Fair Reader,
I have (regrettably? proudly? unabashedly? sleazily?) joined Twitter, which can be found here.
Please feel free to visit, follow, and leave me your own twitter links should you have one.
More anon.
Faithfully yours,
EtG
Twitter URL: http://twitter.com/edthegent
Friday, February 20, 2009
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Gentleman at a Dog Show
Dear Reader,
Almost a year ago I recommended to all those Gentleman lovers out there to take their lass to the Westminster Dog Show as an early Valentine's gift. Although the event is long finished, it was as fine a Valentine's gift as any, like chocolates, flowers, or a homecooked meal. (And far more kosher than "Zoorotica") As good fortune would have it, Bargain Binn assigned me to cover the two-day event at Madison Square Garden earlier this week, and I happily accepted.
Although I am a lifelong fan of dogs, my childhood was spent largely without one. I did spend the better part of my seventh year on this earth with Hatter, our beloved German Shepherd. He was a cherished pet... that was, until my dear father, Allan the Gent, was forced to sell the dog to pay off his bar tab at Club Dracula. If only he had managed to keep it (at least, until after it had won the 1987 Best in Show prize).
Without further ado, here were my observations of the people competing in the show, in brief terms:
Old women
Effete men in neon dress jackets
More candy bowls being passed around than at a NAMBLA dance party
Women whose hairstyles matched their dog's.
At least, those were my first impressions of the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show, when I arrived in time for the Basenjis Group judging round. The competition is a two day event, where scores of breeds compete against one another in "Best of Breed" matches and then advance into the "Best of Group," which is broken down into Hound, Toy, Terrier, and Muppet. The winners of those rounds advance to the Best in Show, in which the top dog is awarded the prestigious title (but no cash prize).
A Muppet competitor
For the first day of the competition, I followed a chow chow who is a descendant of Martha Stewart's beloved (and departed) chow chow, Paw Paw. The dog, named "Quixote" (or it's competition name, "E-Lin Traveling Man"), was at nineteen months considered to be rather young for a show dog. Sadly, the judges agreed, and my dog failed to advance. I lost a $175 bet to the dog specialist at "Cat Fancy" as a result.
I decided to peruse the backstage area of the event, where press and fans alike could mingle with dog handlers and manhandle each handler's charge. About the handlers themselves: For the most part, they do not resemble the cariacatures seen in the film "Best in Show." Sure, some are camp, others are perhaps too gung ho about dogs, but the handlers I met were all lovely people who exhibited a genuine and healthy love of their dogs.
I did meet this cartoonish young woman from Toledo, OH whose pomeranian made it to the Best of Group - Toy round. She shared with me her extensive history in the dog showing, which extends as far back as the 1960s when her grandfather started breeding and showing boxers. She and her husband now breed and handle pomeranians. I asked her if the gray-haired gentleman standing to her right was the husband. She laughed and said no, but the chubby fellow to her left was. Her husband laughed and said, "don't you forget it, girl," in an accent that betrayed his marital status. The man was rather De Bris-ian.
So much for the absence of cariacatures.
I spent the rest of the day in a fog, mostly because I learned the hard way that I am actually allergic to dogs (or at least, when nearly 1000 of them are stuffed inside an arena). This Gent was forced to bow out early, but returned the next day with sudafed and a lass to be witness to the crowning of the Best in Show.
Stay tuned.
More anon,
EtG
Almost a year ago I recommended to all those Gentleman lovers out there to take their lass to the Westminster Dog Show as an early Valentine's gift. Although the event is long finished, it was as fine a Valentine's gift as any, like chocolates, flowers, or a homecooked meal. (And far more kosher than "Zoorotica") As good fortune would have it, Bargain Binn assigned me to cover the two-day event at Madison Square Garden earlier this week, and I happily accepted.
Although I am a lifelong fan of dogs, my childhood was spent largely without one. I did spend the better part of my seventh year on this earth with Hatter, our beloved German Shepherd. He was a cherished pet... that was, until my dear father, Allan the Gent, was forced to sell the dog to pay off his bar tab at Club Dracula. If only he had managed to keep it (at least, until after it had won the 1987 Best in Show prize).
Without further ado, here were my observations of the people competing in the show, in brief terms:
Old women
Effete men in neon dress jackets
More candy bowls being passed around than at a NAMBLA dance party
Women whose hairstyles matched their dog's.
At least, those were my first impressions of the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show, when I arrived in time for the Basenjis Group judging round. The competition is a two day event, where scores of breeds compete against one another in "Best of Breed" matches and then advance into the "Best of Group," which is broken down into Hound, Toy, Terrier, and Muppet. The winners of those rounds advance to the Best in Show, in which the top dog is awarded the prestigious title (but no cash prize).
A Muppet competitorFor the first day of the competition, I followed a chow chow who is a descendant of Martha Stewart's beloved (and departed) chow chow, Paw Paw. The dog, named "Quixote" (or it's competition name, "E-Lin Traveling Man"), was at nineteen months considered to be rather young for a show dog. Sadly, the judges agreed, and my dog failed to advance. I lost a $175 bet to the dog specialist at "Cat Fancy" as a result.
I decided to peruse the backstage area of the event, where press and fans alike could mingle with dog handlers and manhandle each handler's charge. About the handlers themselves: For the most part, they do not resemble the cariacatures seen in the film "Best in Show." Sure, some are camp, others are perhaps too gung ho about dogs, but the handlers I met were all lovely people who exhibited a genuine and healthy love of their dogs.
I did meet this cartoonish young woman from Toledo, OH whose pomeranian made it to the Best of Group - Toy round. She shared with me her extensive history in the dog showing, which extends as far back as the 1960s when her grandfather started breeding and showing boxers. She and her husband now breed and handle pomeranians. I asked her if the gray-haired gentleman standing to her right was the husband. She laughed and said no, but the chubby fellow to her left was. Her husband laughed and said, "don't you forget it, girl," in an accent that betrayed his marital status. The man was rather De Bris-ian.
So much for the absence of cariacatures.
I spent the rest of the day in a fog, mostly because I learned the hard way that I am actually allergic to dogs (or at least, when nearly 1000 of them are stuffed inside an arena). This Gent was forced to bow out early, but returned the next day with sudafed and a lass to be witness to the crowning of the Best in Show.
Stay tuned.
More anon,
EtG
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Danilo the Gent
Herr Reader,
Ladies of New York: This man wants to rest his head on your pillows. In Danilo's case, he has it all: speed, ruggedness, a sweet shot, and a nickname that could easily turn him into NYC's very own Wilt Chamberlain. (Friend and commenter John Cocktosten once remarked that Danilo could walk into any Brother Jimmy's and "tap more ass than a U of Miami Linebacker.")
Signore, your supper is ready"Armani Jeans is one of my sponsors—this tattoo is the Armani Jeans Milano team’s logo. When I go in a store, I take all the clothes I want. Mr. Armani and I are close. He came to town for Christmas, and we went to dinner with my parents."
He spent Christmas dinner with Armani, whose corporate logo Danilo has proudly tattooed on his body. Although my people look down at tattoos, I can't hate on Danilo's tacky brilliance.
But will a Pappone with an Armani tattoo help bring the Knicks to the postseason? Probably not. But at least the man's name isn't Stephon Marbury.
Ciao,
EtG
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