Karl Klockars

We now break in to normally scheduled sporadic posting of pseudo-news-columns to bring you something that’s more “look-at-me” than normal.  The editors regret all of it and wouldn’t put together a thousand words on it if we had anything better to do.  But we don’t, and it’s nearly the holidays, so eff it.

In what I do, sometimes I have the opportunity to meet people that I otherwise would never get to speak with.  More often than not, they’re people I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about.  Random stand-up comedian, random pontificating talking head, random nobody television person with a nothing show to promote.  Who cares.

But then sometimes we get people into work that absolutely blow my freaking mind.  Nothing like Paul McCartney or the Pope or Tony Bourdain or anything.  But yesterday, we had the guys from Mystery Science Theater 3000 in the building and I almost piddled my little pants.

See, when I was a kid, I discovered MST3K right around the time when you’re really starting to develop what kind of humor you’re going to like.  It’s a big decision, like deciding to like AC/DC over MC Hammer and whether you’re going to be a basketball kid or a track kid.  It’s the decision to dive into Monty Python and Weird Al records over My Two Dads and Major Dad.

When I found out that the guys (who are in town promoting something called “Cinematic Titanic,” basically MST3K 2.0 without goofy robots) were going to be around, I jumped on the email machine and hit up the appropriate powers that be.  May I, oh may I, discuss a great and many dork-topics with the king of my particular dork world?

Yes, yes you may, they said.  Here’s one of their cellphone numbers.  Do with it what you will.  (Which means:  Call at 2pm on Thursday afternoon and then promptly lose it.)  And this, I did.  Call them, that is.  Not lose the number.  I’ve still got it.  You know, if you want it or something.  For a price.

And we spoke.  I was expecting only to speak with the main guy, Joel.  And then more voices from my past start filing into his hotel room where they’re rehearsing for that night’s performance.  Not the least of these is the voice of one Mr. Crow T. Robot.  I told him “hi.”

Allow me to take a moment to defend myself and my fandorkism – I’ve spoken with enough so-called “famous” people at this time that it really takes some serious business to get me to get nervous.  During the course of this discussion, there was no cracking of the voice, there was no quavering, there was no fumbling with questions or commentary.  Nothing like that.  Just a couple of guys hanging out, talking to each other in a terribly forced, uncomfortable manner.  Okay.  Now, moving on.

This is where dreams get destroyed.  Thanks to the magic of cell-phone technology, during the course of the conversation, my name to these people that I’ve enjoyed for over a decade and a half – now have decided that my name is “Barl.”  It went a little bit like this:

Joel (talking to someone else coming into the room):  “Hey, we’re on the phone with…what’s your name again?”

Me:  “Karl.”

Joel, undergoing cellphone problems:  “—-arl?  Right?”

Me:  “Um, yeah.”

Joel:  “Okay, we’re doing an interview with Barl.  Come on in!”

I am none of those blips.

I don’t know what “Barl” is.  “K” doesn’t sound like a “B” on the other side of a cellphone, does it?  Could they have just been thinking Christmas-sy and thinking about Burl Ives?  It doesn’t make any sense.  But I didn’t feel like it was important enough to correct them – I’m the stupid nobody writer guy, and they’re the people behind Mystery Science Theater 3000.  I’m not even a blip on the radar.  Who cares about me.

So if you see me and want to get immediately under my skin, feel free to come up to me and ask: “We’re talking with who?  Barl?”  Yeah, that’s me.

To add insult to injury, we were out at the show one of the nights this weekend, and while it was pretty great seeing these people live and in the flesh…I hate to say this.  But it didn’t exactly work.  And certainly not for the grand price of $35 bucks.

It was as if someone came to Rembrandt and said, “You know, you do real good on canvas and using all those dark colors – why don’t we have you start doing some frescoes using only pastels?  It’ll work just the same, right?  You’re a talented guy.”  Some things work only within the constraints of the media in which they’re best known.  TV things work on TV.  Taking 5 guys and sticking them in front of a screen…it just didn’t fly.

Maybe that’s my revenge.  My small little hunk of peace for fanboy soul:  I may have been misheard and called a goofy name by someone who I adored as a kid.  But I didn’t have to stand around for 90 minutes with a stage show that didn’t translate into a live performance.  So there.

I’d have been happy with the box office reciepts though.  That kinda tempers my revenge a little bit.  Life’s not fair, I guess.