Greased Lightnin’

My general malaise regarding my CD collection has driven me of late to FM radio, though there are little gems to be had. Namely, the sweet nostalgia that launched me from the confines of my car into the street artist exaggerations of the opening credits of Grease.

The movie was a perennial favorite of my childhood and adolescence, though I haven’t seen it in years and found the ending bittersweet with every subsequent viewing as a teenager. Sandy and Danny float off in their car, singing and cuddling and sweet, but where are they going? As a child I was content that they were together, mouths busy with kissing and made-up words. At a sober seventeen, I knew they wouldn’t be together forever, and even if they were so cursed, they’d just get married, have babies, and argue over who was meant to do the vacuuming. Love wasn’t something experienced by my contemporaries, I felt, or worthy of any more of my attention than could be diverted from the truly important things: college, graduate school, and a killer job writing for a magazine. I wasn’t picky about where I went to school or which magazine I’d write for, only when all of these things needed to happen, and the answer was Right Away.

Grease was the musical of choice in the spring of my senior year, and for all I was pure as the driving snow in virgin white and carrying a torch for abstinence until marriage, what I wasn’t was a soprano, and so I was cast as Rizzo. I wanted the part, and in retrospect, I had more to learn from her than just her lines. I recall blushing at the notion of getting one’s kicks while still young enough to get them, but I was in a hurry to grow up for different reasons. I’ve had the suspicion for years, whatever my degree of emotional stability in high school, that somehow I missed out on something. Probably making mistakes, but what I haven’t got now is what I had then: an excuse.

Still, I’d like to think Rizzo ditched Kenickie after she’d had her way with him, invested in reliable birth control, and went to college. Or at least got a killer job in publishing.

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