Krumpalong Lizzie*

This post is inspired by Baseck's dancers, seen here live at the Cocaine, 2/23/08.

Baseck has these dancers, Nina and Marlon. They are, from what I have been told, professional dancers who perform with him when they have the chance. They dress in wild costumes, like the ones above or these feather-filled bunny suits from the same show.



And then they perform super-pro hip-hop moves set to the 160+ beats per minute pumping out from Baseck's turntable/gameboy apparatus. It's absolutely inspiring, so inspiring that I decided that I was going to relearn to dance.

As it turns out, my gym offers a free hip-hop class once a week. Last week, I decided to try it.

I went into the class figuring that it would be a challenge, but I might be able to handle it. After all, I did study dance throughout my childhood and adolescence. Back then, though, the closest we got to a "hip-hop" class in the Valley were jazz routines choreographed to Beastie Boys' songs (my first recital, when I was nine, involved "Brass Monkey"). On top of that, I haven't taken any dance class since freshman year of college and was not really certain what the verb "krump" means.

Needless to say, I sucked. I couldn't remember much after the first eight-count. I kept wanting to plie when I should be doing this krumping thing and spent half the time I was wondering when were going to grand jete.

And then there were the issues of stamina. Essentially, I don't have much. Less than half-way through the class, my throat grew raw from dehydration. The persistent ache in my right shoulder went away, but that was only because my entire body wanted to collapse. I wondered what would happen if I passed out in the middle of a spin. Would someone figure out which key chain was mine? Would they be able to scan the membership tag on my key ring and find out who I am? Would they be able contact someone who could tell the ambulance where to take me?

Mon dieu, what kind of hell have I created for myself?

I somehow got through the class and was still able to meet up with Carlos at Roberto's later that evening. The next morning though, there was nothing but sharp jabs of pain shooting through muscles that clearly hadn't been in use since 1996. That lasted for three full days.

And because I am nuts, because I love the aftermath of failure, I took another class tonight. Yes, I still suck, but not as badly. This time around, I actually remembered the moves for the entire routine. Well, sort of. My throat was still sore and I still feared collapsing in a pool of my own vomit, but I couldn't stop the dance. Now, I'm fairly certain I can define the word "krump." Whether or not I can perform the act of crumping without looking like an asshole is another thing. We'll save that for next week.

*edited because krump is spelled with a K, not a C