Gonna warn you. This is gonna be a long post, likely full of superlatives, feelins, and yes, more feelins. This past Wednesday, April 27th, was the final night of Jenn Salvatore/Martin and Jenn Brandel’s (full disclosure – ME!) last night as the den mothers of DDPP Chicago and DDPP International. To commemorate it, we spent last Monday evening staring into each other’s eyes, attaching hoses betwixt our ears, white-knuckle gripping each others hands while making ecstatic grunts and stomping our be-socked feets on wooden slats. This is how DJ Jennderoni was born, who in turn birthed our final collaborative playlist. (see end of post) Got our fingers crossed that the royal couple will be spending this evening making a playmate for little DJ Jennderoni. This is our idea of appropriate foreplay.
So our hearts about this all (leaving DDPP, not Willy and Kate’s night of passion), are confused bastards. They are heavy with sadness at all that lies ahead we’re sure to miss out on. But they’re also feeling like bursting with helium each time we think about the thousands of songs our bodies have grooved over, the thousands of women who we’ve busted a move with (and the many who have in turn gone on to bust moves with thousands more! DDPP start-ups with women from Chicago include DDPP Twin Cities! Indianapolis! Austin! Akron! Oh my!), and the unquantifiable joy we’ve felt in doing it all. But I guess the most accurate metaphor for what our hearts are feeling like, is as if Darryl Hall and John Oates themselves lived inside our left and right ventricles (respectively), and with each pump they played this song over and over and over again.
In fact, this song controls my heart, mind and body to such an extent, that when we played it on Wednesday I couldn’t help but get low and pound the floor in percussive ecstasy to the point of bursting a blood vessel in my hand. Luckily, CVS is across the street and has instant ice packs. The bruise is impressive.
So that image right there (designed by Kelley Clink!). That’s the best way we can describe it. To that 11 year old who came in and rocked the lava projector? We love you. To that 85 year old dream of a woman who came in full spandex and OWNED the dance floor? We love you. To that lady who busted our nunchucks and S&M gear and grinded with herself in the mirror? We love you. To all of you who’ve come to DDPP as part of rehab for injury, to all of you who’ve come to mend a broken heart, to all who’ve come to blow off steam from a stressful grind, to all who’ve celebrated their birthdays with us, to all who’ve been open enough to give this crazy idea a shot… you MADE OUR DREAMS COME TRUE! And thereby you live forever in our hallandoatesy hearts.
So now allow Kelley Clink, Den Mother supreme to foreshadow what came after our last DDPP. Yep, DDKKGGPP. Karaoke. About a dozen of us ambled over to the Spot on Broadway. The birthday revelers, neighborhood stool jockeys, and curious onlookers alike were blown away by the vocal stylings and glittery stylings of the DDPP crew. When time permits imma edit a video to show you the depth, breadth and variety that these dancing ladies embody on the mic-ro-phone. From Lisa Loeb to the Beastie Boys. NAILED IT.
Alright. It’s my birthday today, dammit. So I’m gonna wrap up this post, check the lates royal wedding photos, and cry a tear or 10,000 over how lucky Jenn Salvatore and myself have been to have danced with you, basked in your energies, and smiled more than we ever could have imagined over the course of an hour, week after week, year after year.