Yep.

I posted here everyday in November for love and no money.

And every weekday here for love and money.

And what's more?

Every post I did was 1000% awesome.

I do hope you enjoyed it.

Don't forget to tip your waitresses on the way out.

Git Outta Here!

Today I'll be posting other sites you really should visit. Keep checking back for updates.

-- My co-worker and foodie friend Jessica (who I snapped tasting goodies) uncovers the dark side of the recent Manhattan chocolate show on her personal blog.

-- My friend Liam is touring around Europe doing comedy and staying in rat holes. He doesn't post enough from the road but we'll take what we can get.

-- Author, New Hampshire rep and cool lady Margaret is also travelling. She's over the pond and showing up Liam by sharing amazing tales and pics, sometimes of real rat holes.

-- Speaking of over the pond, my ex-pat old college comrade Lara, is cooking up a storm in the UK, making and sharing a new recipe every day. Just go, marvel and drool.

-- Buddy Steve is still sketching and sharing his days, and getting better all the time.

-- Gal pal Jen is back from three weeks overseas, entertaining the troops in the Middle East. Go back and follow her exotic adventures on her blog.

Oh no!

Oh yes...

I am random bichon-wearing-a-hat busy yet again.

Sorry!

Remember: I also post at least daily here under the cunning alias, "Susie."

Bichons in hats mean



...I am too busy to blog.

Sorry!

If you're not on Facebook...

You haven't see this expert "Superwall" Sarah did of me wearing what my friend Rosie called my insouciant little blue chapeau.

Other than the aforementioned and posted pic, you are not missing anything with this Facebook business, other than the opportunity to act like you're twelve again.  Which isn't wholly bad, IMHO.

Sunday

Day of rest:



Day of corn muffin making:



Day of me having to jog off the corn muffins:

Ho, ho, ho! I am hilarious! Also, semi-serious.

Gotta go run off the thanks I gave this week.

Later!

I watched Klute tonight.

In it Jane Fonda plays a call girl/aspiring actress.

My man tells me Jane won an Academy Award for her role(!). So back in those days you could get an Oscar just for having skeleton thin hands, famous Hollywood parents and no qualms about taking your top off to expose your tiny twosome?

We've come a long way baby!

Oh, wait... what's this then?



Ah yes.

Plus ca change, plus c'est la meme chose.

Bogged Down

Yesterday, I made cranberry sauce. I had no idea how easy it was.

Cranberries. Sugar. Fire.

Orange peel if you're feeling sassy.

I am full of regret for all the years that I could've been enjoying homemade.

I feel betrayed by the cranberry sauce myths that kept me hooked on the canned stuff.

WHY! WHY! OH Thor above, WHY?

I need... me... some... Edith... NOW!



Thanks Edith!

East Coast/West Coast Sibling Rivalry

My brother thinks he can take home a coveted Glutty this year.

Here's what I say to him:

You're going down this year. We've been injecting marshmallows and freebasing yams since 8AM. And we're still famished. We're having Blutduken tonight, which is a chicken stuffed in a duck stuffed in a turkey stuffed in a blue whale. Gotta go. Kinda hard to eat this capon-on-a-stick while typing.


Good gravy!

GIRLS GONE MILD!

Tonight is traditional Thanksgiving Eve with my friend Angie, in which we eat, drink and bake.

However, baking has been moved to breakfast tomorrow as we went nuts on the Thai, talking and enormous trio of popcorns covered in unhealthy stuff tin I bought from the kid next door to help support the Boy Scouts.

Yes, I blame the Boy Scouts!

Boo Boy Scouts!

OK, I am outta here. 10-4 good buddies.

Enough Already!
a continuing series of strong opinions by Susie Felber

Enough already with the mod bird motif!
Oy!

We get it, birds are cute!



But it's like an unstoppable mod bird virus!



I don't want any mod birds on my notecards...



Let alone on my gazongas!



I say it's a load of bird crap!

Come on, this felt bird pin is so ugly, I saw a macaroni and glitter painting laugh at it.


So: I hereby declare mod bird stuff uncool!

And if I say it -- must be true.

In conclusion,


It's no longer a hoot.

Fly away mod bird merchandise...

Enough already (tm) with the mod bird motif!

Thank you.

Something You Might Not Know

I have a wall-mounted fish bowl...


With a fish in it, even!

The very same fish I blogged about back in August 2006 and photographed expertly in his boring old bowl. Three cheers for Desi the Wonder Fish!*

*As in, wonder why he's still alive

Were You

Were you to search the Internet for cat darts...

This is one of the things you'd find:



So's this:



But you would also find a picture of a cat with a blow dart in its face.

So don't do it.

The cat who has been darted? Doesn't look the worse for wear.

Honest!

But it's still not the kind of family entertainment one expects from "cat dart" searches.

And in conclusion,

Catwoman and her darts of fury:

I am in the country, fleeing from the paparazzi.



OK that's ridiculous.



But I am in the country.


Back soon. 10-4 good buddies.

Went to a movie tonight.

Not saying it's been awhile, but the last movie I went to, was a magic lantern show.

Where I'm at...

Going out for drinks and food with laptop to have a high-powered meeting with a gal pal.

Later!

Little feature film I am in reviewed in Variety right here. Go to Movie Fone, not yahoo, to see if it's playing near you.

Pressing Buttons

So you know how you get a piece of clothing and it often comes with a little baggie of extra buttons, beads and/or thread? Like the one you see pictured here that was attached to a skirt from Macy's. It contains three sew-on rhinestones and nine nearly microscopic black beads, six of which are circular and three cylindrical.

I am inclined to dump them, but then I worry -- they come with the clothing for a reason, right?

When you buy a telephone, it doesn't give you a belt to help you climb the pole if it stops working. And when you buy a cake, does it come with a bag of eggs, flour and butter on the side? No it does not.

So why the baggie with the extra trim?

It's like they're saying, "Enjoy this skirt...and why not become an apprentice seamstress while you're at it?" Some people can't sew. Those baggies are total jerks, making all non-sewers who wear clothes feel inadequate and unworthy owners of fashion.

I also think the baggies are bad PR. They imply that that your new garment is apt to fall apart at a moment's notice.

You could argue that a car comes with a spare tire. But thing is, if I lose a sequin, I am not stuck on the side of a party, forced to light flares around me until help comes.

"Hi, I'm at a bridal shower in Paramus, due south of the spinach dip. I lost a faux tortoise button somewhere between the spa gift certificate and the gag sex toy. How soon can you be here? What do you mean 'do I have the baggie'?"

And where should I store my baggies? Even my junk drawer snickers at their uselessness. How should I file them to remember which goes with which duds? I envision a game of closet Jeopardy! "Taupe thread, two bronze baubles and one large pearlescent disk..." "What is, the jazzy rayon maternity number I wore once?"

So who actually saves them, besides me? Me -- who only saves them for a few days before I realize that keeping the little baggies is surely the path to madness.

Is there a powerful tiny plastic bag lobby that seeks to get their product out at all costs? Does the illegal drug trade not generate enoough to help the industry make ends meet? Or maybe the U.S. has massive ladies trim subsidies I am unaware of?

In conclusion, what's up with all those textile repair baggies?

A lot of exciting things can happen in November...



But not here. Or at least, not today. But have no doubt, I am being very exciting in places other than here.

http://www.brucestrikes.com/

Update: Ya, not Bruce, been pulled, your legs pulled. Too bad, it was funny. Did you really think it was by the V-man? That's the part I don't get.

I'm a Movie Star, I am.

I'm in a movie that opened yesterday. Only I've no idea where it's playing anywhere near me. It's certainly in California, Florida, Michigan and maybe it's playing near you. Them Yahoo reviewers seem to like it a lot. That's nice.

[big sigh redacted!]

Think I'll pop some corn, watch me in the trailer for two hours and call it a night.

Separated at Birth

Matt Besser... and Lorenzo il Magnifico?


Dude looks like a Medici!

Here's the deal: I bought this postcard at the Uffizi gallery in Florence five (!) years ago because at the time I was struck by how much Georgio Vasari's posthumous portrait of Lorenzo the Magnificent looked like Matt Besser.

I've wanted to toss the card, but everytime I almost did, I thought someone in the far flung nerdly comedy community should see it, to see how creepy it is that it looks like Besser. And the times I did see Besser -- at shows we both did, or whatever -- I didn't remember the postcard because it was so unimportant, it slipped my mind.

So, I've been using the postcard as a bookmark.

The problem is, it's really annoying using a bookmark that kind of, sorta looks like Matt Besser because it makes me feel like a Besser groupie/stalker, when in fact, although he's very nice and talented, I don't think of Besser ever, except I am forced to think of him because I picked up this stupid postcard because it looked like him and I needed validation of this from some other comedy dork.

Now that I have blogged this for all the improv world to see, I can line a canary cage with the card and be done with it.

You're welcome.

And the moral of the story is: Never pick up a postcard because it looks like someone you barely know, because the card will become a glossy paper albatross around your neck that can only end in a bizarre blog post.


PS Separated at Birth was a fab feature in Spy Magazine, which if you don't know means you're lame, foreign or way young. Still, one foreigner I know is going to say "Separated" is just a rip off of a Private Eye feature, so whachugonnado?

Strike it from on the record!

My old pal Bryan Tucker (who I once interviewed for Comedy Central's blog) writes for Saturday Night Live. Or rather, he doesn't write for SNL, because they are on strike.

Here's a fabulous article he wrote about the striker's life that appears in today's NY Post. Funny and so fresh it's still flipping! And you should read it, yes indeedie.

Madison Ave. Tastes the Rainbow

Are those big gay Centrum vitamins?

Are the American Apparel people trying to evoke a naughty euphemism?

Or do I just have a prideful/dirty mindset?

The Court TV Blog -- now with comments!

So let me hear your body talk. Read the blog and comment away. The comments are moderated, but never fear, I have an "in" with one of the moderators. She lives in my apartment. In my room, even, and also in my skin.

Yes she, is me.

!!WRITERS STRIKE!!

No, the strike doesn't apply to me as I'm non-union, cable television, Internets, prone to putting exclamation marks before a word, etc. But I say bust out the inflatable rat: I am 100% in support of the writers on their demands -- not just because my brother and many other friends are WGA. Below, a video that probably best illustrates the current negotiations:

Sign it!

I truly hope the writers stick to their guns and don't wimp out. The Internet is not just promotion; it has a viable business model -- even better than TV and their absurdly flawed ratings system. And the residuals for DVDs were negotiated 20 years ago, back when VHS was king and nobody knew the resale potential.

And I hope the writers don't back down because someday women, Asians and even black people might get to write for late-night comedy shows, and when that happens, you know they aint gonna give us squat.*

*Yes, I'm trying to rile you up. The semi-truth hurts!

As if the Native Americans Haven't Suffered Enough

Driving along the mighty Hudson today we passed the nuclear energy plant that's a plutonium's throw away from NYC. It is called Indian Point Energy Center.

Indian Point! Doesn't that conjure thoughts of a guy in a loin cloth and feather doodads quietly rubbing two sticks together? Or a raven-haired lady in braids and beads getting crazy with a flint?

This meltdown-waiting-to-happen is named after simple nature-loving peoples who were forced off their land, lied to, killed, lied to more, nearly exterminated and then honored with a nuclear plant that uglifies the river in their name. Power plant? More like power trip!

Indian Point -- you make my inner squaw cry!



FYI You can view the original Keep America Beautiful ad here and help in the most likely futile effort to close the plant here.

Today is my father-in-law's birthday! Hooray!



That is him there from this past summer, doing his best Gandalf impression. The fact that he lives in the Shire (Yorkshire to be exact) and hangs out with Hobbits (OK, his grandson) adds to the whole LOTR feel in this short walk we took from his home.

How much you wanna bet he'll see this post and say it is woefully incorrect because his birthday had already ended in England, where he was born and raised and where he lives. But it's still his birthday now here and that's what's important.

I love him very much, even though he can't get over the fact that we dumped his tea and told him to put his stamp tax where the sun don't shine. OK, say no more! We don't want him to find out that they lost this little outpost.

Happy Birthday to my favorite Halloween-hating Great Brit Grump! Ah, and what's this? Why it's another candid picture I snapped of him in Tesco, ready to whip out his shopping list.


Crumpets, kippers & clotted cream, oh my!

Philip Lopate was one of my professors as an undergrad. He was a terrific teacher. I always read at least some of the writings of my professors before a class, to try and get a sense of who they were -- pre-Google, this was a bit of work, people, and I demand you admire my pluck!

Anywho, I knew I was lucky to have Lopate at the time, but I didn't know just how lucky. Youth and youth's parent's money wasted on the young, and all that. Here's a poem of his that speaks to me, which was happily remembered when I had a paranoid pang today.

We Who Are Your Closest Friends
By Phillip Lopate

We who are
your closest friends
feel the time
has come to tell you
that every Thursday
we have been meeting,
as a group,
to devise ways
to keep you
in perpetual uncertainty
frustration
discontent and
torture
by neither loving you
as much as you want
nor cutting you adrift.
Your analyst is
in on it,
plus your boyfriend
and your ex-husband;
and we have pledged
to disappoint you
as long as you need us.
In announcing our
association
we realize we have
placed in your hands
a possible antidote
against uncertainty
indeed against ourselves.
But since our Thursday nights
have brought us
to a community
of purpose
rare in itself
with you as
the natural center,
we feel hopeful you
will continue to make unreasonable
demands for affection
if not as a consequence
of your disastrous personality
then for the good of the collective.

Nice Jugs!

One of my many pics from last night. What I call, Weehawkoween!

I can't resist a challenge: the lovely and talented Flippy got me roped into NaBloPoMo. So I'll be posting here everyday during the month of November, even if it kills me, or bores you. I do love the NaBlo tagline: Let's all post until the Internet explodes.