Danny DeVito By Frank Lovece | Special to Newsday October 14, 2007 He plays the rich, cheerfully reprobate Frank Reynolds on the anti-"Friends" bar comedy "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia" (FX, Thursdays). But, really, it's always Danny in Hollywood. As an actor, Danny DeVito, 62, went from playing that devil-of-a-dispatcher Louie De Palma in the legendary ensemble cast of "Taxi" (ABC/NBC 1978-83) — alongside the likes of Judd Hirsch, Andy Kaufman, Tony Danza, Christopher Lloyd and Marilu Henner — to starring in big-screen hits like "Ruthless People," "Tin Men" and "Twins." He became a feature director with "Throw Momma From the Train" (1987), "The War of the Roses" (1989) and other movies, and added producer to his resume with Jersey Films and Jersey Television ("Pulp Fiction," "Erin Brockovich," the "Reno: 911!" franchise). Married to quadruple-Emmy winner Rhea Perlman (TV's "Cheers"), DeVito, relaxing at the FX offices in Manhattan recently, pulled together two conference chairs to form a makeshift chaise lounge and speak with Frank Lovece, author of "Hailing Taxi: The Official Book of the Show." You're an Emmy- and Golden Globe-winning actor from one of TV's most acclaimed series, "Taxi." You've been a major movie star/director/producer. So ... Why am I doing a television comedy? I was gonna say ... I have so much fun being around (co-stars Charlie Day, Glenn Howerton and Kaitlin Olson, and series-creator co-star Rob McElhenney). Y'know, they're fresh and inventive, and they go with stuff. There's a thing that happens with writers where people get an idea, and they explore it for a minute, and then they may toss it aside. These guys get an idea, and then they go with it and go with it until they find something in there that's scathing. It's very similar to the way "I Love Lucy" was. ... Wait. You're comparing "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia" to "I Love Lucy"? It's similar in that the characters are always trying to get over on someone. Lucy always had a scheme. This is like they're always trying to do some giant task that seems so unattainable, like figuring out how to beat welfare or pretending to be a cripple. Y'know, what I am is a character actor, and I look for really good situations to be in and really great characters to play. That's what I do. At this point in my life, I'm still playing fun things in the movies and producing a lot, but the thing is, when you get out on the stage and you find a character you really like, like Frank Reynolds — I'm having a ball! Every once in a while something comes along that's a gift, and you have to recognize it and embrace it. How did the producers of this famously low-budget show — I've read the pilot was shot on a home camcorder for under $200 — come to say, "Let's get Danny DeVito to star with our four unknowns!" Talented unknowns, let me say, but unknowns. John Landgraf, who's now the head of FX, the big cheese over there, he recognized the show as being a one-of-a-kind, unique show that a demographic of certain-age people would really relish. He and I had worked together at Jersey Television [when DeVito and partners had hired Landgraf as president in 1999]. When "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia" was just beginning, he said to me, "Danny, you and Rhea and the kids might really enjoy this." Long story short, we did love it, and less than a year later, he said they wanted to add a character and would I be interested? I said if they could come up with something that's not just tacked on. And they came up with Frank Reynolds. They brought me in in a way that fits into my life at this moment. And the changeup feels great. It's like if you're always dealing with the studios and trying to get these big-budget movies made — well, maybe not so big-budget but semi-big-budget — and you're always trying to finagle that avenue, get somebody to greenlight your movie, then something like this, it's simple, it's fun, they pay me very well, and you're staying on top of the new things. So I hear you've just come out with your own brand of limoncello. Yeah, after drinking one too many before I did "The View." I wasn't going to mention your showing up there ... Tipsy. Q. Tipsy. (rethinking it) Hung over. I would say hung over. Let me tell you about [drinking partner George] Clooney (cackles). He's not above taking you out for drinks, daring you to keep up and dumping his shots into a plant when you're not looking!

Frank Oz By Frank Lovece | Special to Newsday August 5, 2007 Filmmaker and onetime Muppet-master Frank Oz wants everyone to know that his new comedy, "Death at a Funeral," is rated R. So was "The Score" (2001), his most recent film other than the PG-13 misfire "The Stepford Wives" (2004), so it's odd that he tells you this twice. But, hey, this is Cookie Monster! Miss Piggy! Grover! Bert! YODA!! He helped get you, me and our kids through childhood - and someday their kids, too. If he wants us to tell people about the rating, well, what can we say but, "Rated R this new film is." Oz wouldn't smile at that, nor at much of anything. Unlike his late mentor, the jovial Jim Henson, he's strictly business. And puppeteering, it turns out, was the family business. Oz, ne Oznowicz, was born in Hereford, England, raised in Belgium from age 6 months, and then brought with his immigrant family to Montana when he was 5 years old. Dad Isidore "Mike" Oznowicz later relocated the clan to Oakland, Calif., to pursue his trade as a window dresser and his life's calling as a puppeteer - forming the Oznowicz Family Marionettes and becoming, well, the Yoda of Bay Area puppetry. Oz was in high school when he met Henson at a puppeteer convention in 1960, and began working for him two years later. Oz made his TV debut working the right hand of Rowlf, the piano-playing Muppet dog, on "The Jimmy Dean Show." Oz himself would become Henson's right hand for decades of commercials, specials, "Sesame Street," "The Muppet Show" and movies before mostly quitting puppetry and vocal work in 2000. What about Yoda in the upcoming "Star Wars: The Clone Wars" TV series? Forget what it says on the Internet Movie Database, Oz tells you, it ain't him. The man is a movie director, starting with "The Dark Crystal" (1982) and proceeding through hits including "Little Shop of Horrors" (1986), "Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" (1988), "What About Bob?" (1991), "In & Out" (1997) and "Bowfinger" (1999). Over oatmeal at a Manhattan diner, Oz, 63, spoke with frequent Newsday contributor Frank Lovece. "Death at a Funeral" is this wry, sophisticated, British drawing-room comedy, except for one really disgusting gross-out scene involving ... Please don't write about what that is. That'll give things away. Try not to. OK. We'll just say "a very gross gag." It's not that gross! If it was more than that, it'd be gross. But it's honest to the scene. I usually like restraint in comedy. I like to hold back. It was much, much grosser . Much grosser. And I toned it way down. I actually saw two people walk out of a preview screening when it came on. Two people walked out - that's good. I like that. I'm glad to hear that. Why? Because I like being a bit subversive. I don't try to please everybody. I don't like pleasing everybody. And ironically, you've performed some of the world's most popular characters. But I'm not directing them. Directing and performing are two different things. And this is an R-rated movie, so I don't care. I couldn't care less. What happened with "The Stepford Wives"? I didn't listen to myself. Who were you listening to? With a movie that expensive, I start listening to a lot of people all around me, producers, other people ... and I think, "Gosh, he's paying so much money I really should listen to him." And for the first time I listened too much and I didn't listen to my instincts. It was my fault completely. And I love many, many things about "The Stepford Wives," but it takes more than that, it takes governing thought. Governing thought? I hate to use the word "vision," but it's a synonym for vision. The v-word is often used in an artsy-fartsy manner, so I sometimes use "governing thought." So ... Bert and Ernie - alternative lifestyle? Well, that's an old saw, an old question, it's kinda boring right now. I dunno - y'know? You've said it took years to develop Bert as a character. How so? Characters don't happen in a day. Even Yoda. The feeling I got off the bat, but the character I had to work on for a long time. I wasn't comfortable with Bert the first year because he was kinda boring - and then I realized that'll be his strength. Once I realized I'm doing a character who's boring, we had fun. It was a good contrast with Jim [as Ernie], too. I remember "The L Song," where Ernie is singing all these lovely, lilting L words, and Bert finally thinks he's got it, and he's proud of what he's come up with, and sings, "La, la, la ... LINOLEUM!" That was it, the perfect boring L word! Well, that's the writers. Yeah, but you delivered it! And Ernie was so patient with Bert, singing, "No, Bert, listen to meeeee/L is such a lovely letter /In words like licorice/ and lace/The letter L lights up your face/So why not la-la-la-la-laa with meee!" (Oz is stone-faced, not quite knowing what to say.) Ahhh ... so, people don't come up to you and do "Sesame Street" songs? Hell, no! Do people ever come up to you and do Yoda? Once in a great while. It stops very fast.

Alan Alda By Frank Lovece | Special to Newsday August 19, 2007 It's hard to imagine, given how current the 1970s TV dramedy "M*A*S*H" remains, but Alan Alda has been a popular and respected actor for nearly 50 years. A half-century! From his earliest TV work on "The Phil Silvers Show," aka "Sgt. Bilko," through multiple Emmys for writing, directing and acting in "M*A*S*H" (and another for acting on "The West Wing"); and through such movies as "The Four Seasons," "Crimes and Misdemeanors," "The Aviator," for which he was Oscar-nominated as supporting actor, and "Resurrecting the Champ," opening Friday, Alda has secured his place as one of the world's most beloved performers. The son of the late actor Robert Alda and former Miss New York Joan Brown, Alda, 71, recently relaxed in a midtown Manhattan hotel to speak with Newsday contributor Frank Lovece about the new movie, old acquaintances and mashed potatoes. In "Resurrecting the Champ," you play a newspaper sports editor who's the boss of the main character, a sportswriter played by Josh Hartnett. Did you research the role with a real sports editor? I asked some friends what it was like to be an editor at all, because I have friends who have been journalists for many years, and they gave me some tips. And Rod Lurie, the director, was a journalist back in the '80s. So he was really tuned into that. As a journalist, did [the character] seem familiar? He seemed like a smart, honest, straightforward editor. And you've worked with editors yourself - you have your second book coming out. I think that's really important, that function of an editor, to be a good mirror, a good responder. And I welcome it. I think, too ... it helps you be more ... helps you, umm ... Find the right words? (Chuckles) Helps you be more creative. Because you don't put a check on yourself quite as much if you know there's somebody who can objectively say you're going in the wrong direction. I had a different editor on each of the books. Neither one said much. And that's valuable, too, sometimes, because then you really listen to what they do say. I've read that you once considered a run for a U.S. Senate nomination? It's the considering part that's not true. I never considered it for a minute. When I was on "M*A*S*H," a couple of times political clubs came to me - both of them from New Jersey, where I lived - and tried to convince me to run for the Senate. And I wasn't at all interested. I told them so right away. I didn't say come back tomorrow while I think about it! I told them right then. And their answer was, "But you can win!" As if that's the qualification. We had a New York senator named Alfonse D'Amato. And your birth name is Alphonso D'Abruzzo. Do you think if you had run that people would have mixed you guys up? (Laughs) I don't think so! Although apparently he did a very good job with potholes. I've always admired anybody who can fill in potholes. Well, he lives on Long Island, so maybe he'll read this. Oh, good! Do you know all your readers' names? Did you really almost turn down "M*A*S*H"? I don't know that I almost turned it down. I wanted to make sure that we all agreed on what the point of view was, what it would be like. If all they wanted to do was "McHale's Navy," I didn't think I wanted to do it. At that point you'd done several movies and TV movies. Were you at a crossroads, between wanting to be primarily a TV or a movie actor? I always wanted to be a stage actor. I didn't really want to be a movie actor, but it didn't matter to me where I acted as long as I could act in interesting things, with people I respected, in front of an audience that got it. That was all I cared about. I figured that out when I was in my 20s. I can really afford to do it now - I don't have to do things that don't interest me. In my life I've done plenty of things which I wouldn't have done if I had a choice. I see a lot of Groucho Marx in you, in some episodes of "M*A*S*H." That's true. I fooled around sometimes in rehearsals and slipped into his readings as a joke, and then we kept it in. And then once Larry Gelbart wrote a whole episode where I did a Groucho narration. And it was so good, we wasted our time, because people said, "Oh, you got Groucho to do the narration!" One day in a restaurant, after the show was on the air a year or two, y'know how sometimes people call out to you, and I heard this guy calling out, "Hey, 'M*A*S*H' guy!" And it was a harsh sound, and I didn't wanna turn around. And finally I did, and it was Groucho Marx calling out to me, "Hey, 'M*A*S*H' guy!" It turned out he was an old friend of Gelbart's. So I met Groucho Marx. And speaking of restaurants, do you, ahem, try not to order mashed potatoes, for fear of the waiter making a joke? (Laughs) I would like to compliment you! That's the stupidest question I've ever been asked! Wait 'til you hear the follow-up: When you're in England, do you not order the dish they call bangers and mash? The second-stupidest question! Would you like to try for three?

Fyvush Finkel By Frank Lovece | Special to Newsday January 6, 2008 Yiddish theater, like vaudeville and burlesque, flourished in the 20th century B.T. (Before Television). Using a language common to immigrant Jews, it created such stars as Molly Picon, Meshilem Weisenfreund - later known as movie star Paul Muni - and Fyvush Finkel, who in 1965 graduated to "uptown" theater in the legendary Broadway musical "Fiddler on the Roof," eventually playing the lead role of Tevye. Later came movies and TV, including a 1994 Emmy Award for playing crafty attorney Douglas Wambaugh in the David E. Kelley series "Picket Fences." Born in the Brownsville section of Brooklyn, in 1922, the third of four sons of tailor Harry, from Warsaw, and housewife Mary, from Minsk, Finkel began acting at age 9. He's continued through an astonishing seven decades, performing everywhere from the Catskills to "Cafe Crown," a 1988 New York Shakespeare Festival revival that earned him an Obie Award. Finkel, who also played history teacher Harvey Lipschultz in Kelley's series "Boston Public," stars with Tony Award winner Richard Easton and David Garrison, of "Married ... With Children," in David Ives' Off-Broadway play "New Jerusalem," in previews at the Classic Stage Company (it opens next Sunday). With playful exuberance, Finkel spoke at a Manhattan rehearsal hall with frequent Newsday contributor Frank Lovece. So I hear Fyvush is Yiddish for Philip? Yes. My legal name is Philip, my stage name is Fyvush Finkel, but it's the same thing, because Fyvush in Yiddish is Philip. What's your middle name? In those days, there were no middle names! You were lucky if you were born in a hospital when I was born! I was born in the house, with a midwife. Three brothers, all midwives. Our kid brother was finally done in a hospital. In "New Jerusalem" you play Ben Israel, a board member of the Jewish congregation that interrogated philosopher Baruch Spinoza in 1656. Well, "New Jerusalem" is very interesting. The old Jerusalem, it speaks for itself. Ben Israel is like the trustee of the synagogue - a member of the board. He helps to make some big decisions about Spinoza . I've read a little bit about Spinoza, but not much, really. He was a great philosopher and I don't think in my heart that he was an atheist. It's a powerful play. And the dialogue is so brilliant, you could bring anybody in the family - children, grandmothers, brothers, sisters - and you won't be embarrassed. I could invite anybody of the cloth and I'd be proud if they showed up. So a priest, a minister and a rabbi walk into a theater ... Right! Absolutely! And not only would there be no embarrassment, but they would love it. You started in theater as a child actor. I played child parts till I was 14, 15, then my voice changed. So I decided to learn a trade and went to a vocational high school in New York. I studied to be a furrier, but I never worked at it. As soon as I graduated high school, I went to a stock company in Pittsburgh, a Jewish theater, and I played there for 38 weeks, and that's where I actually learned my trade a little bit as an adult. Then I went to Cleveland. I played all Yiddish theater until I was 43 years old. After that I went to "Fiddler on the Roof" and I've stayed in the American theater ever since. I played Mordcha, the innkeeper. Then I did [Lazar Wolf], the butcher, and then I did [the lead role] Tevye for years. Tevye sang that if he were a rich man, all day long he'd biddy-biddy-bum. How exactly do you do that? I didn't do biddy-biddy-bum. (sings) "If I were a rich man, yubba-bubba baida-baida duh-duh deedle-deedle-dumm." That's Hasidic, you see. (sings) "All day long I'd biddy-biddy-bum" ... Oh! I did biddy-bum! So there's a bum in me yet! And a biddy. A biddy and a bum! The Forward complained in 2001 that your "Boston Public" role was promoting the stereotype of the Jewish "nudnik" (nagging person). Well, that's the part I portrayed. Y'know, when I was in the Yiddish theater, there was one critic that hated me. And he was nasty. I don't know why he didn't like me. He said I shouldn't be an actor, I should be a clown in a circus. So what happened was, I wanted to go to and let him have it. So to get to the train, I had to pass my father's store. He got the paper delivered, a paper called The Jewish Day, and he banged on the window - I should come in, he wants to talk to me. So he says, "I know where you're going. You're gonna hit him, aren't you?" I said yeah. "You'll make a big man out of him - leave it alone. Tomorrow people will forget about it - the audience loves you. Come stay, have coffee." As we walked into the kitchen for coffee, he stops and says, "And then again, y'know - a clown in the circus is a good, steady job!" OK, that's funny since Frank Rich once called you "the soul of meticulous clowning." You didn't want to hit him, did you? (Laughs) Nooo, no no no! Y'know, the Times, when they saw me in a revue called "Finkel's Follies," they said, "Fyvush Finkel - a face that launched a thousand shticks!" So now whenever I appear [at an event], they announce me like that before I go on!

Hulk Hogan ARRRRRE YOU READY TO RRRRREE-PORT??!!! In this corner, we have the youthfully middle-aged freelance writer Frank Lovece. In the opposite corner, 14-time wrestling champion HULLLLLLK HOGANNNN!!! And NOW ... Now we put the wrestling shtick aside, much like Terry Bollea, the 52-year-old, not-quite-former pro wrestler, aka Hulk Hogan, paternal star of VH1's Sunday-night reality show "Hogan Knows Best." Sitting today in a midtown hotel, he is soft- spoken, expansive, willing to answer any question in what seems the truthful tone of an American icon - or perhaps Americana icon - who's beyond good or bad publicity. It's natural to be skeptical: His 2002 autobiography, "Hollywood Hulk Hogan," was, according to some wrestling fans, a bit filled with tall tales. He still claims that the late wrestler Andre the Giant weighed 700 pounds when Hogan lifted him during a match - even though the world record for weightlifting, set Sept. 14, 2003, is 213 kilograms, or not-quite 470 pounds. Even so, the effortlessly charming Hogan seems utterly sincere when he describes doing his reality show as a means of helping his daughter, Brooke, 17, an aspiring singer, get the same cross-media exposure as do Lindsay Lohan and Hilary Duff. When it comes to being a doting dad, hey, you've got to admit he's a champ. Also a former bass player in a rock band, which you need to know because it involves how Ferocious Frank made Hulk Hogan beg for mercy. I was reading that GPS locators, like the one you put in your daughter's SUV last season on your show, are the next big mainstream technology. So for all the jokes people made, you might have been ahead of the curve. And it had nothing to do with the TV show. As soon as she got her driver's license I was ready to put this GPS in her car. It's gonna happen with my son, too, when he turns 16. So instead of her going to the mall and disappearing and [us] waiting three days to find her dead body somewhere, now she goes to the mall, she's not home on time, I go on the computer. If the car's heading a thousand miles north to New York City, I know right where she's at instantly. Or at least where the truck is, so it gives you some type of lead there. It's a little weird to some people, but to me it makes sense. On the other hand, you do have her face and everything on TV every week. It's helped my daughter ; and my son, it's helped him with his acting and his racing, which he's doing now. It was tough the first season, but then we kinda got sucked into it where we became real good friends with the production company and the camera guys, and when we're done filming we'd hang out and work out, or go to the beach, or drink beers or whatever. It looks like we'll probably be heading into season three full-blaze. When you first wrestled for [promoter] Vince McMahon, he hooked you up with old-time wrestler Fred Blassie, who was Andy Kaufman's idol. Vince ... stuck me with Fred Blassie as my so-called wrestling manager, which he was just - he was not my real manager. Ever meet Andy, our own Great Neck guy? Yeah, I did. I did. Walking backstage in Memphis. Saw him in a room with [pro wrestler] Jerry Lawlor, talking over ... had planned. Y'know when he [Kaufman] saw me, it was like deer in the headlights, because he wasn't part of this business. Jerry Lawlor brought him in because he knew the publicity he [Lawlor] would get and how much of it helped his career, so he kind of kept Andy to himself ... hoarding this "Andy Kaufman, superstar" in the corner. He used to come to the matches in Memphis, and he'd sit way at the top of the nosebleed section at Mid-South Coliseum. So that was weird, too. I heard you twisted your ankle filming the [upcoming] movie "Little Hercules in 3-D." What would you have done if somebody had said, "C'mon you big baby, walk it off"? Well, I did keep going; I didn't miss any days or anything. I was actually working with a buddy of mine that's 525 pounds The Big Show. I played - what part did I play? Zeus.Thank you. And Paul played Marduk, god of Babylon. I was sitting in the makeup chair, and he walked by and stepped on the side of my foot, and I went, "You -- !" I'm barefoot, in my toga, and he's steppin' on my -- foot! I got it X-rayed and it wasn't broken; it was what they call a real bad sprain. But it took almost three months to get over that. Let me know if anyone's ever dared tell you this joke: What do you call a guy who hangs out with rock bands? A guy that hangs out with rock bands? No idea. The bass player. Ooo-oooh. That's cool, that's cool. Yeah, that's kinda getting kicked to the curb. Hah! Stop. Yer killin' me.

Susie Essman by Frank Lovece | Special to Newsday 26 October 2007 It's the curse of Susie Essman — "curse" as in "naughty language" and not "magical wish for harm"—that has made her a highlight of "Curb Your Enthusiasm," the Larry David HBO series. Her profanity-filled tirades spew forth with almost Elizabethan eloquence as she verbally slices and dices the fictional Larry David and his buddy, her onscreen husband Jeff Greene (played by Jeff Garlin). Essman, born in the Bronx but raised in Mount Vernon, N.Y., came to Manhattan in the early 1980s to pursue acting. She instead developed into a standup comic—gaining enough of a reputation for it that she was hired as a consultant on the Sally Field-Tom Hanks dramedy "Punchline" (1988). Sitcom spots and cable-comedy specials followed, as Essman became one of the city's comedy regulars. Her siblings include food-and-wine writer Elliot Essman, and Nina Essman, executive producer of Broadway's "Wicked" and other shows. Following Essman's breakthrough role in "Curb" in 2000, she starred in an unaired CBS pilot and hosted the Bravo reality show "Better Half." Essman lunched recently—and quite politely, thank you—with Frank Lovece at an Upper West Side restaurant. You came of age as a comic during the 1980s boom. There's a fraternity of New York comics that all came up then. There was me, there was Joy Behar, Chris Rock, Jon Stewart, Colin Quinn, Louis C.K.—y'know, we're like war buddies. Ray Romano was in my class. A lot of the guys writing on his show, Steve Skrovan, Lew Schneider ... they're like my brothers. That's where I first met Larry (David). Jerry Seinfeld was around, Paul Reiser, Carol Leifer, but they and Larry were all a little before us. It sounds like high school. It's like that! You're a class. We were the freshmen. And what happens is you really get close to people. Because in those days, Chris Rock and I would sit at the bar at Catch a Rising Star waiting to get on at 2 o'clock in the morning, and you're just hanging out all night. And then after you're done, you all go to the diner `til 4 in the morning. Anyone in your class not make it? There were lots of people who didn't make it. Tons, actually. More who didn't than did. As a matter of fact, I saw someone the other day on the subway, who'd started when I'd started, and she'd been extremely funny and then just gave it up. She couldn't take it. It's hard. (Professional stand-up is) a hard thing to do. Some people have the misimpression that "Curb Your Enthusiasm" is all improvised, but that's just the dialogue, correct? Everything that comes out of my mouth is my idea, but all the story lines are Larry's. There's a very detailed outline, about seven pages. Each scene has two or three lines, sometimes a paragraph, of exactly what needs to happen in the scene. Larry is all about story. He's a story genius. There's no dialogue written—that is completely improvised. All that filth that comes out of my mouth, I make it up. Were you surprised you had it in you? No. Tell me about your 2005 pilot. It was a sitcom on CBS. It was based on me being this single New York City girl who's suddenly in the suburbs with four teenage kids, which is basically my life. (Essman's companion for four years is a commercial Realtor with three daughters and a son.) It was a great cast—Stacy Keach played my father, Michael Higgins played my gay best friend, and Gregory Harrison played my husband. It was good, it was OK, but chemically, it didn't all come together. What's "Bolt"? I did a recording session just yesterday for it. It's this animated Disney movie, where John Travolta plays this dog from L.A. and I play Mittens the cat, who's this tough New York City stray. I know—that's shocking. I don't wanna give away too much of the plot, but you can imagine I have zero patience for this little Hollywood dog. I assume Disney didn't hire you for your cursing. No, they hired me for the attitude. What attitude? You grew up in Mount Vernon. Your parents were a doctor and a Sarah Lawrence professor! Mount Vernon is an extremely urban suburb. It's not Scarsdale. George Washington's home is a tough town? That's Virginia! That's a different Mount Vernon! (This one's) right next to the Bronx. It's the first city in Westchester. No, that's Yonkers. It's right next to Yonkers! Anyway, you don't have an attitude based on geography. You have an attitude based on hormones, usually, if you're a woman. People ask if I ever just scream and yell at people. Sometimes, yeah, but generally only strangers. In my family we call it "going Susan Greene." It's a verb: "To Susie Greene someone." "I was Susie Greened." "I will be Susie Greened." I was walking right here on Broadway with one of my girls, 16 years old, and a guy grabbed her behind! Oh, he got so Susie Greened, I can't even tell you—I went crazy on him! And afterward, she turned to me and said, "Y'know, you just Susie Greened him." And I was like, "Let that be a lesson for you, young lady! You Susie Greene anybody who ever does that to you!"