I finally decided to catch up with the times, so I bought a DVD burner. It was a discontinued model, bare-bones and inexpensive, but it does what it's supposed to do, in my case transferring videotapes with permanent cobwebs onto a more durable medium. Or at least a flatter one.
But archiving for posterity has sort of a dusty feel to it. Surely there was something creative I could do with this technology. Hmm?
Oh, yeah. I could make you watch it.
From the summer of 1983, the summer I got married, one of two summers I sang for my supper, entertaining RV parksters who wore amazing shorts with dress shoes up thar in the hills of northern Arizona. I'll be clipping and editing to my heart's content for the foreseeable future, but this was my first grab, a little faux barbershop from the boys. I'm the one with the beard (the one who sings first).
In 1979, when I was spending 20 minutes a night on stage at The Comedy Store in Westwood and the rest of the time wondering why I wasn't funnier, I got pretty familiar with the competition. That was, for me, anybody who did impressions. I kept my ears open, in other words.
And I kept hearing about this guy named Kevin, up north in the Bay area.
This would be Kevin Pollack, who's turned his stand-up act into a nice acting career, but I still love to hear him do voices. A couple of months ago I happened to turn on Letterman (how come nobody told me it was Impressionists Week?) and caught the end of Kevin's act, when he pretty successfully channeled Christopher Walken.
Everybody does Walken, but this one you gotta see. Stay for the end.
