PGHIMC - Pittsburgh Independent Media Center

Dave Chappelle is my Co-Pilot
by Stacie Adams Tuesday, May. 24, 2005 at 10:01 AM
stackdogg@yahoo.com

My reaction the media blitz surrounding one of my favorite counter-culture heroes, Dave Chappelle.

I’m not a “joiner”, as they say. I don’t like bandwagons. Or people. The more media saturated a thing becomes, the less likely I am to give a shit. But something is happening that I must address.

My kindred spirit Dave Chappelle is receiving a lot of press these days. And for good reason. Any time a celebrated black comedian takes off to a looney bin in South Africa, of all places, there’s bound to be some talk. South Africa! What was he thinking? Is this all part of some cruel joke?

Many pseudo journalists have crawled out from under their respective rocks to comment on Dave’s lapse in sanity. There’s been a lot of talk about chickens coming home to roost in regards to Chapelle’s drug use. Apparently these people don’t know one casual drug user.

Drug use and abuse does not occur in a vacuum. Generally, people do not do drugs, particularly pot, because their freewheeling roués in search of a good time. More often than not, people smoke pot because the world is a damn scary place and a big fat spliff can really take the edge off.

Imagine your Dave Chapelle. Anti-authority, harboring a healthy suspicion of “the Man”, partial to risqué humor. Suddenly, your stock sky rockets when the stiff white collars of Comedy Central realize you are a valuable commodity. A $50 million contract is bestowed upon you. You, an underachieving, pot smoking, geeky dude who bears more than a passing resemblance to J.J., a guy who should probably be a disgruntled employee at Best Buy right now. Who wouldn’t freak out and take off for South Africa. (South Africa!)

I feel for Chapelle. The pressure he was under must have been pretty intense. 50 mill is a lot of cheese to play with. And the responsibility that comes along had to be an issue. No one, especially a white business man, gives you a paycheck that large without expecting your soul in return. His show, which I think should be put in the Smithsonian and years down the line will be heralded as a work of pure genius, would have suffered immensely under those big, bloated thumbs.

Another beef I have is those who look down upon Chapelle for his drug humor. I even read one article insinuating it was a “cry for help”. The same society that sanctions overzealous prescription drug use for everything from bad dreams to the blues, criticizes Chapelle for his speculated self-medication, which pours over into his comedy routine. Anything from old Eli Lilly is OK. They give it out like candy. Prozac will be in vending machines soon. But natural herbs that grow from the earth for all to enjoy, well get back. The world must be insane.

And that’s the rub. The world is crazy, not Chapelle. He couldn’t play the game and he didn’t want to. He was physically incapable of succumbing to their rules. His body rejected it, like a foreign object. The loss of the brilliant Chapelle Show is a small price to pay for his dignity.

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