Dance more, talk less
Not many know this, but I once won a dance contest at an all-black bar in Milwaukee, WI. My friends and I went to Brewer game earlier that night and the hotel was right across from the club.
We (me and four other white guys) unknowingly walked into a gem of a night. It was packed and we decided to hang out and see what was going on. About ten minutes into the carousing, they announced they needed one more contestant for the male dance contest. Now, one of my friends was literally wearing a pimp hat and just at that moment he put it on my head and shoved me onto the dance floor. Before I knew what was happening, the DJ said, "Oh yeah, the Beastie Boy wants some action." I was the final contestant.
I think there were eight of us. And it was a solo contest. I breezed through the first two rounds and before you know it I was in the finals against two other guys. These brothas could "get it" and I had no chance, but they made a terrible mistake that I'm sure they regret to this day.
Rabase was pumpin' and I was doing my best JJ Walker impression, cleary on my way to third place when they both decided to gang up on me. Showing me out for laughs, but that's when a miracle happened. I literally turned into Michael Jackson and moonwalked out of their double-team, did a once in a lifetime perfectly executed spin move and flung my lid into the audience. The crowd went wild. I ended with some bullshit pose, but at that point it didn't matter. I was crowned King by hundreds of supportive crowd members.
Not sure that I've ever given that many high-fives in one night. I was the man of the hour and circling the dance floor with everything but the American flag wrapped around my body. My friends handed me a beer and I proudly toasted to everyone and put it to my lips. It was just then when the DJ said, "Not so fast, Beastie. Now, for the cash money prize you have to out-duel last weeks woman's champion!"
Huh? Last week's woman's champion? That's when I looked to the corner where I swear I saw steam rising and a woman (who must have been the original Queen Latifa) strutted onto the floor. I wasn't toast.
Like a beaten boxer, I reluctantly dragged myself to the center of the ring. She literally looked down on me like she would just as soon knee me in the nuts as dance with me.
The music started and I swear I lost sight of her and before I knew it she was behind me like she was an Akido master or something. My eyes simply couldn't follow her. I was a paraplegic grappling for coordination and she was the girl mommy warned me about.
It seemed like the song lasted for about an hour, but it was probably 3 minutes in when she, like her brotha counterparts, made the crucial mistake. She tried to show me up by doing the 500 mile per hour breast shake that black women do, and instinctively, I stopped dancing, looked her in the eyes, then kinda peered around the room as if to say, "This woman bores me and I'm not impressed by her mellons." Again, the crowed squealed with delight.
The move, which I would later dub, "The Pause," was a major hit and lifted me to the title. The Beastie Boy pocketed 75 clams for his efforts and after I "paid off" all the fans who said they cheered for me and the least I could do was buy them a drink, I walked away with a cool $20 and a memory for the ages.
Yeah, I can dance a little.
The Mystery
They say write about what you know and I guess my uncle's car lot would be a good place to start. Vic Hansen & Sons is in Beloit, WI and I have an odd fascination with how my family has preserved this gem for nearly a hundred years.
Vic was the originator. I never met Vic... but I met the sons. They are my 2nd uncles. Then, in an odd twist of fate, THEY had sons who have run the business for the last ten years or so. Three from one uncle, one from the other.
The three kicked "the one" out about two years into the deal and he's been bitter ever since. I suppose I don't blame him, but it makes for interesting Thanksgiving dinners. That is, of course, if everyone shows up. We have a fragmented holiday heritage.
I used to drive into the auto auctions with the sons' sons and pick up cars like
GMC Pacers and
AMC Gremlins. They moved quickly. Those and
Cadillacs.
The brothas liked the family lot. The Hansen's were early adopters in the finance business. That's really where they made their money. Taking people the banks wouldn't and charging a "tiny bit more" for interest.
Anyway, I'm sure you're probably more curious about my venture into the Liquid Kosmos. It has been an interesting ride, but you'll be happy to hear, after months of introspection and deep dives into The Mystery, I am
ENLIGHTENED! Cool, huh? Yeah, I thought so, too.
I meditated, recited chants, banged pots and pans, and ran up hills waving ceremonial flags, but none of it rose me to my heightened state. It happened one day when I was laying in bed. I stared at the ceiling and wondered why on earth I couldn't figure out the meaning of life. It was a painful moment. Like a passing a kidney stone through my brain (I guess that would technically be a brain stone). I wasn't moving, but sweat rolled from my forehead. I searched for God, Buddha, Confucius,
David Carradine -- anyone with a spiritual bend. Something was happening, but I didn't know what. Like I was sick, but felt fine (other than the rock slamming around in my noggin). Was I having a breakthrough? I must be. Then it hit me. Everything you need, you already have.
Life is perfect, even (and especially) with its imperfections. When my ass stinks, I know I must have either eaten something rancid, chewed too quickly, or accepted bad energy from something or someone. All three are clearly avoidable, but sense I didn't avoid them, all I have to do is realize they were. Simple, huh?
On a slightly different, yet tangent connection, a good friend of mine,
Stuart Davis, wrote an interesting comment on my
MySpace page the other day. He is the finest lyricist I have ever known and a full-time musician, but after reading what he wrote it forced me to think about what is coming next in the world of art, music, and us:
"I think it's GREAT you guys are so into music. If only its popularity were more enduring, or perennial. And I don't just mean its surface features, the ornamental particulars that characterize an given musical era or epoch. I mean MUSIC itself is the vestigial organ of our aural capacity. It's simply dying away, all genres, every medium, evaporating from the human field of interest. How sad, just now, as you've begun to generate great sonic structures, humanity is outgrowing them. Start sculpting."
-Stuart Davis
Pretty heavy, huh? If you're in the mood for mind expansion, I highly suggest reading his
Road Journals, but be forewarned, he pulls no punches and may shock even moderates with his transparent and unrelenting exploration of humanity and its evolution.
I have a friend who just moved to town and is looking for a job. He knows his way around printing, photography, and music. He's a hell of a guy, too. If you hear of anything, let me know.
Blogging is fun.
Breathe deep.
