Most nations have rules of decorum for their governing bodies. Dancing, whether it is twerking, the bunny hop, the Macarena or Haka, is probably on no one's list. Lack of decorum in a parliamentary hall, tribal long house or even at the U.N. General Assembly is a sign of wayward adult supervision. Unless maybe the building is on fire and people stampede in a panic. No decorum, no civilization in the long haul. The place for dancing is in ceremonies, juke joints, the ballroom, contests, ballet, Hollywood movies, the prom, strip clubs, weddings, Juggalo gatherings, and when you are ordered to dance, I think
I don't dance. I don't because I lack the gene for it owing to my ancestry. I am unopposed to others dancing. But time and place should dictate. There was a time back in 1965 when I thought dance might be for me. I tried it. Failed. Humiliated myself. Swore I'd never do it again. My muse, the one that cruelly lied to me: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ALR13MJLAs4
Fast forward to 1983. I am a Navy CWO2 Op-Tech on a Guided Missile Frigate on a port call to Va'vau, Tonga. The Officers and Chief's have been invited to a luau by the local chief. We are under a huge tent lit by a few 60W lightbulbs, there is a record player playing what sounds like hula music, women in grass skirts and skimpy halter tops are dancing. We are encouraged to paste local paper currency to the dancer's ample bodies. It is all fun. The music stops. The tribal chief asks our Captain if some of his men can show his people how American people dance. Our Captain, may God bless and keep him well because he was a good man, said, "Well, of course". He then pointed to 1. LTjg Hall, a former Enlisted man in the Army who did two tours in Vietnam, was a former Navy Enlisted man too, a linguist in Russian, German and Chinese before getting his Navy commission. LTjg Hall was 35 years old. 2. LT B_______t, our Squadron Chaplain, 50+ years old, a former Enlisted man who had done his 20 years and retired as an E-6 Machinery Repairman, got the "calling", went to Baptist divinity school, got ordained and rejoined the Navy. 3. Me, a 34 year old Chief Warrant Officer who doesn't dance. I don't recall the two or three 45 rpm records they played but they had a tune and a rhythm to them. Not that it mattered to us three klutzes. What mattered was the order came from the Captain. Disobedience could mean a bad discharge and Leavenworth, or hanging for mutiny. It was the most awful 7-8 minutes of my life. Our lives. That poor Baptist Chaplain. I felt bad for him but the upside seemed to be that most of the Tongan eyes were on him. Not on me or Mister Hall. I think the Chaplain was showing his Enlisted man roots back before he found Jesus. The Tongan chief and the crowd clapped and hooted the performance. Our Captain was pleased. That is always a good thing. But those friggin' Chief Petty Officers ratted us out to the crew. Kinda tarnished my CWO image, made me growl more. But yeah, dancing. Not for me, not for parliament. Have some decorum, you savages.
Most nations have rules of decorum for their governing bodies. Dancing, whether it is twerking, the bunny hop, the Macarena or Haka, is probably on no one's list. Lack of decorum in a parliamentary hall, tribal long house or even at the U.N. General Assembly is a sign of wayward adult supervision. Unless maybe the building is on fire and people stampede in a panic. No decorum, no civilization in the long haul. The place for dancing is in ceremonies, juke joints, the ballroom, contests, ballet, Hollywood movies, the prom, strip clubs, weddings, Juggalo gatherings, and when you are ordered to dance, I think
I don't dance. I don't because I lack the gene for it owing to my ancestry. I am unopposed to others dancing. But time and place should dictate. There was a time back in 1965 when I thought dance might be for me. I tried it. Failed. Humiliated myself. Swore I'd never do it again. My muse, the one that cruelly lied to me: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ALR13MJLAs4
Fast forward to 1983. I am a Navy CWO2 Op-Tech on a Guided Missile Frigate on a port call to Va'vau, Tonga. The Officers and Chief's have been invited to a luau by the local chief. We are under a huge tent lit by a few 60W lightbulbs, there is a record player playing what sounds like hula music, women in grass skirts and skimpy halter tops are dancing. We are encouraged to paste local paper currency to the dancer's ample bodies. It is all fun. The music stops. The tribal chief asks our Captain if some of his men can show his people how American people dance. Our Captain, may God bless and keep him well because he was a good man, said, "Well, of course". He then pointed to 1. LTjg Hall, a former Enlisted man in the Army who did two tours in Vietnam, was a former Navy Enlisted man too, a linguist in Russian, German and Chinese before getting his Navy commission. LTjg Hall was 35 years old. 2. LT B_______t, our Squadron Chaplain, 50+ years old, a former Enlisted man who had done his 20 years and retired as an E-6 Machinery Repairman, got the "calling", went to Baptist divinity school, got ordained and rejoined the Navy. 3. Me, a 34 year old Chief Warrant Officer who doesn't dance. I don't recall the two or three 45 rpm records they played but they had a tune and a rhythm to them. Not that it mattered to us three klutzes. What mattered was the order came from the Captain. Disobedience could mean a bad discharge and Leavenworth, or hanging for mutiny. It was the most awful 7-8 minutes of my life. Our lives. That poor Baptist Chaplain. I felt bad for him but the upside seemed to be that most of the Tongan eyes were on him. Not on me or Mister Hall. I think the Chaplain was showing his Enlisted man roots back before he found Jesus. The Tongan chief and the crowd clapped and hooted the performance. Our Captain was pleased. That is always a good thing. But those friggin' Chief Petty Officers ratted us out to the crew. Kinda tarnished my CWO image, made me growl more. But yeah, dancing. Not for me, not for parliament. Have some decorum, you savages.