Thursday, February 10, 2011

Kokomo

My family visited Disney World twice when I was a kid. Once when I was seven and once when I was ten. I've always said the first trip was better because there were no teenagers back then. The second trip had two.

Most of the time during this vacation, the way my brother, Chris, and sister, Katie, behaved didn't really have an effect me. How could it?! I was at a kid's ultimate fantasy...DISNEY WORLD...nothing could bring me down. I was confident that I didn't need my older siblings to have fun. I could do this alone...mono et mono, solo, uno-rita, table of one...yep, that was me....until I realized I did need one of these hooligans to make my wildest dream come true. My independent streak came before I found out that Florida had more to offer than just Mickey Mouse and neverending sunshine...

It was after the Dumbo ride. That's when I saw it. At the end of the fake cobble stone street was a giant banner that exclaimed: "BE A ROCK STAR!!! See yourself on the big screen!!! Make a music video starring YOU!!!" I couldn't believe my luck. There was nothing I loved more than seeing myself on video...except maybe SINGING!!! Now, here...right in front of me was something that combined both?!? COMPLETE WITH A SOUVENIR VIDEO??!?! I was so excited, my upper lip started to sweat.

(Little did I know I had NO musical ability. I mean, I was pretty much tone deaf. Why no one told me this still evades me...I just THANK GOD there was no such thing as American Idol in 1988...Randy would have said that I was more than just "a little pitchy, dog". Simon would tell me my voice was rubbish. Paula would say "yes" just because I'm cute, but it wouldn't be enough to get me through and I'd still be forever known as the girl who sucked on national tv...)

I should have been calm. I should have thought of a plan, but I couldn't. Before I knew what was happening, I had blurted out, "OH MY GOD!!! We HAVE to do that!!! PLEASE!!!?!?!?! Please, oh PLEASE!!! Mom and Papa, please let us do this!" (I was assuming my brother and sister would be just as anxious as I was to seize this opportunity to relish the lime light, but alas they had morphed into beings unknown and unfamiliar to me...those who suddenly cared about how they appeared to others...they weren't kids anymore...they were teenagers.) Before either of my parents could respond, my sister squinted up at the sign, looked disdainfully at me and before replacing her Fay Fans (imitation Ray Ban sunglasses...she was a stylish 16 year old with limited means), she said, "There is NO way I'm singing some lamo song with you in there, Erin." At which point Chris echoed, "Yeah. Me, neither."

I couldn't believe my ears. What did they mean they didn't want to do it???!?!?! The way I saw it, it was the best thing that had ever happened to us! We were from a small town in Indiana...a place where the only singing we did was in church....a place where they DEFINITELY did NOT have any sort of Karaoke or places that would make you your very OWN vhs tape to take home with you! I was livid. I was hurt. I was overwhelemed with emotion. I felt my chin trembling and to my horror, I felt hot tears running down my face. I swiped at my face with the back of my hand frantically trying to get rid of the evidence that I was as big of a baby as my siblings were always telling me I was. I wasn't nearly fast enough. Chris noticed right away. "You're such a cry baby!"

"SHUT UP!" I yelled a little more forcefully than I had intended. It wasn't my fault. I was mourning...in my head, I had built this up...I was already imagining the slumber party I was going to have when we got back. I would invite all my BFF's and we would all watch MY video. Then we'd have a dance party. Then my mom would get a mysterious phonecall. I'd hear my name. It would be a famous music producer wanting to make ME the next Debbie Gibson. I would have to decide if I should go to junior high with my friends or work the mall circuit. I was imagining the concert I would give at River Oaks Shopping Mall when my mom touched my cheek, shaking me from the life I had created for myself...in my head. "What's the matter?"

In a rush, I hiccuped through a detailed explanation of why making this video was a lifelong dream I never knew I had always had. She smiled and said, "You can do it if you want. We will all go and watch!" I considered this. I liked attention and I wanted to make the video, but the idea of doing it all by myself seemed too scary. I hung my head and mumbled, "Chris and Katie won't do it. I don't want to do it all by myself!" The last of this came out as sort of a half wimper which as an adult would irritate me to no end, but it seemed to have the opposite effect on my mother. She glared at my two older siblings. "Shame on you. Why can't you do a video with your sister?" My mother was a master of manipulation, the grand pubah of guilt. If you had any sort of conscience, there was no resisting her. She was relentless and she always got her man. My older sister had learned how to avoid this all together. She LITERALLY tuned her out.

Katie crossed her arms, stuck out her chin and pulled her walkman out of her enormous orange Liz Claiborne purse. She put the headphones over her ears and said, "I'm NOT changing my mind." My mother opened her mouth to protest, but closed it when the tinny sound of Richard Marx came blaring from the direction of my sister. Instead, she decided to focus her energy on Chris. After all, he was only 13, just barely a teenager. I think she figured he hadn't fully been affected by whatever it was being a teenager did to you (it may have been a mystery back then, but as an adult, I now know what it is being a teenager does to you...it gives you a frickin mood disorder. Living with a teenager is like living with an abusive alcoholic) Mom touched Chris' shoulder and gave him a look. (A LOOK! She was that good!) He sighed and said, "Aw, come on, Mom." My dad finally noticed the hubbub and decided to put his two cents in. "Do what your mother asks, will ya?"

Chris stared at me. I folded my hands in a mock prayer pose and got down on one knee, mouthing "Please!" He sighed again, and I knew we almost had him. I decided to give him an extra nudge, following my mom's lead. "I love you! You are the best big brother I know. Please, oh please??" He gave me a resigned look and said begrudgingly, "Alright, fine! I'll do it." I squealed in delight, grabbing his hand and my mother's, dragging them over to the building where the magic was about to happen. My sister and dad followed behind.

We walked into the building and felt an icy rush of air conditioning that immediately gave me goose bumps, but I barely noticed. I was too excited. We were approached by a girl in her mid twenties wearing a poodle skirt, bobby socks and enough icy pink lipstick to last probably all day, no matter how many pops she drank. I marveled at her mouth as she welcomed us to "Star Makers": the place where YOU are the rock star!

I smiled at her, thrusting my hand forward. "I'm Erin E. Orth and I'm here to be a rock star!!" She giggled nervously as she nonchalantly made her way to the counter. In retrospect, I'm fairly certain she was trying to put a physical barrier between herself and me. I can't blame her. I would have done the same thing if I had some crazy-eyed, sweaty-lipped kid all up in my face.

"My big brother and I are going to sing. We need to get signed up!" I wanted to make sure I sealed the deal before my brother had a chance to back out. "Alrighty...and where are your parents, little girl?" I was annoyed that she was treating me like I was some kind of kid. I was TEN years old for God's sakes...anyway, I could tell this girl didn't have two brain cells to rub together. I aimed my thumb over my shoulder as I looked over hers, trying to see where we would be performing. She chirped that same anxious cackle and tucked her hair behind her ears. "Well, we are going to need to have your parents sign some forms. Do you know the song you would like to sing?"

She didn't wait for me to respond. Instead, she heaved the biggest three-ring binder I had ever seen at my face. She then proceeded to try to get my parents' attention while ignoring my attempts for hers. She was not about to waste one more minute with me until she knew this was a legitimate sale. I didn't need to look at the thousands and thousands of song choices (even though I was tempted). I knew what I wanted to sing...my favorite song. As my mom filled out a permission slip, I shoved the binder back across the counter. My brother walked up behind me and asked, "What song do you want to sing?"

Beaming, I spun around and sang, "KO-KO-MO!!!!!" He immediately groaned and looked at the ceiling. "Kokomo?!? By the Beach Boys??? THAT is what you want to sing?? Mom..." Again, all it took was a look, and he was back on board (I'm telling you, my mom is the magical guilt guru!) I didn't wait for him to change his mind. I hurriedly scribbled "Kokomo" on the card the girl had given us and yanked my brother's arm as I followed her into the studio.

The "Studio" was a six by nine room with a teleprompter, in front of a blue screen. A bored looking man with a three day beard waved us in and said in a monotone voice, "Welcome to Star Makers, where you are the rock star. Have you picked your song?" I nodded eagerly and he told us to stand in front of the screen, act natural and sing loud.

I grabbed Chris' hand and squeezed it. "This is it!!" He rolled his eyes and whispered, "Ya, ya...let go of my hand. Let's get this over with." I didn't even care that he was less than enthusiastic. I was THRILLED enough for the both of us! I watched our cameraman count down from five and I made a last minute decision. I took my glasses off. I couldn't be recorded on film looking like that! (At the time, I was watching movies like Superman...I hadn't yet figured out that glasses actually DON'T completely change the way you look.)

I took a deep breath as I heard the familiar sound of the steel drums and low voices saying, "Aruba, Jamaica, Ooh I want to take you, Bermuda..." This was it! I was ready. A whole octave lower, I belted out, "OFF THE FLORIDA KEYS!!!!" and THAT was the extent of my lyrics knowledge.

It was up to Chris to pick up the slack. I saw him clench his jaw when he realized I couldn't see the words, but he didn't stop singing (albeit quietly). Although my vision was limited, I was pretty sure I could make out the fuzzy outline of the cameraman cupping his ear, doing the universal sign for "I can't hear you!" more than once. Halfway through, my suspicions were confirmed when I heard him hiss, "LOUDER!!!! You've got to sing LOUDER!!!"

I figured I'd make up for my vocal limitations by doing some dancing...only I forgot about my lack of coordination and rhythm. As I was interpreting The Beach Boys through the universal language of dance, I pictured myself as Paula Abdul, gliding back and forth in the "Opposites Attract" video(...you know, the one where she has black and white MC Hammer pants on and is dancing with a cartoon wolf?)

In reality, I looked like Gilbert Godfrey's long lost daughter, squinting away as I stepped side to side and did a few awkward hip shimmies. I made a valliant effort to sing what I knew (it always seemed so easy when I was singing along to the radio!), straining to see the monitor so that I, too, would be able to belt out the correct words, but I ended up failing miserably.

Every once in a while, I'd remember some of the words, and I'd shout them out to make up for my less than stellar performance during the rest of the song. Eventually the bored camera guy even joined in...I guess because he felt sorry for my brother who had never even wanted to be a rock star, but was forced to be the front man for a Beach Boys tribute band with one blind, uncoordinated back up dancer.

It's taken about 22 years to admit this, but...I guess I owe you one, Chris.

4 comments:

  1. I'm laughing so hard, I'm CRYING....Chris...if only the guilt would STILL work!

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  2. What? It doesn't? Hmm...that's weird. On a completely different and unrelated note, who took Mom to the airport last week?

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  3. Thanks for bringing this great memory back. I don't understand why one can't put their glasses BACK on as easily as they were taken off, but who am I to ask such questions? Where is that video anyways?

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  4. Mom has it locked away somewhere...or she threw it away.

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