I feel sorry for Will Ferrell.
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Last Saturday I got a chance to act like a celebrity, without the prerequisite suffering. I was a guest on ImprovOlympic’s Late Night Late Show, a weekly parody of late-night talk shows. I wanted to show up in style, so I called a limo.
After the show, a spiky-haired man approached me and asked, “So, you guys have a different show every week?”
Stylish Nails, on the 1800 block of West Chicago, has all the elegance of a factory, or a hive. And it’s just as busy. As soon as you walk in you’re told to wait in a folding chair, as about a dozen Asian women (and one guy) flit from customer to customer.
Fagala walked in, dressed as a goddess in a sheer, low-cut gown, with a very tall guy caked in makeup and draped in gold fabric. He fanned himself with a handful of peacock feathers. He said he was dressed as Caligula. “Guess how old I am?” he asked no one in particular.
Later, on the dance floor, a husky dude shoved me in the back so hard I thought my spine would crack. I recognized him as someone I’d poked fun at in one of my columns. I spilled beer into his man-purse in retaliation, then walked away. He followed me and tapped me on the shoulder. When I turned around he poured his entire beer over my head.
