I'm Gonna Live Forever

In May of 1982 I went to my first dance audition. I had just turned 16. The audition was for the Broadway department stores (whatever happened to that chain?). The audition notice in the newspaper announced that they were looking for high school age dancers to model their back-to-school line in a local tour. I had had no formal dance training at this point, just a huge desire to dance, fueled by my fanatical enthusiasm for the first season of "Fame," the TV series.

I hadn't even gotten my driver's license yet. My band geek friend, Dee Dee, was one of the sousaphone players in La Mirada High School's marching band. I paid her $5.00 for gas to drive me into Los Angeles for the audition. We made a day of it, driving in from the Orange County area with a couple of the other band geeks. The audition was at a Broadway department store in Century City, right by the 405 freeway.

I didn't have a head shot or resume. I didn't even know about those basic audition tools at the time. I wasn't sure what to wear. I ended up wearing my new Levi's 501's and my purple Britannia polo shirt. I wore a purple bandanna for a head band, figuring it would make me look more like a dancer, at least.

There was already a huge line of dancers when Dee Dee dropped me off. I got behind two girls who looked very professional in their leotards, tights, and leg warmers. I would've felt more intimidated by their confident appearance if they hadn't been so nice to me. They were Claire and Jill from Alhambra, and they did have head shots and resumes, along with their fancy dance wear.

The audition itself was a crowded cattle-call of a madhouse. I remember seeing a few other students from La Mirada High, including my Very Close Friend Erin. She was there with a few of the other LDS girls from her church. Erin looked cute with her long brown hair pulled to one side, held in place with a ribbon bow. She was a talented artist at an early age. At the audition she had worn a hand painted shirt with a calico cat and her name printed in large letters at the bottom. I thought she was smart to make herself stand out like that.

The dance routine for the audition seemed hard. I don't remember the combination, today. I'm sure that whatever the routine was for the first cut, though, would probably look very basic and simple to me, now. But back then, with not a single dance class under my belt, it seemed hard. It seemed like everyone else around me was picking it up while I tried in vain to follow them in the ordered steps.

But I loved it. Even though I couldn't do it, I loved being in the middle of an authentic dance audition. It looked exactly like what I had imagined it to be. It matched the images I had seen on TV about the contemporary dance world.

Dee Dee and the other band geeks came back from walking around the mall.
"God, it looks like 'Fame' in there," Larry, my fellow trumpet player said. And he was right. The packed room was full of young dancers, mostly female, stretching, practicing the dance routine, talking to each other, and waiting for their turn to audition.

Neither Erin nor I got hired for the Broadway's Back to School Tour. I did get a letter from them, though. I could tell right away that it was simply a courtesy letter because it was thin. It wasn't a thick letter full of forms to fill out, like the kind you get when you're admitted to a university. Still, it felt good to be acknowledged, as if they had actually remembered me from the audition.

Twenty-six years later, I am now living only a few miles away from Alhambra. I wonder what happened to Claire and Jill? I wonder what they've been doing for the last quarter century?

Dat's Da End? No!

They were my mini-fraternity brothers and sisters. They were my Divine Ya-ya Sisters and my League of Their Own team mates all rolled into one. And they still are. They are the first group of dancers that I had worked with on a cruise ship sixteen years ago.

They are part of my Forever Family.

Back in '92, our entire team of eight dancers were cruise ship virgins, all except for one of the male dancers. We were still naïve about many things, including how the corporate world worked. At the time, we didn't realize what a good thing we had with each other as coworkers. We took for granted the incredible chemistry we had together as employees, as friends, and as shipmates.

Three of us were American, including William from East Los Angeles and Dan from Chicago. The rest were from various parts of the U.K., including Jill from Scotland. It took me almost a whole month before I could understand what she was saying without asking her to repeat things two or three times.

Jill became one of my dearest friends during our contract, as my dance partner on stage, and also as the perfect partner for slow dancing in the ship's disco. She knew I was gay, but she was the perfect height for me. Our bodies were like two puzzle pieces that fit naturally and comfortably together.

Slowly and steadily, we all bonded through dance rehearsals in Los Angeles, and during our first days of training on board, in Alaskan waters. We were placed on an old and very small ship. Space was limited, so we were hired to do double duty as cruise staff, supervising activities for the passengers during the day and dancing in the stage shows at night. We were together almost 24/7 and we genuinely enjoyed each other's company.

The corporate office had asked us to extend into the second six-month contract without a break. We had already said yes to them once, extending an additional six weeks in the first contract. We were a strong team. We were happy to comply with the first request, even if it was during the Christmas and New Year's holidays, but not a second time. We were ready for a break, ready to go home, and we stood united as a team.

It wasn't until after we had parted that we realized what a strong, likable team we had. I think most of us assumed that the camaraderie would be just as organic with any other team or cast we worked with after disembarking from the ship. I think most of us eventually regretted not extending into the second contract like we had been asked to. I know I did.

We managed to stay in touch, even if only inconsistently. Thanks to email and facebook we have all been able to reconnect recently, once again. A reunion is being planned for next year, in England. This has colored my days recently, not only through the fun of reconnecting, but also with the joy of anticipation. The happiest part is every one's unabashed enthusiasm for getting together again to share old memories. We're all of us too old to dance anymore, but we are excited about sharing stories and old photos together, and laughing over it all.

Jill is running her own dancing school in Scotland and has three children. All four women have children, and they are all still dancer thin. The four of us boys have put on weight, however, and we've all expressed our desire to slim down before seeing each other again next year.

I guess it wouldn't be a reunion without at least some pressure to lose a few pounds.

Someday, I am hoping to write a novel based on my cruise ship days. Even after only one contract, it was easy to see where the ideas came from for a television show like "The Love Boat."

Wannabe Cheerleader

Here's another random sampling of the rhymes and chants perpetually bouncing around in my mind:

Hey! Hey! Hey-hey-hey!

Are you straight or are you gay?

It doesn't matter anyway, cuz life is sucky every day

When you're-livin'-and-you're-workin'-in-the-city-of-L.A.

YAAAAAAAAAY!

("Is it any wonder I've got too much time on my hands?" ~Styx)

Color Blind, Bus Stop Story 2

I have lived much of my life with blinders on, blissfully unaware and naïve about many of the more unpleasant things, some of them right in front of me. Shemeka had removed those blinders for me, if only briefly, one afternoon.

Shemeka was black but she was not. She had African American facial features, with skin fairer than mine and long auburn braids. We had met while doing menial background work as film extras when I was between gigs.

We met again when sitting in the studio audience for the game show, "Win Ben Stein's Money." I think we had to sit through five shows worth of taping. It wasn't worth the minimum wage, even for a full eight-hour work day. At least we were given a lunch break.

There wasn't much to choose from as far as local eateries in the Hollywood neighborhood. Shemeka and I decided on Little Caesars Pizza since it was cheap, fast, and close to the studio. It was only a take out/delivery place, so we sat on a Santa Monica Boulevard bus bench after buying our single slices.

"Unh-uh," Shemeka said through a bite, shaking her head.

"What?" I asked.

"Those girls on the bus, just now. They were looking at us through the window, shooting daggers with their eyes. You could tell."

I didn't understand. "Why? What's wrong?"

Shemeka put her pizza slice down and sighed. "They were black," she explained. "Because we're sitting together, eating, they think we're together."

I chewed, not answering, and stared at her.

"They think I'm betraying my own kind, that I should be with a black guy."

I was genuinely surprised. This was in Los Angeles, not too many years ago, after the turn of the millennium. I myself am the product of an interracial marriage, so there is a lot I take for granted as far as 'dating outside of your race' goes.

It reminded me of a discussion I had with restaurant coworkers. Most of us thought that interracial marriages and mixed kids helped to diminish prejudice. I'll never forget, though, Nia stating that "you lose your culture when you dilute the blood." I had to agree with her. I can only 'be so Japanese,' my niece even less so, who is only a quarter Japanese.

One of my Disney roommates, Ken, was black and he had only dated white women when we lived together. After a trip to London, he told me how impressed he was to have seen so many interracial couples out in public, limited to the UK metropolitan area as it may have been. I had thought his attitude progressive and refreshing.

I had to rethink that attitude after sitting with Shemeka, though. Ken and I had both grown up in middle-class, mostly-white neighborhoods. We were used to 'acting white' and being 'treated white,' despite our respective appearances. At Disneyland, coworkers teased us for being the 'whitest black guy' and the 'whitest Asian guy' they knew. And although Ken and I have never verbally expressed it to each other, we both know that having a Caucasian significant other somehow makes us more acceptable in white society, at least in our own minds.

As long as we "knew our place," perhaps.

I didn't work as a film extra for very long, and I never saw Shemeka again, after that. But I will never forget her. And I will never be too excited about interracial couples, at least in public, now that I am even more aware of the fact that not everyone thinks it's as wonderful as I do.

(The woman in the photo above is Kenosha Robinson. Go here to read her story on race identity and appearance)

Time After Time Warp

"We want lips! We want lips! We want lips!"

That was the chant, no the demand made by the movie theater audience at the Tyler Mall in Riverside, right before the film began and the lights went down. The Rocky Horror Picture Show. It was a rite of passage common to most drama students, and various social misfits and rebels in high school and college (at least, "in the 80's . . ."), going to the midnight showings often enough to memorize the audience participation lines and perhaps come up with a few of your own.

And it was bad. It was considered bad behavior for a goody-goody Christian boy like me. I was so pathetically goody-goody, I once asked my dad for permission to go toilet papering with some of the other band geeks (he said no). When I asked for permission to go see Rocky Horror my father replied sternly, "No! I heard there are transvestites in that movie." This was a real threat to my conservative Christian dad in 1984.

My band geek buddy, Brent, had been the one to initiate me. We had to figure out some euphemism for the film's title when discussing plans to go see the movie, in front of parents. Rita Hayworth had the same initials, so 'Rita' became the code word.

"So, are we going to see Rita tonight?"

"I have to see if I can borrow the car. It's been almost two months since I last saw Rita!"

I was a goody-goody who didn't even cuss until the end of his senior year in high school. Yelling audience participation lines repeatedly helped me to hone my rookie cursing skills:

RH: Hi! Brad Majors!

Audience: Asshole!

Criminologist (reading from the dictionary): emotion - an intense feeling as of love, hate, or despair . . .

Audience member: Too bad you can only read about it, you chicken-fucker!

At first, we would bring all of the props, including water pistols and umbrellas for the scene with rain ("There's a liiiight, over at the Frankenstein place"), and dry toast to hurl into the air when Frank proposes, "A toast."

By the time we were sophisticated enough to be experts in all of the participation lines, we would attend midnight showings with a single prop - balloons that we could rub and squeak when Rocky was playing with Janet's boobs ("Touch-a touch-a touch-a touch me"), which we would then pop at the end of the song when Susan Sarandon would swoon with orgasmic delight.

The Rocky Horror Picture Show helped me to feel a little bit rebellious in a safe, low-risk way. As infantile as the participation may have been, it had helped me to come out of my shy, goody-goody shell. The rules were minimal and there was no need to worry about offending anyone with colorful language. It was encouraged, rather, almost as if it was competition of wit and creativity, and it was all very liberating for me.

And people were very creative. I'll never forget one night when, in the pool scene right before Dr. Frankenfurter kicks a phallic handle that raises a motorized diving board, a young woman had yelled, "Now, kick the dildo and give the pool a hard-on!"

Fierce, confident queens who had grown up in that era owe much to Tim Curry's portrayal of Dr. Frankenfurter. For many of us, even those who grew up to be not-so-fierce, this was our first exposure to any type of drag queen. Although it had taken several years for my overall being to unclench from my Christian upbringing, The Rocky Horror Picture Show helped me to literally take baby steps toward learning how to strut like a fierce, bitchy queen, just by imitating Tim Curry's performance behind closed doors:

"I'm just a sweet transvestite (sweet transvestii-iite), from Transssexual, Transylvaniaaa-uh-huh!"

Okay, so maybe my dad wasn't just being paranoid when he felt threatened.

"A Little Nonsense Now and Then . . . "

As further proof that I have too much time on my hands, here's the opening verse of the Peter Varvel rap:

My name is Peter
I'll do you sweeter
Than any woman can or girl or señorita

'SUP?

My name is Peter
I ain't no cheater
Don't need Viagra yet to pump my centimeters

UP!

As we used to say in elementary school days, Thank you, thank you, no applause - just money.

He Used to be a Shy Boy - Bus Stop Story 1

I was walking the pugs along one of our usual neighborhood routes in the early morning, last week. Three young black women were chitchatting energetically at a bus stop across the street. They are usually there on weekday mornings before 7:00 am. They look young enough to be high school students. The three of them had taken up the larger of the two benches.

On the smaller bench that morning were two young white guys, also in conversation with each other. Standing in the middle of the two benches was a quiet Filipino teen. Neither group was including him in conversation, nor was he attempting to make small talk with them while waiting for the bus. The mere fact that he was standing up only seemed to reinforce his social isolation, as did his stoic expression and silence.

The sight of him and his position in this tableau brought me back to my former identity as a painfully shy and insecure adolescent. I remember waiting for the school bus for what must have been only a few minutes, trumpet case at my side, but it seemed tortuously long as I huddled inside myself among the bubbly conversations around me.

I was lucky. Those few minutes were bearable because I only had to wait until I walked into my first morning band class, whether it was Jazz Ensemble, Marching Band, or Concert Band. Then I could click on and relax into my Outgoing Band Geek self.

I wondered: Does the Filipino boy also relax and open up, once he arrives at his destination? I have always been amazed at the different people we can be, depending on who else is around us, and what activity we're engaged in, etc.

I still think about a Japanese American girl in the first grade, how shy and quiet she was in the classroom, and how her forehead would scrunch up when called upon by our teacher, Mrs. Fukushima. My classmate became a completely different person when walking home from school with friends and siblings - talkative, laughing, and with her brow completely smooth and relaxed.

Maybe this is part of what it means to be an Asian American kid, that you have these Jekyll and Hyde levels of shyness and friendliness. Maybe that doesn't apply to all Asian American kids, and I know it is not exclusive to certain ethnic groups. But it's a shame that society can still be so "ethnically isolated" today, just as much as some of us felt it was twenty or thirty years ago.

I am not worried about that young Filipino man, though. It looks as if he is able to stand on his own, both literally and metaphorically, and that will serve him well whether or not he becomes more socially at ease as he gets older.