It's Up And It's Good

I am not pretentious about many things but, when it comes to Christmas trees, I am a complete snobola. My treelitism goes back only one generation to my parents who were equally fussy about O Tannenbaum.

In my childhood home, a fake tree would have been as welcome as a bottle of Mad Dog 2020 in a sommelier's personal wine cellar. And just like a lover of fine wine will spend money he doesn't have on a bottle of exquisite cabernet, my lower-middle class dad always bought the biggest, fattest, finest tree available without even glancing at the price tag.

Each year my mother would ask, "Do you think it's too big?" Then each year we would somehow stuff an eight foot tree into a tiny row home with seven foot ceilings. Once we had to remove panels from our dropped ceiling to accommodate the piney Goliath. During another Christmas season we had to actually walk on our couch because there was no room available to navigate out to the kitchen.

Holly jolly, I loved our trees! The late author Spalding Gray used to talk about "perfect moments," those snippets in time where everything seemed just right. Sitting on the couch with my mom, listening to Bing Crosby with our only light coming from the 1,200 tiny bulbs my dad strung on the tree with much hissing and cursing, was one of those occasions. Of course, a few years ago Mr. Gray committed suicide by jumping off a boat so perhaps he had no idea what he was talking about.

The tree was always put up on Christmas Eve. My dad did the lights but Santa did the decorating while we slept. Three new ornaments were purchased every year-- one for each kid-- and we would hang them ourselves before going to bed. My mother had a strict "no balls" policy. We were ornament people. Balls were for people with fake trees from Sears.

As an adult, I've still maintained some of the "too big, real and no ball" traditions, but there is no way I can ever wait until December 24 to break out the tree stand. This year, in fact, the tree was decorated before November was even complete.



Over the years, my husband and I have started our own tradition by collecting ornaments from the different states where we've performed. Since we've worked in all 50 states, we have no problem covering our evergreen friend. We call it our Travel Tree and it's a nice way to reminisce about the places we've been.

But I wish Santa would still do the decorating like he did when I was little. That part-- as my grandmother would say-- is a pain in the kiester.



Above is my cotton angel from Alabama. Below is my turtle from South Carolina.

GERD Friday

I took a big, fat Prilosec yesterday morning and an itty-bitty Zantac as soon as I got home last night, yet the base of my throat feels like it has been hit by a blow torch. I'm paying the price for overindulgence.

But, how could I refuse seconds on Thanksgiving? Not eating as much as humanly possible on the prime eating holiday of the year is like forgoing candy on Halloween to trick or treat for UNICEF. It's just not right.

I can't sit around all day long, however, and nurse my food hangover. I must brave the Black Friday shopping crowds to purchase a new microwave. Ours up and died. But at least it died overnight in its sleep. I would have hated to see it suffer.

Happy Thanksgiving!

A short audio clip from my husband's act called "Turkey Sex." Appropriate for the holidays? Perhaps. Safe for work? Not at all! (He uses the "F-word!" And I don't mean "feathers!")

The Eating Season

November 25 was opening day of Eating Season here at McKim/Skene stadium.

Last night we battled the pasta maker and cranked out "Oh, man! This is good" roasted butternut squash and goat cheese ravioli with sage butter.

Today we began devouring the corn bread I made for tomorrow's stuffing.

We've checked, what my husband calls, our "strategic butter reserve" to make sure we have enough on hand to bake the dozens of butter cookies we will force upon our weight-watching guests throughout December. A friend used to ask, "Are you making those f**king cookies?" Resistance is futile.

I will end the season on a cruise so I should be up to 225 lbs. by New Year's Eve.

As I strain to button my jeans in January, I'll just remind myself that food is love. And then I'll put on loose-fitting sweatpants.

Or I'll just start skipping lunch and increase my weightlifting regimen to make up for the additional calories.

Damn, I should have put sage butter on the cornbread. Oh well, there's always tomorrow... and tomorrow... and every tomorrow between now and December 31.

Boyfriend 2

One of the more popular numbers on my cell phone was starting to stick which was driving me batty. Since my current model is no longer being manufactured, we decided to buy a used one off Ebay.

The woman who sold it to us forgot to erase her phone numbers before popping the item into the mail, so we cracked up when we saw two of her listings identified as Boyfriend and Boyfriend 2.

This is precisely why Maury Povich will continue to have a long and prosperous career with his paternity test theme shows. "Boyfriend 2... you are not the father!"

And On The Eighth Day He Rested

Finally, something to talk about around the Thanksgiving dinner table.

KLTV 7 News: 7 straight days of sex. That was the challenge Pastor Ed Young issued to all of the married couples at his Grapevine church.

Come again?

The message caught some members of Fellowship Church by surprise, and its perking the ears of East Texans.

"Between a married man and a married woman...the more, the better."

Young says the challenge will help couples in his church focus on each other, reclaiming sex for married people.

Oh, it'll help married couples focus alright... on the clock and the calendar and the exit.

Seven straight days? Is he serious? For some couples, that's the equivalent of an entire year's worth of sex!

Minister Mark Edge says sex is in the Bible. So why not the church? In fact, he says last week's sermon was about Christian sexuality.

"God's Word is certainly not ashamed to talk about this. God's Word understands. God understands that it is a very important part of our lives....we really should have been talking about this all along," said Edge.

This concept does seem to dovetail nicely into my scathingly brilliant idea to produce Christian Porn. Let's face it, after night number four, most married couples who are taking the challenge will need some assistance.

My Christian Porn will have plot lines revolving around Biblical themes. For instance, while Lott is giving it to his wife doggy style, she looks back and turns into a pillar of salt. Talk about your second coming!

"There's so much about connection, emotion stuff...there's so much about value that's being passed back and forth. If a wife doesn't feel valued, or if a husband doesn't feel love or respected, hey, there's some issues that have to be dealt with," said Clark.

Or what if Wednesday is just a really great night for television?

I actually admire the pastor for coming up with such a kooky idea. It's a bit ambitious, but it's well-intentioned.

But he would have been better off issuing the Two-A-Day Challenge or the Long Holiday Weekend Challenge or the Doing It In The Guest Room Closet At Your Mother-In-Law's House Over Thanksgiving Challenge. Those are benchmarks easily met by most spouses.

Seven straight days? This is seriously going to cut into our running schedule.

Go Elf Yourself... Again!

This morning Pop Candy alerted its readers to the new and improved Office Max Elf Yourself website. We did it last year and giggled throughout the holiday season.

This year they've partnered with Jib Jab so the choices are more varied. We needed a third elf for the country line dance so we uploaded a picture we took several months ago of Last Comic Standing host Bill Bellamy.

Send your own ElfYourself eCards

Rejected Us Weekly Fashion Police Jokes 20

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.



Mena Suvari

Accepted: A cover-up that needs a cover-up?

Rejected: What a wood nymph would wear on a cruise.

Elle Macpherson

Accepted: What the Elle is that?!

Rejected: Apparently, she couldn't afford the entire tiger suit.

Viggo Mortensen

Rejected: What the Beatles wore when they performed in Hell.

Rejected: What Santa wore in the '60's.

Food For Thought

My husband and I are going to my brother and sister-in-law's house for Thanksgiving this year. There will only be four of us for dinner but it seems like we're cooking for the other 30 people who might show up.

We've decided on a Southwest theme which, I admit, is a few years behind the foodie trends. Three years ago, we would have been hip and trendy with our menu choice. Now it's like we're dressing our turkey in a leisure suit.

But it'll be good dammit so who cares what our culinary peers think!

By 6 PM on Thursday-- or 7 depending on how many Manhattans we drink-- we'll be dining on salted roast turkey with with chipotle glaze and carmelized onion gravy, mashed sweet potatoes with chipotles, mashed yukon gold potatoes with carmelized onions and sage, corn bread and chorizo stuffing, green beans, popovers and pumpkin mousse with whipped cream.

Oh, you can bet this GERD girl is going take Prilosec! (And there will be plenty of Lactaid pills for the men.)

Oops, I think I just drooled on my keyboard.

Ode To Joy

I haven't agreed with comic Joy Behar since the late 1980's when she told me I shouldn't marry my husband because he was too skinny. She added, "He doesn't have two legs, he has one leg cut in half."

I could never figure out why Ms. Behar thought a skinny husband would make a bad husband. Perhaps she thought his two half-legs couldn't carry my fat ass out of a burning building.

But, in 20 years, my skinny boyfriend has ballooned into a thin husband so I think I won that round.

Two decades later, Joy Behar's logic still escapes me. What she recently said about President-elect Obama on The View, however, just pisses me off.

I think it’s very unpatriotic for a lot of people to put him down already before the guy has even had a chance.

To quote John Stossel, "Gimme a break!"

Now, I don't have a problem with ideologues but I do have a serious problem with hypocritical ideologues. Where was Joy Behar's support for President-elect Bush from the time he "stole" the election from Al Gore until his inauguration that January? Was her very public criticism of him unpatriotic?

I didn't vote for Barak Obama but I've also said repeatedly that I hope I'm wrong about the man and he turns out to be a great president. Joy Behar never gave W the same consideration.

Besides, if Brian was too skinny to be my husband than why isn't Barack too skinny to be president?

Phlegmington Steele

The guy in the apartment below has been waking us up every morning with his hacking, wheezing and gagging. My husband alternately calls him Phlegmington Steele, Sir Ian Phlegming and-- he's particularly proud of this obscure reference-- Phlegm Kadiddlehopper.

I'm hoping this is just a temporary bout with bronchitis because I can't exactly call my landlord and say, "Could you please ask the dude in 12 to die quieter?"

My real fear is my congested neighbor will become one of those old people who likes to light up a cigarette while leaning on a portable oxygen tank. I'd hate to be awakened one day by the sound of my own body exploding.

Today I had to wake up early anyway because the part of our wall which was damaged by the leaky roof is being painted. Since I also have an afternoon appointment with my OBGYN-Kenobi, I was forced to take the much dreaded "first thing in the AM" shower. I've always despised getting wet in the morning. For this reason-- along with my fear of water-- I had no chance of ever becoming an Olympic swimmer.

But you can't see your gyno without cleaning up first. (Am I right, ladies?) I'd like to think the doc appreciates my efforts. Can you imagine how creepy it would be if, 24 hours beforehand, a receptionist leaves a message saying, "I'm calling to confirm your 2:30 appointment and the doctor requests that you don't shower."

So, here I sit, cranky and feeling very put upon. My disposition is that of a cat who has accidentally stepped in syrup.

I think today has "nap" written all over it.

Houston, We Have A Problem

HOUSTON (AP) - Flight controllers were revamping plans Wednesday for the remaining spacewalks planned during space shuttle Endeavour's visit to the international space station, after a crucial tool bag floated out to space during a repair trip.

The briefcase-sized tool bag drifted away from astronaut Heidemarie Stefanyshyn-Piper on Tuesday as she cleaned and lubed a gummed-up joint on a wing of solar panels on the space station. She and fellow astronaut Stephen Bowen were midway through the first of four spacewalks planned for the mission. The tool bag was one of the largest items ever lost by a spacewalker.

Oh, you know the male astronauts are never going to let her hear the end of this!

For years, female spacemen have had to endure the "pulling over in orbit and asking for directions" jokes, but now that a woman has lost a tool bag, their lives are going to be a living hell.

I can just hear the Tim Allen- aka Tim "Tool Time" Taylor-- grunts as they walk down the hallways. Gift certificates for Sears' Craftsman tools will spill from their lockers. Men will grab themselves and say, "Here's a tool bag you won't want to lose."

Not since astronaut Lisa Marie Nowak strapped on a diaper and tried to kidnap her lover's wife have astrobabes been viewed so poorly.

In all fairness, a male astronaut would never have lost something as precious to him as a set of tools. A grocery list? Maybe. A screw driver? No way!

Lance and Lacey

My husband has decided that Lacey Schwimmer-- dance partner of Lance Bass-- is his favorite Dancing With The Stars babe. This makes me happy because most people think she's fat. I like that my husband is attracted to a pair of thighs that could crush a man's skull.

Hubby doesn't really watch the show. Usually he just sits in his office chair, several feet away from the TV, looking up occasionally to assess the women and their costumes. If he starts coughing, I know he likes what he sees. Last night he coughed... a lot.

For their first dance, Lance and Lacey mambo-ed to a song called "Let's Go Straight To Number One" by Touch And Go. I think my husband's pants went from six to twelve.

Love And War

I wasn't shocked and appalled when gay "Comic Turned Talk Show Host" Ellen DeGeneres married "Men Can't Believe She's Gay" Portia de Rossi. But I was shocked and appalled when I read the newly married couple served only vegan food at their reception.

As a dairy-loving carnivore, I was offended. As a heterosexual... not so much.

Of course, after the passing of California's Prop 8, the DeGeneres/de Rossi marriage is now DeNull and de Void.

This past weekend, angry gays, lesbians and their supporters gathered in major and not-so-major cities (apparently the marchers in Fargo were very polite) to protest their shocking political defeat. In an effort to equate the gay marriage issue to the civil rights struggles of the 1960's, some held signs proclaiming "Gay is the new Black."

I don't think most Americans-- including African-Americans-- are buying the comparison.

I think what the gay movement lacks is their own equivalent of Dr. Martin Luther King. It's hard to get mainstream credibility when Rosie O'Donnell is your most visible spokesperson.

Where are the memorable and passionate speeches that can be quoted for generations? Where are the stirring words that will convince people to judge a man by the content of his character and not the genitalia of his chosen partner?

And for Pete's sake, when you march on Selma please tell the drag queens named Selma to leave the high heels at home. If you want to convince fly-over country that homosexuals are just like everybody else, then maybe, just maybe you should put away the dog collars and leather vests. It's Public Relations 101!

Some of the more militant gay activists decided to skip the marches to spend their hard-earned time harassing the Mormon church and their many members who donated millions of dollars in support of Prop 8.

Sorry folks, but interrupting church services will not help you in your cause. It will only serve to piss off all the other religious groups who like to worship in peace. This is not the way to change hearts and minds. More likely this will only serve to change more hearts and more minds against you.

Besides, I can sort of sympathize with the Mormons. If the definition of marriage is changed from "one man/one woman" to "one man/one man" or "one woman/one woman" then it's only a matter of time before polygamist insist that it should also include "one man/many ugly women."

Contrary to what you see on HBO's Big Love, mainstream Mormons do not want polygamy back in their church. The Osmond tour bus is already bursting at the seams.

Redefining an institution that's been around since before recorded history, should not be taken lightly. The concerns of those who defend the status quo should be taken as seriously as those of gay marriage proponents. Asking questions does not automatically make you homophobic. Having reservations does not mean you hate or fear gays.

Dialogue is what's needed now. Thuggish tactics will not help.

And please, do yourself another favor and tell Prop 8 opponent Brad Pitt to keep his sexy trap shut. A man who destroys his first marriage through infidelity and then refuses to wed the mother of his three biological children has zero credibility when it comes to matrimony-- gay or otherwise.

My One Year Blogging Anniversary

On my very first blogging day, I posted three items: Rejected Us Weekly Fashion Police Jokes, an excerpt from the Joyce Lee Method of Scientific Facial Exercises and a story about Santas in Sydney who could no longer say Ho Ho Ho because it might be offensive to women.

Since then I've scaled back my postings to an average of one per day in an effort to avoid burnout. But I am proud of myself for publishing 348 blog posts (including this one) during my first 12 months.

Of course, I have to thank my husband for encouraging me to do this in the first place. I also have to thank my cyber/comedy buddy Suzy Soro over at Where Hot Comes To Die for giving me much needed advice early on.

It's been fun to bitch about politics and pop culture, chronicle my travels and share with the cyber world things that make me giggle.

I'm looking forward to year number two. I hope you are too.

3... 2... 1... We Have Liftoff

There are only a few events in my adult life that have literally made me jump for joy like a five-year-old who just got a puppy for Christmas. One of those gleefully hopping moments occurred as I stood on Cocoa Beach watching a night launch of the space shuttle many years ago.

Last night's lift-off of Endeavor reminded me of that fantastically awesome cool point in time.

We had been working in Central Florida when we found ourselves with a night off between gigs. Shuttles launches are big news in the Sunshine State so we pointed our rental car towards the coast, hoping and praying the weather Gods would smile upon us and the blastoff wouldn't be canceled.

Some locals suggested we stand on the beach, just two or three miles from the launch pad. I think their exact words were, "Oh, don't worry, you'll see it."

Hubby very smartly brought a transistor radio so we could listen to the countdown. The excitement was palpable.

As the sky lit up a brilliant orange, a cheer went up from the assembled crowd. For a brief moment, fear replaced happiness as the world seemed to come to an end. When the glowing ball that was the shuttle headed for the horizon we followed it, drawn toward it like zombies. When it disappeared into space, we found ourselves thigh deep in ocean water. The sights, sounds and smells were spectacular.

When we lived in California, we woke up painfully early to drive over the Angeles Mountains into the desert to watch the shuttle land at Edwards Air Force Base. While the sonic booms were worth the drive it still couldn't compare to the night launch in Florida.

Whenever I get disgusted with the comedy business, I use to shuttle memory to remind myself of how lucky I am to get paid to travel this great land of ours. I've seen things most Americans only dream of witnessing in person. Mentally, it makes me jump for joy.

Palin Hoax

Whatever happened to the old journalistic adage If your mother says she loves you, check it out?

Apparently, the folks over at MSNBC need to tack these words up on a wall.

In their hyper-partisan effort to destroy the Governor of Alaska, Olbermann and Company fell hook, line and sinker for an elaborate hoax designed to make them look like the the incompetent weasels they are.

But it seems only the former Vice-Presidential nominee was hurt by these falsehoods.

MSNBC shouldn't just apologize, they should make room on their primetime schedule for "The Sarah Palin Show." At the very least Rachael Maddow should be forced to eat moose chili while riding on a snow machine with Joe Biden. Afterwards, Rachael could write "I'm sorry Sarah" in the snow with her penis.

Read the whole sickening story here.

Just One Of Those Days

It was rainy. I was cold. My yawns were coming fast and furious.

I took a nap. It didn't help.

It's still rainy. I'm still cold. My yawns are now just under the surface.

I wish my husband would carry me around on his back for the rest of the day. I should invent a baby sling for spouses. This non-sexual device could allow hubby to go about his daily activities while still comforting the blob he married. Should I tell him about my idea? I should lose some weight before I ask.

I have to iron. I have to do something about the slippery spot on the kitchen floor. I don't feel like doing either.

There's a huge zit on the bottom of my face that makes me look like I have a Kennedy jaw.

I can't seem to put on my bunny slippers without getting the ears stuck inside. It's even more frustrating when it's just one ear.

I should eat some walnuts.

Damn, there's only enough vermouth left for one Manhattan. Oh well, it's too early for a drink anyway. I'd go to the liquor store but I don't feel like getting wet.

I'm still not used to the sun dropping before 5. This is my 43rd autumn. You'd think I'd be more familiar with the pattern by now.

I should turn on some lights.

Or I should just go back to bed.

Socks Fan

I strolled into Walmart late this afternoon, pulled out my debit card and purchased 24 pairs of socks for $19.50. Of course, the minute I wash them I will have 22 1/2 pairs of socks and, inexplicably, four months from now I will have 28 pairs of socks with only six being a perfect match.

My first inclination after my sock buying extraveganza was to come home and toss out every pair of tootsie covers I own. But, in an effort to be environmentally aware, I have decided to use the socks with holes for dusting rags (yes, they'll be clean socks... yes, I've been wearing socks with holes) and the rest will be worn one more time before tossing them into the garbage.

To prove that I can be disciplined, I will refuse to crack open the fresh socks until the last pair of the old ones has been discarded. Man, you'd think I was raised during the depression.

I also tried to buy underwear (OKAY, OKAY I've also been wearing underwear with holes! Will you get off my back?!) but there weren't any in my size. When I concluded that most of the women in this world must have the same ass as me, my husband said, doing his best Oscar Wilde impression, "Oh, if that were only true."

By Thanksgiving, I'm determined to have an underwear drawer that is the envy of all. Or at the very least, have an underwear drawer that won't embarrass me if a reality show TV crew shows up and starts going through my girlie things.

Veterans Day

My paternal grandfather was a bomber during World War II. My husband's father was part of the 45th division who had the unpleasant task of cleaning up Hitler's Germany-- including the death camps-- as the conflict was ending. My father was a paratrooper during peacetime who lost many of his friends years later in Vietnam.

I have always had great respect for the brave men and women who serve this country. On the few occasions when I've been asked to entertain the troops I have done so gladly.

Those of us who don't wear the uniform have an obligation to show our gratitude to those who do now and to those who have in the past.

Thank you.

(A friend just told me about a raffle being held at AnySoldier.com. One hundred dollars gives you the chance to win a big old farm house in Maryland. There are cash prizes as well. The money goes to a very good cause. Yes, we're buying a ticket.)

The Battle Continues

We discovered last night that two of our networked computers have a virus. Poor hubby was up until 5 AM and then back on the phone with Bangalore first thing this morning. His case has been upgraded so we hope to have this resolved in 24 hours.

Yet he does not rest. His battle with the worm has taken on Dune-like proportions. All I can do is bring him the occasional grape soda and kiss him on top of the head.

I just heard hubby exclaim, "Holy God I think I fixed it myself!"

So far so good.

Elmo's Christmas Countdown

To an adult's ears, there is probably no more irritating noise than the one which emanates from Elmo's plush lips. To babies, however, Elmo is Elvis. Their worship of the little red annoying one is legendary.

So, when the 16-month-old I was babysitting this past Saturday wanted to watch her favorite video, I had to put my own wants aside to please the enthusiastic tot.

In Elmo's Christmas Countdown Ben Stiller-- or should I say Ben Stiller's voice-- stars as an inept elf who needs Elmo's help to save the holiday. Elmo, inexplicably, has many A-lister friends who are willing to help him in his quest. Sheryl Crow, Jamie Foxx, Charles Gibson, Brad Paisley, Alisha Keys and others sing songs, act in sketches and occasionally give inspirational speeches to Elmo and his stuffed posse. Mercifully, it's only 47 minutes long. Unfortunately, we had to watch it twice.

The best part about hanging out with a boddler (not quite a baby, not yet a toddler) is that you can say whatever you want without fear of them actually understanding what it is you're saying. So when you exclaim during Jennifer Hudson's over-the-top rendition of Carol of the Bells, "This is an abomination!" the wee one will squeal with delight if you say it with the same excitement as, "Look at the cute puppy!"

The tot-ling was seemingly unimpressed when I told her that my husband had once played poker with Santa Claus aka Kevin James aka The King of Queens. She was similarly disinterested when I bragged that Steve Schirippa, who played Ernie, runs the Riviera Comedy Club in Las Vegas and books me once a year. What good is name dropping when your audience can only respond with "Ball?"

But it was weird for me to have had real-life contact with folks who are appearing in a Sesame Street video. I was four when Sesame Street first hit the public broadcasting airwaves, so I've grown up with the show. Who knew that the little girl sitting in front of a black and white television would someday turn into a middle-aged woman with a tangential connection to show business?

I suppose my real goal should be to eventually appear in a Sesame Street video. (At least I know I can sing better than Anne Hathaway.) My fear is that I'd go mental and strangle Elmo on camera. Sure it would make the kids cry but I bet the parents would watch it again and again.

Rejected Us Weekly Fashion Police Jokes 19

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.



Marissa Jaret Winokur

I didn't submit comments for this photo. I guess I felt bad about making fun of a chubby chic who is trying to look nice.

Debra Messing

Rejected: Looks like Debra forgot de bra.

Rejected: Dress made from the flag of The Republic of Lameland.

Melanie Brown

Accepted: Star Wars V: Return of the Cleavage.

Rejected: "Thank you for flying Air Mars."

$1.95 Per Gallon

That's what we just paid for gas in southern New Jersey. Finally, the price has dropped below two dollars. A few months ago, I was just hoping it would drop below three.

I think we'll spend our savings on candy and gum... or whiskey and sharp provolone. We haven't decided.

Got Stuck With The Q

My husband and I decided to take our minds off the crushing stress of the last few days by teaming up against our laptop in advanced Scrabble. Maven-- as our computer likes to be called when in Scrabble mode-- proved to be a formidable opponent yet he was no match for our his and hers brains.

He beat us a few times but not by much. We, however, kicked his computer chip ass on several occasions even besting his single turn score by picking up 131 points for using all of our letters and straddling two triples. It was a thing of beauty!

Scrabble strategy is similar to baseball: you can win with the long ball but it's small ball that often leads to victory. It's "ax" and "ox' for 34 points that can make the difference.

The only low point was when my egg-head hubby made me feel like a literary neanderthal by scoring big with the word "vicuna." Apparently, it's a type of llama. I'm lucky if I can spell llama. He tried to make me feel better by saying, "Very few people outside of the llama industry know the word vicuna."

Maven may have artificial intelligence but my husband has artificial sincerity.

Hide The Girls

I can't even imagine what it's like to grow up in the White House. As a child, it must seem magical. As a teenager, it must be incredibly annoying.

For the next four years, Sasha and Malia Obama will be followed everywhere by their new sullen "uncles" who wear dark suits and sunglasses and seem to have a fondness for talking into their wrists. For the next four year, every legitimate and trashy publication will want to publish their pictures and report on their daily activities. For the next four years, they will have to continue to behave themselves in public and learn not to publicly tell cute stories about how daddy makes noises with his butt or give out other potentially embarrassing details.

The fact that they couldn't be any cuter will just make things even harder. Let's face it, we're lookists in this country. We just love gazing upon adorable children. It will be impossible to keep these two out of the public eye.

I just hope everybody will be kind in their treatment of the Obama girls. In fact, I'd be happy if we didn't see them at all until 2012. Let them have their childhood. As weird as it will be, it will still be theirs to cherish.

On A Personal Note

I just found out that my dad has to have open heart surgery. So, I'm drinking a Manhattan and not currently giving a rat's ass about who runs our country.

President Obama?

It's looking that way.

I voted against Barack Obama because I believe in a strong military, lower taxes and smaller government. I'm for school choice and opposed to universal healthcare.

I never thought John McCain was the ideal candidate, but his views on these issues were closer to my way of thinking than Barack Obama.

But it seems my fellow Americans wanted change more than anything else.

Jimmy Carter was a Democratic President with a Democratic majority in Congress and we spent four years wearing sweaters and dealing with high inflation. I hope this isn't Jimmy Carter's second term.

I predict-- if Obama does win tonight-- that he will not be victorious four years from now. If he governs from the far left, as I suspect, then he won't prevail in the general election. If he governs from the center, he won't even win his party's nomination.

But, eight years ago, I went to bed with President Gore and woke up with President Bush. (Figuratively speaking, of course.) So, it ain't over 'til it's over.

Nudist Group Wants Clothing-Optional Polling Site

Hanging chads... exit polls... pull the lever... let the punchlines begin!

LAND O' LAKES, Fla. (AP) - A nudist community on Florida's west coast wants to establish the first clothing-optional polling site.

Oh boy, I wonder if the election site would still be manned by little old ladies? Please don't even mention their cookies!

Nudists just may be the most self-centered, egotistical people on the planet. Do they have to be naked for everything? Can't they keep it in their pants when they get out the vote?

Oh well, I suppose it would cut down on long lines. Who wants to stand in front of a creepy naked guy for six hours?

Election Eve

Four years ago today, some polls (rhymes with Hogby) were predicting that John Kerry would win 300 electoral votes. When are pollsters going to realize that people lie? They lie on the way into the voting booth and they lie on the way out. Why? Because it's nobody's business who we vote for. That's why it's private.

This is the first time in my adult life I've let it be known which candidate I'm supporting. In the past, I've lied. I wish I had lied this year. My honest support for McCain has caused some people to call me a racist. My refusal to support Hillary caused other people to brand me as an enemy to my gender. If I had a time machine, I would go back and slap an Obama sticker on my car window, then quietly vote Republican.

People lie for good reasons. Tomorrow should be interesting.

David Byrne In Concert

My husband worked at the Borgata in Atlantic City this past week. One of the best things about the gig is the schedule: One show each night, Monday-Thursday and Sunday. Occasionally the comics have to work on Friday and Saturday but, if other acts are scheduled to appear in the venue on the weekends, then those nights are free.

Luckily for us, David Byrne performed on Saturday night. We've both been fans of his since the Talking Heads days. Apparently, most of the graying audience jumped on the Byrne bandwagon back in the late '70's as well. When the AARP eligible crowd stood up to dance, I was afraid somebody would fall and break a hip.

Byrne, his band members, the back-up singers and the three Twyla Tharp-ish dancers were all clad in white which must make laundry on the road so much easier. Although I couldn't help but wonder what the female terpsichoreans do when it's their time of the month.

Take Me To The River, Burning Down The House and Once In A Lifetime were probably the most recognizable songs of the evening. Many of the new songs with Brian Eno were really catchy, although two of them we were not crazy about. My husband said the one sounded like it could be on the soundtrack of Madagascar 3. Two songs later I whispered in his ear, "And this one is from Over The Hedge 4."

Overall, it was a great concert. The Borgata's Music Box with its 1,000 seats is an amazing place to see a band. Although it was a little weird to see David Byrne stand on the exact spot where my husband stood only two nights earlier.

Plus the bands rarely take their booze with them so the green room is nicely stocked when the comics return on Sunday night.

Here's Strange Overtones from the new album. (Yes, I'm old school. I still call them albums.)

Tito The Builder

Move over Joe The Plumber!