One of my goals over here at Cheap Therapy, is to acknowledge, discuss and ultimately diminish the power which past events hold over me. They may be embarrassing or induce anxiety or regret, at the mere thought of them.
Well. What better way to overcome such memory nasties, than by saying them, right out loud? Let me (and in turn, my avid readers of 0) get a hearty laugh at my expense. I mean, jeez. I'm only human and as such, I do (and have done) a lot of ridiculous things.
The trick is to say "fuck it" and finally move on. Who the hell cares that I was foolish, once upon a time?
Our first selection involves the many dance routines I concocted in my middle school and high school years.
In 8th grade, some friends of mine performed a dance routine to Taylor Dayne's "Prove Your Love", at a talent competition. Later that year, on a trip with these friends and several others, as well as my beloved band teacher -- to Minnesota for some theatre and just all around fun, I decided to make up my own dance routine to this classic '80s hit.
Allow me to digress for a moment, as I mention the fact that, while working retail in Beverly Hills a few years back, I met Taylor Dayne and indeed, ended up selling a sofa to her. Did I ever mention this dance routine insanity while we perused various fabric choices for her new and comfy couch? No.
Talk about a missed opportunity.
Anyway, for the next many months, and indeed years, I perfected this dance routine, annoying the hell out of my closest friends, at every tick of the clock.
"You wanna see my dance routine again?" And begrudgingly, they'd say yes. And while they clearly wanted to support my gifted turn into the art of dance, I could tell that they were bored by it. Ahem.
Now. There is video of this routine. And I own that particular aging VHS tape. The real test of how much I want to "get over this", would be to post it online and say, "Enjoy 8th grade me, dancing with little to no emotion to one of '80s diva Taylor Dayne's greatest hits."
Indeed, this particular video (shot in my girlfriend's childhood home -- the topic of girlfriend will certainly be addressed at later times), of me wearing black pants and sporting a Freddy t-shirt, with long, unkempt hair and the sad beginnings of equally unkempt facial hair -- shows me with no emotion, no smiles and no excitement as I went through the moves of this dance routine.
The sad thing, is that I did it for the enjoyment. I loved the song, thought I could dance (and indeed, choreograph) and did it for funsies.
Several other half-finished dance routines followed. Electric Youth by Debbie Gibson (also recorded on this same VHS), Howard Jones' The Prisoner, Rhythm Nation by Janet Jackson and a routine to Shell Shock, that new age tune by New Order, from the Pretty in Pink soundtrack. The Shell Shock routine is also on VHS, but this one was recorded at another talent show -- this one from my junior year of high school.
And while my girlfriend and best friend of that era did other routines with me for other talent shows (they were referred to as "The Air Show" in my high school), nothing can compare to the original "go at it" of Prove Your Love.
To this day, if this song comes up on my phone mix (such as on a hike), I'm always inclined to do some of the moves, albeit in an even less emotional manner than I had in 8th grade. I wouldn't want to draw attention to my immense dance skills and cause a commotion up at Runyon Canyon.
It may seem stupid to point this out as a source of everlasting embarrassment, but the whole reason I'm here on Cheap Therapy, is because I've got a lot of problems -- unnecessary regret and illogical pain about the past -- especially over something which was just meant to be fun, and was obviously a way for me to perform and express myself in some way.
And even now, as I come to the close of this little memoir, I'm smiling. And yes, I'm a little teary-eyed. For now I see that it's not something which should be avoided, memory-wise. Why not celebrate that I wanted to perform, however I could and for whomever was in the room?
Could I dance? No. Not really. Did my dancing expression suggest boredom? Sure.
It's kinda bullshit that I didn't tell Taylor Dayne when I met her, how she was able to -- in a small town in South Dakota, where even in this day and age -- the gays are unwelcome -- that she was able to take a little closeted boy out of his comfort zone (only in the company of beloved and trusted friends) and gay it up with some terrible dance moves -- to her powerhouse tune from 1988.
And as I let this memory go -- hopefully not allowing it to further obstruct my ultimate happiness, I can't help but feel nostalgic, about how I'd have to rewind the song over and over on my cassette player (as I created my routine), always coming up on the very end of the previous track on Dayne's album, "I'll Always Love You", and how annoyed I'd be that I overshot the rewind and would have to listen to the final moments of that track, when all I wanted to do was prove your love.
Fuck it. This is a good memory, and I ain't letting it go. So false fucking alarm, folks.
So, this trip down memory lane is apparently not what I anticipated. But it's still cheap therapy, right?
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