About

This site is not about polka or even dancing. I mean, I wouldn’t completely rule out discussing those things, but if you’ve arrived seeking a polka-focused outlet – chock full of reviews on the latest polka artists and what’s new and exciting in the polka scene – you’re in for disappointment.

If this site were to follow the marketing advice of doing what it says on the tin, it would probably instead be called Motorcycles, Road Trips, Trombones and Occasional Forays Into My Fragile Psychological State. And even then the description would be inaccurate.

Dancing the Polka used to be a motorcycle-focused website, which is why you’ll find a lot of bike reviews, discussion of motorcycle gear and stories in which motorcycles play an integral part. But that’s the thing: motorcycles are just a part of the story, and after I found employment working for the best motorcycle manufacturer in the world I decided to change and broaden the focus of my website to the point that it is now pretty ill-defined.

These days, Dancing the Polka is like one of those eccentric shops that you find in expensive tourist towns, where they sell flowers and coffee and decorative plates and summer dresses and lots of other things that don’t really go together but for the fact they are within the purview of the owner’s interests. It’s a curiosity shop that used to be a motorcycle shop. The good news is I’m not asking you to buy anything. Please feel free to browse.

The name comes from a pivotal life experience in which a California beauty queen asked me to dance and I was too shy and self-conscious to say yes. I now hold onto that experience to remind myself that life is heartbreakingly short. Its beauty is made up of the times we say yes, rather than standing on the sidelines fearing opaque and possibly nonexistent consequences. So if this site has a point, it is simply this: Make a fool of yourself. Take joy in the things no one else cares about. Find adventure in the mundane. Wear that silly hat. Eat that ice cream. Sing that song out loud. Jump up and down, hoot, spin in circles. And when she asks, grab the beauty queen by both hands and dance the fucking polka.