Sweetly, my partner Chef insisted that he have the honor of purchasing the very first print edition of Alphabet City: My So-Called Sitcom Life.  But as he stood in our kitchen, turning it over in his hands, his proud smile turned to worried concern.

“First in the book and now the blog, I think I’ve become your nemesis,” he said.

“Nemesis?  Are we super heroes?  You watch too much Smallville.”

“No, I mean like I’m always part of the joke.”

There’s that English-as-a-Second/Third-Language issue that charmed me so much in Episode 14: Happy Soul.

“Oh honey, you mean you’re my ‘foil.’  You’re like Ricky to my Lucy!”

And so it begins—a problem most memoirists face—the feedback from loved ones about their portrayal in the book.  For the most part, I’ve tried to head off at the pass any potential issues by letting some key co-stars read early drafts.  Angela quite likes her in-book comparison to Minnie Driver, although her sister Mandy tells me the actress is on her Spit List.  Susan has always admired Brooke Shields, so I knew that one would earn me points.

The biggest concern I had was with my mother’s reaction.  Those of you who know me, or have read the book, understand that we’ve had an up-and-down relationship most of my life.  I sent her relevant chapters before the book was published just to be fair and give her a sense of what was headed down the pike.  Her reaction was surprising—she said that while she enjoyed the characterization of my father (her ex-husband) more than hers, she thought the portrayal of her visit to NYC was spot-on.

I had been focusing so much on a potential rough patch with my Mother that I wasn’t really prepared for a new issue with my partner.  And since Chef and I are both caliente for the actor I compared him to, Gael Garcia Bernal, I wasn’t sure why this nemesis-foil issue was rearing its ugly head.

“I guess it’s just hitting me that my Dad is going to read the book.  You know him, he’ll read and study every word of it,” Chef explained.

“And so?”

“That means he’s going to read the Happy Soul chapter.”

“Honey, this isn’t a surprise.  We’ve talked about it for over a year.  You said it was fine.  It’s even excerpted on the blog.”

“The blog is one thing.  He doesn’t read that.  This is different.  The book makes it so real.”

“What’s the issue?  The chapter is so sweet.  It’s one of my favorites.”

“You know…the part that goes after Happy Soul.”

“You’re kidding?  I think any Dad would be proud of that in a son!” I laughed.  Chef blushed furiously.

“Tell me you’re not going to write about this.”

“Of course I am.  You’re my foil, after all.”

Not sure what goes after Happy Soul?  Guess you’ll have to read the book and find out.  And I guess I’ll find out soon if my foil has turned into a nemesis.



Scarlett Johansson has been officially removed from my Spit List.  While many of you can breathe easier now, others are probably confused and might want to bone up on my go-to game of celebrity distaste.  The Spit List debuts in “Episode 11: Bold Faced Names” of Alphabet City: My So-Called Sitcom Life and also in this Thanksgiving blog post.

Since the creation of the Spit List (SL), I’ve discovered that the easiest way for an actor to move away from any wet loogies is to turn in a laudable performance.  To be honest, Scarlett has been headed off the SL for quite some time mostly helped by Woody Allen.  But it was her Broadway debut in Arthur Miller’s A View From the Bridge that sealed her exit.  Chef, Susan and I took in the Sunday matinee and were impressed with her dark hair, raspy voice and ability to project the budding confidence of a 17 year-old on the precipice of escape.  Scarlett shines because her co-stars are truly remarkable including Jessica Hecht and the always captivating Liev Schreiber.  Yowsa, that man’s presence can fill a vast stage.

Incidentally, Chef and I have always had a thing for Liev since we ran into him years ago in the Bath & Bodyworks near NYU.  He had his Jack Russell terrier in tow, and Chef and I scrambled to the floor to play with the pup, stealing glimpses up at the towering actor while he picked out some bath scrub.  I don’t remember he paid us much attention, but we didn’t care, we just wanted to be part of his pack for a few moments.

So congrats, Scarlett.  I’m sure the honor of being removed from The Spit List supersedes any other awards and tributes (do I see a Tony nom in her future?).  Take heart, Dakota Fanning—there’s hope for you yet.

Last week as I was beginning to cook the big Thanksgiving meal and make final preparations for my Spit List, I came across an article in the New York Times about a man named Ahmet Yildiz who was brutally killed in Istanbul by his father for being gay.  The reporter and sociologists refer to it as an “honor” killing—which I find horrific and gruesome.  The premise of the article is that modern Turkey is battling fundamentalist Islamic ideology as can be seen in acceptance of cross-dressing pop-stars but murders of gay men.

I must admit that I had lulled myself into believing that things must have progressed for gays and lesbians in the metropolis of Istanbul since I visited many years ago with Tyra Banks.  I thought it was daring then that I ventured out to find exotic gay nightlife, and would up in a heap of trouble.  But nothing as tragic as Mr. Yildiz.  As an American, I was able to return to a land where I might not be able to marry my partner, but I at least feel free from being hunted down by a family member justifying their action in the name of “honor.”

If it were still Thanksgiving, I’d add “Honor Killings” to my Spit List.  In the meantime, I offer up an excerpt of the story about an experience in Istanbul that caused me years of shame.

CLICK HERE to read an excerpt from Episode 7: Turkey Trouble.

As I recover from a serious food coma, thought I’d reply for you some of the highlights from Thanksgiving Spit List 2009.  (For those new to Spit List, CLICK HERE for a background post).  Some trends: in years past people reported having no problem coming up with famous faces to spit on—the challenge was always narrowing them down.  But this year, guests at the table reported having to think long and hard about their nominees—it just didn’t seem so obvious.  I theorized this was known as Obama Effect—having a reasonable leader of the free world makes us less edgy and aggressive.  At the same time the Obama Effect draws out reactionary, religious right nut cases who just don’t seem worthy of our spit.  Thus, our field is narrower.

As the host, I celebrated the 10^th Anniversary of the Spit List by re-nominating my very first spitee Dakota Fanning, mostly because she is appearing in Twilight—and last year I spit on any type of vampire hyped films.  CNN took center stage with double nominations for Wolf Blitzer and ex-host/anti-immigrant Lou Dobbs.

In the category of 15-minute Famers, we decided that spitting on Levi Johnston would make his Playgirl photo spread hotter.  Thankfully, and perhaps surprisingly, John & Kate didn’t make an appearance on anyone’s list—people just said they were exhausted of hearing about this not-so-interesting couple.  And that’s the thing about the Spit List—it takes a lot of effort to spit on someone, so you better do it wisely.

A new category called “Spit On When They’re Down” appeared this year.  First up, John Travolta—Darrell is offended by the actor’s inauthentic life.  And then this one really drew gasps all around—Rihanna.  Why would Scott spit on a talented singer who was beaten by her boyfriend this year?  Because he doesn’t like her haircut.  Fair enough.  And that’s the true spirit of the Spit List—it makes no rhyme or reason, just a guttural response.

Sometimes, I get nervous when a new person joins our feast—I am well aware the Spit List is not an everyday family tradition.  So I always make sure that the newbie have a full grounding in the rules before they arrive.  This year, Angela and Jim’s friend Laura seemed slightly nervous as we rounded the table and got closer and closer to her.  As the game allows, participants can ask for a quick recap of the rules, which are simple—you don’t have to defend your spitting because it’s just visceral response; people can move on an off your spit list over time and for no reason; your spitee has to be famous, someone you might run into on the red carpet—it can’t be Bob in Accounting.

Laura considered the rules and leaned forward, “I’ve been thinking that actually spitting on someone would be like an actual assault, right?”

Nods and all around.

“So, I’d just like to say, if anyone ever got to spit on their nominee, and then got arrested.  I’d bail them out!”

Cheers went up all around!  We all raised our classes.

“Welcome Laura!”

I got a little emotional.  That’s the true spirit of the Spit List—gathering strangers at the Thanksgiving table and bonding over mutual disdain of famous personalities. To me, that’s something to be thankful for.

Since I moved to the Big Apple, Thanksgiving has become my all-time favorite holiday.  Instead of traveling to spend stress-induced time with family, I gather friends in my home for a big meal.  After we pile our plates with food and pour copious amounts of wine, we go around the table and announce the person we would most like to spit on.  That’s right, we don’t waste time being sappy and thankful.  Instead, we use it as an opportunity to vent frustration with famous faces.  The Spit List as we call it has a long and storied history, having been created by Susan and me in our days at Condé Nast.  CLICK HERE to read a full excerpt about the origins, including a peek inside the famed Condé Nast cafeteria, and a dig at Chloe Sevigny.

For those of you rushing to adopt the game as a conversation starter at your own feast and too busy to read the excerpt, let me give a quick overview of the ground rules:

• Spitting on someone is a real commitment based upon a visceral reaction; it comes from the gut.  There really is no rhyme or reason—so there’s no arguing allowed once someone announces their “spitee.”  They are allowed to give some background, but not required to defend their choice per se.
• You can only spit on famous people—someone that you might see on a red carpet.  It can’t be Bob in accounting.
• Your Spit List doesn’t have to be long, and people can move on and off the list over time.  Scarlett Johansson was on my very first list, but has moved off.

Friends who have enjoyed The Spit List game at my table report that it has become like a drug for them—they spend all year looking forward to creating their list.  If they miss Thanksgiving at my house, they phone or email in their entry.  Some have tried exporting it to their family gatherings with limited success.  My friend Aimee spent some time in Liberia but was frustrated in her attempts to explain the game to citizens of a post-war torn republic.

Over the years, we have had quite a diverse group of honorees—Jennifer Aniston has moved on and off various people’s lists; not surprisingly both Suze Orman and Oprah have appeared more than once.  I imagine at least Oprah will be back this year.

Last year, Angela tried expanding it beyond just celebrities to broader concepts like the “blogosphere.”  The judges are still out on whether pop culture concepts will be a permanent category addition to The Spit List.

This year I’m extra lucky—two of my perennial Spit List favorites have collided: the Vampires of Twilight and Dakota Fanning.  I’m already getting choked up.

Have a heartwarming holiday, and do report back on your own Spit List.

Excerpt from Alphabet City’s Episode 11: Bold Faced Names