September 5, '05

So last night I went to my first Minnesota Organization of Bloggers event, at the Town Hall Brewery over by the U.

Mary Louise was supposed to go with me, since she's a big blucker (That's Blog-fucker to the uninitiated,) but she had a dinner party she couldn't get out of which left me scrambling for a date. I was inclined not to even believe her, since the last dinner party she went to was on the twelfth of never, but knowing she's sooner miss an X-File convention than a night with the MOB, I figured she must be telling the truth. Anyway, I recruited Em to come with me, and what a trouper she was...she's not only never read a blog, she had no idea what one even was. But c'mon, the girl's got 5 kids and any excuse to get out of the house is most welcome.

First of all, we got lost trying to find it, so we were on the celly with Mike trying to figure out where the hell we were, gimme a break I haven't been down to the U in 15 years, plus I can't find my ass with two hands on a good day but at least I admit it, right? But as we were on the phone, and believe me, nobody hates assholes who talk on cell phones while driving more than I do, I got a speeding ticket. AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG.

Cripes!! The girl who pulled me over was honest to Bebe Neuwirth 19 years old. Fresh outta the Academy. She let me off with a fine, said it wouldn't go on my record, then gave us directions to the bar, which was about 20 feet away. So my nerves were in frickin' overdrive by the time we even parked, and as we were pulling into the space who walks right by, wearing shades and lighting a smoke, but J. Lileks. Who might as well be Elvis at this thing, right?

Anyway, Lileks struts on by all cool and everything, and I felt exactly like I did in ninth grade, trying to sneak into a party at the captain of the hockey teams' house.

Em and I go slinking in to the bar, trying to pretend we're not scanning the whole place like a couple of total losers, and we decide the best course of action is to get a shot at the bar to calm down a little. And by us, I mean me, she was fine.

Bartender: "So what'll it be, ladies?"

Me, trying to be cool: "A SHOT OF CUERVO GOLD AND TWO BLUE MOONS."

Bartender, wearily: "This is a brewery. We don't have Blue Moon."

Strike three on the hipstermeter...

Me, completely defeated: "Just whatever, then...I don't care." I was seriously about to start crying. Em was having far too much fun watching me come unravelled.

We took our drinks outside and spent the next 10 minutes trying to assess the situation. I don't know why I was so nervous, but I was. I mean isn't the very nature of a blogger to be insecure and socially awkward? Isn't that why we blog, because face to face communication with others makes us break out in a flood of flop-sweat? That's the thought that's comforted me all this time, that I wasn't the only misfit out there who thinks sending my thoughts out into the great cyber-void counts as human interaction, but no, they all looked like normal, healthy adults with good self-images and perhaps not a Barbie collection they refused to let go of.

Finished my beer and realized we had to leave in an hour and this sitting on our little removed perch was just getting plain silly, so we made our way over to the table where they were all sitting, laughing and talking like old, comfy friends...I made it all the way across the patio without tripping, my skirt wasn't tucked into my undies, no toilet paper on my feet... I wasn't about to eat any worms or anything, but let's just say Jose C. was finally starting to work his magic.

They couldn't have been nicer, of course. Mitch Berg took the time to introduce me to everyone and they were all quite friendly. Turns out he went to Jamestown and knows my brother-in-law and sister and my brother Joe. I met Lileks, shook his hand and all that, and I hope my star-stuckness didn't show. I mean I genuflected and kissed his ring and stuff but other than that I'm pretty sure I was cool.

Chad the Elder is actually about 9 and bears a striking resemblence to Conan O'Brien. That one floored me. I was expecting Sauruman, not Doogie Howser. ( My sister just informed me I misspelled Saruman. See? See what I mean?) Plus I'm pretty sure I recognized him, I mean from back in the day. We ran through people we both might know and didn't hit on any common names but it'll come to me, probably at some completely innapropriate time. I do hope it's nothing awful like I puked on him at one of the Greek church parties in '85 or something, but shall we just admit the odds of that are good?

We had to leave at 8:30, the babysitter had already left two angry messages on my phone, and I would've like to have stayed longer but that's life I guess....So then on the way out, Em and I tell this guy he looks like Russell Crowe and it turns out he's married to Kathy the Cake-eater, who was cool in light of the fact a drunk chick with a bad dye job was hitting on her husband. Of course, once I found out who she was I blurted out "When you're married to Kathy the Cake-eater, you come in second." NICE .

You know, when I started writing this, I actually thought things went well last night, now I see I probably alienated them all. I'm gonna go play with my barbies.

September 9, '05

I can't even watch the commercials for The Exorcism of Emily Rose. (Oh, that reminds me...my friend Em resents my referring to her as Em, said she wants a better nickname. So from this day forward she will be known as Mitzi Pumpernickle.) It got a good review in the paper, but someone else has to see it and tell me about it....This here's an old blog explaining my satanic possession phobia, which, as phobias go, is a pretty good one:

I came down for breakfast one morning just in time to see Gene Shalit reviewing The Exorcist on TV. As if the sight of him wasn't scary enough, the clip he showed was the one where Linda Blair is violently jack-knifing on her bed, then just hovers in the air and growls like a bag of rabid wolverines.

I was seven years old.

"Hey, g'morning, innocent little kid! How 'bout the scariest image in the history of moviedom with your Tang?"

My mom was busy making breakfast, my dad had his nose in the paper, both unaware of me and the fact that their small daughter’s psyche was being scarred right under their noses.

‘Terror’ doesn’t do justice to what I felt at that moment, it’s not near big enough a word.  I just remember feeling like all the air was leaving my body in a silent scream.  I stood there, cemented to the spot, unable to move or look away.  All my motor skills had been shocked right out of me.

My class had a field trip to the local library that morning to watch a movie. This was back when doing that was a huge deal; no one had DVD’s or even VCR’s yet. Annual network showings of the Wizard of Oz and The Sound of Music were all we got.  I don’t remember what movie the librarian ran for us that day;  I do remember sitting in the dark auditorium and shaking uncontrollably, unable to block out that Exorcist clip which was playing on a continuous loop in my brain. The movie ended, the lights came up, and I was soaked with my own urine.  The teacher called my mom and I went home.

My mom kept asking me what was wrong, but I couldn't tell her because I couldn’t stop crying. She thought I was sick and put me to bed, not realizing the last place I wanted to be was unattended in my bedroom in the middle of the day. My God, it was like begging Satan to come over and play.

I finally went downstairs and tearfully choked out what was on my mind.  Mom tried her best to comfort me, told me it was just a movie, just make-up and special effects, but the damage had been done. 

I can honestly say I didn’t get a good night’s sleep for the next five years.  I’d lay awake with my bedroom door wide open so the hall light would shine in and hopefully scare the devil away, and I’d chant over and over again, “Please don’t let me get possessed please don’t let me get possessed please…”

Sometimes I’d do it out loud just to see if my voice sounded growly.  I’d also grab onto the mattress to make sure it was still touching my body and I wasn’t, in fact, levitating.

In a cruel twist of irony, a copy of The Exorcist happened to be in the bookshelf that faced my bedroom door.  I would stare at it as I chanted, waiting to be sucked into its pages and subsequently right into Old Scratch’s lap.  Of course I wasn’t about to remove the book, that would’ve meant touching it.

Eventually, the rest of my family would go to bed, the houselights would all be out, and I’d be left on my own to try and survive until sun-up.  Most nights, I’d creep over to my parent’s door and stand there for what seemed like forever, working up the nerve to open it and ask my mom if I could sleep with her.  I’d usually crawl past my dad, since waking him was almost as scary a prospect as battling Beelzebub.  My mom would let me in, go through her litany of comforting words and fall back to sleep with me quivering at her side. I’d finally pass out from sheer exhaustion.

In the morning, when my dad discovered I’d once again spent the night with them, he’d give me a squeeze and say something like,

“You’ll only be possessed by the devil if you’re naughty!”

“John!” My mom would object.

“What? Oh, It’s just a movie, Katie,” he’d say, rumpling my hair.  “Besides, you’re baptized, it can’t happen to people who are baptized.”

So wait…..it’s just a movie, but you’re saying it can actually happen?? Not quite what I needed to hear.

My folks tried everything to cure me of my demons, so to speak. They bought me a scapular to wear to bed, put a crucifix in my room, and let me sleep in their room whenever I needed to, which as I said was pretty much every night. 

We used to all kneel in front of a portrait of Jesus and say The Lord's Prayer together.  My phobia had become such a part of the fabric of my family’s daily life that the prayer had adopted an add-on: “…and deliver us from evil amen and please don’t let Katie get possessed.” Looking back, I see now that was simply a token from them, as I’m sure they all thought that ship had sailed.

Time was the only thing that really helped, which is not to say I’m not still frightened by the prospect of losing my soul or even of the movie, just that I no longer lose sleep over it. Not usually, anyway.

A few years ago, the movie was re-released and there were ads for it during the prime-time telecast of the winter Olympics. One night when that awful, tinkling music came on, I couldn’t find the remote fast enough and ended up hurtling across the room to slam the TV off before my children heard or saw too much.  I bruised a rib in the process.

“So kids, if you work really really hard, you too could some day be an Olympian! And by the way…Devil’s gonna gitcha! Nighty-night!”

Oh, who am I kidding?  They probably see scarier things on Sesame Street.

It was pure self-preservation.

Sept. 8 '05

Well, this has been a helluva morning so far. Nothing major, just constant shrieking since the munchkins got up 2 hours ago. They're gone now and I've got twenty minutes 'till one of them comes back. It's the third day of school and I've already had to pull out the phrase, "Whining won't get your homework done any faster."

Last night Liz and I went for a run, then I stopped off at a Bakery (which shall remain nameless in case I ever want to go there again) to get some bread for dinner. I've grown weary with summer food, sick to death of eating grilled animals and now want to cook them in the house instead, so I spent yesterday making chicken soup and spaghetti sauce.

Anyoots, needed some bread, go to the bakery, grab a bag of cookies also, and the girl behind the counter says "Ten trillion dollars, please." Not really, but it was like eleven bucks and change, which seems pretty nuts for bread and cookies.

Hand her a twenty and she roots through her little drawer and , I'm not making this up, gives me a five and a handful of quarters.

"We're out of ones, sorry," she chirps.

"What about those ones in your tip jar?"

(Which by the way, I completely object to. Why should I tip you? What did you do, exactly? I had to help myself to everything. Even at Starbucks they at least have to hold a cup of hot liquid for a few seconds, but this place is all self-service. Here's a tip, go work at Starbucks. Not that I'd tip you there, either, 'cuz I wouldn't.)

Short story long, we look at each other for a couple of beats and she finally realizes I'm serious, I don't want 37 quarters, her face clouds up and she silently and more than a little hostiley (Is that how you spell that? Is that even a word?) exchanges them for the ones in the tip jar, which she (again, not making this up,) throws at me.

The cookies weren't even very good.

Rented Sahara, after 20 minutes I was bored outta my skull and read EW instead. Speaking of EW, check out last week's Listen to This section, featuring a story on the La's by my pal John, who got me the RedEye gig...(which is a source of anxiety right now because even though they've taken a coupla things, nothing of mine's been run in over a month.) Anyway Jdubs has given me more than one shout out in his blog, and now that I can link, I can return the favor!! Which I'm sure he completely will appreciate, since the rag he usually writes for is totally hurting for readers....and since I'm shamelessly promoting all my friends, I'd like to ask anyone reading this to check out the fall issue of the Minnesota Score.

Particularly Bill Hubbell, one of my favorite writers but easily my least favorite sibling. THAT WAS A JOKE. Gawd. Why is everyone so sensitive? Seriously, he's great, check it out.

Ps--If you're reading this, Sandy at the MAWB squad, I've been trying to email you all morning and I seem to be doing it wrong cuz it ain't workin'...will keep trying, though!

My bladder's about to pop, which means it's time to go.

september 6, 8 pm

The bloom is off the back-to-school rose already...Three months of ice cream and gin made me forget about the annoying avalanche of paperwork that goes with opting into the school system...

"Welcome back, everyone!! We're super excited about the coming year...Your child will be bringing home a nightly packet that includes a printed copy of our daily affirmation, the class list, a run-down of any students with strep throat or peanut allergies or Lyme's disease or a penchant for sneezing, blinking or breathing so you'll know what foods to avoid sending with your child to school, an assignment notebook, any list of any pertinent websites to help you help your child with their homework, sign-up sheets for whatever new school club has sprung up since yesterday (plus waivers in the unfortunate case of injury) and a list of parental volunteer opportunities* at school!! Please sign everything in blood and return to your child's teacher no later than midnight tonight! We're really looking forward to being a part of your child's learning how to tease others and huff paint over the next nine months, but not as much as we look forward to saying the word 'child' ten thousand more times!"

*Please fill out the enclosed backround check paperwork, including a photocopy of a current driver's license, a urine sample and a good recipe for tomato bisque. Any parent failing to do so will not be allowed to stand at the edge of the playground for 40 minutes a week even though a level 3 sex offender lives across the street from the school.

So I'll cop to a little hyperbole. I'm just sayin'.

 Sept 16 '05

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank Renee Zelwegger and Kenny Chesney for providing me with a lay-up of a column this morning. I'm sure they didn't wake up yesterday and think to themselves, "Katie hasn't had anything published lately, let's break up!" but I'm sure they'd be pleased to know that their trash is my treasure.

Last night I went to the opening of an art show by one of my favorite Minnesota painters, Rick Kochenash.

It was at the Minnesota River School of Fine Art in Burnsville. Check it out; if you like beautiful artwork, Rick's the man.

Ran into some old art school pals while I was there, too, coupla fellas I haven't seen in many moons, both doing fantastic work. I felt slightly wormlike when they asked me what I was doing these days and all I had to say was "making dinners my kids won't eat", but then I reminded myself that someday the babies will appreciate those icky meals and I wouldn't trade it for all the free studio space in Paris. OK, maybe if it was free. That was a joke.

Anyway, treat yourself to a look at the work of Paul Oxborough,

Steve Levin, (who was actually a teacher by the time I got there,) and Louise Gillis, you won't regret it.

September 15 '05

So I read in the paper this morning that the latest Tsunami for Hurricane Heroes concert got lower than expected ratings. I'm shocked, shocked I tell you! People, if we don't band together and let these modern day saints know how very much we appreciate their goodness, they aren't gonna put on any more benefits, and then where will we all be? If Faith Hill hadn't gone down there to sing Amazing Grace (c'mon, am I the only one who felt some seriously amazing grace at that moment?) to those poor people they'd probably all be dead now. Those selfless celebs...Oprah didn't even wear makeup, folks, shame on everyone for not tuning in and watching them all be better and kinder and more giving than everyone else.

Last night when I was driving home from wherever I was, the song Games Without Frontiers came on the radio. Now, twenty years ago, my sister and I were in a major Peter Gabriel phase. We were completely, completely into him, t-shirts, buttons, posters, the whole deal. We dissected every song he recorded and discussed the meanings endlessly, we drove through a tornado to see him in Milwaukee and agreed after the show that not only was he the best musician in the history of the Universe, he was truly the greatest artiste the cosmos had ever produced.

Midway through the song last night I was laughing so hard I almost hit a tree. There are moments where it sounds like Pete's actually belching. Oh to be 17 again and truly appreciate great music...I popped in my Bobby Darin cd for the rest of the drive home.

The Emmy's are on Sunday, and of course I am stoked. I always love watching Hollywood make love to itself.

And I love Ellen. I'm quite certain we'd be friends if we ever met, there might be an awkward moment one night when we're watching Entourage together and she'd be all "wanna get naked?" and I'd be like, "No", but we'd get past it and probably laugh about it later.

Speaking of Entourage, Jeremy Piven is up for best supporting actor and he better win is all.

Going for a run now.

September 14 '05

I finished The Time Travelers Wife by Audrey Niffenegger last night.

Looooooooooooooooved it. Seriously loved it so much, I blubbered like a hugantic sap when it was over, but we all know I'm a sucker for a good love story. I went online afterward to see if I could find any other sad, lonely, post-Time Travelers Wife-readin' fools who had anything to say about it and everyone kept calling it science fiction, which I thought was weird. I mean, yeah, he time travels, but when I think science fiction I think Enders Game or L. Ron Hubbard or something, space suits and bad guys and whatnot, you know what I'm sayin'?

It's an epic romance. I was actually annoyed with Mike for asking me last night whether or not the car was done (it's been in the shop)...why would he bring up something so banal, so tedious, while I'm basking in my post-great-book reverie?? Why is he trying to break the spell? Maybe if he understood love across the space/time continuum he wouldn't feel the need to bore everyone talking about transmission fluid.

Not even remotely fair, of course, and if he doesn't feel a love that great, who's fault is that, right? Siiiigh. If you haven't read it, read it.

Speaking of Miguel, he surprised me with tix to NYC for my birthday. Yay! I would totally travel through time for him.

September 13 '05

I was gonna try to write something this morning but I got the dates wrong and tweety-bird doesn't start her art class thingy 'til Thursday. So she's tugging on my sleeve demanding my attention as we speak. She did have her first official, actual pre-school day yesterday, and she spent all morning making sure she had everything together and asking me every two seconds if it was time to go yet, which made for a fun five hours for me. And she loved it, of course...unbelievable, really, how fast the time has gone.

As for me, three hours of free time! AHHHHHH! Went for a good long run, showered and actually blow-dried my hair. Next thing you know I'll be one of those moms who shops at Byerlys in matching casual-wear. Scratch that...just because I dried my hair doesn't mean it looked any better than usual.

Loud crash from upstairs, must go.

September 28 '05

The news that Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher have made it legal warms my heart, it really does.  These two are going to make it, folks, it matters not that she’s older than Methuselah and he’s only halfway through puberty. They look almost exactly alike, a key ingredient that seems to keep so many celebrity twosomes together.

The old saw is that all married couples eventually look like each other, but a lot of famous people seem to gravitate towards mates who look a lot like them in the first place, ever notice that?

Take Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes. (I know what you’re probably thinking, “Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes? Those two are staler than Melanie Griffith’s underpants!” But bear with me; I’m on to something here. And I highly doubt Melanie Griffith wears underpants, I imagine every time she tries to, they're vaporized within three seconds and it just got too expensive.)

Am I the only one who thinks the physical similarities between Mr. Cruise and Ms. Holmes are striking? They could be siblings. Yes, she towers over him, but the only woman in Hollywood shorter than him is Dakota Fanning, and he can’t date her because she’s obviously too old.

Is it a narcissistic streak that made Tom look at Katie and think, “For the love of L. Ron Hubbard, she’s striking…she’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a woman! I must have her.” Or was it simply, “She’s everything my publicist says I’ve ever wanted in a woman! She’ll do!”

Look at Valerie Bertinelli and Eddie Van Halen. Or look at Eddie Van Halen and Valerie Bertinelli. They’re virtually indistinguishable from each other. And they’re actually divorced now, but they were married 20 some odd years. I wonder what finally ended it? Maybe she cut her hair or something and he felt it reflected badly on him. Literally.

Noah Wylie married a woman who is his doppelganger. Denis Leary’s writer wife could be his twin sister, no joke.

Prince always has some new doe-eyed lovely on his arm. Sometimes he even marries them, but they all seem to get dumped as their twenties come to a close and they’re no longer as pretty as he is.

How ‘bout Arnold Schwarzenegger and Maria Shriver? They have the same face. So many hard angles goin’ on there it’s a wonder they haven’t shredded each other to bits yet.

Ryan Phillippe and Reese Witherspoon likewise have the same bone structure; if they were candy they'd be lemon drops.

Kenny Chesney and Renee Zellwegger were comically identical. The world will probably never know what caused these two to split, although my guess is he caught her with her head in a bucket of Haagen Dazs. If only they could open their eyes all the way and see how much they look alike, I'm sure things would've worked out.

Jennifer Garner is a much better match for Ben Affleck than that, uh…who was that other girl he was with?  I can’t remember….no matter, the point is they won’t get bored looking at each other as quickly and will probably be much happier.

My very favorite celebrity look alike couple is Lisa Rinna and Harry Hamlin.  They got married and neither of them ever worked again. I imagine they’re trapped at home, each forever hypnotized by the other’s face.

Rhea Pearlman and Danny DeVito, Siegfried and Roy, Chynna Phillips and Billy Baldwin (ok, maybe ‘celebrity couple’ is a bit of a stretch there)…we could go on for days.

And think about it…why do you suppose George Clooney refuses to settle down? The key words there are ‘refuses to settle’. The woman who looks as good as him has not yet been discovered.

So Godspeed, Demi and Ashton! Go forth and multiply and fill the world with your freakishly beautiful genes. Uh…quickly, please, I can hear those ovaries shriveling from here.

September 27 '05

Last night Mike and I went to the first annual Ivey Awards, honoring the best of Twin Cities theater. Now before you all go thinking we've turned into goobs who wear "theater is art, television is furniture" t-shirts and had ever heard of the Ivey Awards before yesterday, we were invited to go by our friends Fran and Kenny, who actually are hip to the scene. (don't worry, they don't wear those t-shirts either.) Kenny was actually gonna be performing a scene from the show Knock! the hit of last year's Fringe Festival.

Short story long, we were promised a swank night out and I got to wear my new black dress that I love and there you go. Drinks at Palamino beforehand, all the theeahtah crowd was there air kissing each other and being all "Omigod Omigod!" theater-y, fun to see actually. The girl who does our store's accounting, Meghann, was also there, which was a delightful surprise. When she's not trying her best to keep us out of debtor's prison Meghann is an opera singer, and was in Theater Latte Da's production of La Boheme which was being given some award or another.

Went to the ceremony, and you know what? It was pretty dern fun. Sure I'll rip the Oscars 'til doomsday, but there was something really sweet about last night's affair; I think it had to do with the fact that Minnesotans are by and large just a likeable bunch.

And guess who the host was...Justin Kirk! That hottie tomato from "Angels in America" and the wildly under-rated WB show "Jack and Jill" which I used to loooooooove, and currently starring on Showtime's "Weeds".  He's been in town all summer doing a show at The Jungle Theater. He was completely adorable. The show itself, I mean to a philistine such as myself, was, um, dullish, but as I said, the experience of it was quite fun. In my humble opinion, Kenny's number was the highlight of the show.

The lowlight was when some idiot frenchmen won something and did the whole "George Bush causes hurricanes!" speech. Aside from the fact that he was a total ass, has he not heard the jokes about jerks who use the moment to spout crap like that?

The after party was packed and fun; at one point I turned around to go find the ladies' room and who did I bump smack into? Why Mr. Justin Kirk himself, who I was completely surprised was there since he is a real and actual big timin' star. Could not have been nicer. Now, if you don't know, this kid was nominated for an Emmy for Angels in America, (which I have to be honest I didn't love, I couldn't stand watching Meryl Streep in one bad wig after another but I did think Mr. Kirk was great in it, ) the genuine big-leagues, right? So I smack into him and blurt out how much I used to love Jack and Jill, (I swear I think I was the only person in the country who watched it) and he burst out laughing and said lots of cute things I can't remember or can't repeat, but suffice it to say he charmed me... super friendly and humble, (and tall! He practically had to crouch down to talk to me, and I had heels on) made a point of shaking hands and introducing himself to everyone in our group and asking everyone about themselves, didn't just let everyone fawn all over him. He and Mike talked basketball for a good twenty minutes. Gracious is the word I'm lookin' for...and he stayed at the party the whole night. Lerve him now, we have to get Showtime so I can watch Weeds. Our night out with the glitterati....sigh...I have to go to bed.

September 26 '05

My house is big stinky mud ball today, I have to hose the whole place down with 409. JP added on to our deck and it's great, but the pile of displaced dirt was simply too attractive for the kids to ignore and they brought at least 90 percent of it indoors. I like being the house where all the neighborhood kids play except for when I hate it, and when it rains....well, I don't love it. And adding to the fun, someone peed on my tv room carpet and no one will 'fess up. It reeks like a cat box in there. I scrubbed it with vinegar and Atmosclear, still stinks, gotta call in a pro. I cannot be expected to watch OH THAT REMINDS ME! Did ya'll watch Extras last night, Ricky Gervais' new show on HBO?? It was fantastic. Sunday nights, 9:30, do not miss it. I honestly think he is the funniest person on the planet. And of course Curb premiered last night, always great. Shows so good that the episodes that don't actually give you a laughter-induced brain hemmorhage are considered 'bad ones'.

So a few days ago I pondered trying out Superstar for my next karaoke outing...I called it Rock Star, whoops, anyway I did it Saturday night at a church fundraiser and guess what...I won a prize. Make no mistake, I stunk the place up, but I was one of two gals actually willing to get up and 'sing' (I use that term loosely) so my odds were pretty good. And yes, I said church fund raiser...hmmm...how to make karaoke even more humiliating...how's about you do it in front of your parish priest? I better get to confession this week.

September 23 '05

I was right about the nutty Hispana getting the heave-ho from Trump, although since I never uploaded last night's incredibly dull waste of brain power (Hey, I think I just came up with a name for my autobiography!) it looks like I cheated. I didn't, but it was so obvious she was gonna go I might as well have.

After that was David Spade's new show on Comedy Central, The Showbiz Show. It has potential, Miguel and I laughed out loud several times. I cannot imagine it will last, not if he's willing to really pull out the stops, and if he isn't, this little chickie in fly-over country dun wanna watch. Anyoots, his rant about Gwyneth Paltrow was beautiful...check out a rerun.

I've been trying to hit on my perfect Karaoke song ever since last weekend's ridiculously fun time at

Cloggy's Tavern (5404 34th Ave S Minneapolis MN 612-724-8676...they don't have a website, are you kidding? They barely have a front door. It's literally a bar with a cooler of Bud behind it, a Karoake machine and a pool table. Funnest night out I've had all year.)

I'm one of those morons who knows she can't sing but does it anyway. I can't explain the appeal...there's just something exhilarating about standing in front of a group of strangers and hearing my dial-tone of a voice come blatting back at me from a speaker that's three inches from my face...what? Some people cut themselves.

Last weekend I attempted Rhinestone Cowboy. I actually think I ruptured my larynx. I swear on my Aunt Fanny's grave it isn't that high when Glen Campbell is singing it in my car! I can totally do it then!!

But when a song results in bloody coughs and a low grade fever not just in the singer but in the audience as well, there's a good chance it's not in your range. I still say it was the machine's fault. I'm thinking maaaaaaaaybe Superstar by The Carpenters next time, or perhaps Neil Diamond, since his voice tends to hover around the same three notes. Best not to think about it too much, I know.

September 22 '05

Sittin' here watching the premiere for the new Apprentice, not the fake Martha Stewart one, the real one...They've just started introducing the players...

"I came to Amerika with nothink! Now I'm a multi-millionaire!"

Then why the hell do you want ot work for Trump?

"Being openly gay is going to be a yuuuuuuge advantage!!"

So...you're The Gay One, then?

I swore I wasn't gonna watch this anymore, but here we are at the first commercial break and I'm hooked. I predict the crazy latina gets the boot.

September 21 '05

AAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!! Did anyone see that girl who died of Mad Cow Disease on tv last night????

Jiminy Jaggity Christmas on a Crutch, that is NOT WHAT A CERTIFIABLE HYPOCHONDRIAC SUCH AS MYSELF NEEDS TO SEE.

I didn't mean to watch it, of course I didn't. I sat down at 9 pm an achey, wasted heap of mom plasma like I do every night, just pooped outta my gourd and ready for some mindless entertainment while I folded a massive pile of laundry, and I'm flippin' through the channels and I hear "first confirmed death from of mad cow disease in the U.S." Whatchoo talkin' 'bout, Willis?

I'm not the type who simply skims past that one on my way to Sex and the City reruns, folks. Of course I watched it. Now, I know the news' main goal in this day and age is to scare the living sheet out of everyone, and guess what..... it worked! Here's what I remember from the piece:

This poor girl graduated from college in 2002 and she was all pretty and charming and I-can't-wait-to-take-on-the-world-y, and the next thing you know, she can't blink or walk or stop laying on the couch and moaning, and I can't feel my feet or remember what page I'm on in my book because clearly, I have it too.

To be fair, this girl was actually from Great Britain, and she got it there and then moved here. But still...It's out there. All day long I've been testing myself, trying to remember the multiplacation tables or my children's middle names or who their fathers are. (That was a joke. Joking to hide the fear...thank God, I do have inner strength! I've always wondered.)

So then this morning I go over to my folks house to pick up JP, and I tell everyone about what I saw and how I'm off red meat for eternity or at least 'til dinner time, and dad looks up from his crossword and growls, "What is this, a PETA convention?"

Aw, dad. He's afraid I'm gonna turn into a stinky hippie, which he should know would never happen because then I'd have to stop highlighting my hair.

September 20 05

There's not enough coffee in the world this morning...dontcha hate that??? The sun is shining, the kids are at school, and my head feels like it's stuffed with cotton candy. I must be coming down with something. Bleh.

Hey, wanna read something funny? check this out, from Jdubs, chronicling his birthday weekend/college football watchin' and reportin' road trip:

We pass through Findlay, Ohio, where signs advertise that today is "Hamfest." Signs such as these -- and scenic back roads where farm land has yet to be spoiled by strip-mall developers -- are why I love the Midwest. Yesterday, outside of Elkhart, Ind., for example, we passed the RV Hall of Fame. Now, I'm not sure what RV's are enshrined there, but I have to hope that the Winnebago from Space Balls was a first-ballot shoo-in.

"Dave," I say, as we head south on Route 23, "how about some tunes?"

"Whatever you want, Cracker Bitch," Dave replies.

Let me back up. All weekend Dave has alternated between calling me "Dubs", my old nickname, and "Cracker Bitch," my new one. The latter comes from a letter I received after writing last week's column defending a certain Catholic university's gridiron relevance. I reproduce it here, for you, in total (with selected profanities edited out):

Bleep you and your racist Indiana Aryans! Any African-American who goes to the place of pure racism is a complete Uncle Tom and that includes Tim Brown and J Bettis .Charlie Weiss (sic) is not the SAVIOR of bleep but an ass whopping to the brothers in Michigan. Put a bullet in your head and make the world a better place cracker bitch!!!!

I mean, really, who knew Public Enemy followed college football?

Anyway, I think "Cracker Bitch" not only has potential as a nickname, but as a caramel-coated candy confection. I've even composed a song, the ultimate non-partisan college football jingle, to complement it:

Take me out to the bowl game, Take me out to the crowd,

Buy me some bratwurst and Cracker Bitch,

I don't care if I ever get rich

"What do you think, Dave?" I ask.

"I'm gonna put some Guns n' Roses on," he replies.

Read the whole thing here

September 19 '05

Anyone watch the Emmy's last night? Don't blame you if you tuned out after Brad Garrett won for Everybody Beats a Dead Horse again. I mentioned earlier how vedy vedy much I was rooting for Jeremy Piven, I was really and truly dissapointed when he lost. I actually felt bad for Peter Boyle, too, I could've gotten on board with him just for the sheer "awwww" factor.

Total B.S. that Everybody Can't Believe You Stayed on the Air That Long beat Arrested Developement, too. Ridiculous.

Anyway. The first half of the show was surprisingly good. I guess Hollywood got the memo about what arseholes the rest of the country thinks they are and gamely made fun of themsleves. Except Blythe Danner. She didn't get the memo.

The whole "My first time" (first time winning an Emmy)thing by Billy Crystal was amusing, although before he got into the Hummer with the Emmy hood ornament, I assumed he was talking about his first face lift. He probably doesn't remember back that far, though. One more and he'll have to stand on his head just to see things upright.

All the pre-requisites were in place: the slightly embarrassing opening number, (Earth Wind and Fire singing an idiotic version of September) cut aways to Jon Stewart looking uncomfortable and some dopey actress doing the white girls overbite (this year it was Debra Messing).... Patricia Arquette sacrificed herself on the altar of Someone Has To Be The Ugliest, wearing a dress that squeezed her boobs so hard I was afraid they were going ot start bleeding, yet had straps that were way too long. To be fair, the dress was just trying to keep up with her hair, which not only was styled in some heinous, forties-pin-up-girl-meets-star-trek-villainous way, was two distinctly different colors. All the other actresses there should send her a thank you card. Runner-up for worst look was Portia DeRossi, who appeared to have just been raped.

I think Teri Hatcher is starting to look a lot like Benecio Del Toro. She needs to either start eating or stop smiling, but she looks scary.

In the Best Supporting actor in a drama category was Who Cares, Who Caresier and Who Caresiest. I don't know who won.

Hmmm.......Patrick Dempsey and Jon Cryer...you both spent your teen years playing dweeby dorkity dork dorks...one of you grows up to be a dweebity dorky dweebis, and one of you grows up to be Patrick Dempsey. What happened there??? He's now more Cloonyesque than Clooney. I flipping hate that girl on Grey's Anatomy, though, first of all if you're a surgeon don't you need to weigh more than the scalpel? And she has a really annoying lisp.

As if Mike weren't bitter enough at NBC for re-making The Office, (despite Steve Carrell, he will. not. watch. it,) every so often The Office Christmas Special surprised us by being nominated for something, and then losing. Mike's anguish was comical, it was as if the TV suddenly yelled,

"Hey Mike! I hate you!"

Letterman's Carson tribute was the highlight, for sure. And in the best writing for late night award or whatever it was called, I have to give Most Witty Picture in Place of the Writers' Faces to The Ali G Show's montage of gay porn actors. The lowlight was Dan Rather having the stones to stand there and let the audience blow him like that.

"Retired...forced to leave in disgrace...tomato, tomahto..."

But Ellen was charming, she wasn't on enough, though. The stupid Emmy Idol thing....wow. Donald Trump sings Green Acres! Macy Gray croaks her way through The Jeffersons! Kristen Bell whaa??? (that was Mike's reaction) and actually yes, I laughed all the way through the Star Trek bit. But Jiminy Cricket.....That reminds me...am I the only one who thinks James Spader is actually turning into William Shatner? A coupla bloated, portly pausey talkers blowing each other kisses.. Love 'em both.

I guess now I have to start watching Lost.