beyond the pale

My copy of this book.

Did you think I was kidding or something??

And it’s purty and I like it and shaddup.

MB (immediately after coming home in his sexy custom-made-in-Thailand suit):

I MUST get OUT of these clothes. I feel all bunchy and parboiled.

I have been in love with this whole Pop Music Correspondence series for a long time now. The latest, to Billy Joel.

I think you should sing songs. Actual songs. Because you don’t sing any at all right now. You’ve been playing at my club for three months, and though you’re a fine musician and an acceptable vocalist, these things you perform are just not songs in the traditional sense. They’re streams of observations about what the people in the club are doing, punctuated by the occasional “la la la, de de da da” when it’s clear you’ve run out of things to say. It’s just a continuous stream of musical small talk lasting up to five hours.

Also ….

I guess I do owe you some thanks, however, for singing about the drink called Loneliness. That’s a terrible name for a drink. I’m renaming it Banana Mambo. More festive.

Hahahahaha. Read the whole thing.

So I was flipping through the channels last night and paused, briefly, on “Last Comic Standing.” I watched it a bit last year, but then got bored when they all started living spastically together in that cra-zaaaayzy house.

The guy I saw 10 seconds of last night basically said this:

Remember when you were in grade school and there was always that kid who was, like, 7 years behind the reading curve? And then he’d have to read out loud? The sentence would be something like “The bear licked the honey” and the kid would go like this:

The beee-aarrrrr? lyyyye-kud? the hoe-nee?

The beee-aarrrrr? lyyyye-kud? the hoe-nee?

The beee-aarrrrr lyyyye-kud the hoe-nee!!

And I really don’t know what else he said, frankly, because I became totally fixated on that. That one phrase. I mean, I fell asleep last night just repeating that to myself: “The beee-arrrr lyyyy-kud the hoe-nee, the beee-arrrr lyyyy-kud the hoe-nee.”

(Everything’s fine, I swear.)

Missy tagged me with a meme. And I’m actually doing it! It’s called 8 Things about Me. Why 8? I have no freakin’ idea.

1) My birthday is the same day as Harry Potter’s and J.K. Rowling’s. Yet I get no spillover benefits, either magically or financially.

2) I was an extreeemely shy child. Pathologically so. My face turned red if you spoke to me or I had to speak to you or if a dog barked at me or a tree branch waved at me. I was basically red-faced my entire childhood and was forced to coordinate my wardrobe around these special skin tone challenges. So how I ended up as my 4th grade’s class president, I’ll never really know, but I’m pretty sure it had something to do with all those puds in my class wanting to see me blush so they could then exclaim en masse: “YOUR FACE IS TURNING RED! YOUR FACE IS TURNING RED!!” Uhm, duh, wieners. My face feels about to explode in a giant mushroom cloud of embarrassment. If I’m lucky it WILL explode and this horrifying moment of public exposure will end with my blasted brain bits clinging to your shiny perfect hair. Not that I’m bitter. Praise Jesus!

3) I have kinda small feet, size 5 1/2 or 6. Can I get me one of those handicap signs on my car now?

4) I like red peppers; I like yellow peppers; but I do not like those gross green peppers. (Oh, and tell us how you feel about peppers, Dr. Seuss?)

5) That last one should count as 3.

6) *I prefer to double-bag the ol’ boobins before a trampoline workout. They say you achieve split-second weightlessness at the top of the bounce. Yes, and the balloons do tend to go floating away unless properly tied down.

7) Once in high school, this guy whose affections I did not return, became all pissy and called me a “homo sapien.” I am still traumatized, of course.

8) For 15 years now, I’ve been using the same black stretchy headband to hold back my hair when I wash my face. It’s strangely comforting to me. And yes, it gets washed regularly — please remain calm.

* Uhm, what???

I will. I swear. I’m gonna. It’s going on the ol’ Amazon Wish List pronto.

Because of the cover.

I don’t care if it deeply sucks. Because IF it deeply sucks, then I will just tear the cover off and frame it. Or else eat it. I may just eat the cover so that I may become part of the cover. Or, rather, the cover may become part of me — well, only temporarily, really, but nicely boosting my fiber consumption.

And I am not a (total) nutter.

ANND I’m not even hopped up on Doan’s because they didn’t do JACK.

(Stupid half-naked dude clutching his back pain. Now I know why you’re still all clutchy. Stupid lying dimples at the top of your implied butt calling out to me to purchase you.)

Okay. So who’s with me? Who will stand — or sit, just SIT — no, lie down, lying down is best — in solidarity with me? Who will go to Amazon — and I would link to the book on Amazon but, uhm, I don’t know how to do that because I’m a dummy NOT a nutter — and BUY the book for a mere 14.96 BECAUSE OF THE COVER and then read it no matter what? And then post about it on your blog or in the comments here?? Who? WHO?? COME ON!

Who will join the official “Read a Book ‘Cause of the Purty Cover Challenge”?

We will dive in knowing nothing about it! We will dive in for a completely stupid reason! We will read and report back everything we’ve gained and lost and learned — all from judging a book by its cover!

Go somewhere else if you want something all erudite and smarty and deep. That’s not what this is about. NO! We will dive into the pretty pretty shallows and splash all around.

But, really, since it’s shallow, we will most likely just crack our brains open on the bottom.

Come on, Nightfly. You know you wanna.

And I swear. If you guys leave me hanging, I will post endless posts about court reporting school and steno theory and the worldwide employment opportunities for the newly minted stenographer.

Come.

Join.

‘sFun.

‘sn’tInsane.

FoolsGold by Susan G. Wooldridge.

~ Christine Ebersole’s number from “Grey Gardens” at the Tony’s last night. Wow. Amazing.

~ Julie White’s acceptance speech for Best Actress in a Play in “The Little Dog Laughed.” I mean, you see her, from her seat, mouth moving, going “WHAT? WHAT??” And you watch her coming up the aisle to the stage, flicking the skirt of her gown around, mouth still moving; she is talking, exclaiming, before we can even HEAR her. At the podium she says, “Oh, you Tony voters! What a bunch of wacky, crazy kids!!” She was so funny.

(Okay. Honestly? I taped the Tonys because I always tape the Tonys and so I’m quoting her directly here, because I’ve rewound my tape to watch her again and again and again. Because I am just that nerdy.) More from her:

“I never even imagined I would be on a list like this (with fellow nominees), unless it was for dinner reservations at Angus — I mean, and then to get the tchotchke!”

She kept clutching her chest.

“I can’t feel my hands. Is that a bad thing?”

She thanked her agents: “I played a hideous agent and my agents have NEVER been hideous to my face.”

She thanked her daughter last, sweetly choking up: “Finally I want to thank my daughter, Alex Pendell (sp?) who gives us all hope for the future. Thanks, darlin’! YEEEE-WHOOOO!”

I fell in love with her. Such exuberance, such celebration! Congratulations, Julie White!

~ Fantasia Barrino singing “I’m Here” from “The Color Purple.” Astounding. Really. There’s greatness in that girl. I literally did not move the whole time she was singing. She froze me in my spot.

~ The movie “Little Children.” Can’t get past it. Kate Winslet, man. When is that girl finally gonna win her Oscar? But the whole thing, the dark humor, the weird narration from the Frontline/Nova guy. But I loved that, actually. Rent it, rent it.

~ Also, “Notes on a Scandal.” Judi Dench, Cate Blanchett. Judi Dench is genius scary in this movie. And Cate Blanchett I basically have a girl crush on. And Kate Winslet. All the Kates. Any Kate. Kate P, too. I need to see this one again.

~ Uhm, also, “For Your Consideration.” Just saw it yesterday. There is just too too much that is hysterical in this movie. The undercurrent of total mania:

“Someone’s killed their children and made them into cookies, and I want to go see that!”

“I don’t run around going, ‘I’m a gentile, look at my foreskin!’ I don’t shove it down your throat, because I don’t care.”

Everyone is so completely insane and yet they all believe they’re normal. I think that’s part of the genius of Guest’s movies. And it’s just too much to bear. And please. I’m also completely in love with Catherine O’Hara.

~ This guy, who was on a nearby street corner last weekend, singing nonsense at the top of his lungs, jumping madly about, and giving the imaginary strings on his fake plywood guitar a real beating. (Okay. Cell phone cam + cloudy day + moving car = bad pic)

~ This woman, who was dressed like a homeless babushka — I mean, up close, she looked like she should be singing “Anatevka” while shuffling behind a rickety cart of all her wordly belongings — anyway, she obsessively swept the boardwalk at the beach, same area, over and over and over. To her credit, it WAS really clean. So I thank you, Golde.

Really, though — I don’t want to get over any of this.