Glorybox

Have you heard this song? (Don't watch the video, it's extremely unimportant. Just have it open in another window while you read this post. Wow. Bossy.) I hadn't heard it until tonight. It's the type of song that we feel like we know because it reminds us of music past. It's feels a bit prohibition, a bit heavy lounge. When I finally determined that it wasn't something in my slim repertoire I made my dance instructor repeat the title and the artist's name about three times before it finally stuck, then downloaded it immediately upon my midnight return home.

I danced to Glorybox tonight and can say with strict confidence that it was one of the greatest classes I've ever taken. The song is a bold glass of Cabernet. It's kissing under streetlamps, it's a slice of flourless chocolate cake. It's smooth, its passionate, its indulgent. And I, dear reader, learned a dance to it. And if the song sets the flourless-chocolate-tone, you can only imagine this dance's physical reenactment.

I have little else to say because some things are better felt... dance allows this exception to my standard droning wordage. It's why we get along, dance and I. Dance is a way of feeling without thinking. It's muscular memory, its comfort in motion. And nothing sets the tone for a Friday night better than enabling raw physical emotion, am I right? I did just that before starting an evening of good friends and affirming conversation. Listen to it. Again. It'll make your night, I swear.

Note: The photo above has little to nothing to do with this post. I just had a really difficult time finding a picture to illustrate a song/dance/random thought so I just chose a photo that I took a few years ago. I loved the mellow tackiness of this 'GYM' sign that I saw along side the road in art-town-Michigan on a roadtrip with my mom. 'Good enough!' said I. Although... the 'Glorybox' experience did take place in a gym, so I guess it fits in some ways. That's all.