Here’s the link to a radio show I did last week. It was a sixty minute call in show, and after a while I got a little restless. It was then I spied the power bar I had brought in for lunch. If you listen to the interview, I want you to tell me if you can detect when I started chowing down on the power bar. More,  I want you to appreciate the kind of special guest and self-promoter I am that I would begin to NOSH during a radio interview. Imagine, what I could on television!

I had another interview the next day; I limited myself to my special raspberry drops, Les Framboises. My dad would buy us these tins at Broadway shows and I was in love with the fancy calligraphy and, of course, the tin itself which seemed like treasure, or better yet to hold treasure. As it turns out, this was also a mistake because I always bite down on hard candies. I wonder if the sound of me spitting out the raspberry drop can heard on the interview? That would be awesome.

This is an open letter to Stephen Colbert. I swear, if you have me on your show, I will remove a wrapped cheeseburger from my pocket, unwrap it, and eat it instead of answering your question. I will eat an entire Carvel cake in the time it will take you to ask me  a follow up question.  This goes for Stewart, Letterman, Rose, Handler, and Fallon. (I’m not going to get into it, but Conan being off the list is not an oversight.) Let’s make television magic!

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“Just under a year after selecting Uwem Akpan’s SAY YOU’RE ONE OF THEM, Oprah Winfrey is ready to pick another book for her audience to read. Newtonville Books blogged that they were notified by a Macmillan sales rep of the impending announcement, to air on September 17, when the Oprah-stickered edition will release.

Let’s face it, the Oprah pick is the grown up equivalent of the Wonka gold ticket. The industry is atwitter with expectation. We’re talking a couple million copies and that’s just domestic. I’ve almost never met an author, even the most sane and sober, who didn’t at some point betray his intelligence by suggesting that he would be a terrific guest on Oprah. Except for what’s his name. Oprah is hard and wet. She is fat and thin. She is straight and gay. She is everything and everything is me. Do you remember when she started to give Phil Donahue a run for his rug? For me, friends, it was a thrill to see a hugely overweight woman demand so much share. Sure, she’s made some mistakes, but the girlfriend sells our hotcakes. Long may she wave.

And now, my question for today. If you got the gold ticket, the tap from Lady O, what do you think it would bring: money, readers, fame, disaster, pussy, time, ocean, booze, or a new roof. What would you want? What would you get?

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Dearest Readers of This Blog:

I am late out of the gate with this post due to marrying a Catholic with a large family who takes Easter seriously (I did not know this going in), and a flat tire on the Palisades Interstate Parkway at approx mile 3.5. All of the usual things happened: a man, resembling a serial killer stopped to help. The flat bed tow truck driver relieved of us $40 in what was, to all, an obvious scam.

This morning a NYT article on David Remnick was puffier than my pillow. He takes the subway! He makes time every day to chat with the little people! He writes lovely thank you notes! He gets up at 5:30 am to start writing and, after he puts the kids to sleep, he burns the midnight. Just want to say, for the record: I do all that. And I would go man to man with him on thank you notes. Mine perfectly drip with sincerity and ass-licking cant so subtle and sublime you might think I actually cared. Oh, and one other difference, small, I don’t run The New Yorker. That.

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