"NEWS ON THE RADIO HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY"

People, listen up. Today is a super important day. Besides Tet. Why is that, you ask? I'll tell you. Today is the birthday of one of the dearest friends, kindest souls, the menschiest of the mensches and one of the funniest broads I know. That's right, kids. Today is that Katie Schwartz's's birthday! Darling Schwartzeleh, have yourself the most wonderful day ever. This is your year, doll.

She's going to kill me twice for telling, but she is such a great friend and so fabulous that I simply had to flap my trap. So, do me a solid and click over and wish her a very special day. Go on, go on.

"THE QUEEN IS (NOT) DEAD"

Hi kids. The weather is weird, I'm working hard and being busy, Pilcrow is coming along nicely, the editing phase is done with Katie Schwartz's's's book and we're just double-checking and such right now, mostly, my parents are moving but staying on the coast, I feel a little tired, I have more to do today before the day is over, my friends in New Orleans are hoeing down today, I finished a few writing projects this morning, I think I will have an early dinner, I don't even want to discuss my shower, my cat is sweet and napping, Clitter is funny (particularly "sparklebabies" at the end), my apartment is warm, on The Yay/Oy Vey Scale, things are firmly yay. No complaints.

"I WAS DETAINED"

Let's play Yay/Oy Vey. I play this every day, and it's great. Okay, this is how you play: Make two lists about your day, on your blog, on paper, or just in your mind, how I usually do. One is the "yay" list. The other is the "oy vey" list. Whichever list is longer tells you the kind of day you had: A Yay Day or an Oy Vey Day. Ready? Great. Let's play.

Yay: I finally got some actual sleep last night and slept like the dead. Just out. I woke up feeling like a million dollars.

Oy Vey: I left my apartment this morning and was greeted by two evangelist types in front of my building door. Now, my building has a little sidewalk area between the front door and the actual sidewalk, so I needed these two dude to scoot in order to get past them. But, that wasn't a goal for them. They asked me (well, one of them did all the talking, the other guy just sort of sat there with his mouth hanging open like a big oaf) if my plans for the weekend included Jesus Christ. Pardon? No, but that sounds romantic, though, I said in a har, har, very funny, now let me past kind of way. But again, not on the agenda. So, he keep at it, I keep my lid on but firmly let him know he wasn't helping matters by detaining me and would he please let me pass? He stuck his arms out, as if on the cross himself, almost, to stop me from passing by. So, that's it. I love to discuss religion, especially with people of different religions, but I don't like being told what to do, I don't like being told what I feel or believe is wrong and bad ("It's not your fault you're a Jew, but the good news is that there's still time to turn your life around and come to Christ. It's not too late." he tells me, as if Jewish is an affliction.), and I sure don't like being physically prevented from doing something as simple as leaving my own home. So, what choice did I have but to grab my BlackBerry and announce I was about to call the cops. That gained me my exit.

Yay: I glanced back as I was clearing the building and saw them stuffing a bunch of crap, way beyond just a pamphlet and a free bible mind you, like wads and wads of printed paper into the mailbox of the first floor peeps (the apartment, to be exact, that always smells like someone took a giant shit, so I found this part rather funny).

Oy Vey: Then, I realize these dudes have cohorts at my neighbors buildings, too, both sides. Weird. I don't even know what group they were with, not Mormon, though they did have the trademark short-sleeve-and-tie-combo (with cute "inspirational slogan" long sleeve thermals underneath and scarves with crosses on them), not any group I'd ever heard of, to tell you the truth. I don't know which group they were with other than the first church of "Bouta Getcherself Beatup". Man, when are these dudes going to catch on that I'll sit and talk religion and spirituality with them all freakin' day if they approached wanting to have a conversation? Toolsheds. So, anyway, FYI there Chicagoans. About that.

Yay: I made a nice pot of spicy southwestern corn chowder because it is so cold here in Chicago tonight.

Oy vey: I'm not going to name names, but let me tell you something. I don't have much of a temper, but I do not get played like a bitch. Manipulating people for one's own professional gain makes one a terrible person, makes one's karma bad and when the truth comes out, which it always does, nobody looks like an idiot but the offender and it makes said person horribly untrustworthy. Also, throwing someone, an innocent someone, under the bus because one is too big of a wimp to stand by something one has said or written, well, that just makes one a pussy, doesn't it? Yeah, I think so, too. Don't bullshit me or the people I care about, are we clear? Great!

Yay: Pilcrow Lit Fest is coming together really nicely, you guys. Just today I heard about some wonderful folks who want to make the trip out and that makes me very, very glad.

Oy Vey: My shower is now not draining.

Yay: I get to start hanging out with Baby Neptune again every week.

Yay: The editing mojo is going well for Katie Schwartz's book-to-be and I'm super excited about it.

Yay: The other night, I saw a bullet and a tiny origami crane together in a tiny cup and I hope I see that on a bookcover one day. I also hope I figure out how to fold a origami crane that tiny.

See, three "Yay" in a row. So, it's a Yay Day.

"ASK ME, UH-HO-HO, ASK ME"

I sat down last night and worked through my known schedule for the next six months. Sure, not much is known six months ahead, but a deadline here and there, that sort of thing. Anyway, it felt nice to get it down and see six months' worth of deadlines and events and such.

Otherwise, I'm just working on odds and ends today. New book. Katie Schwartz's book that I'm editing. An anthology. A project. Another project. More on all that after the new year, kids. Trust me, I'm dying to loop you all in.

But before I go:

Here's my favorite quote today from an email exchange I had with Jeff Harrell: "I've got a succulent outside and a dry, bitter inside. I'm like the opposite of all the good candies."

"YOU JUST HAVEN'T EARNED IT YET, BABY"

I just hopped on to wish Rational Leftist Yom Huledet Sameach/Happy Birthday and as I started digging through the news to say something like "not only do we celebrate Retardation Awareness Day, but we also can wish Rational Leftist..." I realized that, dude! Evil Kinevel has died. Just now. Evil Kinevel. Dead. On Rational Leftist's birthday. Well, anyway, go over and see him in a Mexican wrestling mask, glasses and a kippah and wish him a happy day.

Well, my head is spinning with wrestling masks, and Evil Kinevel now. Oy vey, what can I possibly add?

The editing has started on Katie Schwartz's manuscript. She delivered it unto me, and I got right down to biznass on it. How excited are you for her book to come out? Well, you can't possibly be more excited that I am, but you should be pretty excited. Because it's going to rule.

Strangely, I am confined-ish to my apartment and rather glad. You see, the tale goes something like this. Tuesday morning, I took my car to the dealership to get it serviced and to address a tiny little issue. I don't let myself get ripped off by mechanics, so I usually go to them, but this was a recurring thing and I wanted it fixed for good with the right parts and blah blah. Howevah, my 50,000-mile warranty just, just, just expired so naturally the car falls to shit. Anyway. Through the course of the week, it has been determined that the source of this minor issue was one of those "the foot bone's connected to the leg bone, the leg bone's connected to the... rebuilding of the whole fucking engine" sort of deals, so blah blah, I balked at the original total and have arrived at a more mutually agreeable total. And by "balked" I mean of course, "put on gloves, cracked my knuckles, sneered like Billy Idol, and put on my razzle dazzle negotiating shoes and got some shit worked out." Anyway, when the poor service rep called the tell me it would be Monday before the shit was all finished, and after I'd given him my reasons he'd have to come up with a better total plus some good perks, I realized I'm home and carless all weekend.

And, instead of being pissed like I assumed I would, and instead of renting one, I was thrilled and relieved. It means I can hit my deadline this weekend without ahhj. It means uninterrupted catch-up. It means I can plow through all that's on my plate and emerge re-organized and on top of the game again. And that is my favorite feeling evah.

Plus, tonight's high temperature is going to be 23 degrees, tomorrow there is a winter storm watch with a high of 32, and Sunday a low of 18 degrees. So, you know what? I don't want to leave my digs anyhow.

"THE STORY OF MY LIFE"

My Jewcy post is up today. Tomorrow I'm dropping a heavy-on-the-explanations post, so I kept it light today with some Rosh HaShanah funnies and some lighthearted ragging on President Chickenhawk. Um, and in my digging around on YouTube, I found this funny clip about modern Jesus on a date that I thought I'd share. I like the idea of Jesus being a playah.

I have sort of a lot to do over the next two days, but it's all good. I'm cleaning my apartment super-well (as is sort of the custom to do just before Rosh HaShanah and especially Passover), and taking care of odds and ends, and I'm making a little pile of stuff to get rid of. I'm going to try to do a blog yard sale and see how it goes. It'll involve links, PayPal and maybe the post office, but it's worth a try. I'd rather you guys have my junk than a random Craigslist peep. And, I can't get a straight answer as to whether or not I need to get a permit to have an actual yard sale, so we'll see what happens. Might be super spiffy fun.

Can I tell you? I woke up this morning freezing! Fall is finally here, it seems, and I am happy beyond. I love fall like a mmmmuuuutherfucker. Puts me in The Best mood.

In other news, I hope everyone caught Schwartzeleh's post about Big Vaginas, because it made me laugh my ass off, PNC281's email this morning made my day, Adam Deutsch gave a nice little shout-out, I'm coloring my hair with burgundy, pink and brown, I saw a PVC-fashioned missile on top of a plumbing van with a sign that read been lookin' for Ben Laden, I sort of got invited to play fairy glitter dress up for Mardi Gras from one of my dahlink nola BFFs, Miss Quoted, and, I think that's it for now.

Back to tidying.

"HOW SOON IS NOW?"

I did my hair last night. I wasn't in love with the blue, so I made big pink stripes like I used to have about a year ago. Like this, but not all in one clump. more like tiny pink highlights. Anyway. I woke up last night at like three thinking someone was knocking on my door, and, you know, going back nye-nye when you get a big adrenaline boost is no small feat, so I sat up and petted my cat's nose and played solitaire. Don't be jealous of my sexy, exciting night!

(There is fresh concrete being poured across the street. What should I write once the workers turn their backs??)

Gosh, the weather is beautiful today. It's sunny and 70ish. That is good livin', if you ask me. And, as I type, enjoying said weather, I'm by an open, breezy window, enjoying a cup of Cafe du Monde's chickory coffee and that makes me glad. Well, there is the smell of bacon in the air from the counter of this coffeeshop I write from, but other than that, it's totally peas and carrots.

On my way over, I saw a teensy tiny fender bender, no damage to either truck, but it was between two big burly meat-headdy puff-ups, so they hopped out of their respective giant vehicles and had some words and bumped chests. I mean, for real, they were shouting and being pissy and touched chests and then bounced off each other. The temptation to shout "Kiss him!" as I crossed the street was almost too much. But, really, it's a lovely day and my breezy sunshine and good coffee and writing spree is coming together to make me reeeeeaaaaaaaallllly happy.

I'm really ready for fall. Have I mentioned that a thousand times yet? As wonderfully awesome as this summer has been for me, I've have more uphill than I wanted, so I'm eager to seal it up and move to the next. Come to think of it, I want to say somebody I know has a theory about August, or August and April or even-numbered months feeling more uphill than others. Who said that? What it you, Schwartzy? Laurel? Who was it? Eh, I can't remember. Was it Hyperbole Mel? No, shit, I can't remember. Fuggetit. Speaking of friends, I heard from Mermaidhead this morning, who is mere days away from (a) giving birth to little Neptune (b) getting herself free from bedrest and (c) getting shitfaced at the bris.

"UNITE AND TAKE OVER"

Well, kids, despite a tornado or four, falling trees, workers with chainsaws working to free smashed cars, and city-wide flooding, last night at The Fixx was great fun!

Both Adam Levin...

...and Wendy McClure...


...braved the end of the world weather and brought the funny and the awesome. Unfortunately, my camera got a little temporarily botched en route, so I deeply regret that I can't offer you any new photographs, especially since everyone looked smashing. (And, I would have liked to offer further proof that I own more than one skirt.)

Hopefully, Wendy and Adam will be around here on Bigmouth soon for an installation of Guthmantics, but in the meantime, keep your eyes peeled for happenings from either of them, as they are both talented and delightful.

In other news:

Fish can be assholes. Speak with Gary at The Fixx. He showed me last night post-reading that a tiny, pretty orangey fish killed/ate his baby's mama (thus earning the name "OJ") and is now trying to eat a giant black Oscar fish peck by peck. Fish can be assholes.

Schwartzy has a very funny piece up at Six Sentences.

My final post from my guest spot over at Jewcy is up. Thanks to Jewcy and and all its Jewcyness for having me over. I am honored to have been in such great company.

"WHEN OUR FRIENDS BECOME SUCCESSFUL"

Say, didjas read Katie Schwartzeleh's piece over on Six Sentences? Of course you did. Well, read it again.

"ASSEMBLE THE WAYS"

Hey guys. I have no idea what to say to follow-up that last post.

The rest of my weekend was great. I'll just tell you about that.

Saturday, after I left the Dr., thrilled to bits that I didn't have fucking breast cancer, Leah was good enough to meet up with me, bearing orange juice and Wheat Thins, in case I was woozy. But, I felt okay. Or, the orange juice made me feel okay. Either way, I was solid. We leaned against a bank window for what felt like an hour and stared at passing traffic and didn't say anything for a long time. Then, we talked a little. Then, we walked, found a couple of doughnuts and strong coffees, talked a while about foreign currency we'd each forgotten to exchange, international adventures and life lessons that suck ass to have to learn.

I drove her to her hair salon, thanked her for meeting me (oh man, was I happy to see a familiar face right then) and headed home, tidied my apartment a little, then set out for a great adventure that eventually led me to Pitchfork, which was wicked awesome, low-key and I had such fun just hanging out, watching hipsters follow each other around and shout things like one more metaphor, randomly.


Don't get me wrong, there were plenty of folks in the crowd who knew how to rock smart and look cool at the same time.

Every single thing about Sunday was wonderful. Bliss, even! I slept really fucking late, I lounged, I thought about the day before, did this and that, ordered Thai, then went to meet Irish Ho and her mama at a softball game with a perfect view of the skyline. Loved her moms. Oh my, she was a riot. Perfect fun to end a perfect day.

As for today, work was the name of the game. Work, work, work. Ah, and I did find out that my way foxy BFF, Schwartzy, and I landed on a short list of potential VP running mates (though alas neither of us made the cut)... uh, but, don't overlook that yours truly is also the sidebar model of the week with tinfoil in my hair (super hot, I know) which you'd think would have counted for something and I found a really horribly hilarious fansite for Richie Sambora. And I bought a new sports bra. And talked to Mermaidhead. Not a bad day.

Anyway, I guess that's it. I guess we're caught up. A super thunderstorm is blowing in. I sleep like a mofo when it's thundery, so I'm going to hit the hay. Goodnight, my dears.

"I DON'T MIND IF YOU FORGET ME HER"

That twit-bag bang-toy Paris Hilton is just too much. I've tried so hard not to blog about her, because that only adds to her being famous for absolutely nothing, but somethings are just too funny.

Like this article, par example. She called Barbara Walters! Collect! I mean, seriously, does she think we're buying that lame story that in a couple of days she's turned over a new leaf and that she'll actually open a home for sick children? The article says, "She thought she might get toy companies to build a kind of Paris Hilton playhouse, where sick children might come, and the toy companies could donate toys."

Sorry, lambykins, Ronald McDonald sorta has that market cornered. Maybe you could stick to things you know more about and open a whorehouse for disadvantaged youth. That'd be neat. Also, since she regularly drops two grand on a purse, maybe if she really wants to help, she could, say, fund the fucking thing herself.

Also, I like how she claims to be reading the Bible. Can you imagine? Can you imagine? It's killing me! Maybe she is confused and actually reading this bible. Poor child.

I think perhaps my favorite quote from the article is, "I haven't looked in the mirror since I got here." Will someone go get the poor girl a blue ribbon? Really. She's so pretty and she's been so brave by not looking in the mirror. Must be killing her to rob herself of one of her few remaining joys like that. I'm sure it's hard to be that pretty. And, it's cute how she calls being dumb "an act" and not say, just good ol' fashioned garden variety bratty apathetic stupidity.

Don't get me wrong, if she actually did something useful and constructive with her money besides buying Chihuahuas and doing coke, I think it would be great. But, uh, sorry, after watching this video that my BFF Schwartzy so generously posted, I'm not buying a word of her crap.