Laughing Liberally? Or Sobbing Soberly?

We shall see. My big callback is coming up, and I will soon find out if my comedy is what the LL people are looking for--here's hoping, but not to worry, I'm not banking on this.

No matter what, I will be heading to NYC for an overnighter and seeing some old and dear friends I haven't seen for a while--especially some of my former coworkers. Haven't seen them since we were all fully employed! (Yeah, that was a while ago!)

So this will be sweet, even if I have to endure an audition in the midst of it all.

And we'll be eating at the Popover Cafe (or whatever it's called) on the Upper West Side. I love the Popover Cafe, or at least I did the last time I ate there (which was when I lived on the UWS, nearly 20 years ago).

Well, things likely have changed since then, but how can something called a "popover" not be good, I ask you?

And since they're bread, they'll be easy on my pre-performance stomach, so all is well there, too. (The friends we're dining with also suggested Vietnamese food, which ordinarily I would be interested in; however, Asian food has been known to give my stomach the willies, and we don't take any such chances on a night devoted to The Comedy, no Ma'am.)

Well, I must go prepare for the Hallowe'en hordes. I'm dressed like the Skipper--well, really a combination of the Skipper and Gilligan. (My outfit is pure Gilligan, but my hat is the Skipper's. Okay, my hat and my body type are more Skipper-esque, truth be told. The kids won't care--they'll be too focused on the candy.)

Here we go!

It's so DARK out there....BOO!

Love the extra hour, hate the early sundown. Oh well, there are always trade-offs, no?

Am trying to get to work on a proof, and I have to tell you--working on the weekend goes against everything I hold dear. But, I do have a huge VISA bill to tend, as well as a week in D.C. to finance, so I need to get over myself, and soon.

On other fronts, am still aglow over Swoopes being family--I remembered this weekend that she was one of the supposedly het players who was trotted out by the WNBA at its inception to try to break the lezzie-athlete link that so many teams fear. It was embarrassing--any player with a kid and and/or a boyfriend was sent to every media event they could think up, and photos were tagged with lines like, "Here's the WNBA hoops star and her husband Bill, their three children, and exhausted grandma." Or: "Here's the WNBA rookie, her fiance, and their three children." It was SO obvious, SO over-the-top. So American.

That one of the subjects of the WNBA's "straighten up" campaign was a lesbian waiting to meet the right girl warms my heart, really and truly. And from what I've been reading, back in her youth, Ms. Swoopes changed schools once, to get away from all the lezzies on the team.

You know, it seriously doesn't get better than that--more proof that a homophobe is often a homo waiting to happen.

I rather like that: A homophobe is a homo waiting to happen. Think that has bumpersticker possibilities? I do, too!

This morning, Linda and I were pondering the current sorry state of affairs that is the Bush Administration, and while a small, petty part of me is thrilled that he and his are in deep doo-doo (as Poppy used to put it), his downfall comes at such great cost, it is no time to gloat.

However, it may be time to capitalize, and Linda wondered if it's time to put together a cautionary tale along the lines of "A Christmas Carol," whereby ol' Dubya could see what he's wrought--the servicemen and women killed because of the war he began under false pretenses, the poor drowned because he diverted funds for levy repair to this war, the species eradicated because of his environmental policies, the children who lack food or health care or decent schools because of his redistributing money from programs to tax cuts for the wealthy--I mean, the list is too long for here.

However, I think justice might be better served by a version of "It's a Wonderful Life," whereby we could see how the world would be different if George hadn't been president--the servicemen and women and the poor still alive, the species still with us, the children getting the help they need, the wealthy scraping by with just one yacht/trophy house/wife. Now THAT I'd want to see.

Speaking of which, I strongly suggest you see "Good Night, and Good Luck" when you get a chance. It isn't perfect, but it's pretty wonderful. Must say, we saw the trailer for "Capote," and think THAT looks like perfection. We'll see....

Who am I kidding? No one.

I am not now, nor have I been for a loooooooong time, the sort of person who can just go-go-go-go without stopping. Especially sober. Of late, I feel fortunate on days when I sort of go-go, you know?

Have been temping this week (back at the beck and call of the superintendent, yes indeed) and in addition, I've been proofing and editing and going to a writing group and interviewing and--yes, I'm exhausted just LOOKING at this list, much less contemplating that I actually DID EVERYTHING ON IT.

(Pardon the caps; I've been reading Dooce too long.)

Today was my last day at the schools department, and that's a good thing. Next week Tuesday, I have my callback, necessitating a trip to NYC, and I also have a deadline for that 30% of my job that is still hanging on (thank you). This weekend, I had planned on sleeping early and often, but it appears that my proofing skills are needed, and as I am getting ready to head off to NYC for a day or two, not to mention a week-long class the week after that, I am in no position to say "No, thank you" to more work.

That said, Linda and I are going to the movies, no matter what. We really want to see "Good NIght, and Good Luck," but it's not playing anywhere in our Happy Valley (neither is "Capote"--what's going on here?!), so we're driving down to Hartford to see it.

So there.

Not that I'm in a big hurry to see archive footage of who is perhaps Wisconsin's most embarrassing Native Son (Sen. Joseph McCarthy beats Liberace ANY DAY OF THE WEEK on that score, if you ask me), but it sounds like a film we must see, so drive we must.

Okay, now I must stop typing, for my head feels as though it's stuffed with cotton (which may have more to do with the toxic cologne somebody was wearing at work today--I don't know what it is, or who was wearing it, but even after washing my hands repeatedly, this "fragrance" is clinging to me like a cheap nightie). BLEAH.

That said, I am still buzzing over Sheryl Swoopes, and the indictment announced this morning doesn't hurt, either.

HAPPY FRIDAY!!!!

Sheryl Swoopes--FREE AT LAST!

Houston Comets Sheryl "I feel like I've been living a lie" Houston is OUT. She won her third WNBA MVP award last month, and now THIS?! Wonderful news!

It made me hoot. Out loud, of course. At work. (I do not hoot at work, as a rule, in case you're wondering.)

According to my source (sorry it's Fox Sports, but that's where I saw it), "The five-time All-Star and three-time Olympic gold medalist also says she didn't always know she was gay and fears that coming out could jeopardize her status as a role model."

Well, she may lose some of her role model status with the folks back in Lubbock (they're also the folks who are teaching their kids that the average lifespan of gays is 40 years, so she shouldn't be surprised), but she'll gain enough new admirers she won't miss them for a moment.

There is plenty of hope to go around, at least for today. THANKS, MS. SWOOPES!!!!

More uncertainty? Sure, why the hell not?!

Well, I learned recently that the president of my former full-time (and now third-time) publisher is leaving. He had made some mild work-related promises to me after I was downsized (Now your job is two-thirds less filling!) that I really didn't expect him to fulfill, and now it seems pretty damn definite my pessimism was warranted. (Hate when that happens.)

Me and business journalism are on the outs, anyway, right? Yes indeed-y, I have had ample evidence in the past six months that the Universe (or What/Whoever is in charge) is not interested in seeing me seque smoothly into a similar job. Great, big changes are afoot, but what exactly they are is still filed under "To Be Determined."

If I may be so bold, may I ask the Universe to hurry the hell up? Not to be ungrateful or anything, but the new president of my former full-time publisher is a turnaround specialist, and to me, TURNAROUND SPECIALIST = KISS THE REMAINING 33% OF YOUR JOB GOOD-BYE.

Yes, I may be very wrong, but so little has gone right where this facet of my "career" is concerned, I think optimism would be foolish. So, I'm preparing for the worst, and praying something breaks on another front soon, so I don't have to cash in some of my retirement savings or something equally drastic to keep up my end of the bargain here.

That's it for the whining phase of my post. Wait, one more thing: Thanks to a clipping that crossed my desk en route to the Superintendent this afternoon, I came across a homophobe's letter to the editor in my hometown paper, titled, "Let voters have a say on gay marriage." The author reprinted the proposed anti-gay marriage amendment, then wrote "Clear. Concise. Straightforward."

Yes, straightforward. No irony implied, I'm certain.

He then went on to whine about how "We, as voters in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, deserve to have a say in the way marriage is defined for future generations." And in case you weren't sure what was fueling his missive, he quoted the Pope.

DAMN STRAIGHT, say I.

Does this homophobe really think anyone's civil rights should be put to a vote? I don't think equality is an issue that should be left to the whims of the electorate, any more than civil rights for dear, departed Rosa Parks were--cause you know, sure as I'm writing to you today, that had her rights been left to the electorate of the South, she and her fellow African Americans might STILL BE WAITING FOR THEIR SEAT ON THE BUS.

And I, like Ms. Parks, am not interested in waiting for the voters of Massachusetts or any other state to "allow" me my rights, no ma'am.

When asked why she didn't give up her seat, Ms. Parks said that a popular reason offered is that her feet were tired. In 1992, she said the real reason she didn't give up her seat was "I felt that I had a right to be treated as any other passenger. We had endured that kind of treatment for too long."

Well, I'm with her--I have the right to be treated as any other citizen. Anything less won't do.

Thoughts on P-town

The B&B we stayed at was called Seasons. The breakfast was wonderful (quiche, sausages, and fruit), and host John was a dear in person as well. Greeter cat Buddy was a sweet little fuzzbutt. The room was quiet and comfortable, and John left a pot of coffee outside our door first thing in the morning--isn't that a nice touch?

I thought so, too.

We also finally had dinner at the Lobster Pot, but it left us wondering why the place is always packed. It was okay, that's all. And pricey, considering the ambiance (or lack thereof).

Bottom line: We'll be back to Seasons, but not to the Lobster Pot.

Exhausted, but happy

What a weekend! Friday night, P-town, Saturday night, Cambridge, Sunday night, knackered.

But it was all worth it, for I had a tremendous set Friday night. Performing for a packed house of sober GLBTs was a thrill, and I replayed the recording today to hear the hilarity anew--I got my family hooting and hollering and carrying on, and there is no greater reward than that. Sure, I spent money I didn't really have to spend on this trip, but I'd do it all again. Tomorrow.

Saturday night, I enjoyed a productive trip to The Studio. Didn't perform, but that was not my purpose. Holding up my end of the comedy buddy bargain (and thank goddess I did--we drove home in a deluge, dear people, and a deluge is not something anyone would want to drive through alone) and making sure all was well on the human relations front. And, last but not least, picking up a working version of the DVD of my last show.

Missions accomplished.

Slept in this morning until 10:00 a.m.--sloth-n-a-half under normal circumstances. However, my head hit the pillow at 2:00 a.m., so I don't feel the slugmuffin label applies. Have been feeling bone tired all day, but thanks to the joy that is coffee, I have managed to vacuum the house and do a great deal of laundry.

And apply to a five-day grantwriting course in early November. It may take me a while to catch on to good ideas, but when I do, STAND BACK. The course is highly regarded from what I can find out, and best of all, it's in D.C., so I can stay with my brother and sister-in-law--oh, and my nephew, the Airedale Harry. As it is looking like we won't be going anywhere for Thanksgiving (far too much financial uncertainty on the horizon for that), I am very grateful for a chance to spend some time with my favorite brother and his family.

Well, it's now time for ice cream, so close I must. Tomorrow, it's back to the schools department and the super Super. WoooooooWeeeeeeeeeeee!

Budget, Shmudget

Here's the scoop. We were going to stay at a budget-minded hotel while in P-town, but I just checked the Travelocity listing for the place and it contained a customer's very recent tale of woe (including dirty linens, late-night partiers, the gamut of horrible hotel experience, in fact) that made me rethink my emphasis on economy.

Linda's coming along, for one thing; for another, I do not want to be worrying about our lodging AS WELL AS my set. Too much pressure, life's too short, and all of that.

So, I cancelled the budget-minded hotel, and found a fairly reasonable B&B (with a fabulous, full breakfast, BTW) that would let us stay just one night. Innkeepers of America, take note: I am rather powerless over the concept of a "fabulous, full breakfast," and if you offer me that and a private bath, I'm pretty much yours.

And, lest you think I'm a complete pushover, the person who booked the place was very nice. I asked him about the rooms, directions, parking, dining out options--and he was helpful on every count.

That goes a long way with me, it does. For while one would think people in the hospitality business would be helpful as a matter of course, it doesn't always follow. We've stayed at places where the "hosts" were absolutely PUT OUT because we wanted hospitality.

In fact, in one place, the hosts were put out because we wanted common courtesy--we asked them to turn down their BLARING television so we could sleep. It seems running a B&B was part of their retirement plan; actually having guests was not.

Oh well, that was long ago and far away (well, last year and in Wisconsin, but I guess that qualifies), so let's put that behind us, shall we?

On other fronts, I spent the day working as a temp again, in the same schools department as before. Same wonderful gang, same wretched office furniture. Lovely.

And something new: Career advice. One of the dear folks and gentle people in the department strongly suggested to me that I look into grantwriting, and you know what? I may just do that. Lack of grantwriting experience was the reason I didn't make the cut for the last job I was up for, and it does seem that grantwriting jobs are more plentiful around here than whatever it was I was doing before. In fact, I'm looking into grantwriting courses, and may just take one, to see if it's something I may enjoy doing.

I'm realizing that other friends/family may have suggested this very course of action to me, and may be reading this and thinking, "Well, that ditz--didn't I suggest the very same thing to her months ago?" Well, yes, you probably did, and I'm sorry I wasn't open to your suggestion then, really and truly. But I am now, and may I say, I appreciate your planting the seed way back then. It took six months of job-hunting to loosen me up, apparently. For heaven's sake, I'm pursuing a CAREER IN COMEDY, so of course, I'm open to such notions now.

Sorry I wasn't open to them earlier, but that's just me. Stubborn. Slow, perhaps. (If you know anything about my personal history at all, you know that "better late than never" would be my motto, if I had one).

But I don't do mottos, not yet, anyway. I'm just happy to report it's been a very good day, and for that I am grateful.

Same as it ever was....

Recently saw "How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying," the '60s film version, and I hate to say it, but for all the outdated references, its basic premise is sound. Sure, "A Secretary Is Not a Toy" reflects a time when sexual harassment was part and parcel of everyday life for working women, and I hope those days are largely behind us.

But the idea that He who sucks up succeeds--well, it's as true today as it ever was.

It's slowly dawned on me (I have noted here and elsewhere that I am not the sharpest cheddar in the cheesehaus, remember) that the reason so many managers are atrocious at performance management is because it takes too much work. For most, it's much, much easier (not to mention more pleasant) to reward those who make you feel good about yourself than to actually examine what each and every one of your charges is doing.

This I understand.

But the rub is that the suck up school of rewards can backfire BIG TIME. Like FEMA's response to Katrina BIG TIME. I mean, wasn't "Brownie" in his spot because he was liked by someone higher up, after all? Certainly not because of the emergency response experience he gained working for the Arabian Horse Association (or whatever the heck it was).

I won't tell you why this is bothering me today, but I will tell you that I have written about the importance of performance management for over a decade now, and I believe in it. As much as I believe in any management topic, with the possible exception of the importance of good customer service.

But organizations are sending their customer service operations half a world away, where they can't really keep tabs on them, and when it comes right down to it, the best way to get ahead is not to hit your numbers, but to kiss the ass above you on the corporate ladder. With VIGOR.

Sigh. Maybe that's why I enjoy The Comedy so. On a good night, one gets results--immediate, satisfying results.

Not feeling very perky today, sorry. I think my hormones are in an uproar in preparation for my body's monthly exercise in futility. The signs: I needed a crowbar to get out of bed this morning, I'm entertaining dark thoughts, and last but not least, I'm eating everything that is not nailed down.

And if I met whoever wrote, "It's a Joy Being a Girl!" I'd kick him (and what else could it be?) right in his--well, that's enough for one missive, I'd say.

In case you haven't seen this....

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No wonder!

I was laid low a bit yesterday (as if my sunny post wasn't signal enough), and think part of the problem was the corner of my brain that worries about money was on high alert.

No surprise, for not only had I received a "thanks but no thanks" letter from the last job prospect I had, I had also sent out an e-mail to my kind references noting the fact that my one and only "prospect" at the moment is a comedy job.

MY SOLE "OPPORTUNITY" AT THE MOMENT IS A COMEDY JOB?!

No wonder I was feeling a little under the weather yesterday. COMEDY JOB is an oxymoron for the ages--and certainly presents a shaky enough financial foundation to set off all sorts of alarms in this noggin' of mine (particularly the portions installed by my dear departed mother, the Child of the Depression to the Nth Degree).

I found two ways to rise above this (at least so far) today, and they include: 1) Finishing a book that highlighted the folly of finding satisfaction through money ("Losing Moses on the Freeway: The 10 Commandments in America," by Chris Hedges) and 2) Paying my bills.

The book wasn't exactly news, but it was a good reminder that despite the prevailing culture, we reach our highest potential by helping others. Simply put: Self-worship is bad; community is good. No problem with that, none at all. (Still, I was disappointed in the book, and I have yet to figure out why. Will have to ponder for a while and see what, if anything, occurs to me. Yeah, I know--you're all aflutter.)

As for the bills, it was comforting to find I was caught up and I even had a little money leftover. So, for today, all is well.

And that will have to do.

The limits of the "forgetful" defense

Being a graduate of a journalism program who has also toiled on the outskirts of the journalism profession lo these many years, I find the whole Judy Miller/Valerie Plame hubbub of some interest. And having seen my own memory (which was never of the steel trap variety) become less reliable in recent years, I can appreciate that people of a certain age may indeed forget details of relatively recent events. However, the latest "Oops, I plumb forgot" from Miller boggles. As Arianna Huffington so aptly put it:

"When the Plame case broke open in July 2003, these notes were presumably no more than a few weeks old. But who had revealed Plame’s name was not seared on Miller's mind?
This is as believable as Woodward and Bernstein not recalling who Deep Throat was. It also means that Judy went to jail to protect a source she can't recall."

Which leads me to wonder just how dumb do Miller and others think we are.

Sadly, considering the non-reaction to all of this, they've guessed about right.

Sheesh!

Ran across some disturbing graffiti at Dog Heaven yesterday, written in magic marker on a log that serves as a seat next to the Mill River. To wit: "Yuppie scum, increasing homelessness since 1980."

WTF?

Ah, well. If only Northampton had remained a sleepy little factory town, with no pesky culture or commerce or diversity to befoul the Eden that it once was. And if only those factories hadn't closed, leaving the town in even more dire straights.

For a friend of mine who attended Smith in the late '50s/early '60s told me that Northampton was a bit of a dump back then, certainly not a candidate for the best small arts town in America as it is now.

I could understand the antagonism if the "yuppie scum" had closed all the factories, or razed all the buildings and put up hideous modern cubes in their place (that's Smith College's job), or somehow cheated the existing residents out of their homes for rock-bottom prices, but that's not the case. And that these same people who bemoan the "Scum" invading their towns sell their homes willingly to the "Scum" and do their shopping in places that ensure more American jobs go overseas, well, the enemy is alive and well and looking at us in our mirrors, as always.

Let's focus on the here and now, people, not some bygone era that is gone, if indeed it ever existed.

Speaking of the here and now, I've seen a sign against the Community Preservation Act (CPA) and a sign for the CPA. Both signs were handmade, but the pro-CPA sign carried the day, IMHO. It said, simply: "No to sprawl, Yes to CPA." Of course, there's more to it than that, but it certainly isn't "yet another baseless tax," as I've seen it described around town and in the papers.

With all the taxes we pay for insanity (the war in Iraq, for one major example), wouldn't it be nice to have a tax that actually served us as a community?

Yeah, I know. Color me naive....

Blinking, they left their caves...

Did I dream it, or did I see sunshine today? I think I did, but as it got bleak again shortly after my supposed sighting, I'm wondering if I made it all up--some sort of weather-induced hallucination, brought on by days of rain and clouds, clouds and rain, ad infinitum.....

The dogwoods in our front yard have vibrant red berries that have inspired a bird feeding frenzy the likes of which I've never seen. And so much for "birds of a feather"--there have been so many different birds sharing the bounty on the trees and ground, we haven't been able to identify them all. Linda was parked in the front bay window with a Petersen guide most of the morning, and she still doesn't know who they all are.

Oh dear--are we on the brink of becoming birdwatchers? Nothing wrong with that, but I hadn't planned on taking up that hobby until my 60s.

Further signs of middle age:
We went to a free workshop yesterday at ReStore in Springfield on making your house more energy efficient. It was packed. With other middle-aged folks like us. Sigh.

At the end, the presenter announced a promotion whereby each of us could get a free fluorescent bulb, just for filling out a form.

There was almost a stampede.

Linda and I came home and happily installed our new money-saving bulbs in the big bathroom. We turned the lights on and were both pleased at the result.

Yes, it's come to this.

Dreary doesn't begin to describe it.

New England during monsoon season is as dreary as anything one can imagine. True, it helps that there are vibrant leaves about, but thanks to all of the rain, they're mostly underfoot, which is pretty but treacherous (they're slippery little suckers).

That the dogs do not smell their best damp isn't helping the general ambiance around here, either.

And though I am not a cat person, I cannot help but be worried that our Butler's blood work indicates there may be some cancer in his carcass. Nothing's definite until the biopsy results are in next week, but he apparently has an abundance of the sort of white cells that signal big trouble.

We shall have to wait and see, as is almost always the case.

On other fronts, I just finished a little bit of freelance work, so feel terribly productive and all that. It's silly what a little paid work will do for this gal, but then, it's not silly what not having any paid work would do to this gal, so we'll just enjoy work when it comes.

In the hopes that it will feel welcome and keep coming back for more, see?

As for "real" work prospects, there's been no word from the earnest folks I interviewed with last week. And my experience suggests that no news from a prospective employer is generally bad news.

But you know, I'm handlin' it.

That's one of my favorite movie lines of all times, btw. It's from the classic "Desert Hearts," and it's the wonderful reply to a not-terribly liked woman saying, "Long time no see." (Isn't that wonderful? Maybe you had to be there....)

Finally made my lodging reservations for my P-town roundup performance. Perhaps one of these decades I will get my act together and stay around for the whole roundup, but considering my finances and all, it's likely best this is another over-nighter. Besides, it might be weird to perform for people one night, then spill my guts in workshops the next.

Perhaps it's best to keep a little separation between my comedy and program, eh? (That's my rationalization du jour, anyway.)

What else is new? Well, the president is now talking about reducing (or was it eliminating?) the individual tax deductions for mortgage interest and health care expenses, which would eliminate two of my major sources of tax relief for good.

Of course, since the miracle that is Busheconomics has hit my personal fan in the form of a 66% paycut, I guess I won't have high taxes to worry about for the foreseeable.

There's some good news in there somewhere, right?

No matter how you slice it, I just can't make Bush funny. He's a shitheel to end all shitheels, and I can find no relief from the ruination he's causing through The Comedy.

Yet.

What a relief!

The show last night went just fine (not my best, but certainly not my worst); but more important, there was no sign of animus from the impresario I thought I had offended to the detriment of my career and the careers of all who know me.

On the contrary, I received a more gracious reception than I would have ever expected--said impresario even announced the show I cancelled my appearance at his club for!

That was a very classy gesture, don't you think? (Or is it really a sign of my giant insignificance to this man?)

Or both?

You know, I don't really care, I am just grateful. For heaven's sake, I squirmed for days at the thought that I had offended him--I thought I had given up thoughtlessly offending people when I gave up drinking, and it really bothered me to think I could do it stone-cold sober. (Not exactly progress, you know?)

Oh happy day!

It was also a great night for Jennifer Myszkowski and the other member of the Western Mass. Comics Association on the roster, Mike Lemme. Jennifer got heckled and handled it beautifully--heroically, even. For the heckler derailed her train of thought, but she still managed to keep the crowd laughing. In fact, she raised the level of hilarity through her response to the heckler and her own discombobulation.

It was a joy to behold, let me tell you.

And so was young Mr. Lemme--how anyone at the age of 15 can find humor in life and convey it is beyond my comprehension (I was so damn bleak at his age, I can't begin to tell you). He has some great material, and I hope nothing deters him from his comic destiny.

The teen years are fraught, don't you know.

But then, so are one's 40s--but for completely different reasons. (Thank God.)

Now I have to clean up my office a bit, so I have room to do some new work that's come in (thank you God x 2). The bill for Butler represents a week of work as a temp, for heaven's sake, so every little bit helps.

November 1st it is!

So, my callback to the Laughing Liberally folks is on the 1st of November at StandUp New York (I think that's how they spell their name; will verify when I have more time). More details to come, in other words.

Elsewise, I just brought Butler home from the vet's, and he isn't happy. (Then again, when is he?) He didn't have surgery after all, because he was too dehydrated and the vet was worried about what else might be going on, so instead he had some bloodwork done and (Grossout alert: the following is not for the squeamish) a biopsy is being done on a fragment of bone and tissue that came out of his head when the vet pulled on a loose tooth.

Altogether now: Gak!

He now is taking painkillers along with his antibiotics, and we'll find out whether he has an infection or cancer in about a week. Did find out that his kidneys are starting to go, which is not at all unusual in a cat that is the equivalent of 105 years of age.

Well, speaking of the dear cats, it is getting to be feeding time, and I need to get out of here by 4:00 so I can rendez-vous with my comedy buddy and a young comic who is also on the bill at The Comedy Studio tonight. Will let you know how it all goes tomorrow, promise.

File under "What do I know?"

Despite my baseless (so what else is new?) fears of age discrimination and beyond, I managed to get a callback for the Laughing Liberally Showcase. They phoned last night, actually, which is darn civilized of them and bodes well.

(I could have squirmed all week, don't you know--I'm quite capable of it, just ask Linda.)

My next attempt will be in November in NYC at a venue my friends can come to--happy day! Once I find out the date, I will be spreading the word far and wide, not to worry.

Now I need to figure out what my most "liberal" material is, and put it together for tomorrow night's show at The Comedy Studio. Am excited and nervous and grateful I don't have to do anything but clean the house today (concentrating on any sort of "job" would be impossible under these conditions).

Elsewise, I brought Butler to the vet this morning, only to have to bring him home. The vet got the flu, for pity's sake, so I rescheduled for tomorrow with another vet. It was less than fun feeding the dogs while the cats carried on shamelessly, and I'm not happy I get to do that yet again tomorrow.

And I also got to try to get Butler to take his medicine, which entailed spitting and growling and fuss the likes of which I haven't experienced since I last heard something uttered by the "Rev." Fred Phelps.

Now, I must go take a pre-housecleaning nap. (Now who's being shameless?)

Hey--there are precious few "perks" to being under-employed, and taking a nap when needed is one of them.

Butler's immortality hits a snag.

After a very long period when I thought he was going to die at any minute but didn't, I had become reconciled to the fact that I was likely going to have to make provisions for Linda's ancient cat Butler in my will. He is decrepit and cranky and as slow moving a feline as I'd ever seen, but he wasn't getting any better or any worse for so long, I figured he had a paw on eternity.

Well, I may have figured wrong. He woke up this morning with a swollen face and a bloody nose, so I brought him to the vet. (That I am not bleeding is a minor miracle--he doesn't go to the vet quietly, shall we say.)

The result? Butler is going in for surgery tomorrow morning, for he may have 1) An abscess; 2) a bad tooth (or teeth); or 3) cancer.

Poor old guy. Poor Linda. She has known he was pushing his mortal envelope for all it was worth for a while now, but she's also known him his entire life, and the thought of his death is too much to bear.

Which explains why I went to the vet, not her. They left me, a non-cat person, in an examining room with the old codger for an uncomfortably long time--he kept trying to walk off the stainless steel table, but I knew the fall would kill him, so I ran interference. Quite literally.

Again, the fact that my skin is intact is a miracle. He usually bites/scratches first, then asks questions later. Actually, he skips the questions part, too.

Well, we shall see....

SOP: Foulups and missteps

I've been a bad, bad comic. Well, at least where one comic impresario is concerned, this I know. Was scheduled to perform at his club two weeks from now, but found out it was the same night as a fabulous show that I promised to perform in ages ago but didn't get the date until last week, and so cancelled with the comedy club impresario, explaining I had another show I HAD to attend.

Big mistake.

I should have said a family issue came up, apparently (which, as the show was for GLBT folks in recovery, would be stretching the truth but a little), for I have offended said impresario perhaps beyond repair. Simply put, I thought of The Comedy as a business, but sadly, it's a lot more like dating. You don't throw over a date just because you just got a chance with a sure thing.

And friends, there is little more sure in this life than the reception my comedy will get in a room full of sober queers, let me tell you.

And as I've had more than a few shows lately where the largely (if not completely) straight audience has regarded me as though I had an extra noggin' or two, I really could use a recharge with "my" people.

But it may have been at the expense of my budding career in a room to the East.

Oh dear, what to do? I've been worrying myself a little sick about it, not so much for my sake, but because I fear my misstep will cost my comedy buddy and anyone else affiliated with me points with said impresario.

Goddess willing, he'll keep his pique focused on me, where it belongs--but as the old Lotto slogan goes, "Hey, you never know." What to do, what to do? Apologize, this I know. Will see him soon, and see what, if anything, can be done.

On other fronts, I had an interview this week that left me disappointed. The position sounded cool, but then, it turned out to be something else. Not that I'm in any position to turn down the job if it is offered, but I am not too broken up at the prospect that I think I didn't impress the folks in the "cool" job any more than the job impressed me.

And how about the audition yesterday? Who the heck knows?! I did pretty well, I think (at least the nice woman from Minnesota who was checking comics in said so), but the people "casting" the liberal show were on the young side, and may not see me as a fit.

Of course, there could be a myriad of reasons why I wouldn't fit their vision besides my age, for "liberal" means many things to many people. We shall see next week.

As for other prospects, I came home to two rejection letters for jobs I had a hope or two for, so right now I'm not exactly happy about the life and times of yours truly.

I'm also bone tired, which doesn't help matters, either. Happily, it's raining, so we won't be able to work on our deck today (I'm trying to contain my disappointment), and are taking it easy. This I can do. (With passion, even.)

We have reservations for dinner and a play tonight, and I think a little break from my preoccupation with The Comedy and the Job Hunt will be good for me. And, likely, you.

One last thing: New York City was surprisingly hot and disgusting yesterday, and I was horrified to be caught behind so many smokers--cigarettes and cigars--while trying to get to where I wanted to go on foot. (As there is an alert regarding an attack on the subways, I promised Linda I wouldn't take them. Got a whole lotta walking in yesterday, let me tell you!) Almost had to pull my inhaler out near Madison Square Garden--sheesh! But I still love New York, for I love New Yorkers. In fact, since she worked near to where I had my audition, I managed to have lunch with Ellen, a dear friend I don't get to see nearly enough. And if you're a New York-based friend who I didn't see yesterday (yes, Val and/or Joan, I mean you), I will be back--for comedy, I hope--and will give you a call. Promise.

Here's hoping the liberals let me.

That was easy!

The interview I had scheduled for this morning? Cancelled.

I had a feeling, truth be told, so I e-mailed the interviewer last night to ask if we were still on.

Well, we weren't.

Good thing I checked (I don't like driving the Pike when I have to, much less for a nonexistent interview). He likely wouldn't have bothered, as he is also the person who asked for a "professional manor" in his Help Wanted ad on Craigslist.

Yes, manor. Was tempted to ask, "I live in a humble ranch--can I still apply?" But of course, I didn't. The job market is not one to allow sarcasm or anything resembling spine, from all appearances.

Finished, "Bait and Switch" last night, the latest from Barbara Ehrenreich (she of "Nickled and Dimed" fame). It was a major downer, as we used to say, until the end, when she had some choice words about the current requirement for employees to have passion in their work. It rang true, shall we say?

Will try to find it and report on it here, but now I must go eat lunch. At home. Happily, as you may imagine.

The mad round of pleasure continues....

Well, tomorrow is my last day at the school department, and, I'm bemused to note, I'm going to miss (most of) those people. Who'd a thunk it?

File that under "Sweet Surprise."

But no, I don't regret my decision not to go for the job--I have two interviews this week (one Wednesday, one Thursday) and while I have no idea if I'm a match for either, I still have options that do not involve answering the phones and taking notes at long, drawn-out, meetings and dealing with board members who seem to be on a permanent fault-finding mission (they, of course, have none).

And, last but not least, I have an audition on Friday. Yes, an audition. In New York City. For a liberal comedy troupe, of all things.

The day after I interview with a nonprofit dedicated to peace in Amherst.

Life is one crazy patchwork quilt, eh?

I am exhausted already, just contemplating this list. Plus, I spent most of the weekend with a power sander in my hand, trying to get the 1,345 layers of paint off our deck. Not pretty, not easy, not possible. Not in two days, anyway.

And painful as heck. Did I mention that?

(Life without ibuprofen would be impossible.)

Must toddle--have to get my rest, for tomorrow night my friend Holly Givens and I are the visual aids for a intro to standup comedy class. Will do my best to represent The Comedy.