Big Bucket of Crazy Train

So the past six weeks have been nothing short of crazy.  And I mean C-R-A-Z-Y.  It’s been one of those spin cycles where I don’t remember having a moment to breathe, and I’m a girl who lives for downtime and being in control.  But that wasn’t my reality.  Allow me to break it down: 

• Fast-tracked job interviews. 
• Finalized my acceptance the morning I left for a fabulous two-week vacation in Portugal. 
• Came home. 
• Quit my old job. 
• And am now gearing up for a whole new professional life, which in a lot of ways means whole new life life (hello, commute that doesn’t involve getting on the subway ever again.  Love love love that part!) 

And I know these aren’t bad things, but it was a lot to juggle.  (I know…bitch, moan, bitch, moan…I got a new job and went on vacation…cry me a fricking river.  I know, I'm in position to complaint...just trying to lend a little perspective to why I’ve been off the map.) 

There was the typical post-vacation blues, which included the dreaded unpacking and the dreaded dealing with all the crap I debated packing and instead left piled on the couch.  (And for the record I was totally over the suitcase weight limit and got dinged on both ends for it.  That epically sucked.) 

Then there’s the typical emotional crazy that comes with endings and beginnings.  Yes, I surprised a few people when I got all girly-girl and shed some tears on the final day.  But in all fairness, there was champagne and cupcakes and then some wine involved.  The cupcakes have nothing to do with the crying, but they were fun so wanted to toss those in!  

Factor in my needing to return far too many impulse-shopping purchases (this is what happens when I lose control). I just read an article about an epidemic of sipping-and-clicking (great name!) aka drunk shopping.  Sadly I was sober for all my purchases so I have no excuse.  I’m fairly certain my horoscope said I was trying to fill some sort of emotional void.  That may be another reason I cried.  LOL!  I also have far too much good TV to catch up on (and by “good” I of course mean totally-indulgent-and-at-times-shameful) and came home to a pile of mail and September issues of about a dozen magazines.  What can I say?  Life has felt really overwhelming lately. 

So where do I begin?

I suppose at the beginning.  Or at least in Portugal.

I won’t even pretend to sugar coat it.  The trip was ahh-may-zing.  It was a total 180 from last year, which was one big party and I was stuck in one big rut.  I certainly had fun last year (um, how could I *not*), but this year was more like one long day at the beach with some partying and shopping in between.  (And is it just me or is shopping with euros kind of like shopping with Monopoly money?  I mean I did think a *little* harder about my overseas buys since I can’t conceivably return them.  Okay that’s a lie…I didn’t think too hard, but whatever, I love my new accessories!)  On top of that, I actually got a tan, totally let go and had a blast.  Allow me to demonstrate some highlights:

The beach in Cascais (aka home away from home)

View of Lisbon

Cathedral in Lisbon

The beach in Adraga.  Not so sunny but made for some amazing pictures.
Plus good food and great wine at the beach restaurant!

And then there was the token vacation theme song that was played at every club, bar, and thanks to a fabulous CD we got at the supermarket, it earned a lot of airtime in our rental car.  Now I should explain, that while there are many nice boys in Portugal, there are a lot of annoying ones at the bars that seem to have zero shame and an incredible amount of persistence.  Hence, this tune was super appropriate (and it’s just a damn great song):

  

Now last year we spent a few days in wine country, stomping grapes and drinking wine.  We decided to stay local this year, but did make a day trip to Fatima.  Now if you are wondering “what’s up with Fatima?” then you are in good company because it appeared I was the only person on the entire planet who didn’t know the legend of Fatima.  Long story short, it is said the Virgin Mary appeared to three Shepard children in 1917 and the place has become a sacred destination for millions each year.  (Happily not millions on the day we were there!):  

I know I should be embarrassed to not know anything about this, given I spent a lot of years in CCD classes.  Though truth be told I kind of lost faith in that process somewhere in elementary school when the teacher, in an effort to show why bullying was mean, decided to make a play on my name and repeatedly called me “Egghead” in front of the class.  She taunted me (or at least that’s how it feels in my memory) and all the other kids in the class laughed at me as she chanted “Egghead!  Egghead!”.  Thanks to her, this nickname and the teasing stuck with my classmates for a while.  Gee, thanks.  I mean is this what Jesus would have done to an innocent child spending in her Saturdays in religious education?  I’d like to think not. 

But anychildhoodtrauma, the experience in Fatima turned out to be much more than I expected.  I don’t mean to get all serious on you, but it was a pretty surreal experience.  There were some visitors who camped out and others who literally approached the shrine on their knees, in penance.  And if you look at the plaza you will see this was not a short distance.  But what was most interesting to me is that The Basilica of Fatima isn’t necessarily a place of worship, but more of a place of prayer and thanks, a place to pay tribute, to light candles and make your own silent wishes and vows.  I suppose, as with anything, it’s what you make of it.

I was completed impressed with the architecture and just the vast size of the plaza.  But what I was most in awe of was the “candle lighting”, if I can even call it that.  You can buy candles (for those wishes and favors and vows) and then place them in what is essentially a giant open fire pit next to the Shrine of Fatima.  I was completely unprepared for how hot the open flames were and well, how scary the giant open flames would be.  Especially with the wind whipping around.  And all the small children around, who being typical children seemed to have zero fear about sticking their hands into an open fire pit. I was full on shaking-like-a-leaf because I was convinced that if I didn’t at least burn my hand then my sunglasses would definitely melt into my face. Seriously.  An indescribable heat.  But I did it and must confess, I’m glad we went.  It was very much what I would consider a once in a lifetime experience. 

We were also lucky enough to be in Cascais during the America’s Cup (who knew?), which meant not only were there tons of sailors in town (Yahtzee!) but there were tons of parties and free concerts and live events.  So we danced and played and met all sorts of people, which let’s face it, is so much of what vacation is really about.

I have to say one of my favorite things is discovering new music (even if that music is fifteen years old and I just forgot how great it was).   The funny thing about MTV in Portugal is a lot of the music is a decade behind and they do these little video montages where they play snippets of about 15 videos.  The problem is they had two montages in rotation so after two weeks I was desperate to hear the full version of countless songs.  I was also desperate to figure out some of the songs in the montages that we didn’t know…hence the discovering of new, but not new new music. 

I think the first thing I did when I got home was download the songs I didn’t have and added them to the ones I did have into a playlist.  Now I will fully ride the wave of these songs for entries to come, but for now, this is the one taking the cake.  Bummed I couldn't find the actual video since I saw snippets of it fourteen days straight so I know it exists:

I would also suggest checking out “You’re Fit But You Know It”, also by The Streets, which was a One Tree Hill Season 2 find.  (Sidebar…Chad Michael Murray is going to do some Lucas guest appearances for the final season. Um, thank you TV gods for making my Tuesday nights that much sweeter.  Double sidebar…I’m crazy excited for the new Sarah Michele Gellar show Ringer.  She had me at Swan’s Crossing.)

But back to Portugal (I wish I was back in Portugal….on the beach….drinking sangria), it was amazing.  And is officially the annual girls trip.  And this year’s coming to an end just means we get to start planning next year’s.  And the entire trip came full circle in that it was raining when we landed and after the rain let up we went to a soccer (er, football) game and saw fireworks.  On our last night, we got to see the end of a James free concert and once again, fireworks.  And as fate would have it, it rained when we left, which is the only thing that helped us be a little less sad about heading to the airport instead of the beach.

So that’s it for me.  Honestly I want to get ready to tune into Rachel Zoe on QVC.   Her new luxe line is premiering and I’m a sucker for her.  I’m almost done catching up on everything on my DVR (I've become derailed with the US Open too...again, who knew?) and with all the new shows coming out and the ones that are already going (Rachel Zoe, Real Housewives of BH, The Lying Game) there’s a good chance I’m going to be filling future blogs with my TV addiction.  Consider yourself warned.

Until then, I leave you with a little bit of 1993.  Happy listening!!!

Another Ode To Andy

Once again I find myself in an Andy Cohen worship mode.  So in honor of Andy, this is what I’m obsessed with this week:

The Real Housewives of New York:

Okay, I’ve watched the reunion (both dreadful parts) and Andy nailed it on the head.  The women *were* acting like beasts.  I was horrified.  It was probably one of the worst reunions I’ve ever seen.  These women seem to just loathe each other.  What a bitter, conniving bunch of not-so-pretty little liars.  (Heart you ABC Family.  Your show is far more entertaining and earns my good-vibe obsession.)

Now I know women are tough.  We can be mean and competitive and catty and hurtful and lots of other bad things.  I’ve had failed friendships.  I was in a sorority. I get it.  But holy crap with the nonsense these women pull.  And not for nothing, but they have you on video.  Just own what you said and what you did.  Don’t try to be all “I wasn’t trying to be mean.”  Yeah you were!  Stop trying to deny it.  It’s not fun getting caught in a lie.  Probably worse when they can cue the video.  So if you’re going to be on reality TV just own the shitshow that is your show. 

And I’m sorry Ms. Zarin, but you still come off looking like an asshole.  You were an asshole last season with all your Bethenney crap.  You looked like an asshole when you showed up on Watch What Happens Live after your liquid face lift, awful extensions and attempt to recapture Madonna circa the Blonde Ambition tour.  And you don’t “own it”.  You make excuses.  I loved you in the first two seasons but have to agree with the blondes - you haven’t much changed.  You were far more fun in your cheesy outfits, walking out of Fashion Week in a snit because you weren’t in the front row. 

This scarf:

 Now it never fails that I will fall in love with something at J. Crew and impulse purchase it and then within a few weeks it will go on sale.  Always outside my chance to get a price adjustment. ALWAYS.  So when I saw this scarf in the store I added it to my sale-stalking list.  And I stalked and stalked. For like two months.  And nada.  No accessories promotion.  No 20% off your total order.  Zilch.  Bupkus. 

So I caved and I bought it anyway. 

But the joke’s on you J. Crew because I bought it with my Fall Rewards card so technically it’s like the scarf was free!  Though I realize the only reason I “earned” the rewards card is because I spent so much goddamn money last quarter and you send this card as a clever device to get me to buy more.  Oh, J. Crew you clever minx! 

But I love it and I wanted it and it will gets lots of play time in my rotation.  And at the end of the day it’s like Lenny Kravtiz’s mama said, “love’s all that matters.”  Well said, Roxie! 

(An epilogue to this lust-fest….I got an email from J. Crew today that I get 20% off my next order plus free shipping.  DAMN YOU J. CREW.  But yeah, I’ll still buy crap I may not need before the offer expires.  You.  Get.  Me.  Every.  Time.)

These Tory Burch boots:

I saw them in the Nordstrom Anniversary catalogue and was in love.  Beautiful boots that I suddenly must have.  The fact that they were like 40% off at the time was just a bonus.  Kind of like a movie with Bradley Cooper.  (The must have.) And then he takes his shirt off.  (Bonus!)

Alas, I hopped on the website when the sale went live and zilch.  They didn’t even exist when I searched for “Tory”.  Like the obsessive-compulsive girl I am, I entered the style number from the catalogue and shazam! there they were.  With three sad words on top.

“No Longer Available.”

WTF?  Already?  A little more investigating and I find out there was a pre-sale for Nordstrom cardholders.  That’s crap.  (I’m having a falling out with Bloomies where I do have a store card, so refuse to align myself with yet another department store at this stage of the game.) 

But whatever.  Sale.  Schmale.  I’ve paid full price before. (The JC scarf just proved that point.)  So I waited for the sale to be over and back to Nordstom.com I go.  And once again…zilch.  The goddamn boots are gone, baby, gone.  And they don’t think they are getting anymore in stock.  WHAT?  And they’re a Nordstrom exclusive.  In the words of any character on Grey’s (when the show was still good) – “SERIOUSLY?” 

And I’ll admit it.  Now that I know I can’t have them, I just want them more. Grrrrrrrrr.

Packing for Portugal: 

I am a planner.  I like to know the who, what, when, where, why (and sometimes how).  Blame it on journalism school.  But I don’t like to be caught unprepared. I am the girl who carries everything from band-aids to safety pins to Advil to bobby pins to gum.  I also carry some version of make-up, pen, paper, tissues, lip balm and allergy pills.  Mock me if you will, but someday you’ll thank me. 

So it should go without saying (too late!) when I’m prepping for a vacation (international on top of that), I would make a list, check it twice (minimum) and probably a week out, let the packing begin.  There would be pre-shopping and special purchases and more lists.  Editing the wardrobe.  Making new additions.  Buying a purse.  Trying on a lot of clothes.  Figuring out accessories.  Buying snacks for the plane.

But something totally un-me happened this year in that I didn’t do any planning.  I bought some 50 SFP suntan lotion right after we booked the trip. (I’m pale and not stupid.  Or at least not stupid anymore.  Falling asleep on a roof deck and burning your eyelids tends to teach a girl a lesson!)  But after that purchase I suddenly stopped being the high-maintenance, fairly obsessive, W.W.W.W.W. and sometime H. neurotic version of myself.

So for now all I can hope is that I’m packing right:

(Should I be at all concerned that I have more space for shoes, accessories and products that I do for clothes?)

I know I can always buy whatever I need, but I like to be prepared.  And to have options.  Variety is the spice of life, right?  Well, as one of my travel companions pointed out today, reruns are totally fine.  No judgment.  (Thank God for friends like her!)

So I’m throwing caution to the wind and just trying to go with the flow.  It’s been a phase of “so not my life” moments these days.  Maybe I could blame Mercury and it’s damn retrograde but right now I just hope I didn’t forget to pack anything critical!

Like I Love You:

Thanks to a JT video marathon on Fuse, this tune made my Portugal shuffle mix.  What can I say?  This is one of his best. 

So that’s it for now.  Am sure I’ll come back with a story of two.  Will just be a matter of deciding if what happens in Portugal stays in Portugal….

If You Were Here

Every once in a while I get a new book (well…okay…that’s a big fat lie because I buy new books all the time)…but every once in a while I fall in L-O-V-E love with a book.  

My latest worship-worthy book is Jen Lancaster’s latest, If You Were Here.  

(Thank you for the cover shot, bn.com)

(And *yes* the title is snitched from that certain song, in that certain movie, that ends with them sitting on top of the dining room table with a birthday cake in the center.  “Make a wish,” he says.  Oh, Jake Ryan, you silly, extremely hot boy...“But it already came true.”)

Now I’ve been a fan of Jen’s non-fiction books for a while.  They are the kind of laugh-out-loud books that make me feel like I’m chatting with one of my very cool best friends (preferably over a bunch of cocktails). I had zero doubt that her fiction debut would be great, but have to say it’s *beyond*.  It’s still the same chatting-and-busting-a-gut-with-your-bestie-over-drinks just with a buttload of 80s references, pop culture nods and John Hughes on top.  And if for some insane reason, you are reading this and scratching your head and saying Jen-Lancaster-who, then after you read this post, go here.  Then go out and pick up her books.  ("Get" as in buy the physical book.  Please!  Save our bookstores...don't go all Nook on me!)

The short version of the story line (or at least this is what I can recap so far) is it’s the story of Mia and Mac, a married couple living in Chicago who decide it’s time to get out of their townhouse rental, in a slighty very sketchy part of town and head for the ‘burbs.   They sort of accidentally get into a prank war with a not-as-badass-as-he-thinks-he-is kid in their neighborhood.  (Vanilla Ice pops to my mind.  Or maybe AJ from Backstreet.)  Hijinks ensue. 

Case in point…Mac hangs a giant sheet sign (think Greek Week banner or the “I assure you, we’re open” sheet Dante hangs outside the convenience store in Clerks, if you will) that claims this kid wears girl’s underpants.  (In all fairness, out of context of this book I trust anyone reading this is thinking…”WTF?  This isn’t hysterical”.  Trust me.  It is.)  Moving on, you can take one guess on how well this panties-banner goes over with the wannabe.  (“Can I borrow you underpants for ten minutes?”) 

So first Ice Ice AJ attempts a drive-by shooting.  Didn’t go so well. Then he tries to throw a fire-ball bottle at their house.  Essentially I.I.A.J. couldn’t hit water if he fell out of an effing boat. (Thank you, Crash Davis.)  The prank-war keeps Mac and Mia crying tears of laughter for a while, but they also know it’s time to go.  After weeks and weeks of touring the suburbs with a Realtor (specifically the town of Abington Cambs where all John Hughes movies are based), Mia finds the holy grail of dream houses – Jake Ryan’s house. 

Well, fancy seeing you here...

Now I waxed on in an earlier post about my love for Jake Ryan, aka The Most Perfectest Guy To Have a First and Forever Crush On Ever.  I love that he’s frozen in time (and in my mind), standing next to his Porsche, waving.  Swoon!  In the book, Jake’s house is also pretty much frozen in time, an eighties nightmare of unrenovated, termite-infested, horribly decorated disaster.  Mia and Mac face a ton of renovations after sinking a ton of money into Mia’s teenage fantasy.  (She too is a Jake Ryan/John Hughes obsessed kind of gal.)  Let more hijinks ensue. 

And that’s as far as I’ve gotten.

Now I realize I haven’t done the pitch-perfect humor and sarcasm of the book an ounce of justice.  But I swear it’s in there.  Plus any author who can find a way to work in references to Charles in Charge, Vince Vaughn, The Jeffersons, Alanis and every life-altering John Hughes movie, find a reason to have to explain why even a maxi pad stuffed in a Gatorade bottle wouldn’t have helped the wannabe thug make a successful fire bomb, while simultaneously completely relaying the emotionally and physically draining drudgery of looking for a place to live, packing and moving, in a pee-in-my-pants hysterical way is ahh-may-zing to me. 

Add in that Jen Lancaster’s main character openly bashes the crap out of Twilight and Stephanie Meyer and also affectionately refers to herself as “the second coming of Hasselhoff” and, well, she will forever be on my bookshelf and have a place in my book-loving heart.  Love.  Love.  Love.

Now I have to say that the John Hughes references alone were enough to make me happy.  Any excuse to relive the movies that completely defined my teen years is fine by me.  (I also, maybe, might have totally watched some old Dawson’s Creek eps this weekend.  You know the rule.  Don’t judge my TV watching habits.)  But everything in those movies…from to the characters to the music to the clothes to the very hope for the happy ending left such a mark on my little black heart.  Those movies gave me the hope that the happily ever after could be a reality.  More specifically, *my* reality.

Sixteen Candles made me believe that hot, cool guys did fall for the shy, not genetically perfect girls.  It also made me wish I had an amazing attic bedroom.

Pretty In Pink gave me the Rave-Ups. (When they played at the 90210 prom many years later I was the only one of my friends who knew them.  This is one of the songs from that ep, though I resisted using the actual 90210 clip.  But I still love you Brenda, and your dress with the giant bow that I may have possibly, totally tried to mimic for a college formal.)  

Pretty In Pink also gave me a short-lived feeling that maybe I could make my own clothes like Andie, made me long for a cool friend like Iona (love her pre-Terrence style), kind of made me want to work in a record store and once again, gave the very awkward teen (*me*) the hope that the girl got the supposedly ungettable guy.  (Though in hindsight I’m disappointed that Blane didn’t stand up to Steff.  The Andrew McCarthy who showed up in Lipstick Jungle as the ruthless bazillionaire businessman who was so cold and focused on his own success would’ve manned up for sure.   I’m also pretty sure Andrew M. played some kind of perv in SVU at some point and that guy definitely would’ve put Steff in his place.  And maybe locked him in his basement or in a secret room or something creepy.  Just saying.  Though James Spader did uber-asshole so very very well!) 

(Courtesy of IMDB.com)

The Breakfast Club made me long for a life-altering day in detention (I know…I was a nerd) and for the dreamy jock to see something in me that no one else saw.  I also really just wanted to rock out to Karla DeVito’s “We Are Not Alone” and then get a full-on makeover.  I must confess I stole some of Molly Ringwald’s dance moves and busted them out at many a junior high dances.  (Man, I thought I was the cat’s ass.) And I seriously lusted her outfit and tried to recreate it for many years to come.  (Still trying.  I mean such great boots!  And that skirt.  And the leather jacket.  And her hair.  LOVE.)

But I have to say, Some Kind of Wonderful blew me away. I’m sure part of it was timing, in that I was old enough to “get it”.  (A lot of Breakfast Club went over my head when I first saw it.  The whole smoking pot thing was so lost on me it’s not even funny.) Part of the SKOW lure was the feeling that I was always the *friend* and never the Amanda Jones.  I wished I could be as cool as Watts when I grew up - go to clubs to see bands like Flesh for LuLu and play the drums.  I had my hair quasi-cut like Watts (except mine was brown and I still had braces and a lot of baby fat going on) and I wished, hoped, prayed for a Keith (never really was into Eric Stoltz though, which I can probably blame on Mask)…but rather my own boy-BFF that I would fall in love with, to tell me that I looked good wearing his future.  Cue the soundtrack.

Best.  Version.  Ever.  And this entire album played endlessly in my teenage bedroom. (It took turns with Pretty In Pink.)  Sigh!  Listening to it now takes me right back.

So that’s my story.   Remembering that every once in a while, if you’re really lucky, you see a movie or hear a song or read a book that leaves a mark on you.  That defines a moment or helps remind you of a defining moment. 

I’m going to get back to reading, slowly, because I really, really don’t want this book to end.  The good news is I can always reread it.  Which I will.  Because just like the movie soundtracks it’s that damn good. 

And for my final trick...I just can't resist....such an amazing song.  Thank you, Rave-Ups! 

Hot Child In the City

Cole Porter said it best, it’s too darn hot.

It’s actually bordering on oppressive.  Which make me cranky.  And my brain can’t quite compute. 

There’s nothing remotely redeemable about a heat wave.  Maybe if I was a kid, with the summer off, splashing around in the pool with no worries then I’d be fine with it.  (Or, for that matter, if I was playing in my grandparents' backyard holding an unidentifiable toy that I found totally amusing….)  

I don’t remember caring much, when I was little, if my hair was a total fro or if I was red-faced and sweaty.  But now that I’m (ahem) older, I try to pin the curls into submission, to even out the redness and to ignore the sweat that seems to “glisten” (as in drip, pour, pool) all over my skin while I’m standing on a nasty, hot subway platform.  Could I be any grosser?

Maybe it’s just me, but everything seems like that much more of a chore on days like these.  And I feel like just giving up.

Ah, summer.  How I’m hating you right now.  And while I do heart the Heat Miser’s song, I’m even kind of hating him right now too.  (I lie.  I still heart you and your mini-Misers and their attempt at a kickline.  Never stops being funny.)  

I know…bitch, moan, bitch, whine a little, moan.  I'm being a ginormous brat.  I just have zero in the motivation department thanks to crazy work, restless sleep (I'm now resorting to drugs), nasty heat and oh, a little my-mind-is-foggy-because-of-the-my-life-is-at-a-crossroads-crisis.  I keep reminding myself that it’ll get better.  The heat (and the fog) will lift.  Eventually. 

In fact, things are about to get a hell of a lot better.  At least for a little while.

Because in less than three weeks I’ll be back here…

Cascais, Portugal

Drinking lots of this…

Hello, lover!

And while I will care that my hair will be a curly fro (because that's just who I am) I'm going to try to just go with the flow.  (When in Portugal, right?).  And what I'll try really hard not to do is make bad rhymes.  WTF was that?  Did I just go back in time and become one of the guys in LFO singing that horrendous  Abercrombie and Fitch song...

"Like the color purple, macaroni and cheese.  

Ruby red slippers and a bunch of trees.”  

What?  I'm not even kidding.  WHAT?  

  

But I digress...

So until I board my plane, I’m a hot child (brat, crybaby, complainer) in the city.  And since I can’t help but play the soundtrack to my life, in my head, at all times, all I can think of are songs with “hot” in the title.  So I thought what better ode to the heat than a little Billy Idol singing the theme song of one of the best spin-offs EVER, Booker. 

I know there’s at least one other person out there who spent their Sunday nights with the one-two punch of Jump Street and Booker.  And sure, I was (and still am) a Johnny Depp/Tom Hanson devotee, but I’m the first to admit I was seduced by Richard Grieco’s bad boy.  I fell for all his little tricks…the brooding, the charming smile, the general bad-assness.  Johnny and Grieco’s pictures covered my bedroom walls (keeping company with Keanu Reeves and Christian Slater, thank you very much).   

And if there was any doubt that pack-ratting had its privileges, I give you this:

Rip this out from a magazine and save it for almost 20 years? Yeah, I did. 

I think this was from either a People or US Weekly “hottest guys” issue circa 1990.  (Is it bad that I’m proud that I held onto this?  I mean obviously the younger me knew that someday there would be a payoff for a twenty-year old magazine tear out of Mr. Grieco.  Hello, payday.)  I know, I know…the silky pajamas and open robe are so awful.  I mean, seriously? A good pair of jeans and a slightly tight white tee are waaaaay sexier anyday.  Hell, everyday.  But, this pic epitomizes the cheesetasticness perfectly.  (The only thing cheesier is the Billy Idol video…a total *must* watch!  I'm guessing it was all Billy's concept.  A little "Walk This Way" meets "Girls on Film".  Brilliant, Billy.  Just brilliant!)

As for Richard Grieco....well, I’m not quite sure what eventually happened to his face.  (We can’t all age as well as George Clooney.  Or resist the temptation to go all Janice Dickenson, which is kind of what it looks like really happened.) I’m also not sure what happened to his career, but suspect the move from Booker to Lifetime movies with Yasmine Bleeth were a good indicator of where he was headed.  Sorry, dude, we can't all bounce back from Lifetime like Tiffani (sans Amber) Thiessen, either.  (Capital "L" Love her.)   

But no worries.  I still remember you fondly, in your Booker heyday, hot in the city.

This is my mix tape...

There’s a lot of things I love about living alone.  Truth be told I’m a pretty selfish person. I like my space.  I like my quiet. (Even though my version of quiet usually includes loud music playing or the TV being on or sometimes both at the same time, which I realize makes all of no sense.) 

I like the freedom of living alone.  I can leave the dishes in the sink.  Let the clutter sit. Toss a week’s worth of outfits on a dining room chair.   Not worry that I make too much noise when I stumble home after a late night.  Lie on the couch and nap in the middle of a perfectly sunny summer day without hearing anyone squawk in my ear that I’m wasting the day away.  I like having full control over what TV shows I watch. (And having no one around to judge when I spend an entire weekend watching The Hills.)  I can eat peanut butter out of the jar with a spoon and call it dinner.  And I can do what I’m doing now - playing DJ on my computer and belting out every damn song that comes on.

(On a total sidebar, the fact that I have so many song lyrics memorized, but have little memory of what I learned in high school is not entirely lost on me.)

I definitely fancy myself quite the rock star.  I was the girl who danced around her bedroom, singing into the hairbrush to Cyndi Lauper and Madonna and Olivia Newton-John (from Grease to Xanadu to Physical).  Hell, I still am that girl, minus the hairbrush.  I totally have the fantasy of tapping and singing my way across a Broadway stage or singing in front of a crowd, with the voice of Adele and the sass of Gaga.  My drunken karaoke moments have proved I am neither, but I don’t care.  I am a rock star, hear me roar.  (I’m sure my neighbors just love me!)

Now it should go without saying that I obsessively made mix tapes and eventually mix CD’s and now I have playlists.  But the tapes were cooler.  As if I needed an excuse to buy more colored markers so I could decorate the covers which all had a name and a theme.  I don’t have anything to play the tapes on anymore since tossing this gem in my getting-ready-for-the-carpet-installation purge. Hello, 1984. 

But I still have the mix tape covers.  Each mix hit on the mood I was in at the time, what I was going through, what I was trying to get through, what I was celebrating. 

These are some faves:

The magic of iTunes has completely fed my mix-making-obsession.  It’s a total fat kid in a candy store sitch.  Playlists are my drug.  Compulsively scribbling down lyrics runs a close second (I have books filled with them).  As anyone who has spent time with me, listening to music and downing cocktails in my apartment can attest, I will make you listen to a song I love and then repeatedly interrupt it with some version of…“You have to listen to the next words. They’re amazing.  And then this part.  It’s the best.  Let me play it again.”  I just want people to see what I see in the song (or maybe *hear* what I hear). 

And I fully beat songs to death. The “repeat” function is near and dear to my heart.  (So much easier than rewinding and wearing the tape out.)  Some songs will wear out their welcome, but when I think of ones I will never, ever, ever get sick these pop right to mind – “Wonderwall”, “Times Like These”, the soundtrack from Rent, “Homecoming”, “In Your Eyes” (epic, love, love, LOVE). 

And with shuffle I full on discover old favorites – right now I am re-loving Cake’s “Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps”.

Here’s a snippet of what else I’m playing into the ground these days…

“The Adventure” – Angels & Airwaves.  “I want to have the same last dream again.”  Also makes me nostalgic for Blink. (sigh)

“Remedy” – Black Crows.  They remind me so much of high school and every time I hear this song I just want to rock out.  One of their best.

“Long As I Can See the Light” – Creedence Clearwater Revival – I am in no ways a CCR kind of gal (Honestly, I don’t even know what else they sang).  But for me this song is all about the Season One finale of Las Vegas when Danny McCoy is riding down the strip, suited up in his Marines uniform, to head off to Iraq.  I heart you, Josh Duhamel.  (Fergie, who?)

“Take Me or Leave Me” – Rent.  In my dreams I’m Idina on Broadway belting this out.  For now I belt out both parts at home, feeling like I’m a mix of the two, and wishing I had the courage to say these words.

“The Heart of the Matter” – the India Aria cover.  The song that makes my heart break even when my heart isn’t breaking.

“After All This Time” & “Spinning to Crazy” – Carla Ryder.  If you don’t know who she is, find out immediately. Amazing singer/songwriter. 

“Not Ready To Make Nice” – Dixie Chicks. A reminder of where I was and where I am now.  Forgiveness.  “It turned my whole world around and I kind of like it.”

“21 Guns” – Green Day.  I am in awe of this song.  So many beautiful lyrics to choose from – “When you heart breaks the spirit of your soul.” 

“If I Can’t Change Your Mind” – Sugar.  This song takes me back to sitting on the floor of my friend’s apartment at UNH, drinking Harpoon and commiserating over boys who, in hindsight, really were not worth our time.  Like really really not worth our time.  Years later we found it at a used CD store in Portsmouth.  But more than anything this song reminds me of my old friend that I don’t talk to nearly enough.

“Sorry” – Ashlee Simpson.  She can lip sync this song anytime.

“Chocolate” – Snow Patrol.  “This could be the very moment I’m aware I’m alive.” Best when played as loud as possible. 

“It’s Only Life” – Kate Voegele.  Thank you One Tree Hill.  I love me some teen drama and this was the first show in a long time that really knew how to use music.   Plus I made a lot of new discoveries  - Snow Patrol, Jack’s Mannequin, Nada Surf.  The storyline has become flat out painful (Stalkers and shootings and too many people *almost* dying and then actually dying.  Please bring back Lucas!).  But I’ll still tune in for potential tunes. 

“Candyman” – Christina Aguleria.  No denying the girl can sing.  Love this one because it sounds like the Andrew Sisters from the forties yet has the wickedly wonderful, “He’s a one stop shop….” line.

“Waste My Time” – from Instant Star. It used to be on The N.  I’m sure the cheese stands alone with this shameful pick, but I’m an even bigger sucker for teen drama when it’s Canadian. This little ditty was their very own ode to “Walk This Way” with the teen superstar vs. the bad-boy rapper.  They should have hated each other, but of course their sing-off became the biggest hit EVER.  And then they ovbi fall for each other.  Shameful?  Yes.  But love.

“Nolita Fairytale” – Vanessa Carlton.  This song is absolutely screaming to me right now – “I used to hover above my truth.”

“Hands Down” – Dashboard Confessional featuring Michael Stipe.  Circa 2004 MTV2 did two episodes of Album Covers. Dashboard covered REM’s “Out Of Time” and Guster covered Violent Femmes self-titled first CD.  It was another great idea that didn’t last.  Michael Stipe joined DC on stage for “Hands Down” and it’s nothing short of amazing.  

Mr. 3000 & Living the Dream

I am a girl who loves her baseball.  Like obsessively, amazingly, devours the game.  I just love it.  And anyone who says baseball is boring just doesn’t get it.  They can go hand out with the people who don’t get why Pretty Little Liars is also a bit of genius.  (Oh, A, you clever devil!)

Amazing seats in 2006 let me snag
this up-close photo of Jeter.

But back to the task at hand…as I watched Derek Jeter get his 3000^th hit today (albeit from the comfort of my couch, though would have killed to be at the stadium) I was so overwhelmed with excitement and tears and emotion.  There’s just something about watching history-in-the-making, about seeing someone achieve and surpass their goals and live out their dreams that inspires me.  Full body chills.  Full on tears of happiness.   Full on hooting and hollering in my living room as the ball sailed over the leftfield fence and Jeter broke into a grin.  I can’t even fathom what it must feel like to not only live your dream, but to literally hit it out of the ballpark. 

I’ve been a baseball fan since I was a kid.  My mom and I started watching it together and it became not only another special “thing” that her and I did together, like playing canasta and watching episodes of Dynasty and Hotel, which we actually called Hot-el. I’m guessing the fact that I was exposed to a lot of Crystal and Alexis cat-fights with some James Brolin and Connie Sellecca on the side, during my super impressionable junior high years, probably explains my current addiction to any soap-y, remotely cheesy TV show.  But baseball was one of the first things, outside of my dolls and reading that I can remember become truly engrossed in.  

The actual Polaroid of me getting Mookie's
autograph at the Galleria Mall.  Check out
that snazzy grey purse. And the feathered
hair of the guy in the background.   

We went to Mets games and to baseball card shows.  I clipped out stories from the newspapers and made scrapbooks.  I went to signings, collecting autographs from Keith Hernandez and Tim Teufel and my hero, Mookie Wilson.  My parents and I tuned into games on Channel 9 daily.  I got to see Dwight Gooden pitch in his rookie season.  And when the Mets won the World Series in 1986 I remember the sheer excitement of *my* team winning.  It was a dream season.  And somewhere in there, when the Mets came back in an almost unbelievable fashion in that World Series, it seemed like anything was possible.  It was the perfect piece of hope every kid should have and I still get excited when I watch clips from that series.  

Many years later, after many years in Boston (and a period of rooting for the home team and for Johnny Damon and witnessing the epic 2004 World Series win and an amazing parade), I was back in New York and (gasp!) found myself becoming a Yankee fan.  Now if you’re not a baseball fan the significance of all this may be lost on you.  Long story short the Yankees and Red Sox have been archenemies since pretty much the beginning of baseball time.  Curse of the Bambino and on and on.  But being a Sox fan and then a Yankee fan is very controversial (pop in Fever Pitch for a glimpse).

Boston certainly reignited all my old passions (going to games, following the players and getting completely emotionally involved in wins and losses). But being back in New York was in so many ways like being a kid all over again. I lived with my parents for a bit, while I got settled and looked for a place, and my mom and I once again found ourselves bonding over baseball. 

After Damon joined the Yankees in 2005 (at which point I knew it was okay that I crossed over too) it was nearly impossible for me to not get totally engrossed in the game.  Going to games at Yankee Stadium is a whole different animal.  I’ve had the good fortune to go to games at the old and the new stadium (including opening day in 2008….unreal!).  My old job had the perk of scoring me free seats and one of my best friends, a life-long Yankee fan, had the same perk.  I once again found myself obsessively watching games and reading articles in the paper, gobbling up info and educating myself on Yankee history.  I brought my camera to every game, committed to marking all the moments.  I even managed to get my mom to a game, which wound up being a ridiculously long game on a 100-degree day.  Luckily we had passes to the air-conditioned clubhouse where we could cool off and had premium seats that were in the shade. 

Dusk over the new stadium.

And as anyone who has ever seen a live version of something they love knows (be it sports or concerts or an author reading) I find there’s a certain energy at these events that I desperately wish I could bottle.  There’s nothing like being in *that* moment of a game - walk-off wins, homeruns, amazing plays.  It’s a crazy rush.  And I feel like it’s been a while since I’ve truly had one. 

But then just this morning I was reading an article and the author was saying that you could find inspiration in anything, whether it’s a conversation you’re having with a friend, or a movie or something you see just walking down the street. 

For me, that feeling was off the charts today. 

Watching Jeter’s 3000^th hit was epic.  After the excitement simmered down they interviewed Jeter’s dad who, beaming with pride, said that Derek gets to go out every day and have fun doing what he loves.  This totally hit home because, let’s be honest, that’s all I want to do. (Isn’t that all anyone wants to do?) To spend my days having fun at a job I love.  Because I do truly believe that when you’re doing what you love, there is an element of fun in the hard work.  And even though the work will have daunting days, the passion for doing what you love will help to keep pushing you forward. 

Watching the game made me want to start writing, right then and there.  The idea of seeing my dreams be a reality (my name in print again, my book on a shelf, the money in the bank a result of my writing) is starting to consume me.  It’s no secret I’ve been derailed a bit lately and have been trying to figure out how to merge my dream with my reality.  How to make my dream my reality.  How to find the courage to take the risk because as my dad said, there are no guarantees, but that I won’t know until I try.  But he also knows that I’ll be happier doing something I love.  (It’s like my dad is Jeter’s dad…see…I’m connecting the dots!) 

It just feels so great to be excited about something again.  So time to take the bottled up rush and pour it into my dream.