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!