Holding Out for a Trio

You know that couple that plays Will & Grace’s loser best friends, Rob & Ellen? I hate them. I LOVE the fact that their characters exist, b/c that’s such an ugly little truth about life: we all have those friends who we stay in touch with simply b/c they’re lives are a little bit suckier than ours (tell me I’m not the only person willing to admit this). Anyway, the two actors who play Rob & Ellen grate my nerves to no end, they just seem TOO EAGER to make their scenes “pop” and make the audience like them. It’s annoying. I get the feeling they were both on a shit sitcom back in the early 90′s, one that got axed after 4 episodes or something, and they think Will & Grace is like their big 2nd chance at sitcom stardom, and that’s why they overplay. They need to take a tip from Fred & Ethel Mertz, the best 2nd banana’s of all-time: you are mere scenery, don’t try to outshine the stars. Just stand there, collect your paycheck, be grateful for the job, and go home. Fred & Ethel knew what was up.

So, I’ve spent the entire morning grossed out about this damn scandal. Rue 57′s right down the street from Hudson, I send hotel guests there every day! On weekends I send twice as many people! The whole story is just disgusting. That poor lady who ate the finger is so gonna win this lawsuit, you can’t tell me she’s not happy about the whole thing. Here’s what I wanna know: how does a kitchen employee accidentally cut their fingertip off — enough of a fingertip for somebody to be able to IDENTIFY IT AS A HUMAN FINGER — and just not tell anybody? I’d be hollering that mess from the rooftops, the first one screaming workman’s comp.

I’m half tempted to head down to midtown this weekend to see all those anarchists dressed like mice. They’re mission statement is that if one mice can scare an elephant away, think of what thousands of mice can do. That’s hysterical. They want reinforcements, namely “marching bands, pissed-off workers, kissing queers, pirates, khaki-clad yuppies, radical gardeners, puppetistas, pagans, fire-eaters, throwers & spitters, billionaires, cheerleaders, and punks-be they crusty or clean!” How can you resist a guestlist like that? If I was more political, or if I was him, I’d have tons of witty things to say about this. But I just think a lot of people dressed like mice will be funny to see.

I watched MTV Cribs today and they were @ Kelly Rowland‘s house. Now I’ve made it clear how much Kelly makes me wanna shoop shoop shoop — I feel she gets the shaft for not being as hot or as good as singer as the other Destiny’s Child girls even though she’s pretty with a great body and had a few hit singles under her belt (that “Dillemma” song with Nelly? STILL a damn anthem as far as I’m concerned) — but this episode just depressed me. I felt bad for her, watching her show off all her Destiny’s Child memorabilia, showing us how she’s bought THREE yoga mats and three of everything so that she and the girls can do things together. She doesn’t even know, does she?

Kelly: We’re getting back together, we really are! *stares into the camera with a glazed look in her eye, smiling. Hugs the picture of beyonce and other girl* We’re still a TRIO! They’re gonna be here to start recording out new album any minute! I’m a survivor! Wait! Don’t open that door, don’t open that mother-fucking door, bitch!
The MTV Cribs producer walks into room, finds effigy of beyonce and other girl (Non-Beyonce #2), along with posters and voodoo dolls, loose strands of hair, and toenail clippings.
Kelly: Mr. Poducer, do you want to be Destiny’s Child with me?
Producer of Cribs: Kelly, put the knife down —
Kelly: It’s a microphone, dammit!
Producer of Cribs: Ok, put it down and we’ll talk about joining the group.
Kelly: I’ll sing backup! You can have all the lead vocals!
Producer of Cribs: You’re scaring me.
Kelly: Look, I got some new red weave! it looks pretty! You can stay the blonde one even tho i really wanted to do it!
Prodcuer of Cribs: Somebody call the police.
Kelly: Lets sing now! I don’t want no scrubs, A scrub is a guy who can’t get no love from me-
Producer of Cribs: That’s not even one of your songs!
Kelly: Oh GOD! *collapses on the floor, holding other girl doll* What the hell happened to my life?!

Ohh Kelly, look around, boo. The girls are not coming back. Michelle’s busy milking the shit out of that Aida mess on fucking Broadway, and Beyonce has forgotten your name. Don’t bother waiting for them outside that recording studio, ok? Take the stuff you bought back to the store for a refund and go buy yourself something nice. You deserve it, you poor mess.

J & L both know a whole lot about trios and rotating members. Menageries. Parties of three-type scenarios. They’ve got a bit of a crush on this spritely lad, it seems… eh, I don’t know about that mess. It sounds so hip and trendy and modern, but I think it’s just weird when you get right down to it. I actually had a similiar little thing going once with a boy&girl when I was touring on a show awhile back, which was playful, sweaty fun for about a week and then it just got weird. Three random fools just can’t get it together (on the romantic tip OUTSIDE of the bedroom), and the ones who do? must be knowing shit the rest of us don’t. Hell, I can barely manage maintaining a relationship with myself. They’re cute boys, though, and I do be digging that minx factor every now and then. It’s sordid shit I have no business knowing about the way I sure as hell do, ya’ll.

(Hi, Tom!)

I’m going to see The Polyphonic Spree @ Irving Plaza tonight. Their first and 2nd CD really has been helping me through some dark times so I can’t wait to see them live. I plan to be one of those freaks jumping up and down with my arms held out, crying and singing along like I’m back @ church. I actually bought two tickets even though I have nobody to take… how sad is that? Wishful thinking will kill you. Shit man, even Zach Braff met somebody during his mothers wake — in fucking Jersey! If that homely bitch can steal the heart of a hottie like Natalie Portman, then how the hell am I going to this show alone? And another thing… If one more person late to the game raves on and on about what a great movie Garden State is and how “it’s EXACTLY the type of movie I’d make if I were a filmmaker!”, I’m gonna start mailing boxes of feces to random homes in New Jersey. Yes, I loved the movie. I thought it was beautifully done and resonant as all hell — I even had that one “home is an imaginary place that’s no longer there” qoute up on this here website for a week! But GOD. Folks are just dying over that shit like it’s THE FILM OF OUR LIVES. I spent the whole time watching (ok crying sometimes) and thinking, “Ok so you’re a moderately successful actor on your own in LA working on a TV show — that’s union work! That’s SAG! Stop crying, already.” Don’t start with the hatemail, folks, I like the movie ok. Still not stepping foot in Jersey, though.

In other news: the Computer Checkup/Auto-Fix feature on AOL 9.0 Optimized is too fucking cool… yet makes me feel powerless. It’s a bit of struggle.

What Comes Before Part B?

August 20th, 2004

For 4 years now, I’ve lived in a fantastic apartment set directly above the vicious hippie family that time forgot. I’ve told you about them before and bitched about them again. Well, I’ve been hearing all kinds of moving around down there all week, and today as I was on my way out, I saw them moving boxes and boxes of stuff out and down these ramps into a truck outside. I asked one of the movers if they were just getting new furniture or what and he was like, “No they’re moving out today.”

WOOHOO!

I’m FREE! I have no idea where they’re going, probably to a commune in Bosnia or to a kabutz or something, or WHY they’d ever give up that apartment (they’d been living there since the 80′s and were probably paying like $400 a month) but I’m just so glad to have them out of here. I can finally live like a normal person! I never have to use Closed Caption again! I can finally have the stereo on past 9pm now w/o Wind Spirit (that gypsy witch mountain woman) or Jebediah (her eurotrash pirate “life partner”) coming up here to complain about the “sonic booms pounding through the floor” that disturb their demonbaby. Such a lie, I NEVER get loud in my apartment. And that fucking demonspawn child of theirs, man… I swear the little shit is like, 4 years old and still hasn’t walked more than 2 feet w/o them scooping him up and lugging him around town in that fucking papoose. Let him WALK already. And give him a real name. Now get the hell out of here and please take the bad clothes with you.

Words cannot fully express the GLEE in my heart at this moment, winners. Where’s the party at?! It’s in my pants, ya’ll! Ew, ok sorry, and please excuse the infantile joy I’m taking in this post. But I just feel so free I don’t even know how to act. I love when stories have a beginning, middle, and an end. Closure is a miraculous thing.

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Ride It, My Pony

August 20th, 2004

Big big love to an old friend of mine who left me a heartwarming voicemail today. Buddy, ya said some genuine stuff and it came at a moment when I really just needed to hear those words. Thank you for knowing what to say.

So I metup with the very alluring and profane Miss Jodi of Jodiverse.com for lunch this afternoon and it was such a delight to meet her. When I first stumbled onto this psychotic world of blogging a few years ago, hers was one of the first webjournals that I became hooked on. I’ve been following her NYC adventures everyday for about 3 years, and she recently began visiting here, so when she suggested we put this internet world aside and meet in person for some grub, I was like, “Ok!” Unfortunately, today was a wiltering day in the city (jeans and a vintage polyester shirt were a BAD idea), just fucking disgusting, and by the time I found my way through the confusing West Village to our meeting spot, she was halfway melted onto the sidewalk. Her first words to me: “Honey, I’m pretty sure I just sweated through the crotch of these pants. We need to get inside NOW.” I knew I loved her right away. Jodi is hysterical and gorgeous, I’d have taken pictures but she threatened to take away my chicken fried steak when I pulled out my digicam. It was a fun afternoon though, we had lunch @ the Cowgirl Hall of Fame and wandered through Soho to Pearl River Mart. I bought three of these little jade elephants, stationary, and a mood ring, cuz I’m a 9 year old girl. Hell, I damn near bought a wooden abacus, too. What the hell am I gonna do with that stuff? I don’t even know. I’m just a fool for that store. I’ll walk all the way across town just to go pee in their bathrooms. Anyway, it was nice meeting a new lady today and hearing about her life. This city is full of such interesting people, everybody has a story. Most of them don’t tell it as well she does.

Hey do ya’ll remember Brandy? Mo to tha! E to tha! Where’s she been these last few years? I know she got Punk’d, which is funny and sweet of Ashton to think she’s still famous enough to Punk her. “I Wanna Be Down” was a damn anthem, actually, I still have it on my iPod. And now Brandy’s coming back to TV! Good for her. I remember this one day during 10th grade I skipped school with some other kids (with the permission of my folks, cuz they were cool like that) to see Brandy and the cast of Moesha @ Westwood Mall aka “the ghetto mall” that only had Luby’s Cafeteria and some corn dog hut in the foodcourt. But we still went. Every brown girl in Houston, TX wanted to be Brandy, and every white girl who was best friends with a brown girl wanted to be that wacky sidekick like on the TV show. Most all southern white girls with more than 2 black friends think they’re “down” like that (like “Diggy” in Save The Last Dance) but just get them alone with a crew of other white preppy kids at a party and the White Girl Switch happens. Straightup Jekyll & Hyde business — you Southern kids know what I’m talking about. Anyway, Brandy got there finally and came out singing a few songs and then they rushed her out cuz folks were straightup climbing the fake trees in the atrium just to get better looks of her, it became a mob scene. We all chased her limo halfway down the parking lot, too. God, that was a fun. Anyway, I’m happy for Brandy, and I’m happy that we live in a world that would give her a 2nd chance on TV. Life doesn’t always have to suck when you look like a pony.

This past episode of Nip/Tuck had me tripping, by the way. Siamese twins, threesomes, family turmoil, and I think somebody uttered the phrase “my 10 inch dick”. TV should always be that good. I think real credit goes to the series creator Ryan Murphy, who was also the mastermind behind Popular on the WB five years ago (R.I.P.). Mary Cherry, Nicole Jullian, Sugar Daddy, April Tuna, Emery Dick. Lord, I could laugh off my memories all day. The DVD of Season One is coming out next month, and I’ve already got a copy on order. Knowing the cast and how involved in the show Ryan Murphy was, I’ll bet the extra features will be awesome. I’ve been watching Northern Exposure on DVD, I miss that show.

Dudes, it’s been a FANTASTIC DAY up in here — not only am I past the halfway mark with this radiation stuff (6 sessions left), and not only is my bloodwork OUTSTANDING and healthy, and not only was my lithe and nordic Adonis of a doctor flirting with me today (do they always say, “Uh, let me just try to keep my focus here” when you drop trou?), but I also just found out that them bitches below me are moving out! I swear, I never thought this day would come. I was convinced I’d have to spend the rest of my uptown existence rushing past them in the lobby, shutting the elevator door before they got in, and dropping dead mice onto their fire escape late at night. My ex-roommate BJ and his cute girlfriend (who both live downstairs and across the lobby) both dealt with these evil bitches and so know the joy I’m feeling. In fact, they just might switch over their lease and take the apartment below me. Shit man, we can knock a hole through the floor and rig one of those sleek, steel, lucite-handled spiral staircases! They sell those things @ Target for $2!

It’s a happy day. Tomorrow is my official Clean The Apartment Day, but for now we’re just gonna enjoy the rest of the night. I think I should clog dance just to celebrate. “Cibo Matto can clog dance?!” Heh. 100 cool points to whoever else can catch that reference. I know you guys feel me.

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Nobody Likes a Victim

August 18th, 2004

Bad day @ work this morning. Bad session @ the hospital this afternoon. Bad results @ the salon this evening.

Something good has gotta be on the way.

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Mr. Whiskers, That’s His Name

August 16th, 2004

I have true disdain in my heart for the people on Six Feet Under. They leave me bewildered and bitter every Sunday night. I’d like to say a few things about it.

David & Keith – this relationship needs to END. The fact that you two have sex with people outside of your committed relationship doesn’t mean you’re emotionally mature or sexually adventerous, it means you’re both in a fucked up relationship. Keith, you’re an asshole and you don’t deserve somebody who adores you when you treat them like a fuckbuddy. David, you were so much more compelling when you were closeted.
Rico – STOP CALLING VANESSA. You cheated on her, you started playing house with a ho who dropped you faster than you dropped your wedding vows. Vanessa doesn’t want to see you, hear from you, or know that you’re doing ok. You SUCK.
Claire – I’m glad you’re not so angry anymore, and the fact that your scary dead dad encounters happen less and less (and are positive when they do happen) is a very good thing. You’ve been so far above the typical college burnout syndrome, aside from the whole bisexual phase. Stay the course, my friend, and steer clear of vengeful lesbians.*stern look* Don’t do that again.
Brenda – oh my god, what hapenned? I hope that bong hit was good cuz now all of your efforts to be a better person, all of last year, EVERY FUCKING MINUTE of it was a waste. And not only do you know this, but you’ve made it clear to Nate, who sees relationships as nothing more than expiriments with being a grownup. You’ve shown him that you’ll never change and you’ll always be around to make himself feel better about his own emotional shortcomings. Justin Thoreaux was such a catch, and you’ve replaced him w/o a second thought. What was the fucking point of anything you’ve been doing with your life?!
Ruth – Hail Ruth, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. You continue to give me hope that maybe it’s true when they say “Life begins at 50.” I applaud your refusal to just ACCEPT what’s given to you, keep striving to make your voice and desires heard. You seem truly patient with your family, I’d love to see you spice up your life, maybe with another flower arrangement course, or another cult.
George – “You’re young, Rico. Just find aother girl and forget about the old one”? You just killed yourself in my eyes. That’ll do, pig.
Nate – I hate you so hard. You will never redeem yourself to me, never. As psycho as Lisa was, she gave you a daughter and spent the last year of her life feeling completely unwanted and unloved, yet you continue to get everything you want out of life. Quit get your job? Done. Get laid? Done. Pawn your daughter off on everyone else? Done. I hope your genitals are crushed in a horrible freak accident so that your sense of self is shattered forever.

I know ya’ll are reading this site, Fishers.

So, there’s an old man I see from time to time @ the hospital when I go in each day. I don’t know his name, but he’s got these silvery white whiskers on his chin… actual whiskers, not a beard. He’s a patient, too, and kind of reminds me of a hobbit. I saw him in the waiting room today on my way out (he was coming in) and he looked at me, all chipper and smiling big — when was the last time a stranger looked at you and smiled BIG? — and goes, “Hey, young man! Did you hear? Today is my last one!” I knew that he meant he’d be done with treatments and right away I hugged him. I fucking hugged a practical stranger I’d only spoken with in passing once before, b/c I was just really happy for him; funny how it was the closest I’ve felt to someone in awhile. Go ahead, Mr. Whiskers. Mr. Whiskers has freedom.

Ohh, the power didn’t die on us this year like it did last year. I was sort of dissappointed. I thought folks in my hood might party up in here up in here like last year, in the dark with candles and BBQ. Not so much. This broody weather frustated the hell out of me this weekend, just made me sleepy and anxious. Looming gray skies and chilly breezes, talks of hurricane disaesters down below us, and I kept waiting for the rain to fall down on me like I’m Hilary Duff or something. Actually, I wouldn’t mind being Hilary Duff. Her tween ass madeout with Chad Michael Murray AND has her own product line @ Target. Why do I know these things?

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Unbraided

August 16th, 2004

A hotel guest called down this morning @ 7am. He sounded rushed.

me: “Good morning, this is Chris @ Concierge.”
room 1023: “Yeah, hi. I’m supposed to leave for a meeting in half an hour and I’m just getting prepared. I need some help.”
“Ok, sure. What do you need?”
“I have very long hair, can you have somebody come up and braid it for me?”
“…”
“Right away.”
“You’d like someone to come braid your hair, sir?”
“Yes, and soon b/c I’m in a hurry.”
What the hell? Is he a 10yr old girl?
“Hudson isn’t equipped with salon services, unfortunately. But I can book you into a nearby spa later this morning, if you’d like.”
“Yeah, the Concierge last night referred me to some place a block away.”
“Right. Warren Tracomi Salon, they’re excellent.”
“I don’t want to go out. Isn’t there somebody in the hotel who can do it?”
This guy had to be kidding. I looked up his account, he booked on Expedia.com — totally the kind of bargain-hunting guest who won’t properly tip someone for any outstanding service. These cheap bastards.
“Why don’t you give me a few minutes to see if I can locate a staff member free to help you with this.”
“Ok, call back soon though b/c I’m in a hurry.”
I took 10 minutes to walk all over the hotel and laugh about this to anyone I could find. Nobody could believe this man was serious, but he sure as hell was. Unfazed, like he was requesting room service or something. Who the hell does that? Should you be going to big cities alone?
“Hi, sir, it’s Chris at Concierge. Unfortunately, no one is available to braid your hair.”
“Nobody? In all the hotel? I can’t believe that.”
“Everyone is assigned to a task to get the hotel ready for the day, sir. There are plenty of salons that can uh, do your hair. It’s what they do.”
“Got it, thanks for nothing.”
“Right.”

Did I tell you yet about the fool who, with 100% seriousness, tried to get me to sell him Broadway tickets @ half-price if he promised to leave the show after the first act? Ignorant bitch.

These people, man.

UPDATED: This post totally makes me sound like an asshole. Know what, tho? Not caring a lot.

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“H-H-Hello!”

August 11th, 2004

So I headed out to another Concierge event last night, this one hosted for us by WHERE magazine. I took along a long-lost familiar face and ooohhhh hell, it’s was weird to settle old scores. But you know what? fences get mended, hatches get buried, love builds bridges and water gets put under them, blahblahblah. Whatever. It was good to see him. It was good to get dressed up and go do something. We metup in that INSANE THUNDERSTORM yesterday evening and headed over to McCormick & Schmick’s, a really preppy seafood spot on 6th ave. I was still feeling uneasy after my treatment (I start to feel it after a few hours) so I just sat back with my rasberry lemonade martini (tartini?) and let Erik play with the other Concierges. Showing up at these events is always fun b/c most of the other people there are from really stuffy hotels, which means I get to be the cool, pretty one everybody’s looking at. Shit man, sometimes I just eat that attention up… it’s like you can go through life and the people who know you hold you a certain way in their eyes b/c it’s how they need for you to be, but then you can randomly meet somebody at a party or on the street and they talk with you and you just feel empowered by the exchange. It’s like you’ve really been SEEN or something. Anyway, after drinks, snacks, and the obligatory giftbags (post-it’s and mini-bottles of rum? who the hell runs your PR?), they carted us off to Times Sq to see “42nd Street“. I liked the show but GOD it was just fucking excessive, like old OLD school Broadway. Who the hell needs to see that many tap numbers in 2hrs? It’s all very grand and gorgeous and campy, but I think that’s why it’s closing in the winter. Bring on more stuff like Dracula: The Musical and Bare: A Pop Opera! I’m going to go see those later on, I think. Ugh, am I really complaining about seeing a Broadway show for free? I’ll shut up now.

My new Netflix arrived today. I got Living Out Loud, Party Girl, and Clockwatchers, three movies about people feeling lost and trying to bust out of their self-imposed prisons. I didn’t even realize that till I watched them. I love it in Party Girl when Parker Posey stays in the library all night after she’s figured out the dewey decimal system (“Mary, you’re mother was a woman with no common sense. A trained monkey learned this system on PBS in a matter of hours! Recode it!”), life’s little breakthroughs are hysterical sometimes.

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UPDATE: Do you know that I passed out on a public sofa today? In broad daylight. I just spent the last 2hrs crashed out on the little white lounge chairs at the Time Warner Center. Just plopped down and killed it like I’m a man in his 70′s or something. I forgot to pop a Zafron before treatment today so I was just a queasy mess right after and had to find the nearest cushion-type place, I almost just grabbed a fat lady and sat on her. The fact that no security guards admonished me or that no snatchers even tried to snag my Jack Spade bag is both alarming and comforting.

My radiation session today was weird. I walked in there semi-miffed anyway (reality: indifferent “friends” who are SO no longer part of the picture but wanna play like they are? need to leave me alone) and the technician guy kept grilling me about coming in earlier for my appointments. He’d already called my cell twice this morning seeing what time I was coming in. Bitch, why are you asking me? You know what time I’m coming in — we set the appointment for 4pm every day for the whole ordeal. I explained to him that the radiation is suppoed to make my stomach ache and it’s better for me to do it afterwork so I can go home and rest if I need to, rather than do it on my lunchbreak and then have to go back to work for 4hrs. He just wouldn’t quit though. Kept trying to make it sound like it’s better FOR ME if I come in earlier b/c that way they “can just express me past everyone else since the treatment is so short” and I can just “be done with it instead of having to wait till the end of the day.” That’s when I realized this had nothing to do with me and my progress but everything to do with him just wanting to go home early. It just pissed me off and I think I may have gotten a little rowdy about it… ok, well I definately got heated and said some shit to him which shut him up real fast and had his coworkers all rushing to appease me. And now I feel a little remorseful for going off, but hey, this is a somewhat delicate scenario here and I don’t want people rushing me to rush through my treatment just so they can get home and catch Judge Joe Brown @ 3pm.

I grabbed a Jamba Juice after my session, thinking the Strawberry Tsunami would boost my energy level but it actually just made me run for the bathroom faster. That’s when I found out that the 3rd floor men’s bathroom @ the Time Warner Center is a gay sex cruising spot. Ohhh nobody even needs to know the scandal my eyes witnessed today.

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