There have no insane phone calls to my voicemail today, I am happy and also regretful to report. The most exciting thing I can muster is that the cute air conditioner repair guy ("Justin") came by to fix the air conditioner, which has been running for the last week. I find it--and Justin, come to think of it--preservative to my youthful complexion, but not everyone is so open-minded, and so off went the air.

Today I am touting the release, on DVD, of my friend Jim's film, Automatons. Check it out today! Or tomorrow, at the very latest. It stars Handsome Actor Don Wood of PBS Colonial House fame, and Angus Scrimm of Phantasm and John Levene of Doctor Who. Somewhere, I have a slightly entertaining photograph of myself with John Levene--I will try to find it. Hold your breath, because I know that life cannot continue until you've seen it.

Anyway, in lieu of an anonymous, bitter stranger leaving me a voicemail, here is the not-anonymous, but still bitter, me leaving the Keelhauler a voicemail. It's the kind of thing that, once I've posted it, I will regret, because while I think it's entertaining, with all the heavy-metal high notes and whatnot, I know from experience that normal people will edge away, looking uncomfortable.

By way of example, I will cite the experience I had once with the Keelhauler, his sister, and her husband. They are very nice and from the Midwest and everything, but the sister (Pamela) has expressed to me that she is, in her words, "Not very good with new experiences." That is a shame, because I am all about the New Experience, which is why I took them to the Polynesian Dance Revue. If you do not have one of these, I recommend that you start one. The experience begins in an ordinary Polynesian restaurant, with the electric-red gluey sauces and chunks of pineapple and giant bowls of flaming booze. Then! A magical accordioned partition made of press-board paneling folds back, revealing a band, with a great Polynesian lady in a vibrant muumuu, seated behind a keyboard. A slew of dancers emerge, in surprisingly elaborate costumes that include, for the women, plastic bras shaped like coconut halves, and begin to enthrall the assembled diners. “In my island,” warbles the muu-muu lady, “there are rainbows!” The dancers trace arcs through the air to indicate said rainbows, and flowers, and birds—it is like a wonderful, invisible puppet show with coconut bras.

The Revue goes on for quite a while—longer than you’d expect—and incorporates a number of costume changes and feathered headdresses. My favorite number is one I call The Dance of the Random Yelling, and if you saw it, you would understand why. Lovely, lithe Polynesian dancers twist about the stage adorned with feathers, emitting screams at seemingly random intervals. You just cannot buy better entertainment.

At any rate, the Keelhauler and I fully enjoy the Polynesian Dance Revue. Pamela and her husband were quiet, politely eating their dinners, when we arrived at the Audience Participation portion of the show. This is the Keelhauler’s least favorite section, wherein the dancers make the rounds of all the tables and beg male diners to join them onstage for a number. The Keelhauler is a giant party pooper and always says no, as does almost everyone else. I always feel sad for the little grass-skirted dancers, and so on the occasion I describe, I ignored the startled look on Pamela’s face and volunteered to dance.

And dance, I did! It was spectacular. I was paired with a muscular young man in a white skirt and ti-leaf crown, and when the drums started up, I transformed into Vi’Ol Eta, Polynesian Princess and Goddess of the Dance! The stage provided the perfect forum for my lexicon of high kicks, which I performed with ease. I left my partner shimmying in confusion as I swirled around the stage. The muu-muu lady was so …impressed that she announced, “Looks like we got some karate going on, here!” I used my expressive Hula Hands to spell out the words, “Oh, no, muu-muu lady, these are The Forbidden Dance Secrets of the Volcano Goddess!” It was my moment in the sun. Figuratively speaking. It was about 10:00 at night.

Satisfied that I had entertained the crowd beyond their wildest dreams, I returned to my table-mates. My silent, oddly nervous table-mates. Only the Keelhauler, who is used to me, met my eyes. Pamela covered her mouth like she was afraid she would vomit, and averting her eyes, shook her head and said, “I don’t know… I could never embarrass myself like that.”

It’s hard to recover from a statement like that. I didn’t even try. Neither did she. We just left it there.

At least I had my moment in the spotlight. Put that in your scorpion bowl and slurp it!

Star of the day. . .Phyllis Diller