This was major surgery, the first (and hopefully last) of my life. What I thought was severe heartburn that would pass was in fact pain from gallstones and a nasty infection surrounding my gallbladder. It never dawned on me that I could have a serious medical issue but in hindsight I had experienced similar abdominal discomfort on 4 or 5 occasions over the course of 18 months or so. It typically lasted less than two hours and I would simply lay down and breathe through it. I was naïve and assumed I had a much lower tolerance for pain than I actually do.

I thought I was taking ace care of myself — I was (and am) in the best shape of my life. I hadn’t even had a cold or flu in years and apparently didn’t even remember what it felt like to have a fever. But I did have a fever and an extremely high white blood cell count as my body fought to contain a nasty infection.

I learned a lot over the past two weeks. Here’s how it all played out…

Precursory Attack –> Normality –> Bedridden

I woke up with a start Wednesday morning. It was 4:30 on Halloween and I felt a sharp pain in my gut. A housemate had just recovered from a stomach virus that was highly contagious and I thought… uh oh. I rolled over repeatedly but couldn’t sleep until the pain subsided a couple hours later. I worked from home fearing the symptoms would return, not wanting to get my colleagues sick and laughing at myself for suddenly being all hypochondriatic. It passed.

I went on with my life and returned to the office after a good night’s sleep followed by some networking event, more sleep, Friday work, yoga and drinking with friends. On Saturday we moved our office and then I went to the USC vs. Oregon game (thanks Clint). I got home around 9:30 and watched a movie. But by 11, the pain returned with a vengeance. I couldn’t watch the end of the movie and tossed and turned until I found a position that wasn’t too uncomfortable. I drank a ton of water.

I barely slept Saturday night and Sunday I felt sick and tired enough to not be able pay attention to football on the TV. I just wanted to sleep until the discomfort — whatever it was — passed. I found that I could lay with minimal discomfort on my left side and snoozed in 15-minute increments. I’d rotate from my bed to a couch to the hardwood floor in an effort to stave off the discomfort. My stomach was distended. By Sunday night I couldn’t stand up straight and my housemates asked if I should go the emergency room. “If this continues in the morning I’ll go to urgent care,” I snapped, imagining that nothing could be a worse idea than the ER on a Sunday night. I drank more water. I ate Tums, Pepto Bismol and Pepcid AC. I took a warm bath and washed my face — it would be Wednesday afternoon before I’d bathe again.

I woke Monday at 7 to move my car so it wouldn’t get towed (street cleaning) and found that I could barely walk without pain. My path was laid out before me — it was time to seek help but urgent care didn’t open until 9 so I lay back down and dozed off, searching for the nearest urgent care facilities on my phone. I could lay on my back and feel virtually no discomfort.

Urgent Care

I drove to the nearest walk-in urgent care. Access Medical Group, adjacent to Marina Del Rey Hospital about two miles away, was covered by my “catastrophic” PPO plan and several doctors were listed. I didn’t realize it at the time but in retrospect I was quite feverish. I breathed carefully and slowly, awkwardly and uncomfortably walked from the parking lot to the first door labeled “urgent care.” The doctor, Jonathan Rand, wouldn’t see anyone until 10. I asked the receptionist if any other doctors were available sooner but not feeling up to walking door-to-door I resolved to await my fate w/ Dr. Rand — after all, waiting is to be expected with urgent care. I could slouch in the chair in the waiting room and semi-doze off without feeling much discomfort. Finally, the doctor saw me. I told him my symptoms and suggested that maybe I had some sort of intestinal blockage. After an old-school x-ray revealed “stuff” — what appeared as a light cloudiness — in my intestine he agreed. He’d need to admit me to the hospital and insert a tube down my throat to try to “loosen things up.”

It seemed a most vague and presumptuous diagnosis but at that point I was just happy to begin the process of treatment and healing, whatever that entailed. I felt ready to “enter the system” so to speak. Rand let me lay on the examining table while I waited for a room to open up for me at the hospital. Perfect — just in time to take a 10:30 conference call. I consider myself a lucky motherfucker and this call also came with impeccable timing — a secret project I was working on was postponed and just like that an impending deadline was wiped out. Perfect timing. I asked Rand if I’d have better luck getting admitted to Cedars Sinai or elsewhere and he said that anywhere else I’d need to be admitted via the ER. I asked if I’d be in for a while and he ensured me that I’d be locked up for at least a few days. I started getting skeptical about Rand and his seemingly fatalistic presumptions. I was moved back to the waiting room and finally around noon was told to walk across to Marina Del Rey Hospital and admit myself.

Diagnosis

At this point I still had no idea that I had a fever, not to mention a serious infection attacking my innards. By the time I was leaning on the receptionist desk at Marina Del Rey Hospital I half-expected them to slip a wheelchair under me. But it doesn’t work like that. At least not until you hand over your insurance card and fill out a bunch of paperwork.

It was 12:30 p.m. I sat back down and waited. I called my dear friend Krupali, a radiation oncologist (and occasional hero, for feedback and advice. Cedars was said to be much better with billing and she knew many surgeons there. I said I’d consider relocating if it came to major surgery. A wheelchair came and took me to my room (incidentally, this seemed to be the only wheelchair at MDR Hospital with footrests). I changed into a hospital robe and laid down in the surprisingly comfortable bed. I felt no discomfort or pain laying on my back with my head slightly elevated. A nurse (finally) took my temperature and I was surprised to learn that I had a low-grade fever.

I texted my roommate and coworkers to let them know I had been admitted. My roommate was kind enough to rush over with the my necessities — tablet, charging devices and the New Yorker (thanks Free)! I called my parents and told them I was in the hospital. I gave them a quick recap and promised I’d keep them apprised.

I wasn’t convinced that this bowel obstruction intubation thing was necessary — if it doesn’t do the trick, surgery would be necessary. Why not rule out other diagnoses first? Fortunately, after a couple hours, I was visited by a surgeon. After I told him my symptoms — especially that I had a 1-2 year history of gallstone symptoms, he ordered more tests. Blood was drawn. A nurse unsuccessfully tried to insert an intravenous prick into my left arm and gave up.

As soon as the surgeon explained his rationale I was completely at ease. Whether I had appendicitis or a gallbladder issue, he performed these procedures multiple times weekly and specialized in laparoscopic surgery. Huge relief.

He gave me his card, I texted the details to my parents knowing they’d run it by my uncle, an endocrinologist for due diligence (more or less a Google search). Dr. Daniel R. Marcus was well-qualified. Most importantly I trusted him.

I was sent for a CT scan. The tech administered a sort of enema of dyes meant to illuminate my appendix and intestines for the scan. By this point, nothing really bothered me more than the discomfort and pain I felt from being turned on my side. I was wheeled back to my room and it wasn’t long before I could sense things being expedited. My white blood cell count came in at 27,000 per mcL (normal is between 5-10,000). An ultrasound confirmed the presence of gallstones as well as inflammation and necrosis of the gallbladder. I had a gallbladder infection and required emergency surgery. I returned to the room and a different nurse successfully found a vein for the IV through which fluids, antibiotics and anti-inflammatory medication entered my bloodstream.

Surgery

It was 3 p.m. I had a major health issue but the best treatment for a gallbladder infection is removal. As we learned in seventh grade science class, the gallbladder creates bile to help process fat as food travels from the liver to the intestine. But it’s not a vital organ and in fact, in my case, it seems to be completely unnecessary. Moreover, thanks to the magic of modern technology, laparoscopic surgery, which while common has only been typical since the early 90’s, requires just four micro-incisions, allowing for a quick recovery (recovery for open stomach surgery can last 4-6 weeks). I told my parents I’d be going into surgery. They said they wanted to fly out to be with me. I did not push back. “You need to have an advocate at your side,” my mom said and I knew she was right. I gave Dr. Marcus my mom’s mobile number and asked him to call when I was out of surgery.

I was wheeled into the pre-operating room and signed off on a cholecystectomy. It was 3:30. I was in a total zen state, knowing I had done everything I could and that — should the procedure go as planned — I’d immediately be better. An assistant asked whether I was supposed to get an NG tube as apparently was still indicated on my chart. “No. I believe that’s been updated,” I responded. I joked with the anesthesiologist about liking my cocktails strong. “Then you’ll enjoy,” he said as he administered some anti-nausea drug to the mix.

Warning: infected guts are gross but if you want to see two photos of my gallbladder and its surrounds during surgery click here.

It was 7 o’clock. The first thing I remember asking when I came to was whether or not the laparoscopic technique was successful. I knew enough from witnessing others’ recovers to know how dramatic a difference minimally-invasive surgery made on recovery time. I was relieved. Then, back in my room, I felt a sharp pain in my shoulder — I’d imagine it was a result of my positioning during surgery. They administered a small dose of dilaudid via IV and gave me a pillow to elevate my arm. That was the only pain I felt after surgery (I declined all subsequent intravenous painkillers as I had not gone to the bathroom since Saturday and did not want to further constipate the newly revamped plumbing).

It was a long but overall successful Monday.

Recovery

The nurses on duty checked on me every half hour or so. I slept pretty well between regular status checks (heart rate, temperature). My parents showed up at 10:30 p.m. I was still out of it from the anesthesia but I felt fine. The took the keys to my car and went to a nearby hotel.

At around 5 a.m. the nurse took me for my first walk since surgery. I walked like an old man for the first day or so… with my hands supporting my still distended gut (it had been pumped full of air for the surgery). It was a little uncomfortable using my abdominal muscles to pull myself up but otherwise it felt great to be on my feet, even if it was still difficult to stand up straight.

It was Election Day and for the first time in as long as I can remember I wouldn’t be voting. I ate some of what they called breakfast — it resembled small pancakes and eggs. It felt good to remember what hunger felt like. I was still receiving antibiotics and fluids via IV. I took a few more walks around the hospital wing throughout the day, each longer than the other. My walking was a little labored but not necessarily slowed, My gut felt a little tender and it felt as if my innards were jiggling. I eventually found a way to “sneak outside” and get fresh air via the cafeteria. The patio was meshed in as if it were a penitentiary but I am definitely one to break rules in the name of fresh air.

Another man was moved into my room. I was initially annoyed by this but was fascinated by his story. A commercial airline pilot, he was pulled from his flight from LAX to Mexico City to get his stomachache checked out and next thing he knew he was in my room recovering from an appendectomy. Dr. Marcus loved bragging about his most impactful appendectomy of the year — The L.A. Kings’ Brad Richardson had an emergency appendectomy before Round 1 of the 2012 Stanley Cup playoffs only to recover and return 6 days later and score a crucial goal in the decisive game against the Canucks.

My mind was blown by how incrementally fast my recovery was going. The incisions were so small that there was never any pain and while I was lacking for energy, I found that the walking was really helping me get my strength back.

I didn’t want to spend another night in the hospital but I couldn’t be released until it was certain that I was no longer infected. On Tuesday my white blood cell count had dropped by more than half to 13,000, it seemed I was healing and that the surgery had eradicated the gallbladder and the surrounding infected areas. My dear friend and business partner Kyra visited and it made my day. My parents stuck around as well, helping me get the nurses’ attention since the call button was broken and most of them seemed relatively uninterested to begin with. Dr. Marcus said I’d be discharged by noon the next day.

We watched the election results come in. I took one last walk around the ward with my parents (three laps this time!) and immediately after they left Ohio was called for Obama and another four years was sealed. I stayed up for a while catching up with email and some work but soon drifted off into sleep. It was much harder sleeping with someone else in the room — more nurse interruptions and occasional snoring. I woke up early and watched Obama’s acceptance speech on my Nexus 7 tablet. I texted my parents to enjoy themselves and take their time as the morning rolled on and I awaited a visit from the doctor. Nathan dropped by and visited with us, a definite high point of the week. Blood was drawn early but the doctor didn’t come around until 11 or so with the results and order to get me the hell outta there. My white blood cell count was at 6,000. My temperature was below normal. I felt great and looked forward to going home.

Home

My gut was still so sensitive on the ride home that it felt uncomfortable riding over speed bumps. I knew that this discomfort too would subside almost immediately as my innards settled in a newly aligned formation. It was 2 p.m. Wednesday, we picked up sandwiches and smoothies at Windward Farms and ate in my backyard.

My parents, heroes that they are, picked up groceries and bottled water for me before I got them a cab to the airport. Back in my bed, it almost felt as if I could *feel* my breath reach newly exposed parts of my gut as it would deepen. I napped hard for an hour and woke to take a walk around the neighborhood. I got some work done and went to bed early — I was ecstatic that not only was I feeling better but the issue — the organ! — was eradicated completely. I would never have that painful discomfort again.

Thursday I felt great. Worked from home without a nap and squeezed in a 2-mile walk around the canals. I’m a machine, I thought — it was hard to believe I felt 95 percent as good as new just 3 days after major surgery. Friday I returned to the office and broke up the day by participating on a panel at Silicon Beach Fest. That evening I had my first post-op beers and later saw The Afghan Whigs (thanks Mark)!

I’ve been extremely fired up and grateful since my surgery two weeks ago. I now consider myself back to 110% and can run and everything as I normally could. I’m looking forward to sharing Thanksgiving with my family in Chicago and stuffing my face just like every other year. As for you my friends and, really anyone crazy/bored enough to have read this far, let’s do lunch or drinks soon — on me!

AI is very excited to be participating in Aspen Live this year! Host Jim Lewi has graciously invited us to take over the Saturday programming for what we have dubbed “Aspen Integrated“, where we will be curating conversation around the state of social media as it relates to opportunities/challenges in live entertainment, various sides of the music biz, venues, and more. We shall also enjoy shredding some mountain for three days with friends new and old.

If any winter sports equipment and apparel companies would like a beta test and evangelism of their killer new ski gear, please contact @n8thesk8 ME.

I delivered the following remembrance at the funeral ceremony honoring him at Beth El in Highland Park, his synagogue for more than 50 years.

Zadie was a very special person to all of his grandchildren and great-grandchildren. And growing up it was easy to see that he wasn’t just any ordinary Zadie. His warmth and loyalty affected everyone around him, friends, family, community and strangers.

Emily and I were very lucky to grow up just a mile from Bubbie and Zadie’s house on Brittany Road in Highland Park. We were never too far from Zadie’s playful nature — his infectious smile and that laugh… oh yeah that famous Zadie chuckle. Even when we were limited to playing games of “roll the ball” in the living room with Zadie — that was enough.

When my parents went to Israel in 1979, Emily and I spent an entire 10 days sleeping over at Bubbie and Zadie’s in the room in which our dad and Larry grew up. I’ll never forget waking up to the sound of Zadie davvening and walking down to see him focused in prayer, wearing tefilin. I was only four years old but that moment stuck with me as I grew to understand how integral Judaism was to Zadie’s daily life.

That same morning I also came face to face with another ritual Zadie had – and this one I could relate to immediately. Every morning Zadie had a piece of chocolate cake or something similarly sweet. This was something that even Emily, at two years old could get into. It was an amazing ten days.

In later years, Emily and I would play cards when we’d sleep over –- either gin or Bubbie’s favorite, double solitaire. We’d play into the night and Bubbie would get us worked up competitively while Zadie was happy just to see us having fun.

When I was seven I went to a Cubs game — just me and Bubbie and Zadie. I didn’t want to leave early and so we stayed… until we were kicked out because of darkness after the 17th inning of a 1-1 tie. Yes, Zadie was a patient Cubs fan. And his patience and perseverance would only impress me more over the years, as he cared for Bubbie.

Zadie’s warmth, friendliness and his exceptional ability to listen and make people comfortable in conversation are some of the qualities that influenced me most as I was growing up and inspire me to this day.

He always wanted to know what his eight grandchildren — and now two great-grandchildren — were up to and he would always press us for more details on whatever WE wanted to talk about, however mundane.

He also made it a point to spend quality time with us as we grew up – making annual trips to Boston see Ariel, Josh and Yoni and visiting Ben, Joe and Mira in Hyde Park as often as he could.

He even came to Iowa City for my college graduation and flew out to Durham for Emily’s. After college, Emily and I each remember having regular one-on-one lunches and dinners with him, at one of his favorite spots – either Walker Brothers or Next Door. He’d crack jokes with us and show support for our plans for the future with his infectious optimism.

Looking back, Emily and I realize that many of our close friends were fond of Zadie and we always wanted our best friends to get the chance to know him.

To put it simply – Zadie was the man. In so many ways, Zadie was the patriarch of our family, having passed on so many positive attributes and nuances — spiritually and personally as well as physically — to each generation.

Zadie had an insatiable thirst for knowledge. A decade ago I walked over to the library with Zadie and introduced him to the internet. Zadie picked it up quickly, started communicating with his friends from his hotmail account and browsed the internet regularly.

Zadie will always inspire me for a multitude of reasons: His commitment and loyalty to his beliefs and his community, including this congregation and as a volunteer at the hospital; his warm, gentle spirit and likeable nature; and his values — to honor family and tradition and to never speak ill of others; even his chuckle and laugh and what us grandchildren might call Zadie-speak.

Zadie had a habit of starting sentences with complex adverbs like “incidentally” and “evidently” — a unique detail that we all got a kick out of. One Sunday Ben, Joe and Mira were in Highland Park for brunch with Zadie at Walker Brothers and after Zadie finished an anecdote that evidently was full of “evidently”s, Ben asked, “is ‘evidently’ your favorite word?” Zadie quickly replied: “Evidently… it is” and smiled. And then… that chuckle.

I was a VIP guest of LG at a red carpet Hollywood bash celebrating the Revolution this week. In spite of promo posters featuring raised fists on the walls, this revolution is not a movement — it’s an Android smartphone and a speedy one at that.

To test the LG Revolution I livestreamed videos via the UStream app over the slick Verizon LTE data network.

The party was packed with industry types, well-dressed Hollywood party hoppers and perhaps some marginal celebs. Instead of having a celeb DJ or band this event featured something that I had never seen before — solo instrumentalists playing over music Rock Band style. At one point a violinist accompanied “Sweet Child o’ Mine,” a drummer played over a stripped down version of another song and as seen above, a guitarist played (and emoted) the “Don’t Stop Believin'” solo.

Good times! The revolution is now…

Disclaimer: I was provided with an LG Revolution and a few tasty tequila bevvies for the purpose of this post.

Originally posted at LAist on June 22, 2011. Photos by Jeremiah Garcia for KCRW.

In the middle of a tour that included a show before tens of thousands of fans at Bonnaroo, My Morning Jacket set one night aside to give back to KCRW. Toward the end of the set, frontman Jim James noted how lucky both the crowd and the band were to have a station like KCRW, which continues to break new bands at a time when most indie and alternative radio stations have vanished from the airwaves.

And the 250 people in the crowd, some of whom won tickets from the station and others who purchased $125 tickets (all proceeds benefitting KCRW, the Santa Monica-based NPR-affiliated public radio station) knew they were lucky to be there too.

My Morning Jacket performed 15 songs in a nearly two-hour set on the soundstage at the famed Village Recorder studios, site of historic recording sessions including The Rolling Stones’ “Angie” and Sly and the Family Stone’s “There’s a Riot Goin’ On.” The sound was fantastic, and MMJ delivered its dynamic sound without a hitch in a stripped-down stage setup, devoid of the mesmerizing backdrop and halo of lights present at other shows on the band’s current tour.

The renovated performance space was adorned with chandeliers that were used in “A Miracle on 34th Street” a fact that James pointed out more than once, though it was difficult to make out his mumbling from the crowd, many of whom were buzzing on complimentary beer, wine and bourbon.

The Village (also known as Village Studios or Village Recorder) itself was a veritable museum: the walls lined with gold and platinum records from the likes of Bob Dylan, Supertramp and Pink Floyd. Originally built as a Masonic temple in the 1920s, it was Maharishi Mahesh Yogi’s Los Angeles center for Transcendental Meditation in the ’60’s. It’s still an active recording studio for musicians as well as movie and television soundtracks.

My Morning Jacket’s set at The Village was recorded and will be broadcast on KCRW’s Morning Becomes Eclectic on July 15th.

My Morning Jacket performs tonight at Pantages Theater in Hollywood. The show is sold out. MMJ has a history of partnering with charities and donating $1 per ticket to a local charity. The Pantages show benefits My Friend’s Place.

SETLIST:
My Morning Jacket at The Village Studios, West L.A., June 21, 2011

Victory Dance
Circuital
The Day is Coming
Wonderful (The Way I Feel)
Outta My System
Holdin’ on to Black Metal
First Light
You Wanna Freak Out
Slow Slow Tune
Movin’ Away
Wordless Chorus
Smokin” From Shootin”
Touch Me I’m Going to Scream Pt.2
One Big Holiday
I Will Sing

• Mix 4 ounces of coarsely ground beans (I prefer a mild Ethiopian blend)
• With 3-4 cups of water
• Let sit overnight at room temperature in french press
• Fully depress plunger after at least 12 hours
• Fill a glass 1/4 with the coffee and the rest with water.
• Add a couple cubes of ice
• Keep remaining coffee in fridge
• Enjoy. Repeat.

FWIW: The local Intelligentsia cold brews its iced coffee in a big batch: 8 pounds of coffee for every 6 gallons of water.

[See image gallery at andysternberg.com]
Click here to view Google I/O photo gallery on flickr.

“Welcome to Googlepalooza,” joked Perry Farrell, constantly making fun of the mostly male and very geeky crowd. “I don’t know what we got paid here – we did it just because, right?”

Attention-starved real estate tycoon and reality television superstar Donald Trump is going to run for president in 2012, according to the media.

Visibly embarrassed after being shamed by The President, The Donald, and The Public at large after seeing the clamp come down on a far-right fringe group called The Birthers, the media establishment gladly passed the mic off to Trump on Wednesday.

“I am so proud of myself because I’ve accomplished something that nobody else has been able to accomplish,” an elated Trump said to a crowd of people cheering, no doubt in anticipation that the billionaire would hand out a thousand-dollar bill with every handshake.

And with that, the 64-year-old businessman who has erected major skyscrapers bearing his name in the majorest of cities became the frontrunning candidate to win the 2012 Republican Presidential primary.

Many media outlets reported that The Birthers stated an intent to scrutinize the document but failed to reference the group’s conclusion as posted on birthers.org Wednesday: “…[f]orgery or not, now we can debate the true meaning of a natural born citizen.” Whatever that means.
In today’s media climate, when even the New York Times mistakes an Onion parody cover of Teen Beat featuring President Obama as the real thing, we’re calling on Donald Trump to fill the L.A. River aqueducts with naturally flowing spring water, fund the salaries of laid-off LAUSD teachers and while he’s at it, to find life on Mars.

Perhaps I’m asking too much. “Obama Castigates Media for Helping to Propagate Racist Myth of His Un-Americanness” is clearly a pathetic, boring headline with poor grammar. There are only so many David Folkenfliks out there to do it right. But these actual headlines are far more hilarious, however fantastical:

• Why Quash the Birthers Now? – NPR, 4/27
• Could Donald Trump win the Republican presidential nomination? – WSJ Question of the Day, 4/28
• Can Trump become more than a ‘birther’ candidate? – Washington Post, 4/28
• Only one news site seemed to catch the “big” surprise on the birth certificate (Obama’s mother’s name is transversed to make her first name “Stanley,” middle name “Ann”) – Philly.com, 4/28
• Donald Trump For President, Says Joey Lawrence Of ‘Blossom’ – HuffPo, 4/28
• Donald Trump offered to take over BP oil spill operation – NOLA.com, 4/27
• Some blacks see racism in ‘birther’ questions – AP, 4/28
• Trump’s NBC colleague Lawrence O’Donnell called The Donald’s behavior an embarrassment to the network – MSNBC, 4/27
• On Twitter and elsewhere, an August 2009 headline from The Onion was reprised: “Afterbirthers Demand To See Obama’s Placenta.”

Thing is, Trump, who hasn’t voted in a primary election in 21 years, doesn’t need to run for president — he already gets more time to say whatever he wants on network TV than all past presidents combined. And do you really think The Donald’s willing to deal with “equal time?!?” Besides, when you’re a multi-billionaire with global influence it doesn’t matter who is president. You’re still rich as sin. Just ask Mike Bloomberg.

Trump, currently a registered Republican, has donated $2.5 million to various political campaigns over the years, according to a Washington Post report. Of those contributions, 54 percent were to Democratic party candidates.

Clearly what’s most important to Trump is his current reality series, Celebrity Apprentice, now going into the final three weeks of its season. There’s nothing Trump wants more than be at the top of NBC’s ratings — especially this week, going up against the final episode of The Office. Even if Trump’s show is stale and the characters are boring, the only thing that matters is what he says about himself on the show (“Trump Mulls Announcement on ‘Apprentice’ – New York Times, April 14). And now he’s got Meatloaf stumping for him.

Donald Trump is a darn clever man, a solid television personality, and a rich rich businessman. I envy him for that and can’t match him there. But if he’s a “possible Republican presidential candidate” like they keep saying on the news…. well then so am I.

This post was syndicated from LAist.com, where I am Associate Editor. A direct link to my LAist.com post index is at the top of my blog. The original post was published on April 28, 2011 at 1:15 p.m.

Obama Birth Certificate Shirt by netzoo
View more Barack obama T-Shirts

Be proud to be an American… and to have an American president!

VIDEO: The African-American president — fathered by an actual African — speaks out on the issue:

Tina Fey and Steve Martin yuck it up at a “Live Talks Los Angeles” conversation at Nokia Theatre Tuesday night. (AP Photo/Chris Pizzello)

Nokia Theatre was packed Tuesday night for a one-off chat and Q&A at which Steve Martin and Tina Fey expanded on highlights from her new book “Bossypants.” What was billed as a summit of two comic writers with recently released books was more of a casual three-way love fest between Martin, Fey and the audience, which laughed and applauded with near-absurd frequency.

Carolyn Kellogg’s in-depth review at Jacket Copy gets into detail:

Fey took the stage in a black dress that revealed her baby bump and high leopard-patterned heels. Martin asked if she was pregnant. “I’ve been told,” Fey answered, smoothing her hand over her belly, “that this is a hysterical pregnancy that comes from a desperate need to sell books.”

“Do the breasts go down?” Martin asked.

“I hope not,” Fey replied.

Later Fey would show off an ultrasound to Conan O’Brien (see video below). The discussion stuck to details disclosed in the book, many of which were previewed in a series of columns/excerpts Fey recently published in The New Yorker.

Martin, while hilarious, served as a very good interviewer, taking the audience on a sort of inquisition into Fey’s career from childhood in Philly, to Second City in Chicago, the fast rise to head writer at SNL, and 30 Rock.

What’s Fey trying to say with her book cover — a typical, glamor-mag-like Photoshopped headshot of the author, offset by a pair of hairy man-arms?

“It’s a confusing line that woman have to walk because you want to look good enough that they let you to stay in show business, but you don’t want to become carried away. I don’t really care, truly that much, about being ‘fancy.'”

The well-executed audience Q&A took on a very L.A. bend, with one attendee asking for advice for an aspiring comic writer. “Just get out there and do it as often as you can,” offered Martin. “Make work,” concurred Fey.

Another audience member inquired about Fey’s shoes. “It’s interesting that you ask,” interrupted Martin, segueing into a fantastical story about his supposedly 35-year-old pair of loafers.

The event was part of the Live Talks Los Angeles series, co-produced by KPCC and KCET.

This post was syndicated from LAist.com, where I am Associate Editor. A direct link to my LAist.com post index is at the top of my blog. This post was originally published here on April 21, 2011 at 10:40 a.m.