She So Funny

Dyke. Or maybe lesbian. That’s what he said. Or at least I think that’s what he said. Personally, I never heard him. I found out later from some of my friends who were in the audience. My friend John (see “my little hint of girlyness” in a previous blog) defended me somehow and called him out on it. Lesbian. Really? To call me a lesbian onstage is like waiting for Carrot Top to get up there and then yell, “redhead”. Dyke? That’s different. It’s definitely more aggressive. But like I said, I never even heard it. And at this point, I barely remember it. That’s probably been my only real heckling, because for this blog I’m not going to count drunken fools that randomly yell out things, not just to me, but to every comic in the lineup. I do consider that heckling, but I don’t take it as personally as I did this. Or as I would have taken this, had I heard it. But since I didn’t hear it, it makes me consider the age-old question, “If a heckler heckles in a club and there’s no comic to hear it, does it still make a heckle?”

I’ve seen people get heckled. I’ve seen it handled well; I’ve seen it handled not so well. I’ve seen a comic “induce” heckling and then in not being able to handle it, freeze up an entire room to the point where anyone following him could say whatever they wanted and get roars of laughter, basically by releasing the staggering amount of tension. Then I’ve never seen that comic again.

So back to my heckler. Although it was a long time ago, I sometimes think back on it and wonder if I had heard it, how would I have responded? Of course I always go with the harsher word in my mind:

- “That’s my name, don’t wear it out.”

- “If you’re in the market for lumber, you’ve come to the wrong place. Although if you’re a gentleman looking for lumber, maybe the West Village is the right place for you after all.” ( a somewhat local reference, as well as informative for tourists)

- "Ooh, are we playing homophobic mad libs, now? Man, I can’t wait to hear an adverb!"

I’ll admit it feels nice to close someone down, especially if you know they’re ruining the evening for everyone in the audience. Even if they aren’t directly heckling me, it’s nice to shut someone up in a way that’s better than just saying “shut up”. I’m talking about in a way that says “I’m smarter than you and everyone here knows it. And now you do too. So there. Take that back to your office water cooler on Monday morning and whine about it. At least it’ll stop you from rambling on about Dance Moms for one day.


Of course having written this, I realize the next time I step foot on stage, I’m going to get heckled. And I’m sure I’ll think back on this blog in the process and wonder if I’ve spent enough time working on it. It’s not something I would ever look forward to or wish on anyone else. Unfortunately, it seems to come with the business and you just have to be prepared for it, as much as you can prepare for something that tends to happen spontaneously. I’m sure I’ll deal with it somehow. But on the bright side, I hope to hell they call me dyke.

Bring it on, you weird looking old men.  I would say something like, "what the fuck is wrong with your faces and shit?".  Golden.

by Helene "I am a real estate agent, damnit !" Gresser

Remember the 70’s? Putting on your fanciest bell-bottoms and feathering your hair to spend all night at the disco? Coming home, dropping acid, and staring at the lava lamp for 9 hours straight? Burning your bra on the front lawn? Hoping Carol Brady would do the same? Well, the 70’s weren’t just responsible for an amazing era of music, theater, and trendy styles. They were also responsible for an elite group of gourmet eats known as “70’s vegetables”! Named not only for the time they were around, but the age of the people that actually enjoyed them! Yes, the decade of incredibly poor choices spread all the way to the dinner table! These tasty treats were the (s)hit of the nation, albeit the short time they were around. Some slipped away quickly, while some lingered on, trying to reinvent themselves. All had the same fate: Where are they now?

Cream Corn

All of us at one point in our childhood had the fun of sitting down to the dinner table and wondering, “Hey, what’s that smell? Has the cat thrown up again?” Well, we weren’t too far off on that one! Yes, the beloved “cream corn” came into play in the decade of decadence. As if corn weren’t questionable enough when taken off the cob. Those masters of cuisine got together and said, “Let’s step it up a notch! How about we add some creamy goodness that may be hard to identify but will most certainly make it groovier?” It was actually as if someone had already eaten the corn and then decided, “Wait, I still have to feed the family! Let’s just bring it back- mama bird style!” The short lived side spent the better part of the 70’s being set out in front of repulsed youngsters, only to be found later, hidden in mom’s eyeglass case or dad’s collection of corncob pipes -ah, the irony! But where is cream corn now?


Sad to say, cream corn did not survive the kitchen evolution as well as its counterparts. Fresher vegetables prevailed, and people decided they weren’t ready to give up using their teeth yet when eating. Of course, there are still some cans out there, and by some twist of fate, some ridiculous recipes still floating around the food network on the backwoods bayou edition. But sadly and as the name implies, while fighting to keep on top, it eventually got creamed.

Lima Beans



To many tots they were like kryptonite, the bane of their existence. Nothing could ruin a meal more than a heaping pile of lima beans. They just sat there, steaming and waiting to tarnish the fine supper of fish sticks and crinkle-cut french fries. Or they could be an all-encompassing mess in a casserole dish full of mom’s famous succotash. For the most part, only dad seemed to actually eat them. But who else in the world would dare eat something that looked like a bloated tick? Lima beans enjoyed the “limelight” at the dinner table for many years as the centerpiece of a true love-hate relationship. They were the “Kardashians” of the kitchen, the “Snooki” of the 70’s. We’d set them out there each night and keep tuning in to see what they’d do next. So, where are they now?


Unfortunately (or fortunately), lima beans aren’t the staple of the family meal they used to be either. Even with an emergence of vegetarianism, no one seems that desperate. Whether it’s their incomprehensible consistency, their similarity to a gremlin’s ear, or the fact that their main nutritional value revolves around molybdenum, a nutrient most people can’t even pronounce, much less understand its nutritional value. Lima beans for the most part have moved on in our minds to their final resting place- Paula Dean’s kitchen.


And so, as we have said goodbye to the 70’s (despite the fact that we’ve pretty much brought it all back in one way or another in the past 10 years), we have said goodbye to its vegetables. Those diehard dishes that just screamed “Why?!?” as we placed them at the center of our tables and our hearts. They will be remembered for their ability to bring us closer together, all the while setting us apart from any distinguishing palate that dare ask, “What’s for dinner?”

Everyone always tries to blame Ambien for horrible mistakes.  Kerry Kennedy, for example, was recently charged with driving under the influence of drugs, after she hit a tractor trailer on I-684.  She claims that Ambien "made her do it".  Tiger Woods blamed Ambien for all of his affairs (actually, he only blamed Ambien his "car accident").  In 2008, a securities firm's CEO blamed Ambien for his car accident (his blood alcohol level was over .08 - which is legally drunk in New York).  I blame Ambien for a lot of things - like, helping me mistake my closet for my bathroom while in an Ambien sleep walk. Or, waking up in the morning with an empty casserole dish of last night's lasagna beside me - after an night of Ambien eating.  But, I don't blame Ambien for bad or reckless behavior.

This is an example of an Ambien conversation that I had with my husband one night (he told me about it the next morning):

My husband came home from work to find me asleep on the couch. He said, "you should be in bed". To which, I sat upright and began bawking like a chicken.

Husband: For real, go to bed.

Me: Bawk-bawk-bawk.

Husband: Go to bed.

Me: Bawk-Bawk!! Oh wait, I got a check in the mail today.

I ran to the kitchen table, picked up a pile of papers, ran into the office and threw them (like a bowling ball) under the desk. Then proceeded to bawk the remainder of the way to bed.

I received no check in the mail that day.

XOXO, M

A surprisingly large percentage of the population suffers from drug addiction, sex addiction, or addiction to stealing underwear from the Victoria Secret at the mall (let's be honest, that's not hard to do).
I... Am addicted to Popsecret Homestyle Popcorn. No, seriously I am addicted. I average about a bag a day for the last 8ish years. It's terrible and I feel the need to write a blog entry about it. Popsecret Homestyle popcorn is the light of my life. It makes any bad day into popcorn time. "It TASTES SO FREAKING GOOD..." is the sentence I utter every single time I eat it. I carry a bag in my purse in case I sleep over someone else's house, I keep a bag in my desk at work, and I light up every time I turn the corner of the popcorn aisle and I see that they have Homestyle flavor.




Lorne Michaels actually has his assistants pop him fresh popcorn every day when he is working at SNL, so maybe popcorn enthusiasm, as I like to call it, is indicative of comic genius. I'd like to think so.

Charlie Sheen is addicted to tiger blood.
Robert Palmer is addicted to love.
I'm addicted to Popsecret Homestyle Popcorn.

Sadder things have happened. Life goes on.

Rhonda Hansome