from “Dancing with Really Real Stars,” April 26, 2008

We went dancing last night. Couples drew complex sentences on the floor, a way of thinking we were unable to follow. We enjoyed the live and lively sound of the Pranksters, an 18-piece swing band that filled the stage with horns, rhythm, and vocalists. We had arrived an hour early to take advantage of a dancing class, learning just enough about triple-step swing to watch the dancers with increased interest. Our favorite couple, a lanky fellow and his sparse partner, flitted and flirted about the floor like two mosquitoes bouncing against the ceiling on a sultry night in August; by the end of the evening, a tie of sweat dripped down his shirt. We took a few notes, thinking of a post, thinking about the difficulties of both dancing and writing.