Tuesday, October 31, 2006


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.

Monday, October 30, 2006


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...

Friday, October 27, 2006

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.

Wednesday, October 25, 2006

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

Tuesday, October 24, 2006

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.


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.

Saturday, October 21, 2006


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.

Wednesday, October 18, 2006


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.

Monday, October 16, 2006

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…

Thursday, October 12, 2006

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!

Tuesday, October 10, 2006


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.

Monday, October 09, 2006

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.

Sunday, October 08, 2006

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.

Saturday, October 07, 2006

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.

Thursday, October 05, 2006

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?"


Little Dorothy Gale grew up on a little farm in Kansas. It couldn’t have been an easy life, growing up in black and white with a grouchy old auntie and her mangy little dog too. One can easily understand why she dreamt of a life over the rainbow, some place where there isn't any trouble, a place you can’t get to by a boat or a train. A place far, far away, behind the moon and beyond the rain. That special land heard of once in a lullaby, where the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true. One day, she got her big break. The wind began to switch and oh, what happened then was rich! The house began to pitch, the kitchen took a slitch and it landed on the Wicked Witch in the middle of a ditch, which was not a healthy situation for the Wicked Witch. But Dorothy was suddenly in technicolour. Then came Glinda and the Munchkins who thanked her very sweetly for killing the witch so completely. They made her the national heroine and gave her a fabulous pair of ruby slippers before shoving her off on her own, a little girl in a gingham dress following the yellow brick road on her way to meet a strange and mysterious older man. Yes, she was off to see the Wizard, the Wonderful Wizard of Oz and she’d find he was a whiz of a Wiz, if ever a Wiz there was.

And what did that ungrateful little bitch do? She nagged and complained and almost bored all her new friends into a coma talking about how much she wanted to go home. I never really bought that part of the story. Why trade those slippers for a slop bucket and chicken poop? And then we gay people decide to make her an icon. I can’t imagine any of my friends cleaning their own martini glasses, much less a chicken coop. We all have an Auntie Em and we are all glad when she finally kicks the bucket and leaves us in peace.

Just yesterday, I got invited over the rainbow, but unlike Dorothy, I have no cyclone to carry me there and I’m not really sure who I would choose to drop my house on. The list is long and distinguished, but having only one house, one should be selective. My invitation came from the fabulous and glamorous Raavi. She’s very transparent and I know she only invited me to get mentioned in one of my stories. Everyone needs their 15 minutes and who am I to deny the less fortunate their moment in the spotlight? Don’t worry Raavi, I’ll make you popular. A household name that the desperate housewives will chant while rearranging their canned goods.

It is currently fashion week in Paris and I got invited to a party thrown by the Ford Agency tomorrow night. Everyone is gong to be there. Everyone, except me. I considered going but had to ask myself if I am not spreading myself too thin. I was just in London for fashion week and I am concerned about over exposing myself. One has to be careful in this world of celebrity culture. I’m not sure that chatting with Madonna or swapping make-up tips with Giselle are really the best thing for my career and image at this moment. I really don’t want them riding my coattails to fame and glory. They need to get their own lives, so I am tossing them out of the proverbial nest of my guidance and care and hopefully they will learn to fly on their own accord. Fly my pretties… Fly…

Speaking of fashion week, what’s all this fuss I hear about super skinny models? There are some sick and demented people out there that feel a little junk in the trunk is the way to go. I say bring on those tall, bony specimens and keep them coming. A little eating disorder never hurt anyone. In fact, quite the opposite. Look what it has done for Lindsay Lohan and the Olsen twins. A well deserved poor self image keeps young girls on their toes and gives them something to focus on. Is there any greater aspiration than the goal to be paper thin and gangly? I think not. What’s a little heart disease or risk of death if one can be thin? Fashion before all else is my personal motto.

In fact, looking at pictures of Dorothy, she needs to lay off those pork chops and mashed potatoes. Maybe she should have stopped by the Emerald City Spa or asked the wizard to take a few inches off the waist and fill in her bust. I hate it when people get wishes and squander them like pearls before winged monkeys.

Wednesday, October 04, 2006


I was invited to a birthday party in Brussels which was to take place on a boat in one of the canals. Memories of the south of France flashed before me, sitting on the gleaming white decks, flowing champagne, foie gras served by white gloved waiters as a sting quartet serenaded us en route to Monte Carlo. I love yachts and whoever says size doesn’t matter is lying. Size does matter. And the accessories too. A yacht just isn’t a yacht anymore unless there is a helicopter aboard. I would even go so far as to say that helicopters are the new dinghy. So it was with these images in mind that I quickly accepted the invitation. Imagine my surprise as we came upon a mustard yellow barge docked in an area of town that is undergoing that transformation from ghetto to glam where one still expects to be the victim of a celebrity drive by shooting.

I had dragged Joe along with me kicking and screaming as he actually wanted to stay holed up in his flat watching Lord of the Rings. It took a bit of convincing and a bribe of a cocktail to get him to make like Frodo and partake in the fellowship of the boat. As soon as we set eyes upon the flotsam and jetsam upon which we were supposed to be hobnobbing with our glittery and glamorous friends we both let out a bit of a groan, took a deep breath and hobbled aboard. First stop was the bar as neither of us was willing to deal with this on an empty hand. Two drink minimum and make mine a double! The only cocktails they knew how to make were gin and tonics, which contained a lethal amount of tonic. I had the feeling that Toto and I were no longer at L’Atelier. The people throwing the party all work together and so everyone there was a colleague. Image the fun conversations one can overhear on a boat filled with P&G engineers. Business process breakthrough, 6 Sigma, hand wash, auto wash, surfaces… Fun!

Suddenly and quite out of the blue some demented Irishman (I know, it is a redundant statement) starts talking to us. “Belgium is a fucking shit hole. You don’t want to live here. Take my word for it. All the shit from Eastern Europe flows through here. I hate this fucking place.” And then as suddenly as he began, he stopped. We stood there, stunned into silence. I thought about giving him some hair gel, but didn’t want to be branded a terrorist in the event he should explode. There were also no Glocks around. There never is a drive by when you need one. Why can’t random acts of violence be more planned out? Of course, he was drunk enough that a little push on the shoulder would have had him swimming, but I didn’t think about that until it was too late.

Well, all good things must come to an end and after an action-packed hour or so, we made our way into the city center. It seems there is a new beer du jour on the market named ‘Propoganda’. It is supposed to be a cross between beer and red bull with an aphrodisiac thrown in for good measure. Just what a bunch of testosterone oozing men need - more incentive to shag. We threw caution to the wind and ordered up a couple of Propogandas. I suffered through mine while others just chucked them as soon as they could. If I am not mistaken, it is simply a rebranded and repackaged beer I had several years ago in Paris.

But my beer and cocktail days have temporarily come to an end. I am back at the gym trying to whip my body into something that flows a bit less in the breeze. I do hate to admit it, but even with my spectacular DNA, I too need to give it a little assistance every now and again.

Tuesday, October 03, 2006


I have heard it said that love is a many splendored thing, it lifts us up where we belong and that it is all we need. I had just given up on the very idea of love, said goodbye to it and washed all love related debris off my hands, when something happen that would once again make a firm believer out of me. It all happened quite unexpectedly, in the most unlikely of places. I feel the need to share this touching and highly personal experience with all of you.

I was walking down the street, minding my own business as usual, whistling a little tune as one does when one is walking along absorbed in one’s own world, when I came across a scene of star-crossed lovers. I glanced around to make sure I was not on the set of yet another Baz Luhrmann film. It wouldn’t be the first time I accidentally stole the show from someone. Yes, that is the real reason why Miss Kidman and I are not on speaking terms, but don't want to wallow in gossipy stories.

There on the street stood our heroine. Her skirt and hair flowing in the gentle breeze while the last rays of sun softly kissed her cheeks giving her the unmistakable glow of a woman in love. She stood on her toes, she waved and she blew kisses, she mouthed “I love you” as the tears welled up in her eyes. And there he was, inside the red brick building waving to his beloved on the street below, lit from behind, a silhouette of heartfelt emotion. I grabbed my iPod and picked out an appropriate Mariah song and watched in jealous awe as they lovingly made gestures of affection for each other, separated now only by the bars over the tiny little jail windows.

Ah love, it does the heart good.