Hot air balloons inspire a sense of childlike wonder in Shannon Ryan. Albuquerque’s Balloon Fiesta has been on her bucket list for nearly a decade. Currently living part-time in New Mexico's balloon capital for a travel nurse contract, attending the 2023 edition was a no-brainer. And because her enthusiasm is contagious, I couldn't resist joining her for the adventure. Serendipitously, I booked a singing telegram there mere days before “balloonatics” would converge en masse.
Betty aka Mechante (French for “naughty”) was the telegram recipient. She was celebrating an impressive milestone – ninety years on this sphere. When one of the senders – a French enthusiast named Jimmie – celebrated her own fiftieth, Betty performed a French chicken routine at the party. As a callback to that skit, I assembled my own French chicken look for Betty's bday gram. No, it's not a mascot-style chicken suit. But the hodgepodge styling adds to the comedy of the bit, and keeping my face exposed is better for both singing and expression.
Delivery day involved performing in two different states in the same twenty-four hour period. I rocked a midday party in Parker (Colorado), flew to Albuquerque mid-afternoon and Lyfted to Betty's garage - my staging area for the evening’s surprise. The moment of truth had arrived. I sauntered into Betty's living room with my six-string and rocked my way through tunes including “The Naughty Lady of Shady Lane” and “Older Women,” Ronnie McDowell's ode to experienced lovers. Then I performed “Spring Chicks are Overrated,” a poem Jimmie composed for the occasion, and clucked an onomatopoeia version of “Happy Birthday.”
”Spring Chicks are Overrated” (An Excerpt)
Spring chicks are overrated -
give me a lusty hen
whose feathers still get ruffled,
though she’s molted now and then
Her wattles may be sagging
and need a tiny tuck
But, frankly, if they’re dragging,
she doesn’t give a cluck
Poem: Jimmie Brown
Image: Lee Higbie
Gratitude: Shannon Ryan & Poppa Peel
Meet Moose Knuckles. Moose recently roasted an Aspen, CO resident named Chris. Chris is a [mostly unsuccessful] hunter, armchair recording artist (at best) and investor of family Coke money. At the request of his longtime buddy, I penned a musical roast to the tune of “Baby It's Cold Outside,” a song Chris once passably covered with duet partner Annalisa Bone (his single-use recording alias was Matador). Moose is sporting a multi-colored coat, a mini harmonica and a target on his chest to illustrate the lyrical jab I made about Chris's hilarious lack of hunting success.
“A meditating, multi-colored coat clad, harmonica-playing, target-wearing moose and you'd still miss!”
In case there was any question, Chris, I'm never going home with you.
It's been 438,000 hours and 18,250 days
Since his birth, I did the math, hey hey hey hey
Hot-wired golf carts when he was teen aged
With co-conspirators, hey hey hey hey
Abandoned carts once the joyrides were done
In the lake, pool and elevator
Delinquents were whisked off to a prison
but they were just visiting with Scared Straight
(an at-risk youth program)
No one, Booster, no one compares 2 u
Secret Oktober was the boy band
that he was a member of
They were not the best band in the land
But warmed up Salt N Pepa once (push it, push it real good!)
'You're My Only Lover' was their tune
There are only two chords
I could have penned this to it but you
Y'all would've been so bored, bored, bored
Not a d!ckhead, but was a deckhand
For a big @$$ antique ship
Was in entourage of a gay man
Said gay Brit was rich
Booster busked in London for six months
Was he turning tricks?
In Italy, Booster lived with monks
Killing goats, but celibate? Imagine it...celibate?!
(On a related note, Stephinity may be the only gal here he hasn't slept with)
Learned Kung Fu that Bruce Lee invented
A black belt in masturbation?
Still fathered two boys, but killed one kid
The lactose allergic one
Booster fed a Cheeto to said kid
(to be fair, who knew Cheetos contained bona fide cheese?)
Medics revived his son
Ice cream, in his kid's eye, Booster dripped
Son looked like an alien, alien, alien
(If Booster ever teaches Parenting 101, warn EVERYONE you know to steer clear)
The mushroom chocolates in the icebox
Loki ate a few
When, daily, Booster was smoking pot
Didn't notice his son was too
Five bucks, to a kid, that is a lot
So sand, Loki consumed
Liam and Loki were sparring off
Spoken: Booster gave up trying to stop 'em, said, 'Just don't kill him dude'
This one time at Burning Man, this fucking guy
This guy fucked a dolphin (don't ask me)
Swore brownies were micro-dosed just right
Made partygoers sick
Litter boxes won't do for this guy
In toilets, his cat shits
Once drew a face on his bare behind
Smoked a lit cigarette with it – LIT, LIT
Cinnamon Swallowsworth is his drag name
Looks good in a dress
There's a meme with his doppelganger
It says, 'Your pussy is wet'
Fantasizes about becoming mist
And being inhaled by a lady
Caite, she calls Booster her little bitch
Bat calls him Shaman Shady
“Nipples in the Sand” - that's the name of the song I was hired to sing yesterday. It's a ditty that was concocted by the intended bday gram recipient and her sister (my customer) when they were kids. The intended recipient is the lead prosecutor at a Colorado courthouse. Her sister (the customer) hoped to surprise / embarrass / make her sibling laugh. She requested a risque costume, so I suggested a stripper cop look – a ballsy move (even for me) considering the venue. Courthouse security staff were unsurprisingly inquisitive when I arrived in cosplay cop garb with my guitar and music stand in hand. But they hesitantly let me in the lobby and called the target recipient down. I launched into the opening line of “Nipples in the Sand” when she appeared: “Walking down the beach one stormy day...” Probably anticipating the approaching, potentially mortifying hook, she shut me down with the quickness. “Thank you. You're great. I'm sure my sister put you up to this, but you can go now.” For the rest of you, here's how the song climaxes:)
“Nipples in the Sand”
Walking down the beach one stormy day
saw a little orange thing and had to say
Nipples in the sand
Nipples in the sand
In lieu of a full IRL delivery, I filmed a rendition of the tune for the customer. She apologized for her sister's rudeness, including this insightful gem: “Maybe she's still traumatized by the dildo I sent to her work.”
My friends and I attended a bona fide live show last Tuesday night. Crazy, right? The pandemic has gutted the 2020 concert season, but a handful of artists are doing drive-in movie theater tours and “Loop Daddy” Marc Rebillet is among them. For those not in the proverbial loop, Rebillet employs a loop station, keyboard and microphone to improvise beats and songs on the fly. He built his audience via YouTube videos and live streaming in silk robes. Tuesday was night two of Rebillet's two night stand at Fort Collins' Holiday Twin Drive-In. We had originally planned to attend night one (Monday), but one of my singing telegram customers was adamant about having me perform for a 21st birthday in Boulder that night. So I bought tickets for night two to make both feasible.
The Boulder birthday girl's name was Ingrid. Her friends allegedly call her “Ingy the Flamingy.” So the customer asked me if I'd rent a flamingo costume (as that wasn't something that was already in my arsenal). Denver costume shop Disguises had just what the doctor ordered, a bootylicious pink bird suit that had quite possibly been employed in a community theatre production of Alice in Wonderland (who can forget the Red Queen's croquet mallets?). Elsewhere, Rebillet and his tech crew were rocking drive-in theaters around the country. At each stop, Poppa Loop was cooking up the jams from inside a popup tent / green screen booth, enabling his team to seamlessly fuse video and other visual content with a live feed of the robe-sporting musical performer and project it onto the drive-in movie screen(s). Rebillet's VJ busted out footage of real life flamingos at one show, and Daddy did what Daddy does best: riffed on that shit. The result is “I'M A FLAMINGO (LIVE),” which has already amassed over 300,000 views on YouTube. The man has a flock.
I was blissfully unaware of Rebillet's new bird bit. But my friend Kelly attended night one of the Fort Collins' stand, and we were texting off and on throughout the evening. When I mentioned that my friends and I had decided to attend night two (instead of night one), so I could fulfill my flamingo singing telegram duties and still see the show, Kelly brought up Rebillet's new flamingo video. In pre-pandemic times, rental costumes were often due back the following day (which would've been before the following night's Rebillet show). But pandemic hours are currently limited, so I could don the big-beaked beauty at the drive-in show and still get it back to the costume shop on time. I had a hunch Daddy would get a kick out of that. It was serendipity. Synchronicity.
My friend Michelle is currently obsessed with the improv master. Since discovering him a few months ago, she's tuned into his live streams religiously. And every time Rebillet solicits calls from viewers, Michelle is on the phone, furiously dialing and re-dialing – to no avail. But wearing a highly conspicuous / ridiculous costume to a show is a surefire way to get attention. Soon after we arrived, the event photographer was shooting me in the flamingo. The tech team eventually rode up in a golf cart to inform us that they were the ones behind the flamingo footage that had inspired Daddy. They also tipped us off that Rebillet would occasionally interview audience members who were near his green screen booth. Their intel would would serve us well.
We bought face masks with Rebillet's agape mouth on them from merch. Our friend Melinda bought a couple beers. I bought a Beyond Meat burger. We made some new friends. Then we posted up in our camping chairs and waited. What appeared to be a decades-old Red Lobster commercial began playing on the twin screens. It replayed several times – seemingly stuck on an accidental loop – before minor and then violent changes played out between the characters. Rebillet careened around the parking lot in a golf cart to drum up excitement for his set. And off he went, conjuring songs from thin air. The moment of truth was soon upon us. I waddled my bootylicious flamingo over to Rebillet's vicinity. Michelle wasn't far behind, clutching an inflatable flamingo drink holder that I'd lent her for the show. Daddy quickly spotted my bird garb and asked me if I knew about his recent flamingo concoction. I told him I'd rented the suit for a singing telegram the previous evening. Michelle told him that the inflatable cup holder was his kid. Hilarity ensued.
And Michelle finally got her wish.
“Thank You”
(to the tune of “Thank You” as recorded by Dido)
Building a business with no startup
capital is hard
Fortunately I was born for this
but cash still plays a part
my dad pitches in, he is not rich
but he believes in my art
it means the world, I'm humbled by it
forever in debt
Starving artists, we face obstacles
that's understated
tumors, homelessness, unemployment
“worthless” English majors
this old man's been there through thick and thin
braggin' to strangers
that his son makes a good hooker,
a red-haired her
I want to thank you
for being the best damn dad of my life
('cause there were so many other candidates;)
Oh just to be your son
is getting the best deal of my life
Keeps me fed with his salsa
apple butter, pickles too
Chauffeurs me when my car breaks
even when I'm dressed like a dude
have you seen my new website?
My dad bartered for it with his wife's son
He's a gem and a gentleman
I want to thank you
for being the best damn dad in my life
(though the imaginary one is gaining on ya)
I love bein' your son
despite Trans-Siberian Orchestra, you like;)
