Shatner Rules

sung on a talk show. Earlier in the year, I had broken out into song on
The
Mike Douglas Show
, singing a tune called “Keep It Gay.”

    FUN FACTNER: While it means something completely different today, in the 1960s, “gay” meant “happy,” “cheery,” “full of merriment,” and “homosexual.”
    It was a great performance. In fact, if you type “William Shatner” and “Keep It Gay” into YouTube, you can watch the clip.
RULE: In Whatever Way You Can, Help Shatner Destroy YouTube
    I tried to explain to Fred what I was attempting to do with
The Transformed Man,
which was link great literature of the past with great modern literature—the poetry found in many songs of the sixties. Taking one song out of context would destroy the connection. Elsewhere on the album, I paired Hamlet with Sinatra, “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” with a poem called “Spleen.” It all made sense in context.
    Can you dig it, Fred de Cordova?!?!
    But my pleas fell on deaf—and hopelessly square—ears. De Cordova, not digging it and in a hurry to oversee the wrapping of Johnny’s Carnac the Magnificent turban, told me, “Do the Dylan number. Nobody knows the Cyrano thing.”
    So I did “Mr. Tambourine Man” as a junkie, and my allotted three minutes didn’t allow me to outline some of the headier concepts presented in
The Transformed Man
to the millions of people watching
The Tonight Show
. I was uncertain, but I performed it like only I can.
    As I worked my way through the number, I eventually collapsed to the ground, in front of Doc Severinsen and the Tonight Show Band, looked heavenward, and screamed,
“MR. TAMBOURINE MAAAAAANNNN!”
    I finished, turned toward Johnny, and saw him mouth the words, “What . . . the . . . fuck?”
    It seems most of America mouthed those words as well. That was the beginning of the end of
The Transformed Man
, an album frequently mocked, but one I am proud of. It vanished pretty quickly, and I moved on. And then . . .
    Golden Throats
came out. It all came rushing back to the pop culture landscape.
    Which brings me back to my meeting with the ex–Rhino Records executives. They continued on about how great it would be for me to record another album with them, how they would enlist their full support, shoot videos, blah, blah, blah. These guys were just looking for a gag version of
The Transformed Man
, and I wanted no part of it.
    My album became a joke to many people, and for better or worse I had learned to go along with the joke as time went by, but . . . no thanks. I was ready to show the Foos boys the door when . . .
    I got a phone call. It was Ben.
    Ben whatshisname.

    FUN FACTNER: William Shatner can never remember the last name of his good friend and frequent collaborator Ben Folds.
    Ben Folds! Yes. Ben Folds was on the line! Right in the middle of my meeting with Shout! Factory.
    Full disclosure: I can never remember Ben Folds’s last name. The only way I can is by applying a methodology, a mnemonic, in which I bend myself in the middle, creating a folding action after Ben’s name. I suit the action to the word—it’s the same way you act Shakespeare! So needless to say, I will be folding myself over as I write the rest of this book whenever Ben’s surname comes up.
    Ben (fold) Folds is a wonderful singer and songwriter from North Carolina, a beloved figure in the world of alternative pop, and a longtime fan of . . .
The Transformed Man.
When he picked it up at a garage sale as a kid, he had never seen Johnny Carson and had not yet heard of
Golden Throats.
He was a fan of Captain Kirk and his rather wild and strange record album. And in 1998, he asked me to provide some vocals on his record
Fear of Pop.
I had heard of his music, loved it, and agreed.
RULE: If You Want to Seem Rock-and-Roll, Don’t Admit That You Had Never Heard of Ben Folds and Consented to Do It Only Because Your Daughter Told You To
    So out of the blue—in the middle of my meeting with the Foos boys—Ben calls me. I spoke to him briefly, didn’t quite listen to what he said, but then looked up at the record execs, and declared, “I’ll do a record, but only with Ben Folds.”
    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