After reading my blog post about dance classes from a few weeks ago, a dear friend of mine in Idaho called to remind me of my signature dance move: The Raptor.
Astaire had his waltz. MC Hammer, his “Hammertime” jig. Me? I have The Raptor.
Imagine a 30-something man, paunchy and, um, drunk, rocking out to a hippie jam band in a small bar in Twin Falls, Idaho. Imagine his upper arms close to his body, his forearms extended outward like the vestigial arms of, well, the prehistoric velociraptor. Imagine said arms moving in hypnotic rhythm to the music. Imagine his friends falling back in awe (or was it embarrassment? Let’s call it awe.) That night, the dance floor was my canvas. The music, my palette. My feet, the brushes.
Once in a generation a man redefines what is impossible. I was that man. Anybody who was present will never forget it, no matter how hard they try.
Riolo Dance Studio, here I come. If you can kill The Raptor, you deserve the Super Service Award. I would thank you. America would thank you.
I’ve got one of those!!! My move is called “the chop,” and has become a bit of an international phenomenon. I have a feeling it would be on, if perchance, we ended up on the same dance floor.. . do I smell a dance-off?
I’d love to see a Lindsay vs. Matthew dance-off. Entertainment for days.
Dance off it is. The Chop vs. The Raptor. Bring it, mon ami.
I’ll bring it…when you’re least expecting it.
I have some bad news Matthew. Your version of “The Raptor” (oh yes, it’s been done before) could NEVER compete with the world-stopping duet that Brandon Smith and I performed at Lindsay’s wedding rehearsal. If you want your face to melt, ask to see/hear it. I suggest you get a new move and leave The Raptor to the pros.
I’m already feeling better about my dancing!