I'd Be Happy to Serve You

Everyone has difficult periods in life. Everyone. To say that any tough period I went through is more important than anyone else's would be ridiculous... there's a lot of bad shit going on out there. BUT... during hard times it does seem like I've got it harder than anyone else on earth, even if it's not all that bad.

To tell you the truth, that whole last part could easily be edited down to about five words. Freshman Year in High School.

So, it was Freshman Year in High School and like most of us I was a loser. I don't know what it was, really. I spent the first through eighth grades tearing up classrooms like they were my own personal comedy club. Somehow, I even ended up eighth grade class president. And I was the least qualified person for the job. (Sorry Margaret Farr.) In the ninth grade everything changed. Most of the girls became women and all that anyone seemed to care about was drinking and sports. (I'm sure sex was involved to but I wasn't really privy to that.)

Here is the list of things I concerned myself with, in order of importance: Saturday Night Live. Getting on Saturday Night Live. Comic Strip Live. Trying not to embarrass myself in School i.e. not talking. Movies, particularly of the "Horror" or "Comedy" genre. And Jim Carrey...

One thing I really loved to do, though, was dance. I'd dance at any opportunity. And I tried to connect with kids in my school by going to school dances. The problem was that most kids at Matignon, where I went, thought they were to cool for the dances. I danced like a maniac anyway. There was music. I had to. Regardless of my dancing skills, by my account I had little to no friends at Matignon.

A fact that may have been remedied one bright and sunny day when our little school was visited by an unknown Danish rap star by the name of Lucas. Lucas was promoting his new album by touring High Schools throughout the U.S. There was something mentioned about how he was a smash hit in England and was poised to be HUGE in America. How he planned to do it by stopping in to entertain our little High School, I have no idea.


We filed into the auditorium and Lucas was on-stage. Now, upon first glance, most of the kids in school were unimpressed that this guy was any kind of deal, let alone a star. It took some convincing. Let's just say, Lucas was met with hesitancy. At first. After all, most of us had been caught up in that Vanilla Ice controversy that had happened a few years previously. Myself chief among them. (Check the list of casualties in the War on Vanilla Ice. I'm under W.) Here we were, filing into our little auditorium, with smirks on our faces because we were to be entertained by a "White" rapper. The gall on us. Straight up Racism. Public Enemy would be pissed... or would they?

Lucas had traveled, from the Good Lord knows where, merely for our entertainment and he was met by the icy stares of a couple of hundred spoiled, catholic teenagers. Collective arms crossed and shitty, snide remarks were loosely flying around the room. The dank smell of our old auditorium was muffled by the musky stench of our teenage superiority. The opposite of teen spirit. There were a few defectors... the rebels. How I envy them.

Lucas is introduced by a teacher -hardly a warm-up act- and after a few quick, foreign accent sounding words from Lucas about how he's happy to be in our school and thanks for having him he rips into a track... My memory is a little fuzzy on this part but he's rapping and he's got dancers on-stage with him. He had an act. Which is great. I remember a few people dancing in their seats. One kid in particular, Paul, was waving his hands in the air and hip-hop-rockin' it from his seat. I think I took his cue at some point and started to dance in my chair. Anyway, kids weren't really gettin' down to much. Some were though. But as Lucas continued and went from track to track everyone started to loosen up.

It's important to note that Lucas was dancing all over the place. His dancers could move too. They put on a great show. Everyone on-stage was working hard to entertain and their hard work was paying off because, as a whole, we had gone from "cool as ice" to "Lambada: The Forbidden Dance." I believe Lucas may have had a couple of new fans. Each song flowed nicer than the last and before Lucas reached his crescendo he started inviting kids up to the stage to dance. Waving his arms, he yelled, "Come on! Get up here and Dance." Everyone was reluctant, of course, but then he came down the stairs of the stage and dragged a girl out of her seat... and kids started to jump up. As catholics we usually need that kind of encouragement.

A few kids started to jump up out of their seats and run towards the stage. Mostly goof balls and hams... the outgoing kids... the kids I wanted to be... The kid I knew I was but always held myself back from being. And do you know what? I jumped up too. I have no idea what I was thinking. I remember being really scared. The worst kind of stage fright, all the while running towards the stage. And I had to enter by a staircase that was right in the middle of the stage too. So, everyone could see me running up this semi-steep set of stairs. There was no hiding. As I got to the stage I looked around and I immediately noticed that there were a lot less people up there than I had previously thought. I was one of only seven or eight kids. That's it. Or so it felt.

What happened was: all of the kids stood in a line towards the back of the stage. The line started with the most eager kids at center stage and went straight across the stage to where I was standing: half on-stage, half in the wing... Lucas was still trying to get people up on-stage while we were standing behind him, dancing. Well, everyone was dancing but me. I was kind of bobbing. Once Lucas was satisfied that he wasn't going to get anyone else up he spun around and started interacting with the kids he HAD coaxed up there. He bounced over to center stage and started to encourage the kids dancing there. He'd shout, "Come ON! MAN" and "YEAH!" to the music. And much to my horror he started to make his way down the line to where I was lightly bobbing my head. Seven or eight or nine people away, mostly obscured by the school's green curtain, I was doing my best not to be seen and wishing I hadn't come into school that day. This was turning into a nightmare, quick.

Lucas, as he was connecting with the kids and getting down in line, he was moving across the stage in my direction. At one point, when he was still a good five or six people away he must have caught my hesitancy in his peripheral vision. He turned and looked at me dead in the eye and said, into the microphone, "come on, man, what're you scared to dance?" And, no shit, I turned (Jason Bourne style) and headed off-stage right. I knew there was an exit door to be found and also, if necessary, a staircase down to the lunch room backstage. I was ready to be free of this terror. Fast.

As I was making my exit Lucas said, "Awww, C'mon, man... Where are you going?" And a kid at the end of the line, next to me, grabbed my arms and started to pull me towards the center of the stage. Then the kid next to him joined in and went behind me to try to push me... I started to fight the kid pulling me and get my hands free. The kids let me go but one kid got to the end of the stage and was standing in front of me. blocking my exit. The crowd was going NUTS.

I could hear people laughing and booing above the music. And the music was loud. All of this happened in a mere matter of seconds. As I tugged my arms free of one kid and made my way towards the edge of the stage, Lucas was rightfully chiding me about my exit plan. As I was facing the lone kid who wasn't going to let me leave I was struck by a crazy notion: if these people wanted dancing then I'D SHOW THEM DANCING.

So, as I made my exit toward the side of the stage... I waited for the kid to put his hands up and push me back towards the center of the stage. Once he did that I used his push to execute one of the sweetest dance moves I know. Perhaps you may have seen it. It's a real beaut. (I used his leverage like Steven Segal will use his opponent's leverage to break their own hands and then stab them in the eye with their broken finger bones.) I go into a fall where it looks like I'm going to smash a knee and then I turn it into a spin move where I come around in a whirl. It's fluid and fast. Some real "Michael Jackson level" stuff. Then I bounce up and start hammering Lucas with some amazing moves. He was completely stunned, as was the audience- my entire High School- but the music kept playing and Lucas kept dancing. So, then he tries to take it to the kid to try and show me a thing or two. I come right back at him. Now, we're pretty much housing. Going back and forth, one after the other, from our respective sides of the stage. It was out of control.

Everyone was completely surprised. The kids were going crazy and Lucas lost his mind. When it was finally all over he gave me a high five and a handshake before I went back to my seat. I got pats on the back all the way out of the assembly. Even after I was at my locker and quickly on my way out the door everyone was telling me how much my dancing had kicked ass... but I didn't know what to say. I was embarrassed. I couldn't take the attention. It really was an interesting day at school. I'm sure it was one of the few times people could use the phrase, "but he was so quiet" and not be referring to a serial killer. I got to show off one of the things I did best...

After that, I kept my eyes open for Lucas. Bought his albums. And a few years later he came out with a really cool song titled, "Lucas With The Lid Off." His one major hit. I put a link to his video above. The video is by Michel Gondry. I suggest you watch it. Although, it doesn't showcase his dancing any. Which is a shame because Lucas was a great dancer. He had a lot of moves. But he should have brushed up. Because on that bright and sunny day in Cambridge, Massachusetts... inside of a tiny auditorium, tucked away in a little building by the name of Matignon High School, I danced that muthafucka back to Denmark.
-Chris

The Greatest Show on Earth

Yesterday my brother, David, was taking a stroll up on kooky Hollywood Blvd. and randomly he was handed tickets for a taping to The New American Gladiators. Any doubt as to why we'd moved to Hollywood was crushed in that instant. American Gladiators. For Free.

We went and ran into a Writer's Guild Picket Line. We don't cross picket lines. Our Dad is a union guy and that, in turn, makes us union guys. So, In a screech of brakes and a shattering of fun we turned our car around from the Sony Studios Lot and headed back for the homestead. I was deflated. I had been extremely excited to go and see the taping. Who isn't a fan of American Gladiators? AND I just found out that Hulk Hogan is the new host. Double Whammy. As a kid, I was a Hulkamaniac. I even got the Hulk Hogan Workout Kit for Christmas one year. Dumbbells, one of those hand gripper machines, an audio motivation tape, a bandanna, and an easily tearable, pre-ripped, yellow Hulkamaniac tank top. I excitedly ripped it in two before I even wore it, taped it up so it was easier to tear, and ripped it off again whenever I was around another human being. The only thing it was missing was a bleached blond handlebar mustache and mullet kit.

My original plan here was to write a blog about our experiences at The New American Gladiators show. I guess we'll have to settle for an oldie but goodie on the very same subject. My apologies if the length gets away from me. I hope you're as psyched as I am.

Let's take a little time traveling trip all the way back to the good year of our lord nineteen hundred and ninety one. The year I was in the eigth grade. More importantly, the year my brother, David, was in the eleventh grade. At the time, he attended High School at the, now defunct, ever legendary Don Bosco Technical High School in Downtown Boston. In my experience a truly magical place. Now, I don't know how they do it other places but, where I'm from, in the eighth grade they allow students to take a couple of days off to visit and experience different High Schools in the area. Figure out where they might like to continue schooling. I picked a couple of places. The first was Matignon High School in Cambridge, which I eventually chose, (because they had girls) and Don Bosco.

An all boys school, "Bosco" is best described as unruly. Located in the area of Downtown Boston people often referred to as "The Zone" or "Combat Zone." (Long ago, our Red Light District.) It was common to see ladies of the night (or "Lovelies") prowling just outside the doors of the school. Some of my favorite stories involve the years that my two older brothers went to school there.

My visit happened to be on a Friday in the fall. The date was significant way before I even told my teacher I needed to take the day off. The importance of the day is impossible to understate because it was the same day of the Don Bosco Bears football rally which my brother was in charge of planning. For weeks and weeks he had been cooking up a scheme that would put all other football rallies, everywhere, to shame.

From what I understand most High Schools tend to introduce the football team, maybe there's a mascot or a funny little skitch, or whatever, but most just go with the old "here's your football team" deal. Bosco was an all boy's school so the idea was to do whatever is going to drive the kids bonkers.

David was responsible for one of 1991's big rallies. The theme he decided on: American Gladiators.

David, with the help of his best friend Chris Hickey and I, spent weeks before the big day collecting old football helmets, wigs, costumes, any manner of stuff that would make them look ridiculous, as well as, creating gladiator names, making pugil sticks, and planning the competition. (For anyone making Crystal Meth in their basement, consider making Pugil sticks along the same lines. I know it won't get you high and make you indestructible, but it's just about the most fun anyone can have.)

On the day of the event, I followed my friend, Matt Mahegan, around the school and had a great experience. Each class brought it's own new insanity, depending on the teacher. It seemed, to me, to be a school full of kids getting away with whatever they could. Like Dickensian London or prison. In one class I remeber kids yelling at the Brother teaching every time he turned around to the chalk board. I guess he was deaf, so they'd swear at him and say all kinds of lewd, weird shit about their own genitals. The Southie kids were the craziest. And everybody seemed to know my brother, David, and thought he was a great kid. I wasn't even at the school a full day and yet I seemed to be accepted as "Little Walshy."

It was a half day and not too long after lunch we got the call to file down to the gymnasium. If it's one thing I remember clearly it's the size of the Don Bosco gym. Huge. More like an airplane hanger. And on this particular Friday in the fall of 1991 the gym would be turned into an Arena for American Gladiators. As soon as everyone filed into the arena, the festivities were underway. The football squad was announced and that business was taken care of, somewhat hastily, with a few speeches from coaches and the like.

Then the lights were dimmed and some carnival music was played as announcers introduced the competitors. (The announcers in this case were friends of David who were really funny and eventually got into some trouble for advertising feminine products during non-existent commercial breaks) The competitors were a bunch of ragtag bunch of misfits chosen for their character status in the school and amount of yelling they'd bring out of the crowd. And yell we did. As they jogged out to the killing floor they were greeted by "Boos", "Hissssses", "You're Going Downs", "Ya Mutha's", and the shout of their individual nicknames.

Then the limits of the P.A. and the gym were put to the test with the introductions of the Gladiators. The place went dark and, "Rock You Like A Hurricane" by Scorpions boomed through speakers. A spotlight from the top corner of the gym centered on a locker room door and my brother's gang of goofballs charged out wearing all manor of leotard (one and two-piece), old school high-tops, knee socks, and prostheses. Armed with pugil sticks and crazy hairdos the Gladiators sprinted into the gym as each one was announced. Once assembled they looked like a hairband full of wrestlers that needed a place to rock but couldn't find a stage. My brother's character was named Chief J. Smegma (due to the statue of liberty headdress he wore), and one of the most memorable characters was "Vestite."

















Half woman, half man, all beast: "Vestite," like all of the Gladiators, was wearing a melange of clothing items collected from home. For some reason our crazy mother has always been a fan of costumes and rediculous clothing. (An affinity David and I have inherited.) As a result my brother was able to outfit and transform all of his High School buddies into the freakshow badasses they became at the Rally. What made "Vestite" an individual was the tighter than tight clothing and armor plating he/she adorned. In this case, the armor plating was made up of plastic ass cheeks and giant plastic titties. But the crowning achievement was the bulge in his pants. "Vestite" had a package that was clearly visible - through the leg of his bicycle shorts - all the way to the back of the bleachers at the top of the gym. In a Catholic High School no less... Impressive.

Even before the competition started the crowd was screaming for blood. The games paralelled those from the T.V. show. There was Tug O' War, The Joust, Powerball, Assault, and The Eliminator among others. The Tug O' War and Joust were exactly as you'd expect them to be: quick and ugly. People in football and hockey helmets pummeling each other with sticks, ropes let go, and geeks smashing down on flimsy wrestling mats. The highlights were The Assault and The Eliminator. The first being an excuse to fire tennis balls at a hapless student. There were bunkers set up all around the gymnasium hiding nerf footballs for the competitor to toss at a target. The Gladiators were standing on some staging with several tons of tennis balls. Whenever the whistle was blown the competitor wouldn't make it a single step before the gymnasium would rain green.

The whole event was hilarious. It ended with "The Eliminator," a glorified obstacle course. It's exactly how you'd imagine it with tires, hurdles, and cones but also one crucial difference. Bloodthirsty sickos. The challenge wasn't only to make it to the end of a makeshift obstacle course. It was to stay alive. The same goes for the whole competition. If the competitor took a lead, even for a moment, you could see them sparking the fury in The Gladiator's collective eye. From flicker to flame, fire to Armageddon. In recollection most of these competitions seem a little one sided. (No different than a guy, who auditioned at the mall, being broken in half by another man, twice his size, on national television.) God help anyone for crossing those guys. They were hilarious, ugly, and mean.

To the very last, the students were going ape-shit for the Gladiators Rally. I have no idea if the Bears won or lost that footbal game but whenever I envision that day my mind fades out slowly... First, the kids in the stands. Then, the competitors and the music. Finally, The Gladiators slowly dissapear, waving and posing for the crowd that's no longer there... until all that's left is an empty gymnasium and one sound, cacaphonous... Thousands of berserk Don Bosco teenagers chanting "VESTITE! VESTITE! VESTITE! VESTITE!.." echoing into eternity.

Somewhere there should be a trophy case for great ideas, well executed.

-Chris