Goo But Not Forgotten

There is a debate over whether or not it was appropriate to televise the open casket of James Brown during the viewing at the Apollo Theater. Maybe I am desensitized by the countless figures displayed at Mme. Tussaud’s Wax Museum, but that was the last thing I found disturbing about the wake. The funeral procession, for example, had a lot of potential. With a horse-drawn carriage and thousands of viewers, I expected eyes welled up with tears and Elton John’s voice to waft over the crowd, “Good bye Jimmy Brown…” But there were no bowed heads. Instead the crowd was cheering! Were they glad to see him go? He owed that many people money? Maybe he was a tyrannical dictator. Only his assistant knows for sure. “And it seemed to me you lived your life like a paper bag of gin. Dry and crinkly, full of liquor, with a crazy spin…”

Cut to his arrival at the theater where people are comfortably squatting in lawn chairs like for one of his concerts. “He always makes me wait like this. But it’s worth it to be near him. I’m gonna ask him to sign my velvet portrait when he’s done.” How about Professional Casket Guard Reverend Al Sharpton who was babysitting the stage like a watchful club bouncer? Maybe he just wanted to see what happens to his hair when he’s sleeping. I’ll admit, seeing James Brown lay still is unsettling, but is there anything creepier than his mug shots over the years? That is a plastic terror I will never forget. Why he was dressed like a 1940s bell hop is beyond me, but maybe it was a clause in the first contract he ever signed. The icing on the cake was that the sign next to the body had a soft, rounded, capital D, celebrating “THE GOO FATHER”. The Goo Father of Soup, ladies and gentlemen. Raise a spoon.

Perks

These are the timeless treasures to be had if you win--okay you don't even place--on the Poetry Vs. Comedy show in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. Silly string! Care to watch "Big", anyone? Let's shoot this at each other, but be careful not to get it anywhere near the eyes, nose or mouth, and then promptly remove it from our clothes so as to minimize the drycleaning bill, and then break out the 409 and Bounty so our landlord won't charge us for the stain on the walls. FUN!! Okay who wants to spray first? My knee-cap region should be appropriate. This is old denim.

Extra! Extra! Read All About It!

That's my face in BUST magazine! This is the first time I've ever appeared in a publication with glossy pages. I'm so excited!

BUST is a magazine with an agenda to showcase the lives of today's women.

The show that the article highlights is a one of a kind, all-female comedy hour in New York called Chicks and Giggles founded by cupcake-lovin' co-producer Nichelle Stephens and hosted by the bilingual and all-funny co-producer Carolyn Castiglia.

I heard about the show through my fellow GU alumn and comedian Jaqueline Novak, and the article includes a joke by the multi-tasking comedy writer Giulia Rozzi co-creator and host of Stripped Stories.

Go out and buy a copy tonight because when I'm huge, this photo will be worth something and often refered to as "An early shot of Abbi".

This Goes Out to All the Guys in the Bushes

On the road to comedy success, it is wise to anticipate some of the hurdles before they happen. I am prepared for the public backlash when I adopt a tribe of Eskimos, and Time magazine labels me a “modern-day” Joshephine Baker (and later in the article a “stable” Angelina Jolie or a “talented” Madonna). I welcome the day when my bit is tired and my manager talks me into becoming The Face of adult diapers. I have already prepared my speech for the annual banquet of the ‘tween girls club that wears replicas of my signature Lazy Eye (that I haven’t made signature yet).

I’m friendly. I’m smiley. I’m irresistible. I say with all honesty that some day I am going to be stalked by an unattractive person wearing a sweat shirt.

And to you, Sir, I say PREPARE…TO…DIE.

I am not one to be easily intimidated by threats. I will bypass the restraining order and go straight to the machete purchase. In a world of celebrities who get disturbing letters from self-proclaimed fans like you, there are far too few who take the law into their own hands. I will cut up a magazine and glue together an equally sick response. I’m making them now. I have that kind of time. I don’t need a giant bodyguard to muscle you in a dark alley at night. I’ll have already put lye in your morning Starbucks.

It’s survival of the fittest, Looney. Indecisive, scrawny teenagers need not apply. You’d better only come at me if you have three names and Catcher in the Rye in your pocket. You see, your strength is your empty threat. My strength is born from a deep-seated fear from watching too many episodes of Unsolved Mysteries and Lifetime Original movies about drifters who hide in the attic. Coupled with a natural, cat-like quickness when it comes to self-defense (I duck whenever I hear a balloon pop), you don’t stand a chance.

Costume Battle of the Sexes

Women have often been criticized for their talent of turning mundane Halloween duds into a more tantalizing costume. Why be a cop when you can undo the top two buttons and be Sexy Cop? Why be a chef when you can wear fishnet stockings and be Sexy Chef? It doesn't stop at uniforms. I've seen girls transform religious figures (Hot Nun), cuddly animals (Playboy Bunny), and even inanimate objects (A T-shirt with "Juicy" across the chest requires reading, and therefore makes the person wearing it a book. Sexy Book).

But let he without the first tacky Halloween idea cast the first stone! Some men take advantage of the night to dress up as women. Not famous women. Just women. That's not a costume! That's indulging in a secret desire to see how the other half lives. "Wow, I don't know how you girls do it..." Well, we don't do it daily in bright red lipstick and frizzy wigs, Chuckles, but thanks for the sympathy. Honk honk. Other men insist on costumes affirming their sexuality. A pickle barrel with a hole in the crotch. A desk with a lamp shade ("I'm one NIGHT STAND,") or a shirt with a sign that says, "Free Rides" and points to the face.

Let's not limit this discussion to heteros. What about drag queens? Talk about a night of shameless sparkle. They take advantage of the night to flutter extra-long lashes and six foot-high feather headdresses that would normally happen and stay in Vegas.

I'm also putting the spotlight on the nerds, perverts, and technologically savvy convicted felons. This is their night to find a large avenue, unveil their video camera, and tape publicly! Any other night they would be harrassed by 60 Minutes and shamed into signing a release form.

Even little boys make bizarre selections for costumes when left to their own devices. My 5 year old neighbor said he was going as a "Maniac Prince". What is that, exactly? I went trick-or-treating with a kid who was Alex Trebek Electrocuted in a Blender. That's not even possible!


Allow me to set the bar this year with a costume that no one can judge. I'm going as a bagel and cream cheese. No one will accuse me of twisting that around. Bread is not sexy!!



Happy Halloween!

PS: I found this by Googling "Bagel Costume".

Black Like Me

It is hard to know what to think about Angelina Jolie, who for all intents and purposes is presumably white, playing widow Marianne Pearl who, according to page 17 of today's Metro, is not black but really biracial, in a movie. The role did not go to Thandie “Sally Hemmings” Newton or Halle “Queen” Berry.

Should she be allowed or shouldn't she? Is it believable that a white woman could convincingly play a biracial woman?

According to my childhood, YES. If you polled the black kids at School #91 in Indianapolis in 1987, they would unanimously agree that I wear white girl shoes. If you interviewed the young ladies in my Home Ec. class at Shortridge Middle School in 1994, and asked why I think I'm soooo smart, they would say, "That's just cuz she talks white." If you asked the all-white Christian campers in 1997 why I continually sway off-beat to the hymnals they would be perplexed and say, "We don't know. We thought she was black. I guess we were WRONG. Hahahahaha!"

All of these case studies, thanks to the invention of the Time Machine on March 24, 3040, conclude that both black and white races classify me as white. But I don't FEEL white. And identity is about how you feel! Trans-gendered people, help me out.

Clinging faithfully to the antiquated and unscientific One Drop Policy, I have always claimed Black on survey sheets and joined Black Student Associations throughout my education. In high school I insisted on reading the "On This Day in Our History" announcements during Black History month. Why? Am I stubborn? Am I greedy for acceptance? No. I'm Black.

Sometimes people affirm my blackness without me prompting them to. As a drunk, white frat boy in college once confided, "I think Tyra Banks is UGLY. Oh...no offense, Abbi". Offense proudly taken, Racist.

The fact that the Metro feels the need to clarify that a biracial woman is not black explains a lot. Anyone who has had to pick out his "good hair" so it looks like an Afro and so the black kids won't tease him knows that. Anyone who feels like she has to "axe" a question at Popeye's when she orders knows it too. Let me be black the stereotypically white way I’m black, and I’ll let you pretend you know French when you order Oh Grotten potatoes.


If anything, the reason the public should be reeling by the Thandie-Angelina switch is the same reason kids roll their eyes at high school play auditions. All good roles go to the Seniors. Forrest Whitaker has been in the game a long time, so when it's time for someone to play Idi Amin, he’s the one who wears shoe polish to get Africa dark. End of discussion!

Before we get outraged as a country over this injustice to Ms. Newton and Ms. Berry, let’s remember two things: 1) Marianne Pearl is not a slave. 2) She’s not a superhero who controls the wind. She is a REAL person whose suffering requires the ilk of a woman who has not just simulated having relations with the mangy Billy Bob Thornton, but who ACTUALLY HAS (dry heave) had relations with (dry heave) Billy Bob Thornton.

Sign This Off

Cbsnews.com is launching the CBS Evening News with Katie Couric by asking fans to suggest a new Sign-Off message for Couric as she ends the program. The idea for the national poll came from the journalist herself when she realized she could not stop saying, "I'm Katie Couric, and I poop gold." I came up with a few ideas.

1. "Happy rainbow dreams and sunshine kisses to you ALL!"

2. "Have a good one. I'm having sixty million."

3. "Good night and good luck...filling size four shoes, Vieira!!"

4. "Thank you for watching the evening news. Feels good to be here. I realize most of my viewers now have Alzheimer's so...thank you for watching the evening news. Feels good to be here."

5. "Good night, meal tickets!"

6. "Ugh. That stuff was SO depressing! Let's all have champagne and a good bubble bath."

7. "It's time for me to go, and it's time for your nurse to change your diaper."

8. "Have a pleasant evening. Battery running low. Must locate outlet to recharge."

9. "I'm Katie Couric, and I don't *&!# on a ^*&$@ as the city bus graffiti suggests."

10. "Good night! Smile. Shuffle papers. Look to left. Katie, stop reading."

How I Spent My Summer Vacation

I'm not in school anymore, and so summer vacation doesn't really exist in the three month block that it used to. Some say there is no such thing as summer vacation once you get a nine-to-five. Actually it lasts as long as I feel like putting on sunglasses and ordering Coolattas. It's nearing the middle of September, and even though summer is only a third over, I think it's the right time to reflect on the exciting events of the season.



I finally took the Staten Island ferry to view the Statue of Liberty, and I was going to post of picture of her, but this lumpy-toed bird became the highlight of my day. He strutted with gnarled and arthritic claws and proudly refused the Bayer I offered. Walking the city streets on his knuckles, he is truly the Joseph Merrick of his species and a class act. A class Aves act, to be exact.



In June I launched a wonderful stand-up/sketch show called The Living Room with my boyfriend (and fellow comedian) Luke. Click on the link under "Living It Up" (at right) for a re-cap of the latest show. Dressing up is fun and easy. Growing the moustache is hard.



I did some math to keep my brain sharp. I still can't do Sudoku. This here is one of those equations with multiple answers, bcause snakes plus planes also equals a very tired joke. The sad thing is I used to think this was a suitable way to propose to a person. But then again, I think Cheese Balls are an excellent side dish.



I cat-sat, and he treated me to a good long look at his butthole near every morning. My gift to you.



I saw these three T.V. gents on the street. Stars...they're just like us! They walk hurriedly to restaurants and slow when their names are called. They put their hands in their pockets when they talk. They back away and make dismissive pleasantries when they feel their privacy threatened.



And I made my own Brighton Beach memoirs!

Udderly Fabulous

Still, they're cousins...
Identical cousins and you'll find:
They laugh alike, they walk alike,
At times they even talk alike --
You can lose your mind...
When cousins are two of a kind!

On next week's episode of That's Moos To Me!, Francois and Benny switch places in an attempt to bring their estranged parents closer together. Francois has a cow when told he may not smoke a cigarette during the half-time dunk contest,


and tough guy Benny bites off more than he can chew when he learns there's more to modeling than laughing for the camera.

...Special guest star Colin Hanks stops by with a heavy confession.


Don't miss this two-hour event!
Brought to you by the FOOL channel. "Don't make pun of me!"

Come and Get Your Love

The raccoon is me, and the camera is your heart. Get over here, America!

The People Of the Future

Husband to Wife: "This is an interesting piece of art."
Wife to Husband: "Yes indeed! It challenges man's curiosity with science; perhaps dangerous genetic results are on the horizon."
H: "What a commentary on media-induced desensitization. Like all the nonsense you hear in comedy clubs. Moral crimes like beastiality become commonplace and lead to a society that turns a blind eye to human-animal unions."
W: "And children are becoming greedy little pigs."
H: "Indeed."
W: "There's just one thing I do not understand."
H: "Yes, Dear?"
W: "Why do the people of the future look like Maury Povitch?"

I'm a Muppet!

I don't know much about Abby Cadabby, but I do know that when Sesame Street creates a character based on you, you don't complain about the color of her hair or that they misspelled your name.

It is truly an honor to share the stage with some of the classic characters of my youth. Most people have to wait until they're famous, and even then, all they get is an action figure of the character they played in a forgettable or highly grossing film. I guess all I had to do is plant an adorable seed in one marionnette expert's imagination and wait. But when did it happen? When did I inadvertently charm someone into creating this puppet?

I like to think that this dates back to age nine when I would stand in grocery store aisles and point my toes like a ballerina hoping to get noticed for commercials (specifically, a ballerina commercial). I thought someone would say, "That girl has more talent and grace than any child I've seen on the New Mickey Mouse Club," and beg my mom to let me move to Orlando and become a star. Clearly this never happened. But lo, my enchanting leaps and animated conversations with Mrs. Butterworth did inspire some idle shopper to record that moment in time, and eventually bring it to life, fifteen years later, on an educational program!

Don't give up your dreams, kids!

A Miracle in the East Village

Hair-Pi salon treated me to a new look last Thursday. I initially went in for a trim. I tried to break the ice with banter that would relate to my stylist's interests. "Why don't curly-haired people get bangs anymore? It's time to bring the style back! HAHA!" And with a grave look on his face, James the Stylist grabbed me by the shoulders, dropped his voice an octave and said, "I can do that you know. If you're not kidding, we can make that happen." Artists take everything seriously. Even nervous chatter.

So he cut it. I walked outside a new, gorgeous woman! But with the humidity, my hair said "Jolly good fun. Why, I think I'll pay a visit to my old friend, Forehead," and promptly curled above my eyebrows to rest like a stack of pancakes.

There was no time to be insecure about a new hairstyle. I had one hour to feel normal before I graced the stage of...

Oh Hello. This is a wildly entertaining night of tomfoolery served up by John Mulaney and Nick Kroll. I put the crowd in a trance with a few shakes of my increasigly frizzy 'do. The magic was photographically captured by the talented and hilarious Anya Garrett. I had a great time and left. But the story doesn't end there. If the story ended there, you wouldn't hear about the miracle. Walking down 11th street, an Emo teen looked up at me from her dark hooded sweatshirt, with smudged, black eye liner and smiled. Do they DO that? With so much angst and deep, soulful understanding of the darkest corners of humanity, she found something in me that made her smile.

Then I punched her for laughing at my hair.

Elmo is black!

You heard it here first.

MMM You Will Be Delicious

It's incredible how the press lies to the public for the sake of a good human interest story: "A Female Tiger Plays with Baby Pigs at a Thai Zoo".

Other working titles:

Tiger Mauled by Pigs in Extreme Case of Irony

Science To Mom: You Are Not What You Eat

Disney Photoshoot Gone Terribly Wrong

Pig-Tiger Hybrid; Take That, Puggle!

Wishing for Dummies

How many times has this happened to you? You are out with eight multi-ethnic friends, enjoying a cool beverage with the label facing the camera, and out of nowhere, bubbles methodically weave themselves around you and your rollerblades. You didn’t expect the bubbles. In fact, you specifically ordered butterflies. This is a classic case of a wish gone wrong. Suppose one of those things had popped in your face. You could have tripped and broken your Oscar.

Did you know that wishing for two things at once can result in getting the wrong thing? If you’ve ever heard the joke about the 12 inch pianist, you know how important enunciation is when it comes to longing. Use this guide as a how-to for wishing with accuracy and efficiency. Not only will it give you an edge on the ordinary superstition expert at the historian’s dinner party, but it will also save you time and money you would have foolishly invested in “hopes” and “dreams”. If you’re ready to quit being a helpless moron and start being knee-deep in cash and/or balloons filled with pudding, read on!

Chapter 1: Lung Capacity

If you make a wish on your birthday and blow all of the candles out in one breath, your wish will come true. But the ensuing smoke in your feeble, non-athletic lungs will most likely cause asthma, so the best wish to make is to never need an inhaler.

If you have an eyelash on your face, you have to put it on your finger, make a wish, and blow the eyelash away. If the eyelash is still stuck to your finger, your wish will not come true. It is said that if the eyelash blows away, your wish will be granted. The eyelash almost always blows away, so to keep from becoming skeptical about the process, you should wish for something very far in the future. If it never comes true, you will have forgotten about it, or you will have changed your mind and will want something else entirely.

If you manage to successfully blow a dandelion puff out in one breath, congratulations. You have just contaminated someone’s yard with weeds.

Chapter 2: As Fate Would Have It

If you look at a clock and see that it is 12:34, you should make a wish. This is because the numbers are in numerical order, and that is special; a special time for you to think special thoughts. If it is 12:30, and you patiently wait for 12:34 to appear, you are controlling the wishing climate which is manipulative, and why should you get your wish if you’re a power-monger? You shouldn’t. So you won’t, Saddam.

If you observe that it is 11:11 that is also a good time to make a wish! If you start to notice when it is 12:12, 6:06, or 2:22, you have obsessive-compulsive disorder, and you are not entitled to a wish, because it will most likely not be rational. If you see that it is 10:10, you are looking at a picture of a clock and you are in a store, because advertising executives know that positioning watch hands this way makes them and the surrounding image desirable.

If you wish upon a star, you have to say the “Starlight, star bright, first star I see tonight…” poem. The star has to be the first one you see, or you are a liar. It does not matter if it is a stationary or falling star, but you may not wish on Star Jones if she is falling out of her chair or tripping on a red carpet.

Chapter 3: Pop Your Copper

Pennies are the ideal wishing vessel because as an object, they are worthless. It actually costs more than a cent to manufacture a cent, so the only value a penny has is the philosophic kind. In other words, when hopes and dreams are bestowed upon a penny that is the only time it matters. After all, it is only when a child thinks of an imaginary friend that it matters. (The unimportance of that imaginary friend’s imaginary penny is of an indescribable magnitude, and you will stop thinking about it at once). Pennies may be thrown in a well or a fountain, placed in a collection plate or tossed down a giant funnel. Please note that making a wish on a penny that is donated to the Make a Wish Foundation results in a negated wish, and all of your hair will fall out.

Conclusion

These time-honored traditions and scientific phenomena have baffled dogs for years. While potency of your desire affects the outcome somewhat, it is more important to be aware of what does not work. Wishes made on oil lamps, sent to the North Pole or submitted to the creators of Internet Forwards are promptly converted into methane gas and exit through your butthole, which in turn, depletes the ozone layer. On the bright side, they do not fall on deaf ears.

Wishing for more wishes causes the milk in your refrigerator to spoil early and Ryan Seacrest to live another five years inside your television, so proceed with caution.