Everything that could have gone wrong, did. The hot dog sponsor pulled out the day before. The programs and posters were not printed. There were no decorations. And organizer Feldman was madly twitter-begging someone to fill in for one of the hot dog contestants the day before.
But, to the rescue, local producer Jeremy Seghers drove to Publix and bought them their hot dogs (had to be vegan, of course), bought them their decorations ($100 total) and the performance artists could have their party.
When I arrived, the tiny dining room at Dandelion was decorated to the hilt with red white and blue everything, and I was very excited to watch the proceedings. But, like everyone dreads will happen to them when they go see a bad improv troupe perform, I got pulled into the act.
Shit.
After awkward questioning of me by the designated host of the event, who was really one of the four performance artists he drug with him from this 3-week stint at a performance art camp, I reluctantly donned a shitty drug store Uncle Sam hat and endured a battery of questions about myself and my line of work.
I came to watch a Goddamn hot dog eating contest.
I played along, but with a shitty attitude. I was pissed that these folks chose not to put on a show and an event as promised, but forced the audience to do their show for them. The host even wanted me to sing an American song a capella once she found out I did "musicals" for a living. So here I am, sitting in a chair, wearing an Uncle Sam hat and beard, with a microphone jammed down my throat answering stupid questions from someone Brian tried to convince me was on the cover of every single major arts publication.
I came to see my friend Brian perform a hot dog eating contest!!! What is going on?
Just then out of a room in the back pops a tiny woman with a smile so big we almost fall into it. Who is she, why is she so happy and why is she interrupting my song I am finally comfortable enough to sing? She turns out to be none other than the person who runs the Orlando Sentinel murder blog and the infamous "Murder map." She insists we do a duet, and before we begin, she reports, on microphone and video camera, that it had been 11 days since a murder took place in Orlando.
She got me to sing "God Bless the USA" or some shit with her and half the room. Then we talked more about murder in Orlando and all reacted uncomfortably to her husband's repeated bragging about her accomplishments as if he was a robotic talent agent from the future.
My bit ended and I got a beer.
Then two more performance artists showed up. Oh God. One had the good sense not to talk much, and the other removed his shirt and played what he called "Replacement Host." He was the leader of that bad improv troupe I mentioned earlier.
He asked the semi-empty room if he should sing a song, so I suggested "New Attitude" by Patti LaBelle. The first host said it was actually sung by the Pointer Sisters. I deferred to her, allowing her to stew in her own 80s music trivia wrongness. The new host didn't know "New Attitude" so, like the rest of the performance artists, he had us do his show for him. We all stood up and sang the national anthem, which is on video above. Guys, none of this was fun, funny, charming or memorable. It was PAINFUL, awkward and stupid.
STUPID!
I sat with my empty beer glass alone in the corner (the GD wifi never works in that place!) waiting for my camera battery to charge, and my eyes must have done that thing where they glaze over due to anger/boredom/confusion, because that, more than anything else, got the attention of the three people actually DOING the hot dog eating contest.
The three performance artists who were not in the contest debated whether they actually knew where the place was on OBT that did live lingerie modeling. I suddenly felt like I had to defend my city from these creatures searching out the most retarded things about the city to highlight with their cameras. You come to Orlando and you want to see a strip bar? Creative. I piped up and said I knew much better places to go than that, but when I mentioned Stardust and art, the first host's eyes glazed over as if to say "Honey, I AM art. Please."
Please.
I packed up and said my awkward goodbyes. They could tell I was not impressed with their inane chatter about Spanish Cardinals, hot dog bun structures and ketchup complaints. As I left, Brian joked that next time there should be a fire extinguisher, referring to the BRILLIANT performance art piece done by Jeremy at the Fringe this year. I just muttered, "Yeah next time do SOMEthing" and left.