Wednesday, August 31, 2016

A Rather Risqué Requiem

So, I'm getting pretty tired of blogging about my own drama lately.  (Who knew that was even possible?)  And so, this week?  I'll blog about someone else's drama.

Besides, it's officially the end of an era.  This past weekend, The Randy Dandies had their last show.  Ever.  And if that's not more important than my personal life, then I'm not sure what is.

If you don't know who The Randy Dandies are, you're unfortunately not going to be able to find out now.  But let me explain.

In short, they were my favorite burlesque troupe ever.

In slightly less short, they were a comedy burlesque group that focused on sketch comedy, rabid pop culture references, and returning characters.  In seven years, they ran the nerd gamut from comic books to science fiction, unemployment, summer camp, museums, Game of Thrones, Into the Woods, heist movies, and so much more.  Hell, they even had a Prairie Home Companion parody show.

I've had the honor of being at many of their shows, and (more lately) at helping out.  I've sold merchandise, I've been a prop, and I've always loved dressing up for the theme of the show.  When I've gotten burned out on burlesque, I never quite got burned out on them.

From last year's camp show.
Photo by Insomniac Studios.
They were made up of... well, a bunch of nerds, really.  If you didn't guess that by the above description of themes, I can't help you any further.

They were made up of nerds, of people who wouldn't quite fit into the stereotypical profile of "classic burlesque performers," of actors who never once took their clothes off, and of my friends.  They had the after parties that legends are made from.  They made obscure nerd references that half the audience never got.  They told terrible jokes, and laughed at them too.  They sang dirty songs while playing ukelele.  They had a cello-playing Chewbacca as a guest performer.  They were a wonderful hot mess whose mics often didn't work, but they kept going anyway, because that's what you do in live theatre.

Above all, I think their greatest gift was the ability to not take themselves too seriously, to roll with the punches, and, finally, to know when it was time to call it quits.  Seven years is a hell of a good run, and I'm very glad I was there for the not-so-bitter end.  The final curtain call may have been bittersweet, but I know that it's not truly the end for any of these performers.  Even if they never take off their clothing on stage again, I'm more than confident that they all have something up their sleeves (or lack thereof).

And I can't wait to see what that is.


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  2. And I'm never gonna get to see them. What a crying shame. Really. There are tears over here!