This Is My Brain On Hedwig

(October 24, 2002)

Does anybody cool really go to Bukowski's? The place is like a vortex of turgid overindulgence and...and...assholes and...and CRAP. Some of us went there last night after Hedwig. The door guy clearly had better things to do than his job; it seemed to take forever for him to check our IDs and actually grant us entrance so that we could give them our money. When it was my turn to present proof-of-legal-binge-drinking I noticed he had the Globe open to the crossword puzzle. He practically scowled in response to my smile. Hey mister, what's a four letter word for YOU?

Then, the waitress demonstrated the progress of her training for the 2004 Olympic "How Fast Can You Sprint Away Before We're Done Talking To You" event. She also mysteriously said, "I assume you guys are going to get food," and then disappeared for twenty minutes without asking us specifically what kind...and then when we finally orderd (having to stop her with "Hey wait!" twice in order to impart the entire body of information we wished her to convey to the kitchen staff) she didn't bring it until we asked again. "I forgot, but it only takes two minutes..." My theory is that she didn't forget-- she couldn't HEAR us because, inexplicably, the music was at deafening dance club decibal level. So was the smoke-- I've cut out my occasional cigarette, yet when I left I had the stinging throat and eyes of someone who'd just chain smoked a pack.

I did find out, however, that Gene Dante can do a spot-on impression of Crazy Eddie Nowik. We love Eddie. Everybody loves Eddie. If you knew Eddie, you'd love Eddie.

Last night's Hedwig was gorgeous, by the way. It just keeps getting better. Can't say enough about it.

After the audience left and there were just a few of us still around, I grabbed the doorknob to the light booth and pulled, and it slipped out of my hand, due to the fact that the door was in fact locked. From the inside. With nobody inside. Your classic "oh shit, how'd that happen" moment. The only way in was through the window that looks out onto the house. "Um," I said, "Somebody thin? Or limber?" Did I say Izzy Maxwell? Well DANG, I must have! "I'll do it!" he valiantly proclaimed. My young, wiry hero shucked out of his rock star jacket, tossed aside his schoolboy bookbag, and scaled the wall like a platinum blonde, purple-tipped Spiderman. Lisa and I grinned at each other with our "Wow" faces on. In about two seconds Izzy was through the little window and had come around to open the door. "And he did it so FAST," Lisa said. "I know, I'd have still been in the planning stage!" I said, "Making a diagram....color coded..."

We had to strike the set last night. Ugh, what a pain in the ass, but alas, when you're sharing the space with other performances, it's a reality. We stashed and stored all the gear and wigs and boas and stuff, but our skull lights are still hung and the walls are still full-on posters and porn. Boston Chamber Music Association is in there tonight. Um, have fun guys...please don't touch the lesbian Barbie dolls suspended from the ceiling.

(Izzy)