RIP Nate Dogg

warren g. will now have to regulate solo....

wait wait...don't tell me!

big brother and i (1983?)

my brother and i took care of ourselves (read: unsupervised) briefly while my mom recovered from surgery or illness when we were pretty young.  i mean, she was in the house, just in bed. we stayed with my godmother for a second while mom was in the hospital. and it was at my fairy godmother's house that i enjoyed my first salami sandwich (i had no idea that such deliciousness existed - it was a real treat).

bill and i returned home when mom recovered but i only remember her being bedridden while we ransacked the house.  we made an excellent blanket fort out of the dining room table and managed to use all the dishes in the house, including the china that was reserved only for holidays.  bill tried to make a stew of noodles and crackers in the crock pot while we played in our pj's for what seemed like forever.  i probably had dreadlocks because brushing my hair would have interfered with our free-for-all.

the time my dad came over to check us, bill(y) and i were on our hands and knees eating cereal out of bowls on the kitchen floor.

(probably what my dad's face looked like)

saturday, paul reubens was on npr's "wait wait...don't tell me!".  he mentioned that while pee wee's playhouse was on the air, he had attempted (like all good saturday morning hosts) to license a cereal.  the purina manufactured breakfast would taste like pee wee's favorite, kix. it couldn't pass the kid's taste test - they wanted more SUGAR!!!! pee wee chow's commercial would feature a 50's housewife preparing breakfast for her children.  she would place the bowls on the floor and her sleepy-eyed children would crawl out on all fours to woof (pun intended) down their first meal of the day.

i am certain that art imitates life.
mr. reubens: rest assured that i have always preferred the not-so-sugary stuff.  i would have chowed down on pee wee chow every.single.morning (that is if my dad hadn't hated you so much).

my style icon

shelly duvall in three women

Dear Carrie Brownstein and Fred Armisen

Thank you for your tribute to Portland.  I want to tell you that I have only watched one episode.  Your love for Portland is totally endearing but I think that you overlooked a few things (and probably my email - I've always wanted to be a comedy writer/performer). 

The Real Housewives of Ladd's Addition:

Effortlessly fashionable and independently wealthy helicopter parents.  I encountered a herd of these women in their natural habitat (Ladd's circle).  A member of the stampede was walking a brand new puppy that was *very* happy to see a friendly face (mine).  I asked politely if I could pet her dog to which my reply was an annoyed half-smile.  I loved her puppy for a minute and (by accident) drooled on it (I'm not going to lie).  I was mortified and so was Puppy's mommy.  She quickly jerked the leash as if I was going to eat the delicious-looking morsel.  I mean, I was hungry but I'm not a bottle bum for crying outloud.


Upwardly mobile middle-aged couples with adopted Asian babies:

While out for some pub fare with a few girlfriends, a family sat down at the table behind us.  They (like many Portland families) proceeded to let their adorable preschooler (who happened to be adopted and Asian) run rampant around the patio weaving in and out of servers carrying trays loaded with heavy and intimidating pint glasses.  I am not a hater of children, in fact I have two of my own.  I disapprove of inconsiderate adults that let their kids have a sense of entitlement and overrun a restaurant. But I digress....The server patiently waited while the parents baited their daughter to order her meal.  Eventually, mom ordered for her: a chicken breast with a side of avocado.  Missing from this occasion was their cage-trained retired greyhound at home

The Super Duper Hipster Couple:

Devoted boyfriend arrives home from a night of raging with his homeboys with an array of food cart delicacies eager to please his depressed girlfriend.  She is sitting on their overstuffed couch, legs folded underneath her.  Boyfriend, with bags held up next to his big smile, says playfully "Who's your daddy???!!!!".  Humorless girlfriend throws her self-help book to the side and screams "How many times do I have to tell you?? I don't know who my father is!!!".

Carrie and Fred (and Portland): This is not a hate letter.  I like Portland.  But my ambition is slowly dying.  I wish that I could find a cozy corner to grow here.

Hearts and pega-corns.

ps: Carrie, I really miss Monitor Mix...oh, oh and Fred, I really love it when you and that funny woman on SNL do that thing where you make up songs.  It makes my face hurt.  I really love it...and Monitor Mix.