If you like comedy, PR or the occasional inside scoop on the entertainment world, then drop by for a daily dose written by me, Kambri Crews, producer and publicist to comedians and more!   Sunday, September 29, 2002 One afternoon I found myself watching a documentary about an ex-cop turned entrepreneur. It seems he found a societal need that wasn't being met and seized the opportunity. And so began his trauma and crime scene clean-up career. The one hour special followed him and his crew on three different assignments and outlined the circumstances surrounding each. The first was the home of an elderly woman who had been beaten to death in her bedroom by a robber. Her family was going to sell the house once the cleaning was complete. The second I don't recall. The third was a black man named Dwayne in his 40's who lay dead on his bed for weeks before anyone realized it was death they were smelling. His death. Dwayne's family disowned him upon learning he had AIDS, and so he was all alone. Alone, dying and too sick to care for himself let alone his apartment. So newspapers had piled up in some corners, trash had piled up in others. The refrigerator was open and roach-infested, dishes were stacked high in the sink and on the counters and his clothes were strewn about. The ex-cop began the daunting task of cleaning this mess that had been Dwayne's so called life. Left and right he tossed Dwayne's belongings into garbage bags and hauled away any evidence that Dwayne had ever existed. An old photo album revealed a healthier happier time in Dwayne's life. The camera focused in on orange-tinted family pictures depicting Dwayne's family as they were in the 70's wearing their Sunday best before they decided Dwayne wasn't worth the risk or embarrassment or hassle. Then, poof, the album was gone, the apartment was restored to a gleaming white and the credits rolled. May Dwayne rest in peace. Marc is in Las Vegas this week visiting his friend Andrew, a wheeler-dealer type who grows medical marijuana and has all new porcelain teeth that he paid for with some cash but mostly by trading jewelry and services. So, I'm occupying my time with non-stop internet surfing, blog hopping, and reading weird but true news blurbs while slowly going bonkers from boredom. I haven't heard from my family in weeks, haven't received a single phone call from anyone--not even a telemarketer, and the only email I got was from myself reminding me to take out the trash before I go to work tomorrow. Need I say it? I'm in a funk. I've envisioned myself having a terrible accident and lying in my own filth while Paquita eats my flesh to stay alive until Marc gets home. Then he'll hire the ex-cop to clean my waste and toss my old photos. I'll see Dwayne at the bottom of some dumpster and wonder if it would be inappropriate to ask him for his autograph.Or maybe I'll take Paquita for a walk so I can bask in the wake of her mass appeal. Link - 8:33 PM -   Saturday, September 28, 2002 Paquita is cute. Unlike most chihuahuas, she's friendly. Very friendly. Small. Happy. Talented. She garners unwarranted amounts of attention which bounces off her to me. As her voice, I graciously accept all compliments and answer the many inquiries as to age, weight, size, sex, etc. Usually I tell people her affinity for pigeon chasing, poop consumtion and arm humping. This makes people happy. As happy as Paquita. Occasionally, I fend off empty plastic bags, paper, leaves, etc. that blow her way by stomping on them and thwarting their attack. She is deathly afraid of objects hurtling in her general direction. Her eyes bug out, all four legs splayed...the brakes are full on! This makes me laugh. Laugh and laugh and I'm happy, too. Today was no different. It was a breezy midday stroll with lots of blowing objects to destroy, sun shining, everything perfect, when some guy starts charging at us with his finger pointed like a gun. With a thick accent he declares, "BANG! I shoot her with my gun! BANG! BANG!" He was dead serious. The "guy" was a wee, 80-something, wrinkled, maybe 5' 3" Greek man. Now how do you respond to that? I warned, "You watch out! She'll take your arm off!" Then I did my best imitation of a rabid pit bull. "ARRR WOOF! GGGGGRRRRRRR!" This made me laugh. Laugh and laugh. I guess he doesn't like dogs. Weirdo. Link - 8:33 PM -   Thursday, September 26, 2002 Roots Okay, I think my mom might be Pam Grier. I'm at least part afro-american with emphasis on afro. This humidity has me sportin' curly hairs all over da place. What the hell?!?! I'm gonna have to find me a pimp daddy and some jerry curl to tame this foxxy ass! That's what I'm talkin' bout, yo! Nubian World here I come! This was just a crappy day. No, I didn't get splashed by a puddle, I did have an adequate umbrella, my work was productive and manageable, but something is amiss. I tripped on my own pant cuff going up a flight of stairs, but I caught myself. There was no line at Subway, but I got someone else's sandwich. I'm sporting what seems to be a perm a la Barbara Streisand in A Star is Born, yet I used my straightening iron. Nothing major--just a tad bit off kilter. Enough to throw my hands up and say, "I'm going home!" So, I did. I watched *zero* television, savored an apple martini and completey revamped my website. Whatcha think? Link - 8:31 PM -   Wednesday, September 25, 2002 Gospel of Jack 9:25 So Jack wants a dog. A male golden retriever to be exact. I corresponded with his breeder of choice and informed him of same with my humble opinion that he get a female. His response, "I'm not sure on a dog to begin with, but if I get one it will be male 'cause I hate bitches." Well said. Link - 11:30 PM -   Tuesday, September 24, 2002 Conversation with my boss while heading to lunch at the Brooklyn Diner. Me: "Mmmm, I'm gonna get a Mr. Softee for dessert." Jeff: "You already have one at home. His name's Marc." Extra bonus, we got to sit in "his" booth. For those not familiar with the Diner, their practice is to put brass name plates of their best (mainly famous) customers. Here's his: Trekking back to the office, I was sorely disappointed that Mr. Softee was on the fritz. "You're killing me!" I screamed before sulking back to the office to face the rest of my day. Then Super Model called. Nothing like chatting with a super skinny gazillionaire to make you not regret having processed chemicals and lard for dessert. If only she called me during every meal. Link - 4:29 PM -   Sunday, September 22, 2002 Fantastic seats to a Rangers v. Flyers game at Madison Square Garden, a great fight, an exciting finish, beer, nachos and extra jalepenos. What could be better? Oh yeah, the $130 ticket was free! Thanks, Jack! I take back all the bad things I said about you. I look forward to many years of dutiful service in your command. Between periods, the "Junior Rangers" entertained the crowd by zipping around and falling down a lot. These boys are so small, I'm surprised any parent would let their youngster play such a rough contact sport. There's no way I would unless I invested in a very lucrative accidental death policy. "Well, Johnny, I don't know where your helmet is. Oh, you don't need one you little wuss, get out there and fight to win! Win dammit, win!" I could wear a team jersey and too-tight jeans, and scream profanities from the bleachers and taunt the other mothers. This hockey mom thing could be fun!!! Link - 11:05 PM -   Saturday, September 21, 2002 For those of you not familiar with Marc, let me enlighten you with his deft skills at handling salespeople or cashiers. Example: Scenario: Candle Shop in Vermont Marc: "Yeah, ummm, do you sell, uh, those wax things that have wicks...ummm, damn, what are they called?" Salesperson: "Candles?" Marc: "Yeah, candles! Do you know where I can get some?" This is always funny and easily adaptable to any store. Just find the most ridiculous tchotchke they sell within the salesperson's sight lines and ask if they have any in stock. This morning at Dunkin' Donuts Marc exchanged these words with the barely English speaking girl behind the counter: Marc: Two small coffees, cream and two sugars in each. Girl: Medium coffee, milk and two sugar? Marc: No, two small coffees, cream and two sugars in both. Girl: Two small coffees? You want milk and sugar? Marc: Yes, two small coffees, but cream not milk and two sugars. Girl: Okay, two medium coffee, two sugar, no milk. Marc: No, two small coffees, cream, seventeen sugars, a goat, a cat and a live chicken. Girl: Blank stare. I walked out of there. I have never had a normal Dunkin Donuts experience when I'm with Marc. We did get our coffee and finished our walk to the vet laughing the whole way about how even though he is there nearly every day and orders the same exact thing, they still try to push the Medium coffee on him. They must get some incentive pay based on Medium cup sales. Link - 11:03 AM -   Friday, September 20, 2002 Arctic Chill? Global Warming? To anyone traveling to Manhattan from Queens via the N Train, this post is for you. When facing the front of the train, look out the window on your right just before you round the corner approaching the Queensboro Plaza stop. If you do, you will see in a virtually empty lot of grey gravel, a penguin. Yes, a penguin. It's about four feet high and I suspect it is made of wood. If anyone else has seen this anomaly, please let me know. Otherwise, I fear I may be hallucinating. Gawd, I'm going to stab my ears with a Q-tip! Marc called during one of those ridiculously loud personal phone conversations I'm forced to suffer through. Me: You hear her? Marc: Yeah. Me: Isn't that ridiculous? Marc: Yeah. Okay I'm gonna go. Me: No. Let's listen to her conversation. Marc: I don't want to. Me: Neither do I. Marc: You're getting paid! Me: Bye. Blog Obsession I am reading an inordinate amount of blogs these days. It is so easy to get sucked into the vortex of someone else's life. My favorites will be listed under "Links" found on the left side of this page. The latest addiction...uh, I mean addition...is "A Girl Named Bob". It seems everyone and their brother links to her page, so why shouldn't I? The fact is, she's a great read. The best part is she lives in my neighborhood (Astoria), so many of her exploits involve locales within a short walk from my apartment. Link - 11:25 AM -   Thursday, September 19, 2002 Gospel of Jack 9:19 On the way back from lunch while passing an diners eating al fresco, "Jack" says loud enough for the guilty: "I love watching fat people eat. It's so fun!" Just when I thought this was my quote for the day...he gives me another one. Rounding a very busy street corner, Jack nearly collides with an old, tiny and frail (and I'm talking really old, tiny and frail) blind woman shaking her coffee cup full of change. He shouts, "Hey lady! You're blocking the whole sidewalk! Get outta da way!" Link - 3:24 PM -   Wednesday, September 18, 2002 Gospel of Jack 9:18 Jack: "NO! It's the memo dated August 14th. Know what? I'll show it to you. Just come in here, I wanna see your little t-shirt." Me: "It's a sweater." Jack: "I don't care! I just wanna see it, so get your ass in here." At my office, there seem to be an abundance of long, barren corridors. In order to accomplish critical office functions---getting coffee, going to the bathroom, seeing how everyone's evening was spent---one is forced to walk down these hallways that seem infinite in length. Alone, this is not so bad. Discomfort and agitation is met when one rounds the corner to see a co-worker coming from the opposite direction. Suddenly the simple task of walking becomes extremely uncomfortable. It's office chicken. Avoiding eye contact at all costs becomes imperative. Weird glances at the floor, adjustments of my hair, shirt, anything. If lucky, I have something in hand. Then it's easy to appear very concerned and engulfed in the importance of my paperwork which of course means nothing to me whatsoever. Link - 10:23 AM -   Tuesday, September 17, 2002 Smartest thing Jack shouted out loud today, "I love Kambri. Love her!" It's true what they say that as one gets older, one gets wiser. Link - 11:40 AM -   Monday, September 16, 2002 Gospel of Jack 9:16 Me: "You're echoing. We must have a bad connection. Can you move outside to get better reception?" Jack: "No, I'm in the bathroom." Link - 8:21 PM -   Sunday, September 15, 2002 Here is a Cliffs Notes synopsis of Sweet Home Alabama: The plot centers around a small town girl who moves to the Big Apple and snags a handsome, rich & famous guy. She returns to her roots, in Alabama of course, to request a divorce from her high school sweetheart. It's then that she rediscovers her love for him and her hometown. Do I give too much away? Oh, that's right, that's the preview! Even the tagline says too much: "Sometimes What You're Looking For Is Right Where You Left It." It's not just movie trailers giving up the goods, reviewers jumped on the bandwagon long ago. Gene Shallot was kind enough to save me time and just told me the ending of Cast Away during his review on NBC. Gene didn't just give a vague idea of the ending, no. Gene told me the exact details of the ending. So detailed, he should have just showed the damn clip! I still watched Cast Away. I will still see Sweet Home Alabama. I suppose, like life, the joy is found in the journey. Link - 5:00 PM -   Saturday, September 14, 2002 Standing at the refrigerator eating pepperoncini out of the jar, an image flashed into my head. What would a senior citizen version of me look like in this scenario? Dentures retrieved from the nightstand, housecoat zipped up to here, stained slippers scuffing on the floor as I venture to kitchen in search of a snack. "Ah, pickles!" I clumsily twist open the jar with arthritic hands and proceed to scarf down a dozen sour dills. Bathed in the light of the fridge, the chilled air finds its way to my wrinkled, puckered skin. Old Me is quite the site to behold. I hope she's happy. At what age will I kick the habit of eating cake for breakfast? Is swilling olive juice as an octagenarian inappropriate? Will Hershey's Syrup straight out of the bottle still taste as bitter sweet? When will having a Mr. Softee for lunch become out of the question? Will whole lemons be bettered enjoyed without teeth? So many things for me to wonder. Link - 8:19 PM -   Friday, September 13, 2002 In case the date header didn't clue you in, today is Friday the 13th. So if anything remotely bad happens to anyone, now the date can be blamed. So if this applies, then my getting stuck underground on the 5 train for an hour had nothing to do with someone pulling the emergency brake and all to do with bad luck. This makes me feel much better. Favorite thing said to me today: Me: "Boy, he's fast!" Him: "That's what his wife keeps telling me." Link - 4:23 PM -   Thursday, September 12, 2002 Two favorite things said to me today: (1) Me: "So you have people who agree with you." Him: "They're called Disciples, honey." (2) I peed green once. Well, just like last year, we ended up NOT going to the Peninsula. Instead we had cocktails at The Oak Bar in the Plaza Hotel. Two round of drinks, $120; time spent with friends, priceless. Okay, so the drinks are a wee bit overpriced. Yikes! But, it is the Plaahhza after all. After drinks, I decided it would be best to watch a light-hearted movie rather than sit in front of the television watching depressing images. So I met Marc at the Ziegfeld Theater where we watched "My Big Fat Greek Wedding". The Ziegfeld is a great place to see a movie. It is a massive theater decorated in art deco styling, accented in plush red velvet and amazing crystal chandeliers. The curtains are drawn over the single screen as the lights are dimmed adding to the theatrical experience that can never be matched in any giant, modern multiplex. We laughed our faces off and tried not to feel sad for at least 2 hours before heading home to our little baby Paquita Borgito Borgato Chorizo Jimenez. She makes me laugh in her innocence and simplicity. Her main worry is the location of her "buried" pig ear and her one true love is a blue squeaky ball. She's got it good. Favorite thing Marc said during "My Big Fat Greek Wedding": "So, do you think they're gonna get married?" Link - 11:18 AM -   Wednesday, September 11, 2002 On a day of mourning and rememberance of those lost in the attacks one year ago today, I am on edge. The last few days I have had moments of deep, aching sorrow and also moments of panic and fear. I nearly broke down at the Starbucks counter yesterday just because they were giving away free red, white & blue ribbons. My throat clenched, my pulse raced and I couldn't breath. I just had to get out of there. Fast. I just want today to be uneventful and for nothing unexpected to happen. So needless to say my brush with death that came just a few minutes ago was NOT welcome. I'm walking back to my office from getting a bagel at Scott's. The path takes me by the Today Show taping where I walked alongside the building which houses Dean & Deluca. That's when I hear a bunch of shouting, "Hey, hey, hey woah!!!" Then BAM! A huge chunk of bent metal lands about two feet from me and four other people. They all stopped and looked up to the sky to see from where this metal originated. Not me. I don't think I've ever moved that fast except for the one time when my friend almost stepped on the head of a rattlesnake and I ran to get help as she stood frozen in her tracks. I darted out of there like a supersonic car! Once I crossed the street, I gazed up at the building which looked the same as it ever did. No construction workers or window washers to be seen. It's very windy today, so I'm assuming the metal came from the rooftop. I don't know. I'm taking it as a sign to count my blessings. Noon At noon my office observed two minutes of silence. Just like the falling metal, BAM, it was there--the raw emotion. In the silence, I wept and hoped that somehow we'll rise above the hatred and find ourselves on the other side where peace does reign. Honestly, I don't know what I can do to truly honor those lost and the sacrifices their families have unwittingly made. Two minutes of silence certainly doesn't seem enough, it did, however, make me put the victims and their families in the forefront of my thoughts. It was then that I realized I have not dealt with the very real emotions I have from that day. I didn't want to have an "oh woe is me" attitude because no one close to me was killed or seriously injured, I don't live with the horror of having been in the Towers, and I made it home safely that day. The attention belongs to those who didn't make it home, their families and the survivors. So, I have been purposely pushing the events further and further out of my mind, intentionally avoiding news reports and images in order to evade the feelings. At what point will I face them? I don't know that I ever truly will. Shopping list: Kleenex for desk. A single napkin from Emerald Planet does not make good tissue paper. Late Afternoon Lunch time I wandered around with no appetite. I got to the doors of the "Faces of Ground Zero" free exhibit that has transformed Rockefeller Center into an outdoor museum. I couldn't bring myself to go inside. It will be here until the 23rd, so I think I will go next week. Instead, I sat in my usual spot facing 5th Avenue and watched a caravan of police cars and secret service vehicles zoom past. Too early to be President Bush, so I'm curious as to who it was deserving of such protection. Bloomberg? My boss came back from lunch with news that debris from the AOL Time Warner Building blew into the Trump Tower and hit and seriously injured someone. So this wind is fierce today. After work, the four of us (me, Mitch, Rich & Jeff) will trek to the Peninsula Hotel where one year ago today we all walked together in hopes of I don't know what. The Peninsula was closed that afternoon, of course, so we parted and took our separate ways home. It took me around 3 or 4 hours for such a short walk in a black suit and high heels. I'll never forget the lonely vulnerable feeling I had, planes flying above, knowing that I would have no where to run if a plane were to hit the bridge I was crossing so slowly. Today, I brought a change of shoes in case I have to walk home again. I hope I don't need them. Link - 11:16 PM -   Monday, September 09, 2002 "Biff" is a model citizen. He loves his wife and his job. He has two lovely daughters whom he sent to an elite NY private school. Biff is the ideal husband and father. He really is. Really. He also happens to be an avid speaker phone user and deals, on a regular basis, with supermodels. Personally, if I were rich and famous paying for Biff's very expensive time I would insist on being taken OFF speaker phone, but hey, that's just me and I sho ain't R&F. Biff is all business when talking with these ladies. He is a straight-talker, a bit long-winded, but tells it like it is. No B.S. Biff, as straight and narrow as one can be, transforms when he talks to others about these models. Biff warps into a giddy school boy; his excitement barely contained as he makes sure to mention that there are nude photos of these models available online. Desire and delight drips from his every pore and it's entirely beyond his control. What I have learned: I should invest large sums of money in any company that produces testosterone based drugs, for testosterone is potent. Link - 11:15 AM -   Saturday, September 07, 2002 Bloggers are having a party. We can all meet in person. Hmmm...not sure I'm into that. Especially after yesterday's post. I've often wondered if I would recognize someone on the NYC streets as a fellow blogger and if I would approach them. It's not as though they're R.M. They're just like me. Parallel thought: Together, Marc and I have worked with, partied with, chatted with or been in the same room with countless numbers of "celebrities" some big, some small, on the rise or on the fall. Rarely is there any true diva-type behavior. But gossip columns and websites thrive on the hopes that they'll catch one of them on a terrifically bad day. More and more websites offer up message boards where users can submit their very own "celebrity encounter" story which increases the possibility of garnering some good dish. The thing is, celebrities are similar to my girl blogger ("GB"). We humans can create an idea of what we think a person might be like based on the media to which we are exposed. GB puts out a few months' worth of entries and suddenly I think I know her. A bubble that is surely capable of bursting. So when Super Star is cranky and late for a meeting, Joe Schmoe is gonna be let down that Super Star didn't have time for an autograph. Such is life. Imagine the disappointment when Bloggers meet each other and discover that none of us are what we had hoped. We all suck in some fashion. Some just do it better than others. Link - 3:14 PM -   Friday, September 06, 2002 I have become obsessed with a random, anonymous girl's blog. One day I read every entry including all archives start to finish in one sitting and now I check it about a gazillion times daily waiting, hoping there will be a new entry. Hoping and waiting. Waiting and hoping. All day. Refresh, refresh, refresh. Nothing. Sick. I mention this because this girl is seems so cute, funny, smart. I like her self-degrading humor and honesty. I think I want to be her friend. I envision us as Carrie and Samantha. (Of course she's the sexy ho and I'm the cute level-headed one--not flawless, but forgiveable.) We have tons of money and shoes. We share laughs and drinks but never men. This is how I imagine it. Well, the other day, this faceless, nameless girl provided a link for her photo. I thought twice about checking it out and then followed it anyway. Needless to say, she was nothing like my mental picture. She had been 100% accurate in describing herself, so I wasn't too surprised. It just left me a little disappointed. It's akin to watching a movie after having read the book. There's just no substitute for the imagination. I will still read her blog. I'm still rooting for her to find her man. I'm just not as curious anymore. The mystery has gone and now I'll be out scouring the web for a younger, sleeker model to replace her. Back to the blogging board. Link - 8:11 PM -   Thursday, September 05, 2002 So I'm having a very enjoyable after-work dinner at Martini's and things start getting a bit noisy. Turns out the NFL is having a tailgating celebration right around the corner--literally. Jon Bon Jovi was interrupting my conversation! When I first arrived to dine, it was not busy. That was not the case when I left...what a zoo! You could slice the energy it was so thick. Not a bad alternative to my 1st choice: The Rink Bar & Cafe. Seems the Rink was closed for a private function---the new season of HBO's "The Soprano's" was aired at Radio City Music Hall and the after party was held there. Guess I wasn't invited. Hmmph! Today's overheard phone call was the scheduling of a mammography and sonogram. This was conducted at volume 10 while I'm busy trying to arrange for an urgent purchase and delivery of "Above Hallowed Ground" for the new Police Museum exhibit "Stronger Than Ever". My rep at Penguin Putnam actually heard it too. That gave us a weird pause.Words of wisdom from today's train conductor: "Don't go stickin' your feet in the doors thinkin' they'll automatically open. If you're the only one on the platform, it means you're late!" Everyone had a chuckle at hearing that one. Link - 10:38 PM -   Wednesday, September 04, 2002 A few short days in the suburbs was all it took for me to be reminded just how awful it can be living there. They are stifling and unimaginative. Rows and rows of identical homes in various shades of browns, creams and yellows are separated on occasion by an odd colored abode just to provide a directional landmark. "Turn right once you see the big blue house." Or... "We're the fifth house on the right. If you see the purple house, then you've gone too far." Neighbors make themselves seem unique by planting more shrubs or mowing lawns in checkerboard patterns. Luckily I escaped before I began wearing muu muus or started thinking pantyhose with open toed shoes were acceptable. Can you imagine? Whoo...I just got chills. Link - 8:09 PM -