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Tired of your boring box?

Check it out you guys. Thanks to something called SmokeStixx, you can now personalize/conceal your cigarette boxes so that instead of saying to the world, “Hi, I smoke!” you’re saying, “Hi, I smoke… and like tiaras.”


Or champagne:


Or something manly like a flaming skull! Scary!

But see, while I can’t condone smoking but I can condone stickers. In fact I condoned stickers as president of a sticker club when I was a child. We met in a cardboard box in my backyard. I’m not even making this up. But back to the subject at hand, do you think I want the world to know when I have my period?


I would festoon that shit with unicorns and then grab the box, clutch my stomach and whine loudly about my cramps and how men all suck. Then I’d start crying. No one would be the wiser!

Or what about this?


Like I want to broadcast to the world that I’m eating cheese? Like I want to put my cheese on shout? Excuse me, but a lady never tells.

Similarly, I would recommend personalizing your butter.


Why not disguise it as margarine? Wouldn’t that be a real hoot and a half? It would. So you see, it’s only your imagination that will limit your use of this product, so long as what you’re imagining fits in a small box. In fact—and this just occurred to me—you could disguise a rape kit as a cigarette box. Seriously you guys, I should be in R&D.

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sleep, movies, narcissism

Sometimes I’m just sitting there and a brilliant idea will come to me. I’m sure you know how it is. Just kidding, I’m sure you don’t, but I didn’t want to alienate you. It’s cool, we can pretend we’re on the same level.

Anyway, earlier I was just sitting there thinking that I feel really sleepy and that I really haven’t felt AWAKE in months which is weird and what’s that about and then I was thinking that if I were to make a commercial for a sleeping pill I would make the slogan… ok here it comes… get ready…

To sleep… perchance to sleep?

It’s probably been done already.

Unrelated, I once received a promotional lavender filled sleep mask-shaped pillow thing (when you work at a magazine you receive all sorts of weird stuff) and it said “Goodnight wrinkles” on it. I think it was promoting a dermatologist or eye cream or something so it made sense that as a music critic, I received it. Anyway, I remember my sister was holding it and put it on her eyes and as she was doing so said “Goodnight wrinkles… see you in the morning!” It still cracks me up.

Last night said sister and I saw I Love You, Man! which I could see again right this minute. I recommend it highly. It was cute and sweet and silly and smart and silly and cute and sweet. Am I repeating myself myself?

Also, I’m sleepy.

I’m doing Strategy Room tomorrow so I need to read up on all the entertainment stories. That’s really what I should be doing now. Right now. Also… um… dammit I had something else to say.

Anyone see Grey’s Anatomy on Thursday? Gross. And sad. But that wasn’t what I was going to say.

Oh yes! I remember. The lovely Anna David made a video where she talked about taking Dr. Drew’s narcissism quiz. I scored 13 which was a surprise to me and also a surprise to myself and also to me. I’m wondering how you guys score? I’m also, like Anna, wondering about the accuracy of the test because in many cases you’re given two choices and neither feels right. Anyway, I found a link to the quiz here.

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We Professional Humorists, part 23

We professional humorists never forget where we were when we said something which tickled our own funny bone. Par example (and don’t be put off by my suddenly lapsing into French, I spent four days there on a teen tour and so you can understand why I don’t even notice anymore when I use the French instead of English)… Um, where was I?

Oh yes. What I was saying is that for the professional humorist, a conversation with a fellow human being can be a wondrous chance to say something funny, which then you will never forget, even if you forget the context, which might have been something grave or dire to the other person. Or you might forget the other person. For example (wait, did I do it again? Mais non, I didn’t. Phew!), they might be talking about the death of their mother, and you might make a hilarious Whistler’s Mother joke. Or they might be discussing a break up and you might use that opportunity to check your voice mail. Or they might be talking about ducks and you would make a joke about orange juice. And then you would remember the orange juice, but not what ducks are.

Allow me to tell you about last night. Are you sitting down? You’ll want to be standing up for this.

So a friend was talking about the idea of a theater which served soup. Naturally I asked what kind. “Broth,” was the answer. “Bouillon?” I asked, proud of my extensive knowledge of clear soups. “Probably some water with a couple chicken bones thrown in,” he quipped. “OK so what you’re really talking about is stock,” I parried, coolly. And then it hit me: “You should serve the soup in the summer!” I shrieked, also coolly. “You could call it… SUMMER STOCK!”

“That’s terrible,” he said, as if deliberately dodging my speeding humor bullet. No worries though, I was armed with a humor fusillade (a fusillade is when you shoot someone with a continuous spray of fusilli).

“You could call it… SUMMER STOCK!” I announced again, in between cartwheels. “Oh, come on!” I intoned, balancing one foot on the head of a sea lion. “SUMMER STOCK!” I yelled, shooting myself out of a cannon. “You know, because it’s summer and you’re serving stock, and it’s a theater!” I explained, because sometimes the little people need your help and also I had extra time while waiting for the trapeze swing to return to me.

“You know… like… SUMMER STOCK!” I yodeled, coolly, from inside the snapping jaws of a crocodile.

“Oh yeah, because what people want in the summer is hot soup,” he offered.

“Fine, then just serve gazpacho and don’t use the clever theater pun,” I said ruefully, mounting a tortoise and heading offstage.

Anyway though, I’ll always have “SUMMER STOCK!” which comes in a can and a handy snack pack and features macaroni thespians (chicken and “stars”… get it?) and also tiny comedy and drama masks made out of farina. It’s Broadway in a bowl, which might be the slogan, although it’s also The Catskills in a bowl and Peoria in a bowl and Branson in a giant bowl.

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Identity Crisis, part 413

So yet again I’m wondering how I should be labeling myself. I’m wondering this specifically because I’m on Red Eye tonight and they’ve taken to referring to me as a self-professed pop culture expert and contributing editor to Page Six Magazine. And I am both those things but I’m also a blogger, writer and sort of comedian. I mean, I’m funny. Like really fucking funny. Sometimes I look at myself and just laugh and laugh. Sometimes I drink milk and think of something I said and then shoot milk out my nose. Then I drink coke and think about the milk and the coke comes out my nose! Seriously, you should never sit across from me. I’m like Gallagher but with beverages. Also, I’ve never really shot drinks out of my nose. Who does that? So should I be introduced as a blogger and comedian? A writer, blogger and comedian? And fake body language expert.

While in Canada, DJ from Roseanne (ok fine, his name is Michael Fishman) said “so, what are you?” and I hemmed and hawed (note: I’ve never written hawed before. It looks wrong somehow. It looks wrawng) and then Amelie Gillette whose name I’m likely misspelling suggested I be a “fun-dit.”

I liked it until my brain started hearing fun-dip and then I got distracted.

Anyway, yesterday I ran into an editor-in-chief in the bathroom, which is truly my favorite place to run into people I’m slightly intimidated by and she asked me what my plans are for 2009. “Was thinking I’d put on some lip gloss and get the fuck out of here!” I didn’t say. Instead I hemmed and hawed (TWICE in one blog post!)

Maybe I should just put it out there to the universe? That I’d like to one day host my own funny late night talk show that doesn’t have to be late at night and I’d also like to write more cover stories for well-paying national magazines and I’d like to finally master these splenda meringues because sometimes the egg whites aren’t as voluminous as I’d like?

Do I dare say all this?

Oh, also, I’d like to write a book, write comedy and nail the Russian shuffle. (so-called because one card is “rushin‘” right after the other. TRULY! I KID YOU NOT! I WOULD NOT LIE TO YOU!)

I’ve spent more time today on the shuffle than on the book. See, the other night I was watching Red Eye, the one with the BEST OF 2008 segment, which is essentially like googling yourself except less instant feedback and more fast forwarding and I had to put up with the first half which had real guests and stuff. I think the topic was New Year’s resolutions and Clayton Morris mentioned that he wanted to shuffle cards in a cool way and I think Bill maybe said he did too and that reminded me that that was once MY dream. And yet I abandoned it like a newborn in a dumpster. See this blog post for what happened.

But in the years since, the internet has improved when it comes to card shuffling and now I don’t have to settle for magic tricks. So I’m teaching myself how to do this stuff. I’m at about 55 percent at this point, meaning I can shoot cards all around the room and then roll over them with a computer chair.

Also, who can almost do the ribbon spread? I so almost can! And the one-handed fan. But the Russian shuffle is really the piece de resistance. I mean, once you master that bad boy you won’t even mind that you don’t have any dates.

The Ribbon Spread

Between this, raising each of my eyebrows individually and blowing spit bubbles off the end of my tongue, how can I fail?

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Please recognize me

So it’s come to my attention that my ex-boyfriend who has been featured in some of those A&E Bios that I’ve also been in was recognized by a waiter over the weekend. How do I feel about this? I’m glad I asked. You might think I would be slightly disgruntled that he was recognized and I never am when I’ve literally been on TV 8 million times (no, literally! I counted!) but see, that’s not how I am. I don’t do it for the recognition. I do it for the adulation. Also, all the sex. I can count how many times I’ve been recognized on one hand and not just any hand but a hand that is missing all its fingers and also its thumb. I can count the times on a stump. Does this bother me? Again, you are getting the wrong idea there pal about what’s important to me. The children are important. My hair is important. People thinking highly of me, especially people I don’t know, is important. Being treated slightly better than a regular person. All that is important to me. But having someone lavish praise on me in public? Only some kind of asshole would enjoy that. It’s for this reason that the times that I’ve been standing next to Red Eye guys and they’ll get recognized by someone who goes on to say that they watch the show ALL THE TIME and then I’ll kind of preen and stand there waiting for them to notice me and then it doesn’t happen, and sometimes they’ll actually tell me how great the show is, like informing me about the show in case I don’t know, like I am one of them, instead of one of not them, well I find it incredibly humbling that I can pass for just a regular person. It’s very satisfying.

And just in case you’re thinking that in real life maybe I look different than I do on TV… the above has happened on nights when I’ve done the show. Meaning I look exactly like I do on TV, minus the TV screen around my head which I’m totally going to start wearing. But that’s not the only change I’m going to make:

1) I’m going to don recognizable glasses.
2) I’m going to print up this blog and hand it out at concerts and stick it on windshields under wiper blades
3) I’m going to begin hanging out on Long Island, where people watch A&E Bios and recognize you
4) I’m going to be the best me I can be
5) If it will somehow help me get stuff I want
6) I’m going to try to pretend more that I’m really listening when other people talk but GOD, so hard!
7) I’m going to buy Alleve because I’m almost out
8) I’m going to get to the bottom of the difference between sugar free cherry jello and sugar free black cherry jello because it’s keeping me up at night
9) I’m going to quit lying
10) I never lie
11) shit!
12) I’m going to think more about puppies and ducklings because they’re my favorite

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Someone bought some domain names today!

It’s me! I did! I mean, I’m sure other people did too, but I’m the someone I was referring to.

You are probably thinking I bought and and and

Well think again, buster. How would those names possibly help me get my business off the ground?

Erectile dysfunction medication isn’t going to sell itself.

In fact, that’s what I bought: erectiledysfunctionmedicationisn’tgoingtosellitself.MOBI

I think it’s weird that the bald singer has his own web address root thingie (or, you know, whatever it’s called) but I’ve ceased to be thrown by much these days.

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Last night I hung out with carbo-loading internet celebrity Mike Boyle, AKA The Donut Reporter, who let me know with, dare I say, a bit of an edge in his voice that his blog “isn’t just about donuts.” Or maybe he said, “my blog isn’t really about donuts.” I forget—since he wasn’t talking about me, I was only pretending to be listening. This was on our way back from the aforementioned meat party which, incidentally, was thrown by a vegetarian and didn’t involve actual meat but did involve someone coming up to me and saying the words I’ve forever longed to hear, words usually reserved for Scott Baio, Bill Maher and Kato Kaelin: “Hey, didn’t I meet you at the Playboy Mansion?” (Yes, he had actually.)

Earlier in the night, Donutz and I were talking about his insane blog traffic after his being mentioned on Blogs of Note. I told him I’m just dying for a taste of that sweet sweet blogs of note pie because I am a blog and I am noteworthy.

But lady blogs of note is a fickle mistress. Still, I will keep wishing and hoping for my moment.

In the meantime, let me tell you about my exciting idea for a business venture. Classypiñ!

A piñata filled with high-end goods like individually wrapped filets, cravats, cigars, healthy orphans ready for adoption, etc. Think about it. Why must your piñata be filled with sweet tarts and plastic spiders and the like? Would the Real Housewives of Orange County bust open a piñata filled with that crap? I don’t think so!

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Some shots from last night's Red Eye

So as you know, I’ve been going through a public identity crisis. (I do all my living exclusively in public now. When the cameras are off I just sleep in a closet, Small Wonder-style). When I’m on TV I’m something in between funny and informative—I’m fun-formative—and I talk about all kinds of stuff on various shows, so I don’t really know how to “brand” myself. I mean, I get the iron really hot but then I let out this blood-curdling death moo and kick up my hooves and it just doesn’t happen. As I’ve said before, obviously I am a journalist, but don’t put me in your little box! (Unless your box is a roomy studio or one bedroom come August/September in a safe neighborhood in Manhattan or Brooklyn.) So I settled on pop culture expert—I’m taking it for a spin, I have seen every episode of Facts of Life after all—and the guys at Red Eye have been kind enough to refer to me as a “self-proclaimed pop culture expert.” So that’s what was going on in this first photo.

And also in this second.

But then I recovered because I am a pro.

And then here I’m talking about the Dems video ad where a woman almost sleeps with a nerd but then stops when she realizes he supports McCain. And speaking of apartments, I was kind of distracted by the fact that I think I used to live in the apartment this was filmed in. I mean, not really, but my old apartment had that exact layout. It’s a little something I call “The Murray Hill,” because almost all apartments in that neighborhood have the same layout. And, points for verisimilitude: McCain supporters would totally live there!

As for the viral video itself, I admit I think it’s pretty clever.

Now see, I was thinking that I might get asked if I’ve ever had this experience, seeing as my dating life or lack thereof is a fun topic. I’ve never run screaming from some guy’s apartment because I discovered that his politics are different than mine. I’m more the kind who would overlook that kind of stuff and then feel tortured about it later because I like him but How Can I Like Someone Who [odious belief/action/hobby/ political affiliation/insignia here]. And I’m not speaking theoretically, but that’s a story for another day.

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Branding potential

I thought it might be time to update some trusty old saws. Where others see conventional wisdom, I see branding potential:

Don’t tread on me… unless you’re wearing this season’s stylish loafers from Payless.

A stitch in time saves nine… but wouldn’t you rather save ten or even twenty, while supplies last?

The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants. And the tomatoes growing on that tree must be protected with Spectracide Tomato and Vegetable Insect Spray.

Look before you leap… into high blood pressure with Heart Smart Spray Margarine.

Hope is the thing with feathers… but dust mites are those things with microscopic teeth that gnaw at your pillows and sheets while you and your family are sleeping.

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