Never gonna dance . . .

Isn’t it a shame that people don’t dance anymore? I mean, as a regular social function? Kids still hop up and down to pop music, but there’s nowhere for us over-30s to go and waltz, mazurka or Castle Walk.

Learning to dance used to be mandatory, and gave one great social skills–is it not needed anymore because “courtship” now consists of hopping into bed on the first date?

Well, jeepers, I want to sway around the dance floor with a gentleman, as my skirts sweep alluringly–I know, probably all men hated dancing and only suffered though it to get into our panties. But such a nice social custom has been pretty much consigned to the scrap heap.

where do you live?

i took social dance as a pe credit in college. it led to odd jobs as a professional dancer. now i give lessons and dance 3-4 nights a week. there are clubs, maybe not in the hip part of town, that cater to specific dances, foxtrot, c/w, swing, latin. you just have to seek them out. it’s great exercise and lot’s of fun!

p.s. i’m a guy, and guys usually hate it b/c they are scared of it. but i can contest it’s the best way to meet women.

Oooh, Metro, are you a real taxi dancer? A dime-a-dance boy? Always wanted to meet one of those.

I work in New York where there are places you can find–but the whole idea of social dancing pretty much took a nosedive after WWII.

      • There are a few guys out there that still do it, - a couple actually kind of like it. Three problems:
  • Not many women know how to do it, and most don’t stick around long enough to learn. There are dancing clubs, but the ones I have seen are mostly populated by people aged ~50+ years - I’m 30. Not quite what I was looking for.
  • Not many places play the right music, except for up$cale joints and oldster’s places.
  • I have little free time right now, and none of it during any evenings. Elsewise I might be out trying to overcome the other two problems. It’s kinda sad though, because I’ve heard many women say how impressive it is for a guy to move like Fred Astaire, but don’t see that guys have to be made to learn how. Most guys don’t like doing it because they feel stupid, because they don’t know how. - If they all work together, women can make men dance. In C&W joints, it’s usually the women that taught the men how to dance.
  • -Just my observations- MC

Flora, if only you had stayed longer last week! Alphagene and I beautifully demostrated our dancing skills to the discoscified version of the “Theme to the Godfather”.

Flora, I do think dancing is wonderful as well, but people still do dance - the difference being that it’s now at night clubs with skimpy clothes, strobe lights and a pounding beat.

But there’s something so special about the “Now, Voyager” -type dancing/romancing. I think we should hang out at The Supper Club and pick up some guys in fedoras and teach them how to two-step!

Oh, Mel, I’d give three years of my life (well, OK, the three years in junior high) to waltz around a ballroom in a full, sweeping skirt–like dancing on a cloud!

I keep missing the Midsummer Night’s Swing dances at Lincoln Center for one reason or another–aren’t there any tea dances anymore? You and I should drag Ike, Alphagene and Manhattan off grown-up dancing (we may have to bean them over the head first).

Heck, way up until the 1960s, popular novels mentioned people (grown-ups, no baby-boomers allowed) going out to dine and dance.

Is the problem that folks forgot how to dance, or that cheap-bastard restaurant owners stopped hiring bands?


My girlfriend has been dragging me (well, not quite *dragging[/]) to dance lessons for about a year now.

There are still many young people learning to dance. At the dance studio which I visit, the ages range from 10 to 70. The current dance most popular with young people (at least here in California) is swing and its variations, but there are some twenty-somethings in the ballroom and latin classes also.

Most nightclubs/discos don’t play music for that kind of dancing, so you end up doing the “nightclub two-step” all night long. But if you look hard enough, you can probably find several places that play music for formal dancing in your neighbourhood. Most ballroom dances require much traveling on the floor, so they’re not appropriate for your typical nightclub.

J’ai assez vécu pour voir que différence engendre haine.

Oh, Flora, we are so there!! I mentioned the Supper Club because I know that they have dancing lessons each night before the guest band comes on. They have a beautiful atmosphere (booths, metal railings, a balcony, the podium music stands) stylish patrons (the women in gowns to their ankles, the men in suits), great tunes (the house band plays all the great songs of the 20s, 30s and 40s) and the men there actually ask you to dance!

It’s like walking back in time - very classy place. Anytime you want to go Flora, let me know, I will polish my pearls and fluff out the chiffon.

P.S. You know what song I was thinking about this weekend that my old boss used to sing all the time? “Sarah Google, with the goo goo googly eyes”. I love that song!

Umm, it’s Barney Google–unless he has a sister named Sarah. Can’t be his wife, unless he divorced Louisy. Actually, it might be–one of the verses goes, “She sued Barney for divorce/Now he’s living with his horse!”

Gee, we should get our male Board Members to take us out dancing sometime, Mel . . . Any takers? Shame winter’s coming on, it’s so much nicer in the spring or summer.

I think the general downfall of social dance came about because of the, umm, “shortening” of courtship rituals. And THIS mamma’s little baby does NOT love shortenin’!

I’m laughing Flora, because now I remember that Jim (old boss) used to substitute any name for Barney’s! What a guy.

Anyway, if you have a recording of the original, I would appreciate a copy of the song more than anything in the world - I’ve only heard Jim singing it.

I can probably talk Alphagene into going (you know, entice him with my Siren-like saxophone). And I can just tell Uke that there’s a company party (read: free booze) there after work one day. We can tell Manhattan that there’s a plane crash survivor seminar there and we’re going along for moral support. As far as them using their feet to wisk us around the dance floor, hm. Maybe we should rely on cardboard cutouts for that.

. . . That sound you hear is our men scratching their heads and going, “Aw, they wanna go DANCING? Chicks! There better not be a game on that night . . .”

Incorrect, Flora. That sound you hear is manhattan sawing his right leg off. I’ll be at the bar.

Livin’ on Tums, Vitamin E and Rogaine

Let me at 'em first, manhattan.

Their delicate slipper-shod tootsies will be so sore from my size-ten brogans landing on 'em that they won’t even look your way, except to get you to signal the barkeep for another round. “Twinkle-toes Ike,” they used to call me at the dime-a-dance halls.

Flora, Louizee was the blushing bride of Snuffy Smith, not Barney Google. I don’t think Barney ever mated. Although he had a fling back in 1930 with the World’s Greatest Vamp, Madame La…Mousse? Something like that. She had seen a photo of those big pop eyes of his and fell for him hook, line, and sinker. She’d sit there in her boudoir surrounded by brocades and pet leopards, saying “I loaf you, Barney Google…I LOAF you.” and he’d be drinking tea and talking about the boys down at the racetrack.

Snuffy was some sort of country cousin to Barney. He eventually took over the entire strip…too bad…Google had a nice Runyonesque quality that was rare in the comics, and Snuffy Smith always seemed like a bargain basement L’il Abner.

For extra credit, I’ll tell you what a “Feather Merchant” was.


Flora McFlimsey

Oooh, Metro, are you a real taxi dancer? A dime-a-dance boy? Always wanted to meet one of those.

i’m not sure what that means. i guess i might be, or not. i like to dance with girls, and it gets me lots of attention. is that bad? would you like a ride?

Ike, as always, you’re right and I’m wrong.

But I loaf you anyway.


A taxi dancer or a dime-a-dance guy (or gal) was someone who worked at a dance hall, charging to shuffle sailors or overstuffed matrons around the floor and put up with their flirtations and gropings. Valentino started off as a taxi dancer.

Endless wonderfully trashy novels and films resulted, and classic songs like Ten Cents a Dance. In Blonde Venus, a showgirl tells Marlene Dietrich her name is Taxi Belle, to which Marlene cracks, “do you charge for the first mile?”

It’s an old and noble profession–polish your dancing sbhoes with pride!

Then yes (huffing chest out), i am a taxi dancer!

just kidding. I do it mostly with a usual group of friends. but i do have to endure a significant amount of groping (kidding again)

Crimony, I show up late to the Vodka Room, I show up late to threads. I’m damn unreliable.

Let’s get this straight. You’re all wonderful humanoids, so don’t take it personally when I say I don’t dance.

Besides, the only dancing establishments I frequent are crowded with pig-tailed feather-boa wearing club girls in platform knee-high boots that spazmatically twitch to jungle beats fueled by Evian and cat tranquilizers. And even then I only watch.

You ladies have fun though…

Back off, man. I’m a scientist.

Well, Mel, it looks like we’re three for three.

You know any good lesbian joints you and I can hit by ourselves? I call dibs on leading!