Between today and yesterday, while trying to keep the weddingmania nerves at bay, I happened upon some truly hilarious things on the interwebs. Thought I needed to share in some way other than clogging your FB and Twitter feeds with links!
First up, a blast from the past. Weren't you just itching to know where the cast of Nickelodeon's early 90s classic "Hey Dude" are today? Well your burning desire to know can now be satisfied. For someone out there has had the free time to track them all down. Here.
In the same vein, remember those awesome 80s and early 90s board games? You know, like "Hungry Hungry Hippos", "Connect Four", "Guess Who" and "Operation"? Did you also remember the commercials? Well they're a little less wholesome than you may have remembered, oh children born of the 1980s...Note, pay specific attention to the "Mr. Bucket" commercial. How Milton Bradley let such salacious implications slide is a mystery that may never be solved.
Now for something completely different...are you interested in learning about the most effective and least expensive form of birth control out there? Try looking at photos of "Shit My Kids Ruined" at the HuffPost. Once you see what these little f#(*$#ers are capable of, you might want to stay home instead of attending the pants party tonight.
And finally, who you gonna call? An improv group here in NYC did a little impromptu live performance at the New York Public Library that pays homage to the original scene from 1984's classic "Ghostbusters." All I can say is I wish I had been there to witness it live. Be sure to scroll down after the video ends to read about some of the behind-the-scenes stuff. Priceless!
And now I will fall back into pre-wedding hysteria. GEM out.
May 18, 2010
April 29, 2010
TFFed
This past week, I've been neck-deep in covering the goings-on of the Tribeca Film Festival. And by neck-deep, I mean I was that person in the press holding pen at the red carpet event, dangling over the edge of the divider, balanced only by the heel of one 3.5-inch stiletto, the clip of my press badge and the negligible weight of the microphone in my hand, screaming at Harvey Keitel to turn around and tell me why he thought movies and film have the power to inspire.
I put myself in that ridiculous situation because I was on the hunt for films that would fit the bill for my nifty little labor of love, Reel Inspiration, on Guideposts.com. Despite being largely ignored, stepped on, pushed and tripped, I emerged from the week with some good interviews, good b-roll, and an unscathed face. I think I will end up recommending four films--two docs and two narrative features. I was wowed by the docs and entertained by the features. Stay tuned for my verdict. I'm still putting together my reviews!
I put myself in that ridiculous situation because I was on the hunt for films that would fit the bill for my nifty little labor of love, Reel Inspiration, on Guideposts.com. Despite being largely ignored, stepped on, pushed and tripped, I emerged from the week with some good interviews, good b-roll, and an unscathed face. I think I will end up recommending four films--two docs and two narrative features. I was wowed by the docs and entertained by the features. Stay tuned for my verdict. I'm still putting together my reviews!
March 5, 2010
Les Jeux Olympiques, Parte Deux
En Francais, s'il vous plait. Mes escritures au patinage.
Original Dance
Free Dance
Ladies Short Program
Ladies Final
См. вас в Россия Sochi 2014!
***Editor's note: please excuse my poor attempt at Russian. While my grasp of French remains intact from my schooling, I actually had to Babelfish the Russian. Perhaps someday I'll take a class...
Original Dance
Free Dance
Ladies Short Program
Ladies Final
См. вас в Россия Sochi 2014!
***Editor's note: please excuse my poor attempt at Russian. While my grasp of French remains intact from my schooling, I actually had to Babelfish the Russian. Perhaps someday I'll take a class...
February 21, 2010
Parlez-Vous Olympics!?
"The truth is, I've been doing a little...I've been doing a little figure skating."
"Finger painting?"
"...They're not gonna make you shave your legs, are they?"
It's that time of the decade folks! When we gather round the ole' Telly to catch the figure skating competition at the Olympic games. You all do it, don't deny it! Turns out it's not only fun to watch, but it's also a real sport! Who knew!?
As a former competitive figure skater, I was charged with the task of making figure skating palatable to a national audience who may not know a thing about it. I'm blogging about the Vancouver competition on Guideposts.com. As it turns out, I'm learning a lot more about the sport (that I immersed myself in for 10 years) than I ever knew.
I hope you will too. Click on the links below for my commentary!
An introduction and preview of the men's competition
The Pairs Short Program
The Pairs Finals
The Men's Short Program
The Men's Long Program
Ice Dancing: Compulsory Dance
If you like what you read, come back next week for the ice dancing original and free dances, as well as the ladies short and long programs. Good times on ice!
"Finger painting?"
"...They're not gonna make you shave your legs, are they?"
It's that time of the decade folks! When we gather round the ole' Telly to catch the figure skating competition at the Olympic games. You all do it, don't deny it! Turns out it's not only fun to watch, but it's also a real sport! Who knew!?
As a former competitive figure skater, I was charged with the task of making figure skating palatable to a national audience who may not know a thing about it. I'm blogging about the Vancouver competition on Guideposts.com. As it turns out, I'm learning a lot more about the sport (that I immersed myself in for 10 years) than I ever knew.
I hope you will too. Click on the links below for my commentary!
An introduction and preview of the men's competition
The Pairs Short Program
The Pairs Finals
The Men's Short Program
The Men's Long Program
Ice Dancing: Compulsory Dance
If you like what you read, come back next week for the ice dancing original and free dances, as well as the ladies short and long programs. Good times on ice!
February 8, 2010
New York Moment
I had a real fish-out-of-water moment last night.
My boss asked me to come help shoot video at an event at the Morgan Library on Madison Avenue. The event was a celebration of the release of one of my company's newest titles, whose subject matter was related very much to Jane Austen's classic (and one of my all-time faves), Pride and Prejudice. The author of this new book, Beth, was going to read an excerpt, while a special guest, actress Jane Seymour, was going to read a passage from Pride and Prejudice itself. The Morgan is currently displaying a Jane Austen exhibit, hence the very fitting location.
I assumed I'd be working, and I didn't really have a firm grasp on the exact nature of the event, so I dressed as usual for a day at the office. We're pretty low-key casual here, so I wore black slacks with a dark purple short-sleeved turtleneck and my favorite obnoxiously bright green low-top sneakers. When you're shooting video, it just doesn't make sense to wear four-inch heels or platforms. You want to be as comfortable as possible, which will enhance your ability to work effectively. I learned that lesson the hard way back in my radio days. Why don't you try chasing after the governor's entourage in peep-toe pumps? It won't end pretty.
The Morgan is out of this world. It was originally built in 1906 (started in '02) to house the personal library of Mister Pierpont Morgan himself, right next to his luxurious 36th Street residence. The guy collected some serious stuff that's still there today--everything from ancient texts to books that were modern in his time. He has rows and rows upon shelves and shelves of books in a library setting you'd secretly love to have in your home and you'd only expect to see in a movie! Rich mahogany everywhere, marble floors. The domed ceilings of the library are painted like the roof of the Sistine Chapel. In sum, it's a classy joint.
I didn't know this upon entering it's hallowed halls. Nor did I know that New York etiquette states that a book release party held in a place like this encourages near-black tie dress codes. So I walk in, wearing my casual duds, sneakers thumping on the hardwood, over-sized bag spilling out the contents of extraneous crap that I lug on a daily basis. And did I mention I was sweating like a whore in church? And my glasses are held together with tape because I haven't had time to get them fixed?
And as if I didn't feel out of place enough, all of my bosses and the higher-ups in my company (including the president), start filing in wearing New York's finest! And then Jane Seymour came in wearing what can only be described as the most beautiful outfit ever. And then Stacey Keach's brother comes strolling in. Then come the media moguls from Mediabistro, MIN and several prominent New York ad agencies. And finally, as the hall is filled to the brim with schmooze and booze, a tuxedoed string quartet strikes up.
Then I discovered that my boss (with whom I arrived) had gone off to schmooze. And someone in a butler outfit offered me an S.Pellegrino with lime. And the next thing I know, the camera person is telling me to go get a glass of wine and schmooze because she didn't actually need my help at all.
So there I am, conspicuously under-dressed with a glass of wine in one hand and a large tripod in the other (I was watching it so the scary museum people wouldn't take it away), in the middle of a fancy cocktail party at the Morgan Library.
Now don't get me wrong. Given these heavy strikes against me, I still managed to schmooze. To my co-workers great credit, they are all wonderful people who don't judge by elitist NYC standards. To them I was perfectly welcome and perfectly appropriate, and they engaged me in some good conversation.
Despite that though, I still felt incredibly awkward. Particularly when I was trying to edge my way through the crowd and my ungainly bag somehow managed to slam into the elbow of the violinist, which in turn disrupted the quartet's playing by causing a horrible screeching sound to echo throughout the library. Yeah, that was me. Fortunately it was so crowded that no one noticed the responsible party. The violinist, thankfully, was not a dick about it. Given the nature of such crowded affairs, I suspect he might be used to it.
Anyhow, the readings went off without a hitch, mostly because my tripod, ungainly bag and I managed to find an out-of-the-way nook in the corner of the library next to Morgan's collection of bibles—some of which seemed to be bigger than I am. Jane Seymour is one of my favorite actresses, specifically for her work in the early 80s in The Scarlet Pimpernel and Somewhere in Time. She read from the first chapter of Pride and Prejudice, captured Mrs. Bennett's insanity and Mr. Bennett's unguarded amusement to a T.
At the conclusion of the event, I walked out into the brisk New York air, and vowed that next time I have to attend an event like this, I hope I'd have as insane a story to tell as I just did.
My boss asked me to come help shoot video at an event at the Morgan Library on Madison Avenue. The event was a celebration of the release of one of my company's newest titles, whose subject matter was related very much to Jane Austen's classic (and one of my all-time faves), Pride and Prejudice. The author of this new book, Beth, was going to read an excerpt, while a special guest, actress Jane Seymour, was going to read a passage from Pride and Prejudice itself. The Morgan is currently displaying a Jane Austen exhibit, hence the very fitting location.
I assumed I'd be working, and I didn't really have a firm grasp on the exact nature of the event, so I dressed as usual for a day at the office. We're pretty low-key casual here, so I wore black slacks with a dark purple short-sleeved turtleneck and my favorite obnoxiously bright green low-top sneakers. When you're shooting video, it just doesn't make sense to wear four-inch heels or platforms. You want to be as comfortable as possible, which will enhance your ability to work effectively. I learned that lesson the hard way back in my radio days. Why don't you try chasing after the governor's entourage in peep-toe pumps? It won't end pretty.
The Morgan is out of this world. It was originally built in 1906 (started in '02) to house the personal library of Mister Pierpont Morgan himself, right next to his luxurious 36th Street residence. The guy collected some serious stuff that's still there today--everything from ancient texts to books that were modern in his time. He has rows and rows upon shelves and shelves of books in a library setting you'd secretly love to have in your home and you'd only expect to see in a movie! Rich mahogany everywhere, marble floors. The domed ceilings of the library are painted like the roof of the Sistine Chapel. In sum, it's a classy joint.
I didn't know this upon entering it's hallowed halls. Nor did I know that New York etiquette states that a book release party held in a place like this encourages near-black tie dress codes. So I walk in, wearing my casual duds, sneakers thumping on the hardwood, over-sized bag spilling out the contents of extraneous crap that I lug on a daily basis. And did I mention I was sweating like a whore in church? And my glasses are held together with tape because I haven't had time to get them fixed?
And as if I didn't feel out of place enough, all of my bosses and the higher-ups in my company (including the president), start filing in wearing New York's finest! And then Jane Seymour came in wearing what can only be described as the most beautiful outfit ever. And then Stacey Keach's brother comes strolling in. Then come the media moguls from Mediabistro, MIN and several prominent New York ad agencies. And finally, as the hall is filled to the brim with schmooze and booze, a tuxedoed string quartet strikes up.
Then I discovered that my boss (with whom I arrived) had gone off to schmooze. And someone in a butler outfit offered me an S.Pellegrino with lime. And the next thing I know, the camera person is telling me to go get a glass of wine and schmooze because she didn't actually need my help at all.
So there I am, conspicuously under-dressed with a glass of wine in one hand and a large tripod in the other (I was watching it so the scary museum people wouldn't take it away), in the middle of a fancy cocktail party at the Morgan Library.
Now don't get me wrong. Given these heavy strikes against me, I still managed to schmooze. To my co-workers great credit, they are all wonderful people who don't judge by elitist NYC standards. To them I was perfectly welcome and perfectly appropriate, and they engaged me in some good conversation.
Despite that though, I still felt incredibly awkward. Particularly when I was trying to edge my way through the crowd and my ungainly bag somehow managed to slam into the elbow of the violinist, which in turn disrupted the quartet's playing by causing a horrible screeching sound to echo throughout the library. Yeah, that was me. Fortunately it was so crowded that no one noticed the responsible party. The violinist, thankfully, was not a dick about it. Given the nature of such crowded affairs, I suspect he might be used to it.
Anyhow, the readings went off without a hitch, mostly because my tripod, ungainly bag and I managed to find an out-of-the-way nook in the corner of the library next to Morgan's collection of bibles—some of which seemed to be bigger than I am. Jane Seymour is one of my favorite actresses, specifically for her work in the early 80s in The Scarlet Pimpernel and Somewhere in Time. She read from the first chapter of Pride and Prejudice, captured Mrs. Bennett's insanity and Mr. Bennett's unguarded amusement to a T.
At the conclusion of the event, I walked out into the brisk New York air, and vowed that next time I have to attend an event like this, I hope I'd have as insane a story to tell as I just did.
November 30, 2009
To Heck with Tradition!
In my experience, in some respects, breaking tradition is a great and refreshing thing. Other times, it's like pulling teeth.
This past week, while on Thanksgiving hiatus between traveling and raiding my parents' fridge, I managed to break a tradition of the most sacred sort...at least according to WE TV. Behold, I have committed an unforgivable trespass by wearing my wedding ring...BEFORE my wedding! (Shocked gasps.)
We purchased our rings (bling!) the day before Thanksgiving at Northeastern Fine Jewelry. Our friend Joseph over there hooked us up with two of the most perfect rings—mine, appropriately glittery, and RM's, appropriately looking like it was sheared straight off a lead pipe.
When we got back to the car, the temptation was too much. Well, we're already technically married...and the rings are safer on our fingers than tucked away in a drawer...So with glee, we placed them on each other's fingers. I let out a really loud giggle, which elicited laughs from the people getting out of the car next to us.
And of course, the first thing my mother said to me when she saw it was, "you're not supposed to be wearing it yet!!!"
But Let me tell you, it feels damn good to be wearing a wedding ring. It's like those friendship necklaces we used to split with our friends when we were kids, except way bling-ier. I'm one half of a championship team. I don't feel that I need to save the act of wearing a ring because tons of brides before me have done so. I also don't feel like my wedding is going to be the event horizon of my life. It is just another reason to get my party on and celebrate life! To heck with tradition!!!
But as I was dancing gleefully around the dying embers of wedding tradition, the simultaneous demise of another tradition in my life was really killing my buzz.
For every single Christmas Eve of my life (and I ain't as much of a spring chicken as I used to be), I've gathered with a gaggle of extended family at Auntie Ray's house to eat lobster spaghetti, listen to family lore, and wait excitedly for a drunken Santa Claus riding atop a fire truck to drive past the house in East Boston.
That evening seems always to take on an air of magic and mystery, if for no other reason than we were all together and happy for another year. Cares just melted away for the entire night! We kids would tear around the house in our excitement, but settle in at the "kids" table at the first whiff of lobster spaghetti. The sounds and smells of Auntie's have come to define Christmas for us. Even the inebriated avatar of St. Nick had an air of fantasy about him...at least I thought so, because even at my ripe old age, I am still the first (and sometimes only) cousin to tear out of the house and down to the street corner at the first sound of a siren.
But this year, Auntie is not hosting Christmas Eve. It will be the first year in my life that Christmas will come and go without it. On that note, it will be the first Christmas Eve of my mother's life, all my uncles lives, and all my cousins' lives without it as well. I had always believed with certainty that one day I'd bring my own children to Auntie's house on Christmas Eve. That I won't sits heavy on my heart, and it's not something I can just let go of...it has been woven so deeply into my life!
Yet, times must and do change, and we all have to accept it. So this year, we will let it be the start of another new and wonderful tradition! The memories of Christmas Eve at Auntie's house that are burned into hundreds of photographs are also burned in to my soul, and I can revisit them every Christmas in my heart, no matter where I am.
Here are a few of those photos, for old times' sake:
The Cousins Club
Andrew threatens the family with a butter knife
The last Christmas Eve at Auntie's (Dec 2008)
This past week, while on Thanksgiving hiatus between traveling and raiding my parents' fridge, I managed to break a tradition of the most sacred sort...at least according to WE TV. Behold, I have committed an unforgivable trespass by wearing my wedding ring...BEFORE my wedding! (Shocked gasps.)
We purchased our rings (bling!) the day before Thanksgiving at Northeastern Fine Jewelry. Our friend Joseph over there hooked us up with two of the most perfect rings—mine, appropriately glittery, and RM's, appropriately looking like it was sheared straight off a lead pipe.
When we got back to the car, the temptation was too much. Well, we're already technically married...and the rings are safer on our fingers than tucked away in a drawer...So with glee, we placed them on each other's fingers. I let out a really loud giggle, which elicited laughs from the people getting out of the car next to us.
And of course, the first thing my mother said to me when she saw it was, "you're not supposed to be wearing it yet!!!"
But Let me tell you, it feels damn good to be wearing a wedding ring. It's like those friendship necklaces we used to split with our friends when we were kids, except way bling-ier. I'm one half of a championship team. I don't feel that I need to save the act of wearing a ring because tons of brides before me have done so. I also don't feel like my wedding is going to be the event horizon of my life. It is just another reason to get my party on and celebrate life! To heck with tradition!!!
But as I was dancing gleefully around the dying embers of wedding tradition, the simultaneous demise of another tradition in my life was really killing my buzz.
For every single Christmas Eve of my life (and I ain't as much of a spring chicken as I used to be), I've gathered with a gaggle of extended family at Auntie Ray's house to eat lobster spaghetti, listen to family lore, and wait excitedly for a drunken Santa Claus riding atop a fire truck to drive past the house in East Boston.
That evening seems always to take on an air of magic and mystery, if for no other reason than we were all together and happy for another year. Cares just melted away for the entire night! We kids would tear around the house in our excitement, but settle in at the "kids" table at the first whiff of lobster spaghetti. The sounds and smells of Auntie's have come to define Christmas for us. Even the inebriated avatar of St. Nick had an air of fantasy about him...at least I thought so, because even at my ripe old age, I am still the first (and sometimes only) cousin to tear out of the house and down to the street corner at the first sound of a siren.
But this year, Auntie is not hosting Christmas Eve. It will be the first year in my life that Christmas will come and go without it. On that note, it will be the first Christmas Eve of my mother's life, all my uncles lives, and all my cousins' lives without it as well. I had always believed with certainty that one day I'd bring my own children to Auntie's house on Christmas Eve. That I won't sits heavy on my heart, and it's not something I can just let go of...it has been woven so deeply into my life!
Yet, times must and do change, and we all have to accept it. So this year, we will let it be the start of another new and wonderful tradition! The memories of Christmas Eve at Auntie's house that are burned into hundreds of photographs are also burned in to my soul, and I can revisit them every Christmas in my heart, no matter where I am.
Here are a few of those photos, for old times' sake:
The Cousins Club
Andrew threatens the family with a butter knife
The last Christmas Eve at Auntie's (Dec 2008)**Editor's note: Incorrect assumptions were made re: the reason Christmas Eve will not be at Auntie's this year. Bad communication is to blame. Sorry!!!
October 5, 2009
Ivy League Quality
My little brother forwarded me this piece from the Times today. It profiles the "Ivy Plus Society," a networking/social club of sorts open to the young alums from certain schools (aka Harvard, Yale, Cornell, Princeton, Brown etc). The article itself portrays the club as more of a place to meet and mingle with Ivy League singles...aka the smart and the sexy.
My first reaction, of course, was to Google this Ivy Plus Society and see if either of my alma maters made the list of colleges and universities "eligible" to participate.
I was dismayed to find that not a single one of the Seven Sisters was on the list! (Wellesley, Smith, Mt. Holyoke, Bryn Mawr, Vassar, Radcliffe and Barnard, thank you) Neither was Northwestern. Shit, I thought, there goes my chance to meet hot Ivy League singles.
Oh wait, I'm married! Married to a brilliant, thoughtful, creative man. The kind of which every Wellesley gal dreams. Only, he didn't go to Harvard, or Yale, or Princeton...
He went to a state school! Hah!
In fact, one of the first conversations we ever had revolved around the differences between hoity-toity private colleges versus state schools. RM was describing life at Plattsburgh State, and mentioned something about lectures and school functions. I don't remember exactly what he said (and neither does he, for that matter), but I remember blurting out, "you didn't have refreshments after lectures and functions?" He turned and stared at me, astonished. I continued, incredulously, "We always had at least brie and crackers!"
Even as he laughed in my face at the ridiculousness of such an utterance, I continued to describe to him the candle ceremonies, Flower Sundays, hoop-rolling and other Wellesley traditions. After I thought I had really backed myself into a pearl-necklaced, tea-drinking corner, he stopped joking with me. When it really came down to it, our experiences weren't all that different. Except I probably paid hundreds of thousands of dollars more for my brie and crackers...
I've known plenty of people who have gone to Ivies, the majority of whom are intelligent, thoughtful human beings. But just like at any typical American school, with the good eggs come the not so good eggs. The Ivies are no exception.
Which is why I find it ridiculous that such things set up for the purpose of hooking up "Ivy League" singles. You can be smart and sexy, even though your resume says you went to Wellesley instead of Yale. Or Plattsburgh State instead of Harvard.
It's not a new or by any means original argument. But I did feel a little relieved to have the burden lifted from my shoulders of feeling like I should show up at one of the society mixers.
My first reaction, of course, was to Google this Ivy Plus Society and see if either of my alma maters made the list of colleges and universities "eligible" to participate.
I was dismayed to find that not a single one of the Seven Sisters was on the list! (Wellesley, Smith, Mt. Holyoke, Bryn Mawr, Vassar, Radcliffe and Barnard, thank you) Neither was Northwestern. Shit, I thought, there goes my chance to meet hot Ivy League singles.
Oh wait, I'm married! Married to a brilliant, thoughtful, creative man. The kind of which every Wellesley gal dreams. Only, he didn't go to Harvard, or Yale, or Princeton...
He went to a state school! Hah!
In fact, one of the first conversations we ever had revolved around the differences between hoity-toity private colleges versus state schools. RM was describing life at Plattsburgh State, and mentioned something about lectures and school functions. I don't remember exactly what he said (and neither does he, for that matter), but I remember blurting out, "you didn't have refreshments after lectures and functions?" He turned and stared at me, astonished. I continued, incredulously, "We always had at least brie and crackers!"
Even as he laughed in my face at the ridiculousness of such an utterance, I continued to describe to him the candle ceremonies, Flower Sundays, hoop-rolling and other Wellesley traditions. After I thought I had really backed myself into a pearl-necklaced, tea-drinking corner, he stopped joking with me. When it really came down to it, our experiences weren't all that different. Except I probably paid hundreds of thousands of dollars more for my brie and crackers...
I've known plenty of people who have gone to Ivies, the majority of whom are intelligent, thoughtful human beings. But just like at any typical American school, with the good eggs come the not so good eggs. The Ivies are no exception.
Which is why I find it ridiculous that such things set up for the purpose of hooking up "Ivy League" singles. You can be smart and sexy, even though your resume says you went to Wellesley instead of Yale. Or Plattsburgh State instead of Harvard.
It's not a new or by any means original argument. But I did feel a little relieved to have the burden lifted from my shoulders of feeling like I should show up at one of the society mixers.
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