I Somehow Always Thought it would be the Circus Lion

RIP, Gerald Ford. And RIP James Brown. We need somebody real good-like to complete that trifecta. Liz Taylor? How's she doing these days?

I LOVE NEW YORK -- the MANSTACK

So, mega New York fan Ponlork put my "MANSTACK" spot up on the Youtube! I wrote and directed this spot and I'm super stoked about it:

"I LOVE NEW YORK" premieres Monday, January 8th at 9/8c.

writer/director: Bex
producer: Flex
DP: Joe A
Music by: Eargoo
Visual fx by: Dale Boyce

Love for the Medley

This morning, I was listening to Mike Doughty on the 'pod, and he was doing a medley of all these 90s songs, and a warm flush of contentedness washed over me.

Because, there is nothing better than a good medley.

A good medley lets your brain experience all the creamy-nougat-centers of all those tasty morsels of music by combining the best bits to stimulate the pleasure centers in your brain.

The first time I experienced the joys of medley, it was Weird Al and his "Polka on 45" jam.

(artfully set to video by genius clip-wrangler Ozshadow).

And just yesterday, youtube featured a clip from my friend Rob Paravonian, wherein he rants about Pachelbel's Canon. The medley bit is at the end:


See? Doesn't the medley make you feel good? It's all these little pieces of songs that make you happy, usually because you look back at the happy-songs with fondness and nostalgia.

The neural pathways of the medley are also linked to the joy that comes from watching retrospective clip shows of your favorite sitcoms and one-hour dramas.

Happy Christmas

Nothing says Christmas like Emmet Otter. Especially because I weep, to this day, at the notion that poor Emmet sacrificed his mother's survival by putting a hole in the washtub -- just so he could pursue his art! It pains me, oh, it pains me still.

And so this is Christmas, and I wish he was mine, he never drank water, he only drank wine.

(That's the amalgam between John Lennon's Christmas song and Peter, Paul and Mary singing "Old Stewball Was a Racehorse" )

OOMPH!

Hi, friends. I am a busy little beaver these days, but I wanted to hip you to this new gig I'm doing: I'm blogging for a brand-new social network called Oomph. It's still in its beta phase, but please feel fry to sign up and befriend me, and take a sneak peek at my oomph blog.

And then we'll be oomphriends! And I want lots and lots and lots of oomphfriends.

KICKAWESOME is offical

Thus says Urban Dictionary.

Uniporn

KICKAWESOME, KICKAWESOME, KICKAWESOME

So! On December 30, 2004, I had a chat with Joshua "Danger" French that I blogged and entitled "Crossing the North Pole with a Curtain Rod and an Old Duck." In this very important chat, Mr. French coined the term "kickawesome."

If you google "kickawesome" today, there are thousands and thousands of hits! So, with some help from my genius google-hacking friend Tom, we figured out how to find out if Mr. French was actually the originator of the word "kickawesome."

To search google by date, you have to figure out the Julian date of whatever date you're trying to search.

So,12/30/04 = 2453370 in Julian-speak.

Thus, to search for citations on the internets of "kickawesome" from all-of-time up until 12/30/04, I searched from year 1000 - Dec 30th 2004 and googled:
"kickawesome daterange: 2086672-2453370" and found NO HITS! Until 12/30/04, no one, not even a mouse, had used the word "kickawesome."

And then, when I searched for "kickawesome" after 12/30/04, (as in, I looked for citations from Dec 30th, 2004 until today via:
"kickawesome daterange: 2453370-2454084")I found THOUSANDS OF HITS.

Which means that "kickawesome" originated on the internets on 12/30/04, and Joshua "Danger" French officially coined the word. And then it spread like wildfire! Or like herpes! Depending on which visual metaphor you prefer to imagine spreading!

And, fret not, I have notified urban dictionary and Merriam-Webster. If you'd like to let other open dictionaries know, please be my guest.

LOOK, IT IS A GERBILTHING EATING A BABY CARROT.

When I come back in the next life, I really want to be a gerbilthing eating a baby carrot.

OH NO! THERE ARE RACCOONS IN THE GUTTER!

I just want to eat them up. As long as they're not rabid. But, seeing as they're out in the middle of the day, I slightly fear that they're rabid. So keep your distance, lest you require many many shots in your tummy tum tum.

Rest in Peace, Peter Boyle

... and also best remembered by me for this exchange in "The Dream Team" when all the crazy people are in a van going through the Lincoln Tunnel and Michael Keaton's character says something like:

Michael Keaton: Isn't it true that if just one of those teeny tiny tiles broke loose, we'd all be crushed by millions of tons of water like a tiny bug?

Peter Boyle: I will hold back the water.

Michael Keaton: Thanks, Jack.

OMFG, TOFU IS GONNA MAKE YOU G-A-Y

Oh, my beloveds, especially my beloved men who are veggies: RESIST THE TEMPTATION TO EAT THE TOFU! Because, according to this wackjob, a DEVIL FOOD is turning our children into homosexuals. And what is that devil food, pray tell?

Tofu.

Because of it's estrogen-induced feminization properties.

Titter titter chortle chortle. Clearly, this is the most important news of the day, and I beg you to heed its warning. But, luckily? Soy sauce: okay. Tempeh: totally fine. Miso and natto? Check and check. Just watch that tofu, tigers. Or else your manhood might shrivel and turn into an orchid.

The Music of Hand Farts

Let me introduce you to the manualist, John Twomey:


My friend Dale was inspired to learn how to fart his hands by watching this genius on the Tonight Show with Carson.

I think we could all stand to learn a few things from this amazing talent.

Also: dig the hair. And the 70s set.

Imitation is the Sincerest Form of Flattery (Right?)

MAD TV spoofed Flavor of Love! And, because it's MAD TV, it's only almost funny, but, hey, at least they tried! And stick around for the last ten seconds because, as a VH1 person, I find it hilarious so you should, too. I love the Vee, you know I do, but MAD TV's tag is almost as good as "only on VH1."



Link via the Flavor of Love / I Love New York blog.

Last Night a Laptop Case Saved My Life

(sing to the tune of "Last Night a DJ Saved My Life."
Actually, it wasn't last night, it was last week, but I've busy so let's just go with the song and not over-analyze things -- okay, Melrose? Thanks.

So I was in a cab on my way to the "Manstack" shoot and I was sitting in the back seat on the right side, and all of a sudden a ginormous tank of an SUV blew a light and slammed into the passenger side. I flew across the seat and crashed into the other door, but somehow my laptop case got in between me and the door, and took the brunt of the impact so instead of breaking my ribs, I just banged my knee and hit the laptop bag.

This laptop bag saved my life! Thanks, Brenthaven!

Rest assured, I am fit as a fiddle despite a banged up knee and a few bruises. But I like to pretend that the bruises are zombie bites. And I am embarassed to announce that I shrieked like a little girl. But mostly I am happy to say that I am superawesomely okay and that everyone should perhaps consider making a coat made of laptop bags, as body armor against both SUV tanks and also zombies.

This is a zombie-like photo of me and my beloved security laptop bag:

I Love A Good Manstack

I'm happy to report that my Manstack shoot with the lovely Tiffany for "I Love New York" went kickawesomely. "I LOVE NEW YORK" is going to be so awesome that it'll blow your socks straight off and then they'll catch an updraft and they'll end up blowing upwards and into your mouth and then you'll choke a little bit on them, and have to Heimlich yourself on a chair. And if that's not what you want from a tv show, then, buddy, you go watch some DVDs of "Serpico" or something.

I mean, really:

How could you not want in?

I LOVE NEW YORK premieres Monday, January 8th at 9/8c.

If you don't watch it, no one will talk to you around the water cooler.

Zara = Chicken Lady!

So we watched Oxygen's new reality show "Bad Girls Club" last night and I'm not going to make a judgement until we see episode #2, because we all know the jazz about pilots vs. episodes.

But, snap judgement? There's this chick Zara who is mildly amusing because she's a tool and she kicks a lamp, thinking it's a balloon. But the best part about her is that she looks and sounds just like the chicken lady.

Zara:


Chicken Lady:

For Hanukah

I would very much like these Cold War Unicorns, please.

Because nothing says "my childhood" like unicorns + a somewhat unsettling fear that the Russians were going to nuke us to high heaven.

Casino Royaleeeeyawn

Oh man, don't waste your time or your money on the new Bond. It was yawny yawn.

Instead, watch the original Casino Royale, which is actually funny, Ursula Andress plays Vesper (although I totally thought her name was "Vespa" until the very end of the damn thing this time around), and Orson Welles plays Le Chiffre. And there's Woody Allen. Sounds like SO FRACKING MUCH OF A BETTER TIME, eh? Also: Peter Sellers. Also: partly written by Terry Southern.

It was totally Austin Powers before Austin Powers was Austin Powers.

Note: writing that last line made me think semi-fondly of 1997, when it was actually okay for three days for people to say "Yeah, baby" and "Do I make you horny?"

Ah, simpler times, friends. Simpler times.

The Kugel Kook-Off from last night's Kosher Show

From left to right: Mr. JewSA, Ms. JewSA, jew-whore.

Manstack

I wrote, and will be directing, a promo entitled "Manstack."

I just want you all to know, so you can start getting excited now.

Also, because I want credit for the term "manstack." A tall stack of men (like, duh).

Manstack, manstack, manstack.

Gawkered!

Holy sweet Jebus! The show I'm doing tonight is Gawkered!

At long last, I finally feel sweet, sweet justification for the media-whore that I am.

And, guess who is my faviest-raviest person in the whole entire world right now? Yo diggity.

Coming Soon to Hot Topic

Thanksgiving at the White House

(Photo of awesomeness by my buddypal Matt)

Speaking of Thanksgiving at the White House, my boo and I were watching the news on Thanksgiving whilst preparing to go out for a decidedly non-traditional non-holiday dinner, and Ann Curry was filling in for Brian Williams and NBC news was clearly operating with a skeleton crew. At the top of the program, Ann Curry was talking about holiday shopping while they showed images of drinking and driving behind her. TEEHEE! Admittedly, holiday shopping is a lot easier when you have three bloody mary's in your tummy tum tum, but it was obvious that they were using the b-roll for the "Drinking and Driving" segment behind the "Black Friday" piece. It was at the very least mildly amusing.

But the very bestest part was right before a commercial break, Ann said, "Up next, a look at Thanksgiving in one of the worst places in the world ..." and then, they cut to a graphic of the menu from "Thanksgiving Dinner at the White House."

One of the worst places in the world? You know it. Big ups to the universe for enabling that slip-up -- and thank you, Ann Curry, for being the conduit.

A Reason Why I am Totally Awesome

See that pretty brown donkey? Right next to my head?

Just after my boo took this photo, that donkey bit me.

Here is a list of the injuries incurred whilst on vacation:
1) burnt by fire coral
2) bitten by donkey
3) fell on top of a nice Dutch lady while attempting to disembark from boat

Clearly, being bitten by a donkey is the most awesome thing in the whole world. Because, do you know anyone else who was bitten by a donkey? YOU DO NOT.

Thus, I am awesome.

Back from Bonaire

WOOHOO!

KOSHER-STYLE COUNTY FAIR

Hey tigers: I'm back, and I'm hosting a show tomorrow night. Tomorrow = Wednesday, 11/29. It's from 8-9:30, so you can tivo Top Model and watch later on.

The 14th Street Y Presents
KOSHER-STYLE COUNTY FAIR
One Cup Exploration, A Dash of Cook-off, One Tablespoon Sideshow and a Pinch of Taste Temptations!

Showcasing artists and performers who will creatively explore themes of food and kashrut, or keeping kosher. From Kosher Sword Swallowing to Kosher Naked Sushi; from the first NYC Amateur Kosher Hot Dog Eating Championship to Confessions of an Israeli Hummus Addict.

Featuring Undine Brod, Andy Horwitz, KinkyJews, Carl Kissin, Leah Koenig, Ellen Levitt, Adam Rinn, Anna Stevenson and more.

Bring your bib and fat pants, Heeb Magazine's Food Issue, an all-you-can-eat extravaganza will be available, www.heebmagazine.com. Plus, a kugel cook-off contest judged by "Mr. & Ms. JewSA" 2006, Noam Dolgin and Ariel Woah!

Hosted by the delicious Bex Schwartz with spicy jams by Adira Amram.

Wednesday, November 29
7PM Reception/8PM Show, $8
The 14th Street Y (344 East 14th Street @ 1st Avenue), www.14StreetY.org
RSVP to Alyssa_Abrahamson@14StreetY.org

And Away I Go!

Friends, Romans, Countrymen: I'm going to the Carribean on a long overdue, much needed vacation with my boo. DON'T WORRY -- I won't be scuba diving, lest my sinuses explode. But I hope that I'll come back unburnt (both my brain and my skin).

Top Model, I'll miss you! And Balactica, too! And all my darling blogsters.

See you next week! Have a happy Thanksgiving (go go go tofurkey!) and a happy High School Reunion (I ain't going!)
xxxooo,
bex

Look, Honey, It's My New "Aquapet!"

Who doesn't find to find this Aquapet under her Christmas tree? Hours of, ahem, stimulation! BWA HA HA HA.
I am both oddly aroused and disturbed at the same time. But, man! Dora's got BAWLS!

Oh No! My Poor, Poor Toe!

So, I'm going on the late, great over-postponed vacation of 06 in LESS THAN A WEEK, and I'm oh-so-excited. And I have so very many errands to before we leave (as in: buying a bathing suit that won't fall off and expose my breasts to the coral, the ever-important bikini wax, fixing my godawful feets, etc.) so I decided to get a pedicure today to save time during the week.

See, I have horrible feet. HORRIBLE. I barely have little toes at all, they're just useless nubbins of multiple-broken dweezils. And my second-to-littlest toes curl under. And my big toes are always calloused. So I try to diguise they're uglyness by keeping my toenails (the little bits of toenails I actually have) painted a vibrant shade of red. So that people will focus on the fuck-me red nail polish instead of the icky toes.

See? Like so:


But the careful observer will note a large bandage wrapped around my left big toe. And that's because when the pedicure woman was scrape scrape scraping off the callous on my big toe, she scraped a hole right into my foot. And it won't stop bleeding. And it hurts like a motherfucker. So I'm wondering if one can use the elliptical machine with just one foot.

There's no actual point to this post other than the fact that I'm bitching about my toe injury -- pain for beauty! Or, at least, pain for disguising-the-ugly-in-attempts-to-get-a-modicum-of-beauty.

Pedicure accidents are apparently quite common. And we all remember when Paula Abdul had to keep her arm in a sling because of a manicure incident. So, dear readers, all I can suggest is ask your pedicure woman if she's ever used the callous-scrapy-blade before. My pedicure woman was an apparent first-timer. And now I am gushing blood, not from my ladyflower, but from my toe. If only they made toe tampons. Le grand sigh, indeed.

My Favorite Mondegreen

Yes, that's right, punk, I said MONDEGREEN, and I do hope you'll start using this word, too.

Right. So, when I was a kid, my parents did what any logical ex-hippies would do and raised me up on a steady diet of folk music and Free to Be You & Me. It totally worked, of course, as I am now a left-of-left progressive liberal who protests the war and dresses my cat in an apron. During these lovely formative years, as my constant readers know, I had every single possible speech impediment known to man. Due to my inability to speak correctly, and also possibly because I was stupid, I referred to my favorite musicians by my own private pet names. I called Bob Dylan "Bob Dyl," which totally makes sense. It's like a nickname for the world's coolest uncle. But I also referred to my favorite singers as "Parsley Sagels."

"Parsley Sagels," for those of you who don't speak 2-year-old, referred to Simon & Garfunkel. Because I really, really, really liked the song "Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme," and if you're stupid, or two years old, or just really RILLY awesome, you just might abbreviate those lyrics to "Parsley Sagels." And so I did.

And if I ever launch a successful folk singing career, I guarantee that I will record under the name Parsley Sagels.

So, my house was often filled with the mellifluous sounds of Bob Dylan or Buffy St. Marie or Judy Collins and, quite often, Donovan. Because my little brother and I were TOTALLY obsessed with Donovan. We loved his music with all our little hearts and souls even though we had absofuckinglutely no idea what he was singing about.

And we each had our favorite song. I think I really loved "Wear Your Love Like Heaven" and we would sing "Dramamine, dramamine" instead of "that I may, that I may" and we thought it was simply hi-larious. And I definitely knew that we were being silly.

But my brother's favorite song was "Mellow Yellow." And his mondegreen was that he TOTALLY heard Donovan singing "Quite right, slave."

As in:
[Refrain:]
They call me mellow yellow
(Quite right, slave)
They call me mellow yellow
(Quite right, slave)
They call me mellow yellow

As if Donovan were singing, in his dainty twee British accent, to his slave. As if the scene went like this:

INT: A lavishly decorated, opulent throne room. DONOVAN sits atop a purple throne, dressed in flowing silk robes and scarves. A large HOOKAH rests at his feet.

DONOVAN: Step forward, slave.

A small, malnourished boy steps out of the shadows. His eyes widen as he stares at Donovan, the fairy folk king.

SLAVE: (stammering) Y-y-yes, Sir?

DONOVAN: Slave! Come here where I can see your face.

The SLAVE approaches DONOVAN. DONOVAN thrusts his hand under the boy's chin and turns his face upwards. DONOVAN licks a finger and wipes a smudge off the boy's cheek. The boy is embarrassed but slightly thrilled to be on the receiving end of so much attention from such an amazing being.

SLAVE: Thank you, sir.

DONOVAN: Slave! They call me ... "Mellow Yellow."

SLAVE: "Mellow yellow," sir?

DONOVAN: Quite right!

SLAVE: Really, sir? They call you "Mellow Yellow?"

DONOVAN: Quite right!

SLAVE: But ... but, sir, you don't really seem the type who'd be called "Mellow Yellow." I mean, sure, you do seem laid back, and, admittedly, you do look a bit jaundiced, but I'm finding it hard to believe that a man such as you could actually be called something as glib as "Mellow Yellow."

DONOVAN rises in ire, extending his arms so his robes billow out in all directions. His eyes whirl madly around in his head as pulls himself up to his full height. He is ferocious, like a shiny demon.

DONOVAN: I told you, you measly, meager excuse for a human being, that they call me "Mellow Yellow."

DONOVAN blasts fireballs from his fingers. The SLAVE is engulfed in flames and beats himself with a large palm frond to extinguish the fire. Finally, he emerges, smoldering and charred. He can barely see out of the burnt slits that were once his eyes, but he shuffles forward and prostrates himself on the ground in front of DONOVAN's throne.

SLAVE: They call you "Mellow Yellow."

DONOVAN: Quite right, slave.

and ... SCENE.

An Open Letter to Lost

Dear Lost:
Admittedly, you are no Next Top Model, nor are you Battlestar Galactica. However, in a television season that has offered potentially awesome shows that kind of suck (ahem, Studio 60), shows with wonderful concepts but gutterbutt awful writing (I'm looking at you, Heroes), and a show about post-apocalyptic-ness that I wanted to love but couldn't even make it through the pilot (suck it, Jericho), you're still worth watching.

I mean, honestly, I love this bidness with the Others so much, I don't even care what's going on back at the beach with what's-his-face hobbit and the blondie with the possibly Satanic kid.

But, honestly, Lost - I defended you all last season even when you were almost painfully bad. I held out while I was waiting for you to kill off Michelle Rodriguez (seriously: worst. character. ever, although Monique from this cycle of Top Model came close) and I even refrained from mouth-barfing when Shannon got shot after acting on her jungle fever (get it?). But I'm kind of over it, Lost.

Firstly: you call that a cliffhanger? I can sum it up in one word, and that word is: meh.

Secondly: I can't believe you would stoop so low as to invoke that old horror movie cliche about if you fuck, then you die. I mean, really? Sawyer and Kate shag and then you're threatening to kill one of them? That's so Halloween/ Friday the 13th / Nightmare on Elm Street / Scream / Scary Movie 6. And also: they got out of their cages and instead of bolting, they shagged? So now Kate's totally got Ana Lucia's genital warts because you just *know* Sawyer was barebacking with both of them? Ewww.

Also, hey, Kate, so you know: cervical cancer? It's caused by a virus. That same virus that's living in those genital warts you got from Sawyer's penis, which got them from Ana Lucia's vagina. I know you're stranded on some island somewhere, so maybe you haven't seen those commercials. They keep telling me to tell someone, so I'm telling you.

ANYHOOZINSKIS.

Thirdly, Lost: what the fuck?
What the fuck about:
* The four-toed statue
* Miss Clugh
* All the kids the Others took?
* the grungy barefoot ninja walking others?
* The horse?
* The afore-mentioned possibly satanic kid?
* The bird that cried Hurley's name?
* If the Others are on a whole DIFFERENT island, how did:
A: Goodwin and Ethan Rom get to the other island so quickly?
B: How did the Others get Jack and Kate and Sawyer and Hurley to their island?
C: Why are the Others barefoot ninja walking all over the other island?
D: Why did they take Rousseau's kid, but never bother Rousseau?
E: Did the Others know about Clancy Brown?


You know, really truly, Lost, I want to love you but you make it so damn hard.

With fondness, although if you think you detect a note of coldness, you are correct,
Bex

To cite Celine Dion: A New Day Has Come

We got the senate, we got the senate!



I baked blue state cupcakes! With sprinkles! For a birfday, but also the celebrate the dawning of a new age - HUZZAH! Are you watching this shit go down? Did you see that General on the Coop condemning the military's actions in Iraq? Holy shiznit, it's really happening.

Also, Anchal went home which is equally as delightful.

Oh, The Rapture, The Rapture

How awesome?
FUCKING AWESOME, yo.

It's a Great Big Beautiful Tomorrow

Today, friends, is truly a great, big, beautiful tomorrow. CNN just projected that Montana went Dem, and Rummy's gone, and it's looking good for Virginia. HOT CHA CHA.

Now approaching: Walt Disney's carousel of progress!

Some Thoughts Unto The Shoehorn

I'm not one for observational humor. You'll rarely encounter a "Didjou ever notice" on my blog. And yet, because I've had the same conversation with many different people, I finally want to share it with you:

Whither the shoehorn?

I have never actually purchased a shoehorn, but over the years I've found myself in possession of quite a few fine speciments.

Even as a little kid, I remember these custom shoehorns (well, not THESE exact custom shoehorns, but reasonable facsimiles thereof) languishing in bathroom drawers. Sometimes they came tucked alongside coupons in the mail, and sometimes they were from the podiatrist who fixed my pigeon toes. Sometimes they even came from the store where we bought my special orthopedic saddle shoes. And sometimes, I think, they were from hotels in Atlantic City where my dad went on business trips occasionally. They'd turn up in the linen closet, or in the cabinet under the sink, or sometimes at the bottom of the coat closet, as if one of us had just tossed the shoehorn in with the boots, in hopes that someday one of us might find it necessary to use a shoehorn, and we would be grateful that another member of the family had thoughtfully put a shoehorn right where we needed it -- buried under three-sizes-too-small snow boots and a bunch of mittens without mates.

Sometimes, shoe horns are very, very long.

These longer shoehorns, much like their shorter counterparts, are to be used for the same purpose:

To horn the foot into the shoe. Clearly. I imagine in olden days, shoes were tighter and one had to pull the back of the shoe back, so one could wodge one's foot into one's shoe.

But, like, do you buy shoes if they don't fit?

(Answer: admittedly, yes. But they were bright red and non leather and I didn't know they'd prohibit me from walking)

Back to the point at hand: I have never used a shoehorn. I don't believe anyone in my life has ever used a shoehorn.

And yet, even right now, in my this-is-the-drawer where-you-keep-the-safety-pins -and-the-pirate-eye-patch -and-the-teeshirt-cincher-from-the-90s -- I have a shoehorn. It came from a Wakey Wakey pack when I flew Virgin, and even though I didn't need to keep it, I kept it, because I'll hoard anything that's free (see: my ridiculous assortment of shampoos and body lotions from every hotel I've ever stayed in with awesome toiletries -- because you never know when you're going away for the weekend and need to bring shampoo and body lotion!) But I have never needed a shoehorn. Even after a cross-atlantic flight.

Do you have a shoehorn around? You do! Even if it's still in the outside pocket of your rolly bag where you stuck it there as you were checking out of your hotel because, hell, what if you needed a shoehorn?

It's like shoehorns are the wannabe superheroes, swooping in to rescue unfortunate soles (ha!) from evil shoes that are too tight.

And yet, like oh so many superheroes of yesteryear such as Captain Aging Gracefully and The Super Telephone Cord De-Tangler, their work here is done and they are now obsolete. Shoehorns, I wish we could retire you to the great superhero Hall of Justice in the sky.

And sometimes, shoe horns trying to evade retirement disguise themselves as shoes! SNEAKY TRICKSY SHOEHORNS!

Vote Smart!

YO PEOPLE.

I mean, who ISN'T psyched about the midterm midtacular? I love love love watching election returns, almost as much as I love watching campaign ads. And I REALLY adore watching campaign ads, so. Do the math.

Anyway. You have to vote tomorrow, but don't vote stupid.
Vote smart. All you have to do is go to Project Vote Smart and enter your 9-digit ZIPpy code. Don't know your full 9-digit zip code? Go here. And learn about who's running in your districts and for whom you ought to vote.

And then VOTE, godsdamnit (Balactica reference, sorry).

Because remember: if you don't vote, you can't complain.

All You've Ever Wanted To Know About My TV CV But Were Afraid to Ask

Hi, it's me. Pop culture pundit at your services. Check out my updated list of tv schtuff, and hire me for more. I'd also make a great wacky neighbor in a sitcom.

A Goosey Night Tale of Wonder

Longtime readers will recall my previous tales of embarrassing teenage loserdom, so I'd like to share a tale of just exactly how AWESOME I was when I was in high school.

Goosey night, 1995. (In New Jersey, we called it "Goosey Night," but I know other people call it "Mischief Night" or "The Night Before Halloween When All Hell Breaks Loose"). My best friend Laurie and I had secretly conspired to go out and misbehave. We weren't bad girls (at ALL! at all!) but I think I recall a conversation that went something like this:

Int: Laurie's bedroom. Becky and Laurie lie on their tummies, sketching tributes to R.E.M. with a set of colored pencils. A bowl of pretzels and Corn Pops sits on the carpet (this was in the pre-anti-carb phase. Back then, we avoided fat at all costs, so low-fat anything was fair game).

BECKY: Wanna hear something kinda dumb?

LAURIE: Sure.

BECKY: You know what I love? I love waking up on Halloween and looking outside and seeing who got toilet papered.

LAURIE: Yeah!

BECKY: And then I love walking to school and seeing all the toilet paper everywhere! And when it rains and there are just wet clumps of toilet paper all over the place? Awesome!

LAURIE: Maybe we should go out on Goosey Night.

BECKY: No! We couldn't! But ... I bet it's real fun to toilet paper someone's house!

LAURIE: We should do it!

BECKY: Ohmigosh, no way! WAIT! Let's be hardcore! Let's totally do it.

And so, on Goosey Night, Laurie came over to my house. And my mom always bought toilet paper in bulk at BJ's, so we grabbed a few rolls and set out to do some damage. We passed a friend's house and pondered toilet papering it, but we didn't want her parents to get mad at us. We passed another friend's house and debated wrapping their tree in toilet paper -- but what if someone saw us? And yelled at us? That was too much for us to take. We went to our old elementary school and thought about toilet papering the playground -- but what if a kid tripped and fell on the toilet paper the next day? We'd feel horrible!

We walked around for another half hour or so, but then it started getting cold. So we walked back to my house.

"Hey," I said. "My parents are inside watching Seinfeld and I bet they won't notice if we toilet paper the tree!"

Laurie was hesitant, but I threw a roll of toilet paper up and over a branch of the twin maple trees that used to stand on what used to be my front lawn. And, ohmigosh, it was CRAZY fun. Laurie joined in. Smothering our giggles, we draped the trees with toilet paper. Lots and lots of toilet paper. It was more fun than anything I'd ever imagined. And we were *so* artistic! It was truly a work of toilet papering art.

The next morning, my mom looked out the window and said, "Hey, we got toilet papered!"

I snickered.

My mom said, "Did you guys toilet paper your own house?"

I just snickered again.

My mom said, "You did, didn't you?"

I admitted that yes, we had toilet papered our own house. And I thought that was totally awesome. Because if we had toilet papered anyone else's house, they would have been mad and yelled at us! So, by toilet papering my house, we could misbehave without really misbehaving.

It made perfect sense to me.

Last year, I told this story to my boyfriend. And he snickered. Apparently, it is very, very lame to toilet paper one's own house.

But, personally, I thought, and still think, that it was TOTALLY AWESOME.

Happy Samhain and Shizz

bex faces her fears, originally uploaded by starbexxx.

Happy Halloween, people. Let me share with you this photo of a true moment of greatness: even though pumpkins burn my skin and make me HURTY, here I am (replete in my rainbow brite sweatshirt of wonder) actually carving a punkin. Whilst wearing rubber gloves. So the evil pumpkin juices couldn't eat me alive.

And here are our pumpkins. My boyf's is the big, silly looking one. Mine is, (duh) the small albeit scary cylon. Because if jack-o-lanterns are supposed to be scary, then a cylon is the scariest thing I know.

All the Cool Kids Wear Spoons on Their Noses

spoons on noses, originally uploaded by starbexxx.

So, I was at this party in a little teensy town upstate. I'm with my friend Clif, and Clif's ladyfriend's son Fin. Clif is not always dressed like a pirate. I do not always wear my scarf indoors. But everyone knowses, and Moses supposes, that the coolest kids in the room are the ones wearing spoons on their noses.

Kickawesome

miami sunset 2, originally uploaded by starbexxx.

This photo is from the day I arrived in Miami. I was quite taken with the sunset. Also with the weed, as I was quite crizzonked.

A List of People For Whom It Should Be A-Okay For Me To Wallop in the Guts with My Gym Bag

1). That stupid lady who always hustles IN to the train as it arrives in Times Square before the other people get OUT. LET THEM OFF FIRST. If you saw a very, very small elevator that was crowded with four people, you'd realize one needed to step off before you could get on. It's the same thing with the subway, just imagine that little elevator is a lot bigger and with more people. But YOU NEVER LEARN! So I shall wallop you in the guts with my gym bag. WHOMP.

2). Those groups of teenage Christian missionaries in their little suits and matching shirts. You NEVER MOVE and you stand in a clump and nobody can go up the stairs. WALLOPED! Kerrung!

3). That family that insists on standing four abreast in the middle of the sidewalk, completely impeding traffic while someone takes your picture so you have shiny lights in the background. MOVE! Whomp whomp kerrump whomp.

4). That Scientologist who stands on 43rd and 7th. I see you EVERY SINGLE DAY and I have NEVER TAKEN YOUR POSTCARD! The postcard on which you invite me to the scientology center to see a movie. I DO NOT WANT YOUR POSTCARD! Nor will I ever. If you don't move out of my way, I will whomp you. Whomp.

5). People watching the Incan pan flute players perform "My Heart Will Go On." Look, I know you love the song, but I have an abs class to get to. Whompity whomp whomp whomp.

6). "Do you like comedy?" Whomp.

7). To anyone going to see Phantom of the Opera for a Wednesday matinee: really? I mean, really? You're in Manhattan to see a show and you're going to Phantom? Everyone in America has seen Phantom. The story hasn't changed. Pretty girl gets help from Phantom to sing, pretty girl meets childhood boyfriend, Phantom gets jealous, oh, wow, a fucking chandelier. Suck it. And git out my way! There's vegan butternut squash soup to be had. WHOMPTASTIC whomps.

8). Any street musician (steel drums, keyboard, saw) who plays "Fur Elise." That song will puncture my sinuses. And you can't even play it rhythmically. You must pay. Kerrang whomp.

9). You two, you ladies who need to catch up in the middle of the street. Yes, Gloria's hair looks great, and, great, Janice, your son is going to Rutgers, please take it to a Starbucks and get the fuck out of my way. Whomp. Sorry. Not really. Whomp

(Honestly, I'm a nonviolent person, but I have a lot of pent-up rage and aggression at the state of the world today, and sometimes I am overcome with the desire to whomp people. I haven't yet, but if someone authoritative would just tell me that it's a-okay to do so, it might be a very therapeutic activity for me. Please?

The One True Thing in Life That Will Always Make Me Laugh

Granted, there are many things in life I find funny. Things such as:
* With Six You Get Eggroll (with five, baloney!)
* When you flip a pancake and it sticks to the ceiling, and then just as you look up at it, it splatters on your face (also funny with pizza dough, but slightly less so)
* Kitties playing in paper bags
* all of Three Amigos
* When pickles look like penises
* Rich's top model recaps
* The phrase "fall down go boom"
* The idea of a unicorm baking a cake and using his unicorn (unihorn?) to stir the cake batter, and then his friend the baby panda comes into the kitchen and licks the cake batter off his horn and says "MMM! Deliciouso!"

In fact, I feel the need to illustrate that for you:


Regardless. Irregardless. There is one true thing (or, "bit," if you will) that will always make me laugh. And today I am in a not so hot mood, so I thought I would share this one true thing with all of you, just so you can bookmark this post and come on back everything you're, let's say, hypothetically, frustrated with the jobby and miffed at a buncha other things. Voila. Viola. Violin! Villon!



I don't what that first frame is, but, hell, I'm just stealing this from youtube. But, oh, Dana Carvey doing chopping brocolli, and Uncle Sigourney Weaver is in the background along with fantabulous Phil Hartman. The best of the best. You know Siggy Weaves totally gets it, and just look at how Phil Hartman savors the sheer genius that he is sucking up the like nectar of the finest cake baked by a unicorn (with vanilla frosting).


Oh, also? You should watch Celebrity Paranormal Project on VH1, Sundays at 10/9c. I've been doing the promos, so, please, tune in and make me feel like I matter.

Cylon-o-Lantern

My little bro' Adam hipped me to this awesomely fearful sight: GODS DAMNED, this is one frakking scary punkin.

(Note: all punkins are scary to me because their gooey flesh makes my arms break out in hives. When my arms are elbow-deep into their innards, that is. Not, like, if I'm in the same room with them. At Jew camp, there was this kid who was allergic to peanuts and so no one in his bunk could eat peanut butter because the peanut molecules in the air would get him. I can breathe punkin molecules - I just can't plunge my arms into 'em).

Beautiful Mount Airy Lodge

When I was a wee one, I used to dream that someday I'd take a fantasy vacation. To a place with snow-covered peaks, figure skating, and perhaps a heart-shaped bathtub. And there was really only place to go: Mount Airy Lodge. However, because the commercial aired about a kabillion times during the course of my most-impressionable years, we-of-a-certain-age always referred to it as "Beautiful Mount Airy Lodge."



Whether we were playing Barbies or blocks and we wanted to play that we were somewhere magical, it was always Beautiful Mount Airy Lodge. It seemed like the most wonderful place in the world -- we didn't know why we were aroused (in fact, I don't think we even knew we were aroused) by the heart-shaped bathtubs, but we were. Oh, we were.

I always thought that someday I'd grow up, and me and my loved one could do whatever it is that two-people do in a heart-shaped bathtub!

But, I shall never get the chance to go. Woe unto me, it is gone gone gone.

Let us keep track on the scoreboard of that wild game we call "Life":
Yet Another Childhood Memory, Destroyed: 37

NOBODY BOTHER ME

I am in a foul, foul mood today.

A mood that can only be expressed by sharing this:


(Superthanks to Steve for the tip).

Also, in total bizarro-land, the jingle was apparently written by Nils Lofgren. You know, this guy.

FRAK MY GAK! Fraggles and Badgers and Riddley Walker, Oh My!

So I'm IM'ing with Josh about how there's going to be a Fraggle Rock movie and how I want to help write it because man-oh-manischevitz, do I know Fraggle Rock.

In fact, I refer to this chart I made two years ago, to chart my life and self-identity with regards to varying stages of fraggleness:


I should note, that as of October 20th, 2006 I have pulled away from the Wembley/Boober amalgam, and I would presently plot myself along the Red/Gobo axis. Life is good. (But I don't have photoshop on this computer so I can't update it right now; just go with me).

ANYWAY! So we're talking about Fraggles and Josh brings up "Emmet Otter's Jugband Christmas," which he and I both loved. I love it so much, even though it makes me cry. It makes me cry because how is his momma going to earn any money if there's a hole in her washtub??? BOOHOO!

Regardless, "Emmet Otter" was written by Russell Hoban. Who also wrote Bread and Jam for Frances, one of my fave books in the whole world (as a kid). And the very same man ALSO wrote "Riddley Walker," which is one of my dad's fave books and I read it as a kid and it fucked my shit, man.

And also inspired Mad Max.

But mainly it fucked my shit.

1-800 Whosie Whatski?

Pardon me, but I find this to be so very crazy confusing.

So I ordered flowers for my Bubby today because it's her birfday. And this is my email confirmation. And I want to point out one crazy important thing:


1) 1-800-Flowers.com (leave off the last com for savings!) can actually be reached at 1-800-468-1141

WHICH DOES NOT SPELL "FLOWERS!"

It potentially spells HOT-1141, but that ain't flowers.

Why, why, why would you call yourself 1-800-Flowers and then actually have a phone number that spells out 1-800-HOT-1141?

This is crazy talk, and henceforth they are dead to me.

WOWIE MALAWI By MANDY STADTMILLER

Yo, people! Look who's quoted in this hilarious article in the Post today.

It's intentionally obnoxious! We're making fun of trendyness, not of the babies themselves!

Actually, we're all going to hell. Together, in a red handbasket.

Things I Hate

There are many things in life of which I am not so found. Such items of my detestation include:
* Water chestnuts
* Olives
* The noise the subway makes when it brakes (or breaks, but I'm sure the sound of a breaking subway would be so spectacular I almost wouldn't hate it)
* Crying babies
* War
* Steely Dan (the band, not the dildo)

There are also many things in life that make me cry. Such items of my lacrimation include:
* The end of "Boys on the Side"
* The black and white segment of "The Wizard of Oz"
* That scene in "13 going on 30" when Jennifer Garner goes home and crawls in bed with her parents because she's so, so sad
* When I am really, really frustrated with problems that are out of my control
* When I feel like a major drag because I have a a perma-migraine
* Getting yelled at

But there is one thing in life that makes me cry because I hate it so much.

And that, friends, is the horrible-horrible song "Found a Peanut."

You can find the lyrics right here, but I'd really only advise reading them if you want to cry. And you can right-click-save-as right here if you want to be terribly tormented whilst reading this blog entry.

In fact, just thinking about "Found a Peanut" makes my eyes well up with tears. Alas, it becomes so difficult to type these words, as I imagine the horror the horror that is "Found a Peanut."

My parents used to sing this song on car trips and I would cry.

And then sometimes we'd be over for dinner at a friend's house and my parents would make the other grown-ups sing "Found a Peanut" and then I would cry.

I'm sure, for the record, that if this were a normal phobia, like, say, fear of dogs, my parents wouldn't have asked other grown-ups to throw dogs at me, but I'm sure everyone was quite entertained that just singing, "Found a peanut, found a peanut, found a peanut last night" would make me cry. Copiously.

My parents often asked me why "Found a Peanut" made me cry. And I think, many years later, that the song upset me so frakking much because it has the world's worst moral. The song says that the peanut-eater got a tummyache and went to the hospital and had an operation and then he DIED. Despite the best administrations of the doctors and the hospital stuff.

WTF, yo?

No wonder I hate going to doctors. And don't trust them at all. Because
a) when I was 13 (going on 30) and I had a tumor in my lip, this suckfest doctor from my hometown removed it but he removed it wrong and it GREW BACK and I had to have it removed again and now I have a scar under my lip and a predilection for wearing dark lipstick
b) why bother going to a doctor when you're just going to die anyway, as exemplified by "Found a Peanut" ???


PS: Fret not, I am currently under three doctors' care for my perma-migraines. So I have somewhat gotten over my doctor distrust/hatred. Especially because my neurologist went to Wesleyan so I have to love him.

PPS: Incidentally, even though "Found a Peanut" is sung to the same tune as "Oh My Darlin' Clementine," I have no problems hearing anyone sing about Clementine. It's just when you stick peanut-centric lyrics in there that I will start to bawl.


mp3 download: Found a Peanut by the Countdown Kids.

Balactica Video - Old Skool vs. New Skool

It's times like these that I wish I worked for Sci Fi. Look at this kickawesome promo thing they created to celebrate the fucking radness of Balactica (Battlestar Galactica, for those of you who don't use my slang).



Special thanks to reader Jake for the tip.

The Creator of the Pop-Up Video Sound

This is a public service announcement.

Should you ever find yourself about to google "who created the Pop-Up Video sound?" -- you know, that little "bloorp" noise that accompanied the factoid bubbles -- look no further:

Matt Richman, sound designer and audio engineer extraordinaire, is the man who created the distinctive sound of the bloorping pop-ups.

Let us admire his handywork by watching the pop-up video for Tina Turner's "What's Love Got to do With it."
So we can enjoy the bloorps, and also Tina Turner's gams.

Comedy Wednesday Night!

Yo people!
I'm doing stand-up tomorrow night. Because I am a jew! And who doesn't love Jews?
Mel Gibson.
HA HA HA.
It's a show called "World War III" and it's an evening of Jewish comics and Arab comics. We'll be killing each other with THE FUNNY!

UCB Theater - 307 west 26th Street.
Wednesday, 10/11 9:30pm

World War III
"Just in time for Ramadan and Yom Kippur comes World War III! Come and see jovial Jews and amusing Arabs bringing you the funny. It'll be a mix of Comic Strip Live, The Tonight Show, and the 1936 Intifada."
Hosted by Mo Fathelbab and Ilan Bachrach
And scheduled to appear:
Hot Sauce
Ronnie Khalil
Catie Lazuras
Helen Maalik
Nasry Malak
Dean Obeidallah
Bex Schwartz
The Wicked Wicked Hammerkatz
and Former President Jimmy Carter

Go See "Makeout Session"

My awesome friend Kenan wrote this amazing play called "Makeout Session" and I highly advise that you go see it.

From the website:
SYNOPSIS
An afternoon. A couch. A boy and a girl. In Act 1, they are 15. Innocent kissing leads them stumbling toward the brink of their first sexual encounter. In Act 2, they meet again ten years later, but the past is closer than they think.

An exploration of sex. An exploration of love, and an exploration of the overwhelming question "are they going to kiss?"

I saw a workshop of this play last winter (as a matter of fact, I was about to walk into the theater when my roomie called to tell me that our apartment was on fire!) But then, the next night, after all the my-love-which-is-a-building-which-is-on-fire crizazyness was over, I actually got to see the play.

And so should you.

So say we all!

Wine! Cocks! Woohoo!

I keep seeing these ads all over New York City! Hooray, I feel so loved and adored. Because I'm Bex. And I love cocks! And wine! And these giant billboards promote all three elements of awesome:
1) Bex
2) cock
3) wine


(Okay, in my mindhead, anyway. Apparently, the ad is really for Rex wine. Poo).

(original, undoctored photo by Mark Copyranter.)

Crazy in Love With This Bunny

Everytime I see this Skittles commercial, my heart is filled with an overwhelming desire to own this bunny. And then I start giddily giggling. This phenomenon often happens at the gym. And then I fall off the elliptical.

I LOVE THIS BUNNY SO MUCH!

HogaDuce: The Odd Couple

I directed this little slice of heaven featuring Danny Bonaduce and Hulk Hogan in an homage to the old "Odd Couple" open. Watch the new season of Celebreality on VH1!
Sunday, October 22nd!
Hogan Knows Best at 9/8c
Breaking Bonaduce at 9:30/8:30 c!



(Music by Eargoo)
(Written/Directed by me)
(Produced by Michael Flexner)

You Are My Potato

When I was a little kid and our parents would take me and my little brother into the big city, there were a lot of homeless people. I mean, especially around the touristy areas we'd visit like 5th avenue or Central Park or the Museum of Natural History -- there were lots and lots of homeless people around. (Do we still call them homeless people? Or is there a more proper term for them? Persons without Roofs?)

Remember the 80s in the big city? There was porn on 42nd street and there were lots of homeless people. Until Giuliani had them all executed in the great Clean Up NYC act of 1999. But I digress.

Once, we were walking along Central Park when we saw a homeless man (person without roof?) pushing a large, rusty shopping cart. The shopping cart was full of aluminum soda and beer cans. The homeless man stooped to the ground and picked up a shiny Coke (surely it was New Coke) can. He held it at arms length, took a deep breath, and serenaded it:

"Yoooooou are my Poooo-taaaa-tooo!"

It was beautiful. Tears sprang to our eyes. We instantly debated the meaning: was he calling the can a potato as a term of endearment? The way the French call their beloved their little cabbages? Or had he found the one can that would give him the $.05 deposit he needed to be able to purchase a potato?

We didn't know. But we were awestruck and impressed.

This morning, I saw a homeless man pushing a rusty shopping cart as I as walking to work. His shopping cart was full of aluminum cans. And a boombox. The boombox was blasting "I Want To Know What Love Is" by Foreigner.

It was so beautiful. Tears sprang to my eyes.

To you, homeless man who loves Foreigner, this is a shout-out and dedication:

Oh no! The Depression Virus! It's Out of CONTROL!

So those frakking "Depression Hurts spots for Cymbalta are on all the time and they make me insane.

I mean, whatever, I'm sure people who are depressed experience physical pain and I'm not out to deprive them of new treatment options.

But the way Cymbalta presents itself as if it owns depressed-people-with-pain and that it's the only option -- and that BREAKING NEWS, depression is painful and depression hurts EVERYONE, even your pretty Lassie dog and even if you hide behind the filing cabinets at work you can NEVER STOP THE PAIN -- doesn't it kind of seem like Cymbalta is somehow claiming that EGADS, depression has evolved and the newest strain of depression causes physical pain, and sweet jesus, the only way to stop it is with Cymbalta?

Like Anthrax:Cipro :: Depression:Cymbalta.

STOP THE DEPRESSION VIRUS FROM EVOLVING!!!!

Oh boy! More Lesbians on Top Model, Please!

So I'm reading this interview with former top model contestant Megan (you know, the one whose mom kept her warm after the plane crash), and she totally just outed Michelle (the hotter/tomboy creepy twin) as being gay.

Now Michelle is even more awesome (how is that possible? Except: FIX YOUR POSTURE, GIRLFRIEND) and I love this show more than ever.

Except, I must say that the triple-whammy of Model/Lost/ProjRun is almost too much for my poor little brain to handle on Wednesday nights. Wednesday is also the day of my ass-kicking total body conditioning class, so then I get home and can't move my arms. So watching three straight hours of TV PLUS not being able to move my arms sends me into paroxysms of overwhelmedness.

Fuck It Like a Squid

(Squid gif by Eric Cheng)

So last night I went out with a posse of friends and we were discussing squid sex. Well, we weren't "discussing" it, per se, but rather, I was telling everyone about this documentary on cephalopods that I watched, which went into very interesting detail about how squids mate.

Basically, the boy squid very quickly and stealthily stabs the girl squid with his sword-like penis, right below her squid head. Like, if you were pretending that you were a squid, it would be like someone stabbing you with a sword penis in the shoulder.

So, of course, we had to hoist a glass and toast the fact that we don't have sex like squids.

Several glasses later, we were singing "Fuck it like a squid" to the tune of Snoop Dogg's "Drop it like it's hot."

When the pimp's in the crib, ma
Fuck it like a squid
Fuck it like a squid
Fuck it like a squid.

Whilst singing "Fuck it like a squid," one must jab one's friends in the shoulder with one's index and middle fingers. (Make a sword-like appendage with your first two fingers and jab it violently into your friend's shoulder.) Voila! You're fucking it like a squid!

We really hope this expression and accompanying gestures catches on. Please feel free to sing the song whilst fucking your friends like a squid.

The Very Reverend Bex

I am very happy to announce that I am now an ordained minister in the Universal Life Church.

So! If you'd like to get married, or baptize your kids, or renew your vows, or anything you might need an officially ordained minister to do, I'm your lady.

Only in the state of NY, though - so if you want to do a destination wedding somewhere exotic, please let me know so I can extend my ordained-ness.

I will happily script your wedding ceremony to whatever theme you might desire. Star Wars wedding? Sure. Battlestar Galactica wedding? Even better. I'll even do it in rhyme. Or write your entire wedding as a series of Weird Al-esque parodies! I might have trouble writing a sports-themed wedding because, as we all know, I don't do the sports thing (except for figure skating). But, in all honesty, I'm sure that if we work together we can make your wedding dreams come true.

I know it's a somewhat odd concept for an ex-Jewish atheist to become a minister, but truly, if you think about it enough, it makes perfect sense.

Yours in the path of the lord,
bex

Rocking the Scarborough Country

Oh boy! Tonight (10.2) at around 9:50pm (8:50 central, 7:50 mountain), I'll be on the ol' Scarborough Country on the ol' MSNBC to discuss today's round-up of entertainment/pop culture shizz.

Break your fast then watch me on the TV!

Ring the Dragtastic Alarm

So my boyf AD'ed the video for Beyonce's "Ring the Alarm." So we've watched the finished product a few times.

And someone just sent me this kickawesome re-imagining of the video and I lurfs it.


The thing about the original "Ring the Alarm" viddy? I totally think it's Sophie Mueller's version of David LaChapelle's video for No Doubt's cover of "It's My Life."

Which, in and of itself, was just David LaChapelle's version of Rob Marshall's version of "Chicago."

Ourobouros, on!

Orson, No! Leo, No!

So I don't watch the Desperate Housewivvle, but I just saw a little clip that made my inner Twin Peaks consciousness spring to alertness.

Behold!
On the DH, Kyle Maclachlan plays this guy Orson, and there's a scene where this parrot goes "Orson, No!"

Back when Kyle Maclachlan played Agent Cooper on Twin Peaks, there was this episode where he found a tape recording of Waldo, a parrot, going, "Leo, no!"

Get it? Parrots! Parrots who squawk "_____(Name of character)_____, no!" On two different shows, both of which star Kyle Maclachlan! Pop culture reference kabam!

Okay, this now concludes the COMPLETE UBERDORKINGOUTness of this post.

In kickawesomeness, I went to the Long Winters' show at the Bowery B-room and it was amazing. I'm so proud of them: headlining the bowery ballroom to a packed house! With so many fans! Look who's a big deal rock band now! HUZZAH! And they're so fucking tight these days. Solid, as they say, as a rock. I was supremely impressed. Plus, we got a little shout-out during "Fire Island, AK" and it was total rockness.

RIP The Top Model Theme Song

I don't like the new song, not one bit. I like to stand up and dance whilst singing along, and I don't care for this new theme song, not one tiny iota, no sirree bob.

Goodbye, Megan. This sounds crass, but too bad your dead mother wasn't around to save you this time.

Apostrophe to the Fall TV Line-up, Part Deux (And also, because I long for structure and rigidity, in Haiku form)

Heroes
I want to like this.
But the writing! So turgid!
Gag me with a spoon!

Bwa-ha! You can't fly!
Good thing your brother can, though.
Tricksy tricksy, bub!

We're all connected?
Isn't that called "Six Degrees?"
It's on ABC!

Oh, poor cheerleader.
You Wolverine-esque-ly heal.
Gee: sucks to be you.

Oh no! He OD'ed!
A tortured, psychic artist!
Heroin? Who knew?

Nip/Tuck
Why'd Sean say "My bad"
Christian should apologize
For missing the birth.

Everyone we see
Wants to fuck with someone else
Why are they so mean?

Watch out! Your kidneys!
I thought that was just a myth.
No more sex for you!

Don't sleep with Michelle.
For once, just be a good guy.
Stupid, bad Christian.

I've eaten hash snacks.
I didn't hallucinate.
What's in those brownies?

Survivor: Race Wars
I wear tight clothing,
High heeled shoes. That doesn't mean
That I'm a prostitute.

Three Jews Are Sitting at A Dais ...

No, it's not the set up for a stupid joke, it's the intro to this photo from that Big Jewish Quiz Thing that I did a few weeks back.


I love how each one of us has different colored hair! It's like we're a cartoon rock band!

From left to right:
Me, Michael Showalter, and Tammy Faye Starlight. We are clearly quite pensive and thoughtful as we contemplate our next answer. And yet, alas, we lost. I blame it on buzzer malfuction.

(Photo by Vincent Goldberg)

We'll All Be Crispy Critters After World War III

Mark your calendars, chickadees! I'm doing a comedy show at the UCB theater called World War III!

It's Wednesday, October 11th at 9:30pm. Check out the deets:

World War III

Just in time for Ramadan and Yom Kippur comes World War III! Come and see jovial Jews and amusing Arabs bringing you the funny. It'll be a mix of Comic Strip Live, The Tonight Show, and the 1936 Intifada.

Hosted by Mo Fathelbab and Ilan Bachrach

And scheduled to appear:
Hot Sauce
Ronnie Khalil
Catie Lazuras
Helen Maalik
Nasry Malak
Dean Obeidallah
Bex Schwartz
The Wicked Wicked Hammerkatz
and Former President Jimmy Carter

Apostrophe to the Fall TV Line-up, That I Have Seen, Thus Far. Oh, In Haiku Form.

Jericho
Watched the first half.
Chick from Kindergarten Cop!
And deaf girl from Weeds!

Sucks about the bomb.
I get it. You once loved her.
Alas, now you're stuck.

Studio 60 On the Sunset Strip
Aaron Sorkin -- smart!
Wait, what was that reference?
Paddy Chayefsky?

So very meta!
TV show about TV!
Okay, I will watch.

No longer Chandler.
Or the guy from the West Wing.
I sure hope they kiss.

Grey's Anatomy
Why do they love her?
She's icky and so whiny!
And two guys want her?

McDreamy's in love?
Say what? But he's so married!
But hotter than vet.

Ha ha! She's Jewish!
They're sitting shiva; how rich!
Eating sandwiches!

America's Next Top Model
Everyone's so thin!
Super teeny tiny girls!
Except for Tyra.

Tyra, love your show!
But, please, girl: turn it down, eh?
You're frightening me.

Creepy twins! Look out!
Girls from "The Shining" grew up!
Now they're on "Model!"

The Office
Sad! Pam misses Jim!
And Jim clearly misses Pam!
Come back soon, Jim! Please!

#24, Baby! 24!!!

Look! I made the list of "Top 40 Blogs by and for Comedians!"

Thanks, Mo, for doing research and math and other difficult tasks!

TWENTYFOUR, BABY, YEAH!

Separated at a Vaguely Ratty Birth

I know, I know, it's already established that Michelle is a twin. But what if her twin isn't really Amanda and her placenta-mate (not to be confused with Placenta Helper) is actually Fiona Apple? They're so almost separated at birth!

Touching the Bear

Best. Story. Ever.

A man got dizzy on the beer and felt the urge to touch the bear.
He touched the bear.
The panda bit his leg. And then the other leg.
And then the man bit the panda.
The skin felt quite thick.

FULL DISCLOSURE: I feel a strong compulsion to clamp my own jaws down on a panda's back and to take its thick skin into my teeth. A lovebite, though. Not a meanbite.

Birfday Birfday!

Oh, my little chickadees! I have so much to tell you about my trip to Miami! But I am oh-so-exhausted, so instead I'll tell you this: my birfday is 9/20 and I couldn't be happier that there are two hours of Top Model with which to celebrate.

And: My boo bought me a laptop! I've switched platforms and HI, I'm a MAC!

And look, my 'puter has a little built in cammyjabber. Look, I'm in my living room!

More Kitties!

This one too!



For me, it's all about the way the chameleon boogies.

Memories

Look what Joel posted on Youtube!



Back from the nascent days of my VH1 careerjob!

Miami Vice

I'm in Miami. To shoot Hulk Hogan and Danny Bonaduce (with a camera, duh). Jealous?

Big Jewish Quiz Thing - Tomorrow Night!

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You Look Like a Fairy Princess that Resides Over the Pits of Hill

Thus spake New York to Buckwild on last night's epi of Flavor of Love.

(I could explain it, or you could read D-listed's recap instead. Trust me, it'll save both of us time.

Anyway, long story short, Buckwild came downstairs in her pretty-pretty dress and New York looked her up and down and intoned, "(fakey nice)You look like a fairy princes ... (mean 'n' nasty) that resides over the pits of hell."

Look, I illustrated it for you:

So, I think "Over the pits of hell" is my new favorite add-on. The way New York uses it, it's like "over the pits of hell" is the new "NOT!"

Let's try it out.

"Oh, Melvin, sure I'll go out with you ... over the pits of hell!"
"President Bush is doing a great job ... over the pits of hell!"
"The fall TV lineup sure looks chock full of some stellar sure-to-be hits ... over the pits of hell!"

Spread the meme, tigers, spread the meme.

Mutton, Honey

JOSH: python eating a sheep!
BEX: aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack
JOSH: whatcha eatin?
JOSH: mutton, honey.
BEX: my eyes!
BEX: that sheep in its mouth! aaaaaaaaaaaaaaack
JOSH: you mean baaaaaaaaaaa
BEX: baa ram ewe
JOSH: what if they become one evil snakesheep?
JOSH: slither slither BLEAT
JOSH: four legs good, no legs better!
BEX: what if the sheep becomes the python's moral conscience?
JOSH: what if the sheep gives birth? then there'll be TWO sheep in there
JOSH: and one will spend her entire life in the belly of a python
BEX: what if the sheep and it's baby live their whole lives in the python?
BEX: isn't that, like, a metaphor for "the panic room" ?
JOSH: a pregnant sheep being eaten by a python is an analogy for the fuck truck
BEX: what if the sheep gave birth to a baby boo ewe
BEX: that's funny
JOSH: somehow this picture has tainted my memory of the Little Prince
BEX: i meant a baby girl ewe and called it a baby boo ewe
JOSH: i wondered what a boo ewe was
BEX: anyway - what if the sheep has a baby girl?
BEX: and then years later, the python gives a ram a blowjob?
BEX: and that sperm impregnates the girl lamb
BEX: and then THAT sheep gets pregnant
JOSH: oh man, and the girl lam has a ram, and then the snake has HORNS
JOSH: BAD-ASS!
BEX: but the horns would be coming out of the python's tushy
JOSH: ASS-HORNS!
JOSH: that would be melochineezer, the horned-ass beast foretold in the book of revelations
JOSH: you must prevent this giant python from blowing a ram
BEX: i guess that's up to the authorities
BEX: but if the first pregnant sheep has a boy lamb, we'd still be set
JOSH: the python will still have horns, though
BEX: exactly. we could skip the step of asking the python to blow ram
JOSH: besides, a python's hinged jaws can open wide enough to swallow a pregnant sheep; even assuming a giant ram penis, it's going to look disproportionately small in there
BEX: i have to go lie down - my head is blowing up
BEX: not because of the ram
JOSH: ok, good
BEX: the ram penis in my jaws
JOSH: that can't be good for your tmj

From Whence To Rid Thyself of Dingleberries

So Beyonce's big whatever album just dropped, and there's this poster for it hanging across the street from my office.

And whenever I see this:


All I can think is this:


Go Beyonce! It's your bidet! Go Beyonce! We're gonna party like it's your bidet!

Good Night, And Good Luck

My friend Aaron brings up the most important aspect of the Katie Couric newscast, a detail I originally omitted because I was doing something REALLY IMPORTANT (read: I was on the way to my Tuesday night abs class).

So dumb ol' Katie can't even decide on her own catchphrase. She announced:

"All summer long, people have been asking me, How will you sign off at the end of your broadcast? I've racked my brain and so far, nothing has felt right ... If you have a bright idea for a great sign-off, log on to our website at CBSNews.com and tell me. I know we'll have a lot of fun reading them, and who knows, maybe one will actually stick."

You can tell CBS your grand idea right here.

In the meantime, I'm hoping that perhaps Katie might find one of these suggestions to be sticky enough for her daily use:
* Try these on for size, Connie Chung!
* Suck it, Matt Lauer!
* America, it's time to go pick up a sixer.
* Keep your nose clean, kids.
* Yours sincerely, wasting away
* Some Pig.
* TTYL!
* TTFN!
* Toodles!
* (silently flexes calf muscles of steel)

Vaguely Liveblogging Katie Couric on the CBS Evening News

Oh, Katie. WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO YOUR FACE? Suddenly, you're robo-Katie. Like the Chenbot, but vis-a-vis appearance versus visage. Why doesn't your face move? Did you have an upper eye lift? Why do your eyes look so very scary?

And white? AFTER LABOR DAY? Oh, Katie, no! And, please, when I think "Hard News" I think neither of a white blazer nor of 4-inch heels. I think a somber blazer and perhaps some flats.

Plus, your Titanic-inspired theme song makes me want to do a jig (with the poor people in steerage, where all the fun is) rather than listen to news.

Also, I can't believe -- I simply, simply CANNOT BELIEVE -- that you just said, "As many of you remember, next Monday marks the 5 year anniversary of September 11th."

As MANY of you remember? Who doesn't remember? My two-year-old second cousin? Then why is he watching Katie Couric?

Surely, he is also offended by the white-after-Labor-Day thing. Way to go, Couric. Way to go.

And the Whole World Starts to Make Less Sense

SO, huzzah, Angela is gone from ProjRun (I just saw it spelled somewhere as ProdgeRun and I do so like that very much, I think I shall henceforth adopt it) and I couldn't be happier, namely because Angela reminds me of an ex-boss of whom I was not so fond.

So, dig:
in this interview with Blogging Project Runway, Angela reveals that up next she's working for Catherine Malandrino for Catherine's runway show during fashion week.

Wait. THE Catherine Malandrino? The one who auf'ed Angela because she looked like she was "coming from another world?" She auf'ed her then hired her?

PEOPLE, WHAT IS THE WORLD COMING TO?

Vaguely Liveblogging Rosie's First Day on "The View"

Oh boy, Rosie's back! I must admit, I love her blog so muchity. But, I must say, she is DOMINATING this little panel with Jessica Simpson and I'm extrapolating that she's been yapping for the whole show and I bet those other ladies are going to be pissed to the off because Rosie is
A) funny
B) totally famous
C) multitalented
D) a lesbian.

But I say, GO, ROSIE, GO! Keep on yapping.

If I weren't a dork, I would have kept these feelings to myself, but:
WHAT A DAY FOR THE T-VISION! ROSIE STARTS ON "THE VIEW" AND KATIE COURIC STARTS TO "DELIVER NEWS."

Not That It's Not Tragic

Look, totally, I mean, the man's an instant legend - STEVE IRWIN, legendary fearless animal expert, advocate, explorer, and occasional wrestler (didn't he wrestle a crocodile once? I could be wrong, and I'm too tired to google it) -- DONE IN by a barbed member of the animal kingdom - the very kingdom Steve Irwin lived to exalt and praise and occastionally poke with sticks! THE TRAGEDY!


And now he is elevated, instantly, to Paul Bunyan status - like Paul with his ax and his blue ox named Babe, so Steve Irwin instantly rises into that great star-studded sky of heroic constellations - look, just past Johnny Appleseed and his appleseed sack, can't you just make out the outline of Steve Irwin with his hands in a crocodile's jaws? Okay, maybe just hugging a crocodile?

OF COURSE YOU CAN, the man's a fucking mythic hero. See? Regardez - the illustrious Crocodile Hunter, glowing up there in the night sky, somewhere near the other hunters like Orion



Anyway. That being said, I did find it odd that his death was treated with the same weight as the war against terror. Thank goodness for the news organizations.