One of the high standards I have set for myself is to ride sitting trot correctly; perhaps like Dr. Reiner Klimke, although I would have to be put on the medieval stretching rack in order for my body to at all simulate his long elegant frame.  Regardless of the hopelessness of achieving that quality of perfection, at least I could hope not to be bouncing around in the saddle, nodding my head, leaning back in a perpetual chair seat, flailing my arms out like chicken wings, or swinging my legs wildly back and forth.