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!   Saturday, December 28, 2002 Bluto got a new apartment. Earlier this evening, I spoke with him and asked him what it was like. Here's what he had to say in his trademark gravelly voice: "Awww, it's great! It's so much better, you know, 'cause it's not filthy and it's not in a basement. I use trivets now instead of my dirty underwear. So when are you coming over for dinner? I wanna make some gravy for you and Marc." Bluto rules! He's actually a good cook; and, girls, he's single! Link - 11:44 AM -   Thursday, December 26, 2002 "Imagine there's no heaven. It's easy if you try. No hell below us. Above us only sky." Speaking of Jews, I've been scouring the web for information on the customs of Chassidic Jews. There were several in the theater with us yesterday dressed in traditional garb, some wearing yarmulkes some streimels and all with sidecurls (tendrils to us layfolk sinner types). After the movie, they all rushed outside apparently because they were all jonesing for a cigarette and half of them started chatting on their cell phones. I don't get it. You aren't allowed to cut the hair above your ears, but you can smoke cigarettes and use cell phones? Why hang on to all that white stocking and robe business from years past if you're willing to forge into the future with modern day technology? And just how does this stuff get passed down for so many centuries without somebody standing up to ask why? I'm sure some rebellious teen has thwarted his parents wishes by cutting his hair, but then what? Does he go to Hell now? Apparently Jews don't believe in Hell. Is this true?!?! If so, I'm converting. Step aside my friend and let the sinning begin. Link - 11:44 AM -   Wednesday, December 25, 2002 My Jewish Christmas Christmas just isn't the same when your mom is in Texas remarried to someone with lots of grandchildren to spoil and your dad is known in the general population as #1133944. So, instead of doing nothing and seeming ultimately dejected, Marc and I were going to drive to upstate to Putnam County and spend Christmas like Jews -- eating chinese food and watching a movie. Since the weather didn't cooperate as far as driving conditions go (they had a foot of snow before 6:00), we left the Cabrio parked in it's spot. We bundled ourselves up and walked, or skated rather, on a thin sheet of ice to the theater for an afternoon showing of "Catch Me if You Can". This is the perfect holiday movie. It's energetic and requires little thought as it weaves the true tale of Frank Abagnale. Leonardo DiCaprio is genuine and endearing and the movie is without over-the-top Hollywood gimics. Although critics might think it's lacking a true crescendo, I say ppffttt on them. It didn't need one to make it a charming tale worth seeing. Dinner afterwords was so nice because the snow was falling hard and fast outside our window while we were inside warm and dry eating pizza and enjoying each other's company. There were a few people sitting at the bar drinking alone and a few solo diners. They looked so sad with long faces and far off gazes. I felt like an ass for feeling bad about not having a family with whom to celebrate. At least I have Marc, even if he hates my Goyim holidays. And, really, what am I missing? Watergate Salad? Who needs it when I have Marc's french toast for breakfast and this time...I GOT powdered sugar! Link - 11:42 AM -   Monday, December 23, 2002 So tonight is a big shindig at Billy Bob's in Ft. Worth, Texas and I can't be there but my partners will be. This is a 180 degree turn of the universe since they went to New York annually during high school and I couldn't go because (a) I had no money (b) I always had to work in order to make money to have lunch money and buy my own school clothes. They would come back with soundtracks and sweatshirts from hot new Broadway shows like "Starlight Express" and "Les Miserables". I would soak in every minute of every story they shared trying to re-live it as though I had been included. I hope this makes you feel sorry for me, because that's solely my intent. I do hope they have as much fun as we did on the 18th and take lots of pictures and laugh so hard their faces hurt. I gave Scott specific instructions on what to say: -----Original Message----- From: Kambri Crews [mailto:kambri@texinthecity.com] Sent: Sunday, December 22, 2002 10:00 AM To: 'scott@texinthecity.com' Subject: RE: dec 18th Thanks and have FUN at Billy Bob’s! It should be a blast. If anyone asks about me, which is highly unlikely, tell them I’m a filthy rich supermodel and have a PhD in Forensic Entomology and donate time and money to animal shelters and needy children in Africa and women in the Middle East…just don’t tell them I’m really selfish and don’t give any money to anything let alone gifts and time to children. But it is true, I AM a supermodel. Link - 11:42 AM -   Sunday, December 22, 2002 During my morning commute I see the same caucasian male, late 30's, dark hair, full beard who wears a black leather jacket in Winter. He looks like a Bill. I see Bill every morning, Monday through Friday. I've never seen Bill before I swipe my MetroCard; I first spot him on the subway platform. We board the train at Broadway and usually ride in the same car. We get off at 49th. We exit the same stairwell. We walk a block in the same direction before finally losing each other. In two years, although we've brushed shoulders once or twice, we've never said a word to one another. Never. We've never even made eye contact. But there he is and I know he knows I'm there too. Yesterday I went to Origins and used my 15% Tex in the City discount. I told Jill I wanted something to jazz up my dull skin. Of course, I know if I drank water and ate healthy I wouldn't need herbs crushed in a jar to make my skin look better. Instead I choose to inhale my meals that consist of things like last night's dinner of an entire canister of Pringles Salt & Vinegar crisps and 16 ounces of Nestle's Nesquick Chocolate Milk. Since I can't stop eating like a poor college kid or starving artist, I'll pay the price Origins or any other store wants to charge to help me feel as though I'm at least trying to do something to preserve my body so Marc will quit bitching that I never go to the doctor and I don't brush my teeth before bedtime. So $100 later and I'm happy with my purchases but feeling frustrated. I'm alone in the City and don't have my cell phone and just...I don't know. So I say, "Screw it," and head back home. After waiting too long on the platform, and letting an "R" go on without me hoping an "N" or "W" wouldn't be just as long, a "W" finally pulls up heading from downtown towards home. I step up to the doors, they slide open and there he is: Bill. He stopped in his tracks a moment and his eyes grew wide and my mouth fell open. He got off and I got on and still we didn't say a word. I love New York. Link - 11:42 AM -   Friday, December 20, 2002 So this supermodel client used our yucky bathroom yesterday. "How pathetic," I thought. Her friend "Jacques" should have told her to use our nice lavatory on the 5th floor. Such a beautiful, willowy creature is still required to relieve herself and has to use the same awful contraption that my working class bum hovers over every Monday through Friday. But then she didn't wash her hands, and I didn't worry about her so much. Link - 11:41 AM -   Thursday, December 19, 2002 For Women: When a woman you know, instead of saying hello, looks you up and down and then acts as though you aren't there, you know you're looking good. Beer Goggles A Tex in the City reveler sidled up to me at Serena and said this to me in a slight slur and with a decidedly Jersey accent: "I mean, woah, look at you. Your thighs are beautiful. Your ass is beautiful. You breasts are beautiful. Your lips are beautiful. And your eyes, man! Your eyes are wonderful. But I'm not hitting on you." I have a sneaking suspicion he was lying because my thighs suck. Link - 11:40 AM -   Tuesday, December 17, 2002 Plez Morgan was one of the best teachers I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. Taking his advanced algebra course in 7th grade, he taught me much more than theorems. One afternoon when my pre-pubescent-Weiner's- jeans-wearing-twelve-year-old-self sat contemplating Pascal and Fermat, Mr. Morgan managed to scrawl the hidden meaning of "assume" on the chalkboard and then read it aloud. "Assume: To assume makes an 'ASS' out of 'U' and 'ME.' What I was thinking: (1) Holy shit he said "ass" in class. (2) Oh, he's serious. I'd better pay attention and pretend to be mature enough to handle this. This ain't no remedial math; I be advanced. (3) Hmmm...that makes sense. I wonder if Webster was thinking that when he made it up. (4) These jeans suck. (5) I wish Mork and Mindy never ended. I knew it was over when Jonathan Winters was their baby. Rule of sitcom: Anytime characters start popping out kids, the end is near. Just because the "kid" is some geriatric comedian doesn't mean this rule doesn't apply. Years later, I know Mr. Morgan taught me a piece of logic more often used than any equation. I aslo know no matter how much an attorney bills per hour, sometimes logic fails them. Celebrate Good Times, Come On! In case I haven't made it clear to anyone, you're all invited to Serena tomorrow night for Tex in the City's Holiday Celebration. The party starts at 6:00, ends at 9:00 and is *free* to get in. We'll have lots of non-traditional music spun by DJ Sam Shaffer, our own carolers, special gifts and lots of food and drink specials. I hope to see you there! Link - 11:39 AM -   Monday, December 16, 2002 I'm not ashamed to admit that I went to bed last night hopeful that the transit workers would go on strike, but only for one day. Just one day is all I wanted. Sure it would have meant getting up at 6:00 rather than 7:45, but it would have also have meant a private car from my apartment to work shared with two other riders and a driver, of course. This would have meant having a trunk to cart my 25 pound (at least) bundle of Tex in the City goodies rather than humping the load as though I were a sherpa. I am not a sherpa nor a pack mule, but a skinny girl in high heels walking way too far and sweating way too much to be considered chic. Especially when my hat kept falling into my eyes. I raised my chin high to see under the brim and huffed and puffed till I made it into the office. Now watch, they'll go on strike tonight instead and really tick me off. Only in New York Quote of the Day: Him to His Balding Partner: You have about as much talent as you have hair. Link - 12:39 PM -   Sunday, December 15, 2002 For the person who found my site by Google searching the words: freak dancing dry humping pictures, you've come to the right place, buddy! We got it goin' on! Link - 11:38 AM -   Friday, December 13, 2002 The Morning After I love the day after a holiday party. Seeing people try to put their office face on after having so shamelessly let it slide just hours before is worth dragging my tired butt out of bed. It's going to be really tough to take some of these people seriously with mental snapshots of them flashing in my head. They'll be frozen in my mind's time wearing reindeer antlers, head thrown back, hair stuck to their sweaty cheeks, mouth open with too many teeth showing, playing air guitar and bumping and grinding with the nearest sweaty body. If only work were this fun every day. Link - 11:38 AM -   Thursday, December 12, 2002 For the record, Derek and Drew look just like they do on television, and Amazing Race ROCKS! Quotes Galore Today was abundant with outrageous quotes, many of which are not suitable for print. I'm not afraid of repercussions per se, especially since I almost never identify the speakers, but I am leery of misinterpretation. My firm's holiday party is tonight, so I think everyone is in jovial spirits and gearing up early for the party. So, here's two so far: Real Life New York Conversation of the Day: Him: I love European milk. Me: Why? Him: It's milk from a-broad! Him to Me Regarding a Woman He Doesn't Like: "I know! Why don't you come in topless and beat her to death with your breasts?!" Smoked Oysters in a Can Sure Do Be High Falutin' Eatin'**In my present state of financial stability and looking at the average way of life for families since I've moved away from my own, I have come to realize that I grew up relatively poor. Not, "No-Food-in-the-Fridge" poor, but maybe "Hide-the-Tupperware-the-Creditors-are-Coming" poor. Ding Dongs were scarce in my trailer, but Spam was not. Mayonnaise and cheese sandwiches were a regularity due to the lack of lunchmeat or anything that an 8 to 14 year old is ready and willing and able to prepare for herself without adult supervision. SIDE NOTE: Now, before my mom gets all defensive, I had a happy childhood in Montgomery, Texas. (We moved to Ft. Worth during my freshman year of high school.) What I'm saying is that most people my age have never gone from living in a tin shed to a mobile home back to the shed again let alone ever used an outhouse out of necessity. Okay, so the reason I'm telling you this is because of my lack of Epicurean experience during my childhood. Now, years later, I live with a man for whom I broke my rule about autograph seeking because it was THE Anthony Bourdain. So tonight, my personal chef isn't home and there I am staring at mayonnaise and cheese and bread thinking, "I've come all this way for this?" That's when I remember the smoked oysters that were awaiting me. As a child, smoked oysters were a delicacy afforded to us on very rare occasions. Hey, four tins, a box of Club crackers, Pepsi and cheese don't come cheap. The rarity of these aforementioned items in my household made them taste so much better. I can still picture my dad cutting cheese slices and arranging the oysters on little plates and dishing out dollops of mustard before we all dug in to our treat. So, it's not just the taste that I like, it's also the memory. Every once in a while, I get a hankering to eat this meal or maybe to be 8 years old again. Marc is disgusted by this whole oyster fetish of mine. He can't imagine that I ever ate them and still like to eat them. He finds them utterly disgusting. So tonight I got home late and hungry without a meal and recall these oysters are in my cupboard. Alas, I had no cheese or crackers, but I did have mustard. I figure since Marc's not home to harass me, this is a perfect time to eat them. I peeled open the tin, drained the oil, dumped them on a plate and squirted mustard all over them. The smell of these things is potent, so naturally Paquita was intrigued. I was eating whilst standing and Paquita stood on her hind legs as tall as her little body would allow. She sniffed the air wildly trying to see what was on my plate. She desperately wanted whatever it was. I cut off a piece of one for her and asked her, "Do you like oysters?" Paquita excitedly answered with, "Woof!" As a reward for her answer, I handed over the oyster. Instead of excitedly gobbling it down like she does with all her human food treats, she sniffed it intently while her eyes remained fixated on the prize. Impatiently, I put it on the rug for her to eat at her leisure. What did she do instead of eating it? She started rubbing her face and body over it the way dogs do with "decomposing carcasses or the feces of plant eating animals"! So, once again, Marc is right: Smoked oysters are disgusting and I need a book like "Food for Dummies"! Link - 11:36 AM -   Wednesday, December 11, 2002 This Google search led a user to my site. Best thing? I'm third in the results. This should get me a $100 scholarship to "Shake Your Groove Thang" college. Real Life New York Quote of the Day: "If my wife calls, tell her I died." or: "Take off your sweater! Take off your sweater! Oh, wait, that isn't appropriate. I'm sorry." See...in New York, if you apologize, it makes it all better. Link - 10:36 AM -   Tuesday, December 10, 2002 This morning I had quite possibly the worst shower in the History of Showers, Part One. I can't even fathom how water is capable of running through pipes so icy cold then so boiling hot then back again within a span of a second. I wish I were exaggerating. I stood there with conditioner dripping into my eyes waiting for the opportunity to leap into the stream and rinse. Bugger. On the brighter side, at least I didn't have to walk to work. Brrrr! Take This Job and Shove It! Ben, a co-worker and former Texan, announced he will be resigning and going on a trek around the world. He asked me for my notes on spontaneity. With such a subtle sense of humor and good ol' Texas charm, I think he'll find his share of adventure and maybe a Russian bride or two. Good luck---I'm so jealous! Favorite Conversation Today Me to Pamela: I love your haircut. Male Co-Worker: Thank you! Me to Male Co-Worker: Not you! Pamela. Pamela: You like it layered? Male Co-Worker: I like to get layered all the time. Link - 11:35 AM -   Monday, December 09, 2002 Yesterday was the last day for Deborah and friends to be in New York City. We met at the Duplex to see my friend Robby pound out the tunes on the piano and had a great time. Sunday night at the Duplex is show your underwear night, so everyone was asked to drop trou. Russell and Tom, extremely --nay, devoutly-- heterosexual males, were great sports and gave all the gay males something to write home about. Russell was waiter and singer Kurt's boy toy for much of the evening--this will be one image hard to erase. Gospel of Jack 12:9 Today is my first day back in the office since last Wednesday. Jack screamed my name in agony and I answered, "Yes?" He replied, "THANK GOD YOU'RE BACK! Never in my whole life did I think I would be this happy to see one woman." Not one to pass up an opportunity during someone's weak moment, I asked for a raise, a fur coat and an extra week vacation. I guess he forgives me as he informed me of my stellar annual review. Whew! Link - 11:34 AM -   Saturday, December 07, 2002 Later last night, Deborah and company went on to see "Rent" while I made my way to Siberia Bar. This place is a dive bar that used to be located in the subway station at 50th and Broadway (the only bar ever in New York's history to have been located in the subway), but was recently booted by the Rockefeller Group. I made my way downstairs and plopped down on a very low, dirty couch to pass the time till my friends were out of their show. There weren't many people there so when Anthony Bourdain walk in with Tracy Westmoreland, owner of Siberia Bar, I immediately noticed. I threw all proper etiquette aside. This was going to be my exception to my rule of never asking for an autograph. I borrowed a pen and pulled out one of my business cards. I went up to the bar and ordered a Red Stripe, turned around and faced Anthony. I stuck out my hand which he immediately took in his and shook heartily. Here's a summary of our conversation which was rather high energy and fast paced. Me: "Hi, my name is Kambri, and I apologize for disturbing you. I have never asked anyone for an autograph, but I MUST ask you for my friend's sake. He's read every one of your books, he's never missed any of your shows and we have you programmed in TiVo. He's obssessed with you. In fact, I think he's gay." (Hey, Marc wasn't there, so it's not like he would ever know, right?) Anthony Bourdain: Smiling big and chuckling, "Hey Kambri...sure! Got a pen? What's his name?" Me: "It's Marc with a "C" cuz he's Jewish. He prepared monkfish tonight, how would you have prepared it?" Anthony Bourdain: "Wrapped in bacon." (Great answer!) He introduced me to Tracy who offered to buy me a drink and the three of us chatted for a few minutes. Mostly I heard Anthony go on and on about how great Tracy was and how Tracy was his right hand man. Which prompted Tracy to show his penis for the camera which I hadn't noticed before (the camera, that is) and didn't realize was filming for a documentary. This stunt made Anthony go wild. Anthony Bourdain: "You've got to respect a man who shows his penis on camera!" That's what I'm talkin' 'bout! They were having a great time and were highly energetic. I thanked them both and called Marc right away. That's when I realized I had my camera with me and didn't even bother getting a picture. Duh! Oh well, I got this instead: "To Marc: (Picture of a butcher knife) Cook free or die. Anthony Bourdain." He rocks! Link - 1:02 PM -   Deborah and her friends Russell, Tom and Sharon all flew in from South Carolina late Thursday night and are staying for *free* at the Embassy Suites in Battery Park courtesy of a few NYPD / DEA officers. Deborah became affiliated with these officers when the Myrtle Beach Area Hospitality Association hosted some trips for them after 9/11. So now they are returning the favor to Deborah complete with car rides all over the place and free tickets to musicals. She's got it made for the next three days. Two officers, Joe and Ed, met us for lunch before having to go on a drug bust. Both men were very fun and gracious and generous; Deborah has found some great friends. A few hours after lunch while sitting in P.J. Moran's, Tom realized he didn't have his cell phone. After some frantic searching, Tom decided his phone must be in Ed's car which is now staked out in some weeds near one of NYC's harbors while Ed & Joe watch motion sensors and stare at crates of cocaine just delivered from Columbia instead of hanging out with us. Deborah called Tom's phone hoping someone would answer. We wondered aloud if this was such a good idea. What if the phone rang at the precise moment the criminals are making off with all the coke? That's much worse than the annoying cell phone ringing in the theater. Ed didn't answer, but called back a few minutes later saying he'd found Tom's phone buried in the back seat and would send it to the hotel via messenger. While Deborah chatted with him, we all were voicing various things in the background for Ed's benefit: "Is that my kilo of coke? Hey, pass the heroin! Damn, man, get your own needle! Don't smoke it all, crack doesn't grow on trees." They didn't buy it...I guess nabbing drug pushers is more important than us recreational folk. Hmmph! Link - 9:58 AM -   Thursday, December 05, 2002 The tree lighting ceremony was great fun and the tree is so beautiful this year. We had our bird's eye view of the festivities in the usual spot in the 3rd Floor conference room in my office. This year's security was just as tight as ever with helicopters circling above, checkpoints at every turn and snipers located on each building aiming for trouble. Each building had floor numbers posted in increments of five to aid them. It's so weird to live in a world where this is necessary. A few bad apples sure can ruin free society. After the official lighting, we all cleaned the room and gathered our belongings. I poured my wine into a paper cup to take with me for the cold hike to the subway and we all stood in the hallway waiting for the elevator. My "to go cup" prompted a conversation that led into a discussion of heroin (don't ask) which is when the elevator doors slid open to reveal three snipers in full sniper dress. Aw, shit!" I said, thinking I would be busted. "Close your eyes," Erica directed the men. "So we know where the party was," one sniper responded. We all piled in and were introduced to three men from special forces who had traveled "all the way from Afghanistan" for the evening. Once downstairs we huddled in our doorway and chatted up the other officers. We met a bomb sniffing German Shepherd that knew sign language just like Paquita. That's when a pretty skinny Al Roker walked by. I turned to Marc and said, "Hey, there's Al." Marc said, "The dog's name is Al?" Oh well, he didn't miss much. Favorite conversation of the night:Erica: "I can't help it, I think Eminem is so hot. It's a combination of his talent, his persona, his 'I don't give a fu*k attitude.'" Marc: "I know! I feel the same way about Star Jones!" Link - 11:29 AM -   Wednesday, December 04, 2002 Yesterday was another task mastering day. Among many mundane chores, I managed to pick up a security pass for tonight's tree lighting ceremony and an oil painting that a partner in my firm gave to me. After dining on meatloaf, I settled in to watch Il Postino, an Italian film from the mid-90s. The movie made its way at an even pace, using outstanding cinematography and the universal language of love rather than Hollywood graphics and formulaic techniques. It wasn't until the film's last 20 minutes that I realized what a beautiful story I had just witnessed. My throat clenched so tightly I could barely breathe. Paquita was frenzied trying to lick my salty tears. So subtle yet so sublime. Link - 11:28 AM -