"...My bandages were ripped through to their bloody torn-flesh centers..."
Days and Nights of Molly Dodd Mother's Day Marathon, May 8, 2001
The man on the street stuff was easy. One of us- the director, Neil, or the producer, Michelle, or the
talent, (me!) - would stop a person, most often a woman, in the street and ask her if she wanted to be on tv. Many declined- (two because they had already been on tv recently), but every once in a while someone would say what the hell to herself and step up to the mic.
Neil dangled my questions, written with Sharpy pens on large white cardboard, next to the camera and I'd roll through them, looking for weird answers and riff opportunities. These little spots will run between episodes of The Days and Nights of Molly Dodd, which is being shown for 24 straight hours on MetroChannel on Mother's Day. I am your host.
The bumpers were a pain in the ass.
"Welcome back to the Days and Nights of Molly Dodd Mother's Day Marathon," read the white cardboard.
"Welcome back to the Days and Nights of Molly Dodd Mother's Day Marathon," I said too quickly.
"Great, one more time," said Meil. In show business, you country bumpkins may not know, one more time means ten to twenty more times.
"Welcome back to the Molly Dodd Mother's Fuck!"
"Ok, one more time."
"Welcome back to the Days and Nights of Molly's Dodd Fuck."
"Ok, and again."
"Hi, Welcome. Welcome. Welcome. Welcome back to the Days and Nights of Molly Dodd's Mothers Day's Marathon. Fuck."
"You're on a roll."
"Welcome back to the Days and Nights of Molly Dodd Mother's Day Marathon, Welcome back to the Days and Nights of Molly Dodd Mother's Day Marathon, Welcome back to the Days and Nights of Molly Dodd Mother's Day Marathon, Welcome back to the Days and Nights of Molly Dodd Mother's Day Marathon."
"Plane," shouted Chris, the sound guy. Chris would shout plane, bus or train everytime I did something right. That meant the take couldn't be used. Whenever I said something wrong, the transportation industry was nowhere in site.
The night before, my friend the genius Bernadette Pauley came over and we pow-wowed for two hours at a Starbucks. We came up with jokes and potential riffs. If I were to ask a "vic," as Niel called any woman who allowed us to interview her, if she had a good relationship with her mother and the vic were to reply that her mother was dead, I would say, "I'll take that as a no." Of course, when this actually happened, I said I was sorry and gaved the vic a hug. I am so weak.
My feet were bandaged because it's springtime, and I have to break in the clogs. (Once I build up the appropriate scar tissue and callouses, the clogs are my favorite summertime shoes.) At the end of the day, I could barely walk. My bandages were ripped through to their bloody torn-flesh centers.
The play starts up again this week, with one of the lead roles re-cast (giving actress/comedian Vanessa Hollingshead just two weeks to memorize the whole play). This change is related to the glorious cast fight that left a tranvestite dumbstruck, (you know it's high drama when a transvestite can't speak), and I'm looking forward to seeing how everything changes with a new, different energy.
On Saturday Gennady and I had a huge fight (no cast changes yet) and made up with a pillow fight. It's a fight comics always have with their loved ones and it usually starts when the non-comic asks the comic if they are going to be out all night
again and isn't it possible to cancel a show to stay home and watch tv. Yes to question one and no to question two. I did offer to book a night with Gennady in mid-June and he did not appreciate my sacrifice.
And now back to my regularly scheduled life. Too much coding, not enough writing and never enough performing.
