I Think I'll Have a Son and Name Him Sawyer

OK, anyone who knows much knows how much I loved the TV show LOST. Countless hours watching and then discussing with my co-conspirator Nutbar and of course on the ABC chat boards discussing the latest theories.

And then there were the bloggers: my favorites were Andy Page's phenomenal DarkUfo site, Vozzek69's weekly post-episode blog, and Erika Olson's LongLiveLocke blog.

And I'll admit it: I was a little obsessed with LOST. I even snuck out of work early when Season 3 came out on DVD so I could be one of the first to get it (plus, someone had tried to mug me a few days before and my twisted ankle was killing me). Never mind that I had already seen every episode, but now I could watch them again, and again, and again. Plus-there were special features!

But I think that you'll agree that there's a line that runs from the obsessive fan to living in Crazytown. Exhibit A--one of the people who was an active contributor to the ABC lost boards, who went under the moniker of "LostMommyofFour". When ABC/Disney Studios auctioned off many of the iconic props used in the show, LMOF was front and center, participating in the costume contest. Not surprisingly, she dressed up at "Mother", a character in the show.

The point where it takes a bizarre turn is when LMOF casually mentions in the New York Time's article about the auction that all four of her children had names associated with the TV show: one "accidentally", the rest "on purpose." Isn't that...special?

Another person that has apparently bought a ticket on the LOST baby-naming crazy train is none other than Olson, or "e" to her buds. She recently revealed in her blog that she and her husband were expecting her first baby in January, joking that they were calling it Baba Ghanoush from some random Wedding Crashers reference. Because naming the baby that would be really WEIRD, right? Right?

That, boys and girls, should have been a red flag there that they would be giving the baby some kind of crazy baby name in real life. Because she and husband didn't disappoint! Exhibit B: they named the baby Desmond Fox. Yes, Desmond, as in the character of Desmond in LOST. Yes, Fox, as in Matthew Fox (or "Foxy" to his friends, but I digress), who played Jack Shepherd, who "e" not-so-secretly confessed was the character she most identified with.

Um, LOST? IT WAS A TELEVISION SHOW. This was not what we call "real life" or "reality", it's make believe brought to you each week by ABC. OK, I'm done, you can go back to your regularly-scheduled show....

Yay! You're My FB Friend! Oh, Wait, Wait, Maybe Not...

I am a reluctant participant of Facebook. A few years ago a friend of mine (we'll call her Kaylee) sent me an invite to sign up for the cult that is Facebook.

As what probably happens to everyone who joins, people start coming out of the woodwork, who seem to earnestly, desperately, want to be FB friends.

While some are people you legitimately know and fall under the category of "Oh, right, Jim, hey, I wondered what happened to him. It would be nice to catch up with him", many are people you had little or nothing in common with at the time, and now they JUST CANNOT WAIT to be your friend! Like that girl you were on the bowling league with 20 years ago, or a co-worker from eight jobs ago, or the cousin of a friend of the guy you went out with (yeah, I can't follow it, either).

But let's get back to Kaylee, that girl who roped into Facebook in the first place. Kaylee and I were friends, as in friends in the real world as opposed to friends in the Facebook world. We regularly exchanged emails, occasionally got together for coffee, and exchanged horror stories about our house renovations. But I'm finding that being friends in Facebook is a fickle, fickle thing: to quote Heidi Klum, "One day you're in, and the next day, you're OUT!"

Kaylee unceremoniously dumped me from Facebook. Yes-she dumped my sorry ass! Apparently she don't want to be friends no mo. And, yes, the irony of the Facebook initiator morphing into the one who unfriended me is not lost on me.

Then I noticed others that dumped me: a friend from the cult college I went to. Yep, he friended me, only to unfriend me. Was it the stories I posted from those liberal rags slate.com or salon? Was it my snarky remarks about, well, everything? Or did he just decide he didn't really like me after all and didn't want anything to do with me? Well, I guess I'll never know, because that's what happens when you get FB dumped. It's a cruel, cruel thing, or a very funny thing, depending on how you look at it. I think you can guess what camp I stand in.

I have to scratch my head over this form of buyer's remorse, Facebook style: let's 1) do a search to find people you know on Facebook, then 2) send a Facebook request, next 3) become friends on Facebook, then, 4) unfriend them. Yes, in retrospect this does make perfect sense--if we were all in the fourth grade again!

My theory on Facebook is that for many people, it's a way to get attention, not really to share noteworthy news, but rather a play to garner sympathy. When you post about being miserable six months after your boyfriend dumps you, or say "I'm a loser and I'll never find a job" you can practically write the posts FB friends are going to write: "oh, GF, you are so smart I just KNOW there's a great job out there" or "Jennie, you need to FORGET about that loser and get out there and find someone else!" Those comments are really helpful, aren't they?

Telling the truth like "well, you did kind of major in anthropology and yeah, it's going to be next to impossible finding a job that doesn't involve a nametag and your saying 'do you want fries with that'", apparently, this is not part of being a good Facebook friend. In fact, that'll probably get you on the fast track to unfriend-ville each and every time.

If I were a really insecure person, I'd be wringing my hands and emailing Kaylee and my college friend Peter (not his real name) or my former co-worker Lulu Belle (obviously not her real name) and everyone else who friended and then unfriended me. What went wrong? Why don't you like me any more? Why did you dump me on Facebook?! I thought we were friends! I thought you liked me! But really, who cares? Be my friend, not be my friend on Facebook. There.

The Order of the Hand Will Rule!

A section of my street is closed due to construction. And using your GPS to get to my house will put you face to face with a big "Road Closed" sign. Your GPS and all of its high tech technology will literally get you nowhere.

So my guests have had to resort to--gasp--actual maps. And it's not going well. Have we gotten so moronic that we can't get anywhere unless some disembodied Stepford Wife on the GPS says in a semi-coo, "turn right onto Main Street".

The whole thing reminds me of a sketch on Saturday Night Live. Will Ferrell and Nancy Walls are Oliver and Diane, the co-hosts (w/ David Alan Grier as Weatherman Tim) of "Wake Up and Smile!", one of those regional Good Morning America knock-offs.

The wheels on this vehicle come off as soon as their teleprompter breaks and they are literally at a loss for words. After a few fumbled exchanges:

Oliver: "The teleprompter on which everything we say appears on...is broken!"
Diane: "Please! Let's get that teleprompter fixed!"

the three of them turn from panic to a variation of Lord of the Flies:

Oliver: "We will live! WE WILL LIVE!!!!!" [cuts to commercial, then back from commercial, the set is on fire, Oliver's shirtless and a hand symbol is painted on his chest]
"The order of the hand will rule us!"
Tim: "But what if the box still refuses to give us words?"
Oliver: "You challenge my authority?!"
Tim: "I smell from your scent that you are weak. I challenge you!"

[a scuffle ensues, Oliver emerges with Tim's severed head]

Oliver: "The weatherman is DEAD! I KILLED the weatherman! His strength is in me!"

Then of course the teleprompter is fixed and there's nothing more awkward than holding your dead co-worker's head by the hair! Oopsie!

While as far as I know, none of my guests have resorted to cannibalism, they've made it a whole lot more difficult than it needs to be.

On Sunday, after giving a guest directions by email, her Pittsburgh contact directions by email, no one could either follow them or bother to get them out and read them. The guest's driver called in a panic, "I'm on 44th Street and it's closed! How do I get to your house?" I gave her directions to complete the 2 minute drive to my house.

Thirty minutes later they still didn't show up. I called them, and the guest, sounding very annoyed, said "We are on your street and there is a big "road closed" sign and don't know where to go." This time, I navigated the aforementioned very put out guest to my house.

Her driver, of course, did not know how to get to the theater for the event they were going to. I drew them a map (literally two turns to get there) and sent them on their way. Fifteen minutes later the guest is back, handing her keys to me.

"Your location is too far away and there are just too many detours," she said. "I'm going to stay with a friend."

Um, okay.

Yesterday I had another guest coming in for the same event and it was Groundhog Day all over again. This time, his GPS directions weren't helping him! This guy, who from what I understand is a world traveler and lives in New York City, is too freaked out to drive his rental car to the same theater (you know, the one that it takes two turns to get to from my house?) so he's got this poor girl carting him around.

Last night, he tells me, they returned around 2:00 in the morning and he couldn't get his key to work! He's in a panic -- what can he do? Should he call me to help him figure out how to work the deadbolt?

Turns out Einstein wasn't even at my house -- he was at one down the street (I suspect some cocktails were involved, no?). He's lucky we don't live in NRA territory, or I suspect trying to use a key to enter a house that doesn't belong to you may be cause for justifiable homicide.

This Sunday the worst direction follower on the planet is coming to my house: my dad. Now, despite the fact that my parents have been coming to this house for well over 15 years and the detour involves going up a street they've traveled for 15 years, how much do you want to bet that they will somehow end up downtown?

My Dad: "44th Street is closed - there's a big "Do not enter" sign there! So we kept going straight and then I saw the Convention Center and knew we'd gone too far!"

Pray for me, people, pray for me!

What "Wii" Really Care About

I've come to the conclusion that we Americans, for the most part, are stupid, selfish, and self-centered. Sure, we respond to a natural disaster halfway around the world with aching hearts and open checkbooks. However, the real elephant in the room is that Japan is on the brink of a meltdown, not just with six dying nuclear reactors, but in every sense of the word.

I'm not suggesting that everyone run the streets in panic, but people, this is the worst nuclear disaster in history, with its effect long-term and far reaching. Am I the only one that's a little panicky about this?

I'm not demeaning the suffering the Japanese people are experiencing now, because of the earthquake and tsunami. But--how about a lifetime of radiation sickness and a generation or two radiation-inducing cancer? How about a country that could be on the brink of economic collapse? Citizens whose reality could be where electricity is a luxury, fleeting in a world of rolling blackouts and power cuts.

The only person I've seen on TV that said out loud all of the things I've been thinking about the power reactor disaster is CNN guest commentator Jim Walsh. The veins nearly popped out of his head when he heard the news that the "Fukushima 50" (my phrase, catchy, huh?) had abandoned the six reactors and the first person I heard talk about the IAEA and its involvement--or non-involvement--in this situation.

Who's the IAEA? The International Atomic Energy Agency is a non-partisan, international organization that promotes, monitors, and oversees all things nuclear. They're the ones that look into whispered rumors about nuclear weaponry and are tasked to look into "mishaps" at nuclear power plants.

If you want to read something truly disturbing, read the news updates provided by the IAEA's web site. Tokyo Electric Power Company (TEPCO), the private company that runs the Fukushima power plants, has a long and rich history of distorting the truth, covering up the truth, and omitting the truth. Between 2002 and 2005, these reactors were shut down as a result of TEPCO falsifying safety records.

Yet despite TEPCO's extremely spotty safety record and their history of lying about safety, it has been permitted to handle this situation without the direct, on-site involvement of the IAEA. TEPCO/Fukushima reported to the IAEA on March 13th that Reactor #3 was "in a safe, cold shutdown" and that other reactors were "under control". Yet 48 hours later, they were reporting fires, exposed fuel rods, and asked IAEA to send an envoy, which IAEA reported that they have done. Yet at this point, it's a bit like closing the barn door after the animals have escaped: what, realistically, can the IAEA do at this point to help the situation?

With the Fukushima 50 fleeing at approximately 9:00 p.m. EST yesterday, one has to question Fukushima's statements not 48 hours prior. Can a reactor truly be "safe and cold" and less than 48 hours later, be on the brink of a meltdown?

It should be noted that power plants are recognized to have a life capacity of approximately 40 years, when the integrity of certain materials in the plants comes into question. Yet just last month, Japanese regulators granted an extension of ten years for the continued operation of these reactors, which range in age from 36 to 40 years old.

Some reactors cores and spent fuel rod compartments are being cooled using sea water, which CNN expert Walsh reported was a "last ditch effort" to extinguish fires and keep key areas cool. Certainly salty water in a concrete structure is not going to help maintain the integrity of the structure.

But how else can Japan provide electricity for its residents? The country does not have its own supply of natural resources, such as coal, natural gas, or oil. It does not have vast amounts of land that could be used to create a hydroelectric dam. Wind power and solar power are viable sources of electricity, but could not create sufficient power (at least not at the present time) to electrify a country of millions.

The likelihood is that all six of the Fukushima power plants will remain off-line and will have to be de-commissioned. Will the build new reactors (and will the IAEA allow them to do so)? And in the meantime, how will the country survive with limited electrical power? How will this affect manufacturing production?

A new Japan is going to have to emerge from this crisis: one less reliant on electricity, at least until new power plants are built. Energy will have to be diverted to manufacturing facilities and key infrastructure, to help keep commerce going, maintain order in the country, and to avoid going into the next disaster: an economy in a quick and deadly downward spiral. And while Americans feel this sympathy towards the Japanese people now, I predict that this sympathy will quickly turn to anger and frustration when little Billy can't get his new electronic toy or Tommy can't get a new flashy computer. Because it's really all about us, isn't, it?

Secret Paean to DePalma Movie?

Does anyone remember the movie from 1984 called "Body Double"? Written and directed by horror/suspense genre genius Brian DePalma, it's the story of Jake. Jake is an actor and has been toiling in supporting roles for years. Now comes his big break: the lead in a horror movie.

But Jake has a problem, an acute case of claustrophobia. While under ordinary circumstances, he can keep his phobia under control (and under wraps), a major scene in the movie forces him to face his phobia head on: where his vampire character has to climb into (and out of) a coffin.

At the crucial moment, he freezes, paralyzed by his claustrophobia. The director doesn't understand Jake's dilemma and goes into a fury, talking about the time and money that this is costing. The director intimates that he had "better get his act together" or risk getting re-cast, a/k/a his big break.

Jake is having issues at home, too: having caught his girlfriend in bed with someone else, he needs to find another place to live. He quickly finds a new, swanky place to live in the Hollywood Hills by way of a fellow actor, Sam, who befriends him in an acting workshop.

What follows is a hallucinatory journey led by Sam into a world of voyeurism, the pornography industry, and lots of interesting characters and such outrageous gore (a woman getting stabbed to death by a giant drill) that it's difficult to say what's real and what's imagined.

Or - what's staged. Toward the end of the movie, Jake is involved in a footchase with a bunch of gun-toting bad guys when he trips and falls into a large hole. Sam is soon there, offering Jake the handle of a shovel. "Just grab the handle," Sam yells, "I'll pull you up." But Jake has claustrophobia, remember? But if he can't get himself out of this hole, the bad guys will soon find him and kill him.

In this literal do-or-die moment, Jake overcomes his claustrophobia, grabs the handle, and is lifted out of the hole, which morphs into a coffin (Jake's back on the set of his movie), where he lifts the lid of the coffin, says his line, and the pleased director yells "Cut!"

You think that's the end of the movie, but then the camera pans around to show some people on the set, people who really shouldn't be there: his "friend" Sam, porn star Holly Body. You realize that only the beginning and the ending of this movie is "real": the sudden appearance of Sam and his luxury home, his neighbor who stripteases in front of the window, the "murder" of this neighbor, it was all fake. Fake! Merely a set up, a long con if you will, to put Jake in a situation where he had to experience a life-or-death situation that would put him face to face with his claustrophobia.

Why am I mentioning this movie? Yes, why, Julie, other than a trip down memory lane? Because after watching "Black Swan", it seems like the same long con could be taking place to dancer Nina.

This storyline should start to sound familiar: Nina is a dancer, who has toiled away as a member of dance troupe but never given the lead. However, her luck changes when the Company Director awards the lead of Swan Lake to Nina. However, Nina has a problem: while she dances perfectly, she dances mechanically, without passion, without losing control. In order to succeed at Swan Lake, Nina must explore--and embrace--her dark side.

On the day that the announcement is made, a new dancer arrives to the Company, Lily. Lily is everything Nina is not: one might say a yin to Nina's yang. Where Nina is technically perfect, Lily is a free spirit personified, dancing from her heart instead of her head.

What follows is a hallucinatory journey led by Lily into a world of designer drugs, sex, and such outrageous gore (a woman getting stabbed to death by shards of a mirror) that it's difficult to say what's real and what's imagined.

Finally, it is the night of the premiere, but all of these obstacles get placed at her feet. Nina's mother locks Nina in her room, telling her daughter that she's gone ahead and told the Company that Nina cannot perform due to illness. When Nina escapes her room and arrives at the theater, the Company Director tells her she cannot perform, it's too late. But nothing is going to stop Nina, nothing!

In the first act (White Swan), Nina catches Lily in the wings, making out with Nina's co-lead, the Swan Prince. Then, after this co-lead drops her in an uncharacteristic fumble, Lily (conveniently, her understudy) appears in her dressing room and the following exchange occurs:

Lily: A rough start, huh? Must have been pretty humiliating.
Nina: Get out of my room!
Lily: Gee, I'm just worried about the next act. I'm not sure you're feeling up to it.
Nina: Stop. Please stop!
Lily: How about I dance the black swan for you?

How's that for spurring someone on? When Nina appears on stage for Act Two--the Black Swan--the question is whether or not she can free herself of her phobia, her need to be perfect, lose control, and embrace her shadow side?

Well, the answer is yes and no. Nina does dance an incredible, amazing, Black Swan. However, unlike Jake, who was able to face his phobia and triumph, Nina takes the metamorphosis too far, losing control not only of her quest for perfection but her very sanity. She appears to have a total, psychotic break from reality, ending up literally becoming the Black Swan, complete with a suicide at the end.

So was the middle of this movie, like Body Double, just one big long con to get someone to face his or her fears and see his or her full potential? I say yes. It just seems to be too many coincidences for this not to be staged.

Let's review the "conspirators". Her overprotective (to the point of smothering) mother, a former dancer, only wants the triumph and success she never had. She'll stop at nothing to get her daughter the lead, vicariously basking in the glow of Nina's success.

The Company Director, having just retired his last prima ballerina, is eager to begin grooming a new protegee, and while having reservations, thinks Nina may just fit the bill.

Lily, the free spirit, is in a no-win situation: she'll conspire to push Nina toward triumph (may see this as a bit of fun, a departure from the otherwise stuffy and rarefied world of ballet). But Lily is in a position to come out ahead if Nina stumbles, because she's been named the understudy.

Black Swan Darren Aronofsky has stated that he is a fan of Brian DePalma. The question is, is Black Swan his paean to his director idol?

This Year's Emmys ROCKED!

The Emmys were last night and if I had to sum up this year's show in one word, it would be surprising. They were chock full of award upsets, unexpected performers, well-placed cameos, and almost completely devoid of bloat (okay, the middle section got a little boring, but I digress).

A tip o' the hat to the writers, producers, and host of this year's Emmys - Jimmy Fallon. The stage was set (so to speak) and the bar set high with an opening number featuring Bruce Springsteen's classic, "Born to Run". The sketch included not only Fallon and the Glee cast, but also Tina Fey, Betty White, Jon Hamm, Joel McHale, and...Jorge Garcia (!), all singing and shaking their money makers.

But don't just take my word for it - check out the sketch yourself.

Cameos ruled the night and were used effectively. The funniest one featured a faux conversation with the cast of Modern Family and the show's producer, who was pitching ideas of how to "spice up" the show. After a few suggestions were nixed, one that received a big thumbs up: When Phil dies, his widow Claire hooks up with Phil's dishy brother, played by none other than George Clooney. Shortly afterward, several "accidents" occur, with Gloria claiming George Clooney as her own (photo, above), and eventually George Clooney ends up in bed with--you guessed it--gay couple Cam and Mitchell.

There was no monologue, but Jimmy Fallon did very short guitar riffs where he introduced each section of the award show: comedy, drama, mini-series or movie, and reality. He got people in the audience to sing with him, including Amy Poehler, Kim Kardashian (not a bad singer!), Julianna Margulies, and Steve Colbert.

He parodied Elton John, among others in a send-off for shows leaving the air. The inside, inside joke that probably only diehard LOST fans know is that Matthew "Foxy" Fox and Billie Joe Armstrong of Green Day are very good friends. Apparently Jimmy Fallon also knows this (or it was a VERY freaky coincidence) because for his send-off to LOST, Jimmy dressed up as Billie Joe and sang his version of Green Day's "Time of My Life" (photo, left).

Onstage, the presenters kept the banter short and for the most part witty. Co-presenters Jon Hamm and Betty White talked about their "sexual chemistry", with Betty hinting that things other than clothes got swapped in the changing area after the opening number.

The best presenter was my boy Ricky Gervais (slimmed down and looking, I have to say, quite hot), who very nearly stole the show with his banter. Amongst his riffs, one on Mel Gibson: "I'm not gonna have a go at him. He's been through a lot. [Pause] Not as much as the Jews, though." After he talked about his inability to get a beer backstage, he offered the entire audience a beer (The Office just went into syndication, drinks are on me, he explained). Waiters carrying longnecks on silver trays appeared out of nowhere and passed out drinks. Among those slugging back a cold one? Christine Baranski!

While shows like LOST and Glee garnered lots of nominations, LOST was shut out (a shande, a shande, I say!) and Glee was only 2 for 19, getting wins for actress Jane Lynch and directing for co-creator Ryan Murphy.

Amongst other surprises/upsets: Top Chef beat out perennial favorite Amazing Race for best reality show and Big Bang Theory Sheldon Parsons won over favored to win Steve Carrell for The Office. Perhaps the biggest surprise was Breaking Bad actor Aaron Paul grabbing an Emmy over the two-way horse race of Michael Emerson and Terry O'Quinn, both favored to win for LOST. I'm thinking that two LOST actors on the ballot split the vote, allowing Paul to win. That's my story and I'm sticking to it!

The show kept a brisk pace and the only section that seemed to drag were the awards for Mini-Series or Movie (mainly because I had never seen nor heard of most of them). Winners kept their speeches short and Al Pacino was the only one that seemed to ramble. But that, like using insipid Twitter comments to introduce presenters, were minor missteps and didn't ruin an otherwise entertaining and memorable evening.

Tomorrow: the fashions! :)

Sorry - I lack the proper equipment to perform that function

What I am not, sadly

I've been called a lot of things: genius, sexy, charismatic--oh, wait, that was a dream I once had--anyway, one thing I never have been and never will claim to be is psychic. Psycho, perhaps (you'll certainly get confirmation about this from anyone who has dated me or known me for more than 15 minutes), but psychic? Never.

So why, why, why does everyone and their brother think I'm a mind reader? Just to clear up any confusion on the matter, let me say, for the record, I am neither a psychic nor a mind reader. I don't keep Tarot cards in my purse, there's no crystal ball being utilized in my house. Hell, I don't even wear black, flowing gowns and dance around like Stevie Nicks (although I don't think she's a psychic, either, she just enjoys dressing up like one).

Whee! Do a twirl, Stevie!

I seemed to have jinxed myself with my last post with the whole guest feedback thing. Maybe guests read it and decided not to tell big, bad Julie anything because I might spontaneously combust. Or yell and scream. Or--actually fix the problem.

Am I really that threatening a presence (don't answer that)? To wit: I sent out an email to friends and former guests about the upgrades and improvements I've made to the property: the new flatscreen, private baths for everyone, etc.

This has opened the floodgate for former guests to complain about something wrong with their stay -- months after the fact. Mind you, these were all things that could be fixed if I had known there was a problem: how to turn off a light, work the TV remote, set the alarm clock, lock the door, etc.

I try to cover questions in the tour I give at check-in, I leave a notebook in guest rooms with answers to frequently asked questions. But of course people forget what I said during the tour, don't read the FAQ's, and it's impossible to cover everything. So I tell people how to reach me, 24 hours a day, and encourage them to tell me if nothing is wrong.

This has been quite a wake-up call for me, because I had no idea what an imposing, scary presence I had. I missed my calling -- I should have been a repo man, or a bouncer, or maybe even a WWE wrestler!

Four guests who left nice notes about what a nice time they had have now had an epiphany: oh, maybe I didn't have such a good time. Now that I think about it, that stupid TV remote didn't work right! I couldn't figure out how to turn off the hallway light and I didn't get any sleep! I couldn't get the DVD to eject out of the machine! I stand corrected: your place sucks and I want a refund!

So as much as I bitched in my last post about Mr. & Mrs. Overbearing and their constant complaining, I will give them props for opening their pieholes during their stay and telling me what was wrong--or what they thought was wrong.

However, I now think the people that are more annoying are the ones who are all smiles during their stay--then find a litany of complaints after they check out. Well I have news for you: if you can't figure out how to use your larynx while you're here and give me a chance to fix the problem, there's nothing I can do weeks after you stayed here, is there? Sheesh!

Now you know why I went into the innkeeping business: I'm a real people person!

Guess you gave me your [fifty] two cents' worth

I normally don't complain about guests--99% of the time, they are nice, normal, decent people just looking for an affordable place to stay. Some guests I've hosted multiple times, and a few I now consider to be my friends. All in all, not a bad way to make a living.

But this week I had a group of guests I won't soon forget. The parents, who I'll call Mr. and Mrs. Overbearing, confessed that when they owned a turn-of-the-century home ("much nicer than this one, dear," Mrs. Overbearing whispered), they considered turning it into a bed and breakfast.

In their minds, thinking of operating a B&B and actually doing it were one in the same. I realize that my B&B is not perfect, but here are a few kernels of wisdom they passed my way:

"Did you realize you have a HUGE butterfly bush in your backyard?" roared Mr. Overbearing. "It needs to be SIGNIFICANTLY pruned or CUT DOWN ALTOGETHER. Where are your pruning shears? Let's go out and do it RIGHT NOW!"

"How old are your smoke detectors? Oh, really, you don't know. Well, I was speaking to [Mr. Overbearing] and he noticed that they were pretty old. Do they function? Oh, they do? Well, [Mr. Overbearing] thinks that they aren't safe. This is an old house and we don't feel SAFE. We don't think we'll be able to sleep tonight. The house may BURN DOWN! What? No, you don't have to go out and get a new one RIGHT NOW. I just am worried that you might LOSE your house because of this old smoke detector. [Mr. Overbearing] just mentioned that he didn't know how SOUNDLY he could sleep because of this...SITUATION. Oh, you're going to the store? Well, if you think that's best." - Mrs. Overbearing

"You have run out of a GREAT MANY things upstairs--are you aware of that? You really should keep your pantry more stocked!! What? You store things downstairs? Well, I didn't know that, dear. I put together a list of things that we are COMPLETELY out of and desperately NEED. Yes, we did find the extra [four] rolls of toilet paper under the sink. But there are FOUR people using that bathroom and we just WENT THROUGH THEM [in two days' time]. So here's the list - it's RATHER extensive. You can use that when you go to the store today." - Mrs. Overbearing

[pounding on the bathroom door] "Julie? Julie!! JULIE! JULIE!! JULIE!!! Oh, I didn't realize you were in the shower. I guess it can wait." - Mr. Overbearing

Then there was their son, older than me, and about as responsible--and obnoxious--as a fourth grader. He had told me he and his business associate would be checking in around midnight. At 12:30, my phone rings and they've lost both set of directions to the house. I don't know if they were drunk, or tired, or a bit of both, but they both thought it was hysterical when they did things like a) miss their exit, b) go straight when they were supposed to turn, c) get incredibly lost and then say "Oh, there's a street sign. Oh, it's too dark, I can't read what it says. But there was a gas station at the intersection." They pulled into my house at 1:52 a.m., giggly and falling all over each other. It was hysterical!

There wasn't enough things I could do for them: find them a dry cleaner (and provide directions), find them a thrift store (ditto on directions), a rug store, BOGO vouchers for area attractions (none of which they used), get them directions to the Expo Mart, Mount Washington, Downtown, South Hills Village, the airport, Mount Washington to the airport, Monroeville to South Hills Village, Airport to New York, Lawrenceville to New York, Mt. Washington to New York. After printing out directions for what had to be the fifth time to the Expo Mart, it took all restraint within me not to staple them onto the son's forehead.

I don't normally ask for a tip, but in the case of guests that I feel I've gone above and beyond, I have an envelope I leave in case people want to leave me a little something.

Today, (checking out two hours past check-out time) the little darlings left my house. What was in the envelope? Two quarters and two pennies. All I can say is that it's really too bad I saw this after their car drove away, because I've been known to have a pretty lethal throw...

What...A Brat

In 1992, Saturday Night Live featured a "Wayne's World" sketch comparing the Gore daughters (schwing!) to Chelsea Clinton ("not a fox").

It was reported that the Clinton's, particularly Hillary Clinton, was furious with SNL for what she considered to be "cruel and disrespectful" remarks towards her daughter (interestingly not a peep, though, from the Gore camp about "Wayne" saying their daughters were babes). The comments made in the sketch? Essentially that Chelsea was not an attractive girl. I'll let you be the judge.

Fast forward nearly twenty years, and little Chelsea is all grown up and engaged to be married this year. In what has to be the definition of irony, the now-swan Chelsea had a request of her father: lose weight.

I wouldn't have believed this story unless I had seen multiple articles reporting that Clinton relayed this story at a fiscal summit in DC. Not only did Chelsea basically call her Dad a pork-o, she demanded he lose 15 pounds. Or else what? He not walk her down the aisle? He not have the privilege of paying for the whole bloody wedding?

It's no secret that Bill Clinton has had an issue with poor diet and a struggle with weight. But his 2004 heart surgery appeared, at least to me, to put him on a good path. He lost a tremendous amount of weight and reported following a more healthy diet and exercise plan. Looking at recent pictures of him, it would be hard to categorize him as overweight.

If I were Bill Clinton, I'd tell Chelsea to go eff herself, drive myself to the nearest Burger King, and order a Triple Whopper Sandwich with Cheese and Mayo, named by Men's Health Magazine as the worst fast food burger out there. Bon Appetit!

Good Manners Never Gave Me Eight Million Dollars

Sunday is my favorite day of the week: a luxurious and lazy several hours sipping coffee, reading the paper, and doing the crossword puzzles. But alas, my respite was interrupted by my blood boiling after reading the profile piece on the Development Director over at the Pittsburgh Opera, John Federico. Federico, who, given his work history at many prestigious nonprofit's, clearly knows how fundraising works.

Which makes it all the more infuriating when he glibly distilled successful fundraising into one completely ludicrous soundbyte:

"...he believes his job really comes down to this: Say please and thank you [emphasis added]. At least that's what he tells aspiring young interns.

'If you're going to be a fundraiser and if your parents raised you right, you really should know the most important things to say by the time you're 5. If you can do those things, the rest is all polish.'"

Really, John, really? Successful fundraising comes down simply to having good manners?

If the absolute key to fundraising could be found in something so simple, every nonprofit in town would have pots overflowing with money. Hell, my parents raised me pretty well, and I am the champion thank you note writer, but somehow that prevented the nonprofit I started from swimming in money.

Mr. Federico and I both know that the secret to fundraising is not good manners. While Elsie Hillman might certainly appreciate a heartfelt thank you directed her way, that, my friend, will take you only so far. Successful fundraising relies many different things. If I had to choose one thing that will get you to the front of the proverbial pack, it's connections. No, make that relevant connections.

Connections and relationships are the key to fundraising. You need a board of directors, preferably ones with deep pockets, who know people who are connected and/or have deep pockets, who are articulate and enthusiastic and energetic who will sell, sell, sell your organization at every opportunity to anyone and everyone who could possibly get you money, positive exposure, or both.

You need to be a nonprofit that not only has a good reputation in the market, but one with a demonstrated track record amongst funders. It's like getting your first job: employers want experience, but to get experience you need to get a job. Getting that first grant is tough (from someone who started a nonprofit you'll have to trust me on this one), and it certainly helps to have a connected BOD or Executive Director, or--even better--someone you know at the philanthropic organization that's doling out the money.

Once you get connections, you have to constantly cultivate that relationship. Put them on your mailing list, invite them to events, take them out to lunch to get their thoughts about the organization, and make them feel like (I hate this word, but here it's applicable) a stakeholder. In short, make them feel included, and it's constant and ongoing, and way, way beyond a simple "please" and "thank you".

These days, it's increasingly difficult to get money, as even Federico admits. I give myself only a "C", because it's not my forte and success fundraising is really an art, based on a perfect storm of a lot of different factors. Maybe Federico's comments were meant to be self-effacing, but he knows as well as I do that a simple please and thank you alone aren't going to do it.