Dirty Dancing was voted the "Official Class Movie" of my graduating class in 1988. Which pretty much set the stamp on my refusal to see it. I mean, the "Official Class Song" was Whitesnake's "Here I Go Again," and besides being bitter that my suggestion of Talking Heads "Road to Nowhere" was not chosen, I couldn't stand Whitesnake. I figured the film tastes of my fellow classmates were probably the same. Besides, at that point, if you'd asked me, I would have told you my favorite movie was Terry Gilliam's Brazil (actually, if you ask me now, I'll tell you the same thing).
In the summer of '89, I was home from my first year at UMass Amherst, working by day as a chambermaid at a hotel in my hometown of Plymouth, and nursing a seriously broken heart. I went home sick from work one day, ostensibly from heat exhaustion; though I imagine low blood sugar from a lack of appetite coupled with a hangover from crying into my rum and coke the night before contributed to my lowly state. I was crumpled on my mom's couch, watching the end of some movie on HBO, and didn't even have the energy to turn the channel when Dirty Dancing started a few minutes later.
I don't know if it was my weakened state, but I was. sucked. in. I suddenly understood the appeal of Patrick Swayze. The soundtrack included old rock n roll songs I dug, not just the schmaltzy hit. I totally teared up when Baby did the lift. It felt good to step out of my smart girl role and just enjoy some dancing for a change...
RIP Patrick. I'll never be sorry.
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