UPDATE – the problem(s) with ‘How To Make It In America’


***Just got off the phone with a woman who works specifically with designers to launch their lines.  Wow!  Why doesn’t Ian Edelman, creator of ‘How To Make It In America,’ know someone like this exists and write it into his bible so Cam and Ben(?) aren’t bumbling around like village idiots in their quest to be THE MAN?

I respect creative endeavors and output.  Getting a television show to air is a tremendous achievement and should not be treated with disrespect.

But ‘How To Make It In America’ bores me.

I feel this is someone’s heart and soul being poured out over Cam and the lead guy’s (cannot remember the character’s name) attempt to make their new jean line (Crisp) a must-have for every model’s ass from Manhattan to Minsk.

I wish the show made me feel energized and do more than chuckle.  The  ambition on display needs to be shimmery and irresistible (yes, like Citizen Kane‘s) to whip up excitement.

Instead, it’s super chunky like curdled milk.  Glug, glug.  (Except for Luis Guzman.  I have loved Luis Guzman since he played a magic obsessed ex-con in Out Of Sight.)

The show wants us to be enamored of two clueless dudes attempting to become Donald Trump 3.0? It’s not the real estate industry that is Donald’s true claim to fame; it’s his hardcore belief in himself as King of the World.  And that’s what Cam, the other guy and some character played by Kid Cudi (I know I could look up the names but Umi said I didn’t have to) KNOW is their destiny.

A destiny that doesn’t require knowledge, insight, research, or wit, but does need much champagne and models. And connections.  And sick beats.  Example given:

A model girlfriend of Kid Cudi’s character knows John Varvatos (yes, THE John Varvatos) so Cam and the other lead guy wrangle an invitation to drink with THE John Varvatos and his party of friends and friends of friends in some lounge that is only known to models.  Then, Cam awkwardly asks THE John Varvatos for help with the launch of their jean line with a self-serving toast.  IT WORKS.  THE John Varvatos agrees to meet them in the daylight, without alcohol lubricants. SCORE!

The two denim kings in the making don’t actually get to meet with Varvatos.  He offers up his Denim president to guide them in the next step of jeanmaking.  He tells them to get a pattern maker. And the two little denim kings open their eyes and say we didn’t know we needed that.  Which is odd to me because if Ben (I think that’s his name) attended FIT for a short time, why doesn’t he have an inkling of this?

It seems insulting that the show wants viewers to believe there their two leads are that clueless and that we should be charmed by it.  These are two twentysomethings that can talk their way into clubs, parties and panties. They should have picked up some knowledge that can help them between 9 and 5, no?

Or maybe viewers are supposed to identify with the naivete and mistakes so it can be sweeter when the two in Cam’s words:  ‘Become the man.’   Maybe the goal is to have viewers believe that Cam and Ben’s(?) adventures are our own?  But without drinking champagne and smelling jasmine scented model hair.

My other problem with the show is that it doesn’t feel very HBO.  If I wanted to watch television at 10pm on a Sunday night, I would be watching ABC.  HBO is supposed to bring the kind of  adult subject matter  that makes one feel worldly and innocent at the same time.

‘Sex and the City’ for its flaws did this entertainingly well.  See Valley of the Twenty-Something Guys episode.

I need that kind of jolt to the system from the twenty-somethings of ‘How To Make It In America.’

Why do these mistresses deserve an apology?


I’m reading Jo Piazza at PopEater and she seems to be serious that Tiger’s Angels deserve personal apologies for his behavior:

Call them what you will. The mistresses may very well be fame-seeking, gold-digging harpies, or they may be vulnerable women caught up in the web of lies of a famous and powerful man. Either way, it doesn’t mean they aren’t human and weren’t hurt by Tiger’s actions. Omitting the other women caught up in his scandal goes to show that Tiger isn’t genuinely sorry for hurting anyone. He is just sorry he got caught.

First, why should he apologize to consenting adults?  Unless these women were….

1. underage (NOPE!) AND/OR

2. exhibited diminished mental capacity (Tallulah, SHUT UP!)

why should Tiger be treated like he took advantage of them?  Were they upset when they were gulping champagne with Tiger?  Any mental breakdowns when Tiger and his entourage were flying them all over the world for assignations?

No, they were loving being in the orbit of a famous, wealthy athlete.  They sniffed his aura and wanted more.

It was their responsibility to protect their feelings from the lies and manipulations of a married, superstar athlete.  These women, using their free will and intelligence, dropped their panties for Tiger.    No matter how many lies Tiger told (or continues to tell),  he doesn’t have the power of mind control (and neither does his peen*) to make someone forget about a man’s wife and kids. Or their own moral code.

So I suggest that Tiger’s harem and their weird enablers — buck up.  Accept that Tiger wasn’t in love with you. (Stone cold narcissists rarely fall in love.)   Stop playing helpless victim and follow Kim Kardashian’s lead:  MONETIZE  YOUR REALITY. Wipe those tears, there’s money to be made!**

Ella Fitzgerald  Love For Sale

*But imagine if a peen could do that.  Wouldn’t that be amazing????!!!!!!  The mind boggles.

**Gloria Allred can definitely help with this endeavor.   She is a world-class professional.

Dear New Yorkers who don’t like to pick up their dog’s waste:


A sidewalk overpopulated with your pet’s feces is unappealing and gross.  It ruins the mood to have to dodge  shit pellets as I walk  to the corner bodega.  I love your dog.  And I want to love you.  So could you do the neighborly thing and dispose properly of these trinkets from your dog’s ass?

All my best,

Tallulah Bankhead

Wait, wait Whoopi Goldberg made Wendy Williams cry? On her own show?


Now, Whoopi has a Tony, an Oscar, an Emmy and a Grammy so she really doesn’t need to ever talk to Wendy Williams (or Elisabeth Hasselback, for that matter.)

Wendy feels that she had to go hard on celebrities during her radio days to get to a point where she could have her own talk show.  And, unfortunately, she’s right.  She played the game to win — not to make friends.

Wendy Williams Chokes Up When Whoopi Goldberg Visits Her Show (Guess They Squashed Their Beef?) [DimeWars.com]
TV Has Given Wendy Williams A Soul And A Conscience… Whoopi Goldberg Makes Wendy Cry [Bossip.com]

After reading Southwest Air’s numerous apologies to director Kevin Smith…


for kicking him off the plane for being too fat,  I get the feeling the company is passively-aggressively saying

“Fat people, please spend your money with an airline that will not insult you.  You would think we would value money > girth, but you would be wrong! We don’t need you.  Now go fly United! Or Air Tran.  They’ll take you, no questions asked.”

Many years ago, I saw The Corporation, a documentary analyzing the damaging mindset of corporations.   One of the key takeaways from the film (for me) was the acknowledgement that corporations are built to maximize profit, without regard to showing empathy, compassion or giving a damn. Just like a sociopath.

I salute Southwest Air for knowing its true purpose in society.

Kevin Smith: “I’m never going on Southwest again” [CNN]

***I hope he doesn’t show up in Southwest Air ads in 2012 because he’s down on his luck.

REVISED – Meditations on ‘my d*** is sort of like a white supremacist': A conversation with Tallulah Bankhead and Tallulah Bankhead about what makes John Mayer hot.


On how his penis feels about black women:
I don’t think I open myself to it. My dick is sort of like a white supremacist. I’ve got a Benetton heart and a f—–n’ David Duke cock. I’m going to start dating separately from my dick.

Tallulah Bankhead has volunteered to travel through the wormhole of race, sex and dating to understand John Mayer and his David Duke c—k.  She will be making this journey with the only person worthy of being invited: herself.

TallulahBankhead1: Hey!
TallulahBankhead2: Hrumph!
Tallulah Bankhead1:  I must confess I bought John’s debut album and enjoyed him in concert.
Tallulah Bankhead2: Hrumph.
TB1: Well.  If he prefers  Jessica Simpson and Jennifer Aniston, who am I to begrudge his David Duke peen?
TB2: T, you know that that herder didn’t have to say that mess to Rob Tannenbaum in Playboy. It’s like holding a sign that says BLACK WOMEN REPULSE ME EVEN THOUGH I WILL PLAY WITH THE ROOTS, JAY-Z AND ON THE CHAPPELLE SHOW.  SO  I WOULD SOONER HAVE SEX  WITH JAY-Z, QUESTLOVE & DAVE CHAPPELLE, THAN A BLACK WOMAN.  Herder, please!
TB1: Well he did grow up in Connecticut.  Maybe there aren’t any black women there?
TB2:  So what?  He has travelled all over the world.
TB1: Everyone is not  Mick Jagger (ahem, Brown Sugar), Bob Marley, Lenny Kravitz (I know he focked Madonna and Vanessa Paradis!)  and Jimi Hendrix with their equal opportunity peens.
TB2: Yeah, yeah. But why did he have to say it
like it’s okay to find black women repulsive?
TB1:  What do you mean?
TB2:  He said it like ‘hey, every white dude I know feels the same way–black girls don’t do nothing for us.’  So your body is a wonderland only if its milky white?
TB1: But we don’t know if that’s what he really meant.
TB2: Oh?
TB1: [Silence]
TB2: It’s like it’s accepted as a  sign of being a well-adjusted white male in American society that you can’t get hard for any black woman. EVER.  And then it brings us to the next point — the best of black men  in the arts, business, academia and politics will be equal opportunity about their  desires, but the best of white men will not.  I’m not saying that John Mayer is the best of white men but he does have a few Grammys and that does mean something. For now.
TB1: But that’s not true at all.
TB2: Well, T, it  may not be true in your world, but it is for some people.

TB1: That’s focked up.
TB2:  And so infuriating. This is where I get pissed.  John Mayer just put it out there that black women are not considered appealing for sex or a romantic relationship for white boys like him.  It’s just an extra punch in the gut when black men (i.e. the only men who should take pity on our pathetic, helpless azzes by dating, marrying and yeah, focking us) feel free to park their boats in ports all over the world. We might as well buy vibrators and call it a day.
TB1: How did we get here?
TB2: I ain’t got time for your Pollyanna take on the world.
TB1: I’m no Pollyanna.
TB2:  I don’t want to get into it too deep because you will start calling me crazy. Or a performance artist.

TB1: I’m open.
TB2:  Historically, non-black women were not valued as romantic partners by white men in America.

TB1: Okay. But there are exceptions. See Orleans, New.
TB2: But the exceptions didn’t flow to John Mayer’s tribe.  And white women were considered a prize.  The ultimate prize
TB1: I see that. But am I wrong for believing that there are people who see the world free of  bias?
TB2 chortles.
TB1: I entertain you?
TB2: At times, you do.   I’m just waiting for you to start quoting Bulworth via Ice-T.

I know you have a white supremacist vagina at times so ….I’m not going to torture you.
TB1:  And you know why!
TB2: No, I don’t.  Enlighten me, citizen of the world.
TB1: There are times when a black girl is only asked out by men who do not share her race.  It is not a crime for a black girl to say yes to such a request. It doesn’t make the girl a supremacist; just someone who likes to go out smelling nice, looking cute and receiving adoration.  
TB2: You are talking about the freedom to be sweet. A thank you to Stanley Crouch.

TB1: Indeed.
TB2: So why won’t John Mayer and Tiger Woods give us a chance to do that?  Why do they believe what they do about us?  I mean, we are not all Mary Jones! And John Mayer is an intelligent young man — it’s a  shame that he would like to pretend that we are some monolith to be avoided. But I do know that he’s not the last one to hold on to his biases.  But maybe he is a little bit ashamed that he does.
TB1:  Well, I don’t want his shame or pity.  He’s free.
TB2:  And so are we.