Fred Armisen Opens the Ultimate B-52s Box Set on 'Portlandia'

In addition to being incredibly smart, sexy and a great cook, Damian is a wonderful curator of sketch comedy shows -- perhaps never more so than when he found this nod to obsessive-compulsive music fans like me!

BTW:



This exact thing happened to my friend Leah and me two weekends ago at a wedding in Asheville, N.C. -- although I'm happy to report that our bride thought it was hilarious and seemed to relax after our "arrival"!

Carrie Brownstein Looks Back at Her Father Through Rainbow-Colored Lenses

The New York has an intriguing excerpt from Carrie Brownstein's upcoming memoir, in which she discusses her father, who came out later in life:

One of my earliest childhood memories is my father taking me in the evening to Samena Swim & Recreation Club in Bellevue. It was just him and me. I’d taken swim lessons and could hang out by myself with the help of water wings, goggles, and a kickboard while my father swam laps in a nearby lane. I loved the echo in the cavernous room, the way the sounds and voices melded into each other, gurgling, muted, watercolors for the ears. I spun around, did the dead man’s float, watched pale, distorted legs dangle down into the blue. I kept one eye on my dad and another on the pool’s edge, my two sources of safety.  

 Too young to get changed in the women’s locker room alone, I’d accompany my father to the men’s area. Once my clothes were tugged back over my arms and legs, sticky from inadequate toweling off, dampness seeping through in the creases but warm nonetheless, I’d wait for my father to shower and dress. As I sat there I wasn’t looking anywhere in particular: at the rubber mats on the floor, the slats in the bench, at pale toes like gnarled gingerroots, calves with hair worn off in patches from dress socks, and knees everywhere, those scrunched-up, featureless faces. “Stop staring,” my dad would insist over and over again, sounding admonishing and embarrassed. I kept my head down. Later I realized that this reminder, this reprimand, was likely something my father was saying to himself more than to me. The shame of looking, of wanting to look.

Read the full piece HERE.

Order HERE.