queer eye for the straight guy
I just nominated Joe for "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy."
It's not that I think Joe looks terrible. In fact, I'd say he looks pretty good most of the time. And it's not that I want to be on TV. The show is "Queer Eye for the Straight GUY," remember, so it's not even about me. In fact, on the off-chance that Joe gets picked to be on the show, I will probably schedule myself to be conveniently on call that day so that I can avoid the whole scene.
The real reason that I want Joe to be on "Queer Eye" is that we need a new couch.
The ravaged couch.
Well, to start, I was thinking about sports coats. I've been telling Joe for months that he needs to get on the stick and just buy a standard navy blue wool sports coat already. He has nothing of intermediate dressiness between a suit and shirtsleeves, and I just figure the guy turned 30 in May, it's time to join the ranks of prep school teens across the land and just get a freaking sports coat already. I'm offering to get one for him as a present. It was going to be a surprise, but then I realized it couldn't really be that much of a surprise because I need him to try the damn thing on before I buy it. The nice ones are expensive but the cheap ones don't fit well, so why bother? "Every man needs a navy blue sports coat." I was telling him. "You could dress it up or down depending on what kind of shirt you wear inside." And it was at this point that I realized how much I sounded like someone on one of those makeover shows.
And then, earlier today, I was looking around our apartment. Maybe it's the post-call view, but it seems that our abode has reached the point of canine-takeover that we're generally embarassed to have guests over. So I was taking inventory of all this and came to the conclusion that, "damn, we need a new couch." But who can afford a new couch? And what kind of couch? Should we get a cheap couch, under the assumption that it will be rapidly destroyed again by our canine and future human children? Or should we save up for a nice couch so that we can commit canicide/infanticide when one or the other pukes on the fancy brocade pillows? And how does one transport a new couch to the 19th floor of an apartment building? How does one get rid of the old couch? And even if we did get a new couch, the fact remains that we don't really have any other furniture outside of med school flotsam. You'd think we just graduated from college or something, the way we live.
And then, inspiration struck. How else to get a subsidized sports coat and a subsidized couch? Through reality television, of course! So I filled out the application for Joe, included a picture, and e-mailed it to Bravo. Joe doesn't know about all this yet, but I'm sure he won't mind. Right? Right? Are you with me?
It's a long shot, sure, but here are some reasons why we (Joe) may get picked.
1.) Hello, he's a doctor. People love that shit!
2.) He's from the Midwest originally. Country Mouse Moves to the Big City is only one of the most compelling themes OF ALL TIME.
3.) Let's be honest here: gay men love Joe.
Come to our house, Thom Filicia!
Currently reading: Almost, almost done with "The Time Traveler's Wife." Allison warned me that she cried at the end. I scoffed that I don't cry. She says she doesn't either...usually. Finished "Persepolis 2" in one afternoon. I enjoyed it, but prefered the first book, just because more of the first book took place in Iran. And I love her parents, so I was glad when she moved back from Austria so that we could see more interactions with them.