Current mood:	irate
Current music:	I Hate Michelle Collins (Junior Vasquez arena mix)

WYSIWYG Talent Show Update
This past week, I performed at the WYSIWYG Talent Show and now I am so mad at Michelle Collins.

Last year, I attended WYSIWYG for the first time. Usually, I am on the air on my radio show while the monthly blogfest commences. My roommate Mike and the rest of geek night are frequent attendees and invited me out to see it when I was on vacation last spring. Sean (no relation to Michelle or Jon) loathes blogs and blogging so he didn't want to go. The show theme was Worst Jobs Ever, which was like a custom glove for Michelle Collins to slide into. She killed. KILLED!!! It helped that Gawker lady, who ended the show with a thud, was a monotone mess who read aloud from her upcoming book with all the passion of a woman discarding junk mail. 

Being a whore for attention, but lacking any real talent, I thought, "I can do better than that bitch!" I decided that when the right topic came along, I would also do a reading at WYSIWYG Talent Show. I also determined that Michelle Collins had to be on my radio show ASAP. Michelle joined for Blog-O-Rama and killed. KILLED! Even Romaine loved her, and we have very different senses of humor. Generally if we both like someone, they are an A+ for the show, not that our guests are listed on a piece of paper with letter grades and booked by our producer accordingly.  Everything is electronic now. 

There was minor grumbling from listeners that Michelle would never talk about being on our show on her blog, but I ignored it all. Michelle and I have a shared love of the Olive Garden, and I'll never forget our magical night at the Olive Garden Times Square bar where we shared the horror of seeing an unused bowl of bottomless salad tossed in the trash. Bottomless salad we would happily have consumed or poured into Michelle's purse when no one was looking. The rumbling got louder recently when she didn't mention our show but did mention another show she was going to be on that appears on a competing satellite radio company. Still I let it go. 

Nine months ago, I asked Chris Hampton if I could do the Starfuckers: Encounters of the Celebrity Kind for my WYSIWYG debut. Having worked at a movie studio, lived in Hollywood, and shopped at the same supermarket as Nell Carter and Phyllis Diller, I figured I might have some stories to tell. For nine months, I sweated and worried and plunged into denial about the whole thing. It was like being pregnant, but I lost fifteen pounds. So I guess it was more like being pregnant and anorexic. I revealed to Michelle on her last appearance on the show that I was drenched in flop sweat about the whole thing and what a nightmare it would be for me to stand up in front of people since I hate being in front of a crowd. She insisted that I would be amazing and she would be sitting right there to see the magic happen. 

So this week, I went to the Bowery Poetry Club. I sat backward in my seat for the first half hour waiting to catch a glimpse of Michelle. Nothing. Chris tells me I am on third and to have a drink. I've already had three. I think "third is a good spot as long as no one kills before me." First performer goes up. Sports guy with story about baseball. I don't care about sports at all, but he is very animated and the story gets a warm reception. He switches things up at the end by turning it into a magic act and pulling a baseball from his pocket with just a hint of flair. Second performer gets up. She tells story about Corey Feldman moving into her building. Funny stuff. Now I am even more nervous. Where the hell is Michelle Collins? Jon Collins? Sean Collins? Do I have time for one more drink? Maybe a Tom Collins. 

Chris calls me up to do my set. Beforehand, I had worked out an opening joke with props. I cut out little slips of paper like you find in programs at Broadway shows when the lead performer is out sick. Mine said, "At tonight's performance, the role of Bob's Big Boy will be played by Derek Hartley." The joke bombed on the radio when I told it and sitting with the geek night crew I got a lot of stonefaced responses. Up on the stage, I announced that I was abandoning my opening joke. I had also planned to reference Gawker girl by announcing in a monotone patter that I would be reading slowly from my grocery list. But Michelle wasn't there and it was going to be a personal joke to her. I couldn't believe it. Where was Michelle?

I broke my act down into three parts. I wanted to start with my story about not recognizing Dan Renzi at Dennis Hensley's birthday party. Dan Renzi isn't all that famous but the story is so good to me, that it bears constant repeating. Next I had a lightning round of short celebrity stories: the girl who threw up after meeting Richard Gere, the three way with Elizabeth Shue, stories guaranteed to shock and offend, but also none that lasted so long that if they sucked, I couldn't just quickly move on to something else. The third part was a celebrity improv where I asked people to shout out names of celebrities and I would tell stories about them, if I had them. When we did this on the air, it was a disaster, but by the end of my act, I figured I had nothing to lose. Colin Farrell (no story, but an observation about his gay brother Eamon), Eddie Murphy (no story, but a revelation about the tranny hooker he gave a ride to), and finally pay dirt when Bea Arthur was shouted out. I wrapped things up with a story about Glenn Close and the press junket for Air Force One. Earlier I warmed up the crowd with an old bit about the shitty movie Mary Reilly, and brought it home at the end of my act with an appropriate celebrity coda. 

I thought I killed. Mike thought I killed. The woman who went on after me looked like she wanted to beat me in the face with her guitar. I think she thought I killed too. Michelle Collins probably would have thought I killed too if she had bothered to show up. Oh well, at least I did better than Gawker bitch and everyone treated me better than Glenn Close. So that's something. To be fair, if I can't do ten minutes of patter in front of a crowd after three years of four daily hours of live radio, I am the most pathetic performer ever. Also, I tossed out nearly 20 celebrity encounters in ten minutes so there was a little something for everyone. If you only have one celebrity story, it's a much riskier gambit. Of all the performers, Dave Gordon was my favorite since our career paths had a lot in common and he shared the same ironic view of the celebrity life that I have. Amnesia gets bonus points for flirting with me, although she probably doesn't remember. I think I will do WYSIWYG again, although I don't think I will be leaving the safe topic of celebrity. See you next year, Michelle, or else!