I am the King of Dance. I am the Dancing Queen.

I watch Dancing with The Stars.  You probably do too, but for different reasons.  Originally I was defiant towards allowing my eyes to be rotted by the sexuality and smut that plagues the series; but it has grown on me (I'm open-minded unlike you).    Anyways, When I sit on my couch observing the B-listers foxtrot their way to the next round I become more than a simple viewer.  I'm looking at the footwork, at the hands, the musicality and most importantly the lack of talent that most of them possess.  I do it because I am one of the top 100 dancers in the entire world.  I'm not formally trained and I have never been in a dance studio.  The way I look at it is that associating myself with novice dancers would only bring me down.  I'm a natural, and unlike the food world, natural tastes better.

I have been given varying compliments about my rhythmic movement and all of them are accurate.  For example, these phrases were tossed at me at a few weddings over the summer.

"Whoa!"

"I've heard of cutting a rug, but your movement cut my soul." (Obviously in a good way)

"I guess it doesn't take two to tango."

"Ive never seen a successful Sundance at night.  You've opened my eyes and made me whole."

"What's your name?  Your Samba is sensational.  Forgive me for inquiring, but did you attend Julliard on a full scholarship?"

No, I didn't attend Julliard; I don't need to listen to a bunch of hack dance professors to be great.  I just listen to the music and express myself via body movement....it's not that hard. Dance is simple for the talented and difficult for the dull.  My secret:  If you work hard and put your mind to it you can accomplish some things, not anything.  If you want to be as good as me, the only thing you can do is pray, because what I have is God-given. 

I think I am to dance what Cappuccinos are to hot beverages.  I may not be the most popular, but when given the choice between my froth and flavor and a regular cup of coffee the only holdup is the price.  If you could afford me everyday, I'd be waltzing my way into your heart on a Monday through Friday basis (weekends are full of book signings and appearances in children's hospitals).

So when Dancing with the Stars comes calling, you all will be able to see Kari Ann Inaba give me 10's even if my partner falls.

Below I have given you a visual lesson. 


I teach Children and Cowboys tape me

The Ladies flock

I look great no matter what

Even black humans know about my skills

I tend to draw a crowd

Through my dance I have gained 100s of followers.

Basketball--DON'T PISS ME OFF!

I stopped by the rec center for a quick game of a sport that white kids like me aren't supposed to be good at: basketball.  I put on my tight Nikes (they are fashionably 'tight' and they fit tight).  I walk in and half the players in there already knew me.  I am somewhat of an unforgettable person.  Anyways, the newbs in there didn't think much of my potential.  I was wearing shorter shorts (not John Stockton nutters) and an old generic jersey.  Also, being of Irish descent and having fluffy hair isn't always the best way to get street cred.

So I get picked up as an afterthought on a team full of wannabe ballers.  The first few possessions go through the other guys...they missed a three, airballed a mid-range jumper, and botched two layups.  I had touched the ball once in those four possessions.

Needless to say I was getting a little annoyed.  We were down 3-0 and I really hate losing (people usually hate the unknown).  Seeing as how these clowns were pretty much worthless I demanded the ball.  I go down hit a pull-up three (3's are worth 2 and everything else is worth 1...it's the way it is) and then steal the inbound pass and scored a layup to tie the game.  The next time down I drove the lane and kicked it to tard face (I don't know his name, but he was extremely tard face-ish) for a wide open three and he proceeded to hit the top of the backboard.  That would be the last time I let him touch the ball.

The other team went on a 2-0 run to make it 5-3 and I was starting to realize that there are no players on my team.  I came to a point where I had to decide...do I let these guys keep shooting, or do I win the game on my own?  I decided to be nice and take over the game.

I hit 4 more threes and made three layups to bring our score to 14 (games are played to 15).  The score was knotted at 14s and I could tell the guys were looking for me to win the game.  But my humility swelled and I thought that the best thing for me to do was allow one of these humans to repay me by making the game-winning shot.  I set it up perfectly (as I usually do) and gave one of my teammates a wide open shot at the top of the key.  He didn't hesitate, and shot a perfectly awful airball (as he usually does).  I snatched it in the air and hit a layup to win the game.

I didn't celebrate or even smile.  Why would I?  Do you get all excited every time you pee?  Do you celebrate normal everyday activities?  NO!  So why would I get all hyped up about scoring every single point in a game winning effort?  It's not like I was playing Kobe Bryant (Although one of the guys on the other team was wearing a Kobe jersey).  These kids were nothing but average, and that doesn't cut it against elite players such as myself.

**Side note:  Every time you see a guy wearing an NBA Jersey there is a 93% chance that he has no idea how to play basketball.  He will call every foul possible and completely misunderstand what constitutes traveling.  

So what I am getting at is do not mis-underestimate me.  It makes me mad and when I am mad I get angry.  To quote the Great Double-J Jeff Jarrett, "Don't piss me off!"  Follow that rule and your life will improve.

(Below: Jeff Jarrett) 

All in all I gained three new followers.

Trivia--another thing that makes me great.

Some people are really good at bowling.  Other humans are fine artists, able to draw or paint anything.  And many persons have beautiful voices.  I have all of those talents and more.  But with so much ability I sometimes forget all the greatness that has been endowed upon my head. But thankfully God gives me little reminders all the time.

Last week I was hanging with my friend Kyle out at the 'Blue Coyote.'  We had some food and a beverage,  but for some reason that wasn't good enough for him.  He picked up some clunky device and challenged me to this Buzztime game that was on one of the TVs.  Bad idea for him.

I am most likely the most knowledgeable person he has ever met.  I hadn't played any trivia games in a while, but I wasn't too concerned with this challenge of his. 

We began with a topic we both felt comfortable with: sports.  The game is simple...answer the multiple choice question correctly to earn points.  The quicker the response, the higher potential score.

The game began with not much notice from the peasants enjoying their lunch as they were completely unaware of the free show I was about to give them.

Question 1:  Blah blah blah (not the Ke$ha song) blah blah blah.
Answer: A.
Points awarded--Chris: 1,000  Kyle--167. 

Kyle looks to me and dares to claim that I had a lucky guess (he's not good with losing, and he's even worse with trivia).

I earned another 1,000 points on the next question, and the trend continued through the lunch.  After the first round the score was something like 6,500 (me) to 2,100 (Kyle). 

After that showing I wanted to end the game because I knew how much this whooping would hurt his reputation, but he asked me to play again...this time 'Lunchtime Trivia.'

I hesitantly agreed.  I didn't want to make Kyle look stupid, but I also didn't want him to miss out on seeing my amazing aptitude for random and semi-unimportant information. 

Lunchtime trivia was much of the same, except the Blue Coyote patrons started to take notice.  I overheard whispers of these white kids at a table.  They said something like, "Man, that guy is killing it.  I want to know him."  Another table thought I was cheating because according to them, "Nobody knows that."  Wrong.  I do.

Some frat guys wanted me to be their leader, but I declined.  I've haven't been a fan of Greeks since the Socrates incident.

Kyle, to his credit, took everything well.  I think he liked having a crowd watch him.  It can be compared to a JV girls basketball team facing the Lakers at Staples Center.  Sure the competition wouldn't be great, but what a stage for those little girls.

I won round two 6,700 to 3,100.

Kyle, not wanting to let this opportunity pass him by, wanted more.  I accepted...it was the least I could do for him.

This time around I was a bit distracted.  The news of my intelligence traveled all the way to the pub's manager.  He came and sat next to me and asked, "Can you play and talk at the same time?"  I said, "Can a cripple get sympathy?"  (I didn't really say that, I just nodded).

The Blue Coyote is hosting an acoustic set from Erin Mclaughlin and Switchfoot's Drew Shirley and the manager wanted my input on how the place should look.  I had one eye on the scoreboard (I was winning) and the other on the set.  I told him he could put a few things up to make the wall less bare.  I also suggested that he fill the sides with something to give it a more comfortable vibe.  He agreed and gave me his card.  I think he wants me to be a consultant.

Anyways, I destroyed Kyle again and this time he had to go.  The crowd diminished after they saw how little I cared about the game.  I didn't really win anything but a few new followers for my performance.

It was cool, I guess. 


Kyle and I below