"Taketh off thy doublet and breastplate, poolboy."

My love of crap television is widely known. I take no pride in loving America's Next Top Model, but for an hour a week I can tune in and take comfort that, while acting is often a ridiculous and soul-crushing pursuit, at least I don't have to wear a bathing suit on national TV.

But no amount of ridicule is going to stop me from watching this.

So good. Sooooo good.

I refuse to believe this is true.

Try - try - to stay calm when I tell you this, but Anna Nicole Smith is telling people she's pregnant again.

Granted, this is coming from Anna Nicole Smith, so there's a very strong chance she's also telling people she farts golden eggs and ate the Queen, but if it turns out to be true and she actually is knocked up, I think I might have to stop believing in God.

Well if these two couldn't make it work...

YOU'VE GOTTA BE FREAKING KIDDING ME.

All I want for Christmas is a winning lottery ticket.

Ah, Christmas. Christmaschristmaschristmas. I'm finding this holiday season a bit... less-than. Perhaps it's the Spring-like temperatures or the fact that I'm trying to stretch my last $11 over three days (don't worry, mom. I get paid soon) but I can't seem to whip myself into a Christmas froth this year. The tree vendors have started unpacking their wares which is nice (I live for a good pine-scented sniff) but even the trees seem a little depressed, sagging on the sidewalk in the heat.

I've decided that, this year, all my gifts are going to be homemade. I figure if I start now, I'll be... who am I kidding.

I have an intense love/hate for those Black Friday articles; the ones about people camping out in front of Best Buy for eighteen hours so they can buy a $50 television. The snobtastic part of me looooves to laugh at the yokels, with their baseball caps and their beer cozies and their "I got a $50 TV!" But the other part of me - the Banana Republic sale rack/giant box of toilet paper part - knows that if they did something like that at, say, Anthropologie I'd be beyond there. People'd TOTALLY camp out for that. (And by "people", I mean "me".)

What's the farthest you've ever gone for a bargain? (I'm not saying I've got a closet full of TP, I'm just... you know.)

Unleash the panic!

I'm finding myself in a bit of a pickle with nowhere to turn at the end up my rope, up a creek. (Without a paddle.) I make a very, very small part of my living documenting the exploits of my life as an actor. Up until now I've had a seemingly endless supply of experiences to ridicule (auditioning to play a hamster? Check. Being cast as a boot on a soap opera? Check.) but things have started to slow down, audition-wise, leaving me with little (read: zero) to write about.

Since my niche, as it were, is "My Life As An Actor", what the heck do I write about when there's nothing to write about? Any suggestions, faithful readers, on where to steer this boat?

DAVIDBLAINE!

Hope everybody had a lovely Thanksgiving. I ate a lot. A lot. I'm still full. I'm boiling myself a turkey carcass to make soup today - "Waste not, want not", as the Pilgrims said - and trying to figure out what to do with fifteen containers of leftover sweet potato casserole. Thanksgiving is expensive. I'm not going to tell you what my free-range, organic, died-with-a-smile-on-its-face bird from Whole Foods cost ($55. It cost $55) but I will say this: It was damn good.

The only bummer was missing David Blaine spinning in a gyroscope near Times Square. Quick question: What the hell is wrong with that man? Remember when David Blaine did magic? He was pretty damn amazing. So amazing, in fact, that he just might be the devil - which is fine as long as he keeps doing really cool magic. The problem is, he's not doing really cool magic anymore; instead, he's doing these ridiculous feats of - for lack of a better word - retardation. FROZEN IN A BLOCK OF ICE! BURIED ALIVE! GROWING INCREASINGLY PRUNY IN A GIANT GOLDFISH BOWL! I mean, I guess it's interesting in a "look what his body can endure" kind of way, but I can't help thinking that instead of watching a true guru or even a fantastic showman, I'm just watching someone with a death wish. That said, if you think that that stopped me from hauling ass in the pouring rain to watch David Blaine dangling over Times Square in a gyroscope, you don't know me at all.

David Blaine (Or as I like to call him, "Davidblaine") had until 6 am to get unshackled from the dangling gyroscope so that a hundred needy kids from could win a shopping spree at Target. The big "ooh!" about it all was that he was chained to the gyroscope for two days straight as it rotated eight times a minute, twenty-four hours a day, clouding his brain and making the unshackling more dramatic. Because they kept making such a fuss about the Target-sponsored shopping spree (while keeping awfully mum about what would happen to the poor little suckers if a woozy Davidblaine failed), I couldn't help but think that this little stunt might be more than a little rigged. Not that I would know, since by the time we got there Davidblaine was gone. Apparently he got fed up with the cold and the rain and the lack of tasty eats and decided to get out of there ASAP, making for a less-than-spectacular spectacle, if you ask me. A father/son tourist team saw our disappointed faces and drawled that we hadn't missed much. ("It wudn't very excitin", I think was the sum-up.) My sentiments exactly.

What IS exciting is Casino Royale. Two words about the new Bond: Yum-my.

They do have a hat that I've been eyeballing...

Not to sound like the beginning of a Jeff Foxworthy joke ("You know you shop too much when...") but you know you shop too much when Banana Republic sends you their fancy card. Yes folks, I've somehow managed to spend enough cash to be upgraded to Banana's LUXE card. This feat is made doubly impressive when you consider the fact that I only shop their sale rack. I can't quite figure out how I did it. Or where the clothes are. I mean, I live in a tiny New York City apartment with tiny New York City closets. I just don't have room for that many purchases! (At least, the amount of purchases that I imagine it would take to be upgraded to the fancy.) That said, the card is one classy looking dame. And I get free alterations which'll come in handy since I simply cannot pass up a $20 pencil skirt, even if it is a size 18.

I'M RICK JAMES, BITCH!

So here's the story: This tiger gave birth to rare triplets but because they were premature and too small, they died shortly after birth. The mother's health started to go downhill and the zoo officials decided she was depressed. They tried to find orphaned tiger cubs for her to nurse but were unsuccessful. The only orphans they could find were these piglets. The idea worked - she apparently thinks they're hers.

Normally I don't post "cutesy" photos because I that's not how I roll, yo. But the fact that the zoo officials dressed the piglets up in tiny tiger costumes kills me. Because this photo's really small I'm not sure you'll get the full affect, but trust a bitch, it's extremely adorable. (Sorry about the occasional slip into gangsta patois. I just watched Dave Chapelle's Block Party.)

Thanks to Mare-Mare for passing this on.

How'd she lose that baby weight so damn fast?

So those crazy kids got hitched yesterday. Honestly, couldn't feel more meh about the whole thing. Does that mean I won't tear open People Magazine in the checkout line? Hells no. But it does mean that... I'm not sure what I mean. But look at this man's face. At first glance it doesn't seem that weird. He's sort of smiling. But look closer. Stare into those eyes. Check out that grip.

Two words: Control. Freak.

Mmm... pie!

So I was listening to my favorite podcast the other day ("Good Food" on NPR) and they were discussing something interesting - the top scents that enhance male and female arousal. The top scents for males were a combination of pumpkin pie and lavender, followed closely by a combination of pumpkin pie and donuts, followed by (you guessed it) a combination of donuts and lavender.

Hmm.

For women, the top scent was a combination of Good 'n Plentys (that licorice candy) and cucumber.

Hmm.

The top scents that turned women off were barbequed meat, artificial cherry, and men's cologne. (What did I just buy Matt's for his birthday? Cologne. Best be returning that shit quick.)

The top scents that turned men off were:

Surprisingly (?) enough, nothing turned men off.

The scientists measured all this by offering scents and then checking the blood flow to the genitalia. Which begs the question, how'd they recruit people for that study?! I mean, it's not like you can put an ad out on Craig's List. (Scratch that - I'm sure they put an ad out on Craig's List.) Which begs the question - how'd they attach the electrodes? Which begs the question - Who are the poor fuckers who have to do the attaching?! That's gotta be an awkward job, right? And you know they made some poor intern do it so they could get "hands on experience". (Ba-da-CHI!)

I'm off to roll around in lavender and donuts.

Birthday!

Well I've gotta say, Matt's birthday was a raging success. My project went over like gangbusters (I had some of his friends send me their favorite Matt story - with the caveat that every one of them had to be a bald-faced lie. Then I illustrated each story and made it into a very 6th grade looking book report, complete with a construction paper cover and yarn binding) and we ate a great meal, complete with the most expensive bottle of wine I've ever ordered. (Compliments of our niece Amanda who's in town. Rock on, girl!) And while Matt hasn't caught up with me age-wise yet (I likes 'em young), he defintely surpasses me in maturity.

Typing and pasting and crafting! Oh my!

I promise the posting will commence (recommence?) once today is done. I've taken on a project that is so overblown, so ridiculously time-consuming, that it leaves very few hours for anything else. I'm talking about Matt's birthday present. I'll tell you all about it once the little bugger's opened it up. (The next time I say to myself, "Hey, that's a good idea! It won't take long!" just go ahead and slap me in the snoot, okay?)

Oh, by the way - HAPPY BIRTHDAY MATT!

(Love you!)

That'd buy a lot of cashmere slippers...

Okay, truth be told, I have occasionally watched that ridiculous show "Wife Swap". I don't watch it often and I always feel vaguely dirty afterwards, but sometimes, you know, it's just on. I could never figure out where they got their participants, though. I mean, who's so starved for attention that they'd leave their family for a week and subject them to the terrors of healthy food or church or whatever it was that they were most afraid of? (Before you get all uppity on me, I support both healthy food and church.) I certainly wouldn't consider putting my husband and pets at the mercy of ABC.

Until I saw a casting notice for it.

Each family gets $20,000.

$20,000.

Dignity be damned! Husband? Beloved pets? See ya!

The blog brought to you by the Ketchup Board

I'm buying myself a Christmas present. What could it be, you ask? A year's subscription to US Weekly? A pair of cashmere slippers? A gigantic box of chocolates from Vosges that'll last me a year since I'm only eating sugar on weekends?

Tickets to A PRAIRIE HOME COMPANION!

Golly, I love me some Garrison Keillor. He's so down homesy and folksy and nice. (Actually I hear he's not so nice but I'll ignore those rumors, just like I do with my beloved Bing Crosby.) He's doing two weekends at Town Hall (where I once performed in a little circle of hell known as "children's theater") and by God, I'll be there! The real decision is this: Do I go to the (substantially cheaper) Friday night performance which is probably more of a rehearsal than an actual "show" or go to the (significantly more expensive) LIVE BROADCAST show? The ham in me knows which one she'd rather see but the pocketbook tells me otherwise. ($36 or $62... $36 or $62...)

Hold the phone! HOLD THE PHONE!

Yes, yes, the House and Senate might finally turn over into the hands of the Democrats and that's super important and so forth but HOLY GUACAMOLE, KEVIN AND BRIT ARE KA-PUT!

Ink stained finger, here I come!

For the love of God, VOTE TOMORROW! I know it's not a Presidential election so maybe it doesn't seem all the big but I'm telling you, if Democrats lose we are up shit creek without a paddle. And what's even scarier? Even with Republican Mark Foley trying to get butt sex from children, even with the head of the Religious Right paying for sex and drugs, even with all those Republican senators getting busted by the F.B.I. for being totally corrupt (along with that asshat, Abramoff), even with the war going worse and worse every day, even with a Commander in Chief who's a NATIONAL JOKE, the Republican poll numbers are climbing.

I know.

If you live in Missouri, for perhaps the first time ever your state is hella important. Take some much needed time off work and go do your civic (at this point I'm gonna go ahead and say "moral") duty, then buy yourself a sundae after. I'm thinking hot fudge.

And a pair of those awesome Coach boots.

Today I begin the hunt - the hunt for the world's warmest pair of gloves. New York winters fucking bite, not only because it gets colder than the Arctic's tit but because you can't escape. You're out there, man! The only break, if you can call it that, is the subway which... oh God, I can't even think about it. So Ali needs some gloves. I don't know why it's so hard to find what I want. All I ask is they they be warm enough to withstand sub-zero temperatures but thin enough for me to be able to handle my keys, and stylish enough to be... stylish. "Thinsulate"? Sister, please. I laugh at your piddly "Thinsulate".

Speaking of shopping, it's almost practically nearly Christmas. I was thinking about my list and you know what I want? What I truly, deeply want? More than almost anything in the world except for a Burberry raincoat and world peace? A really sharp pair of scissors.

Yeah.

Okay, that is so adult it's slightly vomitous. A really sharp pair of scissors? What the fuck?! That's just... wow. But you know what? I need scissors and would never buy something that boring for myself (scratch that - bought a pair last night) but scissors aren't the problem. Here's the bigger question: When did I become boring? I used to sit on my grandma's couch poring over the J.C. Penney catalog for DAYS and wanted (and, surprise-surprise, got) great fucking stuff! Cabbage Patch Kids! A miniature Frogger video game! Barbies beyond belief!

And look at me now. Scissors.

Lest you think that scissors are the exception and the rest of my list is all elephants and migets, here's a peek into my heart's deepest, deepest desires.

Alisha's Christmas List, 2006

- A new duvet cover! (in white or cream. Don't want to go too crazy.)
- Paper towels! (Seventh Generation, ordered in bulk from Amazon to save a few bucks.)
- Books! (The Wives of Henry VIII by Antonia Frazier; Queen of Fashion: What Marie Antoinette Wore to the Revolution by Caroline Weber; Bill Bryson's new book)
- Undereye cream! (Kiehl's Vitamin E Cream. The shit is genius.)
- A magazine rack!
- Fluffy pillows!
- Socks! (I can't believe I'm typing this...)

Wow. Wow.

Please tell me you want lame things too. Please.

CANDY! CANDY! CANDY!

Hope everyone had a suitably sugar coated Halloween this year. (I'm not saying I refused to part with several of the Milky Ways... I'm just saying.) Things I like about Halloween: Small children dressed as chickens. Things I dislike about Halloween: twelve-year-olds dressed like whores.

Man, kids in NYC clean up on Halloween. Unlike the 'burbs, there are no malls in which to dump the kids (when did that stupid trend develop? It can't be fear - that whole "razor blades in the candy" terror was proven to be a big bunch of b.s.) so kids actually get to go door-to-door. (Or in the case of our building, apartment-to-apartment. And seeing as how there are roughly 690 apartments in each building... How do you spell "sugar high"?) I was on the tony Upper East Side for part of this year's festivities. Say what you will about the rich, but those folks know what's what when it comes to decor. Six story brownstones decorated with gigantic inflatable spiders with full-sized human skeletons scaling the walls! Fog machines! Specially rented lights! Plus, all the businesses give out candy! Seriously, I don't know how kids carry it all.

Still, nothing competes with Topeka in the 70's for Halloween hijinks. Dad would throw me in the car and take me to our version of the Upper East - a neighborhood of old victorian homes dubbed "Potwin", which has to be the worst name for a fancy community ever. You got the best candy there (full-sized bars!) but there was one house that went all out: cauldrons of caramel on the front lawn with apples for dipping or a (highly-monitored) bonfire for marshmallow roasting along with an elaborate haunted house made out of cardboard boxes (which someone's father might have spent a little too much time in for his small daughter's comfort. I'm not saying someone pitched a fit on the lawn, convinced that the boxes had eaten her father - I'm just saying). The mother would dress up like a witch and stand on her widow's walk cacking into a megaphone, scaring everyone half to death. It was so, so cool. I defy anyone to tell me that hauling a kid to a mall is awesomer than that.