Wednesday, July 17, 2013

Self Indulgence at its Breast: My answers to the VANITY FAIR Proust Questionnaire

Hay freaks.

It had been a long, grueling day.  I was exhausted from facebooking, gchatting and obsessively refeshing Amanda Bynes' twitterfeed working.  I've realized that the infrequency with which I post in Toe Pick has gotten pretty pathetic (Does this sentence make sense?)  So - I decided to feature my answers to the Vanity Fair Proust questionnaire.  If you ever feel like you're going to face plant onto your keyboard I suggest you get your creative juices flowing by answering these questions yourself.  So, without further ado, lets get sharted.  

What is your idea of perfect happiness?
Living jheri-curl free in a Berenstein Bear-esque treehouse somewhere in New Zealand with a couple of dogs, Tim Riggins and an unending supply of egg rolls, Laura Mercier Tinted Moisturizer and haribo gummi bears. 
MAGICAL
What is your greatest fear?
Being faced with countless awkward silences and not having the social skillz to squash them.  (Just call me the Messiah of Small Talk)
Which historical figure do you most identify with? 

I am not sufficiently educated to say.

What is the trait you most deplore in others?

Superficiality and ignorance.  I also really hate when people (who aren't your siblings) are telling a story involving their parents and begin it by saying something like "Mom made the best pancakes this morning."  Or "Dad took me out on the boat."  Your dad or my dad?  Not sure why that irks me so much but it doez. 
Which living person do you most admire?

Dad.

What are your greatest indulgences?
Haribo Gummi Bears, egg rolls from the House of Nan King, Charles Barkley posters, ending wordz in the letter Z and texting boyz.
SIR CHARLEZ

What is your favorite journey?
My walk up Powell Street to Walgreens during my lunch break to fetch a fresh bag of Haribo Gummi Bears. 
What do you consider the most overrated virtue?
Is virginity a virtue?
On what occasion do you lie?
When I tell my mom I need money for shelter, fresh milk and beans when in actuality I need it for Haribos, wine and egg rolls.
What do you dislike most about your appearance?
My Jheri Curl and cowlick.  Oh, and my toes look like legit fingers.  
my Foes 
Which living person do you most despise?
I hate anyone who abuses or dislikes animals.  I also dislike the creator of Black Forrest Bears AKA my Haribo Bears' chief competitor. 
Which words or phrases do you most overuse?
"Fuck", "Do you know what I mean?", "Totallaaay," "Definitelaaay", and "Bend over and I'll show you"
What is your greatest regret?
Sending a text to my ex 10 minutes ago.  
What or who is the greatest love of your life?
The egg roll, my family and our animals.
Which talent would you most like to have?
I would like to be able to freestyle rap.
What is your current state of mind?
Hopeful that my ex will respond to my text.


What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?

My inability to stay in the present moment.  Ugh - I wonder if my ex will ever text me back...
If you could change one thing about your family, what would it be?
It would be ungracious of me to say.
What do you consider your greatest achievement?
Bend over and I'll show you.
If you were to die and come back as a person or thing, what do you think it would be?
I would want to come back as an octopus - because I've never been a good multi-tasker and those fuckers seem like they could do like 8 things at once.
THIS GUY CAN GET IT ALL DONE. #BOSS

What is your most treasured possession?
The watch I've tried to pawn a couple times my dad gave me 12 years ago.
What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?
Being lonely.
Where would you like to live?
In a treehouse, I already told you this - GAH.
What is your favorite occupation?
Writing.
What is your most marked characteristic?
I would say my ability to turn an otherwise normal situation into an intolerably awkward one.
What is the quality you most like in a man?
Sense of humor and lack of v-necks in his closet.
CAN. YOU. NOT.
What is the quality you most like in a woman?
Sense of humor and I like a woman who has good asshole radar because mine is more off than Pam Anderson's prom dress.
What do you most value in your friends? 
 I like that they generally do not like the same people as me. 
Who are your favorite writers?
My dad and whoever writes the Simpsons.
Who is your favorite hero of fiction?
Lady MacBeth.  What a pistol.
Who are your heroes in real life?
My mom and the manufacturers of Haribo Gummi Bears.
What are your favorite names?
Tomothan, Gwendalyn, Nigel, Reginald, Edna, Fortesque, Chester, Herbert 
What is it that you most dislike?
Cold calling, humblebragging and the fact that Mitch Hedberg is no longer with us.
How would you like to die?
Choking on an egg roll fed to me by Tim Riggins in our treehouse.
What is your motto?
Bend over and I'll show you.  Do you know what I mean?
Ok - that's it.  Happy Hump Day, turbos!
xo, Nige


Sunday, July 14, 2013

How to Successfully Make it Through a Scary Sunday; featuring Amanda Bynes and Tim Riggins



amanda bynes: poster child for my Sunday look
where have you been all my life, Rigginz!?
  I sprung out of bed on this foggy San Francisco Sunday at around 11am.  I felt rested, having gone to bed at around 11pm last night after immersing myself in almost 9 episodes of Friday Night Lights.  (Sidenote: where the fuck was I when this show came out 5 years ago and why didn't I get a memo proclaiming how amazing it is?) I woke up with every intention of going on a rulk with my friend but instead opted to hit up my favorite Mexican joint.  This place is kind of a hole in the wall and is rather inconspicuously hidden on Divisadero Street.  It strikes me as a "locals only" spot - READ: you can go in there after having just rolled out of bed looking like complete shit and not worry about bumping into a 21 year old kid you drunkenly spent an entire weekend with anyone you know.  So when I waltzed in there today wearing my dad's old Hampden Sydney sweatshirt from circa 1988 with my hair looking like one giant jheri curl and tooth paste smeared on my chin I felt safe.  And I knew that the owner Juan would greet me with unbounded enthusiasm no matter what I looked like.  In shart, this was my safe place: a place to pop in, grab a couple of tacos and walk out unscathed.  Normally, if I'm going somewhere where I suspect I'll run into people I know I will primp for about an hour slather on some lip gloss and take a straightener to my jheri curl but not here.  I don't even know the name of this fucking place - all I know it is has the breast burritos and tacos this side of  AwkwardVille.  I hadn't been before noon before so wasn't sure if they were even serving food.  Plus, there was no one in there except for a guy grabbing a coke from the drink fridge, who, in my sleepy haze I assumed worked there and was restocking sodas.  (Never mind that he looked like a 40 year old white dad wearing a windbreaker).

"Good morning,"  I greeted him.  "Are you guys open?"

"What?"  He perked up and looked at me confusedly.  I couldn't tell if it was because he thought I was Amanda Bynes or if he was just partially deaf.

"It's early - I didn't know if you guys were serving food yet.  I'm hoping you are - I'm hungry!  Where's Juan?"

"Miss - I don't work here."  The dad seemed mildly offended that I assumed he worked at a hole in the wall Mexican joint.

I removed my sunglasses and squinted at him as I registered the fact that he was a 40 year old guy who likely worked as an investment banker or some shit.

"I -I'm sorry, I thought you were restocking the fridge and assumed you worked here."

He dismissed my apology and began placing his order with Juan. 

Little did I know, this was just the tip of my embarrassing encounters I'd have this morning.  As I began placing my order I noticed a guy walk in.  He was hot, tan and looked super young.  I looked at him briefly, looked away and then did a double take.  IT WAS 21 YEAR OLD CORNELL BOY FROM LAST SUMMER.  I'd met him at Balboa last year and ended up spending nearly an entire weekend with him, until I realized at the end of the weekend he was 21 years old.  Needless to say, I stopped seeing him once I realized he was NINE years my junior. I felt a lot like Luke Wilson's character in Old School when he realized how young Elisa Cuthbert's character was.   It was one of those events in my life I wanted to bury and never think about again.   Maybe he didn't recognize me, I thought to myself as I pulled my sunglasses down over my face and tried to pat down my jheri curl.  Juan asked me if I wanted peppers on my taco and I mumbled "no" in a deep voice, hoping that 21 Cornell boy (heretofore 21CB) wouldn't recognize my distinct Valley Girl Accent.  Then, this went down:

21 Cornell Boy: Alexandra?? Is that you?
Me:  No!  It's not.  (awkward pause)  I mean - yes!  It's Alexandra - that's me.  Hey - how have you been?
21CB goes in for a hug as I stumble backwards and pat his arm a couple times, making for the most awkward greeting exchange ever in the history of all the land.
21CB:  I'm good.  What have you been up to?
Me:  Not much.  Just had a pretty wild night last night so wanted to grab some grub.  (GRUB!? Who says grub?!)
21CB: Oh yeah?  What did you get into last night?
(I wracked my brain for something I could say I did that sounded hip and exciting but my effort was to no avail)
Me:  I watched 13 episodes of Friday Night Lights with a friend.  Woo hoo!  Pretty crazy stuff.  (I had never felt older as I looked into his 21 year old eyes) What are you up to today?
21CB: I'm heading to the baseball game.  You?
Me:  Nice!  I - um, I'm going to do laundry.  Ok, well it was great seeing you. 
I grabbed my tacos and headed for the door as Juan beckoned me to come back.  "Miss, you must pay for the tacos."
I giggled and ran back as 21CB looked on.  I threw Juan a 20 and waited impatiently as he fumbled to retrieve my change.
21CB: So, are you going to be doing laundry all day?
Me:  Ha. Yes.  Yeah, I mean, I'm older so I have to kind of act like an adult I guess.  (just stop talking, I said to myself).  What are you up to?
21CB:  I'm going to the baseball game, remember?
Me:  Right! I remember. Ok - have fun!  GoodSeeingYouBye!

And with that, I scurried out of the restaurant like a squirrel.  You're probably wondering why the fuck I'm telling you this story.  Welp, running into the 21 year old Cornell boy conjured up memories of a particularly painful Sunday. After I'd discovered I'd been cavorting with a 21 year old kid I holed up in my room, knee deep in brownie mix waiting for the cops to come to my door.  I felt like Mary Kay Letourneau but with a Jheri Curl. I even instagrammed a photo documenting my terrifying walk of shame that Sunday.


 But enough about me. I decided to feature my Scary Sunday manual for those of you who did something you regret over the weekend.  Maybe you got wasted and tattooed a picture of your yorkie or utensils on your calve like these winners and need to find some solace:


                                


Whatever it is that's irking you on this misnamed Day of Rest (shouldn't it be called Day of What the Fuck Did I do Last Night Someone Please Hold Me Oh My God Why is There a Twig In My Hair?) as someone who has endured hundreds of Scary Sundaze, I am here to help so let's get sharted.  I oftentimes wonder why Sundays have the word "sun" in them.  Descriptively speaking, there is nothing very "sunny" about a Sunday.  Some are better than others, but for the most part Sundaze suck.  It is a day shrouded in dread, anxiety, and gloom.  Perhaps you may have had a wild weekend and embarrassed yourself by face planting in a bowl of peanuts at the bar or passing out in an elevator only to be awakened by the concierge threatening to call the police on you if you don't leave immediately. (Both  have happened to two of my nearest and dearest - names will not be revealed for obvious reasons) Or maybe you've got a ton of work e-mails to get to on Monday morning and an important meeting with an important client whose company and name you do not know.  Whatever the reason, for most people Sunday's are not ideal.  When the clock strikes 5 pm on Sunday and the sun sharts to set I immediately turn into a 6 year old worried child; kind of similar to the white, dazzling carriage in Cinderella the moment it turns into a pumpkin.
THE FACE OF SUNDAY BLUES
I did some research and found that the Urban dictionary definition of "Sunday blues" is the most fitting for how most people feel on a Sunday evening. For those of you who are in love and have hot, supportive significant others: this does not apply to you.  And I am extremely jealous and don't think it's fair I am extremely happy for you.  Don't shart with me. Here is my edited, PG version of UDs' def:

SundayBlues

The most severe moment of a moral hangover. When you feel like you're dying on a sunday, often after a massive weekend, or just massive saturday night. You can do nothing but lie in bed and watch dvd's, maybe some light shopping and you crave affection from anyone.
Here is my step-by-step guide:

1. First, get up.  Turn all the lights on.  The darker the room the darker your mood.  (when the room is dark it's likely to make you suffer from a bootleg version of Seasonal Depression Disorder.)

2. Go for a rulk (run+walk).  I have the benefit of living in a generally cheerful city so simply getting outside, walking around and seeing people walking their cute dogs, playing with their turtles and feeding their gold fish makes me happier.  That's right folks, a fishy family has a tank of gold fish outside of their house in Pac Heights:

hi girls

playing with pooches will help squash those sunday blues.  this little guy didn't know what day it was.
3.  Pluck those brows or rearrange that cowlick.  Do things you've been meaning to do during the week but haven't gotten around to.  Plucking your eye brows, for example requires focus and attention to detail.  You'll be so intent on ridding your mug of those stray brow hairs you won't have time to think about how embarrassed you are for acting like a monkey at that late night on Saturday or about any deadlines at work.
you can't control what day it is but you can control that uni brow.  have at it OSCAR!

4.  Write.  Sometimes the best way to get rid of Sunday anxiety or any anxiety in general is to write.  Whether it be a journal, a blog, a letter to your great aunt Frida, a shopping list or a telegram it is cathartic to write down your thoughts.
shart a journal!

5. Watch a funny flick.  My friend and I made the mistake of watching The Bridge two Sunday's ago which was a HUGE mistake.  For those of you who haven't heard of The Bridge, google it. I simply don't want to rehash the gory details because it's so disturbing. My point is: watch something light and funny on a Sunday.  Trade in Schindler's List for The Big Lebowski. Here are a couple funny movies I recommend for defeating Sharty Sundays.
Wet Hot American Summer
absolutely one of the best flicks of all time

OLD SCHOOL
Frank the Tank will help combat Sunday Scaries. this move never gets old. 
6.  If you're a distressed girl on a Sunday, grab a funny girlfriend, some snacks, a gossip mag and watch E! to occupy your time. Make sure one of the snacks is Haribo Gummi Bears.  These little guys always make a Sunday more Bearable.  If you're a dude, I'm not sure what to tell you: grab some gold bond, beef jerky, a jockstrap and watch Gladiator...?

hey sweethearts
                                   
the remedy for Sunday night stress
7.  Laughter is the breast medicine, especially on a Scary Sunday.  Find photos of your favorite couples, download the app called FaceSwap and laugh away.

                                                 




                                                
                                       
MR JONES AND ME
  
 If you're a single gurl like me and don't have a boyfriend to tell you everything is going to be okay on a Sunday, you have several options:  You can grin and bear it (whatever you do: do NOT resort to texting an ex asking him to hold you) OR you can rent a blow-up boyfriend on Amazon (suggestion: you may want to put some clothes on him, especially if you have roommates):
                                                     

Ok, I'm out.  I hope my manuel* was helpful.  

xo, Nige

*PS. Who's Manuel?
PMS. Cawl me.
PTSD. Kisses!

Thursday, July 11, 2013

My Debut on KRON 4 News; Featuring Laguna Beach Season 2 and a Splash of Awkwardness

"What are you working on for your next Toe Pick, Alex-han-draaa?  You had better start writing more if you want to be the next Bridget Jones." My mom chirped over speaker phone as she and my dad drove up to Rhode Izland.

"Um.  Not quite sure yet.  I have some ideas.  Not sure how I can top my BEN F. POST .  That was some good material.  Annnd - I really don't aspire to be like Bridget Jones, Mother.  Jesus."

"Oh for Chrissake, poor Ben F."  My mom responded exasperatedly.

"WHO is Ben F?" My dad interjected. 

"Ben F. is the Bachelor from years ago, Si!  Alexandra went on a date with him and the poor child promptly got dumped afterward!"  My mom informed him.

"I'm not a child."

"Never heard of him.  Is he a Red Sox fan?" my dad inquired.

"Dad.  He is a famous reality star!  Duh!"

"Alexaaandra!" My mom scolded me. "Stop being such a STAR EFFER!  Have you read the paper or watched the news lately?  Do you know what's going on in Serbia!?"

"A WHAT? What is a STAR EFFER?"  My dad chimed in.

"Uhm. I have to go.  Bye guys."  With that, I hung up and buried my face into my hands as I imagined my mom explaining to my dad (in explicit detail) what a Star Effer is.

Moving right along.  The infrequency with which I post has gotten out of hand and for that I apologize.  (Que the music: It's too laaate to apologiiiiiiiize, it's too laaaate)  Things have gotten particularly exciting in my life - for sharters, I almost hit 80 "likes" on an instagram photo, which has been a dream of mine since I began my Insta career.  Granted, I nearly fell out of my friend's window in an effort to capture the entire San Francisco skyline.  I also filtered said photo to the fullest filtering extent imaginable AND I pathetically BEGGED my followers to "like" the fucking photo but still - it was a huge triumph for me so for the love of egg rolls, please LAY OFF.  (side note: while we're on the subject of desperation, you can follow me on instagram to get Toe Pick updates - my insta name is owlbunting)


JUST CALL ME DESPERATE VERSION OF ANNIE LEIBOVITZ
                                           
What else?  Oh yes, on one remarkably uneventful Tuesday I did some research and discovered the full names of the majority of the cast members from Laguna Beach seasons 1, 2 AND 3.  Then, I promptly and shamelessly facebook friended each cast member.  Never mind that the show aired nearly 10 years ago and that I am a 30 year old woman with a "life."  I cannot convey in words how exhilarating it was to login to facebook this morning only to be greeted with a notification proclaiming that "Talon Terrino" had accepted my friend request.  Ahh, it's the little things.  #TrulyBlessed #STEV-AAAAN.

CASEY "VISIBLE EXTENSIONZ" REINHARDT FROM LAGUNA BEACH SEASON 2 HAS ACCEPTED MY FRIEND REQUEST.  FUCK YES.  #LyfeIsComplete
But the month of July was not all daisies, rainbows, whippits and butterflies for me. On Monday the Tinder Gods sought revenge in a way that I will never forget.  After accumulating some truly epic tinder material to feature in my Toe Pick VS Tinder post Part 3, I was nearly reduced to tears when I went to open Tinder on my phone only to be alerted that the app had been disabled as a result of my failure to update my phone with the i0S 6 Software.  Whatever the fuck that means.  I figure it was my karma for having done this and this.  Don't fret though, I plan on marching over to the apple store next week to try and salvage all of my hard work.  I will not be defeated by tinder.

Now on to the most exciting thing that's happened to me in the entirety of my existence past month:


It had been a typical, grueling Friday.  I was exhausted from an 8 hour day of gchatting, facebooking and obsessively refreshing Amanda Bynes’ twitter feed slaving away in my cube.  Needless to write, I was very much looking forward to unwinding with my friend at my favorite SF spot, Perry’s.  We met there and set up shop at an outside table – (prime Perry’s real estate) – front row seats to a slew of toned, lulu-lemon wearing Marina gurlz conspicuously sashaying to and fro their Aha yoga classes.  Incidentally, there is not much else that makes me feel like a complete heifer than the moment I douse my Perry’s bread stick in butter only to look up and see a Brooklyn Decker look-alike donning an ab bearing shirt complete with matching lululemon yoga pants that showcase her toned/tanned stemz parading by.  But that’s neither here nor there.  

My friend (we will call her Judith for privacy purposes) and I were mid-conversation gossiping about boys, celebs and topics of very little substance discussing current events when all of the sudden we saw Perry (the owner) appear alongside an attractive couple.  He seemed intent on making sure said couple received the best service ever.  "Clear this table, please!"  he ordered a waiter.  The couple sat down at the table next to Judith and me.


No strangers to celeb sightings, (Judith and I once shamelessly sent Justin Beiber and Kobe Bryant a shirley temple and shot of Patron, respectively, when we ran into them at a restaurant in Orange County.  And although I have completely exhausted my bragging rights on this topic, I will mention it whenever it's appropriate because it was the highlight of my life  a fun night) we knew this couple was special.  Every passerby seemed to know them.  Dudes would walk up to this guy and high-five him whilst telling him what a great job he’d been doing.  

“Jesus, these people are loud.”  I commented. 

They were so loud, in fact, that that we could barely carry on with our shallow conversation.

“S’cuse me. Are you like famous or something? ”  Judith asked the boisterous man.

“He’s Gary Radnich!  Biggest name in Bay Area sportz broadcasting!” One guy exclaimed as he walked by.


Gary Radish? I’d never heard of him but then again my favorite sport is badminton and up until last week I thought a short stop was a halting midget.  So once I found out Gary worked in sports I racked my brain for a way to make myself appear relevant to him.  Aha!  The first thing that popped in my mind was – DICK.  No, it’s not what you’re thinking – my uncle’s name is Dick – Dick Ebersol, the acclaimed former head of NBC Sports and Exec Producer of Saturday Night Live. I figured Gary would know of him so I dropped my uncle's name faster than Ben F dropped me after our first date. Before you judge me for being a shallow name-dropper, I must inform you that the events that transpired as a result of said name droppage would not have occurred had I not mentioned my relationship with Dick to Gary.  (Wow, that is a loaded sentence.)  As much as I tried to avoid having to divulge the Dick Ebersol detail in this entry, it is extremely pertinent to the story so for the love of Haribo gummy bears LAY OFF ME.  As it turned out, Gary was quite familiar with Dick.  (Again, get your mind out of the gutter.)  In fact, he was a huge fan of Dick.  (Ugh, I just can’t win).  Not only did Gary know and love Dick (sigh.), we also discovered that his children went to the same school where Judith teaches. 
my very kewl uncle dick!
About  3 glasses of rose and 6.5 bread sticks later, Judith and I found ourselves deep in conversation with the Radniches.  We had so much in common (we all love mashed potatoes and Hawaii.  YAY!) and it seemed as though Gary and his lovely wife liked us.  Toward the end of dinner Gary proposed an invitation of a lifetime:
“Do you gurls want to come down to the station with us!?  We’re on air in 23 minutes."  
Judith and I squealed with excitement and without hesitation, accepted his offer.  Gary took care of our bill (what a lamb) and with that, me, Judith, Mr. and Mrs. Gary Radnich were off to the KRON4 station.  Judith and I piled into Gary's supped up Bentley and were on our way (god this post is making me feel like SUCH an asshole.  I really do apologize for the label/namedropping)
 "So do you have any boyfriends, Alexander?" Gary inquired. His wife let out an awkward laugh.   As I've shamelessly advertised on Toe Pick I am perpetually single so obviously, his question evoked couple of sneers and chuckles from Judith and me (or is it I?).  But, as any Toe Pick reader knows, I am pretty much an open book so I answered Gary's question candidly and forthrightly (is that a word?).
"WELL - there is this one guy who I kind of like - but he's been moving slowly and I'm not sure he's very into me.  We did eat egg rolls together once, so I feel like that's a positive sign."
"GIMME HIS NUMBER!  Gary demanded.  I'm gonna talk some sense into this boy!" 
I quickly weighed my options:  Either give Gary this poor boy's number (let's call the boy Felix) and risk having him drop me altogether (all the while inadvertently garnering some pretty valuable Toe Pick material) OR refuse to give Gary Felix's number and save myself some pretty serious embarrassment.  I decided to give him the number.  I figured Gary would talk me up very enthusiastically to Felix given his adoration for Dick (HA. Another loaded sentence.  I am twelve.)  And so - I gave Gary Felix's number.   He began dialing. Judith and Mrs. Radnich listened intently while I buried my head into Judith's shoulder and began shrieking like a prepubescent gurl at a One Direction concert. 

"Shhhh!" Judith and Mrs Radish warned me.  My entire body went numb and my pulse quickened as I heard Gary greet Felix.  

"FELIX!  It's Gary Radnich, head of Bay Area SportsNet over at KRON Channel 4.  You know who I'm with!?  I'm with Alexander!"  (Please note:  Gary also has a radio show and he spoke to Felix in his radio voice.)  He sounded like Bob Barker from the Price Is Right, beckoning an audience member to 'COME ON DOWN!' I could almost hear Felix's complete and utter confusion seep through from the other end of the phone as he tried to process this information.

"Anyway, Felix!  Alexander's a great gal - you should really step on it with her!  I hear you're really moving slow so maybe you oughta pick up the pace!  My wife's sitting right here and she agrees with me.  Alexander isn't going to wait around forever.  KAPISH!?  Now, talk to my wife."

I.  Could.  Have.  Died. 

Gary handed the phone over to his wife and she began marketing me in a less imposing manor.  At this point I have practically relocated to the floor of the Bentley, curled up in the fetal position, waiting for this circus to be over with.  I wondered how I went from having a nice, relaxing glass of wine at Perry's to the floor of Gary Radnich's Bentley listening to he and his wife try and convince this poor guy to date me.  That sentence reads like a Mad Lib, does it not?

By the time Mrs. Radish finished wrapped up her talk with Felix we were pulling into the news station.

I pulled myself together and anxiously asked Gary how the talk with Felix went.

"Clearly the guys got no sense of humor and to be honest, you oughta move on!"  Not only did Gary tell me about Felix's lack of a sense of humor, but he also told all of the KRON Channel 4 viewers.  I have tried countless times to try and update the video onto this post but blogger is not being cooperative.  Below is all I'm able to post of the footage.  In a nutshell, Gary tells his wife (on-air) that he didn't think Jason Kidd should be coaching the Nets.  He follows this up with "I just got off the phone with a guy who's short with no sense of humor.  I wouldn't want him as my coach either."  What's worse, Felix actually saw the footage. 

    


AND finally, Judith and I made our KRON4 debut.  I was able to download this video successfully - need sound.
                                               


                             video
Ok - I'm out.  Again, my apologies for all the name-dropping in this post.  Have an awkward day!
xo, Nige