Tyra and a little less work

You know sometimes the best comedy doesn’t get written solely from the mind of the author. As he or she draw on facets of everyday life they find humor and then do their best to poke fun and be as original as possible within the confines of whatever subject it is they are lampooning. It is work.

But sometimes, as I mentioned above, the occasion, or occasions arise that make the work of writing comedy easier, and less work, because, well, the details just write themselves in a “you can’t make this stuff up” kind of way. Anything Sarah Palin for instance or in this case, my current subject, Tyra Banks.

Here are the easy details. Tyra is writing a book. Not just one book, mind you, but a series of them. About models. In a fantasy world where models rule the land. See? I’ve only given you the basics and you’re already snickering. Keep in mind, amidst your chuckling, that I haven’t really written anything yet.

In this fantasy land where models rule (don’t they already?) Tyra is going to call them “intoxibellas.” In what, I’m sure, was a flash bulb moment of inspiration she has combined the words ‘intoxicating’ and ‘bella’ to produce a powerful heroine who is in control of all that she surveys and most probably too much for any man to deny. They, according to Tyra, will have superpowers and have “edgy, sexy, exciting adventures.” Again, I haven’t really written anything yet.

The land they inhabit, one of models, does need a name though. Yet again I’m not really required to write anything as Tyra has already supplied the name for her fantasy world. This, probably, for Tyra was a little more of a labor (the flash bulb of inspiration for “intoxibellas” having worn her out) but she was able to come to literary genious once more and see that a grand land ruled by models would be a land of models, or, a “Modelland.” Brilliant!

Thank you Tyra. You have given this simple writer five paragraphs of material without having to actually write anything.

“Hey did you hear Tyra’a writing a novel?…Thank you…Thank you…I’m here all week, try the veal.”

I look forward to the Oprah “O” of approval and waiting in line.



Though fans of Glenn Beck wouldn’t understand while reaching for a gun this is absolutely brilliant. Though of course it is Lewis Black, so that’s kind of a given.

<td style='padding:2px 1px 0px 5px;' colspan='2'Back in Black – Glenn Beck’s Nazi Tourette’s
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Spring Sprung Puppies

So we’ve added to the menagerie here at the Franken-Greco Ranch, the furry one, much to the dismay of Bob, my sleep, if it were to be personified. The additions go by the names Jackson and Brady. In the animal kingdom they are simply classified as canines. At the Ranch they are classified as “Jackson, that’s my chin!” and “Brady! No not there…sigh…honey!…more paper towels!”

Yes, we have added puppies to the mix of animals that I’ve already aquainted you with here in the attic, Shana (existing Maria and Jagger dog) and Benny and Shoes (existing Steve cats). There is a certain dismay on their parts as well, as the mad rush of curiosity towards any of the three, should there be face to face or nose to butt scurrying, is usually met with cries, yelps, hisses and the occasional “talk to the paw ya’ baastaads!” It can be a fun disarray, though I’m sure if any of the three existing furry ones could talk “fun” wouldn’t be a word in the conversation and words I shouldn’t use here would.

Maria and Jagger had wanted to add a puppy to the gang for the longest time while I was a touch more, shall we say, reticent. I was pretty happy with the existing mix especially with the fact that after 3 + years together they had finally reached an almost peaceful coexistence. Shoes and Shana had never really had a problem with each other except for the occasional “Hey! Get out of my ass!” but Benny was the much harder sell. Eventually though, Benny seemed to find a comfortable place in his distate of the fact that every morning that slobbery mess was still here, maybe even licking my face. So for the longest time I was able to keep at bay the inevitable puppiness with logic, reason, time concerns and even finances. Soon though all I had left was “wait until spring.” Well, calendars and tax returns have an annoying habit of keeping up with the march of time.

So we went to visit the puppy at the apartment of Cait, the New Paltz student fostering him. (Note: I said “puppy” in the singular for the moment). Maria said we had to make sure that he was right for us, in my mind I responded “well, unless when we get there he’s eating his foster care mom’s face, he’s, well, a puppy.” I also had been told that his current name was Stevie which, I guess, in a vain way, had warmed me to him even before we met. I also had acceptance at this point and 3 groundrules laid out with the two puppy perps. 1. I was not to become the main puppy caretaker, 2. The attic would remain off limits and the refuge of myself and my boys as they were sure to be driven northwards and 3. That the two of them were not allowed to get pissed off at me if the puppy liked me too much. (it is often claimed at the ranch here by the two of them that I “stole” their dog…Ah, Shana loves her Stephen).

With this in hand I, we ventured into Cait’s apartment, said our hello’s and made our way over to the pee-pee pads, towels and pillows set up behind a gate in the apartment’s kitchen. As we peered down behind the gate we saw a napping Stevie all snug on a soft black pillow. As a first puppy meeting it was as cute as cute could be, especially when Stevie peered up at us, gave a little yawn and stretched with sound. Then his soft black pillow did the same. Stevie had a brother pillow. Puppy became puppies. I silently said “son of a bitch.”

Well, here we are again at the Franken-Greco Ranch, with this new true menagerie of fur and human all learning anew to coexist. I now, though, have 3 alarms in the morning. One at 5:30am, which I don’t set on the clock that involves a waking, yawning, barking excitement, replete with a pee and return for breakfast followed by another pee and a poop. A second alarm is set on a clock for the less furry with a waking, yawning, growling 10 year old’s discontent, replete with a pee, clothes, a tooth brushed or two and a school bus. The third alarm is also set on a clock for another less furry with a waking, yawning, and occasional curse, replete with a trip on a dog toy, a pee, shower, and a car to work.

For the 3 groundrules? #1 has been bent but not broken as the puppy perps are doing their job at the end of the day.

#2 remains steadfast, though the gate is only puppy tall at the moment. That one remains up in the air.

#3 may be a matter of time, though, for now, the licking, the chin biting and the squirmy lap time loving has been distributed pretty equally.

As to Bob, my sleep? He doesn’t like me much.