Bare Bones
Authors: Bobby Bones
For my grandma, my mom, and everyone who ever took a chance on me
CONTENTS
Introduction: Or, Why We're All Here
1
The Boy Behind the Ninja Turtle Mask
4
Country Mouse in the Big City
7
Fight. Grind. Repeat. And Sometimes Lose
 Â
Acknowledgments
 Â
Photo Section
 Â
About the Author
 Â
Credits
 Â
Copyright
INTRODUCTION:
OR, WHY WE'RE ALL HERE
July 13, 2015
Right now, I am packing to fly to Los Angeles tomorrow, which is crazy. I'll tell you why.
But wait. First let me introduce myself.
Hi. I'm Bobby.
I do a radio show (a few of them, actually). It's really the only thing I'm good at. I have done a radio show basically every day of my life since I was a teenager. I don't like vacations. I don't even like weekends. I like to work. And to me, my work is talking on the radio. It's nice to meet you.
Okay, back to why I'm shoving my stuff in a bag to head out to the West Coast from Nashville, where I live.
About six months ago, I met up with a casting agent from one of the major networks while she was visiting Nashville, after a friend introduced us. We were talking about life and random stuff at the bar in her hotel. I really didn't know the importance of her job, which is what happens most of the time when I meet people in really high positions. Too dumb to know I should be networking, I just kind of stumble into things instead.
Three weeks after I met the casting agent, however, she sent me an e-mail inviting me to L.A. for a “meeting.”
I've had “meetings” before, and most times they are just that, a meeting between you and someone else. You never get a job in that meeting; you rarely get a job
from
the meeting, either. But you go, because maybe, just maybe, something will come up later and that person you had the meeting with will remember you for it. That's Hollywood logic for you. (Something I'm still learning. I'm used to Arkansas logicâmore on that later.)
So I flew four and a half hours to Los Angeles just to take the meeting, after which I planned to get on the first flight back to Nashville for a few hours of sleep before the usual 3
A
.
M
. wakeup time for my morning radio show. It was going to be a pretty grueling couple of days, but when a TV network calls, you come a-runnin'.
As it turned out, the meeting wasn't just a meeting but a real live job prospect. “We're doing this show. Unfortunately I can't really tell you much about it, because we're keeping it under wraps,” the casting agent said. “But we'd love for you to audition.”
Hell, yeah!
I headed over to the studio where the auditions were being held. Now, I've interviewed for plenty of radio jobs, but I'd never been to a Hollywood audition. As soon as I entered a room filled with a bunch of great-looking people, I lost most of my hope of landing this gig. Listen, I'm a 6.2 at best on the 1-to-10 scale. But in Pretty People Land, where I was at that very moment, I immediately dropped to no better than a 3.8. There were models, reality stars, CNN anchors. And then there was me.
It didn't help my self-esteem any that I had worn jeans, a T-shirt, and tennis shoes when everyone else was in their Sunday best. I had no idea I was supposed to dress up! I am that clueless. As they say, you can take the boy out of Arkansas, but you can't take the Arkansas out of the boy.
In the middle of all this Los Angeles cool, that's exactly where I was catapulted back to: Mountain Pine, Arkansas, the tiny mill town where I grew up. At the audition, everyone, except me, seemed to know one another. The way they hugged and kissed hello, it was if they were all long-lost best friends at a high school reunion. Meanwhile I sat in the corner, staring out from under my baseball hat like a creep. I was right back at Mountain Pine School, the kid who ate lunch by himself in the corner of the cafeteria every day until graduation.
It was almost a relief when they called my name. Almost, because I had no idea what to expect when I sat down at a table with three other people.
The casting director said, “Talk about the current events of the day. Here, I'll get you started.” She threw out a topic from the day's news and said, “Go!”
I might suck at socializing (and dressing, apparently), but if there's one thing that I'm good at, it's being quick on my feet. The two are related. When you're not popular as a kid, either you have to be funny or you'll routinely get the crap beaten out of you. I've built a career on the survival skill I honed early on: being a smart aleck who is good with a fast comeback.
So I sat there for two or three hours giving the ol' Bobby Bones take on everything from the Kardashians to global warming to the relative merits and demerits of Siri. Meanwhile, the casting director kept switching out the other two people on my panel. It was like the Hunger Games of television.
“Thank you. Your bags are here,” they told the people asked to leave
every single time
. “We appreciate your time. You'll be escorted down.”
It was excruciating. Whenever the casting agent stood up, I was just thinking, Uh-oh. Please don't stop at me. Please don't stop at me. Please don't stop at me. Pleaseâoh, I made it. Ahhhhh.
By the time we broke for lunch, a hundred people had been whittled down to thirty-five. After lunch, it was right back to panel after panel after panel, and people getting cut and people getting cut. I'm not kidding. I felt like Katniss Everdeen fighting for her life. There were boy-band membersâreal-life, once massively famous boy-band membersâwho got cut right in front of me. Hunger Gamed out, their names went in the sky as they died. Meanwhile I kept getting pushed on and on until the day ended at 6
P
.
M
. with six of us left. “We thought you did a great job,” one of the casting agents said to me.
I couldn't believe it. I'd made it through. I was going to be on TV!
“We'd like to have you come back to the audition next week,” the casting agent continued.
What! This wasn't the audition?
Turns out that this daylong death march was just the
start,
an early round to cut out the riffraff, which is exactly what I still was at that point (and still feel I am). So a week later, I was back on a Southwest flight from Nashville to L.A. This time, though, I showed up in a suit. I only put on a suit when it's time to go into battle.
I knew exactly what my game plan was this time. My job wasn't to be the funniest; my job wasn't to be the smartest; my job wasn't to be the most
anything
. Actually, that's not true: my job was to be the most human. While I can hold my own with great talents and have an opinion in the face of big personalities, I'm just a regular guy. I've accepted my position in life: that I'm never going to be that cool. And I'm okay with that.
Throughout my careerâwhether it's
The Bobby Bones Show
broadcasting across the country every morning on the radio for more than a decade, my comedy band Raging Idiots, or this TV show I was trying out forâI've always had the same voice, and I'm lucky to have it. Having grown up a trailer park kid on welfare and food stamps, becoming jaded is impossible. Although now I make a good living, which I'm not ashamed of; when you've been poor, it never leaves you.
Oh, wait. I'm gonna have to take a break from writing and continue this book later, because the person's here at my apartment for my spray tan.
PAUSE FOR SPRAY TAN. THANKS FOR YOUR PATIENCE.
I'm back. I get that it's funny to talk about how normal I am when a spray-tan person just left my place (that's why I put it in the book). Listen, I swear I wouldn't care about being spray-tanned or any kind of tan, but apparently you can't be pale on TV because the lights wash you out. Because I'm about to go be in front of the cameras for three days, I had to get spray-tanned. Don't judge me. Even though if, as a kid (when being tan wasn't a problem since we spent all our time outdoors without our shirts), I could have seen into the future and how much money I'd spend on getting a tan, I'd judge me, too.
So anyway, at the “real” audition for what I now knew was a new network talk show, I was going to sit at a table and just “be myself.” And that's what I did. I wasn't spectacular, but I felt pretty solid, even though there were some big players like the Real Housewives. (And not the crappy ones. Apparently, there are two levels of Housewives. Who knew? There's, like, the Minor League Housewives who don't matter very much and the Big League Housewives who make bank.) During the audition, everyone was trying to get in the last word or the most words, in the hope of being noticed. Everyone but me.
Among all the famous faces talking around me, there was only one person who made me truly starstruck. I first spotted him when he sat down a few seats away from me during lunch. It was
the
greatest defensive back of all time: Florida State Seminole, All-American, and NFL Hall of Famerâthat's right, I was sitting next to the one and only Prime Time! Deion Sanders!
I have always been a huge sports geek and did a national sports show for years. As a kid, I watched Deion in the NFL, and now . . . he was sitting right next to me. It was almost too much to believe. To make sure I had proof, I took some pictures of him while he wasn't looking and sent them to my friends (loser move, I know).
After I was done being a stalkerazzi I moved a few seats over so that I wasn't right next to him but a bit closer (I didn't want to be pushy). Although running through my head in a steady stream were the words, “I'm such a huge fan! I'm such a huge fan!” I played it cool.
“Hey, man. How you doing? I'm Bobby. Nice to meet you,” I said to Deion freakin' Sanders.
“I'm Deion.”
No kidding!
“Nice to meet you.”
Then we continued to eat our very healthy meals, as we are both gentlemen who try to stay in shape. Really, he was the gentleman eating. I was just sitting there thinking, Don't stare too long. Don't stare too long. Don't stare too long. Okay, look. Okay, turn away! all the while texting all my friends, “I'm sitting next to Deion Sanders” or reporting on things I heard him saying to other people: “Deion just said this . . .”
