Reid Stegall Joins Team Gilda!

Y’all, I couldn’t be tickled any pinker! (I’ve tried. Can’t be done!) Mean Mama Dog Productions starts shooting the movie about my life NEXT WEEK! I KNOW! It’s a dream come true, in so many ways. It’s actually my life’s dream to have a movie about my life. And the life that the movie is about, is that dream life come true. I KNOW! Crazy!

The BIG NEWS is that we actually have a guy to hold the camera and push the record button now, which even if you’ve never made a movie about your life you know is a thing that just damn rocks! Every movie ever made has to have that guy, and now that we have one — and not just ANY guy to hold the camera and push the record button, but THE RIGHT guy to hold the camera and push the record button — we can get rolling. So we raise a glass of Drambuie and Diet Sprite to Reid! Cheers! And as they’ve said since movies began, “ROLL ‘EM!”

Oh, P.S. If you want to rock as hard as Reid does, you can start by going HERE and helping us out by giving us some of your hard-earned, easily-lost cash! XO!

The Gilda Sue Rosenstern Computer Internet Show Commemorative Plate, Y’all!

Next up: Jerry Farber’s Side Door (Corner of Piedmont and Roswell Rd in Atlanta) Wednesday, November 30th. 8:00 PM. $5.

The Gilda Sue Rosenstern Commemorative Plate! Get a piece of history! This finely-crafted, hand-made, one-of-a-kind collector’s item celebrates the computer Internet show that changed the world forever! (Certificate of Authenticity pending, y’all!)

NOTE: The Gilda Sue Rosenstern Commemorative Plate is a paper product and should not be exposed to high temperatures or excessive moisture.

Woden Loves GILDA SUE LIVE!

Y’all,

Here’s something new and different!

Starting September 7th, I’ll be appearing LIVE every other Wednesday night at Jerry Farber’s Side Door in Atlanta. 8:30 PM, and it’s just $5! God really wants you to be there. And by “God,” of course, I mean Woden, the Great Norse God of Wednesdays.

So mark your calenders, cause it’s totally gonna damn ROCK! I’ll be sharing the stage with all kinds of great entertainment, not the least of which is Jerry Farber, himself (when he’s in town). But musicians, comics, clowns, Indian Chiefs. . .Who knows!? 1st and 3rd Wednesdays of every month. (We’ll deal with that 5th Wednesday when we get there. Oy!)

Jerry Farber’s Side Door is at the corner of Roswell Rd and Piedmont, and it’s behind The Landmark Diner which is real-real special because when you walk in, you are somehow immediately transported to Astoria, Queens in New York. It probably has something to do with the tower of layer cakes at the entrance. This diner is owned by Greek folks who totally know how to bake some desserts, but they have loads of other kinds of food, too. My bobeshi would love it! She loves Greeks, in general, really, much to my Zeyde’s chagrin.

I’ll bet they even have Drambuie. (They’d better!) Anyway, come check it out. We’re gonna have so much fun, and you should be a part of it! Bring pals!

Cheers!

-Gilda Sue

Love and The Famously Self-Rightous, Unaccountably Irresponsible T.V. Star!

First, let me say I heard that the Stone Soup Kitchen Art Show/Fund Raiser for the movie about my life went absolutely gang-busters. The folks at Mean Mama Dog Productions were super thrilled. They raised some money, and apparently had a rockin’ good time. The folks at Stone Soup Kitchen went above and beyond the call of duty, making tasty snacks and being all-around great hosts. So thanks a ton to them and to everyone who came out to participate!

Second, let me apologize for not actually attending the event. See, CNN’s Nancy Grace came over that morning, y’all, to kvetch about her man David, who says he will never change diapers for those twins again. Ever. Oy! So we drank a few pitchers of Drambuie Sangria I discovered in my fridge, and I found it super easy to agree with Nancy’s assessment that her husband is a total schlemiel. I mean, what kind of man makes babies with CNN’s Nancy Grace, anyway? Well, we got carried away and ended up at Swinging Richard’s, that place with the naked dancing boys. I KNOW! I swore I’d never go back after last time, but Nancy insisted. You know how she is.

Anyway, we were doing body shots off of this hot Brazilian scooter hawker (Eber!) we met out in back of the club (he helped me hold Nancy’s wig while she vomited into Anderson Cooper’s gym bag a few hours earlier, just before she got her second wind) when I realized how late it was, and that I needed to skeedadle! But what was I to do about this barely conscious, stark-raving drunk Nancy Grace? Luckily, just then, Nancy’s cell phone rang. It was her worried twins asking if they needed to come pick their mama up, to which I answered, “God, yes!” Turns out those brats are already thirteen and driving their very own Porsche Turbo Cabriolet (which explains David’s firm and, quite frankly, reasonable diaper duty decision).

The Wonder Twins, Lucy Elizabeth and John David, arrived just as Eber and Andy revved up the Mini Cooper and zoomed away singing what I think was “I Want To Be Loved By You” in Portuguese. Little Lucy dragged CNN’s Nancy Grace into the backseat of the Porsche while John David fished the keys to his mama’s Lincoln Town Car out of her garter belt, and those little twins piloted those two vehicles just like seasoned professional Adult Children of Famously Self-Righteous and Unaccountably Irresponsible T.V. Star Parents. So cute.

It was at about this time that I powered up my flip phone and saw that the Mean Mama Dog folks had been calling and texting me for hours, wondering where the heck the sangria was. (RIGHT! I knew there was an actual specific reason I’d made that stuff!) So I zoomed on over to the event, but, by the time my bus pulled up to the cafe, it was all over.

Third, please forgive my absence that night. I’m real-real grateful to every single one of you, and I hope we can all do it again real-real soon. And when I say “all,” I mean almost all. And when I say “it,” I mean something totally different. And when I say “soon,” I mean before the twins restore CNN’s Nancy Grace’s driving privileges.

Next time, y’all!

Cheers!

ART SHOW/FUND RAISER! BE THERE!

Hello, lovelies!

Y’all, I ‘m real-real excited about next week! Mean Mama Dog is hosting an event to raise what they love to call funds (most folks just call it money) for the movie about my life. I KNOW! They’ve assembled a group of rockin’ artists to sell their wares: paintings, drawings, photographs, sculpture, and some other surprises, too. It’s gonna damn ROCK! So, if you’re in The Big Peach, The ATL, Hotlanta, come!! Sip wine, guzzle beer, and buy art!

Saturday, August 6th from 6 to 9 PM.
(It’s early, so you don’t have to miss your late-night plans for drunken debauchery. Or sleeping.)

Now, invite your pals (ones with lots of dough-ray-me and/or good juju), then look this up on Mapquest so you won’t be late!

STONE SOUP KITCHEN
(it’s in Grant Park)
584 Woodward Avenue
Atlanta, GA 30312
404.524.1222

See you there, lovelies.

Gilda Sue’s Mail Bag! "Midgets, Idiots, and Speaking in Tongues!"

Hello, lovelies.

Welcome back to Gilda Sue’s Mail Bag This week, I have another letter from our old pal, Father Patrick Fitzpatrick of the Sister Mary Frances School for Underage And Guileless Boys in Pawhuska, Oklahoma. Hey, Father Pat! The Father writes,

“Gilda Sue. I always wanted to learn to speak in tongues, but there’s not even an elective for that in Catholic Priesting School. Do you know where I can take a class?”

Well, hon, wouldn’t learning to speak in tongues be like learning to be a midget, or an idiot savant, or a CNN legal commentator/television hostess with over-large nostrils, and a permanent scowl born of self-righteous indignation, a fixation on celebrity lawsuits, and a passion for hearing yourself talk (in tongues or otherwise)? Even if you could actually learn such a thing, you might find it’s not as much fun as it sounds.

Once I had nothing better to do to fill the void in a super-long, hot summer (which is the very predicament in which you seem to have found yourself, Father) and I took some Continuing Ed classes at the Lake Tar Monkey Community College. Their Language Arts Department offered up what looked like a rockin’ “Yiddish for Gentiles” class. (Not as easy as it sounded. I got a C). And The Home Ec Department teamed up with the Psych Department to offer “Mixology as Fixology” which was a sort of group therapy in the kitchen. As it turns out, being creative and busy (not to mention tipsy!) did help some folks take their minds off of their troubles, like rocky marriages, abusive childhoods, or frowned-upon sexual urges that they still can’t “pray away” even after all those beatings by nuns and years of boring Seminary. I actually didn’t really need the therapy part. I was just bored and thirsty, which is not a real-real good combo, by the way. (Grade-schmade! I just remember that that class was the birth place of the “Chicken Salad-infused Drambuie-tini,” and that it was a damn blast. I’m now also remembering that I was escorted off campus grounds on more than one occasion during that class, but for the life of me, I can’t remember why. Or by whom. Or to where.) Anyway, maybe the Pawhuska Community College offers up something similar.

Good luck, Father Pat! And let us know how that goes.

Bye now. Keep those cards and letters coming!

It’s Gilda Sue’s Mail Bag! "Free Bird!"

Hello, lovelies.

This week’s Gilda Sue’s Mail Bag query is from someone called The Love of Pete. But don’t be fooled by the “Pete” part. There’s no way this was written by a man. Oy!

The Love of Pete writes:

“Gilda Sue, my brother needs me to help him with his marriage, but I’m too busy with my own marriage and my kids to help. How do I tell him to stop drinking and get a damn job already without hurting his feelings?!”

Hon, though the truth can be real-real hurtful, sometimes we just need to say it. “The truth shall set them free,” as Lynyrd Skynyrd says.

There’s an old adage that tells us, “if you can’t say something nice, then don’t say anything at all.” But my bobeshi taught me that that is for suckers. She always told me, “if you can’t say what you mean and mean what you say, then don’t say anything at all.”

And Pete, here’s something that only you (and maybe Sherlock Holmes, or even Dr. Phil) can ever know for sure, but it’s worth investigating: Is it possible that your concern over hurting your brother’s feelings is just a disguise for your fear of being vilified by him, or being disliked? Being disliked isn’t as bad as you might think, by the way. I find it’s often way better than the alternative, especially if that alternative involves keeping my mouth shut (as you might well imagine). And, anyway, to quote another great Skynyrd tune, you might ask that schmendrik brother of yours, “what have you done for me lately?”

Now, shouldn’t you be changing a diaper, Sherlock Holmes-ing what the heck your family wants for supper, or Dr. Phil-ing the corn out of someone’s nose? Pour yourself a double tall Drambuie-tini (light on the vermouth, heavy on the tini). Block/hide that brother on your facebook. Then text him to stop drinking and get a damn job, already.

Thanks for you letters, y’all. Keep them coming! You can find me here, or on the facebook!

Cheers!

July 4th! Mazel tov, U.S.A!

Happy July 4th, y’all! It’s the day we Americans celebrate our independence!

But independence from what? The tyranny of a real-real authoritarian government? The scare tactics of the simple-minded ideologies of a two-party political system or two-party religion? The habitual patterns that shackle your own super predictable thought processes? The “what not to wear” section of your favorite women’s magazine? (I’m proud to announce the cancellation of my subscription to Shrew! in patriotic protest!)

Originally we were celebrating our independence from England, right? But we told England what’s what a super long time ago. Jeez. We can’t let anything go, can we? Every year it’s fireworks and flag waving! Is this good sportsmanship? It’s like two hundred and whatever years of “na-na-na-na-na-na,” “told ya so,” and “in yer eye”! It’s a wonder those Brits are still our friends with all this yearly gloating, proverbial nose-thumbing, and shouting to the world what losers they are.

Anyway, whatever you’re feeling independent about now, here’s to the Independent American Spirit, y’all!

Now, get your independent tuckus moving! You might miss the fun! The morning of the Fourth, be sure to rush on out to that super crowded beach/lake/river everyone and his mother flocks to every Fourth of July, drink tons of that low-carb beer you saw in those cute commercials, gather with the throngs to watch the city fireworks display and “ooh” and “aah” in unison with the crowd in that way that makes you feel like you are really a part of something special, get into an argument with some guy who accidentally bumps into you at the liquor store/that family member who just never understood you/the friend that just doesn’t know when to damn quit, go home and drunkenly light up sparklers in the front yard, burn your fingertips, wait in line at the emergency room with all the other schlemiels who got burned drunkenly lighting up sparklers in their yards, then get home in time to watch that late-night TV talk-show guy that we all know is the coolest one to like (the one that’s a comedian who sits behind that desk, chats with celebrity guests, and is worshiped by a live studio audience of independent, free-thinking Americans much like yourself), and get to the snoozing before you schlep out of bed a few hours later to go to that job you hate and kvetch with your co-workers about the holiday crowds, how much money you spent on gas, some guy who accidentally bumped into you at the liquor store/that family member who just never understood you/the friend that just doesn’t know when to damn quit, and your hangover.

That’s what being independent is all about, right?

CHEERS!

To All the Cinematographers I’ve Loved Before

Y’all, movie making is a Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride through Yo-Yo Town, and don’t let anyone tell you any different.

Oy! Just when six things fall into place, two and a half things totally fall apart, and one thing just vanishes. For some, it would be a super difficult struggle to stay optimistic, (or “optimistish” as my bobeshi always said) but I am good at it. Real-real. It’s like the thing I’m best at.

So, to all the cinematographers I’ve loved before, who’ve traveled in and out my door, I can’t say I’m glad you came along, and I dedicate nothing to you, not even a golden oldie by an international singing sex-sation and a Texas pot-head who happens to be my secret boyfriend (don’t tell Christian Bale!).

To my future cinematographer I say this: I have much to offer and much to gain from our collaboration, and I anticipate your joyous arrival. You will be the one whose handshake means something!

Oy!

Gilda Sue’s Mail Bag! "All Apologies!"

Hello, lovelies.

This week’s Gilda Sue’s Mail Bag missive is from Nikki. Remember Nikki from last week? The gal with the little red and pink hearts dotting both I’s in her name?

This time Nikki writes:

“Dear Gilda Sue,

Thank you for printing my letter. You seemed too angry to answer my question about Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie. But I’ll go ahead and answer all of yours.

1) The reason I care about those two shlubs is that I live in a Cambodian orphanage, and I want those two shlubs to adopt me so I can live in Hollywood, where the prostitution is more like a metaphor than it is a literal nightmare/day-to-day necessity/”lesser of two evils” sort of thing.
2) And yes, I do sign all of my letters with little red and pink hearts dotting both I’s in my name.
3) It only takes about three seconds longer to do it. I’m sorry you don’t like it, but it cheers me up, and my Christian Children’s Fund sponsors in America say it makes them feel like they’re really getting something for their $34 per month.
4) No, I’m not thirteen. I’m eight.

Have a lovely day.

Nikki”

Oy, y’all. I feel like such a schmoe. I’m real-real sorry for my attitude on the last Gilda Sue’s Mail Bag. Instead of pushing my own personal frustrations deep, deep down, and burying them in a Drambuie Rickey as I’ve always advised, I let them creep into and taint my work as your on-line confidante and real-real concerned counselor. That is super unconscionable. It won’t happen again. Probably.

Nikki, please accept my apologies. To answer your question, I have no idea if Brad and Angelina will ever get married. But it looks like if they can get themselves to New York tout de suite, it’s now LEGAL!

(Note: My responses to the other two missives from last week, though, still stand. I offer no apologies there.)

Cheers, y’all. And have a rockin’ week!