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?

MostBest Stereogum Link EVAH

Holy hot fuck! SO FUCKING GENIUS! It's "Now That's What I Call Indie Covers" and it's totally awesome -- Top 40 songs as covered by yer faverave Indie Rockers! I enthused most heartily about Ted Leo's "Since U Been Gone/Maps" joint a few months ago, but, dude, rock the fuck out of these tracks. And if The Mountain Goats' version of Ace of Bass's "The Sign" doesn't thrill you, then you have a heart of stone. And I no longer want to be your friend. (Or, it's entirely possible that you don't like The Mountain Goats, but then you're just silly and/or possibly uninformed).

We Somehow Always Knew It Would Come To This

bonaduceslates, originally uploaded by starbexxx.

Dig -- I took screengrabs of the awesome piece on 'Breaking Bonaduce' that ran on Entertainment Tonight last night.

Backstory: ET came to our shoot at the Bonaduce house to interview Danny and Gretchen and to get coverage of our promo/open shoot. In essence: they shot us shooting the Bonaduces. And, check it on out, our slates were in the segment. If you look closely, you'll see two names in the Director slot: Delbourgo/Schwartz. The Schwartz part is me, and the Delbourgo part is Phil. Phil was the first person to hire me when I was a sassy punk straight outta Wesleyan -- I was his assistant back in the day, a million lifetimes ago. And now we're co-directing Danny Bonaduce.

(Insert shot of David Byrne in "Stop Making Sense" wearing a giant white suit and marking the progress of time against his forearm: same as it ever was, same as it ever was).

August 2nd: Chicks and Giggles

Hell's motherforking yeah, boyeee -- I'm rockin' Chicks and Giggles

Dig it, you sugar-smacks-loving Frog: Funny ha-ha by me and other funny chicks August 2nd.

Deets: (per their website)
Tuesday, August 2
8:30 pm
RAGA
433 East 6th Street (1st/A)
FREE!

Featuring Fantastic Funnies from:

Vicky Bond (Brooklyn Comedy Co.)
Nikki Chawla (New York Comedy Club)
Claudia Cogan (Becky and Claudia's Supreme Offering)
Emily Epstein (Laugh Lounge)
Correne Kristiansen (Saturday Night Live)
Rachael Parenta ($1 Room)

And, back from her stint with the red-headed Partridge... Bex Schwartz! (VH1)

Carolyn Castiglia is hostin' it up per usual!

Lawry's and the Cart of Death

Okay. First story of the LA stint.
So, right before I left work on Monday, I went to the bank to deposit a check. Put the money in the honey and all was good, until I realized that I needed to mac out some more cash for my week in LA. But, when I re-entered my PIN, my brain went all weird and I entered the wrong number. And proceeded to re-enter the wrong number five times. So they put my account on hold. I call the bank (which SUCKS, and, not to be libelous, we shall henceforth refer to as B.o.A or "Bank of Ass") and they say, "We'll send you a PIN reminder." And I say, "I'm going to be in LA for a week, can you send it to my hotel?" And they say no, they can only send your PIN to you actual address, and I say, "well, I'm going to need some cash," and they say, "just go to a branch and give them your card and they'll let you take money out with a withdrawal slip."

So we get up at the crack of dawn and fly to LA, and once we land in LAX we have to wait in line for an hour at Hertz and we finally get our car and we're cranky and ravenously hungry and we start driving to Santa Monica, which is where the MTV offices are. And just as we're leaving the airport, I spot a branch of B.o.A. and we pull over and I duck inside to get some moolah. Except that when I get to the teller and give her my card and my info, she informs me that all my accounts have been closed out and that I'm showing a zero-dollar balance. So I freak out, and I'm like, "there are THOUSANDS of dollars in that account, what do you mean I have no money, where did my money go, AAAAAARGH?" and she directs me over to the ATM machine where there's a little white non-courtesy phone and it takes 25 minutes to get to a real person who finally informs me that no, my accounts have not disappeared but that since I opened my account in Jersey, California can't access it. The real person tells me to go to a diffferent branch, so I dry my tears and we decide to go to the office and I'll do the bank errand the next day.

So we get to our officespace and we're still cranky and ravenous and even more exhausted and I'm all tearstained and we start prepping for all the pre-production stuff we need to accomplish. And, conicidentally, a hunk of our vee-peers from NYC were also out in LA LA land, prepping to shoot Gene Simmons for another new show. Yes, that Gene Simmons (ROCK!). And so it was decided that we'd all eat dinner together. And thusly, it was also decided that we would eat at Lawry's.

LAWRY'S IS A STEAKHOUSE AND I AM A VERY, VERY, VERY LONGTERM VEGEMATARIAN!

But apparently everyone forgot about that.

So we check-in to our hotel and splash some water on our faces and then we drive back out to West Hollywood and head into Lawry's, which looks, for all the world, like a combination of Medieval Times and a cheezy place where your parents might have gotten married 40 years ago. There was an anteroom where they were serving happy-hour-esque hors d'oeuvres -- swedish meatballs and potato chips. So we headed to the bar to wait for the rest of the gang. Lawry's has a no-seating-until-your-whole-party-has-arrived policy, and the 8th member of our party didn't arrive until 9:30 PST. Which was 12:30 EST in our brains, and we'd been up since the crack of dawn.

So. Between the incredibly homoerotic Medieval-esque mural covering the back wall, and the waitresses dressed in brown polyester tunics with little white napkin hats, I was already halfway between the Twilight Zone and utter hysteria. And the waitress (whose nametag read "Miss Dolce") passed out the menus and we realized that they. only. served. steak. (and a fish dish, but that don't help me none). And we were still ravenous, so we asked if we could just order, and Miss Dolce insisted we first had to tell her what kind of potatoes each one of us preferred (baked or mashed). And then she went away for a while and we got hungrier and tipsier. And then she finally came back, and still wasn't taking orders, and I was like, "I don't meat. Or poultry. Or fish. Can you do anything?" and she said they had a vegetable plate, and I asked if she could check to make sure it wasn't cooked where they cooked the meat and she said it wasn't, so I ordered that.

And then, suddenly, the cart of death arrived.

The cart of death was a large, silver rolltop thing on wheels that contained, I shit you not, an entire cow. As I fled to the lobby to text my boyfriend, "HELP, THEY ARE CARVING A COW IN FRONT OF ME," a man wearing a bloodstained apron and a chef's hat proceeded to slice large chunks of flesh off of the cow and place them on plates for my dining partners. I kept peeking around the lobby to see if the man was done with his butchering, which took forever (I guess everyone selected different cuts of cow) and finally I came back to the table. And promptly lost my appetite. Because my colleagues were slicing cow off the cowbone and their meats were swimming in pools of blood. I moved the food around my plate a few times and generally tried to stare at the homoerotic medieval mural, so as to avoid booting up whatever was left in my tummy.

(My friends eat meat in front of me all the time, but it's always chicken in pad thai, or a hamburger, or chunks of pork or something. I rarely, rarely, see contextualized meat -- and contextualized meat, eg, this-is-flesh-on-a-bone-and-i-am-made-of-flesh-on-a-bone, is why I went veg in the first place -- and that's why it freaked me out oh so much).

So that was my first night in LA.

And yes, it's the same Lawry's as the seasoned salt and pepper (which were on our table, and which I would have used had I been capable of eating).

Moo.

Standing Outside Casa Bonaduce

bexinLA, originally uploaded by starbexxx.

Oh man. This is me, nearing the end of the Bonaduce shoot. I had just finished interrogating Danny and Gretchen -- hardcore! Don't I look ti-ti-tired? I'm very ti-ti-tired in this photo. The on-set medic took this photo. He kept offering me hits of oxygen. How very LA!

Bonadooching It Up!

Heidy ho, tigers, I'm still in LA! We shot the most awesome stuff ever for the open and promo campaign for "Breaking Bonaduce" (premiering Sunday, September 11th!) and I must say: I am the biggest fan of Danny and Gretchen Bonaduce ever. They were so super rad and wonderful and open and honest and frank and generous and I just think they're the bees knees. And also the cats' pyjamas. More than one cat, that's how awesome they are.

And I have sooooo many stories about the week-in-LA thus far, but let me start with this one, and it's something I never thought I would tell you, but I might be on the tonight show with Jay Leno tonight or some night soon because we were driving to Ashton Kutcher's suckfest restaurant Dolce (aka La Dolce Suckfest) last night and hit a light right where Leno was taping some stand up on the street and we hollered at him our our car window. And he hollered back, and, although we ain't no hollaback girls, we had quite the hollering exchange of niceness. Even though I claimed that I hated Jay Leno, that is mosdef NOT what I shouted at him. Sigh.It's not my best moment, to be sure, but we were chock full of post-wrap adrenaline and it seemed like the thing to do at the time. For reals. Sigh.

I will soon regale you with tales of La Dolce Suckfest as well as tales of Lawry's Steakhouse and Creamy Mouth Feel and Danny Bonaduce's Bologna-Covered Dog and "Is Anyone at this table named Morrissey?" and various other stories of kickawesomeness.

Dance, Little John, Dance

Dance, Little John, Dance, originally uploaded by starbexxx.

When your daddy's an anti-abortion schmuck who just might be the next appointed-for-life Supreme Court justice, what should you do?

The "I'm a Little Teapot" dance, surely.

And let's, for the love of all things sacred, hope that he did the double-handled, "wait a second, I'm not a teapot, I'm a sugar bowl" version.

Special thanks to my fave MSNBC friend Susan for the hot link.

Everyone, Beam "Right to Choose" Thoughts Towards Washington

right to choose, right to choose, right to choose, right to choose, right to choose, right to choose, right to choose, right to choose, right to choose, right to choose, right to choose, right to choose, right to choose, right to choose, right to choose, right to choose, right to choose, right to choose, right to choose, right to choose, right to choose, right to choose, right to choose, right to choose, right to choose, right to choose, right to choose, right to choose, right to choose, right to choose, right to choose, right to choose, right to choose, right to choose, right to choose, right to choose, right to choose, right to choose, right to choose, you fucker.

(... and I choose NO to the idea of Justice Roberts.)

Why Berkeley Breathed Continues to be the Most Best

Diggity dig dig!

I am officially AWESOME

Hot diggity damn, and thanks to my anonymous tipster: I'm wiki'ed as a hipster. Oh, sweet Bwana Dik, this is the loveliest piece of infoporn ever.

Yeah, look "hipster" up in Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia, and there I am, right alongside Christina Ricci and someone named Seth.

Thanks for the tipster, hipster-tipster!

Once More, Soldiers, Into the Brink

I'm off to LA to spend a week out there working on good ol' "Breaking Bonaduce." Woo. I thought of maybe wearing my David Cassidy shirt when I meet him, but I think that would be asking for it. Still, I packed it anyway.

We saw Charlie and the Chocolate Factory tonight and I lurfed it, particularly the honest-to-goodness Roald Dahl oompa loompa poems, particularly the polyphonic-spree esque choral number they sing to Veruca. Kickawesome. The only thing is, I think Dahl wrote them as tribal chants and the words aren't necessarily written to be performed lyrically and melodically, but, heck, it's Danny Elfman, so hey. Anyhoo. Awesome movie; I take back what I said on MSNBC about not caring about anything in the theaters -- this one rocks.

(Although I saw War of the Worlds last Friday and it didn't rock -- Spielberg shoots a fine action sequence, and he builds suspense masterfully, but for me, if the world is under attack by giant alien tripod biomechanic things, I'm more interested in watching someone more exciting than a deadbeat dad and his two kids. Show me world leaders or key religious figures or anyone about whom I might care -- Dakota Fanning's all cute 'n' shit, but I just don't care about her cute little fate when the entire world is seemingly doomed. I don't recally anything in the book about a dockworker dude, but, hey, at least they still lived in New Jersey).

Also, haven't you always wanted to know how the Canticle bit of Scarborough Fair/Canticle goes? (or "Parsley Sagels," as one might call it). It's quite pertinent nowadays, as it was when Simon and Garfunkel inserted it into their song. And it goes like this:

On the side of a hill, in the deep forest green
Tracing a sparrow on snow-crested ground
Blankets and bedclothes, the child of the mountain
Sleeps unaware of the clarion call.
On the side of a hill, a sprinkling of leaves
Washed is the ground with so many tears
A soldier cleans and polishes a gun.
War bellows, blazing in scarlet battalions
Generals order their soldiers to kill
And to fight for a cause they’ve long ago forgotten.

Those Yellow Rubber Bands

So, I've been thinking a lot about those "livestrong" wristbands recently. They kinda blow my mind. I'm trying to think of another phenomenon that's become so very widespread and so very ripped off. EVERYBODY was wearing those things last summer -- it was a trend that cut across demographic, socioeconomic status, race, creed, personality archetype, EVERYTHING. from the five year old kid on the subway to then-Prexy-candidate Kerry, everyone was rocking that thing. And then every other cause decided to join in -- there are pink ones for breast cancer and red ones for AIDS and (my very fave) a lime green one for lyme disease. Dig this list! It's crazy! There's a rubber bracelet for everything! And some colors have more than one cause! If you're wearing a burgundy bracelet, you might be supporting women who've had C-sections, or you might be supporting headache-sufferers. Or maybe multiple myeloma. Or hospice care. And that green one I like so much? It might mean you're supporting people who are coping with Childhood Depression, Kidney Transplantees (or -ers), Depression, Lyme Disease, the Environment, Genocide in Darfur, Mental Retardation, Organ Donation, Tissue Donation, Worker Safety, Lymphoma, or Kidney Cancer.

And before the livestrong jammies, no one wore those rubberband bracelets. The closest I ever came was finding a really fat rubber band once and wrapping it around my hand to form two claws, and then I pretended I was a lobster.

So all's I'm saying is that the all-pervasiveness of the rubber-bracelet trend blows my mind. We went from nobody-wearing-rubber-bracelets to everyone-wearing-yellow-rubber-bracelets to every-cause-gets-a-bracelet in very little time. Can anyone else think of a trend that not only took over the nation but has also been spun-off in so many ways?

Speaking of livestrong, I met the lovely Linda Armstrong Kelly yesterday in the greenroom at MSNBC. She was there to talk about the new livestrong laptop -- when one purchases it, $50 of your purchase goes to cancer research (AWESOME!). She was wearing all sorts of yellow accents -- two livestrong bracelets, a big puffy flower in the same shade of yellow, yellow hairthingie. Very cool and very committed and very proud of her son and the movement he's started. So very inspiring. Not just the whole winning-the-bike-race and beating-cancer thing ... the starting a trend that spreads like motherforking wildfire.

Launching Memes

I'm quite taken with the story of the word "spoffle" - (courtesy of Popbitch)
"Many moons ago, when Hugh Laurie and Sir Stephen of Fry were just becoming 'known', they were interviewed on a BBC radio show. Mr Fry asked what the foam covers on the end of the mics were called. To which Mr Laurie said, "They're called 'Spoffles' and they prevent what's known as 'Popping'". Mr Fry, the Host and the Engineer were all impressed by Mr Laurie's knowledge and the interview continued.

Years passed, and once again Fry and Laurie were in a radio studio. The Engineer said something like he'll just adjust the Spoffle. Mr Laurie says, "The what?" And the Engineer explains that this is what the foam things are called. "Good Lord," laughs Mr Laurie, "I made that word up on the spot years ago in a studio!"

And someday, friends, I hope you're all using the word (censored because I'm nice, but stick around because someday the word i wanted to use will reappear). My niceness is really bonadooching my humorjokes.

Still More Fantrom

Still More Fantrom, originally uploaded by starbexxx.

This girl is:
a) magically fighting gravity and riding a bike at a 45 degree angle
b) falling off a bike
c) a wonderful example of fantrom

(photo by Jed Teres)
I hope that whenever anyone googles "girl falling off bike" they will get to this page. Don't fall, girl, don't fall! Or else you might fall down go boom and skin your knees and get an owie.

Yay, 12 Emmy Nods for "Lost!"

And a supporting-actor nom each for Naveen Andrews and Terry O'Quinn! Woo!

But, alas, where's the love for my very very very very beloved Battlestar Galactica? (holy holy holy shit, new season starts TOMORROW!)

Syllogisms and Other Nuggets of Ick

So, I was watching the news at the gym the other day, and, I swear, Scott McLellan was speaking in syllogisms. His logic was something to the effect of "President Bush wouldn't surround himself with bad people, and he surrounds himself with Karl Rove, so clearly Karl Rove is not a bad person."

For anyone living in a cave: Karl Rove is a bad, bad person.

Also for anyone living in a cave: they're just shadows, you should really unchain yourself from the bench and go outside and look at the pretty flowers. Then you can be a Philosopher King!

And, for you cavedwellers, seeing as Bush pledged to fire the person who leaked Valerie Plame's cover, and seeing as Karl Rove was that person, it stands to reason that Bush needs to fire Karl Rove.

Who Made This Robot?

This new helpmate robot is the coolest mofo thing ever! It's like a helper monkey but it's a robot!!!!

Also, in the world of really cool things, Dig: it's a geographically correct subway map! I always knew the L wasn't really cutting a straight trajectory across Brooklyn. Ha!

Media Alert! I'm Rocking MSNBC Today at 5pm!

Yes indeedy, tigers, I'm doing "Connected" on MSNBC today at 5. Live at 5, for reals not farina! Can I slip another "sexmusk" on to the t-vision? I think we're talking about the John McCain "controversy," Trump's plans for the next season of the apprentice, and the theory that Hollywood is slumping because "Republicans don't go see movies made by the liberal Democratic media" (BWA HA HA HA!). Talking points TBD this afternoon, I reckon.

And, for the record, to those mark-ass-bustas who wrote in last time to chastize me for wasting their valuable time by talking about TomKat on the news, here's how it works: MSNBC calls me, yo, and asks me to talk about shit. It's not like I'm waking up at the crack of dawn each morning and pitching stories to the news. The people who do that are called "publicists" or "press agents" or "flacks". And they often have good hair and uncomfortable shoes.

Quote O' The Day

So I'm screening some rough cuts of I Love the 80s 3D and following along with the scripts ... just the day job, you know, same ol' same ol'... And, see, every so often on Planet Bex something tickles my fancy (in a nondirty way) and I start laughing uproariously until my mascara and glitter stream down my face in rivulets of ex-glam. Like when I was obsessed with the singing bush from "Three Amigos," singing "Jimmy Crack Corn," or like when I came up with this brilliant joke: what do you get when you cross Kafka and Snow White? A Metamorphosis / Get-a-Dwarf-to-Kiss (it rhymes!) (and, back off, I was 10).

Anyhoo, so I'm leafing through these transcripts and I came across this gem during the "Short Circuit" segment in "I love 1986."

S/U (sound up): JOHNNY 5 flipping through encyclopedia and making this noise: "awlalalalazezealwalalawala ahhhhhhhh. More input, Stephanie, more!"

Steph: "There isn't any more, you read everything in the house!"

And for some reason, that transcription of the noise he's making struck me as the very fucking funniest thing EVER of all time EVER EVER EVER.

Awlalalalazezealwalalawala !

Gay Penguins! Gay Penguins!

Hi-diddly-ho, tigers. I'm done with the Logo launch and I'm back working for the vee. (Current projects: the launch of "Breaking Bonaduce" and the upcoming "I Love the 80s 3D"). But I wanted to share a little sumpin' sumpin' from the land of Logo. Now: disclaimer: this spot is the property of Logo and I probably shouldn't be sharing it but I'm so proud of it, so if you like it, you have to go watch Logo.

I wrote the story a long time ago, and then we hired Arnie Levin, world-famous cartoonist for the New Yorker, to do the illustration. The very incredibly double-plus awesome Elise Malmberg and Joe Gore ofClubbo did the music. And I'm the voice of the penguins. Teehee. Ackackack meh meh.

And the final result? A lovely tale about Gay Penguins and the Beer-Bellied Man.

This Beach is Soooo Gryzk

Gryzk, originally uploaded by starbexxx.

A few weeks ago, the boyf and I went to see his friend Matt Mulhern (the Lt. from Major Dad! AWWWWWWESOME!) in a Horton Foote play that was part of the EST's Marathon of one-act plays. Matt was totally awesome, and the play in which he starred was wonderful as well.

But before we got to see Matt's play, we had to suffer through a piece of dreck called "Gryzk." It's apparently part of the playwright's "Beach" series and it takes place, appropriately enough, on a beach. There's this rich woman with a horribly oit of date "wealthy" accent and her neighbor tells her that this couple, Mr. amd Mrs. Gryzk, were brutally murdered the night before. The rich woman apparently knew the Gryzks because she sold them her house, and as the play unfolds the rich woman reveals that she's waiting for her teenage son to come join her for cocktails, and then the ghost of Mr. Gryzk appears and starts shrieking about crucifixes, and the rich woman gets drunk on daiquiris, and then the ghost of Mrs. Gryzk shows up in a wedding dress, and there's a lot of stupid lighting cues and some really atrocious dialogue and then, ohmystars, the teenage son never shows up and he was crazy and an alcoholic (just like his mom!) and he brutally murdered Mr. and Mrs. Gryzk. The play was so bad that the boyf started doing that hold-in-your-laughter silent shaking thing and almost vomitted. And then, right before Matt's play was about to start, the actor playing Gryzk sat right in front of us and I started silent-laughing so hard (GRYYYYYYZK!) I like unto wet myself.

Anyhoo, since then, "Gryzk" has come to mean both anything that sucks and also anything that is faintly reminscent of the stupid, wannabe pretentious world of the play of Gryzk. And so. Just for a lark, during our layover before returning from vacation, we visited one of Nassau's casino/hotel complexes. And found this totally Gryzk scene. And the boyf snapped a photo, just so we could revel in the Gryzkness of it all. This beach is soooo Gryzk.

Shaving the Pussies and Other Weekend Details

Yes, it's true, folks, we shaved our pussies this weekend. One of them was relatively well-behaved and the other one cried bloody murder and we barely got any hair off. See, this new apartment we live in, it's kinda dusty. And when you add kitty fur to an already-dusty environment, it gets a little tough. Klaus is our bigger kittie, and he's a Russian Blue who sheds grey fur all over the couch -- to the extent that you can take a lint brush to the couch and roll off enough fur to make a little ball of hair that looks an awful lot like a rat. And the other kitty is Peter, and he's black and white and he gets hair all over the places that Klaus hasn't already covered. So my roomie decided we should shave them.

When I was younger, my fambly had a kitty named Ollie, who was the best cat ever, and he was really fat and he didn’t necessarily groom himself very well and he got mats in his hair and the vet shaved his back, the part above his tail, and he was fine (except he was soooo ashamed) so we figured that it would be fine to shave our cats, just a buzz cut really, and we’d do both of them so they wouldn’t be sooooo ashamed. My roomie has clippers that he uses to trim his hair, so we decided we’d use a longer-hair attachment and just sort of trim the cats. We got Klaus into the bathtub and it went okay – we trimmed most of his longer hair. He didn’t like being restrained in the tub, but he was okay with the buzzer. But Peter FREAKED out. He didn’t like the noise of the trimmer and his hair is a lot finer and we couldn’t really sheer him at all and he howled and made pitiful mews so let him go.

I heard the best explanation for being anti the new wave of Boho fashion. Everytime I go shopping, I see all these long hippie skirts and peasant blouses and all sorts of ruffly, frilly light things. And I just can’t buy ‘em. I was talking to a friend on Saturday night, and she, too, was a hippie-chick in high school. And she said, in re: these skirts that are everywhere: “I can’t add anything to my warbdrobe that I’ve already thrown out.” And I was like, THAT’s IT! I wore all these clothes in high school and I don’t wear ‘em anymore and that’s why I will not buy them again.

My brain feels better, knowing that.

And I feel happy in general. Just like good ol’ Dr. Lao says: ‘I’m alive and being alive is fantastic!”

Ah, Brasil... A country seemingly run by 12-year old boys

For evidence, I direct you here and here.

Watch out, Ladies: The American Storm Descends

Look -- after the dudes win "Strip Search," they'll be part of an elite male-entertainers' troupe called "American Storm".

It sounds vaguely militerrific, does it not? Like, it's the American version of Desert Storm?

My fave part of the website:Billed as America’s Hottest Male Revue, the company will treat audiences to a thrill-filled journey through America’s greatest moments.

Do you think they dress up like Pilgrims and Revolutionary War soldiers and Hippies and Yuppies?

That would rock. Fuck it, I'd go to Vegas to watch Pilgrims strip, yo.

Sweet Home. Kentucky?

I just saw this spot for KFC where these young turks are hanging out on a stoop with their sidekick-esque things, and these older guys come by and they're all, "back in my day we didn't have hi-tech PDAs and MP3s ... but did we did have KFC! But we called it Kentucky Fried Chicken" -- and the turks offer the old dudes some chicken and everyone's happy and KFC slowly starts to reclaim its old name.

(Woo! When I was traveling through Eastern Europe, I met Colonel Sanders' great-grandson, Chris Sanders, in Prague)

(Woo! Woo! Why is "Colonel" pronounced "Kernel?")

ANYHOODLES -- so, brand relaunch for Kentucky Fried Chicken ... And then they cut to the graphics and the music bed is Skynyrd's "Sweet Home Alabama" -- for KENTUCKY Fried Chicken?

They couldn't get "Blue Moon of Kentucky?"

Where is Logo?

All right, people, I know this is all sorts of annoying, and you're all like, where do I watch Logo? WHERE? WHERE?
If you're in NY and you have Time Warner Cable, it's on channel 155.

But there's no channel 155 now. It goes live on Thursday, 6/30 at 6pm, when we start broadcasting a countdown clock til the official launch at 9pm (8c).

You can go the the Logo website and click "Get Logo" and then type in your zip code and you can find out where Logo will live in your neck of the woods.

Little fanfare??? LITTLE fanfare?

There's an article in the NYT today about Logo and the lede is:
Sex may sell, but it won't be selling Logo, MTV Networks' new gay channel, which is beginning on Thursday with little fanfare, after a four-month delay.

Little fanfare? You call four months of working nights and weekends, a bout of bacterial colitis and the fact that I haven't seen my best friends since the winter LITTLE FANFARE?

Motherfuckerpenissucker, that reporter can sit on it and rotate.

Lesley Gore, come play with Logo!

Sixties teen idol Lesley Gore has quietly come out of the closet - though she claims she was never really in it. "I never really never kept my life private," she tells afterellen.com. "Those who knew me, those who worked with me were well aware." So it was Judy, not Johnny, who made her cry in "It's My Party".

And BTW, we launch in three days, mofes.

Al Sharpton at the Pride Parade

Is this weird? For the first time ever, Al Sharpton marched in the Pride parade. I just saw this on the news:

Journalist: On a more serious note, Reverend Al Sharpton for the first
time took part in the parade, he says a must given the disproportionately high
number of African -Americans, specifically women, suffering from AIDS.

Reverend Al Sharpton: While we celebrate life, we are in an unusual crisis
of HIV-AIDS in the city.

As in, he's marching in the Pride parade because of the AIDS crisis? He's not marching because he's showing support for the community, but because we need to call attention to the AIDS Crisis -- and he chooses to raise awareness by marching in the Pride parade? Not by marching in the other non-LGBT-pride-but-ethnic-pride-nonetheless parades, like that pro-Israel march or the St. Patrick's Day parade or the Italian pride thing? Mmm... marching only in the Gay Pride parade as a political gesture to raise awareness about AIDS ... Isn't that a little close to the way it was in the early 80s, when ignorant people referred to AIDS as the "gay disease" and called it GRID?

I dunno. I totally just watched "And the Band Played On" so it's at the tippy toppy of my brain...

Weird Noises in the Sky

Okay ... there is either some weird-thunder-but-possibly-not-thunder thing going on outside my apartment. Either that, or the robots are attacking. Holy W-E-I-R-D. The boo says it's not thundering where he is, which means, I think, that someone is either banging a rather large gong? Or rolling a ginormous steel-drum down the streets, over and over and over again? Or maybe it's some pre-apocalyptic robot attack. Because if the robots were attacking, it would sound a lot like this.

Anyhoodles... Happy Pride, if you're not already into the Shame movement. Logo launches in t-minus 5 days.

I had fun in the sun today, pretending that we were on the beach even though we were really only on a wollen NFL blankie at Riverside park... I can't see the word "riverside" without hearing Billy Joel sing "or up Riverside" -- it's an instant cranial tic. Like singing "Bleeker Street" when I'm on Bleeker Street. Or passing Clinton Street and thinking "there's music on Clinton street all through the morning," or the "you can stand on the arms of the Williamsburg Bridge, crying: hey, man, well this is Babylon," phenomenon. i hearts me some new york. HEARTS!

Hey, the one All Access that I'm TOTALLY stoked to see is "Awesomely Wacky Canada" because I want to see if my moose voice made the final cut. Show drops (Heh) on Friday, stay tuned for further details.

Sweet JEBUS! What have they done to my Diet Coke?

Okay, so I have a few vices and most of 'em are legal. But my number one vice is Diet Coke. And I got up waaay early this morning and I was feelnig the late-afternoon/pre-gym funk, and so I just went out to fetch myself a DC and I bought the new version, the one that's sweetened with Splenda, because Splenda is supposed to be better than aspartame yada yada yada. And, holy fuck!!!! Diet Coke sweetened with Splenda doesn't taste like Diet Coke at all! It tastes like REAL COCA COCA CLASSIC! Ewwwwwww! No No No No! I loves me my old version of Diet Coke, with its crisp-slightly-tangy flavor of awesomeness. Coca Cola Classic makes my teeth itch. And this Splenda-sweetened Diet Coke is NOT the Diet Coke that I know and love. NO NO NO NO NO! It's icky teeth-itch-inducing Coca Cola Classic masquerading as a calorie-free caffeinated treat!!!!


I feel so betrayed. I haven't been so misled since my parents lied to me about something-or-other when I was a kid. Humph.

Ben Widdecombe, I Heart You

Oh, man. Did you dig this weekend's Gatecrasher by gossip columnist & my sometimes-costar-on-vh1-shows Ben Widdecombe? Rock the third item, which I shall c&p for your edification:
"Some engaging tidbits"
So here's what I'm hearing about that relationship.
A source VERY close to the deal is saying there's a contract.
It's worth $5 million.
It's for five years.
There will be no sex.
The deal was sealed June 7.
That's what I'm hearing.

There will be NO sex beween those two people. But there WILL be sex between unicorns and dogboys and dryads! (Neither safe for work, nor for preserving your dwindling sense of childhood innocence).

Thank to Josh-via-Jim for that link-to-end-all-links-of-ruining-my-childhood-once-and-for-all.

It Was Always Burning, Since the World's Been Turning

Oh, yes. I didn't start the TomKat fire, but I'll continue to fan it with my palm fronds of intrigue.

Fox News wonders about Kate (nee Katie) Holmes' "missing days" (is that like Jesus' missing years?) -- basically, she was all single on April 4th at the Steel Magnolias premiere, then she was single at our Save the Music concert on April 11th and then sometime after that she flew off to LA to talk to Mr. Cruise about a role in M:I3 and then on April 27th, they were madly, googly-boogly in love. What happened during those 16 days?

And now, for your viewing pleasure: TvGasm sets the Tom Cruise facial shot to oh-so-erotic music.

I Love This Shirt from Threadless

Isn't this just dreamy? Alas, I prefer tank tops to tee-shirts, otherwise I would buy one post-haste. Sigh.

So the MTV talent show was last night and it was awwwwwwwwesomely fun and rad. I sang "We Didn't Start the Fire" backwards to a karaoke track. The whole thing. Breaking a new landspeed record for backwards singing-ish. Apparently, Gilbert Gottfried was impressed. My work here is done.

I am ti-ti-tired, kitties. But, behold: Logo launches in 9 days (not that I'm counting). New York Magazine wrote a lovely article about the channel.

Why VH1's Strip Search is Fun

Because it's like America's Top Model , but with dudes. And dancing.

I Said "SEXMUSK" Live On The T-vision

I did, I did, it's true. I was riffing about the whole "TomKat" moniker and I realized that a tomcat is a male kitty who's in heat and sprays his sexmusk everywhere and that's kinda like what the whole Tom-Katie thang is. I dunno, it was live, all's I had was an earpiece, and I have no idea what I said. I just hope it was snarky.

Fo' reals, though, in re: their engagement and their romance being a publicity stunt or not, it's like an Ourobouros of sorts -- if they're really in love, why does their romance have to be so public and in-yo'-face that it reads like a publicity stunt? Like, just be in love and be happy about it but you don't need to crow about it all the time, eh? Just be on your junket and talk about your movies and keep your personal life info in US Weekly and then let us g-list celebs on VH1 make snarky comments about it. Like -- talk about your movie during the junket and talk about your love life or your 'roids in your blog, like the rest of us do. ... Because I feel like the constant media overload about how very much in love they are kinda cheapens the purity and sanctity of the way they feel about each other ... and so therefore everyone's convinced it's a publicity stunt because it fucking feels like a publicity stunt and the snake-monster just keeps eating its own tail, over and over and over again.

Not like I have any good reason to talk about their relationship or anything, but, fuckin' a, if you're going to grope each other on camera than I can talk about it... if you live your life in the public eye, the public eye gets to snark. Metaphorically.

And, hey, if they're really truly in love after a whirlwind two months of dating, and seeing as they've decided to get married after a whilrwind two months of dating, then all the best to 'em. I feel like one ought to date someone longer than two months before deciding to wed, like at least get to the point in the relationship when you stop being nice and start being real yada yada yada.

Sexmusk 4evuh!

BREAKING NEWS -- More Hot Bex-on-MSNBC Action

TomKat got engaged! And someone's gotta talk about it on MSNBC. And that someone is me. It's a dirty job, but someone's gotta do it. Today at 3:45. Watch, watch, watch, watch.

I think the angle is: Publicity Stunt or not?


Heh.

Are You A Viacommunist? Then Come To The Talent Show

yo, MTVN employees ONLY:
i'm going to show off my bizarre talents in the MTV talent show on monday. you should come to the show. because it will be fun. i'm not doing standup. nor am i doing a puppet show. so it's safe-for-work. and possibly weird. which is good. i think. hey, 14 days until Logo launches. woo.

MOTHER OF PEARL, Gilbert Gottfried is hosting and frickin' Joe Piscopo is gonna judge. that rocks. "Tony Denono, I can't believe that's your name."


Monday 6/20
2nd Annual Labs Safe Place to Suck MTV Networks Talent Show
Doors open at 5:30 PM
Show starts at 6:30 PM
Free


More wonderfully strange music, comedy, white and black hip hop, and hard-to-define performances by the bravest MTVN employees.  Hosted by Gilbert Gottfried and judged by Joe Piscopo, MC Lyte and Darryl McDaniels of Run DMC.  First prize is an appearance on MTV.  Bring company ID to get in and personal ID if you want to imbibe.


BB King
237 W. 42nd St.
(212)654-8455
http://www.bbkingblues.com/

It's Pizza! IN A CONE!

Holy sweet fuck. Rock this pizza in a cone website. Click through -- if you click "produtti" and then click the menu options on the left, you will see that EVERYTHING COMES IN A CONE! Salad in a cone! Fruit salad in a cone! And look at how they package it for takeaway! And then you can click "franchising" and learn that it's just a truck and that HOLY SWEET FUCK, I want to open a pizza-in-a-cone truck RIGHT NOW.
(sing to the tune of the Mr. Softee jingle)
Oh, who is your neighborhood pizza-in-a-cone man?
His name is Mr. Pizza-in-a-Cone!

And Batman Begins To Change Her Mind

NO, this is not a post about Katie Holmes "embracing" Scientology (although methinks someone's e-meter just isn't rising the way she'd like it to). This is a post about all those damn "Batman Begins" posters that are on every single bus shelter and snipe-wall across town. And every single time I see a "Batman Begins" poster, all I can do is sing to myself, "When kindness falls like rain, it washes her away. And Batman begins to change her mind."

You know, from "Anna Begins" by the Counting Crows? Look, I ain't frontin' here. I really truly liked that album a whole lot when it came out. I used to totally be in love with this guy who lived in the city, and I would take the bus in from NJ and I would listen to my tape of "August and Everything After" (I taped it off my friend Andi's CD) in my little off-brand walkman and I would rewind and rewind and rewind because I liked "Anna Begins" so much. Oh, how that song gives me such a quickening.

MOST EXCITING NEWS ... ever

icequeen, originally uploaded by starbexxx.

From today's Cynopsis: "Ballroom dancing is clearly working for ABC; Fox hopes the same will be true for figure skating.  Fox has ordered a new reality show set on the rink with professional skaters and celebs paired in Skating with Celebrities.  Fox has ordered 6 eps, per Variety.  No word yet on any of the participants."

OH BOY, OH BOY, OH BOY. I really need to kick it into high gear and become a real "celeb" so I can get booked on this show. Because my true dream has always been to be a figure skater, a beautiful, beautiful figure skater who glides across the ice with the greatest of ease, landing triple lutzes and waving my arms in graceful little swirly moves.

This photo illustrated an article I wrote when I was 19, entitled "Lutzing to Eternity." It was about my attempt to compete in the 1998 Olympics in Nagano, Japan. As you see, I was still "Becky" back then. As you can also see, I photoshopped my head on top of Nancy Kerrigan's body.

Actually, here, I'll cut and paste the article, because the ol' Grail site uses frames and it's confusing.

"Lutzing Into Eternity" --Our candidate for Slovenia's next national hero.
by Becky Schwartz (age 19)
 
      Michelle Kwan started skating at age five after watching her brother practice hockey. When Tara Lipinski was three, her mom took her to a roller rink for a free Care Bears giveaway and thus was born a gold-medal career. Nicole Bobek turned to skating at age three after first pursuing professional gymnastics, ballet and modern dance. These lovely ladies of figure skating made it to the Olympics. I'm nineteen. My brother doesn't play hockey. My mom hates the Care Bears. And I can't even do a cartwheel. To hell with the odds­I'm going to be an Olympic figure skater. I've sent letters to eight governments of foreign countries. Next stop: Nagano, Japan. (See below*.)

Monday, December 22: Today I start training. I've heard that professional skaters get up before dawn to get valuable hours of rink time. No problem. It's 11:30 and I'm off to a vigorous workout. Downstairs. With Jake, as in "Body By." We work the abs and pecs. Michelle skates for six hours a day, but since I've just started, I think I'll take a nap instead. Because there is no ice rink nearby, and I don't know how to skate anyway, I've decided that my kitchen makes an acceptable substitute.

Saturday, December 27: Watched eight hours of figure skating on TV. Bushed.

Sunday, December 28: Completed a rigorous eighteen-hour marathon of figure skating. Dilemma: Discover Stars on Ice and Battle of the Sexes are on at the same time. Solution: Flip between the two, don't watch the instant replays and change channels whenever Verne Lundquist analyzes style.

Tuesday, December 30: Time to kick it into high gear. Can finally distinguish the jumps ­ you have to face forward for a lutz and backward for an axel. Not sure about the toe loops. The Salchow is, I think, a toe loop with an extra elbow wobble. Might need to research that. From the Recreational Figure Skating FAQ archive: "The Salchow starts from an 'open' LFO 3-turn followed by a strong check on the LBI edge. Leaving your hip open will extend your free leg behind you in the direction of travel. As the skating leg rises after the check, the free leg and shoulders are released (swung around) and the skater jumps, landing on a RBO edge after one rotation." No problem.

Monday, January 5: Salchowed my hips into an acute attack of bursitis. Out of commission for a few days.

Thursday, January 8: Nailed the camel spin for the first time. What a way to start '98. Looks like this just might be the year of the Schwartz. According to the Skating Archive, when executing the camel spin, "The upper body should be pushed, forced counterclockwise, as you are moving your arm. You can get a fast spin without a lot of speed on entry if you coordinate the body well, but speed on entry doesn't hurt either." If I push off from the refrigerator and avoid careening into the stove, I can complete a full rotation. The speed-on-entry phenomenon is a little difficult to master, but I know that with practice I'll get it. The Hamill Camel, pioneered by hairstyle goddess Dorothy Hamill, involves rotating your torso to achieve different angles. Dorothy didn't have any breasts. Damn.

Saturday, January 10: Fourteen more hours of skating-viewing under the belt. Still haven't hit the ice. Keeping in shape, though. According to the Skater's Fitness Guide, my objectives are: to improve strength, endurance and flexibility; to improve difficulty of jumps performed towards the end of the free program; to lose fat; and to avoid injury.

Sunday, January 11: Avoiding injury, I narrowly escaped a collision with the back door after the cat's waterbowl interfered with my death spiral. Note to self: very difficult to complete a death spiral without a partner, but if you hold onto a towel rack it gets easier. I'm practicing on the kitchen floor. If you rub your feet with butter, you get the same effect. Fun fact: Midori Ito, gold medalist, once jumped over the guardrail and into the camera pit. She still took fourth. Still haven't heard back as to whether I've made the team.

Wednesday, January 14: The lutz is when you stick your foot out and the axel is when you pull it in. Or vice versa. Not sure. Lutzed down the driveway and into a snowdrift. Axeled through the 7-11. Not allowed back. No problem. Good skaters don't eat Slurpees at 3 am, so I won't either. Good skaters also have coaches and a pair of ice skates, but these are only minor setbacks.

Saturday, January 17: More skating on TV. Michelle Kwan steals the gold at the Worlds! Tara was crushed. I think she's better athletically, but Michelle's got the grace and elegance. I think the problem is that Tara looks like an elf and the judges really went for Michelle's sexy Pocahontas number. I've seen each of their routines nineteen times now. My directing teacher says that the best way to learn how to direct is to steal from other people, so I'm following that advice and incorporating aspects of their performances into my own choreography. That triple axel­triple toe loop combo is a bitch. Time to jack up those leg lifts.

Wednesday January 21: Still haven't heard from any countries and Nagano is getting closer and closer. Finished choreographing today. I'm the first American woman to land a quadruple! A quadruple is when you spin four times in the air and then land. I can spin four times in the air; I just have to jump between each spin. On the way to the gold. Practicing victory speeches: "This is going out to all the oppressed people of my country who sacrificed so much to get me here." "This is so corny."

Friday, January 23: I asked Eric [Ducker, co-editor of GRAIL] to take out the competition and bitch slap Chen Lu. He said no. Damn. Triple lutzed into the power table at the café. The leotard should cover the bruise.

Sunday, January 25: Not sure if this Olympic dream is happening. No problem. Couldn't take the Intro to Skating course because it overlaps with my religion class. The end of the world vs. sequins and tights. Maybe I can wear the outfit to class? Haven't gotten on the ice yet, but I wiped out in the backyard.

Wednesday, January 28: Andrus Field is frozen over, so I taped rulers to the bottom of my shoes and hit the rink. The rulers broke, and I think I may have bruised a rib. Tried calling Slovenia but couldn't get connected. I'm thinking that my original routine might be a little lacking in the presentation department­thinking of choreographing to some new, avant-garde composition by someone in the Newsonic Concert Series. Maybe I could commission something along the lines of, "Experimental Music by Which to Win the Gold and Capture America's Collective Heart and Get Your Face on a Wheaties Box."

Sunday, February 1: Don't think I'm going to Nagano after all. No one's come through and I'm pretty swamped. I'll give them two more days, and if I don't get any offers, I'll give up. Still haven't mastered the one foot figure eight. For that matter, still haven't mastered skating. Which reminds me­still haven't gotten on the ice.

 *December 22, 1997
Dear Secretary of State;

It has come to my attention that your fine country is (as yet) unrepresented in the upcoming 1998 Winter Olympics to be held this February in Nagano, Japan. I am writing to propose myself as your one-woman figure-skating "Dream Team." If you agree to allow me to skate for your country, I will immediately establish residency and begin training. I assume, of course, that you will grant me spontaneous citizenship.

As of now, I have no physical skating experience aside from a one-time camp reunion skating party at the rink at Rye Playland. However, I have spent the last few weeks carefully analyzing and memorizing all of the maneuvers -- the lutzes, the toe loops, the flips, the salchows and so on. I have been practicing the camel-into-sit-spin move in my kitchen. I have already choreographed my original routine to the Titanic theme song. I have even developed a new jump -- it resembles a double axel except for the fact that I sometimes fall down. However, upon perfection, I will gladly name this jump after you and the 1998 Winter Olympics will forever be remembered for your contribution to the fantastic world of figure skating.

Please respond as soon as I possible, for I must make travel arrangements; obtain a visa, give my cat away; etc. I look forward to moving to your splendid country and I plan to fashion my skating outfit after your traditional native costume. Thank you very much.
[enclosure: photo of Rebecca Beth Schwartz, future gold medalist]

Download the Bex Buddy Icon

BexIcon, originally uploaded by starbexxx.

A very nice man named Rafael Garcia painted this on his computer! How very very supercool!

Breaking News re: MSNBC

So I'm rocking "Connected" on MSNBC this afternoon. The show goes from 5-6pm, but I'll be on (in tv lingo: I'll "hit") @ 5:40ish. Watch! It's Live! I hope I don't stutter, stammer, spit or swear (too loudly).

Me and My Little Bro

Me and My Little Bro, originally uploaded by starbexxx.

I went home this Sunday to see the fambly and we took lots of photos out the rents' deck (they even have a hammock!) This is me and my little brother, Adam, who is not actually more little than I am, although he is younger.

So Sad! No Shaft on Lost!

Oh, poo. We were psyched today that the meditating woman who lost her husband on Lost was going to get to see her husband and that he was going to be played by Samuel L. Jackson. Because we saw it on the IMDB, see. So we thought it must be true. But today's NY Post (with, ew, registration required, so I'm just a-gonna do a little bit of c&p action for ya'lls):

June 6, 2005 -- What is it with the Internet Movie Database (IMDB.com) and bogus actors' credits? Last March, Demi Moore's IMDB "credits" included an upcoming (fall) role on Fox's "The O.C." — months before anyone knew if the show was even coming back for another season. The listing was false, and was quickly deleted. Then, late last week, IMDB had Samuel L. Jackson guest-starring as "Bernard" in the season premiere of ABC's "Lost," in an episode titled "Genesis: Part 1" — also featuring an appearance by past "Survivor" winner Tina Wesson playing "Alex Rousseau," according to IMDB.
An ABC spokesman con firmed that the "Lost" credits for Jackson and Wesson were bogus. I mean, Tina Wesson?

IMDB seems to have fixed it, but look: Skye McCole Bartusiak plays Young Kate! Skye was just on House as a pregnant diver who didn't have meningitis, but perhaps you'll remember her from "24" season 2, when she played Megan Matheson, the most annoying girl ever in the entire history of the universe, ever to be on television, to the extent that every week we were rooting for some bad guy to just shoot the damn kid who never stopped crying. Fuck yeah! Every week, we were all, "Shoot the kid! Shoot the kid!" but they never did, and she just kept on crying and crying.

I don't condone shooting kids, but this was a very "can't you keep that chicken quiet" moment and if a fictional bad guy had shot a fictional brat, it would've made the show that much better, and I bet we wouldn't have had to deal with the whole Kim's-stuck-in-a-trap-and-there's-a-cougar shizzy.

Continuing Adventures in Punditry

So I'm doing this show on Thursday on MSNBC as the crazy, foul-mouthed pop culture pundit that you know and love. It's called "Connected: Coast to Coast" and it's hosted by Ron Reagan (!) and Monica Crowley. Ron Reagan, as you know, is the son of ex-Prexy Ronald Reagan, and Monica Crowley is not the daughter of Aleister Crowley. I'd like to tell Ron Reagan that when I was a kid and we were driving through Poughkeepsie, we passed a billboard with a large photo of Ronald Reagan (sr.) in front of a clock, and there was also a Russian flag. I asked my mom what it meant and she said that it was Ronald saying that he was so popular, in five minutes even the Russians were going to start voting for him. When I was much, much, embarassingly much older, I learned that this billboard was actually probably referring to Ron's embarassing gaff on declaring, whilst mic'ed, that "in five minutes we begin bombing the Russians." Fucker took that nuclear clock to like 11:59:50 back in the day.

ANYHOO! I probably won't get to tell him that because I'll be discussing popcultural tomfoolery like the MTV Video Awards and TomKat and Paris Squared. Because, you know me, I bring you the shiznit that matters.

The show is this Thursday from 5-6 on MSNBC (set your tivo!). And it's LIVE, which means I'll be sitting in a little box somewhere talking to a camera. AWESOME. I wonder if it's delayed at all, or if I have to watch my mouth lest I get slapped with an fine from the FCC for talking about how the concept of Tom Cruise fucking Katie Holmes is just as believable as the idea that Scientology is not icky at all.

When Prince Adam Got Really Into Linda Perry

My friend Dave sent me this link ages ago but I just opened it today. It's awesome. Prince Adam (the pussy side of He-man) channels his inner Linda Perry (of 4 Non Blondes fame).

Around these parts, we heart Linda Perry not just for her Top Ten songwriting and producing skills but because she is so lesbionic. And you should hear her sing Led Zeppelin -- kickrad.

And The Roofgoat Shall be Protected by the Umbrero

So this was a wham-bam-slam weekend of rad. My friend Joel Veitch is in town from London for the Webbies and he's just oh-so-lovely. I met Joel back in the dizzay when I commissioned him to animate rockin' kitties for a whole year-long campaign of VH1 image spots -- kitties rock! Forevs! Joel's here with his lovely lady, Jackie, and two of his fellow Webby-nominees, Simon and Nick. Nick has the greatest idea EVER, and Simon has the greatest real last name of all time. Joel regaled us with tales of his new band, 7 Seconds of Love, and his plans to become an imminent international rock legend. And I don't doubt it, especially if he proceeds as planned and changes his name to "Stallion Explosion" and starts his stage shows by exploding out of the belly of a giant Trojan Stallion (preferably by launching off a trampoline), and showering the audience with real horse entrails.

Joel and Jackie told us about their plans to get a pet goat -- it's the happiest goat in the world, apparently, as evidenced by the expression of sheer joy on its face as it sproings several feet into the air. Seeing as Joel lives in a small flat in North London, the goat will have to live on the roof. And thus it shall be a roofgoat, because there are no clauses in his lease preventing the presence of a roofgoat. And when it rains, the roofgoatherd will wear a giant sombrero that's so big it covers the whole roof, thus protecting the roofgoat from the elements. Standing on an English roof, waiting for the sun -- if the sun don't come, your roofgoat gets a tan from standing in the English rain. Anyhooski -- the sombrero will be so large that it will be an uber-sombrero: an umbrero, if you will.

Alas, I'm incredibly tired -- I have way too much phlegm and it makes me nauseated and then I get tired from being nauseated. My long-suffering boyfriend continues to be a trouper throughout my seemingly-neverending health problems, bless his little soul. I went home to the Dirty Jerz today to see my grandmother, who is visiting my 'rents because they all went to a bar mitzvah (my dad's cousin's son -- is that my 2nd cousin once removed? Or no relation to me at all?) and we drank wine on the back deck. Hooray, hooray, summer is here (ostensibly).

And fuckmycock, it's June 5th. Logo launches in 25 days. Yeeks. I'm workin' the gherkin crizazystillz for the next few weeks, so please bear with my busyness and keep those cards and letters coming. Thank you all for taking me up on my challenge to send me haikus -- I lovelovelovelovity love 'em.

I Have Joined the Gmail Revolution

Thanks to my new pal Carolyn, I have joined the ranks of the gmailsters. So now I can say, "Gmail me!"

If you want to Gmail me, you'll find the address down on the right somewhere under the "3..2..1 Contact" category. Haiku, lovenotes and song lyrics about me are always welcome.

Of Hot/Somewhat Disturbing Groupie Sex and Stranger Things

So I did this really super fun show last, "Brutal Honesty" at Otto's Shrunken Head, and it was super stellar experience. The gig was produced my friend Lianne Stokes, who rocks, and my new friends Giulia Rozzi and Becky Yamamoto, who also rockity roll. I was lucky enough to meet the very awesome Rachel Kramer Bussel who seems to be the nexus of nearly everything and everyone in the comedic blogosphere and all parts Eastward. Rachel was supersweet enough to blog about me today and I am so flattered by her superawesome kind words that I am blushing deep enough to match the new dark pink skirt I am wearing today. Yes, you read that right -- I am wearing COLOR! Usually, when summer first hits NYC, I actually bust out some colorful clothing for a change, straying beyond my usual uniform of black-with-the-occasional-red-accessory.

Anyhoo ... so the show was kickrad. The theme was "I said yes: drugs, drinking and the downward spiral" and I told a long and debaucherous story about my nastypast and people laughed a lot and it felt really good and it made me want to get back on stage again because making people laugh is all I really want to do, other than making them think or making them squirm, both of which are also things I enjoy doing. I also enjoy dancing and drinking beverages through little teeny-tiny straws, thanks for asking.

So I was just talking to my buddypal Mike, who left me a voicemail last night that said, "I thought that you were sick until I looked on your blog and saw you standing under a rainbow." He went on to note that such a sentence would make a fabulous song title. Write the song, Mike, write the song!

And so it goes on and on ... Logo launches in less than a month and we're kicking into overdrive. It's like finals time only a lot more intense. And a lot more gay.

Hotness: for my Lost-watching peops out there -- have you rocked this site yet? So many hidden easter eggs of nougatty goodness, like the white yummy on the inside of a Cadbury egg (because when bunnies lay eggs, they taste AWESOME!)