I Shouldn't Speak To People Who Don't Already Know Me

While discussing the vitally important series E! True Hollywood Story
at work, the following conversation took place:

Co-worker: MacKenzie Phillips was out all night at parties when she
was 15 years old.

Me: God, when I was 15 I think I was playing with legos. Or I was in
braces and reading the Diary of Anne Frank.

Co-worker: You must have really felt for her.

Me: Well, my braces certainly made me feel trapped and isolated.

(awkward pause)

Me: (softly) Sorry I just compared my orthodontic history with the Holocaust.

Co-worker: Yeah, I thought that was a bit weird.

Me: I am going to go to lunch.

And....Scene.

There Has To Be a Morning After

So, I called Iona correctly. But that was about it. Seriously.

My bracket has been a BUST, and the embarrassment is compounded
by the fact that my Nigerian friend at work who doesn't "understand
basketball" is kicking my ass in, like, 7 different ways (not to mention about
5 different indigenous languages).

But all that doesn't matter, as KC and I have procured tickets to the
Philadelphia
games today, which includes my lawlma mater, Villanova. So, that
means if you want to see a number one seed lose to a sixteen seed for
the first time in tournament history, tune in today. Where I go,
trouble follows.

The only people more upset about my bracket than I was apparently were
the gays of Philadelphia. Walking home from work last night, I saw 3
gays leaning against the outside wall of 2 different bars, crying.
Listen boys, I picked Seton Hall for the sweet sixteen, and you didn't
see me crying, did you?

Pull it together.

My Bracket Loves to Get Filled

My father and I don't usually have much to talk about. We've agreed that it's probably not best to talk about politics, as he feels that all my political beliefs have either been borne out of my deep seated and often fulfilled desire to disappoint him or just a phase. We don't talk about work too much because it stresses me out. And we certainly don't talk about what some people with creative license might consider my love life.

But all of that changes around mid March every year. My father and I both become a little obsessed with the NCAA Basketball Tournament. We fill out brackets, we compare notes and like in most other arenas of our life, we usually disagree about each other's decisions.

Last year, in the espn.com contest to pick the winners, I came in the top .04% of all entrants. There were about 4 millions brackets filled out, so I wasn't anywhere close to winning, but I swear I think it was the proudest he had ever been of me.

As you might guess, I didn't play many sports well as a child. I was more athletic than you're probably thinking, not some sort of frail wallflower; I ran and swam really well. But ironically, the minute you handed me balls and expected me to perform, I would fade like Roxette's proverbial flower. I read lots of books and sang in choruses. Yet, he was shocked- shocked- when I came out. My brother thought organized sports beyond cross country were for assholes. So, my dad never got that son who was amazing at sports. That's why he (with the rest of Scranton) loves Gerry McNamara. I call him the son my dad never had.

[Mind you, I was everything at my high school, part of every club, Class President, Valedictorian...so it's not like I was just hanging around filling up space, wishing I was as good at lay-ups as I was at Geography Bees. Just saying, that's for a rant, not a heartwarming yarn about the one time of year my dad likes talking to me.]

So, since we had connections at the University of Scranton, my father would take all of us to their basketball games. For a while in the 80s and 90s their basketball team was a powerhouse in Division 3 Basketball. We would even follow them around to playoff games. We once even almost got stuck in a snow storm following the team to South Jersey. This taught me many lessons, but the one that stuck out was that it's never really safe to go to Jersey because there's always the possibility that you could get stuck there. But trips like this helped instill a love of sports in me. It made me the kind of kid that was equally at ease watching ESPN's Sportscenter or This Week In Style with Else Klench.

For the record, I still love watching people do things that I will never have the talent to do.

Again, I digress. My dad and I talked on the phone for a while tonight about his picks (I haven't made mine yet, as I never do until the Wednesday before the tournament. He knows that, but he's going away tomorrow). He picked a lot of upsets, and told me which teams I need to pick as my upsets. We talked about how lucky I am that one of the two schools I have attended is a Number One Seed for the second time in 2 years. We even talk about how there's no S-sound at the end of the pronounciation of Illinois, even if an S appears there.

I sat and listened attentively, knowing that we were taking each other seriously, as we so often forget to do. It's a nice tradition, and I actually enjoy hearing what he has to say. And for a second, he probably forgets that I am not going to find the woman of my dreams after all.

But then he says something like I need to go with Iona winning in the first round. Dad, you can't be serious.

Sunday Night Conversation

Interviewer: Thanks so much for taking time from your busy schedule to join me tonight.
Z: No problem. But nothing too judgey! I don't have to put on pants, do I?

Int: No. I wouldn't expect you to. How are you feeling today?
Z: I have to admit, I have certainly been better. I am way beat from last night.

Int: Hmm. That's what we heard. Why do you think you drank as much as you did at that party?
Z: You know, I don't think I actually drank all that much. I just drank a lot of different kinds of alcohol. It was a party; I wanted to try a lot of things! For some reason, I went from zero to wasted in 30 seconds.

Int: Well, thank goodness you didn't do anything too embarrassing.
Z: See, here's the thing. I was a bit obnoxious at times. I spilled a drink all over me. I don't know what it was, but it was pink, natch. It went well with my light khaki blazer. And towards the end of the night, I was only speaking in laughter and slurs.

Int: You were laughing?
Z: I know, right?

Int: Seriously. At least you didn't fall down a flight of stairs.
Z: No, but my friend did. I was too wasted to speak, but not so wasted that I didn't think to immediately take a picture of the fall with the camera on my phone. It's my background right now. I then had to run outside because I was laughing so hard, I almost threw up.

Int: So how do you explain the huge hole that ripped in the crotch of your favorite jeans?
Z: That may be the biggest mystery of the night. Sadly, I can assure you it was nothing sexual.

Int: What, there were no "straight" guys to hook up with?
Z: Cheap shot. Next.

Int: Don't you think you're a little old for this behavior?
Z: But I was dressed up all classy and shit!

Int: That doesn't make it any better. In fact, it might make it worse.
Z: It's not like I killed a homeless man on the way home or something.

Int: Not that you remember.
Z: Touche.

Int: Anyway, is there anything else new?
Z: Yes. Actually, one of my best friends just got engaged.

Int: Well, it wouldn't be a week in your life without finding out about an engagement.
Z: No, I am happy about this one.

Int: Sure you are. How's the new job?
Z: It's nice actually. The people are cool, the work doesn't make me want to kill myself.

Int: That's a high standard for you. Cheers!
Z: Thanks. It is harder to blog there, of course.

Int: When do you think they'll fire you?
Z: Sooner than later. Oh, I ran into someone I used to work with while I was clerking when I was getting money at Wawa the other night.

Int: Oh?
Z: He called Judge Fabulous the C word. It was awesome. And he said people were sad when I left.

Int: God knows you were the most super fun person at that place.
Z: Besides Sandy, yes.

Int. Of course. One last thing. Was DMX's skin really that perfect?
Z: His skin was so clear it was like a mirror. I was smitten and I wanted his dermatologist's number. That's not a weird question to ask a rapper, right?

Int: Not at all. Thanks for sharing, and hey, lay off the sauce for a bit, K?
Z: Sigh. I thought we said nothing too judgey!

Back In One Piece

One of the many perks of starting a job downtown after a while in the
suburbs is all the excitement of walking the streets and wondering who
you'll see.

For example, while I was going to Wawa to grab my afternoon tea, I saw
a familiar face from college. It wasn't someone I attended school
with, but DMX, the rapper. I used to listen to him a bit in the old
days when I was more "street."

I passed him off at first, thinking that it couldn't be he because he
was shorter than I would have expected. After grabbing my tea a
second time, I could more clearly see that he was adorned with his
signature Ruff Riders diamond necklace. Not to mention, there were
plenty of women and men there clammoring for his attention, claiming
to be his "ho's" or "dogs," respectively.

I waited to say hello to him, clearly the palest of his fans, in a new
Banana Republic sweater and pants set, to boot.

Mr. D, as one woman called him, knew I stood out. He said, "Whatchu
want, my man?"

"I just wanted to say hi."

"You want my picture?"

"No. That's ok. Just wanted to say hello. Have a nice day."

"Um, ah-ight," replied one confused rapper.

So, now I can say I said hello to DMX. It should be known that he is
very handsome, he was very nice to all of his actual fans and his skin
was impeccable.

Ride or die, he often says. Today, I rode.

Test

This is a test. I am trying to figure out a way that I can add
content to this blog without logging onto blogger.

So, if this works, there will plenty of brand spanking new content, in shorter, sweeter, picture-free dispatches.

Ok?

America's Next Top Teleconference- Part II

Continued from previous post.

Susan
Susan, whose name, unlike Whitney, actually was Susan held back her own laughter as she asked since the latest winner Nicole was so "high fashion," what is the look they are going for this season...er, cycle?

What they said: Jay went off about how you have to be commercial, technical, a great spokesperson or Eva Pigford. Nigel broke it down so we could all understand and said it all boiled down to being and/or having "the face, the walk, the talk. Being an inspiration. A muse in the industry." Ken Mok, having only produced and never watched the show hilariously added, "They have to do everything, and be articulate. Basically, they need to be the next Tyra and why Tyra is a supermodel."

What they meant: She can't be blonde or able to read the fine print in contracts. And in the spirit of being the next walking, talking Tyra, this season there will be a rib-eating contest.

What I said: You can kind of tell at this point that Jay and Nigel think this whole thing is hilarious. Jay begins every sentence with, "You know, the interesting thing about that question is..." But then he never gets to the interesting part. Still, he's being really funny and a good sport about everything. Nigel is still hot as a baker.

Rich
Rich, the first gay of the evening, wants to know if Seasons 2-5 of Top Model will be released on DVD.

What they said: Ken Mok laid down the smack here and basically said that Season, er, Cycle One did sell well, so they sold all the rights to the show, his older 3 kids and his soul to Viacom so that there could be amazing, though sporadic marathons of Top Model on VH1. Jay added, and he said that, like NO ONE knows about this, but whenever he or Tyra go to a store to buy a dvd or 7, they bring a sharpie and sign random copies of their own dvds. He says this with the same guilty grin that I imagine an Amish man would have if he tried on a pair of pants with a zipper.

What they meant: Seriously, Viacom took my older 3 kids. Jay also was thisclose to admitting that also signs copies of the Mary Tyler Moore Show dvds because "he's going to make it after all." Oh, and buy Cycle One dvds, please!!!

What I said: Tonight I am going to Borders and signing everything I can with a sharpie "I was rooting for you. We were all rooting for you! XOXO Ty-ty baby."

Latoya
The sum total of my notes here say, verbatim, "bitch is confused." I think we'll just leave it at that, since I really have no idea what else happened. Whatever, y'all. I am admittedly not Christiane Ammanpour.

Nina
Nina is clearly stoned, but still fiesty enough to claim that SHE is Canada's biggest ANTM fan. Nigel and Jay both wag their heads back and forth at the neck to indicate an implicit "Oh no you di-in't!" But she did. What the hell are people fighting about this?! Her question? Why do girls complain that they never have their best shots shown.

What they said: Nigel, oozing sex, is incredulous! How they hell would these girls we drag in off the street have any idea what a good shot looks like. Jay says he always has the girls' best interest in mind, but really the girls have no clue what they are doing or talking about. Anyone watching says, Duh.

What they meant: No really, these girls are pretty dumb. And whiny. And they actually say that they hate the whiny ones. Once again, duh.

What I said: This moment is great because Nigel goes off and starts to impersonate the girls. He's very angry, smoldering even. Jay claims that he always says, "If it feels awkward, it looks good. If it feels good, it looks bad." You may remember that quote from Boogie Nights.

America's Next Top Teleconference- Part I

To make a what deserves a long introduction short, I will tell you this: I was invited to take part in a "unique" way of reaching out to the blogosphere and fans of Top Model by participating in an "online blogger teleconference." The crack PR staff of Top Model basically wanted me and Matt to cut down on our harsh critiques of everything that happens on the show by dangling the notion of famous entertainment journalist in front of our faces.

Well, we bit. After all we were getting a chance to talk to Jay Manuel, executive producer Ken Mok and love of my life, half Sri Lankan dreamboat and noted fashion photographer Nigel F. Barker. Would you pass it up? I thought not.

So, at 8:00 p.m. last night armed only with my cell phone, a secret website with requisite password and a plate of cheese fries, I sat down to tune into the teleconference. The deal was that I was supposed to call a secret number and be put in a queue. I never expceted to actually be able to talk to the "talent," as promised. Still though, I lit my Our Lady of Guadalupe candle next to my laptop and prayed. While I waited for Nigel to pick up the phone, I typed notes furiously listening to the other callers and their penetrating inquiries. Picture me, typing with both hands and a cell phone sandwiched between my ear and shoulder.

No, don't. On second thought, picture Jane Fonda doing it like when she was in 9 to 5. That's funnier.

What follows is the recap of my experience, pieced together from my illegible notes and patchy memory.

Jackie
First of all, it should be known that Jackie could not get her shit together. it took her almost a minute to ask what an outside observer might liberally qualify as an interrogative. She wanted to know, despite the presence of Cover Girl of the Week, why America doesn't vote for the winner of ANTM.

What they said: Jay and Nigel both agreed that industry professionals, such as themselves, have their fingers (orange or otherwise) on the pulse of the fashion industry. Ken Mok was afraid that girls would feign nice personalities for the camera to try and garner votes. Also, none of the panelists know to waht extent, if any, that the girls are psycho hose beasts in the home environment. Duh.

What they meant: They are all about drama and picking a girl who very well may never get work again. Also, I believe that all panelists know when it's time to get rid of someone.

What I said: At this point Jackie kept talking about stuff, thinking that this was America's Next Top Jackie. It wasn't. So, Nigel hung up on her mid-question. Amazing. Jay, all frosty, laughed. I did, too.

Stella
This caller claimed to be Canada's biggest ANTM fan. Can you imagine a more pathetic thing to claim? Maybe Kazakhstan's biggest Skating with the Celebrities fan? She wanted to know why these guys thought the show lasted so long. Really? That's what she went with?

What they said: They said, without a shred of irony, that this show is about aspirational beauty and love and relating to women who go through transformations. It's all about metamorphosis. And they stay fresh and original because Tyra always asks, "Are we keeping this real?" It's like her Carpe Diem or something.

What they meant: Honestly, Stella, we have no idea how this lasted so long. Everyone loves a freakshow, and it's fun to see girls who think they're models be told they should never show their faces in pictures, that they have a snout or that they look like an penis-toting amputee that escaped from a mental hospital.

What I said: I sort of blanked out and started to day dream when Nigel talked about being hung up by wires and getting soaking wet all the time in photo shoots. However, I think you really could catch the vibe from these guys that they love to torture girls. And that? Is the reason I tune in. And, of course, with the small hope of seeing wet Nigel.

Next, Part II.