Aloha From Hawaii-- 8

My husband and I watched the girls while our friends took their 12-year-old son to Pearl Harbor. We had visited the USS Arizona many years ago so we didn't feel the need to go again, although it is a "must do" for any American-- or Japanese-- visiting Oahu.

So our day was spent swimming in the pool followed by swimming in the ocean followed by swimming in the pool followed by more swimming in the pool followed by more swimming in the ocean. We were downright prunelike when we were done.

The highlight of the day was the poolside shave ice the size of a toddler's head. When my husband jokingly told the girls one of the flavors they could choose was beef gravy the four-year-old started pumping her little fists and chanting, "Beef gravy! Beef gravy! Beef gravy!"

I've been referring to the kids as the 12-year-old, the six-year-old and the four-year-old because each day I forget to ask their parents if I could post their first names and photos. Finally I asked.

So here they are posing in Hawaii.



Sonya, wearing my husband's hat (we put a flower in it to make it look girlie), is on the left and Sylvia, who insisted on the Euro-trash look of short shorts and dark socks with her dark sneakers (we called her Hans for the day) is on the right. (The gal in the middle is one of the cast members from Aotearoa (or New Zealand) at the Polynesian Cultural Center.

Below is Sam next to Chief Sielu Avea.

Aloha From Hawaii-- 7

Art Linkletter was right! Kids do say the darndest things!

As my husband and our friend were standing in line with his two little girls at the Dole Pineapple Pavilion, the six-year-old was informed that there was only one flavor of ice cream for sale. With a straight face she said, "Which flavor is it?" Hmmmmmmmm, could it be pineapple? Apparently, she didn't notice the name of the place or the pineapples growing outside or the thousands of pineapple products that surrounded her while she stood in line. Take the kid to Hershey Park and she'd probably request strawberry.

This is also the same kid who, when her dad asked her which doll she wanted to take with her to Hawaii, replied, "The one with cancer." Only six-years-old and already she's starting her own Make-A-Wish Foundation. For the record, the doll is resting comfortably and seems to be having the time of her tragically short life.

Criticizing the Dole Pineapple Pavilion seems to be a pasttime of both locals and tourists alike. But I like the joint. We visited 20 years ago back when it really was craptastic. But since then they've created a beautiful garden and a train ride that goes through the pineapple fields and let's not forget the World's Largest Maze. We're not maze people but we are train and garden people.

The men took the kids while the ladies took the garden tour. Our guide was a sweet old Japanese man with the quirky mannerisms and facial tics of a coke addict. We were the only ones asking any questions but he was helpful or at the very least tolerant. We saw starfruit trees and papaya trees and banana trees. You know, all the stuff you see in the supermarket only still attached to the tree.

As we were driving further north we noticed a bunch of people parking their cars on the side of the road and hustling towards the beach. So we pulled over to see what all the fuss was about. I'm glad we did. Swimming near the shoreline were giant turtles. You know, the kind you see at the zoo only not in the zoo. Apparently, they come in close to feed on seaweed. Or they are just really egotistical and love to have their pictures taken.


Next stop was the Polynesian Cultural Center which is like Disneyland without the cartoon mice. Criticizing the PCC is the second favorite pasttime of locals and tourists alike but, again, I liked the joint. Why are folks so afraid to admit that kitsch is fun?!


We arrived just in time for...nothing. The canoe pageant started at 2:30 so from 1:30 until then, everything comes to a screeching halt. We staked out good seats and then an hour later realized they were terrible seats.

At 3 we began touring the various villages. Each one is dedicated to a different island in the Pacific. It's a way of showcasing the various cultures without all that nasty human sacrificing nonsense.

If you're looking for hardcore anthropoligical answers, this is not the place. If you want to learn how to weave a fish out of leaves, this is the place.

My husband and the 12-year-old boy threw spears, played with poi balls and attempted to make fire. We watched the Hawaii show, the Tahitian Show and the Samoan Show. We suspected that the Samoan Show would contain the same jokes that Chief Sielu Avea had done the night before at our resort (he worked at the PCC for many years before striking out on his own) and sure enough, same jokes. Apparently, coconut cracking isn't the only tradition being passed down from generation to generation. Now they can add schtick to the list.

Cousin Benny, the host of the Hawaiian Show announced that his daughter will be playing on the US Soccer team in China next month. The crowd went wild!

On the way home, we decided to stop off at one of the beautiful North Shore beaches. Sunset Beach was made even more beautiful this time by a spectacular rainbow.

When you see a sign in Hawaii that says "Strong Current" believe it. We saw locals bobbing around in the water so we assumed the warning was an exaggeration. Well, the Hawaiians must have been amused watching a bunch of pasty white folks from Jersey being tossed around like ragdolls.

Aloha From Hawaii-- 6

We decided to stick around the resort today so our friend's 12-year-old son could take surfing lessons at 9 AM and ukulele lessons at 2. Turns out a few hundred jellyfish squashed any hope he had of riding the big wave. I suggested they combine the ukulele and surf lessons so the students could then beat the gelatinous sea creatures with their little guitars. I have no hope of ever becoming an activities director.


The JW Marriott offers a host of learning experiences... for a fee of course. Yarn Lei Making... fifteen bucks. Healthy Shoulder and Rotator Cuff Secrets... twenty-five bucks. Tiki Coconut Bank Painting... eight bucks. They might as well just hold one class called "Introduction To Your Wallet"... priceless.

My personal favorite was Intro To The Gym. At least that one was free.

Luckily our friend's girls are just happy to hang out in the complimentary pool. They didn't even let the impending rain showers dampen their good time. When our friend said to the four-year-old, "I don't like the looks of those clouds" she replied, "So, don't look at them."


At 6:30 we were all invited to a torch lighting ceremony on the central lawn. Essentially it was just a giant pitch for their Tuesday night luau called Fia Fia, which means "A Happy Celebration." To keep with the Marriott tradition it should be called "Fee-ah Fee-ah: A Pricey Celebration."



We took a seat on the side of "the stage." As entertainers we like to see what goes on behind the scenes. For instance, watching the narrator read from a piece of paper while hiding behind a palm tree made our night. We were also thrilled when a stagehand had to rush in and turn on the propane tank after several failed torch lighting attempts by the costumed dancer. To see the look of disgust on the dancer's face was worth the trip.

Hosting the show was Chief Sielu Avea the First World Fire Knife Champion and, except for the torch glitch, he puts on a top-notch presentation. The man has the comic timing of a seasoned vaudevillian. He worked the crowd like a pro. He was burning though material at a rapid pace. I kept thinking, "Buddy, slow down. You've got to do a whole new set in front of these folks tomorrow night."

But we couldn't figure out what famous comedian he sounded like. It was driving us nuts. Then our friend said, "He's channeling Paula Poundstone." So just imagine Bob Hope's material, with Poundstone's delivery, coming out of the mouth of a Samoan Chief who can also climb a tree. I think I had a dream like that once.

Aloha From Hawaii-- 5

If you're going to hike to the top of Diamond Head, I suggest you take aspirin, Tylenol, Advil, heroin or you favorite painkiller of choice before you even make the descent. In fact, if you plan on participating in any activity that involves your shins, buttocks or lower back then do so before paying the park entrance fee and beginning the climb. Those body parts won't be any good to you afterwards.


Seven of us began the hike yet only three finished. Momma and the four- and six-year-old girls opted to turn around. Smart decision. It takes a mighty hearty tyke to complete the entire trip.

After an initial steep path, you climb a series of switchbacks which lead to a series of stairs. Somewhere in there is a tunnel and then a spiral staircase to top it all off. We did the walk 20 years ago but don't remember a damn thing about it. If we didn't have a picture of us at the top, I'd swear we dreamt the whole thing.

But somehow little kids do it and old people do it and, I'm told, there was a woman today who was eight-months pregnant who did it. Although I pointed out she was probably three-months pregnant when she started.

But the view is worth all the sweat. And, boy oh boy, I sweated more than the Pope at a lesbian wedding.

Later that afternoon, we managed to get to the ukulele festival before it ended. There were hundreds of people-- young and old-- playing Tiny Tim's instrument of choice yet not one person looked like the crazy-haired musician.

Then we hopped in the car for a tour of the windward side which eventually lead to the Nu'uanu Pali pass, perhaps the windiest point on all of Oahu. It's where you should take your children if they are driving you crazy during your vacation. One stiff breeze and they're in Maui.

I just saw a TV ad for instant Kona coffee. Instant Kona coffee? How do you take the best coffee in the world and make it completely undrinkable-- make it instant!

Aloha From Hawaii-- 4

While at the Hawaii State Farm Fair this morning, we visited the animals at the 4-H pavilion (Does 4-H stand for "Hippity-Hoppity-Hippity-Hoppity" or "Hardee Har Har Har?") and I watched in horror as my friend's four-year-old daughter pet a pig's ass. And by ass I don't mean the cute, fleshy rump part that tastes so good at Easter dinner, I mean The pig's anus! She was petting the pig's anus!

Minutes later she innocently asked me why I wouldn't hold her hand. I said to her, "It's because your hands are dirty" when I really wanted to say, "It's because you petted a pig's ass!"

The pig wasn't the only one who had a good time today.

The Hawaii State Farm Fair is essentially part farmer's market, part ass-petting zoo, part carnival and part food court. We had fun sampling the various foods including pickled sea asparagus and curried rice.

This GERD Girl was ecstatic when she discovered the elusive low-acid pineapple. Prior to the trip I was devastated that this visit to Hawaii, my seventh, would not include the sweetest fruit known to man. We gladly handed over the four dollars. We'll see tomorrow if it makes me sick.



Late afternoon we checked into the JW Marriott Ko'Olina which is west of Waikiki. You have to love a hotel that offers free five-minute chair massages in the lobby. It was drool-inducing. I actually thought I might fall asleep. At one point, however, I couldn't stop laughing as the same four-year-old of ass-petting fame stood next to me and sang the "Traci Song" while I was being worked over. You know the "Traci Song" don't you? "Traaaaaaci. Traci Traci Traci. Traaaaaaaci." She actually said to the masseuse, "I can give good massages." Yes, you can sweetie. And the pig thanks you.

Aloha From Hawaii-- 3

We were asleep by 9 last night. We felt like seniors... or toddlers... or senior toddlers. We tried to make ourselves feel better by saying that we were really going to bed at 3 AM Eastern Time.

Before retiring, my freckled, ginger husband was the color of beet juice. Today I made him wear sunscreen with a 50 SPF. That's the creamy equivalent of a lead suit.


We had to get up early this morning for our Makani Catamaran breakfast cruise. To get to the pier we took the bus and by "the bus" I mean "the bus" because that's what their public transportation is called on the island... The Bus. It's quite a good little system they have here. For two dollars you can get almost anywhere on Oahu and for another two dollars you can get back.

Even though I'm deathly afraid of the ocean (Damn you Steven Speilberg and your stupid stupid stupid "Jaws" movie!) I'm always determined to get on top of the water when we're in Hawaii which is how I found myself on a catamaran before 9 AM.

The safety procedure schtick was better than most. "If your hat falls in the water, raise your hand then I'll raise my hand and we'll say bye bye." That's the biggest dilemma when going out on a boat of any kind. You need a hat to protect yourself from the glaring sun but the wind wants to take your hat and bury it in the Pacific. We just made our baseball hats headache-inducing tight. Thank goodness the bartender was non-judgmental and graciously served us rum way too early in the morning.

The weather was perfect and the view was lovely. Not a bad way to spend the morning.

We were shut out of our second activity of the day when the bastards at the Outrigger Canoe ride lied and said they couldn't take us out because their captain wasn't in. Then we watched as they took other people out for a ride. There was a surfing championship going on at the same time and I think they just wanted full-paying customers and not us losers who were using the Go Card. I was very disappointed but in vacation mode too much to put up a fight.


The rest of the day was spent near-dozing on the balcony while we waited for our friends to arrive from the mainland. Dusk was spent frolicking in the surf with their kids, listening to live Hawaiian music and watching the magnificent sunset. You gotta love this place.

Aloha From Hawaii-- 2

We've been to Hawaii seven times in the past 20 years, so this time we were determined to do some things that we've never done before... and no I'm not talking about sex.

To force us into such activities, we purchased a Go Oahu Card before we left the mainland. The premise behind this venture is fairly simple: Buy the card and cram in as many Go Oahu Card approved activities as you can in the time alloted. We bought a three-day. Today was day one.

We decided to take the Waikiki Trolley out to Sea Life Park. We nearly fell over when the lady behind the desk told us that the trip would take two hours. We had just spent 12 hours on a plane. We weren't really interested in another 120 minutes on a trolley. But since we didn't find this out until after our card was activated we had no choice but to continue on with our journey.

It turned out to be fun. We boarded with all of our Japanese fellow travelers (my husband was the only blond taking the trip) and bounced around the back of the vehicle, seated just above the deafening diesel engine and endured several kidney-jarring bumps along the way. And the wind! Oy, the wind!

We stopped at Hanauma Bay and Sandy Beach Park. We drove through several mall parking lots (one had a bust of Jack Lord) and made a U-turn inside the crater that is Diamond Head. We were supposed to go to the Halona Blowhole but the Blowhole was closed. There's nothing sadder than a closed blowhole... just ask a dolphin.



Speaking of dolphins, Sea Life Park is one strange little place. It's a bit decrepit. When we arrived a sea lion was dancing to Footloose. The poor little thing was dancing his sea lion heart out... he was flipping his flippers and wiggling his butt and rolling on the floor. The crowd gave him nothing! Nothing! I wanted to pull him aside and say, "Matinees are a bitch. You don't get paid for the shows where you kill, you get paid for the shows where you bomb."

We stayed for about 30 minutes. There wasn't much to do. So, instead of staring at the dolphins all afternoon, we decided to hike to the Makapu'u Point Lighthouse which was about a mile away.

The guidebook said it was an easy hike, perfect for families with strollers. As we walked the 2-1/2 miles straight up hill we kept thinking to ourselves, "Easy?! Strollers?!" Turns out there's another hike nearby that's easy to do with strollers. This was the hard hike. The "walking straight uphill for 2-1/2 miles" hard hike! Our haunches will never be the same.

But it was worth the pain. The view from the top is one of the prettiest we have ever seen.

Aloha From Hawaii!

I'm not a big fan of our hotel but, I have to admit, the view is pretty amazing. To our left is Diamond Head. To our right is the Pacific Ocean. Straight ahead is Kapioloni Park home to the zoo and after-dark tourist-mugging hooligans.

The Park Shore Waikiki itself is just a little run-down. It reminds me of a place where androgynous German couples wearing matching sandals would stay. On Saturday we switch to the really swanky hotel once our friends arrive.

We shared an airport shuttle last night with a hard-core Southern family who, after reading every street and business sign, were amazed by all the words that "begin with the letter K." It took everything I had not to turn around and say, "You mean like the Ku Klux Klan?"

This morning we sat out on our balcony, watched the surfers and read what little information is contained in the Honolulu Advertiser. We're still experiencing the high winds and surf left over from Tropical Storm Screwyou that passed by the islands a few days ago. Hawaii has been in the middle of a drought so the locals are tickled to have some rain.

The flight wasn't as bad as I had feared. I actually enjoyed "The Bucket List" more than I expected. Although my husband rightly pointed out the if you took away the exotic locale and changed the actors from Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman to Scott Bakula and Dorian Harewood, it could easily be a TV Movie of the Week.

Hawaii 2-O.

Traci Skene, you've just had one of the worst three month periods of your life! What are you gonna do now?


"I'm going to... Hawaii!"

To use yet another cliche, I need a vacation like nobody's business.

We take off out of Philly International on Wednesday morning and, I believe, three days later we'll land in Honolulu. Ok, it'll just seem like three days.

Even though our 20th wedding anniversary isn't until December, we're still considering this to be our 20th anniversary trip. We were married in Hawaii so we hope to recreate some of the photos we took on our honeymoon. It's a nice goal but I doubt we'll go through with our plan. (Here we are atop Diamond Head in 1988. My husband still has that shirt. I wish I still had the shirt I'm wearing... or should I say I wish I still had the boobs that would allow me to wear the shirt that I was wearing.)

I will be blogging and posting photos of our vacation starting on Thursday or Friday... assuming, of course, we have decent internet access.

Right now, I'm just trying to figure out ways to amuse myself for 12 hours on a plane. For my husband's birthday, I bought him (and yes I'll read them too) Levitt and Dubner's "Freakonomics" and "A Short History of Nearly Everything" by Bill Bryson.

I also plan on watching the craptastic inflight movies. The only way I would ever sit through "The Bucket List" or "Mad Money" is if I'm trapped on a plane.

But, at the end of the ordeal, we'll be in paradise so it'll all be worth it. Coming home will be a different story. At the end of that trip, we'll be in New Jersey.

Suze Whoreman To The Rescue!

In an article about decriminalizing prostitution in San Francisco, I discovered that Frisco hookers can choose to be part of the Erotic Service Providers Union.

Now I'm not sure this is what Woody Guthrie had in mind when he picked up his guitar and traveled the nation singing about worker's rights, but you have to admit that the ESPU certainly would have some interesting union meetings. Although I can't imagine any of them wearing matching satin jackets.

I suppose prostitutes want to unionize for all the same reasons other tax-paying citizens want to unionize (oh wait, streetwalkers don't pay taxes... the world's oldest profession operates "under the table" both literally and figuratively). Working conditions, healthcare and legal protection are probably concerns for all those engaging in hookery.

But do you think any of them are worried about pensions or retirement? Do any of these ladies of the night prepare for their future? Has there every been a ho who, in the middle of giving a handjob in a parking lot, thought to herself, "Someday I'd like to save enough money so I can move to a warmer climate and give handjobs on the beach."

These harlots need help!

That's why I'm going to write a financial guidebook called "The Stiletto-Healed Investor: How To Be Pimp-Free and Debt-Free in Five Easy Steps." Or maybe I'll stick with my original title, "Rich John, Poor John: What The Rich Teach Their Whores About Money."

Step One: Put aside the money from every fifth blowjob. Financial discipline-- not bondage and discipline-- is essential. Say to yourself, "This blowjob is for the future."

Step Two: Pay off that high interest pimp debt. Making minimum payments could take 20 years or more just to pay off the pimp principle. The faster you get out from under your pimp, the better off you'll be.

Step Three: Invest in Real Estate. The difference between a call girl and a streetwalker is location, location, location.

Step Four: Don't barter. Anal sex for a pack of cigarettes and a sandwich may seem like a good idea at the time, but cash is king. No compound interest will only compound your problems.

Step Five: Equity is not just the name of the girl who works the next corner. The more you put away, the less you'll have to put out.

Gee, do you think Oprah will make me a part of her book club?

Rejected Us Weekly Fashion Police Jokes 14

I have been a Top Cop for Us Weekly's Fashion Police since 2001. (Why do men always call it "U.S." Weekly even when they see it spelled with a big "U" and a small "s"?)

Some weeks many of my jokes are published while other weeks I have to settle for just one or two. Below is a partial list of comments that never made it to the newsstand.

Note: The ones marked "Accepted" are my comments that got in. The ones marked "Rejected" are the ones that didn't.



Portia de Rossi

Rejected: No wonder Ellen cries so much.

Rejected: Finally, a lipstick lesbian who actually wears lipstick!

Solange Knowles

Rejected: That hotel sure has some fancy towels.

Rejected: The top half doubles as a floatation device.

Hilary Duff

Accepted: Now working part-time as a Bunny Ranch realtor.

Rejected: Duffinately hideous.

Kendra Wilson

Accepted: Now starring in The Boys Next Door.

Rejected: You could fit all of Hef's girlfriends in those shorts.

Happy Birthday Brian McKim!

It's my husband's birthday today. He's 51. I can tell you that he's 51 because he doesn't look 51. Actually, he may look 51 but, luckily for him, many 51-year-old men look 61 which automatically makes him look younger. To me, he still looks like he did when he was 27-- which I suppose could mean he looked 51 back in 1984.

Here's my birthday boy performing at Goodnight's Comedy Club in Raleigh.

Not Northward Bound

Every year since 1999, my husband and I have spent the third week in July at the Just For Laughs Comedy Festival in Montreal, Quebec, Canada. But not this year. We just don't have the energy.

My failed pregnancy last month-- along with other major stress events since April-- left us drained both physically and mentally. I feared the late night partying might kill us if we tried to keep up.

But I sure am going to miss the event. We always have a great time.

In the past, we have seen some great shows and have had lots of laughs with the famous and the not-yet-famous.

Here are some of my favorite photos, two of them taken when I was still blond. In fact, I dyed my hair black the week of the festival in 2005. People who have known me for 20 years had no idea who I was. It was during those few days that I picked up the nickname Evil Traci. (On Bewtiched Samantha's evil cousin had black hair.)

That's me with Colin Quinn looking like we're announcing our engagement. Below I happily pose with the late Mitch Hedberg. That pic still makes me sad.

Two years ago, I demanded that my husband have his photo taken with Drew Carey to prove once and for all that they don't look alike. Whenever folks see this picture they say, "They look just like brothers." So much for that tactic.

Oh well. Maybe next year.

What A Bad Boy

Up until the Barenaked Ladies released their hit single "One Week" I was a huge fan of the band. Since then, however, their constant attempts to write songs similiar to their one major chart topper bores me.

But I still have great affection for the group we affectionately call "The Boys." We've seen them up close in a 200 seat venue and from a distance in large stadiums. We've been fans for so long, we actually own their early work on cassette.

So, I was terribly disappointed when I heard lead singer, Steven Page, was popped for cocaine and marijuana possession while partying with two women this past Friday in Syracuse.

I'm not naive when it comes to off-stage showbiz behavior, but I so wanted to believe that the Barenaked Ladies were just a group of wacky, clean-cut, fun-loving Canadian lads. I just didn't want to imagine any of them snorting coke off a strange woman's ass or trolling dark alleys looking to score drugs. I wanted them all to go to on picnics with their kids and play in celebrity hockey games.

Oh well, perhaps we can just blame it on the fact that there's not much to do in Syracuse. Shopping the toxic mall can only take up so much time.

Here's Steven Page singing "What A Good Boy" in 1992. Back then he looked more like a Dungeons and Dragons nerd than drug-addled rock star.

Tear Down The Old And Bring In The New

When we first starting working at the Riviera in Las Vegas back in 2005, the hotel was surrounded by other legendary casinos. Directly across the street was the Westward Ho with its neon umbrellas and the best cheap bar in all of Sin City. Across the street and to the left was the Stardust, with one of the greatest signs on the strip and, for many years, host to Wayne Newton. Further to the left, was the Frontier, home of Mickey Gilley's nightclub and the mechanical bull bikini riding contest.

Now they are all gone. Only Circus Circus and Slots of Fun remains.

The Riviera stands virtually alone amidst a sea of construction. The Fontaine Bleau and the Echelon will soon fill the void but, for now, the area outside is noisy and unpleasant.

I'm sure the new casinos will be spectacular but I will always miss the Frontier, the Stardust and-- as we affectionately called it-- the Ho. The day Slots of Fun is gone will be a sad day indeed. Soon the final 99 cent hot dog will be sold and the old Vegas will go the way of the old, old Vegas.

I can only hope the Riv survives.

Here's video of the Frontier being imploded. In my mind, it wasn't a cause for fireworks and celebration.

What Happens In Vegas...

...stays up on You Tube.

Actually, we had a pretty tame time in Sin City. We played the nickel slots (hubster won 50 bucks one time... yes, we put it back in eventually), drank the occasional Manhattan and ate a metric ton of eggs in various forms. The crowds were really good even if they were a bit smaller than usual.

Right now we're at McCarran Airport enjoying their free WIFI. Our Southwest flight should start boarding in a half-hour. We're working on 90 minutes of sleep, so we're anxious to crash-- and by crash, I mean sleep-- once we're in the air.

Thems Some Crazy Girls

For an ass man, the Crazy Girls statue in front of the Riviera Casino must be nirvana.

I love watching the tourists pose with the bronze buttocks. Everybody from midwest grandmas to drunken fratboys to shy Japanese teens stand next the borderline obscene public art and grin a silly grin. Many rub the posteriors (for good luck I suppose?) which is why the finish is missing on many of the cheeks.

The original models posed for this work in the late 1990's. I wonder how good they would look today if a reunion picture was taken? I'm guessing there would be a lot more dimples.

What Happens In A Vegas Bowling Alley...

From this day forward, I shall be known throughout the land as Traci "Tenth Frame" Skene!

Last night after our show, I went to the Goldcoast Casino Bowling Center with my husband, Brian "Nine Pin" Mckim and fellow comic, John "I'll Never Again Bowl With The Mckims" DiCrosta for one dollar game, one dollar shoe rental and one dollar draft night.

I hadn't bowled in years and, true to form, I was an embarrassment in game one. But I found the pocket in game two and soundly beat my two male rivals. After suffering the humiliation of being beaten by a girl, however, they both rallied in game three leaving me in the dust even though I posted my best score of the night.

Overall, I had an evening high seven strikeouts, three of them in the tenth frames, leading to my new nickname.

Vegas was a ghostown earlier in the week but folks are finally flooding into Sin City as the weekend approaches. One of the groups having a convention here at the Riv are the albinos. I always thought albinos had to stay out of the sun so I can't figure out why they are gathering in the desert in July. Personally, I love that they are here because for once, I actually look tan by the pool. Yesterday, a middle-age albino man walked past us wearing a confederate flag T-shirt. My husband said, "Look, there's a really, really white supremacist."

After lunch at PF Chang's today, we went to the Bellagio to see my favorite Vegas attraction, the conservatory and gardens. Each season the theme changes but each one is more beautiful than the next. Today we were treated to trains, flowers and animated figures made of natural materials. It's like a stationary Rose Bowl parade.

The Man Who Started It All

Last night, Reverend Richard B. Elsner, the man who officiated at our wedding nearly 20 years ago, was in the audience at the Riviera Comedy Club in Las Vegas. What a thrill!

Here we are posing in the showroom shortly after our performance.

I can't wait to buy a double frame and put this picture next to the one that was taken of the three of us in 1988.

Greetings From Las Vegas

I've been working in Las Vegas on and off for 20 years yet it's still exciting to see my name on a casino marquee. I can't even begin to tell you, however, how disappointing it is when my name is spelled incorrectly.



They got the last name right but, for the rest of the week, I will be known to the folks in Sin City as Tracy with a Y and not Traci with an I. Oh well, it could be worse. Outside the showroom my husband, Brian is being billed as "Brain" Mckim.

Make It Stop!

I'm sitting at the Pittsburgh airport listening to a languid and bittersweet orchestral composition playing over the sound system in a two-minute loop. Every 120 seconds it starts. Every 120 seconds it ends. Every 120 seconds it starts up again.

I'm two hours early for my flight which means I will have heard the same song 60 times before I board. God help me if we're delayed.

Cleveland Rocks!

Here we are trying to look like hard-core rockers in this self-portrait in front of the Rock 'N' Roll Hall of Fame. Instead, my husband looks like a nerdy bouncer who is trying to protect a bloated, drug-addled former child star. Yikes, next time we'll smile.

There are three things I don't like about Cleveland's Rock Hall of Fame: 1. It's in Cleveland when it should have been in Philadelphia. 2. The dim lighting makes it hard for anybody over the age of 29 to read the information plaques. 3. Madonna.

Otherwise, it's a great attraction and well worth the visit. At times, however, I was overwhelmed by the amount of artifacts. There's everything from Janis Joplin's Porsche to Ritchie Valens' roller skates to Elvis Presley's unpaid hotel bills.

Of course, there are a lot of guitars and a ton of costumes. I began to think that Jimi Hendrix is the only normal size person in rock history. Everybody else is teeny-tiny. The combined weight of all the Rolling Stones doesn't equal one 1980's Aretha Franklin.

The music playing over the sound system keeps everybody happy. It certainly is the most festive and upbeat museum we've ever visited.

I suppose if Philadelphia had won the bid for the Rock 'N' Roll Hall of Fame, we would have found a way to screw it up. How many times could you go to the Hall & Oats Wing to see the Lola Falana Tribute Show?

Later, we accidentally found the best place to watch the fireworks shot over the Cuyahoga River. We sat on the pier as the lights expoded just behind the Harold H. Burton Bridge. It was quite a beautiful sight.

Prior to the fireworks we had to search for a Cleveland Plain Dealer box so we could purchase today's paper. We got a hit to promote our Improv shows this week. No, my husband didn't say he looks like Drew Carey on crack. Don't believe everything you read... unless it's written by me.

She Bangs! She Bangs! Oh Baby!

The people next door decided to put on rap music and have sex at 3 AM. Or the people next door are a hip-hop magic act who felt the need in the middle of the night to work on their sawing a woman in half trick. Either way, we were thrilled when they finally said, "Ta-dah!"

Just as we were drifting off, they went for round two. It was really annoying because you could tell by the rhythm that they weren't exactly into it. I wanted to bang on the wall and yell, "Go to sleep! No good could come of this!"

We can't control the air conditioning in the Cleveland comedy condo where we are staying this week. It's early July, yet I shivered under two quilts last night. My friend and fellow comic Leighann Lord just blogged about taking duct tape on the road so she can seal up the vents in places where she can't control the AC. The woman is a stinking genius!

Feng shui- wise, this apartment is a disaster. The ceilings are too high, it's too long and the layout seems to have been designed by M.C. Escher. I now firmly believe that bad architects should be brought up on charges and possibly jailed for what they do to society.

I guess this is a long-winded way of saying that I don't think I'll be sleeping until we land in Vegas next week.

Unfortunately, there was no sightseeing today. We had to shop for all the things I forgot to pack.

On The Road Again

There's nothing quite like the shock of waking up in a hotel you checked into at 1 AM and realizing that it hasn't been cleaned since the Carter administration. Apparently, there's something about darkness and fatigue that allows you to overlook such basic problems at night.

After a few hours of sleep, we checked out as quickly as possible and resumed our trip west to Cleveland. We're working at the Improv this week. It's been years since we've performed in this part of the Buckeye state so we're hoping to do a little sightseeing while we're here. On the short list of things to do is the Rock 'N' Roll Hall of Fame and the house where "A Christmas Story" was filmed.

On Monday, we fly to Vegas for a week at the Riviera Comedy Club. Should be an interesting two weeks... for me anyway. I'll try to make it interesting for you as well.