Let's take a turn for the funny this post because, OMG, if this blog gets any more serious, I will have to clap my hands in hopes that a fairy somewhere will be saved to break even.
Last night I went to wedding number two of my time in Jordan and this one was much longer, much louder, and (I can't think of another much...to use) had more strobe lights.
I will never have strobe lights at my wedding. They stress me. Though I definitely will play a couple of favorite Arabic pop songs and might throw in some pyro-technic things just for giggles.
At my wedding- I WILL DANCE. However, last night was not my wedding. Had it been I would have worn more makeup (put on a pair of jeans I hadn't been wearing for the past...months), eaten a lot less for dinner, and seen more people that I recognized. Oh and not have been the only one with their hair uncovered.
I've done my fair share of performances my friends. I've had my foray into theatre, at one point wanted to be en pointe, done some demo routines for karate, sung a national anthem or two for gymnasts (because apparently flinging around on bars needs to be preceded by mentioning god and america in one song). Generally, I'm used to a stage and used to people watching me. But when my host mother decides she wants to show me off to all of her friends at the wedding and pushes me to dance until about 11:30 at night when the men finally join the party, women done hijabs again, and the booty shaking calms down, I'm somewhat unprepared for all of the attention.
I'll repeat blog title here for emphasis- I have never been happier that I can dance (and by dance I mean shake it because "arabic dance" is far more slutty than one might think).
I started getting the idea throughout the night that my mother's reputation was somewhat dependent upon my awesome dancing skillz when women kept coming up to her and pointing at me and whispering in her ear about how surprisingly good I was and giggling and coming over to dance with me. Now, my dancing wasn't nearly as heartwarming and cross-culturally wonderful as this little video that should make you cry if you have an ounce of emotion in your body --> Dance around the World
but I'd like to think I made some headway as the first thing my sister told me when I moved in was that Americans can't dance.
I'd like to make this blog sound a little less braggy than it does right now, but Megan has been encouraging me to be proud of things lately. Well, dear Megan, I am proud of being able to emulate most dancing styles if given the right amount of time to practice and prepare. Happy?
Anyway, I was just about to collapse from too many hip isolations and body rolls when the bride donned her frighteningly KKK-like wedding hijab and I knew that she was either going to the men's party or they were coming here. SAVED-they came into our party and out of "modesty" (but really exhaustion) I begged off from the dance floor and enjoyed watching the rest of the party continue/tried to calculate how many years were being deducted from my hearing as the music blasted into the room.
Finally, the family hits the road and I begin to contemplate under what circumstances the bride and groom met. If it was arranged and what their post-wedding night would be like. I also contemplated how easy it is to be a wedding crasher in Jordan as neither bride nor groom appeared alarmed at some random American girl shaking it on their rented light-up dance floor that was vaguely reminiscent of my DDR days. There's quite more I could add to this post like serious commentary on Jordanian weddings, or information on how my ISP is coming but I don't really feel like elaborating right now/I'm about to go play a ballin' game of futbol with the ju jitsu team at the gym we SITers frequent so I just don't have time to have anthropological fun in this post. ENJOY the lightheartedness, I'll come back with a vengeance soon after reading some sort of feminist article or whatnot, I'm sure.
Love!
Last night I went to wedding number two of my time in Jordan and this one was much longer, much louder, and (I can't think of another much...to use) had more strobe lights.
I will never have strobe lights at my wedding. They stress me. Though I definitely will play a couple of favorite Arabic pop songs and might throw in some pyro-technic things just for giggles.
At my wedding- I WILL DANCE. However, last night was not my wedding. Had it been I would have worn more makeup (put on a pair of jeans I hadn't been wearing for the past...months), eaten a lot less for dinner, and seen more people that I recognized. Oh and not have been the only one with their hair uncovered.
I've done my fair share of performances my friends. I've had my foray into theatre, at one point wanted to be en pointe, done some demo routines for karate, sung a national anthem or two for gymnasts (because apparently flinging around on bars needs to be preceded by mentioning god and america in one song). Generally, I'm used to a stage and used to people watching me. But when my host mother decides she wants to show me off to all of her friends at the wedding and pushes me to dance until about 11:30 at night when the men finally join the party, women done hijabs again, and the booty shaking calms down, I'm somewhat unprepared for all of the attention.
I'll repeat blog title here for emphasis- I have never been happier that I can dance (and by dance I mean shake it because "arabic dance" is far more slutty than one might think).
I started getting the idea throughout the night that my mother's reputation was somewhat dependent upon my awesome dancing skillz when women kept coming up to her and pointing at me and whispering in her ear about how surprisingly good I was and giggling and coming over to dance with me. Now, my dancing wasn't nearly as heartwarming and cross-culturally wonderful as this little video that should make you cry if you have an ounce of emotion in your body --> Dance around the World
but I'd like to think I made some headway as the first thing my sister told me when I moved in was that Americans can't dance.
I'd like to make this blog sound a little less braggy than it does right now, but Megan has been encouraging me to be proud of things lately. Well, dear Megan, I am proud of being able to emulate most dancing styles if given the right amount of time to practice and prepare. Happy?
Anyway, I was just about to collapse from too many hip isolations and body rolls when the bride donned her frighteningly KKK-like wedding hijab and I knew that she was either going to the men's party or they were coming here. SAVED-they came into our party and out of "modesty" (but really exhaustion) I begged off from the dance floor and enjoyed watching the rest of the party continue/tried to calculate how many years were being deducted from my hearing as the music blasted into the room.
Finally, the family hits the road and I begin to contemplate under what circumstances the bride and groom met. If it was arranged and what their post-wedding night would be like. I also contemplated how easy it is to be a wedding crasher in Jordan as neither bride nor groom appeared alarmed at some random American girl shaking it on their rented light-up dance floor that was vaguely reminiscent of my DDR days. There's quite more I could add to this post like serious commentary on Jordanian weddings, or information on how my ISP is coming but I don't really feel like elaborating right now/I'm about to go play a ballin' game of futbol with the ju jitsu team at the gym we SITers frequent so I just don't have time to have anthropological fun in this post. ENJOY the lightheartedness, I'll come back with a vengeance soon after reading some sort of feminist article or whatnot, I'm sure.
Love!
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