Tag Archives: dancing

Kitchen Sync

I was thinking
Of dancing
With you
Between pantry drawers
And cupboard doors

The dishwasher
The open-oven

Your hand
At my hip
Like a
Superhero’s whip
Us living on
Steamy can noodles
And mango.

Dinner for One

She revels in knowing that these are the days she’ll recount to her children’s children. She thinks about the advice she’ll give, advice she never received because of her own family’s conservatism.  She makes dinner; sauteing onions and garlic that mix into a smell that never fails to make her feel closer to her mother, dancing to music that gives her no choice but to move (even when she’s at work or on the train, tired or upset). She dances while the sweat drips off of her, while the onions sizzle, while the water in her glass threatens suicide over the edge. She stops only long enough to drink it in greedy gulps, then begins dancing again in a movement that suggests she never stopped. She lets the water spill, thinks about all of the thirsts she gets to quench. When the food is done, she piles it onto a green plate, licking her fingers as she does.

In the Kitchen at Dusk

“Brown Eyed Girl” by Van Morrison and there is my mother, long black hair and the scent of cherry-almond Jergens. She is dancing, her hair a beat behind her swaying, and her falsetto following Van as he la-la-las. Her breath will smell like beer when I get close enough, I’m still a good two feet shorter than she is at this point; that disparity along with everything else will change in the coming years. For now, me, my brother, and my sisters are moving around the kitchen with bare feet, barely understanding what making love means. Mom—dancing and understanding all too well. Dad is in the backyard doing things he did back then: building the red swing set that I still think about, taking our Rottweiler Elsa out, grilling steaks that had been marinating over night. The windows and the back door are open, cooking smells are coming from every which way, smells I recreate now—tangible attempts at recreating intangibles. It’s that part of the day when everyone in a subdivision is home, when the heat of the Virginia summer has retreated and the breeze is welcome and cherished. Later, I’ll think my sister’s being mean to me, I’ll complain, probably cry, and Mom will swoop in, calling me baby the same way she does now that I’m well into my twenties. Later, this will explain my affinity for dancing in kitchens, in bare feet, in the presence of people I couldn’t love more. Later my sisters, brother and I will fall asleep in some combination of the floor, the sofa and the loveseat. Dad will pick us up, one by one, and move us to our beds, then I imagine he’ll kiss my mom the same way she’ll kiss another man months later while he’s away at sea. But before all of that, we dance in the kitchen whether we know the words or the rhythm or the reason.


There is a brilliant art to dancing in your underwear.  It is important no matter which gender you may occupy, to wear something supportive.  Nothing will make this joyous activity travel to the other extreme like the damage ones genitals can suffer from insufficient protection.  So buckle up…it’s the law.

The next tip to remember is not to get dressed.  Clothing will give you the impression that you should act according to its mandate.  A dress suit and air drums do not mix, they are the oil and water of underwear dancing. There is an animalistic freedom in the lack of covering that will give your limbs the go ahead to perform actions they may not think themselves possible.  Underwear Dancing has the power to transform a Frankenstein into Mary Lou Retton.

Music.  While it is inherently the most integral part of the event, there are only certain artists, which are currently cleared by the board for use in the sport.  They are as follows:

Journey                        Bon Jovi

Def Leppard                        Poison

KISS                                    Joan Jett

Guns and Roses            The Scorpions

Rush                                    AC/DC

Heart                                    Twisted Sister

Queen                                    Alice Cooper

Foreigner                        REO Speedwagon

…and Styx (You know damn right well if Mr. Roboto comes on and you’re in your tighty whities, you’re singing.  So shut it.)


While there are many other artists who will certainly make you want to “rock out”; unless the band’s career was marred by chemical excess, hair with the volume equivalent to my chest cavity, massive sexual exploits, and not a single unprocessed sound on their album; they are posers.

The final thing to remember when engaging in the craft is to be aware of your surroundings.  Take into account that when your reenacting Slash’s guitar solo at the end of ‘November Rain’, you will most lieky care more about hitting that high E than the location of your scissors, paper cutter, or sharp pointy things box.  Realize that no one wants to go to the ER looking like Tom Cruise in Risky Business.  Stick near beds or couches, they make for great places to crowd surf, while offering little risk of puncture wounds.

So get out there and enjoy.  Support, Starkness, Soundtrack, and Safety…these are the four ‘S’s…say them the next time you feel a session coming on, it may make the difference between magic and misery.