| |
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!
Tuesday, September 30, 2003
Coupla Things:
Pet Peeve
Ladies, if you're gonna walk around with erect nipples in a bra thin enough to display your wares (articles of commerce), please make sure your nipples are facing forward. I, like most people, prefer things in proper alignment. Thanks.
Strange Bodily Thingy
I have a zit inside my nostril. Is this even possible or do I have cancer?
"I Hate Men. I Cannont Stand Them Even Now and Then. Of all the Men I've Ever Met Within This Democracy, I Hate the Athlete Most With His Manner Bold and Brassy. He May Have Hair Upon His Chest, but Sister, So Has Lassie! I HATE MEN!" -- Kiss Me Kate (Or, the Longest Title of a Blog Entry Since the Invention of Blog Entries Around the World.)
Misandrist is a woman who hates men. The antonym for misogynist, right? Well, then why isn't that word in most dictionaries and not listed as an antonym for misogynist on www.thesaurus.com? It's the antonym. The only true antonym. You know what I think? It's misogyny. Male fucks sticking it to us again, even in thesauruses.
Link - 12:26 PM -
Monday, September 29, 2003
Where O' Where Did September Go?
This month has been the strangest. Simultaneously full of disappointing let-downs and stagnant non-creativity, I've been productive and lazy and frustrated and motivated. I've repaired certain things in my apartment while letting my tub still be persistently clogged. I gave up on a September Tex in the City event while fostering others. I've lost interest in writing and yet continue to post on this thing and write in my personal journal. The boring list goes on and on. I am completely uninspired by anything right now. I can't imagine how it is that I began Pilates a week ago yesterday and have done it every day since. I feel like I breathe easier. I take in more oxygen and it feels cleaner. Is this expected of those who partake in Pilates or is this September air? Strange thing this . . . how you say . . . exercise. Could this new amount of oxygen be depleting the angst that drives my creativity bus? Not that I need high drama, but peace and tranquility is dull. I require activities; projects and events.
Meanwhile, while trying to replace my Palm on Ebay, I've won fancy schmancy Scrabble and Monopoly games. I have yet to bid on a Palm. This Ebay is the devil. Stay tuned to see if I win a leather chair, stainless steel trash can, cashmere/silk v-neck sweater and an alarm clock that wipes my ass, nose, mouth and belly (it is very hi-tech).
Link - 12:25 PM -
Friday, September 26, 2003
I've Been Robbed!
So I came up with clever idea to do a live reading of a relatively new and up and coming comedy magazine including multi-media visuals and such. The idea was so great, they're going to do it! Yeah! Without me. Boo! Yep, they took my idea and ran with it. Literally. Now, forseeably, we (Tex in the City) could still do this live reading idea I came up with, but are we second best? I hardly think so. Just ask Governor Ann Richards.
We don't hop on the bandwagon, we give it wheels.™
Then someone stole Jack's Palm Pilot in its leather case by Coach right out of my bag. Why was it in my bag? Because Jack was loaning it to me till I bought a replacement for my broken one. So, now, I need TWO Palm Vx's and a leather Coach case. Anyone looking to sell theirs?
Link - 12:22 PM -
Thursday, September 25, 2003
Gospel of Jack 9:25
Jack: My pharmasict won't give me anymore Viagra till next week. Not that I need it or anything; it's more like a toy. I feel like I'm twelve years old again getting blow jobs at the Lincoln Tunnel. I can't get a blow job from my wife to save my life. So I cut the pill in half and give her the bigger piece, of course. Then I get a blow job and I'm like, "Blech!" So I put a bid in on Harvey's horse. Turns out Harvey's luckier than I thought, this horse is gonna fetch him millions!
All the UN diplomats dining nearby were giving us sideways glances the entire time they were eavesdropping. I'm not sure if they were disgusted or taking notes.
Link - 11:49 PM -
Wednesday, September 24, 2003
Gospel of Jack 9:24
Mike: He’s your typical smart, arrogant, smug guy. Jack: I can’t stand people like that. I mean really, they think they know everything, they’re high maintenance; I’m glad I don’t know anyone like that.
Jack: Harvey is the luckiest man alive. His wife got kicked by a horse and died.
Link - 4:53 PM -
Tuesday, September 23, 2003
I enjoyed a free $50 lunch of herb encrusted skate, greens and water seated next to the former Duchess of York. To Jack, apparently, I am worth as much as ex-royalty. I actually complained during lunch that despite the prime locale of the Sea Grill, it is surprisingly lacking "movers" and "shakers". Ms. Ferguson, quite lovely as she may be, is not a "mover" and a "shaker". She kept stealing glances at me as though she might know me from somewhere. Jack insisted, "She just wants to see who I'm with." Uh huh. Yeah.
More interestingly, try kissing without making a smacking sound at the end. It's just not satisfying, is it?
Link - 12:18 PM -
Monday, September 22, 2003
I’m a Loser, Baby, So Why Don’t You Kill Me?
Wow. There’s nothing like (a) seeing two acquaintances on stage accepting their second Emmy, (b) another two acquaintances giving birth to a new female human and (c) an old friend on a national television spot ALL IN ONE DAY to make me feel like (a) I have no goals, (b) no purpose and (c) no future. So, today I (a) made plans to drink and party for the entire weekend, (b) walked around in the cool air with a thin shirt and no jacket to validate my existence and (c) further guaranteed my job security by picking up Jack’s Viagra prescription and snagging two tickets to the Dave Matthews concert in Central Park for his kid. So much for goals, purpose and a future.
If You’re the Only One Laughing, You’re Probably Not Funny
Someone give Robin Williams a valium, please. Watching him chat with Joan Rivers had some very funny moments, but once you give him an inch of approval, he takes it a schtick too far. His most awkward quote was in reference to Gary Coleman. Robin screeched, “Honey, it’s the jockey at the door!” I’m sure he meant jockey as in diminutive horse rider and not the racist lawn decoration. Right? Right??! Eeeew. It was gross to watch. The crack had no point of reference. There it was wedged between a slam on Joan’s dress and a lame quip about the California Governor’s race. Ill-fitting and painful, just like his suit. He looks like a dazed priest.
Link - 12:15 PM -
Saturday, September 20, 2003
Life is pleasantly uneventful which means I have nothing funny or interesting to say. Off to see Lost in Translation in Times Square. I hate that theater, but it's close and is playing the movie which is in limited run. Hopefully its remarkably stellar Metacritic score will prove true unlike the overrated American Splendor. But, hey! You never know . . . I just might see another dead homeless guy.
Link - 7:24 PM -
Thursday, September 18, 2003
Buddy When You're Messing with Queens, You're Messing With Me!
Walking to the subway Tuesday night, I nearly lost it. I witnessed a young girl throw a full can of soda on the ground as though my world is her trash can. An empty can is bad enough, but she threw this completely full can down with force and caused a huge spray of liquid to splash out on the sidewalk, street and parked cars. I said, "What's the matter with you, did you grow up in a shed?!?!"
But, wait! I did grow up in a shed and even I know not to litter. I wanted to have a show down with her. She walked forward and ignored my barrage of remarks and insults which include such barbs as "Oh, you’re so cool because you’re a trash thrower." Obviously, she is better at hurling trash than I am at insults. But I did say she was trashy and made it clear I thought very poorly of her and her littering and was prepared to get into a physical confrontation if need be. I towered over her and had my thumb poised to spray her cheap, J.Lo imitating, lazy diva ass with pepper spray all in defense of a concrete jungle that I know and love as home, AKA Queens, New York.
You can say all you want about the "Don’t Mess With Texas" litter campaign…call it braggadocio or arrogance…but you absolutely cannot say that it is ineffective. Started in 1985, it found a 72% decrease in roadside litter in five years. That's astounding. It coupled hefty fines (up to $500 for the first offense and $2,000 plus 180 days in jail for repeat offenses) and an amazing media blitz which included original songs performed by the likes of Steve Ray Vaughn, the Fabulous Thunderbirds, Willie Nelson and Lyle Lovett to name a few. You can check out all the video and radio clips over the past 18 years here, including my favorite from Willie Nelson, who sings:
"Keep your trash off the road,
cause she’s a fine yellow rose,
Treat Texas like someone you love!"***
(Click here for the brief video with the full song.)
How ingenious! How remarkable this idea is of instilling respect and love for your surroundings and the place you call "home". That’s a marketing blitz I will gladly buy into and do so proudly. (You really must check out the entire website and not just the music clips to appreciate how effective and powerful marketing and the media is. Read the comments below for more marketing geekiness.)
New York has just started a campaign with ads that read, "When it rains, you don’t go to the beach. Your trash does." I'm sorry, but that just doesn’t scream at you to "Stop! Or else!" I expect more out of New York. Meanwhile, I can only do my part and not litter and on occasion make someone aware that they "dropped" something and smile sweetly. (The above near brawl was a rare fluke. I don’t think I'll be picking too many fights with the ruffians that dwell in my hood.)
I believe, in this instance at least, that one person really doesn’t make a difference. I would need to enlist an army, demand Mayor Bloomberg start fining offenders, and make sure there are no excuses for littering by having more trash cans available for use. The problem, though, is actually garbage day. The wind blows the leftover trash all over the place and then really what’s the use? People even only slightly prone to littering will definitely use this excuse. I guess my yellow rose of Queens will always be a little wilted and that’s just a pity.
***Never mind that many treat people they love like shit on a regular basis. Spoil sport!
Link - 12:08 PM -
Tuesday, September 16, 2003
New Favorite Match Game Quote
Gene Rayburn: The electrician examined the 6 Million Dollar Man’s nether regions and said , "I'm sorry to report he's ____."
Richard Dawson: AC / DC -- He goes both ways.
I love that it was the early 70s and stuff like this made it past the censors. (My answer, short circuited, garnered me two matches.)
Link - 4:26 PM -
Monday, September 15, 2003
Overheard in Queens on this Payday Day
Blue Collar Guy to a different yet similar Blue Collar Guy, "My woman don't care about money. Sheeee-it, she give me money."
News flash: "Your woman" cares about money. After all, it is what makes the world go 'round. She just also might happen to care about you and your broke, sorry speaking ass.
Link - 12:01 PM -
Sunday, September 14, 2003
Do you hear what I hear? Do you see what I see?
So, there was a deaf British comic on Christian's Portable Comedy lineup named Steve Day. His appearance is what prompted me to make a whole night out of Friday. I was fully prepared to applaud with my deaf jazz hands and "chat" the night away. Turns out he doesn't even know sign language. He is only 70% deaf since the age of 18 and hasn't yet learned a single sign. Not one. So I taught him how to say "fuck" and told him a story that made him laugh heartily. The kind of laugh that makes your eyes close, mouth open, and an embarrassingly loud bellow come from your belly. When I retold the story to a chick that walked up during his guffaw, she stared. Blinked. Smiled. Blinked. Hey, he got it, because he's 70% deaf.
The story, which does not translate to the written word very well and is, therefore, shortened and dulled as follows:
A boy I consequently broke up with because he blinked too much -- hard intense blinks with purpose and annoying frequency -- once came to my place to pick me up for a date. My dad, rarely having the opportunity to be fatherly to a girl like me (fabulously and sometimes painfully independent), decided to greet my date and give me advice before I headed out to play video games and air hockey. He shook hands with said boy and glared menacingly before turning to me and signing stern advice which I ignore to this day.
His advice? "Don't fuck."
What I told the boy? "He said, "Nice to meet you.'"
And off on our merry way we went.
Link - 11:59 PM -
Saturday, September 13, 2003
Cheap Thrills!
Last night's Portable Comedy was quite possibly the best one ever. Jon Fisch stole the show. I'm going back in two weeks, so join me and Tex in the City on Friday, September 26th for another fun night of laughs and free vodka. Mention Tex in the City and get in for $5.00 rather than $7.00.
Link - 11:52 PM -
Thursday, September 11, 2003
If no one remembers me, I never was.
I don't have the heart to finish the entry I started with the above title. Instead, I will resurrect something I wrote when the war in Iraq started:
. . . I will still carry on my business as usual wearing an invisible bulls-eye for the same reason I rode the subway and walked in to work on September 12, 2001, when much of this City stayed inside:
“It is better to die on one’s feet, than to live on one’s knees.” –Delores Ibarruri**
So, fuck you, Mr. Terrorist.
**In the event I am the victim of an attack, somebody please take care of Paquita. She’s very loving and knows 10 tricks in voice and sign language and loves to hump arms. Oh, and Mom, those things in that top left dresser drawer are not mine. I don’t use them. Nay, in fact, I have no idea how they got there. Please kindly disregard.
Now, On to Other Things
If you're looking for something to do tomorrow night, join me at the Cutting Room for drinks around 8:00 and then Portable Comedy at the Gershwin Hotel at 10:00 PM for, well, comedy, because I sure could use a laugh or two or nineteen or thirty. Plus there's free vodka, and I promise not to cry or fart.
Link - 7:55 PM -
Tuesday, September 09, 2003
There is something strange in the air. I don't know what it is, but a tension is resting under the surface like a tender, ripe zit. In the last week, I have witnessed three very intense arguments spill out to the sidewalks of New York; arguments so feral that I felt the need to get away -- quickly. This morning took the cake. Right there on Broadway at 8:45 AM, I passed the butcher shop just in time to watch this exchange:
Queens-Accented Guy ("QAG"): I'll get your ass deported back to Mexico, you fu*k!
Butcher Shop Guy ("BSG"): Silent.
QAG: You stoo-pid fu*k! You're going back to Mexico!
BSG: Still silent.
This went on in this manner for a while. The QAG was making a lot of noise intermingled with quick, threatening moves while the BSG remained in the doorway of the butcher shop standing still, with a slight smug look on his face -- antagonizing the QAG without ever uttering a peep.
Why, was the BSG so smug you ask? Because the BSG was holding a meat hook. A FREAKING MEAT HOOK! I'm not talking a small little hold in your hand and cleave some raw meat meat hook. I'm talking a long, steel pole taller than the BSG(uy) himself covered in fresh blood and hooked on one end and spear-like on the other end meat hook!
It's still 8:45 in the morning mind you, and I've just gotten my fresh coffee and paper. I'm sing-songing my way in the cool Fall breeze with my pleated skirt and pearls --I had on pearls forgodssake -- past this madness, this palpable fury.
So, since I'm so happy and white, I say, "Dude, he's got a meat hook. He ain't going nowhere."
I think my pearls shrunk three sizes this day.
Link - 11:48 PM -
Monday, September 08, 2003
Let me state a phrase: "Sex and the City". Okay, study those words. Do you see the words tenderness or touching or sensitive or sad mixed in that title? NO! So, why on Sunday night did I find myself moved (albeit temporarily) during Sex and the City?
I do, however, see the words "sex" and "city", let's just keep it at that, okay? Sex and the City.
During a telephone conversation with Christian, I mentioned this absurd change in the normal programming. Christian immediately accused me of having the disease called PMS and said, "I am SO going to rag on you for this." (Or something like that.) So, he makes one joke about me and suddenly I'm open game. This could spell disaster.
Link - 11:58 PM -
Sunday, September 07, 2003
I'm Robochick™ and I'm Golden . . . For Now.
Christian and I trekked to the Boudoir Bar in Brooklyn for Larry Getlen's comedy show, Brew-Ha-Ha. Christian's set went well considering the audience was nearly comatose through the performers that preceded him, save for Joe DeVito and Ray Somethingorother who both reminded everyone it was okay to laugh.
So Christian performed some new material including a joke in which I was the source of humor. As soon as he mentioned "his girlfriend", my breathing stopped. I was suddenly aware that too many people in the room knew that I was the girl in "his girlfriend". I wanted to take back all the ridiculous white-man-overbite-dancing-naked-save-for-my-grass-skirt, breaking-bed-frame, taking-other-calls-during-phone-sex moments we'd ever shared. I found myself laughing more loudly than usual punctuated with nervous giggling until it was over and I was certain my reputation was intact: I like AC/DC and sex. Whew!
Link - 7:52 PM -
Saturday, September 06, 2003
The Russian Vodka Room in Midtown Manhattan has incredible infused vodkas and a live piano player. The service was a bit sparce at times, but what fun we had celebrating Ken's birthday. A great happy hour or pre-theater spot, but just watch the intake. The intense flavors mask the alcohol so well you can end up with a very severe hangover leaving you to wonder how you possibly overdid it. Not that I would know anything about that.
Link - 11:51 AM -
Friday, September 05, 2003
Conversation of the Day
Me: You want some ice cream?
Security Guard: No thanks, I'm drinking scotch.
Who, wha?! Scotch. At 3:00 in the afternoon. At work. The Security Guard. Shouldn't he be securing or guarding?
Link - 11:43 AM -
Thursday, September 04, 2003
Gospel of Jack 9:4
Jack: I know at least five married guys that would go out with you right now.
Me: I don't date married men.
Lenny: That's discriminatory!
Jack: No, that's a shame.
Link - 8:13 PM -
Wednesday, September 03, 2003
Till Death Do Us Part or I Tug One Out Thinking of Someone Else, Which Ever Comes Sooner.
Seneca and Chris were married today on Today. It was so very sweet. Chris was visibly choked up when he vowed to wait at least three days into the Fiji honeymoon before checking out other women in bikinis.
He even vowed to his "true love" to wait a full week until after the honeymoon before dowloading porn and a whole month before beating off to a fantasy of either (a) Seneca's friend, (b) Daisy Duke, (c) his celebrity fantasy of the week (this week's feature: Jules Asner), or (d) the emotionally stilted and abnormally needy-for-a- strong any-adult-male's-attention teen age girl that he offers to escort home after a long night of babysitting duties for Seneca's two boys because he's such a gentleman.
The real tearjerk moment, however, came when he swore to wait an entire year before introducing fantasies of a threesome and a full three years before suggesting attending a key party. Gosh, he's a keeper, Seneca, just look at the sacrifices he's willing to make for the love of a good woman! But you'd better watch your back, I just might steal him from you!
My advice to brides: Just say, "No". If you don't, then take that token of his love and slip it around his c*ck so he can keep it up while he fu*ks you with his eyes closed. Hey, don't blame me . . . you married him.
Link - 8:54 PM -
Tuesday, September 02, 2003
From Sagawatha to Tincanatha, a Tale of Two Dwellings - an Illustrated (With Partially Nude Male Bum) Drama
I kept telling everyone I was going to Sagawatha, CT. Turns out I was in lovely Fairfield, CT, and Sagawatha was the name of the host's home. The home has a name. Excuse me, the huge, gorgeous summer home which literally has a sandy beach and the Atlantic Ocean as its backyard has a name. Their real home is in Palo Alto, CA. Much discussion led by Host's Father centered around funding for this movie they just produced. Hundreds of thousands of dollars he invested and hundreds of thousands of dollars he raised, he being the charming older man, engaging genteel man, retired and intelligent and so very white man.
If we had the foresight to name our tin shed for when visitors came a calling, it might have been Tincanatha. Our movie would have have been a segment on Cops.
 My father would keep everyone in rapt attention discussing his appeal, he being the incarcerated older man, deaf-mute and alcoholic man, "retired" and uneducated and so very white trash man.
The only thing in common were lots of empty cans of Coors. I see an advertisement opportunity here.
I couldn't help but stare at Host, Host's Father and Mother and their things -- many, many lovely, expensive things -- and wonder why they couldn't fix that bathroom lock?
Link - 8:49 AM -
Monday, September 01, 2003
Yesterday in Astoria Park playing frisbee with Zach, Chris, Eric and Nathan had given shape to what should have been a great holiday weekend. Overnight, clouds and rain came and pissed all that goodness away.
I still ventured to Grand Central Terminal, boarded a train for Connecticut and hoped that somehow it would get brighter, better, warmer. No. It was a soggy, cold day with a bunch of comics and not enough beer to ease the pain of immense boredom. Staring at the ocean and feeling the crocheted bikini rubbing against my bottom made it all the worse. That is until I got locked in the bathroom and had to climb out a window towards freedom. Yeah. Luckily I don't get embarrased easily or I may have snuck out and hitched a ride back to the train station. Instead I sat down and watched the home owner jiggle and wiggle the lock for a good 20 minutes till the thing finally sprung open.
It was nice, though, to hear stories of a certain feature film that just wrapped production, New York real estate woes and emergency organ removal. The burgers were tasty and the hosts incredibly hospitable. I only wish yesterday and today could have copulated -- they would have made a perfect baby.
Link - 11:34 AM -
|
