I think the dance floor is one place where humans can be seen actually de-evolving.
If you don't believe me, go to XS on a Friday night. Spot the girl adorned in 6-inch heels and a mini dress, grinding so furiously on a stranger that he has to grip the pole on the stage to stay upright. Observe the guy with his shirt unbuttoned, un-rhythmically dry humping the girl in front of him for three '80s jams in a row.
What was once a venue for artistically moving our bodies has become a place to unleash our pent up inner-freaks.
Last weekend, I went to my younger sister's birthday party to chaperone. I completely expected to break up kids making out in the hallways and was not fooled by the contents in their "water bottles," but I nearly choked on the birthday cake when I saw a 16-year-old girl fully bent over between two boys on the dance floor. There are few people who actually look good booty-dancing, and the rest look like a bunch of sexually peaking cavemen.
Call me old-fashioned, but I miss the days of slow dancing and "The Electric Slide."
During the party, I stepped out of the ballroom and into a nearby bar to catch a glimpse of the UF-LSU game (and to grab a well-deserved gin and tonic). I must have walked through a time machine.The bar was full of gray-haired men and women swing dancing to jazz on the dance floor. The 70-year-olds were twisting and twirling like they were in their primes, using more coordination and class than I have ever seen in a bar full of 20-year-olds.
I stayed to admire for a while until I realized I should probably get back to babysitting the horny teens. I got up, braced myself for what I would see next and pushed the door to the ballroom open. I walked right into more than 100 teens bent over and shaking their asses in what they call a "grind line."
I'm scared to see what that will look like when they are 70.
