Saturday, Nov. 01, 2003 | 9:04 PM

Good golly svengali�two entries in one Saturday? Yes, it�s true. More bang for your weekend buck, iddy biddy kiddies. I have the apartment all to myself and I�ve done tons of scene work for acting class and made my phone calls and painted my nails and drank my herbal tea and paid homage to our lord Jesus Christ who has been haunting the apartment as a good little ghostie should on Halloween�gotta love old Jesus�he never shirks, man. When the other ghosts are out getting sloshed on PBR or looking under the skirts of the bridge and tunnel set on the way home from Manhattan�s Swankiest New Night Club�, Jesus is always right there doing his prescribed duty. Today he made plates fly around my kitchen, and he recited the lord�s prayer in pig Latin while I was in the bathroom. Gotta love the little bugger. Yes, you gotta love him. Or else God will smite you, or so I�ve been told.

In other news, I also did some laundry and listened to music (X-ray Spex, The Beatles, They Might Be Giants, the original Broadway soundtrack to Cabaret, and Mahler�s symphony number 4) and now I�m settling in again to get all warm and fuzzy by the light of the old computer to bring you super sonic surge-o-rific new and improved brain farts. I mean, I�d give you real farts, but they don�t translate so well over the ole� Internet, know what I mean? You can�t hear them or smell them and me telling you about them doesn�t really do them any justice. Farts, like theater, must be seen and experienced up close and first hand in front of a live studio audience. Whereas words, far less powerful, can be dealt with by proxy.

And in other other news, I got my hair cut today at a fancy schmancy salon. I needed the best (my dwindling supply of) money could buy because I was going after a drastic change and didn�t want to take any chances. Forty friggin dollars (plus a $10 tip) and ladies and gents, it was worth every goddamned dime. My hair is so fabulous that if I built a time machine and went back to the 80�s, I would soooooo sock the living snot out of Kelly LeBrock for the role in that Pantene Commercial (Don�t hate me because I�m beautiful� hate me because I have a pointy face and a fakey English accent and I�m married to Steven Segal�)

My hair is now just below chin length and layered. It�s got swing and sass and all that other eye candy crap Madison avenue dangles before our greedy little wallets . And to cap it off, about five minutes after I walked outta the salon, I actually got hit upon. My response? With a swing of my lascivious new locks, No, I�ve got too many lovers already. I�ve actually gotten to the point where I can say the shit in any given situation I�d usually think up seven hours after the fact, while spooning cookie dough into my lipstick smeared mouth and involuntarily crying at the Drew Barrymore E True Hollywood Story. Not that I�d ever do that�Drew Barrymore doesn�t deserve my tears. Anna Nicole Smith however�

Damn I look sexy. And there�s no one around to appreciate it. Isn�t that always the way? Angus is in New Hampshire. David Cross is in New York and blissfully unaware of my undying lust and devotion to him and his sexy thick glasses. Ivy is in Chicago. Dude, that girl goes EVERYWHERE. Every friggin other week she�s off to some exotic new place serving the call of her art. She�s one hell of a great photographer. Someday she�ll be a legend, mark my words�but with pencil, if you please. I don�t want grubby magic marker blemishes on those words because I�ll probably need to use them again and I don�t want them all stained and mismatched and getting made fun of by all the other clean white pristine phrases within the next sentence they find themselves.

So on the walk home from the hair place today I was thinking about trick or treating. You know who needs to die? Those people who don�t give out candy. Those people who get on their friggin Assy McAss high horse and dole out miniature boxes of raisins, pennies wrapped in tin foil, or worst of all tooth brushes. I mean for fuck�s sake�it�s a holiday. What kind of self righteous dolt actually thinks that Halloween is just the right moment to make the world�s most irrelevant point?

I can see the cookie cutter somvabitch now, sitting at his antique writing desk and wearing a scarf because he has the heat turned down to fifty-five (Saves energy!) plotting his strategy to drain the smiles from the happy little faces of pudgy ghosts and goblins.

By george, I�ve got it! If I refuse to be part of this insidious plot to erode the pearly whites of our great country�s future, I�ll be able to look at myself in the mirror without flinching! If I can melt the candy coated heart of just one of those little tykes, and point him (or her, of course�they aren�t all hims, good heavens!) towards the true path of optimal dental health, well I betcha Saint Peter will forget about those hookers I banged in Vegas last week, and that three year old I molested in the stacks Monday. Martha! Fire up the old Model T! We�re heading to Walmart, and we won�t leave until our cart runneth over with Crest Whitening Gel!

You know what else is totally gay? That whole paranoid nonsense about all trick or treat transactions needing to be wrapped on factory assembly lines, and that before ingesting your bootie, you have to sit at the fucking dining room table with Mommy and Pops and pick through all the goodies in your bag to make sure there aren�t any razor blades or steak knives or viles of poison concealed in the teeny tiny toonie throng of Mars Bars and Miniature Raisinets. I mean firstly, can anyone point to a single instance where somebody actually bit into a candy apple and started bleeding because Mrs. Jones across the street somehow managed to hide her Lady Bic beneath the succulent sticky skin of God�s forbidden fruit? I mean has this EVER happened to anyone? No. I think this all started with the Tylenol scare. Remember that? Back in the glory days of Atari and feathered hair a couple people were poisoned by tampered with pain reliever caplets and for some fallacious reason, Halloween was forever ruined. Prior to that unfortunate public relations snafu, I remember collecting homemade cookies with blue icing and just out of the oven fudge squares. Not anymore. Now, it's all the same fucking dollar sale Fun Sized generic candy bars. It�s a sham and an offense against God.

And fairies too. And we all know how offended fairies get.