Back Home by Chris Hardie
I did a two-step quick-step and a bossanova
A little victor sylvester and a rudy valentino
You should have seen me moving
Right across the floor
Hand me down my tuxedo
Next week i’m coming back for more
I can dance
“Long Tall Glasses”
Leo Sayer
Do it!
Do it!
Do it!
Do the Hustle!
“The Hustle”
Van McCoy and the Soul City Symphony
Around your partner,
Do-si-do
Square dance call
Do it nice and easy, now don’t lose control
A little bit of rhythm and a lot of soul
Come on, come on, do the locomotion with me
The Loco-Motion
Little Eva, Grand Funk Railroad and Kylie Minogue
I have Type 2 diabetes, but I manage it well.
It’s a little pill with a big story to tell!
Jardiance commercial
Passing the age of 60 gives me the right to slip into what I believe is my curmudgeon persona, which means I can complain about certain things that I dislike or just don’t understand.
The fact that I’ve been doing it all my life is irrelevant because getting old gives me a good excuse.
In that spirit, I’d like to register a complaint about all the advertisements and videos that feature people dancing.
I’ve never been much of a dancer. With the exception of the “forced dancing” in elementary school physical education classes or the slow dancing at junior high or high school dances, I’ve literally cut more rugs in remodeling projects than I have on the dance floor.
Not that I’m entirely uncoordinated. I had the “forced dancing” version of The Hustle down to an art in sixth grade and I could do-si-do with the best of them around my partner in our PE square dance sessions. I even did a solo soft-shoe performance as Jacquot during a high school theatrical performance of “Carnival.”
But my size 12 double-Es were not made for moonwalking, polka steps or waltzes. I once drew the wrath of local country bar enthusiasts when I wrote a column poking fun at line dancing when it was popular in the 1990s. Having to look at everyone else’s feet while you were trying to dance just looked awkward to me. Reminds me about the punchline to the joke of how you define an extroverted Norwegian.
It’s not that I dislike dancing. Athletic and talented dancers who take their craft to the art form can be a thing of beauty and a joy to watch. And even I have a hard time not tapping my foot when “Footloose” starts playing.
Wedding dances should absolutely be fun for the participants, with no critiques or judging, especially from the sidelines. But why the Chicken Dance or the Hokey-Pokey became staples at every wedding dance I have ever attended is one of those timeless riddles that is simply too hard to answer. What if the Hokey-Pokey is what it’s all about?
(I believe part of that answer is in direct correlation to the amount of alcohol being consumed, but I digress.)
I simply dislike all of the commercials that include ridiculous dancing to sell their product. I think my A1C increases every time I see the Jardiance commercial where people dance with exuberance in the middle of a park. I experience some of the same side effects as the drug – nausea/vomiting, stomach/abdominal pain and trouble breathing.
If that sort of dancing happened in real life in public settings most folks would be barring their doors and summoning the cops.
But apparently it works, because dancing sells.
Colleen Dunagan wrote a book on dance in advertising called “Consuming Dance: Choreography and Advertising.” Thankfully I could tapdance through the purpose by reading the abstract, which states … “the marketing value of dance lies in the ability of the dancing body to produce affect through kinesthetic empathy and correspondingly to create the appearance of relational meaning and agency.”
Dunagan essentially claims that choreographed movement sells stuff, no matter how ridiculous or far-fetched it may be.
To each their own, but I prefer my shakes, mashed potatoes and salsas in a glass or on a plate. Dancing people don’t compel me to buy nor dance.
Give me macaroni over Macarena. Each of my hips have already been surgically hopped. Call me a jerk, but I’m not going to duckwalk or swim at the YMCA or slide into a cha cha – electric or not.
To monster mash-up Van McCoy and George Bush, just not going to do it.
Chris Hardie spent more than 30 years as a reporter, editor and publisher. He was nominated for a Pulitzer Prize and won dozens of state and national journalism awards. He is a former president of the Wisconsin Newspaper Association. Contact him at chardie1963@gmail.com.
