Sunday, August 17, 2008

turf wars

Yesterday, we went to the local museum for a modernist design exhibit, and happened to be there on the right day to see "turf dancers." I, being super lame or charmingly naive or way toolish (depending on your perspective/how much you love me), asked if this meant that the dancers would be dancing on grass. In my defense, had they said "turf war dance competition," I would have immediately recognized the nature of this epic battle, rather than focusing on the terrain. He looked at me and said "dude, you are soooo not hard/street/cool." Or something to the effect of "are you serious, or just fucking with me."

Actually, that is his response to most of my questions, like "what does 'FUBAR' mean," which leads him to ask "what do you mean you've never seen Saving Private Ryan" which then starts a chain reaction of many questions about my apparent ability to shelter myself from most pop cultural trends from the last twenty years. He forgives most errors attributable to having grown up in poverty and under strict Asian parents, but apparently not my thinking that it was an Astroturf Dance Competition. Whev. I bet you those old white people in the audience who happened to find themselves in the theatre didn't know either.

In any case, if you want to observe for yourself that turf dancers do not require actual turf, check out Retro and E*Ninja. Retro was my favorite. We voted by applause-o-meter (very unscientifically measured; they should have had a decibel meter), and I did clap and whoop the loudest for him. The competition devolved into absolute mayhem, with both the dancers and the audience losing enthusiasm (the theatre had half-emptied by the semi-finals) and people rushing the stage when The Man and Chonkie double-teamed Retro in the finals (and The Man was a sub for the guy who actually won the semi-final round, but who refused to dance!). In the end, I'm not sure if anyone was declared a winner. It was quite fun to watch, until that inexorable scourge of the modern age, ennui, set in and the audience and dancers all left the theatre dispiritedly and dejectedly. Or whatever, they just left and we just left and perhaps the point of a turf war is that you don't have to win, you just have to defend. Or maybe the point is that one cannot really comment on a turf dancing competition, because to do so is just as toolish as thinking that it means dancing on grass.

Enough. Here's E*Ninja vs. Retro!

And check out E*Ninja, Retro, Chonkie, and Suave:


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