It was a sultry night in Manhattan. Early August. A symphony of angry horns mingling with the screams of the damned and the persistent throb of dreams shattering, one after another, against the unforgiving walls of concrete to lend a pulse to this evening, this single, special night when lost souls from a thousand distant sources came together as one in a triumphal explosion of joy and pain, sunshine and rain. A night to remember. A night that would live in infamy. A night of magic and rhythmic passion that I - TwoBusy, your brave and intrepid guest writer - shared with Kristine de la Wait In The Van, deep in the twisted heart of BlogHer '10.
For days, we had sought one another — two pilgrims lost in the wasteland, wandering lonely as a cloud through the throngs of thonged blondes and non-blondes, meandering in slow, concentric circles in and around the conference site in hopes that somehow, someway, we would defy the odds and our eyes would meet across a crowded Hilton lobby and, at long last, we would find one another in this strangest of all lands. But how? As is the custom in the internets netherworld, we knew each other... but did not actually know each other, in the sense of being able to recognize a face, a voice, a stunning head of hair. And BlogHer was awash in humanity: a tsunami of women in lanyards flooding the bottom floors of the hotel, swirling in and out of conversations and cocktails, chatting amiably and squealing with glee and waiting eagerly for their dreams to come true and - at long last - to meet Bruce Jenner in person. In this maelstrom of femininity, we handful of male participants were little more than driftwood — fodder for the tides, being helplessly buffeted about from one place to another, caught up in forces of nature far beyond our control.
But time and destiny have a way of working together, and it was only after days of fruitless searching and poignant failure that, at long last, Kristine and I were united. It was a special moment much in the way that man first setting foot on the moon was a special moment. Kevin from Always Home and Uncool - with whom I slept repeatedly that star-crossed week - was there to witness this inaugural exchange of greetings and face-slaps, and while he is bound by the laws of nature, physics, common sense and judicial order from relaying any of the details, I do recall that as he witness the moment a single, perfect tear coursed slowly down his sculpted cheek in the style of the finest Velvet Elvis paintings.
Needless to say, the following hours were packed with deep conversation and wacky hijinks, as we discussed the nature of being and consciousness, got tattoos of breakfast cereal characters, drank human blood and attended informative conference sessions. Is it possible to capture this magnificence in words? Not in any tongue I know, nor in any anatomically graphic depiction of stick figures I might attempt to render. Nevertheless, you may feel free to be overwhelmed with jealousy in the knowledge that you were not there to share the experience with us.
But all of this was only a tease — a taste of the splendor and staggering joy of what was to come: the grand finale of the BlogHer Sparklecorn party prom danceathon cakefest drinkapalooza. When I arrived - fashionably late, of course, decked out in my finest finery, top hat and tails - I walked past the long line of prospective partygoers and headed directly into the dark heart of the sparklefiesta, the crowds parting before me like the waters before Moses. I entered the room, and for a fraction of an instant all fell silent, as though beholding the face of true beauty for the first time. I offered the huddled masses a tiny smile, a token of my appreciation for their acknowledgment of my presence, and with that the music resumed and the revelers returned to turning the beat around. And then, without a sound, Kristine was there beside me. And Kevin. But mostly me.
"TwoBusy," she said, her voice barely an awed whisper and yet still audible in the midst of the throbbing music and pulsing light, "your hair... it is the most awesomest thing mine eyes have ever beheld." I nodded, almost imperceptibly, as she was correct. She continued: "How is it possible that in a world so entrenched in pain and suffering, there can be a creature as charming, debonair and really really really good-looking as you?" I laughed then, like a peal of little bells being shaken by a host of cherubic angels. "Oh, Kristine. Do not ask why. Do we ask why the sun offers us such warmth and light? Do we ask why flowers burst into bloom when we look at them? Do we ask why dolphins leap from the sea and sing their haunting dolphin songs each time we walk across the water? Do not ask, fair Kristine. Simply enjoy the wonder of the moment for what it is: an evening with me."
She was crying a little bit, what with her heart swelling so full of joy, but soon enough she composed herself and hit the bar. Rapidly, like a six-shooter emptying itself into a cartoon villain, she threw back shots of Jagermeister. "That's more like it," she rumbled, her voice growing suddenly rough and wild. "Time to show this party how to party." She glanced over at me one final time - her face softening for a heartbeat, the ghost of a sad smile on tugging at the corners of her mouth - before pursing her lips into a magnificent Blue Steel/Magnum expression and launching herself like a spangled missile through the crowd. Toward the stage.
Like a jungle cat in heels, she leapt effortlessly to the forefront of the stage, then segued instantaneously into a display of hardcore vogueing the likes of which have not been seen on the American Eastern Seaboard for more than a generation. She hit each beat with perfection, her hands, arms and body contorting and then freezing into angles sharp enough that they say a star was knocked from the sky that night. Other dancers cleared the stage, as it rapidly became apparent that they were only pretenders in the presence of a true mistress of the form.
And then: her theme song began. Kristine's eyes alit with an unholy fire as the first, tender strains of "Bust A Move" erupted from the speakers, and we - all of us, those in attendance who realized we were witnessing the stuff of legend - took a deep breath, preparing for the wonders to come. And they came. Oh, how they came. The smoothest of moonwalks. The most fiercely androidal of robots. The most centrifugal of headspins. And, in a grand finale that spanned the full length of the stage and left the crowd of hundreds erupting into frenzied, uncontrollable applause and cheering, a worm so silky smooth that it could not possibly have been executed by a vertebrate and yet... there it was, happening before our eyes, each boneless wave of Kristine's sequined body rolling across the stage in perfect time with the Nobel Prize-winning song's refrain of "Ooooh baby.... you want it.... Oooooh, baby, baby you've got it BUST A MOVE"...
::pardon me, for a moment. I must pause here as I type, because I am finding myself becoming emotional at the memory. it was.... it was a thing of beauty.::
As the song completed and the revelers threw confetti into the air - the unicorn cake suddenly coming alive and dancing with unfettered joie de vivre at the spectacle it had just witnessed - I looked over to my side. Kevin was overcome by what he had seen, weeping uncontrollably and screaming out, over and over, "Kristine! Kristine! Kristine!" Others were rending their garments, whispering silent prayers of gratitude, Tweeting about what they were drinking or - in the case of Chicky Baby, who had refused repeatedly to join in the dance despite repeated entreaties from me - cursing their own reluctance to throw caution to the wind and surrender themselves to the dance with the grace, abandon and casual elegance Kristine had shown us all.
She stood there onstage. Alone, glistening with sweat and excitement and sequins. Her arms thrown wide, soaking in the adulation of the masses. At peace with herself, in this moment of greatest triumph. I smiled for her, happy in her happiness.
And then she burst into flames.
After taking some time to compose yourself after this heart-wrenching tale of glory, go find TwoBusy at one of his many (show-off) stomping grounds:
And, The Twitter @TwoBusy