The Remote Island by Bryan Christian The burning question of the day: Life on Mars or Eleventh Hour? Plus: Britney goes on the record, USA may not renew Monk, and our Grey's Anatomy recap.
Even before the era of sitting in dark bars, drinking, listening to loud music had come to a close for me, I had begun to note that anything smacking of "activity" or "physicality" had been shoved to the sidelines in favor of sitting in dark bars, drinking, listening to loud music. I had heard of other adults who played ultimate Frisbee or touch football. Even I used to play pickup soccer on weekends, but those activities were often mere precursors for more sitting around in dark bars, drinking, listening to loud music. I remember fighting the urge to scream across the table to my tipsy friend that I was sick of sitting around dark bars, drinking, listening to loud music. She would have probably mouthed, I know, me too, before swigging off her drink and nodding to the beat of the loud music.
What was I looking for in all those dark bars? Attention and connection, for sure, as well as relief and release.
promotion
And sometimes I got it. But now that sitting around dark bars, drinking, listening to loud music isn't at the top of my list of fun things to do, I've been thinking back to the era before all those dark bars, before the hot patios and art openings, before the house parties and warehouse raves, before booze or drugs had become not just the common denominator but the primary draws to any social situation.
For me I'd have to go way back, to about age fourteen. I'd have to throw on an ELO concert jersey, and slide into a pair of Pentimento jeans, rolling up the bottoms to reveal knee-high rainbow toe socks before jumping into a friend's older brother's Camaro to head to the local roller rink, hair stiff and high, the brush to keep it that way shoved trunk first into a snug back pocket. That's where it all began, that endless search for attention and connection, relief and release. But instead of coating myself in the phony amour of alcohol and cigarettes, it was Maybelline and Final Net, no less phony perhaps, though arguably far, far sexier. It was such a rush entering the roller rink on a Friday night wearing fruity lip-gloss, chewing fruitier gum, barely glancing around to locate the right cluster of hot boys to skate by, both forward and backward, in hopes one of then would want to hook their thumb in your back pocket during a Foreigner slow song.
And I'm not the only one feeling nostalgia for the sexy athleticism of old-school roller-skating, the kind of activity that mimics the shaky stance of a leggy fawn about to take its first steps. How else to explain that Xanadu, a new musical based on the 1980 Olivia Newton-John cinematic flop, makes
Totally present, criminally young and potently sexy, moving with funky grace around a sparkly rink.
its Broadway debut this June. The show's is targeted to aging Gen Xers, those of us who waxed nostalgic over Heather Graham's skate technique in Boogie Nights, which even out-sexied the sex scenes in a movie about porn. After perverting other '70s tropes such as car washes and cowboy boots, Jessica Simpson also recently got on the roller-skating bandwagon with her video for her single "A Public Affair." Now to me, Simpson is the opposite of sexy in every way, but her idiotic video kind of captures why roller-skating is hot as hell, how the movement actually creates its own wind tunnel, operating at perfect speed, not too fast, not too slow, how it tickles back perfectly feathered hair, cooling taut skin coated in the dewy sheen of young sweat. What could be hotter than that? Really, nothing. (Must say though, Gorillaz's mock skate-date video for the song "Feel Good Inc." captures what's so idiotically unsexy about Jessica Simpson.)
Mostly what makes roller-skating such a hot recreational sport is that unlike with ice skating or rollerblading, you can pretty much wear on the rink what you'd normally wear to a club or a party — the skimpier, the shinier, the better. You don't have to coat yourself in protective armor to guard against falling on ice or cement. And if you want to pull off a perfect back crossover you probably shouldn't drink or drug either. That's why I think back on roller-skating kind of fondly these days, as I slouch towards forty, putting my hard-partying days behind me. That's also why I feel such a visceral pang when I see girls roller-skating, even ironically. Because for a moment, I can remember what it felt like to be totally present, criminally young and potently sexy, moving with funky grace around a sparkly rink, all for the benefit of some boy who may or may not have been watching. It's almost as quaint-sounding as Parisian court promenades of the 1850s.
Broadway musicals aside, I don't think roller-skating could ever come back in full-on vogue. The real estate to plunk down a city rink would be financially untenable. Kids have two speeds these days — super-fast or totally sedentary. The fast ones probably couldn't imagine trading their blades or boards to carve leisurely circles in cumbersome boots around a rubber floor. And if you could wrestle the joystick out of a sedentary kid's fist, a few laps would probably kill him. As for aging Gen-Xers, there's got be something beyond the dark bars, the drinking, the loud music. And please don't say it's Broadway.n°
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Lisa Gabriele is the author of Tempting Faith DiNapoli. Her second novel, The Almost Archer Sisters, will be published in the fall 2008. She lives in Toronto.
, featuring curious yet marvelous infusions of cucumber and rose petal.
