Lord Googoo

A publisher friend of mine recently told me that it was unlikely I would find employment at my age, and that I needed to “re-invent myself” and do something on my own.

Coincidentally, I read in the paper how Lady Gaga had been a semi-successful cabaret singer named Stefani Germanotta before she “re-invented” herself by taking off her clothes and imitating Madonna.

Say hello to Lord Googoo!

Show biz, here we come. I can already picture the first GOOGOO,GAGA TOUR. The name of the act says it all: one member in her first childhood, the other in his second; she strutting around the stage nekkid, and he trying to remember why he used to find that interesting.

I know what you are thinking: Jerry, in show business you need a shtick.

I’ve always been a big fan of Old Blue Eyes, so I am going to do a Sinatra act. I’ve already purchased one of those itty bitty Fedoras he used to wear.

I know what you are thinking: Jerry, you can’t sing. Well, neither could Frank in his last years, but that didn’t stop him from making a public spectacle of himself.

Just picture Gaga wiggling and caterwauling “I want your disease,” while I croak “that’s why the lady is a tramp.” Talk about your point/counterpoint, that’s it right there!

I am aware, however, that here in the 21st century, over-stimulated audiences need a strong visual component. While the sight of a tiny hat perched at a cocky angle on my enormous noodle is very cool, it isn’t enough, because as Frank once observed: “A funny hat can't upstage a naked lady.”

I was stuck for a shtick.

Then one day last week, while I was sitting in the Starbuck’s in Chester, NJ, a man about my age entered wearing clear plastic pants with little or nothing underneath.

This made such a profound impression on the four women sitting at the adjacent table that they successfully executed the rarely attempted quadruple frapuccino spit take.

When the coffee mist cleared, I realized he was onto something and I had solved my visual problem.

Picture this: at the end of our last encore, I, wearing my tuxedo with the clear plastic trousers, get up from the piano and walk to center stage where, with my back to the audience, I take Gaga’s hand and perform such a deep, gentlemanly bow that, if he didn’t have chronic post-mortem dry eye, would surely have brought a tear to Old Blue Eyes’ blue eyes.

Music fans, there are not enough defibrillator paddles on the planet to handle the ensuing pandemonium.

So the GOOGOO,GAGA TOUR is good to go-go!

I don’t know why I am SO excited.

It must be the plastic pants.