Nothing More Than Pu Pu

All right, guys, it's time I got back on the horse. I keep waiting for something to inspire me to blog, but the longer I wait, the less I feel like writing. Who'd have thought the day would come when getting on-stage was less nerve-wracking for me than writing a blog post? Certainly not I.

So I don't know what today's post is going to be about. It may just be a hodgepodge -- a pu pu platter, if you will -- of some the poo poo rolling around in my head at the moment.


Did you know pu pu platter comes from "pupu" a Hawaiian word meaning appetizer?
Now you do.

My last blog seems to have caused quite a commotion. Rumors are flying. Bets are booking. Eyes are rolling. Mouths are yawning.

I don't have much to add at this point, but let me dispel some of it:

1) I didn't get cast on a TV show.

2) I didn't receive a marriage proposal.

3) I'm didn't get a penile implant.


This is not me.

Other than that, all possibilities remain on the table (much like the aforementioned pu pu platter). Stay tuned.

I do feel good about my stage time of late. I seem to have broken through some invisible wall whereby I can deliver consistent sets. Which is not to say I kill every time. But I hold my own. I don't worry about bombing anymore. I get up there now, regardless of what the rooms is like, and it feels comfortable, familiar -- like a task I know how to do. It's not unlike getting into a car and driving. Yes, there's always the chance you could crash, but you know you probably won't. (Of course, I'm a terribly spastic driver, constantly checking and rechecking my blind spot, so perhaps this isn't the best analogy. Or perhaps it is.)

Speaking of driving, I'll be doing just that this Friday, when I head to the Poconos for my third headlining gig at Rainbow Mountain Resort. Traveling with me my as my copilot and opener will be the delightful Tom Ragu.


Here's Tom, overshadowed by Michelle Buteau's right breast at Therapy.
Jan. 13, 2008.

The description of us on the resort's web site pretty much summarizes the agenda. Needless to say, I'm a tad disappointed. Rainbow Mountain has all sorts of hot, sexy theme weekends: Leather Weekend; Gay Cops and Firemen Weekend (known as "Guns and Hoses"); Porn Star Weekend. So what do I get booked for?

"New Jersey Lesbian and Gay Jews Weekend."


Actual photo of the crowd that will be there.

Oh, well. At least I'll get to do the cantor bit in which I chant in Hebrew. And wait 'til I tell them my father's a part-time mohel!

The new season of "American Idol" has begun. Frankly, I'm bored. We've seen it all before: Simon's catty; Paula's loopy; Randy's irrelevant; Ryan's bland. Everyone who gets nixed either cries, flies into an embarrassing rage, or both.

I will say I find it fascinating, in an awful sort of way, that while the beautiful people auditioning tend to have beautiful voices to match, the hideously ugly and/or mentally deranged auditioners almost always turn out be horrible singers as well.

Case in point:




It just seems terribly unfair to me that some people get all the breaks while others get none. Actually makes me question the existence of God. Perhaps Father Quimby, Soapbox's resident pastor, could weigh in here?

Have seen a ton of movies lately, including most of the Oscar nominees. Here now, my opinions:

1) "There Will Be Blood" The best film of the year, bar none. Fascinating, haunting, visually stunning. Every frame mesmerizes. Daniel Day Lewis should win the Oscar. I'm appalled that neither Paul Dano (Eli/Paul) nor Carter Burwell (who wrote the score) were nominated.


Friggin' Brilliant.

2) "No Country for Old Men" A piece of shit. One of those films that everyone goes ga-ga over for no reason. Yes, Javier Bardem, Josh Brolin and Tommy Lee Jones are all great actors. Who cares. NOTHING HAPPENS IN THIS MOVIE. I dare you to watch it all the way through without nodding off.

3) "Juno" Cute, but not as great as everyone says, and certainly not as good as "Knocked Up," which got completely shut out. The first 15 minutes are almost unwatchably stupid, and then it steadily improves.

4) "Sweeney Todd" A disappointment. One of my all-time favorite musicals (both the original and revival productions), and they cut out about a third of the music. Helena Bonham Carter can't sing for shit, and her diction is virtually incomprehensible. And Johnny Depp spends most of the movie staring blankly, as if he were reprising his Edward Scissorhands role. On a happier note, the kid playing Tobias is great, and Sacha Baron Cohen steals the film.


The costumes, however, are kick-ass.

5) "The Savages" If you're on the verge of suicide and need one tiny push, this is the film for you. Phillip Seymour Hoffman and Laura Linney are two of our greatest living actors, but watching these miserable characters deal with the emotional impact of committing their senile father to a nursing home for two hours is frankly more torture than I can bear.

And that's probably enough torture for you all, as well. I leave you with some recent Therapy pics.


Vanessa Hollingshead mops the floor at our triumphant final show of the year.
Dec. 30, 2007.


The waistcoat was ill-advised; I look like Paula Poundstone.
Dec. 30, 2007.


A very fine Rachel Feinstein.
Jan. 6, 2008.


Brad Loekle gets lippy.
Jan. 6, 2008.


Hosting Therapy's "Golden Globs" Awards.
Jan. 13, 2008.



Brian Barry as "Miss Golden Globs," Britney Spears.
Jan. 13, 2008.


Crazy Jackie Monahan and a pre-drag Brian Barry.
Jan. 13, 2008.


La Mama Fox with hot Therapy waiter Alex.
Jan. 13, 2008.


Acknowledging the Gaysians.
Jan. 20, 2008.


Poor Sam Garrett. Poor, poor Sam Garrett.
Jan. 20, 2008.


Christy Miller breaks the record for number of times uttering "pussy" in a single set.
Jan. 20, 2008.


Killer set from Laurie Kilmartin.
Jan. 20, 2008.

Homo out. ♥

Come see me host the Electro Shock Therapy Comedy Hour this Sunday, Feb. 3, when my special guests will be Sherry Davey, Colin Kane, Shecky Beagleman and Tom Ragu!
Details on my web site.

Get there by 9 p.m. if you want a seat. Seriously.

Out of Control

Guys, I feel like a douche; I have totally fallen off the radar, blog-wise. And it's probably not a great idea to try and catch up now, at 12:40 a.m. on MLK Day, as the three tall Stoli-Razz and sodas I drank at Therapy earlier swim through my brain, combining beautifully with my Lunesta to create one damn fine buzz.

Friends don't let friends blog drunk.

Nevertheless I'm feeling sort of out-of-control at the moment - not in a bad way, necessarily, but out of control, regardless. And this blog has, for better for for worse, become a touchstone for me -- a way for me to put everything in perspective.

And not to be totally annoying, but I can't get into any details. I'm sorry -- I just can't. It's too soon to reveal anything. Suffice it to say, it's been an unusually turbulent two weeks. The kind of two weeks that make you take stock in your life and consider big changes -- life-changing changes.

As vaguely as I can put it, there are suddenly new opportunities for me. Some are social, some are professional, some are geographical. There's a chance -- just a chance, mind you -- that my life could look very different six months from now, and in more ways than one.

As always, I am completely panicked about this. I am above all a creature of habit -- a borderline autistic -- for whom even the slightest change in routine propels me into manic, sleepless nights. This has long been a conflict for me; the desire to succeed, excel, move onward and upward, combined with the need to keep things EXACTLY AS THEY ARE -- to embrace the familiar.

In any case, the point of this is simply to apologize to my readers: For not providing more information, and for being so obtuse about all this. (And for not posting any pictures this blog).

Consider me in limbo for the time being. I'll reveal what I can when I can (and assuming there's anything to reveal).

And also, to thank all the people in my life who bring me love, hope, support, guidance and clarity when I need it. You know who you are.

Finally, happy 37th birthday to Keith Johnson, my most cherished childhood friend. I wish you all the best, Keefur.

Homo Out (Of His Mind) ♥

COME SEE ME HOST THE ELECTRO SHOCK THERAPY COMEDY HOUR SUNDAY, JAN. 27 AT 10 P.M., WHEN MY SPECIAL GUESTS WILL BE LISA LANDRY, STONE & STONE, LAURA NIKIFORTCHUK AND JOHN F. O'DONNELL. DETAILS ON MY WEB SITE.

F the Globes!

NOT A REAL BLOG! FORGIVE ME FOR THIS SHAMELESS PLUG -- THERE'S NO TIME FOR REGULAR PUBLICITY!

This coming Sunday, Jan. 13, I was looking forward to taking a night off from my Therapy show, kicking back, and watching two hours of mindless entertainment in the form of the Golden Globe Awards.

But alas, the show's been canceled! Damn Writers Guild!

So, instead, I'll be hosting a special "Golden Globs" (that's right -- "Globs!") edition of the Electro Shock Therapy Comedy Hour, starring such club favorites as Michelle Buteau (Comedy Central's Premium Blend), Brad Loekle (Sirius OutQ's "Larry Flick Show"), Robin Fox (Ha! Comedy Club), Jackie Monahan (Lesbians of Laughter Tour) and a surprise guest taking on the role of Miss Golden Globs!








As always, Therapy charges NO COVER, NO DRINK MINIMUM!
What more could you ask for?

Here are the details:

Sunday, Jan. 13, 10:00 p.m.
Adam Sank Hosts Electro Shock Therapy's "Golden Globs" Show!
Therapy
348 West 52nd Street
No cover charge, no minimum.
www.therapy-nyc.com

Hope to see you there!! ♥

P.S. You do realize this means no Golden Globe recap from me Monday morning. :-(

Down the Drain (REVISED)

OK, GUYS, I AM REPOSTING THIS IN AN ATTEMPT TO CORRECT THE PHOTO ERRORS. LET'S HOPE IT WORKS THIS TIME:

Good people, I blog to you from my bedroom today while a Roto Rooter plumber replaces my entire shower unit.


I'm fairly certain he moonlights as a hip-hop artist.

Water had been leaking down into my neighbor's apartment, and, as always, I'm responsible for fixing the problem.

If you're keeping score, this is at least the fifth time in as many years that I've had to call in a plumber (not including the time that I replaced my own toilet). This little condo of mine has become quite the money pit. I'm sure it's only a matter of time before the entire floor collapses.

So, since I'm missing a full day of work (for which I'll be deducted a vacation day), I figured I might as well blog.

I'm completely exhausted after a weekend road trip to New Hampshire. Along with Jeff and Seth, I drove up there to visit our friend Pat, who covers Hillary Clinton's campaign for The New York Times, and to check out the candidates for ourselves.

It was fun, in a "driving around in circles for hours" kind of way. (Note: Driving from New York to New Hampshire is far more difficult than one would imagine.)


The Interstates -- My God, the Interstates! Too Many Interstates!

(Sidebar: A huge explosion of water was just heard coming from the bathroom. When I went to check it out, I found M.C. Plumber completely soaked, surrounded by massive puddles. "Yo, I firgawt ta attach dah nut, mahn. Gawt to gyet a mop naw, ya." And then he threw down some heavy beats. Awesome.)

Back to New Hampshire:

Saturday morning we went to hear Hillary speak at at Merrimack Valley High School in Penacook, New Hampshire. Thanks to Pat, we slipped right into the press area, and I was able to snap a bunch of great pictures.


Chelsea and Hillary wait to be introduced.
Check out the dude in the red cap; he looks like he's only here to earn extra credit in his social studies class.

Hillary's performance was good -- not great. She mostly took questions from the audience and answered each one with a piece of her standard stump speech. I have to say, though: Her shoes were hideous. If you're running for president, don't wear brown orthopedic flats -- especially if you're known for your fat cankles.

I'm sure you've heard by now that Fox News host and human waste product Bill O'Reilly was stalking the Democratic front-runners in New Hampshire all weekend. I was close enough to him at the Hillary event to snap a photo.


Mmm, yeah, baby. Those liver spots make me hot.


Jeff, Seth and I pretend like we're in the press corps...


...while Patty does the real thing.

OK, I had wanted to write a lot more about this experience, but DJ Roto Rooter interrupted me to give me the total bill for his work.

Wait for it.

$1,800.

Yes, folks, this is what it costs in New York City when you call a plumber. I might as well have wiped my ass with this money.

After this brutal mugging, I had to go to the gym immediately and do some serious cardio to work through the pain. Now I'm back and have to go perform for a bunch of humorless lesbians at RubyFruit.

So the New Hampshire blog is to be continued.

Homo Out (Of Cash)♥

No Electro Shock Therapy this week, because it's the Golden Globes, and Therapy will be presenting the telecast in its entirety.

But come see me host the show on Sunday, Jan. 20, when my special guests will be Laurie Kilmartin, Christy Miller, Brian Barry and Soapbox's own Sam Garrett! Details on my web site.