The Season Three Premiere of ‘Downton Abbey’ Lasted Two Hours Therefore It Took Me Five Days To Finally Write This

On Sunday, Lindsay and I joined the roughly 7.9 million people in the former colonies in welcoming the return of Downton Abbey and the fact that no one still likes Lady Edith, even the 90-year-old Sir Anthony Strallan because he too knows that he is WAY TOO DAMN OLD FOR HER, and I’m one of those people who fully endorses the 70-year age gap marriage for money idea.

Lady Edith’s existence aside, there’s something about this British export that has completely captivated us here on this side of the pond.  It’s almost ironic to think that so many people in this country are fascinated with a show that celebrates the idea of good manners, being proper and social order despite us living in a world that has increasingly rejected all of these things.

More interesting, though, is the fact that in a world in which the Kardashians have become global superstars because their oldest daughter made a sex tape with a rapper and her family mother chose to celebrate it, we’re captivated by a show that has had, until this past Sunday, only THREE romance scenes in two seasons (and two don’t really count because Anna & Bates are only shown the morning after and then Ethel & Major Bryant get caught, ending anything inappropriate immediately).

That said, I’m so glad it’s back.  Nothing makes me happier than seeing the Dowager Countess and Mr. Carson fighting back the ever-changing world outside of Downton.  The only thing better than Mr. Carson comparing Mrs. Levinson’s idea of having an indoor picnic to the “chaos of Gomorrah” was Lindsay’s reaction to every scene of the two-hour season premiere; she even cried just watching Laura Linney introduce the episode!  Here now, just some of Lindsay’s comments from last Sunday’s premiere:

Sybil is stinking up my screen.

MATTHEW AND MARY JUST STOP IT I AM THROWING MYSELF OFF A BRIDGE MY LIFE WILL NEVER MATCH UP

“I’m looking forward to all sorts of things.”-Matthew Crawley, God’s gift to me that I merely have to share with Mary.

“Can I kiss you, because I need to.”-Matthew Crawley, as I scream into my pillow out of sheer need to be with this engaged fictional character.

“I’m so happy, so very happy, I feel my chest will explode.” I. AM. DYING.

Shirley MacLaine serenading the Dowager Countess. I cackled.

Lindsay, please know that I’m looking forward to another six weeks of this.

Now can we please talk about how annoying Lady Edith and Branson are?  Lindsay and I hate them; we have hated them since Season One.  We know you don’t like the aristocracy and “British oppression” over the people of Ireland and all that fun stuff, Branson, but just SHUT UP!  Also, you’re the son-in-law of an Earl so even though you don’t believe in any of their traditions, but you need to get over all of that and wear a set of tails to dinner!

Speaking of appropriate attire in certain settings, there was an article in last Friday’s Wall Street Journal about how in Silicon Valley, the same place that gave us that awful movement we call Casual Friday (or Casual Everyday in most places now), the youngest members of the tech set are swapping their hoodies and dungarees for suits and bow ties on Fridays because they want to be different.

It makes sense to be honest.  I read somewhere last week that men are trying to dress more like their grandfathers and less like their father who are to blame for all of this casual work clothing and the book I received for Hanukkah, The Gentry Man: A Guide For The Civilized Male, came out just in time for this to occur.

This collection of articles from what had to have been the greatest magazine you’ve never heard of, because it only lasted from 1951-1957, is the new inspiration for my life.  In addition to being told that ascots were very much so “in” during the magazine’s six-year run, I learned how to build my own golf course (because we all have eight acres of cleared land just lying around) and how to carve a turkey in eleven easy steps, which should be very useful when I recreate that Norman Rockwell painting of Thanksgiving.

Also, believe it or not, English country homes owned by bachelors have the best-run houses  and “have no trouble getting servants.  Probably it is because a man does not chivvy the servants in the same way a woman does.”  This is an actual sentence.  If any magazine published a sentence like that today, it would be deemed extremely sexist.  We lived in much simpler times back then.

There is, sadly, one thing I can’t follow according to Gentry and that is what they suggest for a round-the-world trip.  They claim I can do it with only 88lbs of stuff.    I can’t even travel for a week and a half without nearly 50lbs of luggage.  The philosophy that one should be packed for any situation is the same regardless of the decade.

It does have some surprisingly useful information, though, like proper times for grilling and broiling every type of food imaginable, even mutton chops.  There’s also an eleven-page guide to drinking; did y’all know there are four different types of Scotch whiskey?  Neither did I.  And apparently, if you drink coffee, tea or tomato juice before a meal, you can prevent yourself from scarfing down all the food on the table, including the food on the plates of other people, because one should never go hungry to the table.

I even learned how to play “new tennis” in proper tennis whites, of course, and watch a football game, which could have been useful when I was still at school because Grace and I had NO damn clue what we were watching.  But most important, I read a full page article by Robert Paul Smith entitled “In Praise of Booze.”  It’s probably the epitome of the 1950s stereotype of the three-hour, six-martini lunch that will only come back in movies and at the homes of WASPS who still summer in Newport, but it’s still wonderful to read, specifically the line:

It [booze] has made me friend, it has made me brave, it has made me gentle and comic and kind of loose-lipped and maudlin.  It is a product of civilization, and it civilizes me.

This book is probably the best $20 anyone ever spent on me and I highly recommend it to anyone who longs for the 1950s.

Well until next time, when I will have hopefully left 1953 and entered this still “new” year…

JD

Dorothy Clicked Her Heels to Get Home. I Called Amtrak and Took the Auto Train

First of all, greetings from the pool in Palm Beach. Let me tell y’all, not only does it beat not having that stupid tree to disassemble and then toss, I love that it’s 82°F right now as I begin writing this!

Now, I also love that Auto Train!  This year, I traveled “economy” without a cabin and it was quite a different experience!  Unlike last year where I had the privacy of my own cabin and a bed to sleep on while we zipped our way through the South, I spent my evening next to a Cuban-American, who no doubt swam the 90 miles from Fidel-Land (an amusement park closed to Americans since 1962) to Miami back during the Johnson Administration.  The man took up half my seat, which was fine because I managed to read nearly every magazine I brought with me on the train (all nine of them).  Plus, I met some fellow Wahoos at dinner, which was pretty exciting since when I was at Rollins, I would have to spend 20 minutes explaining where Rollins was to people before we could move on.  Y’all, I had never been so excited to see a palm tree in my entire life to the point that when I disembarked the train in Sanford, I took the following photo:

It was 80°F, so I’m excused.  This year, I decided that before heading down to South Florida, I’d spend a little time in Winter Park, so naturally I stayed with Justin, which was so much fun.  Justin lives in a most unique one-bedroom apartment not far from his alma mater, Rollins, where we exchanged gifts (he gave me “Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim” by David Sedaris, which is great because I need a non-Kindle book every now and then.  I gave him an obscene number of unworn shirts that were all the wrong size, and he accepted them gladly, so nobody needs to give me any grief for admitting to re-gifting!  It was either him or Goodwill, and the Goodwill in Palm Beach wouldn’t take Brooks Brothers seriously enough!

Following the “house tour” and gift exchange, we headed off to Park Avenue where we lunched at Barnie’s CoffeeKitchen, which has completely redone itself in an attempt to mirror Pain du Quotidien and isn’t half bad.  We then strolled up and down the Avenue looking into all of the little stores before heading back to Justin’s to change for dinner at old favorite, Luma.  We did, however, have dessert at an amazing new restaurant called Prato, which I’ve just learned is owned by the same people who own Luma.  We tried so hard to get in, but clearly we’re not important enough for them.  Divas!

Sunday morning was spent brunching at the Eola Wine Company, which we could never frequent when I was at Rollins due to the fact that it’s a wine bar and we were under 21 at the time.  Brunch was delicious, with both us having the Lox.  I had a mimosa, since that is what one drinks at brunch, while Justin, who feels anything involving champagne or wine to be emasculating for some bizarre and  unknown reason, opted for an Austrian beer.  The visit, although short, was great fun and I’m so glad I was able to see Justin for an extended period of time , seeing as our last encounter was for dinner in New York four months earlier.

Well, three hours of I-95 later, I arrived at my idea of heaven, Palm Beach!  I don’t know if it’s the air, the Waspyness, the fact that our Publix offers valet parking, getting to walk on the beach every morning, or knowing that it’s not Boca, but Palm Beach is without question my sanctuary; it is the only place where I forget what day of the week it is.  I’ve never gotten work done here and it’s as if time seems to stand still for me, which, given the hectic life I generally lead, is a welcome thing.  My earliest memory is of this island and it’s the most special place on earth if you ask me.

Since arriving in paradise, I’ve done a lot of nothing, which has been terrific!  I get up at 7 for either a walk on the beach or a run on the bike path, spend the rest of the day trying to read the eight books I brought with me, but unlike years past when I could do this poolside with only Brooklyn accents interrupting the birds, our building has been invaded by workmen who jackhammer from 9-5 every day! Our balcony has been commandeered by our building as they attempt to stage an invasion not seen since Operation Barbarossa in World War II.  And just like the Nazis, the construction company redoing our balconies didn’t really think about what would happen after they started.  Ah the joys of home ownership!

Meanwhile, I’ve spent a great deal of time at the movies this past week, seeing Sherlock Holmes, Young Adult and Mission Impossible IV, which were all great movies, but of the three, I found Mission Impossible to be the most captivating because for some reason, little Tom Cruise makes an entertaining movie, and judging by the ending, there’s going to be another movie.  Though, I don’t know if anyone, myself included, is going to believe that an over 50 Tom Cruise is going to perform all those stunts because once you hit 50, the back goes nuts, the hair officially goes, you’re blind as a bat, can’t run nearly as fast as you could when you were 30, and most likely arthritic.  Now you tell me how a blind, obese, arthritic, out of shape, balding, back-spazm prone guy is supposed to do all of this:

I rest my case.

As for Sherlock Holmes, I loved it (my mother loved Robert Downey Jr.), but it was so much longer than I expected.  Also, I thought the era of drag was over, especially after this lovely moment in 2000:

As for Young Adult, it’s a dark comedy that really requires the viewer to be in the seat and watching the whole time (I hate people who leave in the middle of a movie; it’s so tacky and annoying).  Although very humorous, the movie was very serious and somewhat sad, which was not expected.

Tonight, assuming Andrew ever calls me back, we’re seeing The Adventures of Tintin, which I read in French classes and want to see so badly.  In fact, Justin, who rarely goes to see movies made during his actual lifetime, wants to see this movie, so it has to be good if it’s good enough for him to pay to see it!  As for The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, I’ll get to it this week.  The movies I really can’t wait to see, though, is The Iron Lady with the greatest actor of all time, Meryl Streep, and for reasons I don’t know why, Madonna’s W.E., which looks so much better than everyone claims it is!

Moving away from movies, the big news down here in Palm Beach is that our “beloved” Publix re-opened after seven months of being demolished in April so that it could be greatly enlarged.  Although I will continue to frequent the Whole Foods in Palm Beach Gardens for weekly provisions because of their greater selection locally-grown food and use of independent suppliers, the new Publix is going to be great for things I need immediately.  As for the store itself, it’s beautiful on the outside; so beautiful that I think it could be mistaken for the Neiman Marcus on Worth Avenue!  However, on the inside, it’s without question just another grocery store with that awful florescent lighting and hideous white title flooring that makes everything look so sterile!  Why can’t people learn from Whole Foods and create warm, inviting places as opposed to hell hole that is the modern grocery store we know today?  Obviously, that would require money to be spent, but I feel it’s worth it so that we can all have a more pleasant shopping experience.  Plus, the Whole Foods in PBG has a smoothie bar, which tops anything I’ve ever seen in a grocery store!

I know, my obsession with the design of grocery stores is beyond disturbing, but what can I say, I feel it matters!  This past Wednesday, I also did something a bit interesting in Miami, which for some reason I can’t even begin to explain, I now associate with this:

I’m actually ashamed by this.  Now, I did not go to Miami to see the Kardashians, who are ruining the world, but to instead visit immigration officials at Miami International Airport to complete the process to receive my Global Entry pass which will enable me to avoid this when I return from overseas trips for the next five years:

After being finger-printed and photographed, I left the airport and headed straight to my one true love in Miami, Shake Shack!  Danny Meyer, I blame my future obesity on you, but it’s okay because that sauce you put on the Shake Burger is amazing!  Also, that Shark Attack Concrete is out of this world!  Of all the locations, that one concrete is my favorite!  Next time I go there, I’m also buying that “Miami Has a New Vice” tee shirt because that is such a great line!

Well, that’s all for now as I’ve got to go celebrate Christmas the Jewish way by getting Chinese food and then going to the movies, but I wish y’all a Happy Christmas and an even happier Sixth Night of Hanukkah!  Until next time when we discuss why I have only received only two presents, one of which was from me to me…

-JD

Like a Missed Period, I Guess I’m Late!

Well, Christmas is over and the child molester flew back to the North Pole to rest and prepare for yet another month of molesting next year.  Meanwhile, I enjoyed the sales that come with the most popular holiday of the year, so I guess thanks are in order?  So in the time between now and our last “chat” together, I moved out of my apartment in Charlottesville (oh what a joy!) in only two car-loads, which I must say was impressive considering how much stuff I own.  Additionally, mother and I did the trip to Florida this time (Field Marshall Rommel lucked out) and it was um… bizarre.

Unlike Field Marshall Rommel, who only allowed me to stop so he could deal with his “problem” (a problem that I’m sure Flomax could fix, but that’s just a personal opinion), mother insisted we stop on a regular basis.  Interestingly, every time we stopped, we were near an outlet mall.  Gee, what a coincidence!  When we arrived at the “lovely” Courtyard by Marriott in Florence, South Carolina, mother slept in her clothes for fear that the sheets hadn’t been washed and that we would contract bedbugs.  It’s been over a week and nothing yet has happened to me so I rest my case.  The drive itself was a bit more verbal than the previous ones, which have usually consisted of Rommel telling me he needed to use that facilities every hour or so and little else, but it was okay, on the whole.

There was one minor incident when he reached Florida, however.  After visiting an outlet mall in St. Augustine, we go to get gas.  Well, mother has some credit card that she has to call before going out of town (literally, she has to call before using it in Williamsburg, which is an hour away from our house) to let them know that she would be using it.  I have only done that when I’ve traveled abroad.  Meanwhile, we arrive at the gas station and my American Express was declined, so we drove to the one across the street where it is declined again.  I immediately received an email saying there were fraudulent charges on my account because of gas station charges along I-95, which is odd because this was only my THIRD drive from Virginia to Florida!

So we pull into Palm Beach and the next day, we’re on Worth Avenue and spending like we’ve sold the house for cash!  Mother’s card for which she had to call and give prior notice was declined due to “extremely high prices” being charged to her card in more than one store, which lead her to have a mini-meltdown because it was kind of embarrassing.   My cousin Kevin arrived and was dragged to see The King’s Speech immediately after landing by mother and me.  He thought it was, “well produced;”  I think Colin Firth’s performance is going to win him the OSCAR he deserved last year in A Single Man.

Now, while all of this was happening, G-d sneezed while doing a line of coke and it blanketed the entire East Coast in feet upon feet of “snow,” which, aside from leading to a sudden drop in the price of the powdery drug (rich, prep-school kids around the nation rejoice:

(Yes, I do realize how fitting it is that Mick Jagger and David Bowie, super druggies, are singing this song; hell, they looked coked up in this video)), meant that flights weren’t exactly running on schedule.  So mother’s flight is supposed to leave at some inhumane hour on Sunday morning and I had to drive her to the airport only to basically leave the airport because it was undoubtedly canceled.  This was also a major glitch in my usually perfect Day After Christmas gift shopping because there’s no telling as to how many great items I missed out on by not being at the doors to Neimans or Saks at 8h0 like usual.  To make things worse, I ran into this “sweet, little old grandma” with whom I fought over a tie a few years back and to my astonishment, she was still breathing!  She had taken a tie out of my hand and when I told her I was buying it, she laughed with amusement while saying that I was too young to need a tie to wear (I was sixteen and attending a prep school that required one to be worn every day at the time) and I told her that it didn’t matter if she bought it because no one would be alive to wear it by the end of the day (harsh, I know, but Starbucks wasn’t open yet and I was on the backend of a sugar high).  She then saw me outside of Neimans talking on the phone to my cousin and overheard me say that I was just going to look at the Ferragamo ties on sale and then leave so what does she do?  She bought every single Ferragamo tie on sale, EVEN the duplicates!  When we saw each other in Neimans on Sunday, it went through the following stages: calm, shock, double take to make sure it was her, a “DAMN SHE LOOKS READY TO KICK THE BUCKET” thought, a glance from her, hate in her eyes, mutual stink eyes, and then back to being asked, “why aren’t you looking for my size?” by mother.  This video does a good job of encapsulating it all:

Monday came around and I still couldn’t get Southwest to just force her on the plane.  FINALLY, she gets on the plane on Tuesday, only after yelling at me for being late because I had to put oil in my car after driving it to Orlando/Winter Park the night before to see my friend Tasleem before she goes back to Canada.  When we pulled up to Fort Lauderdale International Airport, she turns to me as says, “Don’t drive too far away in case I miss the plane” EVEN THOUGH I GOT HER THERE EARLY!  Y’all, I got out of there so fast because I could not bring myself to have to drive back to Fort Lauderdale again on Wednesday (I had plans).

Winesday (yes, just like the Today Show‘s cocktail hour with permanent drunk, Kathy Lee Gifford, and FORMER award-winning journalist-turned-babysitter to a drunk, Hoda Kotb calls  Wednesday) was spent with everyone’s Jewish grandmothers in their winter homes in BOCA! with Andrew, which as y’all can imagine, was a spectacle.  There simply is no other word to describe what happens when the two of us are together.  We told off a security guard at the Boca Raton Resort and Club, over-ate, went ice-skating on marble floors with wooden-soled shoes (I nearly broke my neck, which has it’s benefits because then I could sue the life out of the hotel for having a way-too-slipery floor and then never have to work a day in my life, so DAMMIT WHY DID I HOLD ON TO THE RAILING?  I COULD BE IN A HOSPITAL WITH PUDDING AND A SPOT ON OPRAH ALL READY TO GO!), multiple indecisions over whether to take a boat or to wait for a shuttle, complaints about children, BROS, spectacular views of BOCA!, a bad ending with the Focker clan (musical condoms?), saw this poster: , got rejections from about five restaurants, had a waitress who must have been having her time of the month that night, ateLike a Missed Period, I Guess I’m Late! seafood restaurant with a view of man-made lake, and thrown out partridge and a pear tree!

In case none of y’all got that, Little Fockers might actually be the worst movie I’ve ever seen, save for the Barbara Streisand and Dustin Hoffman scenes, which were either about sex or making jokes at the expense of Jews, both of which are usually necessary!  We had a really good dinner at the seafood restaurant City Fish Market, which was where I discovered my new drink of the moment, the Rue Royale, which is delicious and goes down rather smoothly.

It was Thursday though that really made this the best end to the best year of my life.  We went to Donald’s little shack in Palm Beach, Mar-a-Lago, for lunch.  Y’all, it’s stunning.  There are oriental rugs outside, which I hope get put away when it rains, but still.  We ate by the pool oceanside, since Andrew said that the other pool area was basically for old people (he was right since the youngest person there was on oxygen I think).  While eating a delicious lunch, we spotted the heirs to the hairplug’s fortune, Donald Jr. and JVanaka!  Well, Don Jr. looks just like daddy (which is not good), but JVANKA is amazing!  Yes, JVanka is a single unith that refers to Jared Kuschner and his gorgeous (and now Jewish, so in case they get divorced I have a shot) wife, Ivanka Trump Kuschner, who does not have that fat, chipmunk face in real life, by the way.  Here’s my first question about JVANKA: HOW IS JVANKA NOT EXPECTING A CHILD YET?  I mean really, if you were married to either one, wouldn’t you be in bed shtupping 24/7?  I’m just sayin’.  The only reason to not want to have children so soon might be out of fear that it could end up looking like Grandpa Donald, whose youngest son, Baron (aged five), will be an uncle when this child is born.  Getting back on track, Jvanka went off to the tennis courts and Andrew and I waited ten minutes before following.  Leonardo couldn’t have sculpted better legs (personal opinion of course).  Plus, girl is smart because she had the tennis pro playing for her.  However, here’s where Jared messed up: he was beating his wife at tennis (strike one) at her father’s club (strike two)  while staying at the same club (strike three).  Regardless, it was a huge relief to know that despite looking like a chipmunk in photos, Jvanka’s face is not fat in real life, which make Maggie and me happy (Maggie, a friend of mine whom I met through Andrew looks to Jvanka as a role model, nothing more)!

After leaving Club Hair Plug, which was immaculate and showed few signs of being a shrine to el Donaldo as I expected, Andrew and I headed up to Worth Avenue for a simple stroll around and then dinner at Michael McCarty’s, which was great as usual (their macaroni and cheese always hits the spot).  This was a sad day because Andrew and I were faced with the fact that our daily talking time, which is probably more than what it should be, is about to be extremely restricted starting in January since we will have a nine-hour time difference between Siena and LA.  Somehow, I feel we will find a way to overcome this.

So in the middle of finals week, Grace welcomed a new member to her family (Maury Povich, what am I?

Thank you).  Weighing in at just over eight pounds, I’d like to introduce Grace’s new baby boy, Henry Flagler Wilkins:

That’s right, it’s a great dane.  Rachel said she can’t wait for the day when she can replace her human body pillow with HFW while I can’t wait for the day when we can rent him out for birthday parties and pretend that he’s a pony who just has some spots.  Grace also managed to break her arm following a lovely evening of karaoke.  I decided to stay in that night and missed all of the festivities involved.

Sadly, this holiday season has not been without its painful moments.  Justin’s grandfather passed away on Christmas Day in his home in New Jersey.  From what I’ve heard about him, he seems like a lovely person who I know will be greatly missed.  On the bright side, Justin said that at least he now had a chance to wear his new, vintage three-piece suit from Gant!  Also, I managed to completely corrupt the once intellectual Justin since he now loves my love, Wendy Williams and has watched her show multiple times this month.  So Justin, 

Well, to wrap up what has without a doubt been the best year of my life, I just want to wish y’all a very happy new year and let’s all hope that 2011 is just as fun as 2010!  On a more serious note, let’s also hope that Barbara Walters remembers that she was once a distinguished journalist who would never bring herself to interview the cast of Jersey Shore or Justin Bieber.  Worse, she would absolutely NEVER learn to Dougie:

From my lounge chair oceanside in Palm Beach receiving tweets from @YesImWaspy and getting lost in my book, The Widow Clicquot, until next time in 2011…

-JD

PS: In the final Basil Watch of 2010, Rommel sent me this photo of my little plants just a few weeks before they’re to be moved into their new home, a terra-cotta pot:

If Someone Ever Asks Why, Simply Respond Saying, “Why? Because the Rent is too Damn High!”

If y’all haven’t seen the footage from the New York Gubernatorial Debate that took place last week, watch the video below and amazingly, this is not a joke:

Jimmy McMillan, who really reminds me of a black Colonel Sanders, is the Vietnam War Vet-turned-lunatic representing all three registered voters of The Rent is too Damn High party.  However, he does raise a serious issue and that is that the rent is in fact too damn high, even though he himself doesn’t pay rent for his own apartment.  Better yet, the Observer reports that McMillan isn’t even a member of his own party, but rather a Democrat!  I’m sorry, but first of all, you can’t run on the basis that the rent is too damn high if you do maintenance work in your building in exchange for NO RENT and if you aren’t even a member of your own party!  Unfortunately, you’re quasi legitimate argument, combined with the AMAZING song on your website (which so needs to be on iTunes ASAP), basically makes you my favorite candidate for Governor.

Here’s why Andrew Cuomo doesn’t do it for me: he kind of looks like he’s had some botched plastic surgery on his face and then his girlfriend, Sandra Lee, is a complete wackjob and hypocrite.  Case in point, the goal of Miss Lee’s show is that everything is done in order to save the viewer money, yet at the same time, the viewer then has to go out and buy dishes, cutlery, table-scape items, new drapes to go above the kitchen window, and every color KitchenAid mixer, which isn’t cheap at all!  Also, instead of trying to theme the entire home every time the viewer cooks, perhaps Miss Lee could encourage her viewers to get jobs and do something with their lives other than go to the infamous «craft store» every day of the week!

As for the Republican candidate for Governor, Carl Paladino is um… crazy, but not really in a Jimmy McMillan kind of fun way.  Instead, M. Paladino reminds me of the playground bully you see in the movies; he’s very mafia looking and it’s not like Albany really needs the mob up there.  I’m able to back this up by the simple fact that he was in the construction business and we all know what that means.  I mean, if y’all want to see a bunch of gun-crazed buffoons, they can just take a drive down I-95 to visit the Manzo Family in Franklin Heights, New Jersey!  Plus, in all seriousness, the man is kind of a homophobe and while I’m not gay, let’s be honest here y’all: the man is running for Governor of New York State, which is one of the most gay-friendly states in the country.  I mean do straight people even go to Fire Island?  Plus, the gays do quite a bit of damage each month on clothes, grooming, food, drinks, hotel rooms, etc… and that all means one thing: tax revenue!  So at the end of the day, you can be opposed to same-sex marriage, but you can’t be afraid of the gays.  They don’t bite… just don’t put any handkerchiefs in your pockets, Carl!

So in my first political endorsement, I would like to officially throw my support behind the man who will make sure that rent goes down, Jimmy McMillan.  While my reasons for supporting Mr. McMillan may seem to go against my capitalist opinions, I’m supporting him for the most important reason of them all and that is that when Governor Patterson leaves office in just a few months, we’re going to need to continue the recent wave of mental patients posing as Governor of New York.  Plus, he seems like the one who will be satirized the most on SNL.  Oh how Justin and I will miss them!

Moving on to more serious news, I have an announcement to make.  So next semester, we  (y’all and I) will be seeing Europe because I’m packing my twenty or so suitcases and flying to Siena, Italy for the Spring.  They told me on Monday that I should only pack one suitcase to have checked which will never work because everyone who knows me knows that when I go to Palm Beach for Winter Break, I take four suitcases, and that’s only for a month at most!  This is about five months.  I’ve always wanted to wear pants with an elastic waistband and figured now is about as good a time as ever to start.  I say this because I plan to eat nothing but gelato, pasta, pizza, Prosciutto di Parma, Mozzarella di Buffalo, and washing it all down with lots of Italian wine!  My Italian partner in crime, Sydney, and I will also be visiting some of Europe’s finest cities and Countries, so long as we manage to not wind up in jail because of having problems with our Visas.  I’m not even kidding y’all, these people legitimately got drunk and then wrote this thing because the regulations for traveling within the Schengen countries is obscene.  Also, WHO THE HELL PICKED THE CITY OF SCHENGEN FOR THE SITE OF THE SIGNING OF THE SCHENGEN AGREEMENT?  Couldn’t y’all have done this in a city that doesn’t remind me of China?  I’m just sayin’.  I’m looking forward to going to Siena, especially since I’m the only guy from UVa going (more for me!).

Speaking of situations with lots of pretty ladies, on Saturday night, Grace and I accompanied Rachel to her sorority house to help her make a Skippy, which is basically vodka, ice, a ton of beer, concentrate, and Sprite; I didn’t drink it.  First of all, having been inside some of the fraternity houses here at UVa and seeing how «well-maintained» they are, my bar for the cleanliness/stable condition for the foundation of Rachel’s sorority house wasn’t exactly all that high.  Then we went inside and that changed quickly.  Instead of another horrific sight of booze puddles, booze-covered pool tables, crumbling foundations, and shear chaos, the Rachel’s sorority house was absolutely lovely.  They had nice furniture, only one case of «Natty Lights» in the living room, no puddles of booze, and I’m told they have a chef.  Plus, I’ll be perfectly honest and just admit that as a guy, the site of so many gorgeous girls in one room wasn’t too bad either.  As I later told Grace, there is a heaven on earth after all.  Then we saw Rachel’s room, which has a closet half the size of mine with four times as much clothing in it, must be in violation of so many codes that it’s not even funny and has no central air conditioning, something few buildings at UVa seem to have.  Regardless, it was probably the highlight of the weekend.

Before this happened, I attempted to see The Social Network with the one person who for years scared me, my friend Jacquie (if your family owned funeral homes, you’d be scared too).  She was visiting Annie for the night from JMU, where she’s thankfully leaving after this semester for Sweet Briar.  However, when we got to the theatre, we learned that it was sold out on week three at the box office!  I’m still pissed.  So to drink away the sadness of not being able to see the movie, we joined that gang at Coupes and had a rather fun evening that ended somewhere around 4 after we saw Sarah finish off a massive plate of macaroni and cheese as well as some six-layer salsa at some random guy’s apartment while Annie and Grace… actually, I don’t know where they were or what they were doing because Jacquie and I were just mesmerized at the amount of food that Sarah is capable of inhaling despite maintaing her perfect figure.

While at Coupes, Sarah decided to get her dance on as well as attempt to perform a strip tease, but without actually taking any clothes off while Annie had to listen to some random drunk guy continue to mumble and slur his words while attempting to have a conversation with her.  She still doesn’t know who this young gentleman was.  Grace on the other hand, is one of the loudest drunks I’ve ever met.  Her already loud presence seems louder, plus she was really trying to get with the bartender.  Poor guy.  Then some idiot who is married pulled the «my wife is nine months pregnant» line when asking Grace if she had seen the girl who had his blazer that had his phone in it.  Of course, Grace went off looking for it.  He was there for three more hours because I saw him while walking home later that evening.

On Wednesday, Annie admitted that the only reason she came to the class we have together was because I got her a doughnut at the newly opened Dunkin’ Donuts.  Her iPhone wasn’t working for some reason so I assumed she was still asleep and about to eat that doughnut when she slid into her seat about ten minutes late.  Better late than never though!  She did, however, miss our professor proclaim his love to Beatrice, his Schwinn bicycle.  I don’t think anyone will disagree with me when I say that there is something wrong when you name your bicycle.

On Wednesday of last week, Sydney and I went to this amazing tapas restaurant, MAS, to celebrate our acceptance into the Siena program.  Our reasoning for not getting Italian was that we’ll have five months to eat Italian food in Italy.  While it was beyond amazing food and sangria, the location is a little bizarre, but completely worth the visit if in Charlottesville.

Andrew has been accepted to the Duke in LA program for next semester and while I’m so happy for him and I encourage him to go, it will be interesting to see how much communicating we have because there will be a nine-hour time difference between Siena and LA.  Oh well, maybe Andrew can stay up past 22h30 to chat!  Justin has been preoccupied all week with some extremely dense book that would put me to sleep in about ten minutes.  I’m loving my book, How to Become a Scandal: Adventures in Bad Behavior by Laura Kipnis and hope to be finished with it by some time next week so that I might be able to move on to True Prep.

Finally tonight, we need to talk about Risky Business.  I briefly mentioned it on Thursday, but I’m not finished discussing this softcore porno.  That’s what it is, plain and simple.  After that amazing scene that Tom Cruise does in the living room, the movie just goes straight down hill and gets borderline X-rated in my opinion.  Furthermore, I NEVER WANTED TO SEE TOM CRUISE STHUPPING SOMEONE, LET ALONE ON A FLIGHT OF STAIRS (that sounds painful too) OR ON GYM EQUIPMENT!  I’m shocked Cruise agreed to do anything like that, especially since this is what Dana Carvey says his religion believes:

Plus now, I can never look at Tom Cruise the same away ever again.  I’m going to end here tonight because if I have to have nightmares about this nut, then I think it’s only fair that y’all have to as well.  Until then…

-JD

PS:  The basil is actually beginning to grow and by the time I leave for Siena, I bet I’ll be able to actually eat some of it, which is great because by the time I get back, they will have been tossed out by my mother, who will inevitably forget they exist and let them die.  This happens more often that y’all might think.