I Wanna Dance With Somebody

I’m not as hung up on breasts as people seem to think. Sure, I appreciate them—the same way I appreciate a pizza loaded with double cheese or cheap corner-store wine that tastes like someone mixed in antifreeze. They’re pleasant. I notice. But I’m not obsessed.

So I can’t entirely explain what happened when I watched Palina Rojinski dancing through a Russian hotel room to Whitney Houston. Fifteen minutes straight, watching her move through space like something had taken her over. The way she jumped, twisted, held her arms. Completely mechanical and completely alive. Hypnotic.

Palina—hair model, World Cup reporter—wasn’t doing anything complex. Just moving to the song. But something about it locked in. I downloaded the video, probably violated some Instagram terms I didn’t bother reading, and now it plays on repeat on my laptop. Twenty minutes at a stretch sometimes. Watching for… what? A shift? A threshold? Some new level of consciousness?

Whatever it is, it’s there. I’m sure of it.