Today was ridiculous.  I copped a ride from a kid wearing a life preserver, and we went back in time to the 1930s.  All the Mexicans were having a wedding, at which my great-grandfather was scheduled to perform.  I bought a serape and a large hat and hid out with my camera, waiting for a chance to film the famous performer about whom I had heard many legendary tales.

The show started off pretty good, with my great-grandfather's band playing some Tex-Mex favorites for the guests.  People were dancing, and my great-grandmother stole the show by twirling around in a large white dress during the 2nd verse of "Certain Stratospheres."  Everybody was pretty excited to see my great-grandfather.  Including me.

So what does he do, the legendary singer?  He shows up super-loaded, riding on a donkey he can barely balance on, performing by far the worst lip-synching routine of all time.  It was the most ridiculous entrance I have ever seen.  I have never been a Judas Priest fan, but I remember hearing back in the day that Rob Halford would make his entrance on a motorcycle.  This was like that, except way less cool.  

My great-grandfather's donkey slowly ambled onstage, carrying the besotted legend to his mark.  The mule came to a halt, and my great-grandfather made an ass of himself trying to look cool while disembarking from the beast.  He failed spectacularly.  The bridge of the song began, and my great-grandfather almost fell over like 5 times while making no attempt whatsoever to even try to match his lips to the dialogue coming from the loudspeakers.  It was the worst lip-synching I have ever seen.

Amazingly, my great-grandmother was enchanted with the staggering buffoon, and even her friends seemed to think he was a catch.  Their looks of excitement were hard to believe.  What could have possibly pushed them into a state of such unwarranted enthrallment?  Maybe he was rich, or generously endowed with a deep understanding of Nietzschean philosophy.  I couldn't figure it out.  I wanted to go up to her and shout, "Great-grandma!  Look!  He can barely stand up!  How do you think he's going to provide for a family?"  But I couldn't blow my cover.  I had to remain anonymous, since the style of my footwear wouldn't be invented for at least another 20 or 30 years.  If I approached her, she would look at me and immediately know I was her kid, somewhere down the line. 

I found myself engaged in a grimacing wince of epicurean proportions as my great-grandfather released an absurd monotone howl during the last chorus, which is loaded with syntax and syllabic complexity.  But did he even try to match his mouth to the sound of the words coming from the loudspeaker?  Not even a little.  He actually howled, making a long, high-pitched sound like a suicidal wolf, as the lyrics rolled over him like a stampede of horses.  The internal rhyme was totally lost.  It was disgraceful.

To make it even worse, instead of punctuating the lyrics with the shape of the words coming out of the loudspeaker, he accented them with several pathetic attempts to remain upright, barely standing, like a puppet trying to resist being tossed into the corner of a barn.  His body jolted in time in a transparent attempt to appear as though he was really into it, when it was obvious he was well nigh to falling on his face.  The audience was clearly amused by this embarrassing display, and they applauded before the song was even over, to encourage him to finish his performance, thereby putting him out of his misery.

Amazingly, my great-grandmother was still really into him.  She salvaged the performance (and his honor) by dancing through the final strains of music, ending with a graceful bow, blowing kisses to the audience, and exiting stage right.  Not only did she continue to allow my great-grandfather to court her, but she also inexplicably married the bumbling goon.  Maybe he saved the town from gangsters or something, and everybody was being gracious because they knew at heart he was a hero.  Maybe it was the only time he had ever been drunk, and everybody was cool with it, because they loved him so much.

I couldn't tell, and since there was no reason to attempt to communicate with the patriarch while he was in the middle of an obvious blackout, I signaled my sailor kid with the weird car and we came back to the dystopian future, where I have spliced the footage into a workable semblance of a cool show.  I didn't put any filters on it or adjust the settings of the sun in any way; the past really looks like that.  Everything is all grainy and washed-out.  I did apply a Black & White filter, to give the footage an old-school appearance and some desperately-needed romance and mystique.

Thanks for watching.