When friends Jay and Kyoko touch down from Kyoto, our little lives suddenly open up — they take us to international destinations, even within our own Seattle city limits. Usually, Mr. T and I spend our evenings at home or working at Momo. In the company of J + K, we find ourselves dining in friendly neighborhood Italian restos and tapping our toes to African drum beats. Tonight, we were transported to Mali. In the safety of my seat in Dimitrou’s Jazz Alley, I found myself swaying to Habib Koité and Bamada, hitherto unheard of by me or my musically worldly hub. After a few songs and glasses of wine, Carol the Travel Agent pulled Kyoko and me up to the side of the stage to unabashedly undulate among other female fans. Woo hoo! Before you know it, Carol is on stage — way to go, girl! And yet another woman is up there dancing ... and then, oh no! The cute and mesmerizing percussionist, Mahamadou Koné is beckoning me. Who me? No, no, no, yes! It was the most agonizing, embarrassing and exhilarating 60 seconds of my life, writhing on that platform in my purple tights. Afterward, numerous people congratulated me on my African dancing technique. Thank you, Jazzercise.
