Image: Pennsylvania Renaissance Faire

My Real Memoir

I had the worst employer ever: Me. My micro-career in directing musicals for dance studios had produced exactly nada buckaroos, and my micro-career in producing rock bands had resulted in precisely zilcharooney. My dad, who’d handed me my previous “real job” on a silicon platter, groaned every time I hatched a new self-employment scheme. And so I finally saw the handwriting on the wall: I needed to work harder…at avoiding my dad.

Meanwhile, I’d hatched another scheme: since I was a Renaissance man (in my mind anyway), a jack-of-all-arts, why not make it official? I would assemble a theatre group and we’d audition for L.A.’s upcoming Renaissance Pleasure Faire! I’d taught myself to play the recorder (the quintessential Renaissance flute), did a mean Shakespearean actor impression (“Zounds, milady, I wot not what thou sayest!”), and looked downright dashing in tights (seven years of paperboying had given me beefy legs).

And I had the perfect play. In college I’d discovered a short 15^th century comedy called The Farce of Pierre Pathelin. My new hit-and-run street theatre group would perform this hilarious little farce in various locations throughout the fest! I toyed with calling it Shakespeare-On-a-Stick, but finally settled on The Right Pithee Players, “Right” meaning “downright” and “Pithee” (“pithy”) meaning “quick and clever!” However, auditions were in two weeks, so we’d have to move fast!

Like an explorer with a flag, I found an empty room at the Student Center of my old college and claimed it. We’d need five actors to do the play. Only two showed up, although both were terrific: Mary, who had infallible radar for locating people’s funny bones; and Carly, who shared my love of the absurd—we’d once dressed as a priest and a nun, and strolled arm-in-arm down Hollywood Boulevard, pausing frequently to make out.

My old high school art teacher DJ agreed to create our costumes, and as a bonus brought us another actor, Melissa, whose coquettish teasing perfectly complimented our mix. Still, we didn’t have enough actors to do the play. So we threw together a pantomime about an inept queen (Mary) who accidentally beheads a man she’s trying to knight, and another about God’s first bungled efforts at making the world. Then we memorized a couple of simple recorder quartets.

We auditioned for the Faire on the day the Watergate Scandal broke. Bad portent? Maybe. Unlike other Renaissance fests, L.A.’s Ren-Faire was a notorious stickler for authenticity. Hence, our playfully anachronistic pantomimes were deemed “funny but inaccurate” (e.g. God using a garden hose to fill the Earth’s oceans).

Disheartened, we took a break. We would eventually find new opportunities, but only after a lot more work. Meanwhile, there was something else that demanded my attention. My relationship with my father had sunk to an all-time low, and was about take…

A completely unforeseen turn.

My Real Memoir is a series. To read the next one, click here.