Kay Hanley

photo credit: john ozimek 

As I’ve mentioned in the past, I use Google Analytics to track the sorry incredible non popularity of my blog.  There are crap loads of complicated things you can do with this technologically advanced tool, but none of it is of much interest to me except for how many hits per day I get and the “Keyword” function.  The latter is a list of the keywords that people type into search engines that lead to them to any given website.  I hadn’t checked my GA in awhile, so I was delighted to see how many new and disturbing words that people are clacking out on their computers as they find their way to my humble bloggy.  Let’s take a cruise through some of the winners.

•  why is kay hanly (sic) so anoying (sic)?

Probably because I am a noted spelling bee champ, a cunning linguist and extremely judgmental when it comes to you making careless errors in the most basic functions of the English language.  I detest you, stupidhead.

•  I fucked kay hanley

28 visits to my blog based on this keyword alone!  I have to admit that I found myself blushing and kinda flattered because it exponentially over-inflates the number of members in what I’ve always considered to be a fairly lonely club.

•  drunk milfas

You, sir, have penetrating powers of insight.  

•  pics of me fucking our babysitter

Dude, if you need to ask Google where those pictures are then I’m afraid you may want to dial back your enthusiasm.

•  dropped out of college waitress

1. Take a poker from your fireplace.
2. Travel to the fiery center of hell.
3. Insert the poker into the molten rock until it glows white hot.
4. Come back to the surface of Earth.
5. Find me in Studio City and plunge the searing steel into my heart.
6. Thanks, asshole.

•  ball shit sexy fucking

Okay, here’s the thing.  If your balls and your shit have ANYTHING in common during fucking, I can pretty much guarantee that the sexy quotient is zero.  I’m not Google but even I know that. 

• kara dioguardi feet (so many variations on the theme that i was literally shocked.)

This is strange.  I know Kara is a new celeb because of American Idol but since she’s a close friend and I’ve hot-tubbed it with her,  I happen to know what she looks like naked.  Her feet, while perfectly fine,  are the least of her attributes, yet there are literally dozens of searches for images of her feet and about 4 looking for her nude.  People are idiots.  Nobody wants to see my feet, by the way.  Not sure whether to be insulted or relieved.  

•  kay hanley obituary

Whoa.  That’s intense.  And stupid.  Everyone knows that I’m a pretty robot princess hero, therefore I shall live forever.  That’s what my mom and her fencing coach told me when they dropped me at the happy special orphanage.  Wait, did I ever actually get solid confirmation on that?  Note to self….

•  photos of liberal assholes

I practically shed a tear of pride that someone found my blog based on this search.

 I hope you enjoyed today’s Fun With Google Analytics!  As you can see, our fellow human travelers are weirdo perverts with very little redeeming value.  Thank you, internet, for once again shining your bold spotlight of truth onto this mortal coil.  

xok 

So yesterday at 4pm sharp, Courtney, Carol and I hopped into a cab with two suitcases filled with food and wine.   With permission slips from our babies’ daddies in hand, we made our way over Laurel Canyon to watch the Oscars at Sunset Towers in the fabulous hotel room of one of Courtney’s PR clients.  Coincidentally, his digs just happened to overlook the Vanity Fair Oscar Party’s red carpet.  Wheeee!!!!  God, I love the gays….

 the milfas reprazent tha lmv

From our elevated perch, we surveyed our lair.  Thousands of fans lined the north sidewalk of Sunset Boulevard, screaming madly whenever a car would pull up and deposit say, Mickey Rourke on the south sidewalk.  I’m not gonna lie - it was oddly thrilling being this close to an event that is so quintessentially American and iconic.  I was surprised, quite frankly, that I gave a shit.  It turns out that I do!  

My unique perspective allowed me to photograph never before seen images:  The tops of movie stars’ heads.   Once you’ve seen the tops of movie stars’ heads, you will never want to see their rarified visages and preternaturally well preserved vessels the boring, regular way ever again.  Don’t believe me?  Well look-y here and recognize, fool.

aniston + mayer debut their special whatever

madonna can bench, what?  650?  800?

natalie cleans up real good for a rap star

will + jada: suspiciously convincing beards happy couple  

 sjp and mb are a magical fairytale by way of a cloud made of hearts

‘Twas great fun as evidenced by my pounding skull.  The End.

 xok 

When I was a teenager in Boston,  I joined my first band at the request of my neighborhood pal Greg McKenna, who was looking for a back-up singer for his  ska/pop/punk/kitchen sink thingy.  We called our outfit Rebbecca Lula and played god-awful places in Faneuil Hall and other deeply embarrassing locations where we were required to play 3 sets a night complete with lame-o covers for $250.

Boston had no shortage of rad rock clubs to play and it wasn’t long before we were complaining to our manager, Creamer to get us real gigs at places like The Rat, The Middle East and T.T. The Bear’s place.  We didn’t have a lot of success back then with the first 2,  but the booker at TT’s,  Jeanne,  decided to give us a chance.  Monday night, first slot.

“Copy these tickets to hand out to your friends.  Yeah, ya gotta write your band name in before you print ‘em up.  If enough of these ghetto-ass tickets make it to the door before your set,  you may even get 2nd slot next time.”    I am paraphrasing of course.

Ah, they don’t make times like that anymore.  TT’s made us work for our supper, man, but we didn’t give a shit.  We’d be out there hustling those tickets like our lives (and much appreciated free beer) depended on it.  As far as we were concerned, if we got 4 extra people to show up, we were golden for the next step up the ladder.  Every time we would schlep our gear into the club for sound check, Jeanne (booker/bartender) would whip out one of those huge stinky magic markers (best smell ever?) to draw a giant X on each of my underage hands.   It took us years, but we finally made it to Thursday opening slot.   And then the band broke up.

When Greg and I debuted our new band, Letters To Cleo, the first people we called were Jeanne and Bonney at TT’s, who by this time had become our friends.  I think it’s fair to say that for the better part of our career, TT’s was our home base.  I also think that it would be fair to say that if Jeanne Connolly & Bonney Bouley had not believed in us the way they did,  things may have turned out much differently for Cleo.   Their imprimatur gave us a certain cred, which was critical for a pop band in a sea of tortured grunge.

In 1993, we had a record release party at TT’s for our first full length album, Aurora Gory Alice.   It was a swinging from the rafters kind of night; drunken, triumphant and packed to the gills,  which unfortunately (but now sort of hilariously) ended in me getting arrested for Assault & Disorderly (i still deny my guilt, but evs….) on Brookline Ave by Cambridge’s Finest.  Just as the sun was getting ready to come up, the cops opened the cell door and let me go, telling me someone had posted bail.  Guess who?  Jeanne and Bonney.  Bonney waited at Cambridge Jail while Jeanne ran back to TT’s to mop up and clean out the cash register behind the bar to spring me from the slammer.  HA!  That’s fucking rock & roll, baby….

That’s the best over-the-top story I’ve got about my years with Jeanne & Bonney.  The other stories simply describe the kinds of interactions that 20 year friendships are built on.  Some are funny but most are mundane, conversational. Walking into TT’s and being greeted by a huge, beaming smile and a heartfelt hug from Jeanne was a constant that made me look forward to strolling through the doors of that place every single time and it would not be an exaggeration to say these occasions numbered into the hundreds.  T.T. the Bear’s Place was home.

15 months ago, my beautiful friend Jeanne was diagnosed with colon cancer.  This morning her brother informed us that Jeanne died.  I feel so heartbroken right now that I can’t move.  There’s comfort in knowing that there are literally hundreds of people who feel exactly the same way as I do right now.  She was just so loved.

Her brother David set up a web page for her last month to keep friends updated on her health developments and allow them to post messages that her family read to her every day.  He was so generous to give us all such a gift:  The opportunity to be included in the final weeks of her life.  To be able to talk to her, comfort her.  I’m truly grateful for that.   

One story that David recounted over the last few weeks was particularly meaningful because it perfectly crystallized the person Jeanne was.  This is from Jan 27, 2009.

…The case manager was in later when our brother Tim and my Mother were visiting, and walked Jeanne through were she was at..When she left, Tim let Jeanne know that she did not have to go through anymore chemo or radiation, that she just needs to be comfortable.. Jeanne said,” So this is it?” Tim said unfortunately yes, and Jeanne replied “What a Gyp.”  

 I swear, I have never heard of a more witty and spot on response to ANYTHING,  never mind upon hearing the news that it’s time to let go and die.   Whenever I think about this exchange it either makes me laugh or cry.  Right now, it is the latter and I fear that I may never stop.  

Sweet dreams, gorgeous lady.  Thank you for filling the world with one of the best laughs ever, rock & roll and cold beer. Thank you for being such a great friend to so many of us.   If there is any meaning to life, it is to live so that the world is a better place because of your existence.  You did it, girl!  I love you so, and I will miss you.

 jeanne and i just before the impromptu cleo set at one of her 1st benefits.

Thanks, Chris.  This photo means an awful lot to me. 

xxook. 

OMFG.  Only in Los Angeles can a pack of girls go get their drink on and throw some 10 lb. balls down a narrow lane and find themselves doing so 10 feet away from Flava Flav.

 um, mr flav. i’ve never done this before but *stammer* um.  oh, boy. this is weird.

 angie + kat prefer candlepin.  if you know what i mean.  ’cuz they’re from boston.   

That’s Flava Flav and his posse right behind the girly-os, btw.  I charmed his bodyguards by performing a top-notch Cabbage Patch while “It’s My Prerogative”  or somesuch was playing, right after I bowled a strike.  

Please note that Kat is wearing a shirt that says “Moustache Rides.”  Call me an easily amused imbecile, but I’m still laughing.

heather brought her own ball.  and wore a dress.  effing hardcore. 

 bowling.  do it with the people you love most.  or people you’ve just met.

xok