Saved!

Soundtrack of the Day: Whatever's on my iPod. (It's on shuffle!)

Today's "Soundtrack of the Day" brought to you by Mr. David Christopher Endicott, who let me borrow his computer speakers and A/C adapter so that I could listen to music in the car even though my stupid radio busted. What would I do without you, Slappy?

Dave probably has no idea what he has prevented.

You see, I wake up at 630 AM each day, which may not sound awful to you, but to me it's nearly impossible. I don't have to be at work until 9, but in order to get there, I have to leave the house at 7. It used to be 715, but it's fall now, and school is back in session so there are 9,000 additional yahoos on the road in the mornings. Anyway, as you can guess, I'm groggy as 5 hells on that morning commute.

When I finally get in the car, I turn on NPR until I get to the 110 freeway. That's a good 25 minutes, so I feel sufficiently educated. THEN it's on to whatever my current musical obsession is. (Before my radio broke, I was about to listen to some serious Charlie Hunter.) I roll the windows down, turn the bass nob all the way to the right and sing like a jerk for the rest of the commute.

This is the only way I can operate in the morning. Otherwise, I might start to zone out and take the wrong exit. For instance, I might start thinking about how much I love Chinese food, and suddenly- oops!- I'm exiting at Hill Street! Or I might decide I miss my parents, and go right on past my exit, all the way to PCH. And those are just the scenarios where nobody gets in an accident.

Once, my old radio blew a fuse on the ride in. I was so desperate that I actually put ONE ear bud in and listened to one channel of my iPod the whole way. I'm pretty sure that's illegal. Immediately after work, I went to the auto supply place across the street and bought fuses. I sat in the parking lot, checking every fuse in my car until found the one that had blown. When I had replaced it, I went on my way, listening happily to The Beatles.

I happened to mention this to the kind people at the Volkswagen dealership. They're very attentive, and so decided to order me a new radio- heck, it's still under warranty! I didn't realize they were doing this until they were halfway through replacing it. I thought, Alright, cool. Free New Radio! If I'd known the thing would crap out on me, I would've refused the replacement. Oh well. It's not their fault.

So now, I'm driving through Los Angeles with Dave's computer speakers in the passenger seat. Thank you Dave, thank you.

Just a Brief Message

Folks, I present to you-

UGLY BEAR

This is probably the worst thing I have ever seen.

What is it?

It came up when I Googled "ugly bear." It appears to be a Sailor Moon doll whose hand has been chewed to a pulp- probably by a dog or a hamster. The head clearly is not the original, as it is humungous and awful. The eyes must have either come from two different dolls, or directly from Hell. Her(?) hair is made up of what looks like Teddy Bear pelts. Perhaps most interesting of all is the way in which her arms are thrown up in exasperation. It's almost as though she's realized that there is nothing she can do about the fact that her nose came from a stuffed bear.

This was up for auction on ebay, apparently, and is no longer available. Which means that SOME ONE ACTUALLY BOUGHT THIS. Maybe there was even a bidding war. Either way, I hope that it is displayed proudly on someone's mantle, right underneath the moose head.

...Help...

Soundtrack of the Day: "So Tinha de Ser Com Voce" by Antonio Carlos Jobim, on the album Fotografia

As my days of housesitting come to a close I find myself feeling itchier and itchier. Not because of the fabric softener used on the sheets, or a new kind of soap.

No, I feel itchy because of the dogs.

And I'm not even allergic.

These dogs are the sweetest, happiest, friendliest beasts you can imagine. But the trouble is, they defecate all over the house. All over the house. At first, I thought it was limited to the sitting room, but then I found piles of feces in the bathroom next to the sitting room. And then the living room. And then, finally, the master bathroom, upstairs. If you've never had the pleasure of rounding a corner only to be confronted with 5 piles of shit, I do not recommend this experience. (Incidentally, if it's something you think you may enjoy, please do call me and I'll give the housesitting gig to you.)

The routine is this: I wake up at 6:30 am, walk downstairs, past the sitting room. I notice several piles of crap. I pick them up. I let the dogs outside, to hopefully evacuate their bladders. While they're outside, lying down, I fix their food. Then I leave for work. When I come home, I let them out again. This time, they stand in the doorway looking at me as if to say, What are you doing? We poop inside, thank you. I then spend the rest of the evening discovering hidden piles of doodie.

I have asked if the pups can spend their days outdoors, but the answer is no. They are "inside dogs." Listen: A dog needs it's freedom! It needs to be able to run, dig, pee and crap where it pleases. Oh, and it needs a patch of grass on which to perform the necessary butt-scoot procedure. Especially if it has long hair, because long hair, as everyone knows, attracts what scientists call "dingleberries." And the only cure for dingleberries is the butt-scoot procedure.

Guess what?! These dogs have long hair. And no grass. And- joy of joys!- they like to climb onto the bed and hang out. You can probably imagine what this means. Yes, that's right. It means I really ought to have set up one of those toddler-proof gates at the entrance to the bedroom. Because, while I have never actually found any evidence of fecal matter on my bed, the thought of it really freaks me out. At night, I go to sleep cringing and wake up in the same position, for fear of rolling over onto a patch of contaminated bedding.

After several days of living in that kind of a situation, your whole body begins to feel as though microbes are crawling on it, and it makes you itchy. So, I'm glad to be going home to my apartment. Where, if I feel itchy, I know it's time to purchase a delousing agent of some kind.

Once there was a bunny...

Yesterday, I stumbled upon this lovely website, containing the work of a class full of children. Apparently, their assignment was to make animals out of leaves and then write stories about them. The stories were intended to teach the children about adjectives and also proper story construction (beginning, middle, end).
Although the stories are short and sweet, they could still use a little work. I am prepared to offer certain members of the class (those individuals who I feel would be most responsive) my suggestions.


One day there was a beautiful frog and the frog hopped away to a pond. The frog was hopping on a lily pad and the frog hopped in the pond and ate some flies. It hopped and hopped and never stopped.
By James

Now, I feel you have done an excellent job of utilizing the repetition device. However, rhymes are a little tired, James, and I think you're better than that.

One day there was a turkey who lived in the forest and she ate some berries. Then she saw a friend and they played together and they ate berries. Now they had to go home, but tomorrow they would still be friends, and they both lived happily ever after.
By Tiana

You're a smart girl, Tiana, but sometimes, you do just enough to get by. If you would push yourself, you could be an outstanding writer. For instance, could this she-turkey find something to do besides eating berries? Let's also be aware of our tenses from now on.

99 years ago an ugly fish swam in a dark, deep ocean. Then he saw a ugly mean octopus and the mean ugly octopus ate the ugly fish. The octopus felt bad, because he threw up.
By Corey

Truly a masterpiece. What a dark, twisted yarn you have spun. Rage, disgust, disease-it's all here. My colleagues feel that your ending could use work, but I say screw 'em! This is a mood piece. Bravo, Corey!

Once upon a time my peacock ate some grass in the wild. A kid tried to pull a feather off the peacock, but he didn't. The peacock lived happily ever after.
By Jophiel

Jophiel, I feel sorry for you. You're obviously foreign, and don't understand how English literature works. What I'm looking for is some more about the battle between Kid and Peacock. How did the peacock thwart the child's attempt? Were you the child? Give it some thought.

500,000 years ago there was an octopus that lived in a place called Cakeland. An octopus joined him at the delicious, icing ocean. They went out with a cup and scooped up a cup of frosting.
By Morgan

Now, when I first read this story I thought it was a blatent case of trying to one-up Corey. I soon realized how wrong I was. You have your own brand of genius, Morgan. You challenge Darwin's theory of evolution by suggesting that Octopi could exist a half a million years ago! And Cakeland? Truly inspired. Professors Ciniglio and Devine and I would very much like to hear more about this Cakeland.

Once on a dark night a bear went in a castle. He finds a treasure box. He took it to his house. He was so happy. They lived happy every after.
By Jesus

I... I can't... how?... *sigh* I guess I just expected more out of JESUS, for Pete's sake. Clearly our Savior has a little trouble with tenses, and with keeping track of HOW MANY BEARS ARE IN THE STORY.

Once upon a time there was a stinky mouse. My mouse ate the garbage in the can. Finally the mouse threw up.
By Fadumo

Really? Really? You're going to plagerize Corey? Vomit was his finale. If this were a university, you'd be out on your ass, Fadumo.

A long, long time ago Jesus was born and a jaguar was so bad. It scratched meat. It was a rabbit that it killed. He gave the rabbit to Jesus.
By Landon

Excellent use of Biblical symbolism. Too bad the jaguar didn't give Jesus some writing talent!

85 years ago a king cobra lived in a dangerous, tropical jungle. After a while the king cobra hunted for lots and lots of meat. The king cobra ate meat for the rest of his life.
By Ryan D.

What a sad, sad tale. Oh, Ryan! The lonely king cobra and his meat pile! It kept me up all last night- what a haunting image. You have a gift, my friend.

Once upon a time there was a beautiful butterfly that lived in a backyard. When my butterfly was in the backyard she saw ten beautiful flowers and then she flew and drinked nectar. When the butterfly was drinking nectar a person came out. When Betty saw the butterfly she took a net to catch the butterfly for a pet.
By Kim

Holy crap, Kim, what is going on here? Do you want to talk about it?

A long time ago a disgusting fox lived in the forest. The fox tried to eat Corey'’s fish, but the fish swam away. The fox was sad.
By Jason

What I am seeing here is a little boy with self esteem issues. Perhaps you should contact Corey and talk to him about why you feel so inferior to him, and why you feel his writing is so much better than yours.

Those are only some of the works from this class. You may subject yourself to further stories, or view the LeafArt here: http://www.moreland.k12.ca.us/Baker/class/pavlos/leaf/leaf.html

Who Asked You?

Last week, the annual Stanford Jazz Workshop was held. I went last year, and it was one of the best experiences I have ever had. Unfortunately, Real Life began a few months ago, and I have been rendered permanently busy (there are an awful lot of Sudoku puzzles to be done, dammit, and only so many hours in the workday). Therefore, I am unable to attend any such workshops.
But, Jake called me from Stanford last Tuesday night. "Hey! Larry Goldings was here today."

"Oh, I know! You're so lucky!"

"He's every bit as cool as you said."

"Yeah? Did you get to meet him?"

"Well... he taught a master class. ... He's playing tonight!"

"Aww, man. Really? With who?"

"Peter Bernstein and Bill Stewart."

Well. That's when I let out a deafening scream, cursed myself for having a job that doesn't involved several weeks off whenever I feel like it, and spewed forth more swear words then even George Carlin would know what to do with.

Jake just laughed.


This exchange jogged my memory, and the rest of the week was flooded with thoughts of last year's Jazz Adventure, and more specifically, the people I met there. There was Madeline Eastman, Randy Porter, John Wiitalla, Vince Ladeano, Peter Bernstein, Dena DeRose ... and that's only scratching at the surface of the incredible faculty. But, it is my fellow attendees that I wish to focus on.

I was studying vocal jazz there last year, which means I was thrown into a room full of egotistical cry babies who clapped on 1 and 3. Don't get me wrong, most of them were really nice, and even more of them were very talented. But, since I was one of the youngest, there were a few (mainly women) who wanted to give me advice- and tons of it. Certainly! I thought to myself. By all means! Do you have an album out? No? How about a recording contract? Not that either, huh? Well, then quit acting like it. For God's sake, you've got timing like Lawrence Welk.

"You really need to work the mic. You know, like, work it?" offered a tall, thinskinned woman. She then turned to Fred, our theory instructor. "Why can't we just buy a computer program to do all this stupid transposing for us?"

I know. It made me cry, also. I know that somewhere in their little chick singer brains these women meant well. But, that was only part of it. Mainly, they were using my youth and inexperience as a way to broadcast their own knowledge to each other. "You never call 'Summertime' at a jam session" one of them snorted. She was turned towards me, but delivered this tidbit as she glanced around at the rest of the singers, looking for a reaction. She happened to be right, but I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction.

"Honey, you're in charge of the musicians," a helpful and well-dressed black woman told me one night at a vocal jam session. "You own them! When you're in front of a band, ain't nobody more important than you. If you don't want more people to solo, you just come right back in. You're the singer. Nobody will mind. They're here for you."

I can only guess that this was in response to the piece I'd just sung. About 7 people wanted to solo on my tune. Let 'em, I say. Hell, the fact that any horn players are willing to show up and spend time at EgoJam ought to get them at least 12 bars on a tune, if not a gift certificate to Red Lobster. But, apparently, in my infinite naivete, I had neglected the first rule of Divaism: He who playeth of the instruments that are valved, slided, keyed, stringed, yea even skinned, are no more than one level above the lint you find betweenth the cushions of thine couch.

So that's fun.

And later on in the week, it got even more fun. Eventually the singers got bored with trying to top each other using the "Marginally Helpful Advice That Proves I Know More Than You" category, and began attempting to one-up each other with anything else they could think of. Once, a woman with an unfortunate chin-to-neck ratio even blurted out in the middle of Denny's, "Black guys love me!"

What?

Apparently she has big boobs and a butt or something. I don't know. That's when the musicians and I tuned out. "Just keep lookin' at your food and maybe it will stop," John Wiitalla said.

And that was the most useful advice I got all week.

From The Mind of Jonathan Feldman

Here is a dream that Feldman had last night:

So apparently I was meeting up with Jennifer Coolidge at a bar for a date of some sort. She was drunk off her ass. I ordered a coke and something that looked like maybe chicken strips. She had some eggs and ham. Then she had to leave early since she was so drunk. Mind you we never once spoke a word to one another.
Then I come back hours later to find that she has left a check paying for the food. The check is for 50 bucks and the owner of the bar says that will definitely not be enough. He said if we had ordered a coke with vodka that even that alone would have been $90. So I'm kicking myself for not looking at the menu, and in the meantime I have to cancel my new order for some breakfast crepes. Then I remember this is the place I heard about on the news that had fries that were 4 bucks per fry. Per little fry.
And from there it became fuzzy, but I was very glad to wake up.
Oh. But I also saw that they had extremely large crispy tacos. HUGE. I showed my sister and she said, "Oh you mean the Daft Punk statues promoting their new concert?" I looked closer and for some reason it was their heads. Don't know how I confused it with tacos.

I feel that Feldman and my cousin Sarah ought to team up and write a book together.

Paul Reiser: Thief or Genius?

I love Paul Reiser. I love him. He is delightfully Jewish and shockingly underrated. If you've ever watched Diner you know what I mean. I think his work on Mad About You was the perfect antidote to Helen Hunt's. Once, he was a co-host at a charity ball I played at, and he poked fun at Kenny G (major points gained there). He was a presenter, I believe, at the Emmys some years back. (1999, maybe?) Anyway, he introduced Heather Locklear (or maybe it was Sharon Stone?... It's ultimately unimportant). I only remember this because of something he said when he was introducing her. I believe it was: "There is more to her than a pair of legs that make you wanna jump up and sing Sweet Sue." He said it in his slightly sarcastic, boyish manner of speech that, incidentally, makes me want to jump up and sing Sweet Sue. I wasn't sure why that stood out in my mind as the only thing I remember from the 51st annual Prime Time Emmy Awards- until this morning.

I was lucky to be raised by a Near-Jew. My father, whose friends were all Jewish (he has collected, in his Library of Friends, such surnames as Kipper, Birnbaum, Horowitz, Kijner, and Ellenzweig. Not bad for a shaygitz!)surrounded me with books by Woody Allen, routines by comics such as Robert Klein, and the genius of Mel Brooks. This last thing in particular is important here. Young Frankenstein and History of the World, part I were entertainment staples when I was in middle school. On road trips, we listened, without fail, to The 2000 Year Old Man tapes. There were so many memorable lines from those tapes ("Let 'em all go to hell, except cave seventy-six!") that I was never without Brooks shtick in any social situation. But, as with any great comedic recording, there are always lines that you don't remember, and each time you listen to the record, you notice something for the first time.
This morning, I was listening to the "2000 and Six Months" track in the car on the way to work for the first time in maybe 7 or 8 years. Brooks got on the subject of early medical remedies. He was discussing the abilities of different trees and, to my surprise, offered this example: "There are certain trees that, you chew their bark, make you wanna jump up and sing 'Sweet Sue.'"

What?!

Paul Reiser had to have been listening to Brooks sometime before he made that speech, right? I mean, sure the actual subjects of each of those sentences are different, but the descriptions are identical!

Which leads me to my question. Is Paul Reiser a thief? I don't know. Maybe he stole it by accident- I do recall his delivery of the line being somewhat on the "stumbly" side of things. It could have just come out of his mouth in the heat of the moment. He hadn't planned to use Brooks' line, it just happened that way. Or, maybe he thought he could get away with it because America only remembers lines like "I have over forty-two thousand children. And not one of them ... comes to visit me." (Which is a brilliant line, by the way. I'm not actually sure if America has such good taste.) Heck, maybe he was just attempting to bring the line into colloquial English.

In any case, I can't blame him. It's a really good line. It's the kind of line that makes you wanna jump up and sing "Sweet Sue."

Spike the Robot

Strangely, after reading the email by my 6 year-old cousin Sarah, my dear friend Chris Bulock found a story that he wrote when he was 6. Here it is, complete with original misspellings, for you, the reader:

SPIKE THE ROBOT

Once there was a robot named Spike. he looked like a human. If there was a battle he would join in. He had the biggest ship in the universe.

There was onliy one more person to help him run it. Spike was the gunnerand the main fighter.

The ship was called the star criuser. Spike liked to fight. They had very poerful weapons. The battles they fought in they always won. One day there was a big battle. Spik started it. One of the old ship mates was visiting. Spike said that he could take one weapon. While he was getting it he pulled the trigger. He accidentally hit Spike's friend. Spike got very mad. he punched the old ship mate. The ship mate flew away. he told his crew what happend.

In about an hour he and his crew came back. While they were coming Spike contacted his friends. He told them what happend. When the shkips got there the war started.

They fout for a long time. There wasn't anyone there icsept for Spike and the old ship mte. Spike finally blasted the old ship mate.

Dedicated to my dog Tonka.

Snow White and the Little White Lumps

My cousin, Sarah, is 6 years old. She wrote my mom this email the other night (it is presented as written, no editing):

rode my bike at night, all the way to a park far away. We call it littlefoot park. We rode around it and we went in a neighborhood right next to it. and it was just being built so there were lots of tracks. I couldn't tell how many or what kind they were. Yesterday we went to dads work and we went shopping at the mall and I got new crocks. Orange. and I don't know when we went to Glenwood Springs but we went down the alpine coaster. The alpine coaster was made by the germans. and we went in a cave. MORE than one cave. Two caves. One was called the king cave and the other I forget and how the person found King cave was through 'dam crack', It was just a crack in the wall. And it had so many fairy tales in it. There was only one that I remember, Snow White.............. andthesevendwarves. There were 7 little lumps made from white minerals ( stalagmites). and there was Snow White and the dwarves . or the little white lumps, were surrounding her. It's nice to write to you and it's fun. Love Sarah (and family)

Radio Days

Soundtrack of the Day: Always There by Joe Magnarelli

I watched Woody Allen's 1987 film "Radio Days" last night for the first time. It was such a sweet movie. Whereas all of Woody Allen's films are semi-autobiographical, or stem from some long-time fantasy of his, this one seemed to be the most rooted in his youth. The film does not have a strong central story. Rather, it is a number of anecdotes, situations and ideas centered around radio broadcasts in the 1940s.
For me the most touching part of the entire thing was the series of anecdotes wherein the main character (voiced over by Woody) described what each popular song at the time reminded him of. Songs, for me, have a particular associative power. A song latches itself onto a memory and acts as one of the more efficient triggers (along with smell). This segment, although only a few minutes long, really unlocked the true meaning of the film for me. It was a sort of sonic memoir, lamenting the decline of radio, and celebrating impoverished Brooklyn family life.
Also, it was really funny. The very opening bit was great! And Julie Cavner was really great casting-- it's odd to see Marge Simpson in person.
Woody Allen films always make me feel peaceful- either I'm glad whatever's happening is not happening to me, or I'm glad to be let in on a world where it's happening at all. "Radio Days" was the latter situation.

So now what? Well, naturally, I go nuts and add every Woody Allen film that Netflix has to my queue. (Which looks like it should be pronounced "quay-wee.")
If anyone wants to come over and watch "Zelig" I think it's on the way.

And now I leave you with another nugget of Bulockian wisdom:

Willy Shoe,

How many playground balls are there?

Imagine a calculus professor with no eyes. This would be a horrible way to learn. Additionally, how would he be able to teach the proper notation to students? Why did you hire him? He has tenure now, and there's nothing we can do. I suppose it's because you have no eyes, and you felt some sort of bond. Well, Shoe, this is an awful mess we're in.

From the Office of
Dean Kiki

Bulock's Corner

Chris Bulock helps solve all of my problems. Why just this morning I was in need of guidance, and I found it through the power of Chris.

Here is what I wrote to him:

Zippy-
Is that a monkey in the background?
I have no desire to work today. I want to go home and sleep.
I got a mysterious text message last night, from some character named "Brett" from Malibu, and I don't know who that could be...The first message said "I am looking for liz" I said, "This is Liz." He wrote back "its brett from malibu im sorry its late your number just rang out hi" WHAT COULD THIS MEAN?!?

Floozy

Here is his response:

Well,

There is this bell in Malibu. It rings out number sounds. Brett is always listening to the bell. Whenever it rings, he puts the number that it indicates into the phone. Funny thing is, Brett also knows about this other bell that rings out names at the same time that that other bell is going. He has to record the name bell though. The whole thing yields a mysterious text message. And also, the person who responds to his text message with...a golden egg... will become his wife. That's why Brett listens to the number and name bells. To find a wife. Brett is an egret. It's hard for an egret to find a human wife. They won't let him in to clubs. He doesn't have a job, and he doesn't go to church. How else would you expect him to meet women. He hasn't had much luck with the text messaging either, though. His phone is made of sand.

-Brett

Thanks Chris. I feel much better.

Playboy for the Blind?!

Soundtrack of the Day: Whatever It Takes by Larry Goldings (his first Warner Release!!)

I have learned a few things today. 1- magazines are very in tune with the needs of the public. 2- no matter how clever you think someone is, when ta-tas are involved, they can be reduced down to their most simplistic nature. Note the comments at the end of this Instant Message conversation that I exchanged today with my friend The Other Liz. (Note to The Other Liz and Feldman- I edited this conversation so that it wasn't 90 hours long.)

The Other Liz: yo its the other liz
Me: YO YO YO YO
The Other Liz: what up
Me: Not much. You?
The Other Liz: same i watched the view with feldman then we r going tie shopping
Me: Good.
The Other Liz: so fyi playboy comes in braile
Me: NO
Me: NO IT DOES NOT
The Other Liz: yep
Me: What? Do they like ... label the parts?
Me: "Boob" "Butt" "G-String"
Me: Jesus.
Me: I guess these are the only people in the world who can say "It's for the articles"
The Other Liz: i dunno cause its kinda a visual magazine
Me: Ummm yes...
The Other Liz: like if u are blind from birth like " boob" doesnt mean as much
Me: True
Me: but, if you went blind because you jacked off too much ... then they've got something.
The Other Liz: feldman wants u to know he likes boobs


There you have it folks.

Hi Feldman

To my #1 Fan!

Things I Thought About Today

Soundtrack of the day: Goat Hill Junket by Anthony Wilson; and also this car alarm that's been going off every 6 minutes for the last two hours.

-- Bill Stewart=Best drummer of all time. His playing is so tasty!!
Dig this fantastic picture of the boy.
He's from Iowa- and yet, much to the surprise of James Brown, still remains funky. (Check out Larry Goldings' tune "Funk in Iowa," by the way.)



--- It is unbelievable how much red tape is involved with the phones at work. I'm trying to get a line added to my phone and I have been trying to do that for a week. I don't get it.

--- Sometimes, all I really want is a fun-sized Mr. Goodbar.

--- Christy Ciniglio is one of the most brilliant people on the earth. She likes names that revolve around "Phil."

--- Today, two guys who work in my office got in an argument about the cheese. You see, our employer provides food- one of the PAs goes to the store each Monday and stocks the kitchen. Then, when we all have lunch, we don't have to leave, we can stay here and be slaves to the our phones. It's a very clever plan on their part. It looks like a perk, but it's really a trick to get us to stay here. Anyway, one of these guys loves cheese. The other guy "needs" cheese because he is doing that whole "protein" thing. Apparently Mr. Protein 'hid' the cheese as a joke. And Mr. Other Guy got angry. Anyway, they ended up yelling at each other for like 10 minutes about this whole cheese situation. It was violent. Other Guy threatened Protein Face and Protein Face called Other Guy a "fucker" and then more swearing happened. Boy. It was great. I'm just glad that Dr. Spencer Johnson wrote a book about this type of event. Otherwise, I wouldn't know what to do.

That's about it people. It's well past Going Home Time. But I'm still here. Gotta make sure no one gets killed over any more dairy products.

Tonight only! Dennis Miller at the Comedy Trough!

Current Soundtrack: My dog snoring.

Christy and Avaryl and I went to the Canyon Club this evening to see Dennis Miller perform. That man is a genius with the English language- smart, eloquent, with a smattering of F-bombs. He also happens to be one of the most attractive men on the planet. As soon as he strode out on stage in his jeans and sport coat and began delivering those trademark sarcastic, poignant run-on sentences, I forgot all about all of the discomfort (both physical and financial) the evening had brought.

It was $90 all told, I think. A ridiculous chunk of change for someone in my current Life Stage. But well worth it- the food really was delicious, and we all know how I feel about Dennis. I have renamed the Canyon Club the "Comedy Trough," as a tribute to the perpendicular, Last Supper-style seating that had been set up for our enjoyment. There were, I believe, about 649 people per long table. Luckily, we were right next to the stage, so we didn't have to compete for a view. But that didn't change the fact that every minute was a battle for elbow room. The rows of tables and chairs were so close together that, unless you model haute couture for a living, just trying to find your seat was a meet-and-greet. ("Hi, yes. So sorry. Excuse me. Sorry. Thanks. Hi. Thanks. Hi. Sorry. Thanks.") I haven't had that much polyester-clad ass meat touch my head since that slumber party I went to at Elton John's. (Note: That never happened)

In addition to the too-tight seating arrangements, the three of us happened to be seated next to two gaunt and be-turquoised lesbians. What they were doing at a Dennis Miller show is beyond me. Every time they laughed at a joke, a guilty look would spread across their faces. And when Dennis started talking about environmental issues, they just sort of glared. Actually, now that I'm thinking about it- they may have just been friends, or a mother and daughter ... Christy and I were very confused.

The car trip home was a thirty minute collective squeal. Christy pointed out earlier in the evening: "We're like those girls on the Ed Sullivan show when Elvis was on. Only it's Dennis Miller." I'd say that's fairly accurate.

Losing My Blog Virginity

Soundtrack of the Day: Savivity (Anthony Wilson --- it just came in the mail yesterday!!!)

Up until now, I've been a blog virgin, but I decided to get 'with it' and hop on the Blog Wagon like everyone else in the world.
And thank God, too, because how much longer could the internet survive without my mindless prattling? (A: Not long)
Speaking of virginity, today on my drive to work, I thought about that band The Cherry Poppin' Daddies. I hadn't thought about them since their little album came out. It was all the rage among my peers. Back then, whenever I heard the name I thought about a lollipop, or a cherry-flavored candy. Well, luckily, I blocked that band out for years- until today. For some reason, the name appeared in my head. And I realized what it meant. Good for me.
Or not so good. Can I just say: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEW. What the heck kind of a name for a band is that. I don't know what exactly they mean by "daddy" in this case, but I'm hoping it's like "sugar daddy" and not "father daddy." Because if it is the latter, I will punch the next person I see. Even if it's the former, it's still horrible. I don't see how that concept relates to the Swing revival of the mid-90's. Yuck.

On to better things:

I was on Pandora.com and a song came on by The University of North Texas One o'clock Lab Band. What?! That's awesome. It'd be like reading a book by Professor Kenton's 230 Chem Lab.

Also, last night Christy and I crashed Donnie's birthday party. You see we went to the Oyster House in Studio City for a beer and when we arrived we were greeted by a man dressed as Merlin, who beckoned us inward, through a band that was playing really loud music. So, we weaved through, between the drummer and the guitarist, past Merlin, to a table. Turns out it was some guy named Donnie's birthday. So, we had a drink, and we had some popcorn and then we bolted. The band was called Grandaddy Purple (I believe in honor of Merlin). And in addition to having its very own sorcerer, it also had a Wiggly woman in a Purple Sequined Hat. She and Merlin (who by the way was a septuagenarian AT LEAST) sort of "air-humped," as Christy most eloquently put it, to the songs. I think they call it "dancing." But it wasn't like any dancing I'd ever seen before. At one point, the lead singer said, "K. Now we'd like to do a song that-- it's one of Donnie's favorites, and he likes to sing with us. And 'cause he's not tending bar tonight, we'd like to invite him up. To sing it. Or sing anything, or say some poems, or whatever he wants. 'Cause it's his birthday." Donnie wasn't actually listening, which was awkward. But eventually, he made it up there, and began ... reciting back up vocals. Needless to say, Christy and I made a quick exit. We didn't even wait for the check. We left a wad of cash on the table and split. We grossly overpaid, but I think it was worth it, just to get out of that uncomfortable situation.


Phew! I just did a blog!! Good for me.