Play One on TV

Last night, my wife and I went dancing at her employer’s Christmas party, held in the Petroleum Club atop the Bank One Tower (those of you in Oklahoma City may now make your appreciative whistling noises). The food was good, the conversation was engaging, the view was engrossing, and the dance floor was dark enough to hide my two left feet. We were having a great time. That is, until “Shout” happened.

“Shout” is a dance tune from the 1978 movie “Animal House.” This song was all the rage during my college days, back when I was courting the wife by pretending to enjoy dancing. Dancing to “Shout” is a high-energy event, with lots of jumping, hand-waving, kneeling, and other range-of-motion tests. Best of all, the dance is frenzied enough to hide my absolute lack of dancing mojo. Out of nostalgia and a complete disregard for the feelings of any witnesses, Stacey and I dance to it at every opportunity.

True to form, we requested it last night, and the DJ was foolish enough to comply. Unfortunately, this particular reprise was a little different from previous attempts. Specifically:
1. I am now 40 years old.
2. We were the only ones dancing in a room of several hundred people.

We started out just great, jumping and clapping and yelling “Shout” at rhythmically appropriate moments. But inside of one minute, my body decided it was having quite enough of this jumping about behavior and started setting off little alarms. My brain started receiving little messages like “Joe, this is starting to hurt” and “Joe, we can’t breathe that fast” and “Joe, your heart is going to leap up your throat and strangle you.”

Unfortunately, the crowd was really getting into our little performance, hooting and hollering, making it impossible for us to stop without major face loss. To make matters worse, Stacey was really having fun, and I wasn’t about to say “I quit” in front of those shining eyes. I somehow managed to keep going without falling into severe anoxia.

“Shout” has a couple of slow spots, and this was the first time I had ever felt the need to take full advantage of them. Without those breaks, I am quite sure I would now be writing this missive from a hospital bed.

Long story short - we finished the dance, the crowd applauded, and I managed to make it back to my seat without throwing up on the nice table linen. I spent the rest of the evening trying to empty the room of all available oxygen.

Note to self: Next time, remember that Stacey also likes “You’re the Inspiration” by Chicago.