THE 12 DANCE STEPS
I went to a lot of proms in high school. Ten altogether.
Between 1992 and 1996, I macarenaed, tootsie rolled, rumpshaked, and electric-slided my way through more school dances than any other classmate alive.
This isn’t pride. This is pathological. I had a problem.
My name is Clay—and I am addicted to school dances.
If each year inaugurated a newly crowned king and queen to the court, then that made me the village strumpet—some hussy in a tux, a dance floor floozy ready to cut a rug with just about anybody willing to cut loose with me.
I crashed dances in neighboring counties.
I crossed state lines.
I jaunted up and down the eastern seaboard, from the outer banks to the District of Colombia—just to get my groove on.
My goal? Blow the lid off of every gymnasium between me and my diploma…
...So. This is the first bit of a new essay I'm writing for Dana Rossi's awesome event The Soundtrack Series on Friday, June 8th at (le) poisson rouge here in NYC. Dana enlisted an intimidating roster of authors and storytellers to dust off their tuxes and taffeta gowns in order to tackle their memories of prom.
Want to hear the rest of mine? See you this Friday: http://bit.ly/JpnEtA
And for my dates to each dance, all ten of you… I'm sorry. Please forgive me.
June 2, 2012
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