Thursday, February 11, 2010

I went to the store to get more...

Faster than the speed of dance!

I've recently been informed that I'm a phenomenal dancer, a dance god, if you will. Apparently people have been known to come to Paris in order to find themselves (see Lost Generation, etc. [booooring.]), but upon arriving, it seems that the dance fever discovered me. I am no longer Alex, friend, compatriot, veteran, philanthropist, nude barista, and ultraconservative lyrical poet. No. I'm the Dance Commander. With Michael Jackson's recent death on everyone's minds, few have realized that the "Dance Commander" position has now reopened, and it seems only fitting that I take the reins. So, public, I will be there for you. If there is a crowded room that really doesn't need one more obnoxious person throwing themselves around, I'll be there. If people are at a club and don't (oddly enough) want someone to beat on their heads while they sing invented lyrics to a song that is predominantly instrumental, I'll be there. If I feel like it, I'll be there, dancing to the people's chant of, "Dance Commander, We Love You!"

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