You can dance, you can jive, having the time of your life...

My friends are trying to teach me to dance. Not that I can't dance, I can. If you can call beebopping in a "Go Go's We Got the Beat up and down look I'm moving my feet" motion dancing. I tend to bop in place, up/down, up/down, wiggling my body like a puppy that's happy to see ya. It doesn't help at all that I have a problem hearing the rhythm unless it is glaringly obvious in a boomph-boomph-boomph kind of way.

In an effort to make me look less painfully obvious on the dance floor, my friends are teaching me to listen to the bass, not the treble in a song. They're also teaching me to shake my moneymaker. Right now my moneymaker would pull in a net profit of a dime and a balled up gum wrapper. And probably a business card for a dance instructor. I'm learning how to move my hips from side to side with a hint of a snap, a dash of sass and hopefully, a lot of sexy come hither-ness. I don't quite know what to do with my arms and hands yet, so I've kept them somewhat contained to avoid appearing to be suffering from a seizure when I'm grooving to Global Deejay's The Sound of San Francisco.

I love to dance. And I would so love to dance well. I watch the good dancers in my life with both envy and appreciation. To be able to lose myself in the music, body rockin' to the pulsing beat and actually look good doing it would be amazing. I'm terribly jealous of my friends who can close their eyes and let themselves bump, grind, sway and shake through a song, looking like they don't care if they're the only one on the floor because they are having a helluva time on their own. I want to be the dancer that someone stops and watches for a moment with admiration and pleasure.

I've been assured I'm showing improvement. I'll keep ya'll posted. Is there anyone out there with two left feet like me?

Bright Hollywood Lights

Daniel is off to Hollywood on Friday. He's leaving behind the document services company job and launching himself into the quest for big money. He's been offered a job raising production funds for a movie, with the goal being somewhere around 25 million. It seems his friends have a script about the "upset of the century" football game in which tiny Centre College beats Harvard in a ball game, ending a five year winning streak. Sport's Illustrated named it as #9 on their list of the ten biggest upsets in college football history. Kevin Costner became very interested in the script and voila! a job offer comes Daniel's way. Good luck, Daniel...and remember that for celebrity hang outs, hideouts and homes, Austin is the new black.

Let's Hear It For The Boy. Goodnight, Chris.

A housekeeper found Chris Penn dead in his home yesterday. He wasn't much older than me. I was saddened by the news and reflected back on his career. Although Footloose is the movie I will always associate Chris with, I can remember him in All the Right Moves, Muholland Falls, Resevoir Dogs and of course as the sheriff in Too Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar. I was surprised to find a small mention in one of today's news stories that stated he was the executive producer of Juarez: Stages of Fear, a movie that calls attention to the ongoing and seemingly serial murders of women in the border city. When I looked at his imdb listing I was astonished at the number of films he's worked on and how there were few stinkers in the mix. When you are as busy as he was, you normally work on at least a handful of awful movies.

He was a prolific actor who came from a family of talents. There's been no news of the cause of his death, but I'm hoping his won't be the usual Hollywood tragica of drugs and excess. He will remain in my head as Willard, the lunky cowboy learning how to dance in a small town where the expression of movement was forbidden. He will always be the loyal sidekick, sweet and innocent and coming into his own.

Chance Encounter

I was leaving Margie's birthday happy hour at the Can tonight when I saw a fiftysomething-ish woman feeding quarters into the pay phone. An odd sight, someone using a pay phone. Even more unusual is to see someone attempting to use that particular pay phone, which is most often a spot to prop up a drunk gay boi or a resting post for transients. I walked past her as she was having trouble making her call. Not knowing if that phone even worked, I turned back to ask if she'd like to use my cell phone just as she began cussing. "Jesus H. Christ on a raft!" she said. Only it came out more like "Jayzus H. Christ on a rahft!" She was obviously not from around here.

I stopped, offered help and made a few calls for her. The cabbie who'd been ferrying her around town was unavailable, so I pointed out a few spots in the Warehouse District where she could enjoy a nice glass of wine and perhaps find some friendly folks willing to converse. She said she'd been hanging out in the bar at Truluck's, which was too "New York" for her. Who knew? She was from Australia and explained she wanted to hear country & western music because, of course, that's why she was in Texas. Glynnis just wanted a friendly crowd and some twangy music.

After discerning that Rainbow Cattle Company would not be quite her thing, being strongly heterosexual, I suggested that once she was in a cab to ask the driver to take her to the Broken Spoke.

I left her on 4th Street, heading toward Spaghetti Warehouse. I hope she makes it to the Broken Spoke. Alvin Crow is playing tonight and it would be a shame to come all the way from Australia and not get to enjoy some damn fine Texas honky tonky C&W music in person.