Category: etc.

Do it light , taking me through the night
Shadow dancing , baby you do it right
Give me more , drag me across the floor
Shadow dancing , all this and nothing more

A live blog of my viewing of Any Gibb’s Shadow Dancing:

1) Andy, what’s with the Baptist sweater? My brother had that exact same sweater. No, really, every man at my church had that sweater. And one or two of the more masculine young ladies. It’s freaking me out. I’m waiting for this whole deal to devolve into Shadow Dancing at The Old Rugged Cross.

2) Oh, no! Andy! Dude! What’s with the pink get-up?? And the vest?? And you move like a Bobble Head doll. You’re frantic and jerky and — good Lord — apparently paralyzed from the waist down. Clearly, some sicko, taking advantage of your handicap, has dressed you all up in frothy pink against your will, ripped the buttons off your shirt to expose your compact and hairy little chest, propped you up on a stage and told you to wiggle about. Good thing I never saw this at the time I was mad for you and your cab-forward teeth. Would have killed my lust instantly.

3) The Shadow Dancers should really stay in shadow. Yamahama. They be bad.

4) At about the 2:23 mark, when you suddenly clutch the mic with both hands and close your eyes, uhm ….. honestly, I had to look away. It’s clearly a private moment and I feel, well, somewhat compromised being subjected to that, Andy Gibb. Take that Baptist sweater off right now, young man.

5) I’m still a little hot for your horse teeth though. I don’t understand it.

6) I’m unclear on something. You want me to shadow dance with you, but you want me to do it “light.” So there’s a fat-free version of shadow dancing, apparently? Help me, Andy Gibb. I want to understand this. If I’m going to shadow dance, why would I do it light? That’s like promising me ice cream then giving me frogurt. Like promising me cookies then giving me SnackWells. Like ….. like promising me something good then giving me something that sucks. I trust I make myself clear.

7) Hm. Is it just me or is this whole post laden with — totally unintentional — double entendres? I swear I’m innocent. And I’m Amish, let’s not forget. I have stated this repeatedly: My father’s family lived in Lancaster, PA and all that Amish stuff seeps into the collective psyche. It’s true. So don’t ask me what I’m even talking about, Ephraim. I don’t know. It’s the devil talking and now I’ll be grounded from rumspringa. Thanks, Beelzebub.

8) Still, Andy Gibb, you want me to do it “light” yet you want to be dragged across the floor. If I even understood this on any level, I imagine I would find this contradictory.

9) On the other hand, I want to play with your hair.

10) On the other hand, your complete earnestness about shadow dancing is still somewhat bewitching to me. And your healthy horse teeth.

Oh. I think I just hit puberty.

Our next-door neighbor, Loud Sex Guy, is two-timing on the loud blonde with a quiet brunette.

So next time I run into one of his girls, can I ask — all wide-eyed innocence now, “Oh. Did you color your hair? I thought it was blonde/brown. Uhm, it’s pretty.”

Because that’s how I roll. Giving encouragement whilst simultaneously planting seeds of doubt and paranoia.

Personally, I find the whole thing rather unsavory. Mainly because I find him rather unsavory. Shiver.

Every book I’m reading is red, red paperback, all the same dark tomato shade of red, all about the same size, too, so I will reach for one, thinking it’s another, start reading where I left off, and be utterly baffled, flipping through pages and muttering to myself: What is this about Cora Crippen staring out the window of 39 Hilltop Crescent Dr.? Uhm, excuse me, but where is Ago Vespucci? Where is Qara Koz? The Skeleton? The Mattress? Okay. This author is clearly whack. He’s lost it. He’s mental! How did this ever get published? He has totally switched stories … like a schizo …. like a nutjob ….. like it’s a completely different …… ohh.

Why is it “ham” and “pork” and “bacon” and “sausage” when it’s delicious but suddenly “swine” when it’s deadly?

It’s not even “pig”; it’s SWINE.

Is this just human nature?

Like when your beloved is “honey” and “sweetie” and “baby and “lovey” but once they break your heart, they’re suddenly “that bastard”?

Or …. “that swine.”

Just wondering is all.

So is swine the worst thing you can be?

In the news today ….

“The U.S. government on Monday issued a warning against any nonessential travel to Mexico, considered the epicenter of the outbreak.”

Oh, say it isn’t so!

What about the trip to Tijuana I’d planned for this weekend chock full of vigorous activities such as avoiding being stalked and avoiding being kidnapped and avoiding being ransomed and avoiding being shot or tortured or beheaded?

Drat it all, anyway.

…. your first night of clown college and you are quaking in your patchwork pants, hoping, ohplease, ohplease, to make a good impression.

The small post directly below is fiction; there’s a tag on it, but I feel bad because it seems like it’s upsetting people, triggering things. Let’s just say that precise circumstance is fiction — it’s a composite, let’s say — but I have plenty of experience with what you’re all talking about. I’m sorry if any of you feel misled.

And I do feel the pain of your experiences. Oh, believe me, I do.