David Cross: A Celebrity Just Like Us?
Monday nite the Komedy Koven – testify! – witnessed a marathon performance from our beloved comedy messiah, David Cross. Amen. It was “in-yo-face” (street language) satire of the highest order. As Space Waitress
says: He made fun of everything - Mardi Gras, rednecks, the redneck accent, the gay accent, religion, post 9/11 weirdness, Bush, Ashcroft, Hollywood, Nashville, wacky morning DJs, stoners, people who refer to themselves in the third person, and oh yeah – corporate jerkoffs
Later, a select few were privy to the holiest of sacraments: deep throating Ronnie Dobbs himself. Really though, some kindly rocker friends of ours hosted an after-party for David and his posse. Can you imagine the giddiness in our pants? WE ARE TOTALLY GOING TO PARTY WITH DAVID CROSS! HOLY ASS OF GOD!
Alas, our hopes were quietly decimated by reality. All DC wanted to do was light up a buttload of fireworks outside, much to the chagrin of anyone within a 5 block radius, while his entourage of fawning college kiddies attended his every move. Some of them had an odd proprietary attitude: a DV camera-toting lad, apparently documenting the fun for VH-1, invited us to grab a beer from the fridge because “mi casa es su casa!” Thanks dude!
The entourage acted as a sort of …sycophantic
forcefield, if you will. David’s gaze and voice could not escape the inner ring of the sycophantic forcefield, nor could we lowly Minnesota fans penetrate it. There are 2 exceptions: (1) DC stepped out of the ring and said “Where’s the bathroom?” (2) While toting aforementioned buttload of fireworks and tequila bottle to the park, DC wordlessly motioned to Friend of Koven Jefe
(HAY-fay) to grab the tequila bottle. Well, Jefe didn’t see the bottle so it shattered on the sidewalk. DC said, “I could have you killed.” Tee hee! Let’s hope he was joking, folks.
Okay, I’ll give the guy a break. He probably didn’t want to have to be “on” and be Mr. Funny. I can dig that. We still love ya David. If you give us the chance, you’d see we can just chill and not cover you in the slobbery adoring love we so desparately want to give. We can hold it inside. And let it fester.