By Brad
If you follow the dates on the blog entries, you know that I did a lot of breakdancing Thursday morning. After all, why not practice on a typically boring weekday? I wasn’t planning to get much exercise elsewhere. But then again, this is Life of Adventure.
Then at 3:37 p.m. (after learning how to give progesterone injections) I received a text from probably the most serious dancer in Knoxville, informing the troops there would be a free dance party at 4620 at 11 p.m. Now I knew 4620 to be a Jazz club, but the message also said DJ Slink, resident DJ of the Valarium, would be on the scene. I’ve never been to this venue before, but this dancer also said he’d be bringing cardboard or linoleum, meaning 4620′s floor could only be carpet. That told me that dancing there could be a rare opportunity.
4620
The entrance to 4620 isn’t much wider than a single door, jammed between two other shops in a retail strip West of Knoxville’s beautiful Sequoyah Hills. I found the door open and practically jumped down the flight of stairs to this basement nightspot. Along with big cushy chairs and loveseats, booths and tables line most of the room near the modern looking bar. DJ Slink had his gear set up on an old piano, and a modest array of light equipment was beaming color in trails on the dance area, which was indeed carpet. But my friend had already arrived, and taped a 16 x 16 piece of linoleum down. For those of you who don’t know, linoleum over carpet is one of the most comfortable surfaces to break on.
I saw a few familiar faces, and two guys I’m not acquainted with breakin’. I walked up to the edge of the dance floor, and took the first opportunity to get in a set. I put out a lot of intense moves in the first half hour or so, but though I took longer breaks as the night went on, I kept doing power moves consistently, the ones that sap you quick. This was one of those nights out where I was determined to pour every ounce of energy I had on the dance floor like an offering. The music put me in a moving trance; DJ Slink was in great form. Three glasses of water kept me hydrated as I went back and forth between top-rocking in my own world beside the breaking floor and throwing sets on the linoleum. The energy was high, but the place wasn’t crowded at all. The floor was clean, and the chic young crowd did more dancing than sitting around–always a good omen.
I’ve finally pulled off kneespins into windmills as a transition and back again, and I’m getting better at transitioning kneespins to handspins as well.
I danced through and past level after level of exhaustion, until 3 a.m., when the house lights flipped on and the staff begam encouraged people towards the door. I helped fold up our makeshift dance surface, and skipped up the steps into a perfect night. The streetlamps reflected on the wet roads after the rain, and Kingston Pike was deserted. The only sound to be heard was a gentle breeze; if it was chilly, I was too hot and sweaty to notice. It felt just right to me.
So ended another night dedicated to experiencing the euphoria of vigor and pure life, with hopes of many more such nights to come. And when they do, you’ll know about it.
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