A Couple of Quickies....

Tom the Turbinator is hard at work, choosing the winner of the "Name that MADGE" contest. We await with baited breath for the results!


What does that mean, anyway? "Baited breath"? A baited hook has a worm or a grub on it. Not sure that's what my breath is like. Not even sure what a worm smells like. Hmmm...

Anyway, my point was, we're anxious to know who the winner will be of tickets to the benefit comedy and music event being held at Nostalgia Tavern in Kingfield next Saturday, December 4th. Seven p.m. So... come on, Mr. Turbinator. Let's hear what the Judge's Choice is! (And thanks for doing this for me, sweetheart. You're the best!)

While the main purpose of this event is to raise money for the Friends of the Highland Mountains, it also serves another purpose. The evening will give us the opportunity to relax and have fun with each other and our guests. As stressful as it's been to fight mountaintop industrial wind in Maine, we could use a break.

So please consider joining us next Saturday night as I stand before a crowd and... do whatever it is that I do. No one has quite figured out exactly what that is, but I've heard phrases like "crash and burn", "bomb, BIG TIME" and "take a nose dive off the stage" used as points of reference.

Ugh.

One more thing: I'd like to provide you with a link to the blog for the Citizens Task Force on Wind Power, where a dear friend of mine has posted some photos and captioned them with his Thanksgiving thoughts. Please feel free to take a look and a quick read. And if you have any interest in supporting those of us who are fighting Big Wind in Maine, joining the site is quick and easy. Please consider doing just that. There is no expense involved, but there IS strength in numbers!

Thanks.
Kaz

All the World's a Stage and It's Curtains for Me

It’s desperation, I suppose. That’s all I can come up with for an explanation. Why else would a reasonable, somewhat intelligent woman put herself through such a thing? Again?!!

Yep. It’s gotta be Desperation, with a capital ‘D’.


Once more, I will be performing a comedy routine to benefit a good cause. Coming up in November (firm date to be announced soon) I will be standing up on a stage, microphone in hand, making a complete and total idiot of myself. A small part of me—a very small part—is looking forward to the event, for if I am successful, it will give me the best feeling in the world. If I am able to cause laughter--and lots of it--I will have eased someone’s burden for a short while. And if there is a sell-out, standing-room-only crowd, I will have also helped to fund a cause in which I believe, and which truly deserves support.

So, I feel a modicum of anticipation. After all, I’m a human being, and what living, breathing woman doesn’t like to know that she might actually be able to kill two birds with one stone? That she might be able to brighten someone’s day AND contribute to a worthwhile endeavor at the same time?

But…

What’s the opposite of ‘modicum’? How do I convey the awesome dread and nervousness that is the lion’s share of the sentiment felt when I think about doing live stand-up again? Every time I survive one of these events, I swear I will NEVER DO IT AGAIN. Never! Not for as long as I live, and probably not for a short while afterwards, either. Each time, as I’m driving home from a show, I say, “You couldn’t pay me enough to put myself through that again!” (A quick aside. I have never been paid for standing in front of a crowd and entertaining them. I’m pretty sure there’s a reason for that. It might very well be that I suck…) (Another quick aside. I hate the word ‘suck’ and won’t allow my kids to say it. However, I can’t seem to come up with another word that is quite as apropos…)

Aw, heck. Not only do I suck as a humorist, I am a sucky mother, too.

See? See what I mean? This stuff gets me all discombobulated. Out of sorts. And in the week preceding one of these affairs, I am NOT a pleasure to live with, either. Just ask Mr. Grumbles and the Grumblettes. Actually, scratch that. There’s really no sense in hearing their side of things, is there? After all, they’re biased. They think a wife and mother ought to be sweet and pleasant, and speak in something less than a snarl. They don’t understand why a woman might lock herself in her room as she paces and practices and tries to suck in her stomach while standing in front of a mirror which she swears she never gazes into. They still harbor the fantasy of a matriarch who cooks their meals, kisses them good night, and asks after their welfare. So in reality… asking for their opinion is pointless, wouldn’t you say?

Oh, man… what have I done?

Stay tuned, won’t you? You just might have a seat in the front row of history. You may actually watch a woman not only self-destruct, but take a whole organization of good people with her as she plummets to the ground in flames.

Each member of the Friends of the Highland Mountains has become a personal friend of mine. I can only hope I make them a little bit proud.

Failing that, I hope I can make them some money.

Calling All Non-Lewd, Non-Bawdy Friends!!!

I’ll be performing a little bit of stand-up comedy on April 10th at Carrabec High School in North Anson. A neighbor is battling cancer, and as often happens in Maine’s small rural communities, friends and family are gathering ‘round to offer emotional and financial support. When the folks organizing this benefit supper called and asked me if I would entertain the troops after the meal, I said ‘yes’. Of course I did.

I was calm, cool and collected. I had no worries. They were only asking for a half-hour’s worth of humor. No prob! Surely, that would be a piece of cake!

And then, it hit me. This was a community dinner. An event that families were coming out for. And families most often include… children.

Holy smokes. Children. Kids. Rug-rats, ankle-biters! Oh, no!!!


Please understand, it’s not that I don’t like kids: I do! I speak to tweens and teens in schools all the time, and I’ve raised three children of my own. Kids don’t intimidate me in the least, and I occasionally even enjoy their company. Really! Honest! I mean, I can, if I have to... But I am being asked to perform my particular brand of comedy at a benefit supper, and I’ve got to tell you… I am not ‘G’ rated!

This is a catastrophe in the making! You may just witness me self-destruct!

Oh, I have no doubt that children are sophisticated, nowadays, and probably anything I could say would be less offensive than what they hear on television or say themselves when amongst their peers. But the problem is, their parents will be in the audience, too! And I certainly do not want to get on the wrong side of some righteously indignant mothers and fathers!

So, I can’t relate the tale of the wet t-shirt contest gone dry. I can’t tell the story about the horny moose. Or the horny Corgi. Or the naked customer. I can’t relive the bonehead moment about my cleavage, or the one about my pantyhose and the errant bit of toilet tissue. Gone is the story about the Jehovah’s Witnesses, and the tale of the x-rated tool belt. I must keep silent concerning the f-bomb and the accidental pot plant. No one will be regaled by the tale of my encounter with strippers, or of broken dungaree zippers.

Help…

Seriously... HELP!!!

I need some ideas, here! I need people with minds uncorrupted by the earthiness that seems to have invaded my own to give me some clean material. I know it exists. I mean, I couldn’t have always had a bawdy sense of humor, right? Clearly, there must have been a time when I told jokes that were as pure as the new fallen snow. Funny stories which were inoffensive and mild? Surely, I wasn’t always this…this…

Damn. I’ve got nothing.

Okay. Desperate times call for desperate measures. It’s time for another contest. Readers of Grumbles and Grins have never let me down, yet!

Calling all purveyors of jolly jokes, innocent idioms, witty witticisms and quirky quips! I’ll even entertain some amusing anecdotes! Some tall tales! Anything, as long as the telling of it will not get me run out of town on a rail by irate parents!

How about this idea? For every innocuous joke or inoffensive narrative I receive that I deem useable in my performance, I will donate $2.00 to the fund for the family we are benefitting. I have to put a cap on it of 25 jokes or $50.00, but I would dearly love to reach that goal!

What do you say, my friends? It’s for a good cause—none better—and you will be helping to spread laughter and hope. Just write your ditties in the ‘comments’ sections below, and I’ll see what I can do with them. Does that sound like a plan? Yeah?? All right!!

Now the questions is… do I have any friends who aren’t bawdy and lewd? Heh… Come on, folks. Dig deep!

And thanks, from the bottom of my heart.

Not Your Average GAG Posting

On Saturday, April 10th, from 4:30 to 6:30 p.m. a group of friends is putting on a benefit spaghetti supper at Carrabec High School in North Anson. Vicki Anderson of New Portland has Stage Four lung cancer, and the costs of traveling for treatment are burdensome. Please help support our neighbor by coming out and joining us at the school.

At 6:30, following the meal, I will be performing a bit of 'stand-up' comedy to entertain the crowd. That's my intention, anyway, and I'll give it my very best. Life seems cruel at times, but laughter is the best of tonics.

Please join us for a delicious meal, a few giggles, and some other fund-raising opportunities. Your participation will be greatly appreciated.

More details will follow as we get closer to the date. Thank you.

I mean it. Thank you.
Kaz

The Fat Lady

Well, the fat lady must have sung, because it’s over. The comedy show for charity at Nostalgia Tavern is a thing of the past.

Thank God! Cripes, at this stage of the game, I’ll thank just about anybody! In fact, I spent a good part of this post-show Saturday doing exactly that.

There are so many people who contributed to the success of the evening. And I’m speaking of success in the monetary sense…not critiquing my own efforts on stage. Good heavens! I cannot believe that there are people in the world that do that type of thing for a living!

I know I looked like Larry The Cable Guy, but with a bigger bust! (But not by much…) And I probably sounded just about as bright! But HE never looks nervous! Larry never has a joke fall flat! And HE can get away with wearing shirts that have the sleeves ripped off! Crimeny… I caught heck for letting a bit of cleavage show! And it was just a BIT! As long as I wasn’t bending over, that is…

There should definitely be some kind of law stating that one’s parents be barred from witnessing such a spectacle! No way in the world should it be permitted for my mother to hear me say ‘fart’ in a crowd...let alone allow her to hear me actually let one slip! (Because I do that when I’m nervous, you know! Sorry...too much information? Well, I’m working on those muscles as we speak!)

And a girl’s father should never, ever hear her discuss wayward testicles that might or might not get caught between the slats of a wooden chair. He’s not supposed to think I even know what those little buggers are! And I DON’T!! Not really!


But worse--far, far worse—is the ‘Grandmother Quotient’. What kind of society do we live in, where it’s okay for a ninety-three year old woman to hear her (once) beloved grand-daughter talk about nakedness, wet tee-shirt contests, getting body parts caught in zippers, and HORNY MOOSE??? Aw, Mammy!

I simply wanted to die.

However. A quiet, graceful, dignified death was denied me. Of course it was. I am the queen of the Bonehead Moment, and it is my lot in life to open my mouth, and suffer the consequences.

I do manage to raise a lot of money for charity that way, though…

So! The show is over, the money is being tallied and will soon be disbursed, and my one remaining nerve is shot. I’ve probably alienated my family, a couple of my local friends, and even my best pal half-way round the world. Am I a bona fide, unqualified success, or not?!

Of course I am.

But for the record…I have never broken wind, I don’t have a single clue about manly body parts, and I have never—not once in my life—participated in a wet tee-shirt contest. Nor have I been naked, nude, bare, exposed or unclothed. Them’s the facts, Mam.

Mam? Mammy? Aw, come on! It was for CHARITY!! It was for Alzheimers and…something else! I forget what it was…

Heh.

Thank you—every one of you—for coming out in the cold rain, the wind and the sleet in order to help me support the ‘wrinklies’ and to assist me in settling the debt owed to my pal Jack.

It’s over. And he is soooo going to pay for that!

Laughter...The Best Medicine

I’ve learned over the course of many years that laughter can be a life-saver. Sometimes, existing in a state of harmony with the world and those around us is nigh impossible. Things go wrong. People don’t live up to our expectations. Once in a while, we don’t live up to theirs. It sometimes seems as if strife is as commonplace as breathing.

But breathe, we must! And drawing breath comes much easier when our chests are free of the tightness caused by conflict, sorrow or worry. That’s why laughter is so good for human beings. It causes those constricting muscles in our torso to relax, and loosen up.

If you’re lucky, those are the ONLY muscles that will loosen up when you laugh.

I made someone pee her pants, today.

I’m actually quite proud of myself. Oh, I’m not pleased that this woman had to spend the rest of her workday afloat in seas of brine! Certainly not! I truly feel BAD that she had to field questions from her co-workers like, ‘Did someone bring a baby in here?’ and ‘Do you smell soggy diapers?' I’m quite distressed that she had to spread a garbage bag on the seat of her SUV for the drive home from her office. It’s terrible that she had to go into the store on her way there for a gallon of milk and a box of Depends. And I’m terrifically upset that she was wearing a beige skirt rather than something dark-colored which would have hidden a damp stain! Certainly, I’m not happy about ANY of those things.

Certainly not!

And yet, I still find it hilarious! Every time I think about the fact that she actually LAUGHED SO HARD SHE WET HERSELF, I go off on a round of giggles! When I picture the woman who shares her office crinkling her nose and looking into her garbage can for a used, disposable diaper, I start in with renewed snorts. Imagining my friend sidling past shoppers in the market so that she wouldn’t present them with the back of her sodden skirt causes my sides to ache.

It’s not funny, but it is hysterical!

And geez, I don’t know about my friend, but I sure feel better, now!

Of course, it’s not always appropriate to laugh. And naturally, when it’s NOT fitting, that’s when we feel the strongest urge to guffaw until we gag.

On November 27th, I will be performing a ‘stand-up’ comedy routine in a local tavern to benefit charity. I love to make people laugh, but I am NOT a comedian, and so this prospect scares the dickens out of me. And trust me when I tell you…I have good reason to be scared!

You see…I’ve done this before.

In March of 2001, I was asked to entertain the public at this very same tavern--only that time, the event was to benefit my small, hometown library in New Portland, Maine. I was to read portions of a manuscript I’d written titled, No, I’m not Pregnant, I’m just Fat (But Thanks So Much for Asking!) And that’s just what I did. I stood on stage and read select portions from my little, unpublished book…and the crowd of nearly 100 went wild. To my amazement, they LOVED it! I had them falling out of their chairs, they laughed so hard! I’m still dumbfounded when I think about what a success that evening was.

To my surprise and delight, the owner of a bar up north in Stratton heard about the event, and she asked me if I would come to the plaza and do the very same thing. Riding high on the triumph of that night, I said yes. Of course I would come! I was a rising star!

I was the Big Dip, and there are no two ways around it.

What the proprietor neglected to tell me was that my ‘act’ would directly follow another. I arrived at the establishment, ready and raring to go. Inside the lobby, I noticed that the swinging doors to the pub were closed. But emanating from behind those doors were the sounds of raucous laughter and enthusiastic applause!

‘Excellent!’ I thought. ‘Someone is warming them up for me!’ The bouncer told me that the first show was almost over, and he invited me to sit on the sofa to await my turn on the stage. I did as I was told. I looked around for something to read, but all there was on the coffee table was the local telephone directory. It was no big deal, really. Instead of reading a magazine, I opened my manila folder and once again looked over my manuscript. The manuscript I’d written about being fat.

All of a sudden, the doors to my right swung open and a stampede of approximately forty men poured through. Leading those men were two women. Two naked women. Well, I should be precise, shouldn’t I? Those ladies most certainly were NOT naked. They were bedecked in g-strings, pasties, and high heels.

Nope. Not naked, at all.

I just about had a cow!

Don’t get me wrong…I have nothing against nakedness! We Lexingtonites run around naked all the time! But never, and I repeat, NEVER would we be caught in the nude in high heels. It simply isn’t done! Rubber boots for when we’re mucking out the stalls, sneakers when we’re mowing the fields--but never, ever heels!

Holy smokes…

Well, of course, I was immediately nervous. I looked at the wall behind me and saw the poster I’d overlooked. A bachelor party! That made sense! These women were strippers! No wonder the crowd had sounded so enthusiastic!!

And now that the show was over, they weren’t content to let the ladies leave. They crowded round them, practically falling over my feet and their own as they tried to get their phone numbers, tried to book them for ‘private’ parties…it was all quite ridiculous, really.

All that commotion over high heels! Pfft!

Well, I was completely overlooked. No matter that I, too, was a woman! It was apparent that those two girls were in a league of their own. I couldn’t compete for that male attention. No way! I had sturdy combat boots on, for Pete’s sake, not stilettos! While I wore a ‘C’ cup, I would never, ever fit into a size ‘G’ string! And the closest I’ve ever come to wearing pasties was the time I had atrial fibrillation and was hooked up to an electrocardiogram machine. And that time…well, those ‘pasties’ simply weren’t positioned in a seductive way, that’s all! Wires sprouting from metal nodules didn’t have the same effect as dangling tassels…I was sure of it!

I picked up the telephone book. I mean, those girls were standing with their alphabetized floss directly at eye-level! As curious as I was as to what-all good it did and where exactly it disappeared to, I couldn’t stare. That would be rude! And so…I pretended to be engrossed in the Yellow Pages. Never have I looked like such a dipstick! I smiled politely when one beefy, red-faced man tripped over my glossy black boots and landed in my lap in his attempt to get near enough to one of the dancers to give her switch a toggle. I scuttled sideways as another gent realized I had the best view in the house, and he plopped his sweaty bum next to mine.

I was completely and totally out of my element!!! Embarrassed, uncomfortable, at a loss with what to do or say. Seriously…what kind of conversation could I hold? I couldn’t talk about the weather, because it was COLD, and I was NOT going there! And the scenery? My view consisted of an intricate shaving pattern displayed three feet in front of my eyes. Oh, and a tiny little mole.

Holy cow! I wanted my mommy!

And then, I was saved. The owner of the bar, my friend, appeared at my shoulder. She invited me inside. She had the bouncer hustle the girls to their changing room, and she escorted the wild and wooly men back into the saloon. They watched the starlets forlornly as they were led away, and then grudgingly returned to their seats.

And in moments, I was on!



Can you picture the scene, at all? Can you imagine my discomfort? Here I was, frumpy Karen, dressed in bulky sweater, heavy jeans and thick-soled boots…and what was I doing??? I was talking about the trials and tribulations of being FAT to forty sexually turned on, recently turned down men! Oh, and three women. I don’t know if they were turned on or not…I simply noticed that there were ONLY THREE WOMEN in the whole audience!!

Jumpin’ Jehosaphat!

Nobody laughed. Not one person clapped. Even when I got to the parts which had made my first audience SCREAM…not a single soul made a peep. I could smell the frustration, feel the annoyance and hear the disappointment. Even, the disgust.
I mean, get real!!! They’d just been entertained by dancing, sashaying, tasseled, stringed beauties in high heels who offered lap dances, and I was cracking jokes about being FAT!!!

Arrrgh!!!

Never, not once in my life, have I been so humiliated. I wanted to die! Those thirty minutes that I forced myself to stand there on stage comprised the most agonizing, excruciating mental torture I have ever endured. And when I finally got out of there…when I finally reached the safety of my truck and slammed the door shut, I swore I would never, not in a million years EVER, put myself though that again! There was no force on earth that could compel me to stand up in front of strangers and open myself up to that kind of humiliation, again.

Have I mentioned…I’m doing a stand-up comedy show for charity on November 27th?

Yeah…that’s says a lot about my gene pool, doesn’t it?

But, you see…something happened. Something wonderful. That strong force I just swore that had no power? Well, it does. Laughter has a power that is beyond reckoning. I closed that truck door, turned the key in the ignition, shifted into first gear, and before that vehicle pulled out onto Route 27, I was laughing my ass off. I was crying, giggling, screaming with hilarity. Oh, my God!!! I could see myself from the perspective of those forty men. Who needs a cold shower when you have Karen Pease? Got the horn on? Aw, just stick her in front of a mike and see what THAT does for you! Instant deflation! Bromide with boobs!

Oh, my God!


The distance from Stratton to my home in Lexington is almost forty miles. On those snowy spring roads, in the dark of night, it took me more than an hour to get home. And I cackled every single mile, every single minute of it! And by the time I reached the peaceful security of my little homestead, I was okay! More than okay…I knew that that painful, horrendous experience had great value and huge potential. I could just imagine how many others would get a chuckle from that event as they lived it vicariously through me. Sure, it was awful! But it was also funnier than hell.

Laughter. It’s a gift, it’s a tonic, it’s a life-saver. It is truly the best medicine there is. Laughter’s side-effects? An occasional pulled muscle in your side. A load of creases and crinkles in your face. And a lightness of spirit, a hope for the future, and yes... a rare wetting of your pants.

Have I mentioned, I’m performing a stand-up comedy routine for charity on November 27th? I invite you to come out and laugh with me.

And just in case...bring your Depends.

*******************************
The show mentioned above is to benefit Alzheimers Association (Maine Chapter) and Franklin Home Health Care. All proceeds will be donated in Jack and Alison Ramsay's names.