Celebrity butt kissing series

I helped make somebody a Hollywood Star.  And yet I live, ever so humbly.  I wrote a play in college in’91 and handpicked three people from my class to star in it.  They didn’t act on stage, just read the script in a workshop.  I don’t even remember the name of it — but still!  I only just remember that one of the characters was insane — of course.

After starring in my blockbuster play, Famke Janssen developed a very successful movie career for which I totally take credit.  I had no idea then that she was getting into acting.  I saw her on the big screen for the first time in the X-Men.  “My protégé!” I cried, pointing at the screen.

Famke was nice.  I liked Famke, but Famke never gave me credit for catapulting her to success.  Famke hasn’t thanked me.

If her ship starts sinking and mine begins doing whatever it is that ships do when they sail very well, would I offer her a lifeboat?  Of course I’d offer her a lifeboat – I molded her career for goodness sake – remember in the World of Suzie Wong, Suzie Wong she kept saying this – in that cute Chinese accent — “For goodness sake!”  What a racist movie, but for the life of me I just love saying that.  Nancy Kwan rules!

Really, I don’t think Famke Janssen’s ship would sink and would never wish for it to sink.

Kiss kiss on both cheeks to Famke Janssen – well hell, all four cheeks – this post is called “Celebrity butt kissing series” for goodness sake!

Long live the beauteous Famke Janssen!

What celebrity encounters have you had?  Do you know Famke Janssen?

Be Good

A friend forwarded this magical video to me the other day.  So I took a break from my hardcore to have a listen.  It made me smile.  I’m not a jazz fan but this one nabs me with its simplicity.  It’s called “Be Good.”  I love the way Gregory Porter’s dressed.  This whole video — it’s so me! — as my friend pointed out.

Planet Sandor

I’m using Gahan Wilson’s comic as inspiration…

I’m on my own planet, but don’t have my own gravitational laws.  I’m working on it.

Ahahahaha!

Angst and Evolution

Armageddon was pretty uneventful this year — other than the fact that I’m suffering from the need of an apicoectomy.  That’s a dental procedure.  It hurts like holy hell, which is why I didn’t get it when I was supposed to.  That’s why I’m in trouble now for waiting so long.

So…happy Armageddon to me — know what’m sayin’?  At least I got to listen to our favorite Armageddon holiday song .  It’s really hardcore, so only those who are interested in adding it to their holiday selection, please, enjoy:

As expected on this holiday of Armageddon, I experienced a small degree of existential angst, which I’d say wasn’t eventful.  That’s what this day’s about anyway.  Angst comes, and she goes — that’s what they told me in Harlem Hospital the day I was born.  It was during the Welcome-to-the-World speech that they gave to all the newborns back in 1962 – haha!

Harlem Hospital used to be the best place to go for gun shot wounds because they happened with frequency then.  So they were better prepared for it.  Harlem was very different during that period.

Ever see Cotton Comes to Harlem?  Well, that’d give you an idea.  Maybe.  My mom grew up there, not far from Frankie Lymon of Frankie Lymon and the Teenagers.  My dad lived on Convent Avenue, though he wasn’t born and raised in Harlem like my mother.

The Harlem area was originally inhabited by the Manhattan Native people.  The Dutch came later and called it Haarlem (Haaaaaaahhhhrlem!).  Fast forward to the Great Migration when Blacks came there from the south, then there was the Harlem Renaissance era.  My grandparents migrated to Harlem from the south during the later period of migration.  The depressed era in Harlem happened after the Renaissance.

Now the era in Harlem is the one that’s too rich for me to live in!  Haha!  You should see some of those brownstones, they’re palaces.  Nothing stays the same in this world.  Not even me.

I’ve come out of my angst to a period of excitement and wide possibilities.  See how that worked?  Evolution.  Cool.

Thanks for etching these phrases into the annals of my behind – I mean – into the annals of my mind

The people below coined these phrases.  I want to share them.  But I advise you to say them the way that they were originally said.  Okay?  Okay.  Here:

Count Yorga narrator – theatrical voice

“A miasma of pu-trid de-cay!”

My 5^th grade classmates in 1973 –  Pseudo-British accent

“A half plus a half equals two halves plus one more half equals too many.”

Closing credits singer in ‘Scream Blacula, Scream’ –  must be spoke/sung in Billy Dee Williamsey voice

“So alone, so lonelyyyyyy…”

Ex boyfriend G. – which one of us had it?  I don’t know it’s debatable – say like a Bowery Boy

“Ass-crack stench.”

The minister at church, referring to our misconception of God – Baptist minister on the pulpit style

“A cosmic Santa Klaus!”

My cousin’s reason for having to hang up from our phone conversation quick, fast and in a hurry!  Say this one any way you want then get the hell out

“This shit’s ‘bout to pop out my ass!”

You might have seen a couple of these floating in my posts as they have become part of me, of my brain.

Would you like for them to be part of you?  Feel free to use them anytime you like, but use them with discretion.

This is my X-mas present to you.  You’re welcome.  I’m sorry.  Thank you!

For asexuals cake is sex

Will Cotton – The Daily Beast

(Cat forwarded this cake link to me a bit back — I’m in love with it.)

I watched a documentary on asexuality.  The documentary depressed me.  I wrote a novel with the premise that platonic relationships don’t exist.  I’m not implying that platonic means asexual.  I just believe that people want their sexuality validated.  It doesn’t have to be overt.

I try to pick them out, asexuals.  I’m intrigued by people who don’t have sexuality.  I know some of these people.

One was a beautiful man.  But…nothing.  So there was no reciprocal energy.  I had nothing to feed on.  This is subtle below the surface energy I speak of, not detectable flirting.  He was young – when I refer to my interaction I don’t mean that I considered something between us.  Though I didn’t have a desire to be with him, there still might be sexual energy in there, somewhere — helloooooo.

I was old enough to be his mother.  People may think that he didn’t radiate sexual energy toward me because I was much older, or maybe he was gay.  You may not want to have sex with the old woman but you want your own sexuality validated in some way, which would involve giving out a vibe, flirting.  Besides, I can see sexuality without interacting with a person.  With him I didn’t feel it in his aura.  I can feel sexual energy even coming from gay men if not directed exactly at me.

He had never been involved with anyone.  I assume he was a virgin.  Someone told me that he had finally begun seeing a woman.  It was hard for me to conceptualize.  In this program last night there were asexuals who had been involved with people.  Some had to explain to their partners that they had no desire for sex, others went through the motions.

This asexual group in the documentary marched in the Gay Pride Parade in San Francisco.  They are after all part of an alternative sexual movement.  Though initially curious, watching them made me irritated.  I turned off the program when I started getting heartburn.  Am I that disturbed by this?

These asexuals have events, parties, meetings, and their icon is cake.  Cake replaces sex for them.  They put cake on their invitations, use it in slogans.  They have love affairs with cake. People know that I’m a cake enthusiast – see my side-bar.

I’m on the opposite end of the spectrum, but I have something in common with asexuals — this is just wrong.  I love cake.  I love sex.  Cake never replaces sex.  Not even that sexy cake up there.

Getting my hustle on

I’m getting my hustle on for my book and may be doing more readings.  I envision waddling up and down Broadway wearing a flappy sign with a picture of my book Mean-Spirited Tales on it, front and back.  Maybe I’ll hurl copies of my book from a tray to passengers on the A train.  Really — no.  I did read an article about a man who makes boo koo dinero selling candies on the train this way.  Hurrah for self-employment!  High falutin publishers, kiss my grits — no I totally take that back.  But the threat of the self-published author is on the rise.  Just saying.

I used to think it was cheesy.  But it’s not now — not since I’ve done it.  It is more reputable than it was in the past.  Though there is snobbery about it.  At this point I’m just glad to have sold enough to buy groceries, socks, candies, and Styrofoam skulls.

It’s brilliant that people have read something I’ve written, and that they’ve paid either ninety-nine cents for the Kindle version or nine ninety-five for the hardcopy.  I’ve always dreamed of making money writing.  You’ve all helped to make that come true.  Each and every last one of you out there in TV land.

I spoke to a woman who manages space for vendors.  She explained the system to me.  It wouldn’t be cost-effective for me to buy space to sell my book.  But I appreciated the feedback.  Much love to her.

I spoke to a gentleman at a bookstore today.  He said they were always concerned in getting numbers in for book signings.  He told me that he had been disappointed in the numbers of people that writers had brought in for their readings.  He asked if I thought I could bring in 20 people.  I told him I had 25 people for my last reading at the Indian Road Cafe.  I believe more people would have come if it weren’t at 10:30pm on a Halloween weekend.  I hope I didn’t exhaust my numbers in the last reading.  I so hope some of you come to my next one.  I’ll give out candies and promise not to read War & Peace.

Haha!  — Wouldn’t it be messed up if I invited everyone to my reading, and read a technical book on statistics instead – leaving everyone baffled? – Hey, wait a cotton picking minute! – I must back track to what I said up there about the Kindle version of my book – it’s only ninety-nine cents!  So why isn’t, like, everyone buying it?  That WSJ article about marketing my book is a liar – yes, an article can be a liar.

I thought titling my book Mean-Spirited Tales would be cheeky.  But maybe people don’t like “Mean.”  They take it literally.   Maybe I’ll change it to Saccharine Tales of Banality.  Haha!

Art Movie

(Warning:  Adult content.  Also, as Gfb always says, pointless.)

There’s a sensationalistic sound-effect in The Night of the Living Dead that’s louder than the sound of the rest of the movie — the part when the zombie eats the bug off the tree and when the zombies eat the dead people, pulling flesh off of the bone with their teeth.

George Romero amps up the slurpy, chewing sound —  a great grade b horror movie gross-out effect.  He blots out all other sound in the movie and puts emphasis on this.  You hear zombies grind up every bit of bug and chew every sinew in all its juicy goodness.

I thought of something they might have used to make this particular sound.

When I was a teenager – a friend said she heard a man masturbating in the staircase.  I said, “How do you hear someone masturbate?”  She began making rhythmic slurpy chewing sounds with her mouth.  It was hilarious!

Wouldn’t it be rad, a big fat joke on the audience, if I made a zombie movie and had sound effects from an unorthodox source, let’s say like the one my friend talked about and maybe also the female version, or any variation or combination (wink, wink) on that?

We’d have people in the studio masturbating with the mike right there.  In my movie, The Zombies of Sandor, the zombie-eating sound-effects would all be from masturbation and stuff.

It’d be…like an art movie!  The sound effect of somebody getting slapped in the face would actually come from somebody in the studio getting slapped in the face with a penis.

Oh why Sandee couldn’t you just use someone actually chewing into a microphone for the eating sound effect?  Be-cause, I say, just be-cause.

REE-spect – my damn holiday!

I’m wiser in maturity.  I respect people and I’m community-minded.

I took my Halloween decorations off my door yesterday, to respect the people celebrating Xmas.  I want to show respect to the neighbors who have a wreath on their door opposite mine.  I didn’t give a hoot about stuff like this before.

Since my namesake hurricane came this year around Halloween I didn’t celebrate properly.  But it just felt plain rude, keeping the gravestone on my door, intruding on their holiday.  My holiday is gone now.  I need to get over it.  That’s maturity.

A few years ago, I left the Halloween ghoul on my door through Xmas, but made it season ‘appropriate’.   I cut a thought bubble out in white paper and wrote “Merry Xmas!” on it.  I attached it to the ghoul’s mouth like he was saying it.  Get it?  I merged two holidays!

Though, everyone knows I’m the ‘lovable’ freak on the top floor, the kindly spinster who ought to have eight cats but for some reason doesn’t.  They accept that I leave my Halloween decorations up until I officially feel Halloween’s over.

One year it ended in April.  But I try taking them down sooner now because Halloween is anticlimactic when you take your decorations down from the last year in, let’s say, August only to put them right back up on October 10^th.

So I’ll take down the Halloween decorations inside my apartment after Xmas, that is, if the world doesn’t end on Friday.  Oooo, I’ll bet there will be some slamming End-of-the-World parties on Friday.  I wasn’t invited to any of them so I’ll be celebrating Armageddon by myself this year.

Asshats

Westboro Baptist church gives Baptists churches a bad name.  Asshats.  I went to church today.  Speaking of hats, a few church ladies still do wear those hats and stuff and they all seemed to be sitting on the left side of the church.  They’re adorable.  Guess what I wore?  A huge pink flamingo hat with purple plumes, a mink stole and white patent leather pumps, three inches high.  I DID NOT wear that!  I wore the same clothes I’ve been wearing all week.  God doesn’t judge me for it so neither should you.

The minister is the best.  I haven’t been there for a couple of years, but I ran there today.  I couldn’t take the shit going on in my head about the children in Newton.  I still haven’t seen one news report or read any media on this.  I’m a mess without it.  When I go to Aol to get email, I look to the right, away from the media crap.  I think the media needs to be pulled in.  I hate them now.

On Saturday, I called my Auntie.  She’s also the best.  She’s a minister.  Really down to earth and like a social worker I guess you could say.  Very easy to talk to.  That helped.

Today Rev. Jessie T. Williams delivered — I tell ya what.  The altar prayer was also amazing.

I’ve mentioned it before that this minister is intellectual, and he definitely has the spirit.  Intellect and spirituality are not mutually exclusive.  Some philosophers will tell you that.

He broke it down today!  I almost feel that what he says coincides with science.

A man came late to the service and sat down between a woman and me.  Not only was he fidgeting the whole time but he was chatty as hell toward the end.  I wonder if he was trying to get his rap on.  All I know is I flew up out of there when it was over — didn’t want to find that out.