<body><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener('load', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <div id="navbar-iframe-container"></div> <script type="text/javascript" src="https://apis.google.com/js/plusone.js"></script> <script type="text/javascript"> gapi.load("gapi.iframes:gapi.iframes.style.bubble", function() { if (gapi.iframes && gapi.iframes.getContext) { gapi.iframes.getContext().openChild({ url: 'https://www.blogger.com/navbar.g?targetBlogID\x3d13627209\x26blogName\x3dThe+Cynical+Ones\x26publishMode\x3dPUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT\x26navbarType\x3dBLUE\x26layoutType\x3dCLASSIC\x26searchRoot\x3dhttp://thecynicalones.blogspot.com/search\x26blogLocale\x3den_US\x26v\x3d2\x26homepageUrl\x3dhttp://thecynicalones.blogspot.com/\x26vt\x3d-4590904552691322950', where: document.getElementById("navbar-iframe-container"), id: "navbar-iframe" }); } }); </script>
About Me

Writer. Music head. Political junkie. Pop culture whore. Funny black boy. Looking to have a voice in the world -- with a few good sponsors.

View My Complete Profile

Find Me Here:

The Recession Diaries

The Spin

Stay Tuned


The Roll


Aliya King

All That I Am: A Diary of My Randymethoughts Pt. II

Amerika's Muse

Bark + Bite

Basement Elevation

Bomani Jones


Brooklyn Sista

Clay Cane

Concrete Loop

crunk and disorderly

Dope Penmanship

Fly Cliches

Four Four


Got Sole?

Hot 2 Def Inc.


Just Another Girl on the IRT

Me, Myself An Eye

Middlechild Promotions

Mz. Virgo

Necole Bitchie

Negrita Linda

One Boy Revolution

Oo Itz Santo

Queen of the Non Sequiturs

Queen To Be

Rhymes With Snitch


Straight From The A

Thank God I'm Famous

That Grape Juice

The Fury

The Real 7

The search for RELLevance


Toya's World

Previous Posts

Let Them Breathe
Kid Fierce
Help Me: Keri Hilson
DJ, Don't Ya Play That Song
Not Anymore
Ellen Knows
He Looka Like A Shim
No, I Don't Like...
The Explain Game


May 2005
June 2005
July 2005
August 2005
September 2005
October 2005
November 2005
December 2005
January 2006
February 2006
March 2006
April 2006
May 2006
June 2006
July 2006
August 2006
September 2006
October 2006
November 2006
December 2006
January 2007
February 2007
March 2007
April 2007
May 2007
June 2007
July 2007
August 2007
September 2007
October 2007
November 2007
December 2007
January 2008
February 2008
March 2008
April 2008
May 2008
June 2008
July 2008
August 2008
September 2008
October 2008
November 2008
December 2008
January 2009
February 2009
March 2009
April 2009
May 2009
June 2009
July 2009
August 2009
September 2009
October 2009

Add to Technorati Favorites

Site Meter

free page hit

Tuesday, March 17, 2009
11:50 AM

I Jig, Not Jerk


I heard about this dance while out at happy hour with a friend on Sunday. Before you even say it: Shocker that a discussion about a dance that looks like this came about in the presence of alcohol.

I know I make it a habit to at least be aware of every new retarded dance that's out, but I don't like this one at all.

1. I'm too tall for all of that. I don't mind getting low, but my body is not a homemade trampoline. Either we're going to drop it low, pick it real slow, or maybe even drop it, pick it up, then drop it again. But when you're asking me to drop it, stay there, then move around like I'm going through an invisible obstacle course, we have a problem.

2. There is no jig in this dance. This made me suspicious that the dance is not based in the South. That's also a problem, because well, our ign't dances are better than yours. They just are. You know it. I know it. That's why you always end up doing ours while we refused to chicken noodle soup. We only did the lean back while we waited for the bartender to hurry up with our drink.

3. The beat sucks. Another sign that this didn't originate in the South. Judging from the comments, this may have come out of the Midwest. I have friends from the Midwest, so I'll play nice. I will say, though, this is not what's up. At all.

4. Why is it called the jerk? Isn't that something our parents or young grandparents used to dance to? If I saw my mama sneaking off to do this, I refuse. Then again, they're not going to play this in Houston, which means I'll be spared when I make a trip home.

5. It looks like you have to wear skinny jeans to do this dance. So between joining a yoga class just to get flexible enough to do half those stretches involved in the dance, I have to choke my balls out. Hell nawl, ya'll.

This is exactly why someone needs to tell me who came up with dance #18 of the Dallas boogie, the Bobby V. A friend told me about on Saturday, but I haven't been able to find a video on YouTube.

Someone help me out. Look at the title of this entry again. I can't do this jerk stuff.

The Cynical Ones.
posted by Michael at