Making a Splash

Back in the year 2000, we had an opportunity to attend the biggest and most prestigious event in hairdressing history, The Intercoiffure World Congress. The congress, held every four years in a different city somewhere in the world, was extra grand that year. It took place in Berlin during a time when the world’s economy was booming and we were all celebrating the new millennium.

We decided to extend the trip by visiting London before the conference and Prague a few days after. We had never been to any of these cities, so we were very excited to experience them. 

We only had three days in London and tried to see as much as we could. We visited Westminster Abbey, Big Ben, Herrods, The Tower of London, saw the changing of the guards, rode the Millennium Wheel, went to two shows (one being Mama Mia) and visited The War Room. Most people skip the War Room, but this underground compound is where Winston Churchill and his military chiefs strategized and organized Britain’s part in World War Two, I strongly recommend it.

We had a couple of star sightings too. Well, O.K., one and a half. We were obsessed when we saw Andrew Lloyd Webber cocktailing it up in our hotel bar and we were slightly impressed at the sight of Macaulay Culkin. He looked the same as he did in Home Alone, which is unfortunate. It’s one thing when you’re a ten-year-old boy with big eyes, large ears and thin blonde hair, but it’s something completely different when you’re a twenty-year old “has-been” child star.

(Culkin in his earlier days)

(Culkin later)

Another highlight of our trip was taking an evening walking tour of the places where Jack the Ripper stalked and murdered his victims. The setting was perfect and typically London; dark, foggy and cool. As gruesome as his crimes were, there was something addicting about learning how he meticulously cut open his victims and left their corpses in carefully thought-out positions. And since most of his victims were picked up in pubs that are still open, we were able to have cocktails while visiting the morbid murder scenes.

The tour lasted a couple of hours and ended around 9:30. We had plenty to drink, but nothing to eat, so we decided to try out a restaurant that we had read about called The Sugar Club. It had just opened and as is the case with any new restaurant in any city, we knew getting a table would be a long shot, but it was worth a try.

“We’re terribly sorry, but we stop serving at 10:00”, said the very chic, turtleneck-encased host. I don’t know what it is about them, but the Brit’s have this manner that is both aristocratic and posh. They could literally tell you to “go stick your royal crown where the sun don’t shine” and you’d feel complimented and do what they ask. I don’t know how they do it, but they do.

“But it’s only 9:45”, we told the Beatle wanna-be, “and we’re very hungry”. “I’m sorry, but if only you arrived ten minutes prior we could have accommodated you”, Ringo said, “Should I check our guest list for tomorrow evening?” We must have looked very disappointed when we told him that we were leaving for Berlin to attend an International event with Mr. Vidal Sassoon and he highly recommended us to you. “Oh, he will be so disappointed”, I said with my own attempt at a very dramatic and affluent accent. “Well, let me see what I can arrange”, said the suddenly accommodating, Monkee’s reject. And without a moment’s pause, we were being escorted to a table.

Thanks Vidal.

We were seated at a table for two where one of us had to face the wall and the other got to view the restaurant. Being the shy person that I am, I opted to face the wall.  

As we perused the menu, I noticed a table of six men to my right staring at us. “Have you noticed that they keep looking over here?” I asked Anthony. “Ever since we came in, they haven’t taken their eyes off us”. Usually, at this point, Anthony tells me that it’s all just my imagination and I’m being paranoid, but he said that he noticed it too. Choosing to believe that they must think we’re cute, I ignored them.

The restaurant was busy and even though I was facing the wall, I could sense a lot of hustle and bustle going on behind me. “They must be really busy, I said in my “why the hell hasn’t anyone waited on us yet” voice. “You’d think they want us out in a hurry since we are the last people to get seated”, I complained.

I started my usual look around to try and make eye contact with one of the wait people. I found in the past that if I actually make them look me in they eyes, they couldn’t pretend we aren’t there.

It was then that I noticed there were a lot of people working, they just happened to all be attending the six men on the one side of us and the two women on the other. “Excuse m…” I started to ask one of the blurs that whizzed by. “Pardon m…” to another. I really didn’t understand, obviously they know we’re friends with Vidal Sassoon and the table of men proved we looked good, so why were we being ignored?

I was just getting ready to ask for the manager when I glanced slightly toward the women to my left. They were engrossed in conversation, but the one facing me looked familiar. I whispered to Anthony, “Don’t look, but where do I know her from?” “How can I tell you if I can’t look at her”, he murmured back. “O.K., fine, just don’t make a big scene, try to be casual”. Before he had the chance to look, I realized who it was- Darryl Hannah! YES, Darryl Hannah was sitting at the table right next to us. I had to think of something witty and fast to say to her, but what?

Recognizing the look on my face, Anthony knew I figured out who it was and realized it must be someone big. “So, who is it”, he demanded. In my totally inaudible voice I mouthed “Darryl Hannah”. “Who?” He asked in what seemed like a booming voice. “Shhhhhhhhhhh!” I demanded, “She can hear you”. “Who can hear me”, he asked in an equally loud decibel. Through clenched teeth and without moving my lips, I slowly said “Darryl Hannah”. “The Mermaid?” Anthony whispered, as he finally understood me. “Yes, she’s sitting right next to you”.

It was at this point that it all started to make sense. The six men were never looking at us, they were looking at her, we just happened to be in their way. And the reason we were being ignored is because Darryl Hannah was obviously a bigger star than Vidal Sassoon’s best friends.

“Follow my lead”, I said to Anthony as I was devising my plan to meet the half woman, half fish.

I thought about spilling by drink on her friend, but I really liked my wine and didn’t want to waste it. Then I thought about sending her a drink with with a note saying “Loved you in Steel Magnolias”, but that must have been done a million times. Whatever my plan was going to be, I had to act on it fast as the night wasn’t getting any younger and she was already finished with her entrée. THINK, THINK!

Then something happened…

She got up from the table to use the restroom so I seized the moment. “Excuse me Miss, but why are you getting all the attention around here? All the waiters are ignoring me, tell me your secret”. BRILLIANT!

At that moment, Darryl Hannah herself began massaging my shoulders and whispered in my ear “Well, I guess you don’t have what it takes”. OH MY GOD! I thought the men at the next table were going to drop dead. They had been staring at her for hours and nothing. I pretended not to know who she was and BAM!

Her friend laughed at our exchange so I jumped at it. While Miss Hannah was in the ladies room we engaged ourselves in conversation with her. It turned out that she worked for a magazine and was in town interviewing her friend “Dara”. “Oh, and what does “Dara” do”, I asked, trying to get her admit she was dining with a superstar. “Oh, she’s from the states, but she’s in town working on a project”. We conversed the entire time “Dara” was in the ladies room, so when she returned, she had no choice but to join our conversation. And she did so by asking about us.

I couldn’t believe it; I was having a charming conversation about me with a Razzie Winning actress. Funny how the wait staff suddenly couldn’t leave us alone now,  “Sir, would you like to hear the specials”. “ Sir, may I offer you an aperitif?” “Sir, would you care for some fresh bread?” Sir, now that we know you know Darryl Hannah, we’re going to treat you like a celebrity”.

Throughout our entire dinner we chatted about everything from who we thought was cuter, Matt Damen or Ben Affleck (we both agreed it was Ben) to vintage cars (it turns out “Dara” is a old car buff and was extremely interested in the Woodward Dream Cruise).  She even went as far as to invite us to pull up our chairs and share dessert with her, all the while never admitting whom she was. It was crazy; she was more interested in us than we were in her!

It wasn’t until the end of the night and a few glasses of wine later that she finally gave into her true identity. As we were heading out, we hugged good-bye, invited her to Detroit and Anthony told her she was even prettier in person, to which she replied “Thank you…I think”.

When we got back to our hotel we were so giddy, we had to tell someone and the only one in sight was the hotel manager. Obviously unimpressed (and with that same British tone) he told us that Darryl Hannah was indeed in town starring in a play and she had frequented The Sugar Club.

 A few months later we happened to be in an airport and picked up a magazine with Darryl Hannah on the cover. Inside was a full two-page story written by her friend. It began “A couple of months ago, I was having dinner at London’s Sugar Club with my friend Darryl Hannah…” Even though there wasn’t any mention of us in the article, I knew we were the true stars of the night.

The Right to Remain Silent (Or not)

We all have fears and a few years back one of my biggest fears became reality.

I know it’s shocking, but the summer I turned 21, I partied (a lot). I lived in an apartment on the Detroit/Redford border with my friend Ed and although we only lived in the sub-basement abode for eighteen months, we made enough memories to fill a lifetime.

We both had full time jobs and for being in our 20’s, we were both fairly responsible. That is, until the weekends. Once the clock struck Friday night, our motto of “work hard and play harder” kicked in.  We went from “those two nice boys in 3A” to some weird combination of Bevis and Butthead meets The Hardy Boys. Not only did we get into trouble, we searched it out. We did everything from steeling a billboard, because we thought it would look great on our living room wall, to dealing Caffeine Pills and cleverly marketing them as Speed. Our Guardian Angels must have been working overtime, because I haven’t a clue as to how we survived.

One weekend, however, we decided to take it easy. There was a park a couple of blocks away from our place and since it was the first warm weekend of the season, we decided to just chill out and hang there instead of our usual “party like it’s 1999” routine. So, rather than picking up our normal fifth of 5 O’clock Vodka, we opted for a couple of California Coolers instead (remember it was the 80’s).

After we drove around a bit, we parked the car, opened up our wine coolers and started strolling around. Because the weather was so great, the park was exceptionally busy. There was even a big keg party going on that we debated crashing, but for some reason, we were both in a rare non-party mood. As we both sipped our coolers and chatted about the latest episode of The Facts of Life, I noticed an old beat up beige Chevy with two men inside it begin to drive very slowly along side us. “I wonder what they want”, I said to Ed, knowing that I wasn’t being paranoid because I was sober. “Probably nothing” said Ed, “it’s just coincidental”.

As we continued our discussion about whether or not Jo or Mrs. Garrett would ever come out of the closet, I was relieved to see our coincidental stalkers park their car and finally stop following us. “There, see”, said Ed, “they were just looking for a place to park”. Before I could even say, “you’re right”, I found us both  being frisked (not in the good way) and handcuffed (again, not in the good way). With my hands shackled behind my back, I screamed “What is going on? Who are you and what do you want?”  “We’re cops”, said one of the mean, out of shape gym teacher wanna-be’s, as he pushed me toward their car. “I don’t believe you”, I yelled, and with that, he flashed me a badge, asked if that was enough I.D. for me and we were thrown into the back seat of their car.

At that point in my life, I had never been to Mexico, but I was sure they were kidnapping us to sell our organs. I was really attached to my liver and wanted to keep it, so I desperately looked for a way to escape. Unfortunately, with my hands being bound, I had no choice but to  become their hostage.

They told us we were being arrested for drinking in public. “Drinking”, I said. “First of all, I didn’t know drinking was illegal and even if it is, I hardly think a half of a California Cooler constitutes drinking”. Besides, there is an entire keg party going on, why don’t you arrest them?” I asked. “We’re going back for all of them,” said the other mean man, “there’s just so many of them that we need a wagon”. “Great”, I thought, “not only am I going to jail, but it's going to be overcrowded”. This was not going to turn out well.

As we made our way to the station, I eavesdropped on the conversation going on in the front seat between Starsky and Hutch. “Maybe we got the wrong guys,” said one of the coppers. “Yeah, but there’s nothing we can do about it now”, said the other, “we have to arrest them”. As they continued to discuss mine and Ed’s fate, I gathered enough information to realize that although we weren’t the culprits they thought and they arrested us for the wrong reason, they still had to follow through and book us for something to save their asses. So, seeing that our only crime was having open intoxicants in a public park, that had to be it. 

Seriously, of all of the reasons I should have been arrested in the past, this is what does me in? Walking peacefully in the park on a Saturday afternoon while discussing a sitcom?

WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!!!!!

For those of you who have never been arrested, all I can say is I don’t recommend it.

The first thing I had to do was hand over my belongings, including my wallet, watch, rings, sunglasses and keys. Then, we were both fingerprinted, had our mug shots taken and made to surrender our shoelaces. I don’t know why, but for some reason, this sent me over the edge. There was something about taking my shoelaces that made me feel less than human. Up to that point, I thought this misunderstanding was going to be cleared up as soon as our fingerprints cleared and they realized we were just two nice guys from 3A. But there was something about handing over my laces made me realize this was quickly turning into a made for T.V. movie starring Ralph Macchio.

In order to keep my lace-less shoes on, I had to shuffle over to the pay phone for my one and only call and face the dilemma of whom it would be to. Do I call my brother who would think it was funny that his youngest sibling, who was afraid of the crossing guard, was now in a Detroit City Jail? Or do I call my mother, who would panic at the thought of her son marrying a cellmate named Bubba? 

I opted for mom.

“Hi Mom, you’ll never believe where I am”

“Jail”

 “No, no, mom, I’m not at a sale, I said I’m in jail”

“Jail”

“Yes, that’s right mom, jail”

“Yes, that’s what I said”,

“Well, they made a mistake”

“Listen”

“Listen, mom, all that matters right now is getting me out of here, O.K.”

“No, Ed didn’t make me do anything wrong”

“Yes mom, I know not to eat the food”

“No, I don’t need any toilet paper”

“Just come down here and bail me out…O.K.?”

“Love you too”

“Bye-bye”.

As I was ushered to my cell, I passed three or four holding tanks with two or three people in each. “Please”, I thought, “please just have it be Ed and me”. I knew I would never survive being someone’s bitch. Then I saw it, my room for the night. It was sparsely decorated and a bit cold, but it was private. “Thank you”, I said, nearly kissing the guard. He looked surprised, as though no one ever said thanked him for being arrested before. “I appreciate this so much”, I continued as he locked me in. “By any chance, do you know where my friend is?” I asked my hero. “No” was all he said, before he disappeared.

“Pssst.” I heard from the next cell. “Ed?” I asked. “Yes” he whispered and then I saw his hand waving at me as he reached between the jail bars. We were right next to each other. “Are you alone too?” I asked. “Yes” he replied, “they must know we wouldn’t play well with the others,” he said. Laughingly, I agreed.

Since all we could see was each other’s hands, we played a few games of Rock, Paper Scissors and talked about what a great story this would make one day.

“I think I’m going to try and sleep for a bit”, I said, thinking it may make the time go by faster. Just as I shut my eyes I was alarmed by the smell of cigarette smoke. “Is someone smoking in here”, I asked Ed. “Yes, it’s me”, he said, “can you believe it, they let me keep my cigarettes” I couldn’t believe it; they took my shoelaces, but let him keep his cigarettes and his lighter!

“Dude? Gotta another?” a new voice suddenly said from out of nowhere. “Sure”, said Ed. “Thanks” said this unknown criminal. “My buddy wants one too” said the convict. “No problem” said Ed. I couldn’t believe it; Ed was making allies with the other prisoners and I was being left out. That was just like him, always being the popular one. “What are you in for” Ed asked them, “robbery” lied the killer. I couldn’t take it anymore, “Don’t talk to them!” I demanded, “They are bad news”. “Shut up” yelled one of the ax murderers, followed by, “tell your friend to be quiet or else”. Feeling brave and safe with iron bars between us, I retorted “or else what?” What came next haunts me to this day. The hoodlum whispered to Ed thinking I couldn’t hear him, “Dude, when you get out, you have to walk by us, be sure to tell us which one is you and which one is the sissy, because we are going to throw pee on him”. PEE? I can handle a lot, but having pee thrown on me isn’t one of them. “Ed, if you tell them which one of us to target, I’m going to….”and suddenly, my friend the bailiff cut me off. “You guys need to be quiet now, we won’t have any rioting in here”. “Rioting? Strange choice of words”, I thought and highly unfair, especially when I’m the one who’s told to pipe down and they’re the ones threatening to super soak me with urine.

It’s a strange feeling not having any windows or a watch. You haven’t a clue how much time passes, so when the bailiff told me my bail had just been posted, I had no idea what time it was, I was just thrilled to get out of Alcatraz.

Now this is where you'd expect me to say, " and we all lived happily ever after", but that didn't happen.......

Being only 21 and having a record of “Disorderly Conduct” wasn’t going to help me with my career choices, so I decided to argue the charge.  Ed’s cousin was an attorney and agreed to help us pro-bono. He met with us a couple of times and thought we had a good chance at getting the case dropped. He assured us by telling us that there was a good chance they wouldn’t even show up on our court date and that our case would be dismissed. So with full confidence we decided to fight on.

Since there were two officers and two of us, it made sense that there were two court dates. Ed’s was the day before mine and went flawlessly. Just like his cousin said, the arresting officer didn’t show and his case was dropped.

Then came my turn………

In my case, I guess “pro-bono” meant not showing up to court. To start my day off, Ed’s cousin called me in the morning to tell me he wouldn’t be able to make it due to an emergency at home. “But not to worry”, he said, “The guy isn’t going to show anyway”.

WRONG!

Not only did he show, he argued that I was in the wrong and my record should stick. After a couple of minutes of his throwing me under the bus to the judge,  it was my turn.

“JEFFERY DAVISON?” announced the judge in a very large and booming voice. “Yes, your honor”, I said in a very dry and weakened voice. “DO YOU ALSO GO BY THE NAMES ANDREW JAMES, JOE GREENE AND TYRONE JOHNSON?” Thinking I was on Candid Camera, I chuckled “No, your honor”. I seriously thought this was all a joke, I mean did he really think I looked like a Tyrone? Then he said “WELL SOMEONE WITH YOUR NAME ALSO USES THOSE OTHER NAMES AND IS WANTED FOR ARMED ROBBERY AND ASSAULT WITH A DEADLY WEAPON!”

WHAT             

THE                

FUCK?       

Seriously, what are the odds that someone would use those names plus mine as one of their alias'?

This was my biggest nightmare: Arrested and thrown in prison for 50 years due to a case of mistaken identity. You know how they say your life passes before your eyes at the time you die? Well, that didn’t happen; instead, I saw the opposite. I pictured myself spending 50 years doing hard labor, marrying Bubba and finally being released in 2034 as a lonely and broken 70-year-old man not knowing how to even fly a car.

The judge told me that I had to be re-fingerprinted. “THEN WE’LL KNOW FOR SURE IF YOU ARE NOT ALSO ANDREW, JAMES OR TYRONE!” said the towering shadow in an even larger and more echo-y voice.

By now, I was petrified and sweating profusely. I didn’t even know fingers could sweat, but guess what? They can. They sweat so much that my fingerprints kept smudging and they couldn’t be read. “Sir, if you don’t stop sweating, we’re going to have to put you into the holding cell”, said the fingerprint specialist person as she pointed to a door with a small hole covered in jail bars that had ten angry hands clinging to them, while beckoning for someone to join them.

The thought of being thrown into a holding tank with the real Andrew, James and Tyrone frightened me so much that I think my mind realized it was literally do or die time. I was suddenly thrown into some fantasy land. It was really weird, I closed my eyes, took three deep breaths and when I opened them; I swear I saw Cagney and Lacey in the corner of the room giving me their thumbs up. I immediately stopped sweating and was able to complete my fourth and last attempt at fingerprinting, thus proving my innocence.

At the end of the day, I was cleared of the Assault With a Deadly Weapon/Armed Robbery charge but found guilty of the original Disorderly Conduct charge, and I couldn’t have been happier.

The following Saturday was another picture perfect day- sunny, 80 degrees and no humidity and I went to the movies.

Cinderella Saves the Day

As children, we’ve all had crushes. Mine was on Will Robinson from Lost in Space. It wasn’t so much that I found him attractive, it was mainly because he got to hang around a gay robot and a handsome pilot named Don. Along with visiting different planets, he was able to carry a laser gun and do things like pass through a time warp and visit earth in the 1940’s. He was also very brave, I remember watching in awe as he and Penny explored uninhabited lands after surviving meteor storms and aliens that strangely resembled humans.

I had such an obsession that one Christmas, I asked Santa to bring me a model of the Jupiter Two with a complete set of Robinson family action figures. I was so sure that I was going to get them, that my mother had no choice but to look all over town for them.  What she didn’t realize is that they didn’t exist; I just expected Santa’s Elves to make them. 

Anyway, as obsessed as I was with this family from the future, Anthony was doubly obsessed with Cinderella, especially the one played by Leslie Ann Warren.

The difference between my obsession and his is that I grew out of mine. Once I realized that I was never going to be traveling through space with a slightly feminine doctor, I gave up my fantasy. Anthony, on the other hand, would divorce me if he had a chance to play Prince Charming with Ms. Warren.

One summer, Leslie Ann Warren came to Detroit to film a made for tv movie. As most stars do, she stayed in one of the area’s best hotels, The Townsend, which conveniently is across the street from the salon. The Townsend is an upscale, European boutique hotel located in the heart of downtown Birmingham, Michigan. Although it has many amenities, it doesn’t have a health club, so they partner up with a local club so their guests can work out there. The club just happened to be the same one we belong to, so from time to time, we would see famous people on the treadmill.

The summer Ms. Warren stayed across the street, Anthony found himself on the lookout. Anytime a group of people gathered around the entrance of the hotel to see who was coming or going, he would peer out the window to try and get a view of her. There were sightings of her in local coffee houses and restaurants, but we never found ourselves sharing the same venue at the same time. One time, she even came into the salon, but we weren’t there, so close and yet so far.

Summer was reaching its end and L.A.W.’s movie was wrapping up, so it wasn’t looking good for our chance meeting. That is, until one day at our gym…

As we walked in the club, we made our usual trek from the check in desk to the locker rooms. Not realizing Anthony wasn’t behind me, I proceeded to pick out my locker and change into my workout clothes. After a few minutes, I began to wonder where he was. He was right behind me when we walked in, so it seemed kind of odd that he was missing. But, I soon found out why.

As I started to make my way out of the locker room, he came in and rushed directly to the sink. I saw blood and ran over to him. As he was padding his forehead with paper towel and water, I could see his forehead was cut. “What happened?” I asked as he desperately tried to make the bleeding stop. “Nothing”, he said. “Well, obviously something happened” I said, “you’re bleeding”.  Then he began to tell me what caused his unfortunate accident.

It seems that as we were both making our way through the gym, he spotted Leslie Ann Warren doing lunges with her trainer. Star struck, and trying not to be too obvious, he "nonchalantly" turned his head in her direction for just a second. But that’s all it took for him to confidently walk smack dab into a metal pull-up bar that was dangling right in front of his face. “And to make things worse”, he said, “Leslie Ann Warren saw the whole thing”. He said she immediately came over to see if he was O.K., and not knowing there was blood trickling all over his face, he tried to be cool and convince her that he was fine. “Oh, this happens all the time”, he told her as he tried not to cry. “Oh, honey, I think you need some help”, Cinderella said, followed by “you’re bleeding pretty badly”. By this time, a small crowd began to gather around, and I’m sure that’s true, “it’s not everyday that we get to see a movie star comforting a blood soaked stalker”, I said.  He ignored me and continued his harrowing tale by telling me the princess told him that he may need stitches and the gawkers were making it worse by chiming in things like “Yes, you need a doctor”, “How did you do that?” “That’s gonna leave a scar”. 

“All that in a matter of a couple of minutes, how did I miss that?” I asked as I started to chuckle. “It’s not funny”, said Anthony “Leslie Ann Warren thinks I’m a Klutz and now she has to sign my accident report”. Trying to lighten the situation, I said,  “Well, at least you’ll have her autograph”. The deafening silence that followed made me realize Anthony didn’t appreciate my attempt at lightening the situation. So, trying again, I said, “well, at least we don’t have to work out today”. This time there was a longer silence, so I gave up.

As we made our way to the manager’s office to pick up the accident report, we both sort of felt like rock stars. “That’s the guy who met Leslie Ann Warren”, murmured one of my fellow club members. “I saw her comforting him” mumbled another. In the end, no stitches were needed and there was no scar, but Anthony did become forever known as the "Man Who Cinderella saved".

Breaking and Entering

One of my quirky ideas of fun is to visit seasonal towns off season. I seem to get a thrill visiting New England in March when the leaves are just budding, Paris in foggy November and 120 degree Las Vegas in July.  The lack of people and going against the grain has always given me a thrill.

Michigan living provides a lot of opportunities to fuel my weird desire. As with many northern states, Michigan is proud to boast two seasons: Summer from June through August and the other: Fal-ter-ing, lasting from September through May.  Temperatures can vary anywhere between minus twenty and seventy. My favorite part of Faltering is the early part when the leaves are bursting with reds and yellow, followed closely by the holiday part, thirdly is the part when it snows on the fresh green grass and flowers.

One cold January afternoon, I decided it would be fun to drive up to Frankenmuth, a small tourist town in mid Michigan. It was about one degree outside, so since it was still above zero, I thought “why not”?  It would be a perfect chance to see the city without all the hustle and bustle of the summertime chaos. Frankemuth does it’s best to impersonate a quaint German village. The waitresses in the restaurants wear those cute little plaid German outfits, while men are garbed with lederhosen. The town has three claims to fame. The first is Bronner’s Christmas Village-an enormous holiday store that resembles the North Pole on steroids and offers everything from traditional Christmas tree lights to the troublesome statue of Santa praying over the baby Jesus. The second and third “not to be missed” stops are Zehnder’s and The Bavarian Inn. Both of theses are eating establishments specializing in family style dining. What this really means is if someone were to crave an upscale red-necked fried chicken dinner complete with a side dish of creamed cholesterol followed by a dessert of angio-plasty,-a la mode, either of these restaurants would be sure to satisfy their taste buds.

After convincing my friend Ed that it would be fun, by promising him that after we survived the hour and a half drive on an extremely icy freeway, we’d have a blast visiting the local pubs, we were on our way. “I can hardly wait to sink my teeth into that chicken” I said as I had a death-grip on my steering wheel and hardly being able to see through the frosty windshield. “I can almost taste the mashed potatoes and gravy right now”.  Ed just replied with a “you’re going too fast, slow down” and finally “why did I let you talk me into this?”

Three hours later we pulled into historic Frankenmuth. I decided we didn’t need to make reservations. Who else goes to Frankenmuth on a frigid Sunday in January? Our first conquest was to find a place to sleep for the evening. “I’m sure someone will have openings” I reassured Ed as we passed our fifth hotel with a sign saying “Closed for the Season”, some even giving the all assuring “See you in May”.

We were rapidly approaching the end of the city limits, and I was starting to abandon hope. It was one thing when the hotels were shut down, but another when all the bars had red glowing “closed” signs in their windows.  I finally admitted that maybe risking our lives to drive to this  Deutchland wanna-be town was not my brightest idea. As I was looking for a place to turn around to head back to the now pitch black, icy highway, I saw the word “vacancy” flashing in red neon. “See” I said, “not only is something opened, it looks charming”.  It was a small, quaint hotel done in the typical Bavarian style-white stucco with brown wooden cross beams. There was only one car in the parking lot, probably the night manager’s, but at least it was open.

We parked the car, grabbed our overnight bags and proceeded to go inside. As I reached the door, I gently tried to pull it open. LOCKED. The lights were on so I was certain someone was inside. I kept pulling on the door thinking that maybe it would magically open on the tenth or eleventh try. Ed, in the meantime, rang the doorbell under a sign that I missed instructing visitors after five to ring for service. After a minute or two, a large, big- boned German women (at least I think she was a women), answered the door. “Vailcum”, she mumbled. It was a good thing I remembered certain German words from the semester I took of German in the eighth grade.  “That means welcome” I interpreted for Ed. He just looked at me with that “shut up” look that I often get. “You vant a room?” Helga asked. Thinking, it was funny, I replied with “Vell, yes, ve do, ve are very very cold and vould like a varm room”. Helga must have picked up on the look Ed just gave me, because she suddenly had the same ‘say another word and you’re dead” glare.

I decided Helga was not in the mood for my attempt at German humor, so I just proceeded to check in. “You vill be in Room Ny-en”, she said. I desperately wanted to inform her that the number nine only has one syllable, but I chose to leave that comment in my head.  She grabbed our bags and escorted us to our chamber.  It was not the fanciest room I’ve ever been in, but it would work, it was clean, had a television and heat.

After putting my things away, and freshening up, it was time for a cocktail.  We put on our parkas and ventured out to the frozen tundra of mid-Michigan to search for the local watering hole. Luck must have been on our side, because we didn’t even have to drive. Across the street was a charming pub, with the same décor as the rest of Frankenmuth, called Das Bar.

Das Bar was really cute. It had two pool tables, three dart boards and a long wooden shelf stocked with a full line of libations. We settled in by drinking our fair share of das seven and seven’s and playing a couple games of das billiards. An hour later, the crowd of four was dwindling and we found we were the only two left. “Let’s see what else is going on in town” Ed said. It seemed like a good idea, after-all, the night was still young and we were feeling no pain.

As we walked the crunchy, icy sidewalks through downtown Frankenmuth, we hardly noticed that our extremities were beginning to freeze. We felt just fine as we searched for another pub that stayed open past the hour of Nyen o’clock. As we continued to search for the next happening place, I was starting to get cold.

“Nnnnnot, mmmuch, happpennning” I shivered out. “NNNNo, mayyybee, wwweee shshshshould hhhead bbbacck to the hohotel”, Ed said through chattering teeth.

Then we saw it. At first, I thought it was a mirage.  Before our eyes was a cozy, inviting cottage-looking store. All the lights were one and I could see a fireplace through the windows and smoke billowing out of the chimney. We both ran as fast as our leg-sicle’s let us. I didn’t care if this store sold exercise equipment, I was going to act like I was interested in their items until my eyeballs thawed out. “Brrrr”, I announced as I entered the warm environment. We stomped our icy feet on the willkommen mat, took off our hats and gloves, wiped our fogged glasses off with our scarves and began our act of being “interested” in what they sold so our bodies could regain conscienceness.

“They have really nice things, maybe you can find your sister a birthday present”, I  said. It was a high-end home accessory store. The displays were really unique. They had it set up like a home. “It must be an interior design store” I said.  “You’re right”, Ed replied, “because nothing has prices on them”. “You must have to order them”, I said, acting like I knew how Interior Design Studio’s worked.  We continued browsing around when a sharply dressed sales women approached us to see if we would like some assistance. I told her we were “just looking”. I was certain she worked on commission, so I assured her we would find her if we needed to purchase something. She gave me a look like I was crazy and walked away. I know we didn’t fit the bill of the average shopper in this store, but she didn’t have to be rude, I thought. We were the only two in the store and I was pretty sure they wanted us to buy something because less than a minute later, another sales person, this time a preppy looking gentleman in his fifties approached us and asked if we needed some help. He didn’t ask us in the “can I please help you” sort of way, it was more like “you look like you really need help”.  Again, I told him we were just looking around. I was starting to get peeved. This was before Pretty Woman, but I felt like Julia Roberts did in that scene when the clerks wouldn’t wait on her because she looked “different”.

They offered a wide selection of gift items, some my taste, and some not.

I noticed a curio cabinet in the corner that housed various little German knick knacks. As I walked over to get a closer look, I noticed another department, this one resembling a dining room. It had a large rectangular dining table, an antique china cabinet and a tea- cart in the corner. It looked very homey. The employees must have been celebrating someone’s birthday because they were all gathered around the dining table and big birthday cake was in the center. “No wonder they looked at us so strangely” I thought, “the store must be closed and they stayed open after hours to celebrate a birthday”. Immediately embarrassed, I told Ed my suspicions and that we should probably go. Ignoring me, he was looking at the picture frames. “This would be a great gift for my sister for her birthday”, he said. “Do you think they would let me purchase it or do you think I’ll have to order it?” he asked. I looked closer at the frame. It was really pretty, and keeping with the uniqueness of the shop, instead of a stock photo of a model inside, it had a picture of a familiar looking husband and wife in front of Frankenmuth’s Bavarian Inn”.  Then I noticed the other frames, they all had familiar faces inside them. Upon closer inspection, I realized the reason the people looked so familiar was because I had just met two of them and saw the others were sitting around the dining table. At that moment I noticed something disturbing, the sofa was slightly worn, the lamp shades were crooked and in the corner sat an old television.  I suddenly realized why this lovely store resembled a home. BECAUSE IT WAS A HOME! We had just broken into someone’s house! The two sales people who were stalking us were talking on the phone in the corner and looking at us. I heard them give their address to the other party, which I’m pretty certain was Frankenmuth’s finest.

Once I realized that we were seconds away from being arrested-again, this time for breaking and entering, I went into survivor mode. I knew we had to get out of there quick. Hoping not to a create a panic, I said in as quiet of voice as possible and without moving my lips, “We- have- to -leave –now.” It was obvious that Ed was still clueless that we were about to be thrown into the big house, because he insisted that he wanted to stay because it was the only open store in town and it was below zero outside. “You don’t understand”, I said, with a bit more volume, “THIS IS NOT A STORE, WE ARE IN THE MIDDLE OF SOMEONE’S LIVING ROOM AND WE HAVE TO RUN-FAST!!!!”

Ed quickly put down the purple paperweight that he thought would make a great gift and the two of us ran out the nearest exit laughing and didn't stop until we reached the safety of Das Hotel. 

We decided to wait until Monday morning to do anymore shopping.

Cheers!

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I am what you’d call Star Struck. Whenever Anthony and I are in an airport, restaurant or on a big city street, my eyes are always wondering around to see whom I can spot. It hasn’t failed me yet.  My knack for star spotting has given me the chance to see and even meet many celebrities. My star-stalking resume includes Susan Sarandon, Ed Begley Jr., Jude Law, Seinna Miller, Robert Downey Jr., Macaulay Culkin (I think he’s still a star), Michael Jordan (I collided with him in a hallway-ouch), Tim Allen, Faye Dunaway, Andrew Lloyd Weber, Leslie Ann Warren (this one was funny, it involved an accident report-look for the future blog) and actually shared drinks and dessert with Darryl Hannah (again, another blog).

My most recent star encounter happened in the salon.

It was 5:00 on a Wednesday night. I was getting ready to go home and the front desk asked if I could “cut this guy’s hair”. He was staying at The Townsend Hotel, which is right across the street and he wandered in for a haircut. We had just gotten back from Paris the day before and I was a little tired, so I blame jet lag for my behavior.

I’ve been told from time to time that I have “the gift of gab”. I don’t think of it so much as a gift, but more of a skill. I read in a book once that people love to talk about themselves. If I don’t have anything interesting to share, it’s best to simply ask them questions about their lives and let them do all the talking. Most of the time, my little skill is a great  conversation tool, but once in a while, when I’m tired, hungry or insecure it can get me into trouble.  

After consulting with my client I started to cut his hair. I also started to talk. A lot. “Where are you from” was my first inquiry. The familiar looking gentleman said he was visiting from southern California. “Oh, you are so lucky, I love it there” I babbled, “it’s one of my favorite places”. I continued with “I have a really good friend that lives there, although I doubt that you know her, her name is Dana, although maybe you do, wouldn’t that be weird? I just got back from Paris, blah, blah, blah”.

I haven’t the slightest idea why in this situation, I felt the need to try and impress this guy. For some reason I felt it necessary to let him see my “cool” side. 

Trying to put the focus back on him, the next question in my line of fire was “so, what brings you to Michigan?” He told me he is an actor and was in town shooting a commercial for a health drink. I’m still not sure why I couldn’t simply have told him a little bit about our city and offer restaurant suggestions. Instead I replied with “I’m an actor too, I also direct, sing and I write a blog” Inside I was telling myself to shut up, but I couldn’t, I just kept going and going and going.  I continued with “living in California, you must see a lot of stars. I’m really star struck, I’ve met so many stars, I don’t know why, but I always seem to see them, I even had drinks with Darryl Hannah once".  On and on I went. I finally took a breath by asking him what famous people he has seen.

This poor guy finally had a small window to say something. “Well, actually I know Darryl Hannah too”. At this point during our one sided conversation, I started to think not only did he look familiar, but he sounded familiar too.  If I only allowed him to talk, maybe I could have figured it out. Instead I went on by asking him if he thinks she’s prettier in person too.  He said, he thought she is pretty inside and out. I’m a hairdresser, that’s supposed to be my line, I thought. 

“Who else have you met?” I asked as I continued my nervous chatter. He paused and told me that two of his best friends were Kirstie Alley and Ted Danson. This was followed by a very looooonnnnng pause. The light bulb was starting to flicker. I was slowly beginning to recognize my customer and I was clueless what to say next.  So, out came “oh, they’re kind of funny”. “Kind of funny”, not “really funny” or “very funny”. I had to say “kind of funny.”

If I could have simply disappeared, I would have.

The reason he knows Sam and Rebecca from Cheers is because he starred right along side them. I couldn’t believe it. How did I not recognized this man? I was a huge Cheers fan. He was in my living room for 30 minutes every Thursday night at 9 p.m. And the reason his voice sounded so familiar is because on the plane the very day before, I watched Toy Story Three and he was the voice of the pig.  I was cutting John Ratzenberger's hair.

I had no idea how to get out of this. My tongue was so tied it couldn’t form a single word.

I had spent the past twenty minutes telling this successful actor all about me. I had a golden opportunity to be discovered and I blew it.

Needless to say, the next time I have the opportunity to meet someone famous, like Johnny Depp, I’ll be sure to tell him that I’m a hairdresser to the stars and offer him a haircut.