Just call me Mary

I am the human petri dish.

Koo koo ka choo.

I've been stuck in bed for over a day now with some kind of flu and I am totally useless.  I crawled across the room, making pathetic moans and wimpers, grabbed my laptop, then just laid there, drooling into the carpet until TMS came upstairs and put me back in bed. (Then quickly disinfects his entire body, a la The Crying Game except without the shame. Ok, probably a little bit of shame.)

And since I find myself a hot bed of germs and cold medicine, I thought it would be apt to talk a bit about Typhoid Mary, since I am, minus the typhoid. And my name isn't Mary. Just shut up and read! I'm sorry, it's the phlegm monster talking.

Most people have heard the phrase "Typhoid Mary" and many more know that she was a real person. So let me expand, since she was a stubborn and tragic lady and deserves a few lines.

Mary Mallon was an Irish immigrant who came to America in 1884 at age 15 and grew up to work as a cook. Keep in mind that this was a time when no one knew that after handling raw meat, going to the bathroom or any other icky things that you were supposed to wash your hands. This is especially true if you happened to be a healthy carrier of Typhoid. (meaning, you look/feel totally normal, not sick at all, but carry the disease.) Also, if said carrier is preparing food that isn't cooked to a high enough temperature to kill the disease, it's easily transferred to the food and to those eating the food. With all that said, I'll tell you that Mary's specialty dessert for her families was cold peaches and ice cream.

Hi! I'm cuddly Typhoid!

An epidemiologist named George Soper found the trail and it lead straight to Mary.  He came to her and asked for her urine/feces to test for the microbes. She politely declined with a carving fork. Soper later returned with reinforcements, a chase ensued, and finally she was exiled against her will to North Brother Island with other quarantined people. She was later released, only if she pinky swore that she wouldn't work as a cook. Of course she agreed. She then went out and got another cooking job because opportunities are slim for Irish women and that was her skill. She was found again and sent back to the island.

I can see it both ways, can't you? I don't want this woman to infect me or my family. I also understand that she has to make a living. She wasn't treated well, made to understand and made a scapegoat for an entire epidemic. She was not happy on the island, the way most of us probably would have been.

She wrote in a letter, 

"I have been in fact a peep show for everybody. Even the interns had to come to see me and ask about the facts already known to the whole wide world. The tuberculosis men would say "There she is, the kidnapped woman."

I feel bad for her. She was truly a lady stuck between a rock and a hard place and there was just no winning. She had a stroke, then in 1938 died of pneumonia on the same island.

Well I don't know about you folks but I'm taking a page from 'Lessons that should have been learned by Mary' and keeping my germs to myself. I'm in bed until all this goes away. Or I go stir crazy and lose my marbles; then you will see me on the 9 o'clock news.

Either way, I promise not to make you peaches.


Check out the Nova special "The Most Dangerous Woman in America" and "Stuff You Missed in History Class" podcast for more info on Mary and other cool history subjects.

Don Cornelius was a dirty old man...and I loved it.

Don is dead.

I read a few weeks ago in the New York Times that Don Cornelius had died by his own hand and found myself profoundly sad. He was found in his apartment with an apparent gun shot wound to his head. He was recently divorce, had trouble with the law and there were rumors of health problems. Some say Parkinsons, others say Alzheimers. Either way, it was all too much for Mr. Cornelius and took a gun and you know the rest.

But you probably read this story too. I wanted to tell you a different one, the one and only time I saw the man himself. Though not monumental, it was something I have always remembered.

I was at The Polo Lounge at the Beverly Hills Hotel on Mother's Day in 2002 having brunch with my mom. We had been traveling up and down the coast enjoying the sun and shopping our hearts out. I had decided that for mother's day we would splurge a bit and check out this historical hotel. (No sign of Balushi's ghost or any Marilyn sightings though.)

We sat in a booth near the back patio and enjoyed a lovely brunch when a lovely couple comes around the corner and sits in the booth next to ours. It was Don Corelius and his new Russian model and porn star wife Viktoria. I thought to myself, how cool! I never thought I would spot a television innovator, pop culture icon and advocate for social change at The Beverly Hills Hotel. And I have to say that I also patted myself on the back a little for even recognizing him, as I can't imagine most people under 40 knew of him.

As my mom and I finished our brunch, I noticed that a certain someone was looking my way. I leaned over to my mom and whispered, "I think Don Cornelius is staring at me..." I imagine I was a little his 'type' because I possessed some of the qualities his wife had. Red hair, tall, thin, pale. Perhaps he was just spacing out and was 'looking though' me, as sometimes people do. 

After brunch, Mom and I toured the grounds, wandering around the various paths and hallways in and out of the hotel. We decided to have one more mimosa before we hit the spa so we went to the bar, where a very tall man squeezed past me (it was a bit crowded) and stood beside me, apologizing for brushing past me in that deep smooth voice that made the hairs on the back of neck stand up. I look up at him and smiled, "That's ok."  I giggled internally and called my best friend who had no idea who I was talking about. And that was it.

I still joke that Don Cornelius hit on me at the Beverly Hills Hotel. People roll their eyes and laugh. That trip to L.A. as a young lady was a pretty strange trip in itself and that episode added to the strangeness. Perhaps that is why I'll always have a soft place for him. He helped contribute to my strange journey and I will always be grateful for that.

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I very much recommend VH1's documentary on Don and his Soul Train for those who aren't familiar with the tremendous effect he had on music, fashion, dance and even civil rights, to a degree and helping launch the careers of countless superstars. Catch it if you can.

http://www.vh1.com/shows/vh1_rock_docs/episode.jhtml?episodeID=162182

Take a ride on the matrimony pony to babyland...

I want to stick my chopstick in this woman's eye.

But perhaps I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me start this post with a simple misunderstanding...  My mother in law left a message on my cell a few months ago when we were getting married that sounded like this: "Hi! Just had a couple of questions about some different things... When should we meet you tomorrow for the rehearsal dinner? Have you seen by blue scarf? Oh, don't forget to pick up Harold from the airport and then to the reception. Also, are you guys going to have kids? And lastly, who is delivering flowers? Ok, see you tomorrow!"

Wait, what? Did she just ask me if we were having kids? Did she just slip in that most dreaded of all bride questions between Uncle Harold and flowers? It's no one's business about my uterus or our life changing decisions or any of that! I worked myself into a frenzy until I blew up a TMS asking him why his mother was asking about our reproduction ideals. I made him listen to the message she left and he laughed. She was asking if we were having children at the wedding. As in, were we inviting kids... I'm an idiot.

But that little sitcom-esque misunderstanding does bring up something that many newly weds are asked more frequently than not. And to me wanting to stab my eating utensil into Lucile.

But why, you ask? What would make me, a mild-mannered artist, a peace loving girl, to make me consider severely maiming one of my mother's best friends while having lunch at Hiko Sushi? One simple question...

"When are you two going to have a baby?"

That's when I go deaf and blind and just start swinging. I'm sure it's just someone thinking of a topic of conversation, taking an interest in my life. I mean, that is how the song goes, right? "First comes love, then comes marriage, then come baby in the baby carriage." But it's not 1950 anymore. And I'm not June Cleaver. So I may have said one of the following things that may or may not have gotten me in trouble with my mom.

• We are waiting to see how your spawn turns out before we decide to get started.
• Ewww! No, we won't be having one of those things. And if my body starts to bio-terrorize me with brainwashed ideas of babies, I'll just get a puppy.
• Well you complain so much about your own kids we've decided that we may not want any...
• I knew I forgot to do something! Better make a note on my ipad... Hold on... 

Hey, it beats "It's none of your goddamn business."

The Drag Queen, the dead body and vouging

It sounds like a great way to start a movie.

A man dies in woman's clothes on a Sunday. In 1993, AIDS was more common in the obituary. Weeks pass and a friend is selling off some old clothes when she discovers a green plaid bag that is too heavy to lift, too overstuffed to find the zipper. With a pair of scissors, the bag is opened to find a rotting, half mummified corpse. It may have been there for decades. Why would Dorian Corey have a dead body with a bullet hole in it's head in a trunk in her New York apartment?

Dorian Corey was a drag queen, performer and one of the stars of Paris is Burning. (Which was a introduction to many on the newest dance crazy of "Voguing") His given name was Fredrick Legg and he was born in Buffalo. She moved to the city, became Dorian, rocked the drag scene for over a decade and then, sadly,  Dorian died at age 56 due to complications from AIDS. A tragically common way things ended in the mid-90s. Only this time, she left something behind. Or, I should say, someone.

According to the New York Magazine article from 1995, Robert Worely, the man in the suitcase, was last seen by his family in 1968. He was convicted of rape and assault in 1963. And sometime between then and 1993, he wound up in Corey's bag. The body was wrapped not unlike a mummy: layers and layers of fabric, tape, plastic, etc. When unwrapping, small things were found in between the layers. Rings and paper but most interesting, a flip top beer can. Not made since the seventies. Therefore, the coroner suggested he'd probably been there since 1980 or before.

Can you imagine having a body in your house for 15 years or longer? You're doing laundry or watching tv when that suitcase catches your eye. You know what it is and what it could mean for you if anyone found out...

Robert's brother Fred wasn't surprised when the reporter told him that he may have had a relationship with a girlfriend who happened to be a man. He also wasn't surprised that he was murdered either. "...we figured something had befallen him" (I imagine not many things must bother Fred.) Robert Worely was buried in potter's field.

No one will really know what happened to Robert except Robert and Dorian and they're both gone. So we're left with bits of their lives, photos and this strange story.


For more, check out the whole article in the New York Mag - http://bit.ly/pbwV72
Or these NSFW but amazing photos of Dorian and others who were on the scene in the 90's- http://www.sallys-hideaway.com/A_Pictorial_History.html

A Little Something for the Ladies

Wow.

Since 50/50 comes out on DVD today I would give you some amazing Joseph Gordon-Levitt hotness. Why do I love him so much? It could be the film Brick, 10 Things I Hate About You or maybe just that adorable crooked smile. Regardless, he's tasty and I can't wait to see him in the new Batman flick.

I'd like to send a big thank you to GQ for, well, for everything. I'm forever in your debt for these pictures. Hallelujah.

Check out the full article and MORE photos at GQ's site.
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