From 1999 to 2004-ish, I was one of the contributing writers for Garrison Keillor's renowned radio show "A Prairie Home Companion." I learned a lot of things there, mostly how to spell 'prairie." It was a solid gig and I'm proud of my work there. But, like any other job, there were...things...
Okay, this is one of those scripts I totally forgot about. It's like I was reading it for the first time when I pulled it off the hard drive. I'm trying to think back to the time...TV book clubs were starting to become a thing, with Oprah's leading the way. Then there was a big book, "The Unbearable Lightness of Being" that was making the rounds, which must have been the inspiration for the title of the skit. And guess I was hitting back at this wave of pretentious writing that was going on at the time. People weren't writing books, they were writing tomes, these very thick and very prestigious works of fiction that were all the rage. I remember an author turning down a chance to be Oprah's pick, but I don't recall if that was before or after my sketch. And there were a book, a memoir, I believe, that was discovered to be a fraud. It was a strange time in the publishing business. And I had to think, "Pretentious books? Garrison Keillor would love to see a sketch about that, I bet!" Turns out, not so much. So, let's drag this bit out of the comedy carbon chamber and post it here...
Unbearable
(GK, GD: Greg Davies, DB: Dell Burton, EE: Ed Edwards, EB: Edith Bennett)
GK: This week on the PHC book club We're very happy to have with us the Pulitzer Prize winning author Greg Davies.
GD: Thank you for having me.
GK: Your book, "An Amazing Tome of Unbearable Sorrow" has been a best seller for months now.
GD: Yes, it has.
GK: It's been called joyous, funny, hilarious.
GD: I've heard that.
GK: What inspired you to write this?
GD: My parents fatal rubber rafting experience.
GK: Oh.
GD: It made me very introspective.
GK: I see.
GD: And being introspective really allows you to see the funny side of things.
GK: I didn't know that. Well, we have our book club round table here tonight to discuss the book. Welcome Mrs. Dell Burton, Ed Edwards and Edith Bennett. So, Mrs. Burton, what did you think of the book?
DB: Actually, I did mean to read it, but Dell's mother came over for a visit. And well, you know how that goes.
GK: Yes I do. So, Mr. Edwards, what was your favorite part of the book?
EE: I liked the book jacket.
GK: It was a nice jacket.
EE: Good photo. He looks better on it there then here now.
GK: Ms. Bennett, how did you enjoy the read?
EB: You know, I never was able to find a copy. And the library was always out.
GK: I suppose that's good news for the author. Well, Mr. Davies, you have agreed to read an excerpt from the book this evening.
GD: Yes. Yes, I have.
GK: Okay. I meant now.
GD: Oh, yes, of course.
GK: So, now, Greg Davies reading an excerpt from his book, "An Amazing Tome of Unbearable Sorrow."
GD: "I clipped my nails. I had finally gotten around to taking my socks off, when I noticed them; the long, yellowish fiends that helped to poke holes in my socks and catch on threads in my bed. My toe nails needed clipping. A serious clipping. 'They shall be clipped liked they have never been clipped before,' I stated to no one in particular, as I was alone. I found the nail clippers, the ones that had belonged to my father. The only items I had left of his, the only thing that still contained the memories of my father. The only thing we hadn't been able to sell on Ebay.
I took those clippers and clipped my nails. I have wondrous nails. Nails of the gods. Friends envy my toe nails, foes fear them. Women lust for them. When they are properly trimmed, they actually draw crowds at the beach. I clip. The clippings cascade away from my foot. Some drop to the floor, others get catapulted high into the air. Are they escaping? Can they achieve escape velocity? Will my nail clippings break through the stratosphere, the ionosphere and enter into permanent geo-synchronize orbit over my home, or will they simply drop to the rug and lay there with their brethren. The latter, as it turns out. There on the rug is a history of all my clippings. A layered tapestry of bits of toe nail past, present, future. A small Stonehenge of nails. A crop circle of clippings, marking my territory. I really should sweep the floor.
My brother comes in, watching me wax lyrical about my bi-monthly trimming, my attempts to manage a façade of humanity in decidedly inhumane times. He watches some more.
"Clipping your toe nails again?" he says.
"Don't you know it," I reply.
GK: Wow. And the rest of the book is like that.
GD: Pretty much. There's the chapter where I wash my face. Then the chapter where I clean my ears. One amazing chapter where I boil an egg.
GK: Thank you once again for being here.
GD: Thank you for supplying me with a new chapter for the paperback edition.
GK: You're welcome.
end
