Tuesday, March 20, 2007

Me and My MJ

I had the most delightful dream last night—hence the early awakening.

For those of you who know me well, you know that since my hormones kicked in around age 13, I have had an inexplicable, abiding, curious crush on the one, the only Michael Jordan. Still do, 14 years later. The perfect specimen of human beauty in my opinion.

If Michaelangelo were alive today, he would cast MJ in marble and tourists the world over would gawk. When I was 13 and above I was obsessed. I remember us going around in Hebrew (or was it Sunday school) one time when our parents were present. The rabbi asked us who our heroes were. Everyone in the circle, without fail, said their parents. (Shameless nice Jewish kids.) I said, "Michael Jordan," then when I noticed the horrified faces around me hastily added, "and my parents."

I had the T-shirts, I had the posters adorning every inch of my wall space, I had the Spike Lee Mars Blackman 6-foot-tall, black-and-white poster plastered to the outside of my door. This was not normal, but I couldn't help myself. I was obsessed with the Bulls, the Flight logo, McDonald's commercials, anything and everything MJ. I bought his cologne and wore it. I bought his book. I stopped short of buying a pair of Air Jordans, but that's about it.

Years later, I came to know people who knew MJ. Our good family friend, whose own family is prominent in the restaurant business, advised MJ on opening his steakhouse in Grand Central. He played golf with him, he talked on the phone with him, he gambled with him, he dined with him. And I berated his wife for not taking a napkin he'd wiped his mouth on, gotten me a souvenir, something. Sick.

I also came to know another insider who told me, upon finding out about my obsession, that MJ ain't such a peach after all. Gambling addictions, adultery, etc. As if I cared. My crush continued. When I found out he and Juanita were divorcing? Happy, happy, joy, joy. I mean the woman looked like a pancake. I've encountered many celebrities in my life and frankly, yawn. He is the one (plus Anna Wintour) in whose presence I might actually be rendered speechless. One night, while I was living in LA and my friends and I were drinking in the bar of the Peninsula Beverly Hills, they decided to have some fun.

I'd just gone to the ladies' room and passed Ben Affleck on the way there. He was the bee's knees at that time. I got back to our table, bragged about my sighting, and they hatched a plan. An hour later, Dana went to the bathroom, came back to our table, harnessed all her acting skills and said, "I just saw Michael Jordan walk outside the hotel!!!"

I was up and out of my seat like the space shuttle upon liftoff. I ran outside, looking this way and that. Asking the valets, "Donde es Michael Jordan? Donde? Donde?!"

"No, no Michael Jordan," they replied, eyeing me like a common crackhead. Then it dawned on me. I marched right back into the bar and was fuming; wouldn't speak to them for the rest of the night.

Anyway, to this day, my crush abides. I worship him; would take up golf for him; would be at his beck and call, day or night. Well, maybe just nights.

So my dream: I was at a star-studded SoBe party when someone introduced me to MJ. He was sitting alone at a table. We started chatting and he was complaining of back pain. Natch I offered my assistance. Then, again natch, as I was massaging his rippled, long and lean back, I started rattling off the best places for him to get a massage in the area. After all, I would know, before I left I was up to about a massage or two a week thanks to my freelancing.

And that's about all I remember. But all I know is I woke up with a smile.

Also, some fashion picks for spring, were my budget unlimited instead of severly restricted: Fashionosophy