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Sex and the Male Blogger

December 13, 2005 / Neil Kramer / 35 Comments

Recently, I’ve been receiving many emails that go something like this:

"I’m a female blogger that loves your blog, "Citizen of the Month." At night, I fantasize about you making love to me and you always bring me to an intense orgasm. How do you do it?"

Male bloggers are known to be excellent imaginary lovers. In fact, I’m currently working on an article for Cosmo magazine titled "Sex and the Male Blogger."

From the article:

Citizen of the Month: "Hello, men."

Male Bloggers: "Hello, Neilochka dude!"

Citizen of the Month: "Male bloggers have a well-deserved reputation for their excellent oral sex techniques online. Can you tell Cosmo readers what you do to give women such amazing orgasms in the imaginary world of the blogosphere?"

Pauly D: "Well, Neilochka, you’re clearly the expert here. Why don’t you tell us?"

THIS BLOG HAS BEEN INTERRUPTED BY SOPHIA:

Sophia says: I’m sorry, regular readers of this blog. As Neil’s editor, I must wrestle editorial control away from Neil and hijack this post. For the sake of Neil’s future literary career, the remainder must be censored. Not because of any sexual content. In fact, the sex jokes are pretty lame, and I’m sure most women are rolling their eyes at the idea of him being any "sex expert." Believe me, I know the truth first hand. No, the biggest problem with this post is that it is incredibly stupid. You see, Neil is a little sexually frustrated, if you haven’t figured that out already. It’s gotten to the point where I might even take pity on him, just so he can start writing some decent posts again. Remember back in September when he actually wrote something meaningful? Anyway, I apologize for the interruption, but clearly you see how necessary it is.

BACK TO THE REGULAR POST:

Neil: "…so that’s how I do it. With some patience and practice, all of you male bloggers can be as amazing as I am in the sack. So, let’s go, men, let’s bring those women to multiple orgasms!"

Today on Blogebrity: The Amazing Tale of Ashbloem and Bono

The Truth About Olive Garden

December 12, 2005 / Neil Kramer / 240 Comments

Last night, Sophia and I attended a blogger-meetup, greeting Psychotoddler and Mrs. Balabusta, who were visiting L.A. from snowy Milwaukee. Since the Psychotoddler family is kosher, we met at a kosher Chinese restaurant on Pico Blvd. Surprisingly, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be (although note to restaurant: please hire someone who knows how to make sushi. That was NOT sushi, kosher or not). Also attending the event were Dr. Bean, ball-and-chain, Brett of DadTalk, and Anne of Inland Empress.

There were spirited conversations about many things, including integrity and truth-telling when writing blog posts. The group was extremely intelligent, which, of course, made me think about my blog post for that day, which was about a “Cock Shaker.” So, I’m glad to be back here with so many of my other blogger friends who are as dumb and unsophisticated as I am.

Despite my lack of sophistication, the issue of “integrity in blogging” has been weighing on my mind today. You see, in my last post, there were quite a few joking comments about the Olive Garden chain. Although I didn’t say so directly, I insinuated in my post that I didn’t like Olive Garden. The truth is : I’ve never been to Olive Garden. I’m like the movie reviewer who gives the film “three thumbs up,” but never bothered to see the flick.

In all honesty, I just don’t like those chain restaurants — at least the ones that I have actually gone to. To give you a better understanding of my feelings, I’ve created a list of chain restaurants, in order of my hatred of the chain, from least to greatest:

The Cheesecake Factory
Denny’s
Coco’s
El Torito
TGI Friday’s
Chili’s
Souplantation
Bennigan’s
Outback Steakhouse
Fuddrucker’s
Benihana
Applebee’s
Red Lobster
Pizza Hut

Today, I called Sophia.

“Sophia, I’m taking you to lunch.”

“OK, where to?”

“Olive Garden.”

Silence.

I explained how I owed it to my readers to learn the truth about the Olive Garden, especially if I’m ever going to mention it again. So, I picked Sophia up and we drove to Olive Garden near the Del Amo Mall.

We were surprised to find such a long line for such an uninspiring place. Why were so many people here? Los Angeles has tons of excellent REAL restaurants. Maybe we were missing out on something. Maybe people were just suckers for those stupid commercials where the guy brings his authentic Italian mama to Olive Garden, and she loves it. Loves it!

Inside the restaurant, the decor was anything but “authentic.” There were some badly drawn paintings of the Italian countryside on the wall, and few bottles of Chianti were propped up here and there. “Benvenuto!” was written on the wall in the waiting area. The restaurant staff was not very authentic either, more Redondo Beach High School than Tuscany High School.

We were told that there would be a ten minute wait. This seemed a little bull-shitty, since there were seven other families waiting in front of us. Afterwards, another couple was also told that their wait would be “ten minutes.”

“How could this be?” I asked Sophia. “This made no sense. Do they just tell everyone that the wait is ten minutes? And if our wait is ten minutes, and they came after us, shouldn’t their wait be at least eleven minutes?”

Sophia and I were given this large black beeper contraption that was supposed to go crazy with lights and special effects when our table was ready.

Time passed. Twenty minutes. Sophia and I revealed to each other that we spent the morning snacking and neither of us were too hungry. But it was too late to turn back. I had to learn the truth about the elusive Olive Garden.

BRRRINGBRRRRING!

My hand vibrated as if I had just pulled the trigger of a 45 caliber pistol. The beeper was sending us a message: It was TIME for our reconnaissance meal.

Some girl in the Olive Garden uniform, but wearing USC socks (!) took us to our cozy table, nestled comfortably next to a large obnoxious family celebrating some bratty boy’s birthday. Before we even had a chance to open a menu, Miss USC wanted to know if we wanted anything to drink.

“We serve real Italian wine.”

We said we just wanted water. She looked disappointed, as if we had just rejected her from admittance to our sorority.

Sophia and I looked over to the birthday table to check out the food they were eating. Bland pastas, boring pizzas. Nothing looked very exciting. We were also surprised that the menu was more expensive than we expected, considering it was a “family” restaurant.

“It’s cheaper to just go to the real Italian restaurant on Torrance Boulevard.”

“I guess we’re paying for the ambiance.”

We laughed as the family started singing “Happy Birthday” to the bratty boy.

“Since we’re not too hungry, maybe we can share something.”

As I perused the attractive, flowery-designed menu, I noticed something interesting. For six bucks, you can have as much soup as you want, with three different choices of soup. For another six bucks, you can get an unlimited amount of Olive Garden’s special salad.

“Sounds good,” said Sophia. We can get one unlimited soup and one unlimited salad, and we can share it. They even give you unlimited breadsticks. I think I’m beginning to like this place.”

“Sophia, I don’t think you understand. Each unlimited soup and each unlimited salad is for one person only.”

“What do they care if we share it?”

“Because then what’s to stop ten people from coming in here and ordering one unlimited soup and one unlimited salad and just sharing it all together.”

“That’s ridiculous. Besides, it doesn’t say anywhere, “no sharing.””

“Olive Garden cannot stay in business if everyone shares the same unlimited soup.”

“The place is jammed. They’re making a fortune. No one cares if we share the soup. We’re only two people. How much soup and salad can we eat?”

“It’s stealing. It’s like downloading illegal music.”

“You download illegal music all the time.”

“That’s different. “They see you here doing it. No one sees you at home downloading music.”

“Oh, so if they don’t see you stealing it’s not a crime. You’re some “citizen” of the month!”

“I won’t download anymore music. Is that better?”

“I don’t care. Look, if you’re going to be such a stick in the mud, we’ll each get our own unlimited soup.”

“Fine, that’s best.

“But I don’t care what you say. We’re just getting one salad, I can never finish half of it.”

We ordered our meal. The waitress seemed pissed that we were such cheapo customers, and assumed she was going to get a small tip. We each ate three bowls of soup. But I wouldn’t touch the salad, which only made Sophia act like more of a temptress.

“Try it. Just take a bite.”

“No”

“Stop being such a wimp.”

Which was the exact same thing Eve told Adam.

“OK, I’ll try it. Just a second. Wait…. OK..”

I tried the salad. Sophia shook her head in disbelief.

“Did you just wait until the waitress walked away before you ate one tiny piece of lettuce, so she wouldn’t see you eating it?”

“No.”

“Yes you did!”

“Fine. I don’t like to be humiliated. What if she said something. What if a spotlight went on us and voice came on saying: “Look over here everyone. This couple is stealing an unlimited salad because they were too cheap to order two unlimited salads like they were supposed to.””

“You need help. Serious help. Why don’t you blog about THIS tonight?”

“About what?”

“About how you were afraid of eating the salad because the nineteeen year old waitress might see you and look down at you?”

“I’m not going to do that.”

“Wimp.”

HAPPY NOW, SOPHIA?

By the way, the soup and salad (we never finished out first bowl of salad) at Olive Garden were pretty good.

So, here’s my revised list:

The Cheesecake Factory
Olive Garden
Denny’s
Coco’s
El Torito
TGI Friday’s
Chili’s
Souplantation
Bennigan’s
Outback Steakhouse
Fuddrucker’s
Benihana
Applebee’s
Red Lobster
Pizza Hut

Today on Blogebrity: As the Blog Turns

After Sophia’s Shoot

December 10, 2005 / Neil Kramer / 35 Comments

Sophia’s shoot on Windfall went great. Afterwards, we searched for a restaurant in Valencia for dinner that wasn’t an Outback Steakhouse or an Olive Garden. Before we went home, Sophia went out and bought me a nice "thank you" gift for all my help.

Rehearsing with Sophia

December 9, 2005 / Neil Kramer / 34 Comments

I’m rehearsing with Sophia at a hotel in Valencia, CA (wireless is ten bucks!) , where the shoot is today.Â I’m trying to convince her that when she speaks Russian in the script, she should throw in “Neilochka is a sex God” as part of the Russian dialogue because no one will really know anyway.Â She refused.

I hate to leave my readers completely without some sort of entertainment, so here is photo of me in the ninth grade. (thanks Tuck).

Today on Blogebrity:Â Is a Blogger’s Attractiveness Important?Â (of course it is!Â Look at my yearbook photo!Â (Retropolitan, Betty on the Beach, Grow Some Testicles)

Sophia in “Windfall”

December 7, 2005 / Neil Kramer / 39 Comments

Windfall cast
The cast of "Windfall" (sans Sophia)

In the past, I’ve mentioned that Sophia frequently works as a Russian dialect coach for movies and TV, as well as doing her regular job as a court interpreter. A few weeks ago, thanks to a a very unexpected recommendation by her friend, Richard, Sophia got called in to audition for a guest shot on a new NBC show called "Windfall," playing, of all things, a Russian court interpreter. Sophia nailed the audition and got the job.

"Windfall" is a drama about a group of people who share a large lottery winning. It will premiere in January. The show stars Luke Perry. Yes, that Luke Perry.

Even though the scene was short, Sophia must have made a great impression, because now she’s been called back to play the same character in a second episode filming this Friday!

Sophia thinks this might be the final scene with the Russian interpreter — or is it? I sat down today to quickly write a new "Windfall" script, hoping to convince the producers to expand Sophia’s role.

Here’s one of the scenes from my teleplay:

INT. PETER’S BEDROOM – NIGHT

Peter (Luke Perry) and Natasha (Sophia Lansky) are in bed together, post lovemaking.

Peter: "Natasha, I’ve never done this before. But hearing you simulataneously interpret for that Russian killer was one of the most erotic experiences of my life."

Natasha: "Do you really want me to move in here with you? After all, we just met this afternoon."

Peter: "Yes, Natasha. We are soulmates, I know it. I’ve already broken it off with my girlfriend."

Natasha: "But doesn’t she already have thirteen episodes in her contract… I mean a baby with you?"

Peter: I’m Luke Perry… I mean Peter, one of the winners of the lottery. I can choose my own destiny and I choose YOU."

Natasha: I love you… Peter…

Peter: I love you, Natasha…

They kiss, passionately. It is clear that Peter is the best kisser Natasha has ever kissed, surpassed only by the passion and skill of her separated husband, Nikolai.

Natasha: "You know what I really want to do now…?"

Peter: "I do know… because I want to do it, too…"

Natasha: "…go online together and see if there’s a new post from "Citizen of the Month.""

Peter: "That’s my favorite blog also. We have so much in common!"

They go hand-in-hand to the computer.

FADE OUT

END OF SCENE

Good, huh? They are definitely going to keep Sophia for more episodes now!

Break a leg, Sophia!

Today on Blogebrity: JJ at Purgatorian (his site)

Wacky and Intellectual Gifts

December 7, 2005 / Neil Kramer / 49 Comments

Einstein

Yesterday, rather than looking for work, I distracted myself in a new way: What type of Christmas and Hanukkah gifts should I buy for my beloved blogging friends? I spent an hour thinking about what type of people they are, hoping that this would help me better choose their ideal gifts.

First of all, they are a humorous bunch, always ready with a quick-witted comment. In fact, they are more than just amusing, they are downright hilarious at times. Even wacky!

But they are also more than "class clowns" or jokesters. They exhibit an aura of gravitas, of brainy wisdom. I even might consider them intellectuals!

So, here is my conclusion: they are wacky and intellectual. Where in the world am I going to find the perfect gift for Wacky Intellectuals?

Of course, my first instinct was to go to the most wacky and intellectual website on the internet, Google, where I searched for "wacky intellectual gifts" and BOOM — there I found it.

A site for WACKY INTELLECTUAL GIFTS!

It was like I suddenly hit the motherlode of crazy (but appealing to those with higher education) gifts!

jane austen action figure

Oh, boy, will my blogger babes go crazy when they find their very own Jane Austen Action Figure under their Darcy-themed Christmas Tree.

Lost Civi Liberties mug

Much to Sophia’s dismay, several of my blogger friends are egghead liberals who hate Bush. What could be a better gift than the Lost Civil Liberties Mug — where they can watch their rights slowly disappear under the Bush Administration?

famous drinkers cups

For some reason, half of my blogging friends always seem drunk or hungover when they post. For them, I will give the Great American Drinkers Shot Glasses, so they can make believe they are creative drunks like Oscar Wilde, writing something witty when they are soused off their ass.

analyst magic ball

Most of the New York bloggers seem very neurotic, even crazy, and spend half their salaries on analysis, and then talk about how bad their therapist is on their blog. I think they would most benefit from My Analyst Magic Therapy Ball.

watch

Schuey gets the Nietzsche watch. Read his blog and you’ll understand.

Mr. T

Pauly D naturally gets the Mr. T. Talking Keychain.

I was really enjoying thinking about all my gift-giving. When I looked over all of the gifts on the web page, they clearly were what they were advertised to be — wacky and intellectual.

But then something stopped me in my tracks. Something threw me for a loop. I was confused.

By what, you might ask?

I was very confused by the inclusion of one item as being a wacky and intellectual gift:

The Natural Sunlight Lamp.

Natural Sunlight Lamp

For several hours I sat there in thought, rubbing the three-day growth on my chin. Why do they consider this to be a wacky and Intellectual gift? It’s not particularly wacky. And it doesn’t appear to be intellectual.

The website content certainly didn’t give me any clues:

Natural Sunlight Lamps Sale. Natural Sunlight Lamps can help with Seasonal Affective Disorders as they provide a Day-light spectrum for health and well being.

These lamps help reduce eyestrain and computer screen glare because they produce less glare Than Other 26-Watt Compact Fluorescent Lamps

* All lamps Covered by One-Year Free Replacement Warranty on Lamp and Fixture * The Vita-Lite Plus Compact Fluorescent Bulb Lasts up to 5 Years *10,000 User Hours

So, nu? Where’s the stuff about being wacky and intellectual?

Being the overly-curious type, I couldn’t put this issue to sleep. I decided to order one of these lamps, and I even paid extra for one-day shipping, just so I can report back to you — my readers — with my results.

At 10AM this morning, the doorbell rang. It was the UPS man with a delivery.

It was my Natural Sunlight Lamp!

I quickly assembled it and placed it on coffee table. I plugged it in and turned it on. The light went on. It was an attractive light that seemed a lot brighter than the bare 40 Watt bulb I usually have stuck in the socket in the ceiling.

But I have to admit, that I didn’t find the lamp either humorously wacky or intellectually stimulating.

I stared at it… and stared some more, and gradually I started to giggle. All of a sudden, I thought of all the wacky stunts that I could play on people with this lamp. Like a Galileo seeing the world in a new way, I "saw" the WACKY in the Natural Sunlight Lamp.

For instance, imagine you’re having a party on Saturday night and all of your friends are over. One of your friends goes into the bathroom. While he is in there, you decide to play a funny gag on him. You quickly take out the Natural Sunlight Lamp from the closet and turn it on, close the drapes, hide the lamp so he can’t see it, but making sure it still lights up the room, and tell everyone to hide. When your friend comes out of the bathroom, you ask him where he’s been all night? You say it’s the next morning and he was in the bathroom all night. Doesn’t he see that it looks like daytime? Your friend will be more confused than Rip Van Winkle. Just imagine the wacky expression on your friend’s face!

For a more sexy gag, how about inviting your next door neighbor for some nude sunbathing with your new "sun lamp"? Imagine the laughs when she finds out that she can’t get tan with this type of light!

Ok, wacky resolved. But what about intellectual?

This had me dumbfounded for another two hours, until the doorbell rang again. Could it be UPS again?

No. It was Charlotte, my neighbor, an attractive woman from Paris who was going for her doctorate in photobiology at UCLA. She wanted to know if I had some Cheerios that she could borrow.

"Of course" I said. "I always buy a couple of extra boxes of Cheerios at Costco."

As I went to my kitchen cabinet, her eyes lit up on seeing the Natural Sunlight Lamp on the coffee table.

"Oh my, a Natural Sunlight Lamp!"

"Yes, I just got it today."

"Did you know that natural sunlight travels at a speed of 186,000 miles a second from a source ninety-three million miles away — and it rates with food, water and air as part of the life-support system on earth."

Hmmm.. Miss Photobiology was very intellectual about this lamp. Yes, indeed. I tried to respond as intelligently as I could. Luckily, I had just read an interesting article about photobiology in the New Yorker.

"I was just reading this article that natural light is so important, it can also boost beef production. Cattle that spend "longer days" under correct artificial light are 10% to 15% heavier, with no increase in food consumption."

"Interesting. I didn’t know you took an interest in photobiology?"

"Oh, yes. Even though, the science of photobiology is a recent one. Some photobiologists say doctors showed little interest in the subject until about five years ago."

I handed her the box of Cheerios. My hand slightly rubbed against hers. She smiled at me.

"Actually, the American Society of Photobiology was just founded only eight years ago."

"Amazing, considering that there is nothing more interesting than light."

"Yes."

Before we knew it, I had her pinned against the wall and we were fucking like two light waves.

"Oh, my God," she shouted. "This is more fun than rating light by the color rendering index."

"You mean the CRI of 100?" I said as I thrust wildly.

"Yes, yes. With full-spectrum fluorescent being 100."

"Standard cool white, 91."

"Harder, harder. Fluorescent, 68."

"Other fluorescent being 56."

"It’s gonna… it’s gonna… Oh, there’s nothing like having an orgasm in Natural Sunlight…a little this way…"

We tilted to the side and I bumped into the coffee table. The Natural Sunlight Lamp flew off the table and crashed to the floor. It immediately BURST into flames. The coffee table caught fire. The fire alarm went off. The sprinkler shot water everywhere. Charlotte ran out of the apartment screaming for her life.

"Wait. Wait. Charlotte, don’t leave yet!" I screamed, running after her into the hallway with my cock still up.

But it was too late. She was just like the French. They act all intellectual, and when there is the first sign of trouble, they run like cowards.

I was foiled again.

After the fire department came, I threw the Natural Sunlight Lamp into the incinerator room.

"What a piece of shit," I told myself. "That’s the last time I buy anything online."

Anyway, I’m sorry. Forget those gifts I was going to give to you all. I don’t trust the quality of these wacky and intellectual gifts.

Up All Night, Applying for Jobs

December 5, 2005 / Neil Kramer / 55 Comments

(Last Night) I Didn’t Get to Sleep at All by the Fifth Dimension

Last night I didn’t get to sleep at all, no, no
I lay awake and watched until the morning light
Washed away the darkness of the lonely night

Oh and last night I got to thinking maybe I, I, I
Should call you up and just forget my foolish pride
I heard your number ringing, I went cold inside
And last night I didn’t get to sleep at all

I know it’s not my fault, I did my best
God knows this heart of mine could use a rest
But more and more I find the dreams I left behind
Are somehow too real to replace

Oh last night I didn’t get to sleep at all, no, no
The sleeping pill I took was just a waste of time
I couldn’t close my eyes ’cause you were on my mind
And last night, I didn’t get to sleep, didn’t get to sleep
No I didn’t get to sleep at all

NOTE 10 A.M. — Since many of you have criticized my choice of my final woman, let me make a few changes here and show you who I really daydream about, and who really distracted me from my job search last night:

ASHBLOEM

LAURA

FITENA

AMANDA (ON RIGHT) AND HER SISTER

Today on Blogebrity: Peggy Archer (Peggy Archer’s site)

Why I’d Make a Great Husband for You, My Female Reader (A Poem)

December 4, 2005 / Neil Kramer / 58 Comments

Whenever I go to the drugstore
I always buy things right
Be it a Kotex or a Tampax,
Ultra-thin or Overnight.

I once was a typical nudnik.
Who didn’t know a thing,
But through years and years of training,
I’m now the Tampon King.

On Monday, it’s pantyliner
On Tuesday, it’s Stayfree
On Wednesday, it’s always Always,
On Thursday, it’s o.b.

If you’re looking for a husband,
Who’s perfect to a tee
Just spread your Carefree "Flexi-wings"
And fly away with me.

(inspired an hour ago while waiting in a long line at Rite-Aid)

Today in Blogebrity: Christmas in New York (Guy’s site)

A Chicken Sausage for One of the Mishpucha

December 1, 2005 / Neil Kramer / 44 Comments

(Mishpucha: family in Yiddish)

Jordan Monkarsh
CEO
Jody Maroni’s Sausage Factory

An Open Letter

Dear Jordan Monkarsh,

Before I tell you why I’m writing to you, please let me explain who you are to the readers of this blog. You are the gourmet hot dog and sausage king of the Los Angeles area. I first learned of your delicious gourmet dogs at your famous Jody Maroni’s stand on Venice Beach. Soon, you had stands in several places around town, including Dodger Stadium and LAX. Trader Joe’s even started selling your great turkey and chicken sausages.

I thought about writing this letter to you for about a year now, but I always felt embarrassed and "chickened out," as they say in the sausage business. Today, Sophia suggested I blog about you, and hopefully you’ll end up seeing this on Google and respond.

My reason for writing you is quite simple. A year ago, I learned that you, the creator of my favorite gourmet hot dogs, weren’t really a Jody Maroni, but a Jordan Monkarsh. Now Monkarsh is also my mother’s maiden name. I have never met anyone else with that last name. Do you know where this name comes from? Is it the name of a small village in Eastern Europe somewhere perhaps? Who knows, maybe we are long-lost relatives brought together by our love of chicken sausages?

Now, I’ve been reluctant to write to you because I was afraid you would think that I’m a crackpot, or worse – some loony out to ask you for money. I’m sure you’re worth millions by now. Even if we are somehow related, I do not want a penny. I don’t even want any free sausages. OK, one might be nice — just as a gesture for the family.

All I really wanted to do was say hello. I thought that there might be some weird spiritual reason that one of my favorite Los Angeles foods was created by someone with the same last name as my mother’s.

While I have your attention, here’s a little story you might find amusing:

Several years ago, my wife, Sophia Lansky, and I went to Memphis to visit Graceland. While walking around town, we noticed that inside the famed Peabody Hotel was a men’s clothing store named Lansky’s. It was a famous place in town because the Lansky Brothers were Elvis’ official clothiers. They supplied Elvis with his flashy early clothes and his famous Gold Lame’ jacket for his early performance on the Ed Sullivan Show.

We went inside the store and asked one of the salesgirls if there was still a Lansky involved with the store because Sophia’s last name just happened to be Lansky as well. All of sudden, the salesgirl grew concerned and called over a security guard. The store seemed to go on red alert. A curtain opened from the back and an elderly, but dapper, very-successful looking Jewish man entered. This was BERNARD LANSKY himself, the man that clothed Elvis. We were as close to being with Elvis himself as we would ever get.

"So, you say you’re a Lansky," he asked.

"Yes." said Sophia.

"Where were you born?"

"Russia."

"Where in Russia?"

"Odessa, now in Ukraine."

"I know. I know. Do you have two forms of ID on you proving that you are a Lansky?"

Sophia showed him her CA drivers license and her SAG card.

Bernard Lansky eased, but only a little.

"And what do you want?"

"Nothing. Lansky is a fairly rare name. Just curious to meet someone with the same last name."

Bernard Lansky explained that over the years, many people, claiming to be Lanskys, had tried to get money from him. We assured him that we had no interest in his money.

He became friendlier and told us all about clothing Elvis wore and how he personally made Elvis his gold lame jacket. He said that his store on Beale Street became a big success because everyone wanted to dress like Elvis. Bernard Lansky and Sophia talked a bit. It seemed that Bernard’s family came from Russia also. When some customers came in, we decided to leave. Before we left, he told Sophia to "keep in touch."

"One more thing," he said. "I have a gift for you."

He gave Sophia a souvenir from his famous store in Memphis – a hanger. Mind you, it said "Lansky" on the hanger, but it was a hanger.

So, Mr. Monkarsh, as you see, Sophia did not walk away empty-handed. Sophia left Mr. Lansky carrying a precious memento.

What about you? Would it kill you to give one free Tequila Chicken Sausage with Jalapenos, Corn and Fresh Lime sausage to someone who just might be part of the mishpucha?

Sincerely,

Neilochka

Today on Blogebrity: Humanity Critic (his site)

Twenty-Five Years Later

December 1, 2005 / Neil Kramer / 54 Comments

I don’t like to toot my own horn, but lately, I’ve been living quite a glamorous life. As a trend-setter, I’m invited to all sorts of openings, events, and theater. Frankly, I feel a little sorry for your dreary lives, but I hope by telling you about my experiences, you can feel a little bit better about yourselves by just knowing me, and impressing your friends with that information.

Last night I went to the premiere of a new theatrical piece that’s coming over here straight from London. Most of you are just too "out-of-the-loop" to have heard about this play, but I was given a unique opportunity to see it before the general public. The piece is quite interesting, as it is a play with music, but rather than a traditional story, it is based on the poetry of a well-known British poet, T. S. Eliot. The show revolves around a cast of feline characters, so the title is very apt, "Cats." There are several memorable songs and some surprising special stage effects. I predict that this play will be quite successful, although I doubt the "Average Joes" who make up my readership will be able to get these exclusive tickets very easily.

Back to reality —

Yes, hell froze over. I saw "Cats" because someone gave Sophia two tickets. Actually, I love musicals, but I always promised myself that I would never see "Cats." It sounded really boring, even though I like the poetry of the anti-Semitic T.S. Eliot. I wish I could give you a complete review of the show, but I won’t, mostly because I fell asleep in the middle. How can this thing be running for 25 years? What the hell was that about? Some cats meet up and choose which cat deserves to go to heaven? Are these cats Mormon cats? That was one bizarre show!

My seeing such an old show makes me think about another issue. Who can I talk to about this show? Everyone I know already saw the show fifteen years ago, and it was 10 years old already. I notice that this is a growing problem with movies and TV shows as well. With the growth of DVDs and Tivo, fewer people are watching the same shows at the same time, or even on the same night. What’s going to happen to watercooler talk if half of the office still hasn’t watched last night’s big "Grey’s Anatomy" episode because it’s still on their Tivo.

Have you ever rented a movie that you haven’t seen, let’s say Forrest Gump, and you loved it. You’re busting out of your seams wanting to talk about it, but everyone else saw it years ago. What can you do? If you went into work the next day and said, "Hey, I saw Forrest Gump last night. What did you think of it?," everyone would think you’re an idiot.

Remember the old days, when millions of viewers all watched M*A*S*H together at the same time, including the commercials.

Anyway, I finally saw "Cats" 25 years after it opened. What did you think of it?

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