The Time I was Almost on a Game Show: Part 2

If you missed part one, click on the blue underlined word, right here: here.

If you want to read part two, then just keep reading.

If you don't want to read anything, then you should probably just turn the computer off and look at the floor.

Still here?

Ah. Good.

Where the hell was I?

Oh yeah. Damn. This is probably going to be a three-parter, isn't it?

Sorry.

Um...

GET ON WITH IT!


All right. Fine.


So, I spent the good part of the week listening to country music, whenever I could tolerate it. Truth be told, this was not very often -- if you know anything about me, you know I have a pretty terrible work ethic.

At my computer, I listened to the "No. 1 Country Radio" option of the online radio CMT website. I also listened to the Los Angeles country music station when I drove anywhere in my car. What I heard on this station confirmed all of my fears about country music: I frigging hate it. I hate listening to it. I hate the precious simplicity of the lyrics. I hate the up-tempo fun songs. I hate the trite, hackneyed, horrible "serious" songs. I hate the steel guitar. I hate the preposterous, cliched, populist message of most song. I hate how they constantly rip on "technology" and "city folk" while the singers are making millions off of the Walmart loving rubes. I hate how they're so obviously lying when they're singing the verse of a "story-driven" song. I hate, hate, hate everything about country music. It sucks so much. So badly.

And if you think country music is good, then I'm sorry. You're wrong. So very wrong. Or you're confusing "old country music" with "new country music." Old country music is a totally different genre of music...and I don't really consider that "country music." For instance, here's I song I heard over and over and over and over. And over. Try to listen to this entire song without punching yourself repeatedly in the face:




Did you make it? I know I didn't. But hey, if you did, here's three points I want to make:

1) No. That didn't happen to you, liar. It never happened. You heard (or thought up) the chorus, sent it to two songwriters, then they sent you back a song that earned you a Grammy nomination for "Best Country Song."

2) If you think that message is profound you're either an alcoholic, an idiot, or an asshole.

3) Stop singing through your nose...and hey, nice job to ripping off "Down by the Riverside."


Anyhow, here's some "old country." Try to find the similarities.




Well, even if you skipped those two songs, you get the idea. Old country = charming, heart-felt, and simple. New country = soulless, corporate, simplistic, and manipulative.

But I digress (that should really be the name of this blog, shouldn't it?). The point is, I re-discovered a deep loathing that I felt for the "country music" genre, and I confirmed that my deep loathing is wholly justified.

So, back to the story. I showed up at a random office building just off of Ventura boulevard, and climbed the stairs to the "Singing Bee" corporate office. There, I saw some of the staffers from the original screening, as well as 5 other "potential contestants." They were all reasonably attractive Caucasians who were, in all likelihood, aspiring actors and/or singers like myself (I mean, they're in Los Angeles for a reason, right?).

We filled out some more paperwork, took some Polaroids, and had a quick interview with one of the interns where we had to tell "something interesting" about ourselves.

I generally hate the "something interesting" question. Firstly, I don't like talking about myself (unless it's part of a conversation). Secondly, I don't have good stories...just a long string of mediocre stories, and a razor-sharp wit (that second part is a lie).

So for me, the interview is tricky...because actors cannot be game show contestants. It ruins the whole "these are just regular folks" vibe of a game show. Game shows pull from the population of Los Angeles...and these people are generally transplants from somewhere colder, who moved to Los Angeles to become actors. If you got an honest nameplate for every contestant on a game show, I betcha' 90% would say: "So-And-So Johnson, 25, Aspiring Actor, Los Angeles."

This meant that, during my interview, I couldn't talk about acting or performing. Since that's the only really interesting thing about me, I do what I always do when backed into a corner -- I tell "half-truths."

So during my intern-interview, I happened to mention that I enjoyed ballroom dancing. It was true...kind of. I mean I took a couple of ballroom classes in Seattle and Bellingham...and I watched more episodes of "So You Think You Can Dance" than any straight man ought to admit to. But...it was vaguely interesting...as I don't look like your typical "Ballroom Dancer." I like to play on the "that balding 30 something can't possibly dance and sing" stereotype.

But my fib was good enough. I'm sure I said some other things too...but I can't remember any of them...and the fact that I can't remember any of them probably means they weren't very interesting...so...

After the "interview," we were all paid. Yep. We were each paid $50 for doing a "test run" of the game show. I thought, "This is probably all of the money I will make from this, because there is no way in hell I'm would win this if I were a contestant." At that time $50 was a lot of money for me, and quite a pleasant little surprise.

I probably spent it on groceries.

Anyway, with a fat 50 large in my wallet, we waited around a bit as a gaggle of "network executives" and "creative types" were wrangled into a conference room, where we were to play a mock round of the game.

It was here we got to meet the host of the show. Her name is Melissa Peterman, and she's a seventeen-foot-tall blond woman who was, apparently, an actress/comedienne of some renown. I'd never heard of her before, but my wife had (because she pays attention to stuff, and junk).

The conference room we were to host the show in had been hastily transformed into a stage. The same Asian guy from the first audition was sitting in the back, manning a laptop loaded with songs, and in front of him were about 20 "suits" -- producers, network people, writers, directors, who the hell knows?

One guy in the front row looked particularly disinterested (meaning he was probably the highest-paid guy in the room). I don't know if he looked up from his Blackberry the entire time.

So, remember all of that talk about listening to Country Music? Well...I did. But apparently you can't learn the lyrics of an entire genre of music over two weeks. Crazy, right?

So predictably, when the show started, I started sucking right away. The first round was a kind of an "elimination," where each person got a whack at completing the lyrics to a song. The first four people to complete a lyric moved on to the next round.

"Just get through this first stupid round," I thought to myself, "Then you can make an ass of yourself in the second round, which is oh-so endearing."

Luckily, an "oldie" came up. The guy in front of me -- a good ol' country boy, had never heard of the Monkees. Ouch. Mickey Dolenz just rolled in his grave.

The girl after him failed as well -- she was more Kanye, less Davy.

Those two had whiffed, and it was my turn.

Would you have advanced?

Oh, I could hide 'neath the wings of the bluebird as she sings
The six o'clock alarm would never ring
But it rings and I rise wipe the sleep out of my eyes
__________________?

DING!!!!!

Thank God. No one-and-done for the Ty-man.

After that, we got to "meet the contestants." This is where the contestants (and producers) got to see if they were actually interesting.

Ms. Peterman sidled up to me and read from her little card.

"So, Tyler. It says here you like ballroom dancing?"

"Oh yeah. I can cut a mean rug."

"Who do you dance with."

"My dear wife, we've been dancing steadily for about a year now." God I'm a terrible liar.

"That's great! Yeah, I always wanted to do that stuff, the paso adobe? What is it?"

"Pasodoble." (thank you "So You Think You Can Dance")

"Yeah, that's the one. I'm coming back to you for the commercial break, you can spin me around the floor a bit, cutie."

Oh shit. Wait, did she just call me cutie? What the hell? "Bring it on."

Then she moved to the next contestant.

"And this young lady is..."

Well, hopefully I gave those bastards enough personality to bring me on the real show. Sure, I was lying out of my ass...but I bet I could fake a pretty convincing Pasodoble if I needed to...especially if she didn't know what she was doing either.

Luckily, she didn't make out with me during the commercial break, or force me to dance. We advanced to the next round...which did not go well for me...but it was not an elimination round, so I got to stand up front for a while longer.

The object was to fill in the blanks of the lyrics to a popular song.

My turn was a song by some guy named "Kenny Chesney."

Shit.

How would you have done?

Well, me an' my lady had our first big fight,
So I _____ around 'til I saw the neon light.
A corner bar, an it just ___ _____.
So I pulled up.

Not a _____ around but the old bar keep,
Down at the end an' looking half asleep.
An he walked up, an' said : "What'll it be?"
I said: "The _____ stuff."

He didn't reach around for the whiskey;
He didn't pour me a ____.
His blue eyes kinda went _____,
He said: "You can't find that here.

Cos it's the ____ long kiss on a _____ date.
Momma's all ______ when you get home late.
And droppin' the ring in the _______ plate,
Cos your _____ are shakin' so much.
An' it's the way that she looks with the rice in her hair.
Eatin' burnt _______ the whole _____ year
An' askin' for _____ to keep her from tearin' up.
Yeah, man, that's the good stuff."

You get five points for every correct answer.

I wound up with 5 points at the end of my round...because one of the missing lyrics was from the title of the song.

Another reason to hate Kenny Chesney.

The round after that was some kind of betting round, and the group was winnowed down to two people. I don't remember how the game went exactly...but I (of course) did terrible. I ended the round with those 5 stupid points, and sat my ass out for the final round.

Once the pretend show had concluded, we all went our separate ways. I got in my car, immediately switched the channel off of the Country Music station, and drove home.

One week later I received a call. Was I available tomorrow? Because they wanted me to be on the show.

Uh oh.

And I'll tell you all about that...in Part 3 (which at this rate, should be ready a year from now).

The Time I was Almost on a Game Show: Part 1

When I moved to L.A., I had a fool-proof plan.

I was going to audition for "every game show" out there. And I was going to get on those game shows, because I think I'm smart (I'm not), and people generally like me (they don't). If I could just get on one...one tiny little show, I'd be set (to the tune of, at least, several thousand dollars).

It was foolproof.

And I got close a couple of times. I auditioned for "Are you Smarter than a 5th Grader." Apparently, I'm not (fifth graders know that "yellow" plus "red" equals "orange," not "purple").

I also tried out for the show "Don't Forget the Lyrics." Apparently, my audition was pretty damn forgettable (they made fun of me for wanting to give most of my money away to my family...jerks).

However, eventually I did appear on a game show.

Well, kinda'.

I'll explain.

A little over a year ago I saw a "audition notice" for a show called "The Singing Bee." I was all, "Hey, I can sing! And I frigging LOVE bees!" So, I sent in my details, and promptly forgot about it.

Lo and behold, a week later, some casting intern wrote back, asking me if I'd be available to come and audition...at beautiful CBS Radford Studios (a place I'd been, probably, about a dozen times already, for background work).

So I show up, sign in, and take a seat in a vast "underground cafeteria-looking room." It was filled with tables and chairs -- in front of each chair was a nice little "release form," and a free pen (free-ish). I took a seat next to a scary-looking young couple who smelled like cigarettes, gasoline fumes, and meth lab.

It was here that I found out that the show was being produced by the Country Music Channel, and that the song-mix was going to be about 60% country, 40% everything else.


Shit.


I hate country music.


Oh well. I'll gave it the ol' "sporting try." I figured, maybe there'd be a lot of Johnny Cash and Dixie Chicks.

Did I say "Dixie Chicks?" I meant Merle Haggard. Yeah.

So, the concept of the show was basically "Don't Forget the Lyrics," except, instead of Wayne Brady, there was some woman from the show Reba. And instead of "good music," there was a bunch of crappy country music.

My task was to take a "lyrics test." This is...exactly what you think it is. A bunch of song lyrics, with "blanks" to be filled in.

I did my level best, and handed over my sheet of paper. There were, maybe, about 90 people in this first room...and I thought that maybe a third of them were "country music fans," so that was the third that was going to be kept...while I'd be given a "better luck next time" by the 20-somethings who seemed to be in charge of casting the show.

True to their word, there was a lot of "good music" mixed in with the country...and a lot of the country songs were things that I'd heard. But there was also a crap-ton of wild guessing.

After everyone had completed the test, we sat around as the the tests were graded. They read off the list of those who'd be advancing to the next round of the interview process (a group of 24).

They started reading the names...and...well, because you're reading this blog entry, you probably guessed that I was one of those 24 names.

Cool.

What now?

Well, I'll tell you.

They split us into three groups (of 8) for a camera test, where we'd get to play a pared-down version of the show. I was in group #1, which was nice, because I was hungry...and going first meant I could get something to eat sooner.

The casting folks took us into another room, lined us up against the wall, and executed each of us with a single bullet to the back of the head.

Wait, whoops. Sorry. Let me try that again. They lined us up against a wall and asked us a series of questions, drawing information from one of the sheets that we filled out earlier. That's right. Sorry, I got confused.

My turn came up.

"Hi, what's your name?"

"Tyler Rhoades."

"And Tyler, do you listen to country music?"

"All the time."

"Who is your favorite country singer?"

Pause.

"Oh, y'know. Johnny Cash. He's incredible."

"It says here that you're a Paula Abdul fan?"

"Yes. I frigging love Paula Abdul." (I don't, but I thought it'd be funny)

"Could we just get you to say that directly into the camera?" Apparently they'd been talking over the part where I said that...so they made me dance like a monkey. I was happy to oblige.

"I...frigging....love....Paula....Abdul."

"What do you like about her?"

Pause.

"I had her poster on the wall," (another lie). "It was the one where she was wearing a kind of leather cap, and..." (I imitated the imaginary poster, to the delight of the interviewers) "Just all the metal and leather. It was a pretty amazing poster."

"And can you tell us one interesting thing about you?"

Pause.

"I've been using Rogaine for the last three years, and my scalp has never been more luscious and full than it is now."

Laughter. Couldn't tell if it was polite or not. But...laughter is laughter, right? Self-deprecation FTW.

Anyways, they worked their way down the line, interviewing those other poor saps, and then the "game show" part of the interview started.

They had a laptop set up, preloaded with songs. They'd play a bit of the song, then stop it. If you knew the lyrics, you'd raise your hand. They'd call on you. Then you'd step forward and "sing the hell out of the missing lyrics," whether you were accurate or not. Because they reminded us, you don't have to be a great singer, just really animated and interesting.

If you were right, they'd ding a bell. If you were wrong, they'd push the button on a buzzer.

The game started. Nobody scored on the first song. Probably just early jitters. I didn't even try.

Next song started:

My heroes had the heart
To lose their lives out on a limb
And all I remember
Is thinking, I want to be like them...

Uh oh. Gnarles Barkley. Crap. I can't understand the guy most of the time, but I like the song. Maybe I can snag this one.

Ever since I was little
Ever since I was little
It looked like fun

And the music stopped.

I raised my hand.

They called on me.

I stepped forward.

I was told to wait until the camera got a close-up of me. Then I was supposed to say my name.

"Tyler Rhoades."

"Okay. Go ahead."

"And it's no coincidence I've come
And I can die when I'm done"

DING!!!

Thank God that happened...because that part of the song always confused me. It doesn't really make sense grammatically. Though, who am I to criticize the great Gnarles?

And luckily for me, this part kinda' played to my strength as a singer -- I could give 'er a little "rock growl," without having to get too high, or sound too pretty. The casting folks looked sufficiently surprised, and impressed.

We continued on. I think I got two or three more songs right (pretty sure one of them was a Phil Collins song). Which, among the group of 8, made me the highest scorer.

Needless to say, I felt pretty good about that second part of the audition. I mean...I think they sensed that I wasn't quite the "country music" fan that I pretended to be...but I have what my wife likes to call "A Surprisingly Good Voice." Which sounds like a back-handed compliment until you get a good look at me...then it makes sense.

So a week or two later, I got a call from one of the casting folks. They wanted me to come in to do a "trial run" of the show for producers, writers, network execs, and the host of the show (that woman from Reba).

I agreed. And thought, "Aw, dammit. I've got to listen to a bunch of country music now, don't I?" So, I logged into CMT.com and forced myself to sit through the worst genre of music ever conceived -- young country.

Ick.

TO BE CONTINUED (and hyper-linked...eventually) IN PART 2!!!