Wednesday, May 26, 2010


I have mentioned many times how wonderful I think my friends and family are. Often, I find myself wanting someone to pinch me a la Annie because I simply cannot get over how kind, smart, entertaining, supportive, and generous the people in my life are.

This belief was reaffirmed last night when I received an email from a dear friend in San Francisco, my Li'l Vegan Cupcake. You know that you have a true blue when you can go a few months without touching base but they still know the sheer importance of sending this immediately upon discovery:

That is what good friends do.

Good friends also tell you when you shouldn't wear an ensemble that looks like a melted garbage bag sprayed with glitter and left over jazz boots from the local community theatre's production of Oliver with a bedazzled dreamcatcher as a necklace.

And that is just the top layer.

But now for the real "top."

What in the name of jazz hands and fan kicks is going on with her girls?!?!?!??! Liza never ceases to amaze-me-with-a-z when it comes to her bombs, however, this one really takes the ta-tas cake. She has taped one of the following onto her jiggler region:

1. The goggles from a tanning salon.

2. Some chicken cutlets.


3. Evinrude from The Rescuers.

Evinrude is all sorts of adorable, but logically it makes more sense that she accidentally taped chicken boobies to her own boobies because boobies are boobies and she was probably getting ready and just picked them up off the counter thinking they were her own. We've all done that once or twice, right?

I don't know how this could happen to her and her bits. I mean, in reality, I do. I really do know how. Because she's Liza Freaking Minnelli and, to be honest, it would be a major let down if she were wearing anything else. This photo has made my life.

I'm speechless. I am so thankful to all of my friends who continue to send me updates about New York's best dame and I simply cannot wait for the Tony awards that are just a few weeks away. Who knows what body part she will choose to expose come June 13th...

Tuesday, May 25, 2010


This whole thing is even grosser now that I know that they were eating dinner 3 blocks away from where I saw them and that Tom was with them. He was nowhere to be seen when they were photographing Katie with Suri. Also, in the shots, there is a big black car that was with them. Why didn't KHolmes just get in the car after dinner with her kid???

Monday, May 24, 2010


It is a warm spring night and, after a very long work day (the kind where I didn't leave the office from the time I walked in until the time I left 10 hours later), I have just finished my work-out at the gym. I am walking home in my sweaty neon green shorts, my hair is pulled up on top of my head, my face is the color of a tomato, I bang a right on the corner to take the short cut back to my apartment and...

I walk right into this:

I walked directly into a wall of paparazzi fiercely snapping shots of I didn't even know what - I was the only one standing in front of them. There was, literally, nothing between me and the throngs of sweaty dudes with the cameras.

"GET THE F*CK OUT OF THE WAY!!!!!" they yelled in my face.

This bothered me for many reasons.

1. They were yelling.
2. They were yelling swears at me.
3. They were in MY way.




I proceeded to walk directly into all of them so I could continue on my way home, and then I decided that maybe I should turn around to see who the hell was behind me. So, I did, and this is who I saw:

Katie Holmes slowly plodding down the street holding Suri Cruise.

This was amusing only for one reason:

Two years ago I was Suri for Halloweeners.

I digress.

Besides being totes annoyed at the paps for taking up the sidewalk in my hood and yelling swears at me, I was appalled by the sight behind. I don't know how else to say it, but that woman was pimping out her kid. Katie was walking at the pace of a snail, shifting Suri so the cameras could see her face, tons of open taxis were driving by and she did not get into any of them, that poor kid kept trying to put her backpack over her face so she wouldn't be photographed, and all the guys were yelling at her.

It made me deeply, deeply uncomfortable.

I no longer have sympathy for famous people who talk about how they hate being photographed with their offspring. She was straight out giving them the shots at the expense of her child. It was gross.

As my sister and I both said during my immediate phone recap with her, if Sandra Bullock can hide a baby from the entire world in the midst of an Oscar campaign AND throughout the debacle of her husband being exposed as a Nazi loving womanizer, anyone can avoid their kid being papped.

Holmes: Get in a cab. Put your kid to bed.

Paparazzi: Stay out of my way.


As Josebee said, "It's like you with blonde hair when you were a child."

Sunday, May 23, 2010


We have a mouse. I have named him Monroe and sometimes we chat.

Tonight, as I was writing an email, he came out and chilled on the mat in front of our sink for a little while. I think he'd had a really nice lazy Sunday and was trying to decide if he should have a snack or not before turning in for the night.

He was all, "If I eat this one crumb I am gonna feel sooooooo fat. I already ate one crumb this morning. I'm such a fatty."

And I was all, "Yo, Monroe. Just do it. Eat the crumb. And, you don't look fat because you have really big ears, so the rest of you looks really small."

And he was all, "Thanks, Molly. You're a great friend. G'nite."

AndIwasall, "Goodnight, Monroe. Have a great sleep in my hall closet with my shoes and my mittens and other things that I'm really happy you're crawling all over."

Saturday, May 22, 2010


Dear Person Upstairs,

You work in rather mysterious ways and always manage to surprise me with gifts when I least expect them.

Yesterday was a doozie.

I was thinking, "Hoorah! It is the end of the week! Nothing can bring this chicken who don't eat chicken down!" But, the day turned into a minor explosion of terror the second I got to work. In the morning, there were conference calls with disconnected numbers and drivers going to wrong places. It was the definition of awry.

Then you gave me gift number one, a gift I will treasure for all time and one that I am praying has a part two (being that there will be a visual for this when the film is released). I said many a prayer of thanks and promptly shared it with everyone I know, including all of you.

Then more junk hit the jello.

French folks were running around yelling, bosses were spilling sauces on their pants before tres important meetings, people were losing things and deleting documents and making me want to perform a self-lobotomy with the pencil that was on my desk.

Then you gave me gift number two. Printon 56, right near my office, has frozen yogurt. The stuff that is the real kind, none of this pink in your berry face business; I mean the kind like the place in the Laurelwood shopping center of my youth run by that nice Greek man who always gives me extra toppings whenever I am home.

Then more salami hit the sandwich, some chili hit the dog, and the tater hit the tot.

You get the idea.

I finally manage to free myself from the building of doom, fled to my hood, and stood in my apartment feeling super exhausted. I had a mental argument with myself that went a little something like this:

ME: "I am so tired. I want to fall down on my face."

ME2: "You will feel better if you get some exercise."

ME: "Shut it."

ME2: "No, YOU shut it!"

ME: "You're rude."

So, I went to the gym with a giant grudge against myself, the whole way there thinking, "I should have never listened to you. I am not going to like this."

Then you gave my final gift of the day. I got on a treadmill with a TV on it; the screen was on. I was not paying attention, was programming the speed, putting in all my info, and I started to run. I looked up and who was staring right back at me?


Friday Night Lights was on. And, the episode was just beginning.



So, even though the day was a roller coaster ride of emotions and exhaustion, you managed to give me the strength I needed to make it through, you gave me gifts along the way, and you brought me back home to my man.

Thank you for always providing light during the times of darkness and for always providing a little Taylor in my Kitsch.

I hope he knows that I fly fish, too.

Update: from Sanchez.

Friday, May 21, 2010


Oh sweet mother of Liza, I adore this.


This article is one of the best things I have read in a long time. It should be required reading for anyone who is visiting New York. Hell, I think they oughtta swap out those lame train videos on the airplane about how to buckle your seat belt with a video of this thing acted out in every language known to man.

If you don't know how to buckle your seatbelt, don't get on a friggin' plane. If you don't know how to follow the instructions in the article don't come to friggin' New York.

That being said, we are all really nice here.

If you follow the rules.


Thursday, May 20, 2010


While drafting an email for my boss, I almost signed the end of it:

"All my breast."




I'm really glad I proof read everything. That would have been really booby.

I mean busty.

I mean bad.


Wednesday, May 19, 2010



The wonderful folks over at the Broadway musical Memphis participated in this year's AIDS Walk. My dearest friend, Miz Millah, was one of the walkers (and top fundraisers!) and also put together this great little video featuring my band in the background! We were delighted to be able to be the soundtrack to such an important event. A huge congratulations to Team Memphis for raising over $7,000!!!
Here is their official blog.


Sanchez, these are for you:

Tuesday, May 18, 2010


Today the NY Times published this article about this blog.


You must scroll to some of the previous entries. They are priceless.

Even if you don't have kids, I guarantee you will laugh at least twice. And by laugh, I mean either really laugh outloud a la "hahaha" or exclaim "OHMYGODIAMNEVERHAVINGCHILDREN."


Caveat eater: Strawberries are about to get more toxic

Ever wondered exactly how powerful the biggest corporate lobbies are? In Washington, note that Republicans support suspected terrorists' "right" to purchase guns, even while maintaining that no other part of the U.S. Constitution or the Geneva Conventions apply to them. And in Sacramento, a pesticide so cancer-causing that it's often used specifically to create cancer in rats for medical experiments was just approved for use on the state's strawberry crop.

The state's own Department of Pesticide Regulation had advised in a report against approving the gas, methyl iodide. And 50 Nobel prize winners asked the U.S. EPA not to approve it. (It did.) According to farmers, there are a number of alternatives to the stuff, including solarization, anaerobic soil disinfestation and natural pesticides. And it's especially important to use safe materials only in strawberries, which hold the chemicals they're treated with. (More background in this TGL post.)
Lobbying for methyl iodide, we have a single company, the largest pesticide manufacturer in the world, Arysta LifeScience. The Strawberry Growers Commission — the people who employ the people who'd be breathing the stuff in — had weakly declined to take a position.

Read more:

Sunday, May 16, 2010


I am back after a vacation in Vermont.

Man, did I need it.

And man did I eat my face off when I was reunited with this bad boy.

More soon.


Wednesday, May 12, 2010


It would be a really lovely thing if your name were Mark because you could invite people over on a Sunday to have "Marky Mark and the Funky Brunch."

I'm thinking of changing my name.


Miz M: Have you watched Season 3 of Friday Night Lights yet? If so, did you cry all the way through it or is it my PMS?

Me: I have watched everything through Season 4. I cry almost every episode. It is not your PMS, it is TV at its finest. It is riveting. You can get Season 4 illegally online. No need to wait for it to air.

Miz M: Jason Street talking to his baby. Get out of town.

Me: Oh girl, I know. But WAIT until Season 4. Riggins will break your heart. You have NO idea. I need to start a support group. Call me if you ever need to talk/cry an episode out. I do it to Sanchez all the time.

Miz M: Ha!

Me: I'm not joking. I've called him at least 4 times and he's had to tell me to take a few breaths because he couldn't understand me between sobs. It's TOTALLY normal.

Monday, May 10, 2010


This is my 500th post! Holy majoly!

In honor of my great achievement, I am going to post some inspirational videos to get us through the next 500 posts.

You've all stayed with me through thick and thin.

You're all champions.

You're all winners.

Friday, May 7, 2010



Now Don’t Hear This

By George Prochnik

LAST Wednesday was International Noise Awareness Day, but if you missed it, you weren’t alone. Begun in New York 15 years ago as a grass-roots effort to educate people about the harmful health effects of excessive noise, Noise Awareness Day rapidly gained attention and advocates around the world. Gradually, though, America’s enthusiasm for the day began to abate. This year, in New York City, a mobile unit offered free hearing tests behind City Hall — that was about it for one of the noisiest cities on earth.

The scale of our noise problem isn’t in doubt. In recent years rigorous studies on the health consequences of noise have indicated that noise elevates heart rate, blood pressure, vasoconstriction and stress hormone levels, and increases risk for heart attacks. These reports prove that even when we’ve become mentally habituated to noise, the damage it does to our physiologies continues unchecked.

Studies done on sleeping subjects show that signs of stress surge in response to noise like air traffic even when people don’t wake. Moderate noise from white-noise machines, air-conditioners and background television, for example, can still undermine children’s language acquisition. Warnings about playing Walkmans and iPods too loudly have been around for years, but some experts now believe that even at reasonable volumes a direct sound-feed into the ears for hours on end may degrade our hearing.

Yet by focusing on the issue exclusively from a negative perspective, in a world awash with things to worry about, we may just be adding to the public’s sense of self-compassion fatigue. Rather than rant about noise, we need to create a passionate case for silence.

Evidence for the benefits of silence continues to mount. Studies have demonstrated that silent meditation improves practitioners’ ability to concentrate. Teachers able to introduce silence into classrooms report that it fosters learning and reflection among overstimulated students. Professionals involved with conflict resolution have found that by incorporating times of silence into negotiations they’ve been able to foster empathy that inspires a peaceable end to disputes. The old idea of quiet zones around hospitals has found new validation in studies linking silence and healing. These are macro benefits, but often silence feels good on a purely animal level.

If you have the means, you buy your luxury silence in the form of spa time, or products like quiet vacuums, which are always more expensive than their roaring bargain cousins. The affluent pay for boutique silence because, like silk on the flesh and wine on the palate, silence can kindle a sensory delight.

Unfortunately, in a world of diminishing natural retreats and amplifying electronic escapes, this delight is in ever shorter supply. The days when Thoreau could write of silence as “a universal refuge” and “inviolable asylum” are gone. With all our gadgetry punching up the volume at home, in entertainment zones and even places of worship, young people today often lack any haven for quiet.

These problems are everywhere, but can be especially acute in disadvantaged neighborhoods. Too many people think of silence only in terms of “being silenced,” of suppressing truth. In consequence, silence itself is now often suppressed.

People who appreciate the values of silence have, by and large, done a poor job of sharing their understanding — let alone of actually making silence more democratically accessible. Yet silence can be nourished in our larger spaces not just by way of an inward journey most people lack the tools to embark upon, but through education and architecture.

Some of the imaginative work being done today by urban planners involved with soundscaping demonstrates that it’s easier to create oases of quiet — by, for example, creating common areas on the rear sides of buildings with plantings that absorb sound — than it is to lower the volume of a larger area by even a few decibels. And having access to these oases can greatly enhance quality of life.

A recent Swedish study found that even people who live in loud neighborhoods report a 50 percent drop in their general noise annoyance levels if residential buildings have a quiet side. These modest sanctuaries can provide at least a taste of silence, which is then recognized not to be silence at all, but the sounds of the larger world we inhabit: birdsong and footsteps, water, voices and wind.

Perhaps rather than observing a muted Noise Awareness Day, next year we should declare the whole of April to be International Silence Awareness Month: an opportunity to think about how to bring a positive experience of silence to the growing numbers of people who live in a relentless wave of sound. Even a little bit of silence can create a sense of connection with our environment that diminishes alienation, and prompts a desire to discover more quiet.

George Prochnik is the author, most recently, of “In Pursuit of Silence.”

Thursday, May 6, 2010


More about Poets House here.

Wednesday, May 5, 2010







Tuesday, May 4, 2010


This morning's text from Lindsanity:

"Fire drill at HPD. One of my coworkers keeps yelling 'Whooomp there it is.'"

Ohhhhh yesssss:

And, some other ridiculously exciting news: Memphis has been nominated for, count 'em, 8 Tony Awards:

Best Actor in a Musical: Chad Kimball
Best Actress in a Musical: Montego Glover
Best Musical
Best Book of a Musical
Best Original Score
Best Costume Design
Best Direction of a Musical
Best Orchestrations

I am so proud of my dear friend Miz Millah who has worked so hard on this production behind the scenes. She is Broadway.

Please check out this hilarious video she made about a cast member of Memphis having to miss a performance because, well, it is hilarious.

And, Hockadoo to Team Memphis!

Monday, May 3, 2010


I was just sitting there. After a long, stressful day I was relaxing, eating my delicious cookie (the second one that I got for free, so it was even MORE delicious than a normal cookie), flipping through my New Yorker, and relishing in the fact that I was going to be crawling into my bed and passing out in a matter of minutes. And then he just walked right in, just strolled right by me like it was noooo big thing. He didn’t even think about the fact that he was, "disturbing my peace" (as my neighbor Yolanda likes to yell out the window as she disturbs the entire city of New York’s peace, mind you). He walked right in front of me, didn’t say hello, didn’t acknowledge my existence, didn’t apologize for ruining my one moment of quiet in the entire day, and parked it. He stood there inches from me and just stopped.

I. Was. Horrified.

I looked at him and said, “You know buddy, you’ve got A LOT of nerve...” and I gave him the stink eye.

No response.

Ummm, P’squeeze me! You have a lot of nerve coming up this close to me without being freaked out! I am exhausted and not in the mood to deal with this and it is just like a man for you to come in and ruin my moment and take up space and ignore me with your tough exterior! I am so over this! Can’t you see I am eating here? I am so over you being everywhere and nowhere at once! You are always following me and you always show up at the most inopportune moments like when I’m eating! Or taking a shower! Why can’t you show up when I AM GONE! Oh, wait, you probably do that, too!"

Yeah, I told him. I told him real good.

But again, he said nothing and just sat there like he was on a lounge chair or the toilet.

“YOU ARE A COWARD!” I yelled as I grabbed a napkin and brought my fist down onto the counter.

I missed.

I tried one more time, chasing him down the hallway, and missed again.

I gave up. I walked back into the kitchen, feeling like a disgruntled loser for blowing my top and having bad slamming aim. I finished my cookie.

Next time I am not going to use my words or my fists. Next time, I am just going to get out the spray.

Mr. Cockroach, your days are numbered.