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Posted: |
Jun 21, 2018 - 2:30 PM
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By: |
Howard L
(Member)
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Editor’s Note: The following was originally posted on the ersatz-original FSMessageboard on March 4, 2000 shortly before the latter went kablooey. Part 2 was posted in May on the MovieMusic.com website to where many of this board’s frequenters had migrated. Part 1 is being resurrected here in conjunction with and eventual insertion into the “Question for Goldsmith Detroit 2000 attendees…” thread alongside Part 2. See that thread for context –HL
*******************************************************************
(Note to H Rocco:
H, you bloody little genius muse! The other evening I took a walk through several typical suburban neighborhoods (you’ve seen ‘em) where the streetlights and huge spreading oaks swathed in Spanish moss (you haven’t seen ‘em) cast evil shadows down upon this solo journeyman who couldn’t get Gershwin’s “Sleepless Night” out of his mind’s ear the whole way. Unreal. Here’s to the origins of gods and monsters in the creative mind.
Sub-note to Messrs. Wedge & Hatfield:
Y’all’re in on it, too; Kinsinger’s a given.)
***
Whom can you turn to
For prompt diagnoses?
A fet-ish or fantasy,
Sex or psychosis?
No problem at all,
Let us handle your call
ON OUR SHOW! ON OUR SHOW!
WEDGE: Hey, I know what that is!
CHRIS KINSINGER: Uh, excuse me, but that doesn’t sound like “Two for the Road.”
HOWARD L: Oops, went too far. Let me hit the rewind.
CHRIS: There goes the mood. I’ll be thinking of us and a Winnebago the rest of the way.
WEDGE (singing): “She’s such a groovy lady, she makes my heart go hidey-hadey…”
CHRIS: The nail in the coffin.
HOWARD (pointing to Wedge, who’s behind the wheel): Don’t pick on Da Man!
WEDGE: Who’s da man?
HOWARD: No, who’s on first. You da man, da man wit’ da contacts!
CHRIS: That’s right, contacts are everything!
HOWARD: You said you had contacts and you did have contacts, and now THE MAN’s got reading material for the red-eye back to the West Coast.
WEDGE: Contacts?
HOWARD: You da man!
CHRIS: Contacts are everything.
SHAUN: Then why haven’t they fixed the damn Messageboard yet?
CHRIS (protesting): I haven’t seen any improvement and it’s been six months!
SHAUN: For one solid half a year they have been sitting there. A whole half a year, doing NOTHING!
HOWARD: Mr. Dickinson, Mr. Rutherford has truly arrived.
CHRIS a/k/a DICKINSON: Amen!
H ROCCO: Feels like we’ve become outcasts or something.
CHRIS: Kendall’s stepchildren.
HOWARD: Yeah, and that makes him Parmen.
CHRIS: And us a bunch of Alexanders.
H ROCCO, WEDGE & SHAUN: Huh?
HOWARD: ‘S from an old Star Trek episode. Before your time.
WEDGE: Before my time, that’s for sure.
HOWARD: Don’t talk like dat if you wanna stay Da Man.
CHRIS: He was great as Miguelito Loveless.
HOWARD: How about Mr. Big in Get Smart!
H ROCCO: Oh, I get it, that midget or dwarf or whatever he was.
CHRIS: Michael Dunn. And Ship Of Fools!
HOWARD (ruminating): Ship Of Fools. Alexander. Oh man, I always wanted to be like Alexander.
CHRIS: A faux Greek midget?
HOWARD (snapping out of it): No! Wisenheimer. (turns to Rocco, and--) You ever hear of The Cocktail Party?
H ROCCO: Wasn’t that on Broadway recently?
HOWARD: You’re thinking of The Cocktail Hour. This one’s The Cocktail Party.
H ROCCO: Then…no.
HOWARD: It was a play by T. S. Eliot.
H ROCCO: The poet, as in “The Wasteland”?
HOWARD: Yeah. It was a play written in verse, if you can believe that. Sometime in the late 40s. Starred Alec Guinness.
SHAUN: “Help me Obi Wan…”
HOWARD (rolling his eyes): Yeah. Before all our time. Anyway, there was this neat guy Alexander who—omigosh—he was always working behind the scenes, setting things up, being helpful. A British guy, reminds me of a Noel Coward-type, maybe even Gil Chesterton  --
WEDGE and CHRIS: (laughing)
HOWARD: Chris, who was that guy who played Uncle Max in Sound Of Music?
CHRIS: Oh I know who you mean! Oh I can see him. Rats.
HOWARD: Yeah, that’s it, just like Uncle Max. Anyway, it’s a story about all these folks rallying around a friend who’s been hit hard by something...I can’t remember…whatever. Alec Guinness was the doctor or psychiatrist. It was a beautiful play. But this guy Alexander, at the end they’re gonna ship their poor friend to the States to pick up the pieces of his life and the play closes with Alexander saying,
“Hmmmmmm. I do have my contacts in California…”
H ROCCO: So?
HOWARD: I dunno. Just came to me all of a sudden.
CHRIS: Contacts are everything. You’re nothing without contacts.
SHAUN (to H ROCCO): You think that’s good you had to see this Templeton thing to believe it—
HOWARD (interrupting and shifting gears): Quick, Dickinson, what was Lumpy’s father’s name in Leave It To Beaver?
CHRIS: Oh wait—wait. Damn, I can see the guy, he was played by Richard Deacon!
HOWARD: “Shut up, Mel! Shut up, Mel!”
SHAUN (to H ROCCO): See what I mean?!
HOWARD: His daughter was Violet, Theodore’s girlfriend.
CHRIS: I know it, I know, shut up, Howard!
WEDGE: Shut up Howard?
HOWARD (pointing at Shaun): Who’s him?
CHRIS (exasperated): Rutherford. FRED Rutherford.
HOWARD: Jane—er, joan would have known that without any help.
WEDGE: How about 3rd Rock, they live in Rutherford!
SHAUN: Et tu, Takis?!
HOWARD: Extra credit! Touche`, Wedge.
H ROCCO: That’s also a town in New Jersey.
HOWARD: 10-4, Rocco! Giants Stadium’s in East Rutherford. Only dry town left in the whole state, last I heard. And You-Know-Who’s buried under the 48-yeard line!
CHRIS (a la Danny DeVito): Hoffa?! You want me to walk out on Jimmy Hoffa?!
HOWARD: He WAS da man!
CHRIS: Contacts. You ain’t nothing without contacts.
(As Howard has turned up the volume—to Bert Kaempfert’s “Danke Schoen”, the European recording—H Rocco taps Chris, and—)
H ROCCO (voice lowered so no one else can hear): I thought you didn’t like the idea of going up to Canada.
CHRIS: I still don’t, but he said he was going whether I came or we came or not. Figured I might as well do it then.
H ROCCO: I’m with you but I’m also with him. I mean, sure, nobody wants to re-open old wounds or anything.
CHRIS: You should know.
H ROCCO: Yeah but sometimes you just gotta say what the f—
CHRIS (interrupting): I know.
(Cut to the rear as the vehicle heads North; fade out.)
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