Close Encounters of the Made-Up Kind.

"So, if you were a tree, what kind of tree would you be, Miss Adu?"

It took weeks of angling, working my contacts and network, but I am finally IN!!! I scored an interview with Sade!     When I’m in New York, I’m dropping by the Waldorf-Astoria for 30 minutes of a sit-down with Sade.  I’m going to ask her all the important questions.  Like what her favorite color is and what television shows she watched the nine years she was sitting around the house.


Welcome to April Fool’s Day.  The absolute, positively dumbest and lamest day of the entire year.

Though sometimes you just can’t tell.   Case in point.

I can count on one hand how Black folks I know that watch C-SPAN.  Them Black Republicans are taking over!   We gotta stop ’em!   I don’t want to vote for Sarah Palin and Dick Cheney in 2012.

I’m not sure why we play dumb pranks on April Fool’s Day. Maybe it’s the mischievous teenager buried somewhere deep in our souls coming out to play and light a fart in our general direction.    I kind of look at it the same way I do St. Patrick’s Day and getting pinched if you’re not wearing green:  hey, that’s fine for you if you want to dress up like a leprechaun, but I don’t even own anything green.  I stopped wearing green after my hitch in the military was over and if you pinch me, I’m gonna punch your lights out!

About a week ago I thought someone was trying to play an early April Fool’s joke on me when a producer from a radio show in Cleveland left a message on my answering machine (yeah, I still use a land line.  Wanna make something out of it?) asking for me to please call back and then the guy left his work, home and cell phone numbers.  Obviously, he really wanted me to return his call.

Being curious, I figured, “Well, maybe he read something I wrote and wants to interview me about it.”   I was half-right.  He had read something I wrote, but he didn’t want to interview me.   He wanted to interview Vanessa Del Rio and wanted to know if I could hook him up with her contact information.

I thought, “You have GOT to be kidding.”   What would I look like carrying around the home phone number of a porn star?

Interview Vanessa Del Rio just once and it turns out it’s the only thing you’ll ever be remember for.   It  must have seemed like a good idea at the time, but now I’m beginning to find myself like old Michael Corleone in Godfather III: whenever I think I’m out of it, I get pulled back in.

It’s not that I mind having written something that still resonates a decade after the fact.  I just wish it was something a bit more substantial and a bit less superficial.

Turns out he had read my Vanessa Del Rio interview and called to find out if I had her contact information.  He wanted to know if I knew who her manager, agent or publicist might be.   Uh…that would be a “NO.”   How would I know if she even has an agent or manager?   It’s not  like we hang out discussing our sex lives.

I’m going to take a wild guess here that Mr. Show Producer simply went to Google  to search for her.  Put in “Vanessa Del Rio” and you’ll be busy for a while checking out pages of links and more than a few taking you  to places you wouldn’t want the wife and kids in the room when you surf over to check ’em out.

Anyway, since the guy seemed sincere and a little bit desperate,  I told him I’d look into it, but I knew she probably didn’t have an agent or publicist.  Whatever the hell for?  It’s not as if she’s going to be sitting across from Jay Leno talking about her newest XXX-rated project.   Besides, I wanted to see if I could track her down just to see how finely turned my research skills are.

Pretty well tuned it seems.  It took me about a week of making phone calls, reading more recent interviews with the semi-retired sex worker, “friending’ her on Facebook, and finally I got the hook-up though a back channel third-party who was a friend (and colleague) of  Del Rio that said she would pass my note on to her.

This morning I opened up my e-mail to read a three-sentence response from Miz Vanessa Del Rio saying sure she remembered our interview and she’d be glad to speak with the radi0 show sometime in mid-April.   Heck, we might even get together for a drink while I’m in NYC next week.

Well, hooray for me.  So why do I feel like a pimp?

Here is the part where you would expect to read, “APRIL FOOL!” Ha-ha.  You got punk’d. Only this is, this isn’t an April Fool’s prank and  this shit is all too real.    Who could make up stuff like this?