Gotta Have That Funk

If Nicki Minaj got pregnant after a threeway with an alien and a homeless man in 1974, the baby would come out looking something like George Clinton, the mastermind of the 70's funkadelic music movement.  And since you automatically think of me whenever you hear the word funkadelic (I know.  I can't help it.) it was inevitable the two of us should meet.  Dressed in his best Sweet-Daddy-Williams-visiting-the-Evans-family-to-hit-on-Wilona-Woods suit and matching hat, George shared stories of the early 70's music scene and the influence a strong pimp hand had on today's sound with a room full of P-Funk fanatics and one lone white boy trying to discreetly take this photo and not feel too out of my element.

Thrills, Chills and Botox at Chiller Theatre

Remember that episode of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills when Kim Richards goes to the memorabilia show out at the Burbank airport Marriott and someone hands her a were-puppy?  The one where Jimmy McNichol skeeves us all out and reminds us why his career had been reduced to signing autographs at the memorabilia show out at the Burbank airport Marriott?  Well, that was my day today at Chiller Theatre expo.  Picture a hotel convention center filled with every kind of nerd imaginable, including the lady from Brooklyn alternately talking to herself and sniffling in the huge ball of snot just aching to get blown out of her nose, Encyclopedia Brown entertaining us with random useless facts about the city of Boston, the pythagorean theorem and the origin of the zip code in a Jerry Seinfeld voice, or the poor kid having a Carrie-at-the-prom meltdown when told that the end of the line to meet the cast of The Walking Dead was outside and around the corner in the parking lot, all hoping to meet celebrities way past their prime looking to make a few extra bucks off our collective love of nostalgia to keep the power on in their rental apartments in the valley for another month or two.  

Since I'm a lover of nostalgia, I had to go, especially when I found out Loni Anderson was going to be there.  I KNOW!  LONI ANDERSON!  And she did not disappoint, looking just like she did in 1980!  It's some kind of Tupperware miracle!

Speaking of botox, Tawny Kitaen was there too, looking NOTHING like she did on the hood of that car in all those Whitesnake videos but sensible enough to only charge $10 for a photo with her.  I'm probably the only one all weekend who will tell her I loved her on Santa Barbara (I miss that show!) so I hope it makes her feel good that someone mentioned something other than her tits.

Of course I had to get photos with Shirley Jones

and Cloris Leachman before they die sometime next week,

but the biggest thrill of the day was the opportunity to meet the beautiful rose of Graceland Priscilla Presley, and I will not make jokes about her rubber zombie face or the fact that I think she's smiling is this picture, because she was so much nicer than that sullen, possibly autistic Lisa Marie.

Add in a surprise appearance by trench coat flasher pervy photographer Terry Richardson

and a screaming baby on the train back into the city and I'd say it was a hell of a day!

Happy Anniversary!

Five years ago today I met Kristin Chenoweth for the first time.  I remember it clearly: I was in Burbank at the Hollywood Collector's show, waiting impatiently to meet the stunning, exquisite, demure and naturally delicate blossom Mamie Van Doren,

then driving like Paul Walker (too soon?) on the Ventura Freeway to make Kristin's 2PM booksigning at UCLA, where she sang an acapella version of Amazing Grace and I fell in love.  It's also the day I met my boyfriend.  In honor of our anniversary, here's Kristin last week at the Today Show.  Happy Anniversary!

Mrs. Huxtable Is A Racist and Other TV Land Tales

Fuck, it's been awhile since I've caught up on my photos!  I just discovered the first season of Soap on Netflix and I've been pretty absorbed, because that shit is amazing!  I'm at the point where Corinne learns she's adopted after Jessica is arrested for Peter's murder and Danny agrees to marry Elaine in order to leave the mob. 

Watching a ton of TV as a kid can be a complete mind fuck.  These people come into my living room every week.  I know their faces, I recognize their voices, and when they're with me all is right in the world.  Let's face it, the relationships I have with these TV shows are some of the longest relationships I've had with anything.  Ever.

So who would have guessed that Joey Tribiani is a chain smoker?  Not me, but there he was lighting up one cigarette after another while promoting something that wasn't Friends at Good Morning America.

And never in my wildest dreams would I guess Blossom would turn in her flower hat for hairy armpits and a neuroscience degree!

Or that Fez would go on to fuck Lindsay Lohan, Demi Lovato, Ashlee Simpson, Mandy Moore, Jennifer Love Hewitt AND Avril Lavigne.  But not all at once.

But I'm not surprised that Jason Seaver was as shitty a parent in real life (Robin Thicke) as he was on Growing Pains (Kirk Cameron)

or that Mary Jo Shively would be as sweet in 2014 as she was sassy in 1986.

Now if Mrs. Huxtable wasn't a racist I'd include a photo of her too, but Phylicia Rashad refused to pose for all but the one black fan, then waited outside Rockefeller Center WITH HER BACK TURNED TO US for five minutes waiting for her car.  Of course, she was once married to the lead singer of The Village People and I'm less interested in The Cosby Show than I am in Soap so the joke's on her.  Still, I bet Debbie Allen would have posed.

It's The Story, Of A Lovely Lady (Or Two)

As many of my loyal fan(s) know, I am very into television.  One of my most favorite TV shows is Rhoda, starring the fabulous Valerie Harper as Rhoda Morgenstern, me in a headscarf an insecure girl with low self-esteem and dating problems.  I've always felt that, with the exception of Jessica Lange, older celebrities tend to be more gracious with their fans, and Valerie is a perfect example of that, taking time today to sign autographs that are probably on ebay already and posing for 'fans' happy to catch her before she drops dead.  She's promoting her two episode arc on Signed, Sealed, Delivered, which I won't be able to watch this Sunday on the Hallmark Channel because I'll be in Montreal with my boyfriend's family, watching them compete to see who can talk the fastest and the loudest over everyone else in Greek and calling it Easter.  Opa!

Also airing Sunday night is the season two premiere of Devious Maids, starring the Grande Dame of Everything Susan Lucci.  Her 40 plus years as All My Children's Erica Kane Martin Brent Cudahy Chandler Montgomery Montgomery Chandler Marick Marick Montgomery made her a daytime television legend, but she is one of the sweetest, classiest ladies I've met. 

Imagine If YOUR Daughter Was a Slut!

I'm amazed how many cocks Kate Hudson has had in her.  In the last few years, Kate had kids with two different men, fucked A-Rod, Owen Wilson, Lance Armstrong, an extra on her last movie, the guy who always walks around the locker room naked at your gym, two roadies from Aerosmith and the man selling fresh fruit on the corner outside my apartment.  She's a certified skank with some serious daddy issues thanks to never having a relationship with her biological father, which explains why Goldie Hawn is destroying her face with bad botox, hiding behind sunglasses and avoiding fans when she can.  If you polluted the world with Kate Hudson you would too.

You Wanted The Best And You've Got The Best.....

When I was seven years old I was OBSESSED with the rock band KISS.  They were my introduction to music, and the beginning of my lifelong fascination with long haired guys with talented tongues in makeup and platforms.  My brother and I used to play KISS with two friends of ours, driving their mother nuts with our stage performances, which consisted of us playing brooms and lightsabers and dancing around the room like a bunch of lunatics while we flipped the lights on and off real fast like a strobe light until she had an epileptic seizure and we had to stop (not really).  We were so cool with our KISS dolls and lunchboxes (the metal ones that hurt when you hit someone over the head with them) and trading cards and Halloween costumes!

I've calmed down a little since then, but I was still a giddy mess this morning when KISS appeared on the Today Show to talk about their Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction, because nothing starts a Friday like a bunch of 60 year olds in spandex and makeup before I've had my coffee.

When Testosterone Ages...

Today's blog entry should come with orange cones and a detour sign, because with the possible exception of Eric the Midget and my brother very few of you are going to care about it (Feel free to skip it if you'd like.  I don't give a shit.) but today I took a wheelchair ride down memory lane.  As a kid, my brother was very into wrestling, and would spend Saturday mornings on a Cocoa Krispie high jumping off the back of the couch like a spider monkey, imitating Jimmy 'Superfly' Snuka or whoever was tucking their roid rod into some sexy neon lycra tights that particular day (because that's not gay or anything).  It really was a hideous couch, all white and orange and brown with a woodsy covered bridge motif, but it was comfortable, with a high back that was perfect for jumping off of until the sugar high wore off or my mother finally had enough and shouted 'Todd, stop jumping off the couch!' from the kitchen while she made her grocery list, and I could finally watch Saved By The Bell in relative peace.  It seems like just yesterday we were eating pizza and chicken wings at my friend Sandy's house, watching Wendy Richter wrestle The Fabulous Moolah in the original Wrestlemania, my brother trying to convince us it was all real and me wondering how Cyndi Lauper got caught up in this mess in the first place.

Fast forward 30 years (I know!), and here's the battle scarred (and Stern Show regular) The Iron Sheik being wheeled out of Sirius in midtown Manhattan.  Kids, let this be a warning to you....stop jumping off the damn couch now!

 And if that's not enough, here's crispy walrus Hulk Hogan in Times Square promoting Wrestlemania Infinity or some shit like that, because a midlife crisis looks like steroids, peroxide and worn leather these days but that bandana never gets old.

I'm going to have to be super gay in my next blog post to make up for this.