I’ve had Cabaret stuck in my head for the past two days, and when the review for Threepenny Opera (starring Alan Cumming, who also played the Emcee in the revivial of Caberet years ago) came out, I realized that I had never shared with the Internet the story of How Alan Cumming Introduced Me to the World of Sexual Fetishes.  It’s short, but good, and will tide you all over until I write up the story of My Visit to the Scientology Center While Drunk.  With TomKitten out of the womb, I figure it’s time for that story to come out as well.  But first, Alan Cumming.

The summer before my senior year of college, my friends Kim and Dawn joined me on a weekend jaunt to New York City to see the play ART.  Because Victor Garber was in it, dammit, and we loved Victor Garber long before he was Spy Daddy in Alias. It was our first trip to New York, and we were in awe of the big city.  We stayed in a hostel in midtown, where I learned about irony (The Sound of Music was playing in a theatre right beside the Private Eyes Sports Cabaret.  Side note, I still don’t understand the concept of “sports cabaret.”  Were there nekkid gymnasts inside?  Did someone re-enact Lady Godiva’s ride?  What?), about drug dealers, and about the clubbing lifestyle (one of our roommates slept all day and clubbed all night).

None of this has anything to do with Alan Cumming, but it serves to show that we were comparative wide-eyed innocents. So when we got the chance to see Cabaret standing-room only (the cheap seats), we jumped at it.  And waited afterwards to get Alan’s autograph.  He had to wear heavy makeup for that show, and was notorious for taking a while to get out after the show.  So an hour later, he emerges, and by this time they were turning the theatre into a club for the night.  The velvet ropes were out when I asked if I could get my picture taken with him.  He said sure, and stood behind the ropes while I stood in front of them.  He put his arm around me, and as my friend was readying the camera, he leans in and whispers to me:

“I like these ropes.  They remind me of being in a pen.”

The picture shows me smiling through gritted teeth, because as soon as the flash went off, I ducked out from under his arm, thanked him, and bolted down the street with my friends.  What can I say?  I was 20, and I knew absolutely nothing about s&m.  Alan obviously knew this and was having a little fun with me.

In retrospect, however, having the “frolicky bisexual sex symbol for the new millennium” talk to me about pens in his Scots accent?  Prety hawt.  And probably a major reason for me moving the New York a year later.  Thank you, Alan.

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