On the subject of Confetti

Ah, the glory days. Sleeping so long that the night could last all night long.

Oy, today. Sleeping so little that I can barely last until it gets dark.

Oh, to return to those glory days. The halcyon days - make that nights - where every day was Mardi Gras and every night was New Year's Eve. (Wish I could call that my own - but credit goes to the Aquasox PA announcer Tom Lafferty.)

The place was called Confetti. It was a larger than life nightspot that was located just off Greenville Avenue in Dallas. The theme of the place was the "never ending, ever lasting party," and God, was it. From the unique design on two and a half floors, to its amazing sound and video system for that day to the lip sync performances to the confetti cannons and blowers... every bit of it screamed good time.

The best part of it though were the people that worked there. Every first impression starts at the front door, where hundreds would line up to get in. The doormen dressed in tuxedo shirts splashed with neon paint. (Ask my wife how much I loved these shirts... I still had two of them until about 5 years ago.) It was not a place for snobs, although there were the high roller regulars. This was a place where you dressed up for a good time because no matter how outrageous your outfit was, someone working there would go one better. You see, to work at Confetti, you didn't interview - you auditioned.

I was one of the lucky ones. I was just outrageous enough where they took one look at me and said, come on in. It helped to have a co-worker who vouched for me, so I could become the lights and effects to his Dee Jay prowess.

But there was something more to this place. I don't know if this was a testament to my loneliness at the time, or because I just loved the place. I would go to Confetti even on my nights off and get into costume and entertain the customers with random acts. And few even knew who I was.

My costume was made up of parachute pants... yes, you remember those. Underneath, a dress shirt with a pencil thin tie (hip back then) and over the top, a white tails jacket with black velvet trim. And over my head, a larger than life mask of a cartoon character named Herman, which made my 6-4 body nearly 7 feet tall. I was anonymous.

I would dance with the dancers on stage, I would follow customers around and mimick their moves, clowning. I would give the ladies flowers and balloons and just go around making people smile. I was, in essence, the masked merrymaker.

On certain songs, I would break out of the costume and take the stage for a lip sync performance with some of my peers. Two I can remember very well were "White Time Is It?" which was me and some others doing Morris Day and the Time, with me playing the very white Morris Knight. We would do the Bird, complete with the Jerome/Morris Chili Sauce choreography.

The other one was Duran Duran's Reflex, which was a solo number. The place had bars that separated one stage from another but you could fit in between them if you wanted to. I would literally (and in hinesight - probably stupidly) leap off one stage and grab the bars, sliding down the 15 feet to the other stage like a fireman. I was a rock star. Okay. In honesty, I was probably the only one being entertained, but the leap usually got oohs.

Then I would be head back stage, where I would hang out with the dancers (most of whom I had huge crushes on.) They saw me as the big goofy brother type. And then it was back on with the costume to take the club by a storm of niceness again.

When last call was over, and the party ended at 2 AM, I would go back to my apartment, jump in the pool to get all the cigarette smoke off of me and sleep until noon.

In case you were wondering, I would work a couple of nights a week and did sports jobs on other days. Since my condo was paid off, I did not have to worry about making a lot back then.

And I did get a payoff for all those off nights I spent entertaining the folks at Confetti. I was the proud owner of a Teal and Black Satin Jacket with the Confetti logo emblazoned across the back and specks of confetti embroidered onto the jacket front and sleeves. I wore it proudly.

And the assumption that could easily be made was that as a man in his 20's, I probably spent most of that time buzzed on alcohol in the night club... after all, that would explain the goofy behavior. Truth was... the strongest buzz I got in those days was a Pepsi.

So how does that relate to who I am now?

I am lucky to sleep past 8 AM. I work long days and sometimes nights. I very rarely walk into a night club. I never get to wear masks.

However, there are more things that still are a part of me than you might think. The random acts of clowning and kindness still happen; the clowning on an improv stage, and the kindness whenever I feel the need to want to make myself feel that way. The costume goes no further than most of my shoes, which are usually a bright shade of blue because it's something about being different. My lip synching has become Karaoke, where I actually sang "The Bird" complete with the choreography. And while 2 AM has been replaced by midnight for a rare late night party, I still enjoy the fun of being out late, whenever I can steal away the time. And the strongest buzz I get is from a Pepsi (of which I only have 1 or 2 now as opposed to the 6-8 I used to have every day.)

And for the me that used to be at Confetti, I look no further than my 9 year old son, who just yesterday sang his brains out around the house, danced around Westlake Center at the holiday tree lighting, and loves to wear costumes and sometimes masks. I wonder if that is genetic?

So to all you former party people from the days of Confetti - I salute you!

Yours truly,
Johnny Blogger