The party line

Years ago, I worked for Wells Rich Greene, one of many New York ad agencies that had decided to open a west coast outpost in Century City. It was my second job in advertising, and it was exciting. The people were smart, funny and creative. I couldn't wait to get to work every day and spend time with them.

You know, just like now.

Anyway, there was this rather dapper and flamboyant account guy named Tom Baker, and he invited a lot of people from the agency, including me, to a birthday party he was throwing himself at his house in Santa Monica Canyon.

It was a spectacular house. Literally on the side of the mountain, you had to walk a staircase halfway down the hill to get to it. Not the famous Santa Monica staircase off 4th Street where all the joggers exercise, piss off the neighborhood and congest traffic. The other one.

Here's what I remember. It was a great party. The champagne was flowing, and I had more than my fair share. A lot more. Up until that party, I'd only had a sip of champagne here and there at a wedding or anniversary party. But it tasted like soda - really good soda - and they were pouring it like bottomless drinks at Islands, so I couldn't see any reason to stop.

The other thing you should know is I didn't have time for lunch and hadn't had a lot to eat that day. I think you see where this is going.

It didn't take long for all my champagne dreams to catch up with me. I stumbled my way outside to the stairs, and just plopped down on one of them. I was sweating, holding my stomach, rocking back and forth, groaning and grunting like Monica Seles on center court (look it up). The mountain was spinning around me, and I believe if the good Lord had chosen that moment to take me I would've been nothing but grateful.

I've never been that drunk before or since.

Ann Siegel, a girl I'd been talking to at the party who also worked at the agency, had wondered where I'd gone and came outside to find me. She immediately saw the shape I was in, put her arms around me, held me as I rocked back and forth and told me over and over it was all going to be okay.

I have no idea how long we were like that, but I do remember at one point I broke from her grip, leaned over the side of the steps and projectile tossed what seemed like bottles of champagne on the side of the hill. Ann asked if I was okay, and I remember babbling on just thanking her over and over for sitting and staying with me.

To which she said, "That's okay. Just don't kiss me."

The next day, I asked her to a movie, and we wound up going out for a year. Whole other post.

Here's what I don't remember: Saying goodbye to anyone, walking back up the stairs to my car and driving home to my apartment in Brentwood.

My memory picks up again at climbing the stairs (again with the stairs) to my second floor apartment, and pounding on the door.

My roommate Ned opened the door, and when I saw him I said, "I'm really drunk." Although he didn't have to be Columbo (look it up) to notice the fine perfume of alcohol, sweat and vomit emanating from me.

He helped me stagger to my bedroom where I collapsed on my bed. The room was spinning faster than Karl Rove on election night. Ned brought me a damp washcloth I put on my head, then standing over me, arms crossed, he took a beat and said the line I'll never forget.

"So, is this what all the girls find so attractive?"

Getting mugged

While my close friend and personal life coach Rich Siegel is busy over at Round Seventeen writing about issues of the day like Islamic clerics, Israel and Palestine, the Holocaust and the sorry state of advertising, I notice he has yet to tackle a vital subject that affects us all on a deeper, even more visceral level.

Of course I'm talking about celebrity mug shots.

It's always good, wholesome fun to have a laugh at someone else's expense. So let's start with one of the classics: Nick Nolte. Now the go-to choice would've been to contrast and compare a glamour boy shot of Nolte from the Rich Man Poor Man days with his now infamous Don King-esque, "Have you ever heard of conditioner?" hairstyle mug shot.

Instead, I chose an earlier mug shot of Nolte as a counterpoint to the one we all know and love. In fact, as you'll see, I've pretty much restricted all my choices to celebutards who have enjoyed the luxurious accommodations of an 8x6 holding cell more than once.

It's hard to know exactly what's more embarrassing about this early Tim Allen mug shot. The '70's stache? That he was busted in Kalamazoo (which coincidentally is the word magicians use when they forget "abracadabra"), or the fact people kept mistaking him for Geraldo Rivera?

Clearly his success from Home Improvement and voicing Buzz Lightyear is reflected in the more recent, more styled shot on the right. You can tell he's aware of the lighting, as well as his best angle. It could almost be the head shot his agent sends out for roles on shows like, you know, Oz or Prison Break.

Unfortunately for Tim, thanks to the interwebs these mug shots will be around to infinity and beyond. (See what I did there?)

                                        

Ladies and gentlemen, the man who's single-handedly putting the glamour back in anti-semitism, the one and only Mel Gibson.

This suitable-for-wallet-size mug shot on the left is from Mel's drunk driving episode a few years back on Pacific Coast Highway. Clearly, Mel still has plenty of alcohol in his bloodstream. You can see the sly smile, the sparkly eyes - the look that says "Hey, I know Jews run the business, but guess which ten-year old, independently financed film shot in a dead language grossed the most money in history?"

I'll give him this: it was a good film, even if I did know how it ended.

But see, you can't smack talk the people who run the business and still expect to have a career in it, as an older, paler and jowlier Mel knows judging by the photo on the right.

I suppose everybody's human and nobody's perfect. But sometimes stupidity just rules the day, and the mistakes we make have a way of sticking to our shoes.

Oh, and just in case you were wondering, I was going to post Lindsey Lohan's mug shots. But even on the internet, there just wasn't enough room.