I've fallen and I can't emotionally get up

In the wee hours of Sunday morning, I fell in front of a large group of people. I was in a dark theatre attending the 6th Anniversary screening of my favourite bad movie, The Room as I scurried to the front of the theatre to participate in a sight gag at the front of the screen. A large part of the screenings involves audience participation including hurling plastic spoons whenever a framed photograph of a spoon appears on the screen. Consequently, with the floor being littered with thousands of spoons, as I hurriedly made my way down, I slipped on a spoon, my leg went flying from under me and I went down.

"OOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!" roared the crowd. I had a captive audience for my fall. I landed on my hands and knees, grazing my right knee, but not drawing any blood. Still, with only a mild injury and a quick recovery, given that I made it all the way to the floor in front of over 100 people, I momentarily wanted to die.

What is it about falling that is agonising? What is it about a brief loss of balance or a misplaced piece of lettuce, simple occurrences which can lead to a fall, that feel so demeaning to the character of the fallee? The fallee is left with a resounding emptiness that can rarely be equaled. One is overcome with a feeling of humiliation, even without a witness responding in such a way to cause such feelings. The humiliation is self imposed, unless the fallee catches someone laughing, and I daresay it’s more likely you’d be helped than laughed at, depending on the severity. Sadly, there is no time for logic in the moment as the humiliation overwhelms and one assumes everyone is laughing on the inside over their gross display of weakness.

Might it be a glimpse into how fragile the façade of how we carry ourselves really is? Here I am confidently walking, nay, STRUTTING so that if anyone bothers to pay attention to me they will think it likely I can crush them both mentally AND physically. Then here I've gone and fallen. Now they can see deep into my soul and know that I am so pathetic I can't even walk effectively, let alone kick their ass at Trivial Pursuit. They are my superior. I should not have tried to imply otherwise. Walk on, good sirs, and remind me of my impoverished transportation skills as you suppress your titters.

It's okay to laugh here as I think it's Pete Wentz.

That is the one side of the fall, falling yourself, but what about when you SEE someone fall? I sit here searching my heart for my honest feelings on this and I simply can’t be sure. Do I think it’s funny? Do I feel bad for them? I suppose it’s a good sign and perhaps a lesson to us all that whatever reaction witnessing a fall may arouse in the moment, it is unlikely to be very memorable and nothing worth retaining or retelling beyond the day that it happened. I suppose the seriousness of the fall may make a difference. If someone completely eats it and hits the ground, I would gasp and hope they were okay, offering help if plausible to do so, and crying in on the inside in empathy, witnessing their beet-red face. If it’s a near miss or a trip, then I suppose I would find this amusing though they would never know it. The finale may dictate the reaction.

How much are the likes of shows like Funniest Home Videos to do with our psyche when it comes to falling? Do those segments simply feed viewer demands for falls, for those not fortunate enough to see many in their day to day lives? Or was the desire to see falls a market created by the studio and foisted upon the public much like designer water and the Humunga Tongue? Regardless of how it began, it is now well established that people enjoy watching people fall, at least with the comfortable buffer of the TV between them and the victim. What this tells us about the state of humanity, I cannot even begin to speculate. Oh, I do not judge though. I have laughed enough myself.

Dog with Humunga Tongue

Perhaps in better understanding the fall, we can feel less humiliated when falling ourselves and be less likely to mentally humiliate someone we see fall. After all, let he who has not fallen cast the first snicker.

Cream of the crop from a home video show

Jeopardy! is really, really stupid

Unlike Americans who have more or less grown up with Jeopardy!, Australians weren't too familiar with it until it made an appearance there in the mid to late 90s. Of course, given the Jeopardy! was such a staple in the American game show diet, we were certainly aware of the show seeing it referenced in various sitcoms and such.

Finally, as is usually the case with game show emerging in another country, the locals need to feel as though they have a chance to compete, so an Australian version was born with beloved game show host, Tony Barber at the helm, a legend after his work on Sale of the Century. I recall being keen to see what Jeopardy! was all about, given my longstanding awareness of show coupled with my love of trivia. It wasn't long before this game show, while certainly containing interesting questions, came to irritate me beyond belief. The gimmick of "answer in the form of a question" is hands down one of the weakest and most idiotic game show devices known to man. I daresay many Australians felt the same way as even with that dynamo Tony Barber, the show was short lived there.

Tony Barber and Alyse Platt in the glory days of Australian game shows.

Do many of you think very deeply about important issues such as these? Have you ever really evaluated the "answer in the form of a question" format? Or did you allow this flawed, yet revered show to slip past your other wise keen sense of reasoning?

If only Alex Trebek would only chill out on his stupid show as much as he does in this picture.

Allow me explain. By simply turning it the other way around, putting the "question" first and following it with the supposed answer, you'll see the inadequacies are glaring. Let me assume the character of an alien who has some sincere questions about our planet and its culture and let's see how well we can educate him with the Jeopardy! answers.

Hi, Mr Trebek! I'm from former planet Pluto, and while I have a great command of the structure of your language and am equipped with an extensive dictionary, parts of the definition module has been corrupted. Please allow me to ask a few questions to rebuild my database.

Q. What is mustard?
A. Brands of this condiment include Colman's, Gulden's and Plochman's.

A condiment, I see. What is the success rate for avoiding pregnancy with this prophylactic?

Q. What is 'Frasier'?
A. David Hyde Pierce on this sitcom: "Her lips were saying 'no', but her eyes were saying 'read my lips'

I see, it's a situation comedy about....I'm sorry, never mind.

Q. What is 'Seinfeld'?
A. Kramer, on this show, "I'm taping Canadian Parliament, you know, on C-SPAN."

I heard this was one of the most popular shows of all time. I am impressed your people embraced politics so warmly.

Q. What is the cabinet?
A. Team of Rivals by Doris Kearns Goodwin is about Lincoln's bringing political foes into this advisory body.

Thanks for that thorough explanation on an element of your government, though I was asking about furniture.

Q. Who is Alice In Wonderland?
A. When the Mad Hatter says, "No room!", you retort "There's plenty of room!" as you're playing this little girl.

Why, I might be interested in taking this role, though before I just start rattling off lines, I'd really like to know something about the character. Who is she and why is she mixed up with this hatter?

Q. Who is Joan Crawford?
A. She was not portrayed for being the dearest of moms in the 1978 memoir Mommie Dearest.

So....she's a famous mother?

Q. What is a pea?
A. Gregor Mendel famously found a mathematical basis for inheritance by studying this legume, without the princess.

Royal legumes are the only kind I'll eat. Thanks for the tip.

Q. What is salmon?
A. If you're having 'gravlax', the last three letters should tell you that you're eating this 6-letter fish.

Sorry manners function is malfunctioning...What the FUCK kind of answer is that?

Those Jeopardy! "answers" do NOT answer the questions. Those "answers" are so stupid, I can't even stand it. I have no problem with the trivia itself, but the insistence of the crutch of the "What is?" and "Who is?" etc. Just let them say "mustard" and be done for chrissake! Oddly enough, even after attempting a private protest, when I do catch the show, I seem unable to shake the format and say my "What is?" anyway. Hmmmm.

Surprises and Spoilers

I love surprises and I've never understood those who don't. What isn't to love about a good surprise? You are going about your boring business and then something completely thrilling and exciting pops up and gives you a real shake up! What the hell is so bad about that? If there is anyone reading this who doesn't like surprises, please detail your feelings about it because it's something I simply can't relate to.

What's inside?!?!?!?!?!

Stemming from this obsession with surprises, and possibly morphing into a compulsion to preserve them, I'm extremely cautious about having plots of movies, books or TV series spoiled. Clearly when a plot is devised and then written, it is created with the intent to reveal the surprise at a certain time for the strongest impact. Why then would I want someone to reveal it to me before the magical moment? If I'm going to invest the time to watch something, I want to enjoy it to its fullest. I don't even like to know that there will be a surprise or shock because then I am on the look out for it. "Is this it? Is THIS it?" I keep wondering and subsequently disrupting my enjoyment of the piece as it was supposed to be enjoyed. I have gotten into fights with people who gleefully reveal surprises because it is just so damned mean.

I got into a big fight with my friend Sam when, after BEGGING her not to tell me, she manically laughed and told me what was going to happen with George's engagement to Susan.

It is completely self centered and plain nasty to be a spoiler. I yelled at my friend a few weeks ago for posting a spoiler on his Twitter and it was a/something I already knew about and b/something I didn't even care about. I yelled at him on principle for spoiling to his 600+ followers. What an asshole. I take spoiler prevention so seriously that I take great measures to protect others as if they were myself and also even if they may not care very much.

When the last Harry Potter book came out I went into complete media shut down. No internet, no TV, no phone calls. I didn't leave the house until I finished it. I had invested too much time and emotion in the series for some asshole to just blurt out Harry's fate in 2 seconds flat. My friend in Russia was adamant to know the outcome and as the book wasn't to be released for a few more months, she demanded I tell her. I refused to do so as such an act goes against every fiber of my being, however after she demonstrated the anxiety she was going through over concern for the welfare of certain characters, I agreed to answer her questions and only if she promised never to blurt anything out to anyone who was waiting. She agreed, so with a knot in my stomach, I told her what she wanted to know.

So perhaps you are reading this and think it's awfully funny. Thinking that if you know me, you'll taunt me (much like the wet bread harassment I received since that blog revelation) and spoil something you know I care about and have a good laugh. Go ahead. Do it. You will be sorry. We will see such incredible venom from me that you will soon regret what you have done. You might be quick to dismiss my reaction as being over the top and may suggest that I need help and to get a life. Well is it me who needs help, or you? You who obtains great glee from intentionally trampling on something that means something to someone? You, who goes out of your way to hurt someone's feelings? You who is so cocky as decide what is and isn't important based on your own set of standards? You who is simply too caught up in your own desire to discuss something here and now to trouble yourself with whether or anyone else is ready to talk? I smell narcissism. All those issues of your own need to be overcome before you can judge me as being pathetic. Those are the emotional issues of a spoiler. If you are one of these people, please seek the advice of a health care professional before inflicting any more harm on friends and loved ones.

*breathe*

Once the surprise ending was revealed on this one, there really wasn't much to it.

Okay, back to the more joyful side of surprises, here I will detail some surprises I'd love to have!

Being thrown a surprise party

I have always wanted to have a surprise party thrown for me. I think that was something I figured out early in childhood from seeing them on TV. I would love to throw one myself, but my significant other is not interested in any such thing and I would probably resent that it were for him who didn't even want it when all the while I was still wishing to have one thrown for me one day. I have only been an attendee at a surprise party once and upon learning the nature of the party, I couldn't be stopped from attending. As we prepared for the arrival of the birthday boy, while we aren't close friends, I was anxious and giddy for the big moment. As we received word that he was on his way, I made sure I had a good view of the door. The moment of the surprise was a bit of a blur, and knowing that Brooks isn't the type to have an "oh my GOD!!!!" glee fit, I don't know what I was expecting. He appeared mildly surprised though and that was enough for me. I later found out some dipshit had emailed him about seeing him at the party so the surprise was ruined. I swear to God, you will be sorry if you ruin my surprise party for me. You will not be invited to any more parties, surprise or other. You are a damned fool.

I think I just like this because the cat's asshole is pictured

Surprise visit from a family member or friend

Well I've already had this one happen and have done it back, but I could always go for it again! One day, just before Gregg and I were leaving on a trip, he said he had to take something to the post office but I should be up to leave by 9am. Why he was going out to the post office at 7am, I didn't know, but as long as I didn't have to be up at that time, I really didn't care. I went back to sleep, missed my call time and heard him come back in. He made some joke about my not being awake as he expected and then mentioned he got something for me while he was out, but it was on the living room coffee table. I might have asked if it could wait, but since I was supposed to be awake anyway, I got up. I don't know what I was expecting, but something small and on the table. Instead, for a complete and utter mind fuck, it was considerably larger than I expected as it was my sister, Rebecca, sitting on the couch. "Hi." she said calmly. I stared back with a look of horror on my face, saying nothing. A good 20 seconds must have elapsed and I still said nothing. This was impossible to process. I had spoken to her on the phone while she was in Australia about 16 hours before. This didn't make any goddamn sense. By all science and reason, this person just can't be here in LA when I just talked to her in Melbourne. Finally, just as she was starting to panic that she'd made a big mistake since I didn't appear happy to see her, I snapped out of it and said "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE????" and gave her a hug. I was hands down the best surprise I've ever had.

About a year or two later, we did it back to her, the mind fuck being even greater as I was back home with mum and dad, laughing about our scheme and the icing on the cake to confuse her was that I was emailing with her as though I were in LA, only I was sitting in her old bedroom in Melbourne! That created the apparent distance even more! When Gregg and I appeared in front of her, her legs turned to jelly and she kinda fell back on Dad. She made the same horrified face I did so she could finally understand that feelings. It's horror that you have officially lost your mind, not horror at seeing the person.

That trip bore no less than three surprises. The second was the surprise of my friend Penny who I talked to on the phone for a solid 20 minutes as though I were in LA, only to arrive at her door while we were still on the phone! When she saw me, she started flapping her hands and did a little dance because it freaked her out so much. Penny being the good sport that she is, decided that she wanted in on the next one and so we developed a fabulous plan of Gregg's. Here's how it went down...

Penny called Adrian and suggested they catch up for drinks. Once they picked a spot, I was notified and went there. I dressed quite drab in jeans and a baggy sweatshirt, wore no make up and did something unusual with my hair. I sat in the bar and waited. Eventually Penny and Adrian arrived and sat at a table while I sat at a nearby couch. Penny and Adrian chatted for a while, Penny ensuring they were facing me. Eventually, Penny said in a hushed tone "Don't look right at her...but doesn't that girl over there look like Simone?" Adrian looked and I struggled to keep a straight face. "Aw yeah! She really does!" they talked a bit more about my striking resemblance to myself and the Penny couldn't stand it anymore and told Adrian that she was going to ask if she could take my photo.

"Excuse me. Sorry to interrupt but my friend and I saw you and you look just exactly like a friend of ours."

I had altered my posture, slunk down and looking shy. I whipped out my Indian accent to answer.

"Oh...er...okay" followed by some nervous laughter.

"Would it be okay if I took a picture of you? I mean, it's just uncanny." Penny continued.

"Oh...okay." I said, noticing Adrian approaching to speak.

"Yeah, we're sorry but it's just UNBELIEVABLE! You look exactly like her! Look, give me your email, and I'll send you a picture of her. It's UNBELIEVABLE! What's your name?"

"Uhhh...Suni."

I couldn't believe it. My head was spinning as Adrian talked directly to my face telling me that I looked like me. I felt dizzy as I suddenly became convinced that he knew, was keeping his cool and having ME on. But no, he wasn't. He was completely sincere. As I had lost a considerable amount of weight since he had last seen me, it was enough of a difference to make me seem like a different person.

I handed him my email address, my real one, seeing if that would tip him off but he didn't really look at it.

"Thanks for that. I WILL email you! You have to see her!"

Penny continued after the picture was taken, "Yeah, thanks so much. I really appreciate it. Would you mind if I kissed you?"

"Oh...okay..." Penny then climbed on top of me and I welcomed it. Penny being famous for her antics, Adrian thought she was out of her mind as usual and hastily headed back to their table to distance himself from what he saw as Penny shaming herself. He remained embarrassed until I leapt off the couch and screamed "IT'S MEEEEE!!!!!!!!!"

"YOU BASTARDS!" said Adrian through gritted teeth. Once he recovered, he revelled in the perfection of our scheme.

I highly recommend this sort of stunt, though I advise against it is the person you want to surprise is elderly or suffers a heart condition.

My biggest hero in surprising people - Spaghett!

Being hit in the face with a cream pie.

As messy as this sounds, I think this is one of the heights of surprise. Since I am good sport, I would be delighted to one day have a cream pie thrown in my face. I would be really disappointed if I saw it with enough time to dodge or prevent it making contact or to just stand there waiting for it to happen. I want to not know what hit me.... and then find out it was a cream pie. I rarely wear glasses which is too bad because it makes the chance slim for the pie to hit while I am wearing glasses, glasses of course resulting in a riotous finger that wipes a lens, then heads for the mouth to determine what type of pie has committed this offense. I laughed myself to sleep thinking about this happening. I just hope the pie doesn't ruin a good dress, is all.

Meeting Michael J. Fox: A dream 23 years in the making

In writing this blog, I am essentially giving away the final chapter of my book about my life of being a fan girl. Since I have no idea when that will be finished, and even so, if it will then be published, I figure it's better to ride the excitement train while I can and share this important life story. I'll try to keep it concise as the detailed version has been and is being written for the book.

Michael J. Fox has been incredibly important to me for 23 years. I discovered him when I was 8 years old and took to fast track to lurrrve upon seeing a cute picture in a magazine. Not long after the discovery, I was catching up on all the details of his career to that point as best I could given that I was so young and resources were scarce.

I had so many pictures from this photo shoot. *melt*

My devotion lasted through my single digits and carried me all the way to my early teens. On a trip to America when I was 12, I was on constant alert should he pop around from behind any corner. It soon became apparent that LA did not have a celebrity posted on ever street corner as I saw exactly zero during my three week stay. While they are always lurking about, in the past six years I have lived here, I have probably seen less than 20 out and about. Furthermore, I have learned that celebrities don't tend to hang around on Hollywood Blvd on the Walk of Fame or the Chinese Theatre where us tourists all end up.

Best t-shirt ever. Glad he lost though.

That trip, as I saw it, was my big chance to meet my hero and it came and went without me so much as being able to see The Back to the Future set (it burned down in a Universal Studios fire just a month before my visit). Back to Australia I went, unsuccessful and feeling like I would never ever meet him.

We walked up and down Hollywood Blvd looking for this star in 1990 only to later find out it didn't exist until 2002.

By the time I was almost 15, I got into music and with it came a whole new type guy to like. Dirty long haired boys that were a far cry from Michael J. Fox who had lovingly looked back at me from my posters for so many years. While my new interest took me away from him, he was never forgotten, for I am nothing if not loyal.

Different bands came (but never totally went) from Ugly Kid Joe (hey, I had to start somewhere), to Faith No More, to Mr Bungle and then oddly from there to Supergrass, my number ones changed a few times over the years, yet I always kept up with MJF and still held a hope that I would meet him. I cried when I learned he had Parkinson's, bought his books when they came out and attended a Parkinson's fundraiser screening of Back to the Future in the hopes that he would be there. He was not which is why this post will continue.

As more time went by, because of his Parkinson's, I figured his days of fan mingling, if they ever really existed, were certainly now behind him. Gregg would, ever on the lookout for events that he might be at, do his best to make this meeting happen and I daresay, keeping better track of these things than I did.

Lorraine, Marty and Doc - together again

After a few possibilities not pursued due to expense and timing, I had more or less resigned myself to the fact that it wasn't going to happen. I had met every other celebrity I'd been enamoured with, and since Michael J. Fox was the biggest star of them all, I was willing to admit defeat on that one.

That was intil Early April. Michael J. Fox's latest book, The Adventures of an Incurable Optimist came out March 31st. I was unable to get to a book store that day, but did as soon as I could on April 1st, completing the book by April 7. Shortly after that, Gregg learned that he was doing a panel interview at the LA Times Festival of Books. Which of the two days he would be there were unclear, and the tickets, which were free, would not be available until the weekend before.

Once this news come about, I think it's safe to say I had a knot in my stomach for three solid weeks. I had wanted to meet him for so many years, but what do you say to someone in a public forum when your one chance (if I even got that chance) to ask a question came about? It was a troubling predicament and part of me wished none of this was happening so I didn't have to deal with it. 23 years of anticipation is a little hard to deal with.

Even before I knew what a Repblican was, Alex P. Keaton rightfully made it apparent that it wasn't good.

I pondered it a lot and soon a possible solution arose, though the solution was scary in itself. Over the Christmas break, I had begun work on a book documenting my life and adventures as a fan girl. My fannish ways had taken me all over the world and landed me great friends and a husband so it seemed like something worth documenting. As I got started on chapter 2 which talked about Michael J. Fox, I was reminded how central to my story he has been. That no matter who else has come and gone, he has remained that constant and I realised my long held desire to meet him would provide a nice thread throughout the book. A good portion of this chapter was written before this Festival of Books even came up so that's how I was struck with the idea that in lieu of a question, I would give him my chapter. Rather than alleviate my anguish, it only increased as now I had to rescue it from the shambled state it was currently in.

My anxiety existed for both my quandry over what to do if I met him, but before that, I still had to get a ticket. Gregg had kept aside a $100 bill to offer to someone in line, believing it would be pretty damn easy to find someone who'd prefer the $100 since the tickets were free to begin with.

The lead up to noon, when the tickets went on sale, had me pacing. When the time finally struck, Gregg and I were each perched at our computers, plus my iPhone was ready to go in case there was a connection malfunction. The connection did not time out and we were both able to get two sets of tickets, leaving us with two spare. I had no idea how big the event was, but when I checked again at 12:20pm, the tickets were all gone. That only increased my feeling of triumph. Once I had the tickets in my hand, I began to cry. I realised even if I didn't meet him, I would get to see him in person. I immediately called my sister, Rebeccca to fill her in on this success. She was the only person who really understood how important this was, given that she had been along for the ride for all of the 23 years. As predicted, she started crying with joy too. Her deep excitement for me only added to the feeling of importance of all this mania.

The stress of all this kept me paralysed from working on my chapter. The more I knew it had to be done, the harder it was for me to do. Finally, when time was truly slipping away, I got to work. I could see some huge flaws, having not looked at it for a few weeks, so I set about fixing it. I then sent it to my friend Kristen whose valuable advice brought it closer to a presentable standard. I wrote a cover note, explaining it was still a draft, but at least it was not entirely shameful.

The big day came and I couldn't eat. I forced myself to eat some soup for the last thing I wanted was to have some near fainting spell at the worst possible moment. We got there two and half hours before it was due to start and I was pleased to find myself 6th in line. I would be as close to the front as possible, allowing for roped off seats in the front row.

One of my biggest conundrums in my mental planning was where to sit. Clearly I wanted to be as close to the front for the duration of the interviews, but when they announced the audience Q & A, from previous book events like this, I know people quickly file behind the mics. As we were let in to be seated, proximity to the mic left my mind as I sought the best seat. Gregg was right behind me, I suppose, but my focus was only on finding the best seat. I sat closest to Michael J. Fox's side of the stage as his spot was marked with a place marker so I could tell. I was first to file into that row, however I made everyone shift past my knees as I sat firmly in the aisle seat for easy access out. Once I was settled, I looked up. One of the two audience mics was right beside me. In my hustle I didn't even notice I'd shuffled past it, but now I couldn't be any closer. I was set. It now seemed certain that I would get to talk to him so panic ensued.

The next 45 minutes of waiting went surprisingly fast considering how jumpy I was. I mentally prepared for a delay, but they started right on time. Mary McNamara, an LA Times TV critic took the stage and began her intoduction. It was brief since we all knew everything she was telling us about him, and then, before I knew it, Michael J. Fox stepped out onto stage. As as I had predicted, I burst into tears. Not just tears quietly streaming, but the full on, red, distorted troll doll face type crying. Lordy, I'm glad I'd have some time to get use to the idea of seeing him in real life before I'd get to talk to him. The tears lasted under a minute and I was able to compose myself and enjoy the session. After the first question was asked, Michael got a little way into his answer when someone yelled "Is there a doctor in the house?!" Some mania went on on the right side of the ballroom as it appeared a woman had fainted. Might I suggest lentil soup?

I hate to admit it, but once some paramedics arrived and were tending to her there and she seemed to be conscious, I was wondering why there weren't moving her outside. The session had come to a halt and I was worried it wouldn't resume. Soon the woman passed word that she was alright and they should continue and I was greatly relieved.

The interview proceeded without a hitch and I just loved sitting there so close to my hero and just listening to him talk right there in front of me. I wish I could have just relaxed and enjoyed it, but my supposed need to talk to him kept me on the edge of my seat. I peered over at Gregg's watch and saw that it was 3:45 which meant the call for audience Q & A would have to have to be called soon if it were to happen at all. My stomach knot intensified.

Finally, Mary McNamara announced "I've almost lost track of time, but we'll spend the last few minutes taking questions from the audience." I was up like a shot. First in front of the mic. Had I been seated anywhere else, I would not have made it as the lady behind me was on her game also. There was a second mic in the other aisle so the guy that got there went first. This was good as it gave me a moment to compose myself. Luckily there was no urge to cry so the risk of making an ass of myself was greatly diminished.

When my turn came, I took a deep breath and proceeded. I introduced myself and explained how important this day was for me. I said that after 23 years of being a fan of his, when this even came up, I tried to figure out what the one thing I would ask him would be and I realised that I couldn't. I then went on to explain that I am writing a book about being a fan and that while it was about being a fan of a lot of different people, he surfaces early in the story and will run through it, and that by virtue of speaking with him that day, I would be able to write the last chapter. I then explained that I had a copy of the chapter about him with me and I asked if it would be okay if I gave it to him.

"Sure!" he said.

Michael J. Fox listening to my spiel.

So I walked up to the stage to hand it to him and as I did, the whole ballroom errupted in applause for me! That was unexpected. I've been to many of these events where people come up there trying to pitch something or being plain obnoxious on their turn while everyone prays they will shut the hell up. I guess my sincerity, and possibly my sweetness came across as I seemed to have won over a crowd of 1500 - 2000 people. I approched the stage and handed Michael J. Fox my envelope. I reached up and he reached back and we shook hands and he smiled. I mouthed "thank-you" and turned to go back to my seat. The emotion was about to hit and my eyes on the verge of welling with tears when he said "Good luck!" and the applause increased a little more. I said "Thanks." and then thought it was over but then,

"So it's about being a fan?" he continued.
"Yeah," I said as I reached my seat.
"But you're not just a fan of me right?" he hoped.
"No, lots of other people too." "You're a fan of other people too, right?" we said at the same time.
"Good, because I think there are a lot of other people more worthy of your attention."

With that, the crowd gave one more burst of applause and laughter and my moment was complete.

The moment snapped and put up on the wire services.

I had done well. There was only time for four people to ask questions and I was one of them. I couldn't hear what the guy after me was saying as my head was spinning from what had just happened. As it finished, people surged the stage for a hand shake or something, but somehow, I had risen above all of them and accomplished the brief little something I had sought for so long. Two ladies crossed my path and told me how sweet what I did was. That was nice to hear.

Having said all that, I did realise something. When I got there, there were six people in front of me. How much did they like him? I have no idea, but enough for them to make sure they got there early. Then of course there was the huge crowd that followed. It really gave me some perspective. While I felt for all these years that I had to meet him, I realised that I certainly wasn't owed anything. He wasn't "mine" and whatever existed in my head between us was simply that: in my head. I was not owed an audience, a meal or a conversation, just courtesy should our paths cross and I got exactly that. I do think that celebrities should be respectful and polite to reasonable fans just as I expect anybody to show that kind of respect to all people, but anything beyond that should not be taken for granted.

Michael J. Fox realises his own fanboy dream by rocking out with Pete Townshend at a Parkinson's benefit in 2008, "This was almost worth getting Parkinson's for!" he said.

I'm lucky I had the skill and determination (and Gregg relentlessly looking out for such events) to make my silly little dream come true and I am also lucky that the object of my interest was so nice and indeed worthy of my attention.

My handshake with Michael J. Fox also makes the Wire Service!

Kyle from Time Warner Cable

***Please view before reading. It's only 30 seconds.***

This commercial, featuring Kyle from Time Warner Cable that airs in the LA area really unsettles me every time I see it. It's seems abundantly clear that Kyle is gay and I while I must say I am happy to see a gay guy in a commercial and hope to see more, something about Kyle irks me. When I thought about this, I felt bad, like his gay enthusiasm was too much for me. But I soon realised that that's not it. I love lots of gays like Tim Gunn, Christian Siriano or course, Richard Simmons.

My hero, Tim Gunn, eyes a fashion creation with concern.

So what is it about this commercial that irks me?

I accept a certain upping of enthusiasm from a salesman. It is that carefully measured dose that allows me to buy into what they are saying, even while knowing they are being a little condescending with their unbridled enthusiasm for cleaning products.

Gays are over the top with their unbridled enthusiasm for stuff, but that's a generally accepted trait of many homosexual men. They are as enthusiastic about fashion disasters as they are about fine, firm package. I find it endearing.

Put these two different types of enthusiasm together, and frankly, it's just too much. My feeling is that gay flamboyance coupled with a sales pitch is just off the charts. It's like a wacky cartoon version of a sales pitch. As it is, I am already distrustful of commercials where an employee of a large company that jerks me around, in this case, the cable company, tries to tell me how fulfilling supplying cable service is, dangerously straddling the line of realism. I have already been annoyed by a previous commercial in this series where a girl loves her shitty job way too much to be believed. Add in the gay and this already preposterous premise becomes insulting to my intelligence, more so than the first ad.

The ridiculousness of the Magic Bullet infomercial is a source of entertainment in its own right, not to be confused with any real attempt to trick the viewer into thinking this isn't a piece of shit.

While it's just a part of nature that some people are gay, I don't think I have evolved enough to handle the booster shot of the sales pitch to the existing flamboyancy. A family of two mums arguing about the kids blowing out the phone bill, or dad 1 whipping up a last minute meal with Campbell's Cream of Mushroom soup just before dad 2 gets home is just fine. I just can't take them lying to me about how great Time Warner Cable is. Shit, maybe it's just that it's Time Warner Cable. I KNOW I would love Kyle in an infomercial, coming to thing of it... Somebody hire that kid!

"Equality is the freedom to dislike everyone equally."

Team Cold

***NOTE*** Temperatures will appear as Celsius/Fahrenheit.

I knew I'd reached new heights of coldness one evening when I stated to my overly warm blooded husband, "I'm cold." "You're cold?" he said, ever incredulous at my low blood temperature, "Well, I'm not cold now, but I'm about to be." I think he deemed it to be the most insane proclamation he'd ever heard: a preemptive declaration of coldness.


We were about to go out and the jacket I wanted to wear was in the car. I knew I would be cold on the walk from the apartment to the car, a state I was concerned to be in, hence I stated it as "I'm cold." I had to hear about it the whole car ride to our destination. Luckily that destination was only five minutes away. Even luckier was that the destination was our beloved Tiki Ti and with all the drink consumed, I was no longer cold.

Coldness is something I have had to deal with all my life. I spent most of my childhood winters watching television in my parent's bedroom, seated over the central heating duct. I'm surprised I took to it as I did after an earlier childhood experience could have scarred me for life. My dad, after fixing his track pants over the duct to warm them up, decided to hide in the bathroom and call out to me in a ghostly voice"Simone....I've fallen down the duct!" When I came into the room and found his pants inflated, resembling legs, I ran out of the room screaming to my mum for help as I really feared for his life. Thankfully I overcame this trauma and the duct and I went on to have a strong and healthy relationship for many years.


If I ever needed a quick burst of warmth, I would pause and take my position over the corridor duct. There is nothing to do in the corridor but walk to your required room or sit on the duct. One night, after my sister had fallen asleep in the living room, my mum attempted to carry her to bed, didn't see me on the duct, tripped on me, hit her head on the wall and dropped my sister. My heat addiction had reached new heights by endangering others.

The earth's core: hell or heaven?

The introduction of an electric blanket into my bed might have been my greatest downfall. That, coupled with the television in my bedroom kept me tucked away while most kids were (gasp) outside. There were a lot of stories about electric blankets causing house fires and my dad was forever on my case to turn it off. But as the blanket took at least 30 minutes to reach its maximum temperature and I fancied naps immediately upon my return home from school, the blanket stayed on all day and all night. I believe it's possible that the blanket remained on its highest setting for up to six solid months. I now have an electric blanket for my bed, an electric throw for the couch and one that plugs into the cigarette lighter for the car. When I go to visit Stephanie in Seattle, given the city's close proximity to the Arctic (close enough for me, anyway) I send a combination of text messages and emails ahead of time to make sure the whereabouts of the spare electric blanket are known. The blanket in question was purchased before my first visit, for my visit.

The car blanket. It's real.

When the glory of summertime hits, what should be the most comfortable days of the year are foiled by the air-conditioning, so a heater runs at my feet under my desk at work. I would have to say that air conditioning is the bane of my existence. Sure, I understand it, and hot dog, I even use it! But what baffles me is that most people apparently spend all winter looking forward to summer, but then it comes and what do they do? Turn on the A/C to temperatures equal to that of a moderate winter. Why make it so cold? I don't understand. It's summer. It's a time to wear light clothing. Why make it so a cardigan is required on a 40/100 plus degree day? When it is hot, I feel like we should be embracing the warmth. Too hot? Then make it about 22/71. I find even that too cold, but I am trying to compromise. Ideally, I would like things to be 27/80 degrees at all times. In bed, I require less what with all the covers, but the rest of the time, that temperature is ideal. I can drop down to 24/76 and work well with others, but these "hotties" are unwilling to work with me.

Hear, hear!

I like nothing more on a sunny winter day to get in the car that has been warmed by the sun and bask in the heat as a relief from the biting cold. But often I'm with some monster who opens all the windows immediately. What's going on?! We were just trying to escape that horror and now you are letting it back in! It's like a suspense movie where the people always go UP the stairs. These lunatics just keep letting the enemy in.



After a long time of feeling isolated with my temperature needs, I would occasionally come across someone who felt the same as I did. What I then realised is that there are two of us and one hot person, we win. The windows remain closed, the heater on and two thirds of a room or car population are happy. I then created an organisation called Team Cold for the express purpose of identification and unification against the powers that keep A/C on and windows open.


One example of Team Cold was getting my sister-in-law on board and agreeing to hold strong against the ridiculous "hot" complaints of her brother, my husband. One day, after a good long exposure to the car heater, I actually started to feel hot. But as a member of Team Cold, I hushed. I presumed Gwynne was cold, so I sucked it up. As it turns out, she was overcooked too, and it was a great relief once the revelation was made, but at least we were both looking out for each other's interests.


One Team Cold member who was on thin ice was my sister, Rebecca. Once a proud and eager member, too much window opening in moving cars caused for some chastising from the president (me, of course) and her membership to come into question. She very much wanted to remain a member, so to assess her commitment, an evaluation was conducted.

Initial assessment form for new Team Cold applicant

Notes taken on my sister as she attempted to be accepted back into Team Cold a couple of years ago.

A pre-creation of what a successful Team Cold can achieve.

As cold as I am, I believe I finally met my match. While Rebecca scored poorly in her efforts to re-join Team Cold, she was awarded points for getting her friend Lisa on the case. Lisa is hands down the coldest person I have known. As we drove home in a car together, Lisa was happiest with the heater on full blast for the entire 45 minute journey. Even I was starting to sweat, but Lisa was only mildly appeased. In the spirit of Team Cold, I did not argue for temperature reduction though I wanted it. It was at this moment that I did what I felt I had to do which was to award the Presidency over to Lisa. Clearly she had what it took to take Team Cold into the future and pass laws for all A/C units to go no lower than 22/72, though perhaps she will foil us all and have air conditioning outlawed entirely. Shit.

Haband: Trust me, you just dialed the wrong number

I work for a fabric designer. We have just one product and that's fabric. So, if someone calls advising me they need to return a pair of trousers or slippers, I know I quickly need to nip this in the bud. I advise them that our numbers are just one digit off as this hapless customer attempts to reach Haband.

From what I can gather, Haband appears to be some sort of mail order and web based store geared to the elderly and fashion unconscious. Please take a moment to visit their site just to get a feel for who their customers might be. The models don't really describe them, but the styles and prices do. They are the type of person who make simply dialing a wrong number, as all of us have done, a harrowing experience which it needn't be.

Haband seems to be a company of poor customer service as I find myself berated by customers who, by a slip of the finger, end up talking to me. Apparently Haband's usual customer service line is automated which proves most difficult for these people who are clearly already suffering some kind of impairments, so judged, simply on the merits that they think it's a good idea to shop there. On the occasion that I, a real live person answer the phone, they are so relieved to finally get some help after whatever Haband has put them through, that I am bombarded with their complaints with barely a chance to explain what they've done. Even after the conclusion of their monologue when I tell them they have in fact NOT called Haband, they seem desperate to make this work somehow. Senility appears rampant among the Haband customer.

The most striking feature of the misguided Haband caller is their insistence that the mistake was not theirs. Why is that so hard to accept after I've told them we are not who they are looking for? Why must the blame be on the number they have rather than a misdial? Clearly it's a common mistake as I usually tell them who they were trying to call before they can tell me. A classic conversation goes like this:


Me: (Company name), how may I direct your call?
Customer: I ordered a brown sweater and you sent me blue and I need to return it.
Me: Oh, were you trying to reach Haband?
C: Yes...who have I called?
Me: (Company name). We just sell fabric.
C: Well, I'm trying to reach Haband and this was the number they gave me. (As though I need to help them anyway because they dialled the number they were given)
Me: Our numbers are very similar, you've just misdialed. (They don't believe it could happen)
C: Is this 1-800-*** 1674?
Me: No, this is 1-800-*** 167 ONE
C: But that's not what I dialed!
Me: Yes you did, the numbers are similar. If you hang up and try again, you should get the right one.


I wont go into the ones that call right back. I use to allow them to engage and manipulate me into their bullshit until minutes of debate had gone by but I realised enough was enough. I had to take the firm approach, state the facts and get off the bloody phone.


After being slightly embarrassed a few times by transferring these calls to other places, missing the cues that this person is lost, I have become quite adept at identifying the Haband individual. If someone simply asks for customer service, they will win as I will instantly patch them through. But if they open with "I'm calling about a return.", if there is a little quiver in their voice, then yes, I confess I am age profiling and marking this individual as a potential Haband customer. "What was it you needed to return?" is my next question, politely putting my feelers out. "Well, I ordered a clock and it doesn't work..." There. They said the magic word. "Clock". The magic word can be any noun that isn't "fabric". Only once has someone gruffly responded "FABRIC!" like "Duh! What else would I be returning?!" but they just don't know what I go through if I don't ask. Any other positive fabric identifications have been polite and that one abrasive reply was worth it for all the time wasting I have saved by controlling the missteps of the elderly.


Here are some treasured Haband examples from the last few months.

Me: (Company name), how may I direct your call?
Customer: Hi, yes I received part of my order and on the invoice it said on it "rest to follow" but I still haven't received it...
Me: Oh, did you speak to someone about it? (Sounds like it could be one of ours, though not likely)
C: No, I haven't, I just got the order with that on it and I didn't complain about it, but I ordered another pair of oven mitts... (Magic words! Oven mitts.)
Me: Oh, were you looking for Haband?
C: Yes...
Me: Oh, well you've called 1-800-***-1671, and misdialed. Our numbers are very similar.
C: Oh no, I've got 1-800-*** 1674, is that you?
Me: NO. We are 167 ONE, you've just misdialed.
C: Oh...

Me: (Company name), how may I direct your call?
C: Is this customer service? (It's not, but since she sounds old and crazy, I say yes so I can screen her a little more)
Me: Yes.
C: Oh good. I'm calling because I saw on the internet a quilted handbag...
Me: Oh, are you looking for Haband?
C: NO! (indignantly) I said HAND-BAG.
Me: Oh, sorry.
C: Is this Haband?
Me: No, you've just misdialed. Our numbers are very similar.
C: What number is this?
Me: There's one number different and you've just misdialed. If you try it again, you should get them.
C: I dialled *** *** 1674
Me: Yes, we are 167 ONE.
C: Oh, I'm sorry.

Me: (Company name), how may I direct your call?
C: I CAN'T HEAR YOU (deaf)
Me: This is (Company name)
C: Is this Habaaaand?
Me: NO YOU'VE MISDIALED.
C: What number is this? I dialled 1-800-***-1674
Me: Yes, we're 167 ONE.
C: Oh, sorry.

Me: (Company name), how may I direct your call?
C: Oh! A person! I can't tell you how long it's been since I've heard a person. You don't know how hard it is to navigate your system! Your name is Britney?
Me: Um, no. It's Simone. Were you trying trying to reach Haband?
C: Yes and I now that I have you...
Me: You've actually dialled the wrong number.
C: Oh, I'm sorry!

Customer then proceeded to complain to me about Haband and how they claim they didn't receive her return when she has confirmation that they did and how bad their customer service is. I tell her I guessed as much from all the wrong numbers I get. As she immediately believes me that she dialled the wrong number, I am happy to sympathise with her.

Me: (Company name), how may I direct your call?
C: Is this Haband?
Me: No, this is (Company name). Our numbers are very similar. You've just misdialed.
C: Well somebody ELSE dialled the number.
Me: Oh, well then THEY misdialled.
C: Can you dial the number for me?
Me: Um, no, I can't from here.
C: You can't?
Me: No, sorry.
C: Oh...okay..... (Doesn't trust me)