El Paso

I still can't straighten my arm, but I can bend it well enough to finally practice the guitar again. Not sure if it's good for my arm-- or my neighbors-- or my self-esteem.

Hubby is happy to have me back in our little guitar club. To celebrate my return, we've decided to learn Marty Robbin's El Paso so we can play it as a duet.

Already we're arguing over the harmonies. For a guy, he has an annoying habit of wanting to hit the high notes. Not once have we ever made it through Don't Go Breakin' My Heart without him veering into the Kiki Dee part. It's just one of the many reasons why we'll never sing karaoke together in public. Well, that and the fact that we despise karaoke.

I love Mary Robbins. His songs are all so passive/aggressive. I'm always yelling to the love interests in his songs, "Get a restraining order!"

In this performance of El Paso, Robbins is either bored, drunk or bat-shit crazy. Although, hubby pointed out that Robbins kind of looks like Matthew McConaughey who also is either always bored, drunk or bat-shit crazy.

Regardless, it's a great song and one which, I am sure, we will thoroughly butcher.

It's Just A Number

The oldest American, Mary Josephine Ray passed away after roaming this Earth for 114 years and 294 days. The second runner-up, who has now been crowned the oldest American (since Mary Josephine Ray can no longer fulfill her duties, for obvious reasons) is Neva Morris, of Ames, Iowa, at the ripe young age of 114 years, 216 days.

I'm happy for Neva Morris. Can you imagine how awful it's been for her to know that she only missed out the title of Oldest American by a mere 78 days? I hope she enjoys her new found position. Although, how can she ever really feel comfortable with a bunch of 113-year-olds breathing (albeit laboredly) down her neck.

I don't think I want to live to be 114. That would mean I would be alive for another 70 years. I wouldn't die until 2080!

Some time around 2050, I'm going to completely let myself go. I'll overeat, drink staggering amounts of alcohol and only leave my bed when I jump out of a plane on each birthday.

At least if I live to 114, I'll die as the oldest, fattest, drunkest, laziest daredevil in America. Take that you pussy 113-year-olds!

Asheville Postscript

First show Saturday, I had one of those comedy moments that will stay with me for the rest of my comedy life.

About 4-5 minutes into my set, I ended a joke using the word "titty." For some reason, this made a guy in the front row laugh so hard he spit his beer on me.

Since I am the one who is making the jokes, rarely do I genuinely laugh hard while I'm performing. But, I howled. The guy was mortified, my pants were wet and it produced one of the longest sustained audience reactions I've experienced in quite some time.

Reluctantly, the gentleman told me his name is Nathan. He continued to be a good sport throughout the show even though I referred to him a number of times. At one point, a bunch of drinks fell off a table in the back of the room. Another audience member yelled, "Nathan?!" We all howled again.

When I got home Sunday night, I had received Facebook friend requests from both Nathan and his boyfriend, Raymond. After a few back and forth postings, I discovered that Raymond and I are from the same neighborhood in Philadelphia.

He lived only a few blocks from my grandmother's house. Even though I am 11 years his senior, there is still a good possibility that we saw each other at the playground, at the supermarket or while heading to school.

How strange that in 2010, we would be in Asheville, NC, laughing because his boyfriend covered me with lager.

That's why I love traveling all over this great land of ours doing comedy. You never know who you're going to meet.

We're in Asheville, NC

As evidenced by the coverage in the Asheville Citizen-Times.

It plays on everyone's fear of speaking in front of people. It's like the No. 1 fear, in front of snakes, heights, you name it. (And in standup comedy) you don't just have to speak in front of people, you have to make them laugh.

Plus when you're saying something you think is funny, and people don't laugh, most people take that personally. You can't do that. You have to leave the ego at home.

Two shows down, two to go!

The Mean Reds

I'm tired of having a cold, I'm tired of my arm hurting and I'm tired of being tired.

I'm going to pour a second glass of bourbon and soak in tub full of epsom salts.

Tomorrow, we hit the road for a few days. Maybe a couple of gigs will help me feel better. Although, that didn't seem to work last week or the week before.

Argh!!!

My New Favorite Commercial

The World's Worst Product InThe World

The first time Marc Anthony's Pro Root Touch-Up failed to touch-up my roots, I naturally assumed I had done something wrong. After all, products go through rigorous testing before hitting the shelves, don't they? Surely, Clairol would have noticed all the gray monkeys and rabbits in their labs.

A few hours ago, I gave the product another try. I'm still basically operating with one hand, so my husband was called in to assist. Since he approached the task with military precision, I knew there would be no errors on our part.

The result? I have a head full of gray roots.

If there were an Island of Misfit Products, I would gladly hop on an iceberg and take it there myself.

What good is hair dye that doesn't dye? It's like buying glue that doesn't stick, foul-smelling air freshener or condoms that are pre-broken for her pleasure.

Oh well, at least I look cute in my hat.

Name That Baby!

In 1965, the name Traci didn't make it onto the list of Top 20 Most Popular Baby Names so I'm not sure how my parents came up with the moniker. My middle name, Marian, is in honor of my grandmother who, oddly enough spelled her name Marion. So, it was like my mother said to her, "Okay, I'll sort of name the baby after you but not really."

As far as I know, there's not one Traci, Tracey, Tracy or Tracee anywhere in the family history. Perhaps I was named after Dick Tracy which would be appropriate since I make my living telling dick jokes. If there hadn't already been a Dick Tracy in standup (he was Chubby Checker's brother... seriously) it would have been my stage name.

Most of the girls I grew up with, however, had a first name from the top 20. My elementary school was bursting at the seams with Mary's, Patricia's, Sandra's and Deborah's.

These days, it seems, parents reject popular names more often than they did in the past. According to a Live Science report, only 8 percent of little girls are given names from the list. The rest are named after strippers and characters in fluffy Tom Hanks' movies. (Madison? Really?)

Quoted in the article is Jean Twenge, author of the book "Generation Me: Why Today's Young Americans Are More Confident, Assertive, Entitled - and More Miserable Than Ever Before". Twenge claims that this trend towards giving your child a name that stands out leads to narcissism. Although I think any child born to Gwyneth Paltrow and Chris Martin would have narcissistic tendencies even if she weren't named Apple.

I once met a woman named Latrina. I find it hard to believe that being named after a bathroom would lead to high self-esteem. Of course, we all know a cocky guy named John so go figure.

2-1/2 Brain Cells

Charlie Sheen and his wife have both checked into rehab. Call Jerry Seinfeld! I think we have two more celebrities for The Marriage Ref!

It's being reported that Social Services have been checking in on the couple's two young sons. In the past, I've offered to raise the children being cranked out by the Spears' girls. Am I going to have to make the same offer to the dysfunctional Sheen clan?

Filming on 2-1/2 Men (which should be called 2-1/2 Laughs), has been suspended until Sheen can get his act together... again. When you're on a money making, hit show, networks are willing to give you more than 2-1/2 chances.

Mrs. Charlie Sheen must have the dumbest uterus on the planet. Why would anybody want to mix DNA with the train wreck that is Charlie Sheen? Was she attracted to the fame, the money or the age old challenge or turning a man into a better person? Or perhaps it's just another case of good old fashion stupidity.

I've watched the ex-Mrs. Sheen's reality show Denise Richards: It's Complicated and I can tell you, it's not.

I think Sheen and all the women he has knocked up should just live together and open a cake decorating business. It could be Big Love meets Dr. Drew's Celebrity Rehab meets Cake Boss. Add a couple of little people and they'd strike ratings gold!

The Marriage Ref

If you've spent the last nine days lying on your back watching the Olympics like I have then you've seen the same six commercials over and over and over again. I swear, if I have to sit through The World's Greatest Spokesperson In The World ad one more time, I'm going to write The World's Greatest Complaint Letter In The World.

NBC has also been using the downtime between Bob Costas' smirking to promote their latest lineup: The return of Jay Leno to The Tonight Show, a game show called Minute To Win It hosted by Guy Fieri who looks like he's been eating at way too many diners,drive-ins and dives and Jerry Seinfeld's latest creation, The Marriage Ref.

When I first heard about The Marriage Ref a few months ago, it seemed strange to me that a man who pursued his wife while she was married to somebody else would have the stones to give anybody advice about matrimony. I'm sure Mrs. Seinfeld's first husband will not be Tivo-ing this show.

The premise seems simple enough. Jerry Seinfeld is joined by "celebrity friends" who, with the help of host Tom Papa, referee disputes between dysfunctional couples.

Featured in the promo are, among others, Kelly Ripa, Tina Fey, Martin Short and Alec Baldwin.

Did they just say (this might be a good time to imagine the sound of a needle being dragged across a record) Alec Baldwin?

As in Alec Baldwin, Alec Baldwin? The same Alec Baldwin who had a knock-down, drag-out divorce with Kim Basinger? You mean, the Alec Baldwin who was just taken to the hospital for a pill overdose and blamed the incident on his ex? Are we talking about the same Alec Baldwin who famously called his own daughter a "rude little pig?" That Alec Baldwin?

Having Alec Baldwin referee a marital dispute is like having Mahmoud Ahmadinejad judge a Klezmer battle of the bands.

It's just wrong on so many levels.

What isn't wrong on any level is this Funny Or Die video from two years ago where Dora The Explorer gets a phone call from her dad, Alec Baldwin. I wonder if they'll play this clip on The Marriage Ref?

84 Hours Of Ickiness

By the time our Delta flight touched down in Minneapolis on Thursday, I had a full-blown head cold. I was pathetic with my little red nose, watery eyes and arm in a sling.

After checking into our Native American-themed hotel, we dragged our bags down several long corridors to our room which I dubbed "The Trail of Tears."

I threw myself on the bed, only rising long enough to get ready for my shows and to perform. I even went back to bed between sets.

Somehow the shows were great. Minneapolis is a great little comedy town and I will forever be grateful to the audience for not making me work hard.

Now I'm home. The sneezing has been replaced by coughing and my arm hurts worse than it did a few days ago because I'm out of the good drugs.

Oh well, there's no place to go but up.

Bollygood

Prior to doing a pratfall on an icy sidewalk, I had successfully embarked on a low-carb diet. I had eliminated toast from my breakfast menu, substituted mashed cauliflower for mashed potatoes and switched from sandwiches to salads for lunch. Within the first week, I had lost four pounds. I was happily looking forward to a carbless winter.

Then, after diagnosing me with inflamed fat pads, my doctor wrote a prescription for Naproxen and said, "You absolutely must take these with carbs."

Damn.



Enter Lay's Masala Potato chips!

Oh sure, I could have consumed nothing but "good carbs" but I'm already depressed. I haven't been able to style my hair or shave my arm pits properly for 11 days. Double fiber wheat bread just isn't going make this cranky girl smile the way a salty Indian-flavored snack can.

And, yes, I've gained back the four pounds.

And, no, I couldn't care less.

Lower, Slower, Weaker

I spent the better part of this evening on the sofa bed watching the Olympics. Three nights of performing with my arm in a sling coupled with nine days of powerful drugs coursing through my delicate system turned me into a zombie-like creature.

This morning hubby cut me off from all prescribed medication. He then put me back to bed with my childhood teddy bear that he freed from our closet. Oh yeah, I was so cranky today I needed Sick Bear. I have no pride.

Later, he changed my shirt after I accidentally covered myself with tahini sauce during dinner. It seems like he changes my shirt for me a lot these days. I really suck at eating with my left hand.

He also acts as my food cutter and bra put-er on-er. Luckily, I've regained enough use of my right hand that I can at least don my own socks.

This is officially getting old.

So, What's Your Name?

A few weeks ago, while performing in Boston, I asked a woman sitting up front how much she weighed. Since she didn't want her boyfriend to know, I had him put his fingers in his ears while she told me, "I weigh 135." When the boyfriend removed his fingers, I told him, "She weighs 115."

A few minutes later, when she refused to answer another one of my highly inappropriate and overly personal questions, I leaned close to the boyfriend and said, "It's really 135."

Hilarity ensued.

Last night, I tried to recreate the magic, only this time the confused female audience member put her fingers in her own ears while she gave me the figure.

I died laughing.

She was a good sport.

That's why I love doing crowd work.

Get Well, President Clinton

I didn't vote for Bill Clinton but, unlike many of my counterparts on the left, I never wish ill on people I disagree with. (Although, admittedly, I didn't exactly shed a tear when Jack Murtha died. I didn't pray for his death, however. There's a big karmic difference.)

So, when I heard our first black president was admitted to a New York hospital today with chest pains, I sincerely hoped he would recover. Thankfully, it appears he has.

If Bill Clinton and I were social networking buddies, I would send him a link to the following clip just to cheer him up. But, I have a feeling it's already one of his favorites.



In my own medical news, I still can't use my right arm. Typing left handed causes lots of growling and cursing. Yesterday, my husband had to cut my food which was romantic in a completely humiliating kind of way.

It's Never Sunny In Philadelphia

We've had over 40 inches of snow in 4 days. Plus I fell on the stupid stupid ice and hurt my stupid stupid elbow.

In Hawaii, it's 80 degrees. To quote the fictional Liz Lemon from 30 Rock (which I always call 30 Rock From The Sun), "I want to go to there!"

GOP Laughs

Hubby (aka Brian McKim) and I have teamed up with Jim Mendrinos and a handful of other standup comics to create GOPLaughs.com.

So, now I'm helping to maintain three sites with only the use of one hand. I'm going to need more drugs!

Fat pads: "Everybody has them" --Guest Blogger Brian McKim

Traci can't type today... not well enough to post and not without a whole lot of swearing. So I, her husband, am guest blogging.

As you may know, our corner of South Jersey was in that band that received the second-highest snow totals after D.C. So, after the last flake fell, we donned our weatherproof gear and ventured out into the neighborhood to survey the havoc.

As we headed back to the abode, we rounded the corner down at the library parking lot and encountered some of that vicious snow-covered ice. I was about six feet in front of my lovely wife when I heard a faint whoosh and a mid-level swear word hissed through clenched teeth-- the sound of Traci hitting the deck hard.

We don't fall much. We say that with some degree of pride and wonder, because 1) We have pretty good balance and a decent amount of athleticism and 2) We don't really shy away from activities where one might be expected to fall.

And on the rare occasions when we do fall, we don't sustain much injury.

As Traci thrashed away on the ground this time, however, she was convinced that she had broken a bone. She broke her fall with an outstretched right arm... a no-no. And particularly embarrassing for her as she "knows how to fall." (That is, she knows how to tumble without making the rookie mistakes that most folks make... the ones that result in fractures. So her swearing and lamentation was mixed with a lot of disappointment in herself. She actually moaned, "I should know better! I should know better!")

I propped her up and ushered over the slippery terrain as fast as was practical.

When we stripped off most of her snow gear and inspected the throbbing limb, we saw none of the classic signs of a break-- no swelling, no blood, no discoloration. We did R.I.C.E. The pain persisted. Well, at least we were confident that the evening's show would be cancelled.

About a half-hour later, we received an email informing us that the show would indeed go on.

Ever the trooper, Traci did the show, her armed Ace-bandaged into the Les Paul, 110-degree crook, a sweater hiding the unsightly wrap.

She iced it right up until showtime, joked about it onstage, then iced it again while waiting for me to close out the show.

Next morning, we headed over to Premier Immediate Medical Care where she was examined, diagnosed, slung and sent home with prescriptions-- all in about an hour... and all for a grand total of $249 (if you count the $50 enrollment in their "Urgent Care Medical Savings Plan," which gets her reduced rates on care and procedures for a full year).

Turns out there was no fracture (see x-ray above... that's really her arm!), but, the doctor said, there was trauma to her "fat pad." (The doctor woman, ever careful not to offend her female patients, was careful to explain that "everyone has fat pads!" There are two. And in the fall, Traci traumatized her anterior intra articular fat pad, causing an effusion-- it went where it wasn't supposed to. And it caused excruciating pain... which continues 48 hours later.)

She's resting uncomfortably now-- arm in a sling, downing the occasional 800 mg cap of Naproxen and applying warm heat.

So, remember: If you think you broke your arm, it might just be an elbow effusion. Check your fat pads.

Typing Left-Handed

Fell on the ice. Right arm is in a sling. I have an elbow effusion aka inflamed fat pad. Pain is pretty awful.

Unisexy!

It appears the toe-tapping Larry Craig isn't the only one who gets to have sex in a public bathroom.

The following story out of Toronto makes you want to say, "Oh, Oh, OOOOOOOOOH, Canada!"

Mildred's Temple Kitchen is inviting customers to have sex in its bathrooms."

Kind of gives new meaning to the phrase, "I'm in here!"

The Valentine's weekend promotion takes uncomfortable but electrifying sex from the close confines of an airplane and transfers it to the unisex stalls of the Hanna Ave. restaurant.

How many times have I been having "uncomfortable but electrifying" sex in the close confines of an airplane bathrooom and thought to myself, "If I could only have comfortable but electrifying sex in a public restroom on the ground?

The answer is never!

I can barely pee, pull up my pants and wash my hands in an airplane bathroom without causing a massive head injury. Besides, the smell of blue liquid is a major turnoff. It ranks right up there with roofing tar, broccoli water and stale Doritos as serious olfactory mood killers.

The Liberty Village restaurant proposes its modern bathrooms become one of the "101 places to have sex before you die.

This reminds me of that clssic Newlywed Game clip where the contestant is asked, "Where's the weirdest place you've ever had sex?" He said, "In the butt."

Toronto Public Health says as long as there's no sex in the kitchen and the restaurant keeps its washrooms clean and sanitized, it's not fussed. "As far as bodily fluids, it's pretty much similar to the other human functions going on in there," says Jim Chan, manager of the food safety program.

Similar to other human functions going on in there? Really? What kind of sick, twisted sex is Jim Chan having?

I'll never understand people who want to force their private lives on others. Can't they just stay home and have sex in their own bathrooms?

Although, it's probably the only time in your life you'll see a line of men outside a restroom.

Jim Treacher And His Busted Knee

Poor Jim Treacher. It's a terrible thing to wake up with a knee that's not broken yet go to bed with one that is. It's even more frustrating when the break was caused by a hit and run driver.

One last thing: I’m told by multiple people that the SUV that hit me was Secret Service. If this is true, I want to know why that happened. I was crossing legally, and they just left me there. At the very least, I want an apology. What happened to me was wrong.

I feel so bad for him. We had lunch with Treacher aka Sean Medlock a few weeks ago. He had just moved to DC to start his blogging gig with The Daily Caller. He's such a nice guy, really kind yet sardonic in that midwestern, Johnny Carson kind of way.

Right now, he seems super pissed off but who can blame him. I'm sure Tucker Carlson and the rest of The Daily Caller staff will work hard to find who did this to him.

Hit and run is a crime. Unless the driver was a diplomat with immunity (boy, that would suck) this person may be in big trouble.

The worst part is, now he won't be able to ski in the Olympics. Of course, he had no intention of skiing in the Olympics but that's what I would tell people. "Damn, my Olympic dream is over."

Treach should put on his panda bear PJ's, take lots of prescription drugs and rest up for what I think will eventually become a big story. This isn't over.

We... I Mean Me... I Mean Us

From LiveScience:

Couples who consistently refer to themselves as "we" may get on the nerves of singletons everywhere, but spouses who use this "couple-focused" language may fare better during conflicts than those who don't, according to a study announced this week.

And husbands who say oui (aka yes) also fare better during conflicts but that's a whole different study.

Well, this might explain why my husband and I have been married for 21 years. We've been together for so long, often we say we when we mean I and I when we mean we. Perhaps we fare better during conflict because we're in a constant state of confusion.

We're not the only ones who are befuddled. We've (there's that damn "we" again) found that others will refer to the two of us as a singular unit. When our friend's son was little he used to call us each BrianTraci. He'd say to me, "BrianTraci, where is BrianTraci?" Oddly, it made perfect sense to everybody who knows us (there's that damn "us" again).

Yes, I are definitely "couple-focused. (I said I on purpose. Or should it be we said I on purpose?)

Anyway, the real key to avoiding arguments is to just become one person. Because who really wants to sit around and yell at themselves?

Stupid Is As Stupid Does

It's a strange thing when you receive an incredibly stupid email from a friend who you thought was an intelligent person.

My friend-- who for other reasons is now an ex-friend-- told me that she was considering skipping vaccinations for her young daughter because of a fear of autism. Apparently, she had just seen Jenny McCarthy on Oprah or Tyra or Dr. Phil or one of the many daytime talk shows designed to scare the piss out of women, spouting ridiculous nonsense (my assessment, not hers) about the connection between the two.

I wanted to write back and say, "Jenny McCarthy is a moron and you're an even bigger moron for believing anything this woman says." Instead, I sent her a few links to medical journals that refuted everything the ex-Playboy model claimed.

The kid got her shots.



Sadly, many other parents choose to skip the vaccinations leaving their children and the rest of society vulnerable to horrible diseases.

Today, Vaccinegate, has been exposed.

A renowned scientific journal has formally retracted a paper that linked the popular MMR vaccine to autism.

The paper has been blamed for the drastic drop in the number of children getting the measles, mumps, and rubella vaccine in Europe and the U.S. Last week Britain's General Medical Council accused the author, Dr. Andrew Wakefield of presenting his research in a "irresponsible and dishonest" way with "callous disregard" for children.

According to my local newscast, Jenny McCarthy issued a statement supporting the disgraced Dr. Wakefield. Of course, she did.

I had the measles when I was eight. Unfortunately, I was one of a number of kids who received a bad batch of the vaccine. To this day, I vividly remember how sick I was. My ears have not been the same since.

I hope the cause and cure for autism is found one day. But, to make children suffer because of bad science is reprehensible.

To let a B celebrity affect how you care for your kids is mind-boggling.

Doppelganger Week

It's Doppelganger Week on Facebook which just means many of us are proving that we have waaaaaaaaaaaay too much time on our hands by changing our profile picture to a celebrity look-a-like.

I decided to put up this classic photo of Britney Spears because, as I always say, I only look like Britney when she has either let herself go or is having a nervous breakdown.

Just one problem. Folks think it's me! Now, all my Facebook friends are under the mistaken impression that I've shaved my head.



Although, they also must think I look 26, so it's not all bad.

Land of Lincoln

This past weekend we were working in Springfield, Illinois. In between, thrift shopping, napping and eating, we took time to visit Abraham Lincoln's house.

This was the house Lincoln shared with his wife and kids prior to moving to the White House. He may have grown up in a log cabin, but the Abe-ster made a nice little life for himself as an adult. Add a little indoor plumbing and I'd live in it today.


Lincoln's desk... the real one, not a reproduction.


The formal living room where Lincoln accepted the Republican nomination for president.


Can you believe one of his neighbors supported Stephen Douglas? What a douche! It now houses the office of Dick Durbin. What a douche!


A campaign log cabin on wheels. Lincoln was change we could believe in.



The most photographed view of Lincoln's house. In the back, there were three pots in the outhouse. Which just made us wonder, did three people use it at the same time? Must have been some crazy parties at the ol' Lincoln homestead!

Photo credit: Brian McKim

Pork: It's What's For After Dinner

Argentinians are lucky. Our president spends all his time talking about the economy and healthcare and how everything is Bush's fault and all sorts of other things that cause his cabinet members to fall asleep during his speeches.

Their president talks about pork... and porking.

BUENOS AIRES, Argentina (AP) -- Argentina's president thinks eating pig meat is really sexy.

Many people in this beef-loving nation reacted with surprise Thursday after Cristina Fernandez promoted pork in a speech during which she not only said pork is better than Viagra, but suggested she's personally proven it.

"I didn't know that eating pork improved sexual activity," Fernandez said in a meeting with representatives of the swine industry late Wednesday. "It is much more gratifying to eat some grilled pork than to take Viagra."

Kind of gives the phrase pulled pork a whole new meaning.

But, if the other white meat leads to a better sex life, I guess Argentinians can rule out ever having sex with Jews.

Hmmmm... didn't a lot of Nazis flee to Argentina after the WWII?

I'm just sayin' is all.

A WTF?! Moment

Chris "I felt this thrill going up my leg" Matthews has done it again. This time he said of President Obama, "I forgot he was black for an hour." Which is weird since the President spoke for 75 minutes. You've got to wonder during which part of the speech Matthews thought Obama was blacker than ever.



It'll be interesting to see if Matthews can dodge the racist bullet. I'm guessing he'll be protected by the double standard shield.

But, if we are to use his thought process, we can make all kinds of weird statements about everybody in Washington.

"I forgot Nancy Pelosi was a chick for an hour."

"I forgot Joe Biden was a gaffe machine for an hour."

"I forgot Senator Byrd was a Klan Member for an hour."

Come on! Let's play! It's fun.

"I forgot Barney Frank was gay for an hour."

"I forgot Bob Menendez looks like a tiny Cuban mouse for an hour."

"I forgot..."

TOTUS Strikes Again!

You would think by now the President would learn what makes a good photo op. This looks more like a set from a Saturday Night Live sketch.

At first, it was reported that POTUS used the teleprompters to address 6th graders. Turns out, he was boring reporters who were sitting in tiny little elementary school chairs.

His supporters are jumping up and down, screaming, "See! See! You were wrong! He wasn't speaking to kids, he was speaking to adults!"

And why did he need a teleprompter to talk to adults?



Here I am delivering my 6th grade graduation speech to adults. Note the absence of any teleprompters. In fact, I never even looked at my notes.

The Specter Of Chauvinism

If there were a Sexism Hall Of Fame-- and, if there were, who wouldn't buy a Sexism Hall Of Fame spoonrest from the gift shop?-- Arlen Specter would be inducted into the 2010 class.

In a moment that can only be compared to Sean Connery's infamous "Sometimes, it's okay to schlap a woman" gaffe, the former Republican, now Democrat, soon to be unemployed, Senator from Pennsylvania, threw a testosterone-fueled hand grenade at Rep. Michele Bachmann when he said during a radio debate, "I'll treat you like a lady. Now act like one."

Apparently, Specter is now caucusing with the chauvinists.

Bachmann, who must have thought she was in an episode of "Mad Men", miraculously kept her cool. Specter, who no doubt drives a hybrid wayback machine, unbelievably lobbed the L-word a second time.

Again, Bachmann would only say, "Well, I am a lady."



Specter has since left messages on Bachmann's answering machine asking her for forgiveness. I'm guessing his apology was accompanied by a little heavy breathing.

Bachmann, ever the lady, has accepted.

Of course, had Bachmann been a Democrat and Specter still an evil Republican, this whole episode would have played out very differently.

Keith Olbermann would have named Specter The Worst Person In The World. Claire McCaskill would have appeared on the Sunday talking head shows, demanding that Specter's resign or at least subject himself to sensitivity training. Michelle Obama would have invited Specter and Bachmann to the White House for a Chardonnay Summit.

Rage Against The Machine would have appeared on the Grammy's wearing Arlen Specter with a Hitler mustache T-shirts.

Janeane Garofalo would have exploded.

But, since our "victim" is an R and the "offender" a recently-converted D, any and all criticism came from the right. In fact, even some left-leaning babes, defended him.

According to the Philadelphia Inquirer, "I was angry with him over the Thomas-Hill hearings," said former State Sen. Connie Williams of Montgomery County. "But I forgave him, because of all he has done for women on every other front. In supporting the Violence Against Women Act, choice, NIH funding, equal pay, and other concerns, Arlen Specter has been there for the women of Pennsylvania."

Yes, Arlen Specter is there for the women of Pennsylvania. As long as they act like ladies.

The End Of Keith Olberman?

Oh, we can only hope.

I used to love Olberman back in the late '80's when he was a local LA sportscaster and we were residents of Burbank, California. Back then, he was actually funny. Now, however, he is so blinded by rage that he's completely lost any subtle sense of humor he once had.

He's even too much for Jon Stewart.