There comes a time in most people's lives when they have to accept reality. It stings but sometimes it's necessary to accept your fate and just move on. My realization?...
I was never meant to be a Knight at Medieval Times.
Every year auditions are held. The best and brightest and most desperate actors show up in masses to fight for that one slot... that one chance at glory.... to prance around in equestrian glory... in front of a bunch of tourists eating baked chicken.
Upon my arrival to the audition, I quickly gauge the competition. I am confident even though I'm about 100 lbs heavier than everyone else. Oh, and I've never ever ridden a horse in my entire life. These are minor details. After all, it's all about the PASSION.
They assigned all of us a number that we pinned onto our chests. Much like entering a marathon. They then divided us into two groups. Strangely, the two groups did not equal in number. My group consisted of about 4 or 5 people and we ranged from an ex-Romanian basketball player, a 70-year-old retired trucker from Alabama, a Sri Lankan named Hergdeesh, a housewife from the South Side, and myself. The other group was anywhere between 20-30 people. I haven't figured that one out. I guess there was a math error or something. But anyway...
The first part of the audition consisted of a monologue. I had no idea about this and totally didn't prepare anything. As my turn got nearer and nearer I was racking my brain trying to come up with something, anything that would suffice as a monologue. When my number was called I found myself just launching into jokes I remembered from Eddie Murphy "Delirious". They cut me off about 2 minutes into it just when I was getting to a great line about turds floating in the bathtub. Apparently, Medieval Times is a PG-rated family show. They always wait until the last fucking minute to tell you these kinds of things.
So then we move onto some basic weapons and theatrical combat. I figure if there was an area in which I would blow away the competition... this would be it. I was very very wrong. First, they pitted two of us against each other. We are both handed fake styrofoam swords. And they tell us to just take it nice and easy and that they are just evaluating our grace and poise. Well, they ring the bell and I immediately chunk my fake sword off to the side and lunge towards my opponent. After a nice sweep-the-leg I manage to bring the other dude down to the mat. I proceed with a few elbow drops and attempt a figure-four-leglock. Suddenly, there is a rush of people pulling me off this guy. Apparently, they frown upon "improv" at these auditions.
The final round of the auditions consist of the horse-back riding skills. Like I said earlier I completely lied about my equestrian training. Sometimes you have to fidge a little on your resume in the acting biz. Everyone does it. Dog eat dog.
So I realize my first mistake was stating that I have 10+ years as an advanced rider and once earned a collegiate scholarship to Dartmouth for "horse jumping". But I figure I can probably just wing it.
My turn for the riding audition quickly approaches. I am told that I have been assigned to a horse named " Volcano Spitfire Amphetamine". Cool, no problem. He sounds like a gentle angel.
Again, keeping with the ruse that I am a horseback riding "pro"... I refuse any help mounting my steed. As the chute opens it only takes about 1/8 of a second to realize that all they want to see is that I can ride in a straight line ... and that the spurs I brought along with me are COMPLETELY un-necessary. So the horse and I come bucking out of the chute and I soon realize there was absolutely no reason for me to have wrapped my hand in the bridle reigns. I am quickly thrown from the horse's back and flung to the ground... yet my hand is still caught in the leather straps. As I'm being dragged around the arena with my face tilling the soft American dirt... I start contemplating just what IS art and is it worth alot of the pain and anguish involved in bringing it to the masses. As my body is flung violenty into the metal barricade separating the audience from the performers... I start pondering the works of Aristophanes and what truly defines performance and comedy. Finally, as I feel the prick of the IV in my arm and the sudden rush of adrenaline as my femur is jammed back into place... I think to myself ... you know maybe I should think about getting into radio.
-Jonesy
