Enjoy my latest article in The Huffington Post!
What's An Out of Work (Iranian)Intelligence Minister to Do?
The numbers are in and unemployment in Iran is up by one. According to the BBC, Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad unceremoniously fired his Intelligence Minister Gholam Hossein Mohseni Ejeie. Getting kicked to the professional curb is painful, especially when it’s sudden. But were there subtle signs Mr. Ejeie missed? Were there meetings he was no longer invited to? Were colleagues giving him furtive glances and stopping all conversation when he walked by? Was he suddenly not being CC’d on important emails? If so, it was time to ready the resume.
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Bed Bath and Belligerent: Fisticuffs in My Favorite Store

© 2009 Leighann Lord

Bed Bath and Beyond is one of my favorite stores. I love every part of it: the Bed, the Bath and especially the Beyond. In the main it’s a horrible store. And by horrible, I mean evil. You can’t go in for just one thing. I’ve tried. I’ve even tried to make a list, but B3 is list proof. It’s as if the store says, "I’ll see your list and raise you that cool shower squeegee you’ve been looking for." Dammit!

I’ve tried to outwit B3 by browsing its aisles without a shopping cart. Midway through the store, my arms full of merchandise, a kindly clerk will come by and offer me a cart. We don’t exchange any words beyond pleasantries. None are necessary. We both know I didn’t stand a chance. I was done for when I saw the box of Slim Line hangers on sale.

It helps that I’m on the mailing list and regularly receive B3's 20% off coupons. Sometimes they are addressed directly to me. Sometimes they say "Neighbor" or "Resident." Sometimes they’re in other people’s mail boxes all together, but that doesn’t matter. I know they’re all meant for me. It makes me feel like I’m getting a deal on stuff I didn’t even know I needed. It’s a shopaholic’s dream.

B3 is also great because it’s one of the few stores that my Husband and I both enjoy going too together. I hate food shopping. He hates the mall. But if one of us wants to go to Bed Bath & Beyond it’s a race to the car.

It’s my fault. I introduced him to B3 when we were creating our wedding registry. As an amazing cook, his favorite part of the store is kitchen stuff. I leave him alone in there at my peril. But if I turn a blind eye to his matching dish towels, he overlooks my umpteenth Bed in a Bag set. Marriage and shopping are about compromise.

B3 gets an A for ambiance. It’s big and well stocked without feeling cluttered. Visually appealing, superbly organized, clean and quiet. So I was surprised to go one Sunday with my Mother and walk in on a fight in progress. Two middle-aged Jewish men were engaged in full on fisticuffs and, sweet Jesus on the cross, the yarmulkas were flying.

I usually don’t stop to watch outdoor altercations. Ever the wary city dweller, I suspect most fights are staged diversions for pick pockets and purse snatchers. I felt safe enough in B3 however to treat myself to a free fight, but you get what you pay for.

On closer observation, it was sad. Their technique was terrible. Neither one of these guys had the proper distance nor stance. No decent punches were thrown or landed. Foot and leg work were nonexistent, and nobody even tried for a take down.

It wasn’t so much a fight as it was a vigorous tussle. They wouldn’t even have made the under card. There was some shoving and shirt pulling, but each man probably hurt himself more from the effort of exertion. The best part of the fight was watching the wives of the tussling men try to break it up. The wife wielding the umbrella had pretty good form.

The security guard eventually ended the disturbance and hustled the men out the door. B3 equanimity restored. I don’t know what the fight was about. It doesn’t matter. When grownups get physical, it’s usually over something petty: a parking space, who’s next in line, oil.

What is important is that both couples left B3 without completing their purchases. That means they didn’t use their coupons. For a fleeting moment I considered offering to take said coupons off their hands, but could see no tactful way to broach the subject without starting another row. From what I saw I could take the men but the woman with the umbrella looked like trouble.

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Thank you for reading Leighann Lord's Comic Perspective

Please feel free to subscribe or visit www.VeryFunnyLady.com for news, Leighann's TV appearances, live stand-up comedy shows or to join the mailing list. You can also follow her on MySpace FaceBook Twitter!

"Ewww! Men Smell Like Balls"

© 2009 Leighann Lord

This was the consensus of The Women in the locker room. We had all just finished an hour long Bag Training class at my martial arts school. And while none of us were exactly spring time fresh, The Men in class had been a special kind of funky. They weren’t James Brown funky, but under-funded, public zoo funky.

To be fair, you can’t put in an hour punching the heavy bag, kicking the shields, throwing combinations on the Muay Thai pads, and not end up a bit wiffy. But in our earnest locker room recap, The Women agreed that to smell that bad, The Men must have come to class already reeking.

In truth, it was probably only One Guy but one bad gonad spoils the whole bunch; and The Women lumped them all into the same sack. "You know it’s bad when they stink during the warm-up," one lady said. "By the time we got to the sit ups I wanted to pass out."

As if we were sitting around the camp fire telling each other scary ghost stories, theories abounded as to the origins of this Man Stench. The most popular hypothesis was that The Men weren’t washing their uniforms. Were The Men training, sweating and putting their soiled uniforms back into their gym bags until the next class, without the benefit of being laundered? Ewww! The Women were repulsed at the very thought of such unsanitary practices and yet we felt compelled to identify said scent, as if by naming it we could reduce it’s power.

"Old sweat?" said one.
"Ass?" offered another.
"Balls?"
"Ewww! Yes, balls!" we agreed, wrinkling our noses and shaking our heads.

Key areas of the human body – male, female, or trans-gender – when not regularly tended to, can produce a cornucopia of distinctive odors. Much like an old container of milk, you know when it goes rogue.

Ironically, this entire conversation was punctuated by the sound of spritzing. Most of us were getting ready for the next class. With just enough time to change t-shirts and freshen up, The Ladies took the freshening up part very seriously. To a woman, every one of us was armed with a toiletry bag of wipes, sanitizers, deodorant, perfume, powder, and an awesome assortment of sprays from Bath & Body Works. The air was heavy with Creamy Coconut, Cherry Blossom, Cucumber Melon, Sweet Pea, Warm Vanilla Sugar, and my personal favorite, Moonlight Path.

We Women are well aware that on "The Rock-Paper-Scissors Scale" bad body odor beats Bed, Bath & Body Works. Spritzing is only a temporary fix. So why bother? Lady Logic: We may not mind landing a cross punch to our sparring partner’s head, but we don’t want to smell bad to them while doing it.

And then it occurred to me, maybe The Women were going about this all wrong. Unlike other animals, human beings do not possess many natural defenses. We are not the strongest or the fastest. A sharp tongue is no match for sharp teeth. Perhaps The Men are wisely using all the tools in their arsenal. While We scent sensitive Women are busy fighting the funk, The Men are using their funk to fight. Brilliant! Horses aren’t the only creatures who can win by a nose.

Does this tactic have a name? The Grody Gambit? If it works, I might need to ditch the Moonlight Path and buy some black market Zicam.

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Thank you for reading Leighann Lord's Comic Perspective

Please feel free to subscribe or visit www.VeryFunnyLady.com for news, Leighann's TV ppearances, live stand-up comedy shows or to join the mailing list. You can also follow her on FaceBook and Twitter!

Sarah Palin Resigns: It's Not You. It's Me.

© 2009 Leighann Lord

As the country waits impatiently with arms crossed, and eye brows arched for South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford to resign over his marital infidelity and abandonment of his state, we were blind sided by Sarah Palin’s sudden resignation. "She what? Did she cheat on The First Dude? No? Then WTF?

I, like most of America, was caught unawares when John McCain picked Palin from relative political obscurity to be his vice presidential running mate. "Who? The Governor of Where?" And off we went to Wikipedia to get up to speed. I don’t know Sarah Palin personally. Perhaps if we sat down and chatted over a cup of coffee, it’s possible I might come to like her on a personal level. Politically, she’s way too socially conservative for me.

That said, I still dig Sarah in the same way that I dig Alan Keyes. I love that in the middle of the American media spin factory they speak their minds. On some issues they even make sense, but not enough to earn my vote. They do however add to the diversity of thought and opinion that is necessary. My inner idealist believes we can agree to disagree. We can all speak our peace, come to some kind of mutual understanding and respect, and proceed on common ground with common goals. I’m also a Harry Potter fan, so I’m hopeful at heart. Sadly, my belief in magic is sometimes easier than my belief in my fellow muggles.

Still, I am floored that Sarah resigned. I never pegged her as a quitter. She impressed me as a fighter and in the best possible sense, a tough broad. She loves Alaska, and that’s why she’s leaving office? It sounds like her constituents just got dumped. The "It’s not you, it’s me" line, never feels good now matter how sincerely it’s said.

In theory, it’s sweet that Palin consulted her kids on whether or not she should continue as Governor but the legal voting age is 18 for a reason. Unless they’re putting food on the family table, I don’t really see how their vote counts.

This decision seems a particularly feminine one. I doubt a male politician – short of being caught visiting a call girl – would willingly resign because he felt he could no longer do his job effectively or because he wanted to save tax payer money.

I’m also not sure how resigning, positions her for a run at national office. The first question will surely be, "You quit your last job. How do we know you’ll keep this one?" It’s mildly refreshing, however, that she said she doesn’t need a title to effect change. Usually we have to pry a title from a politician’s cold dead hand. I think we all half expected former Illinois Governor Rod Blagojevich to barricade himself in the governor’s mansion post impeachment.

At the end of the month, Lieutenant Governor Sean Parnell will assume the Governorship. I hope Alaskans have better luck with their newly promoted lieutenant than we New Yorkers have had with ours.

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Thank you for reading Leighann Lord's Comic Perspective

Please feel free to subscribe or visit www.VeryFunnyLady.com for news, Leighann's TV ppearances, live stand-up comedy shows or to join the mailing list. You can also follow her on MySpace FaceBook Twitter!

There is Nothing Like A Dad!

© 2009 Leighann Lord

We got sunlight on the sand
We got moonlight on the sea
We got mangoes and bananasYou can pick right off the tree
We got volleyball and ping-pong
And a lot of dandy games
What ain’t we got?
We ain’t got dames

Ever since I was a child I’ve heard my father sing the opening lines from "South Pacific’s" "There is Nothin’ Like A Dame." So when I saw the ad for a new production of it at Lincoln Center, I knew it would be the perfect gift for Fathers Day.

I’m not a big fan of musicals and had no idea what "South Pacific" was about. My Husband said it was sort of the World War II version of "Miss Saigon." That didn’t bode well. I hated "Miss Saigon." A man I dated many years ago who took me to see it on Broadway and it was akin to a root canal. I just couldn’t get past the politics. Instead of bravery and romance I saw cowardice and betrayal. I vented before, during and after to show. Suffice it to say, there weren’t many more dates after that.

I held out hope that "South Pacific" would be better than "Miss Saigon." Many years ago, since my Dad enjoys bag pipe music I surprised him with tickets to Madison Square Garden to see The Black Watch. My plan was to grin and bear it, but I ended up thoroughly enjoying myself.

This happened again when I took my then four-year-old niece, to see "The Little Mermaid on Ice" at Radio City Music Hall. I thought I’d be bored out of my mind. Instead, I was enthralled, and then distressed went my niece had to go to the bathroom in the middle of Act I. "Can’t you hold it?" I whined. Forget Ariel and Sebastian. I didn’t want to miss Ursula singing "Poor Unfortunate Souls." She appealed to my whimsical dark side.

Any who, as per family tradition, my Dad knew we were going out on Father’s Day, he just didn’t know where. As we rounded the corner and came within sight of the theater I pointed to the marquee and said, "Happy Father’s Day, Daddy! We’re seeing ‘South Pacific.’" As if on cue he began singing those familiar lyrics: "We’ve got sunlight on the sand. We’ve got moonlight on the sea . . . "

To allow for traffic, parking and dropping Rolie off at doggie day care (Lincoln Center wasn’t too keen on my suggestion for Take Your Pup to a Play Day) we’d gotten to the theater early. But so had everyone else. It seems older people aren’t into being fashionably late. Every senior citizen center within a 50-mile radius had come to Lincoln Center on Fathers Day. I’d never seen so many old people in all my life. Were there any left in Florida? My god, I think some of them were actual WWII vets.

As the house lights went down and the orchestra began I was surprised to hear how many songs were from "South Pacific:" "Some Enchanted Evening, Bali Hai, Wash That Man Right Out of My Hair." Honestly? I thought that was just a shampoo jingle.

I’ll admit that I was paying more attention to my Dad, than to the play. I was having fun watching him enjoy it. The parts I did catch didn’t make any sense. If there was a war going on, why were the nurses only wearing bathing suits and ball gowns? What’s with the grass skirts?

Did they have Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell back then? Although the Seabees sang and danced well, they looked like they could have cared less that there were no accessible dames.

Did Emile de Becque – The Frenchman – just turn down a suicide mission because of some chic he met at an officer’s party a week ago and not because of his responsibilities as the father of two young children?

By the end of Act I a realization was dawning. "Hold up: Did the cockeyed optimist – Miss Nellie Forbush – just freak out and flee her beloved Frenchman because he not only had two kids, but two ‘colored’ kids?" My dear sweet Husband tried to remain as still as possible. Perhaps he thought if he didn’t look at me, I wouldn’t go off. "Baby," he whispered in my ear, in the tone of an ever patient hostage negotiator. "You have to remember things were different back then. It was 1942."

I rolled my eyes so fast my contact lenses almost fell out. I turned to my Mother and said, "Did you know what this play was about?" She said, "Don’t ask me. I wanted to go see ‘The Wiz.’"

"Daddy?" I said, leaning past my Mom.

"I never said I liked the play," My Dad shrugged. "I like the music." And with that he began humming and strolled off to the mens room.

"Did I just spend goo gobs of money on a play nobody wanted to see?" I said. After a brief uncomfortable silence my Husband said, "I’m gonna go check on your Dad." My Mom got busy flipping through the "Playbill" perhaps looking to see when "The Wiz" would be playing.

My husband and father didn’t make it back to their seats until after the opening of ACT II. I assumed they were commiserating over their mutual me problem. My Husband reported however that the lines for then mens room were quite long. I was skeptical. It’s usually only women who have to do call-ahead seating to reserve a spot in the ladies room. But looking at the ages of the men in the audience — all those prostate problems under one roof – it’s a wonder any of them made it back before the final bow.

All’s well that ends well I suppose and by the end of "South Pacific" Miss Forbush miraculously got over her life long Little Rock, Arkansas-bred racism. Phew! For a minute there I thought I was gonna have to march, and I totally wore the wrong shoes. It’s hard to protest in pumps.

The lesson? I will have to be careful which songs I sing around my kids or for Mother’s Day they might drag me off to see "Iraq The Musical:"

We got sunlight on the sand
We got moonlight on the dunes
We got email and computersCool Ipods with hot Itunes
We got X-Box and Play Station
And a lot of bootleg games
What ain’t we got?
A good reason why we came

Future children, if you can hear me, "I'd rather see ‘The Wiz.’"

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Thank you for reading Leighann Lord's Comic Perspective

Please feel free to subscribe or visit www.VeryFunnyLady.com for news, Leighann's TV ppearances, live stand-up comedy shows or to join the mailing list. You can also follow her on MySpace FaceBook Twitter!

AIG: Before the Big Bonus Debacle

© 2009 Leighann Lord

When you get fired or laid off from a job there’s a reason why Security escorts you to the door. They don’t want you making a scene or robbing them blind. Being professionally dumped can be devastating. Your first thought may not always be mature. Instead of "What can I learn from this?" or "There’s a bigger and better job waiting for me" you might really be thinking: "If it’s not nailed down, I’m taking it."

It doesn’t matter that you don’t have room in your house for a Kinkos-sized copy machine. So what if you’ll never use 17 boxes of roller ball pens. A fax machine may be almost as antiquated as an IBM Selectric but you’re taking it, because they owe you.

Some employers write this off as the cost of doing business. If your personal severance package includes a case of paper clips and sticky notes so be it; as long as it keeps you from coming back armed and disgruntled. But there’s a limit to what a company will tolerate and it’s safe to say that Maurice "Hank" Greenberg breached it.

Before AIG became the new Enron — the symbol of corporate greed run amok, and the focal point of our collective anger over bad management, bailouts and big bonuses — there was Hank. Hank is the former CEO of AIG who was forced out of the company back in 2005 during investigations into accounting irregularities.

Shortly after his ouster, he is accused of pilfering $4.3 billion from AIG’s retirement program. At the civil trial that began last week in New York, AIG’s attorney claimed Hank took the money out of anger. Hmmm... Pushed out of a company he worked at and built up for 35 years? Yeah, he might be a bit pissed.

Top corporate executives make more money, get more perks and are sparred the indignity of the claustrophobic cubicle. It makes sense that an acrimonious and involuntary parting of ways might make a high level guy seek high level pay back. But a former CEO isn’t going to be satisfied with mere office supplies. A golden parachute that size may need a little extra lining; $4.3 billion worth to be exact.

If there is a lesson to be learned here perhaps it’s that human nature – our sense of greed and entitlement – is universal. And perhaps I should have been an executive and held out for more than just the Selectric.

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Thank you for reading Leighann Lord's Comic Perspective

Please feel free to subscribe or visit www.VeryFunnyLady.com for news, Leighann's TV ppearances, live stand-up comedy shows or to join the mailing list. You can also follow her on MySpace FaceBook Twitter!