Tuesday, February 28, 2006

Sit Tight

Would my lack of posting today be made any better if I said I felt like this?:

Monday, February 27, 2006

The Other Talent Show -- Next Monday!!!

Hey guys,

Tickets are on sale for "The Other Talent Show", a new monthly variety show that I'm hosting along with Jon "Rejection Show" Friedman at Mo Pitkins, beginning at 8:30 p.m. The line-up is being finalized today, and I'll post it later on in the week.

Here's what I can promise you: I will be singing. A lot. And possibly playing an instrument. I will be dueting a love song with an older man (identity still under wraps). We will have a shockingly talented array of performers.

BUY TICKETS HERE! (They're only six bucks!)


Here's the info:

CBS/NYC Presents: The Other Talent Show

Monday, Mar 06, 2006 8:30 PM EST (8:00 PM doors)
at Mo Pitkin's (34 Avenue A)

THE OTHER TALENT SHOW, hosted by Jon Friedman (The Rejection Show) and Michelle Collins (youcantmakeitup.org) The Other Talent Show is a gathering of comedians, writers, and other artistic types performing their hidden or "other" talents. Comedians singing, musicians doing comedy, writers juggling, and many more crazy hidden gem talents! Featuring a very special guest whose hidden talent will knock your socks off!


I don't want to give away what my "other talent" is, but...

see you at the show!



OK. I know how this is going to sound/look.

So last year, or the year before, whenever Uggs, or what I called "the ugliest shoe I'd ever seen", became popular, I was appalled. Their design, their complete lack of structure, and the fact that most of the people caught wearing them were very likely "assholes", all made me loathe said shearling-lined bootie.

Winters passed, summers came and went. Blizzards, rainstorms, I'd managed to live for months without having any cravings for sticking my foot in a sueded sheep's asshole.

But then. Then I grew up a little bit, and practicality settled in. There I'd be, hoofing it along Madison Avenue, or in Tribeca, or an alley in NoHaBuLooBeHiYouHeHasAGun, in my J. Crew pointy black boots that I dubbed my "Van Helsing" shoe, a boot whose sole is basically a thin sheet of gauze that turns my feet into albino-snowman-like monster-hooves.

Here's the crazy thing: A website actually sells Van Helsing boots! Oh a-ha ha: "These boots are identical to those worn by Gabriel Van Helsing, good guy and enemy of evil the world over. Silver Alpalca tips and heel plates are not included but can be added for an additional $40." Here's a "silver tip" for nothing: If you're buying these boots, please, just kill yourself.

My friend Lang recently extolled the virtues of her Uggs, how she stole them from her mother and basically hasn't taken them off for the past 14 months. And still, I scoffed. "They look cute on your little feet, Lang... but I might as well strap my oversized peds to the backs of two golden retrievers and pray they know the way to the hummus aisle at Gristedes!" I thought to myself while simultaneously drooling onto my chin and throwing up.

My ideal boot.

I was firmly Anti-Ugg. Until yesterday.

Because yesterday is when Ms. Michelle Collins stumbled into a Marshall's in the Bronx and found fake, baby pink Ugg rip-offs, in her size no less, for $8.00. EIGHT DOLLAR$$$$$!!!! She couldn't leave them there because, being a Jew with a knack for buying garbage she doesn't need, she knew she had to have them. (Remember, this third-person thing is referring to me.)

I almost bought it as a joke, a nod to past trends. If slap bracelets and backward, brightly colored jeans were on clearance, surely I would have purchased them too, and then promptly "Jump, Jump"ed. I came home, waved the boots in front of my roomates, and laughed and laughed. Then I went into my room, and like a curious 5 year-old cross-dressing boy desperately staring at his mother's shoes, I slowly lowered one bare-foot into the ha-woolen bootie. Then the other. And that's when it occurred to me:

I am never, ever taking these boots off.

It's true. All the hype! All the rumors! They're all true!

(drooling all over myself)

If my foot were an infant, my fake Uggs would be the finest of baby powders sprinkled in a cashmere lined diaper. If my foot were a steak, my fake Uggs would be a truffle-oil marinade, fried in fresh pig lard, dipped in gold, and served on the face of Candice Bergen. If my foot were an underpaid maid, my fake Uggs would be the affair I had with the man of the house that would ultimately ruin their marriage. In other words, my fake Uggs are the most delicious things my feet have ever known.

But why stop there? If my foot is so happy covered in the skin of a sheep, what about the rest of my body?

See you on the streets, New York!!

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to drink some Alpaca-urine out of this fur-lined tea set.

Friday, February 24, 2006

A Strange Dream

Sigh... I miss his smile. And his wave.

I just remembered: I had the strangest dream last night.

So I'm at the movies with some friends, and I realize I have to go to the bathroom. I get up and go to the ladies room, and the next thing I know, I'm sitting on the bowl "making" with a soft, white blanket covering my legs. I look up, and now my two friends were in the stall with me! (Thank goodness the blanket was covering up my "business".) Just standing there casually in what must have been the handicapped stall, as it was more than roomy. (About 5 by 8 feet)

So we're a-chatting, and then all of a sudden the toilet is OUTSIDE on a sidewalk, and who should walk by but George Pataki. Well, he's an absolute gentlemen, and there I am, on the toilet with a blanket over my legs, and I say "Hey, George, how are your intestinal problems working out?" If you weren't aware, Gov. Pataki had his appendix taken out recently, and it's resulted in some weird intestinal blockage, i.e., a 21 gun salute to Major Constipation.

So he begins talking about his problems (it's nice to know my sub-conscious is so caught up on current events), and I ask him "Well, did you try putting a 'trumpet' up there?" and he goes "What's that?" and I go "You know, the red trumpet.. up there?" And Gov. Pataki gives me a thumbs up and says "Oh yeah, the red trumpet", smiles and walks away.

I think I'm trying to tell myself something. But first I must find out: what is a "red trumpet"?

Well, it must mean something, because I just shit my pants.


Whether you know it or not, I am always watching you. My statcounter is able to tell me where most of you live (city-wise), sometimes where you work, and how you got here (Google search, etc.) Don't worry, it's still fairly anonymous... I'm not going to get any of you fired, so take a deep breath and relax.

This explains how I came across the J-Walkblog, which linked to the animals in casts post. One of the comments had me a-cracking up. To wit:
By SuperSean:
I have an awkward story about a pet in a cast.

My parents' cat tore a tendon several years ago and my dad helped to rehab the cat by having her walk around the block on a leash while in her cast. A few weeks later in a neighborhood watch meeting, the only "suspicious activity" reported to the police was some guys running around with a limping cat on a leash!

Haha -- can you believe that? It's like some kind of weird cat domestic abuse. I only wonder if the neighbor was able to corner the cat and be all (casually) "So, how'd you hurt yourself?" and the cat's all (little to no eye contact) "Oh, I... haha... I fell down the stairs! Yesterday! Third time this month! Haha! Imagine that!"

(quiet, hissed whisper) "Heeeeelp meeeee."

ps While you're here, stop by and dress Willy, won't you?

(I swear, last thing in this genre for at least 10 years. I'm starting to weird myself out.)

Thursday, February 23, 2006

I'm Sorry... What Was That?

You want to see what? More... more animals in casts?

Oh, perfect! Because I just posted a few more!!

Scroll down, or if you're the laziest person alive, click here. They're at the end of the post.

Here's a preview:

Thanks to Google, My Secret Is Out

Yep, it's true. My Google Ads bar somehow got wind of what's been keeping me so neat and trim all these years: LUGE.

Buffest cameltoe in all of Turino.

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

Sign of an Actual Idiot

"Mmmmmyello? Can you hear me OK? Oh, good. Yeah, no big deal, I just staple gunned my phone to my head, and hot glued my stapler to my palm for this new thing I'm trying called maximum efficiency."

A few nights ago, shooting the breeze with friends, I said something that got us all laughing. Once the post-chuckle sighs softened, I reached into my bag to get my comedy notebook out, also known as "The Mighty Tablet of Priceless Plaisanteries et Génie", only to find a well-worn outline in my purse-lining for where my notebook normally rests.

This stuff killed at "Funkle Unny's Tickle Bone" last week.

"Uch, I forgot my notebook." I turned to one friend, whom I've delightfully dubbed the "Memory Robot" for her unbelievable mind-skillz (for example: Me: "Hey, what do you think of this shirt?" Her: "I love it! Remember? I told you that night you wore it to the barn dance in 1865." and I'm all "Oh yeah! At the Emancipation Celebration... I did look good that night!"), and asked her to flash-memorize my idea so that I could write it down later.

"You. Looked. Great. Master."

Someone else remarked that instead of relying on a "Memory Robot", I should just text message myself the joke for later. It seemed so simple, and yet it had never occured to me before. After requisite high fives, down lows, too slows, I whipped out my cell phone (made of an old syringe, a pickle jar, and a rat's foot) and clumsily entered the "inspired" joke into my phone. Once it was all said and done, I hit send, snapped it shut, and put it back in my purse.

A minute or so later, my phone became aglow, and played the sample from "Every-body Dance Now! Dunh. Dunh, dunh dunh, dunh!" A ringtone that easily embarasses me everytime I am alone and in public, and yet is easily worth it for the laugh.

"OH! SOMEBODY SENT ME A TEXT MESSAGE!" If my heart was a little balloon, picture a legless orphan blowing it up with joy. I eagerly dug into my satchel, only to find a text message from MYSELF that read: "Shitting a dick."

It was then that I realized: It is a shame I can't afford therapy. Also -- anyone know if Belleview Mental Institution has an actual view of a bell? Cause that actually doesn't sound too bad. It was also then that I realized that no text message could fill my infinite void of loneliness.***

***JK. I'm loaded with friends. Check out my MySpace page for God's sake! Almost 300 friends! (Read: Faceless strangers.) Thanks again you guys.

p.s. I'm super-salad psyched about the bit...

"So, there I am, shitting a dick, and... (pause) Hello?"

Tuesday, February 21, 2006


Recently, I have been overcome with an obsession that is hard to describe. An obsession that causes such a stir of bittersweet sadness and heart-splosioning adorablosity that the dormant schizophrenia I've convinced myself I'm riddled with almost starts to seep out of my brain cracks. An obsession that spurred one friend to call me "deranged". An obsession of animals in casts.

Call it a fetish. But take any animal, no matter how matted its fur, no matter how walled its eyes, no matter how "rabinous" it's "central nervous system", and put that tiny effer in a bandage, preferably brightly colored, and the next thing you know you'll be tearing off your bra and nursing that little sucker back to health with the Pabst Blue Ribbon that slowly leaks out of your teat. Call me a nurterer. It's just in my genes I guess.

So, what I'd like to present to you is a post that I believe will circle the globe 10 times over. 50 Animals In Casts. If you think Google Image Searching this bastard was easy, think again. I was like Tracy Gold on Oprah, i.e. bawling, sorrowful, and completely without appetite. Oh, and I've also included 3 bonus animals (unharmed) for your pleasure.

Alright. Starting off small. Feline premie. NBD.

A cat's paw after the cast was removed!

Really, my eyes are sore from all the pain. I'm gonna go lay down for a few minutes.

UPDATE: Consider this picture the "American Samoa" of this list, i.e., "51st Animal in a Cast":

thanks Stacie C.!

And because America wants it... bonus pics!:

This little guy was stepped on by an adult!

Aww... last 5 pics are of Millhouse, a chihuahua/pug mix. See his story here. :(!

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