Radio Free Missouri Part 3

January 27, 2010 at 3:29 PM | Posted in Journal | Leave a comment
  I wanted to make sure I could find the "venue" for the live event–  this little city hall.  I drove there, and they let me in to look at it when I explained who I was.  Hmmm.  Okay.  I can work with this.  Outlets over here, table here–okay.  I left.  This was noonishor after, and I went home and laid down for about an hour.  I got up at 2pm.  Time to go.  The plan is:
  200-leave to pick up the girls
  300-get there, pick them up, and drive back (its about a one-hour drive)
  400-get home, pack up van, practice a bit. 
  500-leave to go to place
  530-get there, set up, practice
  700-event would start  who knows exactly when after that we go on.
  Afterward, I have the two hour drive to bring them back and then go home.  I was looking at a long night, but I didn’t even think about that part yet.  I was focused on the show.
 
  I roll into Troy and give my daughter a call when I’m a few minutes from her house.  She said she would call the other girls.  A few minutes later, as I’m about two blocks from her, she calls back.
  None of the other girls are around.  It’s just her.
  What?  Jesus Christ!  Fuck me.
  She explained.  Jessica, the 18 year old, is out of control.  Her dad had to kick her out–again.  She either went to her mom’s in Columbia Missouri, or to somewhere in Southern Missouri to stay with a grandparent or great grandparent.  Someone who wasn’t tired of her shit yet.  Jessica needs to live somewhere with rules, and she needs to be beaten until she follows the rules.  This is my analysis, and I stand by it.
  Samantha, who is 13, decided to go live with her mother.  In the middle of the school year?  What kind of shit is that?  Who does that?   Who lets their kids do that?  Becca, one of the friends, they don’t talk to anymore (it had been four days–young teen girls are volatile.)  And she had an infection in her nose from a recent piercing.
   But we did track Dollinee down, and Catherine.  Okay.  Before we did that, however, I talked to my other son’s girlfriend, Nyssa.  She is a singer, and I had wanted her to do this before but wasn’t sure how to ask.  Being in dire straits allowed me to ask.  She said, "Sure."  By now, it’s 330.
  And she made Mitchell come to.  We went to school where my daughter Melissa was working, because she would have the video camera with her.  Except, she didn’t.  It’s at her house.  Okay.  I’m looking at the clock, and its 345.  We go pick up the other two girls, then go to Melissa’s house to get the camera.  Okay.  Basically 400.
  We drive.  The girls practice in the van.  Nyssa and Miranda sound good, but I can’t hear the other two dunces all the way in the back.  They won’t speak up or sing louder.  We get to the house about 500.  Mitchell helps me load the PA equipment.  Mitchell was leery, I know, of coming to my house.  This is the first time–first time since I lived in the apartment and I had him help me unload when I moved in.  In hindsight, maybe not good.  But Alex wasn’t there–the source of his mistrust.  Brandon popped his head in, God knows why.  None of this was his business.  Mitchell gave a funny look.  I wanted to tell him, "Yeah, we don’t like him either."
  Detroit wants to not go–we all fit exactly in the van without her, and she has other excuses.  Fine…but she’s going to owe me.  She weighed escaping several hours of boredom and discomfort against the few minutes it would cost her to escape it, and agreed.  So I have that going for me, which is nice.
  We bolted.  It’s now about 515.  Shit-fucker-damn-damn.  We arrive before six, and no one is there.  Well, okay then.  It looks locked.  Well.  Okay.  Then–we drive around to the other side, which is the police station.  Listen, this is the city hall/police station in a semi-affluent community in the suburbs of St Louis.  I go into the police station and it looks…closed.  I walk around and find my way up some stairs and into an area that looks familiar.  There’s the door to the outside.  It’s not locked.  The place is wide open.
  I go back, get the van, move it back up, and we go in.

  Lou shows up, as does Suzan.  Lou and my son set up the sound and video.  Nyssa practices the sound, and Miranda more or less behaves.  Dollinee and Catherine, however–and I’ve a feeling it was all Dollinee–can’t just sit quietly and brood in a typical teen bored fashion.  No, they have to run around, be annoying, get yelled at, and then get sensitive and pouty and full of attitude and not want to sing. 
  Luckily I don’t have 114 other things that I’m trying to do.  I get them straightened out and calmed down, and I get them to get in front of the mic for a soundcheck.  Barely.  They don’t want to do it because they’re embarrassed, and are nervous about singing in front of people.  Jesus.  They’re in the choir.  And they agreed to do this.  Jesus.
  Charm and charisma got me where I am–I get the girls to cooperate.  We are set, and people start to arrive.
  The "event"–as it were–is a local Republican Club meeting.  The have a few speakers on some notes, and then a guest speaker about the Fair Tax, and then us, as entertainment.  That’s what the program says.
  The first several speakers weren’t supposed to number that many or go on that long.  Suzan, who is actually *in*to the whole political thing, leaned over to me at one point and whispered, "Oh, my God–this is boring."
  "Really?  Good.  I thought it was just me."
  It started at 700pm.  It was after 8–and running late–before we got on.  Oh boy.
  I swear I don’t know what I’m doing sometimes.  Audacity, always audacity.  I just winged it, dove right in, and went for it.  So to speak.
  I guess overall, the show was very…okay.  It certainly wasn’t great by any stretch of the imagination.  But it wasn’t completely horrible.  I didn’t have groupies clinging onto me when it was over, I know that.  That’s how you measure a performance.
  The songs went well.  The first one better than the second.  The audience laughed and enjoyed them.  I wonder how the audio is.  We’ll find out.  (Haven’t heard it yet.)  Nyssa told me she got some very nice compliments later from the audience, both about their singing and the lyrics.  Hey, I wrote those!  Well, good on me.
  But since we went up late, we cut a few things out.  And we were reading from our scripts, kinda.  It was a little sloppy.  I kept my eye on a woman in the front row who had the MILF appeal.  She liked the show, she thought it was good.  Not good enough to want to meet me after the show, though.  It’s a fine line. 
  Since I had my eye on her, I didn’t notice what Suzan told me about later–a bunch of people got up and left throughout the show.  At first it didn’t phase me, and then I was upset about it, and I’m back to where it doesn’t phase me again.  As I say on the website for the show:  we’re not for everyone.  Chances are, we’re not for you.
  My audience is not 120 year old Republicans.  Actually, right now my audience is non-existent.  But who I’m going after are younger to middle aged people who may be on the fence about things.  I want to persuade with humor and sarcasm.  And shock.  I want to say things that are shocking enough to make you think new ways about things.  That’s all I want.
  But groupies would be nice too.

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