So, I know this will make me sound like the world’s biggest loser, but one of the things I decided to give up for Lent was my use of Facebook. I had realized that I was checking it several times a day and was spending an unreasonable amount of time looking at people’s pictures and status updates. As is my usual Lent practice, I chose not to give it up completely, but rather to limit my usage of it to one time a day. What I found in that first day was that I probably had been used to checking it 5-10 times daily. And for pretty much no reason. Whenever I would get bored, I’d open it up on my phone. If I was on hold at work, I’d open it up and scroll down to see what people were up to and who was interacting with whom. I had to remind myself several times that first day not to click on that inviting little blue icon staring at me and beckoning on my phone.
In the time that has passed between Lent and now, I have realized that by not checking Facebook save for one time a day (if that) I have not missed a thing. I liken it to my soap watching days. You could miss an entire week – make that month – and pick up exactly where the story had left off. Sure, you might have missed some minor details, but nothing would have moved forward or been resolved. That’s how it is with Facebook. The only thing I missed out on was what people were cooking for dinner or how much of their laundry needed to be done. I missed out on those clever little quotes people post with “So True!” hilariously posted beneath it. I missed out on people’s rants about Obama or the people positioned to run against him. In other words – I didn’t miss anything of substance at all. In the one time a day I was on there, I was able to see if anyone sent me any messages or anything and I was able to wish people a happy birthday.
It was really nice. I didn’t feel this insatiable need to be up on the details of everyone’s life. I was one of those people who initially thought Facebook was silly and wasn’t going to even have a profile. But the more I spoke with people who had joined who don’t generally like things like Facebook, the more I realized that it may actually be something I would enjoy. And I did enjoy it. It was fun to catch up with people I had lost touch with. It was fun to see their kids in pictures and kind of see what became of everyone. I thought it was neat who was friends with who. People who wouldn’t have spoken to each other in high school were suddenly “liking” each other’s status updates. Funny!
When I joined, people warned me that it would be an enormous waste of time. How right they were! At first it was fun finding people and seeing who had found me. For that brief period after someone had requested your friendship, you had such power! You could either “confirm” that you wanted to enter into an online "friendship" with them or “ignore” (which really means “reject” in this setting) them to send a strong message that you thought you were better than they were and you didn't care what became of their pathetic little life.
So, during Lent I have mainly been using Facebook as a vehicle to remember people’s birthdays and I haven’t been posting very much. I’m usually good for about one status updates every week or two, but in the time that’s passed since Ash Wednesday, you haven’t heard from me much. I've posted two pictures and made a couple of comments on poeple's timelines. That's it. The following are some examples of updates you would have had if I hadn’t given up Facebook-obsessing for Lent:
OMG – Snooki is pregnant! So happy for her. She will be a wonderful mother!
Yay! The Artist won Best Picture! Go Uggie!! <3
Has anyone tried Dulce de Leche Cheerios? They look so good!
I need Girl Scout cookies!
Snooki is engaged! Could things in the universe be lining up more perfectly?
Just cleaned out my closet. I will NEVER let it get so disorganized again!
What is up with this crazy weather? I want a winter!
Mike is partying in Syracuse with Cloris Leachman! Totally jealous! She’s pouring him shots!
I can’t believe I bought this many Girl Scout cookies! I’ll never eat them all.
Loving this warm weather!
What is this crazy rash?!
With all of this talk about Whitney Houston’s daughter, I’m actually starting to miss Kim Kardashian.
I totally just ate an entire sleeve of Thin Mints!
Ugh! Wish these storms would go away!
Loving that my kids love ABBA music!
Can't wait for spring! C'mon Daylight Savings Time!
In Utah on a ski trip. Perfection. Nothing could possibly go wrong here!
Can’t believe Delta lost our luggage! $5000+ worth of belongings – gone! :(
Ugh – why do we have to spring forward? Soooo sleepy!
It’s too hot outside. Dreaming of fall….
Can’t find any of my spring clothes! Need to clean out my closet! It’s a mess!
If I hear Dancing Queen one more time, I’m gonna hurt somebody!
Anyone else have Girl Scout cookies? The McCallies are totally out!
Okay, I didn’t really get a crazy rash, but you get my point. No one cares about this stuff! Our society just has this ravenous need to be seen and heard I suppose. And I’m no better than the people who get sucked into it. I am the people who get sucked into it! I’m on Facebook, Twitter, and I have a blog. What is wrong with me?! I’m on Facebook to reconnect with old friends. I’m on Twitter to follow people I think are witty. I have a blog because I like writing and would love for it to have been a career I pursued. But does anyone beyond my little circle really care about where I’m going, what I’m doing or what I’m thinking? No, they don’t. But I can’t really tell you why I feel a need to share it anyway.
I guess we can thank reality TV for this trend – really a sea-change – in our culture. Reality TV put private people’s lives on display for all to see and I guess everyday people began to feel as though they, too, should be showcased in every possible medium. Think about it – who is on the cover of People magazine and tabloids when you are in line at the grocery store waiting to check out? Any or all of the Kardashians. Contestants from The Bachelor. The Real Housewives of whatever vapid community has spawned the plastic-faced, silicone-breasted insipid bitches. They are celebrities now. Entertainment Tonight reports stories on these people as thought they are noteworthy. Even the Today Show lends credibility to these people. At least once every other week, one of the top stories that they lead off with prior to their opening theme song will be an “internet sensation” who has eleventy billion hits on You Tube. The media simply perpetuates the idea that we should care about these people. So I think that leaves the rest of us somehow thinking that maybe we need to be out there, too.
So, we take our ordinary little lives to Facebook and we announce when a stomach bug is roaring through our household. Which, by the way, is a horrid visual that I don’t care to picture and I’ll thank you to stop posting about it. We let the world know that we are on vacation – which I did recently. Posted a picture of Mike while on vacation. Perhaps a better angle would have been to leave a sign on my front door that indicated that the occupants were out of town. Dumb. Anyway, we constantly let people know where we are, what we are doing and who we are with. Maybe it brings us a modicum of significance we think we are lacking. I don’t know. But going forward, I will not be as tuned into it all. It just doesn’t seem to add value to my life so it shouldn’t be a big part of my day. I sure haven't missed it during Lent. That’s how I feel about it today. Of course, on Easter Sunday, you may see a post from me that says:
Back to habitual Facebooking! OMG, I’ve missed you all so much!!
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Back To The Future
I am in the middle of a book I can’t put down. I’m embarrassed to say what it is because I’d really like for you to believe that I only read the classics, or dense, complex books of historical or political relevance. But, no, I’m reading a book that takes place in the mid-90’s where a girl gets her first computer and ends up watching her future play out before her eyes on Facebook (which, as we all know, was not invented yet). Not exactly high-brow literature. But, it’s one of those books where you are sucked in and can't wait to get to the next chapter. It's one where you want to see how what the characters are doing today changes the future they see on Facebook. It makes you wonder how things we do today and choices we make are shaping what tomorrow looks like for each of us.
For example, if I hadn’t pledged a sorority in college (which is not like me at all, by the way), I probably would not have gotten involved in campus activities. I did get involved on campus and became interested in working at a college/university to help other students come out of their shell and become leaders. I decided to pursue a Master’s degree in Higher Education Administration. One program was at the University of Tennessee in Knoxville. I chose that one because it was good program but also because I had family there. Once I graduated, I accepted a job in Murfreesboro because it was still fairly close to Knoxville and I wanted to return there one day. While in Murfreesboro, I met and worked with Stuart, who would become one of my dearest friends. Stuart’s friend, Lena, moved to Nashville and she and I got to be friends through Stuart. Stuart and Lena knew a guy named Mike that reminded them of me. They introduced us and this year Mike and I will celebrate our tenth wedding anniversary. See that? I have my life today all because I was a Delta Delta Delta (can I help ya, help ya, help ya).
Of course you could go back further and say that I wound up pledging that particular sorority because of the choice I made to go to Auburn and that I made the choice to go to Auburn because my friends were going there, and on and on and on. But the point is, we make choices each day that take us down a path. If just one of those things hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t have my husband, my kids or my life. I would most likely just be a crazy “dog” lady somewhere.
The book, called The Future of Us, also makes me wonder what I would think about my life if I saw all of what I am and have today on Facebook 15 years ago. Fifteen years ago, the year was 1997. I was single, living in Knoxville, and in graduate school working toward a master’s degree in Higher Education Administration. I was missing my beloved dog, Lily, who had just died unexpectedly at the age of six so I was sad about that. I was spending time with my grandmother, "Gannie", and my Aunt Connie, both of whom lived in Knoxville and included me in their Sunday night dinners. Other than that, I was kind of bored. Didn’t have tons of friends in grad school. I mean, I had friends; it was just that it was a small program. And the people in it were not unlike me, which is to say that they were not terribly social. So, I spent a lot of time by myself. I was okay with that.
Truth be told, I think I was also a little depressed. I was bummed abouty my dog. I was lonely and I was watching friends start to get married. I didn’t want to get married at the time – mainly because I didn’t have anyone in my life who made me want to be married, but everyone else seemed to kind of be headed toward something. I wasn’t sure where I was going. Even my grad program wasn’t what I considered my calling to be. (Fifteen years later, I still don’t know what that is.) My sister was also expanding her family at that time. She was married and about to have her first child. I felt she didn’t really need me as much anymore. I guess I was just kind of bored. I was still happy. Just a little bored. It was great fun getting to spend time with my grandmother and aunt. It’s such a gift to be able to be friends in adulthood with family members. Gannie has since passed away, but Connie continues to be someone who I appreciate having a friendship with.
So where was I? No job. No significant other. Certainly no kids. If I had known then that I would be a wife and mother and working (part-time, but still) I would have asked you who I would one day switch bodies with. It just didn’t seem in the cards for me at all. Up until roughly six years and nine months ago, I never wanted to have children. I would have freaked out then if I knew I was going to have two daughters.
Really, the most impressive thing is that I actually GAVE BIRTH. I mean, putting aside everything that goes into parenting for just a minute, the biggest accomplishment for someone like me is intentionally getting pregnant even knowing that at some point; those babies have to get out of there. Sometimes I still can’t believe that I have birthed two babies. I can’t believe I carried them in my body and didn’t have to be institutionalized when the time came to have them come out.
When Kate was born, she was 10 weeks early, so I wasn’t at all prepared for childbirth. That actually was a good thing for me in retrospect. She was 2lbs., 10 oz. and 14 inches long. To put it in perspective, it’s like passing a pork chop through your vagina instead of the whole pig. I got off easy. (Poor choice of words. Moving on…) A number of my friends who have had their kids vaginally, say that I really can’t count Kate’s birth as a vaginal birth. I didn’t have to go through what they went through. Fair enough.
I got pregnant with Meg right around Kate’s first birthday. Again, I just wasn’t thinking about the fact that one day she’d come out. I sort of blocked that part of it out. But then, about eight months into it, we learned that she was breach. I was too far along to try and turn her around so either she would have to do it herself, or they were going to have to do a C-section. A C-section? Me? Are you serious?! No way! I am the world’s biggest wuss. There’s no way anyone was going to slice my abdomen open and remove my organs to get this baby out. And yet, I did it. I think if I had seen that on Facebook fifteen years ago, I might not have ever allowed myself to get pregnant!
I think I always thought I probably would get married. I was in a place where I knew I wasn’t going to have to get married in order to have a full life, but I just kind of felt like someone somewhere would not think I was a total idiot. Enter Mike all those years ago. If my 1997 self had seen who my 2012 self would have a life with, my 1997 self would have been extremely impressed and probably very worried that something would come along a derail my whole future. My husband is everything I would have chosen if I could have created a mate from scratch. He was a lesson to me – that I will pass along my girls – that the right person is out there. You just have to be patient and not accept anything that isn’t right.
If my 1997 self knew that I’d be in good enough shape to run in 5ks in 2012, I would think that an alien had taken over my body and was posing as me. If I had known I’d somehow be able to work part-time and manage to get the kids’ homework done and dinners fixed (occasionally) I also would have been stunned. So, I suppose what I’m saying is that, as I look back on the past 15 years, I am very happy with how things are turning out in my life. I’m content; but not only content. I’m happy. I’m happy with who I am and what I have in terms of the life I live.
One thing that hasn’t changed from 1997 is that I am still searching for what I think my calling is in life. I know a big part of it is to be a mother to these two precious girls and to be a wife to my wonderful husband. But I do still feel like there’s something else out there for me to do. What it is I’m just not sure. Maybe fifteen years from now, in 2027, I’ll have that answer. Hopefully I’ll be a more fleshed out version of what I am today. And by that I don’t mean that I hope there will be more flesh. I’m having a hard enough time trying to maintain a good weight in my thirties. I don’t expect my forties to be very kind in that regard. But in life – the things we do everyday, the people we impact – it all makes up the package of who we are and who we are to become. Hopefully I’m laying groundwork today that will keep me growing in a way that if I could see it playing out today, I’d be proud of.
Wow! All of that from this silly little book I’m reading! That's awfully deep thinking from someone who is so enthralled with this book. Maybe I should put the book down and go read the latest People Magazine to give my brain a rest. It'll defintely work as long as one of the friggin' Kardashians is on the cover.
For example, if I hadn’t pledged a sorority in college (which is not like me at all, by the way), I probably would not have gotten involved in campus activities. I did get involved on campus and became interested in working at a college/university to help other students come out of their shell and become leaders. I decided to pursue a Master’s degree in Higher Education Administration. One program was at the University of Tennessee in Knoxville. I chose that one because it was good program but also because I had family there. Once I graduated, I accepted a job in Murfreesboro because it was still fairly close to Knoxville and I wanted to return there one day. While in Murfreesboro, I met and worked with Stuart, who would become one of my dearest friends. Stuart’s friend, Lena, moved to Nashville and she and I got to be friends through Stuart. Stuart and Lena knew a guy named Mike that reminded them of me. They introduced us and this year Mike and I will celebrate our tenth wedding anniversary. See that? I have my life today all because I was a Delta Delta Delta (can I help ya, help ya, help ya).
Of course you could go back further and say that I wound up pledging that particular sorority because of the choice I made to go to Auburn and that I made the choice to go to Auburn because my friends were going there, and on and on and on. But the point is, we make choices each day that take us down a path. If just one of those things hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t have my husband, my kids or my life. I would most likely just be a crazy “dog” lady somewhere.
The book, called The Future of Us, also makes me wonder what I would think about my life if I saw all of what I am and have today on Facebook 15 years ago. Fifteen years ago, the year was 1997. I was single, living in Knoxville, and in graduate school working toward a master’s degree in Higher Education Administration. I was missing my beloved dog, Lily, who had just died unexpectedly at the age of six so I was sad about that. I was spending time with my grandmother, "Gannie", and my Aunt Connie, both of whom lived in Knoxville and included me in their Sunday night dinners. Other than that, I was kind of bored. Didn’t have tons of friends in grad school. I mean, I had friends; it was just that it was a small program. And the people in it were not unlike me, which is to say that they were not terribly social. So, I spent a lot of time by myself. I was okay with that.
Truth be told, I think I was also a little depressed. I was bummed abouty my dog. I was lonely and I was watching friends start to get married. I didn’t want to get married at the time – mainly because I didn’t have anyone in my life who made me want to be married, but everyone else seemed to kind of be headed toward something. I wasn’t sure where I was going. Even my grad program wasn’t what I considered my calling to be. (Fifteen years later, I still don’t know what that is.) My sister was also expanding her family at that time. She was married and about to have her first child. I felt she didn’t really need me as much anymore. I guess I was just kind of bored. I was still happy. Just a little bored. It was great fun getting to spend time with my grandmother and aunt. It’s such a gift to be able to be friends in adulthood with family members. Gannie has since passed away, but Connie continues to be someone who I appreciate having a friendship with.
So where was I? No job. No significant other. Certainly no kids. If I had known then that I would be a wife and mother and working (part-time, but still) I would have asked you who I would one day switch bodies with. It just didn’t seem in the cards for me at all. Up until roughly six years and nine months ago, I never wanted to have children. I would have freaked out then if I knew I was going to have two daughters.
Really, the most impressive thing is that I actually GAVE BIRTH. I mean, putting aside everything that goes into parenting for just a minute, the biggest accomplishment for someone like me is intentionally getting pregnant even knowing that at some point; those babies have to get out of there. Sometimes I still can’t believe that I have birthed two babies. I can’t believe I carried them in my body and didn’t have to be institutionalized when the time came to have them come out.
When Kate was born, she was 10 weeks early, so I wasn’t at all prepared for childbirth. That actually was a good thing for me in retrospect. She was 2lbs., 10 oz. and 14 inches long. To put it in perspective, it’s like passing a pork chop through your vagina instead of the whole pig. I got off easy. (Poor choice of words. Moving on…) A number of my friends who have had their kids vaginally, say that I really can’t count Kate’s birth as a vaginal birth. I didn’t have to go through what they went through. Fair enough.
I got pregnant with Meg right around Kate’s first birthday. Again, I just wasn’t thinking about the fact that one day she’d come out. I sort of blocked that part of it out. But then, about eight months into it, we learned that she was breach. I was too far along to try and turn her around so either she would have to do it herself, or they were going to have to do a C-section. A C-section? Me? Are you serious?! No way! I am the world’s biggest wuss. There’s no way anyone was going to slice my abdomen open and remove my organs to get this baby out. And yet, I did it. I think if I had seen that on Facebook fifteen years ago, I might not have ever allowed myself to get pregnant!
I think I always thought I probably would get married. I was in a place where I knew I wasn’t going to have to get married in order to have a full life, but I just kind of felt like someone somewhere would not think I was a total idiot. Enter Mike all those years ago. If my 1997 self had seen who my 2012 self would have a life with, my 1997 self would have been extremely impressed and probably very worried that something would come along a derail my whole future. My husband is everything I would have chosen if I could have created a mate from scratch. He was a lesson to me – that I will pass along my girls – that the right person is out there. You just have to be patient and not accept anything that isn’t right.
If my 1997 self knew that I’d be in good enough shape to run in 5ks in 2012, I would think that an alien had taken over my body and was posing as me. If I had known I’d somehow be able to work part-time and manage to get the kids’ homework done and dinners fixed (occasionally) I also would have been stunned. So, I suppose what I’m saying is that, as I look back on the past 15 years, I am very happy with how things are turning out in my life. I’m content; but not only content. I’m happy. I’m happy with who I am and what I have in terms of the life I live.
One thing that hasn’t changed from 1997 is that I am still searching for what I think my calling is in life. I know a big part of it is to be a mother to these two precious girls and to be a wife to my wonderful husband. But I do still feel like there’s something else out there for me to do. What it is I’m just not sure. Maybe fifteen years from now, in 2027, I’ll have that answer. Hopefully I’ll be a more fleshed out version of what I am today. And by that I don’t mean that I hope there will be more flesh. I’m having a hard enough time trying to maintain a good weight in my thirties. I don’t expect my forties to be very kind in that regard. But in life – the things we do everyday, the people we impact – it all makes up the package of who we are and who we are to become. Hopefully I’m laying groundwork today that will keep me growing in a way that if I could see it playing out today, I’d be proud of.
Wow! All of that from this silly little book I’m reading! That's awfully deep thinking from someone who is so enthralled with this book. Maybe I should put the book down and go read the latest People Magazine to give my brain a rest. It'll defintely work as long as one of the friggin' Kardashians is on the cover.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Maggie McCallie's Oscars Fashion Review 2012
Since my last post was about my experiences with the rich and famous, I thought I'd continue that trend by commenting on the fashion at this year's Oscars. I mean who better to make comments about the style choices of these people than someone who was wearing Lucky Brand jeans, a Blue Canoe hoodie, with a JJill tank and Dansko clogs while watching the event unfold? Actually, that's what I was wearing before the telecast. Once things got underway and I was in the comfort of my own home, I was wearing an old, ratty t-shirt that used to be white but is now more ecru, and an almost threadbare pair of flannel pants from Victoria Secret that I've had for about 9 years. Anyhoo... let's get started with:
MAGGIE MCCALLIE'S OSCARS FASHION REVIEW 2012
*Maggie McCallie knows nothing of fashion
Let's start with Octavia Spencer. She's an Auburn alum (War Eagle!) and was actually on campus while I was there. I remember her. You might say we were friends. We weren't. Never talked to her. But, you still might want to say it. She was fabulous in The Help. I was so excited she won. Of course, it wasn't a surprise she won. Everyone predicted she would. But she looked stunning.
The dress was perfect for her figure and was just gorgeous in general. She could not have looked any better.
Then there's Gwenyth Paltrow. If there's one person I feel sorry for, it's her. She's just so plain. Her body is just...ehh. Nothing special as you can clearly see below.
I mean, GOOD GOD! Goddess, actually. She's perfect! PERFECT! Well, not perfect. She's too thin. And she's wearing a cape which I can't say I approve of. But once that cape came off, she looked like a princess. Or a barbie. Or a princess barbie. I hate her. I don't really. I want to. But I can't. She's too cool. So, let's move on to someone I do hate.
It's a good thing Angelina isn't full of herself. I mean, after she stole the husband of tv's favorite Friend, Jennifer Aniston, women everywhere hated her. So, how does she respond? By sticking her veiny, anorexic looking leg out from underneath her dress at every opportunity. She is disgusting. I'm getting pissed off. Let's go back to people that I do like.
Here is Meryl Streep.
She has a tendency to look frumpy - not unlike myself - but I thought she looked exquisite Sunday night. She looked like an Oscar! I was a little disappointed that Viola Davis didn't win, which is not a slight to Meryl. I love Meryl. I always want her to win. And her speech was awesome. She seems like she's such an cool, interesting person. So, I like her a lot and I like that she is her own person and doesn't conform to Hollywood's idea of what women should look like. She looked beautiful.
Since we were talking about Viola Davis, let's cover her next.
What a gorgeous gown and a gorgeous color. I'm not wild about her hair like this. I don't mind the hairstyle at all but I think I like her better with more hair around her face. Still, she looked great. And her performance in The Help was one of the highlights of the year. She was the heart and soul of that film and if I would have been happy for anyone to beat Meryl, it would have been her.
Let's stay on people with short hair.
Michelle Williams
She keeps getting nominated for Oscars but has everyone forgotten that she used to be on Dawson's Creek? Anyway, she is very, very good. I didn't see the movie she was nominated for, but I'm sure she was great in it. She was very good in Brokeback Mountain (yes, I saw it). You know what I didn't like her in? This dress. I'm not a fan of the color and I loathe the bow and the pink clutch. I also normally love the pixie haircut. Wish I could have one myself. But I don't love it on her. She's a pretty girl but she needs more hair.
Another red dress at the Oscars was the one Emma Stone was wearing.
I thought the color was gorgeous, but Nicole Kidman wore almost the exact same dress a few years ago. I think this one is pretty, but Emma is young and fiery. This dress is too old for her. And I don't think the color looks good with her hair color. Of course, what do I know, but this dress would have been much better on someone older who was trying to hide imperfections in their figure.
UGH! There's that damn leg again!
Moving on... let's tackle a trend I am 100% not a fan of. Bangs.
Starting from the left, Rooney Mara really didn't have a choice. She had to cut her hair for her freaky Girl With A Dragon Tattoo role. There's not a whole lot she could have done with it. This look however, was reminiscent of Audrey Hepburn - if Audrey Hepburn had been a goth dominatrix. Anna Faris is in the middle. She's hilarious. I love her. but I hate her hair. Sadly, this look is actually an improvement over the big, bushy bang look she had earlier this year when she hosted Saturday Night Live. But it is just not flattering at all. Then on the right, there's Ellie Kempler from Bridesmaids. Had she not been a presenter during the Oscars, I would have assumed that she had gotten lost from not being able to see and had just wandered onto the red carpet. How can she see anything?! Those bangs are ridiculous! Ladies and Gentlemen, these women are why I am currently in the painstaking process of growing my daughter's bangs out.
I'm getting pissed off again. Let's move on. Here's an interesting dichotomy. How did this person
become this person?
Glenn Close is a gorgeous woman. But for someone who can look so good, she sure can dog-ass it up. My gracious! What kind of make-up does this woman wear? If you are capable of looking like that first picture, then you must have one hell of a stylist if they can transform you into the latter.
Here's another person that I can't decide if they are actually pretty or just have a good stylist. Cameron Diaz.
I can look at her sometimes and think she is beautiful. Other times I look at her and think her eyes are so far apart that one of them is about to creep off of the side of her face. This is one of those times when I look at her and think she is beautiful. She's a little too toned - she's on her way to Madonna arms. But this dress - the style, the color - looks really great on her. I'm not real sure what's up with her hair. Sure, it's better than it was with the "hair gel" in There's Something About Mary but it looks like an afterthought. I'm sensitive to that, because my hair always looks like an afterthought even though I can guarantee it is not. The end result of my hair is never proportional to the amount of time and effort I put into it. It's depressing. But, surely Cameron has a stylist who could have done a little more.
Someone's stylist who could've done a little less is Melissa McCarthy.
It pains me to say it because I really do like her and thought she was awesome in Bridesmaids, but this dress is awful. It looks like a 1970's dress. Not a "vintage" dress, but a tacky 1970's-fashion dress. It looks like something that would have been worn by SNL's Sweeney Sisters. Observe:
Really bad.
Speaking of really bad...
I hated this dress. Joan Rivers and company really liked it and nominated her for their "best dressed" choice, but I just didn't like this look at all. First of all, the Cinnabon on top of her head looks ridiculous. She's a gorgeous woman, but her hair is pulled back so tight I'm afraid her eyeballs are about to pop out and injure someone. And this dress calls attention to the size of her hips. Is her body better than mine? Yep. Would I kill for it? Yep. But the woman has hips and this dress is like a marquis with flashing lights announcing to please direct your attention right to that area. I don't care for it.
I also don't care for this look:
This is Shailene Woodley from The Descendants. She is a pretty, young girl. This dress is way too old for her. Dame Judy Dench should be wearing this dress. Those sleeves look like something my elementary school's librarian would have sported back in the 80's. Really bad. The dress kind of reminds me of this:
If only she had a gun and two Cinnabons for the sides of her head.
My goodness someone please slap this woman.
My final critique will be for Sandra Bullock. Here's her choice for Oscar night.
Normally I think she looks pretty good. But this dress was a little Julius Caesar for my taste. I wasn't wild about it. It has an odd fit to it. And her face looked weird to me. It looked like it was pulled because her hair is pulled a little tight too. She kind of reminded me of this:
So, based on all of this, who would I say is my pick for "Best Dressed"? Well, how about this woman?
If not her, then I guess Octavia and Gwenyth. They were both just stunning. Gwenyth never disappoints... unless you count this:
And hopefully we'll be seeing more of Octavia at awards ceremonies in the years to come. Happy Oscars everyone!
MAGGIE MCCALLIE'S OSCARS FASHION REVIEW 2012
*Maggie McCallie knows nothing of fashion
Let's start with Octavia Spencer. She's an Auburn alum (War Eagle!) and was actually on campus while I was there. I remember her. You might say we were friends. We weren't. Never talked to her. But, you still might want to say it. She was fabulous in The Help. I was so excited she won. Of course, it wasn't a surprise she won. Everyone predicted she would. But she looked stunning.
The dress was perfect for her figure and was just gorgeous in general. She could not have looked any better.
Then there's Gwenyth Paltrow. If there's one person I feel sorry for, it's her. She's just so plain. Her body is just...ehh. Nothing special as you can clearly see below.
I mean, GOOD GOD! Goddess, actually. She's perfect! PERFECT! Well, not perfect. She's too thin. And she's wearing a cape which I can't say I approve of. But once that cape came off, she looked like a princess. Or a barbie. Or a princess barbie. I hate her. I don't really. I want to. But I can't. She's too cool. So, let's move on to someone I do hate.
It's a good thing Angelina isn't full of herself. I mean, after she stole the husband of tv's favorite Friend, Jennifer Aniston, women everywhere hated her. So, how does she respond? By sticking her veiny, anorexic looking leg out from underneath her dress at every opportunity. She is disgusting. I'm getting pissed off. Let's go back to people that I do like.
Here is Meryl Streep.
She has a tendency to look frumpy - not unlike myself - but I thought she looked exquisite Sunday night. She looked like an Oscar! I was a little disappointed that Viola Davis didn't win, which is not a slight to Meryl. I love Meryl. I always want her to win. And her speech was awesome. She seems like she's such an cool, interesting person. So, I like her a lot and I like that she is her own person and doesn't conform to Hollywood's idea of what women should look like. She looked beautiful.
Since we were talking about Viola Davis, let's cover her next.
What a gorgeous gown and a gorgeous color. I'm not wild about her hair like this. I don't mind the hairstyle at all but I think I like her better with more hair around her face. Still, she looked great. And her performance in The Help was one of the highlights of the year. She was the heart and soul of that film and if I would have been happy for anyone to beat Meryl, it would have been her.
Let's stay on people with short hair.
Michelle Williams
She keeps getting nominated for Oscars but has everyone forgotten that she used to be on Dawson's Creek? Anyway, she is very, very good. I didn't see the movie she was nominated for, but I'm sure she was great in it. She was very good in Brokeback Mountain (yes, I saw it). You know what I didn't like her in? This dress. I'm not a fan of the color and I loathe the bow and the pink clutch. I also normally love the pixie haircut. Wish I could have one myself. But I don't love it on her. She's a pretty girl but she needs more hair.
Another red dress at the Oscars was the one Emma Stone was wearing.
I thought the color was gorgeous, but Nicole Kidman wore almost the exact same dress a few years ago. I think this one is pretty, but Emma is young and fiery. This dress is too old for her. And I don't think the color looks good with her hair color. Of course, what do I know, but this dress would have been much better on someone older who was trying to hide imperfections in their figure.
UGH! There's that damn leg again!
Moving on... let's tackle a trend I am 100% not a fan of. Bangs.
Starting from the left, Rooney Mara really didn't have a choice. She had to cut her hair for her freaky Girl With A Dragon Tattoo role. There's not a whole lot she could have done with it. This look however, was reminiscent of Audrey Hepburn - if Audrey Hepburn had been a goth dominatrix. Anna Faris is in the middle. She's hilarious. I love her. but I hate her hair. Sadly, this look is actually an improvement over the big, bushy bang look she had earlier this year when she hosted Saturday Night Live. But it is just not flattering at all. Then on the right, there's Ellie Kempler from Bridesmaids. Had she not been a presenter during the Oscars, I would have assumed that she had gotten lost from not being able to see and had just wandered onto the red carpet. How can she see anything?! Those bangs are ridiculous! Ladies and Gentlemen, these women are why I am currently in the painstaking process of growing my daughter's bangs out.
I'm getting pissed off again. Let's move on. Here's an interesting dichotomy. How did this person
become this person?
Glenn Close is a gorgeous woman. But for someone who can look so good, she sure can dog-ass it up. My gracious! What kind of make-up does this woman wear? If you are capable of looking like that first picture, then you must have one hell of a stylist if they can transform you into the latter.
Here's another person that I can't decide if they are actually pretty or just have a good stylist. Cameron Diaz.
I can look at her sometimes and think she is beautiful. Other times I look at her and think her eyes are so far apart that one of them is about to creep off of the side of her face. This is one of those times when I look at her and think she is beautiful. She's a little too toned - she's on her way to Madonna arms. But this dress - the style, the color - looks really great on her. I'm not real sure what's up with her hair. Sure, it's better than it was with the "hair gel" in There's Something About Mary but it looks like an afterthought. I'm sensitive to that, because my hair always looks like an afterthought even though I can guarantee it is not. The end result of my hair is never proportional to the amount of time and effort I put into it. It's depressing. But, surely Cameron has a stylist who could have done a little more.
Someone's stylist who could've done a little less is Melissa McCarthy.
It pains me to say it because I really do like her and thought she was awesome in Bridesmaids, but this dress is awful. It looks like a 1970's dress. Not a "vintage" dress, but a tacky 1970's-fashion dress. It looks like something that would have been worn by SNL's Sweeney Sisters. Observe:
Really bad.
Speaking of really bad...
I hated this dress. Joan Rivers and company really liked it and nominated her for their "best dressed" choice, but I just didn't like this look at all. First of all, the Cinnabon on top of her head looks ridiculous. She's a gorgeous woman, but her hair is pulled back so tight I'm afraid her eyeballs are about to pop out and injure someone. And this dress calls attention to the size of her hips. Is her body better than mine? Yep. Would I kill for it? Yep. But the woman has hips and this dress is like a marquis with flashing lights announcing to please direct your attention right to that area. I don't care for it.
I also don't care for this look:
This is Shailene Woodley from The Descendants. She is a pretty, young girl. This dress is way too old for her. Dame Judy Dench should be wearing this dress. Those sleeves look like something my elementary school's librarian would have sported back in the 80's. Really bad. The dress kind of reminds me of this:
If only she had a gun and two Cinnabons for the sides of her head.
My goodness someone please slap this woman.
My final critique will be for Sandra Bullock. Here's her choice for Oscar night.
Normally I think she looks pretty good. But this dress was a little Julius Caesar for my taste. I wasn't wild about it. It has an odd fit to it. And her face looked weird to me. It looked like it was pulled because her hair is pulled a little tight too. She kind of reminded me of this:
So, based on all of this, who would I say is my pick for "Best Dressed"? Well, how about this woman?
If not her, then I guess Octavia and Gwenyth. They were both just stunning. Gwenyth never disappoints... unless you count this:
And hopefully we'll be seeing more of Octavia at awards ceremonies in the years to come. Happy Oscars everyone!
Monday, January 23, 2012
Rubbing Shoulders With The Stars
For someone who has always believed that one day I will end up as an award winning actress in Hollywood, I have had surprisingly few brushes with fame. And it’s never been my own fame I’ve brushed. I’ve always brushed up against someone else’s. For example, I used to ride and show Arabian horses. So did Patrick Swayze. He came to one of the horse shows I participated in several years ago and I watched him gallop by on his horse. That’s the closest I’ve come to meeting and interacting with a star.
My sister was once on a plane to Birmingham where she saw and spoke to Courteney Cox and David Arquette. I’m sure she now regrets what she said since we have done nothing but tease her about it since she admitted it to us. She told them, “You’re so much cuter in person!”. What a tool.
My friend Amy was stopped on the street and interviewed for the ABC program, What Would You Do?. I know this because I happened to be watching it – which I never had before and have not since – and all of a sudden there was my friend responding to a question about how she would handle it if she knew her boss was about to be fired and also about to lay down a bunch of money on a new house. She came off sounding reasonably intelligent despite a. representing the south and b. having just been randomly approached on the street and asked to respond.
I was interviewed once on the local news. I was just leaving the Fresh Market on a rainy and blustery day having made the decision earlier in the day to let my hair “go curly”. I was also newly pregnant. Not pregnant enough for it to be obvious I was pregnant; but pregnant enough to, with the addition of my stringy, frizzy hair, be thoroughly unattractive. They asked if I’d talk to them about my opinion of the legitimacy of global warming. Did I really have an opinion on global warming? No, not really. I didn’t and don’t know enough about the subject to have an intelligent response. Apparently that was just what they were looking for because they insisted I talk to them. I gave some rambling, idiotic response about how “I tend to believe it’s real”. (I’m really not sure I do.) What a tool.
I also had a couple of instances where I ended up on the radio in my teens where I was calling after a slight dusting of snow to inquire about the status of school being open. (It always was, dammit.) In addition to that, I was also quite the tubular contestant on Chattanooga’s local (now defunct) 80’s station’s Totally Awesome 80’s trivia. I won 3-4 times but I never gave my real name on the air. I was too embarrassed that a person my age would be moronic enough to call in. But I did get a couple of car washes and massages out of it. What a (totally awesome) tool.
So imagine my elation when, on a trip to New Orleans for the BCS game (which I cared nothing about) I spotted 3 celebrities and came face to face with them! First of all, the trip to New Orleans was great fun! Mike and I went down with my sister and brother-in-law and met up with my brother and his family. We got to stay in a house right off of St. Charles in a kind of historic district with street cars and old, gorgeous southern homes. We ate and drank. And drank and ate. I saw a stripper come waltzing out of one of those nasty clubs on Bourbon Street (didn’t see anything other than what was hanging out of each side of her thong, but still – a real, live stripper!). I drank a Hurricane – although to be honest, it wasn’t nearly as awesome as it was when I was in college and had not yet developed a palette for good wines and cocktails. It was a truly New Orleansy experience. What I was not expecting was the number of celebrities who would be out and about.
Our first encounter with the rich and famous came shortly after our arrival the first night we were there. What’s the one thing you hope you won’t have when you have a few days away from the kids? You guessed it – your period. (Unless you’re a man in which case you’d answer that question, “a wife who has her period”.) So, we had to find a store close by as you clearly must know from my previous post. We women bleed so much that with both my sister and I bleeding in unison (you know we all start menstruating when we’re around each other), it could have been Katrina all over again.
At any rate, we found a Whole Foods. Because, let’s be honest - we need organic tampons. We need soy or wheat or flax or something like that in them. I want to be able to plant them in the backyard when I’m finished with them. I only buy TamFlax tampons. I say that as a joke, but they probably exist somewhere. Anyway, we had to stop at Whole Foods for tampons and who do I walk right past on an aisle? Russell Crowe! You’ll be glad to know, he was not purchasing tampons. I’m not sure what he was getting, but I looked up as we passed each other and thought, that looks just like Russell Crowe. He was even dressed down as though to “fit in” like a “normal person”. He was dressed in an unassuming flannel shirt and blue jeans with his gorgeous, multi-million dollar, Oscar-winning face.
At that point, I rushed over to Marc, my brother in law, and told him what I had just seen. I wasn’t 100% sure, but I knew he’d go check it out. So, Marc immediately went to the check-out girls and asked if they had recognized him. They had no clue who he was and didn’t seem to care much that I wanted to stalk him. Marc then went and asked someone about the signature on the receipt. I’m still unclear on this, but I believe they were able to confirm it was The Gladiator himself. As soon as I got back to the car, I grabbed my iPhone and searched for information on Russell Crowe. Turns out, he’s in New Orleans shooting a film. I knew it! I saw the Gladiator in the flesh – or really, the flannel – but we walked right past each other. We made absolutely no eye contact at all, but something passed between us. I felt it. And I’m damn sure he did.
So, the next day, in between rounds of eating and drinking with impunity, we decided to go shopping along Magazine Street. I like that area a lot. Lots of cool shops and coffee houses. Also lots of weirdos. It’s great! Anyway, we came upon a cigar shop and my brother ran in to go get a few cigars for himself, Mike and Marc. While he was in there, the rest of us (my sister in law, Yisel, my sister, Mary and I) hung around outside since the stroller holding my niece Harper was too big and bulky to go into the shop.
While we were milling around minding our own business, a tall, lanky, dark-headed man approached with his young daughter. He was talking to her the entire way. I was struck by his accent. He was very obviously English. He had a kind of cockney accent like the one I can do when I am exaggerating. But his was real. And believable, as opposed to mine. He and I made eye contact and I smiled. He looked familiar so I’m actually not sure if I smiled or if I simply studied him. He held my gaze for a moment. It was kind of a weird look. Sort of like he was undressing me with his eyes. Really, it was nothing like that (not that I’d know that look…). But it was just…odd. I realized later he was likely looking at me waiting for me to recognize him or say his name. He’s used to that. But it didn’t register with me right away who he was. He, too, was dressed very casually. Jeans, a t-shirt and ball cap. When he got up next to the stroller, he turned to his daughter and said, “Look at tha li-uhl bye-bee”. He and my sister exchanged “hi’s” and they went past us. I turned to my sister and said, “That’s Sasha Baron Cohen”. She agreed it did look like him. I pointed out I knew he had a daughter probably close to the age of the little girl and that, in fact, the girl looked like his wife, Isla Fischer. Mary looked back toward them and said, “There’s Isla Fischer!!” Yisel and I got all excited and I dashed into the cigar shop to alert my brother that a comedy genius had just spoken to his daughter. When I came out with John, they were gone. They had disappeared down a side street.
So we did what any other kind, respectful fans would do. We tried to find them and gawk at them again. It dawned on me that he had been looking at me funny because he might be so used to people quoting his movies to him or falling all over themselves to engage him that he was surprised at being left alone. Russell’s M-O was to just look completely past me in order to avoid the fawning and idiocy that the average person must subject him to. He came across as cold and aloof. Sasha seemed friendlier, since he had made eye contact and acknowledged my niece. He seemed like a better sport about his celebrity than did Russell. Of course, it is conceivable that I am reading an awful lot into two experiences whose combined timing lasted all of about 10 seconds.
We walked down the street for a while until we decided that they had probably ducked into a private location and we wouldn’t see them again. When we had finished with our shopping, we went back in the car and drove down Magazine Street on our way home. We were talking about how cool it was that we had seen the man who played Borat and how neat it was that they were just out enjoying the day as a family not worried about being hounded by the paparazzi when we spotted them again. We were so excited! We yelled at told John to pull over so he could get a good look. As you may remember, John hadn’t seen them yet. He was buying cigars.
Chaos erupted in the car. John was not really sure if we were serious that he should pull over. I mean, we were adults, right? We shouldn’t be behaving this way. They’re just famous people. It’s not like it was the President or the Pope. Just two actors. And not even highly recognizable ones at that. I told Mary to roll down her window to get a couple of pictures so we could brag about this to everyone later. Who would believe we had seen so many famous people in such a short span of time? We needed photographic proof. Yisel was sliding as far down in her seat as she could; clearly uncomfortable that we wouldn’t leave these people alone. Mary leaned the camera out the window as inconspicuously as possible. They were across the street from where we were and it is a busy street so hopefully they were blissfully unaware of the amateur paparazzos in the white Toyota. And here we had just been discussing how refreshing it probably was for them to be able to go out in public without being hassled!
Although I don’t normally post pictures on this blog, I did want to share the shots we got so you will have irrefutable proof of our celebrity sighting.
This first one is of Isla Fischer whom you may remember from her role in Wedding Crashers.
Okay, a car drove by right when Mary took the picture. This one clearly shows her.
And here’s Sasha with one of Isla's eyes making into the shot.
Clearly my sister has no future in the paprazzi.
In case you are doubtful, I looked it up and he, too, is filming in New Orleans. It was them. We know it was. It’s just that we need to brush up on our ambush photography. We did consider going back up to them and saying, “That was so rude of me. I meant to say hello.”, but ultimately, we got back into our lane and began the drive back to the house.
Along the way, we kept thinking we saw famous people, but it turned out to just be everyday Joes. Here some actual examples of things that were said during the remainder of our trip:
Also on Magazine Street –
Look! There’s Zach Galifinakis!
No, no, I was wrong. It’s just a fat guy with a beard.
Along St. Charles Avenue –
Look! There’s Lance Armstrong!
No, no, it’s just a guy with one testicle riding a bike.
Also along St. Charles –
Look! There’s Forrest Gump!
No, no, it’s just a guy running.
At Brennan’s Restaurant –
Look! There’s Verne “Mini Me” Troyer!
No, no, it’s just someone’s toddler.
At an outdoor basketball court -
Look! It's Matthew McCoughnahey!
No, no, it's just a guy who doesn't wear deodorant playing the bongos without his shirt on.
In the bar at Jacques Imo’s –
Look! It’s Tom Cruise!
No, no, it’s just a guy making cocktails.
At dinner at Jacques Imo’s –
Look! It’s Paul Newman!
No, no, it’s just an elderly man tasting salad dressing.
In the French Quarter –
Look! It’s John Travolta!
No, no, it’s just a gay guy trying to appear straight.
Ah, the fun you can have when you’re riding the “I’ve just had a brush with fame” high.
In researching if I had actually seen Russell Crowe, Sasha Baron Cohen and Isla Fischer, I noted that there were other celebrities shooting in New Orleans as well. For the rest of the trip we were on Leo watch. Others reported via Facebook having seen John Lithgow on Bourbon Street, but alas, these were the only celebrities we saw while we were there.
We had a great trip, lots of great food and drinks, and lots and lots of laughs. But now I’m back to my life as usual without any routine brushes with fame. And here I sit, wasting time telling this story when I should get myself ready and go out and be productive. I’ll wrap this up and head out. Until next time…
Look! It’s Charlize Theron!
No, no, it’s just a mirror.
My sister was once on a plane to Birmingham where she saw and spoke to Courteney Cox and David Arquette. I’m sure she now regrets what she said since we have done nothing but tease her about it since she admitted it to us. She told them, “You’re so much cuter in person!”. What a tool.
My friend Amy was stopped on the street and interviewed for the ABC program, What Would You Do?. I know this because I happened to be watching it – which I never had before and have not since – and all of a sudden there was my friend responding to a question about how she would handle it if she knew her boss was about to be fired and also about to lay down a bunch of money on a new house. She came off sounding reasonably intelligent despite a. representing the south and b. having just been randomly approached on the street and asked to respond.
I was interviewed once on the local news. I was just leaving the Fresh Market on a rainy and blustery day having made the decision earlier in the day to let my hair “go curly”. I was also newly pregnant. Not pregnant enough for it to be obvious I was pregnant; but pregnant enough to, with the addition of my stringy, frizzy hair, be thoroughly unattractive. They asked if I’d talk to them about my opinion of the legitimacy of global warming. Did I really have an opinion on global warming? No, not really. I didn’t and don’t know enough about the subject to have an intelligent response. Apparently that was just what they were looking for because they insisted I talk to them. I gave some rambling, idiotic response about how “I tend to believe it’s real”. (I’m really not sure I do.) What a tool.
I also had a couple of instances where I ended up on the radio in my teens where I was calling after a slight dusting of snow to inquire about the status of school being open. (It always was, dammit.) In addition to that, I was also quite the tubular contestant on Chattanooga’s local (now defunct) 80’s station’s Totally Awesome 80’s trivia. I won 3-4 times but I never gave my real name on the air. I was too embarrassed that a person my age would be moronic enough to call in. But I did get a couple of car washes and massages out of it. What a (totally awesome) tool.
So imagine my elation when, on a trip to New Orleans for the BCS game (which I cared nothing about) I spotted 3 celebrities and came face to face with them! First of all, the trip to New Orleans was great fun! Mike and I went down with my sister and brother-in-law and met up with my brother and his family. We got to stay in a house right off of St. Charles in a kind of historic district with street cars and old, gorgeous southern homes. We ate and drank. And drank and ate. I saw a stripper come waltzing out of one of those nasty clubs on Bourbon Street (didn’t see anything other than what was hanging out of each side of her thong, but still – a real, live stripper!). I drank a Hurricane – although to be honest, it wasn’t nearly as awesome as it was when I was in college and had not yet developed a palette for good wines and cocktails. It was a truly New Orleansy experience. What I was not expecting was the number of celebrities who would be out and about.
Our first encounter with the rich and famous came shortly after our arrival the first night we were there. What’s the one thing you hope you won’t have when you have a few days away from the kids? You guessed it – your period. (Unless you’re a man in which case you’d answer that question, “a wife who has her period”.) So, we had to find a store close by as you clearly must know from my previous post. We women bleed so much that with both my sister and I bleeding in unison (you know we all start menstruating when we’re around each other), it could have been Katrina all over again.
At any rate, we found a Whole Foods. Because, let’s be honest - we need organic tampons. We need soy or wheat or flax or something like that in them. I want to be able to plant them in the backyard when I’m finished with them. I only buy TamFlax tampons. I say that as a joke, but they probably exist somewhere. Anyway, we had to stop at Whole Foods for tampons and who do I walk right past on an aisle? Russell Crowe! You’ll be glad to know, he was not purchasing tampons. I’m not sure what he was getting, but I looked up as we passed each other and thought, that looks just like Russell Crowe. He was even dressed down as though to “fit in” like a “normal person”. He was dressed in an unassuming flannel shirt and blue jeans with his gorgeous, multi-million dollar, Oscar-winning face.
At that point, I rushed over to Marc, my brother in law, and told him what I had just seen. I wasn’t 100% sure, but I knew he’d go check it out. So, Marc immediately went to the check-out girls and asked if they had recognized him. They had no clue who he was and didn’t seem to care much that I wanted to stalk him. Marc then went and asked someone about the signature on the receipt. I’m still unclear on this, but I believe they were able to confirm it was The Gladiator himself. As soon as I got back to the car, I grabbed my iPhone and searched for information on Russell Crowe. Turns out, he’s in New Orleans shooting a film. I knew it! I saw the Gladiator in the flesh – or really, the flannel – but we walked right past each other. We made absolutely no eye contact at all, but something passed between us. I felt it. And I’m damn sure he did.
So, the next day, in between rounds of eating and drinking with impunity, we decided to go shopping along Magazine Street. I like that area a lot. Lots of cool shops and coffee houses. Also lots of weirdos. It’s great! Anyway, we came upon a cigar shop and my brother ran in to go get a few cigars for himself, Mike and Marc. While he was in there, the rest of us (my sister in law, Yisel, my sister, Mary and I) hung around outside since the stroller holding my niece Harper was too big and bulky to go into the shop.
While we were milling around minding our own business, a tall, lanky, dark-headed man approached with his young daughter. He was talking to her the entire way. I was struck by his accent. He was very obviously English. He had a kind of cockney accent like the one I can do when I am exaggerating. But his was real. And believable, as opposed to mine. He and I made eye contact and I smiled. He looked familiar so I’m actually not sure if I smiled or if I simply studied him. He held my gaze for a moment. It was kind of a weird look. Sort of like he was undressing me with his eyes. Really, it was nothing like that (not that I’d know that look…). But it was just…odd. I realized later he was likely looking at me waiting for me to recognize him or say his name. He’s used to that. But it didn’t register with me right away who he was. He, too, was dressed very casually. Jeans, a t-shirt and ball cap. When he got up next to the stroller, he turned to his daughter and said, “Look at tha li-uhl bye-bee”. He and my sister exchanged “hi’s” and they went past us. I turned to my sister and said, “That’s Sasha Baron Cohen”. She agreed it did look like him. I pointed out I knew he had a daughter probably close to the age of the little girl and that, in fact, the girl looked like his wife, Isla Fischer. Mary looked back toward them and said, “There’s Isla Fischer!!” Yisel and I got all excited and I dashed into the cigar shop to alert my brother that a comedy genius had just spoken to his daughter. When I came out with John, they were gone. They had disappeared down a side street.
So we did what any other kind, respectful fans would do. We tried to find them and gawk at them again. It dawned on me that he had been looking at me funny because he might be so used to people quoting his movies to him or falling all over themselves to engage him that he was surprised at being left alone. Russell’s M-O was to just look completely past me in order to avoid the fawning and idiocy that the average person must subject him to. He came across as cold and aloof. Sasha seemed friendlier, since he had made eye contact and acknowledged my niece. He seemed like a better sport about his celebrity than did Russell. Of course, it is conceivable that I am reading an awful lot into two experiences whose combined timing lasted all of about 10 seconds.
We walked down the street for a while until we decided that they had probably ducked into a private location and we wouldn’t see them again. When we had finished with our shopping, we went back in the car and drove down Magazine Street on our way home. We were talking about how cool it was that we had seen the man who played Borat and how neat it was that they were just out enjoying the day as a family not worried about being hounded by the paparazzi when we spotted them again. We were so excited! We yelled at told John to pull over so he could get a good look. As you may remember, John hadn’t seen them yet. He was buying cigars.
Chaos erupted in the car. John was not really sure if we were serious that he should pull over. I mean, we were adults, right? We shouldn’t be behaving this way. They’re just famous people. It’s not like it was the President or the Pope. Just two actors. And not even highly recognizable ones at that. I told Mary to roll down her window to get a couple of pictures so we could brag about this to everyone later. Who would believe we had seen so many famous people in such a short span of time? We needed photographic proof. Yisel was sliding as far down in her seat as she could; clearly uncomfortable that we wouldn’t leave these people alone. Mary leaned the camera out the window as inconspicuously as possible. They were across the street from where we were and it is a busy street so hopefully they were blissfully unaware of the amateur paparazzos in the white Toyota. And here we had just been discussing how refreshing it probably was for them to be able to go out in public without being hassled!
Although I don’t normally post pictures on this blog, I did want to share the shots we got so you will have irrefutable proof of our celebrity sighting.
This first one is of Isla Fischer whom you may remember from her role in Wedding Crashers.
Okay, a car drove by right when Mary took the picture. This one clearly shows her.
And here’s Sasha with one of Isla's eyes making into the shot.
Clearly my sister has no future in the paprazzi.
In case you are doubtful, I looked it up and he, too, is filming in New Orleans. It was them. We know it was. It’s just that we need to brush up on our ambush photography. We did consider going back up to them and saying, “That was so rude of me. I meant to say hello.”, but ultimately, we got back into our lane and began the drive back to the house.
Along the way, we kept thinking we saw famous people, but it turned out to just be everyday Joes. Here some actual examples of things that were said during the remainder of our trip:
Also on Magazine Street –
Look! There’s Zach Galifinakis!
No, no, I was wrong. It’s just a fat guy with a beard.
Along St. Charles Avenue –
Look! There’s Lance Armstrong!
No, no, it’s just a guy with one testicle riding a bike.
Also along St. Charles –
Look! There’s Forrest Gump!
No, no, it’s just a guy running.
At Brennan’s Restaurant –
Look! There’s Verne “Mini Me” Troyer!
No, no, it’s just someone’s toddler.
At an outdoor basketball court -
Look! It's Matthew McCoughnahey!
No, no, it's just a guy who doesn't wear deodorant playing the bongos without his shirt on.
In the bar at Jacques Imo’s –
Look! It’s Tom Cruise!
No, no, it’s just a guy making cocktails.
At dinner at Jacques Imo’s –
Look! It’s Paul Newman!
No, no, it’s just an elderly man tasting salad dressing.
In the French Quarter –
Look! It’s John Travolta!
No, no, it’s just a gay guy trying to appear straight.
Ah, the fun you can have when you’re riding the “I’ve just had a brush with fame” high.
In researching if I had actually seen Russell Crowe, Sasha Baron Cohen and Isla Fischer, I noted that there were other celebrities shooting in New Orleans as well. For the rest of the trip we were on Leo watch. Others reported via Facebook having seen John Lithgow on Bourbon Street, but alas, these were the only celebrities we saw while we were there.
We had a great trip, lots of great food and drinks, and lots and lots of laughs. But now I’m back to my life as usual without any routine brushes with fame. And here I sit, wasting time telling this story when I should get myself ready and go out and be productive. I’ll wrap this up and head out. Until next time…
Look! It’s Charlize Theron!
No, no, it’s just a mirror.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
The Magic of Christmas: 2011 Edition
Christmas, Christmas time was here. Of course, that’s the Christmas song that Alvin and the Chipmunks made famous and one of the ones that I’ve heard 715 times this season. I still have all of my favorite Christmas songs stuck in my head since I have been listening to nothing else since November 25th. I am officially in my post-Christmas funk which happens every year. Why does it happen when I know it will come? Can’t I prepare for it? Can’t I get less swept up in the holiday spirit so that I don’t get the blues when it all comes to an end? The answer is that I cannot.
The build-up to Christmas is such a magical time for me. And there’s no “over” like the moment you realize Christmas is over. It makes you sad to hear the music. It is bittersweet to see the TV specials. I get sad looking at my decorations because I know that I’ll put them away and will not see them for eleven months. I saw some of that same sadness in Kate this year. There was a moment on Christmas night when she realized she had played with all of her new toys and began crying. She was sad because it was all… over. Sure, she appreciated her gifts and had a great day. But she said the words I’d said so many years as a kid, “I wish every day was Christmas”. I heard myself respond the way my father would respond to me; “If Christmas was everyday, it wouldn’t be as special”.
I am giddy for about the entire month leading up to Christmas. I love getting Christmas cards in the mail. I love the music, the lights, the merriment. I am a Christmas nerd. I’ve admitted it before and I feel no shame about it. I. Love. It. But then, Christmas day comes and I already have the sinking feeling Christmas morning that it’s about to be over. It’s almost like I can’t even enjoy the actual day because I’m spending so much time thinking about and dreading the fact that it’s coming to an end.
I do enjoy the day, of course. I love watching my kids experience the joy and the magic of Christmas. This was my first year to have Christmas without my parents present. They went to be with my sister’s family this year. Mike was worried that I’d be weepy about it. I was fine, actually, although I did miss having them over. But this year, the focus was solely on our little family of four. We did have Mike’s parents over for Christmas dinner – which was almost a disaster since Christmas “dinner” is really a late lunch but they understood they’d be joining us at dinnertime which threw all of my pre-ordained traditions into a temporary but ultimately resolvable tailspin. But, for most of the day it was just the four of us.
I was a little worried leading up to the big day because last year’s Christmas was so memorable due to the 8 inches of snow we had. It was my first white Christmas and theirs, but they now associated Christmas with snowman-building. I kept telling them that it was not likely to snow this year, but they just wouldn’t hear of it. In their minds’ limited retention, it snowed every Christmas and they were going to be disappointed if everything wasn’t covered in snow when they awoke. And I must say that the snow made it kind of an extra-special Christmas for me last year. It’s just so rare that we get that much snow all season – let alone in one day. And on Christmas! No wonder there are songs about people dreaming of a white Christmas. It was a magical dream come true.
But I digress. On Christmas Eve, we got the house ready for Santa’s arrival and put the kids to bed. They were worried that they wouldn’t be able to sleep for all of the excitement and that Santa wouldn’t come since “he knows when you’re awake”. About 10 seconds after assuring them that they would, in fact, sleep, they passed out. Mike and I poured a glass of wine and sat out on the porch in front of the fire listening (Mike, begrudgingly) to Christmas music. He’s such a good sport to put up with the forced compliance my Christmas requires.
On Christmas morning, I experienced what my father has relayed to me about our childhood Christmases. Mike and I were awake, waiting for the girls to come bounding down the stairs to “wake us up” and get us all opening stockings. It doesn’t seem right that the parents would be awake first – you’d think the kids would burst into the room at 5 a.m., but for us, as it was for my parents, it’s a waiting game to see when they’ll wake up. My first tinge that “this is almost over” came when I finally heard them rustling upstairs. Once the day was in motion, it couldn’t be stopped from progressing. It was at this moment that I realized that it wasn’t really Christmas that I love, but the build-up to it. The entire experience of it. People you don’t know wishing you a Merry Christmas. People generally in a happier mood (unless in traffic or a mall). The anticipation of what’s to come. The parties. And, oh my – the food!
But they began stirring and came running downstairs and saw the gifts Santa had left. We began opening our stockings, ate a nice breakfast and then started in on the rest of the gifts. I decided to relax my mandatory Christmas routine slightly and not go through my normal showering-before-opening-gifts routine. We actually were allowed to open gifts in our jammies. I didn’t even wear a bra. A Christmas miracle!
The first gifts opened were the ones the girls had made for each other. Kate had made Meg a crown out of pipe cleaners. Meg had colored a picture for Kate from her Charlie Brown Christmas coloring book and had put smiley face stickers on it. They were both excited about the gifts they were giving – which is a very important lesson for a kid to learn. It warms my heart that they not only wanted to make each other a gift, but that they were so excited to give them that we had to start with those gifts in particular. What a special way to start the day.
The girls were also thrilled with the rest of their presents. They seemed to love and be excited about everything they got. Kate would unwrap something neatly and carefully at first. She would then discover what it was and say, “Yes, yes, yes! I LOVE THIS! THANK YOU, THANK YOU!!!” and would rip through the remaining paper. Meg would say, “OOOOH, I wanted this!! Ohmygosh!!” Both of them were so happy and had so much fun. After everything had been opened, the real opening began – removing the layers and layers of impenetrable plastic wrap encasing Barbies and Disney characters as though they held matters of national security. We also had to play every game and remove each and every teeny tiny piece that came with each play set. One Strawberry Shortcake grocery play set alone came with 28 tiny food items, all of which I have stepped on in the four days that have passed since Christmas. The Barbie nurse they got came with a damn doctor’s bag, stethoscope, clipboard, and all kinds of crap my kids will most certainly lose if they haven’t already. Don’t the makers of these toys know who will be receiving them? Does any kid keep up with all of these accessories in a nice, neat compartment that never get in their parents' way??!
But anyway, with each year that passes, my girls seem to experience more and more of the joy and wonder of Christmas. This year, they enjoyed giving. They, of course, enjoyed receiving. They loved the music and the playing. We had a blast together even though we really didn’t do all that much. We had fun just hanging out as a family and watching movies together and popping popcorn. We all had a lovely time during the holidays and on Christmas day. I can’t wait – although it will be a long one – until we can do it all again next year.
And you know what? None of us even noticed that it didn’t snow.
The build-up to Christmas is such a magical time for me. And there’s no “over” like the moment you realize Christmas is over. It makes you sad to hear the music. It is bittersweet to see the TV specials. I get sad looking at my decorations because I know that I’ll put them away and will not see them for eleven months. I saw some of that same sadness in Kate this year. There was a moment on Christmas night when she realized she had played with all of her new toys and began crying. She was sad because it was all… over. Sure, she appreciated her gifts and had a great day. But she said the words I’d said so many years as a kid, “I wish every day was Christmas”. I heard myself respond the way my father would respond to me; “If Christmas was everyday, it wouldn’t be as special”.
I am giddy for about the entire month leading up to Christmas. I love getting Christmas cards in the mail. I love the music, the lights, the merriment. I am a Christmas nerd. I’ve admitted it before and I feel no shame about it. I. Love. It. But then, Christmas day comes and I already have the sinking feeling Christmas morning that it’s about to be over. It’s almost like I can’t even enjoy the actual day because I’m spending so much time thinking about and dreading the fact that it’s coming to an end.
I do enjoy the day, of course. I love watching my kids experience the joy and the magic of Christmas. This was my first year to have Christmas without my parents present. They went to be with my sister’s family this year. Mike was worried that I’d be weepy about it. I was fine, actually, although I did miss having them over. But this year, the focus was solely on our little family of four. We did have Mike’s parents over for Christmas dinner – which was almost a disaster since Christmas “dinner” is really a late lunch but they understood they’d be joining us at dinnertime which threw all of my pre-ordained traditions into a temporary but ultimately resolvable tailspin. But, for most of the day it was just the four of us.
I was a little worried leading up to the big day because last year’s Christmas was so memorable due to the 8 inches of snow we had. It was my first white Christmas and theirs, but they now associated Christmas with snowman-building. I kept telling them that it was not likely to snow this year, but they just wouldn’t hear of it. In their minds’ limited retention, it snowed every Christmas and they were going to be disappointed if everything wasn’t covered in snow when they awoke. And I must say that the snow made it kind of an extra-special Christmas for me last year. It’s just so rare that we get that much snow all season – let alone in one day. And on Christmas! No wonder there are songs about people dreaming of a white Christmas. It was a magical dream come true.
But I digress. On Christmas Eve, we got the house ready for Santa’s arrival and put the kids to bed. They were worried that they wouldn’t be able to sleep for all of the excitement and that Santa wouldn’t come since “he knows when you’re awake”. About 10 seconds after assuring them that they would, in fact, sleep, they passed out. Mike and I poured a glass of wine and sat out on the porch in front of the fire listening (Mike, begrudgingly) to Christmas music. He’s such a good sport to put up with the forced compliance my Christmas requires.
On Christmas morning, I experienced what my father has relayed to me about our childhood Christmases. Mike and I were awake, waiting for the girls to come bounding down the stairs to “wake us up” and get us all opening stockings. It doesn’t seem right that the parents would be awake first – you’d think the kids would burst into the room at 5 a.m., but for us, as it was for my parents, it’s a waiting game to see when they’ll wake up. My first tinge that “this is almost over” came when I finally heard them rustling upstairs. Once the day was in motion, it couldn’t be stopped from progressing. It was at this moment that I realized that it wasn’t really Christmas that I love, but the build-up to it. The entire experience of it. People you don’t know wishing you a Merry Christmas. People generally in a happier mood (unless in traffic or a mall). The anticipation of what’s to come. The parties. And, oh my – the food!
But they began stirring and came running downstairs and saw the gifts Santa had left. We began opening our stockings, ate a nice breakfast and then started in on the rest of the gifts. I decided to relax my mandatory Christmas routine slightly and not go through my normal showering-before-opening-gifts routine. We actually were allowed to open gifts in our jammies. I didn’t even wear a bra. A Christmas miracle!
The first gifts opened were the ones the girls had made for each other. Kate had made Meg a crown out of pipe cleaners. Meg had colored a picture for Kate from her Charlie Brown Christmas coloring book and had put smiley face stickers on it. They were both excited about the gifts they were giving – which is a very important lesson for a kid to learn. It warms my heart that they not only wanted to make each other a gift, but that they were so excited to give them that we had to start with those gifts in particular. What a special way to start the day.
The girls were also thrilled with the rest of their presents. They seemed to love and be excited about everything they got. Kate would unwrap something neatly and carefully at first. She would then discover what it was and say, “Yes, yes, yes! I LOVE THIS! THANK YOU, THANK YOU!!!” and would rip through the remaining paper. Meg would say, “OOOOH, I wanted this!! Ohmygosh!!” Both of them were so happy and had so much fun. After everything had been opened, the real opening began – removing the layers and layers of impenetrable plastic wrap encasing Barbies and Disney characters as though they held matters of national security. We also had to play every game and remove each and every teeny tiny piece that came with each play set. One Strawberry Shortcake grocery play set alone came with 28 tiny food items, all of which I have stepped on in the four days that have passed since Christmas. The Barbie nurse they got came with a damn doctor’s bag, stethoscope, clipboard, and all kinds of crap my kids will most certainly lose if they haven’t already. Don’t the makers of these toys know who will be receiving them? Does any kid keep up with all of these accessories in a nice, neat compartment that never get in their parents' way??!
But anyway, with each year that passes, my girls seem to experience more and more of the joy and wonder of Christmas. This year, they enjoyed giving. They, of course, enjoyed receiving. They loved the music and the playing. We had a blast together even though we really didn’t do all that much. We had fun just hanging out as a family and watching movies together and popping popcorn. We all had a lovely time during the holidays and on Christmas day. I can’t wait – although it will be a long one – until we can do it all again next year.
And you know what? None of us even noticed that it didn’t snow.
The Nutcracker
Forgot to post this before Christmas.
Well, it's been a while since I've posted, but it's because of all of the nutcracking that's been going on in my life. First, I took the girls - along with their grandmother (Nonny), Aunt Anh and cousin Ella - to the Chattanooga Ballet's rendition of the Nutcracker. I don't know much about the story of the nutcracker because my parents apparently were communists and never took me to see it as a child. (I was also never taken to Disneyworld, so they're either communists or aliens.) So, I was excited that this year the girls were old enough and well behaved enough to go. Except they weren't. But I'll get to that in a minute.
The girls have been taking dance at their school on Monday afternoons and both have been learning dances for the school’s production of the Nutcracker. So, they both get so excited every time one of the songs comes on my iPod (since I've been listening to nothing but Christmas music since the day after Thanksgiving). So I thought that they would be interested enough, based on their new found love of the music, to sit through the show.
The first problem (and there were several) was that the show didn't start until 8:00 p.m. That's a problem for a couple of reasons. First - my kids go to bed at 8:30 Second, I got to bed at 9:00! How were we going to survive this? We grabbed a rushed dinner at Lupi's Pizza just down the street from the theatre. I was in charge of ordering and due to my deplorable math skills, I miscalculated how much pizza would be needed. I ended up only having two pieces and I was not happy. I normally eat 4-5 pieces because I am a gluttonous beast. As is their usual ritual, the girls shook enough Parmesan cheese on theirs that their slice was completely eclipsed. They had cheese everywhere. All over their the table. All over their clothes. In their hair. In their shoes. Stuck to their tights. Everywhere.
After we scarfed down our pizza, we headed in the frigid air, a few blocks away to the show. I was pleasantly surprised to see how close to the stage our seats were. We were in the orchestra left section which means our party of six had a row all to ourselves. It was great - except that we were so close and so "left" that the last two people in the row had a hard time seeing the entire stage. The hefty, tattooed girl in what appeared to be a 1980's prom dress who sat directly in front of Meg's seat, also was a problem. Meg was very particular about where she sat. She was fine in the two left seats, but anything past that she said, loudly, "smelled like throw-up". I leaned over to smell it to see why she would say that and I couldn't smell anything. The only thing I could smell was the Parmesan cheese that was still all over her. And honestly, it smelled a little like throw up. Could it be that she was offended by her own smell? If so, why couldn't she smell regardless of where she sat? Anyway, she and I were bound to the two seats on the far left due to my fear she's make a scene.
The second problem was that I had misjudged Meg's interest in seeing this ballet. She kept pointing at the hefty, tattooed girl in front of us saying, loudly, "she's in my way". She also continued to comment (loudly) on how everything seemed to smell like throw up - even though she was the only one who was smelling it. She had one nostril that was stopped up which is admittedly very annoying and uncomfortable thing when it happens. However, she KEPT sniffing and blowing and sniffing and blowing and finally sniffing and crying and made it clear to me that I was going to have to make an early exit with her. I wondered why she was trying so hard to breathe when she could only smell throw up, but it didn’t matter. She was determined to get her nostril clear. We had only been there about 15 minutes and I was very worried that her behavior was bothering the people around us. As you are already aware, I always end up sitting next to people who make me question why I ever go out in crowds and I certainly did not want to force this on the people around us.
The third problem, which helped me with the second problem, is that the first act just wasn't that good. The way the story was depicted early on didn't make much sense. The dancing was just "okay". The first part of the story doesn't showcase the best music of the show - the memorable pieces like "March" and "Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy". It just wasn't that impressive. So, when the intermission came, I decided to scoop up my crying, sniffing, throw-up-smelling daughter and carry her out into the lobby to get her away from the people around us. Once we were out there, she became the most pleasant, sweetest kid I could ask for. I knew we wouldn't go back into the auditorium (which was actually fine with me given that I hadn't been bowled over by the show so far).
So, the second half started up started up and Meg and I played in the lobby. We bought a nutcracker ornament being sold by the vendors in the lobby. We cuddled together on a bench. She performed her dances for me and other onlookers when the music she recognized began streaming in from the auditorium. We actually had some good Mama and Meg time. Kate, meanwhile, was beginning to hit her own wall. I had left her in the very capable hands and lap of Nonny. But as I've mentioned the show started at 8:00. She is used to going to bed at 8:30. And she is my sleeper. Until maybe 6 months ago, she was still taking 2-3 hour naps. She's the kid who tells the babysitter, "I'm ready to go to bed". Every time a new song would start up Nonny reported to me later (since, as you recall, I was in the lobby), Kate would gasp and whine and groan a very disappointed, “Nooooooooo!”; almost like what I picture a deer does once it has been seized by a hunter's bullet. Not only is she my sleeper, but she's also my kid most likely to behave in most situations, so that's as bad as her behavior got. Just the constant moans of child being forced against her will to sit through the ballet at this late hour. But, lesson learned. They weren't ready for a ballet. Certainly not one that started at 8:00. From what I could tell from the crowd's reaction, the second half was WAY better than the first. But alas, I couldn't watch it. But maybe there was still hope. The girls had their Nutcracker recital at school coming up, so I was finally going to get to see it in its entirety.
Two nights after the Chattanooga Ballet Nutcracker debacle,I finally got the last of the Parmesan cheese out of their hair the girls had their Nutcracker performance at school. From the looks of Meg's costume, I could deduce that she was supposed to be a Sugar Plum Fairy. From the looks of Kate's costume, I could only assume she was some kind of Hoochie Mama. It looked nothing like anything resembling Christmas or nutcrackers or even childhood. It was this black almost flapper-looking, form-fitting, spaghetti-strap something-or-other. And she wasn't happy about it. Meg had wings and pastel colors so there was a lot of jealousy on Kate's part. She was mad because Meg’s costume made her look beautiful (her word) and hers made her look like a tramp (my word).
Still, I pulled their hair into a bun – a welcome change for Kate who is in the early stages of the dreaded growing-out-the-bangs phase, gave them each a tiny bit of make-up for the stage, and off we went to what I was sure would be a better experience than the evening ballet. A better experience? Yes. A better production of the Nutcracker? Um, no. It was about as dog-and-pony as anything I’ve seen. Not that should I have expected anything different. It’s not like they take dance at a studio – it’s just an after-school class taught by one of the school teachers. But I guess I thought it would be more polished and coordinated. Or just polished and coordinated at all.
That’s overly harsh. It was fine. The girls did a good job. They were precious, actually. The quality of the sound system left a lot to be desired. A lot. It probably would’ve been better and clearer if I had just stood up and hummed the music. Also, most of the kids performed as though this was the first time they had actually seen the dance they were doing. But, it was cute. It was fun. Watching kids perform amid organized chaos always is. In this particular performance, I’m not sure there was an actual storyline. There was a giant cardboard nutcracker as part of the scenery and one girl danced with a doll in a way similar to what I had seen at the Chattanooga Ballet. But past that, I have no idea what on earth was going on. Just a bunch of fairies and hoochies flailing about.
During Meg’s dance number, I heard this kind of ferocious splash and then saw a group of people scatter. An attendee, not a performer thankfully, had just thrown up in the audience. Those school workers, probably very seasoned in just such a circumstance, sprang into action. I’ll bet half the audience didn’t even know it happened. They had it cleaned up and covered in that nasty looking kitty litter stuff in no time. I share that because that was probably the most exciting part of the show. But, the girls did their dances, tried their best, and paid attention to the teacher at all times. They were proud of themselves which makes me happy, and they really enjoyed the flowers their daddy brought to give them after their performance. It was very sweet.
So, I have been busy lately with all of the trips to see the Nutcracker and I technically still haven't seen the Nutcracker. Not in it's entirety anyway. Well, there’s always next year’s festivities. Hope you and your family enjoy the Christmas holidays!
Well, it's been a while since I've posted, but it's because of all of the nutcracking that's been going on in my life. First, I took the girls - along with their grandmother (Nonny), Aunt Anh and cousin Ella - to the Chattanooga Ballet's rendition of the Nutcracker. I don't know much about the story of the nutcracker because my parents apparently were communists and never took me to see it as a child. (I was also never taken to Disneyworld, so they're either communists or aliens.) So, I was excited that this year the girls were old enough and well behaved enough to go. Except they weren't. But I'll get to that in a minute.
The girls have been taking dance at their school on Monday afternoons and both have been learning dances for the school’s production of the Nutcracker. So, they both get so excited every time one of the songs comes on my iPod (since I've been listening to nothing but Christmas music since the day after Thanksgiving). So I thought that they would be interested enough, based on their new found love of the music, to sit through the show.
The first problem (and there were several) was that the show didn't start until 8:00 p.m. That's a problem for a couple of reasons. First - my kids go to bed at 8:30 Second, I got to bed at 9:00! How were we going to survive this? We grabbed a rushed dinner at Lupi's Pizza just down the street from the theatre. I was in charge of ordering and due to my deplorable math skills, I miscalculated how much pizza would be needed. I ended up only having two pieces and I was not happy. I normally eat 4-5 pieces because I am a gluttonous beast. As is their usual ritual, the girls shook enough Parmesan cheese on theirs that their slice was completely eclipsed. They had cheese everywhere. All over their the table. All over their clothes. In their hair. In their shoes. Stuck to their tights. Everywhere.
After we scarfed down our pizza, we headed in the frigid air, a few blocks away to the show. I was pleasantly surprised to see how close to the stage our seats were. We were in the orchestra left section which means our party of six had a row all to ourselves. It was great - except that we were so close and so "left" that the last two people in the row had a hard time seeing the entire stage. The hefty, tattooed girl in what appeared to be a 1980's prom dress who sat directly in front of Meg's seat, also was a problem. Meg was very particular about where she sat. She was fine in the two left seats, but anything past that she said, loudly, "smelled like throw-up". I leaned over to smell it to see why she would say that and I couldn't smell anything. The only thing I could smell was the Parmesan cheese that was still all over her. And honestly, it smelled a little like throw up. Could it be that she was offended by her own smell? If so, why couldn't she smell regardless of where she sat? Anyway, she and I were bound to the two seats on the far left due to my fear she's make a scene.
The second problem was that I had misjudged Meg's interest in seeing this ballet. She kept pointing at the hefty, tattooed girl in front of us saying, loudly, "she's in my way". She also continued to comment (loudly) on how everything seemed to smell like throw up - even though she was the only one who was smelling it. She had one nostril that was stopped up which is admittedly very annoying and uncomfortable thing when it happens. However, she KEPT sniffing and blowing and sniffing and blowing and finally sniffing and crying and made it clear to me that I was going to have to make an early exit with her. I wondered why she was trying so hard to breathe when she could only smell throw up, but it didn’t matter. She was determined to get her nostril clear. We had only been there about 15 minutes and I was very worried that her behavior was bothering the people around us. As you are already aware, I always end up sitting next to people who make me question why I ever go out in crowds and I certainly did not want to force this on the people around us.
The third problem, which helped me with the second problem, is that the first act just wasn't that good. The way the story was depicted early on didn't make much sense. The dancing was just "okay". The first part of the story doesn't showcase the best music of the show - the memorable pieces like "March" and "Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy". It just wasn't that impressive. So, when the intermission came, I decided to scoop up my crying, sniffing, throw-up-smelling daughter and carry her out into the lobby to get her away from the people around us. Once we were out there, she became the most pleasant, sweetest kid I could ask for. I knew we wouldn't go back into the auditorium (which was actually fine with me given that I hadn't been bowled over by the show so far).
So, the second half started up started up and Meg and I played in the lobby. We bought a nutcracker ornament being sold by the vendors in the lobby. We cuddled together on a bench. She performed her dances for me and other onlookers when the music she recognized began streaming in from the auditorium. We actually had some good Mama and Meg time. Kate, meanwhile, was beginning to hit her own wall. I had left her in the very capable hands and lap of Nonny. But as I've mentioned the show started at 8:00. She is used to going to bed at 8:30. And she is my sleeper. Until maybe 6 months ago, she was still taking 2-3 hour naps. She's the kid who tells the babysitter, "I'm ready to go to bed". Every time a new song would start up Nonny reported to me later (since, as you recall, I was in the lobby), Kate would gasp and whine and groan a very disappointed, “Nooooooooo!”; almost like what I picture a deer does once it has been seized by a hunter's bullet. Not only is she my sleeper, but she's also my kid most likely to behave in most situations, so that's as bad as her behavior got. Just the constant moans of child being forced against her will to sit through the ballet at this late hour. But, lesson learned. They weren't ready for a ballet. Certainly not one that started at 8:00. From what I could tell from the crowd's reaction, the second half was WAY better than the first. But alas, I couldn't watch it. But maybe there was still hope. The girls had their Nutcracker recital at school coming up, so I was finally going to get to see it in its entirety.
Two nights after the Chattanooga Ballet Nutcracker debacle,
Still, I pulled their hair into a bun – a welcome change for Kate who is in the early stages of the dreaded growing-out-the-bangs phase, gave them each a tiny bit of make-up for the stage, and off we went to what I was sure would be a better experience than the evening ballet. A better experience? Yes. A better production of the Nutcracker? Um, no. It was about as dog-and-pony as anything I’ve seen. Not that should I have expected anything different. It’s not like they take dance at a studio – it’s just an after-school class taught by one of the school teachers. But I guess I thought it would be more polished and coordinated. Or just polished and coordinated at all.
That’s overly harsh. It was fine. The girls did a good job. They were precious, actually. The quality of the sound system left a lot to be desired. A lot. It probably would’ve been better and clearer if I had just stood up and hummed the music. Also, most of the kids performed as though this was the first time they had actually seen the dance they were doing. But, it was cute. It was fun. Watching kids perform amid organized chaos always is. In this particular performance, I’m not sure there was an actual storyline. There was a giant cardboard nutcracker as part of the scenery and one girl danced with a doll in a way similar to what I had seen at the Chattanooga Ballet. But past that, I have no idea what on earth was going on. Just a bunch of fairies and hoochies flailing about.
During Meg’s dance number, I heard this kind of ferocious splash and then saw a group of people scatter. An attendee, not a performer thankfully, had just thrown up in the audience. Those school workers, probably very seasoned in just such a circumstance, sprang into action. I’ll bet half the audience didn’t even know it happened. They had it cleaned up and covered in that nasty looking kitty litter stuff in no time. I share that because that was probably the most exciting part of the show. But, the girls did their dances, tried their best, and paid attention to the teacher at all times. They were proud of themselves which makes me happy, and they really enjoyed the flowers their daddy brought to give them after their performance. It was very sweet.
So, I have been busy lately with all of the trips to see the Nutcracker and I technically still haven't seen the Nutcracker. Not in it's entirety anyway. Well, there’s always next year’s festivities. Hope you and your family enjoy the Christmas holidays!
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
T.M.I.
The other night I met a guy named Jason. We spent about 2 hours together and I was able to extract a lot of information from him. For example, he works at TVA. In management he said, but I have my doubts. He has four kids: two boys, two girls. His girls’ names are Tori and Ni-vay-yuh (not sure how it’s actually spelled, but that’s how you pronounce it). They are six and two respectively. He loves being a father. Greatest thing in the world, he says. He’s actually a single father. His wife died two years ago. He didn’t go into how she passed away which leads me to believe it was likely not true. More likely it was a way to get some sympathy and maybe some company for later in the evening. He thinks the USA is the greatest country in the world. He has some unambiguous feelings about the leadership in the city of Knoxville. He likes to follow every sentence up with, “Know wut I mean?”, just to drive his point home. He’s a real charmer, this Jason.
I met ol’ Jason at a John Mellencamp concert. Now that you know that, please ask yourself why I know so much about his life. I was there to listen to music. Not make a new friend. I was there to spend time with the friend who invited me. Not to engage in anything more than the occasional “excuse me” if we were to accidentally bump into each other while dancing to Crumblin’ Down. I was there to maybe exchange pleasantries with the people around me. Not to have to be accosted by a 300 pound redneck whose ample body exuded the stench of years’ worth of chain smoking. Every time he opened his mouth, I inched closer to a lung cancer diagnosis.
Not only did he continue to talk about his personal life in a room that was, at it’s quietest, 150 decibels, but he would also occasionally give me his profound take on Mr. Mellencamp’s singing abilities after all these years. No fewer than seven times did he turn to me and tell me that for a guy in his 50’s (he’s not, by the way – he’s 60) he still “had it”. “I hope I’m still about to do that when I’m his age”, he would say. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that because of his current stature, he couldn’t even do it at 28, which he also shared with me at some point during the show. “That’s cool”, he kept saying at various times for God knows what reason. He’d literally just turn to me at various times and offer the obligatory, “That’s cool”. Only it was really more of a “coo-wuhl”, coming from him. Enchanting.
When we had our little conversation about his age, he of course had to ask me mine. I told him I was older than he was. That didn’t satisfy him. He guessed 26. Now, I’m no mathematician, but I do know that 28 is GREATER THAN 26.
Me: “No, older than 26.”
Ol’ Jason: “No way”. (He is actually charming the pants on me at this point.)
Me: “A lot older, actually.”
Ol’ Jason: “34?”
Me: I’m tired of this game. “38.”
Ol’ Jason: (nodding with seriousness and sincerity like he really wants me to feel what he’s saying) “Man, you look awwwwesome.”
Me: A half-hearted appreciative smile, and then a quick turn to my friend to end this conversation.
I am so seldom flirted with that I feel like I probably would have trouble recognizing it if and when it were to happen. But, this was not flirtation. It was something more pathetic. I don’t know if he was hoping to get into the pants of an equally desperate lady or just what. What would he have done if I had really been into him? No, I just happened to be the unfortunate soul whose ticket placed her next to him for the duration of the show. I resented that he was encroaching on my time to enjoy the show and the friend I was there with. But I knew. I knew as soon as I saw him bounding down the aisle that he was headed straight to me. It happens every time I go to a concert or sporting event. Without fail, the loser sits next to, in front of, or behind me.
Of course, public events and venues like that are really just loser conventions anyway, aren’t they? So, it stands to reason that losers would be all around me. It’s just amazing to me that these people don’t understand common etiquette in these situations. Haven’t they ever been seated next to someone who drove them crazy? Don’t they know how it feels? Why do they inflict this on the rest of us?
Every time Mike and I go to a concert, about 20 minutes into it we find ourselves asking why we chose to do it in the first place. We once saw Lyle Lovett at the Alabama Theatre in Birmingham. A nice venue. A good, low-key act. What could possibly go wrong? Well, for starters, the couple in the seats in front of us were making out (complete with tongues and smacking) for most of the show. Really? Lyle Lovett inspires this? Every time they would get going, Mike and I would look at each other in utter bewilderment as to why it was happening. We heard the people behind us laugh a few times so we assumed they were in agreement with us that this was unreasonable behavior. It was only later we realized that they were making out, too. Who finds this to be acceptable public behavior? And why at a Lyle Lovett concert?! I thought his fans were older and lame like Mike and I are. Nope. They are, apparently, horny rednecks.
So, back to ol’ Jason. My friend, Wendy, feeling sorry for my situation, kept trying in vain to peel me away from his boorish conversation. She’d lean over to me when his body language would indicate that he was about to approach me with another one of his profound musings, and begin to talk to me about nothing in particular so he’d take that social clue to mean that I was unavailable for conversation. But ol’ Jason is persistent. He doesn’t let something like that derail his attempts at a budding friendship. He would simply and politely wait for me to finish talking/nodding/laughing with Wendy to dazzle me with more of his reflections on fatherhood.
After the show, Wendy told me what a nice person I was to continue to talk with him. You can actually see from this post that I am, in fact, not a nice person at all. I was nice to him and I did participate in conversations with him. What if he was telling the truth about his wife? Then maybe he was just a lonely guy who needed some companionship. I couldn’t be rude to him. But he was rude to me. I paid money (really I didn’t – the ticket was a gift) to see that show and be entertained by John Mellencamp. I was there for that reason and that reason only. Ol’ Jason prevented me from getting the full enjoyment out of the show. It’s people like ol’ Jason who will keep me at home the next time an act I’m interested in comes to town. It’s just not worth it to have to suffer through the shenanigans of obnoxious fat guys and maker-outers.
Know wut I mean?
I met ol’ Jason at a John Mellencamp concert. Now that you know that, please ask yourself why I know so much about his life. I was there to listen to music. Not make a new friend. I was there to spend time with the friend who invited me. Not to engage in anything more than the occasional “excuse me” if we were to accidentally bump into each other while dancing to Crumblin’ Down. I was there to maybe exchange pleasantries with the people around me. Not to have to be accosted by a 300 pound redneck whose ample body exuded the stench of years’ worth of chain smoking. Every time he opened his mouth, I inched closer to a lung cancer diagnosis.
Not only did he continue to talk about his personal life in a room that was, at it’s quietest, 150 decibels, but he would also occasionally give me his profound take on Mr. Mellencamp’s singing abilities after all these years. No fewer than seven times did he turn to me and tell me that for a guy in his 50’s (he’s not, by the way – he’s 60) he still “had it”. “I hope I’m still about to do that when I’m his age”, he would say. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that because of his current stature, he couldn’t even do it at 28, which he also shared with me at some point during the show. “That’s cool”, he kept saying at various times for God knows what reason. He’d literally just turn to me at various times and offer the obligatory, “That’s cool”. Only it was really more of a “coo-wuhl”, coming from him. Enchanting.
When we had our little conversation about his age, he of course had to ask me mine. I told him I was older than he was. That didn’t satisfy him. He guessed 26. Now, I’m no mathematician, but I do know that 28 is GREATER THAN 26.
Me: “No, older than 26.”
Ol’ Jason: “No way”. (He is actually charming the pants on me at this point.)
Me: “A lot older, actually.”
Ol’ Jason: “34?”
Me: I’m tired of this game. “38.”
Ol’ Jason: (nodding with seriousness and sincerity like he really wants me to feel what he’s saying) “Man, you look awwwwesome.”
Me: A half-hearted appreciative smile, and then a quick turn to my friend to end this conversation.
I am so seldom flirted with that I feel like I probably would have trouble recognizing it if and when it were to happen. But, this was not flirtation. It was something more pathetic. I don’t know if he was hoping to get into the pants of an equally desperate lady or just what. What would he have done if I had really been into him? No, I just happened to be the unfortunate soul whose ticket placed her next to him for the duration of the show. I resented that he was encroaching on my time to enjoy the show and the friend I was there with. But I knew. I knew as soon as I saw him bounding down the aisle that he was headed straight to me. It happens every time I go to a concert or sporting event. Without fail, the loser sits next to, in front of, or behind me.
Of course, public events and venues like that are really just loser conventions anyway, aren’t they? So, it stands to reason that losers would be all around me. It’s just amazing to me that these people don’t understand common etiquette in these situations. Haven’t they ever been seated next to someone who drove them crazy? Don’t they know how it feels? Why do they inflict this on the rest of us?
Every time Mike and I go to a concert, about 20 minutes into it we find ourselves asking why we chose to do it in the first place. We once saw Lyle Lovett at the Alabama Theatre in Birmingham. A nice venue. A good, low-key act. What could possibly go wrong? Well, for starters, the couple in the seats in front of us were making out (complete with tongues and smacking) for most of the show. Really? Lyle Lovett inspires this? Every time they would get going, Mike and I would look at each other in utter bewilderment as to why it was happening. We heard the people behind us laugh a few times so we assumed they were in agreement with us that this was unreasonable behavior. It was only later we realized that they were making out, too. Who finds this to be acceptable public behavior? And why at a Lyle Lovett concert?! I thought his fans were older and lame like Mike and I are. Nope. They are, apparently, horny rednecks.
So, back to ol’ Jason. My friend, Wendy, feeling sorry for my situation, kept trying in vain to peel me away from his boorish conversation. She’d lean over to me when his body language would indicate that he was about to approach me with another one of his profound musings, and begin to talk to me about nothing in particular so he’d take that social clue to mean that I was unavailable for conversation. But ol’ Jason is persistent. He doesn’t let something like that derail his attempts at a budding friendship. He would simply and politely wait for me to finish talking/nodding/laughing with Wendy to dazzle me with more of his reflections on fatherhood.
After the show, Wendy told me what a nice person I was to continue to talk with him. You can actually see from this post that I am, in fact, not a nice person at all. I was nice to him and I did participate in conversations with him. What if he was telling the truth about his wife? Then maybe he was just a lonely guy who needed some companionship. I couldn’t be rude to him. But he was rude to me. I paid money (really I didn’t – the ticket was a gift) to see that show and be entertained by John Mellencamp. I was there for that reason and that reason only. Ol’ Jason prevented me from getting the full enjoyment out of the show. It’s people like ol’ Jason who will keep me at home the next time an act I’m interested in comes to town. It’s just not worth it to have to suffer through the shenanigans of obnoxious fat guys and maker-outers.
Know wut I mean?
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