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The Conical Glass

October 2005

About:

Sue Trowbridge lives in the San Francisco Bay Area. She is the co-owner of an independent record label, 125 Records, and web diva of interbridge.com.
Feedback: loudfan@gmail.com

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September 05


10.31.05 My First-Ever Porcelain Collectible Thomas Kinkade Blog Entry (With Sparkling Faux Jewels)

Every Sunday, I flip through the coupon supplements to see if anyone is offering a buck off contact lens solution or cereal. I've noticed over the past couple of years, however, that there are fewer food coupons and more ads for "collectibles."

Now, I have an unhealthy fascination with the kitschy, the middlebrow and the just plain tacky, so I can't resist looking at these things. Particularly the ones that involve "Painter of Light" Thomas Kinkade, whose works of "art" seem to be featured on more tie-in items than Harry Potter or Shrek. What's especially great about the Kinkade collectibles is that most of the things advertised are proudly billed as the first ever of something. Who wouldn't want to own Kinkade's "first-ever illuminating stained glass wall clock"? Or "the first-ever illuminated sculptural Christmas wreath based upon the beloved holiday paintings of renowned artist Thomas Kinkade"? Perhaps "the first-ever illuminated nativity scene Christmas tree decoration inspired by Thomas Kinkade" is more your style, and it's available in 4 easy installments of $33.75. Also available: the first-ever "Thomas Kinkade collectible story house," which "comes to life with light and sound! Thomas Kinkade narrates the beloved ''Twas the Night Before Christmas' poem, and as the story progresses each room in this glorious snow-draped Victorian house fills with light, revealing handcrafted and hand-painted scenes and figurines! You'll love watching the rapt expressions of your family and friends as they experience this exclusive limited-edition Thomas Kinkade collectible story house!"

Moving on: the "first-ever Peter Carl Faberge style musical egg from Thomas Kinkade," the "premiere issue in the Thomas Kinkade Lights of Faith musical egg collection," which boasts "22K gold accents, Swarovski crystal and sparkling faux jewels." The czars would have loved it! After all, their inferior Faberge eggs lacked "the uplifting melody of 'You Light Up My Life'." Then we have "Thomas Kinkade's first-ever illuminated Christmas tree," which to my non-collector's eyes looks suspiciously like the nativity scene tree decoration. Though I guess it's a somewhat more secular Christmas tree, as it features Victorian buildings and villagers instead of the nativity. "Look, there's the artist himself, by the skating pond, ready to capture the season's enchantment!" Kinkade is putting himself into his art? He's like the Alfred Hitchcock of bad painters!

I should stop, but I can't. There's the "first-ever, limited-edition Thomas Kinkade collectible lighted stained glass art," the "very first piece of fine collectible jewelry inspired by the light house art of Thomas Kinkade," the "first-of-its-kind candlelit quartet collection including Thomas Kinkade art collector plates," and "the first-ever and only Christmas train set to feature the classic artistry of Thomas Kinkade." Perhaps the pinnacle of tackiness is this item: "For the first time ever, the beloved lighthouse artwork of Thomas Kinkade [is] reproduced in dimensional bas-relief on the cloak of an inspiring collectible Jesus Christ figurine." I know how many of you have been waiting for a Jesus Christ figurine that also features Kinkade's lighthouse artwork in bas-relief! It's better than peace in the Middle East and a bird flu vaccine, all rolled up into one!

You thought I was finished, right? No! I haven't gotten to "the first-ever decorative flag by Thomas Kinkade," "Thomas Kinkade's first-ever musical prayer box," the "first-ever collectible Thomas Kinkade Christmas Nativity wreath," the "first-ever illuminated porcelain Christmas tree inspired by the beloved holiday artwork of Thomas Kinkade" (not to be confused with the first-ever illuminated Christmas tree—this one's porcelain, dammit!), the "first-ever series of collectible snowman figurines showcasing Thomas Kinkade's beloved artwork," "the first-ever series of illuminated collectible angel Christmas tree ornaments to feature Thomas Kinkade paintings," and the "first-of-a-kind musical animated snowglobe showcasing the artwork of Thomas Kinkade" (it's $79.98, which I'm sure my snowglobe-collecting neighbor would agree is about $75 too much to pay for a snowglobe).

Once you've acquired all of these items, you'll have to move to the Village at Hiddenbrooke, "A Thomas Kinkade Painter of Light™ Community," conveniently located about 30 minutes north of Berkeley. ("Hiddenbrooke has only one road into it that is guarded & photographed 24/7," notes this page. Got to keep undesirables far, far away—you don't want anyone to break in and steal your collectibles!)

"There's over 40 walls in the average American home, and Tom says our job is to figure out how to populate every single wall in every single home and every single business throughout the world with his paintings," said Craig Fleming, CEO of Kinkade's company, in 2001. And now, the tabletops and even the bodies (thanks to the Kinkade jewelry) are fair game as well. I'm just waiting for the first-ever Kinkade cereal (crunchy lighthouses of corn!). I'm sure there'll be a coupon for it.

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10.27.05 Relax, Dammit.

The Chronicle devoted its entire Sunday magazine last weekend to the subject of spas. In one article, titled "The State of the Spa," we learn that the International Spa Association "reports more than 136 million annual visits to 12,000 spa locations." The entire calendar year of 2004 passed without my paying a single visit to a spa, but I am sure that the folks at ISPA would be pleased to hear that I have visited two of them in 2005. I had a facial at a San Francisco spa a few months ago, and this week, Joe kindly surprised me with a post-race massage at a spa in Berkeley.

Perhaps it's due to my frugal midwestern Lutheran upbringing, but the whole notion of spas—the emphasis on pampering and relaxation, the scented candles, the tinkly New Age music—makes me a little uncomfortable. A few years ago, I found myself suffering from horrible neck and shoulder pains, probably because of an ergonomic problem with my computer set-up. For a month or so, until my pain subsided, I went to a chiropractor's office for weekly therapeutic massages (the kind of deep tissue massage that hurts like heck while you're getting it, but you feel much better afterwards). Even though the now-defunct office had a rather sterile, medical feel, the massage room was a little oasis of candles, incense and, yes, New Age music.

Massage can have a lot of real benefits, particularly for runners and other athletes. It can increase blood supply and nutrition to muscles, and help reduce muscle tension. But some of us will just never be able to get into the whole spa "lifestyle." Perhaps it's just my limited experience, but aren't all spas more or less clones of each other? Can someone come up with a way to make the spa experience seem less frou-frou?

My ideal spa would eliminate mani/pedi stations, because adding color to your nails is always frivolous. Only treatments with some tangible benefit would be offered. The employees would wear something simple, like jeans and white T-shirts. New age music would be banned—perhaps in favor of some pleasantly uptempo alt-rock, like R.E.M.'s Murmur or Liz Phair's Exile in Guyville. The massage therapists and estheticians would have the no-nonsense attitude of other health professionals, like, say, dental hygienists. Then I could go, guilt-free, and tell myself, "I'm getting the health benefits of massage, or exfoliating and rejuvenating my skin," without feeling like a pampered show pony.

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10.25.05 A Blogger's Manifesto

Scott Adams of Dilbert fame has started his own blog. You can't get more honest than this (published in his e-mail newsletter):

People who are trying to decide whether to create a blog or not go through a thought process much like this:

  1. The world sure needs more of ME.
  2. Maybe I'll shout more often so that people nearby can experience the joy of knowing my thoughts.
  3. No, wait, shouting looks too crazy.
  4. I know—I'll write down my daily thoughts and badger people to read them.
  5. If only there was a description for this process that doesn't involve the words egomaniac or unnecessary.
  6. What? It's called a blog? I'm there!

The blogger's philosophy goes something like this:

Everything that I think about is more fascinating than the crap in your head.

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10.23.05 The Finish Line

Well, I made it—13.1 miles. And it didn't even take me all that long; I managed to maintain a 12-minute-per-mile pace. (OK, some people who had run the full freakin' marathon crossed the finish line at the same time I did, but there were hundreds of half-marathoners behind me! Regular readers will recall that my biggest fear is always coming in last.)

It was an incredibly foggy morning. The promo material for the race boasted about the picture-postcard views of the Golden Gate Bridge, but the famous span was nowhere in sight. Luckily, I live here and can see the bridge whenever I want (when it's not shrouded in fog, of course); I felt sorry for the people who had come all the way from Kansas, Wisconsin or Massachusetts, though. The fog does make for a cool and comfortable run, though.

My "strategy" was to run the first six miles, which were on level terrain, as quickly as possible, and then walk the steep uphill portions in the Mile Seven. Once I got to the hilly stretch, I just focused on one mile at a time. I didn't think about much except getting to that next mile marker. As I'd heard many times, running a marathon is as much a mental exercise as it is a physical one.

Thanks to everyone for their support. I don't know if I'll ever run a full marathon, but you never know; when I ran my 10K in August, I couldn't imagine what it would be like to run over twice that distance. But for now, I think I'm going to take it easy for a while!

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10.21.05 Racemares

Last night, in an effort to quell my anxiety about Sunday's race, I decided to ask myself, what is the worst thing that could happen? I tried to disregard thoughts like "major earthquake strikes as I am running in the Marina District" and "I trip on someone's discarded bottle of Gatorade, hit my head on the curb and get a concussion" to focus on likely scenarios. The worst thing that could happen is that it will take me a really long time to finish the race. I know I have the endurance to get through it one way or another; what does it matter if it takes me, say, three hours or more to run (or run/walk) 13.1 miles? I'll still be one up on all the people who have never even tried to accomplish something like this.

Then I went to sleep, and all night long, I had anxiety dreams about the race. In my dream, I check the time; it is 6 PM, 11 hours after the start of the race, and I am still running and running. Finally, I pass a mile marker and discover that I've only run three miles, and still have 10 to go. The route takes me far up into the Berkeley hills, up impossibly steep grades and onto wooded paths and winding streets. It's starting to get dark, and I am trying to follow a detailed map that has the route marked in red. I can't find the streets I'm supposed to be running on. Everyone else finished hours ago, so no one can help direct me. I realize that there's no way I will make it to the finish line...

Tomorrow's "training regimen" is easy—I need to rest as much as possible, drink lots of fluids, and eat low-fat, high-carb foods. I'll try to check in on Sunday, if I'm not too wiped out (I have to be in San Francisco by 6 AM), and let you know how it went.

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10.20.05 The Cheese Stands Alone

The major news media recognizes The Conical Glass, the most trusted name in blogging, by quoting one of my past blog entries in a front-page article. (If you don't want to register to read it—and who could blame you?—visit bugmenot.com to get a login and password.)

Everybody loves to talk about cheesy hits of the 70s, but I feel I need to recognize the fine fromage that the music industry is cranking out in our own era. I am referring to the Black Eyed Peas' "My Humps," which is so hypnotically awful that it goes well beyond run-of-the-mill badness and into the realm of genuine brilliance. Just listen to these lyrics, which are rapped by Fergie, the fashion-challenged BEP frontwoman, in a sing-songy voice: "I'm-a get, get, get, get, you drunk, get you love drunk off my hump. You love my lady lumps!" All in all, it makes one long for the quiet dignity of Gwen Stefani's "Hollaback Girl" or Kelis's "Milkshake." You can hear the song, and better yet, watch Fergie's booty-slappin' performance at AOL Music (click on "Watch the 'My Humps' video").

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10.17.05 Good Night, and Good News

Edward R. Murrow was a bit before my time, so I never got the fact that Ted Baxter's sign-off was a parody of Murrow's "Good night, and good luck." That's just one of the things I learned from watching the exceptional new movie named after that catchphrase.

One big reason to see "Good Night, and Good Luck," however, is because it's the most beautiful-looking movie I've seen in ages, and I'm not just talking about the fact that George Clooney is in it. Clooney, who also directed (dammit, is there anything that man can't do?!), filmed it in striking black and white, and it's so gorgeous it makes you wish more movies were monochromatic. It's funny that I just happened to mention "The Man Who Wasn't There," another B&W film, since "Good Night" is also permeated by smoke—Murrow (played by David Strathairn) was a chain smoker who even puffed while he was on the air, punctuating his points with his cig. Now, I hate second-hand smoke and love California's stringent anti-smoking laws, but can we all admit that cigarette smoke looks wonderful on film, especially when it's in black and white?

"Good Night" is not a conventional bio-pic; instead, Clooney has chosen to focus on one brief time period in 1953, involving Murrow's famous series of broadcasts challenging Sen. Joseph McCarthy. In a smart decision, McCarthy plays himself via digitally restored vintage footage, leading some wags to suggest that the late senator should receive a nomination for best supporting actor. The real live actors in "Good Night" include Robert Downey Jr. and Patricia Clarkson (playing married co-workers who have to hide their relationship to get around CBS' anti-fraternization rule), and Frank Langella as CBS boss William Paley, who must balance his desire for a prestigious news organization with the need to air programs that bring in significant amounts of revenue.

It's not hard to draw parallels between CBS in the mid-'50s and network news programs of today. In one hilarious scene, a bored-looking Murrow interviews Liberace, asking the flamboyant pianist questions written on cue cards, such as when he's going to find himself a nice girl to marry. That scripted exchange proves that while the era has been lauded as the golden age of television news, trivialities have always been an easier sell than substance.

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10.15.05 Shaken, Not Stirred

Thank goodness I've seen almost all of my friends and relatives within the past few months, so you can all reassure me that I don't look 45. By the way, for the benefit of those of you who are 45 or older, there is, of course, nothing wrong with looking 45 if you are 45. But no one wants to look several years older than they actually are. Joe, who rides AC Transit several times a week, said I made a grave error by not wearing my iPod on the bus. On the ride back to the dealership, I stayed plugged in the entire ride, listening to Queens of the Stone Age, and no one bothered me. And I have the car back—hooray!

I will admit that I haven't seen a James Bond movie since Roger Moore donned the tuxedo, but I'm still highly disappointed in the choice of Daniel Craig to play the superspy. Isn't Bond supposed to be hot? Craig is downright homely. I'll stick with Sean Connery in the old classic Bond films, thanks.

Before it started, I had grave reservations about "The Amazing Race: Family Edition," particularly the fact that it all takes place in the U.S. Sure, America has purple mountain majesties, fruited plains, etc., etc., but nothing compares with forcing people to take 24-hour-long bus rides through India on crowded trains. Now, though, I must admit my mad crush on the Gaghan Family of Glastonbury, Conn. If I had opted for a more "traditional" lifestyle, I would want my family to be exactly like the Gaghans. Little Billy, 12, and Carissa, 9, are perfectly adorable, and Carissa runs a seven-minute mile. The way parents Bill and Tammy (both marathoners!) encourage them is so heartwarming—they don't badger the kids to run faster when they're racing to the pit stop, but they tell them what a great job they're doing, while appealing gently to their competitive instincts ("The other team is going to be sprinting!"). Contrast that to the bickering Paolos, whose sons are 16 and 24. The boys are obnoxious and disrepectful to mom Marion, but once she opens her mouth, you realize that you can't blame them—nagging Marion is the most annoying woman who ever lived, and they've been forced to listen to her blather on for their entire young lives. Every time she starts whining about how no one ever listens to her, you should have bought gas ages ago, you just want to scream, SHUT UP, MARION!!! Run, Gaghans, run!

My favorite movie, "The Big Lebowski," is being reissued this fall in a $50 collector's edition featuring a bowling towel, coasters, etc. What, no Kahlua and vodka (to make your own White Russian)? It sounds like a rip-off, but the Coen Brothers' Collection, a limited-edition box containing "Blood Simple," "The Man Who Wasn't There" and "Intolerable Cruelty" along with "TBL," sounds like quite a gem. I particularly enjoyed modern noir classic "The Man," although ex-smokers (such as my husband) must fight the urge to light up after viewing it—tobacco smoke has never looked as good as it has in this film, and it permeates virtually every frame.

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10.14.05 Quiz Answers

How well do you know me? Answers to yesterday's true/false quiz are at the bottom of the page. I'm pleased to say that Joe missed five of the 20 questions, since I'd really been hoping to stump him on at least a few.

Our car is in for servicing today, and I took the bus home. How is it that I can ride the BART hundreds of times without incident, but on the odd occasions I am forced onto AC Transit, someone always insists on striking up a conversation with me? Today, a woman asked how much my shoes cost (I said I didn't remember, which is true; I bought them from the Lands' End catalog 3-4 years ago) and then asked how old I am. She speculated that I was 45. FORTY-FIVE! I AM NOT 45! I am, in fact, still far enough from 45 that it constitutes a rather grave insult. Granted, the type of person who would make such a statement to a random stranger on a bus is probably a bit off, but it still made me feel like crap. No wonder Americans hate public transportation. I can't wait 'til the car is ready so I can retreat into my little private cocoon again.

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10.13.05 Facts and Fiction

yellowjkt, whose blog is always an interesting read even though I don't know him (he's a regular on The Comics Curmudgeon forums), recently published a true/false quiz about himself on his site. This is really the quintessential blog post, since it exemplifies the self-absorption all bloggers must have as a key trait, along with the unshakable, if delusional, feeling that other people care deeply about the minutia of our lives. Here's mine (with a couple Baltimore shout-outs for yellowjkt):

  1. Despite this site's logo, I have never actually drunk a martini.
  2. I have seen Kenny G live in concert.
  3. I once spent a day fielding dozens of congratulatory phone calls after my boss won a MacArthur "genius grant."
  4. I have a TiVo season pass for "How Clean Is Your House?"
  5. I have been to Belgium.
  6. Actor Bill Murray once gave me a dollar.
  7. I am allergic to cats, but have shared homes with two of them over the years.
  8. I own shares of Tupperware stock, but no Tupperware.
  9. I have never voted for a Republican.
  10. I interviewed Sarah Jessica Parker when she was 17 years old.
  11. I've attended a science fiction convention.
  12. I have never watched an episode of "Friends" all the way through.
  13. I have met Jon Stewart.
  14. I've attended a Quaker religious service.
  15. Even though I lived just a few blocks away from her home for many years, shopped at the same supermarket she frequented, and detoured past her house far too many times, I never succeeded in spotting reclusive Baltimore novelist Anne Tyler in person.
  16. I never saw John Waters, either.
  17. I own a David Hasselhoff record album.
  18. During college, I majored in political science at one point.
  19. I invented the Swiffer.
  20. I am thanked in the acknowledgements of Tab Hunter's new book.

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10.11.05 Blogrolling

Just wanted to drop back in to say that Joe has started a blog. I believe it's going to be strictly music-focused, so if you like the MP3s, check it out.

I had actually been planning to do some MP3-blogging soon, but I don't want to look like a copycat. Of course, my concept is rather different from his... stay tuned!

Edited to add:

OK, this is freaky—the Decodaquote, which I've been solving every day for years and years, in today's newspaper features a quote from my former employer, Taylor Branch.

decodaquote

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10.10.05 The Truth About De-Evolution

Back in August, I debated whether or not I should go see Devo, despite my disdain for reunion tours. Well, I decided to shell out the big bucks for a dose of energy-domed nostalgia, and it was so totally awesome and worth it. They played many of my favorite songs, like "Uncontrollable Urge," "Smart Patrol/Mr. DNA" and "Blockhead."

There's something timeless about Devo. They may be a little grayer-haired and chubbier, but put 'em in matching yellow jumpsuits and energy domes, and it's as though the years just melt away. The music still holds up, and a huge crowd of insanely devoted fans hung on every note. The band wisely concentrated on its first three albums, ignoring their own period of de-evolution in the mid-1980s. Since then, leader Mark Mothersbaugh has become a successful composer for film and TV, who rarely takes the time nowadays to slip back into his Devo persona. Next time the spuds decide to go back on the road, I won't hesitate before buying tickets.

Somewhere along the line, the horrible Missing Person(s) were dropped from the bill in favor of Bow Wow Wow, who should have been on "Hit Me Baby One More Time" instead of the scarily haggard Dale Bozzio. For a band whose whole raison d'etre was having a hot, jailbait lead singer, they've held up surprisingly well, and Annabella Lwin looks darn good.

I'm declaring the remaining portion of the week Finish All Your $#%& Work Already! Week, and plan to focus on completing all of the pending work projects I've had to put on hold due to houseguests, closet cleaning, etc. Back in a few days.

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10.8.05 The Pearl Diver

You know how sometimes, when you return home from a particularly enjoyable vacation, the last thing you feel like doing is to go back to your "regular life"? I'm feeling that sense of regret now that Sujata is gone. During her brief stay, she woke up early every morning, made a pot of coffee, and sat at our dining room table and wrote. Then she and I would go out and have lunch and drive around San Francisco so she could sign books, give interviews, pose for photos, and meet her adoring public (it's exciting to find out that someone you've known forever has an adoring public). Of course, this was all as out of the ordinary for her as it was for me, since in real life, she's a busy mom of two (the kids are currently home in Baltimore with dad and grandma). But for a little while, we got to experience a few carefree days, gossip about our mutual friends, and catch up on each other's lives, with an added dash of book tour glamour.

She had research to do in Monterey, so after she left, Joe and I went over to Marin County to see "The Queen of Sheba's Pearls" at the Mill Valley Film Festival. "Pearls" is the latest film by Colin Nutley, a British director who has worked exclusively in Sweden for the past 15 years—until now. All of his movies star his wife, Helena Bergström, and usually feature the popular Swedish actor Rolf Lassgård as well. Despite the fact that "Pearls" is in English and takes place in postwar England, both Bergström and Lassgård are present and accounted for, playing Swedish immigrants.

"Pearls" is not the kind of movie you can really discuss, because it sets up an incredibly intriguing mystery in the beginning that is solved about 45 minutes into the film, and since the mystery is by far the best thing about it, I wouldn't want to risk spoiling it. Once that's been tied up (rather prosaically, I'm afraid), the movie becomes kind of your standard "free-spirited Swede enlightens strait-laced Englishmen" affair. Even the entire color palette of the film changes when Helena shows up, going from a sepia tone to brilliant color. As usual, Nutley's cinematographer, Jens Fischer, does fabulous work. His movies are always great-looking.

Only one of Nutley's films, the best foreign film nominee "Under Solen" ("Under the Sun"), is currently available domestically on DVD. It's a bit slow-moving, but exquisitely beautiful, and provides Bergström and Lassgård with emotionally complex roles. Nutley's most popular movie, "Änglagård" ("House of Angels"), shows up from time to time on cable; the Independent Film Channel used to have it in rotation.

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10.3.05 I Ran

Ten miles, baby. I finished my big training run over the weekend. Ten whole miles. Yes, it hurt afterwards, but Joe and I have standing plans that after I run some extremely long distance, we go out to breakfast at the Sunny Side Café, which serves such huge portions that you should be required to run at least 10 miles before eating there. I had the apricot French toast, and it was delicious.

So far, I've raised over $2,500 for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. By far the largest donation came from a celebrity. Not a cover-of-People-level celebrity, but someone who most of you would have heard of. I have never met this person, but I am totally bowled over by his generosity in sending several hundred dollars to little old me. I'm assuming he found me via my lineups page, which has been a fruitful source of donations. I am going to keep him anonymous, but... you rule, celebrity!

The virtual cocktail lounge will be closed for a few days because my friend Sujata will be staying here while she promotes her new book, The Typhoon Lover, in Northern California. I haven't read it yet, but Booklist says it is "delightful," and you should all buy it.

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Answers to quiz posted on Oct. 13:

  1. T
  2. T
  3. T
  4. F, but I do have one for the far less grotesque "Mission: Organization"
  5. T
  6. T: It happened during a taping of "Late Show with David Letterman" in 1993. Murray, a guest on the show, ran into the audience and started randomly handing out dollar bills. I still have mine.
  7. T
  8. T
  9. F
  10. T: I was a writer for the Grand Rapids Press' teen section and she was starring in the TV show "Square Pegs."
  11. T
  12. T
  13. F
  14. T
  15. T
  16. F: John Waters is truly ubiquitous in Charm City. I don't know how you could miss him.
  17. F: I used to own one, a gift from James, but it must have "slipped away" somewhere down the line. At least I still have Shaun Cassidy's Wasp.
  18. T
  19. F
  20. F (No acknowledgements for the tape transcriber—sniff!)