Learning To Line Dance

LINE DANCING is like Bingo, either you love it, or you don't. Its one of those hobbies which can become a centerpiece of your life, and the basis of your social life. My hobbies of choice are reading, writing, and working out, all of which are for the most part inherently solitary activities, which contribute little to my social life. Oh well, so be it. I prefer cats anyway. I love stationary bike riding, but nearly a year ago my classic Schwinn Airdyne broke, and I have been planning to get a replacement. However, the senior center has a stationary bike, and since it is only two blocks from my house, I use it about five times a week. I do not, however, participate in either line dancing or Bingo, both of which are offered and are very popular.Two days ago I seriously sprained my ankle tripping over an eletrical cord, and I was devstated, thinking I would be unable to exercise, let alone walk, for everal days. I discovered, hhowever, that I could ride the bike without causing pain to my gimpy ankle, and was pleased as punch. While I was riding today, two members of the Semior center entered the tiny exercise room, for a line danceing class. A sixty something lady of oriental descent intended to teach a seventy five year old gentleman, a good friend of mine, basic line dancing. As I peddled lowy, protecting my ankle, she guided him through the basic steps and patterns one step at a time, and invaribaly, he meesed it up, failing to accurately imitate her. I was tempted to tell him "don't give up your day job", like he did to me one day recently when I did some impromptu singing. I missed a good ppportunity for revenge, but, well, I took the high roqd. My impression waa thet she was a luusy teacher, and he was a lousy student. Soon enough, I began to change my mind. He was improving, pretty fast. When I finished my bike ride I limped into the main lunch room, where people were listening to a hillbilly band, and some people were line dancing to its music. My student teacher couple joined the group, and did passably well. I was imprressed. My final opinion was that if he practiced the steps every day, he would become good at line dancing, and would also get in shape, and I told him so. Looking back, I am glad I took this approach, rather than the "don't give up your day job" approach, which might have reminded him of his joke about my singing, (I'm actually a very good singer, as many folks would attest), His reaction to my pay back would've probably been a chuckle, but maybe not, Maybe he would have thought me petty. He would have been quite correct. Amazing to think that I have been going to this small town senior center on a nearly daiy basis for more than eleven years, and, the bottom line is, I have made some friends there, but have also accumulated a goodly number of people who either don't seem to like me, or who I don't particularly like, and in many instances, both. The fact that I dress like a teenager, that I wear dozens of necklaces and rings every day, bling bling, and that I am a blunt, sometimes abrasive radical intellectual with a sophisticated academic vocabulary and education is not necessarily compatible with blue collar farmers and conservative Christians with little formal education. People who say "He don't know oothing", instead of "He doesn't know anything" are not my kind of people, and when I say things like "This hillbilly music is disagreeable to me, I much prefer more intelletually, artistically art forms, like classical music, Hayden, Mozart, and Beethoven, many if not most of the farmers and factory workers shy away from me, and give me disapproving glances from across the room. I am convinced that I belong more in a place like Cambridge, Massachussetts, or Madison, Wisconsin, college towns, full of progressives and egg heads. But then again, even academics possess and display the human characteristics which alienate me from humanity generally; pettiness, greed, arrogance, and condescending judgmental disapproval. The rule of thumb is; when a human being gets mad at you, he or she stays mad forever, as if it has become imprinted on neurological circuitry. It may take years to overcome this, if you choose to. Sometimes I choose to, choose to spend the time and effort turning an idiot's attitude towards me around, turning disapproval into warmth, by using conversational honey and suger. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. So, sometimes I prefer to just go home, and spend the day, and my life, with my cats.