Johnny 2.0

All aglow with glitter:

Johnny, Alice, David, and Binky

in Lake Placid, July 2010.

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As I may have casually mentioned one or two thousand times or so, I first met Johnny in person at Ice Dreams back in April. That meet-n-greet was, as is widely traditional, sweltering and chaotic; my camera refused to cooperate but Tara was kind enough to keep trying; and I was unable to speak other than to say "thank you" to Johnny twice.

This time I did a little better.

And since today is my birthday, and my trip to Lake Placid was my birthday present to myself from me and my family, I'm going to spend my day reveling in every last moment of last weekend, and will probably still be doing so long after you've all tiptoed away and quietly shut the door behind you ...

So we now rejoin Binky after the show, where the free meet-n-greet is about to begin ...

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Wait in line in the hallway once again, where the temperature has gently elevated from a balmy 150 degrees to an undeniably tropical 510 degrees. Bless you once more, Mimi Dzyacky, for your beautiful and wonderfully functional fans. The fabulous Karen Weeks gently but firmly insists that I take one of the extra 8 x 10 photos she has brought and get it autographed by Johnny. Because of course I'm an idiot and have not come prepared. I choose a gorgeous Heartbroken shot from ITNY, and she also loans me her silver Sharpie.

Hear applause and cheering. Johnny has arrived! Crane neck to see, but there's too many people. Maggie Strasser volunteers to be a runner and check out the scene. She reports back that he's seated in a chair, with a table to his right for autographing, and an empy chair to his left.

Shuffle imperceptibly forward. I am suddenly reminded of the wait staff at Nicola's (although fans report service was much speedier on Saturday). Everyone is in a good mood. Tara had alerted us earlier that though photos with Johnny would only be taken by his pro photographer, the amazing Leah Adams, we are welcome to use our own cameras or cell phones to take candid shots while waiting in line.

Reassure Karen Burke's absolutely lovely little daughter that it's OK to take pictures.

Turn around five minutes later to discover this sweet child crying because a female Storm Trooper/self-appointed Flashbulb Nazi (thank you, Trish Aaron-Misiura, for that apt title) had scolded her for trying to take pictures. WTF? You know, I actually have it in writing from Tara that candids were OK, so why/how the arena staff failed to get that message is beyond me. As is why they felt it necessary to be so heavy-handed in monitoring "unauthorized" camera usage--which apparently at the Jack Shea Death Star is like a RED ALERT TERRORIST THREAT--that they made a beautiful little Johnny fan burst into tears.

Fume. Compose strongly worded letter in my head to the arena manager regarding the complete lack of consideration for customers. "Dear Asshat: Hello. We're here spending big f*#king money in your little f*#king town. Sorry if that's an enormous f*#king nuisance for you. F*#k you very much."

Reflect that this letter may need some editing.

Observe that each person is taking maybe one to two minutes of Johnny's time, and the photos are progressing well. Make a mental note that the pro-photographer idea is really excellent and is definitely making this meet-n-greet run more smoothly than previous ones.

Notice that the Storm Troopers seem quite restless and are actually starting to turn off some of the lights. Head Storm Trooper announces that they absolutely HAVE to close the arena at 11 p.m. I'm not sure what horrible disaster will befall everyone if the arena stays open past its bedtime, but it's clearly just one horseman shy of the Apocalypse, judging by his expression and tone. [Note: Yes, I understand that maybe the arena staff wanted to go home. Maybe they were heading into overtime hours without overtime pay. Maybe they weren't expecting that to happen. Given that they barely seemed to comprehend who Johnny Weir is, it's likely that they also were blissfully unaware that he has lots of fans. I don't know. I do know that even so, it would have been possible to handle this situation with paying customers far more professionally and courteously. Like, oh, say, the Taliban would have. Or animals that eat their young.]

Realize that there are still a lot of people behind me in line and that the two-chair set-up is designed to accommodate one fan at a time. Because we don't want to take up more than our fair share of time with Johnny, my two kids leave the line to wait for me.

See Chloe Larson and friends doing a fab group photo with Johnny! Frantically wave at kids to rejoin me. We'll make it work.

And then.

OMG.

Our turn!

First Johnny hug ever!

Then he turns to hug my kids, whom he actually remembers from Ice Dreams. He greets my Russian-speaking daughter in, yes, Russian. She purrs. He and I sit down, kids standing behind us, and he smiles and thanks me for the blog.

I am completely, utterly humbled by his graciousness. Also giddy.

And then.

Yes.

I speak.

All in a rush, because I spend way too much time on Twitter so communicating entirely in hashtags feels perfectly natural. I say: "You're so welcome. And I don't have anything else to say because I say everything on the blog and I'm really shy and awkward in person so please just read the blog kthxbai." This makes him smile as he autographs a lovely message on the photo Karen gave me, and then we do the picture. And my kids are standing stiffly behind us, so he turns and smiles at them, "Come on, people, we're not bookends here. Get in the picture!" So they lean in close to us, and Leah takes the shot. And announces that somebody's eyes are closed. So she takes another one. And somebody's eyes are closed again. And Johnny commands, "OK, everybody, eyes open REALLY WIDE," and Leah takes a THIRD shot and I'm cringing inside because this is exactly what I did NOT want to do, which is chew up way too much time because there are still a bunch of people waiting and the Head Storm Trooper is snarling in the compassionate manner of a pitbull on steroids that this arena WILL close in ten minutes no matter how many people are left in line--and finally this time the photo turns out fine.

Hurry away to discover that Patti is standing right there! Yay for more Patti hugs! And then she announces to everyone milling around her just basking in her Patti-ness that she enjoys my blog! So very kind of her to say all those words together in a sentence like that where people can hear her. I am purring so loudly I fear one of the Storm Troopers will mistake me for a helicopter and launch an anti-aircraft missile at me.

And then: It's over. We gather our stuff, return the silver Sharpie to the incredibly kind and thoughtful Karen, and make our way toward the stairs, never looking back for fear the security people will interpret that as a hostile move signaling our intent to camp in the hallway for the night, and mow us down with machine guns.

Return to the hotel, deliriously happy. Sleep the deeply satisfying sleep of those who have been completely bathed in sparkliness and still have a bit of it clinging to their clothes. Which they will never ever wash because Johnny hugged them in those clothes.

Awake the next morning, check out, load the car, and give Lake Placid dining one last chance by having breakfast at the Great Adirondack Steak and Seafood Company. My daughter orders an extremely complicated meal for which we should have provided a written recipe: Plain white toast. Which takes absolutely forever. Possibly longer. About forty-five minutes in, consider complaining to the manager, only to discover that our waiter is, in fact, the manager. Alice's toast finally arrives, and Smucker's jelly is offered. She murmurs under her breath, "Oh, no, I can't. I'll die."

Head home.

Where, 2,050 round-trip miles later and all three of us in desperate need of a bathroom about twenty miles ago, there is an absolutely wonderful welcome-home serendipity waiting in the mail for me: The Mook Book, courtesy of Glitter Yak and F'nD. The perfect ending to an absolutely perfect and unforgettable road trip.

And now, to sum up, just for my dear fellow fan Lauren Ashbaugh:

Miles: 2,050
Driving time: 38 hours
Time spent waiting for food: 38 hours
Gasoline: About 80 gallons
Starbucks: About 80 gallons
Hotels: Way more than I should have spent
Johnny on the ice, Johnny's hugs, Patti's hugs, Tara's kindness, and meeting so many wonderful fans: You guessed it. Priceless.

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Epilogue:

One of the things that struck me last week was the contrast between Johnny on April 1 in Bensenville and Johnny on July 31 in Lake Placid. Back in April, he was beyond tired, having just flown in from Russia that very day, where he had been performing with Kings on Ice. And I understand so much more now, in retrospect, that on top of his mind-numbing exhaustion, how fresh and raw the wound that was the 2010 Olympics was for him then. He was still grappling with that experience, with the reactions to his Oly performances and to his decision to withdraw from Worlds, and with trying to figure out what it all meant and where to go from there. To fans, he was, as always, kind and gracious, polite and patient; but underneath there was such tremendous pain.

Johnny in Lake Placid is a man who has made peace with at least some of that pain. Although always in his eyes there is knowledge gained at great cost, through hurt deeper than any of us can imagine. But he's also, like his mother, very savvy, and sharp enough to recognize that this is his time. He's a man on the brink of something big--far bigger than the insular and inbred world of competitive figure skating can ever offer him. That world simply cannot contain him; he's bursting out of it. And he knows it.

Yes, there are those who complain that he has never lived up to his potential as a figure skater. I don't evan know what that means. He should have won more medals? In my opinion, he accomplished something far, far greater this year than any medal could signify. And what's more important? To be who you have to be in order to earn medals from within a--let's face it--manmade and rather sadly corrupt system; or to be who you are, who God made you to be, and to own who you are--whether flawed human drones reward you with medals for it or not?

There also are those who are sure that his changing hairstyles are a barometer indicating his descent into career suicide, accomplished step-by-step with appearances on "D-list" reality shows. I beg to differ. Lindsay Lohan = career suicide, marked by out-of-bounds behavior that is so obviously crying out, like a desperately insecure two-year-old, for someone to please STOP ME, coupled with drug abuse, jail time, rehab, etc. Not quite the same as winning the edgily fresh NewNowNext Award or Figure Skater of the Year.

Others sigh that OK, if he's not going to skate competitively this year, could he at least pick one thing and stick with it? To which I say, WTF? Why should he limit himself? Free of the USFSA and all its attendant [stuffiness / coldness / constipated harrumphing / unforgivable stupidity / insert your own unflattering but accurate noun here], at least for this year, it's very much his chance to explore the options--just like any other man in his mid-twenties. He's never been much of a "limits" person anyway, and now, more than ever, he surely doesn't need to be. During and after the Olys, his fan base exploded, driven largely by his reality show, which introduced him to a brand-new, non-skating audience who completely fell in love with him as a person and then went on to discover him as an athlete and an artist. In the coming months, fans who are enjoying this ride will find even more to squee about, as new appearances and events are announced, new merchandise becomes available, his song and video are released, his book is published (book tour! yay!), Season Two of BGJW begins, and more opportunities to meet him, to cheer for him, and to be ever fascinated by him, keep rolling in.

So far he's only said that he's taking a year off from competitive skating. Maybe he'll return. Maybe he won't. I don't know. I do know that, as a strongly grounded person with the support of a smart and loving inner circle, he'll make the decision that's right for him.

In the meantime: Here he is, poised for takeoff.

So get ready for Johnny 2.0: Hip, haute, and hotter than ever.

BB, I can't wait. :)

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Dance like no one is looking

Sing like no one can hear

Love like you've never hurt before

Live like there's nothing to fear

--Newsboys, "Dance"

And every chance you get

Go see Johnny Weir ...

--Binky

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Hey! You can enter to win a virtual styling session
with Johnny and a $500 shopping spree
from BlueFly.com!
Just submit a photo of the most
outrageous item in your closet!
Johnny will be choosing the winner in 15 days!
More info here!

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Coming soon: The series
of translated interviews from the Mook Book
courtesy of the fabulous Akiko Nakata!

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copyright 2010 / Binky and the Misfit Mimes / Lynn V. Ingogly / all rights reserved