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Enrages women

That's Entertrainment

Cast of Sex in the City
Cast of Sex in the City

It was bound to happen. I went to two of the worst parties. My friends have the nerve to be envious that I get to attend a variety of parties and then write about them. But when you spend hours at a horrible party, it sure isn't fun. And it's not that I'm picky about parties. I went to a Christmas party this year that had only four people in attendance, but I had fun— great conversation and great food.

The first horrible party I went to was for the last episode of Sex and the City. Maybe I went in with high expectations because of a party I co-hosted more than ten years ago for the last episode of Cheers. I was working at Rock 102.1 and we had a lot of fun stuff going on, including a lookalike contest; I dressed like mailman Cliff Clavin. One guy showed up who everyone swore was the real Norm. The woman who looked most like Carla said, "This has been the only time in my life I've been happy I look this way." Anytime a person would walk in, we all yelled "Norm!" We had fun talking about the show and all the characters. I thought it would be the same with this party.

I showed up at this nice house in Rancho Bernardo. I asked a question of the lady who invited me, but she quickly said, "Shhhh! The show is on! No talking." I sat there for 20 minutes. There was a table with food, but I didn't want to get up and walk past the crowd of 23 with their eyes glued to the screen.

I haven't had HBO in two years, and Sex and the City was one of the only things I watched when I had it. The characters were still doing the same stuff, and the show still seemed funny and hip.

When one lady got up to go to the bathroom, I saw an opportunity to leave my seat. I grabbed a few celery sticks and chips. I was hoping my crunching wasn't too loud.

I noticed they had sheets with a betting pool. This might be a cool party after all. People had their names next to their guesses about whether Carrie (Sarah Jessica Parker) would stay with her new boyfriend in France or go back to Mr. Big. I asked if Mr. Big was his real name or a nickname. Agai I was met by a chorus of “Shhh”s. Her character did end up going back to Mr. Big. And it was revealed for the first time what his name is, when Carrie Glanced at her cell phone and it said “John.”

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One woman looked at me and said, “See, if you would’ve kept all your questions to yourself until after the show, some of them might’ve been answered.” Wow, I felt as if I was being talked down to by my fourth-grade teacher, Mrs. Hess.

There was a big argument at the party. I guess there was money bet on how soon into the episode Carrie would mention shoes. I couldn't tell with all the yelling what exactly they were arguing about. From what I could gather, one woman thought Carrie stepping in dog doo was the first reference to shoes. Another said it came much earlier. They had $20 riding on this debate. The last time I saw housewives fight like this was for those "Tickle Me Elmo" dolls at Target years ago.

I asked if there was a bet on whether Charlotte would get pregnant. I had read in an entertainment magazine that that was one of the story lines. A different lady responded, "That's a horrible thing to suggest! It's no laughing matter when a woman can't conceive a child."

Ah, okay. Were there any other women here I could piss off?

They later showed Charlotte (Kristin Davis) getting a picture of the baby she would be adopting from China. I thought that was more realistic than her simply getting pregnant the way they do on other sitcoms that know it's a ratings boost. And I had tears in my eyes. But I wasn't about to let these women see me cry.

It was also touching when Miranda (Cynthia Nixon) was taking care of her husband's mom, giving her a bath. She was always such a tough character, but this was a nice scene. But when they had Kim Cattrall's character, Samantha, the oldest and sluttiest of the bunch, having breast cancer, her man standing by her side...I thought they were getting too serious with everything and not being funny. It was like that last episode of M*ASH. I asked three other women if they agreed, and one said, "That's why we didn't want men here. Didn't you notice there are only two other men here?

All our husbands do is make fun of this show and critique how stupid they think it is. Now we have to hear that from you, who we don't even know."

I tried to explain that I like the series but kept being interrupted. I ended up leaving. I didn't realize until I got home that I didn't even take a single picture at this party.

More than a week earlier, I went to another party that wasn't so hot. It was in El Cajon and was put on by the Heartland Foundation. From everything I've read about the organization, they do wonderful things. They gave cars and other donated vehicles to victims of the fires we had here. They help people from low-income families find employment in a number of ways. The center also provides adult basic education and literacy enhancement. They can prepare you for a GED, help with your English skills, and even make you familiar with computers. But all those wonderful things they do for people can't change the fact that this was a horrible party.

The party was also an art show. I walked the halls looking at the nice artwork, which included a beautiful piece from Phoebe Burnham called Phoebe's Phabulous Phountain of Youth. She was there handing out postcards of the painting.

But while I was looking at the pictures, Victoria, who invited me here, wanted to tell me about the organization. And that would've been fine, but she was trying to do too many things. She had a video camera and was running back and forth in what looked like a wedding dress. She was talking a mile a minute. She wanted me to watch their talent show one second, and in the next second she was introducing me to people she wanted me to talk to. It was overwhelming.

The keyboardist kept reaching behind the guy talking to grab sandwiches off the table

The first entertainer they had was a guy sitting at a Casio keyboard singing old standards like "Sunny Side of the Street." He reminded me of a really bad lounge singer similar to the one Bill Murray played on Saturday Night Live. Then, while he was taking down his keyboards, an author was talking about his book. It was distracting having this guy taking apart his keyboard loudly. But my date couldn't stop laughing when the keyboardist kept reaching behind the guy talking to grab sandwiches off the table to eat. It seemed so rude.

And the sandwiches they had there were horrible. They were peanut butter and jelly, shaped like hearts (since it was Valentine's Day). It wasn't until I put one in my mouth that I realized they also had big chunks of cheese in them. I thought Elvis with his peanut butter, bacon, and bananas was weird, but this takes the cake. And speaking of cakes, there were a few pastries, but they didn't look so appetizing either. Well, I guess they did to the keyboard player, who kept gobbling them down.

One guy walking by said, "This is a nice cheap date for Valentine's Day. It's free. All this food and entertainment." I wanted to lean over and ask my date if I still had to spend $200 for dinner and music at Croce's. I knew what the answer would be.

Mark Hanson, who is the president and CEO of the Heartland Foundation, would also grab me every few minutes to tell me about the organization. He would introduce me to anybody who walked by, including a cute girl who was an intern from Norway, who had absolutely no interest in talking to me. He said to her, "This gentleman works for the Reader." She had absolutely no expression on her face when he said that, and I doubt she even knew what the Reader was.

Heartland Foundation party

Hanson's mother-in-law had four beautiful water-color paintings on the wall. The art, in a few different media, was my favorite part of this party. I walked into one room, and a group of about 16 African-American teenagers were saying a prayer. They were in matching outfits. When I walked back into the hall, Victoria grabbed me and said she had seats for me to watch the "entertainment." We instead stood by the door. The group of 16 came out with a boom box. They started the music and did a few dance steps. In less than two minutes, they were done. The crowd applauded and my date said, "What was that? They danced in such a small space [about 20' x 5'], and for only a minute. This is so crazy. I mean, a few of them look like gang-bangers, so it's nice that they are here, dancing and behaving. It just seems so bizarre."

Walking down the halls looking at some more art, I heard a guy in his 40s telling two teenage girls they should see the movie Miracle about the U.S. Olympic hockey team winning the gold over Russia.

He was surprised the youngsters didn't know about that story and then said, "Oh, I guess you weren't even born then, back in 1980." One of the girls replied, "I'll still see the movie, though. I think Kurt Russell is a babe."

A guy in his late 30s brought in a computer and did a digital slide show with a lot of artwork. He had music to go along with it. My date said, "He carried in his entire computer to do this. Doesn't he own a laptop?"

Hanson grabbed me again to introduce me to his daughter, who looked to be about 6'1" and 15 years old. She looked uncomfortable in her Von Dutch hat as he said, "She wants to be a model." Perhaps it was because I was holding a camera and worked for the Reader, but he apparently wanted to see if I had connections. After the entertainment, I said, "I'll take a picture of you and your daughter." He said, "Oh. She just left. You can take a picture of me and my wife, though." I could see where his daughter got her good looks.

As they went back in to where the entertainment was, we made a quick exit. My date said in the parking lot, "Somebody is going to jump out from behind one of these cars. They'll want to tell us more about this organization and party."

Next week. I'll write about the party I went to for the Oscars. It better not be anything like the Sex and the City party, or I may have to go to a few keggers at SDSU to get back into the party mode.

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Cast of Sex in the City
Cast of Sex in the City

It was bound to happen. I went to two of the worst parties. My friends have the nerve to be envious that I get to attend a variety of parties and then write about them. But when you spend hours at a horrible party, it sure isn't fun. And it's not that I'm picky about parties. I went to a Christmas party this year that had only four people in attendance, but I had fun— great conversation and great food.

The first horrible party I went to was for the last episode of Sex and the City. Maybe I went in with high expectations because of a party I co-hosted more than ten years ago for the last episode of Cheers. I was working at Rock 102.1 and we had a lot of fun stuff going on, including a lookalike contest; I dressed like mailman Cliff Clavin. One guy showed up who everyone swore was the real Norm. The woman who looked most like Carla said, "This has been the only time in my life I've been happy I look this way." Anytime a person would walk in, we all yelled "Norm!" We had fun talking about the show and all the characters. I thought it would be the same with this party.

I showed up at this nice house in Rancho Bernardo. I asked a question of the lady who invited me, but she quickly said, "Shhhh! The show is on! No talking." I sat there for 20 minutes. There was a table with food, but I didn't want to get up and walk past the crowd of 23 with their eyes glued to the screen.

I haven't had HBO in two years, and Sex and the City was one of the only things I watched when I had it. The characters were still doing the same stuff, and the show still seemed funny and hip.

When one lady got up to go to the bathroom, I saw an opportunity to leave my seat. I grabbed a few celery sticks and chips. I was hoping my crunching wasn't too loud.

I noticed they had sheets with a betting pool. This might be a cool party after all. People had their names next to their guesses about whether Carrie (Sarah Jessica Parker) would stay with her new boyfriend in France or go back to Mr. Big. I asked if Mr. Big was his real name or a nickname. Agai I was met by a chorus of “Shhh”s. Her character did end up going back to Mr. Big. And it was revealed for the first time what his name is, when Carrie Glanced at her cell phone and it said “John.”

Sponsored
Sponsored

One woman looked at me and said, “See, if you would’ve kept all your questions to yourself until after the show, some of them might’ve been answered.” Wow, I felt as if I was being talked down to by my fourth-grade teacher, Mrs. Hess.

There was a big argument at the party. I guess there was money bet on how soon into the episode Carrie would mention shoes. I couldn't tell with all the yelling what exactly they were arguing about. From what I could gather, one woman thought Carrie stepping in dog doo was the first reference to shoes. Another said it came much earlier. They had $20 riding on this debate. The last time I saw housewives fight like this was for those "Tickle Me Elmo" dolls at Target years ago.

I asked if there was a bet on whether Charlotte would get pregnant. I had read in an entertainment magazine that that was one of the story lines. A different lady responded, "That's a horrible thing to suggest! It's no laughing matter when a woman can't conceive a child."

Ah, okay. Were there any other women here I could piss off?

They later showed Charlotte (Kristin Davis) getting a picture of the baby she would be adopting from China. I thought that was more realistic than her simply getting pregnant the way they do on other sitcoms that know it's a ratings boost. And I had tears in my eyes. But I wasn't about to let these women see me cry.

It was also touching when Miranda (Cynthia Nixon) was taking care of her husband's mom, giving her a bath. She was always such a tough character, but this was a nice scene. But when they had Kim Cattrall's character, Samantha, the oldest and sluttiest of the bunch, having breast cancer, her man standing by her side...I thought they were getting too serious with everything and not being funny. It was like that last episode of M*ASH. I asked three other women if they agreed, and one said, "That's why we didn't want men here. Didn't you notice there are only two other men here?

All our husbands do is make fun of this show and critique how stupid they think it is. Now we have to hear that from you, who we don't even know."

I tried to explain that I like the series but kept being interrupted. I ended up leaving. I didn't realize until I got home that I didn't even take a single picture at this party.

More than a week earlier, I went to another party that wasn't so hot. It was in El Cajon and was put on by the Heartland Foundation. From everything I've read about the organization, they do wonderful things. They gave cars and other donated vehicles to victims of the fires we had here. They help people from low-income families find employment in a number of ways. The center also provides adult basic education and literacy enhancement. They can prepare you for a GED, help with your English skills, and even make you familiar with computers. But all those wonderful things they do for people can't change the fact that this was a horrible party.

The party was also an art show. I walked the halls looking at the nice artwork, which included a beautiful piece from Phoebe Burnham called Phoebe's Phabulous Phountain of Youth. She was there handing out postcards of the painting.

But while I was looking at the pictures, Victoria, who invited me here, wanted to tell me about the organization. And that would've been fine, but she was trying to do too many things. She had a video camera and was running back and forth in what looked like a wedding dress. She was talking a mile a minute. She wanted me to watch their talent show one second, and in the next second she was introducing me to people she wanted me to talk to. It was overwhelming.

The keyboardist kept reaching behind the guy talking to grab sandwiches off the table

The first entertainer they had was a guy sitting at a Casio keyboard singing old standards like "Sunny Side of the Street." He reminded me of a really bad lounge singer similar to the one Bill Murray played on Saturday Night Live. Then, while he was taking down his keyboards, an author was talking about his book. It was distracting having this guy taking apart his keyboard loudly. But my date couldn't stop laughing when the keyboardist kept reaching behind the guy talking to grab sandwiches off the table to eat. It seemed so rude.

And the sandwiches they had there were horrible. They were peanut butter and jelly, shaped like hearts (since it was Valentine's Day). It wasn't until I put one in my mouth that I realized they also had big chunks of cheese in them. I thought Elvis with his peanut butter, bacon, and bananas was weird, but this takes the cake. And speaking of cakes, there were a few pastries, but they didn't look so appetizing either. Well, I guess they did to the keyboard player, who kept gobbling them down.

One guy walking by said, "This is a nice cheap date for Valentine's Day. It's free. All this food and entertainment." I wanted to lean over and ask my date if I still had to spend $200 for dinner and music at Croce's. I knew what the answer would be.

Mark Hanson, who is the president and CEO of the Heartland Foundation, would also grab me every few minutes to tell me about the organization. He would introduce me to anybody who walked by, including a cute girl who was an intern from Norway, who had absolutely no interest in talking to me. He said to her, "This gentleman works for the Reader." She had absolutely no expression on her face when he said that, and I doubt she even knew what the Reader was.

Heartland Foundation party

Hanson's mother-in-law had four beautiful water-color paintings on the wall. The art, in a few different media, was my favorite part of this party. I walked into one room, and a group of about 16 African-American teenagers were saying a prayer. They were in matching outfits. When I walked back into the hall, Victoria grabbed me and said she had seats for me to watch the "entertainment." We instead stood by the door. The group of 16 came out with a boom box. They started the music and did a few dance steps. In less than two minutes, they were done. The crowd applauded and my date said, "What was that? They danced in such a small space [about 20' x 5'], and for only a minute. This is so crazy. I mean, a few of them look like gang-bangers, so it's nice that they are here, dancing and behaving. It just seems so bizarre."

Walking down the halls looking at some more art, I heard a guy in his 40s telling two teenage girls they should see the movie Miracle about the U.S. Olympic hockey team winning the gold over Russia.

He was surprised the youngsters didn't know about that story and then said, "Oh, I guess you weren't even born then, back in 1980." One of the girls replied, "I'll still see the movie, though. I think Kurt Russell is a babe."

A guy in his late 30s brought in a computer and did a digital slide show with a lot of artwork. He had music to go along with it. My date said, "He carried in his entire computer to do this. Doesn't he own a laptop?"

Hanson grabbed me again to introduce me to his daughter, who looked to be about 6'1" and 15 years old. She looked uncomfortable in her Von Dutch hat as he said, "She wants to be a model." Perhaps it was because I was holding a camera and worked for the Reader, but he apparently wanted to see if I had connections. After the entertainment, I said, "I'll take a picture of you and your daughter." He said, "Oh. She just left. You can take a picture of me and my wife, though." I could see where his daughter got her good looks.

As they went back in to where the entertainment was, we made a quick exit. My date said in the parking lot, "Somebody is going to jump out from behind one of these cars. They'll want to tell us more about this organization and party."

Next week. I'll write about the party I went to for the Oscars. It better not be anything like the Sex and the City party, or I may have to go to a few keggers at SDSU to get back into the party mode.

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Tijuana's Agua Caliente gets the Fountain of the Faun restored

Play It Again, Pan
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