From teen celebrity, to art school dropout, loser misfit, and rebel-clown choreographer; my dance talents, for better or worse, have yanked me through life.
PART 1: Blame the 1980s
As a shy little Oregon boy, literally living on a dead end, in the middle of a forest, just off a pissant town, I was completely hidden from the world. When not quietly making friends with local trees, I was hungrily consuming movies that dared me to live large... by performing.
These films weren't just entertaining. Their greasy hands reached through the screen, pressed into my soft skull, and told me that performance (especially dance) could...
...make me the life of the party.
...help me find love.
...get me into a good school.
...gift me with a career.
...rescue a god-fearing town, through my angry dancing in a warehouse.
Funny, as I put this together, I see that they were almost right, if you get super loose on what "career" means (and ok the warehouse thing was a joke, though if only...).
When you can't fully invest in dance classes, gyms, unions, head shots, and a completely flexible, good paying day-job, you're immediately screwed. And even if you do manage all that, you're hoping to book gigs that still pay less than most professions. Insult to injury, it's best to get in sync with some cult of dance style by your mid-twenties, because you're already getting over that proverbial hill. Do most early twenty-somethings have anything figured out? I sure as hell didn't.