Another great show!

The second "Girls!Girls!Girls!" was a hit, from all appearances, even if one of the comics was unable to come (she got "travel sickness," poor duck). I was happy to be on the docket rather early, for I was then able to relax and enjoy the show--and there was a lot to enjoy. Jennifer did the usual fabulous job of hosting, and as usual, her joke about that pasty white substance had the crowd helpless with laughter. If there is a joke Hall of Fame, that joke belongs there.

Other good news: A lot of people that said they were going to show up actually did, indeed, SHOW UP. That was wonderful, too!

And the comments from the audience warmed the cockles, what can I say? My favorite Red Hat Lady was there, as were some folks I'd never seen before in my life. That they came up to me to thank me, very specifically, for my set was touching. I never had the nerve to do that before I became a comic, so I am really moved when people who are not in the "public spectacle" business come up to talk.

It felt really good to perform. Thanks to the insanity that has been the past few months, I haven't had much stage time of late, and while that's understandable (a gal's gotta have a way to make a living), I have to take steps to make more comedy happen this year, really and truly.

We shall see what we can do.....

Girls! Girls! Girls! The Comedy is upon us!!!

Yes, tomorrow night is the big show in Easthampton, and I'm starting to get a wee bit aflutter at the prospect. Have been sooooo silly busy the past couple of weeks, I haven't had a lot of time to worry about it (which is good), but I have been thinking about what I was going to do this week while driving hither and yon.

(Wherever that is.)

But the thing is, I'll be ready. WOO!

On other fronts, I've been noticing that "Brokeback Mountain" is starting to make inroads into the national vernacular. I've seen references to it in political cartoons and elsewhere, and while it might be used perjoratively for the most part, I prefer some high school kid warning another kid "Don't get all Brokeback on me" to calling him a "Faggot" any day.

Faggot is just one of those words, you know? Unless you're an idiot, and call a lesbian a faggot. That verges on the tragicomic. I haven't had that disorienting experience, but I have heard enough lesbians report they have to be grateful I've missed this particular insult.

Count yer blessings, say I! And now, it's time to go to bed. I get to sleep in tomorrow morning, and that is a rare and wonderful thing.

Hope to see you tomorrow night!

"Brokeback Mountain" and beyond

We finally saw the glbt film of the year last night, and I have been haunted by Heath Ledger's Ennis ever since. He was so tight, so wary, so tightlipped, so heartbreaking--the American male stereotype turned in on itself to the nth degree. I have met men like Ennis before. He reminded me of a couple of men I knew as a child growing up in Wisconsin, and I wonder whatever happened to them.

Sadly, the film wasn't a period piece in other respects. Homophobia of the homicidal variety is still alive and well in this country, and Matthew Shepherd wasn't the last man to find that out in the "wild" west.

The west isn't really wild after all, is it? Rather hidebound to tradition, from all appearances.

But, the movie is being seen far and wide, so I hope that people who may be on the fence regarding our rights--to exist, if nothing else--will see the harm that is caused by forcing people into the heterosexual mold when it just doesn't fit.

Those people who can see this film and think that death by mob and a lonely life in a desolate trailer park is what these homos deserved--well, I don't know what to say, but you'd have to have a bit of coal where your heart is not to see their suffering and loneliness. Maybe it takes a leap, but I think their suffering and loneliness wouldn't be necessary in a world where "love thy neighbor" meant anything at all.

And the fact that this film got made--and made and recognized and heralded by critics--well, that does give one a little bit of hope. And Felicity Huffman's speech at the Golden Globes--I loved her before, but love her even more now. Note to Drew Barrymore: Honey, your continental shelf is no longer self-supporting. There comes a time in every women's life when gravity wins your body's tug of war, and yours has arrived.....

On other fronts, I have to break the news to the non-profit folks that I am signing up with the corporate sector tomorrow. I have enjoyed my walk on the non-profit side very much, but the prospect of financial insecurity looms too large. We have mouths and mortgages to feed, after all.

My mother, the child of the depression, would be so pleased. Me, I'm a little depressed....

Mortality: The word that few drivers recognize

Have been driving a lot lately. More than I have in years, maybe ever. How much more? I already have more miles on the car I bought in April than I did after four years with my last car.

What I've noticed: I come by my dislike of highway driving honestly. If only I didn't have that pesky sense of my own mortality, driving on the highway would be a breeze, but--well, my folks up and died, and now I know for a fact that I, too, carry the mortality gene. And I, too, realize that I could be crushed into a very small, no-longer-breathing package in very short order if in an accident at highway speeds. Particularly with a very large truck.

This, I know. Judging from the way other people drive--whether on dry pavement or slick, icy roads--I am one of the few people burdened with this knowledge.

And, from my observations, a lot of the people who appear to be least aware of their own mortality either a) drive pickup trucks, SUVs, or vans and b) have more than one form of ribbon decal on their vehicles.

Support our troops = Drive with reckless disregard for human life in gas-guzzlers.

Just had to share this...

I've been an absent blogger, this I know, but as I have been working away from home and working evenings to boot, blogging opportunities just aren't what they used to be.

That said, I must share something I saw on a sign in front of a church I pass every day during my commute (this may be a paraphrase, sorry):

"Christ wanted spiritual fruits....not religious nuts."

Isn't that just wonderful?

What I need now is something to make me laugh about the confirmation hearings of Judge Alito I've been listening to during my commute. My goddess, that man couldn't get to the point with a compass, a divining rod, and a GPS. What a wily critter!

Lastly, my friend Jennifer is trying to get me into the newspaper to promote her big show on the 28th. I'm happy to oblige, don't you know, and will definitely let you know if that comes to pass. While we're on the topic of The Comedy, my show on the 20 was cancelled, alas.

Some other time, perhaps.

Now, I must be off to bed.

Thirteen: The year of the textile?

Today is our 13th anniversary. Not wedding anniversary, mind you (such an option wasn't available back when we first got together), but of us. We've been an item for 13 years, and that, dear people, is a record in both of our relationship books. Happy day!

One is supposed to get textiles on one's 13th anniversary, but I don't have the cash for bedding or lace or whatever the heck that means. I won't tell you what I did get Linda, for it is the sort of gift that certain people would remind me of for the rest of my natural life.

Linda will likely do it, anyway, so why give more people fodder?

On other fronts, I almost got in an accident this morning, thanks to the DPW--yes, the folks who cost me a tire and $120 last year because of their gross neglect have raised the stakes. They had lined up their trucks so that they blocked one lane of traffic on a very narrow stretch of Route 66--just around the corner where yours truly couldn't see them. Until the very last minute.

If someone had been coming from the opposite direction at that very last minute, I would have spent the morning on an accident report. Or worse.

The Department of Public Shirks STRIKES AGAIN!

Well, almost.

Last time, they at least had the fallback of saying they had "Men Working" signs up, but this time, they didn't even have that. So I rolled down my window as I passed their row of trucks and shouted, "GET SOME SIGNAGE, YOU IDIOTS!"

They aren't just lazy and stupid, they're DANGEROUS.

God save us all from the DPW...which comes out "Dopes" in spellcheck.

Just thought you should know.

Aleut internment: Who knew?

Not me! While I had heard of the interment of Japanese Americans during WWII, I had never heard about the Alaskan natives that were swept out of their homes on the Aleutian Islands and into camps in Southeast Alaska during the same war. It happened after the Japanese had invaded the last island of the chain, so it was ostensibly to protect the Aleuts from being casualties of war, not because they posed any sort of threat to the U.S.

The problem is, no one protected the Aleuts from what happened to them in the camps, which were largely abandoned, decrepit factories. They had no plumbing or running water, and scant food, clothing, heat, and medical care. According to a documentary we saw on the topic, Aleut Story, their living conditions were much worse than those the U.S. provided German P.O.W.s. As you would imagine, many died--the Aleuts died at about the same rate as Americans in P.O.W. camps in Europe, if I heard correctly--and a lot of Aleut culture was lost along with the people.

Also, no one protected the homes and churches the Aleuts left behind--the government billeted U.S. soldiers in the homes, and they trashed them. They also vandalized the towns and stole artifacts from the churches, and generally behaved like barbarians--which was a term members of the press had used to describe Aleuts. Typical.

If that weren't enough, the government bullied Aleuts into killing seals each summer, even Aleuts who had better jobs in the capital or in the military--sealskin was a big money-maker in those days, and the government used the Aleuts as cheap labor to "harvest" the crop.

Is this sounding familiar? Yikes!

It's yet another shameful, terribly racist episode in our country's history, one glossed over--if not ignored altogether--in the history books I read in school. Thank goddess the Internet has resources galore on this story, so I can catch up. Apparently, reparations have been made, but how can you make up for a baby whose life was cut short because her mother couldn't keep her warm enough to get over pneumonia? Or how can you replace a stolen artifact from a Russian Orthodox church that had been brought over from the Mother Country years, if not centuries, before?

Sadly, I don't think the powers that be learned much from this episode, if the fate of the 9th Ward in New Orleans is any indication.

Yes, that's me--Miss Uplift. At your service! Methinks the fact that my cold is still holding on for dear life has me in a mood.

Not 100%, but getting there

It's been a week, but the less said, the better. Am enjoying the gig with the non-profit so far, but do have a lot of uncertainty on my horizon, which I suppose is better than deadly dull in-a-rut certainty, but not very easy on the nerves.

Didn't feel too hot at the open MIC on Thursday night, but the material was mostly new and untested and I am still trying to get over a very nasty cold, so what did I expect? Was surprised that some of my material was received as it was, though. Am not giving up on the "trickle down" joke, but I had a lot to contend with this week, and The Comedy suffered for it. The good news is that my riff on my current pay situation did work--to wit, from here on in, we're going to party like it's 1989.

Oh well. Now, I must go and paint--we're still painting, believe it or not.

Is this residual painter karma, courtesy of my father the painting contractor? I don't know, but it is something I wonder about, when I'm not thinking about everything else that's going on these days.

Which is a lot--but again, the less said the better. Alas.

Believe me, I am not comfortable being a Woman of Mystery, but that's the only way to go and keep my body and soul together.

Snow day?!

Haven't even begun my new job, and already I've had a day off!

Not exactly, but my re-entry into the workforce has been delayed due to weather.

Mother Nature swept in with a storm of no small substance last night and throughout today, so I got up early, showered and dressed FOR NO GOOD REASON.

Those of you who work from home will understand what that means.

The good news is that I got a call from my future supervisor telling me to not bother trying to get into work--very nice, that--and Linda took the day off too (her company NEVER closes, from what I hear). That meant I didn't nap alone later this morning, which is always nicer. I know, I know--such sloth! But last night I strained my neck somehow and went to bed with a heating pad, and never quite got comfortable enough to sleep. Well, until 4:30 a.m. or so.

If I may share some personal, painful experience--no matter how bad things get for you, never ask "What next?"

Also, I was not alone in trying to clear the driveway. That stuff was serious--not the fluffy white powder of the last big storm, but heavy, wet, and snow-throw jamming icy badness.

Tomorrow is supposed to be clear, from all reports. Here's hoping. I am getting itchy to get started on something, don't you know....

The Year of the Jennifer Myszkowski begins!

Happy 2006! This was not a New Year's for the record books, but considering the year I've had, I am not in the least surprised. The cold that came on Christmas morn was (and is) still making itself known--we're at what I like to call the "Never Can Say Goodbye Girl" phase, where the worst is definitely over, but the so-n-so of a cold is not quite ready to call it quits. Soon, please goddess, let it be soon.

New Year's Eve was very quiet, just Linda, me, and the beasts all huddled on the guest room futon watching a wonderful special about Miss Peggy Lee. Seeing her sing "Fever," "I'm a Woman," and the best of all, "Is That All There Is?" was a fabulous way to end the year. Have always adored "Is That All There Is?" even though it doesn't reflect my current world view--but as you can imagine, it summed things up nicely for me when I was a drinking gal. "Let's break out the booze and have a ball, if that's all...there is." A classy call to get shitfaced--what more could a drunk want?

On the subject of class, I do wonder who thought it was a good idea to put a mic into the hands of post-stroke Dick Clark this New Year. Will they be embalming him a la Chairman Mao when his time comes and rolling him out at the stroke of midnight?

But then, maybe it was a good thing, to be reminded that we may have many New Year Rockin' Eves in us, but sooner or later, old age will come knockin', too.

On that cheery note, I have some last bits of home-based business to attend to before I start my new career tomorrow. I'm even looking forward to the drive, now that I know Rachael Maddow will be on the radio for part of my trip--she's starting a new "double-wide" show from 7-9 a.m. Eastern time tomorrow. A new job and some time with Rachel: Life is good!