For all of our younger readers out there, let me tell you that growing up in the 80's was something to behold. MTV played only music videos and, because the internet and cell phones were still a decade away, we actually had to go outside to entertain ourselves. Therefore, as an incorrigible 80's youth, I emulated the two MJs: Jordan and Jackson. Keep in mind that at the time, His Airness had hair (and some gold) while the self-proclaimed King of Pop was the biggest ticket in the world. Thus, as a five year old blowing out the candles on my dirtbike-inspired cake, I made two seemingly inconsequential wishes: someday I would A.) Dunk a basketball, and B.) Moonwalk.
Regrettably, several years down the road I came to the sad realization that I'm white and unless the NBA changes the hoops to the Playskool variety, I'll never dunk. Ever. However, despite my lowered expectations, I never gave up hope on learning the Moonwalk. While I certainly didn't train like some crazed Euro, I did watch an insane amount of Moonwalker and would always try and bust it out on the hardwood or tile. Like most Moonwalking virgins though, I always assumed it was a simple matter of alternating pressure on the balls of each foot. From there it was just a matter of pushing off and Hee Hee!— Moonwalk.
Umm, no. As Scooter would say, not so fast my friend. As I'm sure many of you can attest, this works about as well as trying to keep a straight face while watching this. Despite looking like Shaun Livingston on the dance floor, I trudged onward but eventually washed my hands clean of this endeavor and tried to move on with my life. Looking back, I had naively assumed that MJ not only invented this move (not true), but was also the sole proprietor of it. Unfortunately, the latter idea was shattered when I came across an ancient Bill Bailey jazz VHS tape my grandmother owned. Seen here, Bailey goes through some routine tap steps and then busts out a pretty spot-on Moonwalk…in 1955. My eyeballs literally rolled backwards in my head and blood trickled out of my nose in horror. I spent the next 20 years in a bitter, disillusioned fog about MJ and his "trademark" as I contemplated how one man could go from a young black man to a fluorescent white decaying woman. Fucking Bubbles, you stupid ape, it's all your fault.
While there is no possible explanation for his personal behavior and appearance (and God knows how hard it will be to tell our kids how cool and "normal" MJ used to be), I finally found solace through YouTube when, out of Moonwalking curiosity, I stumbled upon this little nugget of awesomeness. Thank you Ange De Lumiere, if that is your real name. Regardless of title, ADL showed me in a matter of two minutes what I had been fucking up for over 175, 200 hours in my life (yes I did the pathetic math). I could not believe how mind-blowingly simple he made this move seem, and yet I was more than eager try it out. Needless to say, with Ms. Coastguard by my side, we traversed her linoleum kitchen floor backwards to the point our ankles were jealous of Barbaro's. I confess that during these trial runs, Ms. Coastguard screamed, "You did it!" while I leapt in the air screaming and pumping my fist (quite the homo moment indeed). Throughout our tribulations I learned several things:
1. I had it all wrong. You don't push off with the up foot; in fact it's just the opposite. You slide your opposite foot (which is flat on the ground) and simply use the up foot for balance.
2. I have no idea how the move is done in shoes because mine all suck and are not worthy of accomplishing such a task.
3. Long, baggy jeans are an absolute hindrance in this situation. Now I know why MJ use(s/d) those sparkly highwater pants.
4. Both of us have college degrees and yet this is probably the greatest achievement of our lives. Go figure.
After several hours, we both were rudimentary practitioners of the single greatest dance move in history. Flat out sprinting to my car, we hurried over to show my parents our Rosetta Stone-ish accomplishment. At this point I'm being hysterically gay and can't sit still because I've apparently reverted back to five-year-old status (someone get my Sword of Omens, Inhumanoids, and Boo Berry ready). Screaming through the house, I manage to corner my petrified mother in the kitchen. Dropping my cumbersome jeans, my mother backpedals but I assure her she is in no danger. Standing there in boxers and a t-shirt, I bust out the move of all moves while she actually breaks down and cries, delightfully muttering, "You've been trying for twenty years and you finally did it!" I swear to whatever higher power is looking down upon my pathetic soul this is true.
By this point I feel like the fucking king of the universe. If Jesus himself were to have descended from Heaven at that very moment, he would've fainted. I was convinced I had the strength of 10,000 men and could've suplexed Optimus Prime right then and there. It's just a goddamn shame I can't dunk a basketball. Oh well, one out of two life goals ain't bad, right?
