u s e y o u r h a n d s

I am a deep, deep fan of extremely random deeds or goods, especially when the creators or proprietors of such gifts are totally unaware of their random value. My pal Deanne (who today turns 27) and I ran a mailing list for several years devoted to the “randomnity” of everyday life. Read the complete archive of Randomnities.

Phineas recently completed a Web site for an up-and-coming local band and was invited to come along for Katie Todd Band’s performance on Evanston cable access television. The Rob Linkhart Show is a long-running program starring the eponymous Indiana PE teacher Rob Linkhart and his wife Sheryl. Linkhart’s own peculiar brand of “comedy” is made even more “appealing” by the huge dose of meth he seems to take before the show. His jumpy, scatterbrained stage presence is odd when juxtaposed with Sheryl’s Topanga. The wise-cracking Paul Shaffer of the Rob Linkhart Show, Topanga dons a long black fright wig, a brocade Sgt. Pepper dress, and strange dots of red makeup upon each cheek. The two actually got married on the show six years ago, though viewers were spared the experience of the birth of their only child.

Before the show, audience members received numbers corresponding to postions on the Wheel of Destiny. Said wheel, a sad affair made of an old bicycle wheel stuck on a piece of plywood, would be spun by Bobby Linkhart, 4. The winner received his or her choice of Rob Linkhart’s castoff ties. As I viewed the scene – dorky audience regulars, be-suspendered crew members, Topanga’s shimmies – I felt as though I’d been slipped a very large, ceremonial-grade dose of mescaline or peyote.

Linkhart’s first guest had cancelled, but restaurant propriestress Karyn Calabrese came on to plug her raw food establishment Karyn’s on Halsted. The 56-year-old health nut brought Linkhart a basket of raw food goodies. He washed down the free victuals with an extra large soda from McDonald’s. Unfortuately, Linkhart also asked Calabrese about her restaurant’s other services and she detailed her health center’s colonics. “My daughter calls it ‘butt washing.’” That’s Karyn’s on Halsted. Butt washing. Karyn’s.

There were also videos, including one for a mythical photo shoot. In one, the scrawny Linkhart donned a vest and cowboy hat and waved a paintbrush around in the style of the severly retarded. In another, he rode around on a tricycle blowing hard on a pinwheel. Off camera, Topanga shouted, “Blow harder. Show me those lungs.” Evil teddy bears marched down my arm.

Katie Todd Band performed three times with verve, unaware of the goofy special effects being employed by the volunteer production team. A diamond would appear onscreen featuring one camera angle, and then float and zigzag wildly. Lead singer Todd was thrown for a loop during a sit-down with Linkhart. Topics included Todd’s middle school career and how Linkhart knows Liz Phair’s dad through his doctor. Or something. The mescaline/peyote feeling raged on.

After the show, I asked Topanga about her name. Was she named for Topanga Canyon in Los Angeles or for Topanga, a character in the Ben Savage show “Boy Meets World” who was named for Topanga Canyon in Los Angeles? Bewilderingly, the latter was true. I edged past Mrs. Linhart as her wig reached out for me, hungry for my eyelashes.

We ended the night at Nevin’s in Evanston. At some point, I joined a couple gals at the bar and we chanted the Girl Scout promise and old Girl Scout songs. Reflect on the true bullshit value of this: “On my honor, I will try to: serve God and my country; to help people at all times; and to live by the Girl Scout Law.” What a weirdly servile oath.

Feeling: Unhappy. No, really. The cold is truly getting to me.

Attending: Chicago Bloggers dinner at Flat Top on Belmont.

Working Out: Half an hour of hard cardio this am; weights.