I Drink for a Reason (14 page)

Here are the songs to listen to on your long walk home:

“I Think It’s Gonna Rain Today” by Dusty Springfield

“Everybody Hurts” by R.E.M.

“C’est Le Vent, Betty” from the
Bettie Blue
soundtrack

“Bastards of Young” by the Replacements

“Colors and the Kids” by Cat Power

Once home you will eventually find yourself dancing around naked to the entire album
Quadrophenia.
You pass out (still naked) in a chair in front of your computer. You will spend the next two days indoors with your phone
unplugged. And there you have your perfect day. In fact, you should listen to the song “Perfect Day” by Lou Reed and really
think about what he’s saying. Then cut yourself.

This is reprinted from the
Guardian
newspaper in London. It was something they thought of to promote a stand-up show I was doing at the Soho Theater at the time
(about three years ago at this point). They thought having Dave interview me as opposed to some stuck-up Brit would be better
for everyone involved. It’s pretty funny, and Dave Eggers will receive ten cents every time this is read aloud on public transportation,
so it’s for a worthwhile cause as well.

From: Dave Eggers

To: David Cross

Subject: RE: FW: You v. David Cross, maybe

Hello David,

It’s me Dave Eggers (of the San Francisco Eggers), I came to your show in San Francisco and pestered you about your pants.
Do you remember me? I was there with my wife Caitlyn (to whom you were very attentive) and our nephew Utley who is a big,
big fan of yours. Anyhoo, I understand you are going to be in London for the month of August doing stand-up at the Soho theater.
I know this because I have been contacted by the Guardian UK (a left-wing rag) about doing an interview with you. Does this
“float your boat”? Get back to me and I’ll fill you in.

Thanks,

Dave

From: David Cross

To: Dave Eggers

Subject: RE: FW: You v. David Cross, maybe

Hey Dave,

Do I remember you? The owner of the club was freaking out and practically hyperventilating over you. He made everybody wait
while he had his girlfriend go home and get his copy of “The Staggering Heart” for you to sign. How could I forget? Anyway,
I’m up for whatever you want to do with this interview thing. How should we go about it? Do you just want to send me some
questions through e-mail and I’ll answer them accordingly? Should they be serious (stuff about John Majors involvement with
the Carlyle Group, or MI6’s “supposed” snuff film studio), or light (questions about my days in the Kibbutz, or what my favorite
British Comedies are)? Let me know,

David Cross

From: Dave Eggers

To: David Cross

Subject: RE: FW: You v. David Cross, maybe

Hi David,

I’ve been in Surinam (sp?) doing an article about the black market banana leaf trade. Fascinating and dangerous stuff to be
sure. I spoke to Nona about your idea for an interview to be put through the babble-fish engine and she has advised me against
it. They would rather have a straight interview.

Here’s a few starter questions:

–As a two-time Mr. Olympia, are you worried about staying fit in London? I’m not sure if they have gyms or weights or anything
like that there. They do have tanning beds, though.

–I think I first became aware of your comedy when you did that national Fiends of Funny tour with Gallagher and Jimmie Walker.
You did some great impressions, just dead-on, of E.T. and of Dana Carvey doing the Church Lady. That last one was my favorite,
because I think impressions are so funny. I sit there and marvel at how much you, David Cross, can sound like someone else!
(I’m laughing, or sort of quietly chuckling, just thinking about it.) To me, that is comedy. Will you still be doing zany
impressions? And what about the bit where you dress up as a piece of feces with Nazi sympathies?

I’m off to Melbourne to judge a shark carving contest (this is for real—I’ll explain later). E-mail me with some answers.

Looking forward to your reply,

Deggers

From: David Cross

To: Dave Eggers

Dave,

Well, it seems as if we have started. In answer to your rather impertinent question of “staying fit” (your words—not mine!)
in London… one does not get to be literally crowned Mr. Olympia once let alone twice (in three years) without rigid self-discipline
and a steely reserve. Fish and Chips at three in the morning after nine pints of warmish ale and three shots of tequila? Perhaps
once or twice just to indulge in the local culture, but certainly no more than three or four times or five times. I’m not
one to snub my nose at my hosts so, to be polite, I would submit to this kind of activity if necessary to maintain good relations.
Other then that it would be my usual routine of up every morning at 5:15, vomit, drink three raw quail eggs, run around in
a circle with weights taped to my chest for half an hour, and then back to bed until noon. If there are no weights in London
then I will use appliances that are approximate in weight. Surely they have toasters there. Isn’t “toast” an Old English word?

As for the Fiends of Funny tour (originally titled “The Friends of Funny” tour until a typo went undiscovered and the press
had already gone out), that’s pretty much where I cut my teeth. I was a young, brash upstart and learned some invaluable lessons
at the feet of the masters. Jimmie Walker taught me the importance of delusion, and when I needed it most, Gallagher lent
me his portable generator for my “What if God Was a Chinese Woman” bit. I won’t be reprising too much of the old material,
although let’s face it, people love to hear other people sound like even other people, so I may dip in to some classic impressions
(Woody Allen as Pinochet in heaven!) because today’s audiences demand it.

I have been asked by The Independent if I will be doing my world famous “What if Eddie Izzard Wore a Suit” bit that I performed
for the Queen shortly before one of her many liposuction surgeries. The answer is “maybe.” I am going to ignore your transparent
attempt at baiting me with the question about the “Krystalnacht Poo” sketch that you know very well was co-written by me,
yes, but performed solo by Ray Romano.

Anything else, or can I go now?

David

From: Dave Eggers

To: David Cross

Just a few more questions:

I think the readers of the Guardian—a well-informed bunch, left-leaning, and perhaps outright Marxist—would want to know why
an openly right-wing comedian like yourself would inflict himself on SoHo. That bit you do when you sing, via satellite, a
duet with John Ashcroft—isn’t that song just an Americanized version of the German national anthem?—I’m not sure how that’s
gonna play in London. Also, do you still wear eyeliner?

From: Dave Cross

To: Dave Eggers

Hmm, while “preaching to the choir” can be satisfying for the ego, at the end of the day it feels empty and useless. I will
always be able to whip up a quick show for the quarterly fundraisers of “The Sharp and Merciless Sword of Christ” and other
groups I support, but where’s the challenge? My three-week run at the Allen Ginsberg Theater in Berkeley, CA, is a good example
of that. I was booed incessantly from start to finish by an audience of radical, drug-addled hippies. No one listened to a
word I said, and the theater refused to pay me. Success! As for the eyeliner bit, I’ve always found gimmicks helpful to distract
from lame comedy bits about Star Trek and the like. But apparently there is a fella in England who not only wears eyeliner
but a whole ladies getup! Oh well, whatever helps sell that stuff, I guess. I am going to continue to dress like a heterosexual
man and rely on my material to create an impression.

From: Dave Eggers

To: David Cross

You’ve been on a few TV shows in the U.S., “Mr. Show with Bob and David” and “Arrested Development,” but both of them seem
weighed down by your presence. Have you ever thought about quitting them so the shows could be better?

From: David Cross

To: Dave Eggers

After I auditioned for the part of “David” in Mr. Show with Bob and David, I remember thinking that I had really blown it.
They were looking for an edgy nerd and I had just come from the American Douchebag Awards on MTV so I was wearing my Prada
suit and sunglasses. But they were able to see through the real me and see that I could in fact play a socially awkward nerd,
and they gave me the part. But in answer to your question, I struggled with that very dilemma often. I sought guidance from
Jim Belushi, who told me that it didn’t matter at all if I was talented or right for the part or not, that the best thing
to do was not only ignore my obvious lack of any discernible talent or charm but to embrace my loutishness. I will forever
be in his debt.

From: Dave Eggers

To: David Cross

Or a more serious one:

You’ve ranted about how goofy American protesters can be. When the war in Iraq was being pre-protested, you were on some of
the talk shows, and you were berating the left for bringing bongo drums and dressing as clowns and generally treating an anti-war
protest as a sort of hippie-love-in-party. And you’re one of the leading liberal voices that’s critical of how silly the left
sometimes looks. There were more protesters of that war than at any time since the civil rights era. Were they ignored—by
the media, too—because they looked like hippie freaks?

From: David Cross

To: Dave Eggers

I’m not so sure that they were ignored rather than dismissed. They (at least 15 million worldwide) seemed to be regarded with
a sense of tolerated obligation, that this is what you get when you live in a free society, sorry folks. A protest would be
shown on the news and treated like it was a minor annoyance, like a bad storm or an outbreak of flu. And while there were
plenty of “regular” folks from all over the world who trekked to wherever because they felt it was important for their voices
to be heard, it was usually only the radical stereotypes who got shown on TV because of, not in spite of, their inane, childish
hippie outfits. Dressing up (inexplicably) like a robot wearing a multicolored afro wig, standing on stilts, and yelling that
Bush is a Nazi at scared and disgusted middle-aged tourists only causes to make the already severe polarization (not to mention
the fierce anti-intellectualism) in this country even more irreversible. Way to go, you dumb fucks.

M
AN
,
IT MUST BE SO FRUSTRATING TO BE THE SMARTEST COW IN
the slaughterhouse field, or be the smartest cow in history, for that matter. I’m assuming that cows, like people and dogs,
have varying degrees of intelligence. So at some point there was a cow of superior advanced intelligence running around a
slaughterhouse somewhere that had figured out what was going on. That death was imminent, and all their masters were not benevolent
nurturers but rather evil murderers luring them to their deaths. But he couldn’t communicate this to the other cows because
all the other cows were of average cow intelligence—i.e., stupid. Maybe even the cow was smart enough to know that he was
just a cow and would never be able to impart the sense of urgency needed to escape because cows are stupid. Must’ve been maddening.
Also, I wonder if we’d be less prone to eating beef if the noise a cow makes sounded less like “moo” and more like “help.”
Probably not. They’re delicious.

I wonder if God cries. Or gets sad, even. Or happy. Or elated. Does he ever have a good belly laugh? Does he sense contentment?
Does he feel pride or remorse? Is he stoic? We know from the Old Testament that he experiences bloodthirsty, murderous rage
and fierce pride. He imbued mankind with all of these emotions, but it’s hard to imagine him feeling any of these. It’s almost
a little embarrassing to think of him feeling jealousy. Of course he’s WAY more advanced and evolved than we are. So I guess
the ultimate stage of humanity is when we don’t laugh or cry or experience emotion at all. God gave us laughter as a constant
reminder of what lesser-evolved beings humans are. Stupid humans!

Whoever owns clean air is going to be fucking crazy rich soon!

Déjà vu is just the lazy man’s version of telling the future.

I don’t understand pedophilia. I think that one of the most unromantic situations that I can possibly imagine is making love,
or rather, trying to make love, to a four-year-old. You’d be all, like, “Your eyes shine with the light of a thousand sunsets.”
And they’d be all, like, “What?” There is
nothing
romantic about it! How could you possibly make that “romantic”? With a four-year-old? That’s just sex!

There’s much you can tell about a man by sifting through his poo. Such as whether he’s the kind of man who lets people sift
through his poo.

I’ve been thinking lately about having kids. Not because I think they’re wonderful, or I’m so desperate to have at least one
person on my side who loves me that I’m willing to try to create one. Nah, fuck that. I’m thinking about having a kid so that
I can justify my embarrassing amount of video-game playing.

You know what kind of person must have it pretty rough? A lesbian rapist. It’s physically pretty hard to do. I bet that doesn’t
happen too often.

Life can be so unfair—like, do you have any idea what’s going on in Darfur? I saw something on YouTube about it and I decided
to write a check to the Red Cross, and as I’m tearing the check out of the checkbook, I got this nasty paper cut. It stung
like a motherfucker! And I’m serious here, but… why me? I’m trying to make a donation… to help out these starving orphans
whose mothers were raped and slaughtered in front of them! What the F? And to make things even crueler, the paper cut was
on my video-game finger. I couldn’t play
Gears of War
for like three days, either.