Monday, December 29, 2003

How to do Drugs with your Dog

You can leave your dark glasses and cane at home because the Rite Aid on the corner of Hudson & Charles allows dogs. Business here is always booming and barking* because most drug stores in NYC won't let a pooch in unless they are carried.

In this Rite Aid around every corner you see a flash of tail, in every aisle you hear the clean click of 16 nails on linoleum and waiting on line you can zone out as the standard poodle sits and ponders the weird little bat faced dog in front of you.

Tonight Stan and I picked up a prescription, conditioner, toothpaste -- and a lamb infused rawhide, just to show my love and allegiance to both Stan and Rite Aid.

It should be said, so I will, that the Grove street pharmacy on Grove and 7th also allows dogs. The Grove street pharmacy is tiny, very friendly and carries to die for upscale skin stuff like Ahava.

Grove street pharmacy does lack some of the finer things in life that Rite Aid boasts; the miles of discounted canned broth, the oaty goodness of half-price breakfast cereals and the aforementioned rawhides. But if you can afford the down payment required for a jar of Ahava moisturizer, you are no stranger to high maintenance charges and will certainly enjoy TGSP, as no one calls it. I am but a West Village peasant and admire the simple charms of Rite Aid.

Oh Rite Aid on Hudson, of thee I sing!

*See how right there I sounded like a bad Zagat's entry? Best grab the leash and see if Rite Aid has a cream for that.

Wednesday, December 17, 2003

Flu and far between

I personally know of only two people who have gotten the flu. One is a comedy writer and good friend. The other is a Swiss pianist who lives next door with her guitarist boyfriend and two aged mutts. I suspect the comedy writer only has the sniffles and is crying flu, but maybe that's wishful yet uncharitable thinking.

But I am completely afraid of slipping into the clutches of the seemingly inevitable flu.

I even have the buds of symptoms. Achey neck, slightly rough throat, and all I want to do is sleep. Am I coming down with the flu or did I have a late night last night?

I don't need a doctor to tell me. I watch way too much CNN.

Friday, December 12, 2003

Untitled #476

Last night the MTV party was pretty uneventful. I danced on top of some light up platform that probably wasn't intended for dancing. I used chopsticks to eat cooked sushi and mushroom tortellini that tasted as if it was filled with sweet potato.

It was so very crowded. It was loud with decent music and there were three shadow dancers that my branded ass could only think of as a live iPod commercial.

I ran into lots of good people I knew among the throngs, and we screamed in each others ears to catch up. Because everything had to be screamed, people got to the point quickly.



I went to the bathroom and ran into a comedian I love who happened to be working with catering. As we chatted two headphone decked women dressed in black frantically radioed for a female EMT. Jen said, "Someone's drunk." I did a sweep of my eyes to see what stall contained the PA on a bender, but no luck.

That's when Jen told me some guy had fallen earlier from the balcony. "How did I miss it", I thought. "Did he live?" is what I asked. She said he was so drunk he probably didn't feel a thing as he was on his cell phone telling someone about it as he was carried away on a stretcher.

All this and I left before 11PM.

Waiting for the subway, I find I'm on the wrong platform and I book light speed to the local track. There are four cops chatting. Two very fat and in uniform and two chunky but cute undercover cops. The undercover cops are relating how they were with Bloomberg on a subway journey. They speak of the secret service that were also there. One fat cop says awestruck, "I've seen those guys, they have their shit together." They go on about the secret service the way actresses I know go on about Emma Thompson, or comedians I know go on about Andres du Bouchet.

Then they get to talking about the Republican convention, and what a mess it'll be. Protesters coming out of the woodwork... from Seattle, even. Still, one cop points out how great the money will be, what with all that overtime they'll make. They agreed and this threatened to end the conversation.

One of the undercover cops looks worried. He says very ominously, "Oh but you know it'll be nasty."

What? My hackles went up. Will there be rubber bullets? Horses trampling people? Tear gas? I have great respect for the NYPD, but any hint of planned nastiness and I was ready to send Susan Sarandon packing for a trip to City Hall.

"You know those people. They won't have washed in days. They are going to smell. They are going to smell really really bad. And you know we're the ones who are going to hafta pick 'em up."

At that point I couldn't help but laugh. The undercover guy said, "It's OK, you can laugh. But it's true."

It was so cute.

The RNC at Madison Square Garden: smelly hippies vs. budget busting overtime pay. Tickets are on sale now!

Thursday, December 11, 2003

My sweet patootie is off to the MTV Networks holiday party tonight. Now that Comedy Central has been completely assimilated into the Borg, they can no longer have their own holiday party.

Someone just told me there are going to be upwards of 5,000 people there. Since I work from home, I'm going alone. What if I don't run into anyone I know? I'll be stuck in a corner by the punch bowl quietly ripping apart people's fashion choices with P. Diddy, that's what.

Same old, same old.

Wednesday, December 10, 2003

Tuesday, December 09, 2003

Felber Tonight

What: SPLIT ENDS – an all female sketch comedy show.

Who: The Ladies of the Brothel, MEAT, guest comics Jessi Klein and Ohira Eisenberg, hosted by Susie Felber <--- that's me chickadees.

When: Tuesday night, Dec. 9th, 7:30 show

Where: The PIT theater – 154 W. 29th Street, between 6th and 7th avenues.

Why: Why not.

All tix $8

Reservations: 212-229-2726

More info on:

Friday, December 05, 2003

Felber Spreads Message of Hate

A few weeks ago I sent a wonderful woman named Naomi a baby shower gift from her internet registry. The day I put in the order, I happened to visit another friend I haven't seen since she fell into the baby vortex. a.k.a. Park Slope, Brooklyn.

There hanging in her son's crib I spied the very toy I had selected a few hours before, The Fisher-Price Ocean Wonders Aquarium.

Wow! I ask Alyssa about it and she says her son loves the toy, always has, it's incredible. She says all her baby laden friends agree it's a must-have. She tells me the thing plays sounds, the fish waggle, light up and... I need to take her word for it. For as I try to take it for a spin she tells me the batteries are currently dead, further proving how much her son loves it.

Excellent, I think. I am the best present giver ever. I don't know much about babies, but I obviously have an intuitive sense about these things. I really should be a personal shopper or a...

"But you know there's something odd," Alyssa says, "I was reading reviews of the toy on some baby site message board. Some parents claim there's a voice under the ocean sounds that clearly says, 'I hate you' to the baby."


Yes. Apparently this toy aquarium delivers subliminal messages of hate. Amid the controversy, Wal-Mart has pulled it from their shelves. A parent in the article even theorizes this is China's way of getting back at us. Sinister indeed!

So I call my friend Naomi today. She is shocked and amazed to learn of the possible cribside peril she has received from me. Now she's eager to plunk the batteries in and listen for the message of pure baby bile.

Of course like me, if it turns out the aquarium actually says, "I hate you"... she'll be totally thrilled.