Remember Karl Malden’s commercials back in the 70’s for American Express Traveler’s Cheques? “Never leave home without them!” Remember? (Shut up, you fuckers who weren’t even alive in the 70’s. Youth is entirely overvalued. A smooth forehead cannot make up for missing cool shit like Tony Orlando and Dawn, Pong and disco balls. No, disco balls are not the bedazzled testicles of gay men. Although that would be kinda cool. But probably painful.)
If you don’t remember Karl, titleholder of one monumental schnoz—in which there existed a small, underdeveloped country with poor water quality and mud for dinner, or maybe a ball field—then you can look him up on YouTube. He touted traveler’s checks in a time before debit cards made them obsolete; but his message was that in case of “unexpected” emergency, there are certain fundamentals one should never leave at home. (Is there ever really any other kind of emergency? Planned amputation? Tornado on purpose? I don’t know.)
For example, a woman should always tote an extra feminine product for those unforeseen red tsunamis, which invariably occur before Labor Day when she is wearing white. Unless you are trashy and wear white after Labor Day. But then you are not reading this because you are not my friend.
One should never leave home without a granola bar (unexpected hunger), a cell phone (unexpected abduction), a pair of tweezers (unexpected chin hair), and a surgical clamp (unexpected birth when you thought you had just been eating too many KitKats lately or other medical surprise). Here’s the MOST important thing never, ever to leave at home for any reason. Ever: Your freaking computer. If you are a writer, you never know when an opportunity for readership may arise. Take yesterday, for instance. I went out of town and left my everloving laptop behind. When it became apparent that I would not make it back home in time to write my blog for the day, I could’ve beaten the bloody shit out of myself. I didn’t, though, because I wasn’t carrying an extra pad.
P. S.- Dear tens of readers, I promise not to miss a day again.
Well. I’ve been KINDLING lately, and I don’t mean I’ve become firewood. Or that I’ve recently turned anyone on. I really should say “Kindle-ing” if I want to be accurate, since I’m talking about all the reading I’ve been doing on my Amazon Kindle. I’d toyed with getting one for awhile, and a few weeks ago I snagged a deal at Big Box. As soon as I plugged that puppy in, and whole books and magazines appeared in microseconds, I frothed at the mouth and scheduled some near-future rehab.
The first thing I did was order a whole slew of books penned by comediennes (women comedians for all your dumbshits). I’d been anticipating the arrival of Tina Fey’s Bossypants like a gaggle of gay teens pining for a Kurt-Blaine tongue wrestle. But because I had a couple of days before Bpants’s release, I quelled my desire with Kathy Griffin’s Official Book Club Selection: A Memoir According to Kathy Griffin and Chelsea Handler’s My Horizontal Life.
Kathy r-o-c-k-s. I laughed laaaaaate into the night reading her surprisingly sweet and intimate memoir; but I can say with unvarnished truth that Chelsea Handler’s book was so unfunny that I resent the fact that I cannot even use it as toilet paper if I run out. I want my fucking five dollars back, bitch. (Although perhaps the reality that it was five dollars should have been a clue to its suckassness.)
Tina Fey, now, is just as wicked as Kathy Griffin; but because her humor is a little more cerebral, and she’s selected a better class of friends, Tina isn’t on Oprah’s and David’s and every-damned-body’s shitlist. Hey. Both of those girls swear way more than I do, but nobody’s having a stroke about it. So be quiet, Daddy. (Who do you think taught me all those words anyway? Yeah. That’s right. Bathroom bitches at Parkwood Elementary. But you should have warned me about sixth-graders.)
My conclusion #1- If you’re looking for pee-in-your-panties fun, grad a box of Depends ® and a Griffin- or Fey-produced product.
My conclusion #2- The only upside to anything by Handler: If you need to lose a few pounds before an upcoming special event, read Handler’s shit, and you can puke up food you haven’t even eaten yet. Slimming.
My conclusion #3- If they can sell books, so can I. Go, girl writers.