Friday, December 14, 2007

This Festivus, the Only Tears Will Be Tears of Asthma

Ed Shepp and Tionna SmallsThe buttery custard aroma wafting up from the crotchless panties I've had on for eight days can mean only one thing (actually one of a few things, but whatevz): Festivustide, that glorious time of eggnog, blackouts and handmade plush toilet seats, is here and in full sling! Wheeeee! So before you overdo it with the tequila & run-on sentences and come to wondering why your butt hurts and everyone's reading letters to you begging you to "please get help today," let's recap the best bits so far of this holigay season---those involving ME, Saint Prince Edlurg Quistvalden Shepp of Norwegenmark Trailer Park, Pumpkin Point, FL!

Let's start with the party that all the aromaddicted sound sculptors 'round here have been quacking about for weeks: myne and myne roommate's Christmanukwanzaamadestivus Party 2007, which farted nutmeggy joy into the beepsphere last Saturday the 8th of December. Yes, everything you've heard is true, except the stuff about the little people, the jenkem, the meat clothing, the seizuregasms and the backdoor administration of zinc tablets. That was all misguided hype--a Festivus lesson: never trust a 'slightly irregular' Thai blow-up doll with your PR, no matter how 'edgy' what 'she' tells you to write sounds after a few Tang-No Doz-kombucha concoctions. So yeah, none of what you heard was true, EXCEPT...... that oober-fantastic author/advice columnist/entertainment maven Tionna Tee Smalls (pictured above, with ME!) graced us with her boobtastic presence and dispensed wisdom to everyone coherent enough to listen. And since I'm name-dropping, Stephen Guarino of The Big Gay Sketch Show also attended, as did Quinn, inventor of the "touche-accepted" phraselet, and, of course, the inimitable Boo. And you can see all of them here, wearing the Grey Wig of Truth, which I force everyone who enters our fungal abode to try on. Beeptacular it all was. Beeptacular.

Also beeptacular was the next big event of the month, which also included Tionna Smalls! It was her book signing/reading for her debut work, Girl, Get Your Mind Right! on Wednesday at Mixx lounge. If anyone out there hasn't met Tionna and has any doubt about her talent, you need to attend her next event. In fact, you owe it to yourself. Plainly put, the girl has charisma. I was there with blogger Jason Atkins, and at one point I actually said to him, "She's going to be a star." (In the successful media maven sense, not the America's Next Top Moldy Porkchop one.) I'm not exaggerating here; I only exaggerate about pink. And chartreuse pleather handkerchiefs. But back to Ms. Smalls--she was engaging, hilarious, late and made everyone feel welcome and special. And I must say, her prose is clear, straightforward and at turns even lyrical, if that word means what I think it means, which is "pretty like Christmas." After reading, Tionna gave us all I [Heart] Tionna Smalls shirts and her peeps freestyled. Again, a truly beeptacular evening.

And that brings us all up to date on the season's haps for this year, which is good, because I'm, like, tired n stuff. Typing all these keystrokes so late at night is exhausting, as if my body were manufacturing some natural kind of melatonin on its own or something. So that's the beep for now.

Happy Festivus! (And remember that you can still get lots of Ed Shepp holiday mp3s at this page here. Now with more jinglesparkleglowness! Click through, dabnabbit!)

Ed Shepp

Sunday, December 02, 2007

A Very Ed Shepp Christmas 2007

Announcement time, bgoopters! This post is all about letting y'allz know that I have a new Christmas song out, the first Ed Shepp song (per se) in some time. So go listen and download it! It's Winter Wonderland, Ed Sheppified. Yay! It's at my myspace music profile, my soundclick. and other spots; get the highest-quality version by clicking here and a lower version by clicking here.

And if you're hankering for other Ed Shepp Christmas songs, including the released-and-unreleased classics All I Want for Christmas Is You, Last Christmas, Event to Remember, Dance of the Sugarplum Beepner (soundclick link) and The Christmas Story (soundclick link), go to this page here. I also plopped up Holiday Gift Ideas, a segment from a 2006 Christmas episode of The Ed Shepp Radio Experiment. So to reiterate, that's all on this page here. The Winter Wonderland lyrics area also there, even the part about "we'll have lots of fun with Mr. Snowman until drunk Lindsay Lohan mows him down..."

And while you're at it, check out my new xmas pics, courtesy of photographer extraordinaire Kenneth Pietrobono. View them here at flickr, here at myspace and here at facebook. Here's a li'l sample of the pix:

And that's my big announcement for the moment, glipsters. On the video front, I came across a vid where someone incorporated part of my piece called Thanksgiving Thoughts, off of Bling, as part of her Thanksgiving message. When she cuts the song off, she gives this look of "I have no idea what the gazoonce is going on"--could that be in reference to my piece? Hard to say. Link here.

And that's the beep for now, zoopsters!

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

Lessons from American Royalty

Ahh, November--such a wonderful month 'tis this year. The leaves are {finally} changing, the weather {finally} cooling down, the seasonal dysphoria {luminously} still at bay, and wisdom {unpredictably} bursting forth all around like little turkey coffin births. Just over the past few weeks, I've absorbed a few half-baked lessons myself from American royalty. Let's talk about them now.

1. Quiz question:

What does {serious} money smell like?

A] A new trailer fresh off the lot
B] Low-ammonia hair color from the A&P
C] That fresh $20 bill they give you at the plasma clinic
D] The Estee Lauder offices on 5th Avenue

Answer: All of the above, of course! But most especially, D] The Estee Lauder offices on 5th Avenue.

A couple Wednesdays ago, as part of a Sniffapalooza event, I got to go up to the corporate offices of Estee Lauder and have a gander at their new offerings, which included their Private Collection line and some collectibles. And talk about a experience. Let's start at the beginning.

The glamntacular began as I walked into the lobby of the 5th avenue building (Trump Tower? Is that the one with the FAO Schwarz on the ground floor?), and there to greet us were two young women from Estee Lauder. They were dressed identically in some ivory ensemble with taupe shoes, with lots of makeup and blonde hair pulled back into tight pony tails, kind of like classy updates of Robert Palmer's backup band, only with clipboards instead of guitars. Of course they were also almost blindingly gorgeous. So, Dad, to answer your question about whether there really are girls in New York like the ones in The Devil Wears Prada, yes, there are.

The glambots took us up to the 40somethingth floor into the corporate office, where more glamnbots roamed and we were treated to coffee, Pellegrino, cookies and other snacks while we waited to be led into the original office of Estee Lauder herself. The waiting room was impressive--lots of desaturated blue and old-fashioned furniture and the like. I thought to myself, "I could get used to this." Then I thought, "No, wait. Actually, I don't think I could. I would need to modernize a bit, splash some uurnge around, maybe some LED lights." After a few minutes, a part of us were led into EL's office, where Aerin Lauder herself showed us the new stuff.

That office--yowz! Now that was a glamn attack. The first thing you noticed was the narcotic floral smell, possibly tuberose with gardenia and maybe some lily. Next was the overload of periwinkle, gilt, trompe l'oeil and general luxury. It was fascinating listening to Aerin Lauder talk about the new line and her grandmother and all, especially with all the photos around. And the view of Central Park was breathtaking. It was a bit overwhelming, I must say, and of course for a little while there I did have that Radioheadly "what the hell am I doing here?" feeling. But that may have been the stain on my shirt talking (which I didn't notice until after I'd left the house) (not that most of my clothes aren't stained in one way or another) (but I don't like to think of them as stains--let's call them "birthmarks").

Then we left EL's office, and I had some more coffee. Someone asked me if I was a collector (cue Radiohead), and shortly thereafter I left.

So what's the lesson in this? Is there even a lesson, or is that whole "lessons from American royalty" thing just a way of bracketing the entry? Firstly, yes, there's a lesson. Secondly, how dare you. The lesson, and remember I told you they were half-baked, is thus: I realized as I walked away from that 5th avenue building that after seeing all that glamn and flash and mon-ay, I don't think I'll ever be impressed by yuppies again. So the next time you feel intimidated or out-classed by someone with a bigger bank account, think this: "This beeyotch may have money, but s/he's no Estee Lauder. I bet hir toilet isn't even solid gold." And there you have it, lesson 1.

2. Quiz Question.

What does superstardom look like?

A] A $700,000,000,000 diamond-and-African baby-studded ball gown worn on the red carpet
B] DD breasts + a 12-inch waist + lips like innertubes on a face that doesn't move
C] The revolving door at a new agey rehab clinic with its own Pinkberry inside
D] Monster shitloads of straw-like blond(ish) hair extensions

Answer: Hmm, I guess we have another all of the above here, but what it looked like to me on Black Friday was D! D! D!!!!

It was sometime after sundown, and I was walking from Pier 1 on 5th Avenue (what is it with 5th avenue?!?!) up to Bath & Body Works. I pass this store called Intermix (which I'd never really noticed before), and there were all these photographers and gawkers outside, so I thought I'd hang out and see who the fuss was all about. A few more people were wondering, because one of the photogs kept answering, "Linn-zay Low-hong." (He had a weird, maybe Chineseish accent that I could barely understand.) Whahappah?!?! Lindsay Lohan?!?! I stuck around for probably 2 hours (actually 20 minutes) and strained to get a glimpse. I finally did and walked in. I think I got about 5 feet away from her (she was apparently with her mom and sister or something) and just kinda stared for a few seconds. She was gorgeous, wearing all black and tons of eye makeup with a mountain of blond hair that was simply too gargantuan not to have been a weave. I was starstruck, and it's the only time I've ever been so. It was kind of tacky when she noticed me gawking and mouthed, "Hey, you got any blow?" but whatevs. (OK, that part didn't actually happen.) I wish I'd had a camera--I might have dared to ask her for a picture (probably not). But since I didn't, I just kinda walked out, hung out a little more and went on my way.

What's the lesson in #2? Guess what? Same as #1! The next time you're intimidated by someone, tell yourself, "This person might be zaboobulous, but s/he's no Lindsay Lohan."

For the third blooplet, I'll just tell you the lesson outright: Ed Shepp is a megaspectacular super-being who is so ahead of his time it gives him diarrhea on a semi-regular basis. Here's the backup for that lesson: I was noodling around gawker a few days ago, as is my wont, when they had a story on that bearded guy who wears women's clothes, with the following quote, quoted from elsewhere:

"Andre," said Mr. McKenna, "you look amazing!"

ACTUALLY, he did not say it in quite that way. It happens that the adjective "amazing," pronounced with a bunch of superfluous vowels, is how fashion types, and also certain urban gay men and also one or two tuned-in heterosexual copycats, lately express their approval. Amazing has replaced such locutions as "genius" and "major," which today sound even more old-hat than "fabulous."

And of course when I read that my first reaction was, "Way, whahappah!!! I was obsessively saying amazing years ago, AS THIS BLOG ENTRY ATTESTS. I must be totes part of the cognoscenti & stuff!!!" So this lesson was really just re-affirming something I already know, that I am living the trends years before they happen, so many years that no one but me ever makes the connection. But now we have proof, so there you go.

Whew! That's all the lessons for now, and thanks cod, because that took forever to relate! One more thing, though: I'm so glad to see Lohan and Foxy Brown in the news (but when's the Lohan NOT in the news?!), since I name-checked both of them in my new xmas song (yay!), which I'll postannounce shortly.

And that's the beep for now, gzooplets.

Ed Shepp

Monday, November 05, 2007

Ween 2007

So these are the pix of me en de l'costueme from Halloween 2007. Unfortunately there are only two, the rest of the shots marred by a virulent strain of MRSA, manipulation-resistant shitty angles, which left me looking like Perez Hilton after a Big Mac bender. So what was I? I was Prince Quistvalden of Norwedenmark, patron saint of the decadent overprivileged. There's not much to the costume, and--you probably won't believe this--I actually threw it together at the last minute, when suddenly the Spirit of Halloween washed over me like gingery-vanillic spooge. Or a teensy seizure-stroke in my pumpkin lobe. Sexylike. Basically I wore my I-feel-spunky shirt with a tie and blazer (some of which was bedazzled with rhinestone earrings from Tiffany's. And yeah, by Tiffany's I mean Claire's), my de-riguer crown, lots of smoky guyliner and a bunch of silver glitter under my nose, which you can't really see but was meant to suggest that I had been snorting diamonds. I have to say, it was the best I've ever felt in a Halloween costume wearing so many clothes. I may have to dress like that all the time.

So was it a successful Halloween? Well, no one approached me with any reality show, VH1 commentator, Nigerian bank account transfer or pumpkin frappuccino offers, and I awoke the next day fully rested with only one faintly salacious incident, so you be the judge. I am, however, open to do-overs, so if any of you sexy people out there wanna hang out with Prince Quistvalden for a night and make a young royal's Halloween dreams come true, drop me a line.

And that's the Halloween beep for 2007.

Ed Shepp

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

Halloween Bloop

Look at what appeared in the lobby of our building just a few days ago. It's one of those things that people typically put in their yards, but since this building has no yard.... well, yeah. It looks like it's supposed to be this snow-globe type thing (inflatable plastic), but instead of snow, little grey bats swirl around inside. The "bats" actually look like half burnt newspapers. (We had big bonfires at the house when I was a kid--the half-burnt pieces of paper from then are my frame of reference. DAMNZ, those fires were fun!!!! If your family didn't have big bonfires when you were young, you missed out.) The thing seems to run 24/7, and it's pretty loud. You can hear it down the hall, and it sounds like either a clothes dryer or a leaf blower. The verdict on the thing: Unexpected as it was, it's the coolest thing ever.

And now for a Halloween audio nugget. It's me version of Edgar Allen Poe's Annabel Lee. Added stanzas courtesy of The 80s. Click the thing in the lobby below for the mp3. Beep!

Beep! Happy Halloween!!!
Ed Shepp

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

Leave Britney Alone!

Today's audio nugget: A li'l blip I threw together featuring the [currently] most famous hysterical Avril Lavigne lookalike, Chris Crocker. Click the audio nugget icon for the homage, titled (obviously) Leave Britney Alone.

And now for a more personal note. Britney (because I know you're reading this), I know you've had a difficult week, what with the tabloids and all, but I just want to say to you: Thank you. Thank you, Britney Spears. Thanks cod for you, Britney Spears. You took what would've been a crap week (work, September 11) and made it magical, and for that I am grateful. Anytime I felt bored or down, I checked the sites for the latest news, comments or videos about your performance, and upon reading them I felt better. You have provided a wonderful service, Ms. Spears, bringing laughter to every American. You are a true hero. Bless you, Britney Spears.

Ed Shepp

Sunday, September 02, 2007


Well, beeplets, everyone and hir brother has done a cover version of Rihanna's Umbrella, so I had to make one too. Click the audio nugget icon to hear the Ed Shepp version! w00t!

Ed Shepp

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

My WFMU Blog Post, Highlighted

Everyone go check out my post on the wfmu blog, gooplets!!! (Click here) But since I know you won't, because you're all hewers and hatrs, I'll give you the highlights here:


I spotted That Guy Who's In Everything over the weekend... I bet I'd be offended if someone addressed me as "that guy who's in everything" and didn't know my name... And who cares what Hugh Laurie is like?! He's not like Gregory House; maybe he's really funny, but lots of people are, and it's not like I'm gonna be hanging out with him at 8:30 two Fridays from now in the East Village and need to be sure whether Thai food is completely out of the question because I heard he's allergic to lemongrass... Aaron Eckhart doesn't live in North America, North America lives on Aaron Eckhart's chin... Pitt's chin is smaller and rounder, more feminine, which makes me wonder whether a woman's preference for Pitt versus Eckhart shifts according to what part of her menstrual cycle she's in... I watched my first episode of Blue's Clues today. Is it me, or does the host, "Steve," look like he's performing "under duress"... I kept thinking there must be someone off camera aiming a gun at him or something... Paula Abdul (I call her Babbadoodle) is the epitome of the deluded, narcissistic, cracked out celebrity that we all thought was only an archetype invented for dramatic films and tabloid magazines... And you get the sense she believes her own crap. I wonder whether she connects a pipe from her ass to her face and masturbates while inhaling her own farts too... I suppose one thing you can say for Babbadoodle is that at least she didn't go into "rehab," which seems to be the thing to do this year, burning through Hollywood faster than double-strength anal bleaching cream...

And that's the beep for now. Go look at the original post, dammit!

Ed Shepp

Wednesday, July 04, 2007


Happy 4th of July, gzooplers. Here's my Americana audio nugget for today:

The Star Spamgled Banner, sung by Ed Shepp

And that's today's beep.

Ed Shepp

Monday, June 25, 2007


Sos I was obsessively comparing my google results with those of minor local uncelebrities one day and happened upon this video. It's a performance by Funkanometry SF (click here for their myspace) called The P Is for ? And the finale dance was to ...whahappen? Yup, myne very own modern classic, The P Is for Pussy. w00t!!! Awesomexcellent, isn't it?

And in case you like the song, but hate, ahem, that word, I ended up making a censored version of it when someone asked if there was a safe version of it around. So you can download The P Is for ----- here if you want.

That's the beep for now.

Ed Shepp

Monday, June 11, 2007

Just some blips

blip!Nothing to really talk about right now--show's off for the summer, so is House, and nothing exciting is going on. So I'm just posting a couple of blips for no particular reason.

Well, I've finally gotten around to reading Bitch, which I really think ought to be titled Beeyotch, and I wonder why I never really peeped into it before. I've read the other Wurtzel books (except for Radical Sanity--but then who's read that?!), but not this one. Which is weird, considering that she wrote the thing during a huge, extended Ritalin/cocaine binge, part of which took place in Florida. So you know it's going to be chock full of, well, everything! Sure, sometimes it seems to ramble (she came at the Samson & Delilah story from so many different angles that I wasn't sure what I was supposed to take from the chapter), but every now and then there's something either funny or interesting or confirmatucious of something I thought/knew. Here's something confirmatucious:
It seems that when people deal with the word in binary oppositions, choosing one thing only because it negates another, they are inevitably startled by the discovery that the quest for something completely different has only given them more of the same. That's why Oedipus killed his father and slept with his mother while doing everything to avoid that fate.

That's right, goonatches. My light reading contains references to Greek mythology and all that shizzle. I wonder if I could use this book in a show. There's a whole chapter essentially on Hillary Clinton; it could come in handy if it weren't so outdated (the book's copyright is 1998). But since I mentioned the Clinton chapter, here's an interesting li'l bit from it:
Of course, what is interesting about all this speculation on Hillary's possibilities is that they are precisely the assumptions and ambitions you project onto a gifted youngster, a very bright child, or an adult--no older than twenty-five or thirty--who is thought to be so full of promise. These are not really the kinds of things you say about someone who is full-grown--unless, of course, that person has somehow failed to live up to expectations, or just plain failed and disappointed by any measure. Because all these notions--serving on the Supreme Court, heading up the State Department, getting an elected office, maybe becoming the first woman to chair the Arms Services Committee in the Senate, or perhaps withdrawing to the academy and achieving tenure at some law school or having a chair endowed in her honor for the study of family law or children's rights--all of these grand ideas are pie-in-the-sky dreams. As far as Hillary is concerned, it ought to be clear to everyone that these dreams are gone--not deferred; they are gone completely. But it doesn't matter, because she has surrended it all to wifedome. Looking after Bill Clinton has been her job.

Aha! What a difference a few years can make! If Hillary Clinton could have been so decisively written off roundabout a decade ago, maybe there's hope for the rest of us. I'll beep to that!

Another blip: I smelled the new JP Gaultier fragrance the other day, Fleur du Male, and I gotta say--Bravissimo! Or, in other words, Hell fuck yeah! I wasn't expecting to like it, because I think Le Male is vile pollution; and since Fleur's bottle is shaped like the original, I feared its scent would be more of the same too. But since it had fleur in the name, I thought I'd give it a try. And I'm glad I did--it's quite different from Le Male. It's very floral, and actually kinda feminine, but not like, say, Oscar or Paris or Gio. It's nearly all orange blossom (with some hay and a fern accord), and some people seem to be shocked about that (A man's fragrance that's mostly orange blossom! Gasp!), but I don't see why. Gazillions of men's fragrances have orange blossom, so what's so shocking about that?! Actually, Fleur smells a little like Joop! to me (the intense sweetness). And it seems distantly related to those cheap orange-blossom single note scents that a lot of Spanish men seem to wear. At any rate, I don't think the scent is all that feminine, and even if it were, so what?! Really, you could wear a woman's perfume any day and probably no one would even notice. Unless it were, say, Oscar or Paris or Gio. I may have to pick up some Fleur one day--you can't deny that, with all its orange blossom, it's a great Celeditude scent. Beep!

Lastly, I might say a blip about Paris Hilton. Something I overheard today: No one knows where Osama bin Laden is, but Paris Hilton is in jail! Something a friend told me: Paris Hilton has become Bush's America: spoiled and brash and confident in her ability to elude consequence and limit, until finally it all crashes down, and she is left to do only that which she fears the most and finds absolutely unbearable, which is to endure the tyrannical threat of parents and pet owners alike: "Sit there and think about what it is you've done." As for me, although at first I was cheering her return to the slammer, now that I realize that most people wouldn't have been sent back (overcrowding in the LA jails), I feel a little bad for her. (Her teary scene made me sad for her.) Not only is she being made an example of, but now she has to be the target of everyone's rage about class/money in America. And all the venom is a bit hard to stomach. Moreover, I can't imagine that Paris Hilton herself understands any of it. I'm not terribly worried, though. Fortysomething days is nowhere near long enough to stamp out Paris Hilton-level skankstrionics. Maybe no amount of time is. Like a nearly nude, night vision, banality-spouting Phoenix, Paris Hilton shall rise again!!!

And that's the beep for now.

Ed Shepp

Wednesday, April 25, 2007

Urbles Day

Today is Urbles Day. Because there's nothing really going on, and when there's nothing going on, you just kinda say "urbles." What's up? Urbles. See?

So since there's nothing going on, I'm providing all yallz with an audio nugget. Today's audio nugget is from a friend's blog. I abridged the text a bit, excising the extraneous and political stuff, so the world could have the distilled audiessence. Download it, play it to your friend and comment til dawn. Click the audio nugget icon below for the mp3.

In random news, I'm looking for a room to rent, to move in either late July or early August. Target location: somewhere in NYC, preferably Manhattan; roundabout Astoria, Queens; not-too-far-out in Brooklyn or Jersey City/Hoboken. So if you can find me a cheap cheap cheap cheap cheap cheap cheap cheap room with sane and cool people, I'll make a whole show about you on The Ed Shepp Radio Experiment. Facebook or Myspace me if you know of something.

And speeching of ESRX, this week my special guest is podcast phenom Lady Raptastic. She's always entertaining and occasionally offensive, so tune in. You know the times. Don't you? (Thursday, 6-7pm Eastern time, WFMU91.1FM or

That's all I got for you now, geeplers. Here's the nugget and peace out!

Ed Shepp

Thursday, April 05, 2007

I Won't Play Leapfrog wiTh You Because You're tOo Unstable

One supposes this post should be a more in-depth examination of the trip to Europe, and that I should post the pix that I took from my disposable camerae. But it's not. Because I haven't scanned in the photos yet, and I want to do the in-depth recountation audiologically. But since I mentioned the photos, I have to say: DAMNZ, they look blurry compared to my roommate's digital!! From now on, I guess it's finna have to be digital.

So what's up, then? Well, Spring is finally inching its way through the door and shooing away Winter with its pollenny goodness. And that means that my winter doldrums are at last lifting. One result of that is that I've begun partly filling in my playlists again. Another is that I've decided to get all back up in neurogenesis's grille; I'm re-reading the Seed article that sparked the Seedling Project, and I'm bringing neurogenesis back. Someday people will look back at this year on wonder: "Ed Shepp made atheism cool AND brought neurogenesis back in the same year!" My next show will be on that article too, because I think it should be required reading and common knowledge.

But THIS week's show is all about the book A Perfect Mess, which is kind of a pro-mess polemic. And that's one of my pet causes, so I'm very into this show. In fact, there was too much material for it, so I had to cut some and not include others. And that brings us to your audio nuggets for today, which are two li'l bits from the show that I had to cut because of time. One is part of "the history of mess" and the other deals with stochastic resonance and manufacturing shoes. Click on a nugget to listen:

And those are the nuggets. There's actually a whole other segment that I couldn't put in the show, but I'm not uploading it because it's not yet cut. For the rest of the mess, tune in to the show tonight at 91.1FM or 6-7 Thursdays. The show tonight also features a listener-remixed theme courtesy of Kevin Burrows. It's actually one of two he sent in. Tonight's is the Isle of Sheppy remix, as opposed to the Bog of Shepp remix, which I aired last week. Tune it, bgootches!!!!

And that's the beep for now. Stay tuned to your Ed Shepp provider for more beeps as they arrive.

Ed Shepp

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

A (Not-so-)Petit Euroecap

It's 70 degrees and sunnyish today in the Apple, and I smell like fresh cut grass. why am I petit bleu? Because it's the first day back in the daily grind since St. Patrick's Day.

No, I haven't been drunk in a ditch in outer New Jersey. Or driving around providing impromptu and unwanted grief counseling, as I am wont to do. Neither have I been sitting in bed trying really hard to astrally project (I stopped doing that at 16). Nor have I been held hostage by some crazed ESRX fan à la Misery. None of those things. I, gzeepsters, have just returned from my and my roommate's European Excursion 2007.

Way, whahappah?! you say? Votes fer sleazleries!! It's true! The roomz and I blipped over to Amsterdam on the 17th, gwazzled over to Paris shortly thereafter, and returned just yestertag. And now I'm back in the daily grind. Which explains why I'm a bluelet. Because I'd rather be back on the Continent, eating cookies and frites in Amsterdam and speaking miserable, broken French in Paris. So needless to say, I've been sighing considerably. Here, why don't you sigh with me right now--[inhale, now go:] Siiiiiiiiiigh. There. OK, now that we have the sighing over with, I guess I should move on to the inevitable question: "How was your trip?"

I think I'm still processing the whole thing, because all I can really think of when people ask that is, "It was what it was." After that, I just mention a few anecdotes. I don't have a full narrative yet. I suppose that will come when I develop all the analog pix I took and sift through all the recording I did there. (Yeps, I took along two recorders and plopped a lot onto tape. I hope it's not all megaboring. Sometimes taping like that can snooze.) For now, however, since there are some pix up from the trip, because my roommate took digital (Amsterdam / Paris), I guess I'll give a teensy recap, and then prolly explore the topic more in depth in a show or something. OK, here we go...

Amsterdam was first. We arrived Sunday morning, and explored the city. It's a beautiful place--I wish we could have seen more of it, but we were only there for a few days. Navigating it was confusing, first because of the sheer disorientation of being in a different city, but also because every street looked so similar to me. By the third day, however, I felt much more at home and was able to recognize some places here and there. The city has a look to it, but I don't remember exactly what I kept comparing it to. It has lots of bridges and seemed quaint and rather quiet. Everywhere were people biking. Lots of blonds, shizznitloads of tourists (especially loud UKers), about as many sex shops and coffee spots as there were souvenir traps (but not ONE Starbucks or B&N!!!).

We saw the Van Gogh museum, the history of the city museum, the Anne Frank house (where I sent a video card to myself--I couldn't think of anything to say, so I just said 'Go wildcats!' Yeah.) and did some boat tour. We also went to a bunch of li'l bars and cafes and talked to people. We had our hands washed at Sabon. We ate lots of frites and McDonalds (I was on the chizzeap, bizzlio!). I tore a contact lens the second day, but was able to replace it without a prescription (I also got some Zovirax lip balm, which is available there--oh yeah, I had a bitchin cold sore, which is only now going away). I also got a cute li'l bag and the cheesiest umbrella you ever'd seen. I got some shoes in a department store where they also had light boxes. Light boxes!!!!!! I recorded someone saying douęche bågage, but for some reason it was difficult to get people to say fer reazlies (which morphed into fer sleazlies, then fer slizzleazlies, eventually to something like votes fer sleazlizzologies, before it broke under its own weight). Someone touched my hair, we talked to some rowdy UKers from the Midlands, it snowed, we ate at a froufroulala cafe and I watched a cracked-out German soap opera in which someone was raped and Ching was rejected. Yes, CHING!!! (If you know this show, please email me. We can talk about Ching.) AAAAAAAAAAAND I watched this most amazazing National Geographic special, which was actually one of the highlights of the trip, if not my life thus far. It was either about the Vikings or Stonhenge, but it was seriously life-altering. I realized while watching it that I WANT TO DO THAT!!! I want to make programs for National Geographic or the History Channel. Or at least voice them. So if you have an in for that kind of thing, e/myspace/facebook me. It's now on the list. Nearly everyone spoke English and was friendly (not so much for the cashier who was all snootylike when I took a picture of the "retard capsules" on the pharmacy shelf), and the euro coins were annoying. McDonalds had no breakfast sandwiches. Techno was everywhere, and mingled with 80s (Tell It to My Heart, I Heard a Rumour) in the bars.

And then after 3 days it was off to Paris. We arrived in the afternoon and took the subway to the hotel, which the roomz said was smaller than it looked online. Paris was much more like New York than Amsterdam--more crowded, faster-paced, ruder. I must have expected something different, because I was a bit disappointed initially, in addition to the new-city disorientation. Then I was frustrated when we went to an internet cafe and none of my passwords worked. Because the keyboard is different!! Whahappah?!?! I never did get used to the keyboard, but by the next day I felt much better overall. We walked the Champs-Elysées and stopped into a few shops (all the men who worked in Sephora were wearing makeup), saw the Louvre and Notre Dame, trekked to Versailles (it's just like Dangerous Liaisons, but HUGE), went to the Arc de Triomphe and the Eiffel Tower and saw Montmartre. Far, far fewer people spoke English in Paris, so a lot of the time I had to make my cracked out attempts at French. For example, when we were in Montmartre, we couldn't find any of the places from Amélie (well, I couldn't--J kept saying, 'this is it--she ran up here' -- I don't think he even saw the movie), so I decided to ask someone. My broken French: Excusez moi--Savez-vous où le café de... Amélie?? The person [seemingly] didn't know. It was kinda fun being the stupid tourist that could only speak in tardo phrases. That said, I did better than I thought I would with the French, and I think I could pick it up in a couple months if I lived there, maybe sooner.

Unlike in Amsterdam, there was a Starbucks in Paris. Good thing, too, because those European sizes (yes, portions are smaller there) just weren't cutting it in terms of morning coffee. They were good, however, for through-the-day coffee, which apparently was pretty big in France. Coffee was everywhere--you could tell it was a way of life. Hint for travelers: "French coffee"=espresso; "American coffee"=espresso with a little milk (but not as much milk as an American would use). And on the food tip, one McDonalds had breakfast, but only one thing; yes, I had a napoleon and croissants; hellz yes, I had pastries; yes, I had escargot; no, I didn't have frog legs; yes, you should order a Cuba Libre instead of rum & Coke.

The subways were OK in Paris, but as in NYC, cabbing it would be better. Unless you really love those Madonna H&M ads, which seemed to be in every station. The buildings in Paris--take parts of the Upper East Side (especially Museum Mile) and extend them into an entire city. Lots of motorcycles. The catacombs are cool as hell, and much bigger than what you see on the tour. The Centre Pompidou, from what I saw, is cool. Frederic (who lervs WFMU, and was actually wearing the Ed Shepp Is Love T-shirt from the 2006 marathon) works near there, and we met up and ate in what seemed to be some weird hybrid of spaghetti restaurant and shi shi frou frou la la gay bar. I wish we'd known people in the city, because after 7pm we didn't know what to do except go to bars, internet cafes or watch dubbed-over American TV in the hotel. I know there was stuff going on, however, because when we were in the Latin Quarter one night, near the Sorbonne, there were zillions of young kids making a ruckus on the streets. Actually, there were zillions of younguns period. How do they all afford it?? I couldn't decide whether all the beautiful people in the streets were beautiful because they were: French, young or rich. The homeless people were charming and cute, but only because they were foreign and had things like "S.V.P. J'ai faim" on their signs. One of them had on better jeans than mine. The weather was kinda crapply, but who cares--it was Paris! There were too many Americans.

Then we flew back and here we are.

The whole time I was comparing the cities to what I knew here, and enjoying the whole being-a-tourist thing, which is a huge thing with me, having grown up and worked extensively in a tourism mecca. There were a couple times when I wanted to say, "I know I seem retarded, but I'm not actually stupid. It's just that I'm not used to this place." Also, I was always asking myself, "Could I live here?" Well, of course I could. I think I'd prefer the pace of Amsterdam, but I think there'd be much more to do in Paris. And I'd like the challenge of becoming fluent in the language--to really have to think on a daily basis. As for culture shock, there wasn't much of any. American culture was everywhere. In Paris the TV shows were dubbed, but apart from that, it saturated the place. That was kinda unfortunate, because I wanted to feel like I was a world away, in a strange and different place. Hard to do when the same stars are in the news, the same Renee Zelwegger poster is everywhere (with only a few words translated), the signs are in English, and Pizza Hut, Starbucks and McDonalds are all over. I was a bit disheartened that I wasn't blown away every second by the realization, "I'm in Amsterdam/Paris!!!!" I wanted to feel bowled over, to spin around the streets throwing random objects in the air, but it was more like when you meet a celebrity--you don't feel as zowied away as you think you will. I did, however, always enjoy the feeling that everything was "the same, but different," as in the street signs, the shops, etc.

And now I'm back. Did the trip change my life? Knock me out of that rut I've been in? Well, (surprisingly) I don't feel any different. Before the trip, I was a bit nervous that I was going to fall head-over-hells in love with Europe and become some insane Francophile or something, but no. I'm not buying any French language books or maps of Amsterdam or any of that. Perhaps over the week, as I get back into daily life, I'll see if anything in me has been shaken up. At least I have something new in my mind to reference, so maybe that will help me creatively or something. And at the VERY least I have a few things that I can say, "I got it in Europe," and that's kinda cool in a way.

So that's my not-so-petit recap of me and the roommate's trip to Europe 2007. w00t! Oh, and if you're reading from Amsterdam or Paris, or Stockholm, London, Barcelona, Reykjavik or a beach in Southern Italy, drop me a line (email / myspace / facebook)!!! Next time I go, I want to have peops to hang with n stuff. And that's all for the beep for now, gnooplets.

Hmm, I feel much better now.

Ed Shepp

Thursday, February 15, 2007

Happy Names Nuggets Day!

Kiki or Lilian???Lilian or Kiki?????It's Names Nuggets Day at The Ed Shepp Bl0g Experience! That means that I have two audio nuggets for you, each 1-minute tributes to a particular superubermegahyperultrasuperduperstar. Click on the pics to the left to hear them. One tributes Kiki Kannibal, the inimitable, constantly imitated scenestère who brought back stripes*--the guest vocal blorgp is from Angelifornia, and it's sampled from the upcoming episode of The Ed Shepp Radio Experiment where we meet for the first time beyond the myspace. The other is my tribute to Lilian Gish, inventor of the plasmibionic butter churn. Because I've always loved the word gish. Gish! Go on, click on the corresponding pic to hear them. What, you don't know who is who??? Is you retardeb? Click before you embarrass youself furver.

Ed Shepp

Note: This is widely disputed. Some say that she copied Audrey Kitchin. It's also disputed whether she's 14, 19 or 28 years old and whether she's from Florida or Flevoland. One thing, however, is widely agreed on: Hatrs only make her more famous.

Thursday, February 08, 2007

Treasure These Commemoratives Today

Ladies and gentlemen, a great woman has left us. Today Anna Nicole Smith left her earthly vessel and ascended to the great Pharmacy in the Sky. Anna Nicole taught us that no matter where you come from, no matter what your name is, you can do anything you set your mind to, whether that's being a topless dancer, posing for Playboy, marrying an ancient bagillionaire, being a mess on basic cable or being the face of a brand of iffy weight loss pills. Anna Nicole Smith was truly an inspiration.

Now you can remember Anna Nicole's inspiring example with my special Anna Nicole Smith commemorative plates (artist's rendering upper left). These plates reflect the spirit of Anna Nicole herself--classy, timeless and always appropriate. Handcrafted from the finest store-brand paper plates, these commemorative treasures are each individually painted one-by-one by hand with premium Crayola markers and can be personalized with your message. On the bottom of the plates, you'll find the Ed Shepp Originle label, your seal of Quality. These plates will last for weeks-to-years, and add some needed ritz to your crappo china collection. Order a set today, for the low low price of $599.95. You'll receive a set of 4 premium Anna Nicole Smith Commemorative plates and 2 cups, made from only the highest quality Bengalese styrofoam. You and your family will cherish them for years to come. Order now! Order now! Order now!

Order now!

Ed Shepp

Tuesday, February 06, 2007

Ed Shepp Thanks the Beepters

This is just a quick beep to all the loverly EdSheppsters out there who took the time to wish me a happy Celeditude. Thanks, beeplers! You did your part to make this year's Celeditude the best of the nascent millennium. I'm sending fragrant blessings from my cinnamonscope out to all y'allz as I type. I wish I had time to thank all of you with a traditional 10th street salute, but since I dothen't, I'll leave you with a li'l audio blip (click on the blip below to get to it!). This blips comes from the original, uncut ecordation for last week's episode of The Ed Shepp Radio Experiment, entitled In Which Ed Shepp Responds to a myspace Blog Comment. (Yep, I really was responding to a comment.) Being, obviously, too blue to air, this was excised from the final cut of the show. In it, I discuss a berquance from the film Dangerous Liaisons (the one with Glenn Close).

And here's the blip:


Ed Shepp

Monday, January 29, 2007

Loving Hugh Is Easy Cux We're Both Beautiful...

In honor of Hugh Laurie winning yet another well-deserved awarsh*, I give you today's audio nugglet:

Hugh Laurie
written by Jason Stratham of The Cold Inclusive
Read by Ed Shepp (which if you're reading this blogsh, you kinda oughtta know by now, beeplet).


Ed Shepp

*awarsh (n) [uh-wawrsh]: Merteuillian construction of award. The source of the construction is the movie Dangerous Liaisons, with Glenn Close as the Marquise de Merteuil, in which she tells the Vicomte de Valmont: "Come back when you have succeeded with Madame de Tourvel, and I will offer you... a rewarsh [reward]."

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

Myne Act of Contrition

Hi. Thanks for coming here.

Shhh, don't speak.

This is my confessional. I know it doesn't look like much--like some cardboard box that I threw a black veil over--but this is a holy place. Everything that happens here is between you, me and the backlit Nomi Malone picture on the chamber's ceiling. We praise you, Nomi.

I have something to confess, something horrible. Something that, if discovered, would render me untouchable, like a moldy piece talking tofurkey jerky. Something worse, in the world's eyes, than all the deadly sins combined, even the sin that dare not speak its name: Jessica Simpson. I have chosen to open myself to you because you are the only soul who is compassionate and merciful enough to look beyond my vile transgression and heal me with your pure, bootylicious love.

Hear me now with pity and patience, for now, to paraphrase Flaubert, it's on and crackalatin.



....the Dawson's Creek song.

No, don't look at me! I don't want you to see me like this, so dirty and shameful.

But it's true, it's all true. I like the Dawson's Creek song. I don't know how it happened--one day I was mocking it with friends, singing "Doo doo dooooooo do dooo doooooo.....," then before I knew it the chorus would randomly recur to me during the day. Soonafter I got a copy of it and began occasionally istening to it, "ironically" (or so I told myself). Eventually it, like some satanic Soloflex commercial, wriggled its way inside of me, throbbing, pulsating, pumping me sardonically with lubricity. I started listening to the song all the time--I would wake up to it, play it all day at work, then receive it all night, until I collapsed, exhausted and drenched with sweat, from rocking back and forth to it for hours. I would repeat this the next day. I would sing it too--in elevators, in bathrooms, in the shower... I would tape myself singing it and experiment with singing harmony to it. I would have other people sing it. I would drag friends to Mexican restaurants so I could request it from the live mariachi band. I would crash weddings and impersonate the singer, just so I could assault the guests with the song. It got to the point that I was keeping a journal in which I expounded on the new meanings that I would discover daily within the song. All I could think of was the song; it had become my entire existence. I was to humans what Lohan's nose is to blow: a gaping hole, sucking everything into its warped universe.

It wasn't until 2 weeks ago that I saw what I had devolved into. It was 2am, and I had been rocking along to the song in my room and composing letters to the editors of several major newspapers, demanding that they stop suppressing this life-changing song and filling envelopes with Shower to Shower. Because editors tend to have foot odor. Well, I accidentally got a bunch of the powder on my face, when I miscaculated a dance move and plunged headfirst into a bowl of Spring Breeze. I went bathroomward to cleanse myself, and when I looked in the mirror, the sight before me was unrecognizable. And ghastly. There I was, in my Paula Cole wig and costume, my face coated with ghostly white powder and my body soaked with sweat and urine , smelling like bouquet of flowers on the floor of the 136 st. subway station. In that instant I saw at last what this song had done to me. I broke down and the floor, sobbing, wailing, wiping the stains of the toilet bowl and repeating, "I don't wanna do what his father, his father, his father, his father, HIS father did!"

I don't know how long I stayed like that before a holy light shone from deep within the toilet bowl, and a serenity washed over me like pus from a weeping sore. Then the spirit of Nomi Malone herself appeared to me, rising from the toilet bowl like a celestial, barely clothed pop tart. She blessed me, forgave my sin and told me to confess it to the most compassionate soul I know. I praised her and reached out to her, but she said only, "Bitch!" before doing a dance move with her arms and silnking with a swoosh down her porcelain altar into heaven.

For the next week I fell ill, into a joyous delirium, and the week after I built this confessional. And now I have brought you here, and revealed my disgrace spread-eagle. Now, in the spirit of Nomi, I will remove my garments and accept your forgiveness physically. Remember--you are doing Nomi's work; you mustn't hold back. Take pity on me, but please...
don't be gentle.

Ed Shepp