“You!” she said, “You were awesome! Do you have a job? Do you need one?” And not only that: This time I felt a tender hand against my arm, and turned around to see a bartender trying to get my attention. It’s been the through-line of my stage career.īut not this time! No! Victory was mine! This time, I took to that bar, and dismounted to rounds upon rounds of applause. And though I’m embarrassed to admit it, admit it I will: I’ve been known to bomb like it’s my job to bomb. There has been, God help me, a phase where I performed spoken word poetry. I’ve logged quite a bit of stage time in my life – there’s been the aforementioned jaunt through the comedy circuit, there’s been karaoke, there’s been a decent amount of high school and college theatre. To borrow a phrase: “The crowd went wild.” I was up on that bar faster than Deirdre could say, “I’ve also been getting really into podcasts!” This would be true about me in any scenario – on a bus or in a supermarket, for example – so if you put me in an environment where the dancing is actually encouraged? Forget it. I will be performing some seriously committed hair whip-arounds. Let me take a moment to explain to you that when this song comes on, I am powerless against my urge to dance. But then, low and behold, a certain song came blasting through the speakers: Lenny Kravitz’s “American Woman.” In an effort to avoid smacking either one of us in the face – her, to make her stop talking myself, to have something to focus on besides an anecdote about her latest screenplay – I’d decided to leave. Everyone else was coupled off save for a gal named Deirdre who spent a solid two hours explaining to me just how well her career in acting/writing/directing was going. Honestly, it wouldn’t surprise me if, by 2014, Coyote Ugly had a ride at Disney World.Īnyway, I arrived at this birthday party only to discover that I was one of two single people in attendance. There was a time when Coyote Ugly, as an entity, required a bit of explanation. And it is with these moves tucked neatly into my back pocket that I arrived to a friend’s 25th birthday party at Coyote Ugly. Well, I emerged from the experience with the moves necessary to dominate any lay-person’s dance floor: At weddings, bat/bar mitzvahs, at the club. How to “walk sexy.” How to “drop” my “junk” to the “flo’.” Killing time backstage over the course of the months we worked together, they taught me everything I know: Party moves. And though I lacked any formal dance training, I made my rounds on the comedy circuit while in my early 20s, and wound up working a bachelorette party stage show with no fewer than three male strippers. The way my best friend once described it: “It’s like, one second you’re in your chair eating a slice of cake or whatever, then the next second you’re shimmying so hard I’m, like, ‘OMG: I’m worried her head’s gonna fall off.’ You go from zero to 60 like that.” I hear a song that moves me, and I commit. Anything from, “My Uncle Morty loved your dancing!” to “You really got the party started!” My dancing skillz come down to one word: Commitment. I’ve never been to a wedding where the thank you note for whatever I picked off the registry didn’t do exactly that. Here’s a thing I can promise: If you invite me to your wedding, your other guests will comment on the quality of my dancing.
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