Don't Forget to Dance...

"Dan's a fan, and see all our shows... Don't want to spend my life livin' in a rock'n'roll fantasy..." "You walk down the street And all the young punks whistle at you A nice bit of vogue just goes to show what you can achieve with the right attitude As you pass them by, they whisper their remarks one to another And you give them The Eye even though you could be their mother You do the thing you love the most What separates you from the rest? And what you love to do the most And when they ask me how you dance, I'll say that you dance real close. Don't forget to dance..." Last week, my favorite (remaining) record store hit its 33rd b-day: Newbury Comics has been a part of the Boston landscape for 3/4 of my life, and all of my relevant musical life. I think I've only been in the original Newbury Street locale once (or twice). I bought my David Bowie tickets there--7th row for the Orpheum Theatre back in '97. I was just a few people back when the first show sold out; I thought it was going to Bruce in '87 all over again (I was THREE people away from the ticket window in sub-zero weather; I went home and cried like a jilted 13-year-old. Come to think of it, I FELT like a jilted 13-year-old). Then they added a second show... Glorious feeling. Scored those tickets and felt 14 all over again, just a kid in love with Bowie and rock'n'roll and gonna go see the show! I think that was my first (and only) Orpheum show. Yeah, yeah, I know, lived here all my fuckin' life, only seen one show in the Ahpheeum. (Yeah, slipped into Bawstinian again.) Been to Foxboro a buncha times... almost got crushed to death to see U2 back in '87... general seating on the floor, was just a couple of people away from the stage. That was FUCKIN' AWESOME! Joshua Tree tour... glorious. Cried a few times during their set, Bono was so ON. Pogues opened for that one, Pogues and Little Steven. Show was the ballz. Saw Bowie there... lemme think... three times, I think... '83 (that was with Maggie; my second concert evah... my mum drove us down because we were like 15 and 16 and naive Catholic school girls; totally sheltered. I still don't know how we talked her mum, Josie, into letting her go)... '87 for Glass Spider (overproduced, but still good), and 1990... 1990 was fuckin' A, too. The man is a GOD in concert. There's a portrait aging in an attic somewhere for him. Saw The Who there in '89. Holy fuckeroo, that was an AMAZING show... if religion had been like that, I'd have my own church, y'know? Roger Daltrey's voice filled that stadium with something pure and holy and glorious... and Pete, Pete one of the first Guitar Gods... Stones later that year were the biggest soddin' disappointment EVAH. Mouldering Bones, them, and they need to retire. Keith can keep playing, but for fuckssake, if Mick can't remember the lyrics (and he was reading them off a teleprompter), RETIRE, YA BORING OLD CUNT! Let's see... who else... oh, yeah, Floyd in '88 (or was that '87?). The River Rave back in 2002, just after it reopened as Gillette Stadium... Not a bad line-up, although I can't remember for shit who was there besides Jimmy Eat World (they were OK). Shit, just looked up the line up. Evidently, The Strokes played that show, along with Public Enemy (remember them), Sum 41 (kinda remember them), and Tenacious D. Tenacious D was fabulous. Utterly wrong, but fabooooo. U2 on the PopMart tour... (eh, although we did get to meet Bono in the parking lot.) I think there were more shows, but I can't remember. Back after 9-11, Newbury Comics was having a big back-to-school event across all the stores (remember, Bawstin is a huge college town), and Dickie Barrett from the Mighty Mighty Bosstones was signing down in Quincy. I was still trying to get my indie screenplay made at that point, and I'd written most of it while listening to "Question the Answers" (GREAT, AMAZING FUCKING ALBUM!). Dickie was a gentleman, just a stand-up kinda guy, because I asked if the Bosstones ever did a soundtrack--like music written specific for a movie. They'd contributed songs to soundtracks, but never done the music specific. He told me that if I got the movie made, to let them know, and they'd give me permission to use their stuff. And autographed the booklet for QtA with, "Good luck with the flick." Decent guy--that was a pretty bleak time, and he was incredibly kind and encouraging, saying he never thought he'd end up doing what he was doing for a living. Moments like that, they keep me slogging away when I'm ready to give it the fuck up. Newbury Comics wasn't always my favorite record store. I was a customer of Disc Diggers in Davis Square forever. I think 90% of my vinyl came from there. CD Spins was cool when I lived in Allston, ditto for Diskovery (which also had used books; HEAVEN!). I used to go to the Newburys in Harvard Square all the time back in high school. Got my coolest earrings there--zipper pulls. (This was before I was a serious DIY person.) And the black zigzags (I may still have one of them up in my jewelry box. Should look). And when I first got contacts, I got my mirrored wrap-around New Wave shades there. Gods, I loved those fuckin' shades. They were tha SHIT! :-D These days, I hit the Fresh Pond Newburys frequently enough to know most of the staff by name. Great bunch of kids... excellent customer service, and just NICE people. I know, I know... record stores are so passe. But not to me. I mean, OK, fine, the whole digital download thing is cool and eco-friendly and technically cheaper, but... OK, lemme share a story. I am STILL a fan of vinyl. I have ALL of my old vinyl still up in my attic. I also own a USB turn table so I can convert it all (because some of that is NEVER going to come out on CD, although The Fools' "World Dance Party" is, so I guess there's hope) at one point. The first time I bought CDs (one of 'em was the B-52's "Cosmic Thing"--considering seeing them with the Go-gos in June--another was Don Henley's "End of the Innocence"--both still great albums), I was at Disc Diggers, and I looked at the dude behind the counter, the guy who'd been waiting on me for years as I bought stacks of wax, hefted the bag with the three CDs in it, made my pouty face and wailed like a 3-year-old, "It just AIN'T THE SAME!" And Buddy nodded sadly and agreed completely. THIS is why I like record stores--the human interaction. The sharing of the love of music. The exchange, the laughter, the everything. So this dinosaur stomps into her local Newbury Comics (which has parking) at least once a week for my music, DVD, obnoxious pin, pop culture, toy, blind box, whatever fix. I even got my copy of "I Swear to God" from there. (Yeah, there's a Jim Jefferies reference for damn near everything. ;-) Because there is a little part of me that still lives that old rock'n'roll fantasy. There's a part of me that still hopes I die before I get old. At least in my soul. Today's quote is from the songs Rock'n'Roll Fantasy and Don't Forget to Dance by The Kinks. I had the horrible realization that I didn't have ANY of The Kinks on CD and bought a greatest hits compilation the other day at the Newbury Comics b-day sale. Listening to it right now, and it's making me very happy. Ray Davies has a voice that contains such sadness... such a resigned, "that's life" melancholy quality that is truly lovely, and the lyrics... well, The Kinks were always awesome lyrically. Anyone has a copy of "Give the People What They Want" on CD they want to get rid of, let me know.

Empress Abroad: Evening with Jim Jefferies, Part 3: Anatomy of a Celebricrush

Celebricrush: Strong, inexplicable attraction felt towards a famous person with whom one has no direct connection. [Yeah, a no-brainer of a definition, but WTF, had to be done.]

Theme songs for the evening:

"All These Things That I've Done" by The Killers
These changes ain't changin' me/the gold-hearted boy I used to be
When everything's lost, the battle is won
All these things that I've done...
Time, truth, heart...
If you can't hold on,
Hold on."

"She" by Green Day
She... she's figured out all her doubts were someone else's point of view.
Additional tracks for the soundtrack: "Absolute Beginners" (David Bowie), "Long Road to Ruin" (Foo Fighters), "Better Days" & "Red-headed Woman (Bruce Springsteen), "The Turning Away" & "Learning to Fly" (Pink Floyd); and a few others I'm forgetting

OK, so I've been yammering on about Jim Jefferies for a couple of weeks (well, actually for a couple of months), and the upside of it is that all of my friends who have had to listen to me have also got to see and hear Jim's material (clips via You Tube or the DVD "I Swear to God"--I won't let "Contraband" out of my hands), and everyone has had a damn good laugh.

Because he's fucking hysterical.

Now, I'm not going into an analysis of his performances--either the live show I saw the other night OR the recorded performances available. (Note for everyone paying attention: my birthday is ONE MONTH from today; "Alcoholocaust" will be released TWO DAYS AFTERWARDS in the U.K. And if I get multiple copies, I'll auction off the extra and donate the proceeds to kidney disease research [you know why]. If there is another extra copy, proceeds will go to the charity Jim gave the proceeds for his last Fringe show. Sorry, it's 3:45 a.m. and I'm not doing the research now.) You want performance analysis (ever notice that "anal" is the first part of "analysis." Note to self: research etymology of "analysis" and "anal." Got to be a reason), go read Part 1 of An Evening With Jim Jefferies on this blog.

This post is going to analyze the whole Celebricrush thing.

Now, I am 42. I know I don't act it; that's deliberate. I grew up a long, long time ago--it sucked, it was boring, and I said to fuck with being a grown-up. Grown-ups are assholes--fucking stupid jack-offs who are so self-involved and self-important that they don't remember the joy in life. Adults... *shrugs* being an adult is a slightly different story. I do consider myself an adult--I have a job that I go to on a regular basis that I actually love (well, for the most part, when people aren't pissing me off with their fucking ridiculous passive aggressive games. I mean, PLEASE! Don't you have something better to do with your life than make mine difficult? And seriously, what rational human being would be stupid enough to get into a pissing contest with me? Really. OK, I'll stop bitching), I have responsibilities that I attempt to take care of, I pay my bills as close to on time as possible, and I remember to feed the cat, fill the gas tank, and take my medication on time 9 days out of 10. I try to be compassionate, not break the laws I think are sensible, eat healthy, seldom drink these days, and do my best to be a good friend. I see my doctor, check my blood chemistry levels when I start feeling things go off, and do my best to help my mother in all her drama.

Because of the life I've led, I also go to therapy from time to time. And while it was not my fault that I was abused, it is my responsibility to heal and not take out my pain on others. I call it the Path of Compassion, the most important part of taking the Road Less Travelled. See, breaking the cycle of abuse is not enough. You also have to heal your soul and learn how to love and trust again.

This... this is not easy. There are days I think it is utterly, completely fucking impossible. I got back into the dating game about a year and a half ago. I actually started on a BBW-specific site; that was a fucking disaster. Not only did a schlub I'd dated a few years back try to get in touch with me (Gods, THAT is a story and a half! But for another time), the first member of the Strap-on Frustration Club (I was introduced to the term "pegging" today by a friend; never knew what it meant) was found on there, and it just wasn't working.

It's the self esteem thing. See, I dealt with the worst part of Fat Girl Syndrome a few years ago, long before surgery--the whole self esteem issue. I like myself. Actually, I really love myself. I'm pretty fucking cool, damn smart, incredibly talented, a decent human being, and a great lay most of the time. I don't want to be anyone else.

So I switched to Match.com. Argh. What a waste of fucking time--aside from all the scammers, Edwad showed up in a search. I freaked. FREAKED. Damn, I wish he'd die. Just a wasted of space on the planet; I wouldn't even wish that loser on Sarah Palin, but then, they'd probably get along famously and share their guns. *shudder* Christ, I'm skeeved at the thought. *gag*

There was another site in there; again, waste of time. Met a couple of guys, one of them nice, went nowhere. And then Plenty of Fish, whereon Phil was encountered, and it was decided that Your Empress was NOT ALLOWED NEAR BRITISH MEN EVER, EVER AGAIN.

*sigh* It's a pity. I love Brit Boys... the accent. The mischief... the fucking. Mmmmmm... so very good in bed. Never met a Brit Boy who didn't have a kink in his soul that translated into the bedroom. Deliciously translated... Yeah. OK, head out of the panties, and back in reality. The problem is that most of them are utterly fucking mental--it's really easy to forget when you're in the middle of incredible, amazing sex that you're from two VERY different cultures, with very different ways of communicating and ideas about what is acceptable. Argh.

But the sex... the sex was gooooooooood. So very, very gooooooooooooooood. If only it didn't leave such scars on the soul.

So, after Mr. Phil, I was pretty badly damaged. I mean, I had to confront a LOT of shit after that collapsed about me as a woman and as a person. And I had to really face my sexuality.

Now, as I've mentioned, I grew up Catholic. Had twelve years of Catholic school. Raised by a single mum who lived an exemplary life--she dated, but I never saw a strange man in my mother's bed. I think this is a good thing for a kid. Sex is an adult thing--kids don't need to know about it.

Mum had some pretty old fashioned ideas about sex, at least as she communicated them to me. I was told I was to remain a virgin until I was married. There was a problem with this, however: I had read Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About Sex But Were Afraid to Ask at the age of 11--definitely an eye opener!--and had also read most of the letters in the Forum section of the Penthouse magazines under my grandfather's bed and the reader stories submitted to Hustler, which my uncle kept under his bed.

Yep, I'd had an education. And a half! I'd also discovered masturbation fairly early on (I think I was like four, or something), and never forgot how to make myself feel good.

Interest in boys happened at some point, and of course, it started with a crush on a celebrity.

Now, my Celebricrushes have never been mainstream. Never. See, back when I was 9 or 10, the big show was The Hardy Boys. Now, most of the girls went for blonde singer Shaun Cassidy. Not me. Nah, I wanted Parker Stevenson, the older brother, with his lovely blue eyes and greater intelligence.

Next was Dirk Benedict as Starbuck in the original Battlestar Galactica. I wrote my first ever fanfic at the tender age of 12. Yeah, I liked the bad boys even back then.

When I was 13, I began my lifelong habit of bucking trends. Instead of falling for whoever was the flavor of the month, some safely packaged Tiger Beat baby (I think Scott Baio was considered "hot" at that point; I will refrain from commenting), I fell head over heels in teenage lurrrve with Peter O'Toole.

Now, this was 1981. We had cable and The Movie Channel, and they were running an ad for a film called The Stunt Man. Just like Lord of the Rings changed my life, so did The Stunt Man. It's a film about a fugitive, Cameron, a Vietnam vet who stumbles on to a movie set whilst being pursued by the police, and must take the place of a dead stuntman so that the director, Eli Cross, can keep his location for the final three days of shooting.

If you have never seen this movie, RENT IT. Netflix it, buy it--Criterion released it on DVD. If you're in my neck of the woods, I will be happy to share my copy with you--Peter O'Toole is riveting, and I will never forgive the Academy for giving Robert DeNiro the Oscar that year. After seeing that film, I knew I had to be an actor and a director.

The next Celebricrush was David Bowie. I took a lot of shit for loving David Bowie--the famous cry, "BOWIE'S A FAG!" echoes in my ears still. Didn't matter--his music kept me alive during high school and was my portal to exploring stuff I would have never been open to without him. I've seen him live four times, and although Glass Spider was a bit lifeless, all of his shows have been amazing. If I ever get married again, "Absolute Beginners" will be the wedding song. "Labyrinth"... Gods, I want to adapt that for Broadway. It would be so amazing...

Anyway, I spent my teenage years sharing my affections between the two of them.

When I was married, I crushed on Mr. Spock. Not Leonard Nimoy--Mr. Spock. He was a unique creature in my experience--a logical male. (I did say I was married at the time.)

And then came Harvey Keitel. *sigh* Yeah, that one was intense. I applied to the Actor's Studio MFA directing program because of him. Got the news I'd been accepted on his birthday. It was nice.

I didn't go. By that time, my health was in the toilet, my psyche was severely damaged, and theatre... theatre was not an option at that point in my life.

And now... along comes Jim Jefferies.

So let's talk about Celebricrushes and why they happen. I mean, on the surface, they're creepy. (My opinion.) You have this attraction to someone you have never, ever met and probably never will. (Although I have met a few of my Celebricrushes, including Peter O'Toole and Harvey Keitel, albeit briefly.) It's one thing when you're a kid--it's safe to feel sexual attraction to an adult who is not a part of your daily life. When you're my age... well...

A bit weird.

Unless you're me. See, I find the ability to crush on someone (and I have a couple of "real life" crushes, lovely gents whom I deal with socially who just make my heart & other bits of my anatomy flutter) to be a really hopeful thing. After all the shit and bad things and bad relationships and stupid choices I've made, I can still have romantic daydreams, un-filthy desires, and yearning for a man.

I joke a lot about sex--honestly, I find it pretty damn funny--but then, I joke about most things that are important to me. It's my first line of defense. What we get up to in the pursuit and enjoyment of carnal pleasure... Yep, it's pretty damn funny. However, there is nothing more sacred to me than the sharing of my body, and I am luckier than most people in that I am really open-minded about sexual practices. I don't consider anything consensual to be "deviant." Sorry, but if you're both adults in your fairly right minds and you're both into it without coercion, GO FOR IT. I mean, who fucking cares what two consenting adults get up to behind closed doors? (Or three or four or however many. Life is too short--GET LAID!) The problem for me has come in when other people get involved.

Now, as you might have gathered, I live on the outside of my skin in a lot of ways. There are things I don't talk about--I leave out details that I consider a confidence in these posts because while there is stuff I don't care about people knowing because it just involves me, there's other stuff that to reveal it would be to tell someone else's story, violate their privacy. If you haven't broken faith with me, I can't break faith with you. It's not honorable. Back to living on the outside of my skin... the problem with being an open-hearted human being is that most people are not. Most folks live in fear, and the way they deal with fear is to deny, and in their denial, they instead judge others. Yep, it's hypocritical. Yep, it's the way the world works.

But it still hurts.

I've had a lot of hypocrites in my life. And they've done a fair bit of damage. As a result, for a lot of years, I'd do anything to prevent a man from knowing I liked him In That Way. PAINFULLY, HORRIBLY shy. And so utterly deep in self-hatred for my size. Now... now I'm old and cranky and don't give a manky fuck what you think of me. And I KNOW I'm a good lay. However... getting over that horrible, ugly voice inside... the one that whispers, "You're ugly. You're horrible. No one wants you." That's a challenge.

Self-hatred is something that's been a part of my life for a long, long time. It's taken me years to realize that it's not self-imposed--it's been put on me by others who couldn't accept me because I scare the living fuck out of them. People who hated me for being able to do what they were incapable of--loving myself, being myself.

My Celebricrushes have always happened at low points in my life--at times when I was ready to give up and pack it in. At critical nexus points. Jim happened in August after a looooooooooooooooooooong, hard, awful fucking summer when I was being consumed by rage, frustration--artistic, sexual and personal--and despair. There, on the giant screen television, was this guy saying shit... I mean, I've been writing stuff in that vein (not the same material, obviously--we're two very different people from different places)... I'm talking about the attitude, the honesty, the "I don't give a shit" attitude. How many of you have heard me say, "I'm old and cranky, and I don't give a fuck." It's my mantra, my philosophy of life, my shield against all the stupid fucking imbecilic hypocrites of the world. And here, on the TV, is this FUCKING ADORABLE, I mean, really goddamned cute! hysterically funny man saying pretty much the same thing.

I've mentioned that this was the summer of breakthroughs. Part of it came from dealing with Mum's illness: realizing how badly I'd been manipulated, how much of my life had been stolen, and how I'd allowed myself to be duped into because of my own desperate need to be loved and approved of. The non-body chemistry-related trigger for February's attempt to check out was delivered by Mum; she's been the catalyst for 85% of my bouts with the Death Need, the feeling of complete, utter inadequacy and rejection that only a parent can engender in a child. She and I have such a complex and intense relationship. I do love her; I also hate her. I accept that. Right now, I have to help her untangle her life so that she can go into elder housing and I can go on with my life.

I accepted that I may never find a partner and have a family. I still can't bear to think this; it still makes me want to curl into a ball and weep like a broken child. I truly do not know if there is a man on this planet who can love and accept me for who I am, as I am. I have a great deal to offer as a partner; I am also deeply flawed. I don't have many years of fertility left, although the surgery last year and continued weight loss and commitment to my health will give me a little more time. The bottom line is that I do not want to bring a child into this world just for the sake of having a child. I do not want any baby of mine to know the pain I have known; this is why I did not have a family when I had the chance when I was married. To bring a child into an abusive, alcoholic marriage would have been the basest, most vile of betrayals--a sin beyond all sins, a continuation of the ugly cycle of abuse I'd sworn to break. A child should have two loving, committed parents; I remember what it was like to watch my mother struggle. I do not want my little one to know that pain.

Because of who I am, I will make the most ethical decision, even if it means sacrificing my own desire. Because that is what it means to be a parent. I learned that from Mum; she tried so hard to live that.

The final breakthrough... theatre. Performing. I've been writing like a fiend this past year--with One Flew Out of the Broom Closet, I finally wrote the novel I've been dreaming of for years. And it's GOOD. Damn, it's good. I LOVE the voice of Rebecca Kinsale, I love her prickly, cranky, demanding bitchery. LOVE HER! Of course, she's just an extension of me, but still... to have a story that I've been trying to write for ten years FINALLY come together... Yeah. What's been missing, however, is the part of me I have been mourning for so very long: the actor.

The last show I did was Guards! Guards! back in '07; a mixed success, more success than failure, despite the fact it was staged in the Bookstore of the Damned & Clubhouse of Retarded Gamers. I know I still have "it" as a director; however, what I didn't have was the joy.

See, theatre... any art form, really... if there is no joy in the artist's soul for the act of creation, then there's no point. It's like perfunctory sex--you might feel good, but the orgasm is just a physical release. There's no satisfaction in it, and it leaves you feeling emptier than when you began.

That joy was stolen from me. I'm not going to go into the story--it's long, it's stupid, and the person who hurt me is a useless cunt who doesn't deserve the time or the credit. She's out of my life, she's a miserable creature, and I'm glad to be done with her. And it's NOT her life--it's mine. I'm responsible for it. Doesn't matter who does what, in the end, I am responsible for my own growth, my own healing, my own everything.

The one thing I don't like about myself is my need for approval--for applause, for adulation. The need to be loved. I may not give a flying fuck what people think about me, but that doesn't mean I don't need to be loved and wanted. And honestly, it's not something I ever really feel. I mean, I do on occasion--and far more now than I ever did in the past--but still... I do not see myself as a lovable person. I identify a lot with Granny Weatherwax in the Discworld books--the bicarbonate of history, the person you call when there's a hard decision to make, when you need something impossible done... but not the person you invite to a party.

Ow. That hurt to admit. But the truth is, that's the way my life has been. When things are bad, people want me around--I'm fearless and I'll deal with it. When things are good, well, let's just say people tend to forget I exist. Unless you've been in that position, you have no idea how painful it is. So, a long time ago, I started doing stuff on my own: going to movies, going out. Going to New York City to see Jim Jefferies. *shrugs*

I had to, though. There's a lot of common ground--again, different backgrounds, similar experiences, and a similar outcome, at least on stage. And it meant the world to see someone saying those things, getting angry, being honest, BEING FUNNY!!!!! and being applauded and successful for it. How could I not crush on him?

Besides, he really is fucking hot.

Seeing Jim perform--and the attraction I felt--set me to thinking. Because of course, being me, I have to analyze the shit out of everything. Why did I never go through with the one-woman show? The script was GREAT. Not perfect--needed tweaking, I mean, I only did the two drafts--but it was still damn good. And it's been sitting on my hard drive for nine years. Why HADN'T I done open mic? I'd been fantasizing about getting up and just doing it for years. Why the fuck wasn't I still doing theatre?

And it all started falling into place.

So... yeah. No more excuses. No more hiding. No more. Good-bye, Darth Thespia. Good-bye, OSP. Good-bye.

I'm back.

[So that's my rambling analysis of crushes. Short form: a reason for hope, as long as you see them for what they are: a bit of necessary self-revelation, a bit of inspiration, and a jump-start for a dead heart. Taken with a grain of salt and a good sense of humor, a damn healthy, normal thing to let you know you're still alive, still kicking, and everything's gonna be all right.]

G'night, my darlings. Thank you for reading. Be well--love each other. And don't be afraid.
Much love,
Your Empress

The Empress Abroad - An Evening with Jim Jefferies,Part 1: WHAT A PERFORMANCE!

This is the first of three posts on yesterday's adventure. This one actually deals with the show; the other two will deal with the ensuing adventures surrounding and The Empress and the experience of the Celebricrush. (My word! I coined it! Bite me!)

OK, anyone who has had a conversation with me over the past two months that lasted longer than five minutes has heard about Jim Jefferies: how I caught his "I Swear to God" show by accident on HBO whilst Lucky- and Chey-sitting at 2:00 a.m. and had my mind blown and the final breakthrough of a year full of breakthroughs.

Well, yesterday I schlepped my arse down to one of my less-favorite places on the planet, New York City, solely for the purpose of seeing Jim.

Because Jim is a fucking god, comedically speaking. Now, since catching "I Swear to God," I've been all over the Interwebs, looking for his performances. YouTube is a good source (aside from the legit clips his manager has posted, the bits from Opie and Anthony are great, ditto the Minty's 2007 appearance, interviews from the Edinburgh Fringe Magazine, a couple of other miscellaneous interviews--the one from The Cave where he impersonates the head of a circumcised cock... yeah--TV appearances in the UK, plus a couple of "pirate" vids shot on cell phone video from a couple of festivals). I am not an advocate of pirating for a lot of obvious reasons (1. I'm a librarian. Copyright must be respected at all times! and 2. I'm a novelist trying to get my shit published, a longtime theatre person, and a fledgling comedian--I WANTS PAYING, DAMN YOU! So I can't exactly advocate swiping shit when it's people like me and my friends who get screwed); HOWEVER... the two easier to find pirate vids are great, not in terms of technical quality, but in terms of getting a taste of Jim live--relaxed and at ease with his audience.

Now, anyone who deals with me knows how hard I am to impress. I'm a cynical old bitch who frequently crosses the line into Evil Cunt without even trying--I am DEMANDING. As a highly ethical being, I expect a degree of ethics from others (note: I say "ethics," NOT "morality" which is a bastard concept imposed by bullshit religions), and when I don't get it, I get cranky. However, when someone behaves with graciousness and magnamity...

OK, I hear the kin-niggots in the background shouting, "GET ON WITH IT!" and brandishing their weapons. Onward. So, I made a dinner reservation because it meant VIP seating. Now, honestly, the food at Caroline's... I wasn't impressed. The service is EXCELLENT--the servers are lovely, ditto the host/esses. I have a Bostonian's distrust of New York (sad, I know, but it's cultural and ingrained); Caroline's is a legendary comedy establishment, and I can't not recommend the experience of seeing a show there. Great service, great view, and a good value for the money. Just... just don't expect much from the food.

Now, as I was picking at dinner (because I really wasn't hungry; should have been, but wasn't), the early show let out. People piled out of the theatre, the hostess swept over the table near where a bunch of us were eating, and next thing I know, a figure I recognize is standing ten feet away from me.

Well, Jim started signing DVDs, shaking hands, taking pictures, talking with people... just a whirlwind of energy and activity. Well, Fan Grrrrl here pulled "Contraband" from her bag, and after hesitating, asked the hostess if he'd be signing after the next show. She said she wasn't sure, so I gave it a minute and when there was a lull, stepped forward with my DVD.

OK, a word about "Contraband": this was Jim's first DVD release. Now, I got my copy off of ebay a month ago after a serious pissing contest with another fan over there; however, I was a woman on a mission (more about this in the Celebricrush post), and no fucking way was some *grumblemumblenastywordforBritishpersonheregrumblemumble* outbidding me on this DVD, dammit. They tried, oh, how they tried, but inbred British defeatism will never overcome American entitlement and aggressive consumerism. So, I hand the DVD to Jim and he is shocked out of his mind and says to me, "Do you know how many of these exist?"

"5000."

"Yeah!" Well, there was "Contraband" sitting on the table next to "I Swear to God" and he says, "Better picture on that one."

"Definitely hotter." I got a look for that one. Surprise, but why, I don't know. He is... right, Celebricrush next post, GET ON WITH IT.

Well, we got into a discussion of the merits of the two shows--of course, Jim saying that the HBO show is better, and the newest one... he's over the moon about "Alcoholocaust." (It's being released in the UK on November 8th, two days after my birthday. Save your pennies, kids. Actually, don't bother because you know I'm gonna preorder the fucking thing because I can't live without it. It's Pratchett Syndrome all over again, dammit.) And being a director, I have to say that while I Swear to God is a far more polished performance, I love Contraband because he's so much more at ease with his audience.

(And he is--the extras include the first night of the performance of his show "30," which features the sing-along version of "I Am the Egg Man." There is something really special about seeing a performer with that kind of rapport with their audience. As an actor, I love that shit. It just makes me happy. Reminds me of the first time I saw Bowie perform in '83 on the Serious Moonlight tour--the "comeback" tour, like the man was ever away--down at Foxboro. Singing "Space Oddity," he suddenly realized that the entire crowd was singing along with him. The smile on Bowie's face will remain with me for my entire life... BEAMING, joyful, as it hit him how much people loved him, his music, and that HE was causing this incredible moment with 60,000 people in a crapass football stadium, all of us holding up a means to fire and singing along. THAT'S MAGIC.)

Jim then launches into the details behind "Contraband"--how he hired three camera guys with his own money to make the DVD so he'd have something to sell at gigs, and then... then he got famous right after it was made. Problem was the distributor owned the DVD, so he bought himself out of it by buying them up. Evidently, I now possess an ultra-rare bit of Jim Jefferies memorabilia, and fuck you, no, I ain't sellin' it. MINE!!!!! *growl* Remember what I've said about my Bowie albums? (Including the original American release of The Man Who Sold the World, the infamous "cowboy cover," and Bowie wanks know of what I speak--I have most of his catalogue up until Never Let Me Down, including 12" of "Dancin' in the Streets" and "Absolute Beginners," the best fucking love song ever recorded.) Cold. Dead. Hands.

I got a pic with him (terrible pic, all dark and shit, but hey, I had his arm around my shoulders... perfect height... *sigh* The sad thing is that I've got two guys on the hook and a potential third. I am not short of potential action at the mo), took a pic for the lovely couple sitting across from me, and then offered to buy him a drink, which was refused, "Nah, I'm off the booze," and off he went.

Then came the show. Well, Yours Truly had VIP table #4. It was SWEET: little single table not too far from the stage, perfect view. One table in front of me, and I could deal with that. Brett McKenzie from "Flight of the Conchords" opened. Funny guy. I've never seen the show, heard raves about it, and he was nice to look at and fucking funny to hear. Good material, good opener.

And then... Jim.

The place went wild. Insane. And Jim bounced out clutching a bottle of water and hit the place like a fuckin' hurricane.

I will say this about Jim Jefferies: his DVDs are fucking hysterical (yeah, I know, gotta produce the "fuckgraph" to demonstrate how good something is by the number of times I use the word). They are. I mean, I was having laugh flashbacks for two weeks over, "UP! GUNTA! UP!" (and I hate fat jokes, never mind elephant jokes) Get "I Swear to God"--rent it, Netflix it, whatever, but see it. But if you get the chance,

SEE. JIM. LIVE.

The great thing about the Internet is that you can easily get a taste of a career progression. It's interesting to hear Jim in interviews (and in his material)--he is very good at describing himself as "not smart enough." There is NOTHING stupid about this man or his material. He has a natural grace on stage--FABULOUS timing, and even when he flubs a line, saves it like a fuckin' pro, laughs at himself, fixes it, moves on, and the audience loves it, loves him, and laughs along.

That's the secret, kids--bottom line, whatever form of performing you're into, acting, music, comedy, whatever--ENJOY YOURSELF out there. HAVE FUN. Be FEARLESS. Jim Jefferies exemplifies this--he loves what he's doing, he's having a good time, and he commits wholly to what he's doing, and is utterly fearless with his material. He doesn't give a rat's ragged ass who he offends (or should it be "whom"? Who the fuck cares? It's my sodding blog). I think this is why I am so enamoured and inspired by him--that's the place I started from and am getting back to. However small he may claim his dick is, Jim has got ginormous brass balls on stage.

Note that I'm not talking too much about his material. That's deliberate. It's his material, not mine, and honestly, I want you to spend your money and see him. I mean, get me talking face to face, I'll quote a bit, but I'm talking about the performance and quality thereof, not the specifics of the material.

Although his material... Again, fearless. He takes on religion--particularly Xtianity and its hypocrisy--relationships, women, lesbians (and anyone who has had the old Lesley Lesbian Lug experience will appreciate his view of humorless dykes). Actually, here I will quote: "If you hate men so much, STOP TRYING TO LOOK LIKE THEM!" Like I said, after certain experiences at Lesley, I thoroughly appreciated this bit. Sex. Lots about sex. He had a great go at America that I completely agreed with (anyone who has heard my rant about being a nation of entitled spoiled brats will understand) that became a bit on his own battle with depression. No excuses, no bullshit--remind you of anyone? ;-) And I couldn't disagree with him, honestly, and even when a part of me wanted to, I was still laughing. Hard.

After the show, he was just as gracious as after the first one, and several people went up for second rounds of pics and handshakes and chats... but more about that in Part 2, Celebricrush.

Jim, if you read this, THANK YOU and ALL SUCCESS to you! Part of me doesn't want you to be cast in anything because you're so damn brilliant a standup, but the actor and director in me wants to see you in films because you're fucking amazing.

Here is my final point about Jim Jefferies as a performer: he has been described as "Britain's most offensive stand-up comic" for his subject matter and language choices (I had already embraced the word "cunt" a while ago, but Jim... yeah. It's his word, and as he'll tell you, he does know better, he just doesn't give a fuck, bless him). While I will agree that he is not for the easily offended (i.e. the humorless cunts that seem to overpopulate the world these days), that description does his talent, performance skills, and material a grave disservice.

I worshipped George Carlin. Carlin was a god. He can't be replaced--he came up in a unique point of stand-up history, and no one can replace him. However, I think Jim is the Carlin of his generation. He's at his best not when he's doing a gag, but when he's telling a story, be it about his mother, his dad (Gods, I want to buy his dad a pint, just because he sounds like a hoot; his mum I'd like to make a cup of tea because raising three boys... ), or himself. Jim's a natural storyteller and if you watch his face carefully (and this is where DVD serves well), he will break your fucking heart. You'll be pissing yourself laughing, but your heart will be torn in shreds at the same time because his warm brown eyes go black with rage, pain and outrage over humanity's lack of humanity. He's already kicked the schtick habit so many of the greats held on to for too long--it took having a heart attack for Carlin to get pissed off enough to stop with the silly shit and just be his cranky, brilliant fucking self. Robin Williams has only just got to the point where he can be honest. Mind you, Jim has come back from cock cancer and is now facing liver issues, so mortality is definitely giving him a prod, but you know from his stories, it's never been easy. That's what makes for great comedy--Shakespeare knew that. You'll find some of his funniest bits in the tragedies because it was necessary.

Again, Jim, thanks for an awesome performance. You're a gracious, decent fella, and I hope you keep it together and conquer the fucking world. It doesn't deserve the favor, but fuck, man, it needs it.

One bitch, though--could you get your press release updated? Sorry, but the U.S. management needs to get their shit together and get an updated press kit together--just looks shoddy, and you are NOT shoddy. (Sorry, that's the producer in me. I smack people around for missing details like that.)

OK, on to Part Two, the travellogue/gushy post. Be prepared to roll your eyes, say, "Oh, FOR FUCK'S SAKE, RIZ, GET YOUR FUCKING HEAD OUT OF YOUR ARSE!" and laugh because it's gonna be one about my stupidly ridiculous life.