One of these things is not like the other, both were amazing

Back in October, my girls & I saw "Tina Turner" (and plenty of other "female" stars) perform at the fabulous 801 Bourbon Bar & Cabaret in Key West, Florida. Fact: It's impossible to be cranky at at drag show. I write this not because I was cranky... I was on vacation in one of the most beautiful and fun places our country has to offer, so that would have been stupid. I'm just sayin' that every single person in the place was super-friendly and having a great time.








Then, the very night I came back from Key West, my sister picked me up at the airport and so we could go straight to see Tina Turner in concert here in Chicago. The day they went on sale, earlier in the year, I scored us 17th row seats and It. Was. Awesome. I made fast friends with Louis, who sat in front of us and took these photos (and many more that he was cool enough to share) of the entire show. If you're cranky in the 17th row of a Tina Turner concert, you need to get some professional help. The woman is in her 70's and still tearing the roof off the mothertrucker. Seriously, she is truly unbelievable to witness live. Our parents took us to see her back in the 80's and it made an impression on me that I still feel to this day. Her stage show back then was good, but the one on this tour, said to be her last, was like nothing I've ever seen. We were blown away!

The first rule of Pillow Fight Club: Always talk about Pillow Fight Club. The second rule? Same as the first.

Note: Neither feathers nor personal reputations were harmed during this hijinks-filled night out with friends, whose names have been changed!

A lot has been written on a man's sense of humor being the most attractive thing to women, and I'm the first one to nod my head in agreement. If a guy is the right kind of funny, he will have my full attention. In the past few years I've read about how supposedly men aren't into funny women which turns out to be a non-issue because apparently there aren't funny women, only reproducing machines that bring babies into the world. I don't believe any of that idiocy comes from the thoughts & minds of REAL MEN, but is misinformation spread around by The Man*--whose main job is to keep us down--and not in a good way.

One of my oldest** and funniest friends, Linda (not her real name), drove from a few states away for an overnight visit that was planned in advance to coincide with a live performance of one of our newest*** friends, Dundee's (not his real name) band. I emailed him the day before the show to remind him that the song that truly makes me woozy isn't even on any of his CDs--yet!--and he can make it up to me by performing it at least once, or (and I quote), "for just long enough, if you know what I'm saying". 

I can express myself like that freely because most of my social circle consists of people who not only get my humor, but also give it right back. They make it possible to engage in the clever repartee that I live and breathe for (I really, really do), which makes me giddy. I'm thrilled to have so many friends with the ability to take something said in jest and run with it because it keeps me laughing. Dunn fits right in by demonstrating a good mix of his own biting wit, thinly-veiled euphamisms, and tongue always planted firmly in cheek.

Since I'm a giver, here is an excerpt from the text message conversation between Dundee & I (none of which should be taken seriously, as we're both shameless flirts with those we adore) on the day of his Chicago show:

Dunn (not his real name): Happy to hear you'll be at the show tonight, Sugar!

Me: If the message sent from this number to me was from 'Chocolate Thunder', I have bad news. I won't be in my usual seat at The Sugarshack for your performance because I'm seeing a different kind stage show tonight. Sorry.

Dunn: You know I love yo' sass.

Me: Oh, how embarrassing! I thought you were CT, who is someone else I know with OTHER talents. If you love my sass, you better prepare yourself for Linda because she's on her way here! Text her your appreciation in advance at ###-###-####.

Dunn: Linda will be at the show, too? I'll have my hands full with the two of you, for sure. BTW, I do have talent. At least 1/2 the skills of Choc Thunder. Let me demonstrate.

Me: I guess that means I better bring dollar bills to your show tonight, though if you only have 1/2 the skills, I can bring my smaller wallet.

Dunn: HA! Where are you right now? I mean exactly, with the zip code & everything. I'm pretty good at stalking, some say.

Me: You gather information for the people you'd like to stalk by ASKING THEM FOR IT? How refreshing. Although you can't really be considered good at something if someone is supplying you with the answers. You're not living up to your potential.

Dunn: Point taken. Does the fact that I'm bringing some great wine put me back in your good graces? If you stalk ME after the show, I'll even share.

Me: Oh, we'll definitely be stalking! It'll be good to have a night off from Chocolate Thunder. He never shares his wine, so you have THAT going for you.

Dunn: Which is nice. BTW, does Linda love me more than you do?

Me: That's a trick question.

Dunn: Absolutely not, it's very fair.

Me: I think you should text her yourself. Go right to the source.

Dunn: So, it's cool that I've been copying her on our messages already?

Me: HA! I call bullshit, but well played. You should actually be thanking me because she's where it's at, baby.

Dunn: Okay, Yenta.

Me: Me? Yenta? Never! Why you gotta treat me so bad?

Dunn: I'll only treat you with loving tenderness, my dear.

Me: That response was very Big Bad Wolf of you.

Dunn: No Big Bad Wolf here, I'm as gentle as a lamb.

Me: Oooh, I hope not!

Dunn: I lie for sh*t, don't I?

Me: You're terrible at it. It's shameful, really. Good thing I know you're great with your hands. When playing your guitar, I mean...

As expected, they put on an excellent show, which included a dedication to his *wink* "special friends" *wink* of my previously mentioned favorite song. Linda was fanning me midway through because I was, well, reacting to it. As the last note was thumped out on the bass, I heard myself yelling over the crowd's applause, "Do it again!". It was quite a moment. The band took a short break and he came to our table so we could make our post-show plan.

Twenty minutes after the show ended:

Dunn: Equipment all packed up. After-show plan in full effect?

Me&Linda: Bring wine, and hurry up or you'll miss the pillow fight****!

Dunn: I'll be right over, and you girls had better not be kidding.

*Jerry Lewis
**23 years & counting
***Less than that
****If you ever want a man to hurry up, use that line. Works every time, no joke.

They're so big that AC/DC wrote a song about them

Double-click on either 'play' arrow if you have trouble with the video.

I really do have the biggest balls of them all. Grandé gonads. I'm talking, HUGE. Figuratively speaking, of course.

My sister & I had seats in the nosebleed section for George Michael's show at the United Center. Normally, nosebleed seats are okay with me because I think ANY seat is a good seat at a live show. Sure, sometimes I'll get carried away and go for the best available, but only when I feel like it would otherwise be a missed opportunity. Like the time we were at an on-site Ticketmaster location picking numbers out of a hat to determine our place in line for tickets to see Lenny Kravitz. I picked #1. As in, FIRST TO HAVE MY CHOICE OF ANY SEAT IN THE HOUSE. That is called luck. We decided that instead of buying the lawn seats, we'd go all in, just for kicks. 

That's how we ended up 6 rows from Lenny during the entire show with the exception of the 5 minutes he leaned his sinewy and half-naked body into the waiting arms of the crowd, and my outstretched hand was literally millimeters from his beautifully sculpted and tattooed bicep. I'm actually glad he wasn't closer, because had that been the case, you would now be reading about that one time my lawyer advised against using "What do you expect, I'm only human! Have you SEEN him?" as my defense in court for licking Lenny Kravitz's hot bod. 

Oooh, Lenny's hot and probably very tasty bod... I need a moment.

Where was I? Oh yes, nosebleed seats. We were in the car on our way to grab a bite before the concert. I had yet to tell my sister about some e-mails sent to strangers on my lunch break because I didn't know what the outcome would be. 

At 5:45 p.m., my phone rang. It was a number I didn't recognize, but I knew the area code, and took a deep breath before answering. A decision had been made and some information was exchanged; logistics, passwords, horoscopes, the secret handshake, a limerick.

By the time I hung up three things were evident: 1) I had no control over the fact that I was hearing myself scream about my sizeable balls, 2) my sister was VERY confused and wanted to know what was going on, and 3) We could look forward to being a mere 50 feet away from George now that we had insanely great $250 seats in the 4th row of section 122. For FREE.*

I would love to tell you every specific detail on how I got those tickets from someone I don't even know, but then I'd have to kill you. Just kidding, I wouldn't really have to kill you; but it is beside the point I'm trying to make here, which goes beyond "good" seats at concerts. What I'm trying to tell you is this:

Open your mouth and ask for what you want. This goes for run-of-the-mill AND outrageous things. I have lived by that rule since I was 19, and it has worked for me more times than I can count. 

Last year, after getting a direct e-mail from the author of a book, thanking me for a post I wrote about my excitement for the release date, I e-mailed back asking him to sign the book for me once it was out. He had plenty of other things do besides give into the whims of a stranger but enjoyed both my enthusiasm and a challenge since he was shuttling between countries and continents at the time. We figured out a plan and he somehow found the time to get to the post office in a city he doesn't even LIVE in on his last day there to pick up the book I'd shipped overnight specifically for the purpose of opening the box in the post office, signing the book, and immediately sending it back to me. It was all quite a thrilling adventure that wasn't without mishaps. You can read (and should!) the whole entertaining story on that HERE. We're still in contact, by the way... and the next time we're in the same country we're totally meeting for a drink. 

One more example: Want to know how I have a 4-day workweek with every Friday off? I asked for it. Had they said no, it wouldn't have been a deal-breaker, but I asked anyway and got it.

My sister said something on Wednesday night about me being lucky, but luck is when something falls unexpectedly into your lap, like being first in line to buy Lenny Kravitz tickets. Giving the credit to luck when you've clearly asked for something disregards not only the effort put forth in the initial asking of the question, but does even more of a disservice to the person who decidedly says yes. 

So, what are you waiting for? Get some big, figurative balls of your own and start asking for what you want from every facet of this life. Of YOUR life. It's yours to live and there are people out there who will be glad to conspire with you in ways you have yet to imagine. Ask for what you want from the people you know and especially the people you don't. One thing is certain: if you never ask, you'll NEVER get it. When the worst that can happen is that someone says, "no", you should always go for it. Come from a sincere place and ask for what you want. You'll be surprised at how many times people say yes!

Then, whenever possible, send thank-you notes. Being ballsy is something to be celebrated. Being ungrateful is not.

*To be clear, the $250 seats we got were not taken away from a child in the Make-a-Wish program, or anyone else for that matter.

--

As for those who are interested in how G.M. was live, I can only say that you better get your tickets while you can. He was incredible. I worried that maybe at this point in his career, he'd phone in the performance. He did no such thing. It was a tremendous show, and ranks among the top 5 favorite live performances of all time, and I've seen lots of live shows. He blew the doors off the joint, and I can only hope his idea of a farewell tour is the same as Cher's and The Rolling Stones'... that it goes on for decades, seemingly without end.

My camera phone seems to have a wide angle lens. We were closer than it appears from this shot. This is precisely when I had my heart attack.


Yes, I know camera phone photo quality can suck, but I can only blame myself for these blurry shots. It's as good as it gets when you're involuntarily jumping and singing and cheering and clapping.


You can't really see that he's standing in the shadows on stage, but the silhouette on screen proves it. So. Much. Awesome!


My desk on Thursday morning. My boss thought I'd like some creative inspiration to carry me through the day. I got the last laugh when I told him where we ended up sitting!

The seating chart my sister worked up to show you both our nosebleed and eventual AMAZING seats. Click image to enlarge and then click HERE to read her post on the night, complete with the set list and youtube videos.

Pink Martini and pillow-fighting: Otherwise known as the best way to spend time with friends

I went up to Wisconsin on Monday for our "St. Patrick's Day Let's all get together and wear something green while enjoying 3rd row seats at a concert performance of one of my favorite-groups-of-all-time and we'll also imbibe in the traditional drinking of the Guinness (and/or Irish car bombs) without worrying about with all the drunks on the road at bar time because we booked an overnight stay (yes, all of that in one night) at a fabulous downtown hotel" that has been in the works since September.

On the drive up, there was this phone call:

Did you happen to bring a bottle opener with you or do you have one of those little ones on your keychain because none of us brought one.

No, I don't have a bottle opener; I didn't even think of that. I never think of that, actually, and that is why I have 6 cheap-in-quality but expensive-in-price hotel bottle openers at home. I really should invest $2 in one of those keychains because I would have saved a mint by now!

I can't believe we're sitting here with a beautiful hotel room full of Guinness and nothing to open them with on St. Patrick's Day. This is so wrong!

Do you want me to stop on my way in and pick one up?

...Cut to the two of us meeting in front of the hotel gift shop, looking for what will be my 7th cheap-in-quality but expensive-in-price hotel bottle opener. As soon as I hand over entirely too much money for some plastic and metal that has probably been assembled by children somewhere, this verbal exchange occurs:

Did you just BUY that bottle opener?

I thought you said we needed one! I refuse to sit in a hotel room with unopened bottles of Guinness mocking me and the 6 bottle openers I have on-hand two hours south of here.

I was just going to ask up at the front desk if we could borrow one.

On St. Patrick's Day? Do you know how many people in this hotel are actively searching through their belongings for a bottle opener right now? Maybe I'll hang this one around my neck and offer my services. I could make my money back 10-fold when we go out tonight!

Uhhhh....

WITH. THE. BOTTLE. OPENER.

...Cut to us getting in the elevator and halfway up to the 9th floor this same person looks at me and says:

OH, WAIT A MINUTE!

What now?

I think I might HAVE a bottle opener in my bag!

...Cut to me cracking open the first Guinness with unnecessarily purchased and far too expensive bottle opener as she reaches into her bag to pull out not only a bottle opener ON HER KEYCHAIN NO LESS but also? A corkscrew, even though none of us brought wine; for added measure. Knowing that they had been torturing themselves in the room staring at those bottles, thinking they didn't have a way to open them when in fact, they did, was well worth the Hamilton I left behind in the gift shop.

It was precisely this particular brand of tomfoolery that set the tone for the next 24 hours. The only thing missing was someone taking turns poking people in the eyeballs and saying "whoop-whoop-whoop-whoop". Then again, we're a group of girls, so the likelihood of that ever happening is nil. Because we engage in pillow fights like all girls do when they're together.

The original reason for this gathering was not to have a pillow fight with my friends (even though that is always an excellent reason), but it was because Pink Martini was going to be performing in concert, and each time they've been in the area, I have managed to get friends together to join in on a fabulous evening of music-done-well by some of the most talented musicians I've ever heard. It's also one of the best reasons to be in a concert hall with other people who have not only showered but have decided to brush their hair and throw on some dressy clothes as well. I've mentioned Pink Martini a couple of times here at HOJ, so the following may sound a bit familiar...


Pink Martini: A reminder of the incredible male-to-female ratio of my days attending University of Wisconsin, but with less engineering emphasis, no flannel shirts to be found and infinitely more musical talent.

For 29 glorious days in 1999, I was fortunate enough to go to Europe with my oldest friend (of 24 years) and her family. We traveled throughout Italy, Austria, Germany, Switzerland, Paris and London.

I was on a limited souvenir budget so when I saw something I wanted (basically anytime my eyes were open), I only bought it if I absolutely loved and couldn't leave without it. That was a great system to use, as each of those purchases are still- almost 10 years later- absolute prized possessions. I was determined while traveling overseas to come home with some music to remind me of the trip. I hadn't found it until we were in Paris, when in I saw a huge blow-up of this in a record store window near the inverted pyramid inside The Lourve:


Imagine my surprise when I opened this CD and realized Pink Martini wasn't a band out of Paris, but Portland!

I knew immediately, without even hearing the music, that I was going to buy that CD. I was totally sucked in by the Doisneau-esque cover photo. Luckily, Pink Martini is a group of incredible musicians and since 1999 I've enjoyed Sympathique - as well as their 2004 sophomore effort, Hang On Little Tomato; and the most recent release, Hey Eugene! countless times.


Who could resist an album with a title like this?


Oddly similar to every vintage party picture from my mom's side of the family


We had excellent seats, and the show was 2 hours of being blown away by all the talent up on that stage. They played my favorite song, Brazil last, which is good because it is the one song that you cannot resist shaking your ass to. Even if you're reading this thinking, "I never shake my ass", trust me... YOU. WILL. SHAKE. YOUR. ASS. Some people even started a conga line that led out into the lobby and back into the concert, and I'm not even kidding. You can understand why we have such a good time when they come to town.

Afterwards, the 8 of us ended up in the beautiful hotel bar that was spacious enough for us to not only claim a seating area as our own, but also allowed us to talk and catch up in a way that we never would have been able to at any of the crowded pubs down the street. Eventually the members of Pink Martini made their way to the hotel bar, too, and by then we had already made friends with one of the musicians in the band, who just so happens to be this guy's sister. She sat with us for about an hour, with the rest of the band sitting to our left, and the entire time I just kept wondering how it is that we went from not having a bottle opener to sitting with the talented-in-her-own-right sibling of an American music icon. This is what happens every time (I have plenty of stories to back this up) we decide to dress up and brush our hair, and we all agreed to do it more often. That, and the pillow-fighting.

Click HERE to read the only online show review I could find from that night.


Live performance of Una Notte Napoli, from 'Hang on Little Tomato'

If you ever get the chance, I highly recommend going to a Pink Martini show, and do yourself a favor... dress up a little. You never know who you're going to meet.

The second most overused phrase in all our years of friendship: "How did we even get ON this subject?". You don't want to know what the first one is.

Last night Anastasia Beaverhausen (aka Jen) and I were on the phone, going over some things we're collaborating on. Other than the fact that during these calls, she's usually sitting on the John Deere lawn tractor in their garage, beer-in-hand (she lives in Texas, it's state law) and the fact that I'm usually lying in bed trying to keep warm under my down comforter, red wine-in-hand (naturally), we treat these conversations like teleconferenced business meetings. We get a lot done when we're in "Billable Time", or B.T.  Non-billable time involves a lot of short text messages to each other that end with, "Longr vrsion 2nite in B.T.".

Once in awhile during B.T., her husband will come out to her office the garage to get another beer and to tell us to quiet down because the kids are trying to sleep ask why she only laughs like that when we're on the phone find out when I'm coming back for a visit make us woozy with his impression of Barry White, which sounds just like this:


Double-click on the 'play' arrow if you have trouble with the imeem player.


The only difference being that her husband uses his own deep voice to recite the script from those Arby's commercials that Barry White did, the description of a sandwich pouring out of his mouth slow-like-molasses, our giddy reactions doing nothing but encouraging him to continue. That is, until he gets sick of hearing himself say, "Ohhh baby, Beeeeef and Cheddar. Molten hot cheddar cheese dripping down over thinly sliced beef, on a freshly baked bun. Beefffff and cheddarrrrr, it's what you want to eaaaattttt, baby...". 

I say until HE gets sick of it, because we never will. I digress.


Some important points we went over last night in B.T. were...

Necessity really is the mother of invention:

JEN: "V. and her company will be at ShoWest with all of Hollywood again this year. Once she was even alone in an elevator with Ben Affleck. Wouldn't THAT be fun?"

ME: "I don't know, I get the feeling that Ben Affleck is the kind of guy who would definitely have something to say if you tried to seduce him in an elevator. He doesn't seem like the just-go-with-the-flow type that scenerio would require."

JEN: "Honey, that's what duct tape was invented for."



The internet is an important tool when you need the correct spelling, usage and definition of one of her mom's favorite words, (which for the record is pronounced GOH-SH):

JEN: "Is the word "Gauche" spelled with an 'a' or an 'o'?"

ME: "An 'a', and I know this because I looked it up earlier at Dictionary.com. Wait, there's a definition on *Urbandictionary.com for 'Gouche' with an 'o'. Let me see what that means... {typing, then gasping} Uh, I don't think you're ready to hear what the Urban Dictionary says the word 'gouche' means. It's definitely not the same thing as 'gauche'. For starters, 'gouche' rhymes with 'douche', and that's the least offensive thing about it. By the way, I have been calling what they say 'gouche' means something else entirely for many, many years."

{typing on a keyboard} JEN: "Ok, now I gotta see this for myself."


We proceeded to laugh so hard that one of us almost passed out. The thought of her mother uttering the word 'gouche' (which to my knowledge she never has) instead of 'gauche', is too much hilarity to even express in words. I just want to take a second to tell you that the definition of this 'gouche' is not for the faint of heart, so don't say I didn't warn you if you decide to look it up yourself.

The conversation continues as we're both reading down the page:

ME: "Did you see the example sentence in that 2nd definition? I think that's my new favorite example sentence of all time, and not just because of the total disregard for spelling or punctuation. Obviously the word 'gouche' rises above any punctuation you would ever dare to put near it. It's like the superhero of words."

JEN: "That settles it, I'm keeping the 'o' in. Goooouche. It just feels right."



If you want to spend the evening with an 80's icon, as well as have the perfect take-home gift for everyone on your list, go no further than Billy Bob's Texas:

JEN: "I forgot to tell you that there is a group of 20 of us going to see Rick Springfield in a couple of weeks!"

ME: "I am so glad I didn't know far enough in advance to join you. I've seen him live so please understand that I'm the person you don't want to be next to at a Rick Springfield concert. I have two words for you: Jessie's Girl. As soon as I hear the opening notes of that song, I go batsh*t-crazy. You don't even want to see me when he gets to my favorite line; "She's lovin' him with that body, I just know it!".


Double-click on the 'play' arrow if you have trouble with the imeem player.


JEN: "Oh trust me, I might out-batsh*t-crazy you. I've never seen him in concert, so it's going to be insane. You should look up the venue website. You know how some bars have those mechanical bulls people can ride? Well, Billy Bob's Texas has actual live...."

ME: "Don't even tell me they have actual cowboys walking around that you can ride, because if that's the case, I'm leaving everything behind and moving to Texas right now. Tonight."

JEN: "Uh, no, I was going to say that they have live rodeo-style bull riding."

ME: "Same difference!"

{Both of us start singing, "Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy"; which is the kind of unplanned synchronicity that our friendship was built on.}


Double-click on the 'play' arrow if you have trouble with the imeem player.


Somehow I end up looking at the online gift shop for Billy Bob's and come across "The Bullie", otherwise known as El Saco De Toro:

El Whato De Toro?

The description was So. Very. Descriptive., that I couldn't read the whole thing out loud without laughing; so I told Anastasia that she'd have to get back online immediately and read it for herself.

"You can be the proud owner of an original Saco De Toro "Bullie". An actual scrotum of the king of the range. It came from a proud, virile beast and at one time contained the seeds of life and the future of the herd. Bullies have weathered the heat of summers and the cold winds of winters. The scars and blemishes on the "Bullie" are indicative of the hardships endured by the beast. You can be assured that there are no two "Bullies" alike. They are as distinctive as fingerprints and come in different colors, sizes, shapes, and textures. Your "Bullie" will be unique, useful, conversational and expressive. From a planter to a golf ball holder its uses are limited only by your imagination!"

I don't have to tell you that she already has one on order, and that is no joke. At first she said she was going to give it to her husband for Valentine's Day (so romantic, especially when filled with candy kisses!) but about 2.5 seconds later we were coming up with all the things she could use it for, like the designated holder of keys, mail and small change; a safe place for sunglasses or a small beer cooler just to name a few. My favorite is the visual of the Bullie being used as her new purse. It would be a shame to keep that leather whip-stitching around the top to herself, she should show it off around town! When she did a search for it (comparison shopping, you know), she found one description that said it was the perfect mini-trash can! El Saco, indeed!


Nearly 2 hours of Billable Time later, we closed with this:

Me: "I am so exhausted from this conversation. Our friendship has basically been 2 decades of training for the laugh-riot that was this phone call, and yet it still wasn't enough preparation."

JEN: "I know, I feel like such a gouche."

ME: "How did we even get ON this subject?"

......



*For the record, I have a long and distinguished (alright, not so distinguished) history with the Urban Dictionary. My friend Shoni has sent me the actual Urban Dictionary books over the years, and I will often randomly flip through them because they are hilarious. In case you're wondering, my favorite Urban Dictionary definition of all time is for the word CRYMAX. I can't imagine a sentiment more poetic than that verb. Just having that word and it's meaning in my vocabulary makes me smile.

I wanted to be sure you're feeling right, wanted to be sure we want the same thing.

Joe Mothertrucking Jackson is coming to town (and he's probably coming to yours, too)! I'm so there that I'm not even here.




Simplified, beautiful, classic: "It's different for girls"


His new album, Rain, drops on 1/29.

They're like a rainbow!

I probably shouldn't be telling you this since What Happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas™, but last year I was on a little Rolling Stones concert kick with some of my NYC peeps and one of the places we saw the tour was at the MGM Grand. I swore after that trip, my 3rd time in Sin City, that I would never be the same. This realization, stated defiantly in the middle of the airport on the night we were all leaving town, had nothing to do with The Stones and everything to do with our hotel.

Vince & Donna planned ahead and got a beautiful suite at The Wynn. Shoni & I ended up kickin' it old school at The Tropicana, mostly b/c of location (across the street from the concert venue) and partly because the price was right. Or was it mostly because the price was right and partially because of location? It doesn't really matter except to say that this is precisely the kind of thinking that inspired the sayings, "you get what you pay for" and "you'll pay for what you get!".


This is where The Golden Girls went for a booty call, and then to die.

By the time we met up at the airport, waited in the 2 hour cab line to get to the hotel, and waited in the 2 hour check-in line to get our room, all The Trop had left to offer us--even with our guaranteed reservation of a double-- was a king. This news was softened by the fact that we'd still be able to get room service and alcohol, so we didn't bother to fight a battle we'd seemingly already lost. We dragged our weary selves through the lobby, the casino, past the maze of kiosks that had closed hours before we arrived, past 2 bar areas; and finally made it to the elevators where we would unknowingly enjoy the last few moments in our lives before we got emotionally scarred from the sight of this:


Neither of us are naive innocents, but this was a shock. Have you ever seen so much bamboo'd mirror in your entire life? I swear, we did not pay extra for this kind of room (unless you count paying in dignity, not dollars).

Shoni went in the room ahead of me and actually screamed out loud; while I was too distracted with my own poor attempts to keep the horror I felt on the inside. Surely you've heard of a mirrored ceiling, but I defy you to find a scarier proposition than doing anything at all in this veritable fun-house nightmare, multiplied by 3 (as anything in that space will be reflected off of not only the ceiling but also BOTH adjoining walls)! Even something as harmless as the first time you open your eyes in the morning becomes uniquely traumatic as you meet your own hungover gaze at 3 different angles. DO. NOT. WANT.

The high points of that weekend, which included the concert and the incredible dinner the 4 of us had at CraftSteak, have not erased the memory of sleeping in that room. However, when I read THIS post on drunken Teletubbies (Teledrunkies?!) over at Taj's place, I was reminded me of something else from that weekend I shared with friends, back in the days before I started this blog:


Hmmm, this looks strangely familiar...


I think it's the colorful shirts and the interesting dance moves...


Yes, that's it! The Rolling Teletubbies.


If you've never been to a Stones show, it's kind of like this. Just kidding.



This should help get the Teletubbies out of your head. Of course you'll be stuck wondering what play-doh rabbits have to do with a classic Rolling Stones song, but this is a risk you're going to have to take.



Thank you, good night!


All concert photos by Vince & Don.

One way or another, I'm gonna find ya. I'm gonna getcha, getcha, getcha, getcha.

Last night, Deborah Harry's tour bus. It was a glorious shade of Blond, I kid you not. Unfortunately a camera phone doesn't do much on a rainy night besides take sucky photos with an all-over green-ish color, so I had to pretty them up in Photoshop.



Here's a very blurry Chris Botti (!) (purrrrr), with a very blurry birthday girl! Happy birthday, J.J.! Hope your boyfriend gets you a new camera phone!

Sting's 30 years of fame versus Max Headroom's 15 minutes of lame

Here are some shots of The Englishman in New York at Madison Square Garden this past Sunday night, to be exact.

He may be the King of Pain but I'm here to tell you that I'd have a serious problem keeping my hands off of His Royal Highness' heiney.

Someone must have asked him how he'd respond if I was standing right in front of him onstage:

His song lyrics say, "Don't stand so close to me", but his lips are saying something else altogether.

What is this shot abstractly reminiscent of?

Forever battling that Red Light with those baby blues.

Ahh yes, if you squint, you'll see an ever-so-slight resemblance:

M-M-M-ax Headroom, pop culture creation for 2 seconds in 1988.

Sting wins.

Photos taken by House of Jules Remote Correspondent, Shula. Thanks Shu!