If you like comedy, PR or the occasional inside scoop on the entertainment world, then drop by for a daily dose written by me, Kambri Crews, producer and publicist to comedians and more!   Monday, June 30, 2003 Four sounds I can guarantee you do NOT want to hear when you’re en route to sell your car after having been stuck in gay pride parade traffic: Sccrreeeeeeeeeeeach! Boom! Gasp! Crash! Link - 8:43 PM -   Friday, June 27, 2003 I received a summons for jury duty. Oh, please God, let me get picked. I need that extra $40 per day. Please, please, please, please, pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease. What is it about hot weather that makes men so sexually agressive? They're animals at times. Oh, I forgot to mention: it's h-o-t hot. Not that everyone in New York hasn't been talking about the weather. In other news, I grew a set of balls but then promptly sweat them off. A strange, wondrous gift and swift disappointment. I fear the inevitable phantom pain. Link - 11:33 PM -   Wednesday, June 25, 2003 Christian and I christened my Operation game and determined that, yes, it would make a good drinking game; however, it would be much, much better in the adult version. Rather than remove the "funny bone", "broken heart" and "adam's apple", players would pump the patient's stomach to prevent a drug overdose, extricate a broken needle, and pluck a rectal foreign body of choice. That's it. There's no punch line. I just wanted to use "rectal foreign body" in a sentence to increase my Google hits and express my disappointment at the lack of x-ray and surgery .jpgs on the internet. When searching for such explicit photos, just exactly what search phrase must one use to get decent, horrifyingly shocking photos of rectal mishaps? Help, please. I need a hobby. Link - 10:54 PM -   Monday, June 23, 2003 Demi Has a Limo Driver I tried that whole May/September romance thing once. Not on purpose. It wasn't like I set out to date a younger guy than me or that the guy had nothing to offer other than taut skin and a fake ID. He was a really smart guy attending the University of Notre Dame and I agreed to go out with him before I knew his age. The thing is, we never made it past first base. Why? One night I offered to cook dinner at my place. Of course that meant he had to drive (this was Ohio, folks, they have Amish people that still live there on purpose). So, he asked his parents if he could borrow their station wagon. They said no. End of story. Link - 6:38 PM -   Sunday, June 22, 2003 Today is my birthday (woo!), so last night a few friends and I went to Bowlmor.I got some great gifts -- kitchenware, a "Don't Mess With Jersey" tee (which I'm currently wearing) a forensic science book, Operation, a free dinner coupon, some pretty spring flowers and some great memories. HBO was even kind enough to give me the season premiere of Sex and the City. Isn't that sweet? Thank you to all my friends for their generosity and companionship! Link - 11:37 AM -   Thursday, June 19, 2003 Boys, Bullets and Booze I left work early yesterday with a couple of co-workers and went to the NYPD’s Firing Range in the Bronx for a special presentation for Foundation benefactors. The event was complete with the Mounted and K-9 Units, bomb squad demonstrations, beer, wine, burgers, hot dogs, lobster and so much more. I met the head of Homeland Security for New York and watched my boss eat while wearing a bib. (Click on the picture for a complete photo diary.) I was a bit turned off by the sight (and smell) of my basket of "steamers", or steamed oysters. That’s when I was given instructions on how to shuck them, clean them, and slather them in butter. Along with these directions came this tidbit from Person Who Shall Remain Nameless: "It’s just like eating pu$$y. They may look gross and hard to figure out but they taste so good." He was right. Link - 2:33 PM -   Wednesday, June 18, 2003 This blurb was in today's NY Post: "A 30-year-old man was beaten and stabbed yesterday after he exposed himself to a one-armed hooker on a Harlem street...(He) opened up his pants. The woman screamed, prompting a group of seven people standing nearby to chase the man...The group caught up with him at a (subway) turnstile, brutally beat him and stabbed him with a hunting knife." How vigilant is that?! A group of witnesses coming to the aid of a one-armed hooker in Harlem because a guy showed her his penis. Just goes to show you, there's no such thing as a free, er, ride. The thing that gets me, though, is that the victim being a one-armed hooker has nothing to do with the story. It's about a guy getting beaten and stabbed by a frenzied group for exposing himself to a woman. The press has an unwritten rule to protect the identity of victims of crimes of a sexual nature; but, here, they might as well have said her name. Think about it, how many one-armed hookers are there in Harlem? Link - 11:55 AM -   Tuesday, June 17, 2003 I swear I was talking about wanting to look like Angie Dickinson during tomorrow's excursion; and, lo and behold, guess whose picture was in the NY Post today? That's right, Angie Dickinson. Doesn't that just freak you out? Seriously, when was the last time anybody mentioned her, let alone put her picture in the paper?! As for tomorrow: trust me, I'm going to blow Angie away! Link - 11:29 PM -   Friday, June 13, 2003 My mother is a pretty lady. People say she's classy. She is. She laughs a lot . . . real loud with a big, open mouth that reveals two rows of perfect teeth. She's deaf without the aid of two hearing aids, one of which will always be on the fritz or need a battery and ring incessantly. She can talk very clearly. So clearly, in fact, you wouldn't even know she's deaf. But ask her to say "Mississippi", then you'll know. I think sometimes that embarrasses her, but I love it. I love it when she says "Mississippi". My mom is the hardest working woman I know. She used to build helicopters but now works for Halliburton making oil sensors. She was in a Bud commercial during the "For all you do, this Bud's for you!" advertising phase. My mom built a helicopter for the NYPD and got a hat from it. My dad used the NYPD hat to try to get out of a traffic ticket. I was with him and acted as his interpreter. My dad told the truth to me, and I interpreted a lie to the cop which was better. We got off. We didn't need the hat. Now I work for the attorney that represents the NYPD in their precedent-setting licensing efforts and confiscate unlicensed NYPD hats. Funny how things go full circle. My mom can embarrass me, hate me, like me, anger me, comfort me and love me like no other and today is her birthday. I called her on her cell phone and she's at the beach again. I don't miss that beach, but I miss that beach with her when she'd make homemade sour cream and onion dip, and I'd get scolded by George for double dipping the Pringles. When we would finally get back to our trailer in the woods, we'd smell like the ocean for days. Tiny grains of the beach would find their way into my bed and scratch my sunburnt skin as I slept. I would always get too much sun so my mom would rub me down with vinegar to take the chills and blisters away. We'd talk about our trip. About how my uncle got stung by a jelly fish. About how we got a flat tire on our '66 Chevy pick up truck. About how my Flintstones flip-flop fell through a rotted slat while riding in the back of that Chevy. About how my dad stopped the truck then and there to run across four lanes of highway traffic to rescue that flip-flop for me because he loved me that much. What a dumbass. Seriously. It's a flip-flop; I'm not worth it, I promise you. P.S. In the previous entry, I did not mean to imply that toenail clippings have no value. Paquita, for instance, goes wild for toenail clippings. I, however, do not care for them. Link - 10:54 AM -   Thursday, June 12, 2003 Today marks the one year anniversary of this right here blog. Technically, I was "blogging" (God, I hate that word) long before today, but it was more of a calendar of my upcoming performances, events, promotions, etc. without much exploitative exposition. I, however, no longer act, model or promote, so it’s all about me and Tex in the City. Looking back on my very early entries, I’m so obviously afraid of offending Someone. (Note: "Someone" is defined as a person with a direct genealogical connection to my father.) Since, however, they collectively mean as much to me as my discarded toenail clippings, I have been slowly throwing discretion by the wayside. After all, Daddy Dearest is the blackest of the black sheep of any family and was such long before he was thrown in the clink. (He is nearing completion of the first year of his 20-year jail sentence hosted by the austere Texas Department of Criminal Justice.) I happen to have an exorbitantly large sum of his genetic code pulsing through my system. Love him, love me. Spurn him, spurn me. So, offend away, I will. So what if they don’t like my potty mouth or party girl lifestyle, I didn’t try to kill anyone, did I? (Scroll down for answer.) Answer: No. Come on, did you really have to scroll down to know the answer? Link - 11:22 AM -   Wednesday, June 11, 2003 I just walked home after the longest day with the most tense, aching muscles. My high heels clicked quickly on the hot, sticky pavement taking me further away from the neighborhood maniac yelling sexually explicit threats to my back. "Almost there; just walk faster," I thought. Suddenly, the aroma of honeysuckles blanketed me. I stopped in my tracks, closed my eyes and sucked that honey deep into my lungs. One long, dizzy, intoxicating breath later I turned around and yelled back, "NO, suck my di*k, motherfu*ker!" Then, I clicked, clicked, clicked, clicked all the way home. What an oxymoronic City full of such sane madness. Link - 4:21 PM -   Monday, June 09, 2003 The movie, Winged Migration, tracks several flocks of birds in their journeys around the world. Some birds fly thousands of miles, reach their destination, have intercourse and immediately turn around and fly back from whence they came. Which reminds me . . . my trip to DC was a blast, but it's great to be back home. I'm exhausted. Link - 3:20 PM -   Friday, June 06, 2003 This weekend I will board a train en route to a wedding where I will meet practically every member of Christian’s family for the first time. Normally I am an ace when it comes to big parties, working crowds and meeting people. (Hey, I don’t do party promotions for nothing, honey.) This time, however, I think I would like to be very awkward and embarrassing. You know, spice things up a bit. Christian hasn’t introduced a girl to his family in awhile, so I’d like to be memorable. . . go down in history, as it were. I’ve come up with some ideas: (A) When the priest asks if anyone is present who objects to the couple joining as one, I’ll make my grand entrance wearing an empathy belly and demand that the groom come home because his "children need their daddy!" (B) Wear a dress that blows up when I twirl around on the dance floor revealing that I have “gone cowboy”. (C) Dry hump the bride. (D) Dry hump the groom. (E) Dry hump the bride and groom during their first dance as Mr. & Mrs. (F) Kiss everyone on the lips and try to slip 'em some tongue. (G) Start a mosh pit and relive my days as a headbanger. (H) Body slam the bitch that catches the bride’s bouquet and take what’s rightfully mine. Link - 3:48 PM -   Thursday, June 05, 2003 As one would expect, my deaf hippie parents had an eclectic bunch of friends. One such friend was a cartoonist specializing in caricatures. One afternoon he drew Risa and her coke bottle bottom glasses. Then Butch with his oversized smile. Then my older brother with his bowl haircut. We oohhed and ahhhed as each sketch was revealed and I waited patiently on the sidelines. Finally, my much anticipated turn came and I was in the chair posing for my first portrait at the tender age of three. I kept absolutely still, nearly peeing my pants in excitement. What would he see when he saw me? My big brown eyes? My cute little nose? My mom and brother looked over his shoulder and giggled, looking at me then the pad then back to me again and then would snicker some more. Oh I couldn’t wait! What was he drawing?! What were they seeing? Ta-Da! He was done and turned the pad around to reveal his creation. Staring back at me was not me at all, but my Snoopy sweatshirt. It wasn’t even a caricature of my Snoopy sweatshirt, but the exact same likeness of it. I was mortified and sorely disappointed. Where was the picture of me? You drew Snoopy? Motherfu*king, Red Baron-flying, Woodstock-loving SNOOPY? Where’s the creativity in that? My anger was made worse by the conspiracy that had taken place around me. They had all duped me, even my own mother. This very type of betrayal has sparked a thousand Greek tragedies and mass shootings in high schools, I'm certain of it. Alas, had I already played the part of Helena in Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream, I would have quoted her lines in Act III: “Lo, she is one of this confederacy! Now I perceive they have conjoin'd all three To fashion this false sport, in spite of me. . . Have you conspired, have you with these contrived To bait me with this foul derision?” After the tears subsided, one would think he would make it up to me by then drawing what he had led me to expect. But, no, it was back to bowl smoking and beer drinking. At three years old, I learned that my level of expectation is sometimes too high. I know people are capable of disappointing me and yet I still hope that they’ll come through. I would like to believe that some day I’ll open my mail to find a tube with a little note from him stuck to a faded caricature of three-year-old-me, but I know that will never happen. Jerk off. That, folks, is why I hate caricatures. Link - 7:45 AM -   Wednesday, June 04, 2003 Rain, Rain Go Away......never fu*king come back again! Seriously, remember the drought of 2002? Well, apparently, droughts are out of style this year here in New York. Oh, sure, leg warmers made a comeback, but nothing like rain. Rain is where it's at. Go get you some. Don't have any rain there in ____lands Mall? Come to the Big Apple, and I'll sell it to you for $1.00 an ounce. It's the best. 4: Your Consideration Art Series You! Yes, you! Where the hell were you? You just missed out on the best social/artistic event of the season. I kid you not. We did it. We found our niche. We had a great turnout, an exceptional talkback session with the playwright and, well, you weren't there, so I'm not going to tell you the rest. Sucka! Link - 11:44 AM -   Sunday, June 01, 2003 Truth in Advertising Before the start of last night's movie, they played a commercial for Cover Girl's Outlast All-Day Lipcolor. The ad's storyline followed that of "Cinderella". Dressed in pink and wearing matching Pearl Shade lipcolor, Cinderella was envied by the other ball attendees, because even after ten hours and despite having kissed the bachelor of every girl's desire, her lips still looked fabulous and flawlessly pink. What a genius invention, but what does one (languid) kiss prove? I say for a genuine study fit for Consumer Reports, put that lipcolor on a porn star and let her go to town. The commercial might go something like this:Cue funky, heavy beat background music. Wide angle shot of a woman's head bobbing up and down over the pelvic area of an insanely tanned male, her face obscured by strands of bleached blonde hair. Man's moans crescendo, then cut to close up of woman's face looking up and smiling, a schmear of lipstick runs from her lips to her chin and cheeks. Cut to close up of man's face. His facial expression changes from that of pleasure to disgust at the sight he sees. Cue Voice Over: "Tired of embarrassing smudges and smears? Well, look no further. With CoverGirl's Outlast All-Day Lipcolor your lipcolor can withstand even the most demanding date." Return to same wide angle shot as before with the addition of a long line of men waiting their turn. After the man's moans crescendo, close up of same blonde woman this time facing the camera. Her smile is big, her ruby red lipstick is perfect. Cue Voice Over: "And the only thing out of place on your face won't be your lipcolor. Easy Breezy CoverGirl!" Link - 11:38 PM -