The Liquid Kosmos

Dance more, talk less

Not many know this, but I once won a dance contest at an all-black bar in Milwaukee, WI. My friends and I went to Brewer game earlier that night and the hotel was right across from the club.

We (me and four other white guys) unknowingly walked into a gem of a night. It was packed and we decided to hang out and see what was going on. About ten minutes into the carousing, they announced they needed one more contestant for the male dance contest. Now, one of my friends was literally wearing a pimp hat and just at that moment he put it on my head and shoved me onto the dance floor. Before I knew what was happening, the DJ said, "Oh yeah, the Beastie Boy wants some action." I was the final contestant.

I think there were eight of us. And it was a solo contest. I breezed through the first two rounds and before you know it I was in the finals against two other guys. These brothas could "get it" and I had no chance, but they made a terrible mistake that I'm sure they regret to this day.

Rabase was pumpin' and I was doing my best JJ Walker impression, cleary on my way to third place when they both decided to gang up on me. Showing me out for laughs, but that's when a miracle happened. I literally turned into Michael Jackson and moonwalked out of their double-team, did a once in a lifetime perfectly executed spin move and flung my lid into the audience. The crowd went wild. I ended with some bullshit pose, but at that point it didn't matter. I was crowned King by hundreds of supportive crowd members.

Not sure that I've ever given that many high-fives in one night. I was the man of the hour and circling the dance floor with everything but the American flag wrapped around my body. My friends handed me a beer and I proudly toasted to everyone and put it to my lips. It was just then when the DJ said, "Not so fast, Beastie. Now, for the cash money prize you have to out-duel last weeks woman's champion!"

Huh? Last week's woman's champion? That's when I looked to the corner where I swear I saw steam rising and a woman (who must have been the original Queen Latifa) strutted onto the floor. I wasn't toast.

Like a beaten boxer, I reluctantly dragged myself to the center of the ring. She literally looked down on me like she would just as soon knee me in the nuts as dance with me.

The music started and I swear I lost sight of her and before I knew it she was behind me like she was an Akido master or something. My eyes simply couldn't follow her. I was a paraplegic grappling for coordination and she was the girl mommy warned me about.

It seemed like the song lasted for about an hour, but it was probably 3 minutes in when she, like her brotha counterparts, made the crucial mistake. She tried to show me up by doing the 500 mile per hour breast shake that black women do, and instinctively, I stopped dancing, looked her in the eyes, then kinda peered around the room as if to say, "This woman bores me and I'm not impressed by her mellons." Again, the crowed squealed with delight.

The move, which I would later dub, "The Pause," was a major hit and lifted me to the title. The Beastie Boy pocketed 75 clams for his efforts and after I "paid off" all the fans who said they cheered for me and the least I could do was buy them a drink, I walked away with a cool $20 and a memory for the ages.

Yeah, I can dance a little.

posted by The Oscillator @ 9:04 PM