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zhieOn television tonight, they had some guys tapdancing, and y'know, tapdancing is almost becoming a lost art.
If only it would have been lost sooner...
No, wait, come back. I love tapdancing. Love dancing, I'll admit to that - tap, ballroom, ballet, you name it. How many times has Erestor waltzed in my fics? Oh, yes. Love dancing, love to dance.
However...
Back in high school, ah! the glory days (*snickers*), when I played bass each and every... why am I typing instead of...
*keyboard abandoned for a bit*
... when I played bass each and every day (sheesh, is it out of tune! poor thing), and constantly was I with the jazz concerts and competitions, gigs, jam sessions, and what have you, there was a yearly competition in Whitewater..er, or Eau Claire..was it Whitewater? Dammit.
No, wait, maybe it flip flopped. Doesn't matter.
So, every year, we went and in years one and two we weren't really good enough yet as a band to place (although individually the first year, the pianist and I both scored what was equivilent to 'best of show' on our individual instruments, thus giving hope to the director). But in year three, we had it together. We were that tight. We were on top of the world! And then...
Then...
We decided instead of going to lunch as a group as was ritual it was early and we would stay and check out the band who went after us.
They were nice. They were cute, lots of girls in the band. (For the record, I was the only girl, except for whatever singer tagged along that year)
And then...
then...
Midsong, the drummer stood up.
The horns dropped out.
And he...
...began to dance.
He tapdanced, while continuing to play.
Our drummer dropped his sticks.
The one on stage started to tap dance across, between the others, beating on the chairs as he went. They held things up for him to hit, he reached over them to bang on the stands and such.
Tom (pianist): So, Chad - Can you do that?
Chad (drummer): Fuuu-uuuuck.
Andy (trumpet): Is'sat a no?
Chad (drummer): Fuu-uuu-uuuck. FUCK!
Director on stage: *evil glare at us*
Me: Yeah.. so.. Pizza Hut now?
Tom: Yeah.
Chad: Fuuck!!
The next year, though, Mr. Tapdancing Drummer was not with the group, as he was a senior that previous time.
And although Andy and Chad had gone on to college by then, Tom, myself, and the whole crew of new musicians finally - finally - took first place.
At the Whitewater Jazzfest. Or, the Eau Claire Jazzfest.
Wait.. maybe we were in Minneapolis...
If only it would have been lost sooner...
No, wait, come back. I love tapdancing. Love dancing, I'll admit to that - tap, ballroom, ballet, you name it. How many times has Erestor waltzed in my fics? Oh, yes. Love dancing, love to dance.
However...
Back in high school, ah! the glory days (*snickers*), when I played bass each and every... why am I typing instead of...
*keyboard abandoned for a bit*
... when I played bass each and every day (sheesh, is it out of tune! poor thing), and constantly was I with the jazz concerts and competitions, gigs, jam sessions, and what have you, there was a yearly competition in Whitewater..er, or Eau Claire..was it Whitewater? Dammit.
No, wait, maybe it flip flopped. Doesn't matter.
So, every year, we went and in years one and two we weren't really good enough yet as a band to place (although individually the first year, the pianist and I both scored what was equivilent to 'best of show' on our individual instruments, thus giving hope to the director). But in year three, we had it together. We were that tight. We were on top of the world! And then...
Then...
We decided instead of going to lunch as a group as was ritual it was early and we would stay and check out the band who went after us.
They were nice. They were cute, lots of girls in the band. (For the record, I was the only girl, except for whatever singer tagged along that year)
And then...
then...
Midsong, the drummer stood up.
The horns dropped out.
And he...
...began to dance.
He tapdanced, while continuing to play.
Our drummer dropped his sticks.
The one on stage started to tap dance across, between the others, beating on the chairs as he went. They held things up for him to hit, he reached over them to bang on the stands and such.
Tom (pianist): So, Chad - Can you do that?
Chad (drummer): Fuuu-uuuuck.
Andy (trumpet): Is'sat a no?
Chad (drummer): Fuu-uuu-uuuck. FUCK!
Director on stage: *evil glare at us*
Me: Yeah.. so.. Pizza Hut now?
Tom: Yeah.
Chad: Fuuck!!
The next year, though, Mr. Tapdancing Drummer was not with the group, as he was a senior that previous time.
And although Andy and Chad had gone on to college by then, Tom, myself, and the whole crew of new musicians finally - finally - took first place.
At the Whitewater Jazzfest. Or, the Eau Claire Jazzfest.
Wait.. maybe we were in Minneapolis...
