They're baaacckkkk....and I couldn't be more excited. Being from New Jersey (central) and proud of it, I have a special affinity for these broads (Jersey term). Let's dive right in, shall we?
1) No more Danielle Staub! Finally. I wish we could get Dina back, but I'll take it. I feel awful for Danielle's kids, however, because she'll never get cancelled from the all-too-real reality show that is their lives.
2) We got two new castmates...both family members of Theresa's. I don't fully understand why only the NJ cast must be rife with people who are related to one another, as opposed to every other Real Housewives program, but I guess we should just go with it. I am really itching to see some unrelated Jersey women interact at one point, but it seems Bravo categorically refuses to do that on this program.
3) Theresa and Joe. Look we all feel for them, right? I mean, Theresa was so humble in earlier seasons
("I would never move into a used house...it's disgusting"), that you just wish for her husband and her to make ooodles and ooodles of money. And, she always seeemed to have her priorities on target ("Gia...forget school..it's time to model and act!"). And she never started trouble, ("Danielle, you don't say hi?"). So, clearly she has gained our sympathy after having revealed she owes over $11 million...wait, what's that? SHE'S STILL LIVING IN THAT MANSION AND DRIVING A MERCEDES?? Fuck that!!!! How on Earth can she continue to live that way when she owes so many millions of dollars to people who will have to do without because she hasn't paid what she's owes them. Don't even for a moment try to tell me that her cookbook and Joe's pizza place are footing the bill for this lifestyle. Not even a remote shot of both combined even paying the mortage and upkeep on that house, let alone on the cars, the kids, the clothes, the trips, the parties and, oh yah, paying off the MILLIONS OF DOLLARS of debt they are in. The fact that they are still in that house is an affront to every one of us who pay our bills and have to learn to live within our means. Where on Earth are they getting that cash and credit from? They supposedly have very little assets and income below $100,000 and crushing debt. Who is supplying them with the money to keep paying on that house?
4) Kathy. I like her. So far. Nothing else to report on....but riding her bike to the store? LOVE it!
5) Melissa...ugh....if I find out she's in the same debt situation as her sister-in-law, I am going to be very upset. And by the way, a 5 year-old should never have a walk-in closet filled with shoes and purposes...no, STOP!...never a reason for that...no justification for it at all.
6) Love me some Caroline (and, of course, Albie) but it's time for her to move on. Haven't her kids been on some elongated path of leaving the nest since the program began? It's been a 2 year-process so far...cut the cord already!
7) Where the hell is my Kim G? I love her. Why is she nowhere to be found?
8) Ashley shows up late to an upaid internship and cries immediately when her Mom gently tries to guide her to do the right thing and then asks for her parents to pay for a Manhattan apartment? Color me shocked. And where's Derek, AKA: the best thing that ever happened to her?
9) The (classy) family throwdown: First, this took place at the Manor, a place many of us who grew up in Jersey have been to many times. My grandparents' 50th anniversary was there. I was 8 years old. I sang a song for them/took my first step out of the closet. Let's not discuss it.
Anyway, the Gorga affair was all class, start to finish. Joe (Theresa's husband) had the runs. Theresa was late. Theresa's brother (from now on will be called "Bro-Joe") drank himself into a borderline coma, told his sister to "Walk the fuck away" called her garbage, needed 10 guys to hold him back from kicking the shit out of his own family, yelled at both his parents...shall I go on? Oh yah, everyone's kids were there to witness it. Just your typical CHRISTENING. O bla dee, O bla da.
Sidenote: It can all look elegant, if only for a moment. The Manor may be overdone, but it's pretty. Everything is done professionally. Say what you want about Jersey girls, this crew, very much including Theresa, puts themselves together quite nicely for these affairs. Everything is done to a tee. But when you hear one of the Joe's belt out, "you want some friggin' lobstah?!!!"...it ruins it. Okay? Just a point of fact.
10) Kathy, loving her even more. First and only thing she did..protect the kids and get them away from the melee. LOVE HER so far.
We've got a whole season to go. Get ready for it...
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Monday, May 16, 2011
Atlantic City: Where Personal Space Goes to Die
So I just returned from Atlantic City for a close friend's bachelor party. It truly was a great time...great to catch up with my friends who I've known for 20 years, drink, gamble, hit up a strip joint where you check-in your cell phone and bring your own beer at a coat check-styled line, etc. Yet, the strip club is not the only time you can have a tit in your face. In fact, the first jug in my mug happened earlier that night: at the roulette wheel.
I love roulette. It courts the dumbest at the casino, which is actually saying something. I mean, you really don't need a functioning cerebrum to play this game. Basically, you toss chips all over the board and hope that the little ball lands on one of those numbers. Voila, you've just learned a key casino strategy (your welcome).
But there's always someone willing to dumb even the dumbest game up, and up comes Ms. Mammary...who positioned herself next to/on top of me at Trump Plaza. First, let's start with her strategy. This genius actually bet the exact same amount on both red AND black on each spin. First, it's not even fool-proof - because it can land on 0 or 00, both of which are green, and you lose. Or it lands on red or black, which is a wash. If the only possible outcomes are either losing or breaking even, you are not in the game (good lesson for life as well).
You know what else she did? She refused every offer I made to place her chips on black, so instead, she leaned over me boob first every single spin to make that dumbass bet each time. Yet that wasn't the only assault on my personal space that evening either.
At the blackjack table, a jumpy guy unsure if he wanted to join the game stood next to me and paced back and forth , his nether regions dangerously close to my elbow. Earlier in the night a woman so excited by my slot machine win ($50) jumped excitedly behind me and massaged my shoulders. Would you like me to go on with this?
It wasn't even crowded at Trump Plaza (the hotel is WAY past its prime). Yet, as many people who are close to me are well aware, the safest bet in the house is that the dumbest/craziest people will always find me.
I love roulette. It courts the dumbest at the casino, which is actually saying something. I mean, you really don't need a functioning cerebrum to play this game. Basically, you toss chips all over the board and hope that the little ball lands on one of those numbers. Voila, you've just learned a key casino strategy (your welcome).
But there's always someone willing to dumb even the dumbest game up, and up comes Ms. Mammary...who positioned herself next to/on top of me at Trump Plaza. First, let's start with her strategy. This genius actually bet the exact same amount on both red AND black on each spin. First, it's not even fool-proof - because it can land on 0 or 00, both of which are green, and you lose. Or it lands on red or black, which is a wash. If the only possible outcomes are either losing or breaking even, you are not in the game (good lesson for life as well).
You know what else she did? She refused every offer I made to place her chips on black, so instead, she leaned over me boob first every single spin to make that dumbass bet each time. Yet that wasn't the only assault on my personal space that evening either.
At the blackjack table, a jumpy guy unsure if he wanted to join the game stood next to me and paced back and forth , his nether regions dangerously close to my elbow. Earlier in the night a woman so excited by my slot machine win ($50) jumped excitedly behind me and massaged my shoulders. Would you like me to go on with this?
It wasn't even crowded at Trump Plaza (the hotel is WAY past its prime). Yet, as many people who are close to me are well aware, the safest bet in the house is that the dumbest/craziest people will always find me.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Freddy Krueger, Jason and Wind Chimes
A fun topic of conversation for my extended family during a really terrific Mother's Day on Sunday is how I hate the wind chimes my mom has hanging outside by the backyard patio. Wanna know why? Because there is nary a horror movie made where the sound of wind chimes combined with a sweeping panorama of a dark, windy night doesn't spell impending murder.
Maybe it's Pavlovian. By themselves, wind chimes seem perfectly innocent. A little breeze translated into a little music...tra la la. Repeateldy seeing a person get slashed wide open after hearing a wind chime tends to change one's perspective on how innocuous that sound is. Now, when I hear wind chimes, I don't hear music...I hear, "Get the hell out of wherever you are now."
The unwitting victims in many a horror flick seem incapable of figuring out that the guy in the hockey mask with a bloody meat cleaver is not a friendly neighbor who butchered a steak for you. He's a psychotic murderer who just killed a hot teenager.
Similarly, many members of my family seem unaware of what those chimes are chimin when the breeze picks up. It's not music. It's a serious warning.
Now you all know.
Maybe it's Pavlovian. By themselves, wind chimes seem perfectly innocent. A little breeze translated into a little music...tra la la. Repeateldy seeing a person get slashed wide open after hearing a wind chime tends to change one's perspective on how innocuous that sound is. Now, when I hear wind chimes, I don't hear music...I hear, "Get the hell out of wherever you are now."
The unwitting victims in many a horror flick seem incapable of figuring out that the guy in the hockey mask with a bloody meat cleaver is not a friendly neighbor who butchered a steak for you. He's a psychotic murderer who just killed a hot teenager.
Similarly, many members of my family seem unaware of what those chimes are chimin when the breeze picks up. It's not music. It's a serious warning.
Now you all know.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Alexis Bellino vs. Gloria Steinem (Continued)
Catch Real Housewives of Orange County last night? Alexis informed us that though her own God-given judgement dicates that her husband's advice was not on-target re: her new clothing line, she must listen and obey because the Bible tells her to.
Some life she's carved out for herself.
Some life she's carved out for herself.
For Some, America is Always Wrong
Well, it took nary a week before the usual suspects in my social circle went from celebrating the death of Bin Laden - as any decent person should do - to attacking the US. We shouldn't torture! What about Pakistan's sovereignty! Killing is always wrong!
One thing I've learned is for some people, the only time-honored truth to which they abide is that the US is ALWAYS WRONG. No matter what we do, it's wrong. If we stand by and don't do anything, we're wrong. If we go in and attack governments that subjugate and kill their own people, we're wrong. We're wrong if we kill Bin Laden. We're wrong if we don't...etc, etc. etc. Trust me, these people don't see themselves part of what has been aptly called the "Blame America First" crowd but they most certainly are.
With all the good intentions in the world, they have helped become part of an overall movement that gives the worst governments in the world all the space they need to operate. By very miguidedly shifting blame to the US and Israel on virtually every issue, Ahmadenijah and Assad, just to give two examples, are able to continue hacking away at their own people, and making plans for much worse in the future.
I enjoyed the few days we had until we became the great evil again. Not for blind patriotism, but for moral clarity. I wish it lasted much longer.
One thing I've learned is for some people, the only time-honored truth to which they abide is that the US is ALWAYS WRONG. No matter what we do, it's wrong. If we stand by and don't do anything, we're wrong. If we go in and attack governments that subjugate and kill their own people, we're wrong. We're wrong if we kill Bin Laden. We're wrong if we don't...etc, etc. etc. Trust me, these people don't see themselves part of what has been aptly called the "Blame America First" crowd but they most certainly are.
With all the good intentions in the world, they have helped become part of an overall movement that gives the worst governments in the world all the space they need to operate. By very miguidedly shifting blame to the US and Israel on virtually every issue, Ahmadenijah and Assad, just to give two examples, are able to continue hacking away at their own people, and making plans for much worse in the future.
I enjoyed the few days we had until we became the great evil again. Not for blind patriotism, but for moral clarity. I wish it lasted much longer.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
My (now) Open Letter to GLAAD
At GLAAD's media awards, they had Al Sharpton speak at the event. My unresponded-to-letter to the executive leadership there is below:
Mr. Barrios,
I’m a gay man who generally supports GLAAD’s agenda and admires much of your work. I am also a Jewish man, who is in disbelief that you’d have someone like Al Sharpton play a prominent role in perhaps your most visible event of the year (2011 GLAAD Media Awards).
Do you have any idea who this man is? What his past includes? What crimes he is responsible for? I would like to quote from a column by Jeff Jacoby of the Boston Globe who addressed his disgusting past since most of the media establishment seems unwilling to do so (in italics):
1987: Sharpton spreads the incendiary Tawana Brawley hoax, insisting heatedly that a 15-year-old black girl was abducted, raped, and smeared with feces by a group of white men. He singles out Steve Pagones, a young prosecutor. Pagones is wholly innocent -- the crime never occurred -- but Sharpton taunts him: "If we're lying, sue us, so we can . . . prove you did it." Pagones does sue, and eventually wins a $345,000 verdict for defamation. To this day, Sharpton refuses to recant his unspeakable slander or to apologize for his role in the odious affair.
1991: A Hasidic Jewish driver in Brooklyn's Crown Heights section accidentally kills Gavin Cato, a 7-year-old black child, and antisemitic riots erupt. Sharpton races to pour gasoline on the fire. At Gavin's funeral he rails against the "diamond merchants" -- code for Jews -- with "the blood of innocent babies" on their hands. He mobilizes hundreds of demonstrators to march through the Jewish neighborhood, chanting, "No justice, no peace." A rabbinical student, Yankel Rosenbaum, is surrounded by a mob shouting "Kill the Jews!" and stabbed to death.
1995: When the United House of Prayer, a large black landlord in Harlem, raises the rent on Freddy's Fashion Mart, Freddy's white Jewish owner is forced to raise the rent on his subtenant, a black-owned music store. A landlord-tenant dispute ensues; Sharpton uses it to incite racial hatred. "We will not stand by," he warns malignantly, "and allow them to move this brother so that some white interloper can expand his business." Sharpton's National Action Network sets up picket lines; customers going into Freddy's are spat on and cursed as "traitors" and "Uncle Toms." Some protesters shout, "Burn down the Jew store!" and simulate striking a match. "We're going to see that this cracker suffers," says Sharpton's colleague Morris Powell. On Dec. 8, one of the protesters bursts into Freddy's, shoots four employees point-blank, then sets the store on fire. Seven employees die in the inferno.
If Sharpton were a white skinhead, he would be a political leper, spurned everywhere but the fringe. But far from being spurned, he is shown much deference. Democrats embrace him. Politicians court him. And journalists report on his comings and goings while politely sidestepping his career as a hatemongering racial hustler.
Is this the sort of man you want aligned with GLAAD’s reputation and objectives?
I am 33 years old – so some of my friends are old enough to remember these atrocities and are familiar with Al Sharpton’s integral role in them. My younger friends were shocked to find this out – partly because they were too young when these events unfurled and partly because well-respected organizations – like GLAAD – seemed all too happy to have him give a speech about freedom and activism at a major event. All this from the same mouth that uttered “diamond merchants” and “white interlopers” and whose past activism resulted in the corpses of innocent people.
Now he puts himself out as a freedom fighter, and we’re all supposed to pretend none of his past happened. But it did. And I am sure members of GLAAD are familiar with it. Which makes it all the more incomprehensible that he was given a pulpit at this event.
Please tell me GLAAD can do better. That we, as the LGBT community, can do better. Please tell me that our support and reputation is not pegged on anyone who says the right things about us once, and the wrong things about everything else for many years and with horrifically violent consequences for many innocent people.
Best,
Scott Berwitz
Mr. Barrios,
I’m a gay man who generally supports GLAAD’s agenda and admires much of your work. I am also a Jewish man, who is in disbelief that you’d have someone like Al Sharpton play a prominent role in perhaps your most visible event of the year (2011 GLAAD Media Awards).
Do you have any idea who this man is? What his past includes? What crimes he is responsible for? I would like to quote from a column by Jeff Jacoby of the Boston Globe who addressed his disgusting past since most of the media establishment seems unwilling to do so (in italics):
1987: Sharpton spreads the incendiary Tawana Brawley hoax, insisting heatedly that a 15-year-old black girl was abducted, raped, and smeared with feces by a group of white men. He singles out Steve Pagones, a young prosecutor. Pagones is wholly innocent -- the crime never occurred -- but Sharpton taunts him: "If we're lying, sue us, so we can . . . prove you did it." Pagones does sue, and eventually wins a $345,000 verdict for defamation. To this day, Sharpton refuses to recant his unspeakable slander or to apologize for his role in the odious affair.
1991: A Hasidic Jewish driver in Brooklyn's Crown Heights section accidentally kills Gavin Cato, a 7-year-old black child, and antisemitic riots erupt. Sharpton races to pour gasoline on the fire. At Gavin's funeral he rails against the "diamond merchants" -- code for Jews -- with "the blood of innocent babies" on their hands. He mobilizes hundreds of demonstrators to march through the Jewish neighborhood, chanting, "No justice, no peace." A rabbinical student, Yankel Rosenbaum, is surrounded by a mob shouting "Kill the Jews!" and stabbed to death.
1995: When the United House of Prayer, a large black landlord in Harlem, raises the rent on Freddy's Fashion Mart, Freddy's white Jewish owner is forced to raise the rent on his subtenant, a black-owned music store. A landlord-tenant dispute ensues; Sharpton uses it to incite racial hatred. "We will not stand by," he warns malignantly, "and allow them to move this brother so that some white interloper can expand his business." Sharpton's National Action Network sets up picket lines; customers going into Freddy's are spat on and cursed as "traitors" and "Uncle Toms." Some protesters shout, "Burn down the Jew store!" and simulate striking a match. "We're going to see that this cracker suffers," says Sharpton's colleague Morris Powell. On Dec. 8, one of the protesters bursts into Freddy's, shoots four employees point-blank, then sets the store on fire. Seven employees die in the inferno.
If Sharpton were a white skinhead, he would be a political leper, spurned everywhere but the fringe. But far from being spurned, he is shown much deference. Democrats embrace him. Politicians court him. And journalists report on his comings and goings while politely sidestepping his career as a hatemongering racial hustler.
Is this the sort of man you want aligned with GLAAD’s reputation and objectives?
I am 33 years old – so some of my friends are old enough to remember these atrocities and are familiar with Al Sharpton’s integral role in them. My younger friends were shocked to find this out – partly because they were too young when these events unfurled and partly because well-respected organizations – like GLAAD – seemed all too happy to have him give a speech about freedom and activism at a major event. All this from the same mouth that uttered “diamond merchants” and “white interlopers” and whose past activism resulted in the corpses of innocent people.
Now he puts himself out as a freedom fighter, and we’re all supposed to pretend none of his past happened. But it did. And I am sure members of GLAAD are familiar with it. Which makes it all the more incomprehensible that he was given a pulpit at this event.
Please tell me GLAAD can do better. That we, as the LGBT community, can do better. Please tell me that our support and reputation is not pegged on anyone who says the right things about us once, and the wrong things about everything else for many years and with horrifically violent consequences for many innocent people.
Best,
Scott Berwitz
Get Out of My (Sub)Way
Typically, the subway is a real drag for most of us. A necessary evil. It's crowded. Dank. Unbearably hot in the summer, etc. Let's not get into it. We all know what it's like.
But for a surprisingly large number of people, the subway is a world of wonder...not the means to get somwhere but the destination itself. I'm always behind these people. I have to get to work. People are piling up on the platform. I hope I can get a place to stand. And I am behind someone who is so overjoyed to get on this train that they must stop one step in and take it all in...causing me to either lose my spot... or a limb.
You know how when YOU get on the train, you try to scuffle and find a place to stand or sit quickly because there are others behind you and you get a small window to board? Yah, well, these people don't give a shit about you. They take one step on the train - with 200 people behind them and stop abruptly. So entranced by the moving soup kitchen that passes for public transportation in the city, they look around. "Oh, should I sit there? Maybe over there? I think that person looks nice to sit next to. Or maybe I'll stand! There's so many options I'm just going to stand in everyone's way and...wait, what's that I hear? Someone screaming in terror behind me that the doors are repeatedly slamming into their pelvis because I won't move my ass more than one step into the train?"
But for a surprisingly large number of people, the subway is a world of wonder...not the means to get somwhere but the destination itself. I'm always behind these people. I have to get to work. People are piling up on the platform. I hope I can get a place to stand. And I am behind someone who is so overjoyed to get on this train that they must stop one step in and take it all in...causing me to either lose my spot... or a limb.
You know how when YOU get on the train, you try to scuffle and find a place to stand or sit quickly because there are others behind you and you get a small window to board? Yah, well, these people don't give a shit about you. They take one step on the train - with 200 people behind them and stop abruptly. So entranced by the moving soup kitchen that passes for public transportation in the city, they look around. "Oh, should I sit there? Maybe over there? I think that person looks nice to sit next to. Or maybe I'll stand! There's so many options I'm just going to stand in everyone's way and...wait, what's that I hear? Someone screaming in terror behind me that the doors are repeatedly slamming into their pelvis because I won't move my ass more than one step into the train?"
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