Amazing show tonight. 21,880 viewers for tonight’s broadcast, which is the most I’ve ever had. Plus highlights up the wazoo and out the ying yang and other similar phrases. Here’s a little clip:
If the above video doesn’t play, watch here.
Ustream; about last night; weather; gynecology
Don’t forget to tune in to my Ustream show tonight at 11pm ET/8pm PT and join in the chat room or just watch the proceedings which are sure to be both fun and ridiculous.
Will we name plants?
Will we play Cow, Sheep or Goat which I believe we may have a request for?
Will we play the rhyming game which my sister and I invented but only I think is fun?
Will Dustin and I have found true love with strangers at the Singles party I’m supposedly going to tonight but which I can already feel I may flake on (pssss. No one tell Dustin. It’s a surprise!)
Will I tell you about how I won an iPod touch in a raffle at a comedy benefit for the leukemia and lymphoma society last night (hosted by Liam McEneany and featuring Triumph the Insult Comic Dog, John Oliver, Kristen Schaal, Todd Barry, Jim Gaffigan, Caroline Rhea, Eddie Brill and fuck who am I forgetting? A Brief View of the Hudson) and it was exciting because I was literally sitting there thinking, “If they call my number, which they won’t since in my entire life of raffles I’ve never had my number called, is it ok if I just raise my hand or stand up as opposed to yelping like everyone else because I just don’t think I can summon the yelp and I hope they’ll understand that it doesn’t mean there’s a stick up my ass [though it kinda does] and it doesn’t mean I’m too cool for raffles [or am I?!?!?!?!], it just means I’m not the yelping kind,” but then as they called the numbers the excitement of winning actually coalesced into a yelp, which was a relief.
Sort of like when you go to the gynecologist and she confirms that all your parts are in working order as opposed to your fear, which is that she’ll recoil in horror, having seen something the likes of which I can’t even figure out right now, seeing as I’m already wishing I hadn’t taken this blog post in that direction. I know what you’re thinking though and yes, women can be doctors.
Um, where was I? Have I said too much? Just to continue on this dark path for a moment, it’s also like how you may wonder what you’ll do if you get a call saying someone died or if you have to call 911. Will it be like how you see it on TV? Having experienced both of those I can say that yes, the emotions come at the appropriate times, and perhaps I’m the only one that wondered about that?
In other news it’s raining cats and dogs in New York. What web sites do you guys use to get the weather forecast? I use twitter. But also weather dot com. But I wonder if there’s a better one.
I demand equal mustard
Quietly plotting your demise
It never ceases to baffle me how much the spiciness of mustard can vary from bottle to bottle of the very same mustard. Why is this? Do the spices get inside the jar and then go nuts, potentiating like mad, egging each other on to greater levels of heat? In fact, if I had a pet cause it would be mustard standardization because I feel when you buy a bottle or jar or squeeze container or drum or mustard keg or party ball of mustard, you should know what you’re in for. When I go to Washington, which I will be doing right after this blog post, I will march on the steps and demand standardized mustard for the homeless because right now, while you are tucked safely in your comfortable thousand island world, there is some poor soul out there burning his or her tongue… on the truth. You can’t handle this mustard!
I need your award-winning cookie recipes (AKA orgy at the cookie party)
You guys, I’m going to a cookie party and I need an award-winning cookie recipe.
A cookie party, for those unfamiliar, is where a bunch of bored suburbanites get together and eat cookies and then have sex with each other and then eat more cookies. In between all the crazy sex, or instead of it really, there will be a cookie contest and I pretty much need to win it because I’m a sore loser. In 1983 I won a trophy for “good sportsmanship” at tennis camp and I took it and smashed it into a million little pieces because what I heard was “here’s your trophy for shitty tennis playing.” And then when I was 10 I came in fourth place or maybe sixth place in pony showmanship at the horrible summer camp I went to and actually I didn’t care at all, I just wanted to get the hell out of that camp and I was sick of the way the pony kept pushing me into chain link fences (truly. the pony wasn’t “broken” entirely which is upsetting terminology but that’s the language of equestrian whatnot. Anyway, this short but spirited four legged menace was half wild pony and half demon and it kept pushing me into various obstacles on our walk from the barn to the show ring) which is to say I was surprised I placed and won a ribbon at all.
And then before I won some first place press club awards for my writing I won some second and third place awards which are dead to me.
I think you see what I’m driving at: I need some dynamic cookies. Cookies that are charismatic and win you over and possibly perform feats of amazing carbohydrate wonder. What if I told you this cookie could peck out yankee doodle on a tiny piano? Exactly.
So if you happen to be sitting on a recipe do send that over or put it in the comments, won’t you?
And allow me to come clean on two fronts: I didn’t really smash the good sportsmanship trophy. And there probably won’t be an orgy at the cookie party.
Facts of Life Christmas plus some info about cheese
I’ve been occasionally listening to channel 633 on my cable box which is Sounds of the Season which mostly leaves me feeling jolly but also frustrated by the ease with which people refer to Rudolph as Rudy. He’s just not a Rudy to me, you know? He’s barely a Rudolph. He looks like a Todd. Anyway, when not getting overly familiar with said reindeer, the channel sometimes plays “We Need a Little Christmas” which is cool and all, but the official version just is nowhere near as awesome as the Facts of Life version, and I realize I’m probably the lone person in the world who feels this way and do I even feel it or am I being ironic? Or worse, ironical? God, I don’t even know anymore. I don’t think so?
I do genuinely love this while also recognizing and one might say celebrating its cheese. Maybe *I* am cheese? But if so what type? Have I told you about my sister and my cheese game? It’s called Cow, Sheep or Goat and the way you play is you say a cheese and then have to guess what kind of milk it’s made with. The problem is that soon you’ll realize you actually have no idea what kind of milk most cheeses are (cheese is?) made with beyond the obvious unless you happen to have spent copious amounts of time in a dank cave in France doing untoward things with curds. If so, please be on my team next time we play the game. In the meantime, enjoy the hunk of gouda below.
Wintry mix
It’s officially that time of year. That time when weather turns wet and gloomy and I put rollers in my artificially straightened hair (for volume, duh!) even though it doesn’t do a damned thing. Okay, actually that happens year round, but moreso when it’s cold. It’s also the time of year when jeans wick moisture from the ground which is great exercise because the denim becomes very heavy and so pretty soon you’re walking around with weights on your legs. The downside is that you’ll sink like a stone should you happen to fall in any body of water or end up in a pair of concrete shoes in the Hudson. Concrete shoes, it should be noted, also function as excellent free weights for toning your glutes and your triangles. One time I wore concrete shoes during a sprint on the beach and by the end I could have sworn I had the body of a 22 year old… trapped in the tangle of kelp I was dragging around along with some tin cans and a desert boot. You never know what (or whom!!!!!!!!) you’ll find at the beach!
But back to this weather, it’s also the time of year when weather people give you their forecast, which I’m pretty sure they make up (no offense to meteorogolists! Some of my best friends are umbrellas!) and they will employ the term “wintry mix” to describe a blend of slush, rain, wind, snow, carob chips and sometimes yogurt chips or dried cranberries. By the by, I’m not using the word craisin because I decided one second ago that I didn’t feel like it. I’m fickle.
Onward! The word fickle makes me think of pickle which reminds me that last night my friend and I had a long talk about our hopes and dreams and then an even longer talk about foods and flavors we like or don’t like. It also veered into smells. To be fair, we didn’t talk about our hopes and dreams. I don’t like the smell of distilled vinegar, for example. She doesn’t like the smell of Rosemary. I don’t like the smell of Edith. I don’t like octopus, but not because I’ve tried it and made an informed decision, more like because there is a part of me that’s five years old and thinks it’s grody. Also grody? A fair amount of innards and entrails including but not limited to brains, testicles and insects. I guess I’m not that unusual really. But when I was in preschool I ate gizzard and I think I even liked it. I suspect I’ve already written about that here. Is it ringing a bell? For “nutrition” which is what they called “recess” different parents would bring in a snack and it was usually kid friendly fare and if you ate all of it you were in the “clean plate club.” This was back in the 1820s before everyone was worried about obesity. Clean plate club = Precocious fat ass club. Anyhoozers, someone brought in gizzard and I ate it and was praised for being in the clean plate club and to this day I wonder why someone’s parents brought in gizzard for a bunch of preschoolers. You know? Did I mention it was human gizzard? It wasn’t because humans don’t have gizzards, and also the preschool was staunchly anti-cannibal (this was conservative Orange County in the 1820s after all) but just wondering if I’d mentioned it.
I guess that’s all I have to say. What foods or flavors (or smells) do you guys like or dislike?
The Daily Alison (Ep. 120; My mom and I went to Rogers Gardens)
It’s as if Santa blew Christmas chunks all over a garden design center. But festive!
My brain is stuffed and words are leaking out my ears
I’ve had to memorize copious amounts of text in the last two days—text which I’ll likely forget just as soon as I regurgitate it in front of a camera—but when I say regurgitate I mean with passion and conviction, sort of like a really violent episode of food poisoning, but sexier, and anyway the point is that my brain is stuffed with all these words and I’m pretty sure some vital info may have been jettisoned in order to accommodate all the new paragraphs so if you see me wandering around confused, shaking my phone unsure how to answer it, pawing mutely at elevator doors, drooling in front of escalators, throwing my upper body at clothing in a vain attempt to put on my coat, just know that I can tell you a lot about about other stuff but that I don’t remember what a fork is or where I live.
Announcements
Hey everyone. I have many important announcements.
1) Hope you all had a great Thanksgiving. Mine was good save for the marshmallow disaster which I will surely tell you about one day over a warm mug of Postum or perhaps at our next slumber party.
2) Okay this next tidbit is going to hurt a little bit however because I’ll be aloft in an airplane tomorrow night there won’t be a Ustream show. I realize this is going to throw a monkeywrench into your Wednesday night. Blame the laws of physics, I know I do.
3) But wipe away your tears because perhaps I will reschedule that show as a surprise.
4) But it’s possible I won’t in which case the next show will be the following Wednesday and boy howdy, it’ll be a doozy. Seriously.
5) I think I’d be remiss if I didn’t make my somewhat predictable vacation apology for not writing more often. All sorts of merriment and whimsy has been happening around me, I mean, I’m practically Patient Zero for whimsical merrymaking and I’ve been tracking it on Twitter. I doubt anyone reading this isn’t following me on Twitter but if you aren’t, go check that action because there’s all sorts of delightful ephemera over there including photos. In other news, I know big words. So but anyway what I wanted to say was once I get back to New York I’ll be returning to the regularly scheduled pith and mirth you’ve grown accustomed to.
6) Anything else? Hm.
7) I guess not.
Clips from last night: Meet my mom
If the above doesn’t play, view it here.
Wondering more about the drama surrounding labeling? Here’s the backstory.
And since it came up in an earlier part of the show, here are some old photos.