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When my siblings and I were growing up in Duluth, we always opened our gifts from family and friends on Christmas morning. Santa's gifts, of course, wouldn't appear until that morning, but gifts from our parents and friends would slowly collect under the tree for weeks beforehand—we shook them and smelled them and burned with anticipation trying to figure out what was in those brightly-wrapped boxes. One Christmas, our mom decided to relieve the tension by allowing us to open one gift each, about a week early. I chose the biggest box, which turned out to be some kind of geometric drawing device. I was pretty disappointed, I didn't hide my disappointment very well (I think I cried), and we were back to the wait-'til-Christmas policy.
But enough about me. You're reading this because you want to know about the Tim & Eric Awesome Tour, Great Job! Chrimbus Spectacular, which stopped at the State Theatre on Wednesday night. You want me to tell you about it. But honestly, how could I? Could I describe the sight of dewdrops on a butterfly's wings? Could I describe the sound of a car door closing in your driveway when your toilet's backed up and you've been waiting six hours for the Roto-Rooter while the stench of sewage slowly permeates your home? Could I tell you how it feels to be fatally gored by a unicorn when you've been pinned under a rock for ten days and praying for death to come?
Of course I couldn't. I could "say" that "Tim" and "Eric," stars of the Cartoon Network "show" Tim & Eric, Awesome Show, Great Job! appeared "on stage," performed some "comedy skits," and showed "clips" from their "upcoming holiday special," which will be "broadcast" on on December 5. I could tell you that they "sang" with their "band," "Pusswhip Banggang." I could say that "Neil Hamburger," a "comic" who sometimes "appears" on Tim and Eric's "show," opened the evening with a "comedy routine." I could tell you about the "costume contest" and the "wrestling match" and the "hydrant-sized bong." I could tell you that they took a lot of "cheap shots" at middlebrow "entertainment" of the "late 20th century." But really, what would that tell you about the spirit of Chrimbus? Less than nothing.
Here's what I can say—and I'm going to be brutally honest here, so if you're not ready for some brutally honest truth-telling, you'd better shoot your computer right now.
I can say that I don't know who I am any more.
At 7:59 p.m. I was "Jay Gabler," standing there in the majestic State Theatre surrounded by my friends, my loved ones, and Bobby Kahn. I thought I had a pretty good life, and I thought I knew what kind of man I had grown up to be.
But now? Now I realize that I'm still just a little boy. In fact, I'm a baby. A fetus, if you will. A star fetus. I have been brought into this world anew, for I have gazed upon the faces of Tim Heidecker and Eric Wareheim. I have passed through the singularity, and I stand screaming and bewildered like that guy trapped in the robot suit at the end of The Black Hole (1979). Tonight, I will lie naked—literally, metaphorically, and spiritually naked—in a Dumpster somewhere on the east side of St. Paul. When you see me tomorrow, your stomach may churn, but your soul will dance.
|This production is featured in the Daily Planet's complete guide to holiday theater. Throughout the holiday season, the guide will be updated with links to new Daily Planet reviews—so you'll know who's been naughty and who's been nice.|