skot AT izzlepfaff DOT com
Monday, 11 August
Up Dawson's Creek
Posts have been scanty lately, for which I apologize; work has been kind of crazy, and then I've been trying to plan for tonight's experiment with doing The Match Game. We had a dry run on Saturday with us playing a mock game, and it went pretty well; my friend K. is playing Betty White, and it was pretty startling to hear her respond to a question by perkily answering, "Well, Gene, I said 'snatch'!" When in doubt, go for the blue material.
And then there's me: Richard Dawson. As I have mentioned before, I don't really look anything like him, nor sound like him (not that he's terribly noisy these days). So I worry, but it should be okay: I've got a black turtleneck, a brown sportsjacket, and an awful gold necklace, so all that's left is to affect an artful mixture of somnolence and pussyhound smarm. No problem! But that's not to say I didn't try some sartorial fuckarounds first.
First, I'm blond. Richard had brown hair. So I looked for some of that temporary-color hairspray, but found none at the two drugstores I looked, and therefore concluded that this exhaustive two-stop search was hopeless, and gave up on that. Then I figured if I wet my hair and shoved a ton of gel into it, it would darken my hair right up. So I bought some gel; the brand name was "Consort," which made me feel kind of dirty, but then I remembered that I was supposed to be Richard Dawson, and that the vaguely icky idea of "Consort in my hair" might help my character development, much like the three gin and tonics I plan on having.
Second, I remembered that for a long time, Mr. Dawson sported a creepy, bedgraggled mustache for a long time. Since I hate shaving anyway, I had already a faceful of whiskers last night, so I shaved everything off except the mustache. Perfect: I looked like Robert Redford in The Sting but without the handsomeness. Then I wet down my hair and toweled it. Now I looked like Robert Duvall in Tender Mercies but without the Ellen Barkin. I dumped an unholy wad of Consort in my hair, and massaged it around; it felt like consomme. Then I combed out my hair and arranged it into what I imagined to be a Dawsonesque coif.
It was a spectacularly ghastly failure. (It probably didn't help in that I can barely maneuver my hair into an acceptable shape on any given day anyway.) My hair was indeed darker, but it had a strange evil sheen to it, and it seemed to grip my skull like some terrible, starving mollusk. It also seemed to highlight, rather than de-emphasize, my gruesome mustache, and as I stared at myself, I realized that resembled nothing so much as a child molestor. I had a vague urge to go register with the authorities.
"I need to register as a sex offender."
"Yes, I can see that. Sign here."
Off came the mustache; out came the gel. It hardly matters: I'll be sitting next to a drag queen playing Fannie Flagg who will be wearing a sweater with a fried-egg pattern. Nobody is likely to give me a second glance.
Note: Comments are closed on old entries.
Oh, God. Please tell me someone is taping this for net broadcast, re-sale on video - or maybe a travelling road show version!
(ps - wouldn't a 'beauty supply' shop have some temporary Richard Dawson hair darkener? Ask for it by name!)
Where is this show happening?
Have you done your research?
I had to look up "Richard Dawson" to figure out who he was ... and got a blast of unwelcome memories. Oh THAT guy. What a choice role -- have fun!
OMG, I damn near fell of my chair imagining the slicked back hair and crusty mustache... Please get someone to tape this and rip it to the net for all of us who can't make it out to see!
As long as you got the sportjacket and a big gold pinky ring, you're all set. Smarm away, Izzle Pfaff, smarm away!
(god, I'd love to see that. Why can't you do all this crazy stuff on the East Coast??)
I think you need to take Match Game on the road.
Post a comment