Thirty! - or - Not Dead Yet

In the immortal words of James Earl Jones and Jack Hornor -- "Thirty!"

Hard to believe it's been three decades since the Lemmings first performance on the stage of Jesup Hall in the Fall of 1982. But all I have to do is count the rings in my gut to know it's true.

Anniversary Low Buns

On October - nay - OcTOTEber 26th and 27th, nine of the innumerable and far flung Lemmings gathered in New York City, site of our ancient proto-wanderings, for a weekend of phlegm-clearing, memory-testing, old song-singing, low buns-flinging, and man-hugging. 

Left wing

Dinner and first rehearsal was in New Jersey on Friday. Just getting the totes in one place at one time, let alone NJ, was a major accomplishment and we all basked in each other's warm embrace. 

Right wing

Lyman & Daria flew in from Chicago. Chico and Samantha drove from the Cape, Wayne and Kate from almost as far. Bruce came the furthest from LA. Charlie brought Tula and Kika. And the rest of us just materialized as though from the mists of Brigadoon. 

We sang through several songs and either the bar has dropped precipitously low or we actually sounded pretty good. I choose to believe the latter. Then Kate loaded us up with delicious chili, not worrying about any nocturnal repercussions.

Old chili farts

Saturday’s main event was in the epicenter of cool, Mark and Carole’s brownstone in Brooklyn, New York. Having the Lemmings there is a little like mixing matter and anti-matter, or like the Ghostbusters crossing streams, but nothing exploded, thank God. Thirty-or-so of our favorite friends and family joined us for a night to remember filled with music, laughter, and some kick-ass barbeque from Pies and Thighs in Williamsburg.

Too cool for words

All in all, it was the same as it ever was. Like no time has passed. We exhibited classic Lemmings behavior, like:
- Against our better judgment, we sang.

- Charlie self-choreographed every number.

- Kev rambled self-deprecatingly.

- Wayne, Mark, Lyman, Winthy, Charlie, and Paul all delivered memorable solos.

- Nobody bowed.

- Big laughs occurred where least expected.

- Goodwill and support emanated from the audience despite all shortcomings.

Lyman won't stand in your way anymore

What made it different than past gatherings:

- Chico, Winthy, and Emily Palermo all sang solo numbers with Fraser Weist at the piano.
- We weren't nervous. ("Stress-balling" no longer equals satisfaction.)

- Best venue ever! - Thank you again, Mark & Carole.

- No high buns. Didn't dare risk broken hips or furniture.

Circle of Old Totes

I asked the guys to send me their thoughts on the weekend and here's what I got.

From MARK:

That really was so much less unpleasant than it could have been. 

Any gig with more people in the audience than there are performing at one time is a good gig. This was close. 

But honestly, for pulling tunes out of storage like that, we did what I knew we could with one (sorta) rehearsal. In school, it was called "Take the B and run." ('Y'know you  *doo*  you   *doo*  you  *dooo-doo*) Factor in degree of difficulty due to missing members and it's a very respectable B+. (Remember, 'A' students are professors 'n shit; it's the Bs and Cs that run the world.)

From CHICO:

As we rode the subway back after pies and thighs (and were entertained by all the adult trick-or-treat outfits we were seeing), I thought it interesting that no one wore a costume to our fete. And then I thought wait a minute I think we did. We were a bunch of college guys dressed as we thought we'd look in 30 years. 

I thought it was most poignant when we pulled up to Kev & Katharine's house on Friday night and their lawn was covered with gravemarkers. I think my favorite moment of the weekend was Saturday morning (after we managed to sound decent at Friday's sing-through). I was going through Night and Day with Fraser while watching Kev collect the gravemarkers from the front yard before the storm. I remember thinking "hmmm we're not quite dead yet."

From PAUL:

Here's my poem:

"Licence my roving hands, and let them go
Before, behind, between, above, below.
O my America! My new-found-land,
My kingdom, safeliest when with one man manned..."

(Ok, maybe not appropriate for this situation.)

From BRUCE:

If you closed your eyes during Lem30, you experienced time travel: the same sound and feeling that we had of blending our voices together all those many years ago filled your mind. But then the incongruous comedy of opening one's eyes and seeing the same faces only as if a rogue make-up department had gotten hold of us, slapped prosthetic chins and jowls on and sprayed our hair gray (or in some cases shaved heads altogether clean). 

I think collectively we gained 87 pounds (it would be way more save for Shwaneye's svelteness) and lost 1.4 billion hairs. But amazingly the voices were still solid. No surprise in Winthy, Wayne, and Kev who sing all the time, but Paul whipped out the ol' Victrola voice with the clarity of yesteryear and Charltees landed that soft solo break near the end of "Married" with a sweetness that hushed the room.  

And some of the best moments of the night belonged not to the group but to the splinter cells and Next Gen-er's (or maybe that's because I could finally relax about not hitting an embarrassing non-note and just listen). The talent gushed from Fraser and Emily who KILLED it on Bonnie Raitt's heart-breaker "I Can't Make You Love Me."  Father Mark and daughter Em achieved radiant charm with a ukulele two-part harmony ditty. Chico and Michael each crushed solos with Fraser's strong accompaniment, and the quartet of Kev, Lyman, Paul, and Mark charmed the room with the Beatles' "I Will" (save for a comic implosion on the last little run - take 2 hit it perfectly).

But it must be said that the singing was just the excuse. The real event was the chance to see such great life-long friends and spend real time together. At about 1a on Friday night I was exhausted and headed to bed but Charlie, the Weists and Caseys were still in the living room chatting, and I thought "What am I DOING?! I don't get to stay up late with these fabulous people EVER!" and I promptly sat back down for more rambling conversation until 2. 

The only two things I can think of that WEREN'T great about the weekend are 1) it was too short, and 2) there were key Totes sorely missed. Which means we need to do it again and get that right. Sure it was a long flight both ways but I will answer a question with a question: Q -  "How far would I travel to be where you are?" A - "How long is the journey from here to a star?"

Perfectly said, as always, Bruce. Here's a little video sample of what went down. More to come in the next few weeks.

Already looking forward to #31. Until then, shut thyself.

Butter Me a Chuck

When a Lemmings birthday falls on a Totie Tuesday, we give it our full attention. Today we celebrate one of the founding Totes, our resident superhero and Mighty Mouse, the menschiest mensch in all of menschdom, the one and only Chuck Hirsch. 

For the occasion, I asked the Lemmings to complete the sentence "When I think of Chuck, I ..." 


Here are their printable responses.

"WHEN I THINK OF CHUCK, I ..."

MARK

... recall how impressed I was with him from the beginning.  Not every 20-something in a suit is able to carry off David Stockman horn rims.  

... think of his precise diction, well-suited to cutting through the acoustic vastness of Chapin Hall or the hearing room of a congressional investigative committee. 

... remember the first car phone I ever saw.

"Roscoe"

TAY

…hear him saying "Michael - Can I ask a question?"

…want to shout TEX DUCKBUTTER!!

…imagine his face as he received the Penthouse & Playboy magazine cartoons that Paul & I faxed to his secure fax machine in the Office of the Secretary of the Navy.

Entreprenooah

WAYNE

... think about co-populating.

... have an irresistible desire to highlight my part in the music. (a reference to Chuck in choral society his freshman year)

... think of having dinner with Michael Jackson and Jimmy Carter at the same time, and it's not some bizarre dream!

... keep hearing "New Jersey and you... puhrfect together!"

... wonder how we ended up being scolded for singing "My Girl" at a Women in Transportation dinner.

Tex and the Totes at Wesray party

... thank him for having the stones to suggest we open for the Beach Boys at the Wesray Xmas Party!

... see a brilliant entrepreneur, a tireless humanitarian, certainly the most well-connected man I know, a wonderfully devoted husband and father, and a man who gets skinnier with age while the rest of us, um, are headed in the opposite direction.

BILL

... feel a sudden desire to whack a colander with a tablespoon.

... recall a guy who could sell an off-color joke to the whole world on a T-shirt, but not tell one to a live audience (Humor Patrol!).

... agree wholeheartedly with his immortal sentiment, "What's the SONG?"

Baritones "r" Us

FISH

...tingle where I go pee-pee.

KEVIN

...Chuck me a butter.


...butter me a Chuck.

Harry Chuck

...imagine Harry Chapin's diary from 1978 saying, "Played Williams College today. Met my match." Click here to listen.

...put on a "Helmet."

LYMAN

…smile as I visualize him doing his distinctive swivel dance (especially great when you watch Buzz at double speed).

…wonder if he really boarded that navy submarine.

…wonder where Martha Quinn is now.

…picture him calling his buddy Paul Michael Glaser to pitch Starsky and Chuck! 

Starsky and Chuck?

PAUL

…am gobsmacked by his bravado.  He is without a doubt the least sniveling Lemming.  Who else would have the courage to leap onstage to perform with Harry Chapin?  Then again let's remember his billet-doux to Martha Quinn -- but dag blammit, at least he tried.  Certainly no other Lemming would have.  And it could have worked. He could have been Mr. Martha Quinn.

…am in awe of his freedom of motion while performing.  He is the most animated tote performer.  (Least sniveling tote, most animated tote performer -- both low benchmarks for the Lemmings but sterling achievements nonetheless.)  Of course, Charlie would be a contender for most animated but his animation has the least to do with what is going on onstage so I didn't count it.  I am envious of Chuck's joie de performance.  It is infectious.

…am impressed by his generosity and altruism.  Nobody jumps faster than Chuck when a friend is in need.

…am thunderstruck by his entrepreneurial spirit.  Chuck was an entrepreneur before I knew what one was.  And he remains one today. 

AL

…think how great it is to have him as a friend.

BRUCE

Who the hell is Chuck?

TO SUM UP:

When we think of Chuck, we smile with our hearts. He's the best friend, father, husband, mentor, baritone, helmet-wearer, butter chucking, washing machine agitator, Harry Chapin upstaging New Jerseyite named Tex we could ever hope for.

We love you, you Tote! Happy Birthday.

The 3D Dog

When do fish talk about dogs? When it's today's blog and it's guest-scribed by Andy "Fish" McElfresh. Take it away, Poisson.

Something's fishy

There was a time there when I took a lot of 3D pictures. You could say I was some kind of prescient forerunner to Avatar, but really, I was nerdy, it was super nerdy, and I loved it.

Fish pix

I got into a phase where I took tons of photos of dogs. They are just the right size to show off the hyper-real characteristic of the 3D: not so big, and not so small that they get into the parallax crossover zone.

Nerdy, see?

Future fish wife

So one day, I'm walking the streets of the Upper West Side with my then-girlfriend, and future wife, Johanna. We come across a beautiful Irish Setter, who trots right up to us, nuzzling and kowtowing for a petting, pulling his walker along by the lead. The man was a very pleasant young Asian man, and I asked him if I could take a picture of his dog.

He started laughing. "The dog?"

So I launched into a complicated explanation of how it¹s 3D, I'm into dogs, the parallax crossover zone, etc. etc. until he finally interrupts and says, "sure."

I took out the light meter, dialed the settings, and pointed the camera.

"You don¹t want me in it?" the man asked.

"Nope, just the dog." I said.

I took the picture, had it developed, carefully mounted it -- and it was awesome. It went into the coffee table box, the one with which I would bore guests on the rare occasion that someone would come over and didn't pretend to be blind in one eye.

Sorry. Had to.

A couple of months later, I went to my first Williams sing-along at the Horner¹s apartment. As soon as we came into the kitchen ("come see Mrs. Horner's purple Chicken!"), I saw the dog.

Eph foul

"I know that dog!" I said. "I have an awesome 3D picture of that dog!"

Jack Horner looked at me, and the penny dropped.

"You're the guy..." he said. And laughed.

For a moment, I was hoping that being "the guy" meant that somehow I had gained notoriety among the Manhattan intelligentsia as an avid 3D dog photographer. A paralyzing moment later, that didn't strike me as all that likely. Plus the laugh was hard to explain.

"My son-in-law told me somebody took a picture of the dog!" Now his voice had the tone that asked, "how clueless are you?"

And then I saw the refrigerator. And the nice young Asian man. And the articles proclaiming another triumphant performance. And that the nice young Asian man was none other than Yoyo Ma.

Jack's son-in-law

Now, I have an unusually large capacity for embarrassment. Whereas an Olympic speed skater, for example, has large, tree-trunk-sized thighs, I have a similar muscle, somewhere in my cerebellum, that spasms into action like it was jettisoned from the dying planet Krypton as the last hope of a race of people who are prone to extreme embarrassment. And that brain muscle came to life like Frankenstein's monster on the slab.

In other words, I was stunned.

And Jack, God bless him, just nodded and said, "you'll have to show me that picture sometime."

Thank you, Fish. Your story left me not only wanting to see the picture, but hungering for purple chicken and yearning for some Jack vocals. Here's the man himself, Yoyo's father-in-law, with Malcolm, Bill and the boys doing "I Love the Ladies." ("When I'm in London, Paris, or old Vienna....")

The Ballad of Can Man

Andy "Fish" McElfresh writes:

Here¹s a story about a little side project I did with Kevin.

I¹m not sure anyone else in the group has heard the song, and it really falls under the category of deep Lemmings trivia, but I thought about it the other day and decided to share.

The one and only Stasia

In 199_, I had just broken ties with that miserable fat man, Tim Zagat, and was freelancing at MTV. I had been brought in by Anastasia Pappas, who had worked at Zagat for a brief time before going to work across the street in Columbus Circle with Kevin on a sketch comedy/stand-up show called "Comikaze."

Anastasia has been a friend of the Lemmings over the years, but I also owe her a personal debt of gratitude, since she was always calling on me to do things that I had never done before. I created graphic elements for her, wrote scripts, painted sets, whatever. But of all the odd jobs I did for her, one stands out as having been the most fun: doing a song to accompany a little 3-minute piece she had shot for "Comikaze". And best of all, I would be doing it with Kevin Weist (I say "best of all" now, but at the time I was extremely nervous).

Do I make you nervous?

The segment was about some idiot kid who made a suit out of empty aluminum cans, which made him look like a metallic Koosh ball. He rode around on a unicycle (something I used to do before I realized I could talk to girls), and the whole thing was supposed to raise everyone¹s awareness that recycling is good.

Fish in the early 80's (reenactment)

Those of you acquainted with "Love Slave" know my fondness for Western-style ballads. They¹re great because the lines are short, and if I was to fill three verses about this jerkoff in a can suit, the lines would have to be very short.

Look what I found

Kevin, as usual, took the lump of dirt I brought him and, pretending it was clay, sculpted it into something fun and entertaining. I never realized how much I muttered when I sang, until Kevin produced this thing: his crystalline enunciation, pitch-perfect, um... pitch, and overall enthusiasm made it work.

I was very unsure of myself back then. Here I was, actually trying to pursue my dreams of being a writer and making TV, and this little project, along with my inclusion in the Lemmings, were two disproportionately large votes of confidence that gave me a momentum that I can still feel.

At its heart, it is dumb. Consider it a little bonbon from our past, one that dissolved quickly from memory, but that also came at the just the right time in my life.

Timid woodland bon bons

Click here to listen, then shut up.

p.s from Kevin. I love everything about this song. Fish's lyrics are perfection. You might have to listen twice to catch all the soda references he makes throughout. It was a blast to record, partially because we were accompanied by the great David Barnes on harmonica and Franklin "Cooler in the Shade" Micare on guitar. In fact, it's Franklin who hits that high B at the end.


p.p.s. The Lemmings crossed paths with the lovely Anastasia Pappas on one other occasion. She was the mastermind behind the promos for MTV's Winter Lodge, featuring Winthy.