It's that time of the week again...the time I read the advice columns and pick out their most complex (read: clueless) readers' problems, and answer them the only way they'd TRULY understand...

Ready? Let's go down the slide. Wheeeeeeee...!

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DEAR ABBY: Help! I am engaged to a man with three kids -- a 7-year-old girl and 9-year-old twin boys -- and soon to become a stepmom. He has them about half the time.

The family all believe their biological mother is failing miserably, and I feel as though they view me as a suitable substitute. I like his children, but I have three of my own. One is grown; two are teenagers. I see the light at the end of the tunnel and do not want to start over again raising someone else's kids.

Can I marry this man and not have to raise his kids? Or is that what a stepmother does? I would be happy just being their friend.

UNCERTAIN STEPMOM IN NEW ENGLAND

ABBY IS BUSY IN FRONT OF THE MIRROR, SEEING IF SHE CAN SAY “DARN TOOTIN’” WITH THE SAME MORAL AUTHORITY AS HER MOTHER. SINCE SHE CAN’T, LET ME GIVE IT A WHIRL:

Poor little you! “Can I marry this man and not have to raise his kids?” “Can’t we just lock ourselves in the bedroom and leave a jar of peanut butter outside for the little monsters?”

Do you want the short answer or the long answer? Well, you’re in luck, because they’re both the same: No.

I guess it can be confusing for second-time marriages when kids are involved, but this ground has been tread for years and years and years (Christ, the Brady Bunch was 40 years ago, and even they knew this shit). Where’s the mystery now? It’s common knowledge, Precious: if you marry a man/woman, his/her kids are part of the deal. Period. You said yourself that the family feels their biological mother is failing them. You don’t say WHY they feel this way, but they obviously need something that they’re not getting from her. If you’re married to Dad, you will therefore become Mom.

These are all young kids, too—they’re at a rambunctious, sly, and devious age, and they need firm parenting. As Dad’s partner, you will either become surrogate Mom, or end up like the poor substitute teacher whose drawer is full of frogs and whose chair is full of thumbtacks.

If you think it’s possible that your “mom quotient” is part of the deal your fiancé is putting together, and you’re not ready to pull that duty again, you’d better clear the air now.

Before three teenagers are in the bathroom stinking it up again…



DEAR ELLIE: My boyfriend is too attached to his older sister. Their parents died when they were teens, and she helped him a lot.

But I'm sick of visiting her place every other week. We have to eat early because of her young kids' schedules, help bathe them and read to them etc. I'd rather be out at a club having fun for our age group.

BORED

WHILE ELLIE PORES THROUGH HER BOOK OF PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVE PHRASES, LET ME SEW THIS ONE SHUT:

You don’t say what your “age group” is, but from your letter, I’d guess that you’re not old enough to be going to clubs anyway—although it’s possible that you’re just a really immature, snipy early 20-something. And if you’re any older than that, God help you—you’re way too old to be channeling Lindsay Lohan.

Here’s a cold slap of reality for you, Tawny: some people feel very strongly about their families. They actually even--*gasp*--LIKE them, and want to spend time with them, especially when they’re grateful for an emotional lifeline like the one your boyfriend got from his sister. This gratitude is especially strong when the event is not far removed, and it sounds like their teenage years, and the death of their parents, is not that long ago.

Is it really asking too much to visit her and spend time with her kids once every two weeks? If it is, do your guy a favor and break it off—give him the freedom to find a worthwhile partner who shares his love of family and isn’t a skank. And then, by all means, run, with your nipples to the wind, to the nearest nightclub. Throw your dress over your head and dance like there’s no tomorrow. Drink until you pass out. Face down. In the toilet.

But when you vomit, at least have the courtesy to hang your head OUT of the cab window. Taxi drivers don’t make nearly enough money to put up with that shit.



DEAR MISS MANNERS: I am a very health-conscious person. When I was a child, I was obese and was picked on by my peers. But with hard work and determination, I have lost a lot of weight. The problem is, my family and friends, many of whom are overweight, don't pay attention to their health.

When we go to social gatherings, I eat light foods and order diet sodas right in front of them. I always feel this cold mist of jealousy around me. Is this good manners? Or should I just indulge myself with them for that night?

HUNGRY MORON (OK, I made that up—so what???!)

OH, FORGET IT—I’M TAKING OVER:

Are you expecting a pat on the back? Well, now that your arms are so goddamn skinny, you can reach around and do it yourself. Geez, could the fat-free chip on your shoulder be any bigger?

What makes you think that anyone gives a rat’s puckered behind what you eat? (Although I have a helluva suggestion for you.) Are you sure that you’re not projecting? That it’s not YOU who exude a “cold mist” around your family and friends who “don’t pay attention to their health?” Sometimes the cheap seats allow the best view, but the mirror has a big-ass blind spot.

If I were you, I wouldn’t worry about it—you’re not likely to be troubled by too many social invitations. Your family and friends aren’t as dumb as you think.

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That's all for this week! Hope it was good for you. I have to go take my anti-depressants now...see you next time!

Sunday started so nicely. It was productive, at least for the brief time I participated in it...we had a very good Joans rehearsal, and are rarin' to go for this Friday night at the Flesh Hungry Dog Anniversary show (show starts at 9:00, get your tickets in advance!).

I went home, made some din-din, straightened up the place a little and went to bed around 10:00. It was still fairly warm outside (probably in the mid-40s), and the radiator in my bedroom never does shut off all the way (it's a knob issue), so I had the window cracked and the fan going.

About 1:30 in the morning, I woke to the smell of something burning. I bolted up and searched the apartment, but there was nothing to be found--no smoke, no coffee pot left on (like last time), nothing. I figured it must have been a car going through the alley burning oil or something and went back to sleep.

Twenty minutes later, I woke up to the same smell, only this time it was stronger. Something definitely WAS burning--and it was close. I still couldn't see any smoke (it was hazy outside because of the humidity, so if there were any smoke, I wouldn't have known it under the orange lamps in the alley) but I smelled it and it was sickening. I looked at the building across the way and saw a flickering reflection in one of their stairwell windows.

Shit! Something WAS on fire and it was in my building, next to my apartment! But none of the smoke alarms was going off, and none of my neighbors (some of whom were still up) made any noises that indicated they were evacuating. Just then, I heard the sirens of an approaching fire engine and figured somebody must have called them. I heard water being pumped in the alley. I leaned further to look out my living room window, and saw them spraying inside a dumpster.

So that was it. Somehow a fire got started in one of the dumpsters, and since my bedroom is about 15 feet along the back wall, the smell drifted along and the fan blew it into my window. But not the smoke itself, which would have set MY smoke alarm off. The whole thing was over in about 15 minutes and the firemen were on their way. After they'd left, I tried to go back to sleep, but couldn't. I still smelled the gross debris from outside.

I decided to go surf the internet for a while and see if there was anything decent on iTunes. And the internet was down. Damnit, of all the times! Oh well, I thought, I'll just go back to sleep. I woke up a 6:00 with a miserable sore throat and nausea from the smell outside, plus I was groggy from so little sleep. It dawned on me that since I have the "bundled" services from my cable company (internet, phone, cable TV), my phone may not work either. Sure as hell, I lifted the receiver and heard no dial tone.

Te-fuckin'-riffic.

So I called into work with my cell phone, leaving that number as my contact number if they needed to reach me. I finally did get back to sleep for a few hours and when I woke up, I realized I'd better call Big Cable Company and ask what was up. The rep asked for my information (then made me repeat all of it when SHE got my phone number wrong), and said that they'd have to have a technician come to my apartment. Of course, no appointments were available yesterday (when I was actually HOME), so the earliest one was today between 2 and 5 (because they have to keep you hanging around waiting for hours--they can't give you even a one-hour window--they're just SO busy). The soonest I can get an appointment between 5 and 8 is on Thursday, so that's what I've ended up doing. At a cost of $49.95 to myself, naturally.

I wondered if the dumpster fire might have something to do with it, but I went outside to look, and the dumpster was nowhere near the cable boxes. So apparently it just went out on its own. So, until Thursday, I have no functioning internet or home phone. I'll have to check all my e-mail, etc., at work and use my cell phone at home (which doesn't have the greatest reception).

Anyway, I may not be able to post much, or read anyone else's blogs, until Thursday. Hopefully, I'll be able to keep up a little...

UPDATE: The cable TV did come back on its own last night, so that's one thing I have, at least. It's pixilated and cutting in and out a lot, but at least it's working. I wish the Internet and phone would come back on THEIR own too! But so far, no dice...

Here's a tip, douchebag*: when you send out fake e-mails or press releases announcing catastrophic information, just to rattle the cages of folks who've had enough and are ALREADY rattled, and you do so just to provide yourself with a few minutes' amusement, that doesn't make you funny.

It still makes you a douchebag.

If you want amusement so bad, renew your subscriptions to the various online porn sites that you've allowed to lapse, grab a roll of Bounty, and stay the hell out of sight for a few days. Got it?

Now go and wipe.

No, I'm not kidding.

** I won't embarrass the person (and I use the term LOOSELY) to whom this is really addressed, and they should be damned glad...however, I WILL get even.

Oh Lordy, yes...

Yep, I'm once again giving out unwanted and unrequested (from me, anyway) advice. It's my small contribution to the world since I refuse to give up meat or plant a tree...

Enjoy...

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DEAR ELLIE: I'm on the brink of separation from my beloved wife of 35 years. I run a small business and was always home by 9 p.m. Yet my wife accused me or suspected me of being with almost every woman I came across. Partly, it was caused by my mother-in-law, who was hitting on me and creating drama by telling my wife she suspected me with different women.

Things got worse after my wife stopped working four years ago. We fought often regarding her suspicions. She'd then give me the silent treatment for days or even months. It led to my betraying her five times.

My biggest mistake was confessing about those one-night stands; the worst involving a lady employee of mine. I let her go soon after. That was 18 months ago, and my wife's still angry.

After two months of her silence, I moved out to cool things down. Recently she ran into me with a lady I've been seeing since I left home; she's filed for divorce.
I still love her and want to be back together. What should I do? Family therapy hasn't helped. I'm trying to be more romantic toward my wife.

PUSHED TO BETRAY

ELLIE’S A FUCKING MILKTOAST WITH NO SPINE. AARON SEES AN OPPORTUNITY TO “REEDUCATE:”

Wow, your wife sure has a lot to answer for! Look at her, all driving you to prove her right and shit! Do you think she’s a psychic?? Would she pick some lottery numbers for me??

Seriously, you have got to be fucking kidding—you were pushed into betraying her? Bullshit. You just betrayed her, period. And the mother-in-law who had the hots for you? Double bullshit—she probably read your number from three miles off and warned your wife about it, so you spitefully decided to make her look bad by saying she was the aggressor—I’m surprised you could even keep a straight face.

I particularly love that you finally moved out to “cool things down,” yet, while you were cooling your jets (and still married, let’s not forget), you started seeing yet another little enchilada. Quite the penile juggler, aren’t you? What exactly were you trying to “cool down?” Not yourself, obviously. And you claim to still be in love with your wife? Un-fucking-believable.

Frankly, if I were your wife, I’d divorce you too…I can’t believe it took her so long. I hope she cleans your clock, mister.

Oh, and the female employee you bonged, then dumped and fired when she became inconvenient? I hope she sues the pants off you.

(Although it doesn’t seem a lawsuit would be necessary—you seem only too eager to shed them.)



DEAR ABBY: I recently turned 40, and because I don't get along with my husband "Ted's" family, I chose to celebrate out of town with my parents and siblings. At the end of my five-day trip, Ted picked me up at the airport and barely greeted me. He waited three days to give me my birthday gift.

When he finally handed me the box, Ted didn't even wait for me to open it. He went off to take a shower. I waited for him to finish, then opened the gift in front of him. Inside was a pair of diamond earrings.

I have never wanted diamond earrings, and I have told him so many times. I had asked Ted for cash so I could buy a new sewing machine. Why diamond earrings?
That night we had a major quarrel, and now I'll never be able to enjoy them. What do I do with them now?

TICKED OFF IN RHODE ISLAND

ABBY’S BUSY APPLYING (SORT OF) NEW EYE SHADOW—LET AARON TAKE THIS ONE:

Send them to me. In fact, send the husband to me, too—he deserves someone who appreciates him.

What gives, Queenie? You don’t like your husband’s family (shall we assume the feeling’s mutual?) so you leave him at home for five fucking days and fly out of town, back to Mama’s teat? What message does that send to him about your relationship, when you think it’s OK to ditch him for an entire week? Then make him pick you up at the airport??

You’ve got chutzpah, girlfriend. You’re lucky you got diamonds—I would’ve given you horse turds. If you DO buy that sewing machine, use it on your lips. Or anywhere else appropriate.




DEAR MARGO: I have a very dear friend who's been my roommate for years. She has a good heart and a lot going for her, but when it comes to men and love, she is blind, which may be an understatement.

Recently her boyfriend of six months was arrested for prostitution (that is, patronizing one), and without a blink, she insisted the police had framed him because he would never do anything like that. Even after two officers told us what happened and what was said between the boyfriend and the "working girl," she still refuses to believe it. I tried to point out that this could explain why he never had any money and why he always came here and immediately showered. I am concerned about her health and her way of thinking.

Should I continue to try to steer her away from her "John" or just let everything come to light in its own time? Is there any way I can help her to see the light?

BLUE IN THE FACE

POOR MARGO’S EYES ARE CROSSED FROM READING SO MANY WACKO LETTERS. AARON’S RELIEVING HER TODAY:

Please tell me you didn’t use the soap after this guy was done with it. If I were you, I’d make sure I kept mine separate. From the roommate, too. “Stupid” may not be catching, but scabies are. And God knows what else this Roadhouse Romeo has picked up from his filles de joie. As far as making your roommate see the light, forget about it—I’d say she needs a brick to fall on her head, but it already has, figuratively speaking, and she still refuses to accept the truth. Some people get what they deserve. Or think they deserve. You do the math. The bottom line is, buy Lysol. Lots of it.

And scrub till your elbows ache.

Well, this morning was off to SUCH a glorious start. I actually got down to the bus stop at Farwell and Sheridan a little early and was waiting for the bus, which I just glimpsed making its way towards us a few blocks away, when:



A fire apparently broke out in a building across the street. Believe me, this picture doesn't even begin to do justice to the firepower that was called out for this one. Within 10 seconds, five fire trucks, three police cars and two ambulances appeared on the scene. Another 10 seconds saw at least three more fire trucks and two more ambulances. And the police cars began parking across the intersections.

Diagonally.

The intersections through which traffic, including my bus, were to travel. Of course, the police don't feel the need to explain what's going on--they apparently think their uniform and their swagger are sufficient. But sadly, that didn't get my bus there any faster, and in fact, it detoured down a side street before it even got to us, so I and the rest of my groggy, grumpy, disoriented fellow commuters stumped off to the nearest L station (Loyola) three blocks away. I got on my cell immediately and called the office and left a message (nobody was there yet), just so they knew what was going on (because who knows how long the train was going to take at this rate?).

And all this over a freaking kitchen fire. A person was injured, so it's good that there was a rescue team there, but I couldn't help thinking: what happens if there's a BIG-ASS fire somewhere else and they're all putting out a bacon grease fire over the 7-11?

(I just ooze compassion--isn't it charming?)

I ended up getting to work exactly on time, but I'm usually at least 15 minutes early, and the lack of "padding time" has left me nice and grumpy.

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I just got my certificate of title in the mail this week for my car. The car is currently in storage down in my hometown. It looks nothing like the one pictured here (at least, not anymore), but it did once, except it was blue.

Anyway, it dawned on me the other day that I didn't have the keys to it on my keyring anymore since I've been driving the Momibu. And I don't know where they are.

Shit.

Fortunately, I do have a spare set, but there's a problem: the door key is not mine. A few years ago when I got my oil changed at the Firestone on Clark and Peterson, they somehow put the wrong key on my ring. I went in to the office and explained that it wasn't my key, but they stubbornly swore that it was the same key that was on the ring when I brought the car in. Even my demonstrating to them that it didn't fit the lock wasn't enough to convince the probably-undocumented workers that it was the wrong one. Fortunately, the door was unlocked, and since the ignition key was at least mine, I finally got tired of arguing, started the car and peeled out in a cloud of gravel and disgust. That set HAD been my main set--since I had another, it then became the spare set (for obvious reasons).

So you see my problem now--I no longer have an original key to fit my door--or my trunk. This will be a problem when I go to open the door next time I want to start it, not to mention sell it. I called the Chevy dealer in Chillicothe and explained my problem and they said that there is a man who fits keys, but he won't be in this Saturday (when I'm down there). He usually is, though, so I said I'd call again in a few weeks when I'm coming down (which will be April 12, I guess). I'll also have to bring some bolt-cutters to get into the storage unit, because I can't remember the combination to my lock.

Things are just going swimmingly here. Oh well--it gives me lots of extra time to look for the original keys...I feel sure that they're around my apartment somewhere.

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The Tribune reports that radio host Steve Dahl has almost 2 million air miles from flying so much. There's a link posted on a sidebar that asks us to vote on whether he's "addicted to travel" (because it's not official until John Q. Blowhard votes).

Who gives a shit? Wherever he flies off to, he'll still look like Madalyn O'Hair...

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I need more coffee. NOW.

A bunch of blowhards on Blender.com have decided (via ill-informed committee) which songs are the 50 worst in history.

I agree with some of them ("My Heart Will Go On" is at the TOP of my list, although it was at the bottom of theirs), but I think they should have spent more time critiquing the musical merits of the songs than pissing and moaning about which ones were most politically incorrect.

But then again, this is the generation for that. Once we had the New Seekers--now we have the New Whiners.

Perhaps if The Committee had been ambitious enough, they could have made their way on to some REALLY egregious songs, like "Run Joey Run" (remember that one? I do!) and "Kung Fu Fighting" (I notice no mention was made of the political incorrectness of a Jamaican singing a song about "funky Chinamen in funky Chinatown" and even adding kung fu yells to punctuate the rhythm--classy stuff, Maynard).

They just put this statue in one of the lobbies of the building where I work:





Now what the hell is that all about? Why does this guy have another guy inside his jacket?

And why is he so happy about it? Dare I even ASK what the two of them are doing?



No...no, I don't want to know.

And:



The $5 Devon Avenue Haircut Fairy strikes again! (Well, he struck this fairy, anyway...)

I actually like this barber...he's fast, quick and doesn't take any shit. I'm in and out of there in 15 minutes (well, excluding the half-hour wait, because there are always people waiting to get in...they don't do appointments, it's walk-in only).

And seriously, it's $8 WITH a generous tip--it's not like I have tons of hair to style, anyway...so this all works out.

(Oh, and did I mention that the barber is kinda hot?)

And finally --

James Carville REALLY wanted to make sure he reached me quickly today.



As you can see above, he wanted to "take a break from work" to make sure I knew about the big FEC deadline tonight. Considering that his "work" consisted mainly of chasing skirts, appearing on "Politically Incorrect" opposite his frigid conservative wife Mary Matalin and telling dirty jokes in Clinton's office, I thought it was mighty generous of him to take a break. If those things were MY job, I'd never retire. And I'd never take a break, either. I'd work all the overtime possible so I'd get big honkin' fat checks EVERY week.

But he took a break to send me this message today. Twice. He must have forgotten he sent it the first time. His mind must not be what it used to be. (Now what did it used to be again...?)

So maybe it IS time he retired after all...

A recent poll conducted by the Associated Press/Yahoo News suggests that we Americans have some pretty tall orders for the next President.

Apparently, we expect the next leader of the now-only-semi-free-world to balance the budget, lower taxes, reduce the price of gas and fix what's wrong with the environment. Who'da thunk? The President, responsible for making the country better? Perish the thought! (I have to wonder why the article is accompanied by a picture of Mitt Romney--is the Associated Press trying to tell us something? If so, I refuse to listen.)

The article calls these "outsized expectations." I think perhaps that's only because after eight years of incompetent leadership, the pundits and watchdogs have had to adjust their expectations downwards. Well, I look at it differently. Try this one on: we're payin' for it--we better damned well get our value. We sure as hell haven't been lately.

For those who take the view that it's unrealistic to expect a single person to fix every one of the crises facing our country (and indeed, our world), well, that's what the cabinet is for--the President has people to help him with this. Would any of us have thought it "outsized" at the time of GWB's so-called election to imagine that he could undo the many decades of social achievements, budget surpluses and advantages that America had worked so hard to get? I certainly would have. Who could have imagined one man could leave a trail of destruction so long and a swathe of disappointment so wide? So, you see, he did at least exceed our expectations in one area!

But he didn't do it alone. He had a cadre of carefully selected Greedbots seated at his table in the underground lair, each one responsible for ravaging a separate sector of American life. Let's see, we had Tom DeLay cracking the whip down in Texas, all redrawing those voting districts and shit so that minorities would have less electoral standing (and standing on a stack of phone books the whole time--that's gotta be hard!); we had Katherine Harris who, when she wasn't reapplying her Battered Hooker #5 purple eye shadow, was working behind the scenes down in Florida to make sure those disputed ballots got shuffled through; Brother Jeb helping her out (hey--its GOOD to have family in the house!); Dick Cheney gunning his big corporation's engines to "rebuild" the war zones after they got torn up (and conveniently stepping down in the midst of it all so there could be no legal question of conflict of interest); Antonin Scalia and various sundry family friends who got pasted into the Supreme Court to ensure that their conservative social policies would once again (and for the first time since about 1965) become reality, suspending our lives once again into that delusional halcyon sitcom where every woman stays at home wearing shirtwaist dresses and finger wave perms (or is punished by laughable wages and sexual harrassment that's more and more difficult to prove), only men and women live together with benefit of marriage and punishing the single folks with killer taxes, thereby forcing the issue of marriage (so we can all suppress our natures, contributing to ever-increasing resentment which eventually erupts into violence or divorce anyway), and birth control education is discouraged in school, thereby insuring a spate of unplanned children are born to parents who aren't always prepared to raise them (and a dearth of adoptive parents who can care for them).

But hey--those are the liberals' problems, aren't they? Let them worry about it! Life on the Right is one long party--it's a big ol' hoedown complete with roasted pig, Laura's fried chicken, devilled eggs, corn squeezin's and Toby Keith concerts. Those goldurned liberal heathens! If they'd live like the Bible said, everything'd be just fine and dandy!

(Never mind that if the conservatives lived like the Bible said, we'd have fewer business interests controlling the government right now, since the Bible does after all instruct us to show good stewardship of the earth--I can't imagine God dancing for joy at how his children are treating his creation--in fact, I imagine there's a big-ass paddle up there waiting to be used on some wayward neo-con hineys.)

So, to sum it all up, let's BE "outsized" in our expectations. We've had outsized damage done to us for the last better part of a decade (or should I say "longer part of a decade"--it sure hasn't been better). It's only right that we should expect our next leader to start selecting his or her team to put this shit right. And please: do you really think that these candidates don't know what they're facing? If they're smart, they've had ideas for years now. They wouldn't be running if they didn't.

January 1 marked the beginning of a state-wide smoking ban on all indoor spaces in Illinois, which is the latest state to pass such an ordinance. Not just in restaurants and hotels, but also in bars. You know, bars? Where ADULTS used to go and engage in ADULT behavior? Yeah, there too...now I understand that people are concerned about second-hand smoke, but why the fuck would such people hang out in bars?

Oh, that's right, we forgot--because non-smokers demanded THEIR right to trawl for booty in dark rooms with spooge-covered walls, too, so they could find a complete stranger with whom to engage in risky sex, in a healthy environment free of second-hand smoke (and so that, when they got them home in the harsh light, they wouldn't have the added indignity of clothes that smell). Our bad!

So how's the new law going for me, you ask?



Thanks for asking. But seriously, folks...

Not that I mind going outside every hour or so (after breathing in so much of the cheap-ass Stud-For-Hire cologne some of these guys wear, a cigarette break actually seems like a healthier alternative every hour or so, ironically), but I do wonder how it will affect the balance of the clientele in various establishments? For example, now that the last vestige of "regular guy-ness" is gone from the "regular guy" bars, I suppose all the insufferable, yibbering drama queens will be streaming into the places where I used to seek refuge from them, with their inane chatter, calling each other "bitch" and "mary," and insisting on playing Madonna and Britney Spears on the jukebox.

How much is a pair of noise-cancelling headphones? (And don't tell me they're less than an oxygen tank, smartasses--I know from the nursing home those things can be had for under $150--I KNOW the headphones are more than that!)

Peter Mavrik of Radio Peter (and fellow cast member of the recently-closed "Rudolph the Red-Hosed Reindeer") posted this video blog this morning chronicling the last performance. See us all in our backstage attire! (Except me--I already had the damned suit on.)

I was thoroughly sick of being Santa by this time (GOD, he was hateful!), and you could see it in my reaction here. (It was meant in humor, but I was completely worn out by then--plus we had set strike to do right afterwards, and I had a drive and gig to look forward to the next day, and I was already feeling the onset of whatever plague I was carrying in my head last week). I didn't have the same last-day-choke-up that I got last year when it was over, probably because of all that's been going on.

Around 8 minutes in, you can see the result of my first makeup-buying expedition. This can be a disaster if you don't know which shade to buy (just FYI, never go for the "caramel" or even "light tan" varieties--if you have my coloring, stick to the ones with names like "arctic chill," "frosty," "winter pale" or "mortician's delight").

Anyway, enjoy! Thanks, Peter...

New Years Eve was a busy day! After helping David and Ed unload the set for "Rudolph," The Joans traveled (in separate cars, of course--can you imagine us in the same vehicle for over an hour??) to Three Oaks, Michigan and the Acorn Theatre.


The lovely Acorn. The snow is covering the sign, but this is what it looks like from the outside. The owners bought the building in 2001 and remodeled it and it's been operating as a theatre since 2003. It's a gorgeous place worth checking out!

We were a little nervous about how we'd go over in a small town like Three Oaks, but this is not your typical conservative close-minded small town--the people we met were very relaxed and friendly. All the young guys are cute and hot. Everyone knows each other by first name. It reminded me a lot of the town I grew up in, except it's a little smaller (about 1,500 as opposed to my hometown's 6,000) and more artistic.

The owners of the Acorn, Kim Clark and David Fink, are very accomplished folks--Kim teaches screenwriting at DePaul University and has taught for Second City and David is on the board of the Chicago Improv Festival--so when they asked us to perform at their New Years Eve party, we were thrilled and flattered and jumped at the opportunity.

After I got on the road, I noticed my head congestion getting worse from the cold I'd picked up near the end of the "Rudolph" run. I'd brought coffee with me and kept chugging it to stay warm (I hadn't had the foresight to add a little slug of something to "punch it up," and anyway, I was driving--who do you think I am, W.C. Fields?). I got there around 3:30 Eastern Time (which is the time displayed in my mom's car, because she never set the clock back for daylight savings last year) and set up for sound check.

We made our way through our two sets by 6:00, then broke for dinner. Kim and David ordered pizza for the band and staff, and Taylor and Davy Joans went with me to the pharmacy to get some DayQuil and a bottle of spicy bloody mary mix that caught my eye (no, I didn't drink any of it there). We went back to the theatre and I went to my room (there are sleeping quarters IN the theatre--did we mention that? Yeah--this place pretty much has it all) and downed about a third of the DayQuil. It really did help the congestion pretty quickly, and since it's a "non-drowsy" formula, I got that nice warm feeling without the dizziness that accompanies most over-the-counter cold medicines.

After some pizza, I went upstairs to shower and change. Feeling somewhat encouraged that my clothes still fit me (I put back on about 10-15 pounds over this holiday, so New Years is coming none too soon!), I went downstairs to wait in my and George's room. George and I chatted for a bit. Somehow we got on the topic of Priscilla Presley and her age (I'd estimated 59 or 60, but since looking it up afterwards, saw that it's 62) and George showed me his song charts. He writes his charts the same way I do for the songs I write.

David Fink introduced us just after 9:00 PM and we launched into "I Feel Joan," a Donna Summer cover that we adapted for our introduction. Here's a version captured a month or so ago at our Red Line gig:



This time, we had the advantage of special effects: the Acorn has a raising platform that lowers to the stage, and Davy Joans made his entrance down the platform. It was hard to tell if the audience was impressed or just freaked out, but it seemed to be a positive mixture of both.

The first set went really well, despite a few lyrical goofs and getting slightly lost on one of the new songs and covers. I was really happy with my playing (I think maybe the DayQuil helped) and the sound was great. Those of us who "infume" went outside for a quick ciggie and noticed that it was snowing pretty steadily.

The second set went even better than the first set and all of our really fun songs and covers (including "New Toy," "The Morning After" and "Mad At The Dirt") were in that group. After we wrapped up, I went to the bar to order the drink special of the evening, the "wire hanger:" Pepsi, vodka and lime juice. Once the crowd were out of their seats, it was easy to see how many folks there actually were.

Near midnight, we went back onstage for the countdown and to perform our version of Auld Lang Syne. Not one to miss out on the champaggers, I had my toast ready:


What does the expression say to you? To me, it says, "take the damn picture already, I want to get this down my neck!"

Sadly, George was not as cooperative when I tried to take his picture, despite my calling his name three--count them, three--times:



After our Auld Lang Syne butchery--er, I mean, cover--the folks up front asked us to play "Trog" one more time and we willingly obliged. It was a party, after all, and it was time to dance! The video screens on the side and on the stage were set for videos and I went back to the room to change back into my regular clothes and have another ciggie outside. It was still snowing.

Afterwards, I came back inside and put the drums in their zipper bags. I decided to leave them there until morning when it stopped snowing. The party went on until about 2:00 AM and folks started making their way home. We stuck around (we were staying there, after all) and enjoyed a few more drinks and watched the videos from the theatre seats:


From L. to R.: Acorn co-owner David Fink; Davy Joans (Cerda); myself; Ed Joans (Jones); George Joans (Spataro); and Jennifer Joans (Connelly). Taylor Joans (Ross) had already retired to bed by this time. He knows when to quit. We do not!

It was the first time I'd sung along to Laura Branigan songs in over 20 years.

George and I slept in the same bed fully clothed (he was chilly and I was trying to shake this damn cold), and around 7:00 AM or so, I heard him get up and go. I dozed back off and probably woke up around 9:00. I decided to take the now-crated drums to the car and discovered, when I opened the door, that it was still snowing.

The others came down around this time and David took everyone out for breakfast to Bailey's cafe, which he and Kim own. The decor is really tasteful, the breakfasts are yummy, and the staff are friendly (and they seem to work in many different places around town).

We hit the road around noon, after a slight drama with Jennifer Joans locking her keys inside the car with the engine running. Since it was still snowing, we had to drive extra slow, so the trip home took about three hours instead of 90 minutes (including the wait at the Skyway toll plaza, which was down to two lanes, taking about 25 minutes to get through).

I dropped my drums off at Taylor's and was home again...sick from work for the next two days (including today) from the damn cold--the congestion has worsened a bit. I'm out of DayQuil, too, so I'll have to venture outside to the 7-11 at some point this afternoon (when the temp reaches 20 degrees) for more of that and some detergent (it's laundry night).

Some things don't change, even in the New Year! Ah well, until next time, enjoy a few more pics from New Years Eve:


Bess Myerson accepts her crown as Miss America 1945. Oh wait, it's Jennifer Joans in the fancy new headgear she got for her second set costume.



Aaron Joans, Taylor Joans and Gary Airedale are ready for the New Year--and the New Beer!



Don't mess with Carol Ann when it's time for cocktails.



Davy Joans is either doing "The Trog," or was just surprised in the lavatory.



Aaron Joans wishes peace for all in the coming year. He hopes to get a piece, too.



When she's not playing keyboard, Carol Ann is auditioning for the stage version of "She-Devil."



One more view of the outside of the Acorn Theatre: all is quiet on New Year's Day (except for Jen's swearing when she locked her keys in the car).

Thanks again, David and Kim! I loved the Acorn. Can't wait to go back again some time!

...and he took all his set pieces with him!

This weekend was the closing weekend of "Rudolph the Red-Hosed Reindeer" at the Bailiwick. It was sort of sad to see it end, but also a great relief, as I mentioned in my last entry. It was a crazy, precarious holiday season, but everything worked out OK. (I think I've officially used up all my good karma now--I'll have to work overtime to earn some more for this year!)

I did bring the suit home and it's hanging in my closet now, shedding a false flower smell to all my sheets from the Febreeze.

Since I had my camera with me on closing night, I snapped a few backstage photos just for YOU...


On the left, the brilliant Elizabeth Lesinski (Mrs. Claus) and on the right, Lori Lee (Yukon Cornelia). Lori brought the house down with her entrance just about every night. (Whipping a stuffed hand puppet and yelling "Muuuuush! Muuuuuush!")


Steve Lehman (Mr. Donner, Rudolph's father) enjoys a quick, healthful, crunchy snack to perk him up before going onstage.


Steve also played King Moonracer, the leader of the Island of Misfit Toys. The Tina Turner wig was a nice addition this year. Last year, he had a whole lion's head made of plushy acrylic and foam, AND the crown perched on top of that. This was much faster and more efficient--plus it gave him a cool new look, like King Moonracer meets Bon Jovi or something.


From left--Corey Mills as Rudolph, Steve Lehman as Mr. Donner, Ed Jones as Connie Vixen (one of two roles he played) and Annie Gloyn as Clarice, Rudolph's punk-rock-wannabe girlfriend.



Mike Miller played Coach Comet (pedophile and father of Rudolph's love interest Clarice) and the square-wheeled choo-choo train on the Island of Misfit Toys. Some people just WON'T cooperate when you ask them to smile!



Ed Jones as the Abominable Drag Beast. Besides playing Connie Vixen, he's also Carol Ann, our keyboardist for The Joans. Busy, busy...and in the spring, you can see him playing an actual man in Hell in a Handbag's production of Charles Busch's "Die Mommie Die!" He'll be getting something shoved up his ass, if that's any incentive to come and see the show...


Robert Bouwman of Corn Productions as Sam the Snowman. I first saw him three years ago when Corn mounted "The Bad Seed" and our own David Cerda/Davy Joans played Miss Fern. I was blown away by Robert, who played Rhoda and Todd Schaner, who played Mrs. Penmark. I'd never worked with them before though, so this production was especially fun for me. Robert was LOTS of fun to work with and is a very generous spirit. He throws a hell of a party, too! I took this picture near the dressing room door next to the black curtain, so that's why the background is so dark. Very dramatic, though, don't you think?



Dan Hickey (R.) as Herbie the "not-gay-enough elf" gets a tonsil examination from the made-over Mrs. Claus (Elizabeth Lesinksi). You just can't trust some people, can you? Hmmph!

After the show Sunday night, we took the set down and painted the stage walls, stairs and floor, packed up the costumes and loaded the lot into the rented van to take to the storage space in Andersonville. The whole process took about two hours-not bad, really.

HOWEVER, when we GOT to the storage space, we discovered that we do NOT have 24-hour access to our unit. And it was after business hours. So David had to keep the van an extra day and he and Ed and I came back Monday morning at 10:00 to unload the props/costumes into the shed. As I stepped past the cart, piled high with the Christmastown trees made of paneling, I stumbled and stepped on the side of one, taking a large chunk off. During the unloading process, we discovered that the paneling trees are quite brittle. But we saved what we could and kept all of the lumber, so perhaps that can be used again...

We got all the stuff loaded into the stall in under an hour, then it was on to run some last-minute errands and back home to do some last minute packing and hit the road for Three Oaks, Michigan, where The Joans spent a fun-filled New Years Eve.

Pictures of that tomorrow!

This past week has been slap-dash for me--lots to catch up on at work, plus I've felt a little under the weather--but here's just a quick digest of this weekend's happenin's:

Friday night we opened Rudolph the Red-Hosed Reindeer at the Bailiwick. We had a great opening night crowd, and they were in the mood to laugh! Saturday night, they were more subdued (due in part, I'm sure, to the hideous weather), but we still had a good turnout. Yesterday's audience was surprisingly big and lively for a matinee audience--they got every joke and even a few we didn't know we'd made! The cast of the show is really great, too. So far, I've only seen one review, and it's pretty negative overall, but it was a little difficult to take seriously (look at the writing--the comments themselves are valid, but please learn how to write sentences that don't look like they came out of Paris Hilton's diary, for fuck's sakes!). Special thanks to Robert "Sam the Snowman" Bouwman for letting me use his white greasepaint on my eyebrows and beard. I promise I'm getting my own this week! (I should be grateful that I still HAVE to use anything in my hair to make it look grey. The beard is already turning on its own--I almost don't need anything.)

Also on Friday night, we had a getting-to-know-each-other social for Season of Concern. It was the 20th anniversary of the first World AIDS Day, and we all introduced ourselves and talked about what drew us to the organization. Everyone there was really passionate about the organization's goals and mission, and it was really inspiring to be around other passionate people. I'm trying to come up with a project/program that benefits both the performing arts community in Chicago and also teenage artists. (Our workplace is devoted to a "communities and children" message and this would be an ideal way to benefit both, while I do something I love. Now, if I could just get some inspiration...ideas?) "Rudolph" has been making good collections in benefit of SOC, too. Thanks to our audiences for their generosity!

Saturday night, we attended Hell In A Handbag's first Camp Midnight movie showing of "Xanadu" at the Music Box Theatre. Despite the long lines of nerds waiting for an autograph from Crispin Glover (who, I have to say, looked remarkably refreshed and composed even when we emerged at nearly 2:30AM), it was a fun time, and we had a great crowd. Dick O'Day hosted and some of our lovely Handbaggers were on hand to perform "muse" duty. (There are photos, but they turned out rather dark--I need to see if I can brighten them up a little before I post them.) Also attending were Stephen, the two Tims, Phillip, and BC, who was doing hair and makeup for the muses. We had scads of fun yelling lines at the screen and singing (or in my case, howling) along with the songs. (I was punch-drunk after too much Santa and too many beers--live with it.) I never saw "Xanadu" when I was a kid (although I had the soundtrack and wore it out from repeated playing)--and now I'm sort of glad. Even as a 12-year-old, I couldn't have kept a straight face! ONJ complained that much of the script was written as it was being filmed, and it really showed. The art direction, however, was great for its time...albeit dated.

Last night, I was at a friend's house and we watched "Hairspray" in its entirety. I won't say anything bad about John Travolta ever again. Ever. I think he probably took the movie because it was a chance to dance again without the rigors of being a lead dancer, such as in "Saturday Night Fever," or "Stayin' Alive." But that was basically his start--being a dancer--and there aren't too many roles that allow a 53-year-old actor to have a dance number anymore. I give him kudos for taking such a leap to play the part. (His Edna is somehow more pathetic than Divine's--somehow, you KNEW that Divine's Edna was going to whup ass--John's is more awkward and downtrodden, and somehow that makes it all the more endearing.) Also, I love Queen Latifah as Motormouth Maybelle and Seaweed is even hotter than the one in the original Waters film. However, I woke up with "Miss Baltimore Crabs" stuck in my head this morning, and that simply won't do. No, it won't...

More later....

Not to be outdone by the King of Pop-cum-afterschool special-cum tabloid cover tragedy, the Halliburton company announces that it's moving its headquarters to Dubai.

If you ever needed any more proof that Cheney and his band of Viagra-addicted, alcoholic number-crunching compadres are only interested in their own bottom lines, this should do it. Not that we needed any more proof that these people are scumbags. The last seven years have been enough to scrape the scales from even the stubbornest of eyes.

"But, Aaron," I hear you saying, "Dick Cheney retired from Halliburton years ago." Don't be naive, darlings. When high-level executives leave a company, they got stock. Lots of it. And usually a seat on The Board. (You know what The Board is, don't you? That bunch of stuffy, grumpy, sexually frustrated old men in three-piece suits who sit in oak-tabled conference rooms and make split-second decisions that adversely affect the future of whatever company they "direct?" Yeah, them.) Cheney was tailor-made for the role (or should we say "reanimated in some basement lab in Austria" for the role).

Nevertheless, it's galling to hear these people spout off about their love for America and its people and talk about building our economy, then turn around and pull this shit. It's exactly what everyone expects, anyway, so why don't they give their PR people and their spin doctors a few days off and just cut the bullshit.

Oh, and then I read this story today in which Cheney accuses the Democrat critics of Bush's troop buildup plan of "undermining the troops." Now--given everything we've seen and read about Dick Cheney, do you really think he gives a shit about the troops in Iraq? Really? In your deepest li'l heart of hearts?

Didn't think so.

Most likely, he's concerned for the bottom line of Halliburton, the proud holder of all no-bid contracts for the "reconstruction" of battle zones for the last four years or so. More troops don't only mean more support for the existing soldiers (although 8,000 isn't enough--80,000 wouldn't be)-- it also means more supplies and services that Halliburton can provide. And collect payment for.

I don't want to hear these nasty, overstaying-their-welcome-on-this-green-earth bunch of hypocrites spew out their jingoistic jibberish anymore. It's clearly as empty as their sperm count. They should ALL just brazen it out and go on vacation, like President Bush does. It makes me angry--very angry--that these dessicated toads will live the rest of their lives in wealth and comfort for their plunders, while my mother has to worry every month about whether her insurance will cover her scans and cancer medicine.

Ri-goddamn-diculous.

So this report comes out talking about Barack Obama's childhood education at a madrassa in Indonesia. Naturally, everyone's gonna think he's a terrorist, since madrassas are often associated with the teaching of extreme Islamist beliefs...I'm sure that was the whole point of commissioning the report. But who commissioned it?

Fox News says that this report was commissioned by Obama's rival for the 2008 Dem spot, Hillary Clinton. Well, actually Fox didn't say it first; Insight magazine, which has an incestuous relationship with the ultraconservative Washington Times, said it first. And so compellingly: when called on the carpet as to the veracity of their reporting, they stood by the report, saying that "sources close to the Clinton warroom" confirmed its truth. What sources would those be? The ladies who come and fill the coffee urns? Sorry, unless you can give me names, I ain't giving you my trust. Oh yeah, and both Clinton and Obama denied the rumors, calling them "irresponsible."

And now CNN and Fox News are taking the gloves off. Fox gets higher ratings, but CNN claims that its reporting is more thorough and credible, as they sent a reporter to the madrassa in question, which turned out to have no affliation with religious teachings. They also made a few snide comments about Fox's reporting techniques, hinting, perhaps at their predilection for reporting scurrilous second-hand rumors from another steaming Republican manhole. Fox's spokeswoman, Irena Briganti, responded by calling it "yet another cry for attention from the Paris Hilton of television news, Anderson Cooper."

See, Irena, I have two problems with that. First of all, Anderson Cooper doesn't have to cry for anyone's attention--they pretty much give it to him because he's a hottie, albeit a smirking one. Your camp doesn't have a whole lotta hotties, except maybe Sean Hannity, who also smirks a lot, and since he was rumored to be banging Ann Coulter, that casts his judgment into some serious, serious doubt. (Oh, whoops, there we go with the "rumor" thing! Goodness, it's tempting isn't it?)

Second, the very fact that you respond to a professional criticism with a base personal insult pretty much confirms that the criticism was valid. One can't turn Fox News on without catching some sour-faced, jowly right-wing pundit whose milk of magnesia clearly hasn't kicked in. Sure, you have higher ratings. You have them for the same reason Jerry Springer and "Dynasty" got great ratings: people like a great catfight or, failing that, an entertaining loon. Who doesn't love a great kook? It's more compelling than "America's Funniest Videos." And you get to watch people call each other names!

But at the end of the day, do people really believe you? I think not. If they did, you wouldn't be so desperate and angry. (You could solve that by not hitching your wagon to a fading star next time.)

This time, let's please demand more from our mainstream media than just a pile of warmed-over shit. Better yet, find other sources of news--on both sides. It takes some culling and "separating wheat from chaff" as far as the facts go, but you can get good information from the hegemony among them (that is, the facts that they all agree on).

The good news about all this is that at least Clinton and Obama do not appear to be clawing at each other's throats over this. They seem to be following the accepted rules of dignified competition.

Of course, look where it got our candidates last time.

I did laundry today and accidentally washed my cigarettes because I'd forgotten to clean out my pockets last night when I came home. Cigarettes are expensive. Maybe this is God's way of telling me I should quit (because the shortness of breath and stinky clothes aren't enough...?).

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In other news, "Caged Dames" opened this weekend, and the cast is fantastic! Our audiences have enjoyed it thoroughly. The new song ("Boostin'") is great, as are all the changes made to the script. Andra's using the electronic keyboard now, so she can be more creative with the sounds than she could with the piano, and as a band, we're all pretty tight. Our new lead, Abigail, is doing a great job and Annie has to her new roles very nicely. She gets to sing and dance more...!

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Super Bowl next week! I don't really give a shit...