a strange confession (25 seconds… both times)
As confessions go, this one is a bit odd. There’s no use dancing around the topic, which you will soon learn is a very apropos (and witty if I do say so myself) way of putting it, my confession has to do with a scene from the 1984 film Footloose.
Unlike some blogs you might read, this one asks a little participation from you. A little effort. I hope you’ll believe me when I say it will be worth it. I’m not saying it will be worth it, I’m just saying I hope you believe me when I say it will be. If it or is not worth it will be entirely up to the amount of mental energy you put into it.
The participation I speak of?
You’ll need to visit this Youtube site and fast forward to the 2:24 minute mark. It is there that you will bear witness to what my confession is all about. Without seeing this clip you will be hopelessly lost and there is no earthly way you’ll get any enjoyment from what follows.
If you just happened to stumble upon this story with no attachment to all things Manion and don’t feel like watching something you are free to go. I won’t hold it against you. If you’re still reading it is with the understanding that you watched the clip (hopefully a few times over).
The confession I speak of?
I’ve always thought I could do that dance.
Honestly. I watched the movie and what jumped out at me was this little 25 second snippet of dancing was the closest thing I’ve ever seen to encapsulating how my soul would dance if it could ever escape the clumsy confines of my body. That 25 seconds is 25 unbridled seconds of me at my purest.
Not much of a confession I’ll grant you, I’m sure there are tons of nerds who feel the exact same way, but the difference is that I put my money where my confession is.
Now before you go thinking I rented out an old warehouse to recreate the scene I’ll stop you right there. That would be crazy. All I did was rent out a nearby dance studio that also hosts children’s karate classes.
Of course I did rent a tuxedo, complete with white socks and black leather shoes, and erect a dozen mannequins dressed in prom attire. After slipping in a The Essential Kenny Loggins CD, which I must tell you has a lot more cheesy-yet-wonderful songs than any one man should ever be responsible for, and cueing up the aforementioned title track it was showtime.
At 2:24 I imagined a buxom blonde finishing her gyrations and all eyes turning to me… and at 2:36 I realized I can’t dance.
Apparently that little dance number was a little more difficult than it first appears. The young man who did the dance in the movie must not have been a stranger to the dance floor. Realizing that it was highly doubtful that he nailed it on the first take I restarted the song.
The trouble, I thought to myself at the time, was that I was holding back. I wasn’t letting go. I wasn’t channeling my inner dancer.
So I tried again, taking a deep breath and allowing myself to feel the music flowing through me. I was simply a vessel moving on the sea of rhythm.
At 2:24 I began. At 2:34 I stopped, having pulled a number of groins. You might argue that people only have two groins but I distinctly remember pulling at least three.
How could it be that I was unable to do the very dance that I have identified, without the slightest doubt, as my dance?
I’d like you to go back and watch the video again.
Now imagine someone who is unathletic, uncoordinated, gangly as fuck and the proud owner of no fewer than three groins trying to do the dance.
In an empty dance studio.
Footloose blaring and surrounded by a dozen mannequins dressed in prom attire.
If you can do that, truly picture that, then you’re laughing and the time spent reading this was well worth it. Perhaps you even pictured yourself doing that little dance.
I sincerely hope so.
And as far as confessions go… I’m sure you’ve heard worse.
You’re playing so cool, obeying every rule
Deep way down in your heart
You’re burning, yearning for somebody to tell you
That life ain’t passing you by
I’m trying to tell you
It will if you don’t even try
Epilogue: Did anything happens between me and the buxom mannequin?
That’s a different confession… and also 25 unbridled seconds of me at my purest.