Fun fact:

Hello, Dolly! was originally called Hello, Guy Just Over Dolly's Right Shoulder Who's Smiling Handsomely If I Do Say So Myself But Unfortunately Cut Off At The Edge Of This Photo! But Dolly got that crown of feathers and suddenly the show was all about HER.

Hello, Tech Rehearsal!

Meriwether—my severely parted old-timey coiffure is named Meriwether—and I have on our Sunday clothes and we’re ready for our 12-hour Hello, Dolly! tech rehearsal. But it’s the last gasping hours of the Victorian Era and even though the Second Industrial Revolution is in full swing, WHAT IN ALL UNHOLY TARNATION IS THIS RECTANGULAR CONTRAPTION IN MY HANDS?

Also: Mega Plaid Tweed will one day make a most excellent band name once “punk” is invented. And “bands.”

Also: Yes, there is a purportedly heterosexual Jake growing out of my shoulder. He will be surgically excised at the tonsorial parlor forthwith.

His full name is Charles Entertainment Cheese

There. Now that's a thing you know.

If my sister had done some damn alliterative planning when she landscaped her back yard, I could title this portrait Bridget and the Begonias. But nooooooo.

So we’ve had to rename the dog Prudence.

SPT Theatre = Sage, Pake and Tavid. Maybe.

Flashback Friday: What The Hell Is That Theater Called Edition

This was the view from my office in the Chicago Loop. In the 15 years I lived in Chicago, this venerable theater (which was called the Majestic when it was built in 1906) changed names from Shubert to LaSalle Bank to Bank of America to Private Bank, and since I left three years ago it's become the CIBC Theatre. Amid all those changes, it's been home to some amazing shows, many of which I went to see multiple times because it was right across the street from work. Jersey Boys and Book of Mormon sat there forever, 9 to 5 made a brief stop (where Dolly Parton herself walked right by me in the tiny lobby), and now Hamilton has taken up long-term residence. If you go see Hamilton or whatever comes next to its stage, look up to the fifth floor on the big squarish skyskraper across the street and wave. The next credit-card solicitation you receive in the mail might very well wave back at you from its colorful storyboard.

Whore Bag. Whore Bag.

Puddin' it out there

1. I live in a condo development named Crystal Estates, but one of our streets is named after a pudding.

2. Pudding was, is and will always be a funny word.
3. Pudding.
4. It’s also scrumptious.
5. Which, of course, is also a funny word.
6. Scrumptious.
7. Scrumptious, scrumptious, scrumptious.
8. Even though it’s probably made with ground-up horse hooves.
9. Horsehooves sounds like the last name of a wealthy Edwardian family dynasty.
10. Scrumptious Pudding sounds like a low-rent drag name.
11. Like when you want to hire a drag queen for your toddler’s birthday party but you only have eleven dollars.
12. But you could definitely serve your child’s young guests pudding.
13. Because it’s affordable.
14. And—lest we forget—scrumptious.
15. And it would help tie everything together thematically when Scrumptious Pudding shows up in her Walgreens rouge and Butterick shift.
16. Like when you get matching Barbie-knockoff plates and balloons at Party City.
17. What would they name Knockoff Barbie?
18. Barlie? Barvy? Blarbie? Barcie?
19. Someone should look into this.
20. Certainly not Horsehooves, that’s for sure.
21. So I ran my three miles with nary a problem this morning.
22. Nary.
23. Nary Horsehooves.
24. Nary von Horsehooves IV.
25. Esq.
26. (note to self: check into trademarking this name for Blarvie’s rich, questionably heterosexual boyfriend)
27. Anyway.
28. Nothing hurts.
29. I also don’t seem to have a terrible loss of endurance wrought by my hiatus.
30. Wrought.
31. Crystal Wrought.
32. (note to self: name for Brarpie’s preternaturally perky younger sister?)
33. (nah)
34. Wrought Na?
35. (Varmie’s nonspecifically pan-Asian sidekick?)
36. (possibry)
37. Anyway.
38. Again.
39. It was—and still is, if you’re on the fence about a morning run—beyond-perfect running weather.
40. So this morning’s run was quite enjoyable.
41. I haven’t checked my pace yet though.
42. Please hold ...
43.
44.
45.
46.
47. It’s still downloading from my watch to my app ...
48.
49.
50.
51.
52. 11:45.
53. Pretty much on par with what I’d expected.
54. Still not the 8:36 pace from my 8K personal best a decade-plus ago.
55. But still.
56. While running with Rob and Scott is always a pleasure, I do not mind running alone at all.
57. Aside from the fact that I’m stuck with nothing to keep myself occupied but the dark, disturbing thoughts in my head.
58. Like if it’s too late to get the Brarphne name trademarked.
59. See?
60. Dark.
61. Disturbing.
62. *shudder*
63. I took my post-run selfie by this street sign because it has two names.
64. Just like Rob and Scott have two names.
65. *taps head to show I’m a quick, clever thinker*
66. Tiffany sounds like the hoppiness sounds a rabbit might make as it scampers through a grassy meadow.
67. If you’re high.
68. Scott always scampers ahead of us after we exhaust our morning pleasantries on our runs.
69. So Tiffany is Scott’s aptly named stand-in in this post-run selfie.
70. Yorkshire—aside from being a scrumptious pudding—sounds like a three-legged basset hound with two of those legs on a skateboard loping determinedly but futilely toward the finish line in a cartoon race that’s accompanied by an unrehearsed orchestra.
71. If you’re super-high.
72. I’m actually the one who Yorkshires in our running group.
73. Like this: YORKshire YORKshire YORKshire ...
74. But Rob usually stays with me for a few miles before he Barknies ahead, so by the transitive powers of Yorkshirity, Yorkshire is his stand-in in this post-run selfie.
75. Oh, dear.
76. Autocorrect has already learned and white-listed the YORKshire capitalization.
77. This will greatly undermine my authority and gravitas in future pudding posts.
78. To review:
79. Pudding.
80. Scrumptious.
81. Harpie.
82. (R)
83. Not-gay Nary von Horsehooves IV, Esq.
84. Crystal Wrought.
85. Nah.
86. Wrought Na.
87. Possibry.
88. 11:45.
89. Crystal Scott.
90. No homo.
91. Yorkshire Rob.
92. No skateboard.
93. YORKshire YORKshire YORKshire.
94. Marcia Marcia Marcia.
95. But different.
96.
97.
98.
99.
100. 100!

Mic check from the other side of the stage!

I checked and there’s still nobody here named Mic. But you can see the edge of Higgins’ staircase wagon hiding in the stage left vestibule. And if Higginswagon McVestibule isn’t the coolest name in the entire musical theater canon then my name isn’t Mic.

Beware the Hips of Jake!

I warned these two that though my hip felt 99% better there was still the possibility that running with me wouldn’t get us to the end of the block and I’d have to stop and we’d all have gotten up at 5:30 and picked out our super-cute running outfits for nothing.

Well, shit.

We didn’t even make it half a mile before I had to abort our mission, but they decided to walk with me and we explored the newish paved trail—which is super-awesome—that runs between E Avenue—which is gross and dumpy and needs a tornado and a developer with a vision for a new and brighter utopian, space-needle-like future—and the new Mt. Mercy sports complex—which looks super-awesome but seriously, sports? me?—and we ended up covering 2.8 miles.

And I’ve clearly infected Rob with the selfie virus—which makes him weak and socially pathetic—because he suggested we take a selfie—which again is weak and socially pathetic—before I even thought of suggesting it myself. And that’s alarming. And a first. And say it with me: weak and socially pathetic.

Anyway, here we are—all resisting being in a selfie except Rob, who is making an absolute fool of himself—posing in front of his hyper-macho manly-man testosterrific muscle car, which he has incongruously named Princess Sparklepony. Straight people, amirite?

And I’m left with a re-wrecked hip, which I shall name Rear Admiral I.T. Band McDisappointmemt. Or Getajob Yahippie. Or Bennehip Arnold. Or Nancyhip Toosoon Questionmark McKerrigan. Or Cap’n Hipshit. Or Eleanor. If that name isn’t already taken.

#HowToTurn50 #WhichKindaRhymesWithHippy

It looks like somebody we all know just all-but-impulse-purchased a new iPhone X

It's--as per my usual sleek, masculine aesthetic--black. Which Apple calls space gray. Because why burden yourself with the efficiencies of accurate nomenclature when WHAT THE HELL IS SPACE GRAY, APPLE? C’MON. Anyway, I eagerly await having the ability to watch an entire commercial without my battery dying. Plus WIRELESS CHARGING, PEOPLE.

Tomi is a lazy drag queen’s name

#EssentialNomenclature

Suggesticle
Plumber’s Toolbag
Bro-toe
Meatball Sub
Meatball Sandwich
Camelbro
Mantoe
Elephant Hoof
Sloth Knuckle
Cockprint
Messy Burrito
Brat Twat
Danger Dog
Cocksocket
Ankle Bracelet
Smashmouse
Foggy Lighthouse
Nun Nose
Tucked Muppet
Wingthing
Jake Rake

Mancake
Flight 69
Cock Press Monster
Nug Rug
Flat Pat
Sack Rack
Swimming Otter
Mandanna
Billy Pad
VIP Club
Banana Slamma Damma
Solitary Confinement
Attempted Murder
Restraining Order
Risen Prison
Leashed Puppies
Are You Gonna Eat That?
Dude Snood
Menocide
Brah Bra
Yo-Yo No
Slab Pad
Lobster Net
Mozzarella Stick Appetizer
Sample Platter
Mancake
Munt
Electric Fence
Domestic Terrorist
Boa Showa
Dickter Constricter
Tuber Root
Meat ‘n’ Greet
Dichter Scale
Skid Shark
Scream Giant
Produce Section
Hangbang
Spread Rocket
Junction Box
I Can’t Believe You’ve Got Nut Hair

Croissant Puff:

Delicious Christmas brunch item or Jake’s new elf name?

Oh Deer

 

Meet Oh, the newest member of the low-budget Deer family I am apparently now collecting in the fauna division of my holiday flora (which would be random shapes and sizes of pine trees) and fauna (which would be Oh Deer and his be-antlered brethren Hey, Mo, Fa, Spi, Bor, Won, Shud, Over, Doah, Truthor, Firefi and Fulgencio) collections.

Please try to tear your eyes away from the Kountry Krafts wallpaper border (which is not to be confused with Bor Deer himself, obvi) before they burn in their sockets; it will be gone and the wall will be painted a rich blue just as soon as I decide which rich blue to use. Which won’t happen until after I finish naming Sue, Turpen and all the rest of my Pine family.

#BlackFridayDemands

I shall name them Aryan and Nightmare. Or Butter and Face. Or Donald and Uglier Donald. Or WhatTheHell and AreYouWearing.

In any case, I WANT THIS.

I bet if it were made in China, Trump would put his name on it

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