The New York Times' Triennial Article on New York Comedy Scene
...came out on Sunday. The annoyance I have for the New York Times policy of ignoring live comedy completely and then "discovering" it once every three years or so is tempered this time by the fact that this article profiles great shows (most of which I've done) and some of my very good friends (none of whom I've "done", in case you were wondering) who have lived in the side bar of this blog under "Friend of a Felber" since the earth was still cooling and dinos ruled the land.
The article is called: Seinfeld It Ain't
By WARREN ST. JOHN
Published: January 29, 2006
Check it out here.
So, after much research, I've decided that to get covered in the NYT the smart thing to do is DANCE. F comedy. Live dance gets covered every freakin' week. So let's see...
I'm taking off my shoes... I'm jumping up and down (to a mournful tune)...
Ah! The reporter is here! Gotta go!
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Book Party Review Last night I attended my pal Allison Castillo's book party at Caroline's to celebrate the release of her hilarious new book called, The Score : The Ultimate Quiz to Test Who He Is. And hilarious it is. In fact, when I write my review of it on Amazon it'll be so glowing you'll be blinded and I'll just seem like one of those fakers who write nice reviews because it's a friend's book and they begged you to do it -- but I assure you mine'll be entirely sincere.
There were passed O-durves such as sushi with three unidentifyable dipping sauces and mini-burgers with fries lovingly presented on a platter with orchids or something like. Most importantly there were free drinks, and we're not talking a gallon of Gallo and a cooler of Coors. No there was real alcohol including my favorite, Anyvodkathatdoesn'tcomeinaplasticbottle. I was tipping the bartender outrageously and I began to realize from his nervous looks that he thought I had the hots for him and was about to act on this. No dude, the passion you sensed was real, but it was for your rock hard... bottles of Stoli.
The best part (besides the free grub and alch, besides seeing many wonderful friends ((some of whom I hadn't seen in eons plus a dog's age)) and meeting Allison's awesome family) was that halfway through our giddy swilling and mingling, Allison went to the mic and proceeded to give a touching speech:
"OK you cheap comedian bastards. Buy the book. Buy the fucking book. Buy the fucking book. Walk over there, visit the nice Border's people and buy the fucking book. So what I'm saying is, buy the fucking book."
Without seeing how adorable the pint-sized Allison is, or knowing her delivery, it loses something. But it was, like everything she does, hilarious.
And of course, I bought the fucking book. You should too.
Just another one of those late night I'm-gonna-be-on-Monk-Friday-night emails
From our dear departed-from-NYC Sully comes news of his impending TV stardom. I think the last time I saw Sully on TV he was playing a manly Richard Simmons surrounded by babes on Conan. But as Paul is currently producing for PBS in the San Fran area, doing comedy at night, trying to work some magic for that movie I did that he directed, and mainly, sending out 5,000 baby photo emails daily, how did he fit this in? Simple; he's a dynamo. If you don't believe me, see below...
From: Paul Francis Sullivan
Date: January 26th 2006, 2:20AM
Subject: I'm on MONK this Friday (1/27)
Alright Susie
If you have TiVo or still program your VCR or can sit in front of the TV as it broadcasts (how quaint!) watch Monk on USA Network at 10 PM (East and Pacific) I will appear as a security guard and I have 5 lines.
The show's trailer is on the site...
http://www.usanetwork.com/series/monk/
If you look quickly, you see my hand and shoulder for a split second on the trailer. (A security guard in a powder blue shirt pointing in the background.)
Check it out, and hopefully enjoy the show beyond my quick appearance.
From our dear departed-from-NYC Sully comes news of his impending TV stardom. I think the last time I saw Sully on TV he was playing a manly Richard Simmons surrounded by babes on Conan. But as Paul is currently producing for PBS in the San Fran area, doing comedy at night, trying to work some magic for that movie I did that he directed, and mainly, sending out 5,000 baby photo emails daily, how did he fit this in? Simple; he's a dynamo. If you don't believe me, see below...
From: Paul Francis Sullivan
Date: January 26th 2006, 2:20AM
Subject: I'm on MONK this Friday (1/27)
Alright Susie
If you have TiVo or still program your VCR or can sit in front of the TV as it broadcasts (how quaint!) watch Monk on USA Network at 10 PM (East and Pacific) I will appear as a security guard and I have 5 lines.
The show's trailer is on the site...
http://www.usanetwork.com
If you look quickly, you see my hand and shoulder for a split second on the trailer. (A security guard in a powder blue shirt pointing in the background.)
Check it out, and hopefully enjoy the show beyond my quick appearance.
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Something happening there, what it is aint exactly clear.
Dooce, the wonderfully well-written (though sometimes slightly creepy Truman Show-esque) sassy mommy blog (that launched a thousand crappy mommy blogs, and makes the other well-written mommy blogs jealous) is hinting there's some big news TK.
Here's my prediction: I think Heather's news is going to be huge. Probably the blogger-as-minor-celeb jump the shark moment. She'll be the subject of a Lifetime Original Movie, her blog will have offical sponsors (drawn by the tidal force of a big media ad sales team) and something else... the inevitable blogger book deal, yes, but also a column in Oprah magazine? A commercial for Volvo or the Nikkon D line or...?
Of course my Lifetime prediction is really only based on the fact that I've been telling people forever that if I worked at any women's network (I have in my past worked for both Lifetime and Oxygen, but had no give-money-to-people/make-decisions powers), I'd snap that woman up so fast the doll heads on Leta's toys would spin.
I've been saying it for years, actually. I've attempted to get companies I've worked for to advertise on her site. And when they didn't? Partly crazed, I placed my own ad on her site. It was a tax-deductible 76 bucks well spent. Her readership is loyal, they clicked. They clicked because my ad was quirky and sincere. But many many clicked just because they wanted to support this stranger who makes them cry everytime she posts a monthly baby update. Heck, I'm not into babies, but she got me a few times.
So why is this happening to her now and not then? My guess is the catalyst was the recent Glamour magazine article and spread. I didn't read it, but a whole lotta women across the country bought that magazine for the first time in a decade -- and I know that because they blogged about it.
So one person with power, who almost certainly never heard of Dooce (nor cried over her fabulously sappy posts) said, "Wow. I want THAT."
And THAT to them is a hot woman* who has a coveted demo lock, stock, and two smoking Elmos.
I wish her the best. I wish I had the power to have helped her (and cashed in on her) years ago. I can't wait to see if I've come close to being right. The only thing I hope it's not is a reality show. I can see an exec thinking, "Wow, she shares her everyday life and women go NUTS! So let's stick a camera in there and give them even more!" Her writing about her life is crafted, the actuality of her life is, like most lives, sorta dull.
But mainly, I hope she's able to keep her voice and to sell out gracefully. I mean, will she still be an advocate for how unfairly expensive health insurance is for regular Americans once she's got her own at-home CAT scan? I'm being absurd, but you get my drift.
*I think her looks are a big part of her success, and I don't mean that she's not entirely talented. I remember reading my first dooce post and enjoying it, whatever it was. But I clearly remember that afterwards I clicked on her profile and thought, "Whoa she's hot." And Thor forgive me, I'm a heterosexual, feminist, accept-your-bod type woman, but Heather's good looks (read: blonde streaks and cheekbones from her lack of a weight problem) is totally, absolutely the thing that made me come back to read more.
Dooce, the wonderfully well-written (though sometimes slightly creepy Truman Show-esque) sassy mommy blog (that launched a thousand crappy mommy blogs, and makes the other well-written mommy blogs jealous) is hinting there's some big news TK.
Here's my prediction: I think Heather's news is going to be huge. Probably the blogger-as-minor-celeb jump the shark moment. She'll be the subject of a Lifetime Original Movie, her blog will have offical sponsors (drawn by the tidal force of a big media ad sales team) and something else... the inevitable blogger book deal, yes, but also a column in Oprah magazine? A commercial for Volvo or the Nikkon D line or...?
Of course my Lifetime prediction is really only based on the fact that I've been telling people forever that if I worked at any women's network (I have in my past worked for both Lifetime and Oxygen, but had no give-money-to-people/make-decisions powers), I'd snap that woman up so fast the doll heads on Leta's toys would spin.
I've been saying it for years, actually. I've attempted to get companies I've worked for to advertise on her site. And when they didn't? Partly crazed, I placed my own ad on her site. It was a tax-deductible 76 bucks well spent. Her readership is loyal, they clicked. They clicked because my ad was quirky and sincere. But many many clicked just because they wanted to support this stranger who makes them cry everytime she posts a monthly baby update. Heck, I'm not into babies, but she got me a few times.
So why is this happening to her now and not then? My guess is the catalyst was the recent Glamour magazine article and spread. I didn't read it, but a whole lotta women across the country bought that magazine for the first time in a decade -- and I know that because they blogged about it.
So one person with power, who almost certainly never heard of Dooce (nor cried over her fabulously sappy posts) said, "Wow. I want THAT."
And THAT to them is a hot woman* who has a coveted demo lock, stock, and two smoking Elmos.
I wish her the best. I wish I had the power to have helped her (and cashed in on her) years ago. I can't wait to see if I've come close to being right. The only thing I hope it's not is a reality show. I can see an exec thinking, "Wow, she shares her everyday life and women go NUTS! So let's stick a camera in there and give them even more!" Her writing about her life is crafted, the actuality of her life is, like most lives, sorta dull.
But mainly, I hope she's able to keep her voice and to sell out gracefully. I mean, will she still be an advocate for how unfairly expensive health insurance is for regular Americans once she's got her own at-home CAT scan? I'm being absurd, but you get my drift.
*I think her looks are a big part of her success, and I don't mean that she's not entirely talented. I remember reading my first dooce post and enjoying it, whatever it was. But I clearly remember that afterwards I clicked on her profile and thought, "Whoa she's hot." And Thor forgive me, I'm a heterosexual, feminist, accept-your-bod type woman, but Heather's good looks (read: blonde streaks and cheekbones from her lack of a weight problem) is totally, absolutely the thing that made me come back to read more.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Felber's Frolics -- now with Advertising!
Last night I was invited into the esteemed Blogads network. Today marks the first day that Felber's Frolics is accepting ads.
Regular readers should know that advertiser dollars will not compromise the quality they have come to expect. I promise you that the tens of tens of dollars flowing in each year will not bias my laser-like coverage of the things I cover with my laser-like eye.
Mallowmars, mallowmars, eat 'em up -- YUM!
Some will say, "Susie, just because advertising on this blog will make one's penis longer and girth-ier is not enough. How do we know that your hilarious insightful content will not only remain hip, but that the advertising will also correctly, lovingly, and skillfully touch all the hot, insider showbiz types with large ta tas who regularly read your blog?"
Typical hot insider showbiz-type Frolics reader
Photo cred: Nichelle
Person who thought it was hilarious to add his finger to the photo: Basic cable's bad boy Liam McEneaney
To those some I say, never fear. I am an artist. I can't be bought. I will never actually endorse something an advertiser lists. No way. And paid placements won't interrupt the fl -
For the barking best deals, come on down to Joey's Puppy Mill!
ow of my writing.
The only thing the ads will do, is ensure I can afford to keep bringing you the finest content. So if you're one of the savvy advertisers who wants to reap the benefits of advertising on the hip-hopping-est blog in all the land, just look to the sidebar and click for rates.
But act now -- primo spaces are going fast!
"Don't be stupid, be a smarty, come and join the Nazi party!"
Last night I was invited into the esteemed Blogads network. Today marks the first day that Felber's Frolics is accepting ads.
Regular readers should know that advertiser dollars will not compromise the quality they have come to expect. I promise you that the tens of tens of dollars flowing in each year will not bias my laser-like coverage of the things I cover with my laser-like eye.
Mallowmars, mallowmars, eat 'em up -- YUM!
Some will say, "Susie, just because advertising on this blog will make one's penis longer and girth-ier is not enough. How do we know that your hilarious insightful content will not only remain hip, but that the advertising will also correctly, lovingly, and skillfully touch all the hot, insider showbiz types with large ta tas who regularly read your blog?"
Typical hot insider showbiz-type Frolics reader
Photo cred: Nichelle
Person who thought it was hilarious to add his finger to the photo: Basic cable's bad boy Liam McEneaney
To those some I say, never fear. I am an artist. I can't be bought. I will never actually endorse something an advertiser lists. No way. And paid placements won't interrupt the fl -
For the barking best deals, come on down to Joey's Puppy Mill!
ow of my writing.
The only thing the ads will do, is ensure I can afford to keep bringing you the finest content. So if you're one of the savvy advertisers who wants to reap the benefits of advertising on the hip-hopping-est blog in all the land, just look to the sidebar and click for rates.
But act now -- primo spaces are going fast!
"Don't be stupid, be a smarty, come and join the Nazi party!"
Monday, January 23, 2006
Felber's Billion Dollar Bully Blind Item
Schadenfreude is a German expression (from Schaden: damage, harm; and Freude: joy) meaning pleasure taken from someone else's misfortune or shameful joy.
wikipedia.org
Way back when you couldn't Google everyone and everything, I did a comic piece about my high school bully on a pal's comedy webzine. My brother Michael illustrated it and my talented pal Bob crafted it with neat features. It included an artists rendering of the time the bully threw a red slushie on me in the cafeteria. It was very pretty; it was very silly.
Years passed and the technology to find anyone and anything improved. But I had long since forgotten about this feature floating in cyberspace. Then a few people from high school found it, emailed me and said it was hilarious. See, he wasn't just my bully. This Long Island kid had been like an 80's teen movie villain come to life: a rich kid who was actively cruel to the poor, the freaky, the ugly. I knew he had tormented and upset other people a whole lot more than he ever bothered me. Because in Jr. High and High School I was a nerd, a drama freak, a marching band geek, a newspaper loser, a hippy chick -- but I was, comparatively, very secure in these roles. Good parenting? Naturally thick skin? I don't know, but the dude only made me cry once, which considering the effect he had on others, is impressive.
More time passed. A letter was left on my mother's doorstep from a private investigator in Queens who wanted to talk to me. He had also been calling for me. I, understandably, freaked out. The P.I. didn't say what his contact was about and the name of his firm was "Whitehall."
My mind ran wild. The name made me wonder if it was about my British man -- did he have a secret life? Or maybe it was about my high school friend whose father had been accused by the FBI of trying to sell nuclear materials to the highest bidder?* Or was, Thor forbid, someone I knew involved in a murder mystery?
None of the above; it was about the bully webzine piece. And I learned from talking to the P.I. that in the time since high school, my high school bully had apparently become one of Manhattan's biggest real estate moguls. A quick search revealed an article that showed he had recently raffled off large-ticket items, including an airplane, to attract tenants.
There's more to it, but it's for another time and place. In short, I quickly agreed to have the piece taken down as I didn't want to cause problems for my friend who owned the site, my mother had become scared by the P.I.'s harrassment and because I truly didn't hate the guy all these years later.
And yet, did the fact that he was a hot shot who controlled billions bother me? Nah, I never bought into the stuff about the meek inheriting the earth. But did I secretly hope that his wife left him for a gardener with a hunchback? Or that he'd lose all his money in some mega scandal of baroque proportions? You bet.
More years passed. I forgot all about him, only reminded when I happened to come across fawning articles that hailed him as the next Trump.
But today, in the shower I was thinking about the absurdity of the P.I. who came to my mother's home all those years ago, and for the first time ever it occurred to me that the P.I. had done that not to intimidate me, but because as I was in a sublet, he couldn't find an address with my name attached to it. I decided to Google the P.I. from Queens (couldn't find anything) and then, for the heck of it, the Billion Dollar Bully.
And so, when I discovered via a recent article that the Billion Dollar Bully was: no longer controlling billions, being sued for millions by members of his own family, being investigated by the DA for possible shady dealings, and that he had represented himself in court in one recent lawsuit because he, inhis own words, couldn't afford a lawyer...
What can I say?
Deus ex machina?
Maybe there is something to this meek-inheriting-the-earth jazz?
I don't know, but no, I'm not mentioning his name, or linking to the article. I learned after the incident that although I like my revenge like I like my borscht, and although the guy deserved even more than my silly Internet swipe, I have matured. It's not only bad karma, it's just not right to do the eye for an eye thang. Plus now, the dude's got enough problems and I truly find it in my heart to feel sorry for him.
Have I, via Google, finally found religion?
Nope, but I am a tad closer, that's for sure.
*True dat, and no, I'm not going into it.
Schadenfreude is a German expression (from Schaden: damage, harm; and Freude: joy) meaning pleasure taken from someone else's misfortune or shameful joy.
wikipedia.org
Way back when you couldn't Google everyone and everything, I did a comic piece about my high school bully on a pal's comedy webzine. My brother Michael illustrated it and my talented pal Bob crafted it with neat features. It included an artists rendering of the time the bully threw a red slushie on me in the cafeteria. It was very pretty; it was very silly.
Years passed and the technology to find anyone and anything improved. But I had long since forgotten about this feature floating in cyberspace. Then a few people from high school found it, emailed me and said it was hilarious. See, he wasn't just my bully. This Long Island kid had been like an 80's teen movie villain come to life: a rich kid who was actively cruel to the poor, the freaky, the ugly. I knew he had tormented and upset other people a whole lot more than he ever bothered me. Because in Jr. High and High School I was a nerd, a drama freak, a marching band geek, a newspaper loser, a hippy chick -- but I was, comparatively, very secure in these roles. Good parenting? Naturally thick skin? I don't know, but the dude only made me cry once, which considering the effect he had on others, is impressive.
More time passed. A letter was left on my mother's doorstep from a private investigator in Queens who wanted to talk to me. He had also been calling for me. I, understandably, freaked out. The P.I. didn't say what his contact was about and the name of his firm was "Whitehall."
My mind ran wild. The name made me wonder if it was about my British man -- did he have a secret life? Or maybe it was about my high school friend whose father had been accused by the FBI of trying to sell nuclear materials to the highest bidder?* Or was, Thor forbid, someone I knew involved in a murder mystery?
None of the above; it was about the bully webzine piece. And I learned from talking to the P.I. that in the time since high school, my high school bully had apparently become one of Manhattan's biggest real estate moguls. A quick search revealed an article that showed he had recently raffled off large-ticket items, including an airplane, to attract tenants.
There's more to it, but it's for another time and place. In short, I quickly agreed to have the piece taken down as I didn't want to cause problems for my friend who owned the site, my mother had become scared by the P.I.'s harrassment and because I truly didn't hate the guy all these years later.
And yet, did the fact that he was a hot shot who controlled billions bother me? Nah, I never bought into the stuff about the meek inheriting the earth. But did I secretly hope that his wife left him for a gardener with a hunchback? Or that he'd lose all his money in some mega scandal of baroque proportions? You bet.
More years passed. I forgot all about him, only reminded when I happened to come across fawning articles that hailed him as the next Trump.
But today, in the shower I was thinking about the absurdity of the P.I. who came to my mother's home all those years ago, and for the first time ever it occurred to me that the P.I. had done that not to intimidate me, but because as I was in a sublet, he couldn't find an address with my name attached to it. I decided to Google the P.I. from Queens (couldn't find anything) and then, for the heck of it, the Billion Dollar Bully.
And so, when I discovered via a recent article that the Billion Dollar Bully was: no longer controlling billions, being sued for millions by members of his own family, being investigated by the DA for possible shady dealings, and that he had represented himself in court in one recent lawsuit because he, inhis own words, couldn't afford a lawyer...
What can I say?
Deus ex machina?
Maybe there is something to this meek-inheriting-the-earth jazz?
I don't know, but no, I'm not mentioning his name, or linking to the article. I learned after the incident that although I like my revenge like I like my borscht, and although the guy deserved even more than my silly Internet swipe, I have matured. It's not only bad karma, it's just not right to do the eye for an eye thang. Plus now, the dude's got enough problems and I truly find it in my heart to feel sorry for him.
Have I, via Google, finally found religion?
Nope, but I am a tad closer, that's for sure.
*True dat, and no, I'm not going into it.
Friday, January 20, 2006
LTO Link
Warren Miller fan? Well you better read my man's latest snowcentric article before it goes behind the FT subscription veil.
All stoked up for a season on the slopes
By Ed Holland
Published: January 21 2006
Hot, burning hot exclusive insider info: The above is running in England in a ski section and will also be running here, but in shorter form! WOW!
And you thought the Internet was only for accessing celebrity sex tapes...
Warren Miller fan? Well you better read my man's latest snowcentric article before it goes behind the FT subscription veil.
All stoked up for a season on the slopes
By Ed Holland
Published: January 21 2006
Hot, burning hot exclusive insider info: The above is running in England in a ski section and will also be running here, but in shorter form! WOW!
And you thought the Internet was only for accessing celebrity sex tapes...
Has your mom ever responded to a Gawker post that referenced her doing an erotic reading by posting on her own blog?
Mine has.
Mine has.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
Mom reading TONIGHT at Happy Ending Lounge
Ooooh... lookie dat cool lounge!
My mom is reading tonight at an "erotic reading series" produced by my pal RKB. Mom's totally worried her stuff isn't explicit enough to be included. Or that erotic authors might turn their noses up at romance. I've told her it's OK, they know and respect what romance is. Heck, quite a few of mom's romance writer friends have written erotic schtuff. I'm having dinner with her beforehand to calm her nerves, that is if I can leave work early enough to also get home and walk my dog and get down to Chinatown and find a place for her to park and find a place to eat near there and get it all done before 8PM. OK, so having time for dinner is probably a pipedream... but come on by and hear talented authors relay their own, aherm, pipedreams. It's a lovely lounge and I encourage y'all to come. It should be a hoot and a half.
IN THE FLESH EROTIC READING SERIES
TONIGHT, WEDNESDAY JANUARY 18th
8 PM
AT HAPPY ENDING LOUNGE
302 BROOME STREET (B/D to Grand, J/M/Z to Bowery, F to Delancey)www.happyendinglounge.com
Admission: Free!
Stay warm this winter with the hottest and juiciest words in the city! January welcomes a stunning mix of performers, including romance novelist Edith Layton (Gypsy Lover), fiction writer Danyel Smith (Bliss), and erotic storytellers Iris N. Schwartz (Stirring Up a Storm) and Rob Stephenson (Best Gay Erotica), along with a naughty tale from host Rachel Kramer Bussel. Also: free candy and erotic book door prizes!In the Flesh is a new monthly reading series held the third Wednesday of every month at the appropriately named Happy Ending Lounge, and features the city's best erotic writers sharing stories to get you hot and bothered, hosted and curated by Village Voice sex columnist and acclaimed erotic writer and editor Rachel Kramer Bussel. From erotic poetry to the down and dirty, these authors get naked on the page and will make you lust after them and their words.
Rachel Kramer Bussel is a New York City-based author and editor. She is Senior Editor at Penthouse Variations and a Contributing Editor and columnist for Penthouse and writes the Lusty Lady column for The Village Voice. Her erotic stories have appeared in over 50 anthologies, including Best American Erotica 2004 and 2006, and she’s edited her own collections, including Naughty Spanking Stories from A to Z 1 and 2. Rachel has also written for AVN, Bust, Mediabistro.com, Metro, New York Post, Punk Planet, Time Out New York and Velvetpark.
Edith Layton is the author of over 30 novels, including Alas, My Love, The Return of the Earl, To Tempt a Bride, The Devil’s Bargain, and her latest, Gypsy Lover. She has received she received a Lifetime Achievement Award from Romantic Times, and excellent reviews, awards and commendations from Library Journal, Romance Readers Anonymous and The Romance Writers of America.
Iris N. Schwartz is a fiction writer, poet, and editor whose story, "Hedonics," is included in the anthology Stirring Up A Storm: Tales of the Sensual, the Sexual, and the Erotic. Her novella, The Fruits of Her Labors, is in That’s Amore! Her erotic fiction has also been anthologized in The Big Book of Hot Women’s Erotica 2004, Down and Dirty 2003, and elsewhere. She’s had poetry anthologized in An Eye For an Eye Makes the Whole World Blind: Poets on 9/11, and in the U.K.-based Listening to the Birth of Crystals. In addition, her writing has appeared in on-line and print publications such as Ducts Magazine, Erbacce, Ludlow Press, Pikeville Review, and Vernacular. Iris is Articles Editor for the Web site Littleviews.com. She has performed her work at many venues, including Bowery Poetry Club, Collective Unconscious, KGB Bar, and The Knitting Factory, as well as on WBAI, WBAR, WNYE, and WSTR radio stations, on-line, interactive TV, and cable TV.
Danyel Smith is a former ed-at-large for Time Inc. and a former ed-in-chief of Vibe. She writes around for Elle, Cosmo, Essence, wrote once (!) for the New Yorker, will show up in Rolling Stone sometimes, still reps in spirit for the San Francisco Bay Guardian, and wrote concert/album reviews for the New York Times back in the day. Smith is the author of the San Francisco Chronicle-bestselling novel, More Like Wrestling, and she wrote the introduction for the New York Times-bestseller Tupac Shakur. Her second novel, Bliss, was published in July 2005.Rob Stephenson's writing appears over fifty publications Rob Stephenson's writing appears in over 50 publications online and in print including: Skin and Ink, Between the Palms, Blithe House Quarterly, BUTT, Dangerous Families, Problem Child, Best Gay Erotica, Best Bisexual Erotica, Tough Guys, and Perspectives on Evil and Human Wickedness. He is co-founder of the Erotic Authors Association.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
How to Blackmail your Brother PART II
Some have informed me that blackmail is wrong.
I agree. There's got to be a better way to make a buck. For, after weeks of threats to post a compromising pic of my brother, I haven't seen a dime. It could be because he doesn't currently have the funds. I mean, I wasn't asking for a large private island, just a nice subtle one. And a jet to get to it, of course. But I got squat. So really, I should just drop it. Forget this crazy scheme. Toss that photo of him wearing a Star Trek outfit in a non-Halloween setting in the dumper.
Yeah but then how would the whole blackmail community feel? They'd feel betrayed. Let down. My idle threat would weaken the whole blackmail platform. Then, when the next blackmailer on the scene taped together her note with cut out newspaper, she'd feel a touch less secure in her endeavor.
And so, I present...
ADAM FELBER WEARING A TREK OUTFIT IN A NON-HALLOWEEN SETTING:
On the right, Adam dresses up for a formal family event as Captain Kirk. It may have been Yom Kippur. Seriously. Click on the photo for a larger version.
But wait. All is not lost. I have an idea... Buy my brother's upcoming novel by clicking on this link here.
My brother's upcoming novel
If y'all buy the book from that link he will earn him quite a few pennies through Amazon's associates thingy. THEN, when someone invents a time machine (or Superman flies around the earth to reverse its rotation), I will go back in time and blackmail him again but this time with the info that I know he has the money in the future. Moo ha ha ha! MOO HA HA HA!
Thank you for your help in my blatant attempt for publicity/sales for Adam... er, I mean, thanks for helping in this totally evil business.
PS On the left, yes, I am hanging out with Adam wearing my skating outfit AND my ice skates in a carpeted suburban living room. Some have pointed out that this might be more embarrassing then wearing a Kirk outfit on a major holiday that isn't Halloween. So, I am thinking of blackmailing myself. Details TK.
UPDATE: Holy Crows! According to Lulu titlescorer which I found via Gawker (which they found via the NYT):
The title Schrodinger's Ball has a 72.5% chance of being a bestselling title!*
Which means my future time-travelling blackmail attempts will have a 35% greater chance of being successful!** YE HAW!
*That is, if I got the whole Mad Libsy proper noun, abstract adjective thing right.
**According to timetravellingblackmailerscorer.com
Some have informed me that blackmail is wrong.
I agree. There's got to be a better way to make a buck. For, after weeks of threats to post a compromising pic of my brother, I haven't seen a dime. It could be because he doesn't currently have the funds. I mean, I wasn't asking for a large private island, just a nice subtle one. And a jet to get to it, of course. But I got squat. So really, I should just drop it. Forget this crazy scheme. Toss that photo of him wearing a Star Trek outfit in a non-Halloween setting in the dumper.
Yeah but then how would the whole blackmail community feel? They'd feel betrayed. Let down. My idle threat would weaken the whole blackmail platform. Then, when the next blackmailer on the scene taped together her note with cut out newspaper, she'd feel a touch less secure in her endeavor.
And so, I present...
ADAM FELBER WEARING A TREK OUTFIT IN A NON-HALLOWEEN SETTING:
On the right, Adam dresses up for a formal family event as Captain Kirk. It may have been Yom Kippur. Seriously. Click on the photo for a larger version.
But wait. All is not lost. I have an idea... Buy my brother's upcoming novel by clicking on this link here.
My brother's upcoming novel
If y'all buy the book from that link he will earn him quite a few pennies through Amazon's associates thingy. THEN, when someone invents a time machine (or Superman flies around the earth to reverse its rotation), I will go back in time and blackmail him again but this time with the info that I know he has the money in the future. Moo ha ha ha! MOO HA HA HA!
Thank you for your help in my blatant attempt for publicity/sales for Adam... er, I mean, thanks for helping in this totally evil business.
PS On the left, yes, I am hanging out with Adam wearing my skating outfit AND my ice skates in a carpeted suburban living room. Some have pointed out that this might be more embarrassing then wearing a Kirk outfit on a major holiday that isn't Halloween. So, I am thinking of blackmailing myself. Details TK.
UPDATE: Holy Crows! According to Lulu titlescorer which I found via Gawker (which they found via the NYT):
The title Schrodinger's Ball has a 72.5% chance of being a bestselling title!*
Which means my future time-travelling blackmail attempts will have a 35% greater chance of being successful!** YE HAW!
*That is, if I got the whole Mad Libsy proper noun, abstract adjective thing right.
**According to timetravellingblackmailerscorer.com
Friday, January 13, 2006
New New Jersey slogan
Yesterday a tipster sent me this item from Bloomberg news:
"New Jersey: Come See forYourself'' is the new state slogan.
Today the New York Times wrote about it.
Here then, are my Top Ten Rejected New Jersey Slogans.
New Jersey: Enough with the Smell Jokes Already
New Jersey: If it weren’t for Ikea and Newark Airport, We Wouldn’t be here Either.
New Jersey: At Least You Can Smoke Here! Oh, Wait, Scratch That.
New Jersey: Homo Governors Need Not Apply
New Jersey: A Nice Place to Visit. A Great Place to Mock.
New Jersey: Yo, What’s a B&T Anyways?
New Jersey: Slightly Less Rude than Long Island
New Jersey: Yo Mamma’s a Ho-Ho-Kus
New Jersey: Come Feel Superior
New Jersey: The State that Looks like a Flabby Prawn in a Hat
Note to readers: Promised Star Trek blackmail photo post delayed due to possible legal ramifications... OK truth is I forgot to email it to myself. Coming soon!
Yesterday a tipster sent me this item from Bloomberg news:
"New Jersey: Come See forYourself'' is the new state slogan.
Today the New York Times wrote about it.
Here then, are my Top Ten Rejected New Jersey Slogans.
New Jersey: Enough with the Smell Jokes Already
New Jersey: If it weren’t for Ikea and Newark Airport, We Wouldn’t be here Either.
New Jersey: At Least You Can Smoke Here! Oh, Wait, Scratch That.
New Jersey: Homo Governors Need Not Apply
New Jersey: A Nice Place to Visit. A Great Place to Mock.
New Jersey: Yo, What’s a B&T Anyways?
New Jersey: Slightly Less Rude than Long Island
New Jersey: Yo Mamma’s a Ho-Ho-Kus
New Jersey: Come Feel Superior
New Jersey: The State that Looks like a Flabby Prawn in a Hat
Note to readers: Promised Star Trek blackmail photo post delayed due to possible legal ramifications... OK truth is I forgot to email it to myself. Coming soon!
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
SCOOP!
My brother's first novel is now up on Amazon.
Lookie dat, a novel by my bro...
Yes, I scooped the author on this.
Feel the burn Adam!
Private PS to Adam: As I have not received any cash (or even the offer of a half bag of Razzles, America's favorite candy that turns into gum) from you re: my recent blackmail attempt, I am afraid your time is up. I am going to post that picture of you wearing the Star Trek uniform (in a non-Halloween environment). Moo. Ha. Ha. And furthermore; Ha.
Is it too late? Is there anything Adam can do to avoid the public humiliation? Will Felber's Kirkgate make The Smoking Gun's James Frey scandale look like small (yukon gold fingerling) potatoes? Find out tomorrow...
My brother's first novel is now up on Amazon.
Lookie dat, a novel by my bro...
Yes, I scooped the author on this.
Feel the burn Adam!
Private PS to Adam: As I have not received any cash (or even the offer of a half bag of Razzles, America's favorite candy that turns into gum) from you re: my recent blackmail attempt, I am afraid your time is up. I am going to post that picture of you wearing the Star Trek uniform (in a non-Halloween environment). Moo. Ha. Ha. And furthermore; Ha.
Is it too late? Is there anything Adam can do to avoid the public humiliation? Will Felber's Kirkgate make The Smoking Gun's James Frey scandale look like small (yukon gold fingerling) potatoes? Find out tomorrow...
Monday, January 09, 2006
Presenting:
Susie's Snippits of Pop Songs that should exist but Don't
Giving you snippits of pop songs that don't exist since 2006
Today: two pop songs that don't exist.
Gated Communities (freak me out)
Gated communities freak me out.
But not in a good way, not in a good way.
Baby, tell me
Baby tell me…
How do you pronounce papillomavirus?
It’s not that I got it –
I just gotta know.
Please don’t go.
It’s been driving me crazy. I thought it was Human Pamplona Virus but seems that’s a city in Spain, not sores on your privates that cause pain.
It’s not that I got it –
I just gotta know.
Baby please don’t go!
Susie's Snippits of Pop Songs that should exist but Don't
Giving you snippits of pop songs that don't exist since 2006
Today: two pop songs that don't exist.
Gated Communities (freak me out)
Gated communities freak me out.
But not in a good way, not in a good way.
Baby, tell me
Baby tell me…
How do you pronounce papillomavirus?
It’s not that I got it –
I just gotta know.
Please don’t go.
It’s been driving me crazy. I thought it was Human Pamplona Virus but seems that’s a city in Spain, not sores on your privates that cause pain.
It’s not that I got it –
I just gotta know.
Baby please don’t go!
Friday, January 06, 2006
Thank You Jen
For making my Friday post so easy.
Go see: hot blogger-on-blogger niche blog action
Got to run. I'm currently in the midst of developing my skijoring while wearing a Jen Dzuira tee blog. The logo is quite important on this Felber Media property and I want to get it right. Advertisers please contact:
susie [AT] skijoringwhichisskiingwithyourdogattachedtoyouwhile
wearingacertainchickstee[DOT]com
Private to Jen: There will be no abatin'!
For making my Friday post so easy.
Go see: hot blogger-on-blogger niche blog action
Got to run. I'm currently in the midst of developing my skijoring while wearing a Jen Dzuira tee blog. The logo is quite important on this Felber Media property and I want to get it right. Advertisers please contact:
susie [AT] skijoringwhichisskiingwithyourdogattachedtoyouwhile
wearingacertainchickstee[DOT]com
Private to Jen: There will be no abatin'!
Thursday, January 05, 2006
GONE SKIJORING!
I love skiing. I love my dog. Until now, Stan had to stay home when I hit the slopes.
But no more...
Check out the Fashion & Style section of today's New York Times:
Fitness
Clip on Skis, Hitch Rover, and Go
By STEPHEN REGENOLD
Published: January 5, 2006
And away we go! Mush mush!
Many thanks to Ed for the tippage
I love skiing. I love my dog. Until now, Stan had to stay home when I hit the slopes.
But no more...
Check out the Fashion & Style section of today's New York Times:
Fitness
Clip on Skis, Hitch Rover, and Go
By STEPHEN REGENOLD
Published: January 5, 2006
And away we go! Mush mush!
Many thanks to Ed for the tippage
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
Leaving Las New York -- UPDATED see below for details
The rodents of Perry Street have finally broken my will...
It's true. It's a long story. It involves mouse poop in my Anolon.
And for Pete's sake, it's not like I'm going very far.
But after a decade in Manhattan, most of it in the West Village (where men aren't men, the woman have Oscars and the whole place is up to your tits in pricey boutiques, cupcakes and rodentia), I am moving to the romance capitol of the world. I am talking of course about the untamed shores of WEEHAWKEN!
I'm very excited. The place is huge -- after living in a shoebox with exposed brick, I'm a size queen -- and beautiful. And I could tell you about the water and skyline views and the park right there and the Victorian home and the no alternate side parking nonsense and the fact that we'll be closer to Manhattan than many of you Brooklyners. But then you'd think I was trying to convince you. And either you'd think, "pish posh, she doth attest too much about this Weehawken!" Or you'd want to move there, and this Jersey jewel -- Weehawken! -- would suddenly be overrun with others just like me, which I would hate.
The best part? The blank stares I get from British people when I say Weehawken.
Yo -- I'm all about THE HAWK!
One more note: although I've never lived a day of my life in Jersey, if one more person responds to my upcoming move by saying, "but you don't seem like a Jersey girl" -- I'll punch their lights out. And then maybe I will seem like a Jersey girl...
Stay tuned for details about my "farewell Hilary Swank" party.
In conclusion, I'm totally convinced that this move only cements my place as the coolest person in the world and that the streets of Weehawken are paved with gold. Wheeeeee hawk it to me!
UPDATE: Last night I saw good friends who, upon hearing the news that I was moving from the West Village to Weehawken acted like I had just said, "it's malignant", "Hitler was right", AND "Ashlee Simpson is underrated."
One friend said, before tucking into his spicy beef noodles, something funny and zingy but I can't remember exactly what it was because I've given up drinking and smoking and eating things like spicy beef over thick delicious rice noodles and my brian is not working right without the chemicals. See, I just wrote "my brian" instead of my brain. There's your proof I am not completely with it. Thank Thor I don't have a job that relies on writing for a living. Oh, wait a sec...
I even talked to another good friend on the phone whose voice betrayed the same sentiments. Tonight we're getting together before he flounces off to a party. Can he plan an intervention in less than 24 hours? Only time will tell...
But seriously, the only person who has taken the news of my moving (less than 5 miles away) to Jersey sans shock and congratulated me with sincerity and without a hint of pity was the lovely and talented RKB. Not only is she open to various sexualities, she goes the extra (less than 5) miles and proves she is open to a smorgasbord of localities. An enlightened being if I ever knew one.
On a related note, an old college bud got back in touch with me. He's living in NZ, he's composing music and, um, it looks like he has actually reached enlightenment. Forget Weehawken and my hot new pad. You win dude!
The rodents of Perry Street have finally broken my will...
It's true. It's a long story. It involves mouse poop in my Anolon.
And for Pete's sake, it's not like I'm going very far.
But after a decade in Manhattan, most of it in the West Village (where men aren't men, the woman have Oscars and the whole place is up to your tits in pricey boutiques, cupcakes and rodentia), I am moving to the romance capitol of the world. I am talking of course about the untamed shores of WEEHAWKEN!
I'm very excited. The place is huge -- after living in a shoebox with exposed brick, I'm a size queen -- and beautiful. And I could tell you about the water and skyline views and the park right there and the Victorian home and the no alternate side parking nonsense and the fact that we'll be closer to Manhattan than many of you Brooklyners. But then you'd think I was trying to convince you. And either you'd think, "pish posh, she doth attest too much about this Weehawken!" Or you'd want to move there, and this Jersey jewel -- Weehawken! -- would suddenly be overrun with others just like me, which I would hate.
The best part? The blank stares I get from British people when I say Weehawken.
Yo -- I'm all about THE HAWK!
One more note: although I've never lived a day of my life in Jersey, if one more person responds to my upcoming move by saying, "but you don't seem like a Jersey girl" -- I'll punch their lights out. And then maybe I will seem like a Jersey girl...
Stay tuned for details about my "farewell Hilary Swank" party.
In conclusion, I'm totally convinced that this move only cements my place as the coolest person in the world and that the streets of Weehawken are paved with gold. Wheeeeee hawk it to me!
UPDATE: Last night I saw good friends who, upon hearing the news that I was moving from the West Village to Weehawken acted like I had just said, "it's malignant", "Hitler was right", AND "Ashlee Simpson is underrated."
One friend said, before tucking into his spicy beef noodles, something funny and zingy but I can't remember exactly what it was because I've given up drinking and smoking and eating things like spicy beef over thick delicious rice noodles and my brian is not working right without the chemicals. See, I just wrote "my brian" instead of my brain. There's your proof I am not completely with it. Thank Thor I don't have a job that relies on writing for a living. Oh, wait a sec...
I even talked to another good friend on the phone whose voice betrayed the same sentiments. Tonight we're getting together before he flounces off to a party. Can he plan an intervention in less than 24 hours? Only time will tell...
But seriously, the only person who has taken the news of my moving (less than 5 miles away) to Jersey sans shock and congratulated me with sincerity and without a hint of pity was the lovely and talented RKB. Not only is she open to various sexualities, she goes the extra (less than 5) miles and proves she is open to a smorgasbord of localities. An enlightened being if I ever knew one.
On a related note, an old college bud got back in touch with me. He's living in NZ, he's composing music and, um, it looks like he has actually reached enlightenment. Forget Weehawken and my hot new pad. You win dude!
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
Leaving Las New York
The rodents of Perry Street have finally broken my will...
It's true. It's a long story. It involves mouse poop in my Anolon.
And for Pete's sake, it's not like I'm going very far.
But after a decade in Manhattan, most of it in the West Village (where men aren't men, the woman have Oscars and the whole place is up to your tits in pricey boutiques, cupcakes and rodentia), I am moving to the romance capitol of the world. I am talking of course about the untamed shores of WEEHAWKEN!
I'm very excited. The place is huge -- after living in a shoebox with exposed brick, I'm a size queen -- and it's beautiful. And I could tell you about the water and skyline views and the park right there and the Victorian home and the no alternate side parking nonsense and the fact that we'll be closer to Manhattan than many of you Brooklyners. But then you'd think I was trying to convince you. And either you'd think, "pish posh, she doth attest too much about this Weehawken!" Or you'd want to move there, and this Jersey jewel -- Weehawken! -- would suddenly be overrun with others just like me, which I would hate.
The best part? The blank stares I get from British people when I say Weehawken.
Yo -- I'm all about THE HAWK!
One more note: although I've never lived a day of my life in Jersey, if one more person responds to my upcoming move by saying, "but you don't seem like a Jersey girl" -- I'll punch their lights out. And then maybe I will seem like a Jersey girl...
Stay tuned for details about my "farewell Hilary Swank" party.
In conclusion, I'm totally convinced that this move only cements my place as the coolest person in the world and that the streets of Weehawken are paved with gold. Wheeeeee hawk it to me!
Update!: Reactions to the move are at the bottom of the entry here
The rodents of Perry Street have finally broken my will...
It's true. It's a long story. It involves mouse poop in my Anolon.
And for Pete's sake, it's not like I'm going very far.
But after a decade in Manhattan, most of it in the West Village (where men aren't men, the woman have Oscars and the whole place is up to your tits in pricey boutiques, cupcakes and rodentia), I am moving to the romance capitol of the world. I am talking of course about the untamed shores of WEEHAWKEN!
I'm very excited. The place is huge -- after living in a shoebox with exposed brick, I'm a size queen -- and it's beautiful. And I could tell you about the water and skyline views and the park right there and the Victorian home and the no alternate side parking nonsense and the fact that we'll be closer to Manhattan than many of you Brooklyners. But then you'd think I was trying to convince you. And either you'd think, "pish posh, she doth attest too much about this Weehawken!" Or you'd want to move there, and this Jersey jewel -- Weehawken! -- would suddenly be overrun with others just like me, which I would hate.
The best part? The blank stares I get from British people when I say Weehawken.
Yo -- I'm all about THE HAWK!
One more note: although I've never lived a day of my life in Jersey, if one more person responds to my upcoming move by saying, "but you don't seem like a Jersey girl" -- I'll punch their lights out. And then maybe I will seem like a Jersey girl...
Stay tuned for details about my "farewell Hilary Swank" party.
In conclusion, I'm totally convinced that this move only cements my place as the coolest person in the world and that the streets of Weehawken are paved with gold. Wheeeeee hawk it to me!
Update!: Reactions to the move are at the bottom of the entry here
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