The Shan Speaks: Notes from the Small but Wise

Webseries the Webseries - Episode 2

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon E. Ennis) — Sat, 15 May 2010 02:24:00 +0000

Webseries the Webseries - Episode 1

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon E. Ennis) — Sat, 15 May 2010 02:23:00 +0000

Gotham Vice Rules!

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon E. Ennis) — Tue, 04 May 2010 17:40:00 +0000

My new favorite show EVER! Watch now!

And, while I may be biased, I know I'm right. It's got all the elements a silly crime-show obssessed dyke like me could want:
1. Hot chicks
2. Snappy dialogue
3. Hot chicks making out

Gotham Vice will go down in history as some hot n' heavy ground-breaking TV!

Equality Illinois - Big Gig Coming Up

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon E. Ennis) — Sat, 13 Mar 2010 02:07:00 +0000

Real Quick F.U.

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon E. Ennis) — Tue, 05 Jan 2010 06:22:00 +0000

Today, someone called my humor 'coarse.' Good. I hope it gave him a rash.

More Important New Year's Eve Countdown

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon E. Ennis) — Thu, 31 Dec 2009 05:25:00 +0000

Why are you reading my blog when there's money and time to be spent on my birthday? You'd better haul ass in 10, 9, 8, 7...seriously put your coat on...6, 5, 4...I'm going to make you feel so guilty that you won't be able to crap without crying.

3,2,1. Asshole.

God Must Really Like Me

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon E. Ennis) — Thu, 10 Dec 2009 06:20:00 +0000

There's no other logical explanation. Magical thinking + Shannon's desperate pleas to The Power Greater Than Herself = Prayers answered!

Note to Self

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon E. Ennis) — Fri, 04 Dec 2009 05:11:00 +0000

Having a hard time deciding what to be when you grow up? Learn from a pro. Study somebody who's talented and worked their ass off for years and years, who's finally getting long overdue, deserved praise. Watch any TINA FEY interview.

Now, don't beat yourself up. "Compare and despair." She's the exception rather than the rule. Though, thankfully, exceptions do pop up every now and then. And she's the type to be flattered by the compliment and humble accepting it. But nobody's perfect. Except, maybe, TINA FEY.

Goal: Some day, in the near future, I, Shannon Eileen Ennis, will have a long, substantive conversation with Tina Fey. And it won't be about how I repeatedly defy the restraining order. It'll be over coffee or white wine spritzers.

Goal: Strive to be the same kind of example for other female writer, performer, actor, comedian folk. Talk the talk, walk the walk. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Best Casting Rumor Ever

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon E. Ennis) — Fri, 04 Dec 2009 04:43:00 +0000

Rumors are circulating that Idina Menzel may be cast as Lea Michelle’s (Rachel’s) Mom on GLEE.

I'm gonna let that stay out there a sec. I slid off my couch in response, so feel free to just let yourself go.

OK. How fabulous is that? I'm sort of, well, gleeful about it. But--and this is so just a tiny, tiny little but--in response to the rumor, Idina’s husband, Taye Diggs, said that he and his wife “are just so happy to see a lot of these theater kids get the opportunity to do some television work.”

Hey, Taye! You buried the lead! Forget about the B’way folks getting TV work. That’s been going on for 20-30 years! How about the future theater kids GLEE is inspiring? That’s the real story. The next Idina, the next Lea, is just starting their “in front of mirror” training thanks to GLEE. And it’s not just the superstars either. The next wave of sublimely talented men and women who will one day write, produce, design, light, costume and inspire another generation is watching GLEE, too.

And that’s why I’ll pray this evening, on my fucking knees, that God allows what is today’s rumor to become tomorrow’s fact. A-(Seriously, God please, please, pretty please!)M-E-N!

Shame Motivates

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon E. Ennis) — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 05:39:00 +0000

Indeed it does. Just took a late-night look at my most recent entries. Oy, mea culpa, readers, mea culpa. While the lack of updates and dull ass 'recent' entries reflect the kind of couple years it's been, my lack of updates belie how things are going lately. So it is with that acknowledgement that I promise to do better. Starting now. Sure, it may take be a few posts to get back into the swing of the blogosphere, to honor a page visit (or accidental click--sorry 'the shat speaks' fans!) with some worthwhile material. But I'm willing to get a little exposed. It's been too long.

Another promise that I will make public: this little midget will get back on stage in the close of '09 and dawn of '10. But seriously, I gotta ask you bitches to hold me to it. Don't let me wiggle on this one. Not only do I miss the feeling of a live mic in my hand, but I've got all this deodorant and no reason to over-apply it. Sweaters! Not the cashmere kind. I mean, where my fellow schvitzers at? Who danced when they saw prescription antiperspirant on the shelf? Can I get an "Amen!"? If Whitney's back, than so am I.

And if my therapist reads this, my real reason for doing stand up again is to a. maybe get laid, b. um, something something 'art' blah blah, 'gift' blah blah, 'joy' yadda yadda, c. just hopin' it'll cut down on the inappropriate shit I say at work.

Don't call it a comeback. I've been here for years.

7 Dirty Words

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon E. Ennis) — Tue, 09 Dec 2008 03:30:00 +0000

Shit, piss, fuck, cunt, cock-sucker, mother-fucker and tits. Because I miss Carlin. Because I'm not a 'lady.' And because there's no such thing as a dirty word.

Much The View About Nothing

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon E. Ennis) — Sun, 23 Nov 2008 00:03:00 +0000

Ten bucks says that Rosie and Barbara are IMing each other non-stop and LOLing their asses off. If I had a variety show premiering the day before Thanksgiving, the biggest bar holiday next to St. Paddy's Drunken Fest, I'd punch my own mother in the face for some publicity. Everyone and their brother will be at the local watering hole, catching up with friends, griping about relatives and ingesting car bombs. No one's scouting the TV guide or channel surfing. So my money's on The View matriarch's latest sound bite feud with her former colleague being a hoax, a stunt, a way to get Billy Bush and Mario Lopez's overpaid lips a-buzzing. One question remains: Will Rosie's well-timed PR skirmish translate into viewers? You tell me Joe Six Pack. Does that loudmouthed fat dyke (a typical description, one O'Donnell herself mocks openly) getting into another fight make you want to watch her new show?

Truthfully, I don't think it's a stunt at all. Two enormously accomplished women are sniping at each other on the talk show airwaves and it's ruining my appetite for turkey. Ladies, how about a little restraint? Rise above this kind of display.

Twitter and Widget

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon E. Ennis) — Tue, 28 Oct 2008 22:18:00 +0000

Twitter and widget are my new favorite words. Well, they're terms really. Any word that translates into 'more people listing to me' turns me on. Big time.

Goodnight Sweet Feline

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon E. Ennis) — Tue, 21 Oct 2008 23:25:00 +0000

The Ennis family bid farewell to its beloved, four-legged member, Dixie, today. Methinks she deserves a proper obit. Anyone who's ever said goodbye to a pet will understand the sentiment. Sure, it's sappy, but I'm Irish Catholic and single, so humor me. For anyone who hasn't experienced the pleasure and joys of being a pet owner, or the PETA-friendly term "pet parent," please consider rescuing or adopting an animal. You'll be the better for it.

DIXIE ENNIS, 17 years-old, a 'ghetto kitty' adopted from the ASPCA, named after Bette Middler's character in For The Boys, was put to sleep today. She was a diva to the very end: entitled and sassy. Few knew of her hidden charms, but were well-acquainted with her foul mood in the company of relative strangers. Thus, only to know her was to love her. The rest, frankly, missed out.

Dixie is survived by her primary care-giver and companion, my Mom, Joan Ennis, a fortunate snow bird, off to Florida for the chilly months. Though Joan will escape the miserable Chicago winter, her sun-filled days may well be brushed by sadness for a while. Perhaps she'll continue to speak out loud to Dix, sharing details of the daily grind as though her furry white and grey ass was still there. And that's more than okay. Dixie's de-facto Daddy, my brother M.J., apt to mourn in solace, should take comfort in his fond memories, especially the way he'd step into a smattering of kitty litter upon exiting the shower.

As for myself, I've got to admit that I'm crushed. I was a teenager when I picked Dixie out of a cage. She was all ears and tail, and I sat her on my forearm and watched as she stretched out and fell immediately asleep. It felt like a familiar routine, one that we'd already practiced, perfect and easy. Dixie, like me, could be a real bitch at times. Yet if I was at home sick or feeling droopy, she'd be the first one to crawl up next to me and chill out. She was warm and silent, just what I needed.

There's something about the unconditional love of an animal. It's reciprocal and pure. All you need to do is put a roof over their head and feed 'em, then they give you everything they've got in return. Do well for them and they will do infinitely well for you.

Miss you, Dixie.

Tonight, Tonight

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon E. Ennis) — Thu, 02 Oct 2008 23:20:00 +0000

It's less than 2 hours until the first televised execution, er, um, I mean the Vice Presidential debate. Get your popcorn ready!

L&O: SVU Premiere

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon E. Ennis) — Wed, 24 Sep 2008 03:32:00 +0000

Please join me in extending my one year old nephew, Sully, a hearty congrats for writing and directing tonight's season premiere episode of Law & Order: SVU. Granted, I haven't confirmed that he was in any way involved with tonight's show but judging by the storyline, dialogue and tone, I'm pretty sure either he or one of his toddler buddies was at the healm. When you speak to him, try not to let on how much it really sucked. I mean, he is just starting out in the biz.

Dear Chicago Bears

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon E. Ennis) — Sun, 21 Sep 2008 20:48:00 +0000

Fuck you guys and your overtime loss. Next time you want to push and shove each other after a play is whistled dead remember that I have unfertilized eggs in my ovaries with more sportsmanship. I hope you all get a serious spanking, not the good kind either. The prison kind where something is likely to get stuck somewhere REALLY uncomfortable. The kind that places your shrink on speed dial. The kind that makes you cover all the mirrors in your house. The kind where you cry in the shower afterward.

I'm In Thalthes

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon E. Ennis) — Fri, 19 Sep 2008 22:17:00 +0000

In a phrase I'll borrow from Bill Maher, New Rule: You cannot expect to have a rewarding career in sales if you have a speech impediment. Specifically a lisp. No one wants to get trapped on the other end of the phone while they're pitched "thome thuper opportunitieth."

I will begin with the obvious: Lispers are difficult to understand. Trying to decipher what they're saying it like the first 5 minutes of 'Trainspotting.' Right off the bat, you're like, "What the fuck language am I hearing? Where are the subtitles?" It sounds kind of familiar, but good luck making it out clearly. Might as well be speaking Farsi. Consider, too, how many words contain the letter 'S.' By the time a lisper has uttered one sentence, he or she is likely to have T.H.'d--a new verb I just invented--multiple times. For instance, let's break down "for instance." For-in-th-tanth.

Lisps are fucking funny, too. Someone could actually die laughing from listening to a lisper. Theriouthly. A life lost to the giggles, well, that's tho thad. Thruck down by an uncontrollable rethponthe. Once the laughter fades, the lisp effect starts to snowball. What was slightly noticeable in 5 seconds becomes stark ravingly incessant when given an entire minute. The occasional slurred 'S' piles up after a while. Pretty soon it's all you can hear. At that point, I liken it to torture. Thomebody'th gotta thop it or violenth will enthue.

And though this may cement my asshole status for all eternity, I can't trust someone who can't say 'trust.' Think about it: "Trutht me." You've got to be kidding. Now, if I may be excused, I've got some volunteering to do at a speech clinic as penance. Or should I say, "penanthe?"

Last Will, Just In Case

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon E. Ennis) — Fri, 12 Sep 2008 05:45:00 +0000

Against my better instincts, I ended up watching some 9/11 themed programming this year. One of the shows mentioned that more than 80% of the unmarried victims died without wills causing their friends and families additional, albeit unintended, grief. Since I would never want to burden my loved ones (all six of you) in such a manner, let this be my final will and testament.

Belongings: Please fight over my books and music. There isn't much else.

Wealth: I leave all my debt to no one. Whoever I owe money to can eat it.

That should cover it. Peace be with me.

Next Time You Feel Unattractive

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon E. Ennis) — Tue, 19 Aug 2008 01:46:00 +0000

Take a gander at these babes.

My intention is not to be cruel, but rather to empower gals like myself, who's spirits plummet into the dumper when our jeans feel too tight, if we have more than one zit or a bad hair day. Should any of these and other seemingly insurmountable tragedies strike, remember the happy faces of the chicks pictured above, Olympic medalists in women's weightlifting. Imagine telling them whatever's got your panties in a wad. Sing "I Feel Pretty" at the top of your fucking lungs and sack it up. Or they will come to your house and eat you.

Why I Like Women's Beach Volleyball

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon E. Ennis) — Wed, 13 Aug 2008 05:02:00 +0000

The hand signals.

"Olympic Gymnastics Walk In Park," Says Ennis

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon E. Ennis) — Tue, 12 Aug 2008 05:25:00 +0000

I'm sick and tired of watching miniature chicks and dudes somersault a few times in the air while some TV douche bag commentator calls them "magnificent." Whatever. If I trained 8 hours a day 7 days a week since I was 4, ate nothing but carrots, lettuce and kiwi and my government threatened to execute my Mom, I could totally do what they do. Pussies. Like it's some big deal to sacrifice any semblance of a childhood or adolescence for the chance to compete against to the world's most elite athletes. Snooze.

Look at this idiot. I'd rank this still rings skill right up there with algebra and being able to clean a toilet. Try to put it on a resume, pal.

Un-Friend Me!

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon E. Ennis) — Mon, 21 Jul 2008 20:28:00 +0000

I seek the advice of the masses. OK, how about just the counsel of my Mom and whoever else might read this?

Hypothetical situation: I find someone I went to school with on Facebook. I send a friend request which, when approved, grants me access to their profile. Said profile contains loads of useful information, like, how fat this person may/may not have gotten, whether or not they've procreated and their political affiliation, if any. Let's say that this last factoid is alarming, slightly less offensive than baby raping, like not only is this person a Republican, but a proud one. One who wears a t-shirt that falsely proclaims, "Republicans screw better." One who's posted a link on their Facebook page that sends me to a web site where I can get a JOHN MCCAIN LAWN SIGN. What to do? Can one rescind a Facebook friendship? Should I throw myself upon the mercy of other Facebookians and hope that my connection to this Neo-con is viewed with indifference and sympathy, as I might hope a retarded sibling would be?

At this point in my life, the only Republicans that I have to associate with, placate, mmmm suffer gladly, are the ones I'm unfortunately related to, most of whom by marriage. I can't deny DNA! But to allow myself an unmistaken, visible--albeit electronic and all virtual or cyber--association reminds me of the days when I'd still make out with the occasional boy. Ew, gross! And unnecessary.

Why can't this distasteful conservative lifestyle be lived discreetly? Take a lesson from the pre-Stonewall gays and have some shame! I mean, screw better? Are you kidding me? Of course, in all fairness, it would depend on WHO you're screwing. The poor, yes. The disenfranchised, bingo. The environment, hells yeah. Your own grandchildren, indeed. Wait, I just thought about J. Edgar Hoover. OK, you win.

Best Remake Ever: Attack of the Killer Tomatoes

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon E. Ennis) — Tue, 10 Jun 2008 21:16:00 +0000

Oh, for a muse of mother nature that would ascend the brightest heaven of invention! I've been struck by a brilliant idea. Since the source of a recent salmonella outbreak has been linked to certain tomato varieties, I believe it's time for a remake of the cult classic, "Attack of the Killer Tomatoes." This time the tomatoes aren't super-sized gargantuan villains but just regular old tomatoes, yet killers nonetheless. These tomatoes don't even hunt to kill. They just get put on a sandwich or in a sauce and the carnage ensues.

Imagine a horror movie who's most gruesome scenes take place in bathrooms? Although, from what I understand, salmonella manifests instantly, without warning. So the unsuspecting, tomato eating victim in the car on a Nevada two lane highway in sweltering midday sunshine is as out of luck as the Scotsman in the nastiest bathroom on earth (an homage to Trainspotting's incredible toilet oddessey) who thinks he's just experiencing heroin withdrawal. Au contraire my pale, strung-out junkie friend. Remember that all that tomato soup you lived on during your self imposed detoxification? Turns out it was made from tomatoes more dangerous than smack.

I've already scripted a scene where Jamie Lee Curtis eats a six pack of Activia's new V-8 yogurt. Her digestion goes from regular to super premium.

High Society on the Mag Mile

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon E. Ennis) — Wed, 28 May 2008 00:36:00 +0000

I'm sitting in the Starbuck's on Division/Dearborn in Chicago and they're playing "I Love You, Samantha" from 'High Society.' Ah, a latte and a little Cole Porter. It's lovely. How lame does that make me? And do I really care? Super lame and no, I don't.

It's 47 degrees here. I saw people wearing gloves on Michigan Avenue! Pussies. I chose to put my hands in my pockets like a real man. Well, actually, like a real lesbian. For years I have observed that approximately 9 in 10 lesbians always have their hands in their pockets. Trust me. Take it to the stereotype bank.

The Shan's new life officially begins this Sunday as I am move into my apartment. For the first time since Feb., I will have a permanent mailing address and a bed of my own. So long, Oak Lawn! Onward and upward.

PART II

Hours later at Starbucks on Clark/Belmont (hey, I paid $10 for one day of internet access, I'm getting my money's worth) and I am surrounded by a group of about 10 big, black drag queens. I wonder if I could teach them to sing, "I Love You, Samantha."