The Full Monty

Five or six years ago Springfield Little Theatre decided to put on a production of "The Full Monty".  If you don't know the story, it's about a bunch of middle-aged guys struggling in blue collar jobs who answer an ad to become male strippers and end up getting hired and that's about all I remember.  I saw the movie once and it was made in England and the actors have those really heavy British working-class accents and they mumble a lot.  I spent the whole movie asking Carmen "what'd he say?".  The parts I understood were really funny.

Everyone in our family, but me, has been involved in SLT for a lot of years.  My older girls were in "Alice in Wonderland", Carmen has had a couple of bit parts in shows whose names I can't remember and Reagan has been in "Aristocats" and "Willie Wonka".  It's a great place.  Most of the people are like we are, they have kids who aspire to be the next Brad Pitt or Angelina Jolene or whatever her name is, or they view acting as a hobby and this is a place where they can get some experience.  Some of the folks are pretty serious about the productions and the arts (pronounced "ahhts" if you're one of them) and I don't really meld with them too well.  They view me as a backwoods farm boy, which, of course, is what I am.  So, when the tryouts for the Full Monty came along, I hatched a plan to try to loosen those folks up a bit by trying out, in the way only someone from Marionville could.

My plan was to get up on stage at the tryouts and sing one of my KTTS Ranchhand redneck cowboy songs, by one of the "outlaw" entertainers who wrote it to thumb his nose at Nashville.  It had to be dead serious and AWFUL.  As it got closer to tryout time my plan kept getting more and more random, and I began to grow concerned that this could have some long term ramifications that might be damaging to my reputation (what little I have left).  But a little voice in the back of my head kept egging me on.

The day for tryouts came.  I went to the historic and hallowed Landers Theatre in my work clothes and went up to the sign-up table.  No one there knew who I was and they were looking me over pretty close when I filled out the application.  As it ended up I would be the 12th person to perform.  I went up to the third floor of the building to get ready.

To try out, you needed sheet music to a two minute song you would perform.  You'd hand it to the piano player, she'd play it and you'd sing.  That's how they determined who'd get the parts.  I had a little different plan.  I had brought my acoustic guitar, my cowboy hat and a pair of "Garfield the Cat" boxer shorts that the kids had bought me as a joke for Christmas.  Since The Full Monty involved the topic of nudity, I figured I might as well be proactive on getting down to business.  I took off my shirt, took my pants off and put on the Garfield boxer shorts, put on my big work boots with black socks, grabbed my guitar and headed down to the lobby.  I hid in the back on the left side and waited for them to call my name.

Most of the tryouts weren't going well.  The piano player had trouble getting with the singers, there was no opportunity for any prior rehearsals.  So, not all the numbers were that good.  And they were SERIOUS!  I remember a well-dressed lady in high heels singing "I Could Have Danced All Night".  I thought this was supposed to be a COMEDY!  At this point I'm starting to think I've lost my mind.  This could be something that will go down in history as the stupidest thing ever attempted, my family may be blacklisted from ever performing at SLT again.  The arts community may have an annual celebration on this day to remember the time the guy from Marionville made a fool of himself.  This is all running through my head when it dawns on me...I don't care.

They call my name.  Everyone to this point has been coming down the right side of the theatre to get to the stage.  I'm coming down the left side.  I hesitate...they call my name again.  And here I go.  A nearly 50 year old guy ambling down the aisle with no shirt, very well-defined farmer tan, un-buffed, Garfield boxer shorts, work boots, a very out-of-style cowboy hat, sunglasses and a guitar.  There are big time gasps as several are concerned a homeless flasher has made his way in, then real nervous laughter.  I get up on the stage and view the audience.  I have their attention.

I glance at the piano player who has the look of someone who has seen an alien being.  Her mouth is open so wide the bottom part is resting on her keyboard.  I can tell by her body language she'd like to turn and run out the exit but she can't.  I tell her "I got my gee-tar" indicating I won't be needing her services.  She holds her hands out in front of her as to say "go for it" and I can see she's real relieved she won't be going down with my ship, whatever it is. 

I had spent all of ten minutes practicing the song beforehand.  It's the last part of "You Never Even Called Me By My Name" by David Alan Coe, the perfect country and western song.  I figure if it's bad, that'll be good, cause I want it to be bad.  It only has four chords, so I don't see that I can mess it up too much.  I strum the G chord and start to sing.  At that point I realize, I'm really, really nervous.  I'm sweating profusely, and my throat has tightened up and the first sound out of my mouth didn't exactly sound like singing.  It more resembled a dying animal hung in an electric fence, like a bobcat or a raccoon, an other-worldly shriek in a key not definable.  I'm thinking, this will not go well if I don't get SOME sound out.  I stop, collect myself and start over...and out it comes, the PERFECT country and western song...

I was drunk the day my mom got out of prison,

So I went to pick her up in the rain.

But before I could get to the station in my pickup truck...

She got runned over by a d----- old train...

Now the crowd's into it.  They realize it's a joke and that I'm nuts and they're clapping in unison to my tune.  The rest of the song goes flying out of my vocal cords...not in tune, but close enough for what it is.  I finish, they applaud wildly, I've made my statement.  I walk triumphantly to the back of the theatre, go upstairs, put my clothes back on and leave, never looking back.  Here's the crazy thing...I MADE THE CALLBACKS!  I had a chance to be in the play, but I never went back.  I really don't have time to do something like that, it's really not my thing.  But I did make the first cut.  I'm attaching the list of the call back people just to prove it happened.  A promising acting career cut short...

CALLBACK LIST
The Full Monty

Men—7:00 p.m.

Adam Smith Adam Sullivan Allen Grymes Andy Morrow Brandon Atkins Brett Herrman Brian Cain Chris Knox Chuck Rogers David DePriest Derrick DeVonne King

Doug Cannon Jeff Jenkins Justin Klinge Michael Lee Mike Wiles Ryan King Stephen Ehrlich Steve Yates Terry Luxton Tim Stoke

Don't ever loan me your video...

This was actually supposed to be a joke and it now has 2176 views on You Tube.  We're all down at the farm and neighbor Kelli loans me her new "Vado", some kind of portable high-def video player.  If you ever let me play with your camera/video, I feel it is my duty as a Marionvillian to record something bizarre and then give it back to you without saying anything for you to enjoy later.  In my younger days some of these surprises were somewhat "unspeakable".  Anyway, this is what I thought of to record that day and it ends up on You Tube.  Most of the real FFA purists regard the creed with much reverance, and don't get any humor from this, only one or two have noticed I left out an entire verse.  I'm only posting because my book on blogging says you need video and this is all I have...so far.

Follow Yourself

Well, now that I'm in Day 2 of my education about Blogging, I find out that you acquire "Followers" which gives this whole thing a creepy cyber cult-like feel.  I guess if I had 5-million followers, General Mills would take note and ask me to promote their new breakfast drink and start sending me money so I could set at home and come up with new, hilarious comedy and never get out of my pajamas. 

After eight hours of having a Blog, I have one follower, my cousin Beth.  Seven people have visited my blog, six said "don't think so!", but cousin Beth threw her hat in the ring as my first follower and for that I am forever grateful (if you knew cousin Beth you'd understand, if my humor is out in left field, hers is in the upper deck, whatever that means). 

Here's the deal, Cousin Beth.  In order for me to get massive numbers of followers, you're going to have to contact five million of your friends and ask them to join.  They don't have to actually do anything, we're just after numbers here.  Jessa has said she'll take care of closing the General Mills deal.  We'll be rich beyond our wildest dreams and you'll be rich with the satisfaction of knowing that you've blessed me and my dear family.  Get to work...hurry.

In the meantime, I'm going to become a follower of myself.  If this were a Star Trek-The Next Generation episode, that would send me through the time-space continuum to the point where Spock and Kirk met Pickard and Data.  I'll let you know what happens...ahead Jessa, warp factor one.

Welcome

Well, it's Christmas 2010 and I just received a gift from my nephew Reece, "Blogging for Dummies" and I'm on page 26.  Friends have been telling me I need a Blog for about a year because of my mildly-amusing posts on Facebook.  So, armed with info in the book and with the help of daughter Jessa, the template is set up and I'm off and running blogging like a bunny stoked on pure opium heroin.  Trouble is, I'm not sure what I'm doing or who can or will read it. 

I get a kick out of satirical writing and always have.  This will sound bizarre, but I write stuff, and then I read it back and it makes me laugh, the uncontrollable, groin-pulling laughter that you generally only get when you go to a show in Brainson, Missouri.  So, I'm tickled to share it with the rest of the world, and if it brings joy to your life, then you're probably as weird as I am and in dire need of professional counseling or incarcerated, or both.

If you want to know where my crazy humor comes from, it's a combination of Mad magazine, Lewis Grizzard, Dave Barry and the prophet Ezekiel.  I just copied the best parts of their stuff and run with it, hopefully once in a while I come up with something that makes you laugh so much you have to go see a Chiropractor. 

Well, gotta end the first Blog.  I guess as I read through my "Dummy" book I'll figure out how to load pictures and videos, make friends, get comments, or do whatever you do with a blog, just like I did with "My Space" (or was it "My Face"?) and Facebook.  And, by the time I figure it all out, I know everyone will have moved on to the next "thing" in the cyber world.   Good night everyone!