I don’t think I enjoy the awards show press gauntlet anymore. At least this year I had the best gown ever, designed by Derek of Narcisse, a couture peacock feather fantasy, which was named the Worst Dress of the 2004 Grammys by E!, Entertainment Tonight, Joan Rivers and Steven Cojucaru – which means it was the best dress there.
I think that is the point though, because sometimes you have to really shake the people up, and that if they don’t like it, you are doing something right. I actually threatened Steven that if he didn’t trash me, I would come and find him and he would be sorry. He was just doing what I told him to. I interrupted his interview with Samuel Jackson, someone I’ve known for years, so it seemed totally okay to step into their moment even though we are on live television. I get sick of waiting.
I remember when Steven was just a little boy, standing with a little tape recorder on the wrong side of the velvet ropes. He was a kid reporter for People, making his way up the ranks. We shared a giggle about the fact that I had the tags tucked into my sleeve still on my gown so I could return it the next day.
Joan Rivers was talking to someone and I was about to do the same thing to her when the segment producer saw me and told her assistant “There she is – Margaret Cho – keep her away from here – she is going to jump up here – look she is getting ready – stop her stop HER!!!!!” and I said “Joan is a personal friend of mine, I was just going to say hello.” With that I walked away fast, but not fast enough for the people wanting to interview some star – I had no idea who he was, because I thought they were pointing at me, and then when I started walking toward them they said “NO NOT YOU-NOT YOU!!!!” So I got right up in their camera and said, “No – not me – anyone but me!!!” and kept going.
I am so over people. I have been walking that fucking red carpet for decades now, and I know the people behind the ropes better than the people in front of them. It is sad because the celebrity crush is demeaning and the turnover is about as fast as at a Burger King. There is a new person at the counter every time you go. I have seen stars come busting out blazing hot only to get ignored the very next year. I have been ignored my entire life, so I am not offended by the invisibility, but it is sad to watch someone who thought that their fame was real, realize that they are already irrelevant before the next swing shift.
I got stuck in a logjam behind Alicia Keys, who is sweet and beautiful and was amazed at my eyelashes, “How did you get them that way?” Individual lashes in Natural Brown applied one by one top and bottom and then covered with black mascara sealed with Estee Lauder’s Raincoat for Eyes. It takes two hours.
Creed was behind me trying to get in in one piece, as we were all being trampled on by Parliament Funkadelic, with the Atomic Dog himself George Clinton right on top of us. Not that I mind. I love the funk, and there is a softness in my heart for Creed I cannot lie about anymore. I am so sorry. I know. I secretly adore them. That is the big music geek secret of my life.
Sean Lennon came up next to me, sooo cute!!!!!! He is just like his father!!!!!!! He whispered that his mom was there and that they were big fans of mine. I told him I’d loved him forever, ever since I’d seen him play with Cibo Matto years ago. His new solo album is just finished which he was really happy about. I cannot wait to hear it. He is the most beautiful boy.
When Yoko Ono appeared onstage and accepted the award for The Beatles, I stood up and cried and cried, because seeing Yoko in person is completely an emotional experience for me. To be in the same room with her, even if it is the cavernous Staples Center, is to be in the presence of true greatness. She is not only a tremendous artist in her own right, she survived such tragedy, watching the love of her life shot down in front of her. John Lennon, who was not just a man, a musician, an icon, a father, but a symbol of peace and love and truth, not to mention equality; a messianic figure who loved her and fearlessly ignored the racism and misogyny that would threaten the strongest of bonds. Yoko Ono, who should be regarded with the same awe and adulation as Jackie Kennedy, as she also is the other half of a visionary cut down in his prime, is not given props that she is due, because of her race, mostly, and then perhaps because of the tremendous power of her art, which is too controversial and smart for so many to understand, and she was much more stylish than Jackie anyway. I have to go to a Yoko place with a huge white brimmed hat and white minidress and white knee boots at least once a week. I told Sean I go to great lengths to look like his mom. He was blushing I think, because it might have seemed flirtatious. Couldn’t be helped. He is soooooo cute, but out of the question because I am old enough to be his mom.
The Osbournes were also nearby me in the crush mob. They all are lovely to look at and nice as can be. I got to the last part of the press line, the paparazzi – which is the “Celebrity, guess your weight as a star” portion of the evening and is the grossest part of the night. The length of time you spend, the number of flash bulbs that go off, the volume at which they shout your name determines what you are worth. When I got up there, I seemed to start an argument among them, as they are familiar to me, face by face, and I have seen them more often than the ever changing faces of the stars. One new photographer said “Who is that?” There was a booming and rather disgusted response from the others – “Margaret Cho!!!! Hi Margaret! How can you not know that? Over here Margaret!!! Over here!!!!” I couldn’t really get a firm handle on my ‘worth,’ but the gown was stunning, and undeniably photographable.
My attention was elsewhere, knowing I had mere seconds to make the Prince/Beyonce opening number, wondering if I would be able to eat the Three Musketeers bar my publicist gave me during the ceremony. I have been through it so much that I ceased to give a shit about ten years ago. I waved at Courtney and Frances Bean Love. Ms. Love made what seemed like a communal “Urgh – I hate this shit!” face at me. Madonna walked by my seat so fast and close, I felt her skirt against my arm. EUGENE LEVY WALKED BY ME TWO TIMES AND I HADN’T THE NERVE – I just couldn’t say anything, do anything. I was paralyzed by his beauty. He blinded me with science. We were seated directly behind Kelis and I didn’t know until she left, but I was dying to tell her that “Milkshake” fucking rules.
There was a moving memorial to the staggering number of musicians who died this past year and nobody really paid attention to it, but when Elliott Smith’s picture filled the big screens, the audience let out a grievous wail, loud and spontaneous. It surprised me, but then not really. Not at all.
P.S. If I had won (I was nominated for best comedy album), I planned on giving the award to Weird Al anyway. He deserves it for all of his incredible work, not only for the record he was nominated for, which is a tour de force, but the many years of joy he has given me as a fan and fellow comic. Congrats to Weird Al. He is my homie and a hero.