As usual, a disappointment.

Being single, and without my "Cruise Director," I've taken to trying to motivate some interesting activities over the last nine months.

Again, and Again, and Again, unfortunately, I get affirmation as to why we never do anything new.

Because by and large, any activity I try to motivate is disappointing. Some haven't been - snorkeling - that was an undiscovered jewel. I have to motivate that one again. A trip to Knaus Berry Farm, that's ALWAYS a crowdpleaser.

But Jai-Alai? Maybe if we brought more people and all of us got hammered, it'd have been fun.

This weekend, Mer, Julie and I coughed up beaucoup bux to see four headliners at the Second Annual South Beach Comedy Festival. We saw: Roseanne (boo.) Hal Sparks (YAYYYY! -- Call me! We can share hair crap to make our hair spiky!) John Stewart (YAYYYYY! [Another crush of mine. John, if you're reading this, call me!]) and Margaret Cho (Yayboo.)


I am most disappointed in this Comedy Festival, because it began and ended on a bad note. In law, we're taught that when talking to the Jury, Primacy and Recency are the two most important times for leaving an impression. Roseanne sucked, and Margaret Cho's show, sucked for all but the first five minutes, but more on that later. Basically, even though I had a wonderful time, and saw Deputy Junior and Thomas Lennon from Reno 911 (I've now Met, Hugged and/or seen every member of that show) I'm left with a bad taste in my mouth, because the experience began and ended on a crappy note.

Now, let me set something gay. (Ha! Ha!)

Fags. LOVE. Margaret Cho.

We love many people: Barbara Streisand, Cher, Liza Minelli (what a fabulously pitiful train wreck!) We love Ana Nicole Smith, we love David Sedaris...Diana Ross...the list goes on, and on, and on.

But Margaret Cho is someone that all of us would cream our jeans to be able to have lunch with, and have that develop into a friendship where we call each other on the phone and talk for hours, or go out for ice cream and then eat some shrooms and wander around looking at everyone while tripping, or go shopping for shoes and jeans. (Except when she was in her "dark phase," then we wouldn't really have wanted to hang out with her, because then she'd be a downer.)

Because let's face it - she's funny as hell.

And she was.

For. Five. Minutes.

Then, she said, "We've got a really great show for you!"

::needle scratching off a record::

Whaaaaa?

Enter a belly dancer. A transvestite. A stripping midget. A really fat chick... Margaret Cho, dressed as a Samurai Warrior, who stripped.

And on, and on, and on. Yeah, it was a celebration of the Female Body, and we got to see Midgets and obese women get naked and shake their pasties at us. (Literally, everyone wore nipple-covering pasties, and usually a g-string, and sometimes...less.)

And I was upset.

Not at the human form, whatever. I'm fine with nudity, and a body is a body, fat, thin, midgetsized or tall. (Julie was scared of the Midget. She did have very long arms and legs...)

Know why I was pissed? BECAUSE MARGARET CHO DUPED AN ENTIRE THEATER FULL OF ADORING HOMOSEXUALS INTO BUYING TICKETS TO HER SHOW, UNDER THE GUISE THAT IT WOULD BE HER DOING HILARIOUS STAND-UP COMEDY FOR AT LEAST AN HOUR, AND WHAT DID WE GET!? FIVE FUCKING MINUTES OF COMEDY!? AND THEN A BUNCH OF CRAPPY GAY AND LESBIAN RAP ACTS AND STRIPPING MIDGETS!?! I MEAN, JESUS FUCKING CHRIST! WHAT THE FUCK, BITCH?! SERIOUSLY!?! WHAT?! THE!? FUCK?!

Sorry. I got a little angry there for a minute.

Julie, Mer, and I sat, in our NOSEBLEED SECTION SEATS (literally, top of the fucking theater, even though I pushed "Buy Best Available!" from Ticketmaster not three seconds after the tickets went up for sale...and we were in row X. Of a Theater that went to row Z) mouths agape, asking each other "What the fuck?! No, seriously, what the fuck?!"

Throngs of people were leaving the theater like rats jumping from a sinking ship. It was a "sold out" show and even before it was half done, I'd say an eighth of the audience left.

Comedy. That's what we came to see. If she had even advertised a show about stripping Midgets and Chinese Fan Dances, we may have even STILL come to see it, but we wouldn't be expecting to LAUGH!

Ugh. The kicker was she showed us her vagina. Twice. Once through a mesh gstring, and once with a plastic penis and balls hanging out of it. Yeah. Picture that.

After it was over, my friend Richard came up to us and said, "Well, we're taking a poll... would you rather have your money back, or would you rather have that hour and a half of your life back?" I think I opted for the money, so I could drink away my depression.

A sadder theaterful of gays trudging down Lincoln Road, you will never again behold.

Margaret... you let us down.