amanda & i decided to celebrate the fact that we both randomly received 90’s-dance-song-themed mix cd’s in the same week, both of which were made by people who know our love of kitchen dance parties, and who insisted that their cd’s be used in the kitchen. this was a bizarre coincidence, but a nice one. & so on new year’s day, we gathered some good peeps together to freak out to junior high dance songs.
how can you make a document of something using still pictures, using fixed words, when its inherent nature is one of movement, one of change? not using flash helps, but who likes dancing in adequate lighting? not me. when you want to remember, but you don’t want it remembered like this:
the flash arresting everyone, frozen in an eternally awkward pose. when it wasn’t that way at all. when you moved, you were beautiful. you felt it. you became part of something larger than yourself, as cliche as that perhaps is. cliches happen. your formerly freezing cold house was now sweaty; everyone’s outerclothes in a gigantic pile on a kitchen chair. you let people come into your home & you had a moment, without spending money or worrying about looking cool or whatever. you just let yourselves go; you let yourselves happen. and it was amazing.
that’s a little more like it. but still, not accurate. but really, how can you or i or anyone describe anything that happens to us & have it be accurate? that’s just how it is.
p.s. did you know that i apparently make this stupid-ass face:
every time i dance? i guess you would if you ever danced with me. but since i don’t often look in the mirror while dancing, i had no idea until amanda took multiple pictures of me dancing & i was making that face in every single one! oh well.