I can't dance.
I love to dance but I can't dance.
Not that I don't want to dance but I just don't have the "moves."
I'm one of those quintessential white guys who has ZERO rhythm.
Three years ago, when we (Pat and I) first visited Los Angeles, we went to disco night at Oil Can Harry's.
|Oil Can Harry's West Hollywood, California|
There, under the glittering lights of a disco ball, I fell flat on my back while trying one of my signature moves. There was a collective "GASP!" from the other dancers on the floor as they parted (like the Red Sea in "The Ten Commandments") as I lay flat on my back on the floor. My dance partner, a cute Hispanic mustachioed man wearing a wife beater T-shirt, looked down at me, this old man who has totally humiliated himself by falling while doing his moonwalk (who was I kidding?) Unfortunately, Pat, who was videotaping the dance floor (he was enthralled by one guy who DID have the moves) and missed my fall completely. If he had recorded my fall I'm sure that video would have went viral on You Tube.
But here is someone who can dance. Very cool Pat. Oh how I wish I had natural rhythm like my talented friend Mr. Pat of Toronto, Canada. Oh well, some do and some don't.
|Pat and me at our favorite eatery in West Hollywood, the Veggie Grill on Sunset Boulevard|