This past week I was more than stoked to have tickets to see Anthony Bourdain’s show, “No Guts, No Glory.”
My husband knows I am slightly obsessed with him, and for an early Mother’s Day gift he got me two tickets to the show. Hubs said, “Grab a girlfriend, and get out of the house for a night.”
And in all of his awesome glory, BAM two tickets to paradise. OK, I don’t think of it as paradise, but just an awesome damned time. But when you are typing, thinking or saying, “Two Tickets” Eddie Money just comes barreling through. It is a fact people.
So, I grab a girlfriend and we are out for a night with Anthony. Tony, to his friends.
We had dinner and a cocktail near the venue then walked over to the show.
I belly up to the bar and order an insanely expensive double Grey Goose and cranberry. First off, let me say this. My intention was this was my only beverage for the night and at $18.00 plus tip, that should wrap it up. I could nurse it through the hour and a half show, no problem. It isn’t like it is the world’s most expensive cocktail… Until it felt like one.
For pic above. REALLY?? http://luxpresso.com/news-lifestyle/liquid-gold-worlds-most-expensive-cocktail/19505
Until I got to the theater doors and they said I couldn’t bring it in. Whattttt??? I just bought it three feet away, but I can’t bring it into the magical room in the back?!?! What kind of fuckery is this?
So, we step to the back of the gathering area and I chug it. I know, not bright, but dammit I paid twenty bucks for it, I am not tossing it. And no I couldn’t share, my girlfriend is pregnant. And I don’t even like Cranberry that much with my vodka, but it was a limited selection and I knew my urinary tract would thank me later.
So, I am slightly buzzed and super stoked as we sit down. I take a picture as he walks on stage and send it to Hubs with the message, “Yayayayayay!!!!!”
Our seats are pretty good, and I can see he is wearing boots, the boots on the intro to No Reservations. I am getting all FanGirl at this point. This is so damned awesome. And there is a huge screen behind him, and he has one of those Brittany Spears ear/mouth pieces, but in a neutral tone, because well, this is a show for adults.
After a brief intro he begins to talk about Paula Deen.
Wasn’t this news around two years ago??
Note: I have read Kitchen Confidential and Medium Raw more than once and seen every episode of Cooks Tour and No Reservations about a billion times.
And the slideshow behind him backs up his witty wisps at Mrs. Deen, which I have no affiliation with the Deens and found it funny, but more so two years ago.
Ok, no problem, I shake it off. Next subject is a story about his experience on his show, which I have also heard several times.
My heart sinks.
This is like seeing a comedian and begging a friend to go see them next time they are in town months later because it was so awesome, but to find out that it is the exact SAME material.
For one hour I re-heard his entire monologue. Which kind of seemed to be fed to him through his ear piece. It wasn’t exactly bad, just not the cool, breezy, way he normally speaks when I see his show.
Ok, so I shouldn’t be shocked he is human and maybe isn’t as awesome as the editors of his show portray him to be. But I loved his books, I was so confused.
So we take a break and decide to leave.
I had a sad.
I didn’t want to sit through another hour of things I already knew, and then a painful Q&A afterwards. Which, hey, I left it may have been kick ass. But this is the South, and frankly I didn’t see it going smoothly.
So, at the end of the day I still love Anthony Bourdain’s show and books, but it will be a cold day in Hades before I spend another $200 bucks to see him live.
C’est La vie.
PS. We left the arena and as we are headed through downtown, I see a man squatting and taking a poo under a very bright light by the bus station. I know this because he was crouched, pants down, and had what looked like a handfull of Bounty Select-a-Size napkins balled up in his hand. I wish I could provide photographic proof, but as my friend pointed out, “You suck for not taking a picture of that.”
I was just too stunned. Or maybe feeling icky from downing a double vodka and cran in three minutes. Maybe both.
Woman on Pause