Monthly Archives: December 2005


I went to the Rob Dickinson concert at {wait for it} The Friars Club.

Once I was inside, I called CK and said, “Because who else is going to call you from the Friars Club tonight?”

I stood under the giant picture of Frank Sinatra and ate the caviar that waiters brought around on little trays. Then I called CK again and said, “Because who else is eating caviar at the Friars Club?”

Seriously, after the third phone call to CK, when I said, “If you were here, we’d get thrown out and wouldn’t THAT be something to remember?” I told her I needed to get off the phone and start mingling.

I saw a blonde woman in jeans and Doc Martens over by the bar. I asked her if she was there alone, and she was, so we hung out together. Then we saw a redhaired woman in black fishnets and tall boots. She looked to be alone, and we had her join us. She was a big Catherine Wheel fan and had, like, ALL of Rob Dickinson’s CDs. She’d bought a concert t-shirt and got it out of her purse so we could admire it.

One of the waiters kept circling us with fresh food, and we helped him out by clearing off his tray so he wouldn’t have to walk all the way around the room. There was one item he kept bringing out that looked suspiciously weird, but I tried it and it was delicious. I didn’t ask what it was, because I already knew I wouldn’t eat it if I knew. I waited until I’d had six or seven of them before I asked our waiter what it was. He gave me a look, because HE knew I wouldn’t eat it if I knew. He finally told me it was tuna tartare. I was ever so glad I hadn’t asked in advance, since tuna is gross.

Tenderbox was the opening act. They were very good and their drummer has mad stamina.

Then Rob came on stage and the crowd went wild. As they do. It was a great show. Our group was less than ten feet from the stage, so we were close enough to reach out and undo the two buttons on Mr. Dickinson’s two-button fly. If we’d wanted to do that, I mean.

Before I left, I made sure to get the best photo of the night:



Tip of the day: When a pretty blonde woman turns you down for a date, your reply should not be, “OK. So, do you have any hot friends who would like to go out with me?”

Because, surprisingly, every single one of her friends will also be busy. She will know this without even consulting them.


I dreamed that I was driving Tom Hanks around in his car. I know it wasn’t my car, because the interior wasn’t crammed full of litter. I was driving through the night on an unlit mountain road and we were in danger of going over the edge at every turn. I said to him, “My friend saw you at the library, but he didn’t recognize you because your hair was different.” Tom replied, “It was for a part in a movie.”

Then he said, “I’m glad he didn’t ask me to help move any boxes.”


That pretty blonde woman I asked out for Thursday night? The one who is still upset that Mariska Hargitay got the Law and Order: SVU job and she didn’t? She has to stay home and wash her mother’s hair. Or something.


I wish CK were here. She’d go to the Friars Club of Beverly Hills with me. We’d drink too much and laugh too much and talk too loud and touch the other patrons inappropriately.

Good times.


Today I asked a pretty blonde woman if she’d go with me to a concert at the Friar’s Club this Thursday night. She said she’d have to ask her mother before she could give me an answer. This is the very reason why I don’t ask out more women.




My mother sent me the Hickory Farms “Ham-a-rama” gift box for Christmas. I can’t believe *I* have become *that relative* who gets a Hickory Farms box.

I can’t believe my mother sent me a canned ham for Christmas.


My Christmas Tree vs. The gargantuan tree at work!