Flashback Friday: Monsoon’s Hoff to Summer Vacation Forecast (June 5, 2007) - Part Two
And now, the exciting conclusion to the previous post, in which I began explicating DH’s autobiography.
Self-congratulatory drivel about touching the future and his dedication to visiting/inspiring/curing sick children
David, King hoff Self-Promotion, never misses an opportunity to mention how his work as an actor and singer has meant the world to a sick child—or just children in general. Now, I was a kid when “Knight Rider” was on, and meeting him would have rocked my world. But his perceived power to change the lives of ailing youngsters is undeniably delusional and egocentric. He can seldom mention his trip to another city or country without noting a digression to a pediatric cancer ward or involvement in Race for Life or Make-a-Wish Foundation programs. To wit:
“Kids ran up to me and wrapped their arms around my legs and refused to let go. ‘KITT is like ET to children,’ I told one reporter. ‘He’s a source of non-stop love and affection – and a protector.’”
David of Nazareth was once riding in an elevator in Vancouver when he greeted a mother and her teenage daughter; the daughter began “freaking out” and days later, the Hoff of Perpetual Healing got a letter from the mother stating that her daughter had attempted suicide the very morning they’d seen him in the elevator, and that she vowed never to make such an attempt again “because I believe that he was sent to me for a reason.” He wraps this episode up neatly by proclaiming that “God does send angels and sometimes we are his angels.”
While delivering wheelchairs to Vietnamese children as part of Wheels for Humanity: “We handed the chairs over to children suffering from cerebral palsy. It was a small thing for me to do, but it made a world of difference to the children. I loved making people happy. Life should be about love, about being happy.”
About the child who visited the “Knight Rider” set and initiated his commitment to sick children: “Randy, the boy who showed me that my true purpose in life wasn’t fame or money but helping less fortunate people, is still my wingman to this day.” Wingman? I think that means something different from what he thinks it means.
Reading over this section it occurs to me that I may be taking a slightly cynical view of DH’s charitable work. Perhaps so. But jeez, we get it already—you are a good guy who apparently never passed up an opportunity to spread your Hoffing Light across the globe…
An alarming number of instances in which he denies being homosexual, seems to inadvertently arouse suspicion that he is gay, or comments on the homosexuality of another
The sheer volume and virulence of David’s insistences that he is not gay, and dalliances with gay individuals, falls into the category of “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”
On his sensitivity: “My daughters are always saying, ‘Dad, are you gay?’ I say, ‘No, why?’ They say, ‘You cry at everything.’ It’s true: I cry at game shows. A new car? – I break down.” He later defends his emotional demonstrativeness when discussing the fact that he got misty-eyed in the audience of the American Idol 5 finale: “Why is it regarded as a sign of weakness in America for a heterosexual male to cry? If you’ve ever seen the final of soccer’s World Cup, you’ve seen grown men sob like babies because they’ve lost—and you’ve seen the other side crying tears of joy because they’ve won. It’s a perfectly natural reaction and I’m not ashamed of it at all.”
When he saw his girlfriend after having been away at college: “Next time I came back to Chicago I had grown a moustache and had an Afro haircut. Sandy, who had gone to a very conservative university, thought I was either gay or out of my mind on drugs. I was neither – I had just turned into a long-haired thespian who loved blacks, greasers and hippies.” It’s unclear whether by “greasers” he means 1950s street gangs or he is using a derogatory term for Mexicans; neither would particularly surprise me. Whatever the case, you don’t get much better than that for ridiculous statements.
Soon thereafter: “I traveled to Manhattan and stayed with an actor friend who was pursuing his dreams on Broadway. On my first night, he informed me that he was gay and took me to a gay bar, the Pickle Barrel, to meet his buddies.”
Der Ladykiller and his friend Buddy were in New Zealand boogieing the night away: “Buddy and I went off to a nightclub and were having a few drinks when a good-looking girl started flirting with me. Buddy pulled me to one side. ‘David, it’s a guy.’ ‘She’s really cute, Buddy.’ ‘David, it’s a guy.’ ‘No, it’s not a guy.’ ‘Yes it is, David, look at her shoes.’ I looked down and said to Buddy, ‘Get me out of here!’ ‘She’ was wearing open-toed shoes which revealed big thick masculine toes.”
Poor, luckless Buddy had another brush with mistaken identity when an amorous kangaroo thought he saw the look of love in Buddy’s eyes during a trip to a Sydney zoo: “The kangaroo had taken a fancy to him and before he could duck out of the way, it got up on its hind legs, placed its paws on his shoulders and started making sexual advances to him. I dragged the roo’s claws off Buddy, but the beast had got so excited that he sprayed sperm all over him. He became known as ‘the Gay Roo’ and Buddy turned seven shades of red.” I wonder at least two things after reading this: first, given the unclear use of pronouns in the second and third sentences, it is unclear which “beast” was doing the spraying, and which became known as the Gay Roo; second, considering the fairly tactless nature of his description, I can only imagine what the first draft of this little anecdote sounded like!
Finally, there is his longtime friendship with the fabulously, flagrantly flamboyant pianist Liberace – not that there’s anything wrong with that.
Bold actions, funny situations, and embarrassing moments, some of which involve his singing career
As a young teenager, Hornyhoff finds that he finds the strangest situations arousing: “In church, I became aroused every time I kneeled down prior to taking communion. It was incredibly embarrassing. I wore long blue pants, shirt and tie and I’d try to arrange my clothing so no one noticed. Luckily, this only lasted for a short time, but I missed a lot of communions.” Now…why would you decide to put this in your autobiography? It’s more creepy and inappropriate than it is amusing and endearing!
Davey Boy relates some close calls: once, he invited a young lover to move into his San Fernando Valley home and he woke up one morning with her perched above him with a knife, saying “I could have killed you in your sleep.”
He relates tales of his great stardom abroad, his first concert tour in which he emerged from backstage in a KITT replica, and of course the American Pay-Per-View concert that was foiled by the O.J. Simpson Bronco chase: “The slow-speed chase was the most widely watched event in American television history, bigger even than the Moon landing. O.J. got 90 million viewers. I got 30,000. I had paid and nobody viewed. It cost us $1.5 million.” In my more honest moments, I think it’s rather quaint that he thinks the O.J. chase was the sole reason he didn’t hit it big with his Pay-Per-View special. His vocal chops are, however, vetted by a professional vocal coach: “My voice coach [for Jekyll and Hyde] was Trish McCaffrey, who had coached many Metropolitan Opera artists. Trish told me I was a born singer who, had I been classically trained, would have made a great opera singer.” By the same token, I, Monsoon, would have been a great basketball player, had I been taller and been gifted with athletic ability, quickness, and court vision.
The context of the following quote is irrelevant; just enjoy its linguistic poetry and the tragically inescapable imagery: “Next morning, with my wiener dogs in tow, I walked down the drive of my home in my underpants to get the newspapers. I picked up Variety magazine and read that Susan Lynne had been surprisingly fired after the read-through of News to Me. I looked down at my wiener dogs and said, ‘This isn’t a good sign.’”
The Hoff wrestles a 25-foot-long eel for an episode of “Baywatch.” He finds himself at a cock fight in the Philippines, inadvertently bidding on the action when he waves at spectators whom he believes to be fans. Tussles with Brandy on the set of “America’s Got Talent” when he professes to hate rap music. Nearly comes to blows on the same show when Piers Morgan “made an offensive joke about my singing. I told him, ‘You don’t want to do that again.’”
Name-dropping to associate himself with those whose wealth, fame, and/or talent eclipse his own
Name-dropping is a favorite pastime of the insecure and the grandiose, and it would appear that Mr. Hasselhoff qualifies in both respects. Paula Abdul and Sandra Bullock were both rejected for the role of C.J. Parker on “Baywatch” that eventually went to Pam Anderson. Hobnobbed with Russell Crowe in South Africa, where the latter was making Gladiator. Was slapped during a scene by Telly Savalas, who was seeking to teach the Hoff the importance of listening to another actor. Leonardo DiCaprio, who was turned down for the role of Mitch’s son on “Baywatch.” The Clintons. Lou Rawls. Nancy Reagan. Muhammad Ali, who greeted him with “You’re pretty Knight Rider, but you’re not as pretty as me.”
I have saved what I feel are two of the most baffling, memorable, goofy—Hoffabulous, in other words—passages in the book for last. First is his description of a role he played in between “Knight Rider” seasons opposite Joan Collins, whom he had heard was an egomaniac who demanded the sexual attentions of her male co-stars. The made-for-television film was called The Cartier Affair, and in the film, they are lovers. Take it away, Cyrano:
“The only way I could overcome my nervousness was to go on the offensive. I knocked on her dressing-room door and walked in, carrying a bottle of champagne and a couple of glasses. I slammed the champagne down and said: ‘I hear you’re a bitch but I love your work and I respect you and I’m terrified.’ She just roared. ‘Oh, I like you!’ she said. ‘Sit down and pop that cork.’”
And finally—His Royal Pomposity claims that Princess Diana flirted with him during a meeting in 1993: “‘You look good with your clothes on,’ she said to me. ‘And so do you,’ I replied. Diana laughed, blushed and then looked coy. It wasn’t my imagination – she was flirting with me. … Then she introduced me and I walked on stage. ‘Do I curtsy or kiss you?’ ‘Do whatever you want.’ So I gave her a big kiss. She smiled and blushed and sat to one side with her hands on her knees and a pert look on her face. The Princess was perspiring, her bosom heaving with desire, as she sat like a sex-crazed leopard watching my speech hungrily from the edge of the stage.” OK—I wrote the last sentence. But the rest of it is all Hoff.
My friends, thank you for indulging my prattlings and twaddlings for yet another year. Have a safe and happy summer vacation. Remember—if you’re heading on a trip and want the straight dope on what to pack, drop me a line in advance and I’ll try to give you some idea of what to expect!