Posted on Thursday, July 22, 2004 5:39 PM
Well, I've been debating over whether or not to post this due to its family nature, but what the hell, why not...
Last Friday evening, I went to my 35 year-old cousin's wedding. Just to set the stage a little, he's a great guy and it was really exciting to finally see him getting married. He is very into country line dancing, and competes on a pretty high level. I think he gives dance lessons, and basically enjoys anything to do with dancing. Cool with me, whatever blows his hair back. Naturally, I expected the reception to be pretty dance-tacular but let me tell you, it exceeded all expectations.
As we sat at our table, my Dad leaned to me and said “have you ever been to a reception where they have one of those DJs that tries to get everyone involved by prodding people to dance, and constantly talking? I hate those.“ I hadn't, so I said “no“...well, that “no” didn't last very long because soon enough the husband/wife pair “Team DJ“ got things rockin'. To start things off in true 8th grade pizza party fashion, the entire wedding party was introduced to the “gonna make you sweat“ sounds of Jock Jams Volume I. With the amount of planning that goes into a wedding, how do you let something like that slip through your fingers? Unacceptable. Not soon enough, Jock Jams was gracefully faded into Norah Jones and dinner began...
After dinner, I was introduced to various “dancing buddies” and a girl who danced “mainly hip-hop.“ Shortly thereafter, things started to heat up, literally, on the dance floor. The groom then took the microphone, and with it, center stage. He began by thanking everyone for coming, and then announced that we had “all styles of dancers in the fold, from casual clubbers, to U.S. Open champions.” The time to cut a rug had come, and it couldn't have been any more intimidating.
When the music started, people literally spun onto the dance floor like it had been rehearsed to perfection. They quickly moved in synchronization like the prom scene in “She's All That.” I couldn't believe my eyes, and neither could my feet. I'm not a good dancer by any means, but I enjoy dancing with friends, especially at weddings and such when you get to see people you haven't seen in a long time and there's an open bar. Not here. If you had enough balls to get out on the dance floor, you'd instantly get knocked into by Carlos, the Conquistador of the Dance Floor, salsa-ing his way around, and ruining the timing of whatever rehearsed dance was taking place at that time.
It could be compared to a very crowded, public ice skating session. The entire dance company would move in a circular motion around the dance floor and the only safe zone was the middle, it was the “non-dancer” section, and if you were in the middle, everyone stared at you for being the idiot you were and breaching the ring of fire. There were men with vests on, and heeled shoes, grinding on each other and laughing it off like it was just business. I thought about bringing a fire extinguisher out onto the dance floor to quell the flames bursting off of these guys, but ultimately decided against it.
The real kicker for me was when the reception came to an end. The final song had been played and you could see the disappointment glistening in the eyes of the patrons. They slowly removed themselves from the dance floor and made their way back to their tables. Here it comes. They took out small bags, and put their “dancing” shoes into the bag and put back on their normal shoes. They brought special shoes to a wedding reception. Personal, custom made, special dancing shoes with an accompanying shoe-bag. I laughed out loud, and received many dirty, fiery looks.
Burn on.
schrags