Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Ventura Highway... In the Sunshine

OK, I'm here. And I'm fine, though I appreciate the concern expressed by some of you at my lengthy absence from this page. Nothing is wrong; I just really haven't been inspired to write about anything. And I'm still not, but I'm thinking maybe if I get back on the horse...

So here goes, stream-of-consciousness, while simultaneously watching "American Idol."

Speaking of which, I am as addicted to the show as ever. As I type this, David Osmond is on my TV set auditioning. Not only he is one of THE Osmonds -- and therefore hot, talented and full of Mormon goodness -- but he also has MS and until recently was confined to a wheelchair before miraculously being able to walk one day. Think the judges will put him through to Hollywood?

You can bet your magic underwear!

He can rock my tabernacle anytime.
Wait, is that creepy?

As for the new judge, Kara DioGuardi, a k a Crazy Paula's future replacement, I like her. She had me at "bitch."

I recently enjoyed a visit from my parents, Phy & Lew, who stopped in San Diego for four days en route to a two-week Hawaii vacation. I simply have accepted the fact that my parents, who are in their 60s and 70s, have a far more glamorous and fun-filled life than I ever will.

Feisty Phy, seen here in fabulous neck-wear.

My parents stayed down the street from us at a charming little guest house, which worked out well until Phy pissed off the owner's half-crazed Vietnam-vet son by asking for orange juice instead of apple juice. (Perhaps "orange juice" triggered unpleasant associations with Agent Orange.)

Traumatized by his furious reaction, Phy changed her itinerary, extending the Hawaii leg by three days. So with only one night in San Diego now on their way back East, they're staying with BW and me. In fact, they're sleeping in our room. Speaking of being traumatized.

Lew and Phy make a BW sandwich.

Prior to their return, I have something of an odyssey ahead of me. Tomorrow I drive to Ventura for a comedy gig (details of which are here). According to Google Maps (which is far superior to Mapquest), that's 184 miles of driving, which should take three hours and four minutes, or -- and this is the part that makes me queesy -- UP TO FOUR HOURS AND 50 MINUTES IN TRAFFIC. And of course, this being Southern California, traffic is assured.

Hell on Earth.

As mentioned previously on this page, I am a terribly spastic driver. And this will be my first time driving solo up the Coast. (Not that you can tell you're on the Coast, since you almost never glimpse any water for the entire hideous drive.)

To add insult to (I hope no) injury, I have to leave Ventura Friday morning and drive to Palm Springs, where a large group of us are gathering to celebrate CW's birthday. (It's a surprise, so don't tell him.) Google Maps says that that's yet another 158 miles -- two hours and 34 minutes or UP TO FOUR HOURS AND 40 MINUTES WITH TRAFFIC. I've never been to Palm Springs, but I'm told that on Fridays during the winter months, every single person who lives in Los Angeles leaves the city and drives to Palm Springs. Should be a fun drive.

I'm actually not spending the night in Ventura. The cheapest motel I could find is 15 miles away, in some place called Camarillo. According to Wikipedia, Camarillo is home to the Ventura County
Sheriff's Department Academy, as well as the VCSD Air Unit, SWAT Unit, Bomb Squad and Reserve Officer Academy. I will feel very safe there. And a little turned on.

Welcome to Camarillo; you are under arrest.

All joking aside, I really am freaking out about all this solo driving. I am doing everything I can to relax myself, including leaving about five hours earlier than necessary. I also bought an audio book -- Richard Yates's "Revolutionary Road," on which the movie is based. It's recorded on nine CDs, with a total running time of 11 hours. I figure even a SoCal traffic jam can't outlast that.

I also have America's "Ventura Highway" running through my head on a continuous loop. And now, so do you. (Sorry, Tommy.)

Actually, it's a pretty kick-ass song.

OK, before I go, my friend Rebecca recently asked me which of the five Best Picture Oscar nominees I'd most recommend she go see. This was the first year I received DVD screeners of all five -- I'm a member of the Writer's Guild from when I briefly worked at WABC a million years ago -- and so I was able to give an informed opinion (albeit just an opinion) and rank them as follows, from best to worst:

1) "Milk" -- By far, and not just because I'm a homo. An epic masterpiece with the best peformances of the year.

2) "Frost Nixon" -- Slow but fascinating, and Langella is scary-good.

3) "The Reader" -- A major bummer, but powerful. And Winslet deserves to win.

4) "Slumdog Millionaire" -- I'm not digging this as much as everyone else. It's moving and vibrant and all that, but once you get the premise, it becomes sort of tiresome.

5) "Benjamin Button" -- An achievement in makeup alone. Total snoozefest.

I also added that had they been nominated, I would have ranked two more as follows:

1.5) "Doubt"

3.5) "The Wrestler"

Milk takes the cake.

One last thing: My finger is now unsplinted. Well, except at night when Dr. O'Hayon still wants me to wear the splint. It feels stiff and weird, and I still can't bend it normally. But at long last it's more or less straight. Unlike its owner.

Ok, enough! I have to get to bed and rest up for Ventura Highway. I'll bring my camera along for the ride and enter a full report upon my return.

Homo nervous.

Monday, January 12, 2009

Blogging the Globes (The Conclusion)

This seems like such an exercise in futility: The Globes have been over for nearly 24 hours now, and sadly, very few of you seem the least bit interested in this recap. Nevertheless, I believe in finishing what I started, so here goes:

Here's producer Letty Aronson to accept the award for "Vicky Cristina Barcelona." Fun fact: Letty Aronson is actually Woody Allen's sister.


Here comes two Indians -- a man and a woman. There's a lot of Indians at the Globes this year! Pakistan must be pissed. Anyway, they're introducing clips from "Slumdog." 

Oh, now it's horse-faced Amazon Cameron Diaz and Hottest Man To Ever Live (besides BW) Mark Wahlberg. Their patter is inane. They're presenting Best Actress in a drama. If it's Anne Hathaway for that steaming pile of shit "Rachel Getting Married," I'll die. 

Thank God, it's Cate Winslet, for one of the five movies she's in this year. Wait -- that means she won two Globes this year. Wow! Oops, she just recognized the other nominees and forgot Angelina Jolie's name. (Angelina's response: "I want my Golden Globe back. I want MY Golden Globe back!")

Oh, shit. I've been spelling Kate Winslet's name wrong this whole blog. It' s Cate Blanchett who spells it with a C.

Kate with a K refuses to wrap up. She's holding this show hostage. Cut to Angelina again, looking bitter.

Kate tells Leo she's loved him for 13 years! Leo gets teary-eyed. Aww.

Now it's Kate Hudson and Rainn Wilson. Oh, wait -- that's not Kate Hudson, it's Blake Lively from "Gossip Girl." She looks awesome, actually.

Best TV Drama Nominees: "Dexter," "House," "In Treatment," "Mad Men," and "True Blood." This may be the first year ever that I haven't watched a single episode of any of the nominated dramas. Oh wait -- I have seen a couple "True Bloods." Anyway, "Mad Men" wins.

Bald, bearded creator of "Mad Men" also refuses to wrap up.  People suck.


Susan Sarandon appears wearing an oversized necklace that looks like some tinsel she grabbed off a Christmas tree. She reads the nominees for Best Actor in a Dramatic Film, referringto  "Benjamin Button" as "Benjamin Britton." (No, Susan. He was a composer.) And the Globe goes to Mickey Rourke! He was amazing in "The Wrestler," and who doesn't love a good comeback? But I had my heart set on Sean Penn winning for "Milk."

Mickey takes the stage, keeping his shades on. He uses the word "balls," as in those which hang in a sac. Then, describing director Darren Aronofsky, he says, "He's one tough..." and then the TV goes black for a few seconds. What was the bleeped word? Mutherfucker? We shall see...

Mickey says "balls" again. Then he thanks his dogs. Uh oh, they're playing him off.


Insane closeted robot Tom Cruise comes out (well, not comes out -- walks out) to present Best Film Drama. He actually looks fantastic, and the tux is perfect.

And the winner is... "Slumdog Millionaire!" A huge surprise, and now thousands of happy Indians are swarming the stage. (Actually, just a few Indians and some pasty white guys with really bad teeth.)

Music plays off the Slumdoggers, Tom says goodnight and we're done!

Homo anticlimaxed.

P.S. Rourke didn't say mutherfucker -- he said "son of a bitch" -- but then Aronofsky gave him the finger, and that's why they had to go to black. Watch the clip -- and read about the dismal ratings -- here.


Sunday, January 11, 2009

Live Blogging the Globes

Sorry for the delay -- just got home from an audition and am eating dinner. Am DVRing the telecast and will catch up as soon as I can...

(Just noticed that "blog" is almost a palindrome for "globe." Spooky, no?)

(Wait -- no it's not.)

Opening sequence with obligatory shots of celebs on the red carpet. What the hell is up with Drew Barrymore's hair?


Here comes Best Supporting Actress in a film. And J-Lo just had to shush the crowd: "Hello? Mama talking... Mama talking." Awkward... Ohmigod, why is Marisa Tomei wearing that hideous linen thing?

Kate Winslet wins for something called "The Reader." She's sitting next to Leo, who is also in the film, I think.  Kate looks nice, although the dress is a bit prom-ish.

Holy shit, J-Lo is wearing a gold lame shower curtain!

Here comes Sting! Wait -- is that Sting? He looks more like Bono!

Sting/Bono is presenting Best Original Song. The nominees are... oh, who cares.

Did Lauren Conrad from "The Hills" just stick her tongue out at the camera during presentation of "Best Song?" Why is she fucking even there?! I hate my life...

Note to Sting: Goth is over.

Bruce Springsteen wins for "The Wrestler" song. He actually opens with a joke -- "This is the only time I'm ever going to be in competition with Clint Eastwood." Not bad. Wow, Micky Rourke actually looks pretty good -- not nearly as roided out as he did in the movie.

This just in: Bruce is still married to that homely Patti chick.


Here comes Eva Longoria and some guy named Simon Baker. Isn't her name Longoria-Parker now? Oh, they just introduced this year's Miss Golden Globes, Rumer Willis! She's actually kind of pretty, though not as much as Demi.

I don't understand this award -- Neil Patrick Harris vs. Denis Leary? It's some kind of acting thing, but Harris is in a sitcom while Leary was in a miniseries ("Recount.")

Tom Wilkinson wins for "John Adams." Whatever. I was hoping NPH would win, as he's the only nominee I've actually met in person. 

Supporting actress in something or another: Eileen Atkins (who?), Laura Dern (yay!), Melissa George (who?), Rachel Griffiths (awesome!) and Diane Weist (flawless!). Dern wins for "Recount" -- no surprise. She was really, really good as Katherine Harris. Plus, she was Miss Golden Globes in 1982!

Adam's annual play on the idea of tits as globes: Man, Eva Longoria's globes are looking particularly golden!

SECOND COMMERCIAL BREAK. I have to say, these are underwhelming so far. Why do I care about this awards show again?

It's Don Cheadle, looking very dapper. Except for the massive diamond stud earrings. They make him look like a drag queen who's lost her wig.

Oh, Don is presenting clips from "Burn After Reading." Which I still haven't seen, even though I've had the screener sitting on the coffee table for a month.

Here's Eva Mendes. I still can't figure out how she's different from Eva Longoria. She introduces the head of the Hollywood Foreign Press, Jorge Camera. Best name since Lorenzo Music.

Yum yum it's Zac Efron, with that Hayden chick from "Heroes." Again I missed the category -- some actor thing. Seems to be lead actor in a TV drama.

If Jonathan Rhys-Meyers wins, I want to see him and Efron kiss.

Oh fuck. It's Gabriel Byrne, who's not even here. This show blows.

Two guys who star in the new "Star Trek" movie just walked out onstage. BW perks up noticeably.

They're handing out lead actress in a TV drama. It's a tough category, but the Globe goes to Anna Paquin for "True Blood." She's adorable, but I'm not sure about that gown.

Anna's got buck teeth like Madonna.

THIRD COMMERCIAL BREAK. I'm almost caught up and blogging in real time...

Here's Ricky Gervais. My sister Anna says his HBO comedy special is the funniest thing ever. He, too, tries to shush the unruly crowd. 

Ohmigod, he's making Holocaust jokes. I love this man.

OK, enough. He's got the light, and he keeps chasing the dragon...

They're showing clips from something called "Happy-Go-Lucky." Never heard of it. Truly.

Here come the Jonas Brothers. What's the deal with these boys? Gay, right?

Best Animated Film: How come they only nominate three in this category? Doesn't matter -- it's "WALL-E's" year. 

Yup, "WALL-E." Some guy who looks like a WASP-y Steven Spielberg is accepting.


Johnny Depp takes the stage. Ugly tux, but he's still hot. He presents best actress in a movie musical or comedy.

If Meryl Streep doesn't win this, I'll eat the bean bag chair.

BW thinks Johnny Depp is high. Oh, no! Someone named Sally Hawkins just won! I am now pouring teryaki sauce on the bean bag chair..

Oh, God. Not only do we not know who you are, you're utterly boring. Please leave.

Still talking. This is the worst awards show speech of all time. And I still don't know what movie she's in.



It's Jake Gyllenhaal. What's with all the facial hair this year? All the male stars look like scruffy bums.

Jakey's presenting clips from "Benjamin Button," which is the longest, boringest, least-deserving film of the year.

Damn... Brad Pitt looks hot. Even with facial hair.

Oh, it's Jessica "I look Older Than Dirt" Lange and Drew "I Just Stuck My Finger in a Light Socket" Barrymore. They're presenting TV movie or miniseries.

Does anyone even watch miniseries anymore?

It's going to come down to either "John Adams" or "Recount."

OK, it's "John Adams." Yadda yadda.

Tom Hanks is babbling away about how some guy named Gary Getzner showed up to the awards. Inside joke, I guess.

Demi Moore comes out. She really looks fabulous, although the top of her gown looks like crisscrossed dog collars.

What category is this? Lead actor in a drama? This show moves too goddamned fast!

DEAD RECIPIENT ALERT: Heath Ledger just won for "The Dark Knight." They're bringing up his corpse to accept. No, just kidding -- it's director Christopher Nolan. 

Oh, this is a nice touch -- they're showing a clip of his performance. Now Nolan is paying tribute. What a fucking bummer. Don't over-do it with the pills, people. Just a total waste.

FIFTH COMMERCIAL BREAK. Why am I counting the commercial breaks? That will stop now.

Tom Brokaw totters out. He now sounds like a parody of himself.

I don't mean to sound like a pissy queen, but Brokaw's plain white dress shirt is wrong for a tux. 

Clips from "Frost/Nixon," blah blah blah.

Fucking Yum City -- It's Colin Farrell. Now there's a guy who can pull off facial hair AND earrings!

Best Foreign Language Film. I care so little that I'm not even going to tell you the winner. But Farrell did just make a great cocaine joke: "(Sniffling) I have a cold. It's not the other thing that it used to be." Way to class up the Globes, Colin!

Some Israeli guy is accepting the award. Makes a nice plea for peace in the Mideast.

It's now Maggie Gyllenhaal, wearing some sort of lopsided sofa bed, and Aaron Eckhart, looking scrumptuous.

They're presenting Best Actress in a TV movie or miniseries. Shirley MacLaine looks like an aged sheep dog.

Laura Linney wins for "John Adams." Didn't see it, but I love her. Don't love the dress, though. It looks like one of those over-draped designs by that muscle queen from "Project Runway." His name is Rami, I think.

Why is Glenn Close dressed like a 1940's usher?


Some hottie named Gerard Butler comes out. He's got some accent. Scottish? In any case, he doesn't read very well, introducing clips from something called "In Bruges." Why haven't I heard of half the nominated films this year?

Seth Rogan and Elizabeth Banks. He looks so skinny! And wow -- another cocaine reference. These awards are getting mighty racy...

They're doing best screenplay. The winner is "Slumdog Millionaire," a movie I still haven't seen but very much want to. Oy veh, Spellcheck thinks "slumdog" should be "Talmudic!" 

Here comes Amy Poehler and Patrick Dempsey. I know everyone thinks he's so hot, but he doesn't do a thing for me. They're giving out Best Actor in a TV musical or comedy. How many musical TV shows are there, really?

Alec Baldwin wins for "30 Rock," and deservedly so. I've loved him ever since he called his daughter a little pig.

Ha ha -- he just sent out love to the little pig. Nice recovery, Alec.


It's Renee Zelwegger, looking puffy and old. Not digging the see-through top, either. Looks like she wrapped herself in cheese cloth.

She present clips from "The Reader." Oh, I was wrong, Leo's not in this one. This is the one where the Nazi lady seduces the teenage boy. 

Here comes Terrance Howard and some beautiful woman I don't know. Whoever she is, she gets my best dressed vote tonight. (Just rewound -- it's Megan Fox.)

This award is for Best Actor in a TV drama or miniseries. No surprise, it's Paul Giamatti for "John Adams." 

I like Giamatti, but the speech is a bit of a snooze.

Glenn Close and Laurence Fishburne come out to present. Because they make the perfect couple. 

Wow, they're already doing best TV series, musical or comedy. It's so going to be "30 Rock."


Here comes Tina Fey to accept. Am I the only one who's Feyed out? Oh, this is funny -- Tracy Morgan says he and Tina had a deal that if Obama won, he (Morgan) would accept the award on behalf of the show. His speech is one of the best of the night. Love the white dinner jacket, too.

COMMERCIAL BREAK. Not a single comment from you bitches yet. I may quit soon...

Yawn -- it's Pierce Brosnan. He's introducing clips from "Mamma Mia" -- the stupidest movie of the year.  I hope they don't show him singing...

Out comes P-Diddy and Kate Beckinsdale, or as I call her, "Not Kate Blanchet or Cate Winslet." They are giving out the award for Best Score. The Globes goes to "Slumdog Millionaire."

Up comes a very short Indian guy to accept. Thankfully his speech is short, too.

It's Jane Krakowski and David Duchovny. Awkwardness No. 1: Duchovny apologizes for the fact that the producers got the Indian guy's name wrong. Awkwardness No. 2: He makes a joke about getting a text message from his wife. Uh, David, aren't you and your wife getting a divorce?

Ugh, Tina Fey wins Best Actress for "30 Rock." I was hoping Mary-Louise Parker would get it.

Hooray! My first two comments. Many thanks to Stephen (Harman?) and Anonymous.


To present tonight's Cecil B. DeMille Award, it's real-life Muppet Martin Scorsese.

Oh, fuck, does this thing not end at 10? I have to go to bed! And this tribute to Steven Spielberg is a sleeping pill.

While the Spielberg montage plays, I receive my third comment. Thank you, sndchsr.

Damn, had I known the montage would be this long, I would have made myself a snack.

Spielberg finally takes the stage to accept the DeMille award. I AM getting a snack!

Still talking. I am now eating a bowl of Raisin Bran Crunch. BW is going up to bed. I may join him in a few minutes. This is tedious, and I have to be up for work at Blue Elephant in the morning.

Still talking. This why directors shouldn't give speeches. The man has zero charisma. OK, he's done.


Yikes -- diet pill commercial staring the now-elephantine Wynnona Judd. Let's hope it works, honey.

And we're back, with Emma Thompson and Dustin Hoffman. Emma's wearing some sort of black satin caftan. And they're both butchering whatever's in the TelePrompTer. 

Best Director. Oh, God, another director speech. Danny Boyle is the winner for "Slumdog." Yeah, I got to see this movie...

Sigourney Weaver takes the stage. She looks both fresh and age-appropriate, presents clips of "Revolutionary Road." This is the one starring Cate and Leo -- another one I haven't yet seen.

Hey, look, it's Sandra Bullock! Remember when she was like the most popular actress in the world? Not so much anymore. Wow, the whole Roman drape thing is really huge this year. Nearly every actress under 45 is wearing some sort of variation of it. Rami's revenge, indeed.

Double-Yum! Colin Farrell just won an award for that "Bruges" movie! I'd like him to bruges me sometime. That doesn't make sense. I am tired.

He's talking about love. All I can think about is the sex tape he made with that whore.

Oy, Colin, this speech is over the top. Stick to the coke jokes, please.

COMMERCIAL BREAK. Getting close to my breaking point here, folks. I'll go 'til 10:30 and finish off tomorrow afternoon.

Beyonce's Loreal commercial is more entertaining than anything on the awards show.

Back with constant annoyance Salma Hayek. She's introducing clips of "Vicky Cristina Barcelona." I thought she was in that movie, but I guess it's Penelope Cruz.

Here's Sacha Baron-Cohen, who does a mildly funny plastic surgery joke. WOW -- HE JUST DID SOME SERIOUSLY HARSH MATERIAL AND GOT BOOED! HOLY CONTROVERSY!

Here was his riff: "The recession is hitting celebrities, too; Victoria Beckham hasn't eaten in weeks, Charlie Sheen has been forced to have sex without paying for it, and Madonna had to fire one of her personal assistants: Our thoughts go out to Guy Ritchie." Who knew Baron-Cohen was an insult comic? I kind of love him now.

Oh, and "Vicky Cristina Barcelona" just won best musical or comedy. Haven't seen it.

COMMERCIAL BREAK. I am off to sleep, kids. Final half-hour blogged tomorrow.

Homo globed out.

Saturday, January 10, 2009

A Programming Note

For the first few years after I began writing this blog, I would put together annual recaps for the Oscars, Emmys and Golden Globes, which readers seemed to enjoy. It was an enormous amount of work -- so much so that last year I skipped blogging the awards shows altogether. (Click here if you want to read my last Globes recap from 2007. You'll have to highlight it in order to read some of the colored text.)

ANYHOO, given the popularity of my live-blogging of the presidential and VP debates this past election cycle, I've decided to try something new: Live-blogging the Globes!

So log on here tomorrow night if you want to read all my scintillating, bitchy thoughts on this year's telecast. (And by "here" I mean the blogspot version of this blog, not the Comedy Soapbox or MySpace teaser pages.)

One caveat: Even though the Globes actually happen here in California at 5 p.m., we don't get to watch them live on TV like the rest of the country. Instead, the recorded telecast is held until 8 p.m. Pacific time. In other words, the Globes will be over by the time I begin blogging. Which is sort of retarded, if you ask me. Also, I'm going to have to be very careful not to catch any news reports on TV or the Web lest I learn who the big winners are before I get to watch the show.

Yet another reason to never leave New York.

Bottom line: For those of you logging in from other time zones, this will be a recap, albeit one without photos or fancy graphics. I hope you enjoy it.

The Golden Globes air tomorrow night -- Sunday, Jan. 9 at 8 p.m. (7 Central) -- on NBC.

Here are this year's nominees.

Homo poised.

Friday, January 9, 2009

Back East

OK, OK -- I know I haven't blogged in two weeks. It was the holidays, for piss sake, and I spent a week in NYC/New Jersey, and I'm just now getting back into a normal routine (or what passes for a normal routine these days, given my semi-employed, bordering-on-pathetic status).  

So to all my devoted blog readers who have been complaining about my lack of output: Chill, bitches! I promise to blog as often as I can, whenever I have something remotely interesting to say.

First, because a number of you have asked, a finger update: 

I had my third appointment with Dr. O'Hayon today. Before I go into the latest prognosis, I should mention that each time I see the doctor (or any doctor), I have to submit a $20 co-pay. And to park at the San Diego Hand Specialists office, it costs $3. (They don't validate.) And on average, my appointment with Dr. O'Hayon lasts approximately seven minutes. So that's $23 for seven minutes, or more than $3 a minute. I've never paid $3 a minute for anything that didn't result in an orgasm, so I have a tough time justifying this cost to myself.

More bang for your buck.

As I read an old issue of "The Economist" and casually checked out a cute straight guy wearing a wrist cast, the doctor's receptionist said, "Mr. Sank? You have a $20 co-pay today."

"Right," I replied. "As opposed to every other day."

She stared blankly at me. Hand receptionists apparently don't get sarcasm.

Once inside Dr. O'Hayon's examining room, the good doctor looked at my finger for a few seconds before delivering her latest verdict. "Well, the good news is, your finger is straight!"

She paused dramatically, as if this were a surprise to me.

"The bad news," she continued, "is that it's still very swollen. So what I think we're going to have you do is wear the oval 8 splint for another two weeks and then come see me again so we can begin flexing exercises."

I'm sorry. Begin WHAT?

"Flexing exercises. Once you're done with the splint, you're going to have to exercise the tendon."

For some reason, I immediately pictured my finger wrapped in a tiny pink leg warmer, flexing while Olivia Newton-John sings "Physical."

"Let me hear your tendon talk... your tendon talk..."

For those of you keeping score, I injured my finger on Oct. 26, 2008. It is now Jan. 9, 2009 -- 75 days later. The average dog carries puppies to term in less time than it's taken this fucking thing to heal. 

I'm over it. Truly.

# # #

Returning to NYC after a six-month absence was a surreal experience, a bit like dreaming. I made a point of visiting all the food places I miss most, like Lenny's sandwich shop on 9th Ave. (try the Emma's Combo with extra Russian dressing... holy shit!) and the build-your-own salad counter at Food Emporium on 8th. I was a bit devastated at the latter to discover that they no longer carry their signature creamy balsamic dressing. I guess you really can't go home again.

I was most excited about returning to Therapy for a "surprise set" at my alma mater, the Electro Shock Therapy Comedy Hour. Unfortunately for me, the show's new regular host, bloated comedian/substance abuser and dear friend Brad Loekle, was out of town "performing" in Puerta Vallarta. But I was psyched anyway. I mean, these were my people! They would welcome me back with open arms and legs! How thrilled they would be! 

They weren't. It wasn't me; it was them. Just a total lame-o audience. I don't know who the hell they were -- I didn't recognize most of them. But they didn't seem to even know there was a comedy show at the bar that night, and they were silent and hostile to all the performers throughout the entire show.

BW was so sweet. He was extremely concerned for my well-being. I was like, "Honey, do you know how many times I've bombed on this stage? This is a walk in the park for me."

I was, however, relieved the next night when I had one of my best sets ever in front of a sold-out crowd of (straight) people at Comix. Just delightful. The set was taped, and I am awaiting its arrival. After it does, I'm going to send it to fabulous comedian/video techie extraordinaire Josh Homer and have him upload it so I can share it with you all. (Josh Homer doesn't know he's doing this for me yet, unless he's reading this blog now. In which case, Thanks, Josh! You're the best!)

Just Joshin'...

Tuesday night was my family's annual Chanukah celebration (belated this year), complete with the "Secret Chanukah Harry" gift exchange, our version of "Secret Santa." This event has become increasingly challenging over the years as we all try to out-do each other with our "clue" poems. I ended up writing a hip-hop style rap for my recipient -- my 16-year-old nephew, Tyler. True to form, it contained the words "ass" and "bitches," the latter in reference to his family's two female dogs. When I had tried it out on my mother earlier in the day, she proclaimed it to be highly inappropriate. I assured her that she knew very little about either rap music or 16-year-olds, and that it would, in fact, kill.

It did.

M.C. Tyler, lovin' every minute of it.

Granny Phy, with egg on her face.

The original Granny, still sexy at 92.

Leo, beloved nephew, future terrorist.

BW and I moved to NYC for the second part of the week, staying at the home of two friends who were out of town. They left behind their cat. Why all cats love me when I truly despise them is a mystery for the ages.

Pussy be gone.

We spent New Year's with my dearest friends, Seth, Pat and Jeff, who was also celebrating his birthday Jan. 1 (along with my sister, Anna).

The boys are back in town. God, I miss these guys...

# # #

That's all for now. San Diego people, come out and see me do a long set (20 minutes) at Club Riley's in Point Loma on Jan. 19. Here are the deets:

01/19/2009 09:00 PM
2901 Nimitz Boulevard
Pt. Loma, CA 92106

Homo flexing.