1. If you could style yourself what items would you choose as the accoutrements?
2. If you could ask me one question, what would it be?
Whom would you rather be, a token black person on an all white show or a token white person on an all black show?
3. Let’s try this one more time. Okay. If you could ask me one question, what would it be?
Is the relationship between the rest of the world and certain parts of Africa a perfect, societal example of Munchausen syndrome by proxy spanning hundreds upon hundreds of years?
4. You’re officially horrible at this. What’s your favorite malapropism?
Lord have Murphy.
5. What is a dream you’re working on realizing?
I’m trying to convince any storefront designer worth their weight in gold to re-create Herbie Hancock’s “Rock-it” in a storefront window. Yes, I’m talking to you Barneys and or Opening Ceremony ; the only bastions left with any balls to make storefronts both inspire and scare the life out us these days.
6. In your opinion, who in history, past or present, is woefully misunderstood?
The Donner Party. And is it just me or does Mrs. Donner bear a striking resemblance to a lethargic Rob Schneider?
7. If the Manti Te’o scandal teaches society anything what should it be?
To call me when a real scandal comes to town. A stellar, college football player might have created a girlfriend. Hmm… Yep, just as I suspected, you’ve reached a new level of boring. And if I can be abstract for a moment, isn’t everyone, even those currently in relationships with actual, tangible matter creating a person out of thin air? A person you will only get to know to the extent of how you’d like them to fit into your life and not one inch further? If you think anything deeper’s afoot (get it? I’m a shoe.) then you’re sadly mistaken. The point is, we never truly know each other and we never will. We don’t even know ourselves, for God’s sake. And on a tangential note, somehow we all fell in love with Ruby Sparks but Lennay Kekau — Is that how you say her name? Kekau? Forget it. Poor Lennay gets her name dragged through the mud?! We love Ruby but we shun Lennay?! Is that what’s happening here? Now, I’m not calling racism but considering I’m a biracial shoe I might be calling racism. And I should hope, hope that somewhere in that funky, string theory realm, unto which they exist, Lennay, Ruby and all imaginary mates alike are taking to the streets and standing up for who they are. Which is ultimately nothing because they don’t exist but I digress– Wait. Why am I digressing? Where was I?
8. Shot out of a cannon apparently. You’re aware that “Ruby Sparks” was just a– You know what? Doesn’t matter and clearly we need to move onto topics with a little more brevity. So, Alexander Wang “Alla” wedge, is there a fun, light film you would love to appear in?
In “10,” on Jenny when she tells George the best thing to do whilst listening to Ravel’s “Bolero.”
9. If you could be worn by anyone whom would it be?
The Russian exchange student who, as a way to break the ice, invites her new dorm mates — Morgan c/o Shaker Heights and Gully c/o Anaheim — out for drinks on her to celebrate the impending summer session and new friendships. Two hours into getting after it, the Russian exchange student excuses herself to go to the restroom. In front of her, a slow-moving, middle-aged suit clogs up the narrow space, forcing her to trail behind. Up ahead, two frat boys exit the restroom jovially fist bumping. As they wedge past, she could swear she hears one faintly say, “Nah, dude. It’s Rohypnol.” The Russian exchange student stops and looks back to watch the boys return to the bar. She shifts focus to see the suit enter the men’s restroom. Decision making time. She opts to set out for bladder relief. She passes the obvious choice of ladies’ and enters the men’s. Once inside, she finds the suit relieving himself into a urinal. The exchange student quietly bends over, checking underneath the stalls. It’s just the two of them. She moves over to suit and with a simple “Privyet” she gives him no time to acknowledge the greeting before she reaches out, snaps his neck, drags him into a stall, closes the door, removes a thick envelope from his inner, jacket pocket, secures the envelope in the polka-dot strap of her Victoria’s Secret PINK bra, checks under the door to make sure no one’s out there, exits the stall, checks to make sure she still looks cute – she does – and exits. Upon reuniting with the dorm mates, she thanks Morgan for watching her purse, whips out her phone and demands they take two group photos: 1. simple smiles 2. face contortions. Pictures taken and safely uploaded to Instagram, “Me with my new friends,” the exchange student turns back to the bar and orders three fresh shots. She glances over to see the frat boys she passed on the way to the restroom leering at her. She smiles big, turns to the bartender and requests 2 more shots. All 5 amber shots arrive. She motions for the boys to join. They were coming anyway; the invitation simply deleted a few pesky steps from their master plan. The exchange student hands Morgan her phone, “Morgan, take a picture of us, please?!” Morgan happily obliges. The exchange student moves in between the frat boys and puts her arms around their wastes. Picture taken and uploaded to Instagram, “DURAKY,” the exchange student distributes the shots amongst her dorm mates and the boys and all proceed to knock ’em back. The frat boys immediately offer to buy the girls another round, a much more significant round. And it might’ve happened if not for the exchange student spotting a smooth out when she notices Gully’s eyes doing something akin to the eyes of a busted ventriloquist dummy. She puts an arm around her drunkity dorm mate and declines the offer with a sadsy face and a “We should get her home.” And with that, the girls are off. Upon making it outside, Gully moans the bar exodus, battle cry, “I’m gonna puke.” The exchange student whips into action and swoops Gully’s long, chestnut tendrils up into a make-shift ponytail, which enables her to distribute everything inside of her onto the sidewalk without getting any of it in her hair. Yes, morning pedestrians, it’s the Gullys of the world working your AM gag reflex while on your way to work. With Gully showing no signs of stopping, the exchange student excuses herself, handing Morgan the reigns of holding the thick mane. En route to a more private spot, the exchange student crosses paths with the frat boys as they make an unwieldy exit from the bar. They don’t notice her for they’re fully focused on trying to stay upright. With eyes trained on the wobbly pledge brothers, the exchange student secures a quiet spot, brings out her phone and begins to dial. Suddenly, one after the other, the frat boys topple to the ground, out cold. A bouncer moves swiftly to them and bends down to check pulses. He looks to the drunk, loitering crowd and declares, “They’ve been roofied!” Loiterers lethargically jump, bump into each other, stare dumfounded and or cackle into action. The exchange student offers only a sly smile. Her expression suddenly shifts to serious as she turns around to focus on the person who has just answered her call and says, “It is finished.”