It’s so sunny and pretty here, and apparently it’s gonna be nice till, i dunno, Thanks-fucking-giving. On Sunday, I did 2 hours of yogay, took a long walk, read books in stores and drank enough free trade coffee to caffinate a lesbian softball team. Then I had a vegan lunch, got so stoned on AIDS pot that I forgot how old I was and wound up in a club where men meet men in only the way that men can. And I met a lot of men. Later, I ate two chicken enchiladas with fresh avocado and organic salsa, at the cost of $6, and I thought, vaguely lucidly, why the Hell am I going to London? What the fuck am I playing at?
On Thursday I go back to the coldest place on Earth, where my neighborhood, Bethnal Green, smells like all sorts of things that correspond to nothing in nature. I will play the chicken-in-a-basket-with-comedy game for two months, dreaming of a day when I’ll be set free from this servitude. Don’t pity me, I’ve chosen stand up as a profession, but I never chose babysitting. And one can only imagine how charming in their childishness an angry, drunken English office party can be on a friday night.
Why didn’t I fuck the right people? It’s just that Jimmy Kimmel is too much of a flabby, crashing, sloppy bottom. If only I were less discerning, I could’ve moved in with Edward Albee when I was 20. Or so he implied.
Instead I play Cape Town where queers stare at me like I’ve just shit on their doorstep. South Africa is lovely, the producer is cool and I admire his efforts, and really, their constitution is very post modern, giving queers all sorts of rights. And all that. But the culture is sluggishly dragging along, which means the queers claim to be ‘bi, which is a red flag of any fledgling gay community. When the cocksuckers claim they like the ladies, there’s still so much work to do.
Add to this those Muslim cunts who scare everybody, and lets not even mention gay Christians, and brother, you’ve got a steamy, surly stew. If I was a gay jesus lover, or some closeted nasty orthodox muslim cunt, I myself would avoid a comedy show, especially a gay one, unless of course I wanted to cut myself or walk out on some tall queer from the US while he rattles on about his gay cock. By the way christians, if you’re reading this, you got it all wrong: The Bible is a fucking metaphor!
Cape Town was gorgeous, if you can ignore the grinding poverty and aggressive hookers. Oh well, one out of two ain’t bad. And the coffee is good, but then they get the first pick on all the hottest beans. Hello, they’re grown there! But the three weeks visitng dirty book stores and sucking black cock was like a mini Edinburgh, except for the black cock, but complete with amazing reviews (posted) and disappointing houses. I’m exhausted, and I’ve just done a really fun week in San Fran at the Punchline. Hence the pot and the sauna and the whinging. I want to lie down for two months and maybe write some new jokes. That would be good. I’m inspired to write a new play for Edinburgh 2007, most of which is done, it needs more layers and an ending. And that takes time here, in SF, in the quiet, on my own, with few distractions. And cheap enchiladas.
xxx