Saturday, April 30, 2005
Porter, Birch and I went to see Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Now, I haven't read the books since way back when in high school, when I did so to impress a very smart, handsome boy I had a crush on named Colin. I was dating his friend but thought he was the cat's pajamas. Anyway, I loved the series then, and have been really excited about the film especially considering the cast. I have short man lust over Martin Freeman. We saw it at this gorgeous theater, the Ziegfield on 54th and 6th Ave. Porter got nachos, and the bag said "FuNachos! Snacktime anytime!" After the movie, we went to a diner and ended up discussing boners for the rest of the afternoon. Of particular note was the "boner tone" Porter picked for his wang, which was "Take Me Out".
SONGS TO GET STONED AND MAKEOUT TO
Chanson Papillion- Chaka Khan
Sentimental Lady-Bob Welch
Sweet Thing- Van Morrison
So Into You-Atlanta Rythym Section
Kiss you All Over-Exile
(Country Livin') The World I Know- Esthero
Ice King- Res
Hackensack- Fountains of Wayne
Magic- Olivia Newton John
Running Up That Hill- Kate Bush
Just Another- Pete Yorn
Strange Magic- ELO
I Want To Be Your Man- Zapp & Roger
Nice Dream- Radiohead
Across the Universe- Rufus Wainwright
Golden Slumbers- The Beatles
Wild Horses- The Sundays
Do It Again- The Staple Singers
Strawberry Letter #22- Shuggie Otis
Slave to Love-Bryan Ferry
Can't Get it Out of My Head- ELO
You Can Have It All- Yo La Tengo
Pillow Talk- Sylvia
Nite & Day- Al B. Sure
Can't Do A Thing To Stop Me- Chria Issak
Too Much- The Spice Girls
I'm Not In Love- 10cc
Friday, April 29, 2005
I wanted to go see "Hitchhiker's Guide" with Ben, and I mentioned to him that I was free in the afternoon on Saturday.
BEN: I can't, I have a party I have to go to. I have press passes to Saturday night at the Ziegfield, do you want those?
BRANDY: Ummm, I can't, I'm going to see that show-
BEN: (in his shrill "Brandy" voice)I HAVE TO GET OUT!! I HAVE TO BE SEEN! I'M GOING TO SEE COMEDY SHOWS!!! I NEED TO BE SEEN!!!!!
Two and a half years, people. This is what I put up with.
Thursday, April 28, 2005
I was thinking today about two totally different men I knew at different times in the past few years who moved to New York to "do comedy", then immediately got day jobs and clingy vapid girlfriends and did jack shit. Why would you pay $1,000 a month to sit on your ever-growing fat ass while being nagged at by a nutjob with a fucking bad bleach job and Uggs on, mastering the art of failing at your life dreams ever so deftly, when you can do that shit in a trailer in Kentucky much more reasonably? Oh, and hey pal- when she gets "accidentally" knocked up, I assure you the Moose Lodge rental for the wedding won't be booked too, too far in advance. Suckers.
Today I pulled a pair of cute little fitted boxer shorts out of my panty drawer that I forgot I even had, and then started crying because they were a gift from my ex-boyfriend when I was in the hospital after I had my second seizure. I don't know if I was crying because I missed what it was like back then when we were still in love or if I just missed knowing that when I have a seizure, someone will bring me cute panties to cheer me up at St. Vincent's. Perhaps I should appoint a designated panty pal. I'll get right on that.
I had a job interview today. It was pretty OK. Whatever.
I am a little bit better with what seems to be the inevitable fact that I am going to die alone and unfulfilled in love today. Every day, just a little bit better.
I ate at San Loco with Sara and all was right with the world.
No hugs for pigs!
Wednesday, April 27, 2005
Monday, April 25, 2005
First of all, does anyone else feel like they're entering the Red Light District in Amsterdam when that freaky pseudo-Dutch woman starts yammering at them about half-priced books in an unsettlingly come-hither voice? What the fuck is with her obvious accent that she does a piss-poor job of trying to cover? Well, I guess it is Overstock. com, so they had to cut corners on the dialect coach. Perhaps this odd choice of her as their spokesperson was made because the ad company thought the stupid public would be fooled into thinking she's a model? Did a focus group of beer-bellied frat trash from Kansas give her the thumbs up as "classy but I'd fuck her"? I'm baffled.
I don't understand what they're trying to achieve at all, especially with the "color" scheme. The whole white on flourescent orange makes my eyes itch. The creepy-sexy talking lady's unselfconcious lack of acting ability is the only definite aspect of the commercial. On a scale of "What the fuck?" to "jesus holy christ on a bike", I give it a suck a dick up to the hiccup. I only hope Overstock.com swallows.
I would say "boo-ya", but I fucking hate that phrase.
In a better mood now. It's amazing what the full moon and menses do to you. This morning I woke up and thought, "OK, unless the new Nazi pope used his dark powers to make me immaculately knocked up, I'm not pregnant. If that then is the case, how can I be having a fucking miscarriage?!" Oh, extremely heavy periods! That make you think you're perhaps giving birth to a stillborn! Fun times!
And while we're at it: there's nothing like taking a shower and realizing that you're reenacting "Psycho"*, starring you and your hyperactive uterus! The bathroom looked like a crime scene. Me? No, I don't mind scrubbing the floors down with Lysol at 7:45 am, naked but for a sodden towel. I'm Irish, it's in our genes. Hearty stock, fit for cleaning, breeding and- quite evidently- bleeding. Ba-dum-dum-CHING! YOU'RE WELCOME!
Someone at the office STOLE MY CHAIR while I was gone. I'll fix you.
*not in any way a reference to the shitty, unnecessary Van Sant re-make.
Anyway that is neither here nor there. I am in a hateful mood and want to be as mean as I can right now. I am filled with spite. Pure, venemous bile. It's going to backfire, mark my words.
I should be in a great mood, I had a great show. Even better than last week. I kicked ass. But as I am a misanthropic malcontent, I can only focus on how malicious I am. I am a peevish, sullen toad right now.
Saturday, April 23, 2005
I maintain a seperate section of my blog with my performance calendar on it, but since I am so excited about this show, I am going to brag on it here, and even post some press about it. Suck it.
Experience me reading poetry I wrote the year I thought it was appropriate to cut all my hair off because it was "ugly" and "frizzy", and I desperately wished for straight bleach-blonde hair & giant cockroach bangs like all the "pretty" girls had. It made sense at the time, along with stuffing my bra and praying to be frenched nightly.
Angst invades the East Coast!
Yes, MORTIFIED, Los Angeles' cult comedy sensation is finally coming to NYC. Witness grown men & women reading aloud their most pathetic REAL teenage journal entries, poems, letters & lyrics... in front of total strangers. New city, same melodrama.
WHAT: Mortified NYC
WHEN: Sunday April 24th 8pm
WHERE: The Tank, 432 W 42nd St, NYC b/t 8th & 9th Ave.
STARRING: Sara Allocco, Brandy Barber, Abby Gross, Margot Leitman, Jen McNeil, Dave Nadelberg, Will Nolan, Giulia Rozzi, Victoria Scroggins, Maria Suozzo and Law Tarello.
As heard on NPR's "This American Life"!
Hailed "a comic cringe fest" by Backstage West!
Mortified is created by David Nadelberg. Mortified NYC is produced by David Nadelberg & Giulia Rozzi. More info @ http://www.getmortified.com
In angst we trust.
And now, I shall inject the hype. People, sometimes the critics are right. This is one of those times.
Whoever said humor is based on the pain of others may well have had Mortified in mind. This LA-sprung comedic collective takes schadenfreude to a whole new level as its performers bravely bare their souls — just for kicks. Alone on a spotlighted stage, these folks share their desperate diary entries, very bad poetry, and unattainable dreams of happiness, as well as heartbreakingly hilarious tales of personal woe and social catastrophe. From the embarrassing to the eternally horrifying, all-too-human foibles and fumbles finally get their chance to shine. (SND) Note: We suggest advance tickets as the show is likely to sell out.
flavorpill is an email magazine covering a hand-picked selection of music, art, and cultural events — delivered each Tuesday afternoon.
LA-based comedy collective Mortified find humor in reading embarrasing diary entries, awful poetry, and hearbreaking tales of personal woe on stage. Go laugh at how marginally better your life is than theirs at The Tank tonight.
Your daily source for Manhattan media and gossip. Gawker, reporting live from the center of the universe.
Now, I was excited when I got my first Gawker stalk:
Saw Brian Huskey, one of the better talking heads populating “Best Week Ever”, at the L train stop on 14th on Tuesday the 25th. He was talking to an Amazonian redheaded woman (girlfriend?) who made him look smaller than the usual “they look smaller than they do on TV” small. Tried to spy on what they were talking about but failed. I assume it was snarky.
But this mention on Gawker was better, since I earned it for my art, not my (hard) ass. Word.
See you at the show!
The final straw was when I asked Ben if he thought I'd gained any weight. He without hesitation said yes. Then I said, "Do I look chubby?" He considered, then said, "Well, you're on the borderline of chubby. Like, I wouldn't say you were chubby but you're getting close."
That does it. Things are going to change.
So as of this morning I have had two glasses of water. And handful of raisins. And half a whole wheat bagel with almond butter and grape preserves. I am on a mission. This mission includes avoiding excess consumption of soda (I am already about to cry on that one) carbs (so I have to throw out all my beloved snack crackers) and of course, candy. And I have, have, have to cut down on the drinking.
My drinking goes in cycles. I'll be a drunk assed hellion for 6 or 7 months- meaning I'm out at least 2 times a week if not more, hammered and rowdy- and then, I switch back into "I haven't been drunk in months" minsdet. I am in the former mode as of January, but sense that I may go back to being drunk every couple of weeks (as opposed to every other night) soon.
I did a quick, depressing equasion: How many times have I been drunk this past week?
April 17th: Went out after my show, did not intend to have more than one drink but people kept buying them for me. So why say no to that? That would be rude. Sara and I dig in purses for change. She is the brave one, so she walks up to the bar with only a few paper bills in hand, the rest being coin, and gets drinks (I am not only a chubby drunk, I am a coward to boot). Only have 4 beers total (or was it five?), but this was on an empty stomach, so I am a bit tiddly. Giulia, Sara and I are harrssed by an obese man with a Montell Jordan jukebox fetish, who I begin to refer to as my "dad". His pockets are, comically and tragically, turned inside out of his ill-fitting pants. My friend/old roommate Deb is visiting from San Francisco, so she and I then go home and eat at the Carrol Gardens Diner, where it seems wise to have a bacon cheeseburger, fries and a Coke at 1 am on a Sunday.
April 18th: Went to see Liam's show. Met Anne at the Hat prior and had a large one of their gasoline-powerful margaritas along with a handful of chips. Smart plan. Went to the show, spilt a bottle of wine with Anne. Went to the Magician, had 2 glasses of wine and about 3 peanuts. Went somewhere else in the LES (can't remember) had a beer? I think? Went home, laid in bed and thought, how the fuck did I drink that much? Had the spins.
April 19th: Wrote sketches with Sara. Had two beers. Went to see Midnight Pajama Jam taping. Did not drink at the show- but did eat a guacamole smothered fried catfish taco at, oh, 1 am? Nice.
April 20th: DID NOT DRINK. EXCEPT FOR A HALF A GLASS OF RED WINE. THAT SO DOES NOT COUNT. Where's my token, dammit? Porter came over, I made outrageously fattening french fries w/ a butter/garlic/parsley sauce and red-pepper turkey burgers. Then we went on a walk and got ice cream. Something tells me that in order to make up for those fries, I would have needed to take a walk back and forth over the Brooklyn Bridge a few times. Say, 23.
April 21st: Anne and I drink some 40s, go to Quinton's birthday, where I have 2 beers, then go downtown, stop in at Pommes Frites and eat some amazing fries drenched in blue cheese sauce, then on to Telephone Bar, where we have 2 beers, then go to Welcome to the Johnson's, where we are picked up on poorly by NYU freshman as we drink a PBR, then to Motor City, where we have another beer, then to the Hat. I order something off the menu and by the time it comes, I forget what I ordered. Which is sad because it's so awesome I want to order it again. It's in a fried tortilla shell smothered in- yes of course- guacamole, sour cream, and cheese. Massive. It was so lovely, so fatteningly lovely. I can only eat half of it, so they make me a little doggy-bag and Anne and I stomp out the door directly into cabs. Again, it's 1 am and I am drunk and have eaten my staple of cheese, fried things and booze. Nummers.
April 22nd: I go out to meet some co-workers of mine, and some aquaintances who were visiting from London. We were meant to have Japanese bubble tea, but instead, we end up having cocktails. After my fourth drink at, oh, I guess it was about 7 pm, we all head to Max in Alphabet City and have an AMAZING Italian meal, offset by two bottles of red wine for the 7 of us. Now, I was only a bit buzzed, and this is because I made a point of eating everything in front of me that wasn't bolted down. It was frightful. I had to eat some of everyone's rigatoni, osso bucco, and of course my own lasagna. It was heavenly piggery. I was sick to my stomach by meal's end because I overate horribly. I got home at 10ish, stuffed and in pain, and that's when I decided things were verging on retarded. So, I crawled into bed with Confederacy of Dunces, nursed my awful stomach ache and made promises to myself that I was going to fucking BEHAVE.
After documenting this and reading it, I had to laugh at myself due to my repulsive behavior. It is time to exercize the muscle I feel is my weakest- the self-control muscle. In me, I suppose this muscle might resemble the stunted, puny arms of the Tyrannasaurus Rex, present yet impotent, something to be mocked rather than feared.
This is the muscle that seems to be largely absent when I decide it's totally OK to have two Magnolia Bakery buttercream-frosted cupcakes/another Sapphire & tonic because he's buying/make out with you.
Being impulsive is something I neurologically cannot help- and while I do think it makes me unqiue, it also gets me into heaps of trouble. I find myself in situations doing absolutely ridiculous things, things I don't even want to do. I don't have that "off" button that practical people have. I don't grasp consequences of actions until it's quite late. And again, while I think that that lends me a certain charm I am proud of, it also means that sometimes, I am an asshole.
So that's how that goes.
Friday, April 22, 2005
So hungover. I ate so much at the Hat at 1 am that I am still full. My hair smells like belgian frites. Which Anne and I also ate. Which explains the odor. When did I start to slowly morph into Meg Ryan in "When a Man Loves A Woman"? Best not to dwell. Going back to bed.
Thursday, April 21, 2005
Your Sexual Flavor Is: Chocolate
Deeply sensual. Complicated and over the top.
You're a bit of a "problem child" in the bedroom...
But that's also what makes you so hot.
You tend to push limits, make lovers uncomfortable, and cause trouble.
In other words, you're an incredible lay!
Secret talent: Needle play
What's Your Sexual Flavor?
More Great Quizzes from Quiz Diva
Would someone be so kind as to explain to me in the comments sections what the hell needle play is? I'd be ever so thankful. Ta.
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
There are a lot of things to discuss today, so I will be dividing things up into sections. Also, I don't know why this post & photo are formatted so stupidly but I perosnally loathe it. The goddamned computer keeps overheating and shutting itself off (how considerate of it) so I am really in a state at this point. I digress:
In Fine Fettle
This warm weather wave has me literally hot & bothered. This is fucking weather and I am not amused at the lack thereof. Add to this my turning on the FINALLY WORKING television and low and behold, Velvet Goldmine is on. How unfair is that? I was forced to watch Ewan McGregor slither around full frontal in a perfect 1970's mullet slathered in glitter and oil, than watch him makeout with John Rhys-Meyers who is much prettier than I could try to be with all that makeup on, then see Christian Bale beating off to a picture of the two of them kissing, and finally, watch Ewan make out with the ever-creepy Christian Bale. How cruel. This is a cruel, hot, sexy, cruel world. Goddamn do I have a boner for hot men kissing. Excuse me while I drink another glass of wine. A-thank you, a-thank you.
"Beer, scotch, juice box, whatever."
I went out to my friend Rob's birthday party late Friday night and decided to drink a large quantity of vodka in a short period of time. This resulted in public nudity, which is something I pride myself on avoiding at all costs. I am a total prude, so there was something clearly wrong with me. I then flopped onto a couch, placed my chin on my hands, and declared, "I Like Parties!" What an asshole. When I told this to Ben, he said, "Wow, you really are in love with yourself, huh?" Meaning that, since I was sort of marveling at how gross I act when I get too drunk, I was being a little self-serving. I thought about this later; do I come off as proud of what an idiot I am? Because I'm more shocked at it. That doesn't mean I'm going to knock it off, mind you. Thinking. [I was typing a whole sentence, but the fucking laptop shut itself off so I am just leaving that one word because it seemed to fit]
I watched Pretty in Pink, and not only did I feel old, but I cried like an idiot at the end. Yay! Love & mortality with a background provided by the Psychedelic Furs? It's like I'm 15 except I'm not, even though I still act like I am! More wine, sire!
THIS FUCKING COMPUTER BETTER NOT SHUT ITSELF OFF AGAIN I SWEAR, OR ELSE I'L
-Myla Goldberg, Bee Season
NOTE: I followed at link on April's blog to the source on PatrciaScott.org.
A new book meme is circulating and its rules are these:
1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the sentence in your journal along with these instructions.
5. Don't search around and look for the coolest book you can find. Do what's actually next to you.
FINALLY! I am back online! Let the pettiness, the cattiness, the spiteful cavalcade of snarking...COMMENCE!
But first: a mid-afternoon nap.
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
I hate him and his ass face.
[NOTE: My internet/cable stopped working on late Sunday night and are not going to be repaired until early Wednesday, so Ben was nice enough to let me come over and check my e-mail quickly since he lives so close. When I say nice, I mean, he only threatened to kick me out 8 times]
He is standing behind me, yelling at me and being mean about how gay I am for being so into this blog.
Ben says (in his Brandy voice): "If you like paying attention to me here's my phone number, call me and pay more attention to me!!!"
Then he asked in a nice voice, "Will you stop with your stupid blog?"
I told him to shove it. He also yelled at me earlier when I was on the phone with a boy and said, "I didn't know this was your office!"
Anyway, I will post more when my service at home is fixed which is meant to occur tomorrow from 10 am to 12 pm. Thanks TimeWarner, you fucking walking abortions.
Ben says he knows the national drought of my blog postings is finally over, and he's glad. Yes, ladies, he IS single.
Please send hate mail/nude pix to:
sweet ben at earthlink dot net
Sunday, April 17, 2005
OK, I have ultimate pre-show jitters. This is why I could never be a stand up. To go around putting yourself in this position nightly takes a certain level of bravery I don't have. Also, the fact that I have certain pre-show rituals that must be observed ahd adhered to takes me out of the running. Because if I did nightly shows and pulled this, I'd resemble fat Elvis and that is no good.
Here's a peek:
Sleep until 11 am.
Check into stuff on blog.
Become fascinated with reading the entire "Overheard in New York" archives.
Three hours later,polish off all the leftovers in the fridge (Chipotle, Thai Sesame)
Drink a Diet Cherry VAnilla Dr. Pepper
Go over materials for show
Worry about outfit
Sit on couch, watch the scene in LOTR where Viggo Mortensen breaks up with Liv Tyler; start inexplicably crying
Back at computer, downloading Brandy's Greatest Hits Selections
Write into to pieces I'll premiere tongiht
Eat two handfuls of Hershey's Kisses
Drink a R.W. Knudsen Boysenberry Spritzer
Eat the remainder of a loaf of lard bread smeared with tofu cream cheese
Dance to "Sittin' Up In My Room" and taunt Nigel with Sour Cream & Onion potato chips
Worry about hair looking bad oonstage
Scold Nigel for scratching couch
Stare out the window at dumb couples eating dumb overpriced brunch at subpar "pan Asian" across the street
Sing along to "Almost Doesn't Count" balefully; when my vouce cracks, start over (kind of like Ashlee Simpson)
Wonder if I'll have time to eat before show
Wish I'd gone outside earlier
Consider going outside
Realize I'm wearing grey sweatpants that have suspect stains on them; shrug.
Ask Nigel if he thinks I'll do OK tonight; he runs under the couch.
Folks, talk about professional!!
Friday, April 15, 2005
Porter HM3: hey!
Xanadu Tattoo: How are you this fine day?
Porter HM3: I am OK
Porter HM3: I am meeting the fancy Mr. Barrison for some curry in a hurry in a moment
Porter HM3: so I must off with myself!
Xanadu Tattoo: fun times!
Xanadu Tattoo: have some nan for me
Porter HM3: ok
Porter HM3: bye!
Xanadu Tattoo: bye!
Porter HM3: while I'm gone, don't date anyone
Porter HM3: unless you love them, and they are in love with you
Xanadu Tattoo: I'll try
Xanadu Tattoo: They're beating down the door
Porter HM3: no, they're beating off ON the door
Porter HM3: there's a difference
Xanadu Tattoo: Right, right...
HM3: BYE!! FOR REALZZZZ!!!!! L8R!!!!
Xanadu Tattoo: LOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
A few days later I was absentmindedly killing time by typing in the names of comedy writers I admire into Google, the goal being to see how they managed to build a career from the ground up, so that I could look at that and waste time sitting on my lazy ass thinking about doing something rather than, oh, I don't know, being mature and proactive and writing a packet or some such nonsense. Somehow, from a search on Scott Aukerman, I got to a girl's blog who talked in depth about being the costumer on porno shoots. She told a pretty funny story about how, when she was working on one shoot, the makeup artist did too much coke in the bathroom. As a result of being so hopped up, the make up artist then neglected to use waterproof masacara on the actresses who were to be shot. Since this was an all girl orgy scene in a hot tob, the results were disastrous. Hi-jinx did ensue! LOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I thought about this coincidence yesterday when I was buying waterproof Great Lash by Maybelline at the Rite Aid on Smith Street. The I came home and put the muzzle of gun in my mouth.
Thursday, April 14, 2005
I am in a great mood today, which is residue from having a great day yesterday. I spent a portion of my day on the Upper West Side as I had to deal with various problems that I had been actively ignoring. I tend to be a bit of an ostrich about conflict- I would rather hide my head then deal directly with it. But I did myself the favor of being proactive and unapologetically straightforward and it was to my benefit. You'd be surprised how my tactic ended up being very beneficial- there's nothing like looking someone in the eye and telling them they they are, indeed, going to straighten out the mess with your graduate transcripts come hell or high water, RIGHT NOW, all with a smile on your face.
After tying up various administrative and emotional loose ends, I spent the afternoon strolling around Central Park in the gorgeous weather and it couldn't have been more lovely. It was one of the nicest afternoons I've spent in New York, truth be told. Which is hilarious, considering that based on the things I had set out to accomplish, I should have been upset and maybe even on the war path, or at least felt badly for being the bearer of bad dating news, as I'd an appointment to do. But no. It was great. It was a relief, and I was so overjoyed to have all the knots in my stomach untied. It was one of those times that I imagine that when I'm very, very old, I'll look back upon fondly, and mumble the lines of my favorite Edna St. Vincent Millay poem to myself and picture. "Oh kids, your Grandma used to entertain lots of handsome gentleman callers in the cosmopolitan city of New York...and some of them she porked, too."
I spent a lot of the time I was walking in Central Park thinking about the nature of love and why it is that we love one person and not another. What is it that makes us unable to care for one person, who we should by all means be with because they are kind and good and sincere? Why is it that two people who have every reason to love one another don't, and two people who are a miserable match cling to one another? When is it that we fall out of love with someone- how does that happen? Can a nigga get a table dance? I was walking along, looking at all the gorgeous things in the park, and thinking about the last time I took a long stroll like that, and that when I did I was with someone who I was in love with. And that now, years later, it's gone and I have nothing to show for it. I don't know when I fell out of love, only that I did. I don't remember the day it happened, but one day I looked at him and I knew it. And once that thought comes into your head, there's no going back. I stayed for a long time, though. And I was trying to explain this to someone yesterday and it came out all wrong. I stayed much longer than I should have in that relationship, and yes I wasn't in romantic love with him, but I did genuinely love him. This is all very confusing still but I guess I wanted to write it down so that later, when I am able, I can look at it and try to make sense of it.
Anyway, that sounds quite sad. But it's not, in fact it's kind of reassuring. Because I realize I don't have a clue about love and men and realtionships, and I don't really fucking care. I declare a citizen's divorce from caring.
Originally uploaded by branleighbarber.
So just look at this photo of Josh Hamilton, Man Who Shall Bang Me So That I May Bear Him Twins, and one of my comedy idols, and let it warm your heart.
Or, look at this, where there is frolicking with other comedy inspirations. And a dauchsund. And an orgy. Life is sweet.
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
I went to a lecture/talk given by legendary theater director Peter Brook tonight; amazing doesn't begin to describe it. Just as I was really becoming enthralled by what he had to say, hi-jinx galore began. I was overtaken with annoyance directed towards the retard sitting next to me who was furiously taking notes, verbally commenting to himself on Brook's words and rocking autistically in his chair, thereby making all of the 6 seats in the row quake. This did not bode well for the Q&A session slated to follow the panel, and I was not to be disappointed in my quest for more reasons to love abortion. I hate most all other people.
More on this later, I am off to bed.
But here's one more thing: walking home from my train stop I saw a subway poster advertising the new reality show, "Showdogs" (or whatever). Someone had written neatly, in humble black letters over the pet & its owner's smooching muzzles: DISTRACT US FROM WAR.
Monday, April 11, 2005
I ask of you, Faithful Readers: Did he ask me out?
Work crush: Uh, hey Brandy do you like cinema?
Me: (to self) I wish I could yank your pants off with my teeth. Well, if you count "Caddyshack" as cinema then yes, I do.
Work Crush: (does not laugh) Hmmm.
Work Crush: Well then I think you should see [Stemy Italian Sexy Nudie Type Movie]that's showing here next week.
Me: Oh, okay cool.
Work Crush: It's really good.
Me: Uh, great.
Work Crush: I was going to go see it again, so...
Me: Mmm-hmm (eating gummy bears from purse, thinking about how hot Chevy Chase used to be in the 80s)
Work Crush: So we could maybe go, then.
Brandy: (to self) HOLY JESUS BABY CHILD CHRIST IN A MANGER! DID HE JUST ASK ME OUT?! AM I CRAZY?!
Uhh, well let me look at my schedule. I think I can...but I may have plans. I'll let you know.
Work Crush: Cool. Do you like weissbeers?
Brandy: As in Coors Lite?
Work Crush: (smiles) Maybe.
- Nervous breakdowns
- Running out of rooms in tears; crying
- Loud,melodramatic wailing
- Live animals interacting with humans
- Spontaneous bursting into song
- Caustic indifference
- Defiance as a character trait
- Odd, archaic speech
- Funny weird names (i.e. Mister Salad, MC Pee Pants)
- Unflattering costume & makeup
- Rampant horniness (see "perverts")
- Inappropriate racial comments
- Sloppy make out & groping
- Falling down
- The word pants as in, "I'm Not Wearing..."
- Death threats
- Verbal abuse
- Abstract well-defined worlds, i.e. "Dog Show!" sketch
- Dead infants
- Middle American ignorance
- Fat frat boys
- Swapped genders onstage
- Insane people
- uncomfortable silences
- Callbacks to earlier references
- Parodies of other shows
- Incongruous laugh tracks
- Sock monkeys
- Real monkeys
- Sad, slightly mistreated animals in Asian dry cleaner calendars
- Creepy porcelain figurines
- Animals forced to wear human clothes
- Old black & white films of animals in human clothes going on dates, getting married
- Bad sitcom theme songs ("A Second Wind" from Mr. Show)
Sunday, April 10, 2005
THE PRODIGAL SON
About an hour ago, I came home and went to bed early due to exhaustion, having been up late and carousing all week. About an hour ago, the weekly hi-jinx that takes place on the corner directly across from my bedroom window began to take place in full force. They weren't as bad the night before, but I knew once the weather warmed up that it would only be a matter of time before the drunken urban serenades were to commence. And commence they did, as I was woken from my much needed slumber to hear the constant screaming of "WHAT, son? WHAT, son?" Over and over and over. Other comments included, "When my nigga gon' be ready to roll with me?" and "Nigga I done told you it's TM, trust and money trust and money!" Delightful. I waited roughly a half an hour, thinking to myself how this yowling sounded not unlike an a capella Ja Rule record, before I called in my weekly Old Lady Barber Quality of Life Noise complaint. As I was on the phone with the 311 operator, the yelling reaching a crescendo. It was so loud the operator could clearly hear the words the buffoon was saying. I sighed, and the operator snorted and said, "Now that's some drunk sad-ass nigger." Then he bade me good night and thanked me for calling the City of New York. Oh, how I do love the city of New York and its employees.
HELLO, IT'S ME
Todd Rundgren is a master pop craftsman, a visionary whose amazing body of works is sadly reduced in the average dipshit's head to the five o' clock drive time nightmare that is "Bang on the Drum All Day". So you can imagine the delight I had when, upon attending a long-standing comedy show for the first time this past Wednesday, I got to see Yo La Tengo do a cover of "I Saw The Light". It was simply lovely. And speaking of that show, it was a great night all around. It was one of those nights that you run into a gaggle of boys who have either been flirting with you for a long time or who you've always wanted to flirt with but never gotten the chance. Sara was immediately drunk and as a result, was hilarious. Her inebriation involved convincing a shopkeeper that she should have a bag of Cheese Doodles donated to her due to her recent thyroid cancer, eating off of some random guy in the street's food, and cutting in front of some couple on their first date at Vienerio's to try and eat what she had determined were "samples" off of the front counter. These were, in fact, whole cheesecakes, but no one was going to convince her of this fact. I, for my part, was looking to start a fistfight (I was provoked), making a pass at a guy who has a (never, ever there) girlfriend, and standing on the street in front of the bar, drinking a can of Coors Lite: The Silver Bullet out of a brown paper bag. So that's classy. I also was beyond annoyed at the fact that there is a guy who I seem to run into at all of these shows, who always peers at me but never comes up and talks to me. And when I say he peers at me, I mean it- I feel like I'm being stalked. Which at first, was cute and sort of flattering, at least in his case. But now it's just annoying. Look, I know you're in comedy because you were chubby and the prettiest girl in school spit on you when you gave her a Valentine. Join the fucking club, pal. But grow up, get over it, and come ask me on a date. I'm not going to do the work for you. Lesser men than you have tried, so what's the problem? (Note to self: Maybe he thinks I'm really a man?)
I got to walk around in the lovely sunshine today, and it was marvelous. Although, to be certain, I was at my most whup-ass. I went out to eat breakfast under the impression that I'd come home to freshen up later, but that didn't happen, so I had to go see a ballet at BAM scented in a vaguely homeless manner. And let's not even talk about my hair, which looked like a racoon had taken up residence within it. So, after the play and lunch with Porter & his sister, I came back home with plans to nap and to bathe, for chrissakes. When I got back upstairs, I realized I'd forgotten to go to pick up some groceries for dinner, so after swearing so loudly my landlord (a man who sprinkles the word "fuck" into sentences as if it were pepper) came out and glared at me, I trudged back down the stairs and across the street to the store. And while I was there, I saw a guy check me out really blatantly-like a wolf in a Porky Pig cartoon. And I about died laughing. Because I smelled like a fucking NFL locker room hamper, my hair was a disaster, I had a slight sunburn, and definitely had garlic breath due to my various meals. So, I'm thinking, if that's what it takes to impress the menfolk, then no more showers for me.
THE SPICE OF LIFE
The other night, Porter and I were having a semi-drunken walk home in the rain after eating a deep fried Mars bar. And he asked me if I’d even seen the Spice Girls movie.
MASON, HOW DARE YOU!
It was if I’d been slapped in the face. Did I did I not used to wear a Spice Girls T-shirt onstage when we used to perform together? In fact, did I not wear it in one of our very first UCB shows?! Do I not have 2 Ginger Spice dolls that my friend got me specially when he was in England?! Did you happen to notice that Spice Girls “Spicewatch” puzzle on my bookshelf?! Porter, you’re dead to me now. Beat it! I no longer have what the cool snarky kids call a "comedy boner" for you! And hey- "I actually like the Spice Girls!" How do you like them apples?!
Friday, April 08, 2005
Wednesday, April 06, 2005
I refuse to pretend I give a rat's ass. I hate compulsory christianity more than anything. Why do I have to act respectful of an organized religion that has oppressed billions over centuries? Eat me, "Pope".
I couldn't even escape this hyped up bullshit on NPR this morning. I had to hear how affected by this evil man's death "teenagers" were. Yeah, because thye're all knocked up and have STD's since you banned condoms, you ass.
This is making me so angry. I want to hotwire the Pope Mobile, knock him out of the casket, and run over his head.
- Oblivious- Aztec Camera
- He's So Shy- The Pointer Sisters
- 110th Street- Bobby Womack
- Dirty Pop- N'Sync
- Deep and Wide and Tall- Aztec Camera
- Everything You've Done Wrong-Sloane
- Mexican Wine-Fountains of Wayne
- Strange Magic-ELO
- Everybody, Everybody- Black Box
- So Fresh, So Clean- OutKast
- Sparky's Dream-Teenage Fanclub
- Chanson Papillion- Chaka Khan
- Kelly Watch The Stars - AIR
- Supersonic- J.J. Fad
- Is It Like Today?-World Party
- Jesus Loves You (But Not As Much As I Do)- Eve's Plum
- She's the One- Robbie Williams
- Midnight at the Oasis- that dog.
- Something About Us-Daft Punk
- Take Your Time (Do It Right)- S.O.S. Band
- Big Sur- The Thrills
- All For Swinging You Around- The New Pornographers
- Co-Pilot- Letters to Cleo
- I've Been Waiting- Matthew Sweet
- Street Life- Jackie Brown Soudntrack (forget her name)
- Forget Me Nots- Patrice Rushen
- The Real Roxanne- Roxanne Shante
- Friends of P- The Rentals
Sometimes, I am not drunk. I actually don't drink that much, it's just that when I do, I tend to go a bit beserk. I turn into Kim Basinger in Blind Date. And, as observed by Sara, Problem Child. Someone said to me the other day that you're only young once. While this is, in my case, an excuse for acting naughty sometimes, I liked hearing it.
I was the classic late bloomer. I drank once in high school when I was 15, got low-grade alcohol poisoning, and never touched a drop again until I was 19. I didn't do drugs, in fact, I would rag on my stoner friends who did. I was a wet blanket in that regard. I did get in trouble all the time, but it was for being a smart ass with an anti-authority chip on my shoulder. I was on Academic League, and also in Saturday School regularly. I once asked for a bathroom pass from a sexist History teacher I hated, then hopped over the fence to the teacher's parking lot and out a bumper sticker on his car that said. "Sexy & Single and Loves To Mingle". Then I came back and smiled at him sweetly. I graduated when I was 17. I dropped out of college for a year. I wanted to be a dancer. I wanted to be an actress. I wanted to be a writer. I wanted to be a teacher. I wanted to marry my first love and be a perfect wife. I wanted to stop being a compulsive liar. I wanted to be feminist activist icon. I wanted to be a comedian. I wanted to be a journalist. I wanted to be a playwright. I wanted to be a theater producer. I wanted to be philanthropic fundraiser. I wanted to be the party girl I never was when the rest of my friends were. I wanted to move to England and marry a Brit. I wanted to move to Italy and retrace the same path as Lord Byron did before he died, a sort of homage to Sherman's March. I wanted to be Sylvia Plath and Charles Bukowski. I wanted to be someone's Annie Hall.
I kind of like being a trainwreck. I like not apologizing for it anymore.
Tuesday, April 05, 2005
PLEASE NOTE: While this may sound somewhat melancholy, it's actually a kind of embracing of myself and my eccentric and often slightly self- destructive behavior.
My parents often wonder when I went off the deep end, as far as graduate school is/was concerned. I had moved out to New York solely to pursue the goal of an MFA, but my interest was waning in an evident manner. I was spending more and more time doing comedy stuff, and less and less time pursuing the theater administrative work I was meant to in order to do well in the career field I had chosen. I can pinpoint it to the exact night.
This was taken after my very last day of finals in year two of grad school. It was also the evening of a good friend at the time's birthday. I had gone to the gym prior, and meant to drop in for a quick drink and then go home. And, of course, as we all know, whenever one plans to be responsible with alcohol, one must then double the regular amount of drinking one does and divide that by my first (and last) Red Bull & Vodka. Then factor in all of us trouping over to the old UCB Theater to the improv nerd party night of yore- Thursday Harold Night- and things get blurry. I am fairly certain that's the night I knocked over a bunch of my & my friends' empty Ballantine 40s during someone's show. What an asshole.
I remember staggering to McManus and forcing someone to slow dance with me to one of the 50 overplayed songs on the old jukebox. I am thinking it was "Bridge Over Troubled Water". I don't remember putting the flower in my hair. I do remember not planning to get that drunk, because I wore what has to be the MOST UNAPPEALING, UNFLATTERING, POST-GYM NIGHTMARE OUTFIT OF ALL TIME (this is where my phrase "gay PE teacher" stems from) and my hair is a shambles. I have on fucking Adidas shower shoes.
At about 2 AM-ish I remember Curtis (before he was my friend) coming up to us, addressing us as "ladies", and asking us to go to a party for the Toyota Comedy Festival.
A friend was upset over the fact that a guy she liked left without asking for her number. On the way out of McManus, I saw some butcher paper sticking out of a trashcan on 7th & 19th and decided to make her a sign reading, "Don't be sad, he's gay". [See cringe-inducing photo]
There was a blurry taxi ride. I recall being on the roof of the Gershwin, one of the four of us girls getting randomly kissed in the elevator, and spitting mouthfuls of keg beer on another as she was getting hit on by some very nice guy (who I suspect hates me for it to this day; I give him that). I think I was lying on a lawn chair at one point- never on the ground, because it was covered in Astroturf. I know I accidentally knocked a bottle off the top of the building and felt really, really guilty. And my friend Rebecca climbed the water tower.
We ended up at a diner at 7 am on Friday morning, where whenever one of my girlfriends would mention a guy I would interrupt her and demand, "Yeah, but does he have a big dick?" The lone guy who was with us looked fascinated and horrfied by my quest for schlong knowledge. I think he considered it a challenge of some sort. I remember smelling Ivory soap and Listerine on someone and realizing I smelled like the warm version of the now-fermented keg beer I had expelled from my mouth onto my horribly ugly shirt. I remember pointing & laughing at people who were going to work in their suits and high heels. I think that's when something in my just sort of snapped and I knew I could never do that for the rest of my life. I just couldn't, even if I tried. I knew I'd fail. It was terrifying. It was grand.
There's more goings on from that night- it went on into the afternoon- but that's enough. I think it serves to make it clear how, in one single night, I freaked out and couldn't handle the fact that I went to school to get a Masters in something it turned out I loathed. I hadn't gotten that drunk in years, maybe ever. It made me remember that I like having fun and being rambunctious and loud, and mostly not trying to pretend that I know what the fuck is going on and that I'm in control and I don't feel like acting mature. Because people, let me assure you- let the photo assure you- I am not.
Monday, April 04, 2005
Oh...I told you? Like, 27 times? Loudly, with most of the consonants slurred? My bad.
Not really, but I saw a medium today for the first time and I am freaked out. So much so that I had to drink a lot of red wine. Good plan.
Now I am listening/singing to "Street Life" from the Jackie Brown soundtrack.
ITEM: MAKING OUT IS AWESOME.
Here is a list of girls I want(ed) to make out with:
1) Meredith Something or other, the actress from "Journey of Natty Gann"
2) Angelina Jolie in everything but mostly, in "Gia" and most of all in "Foxfire"- holy cats.
3) Claire Forlani just in general, except she is a bit short for me, since I am a huge tall monster. But her mouth!
4) Parker Posey in "Dazed & Confused"
5) Catherine Keener in "Being John Malkovitch"
I just re-read this and it seems I am attracted to dark haired, mid-height women. Just FYI, ladies.
There are more but I am drunk, tired, and full of Irish superstision over dabbling in the dark arts (as Sara says) and therefore, so skeeved out. So I shall listen to Kenny Loggins singing "This Is It" and finish off this bottle of wine. Solid!
Why, if you want to hit on me, would you choose to yell at me, "Damn! You jigglin', baby!". Do I seem like the type of woman who really responds to that particular figure of speech? I'd just like to know. I know this much: it is not something you expect or want to hear as you're walking from the L.I.R.R. to the M.T.A. late Sunday night, dressed not unsimilarly from a gay P.E. teacher, sans whistle. I mean, seriously, guy- I am fairly certain I had on Mom jeans.
Saturday, April 02, 2005
This photo sums up my behavior at the end of a long, long night last evening. It represents inadvertently crank calling Kevin Allison and singing the "Petland Discounts" jingle, and also moving my zone of shame. Oh, and in loudly recounting to all who would hear the delightful story of sitting in someone with a boner's lap.
Friday, April 01, 2005
To: Brandy, Sara
Date: 4/1/2005 3:48:14 PM
i'm sooooooooo bored. i've been doing mindless data entry,
which i don't care about, but i'm ready to go blow off some
steam. nothing ever happens on mars! boring! boring!
To: Anne, Sara
Date: 4/1/2005 3:50:14 PM
Anne I am NUTS, I'm on friendster cracking out, and [MUTUAL UNATTAINABLE CRUSH] is online!!!!!! I want to like, add him as a friend but I also want to retain a kernel of dignity. Hmmm....let's see who wins this round.
Date: 4/1/2005 3:54:02 PM
Subject: RE: bored
dude, just friendster him. come on. it will be hilarious.
then 5 minutes later sara and i will request to be his friend.
he intimidates me with his giant appendage!
Sent: Friday, April 01, 2005 3:56 PM
To: Sara ; Anne
Subject: FW: RE: bored
No way I'm not going first. Sassy, I DARE you to do it!
Date: 4/1/2005 4:13:19 PM
Subject: RE: RE: bored
But my head is sayin' 'fool forget him',
yet my heart is saying 'don't let go'
Hopelessly devoted to you...
Sent: Friday, April 01, 2005 4:14 PM
Subject: RE: RE: bored
Are we in 4th grade?!
Date: 4/1/2005 4:15:45 PM
Subject: RE: RE: bored
Oh no. It's official. We are.
Do you get butterflies when you see him? I do
Sent: Friday, April 01, 2005 4:18 PM
Subject: RE: RE: bored
I DO!!! I freaked out when I saw him at the show, didn't you?!
Date: 4/1/2005 4:19:29 PM
Subject: RE: RE: bored
There's something about him...he's very sexy in a date-rapey sort of
way....well actually no that would be dan's friend who isn't
really sexy at all...just date rapey
Sent: Friday, April 01, 2005 4:23 PM
To: Sara Allocco
Subject: RE: RE: bored
Yeah, like, he would look you straight in the eye and tell you to take
off your panties in a very calm, menacing tone. And you'd do it and
he'd say, "That's a good girl".
OK, I have to go masturbate now.
Date: 4/1/2005 4:28:58 PM
Subject: RE: RE: bored
Holy shit!! My ween tingles a little!!
*with much respect to that dog.
I will give you a shiny dollar if you can guess which of us wrote what on this sweet little note, which was passed back and forth during a casting class we took together this past fall. We sat in the back and glared at most everyone, with the exception of one or two very nice people.
We'll fix you.
I forgot about these pictures and just found them, and this one especially makes me sad. Because I look so happy and hopeful, and in about 12 hours the country was fucked.