We all have our dreams. The thing our mind drifts to in that 5 seconds we have to think while we wait for Netflix to start the next episode of Stranger Things, or while we’re stuck in traffic on the way to work.
Our soulmate, the perfect career, the dream home. Our endeavors towards these dreams all have their own story. Their starts, stops, pauses, and if we're lucky, and ending.

Like all great artistic ventures, mine started in the US Army.

In January 2006, I started my Officer Basic Course in Ft. Eustis, Virginia. I remember the first day vividly.
The Commanding General of the post addressed our classroom full of excited and optimistic Second Lieutenants. I don’t remember much of this pep talk, just the best joke he accidentally made.
”Generally speaking. . .” he began.
I chuckled, but the room was silent. I leaned forward, peeking left and right down my row for signs of life. This was literally a General, speaking. Anyone?

This is going to be a long four years. . .

Later that afternoon, our class met another instructor. A young Captain. “Good afternoon class, I am Captain Steve Ruggiero. I’m from Aurora, IL. . . like Wayne and Garth”, he said with a grin.
”Maybe I’ll be ok, after all,“ I thought. “This guy hasn’t lost his sense of humor yet”.
I introduced myself later that afternoon and discovered that he and my sister were West Point classmates and had a lot of mutual friends.

Six months passed, I graduated that course, and he and I became friends. That is, as friendly as the hierarchical system of which we were both members would allow. Our careers progressed on their own paths. His deployment to Iraq was already completed when I met him, and I would venture on my own to Afghanistan 18 months later. Shortly after I returned, his time in the Army was up, and he moved to Chicago. Why? To study comedy, of course.

One day he sends me this YouTube video via Facebook with a message: “Check it out, this is my friend from class. He’s the 3 time Chicago Air Guitar Champion. His name’s Nordic Thunder.”
I clicked the link.

A tall, scruffy looking man, with a long brown beard, and hair down his back covered in some sort of leather viking armor on his chest, and a caveman-esque loin cloth (scantly) covering his groin. He was barefoot, swinging his hair around like a propeller turned on its side, gnashing his teeth while the drums pounded and he played a screamingly fast guitar solo on a dual necked air guitar where the necks sprouted from the body in a V shape. He was in the zone. This was one of the greatest air guitarists in the country, and the audience loved it.

”Hm, that’s pretty cool,” I thought, with the indifference of someone who had no idea what he was really looking at.

Several months later I traveled to Chicago to visit my sister. We met up with Steve to watch a sketch comedy show his friends were performing in. Steve and I sat in the front row. Inexplicably, he took off his shoes and propped his bare feet up on stage. I followed his lead. “I guess that’s how they do it at the Gorilla Tango theater,” I thought.

After the show, Steve and by association, we, were invited to the wrap party at a local dive bar, Stella’s. I hope it’s fair to classify it as such, but that’s how I remember it. I am crammed in the backseat of Steve’s car sandwiched between two others. I look to my right.

Hey, that beard and long hair look familiar. . .

”You’re Nordic Thunder, aren’t you!?” I asked.
His eyes lit up like twin stars supernova’d in each eye. He pushed his hair back behind his ears, grinned, and dipped his head like a surfer.
”Yeah!” He confirmed, excitedly.
”Oh man, I have so many questions for you.”

Much of that night was him enthusiastically answering all those questions, and most importantly, informing me that the National Finals were coming up in NYC in a couple months. As the Chicago champ, he'd be there to compete. I had to see this.

My time with the Army had ended, and I moved to NJ to start a new job, so it was a short train ride to Manhattan. A week or two before the show, I met a girl from the area on Match.com. This would be a memorable first date, right? I floated the idea and she immediately asked:
“Should I make us Nordic Thunder shirts?”
Yes, please.

What followed was the most entertaining live show I’d ever seen.

This man played in a bubble à la Flaming Lips

A woman did a death defying trust fall from the balcony

Defending National Champion William Ocean also attempted to off himself

Are you sensing a theme?

Our favorite, Nordic, performed admirably, and in the end, the winner was Romeo Dance Cheetah. Here he is being carried triumphantly through the crowd by the silver medalist, Dreamcatcher. How’s that for sportsmanship?

I was hooked. I’d watch one more National Final, in Chicago the following year before I ultimately decided to dive in, but this was the pivotal moment.

The summer of 2011, I returned from a fantastic National Final in Chicago (this time Nordic Thunder won!), determined to figure out how to do this.
As I lie by the pool, reading The Count of Monte Cristo on my Kindle, I thought "Hey, I should dress up like one of these guys!” Powdered wig, frilly shirt, short pants, shoes with a giant buckle, the whole 9 yards.

What would I call myself?! This is a crucial. Did I want to be humorous and punny like Airisol or Shreddy Mercury, or something that stood on its own, like Thundergland or Mean Melin?
The Airistocrat? Nah, too cheesy.
The Marquis? YEAH! That sounds badass, and also regal.
The next day, The Air Guitar World Championships took place in Oulu, Finland. I tuned in to the live stream to watch Nordic.

Then, I saw this fucking guy:

Russia’s Kereel “Your Daddy” Blumenkrants smothering my dream in its crib.

Back to the drawing board. . .

I came up with a variation on the costume and pieced it together from a goth store in The East Village, a steampunk e-store, and a website that sold dancer's tights.

What kind of music would The Marquis play?! I was never into metal, but that seemed to be what all the greats were doing. Is there some sub-genre with classical elements?
Yes, there is, and the band I decided did it best was Rhapsody of Fire. I cruised through YouTube and found my song. It’s damn near 7 min long, and my routine can only be 60 seconds.

”Help me, Nordic Thunder!"
”No problem man, I’ll make you a 60 sec edit, like it’s my own”.

Costume and track in hand, my first show would be 2012 in Boston. I chose Boston, because I was too chicken to compete against the many great air guitarists I knew would be in New York. This decision would confuse people for several years as to where I was from.
My sister flew out from Chicago to support and do my makeup. A buddy came up with me from Connecticut and we met up with another friend who lived in Boston. I had a cheering section!

Like many beginning air guitarists, I played the world’s smallest air guitar. I was pretty intimidated being up there, doing a solo performance. Also, I was pretty sure the audience could see through my tights.

Damn. I knew I could do better, but there weren’t any other shows I could make it to. The National Finals were to be held in Denver that year, and 2 nights before that, there was a Regional Competition.
That was my chance! I’d fly all the way out there, win the Regional, and make it to the National Finals!

I packed my carpet bag, and was on my way. This show seemed like it was going to be a big one. There was a large audience of primarily air guitarists. I prepared backstage, and when it was time to go on, I concealed myself in the backdrop for a surprise entrance and then. . .
I played the world’s smallest air guitar. . . again

But it was ok! The crowd cheered, the judges were drunk, and I was in first place! Whoa! Time for the second round, compulsory song. . . Billy Idol’s White Wedding rings from the PA, and all the competitors stand side-by-side listening intently.

YES! I’ve heard this song a hundred times. Too easy.
Wait, the audience is booing. They hate the song?
How do you hate Billy Idol?
Uh oh, the MC is coming back, something’s happening.

“Oh you guys don't like that one?” Former US and World Champion, Hot Lixx Hulahan asks. ”Air Traffic Control, can we get another Round 2 track?!”

A new, unfamiliar song blasts from the PA. The crowd loses their minds, and I look down the line at the other competitors. They're all smiling, and rocking out as if their performance had already started. Everyone in the venue knows this song. . . except for me.

This is NOT looking good.

I watched with dread, as each of the other competitors stepped on stage and annihilated the song.
If i was going to overcome this handicap, I’d have to pull out all the gimmicks.

What if I take off some of my clothes, before the song starts?
Yes, surely the crowd will enjoy this 20 seconds of dead air, and revel the sight of my exposed ribs.

Sometimes people spew beer, and that seems to work. . .maybe I’ll try that.
Definitely. Never mind that you’ve never practiced it, but how hard can it be?

I gave it my best shot, but it wasn’t good enough. I missed some big parts of the song, was looking at my hands most of the time and my beer spit was what one judge referred to as “a sloppy jizz” (you don’t forget a critique like that). Also, I was still playing the world's smallest air guitar.

I dropped from 1st to 4th place. I choked! My dream was squashed. I was humiliated.
An air guitarist from the audience came up to me back stage. His name was Van Dammage.

”You didn't know the song, huh?” he asked, while graciously hiding his astonishment that someone would enter an air guitar competition and not know Motörhead’s “Ace of Spades”.
”When that happens, you have to just go all out. Don’t let them know you’re lost, just go crazy.”
I’d use that advice often in the future, and am still passing it along to others.

The rest of the weekend was an experience like none other. By the next day, what happened that night on stage faded to the back of my mind. More important than my performance, I had been initiated. I now shared a bond with all these other people who’d traveled from across the country. I’d found my tribe.

We partied hard. We took a party bus on a brewery tour, sang karaoke, hung out (some chose to nap) in the breezeway of Papa Johns at 2 in the morning, and were all boldly ourselves.
This was why we were all together, and I never would have believed it until I felt it myself.

The next six years would be similar rides. Different cities visited, new friendships formed, new costumes experimented with:

Air Guitar World Championships 2016. I would finish 4th.

I had some thrilling victories, and some crushing disappointments. I would lose another close competition to “Ace of Spades”, and I would get teased relentlessly about it for 5 years, until I had an opportunity to perform it in another competition and win.

I knew I had improved significantly, but something still wasn’t working. I was missing something, and I didn’t know what.
Finally, I remembered something I’ve heard so many people repeat that now I'm not sure to whom to give credit:

A great character is simply an amplified version of yourself.
- Someone wise

It would take me a lot of different wigs, tights and makeup changes to realize that the key to discovering the Marquis was to jettison all that, and let him and Rob come together. Then everything could be natural. I was closer to the character now, thus closer to the music, to the stage, and to the audience.

Most important of all, I could be free to perform the music I most wanted to hear, and not just what fit The Marquis. A good routine has many elements, but the most vital, is that the song must speak to you. Like anything else in life, if you aren’t 100% feeling it, you won't inspire anyone.

The night I won the Air Guitar World Championship was special for a lot of reasons, and especially because many of the guides, supporters and mentors I've mentioned were there with me. Those who couldn’t be, were all sending me support in other ways.

I share this achievement with all of those special people, and will continue to pass whatever help I can offer to those starting their own journey.

But mine's not over just yet

My Air Guitar Story

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