While I attempted to compose a semi-intellectual response paper to Jean-Luc Godard’s “2 or 3 Things I Know About Her, ” my iTunes Awesomely 80s playlist happened upon Madonna, circa 1985. For those unacquainted with her fishnets and denim vests phase, this was the period of time in which Madonna experimented with the outer limits of hairspray and provided America with some of the quintessential pop anthems of the decade. One such anthem–“Into the Groove”– even became the title track for the cult classic “Desperately Seeking Susan“:
Well, after nearly three hours in a deserted nook of the library, I was suddenly inspired by the Queen of Pop to put on my dancing shoes and break out into a spontaneous groove. However, before I could indulge in such boisterous behavior, I needed to ensure there were no individuals within ear shot range. Lord knows the last reason I want to be rejected from a job is because a certain compromising youtube video of me, ostensibly quite rhythmically challenged, has gone viral.
A quick turn about the floor and I realized two items of relevancy. First, I was, indeed, alone. The library was my dance floor, and I was free to make a fool of myself on it. And second, there were leftover brownies; a sign attached to them read: “Please eat me. If you don’t, I’ll go stale.”
The artery-clogging pressure was on. I didn’t want to be responsible for generating unnecessary food waste, and so for the first time in nearly a year I indulged in a chocolate cheesecake brownie. After three bites the waist band on my skirt began to expand, and so I abandoned the baked goods for an exercise routine I had been itching to attempt since Madonna crooned, Music can be such a revelation, dancing around you feel the sweet sensation.
With my shame neatly packed away, I replayed “Into the Groove” and let the music guide my moves. It took me a song or two to fully warm to the idea that I was hosting a Madonna-inspired dance party in an institution founded on academic rigor.
However, when Cyndi Lauper’s “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” began, I let go of all my bookish ambitions. Jumping on top of a nearby table, I grabbed hold of my diet coke bottle. Transforming from caffeine receptacle to microphone, it became the object into which I sang (if you can call it that): Some boys take a beautiful girl and hide her away from the rest of the world; I want to be the one to walk in the sun; Oh girls they want to have fun.
Of course, I saw said girl as a metaphor for myself, and those boys as the Wellesley professors whose homework assignments required my presence in the library. But I must say, as a result of this momentary identification, I experienced a cathartic release of sorts. I had chosen the sun, if you can refer to low-watt institutional lighting as such.
Stated simply, I can’t wait for my next trip to the library.