Dewey update: eighty donations to hospitals, detention centers, schools and library programs. It’s a rough time for fundraising, you guys. I know that I did this all quickly and on the sly, and you have all been fantastic at spreading the word, including some heavy twitter-hitters, but normally Dewey gets a few more books than this by now. Thank you so much for all the help. I’m going to wait until this afternoon before I put up another wishlist, because I think the C.A.U.S.E. program has received less than ten books.
Here’s a story I’ve been meaning to tell since Monday, when I listed the children’s hospitals. I mentioned that I’d had two mortifying experiences in children’s hospitals, the second-worst being the other week when I went to Monroe, Louisiana, on a red-eye in a leg brace to visit fourteen-year old Madeleine, who was suffering from a kidney infection. If you haven’t read Sarah’s account of it (Fancy new digs, Lady Bunting!), just know that it ended with four grown-ups and a teenager trapped in a hospital room as the specialist gave a ten-minute speech on how to clean and care for your vagina, with advice both helpful: Continue reading
Andi Teran and Jeff Long wrote a play and got into the NYC International Fringe Festival!
It’s called For Reasons Unknown and it’s fantastic. Don’t miss it, because you’re going to feel really stupid when you skipped out on the best thing happening in NYC.
Happy Birthday, Jeff “Old Man” Long. Uncle Junior is wearing a party hat and not much else.
Dan, I miss you. Please come home soon.
Al, if the B-52’s can write a love song to a wig, so can you.
Rebecca, I cannot wait to throw down at your wedding…but how will we ever top the “Muppet Blowjob“? Continue reading
A moment from last month. Continue reading
Leaving Los Angeles, I got a few tips on surviving New York during the holidays. I was told:
1. I’d need heavy clothes. An enormous coat I didn’t own. Lots and lots of layers and sweaters and basically I’d need to go buy a new wardrobe and a huge suitcase to put it all in.
2. I shouldn’t wear earrings because it would be so cold that the bars in my earlobes would freeze and hurt.
3. I was going to need to wear long underwear, and I needed boots that could survive getting soaked and I’d need to buy those boots and gloves and sweaters and did anyone mention the huge coat?
4. There was going to be a subway strike, and I’d be stranded and alone. Continue reading
Subject: Warning to My Bitch (At)!
“Please” accept this “warning” from New York: Wear my wedding “guests” out at your New Year’s “nuptials” and “I” will have you “kilt”.
This is “not” a “joke”.
In college Amy was a double major in HELL and CRAZY. This meant she never slept and was always on top of things. She is now about to be a doctor. Her husband, Kevin, is about to be a lawyer. And together they will own Texas in about seven years. Continue reading
Oh, my God. Jerry Springer is still on the air? It’s like I paused 1997. The same crew, the same bald bouncers who stand in between fighting couples who have more tattoos than teeth. I can’t believe this is still on. Jerry paved the way for Fear Factor, The Swan and any television show starting with the word “Judge.” Because we couldn’t believe how watchable the redneck rodeo could be, we dumbed television down to a place from which we may never recover. Continue reading
I’m back. Thanks for waiting.
I think I officially love New York, but I don’t see how anybody lives there all of the time. It was exhausting. Constantly moving, always spending money, sweating while cold and raining… I’ve never really been cold while sweating and wet from rain before. It was a lot of fun and took all of my money. I got to see just about everybody I love out there (including one special lady that drove two hours just to see me for an hour at a TGIFriday’s. That’s how you know someone loves you). I think I slept about ten hours total, but that was just fine.
There wasn’t too much sight-seeing, as it was raining most of the time, but I felt like I walked just about every square inch there was around there. I walked the Brooklyn Bridge, I saw a Broadway show, and I was on television (give your TiVoes a rest — the segment isn’t airing until the week of Sept. 15th). I slept in a tiny Manhattan apartment on a broken futon, I slept in a near-stranger’s bed in Brooklyn, and I slept in a guest room in Long Island. I got mistaken for a local and gave directions to Kew Gardens (even though I figured that first word was spelled with just a single letter). I braved my way through thunderstorms and umbrella-bending winds to sign a contact that certifies me as a real writer. I spent an entire night in one bar catching up with friends, crying and laughing and holding hands, wishing there weren’t so many miles between us every single day.
What do we do with all this independence?
Here’s the first problem. This holiday weekend started out really friggin’ shitty and just got kinda worse and has now mellowed out into this blah-thing that is impossible to care about, and not really like a vacation after all.
Jeff’s party was fun, but just sad. Very sad. Lots of tears and then we just wouldn’t let poor Jeff alone and we went and had breakfast and we didn’t technically say goodbye until seven in the morning, and then we drove home sobbing.