Join us as we thrust into house music.. 12.15.02 Last week I received this email:
I must interject here. It is sad that this party is now defunct. People like drones will flood any John Blair opening.. but they ignore new venues. Why is this? Why are so many so enslaved to the mediocre club offerings of businessmen who rent out 'VIP rooms' to the highest bidder? I'm sick of people emailing me and whining about how the NYC club scene is 'dead' while doing nothing to support new nights, new promoters, or new venues. It is very frustrating. There is much fun to be had in this city. I have fun every weekend. I never go to Limelight. It is worthwhile to stretch. I might co-promote a party with Ooana of Samagama early next year. John Blair and Marc Berkeley would have nothing to do with it. What is the level of interest out there for new things, or specifically, for a party which I had a part in throwing, thereby assuring quality (unique!) music, and fun fun FUN? Do tell . Anyway.. back to the email.
As I read this my heart raced and my stomach heaved. It was a lot to digest.. Margot had been in an accident, but more importantly, Margot was in New York and preparing to speak publicly about vaginas. I had to be here. I'd have to beg Bryce to get me in! Luckily, no begging was required. Bryce graciously invited me and my friend Janine to the show! We excitedly accepted and I showered Bryce with a selection of House of Diabolique mix cds. I'd seen the Vagina Monologues before and written about it here. I find the Vagina Monologues to be dated or at the very least too audience specific; this feeling is encapsulated by a monologue about the word 'cunt'. The word 'cunt' has never been a taboo word in my world. Granted, I am a holographic projection emitting from a galaxy sized machine orbiting the edge of the universe, but even my friends love that word. In 1994 my friend Evelyn's favorite song was Robbie Tronco's 'C.U.N.T.', whose lyrics are: Cunt Pussy Cunt Pussy Cunt Pussy Cunt C, U, N, T Cunt Pussy Cunt Pussy Cunt She's cunt She's pussy She's cunt I'd go on but you get the idea. I concluded after the first time I saw the Vagina Monologues and concluded again after Margot's take on it that the Vagina Monologues work best for middle aged, often Jewish women who aren't initially down with vaginas. I, myself, am fine with vaginas, pussies, cunts, and whatever else, and so are all of my friends, including little Dominican spitfire Evelyn. Evelyn, I can insist to you, loves her cunt, and so does Janine. I know, because she's showed it to me and I've photographed its juicy wonders. Reclaiming the word 'cunt' with us is like reclaiming the word 'hello'. It is simply not necessary. Hello. Margot shared the stage with two other (unnecessary) actresses, and it was one of them who delivered the cunt monologue last week. Before getting into it, she asked the audience to be ready to participate. Instantly I had visions of the old Jewish women in the audience around us cheering and shouting the word CUNT! I eagerly awaited the cue to join in, wondering if we'd be asked to shout CUNT at Margot herself. I don't remember what happened exactly, except that I felt enveloped by CUNT all around me.. I know that Janine, Bryce and I found ourselves laughing and cheering loudly and shouting CUNT as the rest of the audience sat demurely in their seats. Even after the rousing cunt monologue they still weren't into cunts! 'CUNNNT!!!!!!!' Margot herself giggled and caught my eye, and then proclaimed for all to hear: 'AY! Looks like we've got a CUNT CHEERING SECTION here bwahAHAhaa!!!' I felt at that moment a real solidarity with Margot Kidder's cunt. I've said it before. Cunt! It's a great word and rolls off the tongue like fresh sushi. After the show Bryce, Janine and I waited patiently in the lobby for Margot. I didn't want to be an annoying fan harassing her for autographs but since the cunt ice was broken I figured a quick exchange of pleasantries and a signature on my program would be just fine. We waited and waited and then finally Bryce spotted her leaving through the side exit. I sped over, held out my program, and said 'Um.. Margot?' She saw me, turned, and ran. Shocked, I walked outside after her. But before I could say anything else ('Stop, cunt!') a very large fat man barreled past me and into Margot's path. He loudly demanded an autograph. At least I had been polite. 'I really can't,' Margot said. 'My car is leaving!' Her car was plainly not leaving. There it sat, patiently waiting for her across the street. Nevertheless, she swerved around the fat guy and into the path of a crippled, autograph-seeking woman on a crutch, whom Margot then deliberately shoved out of the way. 'Ohhh, I really can't, my CAR.' I am sure that were it not for this woman's cry and struggle to regain balance, Margot would have indeed ran off, but instead she whined and capitulated to the hobbled girl's demands while warily backing off.. 'Ohhh! Oh, oh.. ok..' 
After this, the most reluctant of signings, Margot leapt into her car and sped off into the distance with nary a glance back at me, her cunt cheering section. Shocked I stood, pen and program in hand, jaw dropped. After a few moments of disappointed silence, Bryce did note that we had seen Margot Kidder shove a cripple. 'C.U.N.T.' by Robbie Tronco |
until next week, remember..
