August 2003 was very hot and gross in Los Angeles and people were quite cranky including me. I saw Tony Bennett and my brother flew planes in a war.
XXOO - Rachole
August 30, 2003 11:11 pm
Monique and me last Sunday at "Discotown!"
Tonight, in the Hollywood Forever cemetery with 500 other people on picnic blankets waiting for tonight's vintage feature, Force of Evil, to begin, Richard Rushfield voiced one objection to this diary: not enough reportage on my daily-life activities. My first thought was, haven't the regular Ant Reports sufficed?
"You mean like, 'Today I got up and went to Fred 62 for breakfast. Then I went to Home DepotTM to exchange a PurTM water filter for a BritaTM.' Isn't that kind of boring?"
I don't remember his exact answer, but he did say if he wishes he had more money so he could hire private detectives to follow his friends around and report on their habits. He also argued that people are curious about how other people's live, what time they get up, where they eat lunch, what movies they saw, especially an extreme cabaret star/future celebrity spokesperson.
Maybe; I just think that no one's everyday life is all that interesting, with the exception of superheroes and fluffers. That's why I dip into the past. Anyway, if you're feeling the past, then it's not "the past" anymore. (I say "feeling the past" 'cause I'm too sentimental to ever "think about" the past.)
Besides, my entries are often self-contained stories, and it's very hard to work in "what I did today" without it being awkward and ruining the story.
Richard suggested, "You could say, 'Today while walking to the 7-11 to buy some crank from the sweaty dude in the back alley, I recalled my 2nd grade math class." We discussed this subject for a little longer in the Hollywood Forever cemetery with 500 other people on picnic blankets waiting for tonight's feature, Force of Evil, to begin. Then someone pointed out Mars. It's huge.
In other news, I finally bought tap shoes today and I'm so excited! I've been wanting to take tap dancing lessons for years, and finally I'm going to! I was gonna practice in my kitchen, to the new Grandaddy CD, when I got home but I'm too damn tired now. I'll get up at 6 or 7 and ride my bike up the hill. Was this boring enough for everyone? Does anybody actually read this? Who are you, and why in the world? I like the picture, though. Monique, who's also in Victor's hilarious short film "Killer Killer", took it with her new camera phone. Cool photos that look like paintings. I want one. Someone please send me a camera phone, and I'll send you a present.
A DAY LATER, A RESPONSE FROM A FAN:
DON'T LISTEN TO RICHARD! HE'S CRAZY!
That's why I've formed People Endorsing Rachel's Diary Inspirations Intact (or P.E.R.D.I.I.): an organization dedicated to helping you resist the pressure to add needless filler. We here at P.E.R.D.I.I. appreciate the fine job you've been doing, distilling the entirety of your being into daily bite-sized nuggets of flavor.
Which is why we should maybe change the name to: Preserve Undiluted Rachel Diary Entries, Everybody! Whaddaya think? PU.R.D.E.E. Yeah, that's pretty good, too!
Definitely better than rival organization S.M.U.R.D. (Stop Messing Up Rachel's Diaries); or radical opposition groups R.A.R.D.O. (Readers Against Rachel's Diary, Okay?) and I.H.B.G.L.O.U.E.F.Y.P.S. (I Have Been Getting LOADS Of Unsolicited Email From You, Please Stop).
So, yeah. You write about whatever you want, whenever you want. That's the vote from here at HQ.
J.S.
P.S. -- NICE PICTURE!
This is Kenny, Air Force pilot and "How To Be Happy" customer.
August 30, 2003 12:24 am --
Unsolicited Email: The New Terrorism!
From: Tania <tania**@*****.net>
Date: Friday, August 29, 2003 9:48 AM
To: <RArieff@sbcglobal.net>, <RArieff@sbcglobal.net>,
<RArieff@sbcglobal.net>, <RArieff@sbcglobal.net>,
<RArieff@sbcglobal.net>, <RArieff@sbcglobal.net>,
<RArieff@sbcglobal.net>, <RArieff@sbcglobal.net>,
<RArieff@sbcglobal.net>, <RArieff@sbcglobal.net>
Subject: TAKE ME OFF YOUR EMAIL LIST
I have been getting LOADS of unsolicited emails from you, please stop,
This email from a fan was waiting in my Inbox when I got home today. Thanks, Tania, for the "shout out"! Pep talks like these mean so much to me at the end of a long week.
Now, to address the concerns set forth in your email:
Subject: TAKE ME OFF YOUR EMAIL LIST
I'm no mindreader, Tania, but am I correct in guessing that you'd like to cease receiving the weekly reminders for my awesome "Discotown!" lounge show? Consider it done! You seem to be new to electronic mail, or "email", so just so you know for the next time: the customary way is to politely request the sender to remove you from the list. "Please Remove" is probably the most popular wording for the subject heading these days. All caps really aren't necessary, love, as they denote HOSTILITY and a generally UNCOUTH, CAVEMAN-LIKE QUALITY. Don't worry, a few others are still learning too. You'll get the hang of it eventually! :)
I have been getting LOADS of unsolicited emails from you, please stop,
Oh, dear. "LOADS" of emails? Why, this is truly distressing. I myself know that I only send out one short announcement each week. What happened for this deluge to occur without you being able to stop it? Did someone break into your office and tie you up, leaving you bound and gagged for weeks, stopping in only to slip you food and water, until you worked yourself free of your restraints and phoned for help? Was it a $cientologist thing? Don't tell me -- the less I know, the better. I don't want to end up on Rotten.com -- a site so horrific, I won't provide a link. Don't go unless you want nightmares.
And "unsolicited" emails?! How on earth could such a thing happen? Perhaps my assistant -- while combing through the oodles of daily party invitations in which the sender neglects to BCC -- perhaps, in a sort of clerical freak accident, she copied your address (along with the other 49 addressees) to my book. I know it's a pretty farfetched theory, but it's something to consider. Anyway, I offer my deepest apologies, and assure you that the offending assistant will be fired immediately, then sent to Guantanamo Bay without a trial. Last, we'll "take care" of her family. Nothing but the best for our customers!
Finally, Tania, why my address ten times? Do you have Parkinson's? If so, bless your heart, and tell dear little Michael J. Fox "hello" for me!
Or was it a fit of apoplectic rage that caused your fingers to hit the "copy" and "paste" buttons with Woody Woopeckerlike enthusiasm? Blue light, calming water. Blue light, birds chirping...
Finally, and most disturbing of all, why the sudden cut-off?
I have been getting LOADS of unsolicited emails from you, please stop,
Tania? Are you there? Are you okay? Did the ransackers return? Are you bound and gagged again? Should we dial 911? Double-click for "yes", single-click for "no"...
Please accept my most sincere apologies for this horrific lapse on the part of my glamorous, idiotic staff. In today's volatile world -- where we're engaged in a war without forseeable end in Iraq, everyone's a soldier in the War On Terror, nutbag North Korea flaunts its new weapons of mass destruction, the environment's going to hell, and, today, the horrific transcripts of the attacks on the World Trade Center were brought to light -- unsolicited email is the last thing we need. How far can we as a nation bend before we break?.
Thanks again, Tania, for bringing this serious problem to my attention. Happy Labor Day!
Finally, the proof we've all been waiting for: a mural by Donald Rumsfeld.
August 29, 2003 12:08 am --
"Oh, the Mediocrity" Pt. 2
From a company-wide memo:
"Dress for Retirement Day: Who will you be when you retire? Travel Maven? Golf Master? Professional Couch Potato? In honor of 401(k) Day, Cross-USA Retirement Services is hosting a 'Dress for Retirement Day' celebration! On September 2nd we encourage you to dress up as your 'future' retired self. Bring your shades, putters, remote control, and favorite fishing hat...whatever it takes to give us a glimpse of how you picture yourself at retirement! Prizes will be awarded for the most creative costumes! For more information about the 'Dress for Retirement Day' celebration, contact LaShann Moore at x7394.
Note: Please adhere to the following guidelines: No suggestive attire, tank tops or short shorts. Appropriate items are as follows: T-shirts, sweatsuits/sweatpants, hats and sandals."
Well, that kind of takes the fun out of it, doesn't it? First of all, with the examples given in the memo, the powers that be are already skewing the contest towards golfing, fishing, and watching TV. All the typical, white-bread grampa cliches that make you want to pop a Zoloft just thinking about it.
Second, the contest totally discriminates against towards those who plan on spending their retirement as porn stars, HootersTM waitresses, dance-hall girls, leather daddies, sex slaves, fluffers, garden-variety sluts, or AngelyneTM.
What kind of "celebration" is this? "Dress for Retirement Day" is just another fun way for the corporate masters to break your spirit. "Hey everyone, we're gonna have a dress-up party, ain't that great-aren't-you-excited?? But first, here are our ground rules for self-expression: drab, dowdy sweatpants, hats and sandals only. Go nuts, fatasses!"
Hey, I got a better idea: how 'bout we all dress up as sheep? Then we could all win the prize!
They can take their 'Dress for Retirement Day' and stick it where their Depends don't shine.
Down With "Dress for Retirement Day"!
I'm just a temp, so why am I so pissed off? I'll tell ya why: I'm sick of corporate America trying to force this B-minus, cookie-cutter approach to life down everyone's throat with their pansy-ass "parties" and their bullying "celebrations". Get off our backs, fellas, and get back to thinking up new and imaginative ways to defraud your investors!
My suggestion: "Nancy: The Office Assistant Who's Covered in Blood Retirement Day" -- as modeled by my high-larious comedian buddy, Deke Haylon.
P.S. The new Grandaddy CD, "Sumday", frickin' rules. "Yeah" Is What We Had ....caves me in.
August 28, 2003 12:17 pm -- Fakin' It!
A web diary is like a marriage. How do you keep it going, day after day? How do you keep it interesting? Most importantly, how do you not give up?
The answer is, you can't. Just try your darndest to fool people into thinking you're succeeding. That's what it's all about.
After I posted the picture of my little bro with General Abizaid, he wrote, "For God's sakes, could you put up an additional picture where I don't look like a bald moron?" Notice he didn't ask for the "bald moron" picture to be taken down. He just wanted another one added. See, stage queens run in the family!
Why does he think he looks so much better with hair? Hair's a huge overrate, in my opinion. Does that fiiiiine fella to the left need fucking hair? Fuck no, sir! Class dismissed.
August 26, 2003 11:35 pm -- Kitchen Hints!
Here's the most mature and effective way to deal with the knot of ants swarming around the barely-dirty knife lying in the sink: Squirt some dish soap onto a pretty yellow kitchen sponge. Wet it so it gets nice and lathery. Then wipe the sponge, in a total-assault action, across the mass of ants. They'll furiously scatter. Don't let even one of them get away. Wipe the sponge methodically over the sink area until not one ant is alive and their lifeless bodies have rendered the surface of the sponge totally black. Smush individual stray ants with your fingertip, then carefully stick each ant body onto the sponge with the rest. Try not to let any ant corpses fall from the surface of the sponge. Turn on the water and, with nature's new crunchy-ant pumice action, get to work on scouring every last dish clean! Martha Stewart herself would've raved over this economical dish-cleaning / pest eradication discovery if she'd ever had the fortune to go to prison!
August 26, 2003 3:05 am -- Neck Hurts Pt. 2
That last entry was bullshit. So I'll tell you that every single one of my baby sitters had long, straight, Marcia Brady-hair and I was head over heels for every one of them. I told them I wanted to marry them. They were soft and good-hearted and flower-child-like. Shannon, Lori, Jill. Debbie with the big boobs. Heidi and Hildie, the dark-haired identical twins. Years later, Jill was working on an Alaskan fishing boat and it got lost at sea and she died of exposure. She was in her twenties. Some of these baby sitters knew my older brother Steve. Were in the same damn grade, in fact. He was much older than me and Sam, by eight and ten years. The reason my parents were hiring his classmates to babysit us was because he was getting into trouble. Mom would ground him for getting in trouble at school, and he'd beg her to let him go outside "to pick some raspberries". Then he'd run away to see Led Zeppelin. It was a cycle.
Then there were the old lady babysitters who took care of us when our parents went away on trips and Grandma couldn't do it. Mrs. Mason was kind and granny-like. Jennie was in her fifties, Italian, divorced, and made cannolis from scratch. She loved my little 5-year-old brother Sam more than me and he'd sleep in her bed but whatever. She was alright. I remember her saying, "Whenever a fly lands on you he either throws up or shits on you." The only babysitter we couldn't stand was Colleen. She was the same age and went to the same school as all the pretty babysitters I was planning to marry, but Colleen was a sourpuss. She looked like Juliette Binoche if she'd been crushed in a cement mixer, and a weird odor came out of her skin like cilantro.
But our favorite babysitter was Grandma. Grandma was deeply but privately religious. She'd lost both husbands and worked in factories all her life to raise five kids on her own, while still finding the time to log in over 50 years of volunteer service with the Salvation Army and Veterans Hospital.
Every winter, my parents would go on a "siding trip" that my dad won without fail from the siding supply company for meeting a commendable Quota for Siding Sold. "Mom and I are going on a siding trip," Dad would say. Then they'd go to Rio or Mexico for a week and grandma would stay with us.
On very special nights, she'd bundle us up. Grandma hadn't driven for years, not since she'd been a passenger in a terrible car wreck that killed her driving friend, threw my grandma from the car, and broke nearly every bone in her body, including her neck. She was in traction for months. Miraculously, she recovered fully except for the hearing in her left ear. Grandma would button up her navy blue coat that looked like a moving mat, hold each of our tiny mittened hands (she knit all our mittens, scarves and caps herself) and walk us for what seemed like miles in the black and bitter cold 'til we finally got to the Holy Grail: the I-HopTM. Then she'd let us order whatever the hell we wanted, which was usually Funny Face Pancakes. But she'd be very mad if she heard me say "hell".
When I was five, I saw a tall, skinny black dude with a gigantic Afro walk past our house. It was the first time I remember seeing such a glorious Afro. I was so impressed that I shouted, "Oh, GOD!"
Grandma swooped in. "Don't say that. Don't ever say that. That's very naughty."
"What should I say, Grandma?" I asked.
"You say, 'Oh, Gosh.'"
"Oh, Gosh!"
"That's right."
"Oh, GOSH!"
"Okay."
"Oh, GO-O-O-O-O-SH!"
"All right now."
August 26, 2003 1:53 am -- Neck Hurts
Neck hurts. Eyes throb. Teeth scum. Great work.
August 25, 2003 12:39 am
(Hic) Disctowon (hic) esd htrsyk yonihy. (Hic) eonfrtgul prtgotmsnvrd ny sll. (Hic) Oops I had left hand on the wrong keys again. Will (hic) fix it tomorrow. Was trying to say that Discotown was stupendous; guests Maria Bamford, Moses Robinson & Brendon Small were brilliant but (hic) my tights are pulled halfway down & I'm walking through my apt. with them around my knees 'cause I'm TOO LAZY to take them off. Little mincing steps is (hic) the key. That way you don't trip & bust your head open & die & lie there dead for days in the kitchen before anyone notices that you're gone & by then the cats have started to eat you. This is what rules about being single: you can walk around like this all the time. Hiccuping, food all over your face, pants around your ankes -- what's anyone gonna (hic) do about it? Nothing, that's what. 'Cause there is no one. You got the whole damn place to yourself. oh well, it's all good (hic) especially if you keep the cats well-fed so they'll never be tempted yo fo yhsy yo yhrit mommy
August 24, 2003 12:25 am
I just saw Tony Bennett tonight at the Hollywood Bowl! It was wonderful -- and the best part is, I didn't have to drive! I got a ride from my friend Jeff, who also got the tickets! Life is beautiful! Tony Bennett was beautiful, even though that's what he kept calling us! "Thanks, you're beautiful!" That man is grace incarnated. And God, can he sing. He even did some dancing! Towards the end, he introduced a tune like this: "This is a number from an album I did with K.D. Lang. It just went platinum. The only reason I'm singing it is 'cause I want you to go out and buy the album 'cause I need the money." Wonderful! I want to party with him. And then move in.
We sat in front of some friendly elderly ladies who received some special Rachole stickers for being so cute. Oh my God, one of them even told me she tapdanced!! Well, used to. And she was in her 70s! A real tapdancing grandma!
"I still have my tap shoes," she even said!
I had to do it: I asked her a bunch of sneaky questions like, "Oh, really? How long has it been since you tapdanced? Do you have grandchildren? Do you ever think about dusting off the old tap shoes and...?" It took all my willpower not to ask her, "What are you doing Sunday night?!" Then they asked me, "Are you a performer?" and I had to tell them yes, and then they asked what I did, & I said "Singing and piano and comedy."
"Where do you play? Do you play regularly somewhere?" they asked, so I gave them some D-town flyers. They liked the flowered bathing cap. They were very excited about my singing-piano thing for some reason.
Then one asked, "Do you have a CD out?" I was very impressed with her hipness in the use of the term "CD" instead of "album" or "phonograph record", and I don't mean that in a snotty way. Even when my mom and dad say "CD", they lumber through it like it's two distinct words: "Cee, Dee."
"Dad wanted to bring your Cee, Dee to the Schrinsky's house, but I said it wouldn't be a good idea."
With some trepidation, I said, "Yes, I have a CD, just one." The lady said, "What's it called?"
Dread flooding in, I said,"How to Be Happy All the Time."
"Oh, what a wonderful name! That sounds like it was made for me!" she exclaimed. Then, my worst fears were confirmed. She said: "Where can I get it?"
"Oh, on the internet and in some small stores," I said.
"Well, I'm going to get a copy," she declared. That's when I turned to Jeff and said, under my breath so they couldn't hear, "I feel like I should warn them about it."
I normally don't believe in apologizing for, explaining, or trying to justify your art in any way, but these were cute little old ladies eating trail mix and wearing lots of perfume. "Don't," Jeff said. "You could tell them, 'hey, just so you know, it's a little risque', but I wouldn't worry about it." Then the lights went out and the show started. When it ended, everyone scattered. I never got to warn the ladies how dirty my CD is. Oh God, they probably will find it, because they're elderly, and elderly people are excellent at focusing, and pursuing things that interest them. They're not flakes like younger people. Oh God! Oh dear God!
Oh God, I'm praying that, if they find the CD, they won't go into cardiac arrest when they see the cover. I'll feel really, really bad if that happens. And if they hear it? -- oh God, dear God! But it'll all be Jeff's fault for talking me out of warning them. It's your fault, Jeff, ya bastard!
P.S. If you're wondering, "Why is she freaking out like this?" here's the explanation: I was raised in the Midwest.
August 23, 2003 12:07 am
In reference to yesterday's entry, I got an email from none other than the great "Sydney Pollack" which in part states:
No, I haven't made a good movie in over thirty years. But remember They Shoot Horses Don't They? I directed that, in 1969! Honest to gosh, I did! Strange, though. The crummier my movies got, the richer I became. Go figure.
Sorry, "Sydney". I should've given credit where credit's due. You also made the beloved Tootsie, which had a huge impact on my identity as a woman, as a performer, and as a gay man. The thing is, as a Future Celebrity Spokesperson, I must demonstrate an utter ignorance of all pop culture that came before Gremlins in order to appear younger and more "castable".
