"Woo - Stands for winning others over. You enjoy the challenge of meeting new people and getting them to like you. Strangers are rarely intimidating to you. On the contrary, strangers can be energizing. You are drawn to them. You want to learn their names, ask them questions, and find some area of common interest so that you can strike up a conversation and build rapport. You drive satisfaction from breaking the ice and making a connection. In your world, there are no strangers, just friends you haven't met yet."
According to the Strengthsfinder 2.0, this is my strongest strength. I was given this book from a new boss at work; the entire department was tasked to read it, take a quiz, and then report back on their five strengths. The basic idea behind this book was that instead of focusing on the weak traits, capitalize on what you're great at. Keeping it real here, I've never been one to shy away from what I'm good at. Even as a kid, I didn't like to do things I wasn't good at (i.e. math, organized sports, however in my defense, it was the dumb sports like football and basketball I sucked it, I WAS on the track team, and I was pretty good).
Naturally, being in a room full of strangers isn't something I shy away from. I can be tossed into a room full of people and navigate pretty easily from person to person. When I was in college, I had no problem on the first day of school, or on a new job, I can easily meet the office associates and not feel pressure. Even at a bar, I can smile and say hi to people and not feel like a creeper. I truly love meeting new people. I love making these new connections and putting a name to that familiar face you see at your friend's party or the bar on Saturday.
I'd like to clearly state that I'm not a friend collector on FaceBook. Most of the people on my friends list, I, in fact, do know. The others are people that I would like to get to know. I'm not one to add you simply to have a better looking list. Typically there is a criteria that I have in order to add you. I add you because there's something interesting about you and we have mutual friends or you're super private and I want to see if the former applies.
I think it's dumb to be a bitch or simply unpleasant to someone who is genuinely nice to you. I tend to pride myself on being able to talk to anyone and everyone. If a stranger starts talking to me, I have never dismissed nor acted above that person. Now if the conversation is a complete snoozer, that's a different story. But for the most part, I'm always engaged, I go out of my way to talk to people, the whole nine yards. There's been quite a few occasions involving me going up to people whom I know I've seen around or I'm FB friends with, that have been less than exemplary experiences. By exemplary, I, of course mean I wouldn't use them as case studies for people to go out and strike up a stranger conversation.
One instance involved me seeing a "friend" from FB at a bar and me walking up to him. I mentioned we were friends on FB and wanted to say hi formally. This kid acted like I had asked him for an Indian $2 bill signed by Frida Kahlo. Mind you, we had mutual friends, we had attended the same events, and he still had the nerve to tell me that he and I didn't know each other.
Another event involved me seeing someone while I was on vacation in San Francisco from LA. I went over and introduced myself to him mentioning that I recognized him from LA, the two of us had a nice brief conversation, he laughed at my jokes, and everything seemed cool. I saw him on FB one day, we had mutual friends, I sent him a request and attached a message reminding him of the party we had both attended in SF and nothing.
I even saw a guy at a club that shared more than a few mutual friends with me and ran in the same crowd as me, and attended the same events. I wasn't sure if it was him at the time (I was having issues with my contacts, a new pair, a new fit, apparently one eyeball is shaped like a basketball and the other a football, nothing LASIK can't fix). I digress, it turns out it was him, so I message him stating that I thought it was him and would've come to introduce myself since we're less than two degrees apart and again, nothing!
I'm not complaining that these boys chose not to talk to me, I'm just baffled at the hostility that is thrown upon friendly people. At this this pandemic of bitchiness that stems from LA gays. I've spoken about this with my friends from other cities, and they don't have the same problem, nor are they comprehending why I'm met with animosity. I've always thought I was pretty likeable (at least at first, once you get to know me, my opinions have been known to ruffle more than a few feathers, but I help put them back and even shine them). I've always considered myself a friendly person and one who makes good first impressions. So to be met with such animosity throws me for a loop.
Is this an LA thing? Does the LA stereotype of Angelinos (especially gay ones) hold true? Stuck up? Bitchy? Off-putting? I don't think so, I've met quite a few who don't fit those traits (present company included). I decided not to waste time nor energy on those who care to embody that image. I don't doubt my ability to woo anyone. I will just focus on where the woo-ing is successful. And I predict (if history is good indicator) that it might now work on anyone who doesn't ACTUALLY live in LA.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head
I've been MIA (not the singer, the adjective) for a while now. My apologies to the fives and tens of you that read my blog, I know how devastating it must've been not to have your sporadic dose of sarcastic gay humour coming from me. But then again, I'm sure you could've just turned on Bravo to get it. Some of you probably did, but I'm going to think at least three of you didn't because it can't compare to mine.
I came down with a serious case of writer's block and for the life of me couldn't figure out what to write about. I wanted to keep it exciting, I wasn't that impressed with my last entry, Milkshake Part I. I drafted something but wasn't too keen on publishing with my name on it. I could've used my pseudonym, but I haven't drafted what that name could be. I've always liked Nick "The Slasher" McGirk or Adrian Charo-Jones. So I've been leaving post-its all over (some mental and some physical) with topics and phrases and paragraphs that have potential topics for future issues of my blog. Here are some that are on the consideration list:
1. Writing a book on gym etiquette. Potential chapters and advise include Attire (denim and flip flops need not attend), proper waiting time for a machine (when you sit there staring like a fat kid with cake, it makes me want to add an extra rep), expressions of exertion (how to let people know the weight you're lifting is heavy and you're not taking a massive number two)
2. Sometimes Tony responds to my comments like I'm speaking another language and looks at me like I'm crazy. Example:
Me: "Babe, you have to help me pick out an outfit, I NEED to look like a whore tonight."
Tony: "Why do you have to look like a whore?"
Me: "What do you mean why?"
3. It's come to my attention that others fantasize about cameras interviewing them as well. Maybe I'm not the only person having confessionals and creating sound bites for my cast interview while I'm driving.
4. My likeness to Ally McBeal, not Calista Flockhart, but rather the character Ally. She hallucinates kicking babies and breathing fire upon associates, I can't say I haven't done the same. Not to mention the inability to hide emotion on the face and facial expressions giving away your thoughts.
5. Debating whether or not binding one's feet is worth it. Yes I know it's painful and can deform your feet and make them look like those root vegetables. BUT if you had deformed feet like a Geisha, you could wear those really cute shoes you bought 2.5 sizes too small all the time. No one would ever have to know. Why? Because you always have on the cutest footwear!
6. The pros and cons of convincing Tony to retire away with me to the woods and become hermits where we can eat carbs all day long and wear sweats and no one would know. Pro: Carbs all day! Cons: Wearing sweats, I despise sweats.
7. Think about how my life would have been different had Mother and Father allowed me to become a child star instead of stifling my dreams and talent subsequently allowing me to reach out to Lindsay Lohan and resurrect her career. In my bizarro world, she and I were friends as child stars, and she went down the dark road as my star grew brighter and brighter; we lost touch and one day during her dark times, I show up at her door, let myself in after years of not seeing her, and pick her up and place her in the bath tub, and she realizes that I will be her support system to coming back to life. I get a thank you in her Oscar speech. (see When I Grow Up, Feb 2011 for more background on me as a child star)
8. The cool language my siblings and I could have had, had we created one as kids. Twins have a secret language usually, and my siblings and I are sometimes closer than some twins. This desire grew even more upon seeing the Richards sisters on Real Housewives of Beverly Hills and their secret language. I would've loved to have said something like, "Ya jiro gid rod zib no no miganabwa," to my sister and have my brother respond, "No she already ate."
The blog is coming back, as you can tell, I'm churning out winning ideas.
I came down with a serious case of writer's block and for the life of me couldn't figure out what to write about. I wanted to keep it exciting, I wasn't that impressed with my last entry, Milkshake Part I. I drafted something but wasn't too keen on publishing with my name on it. I could've used my pseudonym, but I haven't drafted what that name could be. I've always liked Nick "The Slasher" McGirk or Adrian Charo-Jones. So I've been leaving post-its all over (some mental and some physical) with topics and phrases and paragraphs that have potential topics for future issues of my blog. Here are some that are on the consideration list:
1. Writing a book on gym etiquette. Potential chapters and advise include Attire (denim and flip flops need not attend), proper waiting time for a machine (when you sit there staring like a fat kid with cake, it makes me want to add an extra rep), expressions of exertion (how to let people know the weight you're lifting is heavy and you're not taking a massive number two)
2. Sometimes Tony responds to my comments like I'm speaking another language and looks at me like I'm crazy. Example:
Me: "Babe, you have to help me pick out an outfit, I NEED to look like a whore tonight."
Tony: "Why do you have to look like a whore?"
Me: "What do you mean why?"
3. It's come to my attention that others fantasize about cameras interviewing them as well. Maybe I'm not the only person having confessionals and creating sound bites for my cast interview while I'm driving.
4. My likeness to Ally McBeal, not Calista Flockhart, but rather the character Ally. She hallucinates kicking babies and breathing fire upon associates, I can't say I haven't done the same. Not to mention the inability to hide emotion on the face and facial expressions giving away your thoughts.
5. Debating whether or not binding one's feet is worth it. Yes I know it's painful and can deform your feet and make them look like those root vegetables. BUT if you had deformed feet like a Geisha, you could wear those really cute shoes you bought 2.5 sizes too small all the time. No one would ever have to know. Why? Because you always have on the cutest footwear!
6. The pros and cons of convincing Tony to retire away with me to the woods and become hermits where we can eat carbs all day long and wear sweats and no one would know. Pro: Carbs all day! Cons: Wearing sweats, I despise sweats.
7. Think about how my life would have been different had Mother and Father allowed me to become a child star instead of stifling my dreams and talent subsequently allowing me to reach out to Lindsay Lohan and resurrect her career. In my bizarro world, she and I were friends as child stars, and she went down the dark road as my star grew brighter and brighter; we lost touch and one day during her dark times, I show up at her door, let myself in after years of not seeing her, and pick her up and place her in the bath tub, and she realizes that I will be her support system to coming back to life. I get a thank you in her Oscar speech. (see When I Grow Up, Feb 2011 for more background on me as a child star)
8. The cool language my siblings and I could have had, had we created one as kids. Twins have a secret language usually, and my siblings and I are sometimes closer than some twins. This desire grew even more upon seeing the Richards sisters on Real Housewives of Beverly Hills and their secret language. I would've loved to have said something like, "Ya jiro gid rod zib no no miganabwa," to my sister and have my brother respond, "No she already ate."
The blog is coming back, as you can tell, I'm churning out winning ideas.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Milkshake: Part I
*The next two entries into D’s Eye View will both surround the author’s relationship with food.
Food has always been a deep love in my life. It got more serious as I got older though. I was what some cultures may refer to as a “picky eater” as a child. I couldn’t eat green things, I couldn’t eat weird textures, I couldn’t eat my food if it touched, and the list goes on. BUT what I liked eating, I really liked eating. I loved chicken tenders, macaroni and cheese, pasta, cake; I’m putting lots of emphasis on cake. Cake was probably my favourite food as child…and teenager. I could have had cake for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I remember even telling my parents for my birthdays to buy a full sheet cake. My mother looked at me like I was crazy to which I responded like one of the girls on Quiero Mis Quinces, except instead of bitching about the wrong luxury car being purchased, I was bitching about how she gives cake away to the guests and none is left for me. However, despite my love of butter cream frosting, I was never overweight. I was never even chubby! I was just able to eat my weight in baked goods and not see any physical repercussions.
All throughout my childhood my dad used to pack me a lunch. It usually consisted of a sandwich, applesauce or pudding, chips, carrots, and a drink. It was delicious and healthy. Then in high school I used to bring my packed lunch, eat it. AND then buy a lunch (chicken fingers, fries, pizza, more sandwiches, etc.). As I got older, I would pride myself on how much I could eat and stay so trim. Oh how we get so blinded by youth and its short term benefits! As I got older and more into the scene, image become more important. Skinny wasn’t going to cut it forever. Plus, who knows if I’d be skinny forever? I remember my father telling me, “I weighed 135 lbs until I had kids.” I almost immediately thought about never having children. I was a pretty active person for most of my life, I was on the track team, I swam in the summers, had a gym membership since I was 19, and did more cardio in the dance clubs in West Hollywood than most personal trainers.
I cut out fast food when I was in college after watching Super Size Me. And pretty much for the past three years I’ve maintained a pretty healthy lifestyle. I’m a big fan of salads, white meat, wheat bread, fruits/veggies, anything low fat, diet, no sugar, etc. you name it. When I turned 23 I noticed my metabolism was slowing down. I could no longer eat the way I used to and get away with it. Thankfully, all the Yogurtland benefited my ass, but I did not want it benefiting other parts of my body. In a culture that is obsessed with youth and fitness, I would not become a Christina Aguilera (code for fat and nasty, possibly annoying too). Tony had been trying to get to join him on his carb crusade for months and I said I wouldn’t last. I would be able to go where I wanted with the help of carbs and he can sit there and watch me drink my milk with my wheat toast. Finally, I caved in and said I would do it. I had lasted over six years with Tony, so how hard would it be to go two weeks without carbs? I had a lengthy talk with friends over how your body works without carbs, basically it eats your fat sources. My response to them: "I'm not going to lose my ass am I?" I was met with blank stares.
I describe my two weeks like a bell curve. The first two days I was fine and enjoying my mixed greens and tuna. Come the third day, Tony offered to help me with my laptop to which I preceded to uppercut him Mortal Kombat style and throw his corpse into the street. Each day got better and toward the end of the week I was not that eager to dive into a bag of French fries as I once was. Granted, I did have a giant homemade cookie waiting for me in the freezer.
I’m doing a sequel to my no carb experiment. I noticed pretty good results the first time around. I took one week off (and went back into the potato ball pit) and am now back to avoiding carbs like the clap. It isn’t as hard the second time around. It’s kind of like when I was little and there were only certain things I could eat. Except, now that I’m older, it’s less "could" eat, and more "won’t" eat (at least for the next week and a half).
***Tune in next week for more insight into D’s Eye View of food.
Food has always been a deep love in my life. It got more serious as I got older though. I was what some cultures may refer to as a “picky eater” as a child. I couldn’t eat green things, I couldn’t eat weird textures, I couldn’t eat my food if it touched, and the list goes on. BUT what I liked eating, I really liked eating. I loved chicken tenders, macaroni and cheese, pasta, cake; I’m putting lots of emphasis on cake. Cake was probably my favourite food as child…and teenager. I could have had cake for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I remember even telling my parents for my birthdays to buy a full sheet cake. My mother looked at me like I was crazy to which I responded like one of the girls on Quiero Mis Quinces, except instead of bitching about the wrong luxury car being purchased, I was bitching about how she gives cake away to the guests and none is left for me. However, despite my love of butter cream frosting, I was never overweight. I was never even chubby! I was just able to eat my weight in baked goods and not see any physical repercussions.
All throughout my childhood my dad used to pack me a lunch. It usually consisted of a sandwich, applesauce or pudding, chips, carrots, and a drink. It was delicious and healthy. Then in high school I used to bring my packed lunch, eat it. AND then buy a lunch (chicken fingers, fries, pizza, more sandwiches, etc.). As I got older, I would pride myself on how much I could eat and stay so trim. Oh how we get so blinded by youth and its short term benefits! As I got older and more into the scene, image become more important. Skinny wasn’t going to cut it forever. Plus, who knows if I’d be skinny forever? I remember my father telling me, “I weighed 135 lbs until I had kids.” I almost immediately thought about never having children. I was a pretty active person for most of my life, I was on the track team, I swam in the summers, had a gym membership since I was 19, and did more cardio in the dance clubs in West Hollywood than most personal trainers.
I cut out fast food when I was in college after watching Super Size Me. And pretty much for the past three years I’ve maintained a pretty healthy lifestyle. I’m a big fan of salads, white meat, wheat bread, fruits/veggies, anything low fat, diet, no sugar, etc. you name it. When I turned 23 I noticed my metabolism was slowing down. I could no longer eat the way I used to and get away with it. Thankfully, all the Yogurtland benefited my ass, but I did not want it benefiting other parts of my body. In a culture that is obsessed with youth and fitness, I would not become a Christina Aguilera (code for fat and nasty, possibly annoying too). Tony had been trying to get to join him on his carb crusade for months and I said I wouldn’t last. I would be able to go where I wanted with the help of carbs and he can sit there and watch me drink my milk with my wheat toast. Finally, I caved in and said I would do it. I had lasted over six years with Tony, so how hard would it be to go two weeks without carbs? I had a lengthy talk with friends over how your body works without carbs, basically it eats your fat sources. My response to them: "I'm not going to lose my ass am I?" I was met with blank stares.
I describe my two weeks like a bell curve. The first two days I was fine and enjoying my mixed greens and tuna. Come the third day, Tony offered to help me with my laptop to which I preceded to uppercut him Mortal Kombat style and throw his corpse into the street. Each day got better and toward the end of the week I was not that eager to dive into a bag of French fries as I once was. Granted, I did have a giant homemade cookie waiting for me in the freezer.
I’m doing a sequel to my no carb experiment. I noticed pretty good results the first time around. I took one week off (and went back into the potato ball pit) and am now back to avoiding carbs like the clap. It isn’t as hard the second time around. It’s kind of like when I was little and there were only certain things I could eat. Except, now that I’m older, it’s less "could" eat, and more "won’t" eat (at least for the next week and a half).
***Tune in next week for more insight into D’s Eye View of food.
Friday, March 18, 2011
I Believe in You
Hi my name is Derek and I'm judgmental (sort of).
I'm sure many people have been dying to hear those words come out of my mouth. The truth is, I never not said it. But I also never said it fully (please see above). The truth is though, that is exactly the truth; I am judgmental and I'm admitting it (sometimes). I usually have an opinion about something and don't shy away from voicing it. That is what I believe separates me from others, regarding this judgmental trait (deplorable by some, admirable by others). Anything I think about you and/or your choices, if I haven't already said to your face, I would.
This comes out more so with my friends or loved ones. I have a very difficult time holding my tongue, especially when I disagree with what you are saying/doing. Contrary to popular belief, it has nothing to do with coming from a place of having-to-be-right. It is coming from a place of perception and care.
I am a very smart and perceptive critical thinker. I'm keen on detail and notice patterns and analyze trends. I'm also a problem solver. If you tell me something is wrong or broken, I look for ways to fix it. Part of this comes from what I do in my career, the other part is innate. As a child, I always noticed small things and tended to ask why and put together puzzles very easily. So when a friend comes to me and complains about their romantic life, usually I'm pretty quick to share what I see the problem is (i.e. dating the wrong type of men, dating the same type of guy over and over, self-sabotage when a time limit has been reached in a relationship) and a potential solution.
That is what seems to fly right over most people's heads. I'm not being judgmental persay, I'm merely saying I think you're smarter and you know damn well what you're doing isn't going to work out. It's very difficult for me to stay mum when someone I hold in very high regard (like a close friend) and have a high level of respect for is doing really dumb things. I want to shake them and say, "Look, seriously? Come on. You're not dumb, so what gives?" (depending on how many times I've heard the topic, that shake may want to turn into a playful slap, like they do in the movies and the slapee always feels grateful afterward).
Remember that scene in Sex and the City (season 3) where Carrie tells Miranda that she's going to have lunch with Big and she and Miranda fight about it? Miranda tells Carrie that she can't believe she's doing this again because she should know better and she's disappointed and upset that Carrie is doing this. Carrie calls Miranda judgmental and criticizes her for it. I've always felt Miranda was right. In the end, Carrie calls Miranda, they make up, and Miranda agrees to be there for her in case something happens. EC told me that this scene was voted as the most uncomfortable scene in the series among viewers. I wonder why? I wasn't uncomfortable (Tony was, extremely by the way) because I think that is what friendship is. If you're a good friend to someone you can have a heated disagreement about something and STILL be able to be just as close afterward. Who would want to surround themselves with a bunch of "yes people" anyway?
However, I understand that sometimes you need to let people be and friendship is about being there for a person. There are times when it's cool to step in and say something, but as a certain person I live with reminds me constantly, reiterating my point to them doesn't make me a good friend so much as it makes me annoying. In that instance, I am learning how to be a better friend by listening and not saying anything. I'm learning to let my friends think their mom is a cat (that is reference from Friends, where Ross can't get over that Phoebe thinks her dead mom's spirit is living in a cat). It's a work in progress people, the Sistine Chapel wasn't painted overnight.
If only there were support groups for judgmental people, like Alcoholics Anonymous. I'm sure my intro would go something like this, "Hi, my name is Derek and I'm judgmental." And as I sit down I'd roll my eyes and mumble, "even though I think some of the best friends should be."
I'm sure many people have been dying to hear those words come out of my mouth. The truth is, I never not said it. But I also never said it fully (please see above). The truth is though, that is exactly the truth; I am judgmental and I'm admitting it (sometimes). I usually have an opinion about something and don't shy away from voicing it. That is what I believe separates me from others, regarding this judgmental trait (deplorable by some, admirable by others). Anything I think about you and/or your choices, if I haven't already said to your face, I would.
This comes out more so with my friends or loved ones. I have a very difficult time holding my tongue, especially when I disagree with what you are saying/doing. Contrary to popular belief, it has nothing to do with coming from a place of having-to-be-right. It is coming from a place of perception and care.
I am a very smart and perceptive critical thinker. I'm keen on detail and notice patterns and analyze trends. I'm also a problem solver. If you tell me something is wrong or broken, I look for ways to fix it. Part of this comes from what I do in my career, the other part is innate. As a child, I always noticed small things and tended to ask why and put together puzzles very easily. So when a friend comes to me and complains about their romantic life, usually I'm pretty quick to share what I see the problem is (i.e. dating the wrong type of men, dating the same type of guy over and over, self-sabotage when a time limit has been reached in a relationship) and a potential solution.
That is what seems to fly right over most people's heads. I'm not being judgmental persay, I'm merely saying I think you're smarter and you know damn well what you're doing isn't going to work out. It's very difficult for me to stay mum when someone I hold in very high regard (like a close friend) and have a high level of respect for is doing really dumb things. I want to shake them and say, "Look, seriously? Come on. You're not dumb, so what gives?" (depending on how many times I've heard the topic, that shake may want to turn into a playful slap, like they do in the movies and the slapee always feels grateful afterward).
Remember that scene in Sex and the City (season 3) where Carrie tells Miranda that she's going to have lunch with Big and she and Miranda fight about it? Miranda tells Carrie that she can't believe she's doing this again because she should know better and she's disappointed and upset that Carrie is doing this. Carrie calls Miranda judgmental and criticizes her for it. I've always felt Miranda was right. In the end, Carrie calls Miranda, they make up, and Miranda agrees to be there for her in case something happens. EC told me that this scene was voted as the most uncomfortable scene in the series among viewers. I wonder why? I wasn't uncomfortable (Tony was, extremely by the way) because I think that is what friendship is. If you're a good friend to someone you can have a heated disagreement about something and STILL be able to be just as close afterward. Who would want to surround themselves with a bunch of "yes people" anyway?
However, I understand that sometimes you need to let people be and friendship is about being there for a person. There are times when it's cool to step in and say something, but as a certain person I live with reminds me constantly, reiterating my point to them doesn't make me a good friend so much as it makes me annoying. In that instance, I am learning how to be a better friend by listening and not saying anything. I'm learning to let my friends think their mom is a cat (that is reference from Friends, where Ross can't get over that Phoebe thinks her dead mom's spirit is living in a cat). It's a work in progress people, the Sistine Chapel wasn't painted overnight.
If only there were support groups for judgmental people, like Alcoholics Anonymous. I'm sure my intro would go something like this, "Hi, my name is Derek and I'm judgmental." And as I sit down I'd roll my eyes and mumble, "even though I think some of the best friends should be."
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Dirty Little Secret
Privacy has always been something extremely important to me. I have never liked anyone going through my things, nor do I think it's okay for someone to look through someone else's. Not that I ever had anything to hide (except for my gay porn as a teenager before I came out, which my brother saw one day and I blamed it on my cousin, something I highly doubt he believed), I just always felt that your personal belongings and space were yours and someone needed to be asked to see them. I used to find my mother searching through my brother or sister's rooms and I would barge in like a defense attorney demanding to see her warrant. "Mom, what are you doing in here? This isn't your room. You can't be in here!" To which she replied, "Derek, this is my goddman house, all these rooms are mine," and stared at me like I had just told her I was consuming lead paint all day.
When I was a child I used to love Heidi Fleiss. Well to this day, I still like her for many reasons, but come on, how many seven year olds do you know that have an affinity for the Hollywood Madam? I am not quite sure what drew me to her. Maybe it was how glamorous she looked in the courtroom, with her cashmere wrap business dress. Or the way she kept her cool during her trial. I am not quite sure how I even stumbled unto her as a child, probably during the news one day I saw her and instantly became intrigued and desired to know more about this woman.
My parents found it odd my fascination with such a character. I mean, I'm sure most parents find it okay for their seven year olds to admire police officers (despite the corruption and blatant racism that exists among that profession) or athletes (despite the outlandish paychecks and the rules don't apply to me policy they all seem to follow), but certainly not t Hollywood Madam. Now before you go and think that I had some warped version of what a role model is, I will let you know that I used to want to meet President Bill Clinton also (I still do, I would die if I met him presently). I even wrote him a letter talking about how we need to work together to save the whales and rainforests. I received an autographed picture and letter from him talking about how important the environment was to his administration. My mother was a little more excited for the picture than I was.
Perhaps one of the things I admired most about Ms. Fleiss was her cool as a cucumber demeanor in court. She was being publicly being put through the ringer, and for what? Running a successful business? Pish posh. I don't think many seven year olds at the time were that in tune with the legality of prostitution and/or it's fondness among the LAPD, let alone how hard it is to run a business. And then there was the book. The little black book that kept all her client's contact information. Rumour has it that actors, singers, politicians, societal figures, everyone was in that book. She was the best at what she did. She ran a tight ship, her employees loved her and respected her, and all of her employees were the epitome of class. No trashy, clear heeled, pleather wearing tricks. I remember watching the news and hearing that the authorities were willing to lower her sentence if she gave up her list of clients. Everyone went crazy wondering, would she or wouldn't she? Hollywood was in a panic.
Everyone should have known better though. Ms. Fleiss, ever the intelligent businesswoman knew that if she ever wanted to have friends or work again, she could not publish the client list that had the entire country salivating. She stayed true to her belief that not only would she not pander to the cops as a madam but not pander to them as a criminal either. Her infamous client list went down with her.
Her story is quite American when you think about it. Heidi started her own business as a teenager (a babysitting club) and scouted the best and most well-rounded girls to assist her. Once she got into prostitution, took a liking to her madam and learned the ropes from her and eventually was able to take over when her madam fell ill. Running a high class escort service with clients crossing continents and raking in the premiere buku bucks. And the reason for her decline? Not because what she was doing was illegal, but because she told the LAPD to go fuck themselves. She wasn't going to be a snitch for them. Madam/Client privilege. If attorneys and doctors can exercise that right? Surely, an honest businesswoman should be able to. And in truly American style, she found her way back. I'm not quite sure how though, maybe she'd rather keep that private.
When I was a child I used to love Heidi Fleiss. Well to this day, I still like her for many reasons, but come on, how many seven year olds do you know that have an affinity for the Hollywood Madam? I am not quite sure what drew me to her. Maybe it was how glamorous she looked in the courtroom, with her cashmere wrap business dress. Or the way she kept her cool during her trial. I am not quite sure how I even stumbled unto her as a child, probably during the news one day I saw her and instantly became intrigued and desired to know more about this woman.
My parents found it odd my fascination with such a character. I mean, I'm sure most parents find it okay for their seven year olds to admire police officers (despite the corruption and blatant racism that exists among that profession) or athletes (despite the outlandish paychecks and the rules don't apply to me policy they all seem to follow), but certainly not t Hollywood Madam. Now before you go and think that I had some warped version of what a role model is, I will let you know that I used to want to meet President Bill Clinton also (I still do, I would die if I met him presently). I even wrote him a letter talking about how we need to work together to save the whales and rainforests. I received an autographed picture and letter from him talking about how important the environment was to his administration. My mother was a little more excited for the picture than I was.
Perhaps one of the things I admired most about Ms. Fleiss was her cool as a cucumber demeanor in court. She was being publicly being put through the ringer, and for what? Running a successful business? Pish posh. I don't think many seven year olds at the time were that in tune with the legality of prostitution and/or it's fondness among the LAPD, let alone how hard it is to run a business. And then there was the book. The little black book that kept all her client's contact information. Rumour has it that actors, singers, politicians, societal figures, everyone was in that book. She was the best at what she did. She ran a tight ship, her employees loved her and respected her, and all of her employees were the epitome of class. No trashy, clear heeled, pleather wearing tricks. I remember watching the news and hearing that the authorities were willing to lower her sentence if she gave up her list of clients. Everyone went crazy wondering, would she or wouldn't she? Hollywood was in a panic.
Everyone should have known better though. Ms. Fleiss, ever the intelligent businesswoman knew that if she ever wanted to have friends or work again, she could not publish the client list that had the entire country salivating. She stayed true to her belief that not only would she not pander to the cops as a madam but not pander to them as a criminal either. Her infamous client list went down with her.
Her story is quite American when you think about it. Heidi started her own business as a teenager (a babysitting club) and scouted the best and most well-rounded girls to assist her. Once she got into prostitution, took a liking to her madam and learned the ropes from her and eventually was able to take over when her madam fell ill. Running a high class escort service with clients crossing continents and raking in the premiere buku bucks. And the reason for her decline? Not because what she was doing was illegal, but because she told the LAPD to go fuck themselves. She wasn't going to be a snitch for them. Madam/Client privilege. If attorneys and doctors can exercise that right? Surely, an honest businesswoman should be able to. And in truly American style, she found her way back. I'm not quite sure how though, maybe she'd rather keep that private.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger
Judging by what you see on television, you would think that the gym was merely something ubiquitous in gay culture. And to a certain extent it is, depending on the circle you run in, or how shallow you and your gaggle of gays are. Some of us go to the gym for health reasons, some go for shallow reasons, some go to have sex (not me, I've never had the desire to get down and dirty at the gym, frankly I feel like I should have a paper bag over my head at the gym since you would think I'm channeling the love child of a rat and Jabba the Hut). I like the gym though, I really do. It took me a long time to feel the benefits of exercise and working out on my body. I am in no way a gym rat, on average three-five times a week is how often I go. But, I have come to the realization that I'm a much better person when I work out.
While we're on the subject, let's just keep it real. Another reason we go to the gym is because clothes look better when you're worked out and you get more attention when you work out. I don't think I will find anyone who disagrees with those statements. Taking that into consideration, we all have areas of our body we would like to improve on whether its that washboard stomach, bigger biceps, slimmer legs, or little ol' Betty Backfat. And taking that into consideration, we as gays are constantly comparing ourselves to each other, who has better arms, who has better pecs, who has a smaller waist, etc. Life is one big dick measuring contest.
As we get older it only gets worse and we find the battle of the bulge becoming more intense. I will admit I am guilty of this behavior myself. We are always trying to one up each other in the physical department and be the best and brightest body out there. That's another reason we go to the gym. We're competing against each other. What for exactly? It could be to be the cutest one at the bar or to have that little something extra on your resume in the dating world.
I find it the strangest when you haven't seen someone in a while and last time they looked like Michael Phelps little sister and the next time you run into them at a bar you think you're being pushed by the Hulk, or Taylor Lautner (is there really a difference?). The next few minutes are spent casually stalking them to notice the massive muscle gain. How did they do it? They must be taking something. I wonder what it is. More importantly, where can I get some? Then you have an annoying benefit of the doubt person with you who thinks they did it the old fashioned way. That particular thought may seep into your mind and you may start to believe it, until you start seeing everyone around you bulking up like they are the body equivalents of Costco. I have had to stop myself from running up to these folks and grabbing them by the shoulders (which are pretty much as big as my waist) and shaking them down until they're desperate to tell me how they have achieved such physical greatness.
I really don't see an issue with a little enhancement here or there. I read about a monthly shot that your doctor can give you (with a few bucks under the table) that is supposed to get you pumped and ripped but with a natural tint to it, only mild side effects. Those being a bit of bacne and one day a month of aggression and mood swings. Helloooo, they make oxy pads and my boyfriend already thinks I'm crazy so what's to lose? Bonjour bigger biceps!
While we're on the subject, let's just keep it real. Another reason we go to the gym is because clothes look better when you're worked out and you get more attention when you work out. I don't think I will find anyone who disagrees with those statements. Taking that into consideration, we all have areas of our body we would like to improve on whether its that washboard stomach, bigger biceps, slimmer legs, or little ol' Betty Backfat. And taking that into consideration, we as gays are constantly comparing ourselves to each other, who has better arms, who has better pecs, who has a smaller waist, etc. Life is one big dick measuring contest.
As we get older it only gets worse and we find the battle of the bulge becoming more intense. I will admit I am guilty of this behavior myself. We are always trying to one up each other in the physical department and be the best and brightest body out there. That's another reason we go to the gym. We're competing against each other. What for exactly? It could be to be the cutest one at the bar or to have that little something extra on your resume in the dating world.
I find it the strangest when you haven't seen someone in a while and last time they looked like Michael Phelps little sister and the next time you run into them at a bar you think you're being pushed by the Hulk, or Taylor Lautner (is there really a difference?). The next few minutes are spent casually stalking them to notice the massive muscle gain. How did they do it? They must be taking something. I wonder what it is. More importantly, where can I get some? Then you have an annoying benefit of the doubt person with you who thinks they did it the old fashioned way. That particular thought may seep into your mind and you may start to believe it, until you start seeing everyone around you bulking up like they are the body equivalents of Costco. I have had to stop myself from running up to these folks and grabbing them by the shoulders (which are pretty much as big as my waist) and shaking them down until they're desperate to tell me how they have achieved such physical greatness.
I really don't see an issue with a little enhancement here or there. I read about a monthly shot that your doctor can give you (with a few bucks under the table) that is supposed to get you pumped and ripped but with a natural tint to it, only mild side effects. Those being a bit of bacne and one day a month of aggression and mood swings. Helloooo, they make oxy pads and my boyfriend already thinks I'm crazy so what's to lose? Bonjour bigger biceps!
Thursday, August 19, 2010
To Be Young, Gifted, and Black
He's extremely good looking. He can charm your pants off. Girls think he's dreamy, guys want to grab a beer with him. He knows about wine and has an astounding career path. Intelligent beyond your level and willing to splurge on shoes as much as he would on a scotch. He hits the gym everyday, oh! he also is a great dancer, all types of dance. Does this sound familiar to you? You don't know him. Trust me. You think you do, but you don't. This is the media's portrayal of the modern gay man or MGM as we'll call him.
But wait, that is what gay men are like, I know one, is what you're saying to yourself. No, you don't. Stop it. First of all, Tom Ford doesn't count because you don't know him and because...he's just not going to count for this exercise. And secondly, the one gay friend you are thinking about is a mess. Just because he wears a bowtie and screams "girrrrrlfriend!" and snaps as he dresses you in a tacky satin dress does not make him anything more than a mess (equivalent to that dress he said you looked fierce in).
Tony and I were having this discussion recently over some Two Buck Chuck and sushi during happy hour (see what I mean? At least its wine though, which gives us extra points toward that MGM). The media has made a horribly inaccurate misrepresentation of the gay man. Thanks to what we see on the silver screen and the small screen, we think that gay men are these everything-aficionados who can tell you where the best arugula is found in all of LA's farmer's markets whilst running to the gym (literally, running to the gym). I hate to burst society's bubble, but...where's a needle when you need one?
Don't get me wrong, I would love if we were all Tom Fords. But quite frankly, there's more gays out there whose behavior is more on par with Lindsay Lohan (drug addicted party animals with no aspiration) or the Kardashians (perpetual live-at-homers- using their parents money to strive for the middle). Tom Ford is the exception, not the rule (WWTFD?). I have no idea why there aren't more of him, I don't make the gays, I just write about them.
Perhaps you actually have to want to be that cultured. You have to want to be able to walk into a room and have a conversation on a variety of topics, you have to like wine or some type of well drink (with only one mix-in, usually not sweet), you have to want to look age appropriate and not like a 35 year old teenager or a middle aged 22 year old. You have to want to have that corner office as opposed to the tallest go-go box or nicest fitting room.
I'd say its part of growing up, but there are just as many uncultured breeders out there as there are gays. So what makes some grow up to be refined, cultured and powerful and others to be Andy Dick? Maybe there should be a charm school (like they did for young girls, and let's face it, gays are pretty much young girls at heart anyway) that can school you and teach you how to act civilized and properly. Classes can range from how to speak proper English, to dressing appropriate for your age, to current events discussion(no TMZ allowed).
Let's be optimistic though, people evolve and as a species we are supposed to get better. Perhaps, we are on the verge of a transformation into more Tom Fords, maybe gays are the new wine, we get better with age, like women (see, there's the female comparison again, bring on the queer theorists!).
I should probably prepare for the backlash of gays that are going to read this and not understand the humor and satire behind it, but then again, they're not exactly the MGM are they?
But wait, that is what gay men are like, I know one, is what you're saying to yourself. No, you don't. Stop it. First of all, Tom Ford doesn't count because you don't know him and because...he's just not going to count for this exercise. And secondly, the one gay friend you are thinking about is a mess. Just because he wears a bowtie and screams "girrrrrlfriend!" and snaps as he dresses you in a tacky satin dress does not make him anything more than a mess (equivalent to that dress he said you looked fierce in).
Tony and I were having this discussion recently over some Two Buck Chuck and sushi during happy hour (see what I mean? At least its wine though, which gives us extra points toward that MGM). The media has made a horribly inaccurate misrepresentation of the gay man. Thanks to what we see on the silver screen and the small screen, we think that gay men are these everything-aficionados who can tell you where the best arugula is found in all of LA's farmer's markets whilst running to the gym (literally, running to the gym). I hate to burst society's bubble, but...where's a needle when you need one?
Don't get me wrong, I would love if we were all Tom Fords. But quite frankly, there's more gays out there whose behavior is more on par with Lindsay Lohan (drug addicted party animals with no aspiration) or the Kardashians (perpetual live-at-homers- using their parents money to strive for the middle). Tom Ford is the exception, not the rule (WWTFD?). I have no idea why there aren't more of him, I don't make the gays, I just write about them.
Perhaps you actually have to want to be that cultured. You have to want to be able to walk into a room and have a conversation on a variety of topics, you have to like wine or some type of well drink (with only one mix-in, usually not sweet), you have to want to look age appropriate and not like a 35 year old teenager or a middle aged 22 year old. You have to want to have that corner office as opposed to the tallest go-go box or nicest fitting room.
I'd say its part of growing up, but there are just as many uncultured breeders out there as there are gays. So what makes some grow up to be refined, cultured and powerful and others to be Andy Dick? Maybe there should be a charm school (like they did for young girls, and let's face it, gays are pretty much young girls at heart anyway) that can school you and teach you how to act civilized and properly. Classes can range from how to speak proper English, to dressing appropriate for your age, to current events discussion(no TMZ allowed).
Let's be optimistic though, people evolve and as a species we are supposed to get better. Perhaps, we are on the verge of a transformation into more Tom Fords, maybe gays are the new wine, we get better with age, like women (see, there's the female comparison again, bring on the queer theorists!).
I should probably prepare for the backlash of gays that are going to read this and not understand the humor and satire behind it, but then again, they're not exactly the MGM are they?
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