Thursday, February 20, 2020

12,573. RUDIMENTS, pt. 969

RUDIMENTS, pt. 969
(comedy night on fright lane)
You know how sometimes
a reporter is said to have a
nose for news; possessing
that quality of knowing that
what is before them right
then does somehow throw
off an odor worth investigating.
 so as to lead into something
else? Snooping and disclosure?
That doesn't really get said
these days any longer, now
that internet and other forums
just swarm over most events,
newsworthy or not, and turn
them into fodder for the mobs
of jeering fools tuned in. But,
back in the old days, there
really was that quality of
what I've just mentioned, There
were 'agents' working for stars
and those wishing to be so,
who would plant stories, and
push them  -  placements into
newspaper gossip columns and
cocktail rumor mills were a
big deal. That's all gone now too
and that entire old, felt-covered
world has been buried with the
last stiff who went down with
a typewriter in the casket. But
at one time it really was a deal
to learn that Sherman Billingsley
(owner of The Stork Club)
was offered a few million bucks
by Ethel Merman to leave his
wife and kids and run off with
her. Scandal of scandals, that!
That part of the world has died
down now, and that stuff is all
done  -  I think, as all the varied
parts of the world progressed, it
probably happened everywhere.
What was over for Billingsley in
the nineteen forties was probably,
in the nineties just happening
in some small, weird-ass African
country somewhere  -  same sort
of deal; in some fancy Accra dive
some Afro-journalist was probably
sitting around writing down all
the local scandal of their scene,
as he saw it  -  'M'Bata Ogarke was
seen with Accra starlet Homaza
Watata at El Botundo's last night,
snuggling up to each other!'
Like personal development'and
societal growth everywhere, it's
all going on around the world
in different stages, and all at
once.
-
I've found that if you treat
everything as if it's some big
dumb event, it ends up that
nothing is important at all
because is actually isn't. A
person just ends up making fun
of it all. That was one of the things
that once drew me to comedy,
or the performed irony of
comedy - as performed when all
you're really doing is pointing
out the foibles and foolishness
other people  - the ones all around
you. Most of the indoor venues
one would go to, in NYC, were
so loud you couldn't think anyway,
but at least the comedy clubs were
silent to the extent that they let
the guy on stage talk  -  since that
was the reason they were there,
the audience. And if I had anything
to do with it they were there to to
get their comeuppance due. The
older, business types, with younger
girls  - office girls or secretaries, I
always figured, they were the worst.
Back in those days most everyone
dressed really ugly anyway, so it
was easy to spot the disparities of
good taste and oafish lust. Office
lust? Expense account list? One
thing always about mid and lower
level business types is the way they
dress and carry themselves. Back
then, a lot of these guys, without even
thinking twice about it, were wearing
clothes, I think called 'doubleknit,'
which was a 1970's fake fabric of
woven chemical strands and the
most outlandishly stupid colors 
and patterns. The pants it seemed
almost stood up by themselves.
Jackets and pastel shirts, and
really bad ties  -  all that was carried
upon middle-aged, misshapen
office-bodies that would just
make you laugh. A real 1970's,
ghoulish laugh. You just know
this creep had some over-annuated 
barnyard hen at home, with probably 
3 kids already, and with a fake excuse 
about the 'office' deadlines, and the
piled-up work. Instead of going 
home this Popeye of the fantasy 
world is out picking pockets 
with some half-framed bimbo in 
a 9-inch skirt and heels she 
probably got at K-Mart. Her 
clothing apparently battled the 
same enemy (and lost) that his did. 
So, they come in, they always come 
in. He's teaching her to drink, 
almost pretending he's her daddy. 
It's apparent a hundred tables away  
-  so, ignore that? No way; go right 
at them. 'OK, grandpa! why don't 
you warm her up? The frankfurters 
here are real good I'm told! What
is it she's drinking? Isn't that the 
same glass I saw you put those 
drops in? Oh, yeah, that's right, 
health supplements. Hey, you know 
why old men become astronauts 
and go to the moon? That's right, 
sweetie, they can't get it up
themselves. They need that 
free-float outer-space stuff. Now 
why don't you just stand up and 
tell that nice man goodbye  -  
and I'll fill you in on a secret. 
He was here last Weds. with 
your Mom! Oh, yeah, she's a 
gasser too. She came in with
him, and was carrying an 
astronaut suit! For later, I guess. 
Hey, gramps, she work in your 
office? Yeah, yeah, I know, 
but do you?'
-
Anyway, that's how you got 
them started; in ten minutes 
they're way into it all and the
greasy crowd is laughing too. 
The owner, he's happy because 
people are buying drinks. New 
York's weird like that  -  The 
Village Gate, I went there a long 
time ago, to see something, a sort 
of Negro Blues/Musical Revue, 
called 'Ma Rainey's Black Bottom.' 
It was OK, it was funny, it was 
live, and lively too. I think it was
like 15 bucks each at the door, 
and then we get in there and it 
says there's also a 3-drink minimum, 
per person. By that time, you're 
already in and it's too late, so you 
figure, OK, three beers won't kill 
me. Then you see they're $8.50 
each and the girl you brought in 
only drinks that mixed vodka 
and cranberry stuff and those 
are $11.95 each. And all that's
just for the drinks. Wow, if I wasn't 
prepared for carrying wads of cash, 
when I had them, this all could
have ended me up, easily, in jail...
or washing dishes. I never knew 
if they really did that, but it was 
always in cartoons and old skits 
and things about the guy who
can't pay for his dinner getting 
thrown into the rear and having 
to wash dishes for like 19 days. 
I figured, instead, maybe I could 
just go backstage, get some
blackface on, and do comedy 
for a half hour, get them rolling 
in the aisles and buying a ton 
of crap and then I'd be square, 
and then I'd be invited back too!
-
And then I get up and head for 
the bathroom, and damn there's 
a guy in there shooting up, and 
he's all spaced and he falls over 
and this freaking needle's still
in his arm. So I go out the back 
door, for air, leaving him to die 
or puke or recover, and half the 
kitchen staff is out there too, 
getting high, smoking up the 
courtyard. Jeez! Ma Rainey's 
Black and Blue Bottom's more 
like it, this place is giving me a
real beating. My friend Dave is 
back at the table with the girl I'd 
brought, so I tell him about the 
guy in the rest room, and he gets 
up to go see. Later he told me 
he just wanted to see what he 
could steal. The guy was still 
there, and he hand-rolled him 
over looking for a wallet, but 
there was none, and he wasn't 
sure about purity of the shit
the guy had, obviously, so he 
didn't take that either. By that 
time, the break was over and
the show had started again so 
we kept quiet. But I never 
knew what happened, or how
it ended up.
-
The whole Ma Rainey show 
rolled on but I felt it had gotten 
away from any true premise of 
old blues and even if Ma Rainey 
and just turned into musical and
floor show antics. Everyone on the
stage was all jumping and happy,
all of a sudden, not bluesy or sad 
at all. The Ma Rainey lady was 
pretty huge, with breasts the size 
of states and a rump to park a boat 
at too, but maybe that was some 
character presentation that was 
true to life? I wondered how 
downtrodden slaves and 
house-keeps and all could ever 
have gotten so fat? Slavery had 
always confused me. Mama's
little pickaninny? You keep someone
as property,' in paltry conditions
of enforced slavery, and then you
entrust them with your helpless
2-week old infants for care?
And they say infant mortality
was high? Ever hear of a
disgruntled revenge?




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