The Great Divide

In my mind I’m going to Colorado, but reality is a little different.

My family’s second attempt in 7 months to visit my brother in the Centennial State was stymied this week when super freak voodoo storm Hercules flexed his snowy muscles all over the northeast and dropkicked airline schedules straight into the Underworld.

We were supposed to fly out of JFK on Thursday night just as Hercules came blasting into town.

Our first plane was rescheduled twice and by the time it was ready to go—at midnight—the roads had gotten so awful that we didn’t want to risk getting into a car, let alone a plane.

Every time I looked out the window on Thursday night and saw the raging snow I thanked God and all the saints in Heaven that we weren’t flying through that grief.

My sister did a herculean job of trying to get us another plane, but that flight was cancelled and getting yet another flight proved to be such a challenge that we agreed to scratch our trip and try again in warmer weather.

Colorado is taking on a mythic dimension in my mind, like Oz, Shangria-La, and the Lost Continent of Atlantis.

Is this place real or just the stuff of legend? Now that they just legalized marijuana in Colorado, we may never know…

I was extremely disappointed, especially since I would not be able to have the epic dance-off with my niece, Victoria, nor would I wear the gnome hat that she claims to have waiting for me.

Still, we did have a good laugh on Saturday during yet another one of our psychotic phone calls.

“I can always tell Eighties music,” she told me. “It’s got that electronic beat going on.”

I told her to check out Erasure, OMD, and the Human League to get a taste of the Eighties.

“Can you show me your I-pod so I can make fun of it?”

“I don’t have an I-pod, smartass!” I shouted.

“Then I’ll get you one and make fun of it!”

Dance Hall Days

Victoria spoke disparagingly of the Bee Gees, and while I’m not a big fan myself, they did provide the soundtrack for Saturday Night Fever.

“You have to watch that movie,” I told her, explaining the Bay Ridge connection. “It’s your heritage!”

“Then you have to watch She’s the Man,” Victoria retorted.

For those who don’t know, or, in my case, don’t freaking care, She’s the Man is a teeny-bopper regurgitation of Twelfth Night that would undoubtedly have the Bard doing somersaults in his grave.

I still don’t understand how this figures into her argument, but that’s Victoria for you.

“I’ll bet you were rocking those disco shoes back in the 70s,” Victoria said over my loud protestations. “I’ll bet you had one of those creepy policeman mustaches.”

“I had a beard,” I shouted, which wasn’t creepy in the least.

She asked if I still had my high school yearbook. I said yes and very quickly added that Hell would freeze over and Satan would be passing out ice cream sodas before I would ever show my yearbook photo to her.

“When you pass from this world can you leave me your yearbook?” this kid actually had the nerve to say.

“What?"I roared. "You're digging my grave here?"

I told Victoria I would be bringing a copy of Saturday Night Fever when I come out to see her. She said that we’d also have to watch “Full House,” which took place in San Francisco, the place where she was born.

I've got a bad feeling about this, but I actually agreed to her terms. And may God have mercy on my soul.

I know that some day I will actually visit the State of Colorado. I will walk through the Mile High City and I will make my way out to my brother’s house in Fort Collins.

And, if it’s the last thing I do, I will don a gnome hat and dance to Eighties music.