Tidbits

On Monday, I brought a new pencil sharpener to City Garage. The one they had has been guzzling pencils for the last four or five shows, at least.

Charles got out his electric drill, removed the old one, and installed it before we started the run-through, and then before we started (I was sitting in the audience talking to Martha, the AD), he said to me, "I was so excited about the new pencil sharpener, I sharpened all the pencils!" (He didn't sound like a dork in real life; just in my head, and only just now. Under normal circumstances, Charles is about as far from "dork" as I am from "genius.")

I said, "Wow, that's great! Tell Frederique she can thank me later."

(Do you get it? Because I thought it was really, really funny.)

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Earlier this week my co-worker told me she was considering going to see Slash from Guns N' Roses at a Borders in Torrance. Her funniest line: "I've been exercising my 'wow' all day!" Here's my response:

Have fun with Slash! You'll probably have an incredibly interesting and erudite conversation with him and wind up singing backup on his next solo album (the scenario I envisioned with Stewart Copeland; except for me it was all, "Irene the Bean and Stewart Copeland will be debuting his Solo for Flute and Percussion at Walt Disney Hall…" Ah: dreams. Who would I be without my Walter Mitty moments?)...

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The funny thing about Slash is, I always imagine that if you were to remove that stupid hat and brush aside all that crazy hair, peeking out at you would be... Juan Epstein.

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I've been thinking about the writers' strike a bit this week, and had the idea of writing an email to Spike Feresten. I've been sort of mentally (you know, in my mind) composing the message, and planned on asking him why late night talk shows need writers. What's wrong with the idea of just sitting there and talking to somebody? Terry Gross does it all the time on the radio, doesn't she? And Larry King (just because I find him incredibly annoying doesn't mean he always sucked at his job)...? Anyway, I've been sitting on this for a while, and then this morning on NPR, I heard them talking about how when the last strike happened 22 years ago, Johnny Carson had this same idea and actually did it. Now, 22 years ago, I wasn't really a hip enough teenager to be staying up late enough to watch Johnny Carson or Letterman on a regular basis, and if you'd told me then that those guys had writers, I would've been totally shocked. I probably thought that they were, like my cousins Miles, Dominique and Stefan, and my friend Missy's older brother Todd and his friends Greg and Ernie, just spontaneously funny. Todd, Ernie and Greg used to call me "Mickey Mouse." <--Not an example of just how funny those guys were. Also, Todd was a hell of a trumpet player.

Anyway, now we have to just sit tight and see if they go for it.

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Tonight I carpooled to Santa Monica for rehearsal with my friend Bo (look up "carpool" in the dictionary and you will see a photo of me... behind the wheel. Because I always fucking drive), and because we were a little worried about traffic and the time, Bo made me drive in the carpool lane. I hate the carpool lane, and never use it. My hands were so tight on the wheel and my windshield is so dirty right now, by the time I got us to Santa Monica, I was totally stressed out. Luckily Bo cracks me up about once every 10 minutes, so you know, it all works out in the end. Plus, going to his house gives me an excuse to go to the 7-11 gas station, which I, for some inexplicable reason, am in love with.