Erotic tangerines.

Related: One heart, filled with spirit. We feel it. We share it.

I’m not on one from work, but I need one from the blog so I can get taxes, shows, book proposals and stacks of mail all tied up in one neat little bow. It sucks too because I am being so hilarious right now with nowhere to publish it. Life is full of tragedies like that all the time! I’ll post occasionally for sure and definitely come out to The Telephone Bar on Thursday night for standup because that’s when it all comes together but until oh mid-February say, know that I’m off getting a suntan at Premise Beach.

Poodle in a Santa suit

When I was home in San Diego for Christmas, I said to my mother, “Let’s go see a movie.” And she said, “But I have Shady with me.”

Shady is her poodle.

And I said, “That’s okay, we’ll sneak her in.” Then I tried to fit Shady into a Container Store bag which was really the start of about three hours of nonstop, action-packed, rising in crescendo until you just can’t breathe anymore hilarity. The poodle disliked the bag.

We decided that we would carry the poodle in boldly as if the poodle belonged in AMC Cinemas as much as babies belong in rose petals and infants belong in pirate suits. Our first lucky break came in how charming I am. Our second lucky break came in seeing that the guy who was collecting tickets was in a wheelchair. “The guy collecting tickets is in a wheelchair!” I exclaimed. The poodle let out a little yelp of joy. My mom was pretty stoked. We walked past him, tickets to the left of us, poodle to the right, here I am, stuck in the middle with Scooter. The guy looked up at us, ripped our stubs, and smiled. If this were a scene from “Rent” we’d all be singing, “No day but today,” and the poodle would be acting sad about heroin.

We strolled inside purposefully, such a nice theater, all the amenities, yes, yes, yes, water fountains, everything’s in order, very good, very nice, except less Sacha Baron Cohen-like. We walked to the designated theater. We considered seats. We found suitable ones. I got popcorn. I got a big Coke. My mom held Shady. The movie started. Then it went on for three hours. During this time I don’t think I have laughed my ass off quite so hard while trying to remain silent as the suspense of this kind of terrible movie was heightened to such a degree where you practically couldn’t stand it anymore wondering if the Cubans were going to catch on to the CIA and some boats in a jar or something and a neglectful father and Skull & Bones pulling their little tricks all the while knowing that at any given moment this poodle might let out a low-pitched mewl of excitement.

You just prayed it would not happen during a boat scene.

At one point Shady was crawling all over me poking her head up trying to figure out what purpose Angelina Jolie served in this movie but also enjoying her exquisite breasts and I kept feeding Shady popcorn and my mom sat near tears in hysterics whispering urgently, “She’s going to throw up if she keeps eating popcorn,” and I sat near tears in hysterics whispering back, “I know.” And the funniest part, oh my God the funniest part, was how every time someone died or a tense, tight-lipped wordless confrontation was had or a diabetic limb of De Niro’s fell off and you thought to yourself, sweet Jesus, it’s been way past two hours surely Matt Damon is going to look meaningfully at some boats or ignore his son one last time or disinterestedly do something before finally fading…to…black.

But no. Not this movie. Not this movie, bro.

You had to admire the balls of this movie that did not end. I don’t think I liked it. I don’t think I was quite smart enough for it but that also happened to me when I read “The Crying of Lot 49″ twice and I was told not getting it is part of the brilliance so I guess this was brilliant, too, and big ups on the wooden boats. Those really got to me. But let us get to the real point of all this. Let us look at the larger picture. Because yes, undeniably, when looking at recent cinematic triumphs, “Borat” is a treasure, the scrote in the face scene is definitely one to be remembered for all posterity. An OMG I’m LOLing moment to beat. Kind of like the fat guy’s balls.

But I think this is bigger than that. It is bigger than all of us.

Because when everything is said and done, when each point and counterpoint has been made, when all the votes have been tallied, I truly believe there is no better comedy to be seen in a theater this year than “The Good Shepherd” with a poodle in your lap.

No day but today.

Thanks for reading “A word about the poodle.” In this message I’d like to tell you about my mother’s poodle, but more than that I’d like to tell you about a new way of seeing movies. I consider it an exciting new technology for turning crap films into completely mind-blowing cinematic experiences.

You see, my mother has a poodle named Shady, and Shady is a poodle that has several sweaters and outfits. I have to say, I am not a poodle fan. I am writing this as someone who is not a fan of poodles. But that was then. That was before the mind-blowing new technology discovery. I would now like to tell you what made me into a fan of poodles. When I was home in San Diego for Christmas, I said to my mother, “Let’s go see a movie.” And she said, “But I have Shady with me.” And I said, “That’s okay, we’ll sneak her in.” And she said, “I guess I did that once before.” And I said, “Good let’s do it again.” Then I tried to fit Shady into a Container Store bag which was really the start of about three hours of nonstop, action-packed, rising in crescendo until you just can’t breathe anymore hilarity. The poodle disliked the bag.

We decided that we would carry the poodle in boldly as if the poodle belonged in AMC Cinemas as much as babies belong in rose petals and infants belong in pirate suits. Our first lucky break came in how charming I am. Our second lucky break came in seeing that the guy who was collecting tickets was in a wheelchair. “The guy collecting tickets is in a wheelchair!” I exclaimed. The poodle let out a little yelp of joy. My mom was pretty stoked. We walked past him, tickets to the left of us, poodle to the right, here I am, stuck in the middle with Scooter. The guy looked up at us, ripped our stubs, and smiled. If this were a scene from “Rent” we’d all be singing, “No day but today,” and the poodle would be acting sad about heroin.

We strolled inside purposefully, such a nice theater, all the amenities, yes, yes, yes, water fountains, everything’s in order, very good, very nice, except less Sacha Baron Cohen-like. We walked to the designated theater. We considered seats. We found suitable ones. I got popcorn. I got a big Coke. My mom held Shady. The movie started. Then it went on for three hours. During this time I don’t think I have laughed my ass off quite so hard while trying to remain silent as the suspense of this kind of shitty movie was heightened to such a degree where you practically couldn’t stand it anymore wondering if the Cubans were going to catch on to the CIA and some boats in a jar or something and a neglectful father and Skull & Bones pulling their little tricks all the while knowing that at any given moment this poodle might let out a low-pitched mewl of excitement.

You just prayed it would not happen during a boat scene.

At one point Shady was crawling all over me poking her head up trying to figure out what purpose Angelina Jolie served in this movie but also enjoying her exquisite breasts and I kept feeding Shady popcorn and my mom sat near tears in hysterics whispering urgently, “She’s going to throw up if she keeps eating popcorn,” and I sat near tears in hysterics whispering back, “I know.” And the funniest part, oh my God the funniest part, was how every time someone died or a tense, tight-lipped wordless confrontation was had or a diabetic limb of De Niro’s fell off and you thought to yourself, sweet Jesus, it’s been way past two hours surely Matt Damon is going to look meaningfully at some boats or ignore his son one last time or disinterestedly do something before finally fading…to…black.

But no. Not this movie. Not this movie, bro.

You had to admire the balls of this movie that did not end. I don’t think I liked it. I don’t think I was quite smart enough for it but that also happened to me when I read “The Crying of Lot 49″ twice and I was told not getting it is part of the brilliance so I guess this was brilliant, too, and big ups on the wooden boats. Those really got to me. But let us get to the real point of all this. Let us look at the larger picture. Because yes, undeniably, when looking at recent cinematic triumphs, “Borat” is a treasure, the scrote in the face scene is definitely one to be remembered for all posterity. An OMG I’m LOLing moment to beat. Kind of like the fat guy’s balls.

But I think this is bigger than that. It is bigger than all of us.

Because when everything is said and done, when each point and counterpoint has been made, when all the votes have been tallied, I truly believe there is no better comedy to be seen in a theater this year than “The Good Shepherd” with a poodle in your lap.

No day but today.

Thanks. Congratulations.

California dreaming

‘THAT’S funny,” Jamie Foxx says, when asked if he felt upstaged by Eddie Murphy’s Golden Globe-winning performance in “Dreamgirls.” “Because I haven’t heard anybody ask Leonardo DiCaprio if he thought that Jack Nicholson upstaged him [in "The Departed"], and this is the only movie that I’ve heard these types of comments.

“I’ve heard comments that Jennifer Hudson upstaged Beyonce – did Beyonce feel upset? And I was like, ‘Wow – it’s a play.‘”

Art school confidential

APPEARING at a public event for the first time together since last year’s “JT Leroy” literary scandal, Laura Albert – who wrote the books – and Savannah Knoop – who played the nonexistent author “Leroy” in public – said they don’t understand why people want them to apologize. The two came out to attend the opening-night reception for multimedia artist Robert Wilson’s new high-def video portraits at the Phillips de Pury gallery in Chelsea. Wilson did a video portrait of “Leroy” in 2005 just as the hoax started to unravel. In the video, Knoop sports the blonde wig and sunglasses that became the trademark of the young “male” author who had a throng of celebrity admirers. “For me, JT was never a hoax,” Albert told The Post’s Mandy Stadtmiller. “And people say, ‘Well, why don’t you apologize.’ What for? Because you bought a book? Because you were moved by the words?” Knoop said, “Vanity Fair wanted to do a big piece . . . about the hoax, and it isn’t a hoax. I don’t think you can use that word to explain something so sublime.” Albert said, “I would feel JT leave my body and enter her [Knoop] . . . People responded with great love and great joy. We never sat there and said, ‘Ha, ha, we’re tricking people.‘ “