the slack daily

My Top Ten Awesome List of 2009

According to the RULES OF THE INTERNET I am supposed to make a TOP TEN LIST at the end of the year. So I thought I'd better make a list in case I get fined or something.

The Top Ten Things That Made My Year More Awesome:

1. Friends of Tom.
   Caissie, Matt, Lisa Jane Persky, Andy Zax, Kiemzi, Scratchbomb, Justsheano are all people I want to fold up into a neat little square and tuck them in my purse. As I was saying to someone at the ham party a couple of nights ago, I'm a fan of Tom Scharpling and the Best Show on WFMU, but I was a fan of his fans of his show first.


2. Super talented people who I got to know better.
   Ben Acker, half of the writing team that created The Thrilling Adventure & Supernatural Suspense Hour. Lisa Jane Persky, (shut up, it's my list, I can add people twice) photographer, actress, writer, maker of ham.  Andy Zax, storyteller, music geek, and GRAMMY NOMINEE for Best Historical Album. Mike Holmes, actor, and writer of the upcoming theater adaptation of Forbidden Zone. Chia Evers, writer and Viable Paradise fellow. Steve Marmel, all around funnyguy and HuffPo blogger.


3. Super talented people who I don't KNOWknow, but who made my life a funnier place.
   Paul F. Tompkins, Tom Scharpling, Janie Haddad, Sara J. Benincasa, April Richardson, James Urbaniak, Jon Wurster. Your unbridled hilarity made me ruin something this year, whether it was my screen from a spit-take, or dinner. The bill will be forthcoming.


4. My husband's family.
   Like my own, they make me laugh and they make me cry and they make me want to pull my hair out, but I know they'll always have my back and feed me dinner.


5. Older SlackBrother J.
   Brother is doin' it for himself, yo. Beat the Cooler was released for the iPhone, and he's got plenty of more things in the hopper. Let's hear it for second acts.


6. Second Acts.
   I got my own this year. I have a pile of writing to get through (TWO pilots, a spec, a spec screenplay, a novel, and an animated pitch, all in various states of outlinedness.


7. My crew.
   If we have shared a drink, you are part of my crew. (I'm easy, you should know that by now.) We're not America's Next Top Dance Crew...yet.


8. Daisy J Dog.
   Not only is she the greatest dog in the planet, but she is the funniest dog on Twitter.


9. My husband.
   It hasn't been the easiest year, but it's been the easiest year to be married to him. As I said earlier this year, I highly suggest you find a Will of your own. You just can't have mine.


10. You.
    People say no one reads blogs anymore. But here you are. Thank you.

Honorable Mention: This photo of Captain Kirk holding an enormous dildo. Because it's a photo of Captain Kirk holding an enormous dildo!

Note: BetheMarriage is returning in 2010! Same day, NEW TIME!  5-6pm PST every Saturday night! Stay tuned for more details...

You'd Better Watch Out...

While I waited at the vet for Daisy's medicine today, Santa Claus is Coming to Town was playing over the loudspeaker. A family was there to board their cat for the holiday, but things were backed up so they had to wait. The mom kept her little girl occupied by singing along:

You better watch out
You better not cry
Better not pout
I'm telling you why
Santa Claus is coming to town
He's making a list
And checking it twice;
Gonna find out Who's naughty and nice
Santa Claus is coming to town
He sees you when you're sleeping
He knows when you're awake
He knows if you've been bad or good
So be good for goodness sake!
O! You better watch out!
You better not cry
Better not pout
I'm telling you why
Santa Claus is coming to town
Santa Claus is coming to town

How is it that I've celebrated 37 Christmases and I've never noticed that this song is about a stalker?

While you and yours are busy getting a restraining order against good ol' Santa (aka St. Nick, aka Kris Kringle) I want to take you back in the wayback machine, when pictures had rounded edges and we wore plaid suits sans irony.

A young slackmistress, around four or five years old, was getting ready for bed on Christmas Eve. I was about to crawl into bed when I realized that I hadn't put out anything for Santa.

I ran downstairs.

Mom! Mom! We have to put out cookies and milk for Santa!

Without turning around from the mixer where she was whipping up a batch of cookies, my mother replied

I think Santa would prefer a beer and a salami sandwich.

This sounded suspect.

Are you sure? I asked skeptically.

Positive, my mom replied. That's what Santa really wants.

I ran downstairs to the beer fridge in the basement, retrieved a Schlitz, and then ran back upstairs.  I slapped a couple of pieces of salami between two slices of Rosen's rye and placed the sandwich plate and the beer on the table in front of the tree.

It's gonna be the best Christmas ever! my mom yelled after me as I scrambled up to bed.

And it was.

Remix Fiction!

Miss my face? Then tune in tomorrow (Tuesday, December 22) at 5pm PST to Martin Aggett's Remix Fiction TV, where he'll interview me about Valemont!

You can tune in here.

Power of the Purse.

What is the arrow pointing to?

If you guessed "boobs" you'd be right...mostly. Because any woman knows that the arrow is also pointing at a purse. A place to stash money, ID, and if you're me at the Paul F. Tompkins Show* last night, our tickets. 

Of course, as evidenced from the photo above, it's easy to get stuff lost in there. It took me a second to locate our admission - much to the horror of a gentleman standing outside the venue. It's not like I flashed a nipple of anything. That only happens when I use them to stash my car keys.

*One of the funniest shows in Los Angeles. You can also see PFT in The Thrilling Adventure & Supernatural Hour, which is the other funniest show in Los Angeles. Plus you have the added benefit of seeing me and Will. So we'll see you next month?

Milestone(d)

• Had a drink at the Chateau Marmont. For business. Sorta. Fifteen years in this town and I still feel like people look at me like I'm going to piddle on the carpet when I walk into a fancypants joint. Of course, after 15 years in this town, I realize that if you have money, you can piddle on the carpet.

• My landlady left a voicemail message that last less than five seconds, because it turns out she butt-dialed me. Considering that her last three calls to me have been to borrow money, I'll take it. Oddly enough, the hobos have never asked for money, but I imagine they take naked photos of Will and me and sell them on the street.

• I plucked a WHITE EYEBROW HAIR today. WHITE. My Baba left the Soviet Union with her husband and a kid, did time in a concentration camp, had SlackMom in a refugee camp, and came to this country with nothing. And yet she didn't go grey until she was in her 50s. Shit.

• I am not getting my husband his dearest childhood wish. Because even he realizes bourbon is better.

• I have a fancy new website that tells you what I do. Did you know that? Now you do.

Wild Kingdom

I used to smoke a lot of pot. Mostly because I dated someone who smoked a lot of pot. I liked pot, although after about six months every time that I inhaled it would feel like my throat was on fire. To my ex's credit, he'd drop a couple of ice cubes in the bong, but that didn't quell the feeling that my esophagus was melting.

I was told that all I needed was a vaporizer, but I decided that rather than purchase a device that was a gateway drug to nights of Pizza Hut and chipwiches that it was probably just easier not to smoke pot.

However, it was during one of these lost evenings that my then-boyfriend's roommate looked at his cats and said

Y'know what's weird? I have wild animals living in my house.

Some days I look at Daisy and wonder if aliens exist, do they have house pets?

I dress her up as a Detective to pass as human...

The Marriage Trap

Last night, over drinks and dinner at the The Thrilling Adventure and Supernatural Suspense Hour with our friends Bronwen and Jay, Will told me that he looked just like Hayley Mills. To the point where his mom would call him Pollyanna.

To say that I am shocked and dismayed that he would wait nearly three years before sharing this with me is disheartening. I'm three YEARS behind on Hayley Mills jokes. Like things aren't crazy enough with the holidays.

Blessed are the Huge-Bowmakers. (And the FOK.)

Blessed are the huge-bowmakers, the Lexus manufacturers, and those who, in the words of this guy, spend $50K on a car without consulting their partner.

LET THE HOLIDAYS BEGIN!

Tom Scharpling Owes Me Dinner.

A couple of months ago, after a long day of work, Will said he'd take care of dinner. It was a Tuesday, and if you've been married to Will as long as I have (and if you have, that sounds like something I should know, so speak up) that means it's Best Show with Tom Scharpling on WFMU night.

Will put a frozen pizza in the oven and pointed his browser to WFMU.org. I sat down next to him on the couch with Daisy in my lap. After a few minutes I asked if I should check on the pizza.

I set the timer, he promised me.

I went back to petting the dog and reading a book, not minding the time. Until something started to burn about twenty minutes later. Will jumped up and ran to the kitchen.

I guess I forgot to set the timer, he said as the smell of burnt pizza filled the apartment.

...

Last night, we replayed the same scenario, except that while the opening notes of The Best Show theme song streamed through the Mac's speakers, I was busy making dinner. I chopped zucchini, sliced onion, crushed garlic and tossed it with some olive oil and chicken pesto sausage and dumped it in a pyrex baking dish to roast in the oven for an hour.

I joined Will on the couch and we listened. (And I inadvertently christened myself the Teflon Vagina.)

After thirty minutes I got up to check on dinner, taking the pyrex out of the oven and giving it a good stir. I opened the oven, retriever my mitts, and grabbed the dish to stick it back in the oven for another thirty minutes.

Except that in-between grabbing the dish and placing it in the oven, my brain decided to concentrate on the voice coming out speakers instead of the 375-degree firestorm in front of me.

I placed the dish halfway on the oven rack, where it slipped and dumped half of its contents on the oven door.

I salvaged a third of our dinner and made the rest up with wine.

And decided that cooking and the Best Show don't mix.

Check out The Best Show every Tuesday from 8pm-11pm EST on wfmu.org
The Best Fans can be found on the The Best Show homepage & message board.
Catch up with previous shows by checking out the archives. Or even the special archive. If you dare.

Slackmistress is Cookin': Thanksgiving.

It's been awhile since I've seen the Charlie Brown Thanksgiving special, so I don't recall how we evolved from Pilgrims breaking bread with the Native Americans to stuffing our faces with poultry. As a naturally curious human being, I could probably investigate this more but my family didn't come here until well into the 20th century.

But I can't argue with a day that reminds us that we have much to be thankful for, even if it's relegated to a few spare moments between football games. This year found me in a bizarre situation: I had a job. Like a real job. (although my contract was up December 1st. So hire me? Please?)

My real job meant that a) I had money but b) not a whole lotta time. So this year I did something unthinkable:

I outsourced part of Thanksgiving.

Most specifically, the bird. I don't mind cooking turkey, but when you have a midget fridge, wood countertops and no dishwasher, not poisoning your guests becomes a game of Russian Roulette or damning the environment as you chase your salmonella footsteps with a can of Lysol that you carry on your belt like a hammer.

So the turkey, gravy, and biscuits (I'm a sucker for decent bread) were courtesy of Grace Restaurant. There are cheaper places to buy your bird, but the deep-fried turkey was sheer perfection. Crispy skin, juicy meat, and a slightly smoky flavor that complemented the thyme-truffle gravy (which I also purchased, as I wouldn't have any pan drippings to make gravy with.)

To paraphrase Tracy Morgan, I wanted to take this turkey behind the high school and get it pregnant.

Picking the bird up the day before I was worried that it might be dry, but even SlackDad, who doesn't taste the difference between Hungry-Man TV Dinner turkey and a heritage bird had a second helping.

Also, in your instruction manual on how to reheat all of your goodies? Chef Neal Fraser's cell phone number, in case you run into any problems. That's service, people. We considered drunk dialing him, but we didn't. 'Cause we're classy that way. (Although not classy enough to not at least consider it.)

See the rest of Thanksgiving after the jump...