Sunday, January 11, 2004

If God really is a DJ, like Pink claims s/he is, you'd think better records would be spun on the Milky Way turntable. While all the Enron-type execs and Nicaraguan mudslide victims dance in a frenzy to the cha-cha, I'm here twiddling my thumbs to the foxtrot.

Which reminds me. One of my peer tutor kids told me her older sister is willing to teach me the tango (score!) for $15 a week (instant replay!). But she lives way too far (false alarm) and I won't have the time with my CO-OP position next semester (dreams charred to a crisp).

You know, I used to take dance. I greatly regret quitting it. I used to wear my white, stretch-cotton dance shoes and practice below my dad's variety store, using the handle bars of the exercise bike as support beams. I even performed on stage for these businessmen, diplomat-type guys. Which turned me off (hooker) makeup for life.

Quit figure skating next. Loved that too. Progressed fairly quickly up the ranks. Did the twirls and everything. But my mom decided my practice rink was too out of the away, so I kissed my blades goodbye.

Now, what I really wanted to quit all my life was piano. Tried quitting it for the fifth time two months ago, but failed to do so because I'm a schmuck and was wracked with guilt. So next month, I'll begin training as a piano teacher because knowing me, I won't be able to hold down a real job. Shoe habits are expensive fuckers to feed.

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