Obligatory Last Day Post
Really?!? Today is the last calender day of 2007. I'm pretty sure it just started a couple of months ago. I think you all need to check your dates again. What? Oh, it's me that is wrong? Well, let's think back.

I honestly don't remember what I did New Year's Day 2007. Knowing myself, I probably did nothing. My best guesses are I laid around and watched movies and tv all day; or I took a hike followed by nothing; or I hiked followed by movies and tv. I do remember January though.

In January of this year, I celebrated one month in Cali. I lived in a nice Hollywood sublet while the beautiful Aussie visited her granny. I worked at the Pizza Factory. Rosie made a joke about a certain Celebrity Rich And Zealous Yahoo (C.R.A.Z.Y.) with bad hair after he "forgave" Miss USA for her bad behavior and great publicity. CRAZY started a public feud with Rosie over a funny bit at his expense on a morning television show. CRAZY got personal which resulted in even more attention which CRAZY loves more almost as much as money. The whole thing escalated to the equivalent of two gibbons grabbing their balls with one hand and throwing feces with the other. And I got VD. That was January.

February I was back at my friends' house living on their sofa. I mounted a show. A lovelorn Lady Astronaut did a road trip in a diaper in order to take care of some hootchie trying to keep her from her man. I did not get VD not even on VD. That was February. March was when I moved into my present location. That meant more hikes. Lots of boxes from Chicago arrived nearly weekly. The new place finally made me feel like I really lived in LA. I lost my comedy to partner but gained a job writing a sketch show with some really talented people. I had a great spring. In the summer I quit the Pizza Factory and started temping. Things were getting better every day it seemed. I worked at the offices of a certain televison wise guy. And met a few choice men that I thought would be the future Mr. Lilly and guest. I had a really weird late summer/early fall involving an important person in my life and a drug that rhymes with Bristol Breath. Besides putting upwith someone that is high out of their mind for like a full day or two, imagine a house where every door knob is covered in lube...gross. Then came unemployment for nearly a month followed by underemployment for another month. That month was last month when I turned 39 and hated it. I had an emotional breakdown because I was broke and old. Then there were all those holiday parties so I guess that would make today the end of the year.

To 2007, I say "fuck you, get out of here." I was so good to you but you treated me like shit. You started out pretty good. You even gave us Superbad, Death at a Funeral, and The Kite Runner. You also gave us too much Brittney, too much rehab, and the end the old Chicago Pip. 2008 is bringing the goods and I'm looking forward to it.

Dryer Sheet Wreath : Merry Trailer Park Christmas Craft

Have a Crafty Christmas!

When I was a kid I wanted to be famous. I desired it more than the Hugo: Man of a Thousand Faces doll that I wrote on my Christmas list every year. I imagined that I would do the talk show circuit telling anecdotes about my rise from humble beginnings to my crazy celeberity lifestyle. In my youthful imagination, people speculated about who I bedded and wondered if there would be a sequel to my last critically acclaimed comedy. I had two drivers. My day driver was black and we would talk "black folk" talk while he did the driving that I couldn't do because I had to rest from my busy schedule of personal appearances and product endorsements. My night driver was white (and mostly likely a straight male), in case we got pulled over by the cops. White Driver and I would hardly ever speak except at holidays and on his birthday. My celebrity life meant I was always in the loop. I was a trend setter and bon vivant. I attended the best parties where I was always charming but bored.

Then I grew up. I still want the Hugo doll but I'll take a pass on the fame. Fame, that wonderfully intoxicating drug that feeds the ego of the love-starved the way Old Country Buffet feeds Senior Citizens and families without taste buds. Still, it is an interesting life. The recognition, the stroking, I answered an ad on Craigslist titled, "Want to go to a party in Palm Springs next Saturday?" It was placed by a celebrity photographer. His photos of a blond bombshell grace the labels of a special edition wine named after the certain 50's and 60's sex kitten turned cougar emiritus.

The photographer wanted to meet someone new and take them to the launch party for the wine in Palm Springs. After a series of emails followed by phone conversations and lunch, he chose me to take to a swanky gathering of rich white people in the desert. I would be going to Palm Springs for an adventure and 24 hours away from Los Angeles. I still love LA but you have to step away from it sometimes to keep your sanity.

We took off Saturday late morning and pulled into town in time for a late lunch. After lunch, we strolled down the streets of a place that time forgot. If you don't count the Starbucks. It is quite (or did I mean "quiet") a place. You can see what PS has going for itself here but I can save you the time and tell you the answer is nothing. It does, however, have some hidden and quirky gems including it's residents and great houses. Arguably the hippest and coolest mansion to see in PS is one that they call Leisureland. That is where the launch party was held and that was where I met the certain bombshell sex kitten and a certain Latin singer and guitarist without the hammer he wished for so dearly.


I was urbane and charming in a very cute outfit and I felt for a moment that I was famous. Not as famous as the bombshell sex kitten or hammer wishing Latin singer or even the sexy DJ that played the gig but I still felt electric and special. I suppose I was special by default. I was the only guest (as opposed to hired help) that was under 40 (younger guys did arrive later for the all important after-party). I was the only guest that made less than a 6-figure income. And I was by far the darkest skin guest all night. So, basically, I learned through the evening that being famous is feeling alienated and different from the group and then receiving lots of attention because of your difference. It actually wasn't that bad. Maybe I can handle being famous. Perhaps I should continue my childhood dream. Fame can't be all that bad, can it?

The Smithlin Corporation - Health Benefits

I love this video.