Remember the tall hairy bearded guy in the pink tutu and ballet slippers? Who crashed the party? At Swing Dance America 2007, I think it was, Saturday night? Hollering and making hellaruckus when security escorted him out of the ballroom? Tried pulling off his tutu in protest?
Well I think we maybe got crashed here tonight by a very drunken, pretend newspaper reporter (she gave us a Boston Globe business card) a woman about my age, blonde, in way too tight skinny-jeans, with lipstick applied up to her nose, in high heels, which either because of alcohol or because of age she couldn’t stay up on so instead she kind of thumped over to the reserved seating table, her ankles taking turns flopping on the floor, to ask Julie Hein, Rosa Passi, and Bob and Beverly Budzynski if they were important people she should talk to. But she immediately lost interest and anyway was too drunk to stay for an answer and her eyes were rolling around in her head so before anyone could say anything she flopped herself out onto the floor where she stood, wavering, in between dancing couples, staring them down intently for as long as her eyes would stay put then turning to stare at someone else, swaying on her bent ankles like a tree about to go down, which was a little disconcerting for the dancers. And then she pulled a small red camera out of her bag mumbling something incoherent about somebody posing if she could figure out how to use her camera.
Rosa coughed into her hand and said “bbbprr” we said “What Rosa? What?” She coughed into her hand again, a cough with a word attached, “[cough] –ipper! [cough cough]” We were laughing we said “Rosa WHAT?!?” so she cough-talked louder and this time we heard “[cough] zipper! [cough]”
“Oh!” we said, “Zipper! Her zipper is open?”
And indeed it was, the woman’s fly was down, actually more busted open than down since the pants were so tight simple engineering would show that unless that zipper was made of aircraft grade steel it was not about to stay zipped.
By this time we were starting to suspect she wasn’t from the Boston Globe.
Should we tell her? What should we do? We thought we really ought to tell her so I walked over and said “Excuse me honey your zipper is down” – I had to repeat it three times, loudly, before she could focus – and you know what she said? She said “Uh oh! Hope my thang wasn’t stickin’ out. Just so long as my you-know-what wasn’t pokin’ out if y’know what I mean.”
That is what the reporter from the Boston Globe said when I told her that her zipper was down.
The last I saw of her was just as Classic was about to begin. When everyone ran to find a seat on the floor she wobbled herself over to the table and trying to reach to get her pocketbook her knees and ankles just kind of gave out – slowly – she got shorter and shorter like Groucho Marx on bent knees, sinking downward almost gracefully, in slo-mo. Have to ask if anyone saw where she went.
Or he. Where he went.
Tonight was routines! Eight Masters couples (this comp is on Bob and Beverly Budzynski’s Masters Tour) and thirteen Classic couples! SO much superb dancing tonight! I am not just being polite – the routines tonight were absolutely terrific. I would NOT want to be a judge! Judging seems impossible when each routine is over-the-top marvelous in its own unique way. Like trying to judge a Renoir against a Picasso.
I’ll tell you all about routines, and the wonderful Champion Strictly finals, tomorrow.