January Blips

Is it January 1st? It feels like it should be. Because today is what Beginning looks like (oh yes I did--oh yes I did capitalize something in that pretentious way! Booyah!). The sky is zirconium brilliant (isn't that the phrase I used in The Story of Celeditude?) and the air is crisp and refreshing. All in stark contrast to the dreariness of all of evermore. (The exception being 5th avenue--you know, the tony part. Jowza, did you see those light displays?!?!?! I'll never think of De Beers in the same way again. Not that I ever thought of them before.) It was all such a blur that in my last entry I remarked, "Well, it's January." Of course, it wasn't yet January. Yesterday it was. But the sun made its first appearance today. Typical for the sun--come out and prance around when we're all at work. Bastard sun. Well, at least I got my first New Years gift: a bitch-ass fine from TLA, because my roommate never returned that rental of House!!!! Hmmph!!!!!

Anyway, let's recall just a few lessons from 2006, the ones that I can recall through the crack haze:

• Prose matters. I used to dislike the New Yorker, but the more I find articles that I use from it in my show, the more I appreciate it. The writing is so good. Clear, crisp, expressive, so unlike mine. It almost makes me want to go get a literature degree and work at Starbucks. Of course that urge is always battling with my desire to change my sex and become a PE teacher, just for the awkwardness. Contrast the New Yorker to wikipedia. I've had times where it was nearly impossible to interpret text from that, because some of it is so badly written. Almost as bad as amNew York.
• Just say what you mean. No, not in the grow-up-and-not-be-neurotic way, but in the when you have to say something way. I think I learned this when an old friend died and I wrote this long entry about him. I didn't hold back, because I figured the occasion allowed immoderation. I just said what I felt, and people were telling me it's beautiful. Beautiful? I just wanted to say something honest. And then this year I had to write a private message, in a similar context, and it was a huge challenge not to throw in cliches and dress up the language. But I just tried to say what I felt was necessary (the timing of it made it really important to say the right thing). So I did. And even though a couple of times I felt like it read like a prepared statement from some publicist, I was on the whole pleased with it. So when my roommate asked me what he should write in his xmas cards, I said, "Just write what you feel." Hmm, from life-and-death to xmas cards---it doesn't seem to translate well. But I think it works anyway.
• It's hard to do a good live show! I have a whole new appreciation for Oprah. And for my friend Jason, who can both do really well live, because I haven't gotten it figured out yet. I also feel like I'm right there with my opera singer friend, who said that when she hit a wrong note in a performance she felt like crap for days, because I sometimes feel the same after a bad show. Luckily I don't feel bad about hitting wrong notes, because then I would never feel good. Case in point: Quorn, from my Thanksgiving show. After running the pitch correction software (which just puts things in the right key, not necessarily on the right notes), I kind of liked it. But the chorus always sounded odd. Then I realized it was too low--I think I was doing the harmony. I guess my only resolution for this year is to not worry about my singing. Because someone told me the other day, "So many people tell you you can sing, so why don't you believe it?" Well, that was kind. But I know that I am not a good singer, and I'm OK with it. Allz I want is to be able to sing Torn on the subway within 50 cents of the right notes. Of course, my dream is to sing Take On Me on the subway in that Britney Spears suit with the snake, and strip until disappearing in a cloud of pink smoke. Not really. My real dream is to not have to ride the subway anymore. And Miss Cleo told me that one day I wouldn't have to, and I believe in her.

So that's all I can pull out of my butt for now. Let's review New Year's Eve, what I can remember. Which is spotty. I went out with Veep and my roommate to some party uptown, where I began getting drunk. I think I got too loud, because someone popped a cork on some champagne and it scared me and I spilled a drink and I feigned shock when someone spilled something on my sweater and I pretended that the cork was lodged in my head; and then the hose came up to me and asked, "Are you all right?" At the time I thought he was asking me if I was fine. But looking back I think he was asking me if I should be making my way to Bellevue. Score another one for Ed's bad party behavior. It still doesn't beat when I got too drunk at a party and kept throwing up in the sink of a certain Princess's loft. That takes the cake. Yes, beeyotches, I may be a cold, remote, reserved whatever, but after a few drinks the Tara Reid in me comes out. Anyway, then we went to another party--Veep's friend invited him and I begged and pleaded Veep to let us come along. Damnz, I don't know how much I can say about it, but it was a director's party. I don't remember much--I remember talking to this delightful girl who I said looked like one of the Olsen twins ("not the anorexic one! the healthy one!"). I have no idea what we talked about. I also remember talking to a psychopharmacologist. "You're really a psychopharmacologist??" And I remember talking to a gorgeous British gentleman at the end of the evening. I think the topic was Estuary English, or how to pronounce the word Magdeline. Or was it Madeleine? Anyway, I was getting this hardcore flirty vibe, which is always fun, like that bubbly marimba lounge music. But the best part was when his gorgeous wife told him it was time to go. I just thought it was the cat's pajamas: here I am in full flirt mode, and nothing is at stake. How wonderful it would be to interact like that with people all the time. Oh, such a lovely party.

And then yesterday it was back to January. Sigh. So hats off to 2007, beeyotches! Eat your fiber, and stay away from that McDonalds across the street.


Beep!
Ed Shepp

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The Vapid TV Beep.

I watched TV last night. So let's talk about it.

I saw that show Wild On Tara for a little while. (I don't understand what the title means for the life of me.) I knew it was going to be stupid, and I was right. From what I watched, I determined that the whole show is just Tara Reid doing something and then telling everyone what she did, which is what they just saw. And, of course, adding an incisive comment like, 'That was so fun.'

One thing I didn't realize (well, I didn't realize the full extent of it) was that Tara Reid really is Emporer Queen of the Skanks. She's fat-looking and all around gross. And I can't remember what else I was going to say about her. The most interesting scene of the show was when TR and Paris Hilton went dancing. From the show's footage, I can determine that Paris Hilton is an abysmal dancer. Not like an Eileen Benes, but more like a boring office assistant. As for Tara, remember those 'dancing flowers' that people used to buy? Well, that's kinda how Tara looks dancing, except that instead of a flower, it's a cardboard box filled with silicone. That or a gross, really butch lesbian.

After watching that monstrosity for a short while, I flipped to some infomercial with Victoria Principal being interviewed by Mary Hart. Mary Hart looked like a clown, and seeing her like that made me feel bad for her. It's like they had to make her look REALLY crazappy so VP would look better. Mary Hart had garish butter-yellow hair (not unlike some recent incarnations of Nicole Kidman) and weird curls that made her a little frightening; her skin was MUCH fairer than in her ET days (it did not look good with the popcorn head); and in the worst lapse of fashion judgment, she was wearing this rich-in-B-vitamin-urine suit that just tuned the whole ensemble to a very Bozo note. She looked comical and ghastly, like an evil clown. Victoria Principal, of course, looked really good for her age. Whoever dyes HER hair does a really good job. And she looked great throughout the infomerical, except for the part where she took off her makeup for the camera. Her skin looked fine, but with her hair pinned back as it was, her eyebrows looked to be about 2 miles higher on her forehead than they should have been. Kinda like Divine.

But speaking of high-on-the-head, I saw most of another episode of Kathy Griffin's thing, Life on the D-List. She had a li'l segment where people were putting makeup on her for her party. (There must be something about makeup transitions that uglifies people.) And they had her hair pinned back (or maybe it's hair-backpinning), and you could really see, FULL EFFECT, how high her hairline is. It's, like, halfway up her head! I think there's something wrong there, but I'm not sure. Can a woman's hairline be so high normally? Was it that high in Suddenly Susan? Is she balding? And if she is, how is it that she's got that forehead-retreating-south type instead of the crop-getting-thinner all over type? Anyway, she should avoid that look. She really does look like Dracula, and I'm not exaggerating here. But I guess she's OK with it, so good for her, then. (But it's still not a good look. Why not just wear a wig? Her impersonator did, and had better hair.)

And that's the vapid TV beep for now, ganoozles.


Beep!
Ed Shepp

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