Saturday, October 29, 2005
I was born in 1961, so I never quite know what to call myself. People say about themselves, "I'm a child of the sixties...or seventies." I guess I'm more a child of the seventies and eighties, but give me any kind of music -- the thirties, the forties, for the most part I can skip the fifties (except early Elvis), I'll rock'n'roll with the sixties, I'll boogie with the seventies, and I'll get down on the dance floor with the eighties. (In the nineties, I was listening mostly to children's songs!)
It is such a pleasure to be in the kitchen on Saturday night, cleaning up after Shabbat, the radio playing in the background. On one station I have "golden oldies" of the sixties playing; a small turn of the dial takes me to Disco Saturday Night.
If my kids are around, they get such a kick out of watching me let loose with the dance moves and the vocals. I'll lip sync for their pleasure and exaggerate facial expressions. Or I'll belt out song lyrics while sliding around the kitchen floor.
Perhaps it's sad to say that I know nearly every word of every song played from the disco era...'cause back then, on Saturday nights, I was probably in my bedroom listening to the radio when the songs were current. I'd get down, I'd boogie, and I'd shake my groove thing whenever the lyrics called for me to do so.
These days, though, when I get down, it's hard to get up; when I boogie, it's because I'm running late, and if I shake my groove thing, it's because gravity and leftover baby fat (from giving birth!) are helping.
I don't mind if "It's Raining Men"; I'll be glad to "Do the Hustle"; I know "I Will Survive" -- just give me some music, give me a dance floor and give me a spotlight.