Notes From the Whirlpool

Hey there! Sit down, have a drink. We should get acquainted…
Me? I’m JAMES GATES. What’s that? Well, that’s a tricky question…You might call me a Wichita…what? Character? Fixture? Gargoyle? I don’t know for sure… I’ve lived in the Wichita area almost 79% of my life. Most of the time I haunt Delano and the Old Town district like they were my own personal Whitechapel—you may only catch glimpses of me, floating in the background at a bar, a show or an art opening, but there are traces of me everywhere. (Wow, that didn’t sound creepy at all, did it?) I’ve been around long enough to have met some people… And let’s face it, I’m recognizable. I’m six and a half feet tall, rail-thin with blond hair, goatee and yellow-tinted glasses—I look like the three-way love child of Andy Dick, Shaggy, and Lurch from The Addams Family.
If there’s one thing I’ve been known for over the years, it’s random, bizarre, goofy shit. Tales are still told of the time I staged a re-enactment of the Oswald assassination in front of the Bohemian Bean Co., or when I held an impromptu white-slavery raffle to pay my rent… After awhile, it just seemed a natural to go semi-pro, which I did in 2006 with the sketch comedy group PANIC BUTTONS. I’ve been performing on stages and microphones throughout the Wichita area ever since, pursuing the goal of building a live, local comedy scene. In March 2007 I started doing THE JAMES GATES SHOW, a live comedy experience based around A) the late-night talk show format, and B) a whole bunch of me. And the rest is, well, the stuff of much confusion…
Anyway, this is my log. I get to write about anything I want, anytime. I like that. Hope you do too.

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Thu Jul 2

07/02/09 - I Surrender 4a - Reparations to Ladies, #1-2

I Surrender 4a - Reparations to Ladies, #1-2

(Continuing the “I Surrender” series… the following are public apologies addressed to certain ladies who I’ve (mostly) unsuccessfully hollered at over the last couple of years. The names have been changed to protect both the innocent and my ego… Enjoy!)

To The Lady Who “Never Has Enough Time”

(looks in disbelief) What? “Don’t have enough time”? Girl, what do you think I’m talking about here, backgammon? I’m talking about sex! You don’t have enough time for sex? Sounds like you’ve been having the wrong kind of sex! You’ve been ordering the medium rare when you should be getting well done! OOOHHH!! You see what I did there? Little play on words—‘cause I’m talkin’ about beef, girl!

“Not enough time”… See, A) That’s a shitty INXS song, and just for that, B) I should punch you in your tittie! Then who’s wearing the eyepatch? I’ll tell you who! Your tittie!

Anyway, I’m sorry… Sorry I wasn’t interesting enough for you to make some time for, ‘because that’s what we’re talking about here. And it’s not like I needed a whole lot of time, you know—like, two hours… girl, you wouldn’t been able to walk. Then you’d have plenty of time. I mean, you’d be surprised—when you can’t walk, your schedule opens right the fuck up. Ask Christopher Reeve. And see, I would’ve done that for you, but whatever…

Girl, you KNOW my rapping is the shit!

To Zelvar, Mistress of the Night

(shaking head knowingly) See, I knew something was up. It was all just a little too cool, you know? Lovely lady, mellow kickin’ it… best was when you’d look at me, with them big ol’ eyes, like I was lighting you up a little bit inside. See, that’s the shit right there… those minute changes, the way when you see someone and you feel your eyes open wider, and your breathing changes just a little…

Oh, it’s all very charming, and irrelevant, because you started talking about him. And for a while, I was pretty sure it was Jesus. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been cockblocked by Jesus… oh, he’s a player hater, I don’t care what they say. Anyway, what’d you expect? You kept making these vague references—“He has long hair”, “He comes in many forms”, telling me “I saw him yesterday” on a Monday night… Then there was the day you said “He has head lice”. And I pondered that for hours. “This girl would rather get with a guy with head lice than me… well, it is Jesus…” But then, just as I was accepting the idea that Jesus with head lice still beats me on my best day, another thought came to me: “Wait—what if it isn’t Jesus? What if it’s just a dirty fucking hippie?” That’s when I realized…you’re crazy.

So, I’m sorry—sorry you’re crazy. I mean, I hope we can still be buddies, ‘cause you’re fun and all that. But you are crazy…

Girl, you KNOW my rapping is the shit!

We’ll continue the Reparations tomorrow with #3-4,