This is not going to be fun.
I thought it was going to be. I picked up Kelsey Grammer’s autobiography So Far at a thrift store; the title, the cover featuring multi-colored crayon scribbles and K-Gramms with a t-shirt tucked into real light blue jeans and a sport coat and boat shoes and the most fucking Frasier look possible on his wide face; it all screamed FUN! The kind of cynical, ironic fun that makes people hate our generation.
But see here is the problem: I fucking hate Kelsey Grammer. I didn’t know I hated Kels when we started reviewing Frasier eps, I didn’t know I hated K-Gramms when we stopped reviewing Frasier eps either (like a decade ago I think). But Kelsey Grammer is my absolute least favorite type of person in the universe. He is convinced that the moderate success and fantastically good luck he has had is proof that he is special, that he deserves all of it and that it justifies every piece of shit thing he’s ever done.
Kelsey Grammer is certain that the fact he was on Frasier means that a story about how much his dog likes snow is interesting to people. He’s also hilariously self-centered, and a true sexist and he is somehow capable of making any person’s greatest tragedy all about him.
OK but the thing is, is that if you can get past all that, if you can ignore what a disgusting piece of shit K-Gramms is, this book is really funny. Like the fact that he several times recounts stories of people telling him how attractive he is. Or the fact that he earnestly compares himself to Jesus. Or the fact that he absolutely writes in the voice of Frasier. He says things like “My God, she sure was sexy.”
So my gift to the 11 people who read this is to condense the book into the most amusing parts, starting with the fucking dedication:
He dedicates it to his dead sister. It would take a cold-hearted monster to criticize someone for memorializing his murdered sister, but then again it would take a monstrous narcissist to write this:
Years after my sister had died, a friend of hers told me this story: one night she and Karen had been talking about where we were all going, and Karen stopped and thought for a moment and said, “I’m not so sure about myself, but I do know this – Kelsey’s going to do it all.”
I mean. Stop for a minute and think about that. “Hey so what was your dead sister like?” “Well I will tell you, she thought I was really going to be great.” The book hasn’t even started yet and a theme is emerging.
Here are some more things that happen: Kelsey Grammer is prescient, in his introduction he writes that he “has a higher purpose in mind,” God speaks to him as a child and tells him some nonsense, he considers himself on the same level as Robin Williams and Christopher Reeve. He spends a lot of time bragging about how he was really philosophical as a six-year-old, he also brags about being great at sewing. Someone tells him he has beautiful blue eyes.
Everything is swimming along nicely – I mean horribly and hilariously but it’s all sort of whatever – until on page 45 the man who became famous for playing a fucking radio psychiatrist and for having like a million stripper wives contemplates whether he is literally Christ:
It occurred to me, and I know this might sound strange, that I might be Jesus. And I prayed that God would let me know. I didn’t mind the idea of having to die for mankind; I was just sick and tired of not knowing. After awhile it became painfully clear that I was not Jesus. That this was not exactly what He had in mind for me. Still it was that same desire to do good, to serve mankind if you will, that led me to become an actor.
Oh yeah Kels, you think that might sound strange? And then, let’s forget for a second that he thinks he might be Jesus and just focus on that he equates acting with dying for mankind. He doesn’t reason that he’s not the son of God because that is just patently ridiculus, no it is because God wants something else for him. Something equally important. “I realized the Lord did not send me – his only son – down to earth so that I may be crucified and open up Heaven’s Gates. No, rather, he had bigger plans for me: To play General Patton in a straight-to-video Zucker-brothers spoof starring Kevin Farley.”
That’s probably the highlight but the hits keep coming:
At the end of a chapter titled “Grammer Lessons” Kelsey tells the story of two of his friends dying tragic deaths because they were driven to suicide by painful divorces. He tells the stories so we can know that it was their deaths – no joke – that inspired Kels to pursue his dream of becoming an actor.
On Page 66 Kelsey tells one of the most boring anecdotes I have ever read in my entire life about painting houses or hanging drywall or so-zzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
All so he can relay the fact that a pair of black guys thought he was cool.
“They were seasoned laborers and would be all their lives. They were also black.”
Then he tells a story of borrowing money from a woman and telling her one day she would be able to tell her friends she gave the famous KG a loan. If anyone ever says something like this to you you should push him in front of a bus. Even if he is destined for stardom he is more importantly destined to be a bloodsucking monster.
A few pages later Grammer describes dealing with some “crazy” girlfriend by explaining that he knew what to do because of his “training dealing with difficult women.” Yes, that is right, Kelsey Grammer, the man of a thousand divorces. The man who was once accused of fucking a 15-year-old. This man is 100 percent convinced that every relationship problem he has ever had is because of crazy women. There’s an actual part in here where he blames his girlfriend, twice over, for his own DUI conviction. I mean…what the fuck?
Then a few pages later he talks about his friend getting AIDS. Oh wait, he doesn’t talk about his friend, he talks about how the great Kelsey Grammer kept warning his gay friend to be careful but his gay friend wouldn’t listen and then he got AIDS. And then K-Gramms talks about how mad he was at his gay friend, and how he told him how mad he was. And how his friend called him asking for help and he said “you’re going to live or you’re going to die, I don’t know what else to tell you.”
He then immediately transitions from blaming his friend for dying of AIDS to totally glossing over his crippling cocaine addiction and DUI conviction. He liked blow but quitting was no problem. He certainly wasn’t doing anything to risk his life or the lives of others by driving all drunk and coked out. Nope, nothing as dangerous as having gay sex.
Finally, let’s say finally because fuck the rest of this dude’s life story, on page 217 we get to the book’s raison d’etre. The good doctor’s feelings on Eddie The Dog from Frasier. I’m just going to block quote all this and then call it a night:
It’s widely rumored that I hate the dog…The truth is I have nothing against [Eddie]. The only difficulty I have is when people start to believe he’s an actor. Acting to me is a craft, not a reflex. It takes years to master and though it does have it’s rewards, the reward I seek is not a hot dog. [Eddie] does tricks; I memorize lines, say words, but I don’t need a trainer standing off camera gesticulating wildly and waving around a piece of meat to know where I’m supposed to look. I will give him this though. [Eddie], like any good actor, doesn’t lie.
The book ends with a picture of KGRAMMS on his fucking yacht.