Comedy, comedy, and more comedy!!!

Am gearing up to return to the workaday world tomorrow, which is almost a pleasant prospect. Don't worry, this is not a budding workaholic talking--I am feeling tremendously rested, for one thing; for another, the coming week features shows galore. I will be performing Wednesday night at the Laughing Liberally Lab in NYC, Saturday at La Trattoria in Canton, CT and Sunday at The Comedy Studio in Cambridge, MA--my goddess, this is a week for The Comedy!

After this week, however, the pickin's become slim--Saharan, practically. I appear to be in a comedy lull, and am unsure how to get myself in circulation. Must follow up on a lead, as well as hope something comes of my Wednesday gig--a return engagement, at the very least.

We shall see....

Speaking of seeing, my Linda took some wonderful photos of our vacation, and I hope to get them up soon. Although considering what the week holds, soon may be a relative term....

Back from the land of my foremothers and fathers

We arrived safely home from our vacation to Wisconsin--well, semi-vacation, if one is to be exact about it. We were there to see family and friends, true, but we also were there to see what was going on with my Aunt B--she's been losing weight and having trouble breathing for months now, and the doctors were finally going to come up with a diagnosis this week.

As I already mentioned, the three most likely explanations for her condition included the Big C, which is cancer for those of you who have been spared that particular euphemism. So, while we were there to visit, we were also there to worry with them.

Does that constitute a holiday? Perhaps...as it turned out.

The diagnosis? As my Uncle R said the moment they arrived from the doctor, "It isn't cancer." Happy day!

Of course, what she does have isn't a walk in the park, either. It's called unusual interstitial pneumonia, and from what little I can find on the Internet (and make any sense of--it appears to only be discussed in dense medical journals that aren't meant to be deciphered by the likes of me), it can be a wily beast to treat.

But it beats lung cancer, this I know.

Now, I must go to PACE to practice my "Liberal" set for next week that I was supposed to write on holiday....which I didn't....but who cares? My Aunt B has a treatable disease! WOO!

The cheesesteak barometer

Last night's show? A stinker. The audience? Me? I don't really care.

How much do I not care? I didn't crave ice cream after the show.

That's apathy of an unprecedented sort, but I'm not worried. It will pass.

Actually, after about a week, I'm guessing. I am on vacation, and though I didn't really plan this, having the week off after the exhausting enterprise that was Take Our Daughters and Sons to Work Day is a gift.

Realized a vacation was a really good idea when I found myself getting testy at the cafeteria this afternoon. Over a cheesesteak. I'm really rarely one to fuss, but today I was G**damned if I was going to let the lady behind me in line get a cheesesteak when I had been in line longer.

I felt like crap most of the afternoon over this episode, even though that cheesesteak was rightfully mine. (Recovering Catholic is a misnomer--we never recover.)

However, when one finds oneself in high dudgeon over a cheesesteak, it is time to take a step back and say, "What's going on here?"

I know, not to worry. I'm exhausted and my nerves are shot. A dear friend from the old days used to point at his wrist when highly irritated and say, "See this? This is my last nerve, and you're stepping on it!" Well, my last nerve was shot about 18 hours ago, so this vacation is happening at an opportune time.

Wish it could have happened before The Cheesesteak Incident, but that's my life in a nutshell. (In sum: This gal must do something really embarrassing before she GETS IT.)

Today was not all shot nerves and embarrassment. Received some nice kudos re the aforementioned nightmare of a project, and had a nice chair massage after lunch. (Yes, one can get a chair massage in the building I work in--Corporate America ain't all bad.) I haven't indulged myself in such fashion in ages, and it felt great--I was loose as a goose after that, and think I may have to find a way to work a chair massage into my regular rotation.

But now, now I need to go to sleep. This day has been more than enough.

It's official!

My name may be misspelled, but it's up on the Laughing Liberally website lineup for May 10 @ 9:30.

Believe it!

I am very happy of the prospect of performing in a friendly space--more friendly than an Elks Club in Glastonbury, at the very least!

(Though, come to think of it, they warmed up after a while.....)

That's today's big news, for the rest is all kvetch and consternation.

I am sooooo over the joy that is Take Your Daughters and Sons to Work Day, you have no idea. (Unless, of course, you've been in my orbit in the past four weeks--then you have all too much of an idea, and I apologize.)

It will all be over soon--less than 48 hours from now, the concerns of the parents among me will no longer be my business, and I am almost blissful at the prospect.

Lessons learned.....

Had a great time at the Girls!Girls!Girls! (and a guy) comedy show last night, and wish I could have stayed around to congratulate the comics. Alas, our recovering pooch Linus was making odd coughing sounds when we left for the show, so we hurried home as soon as Jennifer closed her set--and what a great set it was! (Podiatry and childlessness = hilarity--who'd a thunk?)

Linus was fine, of course.

During yesterday's comedy confab, Jennifer and I discussed the fact that people have told her that both being in a relationship and having a baby are crucial to a full, rich life, for they help one learn so much about oneself. While I'll leave Jennifer's reactions to those assertions to her comedic genius (and she's already crafted a winner from the baby side of this equation), they led me to think that 13 years into my long-term relationship, I have learned things about myself I could have lived without knowing, truth be told.

For one thing, being in a relationship has taught me what a petty, hyper-sensitive grudge-muffin I can become.

That's almost as encouraging as what I learned from my colonoscopy last year--that my colon is fine, but it's twisted. For this, I had to have a camera pushed up my bucket?

Harrumph!

I'm sure there are many more lessons than these in my past and future, and I will strive to report on them for your viewing pleasure.

But for now, I must get back to my laundry and balancing my checking account--to paraphrase the Carpenters, "Rainy days and Sundays always get me down...."

The upside of reduced expectations

Went into last night's show prepared for a chilly reception--anytime someone tells me the crowd is "blue collar," tough sledding can be ahead. For in my experience, the blue collar set can be fabulous--if anyone should have sympathy for the struggles of someone, a blue collar person should--but if heavy on the guys, they can also be unreceptive to anything that is outside their norms. And if anything is outside their norms in rural NE, it's a Midwestern, recovering-alcoholic lesbian that talks about her fellow homos on a regular basis.

And when that said lesbian equates tailgating with homosexual activity--well, that hits a discomfort zone, apparently. (If I had a $1 for every time that joke caused straight men to cross their arms over their chests, I would have enough for a night on the town.)

Be that as it may, I had a great show--the tailgating joke caused an uproar of a great kind. Happily, no matter what collar they wore during the day, these folks were there for the laughs, and laugh they did.

Made me happy to be a comic, and look forward to my next show. (My next show is Thursday night in Cambridge at The Comedy Studio, in case you're wondering.)

But for now, I must dash to town--it's time for a comedy confab with my friend Jennifer, who is having a wonderful show tonight at PACE (we plan to be in the audience--you should, too!).

Sheer madness...

Today was a crazy, hectic day, and I only found myself whimpering once. The project I have been charged with is the corporate equivalent of being nibbled to death by ducks, without the death part.

Just nibbled.

The ducks? Yes, they exist in human form, and while I like ducks with webbed feet, I'm not terribly fond of the ones with toes.

The good news is that there is an end in sight to this task--next Thursday, in fact.

And the day after that? Friday.

And the week after that? Vacation.

I am a lucky, luck gal....as long as I survive this week and the next, that is.

On other fronts, my comedy buddy Jennifer is throwing a great girls comedy night this Saturday at PACE in Easthampton--you should go!

Better, better, better!

Jaded? If the sensible shoe fits....

While I am rested at last (after a bizarre six-hour nap that seized me Saturday afternoon), I could still use a bit more weekend. There are still about 17 things on my To-Do list, which means that I got a little ambitious.

Ambition, that's something I try to avoid--it's the path to heartache and frustration, this I know.

Watched the GLAAD awards on the GLBT Logo channel with some friends last night , and I'm afraid we're all past the "We Are Family" stage of existence. We had little patience for the endless speeches about our rights and how normal we are and how our day will come and all that assorted happy horse hockey. (Although I could watch Charlize Theron talk about us for the rest of my natural life. Sorry.)

Of course, I still believe these basic truths ("The Earth only spins forward" and so on), don't get me wrong, but these bon mots have been in circulation a while now, and they just don't stir me as they used to--oh dear, You're not getting older, you're getting bitter.

Of course, if I were not a former drag queen aficionado (am looking for substitutes for the dreaded "Fag Hag," excuse me) I would not know this phrase, so membership in the GLBT club has its perks, certainly. Many, many perks.

However, there is a downside or two. Lesbian film, for one. We bought a DVD with a collection of 10 short lesbian films, and all but two raised the question, "And your point is, exactly?" Most of the screenwriters appeared to suffer from what I am calling the "Claire of the Moon" syndrome; i.e., if it happened to me, it's fascinating.

It's a problem I suffered with when trying to become a fiction writer, so I am not without sympathy for anyone struggling under the weight of their own dramatic (to me/myself/I) past. And some people can write of the specifics of their lives in a way that touches the universal, making their stories resonate in a way that makes the specific, even if it bares no resemblance to one's own life, touching in its familiarity. Eudora Welty springs to mind; there are many, many others.

However, sometimes the specific is specific in such a way it just makes one go "Huh? What was that about?" It doesn't make that crucial connection to the shared consciousness.

That's was the problem with "Claire of the Moon," and is the problem with "The L Word" Jenny storyline, and also is the problem with 8 of the 10 short films in the collection we bought.

The second downside to being a member of the GLBT club? Lesbian music. Now, I like Sleater Kinney and other lesbian-heavy rock bands just fine, but I'm talking about the earnest, heartfelt acoustic guitar hooey that just makes a gay gal want to run screaming from the building. Even though the band is led by a gay man, Erasure did a pretty good imitation of this sort of lesbian music during the awards ceremony last night, and we were all cringing.

But compared to the pain and humiliation I endured attempting to be a straight girl, these are minor quibbles indeed. I'm with Melissa Etheridge on this one: I'm grateful I get to live this life as a lesbian (and just hope it doesn't mean I have to come back as a Koran- or Bible-thumping someone or another).

Here's hoping....

Getting better all the time....

Ms. Malaprop strikes again

I was preparing supper and noticed that Oatmeal somehow wedged his carcass into the box that holds Linus' special (post-surgery) dog food.

Bemused at the latest idiocy from our local feline representative, I said, "What in the world will that silly cat do next?"

"Don't thank a gift horse in the house," Linda replied.

Yes, I am in communications. My partner, on the other hand....

A little dread never hurt anyone....

Sent off a DVD of a recent show at The Comedy Studio to an elderly aunt out in Nebraska, and have been worried about what she might think of it ever since.

Yes, yes, I know--internalized homophobia plays a part, but so does fear of what she learned at her mother's knee about alcoholics and alcoholism. Grandmother was co-chair of the local Christian Temperance Union, which means she had a "willpower" view of alcohol addiction (if drunks just had a little more self-control, they would be able to quit drinking themselves into a stupor).

Yeah, well, it was the times and all--the alcoholism as disease concept had not been embraced as of yet in Grandma's day. Geez, I hope it was the times, anyway, and not her cover for anti-immigrant sentiment (as was often the case with the CTU set). That is not the sort of thing one wants in one's ancestors, you know?

But she was a Republican, too, so anything is possible.

Well, the DVD is out there, so I just have to hope that maybe Aunt Babe will actually enjoy it--you never know!

On other fronts, I am really intrigued with the furor immigration "reform" is stirring up--all these puddin'head "assimilated Americans" want to slam shut the door that was held open for them a generation or three ago. Okay, maybe the door wasn't always held open, exactly, but they weren't charged with a felony for trying to make a better life for themselves. What kind of Nativist nonsense is that?!

Of course, I must admit, it's a little bit of a relief to see some other scapegoat appear on the Regressive Right's Radar--they have been beating the homo horse to death lately, and a little anti-immigrant hubbub gives us "assimilated American" dykes and fags a little breathing room.

Who am I kidding? I don't like immigrant-bashing any better than homo-bashing, and besides, there hasn't really been a letup on either front.

Those damn bigots have always been superb multi-taskers!

Our boy is back!

We brought our dear boy Linus home Thursday afternoon, and we're all relieved and grateful to have him back--all except Shwea and Oatmeal, that is (they enjoyed having the place to themselves, the little so-n-so's).

Linus was very drugged up when we brought him home, but restless--as though he didn't trust that he could relax here. Yesterday, he began to sleep in earnest, and today he's begun begging for food and was really disappointed when he couldn't go on a proper walk with Linda and Shwea this morning. (We have to restrict his movements until his stitches get out in 10 days or so.)

In other words, he's really getting better--oh, happy days!

And may I say, Linda has been a trooper through all of this. She not only was the one who saved his carcass to begin with, but she has also taken large chunks of time off from work to tend to our boy, and for that I will always be grateful.

And this morning, she saw how disappointed Linus was, so she bent down and showed him the part of the vet's instructions that said he couldn't take walks--it might not have meant a thing to Linus, but it charmed me tremendously.

What a sweetie!

On other fronts, I have a ton o' bills to get through, so close I must. And I should be keeping a close eye on Linus--we're supposed to keep him from licking his nether regions, which is rather like keeping a bunny from hopping. (Such is the nature of doctor's orders, eh?)

Lest I forget, the open mic on Thursday was just okay--the audience had mood swings all night, but they did seem to like some of my new material (especially on my twisted childhood--am almost grateful to note that all of that angst and insanity isn't going to waste!). The audience was a little less charitable to some of the other comics, though, and that I hate to see. Lighten up, folks--it's ENTERTAINMENT!!!

And I am working on getting on the Laughing Liberally stage in May--May 10, to be precise. NYC, here I come! (Or so I hope--will keep you posted.)

Monday without mercy

Our German Shepherd mix, Linus, came down with a terrible condition known colloquially as "bloat" this morning, and we're lucky he's still alive--if spending the next few nights at the vet's.

When I left for work this morning, he appeared fine--he was giving me the usual, "What--you're leaving?!" look out the window. Unfortunately, just a short while later, he was in serious distress--the good news is that even though Linda was on her way out the door, she noticed something wasn't right.

Before long, she was on her way to our vet. They had to put a tube down his stomach and sedate him, take x-rays, and more. They couldn't do the necessary surgery, however, so Linda called me from there--she was not willing to go through this alone, and who can blame her?--so I left work and came back home to be picked up and go with her and Linus to the emergency vet in Springfield. We spent most of the day there, waiting for the results of various tests, then to meet the surgeon, then to wait for the word as to whether our boy's stomach survived the episode intact, and more. His life was hanging in the balance more than once today, and I happy to report that so far, so good.

They had to remove his spleen, for it got all twisted up along with his stomach and couldn't be salvaged. The odd thing is that taking out the spleen can cause heart trouble--who knew? So, the next 24 hours or so are particularly dicey ones. We would appreciate any kind thoughts you can send his way, and if you have any pull with any major or minor (we're not fussy) deities, please see what you can do for our boy.

Speaking of kind thoughts, I am all for free speech and all, but vicious slams made under the thin cloak of anonymity I will not abide. You want to spew venom at homophobes and the POTUS? Have at it! You want to spew at my friends? Find yourself a new venue, chump--you're going to be deleted.

There's no business like show business....

...and for that, we should all be eternally grateful!

Last night's show was a deadly, soul-crushing exercise in futility, but otherwise I had a great night. The comedic camaraderie was key--we had a three-comic carpool to the show, and Jennifer, Holly, and I all rose above the pervasive gloom.

Ice cream played a part, of course.

And Jennifer just about laughed herself into a stupor on the way home. I don't think I can begin to explain what prompted her hilarity, but suffice to say she was laughing so hard, Holly and I had no choice but to join her.

Yes, it was the sort of laugh one joins in on, even though one doesn't understand why the person is laughing. Such is the power of Jennifer's laugh, and believe me, it's a laugh a comic wants in her corner. And in her car. And especially, after a sh** storm extravaganza of a show.

Too bad a certain scribe doesn't venture to capture such moments for his tome.....

Constitution 1, Christian Crackpots 0

I haven't had a chance to check this story out, but in the words of my late grandmother, "It listens good." From a friend in NYC:

"On Wednesday, March 1st, 2006, in Annapolis at a hearing on the proposed Constitutional Amendment to prohibit gay marriage, Jamie Raskin, professor of law at AU, was requested to testify.

At the end of his testimony, Republican Senator Nancy Jacobs said: 'Mr. Raskin, my Bible says marriage is only between a man and a woman. What do you have to say about that?'

Raskin replied: 'Senator, when you took your oath of office, you placed your hand on the Bible and swore to uphold the Constitution. You did not place your hand on the Constitution and swear to uphold the Bible.'

The room erupted into applause."

On other fronts, Linda has March Madness (for the women's bracket only, need I add) and I am having a hard time getting interested in the whole enterprise. While I'm usually excited about the prospects of some team by now, the current contenders don't do a thing for me.

Alas. A lesbian lament....

Happiness is the end of tax-prep guilt!

It took two days and countless calculations (and re-calculations), but I finally have my tax information together for my tax preparer. Happiness!

It was funny to see I had many masters last year, ranging from the ol' unreliable (my full-time employer until they weren't), a temp agency, a metals industry reporting service, The Job Hunt (a taskmaster of its own, believe me), and The Comedy.

Speaking of The Comedy, I made a little money at it last year, but I spent much, much more. Was also stunned to see that I have driven--or perhaps more accurately, ridden--over 4,000 miles in pursuit of comic opportunities, most of them unpaid.

Makes a gal wonder....

Linda's been watching the NCAA women's basketball almost all day--I've watched some of it, but had to stick to my primary purpose this weekend, which was to compile numbers from fragments of paper. With all the sneaker squeaks, whistles, buzzers, and so on, all the games started to sound the same after a while, and I wondered how the commentators keep things fresh. But then, I got back to my numbers.....

Am I glad that as a full-time employee of a company I will have a lot less to contend with next tax time? You betcha! (But in case the gods and goddesses are paying attention, I wouldn't mind more records regarding paid comedy gigs, no, not in the least.)

In the news....

The Daily Hampshire Gazette ran an article about comics yesterday in their magazine, including yours truly. I am pleased that my name was spelled correctly, but that's about it.

Not that there was any mangling of my words, as has happened in the past. I just read the piece and had the song, "Is That All There Is?" pop into my head. There are no people of color interviewed in the piece, very little sense of the comedy scene and relationships among comics, and no pictures of anybody but white folks--straight white folks, I should add.

All I can say is it's got a point of view, and it is not one that I share. Or haven't, I should say, since the late 1980s.

Ah, life. Full of little disappointments.

As for something that's not disappointing, may I point you to the SHOWTIME series "Weeds"?

I haven't laughed that hard in ages. It's a wonder!

Spineless cretins....

My, I'm in a lather. Last week, a telemarketer for the Democratic Party called me to ask for money, and I helped him install a new orifice.

In my Midwestern way, of course.

I told him that the Democrats were pathetic, spineless and ineffectual, and the only Democrat worthy of the name these days was Russ Feingold--if anyone is going to get my money, it's him.

The telemarketer tried to tell me about "all the Democratic initiatives" that are underway that need my support, and I said, "That's what you said about John Kerry. I sent that man the biggest political donation of my life, and what did he do? He squandered it. Fool me once...."

And Russ Feingold? Now, he's a bit of Wisconsin's answer to Al Gore, but at least he's got something along the line of nerve--to introduce a call for censure in a Republican-controlled Congress is a gutsy move, IMHO, and I don't care if he hasn't a snowball's chance. Somebody's got to say something, for pity's sake, and if it's only going to be Russ, it's only going to be Russ.

Apparently, the other Democrats are giving him the cold shoulder, the cowards.

Well, then I'm giving them the cold shoulder. Okay, except perhaps for Tammy Baldwin, the lone lesbian state rep in my dearly beloved Cheddarland. I have to say, there are few things more attractive to me than an out lesbian in office. My heart be still.....

On other fronts, a comic who did a lot of jokes aimed at my peeps--gays and dykes, to be precise--got my knickers in an absolute twist last night. He was a straight, white male, and so his credentials to bash the homo community were not in order, IMHO. A lot of the jokes centered on the bad haircuts preferred by lesbians (what a revelation, eh?) and the mannish voices some of the gals have (ditto--he's right on the cutting edge, isn't he? Of 1956). The puddin' head even went so far as to try to pin the election debacle of 2000 on gay marriage. As though Kerry's spineless, sniveling, middle-of-the-road-to-nowhere campaign, coupled with electronic and Democratic precinct voter fraud, wasn't enough to seal our doom.

Oh no--by all means, let's blame the queers. Is there a scapegoat in the house?

At least when a regressive Christian crackpot blames gays for everything from 9/11 to the heartbreak of psoriasis, they are coming from a place of hate and ignorance. But when a comic--who protests he is a liberal, no less--tries to pin the tail on the queers, I get very, very angry. He should know better, but quite plainly, he does not. Nor do the folks who found him hilarious. Sigh.

It may be time to fire up some material about dating straight men, but then again, it might be better to let it go.

Can't let the homophobes get you down, "liberal" or not.

March Madness?

After months of existing with below-basic cable, Linda and I have decided to recognize the recent improvements in our finances by expanding our subscription to include ESPN (so we can watch the women's NCAA tournament) and SHOWTIME (so we can watch "The L Word"). Naturally.

(Methinks our lesbian credentials are in good order.)

Must admit, though, I'm looking forward to catching up on "Weeds" as well, the SHOWTIME series on a pot-dealing suburban widow, played by the fabulous Mary Louise Parker. (She's been a favorite since "Fried Green Tomatoes," of course, but I love her too for helping to make the middle name "Louise" far easier to bear.)

As for people I adore, I haven't quoted Molly Ivins for a least a month, so here's a gem from her latest on the CommonDreams site:

"As of Sept. 11, 2001, there were a few hundred people identified with al-Qaida's ideology. Even then, it was unclear the American military was the right tool for the job. Now, Rumsfeld is apparently prepared to put the full might of the U.S. military into this fight indefinitely, backed by the full panoply of ever-more expensive weapons and the whole hoorah. I don't think the people who got us into Iraq should be allowed to do this because, based on the evidence of Iraq, I don't think they have the sense God gave a duck."

My father was partial to the expression, "Hasn't got the brains God gave geese," so of course I'm taken with this--particularly in relation to the current Administration, which persists in the myth of Iraq's burgeoning democracy as the place and its people are blown to smithereens on a daily basis.

And I thought I had a problem with denial!

Wooo Howdy!

What a great night at The Studio! I can't think of more than a couple shows that went better than last night's. The people were not just laughing, they were roaring--and clapping. A lot. What a hoot!

You know, I was looking forward to St. Patrick's in Cambridge, but the bad-vibe gremlins had begun to chip away at my enthusiasm shortly after I arrived. I noticed the cluster of college-aged young men in front and thought, "Uh, oh. They're not going to know what to make of the likes of me." Then, I was in the bathroom, and a very young woman staggered by, and I thought, "Oh, jeez--this could be bad." The few middle-aged folks in the audience gave me some hope, but then I watched them during the first comic's set and thought, "Oh dear, they're a little stonefaced."

But you know, it all worked out, and The Comedy and I are friends again. Happiness.

All that was tempered a bit today, however, for one of my favorite relatives in Wisconsin is facing a major health scare. Her lungs are acting up, and none of the possible causes floated by her doctors give one much in the way of hope. She could have COPD, emphysema, or cancer.

Could we have a fourth option, please?

She's got a tremendous sense of humor and is being characteristically funny about this, but I can tell she's frightened. Who wouldn't be??? The only good news is I called her to tell her Linda and I were planning to visit her and her hubby in May, and she was glad to hear it. But she had to say, "Well, if I haven't gone under by then, we'll be happy to see you."

Who wants to lose a relative like that? No one, that's who!

I know I promised, but.....

I made noises about saying no more about the Oscars, but then my former bossman (he would hate that title) sent me an essay by Annie Proulx (author of the short story on which "Brokeback Mountain" was based), and I realized I had to share it. I recommend the entire essay, but this passage raises an issue that I think hasn't been raised anywhere else (and the fact that it appeared in a U.K. publication means it won't be raised here any time soon):

"The prize, as expected, went to Philip Seymour Hoffman for his brilliant portrayal of Capote, but in the months preceding the awards thing, there has been little discussion of acting styles and various approaches to character development by this year's nominees. Hollywood loves mimicry, the conversion of a film actor into the spittin' image of a once-living celeb. But which takes more skill, acting a person who strolled the boulevard a few decades ago and who left behind tapes, film, photographs, voice recordings and friends with strong memories, or the construction of characters from imagination and a few cold words on the page? I don't know. The subject never comes up. Cheers to David Strathairn, Joaquin Phoenix and Hoffman, but what about actors who start in the dark?"

Yes, what of Heath and Felicity and Jake and Michelle?

Oh, I know--get over it already, ya sore loser!

Will do. Someday. But not yet.

Why do you think they call it work?

Ah, it was just one of those days, actually. Well, it's been two.

Just a little harsh reality, is all. Nothing fatal.

But sometimes, a gal's gotta wonder: How petty and short-sighted can you get?

Then I watch the news, and realize some questions are not in the best interest of my serenity....

On other fronts, I get to perform in Cambridge's famous The Comedy Studio on this St. Patrick's Day, and I am very happy about it. My father, he who was 1/2 Irish, would be very happy, too, to see how I'm marking the day.

Dad was a jokebook reader and a wonderful audience to anyone who came up with their own jokes, even if they were just terrible.

Almost forgot (again)....

Had a good set at The Comedy Studio on Wednesday night--which was pretty easy, as every comic was having a good night (which makes everything nicer, if you ask me). Jennifer also performed, and left the audience weak from the laughter, bless her heart. I'll be back at the Studio this Friday--yes, St. Patrick's day in Cambridge. Watch out!

Spreading a bit of the blarney: What better way for a lesbian alcoholic comic to celebrate her Irish heritage, eh?

My last Oscar lament (promise)

“You know it's hard out here for a pimp
When he tryin to get this money for the rent
For the Cadillacs and gas money spent
Because a whole lot of bitches talkin shit
Will have a whole lot of bitches talkin shit”

Move over Cole Porter!

Sympathy for pimps, yes--but homos on the range? Forgetaboutit....

You know, it's hard out here for a dyke
When she tryin to get this money for her life
For the Forester and dog biscuits spent
Because a whole lot of (Hollywood) homophobes talkin shit
Will have a whole lot of homophobes talkin shit

Yeah, I know--don't quit your day or night jobs (not to worry).

One last thing on the Oscars--from what I've been reading, it appears a lot of members of the Academy don't see all the films in contention. Does that strike anyone else as dereliction of duty to the nth degree? I feel less than legit filling out an Academy Awards ballot at a friend's house when I haven't seen every film--how do these people live with themselves? It's like a skating judge at the Olympics rating skaters he hasn't seen--isn't it?

In a twisted sort of way, this fact makes the losses by "Brokeback" and Felicity Huffman that much easier to take--it wasn't a fair fight, not by a long shot. Really--the more I learn about the "Academy" the less the value the Oscars have. A pity, that.

Last night, we saw "Syriana," the film that got George Clooney his Oscar. It's a depressing, depressing film, but only because it speaks to a truth that most Americans are oblivious to--the whole damn world is at the mercy of major corporations, with nations and their leaders mere pawns in corporate power and resource grabs. News Flash: The world is run by greedy bastards.

(Like you didn't already know that.)

You know, it's hard out here for a liberal....

Well, that was depressing....

So, "Brokeback Mountain" was a little too "out there" for the Academy, no matter how cool George Clooney thinks the Academy is. Hattie McDaniels (SP?) can get an Oscar in 1939, but then a song about pimp/hos/bitches gets an Oscar in 2006?

Is this progress? (Would Miss McDaniels think so??)

And Reese Witherspoon as BEST ACTRESS???? Everyone who voted for her should be forced to listen to her acceptance speech over and over again for the next week. It is the only penance I can think of that suits the crime. My condolences to Felicity Huffman: You were robbed, Honey. Just robbed.

Per Ms. Witherspoon: I'm glad her folks gave her self-esteem, but they may have considered adding a little humility, just to balance things out a bit. Perhaps they could just throw her and me in a big bag and shake--we might come out bearably well-adjusted. (Might.)

(And did her hubby look truly happy for her? Or is he going the way of Hilary Swank's ex?)

Oy, vot a business! I'm sorry, but I am soooooo unhappy about this stupid awards show, it's embarrassing.

I am reminded that the Academy Awards is Hollywood's orgy of self-congratulation. Well, they may think it's somehow all cool and liberal and cutting edge to vote for a song about a pimp and a movie about racial tensions in their own benighted backyards, but it doesn't read cool to me, it reads: BIGOTED and SAFE.

Out of touch with America? Maybe. But out of touch with reality? Definitely.

What the hey....

Since the Academy Awards are upon us and I've seen all but one of the movies in contention for Best Picture ("Crash"--don't ask me how), I'm going to venture my guesses for the categories I give a rat's what-have-you about:

Best Picture: "Brokeback Mountain." And not just because it features homos on the range. The film was beautiful and heartbreaking and told a story that needed to be told, which could be said of "Munich" and "Good Night, and Good Luck" and even "Capote," but it was the most satisfying of the bunch. Key: I wouldn't change a thing--can't say that about the other films.

Best Actor: Heath Ledger in "Brokeback", though I think Phillip Seymour Hoffman may get it instead, for his freakishly accurate portrayal of Truman Capote. I was impressed by his Capote, really and truly, but Heath Ledger's Ennis was a tragic figure the likes of which I haven't seen in years--if ever.

Best Supporting Actor: I only saw "Brokeback," so can't say, but from what I've heard, George Clooney should get this. If Jake Gyllenhaal got it as part of a "Brokeback" sweep, that would be lovely--but I think George will get it, because his "Good Night, and Good Luck" won't get best picture (the Academy likes him, they really like him, and they'll want to give him something nice and shiny to take home).

Best Actress: Felicity Huffman in "Transamerica." I didn't see all of the contenders in this category, either, but was not taken by Charlize Theron's "Norma Rae" turn in "North Country," for some reason. And though I think Reese Witherspoon is delightful, her June Carter portrayal in "Walk the Line" didn't demonstrate the chops that Felicity Huffman did playing Bree, the MTF trans one operation away from fruition (so to speak). Incredible.

Best Supporting Actress: This is the toughest category by far, even though I didn't see two of the performances up for the Oscar. I have loved Frances McDormand for years, and looked forward to her return to the Upper Midwest in "North Country," for she was perfection as Marge Gunderson (SP?) in "Fargo." She was good in "North Country," but was she better than Catherine Keener in "Capote" and Michelle Williams in "Brokeback"? That's impossible to say. If I had to pick one of these actresses, I would have to pick Michelle Williams--but she's just slightly ahead of Catherine and Frances. Slightly.

Best Director: Ang Lee. He directed a perfect film. Perfect.

Best Screenplay (original): I didn't like "The Squid and the Whale" at all--pissy, unappealing straight people behaving badly. I didn't see "Crash" or "Syriana" or "Match Point." Which means I must pick "Good Night, and Good Luck," which isn't bad at all--but it could have been better....you know? (In a nutshell: Too much secretly married couple, not enough Edward R. Murrow.)

Best Screenplay (adaptation): "Brokeback Mountain," Larry McMurtry and Diana Ossana. Every scene belonged in the film, every word mattered, every action carried the story along--it was as perfect a script as I've seen. (But again, I didn't see all the contenders.)

So, though it matters not in the grand scheme of things, those are my picks for the major Oscars tonight. We shall see how it all goes in a few hours, eh? (I took the morning off from work tomorrow, so I can stay up for the whole glorious and boring business: WOO!)

Awwwwww

It's pledge season again on NPR, which is typically just a pain in the patoot. They try to be creative while they beg, but it's begging still, and it's just not as much fun to listen to as "Wait, Wait--Don't Tell Me!" or "Car Talk."

Anyway, my dear Linda made a pledge today, and dedicated it to the memory of my mother Elaine, who would have turned 86 tomorrow. Mother was a big fan of NPR--in fact, it was the only preset station on her radio. While that may have been because she couldn't figure out how to set more than one station, she would have been pleased by the gesture.

We heard the announcement of her "memorial" pledge together, and had a good cry.

On other fronts, we saw "Walk the Line" last night, and while I love Johnny Cash, I'm not sure I adored the movie about him and his June. Both Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Whitherspoon were appealing as all get-out, but was the film as compelling as, say, "Coal Miner's Daughter"? Don't think so.

It felt as though they pulled some punches, sanitized his story a bit.

But then, what do I know?

Lastly, picked up a couple more shows for the spring, which you can see here. Will provide more details as they become available. It's going to be interesting, trying to keep the comedy going while working in a full-time, fairly demanding job, but I'm going to keep at it as long as I can. We shall see, eh?

Whoops--almost forgot!

My show last Thursday night? It was another of the "just okay" variety--but happily, there was no "2x4 moment" afterwards. The audience was mixed--half were listening, half were in their own Private Idahos. But not quietly, unfortunately.

But not that they were all just plain jerks--a couple were drunk--I mean, really, really drunk. It was deja vu for yours truly, as you can imagine, and my heart went out to the really, really drunk woman in particular. Been there. Done that. Don't remember it all, but enough to remember it's just an awful way to live.

Hope she and her companion(s) find their way to something better, and soon.

Oh, and a coworker from my new job showed up to see me, and she said she had a good time. That was nice, wasn't it? (Wish it had been a better show for her sake, but hey--it could have been worse!)

So, even if the show wasn't stellar, I left there one grateful woman. Now, back to the laundry.....

Don't blink, you'll miss it!

That's how I feel about weekends since I started working in the 9-5 world (really 9-6, but don't get me started). I can't believe it's Sunday afternoon, and all I have to show for the weekend is two pairs of shoes (they are quite nice, though) and memories of a fabulous movie.

The movie? "Transamerica." Can I recommend it enough? Doubtful--but you're missing the most wonderful array of one-liners in years if you miss this film! (And Felicity Huffman is perfection in her role.) Only thing about the movie I didn't quite get--the therapist. She seemed a little too controlling for her patient's own good.

But then, without a controlling therapist, where would the plot have come from?

Anyway, this weekend is flying by, and I haven't even washed all my workaday clothes yet. Glory!

Of course, we also had a little more excitment than we bargained for yesterday. Our shepherd mix Linus had an odd growth on his noggin', so we brought him to the vet for a look-see. Turns out it was just a skin tag, something I have in abundance (is it the German in us both that causes these hideous flaps to appear? Ugh!). While we were at it, we had him tested for everything he gets tested for each spring and get his shots, so he's a legitimate member of canine society. It took over an hour and a half for all of this to occur (he's a sensitive soul as well as huge, so the vet techs took their time with him), so that cut into our weekend a bit.

But it is wonderful to know he's okay--and the vet said he's in very good shape for a dog his age. If only the same could be said for his human, Ann. Alas....

On other fronts, am a little ashamed to admit a NYC friend e-mailed me to check in and see how we were doing, and mentioned her political protests of late--and I had none to offer in return. Not even a hopped-up letter to the editor, for pity's sake. Since I began working, I feel lucky to have the gumption for a little comedy, but hope that I will soon have the energy to do more than just suit up, show up, and stand up.

But, so I feel a little better about the state of my political soul, allow me to share the wonderful opening sentence to my latest favorite must-read article from Common Dreams News Center, "What It Means to Be a Republican," by Larry Beinhart:

"The vice president shoots you in the heart and in the face. Then you apologize for all the trouble it's caused him. That's what it means to be a Republican."

It gets better--or worse, I suppose, depending on your view. Must admit, it all makes me glad I'm not a Republican--but considering how lame the Democratic Party has become, I'm not sure I'm a Democrat, either.

Just a garden-variety pinko lezzie, I suppose.

A 2x4 sorta show

Last night's spur-of-the-moment performance at an open mic (which shall remain nameless for the non) wasn't a success. But to be fair, it wasn't a complete, flaming disaster, either. Am not entirely certain why.

Was it the comedy-unfriendly atmosphere? (First, it was a Sunday night; second, a 40th birthday party had been going on for hours before the show; and lastly, a small Irish music band had been performing just before the show was to begin.) Was it the audience? (Who didn't laugh at material that elicited laughs from most crowds--and it wasn't just my "solid" material, but other comics' gold as well.)

Whatever--it wasn't a debacle, but it sure didn't set me up to feel all confident for Thursday night's show in Manchester. But then, a little humility before a show isn't necessarily a bad thing. One thing: I have noticed that I feel just stunned after a show like that, hence the 2x4 reference above--i.e., do a so-so show = 2x4 to the noggin'. Don't know what that's about, but it's good to be aware of, I suppose....

The good news is that my friend Jennifer Myszkowski also performed last night, and we did what we usually do after a so-so occasion of The Comedy, we had ice cream. Problem is, we went to a Friendly's that was anything but. Okay, the young man (yes, I'm old enough to say this--believe me, it hurts me more than it hurts you) who served us was a gem, but the rest of the place was a disaster. Worse, the manager of the store kept muttering under her breath about how she wished she were home and that she should lock the doors and make the customers help her clean up the night's debris. (Tip: Time for a career change, doll--the customer service impulse you so desperately need in the restaurant business has left your building!)

After much unnecessary back and forth with the kitchen (Jennifer found it impossible to get hot coffee--apparently, one can only expect cold and lukewarm coffee after 10:00), we were served our ice cream delights, and delightful they were. (But really--how could one mess up a caramel-nut sundae?)

So, the night was saved, and The Comedy is still a-okay by me. (You may want to talk to me again after Thursday's show.)

On other fronts, it seems I am not the only person musing about the existence of a homosexual agenda--in fact, there is an entire newspaper story devoted to the topic, "Gay Agenda Revealed Here for the First Time!" and I think it makes for fairly compelling reading. Apparently, I have had a homosexual agenda all along--every day, in fact. Here's a sampling of today's:

1. 7:00 a.m. try to get up.
2. Get up again at 9:10.
3. 9:30 a.m. Make coffee.
4. 10:00 a.m. Eat breakfast with Linda.
5. 11:30 a.m. Walk dogs with Linda.
6. 1:00 p.m. Go to CVS and buy bins to store old business books in (guess who's office is being painted soon?).
7. 1:30 p.m. Come home with bins. Shine shoes instead of filling bins.
8. 2:30 p.m. Read office e-mail.
9. 2:35 p.m. Respond to office e-mail.
10. 3:00 - ? Watch Canada win women's hockey Gold (poor Sweden).
11. 4:00 p.m. Get on Internet.
12. 4:58 p.m. Have trouble getting off Internet.

Bye!

A successful weekend....

...features at least one good nap. I've had a great nap today, and feel fine.

This is the level of news I can come up with today, sorry.

It's the going to work every day business that cuts into my amusing thought time. I'm getting better at highway driving--let's be clear: I'm always a careful driver--but the way other people drive gets my dander up to the point that I become a sputtering, muttering idiot.

Sputtering and muttering are not good for the blood pressure or for the soul.

So I'm getting less rattled by the insanity around me, and hope that driving to work will soon be no more fraught than reading the paper--it still can get my blood up once and awhile, but most of the time, I sail right through, and my sole reaction is a modest shake of the head.

As to work, I can say that it's very interesting--and getting more interesting all of the time. I appear to have skills these people can use, and that continues to be (a) gratifying and (b) a little amazing.

Yes, The Self Esteem can be an elusive creature where yours truly is concerned. I blame the eight month job-hunt. My childhood could be dragged into this, but I think I'm going to put that away. The statute of limitations may be up on that one....

Elsewise, my job has a health services department that hosts lunchtime talks on various topics, and I attended one last week on high blood pressure. My lunch choice for the day (a meatball sandwich on a white roll) was unfortunate in context, but luckily I ate it before we got to the good food-bad food discussion.

I now know all the bad things that high blood pressure can do (nothing good--unless heart attacks and strokes are your idea of fun).

High blood pressure appears to run in my family (my parents had it; my brother and sister are both on high blood pressure medicine), so the bad things are coming--unless I start eating better, exercising, and all those other things I should do to keep this carcass in tip-top shape, in the hopes it makes a difference.

Right now, it's exhausting merely to contemplate this carcass-saving strategy, much less to do!

But, perhaps this is just the new job exhaustion talking, and soon I will work at least exercise back into my life. A little.

But give up meatballs? I don't think so....

One last thing, while we're on food. Have been thinking about how we ate in Northeast Wisconsin, and I guess the line "strict meat and potatoes" line works best. I say "strict," because my father called the culinary shots (even though he never cooked--not odd for the times, sadly), and he would tolerate no experimentation in the kitchen. And by experimentation, I mean pizza. Pasta. Pilaf.

How's that? Mother was no Martha Stewart, mind you, but one day in the early 1970s she tried to introduce a nice rice pilaf into a supper in lieu of the usual potatoes. One would have thought she had put the severed head of Vince Lombardi on the table from my father's and brother's reaction--they both pushed away from the table in disgust, put on their coats, and went to go have burgers. Mother cried, I think. Just a little.

I, of course, told her it was delicious, but it didn't really help.

And a nice rice pilaf was never served at 1559 Pierce Avenue again.

My father was a good guy overall, but on rare occasion he could be a jerk, obviously. Or just a product of his times--who can really say? Lord knows he didn't corner the jerk market--I shop there on occasion myself.

And my brother is married to a gourmet cook and eats a mad variety of food the likes of which would never pass muster in the North Woods of Wisconsin. (And he loves it.)

Okay, that's enough. Time to go watch the Olympics and leave you folks alone.

Maybe there IS something to it...

I always wondered about those straight folks who get all worked up over the Homosexual Agenda. For starters, what the heck is it? I haven't a clue!

And secondly, if a true Homosexual Agenda exists, I never got a copy, so how much of an agenda can it be? If anyone should have a copy, shouldn't I, a big ol' dykesaurus of several years' standing? For heaven's sake, I've lived in some fairly intense homo-ghettos in my life, and even spent a good part of my existence attending various meetings at the gay and lesbian center in NYC, and not once--not once, mind you--did I ever see any announcement regarding a Homosexual Agenda.

That said, I heard something today that might just qualify, but I hesitate to share it, for I think it might just be the sort of thing that could send certain unstable homophobic elements over the brink. But then, it's just too good of a story--and I tell it in full knowledge that it might just be a "good story."

The story: A straight woman friend of a friend of mine went to see "Brokeback Mountain" with another straight woman friend. After the movie, they were moved to have sex--even though one of them was married to a person of the male persuasion.

I'm just reporting the story as it was told to me. Dunno if it's factual/actual, but it certainly does give one something to think about, Agenda-wise....

On other fronts, the job is going just swell. I'm really enjoying it, and put together my first attempt at "real" work today. Dunno how it's going to be received, but it felt good to get something accomplished (besides finding my cubicle each morning).

Let it snow...

Yippie Skip! Winter's back, and I, for one, am happy about it. It was just getting so darn dreary around here--brown lawns, bare trees, and gray skies are a frumpy combination, in my view. A fresh coat of snow is just the ticket. (Have I mentioned that I'm from Wisconsin?)

We took the dogs out for their constitutional earlier today, and had a blast. They both perk up when it's snowing, and look absolutely ridiculous (and adorable) when wearing piles of snow on their coats and noses.

Of course, I haven't tried to move any of this snow yet--am waiting till the plows have run their course. That may be hard to do, though, for I've noticed that the DPW likes to swing through the 'hood one more time after everyone has cleared their driveways.

Just another public service from the dimwits and not-so-gentle people at the DPW.

(No, I haven't gotten over the tire incident or the near-death experience the DPW wrought quite yet. Soon, goddess, let it be soon.)

It's good to have Miss Linda back at home, even if her laundry reeks of mothballs. (Her mother's house seems coated in camphor. Yuck!)

What is it about mothballs and the elderly? Like a moth to a flame....

Speaking of laundry, must get back to it--have to get the wardrobe ready for the next week o' work in the joy that is Corporate America. Woo!

First day!

Well, I had my first day at work, and as I have learned from the painful experience of Dooce, I will relay very little of my experience.

What I can tell you: I had to be there no later than 7:45 in the morning, and to do that, I had to leave my home by 6:45 a.m., just in case.

That meant I had to be up before 5:00 and I had to walk the dogs in the dark. THE DARK.

The dogs were not amused. They dragged behind me for most of the walk, and if they could have said, "Are we there yet?" they would have.

Tomorrow, I get to leave at a much more civil hour, and for that, I am grateful. At this stage of the game, I am most worried about (1) finding parking that is not three miles from the building and (2) finding my cubicle once I get in the building.

Yes, these are the sorts of things I worry about.

As for the job, who knows?

Out of the red, and back in the blue

Back from my weekend in Florida, the state that time and compassion (except for the unborn and vegetative) and urban planning forgot. One catches glimpses of natural beauty (saw a pelican on the way to the airport--what a hoot!), but there are so many cars, strip malls, and ads for personal injury attorneys, beauty is not the prevailing theme.

Of course, I could just be reeling from all of the "Bush '04" stickers placed with no apparent irony on the bumpers huge SUVs that wheeled past us on the jam-packed highways.

It was a significant other support weekend, as my sweetie's dad died last week and she was in need of a member of her family of choice. No need to explain that, I'm sure. We had gads of things to do, but the task I will remember most is trying to get Linda's mother to pay attention while I walked her through the process of getting e-mail on her new computer.

When a widow wants a new computer, a widow gets a new computer--any questions?

Anyway, the woman is at the retrospective phase of her life, and that makes learning a slow process. For instance, I told her she had to hit the "Enter" key at one point, and that inspired a long tale of the three times in her life when she has had to hit an "Enter" key and all the trouble she had. She was similarly inspired by other instructions, so by the time I left this morning, I think, maybe, she might know how to turn it on.

Maybe.

Oh well, that's something, I guess. Linda will have the rest of the week for tutorials, so if you hear any screams of frustration from the south, it's probably her.

I sit corrected

And it's Alice Roosevelt Longworth, not Longfellow.

Ah, to err is human, right?

And in case you haven't noticed--me, I am one human human being.

If you haven't got anything nice to say....

...sit right next to me! I think Alice Roosevelt Longfellow (was it?) said that, and I like that attitude. My maternal grandmother was of the "say nothing" school, and my-oh-my, did her daughter follow in her footsteps. I didn't hear any good dirt about my family until after both my mother and father were dead. For a year or more.

That's just crazy. But it does offer one upside to the awful grief I went through after my parents went on to the big Democratic Party meeting in the sky. (Or was it bridge club? Hopefully both!)

This has all come up because my partner Linda flew down to Florida this morning after learning just after midnight that her father was dead. I can't really say how I feel about this, except that I do know that Linda is in for an emotional rollercoaster the likes of which she hasn't been on in years, if ever. I feel for her, yes I do.

Me, I felt like someone had hit me in the head with a 2x4 after my dad died; didn't feel quite tethered to the planet for a solid year after his death. For even though my dad's dementia had turned him into someone who my "real" dad wouldn't have anything to do with (he wasn't a whiner or a manipulator when himself), I found his passing stunning. Stunning. Not in a good way.

To borrow my friend Jennifer's phrasing, it's The Mortality. When a parent dies, you feel it. There's one less barrier between you and the Grim Reaper. When both your parents die, you're next.

In other words: The death of a parent is God's way of saying, "In case you were wondering, mortality runs in your family, too."

Oh, yeah--in case you were wondering, I won't be going to the open mic tomorrow night.

Do you need to ask why?

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!