“ Normally, I have a fairly strict 'no touching the recapper's chest' rule, but on this one occasion, I elect to waive it. ”
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One
Amy: So you're sublimating your anxiety about this party through the quest for the perfect lipstick.
Alli: Yeah. Pretty much.
Two
This tale originally started with a paragraph of shout-outs and thank-yous, and it got to be so long that there was absolutely no way I could leave it in. It was a page long when I finally bid it farewell. I hope the sentiments it expressed will be clear anyway.
Three
What I brought home: One bottle of Canadian Club. One very sizable bottle of Marti lime-mint rum. One Molson's. (Note to self: Have apparently given appearance of being a lush. Watch for drinking references.) One box of champagne truffles. One bag full of Sephora-purchased lotions and potions. One bag of Canadian promotional tchotchkes, including (but not limited to): Canada tee shirt, Canada pen, two rah-rah Canada pins, Canada bear, Toronto key chain, Canada shot glass. One stuffed white sheep (named Whisperer during trip home). One goody-bag including TARcon luggage tag, TAR Passport, one box of Boston Baked Beans candy (snerk), one pack of Doublemint gum (snerk again), one color-your-own Hating Hat (with crayons), one toothbrush (ha!), one pink lei, and one songbook with all the sets of theme song lyrics.
Four
Twenty minutes or so before the end of the finale, I hear this enormous scream. The first thing I see when I look over is Brennan's fist as he ascends the stairs. He's with Kevin and Drew, and so the entry of the three of them generates great excitement, of course. But it appears that what has caused the scream is that he is with Danny and Oswald. I am seated close to the top of the stairs, which is quite frankly as far as they get. They make it up the stairs, they round the corner into the bar area where we are, and they are mobbed. Flashes fire. Screaming occurs. More screaming. More flashes. When I meet them, they reach right over and smear me with glitter. Normally, I have a fairly strict no-touching-the-recapper's-chest rule, but on this one occasion, I elect to waive it.
Remember when we talked about how their peculiar brand of grace seems to be the ability to put people at ease anywhere? That in South African townships or ritzy hotels or airports, they seem to know how to behave? The party is exactly like that. Confronted with a room full of crazy people who adore them with a devotion bordering on the unnerving, they are extremely patient and friendly to everyone. I actually manage to miss out on quite a bit of their more (ahem) notable antics, but I take note of a few things. Oswald's hair is long-ish and wavy, and as I have already noted, he looks like a porn star from the 1970s. I am enthused about this development. Danny looks like he does on TV, but he's thinner, and he looks a bit shorter once he stands to Oswald, who is tall. We tease Oswald about how cute his mom was when she came to the forums, and Danny chuckles that his mom may just have to work on her English just so she can participate.
Five
Kevin: I am so showin' up for your big number at the Cherry and Spoon.
Alli: Forget it. That's expired. Never gonna happen. [pretends to look at watch, despite not wearing one] It's past the expiration date. It's lapsed.
Kevin: "Lapsed"? I don't think so. [changing to the subject he really wants to discuss] Actually, you know what I couldn't believe? I couldn't believe you didn't give him hell for selling that crap on eBay in the first place. I could. Not. Believe that.
Alli: Kevin, I know this is going to come as a horrible shock and disappointment to you, but there are times when I can be ever-so-slightly...girly.
Kevin: SLIGHTLY?
Alli: Yeah. Right. I know. And...so...it occasionally happens that...I have this...
Kevin: [completely disgusted] Oh, right. Riiiight. And because it's Rob...
Alli: No. NO. I didn't say that. I'm saying that in general, there are times when it's...when I'm not that good at the whole...
Kevin: [grinning, both appalled and triumphant] YOU CAN'T DROP THE HAMMER!
Alli: [pause] Shut up.
TARcon2: New York City
“ Now, I've had some awkward conversations in my life, but the one where a lady comes over to tell you her kids aren't involved in an incestuous affair? Yeah, that one will rattle you. ”
Six
By the time I hear that Blake and Paige are wandering around somewhere, I have already retreated to the back of the bar, where I am sitting on a long bench along the wall with a few of the TARflies. (Interestingly, with all of the Racers and wackiness and screaming and partying and drinking that went on, my time along that wall is probably the most enjoyable, and certainly the most comfortable, portion of the evening.) Inevitably, the little group of people standing in front of me parts, and Blake is standing there. He walks toward me and extends his hand very politely. "Miss Alli," he says with that lovely, toothy grin. "Blake," I say, thinking to myself that this is going to be exactly the way I predicted -- he can't stand me, but he's going to be much too polite to admit it. We shake hands. Me: "It's nice to meet you." Blake: "Nice to meet you, too." He steps toward me to give me the obligatory semi-demi-hug, which puts his mouth right to my right ear. "You little shit," he says quietly. HA! As he steps back to stand to me, I turn to him. "You just made twenty points with me, just for saying that," I tell him quietly, out of hearing range of his mom, who is standing about six feet away. He nods slowly. "Twenty points, huh?" he repeats. (He wants to say it again, right then, I can tell.) I tell him that, strangely, I had found myself rooting for him late in the game. "We were such underdogs," he says. "We'd never traveled before, we didn't speak any foreign languages..." I nod. "You know," I say to him, "after you lost the money" -- he grins -- "that was a heck of a comeback." He nods and laugh a little. I realize I am becoming jaded about meeting contestants, because I really am mostly thinking about the fact that he's sort of not-tall. Of course, I am rather not-tall myself, so I'm not judging. I'm judging him a little for the fact that he suddenly looks like he has a Brady Bunch perm, but that's a different problem. Oh, and I'm judging him for the see-through shirt, also.
I also get some quality time with Mama Mycoskie and Doctor Teeth. They're very nice, and very good sports, and they actually provide me and Blake with something to talk about after "little shit." "My gosh, how cute is your dad?" I say admiringly. "They're both such great people," he says with a grin. He really does dig them -- it's not a show. Mama Mycoskie actually comes back over to me after she has walked away, just to reassure me that there is nothing untoward going on between her children. Now, I've had some awkward conversations in my life, but the one where a lady comes over to tell you her kids aren't involved in an incestuous affair? Yeah, that one will rattle you. "I -- oh, I know that," I assure her, looking past her to a very amused Sars, now following this from a few feet behind Mama M. "I -- I was as good as I could be about it, you know...until the shoulder rub..." She nods and chuckles good-naturedly. "I know, I know," she says. I look at Sars again, and now she's shooting me the eye-popping "wow, that looks like fun" look. You remember that episode of Friends where Chandler wanted out of that baby conversation with Monica so badly, and all of a sudden, he just said, "Oh, my God! This parachute is a knapsack!"? Yeah, I am at about at that point.
TARcon2: New York City
Paige's dress isn't an inherently bad dress, but it's sort of a prom dress, and given the atmosphere...well, in the words of Bull Durham, it's a little much for the Carolina League. She's a very pretty girl. I think the fact that she is dressed differently from everybody else there makes her a little uncomfortable. She comes across a bit shy to begin with, and this bunch of crazy people seems to overwhelm her a little. She's very, very sweet. I tap her on the arm at one point and shake her hand -- congratulate her on a great race. She smiles, but we don't really talk. I feel a little sad.
Seven
Mitchell-from-Survivor 2 (his new legal name) has come to both TARcons. No one completely understands it. I didn't watch his season, so I wouldn't know him, except that he's that guy who comes to the TARcons who's really, really tall. On Friday afternoon, I watch Ricki Lake from my temporary New York digs, and at the very end, Ricki goes up into the audience to say hello to "her friends." Who are her friends? Kevin and Drew. And Mitchell. She has Mitchell stand up and join her in the aisle (on the apparent theory that he is more entertaining than Kevin and Drew). She asks him whether he has anything to say. He looks at the stage, and addresses three people caught in one of those "I'm Cheating On You With Her" love triangles that's probably completely made-up. "I was just gonna ask that guy," Mitchell says, "since it looks like he's not going home with either of the two blondes, do you think maybe the two of them will get together?" The amount of hatred that emanates from the three of them in Mitchell's direction after this remark is made leads me to believe that perhaps the triangle is not completely made-up.
Eight
[sic]: You're not at all what I expected.
Alli: Oh, really? What did you expect?
[sic]: I was expecting you to be this mean old woman.
Alli: "Mean old woman"!?
[sic]: I didn't mean it bad.
TARcon2: New York City
“ 'No, no. You're my boyfriend. [pointing back and forth between Brennan and the phone] My boyfriend, my lawyer, my boyfriend, my lawyer.' ”
Nine
Lenny is a revelation to me. Tall and smooth, he comes over and puts his arm around me. "We've got to talk about some things," he says. "Hey, I don't know what you're complaining about," I say with a shrug. "You know I blamed her. You were just the guy throwing up out the window." We talk for a while longer, in about the same tone, and I gradually feel myself rising up on my tiptoes in a futile attempt to look him in the eye, since we are very nearly toe-to-toe. Eventually, I laugh. "You're just taller than me, dude, this is going nowhere." "I know," he says evenly. I am standing a couple of feet from the wall behind me, just in front of the seat I was occupying a minute before. He leans toward me in a caricature of menace, and I lean back, with nowhere to go since I'm standing against the bench. I lean back, back, back, until the back of my head actually rests against the wall as he towers over me. This makes me laugh. Funny, I think to myself. He's really funny. ["He's also much hotter than he looks on TV and totally chill about freakshows yelling 'Leeeeennnnnyyyyy' at him across the room. Thumbs-up on the Lenny." -- Sars]
Ten
At about 1:00 or so, they corner me with the microphone that the contestants have been using to clown around for the last fifteen minutes or so. I honestly try to escape -- not one of those "I'm pretending to try to escape for the sake of cute, but I intend to cooperate" escapes, but an actual attempt to escape. It doesn't work. What I Should Say: "I honestly have no clue what to say, except that you are all absolutely marvelous for coming to the party. I could not ask for a better set of people to work with on either side of the fourth wall, and although I have no shot whatsoever at explaining how fond I am of all of you, I'm hoping you can accurately guess at it anyway." What I Actually Say (keep in mind that it was Brennan who forces the microphone on me): "Umm...you know, these lawyers who won a million dollars owe me big-time...and suck. And, so...thanks for coming to the party, and...this is the most horrifying moment of my life." No, really. That's what I say. You know Dances With Wolves and Stands With A Fist? I would be Talks Like A Stoned Idiot. ["Please. Because your boss covered herself with such glory by bellowing 'FREEBIRD' at you." -- Sars]
Eleven
TWoPper: [to Danny, who is on his cell phone] Who in the hell are you talking to during the finale?
Danny: My lawyer.
Brennan: [appearing from nowhere] I thought I was your lawyer.
Danny: No, no. You're my boyfriend. [pointing back and forth between Brennan and the phone] My boyfriend, my lawyer, my boyfriend, my lawyer.
Brennan: [shrugging] It's easy to get confused.
TARcon2: New York City
“ I have approximately as much chance of holding my own in a dirty-banter-a-thon with Oswald as I have of holding my own in a tennis match against Venus Williams. ”
Twelve
Loud Pushy Frank comes over while I am in the middle of a conversation with somebody...Nancy, maybe? He steps right through the people who are standing in front of me. "Excuse me," he says, "I just have to say hello to this beautiful woman right here." It occurs to me a split second later that he is speaking to me, and he reaches over to give me a kiss. "Hello, sweetie," he says, and I get a little hug. "Hey," I say intelligently, as I am wont to do in these situations. He still feels like a safe. He asks me how I'm doing. I report, as I have been doing all night, that I'm well, but I add, as I have been doing all night, that it's all a bit much. "I'm a little intimidated by the surroundings," I tell him. "How can you be intimidated? You're off the hook! You're the boss -- how can you be intimidated?" He leaves. Ah, yes. Loud Pushy Frank, of the team we called Danza, has just told me that in fact, I'm the boss. Shouldn't I write that down in my diary or something? I feel like I just won a scavenger hunt.
Thirteen
Alli: [looking around the room] It's a little crazy. But I sort of had to come...I have this feeling like they're my kids, weirdly.
Oswald: Ooh, Mommy! [drops arm around me] If I'm bad, will you spank me?
Alli: Um, it's very possible.
Oswald: I'm going to open a lot of extra threads so you will.
Alli: Uh-oh.
Oswald: [waggling finger in my face] And I don't want any cyber-spanking, either. It has to be real spanking.
Alli: [using exasperated eye roll to convincingly conceal horrifying blush] Yeah, yeah, fine.
It takes me about five seconds to realize that I have approximately as much chance of holding my own in a dirty-banter-a-thon with Oswald as I have of holding my own in a tennis match against Venus Williams. I realize I should give up.
TARcon2: New York City
“ Kevin wants to negotiate what this very piece will have to say about Brennan's leather pants. They both want to argue about which one of them is the more shameless self-promoter. Kevin still has a list of grievances regarding the first-season recaps. We do not reach agreement. ”
Fourteen
It is about 2:30 in the morning. I am in the stupidest bar in America. It's not the dirtiest bar, it's not the filthiest bar, it's not the most dangerous bar. But it's the stupidest bar. It is a stupid, stupid bar, and I am getting stupider with every minute I spend in it. The entertainment is actually intentional, but it has that feeling that it consists of Whoever Wanted To Sing Tonight. (It was, after all, a Wednesday night.) I begin to think of it in my head as...cabaraoke. A smattering of Racers are present, as is Mitchell, of course. When we get there, the guy who later turns out to be the bartender is singing...something. Soon he starts singing...something else. I consider poking my eye out with a fork, right around the time he launches into "Our House." Ivy comes over to me and Sars. "This place sucks. Oh my God, it sucks. It sucks so much," she babbles hilariously. Before you know it, the bartender is back behind the bar, and now he has a tambourine. There is more singing. The new singer tries "Piano Man," and the bartender (with tambourine) assists him. When they get to the part about "I'm sure that I could be a movie star," he sings it as "porno star," very, very loudly. For some reason, my thoughts immediately go to Nancy, who is on the other side of the bar. Once the singing stops, the atmosphere immediately improves. I argue for a bit with Brennan and Kevin about various things -- Kevin, for instance, wants to negotiate what this very piece will have to say about Brennan's leather pants. They both want to argue about which one of them is the more shameless self-promoter. Kevin still has a list of grievances regarding the first-season recaps. We do not reach agreement.
Fifteen
Alli: There's a sense in which I completely love this whole thing, and a sense in which I completely hate it. Does that make sense?
Sars: Sorry, say again? I have a tambourine IN MY EAR.
Sixteen
Beverage selections: One margarita, provided as part of the mini-race in which one of the tasks was to...well, get me a margarita. (I immediately decide that these tasks were very well-written.) One Diet Coke, bought for me by Ivy, who was quite disgusted that I was switching away from "real drinks," only because she had no way of knowing that I was hungry and tired and the single margarita had therefore made me feel kind of zingy anyway, so I had immediately decided to back off. One rum-and-coke that I got myself. One rum-and-coke bought by macaddict and handed to me through a throng of people in a moment quite reminiscent of chatterbox's move at the first TARcon. One glass of champagne, also provided by Ivy. Two Coronas at the stupidest bar in America.