Among the least important Obama-related issues

Yes, this blog post is a little behind the zeitgeist curve. You've seen this video before, but watch once again.



What I want you to notice is not Chief Justice Roberts misplacing faithfully, it's not Roberts referring to the office as "President to the United States" (see 0:18)—it's what he and Obama both say, at 0:08 and 0:12, respectively: "Hussein." Yes, that is President Obama's middle name, much to his campaign's consternation at certain points last year.

I figure, hey, the dude's being sworn in for the highest job in the land; if they use your complete full name when you graduate college, you're going for the whole shebang on this occasion, even if part of the name indicates to millions of dumb-ass Americans that you're poker buddies with the 9/11 hijackers. Obama even addressed this. "Hussein" he is, "Hussein" it must be.

But watch this.:

That was 1981, when Reagan first took office. First of all, isn't it so incredibly obvious from his delivery that Reagan trained as an actor? But more to the point, notice that he and Justice Berger (mmm…Burger) say just "Ronald Reagan," not "Ronald Wilson Reagan." Even more amazing, when you think about it:

Not only did Berger and Carter skip the 39th President's middle name ("Earl"), they called him Jimmy. Not James. Jimmy's the name of a stool pigeon on a 1960s cop show. No wonder Carter had so many problems getting the world to take him seriously.

Then there's this (sorry, having trouble posting an edited version; you only need the first 45 seconds):

More fun with Warren Berger. This time, he's Gerald R. Ford—we don't get the full "Rudolph," but we get a middle initial.

Apparently, something shifted during the '80s, because Obama's not the first one to use his middle name; in fact, Reagan was the last to go the abbreviated route. Bush I was "George Herbert Walker Bush," Clinton was the full "William Jefferson Clinton," and Dubya was "George Walker Bush." Perhaps it's all an accident; maybe Bush I wanted to go full monty, cognizant that he wasn't the only "George Bush" out there, and everyone since has just taken his lead. Then again, if you go further back (check out this guy's audo clips), there's serious inconsistency: Some middle names ("John Fitzgerald Kennedy"), some with middle initials ("Dwight D. Eisenhower"), some with neither ("Richard Nixon"). Clearly, no one variation is mandated by the Constitution; perhaps it's just a matter of each individual President's preference.

If that's the case, what does it say about Obama that he chose to include the controversial middle name in what some consider an extremely sacred ritual? Was he indeed mistaken, thinking that using the full name was long-standing tradition? Or—as I suspect, but I am an Obama loyalist—is this part of his ongoing strategy to own up, as it were, to his "otherness"?
During the campaign, Bill Maher once asked a Democratic big shot about Obama's name, how as a kid he went by "Barry," and how, since he was estranged from his father, he had considered taking his mother's last name ("Dunham"). "Wouldn't you rather be running Barry Dunham?" Maher asked. Well, yes and no. Yes, that name would elicit less controversy; no, because the Republicans would've have constantly asked what this guy was trying to hide, turning "Barack Obama" into a dirty word (or phrase).

I say it again: I'm less amazed that we elected a black man, than that we elected a man named "Barack Hussein Obama." (Or that we elected Ronald Reagan, but that's another story…)

Super mega last-minute show announcements

All right, so, I've been busy…

But tonight, no joke, Quizmaster Noah is on stage. Another one of those "me doing a set in a cabaret-style lineup" routines, but this is an old favorite: the Ensemble Studio Theater's annual "Cabaret Scientifique," a variety show of science-related performers of all stripes. The blurb:

"Thursday, 1/29, 9pm : Cabaret Scientifique
First Light reaches its comedic climax with this annual variety show that spotlights the lighter side of science. Always unpredictable, never boring, a typical cabaret lineup can range from a live game show to a nine-piece rap band, from a lounge-singing Charles Darwin to a flea circus that reveals the biology of the flea. A night to change the way we think about science in our world today...with prizes! Free"

Yes, I'm the live game show. In fact, watch this video of me doing this exact show in 2008. It's always a party, there are usually cute girls there, and it's the one time in my life I actually saw a flea circus. Sorry for the late notice. 549 West 52nd St off Eleventh Avenue.


AND THEN… tomorrow: "You Bet Your Ass: The Rock & Roll Variety Quiz Show (Where Q Gets You A)" returns. This is the gig I did with burlesque dancers and a sword swallower in Washington, D.C., back in October, blogged about here. Now we're in Asbury Park, New Jersey, at a freakin' bowling alley! We're getting closer to NYC, friends, and when we do arrive, oh God, will I ever let you know. Details here, and a little press coverage here.

NT's greatest hits, vol. 1

Way back when, I moved to New York to be a rock critic. There's a problem with that: There are very few pure critics. Most are journalists, meaning they have to report things, hang out at cheesy awards shows, ask submoronic pop stars stupid questions, etc. I tried all that; I was very bad at it.

More importantly, I discovered that while I loved music, I loved my music. I had no interest in or insight into music that didn't move me, which meant I was SOL when it came to 98 percent
of all music ever performed or recorded. So I switched gears, went to med school and became a radiologist. (No, wait…)

But…the music I love, that stuff I do so, so love. I suggested this when blabbing about my iPod. (BTW, thanks for the check, Steve Jobs.) Recently, I distilled things to their essence and built an iTunes playlist, very accurately titled "My Favorite Songs Ever." Thirty-four tracks in that collection, and I thought it would be interesting to talk about them here, two at a time. Why don't we let iTunes randomly select our first pair…

"OK Apartment" by the Oranges Band
We start off obscure. I know relatively little about The Oranges Band; they're from Baltimore, their frontman used to be in Spoon, they play shuffling, jangly, extremely hooky pop-rock sort of like The Feelies (making them two generations removed from the Velvet Underground). "OK Apartment" is a tense and speedy tune about a guy uncomfortably trapped in his apartment by his own desperation—I think, the lyrics are arty and vague—and it rocks fairly hard, which is a common factor among most of the songs on this list. It also has that displaced anthemic quality that really stirs me; I never get sick of it, and I never fail to be excited by it.

I discovered "OK Apartment" around when it came out, in 2003 or so, by listening to WOXY, an Internet radio station that is an excellent source for alt-rock discoveries. And I've since become a moderate fan of the Oranges Band—the All Around album is terrific, and The World and Everything in It is probably better, and a little strange (though I thought they gave a weak performance at The Mercury Lounge some time ago). But "OK Apartment" beats all: Watch the clever video, support this clever band.

"Just What I Needed" by the Cars
If I had to choose one song on this whole playlist to be my solitary No. 1 favorite, it would be this one. This is a perfect song: The arresting opening riff, an arch but unforced lead vocal, the icy synth hook, a razor-sharp guitar solo—everything. This song is amazing; Ric Ocasek can fuck all the supermodels he wants, as far as I'm concerned.

"Just What I Needed" also follows a common structure among my favorite songs: I call it "tension-release." The verses are tight, anxious, bottled up, but when the chorus hits, it's like the whole song opens wide, or maybe falls of a cliff, and suddenly there's all kinds of space; the tension has been alleviated (temporarily). It's reflected in the lyrics: In the verses, Ben Orr sings about his internal torture over his feelings for this woman (I love that she has "ribbons in her hair"). Then the chorus: He gains some awareness, and provides lyrical counterpoint—she's just what he needed; not his problem, but the solution to his problem. It's an arty new-wave synth-rock love song, really.

Anyway, this song is perfect, and it's a lot of fun to sing with a karaoke band. Go to iTunes and buy it now, please; if you don't own it, you're banned from the Big Quiz Thing for life.

More songs some other time…

The Super Mega Ultra Blah Blah Returns!

Oh, boy: By popular demand, it is back. A stupidly challenging question, with your chance to win free admission to the BQT

But… I'm changing the rules: Instead of the first one to e-mail info@bigquizthing.com with the correct answer, I'll be accepting correct responses for the next week, until the end of Wednesday 1/28. I'll then randomly pick one correct responder and award that person the free admission. Got it? Good. Now, then…

Farewell…and hello

Partly because I can't seem to manage it as much as I'd like to, it's always a great joy when the video round and the audio round of a particular edition of the Big Quiz Thing exhibit a degree of coordination. Last night was once such night: We saw "A Fond Farewell to President Bush," reliving the greatest misses of our now ex-CIC. (Relive it again by clicking above.) And then we heard "An Even More Fond Welcome to President Obama," for the audio round. Tenuous links between some of those songs and the new boss, but this is trivia, people—tenuous is acceptable.

The people from the Fine Living Network tell me they got great footage for their forthcoming Wingman episode, so stay tuned for that, if that's your idea of entertaining television (and I'll upload scenes here, for sure). I'm a little sorry that their team came in last place (didn't even play the Lightning Round), but hey, you play the game, you take your chances.

By my reckoning, I made two mistakes last night:

"Q: Of the 42 men who have served as President of the United States, how many served at least two complete consecutive terms?": The answer I was looking for was 12, and I read off the names (WashingtonJeffersonMadisonMonroeJacksonGrantWilsonFDR—HUHHH!—EisenhowerReaganClintonBush). Yes, okay, as of last night (when there were still only 42 men who have served as President), Bush hadn't completed two full terms. How about now, smart guy?

"Q: On The Carol Burnett Show, Carol would say hi to her mother by tugging on her what?": It was her grandmother. That changed everything!

The Hot New Format was even hotter and newer and formattier last night, and we were overjoyed at the return of B-Cutie Nicki. We forge ahead to February 2, when we'll be playing a new video round, "The Trivia Secrets of the NYC Subway," and a long-planned audio game, "Just One Word."

The standings…

1. Strippers for Stephen Hawking (and the coin flips again)
2. Fantastic Fournicators (for now…)
3. Gerard Depardouce/I Beg Your Midnight Pardon (tie)
5. Jefferson Davis Starship/Oh Noah You Didn't (tie)

BQT = fine living

Get this: Monday night's show will be filmed by a crew from the Fine Living Network (me neither), for its forthcoming show Wingman. The website describes it as follows…

Having a hard time finding Mr. or Ms. Right? Maybe it's a lack of confidence, maybe it's your wardrobe, or maybe you're looking for love in all the wrong places. Whatever your particular "maybe" is, our Wingman is here to help. In each episode of the FLN series Wingman, our dating expert, the inimitable Michael Somerville, will take a date-challenged man or woman under his "protective wing" and instruct them on the finer points of finding a prospective date. With Michael's guidance, the lovelorn will learn exactly what they need to do to increase their dating potential, put that advice into practice and have a blast in the process.

I've been told that this Man has taken under his Wing a fellow who complains he can't find "hot smart girls" anywhere in New York City. And Wingy has suggested visiting the Big Quiz Thing, which is a pretty nice vote of confidence. I've prided myself on attracting the sexiest she-nerds in NYC. Be warned, ladies…

Plus, I've been toying with throwing a wrench into this whole Fine Living business (don't worry, I'm too much of a fame whore to act on any of this). DJ Mike has suggested wearing a shirt with obscenities on it; I'm considering crashing in a whole round about the least romantic things imaginable, like your grandmother or the Bhopal gas leak. Discuss.

The last thing I'm going to say about Alfred Hitchcock for now

Cast your mind back to those glory days of November 2008, when we did a Alfred Hitchcock–heavy Big Quiz Thing, in honor of the Broadway production of The 39 Steps (among the few shows still playing on Broadway). Pretty much a complete coincidence here, but in my sometime job as contributing quiz writer for American Movie Classics' website, I was tasked with crafting a Hitch quiz, and it is live. Delight yourself here.

Future AMC quizzes: Jack Nicholson, mockumentaries, a few others. My pitch for a "pro wrestlers in the movies" quiz was shot down, sadly…

Development forcibly Arrested

I recently watched the last episode of Arrested Development. This followed, over a series of months, watching all of the preceding episodes of Arrested Development. Allah praise Netflix, DVDs, the Internet—a television show I watched not once while it was on the air, yet I've now seen the complete oeuvre.

I don't want to get too deep into Arrested Development here, because while I absolutely loved the show, the volume of fandom commentary on the subject online puts my tepid thoughts ("It was really funny," basically) to shame. One thing, though: It made me jealous. Jealous that I never thought of being that clever, that funny. Jealous I didn't become a professional actor, because I would've had a lot of fun playing Gob, I think. Or Buster, really. Or Michael, perhaps. And if I were 15 years younger, George Michael. Or 20 years older, George. (Not Tobias, though, but some haters might disagree.) Jealousy is bad, and I am not bad. Besides, I have it on excellent authority that Jessica Walter has always dreamt of being a bar game-show host, so there you go.

Arrested Development now joins the small fraternity of television series of which I've seen every episode. The advent of DVD makes this far more common than it used to be, of course, so the list is growing. But here it is, to the best of my memory, in no real order…

Arrested Development
Gilligan's Island—As a lameo 13-year-old, I watched this boneheaded garbage in reruns nearly every day after school, and I'm fairly certain not a single episode escaped me. Pathetic.
Batman—Same as above, except I'm proud of this one.
Extras—Great show, but sort of a one-trick pony, carried on the charm of Gervais. Mercifully brief.
Action—Not as good, but also thankfully short-lived. Pretty easy to absorb the whole thing on a two-disc set.
Freaks and Geeks—Another show that's easily consumable on a single DVD set. The hype is true; this was a remarkably smart and entertaining show. (Sadly, Apatow's career peak.)
Buffy the Vampire Slayer—Don't get me started… Liked it, didn't go crazy over it. Peer pressure carried me through seven seasons (and no, it's not time for Angel).
Entourage—Maybe an asterisk here, since more seasons await. Especially since I just dropped HBO, so I may be Pivenless anon.
Justice League/Justice League Unlimited—Best cartoon show ever, best film/TV adaptation of comic books ever, some of the best Justice League stories ever, best best best. The two-part finale was nearly perfect; I wish I could find a clip online, but the image of a talking gorilla being sucked out of a space-station airlock pretty much changed by life.
The Prisoner—Ah, geez. Hard to watch any of this show without watching all of it (17 episodes, I believe). This was basically one dismal week for my college roommate and me during the cold Minnesota winter of our senior year. I loved it, but damn, is it frustrating.
The Sopranos—One of my favorite lines: "Some of the things I could tell you would make your head curl."
The West Wing—Probably my favorite show ever. As I've often said, I'd literally—literally—give my right arm to live in the Bartlet-verse. A BQT regular and I once got in a heated back-in-forth West Wing trivia e-mail battle. I think it ended with a tie, though I was proud that I stumped her with, "What was the very last official act that Bartlet performed as President?"

I'm almost certainly forgetting something. Also, Seinfeld might belong on this list, I'm not sure. But considering that a rerun is on 85 percent of the time I turn on my TV, and it's been eons since I've seen anything that I couldn't recite line by line, I think the odds are good that I've made a clean sweep.

Admitting I'm a 'Pod person

Recently in this space, I complained briefly about losing my iPod. It hurt. Partly, it's because the iPod disappearance happened in mid–travel nightmare (missing a connecting flight in Dallas, because the airline screwed up), and the loss felt like that bonus kick in the nads. But also because—call me a tool—I think iPods are absolute magic.

When I was 14 years old, I spent a good weekend pouring over a specific Sharper Image catalog, marveling at all the wonders inside. (Now, such a selection strikes me as a bit silly; I mean, was the world really in such desperate need for plasma balls?) One item drove me nuts: a tricked-out, high-tech 1950s-style jukebox that could hold 1,000 CDs. A thousand CDs, and you could put the whole shebang on random. That's what got me: 1,000 CDs on random. I could basically program my own radio station. Fucking awesome. $10,000.

I've always enjoyed making mixtapes, I've also been a bit of a record hoarder, so this concept seemed like some exquisite form of nirvana to me. "Someday," I vowed. "I will have a disposable $10,000, and a rumpus room, and I will buy this jukebox and place it in said rumpus room. And I will purchase enough CDs to bring my collection to the target number of 1,000. And I will load them all into this jukebox. And I will hit the random button. And I will bask."

Guess what—I never bought the jukebox. Never really had a spare $10,000 (when I have, I've spent it on slightly more practical things, like buying a New York City apartment or funding the Big Quiz Thing). But the magic of an iPod—yes, I know, of all brands of MP3 player—is it replicates that randomizing capablity in a package far more convenient, far smaller, far cheaper, and far less stupid than a Sharper Image geegaw for your typical Reagan-era yuppie scum. I dreamt of 1,000 CDs on random in my rumpus room; now, I have more than 1,000 CDs on random in my pocket, anywhere I go, for a fraction of the price. Incredible.

Or I did have that, before my iPod was whisked away to travel-mishap purgatory (you always lose something during those ordeals; if you're lucky, it's a bag of Skittles or a Michael Crichton paperback). I steamed about it for days. I braced myself to buy a new iPod, again; particularly galling since my previous unit had disappeared from my desk at work when I accidentally left it there overnight and the office was host to a party for a bunch of foodie-snob bastards who all make far more money than me. Bitches.

But the gods of portable music took pity on me. And last week, when I met up with our current guest DJ, Mike Wolf, I told him my tale of woe and he responded, "I have an extra iPod. You want it?"

Too good to be true, I thought. But I followed up, of course. "You're giving it away?"

"Yeah. I found it on the street, in a pile of snow. I already have one. I don't even like the one I have." Mike's old-school, a vinyl guy.

This is unfair, I thought. Not right. Mike jumped in: "I even posted something on Craiglist, asking if anyone had lost an iPod, and no one responded. It's yours."

And now it is mine. It's in perfect shape, it has more memory than my lost one, it does that cool album-cover montage thing that I've never been privy to before. It is a blessing.

I don't want to jinx it—and yes, I believe in that nonsense—but this year is beginning better for me, for the Big Quiz Thing. How long can I surf the wave? Will the portable-music deities continue to keep me in their good graces? What about all the other various gods that determine my fortune and/or misfortune? Am I ruining my chances by declaring myself a pagan? Only time will tell if we stand the test of time…

Meanwhile, at the abandoned puzzle factory…

The other night, I met with a couple of people about doing a private quiz event for them (which has since been officially booked, hallelujah). Upon shaking the hand of one of these fellows, he said, "You don't look like what I expected; I was imagining the Riddler from Batman."

Interesting. I'm not sure if this should've bothered me; I mean, Frank Gorshin was awesome in the role (Jim Carrey was hella lame, and I've never cared for the comic book version), but he didn't exactly cut an imposing figure.

Then again, there was that snazzy alternate costume:

Much better. And I could use (another) spare suit jacket. You know what to get me for Valentine's Day, kids.

By the way, the Super Mega Ultra Hard Trivia Question of the Week will be back; EDP and I just set a date to film a whole bunch more. I'm also going to tweak the system so that you can win without waiting vigilantly by your computer and being the first one in with a correct answer at the expense of having a real life. Tuned you should stay.

The real thing

To be clear…

My performance this Friday night—as part of Sound Fix's Doris Yeltsin variety show—will be pretty much nothing like the regular BQT at Crash Mansion. I'm just one of several very talented and entertaining guests as this event, wackying up the comedy proceedings with a smidgen of trivia. The link again is right here.

I had an e-mail query on this subject, so I apologize if my onstage and on-blog hyping was unclear. But, on the plus side, it gives me an excuse to blog again, which I'm trying to do more in '09. So perhaps I didn't mess up at all—maybe it's a New Coke–type conspiracy, making it look like I screwed up in order to achieve my ulterior goal. I'm a sneaky one.

Hot! New! Format!

A little background: EDP and I had been talking for months about adopting the hot new format you saw at last night's Big Quiz Thing, i.e., keeping the video screen pulled down and showing text for most of the questions. My perennial refrain was to tell EDP that I was happy to try it if it worked, but he'd have to take the reins. Anyway, he took them reins, it worked, it ups our game, and we're going to keep it going forward, tweaking and improving it along the way. (Yes, Aris, we're planning to have the text on the other video screens as well; patience.) Expect magic, pure magic.

DJ GB was missed last night—young Duncan is keeping her busy, as you can imagine—but DJ Mike a.k.a. Just Mike a.k.a. the Wolf a.k.a. whatever filled in ably, and he'll be back on the 19th. (And he needs a roommate. And at least one lady asked about him after the show. More about him here.) The downside was the preponderance of testosterone on the stage; is anyone interested in helping us out on stage as a new B-Cutie? (Lots of lovely fringe benefits, ladies, and I swear, no sexual harassment.)

I thought last night's audio round—"Songs You May Have Forgotten from Ten Years Ago"—was especially good, particularly considering how rotten most of those songs are. It inspired some nice nostalgia, and a full-fledged Smash Mouth sing-along. You people should be ashamed.

Next show: The video round is all about President Bush, the audio round is all about President Obama. (Whose name the dynamic spellcheck continually insists on flagging. Let's get it together, people—change has come!)

A reminder: This Friday night I perform as part of the Doris Yeltsin variety show, free, 8pm, at Sound Fix in Brooklyn. The full story here.

The standings…

1. Fantastic Fournicators (why do I bother to even type it?)
2. Gerard Depardouche (one point away, due for a return to victory)
3. Sugah Titz/Touched by an Uncle (tie)
5. Incontinental Congress

And yes, officially, last night was the biggest crowd in BQT public-show history: 188 people! Thanks for sticking it out, party people.

Behold! The moon!

I'm going to come out and say it—children are completely bizarre. When I was in Colorado for my Xmas sojourn, I met Zakary Friedland, who is two years old and is my first cousin once removed. (Don't be confused—"once removed" in cousinspeak merely means he's one generation younger or older than me. Either the child of your first cousin, or the first cousin of your parent. Whereas the parent of your first cousin is your aunt/uncle, and the child of your parent is yourself. Or your sibling. Now I'm confused. Anyway, this kid's mom is my first cousin; his grandmother is my dad's sister. Got it?)

Zak (no "c," note) is a great little kid, friendly and smart and seemingly well adjusted—we had a good time dancing to "Fox on the Run" by Sweet. But as with all semicurious toddlers, he has his obsessions. In Zak's case, he's obsessed with the moon. I find this to be an extremely odd, and interesting, thing for a little kid to be obsessed with. I mean, the moon? Of all things? But yes. He was asking questions about the moon, he has a giant plush crescent moon hung above his crib (pictured at top). We went out to dinner and he stared at the waning moon through the restaurant window until it dipped below a building. That's when he got upset, crying, "I need the moon." I need the moon. There's something inexplicably poetic about that.

I, unlike my young relative, have never thought much about the moon. Are kids still told the canard that it's made from green cheese? I never got that one—no matter how young I was, it seemed implausible to me, especially since the moon rarely looks green (or blue, for that matter). Also, and I'm sure this was different for children of earlier eras, but we in this culture are so inundated with the heroics of Neil Armstrong & Co. that we're practically born with the knowledge that man has visited the moon, pretty much blasting the cheese theory out of the nonexistent lunar water. (Aside: Yes, Neil Armstrong blew his lines on the moon. That famous quote is a logical contradiction.)

When I was older, I read an article about a major hoax perpetrated in the 1830s by The New York Sun (no connection to the recently expired paper). It claimed that a team of prominent astronomers in South Africa (actual people, it turns out) had developed a new and wildly powerful telescope that had revealed the existence of civilization on the moon. Giant crystal towers, fantastic bat-winged creatures, hyperintelligent beavers, and a lot more. An artist imagined it like this:
It reads like absolute nonsense to me—did when I first read about it as a teenager—but the citizens of NYC apparently bought it at the time, so much so that for a few months, the Sun was the world's top-selling paper. Eventually, the hoax was revealed, and various commentators (among them Edgar Allan Poe) questioned the intelligence of the millions who fell for it. It's reminiscent of the reaction to Orson Welles's War of the Worlds scare in 1938, except that was grimmer due to the panic it caused and the fear that it betrayed our ill preparation for the impending war.

But I think it shows that as familiar as it is, the moon is still a ready source for fascination and mystery in our minds. (Pink Floyd certainly mined the concept.) The Apollo landing really hasn't done much to diminish that, nor has seeing it in the sky night after night. I've realized how convenient the moon is, since we all want a little mystery in our lives.

We want it, but Zak needs it.

The BQT in the BKLYN

Here's something amazing…in the six-plus years of the Big Quiz Thing, no version of the game has ever been been performed in an NYC borough other than Manhattan. We've been to California, New Orleans, Minnesota, a barn in rural Pennsylvania, but never the outerboroughs. Fuckin' snobs.

This is changing: Friday night, January 9, Quizmaster Noah (me, of course) will be making an appearance at Sound Fix, Williamsburg's hybrid record store/performance venue, as part of the comedy show Doris Yeltsin. It's cohosted by Claudia Cogan, BQT regular and erstwhile guest sidekick, and I appear to be the only man involved in this event. Stunning.

Details here, but know that it's 8pm and it's free, and I will be giving away prizes. The plan is to revive an old favorite special round, "TV Themes Retranslated." I've done a handful of these things—a little quiz as part of a variety/comedy show—and it's always been oodles of laughs. I'm hoping to do more in 2009, so feel free to hook me up through your copious connections.

CORRECTION: The Don't Touch Me There comedy troupe, also on the bill, is mostly men. My testosterone will not be alone.

Also, here's the flyer: