Friday, February 22, 2013



Can you tell where my brain is this week?  DJa, Dja!  (The ‘D’ is silent.)  It’s Oscar Fever!  Now, don’t get me wrong, I am not some popcorn-tossing, 3-D glasses wearing, foreign-film-director-name-dropping movie aficionado.  This is not a movie blog.  Oscars, for me, aren’t really about who wins, because it’s subjective, right?  I know I enjoyed Django Unchained, Zero Dark Thirty and Silver Linings Playbook most, but will my fav three get the nod?  Unlikely.  So the actual winners are kind of secondary, tertiary or quaternary in importance; it’s about the party, the shebang, the hootenanny, the hullaballoo!

(That said, I still have my lil' fingeeees crossed for the incomparable, many-tongued Christoph Waltz. Grrrr! )

The Empress and I are hosting our fifth Annual Shindig Soiree on Sunday, and it is consuming every waking moment.  I am writing, inhaling and hallucinating lyrics right now, and you know what?  It feels great!  For those of you who live far and wide, for my reader in Latvia—“Hello, Latvia!”—for poor souls who have lived with us right on your doorstep but never attended, this isn’t any ordinary gathering of dry, beige movie conflab, or drab collective of friends recycling old bridesmaid’s dresses and commenting on red carpet fashion!  This is Tina Fey and Amy Poehler meets Weird Al, with a sprinkling of Ru Paul.  And if that don’t sound fun, I’m a militant lesbian communist bishop!

This year, the Empress and I have written songs--well, parodies is probably a better term--for each of the best picture nominations which we will “sing/rap/perform” for the delectation and delight of our togged-up party-goers!  (Yes, I typed 'rap'.  Which I am learning is really quite the challenge of brain and mouth synchrony.)  So, that is where my writing brain has been this week, and I hope you forgive me, because this blog is mainly a long-winded explanation of why my syllable-stylin’ is spent; and if this serves as a subtle-as-a-belly-dancing-turquoise-elephant-crooning-Non, Je ne regrette rien-and-smoking-cheroots plug, then so be it!
"Elephants like belly-dancing.  Entertaining their friends.  Watch their bellies wibble-wobble. Even when the music ends."

Would it spoil the surprise if I revealed my favourite rhymes?  It probably would, so I will leave you dangling in the hopes that you will instead decide to join us at Posh; that you will venture forth on Sunday night because you are fun, dear Reader!  You are!  And maybe you enjoy a delicious meal, or champagne and canapés in raucous company!  Perhaps, you enjoy a flutter on the Oscar nominations and want to jump in the pool, or fancy yourself a trivia fiend and want to win the array of kindly donated prizes.  Clearly, you like to give back and support special needs children—not the Empress and I, but Camp Create, which half the pool will go to help fund.  Maybe, you just like getting gussied up!  Whatever your reason, willkommen!  Bienvenue!  Welcome!

Because meine damen und herren, this year will be like no other!  This is the year we sing of naked mandingos!  (And no! We don’t mean hairless Australian prairie dogs who eat babies!)  We belt songs of angry men and odes to Daniel Day Lewis’s beard!  We trill of bi-polar crazies in need of pfa’s!  We make strange noises about a child in the grimy Bathtub!  We coo of pigeon’s not crapping indoors! We see a little silhouetto of man with a mullet!  We start singing bye, bye little Indian Pi!  With gusto we chant of a starving bald single mother forced into prostitution and a cast in desperate need of anti-wrinkle skin care!  (I can help, Hugh, I can help!)  And we rhyme llamas and banana with Osama!  WHERE, fair reader, WHERE would you find this?

Posh, at the Scranton Club on Sunday 24th February, of course!  visit Posh!  So come!  Get gussied and gastro-ed and giggled.  It’s for the children! Visit Camp Create (And for fun.)   (And our egos’.)
There.  Turquoise elephant on the screen.
And enormous thanks to the musical genius and magical fingers of newly wed Marko Marcinko!  Meet Marko!


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