I am the Lord of the Dance, said She.

My husband and I have a dirty little secret: we can't dance. "HUH?", you say. "But aren't you Malaysian Dance Champions?" Well, yes actually, we are and therein lies the problem. That title has brought such high expectations of us, we feel compelled to live up to the honor. Truth be told, it was a drunken night of dance floor gyrations in Southeast Asia that resulted in the undeserved title, and I need to come clean about that false victory...

We had gone to visit our master franchisee in Kuala Lumpur and it just happened to be during Chinese New Year. They pulled out all the stops for us, including hiring dragon dancers to perform for us, exotic lunches at the KL's finest restaurants, with the trip culminating in a wonderful dinner/dance on our last night there. Our hosts had no idea that Mike and I don't dance, can't dance, hate to dance, so you can imagine my surprise, shock, and horror when they told us that a Dance Contest was going to be the featured "entertainment" at this gala. I almost choked on my Blowfish Soup when I heard, but relaxed somewhat when Mike said that we probably weren't expected to dance, only be judges.

We arrived at the dinner and were delighted to find a nicely lit dance floor, a huge disco ball, and as the honored guests, seats at the head table. The Malaysian people are so gracious, even those who couldn't speak English made an effort to welcome us warmly. The evening was off to a great start until the Emcee told us that as the honored guests from "Amelica", WE would be starting off the dance contest. Perhaps they sensed our reluctance because from that point on, our wine glasses were never empty. As soon as our glasses got half empty, they were miraculously filled again, and toast upon toast was made so we were forced to drink. We toasted to the Chinese New Year. We toasted the franchisee and his employees. We toasted the Petrona Towers and the Strait of Malacca. We even toasted Elvis and the disco ball. I understand now that they were merely supply us with liquid courage for when WE became the entertainment.

By the time the dessert was served, we were ready to boogie. The Emcee announced the beginning of the dance contest. "And NOW, from the Unites States of Amelica, help me welcome our honored guests to the dance floor -- Mike and Sue CASS-I-D-D-YYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!" The applause was thunderous and as we rose to our feet, somewhat unsteadily I will admit, we OWNED that dance floor. I'm not sure if we started off swaying to the music, or swaying from the booze, but how can your feet stay still when the Beegees are wailing "Stayin' Alive." We were so into it. Mike's fists were going in tiny little circles at first, and then he shifted into John Travolta-esque fingers pointing intermittently at the ceiling and the floor. I think I looked like I was doing a modified "limbo", I don't know, but our arms and legs were flailing uncontrollably, and the crowd was going wild. The louder they cheered, the stupider our dance moves became. We did not move to the beat of the Beegees, but to the beat of whatever was in our rythmically challenged brains.

We must have made quite an impression because the next thing you know, people got up from their tables and joined us on the dance floor, mimicking our strange moves. They must have thought that our strange gyrations were the latest dance moves from Amelica and they were going to learn this new style, from the Lords of the Dance! As the music ended, we'd felt pretty good about our performance, because copious amounts of alcohol does that for you.

The rest of the contest was terrific, and the other contestants were fun to watch because they could actually dance. You can't imagine our suprise and disbelief when the trophies were handled out, that WE HAD WON! I'm sure it had nothing to do with the fact that Mike owned the franchise system. We had some mad dance skills, clearly. We were presented with a 5 foot tall gift basket of dried seaweed, kelp flavored Pringles, dried and salted sardines, and other gastronomical delights.

The next morning we woke up with hangovers and a title: Malyasian Dance Champions. We've tried to live up to the title ever since, but nothing has ever topped that Cinderella Moment for us. We try to live up the "Dance, dance, wherever you may be..." philosophy. The last dancing we did was at a recent Quinceanera, but we were sober and the only Gringos on the dance floor. The mexican people are very gracious and nobody laughed at our attempts to dance to the latin beat of Banda music. I said all that to say this: That is why we are taking dance lessons. We have a reputation to uphold here, fercryin'outloud. We have to represent. I'll post the videos on youtube. Should you need a good laugh....

Don't Let the Dress Fool Ya, Fucker!

A couple of weeks ago, I headed up to Beverly Hills for a photo shoot with Drag Queen Extraordinaire, the fabulous Lady Vajayjay. Our goal was to have some fun on Rodeo Drive, taking pictures and spreading a bit of drag queen fabulosity on the unsuspecting public. It seems we got a little more than we bargained for!

The first part of our shoot went without a hitch. Dressed in purple satin majesty, she dazzled in diamonds at the Hotel Beverly Wilshire. Recreating the "Pretty Woman" walk up Rodeo Drive, she sashayed to cat calls from tour busses, and received applause from the store owners. "Is that RuPaul???" "Work it, Girl!" The tourists were thrilled to see this elegant LadyBoy, working her purple stilettos with her diva attitude in hyperdrive. Three different Rodeo Drive stores invited us in and allowed her to pose in their store front window displays. The Judith Leiber Store actually gave her a $4000 clutch purse to pose with, and Judith Leiber shopping bag to take home. So many people were clearly thrilled with the theatrics of it all. For a tourist from the mid west, short of a Tom Cruise sighting, this was AWESOME. It got annoying at one point because so many people wanted their pictures taken with her and we were losing light! It was during her second costume change that things went South....

She had changed into a bright yellow, mid drift showing, Carmen Miranda confection, complete with bright yellow hair, red trimmed ruffles, and red, high heeled ComeF**kMe pumps. Posing beside the lamppost on Via Rodeo, I got ONE shot away when a Russian security guard named "Anatoli" pounced on us and with derision and disgust in his eyes, said "You can't shoot here." HUH? I looked around at the 7 groups of tourists also taking photos and I said "Why not?" Barely able to contain his obvious dislike of a man dressed in women's clothing, he replied "Because this is private property. You have to leave." We calmly and politely pointed out the groups of people doing exactly what we were doing and asked why he was asking US to leave. He simply replied again that Via Rodeo was "private property" and we had to leave. That's when all hell broke loose because hell hath no fury like a drag queen scorned. Lady Vajayjay is part Thai and part Puerto Rican and her Puerto Rico side exploded all over his Russian ass. "ARE YOU DISCRIMINATING AGAINST ME? You are seriously discriminating against me?? This is the fucking UNITED STATES OF AMERICA in 2011 and you can't discriminate against me!" To that he replied that a permit is required for a commercial shoot and this was private property and he wanted us to leave immediately.

As a photographer, I know my rights and obligations, and I happen to know that he was 100% correct. I didn't have a permit and I don't have the right to shoot on private property if they don't want me to. I was ok with that, my objection was with the fact that he didn't even ask if I had a permit before he accosted us so rudely. We certainly didn't look like we were commercial photographers. I wasn't using strobe lights, reflectors, large lenses. I didn't have a stylist with me, make up people, assistants. We looked like every other tourist group taking pictures in Beverly Hills, except that I was taking pictures of a man in a dress. CLEARLY, this homophobic manly man was reacting to that element and his SELECTIVE enforcement of the "rules" were very obviously based on that fact. I still cringe when I recall the way that man looked at Lady V, with so much contempt and THAT is what put the fire in MY belly.

Needless to say, it wasn't pretty. As we left to move to the public sidewalk (while everyone else was allowed to continue taking photos ), Lady Vajayjay was spitting fire and venom. Her drama queen mouth was flappin' and her hands were flyin', she was PISSED! As she teetered up the cobblestone roadway, spouting off about discrimination and having served in the United States Navy and how she'd like to kick someone's ass, she yelled out, "Don't let the dress fool ya, FUCKER!!" When we got on to the public area of Rodeo Drive, out of site of the Russian Mafia, we waited to see if they would follow us. Sure enough, in the absence of the liquid courage a bottle of Stoli would provide, Russian Security had called for "back up" and TWO guards came to make sure we were not taking pictures on the perimeter. This was the final indignity, as if the fact that Lady Vajayjays false eyelashes falling off in the middle of her tirade against the Russian guard wasn't enough. We marched over to the new Goon, and I said, "I understand that you didn't make the rules and you are only trying to enforce them, but what I DON'T understand is your selective enforcement of the rules. Explain that to me, because it certainly looks like discrimination against this drag queen, disguised as rule enforcement." Refusing to be baited into a discussion, he asked if we would like to talk to the Via Rodeo management and then proceeded to escort us up Rodeo Drive and into the Management Offices.

The rest of the story doesn't need to be told in so much detail. Lady Vajayjay demanded to only speak to the top person in charge and then asked that we sit in their boardroom because "we need to DISCUSS THIS!!" As we played "good cop/bad cop", I was the voice of reason, and she was full of righteous indignation at her homophobic treatment. After some spirited discussion that involved me being calm and reasonable and Lady Vajayjay being hysterical and offering up an apology every time she said "FUCK", we left. We told them we wanted to file a formal complaint against the Russian security guard because we wanted his behavior noted in his file. Whether this was an "event" or a "pattern" would show up over time, and we just wanted it noted for the record. I found it quite interesting that the second security guard who escorted us to the offices, had a completely different demeanor. He treated Lady Vajayjay with respect during our "lamb to the slaughter" walk up Rodeo Drive, and didn't give off the homophobic vibe that Mr. Moscow Manly Man had.

By the time we finished registering our complaints, it was too late to take any more photos, so we headed back to the relatively welcoming arms of life behind the Orange Curtain. Who knew that conservative Orange County would be a welcome respite after that experience? Still, I'm glad that we didn't just roll over and take it in the a**, bad pun intended. Sometimes you have to stand between evil and innocent and perhaps our rather loud objections to being treated so shabbily will resonate with that security guard. I doubt he will ever change how he feels when he sees a man in a Carmen Miranda Clown Suit, but he may learn to treat that person with the respect he/she deserves as a human being. Thank you, Lady Vajayjay for taking such a vocal stand. It is the little battles that win the war.