Brooklyn Does Brownstone Alley

Want to see what I did with my sunny Sunday afternoon? Go here. I'm in the upper corner of the square, farthest from the camera. I started to download the video to this post, but it was taking forever, I felt my life slowly slipping away from me, so I'm just linking instead. Go see it, it's fun.

Friday my friend Zoe sent out a request for people to help her with a little project. Her brother performs with a group called Freddy & Francine, and said group is about to release a new CD. They thought it would be fun to create a line dance for one of their singles, post it on the interwebs for their fanbase to see, then encourage people to do the dance at the launch party in LA. So eight of us joined her yesterday in beautiful Dumbo, Brooklyn to learn, then tape the dance. The song is about leaving California and moving to New York to make it big, so Zoe wanted the Manhattan skyline in the background.

This was a blast. Stuff like this can only happen in a city, and believe me I am taking note of that fact. I really like the song too, (called Brownstone Alley) and am eager to hear more of the band's music. So watch the video! Learn the dance! I predict it will be sweeping the country in the next few weeks, and joining the Electric Slide and the Macarena as a standard at wedding receptions for years to come! The choreographer is the lovely and talented Zoe Bowick, and she's the person closest to the camera. Her lovely and talented husband Ben Levine is running the camera; listen to his conversation with a young spectator at the end. That may be my favorite part of the whole video.

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On a related note: yesterday also reminded me of something interesting, and after much internal debate I've decided to perform a public service announcement for my straight brothers. If you are interested in any kind of dance at all, but have been too shy or nervous to take the plunge, I encourage you to gather up your courage and take a class. My reason for this advice? Not only will you be doing something fun and healthy, chances are very good you will be the only man in a room filled with some of the most intelligent, creative, athletic and funny women you could ever meet. Sure, the class may be humbling at first, if you've never done any kind of dancing at all; you have to let yourself be a beginner at something physical, which is scary for most of us. You may be asked to let your feet leave the floor. You may be asked to move your hips independently of your ribcage. You may feel at times that you're coming very close to prancing. You don't have to be good at any of those things though, you just have to commit, and give it your best. As long as you're game, you will have a good time, and meet some wonderful people.

Let me hasten to add, you must be interested in dance, or at least sincere in your desire to give it a try. If you show up at a dance class solely looking to score some tail, if in fact that phrase ever goes through your head, or passes your lips, then let me warn you, those same intelligent, creative, sexy women will smell you coming a mile away and devote their considerable powers to KICKING YOUR ASS. Don't get excited, I'm not talking about some sort of bondage thing; I mean suddenly the dance phrases you're being asked to do will get faster and more athletic. You will be asked to do turns, spins, leaps, maybe jazz hands, possibly a pelvic thrust or two. You'll be subjected to ab workouts you never knew existed. You will look and feel like a moose on skates. You will probably be in pain for the next two to three days. You'll deserve every bit of it. I hesitated in the past to make this PSA for fear I'd be subjecting my dancing sisters to a sudden influx of pigs, but I've come to realize dancers can take care of themselves. Formidable. That is part of what I love about them, actually, but that's me.

So straight boys, if you're not a pig, want to meet some new women, and are willing to shake your groove thang in some small way, go take a class. It could open up whole new worlds for you. You're welcome.