The Lamscape

I don’t have to work.  I am so sickeningly wealthy that I burn money just for the fun of it.  (You wouldn’t believe how hot a fire you need to melt coins!)  The other day though, an opportunity came my way that was too good to pass up.

The first thing you need to know is that hundreds, nay, thousands, nay, tens of thousands, nay, hundreds of thousands, nay, millions, nay, tens of millions, nay, hundreds of millions, nay billions, nay, tens of billions, nay, hundreds of billions, nay, trillions, nay, tens of trillions, nay, HUNDREDS OF TRILLIONS of opportunities come may way every day: soccer ball inflater, chewing gum inspector, sooth-sayer, nay-sayer, pomegranate peeler, plum processor, keyboard clicker, comb tester, marzipan molder, mink groomer, fan dancer, wire puller, island hopper, bridge inspector, monkey medic, easel folder, gut checker, telephone operator, truck driver, gandy dancer, phlebotomist, pip-squeaker, felt feeler, scavenge hunter, eaves dropper, bat corker, clock cleaner, hay maker, fire placer, side walker, windshield wiper, nut mixer, cough suppressor, lawn mower, duck blinder, gas tanker, flu vacciner, paper toweler, lion tamer, hoagie taster, hog caller, play grounder, movie projector, coffee maker, book storer, air planer, brake drummer, pencil pusher, jury foreman, toaster, house painter, photo grapher, life saver, cookie sheeter, dish washer, moth baller, hay baler, bail bondsman, man servant, rocket shipper, hanker chiefer, corn chipper, wood carver, horse flier, roast beefer, leaf blower, shot blocker, under taker, turkey baster, cheese burgerer, Stanley Cuper, pencil sharpener, ground baller, mail boxer, landing gearer, cheese grater, gin fizzer, pillow fighter, gas guzzler, wall paperer, man holer, ice skater, lemon meringuer, amusement parker, dog breeder, ipso factor, lightning striker, hub capper, grease gunner, lamp shader, shadow boxer, stink bomber, organ grinder, shark skinner, belt tightener, screw driver, lolly popper, snake charmer, thanks giver, snow plower, leaf blower, chain sawer, monkey shiner, dentist driller, coffee grinder, book mobiler, northern lighter, clam baker, cow puncher, steam cleaner, iron horser, triple player, mouse trapper, rubber bander, slow poker, mouth washer, wrist watcher, ear waxer, mail polisher, carrot peeler, rotten egger, can opener, cooling racker, eyebrow waxer, tooth chipper, anchor aweigher, sail trimmer, keel hauler, sea scaper, supper beller, trash compactor, toe tapper, mer maker, ocean liner, freight trainer, land speeder, heart breaker, home wrecker, flower potter, bottle brusher, tin foiler, oven cleaner, finger snapper, deep sleeper, wheel greaser, ponzi schemer, eye dropper, nasal sprayer, stomach pumper, witch hunter, looby looer, air porter, gravy trainer, tinsel towner, - I need a DEEP BREATH after that ONLY PARTIAL LIST!!!!

So, what could have captured my fancy when all of the above careers left me cold?  I am glad you asked.  I am a DANCE SCOUT!!!  You all know of my talents as a dancer (especially when I am wearing my DANCING PANTS); well, someone in “the biz” caught wind of my sick skills and asked if I was up for a challenge.  That is the WRONG QUESTION to ask ANDY LAM!  I LIVE for CHALLENGES!

As a DANCE SCOUT, I attend dance recitals across the country (and around the world) seeking out the most talented young dancers on the planet.  Now some people might say that watching children dance is a difficult and painful thing to do; to them I say – I beg your pardon!  What could be MORE endearing than watching a group of six-year-olds cavort in a loosely coordinated way?  Or teenager girls reaching for that brass ring by dressing up as VETS and telling the story of a PET ER through dance????

One word – NOTHING!

I think that I am like that funny gentleman WILLY WONKA in that I can make dreams come true.  I go to these dances and I watch while other wince, I enjoy while others enjoin, I note while others nod, I applaud while others are appalled.  Afterwards, I send DETAILED NOTES to my employer (a nameless secret society of DANCERS) and they send out a team of kidnappers to bring the top-prospects to a special dancer training/re-education center.

My understanding is that after many years of work – these once bright children are ready to renter the world as mindless dancing automatons for the entertainment of the masses.  According to DANCER X, these people will replace monkeys as the number one attractions at malls and movie theaters.  I, for one, am sick to death of watching trained seals and whales when I go to SEA WORLD.  I would much rather see an interpretive dance on the theme – Jelly Fish and the Return to the Sea performed by a legion of blue appareled girls.

Without me though, this vision will never become a reality.  And so I sit and I watch and I note and I clap and I cheer and I interview and I badger and I dance and I shed tears for the artistry of these dancers.  There, on the stage they stand – with little props in their hands, with nervous glances at their instructors, with beaming smiles for their parents – and with dreams of supplanting the evil monkeys.

Like them, I wish nothing more than to drive all monkeys out of the land of men.  These scrappy beasts MUST BE TAKEN CARE OF ONCE AND FOR ALL and the littlest dancers are the ones to do it.  The secret society envisions teams of dancers storming the monkey dens in cities around the world in one coordinated, choreographed strike.  Before this can happen though, the dancers need to be trained.  Before they can be trained they need to be kidnapped, before they can be kidnapped they need to be identified, before they can be identified they need to be observed – and that is my proud duty.

If we are to fend off the primate hoards, we need to band together into roaming bands of nomadic hunters protected by squads of dancers.  All of the animals are ganging up on humanity – it is time that we struck back.  If we don’t do something soon, we are going to be up against an army of super animals – led by monkeys and fueled by an insane hatred of all things human.  They will put their evil skills to use to enslave us all and make us their beast or burden and foodstuff.

I realize that this is what we have done to animals since the beginning but that is because GOD told us to do it.  I think it is in a book or something where it says, “Kill animals for they are the sons and daughters of the evil beast with fangs and sharp claws.  Slaughter them without mercy.  Eat what you can and discard the rest leaving their worthless bodies to molder on the land or sea or sky.  DESTROY ALL ANIMALS AT ONCE OR SUFFER ETERNAL DAMNATION IN HELL!!!!  THE ONLY POWER GREATER THAN ANIMALS IS DANCE SO TRAIN TO BE SICKLY SKILLED DANCING WARRIORS!!!  GODZILLA WILL NOT SAVE THE WORLD – ALL HAIL DANCE, ALL HAIL DANCE!!  ANDY LAM IS THE LORD OF THE DANCE!! OBEY ANDY LAM OR SUFFER THE WRATH OF THE EVIL ANIMALS!!!!”

Working up quite a sweat and genuinely frightened for all of us, I am . . .

ANDY LAM!!!

Technorati Tags: Andy Lam, dance, animals, danger

A few weeks ago, I was discussing the art of dancing with some of my colleagues. As happens so often, our collegial discussion soon descended to braggadocio, taunts, challenges and name calling. Soon, each of us was bustin’ out our sickest moves to demonstrate the superiority of our killer steps.

Alas, what argument has ever been settled with an obvious and lucid demonstration of superiority? Not this one, that’s for sure. To determine which of us was the best dancer, we decided that a “DANCE OFF” was in order. (We’d considered a Wood Run but I was still recovering from the last one I did.) With moves to learn and no time to spare, I retired to my dance studio for some much needed practice.

Being ANDY LAM, I, of course, had my spies report back to me on my adversaries progress. The news, my friends, was not good. In their zeal to beat me, these “men” decided to pool their talents to create a single “master dance” that they would do as a troupe. It was an ingenious plan and one that with out warning would have bested me.

They would have no such joy.

Realizing that all of my moves were no match for their combined strength, I left the studio and went straight to the LAM LAB. Armed with a pair of voluminous Levis Silver Tab jeans, rods, gears, motors, belts, battery packs, elastics, paper clips and more, I set out to create ANDY LAM’S DANCING PANTS.

I labored on for days and nights, making sure I had each detail right. I rented videos and DVDs of MGM musicals (which contain, I believe, some of the finest dancing ever witnessed), music videos, instructional materials and more. I borrowed tapes of dance recitals and weddings and any other footage I could lay my hands on. Together with my technician, I studied each one in detail.

We then painstakingly translated the moves we saw on the screen into instructions that could be put into action by the PANTS. It was no mean feat, but with plenty of blood, sweat and tears, we crammed the pants with more moves that you could shake a stick at. Only two days before the DANCE OFF, it was time to test the pants. Some things are best done alone, and this was one of them.

I had my manservant deliver the pants to my chamber. I had to call him back in to help me don these now massive slacks. Once I was again alone, I accessed the pants control panel and input a series of simple moves. My finger was shaking as I pressed the GO key. At first, nothing happened. Then, my friends, my world was rocked.

The pants were off like a shot. I was tossed around like a rag doll while the pants did their THANG! I’d put on some HEAVY TUNAGE before I started and the pants did their moves in time to the beat. There was no way I would be beaten by those chumps!!

And then the “night” was upon us. I arrived at the arena shortly before 7:00. Even though the contest wasn’t set to start until 9:00, the house was packed! We’d sold out the 15,000 seats in less than two hours, with all of the proceeds going to the winner’s favorite charity. (I am supporting Mostly Monkeys, a place for primates in need.)

At 9:01, the lights went down and a hush fell over the crowd. All of us walked out onto the stage. I saw immediately that the others were wearing matching flared black slacks and ruffled white shirts. My minions had done well to warn me of their machinations.

We all took our seats on the stage and waited while the NATIONAL ANTHEM was sung and signed. Once over, my rivals stunned the crowd by arising en masse and taking center stage. I was totally unfazed. They were nonplussed and exchanged confused looks. Their plan to throw me off my game wasn’t working.

The music started. They all locked arms and started circling. Next, they walked inward and raised their hands above their heads. Their dance went on and on. I have to say that they did a good job and that the ovation they received was impressive and well-deserved. But they didn’t have the DANCING PANTS.

Sweating and smiling, they took their seats and looked at me dismissively. They were feeling pretty chuff, but they were about to be SKOOLED!!

Before I mounted the stage, I had entered the most sickest dance routine ever into the pant’s control panel. Standing their alone on stage, I pressed START and waited for the music to begin. I rocked a lot of worlds once the pants got going.

I darted and shimmied and shaked and bobbed and hustled and tangoed and hipped and hopped and cha cha chaed and polkaed and waltzed and mazurkaed and salsaed and pogoed and minueted and polanaised and morrised and balleted and bellied and lindsied and squared and bumped and Kathakalied and grinded and wormed and trotted and quickstepped and clogged and contraed and mamboed and Mohiniattamed and rumbaed and Bharatanatyamed and sambaed and bossa novaed and jived and jazzed and fanned and poled and kabukied and rained and galloped and gavotted and galliarded and jigged and swinged and spagnolettaed and breaked and Kuchipudied and jetted and on and on and on.

When my pants came to rest, the applause was thunderous. People were gasping for air. They cheered and shouted, “More, more.” But there was no more to be had. I - and my pants - were tapped. I collapsed into my chair and savored the beaten expressions of my foes. They realized that they had been bested by a country mile and wisely hung their heads in shame.

My DANCING PANTS had carried the day and now I am prepared to make a SPECIAL OFFER TO YOU!!!! I think that the following poem says it all:

Would you like to be able to vault and PRANCE?
And swivel and shimmy; in short to dance?
Then you need something filled with ants
Andy Lam’s fantastic Dancing Pants

You put them on one leg at a TIME
But one they are on you’ll be moving real fine
Moving and grooving to every rhythm and rhyme
Dancing without them should be a crime

Moving and grooving you’ll be so HOT
All the rock stars wear them when videos are shot
You may think you can dance, but I think not
If you buy a pair you’ll thank me a lot

The price is high but they’re the best you see
So get some money and send it to me
One million dollars is what the price be
A small price to pay for feeling this free

Seriously, if you are interested in getting a pair of DANCING PANTS, please let me know and we can discuss it. I am planning a more limited version (without every dance style in the world) for sale to a less SOPHISTICATED market. For now though, the pants are expensive, but they are the very best pants ever made in the history of the world.

With a wicked sense of rhythm and the moves to match, I am . . .

ANDY LAM!

Technorati Tags: Andy Lam, Dancing, Pants, Levis, contest, Mostly Monkeys