A good show--and I remembered!

Last night's show in Hartford went well. Not knock-yer-socks-off well, but well enough that I didn't worry about my houseguests or the coworker who brought his girlfriend to the show.

Worry that they'd have to pretend to have a good time, that is. (Codependent Forever More is my credo.)

Was particularly touched by the post-show compliments of an older man (who read very gay, but very closeted). He didn't say anything about the substance of my material but that he enjoyed it. What he did say is that I seemed very relaxed while performing. Relaxed! I felt an adrenaline surge just before I went up on stage, and found myself worrying about speeding through my set, but apparently, that did not manifest to the audience.

Or at least to this dear fellow.

I find it remarkably sweet when people say thank you for a performance, but when they say something that directly addresses a concern, I feel like the Comic Gods are looking after me.

Thanks, Comic Gods!

As for remembering, I actually did remember the sad story of the mother haircut referral and the Democrats giving the GOP a taste of their own medicine bits, and I think they're both good enough to keep for future use. Of course, the political one might be outdated by the next time I see a stage, but it was very cathartic to do, so who cares?

That's enough for one missive. A massive pile of laundry awaits, so off I must go. Here's to The Comedy, the Democrats and life after the GOP: HOOOOOOOORAY!

Today's dose of demoralization

Went to a local Open Studios with Linda and two friends who are visiting from out of town this afternoon. We noticed that our favorite bakery had a stand, so picked up a delicious muffin (split four ways--we just had lunch, after all) and coffees.

After I paid the nice young woman behind the counter, she asked me who did my hair. I was pleased, I am ashamed to say, until she added, "Because my mom is looking for someone to cut her hair so she won't look like an old lady."

Yes, I found myself giving a hair salon referral to a nice young woman--for her mother.

Altogether now: Ouch!

Our company is currently napping, bless their hearts, so I have time to obsess over tonight's show (Prospect Cafe in Hartford @ 8:30). Am mulling over giving the dear people of Connecticut heck for voting for Joe Lieberman, but that may not be a good idea. But really: They sent Joe a message during the primary--did they all forget what it was by the general election?

Am also wondering about some new material about a nightmare scenario for Republicans--besides the latest election, of course. What if Democrats gave them a taste of their own medicine?
For example, the Democrats stood by helplessly as the GOP allowed Enron and Exxon-Mobil to write U.S. energy policy. What if the Democrats have Greenpeace write our new environmental policy? Shirley Maclaine put together new faith-in-reincarnation-based initiatives? Willie Nelson in to handle drug policy?

Ah, there is fun to be had, yes indeed. (If, indeed I remember any of it!)

The dream continues....

Forgot to mention the African American Democrat who will be sitting in the Governor's seat in our humble Commonwealth, not to mention the election of the first woman Attorney General (also a Democrat, of course).

Oh, and this just in--the anti-gay Amendment has been shelved for another year. WOOwee!

My goddess, I hope I don't wake up for a very long time....

Somebody pinch me....

An Evangelical Kingpin has been brought down by revelations of substance abuse and "mandates" of the very best kind?

Donald Rumsfeld is looking for work?

We have a Democratic majority in the House and the Senate?

...I must be dreaming!

Add to the list that I just brought my Linus home from the vet, and while he's groggy as groggy can be, I think he'll be all right. (He got morphine--for a tooth removal and cleaning. I feel positively cheated!)

Life is very, very good, people. And while I harbor fears that the Democrats will squander their opportunity, I am comforted by the fact that: no one could mess things up worse than the so-n-sos they're replacing.

NO ONE.

Poor pup!

Our Linus had an egg-sized swelling under his eye last week, and Linda and I, being the wreck nervosas we are where he is concerned, brought him to the vet. Well, I brought him to the vet, as Linda was in charge of lawn maintenance this weekend.

The verdict? Poor pup, he has a bad tooth--yes, following in his mother's footsteps--and must have it taken out this week.

This will be the second time he's had to be knocked out and operated on this year, for pity's sake. Our first reaction was to resist putting him through that agony again, but from what the vet told me, even one bad tooth can really wreak havoc on a canine. In fact, she asserted the bacteria in his tooth is more of a threat to him than going through the surgery. And in case she didn't have my attention after that pearl of wisdom, she also said that healthy teeth make the difference between a dog living 10 years and living 14-15 years.

As Linus is already 11 and we both love him like he's our own flesh and blood, what's a girl to do?

Schedule the surgery, that's what. For Thursday, the day I work from home. The good news is that this procedure will only be a day-long affair, and so I'll be able to drop him off in the morning and take him home that night.

It makes me so sad that he has surgery in his future--and that dogs have the "patch, patch, patch" problem as well. Poor Linus!

On other fronts, even though Linda is the lawn diva, I helped with the raking this weekend. I couldn't last week, because I had a tooth out and wasn't supposed to exert myself (yes, my patch-a-thon continues), and I felt bad about it. Particularly as we have ridiculously prolific trees in our yard--and our neighbors' yards, for that matter. Poor Linda!

So, I raked, and right now, my right wrist feels like I strained it. Good grief--one little episode of raking, and there's heck to pay.

Ah, the middle ages. What's not to love, eh?

Lastly, I must confess that I sometimes listen to Gayle King on XM radio, but likely will do so no more. She had served as a nice antidote to the dueling jerks on Young Turks on Air America (there is a third person, a woman, but she seems to only say wildly inappropriate things that have no relevance to the matter at hand--what's a talkshow without a Non Sequitur Girl? A relief!). Anyway, the Turks, young liberals with an attitude (their words, not mine), do occasionally get on my last nerve, so I turn to either disco or Gayle King for blessed relief.

Well, now I'm just turning to disco. Last week, Ms. King said something about the John Kerry botched joke mishap that was straight out of the Neo-Con Playbook for the whole tempest in a teapot, and she just plummeted down in my rankings of people I will listen to gladly. In fact, she's no longer on the list.

Just when I thought she was a nice lady with a smile in her voice and a candid view on life, she ends up sounding like Rush Limbaugh's kid sister.

Alas.

So now, I think of her as a FOO--that's Friend of Oprah, or fou, as the French put it, and right now, I'm leaning toward the latter.

And one last thought on John Kerry: If he didn't exist, the Republicans would make him up.

Or have they?

The fallout from #30....

I'm supposed to be at the open mic at PACE tonight, but I just didn't have enough gumption. Or jokes, for that matter. I'm lacking gumption and jokes, so it seemed a good night to pass--even on the best open mic around (sorry, Jennifer).

It's been nine days since I had tooth #30 out, and I still feel like I'm draggin' my carcass around. Since that fateful day, I've been feeling a little tired, a little spacey, a little cranky--generally, a lotta under the weather. Of course, I had my period for some of this time--this gal can count on Ma Nature arriving at the worst possible moment, and she rarely disappoints. This just added to the joy of my recent journey, but methinks the crux of my carcass-dragging is #30, RIP.

And today, I learned that the estimated total for filling the hole in my head left by #30 is $3,900.

So, not only do I get to be tired, spacey, and cranky, I also get to contemplate spending 1.5 months' worth of take-home to be able to chew on the right side of my mouth. Actually, insurance should cover half of that, but still--that's a lotta cabbage!

This middle-aged business? For the frick'n BOIDs, people.

See, I told you I was cranky.

It doesn't help that there's already murmurs of voting machine fraud (early voting in Texas seems to be oddly skewing towards the GOP--what luck for them, eh?), the Cranks for Christ are revving up the "Love Thy Neighbor But Hate Them Queers" get-out-the vote campaigns all over this benighted country, and our own John Kerry has managed to do his part to inflame anti-Democratic sentiment by getting butch about two years too late.

Will someone please arrange to get that man out of the country six months before the 2008 election? Teresa, honey--please do this service for your country. Take him to a nice island--preferably without any press.....

On the good news front, I have been hearing about a groundswell of support for the proposition that Bill Moyers should be on the Democratic ticket in 2008. I loved him on "Now," but think he's waaaaay too civilized to be a presidential candidate.

Or is he?

This could be interesting.....

My, I am slipping....

Just completed an online poll on political issues, and it featured some questions on Edward Kennedy's opponent, someone with the last name of Chase, I believe.

I had no idea Ted Kennedy had an opponent. None at all.

I grew up in a home consumed with politics, and am surprised how much I don't know this election cycle.

Has All-American Apathy finally taken hold? Where can a gal get some NASCAR in these parts?!

No, I can still get my blood up thinking about That Man in the White House, so I don't think my political interest is completely gone.

Perhaps I'm just tired. I've been alive long enough to have heard decades' worth of outrages from those greedy bastards who are running things...right into the ground.

How much outrage can one gal muster? Methinks the supply is limited.

Of course, this could all be my (missing) tooth talking. Man, did that procedure ever knock me down a peg. Haven't felt this wobbly for ages, and I'm not enjoying my diminished status in the least.

Tried to take some leaves out of the gutter this afternoon, and got dizzy after only a few sections. What a wuss!

Am trying to enjoy my sloth while I may, but darn this work ethic--I can't!

Pass, purgatory and patch-a-thon

I promised to report on performances here, and have been remiss this week. It should soon be clear as to why....

Thursday night's show, the sold-out "Witches of Prospect" benefit for a breast cancer foundation, went well, particularly in retrospect. There was one problem, and it was a doozie: The mic didn't work for most of my set.

This "problem" was not a "problem" for my comedy buddy Jennifer, she of the couldn't-whisper-if-her-life-depended-on-it school. For me, however, the Midwestern gal with the pipes of a creampuff, it was a challenge. I did my best imitation of a shout for the show, and while I paid for it afterward (my throat hasn't been that scratchy since my smoking days), it worked pretty well. The folks--mostly women, as befits the charity and show theme--had a good time, and much money was raised for an excellent cause.

Altogether now: Hooray!

Friday night's show, the end-of-the-night comedy fest for the arts studio crowd in Dorchester, was far less successful. The venue was an Irish bar that had a cast of regulars who weren't really interested in ceding "their" bar to The Comedy. Plus, the people who came to see the show weren't exactly laughing types--they smiled beautifully, but the laughs just weren't in them, sadly.

I was the second comic up, and while that usually is a tough spot, my overwhelming feeling after performing was "Boy, am I glad that's over!" For as the show went on, not only was the comedy audience not warming up (much), but the regulars became increasingly restless, so I was grateful to be on and off the stage before they got their heckle on in earnest.

Jennifer, as usual, did douse the heckle a bit, and even got the subdued smilers to laugh a little, but it was tough sledding for all. By the time the closer came up, a nice guy who will remain nameless (and you'll soon see why), there was a drunken lout shouting, "You're not funny. Get off the stage and let me try."

Oh dear.

If it were warmer out, ice cream would have been the solution. As it wasn't, fries and a shake from McDonald's did the trick.

Say what you will about junk food, it does wonders for this wounded comic.

But still, a few more shows like that, and I'm going to go back to my writing group. (If they'll have me.) Life's too short and so on and so forth....

Pardon my pessimism. It may have less to do with The Comedy and more to do with the new hole in my head this week. The root canal that went bad required me to get a tooth out Tuesday afternoon, and I haven't felt myself since.

I haven't had a tooth taken out since I had braces (in the early 70s), and as we know that my drinking history pretty much wiped my memory banks clean, I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

It was a very disturbing experience. Actually, it was barbaric. As my head jerked and my jaw jiggled, I found myself wondering why we as a civilization haven't found a way to take out a tooth without yanking and pulling and generally putting a person's noggin' through the wringer. Sheesh!

But just as I was about to say, "How's about a general anesthetic--this local business isn't working for me!" out it came.

And I wasn't relieved, just exhausted. (So bad comedy experiences are less awful than bad dentistry experiences--good to know.)

And then the dear dentist asked me how I feel about cows--apparently, the bone graft I needed involved cow bits. As a Wisconsin native, I answered as best I could that I was fine with cows. Though the more I think about it, the more guilty I feel, naturally.

Oh well, so now I have some cow in my jaw. Altogether now: Ewwwwwww!

And now, I must go have some soup. Solid foods are on my "to do" list, just not yet....

No such luck....

Yup, it was a cold, as my achy-sneezy carcass made plain this a.m. Took to my bed for most of the day, and happily, I feel more humanoid than I did last night.

Which wouldn't be hard, come to think.

The worst is over, so off to work I go tomorrow.

Yippee.

No, really.

On other fronts, I have heard of another venue that I may perform in in 2007, and it's not terribly far away. Since the show I'm in Thursday is sold out, diehard comedy fans might want to check out Cafe Lebanon on Main Street in Springfield. They'll be having a comedy show Thursday night the 19th, hosted by the domestic goddess who is adding her own unique brand of diversity to the suburbs of Connecticut, Linda Belt.

If you go, let me know what it's like--it's always better to have an idea of a place before one shows up there, don't you know.

But then again, flying blind adds a certain je ne sais quoi....or something. Or so I tell myself.

Please, let it be allergies...

Have a terrible feeling in my throat, and am oh-so-hoping that it's the result of sweeping a summer's worth of leaves and detrius off our cottage roof. (I was oh-so-pleased that I wasn't doing any raking this weekend, but then I saw our roof and that was the end of that...)

Between the pine needles, moss, maple leaves, and gunk--what else can one call it?--I inhaled a lot of things that don't agree with me yesterday, and am paying the piper now.

Or so I hope.

This could be a cold, but as I have no room in my schedule for such madness, I'm opting for allergies.

Tomorrow morning will be the judge. Please, let the judge be merciful!

On other fronts, I'm in two shows this week with my comedy buddy Jennifer, neither of which you'll likely see. One is sold out, the other is in Dorchester, which I think is in the Boston area but that's about all I know. For now.

Hey, the sold out show may have a repeat performance for all the folks who can't come--including you. Will let you know the date when/if it becomes available.

Now, I must take some echinasea and go to sleep. Here's hoping.....

Prevailing at Piccolo's

Well, I had no small anxiety over this weekend's shows (some of which was warranted, it turned out), but it all worked out (something I try to remember, but almost always forget).

It was a mixed couple of nights, to put it mildly. Friday night's audience was largely leaden, and at most mustered a muted moan or two at my material. Okay, that may be an exaggeration, and some people were there to laugh (bless their hearts), but most of the audience was either too tired from the workweek or too full from the restaurant's fabulous Italian fare or too (fill-in-the-blank) to laugh with abandon. Linda and I spent most of Saturday trying to figure out what was going on, and we considered everything from Catholicism to conservatism and beyond, but never came up with a satisfactory cause.

The path to madness, this second-guessing business.

Let's just say I did not leave there feeling fine, mostly because both Linda and I had work peeps in the audience. They were politely complimentary, but I knew in my heart I could have done better--I have done better. I really, really wished they had seen me in one of my better shows.

Like the show that followed on Saturday night. That show was a smashing success, for the audience was there to laugh and carry on without a moment's hesitation. One of the audience members got a little too carried away, and by the time fellow comic Andy Paquette was closing, she felt compelled to grade every joke ("That was funny!" "That was baaaaaad!"). Poor Andy. Well, actually, poor her, for Andy managed her heckles beautifully. (Or should I say mercilessly?)

But the compliments were flowing afterwards, and I felt marvelous heading home. And the fact that I did my full range of anti-homophobe material to an audience that contained a politician of the GOP persuasion made it that much more magnificent.

Yes, life and The Comedy are good.

For now.

Fan mail

This was in today's e-mail, regarding Saturday's "Girls!x3"show:

Thanks for making me and my "I don't really get jokes" girlfriend laugh.

Isn't that a nice thing to tell a comic? Made my day--no, week.

Was feeling a little anxious about this weekend's shows, but this quote will help calm at least some of my fears.

On other fronts, I have a new picture of Linus that will melt your heart like buttah--and one of Oatmeal that will do the same, if you're a cat person.

If you're neither, I don't know what to say, except I'm sorry.

Well, maybe I have to say I'm sorry anyway, for I don't have said pictures in my possession. Yet.

But as soon as I do, prepare to have an "Awwwwwwwww" moment or 50.

What was that!

This weekend has been a whirlwind. Between my brother and sister-in-law visiting for the first time This Century (I kid you not), to participating in the latest "Girls, Girls, Girls!" enterprise, to my sister and a former coworker of hers making a brief visit, I'm done in.

The brother and sister-in-law part of the weekend was wonderful--love those people to bits! The "Girls, Girls, Girls!" set went well, if quickly--I thought I had 20 minutes going in, but that's not what I had when I was through. Makes me a little nervous about next week's sets, but I'm sure I'll think of something....

Jennifer did a great job keeping it going, and I loved her new material on working in Corporate America.

Felt like a good set with a crowd that was not a sure thing--the real variable being the women from the Big Company (copyright Jennifer) who were IN THE FRONT ROW, bless their hearts. Either I ignored them or they were "good" (or crashing big time) during my set, but they chattered through other comic's sets, and that's not a good thing, really and truly. Oh well, they'll learn (or I'll learn not to tell them where I'm performing next).

And it was dear to see some friends in the audience I didn't expect to see--love that!

But the one fly in the ointment, burr in my saddle, and pain in my patoot was--you may know this already if you know me--my sister's impromptu (and tardy) visit. Am still reeling from the aftershock (her former coworker was a character with a capital "C"--still don't know whether to be charmed or alarmed, is all I can say right now).

But the good far outweighed the bizarre this weekend, and this is what I'm holding onto.

Now, I must prepare for another week at the Big Company(R).

Giving credit where credit is due

I have not properly attributed a suggestion from a young(er) friend of mine, and hereby make amends: The source of the "patch-a-thon" idea below is none other than comedy buddy and coworker Jennifer Myszkowski.

Now, my conscience is clear.

Not much else to report, except it's looking like a lot of coworkers are coming to this weekend's "Girls x 3" show.

Oh glory.....

Progress, indeed

This weekend was devoted to cleaning the house from stem to stern, which I just finished doing (except for one load of laundry), even though I started Saturday morning.

I have never set land-speed records, but when it comes to cleaning, I surprise myself at how long I take. Two days. For a ranch?

Of course, I didn't just dust and vacuum and tidy up the porcelain. I also walked and fed the dogs both days, took breaks for meals, and of course, stopped when the sun set--cleaning after sunset is something I've only done when I was moving out of an apartment and had to clean it before I fled. Or if company was coming and there was no way around it.

Well, company is coming (in the form of my brother and sister-in-law), but not until next Friday. Unless there's a hurricane or other major national disaster. My brother is in the disaster business now, and so he can plan, but God regularly takes his plans and pops 'em in the shredder.

But no matter what happens, my house is clean as it gets.

On other fronts, I spoke with a friend today who is dealing with the aftermath of a parent's death. She has a lot to contend with, but I can help with the grief part, for I remember well the fog that enveloped me the year after each parent's death. The fog lifts eventually, but the sadness never leaves. Not entirely. I miss my mother, I do. I still read things that she would enjoy, and am sad that she can't enjoy them. As maddening as she could be, I wish she were still here. Don't want you to think I don't also miss my dad. I am reminded of him every time I have a show in an Elks Club or see someone driving around with a car full of painting supplies with ladders on top.

But he isn't who I called when I saw something funny or maddening or wonderfully put. If he answered the phone, he would immediately hand it off to Mom. But he's not there to hand off the phone, and she's not there to take it from him, and that may be the proper order of things but that just stinks.

If there isn't an afterlife, I'm going to be so P.O.d. Of course, if there isn't, I won't have the ability to be P.O.'d, will I? (Such are the things that can keep me up nights, but nevermind....)

The only good thing about losing my parents is that I can be of comfort to other people who have lost parents.

One thing: This friend said that two months after the death of her parent, some people are suggesting she should be "over" it already. To this, I could only respond, "Tell them to go f*** themselves, and tell them I said so."

Now, I'm not one to drop the f-bomb unless there is no other word that will do, but anyone who would try to shame someone who is grieving deserves a verbal kick in the pants, if not a literal one. True, these people are likely uncomfortable with emotion or mortality or something that reflects the all-too-human resistance to unpleasant realities, but to suggest to someone who has lost a parent they should "snap out of it" in a matter of weeks has something broken inside. Badly broken.

It took me a year after each parent's death to get past feeling as though someone had hit me in the head with a 2 x 4. Two months?

Altogether now: What a Puddin'head.

Lastly, I dreamt of being in chemo last night with a grand group of women who I was apparently friends with, but I don't remember recognizing any of them. We were having quite a time trying on terrible wigs.

This dream is a combination of bad news I heard about a fellow dog nut in town and a documentary about the making of "Wig in a Box," a CD of "Hedwig and the Angry Inch" songs that was a fundraiser for a high school for GLBT and questioning kids in NYC. I ordered the CD, in the hopes that might end the wig references in my dreams; as to what I can do for my sister in dog adoration, I don't know....

Truer words....

My dear, departed mother, who could turn quite a phrase, often said, "Once you hit 40, it's patch, patch, patch."

Considering my recent spate of repairs, a friend of mine suggests I work on material regarding a "Patch-a-Thon."

My friend, you may have guessed, is younger than I am. My decrepitude is amusing as all heck to the whippersnapper, but to this ol' Dykesaurus? Phooey!

Seriously, I guess I don't really mind so much. Intimations of mortality are nothing new for this battered soul. But the old joke about how I would have taken better care of myself if I had known I was going to live this long has been occurring to me. Over and over again.

In the messy span that was my youth and young adulthood, I didn't expect to live much past 30. Today, I'm 17 years older than that.

Yeah, recovery is grand, but enduring--well, it can be a pain.

Let's review: I had a root canal in 2001 or so, only to have it fail last year. (Yes, the same year that I lost most of my job and was prescribed a colonoscopy, but let's not go there) I had a procedure that was supposed to fix said failure, but I learned just recently that it failed, too. So, the tooth has to come out.

Once six months have passed, I get to have an implant. There may be a joke in here someday, when I actually do get the implant and I can ask people if they can tell I've had some work done, but that may be pushing it.....

Now, my eyes have decided to slip quite a bit, enough so that I need "progressive" lenses. While I love the name, the reality is that the longer I wear them (I just got them today), the more tired and nauseous I become.

That's not progress.

Of course, this is supposed to pass--but then again, so am I!

Ah, there's always a bright spot, isn't there?

Actually, there is. I may be getting some time over at one of my favorite Boston-area clubs. There's nothing official to report, but there's hope.

And that is the best news I have. That and the fabulous "Girls, Girls, Girls!" is coming up on the 30th, and so are my brother and sister-in-law. Should be quite a show and quite a weekend.

But now, I must walk the beasts.

I knew her when!

Am pleased as punch to report a good friend of mine from my art major days (UW-Milwaukee, 1977-1979), Kathryn Siegler, is having a major show at a gallery in San Francisco. She sent me the gallery's postcard heralding the event, and it described her and her work so beautifully, it made me think, "At last, somebody really gets her and her art."

Thrilling, that. Go here to get a look at examples of her "elegant and subtle strokes" that resonate with her "keen, dry sense of humor and straightforward Mid-Western tenet...."

It looks as though a number of her works have already sold, bless 'er heart.

Way to go, Daddy-o! (In case you're wondering, we had all sorts of names for each other back in the day.)

Working on the weekend?

Somehow, I am working this weekend. Now, I know that isn't right.

But then again, neither is underemployment.

Anyhoo, I was warned that this job entailed a work deluge in the late summer/early fall, and as it is late summer/early fall, I guess this is to be expected.

Still, it seems wrong. In a word: Harrumph!

Did get to watch some of the Open, though, and was happy to see Andy Roddick advance to the final. I missed yesterday's matches, which was for the best. Justine Henin-Hardenne (she who I would not trust with a wooden nickle) and Maria Sharapova (she who is pretty, but has eyes that betray a killer lurking within) advanced, which means that Amelie Mauresmo (she who may have to allow talk of her "nerves" again) lost.

Merde.

Brought our "boy" Linus to the vet today, for he has been licking up a storm. We worried about all sorts of scenarios, but our vet's best guess is that he has allergies. Apparently, September's ragweed wreaks havoc on the canine set, and our dear son may be among the afflicted.

Just like his two mommies. Poor duck.

Lastly, to report on Thursday night's open mic seems silly, as it was a dud. Not an enormous dud, but more of a quiet dud. For most of us, I fear. The audience seemed tentative--no, maybe that was me--and it just never quite got going....or something. Even Jennifer (she who can usually rally the near-dead) had no luck, but she's been cursed with the happiness of late, so comedy is a bit of a challenge for her.

It's best left to us miserable wretches...8-(

Gratitude

My current job has been a hectic affair of late, with crushing deadlines, last-minute changes, and bureaucratic hoo-hah the likes of which I haven't seen in years.

That said, I am happy for this job. This time last year, I was underemployed and working as a temp for the local superintendent of schools. (The super? She was fabulous. The job? Not so much.) Now at least I'm making a living wage and socking money away for retirement, which at the moment can't come a minute too soon.

But I digress.

What I saw this weekend gave me something to think about every time I think my job is just a menial exercise in futility. For while I have had a lot of terrible jobs in my day (graveyard shift waitress at Bob's Big Boy, for one major example), I saw a job this weekend that made me feel oh-so-lucky in so many ways. For no matter how bad things got, I never had the job the likes of which I saw at the rest stop on the Pike. To wit: Crowd control in the ladies' room.

Yes, there is a job in which one keeps bathroom lines moving. It consists of yelling "Next!" and pointing out the stall that is vacant.

If that isn't a job to make you wonder, "What if?" I don't know what is.

But you know what else? The woman who had this terrible job of all terrible jobs was doing a fabulous job of it. She was yelling "Next" with vigor, and helping the ladies along by giving them helpful hints, like "Third door on the left!" and "Last door on the right!"

She kept that line moving, and with gusto. That was something to see.

Moral of the story: If you don't have a great job, give it your best. If nothing else, it will keep things moving along...

And on the subject of moving along, can you believe it's September already? Disturbing that may be, the good news is tomorrow night is the famous Comedy Open Mic at PACE in Easthampton. $3 for all The Comedy you can stand (maybe more). See you there!

Dyke dynamics

We took a walk with the dogs in a local conservation area this morning, and when we were almost at the end, we came across two lesbians and their children.

Of course, in this neck of the woods it could have been two straight women with sensible haircuts and their children, but they read "Family" to me.

Anyway, as we approached them, one of the women began speaking to me in a very authoritarian tone. She said something along the lines of, "Your dogs should be on leashes. I am a member of the Board of this conservation area, and we have had trouble with dogs abusing the wildlife in this area and have enacted leash laws as a result and BLAHBLAHBLAHBLAH...."

To be perfectly honest, I stopped hearing her somewhere around the "member of the Board" business, for if there is anything that's bound to close my earflaps, it's the sound of OFFICIOUS AUTHORITY. That the officiousness is coming from someone who appeared to share my sexuality didn't help a bit.

In fact, it made it worse somehow. Humorless, dogmatic dykes--goddess spare us!

I did respond that we were aware of the law, but as our dogs are at the age where we're grateful they're still walking, we chose to ignore it. They are no more a threat to wildlife at this stage of their lives than I am. (After 15 years of sobriety, the only laws I break are leash laws--ain't that a kick?)

Well, she was unmoved. I am surprised we don't have a police cruiser in the front drive, and our dogs haven't been cited for being a threat to wildlife.

Afterwards, I thought of something I wish I had said (typical), and if I had had my wits about me at the time the Board Dyke gave me an earful, I would have said, "Well, I'm a comic, and humorless authoritarian types such as yourself are an endless source of material, and I'd like to thank you. Now, I'd like to take my aged, arthritic dogs home, if you don't mind...."

The thing is, she was absolutely right. But the way she presented herself to us made me want to go out and terrorize some wildlife myself. Right in front of her. Twice.

Okay, so I have trouble with authority. This I know. So when someone gets on their high horse, I want to spook that horse and make it run toward trees with low branches so it knocks that someone right on her righteous ass.

And I know that if I were a big, burly guy with a big group of burly guys, she wouldn't have said a peep. (People have long felt free to give me lectures; I appear to have "Won't fight back" written on my forehead.)

Sigh.

On other fronts, we spent a couple of days visiting some NYC friends, and had a good time. The weather didn't cooperate with our plans (we were going to go to a festival called "Day to Be Gay"), but instead we watched the U.S. Open, and all had a good cry when Andre Agassi lost what is supposed to be his final tournament.

Nothing like a good cry over a good guy, I must say. Andre has been a delight to watch over the years, and I'm going to miss him very much.

Now, if the people who decide these things would just show us a match or two with Mauresmo.....