Okay so maybe I don't post quite as often as I used to on this blog.
This is mainly because I'm too busy being absolutely hilarious on radio instead...
This actually means while technology is advancing I'm actually becoming more old school as the years go by.
On that note it might be appropriate to inform you that I will be communicating my next blog to you by smoke signal. Have your sacrificing knives and animal skin drums at the ready because it's going to be a wild night.
I thought I'd get back on the old blog, stretch the typing fingers and don my intelligent-look glasses to tell you about how I managed to end up being referred to as "white gangster".
I mean it was probably bound to happen. With my gold chain, bouncing car and the fact that I go around calling everyone "bro" had to get someone's attention.
The limp and the drugs I've been selling to the feline underground as well probably turned a few heads.
But alas no! My dear readers, it was not to be!
The thing that got picked up on the most is the way I dance.
From the age of about 4 I was always determined I would not dance like my Dad. You know the whole "dad dancing = social suicide" sort of thing. However after my Dad got first dance with a bride at a wedding (that wasn't his own) I decided that probably wasn't such a bad thing.
My girlfriend, for those of you who live on the moon she is called Emily, hates it when I dance. Well I say hates it when I dance. She hates it when I move and dance. She is quite happy for me to stand and click but apart from that dancing for me was a nono!
I wouldn't say that I have really ever been a confident dancer. I was okay at the Frank Martin Disco parties with loads of cheesy music, especially the macarena, at which I am a self-professed pro.I am also alright at the foxtrot (I think that's what it was anyway) after I danced with Gareth's mum at his sister's 18th.
However; put me in a club I am absolutely clueless.
Girls seem to be fine at dancing. They mostly do their own thing and look like they genuinely fit into their surroundings. Acting cool and mostly keeping their eyes closed. Which is a mystery to me.
Guys seem to do a lot of shouting, a lot of hugging and a lot of jumping around as if they've just had an electric shock up their arse.
And then there's me. I would be tempted to quote the lyrics "stuck in the middle with you". Except there's no "you" there's just me. So I'm just stuck in the middle with me really.
Anyway your stood there; fighting to keep your space in the circle with everyone barging in-front of you, while trying not to look overly keen about trying to look like you fit in.
Then you realise. I have as much idea of what I'm meant to be doing as the guys who kept grabbing girls arses around me in the expectancy that a girl is looking for just that classy sort of lad.
In times of need like this the middle class part of my mind puts down it's guardian and pipe and gets on the case.
"West side story!" It says; "that's perceived to be a 'cool' musical and there's dancing on it! Result! Now you don't want to seem to keen so just stand there and click your fingers. Remember; Emily hates swaying."
"Everybody will be really impressed with your fine aptitude for theatre and your knowledge of musicals will make you seem really manly to protect you from the muscly guys that you happened to be really scared of."
I am never listening to my middle class side ever again.
Needless to say I found myself very awkwardly clicking along to dubstep. This is surprisingly hard. As aparently West side story and electronic dance music don't really mix that well. Who knew?
In the end I decided to follow suite. I ended up jumping round and shouting and hugging like every other guy there and had a rather good time of it!
And there we have it. Successful night of trying to fit in sorted. Now I'm off to play oblivion.
Adam. xx
Never trust spiritual leader who cannot dance. ~Mr. Miyagi, The Next Karate Kid, 1994
