Interview with an Actor

(FROM THE NOTEBOOK OF LENNY TWINE)
Rance Mulliniks is not the former baseball player. It's just an alias used by the actor you'd otherwise know in a heartbeat. I'm interviewing this Rance for the first time tonight, the first of many that I'm getting paid for.
This Rance is staying in our motor lodge, right in the middle of town. He's researching for a film role. I get to blog and Twitter and record our conversations for whatever else I want to write about him from his stay in town. I get to do this because my brother's sister-in-law went to college with Rance's wife's lawyer. Or legal advisor. It doesn't matter. I've been out of work for a year and I need the money. And I'm bored. And I could use a dude to drink with, even if it is this Rance who's going to be learning how to act like somebody else. I wonder if he'll let me use the Robert Downey Jr. reference.
It's almost 7 and its warm and the wind is blowing. What in the world could this Rance be doing in his room?
Interview 1:
Me: What have you been doing today, Rance Mulliniks?
Rance: Cable was out all morning, so I've been taking showers. And "The Remains of the Day" was on TNT. I've seen it before, but I watched it again.
Me: Any thoughts on the film?
Rance: Yeah, sure. It's three hours on cable, but it doesn't seem to last that long, right? Anthony Hopkins nails his character for so long, it's like watching a documentary. You just keep waiting for his eyes to light up over something. For him to straighten his back and just let loose. And Emma Thompson is great. She's like the yang in the movie. But you see, it keeps going on and on and you keep getting drawn in to it, more an more, until every time there's a pause in the dialogue you want to wave your hands at them so they'll start again. It's the movie Jim Jarmusch has been trying to make all his life. Only he can't do it. He wants the one-thread plotline ... Is that my phone? No? You gonna get it? No? Whatever ... this entire film that seems to have a plot only about the characters living their lives. And that's what Merchant and Ivory did in "Remains." They made a damned Jarmusch film without knowing it. But a good one. You'd think Jarmusch would watch this movie and decide to quit, right?
Me: That was my ex-wife.
Rance: So why didn't you pick up? You can't hate her, because she has your number, right? You got kids?
Me: No.
Rance: Yeah, I got a son. You know who the real Rance Mulliniks is?
Me: No.
Rance: He's my dad's cousin. The whole Fresno clan. Played baseball and gave my dad some tickets so we went to a couple games when I was a kid.
Me: Who'd he play for?
Rance: At the time, Toronto. I was in a Canadian TV show, a kids' show, so it made sense. You have any real questions?
Me: I'm not sure. I thought so ...
(Rance has this bushy, gray-flecked beard and he's stroking it and looking at his stomach, which has grown since the last movie I saw him in, and I'm thinking he's mulling another shower.)
Rance: There's not much on cable right now.
Me: Let me see if she left a message, okay?
Interview 2:
(Rance is having breakfast at the chicken place next to the motel. It's turned cold and it's gray and the place is filled with country people. That whole all looking the same and living on the same road crowd. I've never liked this place.)
Me: How did you sleep?
Rance: Very quietly.
(He's wearing a heavy, dirty, suede coat and brown workpants. He looks like a truck driver. He looks the part he's researching for I guess, only I don't know what that part is. He's not allowed to say anything about it. But he looks like Joaquin Phoenix, so I bring it up.)
Me: You ever worked with him?
Rance: Yeah, on "Ladder 49." I was one of the firemen. He was this quiet, focused guy. That's all I know. I was drinking a lot back them. All the time. I got drunk drinking wine with Clint Eastwood once.
Me: That's cool.
Rance: But you know who I'm fascinated with now? Rumer Willis. She hangs with all these kids of famous parents. But we keep in touch with Twitter and online.
Me: That's ...
Rance: You're about 30, right? You do all the mobile stuff? You got to have a hot blog, right?
Me: Not really. That's what this is for. You Twitter?
Rance: (Shakes his head, throws a corner of his biscuit off his plate onto the table.) I got a dude who does that for me. For the most part. When it's people like Rumer I'm talking to, it's me. But this dude goes on and on about all the daily life stuff I'm supposed to be doing. He even texts for me.
Me: That doesn't seem right.
Rance: Do you really care? No way that you do. Ask me some questions.
Me: What's on your playlist? What did you bring with you?
Rance: Kings of Leon. I even have a couple of videos from Youtube on my phone, but they're terrible. Who puts that blurry noise on the internet? Idiots do, right? I can't understand people sometimes. I wonder what they're thinking. Who do they think is going to download that garbage?
Me: You did.
Rance: My dude did that. He's not too bright. He went to school with Jimmy Fallon, if that tells you anything.
Me: Is your research going well?
Rance: I don't think so.
Interview 3:
(We're driving through the country so this Rance can see what the South looks like close up. Only thing is, he's not even looking around. He's just driving and talking. His only concern is that he wants to be back in his room by dark, and then he plans to walk over to the chicken place. He's listening to Galaxie 500. This is a rental car. He's put a John McCain election sticker on the bumper because he thinks that's funny.)
Me: Did you vote for Obama?
Rance: No. I was in Hawaii that day. I would have though.
Me: Do you follow politics?
Rance: (He's wagging his head to "Tugboat" and I don't think he's paying attention to me at all.) Bush was an idiot, right? That night I was drinking wine with Eastwood that I told you about, Eastwood said Bush was a piece of crap. My dude Tweets my politics. It's just too much weirdness for me. Damn, look at the mud on the back of that tractor! That's unreal. They don't care about getting that crap all over the highway, do they. Here's something for you. Everybody's been saying how great it is for African-Americans that Obama is president. During the campaigns they talked about how Hillary and Palin were role models for women. But what about Condi Rice? Why didn't black women talk about how she was a role model for them? I never heard anything, not publicly, about how Condi was proving that a black woman can wield some power in the American scheme of things. Why is that?
Me: You tell me.
Rance: I will. It's because black women are mostly Democrats and Democrats hate Bush. Saying Condi is a benefit to humanity is saying Bush did something right. I don't care either way, it's just one of those things that perplexes me.
Me: What else do you have?
(He pulls in to a convenience store to get gas, then changes his mind. We pull out and he's heading back to town. There's no way it will be dark by the time we get back, but he must want to begin his evening plans early. Last night, I told my brother to thank his sister-in-law. It's not every day you meet a guy like this Rance, get to interview him to some degree and then post it online. But it's not like meeting Jesus. It's like being disappointed by a roller-coaster. Not what you'd hoped for, but still a helluva ride you'll talk about all the same.)
Rance: I gotta give you something to talk about, don't I? Here's something you can send to HuffPo. "Lost." I've been watching it since the pilot. It's the best television drama I've ever seen. Only thing is, I've stopped watching it lately. Season five is getting on my nerves. What's done it is that Bernard and Rose have disappeard from the storyline. That's just bullshit. They were the only adults on the show, right? I don't know what's going on with those guys. "Lost" is one of the all-time great shows, but I've stopped watching it. Hold on, man, I'm going to pull over and get my dude to Twitter that.
Interview 4:
(Rance and I are at Pizza Hut and he's going on about his son, who is 10.)
Rance: He says he's a satanist. You hear that nonsense? His mother says he doesn't know what he's talking about, but nobody just says, "Oh, hey, I'm a satanist for the time being."
(I pause to wait for him to say I can't use that, but he doesn't.)
Me: How's the car?
Rance: Fantastic. They tried to give me a hybrid but I wouldn't go for it. Hybrids are stupid. I think people who get popped for traffic laws should be made to drive hybrids. That's punishment, right? But this car I got for now is doing fine, only thing is the oil light keeps coming on.
Me: Have you checked it?
Rance: No. I don't care what happens to it. It's not my concern. I don't own it.
Me: You thought about checking out a movie while you're here? A movie at the theater?
Rance: What's showing?
Me: The Tyler Perry movie.
Rance: You kidding?
Me: No.
Rance: That's just ... I'm going to see what's on cable, just like I've been doing. My dude say's Fallon's first "Late Night" comes on tonight. TV history will be made. See, there's something else for your blog. Which reminds me, I'm gonna get my dude to Tweet that right now.

Are You Fan Enough to Dig My Band?

In the 1980s, punks paraded Mohawks, rapsters donned Adidas and gilded jewelry, and mullets made Country tunes’ fans look too legit to quit.

Disco glittered the ‘70s with hot pants, platform shoes, and a night life that was no good life – unless fueled by a fusion of drugs and alcohol excess.

Before that we had hippies and surfers, with both groups giving the ‘60s defining looks and lifestyles (think Woodstock and the Beach Boys, respectively).

But do certain music genres require their fans to dress appropriately and act accordingly in order to be bona fide devotees? The answer could vary depending on who you ask.

Willie Nelson debunks the theory that followers of specific music styles must adhere to stringent lifestyle codes.

“Anyone can listen to anything,” Nelson said, “as long as your mind is open to the idea.”

Nelson points to his famed Fourth of July picnics, primarily held in his home state of Texas, which have drawn thousands of music fans annually, for 35 years.

“That is what made the first picnic work so well,” Nelson said of his eclectic tastes and shows, “along with each one after.”

Yet we’ve all had our experiences with elitist music mobs – either at school, at shows, or in genre-geared magazines. The goth kids who sneered at Tommy-clad peers tapping their toes to Nine Inch Nails. The hip-hopsters who mandate you gotta have lived the thug life to join the posse. The Country clubbers who claim New Yorkers just can’t understand Hank Williams’ blues.

An example of clannish fandom is Bob Dylan’s infamous appearance at the Newport Folk Festival in 1965. Electric Bob was booed during his plugged-in performance, for little more than eschewing the law of acoustic-only, mandated by folkies of the time.

Street cred is a cornerstone of rap legitimacy. Perhaps even the only stone. The late, beloved rapper Tupac Shakur said he was a reflection of the community he came from, the streets of East Harlem.

In his 1991 biography, White rapper Vanilla Ice falsely claimed he’d lived in a gang-infested Miami, Fla. neighborhood, though he’d actually spent his teen years living in a cozy Dallas, Texas suburb. But it’s unlikely anyone would compare Tupac’s lyric style to the beats of Robert Van Winkle.

While some music genres may prefer you live and breathe their ways of life, other genres could care less. They just want you to lend an ear. In this latter category you can place blues, jazz, pop, and classical.

An artist like Willie Nelson has dabbled with bars from each of these styles, and to the sweet sounds of success.

“Music and rhythm is the universal language of mankind,” American 19th Century poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow said.

You don’t need a specific political ideology to enjoy the rants of Rage Against the Machine, same as you can spin a Public Enemy disc to your inner delight within the confines of your suburban bedroom.

When someone chides you for listening to that wayback Bach, or the sordid strains of a Jimmie Rodgers yodel, just know they’re all singing the same song. Every genre of music is a cousin to every other form.

“Nothing ever quite dies,” the late rock critic Lester Bangs said, “it just comes back in a different form.”

While we may cringe at some of the guests at this tuneful family reunion, let’s take Willie’s advice. In doing so, we’ll have more friends and fun at the picnic.