A Time To Dance

Unless you're fond of smoky saloons or clubs whose floors reverberate with the pounding of bass, it's difficult to find a decent place to cut a rug anymore. So Wendy and I have in the past taken advantage of our annual workplace party that offers dinner, cocktails and dancing.

This past weekend we joined my sister-in-law and her husband, as well as my older son Greg and his girlfriend, and headed out with our dancing shoes on.

But the dance floor is the perfect place to find out how much time has passed you by. I remember weddings from when I was a kid. And I played my accordion at a few more. Where was the chicken dance? Don't they do a conga line anymore? Does ANYONE even know how to do the Herr Schmidt?

Everything was techno hip hop played to an incessant, artifical beat. And, yes, people were dancing to it. More surprising, they were enjoying it! Something called the Cha Cha Slide has apparently replaced The Hokey Pokey.

Take it back now y'all.
One Hop This Time
One Hop This time

Wonder whether this new crowd favorite will stand the test of time, or just be another passing fad like the Macarena. I give wife Wendy credit for trying it out there. She gyrated alongside Greg and Lindsay who, having spent time at the dance clubs, could execute the choreography.

Then the missus could take no more. "Rock 'n Roll!" she yelled out finally.

"Okay," the DJ said smoothly, eager to please.

But even the old time rock 'n roll numbers played to something that resembled a disco beat. I asked another couple at our table if they were going to dance. The gentleman, who had just celebrated his 60th birthday, said he was waiting for a waltz.

Then I tracked down a work colleague to meet her fiance from Texas. They too were holding out, he said for "Cotton-Eyed Joe," so he could try out his two-step.

The night ended without Cotton-Eyed Joe. Or a waltz. Not even a polka. No line dance either, unless you count The Hustle. And we were among the last dozen hold-outs remaining as the DJ played on.

Among the last numbers we heard was something extraordinary, a piano interlude with string accompaniment that I might have heard once while watching a black-and-white film on Turner Classic Movies.

A lone couple glided across the empty dance floor, gracefully twirling and swaying in time. It seemed out of synch to watch that couple dance ballroom style through the laser-style lights and artificial fog.

Maybe it was kind of appropriate too.