2 Many Effers, 2 Little Time
Hiya Lovers of the Suck.
Holidays... what can I say? Yuck. But at least the yuckiness is over.
Now, I do not include New Years Eve and New Years Day in the yuckiness, because they are post-Christmas and hence devoid of effing fam-bam meshugas.
Here's something I always ponder around this time: why are the holidays such a pain in the ass for some peeps (like me), while they are a fun-filled glorious time of year for others? I know, it's a little infantile of me to say - a little, "Mommy, why do baby ducks have to die?" of me - but I don't care. The holidays turn me into a thumbsucking punk-ass bitch, then I collapse into a heap as though dead for a few days, and then right before the New Year I rise from the ashes like a phoenix and I'm all, "WHO WANTS SOME?!"
All those who enjoyed the holidays this year, raise your hand... OK, now duck cuz I'm going to start throwing shit at you.
Anyhoo, it's great to be back in town and back in the star effing saddle. I missed you all dearly. And even though I didn't write, I thought about you. Mostly late at night. The way you laugh, the way you toss your hair when you get nervous, the way you bite your lip when I... well, anyway, I thought about you while I was away. And right now, this is like an emotional reunion at the train station. Wisps of smoke here and there, I'm wearing my army uniform and you're in a new dress that you bought at Sears, Roebuck with the money you made from rivetting. Everything's in black and white as we rush up to one another, choked with emotion. I gently touch your cheek with a bemused smile and moist eyes. It's very Tom Hanks-y.
But sooner or later that dress has to come off. So, I thought I'd jump back into things with a two-fer. Not one star effing anecdote, but... (wait for it)... TWO effing star stories. Can I hear an amen?
Alrighty... then let's get right down to it.
This first story is called "Krazy for Keanu." It involves a friend of mine, who for the sake of anonymity shall be called Fern Berkowitz-Schlatterhoegen. She's very pretty. VERY smart. Boobs leave a little to be desired but that's really getting picky, because Fern Berkowitz-Schlatterhoegen is a catch. Any guy would be lucky to claim her as his baby's mama. So, it was with no small amount of surprise that I learned of her unhealthy attraction to a certain Keanu Charles Reeves.
First I thought this was a run-of-the-mill crush. We all have them. I myself, for a brief period in my youth, felt a stirring in my loins for Sheila E. And when I got the chance to meet her recently, even though she's like fifty, that woman still made my nuts all a flutter. There should be a picture of her in Webster's next to the definition of "M.I.L.F."
[EDITOR'S NOTE: there is no entry for the acronym "M.I.L.F." in Webster's or any other reputable dictionary]
But what I soon found out was that there was nothing run-of-the-mill about Fern Berkowitz-Schlatterhoegen's crush on Keanu. Homegirl had gone off the deep end. She believed that she and Keanu had a spiritual connection. To validate her beliefs, she did homework: she consulted biographies, astrological charts, interviews, song lyrics for Dogstar (Keanu's band), and befriended anyone she could find who had even a remote connection to him.
What she found validated her hunch that she and Keanu were destined to be together. She earnestly believed that Keanu, through his art, had lighted a kind of search beacon through which he hoped to attract his soul-twin. He was a half looking to be whole, and Fern was convinced that she was that other half. "Keanu has been calling for me, and until now I wasn't listening." It was her duty, she believed, to make herself known to him so that he could recognize the connection that they shared. For her to do otherwise would be a crime against the cosmos and the high magic Keanu had employed to attract her - like starring in such movies as "Feeling Minnesota" and "A Walk in the Clouds."
But how to accomplish this? As President Bush might say, "It's hard work." Keanu had a lot of noise around him. A lot of people. People who may not share the same ideas about life and love held by soon-to-be lovers, Keanu and Fern Berkowitz-Schlatterhoegen.
Fern decided that Dogstar concerts would be her best bet. So she got all dolled up and went to see Keanu and his band play. When the band took stage she pushed herself to the front, right below Keanu and his gangly spread-eagle rock star stance. She was directly in his sight line and song after mediocre song, she stared intently into his eyes, as if in a trance. Several times during the set, Keanu looked right at her. And twice he smiled.
Smiled! It was as if the Heavens opened and pooped out a little Cherub, annointing their long overdue encounter with gooey glee. She felt it. He felt it. It had to be real.
But after the show, Keanu was nowhere to be found. He did not come racing around from backstage to greet his soul-twin. He didn't even come out to sign autographs. However, Fern was not deterred. Maybe he was stuck under a heavy object. Maybe one of his "people" was running interference. She went to the alley and waited. Luckily, she had a new pack of clove cigarettes to keep her company and a can of pepper spray to keep the undesirables at bay (she is, after all, smoking hot - no matter what the itty-bitty-titty-committee says). Finally, at 1:30 AM, the door opened and the band emerged, quickly packing into a waiting limo. Fern walked confidently up to Keanu and once again he smiled. As they say, third time's the charm, and Fern was emboldened:
"Hello," she said.
"Hi, I'm Keanu."
"I'm Fern Berkowitz-Schlatterhoegen."
They shook hands sweetly, both smiling. This could not be going better.
"I love your music, Keanu."
"Aw, thanks, Fern. That's really sweet of you."
"I love what you're saying. I really get it. It speaks to me."
"That's awesome. Wow, what a compliment. Thanks."
"YOU speak to me. I mean, really speak to me. Everything you say..."
"Well I play bass, Bret is the one who does most of the sing-"
"Shhhh.... I know Keanu. I know everything about you. Everything about... US."
(Awkward silence. She looked at Keanu with Manson Eyes. He got really freaked out.)
"So thanks for coming to see us. It was really nice to, uh, meet you." He backed into the limo slowly, not daring to turn his back to her, as one would with a scary rottweiler or Charles Manson.
"Yes. It was nice to finally meet, however brief. But I'm patient. I look forward to the next time..."
Keanu nodded, confused, and shut the door. The limo charged out of the alley and into the San Francisco night, leaving Fern standing there alone and somewhat embarassed.
But she wasn't sad. The Berkowitz-Schlatterhoegens weren't known to shrink from hard work or momentary set-backs. Afterall, it was the first step in a long road. And In her mind, the hardest part was over. They had found each other. The rest would be easy. Or would it?
Stay tuned for part two of Fern's story in my upcoming post:
"Krazy for Keanu 2: I Did Not Kill This Animal, It Was Already Dead"
And now for star effing story #2. I was walking down the Third Street Promenade at about 11am on a Wednesday morning. As I passed by La Salsa I noticed that a small crowd had formed. There in the middle of it all was none other than Ian Ziering of "90210" fame. It was some sort of fundraiser thing and Ian was introduced as a celebrity guest. Me and the seven or so other people cheered wildly as he took the microphone and gave a thirty-second speech. We cheered wildly again when he was done. I snapped a fuzzy pic with my camera phone. Ian grabbed a hat and started passing through the crowd asking people to donate money. When he got to me, I said what I say to homeless people when I'm out of spare change and small bills, "Sorry buddy. I'll get you next time." And I walked away disgusted.
You see, I had several singles and even a few quarters (all of which I would have gladly given to a homeless person). However, I will not give Ian Ziering any of my hard-earned cash, no matter what charity he's peddling. Fuck Ian Ziering. Thanks to ten years of regular run network primetime and subsequent syndication deals, he's got cash coming out of his ass. If they would have sent a starving little African girl out into the crowd with a donation box, it would've been a different story. But how could they expect me to dig into my pocket and hand that taint-licking fuckwit, that black-head on the acne-strewn face of pop culture, a few dollars?
How insulting. That charity, whatever it was, must've been reeeeeaaally desperate.
First of all, the guy pronounces his name "I-an," not "EE-an" as is commonly held. What a fucking asshole. I have the same problem with Ralph Fiennes forcing the world to say "Rafe Fines" instead of "Ralph Fee-ennes" which is the only way that name can be pronounced. I mean, his brother's name is Joseph, but he doesn't go around saying "No, it's not Joseph, it's Yoo-seep. Yes I know how it's fucking spelled, just pronounce it Yoo-seep please." Who are these people? Where do the I-ans and Rafe-Ralphs come from? If your name is Ian, just pronounce it the way it's supposed to sound you pretentious twat. Otherwise just change your name to something more fitting of your immense insecurity.
And secondly, I-an is not a good actor. At least Ralph Fiennes can act. But I-an is terrible.
I heard a story about I-an once from a very reliable source and I don't mind sharing it with you here. He's an albino monkey that was shaved and taught to speak simple phrases. One night after excessive drinking, the research scientists made an ill-advised wager and dropped him off on the front porch of a casting agent with a note reading:
"Trained Monkey. Will work for peanuts. Needs diaper change regularly."
The casting agent found this to be such a novel and refreshingly honest approach that she signed him on the spot and immediately started booking him for commercials and movies of the week.
I hope you all have a very happy New Years. I am looking forward to 2006 for many reasons, but mostly because it means that 2005 is over. I will have many more news and views on the Suck in the coming days, including Part 2 of "Krazy for Keanu" and another post for my ongoing column, "Star Effed by..."
Until then, go with God dearest ones.