A Brief Intro

My inaugural blog! I wonder if you're as excited about this as I am?! My stomach is growling...brb.

(pause for food prep & intake)

OK, back!

Mi llamo es Lynne Martin and I'll just bet you're wondering where Lynnie Flynnie comes from. I come from my mother. But aside from that, during my last stint away from Idaho, working in Cambridge, Massachusettes, my fellow futon sales colleague, Gladys, felt the strong desire to expose me to some Boston culture. Every evening, about an hour before close, she'd flip on the radio and tune in to a station that featured a couple of hours worth of "Dancehall" music, which is a derivative of Jamaican reggae with, often, faster riddims (rhythms) and harder beats. This music, along with custom dance moves (usually several people participating), gives it much of its appeal.

I remember the first time I heard it on mainstream radio. Christina Aguilera felt she could bring it to the masses. Mainly throngs of awkward white club goers, not unlike myself. I would have to admit that she was successful, as now it seems other artists are wanting a piece of it, if nothing else but to boost their 'cool' factor. The one thing I've found that is lacking in the general club scene, and that apparently didn't catch on, was the choreographed dance moves! Seriously, had THAT been incorporated on a wide scale, I wouldn't have to subject myself to seeing just how horrible most of us really are at...dancing. We'd have a clear guideline and that's hard to mess up.

But I digress.

Gladys would painstakingly walk me through all the different songs and all their different stomps and knee slaps and hand gestures until I had them right. Then she'd coach me on dancehall club terminology, which could be a college course all in itself. For instance, "Pull up!" is a phrase used when you want the deejay to repeat the song. It's the Jamaican version of "Play it again, Sam." I can only imagine what people would think as they walked past our enormous store windows seeing a couple of girls dancing and singing our fool heads off to Richie Spice, Elephant Man or Lady Saw.

After proving my utterly rad side to Gladys, (and that I wouldn't altogether embarrass her at a dancehall club in Boston) I forever became "Lynnie Flynnie."

I wish I could remember all the moves and the songs they corresponded with, but, alas, all is lost. I had the experience, though. I have the nickname to prove it, and that's better than a t-shirt any day.