Monday, February 12, 2007

Slouching towards Bethlehem

Those of you who read this blog -- all five of you (hail Eris fnord) -- are no doubt at this very moment wondering, "Oh great and cryptic Palette, She who must be mollified with offerings of dark chocolate and Hot Topic gift cards, whither sprang the name Lurking Rhythmically?"

To which I reply: excellent word usage. "Whither" is highly underrepresented in today's modern literary venue.

The appellation in question was created many years ago by a friend of mine to whom I shall cleverly refer as Captain Kidd. I was game mastering a session of In Nomine hacked to use White Wolf mechanics when the good Captain observed that "Goths don't dance. They just sort of lurk rhythmically on the dance floor." I found this observation both pithy and apt, and resolved that if I was ever in a goth band I would use that name.

(As an aside, if it ended up being a techno/electronica band, I would have gone with the name Hohmann Transfer Orbit instead.)

I never did start that band, which is a pity because I look stunning in basic black and I really do dig the music. I just don't have the dedication to live the goth lifestyle 24/7, mostly because the banks where I have worked for several years have a highly conservative dress code and given the choice between facial piercings and a steady paycheck, I'll take the latter any day. I do, however, consider myself goth-positive: I respect the culture, try to keep up with the trends, and when I was living in Washington DC I was a regular at Midnight.

(Obligatory shoutout to Sascha and DJ Phae.)

In fact, Midnight is where I lost my goth virginity. I admit, I was scared of what I might find there ("Oh my god! That guy in the corner is making out with a polar bear!"), but I wasn't there five minutes before I was welcomed warmly by both the regulars and the event coordinator, Scott Royce. I haven't felt such unconditional welcome at most churches.

This was a wonderful thing because, like most of my melanin-challenged brethren and sistren, I cannot dance. Attempts at dancing have been mistaken for grand mal seizures. I do, however, possess a decent sense of rhythm thanks to seven years of being a band geek, and my experience with both theater and Vampire LARPing taught me how to lurk convincingly.

So I got out on that dance floor and I lurked in a rhythmic manner. I lurked the hell out of that rhythm.

At the end of the evening, several people told me I was a good dancer.

That, my friends, is acceptance.

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