Friday, October 9, 1998
Coming soon: MTV will host ‘Real World’ VanderZanden
COLUMN: Forget Hawaii, show could be filmed in Vanessa’s
apartment
This weekend, many people will try out for MTV’s "The Real
World" at Madison’s in Westwood. Those who make the final cut will
enjoy themselves in a fabulous Hawaiian bungalow. Sadly, some say
this could be MTV’s last "Real" adventure, as all of the trendy,
exciting locations have already been used as backdrops for the
show.
Which is where I come in.
I think the next season should be shot in my filthy, one bedroom
Landfair apartment and renamed, "The Unreal World." Located two
doors down from the newly converted half-way house for drug
addicts, show members could call out "crack-whore!" at passers-by
from our spacious third-floor balcony without fear of being sued
for slander. They could drop bottles from said balcony as they
drunkenly attempt to recycle them in the street-side dumpster.
"Oops! Missed!" Oh look, Silly Tom smashed another one on the
sidewalk. That rascal!
And, oh my, let’s take a walk up the avenue to where Nate, Ivan,
Alex and Joey have successfully managed to engulf a couch in
flames! (People should know better than to leave their furniture on
the street.) Looks like the firemen have managed to put it out and
leave the stop sign intact. Phooey! But good thing our heroes have
run inside.
What to do now, hmm … That’s it! We’ll sort through our porno
mags with our good neighbors, Jen and Vanessa.
"Have you seen ‘October ’97?’ Why, that’s a classic!" Joey seems
to know quality when he sees it.
Ugh. No more whiskey, and the stores have stopped selling beer.
Looks like it’s time to get silent and listen to recordings of
ourselves and friends playing music on eight tracks. Shut up and
feel the words …
Later that week, back at the pad…
Rrrrnng…
"What are you doing?" asks Ruben at 2 a.m.
"I’m drunk and bored. Come over – the bars have closed!" answers
Vanessa.
Three minutes later…
Rrrrnng…
"Hello?"
"Hey, have you seen Ruben? He just walked out the door without
saying a word. Is he over there?" Tom inquires.
"No, but he’s on his way. Come over! Come over! I’m bored and
drunk!" Vanessa replies.
"Sure, I am, too!" Tom responds.
Minutes later, the two arrive.
"Let’s put on Morissey and hold ourselves dancing as we weep!"
mumbles sloshed Ruben, rolling around half-consciously on the
carpet.
"Yes, let’s!" says Sleazy Tom as he begins to fondle Vanessa on
the make-shift dance floor.
"I think he’s passed out; let’s move to the couch!" Vanessa
gestures.
As Ruben rises from his mid-slumber, he hears smooching noises
from the other side of the room.
"Good God, man almighty! People may be having sex soon!" Ruben
thinks. "How to get out of this one. Hmm … I know!"
So with his finely-tuned skills of social maneuvering, Ruben
begins break-dancing in place.
"Now, if I can just turn a 120 degrees Jive Hook a little closer
to the front door, c’mon, c’mon, yes! That’s it!"
He reaches for the door handle and is out! Another disappearing
act cleverly engineered by the man who calls himself "The Rich
Rockstar Who Drives All the Little Girls Crazy." Way to go,
Ruben!
Two mornings later …
It’s time to play "Count the rent-free roomies!" That’s right,
how many bodies can you find crashed out in Jen and Vanessa’s
apartment? Well, let’s see, Ruben and Jen are in Jen’s bed, Ricky’s
lying in the 3-D foam puzzle on the middle of the bedroom floor …
and in the living room, we have Tom on the couch.
"Well, that’s not so bad," says Vanessa. "Remember last week,
when we had Jessie, his girlfriend and her friend free-loading here
along with whoever happened to walk through the door?"
"Yeah, we have to remember not to give that guy any more speed.
Could he talk forever or what?" recalls Jen.
"Twelve hours straight, to be exact, but who’s counting?"
Vanessa moans. "Man, getting people hooked on uppers for a few days
was just plain dumb. When no one sleeps, it just makes them hang
out longer. But I love our family! Hug! Let’s barbecue!" Vanessa
cries emotionally. "I’ll make potato salad …"
"… and I’ll throw together my artichoke dip!" Jen concurs.
"Now all we need is meat, beer and men!"
"Let’s call the boys!" they sing together.
After an evening of pot, Cocoa Puffs and too many cans of Asahi,
the two whine, "We need a vacation. Everyone out! School starts
tomorrow – let’s get some E. We deserve relaxing time before the
heavy strain of class."
Later that night …
"Do you think anyone might find it weird that we’re in our swim
suits in a bath tub filled with wild berry punch Kool-Aid,
listening exclusively to Pink Floyd by candlelight together with
our hair tied up in scarves like ’50s starlets?" asks Jen.
"Probably – ooh! Let me get a plum from the kitchen and ice! We
could rub the stuff all over each other!" answers Vanessa.
"Eee! That’s gonna feel great! And, oh wow, I have a loofah!
Hurry up so I can exfoliate your legs!" Jen spazzes. "Then we can
draw all over each other with markers!" Jen gushes.
"Aaah! I’m running to get the plums as you speak!" Vanessa
flips.
The next day …
"I’m exhausted, hate everyone and have an overwhelming feeling
of numbness. I can connect to nothing and no one and wish to never
do anything again," states Vanessa from behind cold, blank eyes.
"Too many people on campus …"
"There’s just no coping," Jen agrees. "I’m never moving again. I
will stay attached to this balcony forever so that I may know
suffering always. Or until I run out of cigarettes."
"I give you half an hour. That pack’s running low," concludes
Vanessa.
Rrrnng …
"That was Ruben. There’s a kegger at their old place in half an
hour! Let’s go!" Vanessa suggests.
"I am in desperate need of beer," Jen ponders.
"And it’s free …" Vanessa tempts.
"… I’m there," Jen decides.
Later that evening, back at the pad …
"What are we going to do with this gross, smelly cardboard
computer box we just picked up in the middle of the street gutter?"
asks naive Stacy.
"Make a fort! Here, it’ll lead us from the living room to the
hallway," answers Ricky, "in ways it never before could."
"Get blankets!" cries Tom.
"I’ll finger paint in the mean time," Stacy proclaims.
Vanessa soon goes to bed and Ruben arrives. He climbs into the
box.
"I’m in the box!" he slurs. "I’m in the box!"
"Yes, Ruben, we know you’re in the box," Jen evenly states.
"I’m in the box!" he continues.
Meanwhile, Ricky attempts to fingerpaint with Jen’s foot.
"Stop it!" she wails, and hops off to the kitchen sink for a
rinse.
"I feel sick," Ruben complains, holding his belly.
"You need to hurl. Here, I’ll show you how," helpful Ricky says,
taking Ruben’s hand. He leads him to the bathroom toilet where the
two hold their heads over the porcelain bowl, flailing themselves
from side to side, shrieking "bleh, bleh" like bearded
Shakespearian witches.
"Keep it down! You’ll wake up Vanessa!" Stacy and Jen giggle,
not realizing that even a gaggle of mutant saber-toothed
pterodactyls flying Hari-Kari style couldn’t jostle the
pillow-drooling lush.
A momentary hiatus occurs wherein Jen and Vanessa leave their
apartment for the weekend.
But, hmm … Max looks a bit different … why, he’s got nearly
no whiskers left and his eyelashes appear to be missing! That’s
mysterious …
"Oh, yeah," Tom explains, "I was spitting a fireball with my can
of butane and he got in the way."
"Oh, tee-hee, Wacky Tom!" Vanessa chuckles.
"You silly goose, Max, don’t you know to stay away from insane
people?" playfully scolds Jen. "Well, I guess you’ll know for next
time."
Later that evening …
"Hey, Vanessa!" Tom whispers devilishly, as though holding a big
secret in his pea-brained head.
But before Vanessa can turn to face him, "Swoosh," a fireball
explodes from his mouth onto the side of her face.
"Screw you, Tom!" Vanessa screams, running to the bathroom, the
putrid odor of scorched hair trailing close by.
"Ooops!" Tom squeals, making for the porch like a naughty
eight-year-old child.
Oh no! The drama! Will the group be split forever over this
tragic event, or will amends be made?
Her hair partially singed, her eyelashes burnt to a blondish red
and her facial fuzz shaved crisply off, Vanessa allows Tom back
into her trashed apartment.
"You owe me a line of coke," Vanessa glares. "At least that.
More even."
"I know, I owe you big," Tom agrees. "But your hair looked cool
glowing like that!" he giggles, pointing baboon-like at her cropped
head. "You should have seen it!"
We can only await the next fiendishly foul episode of "The
Unreal World" to see what events shall ensue. Will anyone claim
their clothing from the lost and found closet? Will anyone bother
to purchase shelves to house the five boxes of CDs, tapes and
records that lie jumbled against the front-entrance wall?
Until next time, these and more enigmas will go unsolved …
aVanessa VanderZanden
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