Third Installment of Top Chef Trilogy 2012: Thanks for Breakfast, Chef Bryan Voltaggio!

Tonight is the season finale of Bravo TV's Top Chef Texas, season 9 of the fantastic Top Chef series.  In honor of this historic event,  in lieu of my normal "New Product Wednesdays" I instead bring you the third installment of my Top Chef Trilogy.

If you're not a regular reader of Lily on the Lam, allow me to bring you up to speed on the Trilogy.  The first installment was my review of dreamy-eyed Top Chef Texas Contestant and Moto Restaurant Chef de Cuisine Chef Richie Farina's (@RichieFarina on Twitter) first ever cooking class at the Rolling Pin in Brandon, Florida.

The second installment was my review of 2011 Top Chef Masters' winner Chef Floyd Cardoz's new restaurant North End Grill in NYC.  You can also read my 2011 blog post on Chef Floyd Cardoz's cooking class at Publix Aprons Cooking School in Citrus Park, FL here.

In addition to the trilogy, check out my review of a Top Chef-inspired holiday menu here.

Now that I've brought you up to speed, let's get on with the third and final installment of my Top Chef Trilogy 2012:  "Thanks for Breakfast, Chef Bryan Voltaggio."

I attended a Super Bowl party where there was a Top Chef-inspired holiday menu.  At the end of the evening, the hosts handed out plastic Chinese food-style take out containers filled with veggie quiches.  (See non-food stylist created picture below.)  The idea was that not only did you have dinner but you also had breakfast for the next day.

And I did indeed have the fabulous savory quiches for breakfast.  I paired them with some freshly cut strawberries.  It made an excellent breakfast!

The hosts told me that they took the idea of giving dinner party guests "breakfast to go" from none other than the incredibly "so gorgeous it hurts" Top Chef contestant Chef Bryan Voltaggio, Chef and Owner of Volt Restaurant in Frederick, Maryland.  The husband had had a wonderful dinner at Volt Restaurant and at the end of the meal, he was given coffee cake to take home for his next day's breakfast.

More dinner party hosts need to embrace the "breakfast takeaway" concept for their guests.  And then these dinner party hosts need to invite me over!  Free dinners with free breakfasts to go?  COUNT ME IN!

So thank you, Chef Bryan Voltaggio for inspiring people to give their dinner party guests a breakfast takeaway.  My stomach thanks you!  Hopefully this becomes the new hot trend!

Urban Chickens, Aloe Shakes and the Guru of My Colon

September 2014 Update:  Cephas' Hot Shop is currently closed - please support his rebuilding efforts via a GoFundMePage. 

September 2013 Update - Cephas has changed his website link to: CephasHotShop.com - check it out today!

Before I start today's Lily on the Lam blog post, I wanted to wish my sister Squidge a very happy 22nd birthday!  Hopefully a shout out counts as a suitable present!

Now on to today's blog ...

Today's Tampa Tribune has a news story by Kevin Wiatrowski on our city's "Urban Chickens."  If you've visited Tampa Bay's Ybor City (pronounced ee-bor, not why-bor!) - Tampa's version of a Latin Quarter (think of a junior version of New Orleans' French Quarter, but just as decadent);  you may have seen free range chickens running around.  It adds an extra touch of "What the f**k???" when visiting the crazy chaos that is Ybor City.  There's nothing like heading to the bars on a Friday night and having to stop for a mother hen and her chicks crossing the street.  What situation isn't made more special, more fantastic, more heartwarming than a free range chicken running across your path?  Life is always better with a live chicken.  And you can quote me on that.

The Tampa news story inspired me to write about one of my favorite places to go in Ybor City where chickens roam free.  If you are a regular reader of Lily On The Lam, you may recall in my post on Chef Floyd Cardoz and Danny Meyer's new NYC restaurant North End Grill that I referred to Cephas Gilbert, owner of Cephas' Hot Shop in Ybor City as the "Guru of my Colon."

Cephas used to have a restaurant in Ybor City.  Unfortunately several years ago, the restaurant had a fire. Since then, Cephas sells his food and drinks from a stand next to the restaurant site.  On Saturdays, the backyard terrace patio is a wonderful outdoor venue for live music, great food and great drinks.

I have been a faithful visitor of Cephas' Hot Shop for over a year, since former paramour Sergio first introduced me to the passionate and inspiring Cephas Gilbert.  Cephas is a prophet of the wonders and health benefits of fresh aloe vera gel.  Check out Cephas' website to learn more about what people are saying about aloe vera gel.  There are many health claims about aloe vera gel, however I am not a physician.  I can only say what the effects are for me - after drinking freshly made aloe vera shakes (fresh aloe vera gel, water and ice, blended until frothy and foamy) I do feel more energetic.  This energetic feeling stays with me for hours, much longer than caffeine or sugar-type effects.

Don't be surprised if Cephas eyes you up and down, correctly guesses your height and then tells you - whatever your weight - that you are fat.  Cephas believes he is the drill sergeant of health and if you are unhealthy, he just needs to talk louder and sterner.  But it's done with love and good intentions.  Cephas believes we are using our large intestine inefficiently, causing a variety of maladies.  He believes that aloe is the key to better health.  Cephas believes we are mistreating our bodies with processed food and believes aloe, changes in what you eat and exercise can help you get on the right path to health.  

The lining of the aloe plant has a laxative property.  The aloe gel that Cephas uses may contain small amounts of this lining, which is why I have given Cephas the nickname "Guru of my Colon."  I definitely feel that regular aloe vera shakes keep things moving and grooving for me.

Cephas recommends three aloe shakes a week for best benefit.  I will say that for the first time aloe drinker, you may find the enzymatic aloe vera gel shake to be a touch bitter.  Some find it just bland.  However the aloe shake is not savored for its taste but for its benefits.  Also, if you have dry skin, make sure you ask Cephas if he has any leftover aloe leaves.  Cephas generally will give them free with purchase and you can rub the remaining aloe gel in the leaves on your dry skin.

Cephas' Hot Shop is open Monday - Saturday from 11 a.m. to usually around 7 p.m., sometimes later.  Check out Cephas' website for yourself to see the reported claims about the benefits of aloe.  Or better yet, go visit Cephas.  He has a TV in the background running a loop on colon health benefits and he never tires of talking about the benefits of aloe.  Seriously.  He can talk up a storm about aloe and your body.    

An actual Urban Rooster next to Cephas' Hot Shop - Ybor City, FL

If an aloe vera gel shake is not your speed, how about some great Jamaican food instead?  Cephas offers traditional Jamaican fare - jerk chicken, curry chicken, goat, oxtail - and my favorite - the fish (pictured below).  Each plate comes with rice and beans, vegetables, a sweet potato and some hot pickled vegetables as well as the protein.  The picture below has been "Lilyfied" - I request fish and vegetables only (hold the rice and beans) to keep my starchy carbs low.  Cephas also sells my favorite Jamaican soda - the grapefruit-a-licious Ting.  You can buy food "to go" during the week and on Saturdays, you can either get your food to go or stay and enjoy live music, dinner and drinks in the backyard terrace.

Delicious Fish and Vegetable Plate from Cephas' Hot Shop

In addition to aloe shakes, great food and beverages and urban chicken viewing, my favorite part about visiting Cephas' Hot Shop is that if you stand there long enough you will see an amazing microcosm of Tampa Bay society.  From hippies to emo punk hipsters, from businesspeople to athletes, old to young, small to large, poor to rich and oh yeah, one quirky blog writer named Lily- there is an amazing array of people who come to visit Cephas.  I've had some of the most interesting conversations with people on the front patio in front of Cephas' aloe stand as I waited for Cephas to blend up my aloe vera gel, water and ice shake.  If you want to meet all of Tampa, come hang out in front of Cephas' Hot Shop for a few hours.  You'll be amazed at all the interesting and friendly people you will meet.  Everyone is happy, fun and chatty.  Perhaps its the aloe.  Perhaps its the good food.  Or perhaps its because hanging out at Cephas' Hot Shop just puts everyone in a good mood.  Who knows?  But if you're new to Tampa, it's a great way to meet new people.  However, bring cash because the front aloe vera stand does not take credit cards.

Cephas Gilbert is a character - a font of positive energy with a heart bigger than Ybor City itself.  I love talking with him and hearing his stories of his life and travels.  So whether your ears want to hear stories, your stomach wants great food, your pretty face wants to be seen by the best people in Tampa or your colon wants some aloe vera gel - or all four, get yourself and your body over to Cephas' Hot Shop in Ybor City.  

And say "hello" to the urban chickens for me.

September 2013 Update - Cephas has changed his website link to: CephasHotShop.com - check it out today!

  

A Space in My Heart for Spacey and Charo - Part Two

Hello Everyone:


I can't believe how many page views my last blog post A Space in My Heart for Spacey and Charo - Part One received in less than 18 hours.  There are either a ton of Kevin Spacey fans out there or a lot of Charo fans.  Either way, thank you for the page views!


As promised, here is my Part Two discussing my seeing Kevin Spacey in Richard III at BAM - Brooklyn Academy of Music ... Hope you enjoy it!


I've never officially been to Brooklyn.  One time I walked from West 80th Street all the way down to the Brooklyn Bridge, walked over, set a foot in Brooklyn and walked all the way back to West 80th Street.  I'm a walking machine.


But when I heard Kevin Spacey was starring in Richard III at BAM- Brooklyn Academy of Music, I knew I had to get my arse to Brooklyn.  Richard III is my favorite Shakespeare play and if you read my previous blog post, you'll know I loves me some Kevin Spacey.

Now I know you think I am the epitome of class, grace and sophistication, but I really only have two Brooklyn reference points.  First - An old boyfriend is from Brooklyn.  I'm not going to name him because I already had to block him from my Facebook.  (We dated in the late 1990's for God's sake - don't be emailing me on the eve of your marriage to your 2nd wife!  CREEPY!)  Second - the episode of "Sex in the City" where Cynthia Nixon gets in a cab and asks to be taken to Brooklyn, her reluctant new home.  The cab driver says "Sorry - I don't go to Brooklyn."


Yep - a billion apologies to all those who love Brooklyn, but that's it for my reference points.  Clueless, thy name is Lily.  I meekishly asked the floppy haired emo-loving kid concierge at my hotel if he thought I'd have any problem finding a cab in Chelsea to Brooklyn at 6 p.m.  Now seriously, they must teach concierges how to stifle their reactions because I am sure inside he was scoffing at Miss Ultra Clueless.  But on the outside, you'd never know.  He tilted his head with this reassuring look and said in a soft, soothing voice - "No, you'll be fine.  You won't have any problems."  This floppy-haired kid concierge could be my next guru cult master, because he said it and I believed it!


I stepped out of the hotel, hailed a cab and I was in Brooklyn 15 minutes later, just fine with no problems. Thank you kid concierge!


With "Sex in the City" ringing in my ears, I had allotted a large amount of time to get to BAM.  I now had time to kill.  I spotted Junior's Restaurant near the theater.  I've been to the one near Times Square.  It's OK - not my favorite, but definitely somewhere I could kill some time and grab a bite to eat.\


I had the matzo ball soup.  It was decent.  Pretty good, nice flavor.  Not the best cup of matzo ball soup I have had, but certainly not the worse.

Then, of course, I had to have some cheesecake.  The special was a red velvet cheesecake.  This sounded intriguing, so I ordered it.  Only to find out ten minutes later that they were out.  Intent to have cheesecake, I ordered the strawberry shortcake cheesecake instead.

The cheesecake was a huge disappointment.  Chemically artificial-tasting, bland, dried-out layers of cake next to a "I couldn't tell you what flavor this one by taste only, if you paid me a million dollars" pink cheesecake.  Ugh.  So not worth the calories.  Disappointing!


What was even more off-putting than the strawberry shortcake cheesecake was half the patrons at this Brooklyn Junior's Restaurant.  Apparently I missed the sign that announced it was "C You Next Tuesday" night.  Half the tables were filled with the most uppity, biatchy, "someone pissed in my grits this morning so now I am going to make the world pay" women I have ever been around.  I seriously felt like I had been thrown in some frothy, muck-filled boiling stew of menopausal and post-menopausal feminine horror.  I really wanted to go to each woman and say "Life is good, stop being such an a**hole!!"  I wanted to run out of the restaurant screaming and then go do some volunteer work to get the universe back on track.


At this point, I was praying Kevin Spacey would blow my mind in "Richard III" and remove this nasty "why are people so mean?" feeling that had thoroughly saturated my psyche.


Kevin Spacey delivered.  Once again, he was my fairy Godfather.  (Read my last blog post if you don't know what this means!)


However, before I write about Kevin Spacey's performance.  Let me tell you about the origins of my love of Shakespeare's Richard III.  In high school, we read the standard Shakespeare fare -- Romeo and Juliet, Merchant of Venice, Midsummer Night's Dream, Much Ado About Nothing, Hamlet, King Lear ... I think we might have even read Twelfth Night.  However, one year, my beloved Guthrie Theatre (read my blog post on the Guthrie here), was staging "Richard III" starring Byron Jennings and directed by the wonderful Garland Wright.  I knew nothing about "Richard III" other than some generic War of the Roses bits, but I loved the Guthrie; so off I went.  Plus I'm pretty sure my step-father had bought the tickets for us, I'm a sucker for free theater!


Richard III has one of the best and most lyrical opening lines of all plays.  "Now is the winter of our discontent/Made glorious summer by this son of York."


In the Guthrie Theater production of Richard III, I was mesmerized by Byron Jennings' performance as Richard.  How do you convey allure, horror, villainy, soullessness and sexiness all in one character?  I don't know how, but Byron Jennings did it.  He was captivating, you could not take your eyes off of him.  The show had one element that creeps me out to this very day.  On the stage was a large gleaming ivory pillar, rising from stage to ceiling.  It was incandescent, glowing like an angel's halo in the darkened theater.  Whenever Richard III would order the death of one of his rivals, a shrieking noise would flood the theater.  It was so high-pitched it was like nails on a chalkboard.  Hearing it made me feel like someone was dragging their nails down my spine.  My body literally contorted hearing the shriek.  But that was not all.  In addition to the shrieking pillar, whenever Richard would order someone's death; a blood red liquid would run down the glistening white pillar.  If you know the play Richard III, you'll know Richard was responsible for quite a lot of deaths.  That once angelic pillar was shrieking and bloody for most of the play.  It was one of the most effective stage props I have every seen.  And I have seen a heck of a lot of good theatre.  This production has stayed in my heart for a very long time.


However, I will say looking back on the play as a more seasoned adult; I think Byron Jennings' performance was a bit of a cheat.  He played his Richard III as more of a sexy, intense, villainous politician.  Whereas most actors don the freakshow/hunchback side of Richard III.  Harder to balance sexy with "bottled spider."  I was very curious to see how Kevin Spacey would adorn the role.  Especially since I knew he would be using a cane and a leg brace to play the deformed King.


Kevin Spacey's performance was definitely more lush and complex than Byron Jenning's Richard III.  There were some aspects that were classic Kevin Spacey as campy villain persona.  After all, this is the man who played "Lex Luther" to Superman.  However there were times when I lost sight of Kevin Spacey all together.  His performance was classic Freudian.  You could see a lifetime of Richard III's bruised psyche in Kevin Spacey's body language, his affectation and his looks.  You could clearly see the genesis of a villain without giving a tremendous amount of exposition.


Richard III - the physically twisted son, forgotten amidst the stronger nobler sons, unable to straighten himself to their measure has decided to form his insides to match his outside.  But at the core, there's still the competition to be seen as worthy, valuable and loveable.  Maybe if he can be King, he can "straighten" himself.  Maybe, just maybe.  The pregnant hope is made in vain and we, as the audience, suspect Richard III knows that as well.


Kevin Spacey's "Richard III" was a multi-dimensional layering of emotion.  The way he physically contorted himself with the leg brace was the most visually moving of his performance.  His left leg at times seemed almost 90 degrees from his knee.  I can only imagine the pain he must be going through, doing this performance night after night for months on end for the show's Bridge Project world tour.  It was painful to watch him, leg tossed in awkward angles.  However it also tore at your heart - you feel pity on his form but also fear for his wickedness.


One of my favorite parts of this performance, was the use of shadow.  When Richard III's brother George, the Duke of Clarence is imprisoned in the Tower of London; even in rags his shadow cast high upon the wall behind him is like the silhouette of a Disney Prince Charming.  He doesn't have to say a word, we realize he is of solid good heart and noble intention just by viewing his shadow.  Not to say that actor Chandler Williams' performance wasn't stellar, he did a wonderful role as the loving brother, blind to the end toward his brother's true heart.


Watching Kevin Spacey's Richard III, I felt pity, horror, revulsion, sadness, empathy, fear, disgust, dark humor and at times, even admiration.  Richard III is a complex character and Kevin Spacey played each aspect of this complexity as if he were plucking strings on a lute.  Each note resonated through the theater.  I enjoyed the bawdy camp spin, he played at times.  However it was peppered in at just the right amount to not turn the tragedy into a farce.


Unfortunately there was one note in this production that did seem too much of a farce.  When I first saw "Richard III" at the Guthrie Theater, the King's young sons were played by children.  Making the horror of their murder by Richard's instructions even more horrific.  In this version, the children's roles are played by short women.  It was off-putting listening to women try to look and sound like young boys.  Next time, spring for some kid actors.  This isn't Shakespeare's time!  You have the ability to showcase child actors.  Give the kids a shot!  


The incredible Sam Mendes directed "Richard III."  He had also directed Kevin Spacey in his Best Actor Oscar winning performance in "American Beauty."  The production has minimal staging - just random wooden tables and chairs.  The emphasis is all on performance, where it should be.  Second only to Kevin Spacey's richly complex performance, was the incredible Chuk Iwuji as the Duke of Buckingham.  Instead of just playing the henchman, Iwuji brought an equally layered and complex performance as the wicked Buckingham who doesn't realize his mistakes until it is too late.


Haydn Gwynne, who plays Queen Elizabeth, reminded me very much of the wonderfully lovely and strong actress Kristen Scott Thomas.  Gwynne rang true to the Shakespearean role of a woman - going from haughty to despair and dragging you over each emotional bump of the journey.  If you're looking to feel the ravaged soul of this performance of Richard III, you need only to listen to the rise and fall of Haydn Gwynne's voice.


I am probably the only audience member not cheering the demise of Richard III at the end of the play.  For at the heart, I have always felt that Richard III's villainy was a product of a lifetime of being scorned and underestimated.  Yes, he was ruthless and killed half the people in the play; but I empathize with the circumstances that brought him to this tyrannical end product.    


I shall despair. There is no creature loves me;
And if I die, no soul shall pity me.
Nay, wherefore should they? since that I myself
Find in myself no pity to myself.


Richard III is wrong when he says the above lines.  There is pity, but horror and disgust scream louder.


A special thanks to Reader Kelly - her comment made me remember that I had neglected to write about the last scene of the production!  After Richard's death, a rope with a hook comes down from the ceiling.  They attach the rope to Kevin Spacey's feet and slowly hoist him up.  He is hanging above the actors as the Earl of Richmond gives the final speech.  You could hear a gasp from the audience, as Richard III's bloody body was hanging above.  The final speech seemed to go on forever and I wondered how bad of a blood rushing headache, Kevin Spacey must be having dangling there for so long.  Although after having his leg in a brace for most of the production, perhaps being hung by one's ankles felt good at least from a leg stretching standpoint.  Kevin Spacey, your body may not appreciate all you are doing to it for this production; but your audience certainly does.  BRAVO!


I very much enjoyed Kevin Spacey's version of Richard III.  It delivered everything I adore in a Kevin Spacey performance - complexity, laughter, joy, sadness, pity, hope, dashed hopes and naughtiness.  While the shrieking, bloody pillar in Director Garland Wright's performance will always be my favorite, Director Sam Mendes' production has managed to carve out its own niche in my theater-loving heart.




  

A Space in My Heart for Spacey and Charo - Part One

(Side Note:  Don't forget to check out Part Two of this blog post here.)


When I was but a wee lass, barely able to get into bars legally; I moved to Los Angeles, California.  I remember watching reruns of "The Love Boat" and seeing the "Port of Los Angeles" as some magical destination where all your dreams came true, romance awaited and maybe a cameo by the Landers sisters would occur too.


(I also thought when they said "L.A." that they were talking about a city named Elay.  Elay sounded really exciting and I wondered if Elay was near Los Angeles.  Imagine two awesome cities right near the Port of Los Angeles.  I just had to go to Elay sometime.  I was not a very intelligent child.)


So when I finished grad school in Western New York, I packed up my Nissan 200SX SE (which I had determined "SX SE" was subliminal for SEXY!).  I grabbed my cat and my dreams for my future and off I went to move to "Elay."  I expected that when I arrived sassy bartender Isaac would whip me up a cocktail and perhaps Charo would join me.  That's how it all works, right?


Allow me to make one correction based on a "fan" comment to my original blog post.  OK, not a fan ... but the thorn in my paw - the one, the only DEG - putting the Hot in HOTlanta since ... um, 2007?


Let's retry that above paragraph again -- "I packed up my not so sexy Nissan 200SX SE, grabbed my cat and my dreams and headed to ... Cleveland.  Yes, Cleveland.  Where a dashing, tan Sicilian was waiting for me ... and my car and my cat.  Beloved, cherished and very ravishable friend, DEG - the aforementioned Hotlantan had graciously volunteered to drive with me from Cleveland to Los Angeles.  Why was DEG in Cleveland?  I think it was because it was cheaper than Buffalo?  Or he was there for a business trip?  I have no clue - listen, I'm old and can't remember all this stuff!


So Hotlantan DEG and I headed for our cross-country road trip.  I still remember as we approached Texas, DEG said "Let me handle this" and drove the entire state.  Evidently we were more likely to get pulled over with a woman behind the wheel ... a half-Asian woman behind the wheel ... a half-Asian woman with a cat on her lap behind the wheel ... This woman.  I was not going to argue with DEG, 99.2% of the time he's usually right.  But ohhhh how I enjoy the 0.8% when I am right!


We drove and drove and drove ... and ended up in Oklahoma ... I think.  It was flat, dusty and there were like locusts everywhere.  It may have been purgatory, come to think of it.  We pulled up to a no tell motel.  (Did I mention I was poor?)  We walked in through a sea of alien grasshopper things.  The motel clerk looked up at us and said "Di's dead."


Huh, what?


"Di's dead.  Princess Di is dead."


We had been listening to CDs in the car and somehow had missed that Princess Diana had been killed.  I still recall sitting in a dingy motel room, watching a 90 year old television about Princess Diana.  It definitely darkened the remainder of the road trip.


I could not have been more green for life in "Elay."  One friend told me to watch the Steve Martin movie "L.A. Story" before I arrived to "prepare" me for life in Los Angeles.  It actually was great advice, but I didn't realize why until after I had lived in Los Angeles for quite sometime.  I lived around the corner from Grauman's Chinese Theatre at Hollywood Boulevard and Orange Drive in a cheap large one bedroom apartment.  Hollywood Boulevard was slowly making its transformation from seedy strip club/prostitution sector to the white-washed wonderland it is now.  Because the area was still seen as a scary place, my rent was very cheap.


Also because of this, the alley next to the apartment building had transvestite hookers offering not only blow jobs but anal sex every evening.  How do I know this?  Because I would have to drive through the alley, sit patiently while the world's slowest electronic gate creaked open and then I could drive through to my parking lot.  As I waited for the aforementioned world's slowest electronic gate, I would get to see the local transvestite hooker receiving a visitor through his/her backstage entrance about two feet from my driver's side window.  Surprisingly this did not seem to shock my Midwestern sensibilities and eventually this nightly event became just another piece of the "local color" of the tapestry of my life in Elay.


Never having been through an earthquake, I had picked an apartment building that was fifty years old.  I figured if it was still standing after all this time, it had to be pretty sturdy.  Unlike all the special retrofitted "earthquake proof" buildings that seem to completely collapse at the slightest tremor.  And it was like "Melrose Place" - apartments in a square with a pool in the middle.  With my $610 a month apartment in Elay, I felt like I had finally arrived.  


Post-graduate school, I couldn't be bothered to find a job.  Sorry, I have lunch plans!  No time to look for a J-O-B.  I flitted around the congested streets of "Elay" wearing tiny Victoria's Secret cotton sundresses and large awkward sunglasses; never once realizing I was so far away from hipster cool fashionable that I couldn't have seen it with a telescope.  Everything was new and exciting.  I felt like anything could happen.  I hit all the trendy spots and did my best impression of trying to fit in.


Eventually with the help of two guides - "EL" - a British nanny to a most cheated upon and now ex-wife of a major Hollywood movie star and "Miss N," I started carving my little place in the Hollywood bar/club scene.  I was never going to be able to compete with the size 00 gorgeous wannabe starlets.  And in accepting that fact, something amazing happened ... instead of being intimidated by the pretty people around me, I felt amazingly relaxed and comfortable in my own skin.  I was never, ever, ever going to be able to compete with these gorgeous creatures, so I didn't even try.  I was content being me and I found that that was a very attractive trait to many people.  I didn't come to L.A. to be an actor or a writer.  I just thought it would be fun.


The intriguing part about being someone in L.A. who isn't trying to sell something, pump people for entertainment industry contacts or spend hours telling you how great I am; was that I actually started meeting some industry movers and shakers.  I kick myself that I didn't parlay chance meetings into something more.  But I was a free spirit back then, completely ignorant about what I wanted for my future.  Because I wasn't a user or a leech, people let their guard down around me.  It was pretty cool feeling like I was the only person in L.A. who wasn't trying to claw their way up the entertainment industry ladder.


Hollywood is actually a small town when it comes to the trendy clubs.  You keep running into the same people over and over again.  Especially if you are like me, going out 6-7 nights a week for a year and a half.   One night, we decided to slum it down by going to a faux billiards dive bar.  I say "faux" because it was like a Disney version of a what a pool hall/dive bar should be.  Cosmetically, it looked like a dive bar but it lacked the soul and the grime.  The occupants wanted to look like the type who'd be hanging all night at some skeezed out, smoke-infested, dingy pool hall; they just didn't actually want to go to a neighborhood where you could find the real thing.


One of the wannabe hipster boho crowd members came up to me that particular night.  He had a jaunty knit cap, an unopened pack of cigarettes in his jeans pocket (I want to look like I'm a chain smoker, but without killing my lungs.) and the requisite amount of manufacturer made "holes" in his overpriced cotton t-shirt.  Needless to say, young me thought this guy was dreamy and "so real and authentic."  He walked up to me with a toothpick wedged between his ultra bright teeth.  He was carrying a pool cue; even though I never saw him actually playing pool.  He tilted his head to the right, stuck his finger in my face and said through toothpick holding teeth - "I know you."


In my best breathy bravado, I tossed my hair back and delivered this line ... "Oh?  Really?"  The game was afoot.  He nodded slow with dead certain eyes with this "Trust me, I'm a super genius" look about him.  He leaned in real close to me.  I pulled my head back, certain I was about to get gored by a toothpick.  He gave a hot breathy tone right back at me.  "You hang out with that British chick who always wears her hair in braids (she was trying for some Ginger Spice meets Heidi look back then).  You hang out at ..." and he began to list every club that was on my regular rotation.  Wow.  I guess he did know me.  Or at least knew I seemed to be training my liver on how to be an effective alcoholic.


I was stunned.  I'm not a great multi-tasker, so the surprise that this guy knew my entire party rotation was jarring enough that I could no longer effectively work my "Jessica Rabbit meets Midwestern Nerd" routine.  I opened my mouth and this torrential onslaught of pure dork raged out all over Mr. Faux BoHo.


"OH MY GOD - OH THAT'S RIGHT - OH YES, I TOTALLY GO TO THE PLACES!  OH WOW, YOU DO KNOW ME ... THAT'S SO COOL .. OHHH...."


I'm a little fuzzy about what happened next.  I was a heavy drinker in my "Elay" days.  But I am 74% sure that Mr. Faux BoHo slowly walked backward with a surprised look on his face and disappeared into the crowd without another word.


Whoops.  I had shown my cards too early.  And those cards read: "Unsophisticated dork girl."


Now if this were a movie, this would be the part where one of my two Los Angeles cool girl guides would have taken me in hand and given me both a fashion and a personality makeover.  As some late 1990's girl empowerment (angst but poppy!) song played, there would be a montage of me at the salon, at the spa, at the most expensive Robertson Boulevard stores transforming myself from too loud, too naive dork girl to bitchy teen socialite.  (OK I guess there might have been a time machine in that montage too, to turn me back to my teen years.)  It would be a transformation worthy of an "ooh ahhh" from a mostly female movie audience.  (With some sassy gay men too!  Hey boys!)  And by the time that girl empowerment song faded out, you would know that I was one seriously cool biatch to be a-reckoning with.  (Wait, when did I slip into sassy African-American sister?  I gotta stop with the head rolling.)


But as you may have guessed from my previous blog posts, my life is not a rom-com chick flick!  I had neither the budget or the plastic heart to carry off biatchy socialite wannabe.  No matter how you dress me up or down, my heart still tends to beat Minnesota.  And no matter how many possessions and experiences I accumulate over the years, I still have a smidge of classic dork in me.  I am pretty OK with that now.  Back in "Elay" days, I was in deep denial over my dorkhood.


It is because of this deep denial that I could go out every night - the pudgy drunken dork amongst supermodels in size 00 outfits - without realizing that I was a fish out of water.  Hell,  I was a fish in a clown suit, selling popcorn at the circus; wondering when my dreams were gonna come true!  Regardless, I was having fun.  A lot of fun.  This Midwestern Girl was seeing the world!  And it wasn't all just transvestite hookers!


One night, Miss N and I hit this swanky Asian restaurant/"see and be seen" stylin' bar.  I can't recall the name now, but it was one of those colonial domination of Asia homage names - like "Indochine" or "Hey White Man, Please stop Raping our country's natural resources and our women Bar and Grill."  The bar area was done in late 20th century palm frond.  I felt like I should be sporting a pith helmet and on the lookout for wild game with my manservant, Chumley.  There were giant palm leaves EVERYWHERE.  Evidently hiding behind foliage while you're drinking was the latest thing in Elay.


We left the Nissan 200SX SE with the valet who didn't seem to know exactly what the heck he'd do with my hoopdie car.  The bar was PACKED.  Wall to wall people.  But there seemed to be an incredibly intense cluster of people near an enclosed booth table near the front.  The booth had large palm leaves obscuring the view of all who were sitting at the table.  The patrons standing in front of this booth were jammed tightly against each other.  It was like they were in an invisible subway car.  Why were they so glommed on to each other like that?  The bar was packed but not so packed that you needed to pretend you were conjoined twins with a crowd of people.  Oh Elay, you're so crazy!


Miss N and I surveyed the crowded room.  Miss N is one of the most clever biatches, I know.  She works the "I'm from the streets" attitude even though she came from an upper middle class NYC family.  Somehow in that packed insanity, she managed to get us two seats right dead center at the bar.  I seriously think she might have just gone up ninja style, slit two people's throats, thrown them to the ground and then whisked me on to the bar stool.  I had no clue how she managed to get us seats, I was just glad she did.  And if that meant I had to step over a bloody carcass to get on the bar stool, well that's life in "Elay."  Just ask Charo.


While Miss N may have committed murder to get us two incredible seats at the bar, she must have left her poison blow dart gun at home.  We could NOT get the bartenders' attention to save our lives.  We could have set ourselves on fire and the bartender would have just walked on by.  I was doing the extreme lean over "here's my cleavage" bend while shaking a five dollar bill ... that's my signature move, people ... and what did it get me?  NOTHING.  It was quite possible we would die of thirst at these bar stools.


Miss N - again proving that she is a secret ninja - had eyes in the back of her head and elastic arms.  Without even looking behind her, she thrust her super stretchy plastic elastic arm deep into the crowd.  Her arm must have extended twenty feet.  She then retracted it and there was a surprised looking New Yorker in her grasp.  The girl has skills.


The surprised New Yorker was a friend of Miss N.  I can't remember his name, so I'll just call him "The Hip Monk,"  He had this whole Eastern yogi meditation meets anal-retentive New Yorker Jewish boy thing going.  He was both laid back and up-tight.  I have no clue how he managed to pull that off, but he did.  Miss N embraced Hip Monk and then asked in a flurry of excitement: "What are you doing in L.A.???  And who are you here with?"  Evidently Hip Monk did not stray off the island of Manhattan unless deadly important.  I can't recall why Hip Monk said he was in town because I was too busy focusing on the second question Miss N threw at him.  Who are you here with?


"I'm here with Kevin Spacey, Courtney Love and Edward Norton."  He said in a bored tone.


I started laughing and was about to say "And I am here with the Queen of England and Pee Wee Herman."  But my laugh dried up in my throat and I was left just jutting my big mouth open, teeth prominent - like a braying donkey gone mute.  The reason for my silence was the look of pure excitement on Miss N's face.  She started bouncing up and down on the bar stool screaming "I WANT TO MEET KEVIN SPACEY!  I WANT TO MEET HIM!  INTRODUCE US!  INTRODUCE US!"


Good God, Hip Monk wasn't joking!  He really was with Kevin Spacey, Courtney Love and Edward Norton.  He gestured over to the table in the back covered with palm leaves that the imaginary subway car full of people was standing in front of -- evidently in Elay, it is not cool to go up to the celebrities.  However I guess it was acceptable to instead stand right in front of celebrities in a tightly packed mob, badly pretending you're not eavesdropping.  


Apparently, Hip Monk and Kevin Spacey were close friends and had been for years, way before Kevin Spacey was famous.  Miss N was still bouncing and screaming "INTRODUCE US!  INTRODUCE US!"  Which side note - I still think Miss N was cool saying "Introduce US" because if I were about to meet an actor of the intense talent of one Mr. Kevin Spacey, I would not have wanted to do it dragging some Midwestern dork with me.  You're a class act, Miss N!


This was post-The People vs. Larry Flynt and Courtney Love never looked better.  She was like a young Sharon Stone and just glowing with a white hot fury of angelic light.  I had loved Courtney Love for years.  Being this close to her makeover Princess self, was dizzying.  I will, at the slightest provocation, sing "Doll Parts" to you any time, day or night, anywhere.  Look at me, barely two months in Los Angeles and I was going to hobnob with actors and musicians!  Look who is supercool now, envious high school classmates!!!!


Hip Monk sighed and said "Listen, if it was just Kevin I would take you guys over there.  But I just met Courtney Love and Edward Norton and so bringing you guys over would just ... not ... be ... cool."


Miss N stopped bouncing when he said "cool" and my shoulders hunched over.  We were like kids who were trying to come to terms that the rain had ruined our planned day in the park.  We nodded slowly with big puffed out pouty lips.  "We understand, " we said, in unison.  God forbid, we were uncool.  Our balloon had popped and "Dad" had told us we wouldn't be getting a new one.  Sigh.  We accepted defeat.


While we may have accepted Hip Monk's polite let down, we didn't have to accept it gracefully and in a mature manner.  For the next hour, every time Hip Monk walked by us; we'd spin our bar stools around and pout at him.  Passive-aggressive, thy name is Miss N and Lily.  He'd smile at us, shrug his shoulders and walk on past headed to the bathroom.


We did this three times in about an hour.  I was starting to get seriously worried about Hip Monk's bladder walking past us so many times to the bathroom.  (Now some of you more street-saavy cats may think Hip Monk was hitting the bathroom for some recreational purposes, but I seriously don't think that was the case.  But again I was pretty naive back in the Elay days.)


I spotted Hip Monk walking through the crowd again and I elbowed Miss N so that we could - in our most adult fashion - continue our pouting game.  We spun around, lips ready to purse into "sad girl pout" when we noticed something different this time.  Hip Monk was walking through the very packed crowd, but the crowd was over-exaggeratedly parting.  Was Hip Monk Jesus?  Was a crowd of superficial Los Angelenos his own personal Red Sea?


And then I saw what was parting the crowd.


A vision in charcoal gray t-shirt and track pants.


It was ... Keyser Soze himself, Kevin Spacey.


Hip Monk took Kevin Spacey from the rarefied air of the VIP section, into the sweaty thronged masses teeming on a diet of silicone, botox and ecstasy.  Kevin Spacey was loose from his protected celebrity bubble and out amongst the populace.  And the populace didn't know what the hell to do!  They just jumped way far back and stared at him with slack jawed awe.


Miss N and I were equally as open-mouthed as we watched Kevin Spacey glide over to us.


This seriously could not be happening.


Kevin Spacey was being brought over to meet us!  Suddenly all three bartenders were camped right in front of us.  We had been trying to get a drink for like two hours and now all the bartenders were at our beck and call!


The very crowded room went silent.  It was like one of those 1970's brokerage commercials -- when Kevin Spacey talks, everyone listens!


I seriously could have imploded with giddy delight.  "Nice to meet you ... *POOF!*"  The mantra in my head was "Stop smiling like you are mentally challenged.  Put your eyeballs back in your sockets.  And for God's sake, don't start screaming about how much you love Kevin Spacey's acting!!"


So tapping into some Herculean strength I didn't know I possessed (like a Mom lifting a car off her child, one-handed); I sat there and talked with Kevin Spacey for about ten minutes as if it was no big deal to be talking to this massive talent.  Like whatever - I talk with Best Actor Oscar winners all the time ... like um, my Starbucks Barista is Russell Crowe - he's got two Oscars too.  Whatever, no big whoop.  That's how cool I am.  Uh huh.  


I would love to tell you that I, an English and International Relations major and a law school grad; had this intense conversation with Kevin Spacey about politics, art, literature and the current state of the common man.  I would love to tell you that Kevin Spacey walked away that night in awe that he had had a conversation with one of the great minds of the world.  I would love to tell you that my conversation with Kevin Spacey then inspired all future great works from him.  I would surely be mentioned in his next Oscar speech as the game-changing conversation.  I'd probably get an honorary Oscar too.  Where does one buy Oscar statuette polish?  CVS?  Walgreens?  


I would like to tell you all that happened.  But didn't I tell you that I'm the one who grew up thinking "L.A." was a city named "Elay"?  The great mind that brought you that fact wasn't going to be buffing any Oscars any time soon.


Miss N had recently moved from New York City to Los Angeles.  Our conversation with Kevin Spacey was the ever so mature and sophisticated topic: "These are the reasons why I think New York City is better than L.A."  Miss N. had been born and raised in NYC.  I ... ummmm... I ... I had just moved to Los Angeles from Buffalo, New York.  Yes, New York City and Buffalo are in the same state; but uh ... that's where the similarities end.  My contribution to the conversation included two things only.  One was enthusiastic head-nodding, pretending that I was also a savvy, cheeky New Yorker who was "oh so over L.A."  The second was an occasional gum-chomping "YEAH, THAT'S RIGHT!" response to whatever point Miss N was making in her fervent pro-NYC, anti-LA argument.  The nature of my contribution to this intellectual discourse was ... scintillating?  No.  Contributory?  No.  Hmmm.... humiliating to look back upon?  Oh yeah, that's it.


After ten minutes of this inspired conversation, Hip Monk took Kevin Spacey back to the VIP table.  Again, the room parted like the Red Sea and everyone just stared at Kevin Spacey.  I imagine that all during the walk back to the table, Hip Monk was profusely thanking Mr. Kevin Spacey for talking to those sweet, but kinda dorky girls at the bar.  Once Kevin Spacey was back in the celebrity bubble, I looked around and noticed something peculiar.  Everyone in the room was staring at Miss N. and I.  The three bartenders were still standing directly in front of us, except now they were shoving giant martini glasses of neon concoctions at us.  Everyone looked puzzled, but also ... intrigued.


I had no freaking clue what was going on.  Why were they staring at us?


And slowly the realization came upon me and I almost laughed out loud as I had the "EUREKA!" moment.


All of these people wanted to know who Miss N and I were that the uber-talented Kevin Spacey gets up and walks through a crowded bar to meet them!  Who were these chicks and why were they so powerful?  Are they filthy rich?  Are they executive producers?  Are they top agents?  Are they in charge of tabulating Oscar ballots?  WHO ARE THESE CHICKS AND WHY WOULD KEVIN SPACEY GET UP AND WALK ALL THE WAY OVER TO SEE THEM?"  I seriously could hear the thoughts racing through everyone's head.


The bartenders gave us free drinks all night.  Miss N and I threw our shoulders back and adopted this "Uh huh, yeah that's right; we are soooooo super cool and sooooooo super powerful that Kevin Spacey gets off his butt and comes over to US to pay homage.  Did you see him kiss my ring?  Yep, we are the Girl Movie Mafia Cartel.  No film gets made in this town without our say so.  You want a feel-good movie about a girl, her pet monkey and their work at a Chinese fireworks factory?  Yeah, you better show me some RESPECT then.  I'm the GodLily, mothafu*ka*s!  RESPECT!"


The remaining hours of the night flew by way too fast.  I was quite happy being perceived as some major Hollywood player in my $29.99 cotton dress.  I loved the stares and the free drinks.  I seriously wouldn't have any culture shock if I suddenly became a star overnight.  Fetch me my sunglasses.  No autographs, please!  I'm an artiste!  I just want my privacy!  Why do all of you love me soooo much?


I picked up my old Nissan from the valet.  I was definitely having my Cinderella at midnight moment.  Who would have guessed that Kevin Spacey was my fairy Godfather?  The night had been magic, but now I was in rags, climbing into a pumpkin.  Even my fall back to Earth, couldn't dampen the excitement and happiness of the evening.  I grabbed my classy (ahem - klassy) Motorola flip phone and called "Jazz Boy."  Jazz Boy was a spoke in a love triangle that I didn't know I was in at the time.  But that's a story for another day.  When Jazz Boy answered, I screamed in a pre-pubescent teen squeal that I had just met KEVIN SPACEY!!  KEVIN SPACEY!! KEVIN SPACEY!!


Jazz Boy had turned down going out for drinks with us, choosing to stay home and watch TV instead.  So when I dive-bombed the news on him, I heard the most guttural of exclamations through my cell phone.  It was like I had kicked Jazz Boy in the balls.  He was so upset that he had missed his opportunity to meet Kevin Spacey.  But what made it all the worse was that he stayed home and watched a rerun of "Saturday Night Live."  Who was the guest host on the rerun?


Care to guess?


Yep, that's right.  Kevin Spacey.  Jazz Boy screamed "I STAYED HOME AND WATCHED A RERUN OF KEVIN SPACEY HOSTING SNL INSTEAD OF GOING OUT AND MEETING KEVIN SPACEY IN PERSON?  I AM THE BIGGEST IDIOT KNOWN TO MAN!!!"  Jazz Boy then  started rambling about how Kevin Spacey was his idol and how awful he felt.  But I wasn't listening.  I had just met KEVIN SPACEY!!


After the 30th time, Jazz Boy said he was an idiot.  I said:  "Yes, you are.  That will teach you not to go out to the bars with me. Wherever I go, magic happens."


Did I happen to mention that I somehow managed to fuse "Midwestern Dork" with "Egomanical Airhead"?  This, my friends, was my new Elay persona.


Looking back on that time, Kevin Spacey would be the only two time Oscar winner I would have a conversation with while I lived in Los Angeles.  OK let's get real, Kevin Spacey is the only Oscar winner I have ever talked with period, in my entire life.  (Does being stalked by Quentin Tarantino count?  Read about that here.)


I would like to say that over the years, I have gained a wise grace ... a sophisticated elegance becoming of a mature woman.  Classy and refined.  Like I am now some character in a luxury automobile commercial. Grace, style and good gas mileage ... now in baby Asian pearl and Zorro steel blade silver colors.


But no, no ... I'm still a dork girl at heart.  Which is why I am over the moon that tonight I am headed to Brooklyn to see my beloved Kevin Spacey in my absolute most favorite Shakespeare play EVER ...
 
The amazing, mega-talented Kevin Spacey starring in Shakespeare's Richard III at BAM- Brooklyn Academy of Music.  Yes!  Yes!!  Yes!!!

The show closes March 4th 2012, so I am glad I was able to get up to NYC to see the show before it was too late.  I cannot wait to see how Kevin Spacey will portray Richard III - such a twisted, complex character.  I am borderline hysterical with excitement.  OK maybe not hysterical ... but really, really, intensely looking forward to this evening.


Will Kevin Spacey look out into the audience - spy a half-Asian woman in a probably unfashionable outfit and say "Oh hey, I met her years ago - when she was younger and still just as unfashionable"? Probably not!  OK, definitely not!  OK, I have a better chance at winning every Powerball lotto from here until my dying day.


But I know I will be in the audience looking at Kevin Spacey, tickled to be able to watch such an enormously talented actor up close and personal.  And if anyone wants to give me free drinks and stare at me in awe as well ... well, that's just fine with me too.  Wait, let me grab my sunglasses ... Paparazzi, please!


Side Note:  Thanks for reading Part One of "A Space in My Heart for Spacey and Charo."  Click here to read Part Two!

New Product Wednesday: Modern Love by Matt Nathanson

Wednesdays at LilyOnTheLam.com are usually reserved for products or services that are new to me.  However, rules are made to be broken.  Today's "New Product Wednesday" is about a product I have had for quite some time ... the album "Modern Love" by singer/songwriter Matt Nathanson (@MattNathanson on Twitter).  I purchased it on iTunes when it first came out over six months ago.

So now you may ask - if I have owned this album for quite sometime - why am I featuring it for New Product Wednesday?  It's simple math ... if you are a talented singer/songwriter who happens to be sexy as hell and you write my name on your CD (spelling it correctly without me spelling it because you are a super genius) and then give me a cute little squeeze ... I will make your CD my recommendation for New Product Wednesday!  Yes, I can be bought - I make no bones about that whatsoever.  Matt Nathanson has set the bar -- I'll be installing velvet rope lines for all other sexy singer-songwriters who would like to be featured on New Product Wednesday.  (Anyone?  Anyone?  Bueller?)

Yesterday, Matt Nathanson was the opening act for the lovely and talented Miss Kelly Clarkson at Ruth Eckerd Hall in Clearwater, Florida.  I have been a Matt Nathanson fan for years, but first saw him in concert opening for Maroon 5 at the sadly named 1-800-ASK-GARY amphitheater.  Thanks to LM and KT, I was able to see Matt Nathanson last night in a much smaller venue from the 10th row.  I don't think it's fair that someone so good-looking should be so talented as well.  Share the wealth a little, Mr. Nathanson!

But what was even better than watching the concert from the 10th row was getting to talk with Matt himself (who knew he had a nose ring?), get a signed CD (yes, I already own Modern Love and yet bought a new one to get it signed.  You smart moneymaker, Mr. Nathanson!), get a half-hug-squeeze and a picture with the aforementioned sexy singer-songwriter.  

My favorite songs off "Modern Love" are "Bottom of the Sea," "Room @ The End of the World," the uber-delicious song "Faster" and of course, last but not least ... "Modern Love."

As Matt Nathanson sings on the song "Modern Love": "I've carried hopes/And heavy daydreams she said/But I'm done with sleeping ..."

For some reason my hair looks like it was crimped in this photo, so I cut myself out and kept the beautiful Matt Nathanson in ... He evidently found the fountain of youth because he looks 23 to me!

Whether you are pro-good music or pro-hot men, Matt Nathanson fulfills both needs.  So check out his latest release "Modern Love" today.  

Lucky Thirteen

Happy Presidents' Day!  I wish I had today off from work!  But I have my own four day weekend coming up, so I am going to try not to be jealous of those who have today off from work.  I hope this Presidents' weekend finds you all well.  I was happily surprised to see that I broke the 13,000 page views barrier today.  It seems like just yesterday I was at 5,000 page views, so the frequency of new people reading my blog posts is definitely increasing at a faster rate.  Thanks for that!  This past weekend, my iPhone was snapping away lots of pictures for upcoming blog posts.  Now I just need to sit down and write some!  I actually was working on a piece last night, but it's going to be a long, emotional one; so I need some extra time to flush out all the nuances of that particular piece.  The restaurant reviews are so much easier!  The big hits that helped push me past 13,000 page views are my review of Chef Richie Farina's cooking demo here in Tampa and my review of Chef Floyd Cardoz's new restaurant North End Grill in New York City.  If you haven't had a chance to read them; please check them out!  A recent post that I hope more people will get to read is my Valentine to one of my favorite places in all the world - Podunk, an American Tea Room in New York City.  Be my Valentine and read it today.

I've been doing a lot of deep soul-searching this past week.  It wasn't a good week for me and it was sadly not a good week for some of my friends either.  One friend had to put her dog to sleep.  Another was laid off from her job - a job she worked round the clock and put her heart and soul into.  And as for me, I discovered I put my trust in the wrong person and gave my heart away too easily to someone who clearly did not deserve it.  "Shame on me for kissing you with my eyes closed so tight" - as the line from "That Thing You Do!" goes.

Fortunately or unfortunately, this is all a part of life and life does indeed move on, whether we want it to or not.  So again I move forward and hope that the future has more benefits than negatives.  And if you're in the mood to play guessing games with movie quotes, I would add: "Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies."  

I saw the movie "Haywire" last night.  I had wanted to see it for quite sometime, but was waiting for Bad-Ass Bandit to be free to see it with me.  Finally, I gave up on that plan and saw it for myself.  If you're a woman feeling sad and down and powerless about your current situation, I have to say that watching Gina Carano (@ginacarano on Twitter) kicking ass for an hour and a half definitely does something to lift the spirits.  Seeing a film with sexy Michael Fassbender in it, also helps.  A lot.  Hahahahhahah.  Sometimes the biggest hurts can be fixed with the simplest of solutions.

Thank you for reading my blog - as I have said before and will continue to say, I appreciate the emails, comments, Tweets and support!  Keep posted to LilyOnTheLam.com - as always, there is more to come!   

Food Poisoning or Karma? The Suckitude of Pseudo Apologies

English is not my mother's first language.  Although she has lived in the United States for over 40 years, she still retains a thick Chinese accent and her version of English is sometimes comical and sometimes tragic.  However when it comes to apologies, my beloved mother is a "no personal responsibility ninja."  Although around 5'2" and getting smaller each day, my mother has the aggressive nature of a bull in a china shop when it comes to feelings.  If she hurts you - whether intentional or unintentional - you need to just get over it.  If you ask for an apology, she will give a pseudo apology.  My favorite is "I am sorry you are feeling hurt."  Not "I am sorry I hurt you."  


Frankly, I do not know how the same woman who heard on the TV news that Ron Paul had a shot at winning a debate and then bemoaned how sad it was that someone shot Ron Paul; can be such a master wordsmith when it comes to avoiding responsibility for her actions.  It sounds like she's apologizing but she's not.  "I am sorry you can't seem to get over this" is also a top pseudo apology.


I think growing up with a Mother who was unable to apologize for her actions made me hyper-sensitive to bullish*t apologies.  Seriously, my Mother acts like giving a sincere apology where she admits fault is on the same level as divulging state secrets!  There is no way you're going to pry an apology from her lips.  I think you could water board my little Chinese mother and she'd still never say "I'm sorry for what I did to hurt you."  And if you keep pressing on her for an apology, she'll start spinning her bad behavior into how it's somehow your fault.  That you brought this upon yourself, so why should she apologize?  She diverts focus from her bad behavior to try to avoid any request for an apology.   


I've given up on trying to change my Mother a long time ago.  My step-grandfather gave her the nickname "The Chinese General" and it suits her well.  She is the strongest woman I have ever known,  And while I like to think I am pretty darn strong too, getting my mother to accept personal responsibility for any of her hurtful actions would be a quest made completely in vain.  Luckily, living on the other side of the country from my Mother; it is now rare for the Chinese General to lob emotional grenades at me.


Given the early origins of my hyper-sensitivity to BS, I was thinking about past relationships recently.  This issue of pseudo apologies has reared its ugly head a couple times in my life in the past few years.  I once was dating this guy that I was absolutely, positively, 100% head over heels for - I thought he was the nicest, kindest, sweetest, smartest man I had ever met.  Let's call him Supreme Colossal A--hole.  Or SCA for short.


I am usually very guarded and don't give away my heart freely, but for this guy I opened the rusty, spiked gates of my defenses and opened my heart to him.  For a long time, I was happy with my decision to take a risk, set aside my usual crusty armor of defense mechanisms and insecurities and be open to a relationship.  It seemed like my being open, honest and trusting had prompted an equal level of openness, honesty and trustworthiness in SCA.  I was very happy.


Unfortunately as all Disney movies will show you, there is always a traumatic twist.  After quite some time, SCA started to act differently.  The once sweet, kind and communicative man was now inconsiderate, rude and cold.  I wondered if pod people had replaced his brain.  Could I really have misjudged his character after all this time?  In the spirit of being honest, I talked with SCA to find out what was going on.  Was it just workplace stress making him act like a bastard or was there something more?  Instead of having a discussion, SCA freaked out.  Started jabbering about how I deserved much better than him and before I knew it, I had been dumped.  It was so out of the blue, I was gasping for air.  It was definitely the drive-by shooting of relationship enders.


I was absolutely in shock.  Things had been going so well for so long that I wondered if SCA had suffered some sort of emotional breakdown.  I wanted to believe there was an external cause for his callousness and insensitivity versus that he was really a complete a**hole.  Days passed and my immediate shock and sorrow turned to anger.  (I am the daughter of the Chinese General, after all!!)  I confronted SCA and he said "Sorry, but I'm acting irrational.  I didn't intend to hurt you.  I'm in survival mode (due to stress)."


If I hit someone with my car breaking their legs, whether I intended to hit him/her does not lessen the pain of the broken legs.  ("Oh, you didn't mean to run me down with your Hummer?  Well wow, look my legs have automatically healed and I am no longer sucking down Vicodin!")


As a human adult, you don't get to use a cop out like "I am acting irrational (due to stress)" to be your ticket out of personal responsibility for hurting another person.  If I stab you forty times and then say "Sorry!  Acting irrational!"  Is that a suitable apology as you lay bleeding to death?  I was half-expecting SCA to utter "I am sorry you are feeling hurt" - my Mother's old standard.


Being the calm, patient and serene adult woman that I am, I screamed like a banshee at SCA for hours.  But like the Chinese General, he was a tough nut to crack.  Perhaps I should have tried water boarding on him.  He kept making BS excuses about why his obvious disregard of my feelings was not his fault.  (Aliens take over your body?) He then tried to paint himself as the victim and that I had somehow brought this all upon myself.  When did SCA become my mother?  SCA was definitely dabbling in role reversal and projection!


SCA needs to take a Psych 101 class.


I am not sure what it is that keeps a certain segment of the population from being able to own up to their own bad actions and apologize sincerely.  No one is perfect.  We all make mistakes.  But to make a mistake that hurts someone deeply and then dodge all personal responsibility for that mistake is just a gigantic insult to an already devastating injury.


My theory is that we all want to see ourselves as good people who would never hurt anyone else, whether intentionally or unintentionally.  We don't want to consider that we could be capable of maliciousness and infliction of pain on others.  So when a spotlight is shown on our actions and we see that we did indeed do something horrific; we burrow ourselves deep in our perceived sense of self and DENY, DENY, DENY that we ever did anything wrong.  And if we happened to do something wrong, well it wasn't our intention and we're not responsible anyway.  Your fault, not ours!  So take your two broken legs and crawl away, troublemaker!  I'm not the one who hurt you.


I found out that several hours after dumping me, SCA contracted food poisoning and was sick as a dog for two days.  I will completely own up to having the biggest case of schadenfreude when I heard the news.  Could this be the universe's karmic retaliation?  SCA was vomiting and nauseated.  Which is funny because his ill treatment of me also left me completely nauseated.  My only regret is that his food poisoning was so short.  I think if this really were karmic retribution for the sh-tty way SCA treated me, that he would have suffered from explosive diarrhea for at least a month or two or three.  Oh, how a girl can dream!


Another case of pseudo apologies happened a few years ago.  I had a friend who I considered very close.  Let's call her MuuMuu. One day, MuuMuu had told a mutual friend some information about me that I considered to be highly private.  I was taken aback.  MuuMuu is normally a very considerate person.  


I rationalized to myself that I never told MuuMuu that what I told her was confidential, although the subject matter was of a topic that would normally invite discretion.  As we had been close for several years, I thought instead of stewing that I should just be honest.  I told MuuMuu that I was at fault because I didn't tell her that certain information was confidential, but I was mortified that she had shared it.  Since I would be seeing the mutual friend at a social gathering that weekend, could MuuMuu please tell me exactly what she had said to the mutual friend so I could know if I was walking into an uncomfortable situation?


I didn't necessarily expect an apology because I didn't specifically tell MuuMuu the information was confidential.  However what I received in return was an email from her blasting me - basically listing out all these BS statements on how I was at fault, not she.  (Umm, am I a ventriloquist?  Did I somehow make your mouth move and throw my own voice while you were gossiping about me?)  But after MuuMuu's email list of BS, she wrote "I've been a good friend to you - so you need to get over this or else."  I'm not really sure what part of that is a sincere apology.  


I chose "or else" and didn't return the email.  I was never great with ultimatums.  My theory is that MuuMuu was not good at handling any sort of criticism and the personal responsibility of her actions.  I came to her in honesty and not aggression and she took both barrels and shot me between the eyes.  I was somehow at fault, not she.  And now I just needed to get over it.  Or else.


I think MuuMuu is the poster child of someone who desperately needs to cling to an idealized image of themselves.  In MuuMuu's world, she does not want to think of herself as someone who is not the ideal friend.  So my questioning her on her gossiping was in direct opposition to her starry-eyed view of being the ultimate good person.  Instead of apologizing, MuuMuu lashed out, tried to make an argument that I somehow was guilty for her gossiping about me.  After several years, the friendship was dead because of this hair-trigger hostility, denial of personal responsibility and overall rudeness.  A truly sad way to end a multi-year friendship.


From the peanut gallery, I have heard that MuuMuu had suffered several setbacks in her life after I ignored her ultimatum email.  I will not be as smug to say that this is karmic retribution.  However I do truly believe in the old adage "what goes around, comes around."  And if you take someone who cares about you, is kind and honest and you basically sh*t all over them ... well let's just say that is not spreading positivity through the universe.


However if there is karma, I have to think that behaving as an adult and accepting personal responsibility for both our good actions and our not so good actions is one way of shoring up one's karmic reserves.


Earlier this week, an insensitive JERK made me feel bad.  I was consumed with both anger and shame.  I could easily have packaged up these intense negative emotions and dropped it on someone else's head making them feel equally as bad as JERK made me feel.  Instead, it seemed that everyone at my work was having some sort of personal crisis or anxiety.  Throughout the course of the day, I counseled 15 different people who were going through such real life fears from not having the right skill sets for an assignment through losing their jobs.  I am a great problem solver and mentor.  I talked each person individually through their crisis, gave helpful tips and checked how they were doing emotionally.  So many people told me that I had helped them shed their despair and get back on the right track.  I was happy to have helped.


Instead of hurting people the way JERK had hurt me, I chose to help others.  To make them feel good instead of making them feel bad.  I wish JERK had had the same spirit.  I'm not perfect and I have definitely done my own share of inadvertent or intentional hurting of people over the years.  But I hope that as new people enter my life that they are adults who own up to their own personal actions.


And I will try my best to do the same, as well.


I think if we all try a little more each day to be considerate, compassionate and treat others the way we wish to be treated, that the world would be indeed be a better place.  Or at the very least, a less hurtful one.  And for SCA and MuuMuu, I hope they one day learn the lesson that hurting people and then ducking from their own personality responsibility is not going to win or keep friends.  In denying that their actions hurt someone, they are only hurting themselves in the long term.


Oh and beware of explosive diarrhea!