Right after my nephew learned how to walk (or maybe as he was learning…), I taught him how to skank. When he gets old enough to read, he can hone his skills thanks to the Ska Workshop: Skanking 101, kindly pointed out by the good folks at RandomWalks.
I once won a skanking contest here in Athens. I was in a tiny club watching the excellent Johnny Socko. Athens isn’t much of a ska town, so I was the only one dancing for all the songs. Had such a great time dancing that I didn’t even visit the bar. When they announced me as the winner, I went on stage to collect my prize: a vintage pack of early ’80s Michael Jackson temporary tatoos. I was overjoyed, and to show my appreciation, I moonwalked on stage. The held out a microphone and I gave my best MJ squeal. But then I moonwalked over some cords and fell backwards into the cymbals and off the stage. They laughed at me and made comments about how drunk I was and started the music back up. And I went back to skanking.
I haven’t opened the tatoos yet. They’re a prized posession, sitting on my desk alongside my M&M-pooping R2D2.
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