Yesterday, the management staff of my apartment complex put together a pool party for the residents. My children and I donned our swimsuits and went to have a little fun for a couple of hours. There were door prizes, which we didn't win. There were snacks, and we had a few. There was a DJ who played a very poor selection of party music.
When they got to the dance contest, I was really glad that there was no category for grownups. However, I did note that the three teen girls couldn't bust a move until the DJ played a "song" (Soulja Boy Tell'em - Crank Dat [Soulja Boy], don't ask, I just can't go there), that had a canned "dance" to go with it, they just stood there, doing nothing, with no creativity, no spark, no interest in the music. It was as if because the song had no recognized choreography, the music could not be interpreted for dance. To my further dismay, the Crank Dat (Soulja Boy) dance lacks any imagination as much as the music lacks any music. I never thought I'd say it, but I miss Thriller. If you could learn all of that choreography, you were working.
After the third set of door prizes and no win for us, along with sunburned foreheads and shoulders, it was time to go. In addition to the discomfort in my scorched shoulders, my left ankle really hurts. I must have given it a bad turn while horsing around with Page and Marie in the pool. Dang, I'm showing some wear.