I was getting ice cream earlier tonight at Cones in the West Village. They have tasty ice cream there, which means lots of different kinds of people like to go there... not just other balding Jewish guys with unconnected beards. No, Cones is not like Midtown Comics. Or the third stall in the bathroom of the Jersey terminal at Penn Station.
When you get something broad and mainstream and yet also great, you're often forced into interactions with people you'd rather not be forced into reactions with. Case in point, two blonde girls in their early 20s came into Cones about a minute or so after I got my ice cream. Skinny, tall, ectomorphish, obviously publicists.
That's cool. They can exist and do their thing and whatever. I don't discriminate. But as soon as I saw them come in, I started to eat my ice cream faster and faster. I knew something unpleasant was just around the corner.
As I quick-licked my dish full of Cones, I tried my hardest to tune out these two blonde girls; when they sampled four or five different flavors before deciding to share a tiny, one scoop ice cream, I focused elsewhere. When they whined about Cones' cash only policy, I stared hard at a poster in the corner of the room -- wow, that piece of cheese cake has a lot of cherries on top.
But then one of the girls obliviously grabbed an ice cream cone holder they keep on the counter and bring it back to her table, I lost it. I stood up right then and there and threw my remaining ice cream in the girl's face. Suddenly, ice cream started flying everywhere, from all the customers and employees. Soon we were all covered in ice cream and then we were knee deep and then neck deep in ice cream.
After hours of ice cream throwing, the chaos died down. The two girls were laying, face down, in a pool of melted pistachio gelato, their bodies cold and limp.
Have you guys checked out Showtime's "The Real L Word" yet? At first glance, it's a typical docudrama in the vein of "The Real Housewives of New York" and "The Hills;" you know, cute characters doing quasi interesting things, having relatively boring conversations.
The twist, of course, is that these cute, "real" characters are all lesbians. And cliched as it might seem, there's something eminently groundbreaking about depicting lesbians and lesbian relationships in quasi interesting but ultimately boring light.
The Valentine's Day episode of "The Real L Word," for example, was a patchwork of interesting and mundane, certain characters and storylines standing out more than others. But seeing ALL the couples enjoy their Valentine's Day was nice. The entire episode could've been seen as a hammy, overstated plea for legal gay marriage, sure -- "Hey, we're just like straight people! We have romantic Valentine's Days! We're not deviants!"
But for those of us who already agree that marriage should be equal for everyone, it was cool just for how uncommon the whole thing was. Seeing four or five lesbian couples just enjoying themselves was pretty great. It's not appointment TV, per se, but it's a reality show that actually has a lot to teach the uninitiated.