Hasta la vista, 2007!

While I thought 2005 had distinguished itself as a year for the "Into each life some rain must fall" archives--it was the year I lost 70% of my long-term job and had my first colonoscopy, after all--2007 was a doozie.

Linda and I had to say goodbye to our cat Oatmeal, my dear aunt Barb, and, as if that weren't enough for one year, our dear shepherd mix Linus, aka Lamby man. That just happened on the 28th of December, and we're still reeling. (We put together a web site in his honor--it's helped a lot, and I highly recommend putting some sort of archive on your loved one together to anybody who is grieving.)

As you might imagine, The Comedy was not a prevailing feature of 2007, which I now consider the Year of the Loss-a-Thon. However, one of the few bright spots emerging from the death of Linus is that I no longer have the responsibility of being a home health care aid for a dog, so I will have more time and freedom to pursue gigs in 2008. Linda and I will also be able to travel a bit more, and that will be good for us, too.

But who knows what this year may bring? A new dog, most likely. (Even though she's no mere slip of a girl, the house is just too darn empty with "just" Shwea in it.) Otherwise, it's anyone's guess, and I, for one, am full of hope for the New Year.

Yes, some people never learn. ;-)

Happy What-Have-You!

This logo comes from the aptly-named House of Wisconsin cheese in Madison. The place for cheesecurds and all things gloriously tacky with Wisconsin themes, such as cheesehead hats, Bucky Badger and Packer chotchkes of all description and more cow paraphenalia than you can shake an udder at (not that one should do such things). I asked the proprietor if I could place this logo on my blog, as I, too, am a "genuine article" from America's Dairyland, and feel I've earned the right to this badge of wholesome honor...of sorts. He kindly agreed.

Besides, so many people have "Holiday" themed nonsense on their blog--I thought it would be nice to have something different, don't you?

Well, there isn't much to catch up on at the moment, but once we've opened our presents, there may be. Christmas in Lesbianville--you know there's some Carhartt involved, but that's all I'm saying, for now.

MySpace isn't the only space in town....

According to my sources, many of the entries in the blog I began on MySpace won't be accessible to anyone but MySpace members, and I am never comfortable with restrictions on info, even my humble mutterings.

So I'm going to try to keep posting in both places, but for simplicity's (if not sanity's) sake, I may ditch my old, decrepit website over on Verizon.

Besides, I have been reading Dr. Wayne Dyer's book on the Tao lately, and per the dear doctor, the Tao suggests jettisoning as much "stuff" as possible.

Particularly stuff one likes.

While I am a fan of the "less is more" school, I can't say that I'm quite ready to give up a few of my favorite things quite yet. But, with Linda raising the Early Retirement spectre early and often, I have begun getting rid of things that I don't really need that cost me money. For instance, I cancelled an e-mail account I have had since the dawn of time today that I only used to gain dial-up access out at the cottage about twice this summer. Maybe once. $18/month for one dialup per year just doesn't seem worthwhile, does it?

Now, I'm going to look over the old website and see if its time is nigh. It won't save me any money to give it the heave-ho, but it may lighten my psychic load.

And if any gal needs her psychic load lightened, it is yours truly.

Bandwagon. Jumped upon.

Well, I finally got the gumption (thanks to some prodding by my Comedy Buddy and coworker, Jennifer Myszkowski) and now have a page on MySpace.

Thought it was for the young'uns, but after roaming around in the comedy section, I realize that my preconceptions were just that: Based on speculation, not fact.

Looks like this page could signal the end of this Blogger account. The MySpace comedy page not only features a blog, but it also offers a nice place to display coming shows--rather a one-stop shop for anyone interested in yours truly or The Comedy. Don't know if you've noticed, but I barely keep up with this page--to keep up this page, my web site and a MySpace page would take more time than I have.

Well, it's time for dinner. We'll see what we do.....

Retirement-planning on the cheap

Linda has been on sabbatical for about four weeks now, which means she has not been going to work.

Newsflash: She's enjoying being out of the Corporate realm very, very much.

Shocking, isn't it?

Since I work from home three days a week, this means we've had all sorts of time together that we didn't used to. A circumstance which, you can imagine, has its upsides as well as down. My favorite part of her sabbatical is that she is much happier, which is a very good thing. My second-favorite part has to be the opportunity it gives me to hear Linda say things, typically without any context, that just crack me up. Recent examples:

"I like cupcakes."
"I am sort of excited about the gutter guard."
"You never understand me sometimes."

That last quote suggests one of the downsides, for if there's something Linda loves, it's a project. When she was at work, she directed her project management skills on work-related issues to great effect; my concern is that now that she's at home, she may focus her formidable talents on home-related issues. In other words: Me.

I have no desire to be a homo-improvement project, mind you, and hope that the gutter guards or other exciting feature of our home grab her attention instead. Here's hoping!

One other charming (okay, and alarming) thing Linda has taken to doing is checking her retirement plans with the 8 Ball I have in our office. She's asking it, "Should I retire?" And the damn thing's been saying, "Yes."

I asked it myself, and it said the same thing. Even asked it if we'd have enough money, and it said, "Without a doubt."

It must know something I don't, but if this keeps up, I may soon be a sole breadwinner.

Yeah, I like the sound of that as much as I like the idea of being a homo-improvement project, but let's just wait and see.

Besides. I like cupcakes, too.

Surprises galore

Am sooooo sorry for the gloomy turn this blog has taken, but I know from painful, firsthand experience that you can run, but you can't hide, from reality. And reality? It has its gloomy parts.

But surprises often break through the gloom, which keeps things interesting. And infinitely less depressing.

For instance, we were sure that Linus, our dear shepherd mix, was going to go to Doggie Heaven not terribly long ago. He was listless, he wasn't even sitting up to eat, and when it was meal time, he was refusing his favorite foods. He wasn't even interested in liverwurst, disgusting stuff that he used to drool a river over (which was disgusting too, but it made him oh-so-happy). In short, he was taking a "Is that all there is?" attitude to everything. In short: He was Peggy Lee with paws.

To see if there was something else afoot, in mid-October we called the house call vet in to give him a checkup and to ask her opinion of where he was on the quality of life scale. After looking him over, she told me he was a candidate for euthanasia, and she could do it right then. Immediately. Like, now. I was taken aback, shall we say, and said I would have to talk it over with Linda, so the vet gave me a number of days that she could come back and put him down, and I saw her out the door.

I then had a very painful cry (as opposed to a "good cry"--it certainly wasn't one of those), then gathered myself together and went to see how Linus was doing.

He was doing well. Really well. He was sitting up, eyes aglow and looking as perky as perky could be.I think his tail might have even been wagging. A little. He wasn't walking or anything, but he was a new dog. And I think he was trying to tell me something.

All he needed was a sign saying, "Hell no, I won't go!"

Surprising indeed. In fact, he's been doing pretty well ever since the vet came by, though he has had moments of food fussiness. He had been eating Dinty Moore beef stew--also a disgusting enterprise--like it was going outta style, then suddenly turned his considerable nose up at it. It was as though his senses came to their senses.

But no matter what, he eats baby food--yes, baby food--with abandon. As long as it's fed to him with a spoon.

Yes, I feed baby food to my dog with a spoon. You got a problem with that?

I'm not the first. This baby-food-with-a-spoon business was something my cousin in Wisconsin said she did for an ailing dog of hers, and it has been our culinary Ace in the Hole with this guy. (Thanks, Pat!)

It's genetic, I think. At my aunt's memorial, both Pat and I were there solo. Our respective spouses (she married a guy--it happens in the best of families) were both home, tending sick dogs.

This, apparently, is what my people do.

As for the memorial, it was a little bizarre, and not in a good way. The primary oddness was that it was led by a priest. My aunt was Catholic, true, but she wasn't a church-going Catholic. I think she was more than a little scarred by her religious upbringing (how unusual) and as an adult, found the whole church-centered enterprise a giant waste of time. She was a Christian in deed, not in pomp and circumstance.

At least that's my take on it--we didn't discuss such matters in my family. (We didn't discuss most matters--except politics--in my family.)

Anyway, the priest had a whole religious service put together, including a reading by yours truly--yes, the dyke in the woodpile read from the Good Book. (No, there was no thunder or lightening.)

I was annoyed at first, for had I been told I was to give a reading by the members of the family deciding such things (again, we don't discuss most matters), I would have found something appropriate. Instead, the priest had me read something that I couldn't make heads nor tails of, and when I suggested we find something more suitable, he told me he would rather we keep this piece, for it was the "crux" of his entire service. So, not having an alternative at the ready or a spine (for that matter), I read it. For him (for of course, the service was all about him).

(Any residual bitterness about the Catholic church, Ann? Oh no, not me!)

There was a surprise here, too. When I got up to do the reading, I began reading the wrong thing. Not on purpose, I promise--but my passive-aggressive subconscious (or was it Barb?) had me mess it up but good. I stopped myself after I realized my mistake and after I apologized to the peeps and Barb herself, we had a light chuckle and I finished my task and sat down.

I was a bit aflutter at first, but then my sister-in-law said something kind (she can't help herself) and my cousin Pat whispered to me, "Barb would have liked that goof most of all."

Maybe. But I think she would have been most touched by the comments made by my brother, who could have had a tremendous career as a speech maker for any occasion if he hadn't been so darned intent on a life in public service (go figure). He summed up the many literal and figurative gifts she gave us wonderfully, as well as her tremendous humor. For instance: He opened his comments by reporting what Barb would say in mock exasperation each time she opened the door to us. "What--you again? Well, I suppose you should come on in..."

Lovely, that.

Anyway, I have gone on, haven't I? Sorry, but I have been away, and felt some catching up was in order. Now, I must get to work, which is, bless me, something I get to do from home today. Ah, flexible work arrangements. (Can I hear "Amen"?)

And now that some of my gloom has lifted, I am thinking about The Comedy anew. Good thing, for there's another Girls!Girls!Girls! on the horizon (November 30, to be specific). Go to my "Comic Attempts" page for details, if this is of any interest to you.

Trying times, these

My dear aunt is gone, one of my dear dogs is going to join her in the not-too-distant future, and my dearest has been having a challenging time.

And her challenges are my challenges, don't you know.

Sigh.

Am reminded of a lyric from a song on one of my Ella Fitzgerald CDs: "Into each life, some rain must fall, but too much too much too much is falling in mine...."

Indeed.

But this too shall pass, as they say, which is cold comfort when "this" includes one of the sweetest creatures on the planet.

And The Comedy has taken a back seat to all of this "stuff," as you can imagine. Alas, there's sad news on this front, too. Jimmy Tingle is letting the lease on his fabulous theater lapse, so there will be no more Jimmy Tingle Off-Broadway as of November 1.

The man and his staff knew how to treat comics, and his theater could be tremendously intimate with the right crowd.

It was also the site of my favorite show ever, the Laughing Liberally Tour of 2006.

Oh well.

I haven't been posting. Now you know why.

Count yer blessings, eh?

Not exactly standup fodder, but...

Spent a long weekend in Wisconsin tending to a dying aunt and dementia-ridden uncle, which will never be a lead-in to a successful joke. Thing is, despite the gravity of the situation, my aunt found humor in much of what was going on, and while she couldn't laugh (her remaining lung is what's failing her), she was causing mirth among her family, friends and health care workers while I was there. For example:

When the hospice nurse told that she was about to get a nebulizer treatment, she responded, "Oh, goody!" Her next-door neighbor (and dear friend) who was in the room said, "Really? You like these treatments?" To this, my aunt replied with an eye roll and what could only be called a growl. The neighbor laughed and said, "Oh, you're being sarcastic. You'd think after all of these years I would have known that!"

Sarcasm has long been a forte of this aunt, but her sharp wit has also long been tempered by incredible sweetness. She was always very generous to friends and family, and with all of the helpful people in her home this weekend, I have a lot more faith in the concept of karma. She also spent a lot of what little breath she had left on instructions as to the health and well-being of other people. She asked visitors more than once if they were cold--not because she was, but because she was worried that they were. She also worried about her husband, and gave me the unenviable task of asking him if he'd been tending to his business. (You haven't lived until you've approached your 80-something uncle and said, "Uncle, I hope you don't mind, but Auntie was wondering if you've been to the bathroom....")

Of course, this hasn't all been a Hallmark movie for my aunt. She went without oxygen at home for a very long time because of some ridiculous Medicare requirements that required her to go the ER on a regular basis for oxygen until she was practically blue. Where is the sense in that? It has to be cheaper to have an oxygen tank at home than to use the ER to breathe, doesn't it?

And then there was the "Angel" recommended by the hospice who was going to spend the night at their house until the end. Well, this gal not only smoked on a regular basis (great for someone working with a lung patient, don't you think?), but she didn't just smoke cigarettes and--this is the clincher--she was a born-again recovering alcoholic who cautioned my aunt of the damnation that awaits her if she doesn't [fill-in-the-blank]. Yes, the hospice hooked my aunt up with a pothead preacher.....

My aunt was never one to suffer fools or fundamentalists gladly, so this person presented a unique challenge, shall we say. I wasn't at their house during this episode, but the "Angel" only spent one night at the house, and relatives and friends have been filling in for the rest of the time.

Another funny (to me, I'm not well in the noggin', you know) episode was what she said on occasion. After a long silence, she woke up and told my cousin she had to use the commode before they came to pick her up. Who "they" were was unclear, but where she was going was fairly plain, and my cousin and I were both amused that they suggested she approach the Hereafter with an empty bladder. How very tidy of them!

She also woke with a start and started feeling her head--apparently, "they" were trying to take her hair. Why, I don't know, but "they" were much with her over the weekend, and I think she was being eased over to whatever or wherever is next by these people, even if they had a slightly bizarre set of priorities....

There's not much more to report, but I am very, very glad I made this trip. I have not spent this much time with my aunt and uncle in recent memory, and I felt honored--privileged, even--to be able to spend a portion of my aunt's last days with her. (She's still alive, but not expected to make it through the night.)

On other fronts, it dawned on me this weekend that while the Northeast has the f-bomb, the Midwest drops the "crap" bomb when circumstances warrant. Good thing for me, for "crap" is a workplace-approved term at Big Company--and at my aunt and uncle's house, it turns out.

Good night at The Studio

Last night's show at The Comedy Studio was a success, and this gal needed that. During the day yesterday I was the source of frequent irritation for my significant other, which, shall we say, did not exactly put a spring in my step.

True, I know the source of most of this irritation is not me but stress, which we have had by the truckload for months now. Though we love him dearly, the care and feeding of our increasingly decrepit Linus is wearing. Plus, we've both been just knocking ourselves out at work on a regular basis, and there's no end in sight.

Sigh.

Anyway, heading off to a comedy show under the emotional weather, I was understandably ambivalent about how it was all going to work. I wanted to try some new material, but didn't really have the time to test it out beforehand, thanks to my boycott of a certain convenient open mic that got my knickers in a serious knot.

What got my knickers knotted? They had begun charging comics for performing, for pity's sake--I know every performance space is short of money, but charging your performers is a mercenary bit of business, IMHO, and on par with bringer shows (in some clubs, you can perform at an open mic only if you "bring" six paying customers along), which are popularity contests, not comedy showcases. Good news: Rumor has it they have stopped hitting up the talent--I would be very happy if that was the case, for there are precious few places to test material in this neck of the woods, and eventually my coworkers will tire of being comic guinea pigs.

That said, I went up and did my usual material to great result, and even snuck in a little new stuff that didn't exactly wow, but showed promise. Happily, I had a DVD made, and now have a set that I can and will use to try to get more work, once I am free to pursue comedy work with abandon. (As long as Linus needs round-the-clock care, however, I will be only doing the minimum to keep my comic fires burning.)

And not only did I have a good set, but both Jennifer and I got a bunch of new dates from our friend Rick Jenkins. (Jennifer had an incredible set, too--that gal is comic force to contend with, let me tell you!)

So, even though I left home feeling a bit of a zero, I left The Studio feeling rather okay about it all.

And that, my friends, qualifies as progress in these parts.

Good advice

Was looking up a Latin phrase on Wikipedia, and came across the following:

Cave ab homine unius libri

Translation: "Beware the man of one book."

Don't know why, but that tickles me to bits.....

How did it go?

The Girls! Girls! Girls! show Saturday night was a Success! Success! Success!, if an occasionally fraught one. A number of people from my place of employment stopped by (bless their hearts), and as some of my material is what one could call personal, and some of it is also less than complimentary toward the Corporate Sector, I had a moment or two of The Nerves.

Not that it stopped me, but I'm just saying, I had the phrase "What the heck are you doing?!!" pop into my head once or twice. I overrode it, as is my custom. (When you're Midwestern-born and trying to do The Comedy, you become very good at the "override" business.)

All went well, though--and who knew Nikki Carr could sing like that?! A fabulous comic with pipes, she is. The rest of the "Girls!"--Jennifer Myszkowski, Eve Olitski, Linda Morgan, Kim "Boney" DeShields, and yours truly--were "on" that night, too, which is a marvelous thing.

If you weren't there, you missed something. Let that be a lesson to you!

On other fronts, my dear Linda commented that Nikki killed in part because she always has different/new material. Well, that got my knickers in a knot, so that means there is likely more than a little truth in that statement (of course, Nikki also had really good new/different material, difference alone does not a successful set make). However, I think my knickers got knotted because I wish I had new/different material, too, but it has not been forthcoming.

It's a source of worry, for I used to be writing things down all the time--now, if I have a comic thought, it's often gone before I get to write it down. Sigh.

Methinks it's the grief over the state and fate of our dear Linus. Grief and The Comedy do not mix, do they? I find I have a little rock of ready-to-cry in my heart a lot of the time, and I think that rock may be impeding my sense of the absurd a bit.

Of course, this could all be a rationalization, and as a gal who was raised Catholic in the Midwest, rationalizationsRMe.....

We shall see, eh?

Comic anniversary

This coming Saturday, September 15, it will have been four years since I began my comedy career (loosely defined). According to my calendar, that was the first day of the standup comedy course at the venerable Greenfield Community College that I took on a whim.

What a whim!

Four years later, I am still standing up and largely succeeding at making the people laugh, though I must confess the bloom has been off the comedy rose of late--though this is due more to my ailing dog more than the state of my relationship with The Comedy. (We're still quite fond of one another, it's just other things--i.e., Linus--are more important right now.)

That's not to say I'm not still performing--tonight Jennifer and I will be at The Comedy Studio, and on my comedy anniversary next Saturday, I'll be participating in another installment of the fabulous Girls! Girls! Girls! franchise at PACE.

Hope to see you there--or somewhere--soon....

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?