Dear Eddie Izzard,
I am writing this to you
and I hope that you will read it so you'll know...
My heart beats like a hammer
and I stutter and I stammer
every time I see you at the picture show.
I guess I'm just another fan of yours
and I thought I'd write and tell you so.
Je crois que vous êtes adorables et formidable et...et...wheeeeeeee!
After a delightful day being both Devoted and Disgruntled, I sat in a crap seat at your concert at Madison Hexagonal Arbory.
The seat was crap 'til you walked onstage.
How, HOw, HOW do you envelope MSG? Do tell.
How, HOw, HOW do you weave comedy circularly ever into itself and finish with a slam-bang curtain call of every character and theme introduced? Do tell.
How, HOw, HOW do you put up with a NY audience that is so generous that it's controlling (which isn't generous at all)? I know we insist on being the best audience you've ever had--love us, love us, love us. I guess none of us were breast-fed. You were masterful. Do tell.
How, HOw, HOW can you be English and talk about poo? Do you include more poo for the American audience? I lived and performed in England in 2004/2005 and never heard talk of poo. It was lonely. Was I hanging with the wrong people? (Btw, this question posed to you on twitter has generated an interesting conversation with a complete stranger. I thank you.) Do tell.
How, HOw, HOW did you talk of both "Lord of the Flies" AND Shirley Temple when earlier in the day I'd been doing impressions of Shirley Temple tormenting Piggy? Do tell.
How, HOw, HOW do you "Get God" so brilliantly? He has never come to any of my gigs either. And I used to ask. I was raised Catholic. REALLY Catholic...like a monk somewhere in the fam...and a nun for a cousin. Eating the body of Christ? Yes, cannibalism. No, not for me. I also had this strange notion of limbo...where unbaptized babies went. Since unbaptized babies were from Africa (obviously), I envisioned little black babies, in diapers, bones through their noses (thank you National Geographic), forever doing backbends under ever-lowering poles...in the clouds. Original sin? What the fuck did I ever do? When I told my mother I'd never felt guilty about a thing in my life, she declared, "Blasphemy." And I actually did say, "BlaspheME? BlaspheYOU!" At the age of 18. That was a while ago.
How, HOw, HOW do you run 43,265,322.222 miles in 40 days? Do tell. (Oh, I contributed. Have to throw money at someone who commits cartilage death.)
So, thank you for being you...with humor that is sweet and smart and silly and full of wonder and never hurtful.
Btw, my ex-boyfriend thinks you and I should know one another...as I too am sweet and smart and silly and full of wonder and rarely hurtful. I also am a full-grown, dainty girl with the soul of a thirteen-year-old gay boy. (It's confusing.) I believe you've met my wanker ex. From what I've heard you told him to "Fuck off."
So, Eddie Iz, if you make it to the Isle of Manhattan soon...firstname.lastname@example.org.
And thank you for making a crap seat heavenly.