Went to the neighboorhood of young hipsters with moustaches (because they would appreciate the alternate spelling) to listen to 1950's swing records and do the lindy hop.
What is it about public dancing spots where I only attract older, shorter, European men with little regard for deodorizing soaps, but great talent for dancing like Rico Suave? They all wave their salt-and-pepper eyebrows, which makes me look. Once I've made eye contact, it's basically a binding contract. But then...they sweep and bop me around the floor so that I feel like a dancer, even though I wore a yoga top, oversized adidas pants from a middle school Christmas gift, and silver-spray-painted sneakers to the struttiest jive bar on the East side. By the looks of me, they can tell I spell it "mustache"... but when Rico pulls me around the floor, "I'm ChaCha DiGregorio, the best dancer at St. Bernadette's."
Why? From whence does the awkward magic come?
And another thing: Yogi Berra's really dead, right? Tonight's Rico told me that Berra is actually living a quiet life in New Jersey, where Amelia Earhart and all other dead American celebrities go to live. I expressed my doubts. He didn't ask me to dance anymore.
I think he's alive! or at least my landlord tells me they occasionally see him at a local good burger place a few minutes away from my house...
ReplyDeleteOh my gosh. He is.
ReplyDeleteWHY didn't I check Wikipedia before I danced with that man!?!?
And his museum is at/near Montclair's baseball stadium!
ReplyDeleteAnd..... he is known for his deep wisdom!.....If you come to a fork in the road - take it! Don't give Rico Suave grief about Yogi Berra!
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