Funny Strange....

That is One Stupid Kangaroo.

I can’t believe I sat on this picture for four days, but I was putting the finishing touches on the new novel (which is now DONE and being road-tested by a select group of readers while I hold my breath for feedback).   

Now, I turn my full attention to the kangaroo I saw at the Brentwood Street Fair last weekend.

Now, first of all, let us really qualify the words “Brentwood” and “Street Fair.”  When you think of a traditional street fair, maybe those words conjure up images like street food (which they did have, although it was definitely more high-end than your traditional hot dogs/ hamburgers), music (yes, they had that too, though it was a REALLY good jazz quartet), and kids’ activities (yep, also had these—FOUR bouncy-houses, face painting, pottery, etc).  I guess what I’m getting at is that Brentwood isn’t going to do anything that’s low-end, so it should really have been no surprise to me that the petting zoo they set up at the corner of Bundy and San Vicente (in the grassy divider in between the streets) was so very….fancy.

And by this, of course, I mean high-end, that it didn’t even stink, and that there were two clean-looking llamas, a bunch of cute little pygmy goats, and one of those exotic cows with the hump on his back (sorry—I don’t know anything about different cow breeds, and I’m just not motivated enough to Google it to find out what kind it was).  Oh, and also, they had this kangaroo, who was just hanging out  in a cage with his huge legs splayed out.  I like the way he's propped up on his tiny little front legs, like he's having you over for dinner and is pleasantly making conversation with you.  "So....what subjects are you taking in school?  Yeah?  That sounds interesting....."

Even though it’s a more, shall we say, upscale type of petting zoo, it’s still a petting zoo, which means those animals are not exactly in their natural habitats.  Personally, I have nothing against zoos, because I always figure those animals were either born in captivity (meaning they’d have absolutely no shot in the wild), or were slow enough to get caught, so they’d be someone’s dinner anyway, so now they have a nice life, albeit a life in a cage.  So, usually I just hope that animals like this have a pretty decent life, get fed and petted regularly, and don’t have to worry about getting sent to the glue factory, because they are actually making children smile.

I’m on the fence about this kangaroo, though.   I mean, they didn’t have nearly enough space to let him out, and kangaroos are NOT friendly, so there was no way he was going to be out and interacting with the kids.  So, I kind of get the look on his face, like “This totally sucks.”  He looks a little like he’s plotting something, like “oh man, I can’t WAIT until they come to give me my kangaroo kibble.  That’s when my nefarious plot to take over Brentwood will begin.  Yes.  Yes!”

Here’s the thing you can’t see, though—this kangaroo is in a pen with an OPEN TOP.   Um, doesn’t he know that kangaroos move around by JUMPING?  Doesn’t he know that he can, at any time, just break out and go hopping down San Vicente to freedom?

Apparently he doesn’t, which I guess means this kangaroo is stupid, which then answers for us the conundrum of why he’s the kangaroo in the petting zoo that little children can pay $3 to stare at, but that no one can touch.  He’s a special kangaroo, you see.  And by special, I am meaning “can’t figure out how to jump out of a cage with an open top).  So there you go.

Incidentally, we were at the Formosa on Monday night after the staged reading of Steph’s play (which went great!), and I told this story to someone, who then replied that they had a kangaroo story of their own (because who doesn’t?).  Apparently he worked in publicity for Warner Brothers when that movie Kangaroo Jack came out, and as part of the PR for the movie’s launch they closed down Hollywood Blvd and tried to have a kangaroo race.  However, as we’ve already established, kangaroos are neither intelligent nor motivated, so after all the prep, all the hassle getting street permits and paying people to bring kangaroos and let them loose in the streets of Los Angeles, the kangaroos just kind of stood there, going “What? I’m a f*&king kangaroo, okay?  You don’t tell me what to do.”

Need a New Job?

Yesterday I was having a conversation with someone about something completely unrelated when the discussion turned to ice carving (like it inevitably does when you’re out in the professional world, speaking of things).   

First of all, silly me, I had no idea that ice carving was a real thing that people learned as a trade, and actually based whole businesses around.  I’d seen ice sculptures before, like at weddings and work events, but I guess I never really wondered where they came from, sort of like how you never see baby pigeons.  Not that I’m comparing the world of ice carving with flying, disease-infested airborne rat vermin, but you get the point.  It kind of weirds me out when I discover a whole segment of the universe that never even occurred to me, so I thought I’d investigate a little.

Anyhoo, did you know that ice carving is an actual Olympic Sport?  Yeah, it is.  It's also a course at the University of Akron's Hospitality Management Program, AND they have their own association, and an event called ICEFEST.  And it involves chainsaws, so you know my clumsy ass isn’t getting anywhere near a block of ice, even as a hobby.   CHAINSAWS, dude!  That is hard core.   Also, how anti-climatic must it be to put all that energy into a sculpture of a swan or something, just to have it slowly melting the whole time your event is going on?  That’s got to be the rough equivalent of slaving over a Thanksgiving dinner for a zillion hours, then having your family come and demolish it in 45 chaotic minutes, right?

Okay, now think about that as you look at this website, where seriously, these people made Rodin’s The Thinker out of a 4,000 pound ice block.  If I made that, I’d be like “um, we’re just going to keep the thermostat set at 23 degrees from now on, because I don’t want my The Thinker to melt.”  I mean, I don’t even like cutting stuff I’ve written, because you know why?  That’s what I have to show for precious moments of my life, even if it’s total crap and the book would be better without it.  You know what I’m saying?  I wouldn't want Ice Jaws or Ice The Thinker or Ice Barney Rubble to melt away into oblivion right after I'd finished carving it, which is probably why I don't know about this profession or have it as a hobby.

Right now, I think you should go over to the website of the National Ice Carving Association (again, who knew?) and check out all the crazy stuff they make out of blocks of ice.  It really was illustrative to me this afternoon, and hey, if you're looking for a new hobby, maybe this is it.  Let me know how it goes.

Unless You're Over Thirty, This Probably Won't Freak You Out.

I totally don’t want to go off on one of those “in my day things were different” rants, because of course, everybody thinks that, and frankly, I feel the EXACT same as I always have, like in my mind I'm still in high school, only I have a job and more stuff.   So really, the only way I even know I'm getting older is because time is passing and my friends' kids are turning into actual, coherent human beings who can take phone messages and have conversations about global warming. So, I don't usually indulge in that kind of "in my day Saturday Night Live was better, and people didn't talk so loud on their cellphones, and   music had meaning," rhetoric, because really, where's that going to get us? 

But, ok….I noticed something the other day, and I just can't keep quiet about it.  I guess I started thinking about this after reading this hilarious post about how the game Candyland has changed since we were young.  I was in the grocery store over the weekend—have you noticed that the packaging for breakfast cereal has gotten really scary since we were kids? I’m not just talking about “oh, that Captain Crunch has gotten a little more sinister looking.”

I’m talking, friends, about this:

Is it just me, or does this squirrel look not only like he’s eaten far too much of the sugary breakfast cereal he’s advertising, but also like he’s tweaking on meth?

And, what about Lucky the Leprachaun? For the record, I was one of those kids whose mom wouldn’t let them eat sugary cereal, so I never even had Lucky Charms until college. But, when I did have them, I’m 99% sure that Lucky did not look like this:

 
Jesus Christ! What happened to Lucky? Did he always look like a 3-D rave partyboy dancing in a club?

   I don't think so.  And, what are all those new charms?  Has the cynicism of this modern age even managed to permeate our breakfast cereal?   

To answer your next question, no—I was not high when I started wondering these things. I haven’t been high since the nineties, dude. Can you imagine how weird my mind would be if I did?   Maybe I was off on a nostalgia tangent because we were in my hometown over the weekend, and maybe while I was there I started thinking about how very long it's been since Lucky Charms even occurred to me.   Maybe this is due to the fact that on Saturday, we were eating in a pizza place, and randomly started talking to this kid who worked there, and during the conversation Stephan said "oh, my wife's from here," and maybe then the kid said "What year'd you graduate?"  And maybe I said "Oh, a long time ago....we probably don't know any of the same people."

And maybe then Pizza Kid said "Oh, come on-- what year?  I KNOW ALOT OF OLDER PEOPLE."
 

Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand?

Are you following this O.J. Simpson thing?  They've let him out on bail, but they've added "kidnapping with a deadly weapon" to his list of charges, and they're saying that he might have to do 35 years for this sports memorabilia robbery thing in Vegas.

The only logical conclusion to be drawn from this bizarre chain of events is that O.J. Simpson is our modern-day version of Macbeth, only without the Lady Macbeth behind him spurring him on (because, um, he killed her)>

Go with me on this-- here's a man so ambitious and talented that he crushes everything in his path.  He succeeds at a sport where the odds are so astronomical, it's not even funny.  He breaks into tv and film.  He's a world famous celebrity.  He gets to the top of his game, then kills his wife and gets away with it, thus ensuring that he has his money, his kids, and his Heisman trophy.   The Brown and Goldman families win the civil case against him, so he's found LIABLE for the murders, but ingeniously moves to Florida so the families can never collect on the $ 35 million dollar verdict.  He's 60 years old, which means all he has to do is sit back, chip golf balls until his arthritis won't allow it, sign autographs, AND KEEP HIS MOUTH SHUT.   It's this last part that's giving him the trouble, see?  That's what makes him like Macbeth.  He's home free, only he is clearly unable to live with the burden of his conscience.

This is when it really starts to resemble Shakespeare.  For you see, Simpson is crushed by the weight of his actions.  It doesn't matter what the jury says-- he knows what happened that night, and his continued and eternal silence is too high a price to pay for his life.  His subconscious mind (or his conscience, if you'd prefer) begins to creack under the pressure.  He is desperate for punishment.

First, he teams with Judith Regan to write a semi-fictional, thinly veiled confessional book called "If I Did It."  He knows he can't collect any money from the proceeds of the book because of that law which orders the proceeds go to the victims families, so why even get involved in a project like this? 

Because he needs to confess, that's why.  In one portion of an interview to promote the book, taped before the project was canceled, Regan says to Simpson, "You wrote, 'I have never seen so much blood in my life.'" Simpson responds, "I don't think any two people could be murdered without everybody being covered in blood."

I mean, JUST LOOK AT THE BOOK COVER, dude.  The "if" is so small, it's barely even there.  O.J. Simpson WANTS YOU TO KNOW THAT HE DID IT, OK?  Getting out of his forced prison of silence will finally set him free.

The book is stifled, though.  Protest groups are in an uproar, the book is pulled, Judith Regan is fired and disgraced.  Again the psychic burden shifts back to Simpson, and he finds that he cannot live with it, so he takes a GUN to LAS VEGAS, a city more saturated with video cameras and other recording devices then any other in the nation.  He commits SEVEN felonies in the span of five minutes, including ARMED KIDNAPPING.

So, this pretty much speaks for itself.  He can't live with himself, and somehow, he's going to make sure he pays for those crimes.  He knows he's guilty and he's cheated the system, and so he has, either deliberately or unconsciously, ended up exactly where he feels he deserves to be-- serving 35 years in prison. 

Also, I'm guessing that for the first time since 1995, he's getting a good night's sleep.    Crazy! 

Costumes: The Perfect Gift for Children

I got a new camera as an anniversary present, and you know what that means--- even more photo funny!  I carry it everywhere with me now, which I'm sure does wonders for my ability to live in the moment and enjoy life.  Actually, I have to say that searching for the funny for this blog DOES make life alot more entertaining.

First stop:  freaky costume store.  There is this weird store by where we used to live in Santa Monica....they sell costumes, which is all fine and dandy, but I'm not sure this is an industry that warrants a year-long storefront which continually has this sign in the window:

Every time I walk by there, I go "Hmmm....really?  What children are they talking about?"  Are these children from Olde Tymes, when it was just good fun to put on the outfit of your favorite rapscallion and run around the yard? Because I have to say, I know some kids, and none of them are wearing costumes on a regular basis.  One year, we got our friend's son a fireman outfit, and I think he's worn it twice (if I'm not mistaken, once was on HALLOWEEN).

They also have this tiny mannequin in the window, which makes me wonder-- who dresses their kid up like Vampire Kelly Osborne, Halloween or not?  I thought little girls dressed up like fairy princesses for Halloween, right?

Continuing on the theme of "weird costumes," this next photo comes to you from the BABY STORE next door to the costume place, where Stephan looked into the window and screamed at this display. 

I'm not sure what they were going for with this-- are they trying to get you to dress your kids up like Hannibal Lecter?  Maybe to put them in a straight-jacket to feed them?  I'm not saying I disagree with this concept-- I'm just surprised that they've gone so far as to actually implement this  in the window of a baby store.  Also, what's with the little wig?   Did they mean for the baby mannequin to look like Shirley Maclaine after a bad trip to the other side?  Why give a mannequin baby a bad combover?  Help a mannequin baby out! 


This one should really be a candidate for Oddee's "Misplaced Signs" category.  Simply outstanding. See.... you didn't even know Barry Manlilow had gone into a new genre, did you?

Moldy Mold Mold.

So, I'm sure you remember how I'm afraid of food, since that's the thing that people find absolutely HILARIOUS about me, as if they have no fears or compulsions of their own that they're hiding, like they LOVE clowns, and can easily get into a packed elevator and not want to scream.  Listen, I'm not Monk-- I mean, I can kill a spider with my bare hands, then take the elevator to the top of the Empire State Building and look over, but if I find spoiled leftovers in the fridge, I'm screaming and crying like a little girl, ok?  Because I could have eaten that, and that would be....just unthinkable.  I'm just saying, everyone has their thing, and rotten food is mine.  It just grosses me out, and I own that.

Anyway, I was cleaning out the refrigerator last week (a task which I usually don't do, because I will throw out absolutely EVERYTHING), and came across the bane of my very existence-- a Tupperware container full of some grapes that had started to mold. 

I will say that this time I managed to actually open up the Tupperware and throw the moldy grapes out into the trashcan, which I thought was a big step for me, because before I would have just thrown away the whole container, even if the moldy grapes were contained in a piece of expensive, one-of-a-kind heirloom china.   In my mind, once something's had mold in it, no matter how hot the water is when you wash it, the mold is still there.   I think Stephan might have gotten tired of us never having anything to put leftovers in, though, because I started noticing them all rinsed out in the dishwasher before I could make the argument about how rotten food is virulent and will kill you. 

This time, I actually went so far as to fill up the container with hot water and soap, though I could not bring myself to wash it out with a sponge because that would have been a little too close to me touching the mold.  Also, while touching the moldy Tupperware, I will admit that I was holding my breath the whole time lest I accidentally inhale some of the spores, which would assuredly have given me tuberculosis.   I did start to freak a little bit when a drop of water from INSIDE the moldy Tupperware got on my foot.  Because you know why?  I don't like it when mold touches me, or when condensation that was once touching mold touches me.  I must have screamed a little louder than I meant to, though, because Stephan came into the kitchen and said calmly: "You know, I hate to tell you this, but lots of things are MADE out of mold.  You could even EAT mold, and you'd be fine.  Penicillin is made from mold.  BLUE CHEESE is mold.  In fact, CHEESE is essentially mold.  Things you like have mold in them!"

I think he was trying to be comforting, but the horrified look on my face may have let him know that this pep talk backfired, and that this had just made the crazy worse.   I also wonder if he noticed that I never let out the breath I was holding until AFTER I backed out of the kitchen very slowly.

Mold can kill you, you know.  Not many people know that.

He Does Voices

I can't believe I left out the most crucial moment of my story about the TV writer at the dog park last week-- I think I got so focused on the true absurdity of the "you take twelve homeless guys" pitch that I forgot to stay with the real reason of why I actually left the park.  Because really, this particular thing happens so much, and is absolutely the kind of thing you would want to see on my blog-- humorous, a little tragic-- you know:  Funny Strange.

So, the real reason I left the park was because when I told bitter TV writer guy that my husband is a professional voiceover actor and had even been on Family Guy (I don't know why I volunteered this information), he did the thing that some people do when they hear about a person who has a cool job-- in this case, HE STARTED DOING CARTOON VOICES FOR ME, and he would.  Not.  Stop.  In this particular case, he had a character he liked to call "Potty Mouth Baby" (I only wish I were making this up), and he kept saying cutsie stuff in this character's voice, even after I told him that the cartoon world is REALLY hard to break into (my code for "I don't like you, my husband is not going to like you, and it doesn't matter anyway because you're never going to meet him to ask him how to launch your cartoon career), and offered him absolutely no indication that I would be helping him.   If I am more inclined and less busy in the future, I might actually record a demo of what the guy sounded like, but for now, please just imagine a grown man, in a high voice that sounds like a baby, going "This is my baby voice....the baby says F%^* you!  Why do you say that, baby?  Bad baby!"

In that moment, at least, there was nothing sadder or more annoying than hearing a grown man swear in a baby voice, so now I've dubbed him "Human Nails on Chalkboard Bitter TV Writer," so when I see him at the park again, I can steer clear of him.  He kept up the horrible baby voice until I excused myself and left the park, which I did because killing him probably would have gotten me sentenced to jail time, and my cellmate probably would have been an angry lesbian inmate who really wanted to get into cartoons.

Let's say this is not even close to the first time I've had this experience.  It seems like half the new people you meet have always wanted to be on cartoons, which has never been my dream, but I totally understand.  It IS a cool job.  The thing is, people who are actually ON cartoons don't really sit around in restaurants doing the voices all the time, because they have an outlet for it.    With a few (very annoying) exceptions, it's always the people who WANT to be on cartoons are the ones who can't stop doing the voices.  Recently we were at a block party, and when a random guy from the neighborhood heard what Stephan did for a living, he followed him around for almost an hour doing his whole cartoon repertoire, perhaps as an audition.  When Stephan told his voiceover friends about Potty Mouth Baby guy, they all laughed, then shared similar stories of their own, including one who said a guy gave him a demo reel of himself going (in the appropriate voices, of course):  "This is my tough guy voice!"  "This is my gay guy voice!"  "This is my baby voice!"  Now, you kind of have to commend the guy for putting something together, but still....  "This is my tough guy voice!" is just undeniably funny, don't you think?  So, these are the types of people and situations I'm talking about.

My point with this is-- if you meet someone who says they "do voices," or have "always wanted to get into cartoons,"  DO NOT encourage them.  And please, for the LOVE OF GOD, do not tell them you know someone whose husband does voiceover for a living.   I'm telling you this because I like you, and I don't want you to get an earful of somebody's best Bullwinkle impression (or an original character they call "Foul Mouthed Baby") for an hour over dinner.   

See, my blog is now a public service, in addition to being your distraction from your workday.   Also, in case you haven't noticed it, I finally got one of those "subscribe via email" tools, so if (for some reason, and I can't for the life of me imagine what that would be) you don't have the TIME or inclination to check my blog on a daily basis, just sign up and have it sent right to you, you lazy hooligan.

The Search for The Bourne Identity

So, ok, I don't know why, but I am like, the last person left on earth who hasn't seen any of the Bourne Identity movies.  Not on cable, not on the airplane, not in the theater-- just never had the opportunity or the inclination, I guess.   But then Steph got a job as one of the voices in the Bourne Identity video game, so we decided that we should probably see it.  Also, someone at William Morris mentioned to him that hey, those movies are actually really good, and were we going to go see the third one?    After which we were like, "we'd rather see the first two, THEN go see the third one."  Because you know, we both have obsessive compulsive disorder, and when we agree on something like this, it gets really out of control.  So, now we don't want to talk about the movie, don't want to hear about it, have to see the first two.

Lo and behold, every single person in the greater Los Angeles area seems to have had the EXACT same idea at the same time, because now there is not a SINGLE copy of The Bourne Identity to be had in, seriously, a 50 mile radius.  I've called FOUR Blockbusters, including one way over by where we used to live when we first moved into town, and the guy (who we call "Crazy Michael" because he so obviously has bipolar disorder that is barely being kept in check by medication) actually said "No-- and you're not the only one who's called to ask," like I was daring to call for U2 tickets during The Joshua Tree era, if you know what I mean.    Then we called Vidiots, and they were like "Um.....no" in that way that only those guys at Vidiots can, when with one word they can make you regret not majoring in some totally obscure film subject and not knowing anything about Bergman films, whatever.

Then we went to Barnes & Noble.  Nope.  "Sold out," said the saleswoman, not even bothering to hide a smirk.  "I can order it for you-- be here in a couple of weeks," she says. 

A couple of WEEKS?  Oh no no.  Now we have to see this movie.  Next, Borders.  Three copies supposedly in stock, ZERO copies on the shelf.  The guy thinks someone STOLE them, which frankly, I would have done if I'd thought of it.   Do you not know that I'm a petty thief?  Well, here's more on that.

Next stop:  Odyssey video.  Same story.  Two copies, zero on the shelf-- it seems that some clever imp has HIDDEN the Bourne Identity DVDs so they can, oh I don't know, come back later and squirrel them away?  Why is this movie so elusive?

Next stop:  Movies on Demand through our cable, where we discover that while you CAN see "Big Momma's House" 24 hours a day, you definitely, definitively CANNOT see The Bourne Identity.  We watch Boogie Nights instead, and temporarily forget about our Bourne Identity jones.  Meanwhile, I go to add The Bourne Identity to my Blockbuster queue, and it has the incredible GALL to list the movie as "TEMPORARY WAIT."

Next stop:  Blockbuster again, last night. 

Me:  "Any copies of the Bourne Identity come in?"   
Blockbuster guy:  "Nope."
Me:  "Other stores?"
Blockbuster guy (laughing):  "Probably not."

Then another, "used CD and DVD type store," no luck.  I'm about ready to go over to Matt Damon's house and borrow his screener copy, because this is freaking ridiculous.  It's just a MOVIE.  I'm a member of the Screen Actors Guild Nominating Committee for films, and I can't get my hands on a copy of a movie that came out five years ago?  Nice.

So-- still haven't seen the movie.  If anyone has a copy you'd like to lend, I'm all ears.

The Groovy Schwartzman, Part III

First off, if you haven't been following the ongoing coverage of the bizarre names list, please click here to go back and get re-acquainted with a list of the weirdest names of real people in the known universe.

I made a new friend last weekend, and she was kind enough to give me FOUR names to add to the list right off the top of her head, which makes her the coolest new person I've met in a long, long while.  Brace yourself for the latest additions to the Groovy Schwartzman list.

1.  Gathering Flowers.  Yep, real name of a real person.  In fact, real name of a real person who's probably going to email me and be all "Hey Lori, why am I on your blog?  Sincerely, Gathering Flowers."

2.  Rhythm Xander.  This one is harsh, because you know no one knows how to spell "rhythm" without spell check.

3.  Phoenix Eden Harmony.  Sweet, but this name might still put you at a disadvantage in a job-interview scenario, if we're to believe Malcolm Gladwell's Tipping Point theory on names pre-disposing the interviewer.  Also, Phoenix Eden Harmony probably smells like nag champa, my favorite new term of the week.

4.  Tidimdia.  Didn't catch the last name, but Tidimdia is a great onomonopeaic name, like the sound a drum makes when you're playing it...IN A DRUM CIRCLE AT THE GRATEFUL DEAD.  "Yo, Tidimdia...don't bogart that joint."  Yep, that works.

By the way, since the original post I have gotten alot of emails from people who claim to know Groovy Nipples Schwartzman and her groovy family, which apparently also contains a person named Strawberry Cheesecake.  I believe these are real people, but I don't actually know them, so you're not going to have any luck contacting them through me, even if you did go to high school with Groovy and haven't talked to her in a long time.  Sorry!

You Say Airtight! I Say Prenup! Airtight! Prenup!

Yeah, someone needs to tell Charlie Sheen that it's a bad idea for him to keep getting married.  It's not for everyone-- some people are just better off single, right?  Sheen obviously can't restrain himself in the face of tons of money, booze and pills, and women everywhere-- so why does he even try?   This is either his third or fourth marriage (depending on which source you believe), and he's just NOTORIOUS for being a jerk to his wives.   I suppose if you're the highest-paid sitcom actor on tv, you don't have to try that hard, but really, why is he trying at all?  You'd think he'd just go all "George Clooney I'm never getting married."  But nooooo --- Charlie has something to prove, especially with a half million dollar engagement ring.  Why would you do this willingly?  Has this girl never read US Weekly or People magazine?  Seriously.

I also think it's totally funny that he proposed to her with a $500,000 ring.  Because you know if you're going to put yourself through a marriage of any length with Charlie Sheen, you're not going to do it for a ring from Sears.  I'm guessing that Denise Richards is getting crazy paid from the 3 1/2 years of Sheen she had to take. 

By the way,I know everyone likes Denise Richards again now that she broke up with Richie Sambora and she's with her kids all the time, but to me she just seems hairy, like she's about to spontaneously burst into hair at any moment, or like she's just been from the salon where she (probably) goes every other day to have her eyebrows and arms waxed.  Hairy, that's what I mean.  Like she requires alot of hair control.  Oh and also, and I mean this only in the most flattering sense because I loved the West Wing.  Has anyone noticed that Sam Sheen (daughter of Charlie and Denise) looks just like Martin Sheen?  She's like a girl Martin Sheen with ponytails and a dress.  I would've said "a shorter Martin Sheen," but honestly, Martin Sheen is pretty darn short.  This face is really funny, like "Put me down, I'm Martin Sheen from Apocalypse Now." That's how much she looks like him.

Speaking of Martin Sheen, you know he's like "Charlie-- enough with the weddings."  Because that's got to be quite a large expense for him, if he has to throw a lavish, Beverly Hills style wedding for his son every three or four years.  Emilio Estevez tried it a few times and now seems to have given up, but Charlie is still plugging along.

Is it possible that we could put a marriage embargo on the Sheen Brothers?  It's time.

I Guess She's Not Keeping Her "Promises"

Once she sobers up, Lindsay Lohan is going to be pissed that her mugshot isn't as good as Paris Hilton's, don't you think?  Does anyone else think that, the way this girl is headed, she's trying to end up dead before she's 30?   She needs someone to babysit her all the time, or no one's ever going to be able to get insurance to hire her on a film again.  I can only imagine what a totally sucky time it is right now to be one of Lindsay Lohan's spin-control people.  Like-- how do you spin this?   She's out of rehab what?  Six days, and even with the alcohol-monitoring device she can't keep it together?  Yikes.

Speaking of alcohol monitoring, did you see this picture of her out and about last weekend, before her big drunken car chase arrest today?  If you did, did you wonder-- what's with the ankle bracelet?  Is she on probation or something?  Apparently the ankle bracelet she's wearing was for alcohol monitoring, and it's called the SCRAM.  Here's a link to the website, where you can watch a little movie explaining how it works.  Apparently it measures the alcohol intake of your body by your perspiration, which is a relief, because at first I thought they had it directly connected to her bloodstream or something, and that just looks like it would hurt, as well as being a total buzz kill for the rest of the people at the party. 

So many questions with this-- why's she wearing it for alcohol?  Is this part of the Promises Rehab program?  Do they call you back in if you have a beer and start sweating?  Does a buzzer go off somewhere?  They obviously don't lock it on you, because she was already drunk when she was arrested this morning. (for chasing someone, with cocaine in her pocket-- so you know that last trip to rehab really stuck).  I mean, does she have a choice in the matter?  Where does the reading go?  Like, is there a guy, sitting in a room, receiving a ticker-tape printout of Lindsay Lohan's alcohol consumption?    Because you know THAT's got to be a fun job. Also, and this seems very important--- were they monitoring her cocaine intake?  Because that's what we're really interested in, right?  Do they have an ankle bracelet for that?

I'm just genuinely curious as to why she was wearing it-- I mean, was obviously for some purpose-- maybe to show the DUI judge that she's sober?  But, she can obviously take it off, so I can't see how this would do much good.  Also, regarding this photo from the website-- it's so amusing to me because it's so META-- monitoring the alcohol output of a stein of beer?  Too funny.

So clearly, I've finished packing, and have now turned my attention to Lindsay Lohan's problems and this strange alcohol-monitoring contraption in order to redirect my manic "move limbo" energy.  Also, my best friend Katie Holmes did not invite me to her welcome party for Posh and Becks, and I am very offended.

Yard Sale Day: Packed With Funny.

In preparation for our big move, we put some stuff aside to sell at a yard sale this morning.  We got the second shift at a big family yard sale up the street, which some people wouldn't want because they want to be out there right at 7:00 am when the early birds show up, to start the haggling game.  But, as we've already established, I don't have kids, so there's no way in HELL I'm going to get up that early on a Sunday, even if there's money involved.  Besides, I have a general distaste for yard sales and the people who go to them.  Like, one minute something's good enough to be in my house, and the next minute a woman who looks like she's homeless is seeing if she can get me down to $2.  Just...yikes.

We had a bunch of stuff, though, that we wanted to try to sell before we donated it, so we decided to do the 11 - 2 shift today.  Now's the part when I'm going to switch over to a time-stamped list, so you can see how the day just grew more and more hilarious.

10:30 am-- While Stephan and our friend are unloading the stuff, I go to CVS to get water and change.  I'm standing in line at CVS when, no lie, a man RUNS in and goes "EXCUSE ME--EXCUSE ME! to the row of cashiers.  When someone finally acknowledges him, he shouts "WHERE ARE THE COMBS?"  in a tone so urgent, you'd think he needed someone to call 911 for him or to get him some nitroglycerin pills.  One of the cashiers goes "Um...Aisle 6, sir," and he RUNS away to go get his comb to address his hair emergency.  So, this really set the tone for the day.

11:17 am-- We have all the stuff out, some stuff gets sold right away, and of course there's one totally looney woman who's been there all morning, haggling everyone down on every knick knack.  She tries to get Stephan to sell her two steak knives out of a set.  He refuses. 

12:00 pm-- A sour-looking woman who says she owns a preschool shouts "are any of you offering a teacher's discount?"  At a yard sale.  On things that are a quarter to begin with.  Later, I will tell Stephan that she owns a preschool, and he will reply "Which one--McMartin?"

1:00 pm -- Comedic actor Dom DeLuise pulls up with a driver. He doesn't want to get out of the car, though, so we have to bring boxes of stuff over to him to he can look through it.  He buys my humidor, and some stuff from a woman who used to own a party store (including a bunch of ballerina costumes).   As soon as he leaves, my friend's neighbor, a lovely Japanese woman named Keiko, leans over to me and says "Why he need twelve tu-tus?"

1:15 pm-- I run into the house of JoAnn, the yard sale ringleader, and say "Dom DeLuise just left!  You missed him!"  With a straight face, she replies:  "He comes to all the yard sales....he never wants to get out of the car."

2:15 pm -- The sale is over.  We are hot and tired.   The things that we were previously calling stuff, Stephan is now calling "shit," because he's the one that has to take the excess to Goodwill.

2:30 -- I'm getting ready to leave, and some of the other yard salers start offering me their stuff that didn't sell.  I tell them I don't want to get a divorce, and that is what will happen if I come home with any NEW stuff from the yard sale.  One of them laughs, then tries to put a fifteen year old beige Knotts Berry Farm Candle shaped like a magical tree in a bag for me.  "Use it as a White Elephant Gift," she says.  I am extremely tempted to take the candle and give it to someone as a joke for Christmas, but again, I have my relationship to consider.  She also tries to tempt me with a two-foot high florescent green frog that she won at the Santa Monica Pier (I couldn't get her to tell me how much she actually PAID trying to win the frog.  Ouch).  She says "Don't you have any friends with kids?"  I want to say yes, but I want them to still be my friends, so there's no way I can show up with a two foot tall, three feet wide florescent frog. Because I want my friends to like me, you see.

3:00 pm -- The yard sale is over, we are $150 richer, and the rest of the stuff is at the Goodwill.   Stephan's neck is sunburned, and once again, we've had our fill of children for the weekend.

P.S.  I'm looking for a new agent, if anyone knows someone.  Preferably someone who can represent fiction as well as non-fiction.

Fantastically Weird Names

This is so great-- Talk of the Nation did an "unusual names" show today (maybe inspired by Barack Obama), and they totally added some names to my Groovy Nipples list.    They interviewed a writer named Strawberry Saroyan (fantastic), and a woman named Gayman Wong, and a woman emailed in whose step-grandmother's name was Arizona Killings.   Click here to listen to the show. 

My original list:

1.  Groovy Nipples Schwartzman
2.  Freakus Poleakus Schwartzman
3. Donald Duckles
4. Honey Darling
5. Sweetie Darling
6. River Hudson
7. Blueberry Pancake
8. Thankful Vander Star
9. Hopeful Vander Star
10. Browne Greene (father)
11. Blue Greene (daughter)
12. Violet Greene (daugher)
13. Guy Wilde
14. Jackson Fastaction
15. Gay Peoples
16. Dr. Deth
17. Dr. Cocksburn (a urologist)

New additions to the list:

18.  Gayman Wong
19.  Strawberry Saroyan (her sister's name is Cream, dude)
20.  Arizona Killings (she married INTO this name)

More to come...please, add your own!

Need a House in L.A.?

If so….maybe this is the one you should buy. Not only is it cheap ($799,000 for probably 1,000 square feet) but it comes with ghosts and pestilence! 

This is actually a picture I took with my phone, because I was trying to capture this listing before it got taken down, so it's kind of blurry and illegible, but totally worth it if you can squint to see it.  I'm not sure if you can make it out, but here is the description:

ROOTS GROWING UP THROUGH THE FOUNDATION. HOUSE IS UP AGAINST STEEP HILL IN BACK. LARGE CRACKS IN THE FOUNDATION IN THE FRONT AND BACK. YARD HAS PESTILENCE, INCLUDING LIZARDS. SUICIDE COMMITTED ON PREMISES. TOILET DOES NOT WORK, CENTRAL AIR AND HEAT DO NOT WORK. ASSESSOR'S RECORDS STATE 2 BEDROOMS, PLUS 1 BATH, BUT ACTUALLY 1 BEDROOM, PLUS LOFT AND 1 BATH. PROPERTY SOLD AS IS.

I whited out the listing agent's name and the actual listing number, since I'm 99% sure this was a hacking incident, and my realtor friend HM said she'd never seen anything like this.  I'm telling you, this could only be better if it included “built on top of Indian burial ground.”  This is WAY too honest to be a real description, in my opinion.

Sure enough, when I checked again this morning, the listing had been changed to a far more benign "ASSESSOR'S RECORDS STATE 2 BEDROOMS, PLUS 1 BATH, BUT ACTUALLY 1 BEDROOM, PLUS LOFT AND 1 BATH. PROPERTY SOLD AS IS."

Oddly, this is the SECOND suicide house I heard about last week, as our friends mentioned that they lived down the street from Richard Jeni's house, and did we want to buy that, since it's now available?  It's been reduced, after all-- perhaps to give you an incentive to clean the tiny pieces of brain out of the grout from where the guy blew off his head with a shotgun.  I'm going to have to also give this one a "no thanks," as well, just because I tend to be a little superstitious anyway, and I don't want to end up like the Winchester Mystery House lady.

I am in Portland for work, and I have to say, it's my first time ever in Portland, and I LOVE IT!

I Married the Voice of God

If you own a television or radio, or have any sort of access to the internet, and especially if you like the Discovery channel, chances are you're familiar with my husband's voice.  He's a voiceover guy, and over the past seven years he's been everything from the Voice of Southern California Ford ("It's a Ford Sell-A-Bration!") to the voice of a CW Affiliate in the MidwestMidwest("Midget Wrestling!  Monster Truck Pulls!  InkSPLOSION!") to the voice of "Surviving West Point" on the National Geographic Channel (a job for which he did, in fact, have to say the words "in a time of war," but no, he's not the regular "in a time of war" guy).

He is also hired as the "Voice of God" for corporate events-- a job where, I kid you not, they fly him in on an all-expenses paid trip like Mick Jagger, just to have the dulcet sounds of his voice in a live setting.  And don't think it doesn't make a difference-- I have personally been in the audience when people have put down their knives and forks in the middle of a meal to say "Wow! That guy has a really uplifting voice!"  He's like a voiceover rock star, I tell you.  The first time he did a "Voice of God" job, he said "That's it!  I've finally found a job title that's suitable for a business card."

Really, how do you top the job title "Voice of God."  ?  His is the rich, buttery smooth voice of success.  His voice says power, and success.  His voice says "built Ford tough."  Incidentally, his voice also says "Don't shake my hand."  Because like the supermodel for whom too many cookies would mean the difference between booking the big Versace campaign or not, the Voice of God cannot (cannot!) get laryngitis.   You see, the Voice of God is not raspy, phlemgy, or (God forbid) absent altogether.  Recently, the Voice of God strained his voice singing on an album, and for two days it was all hand signals in my house, like Celine Dion before a big concert.  Did you know that whispering is even harder on your vocal chords than talking at regular volume?  The Voice of God knows.  Also, my kitchen is filled with things like "Throat Coat" tea, special herbs from the health food store, and non-dairy foods.  Seriously, the Voice of God cannot have phlegm.

The Voice of God was mildly germaphobic before he attained this auspicious title. Now that his job actually requires him to stay germ-free, though, he's free to indulde his obsession with hand sanitizier.  Did you know that rinsing out your sinuses with saline solution and putting Neosporin in your nose when you fly will also prevent illness? The Voice of God knows that, too. The Voice of God is, of course, friends with other Voices of God, Voices of Shows, and Voices of National campaigns.  You'd be surprised how many of them know each other, and how very little they want to be around sick people.

It's not all fun and games in Voice of God land, though.  Recent fear of a possible vocal chord polyp sent the Voice of God to the Ear, Nose, and Throat doctor, where they threaded a scope through his nose and into the back of his throat.  He gets allergy shots.  He drinks weird and smelly teas from the Chinese medicine guy.  He has been known to get acupuncture in this throat.  He does not scream out loud at professional sporting events. 

So, if you see me and the Voice of God out sometime, stop to say hi.  Just don't be offended if the Voice of God gives you the Howie Mandel fist bump instead of shaking your hand. 

Hey, did you hear that Anna Nicole Smith died?

Why is this so important to everyone?  I mean, did it really seem like this was a person who made good decisions and could keep herself alive and happy for another 60 years or so? 

Man, I KNOW it's a slow news day when my 65 year old father is like "I smell a conspiracy in that Anna Nicole Smith death."

Here's an awesome Defamer piece on the "Top 8 Anna Nicole Moments":  http://defamer.com/hollywood/anna-nicole-smith/defamer-presents-8-great-anna-nicole-youtube-moments-235419.php

God Bless the Godfather

The hardest working man in show business has officially worked himself to death, people.  He has taken it to the great bridge in the sky.  He's gotten it on the transcendental good foot.  He's gotten it funky for the last time.   He has, actually, hit it and quit it. 

Too far?

James Brown, 1933-2006
aka
The Godfather of Soul
Mr. Please Please Please
Soul Brother # 1
The Hardest Working Man in Show Business

We will miss you.  Thanks for all the amazing beats.

Upate: Thanks, I'll Pay Full Price

Just back from New York, where I have collected many new funny and strange anecdotes that will be appearing on this site soon.  Here's a list I made on the plane, of things for which, in my opinion, it is better to pay full price.  Things for which, frankly, the cost of NOT paying full price far outweighs the savings.  You be the judge.

This just in:  Ashley Powell, who has a lovely new website, has pointed out that haircuts are yet another thing where you wouldn't want a discount, and I'm going to have to agree.  Just think of how much that $25 you saved at SuperCuts is costing you in lost executive jobs, bad first impressions, and people scratching their heads, going "hey, is that mullet supposed to be edgy, or is that guy just special needs?"  Seriously.

1.  Sushi (see photo).  I'm guessing the medical bills from the food poisoning are going to offset any savings you might have enjoyed from the Sushi sale.

2.  Anesthesia.  Yikes!  The Post Traumatic Stress Disorder!

3.  Surgery of any kind.  Yeah, I know-- it's a fraction of the cost to get a hip replaced in India.  I don't care.  This also goes for plastic surgery in Mexico.  Gah.

4.  Oysters.  Should never.  Be on sale.

5. Condoms.  Good luck with that.

6.  Hypodermic needles.  I have two words for you.  Hep. C.

7.  Wine.   You know who drinks discount wine?  Winos.

8.  Travel.  By this I mean specifically hotel rooms.  I have nothing against Expedia, but listen, if all of New York City is sold out and you find an AMAZING deal on a hotel room right on the park for $99, I'm just going to tell you right now--- someone died there, and the body is probably still there.  We had this experience once in Paris, with an amazing deal on a room by the Louvre in a hotel I can only now describe as "Hotel SLAM!"

9.  Real Estate.  Unless you actually know someone who can get you a pre-foreclosure deal or something, there is probably a reason the "Old Jenkins Place" on your corner has been abandoned for twenty years, and it's not just that someone didn't pay their real estate taxes.   There is for sure an Indian Burial Ground under there, or radioactive isotopes in the kitchen, or a really, really badly clogged drained.  I'm not even going to say what it could be clogged with, dude.  You leave that up to your imagination.

Really? Is this sign necessary?

Oh.  My.  God.   Really?  I'm assuming from this sign that enough people have actually done this, then sued Target or whatever that somebody, somewhere felt it was necessary to make this sign, indicating that it is probably not a good idea if you put your BABY in a plastic container, then CLOSE THE BIN.  Good Lord, people.   

I'll Have Some LSD in my Coffee, Please

This Folgers commercial is probably the weirdest thing I have seen this month.  At least this week.  Check out the smily guy in the mirror.  Total Muppet!

This is So Cool

So, Scott Adams is the guy who writes Dilbert.  This, we know.  But, up until like, three weeks ago I had no idea that this guy was really deep.  I don't have any particular feeling about the Dilbert comics one way or the other--they could be funny, but I've never seen any of them so I wouldn't really know.  However, because of a mention in a class I took recently, I read his book The Dilbert Future, and there is some incredible stuff at the very end about affirmations-- very interesting.

Also, it should be noted that Adams recently cured himself of Spasmodic Dysphonia, a condition which made him unable to speak for almost two years.  So amazing!  In his post describing the illness and the cure, he asks people to describe THEIR happiest moments, and he's gotten more than 1,000 responses.  Wow!

The Groovy Schwartzman

The Groovy Schwartzman is back by popular demand!  Now, with new additions, both to the "regular names" and "celebrity names" section....feel free to reply with more!

It starts with cupcakes. My friend being due to deliver her first child in three weeks, invites friends for drinks, presents, and Magnolia Bakery cupcakes festooned with "It's a Boy!" lollipops. I go, hoping I'm not the one there who's never changed a diaper. Gifts are opened. Oohing and aahing ensues. Things are wrapping up when the conversation turns, for some reason, to strange baby names. We were talking about the chosen name for the baby (Gus) when for almost no reason, I red-haired girl named Kim fired the first shot. "I once knew a girl named Honey Darling.. her sister was named Sweetie." One guy said he'd gone to school with a Donald Duckles. Having gone to school in California, I'm fairly confident that I can at least participate in this game on a meaningful level. In my high school alone, there was a girl named River Hudson, a girl named Nectar Rose, and a boy named Guy Wilde. The group is just catching its breath when a very tall girl next to me who hasn't said anything the whole party says quiety "I've got a good one." We were intrigued. Could she top Donald Duckles? "In my high school there was this girl who lived on a commune when she was a kid...her best friend on the commune was name Groovy Nipples Schwartzman. Groovy Nipples Schwartzman. Groovy Nipples Schwartzman. Her brother's name was (is) Freekus Polekus. Freekus Polekus Schwartzman. Ah, it's like I've taken a bite of a dessert I didn't even know existed. These names are so funny....they hurt. I've entered a fugue state for these names. This is officially the best baby shower ever. Perhaps it is best to quantify the impact of this revelatory name on my life by referring to the "before Groovy Nipples" and "after Groovy Nipples" time periods. The name is, quite simply, the greatest thing I've ever heard. Groovy Nipples is a crisp $100 bill I've just found in my wallet, and I cannot wait to share it with the world. My mind is racing. Groovy Nipples Schwartzman? What is this girl doing now? Is she a lawyer, called G.N. Schwartzman? What does she say when people ask what the initials stand for? Does she go by G. Nipples Schwartzman, Attorney at Law? Or, did she go to the other end of the spectrum and change her name to Lisa? What possible profession or life circumstance were her parents preparing her for with this name? The party is over, but I can't stop thinking about Groovy Nipples. I call my husband, and he hangs up on me when he begins to laugh so hard he has to kneel down on the sidewalk to catch his breath. His calls his mother, then his best friend, who says he hopes Freekus Polekus kept his name and is a rabbi now. The Rabbi Freekus is now on my list. The next day, I tell someone at a business meeting, and they have to excuse themself to call his sister. The Groovy Schwartzman strikes again! It's the most useful thing since the Swiss Army Knife! Equal parts ice breaker, party game, and sensibility litmus test. The Groovy Schwartzman slices! It dices! It makes very small ice cubes! I start telling people about the Groovy Schwartzman, just to see if they laugh. If they don't, I seriously consider friend divorcing them. Months later, my father in law will yell in a restaurant, "If you don't think Groovy Nipples is funny, I don't just not like you. I HATE YOU. Groovy Nipples is funny! It's funny!" But perhaps the greatest part of the Groovy Schwartzman is the panoply of names I've collected, just from people who want to play the game. Feel free to comment with your best ones!

1. Groovy Nipples Schwartzman
2. Freekus Polekus Schwartzman
3. Donald Duckles
4. Honey Darling
5. Sweetie Darling
6. River Hudson
7. Blueberry Pancake
8. Thankful Vander Star
9. Hopeful Vander Star
10. Browne Greene (father)
11. Blue Greene (daughter)
12. Violet Greene (daugher)
13. Guy Wilde
14. Jackson Fastaction
15. Gay Peoples

Celebrities also have alot of good ones....here are a few:

Bob Geldof's kids:
1. Heavanly Hirani Tigerlily
2. Peaches Honeyblossom
3. Fifi Trixibelle
4. Pixie

****

5. Moxie Crimefighter (daughter of Teller from Penn and Teller)
6. Audio Science (child of actress Shannyn Sossaman)
7. Banjo (son of actress Rachel Griffiths)
8. Moon Unit (daughter of the late Frank Zappa)
9. Dweezil (brother of above Moon Unit)
10. Speck (son of John "not Cougar anymore" Mellencamp)
11. Hud (other son of non-Cougar)
12. Rebel, Rocket, and Racer Rodriguez (three sons of director Robert Rodriguez)

This post has been so popular, I'm adding another category: names which aren't weird, but are slightly unfortunate. These are all real.

1. Dr. Deth
2. Dr. Cocksburn (a urologist)
3. Jeff Noballs
4. Sharon Thys (pronounced THIGHS)
5. Brian Cram (see below)

REAL PRODUCTS FROM THE 99 CENT STORE BY MY HOUSE, WHERE EVERYTHING IS 99 CENTS

1.  Mrs. Freshley's Cinnamon Buns

2.  Pop Weaver Microwave Popped Corn!

3.  Fancy Foods minced guava

4.  Sunny Sea Imitation Abalone Bits

5.  Sunny Sea Baby Cuttlefish

6.  Eazy Squeeze Nacho Cheese Sauce

7.  It's a Cinch! Pancake and Biscuit Mix

8.  Natureplex Highest Accuracy!  Pregnancy Test

9.  Romantex (compare to Trojan!) condoms

10.  Cashmere Bouquet Mild Beauty Soap (since 1872)

11.  Aaron Brands Effervescent Saline Laxative (pleasing cherry flavor)

12.  Aaron Brands Effervescnet Saline Laxative (pleasing lemony flavor)

13.  Aaron Brands Tussin

14.  DunkOs!

15.  Festy (vanilla sandwich cookies)

16.  BETA BRANDS champagne crackers

17.  Daddy Ray's Fig Bars

18.  Cumberland Ridge Coconut Creams

19.  Old Style Mustard

20.  Just Great!  Fudge Brownies

21.  Best Yet!  Gentle Enema

REAL PRODUCTS FROM THE SKYMALL CATALOG

REAL PRODUCTS FROM THE SKYMALL CATALOG

New! iJoy ZipConnect massage chair features awesome built-in alumunum-cone stereo speakers and subwoofer for your iPod or MP3!

The Telescoping Duster removes distant cobwebs

This personal alcohol breath-screening device is approved by the NHTSA!

THE WORLD'S LARGEST CROSSWORD PUZZLE.
Holding a Guinness record for its size, this crossword hangs on a full 7' by 7' of wall space and has 28,000 clues for over 91,000 squares.

POP-UP HOT DOG COOKER.
Like a pop-up toaster, this unique kitchen appliance prepares two hot dogs and buns in minutes.

THE LIGHTWEIGHT PET STROLLER.
For walks, trips to the vet, or travel, this lightweight stroller is as easy to push as a baby carriage, and keeps pets safe, ventilated, and shaded.

LAWN AERATOR SANDALS

Aerating your lawn is as easy as taking a walk!
Aerating your lawn revitalizes hard, compacted soil, and helps prevent thatch buildup, but lawn services charge a mint for this service. Why not do it yourself? Just strap these "sandals" over your shoes and take a walk over your lawn.

Realistic "Boulder" Disguises Yard Problems
Hide unsightly or dangerous problem areas in your yard or garden with our multiplepurpose Mock Rocks.

CHOCOLATE FOUNTAIN

Professional-quality chocolate fountain tops the rest.
Similar chocolate fountains are making the party circuit, but they simply cannot compare to this elegant stainless steel version. It works as beautifully as it looks, carrying melted chocolate from the base to the top of its tower to gracefully flow over each tier.

BASHO THE SUMO WRESTLER

"Basho, The Sumo Wrestler" Sculpture
Add a touch of the Far East with Basho, a traditional Sumo practitioner of one of the world's oldest martial arts.

DOG SUCTION CUP

Break your dog's annoying jumping habit by attaching his collar to this large suction cup and harness.

"Palm-Frond" Fan Blades create a more uniform air flow throughout the room.
They're designed to look and act as real palm-frond fans, evenly distributing air from the ends of the blades, rather than directly down, so there's no annoying downdraft.

BOOM BAG!  Boom box in a bag lets you carry your music wherever you go!

The Groovy Schwartzman, Part II

Groovy Nipples is sweeping the nation!  Really.  Approximately 800 people have read this story, I've gotten a bunch of new additions to the list, and today I got this email:

Dear Lori,

Read your list of names.  I know Groovy.  And Freakus.  There is also Merry Apple and Sophia Cream.  Their dad was the famous "Vito" who appeared on the Gong Show with his performance art troupe "Free Store."  He also created the statue of "Chief Kotate, dancing on the nipple of Mother Earth," which stand in the middle of our town.  We all live/ lived in Cotati, CA, from 70's to present.  These are real names, real people.

Thanks,

Susan

This is the greatest use of the internet I could ever have imagined.  The "Groovy Nipples" game has spanned the globe, returning to me greater and more powerful than when it left.

Since I now know she's a real person, I hope Groovy takes this whole thing in the spirit in which it's intended.   I think I would be flattered if a whole social phenomenon were called "The Lori Culwell."  Maybe Vito himself  will even post something.  I can't wait.

Note>> I'm working on a piece based on "The Groovy Schwartzman" for a radio show.  If you know anyone with a weird name who wants to be interviwed on the impact of their name on the rest of their life, please let me know!

Pegleg

 

Sometimes, it’s funny how far the universe will go, just to make me laugh. The other day I was answering what was probably my 400^th email when I opened one from my friend Nancy. She works at this company owned by Johnson & Johnson, and somehow she ended up on the mailing list for a company that makes prosthetic limbs. So, I open up the “prosthetic limbs” catalog, and there’s a page dedicated entirely to...

Wait for it. 

Peglegs.

There they were. A sea of peglegs, wedged in between those cool titanium arcs that amputee runners are using these days, and normal looking limbs like the one Paul McCartney’s new wife has that she took off on Larry King Live. Peglegs—just sitting there, like tiny throwbacks to some Revolutionary War era before prostheses existed. “Yes, we serve our purpose,” they seemed to say. “Function over form.” The pegleg is about as no-nonsense as you can get, practically turning the human amputee into a piece of broken furniture. You need something to prop you up? Here’s a peg. Stick it on your stump.

At any rate, I didn’t know they were still making them. And they are. And they come in blue.

Even the word is funny, and, I thought, had been relegated to silly pirate cartoons and old war reenactments, like the guy with the pegleg and the American Flag, and his friend is playing some flute, and they just won the war. The pegleg is fine for him. In fact, I would EXPECT a pegleg in a movie concerned with accuracy, or maybe a Civil War reenactment.

When you become an amputee, do they give you this catalog? How shocking must it be to realize that not only do you have no leg, but that pegleg is still one of your options.

But maybe I’m making too much of this. On to the second part of circumstance conspiring to entertain me.

While I’m looking, perhaps obsessively, at the pegleg selection, my phone rings. It’s my actress friend who also works as a yoga instructor at our gym. She’s breathless, hysterical. She’s screaming, crying, screaming. Between sobs and shrieks, I ascertain that there’s been some kind of car accident, and that I should come right away. Somehow I feel guilty for being so consumed with the pegleg catalog.

I get in my car, and make it from

Santa Monica

to

West Hollywood

about as quickly as anyone has ever made it there. In the front of the gym, there is a large hole where someone has driven their car. Into the glass. Into the wall. Over my friend’s desk. It’s all completely destroyed, like it was all made of paper mache. Through a series of questions directed at everyone who’s there and anyone who will listen, I manage to piece together the facts: an hour before, an elderly woman had driven her car through the front of the gym. She was trying to park, ran over the curb, and drove directly

Later, I will learn that it was only a strange, preternatural experience that saved my friend. She’d been sitting at her desk—the desk now smashed into a thousand pieces and marred by black tire treads—when she heard a voice in her head say “Get up and run.” She did, and not five seconds later, the car came crashing through the window, through the gy