Penn and Teller On Vaccinations

Birthday Bike

Hubby and I rarely buy each other birthday presents, so imagine my shock when I opened the front door and there was my new-- albeit vintage-- AMF Royal Master bike.

He found it on Craigslist.

I haven't been on a bike since 1996 so I was understandably shaky at first. But, I did make it up a few big hills and survived a very large pot hole.



Now I need to get a matching helmet, a basket with plastic flowers and a bell. Hubby says I need streamers for my handlebars but I think at almost 45, I'm too old for streamers on my handlebar. There's a fine line between looking cool and pathetic.

Grandpop Has Left The Building

On the 30th anniversary of Elvis Presley's death, I wrote this column for SHECKYmagazine.com. Long live The King... of all grandpops.

Elvis Aaron Presley and Robert Fithian Dingler died within a day of each other 30 years ago during the hot and muggy August of 1977.

I remember where I was when I heard the news of Elvis's passing. I think most people do. Elvis was The King, after all, a cultural icon. Fans both young and old were stunned by his premature passing. It was the type of public tragedy that would cause strangers to turn to each other and say, "Did you hear about Elvis? Awful. Just awful."

But I also remember where I was when I learned that Robert Fithian Dingler passed on. I was at the hospital. I was eleven. He was my grandfather.

We were on vacation that week. My grandparents had decided to take me and my older sister to Atlantic City. In my early years, I had stayed at their house quite often, but this was the first time we had actually vacationed together for any length of time. It was my grandpop's idea. I now realize that he must have known something was wrong.

Since my grandparents didn't have much money, we stayed at an establishment that was part motel/part B&B-- minus one of the B's. It was dark and it smelled like an old person's house. The lobby was always full of French Canadian men who were far too old and too fat to be wearing the late 1970's equivalent of a Speedo.

The proprietor, an aging woman who longed for the days when both she and her palace were in their prime, never dusted the fake plants yet she showed up at our door every day to see if we were keeping our rooms clean. It was if everything and everyone in the building didn't notice their own deterioration. The lamps were broken and the hallways were right out of "The Shining." But every time my sister and I would get on the elevator, the aging African-American operator would flash his perfect smile and say in his sing-song way, "Look at me, I'm a thorn between two roses." The whole experience was sweet, creepy and thoroughly hilarious.

Each day was the same: My sister and I would lie on the beach while my grandparents sat on the boardwalk and watched us lie on the beach. Every so often one of them would brave the sand to ask if we were hungry.

Each night was the same as well. All four of us would walk the boardwalk searching for something sweet to eat. My grandmother would buy extra just in case we wanted some later-- which we never did.

When I say we walked together, I exaggerate somewhat. My grandpop would always walk much faster than the people he was with. Sometimes he would get a block or two ahead of his party. Then he'd stop and wait for everybody to catch up. As soon as everyone was together, he'd start the process all over again.

On the night he died, he stayed back at the "Bug-ata" while the three of us hit the boardwalk without him.

I didn't want to go. He was insistent. Upon our return I refused to go up to the room, opting instead to sit with the old men French men and hope they weren't making lewd remarks at my expense. Moments later, my grandmother stepped off the elevator and said, "Would somebody call an ambulance?" This time, I took the stairs.

There he was, lying on the bathroom floor, looking as lifeless and lonely as his surroundings.

My grandmother went with him in the ambulance. My sister and I were put into the back of a cop car where we were quickly forgotten. Folks on their way to the boardwalk stared in the window trying to get a look at the two criminals who were no doubt being hauled off to jail. We got the giggles. The harsher the stares, the harder we laughed. I yelled to the onlookers, "I'm not a hooker. I just have a dead grandfather!"

I actually didn't know he was dead until we got to the hospital. I had seen enough soap operas in my short life to know that miracles happen. But when the doctor delivered the bad news, I fell apart. A nurse gave me a pill that made all the pain go away and in one night I discovered what it felt like to be a criminal and a junkie.

We sat in the lobby waiting for my parents. They were driving down from Philly to pick us up. My grandmother and my sister were unusually quiet. I alternated between TV watching and eavesdropping. The news, of course, was all about Elvis. The conversation was the same.

I'm not sure if it was the mind-altering drug or my normally precocious mind at work, but I found it ludicrous that people would be more concerned about the death of a stranger-- which Elvis was-- rather than the actual death in their midst.

And how could the sobbing fans in Memphis claim to feel about Elvis the same way I felt my grandpop? I began to resent the crying masses. They and their public displays of sadness angered me.

Then I thought about Lisa Marie. I couldn't imagine what it would be like to mourn the loss of a loved one while complete strangers-- a whole country full of them almost-- mourned him as well. Just like Elvis did, my grandfather died on the bathroom floor. How awful it would have been if I had to listen to the whole world speculate as to why.

My grandfather's death went mostly unnoticed. Few people attended his funeral. Those who did talked about Elvis. I wore my sixth grade, blue-and-white, flowered graduation dress to the services because my grandpop strongly believed that little girls should never wear black.

As the world commemorates the 30th anniversary of Elvis's death, I can't help but think about my grandpop. Years after he left us, I learned-- through conversations with family members-- that they all thought of him as cold and unloving. I don't remember him that way at all.

He may have never told me that he loved me but his actions spoke louder than any words. When I would sleep over his house, he would go out and buy me a bag of Baby Ruths because he knew they were my favorite. When he took me to the cafeteria at Sears he would say to the cooks, "This is my granddaughter and she would like a cheeseburger, Coke and tapioca pudding." He taught me to play 500 Rummy-- but he would never teach me his card-counting skill, because he said he didn't want me to grow up to have a gambling problem. We watched the Phillies together. We listened to Sinatra together. We made fun of my grandmother together. He was not a perfect man but he was a perfect grandfather.

Thirty years later the world still mourns Elvis while a 41 year-old woman misses her grandpop.

God Helps Those Who Help Themselves

We saw this statue of Ben Franklin near a parking garage in Glendale, California as we were heading to a taping of Last Comic Standing. My husband yelled, "Hey, look, Ben Franklin is giving out free handjobs!"

Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head

Our nephew, Brooke, started uploading some of his old home movies to YouTube. This classic clip from 1990 cracked me up.

I dare you to try to get his version of this B.J Thomas hit out of your head. I've been singing it for 48 hours straight.

JFL 2010

We spent this past weekend at the Just For Laughs Festival in Montreal, Canada.

Dane Cook flew in to do a guest spot on a show hosted by Steve Martin. Cook asked if he could have his picture taken with my husband. Yes, you read that sentence correctly.



Over the course of five days, we cranked out 7,600 words about our experience. To read our updates, go to SHECKYmagazine.com.

Throw Out Your Toaster!

Pre-made toast used to be a punchline. Now, thanks to our Bimbo friends, it's a reality!



What's next? Pre-boiled water.

The Last Last Comic Standing Post

Here's an edited version of both our appearances on LCS.

Shawn Colvin

The Camden County Board of Freeholders didn't have the money to mail out their 2010 Park Events Guide this year which may explain why there wasn't a huge crowd for the free Shawn Colvin concert at Cooper River.

It's a shame more people didn't attend because they missed out on a lovely evening.

We've been Colvin fans since the early '90's but we've only seen her perform once back when she toured with Bruce Hornsby, Jackson Browne and Bonnie Raitt.

Seeing her in an intimate, laid back setting was quite a treat. Not only did she play most of her hits but she also covered songs by Crowded House, Steve Earle, Tom Waites and the Talking Heads. I love a songwriter who appreciates other people's songs.

Plus she was surprisingly funny.

As we were leaving, another concert attendee recognized Brian from Last Comic Standing. I meekly said, "Hi. Episode 3." The woman said, "I wasn't sure it was you because you look so young." Even though I thanked her, I kept thinking, "Yikes, how old did I look on TV?"

Out Martha-ing Martha Stewart

My husband decided to make homemade potato chips for a party at a friend's house back on Father's Day. We transported the chips in a brown paper shopping bag figuring it was the best way to keep them crisp.

Instead of putting them in a bowl upon our arrival, I merely ripped the bag, rolled down the sides and tried to convince everybody it was just the kind of fun, rustic presentation Martha Stewart would do.

It worked. But then the hostess out Martha-ed me when she used her her kid's wagon to keep the booze cold.

Last Comic Standing Part... Whatever

Today, we put a three-minute clip of my husband's Last Comic Standing set up on YouTube. (Without NBC's permission. Oh yeah, we're rebels.)

Last Comic Standing Part... I've Lost Count

Hubby is the last comic to perform even thought he was first during the actual taping. Natasha aka The Female Judge is right, he is the bees knees.

4th Of July Festivities

We're lucky to live a short 10-minute drive from one of the best places on the planet to watch fireworks. While other folks cling to the shoreline of Cooper River, we brave the goose poop (we brought a tarp) and unfold our folding chairs on one of the docks jutting out onto the water.

Several hundred feet away, fireworks are shot from an outcropping. From our vantage point, it feels like a private show.

The view from hubby's reclining folding chair.


Several hundred feet beyond the fireworks, former Bad Company frontman, Paul Rodgers was performing a free concert (Appropriate, since he was also the lead singer of Free). From where we sit, we can't see the show but we can hear it loud and clear.

Rodgers is amazing. It's hard to believe the man is 60! He puts all the other sexagenarian rockers to shame.

We sat out on the water, listening to music and enjoying the breeze and loud lights for about 2 hours. As we were leaving, a woman said to my husband, "There sure is a lot of poop out here." He said, "Most of it's mine." Have I mentioned that he's going to be on Last Comic Standing, July 5 at 9PM?



Here's the set list from Rodgers' 90 minute concert.

Can't Get Enough Of Your Love

Rock And Roll Fantasy

I Got To Move On

Running With The Pack

Rock Steady

Young Blood

Feel Like Makin' Love

Shooting Star

The Sky Is Burning

Fire And Water

Sweet Angel

All Right Now

Ready For Love

Bad Company

Last Comic Standing 4

Hubby aka Brian McKim will be on Last Comic Standing July, 5 at 9 PM. It's Part 2 of the semi-finals.

Last Comic Standing 3

In case you missed the episode.

Last Comic Standing 2

We wrote 4,000 words about our Last Comic Standing audition. It's over at SHECKYmagazine.com.

Last Comic Standing

Look for us on Monday night during Part 2 of the New York auditions.

Brian McKim On NBC.Com

Hubby's pic is up on the NBC.com Last Comic Standing page. For some reason, he looks annoyed.

Samantha Moore Is A Crafty One

Our nephew's girlfriend, Samantha Moore, recently had one of her craft projects featured on HGTV. I can't believe her butterflies have a more recent TV credit than I do!



Personally, I think they need to give the girl her own show. She's adorable! People would tune in just to see her hair.

Fantasy Cat League

While in Raleigh this past weekend, we picked up a copy of the Independent Weekly which is the free local entertainment rag.

On page 29, under the title "Pet Personals" we saw an ad for two kitties up for adoption at the Wake County Animal Adoption Center.

Sadly, hubby and I travel too frequently to have pets, but these guys were hard to resist.

I love Cat #1 because he has a riverboat gambler mustache. His name is Archie but I'd call him Gaylord Ravenal after the character in Showboat. On Halloween-- or when I was merely bored-- I would dress him up in a long waistcoast and vest then make him sing Negro spirituals. Oh, the fun, I could have with Gaylord.



Cat #2 is even better since his nose looks like a penis. His name is MooMoo but I'd have to call him Dickface. Although, there's a good chance I'd call all my cats Dickface.



If I ever do get into the position to adopt a pet, I would probably try to get a Kitler aka Cat That Looks Like Hitler. But, first, we have to get our hands on a three-legged dog. That's our real dream.

There Is Nothing Like A Dame

This past Saturday, as I was onstage (which was really just a dance floor) performing for seven people (five of whom were employees) at a military base (Air Force), I thought to myself, "This show can't get any weirder.

Then these guys walked in!

I love this picture because I actually look like I've been captured and perhaps decapitated by the natives.

My glowing demonic eyes are also a nice touch. I could be in the 15th Twilight movie.

I can see it now, Bella Swan (played by me since Kristen Stewart will probably be in rehab) is now middle-aged, has divorced the vampire and sets out on a wacky vacation to mend her broken heart. Think "Bella Got Her Groove Back."

I'm sure at least seven people (five of whom are employees) would go see that flick!

Hope And Clearance

We saw these Barack Obama basketballs on the clearance rack at K-Mart today. It took everything I had not to do a little early Christmas shopping.


Do you think Obama plays with his own balls? Oh, come on, get your minds out of the gutter!

An Inconvenient Marriage

Al and Tipper Gore have separated. Does this mean Al will finally come out of the closet? (Not that there's anything wrong with that... well,unless you're married to him.)

USA 2 Turkey 1

We were three of 55,407 soccer fans who decided to converge on Lincoln Financial Field in Philly-- known to the locals as The Linc-- too see USA take on Turkey as part of the World Cup "Send-Off" series.

Turkey didn't make it into the World Cup so they were playing for pride and pride was oozing out of their pores. It took us well into the first half before we realized that the chants of "Turk--ee--ya" was just the three-syllable Turkish pronunciation of Turkey or, as they spell it, "Turkiye." Next Thanksgiving, I'm definitely serving turk--ee-ya for dinner instead of turkey.

The Turks must be so tired of Americans making turkey jokes. Whenever the announcer said, "Turkey substitution" it took everything I had not to yell "chicken" or "tofu."



I couldn't figure out why there were a group of Algerians at the game. Perhaps they were cheering on their Muslim brothers. As we were waiting for the elevator, we saw three Muslim men with their prayer mats laid out, trying to determine the direction of Mecca so they could pray. They stopped two USA fans for help. The one man said, "Well, I was in the army, so I was taught to judge direction by the sun."

Yes, the hatred of Muslims in the country is so pervasive that a former US soldier uses his military training to help a couple of Muslim guys find the direction of Mecca at a soccer game. In Bill Maher's world, this soldier would have dangled the shoeless men over the ledge just for fun.

Of course, my husband's GPS determined that the men were actually looking to the Northwest. But by the time he had determined that they were given bad information, they had already begun their prayers. Oh, well.



In the first half, USA played like dog manure. My brother and I were particularly disgusted with the play of #2. Apparently, so were the other American fans, because, when it was revealed at the start of the second half that he would be leaving the game, everybody cheered.

The second half, USA was a different team. Chants of Turk-ee-ah were quickly drowned out by U-S-A.



Prior to the game, my husband was enjoying a cold over-priced beer while my brother chowed down on an Italian sausage sandwich. They both watched in horror as, somehow, my brother wound up spitting part of his sandwich into the partially consumed brewski. Brother said, "Did that just go in there?" (Husband confirmed that it had indeed. A bank shot!) Then they laughed and laughed. Then my brother bought him another over-priced beer.



I've seen a lot of soccer in my life but this was my first international game. Now, I'm determined to go to World Cup in 2014. It's in Brazil. Hubby just asked, "Can we drive to Brazil?" I think he consumed too many over-priced beers.

Nobody's Business But The Turks

In a few hours, we're heading to Lincoln Financial Field in Philly (aka The Linc) to see USA take on Turkey in their last game before the World Cup.

We decided to sit in the Turkish fan section because we thought it would be more interesting. But, now my husband has been singing They Might Be Giant's "Instanbul" since he woke up this morning.

Hawk Country

Today, hubby and I ran the track at Haddon Township High School otherwise known as Hawk Country.


As we passed the grandstand, we saw an actual hawk.


I guess they weren't lying. It really is Hawk Country.

Remind me never to run in Bear Country... or Cougar Country... or Gator Country.

Although, if I did see an actual bear, at least I would already be running.

Spicy Nose

A short film by my friend and fellow comic, Adam Gropman.

My Husband's Toe Has A Hitler Moustache

A few months ago, hubby opened the sofa bed on his toe resulting in a hideous black mark. In a few more months, it'll look like his toe is wearing a bad toupee.

Additionally, he has a burn mark on his left foot from a grease splatter and a matching burn mark on his right foot from boiling water. So, along with the Hitler moustache, he's also been rocking the stigmata look.

It's a good thing he doesn't like to wear mandals.

From RINO To DINO

Arlen Specter gone!

Na na na na
Na na na na
Hey hey hey
Goodbye!

Typo...

...or truth in advertising?

It says, "MLT Cereal Poop Series." I'm guessing it's supposed to say "Pop" series.



I hope it's supposed to say "Pop" series.