Monday, March 08, 2004
Talent Show
The Talent Show was postponed until after Christmas due, I think, to some sort of security concern. No-one tells me these sorts of things. So I sacrificed a Thursday evening and stuck around to see what Shitty had to offer in terms of song and dance. I paid my five bucks (ridiculously apportioned to serve under-funded schools in Honduras or someplace, this despite the fact that Shitty doesn’t have a single computer dedicated to student use…) and was escorted by an overly serious student to my seat, which happened to be partially broken and hanging at a crooked angle.
The show was slow to get started, but got off bangin’ with Shitty’s award winning cheerleaders, coached by the terrifying Ms. Jackson, AP of English. These ladies impressed, disciplined, funky and well-choreographed, rocking a nice-balance of traditional pyramids and tosses with “Set it Off” type dance moves. Then shit got crazy.
The next act began with the salsafied bump of a reggaeton beat and four girls sashaying out on stage wrapped in towels tied above their breasts and hanging only theoretically below their jiggling butts. The bass then dropped on the beat and the girls dropped their towels to reveal lacey, white, tube-tops and little red short-short-shorts (they were really short) with Dominican flags sown on the ample ass. The girls only had two moves – the rapid-fire bent-over booty-shake and the slow-mo booty isolation rotation – both of which were perfected to such degrees that the asses seemed to move independent of the rest of their bodies, which remained largely motionless.
The crowd went absolutely apeshit, screaming, climbing over their chairs, and pouring into the aisles in spontaneous dances of their own. The rest of the evening proceeded accordingly. Between numerous interminable delays and terrible rappers who flubbed their lines, every other act featured copious booty shaking and indiscriminate waving of Dominican flags. These displays of Dominican Pride were greeted, one and all, with straight up pandemonium.
The last act was an actual live Bachata band, which I actually wanted to see. But when the singer took the stage and shouted “Yo soy Domincano!” I thought a genuine riot was going to break out and slipped out the back before I could hear their music or get my head torn off.
The Talent Show was postponed until after Christmas due, I think, to some sort of security concern. No-one tells me these sorts of things. So I sacrificed a Thursday evening and stuck around to see what Shitty had to offer in terms of song and dance. I paid my five bucks (ridiculously apportioned to serve under-funded schools in Honduras or someplace, this despite the fact that Shitty doesn’t have a single computer dedicated to student use…) and was escorted by an overly serious student to my seat, which happened to be partially broken and hanging at a crooked angle.
The show was slow to get started, but got off bangin’ with Shitty’s award winning cheerleaders, coached by the terrifying Ms. Jackson, AP of English. These ladies impressed, disciplined, funky and well-choreographed, rocking a nice-balance of traditional pyramids and tosses with “Set it Off” type dance moves. Then shit got crazy.
The next act began with the salsafied bump of a reggaeton beat and four girls sashaying out on stage wrapped in towels tied above their breasts and hanging only theoretically below their jiggling butts. The bass then dropped on the beat and the girls dropped their towels to reveal lacey, white, tube-tops and little red short-short-shorts (they were really short) with Dominican flags sown on the ample ass. The girls only had two moves – the rapid-fire bent-over booty-shake and the slow-mo booty isolation rotation – both of which were perfected to such degrees that the asses seemed to move independent of the rest of their bodies, which remained largely motionless.
The crowd went absolutely apeshit, screaming, climbing over their chairs, and pouring into the aisles in spontaneous dances of their own. The rest of the evening proceeded accordingly. Between numerous interminable delays and terrible rappers who flubbed their lines, every other act featured copious booty shaking and indiscriminate waving of Dominican flags. These displays of Dominican Pride were greeted, one and all, with straight up pandemonium.
The last act was an actual live Bachata band, which I actually wanted to see. But when the singer took the stage and shouted “Yo soy Domincano!” I thought a genuine riot was going to break out and slipped out the back before I could hear their music or get my head torn off.
