Monday, August 22, 2011
Kim: Sequined headbands. Hip-hop songs blaring out of a static-laden sound system. Animal-printed, neon lycra. Six year-olds wearing red lipstick. Fathers hoisting camcorders bigger than their heads. While I may have just coincidentally described an episode of “Toddlers and Tiaras”, these things were also part and parcel of a dance recital in the ‘90s. Sure, it all seemed normal at the time, but so did a song by a dude with a mullet called “Achy Breaky Heart”. Why did we – nay, why did our parents – stand for such madness?!
Andy: … Oh, sorry, I was momentarily in a stupor thinking about a child with all of that stuff on. It boggles the mind. Here’s the thing, Kim. We are all guilty of having an embarrassing dance goblin in our childhood closet. We can blame our parents, sure, but they were just doing what everybody else was doing - if we were born 70 years earlier, we’d all have been drowning on the Titanic. But we’re 80s kids, so they sequined and neoned us to within an inch of our godforsaken but totally tubular lives. So it’s no
t a matter of why, I suppose, but how bad?
Kim: Excellent point, Andy. I’ll admit that things got pretty dark, and it wasn’t only because the stage lighting was on the fritz. I hate to harp on the costumes, but I distinctly remember a year when my mother rounded up all of the other moms to sew up an ill-placed, suggestive hole in the center of our tops. You’d think that the designers of children’s apparel would have considered this prior to peddling such slutwear! And then there was the music. It might have had something to do with the particular taste of my gum-snapping, 20-something teachers, but I ended up shakin’ my groove thang to some tunes that were either totally lame, completely inappropriate, or both.
Andy: “Peddling such slutwear” is a phrase to be remembered. I wonder if the dance instructors got a private kick out of the irony of making little kids dance to all that stuff, unaware of what the words mean. Ah, childhood. I can’t wait to make my kid dance to a Katy Perry song.
And now, the evidence...
Kriss Kross: “Jump” (Kim)
In short....wiggity-wiggity-wiggity-WACK. This routine was one of those perfect storms of a one-hit wonder, a low-budget after school program, and a composite of stretchy, black-and-fuschia fabric left over from real dance studios.
Performed at Long Branch Elementary School in Liverpool, New York at the end of my first grade year, we were deluded into thinking that merely enacting the song’s title – repeatedly – and switching lines during the “breakdown” formed a dance routine. But at least we weren’t wearing backwards overalls. Faces are blurred to protect the guilty.
Paul Revere & The Raiders: Indian Reservation (Cherokee People) (Andy)
What’s that? This song is offensive, patronizing, wildly inappropriate, and tries to capitalize on the sorrows of a people nearly wiped off the face of the earth?
You’d be wrong. This song is all of those things, plus a dance number for a group of children! Readers who have checked out my older blog have seen this photo before, but for those who haven’t, well, you’re welcome. It’s not every day you see a little boy in a pink Indian costume excited to dance to an 80’s rock anthem about Native Americans who are “so proud to die.”
That’s right. “So proud to live/So proud to die” the lyrics state, likely something the settlers shouted right before burning villages. Ah, western civilization. The fact the band is “Paul Revere and the Raiders” creates so many jokes, I don’t know where to start.
Janet Jackson: If (Kim)
In case you’ve forgotten about this little gem, here are some choice lyrics:
How many nights I've laid in bed excited over you
I've closed my eyes and thought of us,
A hundred different ways
I've gotten there so many times
I wonder how 'bout you
If I was your girl...
Oh the things I'll do to you
I'd make you call out my name
I'd ask who it belongs to
Clearly, clearly G-rated material that was suitable for seven year-olds to be gyrating and thrusting to. Thank the lord that the lyrics were too breathy and fast for any parents to catch on. Hell, even after dancing to it 50 + times, I don’t think WE caught on. This was also the costume that had the boob-hole. Just family-friendly stuff all around, folks! It’s a miracle we all turned out halfway normal (there was that ONE girl, though...I don’t think she ever fully recovered).
God: Jesus Loves the Little Children (Andy)
Perhaps overlooked in the anthology of childhood dance numbers, we’ve got Bible Camp music. I’ve been to more than my fair share of Bible Camps, so I got get Michael to Row the Boat Ashore, or B-I-B-L-E with the best of them.
Here’s the thing about Bible Camp songs: They all, and I mean ALL, have a series of hand motions with them. No reason, really, other than overly eager parents thinking the message of Jesus can’t be full appreciated without two sets of fingers curled together to signify a heart.
“Jesus Loves the Little Children” is a strange song to teach kids. First off, you’re telling them to identify people by their skin tone - “Look mom, it’s a red one! Like in Cherokee People!” Second off, the underlying premise here is that Jesus loves more than just the other middle class white kids. “Look how culturally sensitive our children are!” On a related reminder note, I went to a lot of Bible Camps.
Sidenote: That video is ultra creepy.
Rob Base & DJ E Z Rock: It Takes Two (Kim)
I really should have learned by this point, age 14, to stop indulging in these ridiculous routines. But the truth was, I did love to dance, and if the price was enduring a painful 3-minute dance for a year of fun combinations and warm-ups, I’d gladly pay it. I’ll never forget my teacher for this one, a nasally club chick who probably hung out at 18+ nights at “Ozone” just over the border in Massachusetts.
There was a lot of booty-shaking, booty-popping, and generally a lot of movements that made me uncomfortable because my trunk had (and still has) absolutely no junk. Our costumes, a crop-top and pants in a shocking neon green, could have triggered epileptic seizures. In this case, two were definitely not enough to make this routine go right.
We know you guys have similar stories (and perhaps even pictures!), so spill them in the comments. May the scarring memories live on!
Monday, August 15, 2011
Friday, August 5, 2011
- everyone is SUPER nice. like, i'm-not-used-to-it-and-it's-almost-creepy nice. literally every individual i have encountered has been overly talkative and helpful. and i mean, a random dude came up to me in bed bath and beyond the other day and asked for help finding his mom a birthday gift. the new englander in me said "run away!" but i knew that i had to embrace this newfound approach. "does she bake?" i shrugged as i pointed at a cake pan. meh!
- i have no allergies here. i seriously would wake up in new england and run for the box of tissues every morning, and i haven't picked up one since i got down here. SCORE!
- the heat is fiiiiine. i've been hanging out on my balcony every night and it's totally effing pleasant. my conclusion? people just love to complain about everything so they exaggerate about everything. or i guess i'm just a sun child, man.
- everything is spread out. i haven't even ventured out of my little corner of the city yet and i'm already a little overwhelmed. but more to explore, i guess!
- i wish i could bring my friends and family down here with me. i miss my buddies a ton already, so they better visit.
Friday, July 29, 2011
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Sunday, July 10, 2011
i’m starting to get used to this.
as i prepare for my 4th move in 5 years, i’m becoming accustomed to the routine: crave a change, find a new place, sell my already inexpensive IKEA furniture for less than i paid for it, start all over, repeat. at 25, while many of my peers are planning weddings and settling down in the suburbs, i feel anything but settled. but for me, i wouldn’t have it any other way.
i saw a segment on the today show recently about two best friends who were separated when one moved to new york city in her 20s. still back in california and attempting to entice her to return after she was heartbroken by a boy, her friend sent her a postcard that read in part, “life is a romantic adventure”. to me, there are few phrases that ring truer. change is scary, yes, but also invigorating. it shakes you up, forces you to dig deep down to begin anew and learn new things about yourself. some might mistake the desire for change as stemming from unhappiness, but nothing could be further from the truth in my experience. i’ll always have an incredible fondness for boston and the time i’ve had here. the people I’ve met, the amazing culture and history, the fantastic restaurants and gorgeous summer days spent strolling through the city. yet, i know that the time has come for me to explore new streets, find new go-to sushi and pizza places, and quite simply, experience another way of life.
sure, I’m trading in crisp new england air for sometimes stifling humidity, a historic victorian home with tons of character for a sleek modern apartment, and vibrant fall foliage for insects of all shapes, sizes, and colors. but, in my estimation, i’m also getting palm trees instead of sneeze-inducing pines, sun-drenched winter days that might have otherwise been spent shoveling snow up north, and dinners al fresco in the middle of the winter. who’s to say what’s better, really? it’s just different. and until i experience that difference for myself, i’ll be left not knowing which I prefer. as far as I’m concerned, that freedom to explore is the best part of being in my 20s.
i’m all about putting down roots...somewhere, someday. but for now, i’m quite content being a tumbleweed.