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I was honored to be asked to be the guest blogger for Funny or Die these past few days. My assignment was to blog Monday through Friday of this week. I can honestly assess that I did my job. Today, however, I surrender.
How can I write anything funnier than Sarah Palin and her "I'm oblivious to the turkey being slaughtered behind me" video.
Please enjoy.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z-kjM1asH-8
We are coming up on the most popular travel week of the year. That means many comedians from all over America are returning to their home-towns to break cranberry sauce with their families on Thanksgiving and get shitfaced with their high school friends the night before.
This is often a hard time for comedians - seeing extended family members and long-lost friends because it seems no one knows how to talk to comedians. I learned the hard way, not to do gigs in Boston when I go home for the holidays. There is no need to combine distant family members, alcohol and your dreams on a cold winter night.
Let me give you some examples. Don't ask the comedian in your life why they are not on Saturday Night Live. This is like asking a man why he doesn't have wings or asking a woman why she doesn't fit the personality type of one of the four women from Sex&The City. Not every comedian wants to be on SNL, especially comedians who do stand-up only and not characters. Not every comedian wants to disrupt her happy life in L.A. and leave her fiancee to live in NYC or force her fiancee to end his career to go with her. Assume that the comedian in your life, if she's been doing it more than a decade and has worked in television for many years, probably knows people associated with SNL and doesn't need your advice on how to contact the powers that be at SNL. It's great that your next door neighbors nephew is an assitant to a producer of some kind in NYC. Don't give me his email address.
Don't ask the comedian in your life if they are influenced by Jerry Seinfeld or some other giant staple of the American comedy landscape. We will answer that we like Jerry. He's like ice cream. Everyone likes ice cream. Even the lactose intolerant cheat now and then. But we probably know comedians that you've never heard of because we swim with those schools of fish every night doing thankless shows for free. When we tell you the comedians you've never heard of that we like, don't tell us that they are not famous. Artists and famous are two different things. The comedians you don't think are famous have huge houses from all the voiceover work they do even though they have to do morning radio to sell tickets when they come to your town.
Don't tell the comedian in your life, that you daughter's best friends babysitter lives in Los Angeles, and works in show business and then say, "She lives in Palo Alto." That is not Los Angeles. That is 6 hours away and only a masochist would commute 12 hours a day for show business.
Don't tell the comedian in your life that you don't have cable TV therefore you can't see the shows that she is on or writes for. Don't then ask her, "So what else do you do for money?" If the comedian in your life writes and performs on cable TV that is a living. Just because you don't have cable TV doesn't mean an entire generation who is our demographic doesn't.
Don't tell the comedian in your life jokes that she can use in her act. Comedians don't do street jokes. And for God's sakes, even hacks aren't doing Monica Lewinsky jokes anymore. Don't assume that the comedian in your life is racist and homophobic like you. Most comedians working in the business live in either NYC or L.A. - the cities in America that have all the gays and blacks. Chances are we've slept with them.
Don't attend the comedian in your life's show and say things like, "You looked confident up there." That is not a compliment. On the other hand, don't not say anything at all. It's awkward to not acknowledge that the comedian in your life didn't just bare their soul on stage for 30 minutes while an audience laughed.
And finally, don't ask the comedian in your life when they are getting famous. Not every terrorist is as high profile as Osama Bin Laden but some are making some damn fine homemade explosives. Not every comedian is as famous as Chris Rock. But some comedians, like the one in your life, makes a living at it, which last time we comedians checked, is not incredibly easy to do without a lot of guts, determination and oh yes, talent.
This holiday season let's all stop accusing the comedians in your life that they are talking to you because they are mining you for material for their act. Sometimes jokers have feelings and they want to just hear about how you are doing and they don't want to be examined about why they aren't famous as if that's all that matters in a career. How often have YOU been on TV Uncle Johnny? Why weren't your parenting skills featured on Martha Stewart? You must be terrible at it!
I work on a TV show and today our little late-night show had the World's Smallest Horse, Thumbelina on set. She is the spawn of two miniature ponies who fell and love and made a baby. Thumbelina came out even smaller than a miniature pony. She is known as a mini-mini pony, or if you prefer, a dwarf pony.
I have been looking forward to her arrival more than my co-workers children who came in for the event. And these kids were distracted once they left the set by the next interesting thing placed in front of them. They are not able to discern yet whether the World's Smallest Horse or a squishy, over-sized ball are equally fascinating or not.
I was touched by being in Thumbelina's presence. I cried when we "met" and I insisted that one of my bosses snap multiple pictures of me and this horse. She has a sweetness about her, that little mini horse. Her bio goes something like this - she wasn't supposed to live long or be able to do much but she overcame the odds and now is the head honcho of the farm that she lives on. She spends her time travelling the country visiting kids with cancer and vets at Walter Reed Hospital.
Hang on. I have to wipe my nose. Now my nose is running because I've learned to cry through every orifice in my face.
I'm a Childless By Choice human being. No, I won't change my mind. Yes, career is my number one goal and I CAN"T have it all, nor do I want it. My husband-to-be feels the same way. This is why we are a good match and I'm no longer with my last boyfriend who couldn't wait to leave L.A. to start a family whereas I moved to L.A. to avoid "family."
So, anyway I enjoy things that kids enjoy and perhaps with more gusto than an actual child does. The people at work who have kids simply remained adults who seemed touched and happy for their kid to meet The World's Smallest Horse. If anything they lived vicariously, and appropriately so, through their kid. Let their kid ooh and ahh and their adulthood remains intact.
On the other hand, I was on my knees hugging the horse and whispering to her that she is a very good soul. She has done so much for so many. More than I'll ever do. Although I've never done my act for dying kids or injured soldiers. Perhaps, I could bring a smile to their faces with my jokes about sex.
Anyway, my friend at work asked me, "Are you really into animals?" I said, "Actually no. I'm just into things that are cute." It's true. I hate dogs and I'm not really fond of normal-sized horses. I love tuxedo cats but I'm so partial to them that I can't really get cuddly with a Tabby
I realized in that moment that becuase I am childless and enjoy things that are seemingly "for kids" that kind of makes me that creep - I'm not quite as bad as Michael Jackson building Neverland but even he had to start somewhere. First, I snuggle with the World's Smallest Horse and then I'm buying a Llama and wearing surgical masks. This is the latest obstacle in my Childless Lifestyle. When I clap my hands at your cute baby and I don't know you, I'm that lingering wacko whose intentions aren't clear because I'm not a mother myself. I need to stand back and let the children enjoy the small horses and I need to show a little dignity.
Now, if you'll excuse me I'm going to go and get excited about putting up my Christmas tree next week.
It's that time of year again. I will buy my Tofurkey at Trader Joe's. I'm a vegetarian. I don't want to get into it. Please, don't make fun of me. I've heard it all before. "You know plants are technically alive..." You might think it's sad that I lug a log of fake turkey to the host's house but I try to do it quietly and without attention being drawn to me. It usually works out.
The problems began for me last year when I rolled up to the register at Trader Joe's. The cashier rang up my items and it was uneventful at first. And then he spotted my box of Tofurkey. He grabbed it and said, "I'm not ringing this up. You can't eat turkey just one day of the year?"
I then had the world's most boring conversation about being a vegetarian for 20 years and if I did cheat one day - why would I risk having digestion problems on Thanksgiving? I'm already going to have a hangover the next day. That's enough excitment for one long weekend.
He opened my box of Tofurkey and said "Heads up!" to the cashier next to him and tossed my loaf like a football. The other cashier fumbled and my Tofurkey was on the floor. We stood over the dead tofu and he said, "I used to be a vegetarian. I had a girlfriend who was one and she convinced me to be one. Then we broke up. And I got a new girlfriend. A meat-eater."
On the word meat eater - he flexed his bicep. He said, "She was good in bed. So I started eating meat again. I had forgotten what I was missing."
Then he mimed sex with his arms and hips. You know the move.
The manager came over and said, "Can I get you another one?" I wanted to tell on this cashier who told me about his meat-eating sex life but before I could - the manager said, "You tell her you used to be a vegetarian?" The cashier laughed, "Yeah. I told her the story."
What manager sees that their cashier dismantled a Thanksgiving dinner, talked about his sex life and acts like the only abnormal thing is the vegetarian who is just trying to get the hell out of there?
Everytime I go to Trader Joe's something like this, but not as bad happens. The cashiers are too friendly and nosey. I'm met with question after question. One time I was interrogated about why I don't have an outdoor BBQ grill. Another time I was told by an older cashier that I looked too young to be buying wine. Then he proceeded to tell me that I must have good genes to be 34 but appear to be in my 20's. He told me his ex-wife had good genes but her mother had better ones and he still wants to take his ex-mother-in-law on a date because she is beautiful for her age, but she won't return his phone calls.
I'm not saying people should ring up my order in silence but do we have to talk about meat or sex? I'm glad the employees only have to wear Hawaiian print nametags as opposed to shirts but let's keep progressing, and maybe we'll get to the point where cashiers can just go back to talking about the weather, or else I'm taking my complaint to Trader Joe himself. He'll probably rape me.
Dear East Coast,
I am fine. I am not in the fires in California. I think it's very nice of you, my friends and family, to email me and check in to see if I am safe or if I'm burning up like a dried leaf. I do want to point out, and I hope this doesn’t sound too critical, but for my friends and family who have visited my apartment in West Hollywood, California, do you remember a forest in my neighborhood? There isn't one. There is a Starbucks and an Urban Outfitters in my neck of the woods (shout out to Al Roker!) and although I imagine paper holiday coffee cups and extra long scarves are quite flammable - I think should those buildings go up in smoke it would be relatively contained.
I don’t mean to make fun of you. I know when the news reports that "California Wildfires are raging," the natural assumption is that my cement front stoop is on fire. (Which, it could be. My neighbor tosses her cigarette butts on the third step.) But a quick Google search will let you know that the fires are raging in some Santa Barbara counties as well as Orange County. I am many, many, many miles and several highways away from these areas. I'm also about $10 million short of being able to afford living in these areas as well.
Do I ask you folks in Massachusetts if you got caught in the crossfire at Lexington and Concord? What, that was 1776-ish? Oh, I didn’t know. I heard something went down in Massachusetts and I just assumed that you were directly involved.
I'm flattered that when you think "house" with "acres of land" near where Oprah Winfrey has a mansion that you think of me. I suppose it would be rude to not ask me if I'm okay. But if I was on fire - I'm probably not at home responding to emails.
I will say this. I have been affected by the fires. It is very hot in Los Angeles right now but it's not the normal hot that summer or Global Warming brings. I went to Kmart today. Let me tell you, it's freaky to be terribly hot while you watch animated reindeer covered in Christmas lights nodding their heads to "The Little Drummer Boy." It feels like I'm in an episode of Amazing Stories (remember that show?) I feel like I'm the only one who notices the Apocalypse and everyone else is acting like its normal for an animatronic reindeer to be moving around under a pink sky and oppressive heat.
I do think the air quality is challenged and while it's not bad enough to activate my asthma it is bad enough to make me cranky. I treated myself to a pedicure today and I had no patience for the up selling-in-broken-English that pervaded my relaxing afternoon. "You want deluxe?" No, I don’t. I'm ticklish. I want to get out of here. "You want neck massage?" No. I don’t want a neck massage. I'm trying to read Bill Clinton's book, Giving. I don’t want to be touched. I want to read about the culture of giving globally and I reserve the right to be distant and rude while doing it. Los Angeles (County) is burning and I'm cranky, damn it.
