The three guys playing the Three Little Pigs were all ex-marching band geeks themselves, fans of the Three Stooges and quite accomplished choral whistlers--a skill that they practiced out on set, in violation of the Disney-ian edict against making noises of any kind in costume. But they did it anyway and had amassed quite a repertory of whistle tunes and would often take requests. My personal favorite was Roger Miller's "Whistle Stop" song from the animated Robin Hood film. The one they did most often was their own rendition of "Heigh Ho, Heigh Ho" mixed with the theme from the Bridge on the River Kwai. They'd been working together since the 1970s. James, Carl and Derek all had faces that, although pimple-free due to their advanced age, were probably best left hidden from the public behind thick layers of Fiberglas in those old big-headed costumes. They were lifers, happy to be under huge smiling pig heads, and they took pride in the fact that they would never have to show their actual faces in the park. But they also knew that their days as pigs were numbered, which could account for their current crankiness.
Now that I was an ex-Pluto, I had to scramble to "pick up" shifts. Having no seniority or status, I was at the mercy of the idiosyncratic set schedulers up in the Entertainment office. I was back to calling in my availability each morning, with a tone of desperation creeping into my voice. I was just a name and a height to them. How often I worked and what character I played was determined by the number of empty costumes in my height range.
This just in....
The latest video clip is now live! Our hero starts an imaginary baseball game on the parade route--and gives us the central metaphor of the story. Diehard fans: Don't forget about the baseball as you continue reading Mouse Droppings in the future. Also, please rate the video on YouTube and leave a comment if you like.
And, the next podcast installment of A Pirate's Life for Me is also now live!
So, check 'em out, and come back soon to read An Actor's Life for Me, Part 3.
It's a steaming hot morning in Anaheim, and I've only just been told that the city's name does not mean "asshole" in German, as my buddy Harry swore to me it did. A lederhosen-clad blonde exchange student working on the Matterhorn corrected me on that one. She had asked me who had mislead me into believing such a horrible thing, just as Donald Duck walked by, laughing like a cement mixer under his big bill.
So...once upon a time there was a little wooden boy with a long wooden nose, who had a problem with lying, who dreamed of living the life of an actor, but instead he turned into a jackass and eventually got his wish and became a real boy.