The goal: Every day, one new thought, some of which I will even post.
Rhythm seems like this elusive thing. I’m not saying you have it or you don’t. In fact, getting all your muscles to undulate in harmony seems more like a case of happenstance than a matter of talent. Right time, right place, muscles. Just as it takes a certain cadence to cast a spell, it may take a specific song to find ones rhythm. This is my hope. This sounds odd, but my neck feels too symmetrical, too between-my-shoulders while getting low on the dance floor.
But my lack of rhythm extends beyond the club. When I attempt to strum and sing simultaneously, my hand goes one direction, my voice another and my frustration boils over, culminating in a bring-it-all-together finish – like the ending to some games of chicken. Meet me: The Clash ver 2.0.
Still I find it fun to pretend. No better time to show off ones faux drum skills then while waiting in traffic. I slap and pitter-patter my side door to the tune of whatever is on, half-expecting a rear-view onlooker to step out of his vehicle, approach me and say “Yo, ‘Bullet with Butterfly Wings’? ... Niceee.”
Someone say this is normal.
2 comments:
It's normal for us white kids...and nice Smashing Pumpkins reference!
You’re such a doofus! Haha… you should try tapping on the steering wheel instead. I do it all the time, this way it’s funner and you'll have the space to sway your shoulders from left to right! AND it doesn’t draw much attention at all,ermmm…I think.
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