1. Want to hear a secret? The Mummy was CGI. Oh, you knew that? Ok. How about this? I smell like cedar and honey.
2. John Cena and I found an injured baby fawn, can your hold our shirts while we lift it out of my pick-up truck?
3. You’re Eliza Skinner? From Elizaskinner.net?! Holy Shit!
4. Yeah, I do all my stunts, except kissing. My kisses are too dangerous.
5. Can you hold this giant bag of money for me? I need to find someone hilarious and largely unknown to buy a movie from.
6. Ugh, some times I get so tired of shooting action movies every day - I really just want to read young-adult sci-fi novels, listen to hip hop, and bone.
7. One time I got so drunk I totally made out with Robert Downey Jr.  Just kidding, I wasn’t drunk.
8. I’d like you to meet my friend, J.J. Abrams.
9. “Why aren’t you dancing? You come to a club and you’re supposed to dance!” haha, just kidding. That’s you, right? I love Amy at the Club!
10. What’s up? I’m Brendan Fraser.

We went to see Alan Cumming’s solo show last night. Walking in, I was kind of lukewarm on Alan Cumming. I mean, yes, he’s cool and hip and played Nightcrawler, but…meh. (And my “meh” I mean the Anniversary Party made me want to tear my eyes out and once I saw him at a cafe in NY and thought he looked vaguely smug.) So I was not expecting the wave of ohmygodiloveyouyouarethecoolestletsbebestfriendskeepsingingforeverrrr that hit me as soon as the show started.

He was charming, he was fun, he sang the pants off some songs – all of them really interesting choices. For instance, every squeaky 18-year-old Kristen-Chenoweth-hopeful who wants to sing Taylor The Latte Boy should be forced to watch Alan Cumming do it first. I mean, that song makes me want to murder myself, but his version practically – practially, ya’ll – made me cry. But like in a laughing “yes! Yes! We’re all ALIVE!!” way? Like you’re skipping with a baby unicorn? Like that. Taylor The Latte Boy. What? I KNOW!!

My one complaint is about the woman seated behind us – the early “woo”er. She seemed to have a lot invested in being the first sound heard after every song, so as soon as the final note was finishing she’d scream  out a big “WOOOO”. Like he made a song touchdown. To be fair, it was probably really important to Alan. He was probably up there on stage thinking “I wonder if Denise at the back of the balcony likes this song. How will I know?” And then she’d “Wooooo” and he would know. She does. She does like you Alan.

Yay!

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Music is magic, ya’ll.

One of my former bandmates has now started a program to help African girls in Rwanda start a musical group – a dance group. She’s working with a non-profit in Rwanda called Ubushobozi Project:

As most of you probably already know, I’m working with a non-profit in Rwanda called Ubushobozi Project.

The girls of Ubushobozi have expressed serious interest in starting their own Intore Dance Troupe. Intore is the traditional dance of Rwanda. It involves singing, dancing and drumming and it has HUGE cultural significance in Rwanda. It’s beautiful to watch.

To do this, they will need a professional Intore coach and some instruments to start with (mostly bells for the feet/ankles and a drum or two).

They have already completed an interview with a man who runs an Intore dance program and he found the girls to be extremely serious about this (and very good dancers).

He suggested to us that we put them on a 6mos training program and at the end of the 6mos we evaluate their dedication to continue. If they’re doing well, we will then invest in the traditional costumes, wigs and other necessary props.

These girls never ask us for anything so for them to do so really tells us that this is something they want.

An extra-curricular activity like this will increase the already incredibly strong bond they share and give them another opportunity to make some extra money. Good Intore dance troupes are in demand in Rwanda.

I’m hoping you all can help us fund this project. We estimate we’ll need about $350USD for the first six months.

If you want to help Betsy and the girls of Rwanda get their drums and start their group – you can donate using the link below. It’s only $10 to make someone’s dream come true. Straight up dope.

Donate!

If you’re in Edinburgh and want to come see our show, we’re on at 5:35 every day at The Assembly Hall on the Mound. Baby Wants Candy – improvised musical with a full band. Last night Aidy ended the show by jumping over three gnomes with Brendan’s actual underpants on her head. Tonight? WHO KNOWS.

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The more time I spend around clowns, the more I hate clowns. Apparently they don’t find idiots irritating – they make a career of acting like them. One of them followed me around this morning – crawling – staring and pointing at my shoes, saying “oooh! Pretty!” That clown has no idea how close she got to being kicked in the face. I mean, is there another appropriate reaction? When someone in face paint follows you, crawling, are you NOT supposed to try to get the fuck away from that nightmare? It was like having a retarded kid take his pants off and try to kiss me with a sandwich in his mouth. Awful.

The worst, though, are the childlike lady clowns. They think they are ADORABLE – I disagree. My like/dislike scale of things goes like this: Bits of Fudge and Skateboarding Dinosaurs on one end – Weeping Face Wounds and Adult Performers Acting Like Children on the other. Just past that is LadyClowns acting like children. I know some kids, and none of them toddle up to strangers and say “Penny wants a sweetie in my mouth! WAH! Give Penny a sweetie!” LadyClown children do, though! What is so appealing about acting helpless? They may as well wear t-shirts that say “waiting to get raped…again!”

The clowns get even more specific – there are fairy clowns and vampire clowns, victorian clowns and space clowns. Even some burlesque lesbian clowns seem to be getting a lot of buzz. But more than anything, what they all have in common is that I would love to hear their bones crunching in the jaws of a skateboarding dinosaur.

Finally I asked a flight attendant if there was a another seat I could move to. “But of course” he replied (because all French people invariably sound like they are mocking French people). He pointed to a seat BEHIND the little girl who had been tormenting me. A HA! The hunter becomes the hunted!

As I settled into my new seat, I felt a familiar thumpy-banging on my back. I looked back to discover I was now seated in front of a row of teenage girls. MOTHERFUCKER. The only thing worse than chilren is old bitter children! Then the little girl in front of me slammed her seat back into my lap. I tried to move mine back also, but the teenager behind me PUSHED IT BACK UP.

This was my 6 hour flight.

People always ask “did you sleep on the flight? Did you get some sleep on the plane?” This is a dumb question. This is like “Did you eat get to eat on the subway?” Uh, yes, but it was awful and kind of degrading….I don’t think it counts.

Once in Scotland, I used my US Passport to go through immigration. This was a mistake. Perhaps if I had used my UK passport the immigration wouldn’t have called me an idiot, threatened to take my passport away and screamed at me until I cried. Why? I didn’t have an official letter with me – which has never been a requirement for entering the UK. I assume the real reason is that his sheep stopped fucking him that morning, because that dude was an asshole. You know how sometimes you wish you were a voodoo priestess just so you could devote all your time to wishing some stranger’s dick falls off? That’s me with this guy.

But I made it! Finally!

I’m out.

I hate burlesque. Or, rather, I hate modern hipster burlesque – the kind that is in a back of a bar on Wednesday nights. It’s like being a hipster junkie or street punk. You’re choosing a survival job – one that pays a ton, by the way – and doing it for fun and almost no money. I would love to see a burlesque dancer tell a stripper about her hobby.

Burlesque dancer: “So, me and a bunch of my friends put on wacky costumes and then dance around and strip. Oh, AND we get paid! In drink tickets.”

Stripper: “I make $800 a night.”

Burlesque dancer: “Well, I get to feel sexy on my own terms. It’s practically performance art.”

Stripper: “I own an apartment, and I don’t have a dayjob.”

Burlesque dancer: “Yeah, but you’re demeaned. And I get to wear a sailor suit!”

Stripper puts cigarette out in Burlesque dancer’s eye.

I feel the same way about fireworks. Why does everyone like fireworks so damn much? Stars – stars I like. But fireworks? It’s way too much stress. “WHERE ARE YOU GOING TO BE FOR THE FIREWORKS?” “DON’T MISS THE FIREWORKS!!!!!” “BE SURE TO FIND SOME SWEATY PLACE TO STAND WITH A BUNCH OF CRYING CHILDREN WHO CAN’T SEE THE FUCKING FIREWORKKKKSSSSS!!!!!!” Then once they start it’s just noisy light vomit.

BAH HUMBUG.

I can only hope that this post doesn’t destroy my chances for getting invited to parties ever again. Unless they have fireworks or burlesque dancers.

Anyways, that leads me to one of my growing side gigs – comedy parody singing. Nothing has to be photoshopped out! I don’t even have to brush my hair. Or teeth! I just show up and sing in a closet for a few hours thinking about Beyonce or the Divynls and my job is done. Here are a few I’ve done: