And He Broke My Stick in Xanadu

I once heard that the times we live in is referred to as the "information age." We have information thrown at us in every direction—left, right, and center. But what do we do with this knowledge? Keep it? Sell it on EBay? Give it away for free? And what about the information people want from us? Are you single? Where do you work? Are you cut or uncut? These are all very good ice-breakers, but what are we really asking?

Recently, I had a conversation with my father where the exchange of information got a little overwhelming. This is the man who adopted me, the man who raised me, the man who calls to tell me that I will burn in eternal damnation in the fiery pits of HELL unless I change my gay and lustful ways—yet asks if I received the Christmas card he and mom sent which included a $25.00 check.

Nando: Hello‚ Dad?
Dad: (Screaming) Who is this?
Nando: It's me, you're ONLY son.
Dad: (Screaming) Junior?
Nando: Yes, dad‚ unless you have other adopted sons that we don't know about.
Dad: (Screaming) Oh, how are you? Did you get the Christmas card we sent you?
Nando: No, it's February‚ when did you send it?
Dad: (Still Screaming) Oh about two weeks before Christmas. Are you still in Hawaii?
Nando: No, I'm in Brooklyn. I never went to Hawaii, remember? I didn't take the job after all.
Dad: (Screams LOUDER) WHAT? You never went to Hawaii? We were planning on visiting. Well, not too soon‚ I'm still remodeling the kitchen and your crazy mama wants some kind of special wood for the cabinets and I just‚
Nando: Dad‚ did you send my Christmas card to Hawaii?
Dad: (Screaming) No, to Iowa.
Nando: Dad, STOP SCREAMING‚ I can hear you just fine!
Dad: (Screaming) Yeah, but I can't hear you.
Nando: Yes, father‚but...I...can...so...stop...SCREAMING.
Dad: (Screaming) But...I...can't...hear...you. That's...why...I...am...yelling.
Nando: (Rolling my eyes) Fine.
Dad: (Screaming) So you didn't get your card, let me check with your mom to see where we sent it.
Nando: Okay—but you sent it to Iowa, thinking I was in Hawaii? I don't understand.
Dad: (Screaming) Well, you move around so much, we didn't know. And we tried to call, but your answering machine picks up all the time.
Nando: Dad, I haven't had an answering machine since 1987. What number are you calling?
Dad: (Screaming) I don't know these things. Here, speak to your mother. And she can't hear as well as she used to, so you might have to speak up.
Mother: (SCREAMING) JUNIOR?

There are so many reasons why I love my parents. To pinpoint just one would be impossible. Was it because they loved me the instant they met me? Was it because they never forced me to do the typical "boy" things that were expected of a young Mexican kid? Or was it because they remained silent when I went through my Olivia Newton-John and Xanadu roller-skates-phase in 1980 at the age of five?

(1980 in our Kitchen)
Mom: Junior, go feed the dog.
Nando: Okay‚ but I have to put my skates on first.


(1980 in our living room)

Dad: Junior, go get me another beer.
Nando: Okay‚ but I have to put my skates on first.

(1980 on our camping trip at San Angelo Lake, TX (with another family))

Sister: You're so weird. Why do embarrass the family all the time? You're not supposed to wear roller skates on a camping trip Junior!
Nando: You're jealous cause you can't skate backwards like I can.
Mother: You two stop fighting‚ and Junior, skate over to your father and ask him if he needs another beer. And go around the mud this time‚ we only brought one can of WD-40.

Fast forward to 2008 ‚ minus the roller skates. I'm was a 32-year-old, living in Brooklyn, NY, and just set up my second date with Justin. He was a little older in the age category, but I figure...I'm open, I'm classy, I'm desperate. Justin was 24-years-old and moved to New York about a year and a half before we met. (I have a reputation for dating 19-year-olds) Don't judge.

We went out earlier that the week, and since there were no casualties, I decided to ask him out again so met up after work. As he walked towards me I noticed his head bobbing through the crowd in Time Square. He saw me and got a tiny smile on his face. That either meant he was happy to see me or he caught a glimpse at the 40% off sale GAP sign I was standing in front of. Either way, he called me handsome when he came over and I melted.

Justin: What are you up for tonight?
Nando: I'm open. Anything you have in mind?
Justin: Let's go see Xanadu.
Nando: (My mouth dropped open then transformed into a huge smile) OKAY!
Justin: Are you going to be okay? You haven't stopped smiling for two blocks.
Nando: I'm fine, just a little excited about seeing the musical—that's all.

Since it was last minute on a Friday night we managed to get what the ticket clerk referred to as "the house special."

Justin: Where are these tickets located? Where will we be sitting?
Ticket Clerk: On stage with the actors. NEXT!

We both looked at each other in deep thought and expressed major confusion as we tilted our heads to the side.

Justin: Are you okay with us sitting on stage?

Picturing the lead actor breaking his leg--cause I tripped him--and the director immediately reaching out for me while he exclaims, "YOU! You can do the part, hurry —go to wardrobe!

Nando: NO! I don't mind.

I wasn't sure how the set up would be. Would I just be on the stage floor sitting Indian style gazing up at the actors? What if I needed to stretch my legs? What if I threw my cough drop wrapper on the floor causing it to trip an actor—wait, that sounded more like a plan than a question. In any case, those were our seats and my destiny.

Having an hour to spare before show time, we went to Chevy's on 42nd Street. I've lived in New York City for seven years and made it a point to never enter places live Chevy's, but I felt like having guacamole that night and went in despite my better judgement. The place was disgusting. The waiter came over to us and created a bowl of the worst guacamole I had ever seen. There was no passion in the way he was mixing the ingredient, no flare in how he infused spice, no "love" in his approach. It was obvious, this 17-year-old was just doing it for the money and I questioned his every move.

Nando: Is there cilantro in that?
Waiter: (Annoyed) Yes.
Nando: Garlic?
Waiter: (Annoyed) Yes. It's in the mix we use.
Nando: A mix? As in powder?
Waiter: (More annoyed) Yes.

A mix? This would make generations of Rodriguez's roll over in their grave. My grandmother herself, though she never cooked, would never accept this. How could I face the legions of Mexicans who crossed the border to come into the United States to face low wages, disrespect and horrible living conditions for a chance of the American Pie? Oh, yeah--Justin was playing. That was enough for me.

We finished our meals and I thought maybe, just maybe, I should not have eaten that last bite of the tamale. After all, if they need me for the show, how could I belt out, "Suddenly, the wheels are in motion, and I—I'm ready to sail any ocean," with Chipotle on my breath?

We returned to the Helen Hayes Theatre on 44th street and Broadway. Once inside, I heard a familiar voice, an angelic voice. No, not God, but close, it was Olivia Newton-John singing "Let's get Physical," over the PA system. We walked to the stage and an usher helped us to our seats. The usher reminded me of my 11th grade drama teacher, Mrs. Head. I wanted to spit in her face.

(1992, the Drama auditions at Odessa High School)

Mrs. Head: Nando, I don't think you are ready for lines yet. But that's just my opinion. I've only taken our school to "State finals" in the drama competition eight years in a row, but what do I know?
Nando: Oh no, I'm definitely not ready. I mean, if you don't think so...
Mrs. Head: Okay, it's settled. You can hand out flashlights backstage.

The usher directed us to our "on stage" seats, but I had to pee and would not be allowed to leave the stage for the duration of the performance, so I was told to "Go now!"

When I returned, Justin was sitting center stage. The small stage looked like an ancient coliseum and the we would be sitting in what looked like an old stadium in ruins. I thought I was in Athens Greece when I saw the semi-circle of seats on stage, but I was on stage, on Broadway stage no less. How many gay males in New York City can say that? Okay bad analogy, but it was me up there!

Justin: Did the usher give you a glow stick?
Nando: No.
Justin: I didn't get one either.
Nando: Should we ask for some? (In a panic) What do we need them for?
Justin: I don't know, but look, everyone but us has them.
Nando: (Rising up from my seat) I demand my glow stick!

I think the director saw the panic my eyes and motioned the usher to "rush over" two glow-sticks for the irritated "gays" sitting center stage. The show started, the curtains went up and the lights were on me, er, I mean...the actors.

When Kerry Butler, playing the role of Kira (Olivia Newton John's role) came skating through, I was transported back to a simple time. A time of love, a time of peace, a time where a gay five-year-old wearing roller blades and leg warmers was free to conquer the world--all while singing John Ferrar produced songs.

The show was amazing. It was funny, campy, and on target. It definitely put the "DO" back in Xanadu. I even lost track of my plot to ruin one actor's life and to NANDOISM out of the shadows in order to perform that night. Cheyenne Jackson as the lead male character was the perfect pick—although I say this not really knowing who he was—except he had thighs that could crush macadamia nuts and a butt so rock-hard and perfectly shaped that you could use it to serve spam-cakes on.

The actors were so close to us that Cheyenne Jackson spit on me when he was doing his duet, "Suddenly." As I wiped the spit off my left cheek, I thought, "This must be what heaven feels like." After that, Justin reached over and held my hand. I wasn't sure if it was my hand Justin wanted to hold, or the thought that I might have some left-over Cheyenne Jackson spit on it that he wanted to touch—in any case, it was obvious, romance was in the air.

As the musical was coming to an end, they cued up the music and the actors exploded on the scene to the song, Xanadu. The energy, the organized chaos, the dance sequence—it was perfection on wheels. The actors came over to us and in a hushed tone said, "Okay, now—break your glow-sticks, get up and dance with us."

Oh my God! The excitement, the joy, the frustration—I couldn't get my glow stick to work. I've never used a glow-stick. Everyone had theirs in the air and it was too late to look around to see how they did it. One of the actors skated over to me.

Skater boy 1: Break your glow-stick, it's time!
Nando: Oy, listen bossy, I'm not receiving a pension here, am I?


Justin reached for my stick and with his thick manly hands brought it to life. (I'm so not making a sexual reference here.) And just like that, I was in Xanadu, the musical, on Broadway. I looked out into the audience and could feel their undying gratitude for my special rendition of the song Xanadu which was obviously captivating them. They were cheering me on, they were celebrating my Broadway debut, they were ushering me off stage too soon. And in true Broadway style, the curtain went down and it was over.


For Oliva Newton-John's Xanadu Click here. (BE WARE, CLICKING THIS WILL BRING ME EXCITEMENT BEYOND CONTROL)
For the original Xanadu trailer Click here.

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Review: Boss in the Satin Kimono Click here.
Nando & His Dad Click here.
Nando & His Parents Click here.