Having someone tell you that you are incredibly hot is the best appetite suppressant of them all. Not to mention reason to keep your laundry done.

I won't get into random leg hair issues, et al. This is a family blog, after all.


I'm so glad we've had this time together....

Does anyone remember "The Carol Burnett Show?"

This is the sketch comedy I was raised on, with a TV in my room, no less, staying up late on Saturday nights when I was a kid.

These writers and actors were amazing. (Barry Levinson, by the way, was a writer, according to imdb. Did I mention I love imdb? carry on.)

Does anyone know who the fuck could write, act or even put up the Tim Conway Hitler puppet sketch on TV today? Actually before they put that one up on the highlights show, they mentioned that "you never knew what Tim was gonna do next." So I wonder how much of that show was improvised, in the end.

Okay, sometimes the parodies were a little cheesy, but the ones that hit - Love Story, Sunset Boulevard, Gone with the Wind - were classic.

And Harvey Korman breaking up - insanity. The Novocain sketch? Amazing.

I just imdb'd it - it was on from 1967-78. Wow. Since I was born. Tim Conway wasn't on till 1975 - damn. I do remember the show slightly before him.

Yeah, this was a highlights show, so of course it's just the good stuff, but damn...that was good stuff.


It also reminded me, a bit sadly, of my fabulous childhood friend Rob, a pal and worthy teasing adversary since kindergarden through high school, who passed on (the word was) of AIDS in the late 80s. He came one year to the high school Halloween party/dance dressed as Norma Desmond. Complete with rhinestones, black dress, hat, heels, and swinging-tennisball boobs.

Fabulous. So very fabulous. (The next year he came as the Pope. I've got the photos).

MAX! MAX! Yes, Mzzz Desmond?

Hilarity. Joy. This women rocked it hard. (And was swell enough to have a gender-balanced cast. You go, Carol! Wow.)

Mad respect.

The cab scene from "Before Sunset"


You told him where you are and all that?

Oui, oui, yeah.

- So, he knows where he's going?
- Yes.

Let's hope he does. Now, this is better than Metro, right?


I was thinking...For me it's better I don't romanticize things as much anymore. I was suffering so much all the time. I still have lots of dreams, but they're not in regard to my love life. It doesn't make me sad, it's just the way it is.

Is that why you're in a relationship with somebody who's...

never around? Yes, obviously, I can't deal with the day to day life of a relationship. Yeah, we have, you know, this exciting time together and then he leaves and I miss him, but at least I'm not dying inside. When someone is always around me, I'm like suffocating!

No, wait, you just said that you need to love and be loved...

Yeah, but when I do, it quickly makes me nauseous! It's a disaster...I mean, I'm really happy only when I'm on my own. Even being alone...it's better than... sitting next to a lover and feeling lonely. It's not so easy for me to be a romantic. You start off that way, and, after you've been screwed over a few times...You... you forget about all your delusional ideas, and you just take what comes into your life. That's not even true, I haven't been...screwed over, I've just had too many...bla relationship. They weren't mean, they cared for me, but...they were no real...connection, or excitement. At least, not from my side.

God, I'm sorry, is it...Is it really that bad?

It's not, right? You know...it's not even that, I was...I was fine. Until I read your fucking book!

It stirred shit out from you,

It reminded me how...genuinely romantic I was, how I had so much hope in things and...now it's like... I don't believe in anything that relates to love, I don't feel things for people anymore. In a way... I put all my romanticism into that one night and I was never able to feel all this again. Like...somehow this night took things away from me and...I expressed them to you and you took them with you! It made me feel cold, like if love wasn't for me!

I... I don't believe that. I don't believe that.

You know what? Reality and love are almost contradictory for me. It's funny...Every single of my ex-es...they're now married! Man go out with me, we break up, and then they get married! And later they call me to thank me for teaching them what love is, and... that I taught them to care and respect women!

I think I'm one of those guys.

You know, I want to kill them! Why didn't they ask me to marry them? I would have said "No", but at least they could have asked!!! But it's my fault, I know that it's my fault, because...I never felt it was the right man. Never! But what does it mean the right man? The love of your life? The concept is absurd, the idea that we can only be complete with another person is... EVIL! Right?

Can I talk?

You know, I guess I've been heart broken too many times. And then I recovered. So now, you know, form the starts, I make no effort. Because I know exactly what hap...

You can't do that. You can't do that, you can't live your life trying to avoid pain, at the expense of en...

Ok, you know what? Loose our words! I've gotta... I've gotta get away from you...Stop the car, I want to get out!

No, no, no, don't... don't get out...

- You know, it's being around you...
- Keep talking...

Don't touch me!

- You know, I wanna get on a cab...
- Monsieur..Monsieur, aretes vous!


From the "Collected First Lines v. 23"

"You do realize, darling, that holiday suicides are such a cliche," she murmured, disapprovingly, blowing a slender ring of smoke and reaching her well-manicured hand into a cut-glass bowl of mixed nuts. "Why, if you must off yourself, darling, can't you just wait until dreary old February?"


Es la ley.

I love courthouses.

So I go to the clerk's office to file papers today at 60 Centre, the one with the giant marble steps downtown. One of them, I was thinking of other things and I ambled up the steps of 40 Centre, the Federal courthouse instead. Felt like an extra on "Law and Order: Head up the Ass."

Ever been to the Clerk's Office at 60 Centre? It's a wonder of dusty poorly-lit joy. Chipped counters! Men in short-sleeved dress shirts, giving you the silently disapproving clerky eye! ("The stamp is right there, ma'am...) And, oh, the arcana - Giant dusty ledgers! An odd array of purposes (Changing your name? Filing multimillion dollar lawsuits? Come on down!) Peeling auction notices! Although the interesting thing is, some are fairly recent, and sad, but useful in a maudlin way. I wonder if I could've picked up that uptown co-op for an actual, mere, $4,725 (the foreclosure amount.) Damn! If it were only March 25, 2005.

And the Speed Pass rocks. No metal detectors, no searches. No cell phone check. Next time, I'm bringing silverware. Spoons!


And, oh yeah, he cooks.

Anthony Bourdain. Damn.

Tall. Wiry. Strong-featured. Smokes. Wears lots of black. Deeply sarcastic. Not without a ridiculously sensitive side. Kinda likes guns (read the book).

Just woke up weirdly on the couch to "A Cook's Tour" at the Mall of America. Goddamn hilarious watching him completely repulsed by fried batter-dipped cheesecake on a stick.

Oh, also unavailable. Not sure if that increases or decreases his considerable charms.

Sigh. My celebrity crushes are specific and weird.


Please, read this.

If you think you have problems it will make you shut the eff up.

This is a friend who is terribly ill. But continues to kick ass.

Deb's blog

Derivative journal quiz time-killer

Stolen from Sam, stolen from Kristina, stolen from Dunford:

1. Spell your first name backwards: ellehciM

2. Story behind your journal name: It's a variant of a phrase that my friend Janet and I developed to describe something quite different. In other words, a long complicated private joke that means nothing to you.

3. How old are you: 38

4. Where do you live: NY, NY


5. Wallet: Black Fossil leather checkbook wallet, stuffed with business cards, receipts, courtesy cards but rarely money which usually goes in my pockets.

7. Toothbrush: Gray and black Crest bendy ergonomic one. I should get a new one

8. Jewelry worn daily: Platinum diamond engagement ring on the wrong hand.

13. Sunglasses: If I wear contacts, I wear cheap off the street plastic ones. I just busted my $5 oversized '60s ones that I loved.

14. Favorite shirt: Either my black vneck sweater or my LL bean grey and green mens flannel.

16. CD in stereo right now: Booty Olympics "Boystyle"

17. Piercings: Two in each ear.

18. What you are wearing now: Above-mentioned LL Bean grey and green mens flannel shirt. Striped high cut briefs.

19. Wishing: I could get off my ass and my projects and problems would magically disappear.

20. Wanting: Elves. Lots and lots of elves.

21. After this: getting off my ass. taking meds. maybe cereal.

22. If you could get away with it and murder anyone who would it be? Can't abide murder, unless someone hurt a friend or family member I would kill to defend them.

23. Persons you wish you could see right now: Hmm, there's a few.

25. Something you're looking forward to in the coming week: My friend Mike is coming to town.

26. The last thing you ate: Last night i had hot and sour soup.

27. Something you are moderately afraid of: Moderately? Uncertainty.

31. Do you believe in love? Yes, much to my detriment.

32. Do you believe in soul mates? Goddamn, I hate that word.

33. Do you believe in love at first sight? I'm not sure that's love, but it's something.

35. Do you believe in God? I don't know, really.

38. What is the longest you've ever watched TV? Oh, dear, mindless marathons have trapped me...

44. Who is someone that you really wish was still around? My great-aunt.


45. Who are your best friends? I have a few. Not all of them are geographically close. Some are moving farther away, and that's bumming me out.

46. How many people have you kissed? There's kissing and then there's kissing.

47. Would you be in a long distance relationship? Oy vey. Perhaps. I like space.

48. Still have feelings for anyone you've been in a past relationship with? Oh of course, who doesn't? Although at least one ex says I don't have nearly enough; he tends to hang on to nearly everyone in some form or another, I really don't.

49. Do you know what it feels like to be in love? I'm pretty sure I do, but recent life events have caused me to wonder. Shit happens. But yes, I think I do.

50. Would you sacrifice your favorite possession for your best friends? Of course.


51. Where is your favorite place to shop? J. Jill catalog.

52. Have any tattoos? No.

61. Do you do drugs? Rarely do I do illegal drugs.

64. What are you listening to right now? Oddly nothing, although Foreigner's "I want to know what love is" is going through my head right now.

65. Who was the last person that called you? My friend Mike about his travel plans for this week.

66. Where do you want to get married? Vegas, drunk. Ha! Of course I am still technically married right now.

68. What would you change about yourself? Be less angry at myself and more focused on positive changes in my life.

69. What are essentials in your life? Cash, family, friends, Internet, carbonated water.


71. Hair: longish, curlyish, dark brown, messy

72. make-up: None. I haven't showered yet.

73. music: Maudlin shit. Just put on Steve Earle.

74. mood: tense

75. State of Being: uncertain


Loser of the day

I have, through various technical mishaps, electronic tomfoolery, poor judgment, conducting business with people who've never known my home phone number, long-distance intoxication, and other forms of idiocy, paid the world's largest mobile phone bill.

At least I hope so. I used a charge card that may or may not be current.


Greek of the Week!

My awesomely cool friend Chris Bonanos (old college buddy, high-powered magazine editor, outstanding pastry chef, and sweet sweet dresser, among many other things) has published a cool book about all things Greek.

Go, get your copy now. Suitable for all your Greek friends, relatives and diner owners!



Take another listen, Kermie.

There's really a touch of skepticism about this song. Skepticism and hope. But both.

The Rainbow Connection
(sing along with Kermit)

Why are there so many songs about rainbows
And what's on the other side?
Rainbows are visions, but only illusions,
And rainbows have nothing to hide.
So we've been told and some choose to believe it
I know they're wrong, wait and see.
Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection,
The lovers, the dreamers and me.
Who said that every wish would be heard and answered
When wished on the morning star?
Somebody thought of that, and someone believed it,
And look what it's done so far.
What's so amazing that keeps us stargazing
And what do we think we might see?
Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection,
The lovers, the dreamers, and me.
All of us under its spell,
We know that it's probably magic...
... Have you been half asleep? And have you heard voices? I've heard them calling my name.
... Is this the sweet sound that calls the young sailors?
The voice might be one and the same
I've heard it too many times to ignore it
It's something that I'm s'posed to be...
Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection,
The lovers, the dreamers, and me.

Laa, da daa dee da daa daa,
La laa la la laa dee daa doo...

(I do not know how to upload mp3 files, anybody?)


People are leaving.

So I was trying to organize my photos (I'm no better with albums, believe me, and iPhoto blows. Anyone who has better software, let me know, but I guess iPhoto is it. and I'm fortunate that I duplicated efforts, cause all my iPhoto-only photos, the got eaten in the hard-drive disaster.) Anyway, I found photos of my "not-a-versary" party (which is dangerously close to my clot-a-versary, a date I still can't well acknowledge). Came across this photo, which kind of pulls together a lot of themes herein:

This is gonna be one of those ramblin' posts, can't you tell?

The blonde lady in the middle is my buddy Correne, a lawyer (Or as she says, FORMER lawyer) and super comic who's going to LA to Make It After All. She's been a good friend and wonderful partner in crime and I'm going to miss her like mad. I admire her guts and wish her the best and also deep down am feeling shit she's going. And loved singing fucking Madonna songs with her!

The lady with the long locks off to the side is my buddy Christina, or my "Scorpion super clot sister" who I also love to death. We have far too much in common, besides being hilarious (dear Lord, is she hilarious!). She's way hotter stuff than I am, and has a far better wig collection, of which I have often availed myself. And I belted out some killer ABBA with her. We do not spend enough time together, and we should.

You gotta treasure people. You do.


Words to live by, Or die by.

No, nothing I ever do is good enough. Not beautiful enough, it's not funny enough, it's not deep enough, it's not anything enough. Now, when I see a rose, that's perfect. I mean, that's perfect. I want to look up to God and say, "How the hell did you do that? And why the hell can't I do that?"

- "All that Jazz"


Want to be in this show?

Holiday Cheer! Secret Santa! Stand Up Comedy!

Be a part of the First Annual "Office Party" Stand Up Comedy Contest at the Laugh Lounge
Tuesday December 20th @ 830 PM

Far better than your day job Holiday Festivities!
This show is for all you hilarious hapless professionals who've tossed back one too many cups of sugary eggnog and photocopied one random object too many ....

You need not be an experienced comic to enter!
You need to bring along at least six friends/colleagues and have five minutes worth of material.

You will get to perform up on stage at the Lower East Side's finest comedy venue along side seasoned pros and in front of club management.

Judging based on originality, stage presence, and audience response.
Fun and awesome holiday prizes will be had. Seriously.

Let me know ASAP whether you are interested in performing - a limited number of spots are available!

Contact me thru this site or email me at doobie77jd AT yahoo DOT com.

Forget it.

I don't really miss him that much. Missing people in general is a sucky waste of time and defies some law of robotics to which I should normally be adhering.


Why I miss him

From: ex@xxxx.com
To: me@xxxx.com
Date: Dec 6, 2005 2:14 PM
Subject: $24 island

Found myself walking on the promenade in Bkln Heights in the snow last night.
Manhattan shared a (big) spot in the harbor with the barges and boats.

(It's just simple shit like this. I should've been on this walk.)


Terms of Endearment. Try turning it off.

SPOILER ALERT: This is the stupidest sappiest post ever.

80s sapfest, yes. Why do they all have that horrible piano music in the background?

But it's one of my 'sucker' movies. If it's on, I must switch to it.

Besides the overarching weepy plot (see also Beaches) and the presence of Debra Winger (see Officer and a Gentleman; shouldn't she have also had the Barbara Hershey role in Beaches? Think about it! Anyhoo...), it's got quirky old-person romance.

Shirley MacLaine just got it on with Jack Nicholson ("the astronaut." Don't you refer to people by their titles and not their names? I do.) Jeff Daniels just got caught cheating on Debra Winger.

And it's not even halfway over. Not even at the mega-sad parts.

I've gotta go.

1250 AM: It's on again.

The Astronaut is a selfish cunt. Then again, so is Aurora.

Aurora and Emma:
"I just don't want to fight anymore."
"When do we fight?"

Aurora to Flap:
"One of the nicest qualities about you is that you always recognized your own weaknesses. Don't lose that quality now when you need it the most."

"Who am I if I'm not the man who's failing Emma?"

Flap and Emma:
"God, you're easy to please."
"I'm so glad we're talking, I just am. It just means so much to me..."


I've gotta go.


Michael J. Fox

On Inside the Actors' Studio.

"Can I take 2 minutes?...I've gotta wait for a pill to kick in."

Dear lord. Dead man walking. Beautiful, funny, sweet dead man walking.

On getting sicker and how it makes him 'lucky' -

"To see what I've lost makes me look at what I've gained."




Is it better to look good or to feel good?


I like suits. I do, actually. I like the order and structure, and something about them just says 'work.'

I'm still wearing the suit from an early morning appointment. It's made me feel way guilty about not working harder, at any rate.

It's a cool suit, brown with pale green trim and a perfect length skirt. I don't even need heels to feel tall.

Suit, suit, suit. Law suit.

This time, I'm hosting!

Come be my guest at this show!

Funniest Lawyer in NY
Stand up NY
236 W 78th Street
Friday December 2 @ 7 PM
$12 + 2 Drink Minimum

Email me at doobie777jd AT yahoo DOT com for a spot on the guest list!


The Skin Horse is full of it, or I am.

Being Real hurts like a motherfucker.
I guess I do mind.
I guess I'm not there yet.


More cool stuff!

Come be my guest at this show!

Funniest Lawyer in NY
Stand up NY
236 W 78th Street
Monday November 28th @ 7 PM
2 Drink Minimum

Email me at doobie777jd AT yahoo DOT com for a spot on the guest list!

Cool stuff!

Chris Gethard - someone who I 'know well enough to say hi and stuff to' from around the UCB Theater, and who is a truly hilarious and nice human being, has published this book. It looks awesome. I'm going to buy one, you should too! Hooray!


"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but Really loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get all loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

- Margery Williams, "The Velveteen Rabbit"


Caption Contest

"Well, Doctor, I'm sure we can proceed with the separation surgery, but there's an exceedingly high likelihood of brain damage....oh, you're saying there's already a high likelihood of brain damage. Carry on."

More inspiration (curious, that second one)

From Raymond Carver, the writer, rather than his characters (from thinkexist.com)

"Isak Dinesen said that she wrote a little every day, without hope and without despair. I like that."

"I never wrote so much as a line worth a nickel when I was under the influence of alcohol"

I go,

''That morning she pours Teacher's over my belly and licks it off. That afternoon she tries to jump out the window.

I go, 'Holly, this can't continue. This has got to stop.' ''

- Raymond Carver, "Gazebo"


Recipe for when life gets to be too much

2 eggs, scrambled in the pan with onion salt and regular salt
3 pieces bacon, cooked to death
2 slices rye toast, buttered generously
1 cup reheated coffee with honey and milk

Serve on quilted placemat.

Prepared by slightly confused, often contentious, but still able to multi-task breakfast in five minutes, eighty-eight year old grandmother who can still come through in the clutch.


Where am I?

Two people in the last 2 days have asked me if I've lost a bunch of weight. honestly I don't know. I don't feel particularly smaller. My doctor, in giving me his usual hairy eyeball, suggested that instead of losing "X pounds" suggested I lose "Y pounds," Y being a number a great deal smaller than X; I thought he was just feeling sorry for me. Someone actually asked me if I'd been ill.

So I walked from 23rd and 7th to 4th and A yesterday, stopping for food only when I hit my neighborhood, only having consumed a banana and some coffee. No Food till The east Side!

I'm going to swim laps today if it kills me. My thighs are starting to return, but I have not yet redeveloped a butt. But, butt, get it? And I haven't yet relocated my swim goggles. Where the fuck would I lose swim goggles?

Don't worry. I'm still a fattie. With slightly firmer thighs, I'm hoping.

Maybe cutting out the quarts of booze really helped. Hmm.


Physics wrought large

Did you ever notice that when approaching a project there is a finite well of energy that often gets diverted - ie, when trying to clean the house, you end up spending all the time on a single closet?

Or that when trying to engage in a creative endeavour, you can only do one 'type' (write, perform, direct) at a time?

Just something I noticed.

With apologies to Schrodinger and Planck....did you ever feel that life could be potentially wonderful and terrible at the same time, and, moreover, you weren't entirely sure of which?


It is entirely possibly that my analogies suck. Deal with it.



I am a shy attention-whore

Check out my interview in this fun blog!

I need to update my website with stuff I am in a little bit. (Not update it a little bit, there's stuff -a film, a sound clip - that I'm in a little bit.)

I want to be in more stuff.

Cleaning house

I have found

- borrowed software (sorry!)
- a CLE disk (hooray!)
- my UCBT t-shirt (hooray!)
- an ancient comedy notebook (damn)
- my marriage license (alas)
- two cans of Static Guard (what the fuck?)
- The Sims discs (dangerous....)
- my lost cellphone
- a lot of broken jewelry

I have not found
- true love
- sanity
- organization
- hope
- a notebook that i really need


Stolen from someone else's blog

Note: my blog is on hiatus until I stop being such a misanthropic creature. I will steal freely from others until then.

I stole this from another funner blog.

1. What time is it?11:44 a.m.
2. What's your full name? Michelle
3. What are you most afraid of? Suffocation and rejection
4. What is the most recent movie that you've seen in a theater? Either Star Wars Ep III or the Aristocrats
5. Place of birth? Brooklyn NY
6. Favorite new food? Age (pronouced ag-ay) tofu
7. What's your natural hair color? Brown
8 . Ever been to Alaska? No
9. Ever been toilet papering rolling? No
10. Love someone so much it made you cry? Yes
11. Been in a car accident? Yes, twice
12. Croutons or bacon bits? Depends on the salad.
13. Favorite day of the week? Saturday
14. Favorite Restaurant? Union Square Cafe
15. Favorite Flower? Lilacs
16. Favorite sport to watch? Baseball
17. Favorite Drink? Jack on the rocks
18. Favorite ice cream? Breyers vanilla
19. Disney or Warner Brothers? Warner brothers
20. Favorite fast food restaurant? Subway or Wendy's
21. What color is your bedroom carpet? Green
22. How many times you failed your driver's test? Twice
23. Before this one, from whom did you get your last E-mail? Martha
24. What do you do most often when you are bored? Channel surf, internet surf, re-read books, write
25. Bedtime? When I finally get home at night.
26. Who will respond to this e-mail the quickest? N/A
27. Who is the person you sent this to that is least likely to respond? N/A
28. Who is the person that you are most curious to see their responses? N/A
29. Favorite TV shows? The Wire, RW/RR challenges, Making the Band 3, ANTM and a few other crappy reality-tv shows (Shut up), Arrested Development, Curb your Enthusiasm, The Sopranos
31. Ford or Chevy? NYC public transportation
32. What are you listening to right now? Brian Lehrer on WNYC
33. What are your favorite colors? Red, black
34. How many tattoos do you have? Zero
35. How many pets do you have? None, I relinquished custody of my cat
36. Which came first the chicken or the egg? I hate this question, it's the wrong one
37. What would you like to accomplish before you die? Something outstandingly famously brilliant, perhaps.
38. How many people are you sending this e-mail to? Zero.
39. Time completed? 11:49 a.m.

Is anybody listening?

What I really want to do is have a shower, hop on a train with a laptop and a charge card, and just keep going.

See you later, suckers. It's my turn to reject you all.


With gratitude and apologies to George Carlin.

Shit piss cunt fuck cocksucker motherfucker and tits.

That's all I've got to say. It's just about all I've got right now.

Shit piss cunt fuck cocksucker motherfucker and tits.


That reminds me of ...(an email to a friend which should really be a journal entry)

Madonna was the phenomena when I was in high school. she used to live in my (current) neighborhood when it was gross. it was very cool to publicly hate and secretly love madonna. my best friend/ex-crush/just-come-out-to-me gay prom date used to call me "mir-donna" to get me.

But i did drunkely dance to blaring Madonna remixes at Limelight in a white shoulder-padded extremely short minidress and red spike heels (with enormous hair, yes) after said prom with said friend (white shoulder-padded suit, skinny red tie, spiked hair), chain-smoking and piss-drunk on Long Island (authentic) ice teas, May 1985.

Soooo hot. No waiting behind the velvet rope for us!

Ah, memories.

That reminds you of the time that...


Novel ideas.

I'm going to do the NaNoWriMo thing again this year, for real. What the fuck? I've actually got an idea for it. They say it's ok to do an outline, at least, first. So I'm going to try. It's a little Angels in America, a little All that Jazz, a little real life, a little Christmas Carol, and completely fa-cocked.

Of course, I've said too much.

Do you think you're in it? Mayhaps you are.



I want some pancakes.

I kind of want that kitten that someone just rescued.

But what I really want is....

Titles are not the hard part. Or are they?

So, some smart guy said some cool things to me tonight. Lots of people, but one in particular did. And I want to remember them, but I'm horrible at exactitude in quoting, and, sometimes, in expressing myself clearly when it counts.

I'm taking a writing class, you see. And, well, the more you write something, sometimes, the worse it comes off. And it's kind of like, well, painful to read twenty-eight pages in front of people...and nobody laughs. A slight, but slight, exaggeration. And it's like bleeding through the eyes for me to sit in a room with people who are frankly better at something than me.

The 'old' me is a one-draft, never-look-back wonder, awash in sloppy work, tossed-off rants, and unfinished projects. The person who looked around the class on the first day with a sinking ill-feeling, ready to ask for a refund and run away. Index cards? F**k that, not me.

Tonight I walked out with a tightened up (from last week) but gloriously unfinished, dragging in parts yet containing actual funny elements, workable and fixable, structurally sounder and more complete than I thought possible, draft of a Curb spec script.

People talked. I listened. I only held my head in my hands in moaning despair, oh, once.

Twenty-eight pages. Three plotlines, three acts. Jokes. Written in other characters' voices that aren't my own. Identified the draggy parts and the parts that need heightening and elements to carry through and punch up. I let people help me. Nobody f**king died. Painful, but a good pain.

I'd thought I'd corrected some things, but I'd overcorrected some things. Okay, cool.

It's my first one and I learned how to do stuff. And it made me f**king happy.

And you know? I'm, well, proud of this.

I feel like I unlocked a few secret doors.

Liberally paraphrased.....badly requoted...and f**ing good stuff anyway as I heard it.

"It's a process....it's a first step...people are always gonna tell you, you're always going to be able to make it better. It's tough. But it's fun, and yeah, it should be, it should make you happy....And, you know? You'll always have this skill, no matter what happens, no matter what the hell else is going on, how sh**ty things are, how crappy life is, you can always flip on the computer and write."

Thank you. It's truer than you know, Smart Guy. Seriously.

I never did break open the index cards, though. Maybe next time...Still a bit of a rebel.

From the NY Times Magazine this past Sunday.

"Being in love," she announces, "brought out the worst in me. The thing for me with men has probably always been How much do they love me? As opposed to How much do I love them?"

- Diane Keaton

(Yes, I'm one of those horrible trolls that reads the magazine first.)


I do improv.

This post made bloody little sense. But I like leaving a trail to remind me of my own failings.



I threw out four-year old job rejection letters while wasting time on the Internet.

I packed a gym bag.

I buzz-dialed someone. (It was not a drunk dial, I swear. A beer and a glass of whiskey does not a drunk dial make.)

I sent long-distance text messages, not phone calls.

I found my yoga DVD.

Progress towards self-discipline, huh?

Yummy Pizza!

Purely a public service announcement.

Get on the N train to Avenue U. Walk a ways to 86th street in a logic-defying way. Go to L&B Spumoni Gardens.

Fan-fucking-tastic pizza and ices, aka 'spumoni.' Well, they've got ices, ice cream and spumoni - the spumoni is kinda like a cream ice that's truly the "Italian ice" I used to get as a kid at the Italian bakery. Don't think. Get a Sicilian pie and a small spumoni. Get the spumoni while you wait for the pie, if you gotta wait. The sauce alone will fucking kill you.




Does this blog have enough 'ironic detachment?"

Let me know and I'll add more if this is not a satisfactory amount. I aim to please. You aim too, please.

headachey dreams

First off, I was living in one of those bigger-than-my-real-apartment NY apartments, but with a lot of the same stuff. Somehow, it was attached to my childhood home and backyeard, though. I had agreed to let a bunch of kids from the theater move in with me as roommates, but could never recall having them sign a sublease, which had been nagging at me (although the rent had always somehow gotten paid). I started to notice that they were starting to take over my stuff - one or two of my dresser drawers had a strange array of men's silk bathrobes in it, I think they were mens bathrobes, or maybe kimonos. They started having smallish parties over the house/apartment which was OK, but then I discovered that most all of my furniture that held my personal stuff had been moved out into the backyard. I couldn't move it back in again because it was really heavy, and it was raining. They said they'd help me, but my large wardrobe was stuck firmly in the mud, in the yard. It's pretty heavy.

Then I was at a job and a couple of my friends with more or less serious professional day jobs, both turned out to be my bosses for a project somehow. I was in a cubicle at 7 AM and they both surrounded me physically until I yelled; the female half got insulted and left deeming it 'unacceptable' and her male counterpart stood with his arms folded and laughed sarcastically.


Still can't sleep


"Yeah, so I finished the first draft of the script...needs some work, tightening up, but it's done. People did actually laugh, though.....Said I could actually use it as a writing sample for a project...seriously I didn't think it was good enough for even that, but I guess it is...we're just being really picky, agent-worthy it's not, yet....Had a nice talk....gotta get back on stage, yeah....Yeah, and I won like $1000 bucks for someone, yeah, a landlord case, not bad..yeah..."

Wasn't such a bad day, then.

Of course, it all happened in less than a couple hours. Then I came home and watched "Angels in America" again.

Was it, then, a good day? Shouldn't I know?

They say (and they do), Stop being so hard on yourself. What do they know, anyway?

They're not up at 5 AM.

Relax...don't do it

It was suggested once that all one (well, maybe me) would be to be locked in a room with a masseur and some ecstacy so I could chill the fuck out.

Indeed. Given the fact that I hate massages (see below) and substances I have not yet tried and whose effect I cannot adequately predict (control freaks hate hallucinogens), I'll have to find a new way to chill the fuck out.

Chilling the fuck out is not the same as lumping out with anxiety.

I was cleaning my bookshelves today and found a still-shrink wrapped yoga DVD. Perhaps it's time to stretch the fuck out.

If nothing else, I'm flexible.

Dammit, I wish I could sleep.


Lucky accidents...

I just googled "Waste of Space" (cause that's how I'm feeling at the moment" and came up with a fantastically cool web site:

PhysOrg.com: Science, Physics, Nanotechnology, Space News

Finally, a time-waster I can feel intellectually guilt-free about!

I love space, I love Physics. I do. I'm a fucking nerd with a heart of gold and a body for extra-long black stretch jeans and combat boots.

Now that my mini-blinds (semi-clean, or semi-grubby, depending on your outlook) have been installed, feel free to come to my apartment and stride around in the altogether reading the Sunday Times and drinking coffee. Lots of natural light, and I only brew the good stuff from Porto Rico. (Not a typo if you're not from NYC, it's a store. A fine, fine store.)

Now there's a personal ad worth answering.

Or not.

Quite frankly, I kind of feel about men right now almost how I feel about shrinks; I loathe the idea of breaking in a whole new one from scratch.


"He loves, but his love has no meaning."

If you watch Angels in America and do not tear up at some point, you are obviously made of stone.

I'm too nervous to go.

It's like being too sick to go to the GP.



Doomed, doomed, lovely and doomed

Why are my favorite romances the doomed ones?

As she listens to "West Side Story" yet again. With a chaser of "Little Shop of Horrors."

Perhaps I'll pop "Casablanca" into the DVD player later, or maybe "The Way we Were" will be on TCM again tonight. Or was it AMC? I don't remember. HBO can't seem to stop showing "Bull Durham." (What happens when he goes off to manage in Visalia, anyway? Huh?) Or "Before Sunset," which, I explained to someone, made me want even less to see "Before Sunrise" (and then descended into an acting-improv-geek conversation about the moment before, etc. Hi-larious.)

I gotta remember to check my Ebay bid on "Annie Hall." Yeah.

Or, maybe I'll just stretch out in the park with "Gone with the Wind" or "The Age of Innocence." Yeah.

There's a place for us...Somewhere, a place for us.....

Yeah, that's funny.

PS - the most realistic relationship on "Sex and the City" was Carrie and Berger - think about it

Note to self - Buy a cat. Noooooooo!

"I'm depraved on account I'm deprived!"
- "Officer Krupke," West Side Story


Let yourself be inspired.

Watch the Aspen interviews of the cast and directors of "Curb your Enthusiasm" at the end of the Season 3 DVD.

It is enlightening, inspiring and hilarious. And all too brief.

Don't let the bad editing and David Steinberg's dentition distract you.

I am a happy comedy geek right now. Oh, so very happy.


Contemplation and sober reflection.

Sure, it's a new year, but does that automatically mean I'll become a better housekeeper, much less a better person?

Lather, reflect, repeat.


i enjoy being a girl.....or do I?

Oh dear lord, Patrice O'neal is doing ridonkulously (theoretically) offensive material on pussy-eating and rape and women and vaginas that I can't stop laughing at.

Can't. Stop. Laughing.

It gets better and better.

'I only fuck so I have a memory to jerk off to later.'

This is horrible. And wonderful.

Women can't do this shit.
Or can they?

HBO One Night Stand. Glad they brought it back. Remember when it was the only source of cable stand-up?

"Ladies...when you a whore, be a whore for YOU!"
- Patrice O'Neal

Methadonia on HBO

Jazz and junkie-speak are a perfect combination. I find it fascinating, now that I'm around it less, personally and professionally.

Were you ever surprised you weren't a drug addict?


Do I have AD-what?

Maybe I do have ADD.

I can't finish anything. Except lunch.


I forgot to make dinner, though.

And I watched ALL of the Surreal Life. Maybe, then I'm wrong. I CAN finish something.

Priorities, priorities.

I'm fucked, aren't I?


For me, life is kind of like trying to make a waterbed, with a cat lying on it. It's like when you pull down one corner of the sheets, another one comes up...you flop down to try and stretch it, the water pushes up under the other side, messing it up, and there's a damn cat running around under the sheet, just to fuck things up even further...


I like to hoard shit. Turns out at the moment it's not food, but pharmaceuticals. Not the good kind, but consumer products. I'd taken one trip to the Pfizer store too many, I've discovered. I've got a lifetime supply of Neosporin. Well, a lifetime for you, maybe. About six months' worth for me. I'm a klutz. A destructive klutz, baby.



Here's an interesting personal experiment.

Try making a (non-topic-specific) mix tape/CD/compilation for someone you don't know especially well. Or someone you want to know better.

Let the person themselves be the 'suggestion,' so to speak.

It's fascinating. What about that person makes them so intriguing? and what about them sets you to music, so to speak? What translates them into song and verse? What makes them (and you, in relation to them) sing?

Would they like your compilation, do you think?
Would they agree?
Would they dance?
Would they smile?
Would they be baffled?


compelled to update

behind on stuff
need a neck rub
need a house cleaning and laundry



Wait. This looks too much like a fucking poem, and we all know my stance on poetry, unless it's freestyled an in the context of an improv show.

Let's recap. I got up way too early to finish part of a project. It still needs reworking and it caused me great frustration, but with some help, it's better than I thought and I feel ok about it. I still need to get some stuff done, work-wise and creative-wise, by lunch tomorrow, but I'm a bit overtired and I don't think it will happen tonight, although I'm going to attempt to make some progress on it while I"m still vertical. I need dinner, but I'm too beat to go out and get some ingredients, as stores in the house are running low. It's also a cluttery mess but I don't have the energy at the moment, it's tomorrow afternoon's project, as I think it'll be too rainy to hit Coney Island as I had wanted to. Maybe Sunday? Hopefully. We'll see. Tomorrow's a haircut too, I almost forgot. Believe it or not, I would also like a neck rub, but there's only one person I know of at the present time who I can stand doing that; otherwise, I tense up past all recognition and it makes it worse. I generally can't tolerate backrubs, massages, I find them painful and it becomes a vicious feedback-loop of tension and achiness - even 'friendly' ones. Forget about so-called professional massages, not for me.

Anyway. I should get rid of the nail polish too, it's annoying me.

More later. Off to engage myself in some other way.



I also need to steer off IMDb.

Kirby: It's true love, my friend.
Kevin: Love, love, you know what love is? Love is an illusion created by lawyer types like yourself to perpetuate another illusion called marriage to create the reality of divorce and then the illusionary need for divorce lawyers.

- St. Elmo's Fire

Last thought, best thought. I'm done for the day.

I need to stop watching movies. Seriously. They're turning me romantical.

Celine: [Celine's song] Let me sing you a waltz / Out of nowhere, out of my thoughts / Let me sing you a waltz / About this one night stand / You were, for me, that night / Everything I always dreamt of in life / But now you're gone / You are far gone / All the way to your island of rain / It was for you just a one night thing / But you were much more to me, just so you know / I don't care what they say / I know what you meant for me that day / I just want another try, I just want another night / Even if it doesn't seem quite right / You meant for me much more than anyone I've met before / One single night with you, little Jesse, is worth a thousand with anybody / I have no bitterness, my sweet / I'll never forget this one night thing / Even tomorrow in other arms, my heart will stay yours until I die / Let me sing you a waltz / Out of nowhere, out of my blues / Let me sing you a waltz / About this lovely one night stand

- "Before Sunset"

Courtesy of IMDb

Ron Shelton, you've done it again.

Crash: "I got a lotta time to hear your theories and I wanta hear every damn one of 'em... but right now I'm tired and I don't wanta think about baseball and I don't wanta think about Quantum Physics... I don't wanta think about nothing...I just wanta be."

Annie: "I can do that, too."

- Bull Durham

Courtesy of IMSDb



The above-mentioned woman was not me.

1. I would never wear skinny-heeled strappy sandals.
2. I would never publicly shout "This is a real New York Moment." I may think it, recount it to friends, write in a ridiculous blog about it...but never publicly shout it.

Sigh. As if I needed to clarify that. As Ann Landers used to say, fifty lashes with a wet noodle, or something like that.

Which sounds kind of icky. I think by the thirty-seventh lash, the noodle would be gross and awful, and you'd have a starchy butt. And it's not much of a punishment, because WET NOODLES DON'T HURT.

Unless they're hot.

Ok, I'm done now. Rant over.

In other news, I've been invited to participate in a ranty-styled comedy show. Fun! Don't get me started....


This is a New York Blog Entry.

A woman was racing across East 39th street, carrying lots of shopping bags. She loses her black strappy sandal in a slight pothole. She turns around, only to helplessly watch in horror as her lonely sandal gets run over by a speeding taxi cab. She scurries back, hopping on one foot, and picks up her lonely lost shoe, which is apparently bruised but unbowed. Balancing on one leg, stashing her shopping bags between her legs, she slips the shoe back on, announcing to no one in particular,

"Now THIS is a New York Moment!"


Analysis via DVD

Okay. So shopping leads to thinking (Broadway flea market day again) and thinking leads to the question, If I were the kind of person who owns DVDs (that are not sketch comedy collections), what DVDs would I own? (The only ones I own are random thing that are given to me or cost some tiny amount or were found by the ex, things like that).

So, I started thinking.

A short list was formed (including some I saw at the market, and did not buy, cause I couldn't or didn't justify the minimal cost): - In no particular order
Moulin Rouge
sex lies and videotape
Love Actually
Bull Durham (I did own this but gifted it to my Mom for her birthday)
Glengarry Glen Ross (similar fate, I believe)
Animal House
Breakfast Club
St Elmos Fire
All That Jazz
Little Shop of Horrors
High Fidelity
Murder by Death
Annie Hall
the Christopher Guest et al films (Spinal Tap, Guffman, Best in Show, Mighty Wind)
In the TV arena: Homicide, Oz, Your Show of Shows...I didn't pay this much mind. Possibly AbFab.

Okay. Now, this breaks out into a few distinct areas.

1. Quirky or screwball comedies.

2. Guy films. (Caddyshack fits categories 1 or 2). Actually Homicide and Oz are fairly male-dominated.

3. Doomed/quirky romances. (Bull Durham fits into Categories 2 and 3) The couples in these films are disturbed or 'off' in some way. The guy does not necessarily 'get' the girl or vice versa; someone dies (Moulin Rouge, Little Shop of Horrors), gets shackled (Secretary), or you're not quite sure where this is headed (Bull Durham, High Fidelity), or they're outright broken up (Annie Hall) or on a plane (Casablanca). Love Actually has a bunch of these, I think.

Theory: Kevin Costner should only be in baseball films (see Bull Durham, Field of Dreams), and possibly political films (JFK, that one that just came out a couple years ago. oh, maybe not political films).

Theory: The James Spader character in "Secretary" is the older version of the James Spader character in "sex lies and videotape."

4. And a couple of sentimental favorites (St Elmos Fire is a terrible movie, and fits into Category 3 and 4. Murder by Death is kinda odd, but I loved it when I was like ten.)

Whatever, I really do have better things to do.

And I bought 2 videotapes. Barney Miller episodes. A buck apiece. Sweet!

Fuck Proust.

When do you stop remembering? Or, more properly, associating?


The time-zone display thing could get annoying, I suppose.

Just watched the first half of the first episode of NY-LON on BBC America.

Notes to self:
1. Go back to London.
2. Do significantly more solo bar-hopping.
3. Abandon general distaste for overly-manicured sideburns. (Still, what's up with them??)

Yeah, that guy's hot. She's not 'all that.' It gives a girl hope.

She is a New Yorker, though. "Do you have any REAL coffee?"

Shallowly yours....

(I can't say if this series looks anything less than crap, though. Hard to say. Already got the bit.)



I feel like i've been beaten up. I get about one migraine a year, but this one was hard. And it took me about six hours to locate the tylenol and codeine, which is all i can take for them. I hope it's unrelated to the monster quantity of blood thinners I'm currently on.

I think I threw up in the middle of the night but I'm not entirely sure. I still feel nauseated and achy.

I said horrible things to my mother. Pain makes me angry. Not that they weren't true, but still.

I can't handle most people right now. Even though I want them to help me, I think. I don't know. I can't deal with human fraility. Anyone's.

But tonight, I will be hilarious. I promise.


Funeral Flyby

Did you ever wish you could watch yours?

I wish I came from a religious, or movie-watching tradition, that allowed for that possibility in my psyche. 'Cause I would sooner plan one that I'd be around for. I've got that paranoid-party-host fear that I'd throw a funeral, plan all the food, the hall, the music, and NO ONE would show. Or worse, be boooooooring.

How do people figure out who to invite? I've got numbers in my Palm desktop, my email accounts, and my cell phone. No one has my gmail password, clearly, that one's tough. Maybe I should leave it somewhere?? Hmmm, too many embarrassing....Oh, bother.

Do people get up and say stuff, or is that TV material? It's like really short weddings; TV material. That is, until I went to my first Protestant (Episcopalian, I think) one. Boom! Quick! Just like on the TV.

But pretty much - and this always made the man nuts, he who believed in post-mortem ghosties and the eternal soul and all that Catholic stuff - I've been into 'you're dead, you're dead.'


(That's yukkier when you're contemplating your decomposing plain-pine-coffin corpse. And I know that's de rigeur amongst the Judaica set, but I hate the idea of taking up extra land and stuff. I partly relish the idea of donating myself to a hapless first-year medical school class....ahh, who knows.)

I'm sure people would show up for the food. The food would be great. Seriously, that much I can assure you. If there's one thing my family knows, and can agree on, it's a freaking buffet.

No problem there.


Show plug.

Please come to my show!

Tuesday September 20th
Laugh Lounge
151 Essex Street
212-614-2500 for reservations. Or, better, call or email me and I will reserve for you.
830 PM
$10 + 2 Drink Minimum

Nothing better to do.

Lots to do. Just not done. Except watch that show "Open Bar," about the opening of a gay bar in West Hollywood. Fun!

I don't know if he's gonna be able to open that bar or not. I am seriously worried. Seriously.

observations on the AFI 100 Movie quotes

1. Ray Romano has had Botox, and what the fuck is he doing here?
2. George Lucas has a low forehead.
3. Dennis Miller is not completely sucktarded.
4. 25% are from Casablanca
5. Pierce Brosnan is sucktarded.

Top quote? "Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn."

Coulda told you that. But it's still a pretty good Top 100 list, as these things go.

I have had two Xanax and sleep will not come. But the stress remains.


About #3

Besides providing me more material than I can bother to write down, and helping me with ideas for various projects, she let me in on this little gem.

When she was in junior high, she had to do a speech project (one of those public speaking things). Terrified of getting up in front of people, she wrote the piece itself on "Stage Fright."

I said, "That's meta." She said, "I don't know what the fuck that means."

Stage Fright. Awesome.
My mom knows how to "fuck your fear," instinctively.
Amazing. And not a single lesson.
Why the fuck isn't she on stage?

Random thoughts.

1. Thanks for the IM! But I was asleep at the proverbial wheel.
2. I won't be calling anyone. You want me, you find me.
3. My mom is the source of all hilarity in the universe, at times I believe this to be true.
4. Butterscotch Krimpets have gotten smaller.
5. Jon Voight has really big lips. That in part explains Angelina Jolie.

I'll be fine, I'm sure. I apologize for the shock-value-ness of the prior post. Goddamn camera phones.

Another Friday night in the city.



If you placed highly (but did not win), in a Sex Toy Reviewing contest, for a potentially embarrasing product that would give people a slightly-too-large window into your private life, would you advertise that fact?

Nah, me neither.

Just curious.


Ever had your soul ripped out your left nostril with a crochet hook?

Uh, no, me neither.

Just wondering.


How I made my aunt weep. Sponsored by Starbucks.

800: Outfit: Oversized black jacket, red tank, short black pleated skirt, off-black Berkshire panty hose, low heeled pump-type shoes, black. Purse and briefcase. Pleasantly cool out.
830: Appear at criminal court to meet client. Check cell phone, wait outside part.
915: Sign in second on list at part. Calm client. Enter notice, get brushoff from ADA.
935: Bark at client. Bully my way past massive wall of defense attorneys, grab ADA, bark deal at him. Get case done.
1000: Enjoy delicious cup of cart coffee in Police Plaza and have girl/comic talk with client. Make post-case video on her phone.
1100: Downtown shopping (J&R WorldWorld, Staples) and long stroll. Realize fully how much I love lower Manhattan.
1215: Lunch on lower Broadway (delicious ginormous latte, impenetrable fruit salad) at Starbucks with friend, refreshingly free of comedy in-chat. Still look relatively good. Temperature creeping up; jacket open.
130: Conference call/meeting in Midtown about publishing contract.
300: Walk to meeting at relatively pleasant placement agency with placement staff who is alumna/former actor. Down 2 glasses of water because afternoon temperature is near 90 degrees.
400: Walk to mother's office to pick up mail order clothes. Call aunt on cell phone.

"I'm walking to-OH SHIT"
"What honey? Are you ok?"
"My panty hose just collapsed."
"muffled laughter Can you fix them?"
"I am on Fifth Avenue and I am holding a very short skirt"
"barely muffled laughter Can you stop somewhere"
"No, I could go to the library but by the time I got up the stairs they'd be gone"
"choking Can you pull them up?"
"screaming, sobbing with laughter, I'm SORRY but you'd better keep this in your act because I am HYSTERICAL"
"I'm almost there (clutching skirt halfway up thigh with collapsed Berkshires, off black, in hand, grumbling)

410: Restroom. Grab.
545: Another delicious latte and low fat coffee cake at Starbucks on 15th and 9th.
620: Collapse on loading dock behind Chelsea Market. Pantyhose now welded to skirt and ass due to heat of loading dock.
645: Meeting with director. "Why don't we go to Starbucks?" Chai tea latte.
730: Rehearsal. Panty hose disposed of.
1015: Phone call.
1030: Phone call.
1145: Phone call.
1230: Fell asleep near bowl of cold couscous.


Sadly, you learn something new...

I'd listened to the names all morning, numbly.

I'd heard the name of the wife of a childhood friend, lost heartbreakingly three months after their wedding. My mom listened too...."I waited for the F's..." Yeah. "But I couldn't wait for Ivan's (my cousin's) friend." "WHO?"

I didn't know that the brother of one of my high school classmates was lost too. I had no idea. Was it him? I checked the lists...checked the testimonials. Yes. The youngest of six, there was a NY times article about him, with lots of quotes from my high school classmate (we were junior-high friends more than anything; he was cute as hell.) Read the testimonials, brothers and sisters of the families of my younger days.

Yeah, that's him.

Familiar, Italian-American and Irish-American names. Good kids. Lost too soon.

Rest in peace, Christina Donovan Flannery and Pete Siracuse.


My brother in law George died in August 2001. He never saw all this.

And the Yankees haven't won a Series since. If you knew what a serious fan George was, you'd know I wasn't being glib.

Rest in peace, George Esposito Jr.


Now that I'm linked to my web site, I guess this is kind of Google-a-ble.


In other news of the mundane, I am trying valiantly to revive my iPod. Jeez, planned obsolescense is one thing, my poor track record with losing/destroying small electronics is another thing..but come on, Apple! It's not been THAT long!

In other other news, my favorite improv team, Monkeydick will soon be no more. This makes me saddy sad sad (which I believe is a line I stole from them). They had the best mix of personalities and teamwork you're ever likely to see, and were just smart and goddamn funny. I'm not good at recalling specific scenes and stuff, but they did do my favorite Harold group game ever ("This meeting of the House Unamerican Activities Committee will now come to order...").

They're also adorable. Click above for the schedule for their last few shows, and go catch them if you can.

In other news, while waiting for cell phone recovery (another story), I saw the end of a movie that I never have to see all of, because the last five minutes were so amazing - "Before Sunset" with Ethan Hawke (one of those boyish looking dudes I generally want to smack, but who I can't resist) and Julie Delpy - I never saw the original, never saw this one, had no desire to....but the last five minutes, and the last lines SPOILER ALERT are amazing:

Celine: Baby, you are gonna miss that plane.
Jesse: I know


In other random movie news, anyone seen this iFC thing called Ten Tiny Love Stories? I saw bits of it on Friday, and the Debi Mazar one was stunning. Looks like I'd like to read them, perhaps.

I also need to get some sitcoms. Sitcoms!

In other news, I drink too much; is that news?


I need to sleep. Need to, indeed.


Things I like about Mike

1. "I'm great at making snap indecisions."
2. The worlds' greatest single song mix tape (ten or eleven versions of "All the Things you Are." alas, on a regular old tape.)
3. Passing me in Physical Chemistry by teaching me at least a semesters' worth of partial differential equations in two nights, in exchange for cookies.
4. Nineteen years' worth of injokes, terrible mixed drinks, poor wardrobe choices, near misses, quotes, oddly shaped vegetables, music, yaks, cartoons and generalized hilarity and goodness.
5. Just making me feel like a consistently fabulous person.

If I could remember the thing about the flute, the sax, the fingers, and the lips, I'd put that in too.



Things that make you slightly down; cause or effect?

Tom Waits, The Early Years
A fullish laundry basket
Popcorn and salad dressing for dinner


Things that are making me giggle...RIGHT NOW

Channel 102

Go to "cancelled" and watch the "Fun Squad," if for no other reason than to watch grown men in brightly colored tshirts nut-punch each other.

Headphones suggested if you're at work. Any episode will do; I just watched the first one.

(Please note that I am a huge fan of many Channel 102 series including but not limited to Gemberling, My Wife the Ghost, Purgatory, Shutterbugs, Cat News and many others, so no bias is indicated - they're all outstanding. And I secretly wish I had the skill and talent and stuff required to put one of these together.)

That being said.....Sometimes one needs a five-minute dose of something excrutiatingly silly.

Things that are annoying me RIGHT NOW ... or not.

Why do I always scrunch down in photos, especially? I enjoy my height and know that good posture improves the look greatly, especially when I am conscious of it. I also know that when I am exercising, that my posture improves (my brother pointed it out), so back to the pool it is. This still doesn't answer the photo question, but looking at the photo below, given the shoes I am wearing, I should be nearly as tall as the gentleman in the back row. Nearly.

My grandmother (still, at age 88, about 5-6 1/2) and aunt (about 5-11) on the paternal side were always on me about standing up straight. My grandmother had the technique; my aunt would regale me with tales of slouching her way through high school and being picked on and how I should NOT LET THAT HAPPEN TO ME. Whatever. Her daughters are 5-9 and 6-0 and constantly wear heels; their brother is 6-5.

I am not outstandingly tall for a woman - 5-9 or so, barefoot - but have always wanted to be taller, because I was not the tallest woman in my family. I'm large, sure, but I like to think I'm fairly well-proportioned. And only recently, say, in the past few years, have I discovered the wonder of heels.

Guys who are not intimidated by tall women don't necessarily mind the extra height.

No guy under about 6 feet tall or so appears tall to me. I have to admit to being slightly shallow about height; although, I have no reason to be shallow about appearance, now do I? Does anybody? But then again, aren't we all, a bit?

Questions, questions.

This started out as "things that annoy me" but ended up as a rambling about height.

I am slightly annoyed I didn't update my iPod, slightly annoyed with myself for being less than productive this weekend, slightly annoyed with my current employment situation (more than slightly, actually) and a few other things.

Carry on. I do like this skirt and jacket I am wearing, though. It's actually OK.

But the run in my Canadian stockings, well....that's annoying me.

Although some men find that sexy too. Men are strange.


What kind of mix? And what's a semi-sadist?

I offered to make a friend a mix CD after a long liquid evening, where we acted like fourteen year olds - planning my hilarious dream wedding, trading sips of ridiculous drinks with too many sugary ingredients, dishing dirt about certain acquaintances as if we were in high school. Ooh, wouldn't you like to know. Tough titties, folks.

Anyway, I asked what she liked/didn't like. The only thing that was settled on was 'upbeat.'

Fuck. Upbeat? My music collection? That's a challenge.

I'm working on it now, and even stuff I think sounds upbeat is kinda gruesome - "Miss Ottis Regrets" (Bette Midler) is about, I believe, spousal murder, and "The Rest of the NIght" (Warren Zevon) is, well, the self-written eulogy of a dying man. Lots of ABBA songs - bouncy bouncy - have dark undercurrents. Like they said in an interview, "We are Swedes...it is okay, you know, to be sad."

I even tried to challenge myself to try to find 'upbeat' songs by wacky messed up favorties of mine like Hole. It's hard. Trying to vary up genres and artists and such. This is a very chicky-mix so far, alas.

Some ones that are on the list for real:
Your Body is Music - Afroditee
Beautiful - Carole King
Shopping Cart of Love - Christine Lavin
I got you babe - Sonny & Cher (An old karaoke favorite, actually)
Big O - Kristina Olson
Home at Last - Steely Dan
N.Y.C. - Steve Earle
Scottish Pop - Spearmint
Fell in Love with a Boy - Joss Stone
When I am King - Great Big Sea
It Takes Two to Tango - Raul Malo/Shelby Lynn

This is hard! Already taken off a bunch of songs because I have weird taste. And it's not like I don't have tons to do today. Laundryless, foodless, workless, and tired.


I downloaded 1/3 of "Little Shop of Horrors." I did manage to get "Somewhere that's Green" Coolest rhyme - "I know Seymour's the greatest...but I'm dating a semi-sadist." Nice one!


These are my people. This is no joke. This is HARSH.

This is HARSH. We will be doing a hurricane benefit on Wednesday. (If you got here from my web page, you know this. If not, you know now.)

HARSH: Longform Improvised Tragedy
Directed by Ari Voukydis
Wednesday, September 7 @ 1030 PM
Juvie Hall
24 Bond Street between Lafayette and Bowery, New York, New York
$10 includes many free shots/drinks
Please make checks for admission/donations to Mercy Corps.

Look at these faces. HARSH is in the business of making you laugh and wish you hadn't'; cry and surprise yourself that you did; gasp in shock and surprise.

At least, that's the look we're going for.

Read more about us here: Yesand.com Article about Dramatic Improv by Jill Bernard - this was done as a preview to the Toronto International Improv Festival, where we kicked some serious ass.

It'll be a good show, for a good cause.
And if we know us, the tragedy will come shining through the clouds.


Wish I had a camera NYC Moment #1 (but I keep forgetting I had a Camera Phone)

West 47th Street, 1015 AM or so I think:

Spotted amongst the usual array of Orthodox men in yarmulke and shirtsleeves and Hasidim in baggy black suits (it is 80 degrees out) and beards and women in long dresses and wigs running out to get tea and run back behind the counters of the endless diamond stores along the street - the women work the counters, the men all seem to be out on the sidewalk, running and haggling.

A twentysomething guy in white polo shirt, curly dirty-blond hair and baggy cargo shorts, toting a half-crushed bottle of Poland Spring and peering nervously in the window of a jewelry store towards the end of the block. I could spy the outline of a woman inside, bewigged and pointing, as he nervously peered within. A few feet away from the doorway. Almost there.

Awwww. Something's coming, something's good.

The strangest things occur to one.

I felt compelled to contact my first ex-fiancee (oh, what a heartbreaker I am) - who I broke up with, so sweetly, the weekend before Valentine's Day, 1989, in Union Square. Anyhoo....haven't spoken to him since January 1990 (another story for another day, believe me) - I may have had a letter or two after that - and thru the magic of the Internet, I've managed to track him around over the years. Never contacted him (G always found that super-weird of me). Never felt the need, or the desire to make this guy feel bad, or to dredge up a long-gone past.

But, I don't know....I knew he lived in Alabama, although not coastal, I thought, maybe his wife's family, or his own, had relatives down there (his family as far as I knew were still in SC)....I knew he used to live in NO...I'm sure his students (he's a professor) were affected, I don't know. I felt like I had to check in, somehow.

Talk about awkward. I don't know how or why I did it, but again...I just felt...I don't know. And I'm sure he was baffled, to say the least. I don't know what to expect. I'm sure my college buddies would be stunned.

Sometimes you get the urge to do stuff like this. Maybe it's a mortality thing?

It just occurred to me, he's probably located this by now. I'd originally intended to print the correspondence; out of respect, I don't think I will. Wary, curious, pleasant, not necessarily in that order, would be how I would describe it. He's married with children now.

We were almost married, once. Almost half a lifetime ago. Engaged when I was nineteen, a tiny diamond I proudly showed off at the MSE Library at JHU (I had to go to work, you see, after our little excursion to the mall led to our picking it out, and he getting driven to the mall with his friends to pick it up, then he had to go to work)

He did the bended-knee thing on C-level, the Science Periodicals section where I worked.

The mall excursion was fun, White Marsh, I believe, where the "Metro" ran to...one of the jewelry stores was having a party and we slugged some champagne with the drunk-ass staff. We bought the ring elsewhere, at Littman. Had to get it sized, for my big piano-playing hands.

We didn't have a particular plan. But my god, things are coming back to me clear as day.

I read Bride's magazine from time to time and picked out a shocking red Mexican wedding dress.

My friends making fun of Brides magazine with me.

Thought about getting married on campus.

I did give the ring back. The story of that weekend, and the subsequent days, in my apartment, is a long one. The previous days, too.

I seriously, seriously haven't thought about this in years, much less gotten choked up, emotional about it.

Yes, I'm human. Terribly human, after all.

The strangest things occur to one.


Hooligans then and now

American (Hunter S. Thompson, 1972 as photographed by Annie Leibovitz)

English (Not Hunter S. Thompson, 2004, as photographed by the author)

Back on the horse, so to speak

Ahhh...Wednesdays at the Lantern Late Show. Nothin' like it. My improv show HARSH (Wednesdays at 1030 at Juvie Hall for those who don't read my web page or plugs) was down last night, so I went to my old home away from home.

Man. I miss those fuckers. I miss the craziness.

I miss the leaky bathroom and the dark back sofa where I candle-write my 'set list' (and I use the term loosely, being semi-retired from stand up - another term I use loosely, in that I haven't taken the stage solo in two, three weeks? That long? Shit.) I miss the crowd, who actually (wow) misses me. Crowd, another loose term, meaning the late night comics - Edward, Bob, Rob, Angry Bob, Mr. John Morrison (I love calling him that), Dan, Vito, Katie, Rachael. host Dave Baldwin, looking oddly groomed. How domesticated! Shake out that ponytail and ramp up that smokers cough! Haven't seen Baldwin in ages - I remember the first time I batted my eyes at him from stage. Ages and ages ago, it seems.

Erszi and I have pre-show dinner at the Olive Something (not Garden - a fabulous Mediterranean super-cheap and super-tasty place above the Comedy Cellar....to dream the impossible dream. Avocado salad, yogurt dressing, hot sauce, black bread, honey lemon tea - something like six bucks.) The waiter is hot and chatty.

I pass Emily and Raquel on the way out - I haven't even done the early show in ages, and chatted with them for a bit - they are fabulous funny ladies.

They've cut the show down, timewise - it used to run up till 230 - they've been dicky about the 2 drink minimum - they've slapped on a $20 card minimum - but hell, it's still the Lantern, and we're all still there, talking shit and hanging out in the bathroom, in the booths, on the stairwells.

We have civilians, drunk and up front, heckling like shit. I got up about halfway, not bad, considering it's been months, and got a suitably lovely-nostalgic introduction. For some reason, one of the brawny-rummy hecklers has fallen in love with me. He lurches bulkily to the back after my ranty bits on life and lobotomies and porn (not totally freeform, but energetic). He loudly throws himself my way, belching my praises and disrupting Liam McEneany's set; I am mortified. Within seconds the totally sweet Victor Varnado body-checks him; I assure him that I am fine, as Drunky McHeckler is slurring to me how totally gay he is so that the drink he (and his straight girlfriend?) is buying me is strings free. Victor stands by as the guy FINALLY leaves, to receive deservedly foul treatment from Liam, who I hope does not hold it against me. My comedy class pal Sparky tries to get me to order a Sam Adams for him but the waitron brings me another JD/Diet Coke (I am pussying out tonight, my stressed out tummy incapable of dealing with straight hooch and needing an acid/carbon dioxide dilution. Go figure.)

Just in time, as 130 approacheth, Vito Fucking Lantz (the worlds most wonderful late night Chicagoan comic drinking musical singing comic dart playing human...the list goes on) and I flash the signs from the dugout meaning "Macdougal. Ale house. Pitchers. They will come. We go now."

Thus the evening begins.

PBR. Jen the hoooooot bartender (#3 on my gay list) is there, we remember how much we totally miss each other (I shit you not, I am in love). Actually she is outside....when we get there, we see why, as there is a douchebag of fratties (how's that for a collective noun?) occupying way too much space and ruining the jukebox.

We find the back room, acquire darts. The rest of the lingerers from the show arrive, we play the darts game whose name I forget (the 20, 19, 18, 17, 16, bullseye one.) I am surprisingly not bad, for a drunk with no depth perception. One is dull and unbalanced, like at least one or two comics on the standby list. (BOOYAH!) Anyways...Pitchers empty. Shots get shooted. Vito and I finally commander the jukebox and Steve Earle, Merle Haggard, Willie Nelson, Johnny Cash come pouring out.

"Put on Janis Joplin, the bartender will TOTALLY sing!" Yes, indeed. "Put on Georgia on my Mind, Baldwin will cry!" Yep.

We wander about, never finish the game; we were winning. Baldwin discusses the merits of the Willie v. Ray versions of "Georgia." Vito brings up the James Brown version and is glared upon.

After 4, Jen can't sell to us, but she can give it away. What the fuck, one more. I dig out all my cash to tip out, and commandeer Baldwin to escort me to the bank machine afterwards. I'd been meaning to leave the bar for hours (I don't usualy enter so cash-poor), but it would have broken the flow, you know?

Vito and I talk about Minneapolis, about Chicago, about improv, about performing for yourself. About getting some road work in the Midwest if I make it out there in the spring. Cool cool stuff.

Finally chased out, we hit the bank machine. Stumble across the road to the Ma to try and cadge some more drinks. Why? Why the fuck not. Foiled, alas.

The evening (evening?) winds up in familiar fashion.

I've got a bit of a headache today (understatement), a bellyfull of Diet Coke and a slight cough (after being wearily handed my own Camel Light to chew on. Bad, bad.)

Damn, I miss that.

And damn, if I didn't forget to tape my set.

Which was, all in all, a pretty sweet set. Not perfect, a little blue, a little raw, but pretty sweet.

All of it, was pretty sweet. Sometimes you gotta go...


what happens when you wake up at odd hours

"Nothing's accomplished here."
- Glengarry Glen Ross

Just can't seem to get it together. Or understand, anyone.

Wish I'd been a teenager, so I could've worked this shit out.

All I know is that the music videos on the gay channel are amazing. So was "Heavenly Creatures." I had no idea that was a true story!

Would've gone to the movies tonight, had "Heavenly Creatures" and "Psycho Beach Party" not double-billed.

And IMDB..how did we ever live without it?

amusing lyrics du jour

"(She was a) Hotel Detective" - They Might be Giants

She's got her ear to the walls and she's tappin' the calls
If you've got a secret boy, forget about it, 'cause she's a

Hotel Detective
my little
Hotel Detective
yeah she's a
Hotel Detective
Why don't you check her out

Well the bellhop is funky
The dumbwaiter's a monkey
If there's a knock at the door, boy, forget about it, 'cause she's a

Hotel Detective
my little
Hotel Detective
Hotel Detective
Cone on and check her out

She says she likes my face
She says she owns the place
Forget about it, 'cause she's a

Hotel Detective
my little
Hotel Detective
come on her
Hotel Detective
Why don't you check her out

Hotel Detective
Come on and swing with me
Hotel Detective
From the top of a tree
Hotel Detective
And make me feel like a bee
Hotel Detective
That's where I want to know you

sappy lyrics du jour

"First Day Of My Life" - Bright Eyes

This is the first day of my life
I swear I was born right in the doorway
I went out in the rain suddenly everything changed
They're spreading blankets on the beach

Yours is the first face that I saw
I think I was blind before I met you
Now I don’t know where I am
I don’t know where I’ve been
But I know where I want to go

And so I thought I’d let you know
That these things take forever
I especially am slow
But I realize that I need you
And I wondered if I could come home

Remember the time you drove all night
Just to meet me in the morning
And I thought it was strange you said everything changed
You felt as if you had just woke up
And you said “this is the first day of my life
I’m glad I didn’t die before I met you
But now I don’t care I could go anywhere with you
And I’d probably be happy”

So if you want to be with me
With these things there’s no telling
We just have to wait and see
But I’d rather be working for a paycheck
Than waiting to win the lottery
Besides maybe this time is different
I mean I really think you like me


Cabbie Wisdom, 440 PM

"I tell you..swallow three pieces of garlic every morning before you brush your teeth....yes, it will burn, it will make you dizzy, before breakfast, before ANYTHING..it will cure everything, heart disease, diabetes, everything....what do those doctors know...(more anguished)...trust me I smoke two packs a day since I was seven and now I am thirty two (he looks about forty-five)...they die before you..they know SHIT...(more anguished still)...all they do is have sex with their nurses, eighteen, nineteen years old...GROUP SEX, you know what I am saying?!?!?!"

As I am hastily gathering up my eighty bags (including a bundle of flowers and an alarming quantity of beets) from the Greenmarket which were threatening to give me numb-arm (NARM NARM NARM) on the walk home, he is still going on.

"Take your time...I am a smoker, a lover, a stockbroker, a cabbie....I am EVERYTHING."

He didn't pull away for a solid minute.

I heart NY.


We're the Hooligans...with apologies to the biggest British badass I know

"I'd hate to be a dustbin in Shaftesbury tonight."

I'm listening to Bill Hicks' "Arizona Bay" right now. Excerpts abounds.

"Speak English! It's Crip...Blood. I picture a bunch of pale guys in penny loafers and no socks."

"If you corner me I might become a scallywag!...It doesn't sound scary at all, doesn't it?"

"This wouldn't be a long gang battle..I'm bettin' on the Bloods."

I did have a devastatingly handsome photo of my favorite English Hooligan here, all leather-jacketed-bad-ass-chain-smoking, but I didn't want to find myself arse-backwards inside a dustbin next time I popped over for a visit, so I kept it to myself.

Although I have little reason to pick on you folks (even if some of you ARE in marketing and advertising), since it was your prescient and intelligent nation that appreciated Hicks far more than ours in his time.

What makes me intensely sad is that "Arizona Bay" is essentially the work of a dying man, and that ain't no joke.

In other semi-related news, I'm fairly certain that I'm abandoning my 'comedy journal' on another website and moving all my bullshit over here. More bullshit, huzzah! Now 44% more efficient!



You're right (although I doubt you read this.) I should be thinking about a career.

I'm thinking of about five right now.

I'm also thinking of the pains in my gut, the short-story collection in my bag I'm dying to finish, the Diet Dr Pepper I've yet to consume, the meeting I need to schedule tomorrow night, the fantastic skirt I'm wearing right now, the phone conference call that hasn't happened yet, and how any of these things may be somehow related.

I am thinking about who may read this.

I am not thinking about the crap work on my desk. It makes me sleepy and angry.


There should be three posts here.

I like pudding (chocolate) and angel food cake.

Sullen teenager or adult realist?

Would disappearing from the face of the earth actually make a difference?

Odd but true

Sometimes I think my future-ex understands me better than most people in the world do. At least that's how I felt when he met my train last night smiling his crooked smile, and held me very tightly and kissed the top of my beautiful curly dark-red (for now) hair, deep in the guts of dank late-night Penn Station.

I didn't have to explain, and it was lovely.

There had to be a reason, really, we were so together for so long; at least it wasn't all for naught.


From the pillow of Wonky New Age Toronto Hotel, or whatever happened to mints?

Citrine: Energizing, invigorating and positive. Citrine can increase motivation and relieve felings of inertia, improve digestion, clear congestion and may work to purify the blood as well. Raises self-esteem, heightens perception, enhances creativity, promotes harmony. Encourages kindness, brings wisdom.

Pretty nice fucking rock. Good thing I didn't attempt to eat it.


Shoot me.

Not only have I been required to pontificate on the minutiae of the attorney-client privilege all day and giving myself the world's worst headache, and being sorely underpaid for it, and listening to idiot girls turn up the volume on the IM and wheel each other around on document carts while playing patty-cake (these girls are in their twenties), I just saw the valedictorian of my law school class leave the same place I am working and get into a black car, suited up and gorgeous.

I gracefully slid behind a pillar.



If you haven't seen this show

you are missing out.

Go check out Ampersand at the Magnet Theater on Sunday nights.

Sheer fucking joy. Two person improv. Furf is a lovely piece of...improvisor.

Seriously, he's done a fine job of putting together a unique and briliant show. Don't miss this!

I loved it, wet and freezing, And Rosie is a goddess for brewing up coffee. A goddess!

Love, love love.


Sunday afternoon


I had a dream that I was standing in the middle of Eight Avenue, somewhere in Chelsea. There were cars barreling down on me and there was no way that I was not going to die. In the brief period of time-dilation I was experiencing, I realized fully that I had gotten myself into the situation, somehow, that it was almost nearly doomed for utter failure, and that maybe, just maybe, if I balanced myself on the thin white stripe of paint in the middle of the-

Then I woke up.

I have just spent the better part of the afternoon in Teresa's, a terrific coffee shop on First Avenue; the time can be broken down into several phases:

1. Brunch with Mark. Why I don't tape some of this stuff and just write the damn bits myself is beyond me. They're too good. Today's conversations went especially blue, veering off into porn temp agencies, animal bukkake and how to get panties onto a chicken. The omelettes were lovely.
2. Waiting out torrential rainstorm/waiting for my mother meeting me with Sephora purchases
3. Returning to Teresa's so my mother could indulge her blintz fix, requiring me to order more tea. My mother is often intentionallly hilarious, sometimes unintentionally. We broke out the Jewish Sisterhood bit for her, which she thought would be a definite hit.

Long afternoon. Although spent with two of the funniest comedians you haven't heard of.

Got lots of work ahead of me, but a head full of snot and a closed throat. Hooray!


Throat: scratchy
Voice: Husky, diminishing
Thirst: great
Liver: actve
Blood: very thin
Concern about bodily injury: great
Feeling about being alone at the moment: mixed
Number of drunk dials performed: 1
Number likely to result in/affect potential booty calls: 0
Exhaustion: intense
Enjoyment of evening: high


Movie Quotes

"I am not your consolation prize."
- When Harry Met Sally

"I though of that old joke, y'know, the, this, this guy goes to a psychiatrist and says, "Doc, uh, my brother's crazy. He thinks he's a chicken." And, uh, the doctor says, "Well, why don't you turn him in?" And the guy says, "I would, but I need the eggs." Well, I guess that's pretty much how I feel about relationships. Y'know, they're totally irrational and crazy and absurd and, but, uh, I guess we keep going through it because, uh, most of us need the eggs. "
- Annie Hall

Summertime, or what I remember most.

We used to go to the beach, a lot. Every summer.

We'd take the train to Point Pleasant, Ocean Grove, Asbury Park, Spring Lake; the subway to Coney Island, or Brighton Beach. Coney Island was Nathans and Brighton was knishes, and once we went to the surly Georgian grocery store, and going in one at a time so someone could watch the stuff. LIRR to Oakdale and my dads, even the summer we swam too far and had to be rescued, or East Hampton and my aunts, like when I laughed at him for his fear of fishing as I merrily baited hooks and trolled with my uncle out towards Montauk Point. We went to Newport after the Bar exam and sat in the cloudy cold sand anyway and rode a real schooner and ogled the tan deckhands together. We went to glorious Miami Beach and stepped out our hotel and onto the sand, the glamourous life. Ocean Grove NJ was a dry town with tent-cottages and a huge cavernous church hall and we walked to Bradley Beach and had spaghetti and snuck wine back to our inn and sat on the windy porch and drank it with glasses we bought, leftover new years glasses I think, and talked and looked at the clouds and listened to the wonderful angry storm-surf. Point Pleasant was the best, day tripping, or that Raymond Carver like hotel where we laughed at the tiny railroad and went to the batting cages and he found me the perfect twenty-five cent arcade with ms pac man and we made love in the shower after the beach and flopped on the bed and ate fudge after a perfect dinner at the restuarant that teetered on pillars moored into the surf.

Those were good things, good summers.


RIP Peter Jennings

So, I almost finished the dreaded paperwork.

What did it take? Lots of crossouts, some bad Chinese food and fifty minutes of douche-baggery on the phone.

Just need two more terribly obvious documents and some fuzzy math.

And a few hours sleep. Fucktard, that's me.

Baggy eyed fucktard.

It better not be hot tomorrow, I gotta dress to depress.

Night all. I've got 'Landslide' going thru my head now. I'm overtired, my face's broken out, and I'm obsessed with this little bump on my forehead.

And, yeah, RIP Peter Jennings. I'll always remember shoving you out of the way at that tiny news shop on 72nd street when you were walking your dog and buying Marlboros. And then looking up outside the news shop and seeing who I'd just shoved.

"Hey there...nice dog."
"Thanks." Lighting up, and sauntering away, tall and gorgeous.



Yeah, it's like that.

So this got me good today, from a folk-station I found on iTunes (WUMB, from Umass-Boston - iTunes has improved their radio station selection drastically). So I had to find the lyrics, download the song, etc.

When I get sucked in, I get sucked in, yes I do. So what? Go on, leave me to my maudlin shit. Go!

Along those lines, anyone catch Six Feet Under. My mom called it the saddest show she's ever seen on TV, ever. It was pretty harsh. Harsh!

Anyway, here's my song du jour, properly cited and all.

Still staving off the progress of my divorce nicely, thanks for asking. Just to complete the maudlin trifecta.

I haven't eaten since noon today. Why? Dunno. Oh, I had some cabbage. Why? Dunno.

Here's the damn song.

from www.cowboylyrics.com:

(as performed by Emmylou Harris and Don Williams)

Artist/Band: Van Zandt Townes
Lyrics for Song: If I Needed You
Lyrics for Album: Legend

If I needed you would you come to me,
Would you come to me, and ease my pain?
If you needed me
I would come to you
I'd swim the seas for to ease your pain

In the night forlorn the morning's born
And the morning shines with the lights of love
You will miss sunrise if you close your eyes
That would break my heart in two

The lady's with me now since I showed her how
To lay her lily hand in mine
Loop and Lil agree she's a sight to see
And a treasure for the poor to find


Six Feet Under

What the eff?

Although I dumped an ex from a sickbed, effectively. That part made me all nuts.

In all 'art' even the stupidest - People see what they want to see.

Even fucking television.

And I repeat - what the eff?

Although I don't really believe it. And if I do, then...suck-o.

Kind of a spoiler, no?

Well, watch the rerun anyway, it ain't my fault if you haven't.


Morning dreams are the weirdest

The first dream was that I was about to make love to a gorgeous, dark-haired vaguely-familiar-looking (but I don't know who she was) woman (For some reason, I knew how to do this). Literally, right about to do it. But we were in my grandmother's apartment, downstairs. And then the dream ended, or shifted, or I woke up; I don't recall. Anyway, it never happened.

The second was a bright sunny day in the city; it may have been the meatpacking district around Gansevoort. I saw a good friend, who I'd been expecting for ages, off in the distance, at a bus stop. I couldn't reach him; I was walking quickly up the street, but my path was blocked, by well-meaning but chatty improvisors. I tried waving; I think he saw me but I couldn't be sure, and I needed to get to him. I remember lots of sunlight and shade and sunglasses, we both wore sunglasses. Then, I woke up.



Well, I've got my messed-up website up.

And I've still got my messed-up life.


Like the tapirs?


More meaningless crap.

Today I got Digital Cable. If my eyes don't deceive me, I have a channel that plays Nothing but Football (what the rest of the world calls Football, not what we Americans call Football.)


I've also got eight zillion music video channels. Damn. The remote is bigger than a vibrator.


I am going to buy (well, pick out and have her dad reimburse) my little cousin a new flute for her elementary-school graduation present. I get to try new instruments out and get the kid a nice one! I am very excited!



We'll write a comic about it.

Last night at an ungodly hour I was watching "American Splendor" which always, for some reason, makes me choke up a bit.

Do you ever find weird, eccentric things romantic?

And another thing....

I will teach myself how to build a website from scratch with a blog via Wordpress and a calendar if it fucking kills me.

Which it might.

which is why I only start this projects at five bloody AM.

Fuck a duck, I'm insane!

And another thing....An Open Letter to "D"

You know what? I don't need to keep this up here. I've said my piece and I've taken it away. Lost in the sands of time.

But thank you for causing me to re-examine the purpose and wisdom of keeping this journal, and the nature of the material that goes into it. For better or worse, things are going to change. I am a bit sorry and somewhat sad by all of this. But wiser, as well.

Best regards,

The Comment that Makes me not want to Post Anymore

"To those I admire In this great big statistically-(no offense) unlikely divine hell, what are the odds, I mean, they must be astronomical, to say the least, of logging into her blog? And yet, (a figure of time) there it was, on the very big www,… she as brave and blunt as my Adrienne and I felt like that Alice, oversized and plodding, trying to squeeze through a small door never meant for my huge, greedy appetite. Like a bulimic in a bakery, wolfing down a bottomless cake, (hearing that voice of J. Alfred running endless, cynical, drunken commentary on everything I do.) And right there, in plain text, she was outing herself. And me in my grey box, confessing metaphors to her like I had broken some techno-modern commandment…(booming voice) thou shalt not read the intimate details of thy ex’s ex’s blog.)Like stepping foot in Xanadu, or eating a peach, or like having sex with your mother Ginsburg would say… not meant for my eyes (forgive me). But why not my eyes? Whose then?How could I resist the all too intimate references to his oh-so bigger-than-life need for obliqueness in a dismal world of DNA repetition? A cat named HomeboyA preference for Wagner (very Freudian)A predilection for betraying highly intellectual, somewhat rubenesque, mildy-sardonic, bluntly comedic, overly-sensitive, somewhat histrionic, (he never forgave me either), well, you get the point. Indulging my pain at her expense or my expense and her pain…E=mc2. (My tendency to disassociate not to be mistaken for indifference). And I wondered if she would be insulted (or could forgive me) for the implication of there being an “us” now - being in that sacred club of self-appointed martyrs whom he had the pleasure of spiritually bankrupting. (Did I ever forgive him?). Some ill-defined chosen-people club of gullible romanticists with concentrated fantasies of being in love. (verb or noun, it’s just like those evasive little electron-buggers). (Eliot knows, I don’t always carry around this much baggage.)And it wasn’t the subconscious attraction to narcissistic father-figures, or the autonomic addiction to over stimulating under-achieving synaptical-firings, or the avoidance of intimacy through a vengeful cloaking-device of food, although God knows I tried,But rather, those obscure, seemingly-insignificant, idiosyncractic synchronicities that bonded me to her in a way I had never before felt so close to anyone else; These things cannot be measured: (so said Jung)(Plagiarism as a form of honor) Poetry, food, Joplin, Oz, Homicide, the repetition of sex, words, quantum laws, cheese. I love cheese for Christ’s sake. Who would have thought that cheese could be such a binding factor? (the metaphors are getting silly now). (And there’s something about sex that is always funny). And maybe in time, (time as a metaphor) she could come to a place, where the need to feel loved again exceeded the need to be damaged. (my therapist said blaming myself is power). To be hurt and cheated on and betrayed and lied to in the exact same way is what Adrienne would call repetition as a form of death. (My father’s gift as well). like the hot house figs or the urn that holds the ashes or the sign on the bus…just minor props… just an understudy…(she throws off her apron and quits). And I forgave myself almost immediately for being jealous that your poetry was better than mine. But I could have predicted that with a little quantum theory and a bottle of Red Clarinet."