Music School Dropout

Friday night was the second-last performance of Grease. After the show, the cast, band and crew retreated to the Green Room for copious amounts of alcohol, and a special event called "skit night".

Skit night is an opportunity for members of the cast and crew to poke a little fun at themselves. It was a great way for us to unwind and have a few good laughs. There was also special thank-yous and awards given out to a few special people who put in an exceptional amount of heart, dedication and time to make Grease such a success. Yours truly even got a special gift: A T-shirt with the Grease logo on it, signed by the directors and all the members of the cast. I nearly cried.

The band members were a little sluggish in putting together a skit. It seemed that they were more interested in conjuring up some pranks to be delivered on the evening of the final performance. One of the saxophone players suggested we could do a parody of Beauty School Dropout -- aptly entitled Music School Dropout. Some members pondered the possibility of doing such a performance on skit night, but little action was taken.

I ended up spending one late night working on my own rendition of Music School Dropout. Time constraints prevented me from producing a fully workable piece of literature, but it was enough to show the guys in the band the next night. They loved it.

To just sing a song is a bit of a half-baked performance of a skit. We needed a gimmick that would make the performance memorable. The other sax player appeared Friday night with some costumes. We quickly changed prior to our performance. The guys were wearing horrific dresses that even Dame Edna would not be caught dead wearing. They also sported jester hats complete with jingles. They looked terrible, but my costume was worse.

Spandex. About three sizes too small. It was a one-piece body suit that looked like fifteen turkeys had to be destroyed to make it. I looked like an acrobat who had no idea what color-coordination was. The suit was so tight that it left nothing to the imagination; my twig and two berries could be easily identified -- from across the room.

We sought refuge backstage for a few moments before making our entrance to the green room. While ducking behind stacked chairs, old props, music stands and scrap pieces of wood, the performers found some props -- paint rollers. I have no idea why they chose those items over anything else, but at this point I was more worried if Mr. Happy was going to make a surprise appearance while I was in front of everyone singing this little number.

Upon entering the green room, we were met by laughter of unsurpassed volume. They were of course, laughing at our outrageous costumes. I climbed the makeshift stage, and explained that we (the band) were jealous that they (the cast) got to do all the singing, and we did not. So, this was the band's turn to sing a little number. The lyrics are displayed below:

Music School Dropout
(To be sung to the tune: Beauty School Dropout)

Your story's sad to tell,
A talent ne'er do well,
Most messed-up alcoholic at the bar!
Your vision's so unclear now,
You're even out of beer now,
Can't even get a trade-in on your guitar!

Music school dropout,
No gold record here for thee,
Music school dropout,
Missed your scales and flunked harmony!
Well at least you could have taken time, to wash and clean
your clothes up,
After spending all that dough to have the cocaine burn your nose up!

Baby get grooving,
Why keep your feeble hopes alive?
Where are your groupies?
You've got the dream but not the drive.

If you go for your diploma, you could join a Broadway show.
Turn down your guitar amp and go back to rock school!

Music school dropout,
Hanging around the music store.
Music school dropout,
It's about time you wrote a score.

Well they couldn't teach you anything,
You think you're such a looker,
But now you're poor as dirt and you can't afford a hooker!

Buddy don't sweat it,
No musician can hold a job.
Better forget it,
Even your girlfriend thinks you're a slob!

Now your guitar is tuned, your band is swooned, the
world is yours to rule,
Wipe off that distressed face and go back to rock school!

Buddy you blew it,
You put my good advice to shame.
Buddy you knew it,
Kalan Porter would say the same!

Now I've drank my shot; I've smoked my pot, and now I'm really high,
Gonna be singing: 'scuse me while I kiss the sky!

Not just laughter; mass hysteria. My backup singers were "painting" my body with the paint rollers amidst my performance. Every line I sang erupted in ear-shattering laughter, hoots, hollers, and whistles. People were wiping tears from their eyes from laughing so hard. And all I could think of (besides my manhood) was how I didn't think my song parody deserved the response it received.

After the performance and the standing ovation, we quickly retired to the dressing room to put on some less-flattering clothing.

Oh yes, there were numbers camera bulb flashes during the performance. I fully expect that these pictures of me will wind up on the web sooner or later.