I Have Big Issues

Close to my heart is the Hubble space telescope. Screw going to the moon, Hubble is an extremely important research tool that should not be abandoned.

Here's a petition for the Hubble with links to more on the issue:

www.savethehubble.org

This has been a self-important plea for flossy space flotsom I have nothing to do with. Now back to my really important job: making cheap jokes...

I'm a Woman of Mystery

Tonight I'm doing this lovely show. It's cheap & cheerful. It's an intimate room, but not in a creepy way.

Sweet Paprika
Friday Night comedy with Ophira Eisenberg, Allison Castillo & Guests
Village Lantern, 167 Bleecker St., between Thompson and Sullivan,
A, C, E, F and V trains to West 4th Street, 6 train to Bleecker/Lafayette
212-260-7993
$5
Show starts at 8:30 PM

With
Gary Welz
Todd Levin
Greg Walloch
Mystery Guest - ???

Mystery Solved. It's me, La Felber.

Thar She Blows Up!

The funniest thing I've seen in ages. Funny 'cause it's true.

Decomposing whale explodes on Taiwan street

TAIPEI, Jan 29 (Reuters) - The decomposing remains of a
60-tonne sperm whale exploded on a busy Taiwan street,
showering nearby cars and shops with blood and organs and
stopping traffic for hours, local newspapers said.
The 17 metre (56 foot) dead whale had been on a truck
headed for an autopsy at a university earlier this week, when
gases from internal decay caused its entrails to explode in the
southern city of Tainan.
The whale had died after it was beached on the southwestern
coast of the island.

REUTERS
Copyright (c) 2004 Reuters

Picture can be found here.

Don't ask, Do tell

My new fancy doctor on the Upper East Side is currently treating my long-standing, horribly painful, and possibly-cancerous-if-left-untreated medical condition.

The previous doctor I saw for this had tried many extreme and extremely painful cures such as surgery, freezing and powerful anti-cancer drugs -- "Whatever you do," he said, "do not even think about getting pregnant while on this." The toxic drug was in a strength that was so potent it had to be specially ordered. It was all to no avail. After months and many visits I was no better, possibly worse. Before seeing this doc I had been in freelancer land. I didn't have any health insurance and I just had to suffer. The let down that having health insurance did diddly was awful.

As I sat on the paper-lined puffy examination couch or table or whatever it is,
I looked out the window at the Metropolitan Museum and steeled myself for the terrible treatment this new doctor would put in motion. It had taken me a year to get up the guts to give another doctor a shot.

He said, "Well, before we start anything, you should know that there currently is no cure for this that works 100 percent of the time."

Yes, I knew that. I've read everything available on it, on the internet. I tried to imagine what hospital I'd be booked into.

He continued, "Yours is possibly the worst case I've ever seen, so of course surgery will be very painful..."

I think, "Thank goodness I have health insurance, so I can afford this."

Then he says, "But I have had success with..."

I think, "Get out the knife, do your worst, I must be rid of this!"

"...duct tape."

Duct tape. Duct tape? Duct tape and...?

"No," he says, "just duct tape. Slap it on and leave it on for days at a time."

I am being treated with duct tape. The roll was purchased at Rite Aid.

Here's the weird part: it's working.

It's working like a charm.

Thor almighty, it's working!

Here's the best part: my insurance covers my visits to this UES Warlock with an MD.

Totally Fly

A rare movie rental recommendation from moi:

Winged Migration

This wacky French creation about migrating birds is not exactly a documentary nor is it wholly fiction; it stunning and it is both. You don't need to be a bird nerd to enjoy it and dahling, you must get it on DVD for the behind-the-scenes poop.

It was beyond beautiful and done without any special effects. The only distraction was the male Enya-type music, the ugly yellow chyron titles on the screen, and the voice in your head that demands to know how on earth they filmed it. Then the "making of" bit was mind-blowing. The filming was more bizarre than I could've guessed, and it left me wanting to know even more.

The website is cool-looking but a bit shoddy. For example, in flash it shows the migratory pattern of the ruby-throated hummingbird. It shows them traveling no farther north than Georgia. Tell that to my hummingbirds who arrived in upstate NY soon after Memorial Day and left with their suitcases packed full of perky pet instant nectar immediately after Labor Day.

Last May was the first time I'd ever seen a real live hummingbird.

I was up in the country doing who-knows-what on the log cabin's screened-in porch. Maybe I was cleaning up? It's very possible I was barefoot. It is almost certain I was mostly just happily spacing out on a warm sunny day.

Then I heard a motorcycle in the distance, which was odd because the area was usually so quiet. I craned my ear towards the screen to figure out where it was coming from. The motorcycle seemed to be going back and forth on a distant road, but if the road was distant, why did it sound so clear? Anyone who knows me knows my lousy hearing is a constant source of frustration for me and anyone trying to tell me something. Figuring my bum ears would never crack the mystery, I gave up trying to listen.

I turned my head to get on to thinking something even slightly useful and suddenly I saw the most enormous bumble bee flying to and fro, right on the other side of the screen.

The bee stopped and hovered in mid air, his motorcycle engine noise chugging away as he idled. He stared straight at me and I saw this obese bee was wearing metallic green and red coat.

Clear as a bell I heard him say,

"Hey lady, I'm a hummin' boid, a.k.a. Archilochus colubris. Look I've been flying like a crazy person. I'm friggin' exhausted. The trip from Central America was a nightmare... I'm getting too old for dis stuff... you know that dis place is da one I come to every year. Now what say you get that feeder out? Oh stop with da innocent act, would ya? Wait a sec... you're new here, ain't ya... OK toots, I'm only gonna tell you dis once. Go move your pretty little ass and fetch the feeder -- yeah it's the tacky plastic thing you found under the sink. Clean it up nice, fill it with that delicious red sauce and try to make it snappy. My people are all coming to dis here establishment and I's don't want anything to go screwy. Oh you're a comedian, eh? Well from now on in you is humming bird craft services. Whaddya lookin' at me like dat for? We provide an important service, ya know? Yeah we provide...ah... wonder 'n da beauty of nature and all that shit. We've got an understanding, yes? Good. Don't make me go all Hitchcock on your ass."

Thanks to the extortionist hummingbirds who mostly ignored us as they dive bombed the feeder and one another in true thug style, it was a summer full of wonder, the beauty of nature and all that.

Oh summer summer summer. Type it enough and maybe it will come faster...

Oh, right... the movie... well the movie's site has them but the movie doesn't show even one hummingbird, so don't get your hopes up. But if the albatross, the puffin or the stork turn you on as much as they turn me on, you will go crazy for this fine feathered flick.

Resolutions Schmezzolutions

I'm moving to sunny Mauritania!

From the article:

"They are proud and show off their good size to make men dribble... Once they are fat and beautiful they can serve their men well..."

The only hitch to my plan is wondering how long it will take for me to believe that causing male "dribble" is somehow sexy.

Think Felbsy think!

Tin Pan Susie

This coming Saturday night I'm taking the whole dog & pony show to my ancestral homeland, a.k.a. Lawn Giland. I'm not sure who's on the bill other than the lovely and talented Joe Devito and myself.

Saturday, January 31st
Tin Alley Grill
630 Stewart Ave.
Garden City, Long Island
10pm
$5 cover, no drink minimum
No reservations -- get there early to get a good seat.

I bet my groupies are camping out at the LIRR ticket window right now.

Mix it Up

Lazy/busy blogger technique: the link.

Dean going nuts in musical form may already be old hat, but here's a site that has them all.

Some are funnier than others, probably because the amount of copycatting has diluted the funny. Still, some of the remixes reminded me how much I liked the original tunes. Oz-zy! Oz-zy! Oz-zy!

Actually my favorite part of the Iowa jazz was watching a home-based caucus do their thang on C-Span without any commentary. I was cooking a beautiful pasta of excitement for dinner and hanging out with Ed and my friend Eris. The highlights of peeking into this Iowa caucus (held in Elmira, I think?) were honestly thrilling:

The bottles of blush wine and the brownies.

Hearing a woman say, "Mr. Wilson you've been a very good boy" and then having the camera pan all the way down to a ratty-looking, clueless poodle sporting rust colored eye crust.

Hearing another woman say, "I haven't been able to open my door since I hit that deer."

Watching a head of the meeting crack everyone up when she said, "OK we need an alternate for this committee, in case Joe* gets his foot caught in the lawnmower again."

*I don't actually remember what the accident prone guy's name was, but I am 100 percent sure of that scruffy poodle's name.

You Better Work It Girl

I hafta admit it's getting better, getting better all the time -- I've secured good work of late and after a long slog, there seems to be more on the horizon.

So of course I'm very busy. Too busy to write a clever blog entry. Someday soon my freelance butt will be paid for all this work (about 6 months from now) and I'll need to go out and paint the town fuschia with other folks as flush as I am.

Here then, is a job listing I found for y'all. No need to thank me, just buy me a bottle of bubbly when you get the gig!

Poultry Times and Poultry Egg & Marketing
P.O. Box 1338, 345 Green Street,
NW, Gainesville, GA 30503. P(770)536-2476. F(770)532-4894. Email: chill (at)
poultryandeggnews.com. Website: http://www.poultryandeggnews.com. Chris
Hill, Publisher & Editor. Minimal freelance percentage. "Poultry Times is a
bi-weekly poultry trade newspaper covering the entire poultry industry, from
production to processing and marketing." Welcomes new writers. Circ. 10K
each publication. Poultry Times: Biweekly. Pays on publication. Buys FNASR.
Accepts reprints. Sample by phone, mail or fax. Subscription Poultry Times:
$12 surface mail; $122 airmail; Canada surface mail $28; surface mail other
$36.

CURRENT NEEDS: "Poultry farming/processing issues and local government
action affecting poultry production/processing. Read online editions to get
a flavor of style." Pays flat fee of $150 for first item, $75 for second
item on same assignment to new writers to Poultry Times, "upon negotiation
for recurring use of writer." Submit query to publisher & editor.
PHOTOS/ART: N/A.

This is not an ex-parrot!

I love this story: Winston Churchill's parrot is still alive & kicking... & cursing.

Oh no! Maybe he isn't! Maybe he wasn't!

This is worse than last week, when I found about the whole Easter bunny sham.

Oh but do clap if you believe in Tinkerbell & foul mouthed anti-Nazi birds!

An Open Letter to Rosie O'Donnell

Dear Rosie,

Sorry to hear about Taboo closing. That must totally suck.

Even with a financial loss that trumps what most people make in a lifetime, you are reportedly ready to saddle up the ol' Broadway horse again. As always, I genuinely admire your pluck.

But while I do enjoy theater and do appreciate all you've done for the overall health of Broadway, I can't help but wonder why you've abandoned your roots.

You made it as a sassy L.I. comedian. Not as a singing comedian and not as a dancing comedian. Not as a comedian who needed a full orchestra or a union crew. Not as a comedian with a stage manager or the need for a rehearsal space other than your bedroom.

Rather you were a very talented stand-up comedian, playing in all the rat holes comedians are forced to play in.

Your generation boomed with comedy. Back in the 80's you all had paying spots but the boom went bust and you left us with a sick and dying comedy club scene.

Now you've made your money and you've ran off and left us for the more glamorous world of tourists and turn turn kick turn, two, three, kick turn!

Have any successful comedians of your generation looked back and then taken an interest in ameliorating what is happening now?

How about our own NY treasure, Jerry Seinfeld? He, not unlike other comedy legends, is known to run into a NY comedy club bringer show, do a spot and run out. In this way he validates the clubs. Seinfeld makes the poor, exploited, and crap bringer show comics believe the club's hype: that all an inexperienced comedian needs is bought stagetime. The club lures shows full of these inexperienced comedians buying stage time because they are told it is a career trajectory. It also keeps the usually miserable but long-suffering audiences in the dark as to their involvement in the whole "bringer show" sham.

I admit that as a working comedian it's very hard every time I hear someone say, "Oh, you're a comedian? My sister-in-law's brother's wife's dental hygienist is a comedian too. She's only been doing it for a few months. Personally, I didn't think she was very funny... but we saw her perform at (insert big comedy club name here) with Jerry Seinfeld, so she's obviously doing really well. So where do you perform?"

Or what about a certain NY-based late night talk show host who once featured cutting edge acts he had an appreciation for. But this man, whom I will only refer to as "Schmettermon" hasn't physically stepped out into the NY comedy world in decades. This is why his more recent comedy acts seem to be the choice of a partially labotomized man.

You see, your generation took the money and ran.

When the comedy boom went bust you all ran as fast as you could from the shoulder pads, the skinny ties and the hair mousse. You ran to sitcoms, to talk shows, to HBO and to Broadway shows. You ran from nothing less than the rotting stink of the over-exposed stand-up comedy carcass.

I can't say I wouldn't have done exactly the same thing in your position. But at some point I would've come back to clean up after I'd cleaned up.

Speaking as another sassy comedian originally from the fetid seagull pooped on strip mall full of ignorance that is known as Lawn Giland, I know how loathe you must be to go back.

Rosie you are much more than a grumpy do-gooder producer who currently has a bad haircut: You are a comedian. If you come to terms with this I think you and your check book will be a lot happier. If you could stop faking a crush on Tom Cruise, you can stop faking being legit. Embrace the freak comedian within, for your comedy is the well spring of your talents and that from which you were sprung.

Outside of the rotten core of the comedy clubs there is amazing comedy happening all over the city. Sure it can be argued that maybe the comedy clubs are beyond saving... that maybe without the throngs of cocaine addled audiences it's a no hoper. But no! There are are ways to contribute to the health of comedy, even if you don't go whole hog like those amazing young visionaries at UCB did.

Look, Rosie, The New York Times will review you if you dance around barefoot in your loft for long enough, but they do not even give a nod to comedy outside of a theater.* What I'm getting at is that we obviously need the publicity a helluva lot more than Broadway does.

You can drop the elaborate song and dance with me. You had me at, "Where ya from?" Help us Obi Wan, you and yours are our only hope.

Sincerely,

A. Comic


*For some reason The New York Times does review cabaret, another art form often performed in tiny sticky-floored bars and clubs. All I can think is it's because the Times has a thing for tame whimsy and all the trimmings. e.g. middle-aged people who often over dress in crushed velvet & people who usually like their publicity shots to be photographed in a coy manner using a vaseline-coated lens.

Slow News Sunday

Wesley Clark is auctioning off his new argyle sweater on ebay, and donating the proceeds to charity.

This is the very same sweater I made fun of.

No joke here: just providing a resource for all you fabulously wealthy eccentric do-gooders who read my blog.

Ice, Ice Baby

The last time it was this temperature in NYC someone wrote,

"It's so cold I developed gonorrhea just for the burning sensation."

I salute the author of this brilliant joke. I would like to properly honor him by visiting The Tomb of the Unknown Comedian.

At the April 1st ceremonies, people who love comedy gather to throw tomatoes at the coffin of the Unknown Comedian, listen to a spirited rendition of taps played by an orchestra of kazoos and leave bouquets of rubber chickens on the site.

See you there.

I Love Mayor Bloomberg

And I don't care who knows it.

He's our own Daddy Warbucks.

He could've just spent his time & money being outrageously wealthy.

Instead he took on a horrible job at a particularly horrible time in NYC.

Instead of $195,000 a year, he takes only $1 a year in salary.

He speaks spanish, but as he sounds like a nasal NY Jew when he does, it's freakin' adorable.

He was responsible for sending me and thousands of other smokers free nicotine patches through the DOH.*

He was a lifelong Democrat who became a Republican to be elected and I love that funky non-partisan stuff.

Today he unveiled a NYC budget with a surplus.

I don't want to hear the surplus is mainly from Wall Street profits.

I heart Mayor Bloomberg.


*I'll admit he killed the bar business, which really sucks, but my hair smells nicer after a night out. Thanks Bloomie!

Yesterday

Wow, yesterday's entry was so much more exciting than today's.

Don't believe me?

Yesterday I told you about a comedy show I'm doing tonight and where to find the hot new preview clip of the movie I'm going to be seen in.

Today I tell you I'm about to walk the dog before a business conference call.

Today I tell you I've had an orange, lots of instant coffee & cucumbers vinaigrette. The dressing bottle had to be run under hot water because my home made olive oil/garlic concoction had congealed. The cucumbers were old and their flesh was either too hard & white or too clear & squishy.

As I type half the cucumbers remain dressed and sitting in the bowl. The upside is my urge for Japanese take-out has passed. Actually, my urge to eat ever again has passed.

Yesterday all my troubles semed so far away.

Read yesterday's entry again & remember the good ol' days...

Or just remember where ol' cukey breath will be performing tonight.

Holy Moly!

The website for the film I'm a gonna be in is up!

There's even a clip!

Even though I am not one of the stars by far, I'm in that there preview clip. Twice, if you look really really closely and catch those venetian blinds.

It's a Sullivan Brothers, Boy in the Drain, 19th Hole Entertainment production.

It's First Time Caller.

Fun. Without bias I can say that this film is going to be good.

But my acting? Well, hopefully I can't drag it down too much.

Excuse me, but I've got to go & be all nostalgic for my hot summer week when we were shooting in Melbourne, Florida.

Comedy Tonight?

Nope, tomorrow.

I'll be performing with a slew of fab comedians in a casual & very dimly lit basement.

Come on down to:

Becky's B3 Comedy Lounge
33 Ave B at Third St.
Weds @ 8pm sharp
Take the f train to second Ave
$4 cover buys your first drink (rheingold, bud, wine, soda, or bottled water)


PS Karaoke begins @ 10:30, so start brushing up your Total Eclipse of the Heart, now.

Snow Going


This Monday I'm up in the Catskills.

The virgin snow is being worn by the pines. They look like very ladylike octopodes, offering us their branches clad in white gloves.*

Save now, I'm hard at work. I've got comedy writing deadlines as well as a shiny new corporate copywriting gig. With all sincerity and little modesty, hooray and hoorah for me! I love being as busy and employed as possible. The more work I do, the more I'm able to get done. It's very much like exercising a muscle and comes with the high of accomplishment, if not the endorphins.

I am trying to write a particularly sticky tricky bit. It comes in fits and starts. Suddenly, I hear a woodpecker going to town on a dead tree.

"tat tat tat tat."

It's so charming I could faint. A woodpecker! Right outside my window!

"Rata tattattattattattat..."

...Followed by snow blanketed silence.

"Rata tat...tat...tattattat.....................................tat."

It sounds like he's mocking my typing.

"Rata..."

He's stopped. Why? Whatever. He's finally stopp --

"Rata. Rat. Rat. Rata. Rat. Rat."

Sounds like he's tuning up, with an avian Me May Mah Mo Moo.

"Rata TATTATTATTATTATTATTATTATTAT. RATTATATTATTAT!"

Nature is beautiful -

"Tatta ATTICA ATTICA ATTICA!"

But I'm starting to think it should be seen and not heard.

"Rata TATTAT...TAT...tat?"

I want to ring the neck of my little feathered foe until his eyes bug out & his crown is red for an entirely different reason.

"Rat...ah... Oh, almost spaced, got a 4 o'clock with Woody and his people. TAT, er, I mean, ta ta, darling!"


*Octopodes? Well saying "octopuses" makes me feel like an octo-pussy, and not the cool James Bond kind at that.

Won't You Be My Voter?

According to today's NY Times Clark recently shed his suit and donned a sweater to appeal to women.

Do women like his new look?

Yeah, they adore it... if they haven't come anywhere near hitting puberty.

Hi Voter!

Get Back to Where you Once Belonged

Mr. Tremble himself clued me into this anti-Dean ad called Back To Vermont.

The ad contains 11 insults hurled by 2 very old very white people. This should help the Republican image as way too many people think of Repulicans as young, hip and inclusive. Only 2 insults in the ad can be called policy-related and they get no more weight than the other barbs. The rest are a series of supposedly bad elements attributed to Dean that the country shouldn't be hoodwinked by. Below I've listed the 9 non-political insults made political and how I stack up.

As we go, why not play along and see how many ugly Dean qualities you have? At the end, we can compare totals. Fun!

Latte drinking
Check!
When I'm feeling flush. They go for 60 dollars a pound in my neighborhood. Still that's probably because most good-looking youngish laptop-toting cafe drones deduct their latte as office rent.

Sushi Eating
Check!
Sake to me & Maki mine a double! I had a cool Japanese sister-in-law. Faking not going to vomit + something called Chu sours gave me bravery and an addiction to the stuff. I ate and adored sushi for years before I'd even touch a smat of cooked fish.

Volvo Driving
Check!
A 1972 Volvo was my first car. I wanted a VW Bug so badly. I looked and looked with my parents and saw and saw a bazillion mini rust buckets. My parents had generously agreed to match any contribution I worked and saved up for. Perhaps this was because unlike my brother, 4 years down the line they didn't have a smoking hot sexy car* sitting right in the drive to give me absolutely free. So sure, I worked the guilt angle.

With my less than 1000 bucks saved up and burning a hole in my pocket I hadn't given up the dream of a VW Bug. So when asked to look at this tank-sized monstrosity of a Volvo I was none too happy. As a teenage surl (and girl) I hated that I had to be polite because the Long Island mechanic who owned the thing was from a nice foreign family my father had treated.

I went to see the car silently fuming at my father for subjecting me to looking at a big, fat loser mobile and forcing me to go through a fruitless charade. "A Volvo!" I thought, "That's what those 30-something "Baby on Board" yenta a-holes drive." "And this one is how old?" With my internal snarl turned all the way up, I got behind the wheel and instantly fell helplessly and truly in love for the first time. It was like Fozzie Bear's car in the Muppet Movie, but with the added glamour of Miss Piggy.

It had a lovely curved front, not unlike an old Mercedes. I love a car with cleavage. Oh it looked like this and this!

It had a lot of miles on it when I bought it because the mechanic said he often drove it to go skiing in Vermont (Vermont!). When I got it there were exactly 119,863 miles on it. Of that I'm sure, because once I bought it, I noticed the odometer never once moved. I joked one too many times that it got, "No miles to a gallon." My precious drove us to high school and later up and down to college in Vermont (Vermont!) and almost never faltered. It merely complained loudly when as a 17-year-old, I didn't know you had to give a car oil and it plum ran out.

Years later I sold it to another mechanic, my man in Vermont (indeed!). He looked a lot like the cuddly main troll in LOTR, dubbed it "pre-classic" and for years I'd get reports from friends who lingered in Vermont of him being seen driving my metallic sand colored beaut to the dog races. I sold it only because I was poor after college, too poor to afford the repairs she started to need. Baby, if you're out there still, maybe waiting for your owner at the track, I'm sorry. At the time I was scared of the commitment. I'll take you back, I'll pay your insurance, I... I'm wiser now in the ways of caring for a car. I now own a chamois cloth and I know how to use it. Didn't we have good times? Oh Baby I miss you.

NY Times Reading
Guilty as Charged!
Damn, this reminds me I totally forgot to give the delivery dude a holiday tip. Thank you hate ad!

Body Piercing
No.
Not even pierced ears. It might be because my family has a tendency to develop cysts. More likely however I'm too lazy. Plus my burning desire for a nose stud in the late 80's and early 90's faded when others, who I deemed uncool, beat me to the punch hole.

Hollywood Loving
Yup.

Left Wing
Yup.
Yet for some reason a certain family member of mine tells people she knows I'm going to vote for Bush. It's probably because we don't agree on certain war-related issues. Still, it's great to have a debate with someone who recently proved they had no clue who Tarik Aziz was.

Freak Show
Yes
My life and career, welcome to it.

Back to Vermont
I'd be delighted!
Home of my sometimes scary never boring freak show Alma Mater -- where Jojo was often a man who thought he was a woman -- and Bernie, the first Independent elected to congress in 40 years. Vermont is a beautiful state & the place I might very well live now if my Hollywood-loving career permitted.

My Score: 8 out of a possible 9!

Wow! Who knew? Maybe this Dean dude is the candidate for me!

Or maybe, just maybe, it's because I'm an East Coast Jew.

I'd bet my boots the first draft of the ad was called "Back to Israel."



*My brother might try to convince you his first and free smoking hot car was less than perfect. Not true! Sure, it literally was smoking a good deal, but it was cool. It was a sporty** long 2-door number that even had faux leather on the outside -- and it was FREE! It even drove, sometimes.

**"Sporty" here being defined as pimps cruising for business.

Dirty Mind

I'm no designer, but shouldn't Earthlink's Parental Controls icon have a diagonal red line through it?

Winter Wonder Why Land

NY1 shows it's 25 degrees.

The wind is howling down the alley,

like a pissed off pit bull,

a dog some people want to rename the New Yorkie.

I shudder at the thought.

Looking for Trouble

I'm strutting around town in an ultra long, black quilted parka. Yeah I thought I was pretty smart until I saw every other woman in NYC has one. Now when I see one I imagine we all had a one night stand with Dracula. When we sobered up and saw the bite marks we went running out of his loft wearing nothing but his comforter.

Hence forth and from now on and from here on in I proclaim that our long black quilty down coats be dubbed a "Vampire's Duvet."

As in, "Hey, I adore your Vampire's duvet!"

Sure, "Dracula's Duvet" has the alliteration, but is less workable for common street encounters.

Also today I was feeling very smart in my pink hat, until I saw the subway car I entered had two others seated with similar toppers. Suddenly I knew why it was called the F train.

One was a puffy, grumpy Hungarian-looking chick in a pink knit number and the other was a ragged looking suspected tranny wearing a fuzzy pink cloche that was almost identical to mine. The suspected tranny was attempting to eat a huge but frozen solid slushie. He/She entertained us by lifting the bright yellow iceburg a good ways out of its plastic cup and gnawing at it before it slipped back with a clunk. I knew this ride was not good PR for the pink hat wearer's of the world. The ride down to W4th was a real head trip.

Oh ha ha! I am so heelarious! Oh ho and ha ha! Ha! Hoo ha ho!

Ha! Ha? Huh?

Oh.

Well in any case, from now on us serious looking NY'ers wearing pink cloche hats will be referred to as "Inspector Gidget."

I'm taking one final stab at being unique by wearing braids. But if I see another overaged woman wearing adorable fey little plaits to disguise the fact that she too hasn't showered -- I'm going to lash out.

There's no doubt today will be totally hit or Swiss Miss.

PS Though my personal cutting edge is a bit dull, I can dish it as well as take it (as long as I'm dishing it, of course). Next week you can catch me once again contributing my outrageous barbs of hilarity in US Weekly magazine's Fashion Police.

Enjoying my Bottom

For Hanukmas I was given the 3 DVD set of Bottom.

It is among the funniest TV comedy to be had. Like Ab Fab, it inspires and intimidates me. Bottom is clever scripts cleverly disguised with knock down drag out physical comedy genius. How funny is Bottom? So funny I just about bled out my eyes and had milk spew from my rotator cuff.

It's a British show more than a decade old but it is timeless and hardly known on these shores. Get to know Rik Mayall and Adrian Edmondson's wonderfully disgusting duo by getting yourself a copy or five of Bottom - Not Another Half-Arsed DVD Set.

A Very Bob Shea Christmas

Now with super secret link!


Since I see people are searching for it, I give you part the third of Bob Shea's stop action puppet adventures, voiced by my Ed.

It's a short Christmas special and was personalized for Bob's clients and friends.

Don't let the fact that this one was made for us get in the way of your 7th day of Christmas enjoyment.

Wishing you and yours a Perfectly Nice X-mas.