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November 30, 2010 at 1:37 am Leave a comment

Brooke and Roberta: Different time, a bunch of years later

Roberta and Brooke’s first show in 16 years. I won’t call it a reunion show, that sounds too desperate. And no, I did not give away her phone number over the internet on purpose just for humor value-it did happen and I edited it out of this version because I don’t want her to hate me.


October 7, 2010 at 10:48 am Leave a comment

Toni! Tony! Tone! Or let me out of this loser life for $69.99 plus S&H-Tony Robbins

With Arianna Huffington drinking Tony Robbins’ purple Kool-Aid I think it’s time to bring one out of the vault. This is from one of the many times Robbins, the self-proclaimed “Inventor of the Life Coaching Industry” (if anyone gave me that title I’d go into the witness protection program) tried to resurrect his tired “Personal Power’ tape series.


July 28, 2010 at 10:06 am Leave a comment

Jersey Gurls

It’s been decades since I’ve written and performed my last parody tune,and I’m probably much worse for the wear, but here it is, “Jersey Gurls”sung to the tune of “California Gurls.” And a big thank you to Punkprincess01for doing a much better job of putting together a no-vocals version,than I could ever do,

If you just must watch something as well as listen to it, have fun.


July 19, 2010 at 9:16 pm Leave a comment

I heart Newark

Ah Facebook. Repository of the absurd, the profane, the banal, the reverie-inducing.

That last was provoked by a friend’s pic of her standing with Santa at Bamberger’s in Newark, NJ. circa 1965.

Summers spent working at mydad’s dry cleaning story on Washington Street, hanging out at Bamberger’s andtrolling Newark for comics and great food (sausage and pepper, egg andpepper,hot dogs and peppers-all on Italian bread, of course.)

Some of thegreatestsoul acts of the 60’s would play the old movie houses like the Bradford and the Adams (James Brown anyone?) and send us their dry cleaning. The closest I got to stardom was tossing their gold lame’ gowns and silver suits into the dry cleaning machine. I don’t know if it was the perc or my fantasy of living like the people who wore these clothes, but I was high.

July 3, 2010 at 7:58 am Leave a comment

Great Pizza In Tucson

I’m a North Jersey girl who’s lived all over the country-and  a fiend for good pizza. Not good thin crust, thick-crust, stuffed, Chicago style, or gourmet pizza, just great f**king pizza.

Brooklyn Pizza is the best pizza in Tucson, period. For people who love pizza, that is. People who know that toppings are merely gilding the lily of an amazing pizza. Dough, sauce, cheese. Every one of these elements needs to be top-notch and Brooklyn Pizza’s are. The sauce is not to tart nor too sweet, the cheese is high-quality and plentiful, the crust is salty yeasty, and chewy, and the underside of the pizza is the perfect shade of brown with a few charred lowlights-the sign of a perfectly baked pie.

Even the slices are fresh and don’t taste like they’ve been sitting on top of a cold metal pizza pan for an hour, pathetically attempting to warm themselves by the light of a 100 watt bulb.

The prices are cheap- as they should be in a decent pizza joint. You go for the pizza, not the atmosphere.

A restaurant blogger once warned against going into restaurants where the people look too happy because it meant the place was more about the social scene than good food. I agree. And the people in Brooklyn Pizza look like they’re eating, not smiling.

My only complaint is that the last time I bought a sausage pizza (yes, the sausage, which I think is homemade, will blow you away, too) the pizza maker was a bit light of hand with the topping and I got about half of what I usually get. Is this a fluke, or a cost-cutting move? I don’t know, but I’m still going to give Brooklyn Pizza five stars because they’re the only people in Tucson who truly understand how to make the real thing.

Extra props for homemade gelato,a solar-powered oven, and the Sky Bar next door where you can enjoy your pizza with anything a full bar can conjure up.

C’mon down.

June 13, 2010 at 10:15 am Leave a comment

I AM Shpilkes

If there’s anyone alive more hyperactive than I am, I want to meet them. Of course they’ll probably drive me crazy. I drive me crazy and I’m me. Do you ever want to get away from yourself but you can’t because you’re you? I know the feeling.

I wonder why I’ve been so tired for the past few months-menopause, depression, the change of season, boredom with a mind that just won’t quit even after the bell rings, the tenth inning, the clock runs out of time. Gee, maybe it has something to do with that fact that even at 53, I just can’t stop moving and/or talking. Even in my sleep. Or so Dave says. I find it hard to believe that after moving and talking all day that I wouldn’t just conk out and keep still for a few hours, so once the willingness outweighs the inertia, I’ll set up a video camera and see for myself. With any luck, the few seconds of fame I’ve enjoyed  in my professional life will encourage someone to steal the tape and put it on YouTube. Or Blip. Or Vimeo. I just added those last two to make you think I was cool. Of course I’m not because if I was I wouldn’t care whether you thought I was cool or or not. That’s sort of Zen-ish, which is definitely cool unless Buddhist references became outdated while I was sleeping and allegedly moving and talking.

Was I talking about anything important before I got off on this tangent? i hope not, because I forgot, and I’m too lazy to read the beginning and find out.

May 23, 2010 at 5:40 pm Leave a comment

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