BY CHASE WILKINSON
Justin Timberlake’s new album has been getting me into trouble lately. With spring finally showing its head around Savannah, I’ve been taking more walks around town and am always listening to “The 20/20 Experience. “ And when I hear the horns of “Suit & Tie” in my headphones, I can’t help but dance. In the middle of the sidewalk. Straight up Billie Jean-ing it.
I can’t help it. Once those beats work their way into my ears, I lose control. I just start two-stepping down Broughton Street like I might stomp the yard at any moment.
This wouldn’t be such a bad thing if I were, you know, good at dancing. My large uncoordinated limbs just sort of flail about as I stumble around the concrete thinking I look like I’m Channing Tatum or something. But when “Mirrors” is blasting in my headphones, its hard to stop. I just sort of scream the lyrics while waving my arms around like someone at a rave that doesn’t want people to know he ran out of glow sticks.
The problem is that I don’t have the confidence to embrace the fact that I spontaneously dance to Justin Timberlake in public. Whenever I think no one is watching, I’m a champ – I’m going to win the next season of “So You Think You Can Dance.”
But once I realize that people can actually see me, I just run away and hide.
I don’t think it would be such a bad thing if I were known as the guy who kind of danced in the hallways. Like, “Oh yeah, that’s Chase. Just give him some room, he’s letting the groove get in.”
I really wish I could stop being so embarrassed by it. I always like catching other people dancing to their music in public and I never judge them. At red lights I look around at everyone waiting, trying to find the one person rocking out to the music in their car. And I love that person. I always want to flash them the thumbs up and say something like, “Rock on, man. I know, ‘Call Me Maybe’ is just too good of a song not to dance.”
When I was in high school, whenever I would see my friends gathered in the hall hanging out, I’d run up to them and shout “Random dance party!” and start dancing like a maniac. Six out of ten times everyone would stop what they were doing and dance too. Sure, I’ve interrupted the occasional “bad break-up grieving session,” but for the most part I was spreading some cheer.
I want some of that confidence back. I want whip out a boom box in the middle of class, get the Timberlake thumping, and have a random dance party for the ages. But first, I should probably get more comfortable with dancing solo.
“The bitch and moan-olgoues” is a weekly humor column that explores writer Chase Wilkinson’s adventures in being socially awkward and paranoid.
