4.24.09

Dear Rachel Dratch,

I was driving to work this morning when I remembered the giant sigh of relief I exhaled a while back when I learned of Ike Turner's passing. I don't remember if I was listening to Miss Tina or not, but something just made me feel a lot lighter when I remembered that he was gone. The relief I felt when I learned of his death was a little weird, but I'll explain why.

In 1993 or so, I became obsessed with a number of R&B divas. These included Tina, Janet Jackson, Mary J. Blige, Whitney Houston, and TLC to name a few. A number of them (Turner, Jackson and Houston) were longstanding love affairs that really came to a head around this time. I remember begging my parents to please record on VHS this live concert of Tina's that was airing on PBS. I have no idea how I found out about this concert because what nine year old watches PBS concert specials, but I had to make sure that I had it committed to videotape so that I could enjoy it at a later date. But, I also watched it live. I think there was a babysitter involved. Either way, I was obsessed.

It was also around this time that the Tina biopic was released, featuring Laurence Fishburne and the only actress to play every possible famous black lady, Angela Bassett. Angela Bassett is the only woman who could play Tina Turner, Catherine Jackson and Harriet Tubman while also appearing in two different Terri McMillan novels-that-became-films. Angela Bassett wasn't really the woman she would become yet, but "What's Love Got To Do With It" really made her into the woman who could later play the Stella who lost her groove.

So we remember all the junk that came out about how Ike Turner used to beat the shit out of Tina, right? About two years ago I bought and read her autobiography, "I, Tina". It goes into a bit of the gory detail, but I don't think it includes that scene where he forces cake into her face. Even though she was finally able to get away, become the Private Dancer, and ultimately one of the first American pop singers to adopt a sort of British accent (sorry, Madonna), I lived in fear for her life as long as Ike Turner was still alive.

Maybe there's something about Laurence Fishburne or maybe it was just that Angela Bassett played the fear so well, but Ike Turner was a bad-ass motherfucker. I lived in fear of him, and I was a nine year old. What, with all the drugs and the cake and the hitting, he is like that weird uncle at the reunions that you hope doesn't drink too much Canadian Mist for fear of all the uncomfortable violence that ensues. For me, this is one of my aunts, but that is neither here nor there.

Needless to say, I was scared of Ike Turner. Tina might have escaped, but I wholeheartedly believed that if he had the chance he would go after her with a vengeance and make her pay for her success. Writing this all out makes it quite clear that even as a nine year old my imagination was a little out there. I mean, I didn't know Ike or Tina. I don't know their lives! But the love I had for Tina was long and hard. I swear as a fetus in my mom I heard her sing "What's Love Got To Do With It". I remember "Simply the Best" as a toddler. Oh geez, and I also remember being that nine year old kid who made his parents take him to McDonald's so he could get Tina's greatest hits CD that was a special edition only available at McDonald's. That CD made me fall in love with "Nutbush City Limits"--a song that remains one of my favorites despite Ike's contributions.

The love I have for Tina remains. There was always a little part of me that believed that Ike would come after her. Then he just died. There was no great showdown, no final battle. He just kind of faded. And with his fading out, my fear of his retaliation also subsided. I know Tina has been living somewhere in Europe near Shania Twain for years. I know Ike couldn't afford to fly there because he was too busy continuing to tour with some sort of musical act across the United States. There was no chance a final act would happen. She had already won.

But when I heard he died, I could breathe for her. It was finally over. Ike Turner was gone. Tina was finally free. It's almost like I just wanted it to end dramatically because that would have made for a better ending to "What's Love..." because let's face it, I'm pretty sure it just ends with ol Angie lip-syncing to the title song, doing the Tina shuffle. I mean come the fuck on, Ike forced cake down your throat and all over your face, and you just shuffle!? I guess Buddha helps folks do big things, but she is Tina Turner. From Nutbush. Don't think for a minute she wouldn't shove one of those stilleto heels in his eye had he come back.

Dude, I don't know what brought all this on. But I do love her. I tried to get tickets to a show on her most recent retirement tour, but she wanted like $100 million for each ticket. Yes, Tina, you are the goddess of fierce, but also, bitch please. I just watched my old video of her live from like 1987. She's still got the moves, the voice, and the legs.

I know you love Tina as much, if not more than me. I heard you're going to be on the season finale of "Ugly Betty". That's real good. I hope you and Amanda become best friends. She needs you. Get back to me!

Jon

4.17.09

Dear Rachel Dratch,

I got my hair cut a couple weeks ago. I don't know how often you get your hair cut, but I might go every two or three months. I had been cutting it myself, just buzzing it all off with these clippers I have. I stopped doing that for a while and people started commenting that they liked me with longer hair. I mean anything more than like an eighth or a quarter of an inch is longer than what I had, so any length tended to garner, "Are you growing your hair out?"

Having had short hair for so long, I decided that maybe I would let my hair grow out a little. The last time I buzzed it all off was in August. I also realized that any job prospects I may have might be turned off if I came in looking like a skinhead. Interesting that my first job started in September, when I had hair on my head. My hair grows pretty fast, so going two or three months between cuts leaves me looking a little, um, shaggy. Ok, it may be more like a fro. It gets real puffy and a little large. My hair is super thick, too. So there's all kinds of hair going on up there. In November, right before I went home to see family and do Thanksgiving, I got my first haircut in a year and a half. I felt like one of those crazy people on "What Not to Wear" when I admitted that I had been cutting my own hair for that long. They said I did as good of a job on my head as those folks at Supercuts. This did make me ponder a career in hair.

The lady who cut my hair was alright, her personality didn't really make me tingle. The next time I went to this salon, I got this other woman. The new lady cuts Ben's hair and the hair of two other friends. I trust her. She was super awesome. I had a great time and got a great cut. She was also the first hair person to suggest that I start parting my hair from the right, rather than the left. Hello! I have three cowlicks on my head, which combined with all that hair, that make for quite the mess. But parting it on the right totally gives me some control over the insanity.

It was time to get a haircut about a month ago, and the lady I liked wasn't available at times that I was available. I had to seek out a new hair person. I almost decided to say fuck it and start cutting my own hair again. But the length looked really good and I just needed someone to help me get it back under control. I found this other lady who is near my current job. Perfect.

The new lady is really good and really sweet. I look good. As we were finishing up, after she had cut my hair, we decided to straighten it. This always makes me feel a little a little uncomfortable because it makes me feel like my hair is super poofy. But she reassures me, "We'll make really piecy!"

I thought she said "P.C." as in politically correct. At first I didn't understand what that meant, but then I reasoned it out to me that she wouldn't make me look too gay that it would be more acceptable if were just subtly flat ironed rather than like full on Clay Aiken. The funny thing is that she said it a few more times, too. I would just look at her face to read her facial expression and mimic it back to her. I would add a little laugh to make it seem like I was totally understanding. I started to get a little offended. Was I too gay looking and she needed to tone me down? I was wearing a tie and khakis so that wasn't it. Am I unaware of some flamboyance that is obvious to people who just met me but not obvious to me? I hope not. I wasn't sure what it was, but I tried to just go with it. Up to this point, I had really been enjoying the hair cut and the hair cut lady. She was really nice and she had me looking real good. I didn't want to have to search out for another hair person. I liked her.

As these thoughts were swirling in my head, she said something that changed it all. "It's so funny. This one time I was cutting this lady's hair and I told her I was going to make it piecy. And she kept correcting me telling me she wanted it choppy. And I would say piecy, and she would say choppy. And this continued until I realized she thought I meant P.C. I thought she was crazy! What is a P.C. haircut? That is so weird. Who gets that confused?" As I shrugged my shoulders, knit my brow, and twisted my mouth into one of those, "Who the fuck knows" looks, my insides were dying. I am one of those people who misunderstands piecey to be P.C. I thought I was going to have hair that wouldn't offend anyone.

I laughed and said, "Oh man. That's so dumb!"

My hair drives me nuts. Your hair looked beautiful on the Bravo A-List Awards. Hope you are well.

Jon

4.12.09

Dear Rachel Dratch,

This past week, Entertainment Weekly named it's top 25 funniest actresses. Names included Tina Fey, Sarah Silverman, and Kristen Wiig. Those three I think we can say totally belong. Those ladies are hilarious, all day every day. Noticeably, you and Chelsea Handler were missing. Instead, they included a score of women who are all appearing in "I Love You, Man". Most of these women I've never heard of, or they are women who are just actresses who appear in funny things but are people I wouldn't consider funny. Hello, Jaime Pressley. Also, do we know Octavia Spencer from anything other than her obscure guest role as the immigration helper on "Ugly Betty"? This list is so weird and infuriating. Emily Blunt, you are not funny. All you women on "The Office," you are not funny. That's all you do Mindy Kaling, what else have you done? Geez, last one. Rashida Jones annoys me. She's not funny. She's just Quincy's daughter who got a couple successful acting gigs. We might as well include Nicole Richie as one of Hollywood's funniest women. I mean, I did crack up when she poured bleach all over that pool table during "The Simple Life". Whatever.

This past week I have been suffering from debilitating allergies. It always feels like such a surprise to me, year after year, when my head gets congested and my eyes and ears start to itch. I always forget how in nearly every year past the same thing happens. And every year I always act like I don't know how to take care of it. Sometimes I like to pretend that they will just go away. But the past two days I have been talking like I am a heavy smoker because I have so much junk down in my throat. It's times like these that I wish I was a rapper because my voice sounds really hard and very New York. I could totally be the new Biggie, minus the selling drugs and the weight problem. But it will all go away in a little while. Knowing that is what keeps me from trying to fully exploit my seasonal talent for what it is.

For a little while, I thought it might be a reaction to these cookies that came back into my life. During grad school, I became obsessed with these cookies that are covered in icing and stay soft for months on end. I referred to them as those stay soft cookies, but my friend Harry calls them Barbie cookies because they tend to have pink icing and are covered in sprinkles, like Barbie. So I was obsessed with these Barbie cookies. When it was exam time or just when I was feeling bad about myself, I would roll up to the grocery store and buy a box. They are strangely expensive for what they are, like $4 per box, but it was totally worth it. Most times, I would eat like six that first night. Looking back, this is disgusting. There has to be countless MSGs and tranny fats in these cookies to keep them so perfect. And they definitely have like 27 grams of fat per cookie. Healthwise, it doesn't make sense to eat them often, or at all. I guess it was a couple weeks ago when Harry brought some to our house. I only ate one that first night. But the cookies continued to speak to me while they were here. I had this, what turned out to be controllable, urge to eat the whole box. But with Ben here, it didn't seem right to let him in on the true animal I am when it comes to gorging on cookies. Not that it is a problem all the time, but sometimes it is.

I limited myself to eating just one of these cookies a day. Until the end. There were two cookies, and I felt I deserved them both. I don't think I was feeling bad, I just really wanted to eat them both. The thing about these cookies is that I don't think it matters how many you eat, they cause your body to do internal convulsions from all the toxins in them. My "allergies" started to act up right when these cookies came back into my life. The congestion, the nose running, the ears itching, the throat sore-ing. And I think that only now I am beginning to recover. Those cookies are so delicious, but my body cannot handle them despite what seems to be their power to give me this husky rapper/smoker voice.

I hope you're not too sad about those bitches over at Entertainment Weekly. Just promise me you won't turn to Barbie cookies to make you feel better. It will seem like a good idea to eat six in a single sitting, but your body and mind will hate you, even if they might compel you to record a rap album. Write back!

Jon

4.5.09

Dear Rachel Dratch,

Today we were coming back from Whole Foods. I guess you could call me a yuppie or bougie, whatever. Their flowers are beautiful and they have all that cheese to sample. I'm living the dream. I know you understand! We were coming back, driving home when I saw this man who I immediately judged as homeless. That makes me feel a little guilty, but there are plenty of people who have homes and food that always look a little lost and a little dirty. You know the type, they don't bathe frequently and they always wear the same clothes every day. But this was my first encounter with this sir. He had on one of those hats that homeless guys like, ones like trucker hats but perhaps were actually stolen from a trucker and not borrowed from Ashton Kutcher. I am also pretty sure that he was wearing a full denim outfit, which under certain circumstances is completely acceptable. Here, not so much. This man could have been my Uncle Frank, with the hat and all that denim. But it was that he was creeping out from between these two bushes carrying things in plastic bags, probably all of his possessions. I am, however, convinced that those bags were carrying his purchases from the nearby Fresh Market.

I've heard rumors that many local homeless do it more for the free stuff than because they are without home. One guy, who claims to live in the woods with his cancer-stricken wife, apparently parks his Cadillac outside the Best Buy and walks down to the off-ramp stop light to set up shop. Because I'm not enabler most of the time, I don't give him any money. But I do wonder where exactly in the nearby woods he could live. But what if he's not really homeless, and all of this is for show? I mean, that is quite the elaborate story!

But what if his daily earnings all go to buying gourmet prepared foods, like spinach and artichoke dip with fancy crackers? I want that stuff, he can want them, too! We've been told all our lives not to give homeless people money because they'll use it for drugs and beer. One guy told me the dollar I gave him wasn't enough money to include the tax that would be added to the bag of chips he wanted. I guess he didn't want Cheetos or Doritos, but something more along the lines of pita chips or even those veggie chips that aren't even potatoes or corn. Would we be so hateful and misunderstanding of homeless people if we really understand that their motives for panhandling are the same as ours? They stand on the corner, while we sit at a desk or sell pants all day. All everybody wants is designer organic fruit and some expensive cheese! This man is just trying to survive like the rest of us, and he just has extremely expensive tastes. No wonder nobody wants to go to the shelter--they don't serve free range! If I had the balls to ask someone else to pay for my gluten-free mango popsicles I would certainly do it.

This brings me to the other presumably homeless man we saw. I am convinced that he had just picked up a colleague, or a hooker, if you will. I say that because it was Sunday morning and her green velvet tank dress kind of screamed, "I screw for dollars" rather than "I am just on my way from the Lord's house". Do you think this homeless man, with his new lover, was trying to spend their pay-by-the-hour time together buying luxury groceries instead of just sex? They were headed toward the very same clearing between the bushes as the guy in denim with the Fresh Market bags.

I guess I will never know. I had to come home and put everything in the fridge before it defrosted or just died. I work hard for that money!

I heard you were at Vanessa Williams' reading of Ivanka Trump's autobiography this weekend. Why, oh why, didn't you invite me? That sounds like the most well spent evening, ever. And Michael Urie was there! Maybe we can hit up some Whole Foods this weekend and play the "Guess who is homeless" game. I hope we see Robert Pattinson. Get at me!

Jon

4.1.09

Dear Rachel Dratch,

Maybe it's just me, but the 80's are coming back to me now in all kinds of ways. I don't know how much you follow fashion, but 80's themes are everywhere now and will continue to be through this fall and winter. Blah blah. The 80's are rocking hard for me right now in the way of Gloria Estefan. More specifically, I cannot stop listening to "Bad Boys" the jam she did with the Miami Sound Machine. I have both the regular version and the 12" dance version. They are equally getting major play in my headphones and in my car. Maybe it's the memories I have of this song that are associated with "Three Men and a Baby" that make me enjoy this song. I loved that movie. There was always something attractive about Steve Guttenburg. I don't know. That makes me feel gross.

But this song, ohmygod. I'm deejaying my friends' wedding this summer, and I want to play this six minute version so bad. I don't know if they'll be into it. Every time it comes on I tell Ben, "I am playing this at the wedding!" He has complete veto power, though. If not, I would offend everyone with songs like Freak Nasty's "Da Dip" or anything by Master P. I just want the bodies bumping and sweating. But in reality, that is not really what the reception is about, you know? So that's kind of why "Bad Boys" the most awesome song. It's catchy, it's dancy, and the hook, "Boys will be boys, bad boys, bad boys" is so good! I want to mix it into Mases "Feels So Good" the song that sampled Gloria's. I don't think Ben will like that idea.

Between this obsession with Gloria Estefan and my recent forays into bedazzling, I am sure the mid to late 1980s and the early 1990s are back in a big way for me right now. Folks like to hate, but I am okay with all of this. I. Love. Gloria. Estefan. Hard. Core. She knows the way to mi corazon. Adios por ahora.

Jon