I Want to be a Hilton: Quid Pro (Status) Quo
The challenge this week was for two teams of two to compete against each other in creating a NY hotspot on a Monday night. They’d use different spaces within the same giant NYC club – Quo – but they’d have to solicit a variety of PR people, party planners, and party promoters. Whichever team got more people through their door would be declared the winners and the losing team would result in one person being sent home. I didn’t know it at the time, but this challenge set up each Hilton-tice for some serious ridicule and embarrassment. The teams were Jaret/Vanessa (anagram: Vaj ‘n ass eater) and Jackaay/JW (anagram: Ya Jackjaw) and with the challenge laid out, it was time get crackin’.
The four made there way over to Quo to meet the club’s promoter, John Mosely. The show’s editors must be really quite old and stuck in the 1970’s, as the music accompanying their arrival to the club was straight up Meco Monardo’s “Star Wars and Other Galactic Funk” disco. In the face of such dated music, Mosely pumped up the troops with, “I want this place pumpin’ and vibin’.” Jackaay’s take on this was to make their club “Modelicious.” But with all these slang phrases being bandied about, JW was still stumped on the club’s name: “I don’t know what ‘Quo’ means.” Dude, it’s a NYC club… Does it have to “mean” anything? I guess when you’re used to “Jimbo’s BBQ and Blues Shack,” such interpretive names are truly vexing. Jackaay, however, was at least familiar with the phrase “status quo,” so she named their party “Status at Quo.” I’ve heard worse… Like Team Vaj ‘n Ass Eater’s “Lunes at Quo.” Oh that Vanessa, she’s so classy with her fancy Spanish learnin’.
Kathy armed each team with names and numbers of several socialites, party planners, and NY glitterati. I’m guessing that Kathy simply went online and printed off Paris’ famous hacked blackberry contact list. This worked both ways – these whoring spoiled brats would get to appear on TV (albeit to a barely measurable audience) and look cool to, oh, I don’t know…12 year olds in Wichita? In return, they had to sign a written promise (or, perhaps, “swear on a bible”) to never divulge their personal stories of the coke-fueled sex orgies they’ve all had with Paris and Nicky Hilton. I think that’s called “Something for something,” i.e., “Quid Pro Quo.” Hence, my title is like, doubly clever… Or something… Somehow. Jaret’s first stop was to appear on air with early 90’s MTV staple Ed Lova on his Power 105 radio show. (On the way there, it must be noted, the camera car drove right through a rather obvious red light in Manhattan. Hey, when you wanna be a Hilton, traffic laws mean nothing!) The strangest thing about the station visit was the narrator who droned, “For the few Manhattanites the Hiltons don’t know, Kathy arranges a way to meet them as well.” In other words, “Since the Hiltons don’t associate with Manhattanites who are BLACK, Kathy arranged a paid-for advertisement with NICE BLACK GUY, Ed Lova.” Am I wrong for interpreting the narrator that way?
Anyway, Jaret went on air (supposedly) and did his best dorky redneck white guy impression to entertain the urban Power 105 listeners. Oh… Wait… Jaret really is a dorky redneck white guy. My mistake. When Jaret twanged, “Sean Combs” like “Shawwwwn Cooooms,” I’m sure that really did the trick. On the one hand, I have difficulty referring to a grown man as P. Diddy myself, but on the other hand, I’d at least have tried to speak to my audience a bit more. Later, at the same station, Jackaay took the opposite embarrassing tack and went into full-on wiggerbonics. An oafish white tomboy in platform flip flops and overalls over-enunciating phrases like, “It is going to be hype and fresh,” is, well, totally lame. (It goes without saying that at the parties that night, there were no black people. I’m sure Kathy was relieved.)
With Jackaay making a fool of herself on the radio (which I don’t really believe went out over the air – I mean, if you tell Power 105 listeners to go to a free club for some free booze to be seen on TV, don’t you think the clubs would be mobbed? Spoiler alert: They weren’t.) As I was saying, while Jackaay was talking into a microphone, her teammate JW was meeting “NYC Party Girl” Stacy Nunez. Stacy is apparently a Paris wannabe (why isn’t she on this show?) whose station in life seems to be partying and pretending that that is a noble, important pursuit. I quickly decided I hated Stacy Nunez. She treated JW like he was interviewing for an important job, not the chance for her to appear at his party. There are no Stacy Nunez’s in Mississippi, so I can forgive JW’s post-meeting reaction – a mix of epileptic seizure and “Achy Breaky Heart.”
The day progressed with each team member meeting with a series of increasingly vapid party promoters. One guy, Aaron Cato, bragged of his database of friends, which contained 40,000 names and numbers. Yeah, I’ve got that same database – it’s called Friendster, jackass. Cato was that kid we all hated in high school; rich, average looking, stupid, but endowed with an incredible amount of confidence and self worth. So no matter how often you pointed out his douchebaggery, it had no effect. Here he was, supposed NY socialite, in his crappy Sears Polo and baseball cap, begging JW to be sure to have lots of girls at his party. I don’t know about you, but I always thought “cool guys” were able to get girls whenever and wherever they wanted. I quickly decided I hated Aaron Cato too.
When Team Vaj ‘n Ass Eater (Vanessa and Jaret) met with some other “too cool for school” guys they were asked if the party would have open bar. “Yes,” replied Jaret. Seeing the look of alarm in Vanessa’s eyes (since he was lying) he recanted and after a quick lesson, admitted that he thought “open bar” meant, “there would be a bar and it would be open for paying customers to buy drinks.” Yes, Kathy, Jaret certainly deserves to have a 25% chance of being your protégé. Jackaay was performing just as pathetically with “model/manager” (NY’s take on LA’s “model/actress?”) Justin Brody. She was quite nervous and was afraid that, in her words, she’d have to use her “feminininininintaaay.” Hey, at least Jackaay is aware of her fullback frame and gallumphing gait. She is not, however, aware of her Midwestern white bread roots. “Are you down with hip-hop?” she asked the devilishly handsome Brody. To his credit, he laughed at her and mocked her idiocy. I quickly decided I actually liked Justin Brody. Dude, call me…let’s hang.
Jackaay with (left) and without makeup
After a hectic final few hours before their club openings, Stacy Nunez gave JW a call and relayed the good news: She and her rather large posse would be patronizing his club. Unfortunately, Stacy Nunez forgot to mention the bad news part of that: It was complete bullshit. As it turned out, she instead went to Lunes at Quo right in front of JW. Wow, what a bitch. For what it’s worth, when she was reading off her invitee’s names, it sounded like one girl was named “Alyssa Pubes.” At this point in the night, Alyssa Pubes and her crew were packing Lunes at Quo while crickets were chirping over at Status. I felt badly for JW, as he got royally screwed. And as we all know, where there’s a line, people flock. The line created by Stacy’s posse only exacerbated JW’s plight and it appeared the writing was on the wall.
But lo! It’s Aaron Cato and his rowdy crew and they’re going to… Status at Quo! Yes! JW was “hyped” and repeatedly said “baby” amidst a lot of shoulder bumping/reach around back slapping/high five fratboy action. Kathy Hilton arrived towards the end of the evening and despite the producer’s best attempts at creating camera shots that would make each club appear to be crowded, you could tell Status at Quo was empty. I’m talking “Soul Train” empty. Plus, there was that tool Aaron Cato complaining that the dancing girls were on poles rather than “in cages.” Please tell me this kid doesn’t get laid. Lie to me if necessary. With little fanfare, Kathy announced that Lunes had won the night (thanks to the Stacy Nunez swerve) and either JW or Jackaay would be going home. Oh, and Jaret and Vanessa scored some ugly watches for their efforts. Hooray.
At The Residence, Kathy arrived to her usual elegant harp music (soooo classy) and began the arduous process of pretending to give a crap. Unlike “The Boardroom” or “Tribal Council,” The Residence is by far the most boring part of an already boring show. Remember, the whole point of the show is to exhibit class and etiquette, so that means no one is ever going to show emotion during this process. That’s why I always gloss over this portion of the show. The most interesting thing this time was the fact that Jackaay had fake orangey tan all over her face and neck, but not her chest. Baby steps.
Kathy slunk off to “prepare her list,” although seeing that there were only two people left, you’d think she’d just blurt out her decision. Or, perhaps if Mark Burnett had anything to do with this show, we would at least see Kathy write the “J” and then cut to commercial. Nope, not here. No such suspense or intrigue. You’re not going to get that in my recap either – JW was sent back to his trailer and Jackaay lives to fight another week.
The FINALE next week, thank god.