Bruges

Yesterday ranks up there as one of the most perfect days I have had. There would be no way I could have improved on it if I had painted the canvas myself but it was a day that just became more magical as it unfolded. I have been this past week hiding out at Nik's flat in Brussels while he is travelling, just to relax and get away from all the ills of modern life, a week to be spent reading, writing, watching movies and just spending time on my own. Yesterday I took a day trip to Bruges. I had been hearing about Bruges for over 16 years from a friend of mine and had seen hundreds of pictures but to see it all in person and during Christmas was just amazing. It is one of the most romantic places I think I have seen. More than Paris. Well, different than Paris. Paris is grand where Bruges is intimate. The history, the swans, the buildings, the myths, it is the kind of place where one can be alone and fall completely in love. It is a place trapped between the worlds of yesterday and tomorrow where mystery hangs in the air.

Now I am back in Brussels on a grey, cold and rainy day and still the sun seems to be shining and the world feels like a better place than it did yesterday.

Robb&Nik@Rob

No sooner had I arrived in Brussels than we cram into Nik's sporty little car and head to Rob - The Gourmets' Market. I have always believed that grocery shopping should be left to the help but this time I had no choice as I was literally a hostage. The whole way there Nik ranted and raved about what a fantastic place it was and after our Harvey Niks experience a few months back, I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. We arrived and upon entry I realized that if heaven has a grocery store, it will pale in comparison to Rob. Upon entry one is greeted by bubbles of all sorts. Veuve Cliquot. Perrier Jouiet. Billecart-Saumon. It was like a reunion with my best friends. We darted and dashed through aisle after aisle, drooling over the various oils, pestos, cheeses qnd veggies. Just when I thought things could not possibly get better, there he was, the red-haired cutie handing out samples for the tired and huddled masses doing their almost last minute Christmas dinner shopping. While in most stores one gets samples of cookies, fruits, salamis or coffee all stuck on toothpicks or poured in paper cups, he was distributing healthy portions of Perrier Jouiet champagne in crystal glasses. Suddenly, I looked up and there she was, a vision in black Chanel, knee high boots, leopard print scarf, perfectly coiffed hair, bright red lips and a pair of fabulous glasses that set off her botoxed face in just the right way. She was fabulous. She knew it. She gave as much of a smile as one can give though that much botox and then she was gone, like Glinda in her bubble. I immediately needed some sympathy food and luckily we stumbled across foie gras filled brioches. It was just what the doctor ordered. In fact, they were so yummy that Nik and I have decided to go back and buy armloads of them tomorrow.

Christmas at Nik's

All the Whos down in Whoville liked Christmas a lot,
But the Grinch who lived just north of Whoville did not,
But this blog is not cheering the Whoville of Whos,
But my little friend Nik who is one meter two,
Because this Christmas weekend he will play host,
To only the friends that he enjoys most,
And of course I am topping that VIP list,
For a dinner on Saturday not to be missed.
But Friday we start with a cocktail night,
To set the holiday season off right,
‘Cause when it comes down to shakin’, Nik takes the cake,
No cocktail is he unable to make,
Bottles of bubbles are sure to abound,
And lots of yum yummies will be all around,
Then into the city we will surely go,
And not be very stingy with our “ho-ho-hos”
At Fontaines and the Beligica our small gang will call,
The goal to be seen by one and by all,
For our little group so cheerful and bright,
Will be the talk of that pre-Christmas night.
And on Christmas Eve a dinner we’ll share,
A feast with our favorite holiday fare,
And we’ll drink and we’ll dance and we’ll gossip galore,
And keep it up till we can take it no more,
And back to the city we will most likely travel,
To see how the evening is wont to unravel,
It will be fun, it will be bliss,
A weekend I would be crazy to miss,
For surely a brunch on Christmas Day,
Is the only way to keep all the Grinchies at bay,
Eggs any style and juices of choice,
Are the things that make our hearts rejoice,
In closing, to all I send some holiday cheer,
And let's have some bubbles early next year!

London

There I was, in London last weekend with Ulco when all of a sudden we were swept over by a tsunami of Santa’s. It was a storm of red and white fur, black boots and more ho-ho-ho’s than should be legal and I was at once terrified, stunned and amazed. Obviously, like television and marriage, Santa has just stepped right into the new millennium. He has a new attitude, at times a new gender and an apparent new interest in leather and other assorted fetishes. There were tall Santas, short Santas, young, old, fat and skinny Santas, he Santas, she Santas and I would even put myself out there on that limb far enough to say there were some confused Santas. Santas in furry red and white cowboy hats. Santas in black leather harnesses and red rubber shorts. Bald and boobified Santas. Santas in assorted races and far away places all converging on the Strand, just a few pigeon steps away from Trafalgar Square.

London is a magical place at Christmas… The lights, the carolers, the massive crowds that make it impossible to get inside any decent store and everything worth buying is already sold-out. A few minutes on Oxford street on Saturday afternoon and my body was screaming for total sensory deprivation. It was just at that moment that Ulco and I happened upon a tiny little store with a café and immediately ducked in for some culture, education and coffee and cake. Coffee, Cake and Kink is a great little place for sitting back, relaxing and getting tips on the latest bondage and tickling techniques known to man, woman or Santa. The main floor is a little bookshop with a tiny little gallery called the “loo-vre”, which you will find in the, you guessed it, loo. It was a bit odd leaning over a toilet and scrub brush to take in the works of the featured artist, but I believe that one must experience everything at least once and so there I was, checking yet another “to-do” topic off my long and distinguished list. Once one is finished browsing the newest titles, checking out the hand-cuffs and admiring the art, it is time to head downstairs where one can have all sorts of yummy coffees and cakes with a fine view of the glass toys… Maybe it is just me… I know glass toys are all the rage today but they scare me. There are just some things that should not be made of glass. Call me old fashioned, call me a bore, call me a prude, but it just doesn’t feel right to me…

Wicked

Whenever I see someone less fortunate than I
And let’s face it, who isn’t less fortunate than I,
My tender heart tends to start to bleed,
And I’ve got an extra ticket,
For that musical named “Wicked”
I know, I know, it’s too good to believe…

Munchkins and wizards and witches, oh my!

Yes, once again I am going to see “Wicked” in London and once again I find myself with an extra ticket for this Friday evening… So if you are interested in joining Ulco and I, grab your broomstick, don that black pointy hat you have been saving just for this occasion and meet us in the Emerald City. It’s simply wonderful, you’ll call it wonderful, because it’s wonderful I must admit. You'll think it’s simply keen to see that town of green and the wonderful road of yellow brick…

My Second Life

Last weekend at a cocktail party in Brussels, the subject of Second Life came up. I like to think I am a hip, happening man of the world but this whole Second Life thing was completely new for me. I looked into it and was totally and completely amazed at what I learned and also of the possibilities that exist within a totally virtual environment… Commerce. Sex. Terrorism. All the stuff that makes life interesting. I decided to set up my own character and suddenly the insecurities and doubts began. Would I be human? Animal? Alien? What would I wear? And for the first time, I started having gender questions… What sex would I be? And what would my orientation be? Was this my chance to be a lesbian or have hot sex with Superman? What career would I choose? Drug runner, pole dancer or talk-show host? I found so many questions paralyzing until I saw that I can change anything and everything about myself at anytime with the exception of my name. That meant I needed a name that could go anywhere and be anything.

I searched through my favorite books and found one from “Wicked” that I decided to use and set up my own profile. I picked my avatar (a hunky guy in a tight white t-shirt) and downloaded the program. As I installed the interface I slipped into daydreams of meting total strangers or movie stars in disguise. I had visions of owning my own island that would be inhabited only by the most beautiful and rich avatars. I was drunk on power and fame.

Once the installation was complete, I double-clicked on the icon and started up the program. And then, just like that, my fragile little bubble was burst into a million tiny pieces as I got the message that my video card was no supported by the program.

As if being rejected I my first life wasn’t enough, I was being rejected in my second one as well. I tried it again an again and each time I was not allowed past the velvet rope but instead was kept outside among the tired and huddled masses of the other Second Life rejects.

I guess I will just have to be content with a second cocktail instead.

The Hills Are Alive

Just when you think you know someone… They surprise you…

The other day, there I was on MSN chatting my fingers to the bone when my friend Joe sent me a link to a music video and before I knew it, I was looking at a well accessorized nun singing her little nun heart out:

High on a hill was a lonely goatherd
Lay ee odl lay ee odl lay hee hoo
Loud was the voice of the lonely goatherd
Lay ee odl lay ee odl-oo

I saw Joe last weekend, and while strolling through the city of Brussels, he would just suddenly break out into a chorus of lay ee odl lay ee odl lay hee hoo and folks in a town that was quite remote heard lay ee odl lay ee odl lay hee hoo. Yes, my yodelling Egyptian friend has been happy as a Sphinx since the all but lost art has made a rather glamorous comeback thanks to Gwen Stefani. In fact, it was all I could do to keep him from tearing down the curtains and making his very own hieroglyphically embroidered lederhosen from his own pattern. My already frail nerves which are still recovering from my near death robbery experience were quickly shot and suddenly I felt the need for a cocktail but then imagined men drinking beer with the foam afloat hearing lay ee odl lay ee odl-oo and decided against it and suggested a good dose of Julie Andrews and a good night’s sleep.

Then, my curiosity got the best of me. What, I wondered, makes one want to yodel? How did yodeling start in the first place? I realized I had no idea and not wanting my friend to go around shouting out uneducated lay hee hoos, I decided to do some research. According to Wikipedia, yodeling “was probably developed in the Swiss Alps as a method of communication between mountain peaks”. That makes sense, however I would think that with the handy little invention of the mobile phone, such a mating call would no longer be necessary. But then given the choice, I am not sure if I prefer the annoying ringtones or yodelling. Lucky for Joe’s friends, he has both so we don’t have to force our friend to give up either one...

Odl lay ee, odl lay ee
Odl lay hee hee, odl lay ee
Odl lay odl lay, odl lay odl lee, odl lay odl lee
Odl lay odl lay odl lay

HOO!

Friends

“I really don’t want to lose you. I really hope we can be friends”

Will someone please pass me the airsick bag because I am going to toss my cookies. What is it with everyone wanting to be friends after they break up? You can’t even start to date someone without having the “if all else fails we will always be friends” conversation. I too find myself saying those same words but I wonder if I really mean them. I wonder if there isn’t perhaps a better, more therapeutic way to deal with the collapse of a relationship, regardless of the length of time spent together. In the gay world an hour of mediocre sex and a quick trip to IKEA constitute a long-term relationship and so again I have to think, what’s in it for me? Why suffer through another round of IKEA if I am not allowed some post relationship venting?

I want to break up with someone and then make their lives miserable. Show them what my momma taught me. Whatever happened to the good old days when one could have a shag, a short-lived romance and then get have some fun when it ended? Bring back the blackmail, public humiliation and character assassinations. Someone dumps you, I think a brick through the window with a hate note attached is a lot healthier than having a dinner to discuss next steps for moving forward in a communicative and supportive relationship. You can’t give me that when we are together, I sure as hell don’t want it when we are apart. I want to walk up to an ex at a party and toss my drink at them, slap them, spread vicious rumors or just sleep with their current lover, best friend or brother. I want them to have sleepless nights wondering if that is just a branch against their window or someone standing outside peering in. A restraining order never hurt anyone and stalking gives the dumpee something to do to occupy their time while working through the pain and we all know that misery loves company.

Misery also loves to leave phone messages at 8:05. 8:07. 8:11. 8:11. 8:11. 8:13. We want to scream into the answering machine “I know you’re there, your lights are on and I can see you moving… Pick. Up. That. Phone. Damn. You” but we decide to have some dignity and we just hang up, leaving only a busy tone at the other end. Best not to leave too much incriminating evidence.

So I ask you to join me in bringing tire slashing, rabbit boiling and harassing phone calls back into vogue.

One World

What a weekend last weekend turned out to be. I arrived in Brussels one suitcase lighter than I left with, which meant no clothes, toothbrush or any of the essentials. Luckily I was staying at Nik’s and when he heard I was practically homeless and naked, he told me to help myself to anything I needed. That sounds like a generous offer on the surface, but the fact of the matter is, I am about twice the height of Nik. Well, maybe that is a bit of an exaggeration, but I would not have been able to borrow a pair of jeans without setting off all sorts of Katrina like flood warnings.

My favorite color is cashmere and Nik has tons of it, but I ended up somewhat disappointed. See, I have had my eye on a certain jumper of his, but it was nowhere to be seen. .. I searched high, I searched low but could not find a trace of it, so had to choose a tacky Gap jumper instead, which turned out to be a better choice than the cashmere after all. As if being robbed at gunpoint (ok, so there were no guns, but there could have been) wasn’t bad enough, there I was in Egmont park, leaning against a sculpture of Peter Pan, looking at the different colors in the trees, enjoying the smell of the autumn leaves, listening to Caruso when and basking in what may be the last sun of the year when a little bird decided to poo on my sleeve. Well, not my sleeve, but Nik’s sleeve, but while I was wearing it. Of course, I did not notice this until after I had met up with Joe and we were walking through the center of town on route to afternoon drinks and stopped in one of my favorite stores. Suddenly, there it was, small but there. I was stunned, shocked, mortified and thankful it wasn’t my clothes, but then I remembered that the only reason it wasn’t mine is because they had been taken hostage at Mechelen train station. A quick trip to the gents and I was good as new. I can honestly say that if you are ever stranded in Brussels without your luggage, stay at Nik’s. His medicine chest is like going to the cosmetics counter at Harvey Nichol’s or Galleries Lafayette. He doesn’t just have everything you need, he has 10 different varieties. I was paralyzed by the choice and ended up washing my hair and body about 8 times during each shower just to give each gel and shampoo an equal opportunity. Not only that, but he is also stocked to the ceiling with drugs from the US. That is one thing about living in Europe, you can’t just go buy Benadryl or any old thing you need over the counter. Even nasal spray requires a trip to the doctor and a prescription.

Sunday was relaxing. I woke Joe up and invited myself over for some coffee and a quick breakfast before heading out in the rain to Leuven to meet some friends. Everyone I asked said it was a 20 minute train ride from Brussels to Leuven. What they didn’t tell me was that there are two types of trains… The direct one which takes 20 minutes, and the one that goes via the airport which takes 45. So, of course I end up on the train going via the airport. We pull into the airport and as we pull out, we start heading back to Brussels. I start to panic thinking I am on the wrong train. Then it becomes clear we are not heading to Brussels, but we start speeding through the countryside and after what seemed like an eternity, we start pulling into this small city. I start to panic realizing I had no idea where I was. I thought I had been to Leuven before and it was a small village. It turned out that everything was ultimately OK, and the small city was indeed Leuven and I have actually never been there. Senility is one thing, but to remember being someplace I have never been is a bit frightening.

I stopped by the police station just before leaving on the train from Brussels back to Amsterdam, but there was still no sign of my luggage but they told me to check back next Friday when I am back in the Belgium.

Today I ended up giving into my sinus infection I have had for the past 4 days and left work early to wrap myself in blankets and drown myself in chicken soup and the Benadryl that I stole from Nik’s. In between sleeping, shivering and ladeling soup down my throat, I went onto YouTube.com and came across a brilliant, concept titled “One World”. The idea is to write a simple message on your hand and submit a video of it. I quickly became obsessed with it. It is just a simple idea and absolutely brilliant. I have included the original video in this blog. There are a lot of response videos on YouTube which are definitely worth checking out... And of course, add your own.

Railway Adventure

Another weekend, another trip to Brussels. I was ready for a few days of fun, adventure and cocktails and it is not yet 2300 and already I have had more than enough adventure. I had been imagining lots of champagne while surrounded by all sorts of beautiful people until the wee small hours of the morning. What I got instead, was a police report from the little station at Brussels Midi describing the small suitcase that until 30 minutes before had been in my possession. At the last stop before hitting Brussels, some guy inn a striped sweater ran through the car, grabbed my suitcase from, the overhead rack and ran out the door just before the doors closed. Fortunately for me, I had my wallet, keys, iPod, phone and passport in another bag I still have with me. That would have been a disaster. I am now at Nik’s, having borrowed his flat while he is in Amsterdam, have located the Bacardi Razz and Sprite and made myself a rather strong cocktail. I still have no idea how much of everything to mix, so I use the old logic that if a little is good, a lot must be better. So here I sit, mourning the loss of my favorite Prada sweater, my favorite Prada shirt and my favorite Paul Smith shirt.

Tomorrow will now be a day of shopping as I have no socks, underwear, toothbrush and worst of all, no product for my hair.

What I Don't Know...

I haven’t been updating my blog the past days as I really feel I have nothing to say. It scares me to think that at the tender age of 39 I may be talked and typed out, my head void of the fabulous thoughts and ideas that are usually knocking on the windows of my mind begging to be set free. It is just a bunch of empty space in need of major redecorating.

Perhaps an idea for a new TV show… My Brain, Your Brain. Of course my brain is more like a 5 star vacation at the Four Seasons in Singapore where I don’t really have to do anything but remember to breathe in and out and drink the occasional Diet Coke for nourishment. With my luck I would have to spend some time with the brain of someone that would require real work which might even result in dirt under the cerebral fingernails and I just had a mental manicure. Perhaps I should just stay in my luxury suite wrapped in the soft and squishy bathrobe of silence.

But then I realized so many people without any imagination or anything to say manage to do an enormous amount of mindless pontificating and I thought that if they can do it, I can too. After all, since when do I need to make sense or have something worthwhile to discuss to feel like I have something to say? I suddenly feel like I have something in common with most of the CNN newscasters… Just make stuff up to eat up the airtime in a futile attempt to entertain the tired and huddles masses gathered around their TV screens like moths to the flame… I shouldn’t be so harsh on CNN, I love infotainment and they do it all so well. If it wasn’t for them, I would know nothing about Anna Nicole’s woes. Now there is a brain I would like to go spelunking in for just a few short minutes. Of course, I would have to be careful not to get lost in such a cavernous space. I wonder what it is like to think in an echo. I find it somewhat scary that I simply have no idea. And then I wondered what else I don’t know and suddenly it occurred to me…

I have no idea how much my penis and testicles weigh. What if I ever needed to send them to a third world country like Malawi, for example? What would it cost me? What if I wanted to sell them at the village market as one is wont to do? How is it possible I have lived my entire life without this knowledge? Suddenly I feel as if I don’t even know my body, as though we are strangers who merely cohabitate. I guess I need to bond more with my body. Well, there was only one thing to do, find out what all the averages were, do my own measurements and then compare information and come to some educated conclusions and then share my findings with the rest of the world.

Can you believe that with all the information on the internet, I was unable to find any information about how much a penis weighs? Oh, I found a lot of sites about penile weight lifting, a sport in which I will gracefully decline to take part. I don’t get the point. It just seems like a whole bunch of pain to me. I tried to find other sports to keep my nether regions otherwise engaged and in shape, but there doesn’t seem to be any other sports out there. Perhaps a gap in the market. A new business opportunity. I am imagining the possibilities as I type. I must jot that down on my “to-do” list and underline it several times, making it a top priority. Golly, I’ll even highlight it in bright yellow. Suddenly I feel like I have a direction. My life now feels somewhat meaningful in a useless sort of way.

Fireworks

What a world, what a world. It seems to be such a tragic and depressing place these days that I find myself searching for a reason to get up out of bed in the morning. First it was Bobby and Whitney, then it was Ryan and Reese and now, as if my heart can take any more bad news, Britney is getting divorced. Will she never find happiness? Is she destined to live this life of white trash she has so effectively carved out for herself? Round and round the world goes, becoming even more confusing than Days of our Lives.

Then I read that two college guys have filed a lawsuit about how they were portrayed in the film ‘Borat’, claiming they only made those racist and sexist remarks because they thought it would only be shown outside of the US. I guess it’s ok to be a small minded, sexist, racist, chauvinistic pig as long as you do it on someone else’s turf.

And just when I thought I had seen it all, I saw something new and unimaginable compliments of a 22 year old guy from the UK. Things must be really boring in the Sunderland. What else can explain someone coming up with the brilliant idea of launching a Black Cat Thunderbolt Rocket from his behind? I am just trying to get a mental image… In a public area on Bonfire Night, our hero shucks his shorts, assumes the position, places one rocket up his bum, and ignites the fuse. I can imagine that when he played this out in his head and went over all the risk factors, he never imagined what would happen next. The rocket, as rockets sometimes do, had a little trouble on the launch pad and instead of heading for the moon, decided to self destruct where it was, igniting the methane gas the body naturally produces, causing a small internal explosion, scorching his insides. Ouch. A spokesperson for the Firework Association described the bizarre prank as "beyond belief"... hmmmm, I wonder… He said: "We have spent a long time working with the government to create laws that make fireworks safer and better for the public. That project seems to be going really well…

Please, to anyone reading this, please do not insert rockets or any other fireworks into any of your (or anyone else’s) body cavities. No matter how fun it may seem in theory, it's just not a good idea.

Holiday!

This morning, after a week long hiatus, in which my body came crashing down around me, I am back at the gym getting myself whipped into something that Santa may just slip under someone’s Christmas tree, eliciting ooohs and aaahs from the happy recipient. Hard to believe that there are only 8 weeks left in this year and suddenly I feel the pressure to go out and get my aluminium Christmas tree which I will decorate with poodles of assorted colors, thus showing just how hip and happening one person can be. But first things first…

I need to go on holiday and so have been peeking around here and there, looking for the right destination. Why is it that there only seem to be vacations with pictures of scantily clad honeymooners or some ugly family bonding over the all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet? What about those of us who do not fit into either scene but who also do not want to lower our standards to the level of an EasyCruise? EasyJet is one thing, EasyCruise is something else. There are only so many sunburnt British any one person should be subjected to in a 12 month period, and believe me, I have reached my quota for this year.

The problems with holidays is that there are so many decisions to make. City or nature? Beach or mountains? Which continent? Romance or sex? Rest or total sensory deprivation? It is all just too overwhelming at times and I find myself wondering if I should just not stay home. Currently on my preferred list of places to go are: Istanbul, Tel Aviv, Athens, Nice, Ferrara, Barcelona, Morocco and Iceland. I just can’t decide what to do or if I am going to do it alone or with someone… Anybody up for a holiday?

Wash My Hands... Wash My Hands...

So much going on, I hardly know where to begin. I know, let’s start with one of my favorite subjects, performing arts…

The Cadance is a bi-annual modern dance festival that is currently underway in The Hague. Last night I went to the premiere of ‘Bespoken’ which was choreographed by my friend Paul and I thought it was amazing. I can only imagine how it must feel to see your own creativity and imagination take form on stage and it was so nice to see a beaming Paul after the performance. I had seen him perform several weeks ago in a production called ‘The Finalisten’. That was the first time I had seen him dance and I was amazed to see this side of my friend that I had only ever heard about.

I have just come back from having a coffee with Paul and telling him just how amazing I thought the performance was. He is one of those people that in a very short time became very important in my life. He has been a constant source of support, the occasional shoulder and a great sushi partner. Whenever Paul hears even the slightest dip in my mood, it is off for sushi or coffee and a long talk. He has that rare gift of asking just the right questions - even if they are not the questions I want to hear or answer – and cutting right to the heart of an issue. I can only hope I am as good of a friend as he has been to me.

After coffee with Paul, I stopped by DOM to see what was new in the world of funky and fun household fashion and I have discovered the must have accessories for this holiday season. Black mirrored disco balls, silver aluminium Christmas trees, glitter candles in assorted colors and hot pink garland. This just may be the year to have a ‘Trailer Park Christmas’ complete with the appropriate beverages.

Speaking of appropriate beverages, Nik and I were brainstorming the other day about opening up a cocktail bar in Brussels and we came up with the perfect idea. We want to convert an old church into a loungy place serving fabulously mixed cocktails with religious names… Imagine slinking up to the bar to order a ‘Virgin Mary’, ‘Immaculate Conception’ or the soon to be popular ‘No Room at the Inn’ from a muscled bartender wearing little more than white angel wings or horns. Naughty or nice, there will definitely be something for everyone. Of course, there will be more black mirrored disco balls than should be legal in any one place and we will let only the most fabulous people in. Nik will be our very own St. Peter of the black velvet rope and will hand-pick the lucky devils who will be allowed access to our fashionable sanctuary. Marco will be our Deified DJ, spinning all types of sinfully delightful beats to keep everyone in a heavenly mood. My job will be to keep everything properly lit as I truly believe that the secret to a great anything is proper lighting. Do you think Miss Evangelista would be as fantastically fabulous if she were to stumble into some poorly thought out second rate lighting?

After DOM, I stopped by the American Book Store for one of life’s essentials, Vanity Fair magazine. No sooner had I bought this issue with George Clooney on the cover than I saw the cover for next month's issue. A wet Brad Pitt in his undies and holding a gun. Supposedly Mr. Angelina Jolie is unhappy about the use of an ‘unauthorized’ picture but I say bring it on and keep it coming. Unless of course they can get Freddie Ljundberg nude on the cover. Demi, Scarlett and Keira have all been naked on the cover, but why is it always the women? What this world needs is a good dose of pecs and abs. Why should evangelical leaders get to have all the fun?

Now onto yet another favorite topic of mine, arrogant leaders who wrap themselves in morality while swimming in the sea of sin. Maybe it’s just me, but this whole Ted Haggard issue seems to be a replay of Bill’s “I did not have sex with that woman” speech. First he denies even knowing the guy and then he admits he went to him for a massage, but what exactly he got massaged is open for debate and then he says that he did buy methamphetamines but got rid of them very quickly but didn’t use them. Is that going to be the new “I smoked pot in college but I didn’t inhale”? I can hear it all now in the next elections, “I secretly snorted highly addictive drugs that reduce sexual inhibitions in a dingy hotel room with a homosexual prostitute but then I sneezed.” I read on Wikipedia that meth users “may become obsessed or perform repetitive tasks such as cleaning, handwashing or assembling and dissembling objects” and I wonder what Mr. Haggard did while not under the influence. Hasn’t he learned anything from Whitney? Perhaps he should stop by our bar and order a "Hail Mary".

Well, I have other things than an evangelical leader’s fall from grace to keep myself occupied today . I have decided to embrace my inner Bree van de Kamp and do a bit of washing, dusting and vacuuming. I know, I am as shocked by my flagrant and unexpected display of domesticity as you are. Hey, did someone slip me some meth while I wasn’t looking?

Well, I am off to wash my hands… wash my hands… wash my hands…

Winter

I hate this time of year, when the weather turns colder, the sky is painted in shades of Michelangelo and there are so many more hours of dark than light. I always have a difficult time making the adjustment into winter and today is one of those days when it just seems to hit a bit harder than usual. Like Sade sings, “it’s just a day that brings it all about, just another day and nothing’s any good.” Hopefully tomorrow will be better. After all, tomorrow is another day.

Black And White

This morning, I woke up as I usually do, showered, dressed, looked in the mirror and marveled at how good I looked and stormed out the door to work like every other weekday. Except this wasn’t every other weekday. There I was, crossing the street in front of the office when I looked down and to my horror saw two different shoes on my feet. And not two kind of different shoes where I could imagine making such a mistake, but they were so different that there is no possible way this could have happened. There I was with one sleek white Bikkembergs sneaker and one clunky black Prada shoe. The realization that not only had I walked from my house to the tram stop, sat on the bus for 20 minutes and then walked from the bus station to the office in total ignorance of my early display of Alzheimer’s, but I would have to do the journey in reverse and hope that nobody noticed. I tried to restructure my DNA so that nobody would know it was me and I ran into a colleague of mine who had a huge laugh at my expense. I will get you back one day… Just wait! On my way back home, I scanned the streets looking for others who shared my pain but obviously the coordination gods were smiling on my neighbors this morning and I was the only one, chosen to walk that road alone.

I ran into my house and then could not find the matching shoe to either one of them and panicked even more. I finally fond the matching shiny white one and sped off back to work. I wonder if this is how Cinderella felt when she only had the one glass slipper. Did she walk around her village all mismatched?

And to make matters even worse, this is not the first time such a thing has happened to me. Last summer, I went to meet up with Garad and Adam to go to Media Markt. I walked from my house to theirs, along the canals of Amsterdam, met them, got on the tram then connected to the metro and when we were almost there, I noticed I had on two different shoes. At least they were both white so nobody noticed, but Garad immediately took photos so he could blackmail me at some point in the future. As soon as I am home, I am going to make a sign and put it o my mirror that says “Have you checked your shoes today?”

Tragedy

Today is one of those days when I feel just a little off center and suddenly a poem I first read about 20 years ago came into my mind. While I am not one usually given to putting the work of others on my own blog, I think it is such a great and beautiful poem, I decided to make an exception. Here it is, "Tragedy" by Jill Spargur

I always wanted a red balloon,
It only cost a dime;
But Ma said it was risky,
They broke so quickly,
And beside, she didn't have time,
And even if she did, she didn't
Think they were worth a dime.
We lived on a farm & I only went
To one circus and fair,
And all the ballons I ever saw were there:
There were yellow ones & blue ones,
But the kind I liked the best
Were the red, and I don't see why
She couldn't have stopped and said
That maybe I could have one -
But she didn't -
I suppose that now
You can buy them anywheres,
And that they still sell red ones
At circuses and fairs.
I got a little money saved;
I got a lot of time,
I got no one to tell me how to spend my dime;
Plenty of balloons - but somehow
There's something died inside of me,
And I don't want one now.

Models Inc.

I came into the office yesterday and was greeted by Renaud, Fred, Sebastien M., Damien and Antione S., who were all part of a smorgasbord of men waiting for me at my desk compliments of Karin. Perhaps I should clarify… they themselves were not waiting, but there was a stack of headshots from Flag Models, an agency in Brussels, sitting next to my computer to wish me a happy week. Well, I put my shopping skills to work and immediately started rating, ranking and judging in my own version of Holland’s Next Top Model. The majority did not make it to the final round, but a few of them did and there they will remain, ensuring a nice view at my desk.

Speaking of models… Just last Friday Nik and I were shopping in Amsterdam when we came across Sanne, the winner of Holland’s Next Top Model, rocking her new Gucci handbag. I know the old proverb about casting one’s pearls before swine, but what about when the swine is carrying the pearls? There she was, ugly as ever with that same glazed look of stupidity on her face that has been plastered on billboards all over the country. I must say, her victory was a sad day to models everywhere. I can only hope that she ends up on a shoot with Naomi and that Naomi gives her a brick filled Berkin bag right upside the head.

Poodles

There I was last Saturday, sitting at home and minding my own business, trying to forget the horrific cocktails we drank the night before (note to self, never drink a cocktail with the name Tasty Facial – It might sound yummy with it’s combination of Kiwi, Cucumber and Vodka, but it’s just naaaasty) using the internets and going on the Google when Nik phoned me in a panic wanting to know how fast I could be ready and get myself over to Marco’s house. Nik obviously has no respect for someone trying to get their Google on and so 30 minutes later, there I was as packed and ready to go, watching Nik and Marco take their own sweet time getting ready as if I had nothing better to do.

The reason for the packed bag was that Marco, Nik and I were going to make like Bing Crosby, Bob Hope and Dorothy Lamour and go on a road trip. We weren’t going anywhere near as exciting as Singapore, Zanzibar, Morocco, Utopia, Rio, Bali or Hong Kong, but the trip was sure to be filled with the required musical numbers, bad jokes and the occasional insult hurled about the car. After piling into the car, Nik behind the wheel, Marco in the passenger seat and me shoved in the back like some disobedient child, we pointed the car toward the French Riviera and were on our way. Of course, we weren’t going all the way to the Riviera, we were only going as far south as Brussels, but you know how I like to indulge my little fantasy life. Sometimes it’s the only life I seem to have, so I try to make the most of it and upholster it in as much crushed velvet and chintz as possible.

Nik is one of those people who drive and dance at the same time and he seems to have a weak spot for Whitney and Pink remixes. Who can blame him? Nik has about the same amount of rhythm as the former Mrs. Bobby Brown and just about as much attitude. He is a true Divo. Divo with a capital D! Thank you Jesus! Yes! Marco slept most of the way and I tried to get my Sudoku going in the backseat while waiting for the in-flight movie and beverage service, but there was so much turbulence on the road that I finally gave up and joined Nik in a variety of hand movements that turned the heads of many and we could feel the looks of envy and amazement directed at us.

Before long we were making our final approach into the capital of Europe and the car barely came to a slow crawl when Marco opened the door and shoved me out of the car, threw my hand luggage at me and yelled at Nik to step on it. Fortunately for me, Joe was at home using the Google and he provided me with a roof over my head, an alcoholic beverage for my hand and some Moma Roma pizza to calm the hunger pains. Nik and Marco refused to let me have any food even though they ate Pringles and chocolate chip cookies all the way down, occasionally letting me smell the empty tins while they laughed their evil laughs and so I arrived at Joes faint from my recent nutritional deficiencies.

Once I was properly nourished and cocktailed, it was time to get serious and head out for some fun. Joe and I met up with Marco, Nik, Karim and Alba who had all been to a supposedly fabulous dinner to which Joe and I were not invited. Thanks guys and girl. Next time I see Karim, I will be sure to rest my knife between the tines of my fork. It wasn’t long before my evening took a strange and bizarre turn.

Karim and Joe dragged (no pun intended) to Chez Maman, where they do what I can only describe here as horribly bad drag. But, it can be fun to see just how bad bad drag can be. I was so unprepared I almost went into shock. First up was some man/woman/thing with too much foundation and an unkempt wig made for some bad polyester. He/she/it was trying to lip-sync to some Sophia Loren type song... And not once, but twice and without a pause. They just put the CD on repeat and there she went again. Then we had a potato of a man in a silver moo-moo. Even Elizabeth Taylor can’t make a moo-moo look glamorous when she has a 20 carat diamond hanging around her neck, but that point was obviously lost on the entertainer who decided to wow the crowd with his version of “Il Venait Davoir 18 Ans”. He was too old for that song, by a few times but that didn’t stop the multiple performances. Next time, I think he should wear his rouge on his cheeks and not his jaw line. Suddenly it was all so quiet, it was oh so still and I felt alone and it was so peaceful until some skinny little thing with messy hair and pink combat boots stood atop the bar and worked the crowd with her performance to “It's oh so quiet” and I quickly realized that I would be hard pressed to find something worse than a bad Bjork. If there had been a dead swan lying about, I would have used it to knock her off the bar.

Finally Sunday arrived and it was time for church, or brunch as we call it in our little circle and so we congregated at Tea and Eat for yet another round of fabulous dishes and a discussion of the pressing issues of the day. It became painfully clear last weekend that for this Christmas season, poodles are the new reindeer and I would even go so far as to say that poodles are the new plastic pink flamingo for the discriminating trailer-park dweller. There were poodles everywhere and in assorted colors and ready for a variety of uses. Bags, belts, shirts, shower curtains, clocks and on and on. I just hope this doesn’t mean the re-popularisation of the poodle perm that so many women felt necessary to walk around with in the 70’s. It was scary enough the first time around...

Marco and Nik

What a week this has been. One of those times when life throws a wrench in what seems like perfectly moving gears and suddenly it seems like its only grey clouds and cold rain. Yesterday I woke up feeling worse than Miss Celie in the Color Purple. And just when I thought things couldn't get any worse, they did. Not only did I put on my vintage Thierry Mugler sweater and discover a small hole right in the middle of the chest, but Naomi got arrested for slapping around a member of her staff. I find that completely unforgivable. Not the slapping, but the arrest. I think celebrity gives someone the right to slap around whoever they want. Naomi and Zsa Zsa most definately got the right idea. Someone gets on your nerves, let 'em have it upside the head.

Anyway, after wallowing for a while in my misery, I realized I really had no other choice, I took a half day off work, put on as much Prada as one body can possibly handle and met up with Nik and Marco for cocktails, oysters and a fun night out on the town. When it comes to cheering someone up, Nik and Marco are the best. They know just when to let a person ramble on and when to order another round of Razzitos to shut one up and keep one nourished. Thanks guys! It really means a lot to me knowing you are there.

Today, Marco and I both have the day off and we are meeting up this afternoon for a bit of retail therapy. I'm not going to buy anything, but there's nothing like trying on thousands of dollars worth of gorgeous designer clothes to make someone feel a bit better and give one the inspiration to work a bit harder at the gym. The holiday season is coming up and I need to whip this body into something someone would like to find under their Christmas tree.

The Friendly Skies

I went out to dinner last night with my friend Mark and came across the most rude, loud and obnoxious group of people I have seen in a very long time. It turns out they are flight crew for United Airlines, and so Mark and I agreed that a letter should be written. I did not sign his name at the bottom due to the fact that he flies for another airline and I did not want to cause him any undue problems. Of course, when I went to send it, I had problem after problem with the site as it kept telling me to choose a state of residence even though I had chosen the option of "outside the US or Canada" which just added to the aggravation... Anyway, here is the letter and hopefully they will send a response sometime soon...

I am not sure where I should send this letter as I am unable to find an address for general complaints about United Airlines staff, but I am sure that someone in your department can direct this toward the appropriate person.

This concerns an incident which happened in a restaurant last night in Amsterdam. There was a table of 8 United Airlines flight crew that were so loud, rude and obnoxious, they alienated others in the restaurant and drove many people, including myself and my dinner companion to leave. They were asked several times by to turn down the volume and let other enjoy themselves. They were shouting at one another and the entire restaurant was overwhelmed by them. When we asked them what airline they flew with, the response was “United. Oh, are we being that bad?” It was thoughtless, rude and completely not what I would expect from the staff of a company like United Airlines.

I am an American who has been living in Europe for the past 12 ½ years and it is unfortunately not uncommon to come across the “ugly American” and I would think that given the global climate toward Americans, that your staff would strive to be more discrete, more respectful and more considerate when they are GUESTS in someone else’s country. I am tired of constantly having to apologize for other American’s simply because they lack the basic levels of self restraint and respect for others.

Your staff, traveling around the world have a unique opportunity to help bridge the gap in attitudes toward America. And for the record, people in Europe are not as big of fans of Americans as one may think. Being an American does not afford one to do whatever they wish whenever the urge arises with complete disregard for their surroundings or circumstances. In fact, I would argue that being an American obligates one to be an example when it comes to respect for others. I constantly hear and read that Americans wonder why the rest of the world hates us and I would put this particular example of your staff as a prime example of how those feelings get fueled. I would suggest educating your staff on the appropriate behavior(s) that should be employed when abroad to avoid these types of incidents in the future.

Kind Regards,
Robb Selander

Men On Men

There I was, minding my own business, just bringing myself up to date with the current issues of the day that shape the world in which we live. I have to admit that I was somewhat taken aback by the extreme display of dormant homosexuality (or homoflexibility as it is now called) that I stumbled onto. Right up there with the most urgent news stories of the day was the head turning headline: “Clooney named No. 1 man’s man.”

This is apparently the results of a survey given to readers of askmen.com who were asked to name top “ambassadors of male-kind” while looking at traits such as integrity, charisma and intelligence. You know, the sort of things all men look for in other men when men are looking at and for other men. I was outraged at the blatant objectifying of my gender as sex objects when all we really want to be are upstanding members of our communities, the pillars which uphold all the appropriate values of society. It may be an inconvenient truth, but we are more than pieces of meat laying about in the grocery store of the singles scene waiting to be handled, pounded and marinated before being cast into the skillet of lust until we are a nice, mouth-watering golden brown.

Not that I have anything against sex, but I think it is something sacred that should be kept between two consenting handcuff-wielding adults, not thrown out on the streets for public consumption. Sex may sell, but is that really the economy we should be supporting? Don’t you think it gets on my nerves when my upstairs neighbors decide to do the dirty in the middle of the night? How many times have I woken up to the soft “bang, bang, bang” on my bedroom ceiling. Like Til Tuesday said in their one hit song, “hush, hush, keep it down now, voices carry.”

Getting back to the list of the 49 men’s men as voted for by over one million other men, I want to know who these men are. Do their wives, mistresses and secret boyfriends know that they are voting? And the hypocrisy of it all just gets my adrenaline going. It’s all so unfair. They won’t vote for Mary Carey simply because she got a little hot and bothered on camera, but they have no problem checking out other men and rating and ranking them like modern day slaves on the block.

I wonder what Bunifa Latifa Halifa Sharifa Jackson would have to say about that!

Californian Politics

Ronald Reagan did it.
Arnold did it too.
Sonny might have done it had he not gone skiing on that fateful day in 1998.

Yes, it seems public office is where Hollywood celebrities go when their careers take a bit of a wrong turn off of La Cienega. That is the great thing about the US, anyone can run for public office and those with money actually have a shot of winning. Today, our spotlight is on Mary Carey.

You may know her from such runaway hit films as “Tit Happens”, “Lesbian Big Boob Bangeroo 2” and “Boobsville Sorority Girls” yet it may come as a bit of a surprise that there is perhaps another, more clothed angle to Mary you haven’t yet seen. Mary has decided to close shop as it were and put her well rounded assets to better use by tossing herself into the ring for governor. Not quite the same thing as jumping into the mud or oil ring for a bit of wrestling, but equally as stimulating for some, I am sure. Just when I got my hopes up, they were tossed to the ground and trampled on, probably by the same platform shoes currently favoured by the porn community today.

I was disappointed to learn that due to her mother’s illness, Miss Carey has decided to put family before self promotion. What kind of values are those, I ask you? What kind of role model is she being for the dozens of aspiring lust objects that look up to her for inspiration? I hope such acts of selflessness do not become the norm. More greed. More corruption. More porn! She would have a great shot at winning if all the people that bought, rented or streamed her videos gave her the old thumbs up. Being a Californian myself, I would have supported her. I would have gladly let my tongue lick the envelope containing my vote and sent it on its merry way.

Out with the Terminator and in with the Boobinator. More tits is exactly what California needs. Perhaps if the state got laid every once in while, they might not be so uptight, which is odd when you think about it, as they have been getting screwed pretty good for years.

Pringles

Last night over bubbles and during the finale of Holland’s Next Top Model, Nik bitch-slapped me for neglecting my blog. “You’ve been neglecting your blog” he said to me in exactly that tone of voice that suggested I had better get my type on. So about Holland’s Next Top Model… Those judges chose the ugliest of the 3 finalists to win… I was going for the one with the lips, but instead they chose the one with the teeth that seem to point to several countries all at the same time. She walked that runway like she was rocking combat boots under that gown. Girlfriend might look good on the cover of ‘Cow Pie Weekly’ but she just does not belong anywhere near the words ‘Cosmopolitan’ or ‘Vogue’. I know that Holland isn’t exactly the epicenter of fashion for the global village, but is that really who we want to send into the big Ford Agency model battle taking place in January?

Speaking of that whole Ford Agency do in New York, Raavi, I expect you to use your connections to get us into that… I don’t care what you have to do, what false promises you have to make or who you need to bat those expensive falsies at, but we have got to be there… You owe me after that whole Paris episode you pulled behind my back – and you know exactly what I mean babe.

On a totally unrelated subject, I was in Brussels last weekend where once again it was a blur of brunches, dinners, Desperate Housewives and spinning classes. There I was, minding my own business and trying to get some beauty sleep when suddenly I was confronted with a mystery I am still trying to wrap my well educated and fantastically producted head around. How do they get all those Pringles chips in the same shape and size? I realized I didn't have a clue and suddenly I felt a need to apply my investigative journalistic skills and embark on a Frodo like quest for the truth. Is it a special potato they use? Are we being lied to? Are they perhaps not carved from real potatoes? Imagine the scandal, the uproar, the picket lines of concerned mothers outside the local supermarket. I respect a person’s right to know what the heck they are putting in their mouth.

I have to say, I had no idea the can of chips I was about to be opening... First, I came across the tasty explanation that Pringles are the environmentally friendly solution to the old, unsold and uneaten french fries from McDonalds. Imagine my surprise when I read the following:

“In most areas of the world local health regulations require that food cannot sit under a heat lamp for more than 16 minutes before it is deemed inconsumable by the public. It is at this time interval that one of the largest suppliers of fast food for the world supplies one of the largest manufacturers of potato chips their base ingredient. McDonald's carefully collects unserved french fries and places them into specially created dehydrators. The remains are then flaked and placed into airtight containers which are then shipped to Pringles factories all over the world”

I was mortified. Shocked even. What mountain of processed food had I chosen to climb? Just as I began to wondfer if I would be forever tied to "Pringlegate" I was very happy and digestively relieved to read the following rebuttal from Proctor and Gamble:

"I work in P&G Consumer Relations and have responsibility for the people who answer email messages about P&G products. I'm writing to ask for your help. Recently, a consumer got in touch to let us know about your "Did you ever wonder what Pringles potato chips were made of?" article. While she understood the article was written in fun, it had been passed to her by people who may not have been as sure. I enjoyed your outrageous claim that ingredients for Pringles come from a famous maker of french-fries. However, there are enough facts mixed into many of your articles that we feel people may not fully understand the Pringles article is a spoof.I'm sure you can appreciate how important it is for us to create and maintain trust in our products. We want the people who buy Pringles to be confident that only fresh raw materials are used to make the dehydrated potato flake ingredient. Since there are indications that your article may be misinterpreted as factual, we respectfully request that you remove it from your site or clearly indicate that it is a spoof.Thanks for your time.

Wishing you success with your site!

Beth Pohlmeyer
Procter & Gamble Consumer Relations"

Thanks for that Beth. Maybe it’s just me, but ‘fresh’ and ‘dehydrated potato flake ingredient’ don’t really belong in the same sentence. Needless to say, the more I investigated, the more intrigued I became. I went onto Pringles.com to find information about ingredients and could not find them. All they wanted me to do way buy one of their many products without giving a person the proper education to make an informed and educated decision. I had to go to the UK site where I not only learned that Pringles are NOT kosher, but they don't contain any alcohol - what's the point then? I was, however, disturbed to see a button for ‘Pringles Safety’ and so I immediately clicked to see what danger those loveable little chips were capable of… In fact, just last weekend during a discussion of orchids, I discovered that not all orchids are created equal. Some, according to Bo are ‘rough’ and perhaps prone to random acts of violence. Graham suggested a healthy dose of tough love to whip them into shape and suddenly I found myself wondering if Pringles might not also be wolves in crispy sheep’s clothing. And this is what I found:

"With more than 30 years of production history and optimisation of manufacturing systems and capabilities, Pringles snacks have become a fine art of quality and safety. In the European Union, food safety and quality is a highly legislated field so that foods complying with the legislation attain high standards of quality and safety. Pringles has a robust system of controls in place to ensure conformity with this legislation. This system involves regulatory safety and quality assurance (QA) assessments of suppliers systems, capabilities and formulations in the qualification of all raw materials used in making Pringles snacks and packaging. Pringles manufacturing facilities run in accordance with good manufacturing practice (i.e. GMP) and undergo Hazard Analysis Critical Control Points, so called HACCP measures, to optimise their safety and quality output. Finally, our product supply systems also undergo equally thorough quality reviews to ensure optimum conditions of transport and storage for delivering Pringles to our trade partners and customers."

So to summarize the whole thing, Pringles are a legislatively complaint fine art consisting of a quality mix of materials such dehydrated flakes that are pleasing to the eye and tempting to the tastebuds. Looks like some marketing and legal people have been earning their salaries. Maybe they should do us all a favour and start peeling some real potatoes.

I feel that my work here is done.

Joe

Everyone has their weekend ritual, and mine these days just happens to be Brussels. I am sure you all think that I am here for the raspberry margaritas, the chocolates from Fabrice Collignon or perhaps even to escape the golden cage of my life in Amsterdam, but the truth of the matter is, there is one other little reason I so often find myself in the capital of Europe. His name is Joe.

Yep, the very same one who had never seen Absolutely Fabulous and who was also with me last weekend in Paris where he showed off his hierogliphic skills. To make a long story short, he's an amazing guy, I am absolutely crazy about him and I just want to spend as much time with him as possible. I met Joe in early September through Nik and Marco and I feel very lucky as I never thought I would feel this way again. Many years ago, I got married to another great and wonderful guy, Ulco. I never imagined that we would ever get to that point where we would go our separate ways. Ulco is still one of the most incredible, kind, caring people I have ever met and he has and still does inspire me to be a better person. Without wanting to sound too melodramatic, he has been there for me in some of the highest and lowest moments of my life. Times when I honestly didn't think I would survive. Times when I didn't believe I actually wanted to survive.

I owe Ulco an enormmous debt, one that I can never repay and one that I will never forget. He is one of those people that when they come in you life, it is a better place. He is still a very important person in my life and I can't image my life without him. When Ulco and I decided it was better to end things instead of letting them get ugly or out of control, I never actually believed I would find myself in a situation where I am ready to take that chance again, but here I am.

D-I-V-O-R-C-E

Once again I find myself drowning in the major events around the world and feel the need to add my own perspective in the hopes of making sense of the nonsensical happenings on our ever warming and soon to be flooded planet.

I have to say that my heart goes out to Whitney, the music industry’s version of Sue Ellen, the Queen of Misery. She is a $6.99 all-you-can-eat bad news buffet that keeps us coming back for more. First there were the rumors of rampant lesbianism – hey, they didn’t call her ‘lick-me Whitney’ for nothing. I say where there’s smoke, there’s probably an ugly little fire to go along with it. Then she marries Bobby Brown, who already has a son named Bobby Jr. and then they have a daughter named Bobbi. That’s a whole lot of Bob Browns running around. Now America’s sweetheart has filed for divorce. I wonder who gets custody of the drugs. Crack is whack, man, its whack! And to add insult to injury, the girl can’t dance. She a black woman who can’t dance. That would drive anyone to drug addiction. But then again, in America there’s nobody more celebrated than the rehabilitated or formerly incarcerated.

Sticking with our African American theme, Condoleeza Rice is visiting Japan, a country her boss probably couldn’t find on a globe, assuming he even knows what a globe is. I wonder if they call her Condoreeze Lice or just Miss Lice. I assume she is there to discuss one of her favorite topics; Weapons of Mass Destruction. Those conversations had such great results the first time around.

Like a Virgin

I have recently seen news stories about newborns and toddlers being included on the no-fly lists. I think such a move could easily be classified as one small step for man and one giant leap for the jet set. Air travel, like alcohol, voting and firearms permits should have a minimum age imposed – or at least ban children from business and first class seating. There is nothing more unsettling than snuggling into your private Virgin Atlantic Upper Class Suite and looking over to see a small child just across the aisle. It’s an outrage.

I have hopes that children will be banned completely from Virgin Galactic flights. The last thing we need is a bunch of children littering space, leaving their peanut buttered fingerprints everywhere. The idea of being weightless does appeal to my vanity and I find myself wondering if the daily effects of gravity on my face will disappear? Will I float through the cabin as a wrinkle-free version of myself? Will I be able to eat anything I want and not gain any weight? What will they serve on board and how will it stay on the plate? Will there be yet another exclusive club to join in addition to the mile-high one to which I am still seeking initiation? There is only one way to find out. I must get a ticket, and that is where you come in.

Like Fantine and Martin Luther King Jr., I have a dream. The only thing standing between me and that dream is the cold hard reality known as cash. However, I have given this matter a lot of serious consideration and feel it is time for the peoples of the world to come together, to join as one in spirit. Its time for you all to cast aside your differences and help those in need, the outcasts, the poor downtrodden souls like me. The solution is really simple. I only need $200,000.00. Don’t see this as my asking for a favor, I would be the last one to throw my financial shortcomings out onto the dining table of public consumption. I ask you to see this as the perfect opportunity to search your hearts for that soft, squishy spot, embrace charity work and contribute to a worthwhile cause. I promise that if you contribute to my cause, I will use my space travel and soon to be acquired astronautical skills to raise awareness for something near and dear to my heart. Not yet sure what that is, but I will go out on a limb and say it will be something spectacular, like the plight of the python.

Toast of Paris

Another weekend, another set of international adventures with an exciting cast of characters. First it was off to Brussels to pick Joe up from the airport where he had just come back from a business trip to Cincinnati, where his teddy bear was stolen right out of his room. It appears that there was a “misunderstanding” with one of the housekeepers. Golden Rule #1, never mess with someone’s teddy. No sooner did Joe arrive with his teddy in tow when I dragged him kicking and screaming to Paris. It must have been quite a come down after a week in Cincinnati, but he’s a seasoned traveler and put on his happy face… Of course, he knew there was champagne and sushi waiting for us at Chewby’s house. Chewby is the sweetest dog in the history of dogs, and we were there to visit him and decided that as long as we were in Paris, we would attend the party for Laura and Seb, his owners.

As always, Laura outdid herself, covering her table with sushi, sashimi and blinis, all to be washed down with tequila. Laura and Seb are moving to Mexico City and so decided to throw a tequila drenched Mexican fiesta - Ok, not really sure how the food choices fit into the theme, but with Laura working in advertising and Seb being a toy designer, anything is possible in their crazy universe. Not really being one for doing La Cucaracha – not in those shoes, anyway – I stuck with the mini bottles of bliss, er I mean bubbles. Two friends of Laura’s decided to make a winter cocktail they had come across in Germany. Pear juice, Vodka, Cinnamon and Champagne. I know it may sound horrible, but in reality, it was even worse. We took one sip and rededicated our lives to plain old bubbles.

It seems that skull and crossbone jewelry are the rage in the city of lights and love and nobody pulls it off better than Caroline. I never thought I would say this, but I had some serious skull envy. There it was, hanging from a fantastic silver chain, the most sparkling skull I had ever seen. It was like a shrunken head dipped in Swarovski and I knew I had to have it. I begged. I pleaded. I complimented her cleavage but she was hard and cold and said no. She spent the rest of the party torturing me by dangling it in front of me, flaunting her jewels in the most obscene manner. It was revolting actually, but I would have done the same had the Manolo been on the other foot. I would hate her if she wasn’t so darned fabulous and irresistable!

After standing us up for afternoon cocktails, Raavi finally arrived in a hurricane of glamour, gloss and cleavage, drawn by the gravitational pull of the champagne. Joe stayed in orbit around the sushi, scooping up any stray piece when he thought nobody was looking.

The real star of the evening was Laura, the toast of all of Paris. I absolutely love and adore her and am going to miss her immensely when she leaves. We met via work and became very good friends. I can’t imagine not spending the day without her on MSN while at work. Of course, I am sure she will enjoy the break from me always complaining about this or that. I wish we would have had more time to really do more things together, but the world is a small place and I have a very good feeling our paths will cross very soon… And, thanks to Laura, I now have a place in Mexico City that I intend to use as much as possible.

Joe and I left the party early and went to Concorde where we popped into the Buddha Bar so Joe could be and we could get rebubbled. The Buddha Bar isn’t what it used to be and after one drink and no models or celebrities, we left. In the middle of Place de la Concorde is the Obelisk of Luxor given by the viceroy of Egypt, Mohamed Ali, to Louis Phillipe. The obelisk, which stands 22.83 meters high and weighs 230 tons, marked the entrance to the Amon temple at Luxor, and was installed in it’s current location in 1836. Walking past, Joe decided to show off the fact that he speaks fluent hieroglyphic. Needless to say I impressed, stunned even as he talk about this and that Pharaoh. I have enough trouble telling Centre Pompidou from Montparnasse. I couldn’t distinguish one hieroglyphic from another so I simply said “let my people go” and with out-held arms, I turned toward the Seine which refused to part at my command. That was enough failure for me, so we headed to the Marais for one last drink before calling it a night. Tragedy seems to come in groups and my favorite terrace for bubbles and people watching – where I was having champagne with friends at the very moment when Princess Diana was killed – was closed. Not being one that needs to be bit over the head with the brick of reality, I realized it was time to cash in the chips and call it a night…

Sunday was dedicated to espresso, brunch and shopping. There we were, minding our won business at the Ted Baker near Place Des Vosges when suddenly I hear a cry of “OH MY GOD!” and turned to find myself face to face with Raavi. Joe was completely taken with both her and Laura and they with him. In fact, I wonder if they like Joe better than me. Hmmm, something to think about. All I heard the whole day yesterday from Joe was Laura this, Raavi that and this morning when I signed into MSN at work, the first messages were about Joe. No “hello” or “good morning”, it was all about Joe…

Christmas Shopping

I was walking down the street last night on my way to meet Marco for raspberry mojitos when I happened to catch a stock of purple glitter Christmas trees in one of the stores. The first question that came to mind is how does one decorate a purple glitter tree? I realized that none of the lessons I have learned in my life prepared me for such a challenge. It all felt a bit like the makings of a new reality show, “A Trailer Park Christmas”.

I am still trying to get into the Halloween groove and was just about to send out the invitations for my Peanuts influenced “Great Pumpkin Cocktail Party” where we would all gather in the local pumpkin patch, fully equipped with ice and blenders and just puree ourselves into an alcoholic frenzy where I’m quite convinced that my signature invention, pumpkin mojitos, are going to be the show stealer. Suddenly I find myself wondering if I should just skip Halloween and hold the festive festivities at bay until December. Not knowing what to do, I did what I do best. I went shopping.

Every year, Neiman Marcus publishes their Christmas catalogue and this year I decided to let my fingers do the walking and came across the must haves for this holiday season. So, without further ado, here are my top choices for gifts this year, those special presents that look so great under the tree and really say “I love you” - I feel just like Oprah when she gives away all those gifts... Only I will be more discreet and not opt to do it live on television. I find all that self-promotion just pathetic.

For those with an avdenturous spirit, Virgin Atlantic's charter to space is definately in order and at the bargain basement price of $1,764,000.00 you can't really afford not to buy it. Of course, if art is their thing then why not a Pencil Skyscraper by The Art Guys? Prices run from $6,000.00 to $40,000.00, but for your very own skyscraper, I think it's a hell of a bargain. Not one to leave out the happy couples among us, my next recommendation is His and His (or His and Hers if you insist) Human Electric Hybrid Vehicle for a mere $40,000.00. Golf? Wine? Networking? Then a membership at The Club at Castiglion Del Bosco is the gift that keeps on giving, and for $3,800,000.00, it better and for that fashionista in your life, the House of Fath Couture Archives can be theirs for $3,500,000.00. Laura, pay very close attention to this one... Limited Edition Pet Homes from $5,000.00 to $7,000.00. I really think Chewby needs a couple. You can’t expect him to keep sleeping in that Gucci dog bed forever, you know! There is only so much abuse one little animal can take. In this crazy world where we seem to be surrounded by one horrible news story after another, why not a backyard waterpark for the kid in all of us? Why should Mohammed go to the pool when for prices starting at $100,000.00, the pool can come to Mohammed? And last, but not least, the Nieman Marcus Limited-Edition 2007 BMW Individual M6 Convertible. We all know it is not about where you go, but how you look getting there, and $139,000 is a small price to pay for a fabulous image.

Well, I do believe my work here is done. Happy shopping!

Paris

I am so excited. Just when I thought life couldn’t get any better, it has. The sun is out, the birds are singing and Paris and Nicole are friends again. Yes, it's true. I was reading my favorite news channel, E-online.com and suddenly there it was... I find it all a bit overwhelming and the tears of joy are collecting in my eyes, blurring the world around me, casting everything in the same soft light often reserved for close-ups of Doris Day.

Who would have thought? Who would have imaged that all the prayers would eventually pay off? I didn’t. I had given up hope and was just about to choose sides. I have spent the last 18 months going back and forth. Odd days for Paris and even ones for Nicole. That means that Paris got a few more as some months end on an odd day, giving her 2 days in a row of my allegiance, something that has caused enormous guilt for me. This whole reconciliation is better than putting an end to world hunger.

Lights, Models, Guest List...

We all have one of those people in our lives that annoy us, you know, those people that flaunt their good fortune like some sort of overpriced Berkin bag in front of those of us who can barely afford Tiffany cuff-links. I have several people like that in my life, but there is one that outshines the rest at the moment and I feel the need to get it all off my chest for the sake of our friendship and hopefully, after I have fully vented, she and I will be able to move on in our relationship. I probably shouldn't even mention her name as I don't want to give her any more fame but just so there is no confusion, I am talking about Raavi.

Yes, the very same woman that invited me to the Ford Agency party in Paris last weekend. Not only did she not lay a guilt-trip on me and force me to go when I said I would not be able to make it, she herself decided to go without me. Some people are just so shallow and self-serving. Had the tables been reversed and it had been me on that guest list plus 2, I would have made like a caveman, grabbed her by her shiny black locks and dragged her to the nearest salon, made sure she got made over, wrapped her in the tightest black Dolce and Gabbana dress I could find and shoved her through the door and into the faces of your favorite celebrities and supermodels. But, not everyone is as giving as I. I know, it is a bitter pill to swallow, but true.

And, not only that, but she spent the whole day dropping the names of all her new friends. Sports stars, supermodels, Academy Award winners and desperate housewives... They were all there and she shamelessly made sure she met them all. All day Monday it was "Cameron saw Justin and I together and got the wrong idea...", "Eva bitch slapped me...", "Julia told me about the piece of spinach in my teeth." It just smacks of self promotion and makes one feel a bit queasy and seasick. Thankfully, my life is not so empty that I need to fill it with endless celebrity events and getting my badly lit picture into Vanity Fair with all the bold-faced names like Suri Cruise. Of course, one can take pleasure in the way Paris Fashion Week has been ripped to shreds in the press... A collection of caliginous fashionistas and bad hair. Obviously better I didn't go as I always like to distance myself from bad publicity.

I suddenly feel so much better, lighter even, now that that is all off my chest. This Saturday Raavi has a chance to redeem herself when we are once again thrown together at a party in Paris, this one I will attend. Laura and Seb are throwing the bash of the year. Of course, Raavi was not originally invited, but I felt pity for her and her little life and got her guest listed plus 0. Laura says I now owe her one, but I reminded her that the only way to get into heaven is through good deeds and God knows Raavi needs the charity at this time in her life. Someone needs to save her from her self before she drowns in the sea of fabulosity and moves to Wisteria Lane. Darling, you know I love you more than my Mr. Potato Head! Actually, maybe I am giving her a bad time. She's like my very own Jessica Rabbit. She's not bad, she's just drawn that way, and really, we have no idea how hard it is being a woman looking the way she does. I have heard it said you should never judge someone until you have walked a mile in their Manolos. I find that all a load of rubbish!

In any event, the party is sure to be a sorted affair and come next Monday, all the grimy and incredibly private details that should never be shared will be here for your consumption.

My Life

So last night I was watching Steel Magnolias and suddenly it hit me. I wasn't merely watching a film, I was looking at scenes from my life as it is going to be in about 10 years. I would hope for a better wardrobe but suddenly everything came into focus. I could see my friends in the movie's characters and suddenly I started casting for my own version of Steel Magnolias, which I may just make in to a musical complete with a dancing Armadillo. I, being the older and more bitter among my friends would have to be Ouiser. Marco, given his height and special flair when it comes to hair and fashion is probably the only one that could take on the part of Annelle. Who else could carry off the line "I swear that my personal tragedies will not interfere with my ability to do good hair"? Of course, now that I think about it, that role could also be shared by Adam as I could totally hear him saying that he needed to prepare a dish that 'freezes beautifully'. Clairee could only be properly handled by Nik as he is the one who knows everyone and loves a good gossip. "If you can't say anything nice about somebody, come sit next to me"- Yep, that line just screams Nik. Ulco, being the more mothering and responsible type would make a picture perfect M'Lynn, his hair coiffed up into a brown football hemet and Joe, being the baby of the bunch would have to be Shelby, only with less poofy hair. Of course, we wouldn't have any dramatic death scenes or anything like that, just a bunch of us hanging out in the salon, drinking cocktails and making fun of each other, which isn't that far from what we already do. The only one missing is Truvy... hmmm... need to find someone to take care of all of our beauty needs so we can focus on the more important issues of the day, like who is doing who (or is it whom?). Guess I need to go out and make some more friends. Perhaps someone deadly with a hair dryer.

Mirror, Mirror

So my friend Mark spammed all his friends with an email about taking a personality test. I resent being pigeon holed, labeled or otherwise branded, - I prefer to do that to others - but decided to shelve my misgivings and give truthful answers to the 120+ questions, in essence holding a mirror to my soul. I am not sure I agree with the outcome and think I will side with Tom Cruise on the subject of psychology and call it a pseudo-science. Being one who has a firm grasp on reality and other imaginary states, I am not really sure I buy into the whole hocus-pocus of personality profiling. While I would normally find it too personal and invasive to include such possible intimate details of my psyche, I feel my repuation as a responsible journalist and cyber celebrity obligate me to place myself on the guilloutine of public opinion in a fashion that would make Marie Antionette blush with pride.

I won't share it all with you, only the ones where I scored very high.

The overall snapshop:

Craves attention, messy, open, rash, irritable, likes large parties, low self control, weird, fragile, does not like to be alone, emotionally sensitive, worrying, depressed, heart over mind, does not respect authority, dependent, not rule conscious, not good at saving money, more interested in relationships than intellectual pursuits, likes to fit in, very social, frequently second guesses self, phobic, suspicious, not careful, outgoing, vain, compassionate, aggressive, likes to make fun, hates to lose.

Extraversion 66%:

Easily expresses emotions, not drained by social interaction, smiles a lot, believes most people like or will like them, bold, likes to lead, would rather be a participant than an observer, gregarious, loves night life activities and crowds, likes to participate in group discussions, oftens assumes the role of "Entertainer" or "Performer", easy to get to know, spends more time with others than alone, competes for the spotlight, fits in most places, likes to be popular, frequently touches people, spontaneous, likes to amuse, optimistic, social chameleon, charmer, tends to be confident

Competes for the spotlight? Competes? As though I actually have competition? That's absurd and highly offensive. Mr. DeMille... oh Mr. DeMille...

Sexuality 90%:

More kinky than vanilla, erotic, feels pleasure should play a central role in life, not oppossed to strip clubs, promiscuous tendencies, likes to be naked, seductive, loves getting massages, likes to dress provocatively, merges and feels intimate oneness with others, believes love is proven through physical expression, believes they get what they want because of how they look, more sensual than intellectual, uses looks to get what they want, believes personal relationships are more important than personal privacy, would rather risk rejection than remain alone, not afraid to show their feelings when they like someone, impulsive, charmer

Romance 70%:

Merges and feels intimate oneness with others, wants to feel loved, fears being unwanted, finding true love is their main passion in life, romantic idealist, can't control their romantic feelings or thoughts, when in a relationship their attention is entirely focused on that person, desires secure relationships above all else, feels best when they are admired, would sacrifice anything for love, believes love is salvation, gets very attached to people, more sensual than intellectual, would rather be in a mediocre relationship than alone, loves getting massages, desires more attention, concerned about being attractive to a potential soul mate, swayed by emotions, fears having no guidance or support, frequently feels loving towards others.

Adventurousness 90%:

Does not worry about consequences, tends to do dangerous things without adequate precautions, always seeking new challenges, unpredictable, lives for pleasure, loves physical exertion, loves to test their strength, more desire than fear, loves night life and crowds, adrenaline junkie, impulsive, enjoys fighting, open to pretty much anything, believes that fun is the most important thing in life, loves to exercise, not opposed to breaking laws, prefers the unfamiliar to the familiar, prefers autonomy, likes to perform, ambitious, uninhibited, likes camping, erotic, likes to lead, most people think they are crazy, remains calm when others panic, cannot sit still, has an all or nothing personality, self promoting, risk taker, brave, likes to be different

Narcissism 63%:

Use their looks to get what they want, is able to plan and work towards goals successfully, loves themself, optimistic, sparkling, achiever, self promoting, self assured, success driven, thinks they can charm anyone, ambitious, elegant, thinks they are better looking than most people (which they may or may not be), believes that they are special, more a leader than a follower, believes that other people are envious of them, loves to win awards, fits in most places, seductive, purposeful, believes in success through appearances, assertive, goal oriented, would love to have buildings and monuments named after them, believes they deserve all the good things they have, likes to be popular

Individuality 56%:

Believes they are very odd, likes to behave and or dress in a shocking manner, drawn to artistic and cutting edge industries, wants to be as independent from society as possible, likes to look wierd, self expressive, most people think they are crazy, desires autonomy / complete freedom, frequently reinvents self, unpredictable, more random than controlled, drawn to careers where creativity is a solitary pursuit, more abstract than concrete, grew up feeling that they had to stand out to be happy, attracted to the counter culture, dissatisfied with the ordinary and non dramatic, pursues the extroadinary and intense, prefers wierd friends, thinks they are a trend setter, lives an experimental life, driven by curiousity, reckless, novelty seeking, fond of anarchy, bohemian, feels like they lose a sense of self when they agree with people

Histrionic 90%:

Strong need for applause, gets angry and frustrated if they don't get what they want, likes to be popular, believes winning is no fun unless people know you one, desires more attention, competes for the spotlight, grew up feeling they had to stand out to be happy, gets attention through negative behavior, self absorbed, frequently feels envious, likes to manipulate others, superficial, tends to become involved with people quickly, feels best when admired, wants things done their way, used to getting their way, uses their looks to get what they want, quick tempered, impulsive, vain, loves to win awards, performer, entertainer, pleasure seeking, swayed by emotions, prefers instant gratification, self promoting, believes in success through appearances, wealth seeking

Vanity 63%:

Uses looks to get what they want, arrogant, self-absorbed, believes they can get what they want because of how they look, believes in success through appearances, cares about how they look to others, believes looking good is more important than comfort, feels best when others find them physically attractive, believes other people are envious of them, superficial, feels best when admired, attentive to appearance, spends a lot of time thinking about what is attractive, feels they are better looking than most people, competes for the spotlight, self promoting, feels both superior and defective, likes to manipulate others, seductive, likes to be popular, used to getting their way, reckless with money, wealth seeking, does things primarilly for the benefit of themself, does not like to be friends with people who are physically unattractive, tends to wear tight fitting clothing if female, desires more attention, assumes most people like them


I guess all in all, it just confirms my fabulous and enviable Leo status in the Zodiac and the Fire Goat status in Chinese astrology. A little narcissism never harmed anyone... Well, not that many people, anyway. So, now I am curious what my friends and admirers have to add to this semi-truthful insight into my soul... Cue the applause, I am off to have some bubbles in front of the mirror.

Animals Taste Good

I was having a conversation last night with someone who I will refer to as Anonymous. Anonymous was about to head out to dinner with colleagues and they had all decided to go for ribs and he was not at all happy. "It looks too much like part of an animal" he said.

I reminded him that they were indeed owned by an animal at some point, perhaps even one that had a name. One that someone loved and cared for while it frolicked gladly in the meadow or the mud, depending entirely on whether we are referring to beef or pork. I can imagine little Dorothy Gale having names for all the animals that lived on Auntie Em's farm, the very same animals she left to the mercy of the cyclone and then subsequently abandoned on her quest for the perfect ruby slippers. I would not have been so surprised by Anonymous' flat rejection of the meaty products if he was a vegitarian, but I know for a fact he often feasts on pieces of raw fish with a bit too much wasabi. And, to make matter much worse, Anonymous himself was at a party in Brussels held in an underground area of a former slaughter house and he didn't seemed at all bothered as he got into the groove. I just want to know if the lambs have stopped screaming.

And in other animal tasting news, CNN.com is happy to report as one of its top stories that a Thai man, with nothing else to do has set a new world record by kissing 19 King Cobras. It's all very 'Snakes on a Plane' and it all makes me wonder who is caring for the snakes? A congressman can't send sexually loaded text messages to his male pages without being forced to resign but this guy can make videos of his snake kissing adventures and nobody raises an eyebrow. I find it all a bit to porn-like for my personal taste - oh yes... yes, kiss that snake... yes, baby, that's it... mmmmmm - and I honestly and quite firmly believe that the poor snakes are being forced into submission. As soon as I get a free post in my agenda I am going to take up the plight of the sexually harrassed King Cobra before it becomes yet another victim of the sick desires of the morally deficient.

Next thing you know, it will be cobra ribs on the menu and then Anonymous will really have a problem.

Sex Shops, Hookers and Pimps... Oh My!

I have just finished reading “Red Carpets and Other Banana Skins”, the autobiography from Rupert Everett. I enjoyed it a lot in spite of the fact I was not mentioned… Not even once. Oh well, most legends only become so after they are no longer around to enjoy in the spoils of their infamy, leaving other to capitalize on their memory, so I guess I should just accept my fate and let it go at that.

It’s quite a relaxing weekend here in Amsterdam. Even the working girls don’t seem to have very much work at the moment. I have a few of them working just down from my flat giving me the feeling of living in a rough and tumble neighborhood full of dodgy and shady characters. What always surprises me are the way men respond to the women. Prostitution is legal in the Netherlands and the girls, instead of walking the street like the common hookers who used to walk along 8th avenue in Manhattan before New York became disinfected and sterilized by some sort of Disney spray, cleansing the area of sex shops, drug dealers and pimps… All the things that made New York great. I spent on night out on 8th Avenue several years ago when it seemed like a scene from a Tarantino movie.

I was living on Long Island and had missed the last train back from the city. To make matters worse, I had taken out my daily limit in cash and could not get a hotel room. Not having anywhere to go, I decided to head to Times Square which was always crowded with people thinking that there would be safety in numbers. It was the one time in my life I found Times Square deserted. I was not really that familiar with the city yet and didn’t really know where to go. I found myself in my worst nightmare, alone in New York City wearing expensive clothes and having nowhere to go, no place to stay for the next 4 hours until the first trains started back out to Long Island. I wandered over to 8th avenue which was hopping. I was so obviously and painfully out of place I felt as though I had landed on another planet. Surprisingly, I had such a great night. I hung out with a couple of girls that were in between clients and they and a few of their friends kept me company and kept anyone from messing with me the whole night. It was a very eye opening experience and I went back a few times to see if I could find them, but I never did. In the Netherlands, they stand behind glass underneath a red light. If the red curtains are closed, that means she is currently entertaining a client. What I find funny, is watching the guys watching the girls. Even though the girl will be theirs for a price, they still stalk them like prey with a look in their eye that sys “yeah, you want me” and I think duh, of course she does. Grease her palms with a few Euros and she’ll call you daddy. Just the other night I was walking to the grocery store and there were two guys on a scooter with their chins on the pavement while the woman behind the glass decided to shuck the bra and give them a shimmy. It was a blur of silicon and nipples that caught even my attention for a brief moment.

There is one woman down the street that is somewhere over 50, always quite well turned out, wearing a fur in the winter. When I moved in, I would always see her standing outside an office smoking her cigarette. We would always exchange pleasantries and I would not have been surprised at all if she had presented cookies to the neighbours one day. It was a couple of months later when I realized that she belonged to the door next to the office and that she was, in fact, a working girl.

Yep, It’s a slow weekend here. Most of the people I would be doing things with are out of town. Marco is back from moose hunting or whatever he was doing in Canada and now he is in Lisbon with Nik for the weekend. Joe, taking his cue from Marco is in Canada, where I assume he is also moose hunting. I am not really sure what people do in Canada besides hunt and drink beer.

Ulco, who does happen to be around popped up from The Hague bearing gifts. I love gifts. This time was an addition to my collection of Mr. Potato Heads. I have the original Mr. Potato Head, Darth Tater and now, thanks to Ulco, Spudtrooper. Darth Tater comes with his own light saber which I assume is used to turn his enemy spuds into cottage fries and Spudtrooper comes with that most deadly of weapons, a laser potato masher. Camera back on Marco. I will say that Canada did have a positive impact on him. I stopped by his house to see him the day he arrived back and there it was, the Suri Cruise Vanity Fair. Marco is a great guy and one of my closest friends, but when it comes to fashion and trends, he is like Little Red Riding Hood, skipping through the forest, ultimately getting lost on the way to grandmother’s house so you can imagine my surprise when the most talked about issue containing the most awaited photos wound up in his living room. I would have thought he had been snatched by some Canadian pod people, but I took one look at what he was wearing and knew that he was the Marco we all know and love.

Oh Baby, Baby...

What a crazy, crazy world we live in. Who can possibly keep up with the dizzying array of pressing issues we are constantly confronted with?

First we didn't know if Britney was or wasn't a virgin - although I thought it a total loss on her part to be shacked up with Justin Timberlake and not give him one every now and again. Then nipple-gate had us all guessing if it was indeed a wardrobe malfunction or a publicity stunt - Which again I would consider a total loss on her part if she didn't have Justin rip her clothes off. Now, once again the world is thrown into the ocean of doubt and speculation, this time without Justin. Case in point: Anna Nicole's baby.

With all the hullabulloo and bruhaha around the little bundle, who can get any sleep? Everyday it seems a new man is coming forward claiming to be the baby daddy. Is it the lawyer? The Photographer? I'm afraid I'm a little muddled. Unable to take any more trauma, drama or uncertainty of any type, I made a mad dash for the gym. I sat on my bike, spinning my little heart out, getting that 6-pack while pondering what to do next, which noble cause I should attach my name to. Multi-tasking has long been my specialty and just as Kylie was telling me it was in my eyes, I had an epiphany. An apostrophe even and suddenly the lightbulb of inspiration was flicked on, bathing me in the soft light of brilliance. I knew in an instant what I must do, the path I must take and it would not be the road less travelled. Not this time.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. I want to be the baby daddy too! It all just sounds so Fiddy Cent and ghetto. Down-low in a high-profile sort of way. Of course I am just doing it to take part in what I feel is a worthy cause, namely getting my name in the headlines and we all know I am not afraid of scraping the bottom of the barrel if it will get me a little bit of much needed publicity. Bad publicity is better than no publicity and I have been wandering in the Sahara of obscurity for way too long now. I could play Rupert Everett to Anna Nicole's Madonna. This really could be the next best thing. Imagine that baby with my bone structure, who could ask for anything more? Well I can, actually. I sense the makings of a new Britney infused musical hidden in there somewhere beneath all the tabloid fodder. "Oh baby, baby, how was I supposed to know... That you would have three daddies?"