De Ce Monde Secret de l’ Amelie Americaine

I’ve been working on a certain Video Awards Show, for a certain Music Network since Saturday. They give out statues the shape of Neil Armstrong…the first astronaut to walk on the moon. “The Moonman” is one of those coveted prizes of pop stardom. Since I stopped watching this particular channel sometime in my early twenties…I could of cared less, until today.

For those of you who read my blog across the pond, and have wondered to yourself what it is that American Amelie does for a living, let’s just say I “hurry up and wait.” This is a common production saying that describes how we “techs” push ourselves manically to solve technical issues and then sit on our asses for ten hours waiting for producers, talent and directors to make up their minds. Usually I’m the girl in the back row of the auditorium who is caught up on her own imagination, trying to ignore the fact that someone else is living my dream.

For the first three days of this show, I was most grateful for that the audio tech had given me the more expensive “noise reduction” cans or headsets, to shield my ears against music so loud, that it literally vibrated off of my chest. I didn’t really care which well known celebrity was rehearsing on stage. They were all the same to me. They all lip synced their songs to the same ear piercing tempo. Whatever.

Then a pretty boy band took the stage called Panic at the Disco.

I blame it on Nick Rhodes but I loved straight men who dress in a more sexually ambiguous way. Maybe this is why I fell in love with the sweet theater majors in college who always turned out to be gay.

These well coifed musicians were delightful look at AND listen to. Surrounded by a circle of dancers wearing 19th century corsets and dresses, with painted faces like gothic princesses, suddenly I found myself standing up from my seat, wishing that I was one of them. I felt like a teenager again. I was reminded of a time when I first moved to New York and I had a job as a coat check in the East Village. I wore fake pink eye lashes, stark white makeup and dark red lip stick. It was all very fun, and very fabulous.

My heart will always skip a beat when I hear a song by Siouxsie and the Banshees or the Pet Shop Boys. I’ve always been stuck in the eighties, and now my favorite decade has come back to invite me to relive the anthems of my childhood. Of course, I’m not really sold on the whole idea of men wearing tight “hot pants” again. Yes many of the male performers you will see on this show will be wearing pants tight enough to be mistaken for exercise spandex. But today, for once, I felt like maybe the era of my youth has actually begun.

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