is the subject of this post. And here is the video for which she has more views.
She’s the one that’s a she, said she centered (for the most part) in the screen.
I’m not jealous. After all, I don’t have any videos of me on YouTube dancing or otherwise, so I can’t rightly complain. And I’m not complaining. I’m just showing you how awesome my mom and my stepfather are, and treating you to a fragment of some awesome music from Fred’s down in Mamou, a place even you can get to (if you drive for a while).
I can’t remember the last time I went dancing, which is a shame. It’s a shame because I really like dancing, and because I don’t think that says good things about my memory. The last time I remember dancing all night was at my friends’ Jason and Alex’s wedding, where partying in partytown with partypeople lasted well into the night with music handpicked by Jason to make it the rockingest outingest wedding reception dance party with masks ever. Or, to put it more forcefully, EVAR.
If my mind wasn’t all the time obsessed with writing (either in the process of or thinking I should be doing) would I get more dancing done? In some ideal world, the writing gets done and the dancing get done, both unbegrudging the other time spent. In this world, so far, the writing gets done grudgingly and the dancing slips in like the ghost of a dream when Megan and I meet passing through rooms and jitterbug down. The writing files itself away, but it’s the dreams I savor.