Larry King, We Have Your Retirement On Line Four – Don’t Get Me Started!

I don’t watch Larry King every day but I have to say that through the years I have caught a number of his interviews and have always thought that he does a great job interviewing. As of late, he has seemed a little bit off his game, spacey if you will and looking as if he really has no idea where he is or who he is interviewing. Well, last night I was flipping through channels and I stopped to watch what he had on. It was a full hour on the life and death of Barbaro, the race horse. Larry King, we have your retirement on line four – Don’t Get Me Started!

He starts the interview off in that usual tone that has now become not only his trademark but also a cartoon of himself. It’s a little like listening to William Shatner do the intro from the original Star Trek. Every word is emphasized as much as the last one or more with a jerky sort of delivery that makes it comical. Now I get that he was having the owners and the horse’s vet on for their first interview since the horse’s demise but in my humble opinion there was no reason for all of the dramatics going on by Larry King. He seemed as if he was about to cry when he introduced the owners and then he said something like, “Let’s take a look back at Barbaro’s incredible life.” Okay, I get it, we all love our pets. I’d love my cats probably even a little bit more if they made the kind of money that Barbaro was making but an hour tribute?

The owners were crying, the vet was crying and they were going on and on about this incredible horse. He wasn’t Mr. Ed for Chrissakes, was he? I mean, he didn’t talk did he? He wasn’t Lassie who saved more people on film that probably any other animal. And he certainly wasn’t even Benji! I don’t mean to make light of a horse’s accomplishments but to go on and on like we’re watching the Princess Diana funeral is a bit much, don’t you think?

I get that Larry King wants to be on top of whatever news there is but this seems like he’s making news out of nothing. The horse was in pain and they decided it was more humane to “put him down” well, someone should do the same for our boy Larry. I know, I know, I’ll be old some day too but at the rate I’m going, I won’t be doing it on national television.

Some of the other “big” stories Larry covered this week were Tyra Banks sounding off to her critics who say she is fat from a photo that was taken of her on some beach where she looked, well, fat and tonight it’s Miss America (and if you don’t know how I feel about the whole Miss America thing, read the last three blogs and get back to me).

Don’t get me wrong, I think that Larry King was the king of all interviewers at one time but like so many things, that time has passed. Give us our new fave rave, Anderson Cooper with all his glamorous yet tragic upbringing, good looks and boyish charm. Much like Larry’s latest wife who is many years younger than him or his last wife, you won’t mind Larry if we do the same to you, will you? Replace you with a younger better version of you? I say this out of love and respect, Larry King, we have your retirement on line four – Don’t Get Me Started!

And They Got It Wrong, Thank You Miss America Organization For Pissing Me Off Even More – Don’t Get Me Started!

Well, the glitz and glamour is over for another year and we’ll just have to hope the Miss America organization takes a good look at itself and tries to be better next year. Were there surprises, no but there was plenty of disappointment. And they got it wrong, thank you Miss America Organization for pissing me off even more – Don’t Get Me Started!

The show started innocently enough and I thought that things were going my way when I saw my two favorites make it into the top ten and then the top five. That’s right; from the start of the show Miss Georgia and Miss Texas were my faves. They exuded charm and grace and yet having watched more than one pageant in my day, I also thought that they may be a little too real for the Miss America gang.

The good news was having Chris Matthews grill the girls during interview. He really made them work and didn’t just accept the three current events that the girls are coached and brainwashed on prior to the interview event. The bad news was Debbie Allen as a judge who should not be seen anymore, ever. Between her wacky hats, crazy outfits and the fact that the only person more annoying than her is her sister, Phylicia Rashad these sisters have gotten on my nerves for years. With their affected way of speaking as if they are superior to everyone and yet does she not have a mirror? Hasn’t she ruined enough award shows with her bad choreography? She need not be on the Miss America show. A big ugh to that and where was Delta Burke, who was featured on the Pageant School show and was supposed to be a judge? God knows, she couldn’t have eaten enough to make her as big as Debbie Allen or picked anything more ridiculous to wear than her.

But back to the competition…well, by the time we got to talent, I was thinking that my two girls were in for sure. Miss Texas sang and really gave it to Chris Matthews in her interview explaining that she started in the pageant circuit with $200 as a way to try and win scholarship money so she could go to school. She won the preliminary, the state and in the opinion of viewers won the talent competition as well. Add in that she was the first ever black Miss Texas and you know I’m loving her a lot. She is talented and I wondered if they would allow her to go all the way because she almost seemed too poised and above the typical Miss America. Next up was my Miss Georgia. Nothing could have prepared me for this debacle. She tap danced to a Prince song and dear Lord, whoever told her she should use this as her talent we’re surely on crack or smoking Georgia peach pits. This killed her chances and yet the next time she came on stage I was somehow able to forgive as she was so great looking and answered her question so well.

And so it came down to three Miss Georgia, Miss Texas and then Miss Oklahoma - a typical, big old fried blonde who sang poorly, gave bad answers yet looked like the typical Miss America. As Georgia and Texas were both ethnic looking, this was the big blonde hope and apparently that’s exactly what the judges wanted as Miss Oklahoma is now the new Miss America.

How could the judges get it so wrong? Okay, I understand that Miss Georgia’s bad tap dancing may have been unforgivable so take her out of the equation. But how could you miss someone the big rags to riches story that Miss Texas would have brought to your pageant? I’ll tell you why, because Miss Texas was not a typical pageant girl. Unlike some of her competitors who had competed in 35 preliminaries before they even got to go to state, Miss Texas placed in her first competition and then won state. Miss America is built on creating a bizarre hierarchy and Miss Texas would have destroyed the biggest money maker for them, the repeat competitor. If someone could conceivably make it to become Miss America with $200 starting point and her first time at bat it would mean that the Miss America organization wouldn’t be able to keep their hold on girls for years and years of competing. I’ve had friends who were in the pageant circuit and they were told, “This isn’t your year dear. Keep competing and in two years, we’ll give you the state title.”

So knowing what I know, why do I still watch? Because much like Anne Frank, I believe that deep down inside human beings are good. I also thought that for once we might get us a great Miss America. But no, we got another beat blonde who no one will really care about. Way to go Debbie Allen and your panel of judges! And for those of you who have been waiting for me to move on from my Miss America rants, they are officially over. And they got it wrong, thank you Miss America Organization for pissing me off even more – Don’t Get Me Started!

There’s More Than Tiaras and Gowns In Miss America’s Closet – Don’t Get Me Started!

Okay, so if you read my blog from the other day you know that I was more than a little ticked off (as they say) to find no gays on the two hour reality show Pageant School: Becoming Miss America. I suspected that the lack of gays who have always and will always make the pageants what they are were pushed to the background for this show because after all, we all know that gays are not all American and we know that the people at CMT are not about to put on a gay show for fear of losing their redneck base. Now I’m not one for the outing of celebrities (or anyone for that matter) because it’s a personal thing and I really think that people should be allowed to come out in their own time and own way but now thank God I live in Las Vegas where a local entertainment show recently interviewed some of the big wigs at the pageant and let me just say, there’s more than tiaras and gowns in Miss America’s closet – Don’t Get Me Started!

Here’s the deal, when I first saw the reality show I went on the Miss America website to just see if they had any gays on the board, etc. (I won’t use names because it would be indiscreet but I’ll give you enough context clues so that you can Google your way to the answer) I didn’t find too much except one very high (clue is a word association with “high” and is what a small child sits in to eat) ranking officials whose photo and his bio made my gay “Spidey” senses go off. And although the bio states that he is married and has children, we all know that means next to nothing. When I worked for Disney, these were called Disney marriages. There were several executives, choreographers, directors, etc. who were married but as gay as gay could be. Oh, they had children and their wives mostly worked for Disney too and although I started out feeling a little sorry for the wives, this dissipated very quickly as come on, you’d have to be dead not to know that these guys were gay. They were gayer than Vincent Minnelli for Chrissakes!

So I’m watching this local entertainment show and here comes Mr. Tiara Polisher, and he starts to talk about the pageant, what it means, etc. Well, let me say the gay meter installed on my television almost exploded. (What? You didn’t know you could get a gay meter installed?) I mean between this guy’s eye rolling, gesturing and oh yeah, he’s married to an ex-Miss something (another clue) there was no mistaking that this guy was gayer than gay. So it would naturally make even more sense that the gays are to not be seen or heard at the pageant, especially in their first televised reality show, if one of the big wigs is closeted.

I know many of you don’t care about the Miss America pageant. But here’s the deal, we all know that the “Gay Mafia” run Hollywood but if you don’t think there’s another “gay mob family” running Miss America then you know nothing about the whole pageant scene. And in this day and age, just be gay and get it over with all ready. What may be shocking to some of these closeted people is that no one cares if you’re gay or not. Don’t flatter yourselves to think that you are Rock Hudson or some iconic figure that the world can’t imagine being gay. It’s not 1950 anymore and celebrity is something anyone who gets to open a suitcase on national television can have so it’s not all that elusive anymore.

And as I said earlier, I used to feel sorry for the women but in this day and age where every show on television is giving you insight into the fact that a guy doesn’t have to swish and carry a show tune to be gay, you women should know better too. Don’t be all surprised that the man who cared more about registering for your wedding and picking out the perfect duvet cover is gay six years from now when you have four children. And for that matter, don’t be surprised to find that the guy who seemed like a regular guy is gay either. There’s a thing called integrity and honesty that come in to play but unfortunately some men don’t understand the importance of either of these things. So yes, they do shitty things like involve women in their masquerade which is completely unfair. But perhaps if some women would put away their desperation to walk a runway in a white gown and allow their own “Spidey” senses to take over, they wouldn’t end up the long suffering spouses of a gay man. I’m not saying it’s entirely the woman’s fault but come on ladies, let’s take some responsibility here, shall we?

We may never understand why people do the things that they do and that’s part of the adventure of life. But what pissed me off with this whole Miss America thing shouldn’t surprise any of us. I mean, how long was it before they even allowed black women to place in the finals for their state, let alone for the national competition? You may say it’s not the same thing but I think that there are plenty of similarities here. The problem is that the gays I’ve met involved in the pageant are contented to have bugle beads in their eyes and pretend they are Miss America holding their “girl’s” gown up to them in their living room. That may be all well and good for the local pageant people but it sure would be nice to see some integrity from the leaders of the pageant and allow the people who really make the pageant be represented in their programming. There’s more than tiaras and gowns in Miss America’s closet – Don’t Get Me Started!

Miss America Camp – Don’t Get Me Started!

Although I am not a die hard fan of the Miss America pageant, I do watch it every year. Yes, even now that they ripped it from its home in Atlantic City and brought it to Las Vegas as well as its journey from being a network favorite to being relegated to the Country Music Television Network. Neither of these moves are anything I understand but as times change, I supposed everything changes with it and Miss America is no exception. I just finished watching the two hour special called Pageant School, where for the first time they brought the contestants together earlier than the pageant and put them through their paces in goofy competitions to help them prepare for the pageant. Here’s the problem, not one gay was present in helping the girls get themselves ready. Okay, there was one, Michael Feinstein (who should just play the piano and not sing) who is going to be a judge but he is hardly what I’m talking about here. I’ve been around the pageants and let me tell you that for every girl, sorry, woman up there, there are at least seven male “queens” camping it up and making it happen. Miss America camp – Don’t Get Me Started!

First was the walking competition and perhaps I’ve watched too much America’s Next Top Model but I did expect to see someone of the likes of Ms. Jay from that show helping the girls out but no. Then there was the makeup challenge showing the girls the most common missteps taken by pageant girls when it comes to their makeup. Well, let’s face it Max Factor started it all and there have been so many men makeup artists since then (the master Kevin Aucoin – God rest his soul) that I was sure we would see a made up man but no, some Asian woman whose makeup was too shiny for camera was helping them out. Next up, dance so now I’m sure I’m going to see me someone who is as lispy and delightful as they come. Oh no, it’s two male country singers in some band no one has ever heard of teaching country line dancing. (Forget ballet everyone, line dancing is the art of dance at its best and the roots of all dancing) So having seen the whole show I am now sure that the Miss America pageant and the Country Music Television Network made a very conscious choice not to include what we all know to be true. The women wear the gowns but the real queens behind the scenes are showing them how to get the crowns.

Okay, I get it that it’s “nicer” for America (especially those rednecks watching the CMT channel) to see ex-Miss Americas, a southern pageant coach (who reminds you a lot of Candice Bergen from Miss Congeniality) and a Jewish (but so highlighted and done up she could easily pass for a southern Baptist) top tenner from one of the 90’s pageants as the experts as opposed to a bunch of flitty queens on camera but let me just tell you, go to a preliminary sometime, even on the state level and you tell me who is shelpping the gowns in the big garment bags for those gals and showing them how to do everything from hair, makeup, walk, talk and Vaseline on the teeth. I’m going to go out on a limb and say that eight times out of ten (and I really think it could be higher) you’ll find a gay behind the gal.

Let’s face it Miss America is queer so get used to it. The whole idea of pageants is odd to begin with but some boys over the years have embraced it as their way to make a living and are living in mansions thanks to it. I know if I didn’t have a conscience I would have made millions coaching some fat and some fabulous pageant girls. Perhaps there’s still a chance to go back to it for me. God knows I’ve made a lot of non-dancers look like dancers during my days of choreographing for dinner theater. But here’s the deal, like it or not, if you want to see the gay stereotype in action, all you have to do is get within seven hundred feet of a pageant. So to not be represented at all during this two hour extravaganza was a little disappointing.

Not only were there not enough gays, I get what they were trying to do and they got it all wrong. Had they really wanted to go after the reality television market with this thing (which is the feel of it and how it’s shot) they would have made it more than one night, let people call in to vote for the winner on a live final episode and would have edited it for more drama. But I guess that there are some things that would make the pageant people squirm. Oddly enough, it’s not putting baby wigs on kids with no hair so that they can compete at six months or putting in false teeth covers on them but somehow bringing the pageant fully into reality television was something that they obviously felt uncomfortable with (for now). Maybe next year it will get blown out a little more but it looked very tentative and as though they were only getting their toes wet.(Much like their power swim suits, pretty to look at but you don’t go diving all the way in wearing one)

In this day and age where (God help us) young female role models are Paris Hilton (and here’s a tip girls, she was born into is so if you weren’t born an heiress you all ready have problems achieving this type of fame and fortune) there is something old school and nice about some women up there in gowns, suits and crowns who will at least say the right things to be perceived as a role model. (Are you listening you drugged, drunked up, Miss U.S.A., Tara Conner?) Oh I’ll be watching on Monday night when the pageant is on (and not JUST because Mario Lopez is the host) and you best believe that every time they scan that audience I’ll be looking to see our boys, cleaned up and looking their manly best for the night and to get on camera. You can always tell the boys because they’re doing their best conservative suit but the lapel really defines them, you’ll see a crown pin encrusted with Swarovski crystals. They’ll claim that one of the former girls they coached gave it to them but they really ordered it online and had it sent in their mother’s name to their address. You can take the boy out of camp you just can’t get the camp out of the boy. Miss America camp – Don’t Get Me Started!

There’s No Place Like Home – Don’t Get Me Started!

The good news about working in an office really late is that you can print your online boarding pass for your trip home the next day and be an “A” on Southwest and their whole fercockt system. And so I did and was delighted to be going home last night. There’s no place like home – Don’t Get Me Started!

I arrived at the airport early enough to be the first in my “A” line and was quite pleased with myself. What I was not pleased to find was that my flight was delayed. Now with Southwest you have a bit of a quandary as you need to figure out if you can sit in the seats located about 50 feet from the actual entry point of the “A” people to the plane and still be considered first in line or do you need to (as I do) stand or sit right where they pull the nylon cord across so there is no doubt you are indeed the first.

As I was standing there, waiting and listening to my Ipod, this really large “B” man with no introduction says to me, “How many songs does that hold, huh?” I’m a little taken aback as I wasn’t even looking in his direction but I continue on and make the polite conversation, trying to seem interested as he goes on about how his wife loves the “Shuffle” and not the Nano like you’ve got yourself there. Next the man behind me chimes in all about the Ipod that he has and the one you can put in your Nike shoe because he’s a runner. None of this I care about nor do I even want to pretend to care at this point. God works in mysterious ways and thank God it was his shift and no doubt, thanks to him, it was my time to board the plane and run as far away from these two as possible.

Once on the plane, being first there’s no problem getting everything in the overhead bin and getting the aisle seat I want. Now I’m ready for the show. I love to sit and watch the people coming on the plane. You have some who have never flown Southwest before so they’re trying to figure out if they have a seat number and where that could be and then you have the professionals who travel all the time and then you have the too much carryon for their own good people.

So as I’m listening to the number “Fasten Your Seatbelts” from Applause, here she comes. I would have to say she was in her fifties, very made up, looking like she was Arabic with the dark hair frosted so much that it looks like a bad blonde job someone did and she has the most overstuffed carryon bag in recorded history. First she tries to put it in the bin over the seats in front of me. Meanwhile, the Nike Ipod guy is sitting there, gets hit in the head by her purse and shopping bag that are on her wrist and there’s no way she’s getting that bag up. The Nike Ipod guy can’t move because she practically has a knee in his lap. The person boarding behind her helps her but once it’s up, it’s clear that there is no way it’s going to fit with all the other luggage that is already up there and so she yanks it down, almost taking out the row of people behind her. Now she’s headed my way so before she kills me, I get up, take the bag from her and put it in the overhead bin over my seat. She thanks me and as she steps in past me to go to the window seat in my row there’s no mistaking the fact that she has managed to pour an entire bottle of cheap perfume on herself. I mean it’s floating in the air attacking everyone on the plane and especially me as I’m right there. Here’s a tip, if you’re getting on a plane or anywhere confined (like a straight jacket) lay off the perfume, for the sake of others.  

As soon as they tell us we can’t use our phones, she’s on hers talking in Arabic, which would have made me nervous save the fact she had on false eyelashes and what terrorist do you know that puts on lashes before an attack? Finally she is off the phone and the hour flight begins. She is pretty harmless during the flight and I look over to see her doing Arabic crossword puzzles. I guess some would say that it is arrogant but I’m thinking it’s just naïve, I don’t really think about things like puzzle books in different languages. I guess because I’ve never been exposed to any of them. Hmmm, pause…and moving on.

Well, the minute we land, she is on the phone with her accomplices and she’s trying to step over me to get out of the plane. I pull down her bag and as she’s thanking me, it’s almost as if her perfume is even coming out of her mouth to give me one final attack. I couldn’t get away from her and to my car fast enough.

And as I walked through the door and saw my cats looking at me as if to say, “Oh yeah, you’re going to pay for this little trip, mister.” I knew I was home and oh Mamale, there’s no place like home – Don’t Get Me Started!

How Goofy Is Corporate America Today? – Don’t Get Me Started!

So I’m here in LA this week working in the corporate office of my company. The reason I don’t live here is because I would have to go to work every day with these morons and I would end up in prison for killing one or all of them. Working day to day with corporate people allows you a glimpse into why postal workers kill. I read a couple days ago that the CEO of The Gap had resigned (Corporate lingo for fired) and I couldn’t help but recognize that his name was the same as the guy that was running Disneyland when I was an assistant choreographer there years ago. I remember that we always used to laugh because I think he had started out at the park as Goofy or a security guard and here he was running the whole park. Disney, like many companies give promotions based on length of stay as opposed to merit. Well, he’s now leaving The Gap with a severance of around $14 million dollars! How goofy is corporate America today? – Don’t Get Me Started!

For all the tie and suit wearing, corporate America dresses for success but dares you to succeed. It thrives on making you feel as worthless as possible so that they can keep adding to your workload, not pay you any more and at the same time make you feel as though no one else wants you so you might as well stay at the company. The “executives” all walk around looking for something to fill their day with so all they can do is micromanage you. Being in the corporate world is like being on a playground. They say that it’s “political” but all that means is that you need to get into the right clique or your suddenly eating you lunch alone and being slammed into lockers. They all walk around using the current buzz words and much like grade school, everyone talks about every one else.

Let me help you understand a couple buzzwords and a phrase so that you can walk right in and get a job as the president of a company.

• Confidential – this word should mean privileged information that should not be shared but what it really means is that the person who is telling you the confidential information has told everyone else and you’re the last one that they’re telling. By saying it’s confidential and telling everyone they know they figure that they can never be blamed if it “leaks” out because they’ve told enough people that surely it will be pinned on someone else.
• Under The Bus – this is what happens when someone blames you for something, brings to light that you in fact have fucked up or is trying to pin their fuck up on you. It’s used like, “Wow, he really threw you under the bus when he told the CEO that you were the one who leaked the confidential information to the field.”
• “I don’t have the answers, I just have the questions.” This is a favorite of my current COO. This absolves him of ever having to take responsibility for any decision he makes. It’s normally followed with something like, “I have complete faith that this team of leaders will come up with the right answers to run this business correctly.” This means you will definitely be blamed if the decision that is made does not improve business immediately.

Keep this confidential but I don’t think I’m long for the corporate world because I was blessed by having a soul and a desire to help the “field teams” and not spend my time kissing the asses of the asses in the corporate office. The reason you could stay miserable when you were in school was because you could blame your parents for not moving so you could go to a new school and make a new start. Now you have to do it on your own and there’s no one to “throw under the bus” but yourself. I don’t have the answers, I just have the questions and I have complete faith that those of you who are reading this will come up with the right answers to my job dilemma. How goofy is corporate America today? – Don’t Get Me Started!

The Funk From The Hotel Room Next Door – Don’t Get Me Started!

I know that most of you think I lead a glamorous life of writing blogs for major Hollywood studios, networks, etc. and if you are any of those, please email me immediately to get me out of my current life in hell in corporate America. Taking offers NOW! Anyway, I’m in LA this week and I always stay at one of those corporate hotels that have the kitchen and everything due to the fact that it is the cheapest option. While it isn’t glamorous by any means, it does the job and let’s face it, I’m here to work and I don’t really care what the hotel room looks like at this point as I’ve been in more than a whore and with less excitement. (much less excitement) So one of the few things I don’t complain about is my hotel accommodations when traveling for business. However for some reason this time during my stay I feel like I’m in a horror film. The funk from the hotel room next door – Don’t Get Me Started!

I would assume that some people who are staying at this hotel are there for more than a few days or a week like me and so they find the need to make use of the limited kitchen. I would never cook in one of these places as I don’t know where the pots and pans, etc. have been. While it’s probably a good idea to cook, saving money and unnecessary calories, I can’t get the image out of my mind that no matter how much I scrub the “community utensils, dishes, etc.” in my mind there’s been some corporate guy staying there who is really a freak and likes to jerk off while sitting on a plate, jerking his crank with a spoon and a fork and seeing how much noise he can make when he shoots into the metal pot. Graphic I know, but there’s where my head is with all of this so let’s just say that I’ll never use any of that stuff and I’m hoping that you won’t either.

So when I checked in on Monday night, as I stepped off the elevator and rounded the corner to my room I couldn’t help but notice that there was an odd smell. Now let me say, that I think I could place this smell as it smelled remotely like the famous chitterlings (pig intestine) from my guy’s family Christmas breakfast. I can’t even begin to describe this smell but let me say that it’s not all that appetizing and along with it, there’s a strong vinegar smell because apparently you need to have enough vinegar to clean coffee makers and douche everyone within a ten mile radius to make the chitterlings edible. So while it wasn’t the most pleasant smell in the world, the main thing is that at least I could identify it and there was some comfort in that fact. Unlike a game show I didn’t win anything but at least I was able to “Name That Smell” in two sniffs.

Well, last night I get to the hotel and I have no idea what the stench is but all I know is that it is coming from the room next door. I think we can all agree that there are certain things that smell great when they are cooking – think of turkey or a roasted chicken, think of just about anything and then I want you to imagine as Vincent Price said in Michael’s Jackson’s song Thriller, “The funk of forty thousand years” because that’s what was coming from next door. Now another person who is staying there said it was curry. I don’t from Indian food and if that’s any indication, I will never know about it.

But here’s my point, I have enough of a problem staying in hotels as it is because I’ve watched the 60 Minutes reports of how many germs, etc. are on everything in a hotel room. I sit in the bed (first removing the diseased bedspread with a towel from the bathroom so that my hands don’t even have to touch it) with as many clothes on as possible trying not to let my skin or anything touch anything so as to not be contaminated more than absolutely necessary. I don’t have OCD but knowing what you can know from 60 Minutes and those other shows I totally get how you could become that way really fast. Furthermore if you take a pillow or blanket on a flight, you’re taking your life in your hands and God bless.

But here’s the deal, if you should find yourself in one of these “extended stay” hotels, you have a duty to place nice with others. Don’t go cooking llama butt with chitterlings and a side of snake scrotum. Make stuff that either doesn’t have such a strong smell, open your windows and/or buy some apples and cinnamon that you can leave baking on the stove in a little water to make homemade hotel potpourri! I don’t want to play name that smell, I don’t want to have to spray so much cologne in the morning for fear I’ll take the smell with me and I certainly don’t want that smell to come in and kill me like that weird green special effect from the movie The Ten Commandments that killed the first male born Egyptians because they won’t let you travel with lamb blood to smear on your door like the Jews did and even though I’m not a first born it makes me nervous. Think less of a biblical film and more like a horror film…the funk from the hotel room next door – Don’t Get Me Started!

Please, Not Waiting For A Southwest Flight – Don’t Get Me Started!

Although my uncle (a former rabbi) is now a flight attendant for Southwest (a blog for another day), I cannot tell a lie, this is not my favorite airline. But as I take frequent trips to LA on business, it’s the cheapest way to get back and forth and therefore, I fight like everyone else to get the “A” ticket online 24 hours before my flight, get there early to get through the security line to get in the line at the gate early enough to be close to the front of the “A” line because as any self-respecting “A” person knows, getting an “A” is no good unless you also get to the front of the “A” line as there are something like forty-five “A” people for each flight. Well, this morning I woke up at 4:30am (thanks to my cat) and was at the airport early and yet I was still about seven back in the “A” line. You can imagine what a flight from Vegas to Burbank looks like on a Monday morning. You have the people who are going to work in LA for the week and then the people who look like hell who have been partying all weekend. Well, very unlike the song Some Enchanted Evening, I looked across this crowded gate to the “C” line to find a guy giving me the “hubba hubba” look. Please, not waiting for a Southwest flight – Don’t Get Me Started!

First of all, I have been with the same man for eighteen years so it takes a lot for me to even figure out that someone is giving me the “hubba hubba” eye. You have to remember that I rarely go out to bars or anything as I was never a bar person and there’s no need as I’m not looking to hook up so bars just aren’t my scene shall we say? When I have gone with friends to gay bars it never fails. The only person showing interest in me is usually a guy in his late sixties with very large red round glasses looking like Sally Jesse who saunters over and says something like, “Sssssay!” This never fails to make me feel like the most unattractive person on the planet.

But here is this decent looking guy, with the Ipod earphones in, gesturing with his hand as he listens to his music and staring at me, I mean, really staring at me. Now remember that it’s like six in the morning so I can think of a hundred other things that are on my mind. You know, like did I leave enough food out for the cats, will the cat sitter get there today, what rental car will I get, I need a new job, and maybe I shouldn’t have worn the cashmere argyle J. Crew sweater today. And as my mind was is in its constant state of thinking of a million thing at once and I’m listening to the original Broadway cast of Applause on my (red) Ipod Nano (yes, I’m bragging – love it!), trying to not do the steps I’m choreographing in my head to the numbers, I occasionally look in that direction and he’s still staring.

Now he falls into the looking like hell category. He obviously has been up for three days or more and the decision he made to not wash his hair and just add more product, was not the right one. The other wrong decision was trying to pick me up waiting for a Southwest flight. Besides the fact that it would never happen as I’m in a completely monogamous relationship, it’s not like we were waiting for a flight to Paris and we were both flying first class. No, we were waiting for the first flight in the morning at the worst gate in the Vegas airport to Burbank and besides, he was a God damned “C” for Chrissakes! Even if I was available it would never work out because as they say, “An “A” and a “C” can fall in love but where will they build their home? In the “B” line? I think not!” Okay, maybe I’ve plagiarized (or bastardized) that phrase a lot but let’s just say that I’m way out of practice and at this point I was more concerned about overhead bin space than I was about “making eyes” across the gate.

I guess I should be flattered that this guy wasn’t the typical Sally Jesse type I attract, probably in his thirties, hung over or still drunk and at least it made me think that I had indeed made the right choice by wearing the cashmere sweater. I guess that’s something but I’m just not one to be had at a gate in an airport, I’d lose my place in line. So, please, not waiting for a Southwest flight – Don’t Get Me Started!

Rosie Limbaugh? – Don’t Get Me Started!

I need to start by saying that I have and always will love me some Rosie O’Donnell (not her acting God love her, but on a talk show, love her). I remember when her show premiered. I was working as an assistant choreographer at Disneyland and before it could even premiere, “the gays” (per usual) were all over it. From the queenliest chorus boy to pretty much everyone else in the cast, we all huddled around a small portable television in one of the trailers to watch the first broadcast. And as they say, the rest is history or herstory as some feminists would say. But as of late between the Donald Trump business and now the American Idol criticisms it would seem that the press is doing its best to portray our portly gal as a loud mouth crazy like Rush Limbaugh. Rosie Limbaugh? – Don’t Get Me Started!

I of course used to watch Rosie when she had her own show because she was good, good to the gays and Broadway. In my estimation, a grand slam. No one can deny what she did for talk shows, what seems to be a norm now was started (I think) by Rosie the very fun giving away of a bunch of products under the seats!. Now is the time to admit that I have only watched her a couple of times since she has been on The View but see I don’t really need to watch her on the show because my mother calls me every day to not only tell me what happened on the show but also to try and quote everyone with her own commentary slipped in between, of course. “And then Rosie said something about the whole Donald Trump thing and I think that Joy is having none of it because you could just see it in her eyes. And that Joy is funny in her own right. Did you know that? Ach but that Elizabeth, they need to get rid of her already, she gets on my nerves.” This is about the time I beg my mother to let me know if there is a point to the story (the one she’s telling and/or the one that she is trying to relate to me). The View is my mother’s new gospel. Whatever they say on that show is simply what we all need to know, according to my mother.

But here’s the deal, has anything that Rosie said been wrong? I mean come on if Donald Trump doesn’t know about his hair then he is a complete idiot. I suspect much like the hair, he engaged in the so-called feud to get attention for himself and season seven hundred of his Apprentice show. And after watching the first four hours (Tivo’d and fast forwarded a lot) of American Idol, I don’t know if I agree with Rosie about the judges being more mean but there is definitely a new way they’re going with how the “stars” are behaving on this season. Ryan is sedated, allowing the contestants to hang themselves and it’s actually preferable to have him as the straight man (well, jury still out but you know what I mean, he’s better reacting to the crazy people rather than trying to make more of the situation or trying to be funny. Paula is on the drugs or something, God love her she’s the prettier Courtney Love or smaller chested Anna Nicole, we love to watch some crazy, don’t we? Randy has put the weight back on and doesn’t even seem interested in talking about his favorite subject; himself and all the stars he’s worked with or made. Rounding out the gang is Simon who just seems like himself to me but really bored. Well, I’m bored too, it seems as though they got so wrapped up in the bad auditions being talked about around the water cooler in seasons past that they forgot that occasionally they need to show us some talented people too. Or the show has just become a place for loons to find their fifteen seconds of fame.

But back to Rosie. Not to get all gay-sensitive here but would the media be making such a big deal out of all of this if someone else was saying it? Or are we seeing Rosie painted with a new brush? No longer the Queen of Nice, or the Queen of Mean, could it be that the mainstream media wants her to be seen as this big, bawdy, loud-mouthed lesbian? There’s just a small part of me that thinks that all those people who are fighting against gay marriage, adoption and basically anything that has to do with gays may like painting Rosie as the female equivalent of Mr. Limbaugh or Bill O’Reilly? Think about it for a minute. I think a lot of right-wingers would love to see Rosie become as big a farce as Limbaugh or O’Reilly. But I say, don’t you do it, Rosie. The difference is that you have and always will fight for the underdog while still speaking your mind and we all love you for it. So pat yourself on the back for having everyone hanging on your every word, giving Barbara Walters’ hairstylist more grey hair to cover up and keep up the great work! Rosie Limbaugh? – Don’t Get Me Started!

Tease Is Terrible! – Don’t Get Me Started!

I know I’m supposed to love Oxygen network’s latest reality competition show Tease but it has to be one of the worst shows I’ve ever seen in my life. Because I’m always fair (okay, well maybe not always) I gave the show a couple of chances to “hook” me and let me just say that I don’t ever need to even come close to watching it again. Even fast forwarding through it with Tivo was unbearable. Tease is terrible! – Don’t Get Me Started!

Here’s the premise, host Lisa Rinna of Dancing With The Stars fame and more importantly to every homosexual my age, married to Harry Hamlin, who was in the first really gay movie I can ever remember, Making Love. Who couldn’t be in love with him, hello? Watching the movie, you just fell in love with him so much you didn’t even feel all that sorry for the “smart” angel, Kate Jackson which is hard because she’s so damn likeable now isn’t she? Anyway, God help Lisa Rinna who hosts this dog of a show. On the website for the show, it lists all her roles including the fact that she was an Emmy nominee and then kills her credibility with the final line of, “Rinna is also recognizable for her signature layered hairstyle.” Well, by all means who cares about being an Emmy nominee when you’ve got a signature hairstyle? There will be no Emmy for this show, her presence as the host is almost as stiff as her “signature” hair.

The premise is that two hairdressers (do they still call them that or are they stylists or hair designers or what?) who come from different places across the country challenge one another to a cut, color and basic “style-off”. The winner of this first round goes on to face one of the three master stylists (who they shoot like they are the Iron Chefs) and then someone goes home with a pair of silver scissors in a clear box. Meanwhile, during all the time when the stylists are working there are three unbelievably bad wannabe celebs giving color commentary to try to make the show a little more interesting. One is black (not-so-super) model Roshumba, one is an agent for hair stylists (and has the worst black hair dye job you’ve ever seen) Frank Moore and the “big” name stylist, Peter Ishkhans who is a legend but now unfortunately looks like Phil Specter with my dead grandmother’s hairstyle. Mr. Ishkhans’ hair is so bad that you kind of don’t even know how he can achieve it let alone why he would want to achieve it. Now, I’ve never done hair (other than my own – please see photo from the 80’s on the right-side of this page) but I’m sure he’s using a round brush to do his Jane Wyman bangs and the rest is palmed out and sprayed within an inch of its life like a bad aging rocker. It’s worth tuning in just to ask yourself, “And this is the best the hairdresser of the stars can do on a show about hair?”

In between the really boring parts (which is really the whole show) they have the gayer than gay Coby from Survivor (no, not the good looking one you’re thinking of, someone who was on season 612 of Survivor when I had already stopped watching). He goes out in the audience and generally makes everyone uncomfortable, giving tips and being so put-on swishy that he sets back homosexuals by about seven hundred years every time he opens his mouth. Did you know there was an “s” in hair? He puts on in, believe me!

This show is so God-Damned gay that I can’t take it (and we all know they had to go pretty far for that, right?). Now here’s where I’m going to get myself in trouble with all of you, what the problem is; is that it’s not the “right” kind of gay. It’s all that put-on, “fabulousos” flouncing and flailing that just makes you scream “fag” at the television set. While I understand that networks are trying to take down competition show experts, Bravo TV and the producers of Project Runway and Top Chef who have announced that they are doing a hair competition show, they needed to leave this bad do under the dryer a little longer. Being first doesn’t make you the best. I suggest they pull this show, rinse and repeat until they can figure out a way to make it entertaining. Tease is terrible – Don’t Get Me Started!

Jesus Needs A New Booking Agent – Don’t Get Me Started!

By now you should all have heard about the most recent sighting of an image of Jesus. Above you see the supposed image of Jesus that was found on a doggy door. Yes, that’s right, a door that dogs use to go in and out of the house. And the big question (as always) is divine intervention or Picasso pooches? Regardless, as one Jew to another I have to tell him he has got to get off doggy doors and grilled cheese sandwiches, no matter how painful, Jesus needs a new booking agent – Don’t Get Me Started!

The owners were supposedly contemplating getting rid of the dogs but when they saw the image they felt that it was some sort of sign that they needed to keep the dogs. Now, according to the dog owners, they were getting rid of the dogs because they were always tearing things up and were menacing to anyone who tried to enter the house. So we know that the dogs weren’t asking themselves, “What would Jesus do?” because we know for a fact Jesus doesn’t tear up patio furniture or would ever be considered menacing. And as a pet owner, I know for a fact that the dog whisperer is correct, it is not the pet that needs to be trained but in fact the owners. Does anyone accept responsibility for their inability? (Are you listening White House?)

Here’s the deal, this is why we have so many homeless pets and people because everything is disposable in our world. No one really cares what happens to that lighter when you throw it away because you threw it away so you’re David Copperfield and it just magically disappears, right? Wrong! And we have the same mentality about pets and people. If a pet is a problem, then it’s not the owner’s problem, no, it’s the pet that we’ve overindulged or mistreated’s fault and we should just “dispose” of them. Well, I’m here to tell you that the landfill of life is getting pretty full, people. So here’s a thought, why not stop looking for divine intervention everywhere and just accept responsibility for fixing yourself, your shit and the world around you?

Now I don’t know about the images that everyone thinks are appearing of Jesus, Mary and a Holy Host of others but I know I looked into the sky once and saw a cloud that reminded me of Ethel Merman. I didn’t take it as a sign that I should start dressing in drag and do a production of Gypsy cast as Mama Rose! Did I miss my big chance? I guess if seeing images is what it takes to get you through the day then who am I to say it’s wrong? Go for it. And excuse me for getting all therapist on your asses but if we spent more time dealing with our own feelings and listening to our own inner voice, I don’t think we’d be relying so much on divine images (Not talking about Beyonce at the Golden Globes, because she looked simply divine) and we would start to deal with ourselves and one another more honestly.

I also know that this is not going to happen any time soon so I’ll just focus on what I can fix and right now, I’ve got to find out who is representing Jesus and see if we can’t get him some better gigs. I mean if you were Jesus (albeit a simple Jewish carpenter – one of the reasons you know he wasn’t really Jewish – he was too good with tools) wouldn’t you think his “people” would be getting him a jumbotron in Times Square instead of on a doggy door somewhere? Jesus needs a new booking agent – Don’t Get Me Started!

So You Think You’ve Had A Bad Day – Don’t Get Me Started!

My family has a long line of traditions and one of them happens to be what we call the, “I’m sicker than you are game” there are no rules and most of the time it’s involuntary and just happens without anyone blowing a whistle or turning over a timer to let you know that the game has begun. An example would be if on my daily chat with my Mother (okay, who am I kidding? ONE of my daily chats with my mother) I were to say, “God I had such a bad headache last night. And you know me, I never get headaches.” My Mother’s instantaneous response would be, “Oh, really? You think that your headache was awful? Well, I was up all night with such a pounding in my head it could only be an aneurysm! You should take an aspirin.” And because like most games, the game manufacturer tries to make similar games with similar appeal, we also have the game, so you think you’ve had a bad day? – Don’t Get Me Started!

The song, “It Sucks To Be Me” from the Broadway show Avenue Q is my official song at the moment and if you think you had a bad day yesterday, I say, “Amateur, take a number because here comes a real and true day from hell that you will not believe!” As with most bad days, it really starts the day before because all of Satan’s helpers have to get the stage set for the disaster about to befall you.

Previously on “So you think you’ve had a bad day”

Monday Evening – my guy, Michael was leaving to go back east on a 10:50pm flight however, I was scheduled to finally meet one of the dynamic duo from the creative genius of MikWright who was in town for one night at 9:30pm (go to their site immediately and buy something then come back and read the rest of the blog, we’ll wait for you… www.mikwright.com ). Now let me say that as much as I love the man and have been with him for over 18 years now, he is always late. I refuse to believe in the stereotype of CPT (Colored People Time) I wouldn’t want to continue a stereotype, I just know that my six foot black man is ALWAYS late and almost worse than being late; he will never admit that he is late or running late. In fact, he’ll blame me for “rushing” him when it’s five minutes before we’re supposed to be somewhere and still haven’t left our home. I am from the school of if you don’t get there three hours early for everything you’re late and he’s the king of getting everywhere from a half an hour or more late. He will also never admit that he is late, it’s either the traffic or my fault. His lateness includes getting to an airport ten minutes before the flight takes off and yet he still makes the flight. There should be a new word for crazy for as crazy as this makes me because not only do I have the stress of driving ninety miles an hour to try and get him to the airport so that he can actually make the flight but then he always, always gets on, usually them ushering him on like a rock star and him calling me from the plane asking me why I’m so upset as I reach for my 800th Gaviscon! And so before we could even get to dealing with the airport thing on Monday night, here’s a little timeline view for you.

• 7:15pm – Michael goes to the store to get some “stuff”
• 8:00pm – I get the call from Michael that he ran over something, the tire is shredded, the spare not good enough to put on, he drove it for a quarter mile, has no idea if he’s bent the entire rim or whatever and he is in a gas station parking lot waiting for me. (Keep in mind he is now livid because he didn’t take his cell phone with him and none of the pay phones were working properly at the gas station so things are going downhill fast.)
• 8:30pm – Elphaba (our female cat) comes inside after I hear a cat fight. I know that she is probably injured because she won’t let me get near her but Michael checks her out (as he is Dr. Doolittle, not me) and says she is fine. I know (with every Jewish Mother fiber of my being) that she is not okay
• 8:40pm – The time we were supposed to leave for the airport
• 9:05pm – We leave the house but I ask Michael to let me drive him to the gas station where his car is so that he can at least tell them not to impound the car as I won’t be able to get to it to the next day
• 9:30pm – We arrive at the airport, he apologizes for making me late (though he’s a little bitter about being there so early)
• 9:32pm – Call MikWright and apologize, letting them know I’m running late
• 9:45pm – Arrive for much needed Belvedere Dirty Martinis and have a faboo time with one half of MikWright and his pal

So you kind of have the picture now of the day that was about to come my way for Tuesday, right? Oh but you don’t.

The day of the “So you think you’ve had a bad day”

·         8:30am – I had inadvertently set my alarm for pm instead of am so due to the fact I was supposed to be up at 6:30am and had already missed my first meeting of the day, this was set up for disaster, big time.

·         8:33am – Cat still being weird, I have a feeling that I’m in for a vet visit later in the day but as she is breathing and even eats a little something, I figure she’ll survive and I’m two hours off schedule already

·         8:35am – Wash and style the hair – no time for a shower – add cologne

·         8:45am – Call the Jewish parents and beg for their help to have Michael’s car towed to Sears where the tires are supposed to be under warranty

·         9:15am – Arrive at my office where I have a series of upsetting emails, conference calls and general feeling of never being able to get anything accomplished that is worth anything in a dead end job and so my self-esteem, self-worth and feeling of being trapped in a life that wasn’t supposed to be mine begins to lower me into the depths. Also add in that I’m worrying all day that my cat is going to be dead when I get home.

·         1:00pm – Call the parents to see if they have gotten the car towed yet – the answer is no as my mother is just leaving the hairdresser’s – they’re going now and I’m getting on another conference call.

·         1:30pm – While on the conference call, try to figure out what I’m going to do as I will be in LA all week next week and had received a call from a friend of my usual cat sitter (shut up, yes, the cats have a cat sitter for whenever I’m gone for more than one day) that there was a tragedy in the cat sitter’s family. Now I don’t know what to do. Is it insensitive to call the cat sitter and ask if she can do next week? Is it worse to have to interview and find someone else? Putting the conference call on mute in the earpiece of my landline phone I place the call on my cell phone and thank God, get voicemail.

·         3:30pm – Conference call finally over, call my parents. My mother informs me that it took the tow truck two hours to get there and when he got there he was practically out of gas, asking them where he could get gas, making my father help him put Michael’s car on the truck and asking my father to ride with him. Now my Mother is hysterical for several reasons, 1) They waited two hours for a tow truck, 2) My father performed manual labor, 3) My father went with some tow truck driver and was no doubt having his throat slashed as we spoke, 4) I could go on as she did but hopefully you get it at this point.

·         3:35pm – I leave my office early to go try to get what I’m sure is my half-dead cat to the vet

·         3:36pm – As I answer my cell phone it is my Mother’s voice screaming at my father that I hear, explaining where he went wrong all along the way with the tow truck driver and the entire situation.

·         3:37pm – My Father calls me (yes, he’s still in the same car with my mother) to tell me that Michael should have the spare tire looked at as well and ask why didn’t he have a good spare in the car?

·         3:38pm – My Mother calls me (still in the car) to tell me that I need to go with them to have papers signed before 7pm tonight

·         3:39pm – My Father calls (still in the car) telling me that I should call them back and see when the car will be done because we could go down there tonight and pick it up

·         3:40pm – Arrive home. Cat not dead but won’t let me touch her, she must be caught, corralled and put in the car. Off to the vet

·         4:15pm – Vet determines that Elphaba was bit, shaves her ass, gives her two shots and puts her on twice a day antibiotics for a week (remember that I still don’t know what to do about the cat sitter and now I need someone who can administer the medication too) The vet wants to do some tests for feline leukemia but I decline as she explains that after a bite there could be a false test result. I have guilt over not having the test done and wonder if she’s dying of cancer like everyone else has in my family.

·         4:30pm – Sears calls about Michael’s car while I’m talking with the vet. I try to be as polite as I can be, being on the phone with Sears and talking to the vet at the same time. Sears gets frustrated with me and hangs up on me.

·         4:35pm – My Mother calls – do I remember that we have to sign papers by 7pm, we’ll never make it, never mind that your father and I spent all day taking care of Michael’s car, the papers won’t get signed and we’ll basically lose everything but don’t worry about them and I should get rid of the cats, look where I am, at a vet. I should get a dog. I try to explain that we can still make it and that dogs need vets too, I don't make that great of an impression with her.

·         4:50pm – Pay the vet, $150 for two shots and a shave, what the hell is this some salon in Beverly Hills?

·         5:15pm – Get home. Give Elphaba some water and food in the carrier and leave her in it so that I can watch her every move when I get home and also so her brother, Fiyero won’t pounce on her while I’m gone adding injury to injury.

·         5:20pm – While in crazy traffic get Sears back on the phone and finally talk to a human after six attempts, the tire isn’t under warranty needs to be replaced and I can pick it up tomorrow.

·         5:50pm – Meet the parents and get the paperwork signed. They want us to all go to dinner, I explain I have a cat trapped in a box at home and need to get back to her to make sure that she isn’t having a reaction to the medicine. My Mother tells me I’m too stressed out and my Father is still shaking his head that there was no good spare in Michael’s car

·         6:35pm – Arrive home, let Elphaba out, she hates me and won’t even look at me. Sit and have guilt over not taking care of her first thing in the morning. Hear from Michael, he calls Sears, pays for the tire and I will need to have my Father drop me off to get the car the next morning.

·         7:00pm – Call my Mother to tell her I’ll need Dad to take me to get Michael’s car tomorrow. She is the calmest I’ve heard her all day, they are eating dinner out.

·         8:00pm Spend the rest of the evening, apologizing to my cat and trying to figure out if I can run away and never be heard from again without too much guilt that my parents would kill themselves.  

And so I ask you, do I win or what? Of course I do and so if today or any day is feeling pretty bad for you, just send me an email and I’ll be sure and let you know how good you have it. So you think you’ve had a bad day? – Don’t Get Me Started!

And You Call This Customer Service? – Don’t Get Me Started!

So I met two pals last night (for drinks at Mix at The Hotel – if you’re ever in Vegas you need to go here – fabulous view of the entire Strip and now the tip from your Jewish mother – get there before 10pm and the view is free – there’s a cover after 10pm!) At any rate, being gay, naturally we’ve all been involved at one point or another at the receiving end (get your minds out of the gutter) of bad customer service. Or should I say, and you call this customer service? – Don’t Get Me Started!

We’ve all experience it, have we not? You know, you either get treated like shit by the person at a store, call a service support line for your computer or God forbid you have to call an airline. Now last time I looked the airlines are all either going bust or merging like a bunch of last call gays at the worst bar in town, are they not? You would think that they would be tripping over themselves to give you the attention, respect, kindness and dare I say it, SERVICE you deserve to keep the money flowing so that their paychecks don’t bounce. But oh no, why ruin their perfect record of treating you like shit, right? So one of the boys last night was talking about how he had this airline reservation to go “down under” (again, I have to beg that you get your minds out of the gutter) Australia and he needed to change his name from the shortened version, Mike (yes, I’m using a name other than the actual name to protect the innocent…well, mostly innocent) to Michael so that it would be exactly as it is on his passport. Now having never been out of the good old U.S.A. myself I had no idea you needed everything matching, much like your living room but not your bedroom when you buy one of those sheet and comforter sets that they so cutely call, “bed in a bag” which is something I never really got because the bed isn’t in the bag, now is it? At any rate, the airline wanted to charge him $150 to change his name from Mike to Michael. And so he did what any self-respecting gay or Jew would do, he asked to speak with the person’s supervisor. When the supervisor came on he informed Mike that they were actually doing him a favor because it should be $200 but they were only charging him $150. Now what is up with that one? I get if you’re changing flights or something that they now have had all their legal departments draw up the documents so they can legally rape you like my ancestors who endured more than one raping during their many exiles from many countries and those swinging pogroms they were always bringing down on our asses but we’re talking a small name change here. This story is to be continued as it has now reached the “letter writing stage” so stay tuned…

Meanwhile, here we are at this swanky bar looking mighty cute, paying way too much for cocktails and do you think anyone could be bothered to attend to our needs? Absolutely not! The place wasn’t crowded and yet there were about twenty people all in black, sucking their cheeks in standing behind the bar with their arms crossed so that their biceps would look bigger and there were cocktail servers on who were very thin, all in black and had bad highlight jobs but honestly you couldn’t flag one down to save your life. I didn’t know if it was part of the ambience and you were expected to use a minimalist chair as a club to beat your server like a caveman would searching for a mate or what. Our “server” (for lack of a better term) seemed almost put off that we wanted to start a tab. I honestly don’t know what she was so busy doing because there all the other people sat at the other tables not getting any service either. And from the looks of things, we know she wasn’t eating or getting that hair fixed. She had no table side manner. Here’s the deal, I don’t care if you’re a proctologist or a cocktail server, you need to have you some decent bedside manner. (This goes for anyone you take home as well)

So we all have received bad guest service, right? Here’s the deal. As I told the boys last night, like most things in life, you need to get you a gay. I don’t care how many times you have to wait on hold or call back or anything else. If you want good guest service you need us gays to take care of you. Now there is a caveat to this situation, you don’t want a gay after he’s been out partying all night or one that has just been dumped. Other than those two situations, we are the ones you want to take care of you. This is probably the only time that sibilant “S” you’ve tried so hard to disguise is going to do you some good. The minute the gays hear it, you’ve won them over and they’ll do practically anything for you. And for you ladies reading this, just channel your inner fag hag and they’ll jump on the bandwagon to give you the world. And do you know why? Because we’re more than a little like the Statue of Liberty…give us your tired, your poorly accessorized, your huddled masses yearning to receive great guest service even though they are the wretched refuse who won’t let the gays get married. Send these, the customers, tempest-tossed to us. We lift our lamp beside a swell occasional table! Because if you’re not talking to a gay, you ain’t getting service! So the next time you’re on the phone and feeling as though they’re jerking you around, keep calling back until you get someone who knows who Kathy Griffin is or why Bette Midler shouldn’t have been wearing that ridiculous hat on her “holiday” album even if she did put it on Ebay for charity (let’s face it, another injustice, all Jews make Christmas albums but that’s a Don’t Get Me Started for another day). And you call this customer service? – Don’t Get Me Started!

I’m Apparently Not Gay Enough – Don’t Get Me Started!

Long have I written about my homosexual membership card being revoked. You know, for things like clapping on the dance floor when apparently “the gays” are snapping now (You can read about it here…Once Again, My Gay Membership Is In Danger Of Being Revoked - Don't Get Me Started!) and other apparently “old school” or “simply not done anymore” gay things. So it should come as no surprise to anyone that a recent look around the Internet at other people’s blogs and sites has left me feeling that way again. I’m apparently not gay enough – Don’t Get Me Started!

I’ve looked at several blogs and they are all really good. Where these people find the time, I’m sure I don’t know. I mean, they have everything on their sites that could possibly be considered gay and then some. These sites include everything from the most recent rulings on gay marriage to the feud between Rosie and Donald to links to naked male celebrities. Who knew that there were pictures of Danny Pintauro (the little boy from Who’s The Boss) all grown up on a gay website where guys post their naked pictures to hook up? As I wrote the words “hook up” I realized that this is probably an antiquated term as well. Ugh.

Honestly, I can’t imagine spending my days (and apparently nights) trolling the Internet for a screen shot from a movie where Taye Diggs appeared naked for three seconds but God bless the gays, they are out there finding this stuff and posting it. My question is how can you possibly ever keep up? I know I don’t even want to try. I mean we are a world obsessed with celebrity so I get it but by the same token, regurgitating pictures and news stories, is that really news? Okay, maybe it’s not news, maybe these people are figuring that they are doing the “one stop shopping” thing. You know, you go to a mall instead of a bunch of boutiques because you can find everything under one roof. I guess that’s what these sites do; they afford you the luxury of finding everything gay or gay related in one site shopping. Well, my raspberry beret is off to them.

Here’s the thing, I don’t know if it’s because I’m a Jew as well as being gay that I could and would never post some of what I’ve seen on other sites on this site. You see, being a typical Jewish family and co-dependent as hell, my mother reads this site and I can’t imagine having such content on the site. But perhaps that’s where I’m missing the mark?

Maybe I need to quit my job and spend all my time trying to find pictures of Webster naked or something. True, I could have picked a better celebrity I suppose and it doesn’t put a very nice picture in your head either, does it? But I think you get where I’m going here, right?

No, I’m doomed. I’m doomed to be who I am, or as Popeye says, “I Yam What I Yam!” I’m doomed to write about the Starbucks crowd pissing me off, my own self-hatred for becoming one of those pet people who love and talk about their pets too much and searching for Broadway show videos instead of old sitcom stars exposing themselves on the Internet. What else is a nice gay Jewish boy supposed to do, huh? I guess that being as gay as I can be will have to be enough. And since gay awareness really started with people just asking for acceptance, I suppose I’ll have to just accept myself even though in the eyes of the Internet I’m apparently not gay enough – Don’t Get Me Started!

My Blog’s Been Blacklisted! – Don’t Get Me Started!

So I’ve been writing this blog for over a year now and had the site for almost six months and I have to admit that other than a few spikes of major people coming to the site from some of the outside projects I’ve been involved with (Runway, Dreamgirls, etc.) I really feel it’s time for my blog to explode, to have as much attention as Internetty possible. So I began to Google every blog list imaginable. You cannot even begin to imagine how many lists there are to post your blog. Let me just say that there are a ton and you have no idea who you’re really listing with unless you’re listing on something like queerfilter.com, which you should all get, right? And so it began, I started joining (Because they won’t let you post a blog until you sign up, get a user name and password) on every one of these “lists” I could find. Most of them just add you and you never get a hit or hear from them again, however, there was this one that had such a catchy title, I couldn’t resist, “Blogexplosion” – now doesn’t that sound like a good one? Well, I went through all the proper procedures and my blog was rejected, that’s right, my blog’s been blacklisted – Don’t Get Me Started!

First the experts at this site said that my blog gave them an error when they tried to bring it up so I was “declined” as a blog on their site. Next they said my blog wasn’t a blog, since I had given them the address of my home page. Okay, I figured I screwed up, so I sent it in again with the address to the Don’t Get Me Started page. So a day goes by and then an email comes that my blog has been declined again because there’s no place to leave comments. Well, I have a comment, fuck you! Come on, don’t you people see how many places there are on my site where you can “leave a comment”? Well, apparently they don’t over at the big bad blogexplosion site.

And so of course, my mind wandered (much like the Jews with Moses except it only lasted forty seconds instead of forty years) and I wondered if there wasn’t something much more sinister going on here. That’s right, although I am loathing to admit it, I have become my mother. She feels certain that everyone is anti-Semitic. A recent event was Albertson’s (a grocery store chain) giving a free calendar which didn’t include Yom Kippur or Rosh Hashanah. These are some major Jewish holidays and they should be on there so I had to agree with her on this one. Unlike when a few kids smeared mustard on my parent’s front door and she was convinced it was a hate crime instead of just some kids screwing around who didn’t know any better and used yellow mustard instead of a good brown, deli mustard but that’s a story for another day.

But here’s the deal, I don’t believe in all the politically correct bullshit but I do smell a rat here at the old blog posting places. Could it be when they only had a category that said, “lifestyles” instead of “gay, lesbian, bi-sexual, transgender, anyone you tried to kill in dodgeball in school” what they are really saying is we don’t want the gays and Jews? Probably not but years of persecution for being a Jew, gay and being with a black man allows me to use this excuse whenever things don’t go my way.

That’s right, when you are a part of as many minority groups as I am, you get to scream anti-everything from the top of your lungs and no one can say anything to you. So here’s the deal, you’ll notice to your right a place for you to add comments to this site so get busy! I implore you to write in comments, send this site to your friends and let Some Like It Scott become so popular that those geeks at blogexplosion will beg for me to be a part of their list (are you listening Mr. Shindler?), which I never will be, because let’s face it, once you get cut off by a Scorpio (which I am) you’re as good as dead. (And I’ve ripped my clothes for the blogexplosion gang – something we Jews do when someone dies or people piss us off enough to be “dead” to us)

I was an actor for years so I’m pretty used to the whole rejection thing but when it comes to being added to a freaking list? Come on, kids. But then again, it was a great subject for a blog and there is a part of me that loves saying that my blog’s been blacklisted – Don’t Get Me Started!

I Love New York, Just Not This Bitch! – Don’t Get Me Started!

Last night I caught what has got to be some of the worst television in the world. I had no idea that we had traveled so far into the land of reality crapalicious television. First I caught a glimpse of some show where one chick talks to two guys while her sister (?) sits in a van with high tech equipment and through an earpiece lets the girl talking to the guys know if they are lying. They were so stilted in their speech it sounded and looked like a bad high school play. I don’t understand how anyone would find this entertaining. But that was nothing compared to the half hour (it was all I could take) I managed to watch of, “I Love New York” a show that makes Flavor of Love (the show from which it spun off) look like The West Wing (when it was first on the air and good). I love New York, just not this bitch! – Don’t Get Me Started!

So the premise is that this woman with a weave that Flavor Flav did not choose as his bitch from his reality show where he was “looking for love” was so loud and foul mouthed that VH1 decided to sink a little bit lower than they already have to create a show for her. She has a mansion and has all these men living there vying for her close up, I mean hand (the men are not there for her but some camera time). Her mother, who I am convinced has “male” on her drivers license (and not from a mix up like I had, which you can read by clicking here The DMV Is Convinced I'm A Woman - Don't Get Me Started!) smokes cigarettes and is as loud and hideous as New York. And to round off the cast, New York has this little Latin swishy queen who goes around as I guess her servant, serving the champagne and most likely standing around watching the “mens” in the shower.

This show feeds into every hideous stereotype out there. New York is a woman with no intelligence but a lot to say. At one point when one of the men is trying to give her a compliment in Spanish that does not translate all that well into English (My little black girl) she gets crazed. When her fag servant (complete with silly hat and chiffon scarf around his neck) tries to explain that this is a compliment in the Latin culture, New York responds with, “Well I’ve never been to Latin!” This is a bright girl who should definitely have her own show, right? She will no doubt move the culture forward just like Dihann Carroll did as “Julia” the first black female lead of a television show or Mary Tyler Moore.

Now something to remember here is that her name is not really New York, that’s the name that Flavor Flav gave her during the other show. Seems he doesn’t have the capacity to actually learn people’s names so he makes them up. For those of you who remember (before the scandals) Pee Wee Herman used to do the same thing, giving you a “Playhouse Name” but that just consisted of putting an “o” at the end of your name, for example, I would be Scott-o! Well, New York is passing this tradition along by giving out names like Onix (yes, spelled that way because no doubt she was too poor to ever get a Speak and Spell growing up)!

But now, she’s living in a mansion and has her own show. Imagine if you will a really stupid guest on Jerry Springer getting their own show. As I flipped channels, I saw Dr. Maya Angelou speaking with Dave Chappelle on a show called Iconoclasts on the Sundance Channel, she was telling him of a time when she met a young black man who was spewing profanity. She went up to him to explain how his ancestors had to stay in the “spoon” position in the hull of a ship for days, not being able to move, laying in one another’s excrement and urine, etc. so that he could be here. (She of course said it much more poetically and profound) The young man started to cry and as she had nothing to wipe his tears away with she used her hands to wipe his face. She completed her conversation and had no idea who the young man was until she received a call from his mother, thanking her for speaking with and touching her son so deeply. The young man was TuPac Shakur. I have to wonder what Dr. Angelou would think if she saw the I Love New York show or was in that house with these ridiculous and foolish people. I don’t know if she would make a difference or not but I’d like to think she would for these poor pathetic idiots.

You see, we’re not talking about another bad sitcom here. We’re talking about another show that celebrates rude, uneducated and used people. I wonder if New York realizes that whatever money she’s making and the mansion that they’re putting her in will never amount to as much as VH1 is raking in or the price of her soul? No, I’m not getting all religious here but surely you can see that when this show is over and after she does a few VH1 red carpet events, spends all her money and is thrown back in the gutter having to be faced with herself she’s going to have a lot less than she started with, even less self respect. And isn’t VH1 just a pimp in this case? Using an uneducated girl by dazzling her with a big house, jewelry, filling her up with own importance to make money off of her ass and beat her if she doesn’t stay in line? Well, I guess life ain’t easy for a pimp, VH1.  

Then again, I could be wrong as her mother seems to be just as delusional as she is (first, thinking she’s a woman and second for not doing something about that enormous forehead). So let them smoke their cigarettes in front of the camera, have “diva” fits and VH1 can sit in their counting house, counting all the money. And while I love a juicy Jerry Springer, I can’t watch this shit or encourage any network to put on more slime like this show. Am I getting old or just had enough? I choose had enough! I love New York, just not this bitch! – Don’t Get Me Started!

When I bought my Mini Cooper, I thought that I was finally in a cute, affordable yet somewhat luxuryesque car due to the fact that it was made by BMW. I remember the first few times I took it in for minor stuff to the dealer; everyone was always so nice and wanted to get me coffee or basically anything that I wanted. I did find it odd that they didn’t give you a loaner car when your car was being serviced, after all this was BMW. But here’s the thing, when you buy a Mini, you are the bastard, step-child that they’re looking to put into the foster care system, according to BMW. And now, almost three years of owning my Mini, I’ve reached a dreaded cross road. I need the Scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz to point me in the right direction. My warranty is close to being up – Don’t Get Me Started!

I remember when the passenger side window wouldn’t go down. I took it in and they said to me, “Oh no worries, this happens all the time. Has your other window gone yet? It will soon. We’ll take care of this one but we can’t do the other one until it actually goes.” Welcome to the world of NON-preventative maintenance. That’s right, even if they think something is going to go on your car, they won’t fix it until it actually goes and you’re trapped in your vehicle and they have to bring the jaws of life to get you out. I still don’t understand this whole way of thinking. Much like insurance (especially dental) that really only want to pay when you’re in complete crisis, no extra mileage points for staying on top of things and being ahead of possible problems or complications.

At one point, I knew that I needed a new cover for the interior handle on the passenger side of my car (BMWs and therefore Minis have this weird thing where you have to pull the interior door handle twice before you can get out of the car, well before I could explain this to a pal of mine, she had yanked so hard that the plastic cover came right off), so being responsible and trying to save everyone time, I told the service person this when I made the appointment. The response shocked me. They wouldn’t order the part until I brought it in and they confirmed that it was what was needed to fix the car. But then, they didn’t have it in stock either so they kept the car for a day, gave it back to me and told me they would call me when the part came in – at which point I would need to leave the car for another day. Does this make sense anywhere to anyone?

Never mind inconveniences like the one above they’re always following up with you after you’ve had a service. They call you, they email you, they want you to rate the service and the service (on the whole is good) what isn’t good are all the stupid rules that take up your time and energy before during and after the service until you have to bring it back in to be fixed for real.

So now I’m entering that bad period, the warranty where they fix everything is almost up and I have a feeling it’s all down hill from here. All ready when I take the car in they say things like, “I’ll need to make sure that’s covered under the warranty.” Well, if everything was supposed to be covered then shouldn’t it all be covered? Meanwhile, the service manager tries to make you feel as if they’re doing you a big favor. “Well, I know you said that you hear metal crunching when you put on your brakes but really, it doesn’t meet the requirement to be changed yet, it probably will in the next week or so but right now, it’s not at the level BMW says it needs to be changed. So what I did was to ask my manager if he would go ahead and okay it since it is pretty close and so I convinced him to go ahead and put new pads on the brakes.” Everything they do now it’s as if they have to put together a thirty page document with PowerPoint and complete two years at law school to convince the “manager” to service my damn car. I have a mother for guilt I don’t need a service person trying to make me feel as if they really “went to the mat” for me. And does the service manager think that she’s winning me over by telling me all this? I don’t give a shit, what you have to go through I just don’t want to put my foot on the brake and end up going through the car in front of me. (Or under the car in front of me seeing as I drive a Mini and everyone else in Vegas seems to drive a Hummer)

I get it, my grandfather sold Cadillacs so I know a thing or two about what you get when you take a car to get serviced at a dealer. I had to have a tire replaced a year ago and for one tire it set me back I think something like $200. When I asked how much it’s going to cost to get the oil changed once the warranty is up they told me around $90 for the same $14.95 from Jiffy Lube. I don’t know what I’m going to do but I know that I need to get a plan together because in the world of cars, Jews know nothing except how to pick out a nice color. That’s why I got the Mini with the tires that run flat for 100 miles at 50mph and a sensor that tells you if the pressure has changed. I know nothing when it comes to cars and the more the car can tell me, the less I feel pressured to try to learn or know. As if I don’t have enough in my life to worry about, right? Now I have to worry my warranty is close to being up – Don’t Get Me Started!

An Education In Clapping, Oohing, Ahing And When To Give A Standing Ovation – Don’t Get Me Started!

Last night we went to see Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Phantom The Las Vegas Spectacular. That’s right, its title is longer than most but you must say all of it, lest someone think you saw the show in New York or Czechoslovakia or the thousand of other cities where I’m sure it’s playing. The show is, in a word, spectacular. The audience, however, was not. It was good to see; as I waited for valet for almost forty minutes that so many people were locals going to support theater but boy do they need an education in clapping, oohing, ahing and when to give a standing ovation – Don’t Get Me Started!

I can now admit to all of you that I have never seen Phantom on Broadway. You know it’s something that you always tell yourself you’ll see on your next visit to the city but then there’s something new that has opened and so you decide to go see that instead. For years I acted as if I had seen the show. Until one night I could take no more of the lies when someone said at a party, “Scott, you’ll know, how many times have you seen Phantom?” I broke into a cold sweat; I took a sip of my drink and just said it, “I’ve never seen Phantom.” <audible gasp from the room>  You might have thought I had said something so off color (believe me when I say there are occasions when I’ve done just that) you know like, “Webber’s music is the same tune that just repeats with different lyrics in case you’re a Cat or a Phantom. It’s like listening to a musical by Lionel Richie for Christ sakes, ever notice you can sing any Lionel Richie song to any one of his other songs?” But I had said none of that and the conversation went away from me as a group and they all stood in groups of three and four in disbelief that I, Mr. Broadway, hadn’t seen Phantom. One friend did admit later to having never seen the show either but it was a quiet admission and therefore unworthy to me that he didn’t join in when I needed him most.

So we get into the theater and as we get to our seats, I see that an elderly man has rested his cane on the center back of what will become my seat. In a flash second I imagined watching the whole show with a cane handle in my back (requiring a massage, chiropractor appointment and several ibuprofen tablets). The good news was that he removed it before I sat down. Now you have to understand that millions and millions of dollars were spent to create this Paris Opera House in the Venetian. So when you get in there and see that not only the set but the entire inside of the theater has submerged you into the dilapidated opera house where an auction is taking place, you’re looking around in awe before the show even begins. Well, at least we were. Everyone else seemed to not even notice their surroundings. While we were pointing at this and that, everyone else seemed to be more interested in looking at their watch and balancing the six drinks they were bringing back from the bar.

I guess from the initial seating and looking around I should have known this audience wasn’t worthy of this show. Usually (and here’s a tip for you kids who don’t know how to conduct yourself in a theater) when the set does something amazing, I don’t know, say completely transforms itself from a dilapidated opera house to the house in its glory days with just a flash of light and everything beginning to move as though a strong wind is blowing the dust off and revealing the resplendent opera house right in front of you; this is when you clap. Yes, you actually clap for the set (well, not the set but the set designer) for something that looks as if it could only be achieved in a movie or a David Copperfield show! As we began to clap, we quickly discovered the cheese stood alone. I don’t think the audience was in awe (as they should have been) I think they were more concerned about looking at their watches and finding out whether their martini in a plastic cup had been made correctly. It felt like a real sense of entitlement, like, “Well, I paid enough for this ticket; the whole place should be like a motion sensor ride at Epcot. Changing from an old to new opera house just don’t impress me.”

There was much more than the sets to be impressed with such as the performers who were really wonderful in most cases. They received moderate applause after their numbers and I have to say that I was shocked that there was no oohing and ahing when you see some of the costumes and numbers evolve in front of your eyes let alone the pyrotechnics used. But no, they seemed more interested in chewing the last bits of ice from their drink and moving their heads in front of me just enough that I had to keep moving my head to see beyond this guy with the big melon in front of me. And then it happened, the show ended and they all leapt to their feet, applauding wildly and making it impossible for me to see the curtain calls unless I stood too. I was dazed.

These people who couldn’t applaud or seem to appreciate anything about this show during the show, suddenly explode into this thunderous standing ovation? I looked around and yes, some people were just pulling their underwear out of their butt however most were just standing and clapping because they obviously thought that is just what you do. I guess everything gets a standing ovation in New York now too. Forgive me for liking the old way of thinking, that the standing ovation only occurred when there was a performance so great you simply had to get to your feet to express it. Now its like, “Wake up, the show has ended; time to give the standing ovation.” It’s expected a sense of entitlement and it ought not to be.

I love theater but I also know that not everything deserves a standing ovation. So (get ready to sing to the tune of “Think Of Me”) think of me, think of me fondly, when you see a show. Remember me once in a while and for the set applaud. Think to ooh and even ahh a bit when amazing things happen. But because it is the end you don’t have to stand! And that’s your education in clapping, oohing, ahing and when to give a standing ovation – Don’t Get Me Started!

Gay, Straight Or Stupid! – Don’t Get Me Started!

Lifetime, television for women (and gay men – it’s implied) has finally pissed me off. Not with their endless ridiculously insipid Lifetime movies that are docudramas of the time when a women found her husband dead only to find out it wasn’t her husband but a twin brother she never knew existed throwing her into a crazy spin, eventually landing her on the streets. One day while working at a shelter (she was homeless but still gave back to the community) her long lost husband came through the soup line, barely recognizing her and then yes, yes, recognizing her and curing the amnesia he got from falling from an apple tree in their backyard that fateful morning when his brother came to visit and wanted an apple. He had no idea how his brother had died or how he got to Des Moines or back to California for that matter (he had amnesia remember) but he was accused of killing his brother. They reunite; big trial (he’s cleared of all charges) and the end shot is of them moving into a house and him handing her an apple. OH MY GOD, honestly, that just came right out of my head way too easily! I’m frightened and feel I should be writing story plots all at the same time – let me know, Lifetime. But meanwhile, Lifetime’s latest reality/game/insult show is a modern day Smear The Queer or as I like to call it, Gay, Straight or Stupid! – Don’t Get Me Started!

I know what you’re thinking, how can he talk about a show that doesn’t start airing until this coming Monday night? Oh ye of little faith, while watching the endless Will & Grace episodes (Um…it’s for a class…stereotype school 101- yeah, right) on Tivo I’ve seen enough commercials for this show to get it. The woman is looking for a date and has three men to choose from. One is Gay, one is Straight and the other is “Taken” and it’s our contestant’s job to figure out which one is which while trying to find true love. The commercials say, “You’ve played it for years by yourself now play it here” or something like that and the entire website is designed to spin and make you love it even before it’s on the air. So we all get the premise and we can move on to why it’s on the Don’t Get Me Started! page now right? If you’re confused, re-read the first part of this paragraph again and then move to the next one.

Here’s the deal, there’s no way that this can go well for us gays and let me explain why. While it seems all zany fun at no one’s expense and some will say, “the gays” should just be glad to have another show on the air now that Will & Grace are off and Queer Eye is done for the season, if you look closer you’re going to see exactly every stereotype and bashing that has survived for years because it’s “acceptable bashing”. Now if you think I’m someone who is asking for everyone in the universe to comply to some farchachta politically correct thing, you don’t know me.

Let’s take each scenario that could arise on this show and put it on our glitter petrie dish to examine. If the guy is gay, he’ll need to be cast as someone who is as straight acting as possible so as to throw the girl off the scent (of probably Paco Rabanne Sport) which immediately feeds into the whole, be straight-acting and you can be invisible to the world and just hire a gay masseuse in your off hours from preaching to massage you and buy but not do meth with you. For those of us who have struggled (unsuccessfully) to “pass” at one point or another in our life, this will be a painful reminder that there are guys out there who seem like the Marlboro man but still squeal over the movie Dreamgirls yet no one but us gays seem to know they are gay!

The Straight guy is someone who everyone will be like, “How brave of you to go on that show when they might think you’re “the gay”!” It’s a bit like when Will Smith was in Six Degrees of Separation and everyone said how brave he was to play a gay character yet he refused to kiss a guy as the script called for and later regretted it supposedly as it was “right for the character” – this of course was when he finally found out that a character is what they call the part you play in a movie. But good for Timmy Tolerant, the straight guy who has no problem with gays and even roomed with one in college.

Finally, you have the Taken guy. I’m assuming he will always be straight because we know that gays just fornicate in the streets with anyone (usually during recruiting sessions) therefore gays will never make it into this category. Someone please tell me what I’ve been doing for the past eighteen years then, will ya?

I know in a perfect Lifetime world, they expect the girl to find the straight man, do coffee and the beauty parlor with the gay guy and double date with the taken guy when all is said and done but here’s the deal, the girl…sorry, woman is screwed from the get go. Why? Even if she picks the coveted Straight guy she’s always going to be looking over her shoulder because he has to be gay enough to get on the show or at least raise some suspicion in order to make the show interesting, right? Next you have the taken guy (who is probably the one she’ll pick) and suddenly she’s caused a divorce or at the very least a break up that involves figuring out who owns which CD in their 7,000 CD collection. And finally the always suffering succotash Gay who has tried to “butch it up” for the entire show and still gets called out as the fag at the end of the show.

Meanwhile even if the other two guys aren’t told who is who, they know they’re not the gay one – just like everyone you slept with in college, boys! I’m sure this show will be tee hee funny and watch it catch on like gonorrhea or something but I’m taking a pass on this one. I’m from an older generation where I just liked everyone being metrosexual and we could all move on with our hopes and dreams of who is and who isn’t gay. Best of luck to the ladies in finding their Mr. Right but I think they stand a better chance at finding him in a supermarket than a show like this one. Okay everyone; now let’s do a big “Dating Game Kiss” <start theme song> for Gay, Straight or Stupid! – Don’t Get Me Started!

Britney, I’m Tired Too – Don’t Get Me Started!

By now everyone has heard about Britney Spears “falling asleep” at a club here in Vegas on New Year’s Eve. If you haven’t heard about it, you obviously haven’t been online where even major sites like CNN are carrying the story…still…four days later. Was she drunk? Was she tired because she’s a new mom? Frankly my dears, I don’t give a damn but I will say, Britney, I’m tired too – Don’t Get Me Started!

I’m tired of hearing that Britney isn’t wearing underwear or that Lindsay Lohan is partying too hard. I don’t care that Nicole Ritchie and Paris Hilton weren’t speaking but now they are and Ritchie is in rehab. Am I the only one who doesn’t care about this shit that we are barraged with every day?

I know we have a society where we love to build them up just to knock them down but come on, all this celebrity Jenga (for those who don’t know, this is a game where you start with a stack of blocks and pull one out at a time, the person making the stack fall loses – you know, like the Bobby Brown and Whitney marriage, never sturdy and we watched as each of them kept “pulling out blocks” until ashes, ashes, they all fell down) is just wearing me out.

I wonder if I should know more about the people running my state or something crazy like the progress we’re making in cancer research instead of worrying whether or not the Trump and Rosie feud is all just trumped up. And yet, like a car accident, I can’t look away and apparently no one else can either. What cracks me up are all the people who get so worked up about this stuff on message boards and blogs. “Britney is a new mom, doing the best she can to take care of her children and assert her new independence in this difficult time for her with the divorce, leave her alone!” People actually write this shit. If Britney Spears wanted to be left alone she’d clean up her act move to the suburbs and we’d never hear from her again. I’m not worked up that she fell asleep or is airing out her coochie, I’m crazed that all the “news” agencies are so concerned about it. Do you remember when news was about the war and New Orleans, you know, things they should be focused on?

As much as some of the celebs complain about all the press, I think they’re addicted to it and just love the attention. The thing is that I’m bored with them and their shenanigans so I guess that one of my New Year’s resolutions (which I never make, by the way) needs to be to stop reading the crisis celeb du jour. We all know there are much more important things in the world to worry about, like the OC and Megan Mullally’s show being canned and a possible Police reunion! Oh wait, I mean, Oprah built a school. That’s better, right? Britney, I’m tired too – Don’t Get Me Started!

You’re A Celebrity Not Deepak Choprah! – Don’t Get Me Started!

I was driving into work this morning listening (as I always do) to the Whoopi Goldberg radio show. I like Whoopi, her sidekick and normally I really enjoy their subject matter and guests. Well, this morning they had on Mariel Hemingway who has written a book about how to be a healthier you. That’s right, the same Mariel Hemingway who was “doing” Woody Allen at 17 in the film, Manhattan, starring as Playboy’s Dorothy Stratten and had been out our sights and minds for a while (and that was okay too) is back with no degree or anything else that would make us believe she’s more qualified than Lucy from the Peanuts cartoon to tell women how to live healthier from the inside out. As I was driving I screamed, “You’re a celebrity not Deepak Choprah!” – Don’t Get Me Started!

I can’t take one more celebrity writing a book on which they know nothing about. I loved that the first question Whoopi Goldberg asked her seemed to stump the panel (Mariel). I think it was something like, “So I just had a staph infection, is there something I should be doing to be healthier from the inside out?” Mariel’s response was something like, “Well…um…I’m not a doctor or anything…so….um…well, yeah…sure you know there are things you can eat and stuff that will make you feel better.” Someone send me the book advance that Miss Mariel got for writing this book. It is inconceivable to me that all you have to do is have ten of your fifteen minutes of fame and suddenly you can get a book deal. To be fair, I didn’t hear the entire interview (perhaps because the voices in my head were talking so loud telling me to kill Mariel Hemingway or my A.D.D came to the rescue and made me think of something else, like the road in front of me) but what I heard was ridiculous. It was all about “celebrating” what you do and don’t beat yourself up for what you don’t do. “If you only work out once a week, celebrate that and feel good about it.” “Find the balance between what you eat, exercise, quiet time with yourself and home, these are the areas covered by the book.” When someone asked how the book really would work for them she went on and on about how the book doesn’t tell you what to do (she has a good Jewish lawyer somewhere who told her not to tell people what to do, I’m sure) it asks you questions. And from the questions you ask yourself, you’ll find the answers that are right for you. Is she fucking kidding me? I have plenty of questions. Who are you? What qualifies you to ask me questions? Did you have a problem taking money under false pretenses for writing this book when you really have nothing to impart? The list goes on and on. But Mariel seems like a nice person and I’m sure she’ll sell a gazillion books that will quickly end up in Goodwill bins across the nation.

The other celebrity that drives me crazy with his advice is John “Entertainment Tonight Turned New Age Guru” Tesh. Have you ever heard this guy’s radio show? It actually makes me want to throw up in my mouth a little. He plays mellow music and then in between he’ll give you lessons for life. I don’t believe that any knowledge he imparts is his, it’s all from some study from a school in Czechoslovakia or somewhere or from a doctor that is not him because he’s a new age piano player who used to sit next to Mary Hart and NOT a doctor. In his monotone, duller than dull voice he’ll say, “A doctor from the clinic at Nuremberg says that when faced with some sort of problem it’s best to face it head on as opposed to not facing it head on. So remember everyone, you need to face things head on. And now, here’s Bread with the song, “If”.” ARGHHHHH!! It’s enough to make you want to drive HIS car off the road.

I think the fact that doctors and therapists write books to help people help themselves is a great idea but what I don’t think is great is that people take people like John Tesh and Mariel Hemingway serious. They’ll be the first to say, “I’m not a doctor, I’m just speaking from my experience.” Because they don’t want to be sued but at the same time they want people to listen, trust, buy what they’re selling and do as they say because in our society we believe in celebrities. And even with all the shows now that show us that these people have stylists, coaches, trainers and people telling them exactly what to say we believe the ideas and information being given out by the celebrity is really direct from them AND valid! Thus the reason so many people have a workout system in their home based on the fact that Chuck Norris says it works. The only thing that works here is Chuck, he’s got a job selling you.

Call me crazy but I like my celebrities scripted and directed not giving me life insights. Remember how everyone laughed at Shirley MacLaine when she came out with her first past lives book? Today if Jessica Simpson were to write a book about why the earth is flat and you should worship artichokes the books would be flying off the shelves and she’d be interviewed by every major news reporter. The time has come to ask our celebrities to know their place. They’re supposed to look pretty, make us feel bad that we’ll never look like them (even though they have a village raising their faces and bodies every morning) and entertain us, period. And the only way I’m going to take advice from any of you is if Oprah has you on because you know you can trust Oprah and her team to do the research we won’t. You’re a celebrity not Deepak Choprah! – Don’t Get Me Started!

No Room At The Gym – Don’t Get Me Started!

I should work with Miss Cleo (who we all now know is a lesbian, does anyone care is the bigger question there) because as I predicted and similar to Mary and Joseph when they finally made it to Bethlehem, there was no room at the gym – Don’t Get Me Started!

I knew the minute that I pulled up I was in trouble. The parking lot was practically full and I braced myself for what I would find once inside. As I took each stair to get up to the workout area one question after another popped into my head. “Who were these people? Where have they been all these months? How did they get signed up so quickly? Why couldn’t they come at another time when I’m not here? Would I like any of them? Would they be on my machines?” Oh I had myself good and worked up by the time I got up the stairs to workout, believe me you.

As I got on the scale I was amazed that I had actually lost a pound over the holidays, how that happened I’m sure I don’t know. And then I looked out over the workout room and I saw them, all these people in their new workout outfits. You know the ones I’m talking about, the sweat jackets and matching pants all with a white stripe down the side that has no hope of laying straight due to the girth of the person stuffed into the suit. You have to wonder why these people leave their homes at all if they actually look at themselves prior to leaving. Now I’m glad that they’re trying to get physically fit but how can it be motivating to squeeze yourself into your “after” outfit when you’re still a “before”?

As I started toward the machines my greatest fears were realized, there they were; the famous two girlfriends who decided to workout for their New Year’s resolution. Now they decided to work out but know nothing about it and truth be told they don’t really want to workout at all. There they sit with their thighs apart on the “squeeze your thighs together machine” chatting away and checking their cell phones for text messages. They’re just sitting there like they’re waiting for their gynecologist! No one should be as comfortable in this position as these ladies were just hanging out with their legs spread apart by a machine that looked like it was trying to make a wish by pulling their legs apart. My wish is that they’d hit the cymbals (a phrase my grandmother used to use when she was watching the Dinah Shore show and a female guest would sit with her legs open. The reference of the cymbals is to a one man band who would keep a cymbal on the inner part of each knee so when they hit their knees together they were also “hitting the cymbals”).

As I ventured on to do some ab work it happened, I felt a tap on my shoulder and when I looked up there was a woman I’d seen almost every time I was at the gym. She was shorter than me, appeared to be in her late sixties and while she was no Jackie LaLane, she always had her weight lifting gloves on and was always sweating up a storm, just never enough to move her hair that was obviously being held together with a combination of Aquanet and Elmer’s glue. We always waved to one another but had never spoken. I took the headset off my closest ear to her and she said, “Happy New Year.” Immediately I thought about what a horrible person I was for all the wicked thoughts I’d had about the thigh women, the “before” people with their new sweat suits and I said, “Happy New Year to you too.”

As she walked away I realized that it was a New Year and I needed a major attitude adjustment. I took a deep breath, maneuvered through the sea of new workout people and thought to myself, “Christ, I don’t know if I can take a month of this before these people drop out.” Okay so I hadn’t changed my attitude at all but admitting you have a problem is supposedly the first step, yes?

And so this was the first day back at the gym and although it was exactly what I thought it would be, it doesn’t mean I have to like it. Maybe if I was more like Joseph and had been pulling that donkey all the way to Bethlehem with Mary sitting on the back of it I could have at least gotten some cardio before being told there was no room at the gym – Don’t Get Me Started!

Reality vs. Resolutions – Don’t Get Me Started!

I know that we should all be very thankful that for a lot of people, once a year they get introspective for five minutes and think about the things they want to change about themselves in the coming year. Although I would highly recommend that you do this more than once a year, good for you. That said remember that you also need to keep in mind reality vs. resolutions – Don’t Get Me Started!

I don’t make resolutions, never have and probably never will but those of you who do are going to spend the next three weeks cluttering up my gym, picking through all the good vegetables at the supermarket and generally getting on my nerves. I don’t mean to be mean (well, maybe I do) but why don’t you save the rest of us a lot of aggravation and continue eating McDonald’s and using remote lifting as your only form of exercise?

For those people who really are going to make a change in your lifestyle, get off the crack, etc. I applaud you. But for those of you who are on your eight hundredth time of trying a new workout regime, diet or anything else you need to watch more Oprah. As we all know, all good things flow from Oprah and she will be the first to tell you that if you don’t change your mental outlook that you have no hope of changing anything else about yourself. So do us all a favor and spend some really good quality time with yourself and figure out where it is that you plan to take an act like yours.

I have an addictive personality, I know this to be true and this is why if there are Oreos in the house, I can’t eat the recommended portion size on the side of the wrapper, no, I need to eat all of them in one to two sittings. So I do my best to just keep this kind of stuff out of my house to save myself from myself. That’s what you’re really doing here with your resolutions; you’re trying to save yourself from yourself, right? So might I suggest a reality vs. resolution tip and say, just don’t have the damn cookies in your house? Don’t try to be all strong and use your willpower because chances are you don’t have any of that so just remove the bad influence and you may stand a chance.

As far as those of you headed for the ultimate in resolutions – “I’m going to find true happiness” or “I’m going to find the perfect mate” or “I’m going to host my own series” (Crap, that’s one of mine, how did it slip in there?) All I ask is for you to be somewhat reasonable with yourself. Here are the reality vs. resolutions tips for the above (which by the way, you’ve probably heard a thousand times) - If you have no idea what makes you happy that you have no chance of finding real happiness so why not take some time to figure out what would make you happy and then you have a better chance of getting it, yes? If you’re looking for the perfect mate I would suggest the old cliché, become the perfect mate and once you start liking yourself more you’ll possibly attract the right person for you. And while the Internet is a wonderful thing, it’s also filled with axe murderers so for God’s sake use some damn common sense. If he’s writing to you from prison and you’re telling all your friends he’s not guilty, you’ve failed this portion of the reality vs. resolution quiz. And finally, if you in fact do end up hosting your own series let me know because I just know I’d be a sparkling guest who would eventually get his own spin off!    

Resolutions are great at the start; they’re kind of like a helium balloon (not the mylar ones, the good old fashioned rubber ones). When you first get them, they’re all shiny and full and you walk around feeling like you’re on top of the world. But then the pressure from the air outside the balloon starts pushing against the rubber and the helium starts to leak out little by little or evaporate or whatever the hell it does (no I was never good in math or science). Next thing you know, your balloon is sagging more than your ass and you just have to throw it away because you can’t even look at it because it reminds you of when it was new and felt all great and now it’s just dead. The balloon represents hope and if you don’t have that you just want to throw it all away, right? So here’s a suggestion for you. You can’t keep the balloon in the air forever so when it starts to sag, take a little nip of the helium and talk funny for a couple seconds. This will make you laugh and at least you’ll have a helium headache to remind you of the whole experience. See, while the balloon may represent your hopes, the helium inside is the important part, it’s your sense of humor and don’t underestimate your sense of humor.

I’m continually amazed at the injustices life seems to deal only me and if I couldn’t laugh at them, I’d have killed myself long ago. But now that I can no longer be a teenage suicide statistic, frankly it’s lost its appeal. No, I’m going to continue on sucking the helium out of life every chance I get and I hope you do too. So don’t make impossible resolutions (because you’ll just get in the way of those of us who already go to the gym) and try to be a little less hard on yourself. Reality is a good thing (if only in small doses). So get out there and attack the New Year and if all fails, just rinse and repeat or reboot because you can always count on those two things to make it better. Reality vs. resolutions – Don’t Get Me Started!