Ya shoulda seen me, back there in about 1969, shakin’ my tailfeather like Mick Jagger, while beltin’ out Steppenwolf’s “Magic Carpet Ride”, which I sang every time we did a show, phonetically, since I had no idea what the actual words were. Standing in front of a wall of Marshall amps, on stage with my old band “The Morning Reign”, while Steve Tate and Doug Heatherington laid down a capable backbeat to a Van Morrison tune, maybe “Domino”, or our own rockin’ version of “You Left The Water Runnin”, just made a guy feel like dancin’. I’m not positive, but I think maybe the fact that I was 21 years old may have also worked it’s way into my dance fever. I can remember, after a night of 4 or 5 rockin’ sets, maybe 50 songs, in a hell hole like the old Eugene Armory, being soaked to the skin. I dunno, jumpin’ around up there to the music, it’s just what a rock star wannabe does.
Cut to 2005, where I found myself with my perfect wife Marie, recently, at ground zero during a FreeGeek function, face to face with a local rock band. “Dance with me” Marie hollered over the din, rising from her chair enthusiastically with a smile and a wiggle.
Now, it’s not like I don’t have music in me. I’m still crankin’ out the tunes, and as some of you know, I do know how to rock. But suddenly, sitting there, in that venue where the B.O. is plenty, and the microphone still smells like a beer, geez, I just wasn’t interested. “C’mon Ric”, I said to myself, “What’s wrong with you, you old codger”.
I was kind of shocked really, that I wasn’t more willing and excited to jump up, just like in the old days, and git partyin’. After all, I WAS all hopped up on Atenolol, Lipitor, Zyrtec, Protonix, Plavix and Aspirin. You’d think, with all those drugs in my system, I’d be like a party animal. Plus, I’d had a glass of wine. When I finally did join Marie, it was fun. But getting me there, I admit, was a bit like pulling a tooth. Dancin’, these days, for me, just doesn’t hold the appeal it once did. Maybe it’s aging, maybe it’s self consciousness and body image, maybe dancin’ sucks.
On Christmas, Marie presented me with the certificate pictured below, (it was in my stocking) which says “ This certificate entitles Ric Seaberg to a 10-week class of ballroom dancing with his wife.....instruction in fox trot, salsa, tango and waltz included. Redeem at any dance studio, immediately after attending a play of your choice....Enjoy, Love, Marie”.
When I first read it, I must admit that I experienced an overwhelming moment of fear that she might be serious. Seconds later, we all cracked up at her teasing, including my step-son Blaine, who loves it when anything gets under my skin. She threw that part about attending a play in there, since she knows how much I love to spend 2 or 3 hours in a stuffy little off the beaten path theatre, watching fine local actors and actresses vie for Drama King and Queen of Portland, wailing out their lines to a brand new piece of art written by an angry and confused twenty something. Forgive me. After talking to Marie about her little joke, turns out, her position is that guys always tell you they are big on dancin’, and then, after they catch you, they suddenly lose interest. “Did I do that?”, I said to her, as she nodded her head yes. Okay honey, sorry. I’m just gettin’ t’be a fuddy duddy. Thanks for the kick in the pants. I’m ready t’go out and soul shake the night away anytime. But no plays okay?
Check out my song "Love You Anyway" from my 2003 CD "Regards From The Roombar" where I actually mention the play thing.
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