Back in the early 90's, some friends of mine set me up with a stunning actress they had met working on a television show. We really hit it off, she sent me a letter written on a Chuck-Taylor high top shoe, and I was in love (until I found the 48-cassette Tony Robbins "Awaken the Giant Within" collection in her car). She moved to Los Angeles to pursue her dream, and within a year or two I saw her putting dinner on the table for her two kids. Her hair was short and she was already playing the late 30-something mom. Evidently in Hollywood if you don't make the pretty young thing cut it's off with the hair and a new headshot.
I've been watching a lot of television lately. A lot (said with Simon Cowell accent) and by television I mean the dark grey box sitting on the plastic storage container over there in the corner with the blinking green light because I never set the time properly thingey. There sure is a lot of dancing going on there. Dancing because you won something. Dancing because you beat your opponent into a bloody pulp. And a lot of dancing because you have overcome your male incontinence problems.
Recently, I've thought of dusting off my old SAG card and auditioning for some of those commercials. During the 1980's, I would have been the first kid down to the butter-covered floor whenever the credits would roll on any of the Breakin' 1, 2 or 3 movies. Thanks to my dad, I had a backspin-friendly Nike windbreaker, and thanks to my mom's acrylic painting set, I had a dope "Dr. Glide" painted on the front under the Nike logo. Though I was initially stigmatized because I lived in the "rich" kids neighborhood called Echo Farms, my head moonwalks and Turbo-style poppin' and lockin' won me over to the downtrodden practitioners of breakdancing.
Insert me where you see Turbo (leave the broom alone)
I can't help but wonder what drug commercials with seniors are going to look like in 20-30 years, when they play that good old time music we used to listen to ("Tour de France") and dance the way they used to dance. I'm not sure how the music will be received, but after a recent test on my mother's fold-out sewing board, I can assure you that it will be painful. I used to use the board for lightning quick backspins, but the board is now to small to fit my less than centered backspins (and enormous body). I gave up on the backspins and thought I'd try some worms. I don't remember having to wear kneepads when I used to do "the worm" and "the caterpillar" but they sure would have helped this time around. Perhaps as you get older, your memory of music becomes homogenized and you remember Ice-T and Sugar Hill Gang as nothing more than jazzed up Golden Oldies. I'm sure that's what the PBS fundraising drives will have you believe. But the dancing – they can't fake the breakdancing. "That's how we danced when I was your age," I'll say as I get up off the floor (with my nurses aide's assistance).
My current dancing aspirations