Greg Smith: Behind The Scenes

                  Greg Smith:  Behind The Scenes

With Halloween almost here, I find myself excited about the prospect of portraying one of my favorite characters. 

Here is one of my most enjoyable and memorable Greg Smith pieces, though it is a lesser seen bit:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lNoOKIWlIys 

This one was not as well received as the previous Greg appearance, but to me it was as much fun to shoot and edit as anything I’ve ever done (and not just because I got to share a coffin with April Rose).  So much goes into something like this, and the behind the scenes moments are unforgettable. Sometimes the unexpected happens and in my opinion, the funniest stuff ends up on the cutting room floor. 

We set up the visit first by calling the casket store.  Bill, the gentleman who appears in the video was fine with having us come and shoot our “little sketch” there and even willing to appear in it.  We arrive, I start with my makeup, cameraman Steve Scheuer sets up and my friend Jeff Hoover cases the joint to look for what gags we might be able to pull off.  Bill is very cordial and helpful and answers all of our questions.  “How often do people come in to look at caskets?” we asked him.  “Not often” says Bill, which makes sense as this is a bit of a specialty type outlet.  He told us that at times, he would just sit there for hours and even days before someone would come in.  “They never drive over and stop in?”  “Not since I’ve been here.” Says Bill.  It’s now pretty much just and appointment only type of thing.  This made me feel better.  Imagine the feeling should some grief stricken relative of a recently deceased stop in looking for just the right coffin while I’m decked out like Bela Lugosi on a bender.

WELL GUESS WHAT??? 

I finish with probably the worst makeup job on record; I’ve got the blood on my mouth, a widow’s peak and bow tie, I slip into my cape and walk to the front.  The timing could not have been more perfect as I get to the reception desk just as a CUSTOMER enters the store.  Our eyes meet.  Nothing is said (though I did consider asking “May I help you?”) A momentary pause takes place which seems to last for an eternity.   I do the awkward move where you hold up the index finger as if to say, “just a minute” and I retreat to the back room, “Uh, Bill…you have a customer.”  Steve, Jeff, April and I all stare at each other in shock.  Nobody wants to laugh, but come on!  How nuts is this? I must admit a chuckle did escape as I tried to put a serious face on top of the ridiculous face I’d just assembled on top of my own.  Now it’s one of those moments where you know you shouldn’t laugh but the harder you try not to, the harder it becomes.  How horrible! 

The laughs subsided eventually.  I believe Bill got the sale, and I am happy to report that the customer did have a sense of humor about the whole thing.  Before he left, he asked jokingly, “Hey where did Dracula go?”  Who knows, maybe it gave him a brief moment to smile on one of the worst days of his life… And believing that makes me sleep better at night whether it’s true or not.

Despite the bump in the road, we finished the shoot.  The piece ran once, but like the creature of the night that is Greg Smith, it will live forever!!! (Thanks YouTube).

…and I’m still waiting for my commission.

The Death of a Dick!

                                When a Dick Dies                  

DING-DONG, THE DICK IS DEAD! Moammar Gadhafi has been taken down!  Long time coming, right? Kick ass!!!  I am thrilled not only to learn that he’s dead, but to see that people can put death in perspective and view things case by case.  Death isn’t always a sad thing, and we aren’t obligated to feel anything but what we naturally feel.

When it was reported back in May that Osama Bin Laden was tracked down and killed, it was the first time I’d ever observed elation over a death.  I was thrilled that he was dead, and I was even happier to discover that people were not hiding their joy.  People generally feel obligated to show some sort of reverence when somebody bites it.  Everyone speaks of what a wonderful person he or she was; how this person was always there to lend a hand, always joyful and full of spirit.  It always made me think, “What happens when a dick dies?”  You never see the TV interview where neighbors take turns at the TV microphone, “You know, no one around here particularly cared much for Gary.”  Gary was a prick! I surely hated that Gary!  Gary will not be missed around here.  Gary stole my horseshoes!  Yes, when the history of Gary is written, it will be well documented that Gary was a cock.”

You’ve heard the phrase a million times, “Why do bad things only happen to good people?”  The answer is simple.  Because bad things CAN only happen to good people.  If it happened to a dick, it wouldn’t be a bad thing, now would it?  “Say did you hear about Hitler’s Jet Ski accident?  They’re not sure if he’ll make it.”  Say, let’s have a luau!

“Well, they executed Gacy last night.”  Seriously?  See if you can find my pointy hat from New Year’s Eve! 

“Boy that was a tough break for Stalin, having that cerebral hemorrhage and all.”  Yeah, I was thinking the same thing.  Throw on some Kool and the Gang!

I’m not saying we should wish death on anyone for any old reason.  We really shouldn’t secretly long for the painful demise of the guy who hit on your girlfriend at that wedding reception back in ‘97.  It’s not particularly rational to wish to end the life of the gal at Arby's who wouldn’t honor your expired coupon.  And it’s a bit much to anxiously await the day that you can urinate on the grave of the asshole driver who “wouldn’t let you over”

But we certainly don’t have to feel any false sense of respect for someone who deserves none.  Bad things CAN only happen to good people, and when they do, it sucks!  Far too many decent human beings are taken away long before their time. But dicks die, too!

Maybe I’m a bad guy for even mentioning this.  Maybe I’m going to hell for even bringing it up.  But, as my friend Jim Higgins used to say, “It’s not like I’m not going to know anybody.”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eIAo-iFbVe4 

Song Assassin! The Last Song.

Edward Bear was a Toronto based Canadian pop-rock group, formed originally in 1966 by Larry Evoy and Craig Hemming.  Their band name is derived from A.A. Milne's Winnie the Pooh, whose "proper" name is Edward Bear.
The band had its biggest hit in 1972, when "Last Song" charted at #1 in Canada and peaked at #3 in the U.S. Billboard Hot 100.^[1] It was awarded a gold disc in March 1973 for selling over one million copies by the Recording Industry Association of America.

"The Last Song" is a tale of obsession, stalkery, and stupidity.

Here's the video:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z1ievU49zAs 

The Last Song

Did you know I go to sleep and
Leave the lights on?  Sissy!
Hoping you'd come by and know
that I was home and still awake

Just a couple of lines into the song and we

Can already see that this guy is pathetic.
But two years go by and still my light's on

Really?  Two things:  1. how many years do you

suppose will have to pass for him to realize what

we have in two lines of a song? Did he say at the beginning, "Ok, I'll give this thing two years and then we'll see where we're at." And 2.  Does he jump in and change the light bulb every time it burns out, or is he some kind of  modern day Edison who has developed the everlasting bulb?  What happens if the bulb burns out after he’s fallen asleep with it still on?  What if the person he is so creepily obsessed with happens to pass by during that short window of time where the bulb has burned out and Edward Bear has nodded off.  That person would then feel as though Edward Bear no longer cares.  This would be a tragedy.

This is hard for me to say but it is all that I can take

Had enough, have you?  What was the deal breaker?

It's the last song I'll ever write for you

Is this to imply that you have written others?  What

were those called?  “The first song?”  Perhaps “Here’s

another Song,” maybe “Time to change the light bulb” or who could forget, “Are you listening to any of my fucking songs?”
It's the last time that I'll tell you just how much I really care  Hey listen, Edward…That would be great!
This is the last song I'll ever sing for you

Again, much appreciated.  It’s not that I don’t dig your vocal stylings, it’s just that my kids are a little weirded out.
You'll come looking for the light
And it won't be there Edward, do you really

think she’ll come looking for the light?  Really?

Come on man, I would think that after TWO YEARS

it’s pretty well determined that this electric vigil you keep referring to bears no significance to your prey.

But I love you. Do you really?
Oh yes I do. Really?
Yes I do

All the times that I spent waiting
wondering where you are.  You know, I could

Probably find the number of a decent therapist.

Always knew the time would come
When I would start to wonder why

And you figured this time would come somewhere

around the two year mark?
Now the time is here
I don't know where you are

Thank God for that.
So I'll write you one more song
But it's the last time that I'll try

That’s what you said last time, when you

wrote that ballad about changing the light

bulb.

Repeat chours:

It's the last song I'll ever write for you
It's the last time that I'll tell you
Just how much I really care
This is the last song I'll ever sing for you
You'll come looking for the light
And it won't be there
But I love you
Oh yes I do
Yes I do

It's the last song I'll ever write for you
It's the last song I'll ever write for you
It's the last song I'll ever write for you
It's the last song I'll ever write for you

If this song was written as some sort of joke,

as a way to mock some loser, then hat’s off

to Edward Bear!  I mean, after all, naming your

band after Winnie The Pooh, is kind of funny.  Who knows, maybe there’s a lost recording out there of

Sebastion Cabot reading this classic.  If not, there certainly should be.  My initial thought though, is if there had been a movie written about this song back in 1972, it would have ended with Susan Blakely, Linda Purl, or Karen Valentine getting murdered.  Or perhaps with Martin Sheen sticking a gun in his mouth.