Bossanova, Eh?

And here I thought that Erik and I had discovered all the ways to kill a person. Punjab, poison, scorpion bite, exploding grasshoppers, broken hearts, drowning, pistol, neck breaking, decapitation, lethal injection, hanging, repeated blows to the head. . .

Death by Bossanova? That's right, Bossanova rythym. Don't know what it is? Neither did I. Well, you know when you're searching the radio for 102.7 or 98.7 because your brother wants to listen to Kelly Clarkson. (Yes, Luke listens to Kelly Clarkson. And Sarah Brightman.) Well, maybe you don't know. Let's say your searching because you listen to Kelly Clarkson. Okay. Well, you know that annoying Mexican music station that pops up when you search for it because Kelly is going all staticky and popping her Ps? Bossanova music is like that, except perkier and techno-er. Now for something random: If I were to paint this music, I would use bright colors, short straight lines, and polka dots. Yes. If Erik were to hear this music, he would stand on the spot, terrified and disgusted, for a few moments before waking up to punjab whoever wrote it. Because, damn it, ladies and gentlemen, this music is just against the order of nature. It's perky and cute and -excuse me, I need to vomit.

This was not helped by the fact that two girls who shall remain nameless were choreographing another bit that we would add to the dance, and were doing so with my dubious assistance. These girls are both popular, and both perky, and both cute. Actually, a lot like the song. I mean, nothing against them, but really. Really.

The dance begins with a little tune that reminds me of nothing so much as the Six Flags jingle, from the commercial with the mutated old fellow. Then a young woman who either cannot enunciate or is speaking Spanish begins to speak in a bubbly voice that rather reminds me of Barbie commercials. As if that weren't enough, then a Bob Marley-style man's voice comes on and declares, "Bossanova, eh!" And we start dancing. Now, being a Hot Box doll that one time was bad enough, but this is really mortifying. After this we proceed to do some ridiculously unoriginal moves, then move into some even less original moves, culminating in a combo we stole from Footloose with Kevin Bacon, therefore proving we are stuck in the eighties.

We then repeat these combos. Not once, not twice, but three times. Let me assure you, I've nothing against the number three. In fact, it's quite nice. There are three main PotO characters, three incarnations of the God and Goddess, three wishes, three siblings I have, and all of these things I love but am slightly annoyed by the fop/love/am slightly maddened by. But once you've repeated all these moves three times, you've got to go back and do the dance again because you missed the ballchangermabobberthingythatgirywouldn'tcareabout and it's hell.

Not to mention the line dance we're doing for the culture concert. Talk about monotony. Over and over, same damned thing. You know, we're teaching it to all of you and we might be able to bring people up onstage. I have half a mind to get Max and Ben, just because I know it would be hysterical, if mortifying to certain people. Guys, can you line dance? It's basically just the Electric Slide. Can you do the Elect - oh, never mind. As if.

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.