Shatner Rules Read online

  The Fooses (Foosi?) almost spat out their coffee—and agreed right there on the spot.

  Within a couple of weeks, I had traveled to Nashville to meet with Ben. Tucked under my arm were fifty sets of lyrics I had composed. Before I knew it, I was there, ready to rock, and waiting for Joe Jackson to finish his warm-ups.

  They took a very long time.

  CHAPTER 15

  RULE: Respect the Artistic Process of Others, Even If Their Process Takes Forever

  Yes, I’ll never forget the day that Ben (fold) Folds introduced me to British musician and singer-songwriter Joe Jackson. It was kind of a long day. He and I were to perform a cover of Pulp’s “Common People” for my new album, Has Been.

  We came up with the title for the album after I was at an industry event and a young actress refused to take a photo with me, declaring, “No, I don’t wanna take a picture with him. Not that has-been.”

  Charming. This made me long for the warmth of Charlton Heston.

  What does that mean, anyway? Has-been? If I still “am,” I “be.” Correct? And if I “were,” at least I “was.” Right? “Was” means I got “there”! In Hollywood, “there” is the goal! And as far as I and many of my fans are concerned, I still “is”! That actress, no doubt, was new to there—Hollywood—and who knows if she still is? I no longer remember her. Where is she “be”? But I digress.

  Anyway, we thought it was the perfect title, and Ben then chose a cast of perfect collaborators with whom I could create this album.

  Jackson floated in all the way from England, although I understand nowadays he lives in Berlin. I think the Germans keep the white, white Joe Jackson around so that they might feel “ethnic.” He is a white wraith, with white-blonde hair, tall and thin and ephemeral. He was in a cloud. He reminded me of Nosferatu, and I half expected all the flowers in Nashville to shrivel and wilt in his wake.

  He came into the studio and plopped down in front of a piano in the sound booth. And began to warm up. He would make . . . sounds. Tinkle away at keys. Make more sounds. Tinkle. Sounds. Tinkle. Sounds.

  For three hours.

  At one point, I walked up to the window in the sound booth and took a look at him. As with Ben, my daughters were very helpful in letting me know Mr. Jackson’s story. He emerged as a force in the British punk/New Wave movement in the late 1970s, where he created a sound that was an eclectic hybrid of pop, classical, and jazz. It was really a thrill to work with him, especially after I realized that the Joe Jackson who Ben kept talking about was not the patriarch of the Jackson 5. I’m not sure I could have taken that kind of trauma.

  I watched Joe do his warm-ups and gave him a little wave. Joe looked up from what he was doing, rose, floated out of the booth, and had a conference with Ben.

  Ben later called me over and said, “Joe doesn’t want you to look at him.”

  Oooookaaayyy. Joe seemed to be taking a page from the actress who didn’t want to be photographed with me. I thought my transition to rock star was going to award me the slavish devotion that would entitle me to a rock star–sized ego. Either way, I respected the man’s process, backed off, and let him enter into hour four of his warm-ups unwatched.

  The warm-ups were worth it. Joe Jackson’s vocals on “Common People” are enough to send shivers down your spine. (Although honestly, a lot about Joe Jackson is a tad spine-tingling.) All the people I worked with on that record were great: Aimee Mann, Brad Paisley, and Henry Rollins, who I’ve stayed friends with ever since. Henry and I performed a song called “I Can’t Get Behind That,” which featured him and me trading shouts over a freight train of percussion and guitar feedback. That performance certainly would have harshed the mellow of my “Mr. Tambourine Man” junkie.

  Rollins has released many spoken-word records, so pairing up with the world’s premier “speak-singer” was a natural for me. Also, I like to stand next to him to appear more buff. Seriously, Henry—hit the gym!

  RULE: Make Cracks about Henry Rollins When He Is a Good Distance Away

  FUN FACTNER: Henry Rollins was once the manager of a Häagen-Dazs store in the Georgetown neighborhood of Washington, D.C. And he’s the only guy on Earth who can say “white chocolate raspberry truffle” and still sound tough.

  Ben and I learned a lot from one another making this record. He helped shape my fifty different sets of lyrics into cohesive songs. At first, though, he was surprised I came in with anything.

  “I figured we would just write them here,” he said.

  “Wait a minute. You mean you don’t have the written material, like a script, when you come into the studio?” said I, incredulous.

  “No, we never do that. We just make it up as we go along.”

  I guess that’s rock and roll, but that’s an anathema to me. I don’t “wing it.” I’m a stickler for “process” when it comes to performing. When I act, I don’t use understudies, I do all my own camera rehearsals, and I am never late. I never arrive without all my lines learned. And I showed up to Nashville with my fifty sets of lyrics, ready to work.

  First thing in the morning.

  Which for Ben, was around 11:30.

  RULE: Don’t Assume It’s Ben Folds Five. More Like Seven or Eight, If You’re Lucky.

  Ben was very rock-and-roll. When he said to arrive at 11 A.M., I would be waiting for a half hour to an hour. Eventually, I had to have a sit-down with him. We were paying for the studio space—why waste it? Being on a schedule is very un-rock-and-roll, but being not rock-and-roll is the most rock-and-roll thing you can do, right? I was totally being rock-and-roll with my un-rock-and-rollness.

  Ben and I learned a lot from one another. He taught me about music, about the power of collaboration, about telling the truth with my lyrics. I like to think I taught him about the little hand and big hand on the clock. We put together a great album—in two weeks. And have maintained a friendship ever since.

  Before long, we were performing together in support of the album, even appearing on The Tonight Show with Jay Leno, which by then had been Fred de Cordova–free for many years. After we performed “Common People,” no one was mouthing “what the fuck?”

  We played the entire album, with a full band, including Joe Jackson and Henry Rollins, at the historic El Rey Theatre in Los Angeles. “El rey” means “the king,” and I certainly felt like royalty in front of the eight hundred young people who came out to cheer us on. The acceptance I felt from the audience was overwhelming, and really gratifying.

  The golden throats of the capacity crowd were united in cheers.

  The El Rey show ended, we went backstage, and the crowd continued to cheer for thirty minutes. Unfortunately, we had run through all our songs. There were no more on the album, and Joe Jackson had vanished in a green mist, but I wanted to give the crowd more.

  So we went out and did “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds”—the Shatner way!

  Sure, my groovy premise for The Transformed Man had long been forgotten, but in the forty intervening years, I was the one who transformed. The audience transformed. The people in front of me at the El Rey got it.

  I. Was. Vindicated.

  I’m not a vulgar man, but at the end of the number, I raised my middle finger into the air. I raised it high, I raised it proud. It wasn’t so much a “fuck you,” but a more rock-and-roll version of “I’m number one!”

  The spotlight caught it and held it. It was power, it was defiance, and it was . . .

  Transformative.

  And I held it up high enough for Freddy de Cordova to see in Heaven.

  Shatner Gets Serious

  My musical career is one of the best examples of the mighty power of saying “yes.” I said “yes” to doing a trippy, experimental album in 1968. I was certainly flogged aplenty for it, but a few years later, a young man said “yes” to buying it, enjoyed it, and asked me t
o further explore my musical horizons. Ben and I later said “yes” to performing in a series of Priceline commercials, which were seen by David E. Kelley, who was inspired to cast me as Denny Crane in The Practice, which then led to Boston Legal, which then led to two Emmy awards. There have been a few sour notes along the way, but the praises of “yes” are certainly worth singing.

  Or at least speak-singing.

  SECOND RULE FOR TURNING 80: Don’t Be Afraid to Ask for Help

  WANTED: ONE SPOTTER NEEDED FOR WELL-KNOWN MEDIA PERSONALITY

  ARE YOU A MOTIVATED SELF-STARTER, WITH A GOOD EYE FOR DETAIL? AND CRUMBS? Then you have what it takes to work for an actor-writer-director-philanthropist-horseman-singer-songwriter who has just entered his eightieth year.

  Duties: Spotting. Not in the lifting weights way, but in the “Sir, I spotted a stain on the front of your shirt; here’s a napkin” way. Your employer has noticed certain maladies associated with octogenarianism, most notably drippings.

  This job demands that the applicant keep an eye out for the telltale drippings, crumbs, and spots that sometimes appear on the shirts of those of an advanced age. You will be asked to be on the lookout for such things 24/7, as your employer has reached an age where he is no longer able to notice, yet wants to give the illusion that he does.

  Position responsibilities also include monitoring the corners of employer’s mouth for crumbs, the interior of employer’s nostrils for mucous (wet and dry), and employer’s ear canals for buildup of wax and hair, and mitigating other telltale signs of age. Strong interpersonal skills are needed to discreetly inform employer about such things without drawing attention to them. Especially before he goes on camera to tape his hit talk show on the Biography Channel, Raw Nerve.

  Other duties include monitoring length of time employer’s car signal is on after vehicle turn has been completed, observing eyes for crust, and shushing.

  Shushing skills will most likely be called upon for theatrical events, where employer has been suffering age-induced loss of indoor voice. Employer was recently at an equestrian show with grandkids that featured a film of a horse being born. Pair of eighty-year-old ears meant employer was unable to carefully monitor his volume while using such explanatory phrases as “afterbirth” and “horse vagina” to his young guests. You will be asked to shush him before strangers do—strangers who will then blog/tweet about it in an embarrassing manner.

  Do you have what it takes to help a man show the world that he still has what it takes? Then apply today. In person, with a cover letter. (Employer not too good with the whole computer thing.)

  Must be good with children, horses, science fiction fans, and William Shatner.

  CHAPTER 16

  RULE: Don’t Trust the Facebook

  My mouth hung open in shock, my shocked pupils scanning the computer screen for any sign . . . of me.

  But there was nothing. My identity was gone. Or at least my modern identity was gone. Erased. Forgotten. My Face had been removed from the Book!

  I am, of course, talking about the Facebook.

  FUN FACTNER: Young people often lose the “the” in front of “the Facebook.” They don’t usually properly add it until they hit sixty or so. With age comes wisdom! And perfect grammar!

  I had had my Facebook profile for a few years. I’d been taking quizzes, tending to my Farmville animals, poking and getting poked, and in March of 2011, the overlords inside the fortress at Facebook mountain decided that I was a fake William Shatner and deleted me.

  Deleted!

  Do you know what that feels like, in this modern age? To be deemed a fake? And then entirely erased?

  I’ve been called a fake a few times, but no one ever had the powers of deletion over my entire personality. I was an unwitting hero in a Philip K. Dick novel. (ATTENTION HOLLYWOOD PRODUCERS HOLDING THE RIGHTS TO VARIOUS PHILIP K. DICK PROPERTIES: I am available if the price is right. We can talk script later.)

  California had recently passed a law making it illegal to impersonate someone on Facebook, and it seemed as though the social networking site had decided to play it safe and delete the most popular William Shatner of all from Facebook. Keep in mind I would happily see the arrest of anyone faking me, and one day hope to glory in the sight of a mug shot labeled POLLAK, KEVIN.

  I didn’t realize it at the time, but there is more than one William Shatner on Facebook. How can you tell us apart? Well, the real William Shatner does not want you to click on that hilarious cat video, nor do I want to meet you in a mall parking lot to “just hang and see what happens.” Although I will meet you in a mall parking lot to watch a hilarious cat video. But it had better be hilarious—my time is precious. How precious? I’m the real William Shatner! The real William Shatner is busy!

  I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t log on to Facebook, because I no longer existed in their eyes.

  Then it hit me—Paul! Paul would solve everything!

  I needed to contact my web guru, Paul Camuso. He runs my website, set up my Facebook account, helps me when the computing machine on my desk is doing that beeping thing. Perhaps he could help reinstate the virtual William Shatner and get me back to the important business of poking my friend, the virtual Adrian Zmed.

  Paul, as usual, had some sage advice: Take the issue public. Virtually.

  “But how?” I demanded. “I no longer have an account. I’m no longer me!”

  He reminded me of the other virtual Shatner he had created for me. I harkened back to a conversation with a lovely actress not so long ago . . .

  RULE: If You’re Going to Keep Working in Flashbacks in Your Latest Writing Project, Come up with a Catchy Flashback Branding Device

  WILLIAMFLASHBACKNER

  “The Twittah?” I asked. “What’s that?”

  “You know, ‘Twittah.’ Everyone’s awn it. A-ha-ha-ha-ha-hawh!”

  I should perhaps explain that the person I was talking to was the lovely Fran Drescher, and in her Queens accent she was trying to “hip” me to the latest technological craze. I have only one of my original hips left, so I look for any help I can in that area.

  She was a big fan of this “Twittah,” said it was a good way to reach out to fans, and asked if I was on it.

  I looked around the set of Raw Nerve to the handful of people on Team Shatner and asked, “Am I on the Twittah?”

  I was not, but soon I was, and before long, @WilliamShatner on Twitter had more than six hundred thousand followers. And I owe it all to . . . well, Paul Camuso.

  To many, I will always be the quintessential twenty-third-century man, but when it comes to technology—in many respects—I am hopelessly mired in the twentieth century. The first part of the twentieth century. The part without all the buttons and Delete keys.

  Don’t get me wrong, I understand technology, but often I can’t do technology. I get the mechanics, but I’m not that mechanical. I mean, I understand how to change a tire, but I usually call AAA when a tire needs to be changed.

  Of course, I’m not a total Luddite. After all I’m writing this book on a computer and

  [SEGMENT OF MEMOIR MISSING]

  RULE: Hit “Save” Every Few Minutes, or You Will Lose Giant Portions of Your Shatner Rules Manuscript

  Fine—I’m a Luddite. I know how to turn on a computer, but the turning off part leaves me flummoxed. And I cannot leave something on when I leave a room. My father was always running around, turning off lights, and so do I. But turning off a computer is more than a money-saving act; it is a rebellion against society. You are turning your back on a conduit to modern communication; you are ignoring the drumbeat of today’s society! You don’t just unplug; you disconnect. Turning off a computer is turning on rebellion!

  FUN FACTNER: When William Shatner gets going about technology, he sometimes has trouble sticking to Twitter’s 140-character limit.
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br />   I’ve been keeping it a secret for years, especially from the good people in advertising who employ me on occasion. In fact, if you visit YouTube (hopefully someone will show me how to do that soon), you can see me singing the praises of the Commodore VIC-20, “the wonder computer of the eighties,” promising “great games” and opportunities for “the whole family to learn computing.” All for the bargain price of “under three hundred dollars.” (You can get one of these VIC-20s on eBay for about ninety bucks now. Apparently, the wonders of this wonder computer ceased pretty quickly.)

  In 1976, Bell Labs hired me to host a short industrial film called Microworld, in which I explained the wonders of the microprocessor—“the brain of the modern electronic system”—the silicon chip, solid-state technology! Again, this film—and my giant, broad jacket lapels—can be viewed on YouTube, a by-product of such technology.

  Fortunately, I have the help that I need. One of my assistants was good enough to set up my Twitter account for me, and on June 24, 2008, I tweeted, “Learning about this fascinating site.” Okay, it’s no “Watson, come quick, I need you,” but it was a very important first foray for me in this very important communication medium. This is a great way for me to interact with fans, and much more enjoyable than dropping the f-bomb when someone gives me a “Beam me up, Scotty.”

  Since that humble tweetinning, I have used Twitter to keep fans abreast of my talk show appearances and charity work, and link them up to my other social networking forays at William Shatner.com and on Facebook (which eventually got undeleted; more on that later). And all my tweets end with “My best, Bill.”