Master of Ceremonies: A True Story of Love, Murder, Roller Skates and Chippendales Diary 9-30-08

I got fucked by Chelsea Handler. And it was not good for me.  The fucking was unilateral and metaphoric.  Unlubricated and nonconsensual.  The result is that I had to postpone the Los Angeles leg of my tour.  Here’s what happened.  I put these Art of the Memoir events together in LA. a couple months ago, and Chelsea Handler told me electronically that she would like to do the events.   And here is where I made my mistake.  I let down my guard.  I assumed when Chelsea Handler said she would do the events, Chelsea Handler would actually do the events.  Of course when you assume, make an ass of u and me.  I should’ve had a backup.  And, to be fair, Chelsea Handler did say “schedule permitting”. And as the event drew closer, she kept drawing further away.  I couldn’t get an answer out of her.  Or rather, her handler.  Yes, of course, Chelsea Handler has a handler.  And then a couple of days before the events, she bailed on me.  High and dry. 

But of course in the telling of the story, I realize that I fucked myself.  And this is why I like to do this kind of writing.  I have this event/workshop that I just invented that I think is going to be of great benefit.  It’s called: Building Your Immune Systems and Releasing Your Demons by Writing. So instead of walking around blaming Chelsea Handler for fucking me, I can see clearly now that I have to stop fucking myself.  I take responsibility for my actions.  The first step is admitting you have a problem.  I have a problem.  So many problems actually.  But the key to evolution is learning from getting fucked so you don’t get fucked again.  Except when it’s lubricated and consensual.  So I’m going to reschedule LA for the end of January.  And learn from my fuckings.

Last night I went to Rocky Sullivan’s Bar in Brooklyn, where I saw Alan Black read from his book Kick the Balls.  He is brilliant.  Such a fantastic reader.  And an excellent writer.  It’s a great book, I highly recommend that you go out and buy it.  To me, it’s such a sad statement about the state of affairs in the book world that the only people in attendance were myself, Alan’s publisher Luke Dempsey, his publicist, and Luke’s girlfriend. The place should’ve been packed.  He’s one of my panelists doing the Bay Area events with me.  Alan’s book is about being an angry Scotsman coaching Little League soccer team in Berkeley.  And his publisher is marketing the book as a soccer book.  On the cover are these kids in soccer uniforms.  I think it’s so misguided.  No one gives a shit about soccer in America.  I think this book should be marketed as an angry Scotsman losing his mind in a politically correct, Stepford wife post-hippie suburban world.

I booked another event, at the Center for Sex and Culture in San Francisco, which is run by the one and only Dr. Carol Queen.  It’s a Sex Worker Literati event.  October 17.  I love doing these things.  So now I am assembling a line-up.  I just got an e-mail from Dr. Annie sprinkles, she may do the event.  She is a totally amazing human being.   I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as warm and generous and smart and loving and knowledgeable and kind as her.  This is one of the great things about having written Chicken.  Not only did it set me free, bring me a wife and a baby, but it put me in touch with people like Drs. Annie sSrinkles and Carol Queen.  And for that I feel blessed. 

I was listening to the radio today, and they played an excerpt of Sarah Palin during a recent interview.  She stumbled and stammered and sounded like one of those pretty girls in high school who’s all flash and no substance.  Who makes everybody else feel bad about themselves, but then when called upon to actually say something of substance, that requires brains, judgment, knowledge and/or wit, they’re absolutely utterly and completely clueless.  And the commentators were saying this inarticulate idiocy is a good thing, because it makes people think, Hey, she’s just like me.  But of course the tragic flaw is that, we don’t want someone who’s a doltish, slow-witted, uninformed, ignorant, inarticulate but attractive moron.  We want someone who’s more brilliant, articulate, knowledgeable, wise, kind, compassionate, and well spoken than the rest of us.  Well, that’s my two cents worth, and with inflation I owe you one.