10 More Questions - Halloween edition

1) Name female Halloween costumes that don't involve something "sexy". Just go to Ricky's, where they sell 10,000 varietals of Sexy-in-a-bag costumes but no normal costumes for the girls who don't want to catch hypothermia or parade around the street looking like Jodie Foster's character in Taxi Driver.

2) Clever Male costumes I think we'll see this year? I think we may see a few stingray-Steve Irwin pairings. Bad taste, but smarter than dressing up as genitals.

3) Megu has bidets. That's not really related to Halloween, but have you ever been to a restaurant with bidets in the restrooms? A tad scary.

4) Costumes you think should be retired permanently? PSA to men dressed up as "Maverick" from Top Gun: Dressing up as any character that The Fruitiest Actor in Hollywood played will NOT get you laid, especially if it's a character from a movie that could easily be considered the most homoerotic film produced by a major studio (aside from that "western" with Jack and Anus...err...Ennis, of course).

5) Sexy Male Costumes? Why don't men feel the need to dress up sexy? I saw a few men dressed as babies (clad only in diapers), but I feel it's more for the shock value.

6) Is Halloween more fun for kids or adults? Kids traipse around the neighborhood in mass-produced costumes-out-of-a-bag asking strangers for candy. Adults traipse around Murray Hill in mass-produced costumes-out-of-a-bag looking for sex and drugs. As a child, you feel sorry for the Token Fat Kid who misguidedly dresses up as a pumpkin. As an adult, you feel sorry for the girl dressed up as a Sexy Something-or-Other who runs into her boss, who is with his wife and en route to the Met.

7) Scariest Movie or T.V. Show You Have Ever Seen? Movie - The Omen. I first saw this in 7th grade and had to sleep in my parents' bed for a week. TV Show - Sex and the City. There is nothing more bone-chilling than the possibility of being a single mid-30s female incapable of having any sort of functional relationship with the opposite sex, and still prowling the nightclub scene like a college co-ed except with wrinkles and desperation.

8) Anyone else counting the days 'til Spring? It's already balls cold out, New York, which scares the crap out of me. I know we don't have 15 inches of snow on the ground like Colorado, but I've already begin donning my thick shearling gloves, Mackage coat and fur hat to work, and turning the heat on when I sleep. At least the chilly weather (if it holds) will be good for the runners of the New York Marathon. Which brings me to...

9) Anyone running the New York Marathon? I know this has nothing to do with Halloween, but I had to ask, if only to give proper respect to my dear mother who, at the age of 59, is one of the lucky 35,000.

10) Can USC Salvage The Season? After Saturday's debacle in Corvallis, I can easily see the Trojans losing out. The silver lining is that hopefully, obsessed haters will find something better to do with their time than produce videos like the below. Find a better team to obsess about.

Armchair Economics

True or false: the likelihood that a man will cheat on his wife can accurately be expressed by the following theorem: If Dnp > $TR, a man will cheat.

Dnp = Desire For New Pussy

$TR, or True Financial Risk is the financial exposure that the husband exposes himself to if he cheats. $TR equals FR(%C). FR = maximum financial damage that the husband would experience if he was caught, and %C is the chance, expressed as a percentage, that the husband would get caught. Thus, if the pre-nup mandated a payment of $500,000 in cash to the wife if the husband got caught cheating, on top of half his assets (which are worth $500,000), but the odds of him being caught are only 30%, the man's True Financial Risk is only 30% of $1,000,000; or $300,000.

Take that, Freakonomics Guy.

Relationship Guys

I've come to a sort of "zen" place with regard to T.B. (the questionable "stalker" I mentioned a few posts down). After discussing him with several of my friends from Places Less Cynical Than New York, I have come to the realization that he is not a stalker, nor does he possess any emotional or mental deviancies of any kind. He's the rare breed of man, which is even rarer in Manhattan, who actually enjoys being in relationships. He's a relationship guy. And he wants a relationship with me, of all people.

T.B. has all the characteristics of the classic "relationship guy":

1) He likes to phone me up, just to chat. If I tell him of daily stressors, he asks to make sure that nothing is the matter, and offers to lend an ear if I need someone to talk to.

2) He likes to cuddle, and says things like "I want to spend the night with you and have you fall asleep in my arms" (note that this is post hook-up). Yes, this is atypical for New York men, who either leave post hook-up, or only spend the night because they've just came, and are too tired to attempt mobility.

3) He gives me flowers, pays me compliments, asks questions about my family (and shares details of his), and always likes to firm up future plans at the end of the evening. He'll email throughout the day, and sends me links to websites he thinks I'd find amusing. He lends me favorite books of his, unsolicited.

So why was I so afraid of this guy before? Have I, as a New Yorker, gotten so hard-hearted that when I actually come across a gallant, stand-up, quality man who wants to include me in his life that I assume he's either Got An Agenda or Is Mentally Unstable?

When a man wants to share himself emotionally with me, why balk? He's a relationship guy, and I live in New York, land of dating ADD, hyper self-centricism (is that even a word?) and the eternal Quest For An Upgrade. Thanks to JDate and Match.com, courtship has become as commoditized and impersonal as shopping on Bluefly, except the skirts bought off the latter inevitably last longer than men met off the former.

So, after a year's worth of duds, no-shows, one-hit wonders and broken promises (or hearts) - all too typical of dating in this city, sadly - perhaps it would behoove me to include in my life this Relationship Guy, even if it does mean sacrificing a few hours of "me-time" and sleep a few days or nights out of every week, and the idea of looking for the proverbial Something Better Around The Corner. But by relinquishing the "me-me-me" of the single life, I might actually gain (gasp!) love.

And love might just be the something that softens this beautifully hard, and occasionally hardly beautiful city.

So, yes, Manhattan, I'm suspending cynicism and am giving a worthy Relationship Guy a chance.

The Worst Thing A Girl Can Be

One of My Dear Readers offered me this charming piece of valuable constructive criticism:

"You look down on everyone you feel is socially, economically, ethnically inferior to you, which is a huge majority of the population."

Oh, puh-leaze. Let's not play the Race Card. I'm an ethnic minority, so I will always win at the Race Card Game. Besides, if you read any postings looking down on minorities of any stripe, you were Reading The Wrong Blog. Try Jerry Falwell's or Rick Santorum's, or The Free Republic. But not this one.

He then continues:

"You would not be able to live anywhere other than New York because you need the superficiality that it offers."

Not surprising, considering how I am A Blog Persona, and Blog Personas are, by definition, superficial.

But he then concludes:

"I would bet that you have not had serious relationships but that you are rather whorish and once a guy is done using you for sex, he moves on."

His line of argument puzzled me. Since when does "Racist" + "Superficial" = "Slut"?

And then it hit me. To the unimaginative, the most vicious insult you can call a girl is ... a Slut. Couple the "Slut" with that tired cliche called "The Kind Of Girl Men Screw And Leave", and you have, in a bag, the worst thing a girl can be.

Forget Lynndie England and Abu Ghraib. And what of Martha Stewart, Andrea Yates, Ethel Rosenberg? Forgiven or forgotten. Of all the Bad Things a woman can do: war crimes, insider trading, treason, infanticide - in the Public Eye, a woman has not truly fallen unless she has Become a Slut.

And why is this? (Audience, help me out here) I can't begin to answer. One can easily be The Type Of Girl That Men Screw And Leave and still be an associate at an investment bank, or a violinist at Carnegie Hall, or an olympic medalist, or teacher inspiring inner-city students to attend college, or a surgeon, or an astronaut, or an army officer.

Or, more personally: a loyal friend, a donor to numerous charities, a respectful daughter, a competent employee, a diligent pupil, a regular depositor of change into the "Help the Homeless" jugs on Broadway, a feeder of stray cats, a returner of lost wallets (without ransacking their contents), a non-downloader of illegally free music....

So audience, answer me this: Why, when we're trying to find out what would insult a woman we don't like the most, and make her Feel The Worst About Herself, do we reach into our bags and pull out that hackneyed refrain, "Slut!"

To Settle the City Business

Apparently, some of My Dear Readers have got a bee in their bonnets about my negative critiques of Detroit and St. Louis. However, not one of you has chosen to illustrate the positive aspects of those cities, choosing instead to insult my virtue (I think the word "whorish" was mentioned a few times) and directing me to "get raped". Regardless of my sexual proclivities, neither Detroit nor St. Louis register on any list of "World Cities" or "Best Cities".

According to this website, the heirarchy of world cities is as follows:
Full Service World Cities:

Tier 1: London, New York, Paris, Tokyo

Tier 2: Chicago, Frankfurt, Hong Kong, Los Angeles, Milan, Singapore

Major World Cities:

Tier 3: San Francisco, Sydney, Toronto, Zurich

Tier 4: Brussels, Madrid, Mexico City, Sao Paulo

Tier 5: Moscow, Seoul

Minor World Cities:

Tier 6: Amsterdam, Boston, Caracas, Dallas, Düsseldorf, Geneva, Houston, Jakarta, Johannesburg, Melbourne, Osaka, Prague, Santiago, Taipei, Washington

One has to scroll all the way down to the bottom of the website to find Detroit's name on the list, in the 10th tier, which lists cities with "some evidence of world city formation" (along with Bogota, Almaty, Manchester (UK), Dubai, Cleveland and Ho Chi Minh City, among others).

St. Louis? Doesn't even crack the website. The lowest tier of cities, defined as having "minimal evidence of world city formation", contains (among others) Tehran, Tijuana, Bangalore, Calgary, Richmond (VA), Columbus (OH), Baltimore and Torino.

Yep, sports fans, TIJUANA, land of The Donkey Show and Underaged Co-Eds Buying Knockoff Percocet, beat St. Louis.

But that's just economics.

Both cities fail when taking into account "softer factors" as well. According to Travel & Leisure Magazine's survey of world's best cities in 2006, New York is the 8th best city in the world (the only other American city in the top 10, San Francisco, is 10th. Florence, Rome and Bangkok are the top 3, respectively).

The top 10 North American cities, in order, are: New York, San Francisco, Chicago, Charleston (SC), Santa Fe, Vancouver, Quebec City, Victoria (BC), Montreal and Seattle. Methodology took into account city sights, culture/arts, restaurants/food, people, shopping, and value.

So, again, you can have your World Series, your Bud Lites, your nachos (or, if you're at the Greektown casinos, your saganaki). We'll take what we have.

Not The Mad Hatter's Tea Par-Tay

While few things are as amusing as white people rapping (see, e.g. Bulworth), this clip straddles the domains of "hilarious" and "cringeworthy".

It's got men in J. Crew seersuckers rapping lines like, "we may be vanilla, but our labs are chocolate" and "We're keepin' it real/and by real, we mean rich/from Vermont to New Hampshire/from Cape Cod to Greenwich". Blondes clad in the cliche of pearls and Peeps-colored sweater vests sway their hips as seductively as white people of Anglo-Saxon extraction can (which isn't saying much).

Apparently, it's Smirnoff's new advertisement for one of its bottled beverages. Or it's a relatively clever spoof.

Bachelor Musings, and An Apology To the Midwest

I realize I've been too hard on some of my fellow countrymen. So I will try (and inevitably fail in the eyes of some of you, no doubt) to Minimize Bitchiness on this post. Thus, we will start off with 10 things that are great about the Midwest.

1) Geographically, it's the ideal place for a commercial airliner to refuel en route to Asia.

OK, I'll be serious now.

2) Midwest Airlines serves cookies.

3) You can't catch a 50-inch muskie in the Hudson River

4) You don't get Blackberry service in the Northwoods.

Damn, this is harder than I thought...

5) Ohio State vs. Michigan

6) It's the setting of the Great American Novel of the 20th Century, Middlesex.

7) Yoopers (because the upper peninsula is much cooler than the lower peninsula) and pastys.

8) You can own a large house by the lake, a boat, and send your kids to private school on a salary that, in New York, would barely enable one to afford a 700-square foot 1-bedroom in Midtown.

C'mon, almost there, you can do it

9) You don't get overwhelmed by choices like you do in large cities. Chances are there are a handful of good ethnic restaurants, steakhouses, martini bars, and burgers-beer-and-football bars to satisfy whatever mood you're in, but not so much that you're overwhelmed by the task of choosing where to go on any given evening.

10) Audience, you decide. Now that you've established that I'm completely ignorant about everything between Manhattan and San Francisco, educate me by naming all the good things about the Midwest. Please refrain from giving responses like "Ugly c*nts like you don't live here" or "USC Sucks", although for some, those may be valid answers.

Bachelor Recap:

I'll keep this short, got to get to bed.

1) Agnese pulls the upset. Gotta give it to her. I thought he'd pick Jeanette. But those tricksy producers - made it look like our Non-prince would give her the ax with his "No matter what happens, I'll treasure our time together" speech.

2) Lisa gets it right. She's the only one who called out Jen and her poor self-presentation (to put it euphemistically). But according to The Previews, this girl has Wedding Obsession. Thus, she's rapidly changing status from Needing A Kick In The Teeth to Needing A Hug And Some Good Meds, Preferably With Street Value.

3) She Can Be His Wingman...Anytime. Sadie's got balls. And a dash of silicone (those things can't be real). You dropped the V-bomb once, don't bring it up multiple times. The first time, it's honest and refreshing. The second time makes it look like you're trying to Play The Card. The third time makes you look like an inexperienced, awkward twit. I love you, you're beautiful, smart, and you win the Best Dressed Award nearly every week, but quit talking about Certain Personal Things You Haven't Done. But, not to worry. You are still dangerous.

4) Did Jen really not know that the Pope lives at the Vatican? She can't be that thick. Is she really from Miami? I thought that Miami was populated with hot Latin girls and confirmed bachelors (read: flaming homosexuals). Jen is not hot, Latin, or homosexual, although those black rings around her eyes make her look straight out of Birdcage. Maybe that's the Miami influence.

5) Erica's actually pretty cool. She's an obvious plant (or a brilliant casting choice), and did anyone notice that her hair and overall presentation looked much better than it did before she was on the show?

So, who stays for the Fantasy Dates?
-Sadie
-Lisa
-Jen

Next week is, unfortunately, when the language barrier catches up with Agnese. Our Prince of Pet Cosmetics isn't smart enough to make a multilingual romance work. She's got the cerebral heft to learn English for him, but his Italian will never progress beyond "Leave the Gun; Take the Cannoli" and dick-and-fart slang.

Is Anyone Watching This World Series?

Tigers vs. Cards. Can it get any more yawn than this? I know that The Media can't seem to write a sentence anticipating the MLB postseason without beginning it with A-Rod and ending it with Papi, but this is too much. Why will this Series suck? (1) There are no "cursed" teams, or at least ones that the general populace cares about. I didn't even know Detroit had a baseball team until I dated someone from Michigan. Until then, I assumed that when someone said "Go Tigers" they were referring to Princeton. At least with the past 2 years, both winning teams' fan bases got a taste of "Thank you, now I can die in peace" relief. (2) The teams are from cities that have lost their relevancy. Sorry, Detroit, but the real "Motor City" probably exists somewhere in Germany or Japan. No one buys American-made cars anymore. In fact, the amount of people I know who would rather buy a donkey than an American-made car vastly outnumber the people I know who actually own American-made cars (I do have an uncle who won't buy anything other than an American-made car, which makes me wonder if I was adopted). Unless GM gets bought out by a foreign-owned white knight, the company's going down like a led zepplin, and rightfully so. But I digress. And what of St. Louis? What do they have other than That Arch and a cutesy musical? Bad domestic macro-brewed beer that no one drinks once they graduate from college, i.e. once they can afford real beer? (3) Both teams are from small markets. This is why the Yankees are the best thing in baseball. Either you love them, or you hate them, but either way, you'll watch the Series praying for their victory or their demise. If the Mets were in the Series, EVERYONE from the country's largest market would be watching. As it stands, most people on the Eastern and Western seaboards essentially view the post-season as over. And if the East and West Coasts don't care, no one does. (4) Cards fans look conspicuously blonde. While watching the 2004 WS, I noticed that the Cards' stadium was populated by a Hitler Youth-esque crowd. Is there any ethnic diversity in their fan base? Is there any ethnic diversity in the city of St. Louis? At least Detroit's fan base is from, well, Detroit. While the rest of Michigan may be whitewashed (with the possible exception of Ann Arbor), at least Detroit has some urban flavor. I'd thus be rooting for the Tigers if my ex-boyfriend weren't so much a fan (so I thus feel obligated to root against them). As the current situation stands, I'll just somehow wish there was a way for both teams to lose. But, in some ways, both fan bases already have lost. Can you get excellent hungarian food, sushi, tapas and fondue all within a 3-mile radius of either stadium? Does either city possess world-renowned theaters, art exhibits and architecture? Can you walk down the streets of either city's downtown area and pass native speakers of 7 different languages? Is either city vital to not only the economy of America, but that of the world? Call me, Detroit and St. Louis, when you can answer "yes" to any of the above. Question for the Audience: Do you care about this World Series? Why or why not?

What is a Yuppie?

One of My Dear Readers wrote me this email saying, "I think you have a very sharp view of a certain Manhattan lifestyle (upper-middle class young white manhattan). Based on what i've read, you aren't quite a yuppie." (Yes, if you write to me, I might use your email as inspiration for a Post Topic - now how'z about it?)

Which got me thinking, what is a yuppie? Audience participation would be generously appreciated on this post.

It's not so clear-cut anymore, is it? Yuppiedom is no longer exclusively populated by Ivy-leagued white folk with one or two-syllabled, Presidential-sounding last names, as it was in the days of Patrick Bateman and Sherman McCoy. Of course, there are still parallels between the 2006 Yuppie and The 1986 Yuppie. 23-year-old analysts roll up to Cain for a night of "models and bottles" (his words, not mine) much like they did at Tunnel during the Reagan era.

Need one be white, Anglo-saxon, Protestant, straight and male? Not anymore, thankfully. Maybe in St. Louis, Cleveland, Des Moines or other such cities (for lack of a better term), but not in New York. Here, it's probably easier to find Billyburg hipster Jews and gay Indian hip-hop fans at Skadden Arps or Morgan Stanley than it is to find Union Clubbers.

Need one's job entail making rich people richer? One would think this is an obvious "yes", but what about the teacher who was a Darien debutante and dates Ivy-league hedge funders? Is membership in the Junior League, DAR or Colonial Dames enough to confer one with Yuppie status even if one's job does not require ownership of a Blackberry and at least one Italian suit? Or does simply sleeping with enough yuppies make one a yuppie (see, e.g. the fictional Maria Ruskin)?

What about recruiters? Ad execs? Chefs? Software programmers? Young, blonde, attractive marketing assistants at Ann Taylor who get regular manicures and do Pilates? Is Eliot Spitzer a Yuppie? Is Martha Stewart, post-jailtime, a yuppie? What about Donald Trump? Joe Torre? Natalie Portman? Manohla Dargis? Katie Couric? President Bush?

Need one have a plasma TV, a set of golf clubs, a viszla or at least 2 pairs of Nantucket reds? Need one at least know what Nantucket reds are, or the significance of the letters "ACK"? Need one know what time of the year the Harvard-Yale polo match takes place? Or, is Ivy League (or "Ivy-Plus") Affiliation no longer necessary to achieve yuppie status in 2006?

Are there any Yuppie Disqualifications? If one attended a state school in the Midwest or South, can one still be a yuppie, at least in New York? Can Staten Island Guidos be yuppies, or must they at least move to Murray Hill before they can attain such a moniker?

Does a lack of international travel experience disqualify you?

What about affiliation with an evangelical protestant church?

If you take your kids to Disneyland for vacation, instead of, say, bicycling through Tuscany, and if you can have an enjoyable experience at "restaurants" like Chili's, Applebee's, or Bennigans without a touch of irony, were you ever a Yuppie, or are you just a Middle American With A Decent Job?

Is ownership of items featuring the Burberry plaid or the Louis Vuitton or YSL logos proof of yuppie status, or negation thereof?

I have no fucking clue. Audience, please weigh in.

10 Questions

OK, I get it...enough of the f*n Bachelor.

So let's play 10 Questions (dear faithful readers, I know via the Site Meter that there are a good number of you, so please either email me or respond via posting to make this a more interactive experience):

1) Let's go, Mets. OK, that wasn't so much a question but a statement. I'd love to see my ex-boyfriend's Detroit Tigers (yes, this is the same ex who, in all his 30 years of age, has never traveled outside of the country despite how he lives on a lawyer's salary) beat by a New York team that's NOT the Yankees. And I do not want to see a series with teams from flyover states.

2) How early in a relationship is too early for a man to give you small gifts, i.e. gifts that cost less than a couple of drinks at most Manhattan lounges?

3) With the exception of Alaska and possibly Hawaii, the Grand Canyon, and Skiing In The Rockies, there's nothing to really see in this country, and don't even get me started on the "culture". Thus, people travel internationally to see places, and travel domestically to see people or events, right?

4) What is more annoying? Rockefeller Center during tourist season, or Times Square on a normal day?

5) Nobu, Masa, Megu, Blue Ribbon, or None Of The Above?

6) Why on God's green earth would people visiting New York eat at The Olive Garden when they could eat at several equally reasonably priced local Italian restaurants on 9th Avenue? The fact that chain restaurants remain in business in this city is a testament to the decaying nature of the American condition (note: the only answer to this question that would redeem the human race is "For the Irony", although I dismayingly suspect that "Bottomless Breadsticks" would be a popular response).

7) USC Football: Are the Trojans to 2006 what the Buckeyes were to 2002? Or are they bound for (gasp!) the Sun Bowl?

8) Word Most Likely to Be A Deal-Breaker If Used on a First Date: The N-Word or the C-Word (see-you-next-tuesday, for the clueless)?

9) I recently recieved a wedding invite requesting the "honour" of my presence. Bride and Groom are both from the Northeastern U.S., and I doubt anyone at the wedding is from Britain, Australia, Canada, New Zealand or Ireland. Explain.

10) Is there anywhere in New York to get passable Mexican food?

I guess The Bachelor is to me what The Patty Winters Show was to Patrick Bateman, so here's my weekly recap.

1) What's up with the Pretty Woman ripoff? If you're going to channel Pygmalion (or any of its various pop-culture incarnations), don't stand there like a chump with your spurned date's jewelry in your hand while she hoists herself into The Black Limo. And Jami should have asked to keep the jewels.

2) Jami (or is it Jamie) looked triumphantly beautiful in her red dress. She may be a farm girl from the sticks, but she lived the mantra "Act like you've been there before, act like you'll be there again." Their lack of chemistry made the Portman/Christiansen pairing in Attack of the Clones look like, well, Roberts and Gere.

3) Ode to Desi (sorry, Walt): "I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable, I sound my barbaric YAWP over the roofs of the world." I love this girl. She's got this zest, this joy, this gleefuly contagious and authentic lust for life. She's my favorite out of the last 6, baby.

4) Jeanette Finally Gets Airtime. She may not be the prettiest hoss in the race (though no man would kick her out of bed for eating crackers) but she has maturity and grace. I have really nothing bad to say about her. I'd have her teach my kids.

5) PSA to Jennifer - Blondes Wear Brown Eyeliner. Your hair (read: straw) needs cutting. And that black eyeliner makes you look like a third-rate country singer with all of the tacky, fake-tanned, big chested, trollopy accouterments, and without the pluck and spunk. Whenever you speak, it sounds like a grotesque cacophony of syllables, botched grammar and Valley-girl talk (read: pidgin English). I would not have you teach my kids.

6) Deathmatch. Did anyone seriously think Erica was going to pull off the upset? Tiara-ca is a loveable loon, but her schtick was getting old and it was time for her to pack her 21 Louis Vuitton suitcases and wedge her butt into a coach seat headed for Houston.

7) "I vant dat rosse!" Anyone excited to see Agnese (or, in Erica-speak, Agnus) start to get into the catfights? Something about a foreign lady getting into the spirit of The Bachelor makes me smile.

My Ideal Top 3: Jeanette, Desiree, Agnese

Probable Top 3: Sadie, Lisa (kept around at producers' request), Jennifer

Probable Last 2: Sadie, Jennifer (battle of the blondes)

Last Biatch Standing: Jennifer. Stupidity has a knack for getting its way (sorry, Albert).

Defining a stalker

What is the difference between a stalker, and a guy who's just really, really, really into you?

I went out for my first date with Tall Boy last Thursday at Flute. He meets all of the educational/income requirements (i.e. he has a job at an investment bank and a 4-year degree), and is also rather attractive. Politically and religiously, he's my clone, and we're both large fans of the Ginger Man and its ten billion beers brewed everywhere from Greenland to Iraq (yes, that's hyperbole but you get the point). Plus, he's emotionally available. A bit too emotionally available.

4 Jamesons-on-the-rocks later, our first date ended to the tone of:

TB: "When can we see each other again?"

PJJ (thinking): next week at about this time? Duh.

TB: "What are your plans this weekend? Tomorrow night?"

PJJ (taken aback): "Tomorrow's a friend's birthday party. Saturday I'm staying in because I've got a charity football match way up on 135th street on Sunday AM..."

TB: "Can I come watch?"

PJJ (diplomatically brushing away the red flag): "How about brunch after the match?"

Question 1: If you're on a first date with a girl and she mentions that she's playing in a charity football match so far uptown you might as well bring your sled dogs, do you come watch?

Friday night rolls around, and like most Friday nights after Hamptons season, this one ended at the Ginger Man, with high hopes of chatting up some cute British/Irish/Aussie ex-pats there for the beer selection. Except Tall Boy is there. My friend comments that he's stalking me. I mention that he might have just shown up at the bar on the off-chance that I'd be there since I mentioned I liked the bar, and that's not really stalking.

Question 2: Is this stalking?

Tall Boy then pulls me aside. He goes, "I have a question to ask you" in a voice that makes me think this question could just as likely be about the current situation in Darfur as it could be about why I opted not to wear thong underwear with my skirt.

I was wrong. He then plaintively asks, "Why won't you let me come to your match?"

Question 3: Why won't he just drop it? I don't want him to see me sans make-up or deoderant, smelling of Powerade and B.O. Charity football matches and other sporting events of small consequence are reserved for boyfriends who have seen you fart and puke, not men that you just met yesterday night.

Brunch rolls around at one of the ubiquitous genero-Italian places on or around Bleeker, followed by a walk through the Village (always quite the cultural experience). We have the usual getting-to-know-you conversation. We do have a lot in common, which sparks him to say on numerous occasions, "Wow, that's the 17th time you said something nearly identical to what I was thinking!"

Question 4: Why do people say this? Do they really think it's a turn-on?

I'm meeting him for dinner tonight at Pipa and then for a nightcap at the Cellar Bar. Don't get me wrong, I do like his company and I love looking at him. Many times I thought to myself, "Dear God! He could be The One!" But the full-court press has to stop.

Is he a stalker? Could he be a stalker? Could he become one? Should I be wary about letting him know where I live (as per suggestion from my best friend)? And what makes a stalker so different from a guy who just likes you a lot? Could John Cusak's character have ended up spending the night in prison for his boombox serenade if he didn't have a more receptive audience?

And then it hits me.

Stalking, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder.

Notes on the Bachelor

Royalty like me

1) L'Zo is as much of a prince as Prince is a prince. Italy is not a monarchy. No legitimate monarchy would let one of its own go on an American network show to "find love". They'll allow their young sons to dress up as Nazis but going on American T.V. is beyond the pale to any legitimate heir to any legitimate monarchy.

2) The three oldest women (of 30, 30, and 27) were kicked off last night. Pattern, much?

3) Stay off the sauce if it makes you speak in tongues.

4) What's with the blonde teacher from California (Jessica? Jennifer?)? I would not let any children within a mile of her vacuous melon for fear that they will develop an acute language disability. I felt the I.Q. points seeping out of my body just by listening to her speak.

5) Erica's got a point. The Bachelor is 34 and has 2 degrees, but doesn't care if his future wife is 10 years younger than him and uneducated if she "has a good heart" (translation: "cooks a tasty casserole and sucks a mean dick"). Usually people who have multiple diplomas seek partners on their intellectual level, unless they're looking for a trophy wife. She's batshit crazy, but I give her credit for calling him out on that one.

6) Agnese's got a point. American women need help. No wonder we're the laughingstock of the rest of the developed world. Just don't use any of that new American slang you used in mixed company once you leave the show. People will think you're stupider than you really are. Agnese also has a much sounder command over the English language than most of the American twits on the show, see, e.g. the Teacher from Florida.

7) Sadie's got a point. If the men were all like Lorenzo, I'd be a virgin, too. She actually didn't piss me off as much this time. I could see her declining a rose if he rubbed her the wrong way (wink, wink, ahem).

8) Who does Desiree think she is? Samantha Jones?

9) Lisa will be to this Bachelor what Kirsten (sp?) was to the Andrew Firestone season. Hated by the girls in the house, completely lies to the Bachelor to his face about her intentions (and her "timeline"), and reeking of smug. I say she gets to the final 2 or 3 before her ruse is blown.

10) Did the producers tell Sarah to spout that "I gave him my heart" monologue after she got the diss? Aside from some bump-n-grinding in the bedroom, we really didn't see the two interact that much. She also seems too good to cry over this cad.

Predictions:

Final 3: Sadie, Lisa, Jennifer.

The Lara Nicole Collection

Friday night found me at Crash Mansion, in the middle of that hipster dumpster known as the lower east side. Fortunately, the establishment was patronized by more washed folk, as fledgling designer (and hedge-funder by day) Lara Nicole was debuting her new line at a fashion event there. Her style is Grecian-inspired, her dresses suitable for anything ranging from the office holiday party to cocktail receptions to weddings to formal balls with young, attractive royals in attendance.


It's reminiscent of Nicole Miller's spring 2005 line, with a bright splash of color and rare blend of the classic and the exotic that is all too missed in black-happy Manhattan. While basic whites and blacks are forever timeless, one gets the feeling that if Holly Golightly lived in the Manhattan of 2006, she would have replaced her signature black dress with one of these creations.

You can visit her website here, but unfortunately, it is under construction. You can also email the designer herself at LaraNicole25@aol.com if interested.

When In Rome, Do the Romans

The season premiere of The Bachelor was on last night. Despite the fact that this show manages to set back the womens' movement and the Civil Rights movement back, say, 20 years, it's still quite the comedy to see a gaggle of aspiring trophy wives humiliate themselves on national T.V. to gain the affection of some mensch who seems nice enough, except for the fact that goes on ABC to find love (and not, for example, to promote his winery or cosmetics line).

Our Prince Charming is, in the words of ABC, "actually a prince". His name is Lorenzo Borghese, a "cosmetics entrepreneur" who has a rather distinguished Italian lineage but, through living in America, speaks as much of the language as your average busboy at the Olive Garden.

His harem, as expected, resembles an SMU sorority composite: A bevy of blondes with Ethiopian-esque figures, the token black chick, and a few Jackie-O type brunettes in basic black. Nearly all were in their early to mid 20s, which I found a bit odd since our Prince is of the distinguished age of 34 (only one woman among the bunch was 34, and she promptly got the boot). Makes me wonder what he's looking for, but since bad relationships make for good television, who really cares.

There were a few standouts.

Erika: A 23-year old "socialite" from Houston known for flippant remarks ("I flew coach for the first time to meet you!"). She emerged from The Limo wearing a tiara (who's she trying to be? A chunky Paris Hilton?) and a ghastly dress in Barney purple. Apparently she's the daughter of a Houston plastic surgeon, which explains the boobs but not the wardrobe. She'll stick around until the Top 6 for the comedy, or get booted in the second round for an unfortunate wardrobe malfunction inspired by too much prosecco. I would hate her except for the fact that she's so over the top, in which case I pity her and am silently rooting for her.

Lisa: Beware the curse of the First Impression Rose, dear treehugger. A spunky brunette from Portland (Oregon) won over our Prince (and got a little something to keep her ears warm) by asking him to...hug a tree. Now that's chutzpah. Pot-smoking hippies now have a new pick-up line. She will make it to the Final 4, but gets the axe when some juicy factoid from her past becomes revealed.

Sarah: The token black chick from Canada who is one of the only women over 30 to receive a rose last night. She far outclasses the rest of the children on the show, which means either Lorenzo genuinely likes her or she's the victim of producer-induced affirmative action. If it's the former, she's the winner. If it's the latter, she gets the axe in Round 2, Lorenzo's excuse being that he didn't get to know her as well as he wanted to. My favorite of the bunch; I hope she goes all the way (not sexually, of course).

Sadie: Typical U.S.C. sorority blonde (I can say this because I am a U.S.C. alumna and had to deal with many of her ilk) in need of a kick in the teeth and a slap in the face. Classier than Erika but much prissier and bitchier (behind your back, of course), and utterly bland. She's the type who wouldn't disclose that she's never flown coach before this night, but I wouldn't be surprised if that were true and she were silently fuming about it for the entire plane ride. She will be the house "backbiter". She's in the final 2. I'm not a fan, although if I found out she, say, reads Orson Scott Card or plays the oboe she'd redeem herself in my eyes by gaining originality points, which U.S.C. sorority blondes had painfully little of. Loved the dress, though. She apparently discloses her virginity in a subsequent episode, which means she takes it up the ass.

The Drunk Oldie: I forget her name, but she was 34 and held her liquor like a Pi Phi pledge at the SAE Fall Invite.

Desiree: Ten bucks says she wasn't wearing underpanties. She makes the final 4, final 3 if she puts out before then.

The Opera Singer: She should have gotten a rose for the effort, although she wasn't the prettiest horse in the race. If she sang the Un Bel Di aria she might have gotten better results. I was rooting for her, although I suspect she went on the show to pull a stunt like that and score a recording contract.

The Dolphin Trainer: Best dress out of the entire evening. Anyone sporting the green gets my vote. Pity she didn't get a rose.


The One Who Sold Her Car To Get On The Show: The shoulder tattoo did her in, as well as the Chicago accent. I liked her, but our Prince probably thought she was a bit too blue-collar (not to be confused with trash, which she was definitely not) for his taste. She's too good for him, anyway. She actually speaks Italian.

The Italian Bird: I wouldn't be surprised if she's a "plant" and really his cousin or a former girlfriend, although that gimmick's been done before. She'll last until the 3rd round until she's either revealed as a spy or the language barrier catches up to her. She has to be one of the most attractive females I've ever seen in my entire life. I sort of look like her, too, but that is neither here nor there.


Final Thoughts:

-Why don't they have a Jewish bachelor? JAPs fighting, hilarity ensues.
-Why don't they have an English bachelor? Maybe because most of the English have enough good taste to avoid engaging in such unabashed self-promotion.