I must say that I've been a fan of bellydance for some time. Since high school I have liked exotic women, and ones with at least something in the hip/curves department. Bellydance shows that a woman has some grace, some control over her body and its movements. It's also, of course, tremendously sexy, again assuming it's done well.

My girlfriend got me tickets to the Bellydance Superstars for their one night in Charlotte for my birthday; then, due to a Six Sigma trip, she would be out of town. So I had to go it alone. She just made me promise not to run off with any of the dancers (although if Sarah had asked, I might have had a slight crisis).

Now one downside to the belly dancing is the incredibly annoying yip-yapping that some encouraged audience members partake in. Ziggalit? Whatever they call it, its an excuse for undisciplined women to let out this high pitched, 10-second long yelp involving toungue movements similar to a charging Indian in an old Western. This is okay, to a point - it gives back to the performers, and maybe shows that you're into it, and not just sitting there. This show was mainly attending by relatively docile white folk - like many of the theatre events in Charlotte, the 40s-and-up crowd really come out, and that is great.

A vocal minority, however, were of the non-stop screaming variety. When I first got to my seat, I left a seat open between me and the nearest attendee, a displeased looking brunette. As the lights went down, however a large pale woman and her friend sat next to me; and whatever, I'm pale, and I've had bouts with pudge, so no throwing stones here. But as soon as anyone clapped or made any noise of any kind, this girl was yapping her fucking head off. She sounded like a hyena on crack. It didn't take a slueth to detect annoyance in the quiet folk around her - particular right in front of her, where the cackling yell must have been particularly painful.

I tried to ignore her and watch the show; these women could move their bodies. Graceful, elegant, beautiful. Mmm. But they started to break the show out - they would have a girl headline a piece (Sarah with her twirling! wow), or the guy with the drums (amazing percussionist BTW - immediately determined one of my new tnues would be hand drum only). They would break these up by trotting out 3 or 4 of the pale, skinny, tattooed chicks, dancing to some techno/house, while in pirate outfits. WTF?? Seriously - from sensual dancing to mid-eastern music, to pale tattooed chick doing the robot to house. Odd transition - but that's okay, one of the older performers had lusciously wide hips, and they were wearing those loose-fitting sweat pants that show the butt -

AAAAAAYYAYAYAYAYAYAYYAAAAA, OOOOO-WOOOP!

that joltingly annoying noise came from the pale fan beside me, who was waving her arms in a frenzy and letting out all sorts of inhuman sounds. God, I wanted to strangle her. Listen, chicky, we're here to enjoy the show. You're making that more difficult. I know you're the type that just sings along with all her might at concerts, drowning out the actual, talented artist for all those poor souls around you; I know you want desperately to let loose and feel like you're part or this moment.

But you're not. You are not part of the fucking show.

I know you're going to go home and feel sexy and empowered and maybe think that this year, you'll do it, you'll take lessons and learn to move like them and be like them. But odds are incredibly high that you won't. Stuff will come up, life will happen, and you'll forget about it. You'll just come out to see them next year, waving the flabby arm in someone elses face and cakling in a high-pitched feverish wail, wishing desperately to be part of this thing, this event, this life that you are not a part of. But you just end up making the people around slightly more miserable as they attempt to appreciate this otherwise beautiful art form.

Bellydance Superstars are great. See them if you get the chance. Try to sit in a moron-free section.

-EO