Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Real World heckling

So I was chilling on a boat with the rest of the hired geeks and something caught my eye during a lull in the high-powered sailing action.

We were taking photos of the International Rolex Regatta and we were right next to Hassle Island during the town races. That's the portion of the regatta when million-dollar sail boats have their spinnakers flapping in the wind inside the harbor while overweight tourists gawk at the colorful spectacle.

One of the mindless sight seers was a member of the MTV reality show The Real World -- yes, they are filming the show on St. Thomas -- and he and two cameramen were on the edge of the small island taking in the action.

I had to yell at him.

"Seven strangers, picked to live in a house and have their lives changed..."

The cast member looked over to me and smiled.

"You don't look like Puck, where's my boy, Dominic?" I yelled.

"So you just make fun of them right to their face like that?" one of the USVI Tourism executives asked me. She was on the boat for unknown reasons. I wasted three Dramamine pills on her friend, who continuously chundered below deck.

"I fuck with them constantly," I said. "It's one of my favorite things to do here."

Honestly, I've seen them out and about St. Thomas for a few weeks now. They hit all the places you would assume: Duffy's, Starz, Shipwreck, Carib Saloon, etc.

When I saw them for the first time, I actually felt bad for them. It was a few weeks ago and Spring Break was in full effect, so every move they made, they were followed by a gaggle of MTV pimple-popping groupies.

Who would have thought playing Twister would draw such a large crowd?

I've heard some hilarious stories from friends describing encounters with the MTV ass clowns. One friend held the redhead chick's hair back so she could throw up after drinking too much. Like everyone, she declined to sign the release form.

"They'll probably just blur out your face," the fire crotch cast member later told my friend. "Getting us on film throwing up is their favorite shit."

I had another friend, who works at a certain Red Hook establishment (in a parking lot), that told me about the cast member with big ass holes in his ears. Apparently, all the cameras following him around was a little too much to handle so he locked himself in the bathroom to cry.

That's the same bathroom I've chundered in on more than one occasion. And every time it happened, no one had to hold back my luxurious locks.

From what I heard from most people is that when the cameras are on, these cast members have to put on a performance. Basically, be something they're not. When that little glow from the camera spotlight starts to simmer, they fall back on their normal persona and really aren't that interesting. Not that they were interesting in the first place.

One bartender told me the production crew is a lot cooler than the actual cast members. How does that work? I want to shoot a reality show about the people who shoot reality shows. Shit, that's a better idea than Khole and the talentless Lamar.

I've already contacted friends about taking a small boat across the harbor and infiltrating the Real World compound. Nothing too crazy. Maybe some eggs thrown at the house and toilet paper in the trees. You know, your basic middle school shenanigans.

It's time to stop being polite and get real.

Monday, April 2, 2012

Getting my hair did

I'm about to plan my exit strategy on another long day at the office to watch the NCAA men's basketball final. For the second year in a row, I'm leading my office pool and yes, for a second year in a row, everyone in the office is accusing me of cheating.

After all, I do organize the pool. And I am the sports writer. C'mon, those other office hacks didn't stand a chance.

But it reminded of that blissful day in March when the tournament started up and the Madness took hold. I coincidentally had the day off and there was a full slate of basketball to watch on TV. Naturally, I made my way to the bar just before noon for tip-off.

But this wasn't your typical drink-and-watch-sports-all-day extravaganza. I brought my part-time hair stylist with me and she got to work on my dome piece. No scissors needed. Just a few small rubber bands and a little patience.

The good people at the Dog House Pub let me get my hair did while watching the games and this was the final product.

I don't think the lovely Jenna knew what she was getting into. Apparently, you're not supposed to wash your hair before it gets twisted up and she said that made the job harder. I think she did a good job and I paid for her services with a burrito and a few beers.

I haven't cut my hair in over a year. The barber shops on St. Thomas are comical and I've been holding out in protest ever since I was forced to point at a picture on a poster so the Dominican barber (who barely spoke English) could figure out how I wanted it cut.

Unfortunately, all the pictures on the poster were of black gentlemen. So there may have been a conflict in communication between us. He butchered me and I haven't let anyone touch my hair since.

Eventually, I have to get my hair cut. But not after shaving a fake bald spot on the top of my head and then styling a mullet for a few weeks. These hair modifications would only play out for the simple reason of hilarity.

Stay tuned...