If There Was Ever a Time I Needed a Beer...

Guinness... you... complete... me.

Ah, 'tis a fine week indeed, as it culminates with St. Patrick's Day. March 17th, that strange day when all the world wants to be Irish. It's a strange phenomenon, that's not exactly shared with other pale ethnic groups. You don't see an aisle at Party City dedicated to the Portuguese (with all due respect to my Iberian brothers out there... but you know it's true. Portugal is sorta Spain's Canada.) I can say authoritatively that this is one odd day of the year when the majority of American popular culture wants to be Irish, instead of what it usually wants to be, which is Black. I'm just calling them as I see 'em, folks. But before you complain to your congressperson, let me elaborate by saying that the Irish appeal is in it's surprisingly enduring outsider mystique. For the average American suburban kid, it's more exciting to dress and act like Dr. Dre than Dr. Phil. But... I'd rather not get into this... the topic is already boring me. Suffice to say, being Irish is cool... even if you're just a wannabe... and the trend shows no sign of ceasing.

Wearin' the Green: Old Navy shirts notwithstanding, this was actually St. Patrick's Day 2005

This has been a particularly rough couple of weeks for me. Between struggling with my Neurology Unit at school, I've been on Weight Watchers. So I'm stressed out and I can't drown my sorrows in a few dozen extra value meals. And to top things off, the cd player in the Foxy Lady finally died. I was getting into Rob Zombie mode the other day (I get to go see him with John on March 28th! Woo-hoo!) and my car stereo starts giving me the "Error" message. I just can't catch a break. Of course, anyone who's ridden with me in the last couple of years knows that my car speakers desperately need to be put out of their misery. (The bass is all blown out... probably too many roadtrips with Rammstein on heavy rotation!) So one of my projects for my extremely anticipated Spring Break - April 13th-23rd - is a trip to a nearby Circuit City or Best Buy (Al, can you make this happen?) to have the ol' gal fitted a new system. Of course, there have been some good things to report. Despite maligning the WW, I've actually shed 10 pounds in the last month! So at least I'm on pace to get down to fighting trim in time to not be big for The Big Day.

7 Guys from Boston I Actually Don't Want to Dropkick!

Another reason this month hasn't been a total loss so far, is my getting to see my fourth favorite music act in the whole world on March 1st - The Dropkick Murphys! Brian, John, Ally, and I headed over to the Nokia theater in NYC to catch their always-rambunctious show on Ash Wednesday. We even ran into Z and Michelle Falco's fiancee, Tom (who somehow ended up backstage... even he couldn't explain how). Though the Murphys are unabashed Boston-boys, they treated us New Yorkers right and put on an awesome show. Even Ally, who admittedly never took to listening to them on my dearly-departed car stereo, had a great time. John is turning into my new concert buddy, which is great. And in less than two weeks we'll be back at the Nokia to see the almighty Rob Zombie (who happens to be my third favorite music act in the whole world) kick off his new tour in support of his new album, "Educated Horses." But speaking of Ash Wednesday... I have some bad news...

McHale's: En Pace Requiem. I will never forget you... and I'm still digesting that last burger...

McHale's is no more. It has not moved. It certainly didn't go out of business. And for a while, I was convinced it was all my fault. When the bunch of us were planning to meet in the city before the Dropkick Murphys concert, I thought of arguably the best rendezvous on Manhattan Island - McHale's. McHale's, for the unlucky uninitiated, is the best burger joint and dive bar in New York... if not the world. Well, to be honest, I can't substantiate the claim about the dive bar superiority status, but I can authoritatively state, as a young man who's consumed more than his fair share of well-done ground beef along with several tons of Heinz ketchup and steak fries, that I have never had a better burger than at McHale's. McHale's has been for over fifty years a Broadway landmark - where well-to-do patrons and common theater ushers converge for an $8 feast... a symphony of grilled beef and fried potatoes. Where else in that cosmopolitan mecca could a man enjoy a sumptous meal that would keep him satisfied for at least 24 hours on less than ten bucks? Since my introduction to that incredible eatery back in the winter of '97, when I was ushering at the Music Box Theater while Natalie Portman was evading Nazi soldiers in the" Diary of Anne Frank," I've eagerly shared the gastronomical gospel to as many friends as would listen... and more than a few of my chums have waddled out of there since then. However, on March 1st, I made the unfortunate choice to suggest McHale's on Ash Wednesday. To us Catholics, Ash Wednesday is meatless. And you can sure-as-hell assume I wasn't going to order spaghetti there. Well, when John called me that day to say that McHale's was boarded-up I thought for sure that God had smote the bar for my effrontery. It was only later, upon some internet research, that I found out that the building's owner decided to sell the building to condo developers. Somehow, though, I liked the "God Smiting" theory better. It was just more dramatic and meaningful. Having a wonderful joint like McHale's wiped away for nothing more than greed... is just sad, y'know? To quote a food critic in describing the dining experience there -

"To Eat at McHale's is to See Richard Simmons Die."

Yeah BoYEEE! It's obvious to me why 20 women would gouge, claw, and devour each other alive for the affections of this guy.

Why did I stay up late, the night before my Neurology Exam, to watch the 90 minute season finale of VH1's "Flavor of Love"? Even my sister, Mary, asked that, incredulously. Truth be told, I don't really know. I'm a well-documented hater of all things reality - TV or otherwise. And when Ally wrests the controller from me, and we end up watching "Real Road Rule World Room Raiders Who Date My Mom"... I just end up yelling at the TV and making derisive comments. It must be tremendously annoying listening to me gripe about the characters on these shows. What bothers me the most is the utter lack of sincerity demonstrated. The romance reality shows are competitions... which guy or girl can successfully seduce whomever the most. The Real World-type shows are filled with air-head bimbo 20-somethings (and some shameful 30-somethings) wallowing in a grossly bloated arrested adolescence. The Real World's title become somewhat misleading when they began only casting people with less than 5% body fat, and comparable IQs to match. The bottom line was, though, that all these people wanted to do was get on TV and jumpstart their inevitably bleak career in show business. Which brings us to VH1's "Flavor of Love."

Ice Queen Cometh: Finalist Tiffany "New York" Patterson

Following the continuing adventures of Flavor Flav, the "Hype Man" (you know, the "big clock" guy?) of reknowned rap group, "Public Enemy," from his pop culture quasi-resurrection on "Surreal Life," to his odd couple relationship with Bridgitte Nielsen in "Strange Love," the newly single Flav has his pick of 20 ladies who live together in his wacky mansion and compete for his affections. Like all of these new reality shows, just about every one of these women were actresses or looking to break into show business. Don't believe me? Check this list out: Flavor of Love Girls And yes, all the girls were given wacky nicknames, like "Pumkin," "Hottie," and "Red Oyster." The few that appeared genuinely interested in Flavor Flav were downright scary. And the worst of them all was "New York." Just so you don't have any misconceptions, I am absolutely convinced that the above photo was doctored in some way. This chica was either scowling or haughtily dismissing the other contestants every time she was on camera. The only time she wasn't acting like a hateful shrew was when she was talking to Flavor Flav. Upon checking around the internet, I found a couple of things out. 1. New York had her share of fans, despite the atrocious way she conducted herself, spoke of others, and her enormously overinflated ego. 2. There is a rumor that the producers of the show hired her specifically to behave the way she did and shake things up. This was actually something I suspected, myself. She seemed to go out of her way to take shots at the other girls, and she was fixated on Flavor Flav to such a overly-dramatic, quasi-spooky way that it almost appeared that she was merely playing a role. She belittled one particant to such a significant degree that the girl actually spat in her face after being eliminated. Check it out, here: Punkin Hocks a Loogie. Finally, check out her myspace page. For some reason, I'm not convinced it's really her at all, but someone posing as her, using widely available promotional pictures on it. New York's MySpace. You be the judge.

Nikki "Hoopz" Alexander, also known as, "The Not-Satanic Finalist"

And then we have "Hoopz," who compared to New York's behavior, was practically Mother Theresa. She exuded a sporty, girl-next-door tomboy-ish quality that contrasted sharply to New York's Alpha-Female Prom Queen from Hell demeanor. Funny thing is, Hoopz isn't quite a choirgirl, either. Apparently she's Maxim Magazine-type and calendar model who has a website set up (which apparently is not as R-rated as it used to be) "My Darling Nikki" can be seen here, but it's certainly racier fare than I usually link to, so be forewarned. Of course, this all continues to prove that these "reality" shows attract and feature only a certain type of person - shameless attractive and semi-attractive people that want to break into showbiz. The finale of Flavor of Love was pretty silly, as it tried to fake you out by editing it so it made New York look like the good one, for once, and casting Hoopz in a negative light. Somehow, they even had both finalists end up wearing identical dresses! A little too coincidental, I think. Finally, while the two girls were waiting for Flav to show up, New York commences to try to psyche Hoopz out, revealing how she's already slept with him, that they "made music together," that this final contest "was a battle between good and evil." In my opinion, if New York was genuinely as obsessed about Flavor Flav (which she never exactly explained in the first place, too) she would have reacted a bit more outrageously when he ultimately picked Hoopz instead of her. She sorta cried in the departing limo interview... but it wasn't exactly convincing.

In the end, if you've actually read through all of this, you're probably wondering why I'd devote so much time to such an absurd show. And now that I've written this all out... I happen to agree. Sheesh, I'm losing it.

Have a Happy St. Pats!