So, I'm doin' a show recently a few Sundays back. For those of you who know it - and all of you should - it's the Big, Bad Wolf show. We're at the Minnesota Renaissance Festival on Labor Day weekend, and the seats are filled to the max. That's been happening a lot for our 2:15 after the parade show, but this is the fullest it's been thus far. I can see close friends all around and a few in the back that I'd like to meet, but haven't had the chance yet. No, the "trampie-blondes" , as they were later nicknamed at the rated "R" show - wouldn't make themselves known to us until that 5:15 Swordfighting and Stupidity show, and I wanted to talk about something else anyway.
So, we're rockin' and rollin' through this show. The crowd is howling along with us, and there is nothing that we can do in the way of "wrong". Scaramouch has whipped them into a frenzy while D'Angelo tantalized them with his subtle, more laid-back sense of humor and those amazing eyes of his - I believe they were green that day (no, really). Me? I just bounce around and contort my face into funny expressions of wow, aren't my brothers -Â way cool?
Anywho, we get into the story - you know the one. Wolf meets girls, girls fight over Wolf, Twins get the hottie. Yeah, that's the one. It's an age-old story that's been passed down through the generations since about the mid 1990's. All is going well, nigh onto hunky-dory, when all of the sudden"BAM!"D'Angelo makes his pick, and the woman he has chosen for the part of Red Riding Hood is three sheets to the wind.
Now, this is nothing that you the audience pick up on. Since she is an elderly lady, it's harder to detect such behavior in her unless you're up close and personal - like we were, like I was going to be for most of the show. Intoxication is different when you're viewing one of us. We're expected to make drunken asses of ourselves in public - we're only young to middle-aged. More than that, we're Tortugas! But when you're farther away from the subject, and the subject in question happens to be someone in their mid 60's on up. Well they just appear a tad bit off, eccentric even. You see, to you she just seems a little weird and squirrelly. Maybe she's nervous on stage; perhaps it's a bit of Vaudeville coming out from her younger years. But for us it's comedy hell.
Now, I know that some of you might be thinking that I'm being a little harsh on the poor woman - she was, after all, having a good time - but that's not the way it is. You see, I haven't mentioned her name, hell, I don't even know who she is. And don't worry; I'll be turning the tables around on me looking bad in just a second or two.
Did I happen to mention that the first thing she said to D'Angelo after he picked her was, "We came here to get shit-faced." Well, duh!
How does this pertain to me and my personal comedic performance, you ask? Well, sit on back and let me explain a little som'n-som'n about myself.
My memory is a fun and elusive prankster. Which is a nicer way of saying that it is a fickle bitch. I can be speaking to someone, ask their name, and then forget it again before the conversation is through. I've done this many times. I've probably done this to you sweetheart. And yet I can tell you who played Urko in the 1970's television version of Planet of the Apes. It was. It was mmmm now, let me think. It was Mark Lenard, you big dorks! Believe me, I knew that one. He is the same Mark Lenard who played Spock's father in the Star Trek series and had a momentary role in the Mission Impossible series I think. (Actually, I'm not too sure about that last one.)
So, my memory is "iffy" at best. And it's not because I'm not paying attention or uninterested. No, no, no, it's more fun than that. Think of it more as information flat lining. What I mean by that is that is that I take in all the info, but my brain takes its own sweet time in processing it. So, if you shove too much stuff my way at once, or throw in some kind of sparkly distraction, I tend to lose that which I should be retaining. Want to make it worse? Put me on the spot or place me under undue pressure. Info gone, just like that. It's the worst at introduction time. Hell, I've even forgotten Jef's name before. "This is "Sally", and this is the guy that I work with! Yes, this is an actual, if not paraphrased, quote. Sigh!
Some call it ADD; when I was younger it was hyperactivity. Whatever. The only reason I'm putting a label on it here is so e can share some common ground of understanding and get on with the damn story. Being diagnosed with hyperactivity was fun - especially growing up with it in the 60's and 70's. That's right, I spent my childhood downing Ritalin and Dexedrine chasers with my morning breakfast. And you wonder what the building blocks for your basic Tortuga are. Well, look no further - it's just better living through chemicals. Okay, I'm done with the tangent now. Sorry.
I had another realization about my memory and the way I remember my lines recently after that Big, Bad Wolf show. It's as if I have a "line angel" standing behind or to the side of me. Just before I'm supposed I'm supposed to say my next line, she steps up and whispers it into my ear. A lovely analogy unless you take into account that a myriad of things can happen while up on that stage. If there happens to be a loud noise or some similar distraction, and I can't hear my "line angel". Or say that I'm thinking hard on something else - or about someone else -and I'm not paying attention to my "line angel". Even worse, say that I'm concentrating so hard on the line itself  because I've forgotten it before - that I'm not listening to my "line angel" and misspeak the line or not hear it at all over my own loud thinking. Well, you get the idea. Anywho, any of that stuff happens and whappo! I've lost the line.
So, what does all of this have to do with Red Riding Hood and her alcoholic antics? Let's just say that I allowed myself to become distracted. What was worse was that I knew that the big empty space where my line should have been was coming. I searched and search in the vain hope that it would come to me, that perhaps muscle memory would cause my mouth to form in the shape of words that I could not remember. (What a really weird feeling, and it's happened like that before.) But this time nuthin . So, I got to watch myself flop and twitch until I stepped out in front of God and everyone and officially lost my line. I believe I even said, "I lost it."
Yup! Nothing better than having your mouth run dry while close to 1,000 people get to watch you make an ass of yourself. But, that's the story, and I hope you've enjoyed it. Don't worry; there is a happy ending. Since this had happened before, Scaramouche and D'Angelo were able to guide me out of the comedy quagmire that I had stepped into. Everything went fine after that, and later on I got to rant and rave - not only here, but on D'Angelo's digital camera as well. If you're nice, maybe we'll show it to you sometime. Now you go and have yourselves a nice day. Me, I need a drink!
Ciao! And good night to you, whoever you are. Don't look at me, I can't remember. ; )
