Me!? I’m scared of everything! I’m scared of what I saw, I’m scared of what I did, of who I am. And most of all, I’m scared of walking out of this room and never feeling, the rest of my whole life, the way I feel when I’m with you.
Dance with me.
Yes, hello, I am coming out of my long, dark silence to tell you that in remembrance of Patrick Swayze, you should go watch Dirty Dancing.
Y’all. I love Dirty Dancing. So much. It’s so important. Because for all the nice Jewish little sisters born between about 1975 and 1990, Johnny Castle was much more than just a hard-scrabble dance teacher who didn’t want to join the house painters union and only wore one pair of black dress pants over the course of the entire summer of 1963, when everyone called Frances Houseman “Baby,” and it didn’t occur to her to mind.
Johnny Castle was a revelation for the Jewish little sisters of the 1980s, a choice cut of 100% traif with great hair who could dance–on the floor, on a log, in the water–and who thought Baby’s big hair, big nose, and generally grating, overly idealistic verbal diarrhea were somehow sexy. So when, after that busy week of learning the mambo to perform it at the Sheldrake so Penny could get her backwoods abortion, Baby squeaked the above plea to Johnny in his charmingly rustic Kellerman’s cabin and Johnny turned Baby into a Woman, the sexytime hopes and dreams of all the Jewish little sisters of the 1980s came true. It might have taken some of us another 10 years to put it all together, but Dirty Dancing shows us: As long as we can dance, or do whatever that thing is that lights us up, we can have big hair and big noses and go on annoying diatribes about human nature, and holy shit, someone will love us, because we are smart little bitches who can light up a room–we just might not know how yet. So if we don’t have the balls to do it ourselves (and hey, sometimes we don’t), Johnny Castle, who believes in us, will come get us out of the corner.
So go home and watch Dirty Dancing tonight, since I’m sure it’ll be on TV, and imagine you are a super awkward Jewish little sister of the 1980s (if you aren’t already one by birth), and see how great it makes you feel.
Oh, and then download the soundtrack and try to walk down the street listening to “Do You Love Me,” “Love Man,” and “Cry to Me” without dancing. Because it is impossible.
No Comments so far ↓
Like gas stations in rural Texas after 10 pm, comments are closed.