Have you ever wondered what a drunk overweight pre-teen Yeti would look like if they were having some sort of seizure? 

If your answer to that seemingly strange question is "No" then you may be excused from the rest of the blog.  I am sure TMZ has something for you about some celebrity who shockingly does not want their picture taken while they are running to the store to pick up a timely bottle of Pepto Bismol.

If your answer is "Yes" then first of all let me suggest that you probably seek some sort of professional mental health help.  If that does not cure your itch to see some strange convulsions by a misshapen creature who is both physically and emotionally unbalanced, than I have a way for you to satisfy that urge: 

Watch me dance.

There are eggs that have more rhythm than I do.  It's true.  I tested that tonight.  I tried to post the video of it, but the egg refused to sign the release. 

This weekend for our Ozymandian Theater Halloween Comedy Show I was required to bust a move.  What I busted was a hamstring, my inseam, and very possibly the legacy of Michael Jackson.  A few months ago we, the fine folks of Ozy thought it would be a good idea to recreate the "Thriller" dance.  With the help of a local dance studio, a very patient teacher, and some awesome other trained dances we performed it yesterday.  Let me clarify a bit.  While the rest of the group might have actually performed it...I kinda of just stomped around and shock my body as if I was trying to put out an invisible fire on my money maker. 

I probably have not conveyed in enough detail that I cannot dance.  Not one little bit.  As I laid in bed the night before our show I was really worried.  I had survived the practices without having my heart giving me it's final pink slip...but I knew I sucked.  I could not remember the steps in the two and a half minute routine.  And the steps I could remember I was having a very difficult time with.  The mind was willing...but the body was unable to comply.  While dancing there is an interesting conversation that takes place between my brain and my arms and legs.  It looks like this:


Mind:  Here we go.....Turn head to the right and shake your hips.

Body:  Zzzz...wah?  What the %@! is going on here?

Mind: Missed it.  Thats ok.  We will get the next one. 

Body:  Who are you?

Mind:  Shimmy left, Shimmy right, left leg kick behind you, now right leg kick out, with one hand on your hip and your other one acting natural.

Body:  Got it.

Mind:  Why aren't you doing it?

Body:  Oh, we are doing this?  You should have said something-

Mind: Dang...missed that one too.  Here we go..now zombie hands to the right and march five beats to your right.

Body:  Here we go!  Oh..

Mind: What are you doing?  We are missing it!

Body:  I think I have a rock in my shoe...

Mind: Leave it.  Come on dude!

Body: Wait..thats not a rock.  It's bacon. I wonder how that got-

Mind: Never mind!  We have to get this next one.

Body:  Ok.  The body is ready to go.

Mind: Arms above your head and shake your torso back and forth quickly.

Body: What is a torso?

Mind: I hate you...

Body: Torso is a funny word if you think about it.

Mind: Sway your right arm back and forth right now!

Body:  That I can do.  How is this?

Mind:  Well.....not very good.

Body: What are you talking about?

Mind: Well..your arm sway looks like you trying to shake a bat off of your forearm.  It is a little too frantic!

Body: Gotcha.  Let me change that.  Better?

Mind: No.  I can't believe it...but it is actually worse.  And what is with that look on your face?

Body:  That is my "5'3 Latin Lover Dance Gaze"  It shows how intense I am about my motions.

Mind:  Please stop looking like that.  It either looks like you have irritable bowel syndrome, or that you are having a severe stroke.

Body:  Oh my goodness!!  Something is happening to me!!  I am feeling funny...my forehead is leaking!!!

Mind:  That is sweat.

Body:  Oh!  So that's sweat.  Sweat is a funny word is you think about it.

Mind:  Shut up!  Here is the big finish!  Forward leap to the left twice on beats 1 and 5?  And then I will talk you through the final zombie march, alright?

Body: Zzzzzz....

Mind: John?  Wake up!  We have to do the move!  Everyone is looking at us?  Now!!!  Now!!!  Please Now!!!

Body:  Zzzz...wah?  What the %@! is going on here?  Why is my forehead leaking?

Mind:  I don't deserve this.


As you can tell the lines of communication between my head and body are not always up.  So getting my brain to send out exact commands to my various limbs is a tricky proposal for a guy like me. I had more doubts than a chicken having picnic with one of The Colonel's Great-Grandchildren.  I knew my dancing was going to be really really really bad. The only thing that I was confident about was that I was going to be making a very large arse of myself. The problem was the dance was moving too fast for me and I could not keep up with it. 

As I laid in my bed fretting the dance that was going to happen the next day, something amazing happened to me.  I kind of had a vision.

In fact I am pretty sure that the night before our show I was visited by the ghost of Choreography Past.

The Ghost of Choreography past grabbed me by my canckles and took me back in time to watch my first brush with dancing.  Suddenly I was floating above myself in 1990 at a High School dance.  I saw my 16 year old self with my whitewashed jeans, fluffy white button up shirt that looked suspiciously like one of my mothers, and overly produced feathered hair walking out on the dance floor to impress the ladies.  As my metaphysical self watched my younger self get ready to set the gym floor ablaze with moves that are only allowed at disco's in Hell I saw the look on my face.  upon my kisser was an expression of confidence and belief in myself.  A few moments later when "Bust A Move" by the genius Tone Loc began to play I lept out on the floor. 

My 1990 dancing was a train wreck.  My small frame kicked around aimlessly as if it was being controlled by a stoned puppeteer.  My body was always a full beat behind the music.  There was a moment where I even witnessed myself attempt "The Worm" in the middle of the floor.  This is a dance move that when executed by someone who knows what they are doing looks beautiful and fun. When I did it the move looked like someone who enjoys violently throwing his body onto the floor.  I am pretty sure that most dance moves don't require you to repeatedly crack your skull on the free throw line....

I asked the Ghost of Choreography Past "Why was I being forced to watch how terrible of a dancer I am??"

The Ghost then pointed to my now sweaty and bruised younger self who was now taking a break.  1990 John was smiling.  How could that be????  How could someone who was dancing to his own beat have any fun??  Wasn't I worried about looking like I was performing some sort of Alien Mating Dance?  Nope...there was no worry.  Just the look of a guy who could care less about what everyone else thought.

With that recognition I was swept back to my bed. 

The next night I performed Thriller.  And I sucked. I went left when I should have gone right.  I kicked my legs out when I should have been crouching. The dance was way too fast for my Frankenstein Motor Skills to keep up with.  I was making a complete and utter fool of myself....and I loved every second of it.  I danced.  I failed.  I laughed.  I won. 

It was a moment of awkward movements, stunted dance steps, and complete joy for me. 



When did I start caring so much about what other people think about me?  I would like to go back to the day that I decided living like that was a good idea.  I would like to tell my overly self-conscious self that my lot in life is to dance to my own beat and I just need to get the heck over it. The music of life will always be too fast for me to keep up with. I am unlimited in the amount of ways I will make a fool out of myself.   I will always be a beat or two off...and that is just the way I am built.  Embrace it.  Then after my speech I would force my old self to do The Roedel Version of "The Worm" until they lost their memory of my visit back in time to talk to me. 

If there is any lesson I can teach my kids in the time I have left to play Daddy it is to walk unafraid.  To not buy into the "Fit-In" tonic that we are all forced to drink.  That is beyond important to be the unique person they were created to be.  To find value in having their own rhythm that they grove to....and to believe in who you are even when your feet go left when the routine calls for them to go right.  And when the beat of life is going to quickly and ever thing feels like it is moving to fast to close your eyes and remember that it was too fast for your dad too.  It took 35 years for me to learn the lesson that maybe one of the mysteries of life is to try and love every second of it....

Everything Is Moving So Fast
By The Great Lake Swimmers

What sort of pressure and what kind of force
must there have been to drive you here?
Was it uplifting or was it deformed?
Faulting and rifting, you folded.

What does it feel like to fall
in slow motion despite it all?
There's no time to think it through
when we're connected over the blue.

Everything is moving so fast.
I am unlimited.
Everything is moving so fast.
I am unlimited.

What sort of wisdom and what kind of thought
must here have been to scatter you?
 So far and random, your heavenly bodies
still see the faint light in your eyes.

What does it feel like to fall
in slow motion despite it all?
There's no time to think it through
when we're connected over the blue.

Everything is moving so fast.
I am unlimited.
Everything is moving so fast.
I am unlimited.
Everything is moving so fast.
I am unlimited.
Everything is moving so fast.
I am unlimited.