Dance, part one

Have you ever danced with a Roomba automated vacuum cleaner? I did last weekend at my friends Rob and Lisa’s wedding reception. It’s the only time I’ve danced with an actual robot, not just a human pretending to be one.

In high school I was on the Saxonetts dance team for three years (true story) and we never danced with robots. Instead we grooved out to movie soundtrack medleys that were pretty lame. I mean, who picks “Top Gun” or “Iron Eagle” songs for dancing? Usually we performed in sequined spandex, jazz shoes and a heavy dose of makeup. Our hair was French braided, unless it was too short. The coach was outraged when I decided to chop my frayed and grown-out perm into a chin length bob, because then I wouldn’t be able to conform to the clone appearance we were going for.

It was a good time, though. Some of us would dress in intentionally ugly outfits at practice. My friend Katie and I found some NKOTB t-shirts on sale for a dollar each, so we bought six or eight and handed them out for the purpose of looking absurd. The team traveled locally for competitions and we listened to They Might Be Giants or REM. On a more distant trip to Sacramento we were reprimanded by hotel staff for vogueing on the roof of their establishment. If it wasn’t for being on Saxonetts, would I ever have learned the Roger Rabbit?

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