I Do Say

Scientists have just confirmed something I've known for years: Monkeys speak with accents.


"I do say: Today's banah-nahs were rather mashy. I've told Bahzil one hundred times, I like my banah-nahs fuhm, not mashhhay. I don't like them mashay. Frankly, I don't even like banah-nahs at awl. Say, do you gather we could eat somewhere else now and again? I am so tired of the PEEEE-ople around here. I figure we could at least travel, what would you say, about 40 meters west? See what's there? Hmm? Nigel, what has gotten into you today? You haven't ANN-swered a SIN-gle whurd I'm saying. Nigel? Hmmmmm?"

ALSO!!! BIG NEWS!!!

Tomorrow night, I will be debuting something I've been dreaming of doing for years:

Les Miserables In 10 Minutes.

Yes, you read that right. I will try to condense Les Mis into a 10 minute time slot, without losing major plot points or songs. It will be a treat, I can assure you that, and will take place at my fave show in New York "The Most Comfortable Show in NYC". Here's the info:

This Week Nick and John welcome...

Rob Latham (UCB Star and All Around Gentleman)

Ahna Tessler and Lauren Engel

Best Week Ever's Pete Holmes

From STELLA and "Wet Hot American Summer", Michael Showalter

and me.

See them all Thursday, Dec 1 at...
RIFIFI
332 E. 11th ST (btwn 1st and 2nd Ave)
8 PM

I believe the show is free.


SEE YOU THERE, MARIUS.

Finally, a BIG THANKS to the Rich-Shea family for hosting me like a poor Latvian at this year's Thanksgiving Bash. Nothing like eating 14 pounds of tofu and working it off in a 4-hour long ping pong tournament consisting mostly of bending down to pick the ball up. And special thanks to Atara and Jared for not stabbing me in my sleep.

Up Close And Perspirent

Yesterday afternoon, I got an urgent IM from my friend Alyson. "What are you doing tonight?" I thought about my options: I could sit in bed and watch Seinfeld, recline upright and do some writing while watching Seinfeld, sit Indian-style on my bed while eating hummus from the tub with my fingers while watching Seinfeld... all very tempting options.

"Nothing" I wrote back.

"I'm trying to get concert tickets for tonight... would you want to see [NAME WITHHELD] tonight at MSG?" she inquired. MSG stands for Madison Square Garden, and does not refer to a rock band standing on a bullion cube made of suffering and migraine headaches.

"How much?" I wanted to know.

She offered a very fair price.

I thought.

And I thought.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I ended up scoring kick-ass tickets to see Bon Jovi last night.

I will allow you a few seconds to bask in my faux-glow.

And now: THE PICTURES.


Alyson in front of the theater. You'll notice the name of this tour is "Have A Nice Day", which is better than their original name for it, the "Take A Penny, Leave A Penny" Tour.



THE GOD DESCENDS. You will notice that these are all very candid, and very close. That is because we scored tickets all the way over to the side of the stage, but right in the front. Meaning we couldn't see the screen behind him, but we were breathing in his carbon dioxide.



Here is the Bon Jovi Superfan(c) who stood in front of us. More on her later.



Things Bon Jovi has in common with my changepurse: They are small, they are leather, they are stuffed with cash, they have dazzling hair.



One of about 100 blurry shots I am choosing to share with you.



Here's Superfan(c) again, multi-tasking by watching the show through binoculars and taking pics on her camera phone. I'll be frank: At first, I figured she and her sister (we were to find out) would be hilarious fodder for the day after the show, but they ended up being the most hilarious, fun people there. So don't say shit about Superfan, even though she's a liiiiiittle overzealous at times. Who wouldn't be?? I also would like to add that I was convinced the crowd would be 10 times more Jersey-trashier than the Duran Duran show I attended a few months back: Quite the opposite. One of the most attractive group of concertgoers I've seen in a long time. Believe it! Also, 77 percent made up of Italian people. Not Sopranos-style mafiosos, but backpacking European teenagers.



"Raise your hand if you're Italian!"



The Hunchback of Notre Rock.



Here's Superfan(c) trying an ingenious trick: If you put your camera phone lens up to your binoculars, you could in turn, create your own zoom lens. It did not, in fact, end up working.



Everytime he would get within 50 feet of me, I would jump up and down waving, as if he'd turn and be like "You over thereeeee! (echo) Helloo-loo-looo!" This did not end up happening.



Some lucky contest winners won not only the opportunity to stand right off of the stage, but also a pretty spiffy green paper bracelet.



OK this is by far the most controversial shot of the set. So there's Bon Jovi, walking up to the Stripper Ramp right near our seats like a perfect gentlemen, when some rabid fan GOOSES HIM! It took me a while to confirm my suspicions, but check this out:



THAT'S A RIPE GOOSING ALRIGHT! But really, who can blame that lucky, lucky bitch.



I swear, if you touch your computer screen right now, it will feel like cow hide.



Another great moment in Bon Jovi Concert Going History: The two 14-year-olds who LIT UP A JOINT during ALWAYS. If you're British or "ITK" (In The Know), you will notice the blonde's resemblance to Vicky Pollard.



Richie Sambora, sleazy, and yet oddly, looking disease-ridden. JKJKJKJKJKJKJKJLOVE-YOU--RICHIIIIEEEE.



One miiiinor disappointment was that Mssr. Jovi chose not to sing probably my favorite song: Bed of Roses. I believe it was the first cassette single I ever bought after Celine Dion & Peabo Bryson's "Beauty and the Beast" single. I was 19 years old.



Mmmmm..... Old Spicey.



How I wish these four would have come to my Bat Mitzvah! Check out their slide!



Hey, Bon Jovi -- Michaelangelo called: He wants his inspiration for "David" back.

I call this next segment: "Bon Jovi From Every Angle":


Back.



Front.



Side.



Angle side.



Being lead by his crotch.



Broad Shouldered.



And Bringing It Home.



It's good to know these two shop at White House/Black Market.



As the band says goodnight, Hunchie the Keyboardist turns and gives some love to our section, who nearly burst their jugular to get his attention throughout the show.

They're performing again tonight, so if you have a brain, and a heart... you know the rest.

BONUS FOOTAGE
The name of which should tell you all what to expect (OR CLICK HERE TO SEE IT):

Happy Douche-Giving!

Will be back to blogging on Monday. I'll be at the Filene's Basement in Boston all weekend if anyone's looking for me.

Ipod All My Hope In You

While I'm busy finalizing my material for tonight's reading, I just wanted to give you all a quick update on my Ipod woes.

A few weeks ago I posted about how my Ipod froze up and basically conked out. I took the advice of one reader who suggested slamming it hard against a table a few times, which I did, and while it did allow me to get past that frustrating exclamation point file, it also deleted all my music, and didn't take care of the major problem.

Anyway this weekend I finally went to the "Genius Bar", possible the most intimidating bar in New York (after the multi-million dollar business dealings that go down at the TGI Friday's on Fulton Street.) After about a 30 minute wait, my adorable Apple rep and I shot the shit a little, then he reached under his desk and handed me a brand new one. Working. Gleaming. New. Sigh.



I'm right now at work listening to a little Neil Finn and Kelly Clarkson, and I feel fucking fantastic. Sure, I lost many hundreds of hours uploading music onto my player, but they gave me a new one! Just like I used to do with my Jansport backpack in middle school! It really works!

Thanks to everyone for their help!

*Pictures above courtesy of I Heart Internet, my now defunct comedy show from a few months ago at The Apple Store with #1 Apple Fan Chelsea Peretti.

I'm With The Band!

I'm reading at next week's WYSIWYG Blogger Reading. Theme? I'm With The Band.

I've got a few pricks up my sleeve, but no, if you're asking, I'm not going to talk about that time I ahumina-humina'd the bassist from Sugar Ray. I don't strap-on and tell!

Here's the line-up:

Hosted by: Chris Hampton

Blaise K., Maegan "la Mala", Josh Reynolds, Dan Rhatigan, Giulia Rozzi & Margot Leitman, and Moi

Info:

Tuesday, November 22, at 7:30 p.m.
at P.S. 122
150 1st Ave. at East 9th St.
Tickets are $7
click here to purchase advance tickets

I Cannot Wait To Have Children

So I can dress them up as Fast Food Working Dogs.



They'll look just like their father. (Click pic to enlarge... it's worth it.)

Celebrity Math!

It's Monday morning, and you know what that means... another round of CELEBRITY MATH!

And today's is a real doozy:


America's Next Top Model Winner Eva "the Diva" Pigford






A suspicious looking moustache






"Hustle N' Flow's" Terrence Howard.

The Black Clams

Have you guys caught the Triaminic commercial with the Baby Clam and the Mama Clam? Everytime this commercial comes on TV, I'm fascinated. Why? Because don't get me wrong, the commercial is beautiful, and kind of cute, but is it just me, or is it just a teeeeensy bit racist?



WATCH THE AD HERE. (Click on the link on the bottom left.)

Cute, right? Or is it? I mean, the colors are gorgeous, vibrant, the puppetry is brill, but am I wrong here, or is something with this commercial... just not PC?

Clearly, from the voiceovers, the Clams are black. The soothing, southern rasp of Mama Clam brings to mind the bosom of Della Reese. (Note how the Mama Claim is shaped like Della Reese's buzzy.)



But apparently I'm going to have to be the one to say it: What is with the lips? The huge purple lips? I love the voice, love the look. But BIG BLACK LIPS? Really, Triaminic, I would have thought more highly of you. How about next time you use Jewish Anteaters, with big hooked snouts, who suck change out of their neighbor's couch and constaaantly complaaaain about how sick they are? Or a Chinese Dog who's really good at math and takes pictures of everything while driving badly in their miniature car, huh?

And hey -- where is Daddy Clam?! Oh, so she has to be a SINGLE Black Clam Mama trying to raise her sick baby? Does she even know the Daddy? Or is she gonna have to go on Mon-Shell Crilliams to take a Clamternity test?! So typical -- TIH. PIH. KULL.



What? Oh, the dad's at work? Huh. Ok, well, that's good then. I'm happy for Mr. Clam. Oh, Dr. Clam? Dr. Clam. My apologies Dr. Clam.

By the by, the company that made the ad, Hornet, does pretty great stuff.

GQ: Implants Of The Year Award!

I've never been one to take sides. When it came down to Jennifer Aniston's divorce to "Butter Peanut", or Brad Pitt, I cried for days, sobbed, slowly rocked myself back and forth while watching "The One With The Earth-Shattering Breakup" episode of Friends and eating marshmallow fluff a wooden spoon and my fist. "Teams?" I cried! "Who can think of sports analogies at a time like thiii-hii-hiis."

Wounds healed, tears dried, and life barely moved on.

Then yesterday, GQ announces that Jennifer Aniston will be their first "Man of the Year" so to speak, in that she's the "Woman of the Year." Well, that's dandy! And lord knows, anyone as addicted to Kool 100's as Jenistan deserves a couple of accolades here and there!

But then I see the cover. Have you checked it out yet? No? Here's a sneak peak:



OK, OK, fine. That's not the real cover. But it may as well be.

Here's the actual cover:



Now, maybe it's the fact that I've been watching the Today Show's plastic surgery coverage all week (like yesterday, where two women with implants sat on the couch with rack fully splayed, or today, where Dr. 90210 looked directly into the camera and said "Too bad you're so poor, Michelle. I could really do a number on you."), but is it just me, or is Jennifer looking a little... implanty?

As my friend Lianne said, "I love how Jenny looks like a Rhodesian Ridgeback in this shot, yet... is FULLY STACKED." Truth is, even Rhodesian Ridgebacks are worried.


"Is everything OK at home?"

So... is Jen real or fake? Only time, gravity, and poorly constructed silicon Ziploc baggies will tell. But seriously, it's so sad when someone as naturally beautiful as Jennifer Aniston has to resort to smoking and surgery to make "men's" magazine covers.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to run to Costco, buy 3,000 cartons of Kool 100's, film my Must-See-TV sitcom "Pallies", and marry and divorce the sexiest man in the world. Lateskies.


24-years-old, and I still got it.