Something visible but without substance

So, it's no secret that one of my guilty pleasures (along with In and Out Burger and lots of music from the 80s) is American Idol.

Anyway, I'll cut to the chase here.

Last season's winner, Taylor Hicks, is slated to come to Portland soon to play a show at the Crystal Ballroom. And do you know what they are charging for tickets?????

Forty (40) fucking dollars!!!!! Each!!!!

Now, I'm neither here nor there about Taylor - he wasn't my fave of last season, but I don't think he sucks either. Just not my style is all. Still, FORTY DOLLARS??

Here is a list of people/events I have seen (mostly at the Crystal Ballroom) in which tickets have been less than $40 (most of which have been less than $30):

• Sleater-Kinney (with Eddie freakin Vedder doing an opening set) $13
  
• The Shins $20
  
• PJ Harvey $25
  
• Liz Phair $17
  
• Belle and Sebastian $30
  
• The Indigo Girls (don't tease me, I did that for my woman) - I have no idea what we paid for those, probably $25 - $30
  
• Patti Smith - yes, THAT Patti Smith - $30-ish
• We've even seen Death Cab for Cutie (after everyone knew about them) for less than $30
  
• I think both Dido and Ani diFranco were both right at $40 - at the Schnitzer, though
• I've paid less than $40 for orchestra-level seats at the opera!
• Alvin Ailey, less than $40
• Upcoming Decemberists show $31 (for some reason, they cost more to see in Portland than almost anywhere else)
  

So tell me how this makes sense??? In fact, it's quite likely that the only person I've paid much over $40 to see is David Bowie. And anyone who knows me knows that there is no ceiling on what I will pay to see David Bowie in concert. But that's David fucking Bowie!!!

Seeing as how Taylor's CD is not selling all that well, I can't imagine that folks are going to be banging down the door to pay forty clams to see him sing bluesy songs and whip his upper body into a seizured frenzy. Seriously, am I completely delusional in thinking that $40 is a hella chunka change for Taylor Hicks tickets?

Perhaps Ruben Studdard is opening for him.

The Incredibly True and Heartbreaking Tale of my First Hollywood Breakup, Chapter 7

Part A : Look! A Pirate!

Since Amaris was in the film biz and working on a film lot, it was inevitable that she would see celebrities on occasion. It was not at all unusual for her to mention seeing Drew Barrymore at the ATM (Drew Barrymore uses an ATM?) or that Heather Graham was at the Poquito Mas (Heather Graham eats?). She would sometimes tell me about celeb sightings in and around the (what was then called) Warner Hollywood Lot, including the commissary, and she absolutely had my attention when she spoke of an I-spy of Johnny Depp!

Now I was really jealous. I love Johnny Depp! Amaris only saw him once, but felt compelled to inform me each and every time Hester saw him, which seemed to be often.

Part B: Can't I just take two aspirin and call you in the morning?

Amaris continues to spend what appears to be every waking moment with Hester and I continue to be perturbed by it. Amaris arrives home for the weekend with a gift for me - it's a sexy swimsuit and she wants me to try it on. It looks great and I find myself distracted by this, along with the attention I'm receiving because it looks great.

The weekend was going very well, in fact, until Amaris' cell phone rang at a most inopportune moment. Of course it was Hester and she was having a difficult and emotional time over some thing or another and needed to talk to Amaris in order to feel better. Amaris took the call. I laid there feeling resentful and wondering why Amaris couldn't see that she was being played. After what seemed an eternity, the phone call finally ended and it was inevitable that Amaris and I had angry words with one another, as opposed to the loving intimacy that was pending.

Somehow, the angry words turned into Amaris suggesting insisting that I find myself a good therapist and work this out in therapy. She even said that she would pay for it, provided that I stay within a $100/hour ceiling. Initially, I was really offended by this. How dare she think that this is all about me being screwy in the head and not even remotely about her and her shady behavior with someone who is clearly smitten with her? It seemed she was accepting no responsibility whatsoever for her actions and apparent loyalty to this Hester chick.

On the other hand, maybe it would be a good idea for me to work it out in therapy. Perhaps I'd find some validation because, of course, the therapist would agree that I am right in being concerned and freaked out by this situation.

Part C: GWF seeks confirmation that her gf isn't fucking around

I visit L.A.

OMG, Hester's homely! Yay! She's also really friendly to me and I don't get any weird vibes from her like there is anything going on at all. She even lends me her umbrella (which was also homely) so I can shop on Melrose in the rain (real Oregonians don't carry umbrellas on them) and, later, she is on Johnny Depp alert for me.

It's like she's trying to be my friend or something. I'm not sure if I'm in the market for new friends and I am then a little bit skeptical of her outward kindness toward me. I still plan to keep my eye on her (as painful as that may be, as she really isn't easy on the eyes).

Part D: Look, it's the Coppertone Baby all grown up! But her ass is covered this time...(damn, where's that dog when you need it?)

Life becomes momentarily grand again when I return from shopping and walk onto the lot toward the editing suite, just in time for a Jodie Foster sighting! Being the dork that I am, I look at the lovely woman emerging from the black BMW stationwagon and think to myself, "whoa, that chick looks like Jodie Foster." And, since I had not yet lived in Los Angeles, my world had mostly consisted of seeing people who resembled celebrities on occasion but, upon further inspection, would turn out NOT to be the presumed celebrity. Then it occurred to me that Ms. "even hotter in really true life" Foster was in the process of editing up Home for the Holidays on that very lot and so, of course, it was really her.

I tried to act normal and not seem like a gawker star-fucker, lest I be 86'd from the lot for good. She smiled at me while she grabbed some bags from her car and went into the building. I never saw her again. Well, until the trailers for Contact started to show up. But she didn't smile at me from those.

Part E: Donning the martini goggles at Musso & Frank

Amaris tells me that we will be going out for martinis with Hester at the famous old-timey restaurant on Hollywood Blvd., Musso & Frank. I wondered what it was that Hester drank and whether or not she was good at it. Amaris and I ordered Bombay Sapphire martinis and Hester copied us. I couldn't quite tell if that was really what she wanted to drink or if she was dying to feel as though she fit in. Our conversation was a little awkward and forced (what on earth did Amaris expect?) and Hester only seemed even remotely comfortable when she and Amaris were talking shop.

I return to the hotel with Amaris actually feeling A-OK about this situation. Not only is Hester homely, but she's super insecure to boot. What could there possibly be to worry about, right? Ah, what a load off my shoulders that is!

The Incredibly True and Heartbreaking Tale of my First Hollywood Breakup, Chapter 4

Part A: Dabbling in another tax bracket

I make a fine trophy wife and rock my glamorous duds with style! I get to shop in SoHo and pay full price! I dine extravagantly! I become the proud owner of a fancy schmancy Mont Blanc pen! I score the previous season's hand-me-downs from a successful production designer!

Part B: Billions and Billions and Billions of Stars

I am meeting up with a famous director to watch a quirky mockumentary at a nearby film center; I swim in the backyard pool of a handsome young actor; I meet an Academy Award winning director and screenwriter at a baby shower; I am attending film premieres and going to dinner parties with famous directors and Hollywood stars (A-list & B-list). Some of them are even speaking to me and I am quick to compose a list in my head of which famous folks are utterly charming.

Part C: Avec Le Charmante et Avec Accomplissez L'Abruti

I'm not sure if it's wise to name names, but let's just say that one was a spot-on for a Johnny Cash impersonation, one was an Indie actress from a very famous mother who drowned many years ago, and another has nudged Parker Posey from the Indie It-Girl mountain of fame. Some others, well, not so charming. Again, I won't name names (see Chapter 1 in which I assert that I can not afford to be sued), but I'll just say that one of the least charming celebrities I ever met through Amaris has appeared on the covers of several celebrity-focused mags and tabloids recently.

I'm happy and having a fun life...Amaris is wonderful and intelligent and we enjoy our myriad adventures. Despite that our life revolves around her work, I find that I don't seem to mind much, since I find her work intriguing.

Part D: Like the Shell Game, but not

Amaris is torn between staying true to the Independent film model and remaining dedicated to the art of filmmaking versus accepting more lucrative positions on more mainstream films. Shortly after she turned down a large sum of money to edit a film starring the current governator of Cauleefawrnya, she accepted a post on a different mainstream film with a much more fascinating, albeit predictable, premise.

As much as I loved so much of my fabulous stuff, I loved art and happiness more.

I was proud of her for opting not to work with the former Mr. Olympia, and I supported her decision to take the road less moneyed. Her decision led her to a two-month stay in a somewhat exotic and very tropical southeastern locale. She saved her per diem for airline tickets for my then 6 year-old daughter, K, and I to visit for two weeks over the Christmas holiday. Hooray for world travel!!

Part E: Dusting off the passports & learning how to say thank-you in another language

Determining how to spend my time in this tropical venue was never a problem. K and I went shopping in the major metropolis nearby and also at the local open-air markets. We were subjected to death-defying taxi jaunts (and K immediately learned what was meant by the words "AirCon" on the side door of the taxi). We lounged poolside and consumed beverages decorated with umbrellas and tropical fruits (except for the hotel's "monthly special," which came with a stuffed monkey...I know, I don't get it either). K determined that her new favorite genre of food is "room service." We have Christmas dinner with a Hollywood director who bears a striking resemblance to Santa Claus.

As I return home from this luxurious vacation, I am so optimistic and feeling fantastic about my life with Amaris. Neither she nor I have absolutely any clue that our world is about to be shaken and our relationship will be put to a test like never before...

The Incredibly True and Heartbreaking Tale of my First Hollywood Breakup, Chapter 2

Part A: Someone's got some s'plainin' to do

I was crushed. Crushed, I tell you. Here I was, reluctantly willing to go on a blind date with a girl from L.A. and unexpectedly, after meeting me, the girl bails on the real part of the date, leaving me rather high and dry, or neither as the case was. Without even really knowing her, and after previously considering her charming, I was a little bit angry at Amaris.

I leater learned that she flew back to L.A. to do whatever it was she did there. I'd asked Jackie what gives with regard to Amaris backing out on the fun at the last minute. I asked Jackie if Amaris was just snooty and didn't think I was cute enough for her, being all shallow and from L.A. and all. Jackie assured me that it had nothing to do with me or my appearance and not to worry about it.

A few weeks later, I stumble upon the scrap of paper in which Jackie had jotted down Amaris' email address for me. I vaguely remember her suggesting I email Amaris, who was new to being online and might need some help navigating and such. I was about to throw it in the trash and then something compelled me not to.

Instead, I brought the scrap directly to my computer desk and logged onto my AOL account. I listened to the intermix of high pitched and crackly sounds as I watched the three icons on my screen change, the telltale crowd of faceless icons eventually indicating to me that I was connected with America Online.

I went directly to my mailbox and typed out a missive to Amaris. I told her that it was nice meeting her and that it was too bad that we didn't get a chance to get to know one another a little better while she was in town. I expressed some sort of sentiment indicating that I hoped it wasn't something I'd said that caused her to change her mind about going out with us that night. I further expressed that I had never been set up on a blind date before, so to get stood up on my first one felt like quite the blow.

"Blind date?????" she fires back.

Turns out she didn't know nutt'n 'bout no blind datage. What gives? you ask?

Part B, in which Amaris tells the real story behind her abrupt departure...

Well, lemme tell ya. It is revealed to me that Amaris and Jackie once had a little fling-a-ding culminating in Amaris realizing that alcohol impairs her judgment and Jackie realizing that she wants herself some more of that Amaris. No bueno. So, even though Amaris had been informed of the later gathering, she was not informed that she was being set up with me and was convinced that it was a ploy for Jackie to get her all liquored up so that she could, well, you get the picture. Since Amaris wasn't down for that, she pulled ye olde "look at the time...I gotta go" card so as not to have to spend the remainder of her evening peeling Jackie off of her.

I was but a decoy!!!

And dyke drama lives on...

The Incredibly True and Heartbreaking Tale of my First Hollywood Breakup, Chapter 1

This tale is true. All of the names have been changed because Amaris can afford to sue me and I can't afford to be sued.

Part A: I paint the background a glorious and sunny shade

About twelve years ago, while I was still an undergrad, I was working as a waiter in a super-small, neighborhoodly, all-gay-owned restaurant (it's still there, but I'm not) with four owners, all very different from one another, but all friends at the time. I was hired practically on the spot and I loved my job so much. The owners were almost all a little bit older than I, except for one, Devin, who was a little bit younger (he and I are still good friends to this day), and I got along with all of them.

This was the early/mid-nineties, when computer access at home was not yet a given and America Online was still considered a hot new cool thing. Of course, I signed up, and was able to have a username that was a nine-letter word with no numbers or symbols in it - unheard of by today's standards. It didn't take long before I discovered the chat rooms and how much fun I could have in them. It had not yet occurred to me that the the seemingly hot punk-rock dyke I was chatting with could easily have been someone's grandfather. C'est la vie - I was having a good time and learning all sorts of useless information.

The owner/chef, Jackie, was a butch dyke who liked to flirt with me. I flirted right back at her because I found that, in doing so, I could obtain mini favors from her such as getting my tables' food faster than the other server (who Jackie didn't like anyway). Jackie and I also shared a common interest in that we both enjoyed stopping by the local strip club for a post-work beer, so we'd hit our friendly neighborhood titty bar together after work once in awhile.

Part B: I take the bait

One day, Jackie tells me about her friend, Amaris, who just got online and maybe I should email Amaris and show her the ropes and chat with her.

"No problemo," I tell Jackie and ask her if Amaris is cute. Jackie assures me that not only is she cute, but she's coming to town soon.

"Wait a minute...coming to town? From where?" I ask her. Jackie then tells me that Amaris lives in Los Angeles.

"Hmmm. I don't like LA. No LA girls for me, thanks," I tell Jackie she should find someone else to flirt with her friend online.

"No, you'll like her - she's really super smart," Jackie tells me. "In fact, we should all go out when she comes to town."

"I'll think about it."

Jackie gives me Amaris' email address and suggests I write her. I pretty much blow off that idea because I don't want to involve myself with someone from LA (for the record: some of my stereotypes about LA turned out to be true and some, not so much). I figured that Amaris would be snobbish and I wasn't in the mood for that.

A few weeks later, Jackie says to me, "Hey, Amaris is coming to town next week. She's coming in here to have dinner - you can wait on her- and then we'll all go out for drinks after work and maybe play pool or something."

A blind (albeit, group) date with a cute out-of-town girl? Sure, why the hell not? I tell Jackie that I'm in and start thinking about what I'll be wearing to work that night. I opt for the naughty schoolgirl look, complete with black thigh-high stockings with my Doc Marten oxfords. I learn from Jackie that Amaris works in the entertainment industry and is very cultured and very hip.

Part C: Meeting Amaris

When the fateful Friday night arrives, I'm feeling great and excited about my post-shift afterparty. I'm rockin' my naughty schoolgirl getup and I think it's working. Amaris comes into the restaurant at around 8pm and she's adorable: tall, athletic build, sort of a k.d. lang look, but with Clark Kent glasses. She has a great smile and her face is full of expression. Yeah, I can hang with her. We have a great time flirting up a storm while I'm waiting on her. She tells me to select a wine for her and then to select her dinner, as well. I'm loving this. She seems to, also.

Part D: In which I am slapped silly

As I'm serving her a trio of chocolate pave with a cardomom cream sauce for dessert, alongside a double espresso (I figure she'll need that), I bring up the subject of going out later for beer and pool. Nevermind that I don't play pool. I don't need to.

Amaris informs me that she's planning on going back to her friends' house, where she's staying, and going to sleep after dinner.

Huh???

"Soooooo, you're not going out for drinks and pool with the rest of us when we get off work?"

Amaris smiles and politely says no thanks, that she's tired and she's gonna take a raincheck this time.

Crap. Was it something I said? Things seemed to be going so well. What happened?

American Idol Drinking Game

OK, so we sort of invented this American Idol drinking game...and I say sort of because I find it really hard to believe that nobody else has thought of this yet and I'm sure that somebody has, I just haven't necessarily stumbled upon it. So, if it turns out that somebody else thought of this exact game way before we did, then fine, take credit - I'm cool with that.

And here's how it goes: While watching American Idol, take one drink any time any of the following occur:

• Paula Abdul acts drunk, loopy, out-of-it, goofy or claps her hands with her fingers all spread apart like a toddler
• Simon uses the words "karaoke" or "cabaret"
• there is a spat between either Simon and Paula or Simon and Ryan
• the contestant follows the camera with their eyes
• the contestant holds up their fingers to indicate their call-in number
• Kellie Pickler says something stupid or doesn't understand something
• Paula, for lack of anything credible to say about the contestant's performance, (or, apparently, when she doesn't really care for the performance but is incapable of offering negative feedback), compliments the contestant's appearance
• Randy says "dawg," "dude," "I wasn't feelin' it," "we got a hot one tonight," "yo,"or "a'ight"
• Ryan has a different facial hair configuration from the week before
• a member of another show from Fox network is in the audience
• a contestant cries
• a contestant does the "Country Western Squat" while singing

So, Should I Laminate the Freebie List?

Remember that episode of Friends - the one with the freebie list? And Ross was going to laminate his freebie list and, before he did, he removed Isabella Rosellini from it because she was too international. But then Isabella showed up at Central Perk and Ross put his foot in his mouth and told her that she used to be on his freebie list but that he'd removed her from it and put Dorothy Hamill there instead (note to Ross: what the hell were you thinking???).

Although I know that this term originated pre-Friends because I remember discussing it with others prior to the airing of that particular episode in the autumn of 1996, I do not know the exact origin of the term (and Wikipedia credits Friends with the coining of the term). Anyone know where/how it started?

Well, without further ado - and to keep me honest - I am, essentially, "laminating" my freebie list by posting it on my blog. Alas, the following are "the five celebrities that, should the opportunity present itself, I get to have sex with without causing any hurt or damage to my current relationship."

Freebie List:

1. Kate Moennig
2. Fairuza Balk
3. Johnny Depp
4. Two-way tie: Constantine Maroulis & David Bowie circa The Berlin Trilogy
5. Three-way (tee-hee) Tie: Angelina Jolie, Jodie Foster & Jenny Shimizu

OK, now I realize that I have two people listed in slot number four and three (ahem) in slot number five. I know that that's sorta like cheating, but here's the deal: since David Bowie circa The Berlin Trilogy doesn't really exist anymore (unless I figure out how to time-travel), then that opportunity wouldn't really ever arise anyway. Which pretty much leaves Constantine Maroulis flying solo in spot number four. And as for slot number five, well, I can think of reasons to keep or lose each one of them (none of which are because they are too international, though), so yeah, here's how that will have to work: that number five slot will be honored on a first-come, first-serve basis, as it's the only fair way to select just one.

Edited to add: Hey, don't tease me about the Jodie Foster thing! That's sorta leftover from my teen years when she used to be kinda butch! And she's still hot! And smart! And mysterious! Plus, I saw her in person one time on the Warner lot when she was working on Home For the Holidays and she was perfectly, fabulously adorable! That moment cemented her spot on my freebie list for life.

AI

As some people know, and others who don't know would never guess, I'm something of an American Idol junkie. I'm not a superdiehard fan who has watched every season, but close enough to be made fun of.

In fact, I am quite guilty of making fun of J when she and Kira were watching early on in Season 2. But one day that all changed and then I had to make up excuses to be in the room while AI was on so that I could watch and hear Clay Aiken. (And it's ok if you are now thinking what a big 'ole dork I must be - I'll accept that). Finally, I just came out and admitted that I loved the guy and that I'm a sucker for certain "Adult Contemporary" music (i.e. Harry Connick, Jr., etc.).

But, still, I tried to downplay my love for all things Clay and would act mortified if anyone referred to me as a Claymate. But it was all totally fake. I must say, though, that I wish that Clay would just come on out and admit to being a big homo - he would be most welcome into our big 'ole rainbow-flag-wavin' family.

Just for the record, I have a major thing for Constantine Maroulis as well. Although it's very different than the major thing I had/have for Clay. Clay, I just love his singing and there are certain songs that he sings that just give me chills (Solitaire, This is the Night, Bridge Over Troubled Water, Unchained Melody...actually, his Mack the Knife was good, too). The guy has pipes, ya know? But Constantine is a different experience altogether - completely visceral...all over. His AI rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody was genius and unstoppable and his retro Partridge Family homage of I Think I Love You was completely meltworthy. This guy is completely sexy AND he can sing. I am eagerly awaiting his solo works.

This season, though, it's all about Elliott Yamin. And, just for the record here, my fascination with him is more akin to my Clay-adoration -- strictly musical. Although, in addition to having a lovely voice, there is something else about Elliott that I just love. He just comes across as this down-to-earth, very humble and likeable guy. He seems honest and sincere, without being sappy. He's the AI5 contestant I'd most like to sit down and have a beer with (especially in a karaoke bar so he can sing!). Paris Bennett was my early-on fave, when she was singing Billie Holliday tunes during her audition. But she doesn't really wow me unless she's doing the sort of older jazz classics, such as "These Foolish Things" last week.

And the contestant I most love to hate? Well that'd be mink-in-residence Kellie Pickler. Can this girl get any dumber? No? I didn't think so.

No zzzzzzzz and Sleater-Kinney sushi

I love insomnia. Actually, I don't love it, per se, but I do suspect that it is something akin to Linus and that damn blanket for me. Sometimes I just can not, for the life of me, make sleep happen. It just simply won't. Now is one of those times. Oddly, I think that the wandery, racing thoughts have something to do with it. Last night, for example, I was laying there thinking, amongst other things, "damn it, what the hell is Jerud's middle name?" And it was on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn't quite access it. Then it came to me. Burton. His middle name is Burton. And it's not that I really needed to know that, nor was I planning on using that information for anything, I just couldn't shut my mind down because I didn't know the answer to the question. I know what you're thinking. . . it's no wonder I can't sleep since there are so many questions that I don't know the answer to. Yeah, I know.

The other night, Kira and I got to go out for sushi. Not that that is so unusual, really, but this time we had actual reasons. I was feeling under the weather -ok, like total crap- and, despite my very good intentions of making the really yummy mac and cheese from Noble Rot, I just couldn't do it. Plus I was craving miso - or a good chicken matzoh ball soup, but that is a whole other rant. The other reason was to honor Kira's kick assedness on her project for her language arts class in which, on four separate categories with a possible five points each, she received six points for three of the categories and five on the other. Kira's awesome. So we're sitting there in Mio Sushi on Hawthorne (yes, we drove...I'm sick, remember?) drowning my pending ailment in soy bean curd broth and celebrating Kira's awesomeness and in walks Carrie Brownstein, guitarist for Sleater-Kinney. She's there to pick up some take out and, while looking quite adorable in her loose jeans and down puffy jacket, she pretty much blends in with all of the other Portlanders. Thing is, the only other time I've seen a member of Sleater-Kinney about town and not on stage was in Mio Sushi on Hawthorne about a year ago when we saw Janet Weiss, the drummer, dining there with some friends.

My newest issue of Vanity Fair arrived in yesterday's mail. The cover is their pre-Oscar pull-out showcasing ten Hollywood starlets. And with the exception of the three (3!) ethnic chicks, they are ALL BLONDS! wtf? Since I have not yet had a chance to read the accompanying article, the exact criteria for coverdom inclusion remains a mystery. Some of the celeblets are established household names (Uma Thurman and Claire Danes), whereas others are more up-and-coming (Ziyi Zhang and Sienna Miller). But why not a better balance with a brunette or two? How about Natalie Portman and Fairuza Balk? They wouldn't even have to throw out two blonds in order to squeeze the other two in - I mean, it's a pull-out cover, there's plenty-o-room! Perhaps I shall write them and address this oversight. OK, I know I never will, but I like to think that I might, that I'm inclined to.

J is making me watch The Bachelorette. Alright, so she's not making me, but if it weren't for her, I'd probably have never known that the show existed at all. Well, except when Meredith was on, but that's 'cause she's from Portland and I like knowing about things from Portland. So I'm on the couch studying and Jillynn informs me that this season's bachelorette is Jen, who was slated to marry Andrew Firestone and who has been on the cover of People magazine almost as many times in the past year as Johnny Depp has. "That's nice, honey," I tell J, as if I really don't give a shit. But this thing is a trainwreck and I can't sit in the same room and not watch it. As an added bonus, I invented a drinking game to accompany said program:

-take one drink every time someone speaks of "taking things to the next/another level"
-take two drinks every time the word "connection" is uttered
-take three drinks every time the phrase "the most ________rose ceremony EVER" is announced

I should turn all tv shows into drinking games!