I recently reentered singlehood. After four years together, my ex and I parted ways and I've moved into my own apartment. While reclaiming independence, I have simultaneously been re-deemed eligible and frankly this terrifies me.

When I say I'm single, what people hear is "available". There is no "I'm single but not interested in dating someone". I'm not allowed to not want a partner, I'm presumed either involved or looking and often find myself in the position of being pleasant to people who are suspiciously needy.

Therefore I invented a list of questions for prospective relationships. It's a multipurpose list and can be used for anyone from new neighbors to second-date prospects. I made this list because I have little interest in the usual questions people expect - profession, age, income, gym membership. Anyone could make a million dollars or have six-pack abs but not everyone has personal style and hence my list.

This is my private list but feel free to change it to your liking, just know that doing so excludes you from mine.

The rules are simple. One, money is no object. This is a fantasy, not an impulse buy at Prada. This list is about individual tastes and standards, it isn't about owning things.

Two, I encourage dialogue during the answering part. There are no right or wrong answers, just differences, albeit glaring ones. I personally find it hard to deal with breakfast people (see Question 9) and I'd rather know from the get-go than wait six months and be forced to poach eggs.

Rule number three, you can not modify the list. When I say city, you can't respond with some smartass remark about how you'd rather live in the Australian Outback. I said city and even if you hate every city, you must name one.

THE LIST

1. If you could live in any city in the world, what would it be?

2. If you could live either in a new house made to your liking or an old house remodeled to your specifications, which would you choose?

3. If you could have a vacation home anywhere in the world, where would it be?

4. If you could have any car made before 1980, completely refurbished and working, what would it be?

5. If you could have any newly made car, what would it be?

6. Silver or gold?

7. Dog or cat?

8. Sandals or boots?

9. Breakfast or dinner?

and finally -

10. If you could see any singer in the world in concert, who would it be?

If you found yourself undecided or without an answer to any of the questions, well, there's my point.

By the way, I'm a Sydney/old house/SF/VW Thing/silver/dog/sandals/dinner/Joni Mitchell kind of guy. Now you know, and I reserve the right to pursue bachelorhood when anyone gushes over Barbra.

11:18:34 PM    sro home /

To wrap up the West Wing segment, I don't think I'll be watching it again. Tonight's show was surprising to me given all the to-do at the Emmys. I certainly didn't expect it to be so paint-by-numbers.

Martin Sheen's character has been written as having this rigid, moral structure surrounding him, high-grounded staff members who coo and twitter around him like novices around the Mother Superior. We know all the players are Important and Complicated because they're played by Critically Acclaimed actors.

I love Joanna Gleason and the West Wing must seem like Ceasar's Palace after having survived "Bette". I saw her in Into The Woods, the Sondheim musical, years ago when it was first performed and if anyone inherits Eve Arden's roles, it should be her.

Lily Tomlin is quick as always and she's the only character over 40 who I can picture actually having been a hippie.

Sheen's Prez is so full of Lofty Ambition, it results in him muttering inane statements out of nowhere. "The internet is an important tool for underground communication."

No shit.

Everything he says is doled out like Manna from Heaven. On the other hand, he updates you on the pertinant points in case you dozed off for a few. I, however, was doing just fine thank you, until Moses coughed up another Stone Tablet.

I don't like feeling dumbed down to and I particularly don't like it when it comes from someone I thought was on My Team.

10:09:01 PM    sro home /

West Wing is a show everyone thinks I would like but to be honest, I never got into. I watched the Season Premiere last week due to curiosity and the lack of anything else appealling. It was fine, nicely written, studded with quirky actors and impressive sets.

I'm a great fan of Allison Janney. I first met her years ago via a mutual friend who is a Broadway director. I had a play staged at the York and as a generous gesture, he invited me to a reading of a play he was working on and she was one of the actors involved. It was a small group, probably more actors than audience, and the play also involved Amy Stiller, daughter of Anne Meara and brother of Ben Stiller who were both there also. While the reading was highly informal, I still remember Janney's portrayal.

A few years later, I saw her on Broadway in a play with Frank Langella. Our mutual friend had now moved up the ranks and was directing this play as well. The night I went was, unfortunately, the one night Mr. Langella missed due to illness. His understudy was a frazzled and poor replacement.

I've mentioned here before that I managed a retail store in Soho and soon after I saw her in this play, Ms. Janney came in. She's a tall woman, like my mother, and I felt I grasped the difficulties she had finding clothes that properly fit.

When she was paying, I mentioned I had been at the performance with the understudy and she was incredibly gracious. She even wrote her phone number on a card, saying to call her and she'd get me house seats for another show.

Hard to get nicer than that.

I've avidly followed her career since and she deserved the Emmy, she's an intelligent striking actor.

Joel Grey was also a customer of mine and he was kind enough to get me nearly-impossible-to-obtain house seats for the revival of Chicago which he was in with Bebe Neuwirth and Ann Reinking. It was a dazzling evening and my then-partner at one point turned to me and scolded me for "woo-ing" at the end of one number. Woo, woo!

Needless to say, he was fired.

5:26:06 PM    sro home /

CBS is talking about suing ABC over copyright infringement, saying ABC snagged their idea for "I'm a Celebrity!" from their own "Survivor" epic. Now kids, play nice. I'm sure there's enough good ideas for everyone. Oh, there aren't? Never mind.

That Survivor, that was a real brain buster. Deserting a group of people on a desert island and seeing what wacky escapades ensue, yeah that was brilliant. Nope, this was nothing like, say, GILLIGAN'S ISLAND. The only difference I saw was on Survivor, every minute was like a Three Hour Tour.

If CBS wins, I hope it unfloods a torrent of lawsuits against hackneyed TV shows. My Three Sons can sue Life With Jim who can sue Hidden Hills who can just wait in the bushs for the mid-season replacements. Make the mo-fo's come up with some original ideas, there's a two-second endurance test waiting to happen.

I think we should all file a huge class action suit against ABC for the title "I'm A Celebrity" alone. What next? Dumb Stuff! Cheesy Dribble! Breathing! Doesn't having to point out that you're a Celebrity kind of negate the whole idea?

3:31:50 PM    sro home /

When I was a New York City Boy (...love was just a passing fad, a thought that you had, in a taxicab, that got left at the curb...) one of my best friends was a restaurant critic. When I tell people this, they always respond how that would be their "Dream Job". Actually, no, it wouldn't. Your dream job would be being a restaurant critic's companion - all the glamour without the deadline.

It wasn't all champagne and caviar (ok, it was alot of champagne). There were rules to be followed but even these got broken.

The first rule was reservations. It really was a hush-hush deal and although it never involved a disguise, I'd still try and play it cool. The one time I broke the code, it was midnight after seeing Shirley Horn at the Village Vanguard. I was stoned, satiated with music and just wanted to sit and have a great meal. When the maitre'd at a popular spot balked at our party, I took him aside and explained Who This Was. We were quickly seated and I had some of the best raw oysters I'd ever had in my life. Just for the record, my friend knew the owners so it wasn't a compromise of journalistic integrity.

The second rule involved ordering. Certain items were off-limits, usually because their common listing on menus made them unreliable for testing a chef's strengths.

After hitting a few dozen places, especially in this price range, even fois gras became the House Salad and I was soon spoiled beyond belief.

I always thought the job was wasted on my friend. He actually ate very little, grabbing forkfulls here and there, which I thought was crazy when money was no object. We would usually get three or four appetizers, entrees and a couple of desserts between the two of us. More like the one-and-a-half and half of us, as I ended up doing all the eating.

For someone of my size and appetite for new things, it was heaven. What my friend didn't want, I would gladly suck into the black hole of my mouth and savor like a prisoner's last meal. To me it was the epitome of urbanity - a long and careless dinner, great conversation, a few bottles of wine and a check payed by someone else. Along the way, I ate in the kitchen of Le Cirque and chatted with Jean-George over the freshness of his bread.

It was the closest I ever got to being a Trophy Wife without having to wear a Chanel suit.

2:30:53 PM    sro home /

One blogger's perk I just discovered is seeing the origin of some random web searcher's link to my blog. It's a cheap thrill that from what I've read I share with a number of other bloggers.

Today one was a search for "naked pregnant birth photos". Gadzooks. On the one hand, I thought how nice to expose an unsuspecting freak to some civility. On the other hand, what if it was someone I might really want to hear from?

"So, how did you come across my blog?"

"Oh, I was doing a search for naked pregnant birth photos."

Needless to say, I pondered paying more attention to my word choices. Maybe write one article using the words "smart funny clever" over and over in the hopes Graydon Carter is killing some time on the ol' WWW.

12:39:34 PM    sro home /

The second segment of Buffy: The Vampire Slayer opened last night with a scene where Buffy was being pursued by these hooded Lord Of the Rings-type figures. She was wearing a bubblegum pink wig - a lá Jennifer Gardner or "Run, Lola, Run". In case you missed the reference, the chase was highlighted with some Techno/Industrial dance music which has become the screeching violins of the New Millenium. It turns out the scene was a nightmare, natch, and I guess that sums up Josh Wheadon's opinion of "Alias".

"Buffy" must have the largest hair color budget on the planet, between Spike's on-again-off-again punk buzz, Zander's ex becoming a brunette and Willow's red coif which puts Loreal commercials to shame. She's been temporarily sent to some Brit Hogwart's to learn more about her Evil Wicca Ways but it looks like Frederick Fakkai must be staying there too. Even the characters notice, Buffy remarking how Spike's Billy Idol bleached head marks a return to his former self.

Wheadon's not ready to let go of the High School vibe, ripe as adolescent hormones are for tom-foolery, and Buffy has been recast as her old High School's guidance counselor. The new principal who hired her looks like RuPaul, the male one, and even has an earring. My High School Principal, or Headmaster as he was referred, looked like Dame Edna, the male one, and had he looked like a Black Super-model, I might have avoided so many detentions for skipping gym.

Oh, there's also this Dune kind-of burrowing worm and someone got killed, although without turning into dust which puts a crimp in the clean up.

Since Spike's come back as a vampire again, Buffy's allowed to take the gloves off and whup some ass. After his attempted rape, her agenda is personal and you really want to see her get some revenge. It's a feminist's fantasy trapped in a Playboy bunny body. Girl power, vengance, super strength. All this and highlights you couldn't buy with all the magic in the world.

12:08:15 PM    sro home /

Well the whole brew-ha over Rosie and her magazine has finally come to a head. I'm looking forward to all the tip-toeing around the "gay" thing, the publishers most likely being reluctant to just come out and say she doesn't fit in with their ideas beacuse she's a dyke.

In "Gay Biz", Rosie is actually what's called a "Bull Dyke". Bull dykes typically weigh over two-hundred pounds, tend to wear out-dated haircuts like mullets and the "Thompson Club Do" Rosie's sporting and everything they say sounds like it comes out of a megaphone in gym class. Check. Check. Check.

Her gig with the mag was an attempt to suck up the audience of soccer moms and home makers she was assumed to have. Supposedly it worked, to a certain degree. The problem is they centered the notion around a show-biz character. It's like getting Jennifer Aniston to work on a magazine called "Rachel" based on her character on Friends.

Rosie's talk show persona had no real life. She was cast as a candy-swigging wannabe who's idolotry and obsession with the "world of entertainment" was both a punchline (the whole Tom Cruise thing) and a role-model for anyone who ever wanted to just fit in.

But school's over, the dyke thing's out of the bag and why beat a dead horse? Because, and the current crop of new shows on network TV prove it, it's what "lifestyle analysts" or "marketing execs" or whatever they call themselves nowadays think America wants. Another tepid time-eater to lull us into thinking things are going to be ok. When this is over, we'll all just go to the International House of Pancakes.

Maybe people do want that. I'm far from an expert on the needs of Middle America but one thing that come's to mind is the adage "Familiarity breeds contempt". Rosie's let some of her contempt seep out and why should we be surprised? Living for years being typecast as a teenage groupie in John Goodman's body had to have gotten tired. In the business world, contempt equals lawsuit and apparently the publishers are prepared to just lay on the floor and throw one big hissy fit.

My advice is everyone take some "quiet time". Or not. Personally neither Rosie the Crafts Kid nor Rosie the Riveter were my cup of lemonade. The idea of Tom Cruise and his perfect teeth sliding around my front lawn just makes me glad I live in an apartment.

9:22:38 AM    sro home /