1978 was a special year for me. It was the year we moved from Brooklyn to Long Island. The year my mom finally gave up on my dad. Disco didn't suck yet. "The Deer Hunter" was in the theaters that year, although I wasn't even vaguely aware of it. The only movie that mattered to me in 1978 was "Grease". My aunt took me to see it, oh, it seems like 20 times. That's an exaggeration of course. Ah, but the movies did cost a whole lot less back then.

I can't say what appealed to me more: the catchy tunes, the 50s crinoline skirts, or John Travolta. I had a major crush on John Travolta ever since his "Welcome Back Kotter" days. I don't really fancy the bloated, scientologist Travolta of today, but Vinny Barbarino? Danny Zucco?? In those tight jeans??? And those moves???? I think I wanted to marry him when I was six. And at our wedding I'd wear that trashy slut outfit that Olivia Newton John struts around in at the end of "Grease" to prove her undying love and powers of titillation over the hapless Danny. The only exception being, of course that my outfit would probably be lipstick red. Sandy starts out so pure and innocent; pretty circle skirts and sweater sets, white Keds and bobby socks. Never once, at the advanced age of six, did I wish to look like that. I wanted the black satin cigarette jeans and tube top and Candies. Shiny red lipstick and that perm! I wanted to stamp out a cigarette with my high heels and dance in the fun house. I wanted to fly away into the clouds in a souped up dragster with a cute pouty-lipped greaser boy at the wheel.

The first time I saw "Grease" as an adult I was amazed at all the raunchy gags that totally went over my Dorothy Hammil coiffed head at the age of six. I gained a new appreciation for my present favorite character, Rizzo, the leader of the Pink Ladies. I can watch Stockard Channing belt out that "Look at me I'm Sandra Dee" burlesque a hundred times; it still makes me laugh. Rizzo had the best bawdy lines; she threw caution to the wind and had unprotected sex in the back of a car, which resulted in her being - gasp! - late with her period! She also uttered the phrase that passed as high wit to a six year old, "Hey, Fongul! I'm Sandra Dee."

"Grease" was re-released in the theaters recently to commemorate its twentieth anniversary. When I mentioned it to my aunt she promptly replied, "I'm not taking you." I didn't think it would be right to force Kyle to go; he would have put on his best martyr act and annoyed me to no end. So I went by myself. There were about seven people in the theater, including me. That didn't dampen my spirits, though, because the moment the music started I wasn't there anymore. I was six again, full of the joy of a musical and the love of greasy hair.