Ran into a former co-worker at Live Theatre Workshop on Friday. She said I needed to post more on the blog and I had no idea what she was talking about. The sweet thing persisted with the compliment and I realized she must be one of this site’s estimated audience of 27.
So I call up mscotskinner.com and, sure as shit, I haven’t “published” in two months and that’s bad, mmkay?
But being underemployed for two years is worse. It’s a constant battle to get anything done when you’ve got too much time to do it. How true it is that if you need something done, ask the busiest person you know.
Busy for me was a dentist appointment and a bike ride to Sonic on the same day. But that changed almost two months ago when I started two new things at once: Teaching Journalism 101 at Pima Community College and writing reviews for the Tucson Weekly.
With any luck, I will get more done this way. It’s not like there’s nothing to write about. If I would have had less time on my hands, I would have written about Linda Ronstadt’s Parkinson’s diagnosis or “The Bridge” or the new crop of crazy people killing it in popular culture and elsewhere.
“The Breaking Bad” finale would have prompted me to tell you about watching the “Seinfeld” finale at sea 15 years ago. The show about nothing ended on a cruise to nowhere (Well, Ensenada — same thing) that took a dark turn when a new pal was raped by a fellow dinner mate. The fat fuck who assaulted Cynthia (and got away with it) looked like Newman, and I have pictures to prove it.
But, like I said, who has time to write when you have nothing but time? Happily, I have less of it these days. Classes to teach, plays to see (oooh, déjà vu), stories to write — and that’s not all, folks.
The NFL is not going to watch itself, and if an underemployed father of none can’t keep up with his New Yorker subscription, well, that’s just sad.
The play that brought me to LTW was “Souvenir,” subtitled “A Fantasia on the Life of Florence Foster Jenkins.” It’s about a delusional socialite who found fame as a soprano in the 1930s and ’40s despite or because of the fact that she was a horrendous singer. One critic said she sounded like “a turkey getting gang-raped.”
We know how that would sound because we know how a turkey sounds. But what about the fox? What does the fox say?
I bring this up because the video of “The Fox,” a song intended to be a bomb, has more than 115 million views on YouTube. Is this because it’s a good song or, like the divine Mrs. Jenkins, are people flocking to the fox fantasia because it’s soooo wonderfully bad?
I bet that millions of us just want to live in a world where the fox says wa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pow! or, you know, jacha-chacha-chacha-chow!
Members of Ylvis, the Norwegian comedy troupe responsible for “The Fox,” are flabbergasted that something meant to entertain an estimated 27 Scandinavians for a few minutes has become so massively popular.
And massive, my friends, is a massive understatement. The video had 115 million views last night. It’s up to 122 million tonight.