An Open Letter To the Woman Who Did Not Smack Norbert Leo Butz’s Butt, Even Though He Asked Her To

Dear Madame,

What were you thinking? No, seriously. You had one job. (The BEST job!) How could you fail at it?

Because when the world’s sexiest feminist–who happens to be  male–asks you to smack his ass, you do it. You don’t ask questions. You don’t hesitate. You do it. And not just for yourself. No, you do it for all of us who will never have that chance.

Because trust, the audience last night at 54 Below was LOADED with men and women who would have committed several heinous crimes for that opportunity. That’s dedication. Dedication inspired, in no small part, by the soul-shatteringly beautiful/badass performance we were all witnessing on stage right that very moment.

Did you perhaps not hear him? Or were you just so stunned by his beauty and talent and sudden proximity that your brain was partially paralyzed? I’m going to tell myself it was one of those things. Because aside from the opportunity to smack Norbert Leo Butz’ ass, the opportunity to WATCH someone smack Norbert Leo Butz’s ass–to live vicariously through their privilege–is kind of high on my list of life dreams. That’s right. You robbed me of one of my life dreams.

I suppose I can forgive you, though. Because your name is Roxanne, and when you shared that tidbit with Norbert, he steamrolled over the audience with an impromptu performance of the classic tune with which you share a name. And ain’t nobody mad about hearing Norbert wail on that song. Nobody.

It really did add something to the show, too, that moment, that song.  Because in the middle of a night exploring the archetypes of female psychology–mythological and Jungian, too–in order to better understand the female mind, and heart, and soul, “Roxanne” was kind of a perfect number. Norbert couldn’t have planned it better. Or looked like more of the consummate cabaret pro, seamlessly weaving the unexpected into the arc of his storytelling.

So I guess this is a love/hate letter for you. Because you dropped the ball on the bum swat, and for that we all suffered. But you inspired “Roxanne,” and maybe that was better, after all. A less fleeting memory. A moment we could all share in completely. A perfect example of the perfect person, being perfect and playfully, nay, gleefully performing the perfect song.

Rock on,
The Mick

PS. 54 Below, you are fully screwed. Because now, every single show I see in your hallowed hall will pale in comparison to “Girls, Girls, Girls” and the glory that is Norbert Leo Butz. Good luck ever making me happy again.

Photo: The Craptacular