September 17th is set to be a big day at my house. That is the day that Kevin Smith will be speaking at the State Theater in all his baggy khaki short, tee shirted, overgrown facial hair glory. I’m so excited I could crap my pants, if it weren’t for that anal fissure.*
For those of you living in a cave, New Jersey native Kevin Smith is the acclaimed director of such movies as Clerks, Mallrats, Chasing Amy (personal favorite), Dogma (the movie that introduced Buddy Jesus), Jay & Silent Bob Strike Back, Jersey Girl, Zack & Miri Make A Porno, and the amazing man who relaunched the Green Lantern with DC, as well as made major contributions in resurging Daredevil back into popular culture (Comics people. Come on, keep up!). In addition he is also the host/speaker of the wildly entertaining, piss on the sofa funny An Evening With Kevin Smith lecture & dvd series, wherein he visits sundry campuses and fields sometimes serious, sometimes wacky fans in a Q&A format. Having been a fan of this series, I can also say that he does great big, robust justice to the term Bunny Trail, as well. Big old, hour long, rambling, entertaining bunny trails.
Anyways, because I’m a big fan, and because I’m totally broke (I’ve taken a lot of unpaid time off this summer, apparently), a few weeks ago I emailed his team at the View Askew Universe, offering my blogging services in exchange for a discounted, or dare I even dream, free ticket to the show. I basically said I’d blog about the upcoming show and my thoughts on his other lectures, in exchange for said ticket. But sadly, I never heard back. Not a “No thank you.”, not a “Hahah, whatever, media whore.”, nothing. And so I thought to myself, surely they must not have received my email. I’ll just offer again. And nothing. Yet again, nothing.
Now, even a girl like me has her pride. Yes, a girl like me. One, who I’m coming to realize, doesn’t always act her age, bounces around, has a happy dance, skips, and apparently needs a hockey helmet and a bib to go in public. But that’s another post for another day (and probably the reason I’m falling off friendship cliff with every guy I meet). Nobody likes to be snubbed.
And so, because I said I would, I’m going to make good, and blog about the upcoming show at the State Theater, and how excited I am about it. I’m also going to spew my askew views, and call this post Snubbed. Because that’s exactly what I am. Now I know that my blog, entitled A Woman’s Right To Shoes, may not be the coolest, or hippest one out there. Nor does it probably adhere to the demographic market of Mr. Smith’s target audience – aka adolescent boys and men who live at home in their mother’s basement. But, I like to think that I’m a funny woman. Though the primary subject of a lot of my posts is Jesus, and my personal relationship with Him, it is He Himself that in His wisdom and glory when dreaming me up gave me a wicked funny sense of humor. Yes, sometimes it’s sick, and mildly inappropriate, and as my friend Krista is always keen to point out, I do enjoy poop humor a bit more than the average woman (ever ask me to sing the Poop Song from the Sarah Silverman Show season 1? Well you should). But, to get to the jist of it all, I am funny, and I do believe that my blog would be a good PR tool for promoting this show. I may be deluding myself, but two lattes by 1:00 in the afternoon will do that to you.
So, get ready world, because in the next few days I plan on taking A Woman’s Right To Shoes down the testosterone alley, and blogging about Kevin Smith’s body of work (it, like the man himself, is shall we say, well-rounded). I plan to do a few movie reviews, and more importantly, comic book reviews, and who knows what else. And if you’re reading this, and have made it thus far without becoming grossly offended by anything I’ve said, then maybe you’d like to come with me on September 17th, to the State Theater, and we can see Kevin Smith yak at us live for a few hours. BTW – can you spot me a $20 for the ticket?
*For those of you who think I just copped to having an anal fissure online, I don’t. It’s an inside (Ooohheee, no pun intended) joke, for those in the know. And if you don’t get it, you don’t know. And if you do, then you know that there is nothing wrong with my bum. ‘Nuff said.