During the 1999 NBA Finals between the Spurs and Knicks I was in New York, covering the series for the Fort Worth Star-Telegram. After a particularly long, fun and, yes, expensive off night at this fine establishment, I awoke at around 4 a.m. sprawled out on my hotel bed. Boxers only. Half-eaten burger by my side. Pounding in my head.
What the hell on my TV?
It was a guy - or was it a girl? - in short Carol Brady hair, tons of makeup, what appeared to be a Kamona and high heels. I must have been dreaming, or perhaps still hallucinating. But, just like that, I was laughing.
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And that, ladies and gents, was my introduction to Eddie Izzard, the funniest cross-dressing comedian you ever did hear.
With Cowboys season kaput we're all searching for ways to be entertained. Couple of my buddies are going to see Everclear tonight at House of Blues.
But me? I'll be at American Airlines Center for a night of guffawing at Izzard's Monty Python-esque stand-up humor. (Dane "Laugh at my own jokes" Cook, please take notes.) I know Izzard ideally uses comedy as a gateway to his acting, but I get his brand of story-telling as unique and provocative and compelling and funny as shit.
If you've watched his version of the how religion started and didn't at least smile then, nope, we can't be friends.