Last Friday, dozens of people began lining up outside Lowell Lecture Hall an hour before the doors were even unlocked to let people inside. Hands shoved in pockets to keep warm, individuals of all shapes, sizes and colors awaited a night of short skirts, bandanas, and copious booty-popping.
This spring’s Sexpressions — oops, sorry, Expressions show was not for the faint of heart (or for any individual with a heart condition, for that matter). Hips gyrate, sweaty bodies thrust up against each other, breathless...did we mention these are Harvard students? The dancers get hotter and heavier surrounded by a packed crowd than they probably do in the privacy of their dorm rooms.
The night started on a humorous note, as Expressions director Gbenga T. Okusanya ’05 walked onto the lecture hall floor to welcome the audience when a rabble-rousing group of City-Steppers stood up and shouted “O-K Gben-ga” and took off their jackets to reveal t-shirts proclaiming “I However, things turned sour for the hooting, energetic audience when the Lowell Lecture Hall matron told the crowd that those without seats would have to exit the premises immediately. After ten minutes of grumbling, those errant Expressions-goers left the aisles for home, and the dancers took the stage to resume shakin’ it like a salt shaker. And what mind-blowing shaking it was. At one point, Gollum-like male dancers crawled across the floor to their female dance partners, laying spread eagle on the floor. The ladies quickly took matters into their own hands as they mounted their men and stuck lollipops in the boys’ mouths to the pulse of Lil’ Kim’s “How Many Licks” blaring out of the stereos. Perhaps the most shocking moment came during a Janet Jackson medley, as one dancer came up to her man from behind, fondled his crotch, threw him to the ground and grabbed his head and stuck it by her own crotch. A concerned mother threw her hands in front of her child’s eyes. White boys everywhere cursed their lack of melanin. The Lowell Lecture Hall matron got up and left. After all the R-Rated dancing, FM needed a stiff drink and a cigarette before heading out for the after party. Oddly, however, the bumping and grinding at the Phoenix seemed positively tame in comparison to what went before it.
