Fake Dance Party

Yoko Ono is following me on twitter. Along with 200k+ others, but who cares?

The other night I went to this big bakery/co-op/employment meeting and ate scones and talked about being stranded on a desert island for a while before meeting T to go to this party/video shoot. I had met this awesome lady through my lame temporary job. She did video production on the side and was shooting a music video for a grammy nominated musician. She was having a party to serve as ambiance for the shoot and needed bodies to come and have a good time.

We trampled through a brisk night in the mission to this building with a ton of artist studios. We were running late, but I figured we’d blend into the crowd. When we got there, I remembered what it’s like to organize something where you actually need people to come and be cooperative. The room had just a few people, sitting on the floor or milling around.

“We’re not gonna start until there are more bodies,” says my awesome lady friend. “Oh shit, did I buy any tape?”

T and I stood around awkwardly, talking to each other about business cards on the table by the entrance. The studio belonged to a woman who provided a kind of life coaching services for musicians. When you are blocked, and your energy isn’t flowing, when the song in your heart won’t come out of your face, this is who you call. She’s a specialist on everything from chord progressions to emotional problems.

Her studio was amazing. 12 foot ceilings, windows along one side of the space, exposed brick, painted wood floors. By the time the shooting was ready to get under way, we had redesigned the entire interior as if it was our house. We still needed a kitchen, though.

A few more people had accumulated at this point, but in this bright, alcohol-free environment, few looked like they were ready to boogie down. After a few awkward false starts, the star of the show proclaimed “Hello San Francisco!” to the ten or so people trying to crowd around as best as possible and cheer like a group of many more.

Then we were supposed to dance. Since I was the shortest, and only lady of the bunch, I was moved to the front. The music started, and the rest of the crowd, a bunch of tall guys dressed in black, stood around staring from their feet to each other to the musician. For the next 25 minutes three of us at the front tried to carry the rest of them, twirling and swaying and trying really hard to look like we were having a good time, which we finally began to, once we forgot the extremely awkward nature of the situation. About 15 minutes in, we were tired, sweating, out of dance moves. But the song went on, and I swayed back and forth as T tried frantically to make up for less dancing.

I have to say it was kind of impressive. The spins and twists he came up with reminded me of Skeeter in Doug, the cartoon. Do you remember watching that?

All in all, it wasn’t too bad. We got to dance like no one was watching (though a lot of people were), and afterwards we went out for margaritas at Puerto Alegre. Margaritas make everything fun.  We’re not afraid to dance, no matter how awkward the situation.

And somehow, it got me thinking.. maybe here is not such a bad place to be after all. I mean, they need us.