The Marriage Ref and why I long for TV of yesteryear

Tough crowd for Thursday night’s show. Actually, the audience was good, there was just one drunk woman in the back who I was ready to kill. Fortunately, I have some experience in dealing with the inebriated, so it wasn’t a major problem, just more of an annoyance. Last night’s audience was fabulous, though, and more than made up for it.

Anyway, when I got home Thursday night, I poured myself a glass of wine (fancy me, huh?) and while channel surfing landed on The Marriage Ref, NBC’s new show produced by Jerry Seinfeld. What a train wreck. Three celebrities provide counsel to married couples with some weird friggin’ problem presented in a video and the host, who acts as the ref, considers their input before making the call for one side or the other.

Ordinarily I’d blast right past such inanity, but I had to watch because on this night the three celebs were Larry David, Madonna, and Ricky Gervais. As you know, Larry and Ricky are my all-time favorite comedic geniuses, and Madonna… well, she’s Madonna. But what a waste of such incredible talent! Are they really deciding whether or not a woman should be allowed to keep her dead husband’s prosthetic leg (still wearing a tube sock, by the way) in the closet she now shares with a new husband?


Sure, they’re laughing, but you know they’re crying inside. Ricky even said something like it was the most bizarre hour of his life, and you know the only reason such big names would do this is because of Seinfeld.

God help us, the drek they’re serving us on network TV. Remember when shows actually had a storyline, written by professional writers? Between the reality shit and lazy crap like this, I long for the good old days.

Remember thirtysomething (1987 – 1991)? I loved that show! How freakin’ cute was Gary? Remember how sad it was when he died?

Now about Picket Fences (1992 – 1996)? Quirky as hell, but well done! And didn’t you just adore Northern Exposure (1990 – 1995)? Janine Turner was my sister Lori’s celebrity girl crush for years until she found out she’s a super-Republican. Now it’s Queen Latifah.

NYPD Blue (1993 – 2005) was groundbreaking in its early days. Remember seeing Andy Sipowicz’ ass? What a character he was. Every Tuesday Christopher and I had this goofy mother-son bonding routine.

Me: “It’s NYPD Blue night, asshole.”
Chris: “I know, douche bag.”

More recently, I loved the show Once and Again with Sela Ward, but that didn’t last long (1999 – 2002). Now the only drama that gets my attention is Rescue Me, but honestly I wouldn’t give that a second look if it didn’t star Denis “Get-out-the-whipped-cream-and-handcuffs” Leary.

How about you? Do you wonder why you’re paying an astronomical cable bill when there’s not a goddamn thing on? What shows do you miss? Is there anything worth watching?

Even children get older…

When looking for the photo of Courtney channeling The Jerk for her Happy Birthday post, I came across so many pictures of her and her brother, often in some kind of embrace. She and Christopher are less than 13 months apart and they’ve always been very close.

Have you ever heard Joni Mitchell’s song, “Circle Game”? The chorus goes like this.

“And the seasons, they go ‘round and ‘round.
And the painted ponies go up and down.
We’re captured on the carousel of time.
We can’t return, we can only look behind from where we came.
And go ‘round and ‘round and ‘round in this circle game.”

The passage of time freaks me out, people.

More things I couldn’t make up about Courtney, in honor of her 31st birthday

Yes, Courtney Blackwell Rice is 31 today! I should say that her brother turned 32 just three weeks ago, but since Christopher’s a private kind of guy, I let him enjoy his day out of the spotlight. Court, however, is more “out there” like me (the acorn didn’t fall far from the tree), and so there’s no way I’m passing up the opportunity to roast her a bit.

If you've read my previous posts about my daughter, you know she's a trip and a half. Today I want to share some little known tidbits about our girl's early years.

1. Courtney wanted only one thing for her kindergarten graduation: a slave.

2. I swear she used to yank her teeth out just for the bounty from the tooth fairy. She’d want something in the store and if I said no, then lo and behold, the next day she’d present a tooth so she could buy it with her own money.

3. When she was a tiny kid in the car seat, she'd push her little plastic horn and shout, “Beep, beep, asshole!” I don’t know where she learned that.

4. A few years later, I heard her say, “You asshole children!” behind her closed bedroom door, and in the most authoritarian tone. I busted in to see what the hell was going on to find her in one of my dresses standing at her chalkboard. “What?” she asked, so innocently. “I’m just playing school.”

5. As you can see, one of Courtney’s favorite pastimes was to re-enact the classic “And that’s all I need” scene from The Jerk.


Happy Birthday, angel! (Or, “angle” as you would spell it.) I love you!

A Craig's List ad I couldn't wait to share

Another post, Linda? You don't post on Sundays!

I know, but my blues-playin', harmonica wailin' BFF Rockin' Billy sent me this Craig's List ad and I couldn't wait to post it. Any musicians out there will particularly get a kick out of this.

Tired of your old lady complaining about your drumming?? - $5 (Las Vegas)

Well, you'll welcome her screams of disgust once you hear these piece-o-shit high hats being played! I have the shittiest sounding pair of high hats ever made. I think the fuckers stealing the recycling bin contents I set out melted some old beer cans down and made this pair of crap. If you play these, you will pray that your wife's (or husband's) vocal complaints will drown out the "wounded duck" schrills that these tin circles put out. Yes I do have them, yes they are for sale, but hopefully you'll use them as a prop to dress up a girl in some bullshit wannabe abstract "Lady GaGa" costume for Halloween. If your looking for an upgrade to these high hats, then search "fingernails on a chalkboard". These fuckers make my dogs put on cans to kill the sound. I will gladly take in trade an unopened 40 oz of one of the following; Old E, Mickeys, St. Ides, Crazy Horse (if you can find it)... 64 ouncers get first reply. If you actually contemplate using these high hats in any facet of music composition, I'm not gonna mind. I'll just laugh at your crap-ass high hat sound while I drink the 40oz you traded me for. Now if you have a kid that could marginally be interested in drumming, has a set, minus the high hats, then this is for you (added plus if your kid is at least deaf to higher register sounds).

Funny, huh? Imagine if he had a Match.com profile?

I know, I know… more about my friggin’ show

Do I sound like Dr. Suess or what?

Okay, I know my blog has been all about my friggin’ D Words show lately, but I’m on this never ending quest to inspire you to share your own talents with the world, and so I must share my lessons learned.

At this point, I have 13 performances under my belt, and it wasn’t until number 8 that I feel the show found its groove. Remember how I was ready to quit after my 2/25 show and then the next day I made some changes and knocked it out of the park? So on 2/26, I launched what I consider to be The D Words verson 2.0. Not that 1.0 absolutely sucked; I got lots of positive feedback an encouraging review in www.Living-Las–Vegas.com. In fact, one couple came to see the show twice within those first weeks (!), but I knew it just wasn’t there yet.

God willing, there will be a v3.0 and 4.0 and who knows how many incarnations down the line as I consider how I can make the show better and better. That’s all part of the creative process. When I look at the early days of this blog, it’s obvious that it took me a while to figure out what it was going to be. (Do any of you remember the grammar lessons I used to post?!) And believe me, the early drafts of Bastard Husband look nothing like what ended up in book form!


Oh, how I love my Ricky Gervais!

My sister Lori says that when a creation is fresh out of the birth canal, you’re gonna have to wipe some shit off. My point—and my advice to you—is don’t put off starting a project because you’re afraid it won’t be perfect. It will gradually evolve into what you want it to be, as long as you continue to work on it.

I saw this post on Facebook today from my comic friend John Hilder. He’s from Utah (and therefore has a wealth of material—ha!) and is a fine comic and truly nice guy. He'll be at The Riviera Comedy club next week--check him out if you have a chance.

John Hilder is not sure what would be more painful: Getting stabbed repeatedly for 30 straight minutes or bombing on stage for 30 straight minutes. I just did the second one so if anyone would like to come stab me for a half an hour or so for comparison's sake let me know.

Yep. That’s just gonna happen.

Are you cloggin’ your toilet with a hundred dollar meal?

You know I’m a picky eater, right? You’ve heard this before—I was 18 before I tried cream cheese and 36 before I got the nerve to down a chick pea. You couldn’t pay me a thousand dollars to eat a banana, or ten thousand to chew on a stalk of celery. There’s food I won’t touch with a 10-foot fork just because I don’t like the sound of it, such as sushi, soy, guacamole… the list goes on.

So remember the luncheon I went to last Thursday, where I heard Marie Osmond speak? We all had a menu in the middle of our table setting. Not a menu as in “you have a choice of what you want”; a menu as in “this is what you’re getting.” I stopped reading after I saw this list of appetizers.

Petite Tarte Tatin of Mission Fig
Crispy Leek with Goat Cheese and Pomegranate
Forest Mushroom, Roasted Yellow Tomato, Wilted Arugula

I don’t know what the hell “tarte tatin” is, but let’s add “fig” to the list of things I would never eat unless they’re forcing it down my throat in a POW work camp. Leek? No. Goat cheese? No way; I don’t like the sound of goat anything. Pomegranate? No idea what it is, but I don’t like the sound of that, either. Yellow tomato? That’s just plain wrong; tomatoes are red. And God know what arugula is, but I have a word for wilted food: garbage.

You can see why the fancy-schmancy restaurants don’t do it for me. I once returned gazpacho because it was cold—my sister Lori will never let me live that down. I’m sorry, but soup should be hot.

Fine dining? You can have it. I look at a hundred dollar meal and think of all the cute little tops I could buy at Ross-Dress-for-Less. Give me a big-ass plate of chocolate crepes at the Pancake House in Green Valley Ranch—that’s what brings me joy! Or how about this awesome meal my brother, brother-in-law and I enjoyed Monday night at my favorite cheapskate casino, Ellis Island?


Meat, potatoes, and vegetable—that’s a meal I can understand! It also came with soup and a delicious microbrew. All for $6.99.

This may sound gross, but let's face it: food is just future shit. Drunken cipollini onions and tomato confit with sauce berre rouge will be flushed away in a matter of hours, but my cute little Ross Dress-for-Less tops will be hanging in my closet for a good long time.

First review of "The D Words"

Hey, it check out--I got my first review of my show, "The D Words: the Funny Side of Dating, Divorce and Other Delights" in www.living-las-vegas.com.

I know what you're thinking--Can that really be an objective review? Didn't Linda used to write for that site? You are correct, but believe me, Megan Edwards, the woman who wrote the piece, is a pro; if she hated it, she'd find a diplomatic way to say so. (THANK GOD she didn't take in last Thursday's show, but who knows, maybe some other reviewer did. Fingers crossed for NOT!)

Some pics and a YouTube link

What am I going to do when I get home from work tonight?

My mother and Lori came on Wednesday, February 17, and then Lori’s husband, Russ, and my brother, Steven, got here last Wednesday--literally passing Lori in the air. The boys leave this afternoon and so tonight will be the first night in two weeks that I’ll have to myself. No show tonight, no nothin’.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. I love having visitors, but man, I tend to eat and drink a lot more when people come to town. I had about four pieces of pizza Sunday night at Metro Pizza. (Real good, Linda.) Here are Russ and Steven hamming it up.


You know Russ from previous posts, especially this one about his and Lori’s 20th anniversary surprise, but I don’t talk about Steven much, do I? OMG, he is the cutest, funniest, most awesome bro on earth! (He sent me flowers for my opening night—how sweet is that?) Steve’s 9 years younger than I am and is the only brother with four sisters. Guys who have a lot of sisters are the best; I think they turn out nicely when they’ve grown up surrounded by all that female energy. Do you agree?


Is he adorable or what?

Russ’ brother, Rob, and his wife, Liz were also in town last weekend and they all caught my show Saturday night. Fortunately, it was a good one—I’d say even better than last Friday. (I’m still feeling shitty about Thursday night, though. Gotta shake it.) Anyway, here I am with Liz. The last time I saw her was at Lori and Russ’ wedding. She's nice as hell.


Mike met up with us after my show and we all went to Boulder Station for my all-time favorite classic rock tribute band, Yellow Brick Road. I had a few beers that night, and while the boys were at the NASCAR race on Sunday, I had myself a little “couch day” complete with a glorious nap. And as luck would have it, Saturday Night Fever was on. Oh, yeah.

I’m still friggin’ beat, though. I’ve been going, going, going for two straight weeks. So what am I doing tonight? In the words of Edwin Starr, “Absolutely nothing.” (Who gets that?)

P.S. As promised, here’s a YouTube link to a video Lori took during my show when she was here. Don’t worry—the whole show isn’t just me reading from Bastard Husband, and I’ve been adding more of my stand-up material lately. I don’t have a good video of that stuff yet, though. I’ll post it when I do.

Oh and remember, the camera adds 10 pounds. No, make that 20.

Marie Osmond's fortitude of character, tested once again

I had an opportunity to see Marie Osmond speak at the Women’s Leadership luncheon for the United Way of Southern Nevada on Thursday, and at the risk of compromising my coolness factor, she was incredible! I went in thinking, “Marie Osmond—ha, ha, ha…” but she was an awesome speaker and I came away so impressed. Who knew, huh?


Her sense of humor came through as she joked about Donny and how Dancing With the Stars is fixed. But her speech really charged up as she told us how after the birth of her seventh (!) child, she was expected to lose 60 pounds in four weeks for a TV show and the resulting post-partum depression from all the stress. She choked up—in a sincere, not theatrical way—as she relayed that it was the help of her girlfriends that ultimately pulled her through.

Girlfriends. What would we do without each other? I got teary at that one, too.

She mentioned that she’s 50 now, and said that women our age have to remember that, whether we know it or not, the younger gals are watching us. (Note to Tara, Classic Rock Girl, Mandy at 30 and my other young readers: I’m doing my best, kids.)

Marie looks fantastic. I sat about 20 feet away from her during lunch and a little further from where she stood at the podium, but I had a good view of her. Gorgeous hair, beautiful face, unrealistic Hollywood body—about a size 2 with giant boobs—but I guess that’s what it takes. I feel like a freakin’ nerd saying this, but you can tell she’s beautiful inside out.

Hey, you know who else spoke for a bit? Carolyn Goodman, Las Vegas mayor Oscar Goodman’s wife. I just talked about him in my last post, and I would have been a lot nicer had I known he’s been married to the same woman for 47 years. Drink up, man! Mrs. G is funny as hell—you can see why she and the Big O have been together so long. It was cool to see her; she, too, looked beautiful. (I got this pic off the Internet).

After being so inspired by Thursday’s luncheon, you’d think I would have done my best show ever Thursday night. WRONG! It was, without a doubt, my worst. Sitting in my cubicle at work yesterday, I was all “WTF have I gotten myself into? Why am I doing this? I suck! Blah, blah, blah…” and then last night I was on FIRE—tightest performance yet. (The great crowd certainly helped.)

Joe Lowers, the comic producing my show, said to me afterward that you have to have those shitty shows because they make you work harder. He’s right. The Thursday night bomb propelled me to change a few items in my set and as a result, the show was greatly improved. It’s important that I tell you this so you don’t think it’s all so easy. It’s not. But don’t let that stop you from pursuing your own dreams. You can’t hit a home run every time at bat; just try to get on base.

I love you all. Really.

UPDATE: 3:30 pm

Just a few hours after I wrote this post, I heard that last night Marie's son jumped to his death from his L.A. apartment. Of course, I'm sad to hear of anyone losing a child, but having been so inspired by her the day before this tragedy, I feel particularly sad about this news. Sending prayers and healing energy, Marie.

Linda talks politics? There must be sex involved.

Even if you don’t live in Las Vegas, you probably know that our city’s been experiencing particularly tough times. But it’s not just the city; the whole state is a friggin’ mess. What do you expect? Though admittedly he makes for a colorful character, our mayor’s a former attorney for the mob who openly admits to loving his booze (even when addressing a class of fourth graders). Last year Nevada Senator John Ensign admitted to having an affair with a former staffer, but supposedly there’s more where that came from. And our governor, Jim Gibbons, has a civil suit against him for allegedly assaulting and threatening rape of a Las Vegas resident in 2006.

Niiiiice.

On Tuesday, the Huffinton Post reported that Gibbons claimed in a sworn deposition that he hasn’t had sex since 1995. Curiously, the governor filed for divorce in 2008, after he was linked with an alleged Playboy model mistress and another woman to whom he sent 860 text messages from his state-owned cell phone. But he hasn’t had sex since 1995.

Politicians don’t lie, so it must be true, right?

I swear, I was going in a whole other direction with this post. Totally didn’t mean to end up here. But since I did, let the record state (the record of my blog, anyway) that the biggest douche bag of them all, the King of All Douches, has got to be John Edwards. Edwards recently admitted to fathering his mistress’ child as his wife of how many friggin’ years battled cancer. And oh, yeah, this is all while he was running for president, to be the leader of the free world.

The silver medalist in this Olympics of Shame? Former New York governor Eliot Spitzer, who routinely banged a hooker. Yeah, every wife wants sloppy seconds after that. That governor of South Carolina—whatever his name is, the one with the Argentine “soul mate”—has nothing on him. (So Oscar Goodman likes to drink—big deal, huh?)

Let’s remember that Tiger Woods, as much of a train wreck as he is, is only a golfer. Sure, disappointing all around, but the bottom line is I expect more from elected officials.

And now for something completely different… a picture of Lori and Mom eating ice cream in frog pajamas. Yup.