Fifty WHAT?!

It’s the last 24 hours of my 56th year. What the fuck?! Somebody please take the foot of the accelerating aging pedal! I go from being invincible to – “Holy Shit, I’m looking in the mirror at an adolescent trapped in old lady’s body!” I still have tons of energy. I don’t think like an old fart…well, except that I don’t like loud music, and I can’t tolerate people. Okay. I’m more like a grumpy old man trapped in the body of an old lady.

The difference between 50 and 57? Yikes! From age 55-56 I developed the turkey neck. Not gobbling that up. I saw photographs of me on stage, granted the lighting sucked, but now I see the wrinkled neck…(barely, because my eyesight is not as keen. I guess ignorance is bliss. If my eyesight is bad enough, I can’t see the pours in my face, or the occasional whisker on my chin that is 2 centimeters long. WHERE THE FUCK DID THAT COME FROM!? Pluck.

And though I am still Speedy Gonzales, I’m not sure if speedy pulled a muscle every time he put on his sneakers! I pulled out my back while clipping my toe nails. And the mind? Oh the mind. Never experienced anxiety and clinching ones teeth before the last decade. Worrying about shit I could care less about before. But also, as you get older, fact is, you lose close friends, and worse than that, family, dropping like flies. And even idols…favorite actors and musicians that only your generation will know, love, appreciate, and quote…and get it. You can waste a perfectly good joke that will go over most people’s heads, because they really don’t relate. It’s not that they’re dumb. They just never experienced the classic humor or talent of a Maxwell Smart.

And here comes the grumpy old man in me – humor is so crude these days. Shock value is one thing, but anyone can go to extremes, being sexually explicit. It’s almost contrived. Back in my day, (and please do imagine myself on a rocking chair with an exaggerated old timer accent), people were clever and funny. Now many of the comedies and comedians go to lengths for laughs that leave me with a sour face.

And then of course, because the priority is no longer sex, sex, and sex for a married woman in her late 50’s, we tend to get involved in politics. And this is the saddest state I have ever seen in my lifetime. It is pure insanity. We are truly moving backward. Facts and logic are out the door, along with my thirst for sex. So the best substitute is watching the entire country get fucked by complete incompetent, lying unqualified assholes and ignoramuses. Political Porn.

Oh Linda, do you have anything nice to say?  Yeah. I still love to eat. Eating brings me great pleasure. Ah, but then I think about all of the starving refugees. I sit here in my cushy life, which I have not much to complain about…(although without my own child – biggest regret of my life)…and wonder how I can make a difference for these poor people. Oh! Maybe I should invite a family into my house. I have enough room. But then I think, they will take too long of a shower. And then I have to talk to them. And then I’ll learn what a horrific existence they have had. And how there are millions more like them. If you REALLY think about it, it will drive you insane. I believe I am still quite sane. (Although I am becoming forgetful.)

I have my shit together, other than blatantly not giving a shit how I act in public. If I want to be silly, and blurt out a silly sound while opening a heavy door, I will! And then I will laugh, because it’s funny–while others who might have observed this action, will look at me as if I am nuts.  And OMG, Millennials, or whatever you call those smug young, entitled, know-it-nothing-alls, nose up in the air, who don’t know shit about anything, and how the generations before them fought for their lattes, judging you without credentials.

And then there are the “alternative facts” cancerous beings on the planet. Seriously? I’m out of order? The whole damn court is out of order. Our 4 fathers are rolling over in their graves. But at least my father is still alive, but he is rolling over, losing sleep over witnessing the most illogical, lying, manipulating, selfish fucks ruining this country and the world! There comes a point where I just want to shut off the entire corrupt, upside-down lot of them, and live in my bubble. But it’s not enough for me. I must make a difference. Through my art? I dunno. I enjoy doing that.  So, how do I really make a difference? Even with one star fish?

As I don’t have kids, and I have a great love for them, this summer I have volunteered to work with The Boys and Girls Club of Tucson, to start a summer program in performing arts, and create a play with the kids. Bring them into a stimulating, fun, creative environment, and hopefully bring them some joy, inspiration, and guidance to give them a more fulfilling life. Compassion. Not enough people have it these days. It’s all about them. Fuck the planet! Who needs clean air? Fuck you Trump. You are aging me. And so is the air you are fucking.

The best birthday present I could ask for on Friday, is for justice. Stop all the lying. Clean those fuckers out of the White House. Talk about wrinkles? That clown needs to be impeached. (With a bow on it, please!)

Ahhh, aging. The only thing is that it gives you license to babble. And at 3:55 am, my mind just won’t shut up. What should I do for my birthday? Have an anxiety attack, and eat cake. Pull a muscle while blowing out the candles.  (Holy Shit, I am 57)50th-Birthday-Cake-Ideas-Toilet-Paper




What a fucking disappointment! I want my money back! DO NOT WASTE YOURS. I could have seen Bill Maher for less!!!  I was really excited, especially after all of the hype about this show. I saw the Shanghai Acrobats in Shanghai, and I figured it would be as impressive, slash, mind-blowing, and I’d splurge, since I’d saved the airfare. Okay. It’s not that they are not a talented bunch. But it was a bunch of money for a bunch of schlocky dances done over and over again. I imagined “One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest” patients getting their meds, and being sedated by this shit.


“Hey Dad, let’s get out of here!” I said, after the first half. Some Chinese lady (who looked kind of official) said, “Oh you’re leaving? The second half is much more exciting.” I said, “Well, why didn’t they just make the first half exciting, then?”

I should have read some of the reviews beforehand. I’m not alone in my reaction.  Within these negative comments, they mentioned the political commentary being a bummer. I, on the other hand, did not mind that at all. I thought it was ballsy that they were making a statement about the inhumane treatment in China.  But there were barely any balls in the performance. Yeah, there was one bit with yellow flowers that was cool, but you got it in about 10 minutes, and all I could think about was going to eat some dumplings.

Lastly, they have this step and repeat backdrop where they interview folks that are dazzled by this…thing. I say, booooooo!  Boo How.  (That’s actually Chinese for bad! 坏的)


Jon Stewart: America’s Majority Needs You Back! (A letter to Jon)

For those of you who know, love and respect Jon Stewart’s work, there is no explanation for the title of this blog.  For those of you who have been brainwashed and have no clue how brilliant he is – your loss.

Dear Jon,

Fuck the farm animals! Not literally…and not even figuratively – just get someone else to look after them. We need you back! You left us at the worst possible time! Yes, you have a responsibility to I’d say, half of America. You spoke for us. You kept us sane. Sure there are others, Colbert, Oliver, Maher, and Noah, but to kind of quote Carly Simon, “Noahbody does it better.” Okay, literally it is not your responsibility, but in this case it kind of is. Yes, you have a life. But your calling is not to farm animals, it’s to the human animals. Please, please come back!

I saw you on Stephen Colbert last night, and you are like a drug. I got my fix, and now I’m hooked again, wanting more! I’m Jonesing for Jon! I tried to ween myself off of you, safely, by not deleting your shows from my DVR recordings…but I just can’t quit you, boy.

Is it that you wanted to make a difference, and you got frustrated with the fact that facts don’t matter anymore? Did you make a difference when you fought for the First Responders in Washington, up against the hypocritical full of shit Yellow Blooded American representatives? — The GOP?  Well I can promise you that you make a difference with us.

Jon Stewart, America’s Majority NEEDS YOU BACK.



P.S. One time I got a friend request from you on Facebook, and I didn’t believe it was you…and it probably wasn’t.  I got so excited, and wanted to send you my book.  I met you on set in Austin, at craft services, with Bebe Neuwirth, during the filming of Office Space.  (I think we were both mooching a free meal.) And then went on your show (in the audience) and asked you if you remembered me. (yes, dumb question that was supposed to be funny…and I did get a laugh). I left my Grammy Nominated (puff puff)  CD with one of the staff for you. Not sure if you ever got it. And then I just missed you in Red Bank a couple of times…and lastly, when I met Bruce Springsteen for the first time, you know what my first words were to him?  “I’m so jealous you got to meet Jon Stewart.” He laughed. We should all hang sometime. (Now everyone is laughing.) I am not a stalker. I just admire the shit out of you.







I have never met a nicer “star” than Michael McDonald, who prefers to be called Mike. From his roadies to engineers to band members, they were the nicest people I have ever worked with…as The Opening Act.  (Also the name of my documentary!)

Did you know that some “stars” have it written in their contracts for lets say limo drivers, hotel staff, band members and other humans “not to look directly in their eyes. Only speak when spoken to.” I can guarantee that Mike Mcdonald would burst out laughing to think of such demands. I have opened for many major acts, and they have all been very nice, in truth, however, none of them actually sat side stage to watch my set, (to the best of my knowledge), and then went on to thank me during their set complimenting my performance to the crowd. Wow. I was touched when Mike did that for me…and even hugged me after I finished my show.


This film begins at my soundcheck, where I got the first hint of kindness from Mike McDonald’s crew, as one hooked me up with a tuner, while the other checked my sound in the house, as an extra set of ears for John the house sound man for The Fox Theatre in Tucson…also a smiley guy!

Bla, bla, bla…check it out. This is my free concert for you. And if you enjoy it enough, perhaps consider investing in one of my albums!?  Like my new one, Oysters! Or my (name drop alert) Grammy Nominated Emotional Jukebox!


(Please excuse the low volume, there was a technical glitch. Just turn it up to 11.)



I go back to being a fan of Mike McDonalds golden vocals when he recorded with Steely Dan. And then of course with The Doobie Brothers. It was such an honor sharing a venue with him…and his entire band and crew.






anti-social media

It’s ironic that most of you will read my anti-social media via social media. The fact is that social media is a complete ruse. It has sucked in a large portion of the population to participate in nonsense. And the worst – or best part about it (depending on how your life is) is that it enables you to escape your real life. Yes. Social Media enables one to escape their reality. The reality that surrounds them. Their closest relationships…thus making them anti-social.

When you are completely sucked into this scam, you are not present in your immediate environment. The world is big, and your access to it spreads you thin. It allows you to not be present.

Why is it a ruse? The machine has you believing that tweeting is important. Yes, it is a great way to get word out of stuff you want to promote…or to share something clever to say. I mean, look at how clever Donald Trump is! Now the entire world can see how clever Donald Trump is 24-7! Or recruit idiots to join isis. And we are all paying for it. What is twitter worth?

While twitter’s net worth increases, real relationships decrease. I know it has cost me dearly. How? Well, my “social media” director happens to be my husband. Although it is kind and generous of him, he spends time every day increasing my twitter followers, by reaching out to them and following them, in hopes that they will follow me back. Woopie! I have a bunch of followers, where maybe 5% actually read what I have to say. And I read about 5% of what they have to say, because only 5% of the time are they actually saying something. And now these fuckers have you believing that your worth is valued by the volume of twitter followers you have. And the world is buying it, hookline and sinker. People actually look at how many twitter followers you have, (in the entertainment world, at least) to decide if you are somebody.

Am I somebody? I dunno. What happened to quality, not quantity?  The anti-social media world fucked that up. Not to sound arrogant, but if you are going to say something. SAY SOMETHING! Not hashtag you, you, and this and that. What the fuck does that mean? SAY SOMETHING! Amuse me. Every boring person on the fucking planet has a twitter account. (Am I an asshole, or what?)  But then there are the 5% who amuse.

Am I one of them? I hope so. And when I have something I would like to share, that I think might be beneficial to a stranger; because it might make them laugh, or relate to, or even act as a mini-therapy session, because what I might be bitching about is something they bitch about too, (perhaps in the form of a song) then, yeah, I hope what I am tweeting is productive….thus, I do not tweet often.

But according to my social media director, I have to keep tweeting to stay in the game. So on occasion, he has taken the liberty to tweet for me, and it causes a huge fight. “I would never say that!” Then after the too familiar argument, does it really fucking matter? Who is reading this shit anyway?!

And now we come to the 95% of tweets that mean shit. And responding…or not. And how often one monitors these useless pieces of information interrupting my life. Here I am enjoying a good old program on the boob tube, Sunday night at 10 pm, PST, when I hear a “Blink-a-dink” sound. It’s the sound of my husband’s fucking iphone, which he holds as dear and close to his body as his dick, alerting him to an incoming tweet. Ooh! How exciting. Then another, and another. (And an echo of that same annoying sound coming from his computer as well!)

What is so important that you have to read, and respond to this 95% of garbage right away… at this hour…interrupting your life…or more imperatively, interrupting my life? It is anti-social. And I just think it is sad that so many people fill the void in their life by escaping it.

I am anti-social media, because it causes the participants of the inner-circle to be anti-social. #getalife. #antisocialmedia








This blog will be short and sweet…unlike the Secret Service.

Yesterday I went to a Bernie Sanders Rally in Tucson. Everyone was in great spirits, as we waited in line for an hour before the doors opened in the blaring sun of Tucson. We came equipped with lots of water.

The four in our group had 1 clear plastic bottle of water, and 3 metal containers. We were informed that the metal containers could not be brought in, but the clear plastic was acceptable.

Damn it! I paid 15 bucks for this one I bought in Hawaii at a National Park, and the others are like 10 bucks a piece.

“Okay, you guys save our places in line, and Eli (my nephew) and I will run back to the car (1/2 mile away) to put the water bottles back.”

We dashed to the car, and I brought back 4 clear plastic water bottles full, returning with enough time before the doors actually opened.

I go through the security check point outside, and a guy in full black combat gear says, “You can’t bring in that water bottle.”

I respond matter of factually without raising my voice, but just confused:

“But they told us that clear plastic was okay?”

He barks back – I mean really sternly, uncivilly, with as much authoritarian attitude, which could easily instigate controversy as you can imagine barks back:

“I don’t care what anyone told you. I’m telling you, get rid of the water!!”

I said:

“Okay, jeez, this is a peaceful gathering. There’s no need for the attitude.”

He says:

“Get rid of it.”

(His tone equivalant to saying, “Keep your hands up in the air where I can see them!”)

I decided to not hit back with another comment. I could just imagine him slamming my face down, breaking my nose on the table where they were looking through people’s belongings at the checkpoint.

The guy walked away to another screening line. (Maybe he needed to walk off the potentially dangerous situation…a situation where someone questions his manhood. I mean, look how threatening my gang is!)


That’s when I noticed these thugs uniforms – they clearly said, “Secret Service” on their vests.

Is that the job of the Secret Service? To harass citizens at all costs, for potential threat to presidential candidates? Or is he just another asshole in a uniform, abusing his power?

Really, I muttered under my breath to the other guy, left watching me FINISH MY WATER, (no way I’m wasting it, even though it will make me pee every friggin’ 20 minutes for the next hour)…who was also a Secret Service guy, “That guy needs a Valium.”

Fortunately that guy didn’t slam my face into the table. But it made me think…if I were black, what would have happened? And I bet this happens all the time to black people for just about anything. And these professionals, rather than putting out fires, light the fucking match.

Now, that being said, the second guy, who I did make my what could be considered wise-ass statement to–about the dickhead–did nothing. So, not all guys in uniforms are unworthy of being in their positions. But those who are hotheaded bullies are dangerous, and should be removed from any position of power where citizen’s lives matter.









Everybutty wants to be someone!

With very few exceptions, we’d all love to have our own star in Hollywood! Even if you’re an engineer, doctor, sanitation worker, hooker…we all want to be someone! Right?

Of course taking yourself too seriously is something I don’t tolerate too well.

That being said, I wrote a song, called “EVERYBUTTY”. It’s my token silly Ringoesque song on my new album, Oysters.  With just a hint of sarcasm. No. Really?!


I call it “Everybutty” vs. “Everybody,” simply because the charming, talented co-producer, engineer, Oscar Autie, is from Cuba, and has a very thick accent. It’s so infectious that I asked him to record his vocal on the song.  His pronunciation is priceless.  Thus, everybutty was coined by the man I fondly refer to as “The Everybutty Guy” on the album credits.

Scott and I filmed the music video below, in Los Angeles during Grammy week, while attending several cool parties, like the Soiree. If anybody wants to be someone…it’s in L.A.

Several fellow musicians/Grammy members –  partook with a light-hearted, fun energy. And just about anyone of them could have their own star on Hollywood Blvd. It’s a question of timing and luck…and talent, of course.

But we also went to Grauman’s Chinese Theatre and Venice Beach, where everybody wants to be someone, too. Street musicians, homeless people, various artists, tourists from around the world putting their hands in the imprints of stars’ hands in the cement.

It is part of human nature. And although this is a silly little song, I’m hoping its message clicks.

As an experiment, I had Scott photoshop my name onto one of those stars, and posted it on facebook, with the caption:

 I have officialy “made it”. Wow!

Much to my pleasant surprise, the majority of people thought it was for real! And honestly, although I had made it, literally, just for kicks and to promote my song, I was really humbled by the supportive response…and it made me feel like I have made it! Yeah. I want to be someone!


So, without further a doo doo, may I present “EVERYBUTTY”.


Special thanks to the G’s for participating (as I spontaneiously threw a camera in their faces)…they were amazing! And to Harry Perry, an iconic fixture on Venice Beach. I was so grateful that he wanted to be in the video. And that kick-ass band, I am embarrassed to say, I forgot the name! Please, if you know them, please share this.  I asked permission to all involved. You are somebody! (as the song says).


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Linda Chorney

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