Was supposed to headline four shows this weekend. Instead, dealing with a flea infestation issue at work. The glamorous life? It ain't much.

Is Twitter acting psycho on anyone else's computer? Or is it just me?

Ladies and gentlemen, I have now connected my Facebook, Twitter, MySpace, Blogger and Linkedin pages. I think I am experiencing my first technology high.

This is a test to see whether I have successfully pinged all my social networks together. And whether I succesfully used "ping" as a verb.

That's Showbiz

(Deep breath.)

The Mad House Comedy Club is closed until further notice, and won't be opening again until they find a new location.

Obviously, this means my shows this Nov. 13 and 14 are canceled.

My apologies to all, especially weekly press who ran notices this week. This is the first time in my seven years of doing comedy that a club has ever closed on me. I truly appreciate your support and coverage.

TO REPEAT: NO SHOWS AT THE MAD HOUSE COMEDY CLUB THIS COMING WEEKEND.

A Tale of Two Kitties

I'm back, y'all -- for reals -- no bullshit. With an actual story to tell. But first: A wee bit of self-promotion to get out of the way:

This coming Wednesday, Nov. 11, I will be live on the "Frank DeCaro Show" on Sirius-XM OutQ Radio (Channel 109), at 9:40 AM Pacific Time (12:40 PM Eastern Time -- and who the hell can figure out Central and Mountain Time?). So if you're a Sirius-XM subscriber, tune in! And call the show at 866-305-6887 if you want to chat with me!

I'll be on Frank's show to promote my appearances at San Diego's Mad House Comedy Club Friday and Saturday, Nov. 13 and 14, at 8 and 10 p.m. This will be my first time headlining weekend shows at a major club in San Diego, so I'm WAY excited and sort of petrified. For tickets or information, call 858-638-9000 or visit the club's web site.

OK -- promotion over. Story time.

Cast of Characters:
Me (Adam Sank, obscure gay comedian and tireless self-promoter)

Boy Wonder (My boyfriend, extremely petty officer in the U.S. Navy)

Catwoman (Our roommate, an even more petty officer in said navy)

Moto (An adorable, white, fluffy calico cat)

Diablo (A demented, smelly tabby kitten with poor bladder control)

First came Moto, who moved in with us about two months ago after Catwoman split with his ex-boyfriend. The ex-boyfriend kept their puppy; we got Moto.

I would have preferred it the other way around, having always been a dog person. When I was growing up, my family lavished embarrassing amounts of love and attention on Trixie, our half-cocker spaniel, half-wire-hair terrier mutt. Trixie was something of a local celebrity in our town. She spent most of her days hanging out in my father's pediatric office and her nights snuggling with my sister, Anna, who had a borderline-unhealthy attachment to her. Trixie lived to be 17 and wound up in a New Jersey landfill, but that's a story for another time.

It's shocking to me that I don't have a single picture of Trixie to post here, but I guess it makes sense, given that she died 15 years ago, before the advent of digital photography. If anyone has such a picture, please email it to me so I can pay due tribute to this beloved family pet.

Suffice it to say, I love dogs. Cats, on the other hand, generally piss me off. Living with a cat is like living with a severely hostile, obsessive-compulsive roommate who leaves fur everywhere and pays no rent. Plus, cats shit in a box which resides inside your home and which you have to clean out on a regular basis. Who needs that? Feh, I say!

I told CW as much when he announced Moto's imminent arrival. "Let me just tell you right now," I said. "I am not cleaning out that shit box EVER." CW walked past me without saying anything, as is his custom.

But I must admit, Moto won me over. She really is just about the sweetest cat ever. Calm... gentle... affectionate without being needy. She's kind of like a dog in that she'll let you do anything you want to her. BW likes to kiss her on the nose repeatedly, and she just sits there and lets him do it. And you can pick her up like a stuffed animal and move her anywhere in the house; the most she'll do is meow.

And she likes to nap in our drawers. HOW CUTE IS THAT?!

Plus, Moto is one of the cleanest animals I've ever met. She bathes herself obsessively and smells like a brand new fur coat. Even her litter box is inoffensive. And though I do hate coming home at the end of the day to find our black granite counter-tops covered by a layer of white cat hair, I accepted Moto as part of the family.

About a month after Moto's arrival, BW and I were hanging out in our bedroom when CW walked in, carrying what appeared to be a sewer rat in his arms. "Look who I brought home!," he exclaimed.

Enter Diablo.

Spawn of Satan.

BW and I were in shock. "What the hell is that, and why is it here?" I demanded to know.

"It's my new kitty," CW replied. "I stopped by the pet store, and he was all alone in his cage. I just had to have him." And with that, he walked out.

From the beginning, it was clear the Diablo was no Moto. For one thing, he stank. His fur was constantly matted and nappy. He never bathed himself, and when Moto would try, he would attack her. His meow was an ungodly, high-pitched squeal, like a cross between an autistic baby and a piglet. And when he relieved himself, which happened about 10 times a day, the rancid smell emanating from his litter box was overpowering.

After a visit to the vet, it was confirmed that Diablo had parasites, and CW began feeding him medicine via an eye-dropper every day. We thought maybe this would rid Diablo's shit of its toxic odor, but if anything, it only made it worse. In the meantime, Diablo began shredding all of BW's leather dining room chairs, the set of which had cost $3,000.

And then the pissing began.

At first, Diablo only peed on CW's stuff -- his sofa, his bed, his carpet. This seemed like just rewards to BW and me, so we were somewhat pleased. But before long,the kitten had found his way into our bedroom and settled on our bed as his favorite target.

After about the fifth time Diablo had completely soiled our blanket, sheets and brand new mattress, I lost it on CW. It was bad. I essentially became my mother at her scariest. My eyes bulged out of my head. My neck veins throbbed. A stream of bitter, angry invective flew from my mouth. CW actually got up from the sofa, came into our room and went about silently cleaning up the mess. If you knew him, you'd know how abnormal this is.

The next day, CW told BW he simply couldn't live with me anymore, given how I had spoken to him. Because clearly, I'm the one at fault here -- not the person who brought Rosemary's baby home to live with us without so much as a word of warning.

It's all for the best. BW and I had been talking for some time about moving into a one-bedroom apartment where we can have our privacy. We think we found the perfect place, and it couldn't be closer to where we are now. In the meantime, CW will continue living in the old place with Moto and Diablo and however many more cats he adopts until the lease runs out. BW and I plan to move out at the end of this month.

Right now I'm thinking how easy it would be to snap his neck.

Saturday night, with CW and the rest of our friends in Palm Springs, BW and I went out dancing until very late. It was such a beautiful night out that after we got home, we decided to have a nightcap on the balcony. I noted how healthy and lush my yellow rosebush was looking these days after a hot summer that had withered most of its leaves to dust.

At that moment, Diablo slunk out onto the balcony, climbed up onto the rosebush, and released a torrent of diarrhea. The best part was the expression on his face as he did it. It was like, "How do you like me now, bitch?"

You do NOT want to wake up and smell these roses.

That's it for now. Belated Mexico cruise pictures coming soon.

Homo shat upon. ♥

My Life Since Grad School

OK, this is such a bullshit non-post. But recently, a flurry of emails were exchanged among people with whom I attended Columbia J-School in '96. Someone posed the question: What has everyone been doing since graduation? My entry was as follows. Enjoy:
______________
OK, I'll bite, given that I probably have the strangest (and perhaps saddest) career trajectory:

After Columbia graduation, I was one of the first production assistants hired at the brand new Fox News Channel. At the time, I thought, "Hey, it's Fox! 'Married With Children!' 'Melrose Place!' 'The Simpsons!' This will be fun!"

Yeah, not so much.

For reasons that continue to baffle to this day, I remained at FNC for more than five years, eventually becoming a senior producer. One day, after telling the executive producer of Daytime to go f-ck himself (and after finally coming to the realization that I was literally and figuratively a Jew working for the Nazis), I decided I badly needed a change of scene. So I moved to WABC as line producer of the nightly 11 o'clock newscast.

That lasted six months. It became painfully clear to me almost immediately that I just didn't want to produce news anymore -- not at FNC, not at WABC, not anywhere. What I really wanted was to be a stand-up comic.

(Cue the crickets.)

So I quit WABC, took the summer off, wrote a bunch of jokes and began cocktail-waiting at a gay bar. And on Sept. 5, 2003, I made my comedy debut at a new talent night at Gotham Comedy Club. It went surprisingly well, and I kept doing it, eventually getting to host and produce my own shows at Carolines, Comix, and and Midtown's Therapy lounge. (Always a producer, never a bride.) I made brief appearances on Vh-1's "Best Week Ever," tru-TV's "Smoking Gun Presents: World's Dumbest Criminals" and NBC's "Last Comic Standing," on which I made the Season Six NYC finals.

Around the time I had begun doing stand-up, a friend of mine working in IT at The New York Times said he could probably get me a freelance gig as a clerk for the paper. It was exactly what I wanted: A ridiculously easy day job I could do four or five days a week while I pursued comedy at night. I ended up staying at The Times for six years, ultimately rising (?) to the position of administrative manager of the Culture desk. Truly the world's greatest day job -- or at least it was before the newspaper began to crumble.

Then, on New Year's Eve, at the dawn of 2008, the unexpected happened: I fell in love. With a sailor. Who was just about to be stationed in San Diego for two and half years.

I leapt.

Goodbye, Times; Goodbye, New York comedy scene; Hello, San Diego and unemployment.

So here I am nearly two years later, still in San Diego, still with my sailor (he's a keeper), trying to keep my feet in comedy in this culturally retarded city and working at what may be the worst day job I've ever had: [THIS PART REDACTED.] Still, it's work, and health benefits, too. In California these days, that's what passes for a glamour position.

All of which is to say, if any of you has a lead on a job -- ANY JOB -- in the San Diego area for which I might be qualified, speak up.

And if you'd like to see what my comedy is like (NSFW unless you work for a gay porn distributor), click here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f8obPLSgiwY

And here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RQCHQZ3_p0E

Love and good wishes to you all,
Adam
_________________
Homo faked posted. ♥