Dancing is probably the most sophisticated form of art. I am probably the biggest beatnik, slack-jawed redneck this side of the Mississippi. I am also addicted to dancing. Overcoming feeling like a hillbilly wasn't easy, but I am glad I did because I am now a part of a fast-paced, party 'til you drop, select group of mainstream, hip-hop America. Actually, dancing is just really fun, and spinning on your back at 40mph. while somebody does a cartwheel over you and lands in the splits, is really fun.

My first "dance" was entirely devoid of any movement that could be remotely linked to dancing. It was a Social at Mountain View Middle School, the only place you can find chewed, winter-fresh gum in your ranch dressing, and Christmas lights in your applesauce. It is also the only place you can find 500 nervous, pre-pubescent teenagers, crowded into a gym, standing and staring at each other like emasculated cattle while listening to ear-splittingly loud, sub-par, digitalized, Euro-trash, techno-babble. It was really lame. All I saw was a bunch of guys standing around, wishing they had a basketball while 250 giggling girls trotted in and out of the bathroom, while I ran around like a cat with scotch tape on its feet. The whole thing was probably the single most traumatic experience of my early teenage years and thoroughly scared me away from any combination of girls and music for years to come.

When I turned fourteen, I started attending the youth dances my church puts on every month (not by my own choice, I assure you). I didn't have the guts to dance, let alone ask a girl to dance, so I just kind of stood by the wall. One of my larger "acquaintances" (he was my friend before he did this to me) noticed that I wasn't dancing, so he picked me up and put me in front of a heavily perfumed, eighteen year old, six foot tall, 200 pound "young lady" with an over-bight and slight lisp. I was a fourteen year old, five foot two, 120 pound "little boy" with a panicked mind and full-fledged anxiety attack. She asked me to dance. I almost fainted. Needless to say, that experience didn't help me overcome my fears of dancing and girls, so from then on I would just hang out in the halls and play hacky sack, only entering the dance floor to grab some punch or a handful of mints.

One fateful day, I attended a monthly shindig in Silverdale. There was a group of boys in the center of the floor, who looked like they were going into epileptic shock. They also looked like they were trying to be serious dancers. I was impressed by their lack of style and party-until-you-puke attitudes, so I joined them. I had a really good time acting like the idiot I really am, and ended up taking their techniques back to my hometown dances. With this new dance-until-you-get-a-hernia attitude, I now had the courage and mind set required to dance. I just needed some one to show me now to not look like I was covered in deranged, stinging insects. Luckily one of my best friends, Phillip Galbraith, had an older brother with the credentials of a hip-hop artist. He gave us a few pointers and set us off down the road of becoming Lords of the Dance. With my good friend Phillip's help, he and I became the best little pop stars at the dances.

With our new arsenal of ankle rolls, x-steps, c-walks, heel toes, apple jacks and body waves, we could out dance anyone, any time, any where, with the exception of the few, the proud, the break dancers. For some reason the way they do back-flips on the ground, looked better than the way we worked our appendages into a swirl of rapid gyrations. To combat their coolness we devised a foolproof routine that would send any break-dancer running home for their mommy.

We got the opportunity to try out our new routine just a few weeks ago in Tacoma. The D.J. put on Sandstorm by Darude, the coolest techno song ever made, when we organized a large competition circle. The local breakers started things off with some decent handstands when I ventured into the middle of the group. I dropped to the floor and immediately went into a Ninja Turtle style backspin. When I came to a halt I posed, laying on the ground as my brother came running out of the crowd and did a front handspring over me. Phillip then entered the ring, gracefully doing a cartwheel over my body and landing in the splits. In five short seconds, we had not only shutdown the break-dancers, but we had sent the whole crowd into a riotous frenzy. Never had there been a routine near as cool and breathtakingly awesome as what we just pulled off. We achieved new heights, we were real dancers, but this time with some class.

Dancing can be pretty tricky. There are a lot of complicated rules that must be followed if you don't want to look like a stranded goldfish. However, once you get the basics, and overcome your own feelings of inadequacy and self-doubt, you can realize a new level of unequaled self-knowledge and confidence.

Anyway, the next time you find yourself feeling a little uncomfortable out on the floor, remember that you don't have to worry about looking like a dork, if you can spin on your back at 40mph., or land a cartwheel in the splits.

Nathan Hill
Comp 101C 10/6/03 Descriptive