This is NOT funny. NOT NOT NOT NOT NOT.

Please. Please, for the love of all things sacred, do not visit this website, because it would be in very bad taste.

Particularly, please do not scratch your head in wonderment at the very perplexing disclaimer at the bottom of the page:
NOTE: Due to the devastation caused by Hurricane Katrina, shipment of orders will be suspended until further information is available. Please pray for all of those families that are so deeply affected by this tragedy. (As in: no more Hurricanes because of the Hurricane)

Also, do NOT go to this website, which claims that a New Orleans hurricane "starts out calm, but it gets stormy towards the end!"

That would also be a bad idea and you should not do that. At all.


AND. Now that we've all gotten the very, very, very bad taste out of our mouths: holy jesus fuck, it is absolutely unthinkable what is happening down South. Completely unfathomable. Therefore. Please donate to the Red Cross's Katrina relief -- it's astounding to think of how many people are homeless, jobless, seemingly futureless and terrified.

Bedazzled is so much more than a Hurley/Fraser vehicle

Reader Ian McCarty wrote in to hip me to "Beat Dazzler," a lovely rap by Leslie and the Lys about the bedazzler and how fantastic it is. I must say, I actually prefer their first hit, "Gem Sweater," an ode to, like-no-doykies, the gem sweater.

Thanks, Ian!

Who's Loving Your Mama? I am! I am!

Whoa-ho-ho-ho. How have I not been hipped to Kennedy before? (No, not the redheaded Republican former VJ, you silly hosebag). (Nor the ex-president, neither, you dork). The Kennedy who sings "Your Mama," the video for which is a multicolored fantasia of epic proportions. Thank the stars that my friend Ethan is so much cooler than I am (thanks for the hip-tip, yo!)

Fuck my Cock! The Mr. Softee Song Has REAL Lyrics

Today's my public service contribution to New York.
I'm sure that all of you, as do I, hear the Mr. Softee jingle so often that its tinkly melody is inscribed, indelibly, in that part of your brain that still recalls the childhood terror you experienced upon viewing an episode of Webster wherein Webster accidentally set fire to his house with his chemistry set.

And, if you're like me and my roomie, you once upon a time, many years ago, when the Mr. Softee truck would park outside of your Greenpoint apartment for six hours at a time, blasting its infectious tune into your subconscious, wrote lyrics to the jingle.

And your version of the tune, which you cannot help singing whenever you hear the Mr. Softee song, goes like this:
(Our lyrics:)
Oh, who is your neighborhood ice cream man?
His name is Mr. Softee!
Who is your neighborhood ice cream man?
His name is Mr. Softee!
He makes the stuff
And sells the stuff
And then you will want to eat the stuff
So grab your change
And tell your friends:
"He's coming down the street!"
Oh!
Who is your neighborhood ice cream man?
His name is Mr. Softee!
Where could Mr. Softee be?
There ... he ... is!

But now, I learn there are actual lyrics to the Mr. Softee song! And they TOTALLY SUCK compared to our version.
The real lyrics:
The creamiest, dreamiest soft ice cream
You get from Mr. Softee
For a refreshing delightful supreme
Look for Mr. Softee
My milk shakes and my sundaes
And my cones a such a treat
Listen for my store on wheels
Ding-a-ling down the steet
The creamiest, dreamiest soft ice cream
You get from Mr. Softee
For a refreshing delight supreme
Look for Mr. Softee
S-O-F-T Double E Mister Softee!

Dang, yo. "S-O-F-T Double E" is a really nice touch.

Ack! What if we both showed up at the VMAs wearing the SAME TACKY ANIMAL PRINT?

In case you can't read my shoddy, shoddy, i-have-two-minutes-to-make-this-in-photoshop text, Gwen says:
"Ew, Lindsay, I called fives on the whole platinum-hair-&-leopard combo when you were, like, nine"
and then Lindsay says:
"Gwen, you bitch, I totally had dibs on leopard. But at least my no-boobs look better than your no-boobs."

Shilling for Sperm

... for "Sperm Donor," that is. My constant readers will recall that I wrote about my ol' time jewcamp buddy, Mark Treitel, who's rocking Situation: Comedy on Bravo.

Mark's made it through the rigors of dealing with Hollywood (as my once-cool, but now apparently super lame-oid second-cousin Joey says, "The Entertainment Industry is EVIL! It will eat you up and gobble you up!" And I say unto him: "I am biting the big one, entertainment industry-stillz, and it's suiting me just fine!") and now he's up for the Holy Grail of sitcomerry: the chance to shoot his script as a pilot and get an agent and be all sorts of famous.

Watch!
Vote!
Cats in Sinks!


And now ... an actual, real-live message from the soon-to-be-soooo-famous Mark Treitel

I'm currently on a reality show on Bravo Television, called "Situation: Comedy", produced by Sean Hayes ("WILL & GRACE"), airing Fridays at 7 - 8 PM. I was chosen out of 10,000 scripts to make a pilot for NBC.

America can vote for my sitcom "The Sperm Donor" on http://aol.com/situationcomedy
People can vote once a day, until Friday, Sept. 2, 2005 at midnight.
Every vote counts.
My writing partner and I can win $50,000.00, a Hollywood Agent, and it will really help propel my ten year quest to be a succesful sitcom writer.

Our show stars MAGGIE WHEELER ("JANICE" from "FRIENDS") and DAVID DELUISE ("THIRD ROCK FROM THE SUN" and DOM DELUISE'S SON).

You can also watch the pilot presentation at http://aol.com/situationcomedy site.

For more info:
www.marktreitel.com
www.Bravotv.com/situation_comedy

Sufjan/Kanye

Holy hot fuck! Thanks (as always) to Stereogum for the hizzook izzup, but dig:
it's a Kanye/Sufjan mashup!

Kanye and Sufjan have little in common, other than unusual names and Jesus-love. But they mashup so nice! And I am not a Kanye fan AT ALL, but, hell, this mashupper took my very most fave Sufjan song, "They Are Night Zombies!! They Are Neighbors!! They Have Come Back From The Dead!! Ahhhhh!" from his most recent album, Illinois, (what's better than zombies and spelling? absotutely nuffink) and stuck that peanut butter into the chocolate of Kanye's "Jesus Walks," that song he did at the Grammys with all the Christians.

Suf-ye!
Kan-jan!

An Important Question

Have you, or has anyone you know, ever tipped a cow?
For reals. We're looking for firsthand experiences, or secondhand experiences if you can vouch for the honesty of the person who told you the story about the time he or she once tipped a cow.

I mean, we're talking about a 1200 pound beast with a low center of gravity and really big hooves. We're just starting to doubt that anyone's ever done it.

We are not, however, condoning said behavior.

Hit us in the comments section with anecdotal evidence, please.

Drinking the Ringback KoolAid

So, I signed up for the whole ringback thing, and I think I may make it my new hobby. Firstly, i think it's RAD that when someone cals me, they get to hear a song instead of a brrrring-brrrring. Secondly, I think the possibilities are endless. I chose "Life During Wartime" because
a) it's currently life during wartime
b) me heartz me some talking heads
c) have I mentioned: it's life during wartime
d) they didn't have the ghostbusters song
e) nor did they have "day-o" by harry belafonte
f) nor did they have "since u been gone" by kelly clarkson
g) it's really, currently, life during wartime

"Try to be careful, don't take no chances, you better watch what you say"

I can assign a different ringtone for all my friends! So Josh could get "Son of a Preacher Man," because he is! And my parents could hear "Sunrise, Sunset" (if only Fiddler were done up ringback style ... oooh, which makes me think that having a ringback from Cats would be kickrad). And my boo could hear "Chicken Pot Pie," by Weird Al, just because. What fun!

I'd like to think I'm an early adapter, but I know that ain't true. It's just that I might be the only one of my friends rocking the ringback, because none of my friends are tweens and it seems the tweens dig on this sort of shiznit.

So, call me, and enjoy the melodious tones of David Byrne. Jealous?

And now, a word from our sponsor:
Happy Birthday to my boyfriend, John!
(historical moment: the first time I've used his actual name on this blog).

A Thought Stemmed from Thinx Whilst Watching CBS

Boy, oh boy, does Ghost Whisperer sure look like a steaming pile of suckfest poo.

Six Feet Under -- of Poop

I dunno. The critics I really like seem to dig on the series finale. Even Heather Havrilesky liked it, and I usually agree with her (in fact, I still agree with her nugget about Sufjan Stevens and REM's "Reckoning"), but I simply must say: I thought it was poop.

Now, those who know and love me know that there is nothing I like more than a series finale. I have watched countless series finales throughout my life, including many finales to shows I never watched or about which I knew very little. Luckily, series finales are often accompanied by thoughtful reflections on their legacy (or lack thereof) in various entertainment-related publications, many of which I devour either whilst lying in bed (the yummy tasty actual-dead-trees print version of Entertainment Weekly,) or when I should be writing scripts for spots about Breaking Bonaduce (anything online). And so I have watched dozens of people say goodbye to their fictional families and friends, and I have seen numerous tearful embraces and nostalgic reflections, and lemme tell you: there's something oh-so-satisfying about finding closure in anything, even if it's just for a fake family I never even cared about.

But, I kinda cared about the Fishers. When Nate died, I was sad because I thought the actors did a fine job with the grieving -- I was empathically sad with them, not sad for them. Good job, actorpeople! Good job, Six Feet Under friends! But this whole final season has been such a slog ... slog, slog, slog, woe-is-me, boohoo, we're never happy. And I was kinda just waiting for it to be over, although now there's even less I want to watch on tv (except for all VH1 content, of course). And I kept hoping everyone was going to die -- I thought maybe Claire kicked it when her hearse crashed, and I thought maybe something totally dramatic would happen to the rest of 'em.

Like maybe they'd all be sitting around the kitchen table and a bomb would go off and they'd all evaporate (and then next year, we could watch the series that I'll develop out of the simply transcendently wonderful video for "We Will Become Silhouettes" -- goddamn, that dessicated peaches moment s-l-a-y-s me. Note to Jared Hess: call me!). Or maybe a giant shark would appear out of nowhere and gobble them down. Anything exciting.

But it was just all just kinda meh. Yay to Claire for setting out to big, scary, city, but all the hit-you-with-a-sledgehammer emotional resolution? David's hugging himself shiznit? And keeping the funeral home, but turning it into a big Queer Eye'd styly-pad? And all of a sudden Keith just wants to be a daddy? And Ruth's doggy daycare? And everything was just so fucking turgid. And, we get it, Nate's dead -- he's the guy who started the show as a shallow, insecure, can't-be-satisfied-with-anything bummer, and he ended the show the exact same way; a five-seasons journey from which he seemingly learned NOTHING -- and yet he's supposed to be this angelic source of peace and solace and serenity? And those insufferable future-flashforwards about everyone's death? Bleeech.

(but, oh look: obits! and episode deconstruction!)
I so would have preferred the giant shark.

The Sounds of Awesomeness

Holy hot fuck! It's McGruff the Crime Dog's classic album, Keeping Kids Safe!

I HIGHLY suggest you listen to track two, "I'm Glad I'm Me!"

Another juicy nugget: "It's Not Your Fault," the absolving-of-self-guilt anti-molestation rap. RAP. rap.

I used to loooove McGruff the crime dog. Once, we went to the very awesome and exotic tourist destination known as Port Authority Bus Terminal (or, the PABT, if you're nasty), because my mom's college buddy Sue was the President or the Chairwoman or the Head of Something or other, and we got the behind the scenes tour, which included legless beggars in wheelchairs and heroin-addicts in the lock-up AND Sue bought me a GIANT CANDYCANE (that eventually lasted until August)!!! And there were posters on the walls of the jail area featuring McGruff the crime dog, and I sang the song that I knew so well from the commercials:

Users are losers
And losers are users
So don't use drugs, don't use drugs!
If you know a user even part of time,
Tell them to quit!
Take a bite out of crime!

To this day, I'm not sure if McGruff was singing about part-time users, or users whom you may have only known part of the time. Like, is it,
1)."Oh, Schlomo, he uses drugs on Tuesdays and Thursdsays ... he uses drugs only part of the time."
Or, is it:
2). "Oh, that's Larry, he's the intern who's here on Tuesdays and Thursdays ... I'd say I know him only part of the time."

And this nugget of joy is also audio awesomeness. It's Prexy George Bush the 2nd singing (kinda) "Imagine" by John Lennon.

Dear Celebrity Babies

Dear Celebrity Babies:
If you ever watch All Access: Awesomely Wacky Celebrity Baby Names, I would like you to know that I am (gently) poking fun at your name, not at you. Moreso, I am (not so gently) poking fun at your parents, for naming you something silly.

Sincerely, and with respect,
Bex (whose parents named her "Rebecca," so, clearly, she's the one who gave herself an awesomely wacky baby name)

Yesterday was Vegan Appeciation Day, wherein all the nonmeateaters in my life (namely: me and my boyf) went out for vegan blunch (brunch+lunch = blunch!) at Teany (and no one was stabbed!) (ask not for whom the vegan chicken salad tolls...it tolls for thee). And then we went to Babeland for fun toys sans animal products! (note: they've dropped the "toys in" because they're oh-so-much-more-than-just-toys now.)

Sidenote: A million years ago, in "Lord of the Cockrings," I played a magical shopgirl at Toys in Babeland who sold Scroto Baggins the magical cockring -- one cockring to rule them all, one cockring to find them!

Anyhoo. And then we went to Mooshoes to buy Vegan shoes, in non-leather!

And, of course, the magical shopgirls at Mooshoes are super animal friendly, so they've adopted lots of stray kitty cats. And we walked in, and there was this ginormous kittycat sprawled out in a patch of sunlight in front of the door. And he was soooo huge and soooo cute that I simply had to bend down and pet his adorable little head. And in the back of my head, I heard someone saying, "No, he's bad! He's bad!"

And I, of course, thought that the "He's bad" someone wasn't talking to me. I thought perhaps I'd walked into a conversation between two of the magical shopgirls and one of them had just said, "So, I went out with JimmyBob last night," and the other girl said, "No, he's bad! He's bad!"

But, apparently, they were talking about the kitty and he was indeed a bad kitty because he scratched me, but even though I knew he was a bad kitty I still wanted to pet him and pet him and pet him and pet him, and so I had to buy a vegan handbag instead of petting the kitty.

Petting the kitty at Mooshoes: stroking the ____________ at Babeland
a. meowmeow
b. pussycat
c. baby kitten
d. snatch

Frawg? Do I want to drink something called Frawg?

So I'm in my office, where the tv is always tuned to VH1. And I just saw a spot for a new apple-flavored Big Glup / Slurpee at the Slev, called "Frawg".

Frawg? With a logo like a frog-pawprint? Do I want to drink something that's bright green and looks suspiciously like frog guts?* Is the Slev just ripping off a classic Monty Python routine?

I can just hear the local 7-11 proprietor now: "We use only the finest baby frogs, dew-picked and flown from Iraq, cleansed in the finest quality spring water, lightly killed, and then sealed in a succulent Swiss quintuple smooth treble cream milk chocolate envelope, and lovingly frosted with glucose... and then Slurpee-ized."


*actually, yes. yes, i do.

Xena Takes on Number 6!

Well, not really, but it's mildly possible, and wouldn't it be the greatest dorkout lesbionic scifi mashup ever? For reals, Lucy Lawless will grace my beloved Battlestar Galactica!

Holy Fuck, It's Robo-Cat

WHOA, KITTY!

Everyone Hearts Uncle Baldrick - And So Should You!

See, I told you it was hilarrifficly awesome!

I'm going to see this show Thursday (today, by the time you're reading it). See it now! Because not only is laughter the best medicine but it also cures plantar's warts and simulates the same chemicals triggered by orgasms, much like chocolate (when it's pronounced chaw-ka-lat).

A Routine

So I did some real stand-up last night, and it just made me realize I don't love the stand-up. I love the standing on stage and talking and telling stories and sharing insights and generally trying to make you laugh ... I don't love the rhythm and the schtick of the precise genre of stand-up. It was a good epiphany, and made me cherish all those downtown shows I get to do wherein I can just ramble and riff and shpritz and not tell "jokes," so to speak. So I'm just posting my "notes" here, to get it all out of my system. Remember, as always, it's just a routine. I don't have any STDs for real and I'm madly in love with my boyfriend so all the dating stuff is just a facade. Meh. Hopefully, if I were saying this to you, you'd find it at least mildly amusing (and the performative version would be much more casual; this is slightly stilted in written form).

--------------------------------------------------------------\\

I have a very, very important question. And the question is this: what happened to all the embedded journalists? There were so many of them for so long and they were all up in the shiznit and then all of a sudden, did they all go home? They were so in on the action and it was so exciting – when we were winning, remember that? But now there are no embedded journalists on the news anymore. In fact, there are very few journalists on the news anymore.

In fact – there’s no news on the news anymore! I guess it’s because we’re all on cnn.com every two hours so we know what’s going on in the world. Or at least in the parts of the world that matter enough to be on Cnn.com. So then it’s 11 o’clock and you turn on the news and your newsfriends come on, and there’s nothing new to tell you, so they’re just like, “Boo, Chinese food gives you cancer and that lipstick you’re wearing is going to kill your babies.” The evening news is “Be afraid, be afraid, be afraid, worry, worry, worry, the world is a horrible place and we’re all going to die.” And that is not news. That is a phone call from my mother.

But then, do I really want to watch real news? The lead story of every night is that gas prices are at an all-time high and they’re not showing any signs of going down. Speaking of going down, So I was giving this guy head on the highway – road head – and I finished and he was like, wow, that was a 50 dollar blowjob. And I was like, why, because it was five times as good as a blowjob from a ten-dollar hooker? And he said no, because it took fifteen minutes and we drove 30 miles and that’s 50 bucks worth of gas. … Fucking Hummer! Those goddamn SUVs cost like 100 bucks to fill up and you’re up so high that none of the other cars can see you sucking someone’s wiener! Poop on that! Why do it if no one else can see you and be jealous?

What else is on the news … the weather. Oh, how I love watching the weather. “It’s very hot.” No fucking shit. Did you guys all survive the heat wave? Oh, clearly, you survived, and if you didn’t survive, and you’re still sitting here, then you must be a zombie and you want to eat my brain, so let me warn you that it’s been ravaged – RAVAGED – by syphilis, and it’s just like swiss cheese and it would not make good zombie food. Syphilis – the best way to keep the zombies away. It’s also a really good shoo-out on a bad date – a shoo-out is the opposite of a shoo-in. If you’re on a date, a shoo-in would be, “I really love giving head and watching sports,” and a shoo-out is, “Just so you know, I have a raging case of the syphilis.”

The clap is a fantastic way to end a date. Sometimes I have trouble getting out of really boring dates. Usually I just start doing shots so I get really drunk really fast and then just go home and have sex with the dude, just so that date is officially over and I can be home in time for Letterman. Wham bam thank you, Sam! None of that post-coital cuddling shit, yo. Cuddling is for pussies.

Speaking of pussies, it was so hot this weekend and my roomie and I were so overwhelmed by the heat and all the hair that we decided there was nothing left to do but shave our pussies in the bathtub. So we did, with my roommate’s beard-trimmers, and they squirmed a lot, but now we have sheared cats, and they have the cutest little buzzcuts, just like little feline marines. So they fit in well in the neighborhood -- we live in Chelsea, which I like to call Homo Depot, which is awesome for me because I’m so much more than a fag hag or a fruit fly, I’m a total ho for the mos. They’re homos and I’m a mo-ho, it works out fabulously, and I have lots of gay boyfriends who tell me when my tits look good and it’s just swell.

But when I’m not with my gay boyfriends, I tend to date older guys. You ever have that weird moment when you’re having sex and you’re like – whoa, you’re so much older than me that you could be my dad? I mean, figuratively you’re old enough to be my dad, not like you’re someone who literally fucked my mom 26 years ago. I hope.

And the older guys love the Viagra and the cialis and the gigantipenis – we all know what that stuff does, right? It makes you able to throw the football through the tire swing or have sex in an antique bathtub whilst watching the sunset? I think viagra’s awesome but I’m worried that it might be addictive – my friend Bill says he has to take four pills just to get up in the morning.

Too Cool for Tuesday -- Stand Up NY at 9

Don't forget, 8/16 at 9pm, I'm rocking Stand Up New York.

You can call the club at 212-595-0850 and tell them you're my guest and make a reservation and they'll waive the cover charge (but you still have to drink two drinx).

10 chicks! Short sets! A jam-packed hour of funny! Two drinks in one hour = fun for all ages!

A Ho for the 'Mo

After Friday's mutual link-masturbation, a new friend writes in:

I have been a certified lurker on your blog all these many months.  I was wondering if you could take a peek at mine...maybe if you like what you see I could get a coveted spot on the Link List... (I was thinking hard trying to figure out what a 20-something 'mo from Indiana could do to grab your attention...I thought about renting a blimp [tres expensive, btw]  I finally decided I would just buck up and actually e-mail you.) Anyhoo, check me out at http://doubleclick80.blogspot.com it would be mosdef doubleplussuperkickawesomeradness.  (Had to throw that in there for good measure)

And he uses my wordspeak! Hi, Matt! Thanks for the love! I love me 20-something 'mos, as I am a 20-something ho for the 'mos. Because ho and mo rhyme! Just like South Dakota and Minnesota. Did you know Mt. Rushmore is in the black mountain hills of Dakota, just like Rocky Raccoon?

See, friends? I do write back to emails, every so often. Sometimes. Kinda sorta. I promise!

Work is Sometimes Not Even Safe For Work

So my friend Jim has a blog and it's for Work Magazine. And my friend Josh said, "Can you and Jim do a little linky-linky action?"

Actually, that's not true. This is how the conversation really went down:
JOSH: my friend jim writes this blog and likes your blog and wants to know if he can get his chocolate in your peanut butter and vice-versa.
BEX: he knows i have the herpes, right? JUST KIDDING!
JOSH: you are under no obligation here. i dunno how you bloggers usually do this sort of mutual butt-sniffing.
BEX: we just do it. cyber stillz. we never meet in person.
JOSH: there are e-cards if everything goes well.

Anyhoodles, so then I went to Work Magazine, The Blog and I was like, whoa, I don't know if Jim wants my hot blog-on-blog action. I mean, as we all fucking know, my language is mosdef NSFW. Not Safe For Work. So, if my blog isn't necessarily safe for work, how could my blog be safe for Work?

And then, Josh told me that Work is sometimes not safe for work. Or Work!

MINDFUCK, MINDFUCK, MINDFUCK, MINDFUCK!

Stand Up New York Gig -- 8/16

Q: Where does the general keep his armies?
A: Up his sleevies!

BWA HA HA HA HA HA HA!

I'm doing a superspecial comedy showcase this Tuesday at Stand Up New York. I don't think there's a cover, but there's, BUMMER, a real comedy style two-drink-minimum. So you should still come. And have two diet cokes. Yummers! It's an all-chick night of female yonic awesomeness.

Stand Up New York: 236 West 78th Street, right off Broadway, in the heart of the Upper West Side (aka "where everyone with whom I went to camp lives") of Manhattan.
9pm
Tuesday, August 16th, 2005.

Yes, That's Right -- I am In the Driver's Seat in a DeLorean. Jealous much?

I hopped into the DeLorean just before we shot the final sequence of my I Love the 80s 3D spot.

And yes, talk abounded of flux capacitors and 1.21 gigawatts and the power of love.

Of course it did.

And also, let's not forget Tubcat

Three years ago, we were MAD OBSESSED with Tubcat.

Buy me a mug!

There is some DAMN fine stuff on my cat today

Whenever I'm feeling blue, not only do I pick up my chin and grin, but I also like to visit stuff on my cat, which is always good for a chuckle or five. And today, friends, there are some damn fine stuffs on their cats. Enjoy. Particularly, the sweater-hat cat named Buster.

And, this tough kitty in a cap (doesn't he look like a little boy?), who is pretty much almost the dream cat i saw in my dream once, except my dream cat bore a stronger resemblance to Gizmo the Good Gremlin and looked at me with this tone of voice that said, "I am so in love with you and I will wake up every morning and look at you lovingly and I shall be your best cat ever." This tough kitty looks slightly like that dream kitty.

OH. MY. LORD. DEVO.

We are not men.

HOLY HOT FUCK. I took my roomie to see Devo last night at the Hammerstein Ballroom and it was sooooooooooooooooo megakickradawesomedevo. First of all, my ol' buddy Vic Thrillwas the opening act and I haven't seen him since he was so nice as to be in my Black History Month spot, the one celebrating Chuck Berry. Vic is space-y and supercool and it was great to see him up there. And then, the awesome power that is Devo took the stage. And they are AMAZING.

And middle-aged and proud!

The show kicked serious ass and we bounced and spazzed our little heinies off. And then the drummer broke his hand and played four songs one-handed (which blew my mind -- he's not even the drummer for Def Leppard!) and then they had to call it quits because he just couldn't do it anymore.

How i love Devo. Their commitment to their ethos, their total immersion in conceit and theme, the fact that they own their sound ... I wish I could go see Devo every night.


The beginning was the end -- of EVERYTHING, yeah!

The Salacious Uncle Baldrick

Greetings, friends and tigers and chickadeedees --
You must, MUST, go see The Salacious Uncle Baldrick! It's in the Fringe Festival and it's hi-fucking-larious.

My friend Kenan and his buddy Sean wrote this play and it's brilliant. I hate to say "spoof" because that sounds sophmoric, but it's kinda like a spoof/satire on the Importance of Being Earnest / Moliere / French Farce theatrical conceits and it's just so smart and so intelligent and so bawdy and so awesomely funny. And when was the last time you saw a piece of theatre -- THEATRE! not improv or sketch or standup -- that had you laughing so hard you like unto fell out of your seat?

I tell you, I like unto fell out of my seat.

See the show! Buy tickets!You have only a few chances:
Saturday, August 13: 9:45 PM - 11:25 PM
Sunday, August 14: 5:15 PM - 6:55 PM
Tuesday, August 16: 6:30 PM - 8:10 PM
Thursday, August 18: 6:30 PM - 8:10 PM
Saturday, August 20: 2:00 PM - 3:40 PM

I'll be at the show on August 18th, yeehaw!
Plus, as an added bonus, the STAR of my I Love the 80s 3D spot, Josh Perilo, is in the play! Worlds collide! Or rather, I cast someone I already knew as the star of my spot! Bwa ha ha haha! He's so awesome! He was in Mr. A$$ back in the day, my faverave UCB troupe of all time!

A Master Baker

My nanny ain't never baked no cake like this!

So Saturday was the mega-shoot for I Love the 80s 3D and it was kickradawesome ... I'll post a photo me sitting in an '83 Delorean (!!!) soon.

But Sunday was my grandmother's 80th birthday party, and the boyf and I drove up to Poughkeepsie to join the celebramation. My fambly is all about the speeches and the toasts and this event was no exception. After all the songs and the poems and the praise and the platitudes, my mother and her siblings read an official proclamation -- disclaimer: my mom used to write proclamations for the Bergen County government, all the Whereas jabby and such -- about how Sunday was officially my grandmother's official day.

And it was all lovely until my mom got to the paragraph wherein she listed all my grandmother's talents. And my mom read, "She's a trusted listener, a brilliant mentor, a world-class shopper, a fantastic cook, a master baker ..." Whereas, my brother and I lost our shit.

MASTER BAKER? She didn't say "talented baker" or "skilled baker" or even "awesome baker," but she had to say "Master Baker?"

I was trying so hard to contain the hilarity that I started crying mascara streaks down my face. We had just about gotten ourselves under control when they brought out dessert: a split biscuit spilling over with peaches and cream. So we lost it again. "Can I eat your cream?" and "Mmmm, such creamy peaches," and "Let me lick the cream out of your biscuit" and "My peaches are dripping with cream" abounded.

We chastized my mother for her inappropriate word choie, and she pointed out that nobody else at the party found the expression "master baker" to be hi-fucking-larious.

We're nothing if not growed up!

It's Like A Cold Medicine Ad, But For Beer -- MADE OUT OF PEOPLE

This might be my new very favorite ad of all time.

Spreading the Love, Much Like Butter

A few shoutouts: to The Apiary, a website that showers NYC comics with love affection. And, just like Nelson, I can't live without it.

To Ethan and his blackrimglasses: Ethan and his lovelywife Amy took me to a Secret Machines / Kings of Leon show in LA and someone approached me with the line, "Excuse me, are you what a Bex Schwartz looks like in real life?" Indeed I am. And then Ethan called me his little celebrity. Aw, shuckies! But, the best part about Ethan is that we once spent a frigid evening walking along St. Marks Place and trying on various hats and sunglasses, trying to create the ideal look for imaginary bands. Like wearing a Russian fur hat and wire-rimmed blue sunglasses would mean you were in a band that sounds like Wire-meets-Oingo-Boingo.

To Mark Treitel and his incredibly meta-meta post about how we all blog about each other. Thus, I continue the trend of blogging about blogging about blogging about blog posts.

Mark's post introduced me to Icerocket, which is cooler than Technorati and has a less icky name. I Icerocketed myself and found out that some people love me and some people hate me and some people think i'm ugly and some people want to fuck me. Just like in real life!

So ... I'm shooting my mega kickradawesome "I Love the 80s 3D" spot on Saturday and it's SO going to blow your mind. To that extent, check out my CG partners, 1st Ave Machine, because they will fuck up your shit so damn bad it'll never be the same. In an INCREDIBLY awesome way.

Ramah-Lama-Ding-Dong

To everyone asking about my stint at Jew Camp, I was in Gesher '94. Which means I started in Shorashim for 4 weeks in '89, did eight homesick weeks (with counselor Esther) in '90, then i took '91 off from the Jews and did a summer theatre thing (local community kids' theatre, woo! We sang "Voice that Care" and "Proud to be an American" and "Abraham, Martin & John" and I still know all the words! Lonely fear lights up the sky, can't help but wonder why you're so far away ...) and then I was back for Bogrim on B-side in 93 and went straight through til '94.

i am such a DORK DORK DORK DORK!

I didn't go to Israel with camp because I was working at a day camp, and I never worked at camp because I was over the Jew thing and wanted to, like, start trying to figure out what I wanted to do when I grew up (eg interning my little buttocks off).

Vadging Out Avec Les Chicks

Nichelle posted photos from last night's Chicks and Giggles grrrrl-fest of awesome.

Check 'em on out, ya'll's missed a righteous show (except for you lovely people who were there and witnessed raunch the likes of which i've never raunched before).

More (live) shows coming your way soon, deets to come as soon as shiznit gets solidified... that means it's currently liquid shiznit!

You know sometimes when you drink too much hard alcohol (or, like, remember back to your early 20s when you'd drink too much hard alcohol) and then you have the runs the next morning? I like to think of that particular situation as the Liquishits.

I wasn't even scatologically raunchy last night, tigers, but these are the breaks. And those are the chicks!

Counselor Esther Says Such Nice Things!

Golly gee, my once-upon-a-time counselor at Jew Camp wrote the nicest blog entry about me today. AW, SHUCKS! And to think, that was the summer I cried hysterically almost every day because I was so very homesick. Esther's post reminded me to plug ANOTHER camp friend, Mark Treitel, who is currently kicking ass in the new Bravo reality show, "Situation Comedy." Mark gained fame and fortune (in the form of Shabbatograms, mayhaps), by coming onstage during a Hebrew production (reinterpretation) of an episode of Family Ties and saying, "Skippy! Ayzo peanut butter!" when Skippy entered the scene. Or something. I wasn't there when that happened because I wasn't going to Jew Camp yet, but the legend lived on.

I think that phrase translates to "Skippy -- is really peanut butter!" but I could be horribly mistaken.

This is the point at which I proudly point out that I played Mrs. Walker in a Hebrew production of Tommy, at the very same Jew Camp. At that, many years apart, both my mother and I played orphans in two different Hebrew productions of "Oliver."

And that one summer they did Jesus Christ Superstar in Hebrew, except it was about Shabbetai Tzvi.

This is also probably a good point at which to redirect you to my wannabe-infamous article about being a Bad Girl Jew.

Straight to the Kickawesomeradness

Yay! I feel like such a Gotham celeb today because RKB is so rad that she interviewed me for Gothamist. Holy hot cha cha!

I'm on my way to go shoot All Access Awesomely Bad Celeb Freakouts -- lots of Tom Cruise vs. Lauer, Tom Cruise vs. Oprah, Water Pistol vs. Tom Cruise and crazy, crazy Pat O'Brien voicemails. And then on Friday, I shoot All Access Awesomely Bad Celeb Habits. And then next week, it's All Access Celeb Parties, or something like that. Are we detecting a trend here? All I ever do is talk shit about people I don't know! In fact, when I was in LA, I was mildly scared I'd run into Paris Hilton and she'd give me a much-needed beatdown for slanking her off for three years on tv.

Come to Chicks and Giggles tonight! WOO!

PS -- Isn't a "recess appointment" just another word for "cheating?"

PPS -- Still totally obsessed with John Darnielle's cover of "The Sign." (see post about mostbest stereogum link ever. if you haven't listened yet, you are sooooo losing out).

RAWK The Gothamist

Check it on out! And thanks to the very wonderful and awe-inspiring Rachel Kramer Bussel, who's so rad that words fail. Plus, don't miss Chicks and Giggles, Tuesday night at 8:30!

It's True; You Are

Time to accept it and make peace with it, friends.

And you know how that whole 12-step thing goes:
acceptance
serenity
wearing the tee-shirt
...
(waiting on line for the ride at disneyland)
(watching the made-for-tv movie)
&c.

Call me Crazy, But The Helicopters Sound Like They're Attacking

Okay, what the fork is going on? It's 12:38 in Chelsea and I swear, it sounded like helicopters were attacking. They were flying right over my building, and I was trying to pee, and all I could think was that I was going to be incinerated on the toilet. But I think they went away. But, Sweet Jesus on a Hot Cross Bun! Did anyone else hear that?