Original Article: http://dartreview.com/archives/2004/10/19/butch_ricky_martin_lives_la_vida_loca.php
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
'Funny, Fierce, Latina, Queer, Flava,' read the advertisement for comedian Marga Gomez's saucy performance two Fridays previous. It sounded like the sort of event that the "hermanos" of La Unidad Latina Lambda Upsilon would sponsor. Having always considered myself a connoisseur of 'Flava,' I graciously accepted when the Editor requested I attend.
About the auditorium's entrance, there seemed to be a preponderance of severe looking women, several of whom offered welcoming scowls as I walked through the door—I dodged left and descended the stairs—the 'Flava' was almost palpable as I took my seat.
After a few minutes, the audience began filling the room. Surprisingly, I saw few of Dartmouth's hermanos; instead, decidedly uncollegiate types filed in. Eventually a man burst through the door, wearing a red shirt whose close fit rivaled only its garishness, he queried a nearby congregation of men, "Okay—whoooo will be my boyfriend for tonight?!" One of his friends answered, "We called you for, like, five seconds!" Hugs ensued. Some squealing. Then more hugs.
At this moment, my friend sitting beside me tapped my shoulder. She pointed to a youth sitting in the first row clad in a tight pink t-shirt, with ears adorned by all variety of metal. She whispered, "He just checked you out." I mustered my fortitude and awaited the show's beginning.
No College-sponsored activity can properly commence without a prolixly-titled bureaucrat du jour to begin the proceedings, and so Assistant Dean of Student Life and Advisor to Latino/Latina Students Alex Hernandez-Siegel walked onto the stage. He welcomed everyone and outlined for the audience a mere smattering of Marga Gomez's many accomplishments: she wrote and performed no less than seven one-woman shows; she released a compact disc entitled 'Hung Like a Fly;' and, most impressively, she is a weathered Vagina Monologues veteran. I could hardly believe my luck—in the presence of an uncommon wit and a vagina monologist! When Dean Hernandez-Siegel revealed that he "cracked a rib" the last time he saw Gomez, I certainly understood why. With that, he unleashed her on the crowd.
Miss Gomez sprinted onstage yelling "Whooooo!" She continued, "How 'bout this, Hanover's first gay bar! How's the volume? Am I kicking?' she asked us. "Just fine, oh yeah," the man behind me cooed. Still establishing a rapport with the audience, she confided, "I'm kind of hungover, I'm so sorry." But the audience was forgiving: "You're in Hanover!" an alum squawked. "We're drunk right now!" some freshman girls proudly declared.
Now on friendly terms with her spectators, Miss Gomez launched into her act. She began with an attack on George Bush. How bold! How avant-garde! Sure, its been four years since "the colossal error" (her words) entered office, but somehow those 'Dubya is an idiot' jokes just never get old. Clearly attuned to this fact, she touched on most of the same haggard themes in circulation since November 2000. Noting the timing lights at the presidential debate, she pointed out Bush would "always start at yellow, he'd never start at green. Green was for him to think." Get it? He has to start the questions late, because he's really dumb. He's so dumb it takes him a while to answer questions, because he's really stupid. The crowd guffawed.
It might not be self-evident, given the current political climate, but vituperating Bush eventually wears thin; so Miss Gomez moved along, "think of me as a butch Ricky Martin—Ricky Martin, he's the next to come out." Thus she segued into her fabled 'Ricky's gay' rant. Not only did it sound plausible, but nothing's fresher than a spent pop-star who hasn't strayed into the public consciousness since the last millennium; thank goodness this comic's jokes ripen so well.
Adequately demonstrating that she wouldn't let dated material restrain her, Miss Gomez next illustrated her ability to borrow material. "Lesbians will go see any piece of shit [movie] if we think chicks will kiss!" she declared; the crowd applauded. If this sounds vaguely familiar, it is probably because it's just a variation on the popular notion that men enjoy watching women make out. Bill Hicks commented on this fascination a decade ago; more recently, the comedic luminaries of The Man Show rode the gag to death; now, it's even entered the domain of television commercials. It took the singular talents of Miss Gomez to enliven this old workhorse of a joke; add a little gender bending and it became a knee-slapping success. The laughter she elicited from the flannel-clad ladies of the room was encouragement enough for her to charge down a Sapphist track.
Admittedly, I haven't seen many lesbian comedians perform, but I've seen bits here and there. If they share a consistent feature that makes so many of them so dull (though, I suspect they share many), it is a seeming inability to craft jokes about anything but the ordeals of lesbian existence. Find yourself a lesbian comic, and she'll find you scores of anecdotes to illustrate the hilarity of the average lesbian's foibles. Miss Gomez might stand firmly in this tradition, but she transcends it. By virtue of her irrepressible originality she made an hour of Sapphist humor seem completely new.
And so, the soi-disant Queer Latina Homegirl of Comedy plodded forward, into even more interesting territory. She touched upon coming out, drag queens, and the exotica of flight attendants.
"I bought a book called Women Who Love Too Much. Anyone else read it?" she asked, to which a few audience members responded with knowing and pensive yeses. I've not read it but, Amazon.com explains that the book is "the world-renowned, inspiring, practical program for women who believe that being in love means being in pain." Tragically, Miss Gomez loves too much, but she relayed her story of triumph over this debilitating ailment. Touching as it was, she didn't let the atmosphere become overly weighty; spying an audience member's name-badge, she shouted, "Your name's Monique Box? That's the best name ever!"
The show went on and Miss Gomez left no corner of existence unscrutinized—bad kissers, bed & breakfasts, J-Lo, and "fairie boys"—nothing was off limits! At some point, the hilarity overwhelmed me, and I put down my pen that I might simply appreciate the rest of the comedic odyssey.
As the evening wound down, Miss Gomez took up a serious tone, warning us about our President's malevolent intentions. "When George W Bush is trying to amend the Constitution to satisfy the religious right... it's a very dangerous time. We've always been terrorized by these forces," she warned. The entertainer's last words were an invitation for all to mingle with her at a reception in Rauner Library. Unfortunately my sides aching as they did, I had to decline.