Twisty

Death Groupies

This isn’t really a new phenomenon. Back in ancient Egypt people used to pay mourners to follow the funeral procession. These death specialists would scream, faint, cry and rip their clothes as a way to demonstrate how much the deceased would be missed.

Somehow that “pay per tear” scenario seems somewhat more honest than what goes on today.

Over the weekend, talk show legend Johnny Carson passed away. While I wasn’t around for a good chunk of his heyday, I still recognize his contributions to American television. He is the originator of the talk show format. Also, he had a reputation for relying on showmanship to deal with technical difficulties and having the cleverness and generosity to make even the most boring guest absolutely captivating.

Many news and talk programs paid homage to this man by inviting celebrities to appear and give their thoughts on Mr. Carson.

I was appalled.

Some were sincere, perhaps sharing an anecdote about a positive experience on The Tonight Show. However, the rest took self-promotion to an all-new low. More often than not, a story about Mr. Carson quickly degraded into a self-serving commercial. Even worse, though, were the celebrities who tried to elicit endless sympathy by saying how lost they were by the sudden death of this dear friend. Oh yeah, where were you during his illness? Nice of you to hop on the funeral bandwagon.

I’m sad. He deserves better.

All-Girl Getaway

This year, Viv, Sarah and I decided that instead of traditional, crappy Christmas gifts, we would give…the gift of each other. This is a special treat, as we’re all busy people in far-flung locations up and down the east coast. It was decided on that the cheapest and easiest thing to do would be to meet up for an overnight in big, bad NYC.

This is not the first time we’ve done such a thing. We’ve had many a similar adventure. One even involves puking in front of (who we think was) Ron Livingston of Sex and the City fame.

Here’s the timeline for one of our typical adventures:

For the sake of writing ease, let me refer to myself in the third person. Annoying, I know. But indulge me.

8 Weeks Ahead of Time

TJ does exhaustive research on hotels and gets paper cuts from excessive thumbing through Zagat. Sends out a ten-page, exhaustively detailed e-mail requesting opinions from Viv and Sarah.

No one answers.

7.5 Weeks Ahead of Time

Sarah will try to engage Viv and TJ in three-way telephone conversation about clothes. TJ will say she’s wearing black pants and a shirt that doesn’t make her look chubby. Viv will say she doesn’t know yet. Sarah will – for an instant – wish she had different best friends.

4 Weeks Ahead of Time

TJ will again start up the anal-retentive “Really. No joking now. I need to know what we’re doing!” conversation by e-mail.

Again. Tumbleweed.

3 Weeks Ahead of Time

TJ and Sarah plan a strategy to pimp sexy, single Viv out to any hott boys encountered during NYC adventures. Viv is interested but hesitant. TJ and Sarah concoct an evil plan to exploit her weaknesses for gin and tonics and boys with accents. Va-voom!

2 Weeks Ahead of Time

One of the three (different each time) will threaten to cancel owing to sudden poverty, stupid ex-boyfriend dramas and/or unexplained intestinal bleeding. The other two will call her a wussy and offer money, hitman and/or number for a therapist.

1 Week Ahead of Time

TJ calls Sarah and Viv freaking out about lack of hotel room decision and empowers them to make a choice. The negotiations are more intense than at an Israeli/Palestinian peace conference.

Sarah makes executive decision to book nice hotel room but forego fancy dinner in favor of jumping on the beds while eating KFC. All agree.

TJ, still vaguely annoyed by earlier non-responsiveness, books room on Expedia while swearing under her breath. Happy event now involves chicken.

2 Days Ahead of Time

Tweeze eyebrows – everyone.

Girly Adventure Day, 5 p.m.

Ladies skip KFC and instead meet out for cheap but yummy dinner. All say they’re entirely grown up now and don’t plan on eating fatty foods or drinking too much.

Girly Adventure Day, 6:00 p.m.

Food arrives. All fried. They are on their third cocktail.

Girly Adventure Day, 7:30 p.m.

Serious topics are discussed – the state of America’s schools, politics, books, careers.

Girly Adventure Day, 7:32 p.m.

Discussion switches to nasty ex-boyfriends (see above), makeup, college and gossip. More cocktails.

Girly Adventure Day, 9 p.m.

Shots!!!

Girly Adventure Day, 10 p.m.

Sarah and TJ call husbands and slur a vodka-soaked “I love you” into their cell phones. Husbands are very glad they’re not out with the girls.

Girly Adventure Day, 11 p.m.

Viv and Sarah start chain smoking and having deep conversations with passers-by who think they’re crazy but well dressed. TJ searches for a jukebox that will play 90’s hits like “No Diggity.” Everyone at the bar hates her. All leave to find a bar that has dancing.

Girly Adventure Day, 11:00 p.m. - ??? a.m.

Stop at multiple bars looking for dancing. No dice. Have one drink at each as not to be rude.

Girly Adventure Day, ??? a.m.

Thaweoionadasdvlakndf cab? Ualam to aseealsdng tmsp sleep.

Wish us luck. I’ll keep you posted…

The Ranch Conspiracy

Today I left the doctor’s office starving, having been there (mostly in the waiting room) longer than I anticipated. So, I stopped by Subway and picked up a clog-your-arteries sandwich along with the bag of fat free Ranch Doritos.

This got me thinking about the wonderful world of Ranch.

I think the world’s people can be divided into two categories:

• Vehement Ranch Haters
• Those Who Have Succumbed to the Power of the Ranch

I fall into the latter category.

I wouldn’t even describe the taste of Ranch as pleasing. It’s just that when I see it, I have to consume it in mass quantities. A fine example involved me having bought a 2.5 lb package of dry Ranch seasoning at Sam’s Club. Can’t remember why. Must have blanked out.

Here’s what I find especially funky about Ranch: There are no discernable tastes that make up “Ranch.” You just know “Ranch” when you taste it.

Here’s another strange thing: Almost all recipes I’ve found don’t school you on how to actually create the Ranch flavor.

Most kind of read like this:

Cheesy Ranch Potatoes

Slice two potatoes and bake for one hour. Mix powdered Ranch dressing with sour cream. Dump on potatoes. Serve with something meaty.

Cheesy Cheddar Ranch Burger

Char a nice hunk of red meat and put on a toasted bun. Cover with copious amounts of cheddar cheese and crispy bacon. Pour on a healthy glop of Ranch. Keep defibrillator handy.

Of all my Googling, I could only find one soul brave enough to post an actual, from-scratch Ranch dressing recipe, c/o of a cook named Lisa_Roy.

Methinks the Hidden Valley Ranch product development team has already placed a bounty on her head.

So, where did Ranch come from anyway?

The Hidden Valley Ranch web site claims the recipe originated with Steve and Gayle Henson on their ranch near Santa Barbara, California

Yeah, nice cover story.

I still think it’s made my aliens.

Adventures in Exercise

Went to the gym today.

Can’t stand it.

Nevertheless, I’m hoping the “Do Something 21 Days and It Becomes a Habit” thing will kick in. Now, I have, like, 15 more days to go.

I really don’t like to exercise. At all.

From a logical standpoint, I certainly see the short and long-term health benefits of exercise. Avoiding chunkiness and heart disease is good. Thumbs up to not dying young.

To me, exercise is akin to brushing your teeth. You brush your teeth so you won’t have to suck your dinner through a straw when you’re in your twilight years. You don’t brush your teeth because it gives you near-orgasmic pleasure, as toothpaste commercials would have you believe.

So, I exercise. But I hate it.

I like sneaky exercise – the kind that’s so fun you don’t even know that you’re (gasp!) getting fit. Dancing lessons are kind of like that for me or dominating the dance floor with your girlfriends. So is power shopping.

I’m also not that into gym culture.

If you ever met me in person, you would probably think me talkative and pleasant. Not so in a gym. I embrace my prickly loner side. I focus all my energies on doing my stuff so I can get out of there as fast as my well-worn sneakers will take me. If someone even begins posturing like they want to start a chat, I give them the look that says “Do you really want to talk to my sweaty ass? I wouldn’t advise it.”

Even though I exude the warmth of a convicted felon, I still get a lot of requests for help – particularly from mature women. My size 16 workout gear should pretty much indicate that I’m not a trainer. Just to be sure, I tell them I’m not a gym employee and offer to get them a trained person to assist. Nevertheless,“Hey,” I’ll hear from somewhere behind me, “Is this what you do with this thingie?” as the gal contorts painfully on a machine. I step in, help out and act politely. She’ll do about 3 reps, stop and take a big gulp of water. The second I walk away I hear, “Can you show me how to use this other one now? It looks like something my gynecologist would use!” (Silent scream.)

I’m already gearing up for tomorrow. Oy.

A Salute to the Parkway

I am pleased to announce that Parkway Rest Stop has received its 100,000 visitor.

I was lucky enough to have been to the Parkway house last night (unrelated) and saw the site meter read 100,0001. Had I thought ahead, I should have brought champagne.

As many of you know, the guy behind Parkway is none other than my dad. My whole life I’ve been lucky enough to hear his stories and experience of his amazing adventures firsthand. (I leave some of the more wild stuff to him, Bodyguard Ken and the rest of the American Legion gang.) Now I’m glad I get to share him with the world.

He’s the same in person as he is on paper – warm, generous, appreciative, smart, observant, interesting, witty, urbane and funny as hell.

Note to Dad: Maybe now Mrs. Parkway won’t nudge you to clean the basement instead of posting.

Dad, I salute you. Congratulations…and keep blogging!

The Gauntlet Has Been Thrown

Do you know when you watch The Simpsons you say to yourself, "That's so very funny; I couldn't have even conceived of that?" You both deeply appreciate the writers' talents and are simultaneously overcome by a wave of jealousy.

Yep. Got the same feeling when I read this blog. Meh.

The "Statement from the Management", in itself, is a trip.

VH-1's Surreal Life Casting Updates

I’ve finally come to terms with the fact that I’m addicted to VH-1’s Surreal Life – not former lame-o network version that appeared on the WB.

I’ve also figured out their casting formula. Beginning with season 2, it has been pretty much cookie cutter. So, I figured I would make some recommendations for the next season.

The Daddy

He’s the man in command and keeps everything from spiraling out of control. This is also the guy who mops up the drunk folks and keeps people from getting arrested.

Season 2: Erik Estrada

Season 3: Dave Coulier

Season 4: Christopher Knight

Season 5 Recommendation:

Alan Thicke, aka the dad from Growing Pains. He needs a break from doing game shows.

Greg Evigan from the way-too-long-lived 80’s sitcom My Two Dads. He’s aged well.However, after checking him out on IMDB, he may be too busy.

The Mom

She is The Daddy’s slightly-less-attractive partner in crime. Often the best character on the show but overshadowed by various drunken, slutty episodes in the house.

Season 2: Tammy Faye Messner (aka Jim Baker’s ex-wife)

Season 3: Charo

Season 4: Jane Wiedlin

Season 5 Recommendation:

None. Bring Charo back again. She’s the coolest.

The Antisocial, Snotty, Sophomoric One

This is the person who thinks the show is beneath them (“I’m so famous? Why did my agent send me here?!?!?), act bratty and make decidedly uninteresting television.

Season 2: Vanilla “I Hate Myself” Ice

Season 3: Jordan “I Hate My Agent” Knight

Season 4: Da “I Hate Everyone” Brat

Season 5 Recommendation:

Naomi Campbell, Supermodel – I would love to see her beat up an assistant while we all watch. However, I doubt she’ll be down with the Surreal.

Hottt (In Theory) Girl Who Gets Drunk and Skinny Dips

This is a gal who gets cast in the hopes she will drink, get topless and bonk everyone on the show.

Season 2: Trishelle Cannatella

Season 3: Brigitte Nielsen

Season 4: Adrienne Curry (She actually seems like a pretty cool babe. I love that she’s lusting after Christopher “Peter Brady” Knight.)

Season 5 Recommendation:

I’ll leave this one up to the boys to decide. However, the wild exploits of Tara Reid are the stuff of legend. Methinks she would be an excellent pick.

Casting Gone Bad: The Very Boring Girl

The producers were obviously trying to cast someone foxy and/or saucy. However, despite being intermittently prissy, bitchy and/or without clothes, this character is never fun to watch.

Season 2: Traci Bingham

Season 3: Ryan Starr

Season 4: Joanie Laurer (Formerly WWE’s Chyna)

Season 5 Recommendation:

Omarosa, Former Apprentice Contestant – She stole the show in The Apprentice with all her sassyness and fibbery. I would love to see her get cast and tank…miserably.

The “X” Factor

This is the fella they cast to liven things up when there’s too much talk of anything of substance.

Season 2: Ron Jeremy

Season 3: Flavor Flav

Season 4: Verne Troyer

Season 5 Recommendation:

Scott Schwartz, Child Star / Porn Actor – Former child star in Richard Pryor’s “The Toy” turned porn star, this guy is a million exciting things rolled into one. How can they not cast this guy?

Who's on your casting couch?

All About the Bristow

Eeee!

Salon did an article on Alias.

Eeee!

A Very Special Tribute

A few years ago, I made a New Year’s resolution to not drink soda unless it was diet. The purpose of this was to wean me off an eight-can-a-day ginger ale habit I got myself into in college, thereby dropping a whopping 900 calories from my daily intake.

So, I trained myself to embrace the wonderful world of artificial sweeteners.

Since then, I’ve been very good about keeping my promise. My only weakness is Orangina.

For those of you who may not be familiar, Orangina is a type of French soda made of carbonated water, sugar, orange juice and orange pulp. Despite my dislike of French imports and icky pulp, I have a near religious reverence for this tasty orange beverage. I also like that you’re encouraged to shake it even though it’s a carbonated beverage. Not knowing if you’re going to be covered in a spray of sticky orange goo adds to the thrill of cracking open a bulb-shaped bottle.

In case you’re curious, here’s a little more info:

Orangina, originally named Naranjina, was created in Spain in 1936 by Dr. Trigo. An entrepreneur named Leon Beton was looking for a way to use the oranges in his vast orchard, so he bought the drink from Trigo and renamed it Orangina. (Check out this page for more Orangina scoopage.) It has grown since then to become France’s market leader in fruit-flavored soft drinks.

If your French is better than mine (a very easy feat), visit the official Orangina Web page.

Finally, it’s nice to know I’m not alone, it seems this person has even set up a low tech but incredibly passionate Orangina tribute page.

Man, I wish I had a bottle right now.

Maybe J and I should start planning that return trip to Paris.

I Challenge You to Beat This Line

Seen and Heard at the Local Fitness Center, Friday 10 p.m.

Two muscular men, bags and towels in hand, head out the front door to kick off a suburban night on the town.

One turns, smiles broadly at the doe-eyed brunette receptionist and shouts:

"Hey, honey! You're da reason why men cheat."

Ha!