In the not so distant future…
Sometimes the holidays can make you feel like a coked-up moth flickering from one golden tinsel moment to the next. You are in a constant “just how merry can I make everyone and everything around me,” feedback loop. Upon reflection, I am surprised to find one of the brightest moments of the season was when a large group of people surrounded me. This is something that usually is about as rare as it can get for a closeted introvert. I know! You wouldn’t expect an English professor, such as myself, to have such issues with large groups. Well, that is because when I teach, I pretend to be a mixture of one part Joel Hodgson, one part Tom Servo, and one part Crow T. Robot. Yup, the MST3K trifecta of my academic success and my shining holiday moment of 2019.
This past December I was lucky enough to get tickets to the Mystery Science Theater 3000 Live: The Great Cheesy Movie Circus Tour when it came to Ft. Lauderdale’s very own Parker Playhouse. I purchased the tickets back in August, and honestly, I almost forgot about them with the end of the semester sucking up the last vestiges of my soul. Thank Cthulhu for e-mail reminders. I had barely enough time to pull together a Satellite of Love worthy outfit. I wore my lobster print dress[1], theater shadow hair clip, Tom Servo earrings, a Gizmonic Institute logo necklace, and a snake ring[2]. We were running a little late and came in right at Robot Roll Call. Something I mimic in my mind when I take attendance. We found our seats just in time for perhaps the most cataclysmic moment of my life. Joel yelled, “WE GOT MOVIE SIGN,” and the entire audience was in perfect sync and said it with all the sound and precision of the first few notes of Deep Purple’s “Smoke on the Water.” I have never felt more at ease in a large group of people in my entire life.
Everyone in the audience just got it. And by “it” I mean everything that you need to know on how to survive this crazy experiment called life, like the healing power of random musical numbers, the necessity of inside jokes, and how it’s okay to wonder what it would be like to decide who lives and who dies. You need dry wit, some dark twists, and the ability to riff. All the things that I try to incorporate into my lesson plans. I can make the mundane insane and vice-versa. I have to keep them laughing, or they see writing as an unfulfilling exchange of trite societal/educational conventions.
At the beginning of the series, Joel used to give out reward RAM chips to the bots for every positive comment about the movie. I used to wonder why this part of the show stopped, after a few seasons. But that night, I realized why. They didn’t need them anymore. Everyone on board the Satellite of Love was at peace with the idea that even a dumpster fire can still be used to roast marshmallows. You can keep smiling without the carrot and move forward without the stick. Just like how my students slowly learn to adapt to the fact that writing does not need prompting or word counts. It just needs a good old fashion try and a smile.
Push the Button, Frank!
[1] A reference to Teenagers from Outer Space
[2] A reference to Eegah
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