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MP

This must be the introduction to the opposites.

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This morning, the local homeless guy ambushed me and my trusty pal Joyce as we walked by. (I gave him money once… and he’s never left me alone since. Even after I told him “I got laid off. I’m probably not the best person to ask.”)

Anyway, he ambushed me, and said something that I didn’t think I had heard correctly. “Do you need any change? Like for a cup of coffee?”  I thought he was asking for change, but he very clearly said “Do you need any.” I said “no thanks” and walked on.

As I walked away, he shouted:  “okay, because I wanted to help you out sometime.”

Yes– I got offered money by a homeless guy who “wanted to help me out.”

The REALLY weird part, though, was this: about a minute earlier, I had asked Joyce if she could cover the cost of my coffee because I had no cash on me.

Who knew that a prescient homeless man was walking the streets of Alameda? I wonder what other sort of divine omniscience he may possess.

Technically edible, but vile. #3. Las Vegas, NV.

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Tonight, I found myself taking a walk on the wild side: eating at a really scary Denny’s at a rather trashy casino called the Fiesta.

This was not an optimal combination of circumstances.

But then again, the chain of events leading to our being there was not optimal either. So at the time of evening it was, the only other option was McDonald’s… so really, it was the proverbial “lesser of evils.”

We ordered breakfast stuff, and it was basically dorm-level tastworthiness. But what really intrigued/horrified me was an ad for something called…

Potachos.

 

What exactly are they?!? An astute third-grader should be able to divine the ingredients given the name. I asked our waiter– a pleasant Brazilian fellow named Aldo– about them. He said “nnnn… they are… deeferent.” It took about ten seconds of arm-twisting to get him to admit that “I doan relly like dem.”

Needless to say, we did not try them.

Technically edible, but vile. #2.

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The tale I’m about to tell is absolutely true. A dear friend of mine cooked up the following wretched concoction earlier today. 

The important thing is, however, to note the circumstances: we’re in Las Vegas, buried in stress, putting on an 800-person, big-budget event that happens in less than a week. We are stressed out and under the gun, and having to find nibbles whenever and wherever we have a spare 30 seconds to find them.

It is this– THIS– type of mindset– that prompted the following midafternoon process. I wouldn’t even know what to call this.

  1. Take leftover bacon grease in a pan, left over from 8 pieces of bacon cooked in the morning.
  2. Turn on the stove and heat the grease.
  3. Take out 4 more slices of bacon, cook them in the old grease.
  4. Take two pieces of bread, cover them in shredded cheese, and bake in the oven until the cheese melts.
  5. Take mayo, slather it all over both pieces of bread.
  6. Take the bacon out of the grease, and put on top of the mayo.
  7. Here’s the healthy part: add a few small plum tomatoes. Put both sides of the sandwich together.
  8. Finally, lay the sandwich on both sides in the hot bacon grease and cook.

 

This toxic mixture smoked up the whole house. Fortunately, it’s an old house and had no smoke alarm. Or maybe that’s actually unfortunate.

 

 

Pageant: behind the scenes

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I am in Vegas for the annual pageant. I’ve been on the production staff for six(?) years.

What exactly do I do? A little bit of everything. I can’t even really say all of what I do, because some of it is confidential. (Really– I’m not being dramatic.) But what I can say is that I take care of a lot of little things that are critical for success, and that I’m listed in the program as “key production assistance.”

I’m here a week early, and after 24 hours in town some of what I’ve done is:

  • talked down a key performer who was about to quit
  • helped author a key letter that will be read by hundreds
  • wrote obituaries for Bettie Page and some other legends who have died in the past year
  • worked on program layout and design, and fixed some graphics
  • rushed program to the printer to get first proof before an already-late deadline
  • found a crapload of volunteers and stagehands to fill positions
  • made some key updates to the online event invitation
  • kept at least three people from killing each other

Being awesome is kind of a full-time job at this thing. But I love this crazy event SO MUCH and couldn’t ever not be a part of it…

Technically edible, but vile. #1.

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The other day, I found myself at a late-night party. I’m getting old and scary, so this doesn’t usually happen. I was unprepared for what I would encounter there– the description of which alone is enough to turn the stomach:

Marijuana-infused Everclear.

It was a putrid green color with a big branch in it. Bits of plant matter swirling around in it. The guy who had it had “bottled” it last summer, and had let it fester marinate cook cure for ten months. He said that “where he comes from” (Oklahoma) they called this “The Green Dragon.”

Needless to say, I did not take a ride on the Green Dragon.

Performing with No Doubt

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In March of 2002, No Doubt was on tour and I caught several of their shows. I’ve known them since 1992, and often can find (or swindle) my way backstage. I was backstage after the Portland show, and told Tom (the guitar player) about how I’d been performing as a burlesque show gorilla lately. He asked if I wanted to perform onstage with them at the upcoming San Jose show. OH HELL YES.

He thusly hatched a plot: I was to come out and run around during their first encore song, “Spiderwebs.” It was to be a surprise to the rest of the band– the only people supposed to know about it were him and the tour’s head of security, John, who he would clue in ahead of time. I talked to John ahead of time too; he said that the way to do it would be for me to approach stage left a few minutes before, get his attention, and he would escort me backstage so that I could suit up. So the plan was set.

Unfortunately, the best laid plans of gorillas and men often go awry. I dutifully smuggled the costume into the show– being that it was on a college campus (San Jose State) they didn’t question a backpack. I anxiously and nervously waited throughout the show– friends there had palpable excitement along the lines of “is he really going to do it?!?” But when it came time for the encore, I went up to stage left and John was nowhere to be found.

Picture this from the perspective of the security guard on the side of the stage: here comes a guy with a backpack, frantically waving and gesturing, yelling something about how he is supposed to be backstage… not only are you skeptical of it, but you can’t even hear what he is saying over the band. I had to watch in horror as my big moment in the spotlight slipped away, note by note.

I finally was so overwhelmingly demanding, yelling “GET JOHN!” and pointing at John, far away, that the guard caved. John saw me and waved me backstage. I RAN back there– the song was halfway over– and threw the suit on in a flash. I didn’t have time to put on the gloves, and I don’t think I even had time to fasten the back. But I made it, and ran out there in time to finish the song.

Digital cameras were much worse back then, so the pictures are blurry and grainy, but they still capture one of the greatest moments of my gorilla career, and also of my life. Tony (the bass player) calmly kept asking me who I was (while he was playing). I have a picture of him giving me a high-five. And Gwen jumped on my back, piggyback style, and I ran back and forth a couple times before losing my balance, resulting in us landing in a crumpled heap on the ground… with her still singing and having not missed a single note. I remember looking out at the crowd of ~5000 people and just being stunned at what it felt like. And then it was over.

Two minutes later, they laughed their asses off when I was unmasked backstage, saying “Oh my god… it’s YOU?!?”

The next day, the emails came through: friends saying “Hey you guys, I was at that show and GUESS WHAT I SAW?” Even better, though, was when the newspaper review of the show came out the next day, I was very specifically mentioned in the write-up. The author said it “must have been an inside joke.” I emailed the author and gave him the whole backstory. That review was syndicated in several other Bay Area papers. I raided a lot of newsracks that night.

Better versions of the pics to come, but here are some for now:

High-five from Tony

High-five from Tony. I couldn't exactly see well. No gorilla gloves.

Piggybacking Gwen

Giving Gwen a piggyback ride, right after we fell and wiped out. She kept singing the entire time.

 

With the gang

Immediately afterward.

Origins of: Gorilla X

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Or, how I got my start in show business.

The early EARLY days

I am completely serious– as a kid, I wanted a gorilla costume. But I never in my wildest kid dreams guessed how this would unfold over the years. My grandmother used to get crazy mail-order catalogs from places like Miles Kimball, Spencer Gifts, etc. Catalogs from which you could buy kitchen gadgets, pewter figurines, gag gifts, etc. These catalogs always contained a gorilla costume. And I always thought “wow, that would be SO awesome to own one” but as a 7-year-old kid, I had no idea when I’d ever have the hundred dollars to get one. But yes, it was on my radar from an early age.

 

A chance encounter

In the fall of 2000, I went to see a small show at a tiny place in the Mission in SF. One of the bands included my friend John Dumont– brother of Tom from No Doubt. I went to see his band, but to my pleasant surprise, there was an exotica trio playing too. I was a fan of tiki culture, and never in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine that I’d see someone actually play this type of music. (Exotica is tropical and ethereal, with vibraphones, jungle calls, etc.)

After the show, I spoke with the exotica band’s leader, and told him that I was from Tiki Central (this was right after it had begun– it’s now huge). The bandleader, named Brian the Fisherman, told me that he also had a burlesque revue. He described it to me, saying that it was like an old fashioned vaudeville show: a brass band, comedians, women doing artistic striptease, etc. I couldn’t believe that in this day and age, there was anyone who actually had an old-fashioned show. He invited me to come to his show that was taking place in a few weeks.

 

The ball starts rolling… and then stops

I went to the Fisherman’s burlesque show– it was December 2000– and it was a BLAST. I’d never seen anything like it and was dazzled– it was so much fun! After the show, I spoke to the Fisherman and told him how much fun I had. He said to me: “hey… you know what? We need a gorilla in our show, because our old gorilla moved away. And you seem like the kind of person who’d be up for it.” I emphatically said “YES! SIGN ME UP!” Again, not at all thinking of how far it would ever go. (I’m writing this more than 8 years later.) I gave Brian the Fisherman my info, and he said he’d contact me in a few weeks.

And I never heard from him.

A couple of months later– February or March– I saw a flyer for the first Teaseorama burlesque convention in New Orleans. I thought “sounds like fun, but too bad I won’t be going!” I had a bit of sadness that the gorilla thing hadn’t come to fruition; but Brian the Fisherman had disappeared, and I didn’t have his contact info. So it looked like my opportunity to be his monkey wouldn’t happen.

The time finally comes

Sometime in March, It Happened. I got a call from Brian the Fisherman. He said “hey– I wanted to get this gorilla thing going again and see if you’re still interested. This would include Teaseorama in New Orleans. We couldn’t pay for your flight out there, but if you made it out there, then we have hotel rooms and a van, so you could stay with us and ride around with us.” I called him back– and I was in.

That first month didn’t seem real. I found myself at burlesque show rehearsals. The gorilla suit they had was way too small for me– their prior gorilla was apparently pretty tiny– so I bought my own, at the House of Humor in Redwood City. I practiced some old-time burlesque skits, using scripts from the original era.

 

The road to New Orleans

My first show ever was a two-night fundraiser show at the Swedish American Hall in San Francisco, on May 4 and 5, 2001. I didn’t have a name then– I was just “the gorilla.” The shows were supposed to be fundraisers to help get the whole group (band + performers + emcee + gorilla) to Teaseorama in New Orleans. However, the shows actually lost money. So when I found myself in New Orleans for Teaseorama, I actually had to cough up a lot of the expense money on the spot for things that they had said would be covered. However, I was so happy to be involved in this adventure that I gladly chipped in. And my life was never the same again.

 

Teaseorama New Orleans– the modern burlesque crucible

That feeling at Teaseorama was indescribable. Now, in 2009, the neo-burlesque movement is definitely that– a movement. But back then, it was just a few scattered goofballs. And Teaseorama was the first time that they all came together. I met so many people that week that are among my closest and most favorite friends and performers to this day: Luke Littell and Laura Herbert (of the Burlesque Hall of Fame); Dirty Martini; the World Famous *BOB*; Julie Atlas Muz, Kate Valentine; Lola Gold; Vivienne VaVoom; and so many more. We came away with the feeling that we really were present at the birth of something exciting.

 

 

The name, and my first REALLY crazy gig

 

For the first 6 months or so, I didn’t really have a name– I was “the gorilla” or occasionally “the Migorilla.” I was using the tagline “Gorilla to the Stars” by Teaseorama in New Orleans, which was about a month into my showbiz career, so I do know that tagline came very early.

In December 2001, our burlesque show performed at an event called Naughty Santa’s Bazaar. There, a performer Gennifer Hirano, aka “The Asianprincess,” saw me and asked if I wanted to sidekick for her when she feature-danced at the Crazy Horse strip club in San Francisco in a few weeks. Laughing at this hilarious bit of fortune, I agreed.

A few weeks later, she emailed me, saying that she wanted to make posters and flyers and include me. She asked, “what is your name? King Kong? The Gorilla? Gorilla X?”  The words jumped out at me from the screen, and from that day forward, I was: Gorilla X… Gorilla to the Stars.

And boy was that strip club gig (six nights in a row) hilarious…

Hallucinogynic

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Last week, I was heading to a restaurant in Berkeley with my trusty pal Joyce. We were going to grab dinner at the Indian place. Telegraph Avenue was fairly deserted– it was about 9:30 at night– but that didn’t stop a Berkeley street rat from finding and accosting us. This one, however, offered something slightly different.

“Hey…” he began. “Are you guys interested in some psychedelic–”

I was expecting him to finish the sentence with “mushrooms” or something like that. I was not expecting the next two words he actually said:

“…vagina necklaces?”

I bought two. Joyce and I each now have our very own psychedelic vagina necklace.

They were these little bi-colored, diamond-shaped fimo clay situations. The really cool thing is that he carefully chose them for us: mine was gray and cream-colored, to perfectly match the jacket I was wearing that had gray and cream colored diamonds. I won’t speculate on his reasoning for choosing Joyce’s, but hers was tiny and pink.

Incidentally– he forgot the clit.

Huey Newton is holding on Line 1

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Yesterday, I was walking the dogs in downtown Alameda, and stopped in the spa shop. I always stop in there because it’s dog-friendly; and also because I’m friends with the manager, Jenn.

While I was there, the company’s phone rang. Jenn looked at the caller ID on the phone and said “Oh shit.” Then wondered aloud if she should answer or not.

The name on the caller ID?  In large capital letters:  BLACK PANTHER.