Is My Bow Too Big? How I Went From Saturday Night Live to the Tea Party by Victoria Jackson
Authors: Victoria Jackson
Ads: Link
everyone says the F-word.
V ICTORIA : Okay, Charlie. If you want to talk about the real meaning of the word, it’s believed to have Germanic origins. It was originally “fricktin,” which meant “to plow” in the sixteenth century. Because the slow, pushing motion of the plow (which is phallic in its shape and use) resembled the thrusting action of the male during coitus, and the furrow resembled the female’s vulva, resulting in the planting of a seed that grew in mother earth’s womb, eventually the word migrated to America and became the slang you are familiar with. But that’s only one theory.
C HARLIE : [dumbfounded expression]
V ICTORIA : I’m glad you didn’t ask me to take God’s name in vain, Charlie, because that’s one of the Ten Commandments. Sometimes when the script says, “God,” I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I say, “gosh,” and actually I feel bad about that because it’s a euphemism. So, from now on, I guess I’ll leave that out too. I don’t want my character, Kimber, to be perceived as “bad.” That’s all.
C HARLIE : [speechless]
Signing Autographs
I was at a bar in the airport watching the TV coverage of Phil Hartman’s untimely and tragic death. I was in shock. I was very sad. Strangers were noticing me and starting to point and whisper.
“Oh, yes, bartender, uh, I’d like a chardonnay. What kind? Um, anything over six dollars a bottle.” I told Lorne Michaels once that I thought I had a drinking problem. He asked, “Do you still use a glass?”
I said, “Yes.”
“You don’t have a problem yet.”
I asked him why he never drank too much. He said, “I’m too vain.”
Now, I’m at a bar in the airport. I’m not on Saturday Night Live anymore. I try to live in the present, but as soon as I forget about it someone reminds me of it, so I live in a continual state of SNL reflection.
The guy next to me says, “Uh, we have a bet. Are you the girl from…”
“Yes.” I smile warmly.
“Can we take a picture with you?”
“Sure.”
Glancing at my waist, he says “When are you due?” Feeling as if I’ve just been punched in the gut, I say, “Oh, I’m not pregnant,” and I force myself to smile for his picture.
Waiting at the gate to board my plane home, I check my reflection in the glass to see if I really look pregnant. Someone approaches and begins to ask the same ten SNL questions.
I say, “Tell me about you !”
“I’m John, originally from Ohio. I was at a valve-pipe convention. You know, my favorite place in the world is South Beach because there are a lot of topless models playing Frisbee there. I’m married. I’m a Virgo. Um, and can I have your autograph?”
I understand. I always want a photo when I meet a celebrity.
Having a Stalker
At the height of my “hotness,” I acquired a stalker. He snuck into my world innocently enough, as they all do I guess. I didn’t suspect him of anything except writing me letters too frequently. I was in my office at SNL . My typewriter had the blank sheet of paper in it. Pink and blue tulle was stapled to the ceiling to look like fairy-tale clouds. Fan letters were stapled to the walls. One said I had “luscious melons.” One guy named Joe kept writing and calling. He sent me a video of his family to prove he was not a psycho-killer. He wanted me to come to his Midwestern town to raise money for a charity event involving a little girl with no insurance who couldn’t afford treatment for her mysterious illness. I was new at this celebrity thing, but from what I had seen, people in the movies always “wanted to give back.” Especially being a Christian, I should help anyone anytime. So, although the situation sounded odd, I agreed to fly to the Midwest. The celebrity-charity thing is strange: appear at a charity event and wave to strangers, because you have a cooler-than-usual job? I don’t get the correlation. The cooler the job, the more you have to wave?
V ICTORIA : Okay, Charlie. If you want to talk about the real meaning of the word, it’s believed to have Germanic origins. It was originally “fricktin,” which meant “to plow” in the sixteenth century. Because the slow, pushing motion of the plow (which is phallic in its shape and use) resembled the thrusting action of the male during coitus, and the furrow resembled the female’s vulva, resulting in the planting of a seed that grew in mother earth’s womb, eventually the word migrated to America and became the slang you are familiar with. But that’s only one theory.
C HARLIE : [dumbfounded expression]
V ICTORIA : I’m glad you didn’t ask me to take God’s name in vain, Charlie, because that’s one of the Ten Commandments. Sometimes when the script says, “God,” I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I say, “gosh,” and actually I feel bad about that because it’s a euphemism. So, from now on, I guess I’ll leave that out too. I don’t want my character, Kimber, to be perceived as “bad.” That’s all.
C HARLIE : [speechless]
Signing Autographs
I was at a bar in the airport watching the TV coverage of Phil Hartman’s untimely and tragic death. I was in shock. I was very sad. Strangers were noticing me and starting to point and whisper.
“Oh, yes, bartender, uh, I’d like a chardonnay. What kind? Um, anything over six dollars a bottle.” I told Lorne Michaels once that I thought I had a drinking problem. He asked, “Do you still use a glass?”
I said, “Yes.”
“You don’t have a problem yet.”
I asked him why he never drank too much. He said, “I’m too vain.”
Now, I’m at a bar in the airport. I’m not on Saturday Night Live anymore. I try to live in the present, but as soon as I forget about it someone reminds me of it, so I live in a continual state of SNL reflection.
The guy next to me says, “Uh, we have a bet. Are you the girl from…”
“Yes.” I smile warmly.
“Can we take a picture with you?”
“Sure.”
Glancing at my waist, he says “When are you due?” Feeling as if I’ve just been punched in the gut, I say, “Oh, I’m not pregnant,” and I force myself to smile for his picture.
Waiting at the gate to board my plane home, I check my reflection in the glass to see if I really look pregnant. Someone approaches and begins to ask the same ten SNL questions.
I say, “Tell me about you !”
“I’m John, originally from Ohio. I was at a valve-pipe convention. You know, my favorite place in the world is South Beach because there are a lot of topless models playing Frisbee there. I’m married. I’m a Virgo. Um, and can I have your autograph?”
I understand. I always want a photo when I meet a celebrity.
Having a Stalker
At the height of my “hotness,” I acquired a stalker. He snuck into my world innocently enough, as they all do I guess. I didn’t suspect him of anything except writing me letters too frequently. I was in my office at SNL . My typewriter had the blank sheet of paper in it. Pink and blue tulle was stapled to the ceiling to look like fairy-tale clouds. Fan letters were stapled to the walls. One said I had “luscious melons.” One guy named Joe kept writing and calling. He sent me a video of his family to prove he was not a psycho-killer. He wanted me to come to his Midwestern town to raise money for a charity event involving a little girl with no insurance who couldn’t afford treatment for her mysterious illness. I was new at this celebrity thing, but from what I had seen, people in the movies always “wanted to give back.” Especially being a Christian, I should help anyone anytime. So, although the situation sounded odd, I agreed to fly to the Midwest. The celebrity-charity thing is strange: appear at a charity event and wave to strangers, because you have a cooler-than-usual job? I don’t get the correlation. The cooler the job, the more you have to wave?
Similar Books
