the latest issue

Remember that article I did for that magazine a couple months back? Yeah, well, I still havent been paid for it yet. According to the contract I signed, I was to be paid at the end of the publishing month, meaning my paycheck was supposed to have been in my mailbox/checking account by February 29. March 1, the latest. But time went by, and I got nothing. What I did get was another contract for another story for the next upcoming issue.

Was this how things were done in the magazine world? Were stories handed out like candy, while the paychecks just sat around like a bowl of creamed peas? I had to find out. I had to take a stand. So, thinking like a mature adult would (and maybe even a professional writer), I called my publisher, Harry, and in a very diplomatic manner, I explained to him that I couldnt possibly write another word until I had been paid in full for my last story. It was actually one of the few acts I have done in my life, that made me feel like a grown-up. Of course, it took me a few times (more like fifteen) to say it perfectly, but thank God, voicemails now have that feature that allow you to listen to your message and re-record if necessary!

The next day, I got a mass email from Harry, explaining the fact that the first issue ended up taking a slight loss because the magazine ended up having a larger page count than anticipated. Harry then went on to say that outstanding payments were currently being paid and asked if we could all be patient and bear with the fact that we are a new business still trying to work out all the kinks. I am of course paraphrasing the email, but immeadiately after I read it, I felt guilty. So guilty.

Maybe I was too harsh. Maybe I was too forceful. I almost felt as if he was directing the email towards me, because I had called the day before. I knew it wasnt just me he was addressing the email too, but in the back of my mind, I couldnt help but feel I was the one who had opened up the figurative Pandora's box of regret and apology. I immeadiately signed my contract, faxed it over to Harry and left to Italy the following day.

While in Italy, I forgot about the late paycheck, the email and everything else in between. That is, until I reached U.S. soil. My email and voice mailbox was bombarded with messages from writers and photographers alike who I worked with. From their angry and bitter messages, I learned that they had still not recieved a paycheck and no one was returning their calls. I also learned that Harry had filed for bankruptcy in December of last year, which I'm not sure if it has anything to do with the magazine, but it was being passed in my direction as "general information".

Something wasnt right. I didnt know what to do. Was I supposed to return the messages, which would undoubtedly fuel their fire of anger when I told them I still hadnt been paid? I dont know. Somewhere deep down in me, I I wasnt worried. Something told me I would be paid real soon, as if this was nothing but a minor setback for a new and growing business. After all, if it's true Rome wasnt built in a day, then how could I expect the start of a magazine to be perfect after only one issue? Plus, these people took a chance on me, a complete unknown, and gave me an entire section of a magazine. How could I turn against them? Is it just me or am I being too naive?

goodbye rome, hello home

Italy was amazing. Truly bellissimo! If you ever get the chance, you should go and experience the art...

the architecture...
the food...
the fashion...
and the wonderment of the entire country that is Italy!
I went with my friend Maria, a tour guide named Jasper and what I thought would be five other college students. One was, but she was in her late 30's, and the rest were well over 50. Not that I discriminate against age or anything, but I thought I would be traveling with people in my own demographic range. Still, traveling with them was a blast, proving once again that age is nothing but a number and friendships can be made over copious amounts of limonciello. Five thousand miles and a 12 hour flight later...
I was in the country of spaghetti and Dolce & Gabbana.

Our first stop was in Florence, which from a distance, looks like Beverly Hills with it's Spanish-inspired orange brick and white buildings against a brilliantly blue sky, but a thousand times prettier.

According to the history of Florence, the Medici family, which produced three popes, dozens of Italian rulers, and numerous commissioned works of famous renaissance art, is solely responsible for making Florence the city that it is.

The city is home to a statue on every corner and a fresco on every wall. There's the David...
the David...
and the David.
Even the finger of Galileo...
and Venus on the half shell!
The next city we visited was Pisa and yes, I can definately say, the tower does lean.
And yes, the scary view is so worth it!

There's a church (a total understatement if there was one) right next door filled with Christian, Judiasm, and Muslim influences, showing that people of all different backgrounds can actually live together in harmony and create something tremendously beautiful.

After several days of filling up on pizza...
and gelatto (heaven in a cup!)...
we finally made our way to la citta eterna, otherwise known as Rome, the eternal city.
It's a city where the modern world and the ancient world mix, creating a place where time seems to have no power.
And there I was, walking on the same land Jesus, Caesar and Lizzie McGuire walked!
And then, just like in a classic Hollywood movie, it rained on Good Friday.

Unfortunately, back home, it wasnt a particularly good Friday for my boss Alice and her husband Azten. He and his friend Vinny were taken into custody on two counts of first degree murder with a million dollar bail set for each, because of a botched drug deal back in January.

It rained two more days back in Rome. Even during Easter Mass at the Vatican with the Pope...
which a nun told me was God's way of showing the vistors at the Vatican, that there were people out there in the world who face many trials and tribulations and it's our job to pray for them and help them in any way we can.
So, right there, in St. Peter's Square, with a nun from Guam, I prayed for Alice and Azten.

Understandably, my boss went through a period of denial, anger, barganing, depression, and before just settling into Kübler-Ross's final stage of grief, acceptance, she found out her husband was innocent. According to unnamed sources, it's a case of trying to put the blame on someone that unfortunately has to go to court and though I cant really get into details, let's just say everything with my boss, her husband, and their family, will be alright.

Talk about the power of prayer, huh? But if you think my prayer doesnt really prove anything, consider this fact: when I left, the euro was worth $1.64. When I returned, it was worth $1.50. I totally helped pay off the national debt with all the shopping I did, so...you're welcome U.S. You can thank me with another trip. Maybe Paris...or even London! I'm not that picky...

what's wrong?

I'm supposed to be leaving on a jet plane to Denver in a mere matter of hours to catch an international flight to Italy and though the premise of it all seems adventurous and exciting, I can't seem to get in the mood.

What's wrong with me?

Everyone I talk to keeps asking me if I'm excited, if I'm thrilled, if I'm ready. I think I'm ready. I mean, sure, I still have to pack and get ready (I only have my shoes packed so far) but I have everything I need. Passport? Check. Camera? Check. My Italian phrase book? Check. I got everything I could possibly need to have a great time in Italy. But I'm still not excited.

Last weekend, I attended another First Fridays event, with Hadassah. This time, the theme was "A Night In Hollywood" which wasn't as glamorous as I thought it would be. Instead of classic Hollywood where all the stars and celebrities hang out, we ended up on the boulevard where all the drag queen prostitutes and iconic film characters mingle. Still it was a ton of fun, with mile a minute laughter. And the guy that noticed my date and I having the time of our lives? It was no other than fashion footwear businessman, Phil Touche.

I had interviewed Phil for my article on First Fridays, and doing as acquaintences do, he greeted us warmly, and complimented our "put-together outfits". In fact he loved my G-Star coat so much, he wanted to buy it right off my back! Talk about wearing the right thing at the right time. I declined the offer and instead accepted his invitation to a fashion show, sponsored by the Southern Arizona AIDS foundation.

The following Sunday, Hadassah and I arrived at the university of Arizona grand ballroom which had been transformed into a fashion show extravaganza. Tall models, flamboyant hair dressers, and snooty waiters were all there ready to entertain and criticize our every move. It was so much fun! The clothes were amazing...even the dress that had over 2000 condoms sewed on! Who'da thunk thin rubber could be so classy?After the fashion show and the mad grab towards the $300+ goody bags, we were invited to the after party at Level. Usually the nightclub isn't open on Sundays, but for such a fantastic event for such fantastic people, they made an exception.

The club was packed. Local celebrities were in tow, such as Toni from Toni & Guy Hair Salon, Chuck George from Channel 13 news and some model I saw on a local magazine two times. Phil introduced me to one of the organization workers of the event who in turn introduced me to everyone worth knowing in Tucson. It was so surreal and so unbelievable, I didn't want the night to end. In fact, I think its one of the reasons why I haven't been as excited to go...

With so much going on in Tucson and so many new people to see, things to see, and places to go, I feel like I'll be missing out on so many things. I know it doesn't make sense, considering I'm off to Italy, but then why can't I be excited? Is this normal behavior? What's wrong with me?

goodbye home, hello rome

So, I've decided I need a break. Life has just become too overwhelming with work, school, family, friends and everything else in between. Judging by the lack of posts on this blog and the comments I havent left on your blog, you can kinda sorta tell something is up. And it's not a bad something, it's just...stuff, you know?

In fact, spring break couldnt have come at a better time this year. In exactly one week from today (okay, more like eight days), I will be granted two weeks of vacation from work, from school, from family and everything in between. No, I wont be at Daytona Beach trading tips on how to excel in the drinking game of quarters, but rather, I shall be strolling along cobblestone streets and ancient ruins in the wonderful boot-shaped country of Italy!

It's been about six months of hellish preperation (the trip organizer is a middle-aged woman with a thick Middle Eastern accent, and try as I may to keep an open mind, I can only understand everyother word she said, making the trip enrollment process twice as long and twice as hard), but finally, finally, it's almost here! I'm going with my friend Maria and six other students from the University of Arizona. I havent met any of them, but I am hoping to God and crossing my fingers they arent nerdy travelers who wear four-foot long backpacks and velcro.

Already, I've been preparing myself for Italy. I've eaten at the Olive Garden four times last week, watched many Italian films such as The Lizzie McGuire Movie, and even went to the opera to a three hour performance of The Magic Flute (ok, so it wasnt an Italian opera, but the atmosphere was very much the same). I'm ready for fun and adventure...the only thing is...is Italy ready for me?

roses are red, february blows

Now, if you think I'm one of those hairy, flag-burning, hemp-wearing, political-minded, vegan liberals who think Valentine's is nothing but a holiday, drummed up by the billion-dollar card and candy industry, I'm not. I just work at a flower shop. Technically, I'm a floral designer, but I hate using that term. It's so...not me. I didnt go to school for it and I never took a class. I just fell into the job and so it doesnt feel right saying "I'm a floral designer." Plus it's a total buzzkill when trying to talk to a girl. I may be a socialite by night, but by morning, I'm just a regular nine-to-fiver who also goes to school.

Except during Valentine week, when I literally have no life. Stripping flowers from their thorns and ugly leaves takes up much more time than you think. And it's all preformed in really cold conditions since flowers wilt in heat. But it's all to make some wife/girlfriend/mistress/gay lover smile for a day and a night. And though I usually love brightening up people's day and making them smile, this Valentine's I really could care less.

My boss Alice is pregnant. Two months pregnant to be exact. She found out last month, right before leaving to Vegas, and has been quite the hormonal creature. Her stomach has already popped out and she's already donning jeans with blue stretch material on top. Talk about "mom jeans". But the worst part is, she's becoming more and more forgetful and is going through some pretty heavy mood swings. All of which I have to deal with by myself since my co-worker is in and out most of the time, working here and at the coffee shop across the way.

Then there's the new foreign exchange student. His name was Pieryo and was from Peru. He was staying with Alice's mother and Alice's younger brother, Tyler, the all-star quarterback and most popular kid at school. He was immeadiately welcomed into the bossum of the cool kids and thus became a cool kid himself. Imagine, having to skip over years of adolescent hell and just skip to the good part. And I dont know if it was because we were both cool nerds, but we shared a lot of the same interests, including old school Michael Jackson.

I had heard a leaked version of Michael Jackson's new 25th remix album on Myspace and after I told Pieryo, he told me he had a video on Youtube of him doing the Thriller dance. Then I went to the movies with my co-worker Amanda and who should be there, standing in line, but Pieryo. All of a sudden, our common interests turned into an obsessive fascination for him. Everything I said and did was "so much fun, it's fun." At first, it was kinda cool changing and molding the mind of a foreign kid, but then it got weird, when he told me he wanted to laugh like me and

It didnt help that he hung around with me all day during Valentines day at the shop. But at least he was helpful. Which is much more I can say than for Azten, Alice's husband. During the past year and a half, Azten lost a brother and a best friend. He almost got divorced twice and was found not guilty on some charges that I really cant get into. All in all, you could say Azten leads a complicated life, mostly because he brings it upon himself. Which is why I couldnt figure out why he would impart complication onto someone else. Trying to shape up his life and help Alice out a little more, Azten has taken an intrest in the flower shop. The thing is, it's really annoying.

Azten has decided to move the flower shop in a whole new direction. He began by forming a more structured and disciplined way to do work, thinking it would make us more professional and productive. Then he decided to sell cigars, right next to the flowers. And now there's this talk of selling hotdogs and it's just...not right. He's interrupted our work space and the way of work that works for us. And we cant even say anything, because Azten takes everything so personal, which makes it that much harder to respect him. Not that he garnered much respect in the first place because of his behavior and the way Alice has talked about him in the past, but still. All I know is, this is gonna be a long pregnancy. And that basically was my February.

the published works of mr. david tellez

So here it is. My very first published article, as mentioned in my previous post, Masquerade.

First Fridays

by: David Tellez

If you live in Southern Arizona with a career that doesn't require you to have a facial piercing or electric lime-colored hair, there are two things you can do on a Friday night. Stay at home and watch another episode of "Who Wants to Dance with America's Next Top Idol?" or merge and mingle with other Tucson professionals in a relaxed and sophisticated setting.

The Tucson Young Professionals organization was created by the innovative minds of Megan Pellman, chair of the First Fridays Committee and president Leah Taylor. The idea behind First Fridays is very much the same as the mission of Tucson Young Professionals - focus on the promotion, attraction and retention of professionals in the Tucson region.

The group has become politically active in the community, taking a strong stand against 2007's Proposition 200, the water and trash fee initiative. So, what better way, to introduce Tucsonans, to a satisfyingly simple, yet, profound and active vision than our very own, culturally diverse realm of downtown? According to Taylor, this event, which is open to all members of the community (over the age of 21) at the Tucson Museum of Art, is the first step forward for greater things to come.

As a native Tucsonan, I was a little skeptical about the entire premise. Could an event like First Fridays really have the influence and appeal to help keep professionals in the Tucson region? After all, when you live in the same town for so many years, you start to wonder and dream about the possibility of a life different from the one you already know. I decided I would make an appearance with these so-called movers and shakers and see what this tedious town had to offer.

It was a quarter to ten and everyone was dressed to the nines and beyond. Past the glass doors and up the stone stairs, large, clay pots filled with beautiful golden fire lead the way to an open courtyard, where a grand and whimsical drink bar made entirely out of crystal ice, stood. Strings of lights, hung lazily through the dark and winding trees, while the melodic sounds of a single, jazz saxophone drifted through the air, creating not so much an atmosphere of sophistication, but an atmosphere of a sought after lifestyle. Welcome to living the good life in the five-two-oh.

People were laughing, passing and meeting smile after smile. There was something in the air that made you believe that this night was a chance to relax, have fun, possibly fall in love, or at the very least, have an adventure. After taking in the view of this spectacular gathering, I couldn't help but think of that Moby song, "Beautiful": Look at us, were beautiful. All the people push and pull, but let's just go out and ride. Talk about the things we try…

And there she stood. A Barbara Streisand look-alike with just as much character and style as the original. She wore tall pumps and dark, arm-length, leather gloves, which gave her 40's, inspired frock so much edge, she could have fallen off.

Her name was Rimma Shishkovskaya, wife of Oleg Shishkovskiy, one of the creators of Khortytsa Vodka, a locally owned vodka distributor that was co-sponsoring First Fridays. Shishkovskaya was a vision of radiance and was obviously enjoying herself and the fact that every fashion-conscious woman there made a mental note to themselves that arm length gloves were, indeed, back in style.

"First Fridays] is something Tucson has never done before. It's exactly what this town needs. A place where we can be entertained with our old friends and our new friends."

Shishkovskaya then introduced me to a tall, handsome, dark-haired man, she had met earlier that night. His name was James Henessy of Henessy Investments, a native Tucsonan and a real estate developer interested and passionate in the revitalization of communities in the Tucson region. Henessy said, that although it was his first time at First Fridays, it most certainly was not his last and became a member of Tucson Young Professionals that very night.

"I'm impressed," Henessy said, raising his glass to his lips and scanning the open courtyard filled with a star-spangled flock of impeccably dressed people on this delightful Arizona night. "There's a lot of space with a lot to do. Something around every corner."

And indeed, there was an array of glittering attractions around every corner. A captivating fire dancer, named Fire Grace moved her slender body and torches to an exhilarating drum beat. Across the way, a young ice sculptor from Ice T Inc., chiseled his way through a frozen block of ice.

Joining Shishkovskaya and Henessy on the sidelines was Philip Touché, owner and proprietor of Touché Shoes, a fashion forward footwear business that specialized in rare, hard to find and unique shoes from all over the world.

"These aren't your everyday mall shoes. We want people to know they don't have to travel to Phoenix to find what they're looking for. Luxury is here."

Luxury was here and First Fridays was indeed making a profound impact on the Tucson social scene, shifting its focus from previous kegger socials on A-Mountain to an upscale lifestyle. Assisting with this coveted lifestyle
was Anthony's Cigar Emporium.

"There's a nostalgic feeling behind cigars," says Tyler Klarr, general manager for Anthony's and clearly the hipster quotient, wearing a form-fitting, olive green army jacket with as much flair and style as an Alexander McQueen mannequin. According to Klarr, cigars are usually associated with an older cliental. But in most recent years, as A-list celebrities, such as Denzel Washington, Claudia Schiffer and Arnold Schwarzenegger have been reported to favor the brown leaf-wrapped tobacco, cigars have gained status as a necessity to the glamorous life.

I wasn't sure if I was ready to partake in this fashionable pastime, so I made my way to the Margaret E. Mooney Hall, which doubled as a dance hall. Colorful lights blared through the darkened room and I could literally feel the rhythmic beat of Janet Jackson's intoxicating song, "Feedback," when I saw a white-haired gentleman dancing a storm on the dance floor. It was John McNulty, a self-proclaimed, "Disco Queen" and the retail manager of The Museum of Art. I had to talk to him. After all, when you see an older and distinguished person at an event aimed towards a younger audience, you have to wonder what exactly is their motive.

"I just like to dance," McNulty says, as he does a little two-step. "This is a great alternative to the bar scene and gives people a chance to actually dress up and immerse themselves in a little art and a little culture. Tucson Young Professionals is also a great way for the museum to help open its doors to a whole new audience."

This was an audience that obviously has been around, but untapped. Having heard similar words from Leah Taylor, I had to congratulate her on a job well done. If Tucson Young Professionals planned to make downtown Tucson, the place to see and be seen every weekend, First Fridays was indeed on the right social path. I found Taylor, wearing her fair blonde hair in an upswept style and a black formal gown, not only looking the part of the perfect hostess but also looking very pleased with herself.

"It's fabulous. Everything – everything, exceeds our expectations for the night."

Conversations of possible networking connections shared between old and new acquaintances were pleasant and polite. The catered appetizers from Café A La Carte were divine. And not a single catfight or unruly brawl was in sight. All in all, the night was a complete success.

I nodded in agreement with Taylor, as two immaculately dressed men came up to me and asked what I thought of the night's events. It was Oleg Shishkovskiy and his business partner, Jeff Sorrentino, co-owners of S&S Spirits and distributors of Khortytsa Vodka. The unlikely duo, met as real estate investors, who lived on the same street, their car garages facing each other, Sorrentino says. During its short, almost, four year run, under the influential eyes of Shishkovskiy and Sorrentino, Khortytsa has taken the spirits industry by storm. At the 2007 San Francisco World Spirits Competition, each of the four styles of Khortytsa that S&S Spirits entered took home awards, with Khortytsa classic winning a gold medal.

"Tucson is the perfect place to test market a product," Sorrentino says as his partner Shishkovskiy offers us a glass of the elusive vodka. "It's a city filled with every social-economic class and different cultures. Different tastes help us learn what works and what doesn't."

And to think, all this was happening in Tucson. Who knew we were living in an up and coming, trendy town? Maybe southern Arizona isn't as dreary as some make it out to be. Maybe there is something in the 520 that makes moments like these, worth living and staying for; to be a part of something destined for greatness. Time to get out the BlackBerry and start planning for the next event.

First Fridays is rated red-hot on the social-status scale. To find out more information, visit www.typfirstfridays.com.

masquerade

My friend Hadassah invited me to the annual Community Food Bank's Mardi Gras 2008 party as a guest of Buzz Isaacson Reality. The invitation red "Costume or Casual," which automatically meant drunk fun people. I couldn't wait! I even bought a fantastic pirate mask, imported from Italy to wear for the occasion. The night of the party, I arrived with my friend Hadassah at the historic Hotel Congress. Flashing lights from dozens of cameras went off, blinding us and making us wonder where the entrance was. Luckily for me, my photographer friend Robie was there and helped pull us through the paparazzi blockage…where we "bumped" into Bill the Arizona supervisor manager of Wells Fargo Bank and Dave Fitzsimmons, the legendary political cartoonist. Thus was the start of my Saturday night.

There was crab cakes, shrimp po'boys, cornbread, collard greens, shrimp jambalaya, and bottomless Hurricane drinks. The food wasn't all that, and certainly not $100 worth, but the unlimited drinks did make it better. From the fat friar to the lady with a pink wig, everyone was having a great time. Beads were tossed, skin was inadvertently exposed, and I could barely believe that I was blending in with such a crowd. People I was somebody because of my mere attendance and the fact I was sitting at a sponsor table. One partial observer so happened to be Dave Fitzsimmons and seeing that we were indeed enjoying ourselves, he asked us if he could draw Hadassah and I and immortalize us on his giant sketch pad.

It was such a memorable and magical night, I didn't want it to end. So, we decided to leave the party on a high note and made our way outside to the valet. That's when I saw him. My old high school friend Manny. We hadn't spoken in almost three years, when Manny got mad at me for planning a California summer trip and told me I was living in a fantasy world. I suspected it wasn't just the California trip he was upset about, but rather a series of events that led to his blow up. After that, he stopped answering his phone and was always "busy" at work. I was phased out. My friendship was no longer wanted. But there he was, shivering outside, in the cold, at the bus stop. I wanted to go over and say "Hi!" but stopped myself. If Danny thought a California trip was fantasy living, what would a $100 a plate charity ball be considered? He couldn't see me, because of my mask, but I could still see on his face that he still had his pride. I knew my presence would destroy that, so in order to keep it intact, I left.

Later that week, I received a call from Aleah, the sales director for 520Living Magazine. She had, yet, another complaint about Carrie James, the president of Tucson Young Professionals, which created First Fridays, the event I wrote about. I had confided in Carrie, asking her if she could look over my article, because I knew she had been a guest writer for several newspapers in town and I wanted to know her professional opinion. She loved it. She thought it was a whimsical piece that reminded her of Vogue and I thoroughly thanked her for it. A few days later, when Aleah had a meeting with Carrie, to discuss advertising in the magazine, Carrie voiced her concern about my article saying it was "cliché and too cheesy." Ugh. She then showed Aleah a copy of my article, bleeding in red pen, with her own paragraph suggestions and her own witty remarks. But the most crushing blow of them all was the fact that she wanted her name next to mine, because she "contributed." And because “James” was alphabetically first than “Tellez”, it would be her name the readers would read first! I couldn't believe it. I thought Carrie was my friend. Well, maybe not friend, but close acquaintance. After all, I knew her before she the president of a networking group and just a regular, run-of-the-mill bank teller at Wells Fargo who always asked how my day was after getting her morning coffee. One minute, she was praising my writing, the next she was bad-mouthing me and trying to take credit for all my hard word. Talk about wearing a two-faced mask.

Carrie James was my first lesson and first rule in the magazine biz - keep your friends close, and your back-stabbing enemies even closer. It then made me wonder what Manny was to me. Friend or enemy? I saw him again that very week at a Subway sandwich shop, downtown. He sat on a barstool, at the window facing the street, with his head laying on the yellow-linoleum table. He was asleep and from the small puddle of drool coming out of his mouth, I knew it was probably a deep sleep. Because I didn't look like I had stepped out of a charity ball, I decided now was my chance to approach Manny. He sat next to two other guys, not much older, who were sharing a soda, a sandwich and a conversation, that ended abruptly when they saw me staring at their friend. They didn't look too happy that I was staring at them, so I left. Maybe some other time. Besides, with school, work, and a magazine coming out, I couldn't let the opinion of one person hold me down. So, I shifted my focus and prepared to make my appearance as a professional, published writer.

The plan was to pass out free issues of the magazine at the upcoming First Fridays event. The theme was Mardi Gras (again!) and since I had already pimped out one mask, I needed a new idea that no one else would have and stand out amongst a star-spangled flock of professional people. That’s when I remembered Kirstin Dunst in Marie Antoinette and the black painted mask she wore to a masquerade party. I needed something original like that, so I made an appointment with a friend at the M.A.C. cosmetic counter at Dillards, where I gave them full permission to go wild on my face. The results? Utterly fantastic! No one had as original an idea as mine, except for my friend Madelaine, who also got her face painted by the same M.A.C. friend. The mask went perfect with the “journalism-y” look that I was going for, which included a fedora, a necktie necklace and these beyond awesome Prada shoes I found in Scottsdale.

Minutes before I had to arrive at the party to set up our magazine booth, I discovered that our magazine was still on the road. According to Aleah, the magazine hadn’t left the printing press on Thursday afternoon as originally planned. It left Friday afternoon, which meant there was a 50/50 chance that it wouldn’t arrive in Tucson until after midnight, which meant, not everyone would be able to see the finished, published work of art! Aleah and I spent the next two hours stalling for time, calling Harry, the publisher of the magazine every ten minutes to see if he had an update on the status of the delivery truck. And then, when all seemed hopeless, there was our magazine, making a grand entrance to the front of the Tucson Museum of Art, the venue which First Fridays took place. I immeadiately opened one of the brown boxes and became mesmerized by the glossy periodical. It was a real-life magazine, with my article on page 24 and 25! It had my name and everything! I was literally on cloud nine!

After my cloud landed safely back on earth, I began attaching personal thank you-notes to the magazine, thanking everyone that gave me an interview and helped me write my article. Including Carrie James. Being the bigger person takes a lot more deep breaths than you I realized, but I was able to leave a succinct and polite message. I was just making my rounds at the party, when Carrie came up to me and very rudely asked if I had gotten permission from the chair of First Fridays, to hand out issues of the magazine during the party. I explained to her I wasn’t just passing out issues, like a Jehovah’s Witness, but that I was personally thanking certain people. It still didn’t sit right with her, and she made the biggest bitch fit, before storming off to find somebody to reprimand me. Right then and there, I lost complete respect for Carrie and so did everyone around us, when they saw her lose her cool when she didn’t get her way. If she didn’t take off her stuck-up mask of jealousy very soon, there was a very slim chance she would continue as president of a professional networking group before becoming impeached.

I didn’t get reprimanded that night and all Carrie could do was glare at me from a distance, wearing an ugly red and white prom-looking dress. The magazine was a hot hit and because of my thoughtful thank you notes, Aleah was able to talk to more potential clients about advertising in the magazine, hopefully making our next issue, an even bigger issue. It was all going so smoothly, until my nose began to bleed. The blood just shot out of my nostril, making my sky blue shirt look like it was on its period. I had to leave, before anyone noticed. And just as I was grabbing my coat before heading out the door, the coat attendant asked me if it was true I had written an article for the magazine. When I told her it was true and showed her the page, she pulled out a pen and asked if I could sign her copy! My first real celebrity moment! I signed the magazine with as much flourish as John Hancock did on the Declaration of Independence and left with the biggest smile of my entire life.

new year, same problems

Is it so wrong to say so early, that 2008 is indeed a terrific year? I know, the year has just barely begun, but I am already loving it!

I spent New Years Eve with a friend at the Historic Hotel Congress at their Brazilian Carnavale bash. It was a night of drinks, dancing, and delicious fun! There was even a drum line that weaved its way in and out of the hotel, into the club and back outside where flame-throwers and Brazilian dancers entertained bleary-eyed guests.

After watching the ball drop outside the hotel, we headed over to Maloney's, the kind of bar where everybody knows your name, except they forgot it, because they were so wasted. What they did remember, however, were the lyrics to Garth Brooks' classic little ditty, "Friends In Low Places".

It was the absolute perfect way to spend New Years Eve. The only downside was at around three in the morning, I got a call from Colette. I hadnt seen or spoken to Colette since October 12, when she completely ignored my phone calls and texts, forsaking the concert we were to attend later that day. What did she want now? I knew the only way to find out was to actually press the little green phone icon on my BlackBerry, but there was no way I was letting past drama destroy my New Year Eve high.

Two days later, I got a call from Aleah, the sales director for 520Living, telling me I had finally gotten my first story. I was to cover First Fridays, an event put on by Tucson Young Professionals, and talk about how it was THE trendiest and chicest place for a Tucsonan to be. I literally had only one day to prepare to merge and mingle with the big honchos of Tucson, but I totally pulled it off like an ol' pro.

I got to meet a lot of influential people, including Jeff Sorrentino and Oleg Shishkovskiy, local distributors for Khorstya Vodka, which was the No. 1 selling vodka in Eastern Europe and the third best selling vodka in the world...and that's without having touched the U.S. market. Watch out for it...it's gonna be big. There I was, talking and drinking vodka with self-made multi-millionaires and on the inside, I was freaking out about how surreal the moment was. But according to my friend Madelaine, who I invited for moral support, from where she stood, I looked like I belonged.

With the help of my friends, including the notorious Madame D, I wrote my very first, professional column of my journalism career. It was witty, it was funny, and, if I do say so myself, it was teriffic! I would talk more about it, but instead, I'm gonna wait until the premiere issue of 520Living drops on February 1. Meanwhile, these past two weeks have been a blur and my social calendar has been filling up quite fast. People I met that night have invited me to private parties and have personally called my cell phone, asking me if I would attend the next First Fridays event. Who knew an appearence could be so demanding? Everything was going just swimmingly, until, Colette called again.

It was the middle of the afternoon, and I had just gotten off the phone with Leah Taylor, the president of Tucson Young Professionals. All of a sudden, my whole world had paused when Colette's name came up on that caller ID.

"Hey David. It's me...Colette. I know we havent talked in forever. I havent called you, you havent called me...so call me. Let's talk. I miss you. K? K."

Is it just me, or does everyone have a person in their life that comes to them at the most unexpected time? Sampson had Delilah. Scarlett O'Hara had Ashley Wilkes. I have Colette. Part of me wanted to call Colette back, but part of me didnt. I know I have a hard time forgiving people, usually because I give so many chances, that once they cross that certain line, I have a hard time forgetting what they did. Maybe this was a chance to work on that flaw. Or maybe it wasnt.

If this magazine gig continues to get big, I know I will have people calling me and asking me to use whatever connections I make for their own benefit (It's already happening. I got an invitation to a $400 plate charity ball, and people keep calling me and emailing me, asking me if I need a date. Tscha!), which means I will have to weed out the people in my life who are users. Sad, but true. But since, Colette doesnt know about my column yet, she technically isnt a user, but does that mean she still cant be weeded out?

good ol' fashioned christmas

It was Christmas of 1994 and my family and I had just moved into a new house on the upper west side of Tucson with the beautiful Starrpass Mountains as our backyard. It was a beautiful four bedroom, two and a half bathroom house with an extra large family/dinning room and a traditional brick fireplace with a modern skylight. It was large enough to accompany our entire family, both my father's side and mother's side. And since we were blessed with such a grand home, it was decided that our house would be the house to have Christmas that year.

My mother had spent days before the big event, preparing to create a fabulous feast that would be remembered for Christmases to come. There was a tangy peppered roast turkey, a ham covered with a honey, brown sugar and cinnamon glaze, greenbeans with silvered honeyed almonds, red potatoes floating in a bath of butter and oh so much more! It truly was going to be a feast of wild and ravenous delight!

On Christmas day, we awoke to a large, classic, Douglas Fir surrounded by presents. Santa had apparently come the previous night and had read my list because I had the fully poseable, karate chop action, Mighty Morphin Power Ranger Action Figure of my dreams! I knew it was going to be the best Christmas ever! Of course, I now know I spoke too soon. Before we left for church that day, my mom placed the turkey and ham in the oven, letting the meats soak and cook in their delectable juices.

After we got home, family members began to arrive one by one. There was an array of hors d'oeuvre's with shrimp, crudite, breads, cheeses, dips and spreads and very soon, the party was in full swing. There was a sentimental feeling, as all around voices could be heard singing, "Let's be jolly; Deck the halls with boughs of holly." Okay, maybe it wasn't that picture perfect, but it was just as fun.

Soon it was time for dinner, and it was at that exact moment in time when my mother discovered our oven was broken. Sometime between church and the hors d'oeuvre's our oven had stopped working and absolutely nothing was cooked. Everyone was too busy mingling to notice that no heavy, warm aroma's were swifting through the air. Stomachs were growling and my fearful parents tried to concoct a plan that would save Christmas. Immeadiately, they began to knock on our new neighbor's houses, explaining their horrific situation and asking if they could use their ovens.

What happened next, became Christmas lore in our family. My mom and dad ran from house to house in our neighborhood cul-de-sac, carrying dish after dish. It was quite the sight to see, as my parents ran throughout the neighborhood with casserole dishes in tow. Time was passing slowly and everyone was growing more and more hungry. Once she realized her perfect dinner would never be a reality, my mother finally gave up, pulled out a couple dozen frozen tamales from the freezer and called Domino's Pizza. That year, we were introduced to a non-traditonal Italian Thanksgiving and to this day, I get such a yen for eggnog everytime I have black olive and sausage pizza.

So if you dont get that toy you always wanted or if your turkey goes up in flames, as long as you're surrounded by the people you love, you can never have a bad Christmas! Merry Christmas, from my family to yours!

spice up your life

When you're twentysomething and you've got a weekend to spare, there's nothing better to do than spend an entire weekend with a friend. And that's exactly what my friend Madelaine and I did this past weekend in California. I got her a pair of Spice Girls tickets for her birthday and we just made an entire L.A. weekend out of the whole thing. As you know, I almost never post pictures, but on this occassion, I figure it's ok to break with tradition. Enjoy!