People of the World!

It was around 1996 or so, and I was out of work and kicking around Boston, MA – Andover to be exact. My childhood friend M (of M+M) was living there and had gotten into a car accident that left her pretty injured. She was home, convalescing and in need of some company. Having just been laid off from my job at Sport Magazine I thought it would be good to go hang out with M and nurse her back to health … or at least just make sure her mail didn't collect by the door.

M had a little 8 year old nephew who tossed out barbs like a half pint Truman Capote, arched brow, bitchy inflection and all. He was more than just precocious – he was flat out spooky. Yet when he wasn't commenting on your appearance or explaining why you were wrong about whatever it was you were talking about, he was cute as hell -- a lot like that kid that makes up the "half" in Two and a Half Men, but with a biting sharp tongue that could cut you down in one syllable. I loved him. My favorite exchange with him occurred the afternoon I was deciding to get a set of fake nails applied. (I was bored and unemployed, and this was the 90s).

Luvviepuffaroo: Should I get regular length nails or really long ones?

Half: Get long ones. And when you have them, wave your hands around a lot. Point to things. You DO want to get a man, don't you?

Oh yes, Half ... I sure did. So I got really long claws -- almost unrealistically long. And I got them painted a dark shimmery blue ... like the finish on a car. Hey, this was the mid-nineties. It was actually pretty cool. For the mid-nineties.

That afternoon Half and I took a walk around downtown Andover, and I decided to try out my nails on unsuspecting men. We went into a record store and I saw a rather cute man (not a kid … no a fully grown MAN) behind the counter.

"Oh look," I said, pointing, "you have that new Spice Girls song. I can't get it out of my head!"

Man (Smiling, and handing it to me): Is this what you want … what you really really want?"

Luvviepuffaroo: No … tell me what I want, what I really really want … (wink, smile, laugh until ...)

Half (shouting): You HATE that song! Why are you buying it! You're an idiot! You said you'd NEVER buy that song!

I glared at Half, tried to smile at the guy again … but the moment was gone. I sheepishly paid for my very own copy of Wannabe, then dragged Half outside. Once we were out of the store's sight line, I started screaming.

Luvvie: Don't interrupt adults when they're flirting! People don't always say everything they mean! YOU TOLD ME TO GET A MAN!

Half: If you were flirting, why didn't you POINT to things so I would know!!!

Luvvie: I did point to things! I pointed at the Spice Girls cassette single!!!

Half: But you hate that song!

Luvvie: I know! But it was the first thing I saw! And I could point to it! And I had a funny comeback for his joke!

Half immediately turned into the little boy he actually was, and his little eyes filled with tears, and I hugged him and brought him to Starbucks to buy him a special hot chocolate.

And that was the last time I remember even thinking about the Spice Girls who quickly fell off of my (and most everyone else's) radar. The only memorable thing about them is that I coined my most favorite line ever when Won't and I were discussing Gerri "Ginger Spice" Halliwell's decision to break out on her own.

"I predict a very long career for her," I told Won't, "... a very Shelley Long career."

The other memorable thing is all the tabloid fodder lately what with Scary Spice doing the whole "you my baby daddy" thing with Eddie Murphy and Posh Spice doing the whole "not gonna smile, not gonna smile" thing with everyone else.

So imagine my surprise when a co-worker told me she had an extra ticket to the Spice Girls reunion show at Madison Square Garden! More: Imagine my surprise when I shocked myself by agreeing to go. I'll be honest, the only reason I went was curiosity. HOW did they look? HOW would they sound? WHO would be in the audience? WHERE were we sitting? WHAT the hell?

From the very opening notes of Spice Up Your Life last night I was on my feet and screaming. So were about a million 15 year old girls who'd taken the train in from Long Island and were dressed for a party -- that took place in 1985. I never saw so many gold belts, high hair and glitter in one spot. Who'da thunk it -- Spice Girls have a rabid following among the young and badly dressed.

The concert was oddly energizing and fun -- yes I stood up for most of it -- yes I wiggled around as much as the high haired badly dressed teen next to me.

I was all "Girl Power!" and "Spice up your Life" and "Yeah! Posh!" for almost 2 hours. I learned 2 things -- 1) If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends and 2) that sentiment doesn't mean as much once you're past your teens.

The really funny thing was, I couldn't help remembering so many years back when I was walking around with 2 inch long dark blue shiny nails, pointing to things, hoping to attract a man. And now, so many years later, I stood waving my hands about, pointing to the sky, my dark blue sapphire and diamond engagement ring sparkling for all the world to see -- or at least all of Madison Square Garden.

The Spice Girls were now Spice Women, they almost all had children ... and I finally had my man (she says, as she points to the right ... there he is!)

Happy Valentine's Day!

I never hid the fact that when Quibbit and I met he was making 10K a year and living in the spare room of the writer he was working for as a personal assistant dash personal slave. I didn't care about his net worth when I started dating him. I only saw his amazing eyes, his beautiful smile, his enormous capacity for love (and loving me) and I saw how no one on the planet understood me the way Quibbit did. He noticed things about me that I thought were deep and buried … but he saw them as if they were shining right out at him.

We'd been dating around 3 months for our first Valentine's Day. Having no money doesn't mean you can't be romantic and Quibbit proved that. On our first Valentine's Day my sweetheart picked me up from work with a rose and a bag full of thoughtful presents and a home made card.

Luvviepuffaroo: Did you paint this yourself?
Quibbit: Yes.
Luvviepuffaroo: And this thing here… um … did you draw a MONSTER in the middle of the heart?
Quibbit: That's the sun.
Luvvie: Cuz it looks like a monster.
Quibbit: It's the sun.
Luvvie: Really? I mean it honestly …
Quibbit: The sun.
Luvvie: Why is the sun in the middle of the heart?
Quibbit: Because my love for you is as big as the sun, and it fills up my heart ...
Luvvie: I'll shut up now.

He then walked me across the Brooklyn Bridge and we watched the sun go down from the top of the world. When other women talked about the flowers and cards they got, I replied, "My Boo gave me the sunset …". And, you know, they were all a little jealous.

By the next Valentine's Day he'd broken free of WriterGuy and was working at a large publishing company. Ever thoughtful, Quibbit gave me a beautiful present from my favorite sudsy store (LUSH), a wonderful dinner, and got me tickets to Company because he knew that it was my first Stephen Sondheim album and best-loved Stephen Sondheim soundtrack. He sat in the audience that Valentine's night with me, holding my hand tightly as I tried not to make it obvious that I was crying profusely all through "Being Alive". Has a truer love song every been written?

Someone to hold you too close // Someone to hurt you too deep
Someone to sit in your chair // And ruin your sleep // And make you aware
of Being Alive
Someone to need you too much // Someone to know you too well
Someone to pull you up short // And put you through hell
And give you support for being alive - being alive

Make me alive, make me confused
Mock me with praise, let me be used
Vary my days, but alone is alone, not alive.

Somebody hold me too close // Somebody force me to care
Somebody make me come through // I'll always be there
As frightened as you of being alive
Being alive, being alive

Someone you have to let in // Someone whose feelings you spare
Someone who, like it or not // Will want you to share a little, a lot of
Being Alive ...

Make me alive, make me confused
Mock me with praise, let me be used
Vary my days, but alone is alone, not alive

Somebody crowd me with love // Somebody force me to care
Somebody make me come through // I'll always be there
As frightened as you to help us survive
Being alive, being alive,
Being alive, being alive.

The first time I heard Being Alive I was 13 years old and madly in love with Dustin Hoffman's Benjamin Braddock because he was the closest thing I had to a boyfriend. All my notions of love came from Broadway or movies but at least Sondheim was giving me a warts-and-all manual for what I was to expect. I knew that someday, someone would sit in my chair and ruin my sleep and take over my apartment (not to mention my life) and would annoy the hell out of me but not half as much as he loved the hell out of me. I started dreaming about him at 13 but it took another 25 year until he was sitting with me in the dark, in that theatre, letting me crush his hand as everything in my life came full circle.

Quibbit knew, as he had always known, as he knows still, that he makes me aware of Being Alive, and that that is the biggest gift any one person can give.

So it just makes sense that this Valentine's Day, 2008, during dessert, Quibbit got down on one knee in the Beekman Towers restaurant, overlooking all of Manhattan, and told me that he would love me forever. And then he put a ring on my finger and asked me to marry him. And it would only make sense that as much as I'd always known that Quibbit was The One, and as beautifully as we fit together, so perfectly that there was never any room for doubt, and as much as none of this came as a complete shock, I still couldn't stop crying, or hugging him, or kissing him. Because now I KNEW. And being able to KNOW is just an amazing feeling.

We laughed and laughed and kissed and kissed and finished dinner in a rush, desperately excited to jump out into the world. We went out onto the roof top of the Beekman and looked out over all of Manhattan, and all its lights glittered and shone below us, but none so brightly as my sapphire and diamond engagement ring.

As soon as we could we left and got ourselves to Central Park where we got into a horse drawn carriage and took the ride around the park, and even though it was cold and I needed to huddle under the blanket I also really needed to see my ring in every kind of light and so held it up for the whole ride so that I could look at it.

We called our parents and cabbed it home, and everything was giddy and joyful and almost painted, with every line of everything jumping out at me and vibrantly alive, moving and shimmering and more dimensional than it had ever been. And I almost couldn’t understand that it could be this different, or this breathtaking, or this wonderful, or this true. But it was, and it is.

And it will always be …

Another Fave Five brought to you by Luvvie's Zagat's

Steakhouse Edition

Early on in my parents' marriage my dad celebrated Valentine's Day by gifting my mom with a huge heart filled with sausages and deli meats --and she was in seventh heaven. I came across the home-made heart in my parents' basement as a child and (after being told what it had been filled with) had suggested Dad go out and fill it again ... this time for me. He'd laughed, and I'd stared at that empty container longingly, envisioning the cuts of meat that had filled that heart shaped box, all those years ago. You see, I inherited my mom's un-sweet tooth, or as I like to call it - the Meat Tooth. And the Meat Tooth is relentless.

My dad's a true Italian and for him no dinner is complete without that primo piatto of pasta. In fact, after he's polished off the traditional Christmas lasagna my dad often pushes back from the table and announces that the dinner is pretty much done for him. Sure, he'll pick at the honey-glazed ham, or the stuffed turkey, or the crown of lamb (for which I made such stunning little white hats) or whatever my mom has whipped up in her kitchen, but really, he's done and we all know it.

On the other hand, my mom loves to tell the story of when, early on in their courtship, she would often join my dad and his mother for a home cooked steak dinner. Her future mother-in-law was thrilled to watch the way my mom attacked her meal, polishing the bones with vacuum cleaner like gusto. "My parents always said I should have married a butcher" mom would joke to her future (accountant) husband. Years later a good friend of hers actually DID marry a butcher who worked for Schaller & Weber and brought boxes filled with assorted liverwurst, gelbwurst, bauernwurst, knackwurst, leberkaese, westphalian ham, and landjaeger every time he was invited to the house. He was like our crack dealer, and he kept us well supplied for years.

Mother's Day became a hunt for a Meat, Meat and More Meat dinner to assuage the Meat Tooth. We'd spent more than one mid afternoon dinner in a less than full steakhouse while the waiter invariably remarked "huh ... we're more of a Father's Day place ..."

It's worked out great for my parents who are going on 45 years of wedded bliss; they've developed a Jack-Sprat type relationship and between the two of them there's always a clean plate.

I have vegetarian friends, and I even have hardcore vegan friends, and I love them all dearly. They love me too. And we all just avoid the issue of how enslaved I am by the Meat Tooth, as I share a meal with them at one of the many vegan restaurants which pepper Manhattan and which I do, indeed, frequent. I'll enjoy my seitan meal -- who wouldn't? But, like Richard Burton and Liz Taylor ... or Tommy Lee and Pamela Anderson, Meat and I are powerless to keep away from each other. Though I do get the sinking feeling that I love Meat a little more than Meat loves me.

So my 2nd installment of Luvvie's Zagat's Fave Five is devoted to Steakhouses who serve that meal which will always be in my heart, even when my heart is stuttering its last beat as I die from an overdose of my beloved Meat.

Ben Benson's
123 W 52nd Street

New York, NY 10019

Cross Street(s): 6th + 7th Avenue

212-581-8888

Neighborhood: West 50s

Cuisine: Steakhouse

Luvvie's Zagat's Review: Most Masculine of those I've been to, which is saying a lot * Standard fare, nothing shocking

Luvvie's Partner in Crime: Mom + Dad

Luvvie's been there: A Handful of Times

Ruth's Chris Steakhouse

148 W 51st Street

New York, NY 10019
Cross Street(s): 6th + 7th Avenue
212-245-9600
Neighborhood: West 50s
Cuisine: Steakhouse
Luvvie's Zagat's Review: Don’t bother saying "So and So from the radio show" sent you * They just go "Yeah, yeah, So and So … we know ..." * It's not like they give you a "You mentioned So and So!" Discount * They don't
Luvvie's Partner in Crime: Mom + Dad
Luvvie's been there: Once

Smith & Wollensky

797 3rd Avenue

New York, NY 10022

Cross Street(s): 49th Street

212-753-1530

Neighborhood: East 40s

Cuisine: Steakhouse

Luvvie's Zagat's Review: Big boys with their big steaks * Lots of testosterone here * Supposedly THE place, but they all think that * Size matters eh?

Luvvie's Partner in Crime: MEN

Luvvie's been there: A Handful of Times

The Palm

837 2nd Avenue
New York, NY 10017
Cross Street(s): 44th + 45th Streets
212-687-2953

Neighborhood: East 40s
Cuisine: Steakhouse
Luvvie's Zagat's Review: Dang, could there be yet another place to get meat in this city? * Really old, really good, but the best part is the ambiance * You come here to eat steak, so eat STEAK * But for dessert have The BEST VERY VERY BEST chocolate cake in the universe* It tastes like a 1950s housewife is making chocolate cake in the back room

Luvvie's Partner in Crime: Gallucio Family
Luvvie's been there: Once

Old Homestead

56 9th Avenue

New York, NY 10011

Cross Street(s): 14th + 15th Streets

212-242-9040
Neighborhood: Chelsea

Cuisine: Steakhouse

Luvvie's Zagat's Review: I always order the rib-eye * Taking a knife to this huge succulent slab of love is like slicing through to another place and time * You literally can imagine yourself shrunk down and living inside this steak for the rest of your life
Luvvie's Partner in Crime: Mom + Dad

Luvvie's been there: A Thousand Times

So go now, grab your bib and your steak knives and your big pants and Go Get Some MEAT!

Celebrity Autobiographies: The Good, The Bad, and The Ones You Mine For Comic Effect

When I worked at TIME Magazine the best perk was the free magazines. All You, Cottage Living, Entertainment Weekly, FORTUNE, InStyle, People, Real Simple, Sports Illustrated, This Old House and TIME to name a few. Every day, grabbing all the magazines you'd care to have ... it was like raiding the corner newsstand.

Every Friday morning when the PEOPLEs came in it was like feeding time in the shark tank, and often times if you weren't quick enough you didn't get your weekly fix because some greedy monster had culled a whole stack of issues for their friends. Time Inc. actually had to resort to putting members of the security staff next to the kiosks to watch over us.

I was reading one of these free PEOPLE Magazines one day on a flight to see my friends, GoldenBoy and Mattymoo in Florida. PEOPLE had done an excerpt of Celine Dion's autobiography and it had me virtually LOLing all the way to Ft. Lauderdale. Unable to keep this gem of a story to myself, I proceeded to do a dramatic reading of it in the voice of Celine herself for my hosts that night, replete with odd French Canadian accent and sweeping arm gestures.

My favorite parts to read aloud were the ones that involved Celine's deep deep deep love for her old old old husband. The first passage was about how, as a young teen, she used to keep a picture of Rene under her pillow and rub it all over her face, smothering it with kisses till the picture was worn through. Then one day OH NO! The picture was gone! Her mother had found it and taken it! Girlish Crush: Exposed! Nightly Ritual: Discovered! Forbidden Love: No Longer Hidden! The next day her mother replaced the picture without saying a word. Crisis: Averted! Mom knew which side the bread was buttered on.

The second howl-out-loud section dealt with Celine's wishes to conceive a child with her old old old husband. After a painfully earnest set up she ends the section with how her doctors chose to tell her and Methuselah the good news. They gathered them into a room and announced (over speaker phone) the itchy squirmy phrase: CONGRATULATIONS LOVERS!!!

Needless to say, at GoldenBoy and Mattymoo's house in the balmy night that evening in Ft. Lauderdale with a glass of wine in one hand and the other arm flung, Statue of Liberty-eque, to the adoring fans, my channeling of La Celine made "Congratulations Luv-ahrs" the most memorable catchphrase from the evening. Mattymoo tells me that hardly a week goes by when he doesn't repeat this line. Oh, Celine, what continuous joy you bring!

Similarly, I was quite fond of reading passages from Nancy Cartwright's "My Life As a 10-Year-Old Boy" out loud with my old friend Won*t. I'll let this one speak for itself. Here's the first few paragraphs of the book:

It is a Saturday morning in 1986. I am in my bed, in my jammies, eating a big bowl of Cap'n Crunch. My dogs are wining because they wish they were on my bed and they love Cap'n Crunch too. But this is "my time" and I don't want to be distracted. After all, three of my favorite shows are on: Galaxy High, My Little Pony and Friends and The Snorks. Oh, I forgot to mention, they are all cartoons. Uh-oh, I doubly forgot to mention, I am in all of them. Double uh-oh, I am single. This is my life! It didn't occur to me until right now that maybe that was why I was single.
Flash forward, a Sunday evening in 2000. I am in the den with my son on my left and my daughter on my right. Hubby is reaching for the Cap'n Crunch … some things never change! The dogs, cats and birds are settled in for the evening. This is ''family time" and we don't want to be distracted. After all, The Simpsons is on.

Nancy Cartwright is divorced as of this writing, so I'd dare to write a third paragraph of her introduction that goes something like this:

Flash forward again, now to a Tuesday afternoon in 2008. I am in the grips of a "midlife crisis". Hubby is late with his "child support payment". Again! Cap'n Crunch is scattered all over the living room floor and embedded in the carpet. Some things never change! The dogs, cats and birds, along with a few goldfish and a hamster, are dead. This is "miller time" and I don't want to be distracted. After all, I gotta get my drink on!

In her book, Nancy Cartwright proved to be as 2 dimensional in real life as her alter ego Bart Simpson (who is, in fact, a drawing and expected to be 2 dimensional). Her book highlights her desperation to be as famous as her voice has made this 10 year old boy ... It's a don't you know who I am? tantrum but with less diva bravura and more plaintive knitted brow. Don't you? Really? Don't you know who I am?

Peek behind Nancy's plethora of exclamation points, randomly quoted words, awkward phrasing, and odd little jokes and you find an insecure mass of self-doubt, all tied up neatly in a Tina Yothers package. (Tina Yothers circa Family Ties, not Tina Yothers of Celebrity Fit Club Fame. Or rather, as Nancy Cartwright would write, Celebrity Fit Club "Fame".) Nancy uses the book as a means to rail at her inability to find work as a REAL actress (Oh, poor sweetheart, the world could barely provide a career for the actual Tina Yothers, why would we want a lookalike minus the nostalgic factor and plus the weird little voice factor?), and even lets the cat out of the bag that her co-stars don't seem to like her (or each other) enough to hang out after the line readings and grab some drinks. In fact, judging by the photo, they're not even comfortable standing next to one another at the Simpsons Movie Premiere.

PHOTOGRAPHER: Hey, Hank, can you skootch a bit closer to Nancy?

HANK AZARIA: Who?

Imagine my joy then other day when, while scrolling through my otherwise boring in box, I came across an offer for discount tickets to see a limited engagement of Celebrity Autobiography! I was thrilled to see that my secret passion for dramatizing bad writing to comic effect had jumped, 100th Monkey-like, into the minds of actual comedians who could actually get strangers to come watch them do this stuff. And I could be one of those strangers for the low low price of 25 bucks!

I knew I had to go but ... um … who was I supposed to go with? Mattymoo and GoldenBoy would have been the perfect choices, but they were in Florida. Won't would have been a perfect choice too ... but we hadn't spoken in 7 years. My Boo, Quibbit? Hmmm ...

Having a guy like Quibbit in my life has enriched me in many ways. He's a wonderful man, he's a great companion in every situation, he's a good soul, and he's the one I want by my side for everything I got to (and go through) in life. HOWEVER …

On my first date with Quibbit I mentioned a pretty well known celebrity and he replied … who? … then went on to explain he could identify only possibly 12 celebrities (one was "the girl who played Buffy the Vampire Slayer") and the rest were a blur. At first I thought he was joking, but as time went on I saw that he was completely clueless when it came to who's who in Who's Who. In fact, Entertainment Weekly articles which contain the cliché "Unless you've been living under a rock for the past year …" should continue "or unless you're Quibbit".
Luvviepuffaroo (watching Brothers and Sisters one night): Boo, do you recognize that woman?
Quibbit: No.
Luvviepuffaroo: We just saw her yesterday in Sybil.
Quibbit: Oh. Was she the psychiatrist?
Luvvie: No.
Quibbit: The mother?
Luvvie: No.
Quibbit: Oh, who was she?
Luvvie: SHE WAS SYBIL!!!!! IT'S SALLY FIELD!!! SHE WAS SYBIL DAMN IT!!! HOW CAN YOU NOT RECOGNIZE HER?

You can imagine how my "You like me … You really like me!" reference goes unappreciated.

If you know me at all you know I can talk pop culture like a pro, and if you're a yellow-blue-green-orange-brown pie champion in Trivial Pursuit, pick me as your partner and I'll get that pink pie for you in one shot, Alex. So it was really unbelievable that I'd find such blissful joy with someone like Quibbit. With him, I actually find other things to talk about … like, um … well … other things? Like how Britney … no. I mean what a shame about Heath … uhgh. That a year ago Anna Nicole ... Aw, heck. Other things!!!

I decided to invite a guy I dated a while back, a guy I affectionately refer to as Hammer of Israel, who I knew would totally get it as much as I did. Hammer holds the record for being the ONLY guy I ever remained friends with after a breakup, as usually I'm not all that interested in someone after they're out of my life. (You don't GET to know me anymore!! I've been heard to scream at more than one retreating man.) While Hammer and I don't exactly socialize, he's definitely one of my favorite people to email back and forth with ... and one of the first people who told me I should have a blog becuase I was so much fun to read. Right back atcha, H of I.

Quibbit was fine with it ... he understood I wanted to sit next to someone who got the joke viscerally, not someone who just was willing to acknowledge that a joke had been made.

Quibbit: Just for context, can you explain what kind of stuff they'd be doing at Celebrity Autobiography?

Luvvie: Well ... the flyer says that at one point they take "the infamous memoirs of Elizabeth Taylor, Eddie Fisher and Debbie Reynolds, which are edited together to create a Rashomon-esque playlet in the participants' own words." Do you know what that means?
Quibbit: A little.
Luvvie: What's Rashomon?
Quibbit: A Japanese Choreographer.
Luvvie: It's a movie. Who's Eddie Fisher?
Quibbit: A comedian.
Luvvie: No. Who's Elizabeth Taylor?
Quibbit: I know her. She's an actress.
Luvvie: From what?
Quibbit: Wait a sec … wasn't she on Designing Women? She played Blair, right?

Luvvie: (making frustrated little fist shaking motions in the air) Do you have any idea how wrong that statement was?
Quibbit: (smiling adorably and shaking his head like a bobble-head puppy) No.

Of course I had to hug him then, because he's so damn cute.

Unfortunately H of I had to cancel ... which in a way left me very sad, but in a way made me happy too ... because Quibbit does have a sense of humor, after all ... and he's always fun to rehash things with. I knew I'd probably be quoting lines from the show long after it was over, and then at least he'd get the context.

Monday night Quibbit and I made our way to the Upper West Side and shoehorned our way into the nosebleed seats at the Triad, which has an odd little second level that is a bit disorienting (there are cabaret chairs lined up along tiny shelves in front of you, the better to rest your 2 drink minimum on, my dear). Still the view was decent, and when the show started I was giddy.

(Disclaimer: all quotes below are as I remember them, not lifted directly from the books ... unfortunately. Becuase those were funnier).

Rachel Dratch opened with a reading from Good Morning, I'm Joan Lunden that painfully detailed each step of her EARLY morning ("I like to lay out my clothes for the next day in the order I'll put them on. That is, panties on top ..." "I'm a fantaic about not waking my family up when I leave, so I oil the door hinges every night"). Kristen Wiig did the early poetry of Suzanne Sommers ("My Two Week Love" -- "So, while I can't quite remember your name, or even your face, I'll always remember my two-week-love" and "Extra Love" --"So please, if you have even a heartbeat of love to give away, don't waste it on a dog").

Richard Kind showed us the bubbling font of knowlege that is Vanna White. ("While my job turning letters may not require much thought, how many jobs do? And it is hard work. I've lost fingernails, I've stumbled ..."). Marilu Henner's book gave a glimpse into her odd little thing for Danny DeVito ("I'd take Danny over Robert Redford any day!" she coos), and Tommy Lee's Tommyland left me gasping for breath. ("The trouble with threesomes is, someone is always feeling left out. My solution is ... foursomes! This way everyone's being taken care of and in the middle you can switch!") Tommyland was read in between Stallone's Sly Moves which centers around his muscles, his fitness routine, and his strict diet. As Sly prattles on about what's in his refridgerator, it was extra funny to hear Tommy exclaim "That thing about tracing the alphabet with your tongue really works! Of course, you have to know the alphabet which I DO!"

Unfortunately, Quibbit's phone could only capture faceless blobs, but that's Rachel Dratch reading Joan Lunden on the left, and Richard Kind reading Vanna White on the right.

The evening ended with, as promised, readings from Debbie Reynold's autobiography, juxtaposed with Liz Taylor's and Eddie Fisher's. It lived up to they hype and was, indeed, Rashomon-esque. See faceless blobs below:

Happily, you actually didn't need to know the celebrities to find their inane thoughts comical, and the actors who interpreted the material had perfect comic timing and dead pan delivery. So, Quibbit actually had a great time and enjoyed the evening more than I thought he would. While I don't expect him to come away from Monday night remembering who Joan Lunden is, at least now next time we see Sally Field I can lean over and say "That's the one Burt Reynolds quoted as saying "What do you mean I wasn't nominated for Sybil! I played 17 freakin' people!"

Although I already know, Quibbit will smile back at me and say ... "Oh. That's Elizabeth Taylor, right?"