Operating on the Fringe

While Phil was shredding Mt. Washington this Saturday, Client 9 was cruising Central Park in search of a true Welcome Back to America moment in his hometown. I found it. Or should I say, rediscovered it.



The scene:
New York City's Central Park

The players:
Leading Lady - Midground left. Purple spandex. Pink wristband. FYI, she's on blades. Roller blades.
Main Man - Do I even have to point him out? Center. Black shoes. White Socks. Jorts. White t shirt (that advertised some sketchy Russian Bath House in Coney Island). White floppy hat. Aged 80. Epic, er creepy, dance moves.
Supporting cast - The brunette whose head is blocking the lower half of our Leading Lady's body was a babe.

This anything-goes dance party near Sheep Meadow has been a Saturday ritual since at least my childhood, when I used to blade down to the scene with my sweet wristguards on. Who knows, the throw-down could happen on a Monday to - I am not sure how busy these people are their off days - but either way the sight remains pretty amazing to this day.

The dude in the white, who was probably crushing the d floor way back when too, had one dance move. More of a sequence, really. It would start innocently enough. Arms stretched out in front at a slight angle, hands about waist high, palms open and facing skyward. Bouncing ever so gently on the balls of his feet. Try it with me. As whatever music he heard in his head progressed - because this was not at all in synch with the beats pumping out of the DJ's ample speakers (note: Main Man is not wearing earphones) - the bouncing would build. Soon it was jumping. Are you jumping yet? And when he finally felt it, his arms would move gradually above his head (pictured). Once at their peak, a version of the Dance Floor Tornado more aggressive than any you've ever seen was unleashed on his fellow spankers of the asphalt dance floor.

The opposite of "well received" was the effect on our Leading Lady. See, she was there to do one thing and one thing only: blade dance. Her moves involved excessive usage of what one onlooker described as "jazz hands" and she constantly seemed on the verge of losing control. This was especially an issue when our Main Man went into Tornado move. I, for one, was rooting for a collision. Although it never happened, I have full confidence that the Tornado takes down the Blader everytime.

It's good to be reminded that the fringe exists and is alive and well. America is a melting pot and Central Park on a Saturday might be its center. A trip to China - where everything is about appearance and protocol and sameness - makes you appreciate the fact that Diversity is not an old wooden ship from the Civil War, as Ron Burgundy might lead you to believe, but a crucial element to a strong society. Sure, we got problems, but life ain't that bad people.