Archive | 2010

I’m beginning to think I should just rename this blog “pictures of my parent’s dog and occasional funny lists and/or oversharey diary entries plus photos of me in the back of a car on the way home from TV appearances” however that’s already been taken. Plus, I hate to pander to search engine optimization boobs Obama.

A photo of Tobey which has nothing to do with this post

I’ve been overwhelmed by the really positive response to my Carolla appearance in the comments on his web site and on my web site and in emails and on twitter. I know that stuff shouldn’t really fill the empty spaces in me like it did, but I’d be lying if I said yesterday didn’t feel like an extended Xmas morning. Refreshing my computer and watching more and more positive comments come in was like sitting in front of a slot machine that kept pouring out winnings. And not those stupid paper vouchers but actual coins. Except I kind of hate coins so maybe this one is pouring out giant checks. And ducklings.

Given the way yesterday felt it makes me realize even more why a bunch of negative comments on the internet can be so devastating even though everyone on the receiving end of it tells themselves it shouldn’t matter which then creates this extra shame/pain because you feel stupid for letting it get to you. (For extended viewing on the messed up relationship between performers and approval watch Jamie Kennedy’s Heckler and Joan Rivers: A Piece of Work.)

Not that I give a flying fuck what anyone thinks or anything because I totally don’t, man.

But one of the things you hear is is that you can’t take the good comments to heart because then that means you also have to believe the bad ones. Obviously in my case that’s totally wrong because the good ones are astute and spot on and brilliant and the bad ones are people who are mean and icky and mentally deficient.

Sometimes he runs and barks in his sleep, which is adorable

Anyway, I guess what I’m trying to say is yesterday a man named Fart wrote, “Allison was perfect match for the ACE man” and as much as I believe in myself, it’s still great to get Fart’s perspective.

Also I’ll most likely be doing my show on Sunday. I want to line up a musician who’s amazing who plays piano however the room where the piano is has been overtaken with my New York stuff and there are now subway tracks running through the piano and the bench has been replaced with a giant bagel. That doesn’t mean it won’t happen though.

Also, I feel like I shouldn’t really be commenting on the comments, that somehow that’s not done, but whatever.

Also I should  say that I think the danger is in believing them to the extent that you actually tailor your performances/art/what have you to attempt to provoke a certain reaction and that’s probably where the danger lies because a whole bunch of people can like an asshole while at the same time it’s possible for something to be brilliant and ahead of it’s time and not well received but still full of merit.

In sum: I’m an asshole who’s ahead of my time.

A cue card from a really old timey version of Jersey Shore

So yesterday I filled in as the newsgirl on Adam Carolla’s podcast. It was super fun even if we only got through about 1.5 of the 8 news stories I’d brought to discuss. You know what that means, right? It means I have all these opinions kicking around in my head. I’m going to just share them now, so they don’t spoil:

No! Hell no! Yes! I strongly disagree. Eh, I could go either way. That is FUCKED up. Creepy! I think it’s funny. WHAT?!?!?! Oh come on. You don’t really think that? Outrageous! Here here! FINALLY! Balls. Yeah, tell that to the judge. Oh for fuck’s sake. Bullshit. Hallelujah.

There are my opinions.

Actually, I could link to the stories but I have a busy day of reading comments ahead of me.

Another thing I could do? Share some of the interview with Adam and Dr. Drew from 12  years ago.

But these comments just aren’t going to read themselves.

And the boxes in the garage aren’t going to unpack themselves. STILL haven’t found the remote controls or power adapters.

The thing about moving to CA to help care for Marvin is that big stretches go by where I forget all about the situation. Now that we’re past the shock of the diagnosis, the crisis of the hospital, the steeling-yourself-for-news-of-what-it-all-means of the initial few months, things feel sort of normal at times. Marvin is doing well, there is a routine to the treatment and I’m free to walk around the house peering into rooms wondering where all my stuff is going to go once it arrives (it’s en route). It’s amazing how many boxes books take up when they’re emptied from a bookshelf. It’s also amazing how many books I have since I only recently learned to read. (Pop-up books are total space hogs!!!!)

So anyway, mostly I wander around like a dog whose house is being messed with or put on a table to be cleaned, completely unsettled with my lack of a home and new my identity as a person living in my parent’s house assuming my old identity. It’s like someone Command-Zd through the last ten years of my life. Also, where the hell am I going to put all my stuff?

And then I’ll catch a glimpse of something which snaps me right back into the present. This morning it was an image which I wish I could upload a photo of but instead I’ll just have to describe. It was a calendar, the same calendar I’ve seen a zillion times. Written in familiar handwriting down a neat clean row of Tuesdays was the word “chemo.” Same size, same pencil pressure, same placement in the box (upper left) as all the other appointments entered, some indicating other doctor visits, some reminders about bills paid or to be paid, some in other penmanship as this is a family calendar and a record of everyone’s somewhat mundane daily tasks. I suppose that’s the thing with this situation: when it’s under control, when it’s behaving as desired, it recedes into the background, flattened by the momentum of days passing, becoming just another thing to be dealt with, checked off, lived with.

So I moved from New York to California this weekend. Here are some photos capturing this delightful adventure. (Click on the thumbnail to read about each one. Click again to make the photo even bigger. Use the back button on your browser to get back to this page. God, do I have to tell you everything?)

I think it’s time to shake things up. My new go-to adjective is going to be “Oscar-nominated” and my catchphrase? “That’s so Raven.” Can’t wait to use my new Oscar-nominated catchphrase which is so Raven. You know?