Jumpin' Jack Flash my keister!

Oh my goddess, I thought I was going to buy the farm last night. My stomach felt as though it was going to explode--I had terrible, painful cramps and could barely stand up straight. Turns out I simply had a really bad case of The Gas.

All I needed was a little simethecone (SP?) and sleep.

What amazes me is that I never felt this bad from eating anything, except that time in the mid-1980s when my brother asked me to try a local (to NE Wisc.) delicacy, fried lake perch. So, I took a little on a fork with a dab of tartar sauce, and it almost killed me.

Turns out I'm really, really allergic to lake perch, and had such a violent reaction to a little forkful of fish I haven't been able to contemplate fish as a food since.

Yes, since the mid-1980s. (What have I missed? Mercury poisoning, that's what.)

Anyway, I'm still puzzling over what it was that gave me The Gas That Almost Killed Me, but am drawing blanks. I had the same vegetables and ground beef for supper that Linda did, and she was fine. We had the same WW ice cream treats for dessert. The only thing I had that she didn't was one of those "Honest" teas--Moroccan Mint green tea with a hint of sugar.

But I've had that in the past and lived--good grief, I used to drink real Moroccan mint tea with scoops of sugar by the gallon when I lived there 20 years ago--so what, exactly, was the culprit?

We may never know....

So, besides this brush with death by internal combustion, what else is new? Linda and I have been on a TV strike this week, and it appears to be agreeing with us. I do find myself actually missing the company the Tube provides when I work at home and have my lunch in relative silence (but for my Shwea licking her chops in anticipation of what may fall off my plate), but otherwise, I haven't missed much. Okay, except for the premiere of "Weeds" this Monday night. I do adore Mary Louise Parker, yes I do....

Otherwise, I was turned down by the Red Cross again for having a slightly low iron count. I guess that makes three times I've been turned back by these folks this year, so perhaps I need to ask my doctor about it. Am seeing him next week for my finger that has started to lock on me--yes, aging is a bizarre bit of business--so perhaps I can sneak this into my five-minute appointment.

Lastly, I have a new picture of yours truly at her high school reunion, which raises the question, "Ann Podolske, when did you become the Amazon of your class?"

Balderdash benchmarks

I was telling a coworker about my first job out of college today, for it prepared me beautifully for a career in communications. I mean, after you have edited engineers--nuclear engineers, no less--editing everyone else is a piece o' cake. For engineers, in my experience, love words for their length, and the more syllables, the merrier.

For one very mild and perhaps not terrible illustrative example (but it's the only one I can remember), the word "interface" began to take off from its technical moorings while I was in this job (it was the early '80s). Before I even knew what was happening, engineers all over the company were writing of the need to interface with potential clients, when a simple meeting would do.

A small erosion of the language I attempted to stem, but the engineers wouldn't have it. They felt that interfacing was far more powerful than meeting, and besides--I didn't have a Ph.D., so who the hell was I to offer suggestions on their sterling prose?

(If I had a Ph.D., would I have been trying to make a living making engineers intelligible to mere mortals? But I digress....)

Anyway, when I was telling this coworker today about this experience (via e-mail, for I worked from home today), I found myself telling her that the engineers set balderdash benchmarks that few people have been able to beat. I find myself smitten with the phrase, but I think it has potential.

Balderdash benchmarks, anyone?

On the BB front, I'm thinking of something that my coworker and Comedy Buddy Jennifer told me about, a communication that appeared while I was on vacation (it was lovely, thanks). I am not sure I remember this correctly, but I think the offending phrase was something along the lines of, "We need to leverage our synergies."

Good golly, Miss Molly. Isn't that something?

Elsewise, I enjoyed the YouTube-enlivened debate last night, even if the balderdash quotient was still painfully high. Nothing very surprising was uttered by the field, but I must admit I was surprised to find myself in agreement with Joe Biden last night. Once, but it was powerful.

When he voiced concern about the man who referred to his automatic rifle as his baby.

That guy freaked me out, too, but Biden was the only one who picked up on the nut-job tenor of his video.

Oh well, that's all I have time for now.....

V-A-C-A-T-I-O-N

It seems almost necessary that there be a great deal of fuss, bother and stress before a vacation. Though, come to think, I didn't have much of any of that before my Wisconsin trip last month. (That won't be stressful until the bill comes. Ouch!)

This holiday, however, was no exception. I had two major projects to get in before I could leave work with a clear conscience yesterday, and I was making great progress until right in the middle of the day we had a blackout. Just as I was putting some finishing touches on a document, all of Big Company went dark. (The word blackout now has real meaning for me, as I sit in an internal area of the Big House without windows. If my pal Jennifer hadn't been working on a laptop, I would not have seen a thing.)

Big Company does have backup generators, but they took their sweet time firing up. When they did go on, we headed out of the building ASAP. Who wants to sit in the dim? Not I!

We sat around outside, wondering what was happening, when some of the more senior (some by rank, some by age) members of my area decided to drive off to have lunch, and asked if we wanted to join them. I went along, and am I ever glad I did.

When we got in the car and started driving off to the nearest Panera, I had a feeling much like I did those rare times I snuck away from boring high school events in the mid-70s to go do something delinquent, like smoke a cigarette or ride around town trying to find someone who would buy us beer. But yesterday, even though I was riding in a car with a woman at least 10 years my senior wearing career separates (and I was wearing my lesbian-friendly equivalent), I felt about 16, and thought for a moment or two we should both have cigarettes hanging out of our mouths, and maybe even a beer or two in the cup holders of her Buick.

High school flashback in Big Company's parking lot. What a hoot!

Anyway, once we got back from lunch the power was back on, so I finished up what I absolutely had to do, and now have two glorious weeks of freedom ahead of me and my gal. We are looking forward to doing--well, not much. Have already had my first nap of the holiday, and it was a good 'un. Linda is working on hers now, bless her heart. We were going to head out to the cottage, but the weather report is on the discouraging side, so we may just hang at home and do things we've been meaning to do around here, like go to the morning movie and have a leisurely look at the art museum at Smith (we've only been able to get there after work for a frenzied pre-close tour).

Tonight, we have dinner with friends, and that's about all. We're finally meeting the new member of their family, a Jack Russel terrier named Pluto. (Our friends seem to be adding family members here and there, and I can't help but add that I understand adding a terrier far more than I understand adding a baby. But that's just maternally-challenged me.)

Lest I forget, the show Thursday night at the branch of the wedding industrial complex (not original with me, but I can't remember which of Jennifer's friends coined this phrase) called The Colonnade was good. There was an odd, dead silence at a line that usually gets laughs, which I still can't figure, and they didn't seem to like my "rear awakening" story much, either.

Jennifer is of the opinion that when I had more ballast back there, this joke worked. Now that I don't have much of a Back 40, it isn't that funny.

Harrumph. It's one thing to diet oneself out of one's wardrobe. But to diet oneself out of one's sure-fire jokes?

So, getting healthy is bad for one's comedy?

Sheesh! News flash: Life is not fair, people. Life is not fair.

Not that you were going to go....

But the art benefit this Thursday is in a new locale--click on Comic Attempts (under "Links of Distinction" down and to your right) to see the new deal.

It is $50 a pop, however, so unless you're a rabid fan of art in Connecticut, I understand if you don't come. Really, I do.

But Jennifer and I will be there, so I can see the temptation.....

On other fronts, today is my birthday. I am now 48 years old, which is about 18 years older than I ever expected to get. (Or wanted to get, for that matter.) Must say I am enjoying life far more than I ever did back in my misspent youth, even if it is accompanied with more than a smattering of aches and pains.

We took the kayaks out this morning for a nice paddle around a local lake, for example, and I can feel it in my back and arms--even though I work out with weights three times a week. One only wonders how bad it would feel without any exercise at all. (Insert: Shudder.)

It's been a grand birthday weekend. Last night, we made our first visit of the season to Jacob's Pillow, a beautiful spot overrun with aging retired New Yorkers and beautiful dancers. Contrasts everywhere! Well, we went to see a documentary, "Carmen and Geoffrey," about two dancers with a great history at the Pillow, and it would have been much more accurate to have called the film "Geoffrey and His Opinions of Carmen." The man is a camera hog, people, and while he obviously adores his wife, he adores the sound of his own voice more. I remember his slightly from a commercial way back in time, where he intoned the pleasures of the un-cola (I think it was an ad for 7Up, but who can remember?) in his deep Caribbean-steeped voice.

Carmen, on the other hand, first appeared at the Pillow in 1953 (or was it '54?), and is still stunning. Stunning. While she spoke some, I wanted to hear more from her--and less from her blowhard hubby.

Of course, that could be my dyke talking. I have a weakness for older women, especially gorgeous, serene older women who are strong and move with grace--something sadly lacking in the Podolske DNA.

The best part of the evening is they were sitting across the aisle from us, and when it came time for the Q&A after the film, they stayed in their seats and spoke to the audience. We were close enough to feel as though we were at dinner together. Quite lovely, that.

Well, there's one more noteworthy event of this noteworthy day: I met and held an eight-month old child named Chloe, who is in foster care with friends who I knew wanted to adopt children but I had no idea they were going to get the ball rolling this soon. (They didn't really think it was going to happen this soon, either, truth be told.) The child is pudgy perfection, but serious as a judge. She definitely has the Churchill look down, and appears to be pondering questions of great import, even when she's probably pondering her own gas.

I do hope this doesn't signal the end of this friendship--we have lost more than one delightful couple of friends to child-rearing, and worry--but I am hoping we'll manage somehow. We shall see!

Wisconsin Tour 2007 Highlights

"Youse guys are here for me and I'm here for youse guys."

As sweet a definition of a support group as I have ever heard--and in the language of my people, no less.

The source could have been from Wisconsin, or she could've been a UPer (denizen of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan), but the language is pure Upper Midwest, in case youse guys were wonderin'.

Yes, I'm back from five days in Wisconsin, featuring visits with one college buddy, three relatives, one friend of the family, 12 or so members of an anonymous fellowship, a friend from my Morocco days and 60 or so high school classmates (incl. spouses).

My trip was fraught--two of the relatives have fallen on very hard times, health-wise, and I don't have any friends who can think back on their high school days without flinching. (And it may not be a sign of an open heart/mind, but I do draw back a bit from anyone who tells me they had a blast in high school.... How, indeed, is that possible?)

Anyway, to add to the fray, I agreed (sort of) to do some standup at my reunion. This prospect bothered some of my comic friends--particularly my Comedy Buddy--to no end, but it seemed like a good idea to me.

And you know what? It was a good idea. While the setup was terrible--a very bad sound system was blaring the worst hits of the '70s before I went up, and the head of the reunion committee introduced me repeatedly (at least four times, I kid you not) as a "professional comic"--my set went very well. Sure, there was some dead air, but not as much as at your average Elks Club, and when my classmates laughed, they laughed but good.

The best part was afterwards, when a couple of people pulled me aside to tell me their "gay-friendly" stories. They were personal, so I won't repeat them here, but considering the sources were guys who lived their entire lives in either my home town or a town of about 3,000 people in the same state, their tales were remarkable. Heart-warming. Balm for this ol' dykesaurus' soul.

But the best part of the evening? Long before I performed, I got a hug from someone in my class who could have easily given me the cold shoulder--or worse--and had cause to do so.

That verged on the miraculous, really. Made the whole trip worthwhile, in an instant.

Healing in the Heartland, people--if it can happen there, it can happen anywhere.

It is good to be home, however. I had to get out of there before I ate any more saturated fat--the state is teeming with it, and while I made sure to eat at least some fruits and vegetables each day, I realized I am powerless over the food of my forefathers and mothers.

Let's just say I didn't count WW points on this trip. I studiously ignored them.

My favorite off-the-charts repast was a plate of potato salad. Now I'm sure it had more points than Heinz has pickles, but who can refuse a plate of fresh potato salad? Especially when it was prepared by a great gal named Florence who tells you stories about your dear departed parents, and who catches you up on the "kids" who still live in town?

Would you turn it down? You're made of sterner stuff than I, Dear Reader.

It is good to be home, even though I received my first "hate" mail upon my return. Wrote a letter to the editor of our local paper in response to a call to arms by MassEquality, and received what was intended to be hate mail, but actually was quite hilarious.

The message? "Dirty Fagg."

Yes, indeed. Not only did this person call this 100% dyke a fag, he or she SPELLED IT WRONG.

The clincher: The person also put a return address on the envelope containing this terse bit of balderdash.

Is it any wonder the anti-gay folks aren't exactly doing well?

Good news, it travels!

Heard about the vote on the gay marriage ban from #1) my Sweetie, #2) my Comedy Buddy, and #3) Senator Stan Rosenberg while I'm out here in Madison, Wisconsin, a place that struggles with the concept of DOMESTIC PARTNERSHIP.

The Midwest. (Everything you've heard is TRUE.)

Anyway, I "Woo-Hooed" when I got the message on my cell from Linda, even though I was walking down State Street by myself. Happily, there were only drunk college students around, so nobody paid me no never-mind.

While I grew up in a state with a progressive past, I now call a truly progressive state home, and you're reading drivel from one grateful dykesaurus now.

A tired dykesaurus, however, who has a big drive ahead of her tomorrow. To the high school reunion...#30...."Oy!" as we don't say in Wisconsin.

Happy day!

Vacation

Linus continues to have good days and not-so-good days. This morning, around 2:30, he woke me up to go outside, only to RUN barking after who-knows-what outside.

It being 2:30, I forgot to put on my glasses and my shoes, so I have no idea what he was running towards.

Am terribly, terribly grateful it wasn't a rabid skunk. Being virtually blind as well as barefoot, I wouldn't have been much help.

And who, exactly, expects an arthritic dog to suddenly be able to run? (He did collapse afterwards, but still.)

Note to self: Put on your glasses, no matter what the hour.

Today, we're both a little groggy, as you can imagine. I expect this to change shortly, as we're off to see the dyke diva Kate Clinton tonight.

I adore Kate Clinton. If ever a Martian were to ask me to "Take me to your leader," she'd be my first pick.

On the vacation front, I'm still stuck with two tickets to the "True Colors" tour in Chicago. No nibbles on the online front or the friend front. Sigh.

Looks like I'm going to eat them, but if one must lose money on tickets, at least they were for a good cause.

Elsewise, I will be hanging with my high school's Class of 1977 in the not-too-distant future. By myself. (Linda is staying home to tend to our dear boy.)

They want me to do some of my standup, the prospect of which has sent more than one comic friend (and one sister-in-law) into tizzies. Small, medium, and large size tizzies, to be exact.

I understand their concern, but also feel this might be something very, very good. You know--for the healing.

Of course, it might also be good for the nice lady in town I stopped seeing a while ago as well.

We shall see, eh?

My favorite member of the GOP

I have a dear friend who comes from a very conservative neck of the woods, and her family has done its level best to blend in. Her father, for one example, is a card-carrying Republican, but he has become increasingly less GOP and increasingly more PFLAG as the result of being the father of a card-carrying Dykesaurus.

He cried when he gave the toast at her wedding, and has had a special place in my heart ever since.

But he also has become a vocal defender of GLBT folks, as the following attests.

I feel that a response is required in regard to [mean guy]'s letter ("Falwell was right to condemn homosexuals," June 1). This newspaper should not waste space by printing letters from people who are obviously ignorant about the subject of the letter. I realize that logic goes out the window when religion is involved, but here goes.

Mr. [mean guy] reported that God said in Leviticus 20:13 that the behavior of homosexuals is detestable, and that Jerry Fallwell was right to condemn them. God did not write the book of Leviticus, nor any other book in the Bible. The Bible was written by humans. They may have believed that they were inspired by God, but God did not put pen to paper. The human who wrote Leviticus probably believed the world was flat. He had no idea that the western hemisphere existed. He did not have a clue about how conception occurs, and in particular how genetic traits are passed on to offspring. That human was ignorant when it comes to homosexuality.

Homosexuality is not a chosen lifestyle. Homosexuals are the way they are because that is the way they were born. They cannot change their sexual preference any easier that they could change their eye color. My daughter is a homosexual person. I like to say that she inherited a lot of my traits and one of them is that she prefers females, one in particular who is a singularly wonderful human being. Neither my daughter or her partner have a prejudiced bone in there body, which is more than I can say about Jerry Falwell and Mr. [mean guy].

Perhaps the writer of the letter that upset Mr. [mean guy] should not have rejoiced at Falwell's death but the God that I know would not condemn any of His creations simply because of the way He created them. Neither should Jerry Falwell.

[The end.]

Hope comes in the form of a Republican in Iowa. Who knew such things were possible?

Getting better all the time (v.2)

Guess who I saw on the chaise after lunch this afternoon? None other than Linus, that's who!

He is still having some trouble, true, but he is getting so much more mobile lately, we have real hope for the boy.

Sigh.

On other fronts, it's soon to be a holiday weekend, and I for one think it can't come fast enough.

Big Company has been a bit more vexing than usual lately.

Working there has helped me feel a lot better about myself in some ways (they need a little levity and clarity in their lives, and that's something I can certainly deliver), but worse in others (why am I walking around in these marble-lined halls wearing these ridiculous clothes? And what's with this cubicle?? Thank goddess I'm not claustrophobic!).

But I enjoy earning my keep and Linda has been talking a lot about doing a Johnny Paycheck (and soon), so that's all I'm going to say.

Memorial day weekend is upon us. Let us all take a moment to rejoice in this, and the fact that the best German Shepherd mix in the world is back up on his throne, master of all he surveys.

Happy day!

Back on track!

That Jimmy Tingle--what a nice guy! I'm not suggesting there aren't other nice guys in The Comedy, but Jimmy sets a new standard of "nice guy-ness" for the industry.

At least in my (limited, admittedly) experience.

Jennifer and I drove over there last night, with Scotchie in the back seat noodling over his cell phone (I don't pretend to understand the allure of noodling over one's cell phone--probably sour grapes because I couldn't read text small enough to fit in a phone if my life depended on it--but it kept him happy while he was along for the ride, and that's what counts). Originally, Jennifer was coming along in fine comedy buddy form, in the hopes that she'd get some future time on the Jimmy Tingle's Off Broadway (JTOB) stage.

Well, she got her wish--but the "future" was now. Jimmy needed comics, and so Jennifer got a spot on last night's stage, too. Woo!

The only downside is that the place wasn't exactly packed, shall we say. I've certainly worked smaller rooms, but then again, about 10 more people would have been helpful. The show is at the building stage, though, so eventually, there will be more people, if there's any justice in this world.

Or if the word gets around, whichever comes first.

Whatever happens, if there's a show, I'll be back to perform in it. Jimmy is a dream to work for, and the people who work there are dear as well. Methinks Jennifer is of the same opinion, too, which works out great.

Must say, after a night like this, I feel all full of hope and what-all. Might just be the weather (we have SUN!), might just be fatigue (I didn't get to bed until 2:30 a.m.), but then again, it might just be based on an inkling of what may be coming....

We shall see!

Oh, one last thing. Had a new line occur to me last night, and it's part of my burgeoning 30th high school reunion material. I talked about how I've changed since 1977--went from straight girl/wanna-be artist to art school dropout/recovering dykesaurus--and how my former classmates may react. Methinks they'll be full of gratitude, actually, leading me to conclude:

"Ann Podolske, bringing self-esteem to the people since 1959."

Last-minute show!

Still not making much progress with a certain Studio in Cambridge, but I did get a wonderfully open invitation late this week from your friend and mine, Jimmy Tingle.

So, if you're casting about for something to do tonight, consider this:

Jimmy Tingle's Comedy Showcase
Saturday, May 19, 2007 @ 10 PM. Cost: $15
255 Elm Street, Somerville, MA 02144
Toll-Free Tickets: (866) 811-4111
Box Office: (617) 591-1616

Jimmy's doing his latest solo act beforehand, which sounds great, too (check it out!).

Bon voyage, Jerry Falwell

From Right Wing Watch:

"[W]e must stop the homosexuals dead in their tracks -- before they get one step further towards warping the minds of our youth." Moral Majority fundraiser, 4/1/81

"In my age, we laughed at queers, fairies, and anyone who was thought to be a homosexual. It was a hideous thing, and no one talked about it, much less ever confessed to being a homosexual... I believe the United States will be destroyed if we permit homosexuality as an alternative lifestyle." "How You Can Help Clean Up America"


"Can you imagine a regiment of homosexual men and lesbian women leading an assault on the Red Army? How much respect would the Communists have for such a collection of perverts." Billings (MT) Gazette, 3/11/81

"Remember, homosexuals do not reproduce! They recruit! And many of them are out after my children and your children." Fundraising letter, 8/13/81


Falwell told the James Robison Bible Conference that candidates who seek support from homosexuals "should be disbarred from running for any office." Houston Chronicle, 2/27/82

"[T]his deadly plague [AIDS] is already spreading into the heterosexual community, because of bisexuals who are carriers -- even affecting innocent young children. This is sexual TERRORISM -- and even more deadly than a gun or bomb. Across the country the militant homosexuals -- carriers of this deadly disease -- have gained civil rights advantages which seriously compromise the health and safety of Americans everywhere. ... You and I are the innocent victims of this perverted and deadly lifestyle -- AND WE HAVE NO PLACE TO HIDE." Moral Majority fundraising letter

"Herpes is the judgment of God upon the nation." WNEW-TV, 11/22/82


"Everybody wants their rights ... Now the homosexuals -- they want to be a minority. They want gay rights referenda going on all the time. So why are you against that? Listen, if you want to live like an animal, go ahead. That's your business. If you want to live an immoral life, go ahead ... but don't expect to be rewarded for it. Don't try to be a minority -- you've chosen to be a pervert, live like one. You've chosen to live a dirty life -- and unclean life … but don't expect the public to reward you and make you a bona fide minority." Old-Time Gospel Hour, 4/21/81

"I believe the women's liberation movement is mainly staffed by a large group of frustrated failures, many of them lesbians, and all of them anti-biblical." "America Can Be Saved" (1979) p. 36


"We would not be having the present moral crisis regarding the homosexual movement if men and women accepted their proper roles as designated by God. God's plan is for men to be manly and spiritual in all areas of Christian leadership ... In the Christian home the woman is to be submissive." "Listen, America!" p. 183

And, lest we think he singled out queers and women, let us recall his infamous "thoughts" after 9/11:

"I really believe that the pagans, and the abortionists, and the feminists, and the gays and the lesbians who are actively trying to make that an alternative lifestyle, the ACLU, People For the American Way - all of them who have tried to secularize America - I point the finger in their face and say "you helped this happen."

A loss for crackpot Christians everywhere, a small, short sigh of relief for the rest of us.

But you know, another Falwell will be along shortly--if she isn't already here (take Ann Coulter...please)--because nature and attention-starved nincompoops alike abhor a vacuum.

Linus hits another rough patch....

This aging business, I tell you.

Linus hurt his shoulder last Thursday barking at the paper boy (we still haven't figured out how), and has been having an awful time since. The biggest problem is that he doesn't recognize his limitations, so tries to do things that just aren't in the cards and ends up hurting himself even more than he's already hurt.

Yesterday, for example, he tried to jump off the back steps, and landed with a thud--not on his feet, in other words. He's still paying for that miscalculation today (so far, he's been unable to get up on his favorite perch, the chaise).

I have been fighting to keep present through all of this, for denial is the default of my people. (Wasn't "Don't ask, don't tell" a Wisconsin boy's idea? Les Aspin, to be specific?) It is silly, for there are still things we can do to make him more comfortable--The End is far from nigh.

But then, my mother could have written the "Worst Case Scenario Handbook" in her sleep, so perhaps I should not be too hard on myself, eh?

Linda, bless her heart, has been propelled into action by her worry. This morning she made ingenious use of a piece of leftover fence to make Linus a wonderful ramp to the back yard.

What a gal!

Happy 2007 Noho Pride!

Yours truly with rainbows....


An homage to Victoria White (we both teared up over this one).


Little darlin's carrying the flag (gives one hope, doesn't it?).

Weekend update

It's been another couple of those weeks, so I haven't been keeping up as well as I would have liked. Sorry about that...

Had two sets of The Comedy this week, and I can't complain, really. (Not jumping up and down for joy, either, but when, exactly, do I do that?)

The first was on the hallowed stage of The Comedy Studio, Wednesday night. Spring has sprung in earnest in Cambridge as well as in the Western territories of the Commonwealth, so the audience was primarily comics waiting for their turn. They were gracious, though, and my set was fairly well received. Didn't do much of anything new, for it was neither the time nor the place, and I was tired and didn't trust my memory banks to remember my new stuff. The evening was capped with a bizarre detour through Boston that is the sort of strange episode that doesn't come my way very often--since I stopped drinking, that is. It was fun, actually, in a Wow-that-was-odd-but-familiar-wasn't-it? kinda way.....

Speaking of not drinking, today, Cinco de Mayo, marks 16 years that I've been officially off the sauce. If my sobriety were a person, it would likely be a sullen teen right now. (Thankfully, my sobriety is not a person, eh?)

Thursday night was Jennifer's wonderful open mic, also thinly attended due to the gorgeous weather we're having. I tried all new material (but for my opener, but I didn't open with it), and it went over pretty well. Big Company(R) inspired a new piece based on the famous poem by Pastor Niemoller (SP?), the "First, they came for the [fill-in-the-blank], but I wasn't a [fill-in-the-blank], so I did nothing" poem.

I revised it with a Corporate slant ("First, they outsourced the Telemarketers..."), and I think it has promise. Also did a small bit on my upcoming high school reunion that will likely be enriched by my actual attendance at said reunion next month. But really--when I think about who I was in 1977 at graduation from Marinette Senior High School and who I am today, I am going to be among the most drastically different people there.

Unless there's a transman or transwoman there--that would be cool! We shall see....

Anyway, back to the open mic. The highlight of the evening was a comic piece performed by Jennifer's Scotchie, a dear man who set the stage for a strip comedy routine that defies description.

It was brilliant, funny and terrifying. All at once.

You should have been there, that's all I'm going to say.

New poster child for Planned Parenthood!

We had our Take Our Daughters and Sons to Work Day today, and all that running/standing around and shepherding little darlin's to the loo or the next session took the stuffing right out of me.

I expected it to be a mad, hectic day, which it was. What I did not expect was to have a boy in the 10-12 year-old-range say, "Up yours!" to me.

This charming phrase was uttered by the little whelp because I had the audacity to tell him and his three friends to (1) quit picking on the girls in the row ahead of them and (2) move back a row, so they'd be far enough away from the girls so they'd have to leave them alone.

If children are our future, the future's looking a little snarky.

Seriously, when I was in the 10-12-year-old range, I may have thought the occasional rude thought about a grown-up, but I sure as heck wouldn't say it. Out loud. At my parent's place of work, for pity's sake.

I only hope the little so-n-so didn't insult any of the other volunteers.

Oh well, that bit of business was depressing, but that may largely be my fatigue talking. The day was a success overall, for which I am very grateful.

But will I volunteer for a whole day of "Daughters and Sons" again? Not if I can help it....

Maybe if it went back to just being for "Daughters"--that I would do! (At least until little girls start saying, "Up yours!" to grownups, that is.)

What a difference a day made...

Really looked at the work that was done on our kitchen counter tops, and am now wondering what I was smoking yesterday (nothing at all, but sometimes my sense does take quite a holiday). It looks like the sort of job you'd expect from a couple of kids left alone with power tools for an afternoon, not something done by a professional. I offer some photos for your consideration, if you find renos gone wrong of interest.

Needless to say, I think we're in for another bit of kitchen drama--the stove, obviously, was but a warm-up. Sigh.

One could almost get wistful about the "good old days" when one was a renter, but those were really not-so-hot days, punctuated with the boot stomps and bad music choices of neighbors above and to the side of one's hovel.

At least that's how I recall life in my last studio in the East Village.

So, a stove debacle and a countertop flop are small prices to pay for quiet. At least that's what I say now. Will I retain my calm as we try to get free of this mess? We shall see....

Sigh.

Well, that was humbling.

One would think I had a head the size of the Great Outdoors from all of the humility that was shown my way yesterday.

The nursing home was just what one would expect, but the facility and staff appeared much better than I had feared from the advance reading I had done. (Maybe they're under new management?) The Comedy at the Home, however--well, that went about as poorly as it usually does with this sort of crowd, but I am glad to report that I had moments of fun in spite of the long, slow twist I had in front of the slack-jawed masses. Boney and Nikki helped make it much less of a soul-crushing enterprise.

Aside: I was instructed to get a MySpace site toute de suite, despite my contention that I am far too "mature" for a presence on this venue. The Word, according to Boney and Nikki, comics with far more experience than I, is that one must have a MySpace site to "sell one's wares" in the comedy marketplace.

Something will have to give if I do that--this blog or my pathetic web site (gee, which way do you think I'm leaning with this decision?).

As for the contest? Well, I did okay set-wise, but not well enough to get advanced to the next round. At least the two guys who got spots had original, funny material--and one was even a fellow asthmatic who does hilarious jokes about the condition. (Who knew there was comedy in lung disease?) The best thing that happened at this event was that the audience was quiet when I was telling my jokes--I mean, they laughed at the right spots and all, but they listened when I spoke.

That was not a courtesy they extended to most of the other comics, and while it's not much, it's something to be grateful for....

Yeah, I know. Slim pickin's....

On the home front, we're having a new countertop put in our kitchen (the old one looked too sad with the pretty new stove upon it), and work is not exactly going smoothly. A large piece of Formica has been damaged beyond repair, and there are little scuffs and dings and who-knows-what-all throughout the kitchen.

It could be a disaster, and of course, Linda already thinks it is a disaster. Me, I am holding out hope that somehow our contractor will somehow pull it together and the finished product will be fabulous.

Perhaps I'm in a little denial here, but I think I'd rather be in denial that in high lather. I'm too tired for high lather....

TONIGHT: Valley of Laughter Comedy Contest

Since I can't seem to help myself, tonight I will be at Brennan's Place 173 High Street Holyoke, MA 01040 to participate in the new comedy contest dreamt up by Dan the Librarian (or at least I think it's his brainchild--pardon me if I've missed somebody).

If you can't make it (I understand that the allure of an Irish bar in Holyoke may be questionable to most of my friends, particularly the GLBT and sober ones), please pray for me, or a reasonable facsimile.

The good news? According to her blog, Erin Judge will be there, too--she's funny and she's female, so I'm feeling better about doing this. For now.

On other fronts, I have a gig at a nursing home tonight, too (yes, the blessings are raining down on my noggin'). The bad news is that the place has a rather dicey reputation--the first Google entry had to do with how ill-treated the residents are--the good news is if anyone needs a laugh, it's people living in a crappy nursing home.

I'm just hoping the residents don't all look like my mother. That was the case at the last home I tried to make The Comedy in, but it just couldn't happen under those circumstances.

My nephew Harry

The critter who rules the roost at my brother and sister-in-law's house in D.C. They do his bidding at every turn.

Can you blame them?

Silly snow birds!

Springtime in New England, courtesy of some local ravenous finches.

Spring is here....

...and a not-so-young woman's fancy turns to a new blog template.

What do you think?

The stove. It's outta here!

And I still can't quite believe it.

But the appliance store people came by yesterday to pick up the wrong stove and drop off a check for the right amount to cover the charge that I imagine will now be released onto our credit card.

Or something.

It doesn't really matter. The stove fiasco is O-VAH!

May you, too, someday know the satisfaction of this sort of victory.

Small, but oh-so-satisfying.

Now, I must prepare for a three day weekend, thanks to our friend, Jesus.

(At least that's what my mother-in-law said in her recent card to us.)

Happy what-have-you!

I am milquetoast, hear me roar (maybe)

It appears the saga of the stove on our back porch may soon have a happy ending.

No, I can't quite believe it, either. In fact, I'm almost afraid to note this possibility here, for I am so sure the owners of the appliance store will change their minds back to "Hell no, the stove won't go!" again.

My last salvo in the stove situation was on Thursday, when I sent the store a copy of my SuperPages.com and Better Business Bureau reviews, along with a note quoting Dale Carnegie (one unsatisfied customer = 10 lost sales). But I had sent similar "inspirational" missives to them before--and even had the dear people from the consumer affairs division of the District Attorney's office calling on our behalf--and they were unmoved.

So, when I listened to our voice mail yesterday, and one of the messages was from the store--asking to schedule a time to pick up the stove and drop off a check--I had Linda listen to it, too, for I couldn't quite believe my ears.

Truly, I have no idea if my latest letter did the trick--perhaps they heard from the credit card company, perhaps someone called them to say they heard about our situation and it kept them from shopping at the store.

Who knows?

It doesn't matter. What does matter is that our back porch may soon have a lot more room in it, and our kitchen might soon have a new stove that actually fits in the old stove's spot, not to mention matches the rest of the appliances. Woo!

And what has been a thorn in my side may soon be an accomplishment of no small measure. To me, anyway. (We Midwestern types don't get our assertive on very often, and do so at great peril to our agreeable little psyches.)

Being a rather cynical sort as well as Midwestern down to my marrow, if this does come to a good end...no one will be more surprised than I!

On other fronts, we went to a Don McLean concert last night, a reward courtesy of Big Company (it's a big sponsor of the local symphony, so has season tickets to spare). We went largely because it was free and offered a good excuse to eat at Cafe Lebanon--not because we're big fans of Mr. American Pie. When his band came out--all late middle-aged men in suits, except for the drummer--I was a little worried. And when the drummer--who was dressed like a 20-year-old, but with a full mane of silver hair--had to put on his glasses to read the introductory music, I thought to myself, "Oh goddess, what's this going to be? Lawrence Welk for Boomers?!"

Well, I was mistooken. We had a great time. Don M. is a tremendous performer, even though he is definitely on the wrong side of 50. His voice was perfect, and his lyrics as evocative as any I've heard in ages. And he has the sort of self-deprecating wit that makes his genius less daunting. True, he has a worrisome comb over that suggests a vanity at odds with the wonderful human being he seems to be, but who doesn't have an inconsistency (or several) in this life?

The song about Van Gogh, "Vincent" ("Starry, starry night....") was a highlight, but then, his rendition of "Crying" was a killer, too.

This weekend has been full of surprises, eh? Will keep you posted regarding the stove--it's supposed to happen Wednesday afternoon. We shall see....

Dander. Up. One more time!

The review has landed on SuperPages. Oh, happy day!

Ambrosia....

Almost forgot to mention the ice cream at Jennifer's latest Best Party: D-I-V-I-N-E, to put it mildly.

Herrill's ice cream. Herrill's hot fudge (in a crock pot). Real whipped cream.

Need I say more?

Dander. Up. The Sequel.

The quest to spare other appliance purchasers our fate (of having a stove on their back porch since February 15, 2007) continues.

Hold a grudge? Moi?!

As my dear departed mother was fond of saying, "A little bit of Irish goes a long way...."

Anyway, today I submitted a complaint to the local Better Business Bureau (BBB) and an appropriate review to SuperPages.com. The BBB will contact the store (for all the good that will do), but SuperPages will post my review tomorrow. Will link then, if the fates (and technologies) allow. The gist:

by AP from Northampton, MA Mar 29, 2007
Caveat Emptor: No-return policy
We bought a stove at [name] at the suggestion of their salesman--but it was the wrong kind for our kitchen. [The store] refused...
(Full Review) We bought a stove at [name] at the suggestion of their salesman--but it was the wrong kind for our kitchen. [They] refused to take it back, saying it was a "special order." NEWS TO US! To install the stove in our kitchen will require a carpenter and mess--not to mention expense--that is only necessary because [the store] made a mistake and will not make it right. Buy there at your peril! (P.S.: The stove has been sitting on our back porch since 2/15/07.) (Hide)

Goddess bless the Comedy Studio

Had a good set at the Studio Thursday night, including a compliment from a very attractive member of the audience (not that I wouldn't be thrilled by a compliment from an unattractive member of the audience, mind you) that made my day. That certainly helped repair some of the damage of the week's events (otherwise known as the Froze My Keister Off for No Good Reason debacle).

Endured some very good-natured ribbing from Rick regarding my failed attempt at fame on Tuesday night. Apparently, such madness is the act of a new comic, so I am (pathetically, perhaps) finding a little solace in the fact that I am "new" at something. (Teetering on the brink of 50, one isn't new at much.) Also enjoyed a chance to catch up with the multi-talented and politically endearing comic/actor/poet Chris O'Carroll, who had just finished a run of "Romeo and Juliet" in Maine.

One of the other comics (who turned out to have some of the creepiest "jokes" I have heard in a long time--but then, I have good reason to not find pedophilia funny) complimented Chris on one of his poems. Intrigued, I rummaged about on our friend the Internet to find some. My favorite is his poem about not wanting his obit to feature anything about his resisting his fate, but I don't want to violate copyright law, so will only post an excerpt from a list of some of his fabulous limericks instead:

Said a therapist from Waxahachie,
“Because every man lacks a snatch, he
Is bound to have issues
About female tissues.
Venus envy -- that sounds pretty catchy.”

What's not to love about that, eh?

On other fronts, while walking the dogs this morning, I saw that a neighbor was accepting delivery of an appliance from the store that sold us the stove that sits on our back porch to this very day. I was upset at first, but then realized said neighbor has a nasty German shepherd who has threatened our dear Linus on more than one occasion, and I thought to myself, "Couldn't happen to a nicer neighbor."

Petty, I know. I'm only human, people--and I am still recovering from the Froze My Keister Off debacle. As I've said many a time, the carcass is very unforgiving at this stage.

Now I must go exercise, so I can eat Herrell's ice cream and hot fudge at Jennifer's Best Party Ever tonight without worry. Woo!

Exercise in futility wins!

Well, that was a gigantic waste of time and energy. Stood in line over 13 hours, but didn't get a chance to audition. The rumor going in was that the line would begin forming in earnest around 2:00 a.m. We got there "early" at 1:30 a.m., and saw the line was already snaking around the corner from the entrance.

Apparently, the reality was the line began forming a little before midnight.

As the organizers of the audition offered no concrete information, rumor and speculation (the information vacuum's constant companions) swept through the ranks of comics like The Wave at a football game.

And it was cold. Freezing, in fact. If my boss hadn't lent me a sleeping bag for the occasion, I may be missing a digit or two right now.

"Last Comic Standing" would be more aptly named "First Comic Standing," IMHO, for it was more of an endurance contest a la "Survivor" than a comedy contest.

And the elements were only part of what needed to be survived. There were hoards of young white men in the line--scads, gads and buckets! And those I could hear (or could not help but hear, I should say) seemed to be quite obsessed with not looking/sounding gay.

In Chelsea! (Good luck with that.)

Seriously, there was an advert on the side of a phone booth for a gay dating service, and I (couldn't help but) overhear one herd of young bucks critique the ad: "Why do they have to look like that!? Why does his finger have to be looped in the other guy's belt?! IT JUST LOOKS SO GAY!"

I repeat: In Chelsea!

Rather like obsessing over burkas in a strict Muslim country. Could only imagine these boys saying things like: "Lookit that girl! She's covered up! She's got nice eyes--why does she have to look like that? She's probably a hottie!"

Methinks the days of seeking out exercises in futility are now behind me. Enough creep into my life without my bidding--why go looking for disappointment? (Not to mention situations that guarantee an extra-creaky carcass for the next week!!)

Sigh.

But I'm home. And I took a shower and will soon be going to bed.

Ready for another day--with a show in Cambridge at its end. At last--a chance to perform--and Chris O'Carroll is in the lineup! This could be fun!

Wish me luck...or whatever seems appropriate!

Am off to the wilds of New York City for the Ann Podolske Freeze Your Keister Off Tour.

Actually, I'm heading south to stand in line (or "on line," as New Yorkers are fond of putting it) in the wee hours of Wednesday morning for the honor and glory of an audition for "Last Comic Standing." Am supposed to get two minutes to show my stuff, but am realistically going to get more like one (or so I've been told).

Have to say, I'm a little dubious about this enterprise (it's going to be freakin' cold down there--20 degrees with winds up to 30 MPH), but the support I'm getting from folks who know I'm doing this (including my gal Linda) has been tremendous. Enormous, even. I wish I were as enthusiastic about this endeavor as my peeps are, but then, I also wish I could wake up as happy about a new day as my lab mix Shwea, and that's not going to happen any time soon, either.

Part of the problem is fatigue. I'm feeling tired, and I don't know why. Jennifer, coworker and Comedy Buddy extraordinaire, says nerves are the likely culprit. That makes sense--when the going gets rough, I do tend toward the sleepy.

Flight or fight? Nah, I'd rather nap, thank you.

And you know, this may be an exercise of futility the likes of which I haven't seen since I was trying to be a straight girl, but then again, it might not.

So, off to NYC I go. I'll let you know how it goes, not to worry....

Another customer service triumph!

Okay, I think I've taken the anonymity thing far enough, at least where the manufacturer of our back-porch stove is concerned. Besides, one can only appreciate how ridiculous the following response--from a complaint about a stove entered on the Frigidaire website--is, for they not only got the appliance wrong, they offered advice that falls clearly under the heading of "Unhelpful." "That ship has sailed." "Too late baby." (Or am I missing something here?)

For your able consideration:

"Thank you for contacting Electrolux Major Appliances. Did the salesman know what dimensions you were working with? Unfortunately, we cannot make [local appliance store] take the unit back. Our independent dealers make their own policies and regulations that we have no control over. In the future it would probably be safer to deal with a larger retailer such as the Lowe's store in Springfield, MA. This way, if there is an issue with the product they can exchange it immediately. We apologize for the inconvenience you have experienced."

And do the "Be a Local Hero" people need to be alerted of this "advice"?

In case you're wondering, I responded to this e-mail thanking them for their "help" and the very clear warning that I should never buy a Frigidaire appliance for the rest of my natural life. And perhaps future lives, should reincarnation turn out to be a fact and not a theory....

Door #2

We didn't get any farther with the appliance folks by complaining to the District Attorneys office, but that's not the end of our attempt to get that darned stove off our back porch and back into their showroom, where it belongs.

Today, I sent an e-mail to the stove manufacturer's website, which may or may not result in action, but it just might get their attention. If they know the only dealer of their product in town is ticking people off, they may do something.

Of course, they may not, but it's another step taken toward getting the appliance people to do the right thing.

If I somehow find the time to do this next week, I am also going to try to find the name of the local distributor of said stoves, in the hopes that maybe this person will help make the appliance people see the light of reason.

Or forces them to do the right thing--it doesn't matter how, it just matters that it happens.

Anyway, we know of two families who are not buying appliances there because of this idiocy, so we're making some progress, anyhow....

Winter decides to get busy--in March?!

We're being buried in snow here, more snow per hour than I've seen all winter--maybe since I've lived in Wisconsin, for pity's sake.

Driving home from work was fraught--like a bad video game featuring idiots with 4x4s who thought they were somehow immune to the forces of nature, including ice (the phrase, "Another dumb f*** in a truck" came to mind repeatedly) and poor pathetic peeps trying to get their small, lightweight, and oh-so-inept-in-snow cars to go in a straight line. My favorite sighting of this type--a car with the brand name "Aspire" trying to get up a very slight incline in my neighborhood.

One can "Aspire" all they want, but if you have a car that weights 2-1/2 pounds, you probably should not try to drive in heavy snow. Poor little engine...that couldn't.

Happily--perhaps miraculously--I arrived home safe and sound, but for frazzled nerves. It is very good to have a warm, comfy home any day, but on a day like today, it's a gift of no small proportion. Need to get in some bad TV and then a lot of rest, which it looks like I'll have time for, since even the dedicated team at WW wouldn't have a meeting the day after a blast like this.

Or would they?

On other fronts, it seems the jury is still out on my eyes. May be just that I have a congenital defect in my optic nerve, or may be the beginnings of glaucoma.

Life's just full of choices, ain't it?

And despite a very cordial intervention by the local consumer affairs department, the appliance people are sticking to the premise that if they say "No" enough times, I'll go away happy with the wrong stove.

Silly appliance people!

The carcass is very unforgiving.....

Tomorrow, I get to bring myself in for an eye test with a new eye doc, since my "old" eye doc isn't covered by my "new" insurance provider, which is darned inconvenient (curses on Big Company for dumping my old reliable provider, is all I have to say).

And that's my second eye test in less than a year, thanks to my old eye doc worrying about my eyes looking a little "different" from last time. The word "glaucoma" was touched upon, but ever-so lightly. She just wanted to "make sure" that my peepers were a-okay, is all, and scheduled exams this year that I couldn't follow up on, thanks to the Big Company forcing me to choose a new and (right now, I'd say inferior) carrier.

Anyway, I'm choosing to use my finely-honed (by years of Catholicism and life in the Midwest) skills of denial to remain calm about this, but not allow my skills to keep me from actually following-up and seeing the proper professional. Seeing is rather pleasant, don't you know--as is breathing, something else I go to great pains and expense to be able to do on a regular basis, thanks to being allergic to the planet and most of its denizens.....

Beyond the eye exam, in the late afternoon I bundle up both dogs to go to the special vet, for they are both well into their Golden Years and need all the help they can get.

And my sister-in-law is recovering from having a new hip installed, and my sister awaits word on whether her recent blood clot-related near-death experience was caused by cancer.

For pity's sake!

This aging business? Crazy! The alternative? Not terribly appealing.

Still working out details for next week's silliness--spending the night freezing my keister off on 23rd Street in NYC for two minutes (probably one) of audition time.

I know what you're thinking: Perhaps I should have my head examined instead of my eyes?

Maybe later. We'll see (or so we hope) how it goes....

So-so to SPECTACULAR!

Friday night's show at The Studio is the sort that makes me regret my promise to report on every show in this blog (to the two people who read it, besides me 8-). Not that it was a debacle, no--it was just one of those nights where the audience just wasn't with the comics, you know?

Let's just say that when the master of ceremonies asks the audience, "You folks know this is a comedy show, right?", you know you're in for tough sledding.

And that it was. Sigh. Gave me a lot to think about on my solo drive home from Cambridge, but I try not to despair over one tough show. A long line of tough shows--yes, that would give me pause--but one after a couple of keepers? Nope, not going to sweat it.

However, I am wondering whether I can find myself in front of more GLBT/liberal audiences somehow, instead of doing the equivalent of pulling comic teeth from the straight and narrow (yes, even in Cambridge) set. And it wasn't even the audience who seemed to have trouble accepting the fact of folks like me--a couple of the comics seemed very pleased with themselves, and felt they had found rich comic gold in those wacky faggots/dykes.

I know, I know--can't help but get my back up when straight people opine on the queer set, for I don't think it's their row to hoe. But really, straight comics do find the GLBT set a source of amusement, so I have to toughen up.

Or keep the heck away from straight venues. Which means I'll work even less than I do now. Horrors.

Linda thinks I should trim back the anti-homophobe stuff and do more "mainstream" material. Dredge up some old non-gay stuff I used to do, and save the political material for friendly audiences.

She may have a point, especially as I am contemplating the humiliation that is trying out for "Last Comic Standing." Don't think they have a spot for a political lesbian on the show--they had a couple (or at least one) lesbian(s) on last season, but they never mentioned their sexuality. Rather the comic equivalent of Liberace.

Oh well. So yes, we are pondering our comic future here, and wondering what makes sense.

As for the SPECTACULAR part of my title, I cannot say enough about the unbearable sweetness that was watching the latest documentary on the Young at Heart Chorus. Linda and I went to a benefit screening of it last night, and we were just overcome.

Watching the Chorus always makes me laugh and cry, and the documentary is no exception. If you have the chance, GO SEE IT!

What a world....

Of all of the Republican candidates for president, only the Mormon has one wife to his, er, credit?

And of course, Newt went after Bill while he was having an affair as well, but no hypocrisy occurred.

Right!

Time to engage the professionals....

My apologies. My last few posts on the matter of the useless stove sitting on our back porch are not my idea of fun--and not yours either, I'm sure. Methinks I have found a way to not have to write about this debacle for a little while, at least.

After yesterday's phone conversation with one of the owners of the store that sold us said stove, it seems clear that what the customer wants doesn't amount to a hill of beans to this guy. The stove may have been recommended to us by their salesman and doesn't fit in our kitchen, but they're not taking it back. His latest offer involves installing the stove that doesn't fit into our kitchen himself--with us paying for the privilege. And what if he does as good a job at that as he has with the rest of this debacle?

I don't want to think about it.

So, he won't take the stove back, and we sure as heck don't want him hammering and sawing away at our kitchen, so what's next? Are we stuck with the stove, end of story?

Perhaps. But then again....

This morning, realizing I've gone about as far as I can go with this misadventure in buying local for now, I called the local consumer protection line. Surprise, surprise--I was soon talking to a person who made no promises, but who gave me hope that perhaps she would be able to reason with the store.

I wish her luck with that, I really do.

At the very least, once I've submitted my complaint and she's made her attempt, if the store doesn't come through, the complaint will be on record with the Attorney General in Boston for a number of years. I'll also file a complaint with the Better Business Bureau and any other consumer-esque outfit in the area I can find.

Perhaps, at the very least, we'll protect some other family from the indignities of doing business with these people.

But perhaps more will come of it as well. Stay tuned....

On other fronts, I have a spot on the roster at the famous Comedy Studio tomorrow night, and promise not to say a whit about major appliances. If you somehow find yourself in Cambridge without a thing to do, take yourself over to the Hong Kong Restaurant, climb the many stairs to the third floor, and enjoy yourself some of the finest comedy around.

Lastly, my friend and comedy buddy Jennifer Myszkowski was also supposed to be on the Comedy Studio stage tomorrow night, but she has fallen ill with either whooping cough or bronchitis. Yikes! Either way, she's in no shape do The Comedy, no matter how fabulous the venue may be. Here's hoping she's all better soon!

Well, what do you know?

One of the perks of working for Big Company(TM) is that we can give blood right in the building--every eight weeks or so, the Red Cross sets up shop downstairs in a couple of conference rooms. While it's jarring answering questions such as, "Have you ever had sex with a man who used intravenous drugs or had sex with other men?" at work, it's a convenience.

It's also been a source of rejection, however, for the last three times I tried to give blood, I was told I didn't have enough of the right kind of red blood cells for the job. Sent back to my cubicle with a pricked finger and nothing to show for it.

Well, today was another story. I passed the red blood cell test with flying colors, and was able to give blood for the first time in months. The person registering me thought it might be the diet--excuse me, lifestyle change--I've been engaged in for the past nine weeks, thanks to WW. "You're eating better."

Really? It wasn't like I was eating sweet rolls and pie filling for breakfast, lunch and dinner before WW and its "lifestyle" food approach.

But then, the proof is in the blood test.

That's cool--I've lost over 15 pounds and I can give blood again. Not bad, not bad at all.

On the appliance front, the manager now wants to install our stove himself--with us paying for the supplies.

Considering the integrity of his business practices, does he seriously think we'd trust the integrity of his carpentry skills?

I mean, REALLY!

Just got off the phone with him, and I gotta tell you--if I tried to give blood right now, I would be refused. Not for my red blood cell count, but for my blood pressure.

ARGGGGGGGGGGGGGH!

A Tale of Two Cities....

Last night's show in Westfield was a successful, if relatively subdued affair, particularly in comparison to last week's Girls! Girls! Girls! blowout in Easthampton.

Of course, I didn't have any expectations of a repeat--I have performed in Westfield before, and know the lesbian and liberal population there is marginal, to put it mildly--but the show was a good reminder that a comic's material is only a fraction of The Comedy. The audience plays a tremendous part--the most important part, certainly.

And in Westfield, the likes of me can do okay, but not tremendously. Whereas in Easthampton with a room full of lezzies and liberals, I can have the time of my life. Peak experiences can also be had in a room full of just the GLBT set (as in Provincetown) and in a room full of just liberals (as I learned thanks to Laughing Liberally).

Not to say one can't do tremendously in Westfield: Jennifer and Linda did great, and were both a lot of fun to watch. Jennifer had her feisty on, which always makes for great comedy. Linda's married-with-children business was pitch perfect for this crowd--they loved it! While New Englanders can be a fairly restrained bunch, this crowd was losing their marbles all over the place, thanks to them.

Am glad the show turned out well, for a lot of people from Big Company (TM) and a dear couple of dykes I've known for years showed up, and from all reports, they had a great time. Well, except for the couple--one of the gals had an asthma attack, likely due to the ridiculous fragrance-to-humanity ratio in that crowd. (What is it with humans and their need to radiate smells other than their own?)

Anyway, it was a good show but not a great show, and that's okay.

On other fronts, yesterday I learned that a great gal I've run into around town and dog trails for years, Victoria White, died of breast cancer just a couple of days ago. She and I weren't friends per se, but we've chatted amiably on and off over the years, for we both had a devotion to dogs, being out dykesauruses, and to humor. I loved talking to her, for she had a sharp intellect that made for great conversation--and laughs. She was also one of the ranks of lesbian business owners who supported the short-lived Amazonian, and even offered to give me work in her dog business when I was marginally employed over a year ago. What a sweetie. Generous. Nutty about dogs. Smart as can be. And just 51.

What a loss.

Dander. Up.

Dear Sirs [SADLY, THIS IS THE CASE]:

On January 27, 2007, at the confident recommendation of your salesman [NAME], we purchased a new drop-in range from [STORE NAME]. Though we inquired as to whether the salesman should send someone to our home to ensure we were getting the right model, [NAME] told us that a drop-in was the way to go.

As you know, that wasn’t the case. In fact, you had three people in our home to install the stove, and they were unable to do so. The obvious response was to replace the wrong stove with one that would fit our kitchen, but you refused to do that. You told me our stove was “special ordered,” so could not be returned.

This was news to us: Neither [NAME] nor our receipt (see attached) made any mention of this “no returns” policy for this $1,037.45 purchase. To “remedy” the situation, you told us to get a carpenter to get an estimate of the cost to build a cabinet to fit our new stove. We did that, and were told it would cost between $450-$500.

A little under half the cost of the appliance.

We are not going to pay a premium for your mistake, and insist that you do the right thing: Take back the stove and issue us a full refund, so we can purchase a stove we can actually use. We have made an effort to support local business, and have done so successfully—until we went to [STORE NAME]. In your case, we have been rewarded with poor service, buck-passing and no stove since late January. This is made even more galling by the fact that if we had purchased a stove that didn’t fit from a national chain, we would have been able to return it without question.

Your response to this situation is unacceptable, and we believe others would agree.

This letter is notice of your last opportunity to do the right thing. Contact us at [PHONE] by [DEADLINE] to schedule the pickup of your stove. If you do not, we will explore whatever remedies are available to us, starting with the Better Business Bureau and Attorney General’s office and ending with whatever we can legally do to protect other local consumers from your way of doing business.

We hope to hear from you soon,

Ann and Linda
[AKA TICKED-OFF HOMOS]