Living in LA I spend a lot of time driving, an activity that I actually love. I really must credit my iPod for making my commutes enjoyable, though. But, then again, I guess I’m the one who fills my iPod with music so I should really just thank myself. Way to go, me!
I love listening to music in my car. I’ve found that if I sit semi hunched forward over the steering wheel, my right hand leaning comfortably on my stereo and my index finger poised above the volume knob, I have the freedom and time convenience to blast my music at a point in the song that gets me especially psyched. And when I get especially psyched I like to dance. Now, I wouldn’t’ say I’m a good dancer, but I do it anyway. And I feel safest dancing in my car because I like to think no one can see me. This is far from the truth because not only are my windows not tinted, but I am constantly surrounded by cars.
Driving in Colorado I was pampered with breaks in traffic, long stretches of time where there wouldn’t be a car directly next to me, allowing me to bust a move that could not be contained any longer. Not so much in LA. I’m usually neck and neck with someone at all points during the drive. I used to think I had developed the perfect car dance, one that allowed me to move freely, the only rule being that no limbs can make their way above the window line. But when I noticed that I could see my fellow drivers holding their phones barely above their laps to sneakily text at the wheel, and that I could see what kind of coffee they were drinking as it sat in their cup holder, harsh reality set in.
I took a good, long, honest look at my car dancing and realized that my hips played an integral part my movements. When you get a central body part, such as hips, involved in a dance, all subtly goes out the window (not literally, I can proudly say my dancing stayed within the confines of the car). Sure, my arms usually stayed below the window line jabbing side to side like I was playing turntables. But my popping shoulders certainly did not. My bobbing head certainly did not. And my pursed lips that make their appearance whenever I listen to aggressive/demeaning rap (which is all the time); a face I think looks like I just finished saying, “Ooooooo-weeeee! This is my jam!” certainly did not fall below the window line. My kneecaps were basically the only body part not moving.
It reminds me of my friend’s mom who said she could always spot her daughter from behind as a child because her chubby cheeks stuck out on either side of her head. My friend was using the oldest form of false sense of safety known to man; if I can’t see you, you can’t see me. She turned her head to confuse her mom and avoid having to leave the park, and I set up my own patronizing rules to avoid facing the fact that my mobile clubbing was all to well known on the road.
PS I want to take this opportunity to remind everyone to follow me on Twitter (senny24)! I make up my own hashtags on the reg because 1. It’s funny and 2. I don’t understand how to use them correctly.
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