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Date Posted: 06/28/03 11:48pm
Author: Molle
Subject: Part the Second: Boston 6/28/03 or, I am a happy, happy fangirl.
In reply to: Molle 's message, "Greg in Boston 6/27/03 (spoilers, adult themes)" on 06/28/03 1:04am

The emcee is still painfully bad. Gary G. is still very cute and funny and tall. The eight o'clock audience still seems a lot more receptive to Greg's humor than the ten o'clock one. Most of Greg's jokes are the same from the previous night, but I will try to recap the ones I missed first time round or that were new to me on this night. Greg talks about going for a walk along the Charles River and running into the hideous construction along it, about eating a sausauge that made him 's**t a f**king briquette,' going to the Old North Church and watching two small children die of boredom, getting his ass kicked in Southie by two guys named Kevin because he cast aspirations on the morals of Kevin McHale's mother, about going to the pre-game race riots at Fenway, about watching the Red Sox-Marlins game and being highly interested because of the famous rivalry between Boston and Florida, ha ha ha, and getting run over by an SUV on Beacon Hill by someone who was going to buy a basket. He also talks about Quebec, which people might remember from the Radio Freejack clip or Juste Pour Rire, and his shark bits where the swimmer gets 'all up in the shark's hizzy,' and deserve to be eaten. He also lists new reality TV programs that he wants to see, like Joe STD, where contestants have bareback backwards-cowgirl sex and afterwards the girl has to guess what sexually transmitted disease she has by her symptoms. "I'm mildly nauseous and I have a penetrating headache! I think I have chlamydia!" There are cash prizes. People keep taking flash photos while Greg is talking, and just as I am thinking, How rude, Greg says, "You should wait until after the show, because first of all, I'm on a cheese wedge above the audience with these people's heads at cock level, so if I trip they might lose an eye and they're going to need it later. Second of all, all you're going to get while I'm on stage is Jackie Mason with sweaty hair and a double chin and spit dripping off my chin." He talks about the fact that Estonia (Don't quote me on this place name) and Portugal do not an armada make, about Bush, or Rocket J. Squirrel, sending a mixed message to the Iraqi people by announcing the war was over by standing on an aircraft carrier wearing a naval uniform, and how it was akin to an Iraqi leader coming on TV with a bloody scimitar and a human head saying "Let's be buddies." He closes the ten o'clock show with his Peace March in San Francisco material, the one where protestors have signs like Mullets for Peace, and Give Peach a Chance, and Fat Ugly Guys for Peace and Friends of Fat Ugly Guys for Peace.

I am seated in the front row for both shows. I do not like sitting in the front row. I have never liked sitting in the front row. It makes me wildly self-conscious at the best of times and this is most definitely not the best of times, considering that I am fully illuminated by the stage lights and also wearing a short skirt, so if I cross my legs the wrong way, the real show ain't up on stage, if you know what I'm sayin'. Anyway. I am self-conscious and trying to blend in, but I also don't want to look like I'm oh so bored and jaded because the performers might see me and think I'm not enjoying myself so it's like this whole thing with me. So I'm looking up and smiling away while Greg's doing his thing. Greg is pacing across the stage to me, looks straight at me and wags his eyebrows without stopping the spiel. So I think, "Crap! Was that at me? Was he looking at me? He was looking straight at me! Crap!" So then I say to myself, "Oh, you're just being egocentric," because it is bizarre to me that I would merit recognition during the show. Then I go back for the ten o'clock show. I am the only one in the front row. Hooray. So I stretch out, wonder if I should kick off my big clunky shoes because they really hurt, do my whole smiling and looking up thing through the emcee and Gary G. and then when Greg gets on stage, he looks straight at me again, smiles and says, "Welcome back, baby."

This is a awful, terrible thing for a man to do to a little fangirl like me. So I'm still somewhat in shock until the end of the show, where Greg is about to get off stage, the emcee is coming back up, and Greg, face flushed and streaming with sweat, comes over to me, crouches down and shakes my hand, saying, "Hey, sweetheart. You live in Boston?" and the crowd is still cheering so it's difficult to hear, and I say "Yeah, thanks for coming," and pat him on the arm, and then he gets off stage. I get up and wander around, because there ain't no way I am leaving without a picture now, and while I am wandering around cursing my big clunky shoes, the couple who were sitting behind me during the show come up to me and the guy says, "He was great! Are you with him?"

I say, "No, but I've seen him a few times, so he knows me."

The guy says again, "He was great!" and I grin and nod and all that and then they leave. So finally I locate Greg taking pictures for a few other people and go over to wait. When the other people have dispersed Greg comes over to me and says again, "Hey, sweetheart." And I babble something about how good the show was and he says, "When was the last time I saw you? San Francisco?" Which I couldn't answer, because I had forgotten all my place names. So I say something like, "Well, I went up to Kingston to see you a little while ago."

He says, "But I didn't see you then, did I?"

"I think you kinda scarpered after the show."

He laughs. "I was so overconfident before that show."

"Well, the audience just sucked."

"Yeah. They were really uptight. Were you the one who posted that email?"

My only thought was, Email? Guzza-wha? Then I realize he's talking about messageboards. "On the Ocelot Board?"


"Yeah, that was me. That's the name I go by on there."

"What's that?"



"Yeah. But I'm not on there much any more because of...stuff."


"Yeah." I laugh. "Could I get a picture?"

"Sure." He gets the emcee to hold the camera. The emcee says, "Wear your headphones," because I have my Discman in my purse with my gigantic puffy headphones sticking out of it, and I laugh while I think, Oh, that's real photogenic. Greg rests his forehead against mine while the emcee takes the picture. I try not to look like I'm swallowing my tongue. So I get the camera back and say, "Thanks Greg," and he says, "My pleasure," and then I say, "Come back soon," patting his arm, and he says, "Maybe. Six months," and I laugh and say, "Yeah," and limp off to go have my feet amputated at the ankles due to severe blisters.

Happy, happy, happy fangirl is me.

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  • Heat wasn't that bad -- Julia, 06/30/03 8:23am
  • Re: Heat wasn't that bad -- Molle, 07/ 1/03 1:11pm

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