In true Texas tradition, yesterday featured the Good, the Bad and The Ugly.

this pic gets cropped to an iPhone wallpaper!

The Good.  Very Good.  Thanks to my interview with fellow Texan blogger Jamie of FromMe-ToYou.Tumblr.Com, this blog had its highest traffic day ever—by almost triple the next nearest one!  There’s something special about that Jamie, her photography and her followers—and I’m delighted they tumblr’d through here.  Ya’ll come back now, ya here?  And ABCitizens, hope you head over to FromMe-ToYou as Jamie morphed me into iPhone wallpaper!

The Bad.  My excitement over Alphabet City: My So-Called Sitcom Life being plugged by Richard Johnson in PageSix quickly turned to shock as I watched the blurb spread across the Internet.  If you’ve read the book, you’ll remember that Richard gave me a break when I was a young, struggling publicist—and when he read the passages about PageSix he reached out to me immediately again and said he’d like to do something.  What he chose about the lessons I learned from Tyra—including Olestra causing intestinal distress was only slightly out-of-context sensational—but again, if you’ve read the book, sort of funny.

Back in PageSix!

Unfortunately, like a game of telephone, each celebrity blogger picked up the PageSix story and reblogged it with their own twist.  I quickly became demonized as some kind of bitter ex-publicist with an axe to grind who had written a “tell-all” book.  Really?  And not just in the US, but around the world.  What’s up with all the gossip sites in India?  And I don’t even want to know what those German bloggers are saying.  Stateside,  Jeannie Jones from a radio station in DC started off her fuming post calling me some “jerk ex-publicist”:

“You know you’ve reached the bottom of the barrel when you decide to expose a celebrity’s intestinal issues in order to sell your book.  According to the NY Post, Tyra’s ex-publicist, Jon Paul Buchmeyer is exposing trivial tid-bits about the model-mogul’s life in order to advance his book sales.”

Wait a minute?  That’s what the Post said?  That I’m “leaking” out info to improve book sales?  Here’s the thing Jeannie and fellow gossipmongers, how about doing some actual reporting by contacting me, get another interesting and useful side of the story?  It’s not too hard—Google my name and you can pretty much be connected to me and the blog instantaneously. Read some sample chapters here about Tyra, see how nice they are!  Better yet, how about asking for a copy of the book?   Kudos to Rob Shuter at Popeater and Melissa Cronin at Star magazine for figuring that out and requesting to actually read the book before reporting.  Shout out to Jezebel for keeping it light as well—adding one of my all time favorite celebrity tabloid lines, “supermodels are just like us!”

I’ll also give some credit to FOX News National they actually went to the blog picked up more tidbits—and switched the story so that Tyra warns ME about fans brandishing teddy bears at book signings.  See how this game of telephone works.  Who cares right, as long as they spell my name right?  Except for some reason, the reporter began spelling my name wrong half way through the posting.  Oh well, at least they linked to my blog.

The Ugly.  What really became a hard to swallow were all the comments people began leaving on the blog posts.  Even further removed from the source—they haven’t read the book or even the original post—they feel compelled to attack me.  One reader on NYMagazine’s blog said I needed to have “my mouth taped shut” and another critiqued my public relations strategy.

None of this should surprise me, really.  After all, I’m a trained publicist and should know how quickly things “spin” out of control.  But the industry has changed dramatically since I stepped my naïve toes into the waters of celebrity publicity.  The Internet was just dawning—I had to clip stories out of the paper by hand.  Today, it was horrifying watching the speed at which my own participation in the gossip beast morphed into something ugly.  To my celebrity publicist friends I take my hat off to you, because your job today is much more complicated and stressful than was my brief time with wonderful folks like Tyra, Whoopi, Teri, Ashley and so many more.

To calm myself down after reading all the blogs and comments, I asked myself, “What would Mary do?”  After all, my TV guardian icon has guided me through some sticky situations.  Sure, she came unglued when her reputation was called into question.  But usually, she’d discuss the situation with Rhoda who would tell her to take it all in stride.  My own Rhoda, Susan, did exactly that.

“What do you care?  Shake it off.  As long as they spell your name right kid!” Susan teased.

In the end, things always worked out for Mary.  And she always had on a cute outfit when they did.  Sounds like I have some shopping to do.

Readers of Alphabet City: My So-Called Sitcom life might remember that in Episode 4 the famous gossip columnist Richard Johnson gave me a break when I was a struggling junior publicist for Liza.

Back in PageSix!

Then years later, in Episode 11, I became a bold face name myself in PageSix after an incident involving model Mark Vanderloo at Condé Nast Traveler’s first Hot List party.  Well today, thanks again to Richard and another supermodel media mogul Tyra Banks, I have been re-confirmed as gossip column worthy.  At least this time, I really didn’t have to say anything snarky.  From today’s New York Post PageSix:

Teddy Terrors

Jon Paul Buchmeyer learned plenty from Tyra Banks when he worked as her publicist during her book tour for “Inside Out.” “Chips with the fat substitute Olestra cause Tyra to have intestinal distress,” he writes in his memoir, “Alphabet City,” which chronicled his years working for Whoopi Goldberg, Vanessa Williams and Condé Nast Traveler. Buchmeyer also learned, “Tyra thinks white limos are tacky,” and to beware of fans who bring teddy bears to book signings — “Anyone that showed up at a book signing offering a stuffed animal probably needs a security escort.”

Oh, FYI—today is the last day to help me win the contest by ordering the book…click button at right and use WINTERBOOK code for 10% off!

While on jury duty recently, I discovered a complication with my latest sex/tech-obsession.  To pass the time, I logged onto one of my favorite iPhone apps—Grindr, a GPS based service that locates other guys nearby who are ready and willing, and serves up their pictures with a note indicating their distance from you.  With Grindr, you cannot only find Mr. Right Now, but Mr. Right Next Door.  And chat with him real time!  The problem for me that day was that as I logged on, up popped Juror #17, who on my little screen was displaying his well-defined pecs and this description: “29, Latino, Lookin’ for NSA fun, 0 feet away.”  Literally.  He was sitting directly behind me.  Yikes.  What if we ended up on a jury together?  Was that hot?  Or awkward?

Grindr Screenshot - I'm not here...

Since I met my partner Chef Juan Pablo on Gay.com over nine years ago, I’m generally a forceful advocate for technology’s power as a matchmaker.  And as much as I marvel at Grindr’s name and niche—connecting horny boys with nearby potentials—I wonder if I would have ever met my boyfriend using it.  On Grindr, he would have never been offered to me as a potential.  Only after I agreed to go out with Juan Pablo (mostly because we had the same name), did I find out he lived down on Wall Street, a wasteland located across my personal DMZ of Canal Street.  Boy, I’m glad I overcame my geographic snobbery.  (CLICK HERE TO READ EXCERPT ABOUT OUR MEETING FROM ALPHABET CITY).

Don’t get me wrong.  I enjoy Grindr’s potential enormously, and it has become my go-to “conversation starter” app.  I love to share the overt silly/sexiness of the program.  When I pulled it out and passed it around at a party recently in Alphabet City, someone identified one of the hot guys as the owner of the nearby Eastern Bloc bar.  We went on a field trip so that I could salivate in person.  Later, PageSix reported the bar owner’s been cavorting around India with Anderson Cooper.  Thanks to Grindr, I saw the hottie in person and am fitfully jealous of Anderson!

Sometimes I Grindr with my friend Susan.  She gets a kick out of seeing what horny travelers (or workers) are logged in when we pass through Newark Airport.  Often I challenge Juan Pablo to a Grindr duel—we sit across from each other and see who has hotter guys located closer (there’s some weird quirk in the GPS that doesn’t duplicate the same guys).

Because I grind so much, I’ve learned some important lessons.  It doesn’t make sense to Grindr in cruisy bars like The Eagle—everyone’s there to hook-up anyway; it’s like a live-action Grindr video game.  “Didn’t I see you on Grindr?” is a perfectly acceptable opening line at Washington Heights’ gay bar No Parking.  Neighborhood with most options? Chelsea, no surprise.  Log on location for fastest hook-up?  Hotel lobby bars.  Favorite non-NYC Grindr city?  Montreal, where I became a “Grindr-Stalkr” blurting out “oh my god, hi!” to a hot guy from South Africa I’d been cruising onscreen and ran into at a club.

Grinding so frequently does have a downside.  You smile at people you have a vague recollection of, but can’t quite place.  That guy at the gym who keeps looking at me—do I know him?  Oh, right, we’re both on Grindr.

At jury duty, I quickly shut off my phone and stashed it into my backpack, but not before I stole a glance at Juror #17.  He was even cuter in person than onscreen, looked up from his iPhone and smiled.

“Crazy app, right?” he said.

Turns out, I got picked for the jury and he didn’t.  On my way out of the building after opening arguments of my trial, I passed an attorney leaving another courtroom.  Gee, he looked familiar.  I smiled, but he didn’t notice.  He was too busy looking at his iPhone.