For the last couple of days, I've been thinking about the Dancing Baby a lot.
As I mentioned before, I jog; mainly so that I can eat lots of unhealthy processed food. You think I'm joking, but I'm not. Back in college, my school (go UC Santa Cruz, go Banana Slugs!) sent home a questionaire asking for parents to send in the recipe for the child's favorite food. My mom and I joked about her cutting out the instructions to Kraft Macaroni & Cheese.
Anyway, I usually jog over Manhattan's city streets, which means I'm always stopping at red lights, waiting for them to change. I'm one of those joggers who keeps running in place. I know it looks freakish, but I want to keep my heart rate in "the zone".
Well, I'm also usually listening to music, typically one of the CDs I made for the recent honeymood drive down to Charleston (Enterprise Rent-a-Car ended up screwing us with a car with no CD player). That means that when I stop at the light, I sort of have the urge to dance.
Well, the combination of my jogging motion, and my dancing urge, is a lot like the Dancing Baby. Maybe with a little Snoopy mixed in. It's embarrassing, but it's also exhilarating: a public display of how energetic I feel. It's often combined with with me singing the lyrics to my songs. I have a terrible singing voice. So, if pedestrians aren't freaked out by my gyrating, they're driven away by my howling.
Adam