Gonna Snare a Millionaire

Hey Guys,

Sorry for not posting yesterday. I was taking a class at the AMAZING Learning Annex here in Los Angeles. The Learning Annex is a wonderful institution that offers regular people--people like you n' me--valuable insight into a wide range of topics that will ultimately allow ourselves to improve our lives.

Yesterday I took the first step to a better life by attending Lisa Johnson's seminar "How to Snare a Millionaire". She promised I'd learn to:

--Go where the rich go--and locate the "hot spots" that rich men frequent
--Find out if your potential mate is rich, without him/her knowing about it
--Package and project yourself
--Get he/she "hooked" on you
--Get your mate financially committed to you before marriage
--How to find him, catch him, and keep him.

As a bonus, Lisa will personally deliver my personal profile to eligible millionaires who are eager to meet the right companion. All I need to do is bring stationary, photos and writing utensils and let Lisa show me how to write a provocative personal profile.

Oh, and for any of you who DOUBT Lisa's credentials, she knows what she's talking about. She is a well-known media personality and the AUTHOR of "How to Snare a Millionaire." She's interviewed George Clooney, Sylvester Stallone, Richard Gere, among other celebrities. She is a frequent guest on national talk shows and writes a weekly Hollywood gossip column.

But Laura, you're probably asking, do you really think that one class is enough to land a millionaire?

Not necessarily. That's why I'm also going to take Jean Sanders Torrey's class "How to Get Any Man to Marry You--Guaranteed!"

This is probably a better class. Whereas Lisa's class shows you how to marry a millionaire, this class shows you how to get ANY man to marry you. So I could get a millionaire or a BILLIONAIRE, or someone really famous. I don't want y'all to think I only care about money. I don't. I care about prestige as well. And that's why, after taking this second class, I plan on getting the Dali Lama to marry me. He's super famous but is also well-grounded spiritually. Plus he travels quite a bit and I think I would enjoy that.

What are Jean Saunder's qualifications? Well, Jean is a writer, model AND fashion consultant. She's a former fashion editor of Movieline magazine, social columnist for Beverly Hills Today and personal shopper for Saks Fifth Avenue. PLUS she is now the sharp, sophisticated author of "Why Men Marry and Why Men Don't."

Between these two ladies, I should be in very good hands.

I will keep everyone posted as to my progress. This time next year I'll probably be relaxing at my mountain home in Tibet. You're all invited (provided Lami isn't too busy)!

Weekend at Big Bear Lake Cabin...

In exchange for 5 autographed pictures of me and an outgoing voicemail w/MY voice! This is a great bargain, a limited time only offer. Cabin owners have only two days to take me up on this offer before deal goes back to normal (2 signed autographs and NO outgoing voicemail).

I'm planning on a 4th o' July weekend out of town. Before I pay good money on a cabin, I thought I'd give someone a chance to let me use his or her cabin for free. But it's not really "free". I mean, you'd get headshots PLUS bragging rights. I'll even hang a framed copy of my headshot in the cabin myself, over the fireplace or where ever you choose. I could write Best Wishes [your name], or a message of your choosing. Then, when attempting to attract renters, you could put in your ads, "The cabin where Laura Swisher stayed!" You'll get booked out for the next year or so with that kind of advertising.

But, whatever, it's up to you. Also Bean would come with. Bean: As seen on TV. That's 2 famous mammals in your pad.

I'd prefer to stay on the lake, preferably in a cabin with access to a pier. If there was a canoe or something in the garage that'd be great too. A deck, jacuzzi and a grill would be nice. Fireplace doesn't really matter, however, cause it's summer. But if you want me to stay at your place for free during ski season, I'm gonna need both a fireplace AND jacuzzi.

Anyway, I'll get going now. Leave your name and phone number in the comments section so I can get back to you.

Now I'm off to perform.

Sorry. I've been rude. The title makes it seem as if I'll only accept a free cabin at Big Bear Lake in California. Please know that I am happy to take advantage of cabins anywhere on the West Coast (including Canada) provided they are situated near a large body of water.

Okay now go ahead and make your offers.

Good luck!

Bride, 90, and groom, 96, marry

It's the heartwarming tale that wasn't. The marriage made headlines in Great Britain. The happy couple met at an old age home and fell in love. He popped the question; she said yes. And so it came about that these two lovebirds became the oldest couple in the world to tie the knot.

Sweet story, huh? Unfortunately, the papers don't tell the true story.

Some claim that Faye Webber stopped taking her birth control to try and get Raymond to marry her. Raymond's kids are calling her a "golddigger" and wonder why she didn't marry someone her own age.

Faye's children insist their mother is not a golddigger, and that Raymond is a cad who hit on every woman in the home for senior living. Furthermore, Faye's children accuse Ray of trying to run their lives. "You can't make me clean my room!" shouted Nigel Webber, an investment banker, at Raymond two weeks ago in Surrey. "You're not my father!" New step-dad Raymond then grounded Nigel for a week, costing the 55-year-old his job.

"These kids need discipline," explained Raymond. "For too long they've run roughshod over Faye. Well, that's not gonna fly anymore. My retiremnt home room, my rules."

Ummmmm....

I couldn't think of anything today.

What to Do When UFO's Are Spotted...

I consider myself extremely lucky that I happened to stumble across this very important piece of news. And if you're reading this, you, too, are lucky because I'm going to give you information that could potentially thwart a War of the Worlds-type scenario. No joke. I suggest you copy and paste this post into an email and send it to everyone on your contact list. It's just that important. Here it is, the ten things you should do if you encounter a UFO. I'm going to paraphrase a bit. Should you want to get a more in-depth, "accurate" account, check out the SF Gate article or visit the Mutual UFO Network's website. Here we go:

1. REMAIN CALM! DON'T EFFING PANIC!!!! SERIOUSLY! YEAH, YOU MIGHT BE IN DANGER, BUT BE COOL. Don't go throwing rocks at the UFO. Hide if you have to. Above all: DON'T MAKE THEM ANGRY.

2. Wait a few hours until your buzz wears off and ask yourself this: Are you SURE what you saw was a UFO? Think about it. Are you POSITIVE? No one's going to be mad if you realize what you saw was a helicopter, or something from this earth. Eliminate every other possibility.

3. STOP STARING AT THE THING SLACK-JAWED AND GET YOUR G-DAMN CAMCORDER! What? You think your description is going to be enough? Get PROOF. And don't be all herky jerky with your taping. Make sure to get points of reference, like a mountain in the background, how far thing is from the ground...that type of thing. And don't try and get all Michael Bay on us. Just shoot it straight.

4. If you're, like, the only person on the planet without a camcorder, then use a tape-recorder and describe what's going on. Like, I'm 50 feet away from the keg in my backyard, near the North-facing fence. I see red flashing lights...wait, that's a cop. No, I see green blinking lights in the sky; it sounds like....

5. If there are other people around, make sure they come up with their own descriptions. DON'T COLLABORATE. You do your work, they'll do theirs. Let the experts sort it out.

6. If any evidence was left behind, DON'T TOUCH IT, YOU MORON! Duh. Take pictures, film it, whatever. Also, you don't know where that spaceship has been. You might touch some space goo and then BOOM! Chlamydia of the hand or something.

7. Okay, if the object was spotted at a distance, what would it take to cover it from an arm's length? A penny, quarter, baseball cap, fist. What?! This will help people who understand math to figure out how far away it was, or how big it was.

8. How fast was it going?

9. If you see a space person, hide. But don't hide so well that you can't videotape the thing. Also (and SF Gate didn't even mention this), cover the blinking red light on your camcorder. Space aliens like blinking red lights. AND--and this is really important--if you take a picture don't use flash. This will give the space being red eye and you'll have to photoshop that out later. Oh, and it might alert the creature as to your location, so it can easily kill you.

10. Immediately report the siting to a crackpot organization dedicated to proving UFOs really exist.

11. Post a description to my blog.

Well, good luck out there, folks.

Mmmmm...Mochi

Mochi: One great reason to shop at Trader Joe's. I got strawberry Mochi today, my favorite flavor (and I normally am not a fan of strawberry). Another good bet, if you're not yet hip to the deliciousness that is Mochi--Green Tea. Chocolate not so much.

Have just returned from taping podcast number three. Weezy looses it, breaks down in tears and slanders one of our most respected presidents. It was truly disgraceful. I don't want to talk about it. I'm really worked up. If she thought she got hate mail before...

Bean, my pooch, has learned the craft of holding her poop in. I go to walk her, she knows if she does her business right away, walks over. If she waits, holds it in, she gets a few blocks out of me, even if I'm in a hurry. I think it's bull crap.

Saw the new zombie movie last night. Though I'm not a huge fan of zombie movies, I really enjoyed it. Run out to see the movie. Or take slow, but plodding, jerky steps toward theater with your arms out.

NEWSFLASH!
The war's over. Just heard on the news. The insurgency realized they really did want democracy after all. Phew! Now we can stop worrying about that whole mess and can concentrate our energy on the Phil Spector trial. Where does he get his hair done? Seriously, does anyone have the number to his hair dresser?

Got to eat and then party. Hearty.

Dig?

Google Maps

Soooooooooo much better than Mapquest.

Discuss.

Einz, Zwei, Drei...Laughensie

You vill laugh now. Nein? Okay zen, ve vill try to laugh togezer. Open ze mouth, push air out. Yell at ze person who made you mad today, and zen, vile yelling, try to smile. Now you are halfway to laughing. Das ist gut! That is gut for today. See you tomorrow.

How did that seem to you? I'm thinking of applying for a job as a Professor of Laughter--only problem is I'd have to relocate to Germany, where a laugh institute just opened up. Apparently Germans and happiness don't naturally go together.

According to a 2005 health survey published this week by DAK, a German health insurer, the number of people diagnosed with depression in Berlin has risen 70 percent since 1997.

A study of 90,000 working Berliners revealed that while 10 percent fewer people took sick leave from work in the past year, some 12 percent of those who stayed home did so because they were suffering from depression and panic attacks. Mental problems are therefore the top reason for absence from work, well ahead of other health issues.

Ahhhh yes, Germany. This story takes me back to the summer of 1989, when a young Laura Swisher traipsed through Europe visiting all her foreign acquaintances, from Spain to Holland to...okay, maybe it was just Holland and Germany. I don't recall. Anyway, I definitely remember traipsing. Germany comprised the first leg of my lil' vacation. I flew into Frankfurt where I didn't know a soul, and the German people welcomed me to their country the way Americans welcome mimes on our streets--with suspicion and a hint of disdain. So, yeah, a laugh school would probably help.

The point I'm really trying to make is that I went to Berlin the last summer before the infamous wall came down. And I visited East Berlin, on the other side of the wall, and paddled in a boat on a stream/river with East Germans, along with my West German friend, Sabine. They were cool, the East Germans. My friend was borderline cool, but being German she couldn't completely unwind and have a good time. And by "have a good time" I mean she refused to do heroin with me and go on a wilding spree in the park. I kid. Women can't wild.

After Germany (Berlin & Bielifeld) I headed to gay Paris and ended up hanging out with Italians. A Moroccan man tried to seduce me on the metro. An old man on the sidewalk smiled at me and said, "Quelle cherchez vous?", or something like that, when I was reading a map. What are you looking for? And he gave me directions.

Now my point is that there are more smiles in France than in Germany. And if I were to go on to describe my hot summer nights in Sardinia, I'd have to say there were more smiles there than in Paris or all of Germany. I met a boy, sweet as can be. We went strolling, drank lemonade. Oh...those Sardinian nights.

Did any of this make sense? Probably not.

Al Otro Lado

"To the Other Side." Caught a great documentary at the Los Angeles Film Festival today about the socio-economic conditions that inspire corridos/narcocorridos. These are Mexican ballads that document the lives of the people in very simple but poignant song. Don't know if I defined that right or not, but if you have any interest in learning how people live in the drug capital of Mexico--Sinaloa--this is a film you should seek out. This is a world where a young person has to choose between drug trafficking or crossing "al otro lado", to the United States. And you get to see this from the position of the coyotes (people who smuggle Mexicans across the border), border patrol agents, Mexicans that get caught on the other side and Arizona vigilantes.

I'm now going to head out and try and get in a set at a club in West Hollywood.

"If Beauty Were a Minute..."

"You'd be an hour."

I heard those words this morning from a shirtless athlete at Griffith Park. I'm assuming he was an athlete because he had a nice physique, and I'm guessing he was at Griffith to run or bike or something else athletic. I did what I always do in such situations, I smile, say thank you, and keep walking. But is that really a compliment?

Let's say beauty is a minute, and I'm an hour. There are 24 hours in the day, so I'm really only 1/24th as good--hour-wise--as I could possibly be. Granted, it's probably a decent number of minutes, but still. That means that if he thought another girl was hotter than me (and really, how could he?), she could easily be two or three or twelve hours beautiful, compared to my one. What would he say to Angelina Jolie? She'd definitely have to be more than an hour. But by how much? All twenty-four? "Hey, Angelina. If beauty were a minute, you'd be a day." How's that for a compliment? Why stop there? "If beauty were a minute, Ms. Jolie, you'd be a month." That's even better.

Anyway, this is what I do with compliments. I turn them around so I can see them in their least favorable light. It's a gift.

What else? Someone wondered if I was kidding about the DUIs. Um, duh. Believe me, if I do anything inherently despicable, I will not advertise it. Not that DUIs are necessarily despicable. Irresponsible and potentially life-threatening, I'll allow. I'd have to get rid of some of my friends if I found them despicable. Not that I'm advocating DUIs. I'm not. Geez, back off! Sorry.

As I was exercising (walking slowly) today, I was thinking about language, and how the English language has evolved, or rather devolved. I remember reading Samuel Pepys's diary in school and marveling at how erudite it came across. I mean, this was a diary and yet we were reading in class. And then I thought how horrifying it would be if my diary was ever required reading, and what the essay assignments might be.

Compare and contrast the celebrities who went to Elton John's Oscar party at Maple Drive Restaurant to those who went to Paul Sorvino's Oscar party at The Comedy Store. What were Laura's feelings about being assigned to work the Paul Sorvino party? Can you describe the differences between A, B, and C-list celebrities? Where would Carrot Top rank on this hierarchical scale and why (remember to use examples to back up your argument)? Toward the end of the century literature experienced an explosion of what we now call the "narcissistic narrative." Using no fewer than three examples, please illustrate how authors of this particular genre made common knowledge appear as truths only they had recently uncovered?

Actually, I think that would be a fun class.

All for now.

Saturday Night!

Awwwwwww yeah! It's Saturday night. Es Ay Tee You Are Dee Ay Why...NIGHT!

What is that last sentence from (think movie)?

For the record, I didn't stay home the entire evening last night. I have some kind of social life. I ate some red curry chicken and watched Thai Elvis share his magic at The Palms.

I also got a DUI. No biggie. I'm drunk again tonight, and have to run out the door soon to see Guy perform at a video store. Hollywood is a glamorous place. What are the odds I'll get a DUI TWO NIGHTS IN A ROW?! Not likely. I'll drive again and see what happens, try and avoid Johnny Law.

Recorded podcast #2 today. Good stuff. We introduce a new game that y'all can play at home. This week the game involved a Swedish Girl, next week: who knows?

Oh yeah, almost forgot, I got charged with manslaughter this afternoon. I'm gonna fight it. I'll probably win. If you're a cyclist, you need to get off your bike if you use the crosswalk; otherwise, a driver making a left-hand turn before the yellow light turns red won't see you and will probably run you over. Seriously cyclists, have some common sense.

What else is going on in my life? Not much really. Just the DUI and manslaughter. That's pretty much it.

I'll post again later when I have something interesting to talk about.

FRIDAY NIGHT!

Awwwwww yeah! Nothing says Friday night like blogging when you're hungry! Can I get an ampersand? Suh weet. I got a bottle of Jim Beam and a special double issue of Entertainment Weekly. I'd tell you the 122 people and things we love to do this summer but I'd have to kill you. Zing! Hey, I'm just playin' ;) LOL

Ef Entertainment Weekly y'all. Ima come up with my own dang list of people and things i'd like to do this summer.

1. get a haircut
2. get dinner
3. get a guy to propose to me at the eiffel tower
4. three new tires on my car
5. a brand new timing belt!
6. see the movie "Before Batman Began," when Bruce Wayne and his wife met then conceived
7. see the largest thermometer in the world
8. get sick drinking the water in a foreign country
9. backpack through Iowa
10. nose job
11. tummy tuck
12. recover at a spa
13. take in a show on broadway, in Ohio, not New York
14. do something crazy like get a fake tattoo
15. acquire an eating disorder
16. finish this list a little bit later

Earthquake! Get in the Doorway!

About a half hour ago an earthquake struck Southern California. I know this because I experienced said earthquake, and Yahoo news confirmed that I had, indeed, experienced an earthquake. I'm already in the process of creating an outline for the screenplay I will certainly write.

I was sitting on the couch, reading the LA Times' article about men and women's brains being different from one another, when I felt a slight tremor. I looked up. Could this be an earthquake? Then the apartment shook a little bit more. I had a friend over for lunch and he was all, "Shouldn't we get in a doorway?" I was like, "No." Then he was like, "I thought you were supposed to get in a doorway or go outside because the building might collapse." The earthquake was over before we finished debating the merits of taking any precautions.

I keep reading about quakes in the news, how Southern California experienced a 5 point something or other. I never feel 'em. I'm always thinking, "We had an earthquake?" So I was happy that I actually got to feel one today.

The last earthquake I felt was the Northridge quake, the big one that caused tons of damage...unless you were in Santa Barbara, where I was living at the time. It struck around four in the morning so I was in bed when it hit. The apartment/bungalow started shaking, really shaking, and it kept shaking. As soon as I realized what was happening, I yelled "Earthquake! Get in the doorway!" I tried to warn my two roommates to save themselves. They stayed in bed. It lasted around forty-five seconds, and I knew it had to be a big one, and I was kind of scared. It was my first earthquake and I didn't really know what you were supposed to do in them. I imagined school kids probably went through drills, so native residents knew what to do.

Anyhoo, it was dark out. I had to wait until the sun came up to assess the damage. I predicted buckled sidewalks, fallen trees, mayhem. When I finally stepped outside, there was...nothing. I mean, it was actually a really nice day, weather-wise, one of the nicest days of the year in fact. Not too hot, not too cold. I got on my bike and peddled to the bookstore where I worked (although I was off that day) so I could get a cappuccino. That's when the magnitude of the Northridge quake really hit me: the ESPRESSO MACHINE DIDN'T WORK! Not at the bookstore, not anywhere. The power was out in the city of Santa Barbara. Meanwhile, back in Northridge, there was carnage, collapsed buildings, ruined homes, missing persons, the National Guard, everything one would expect to find in a disaster area. But I didn't have my coffee so I couldn't concern myself with all that nonsense.

Anyway, the point of this story is that my roommates would use my, "Earthquake, get in the doorway!" cry against me for the rest of the year. At any given moment one of them might get the urge to cry out "Earthquake, ..." and then laugh. Ha Ha.

I vowed I would never err on the side of safety after that. I would never get caught warning anyone of imminent danger. Laura Swisher wasn't going to be anyone's fool. From that point forward, I decided I'd meet any potential threat to my life with irony, "Ooohh, looks like we may get killed if this structure collapses. Boo hoo."

Oh, the best part is that the phone lines were ringing all day with concerned friends and family calling my roommates to see if they were all right. Me? Nothing. I waited until the afternoon and then called my family, "Hey, uh, I'm just calling to let you know that I'm all right...in case, you know, in case you were worried at all. You know, cause it's the biggest story of the day and there's 24 hour coverage of the devastation, images of collapsed buildings and what not. So if you thought for a second I might be hurt or anything, I'm just calling to let you know I'm fine."

And that's my earthquake story.

$83,000 a Year

That's what I could be making with my skill set, according to Tickle (eTickle?). They say: With your skills, you could be earning up to $83,000 per year. Find out which jobs match these skills in your personalized Right Job Report.

They figured this out from the quiz I took where I either Strongly Agreed, Agreed, Disagreed or Strongly Disagreed. To get my personalized job report, I'll need to fork over $12.95. Still, $12.95 is a small price to pay to land an $83,000-a-year job. $12.95 is an INVESTMENT, probably even a tax write off!

When potential employers ask what my salary expectations are, I'm gonna put down $83,000. Unless, of course, I get booked to do a show. In that case I'd be insulted that someone would think I'd work for that amount, an embarrassingly-low $83,000.

At present, I think my actual skill set is good for either $15.00 an hour, or around $150,000+ a year. I'd like to get the lesser salary up to about $50-$100 bucks an hour, but I'm not sure what that entails. Knowledge of Quark? Programming skills? Marketing know how? Being stuck in an office?

If anyone knows feel free to share.

Ummmmm...spoke to the agent today. Looks like no one has been called back for the BIG AUDITION (I mention the show on the podcast). I think they'll have callbacks around mid-July, which means I'm still in the running. I think. I hope.

And it also looks like I'll be taping something with WE (the Women's Network) next Thursday or Friday, another panel show utilizing my quick wit. More on that after I tape it.

Blah blah blah Me Blah blah Me blah blah I blah blah

Why Aren't Heads Rolling?

Why is it that news of a Guantanamo detainee's interrogation/torture has sparked outrage, while the torture inflicted on millions of Americans everyday is NEVER addressed?

The often hour-by-hour log spans a period of 50 days from November 2002 to January 2003, during which time 16 of 19 additional interrogation techniques were approved by US Defence Secretary Donald Rumsfeld for use on specific detainees.

They included isolation for up to 30 days, removal of clothing, exploiting individual phobias and "mild, non-injurious physical contact." Such methods were later revoked.

The quizzing of al-Qahtani often started at midnight, Time magazine reports. He was woken up by having water dripped on his head or Aguilera's music played.

Republicans are even upset about this.

I ask you, why isn't Clear Channel being investigated? They've subjected us to way more hours of Christina's music than Al-whatshisname. And we're supposedly "free".

Where's the outrage, America?

Mayhem Is Expensive

But first, I listened to a half hour of Weezy and The Swish today and I didn't cringe all that much, which surprised me. For the first one, I liked it. The second half hour may have tanked. I'm not sure. The one thing I'd change is the sound level on my mic. Weezy's voice is a lot louder than mine. I shouldn't be surprised, however, because we recorded the show in her studio. She probably told the engineer to muffle my voice. And of course I noticed certain things I do that bother me, which is good. I'll be able to correct for them.

So that's all I have to say on that. Here's something else...

I was perusing California's penal code to figure out what crimes I can afford to commit bail-wise.

It turns out I can MANUFACTURE, IMPORT, SELL, OR POSSESS DISGUISED FIREARMS OR OTHER DEADLY WEAPONS, CONCEAL A CHILD THAT I HAVE A RIGHT TO CUSTODY OR VISITATION WITH, BURGLE (SECOND DEGREE ONLY) and UNLAWFULLY CAUSE A FIRE - STRUCTURE OR FOREST LAND, for the same amount of bail as I would if I only PARTICIPATED IN A STREET GANG or ABDUCTED A PERSON UNDER 18 FOR PURPOSES OF PROSTITUTION. The latter two crimes cost $20,000 each in bail, while the others are only $5000 each.

This is an important lesson for gang bangers. They should know that they're much better off abducting someone to turn him/her into a prostitute than hanging with the homies. You'll be pleased to know that this is a lesson I plan to bring to communities affected by gang violence.

Say No to Gangs...
but Yes to Arson

Bail for the crime of bigamy is only $3000; therefore, it's probably the only crime I can afford to commit at this point in time. I hope to get to a point in my career that I can afford to commit ASSAULT WITH A DEADLY WEAPON OR MACHINE GUN ON A PEACE OFFICER OR FIREFIGHTER ($100,000) without having to get help from my parents. I want to do these things on my own.

Here's something disturbing: there's an actual penal code for throwing, or causing to be thrown, a mixture of human excrement or other bodily fluids or substances upon a state prison officer or employee. Ewww. There's no bail for that, but the criminal would have to be behind bars so it makes sense. Still, to have its own penal code means that this offense happened a lot. I guess when a prison guard comes home and says, "Honey, I've had a really bad day," he might be telling the truth. And chances are his bad day will trump any bad day you've had (cause it's a competition).

So this is where my mind wanders when I don't have anything specific to talk about.

Cool! Batman Begins June 15

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Mmmm...Altoids

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I was a little surprised by this sign...

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Podcast & Gay Pride

The two don't actually have anything to do with one another, but this is going to be a quick entry because 6 Feet Under is coming on soon and I've gotta be ready for it.

Saturday I went into the studio with Weezy and we recorded the first podcast. She's got pics of said event at flickr and possibly her website. I don't have the addresses for either at present but a quick Google search should yield results. The first two hours of the initial podcast were spent figuring out how to hook everything up correctly. We had Matt Hartley calling in from Washington and we could hear him but he couldn't hear us, and there was a lot of talk of input and output and sound engineer kind of stuff. But after a couple hours we were off and running.

I don't know how it turned out, but I can say I had a fun time recording it. Weezy and I amused ourselves and will hopefully amuse others who check it out. Subjects we touched upon: Testifying in the MJ trial, My BIG audition (could go absolutely nowhere), Flying body parts, Henry Winkler's fondness for me (word on the street is he likes me), Steve Jobs, Potato Chip Jesus and a bunch of other stuff. There were many tangents. I think it might go up in a few days, but I'm not doing any of the technical stuff so it depends on others.

Today, Sunday, I went to West Hollywood's Gay Pride Parade. I hate to say it, but I was a little bit disappointed. Last year around this time I was in San Francisco and went to its parade and San Francisco kicks West Hollywood's ass. Today, for example, there was no nudity whatsoever. In San Francisco there was nudity aplenty. Old nudity, young nudity, sunburned nudity... West Hollywood had a couple of floats, nothing that great; San Francisco had a ton of floats and a much more festive atmosphere and way hotter guys. And the WeHo parade was really short. Guy speculated that it may have something to do with the fact that LA is filled with actor boys who do actor boy things like bad cold readings and stuff.

I took a lot of pictures and I'll post some of them here. I sent some to my moblog from my cell phone as well. I wanted to post this entry from Flickr but I can't remember how I did it before.

There were a tiny amount of anti-gay protesters with megaphones and posters of the "God Hates Gays" variety. I took some pics of them as well.

It was an okay way to spend a day, but nothing compared to last year. Also, last year I tasted a pupusa for the very first time at the SF parade. Pupusas are yummy.

I'll see if I can send some pics over before 6 Feet Under starts.

Skid Row Adjacent

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South San Pedro St.

Okay, I know he said he lived downtown, but I didn't think it would be downtown. Google maps indicated the address I searched fell between 4th and 5th Streets on South San Pedro. It's common knowledge in this little city that Downtown LA is currently undergoing a revitalization. Where former toy factories once spewed out, uh, toys and harmful dioxins, are now trendy, spacious lofts. Considering it's almost impossible to find a two bedroom home in this city for under $500,000--so say my friends who have houses--Downtown is a bargain. Everything I read about it sounds great. Developers are constructing new condos and attracting new businesses, supermarkets, restaurants, etc. Sometime in the future, professionals will be able to live, work and play in the area, enjoying all the amenities we Hollywood Hills/WeHo/Los Feliz/Beverly Hills denizens have without having to leave Downtown. It's possible to catch glimpses of this new Downtown. If you head to MOCA there are nice courtyards, fountains, elegant new apartments and an upscale restaurant (possibly more?) in the museum courtyard. If you were sitting at the restaurant sipping Chardonnay as a summer breeze kissed your face, you might think, "I could see myself living here."

As I mentioned, the area is in the process of revitalizing itself, which means it's not quite there yet. So when my friend said he lived downtown, in Little Tokyo, I kind of imagined I'd be heading to one of these aforementioned areas, possibly near the place where I had sushi a couple years ago.

Not so.

My friend's apartment is smack dab in the middle of LA's skid row. Actually, I think skid row technically spans a nice stretch of Los Angeles Street. So my friend is skid row adjacent.

There's a kind of anarchy in this part of LA. The streets are teeming with homeless people, many of whom suffer mental disorders. There are bodies on the sidewalks, in the streets, a lot of hustle and bustle, as well as drug-induced inertia (okay, I'm assuming this part). Not surprisingly, I kind of stood out--you know, having all my teeth and a car. And while I like to consider myself a champion of homeless causes, when I'm at the epicenter of poverty and despair, I'm not thinking so much of how I can help their plight as much as I'm wondering if I should leave my iPod in the car or take it with me. I weigh the options in my head: is it more likely that I'll be mugged if I take it with me, or is it more likely my car will be broken into if I leave it there? Broken car window or suddenly purseless? I feared the broken window more. Having your car broken into is kind of a rite of passage in Los Angeles. It happens to everyone, even in "nice" neighborhoods. It's happened to me twice so I'm ultra paranoid. And the second time my crappy car had a crappy stereo. The thief stole my crappy stereo!

Anyway, I found a parking spot right in front of my friend's building. Get this: the parking meter charged twenty-five cents for ten minutes. Excuse me? I plunked a buck fifty in the meter for one hour. I felt really self-conscious when I got out of my car. I'd taken two quarters out before I left my vehicle thinking I didn't want anyone to see me with my wallet out. That'd be like waving jerky treats for bulls in front of a bull.

The apartment itself? Gorgeous. High ceilings, lots of light, spacious--everything one would want in a living situation...minus the tent city on the sidewalk.

I won't be moving downtown anytime soon.

Fatty Arbuckle

I've been dividing my time reading "I, Fatty", working on my stand-up material and preparing for a huge audition this Friday. I won't say what it's for because I don't want to jinx it.

Shoot. I probably just jinxed it by even mentioning it in this blog. Damn. I'm a moron.

Oh, and I also culled a ton of news stories to possibly discuss on the first podcast, to be recorded this Saturday.

News of note
--Kerry's grades at Yale nearly the same as Bush's, surprise surprise.
--Human leg falls from a jetliner and lands in someone's yard in Florida.
--U.S. Number One in mental illness. Yay!
--Crazy guy with a chainsaw allowed to enter this country. Next day=bloodbath. Oops.
--Anal bleaching is all the rage right now

And other such fare. Any subjects you think are worth discussing? Lemme know.

I'm going back to my book/writing.

Hail Mayor Bloomberg!

I can usually be counted on to champion Democrats over Republicans, but today Republican New York Mayor Michael R. Bloomberg stole my heart. If he were to run for president, I might vote for him. Why? Because he has the guts to tackle the single most important issue of our time, an issue the mainstream media repeatedly ignores.

I'm not talking about Terrorism, genocide in Darfur, the outsourcing of jobs, illegal immigration, the EU constitution crisis, the Michael Jackson trial, the Supreme Court decision to uphold the federal government's right to ban marijuana (although the legalization of marijuana is extremely important) or even the Downing Street Memo. The issue I'm referring to makes the ones just listed seem trivial and trite.

Michael Bloomberg finally tackled the problem of long lines in women's restrooms. Today, June 7, 2005, he signed off on the Potty Parity legislation requiring all new buildings to install twice as many bathroom stalls in women's restrooms than in men's.

Other politicians should take note. This should definitely be a Federal matter. And if anyone running for president wants my vote in 2008, this issue must be part of his or her platform.

Am I right ladies?

Weezy & The Swish: Podcast Fever

Podcast fever, as you know, is going around and it looks as though I caught it and gave it to my friend--and fellow comedian and testifier in the Michael Jackson trial--Louise Palanker, otherwise known as Weezy. I, Laura Swisher, am sometimes referred to as The Swish. Guess how we came up with the name?

As it looks now, our plan is to create a weekly half-hour podcast wherein we spout off on items in the news, tech updates and conduct intriguing interviews with amazing people, or other comics if we fail to find amazing people.

Matt Hartley, the gnomedex king, will contribute as well. If you wondered how we could deliver tech updates when we're probably not very tech-savvy ourselves, well, that's how. He will be our window into all things tech and gadget-y.

Ummmmm...I'm guessing it might be a little rough-going at first, but the goal is to provide high production value and quality content.

I will of course make an announcement as to where one can listen to it when it goes online.

All for now.

Plan B

Self-discipline didn't work. Today I tried to implement my "no computer use in the morning" plan. I've been late to many an appointment thinking I'd just read one little news story, or just skim the headlines, before losing the next three hours of my life to the Internet. I can't help it. I now know not to boil water and kill time by going online for a second. At a certain point there will be a funny smell permeating the air and then I'll realize that water has ceased to boil and, in its place, the actual pot is cooking.

So today I didn't turn the computer on until after lunch. Although I haven't gotten a lot of work done as far as writing goes, I did manage to buy groceries and wash my car. That's something.

I'm now off to get a lesson on how to use Final Cut Pro with audio.

Oh, the shoot was fine, although my thighs are killing me. Practically every shot involved running in heels. But we were done by around 9:30am so it was nice and short. We shot the scene at this outdoor mall-ish kind of place in Glendale before any of the shops opened up. So in this one alley in Glendale yesterday, had you been walking by, you'd have seen an angry black mob of women running in heels and also rioting. Mild rioting. There were offices in the complex so some of the hard workers in their office on a Sunday at 7am witnessed this.

Okay, now I'm off.

Don't Befriend Filmmakers

Seriously. They suck you into their filmmaker vortex and before you know it, you agree to help them with their "labor of love".

Tomorrow morning my alarm clock is going to go off at 5am. I am supposed to be "on set" by 6am.

Am I starring in this film? No. Do I have a lot of lines? No. I'm part of an angry mob of women.

I now have to go to bed.

In conclusion, stay away from filmmakers. Or, at the very least, if they ask an innocuous-seeming question like, "Hey, what are you doing next weekend?", lie. Say your busy. It's a loaded question. They're trying to manipulate you into helping on their film.

Again, going to bed.

Beloved Comedian Gallagher Is Innocent

As you know, I normally don't get too involved in matters of celebrity wrong-doing, but this story goes too far and I can't, in good conscience, ignore it. For those who haven't yet heard, on May 27 a police report was filed by a craven man alleging that Gallagher, an American treasure, had slapped him during a show.

Pardon me for being a bit skeptical, but I find it hard to believe that a man who brings so much joy into peoples' lives would jeopardize his good standing by slapping an audience member. Ridiculous! The police should dismiss this unmerited claim.

I'm guessing that this man came to the show to laugh, and when he couldn't comprehend the subtlety of Gallagher's humor, got mad. As joke after joke went over his head, and everyone else around him was laughing, he struck out at Gallagher and fabricated this outrageous story.

As a comic myself, I feel obligated to come to the defense of a fellow comedian. If we comedians don't look out for one another then, well, people like William Edwin May III of Anaheim will continue to persecute us. And if we let this guy get away with it, it will embolden others to make wild accusations against comedians as well.

This reminds me of a poem. I forget how it goes exactly, but it's something like:

"In Germany, the Nazis first came for the communists, and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a communist. Then they came for the Protestants, but I didn't speak up because I wasn't a protestant. Then they came for the Magicians, and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Magician. Then they came for the hypnotists, but I didn't speak up because I wasn't a hypnotist. Then they came for the Strong Men, but I didn't speak up because I wasn't a strong man. Then they came for the clowns, but I didn't speak up because I wasn't a clown. Then they came for the contortionists, but I didn't speak up because I wasn't a contortionist. Then they came for the emcees, but I didn't speak up because I wasn't an emcee. Then they came for me, a comic, and by that time there was no one left to speak for me."

Pretty powerful stuff. So if there's one thing I've learned from history, but WWII in particular, it's that I must speak up for Gallagher.

Burn on You!

Remember how much fun it was to burn people--not literally, of course, but metaphorically? You know, when you'd sneak up behind someone, yank their shorts down and yell, "Burn!" Or hurl water at someone as you run by? Those were good times, my teenage years.

Cut to me yesterday, walking down the stairs of my apartment off to a gig as my friend, coincidentally, starts walking upstairs. We meet about three quarters of the way down and he fake slaps me (as in not hard). To get him back, I do the same thing, only as my hand swings around to hit him, my feet don't want to cooperate and somehow lose my footing and fall down the stairs. I don't fall head over heels or anything; I just end up at the base of the stairs, more or less unscathed. I'm missing some skin off the top of my left foot, right knee and left hand index finger. I'm pretty sure the finger injury occured when my left armed flailed upwards to try and grab the railing, but scraped against the wall instead. How did I scrape the top of my foot? I have no idea. All I know is that I looked ridiculous.

As this is happening, my downstairs neighbor rounds the corner with his dog. He has that look on his face that says, "Is everything all right?" and then he asks, "Are you all right?" I say yes without making eye contact. The fall must have been loud because my upstairs neighbor pokes her head out the door, "Is everything okay?" So pretty much everyone in my building happens to be around when I make an ass of my self.

There's nothing worse than hurting yourself when there are witnesses, especially when the cause of said injury owes itself to your clumsiness. The pain of being seen is always twice as painful as the physical pain.

At a certain company that I used to work, the game room was pretty much a glass room, including the doors. If you're not careful it's easy to mistakenly walk into the door thinking it's open when it's not. So this one day my boss was walking at his usual fast pace, on some kind of mission, and he smacks into the glass. Face first. Hard. He falls down, his nose is bleeding and it's serious enough that he has to go to the doctor to get his nose looked at. I forget if he broke it or not. My first question, when I find out about it, isn't whether he's okay, but whether or not there were any people in the game room. There were. Ooh. Ouch. And then, when I thought about it more, I started laughing as I pictured him slamming into the glass. Couldn't help it.

People running into glass is funny. People falling down stairs is funny. Mothers falling off stools=funny, even if they don't see it that way. When I was in junior high my mom was standing on a stool in the kitchen to get something out of the cupboard. The stool slips, she ends up on the ground, I have to put my best, "Are you okay?" face on to share my concern. I could barely say the words without laughing, and my friend was in the hall laughing. I could see her but my mother couldn't. So I'm fighting back the laughter and she's goading me and my mom is pissed that I could be so callous.

What can you do? It's funny. Except when it happens to you, like it did to me, yesterday.

I'll Do Oprah w/ You

I'm just throwing it out there, should any hot up-and-coming and/or established actor read this: I will happily play the part of your love interest for the greedy public.

We can be smart about it if you'd like. We'll start off talking to one another at top clubs and restaurants, oblivious to anyone else's presence. You'll touch my arm and lean in to tell me something private and I'll respond by laughing aloud, in a way that suggests you've said something witty. With any luck, that exchange will run in a magazine or two.

A few weeks later, you and I will be spotted canoodling in the corner of some Vegas nightspot after a major concert event or boxing match. At the end of the evening, we'll be spotted leaving separately, though only 10 minutes apart. Our hotel rooms will be across the hall from one another, a fact that won't be lost on the media.

When our romance grows too big for the press to ignore, our publicists will issue statements to the effect of, "So and so is an amazing human being, and I have the utmost respect for so and so, but we are just friends. That's all."

The next day a fuzzy picture of us sharing a kiss at an out-of-the-way restaurant will land on the covers of three different tabloids. Again our publicists will deny any romantic involvement.

When a picture of us rolling around on a beach in Malibu comes out, we'll have to come forward with "the truth", that we're an item, very much in love.

You'll do a round of talk shows promoting your upcoming movie and when the hosts inevitably ask about us, you'll be demure and try to change the subject back to the film at hand. They'll press; you'll give in slightly. "Laura? She's fine. No, things are great. She's amazing. Do you know I'm in a film coming out this Friday?" The audience will laugh at the clever way you try to change the subject away from your private life.

We carry this charade on for as long as you require--me going to movie premieres with you, you making statements about supporting my career, etc. Then, when you deem it's time to move on, we'll be seen fighting in public, leaving parties separately. You'll go to a strip club with your male friends and be seen talking one of the strippers up. I'll spend the night at my gay/straight male hairstylist's house.

Our publicists will release statements that we're still a couple, and then, soon after that, we'll be done with one another and our publicists will announce that we're still close friends, but that things just didn't work out. We parted amicably.

I can be very discreet. If you want a high-profile relationship with a woman without all the sex, I am here for you. What will I get? Publicity.

So, if you're ready to do this, have your publicist contact me and we'll work out some kind of arrangement. The soonest we could pretend-meet is June 12th.

I look forward to hearing from you.