A Piece of Joan's Mind

Barackin the vote

2008-11-04T23:07:00.004-05:00

Brendan can someday tell the story of how he helped elect the first Black President of the United States.

Strangely, an unfailingly sound sleeper, Brendy woke up screaming just as the race was called. Republicans: Nature? Nurture? Not that there's anything wrong with that...

A sign of the times

2008-10-23T08:49:00.001-04:00

My personal budget has not changed at all over the last couple of months, but ever since the entire global economy came crashing down, I find I have a psychological resistance to spending money. Seems not everyone is in tune with my new psyche.

For at least the past two months, I get an email EVERY SINGLE morning from both Bloomingdale's and Neiman Marcus with offers that seem ridiculously out of touch with the current American mindset. Yesterday Neiman's offered me free shipping on my choice from a new line of handbags. The cheapest one was $1,750. Free shipping? Really? How about paying this month's contribution to my 401k? Maybe then I could justify dropping almost 2 grand on a trendy accessory. Bloomie's has offered insider savings for over priced resort wear. For all the resorts I'll be living the grand life in this winter with Brendan's college savings. This morning I got an email from the Chloe Boutique. Who is spreading my contact information around? I couldn't justify shopping in the Chloe Boutique when times were good. Perhaps they think I'm a consultant to the Biden/Palin campaign. (Sorry, I like to avoid discussing politics in this forum, but this one I couldn't help.)

Against this depressing backdrop, I had to laugh when I saw a makeshift sign taped to an out of order Chase ATM yesterday. I can't imagine I'm the only one withdrawing cash less freely than I did only a few short weeks ago (although there were days over the past month when a mattress seemed more secure than a bank). So although it was clear something had been lost in translation, the hastily organized sign seemed to sum up the situation perfectly: "Out of work".

Back to fashion for a moment - I know I will need to make at least one investment this season. My current winter coat has a shredded lining, a broken zipper and feathers coming out of the seams. I'm treating this purchase like a stock picker trying to time the market. I must wait long enough for the prices come down, but not so long that my size is no longer available. The key is not to panic...

This apartment ain't big enough for the three of us...

2008-09-29T08:59:00.001-04:00

I saw Jenny McCarthy interviewed on Oprah the other day (got hooked during my brain surgery recovery and I still DVR the show). Mrs. Jim Carey was promoting her new book, "Mother Warriors." Her observation is that women have the ability to become superhuman warriors when their children require it.

Jenny highlighted the story of a woman who had suffered the loss of both arms and legs following a horrific encounter with a form of flesh eating disease. The illness was contracted during her pregnancy and required this gravely ill momma to remain hospitalized following the birth of her child. When initially faced with the news that her limbs might require amputation, she replied, "Cut them off. Let's go. I need to get home to my baby." This woman astonished her doctors with her grit and determination to recover beyond what any of them could have imagined. Today she is raising her daughter in an extraordinarily normal fashion, despite her situation. Mother warrior.

Don't get me wrong, I was impressed with this woman's story. But I felt like calling into the Oprah Show to tell my own warrior story. Flesh eating disease sounds like a walk in the park compared to what I faced last Sunday.

Terry is on a shoot in Vancouver for two and half weeks. So I am flying solo until he returns. Last weekend, I packed up the munchkin and we headed to Grandma's. We stayed on Long Island pretty late Sunday night hoping to avoid traffic (Sunday was the last game ever played at Yankee Stadium. Good times on the Cross Bronx Expressway).

We finally pulled up to the front lobby of my building at about 9:30. I had a lot of bags - including Brendan's laundry basket - and the doorman watched them for me while Brendan and I returned the car to the garage. It was about 10:00 by the time I finished all the shuttling of stuff, and a sleeping Brendan and I were finally in the apartment and almost ready for bed. I let him stay snoozing in his carseat while I brought his laundry basket upstairs, got out his pj's, etc.

Just before getting Brendy out of his little resting spot, I went in his room to open his window. I was stopped dead in my tracks by what I saw. My blood froze right on the spot. Somewhere in all the shuttling, a cockroach the size of my foot had crept into Brendy's laundry basket and it was now strolling across the carpet like he owned the place. This was not a normal cockroach. This was the rogue kind that rambles through the streets of New York at night, kicking over garbage cans. This was the kind that scuttles from deep within concrete bowels when construction unsettles their lair (our building has construction going on right near our lobby). This was the kind that some New Yorkers insist is not a cockroach, but is a "waterbug". I think this is crap. I think this is what people say to convince themselves that cockroaches can't get that big.

A quick calculation of the flight time from Vancouver left me with the realization that I was going to have to deal with this on my own. There was no way I could let this thing get away or we would have to pack up the car and go right back to Grandma's. From there I would call our realtor and send Terry our new address so he'd know where to go from the airport.

Mother warrior kicked into gear.

It took me at least half an hour, and several failed attempts, but I finally caught that damn thing under a wastepaper basket. After the first miss, this kitten-sized creature ran behind the couch. I could hear it back there. After the second miss, it flew under Brendan's crib, and that's when I got angry. There was no way I was going to let this thing roam around my sweet baby's room. No sir. By then, I was standing on a chair in the middle of the carpet, shedding tears of rage. I lay in wait until the monster whizzed under my chair. With a tribal yell I threw the basket down and trapped that f*%$er. For good measure, I grabbed a heavy book and put in on top of the basket. It remained there until the next day when my burly super took care of it with a broom.

After the capture, I immediately called Terry. He was out having an expense account dinner in some fancy restaurant and didn't pick up his phone. I left him a message. The kind of message that indicated payback would be required.

The next morning I sent Terry an update: "When I awoke, the basket and book had been tossed aside. Our kitchen cupboards were bare as was the liquor cabinet. The roach was sitting on the couch watching Good Morning America wearing my bathrobe. Get your ass home."

Meet the Mets

2008-09-15T08:59:00.001-04:00

Brendan and Uncle Paul

Brendan attended his first Major League Baseball game on Saturday and watched the Mets lose to the Braves at Shea Stadium. He had absolutely no idea where he was, but it was an important milestone nonetheless.

Non-New Yorkers may not know that it's the last season in the current stadium for both our home town teams. The passing of Yankee Stadium is much more notable, I must say. It's an historic and iconic stadium. Shea on the other hand, looks like it was plunked down by the same pre-fab company that must have designed every other stadium built across the nation in the 60s. Worse than strip malls...

Be that as it may, Terence has now been able to take his son to the same place his own father took him to watch their beloved Mets do their thing. No doubt Grandpa Voltz was enjoying a Schlitz and smiling down.

By the way, although I'm not ignorant in all sports (most of you realize I know a thing or two about football and golf), I think Brendan followed the game as well as I could have. The last time I was at Shea, I was intently watching the field through binoculars when the crowd errupted. I had to ask Terry what happened. He seemed puzzled, "Aren't you watching?" I let him know I had been using the binoculars to follow some napkins that were blowing through the outfield as I tried to figure out how fast they were moving. All the while, I conjured fuzzy memories of high school physics. I remember thinking, "Isn't there some phenomenon that distorts perception of velocity from a distance? What's it called? What's it called? Doppler effect? No, that's sound. What's it called.... Why are people cheering?"

Because Terry will undoubtedly post this in the comments if I don't say it myself, I will also preemptively admit that I kept referring to the catcher as the shortstop. In my defense, there was some logic to the mixup. The catcher stands in front of the backstop. Backstop. Shortstop. Whatever. As long as there is cold beer and mustard for the dogs, I'm happy with just the napkins in the outfield.

(Sorry, H. I know this is a particularly painful post for you to read. On many levels.)

Dad, dad, he's our man...

2008-09-11T12:42:00.000-04:00

I'm leaving my family. But just for the weekend.

The girls and I will be in Bethesda drinking too much wine, gossiping about high school classmates and giggling like we're back in junior high. Terence will be home having a boys weekend with Brendan.

I'm not sure if it's solely the impending daddy time that made this PSA tickle my funny bone, but I have a feeling anyone, parent or no would find this funny. The casting is absolutely perfect.

What a difference a week makes

2008-09-02T09:03:00.000-04:00

Last week, on vacation in Cannes, France

This week, back at work after four and a half months:

Barefoot and forgotten

2008-08-08T12:15:00.009-04:00

I spent three and a half months terrified that I would not find the perfect nanny. I will now spend the rest of my life terrified that I have found the perfect nanny.

What if Brendan stops flashing me his special smile that right now seems reserved for only momma? At two months old he seemed to think the ceiling fan in my bedroom was his mommy. What if we go backwards? What if the pecking order becomes:

1. awesome nanny
2. intriguing ceiling fan
3. that crazy woman that keeps coming around here and crying

I can already see that Susan (awesome nanny) runs a tighter ship than I. The first example (of many to come, I'm sure) is the brand new shoe policy she has instituted at Chez Voltz. No shoes. When he came to install new locks on our door yesterday, our burly Super was informed in a stern (yet loving) voice that the next time he came he would have to remove his work boots. The next time. As in, "When this neglectful mother goes back to work and I can begin raising this child in the proper way."

So we're now one of those households. A "please remove your shoes" household. In the past I've pretended to understand, but have secretly resented arriving at a dinner party dressed in a carefully selected ensemble only to be asked to remove my shoes. All of a sudden, the pants don't hang properly because the hem is dragging. Or even worse, I have to roll up the cuff and stand around sipping wine looking like a fourth grader in hand me downs. And let's face it. I spend too much money on my shoes to have them spend the evening in a pile by the door. And now we're one of those households. So if you come for dinner, wear nice socks.

Ok, ok. Since you asked, more pictures:

Supporting dad's team in the West Village

Fingers are amusing

Just a droolin' fool

Ok, I guess I can take my shoes off for this guy...

Is it just me, or is this hilarious?

2008-07-31T17:28:00.003-04:00

I've already commented on how tedious my life has become*, so I may be more susceptible to juvenile humor these days. Also, the particular gag at about 4 1/2 minutes into this video hits close to home right now, so that could be affecting my judgment. Still, I suspect this is genuinely funny. Hope you agree.

* Tedious, but wonderful in ways that only I find interesting. Not bloggable that my kid smiles as he's drifting off to sleep, and it almost makes me cry. Who cares other than my husband and I?

Shameless Promotion

2008-07-10T13:59:00.006-04:00

We're busy, busy, busy preparing for this year's Bud Traynor Classic. Brendan had his first (of many, no doubt) trips to the starter's window at Bethpage as we settled up our tab to reserve the Red Course for the 21st. Come and play! It'll be fun, it's for a good cause, and best of all: you'll get to meet my little genius.

We're teeing off a week from Monday, and it's not too late to sign up. Here's a copy of an email blast I sent with more info:

Dear friends and colleagues:

It is my great pleasure to invite you to take part in the Sixth Annual Bud Traynor Classic Golf Tournament and Luncheon, to be held at Long Island's Bethpage State Park.

This year's Tournament takes place on Monday, July 21, 2008.

Sincere thanks to those who have already registered - we're looking forward to seeing you! And to those who've made donations - thank you for helping to further our cause.

The Tournament is named in honor of my late father, and is dedicated to his lifelong passion for the game. The mission of our modest not-for-profit organization, The Bud Traynor Memorial Fund, Inc., is to raise funds for cancer research, education and treatment. All proceeds of the Tournament will go to Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center in New York City.

Our past tournaments have been a resounding success, drawing an enthusiastic crowd of golfers and luncheon attendees to Bethpage Park for a fun day of golf and a great party. We're hoping this year's Tournament - our Sixth - will be our best event yet.

We've reserved the beautiful, challenging Bethpage Red Course. There will be various on-course contests to make the game more interesting ( Longest Drive , Closest To The Pin). We've picked out a delicious menu for lunch at Bethpage Park 's Carlyle on the Green, overlooking the first tee of the famous Black Course (home of the 2002 and 2009 U.S. Opens). Trophies will be awarded to the winners.

Finally, we'll have plenty of valuable raffle prizes and silent auction items up for bid, such as premium golf equipment and a week long stay at a luxury condo at the Tidewater Plantation in North Myrtle Beach , SC - including a free foursome at Tidewater's championship course!

The cost of the Tournament is $225.00, which includes breakfast (with omelet station, always a big hit), greens fee, golf cart, on-course refreshments and luncheon reception with open bar; for non-golfers, the luncheon/open bar is available for $75.00.

The Bud Traynor Memorial Fund, Inc. is a 501(c)(3) charitable organization, so your Tournament/luncheon fees are tax deductible.

To learn more about our organization and its namesake, to register/pay for the tournament, or to make a donation, visit our website at

www.budtraynorclassic.org

Help us spread the word - kindly pass this along to anyone you feel might be interested in taking part or making a donation!

Thank you for your consideration - I hope to see everyone on July 21!

Best regards,

Joan Voltz

PS: Check out this link for a peek at last year's event:

Fifth Annual Bud Traynor Classic

Ready for his closeup...

2008-06-26T15:07:00.000-04:00

I'm sure we've all been frustrated by government bureaucracy at some point. How can we be (arguably) the most powerful nation on earth, yet have our entire presidential election process yield a questionable result because of sloppy hole punching and antiquated voting machines? Why is filing tax returns so difficult that most people have to hire a professional to have confidence that a mistake hasn't been made? Making sickly and elderly folks navigate medicare? Don't get me started.

So here's one that cracks me up. Why are photos required for infant passports? Brendan will no longer look like his photo even by the time the booklet arrives in the mail. I'm all for airport security, but this passport will be valid for five years. He'll still be sporting this document through kindergarten. Am I the only one who thinks this is silly?

Going postal

Am I so impressionable?

2008-06-21T16:10:00.000-04:00

Did you know that advertising is one of the most reviled professions in the world? Right behind lawyers? Are you pretending to be surprised? It's ok. I don't take it personally. We are, after all, the people trying to convince your children that they need sugar cereal. And the little snipets of film that show you the softer side of Philip Morris? Yep. That's us.

I am here to tell you, however, that we do not use subliminal messaging to brain wash you. I'm always asked if we do. Perhaps people are ashamed to admit they are indeed persuaded by the shamefully blatant pleas we bombard you with. They wish to believe there is a greater force at work. One against which they are powerless. Sorry, dude. You plunked down 60 Gs for that Hummer because the ad said it might make you appear more powerful. By the way, feeling powerful at $4+ a gallon?*

Anyway, I've never believed in the effectiveness of subliminal messaging or brainwashing, until I pondered the potential connectedness of recent events through the rear view mirror.

Event One:
As you all know, we embarked on a kitchen renovation toward the end of the third trimester of my pregnancy. It turned our apartment upside down and left us largely confined to our bedroom. We watched a lot of Law & Order SVU marathons.

Event Two:
I don't believe in revealing names under consideration for unborn children. It invites unwanted opinions on an entirely subjective topic. The only votes that count are the mom and dad's (well, let's face it - really only mom's counts). Once you announce the name, no one is going to tell you they don't like it. But now I can tell you, after reading through the entire "100,000 Baby Names" book and months of consideration with a painstaking process involving post it notes, we narrowed girl names down to Alexandra and Olivia. (In case there is another Baby Voltz someday, no negative comments please).

Subliminal Connection?
Only later did I realize the names of the two lead females on SVU...

Detective Olivia Benson

Assistant District Attorney Alexandra Cabot

Also note, I did buy the stick up bulb.

* By the way, I don't mean to sound entirely cynical about advertising. I think it also does plenty of public good. Like the Dove work I've written about which challenged beauty norms. Or like the Mac work which opened up people's options. Or like the mini work, which made small cars cool. Or like the Target work that made affordable fashionable. I could go on...

Fighting the tedium of victory

2008-06-16T21:41:00.006-04:00

Tiger won another major. It's almost as though they don't need to play these things anymore. Just give the trophy to Mr. Woods.

Except that this one was interesting.

The 108th US Open should have ended yesterday, but Tiger and Rocco Mediate shared a score at the end of the day. So they met this morning for another go around the field. Lo and behold, another 18 holes later: still tied. Mediate finally yielded after the first sudden death hole, and Tiger was hoisting that gleaming cup just a few minutes later. I admit, I was rooting for the other guy. I had several reasons:

Rooting against Tiger is a family tradition
I really wanted the US Open to be won by a guy named Rocco
Had he won, Mediate would have been the oldest guy to ever win the US Open (have to root for the geezer since my husband and I just had our first child at nearly 47 and 37, respectively)
Had Mediate won he also would have been the first guy to beat Tiger when Woods came into the Final in the lead

Having said all that, Tiger was greeted by his almost one year old daughter, Sam, before accepting the trophy, and that little girl is absolutely gorgeous. She was dressed in finals red, just like her dad.

If you harbor fantasies of winning a tournament yourself, reserve a spot in The Bud Traynor Classic. It's being played on July 21st at Bethpage - home of the 2002 and 2009 US Open. Click here for a peak at last year's event.

Brendan watching his first Major (he slept through The Masters)

If it's Sunday...

2008-06-13T19:58:00.005-04:00

...it's Meet the Press.

I have been watching Meet the Press every Sunday for about 15 years. I loved almost nothing better than sipping a cup of coffee while watching Tim Russert methodically chip away at whomever he had on the hot seat that week. He was always unbelievably prepared and would never let his guests off the hook. Yet civility was always preserved. In a world of 24/7 cable news, Russert's style utterly lacked sensation in a way that made the truth more clear.

Aside from his masterful ability as an interviewer, he always came across as a genuinely good guy. Someone who loved his family fiercely and remained true to his humble beginnings despite the awesome power he had earned. It sounds strange, but I feel like I knew him (not to mention Big Russ and Luke). So I was so stunned today when I heard of his death at the age of 58. I immediately turned on MSNBC and literally wept as I listened to coverage of today's sad events.

Sunday mornings are feeling less engaging already. How can we possibly hold this election without him...

I would keep that in mind if I didn't think you were crazy...

2008-06-12T23:35:00.000-04:00

I can't believe it's been so long since I wrote. I have serious writer's block. I never did manage to write up those last few Bachelor episodes. It's so after the fact at this point that it hardly seems relevant (not that it was ever relevant, but that wasn't the point, was it?).

Don't worry - motherhood hasn't cured me of my love for vapid, trashy TV. In fact, I have been watching The Bachelorette, although, its utter lack of catty psycho drama makes it a much more boring version of this genre. For example, a would-be husband recently told DeAnna that he wanted her to know he was "very engaged in this process." This as opposed to that crazy pyscho Kelly who revealed her feelings for Matt The Bach by flashing him Mardi Gras style. I ask you, which is more entertaining?

Anyway, I think I can attribute my lack of writing inspiration to living the tedious life of a new mother. I don't think posting the fact that my kid pooped two more times today than he did yesterday would be interesting to anyone. Not even to me. But I've got nothing else goin' on. Hence, the writer's block.

The only remotely noteworthy interaction I've had occurred recently in, where else, a Starbucks. I was confronted with the reminder that New Yorkers will butt into anyone's business. I usually appreciate the bluntness and interpret it as a form of affection - just imparting friendly advice. This time, I was less than receptive.

Random woman in Starbucks upon peering into Brendan's stroller: "When was he born?"

Feeling like a proud momma: "Six weeks ago."

With an air of certainty: "Oh. He was premature."

Not appreciating the woman's know-it-all tone: "No, he wasn't."

Condescendingly: "Well, he's very tiny..." [no, actually, he's completely within normal parameters according to my pediatrician's ridiculously detailed growth charts.] I see a raised eyebrow cast my way and I know this conversation is about to take an even more unwelcome turn. "...Are you breastfeeding?"

How did this conversation devolve so quickly? Is this even remotely her business? Grande iced latte now in hand, I quickly start to wheel toward the door. As I retreat, I smile and cheerily reply, "Yes I am. Have a good day!"

Not willing to let me off the hook, the random woman actually attempted to summon me back: "Come here. I want to tell you something."

Is she kidding? I cut this off at the pass and bolted: "No, thanks. I'm good. Enjoy the afternoon."

Can't a girl just get a latte in peace?

The Dairy Queen

2008-05-16T15:02:00.002-04:00

First, I'm sorry I haven't posted on The Bach. I have a mental block against it - I have something like four episodes to watch, and it seems like it requires an overwhelming amount of time. I've been trying to avoid any news about the final outcome - but I'm fairly certain I know the deal. I promise to have my thoughts posted soon.

In the meantime, I have some thoughts on another topic. I'm confident this is too much information to be sharing in a public forum, but that has not stopped me before, so here I go again...

As I mentioned in an earlier post, one of my sole past times these days is feeding the ravenous little child now living in my home. He eats constantly. Naturally, I'm trying to fulfill the essential requirement for my emancipation: a freezer full of breast milk. Enter my new best friend/worst enemy: the Medela Pump In Style.

Immediately after my first interaction with this awe inspiring contraption, I had two thoughts:
1. There is absolutely nothing stylish about any part of this "In Style" experience.
2. This machine was most definitely invented by a man.

After milking myself a few more times, I was compelled to explore the roots of this C-R-A-Z-Y device. It didn't take long to find the information I was looking for, and my suspicions were confirmed. I kid you not, the breast pump was invented by Edward Lasker: a man who lived to be 95 years old yet was only married once for a few months before his wife died of a "surgeon's error." He never had kids. He made his living as a mechanical and electrical engineer. Perfect. I'm quite sure if I spent more time I would discover that he had an unusually close relationship with his overbearing mother and later in life was known to display misogynistic tendencies whenever he was not locked in his dungeon-like basement.

If you saw this machine, you would believe as I do, that no innovations have been realized since Lasker's original 1927 model.

Edward Lasker (does he seem like he knows anything about breasts?)

Updated picture of me

My life as the mother of a genius...

2008-05-05T18:10:00.001-04:00

Sorry I haven't been blogging. I'm still here. I've been having trouble thinking of anything to write that doesn't have to do with Brendan. I don't wish to be one of those women that has a baby and suddenly can't think of any other topic of conversation. But he's only 3 weeks old, so my life has been pretty consumed with keeping him 1. contently fed and 2. not sitting in poop (note: these goals are diametrically opposed). I don't have a lot of other input these days.

We did have a big outing on Wednesday. Second visit to the pediatrician. I was thrilled to learn I am the mother of an extremely advanced child. Terry called, and I relayed the news:

"Our son is a genius. He has already reached several one month milestones."
"You mean in terms of amount of sh*%t?"
"No, like he will meet a gaze and hold it."
"Meeting gays is a milestone?"

This kid is a riot and he keeps us laughing all day long. But parenting a newborn hasn't been without sacrifice. Last week we ventured to the Upper West Side to run a few errands. Skirting up against a feeding time, Terry stayed with Brendan in our double parked car as I ran into the Sephora on Broadway and 76th Street. Knowing I was playing a dangerous game of chicken, I wasted no time in asking the first sales person I saw, "Where is your Chanel counter?" "We don't have one here, but there is one in the Sephora two blocks down." Sensing that Brendan was probably famished and screaming bloody murder by then, I knew there was no time to travel even that insignificant distance. As I grabbed a Dior liner and mascara, I longed for a slightly more predictable schedule. I know moms are required to give up a lot. But a life without Chanel? I mean, I love my kid, but come on...

Speaking of sacrifices, I've had no time to write about The Bachelor. I promise to catch up soon and get my priorities back in the right place.

Ok, ok! Since you twisted my arm, I'll include a couple of pictures in the meantime:

Air guitar

Post first bath (he has no idea how ridiculous he looks)

Guest Post: A Papa Terry Update

2008-04-22T19:14:00.006-04:00

Dear FOJ (Friends/Fans of Joan):

Just a quick update to tell you that Joan has not abandoned her bully, often ridiculous pulpit. She's just a little busy right now with our new little roommate, whom she has affectionately nicknamed "Ravenous Razormouth". I've never been so glad to be male....

We brought Brendan home last Thursday after 4 days in the hospital. He was a city kid from the start; his first experience of the outside world was the noisy riot of traffic-choked 165th and Broadway, and he slept peacefully throughout!

Like all newborns (so I'm told, anyway - what do I know?), Brendan is little bundle of pure id - all needs and appetite - and every day brings entirely new experiences for both him and his parents.

Anyway, here's a couple of our favorite new pictures. Joan and I have promised ourselves and everyone we know that we would not get all obsessive and unrealistic about our kid, but it's difficult to avoid when your baby is the best-looking, smartest child ever born.

Last, thanks to all for the flood of congratulations and love that have accompanied Brendan's birth. Everybody loves a new baby, and it is one of the greatest pleasures of our lives thus far to be recipients of such an outpouring of joy.

TGV

PS: Bachelor fans - stay tuned!

Guest Post from Terry - Arrival of The Latest Voltz!

2008-04-15T12:09:00.007-04:00

Hello family and friends:

Very exciting news - Joan and I have welcomed a new addition to our family!

For those who have not heard (and you are many, because I switched from making phone calls to changing diapers at about noon yesterday), Joan gave birth to a healthy baby boy of 7 lbs., 2 oz. on Monday, April 14, 2008 at 9:03 AM at New York Presbyterian's Morgan Stanley Childrens Hospital in Manhattan. Mother and baby are doing well.

We have named our son Brendan Francis Voltz.

Brendan was chosen as a nod to the Irish heritage that Joan and I share, but mostly because it is the name of my brother-in-law, Brendan Traynor, as fine an uncle as any child could hope to have (we're pretty sure he's already bought the kid his first set of golf clubs). Francis was my Dad's name, as well as the middle name of Joan's late father Bud, and we're certain the two of them must be clinking glasses somewhere over this one (a cold Schlitz for Frank and a Beefeater on the rocks for Bud).

Here are a couple of pictures of little Brendan on his first day. Two things are certain; the kid's got HAIR, and he is unmistakably a Voltz. (Joan's quote of the day: "Oh, my God, I've given birth to a miniature version of your father!").

Thanks to all for your support and friendship, and we hope to see you all soon. And apologies in advance to anyone we might have missed

Terry, Joan, and Brendan Voltz
xxxxooo

PS: Voltz/Velsor/Winslow cousins - please forward this link to your siblings and parents!

They're real, and they're spectacular

2008-04-13T21:03:00.001-04:00

This has been a busy week. Full of unexpected doctor's appointments and unpacking kitchen stuff. They finished the renovation on Tuesday morning (three days early) and sent a cleaning crew in on Tuesday afternoon. By the time I got home on Tuesday night, this place had been cleaned within an inch of its life. They cleaned the entire first floor of my apartment - including the bathroom. I was blown away. For anyone doing a kitchen or bathroom reno in the New York Metro area - I highly recommend MyHome Renovation. (Contact me if you reach out - I'll give you details on our designer and project manager, etc.) By the way - I'll get pictures up soon. Our designer is going to take some in a week or two - so I'll post his.

Now that all that drama is done (I realize this is a hilarious statement to make given the fact that I am giving birth tomorrow morning), it's time to get down to business and get out my thoughts on last week's Bach.

During the opener, Chris informs us that there will be a group date, a special one-on-one date and a two-on-one date. Just that fact that this show has an official event called the "two-on-one date" is enough to hold Terence's attention.

The group date will feature tennis and tea. Robin informs us that it's traditional at "WimbelTon" to have high tea, so this is something that's very important to Matt. 10 seconds later, Matt tells us they're going to have afternoon tea as he throws his head back and says this just cracks him up.

Later, perhaps afraid her tennis ability won't be considered up to par, Shayne finds a patch of grass and shows off her athletic prowess with some gymnastics maneuvers. Matt is obviously impressed, and it does seem appealingly contradictory to her primadonna disposition.

Robin shows a laughable lack of understanding of the premise of the show as she snottily comments on Shayne's display: "I wouldn't go off and do gymnastics. That just seems like a scream for attention to me."

Matt asks Ashlee to take a walk for some one-on-one time. As I'm trying to figure out why she's wearing black knee highs and a parka with her tennis whites, we see some of her behind the scenes commentary. She tells us she was happy about getting this first one-on-one time because "I don't like sloppy seconds". Perhaps you shouldn't go on a show where you share a guy with 24 other women. I'm just saying...

All of a sudden I notice that Ashlee can't stop giggling and it makes her sound like the Road Runner. And then she starts singing again. Oh, PLEASE stop with the singing. There is only so much mortification I can take.

Over tea, Robin tries to act like she might be British. And then Shayne imitates Robin imitating a Brit. I have completely converted on Shayne. I LOVE her.

Again, Robin demonstrates she doesn't understand the construct of this program when she cries upon learning that she may have hurt the other girls by disrespecting them.

Time for Amanda's one-on-one date. Afraid that up until now she may have given an impression that she's boring, she decides she's going to vamp it up for her 1955 All American style date. After applying some extra volumizing hair spray and fuchsia lip gloss, she seeks approval from the other girls who assure her she looks like a raging slut. Not to mention whore. A vixen with the meeps.

Matt's Fonz impression? Adorable. Amanda's transformation? Matt's got chills. They're multiplyin.

Amanda is adorable and flirty on the date. She tells Matt she could tell right off that he had a geeky side. Matt finds her charming. She will go far.

We go together like ramma lamma lamma ka dinga da dinga dong ...

Meanwhile, as she prepares for the cooking session two-on-one date, Marshana provides a dramatic speech that shows us she is a woman on the edge. She tries to give us insight to the unfathomable amount of stress she's under as the obvious underdog. She assures us she is diggin deep. She's been trying to keep it together. But she can't quite manage it, and the next thing we know, she takes it out on an innocent whisk.

By the time Marshana and Holly leave in the limmo, Marshana has been reduced to a whiney, mopey mess of a puddle. Completely incongruous to the vibe she's giving out, she's donning a giant chef hat at a jaunty angle. Terence drops what I would normally consider to be a groaner of a pun, "That girl is one toque over the line." Maybe it's the hormones, but I thought that was hilarious.

Holly obviously agrees with Marshana's assessment that Holly is the predetermined winner, and states her strategy with all the sunshiny glibness you'd expect from a children's book author, "I'm just going to be me!"

Inexplicably given the cooking theme of the date, all of a sudden Matt and Holly are on a giant bed. Matt is trying to tell her he might be too intellectual for her. He delicately probes on the issue by using the word "boring" instead of smart and says he likes to know what's going on in the Middle East not to mention the financial markets in Brazil. Is she ok with that? In true demonstration of the very problem Matt is trying to get at, Holly says, "Oh yes. I'm boring too. Like sometimes I just like to watch movies. " Seeing she doesn't get it, he tries again by telling her he loves challenging questions. Does she have any for him? Crickets chirping. Her brow furrows and I can see the wheels turning as she tries to decide which of the brain twisters from her SAT prep book best highlights her fun-loving side. "Ok. I have one. Train A leaves Boston at 2:00...."

Despite all this, I must say, I was truly shocked when he gives the rose to Marshana. Truly. While I'm on the Marshana Mystery, can I ask a question? Perhaps I missed a crucial piece of information imparted on the first episode, but why does she keep adorning herself in Indian jewels? And was that a Sari? She is African American. And from Brooklyn. WTF!? Please comment if you can explain this...

On to pre-rose ceremony cocktails. Matt presses Ashlee on whether she believes there is more to their relationship than good looks and music. She immediately peels out a few seconds of her road runner giggle and tells him they should spend a day together to find out. I'm not sure her statement had the reassuring quality Matt was looking for.

Ashlee is not the only girl causing Matt to harbor doubts. As he starts to grill Kelly about her intentions, she quickly senses things are going bad. Her face transforms into an unmistakable may-day, may-day expression when all of a sudden, out of NOWHERE she pulls open her dress to flash her boobs and declares,"Those are very nice. I have very large breasts". I had to rewind and re-watch this scene about five times before I was able to absorb how crazy it was. Terence was laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes, but this was also the moment he became a huge Kelly fan.

Confronted with the fact that this girl is a drunken mess, Matt doesn't even know what to do. Kelly sums it up best when she slurs with disgust, "Come on. Try and meet another girl like me. Whatever. You won't." I'm sure Matt is thinking, "Yes. One would have to go to a rehab clinic if you wanted to meet another girl like Kelly." Terry's comment, "Kelly is the Amy Winehouse of The Bachelor."

The rose ceremony was "somber," but Kelly's inevitable exit provides one last burst of entertainment as she states, "I would be dating me if I was a dude." She stumbles off to connect with her dealer. Ashley is devastated to not get a rose. But then, through the tears, a ray of hope in the form of song. Thank God she's gone.

Scenes from the next promise "the most shocking confrontation in Bachelor history." I can not wait. One caveat: given that I will be in the hospital for most of the coming week, I have to apologize now for my late posting of tomorrow's episode. I'll get the recap up as soon as I can.

Terence promises to post pictures of Baby Voltz before then. See you all soon...

5 Things

2008-04-07T18:21:00.000-04:00

Something thrilling happened last week that made me feel like a real blogger. I was tagged by another favorite blogger over at relaxed alert for a five things meme. This is not something I had ever heard of before, but I now feel legitimized somehow thanks to b. Be sure to check out her blog.

First, the rules:
1. Each player answers the questions about themselves.
2. At the end of the post, the player then tags five people and posts their names, then goes to their blogs and leaves a comment letting them know they've been tagged and to ask them to play along and to read your blog.

What I was doing 10 years ago - 1998
1. Working with a great bunch of folks on the Compaq business and flying back and forth to Houston twice a week. I have still not used all those frequent flyer miles, but I am still friends with many of those colleagues.
2. Looking forward to what would turn out to be my last summer share in Sag Harbor - one of my favorite Hamptons towns. The next year we would have to switch houses (to Bridgehampton) because our regular summer headquarters would get sold to Spalding Gray.
3. Enjoying my first year in my own roommate free apartment. Loved all my roommates, by the way, but felt very grownup to have my own one-bedroom on the Upper West Side.
4. Finally starting to admit that Terry was more than "this guy that I've been dating"
5. Working too much, but enjoying life.

Five things on my to-do list today
1. Clarify who's covering my accounts while I'm on maternity leave
2. Watch The Bachelor
3. Write thank you notes
4. Confirm that my cleaning lady can resume the regular schedule on Friday now that my renovation is nearly done!!!!!! (pix up soon)
5. Start putting my apartment back in order

Snacks I enjoy
1. Cheddar cheese
2. Gruyere cheese
3. Brie cheese
4. Fresh mozzarella cheese
5. Smoked gouda cheese

Things I would do if I were a billionaire
1. Live in a classic six on Central Park West or a loft in Tribeca. Either way - I would have ample terrace space with an outdoor grill and a kick a#$ walk in closet.
2. Have a house in Montauk or Amagansset with a heli pad. Can't take the traffic on route 27.
3. Travel extensively
4. Hire a driver and a personal assistant
5. Dedicate more time to my family's charity (The Bud Traynor Memorial Fund)

Five of my bad habits
1. I am usually very efficient, but sometimes I can be a terrible procrastinator (as I've written before, I still haven't ordered wedding pictures. I've been married for almost 9 years)
2. I am extremely OCD about keeping the apartment neat. I drive my husband crazy and I'm not so sure I'll be able to survive parenthood without therapy.
3. I don't cook
4. I am terrible at returning phone calls. Hate talking on the phone.
5. I watch the crappiest tv ever made (I've got this one in common with b)

Five places I have lived
1. Port Washington, NY
2. Bethlehem, PA
3. Upper East Side, NYC (East End Ave)
4. Upper West Side, NYC (W 95th St and W 75th St)
5. Washington Heights, NYC

Five jobs I've had
1. Bakery counter girl (people used to come in with their own platters and buy things they were going to pass off as home made)
2. Hostess in a Middleeastern restaurant
3. Gymnastics coach
4. Sales girl at Victoria's Secret (most fun job ever. I could tell you stories for an hour straight.)
5. Various jobs in Advertising for the past 15 years

I tag Andrea, John and Carmen [Carmen - this will force you to write a post ;)]

Why can't we all just get along...

2008-04-01T22:33:00.000-04:00

The Bachelor was exactly what I needed at the end of yesterday. I spent most of the day in the hospital hooked up to fetal monitors. Nothing is wrong - they were trying to get my (apparently breech) kid to flip around. Nothin' doin. So I came home just as I went in, with an upside down kid in my belly. Terry and I have taken to singing hits from the 80s to my navel in the vain hope that we may coax this child into challenging gravity. "Turn Around Bright Eyes" and "You Spin Me Right Round" have never held such meaning. With the now almost unavoidable prospect of another surgery in front of me sometime in the next two weeks, I needed some mindless entertainment.

Just as I was contemplating whether there could be anything more mindless than Shayne, there she was on my TV screen in yet another crazy get-up. She and her Agent undoubtedly felt a feathered fedora paired with a soccer team style jacket telegraphed her perfection for some role or genre - but I can not figure out what that might be. Terry thought maybe the next Josie and the Pussycats sequel.

(Aside: I've gotten Terry into the Bach. He tries to act like it's my thing - but I think even he would admit he thinks it's hilarious too. It doesn't hurt that the girls are much trashier this season. I don't think ABC will need to throw NFL appearances into the mix to hold the guys' attention...)

So Holly gets a one on one date. ABC stages a red carpet event, and while I fully expect Holly to find the charade thrilling and romantic, I can't believe snarky Matt keeps a straight face throughout the whole thing. He somehow manages to not be sarcastic while being "interviewed" by the "entertainment reporters" and they pose for a pathetic showing of "paps" - who were actually unemployed actors hired off of Craig's list and paid 20 bucks each to hang around and take pictures of these people as though they were famous. I was so wishing Shayne had gotten this one-one-one date. There is no way she could have gone along with this.

Matt tries to be serious while Holly looks on with Stars in her eyes.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, everyone is having a girls night in when the next date box arrives. Marshana goes outside to pick it up and my early suspicions of her as psycho are confirmed. Her loungin' with the girls attire includes four inch heels, a dress so short there is no way she can do anything but stand with her knees pinned together and some kind of Indian Princess headdress thing. I believe the word is bejeweled.

Shayne is now demonstrating the "I can be a sweet, thoughtful girl wearing a floral print with my loose, softly windswept romantic hair. Perhaps the love interest of a character played by Owen Wilson or Keanu Reaves" look.

Time for some drama, so ABC arranges a ding-dong-ditch drop off from Mann's Theater. It's a celebrity style cement plaque from the red carpet date. It says Matt hearts Holly - which is so seventh grade and the girls oblige by flipping out junior high style.

How do I know Matt thought the Hollywood style date was as ridiculous as I did? He describes the highlight as being in a hot tub with a hot girl. I just love our randy-dandy.

On to the rugby date - which had absolutely nothing to do with rugby from what I could tell. It was more like a "Girls Gone Wild" video, British edition. Matt watches the girls literally wrestling in the mud and calls a spade a spade when he says, "People would pay money for this." (In fact, our Gov did, but I digress).

Back home, Shayne confides in Holly that she's freaking out about her upcoming one-on-one date and to alleviate the stress, she thinks she needs to tan. Little Holly "I'm all goodness and light with my children's book writing career" reveals that she brought a spray tanner. I don't mean the bottle you buy at the Clarins counter. I mean a power operated salon style airbrush tanner with backup generator. How did she get that on the plane? Continuing the "Girls Gone Wild" video theme, Shayne strips down and lets Holly spray her down. This is a remarkable leap of faith. Shayne, you are competing with this girl. It wouldn't take but a slight of the hand and you are an unflattering shade of orange. (Of course, she and her Agent could turn that into an opportunity, I'm sure)

Meanwhile, back on the rugby field, Marshana (who is looking more and more mannish to me, I'm sorry) is the winner of the "dramatic injury of the season" spot. Girls before her have pulled this off with much more panache, and she really comes away with nothing more than a fat lip. (Bevin got a watch and a spot in the final two out of that sprained ankle. I'm just saying.)

Matt and Kelly go into the locker room to see the trainer. Massages all around. Kelly hops up on Matt and takes over. God bless the ABC editors, they cue the porn music for this little interlude. Well played, Kelly. There's no way our horn-dog is sending you home after that maneuver.

Awkward moment of the night was at the post massage party while Amanda was trying to have some quality alone time with Matt. They talk about what kind of music they like. Good God. As though this self-conscious attempt at small talk wasn't awkward enough, Noelle and Christine mope over and just sit there. Everyone acts like they're at high noon tea. "How are you?" "We're fine, thank you. How are you?" "Very well, thank you."

Robin gets the rose, and the reactions shine a light on how banged up some of these girls are. Chelsea graciously points out, "I don't think Robin deserved the rose at all! I also wish that I got it and think that I should have gotten it because I deserved it!" All said with a threatening you're-going-down-style finger pointing that suggested she'll get the guys who unload the trucks at the Dairy Queen she works at to mess Robin up.

Kelly is even more banged up than Chelsea. She slurs out the comment of the evening: "Robin? I don't think that I would ever, in a million years - if I was a dude - want to date her. Never! Robin should go home and I should be here until the end, and I will. I think I should be number ONE!"

Terence: "This woman should be playing a heroin addict on a Law & Order episode."

On to the one-on-one Shayne date. First of all, it should be noted that Holly did an exceptional job with the tanner. And I loved watching Shayne stumble down the stone path in those ridiculous boots. But I'll admit, she's starting to grow on me. And then she drops the bomb. Her dad is Lorenzo Lamas. Holy cow. I did NOT see that coming. This explains everything. She tells Matt that her dad is well-known in America. Except that he's not. Unless it's 1983.

Matt explains he's concerned because she's only 22 and an actress. This may be true, but Shayne actually goes up in my book when she admits with no holds barred that she's high-maintenance. Gotta respect that she knows it and doesn't apologize. Matt recognizes it for what it is too and is hilarious when he says, "Sometimes I think this girl is a sandwich short of a picnic, and sometimes I think she's the greatest thing since sliced bread."

Back at the house, the Robin violent mania-thon meep fest was hilarious. I can't describe that one for you non-viewers, you just had to see it.

All of a sudden it's time for the pre-rose ceremony cocktail party and there is some chick named Kristine talking about the mood in the house. Who is this girl? I swear I have never seen her before. That is how I know she is going home tonight.

Chelsea's cleavage prompts Matt to tell her she rocks. The Dairy Queen Diva is going nowhere.

Speed talker Robin throws down some more violence. She points out that it's a race. She's going to do what it takes to win. It can't be a tie between two girls. Marriage doesn't work that way (although something tells me Matt would be up for that).

The rose ceremony begins.

Matt gives Amanda the first rose so he doesn't have to listen to her meeps.

The camera pans to Kristine and she has an "Oh crap, I'm going home" look on her face. Yes, honey. You're going home. Sorry. Take Amy and Erin with you.

Terry was psyched that Amy the nanny didn't get a rose because that means she's got free time now. He's already contacted her regarding the Baby Voltz job. No references required.

And finally, she's been wearing me down and wearing me down, and it became official once I saw that shoe collection after the credits. I love Shayne. We don't have the same style, but I love the fashionista in her. Did you see her in "scenes from the next" in those ridiculously huge sunglasses while everyone else is trying to look natural and outdoorsy? Love it. Matt is not serious about her, but she's good fun, and I hope he'll keep her around. At least until the hometown date so we can see him meet daddy. Lorenzo Lamas on The Bachelor? Pure entertainment...

British Invasion

2008-03-30T21:27:00.002-04:00

Sorry to not have this up sooner. It's been an eventful week. But the next Bach is imminent, so time for me to get the lead out!!

As I've lamented, I missed the premier of The Bachelor due to some renovation-induced chaos. So I'm a bit behind the curve and may not have all the information necessary to identify the crazies yet. Luckily, when it comes to Bach contenders, in most cases it doesn't take more than a brief first impression.

First of all, let me say right off the bat: I like Matt. Admittedly it's probably the accent. It's hard to sound cheesy when you're a Brit. But I sensed an appealingly snarky sense of humor when the recap from the week before shows Matt holding up a pair of underwear previously slipped his way as he says, "I don't care what country you're from, that is not cool." I further see his flippant comments are going to provide ongoing entertainment when he says with a wink, "It's the first time I've been to a fashion show, and it's the first time I've dated 8 women at one time." Matt, you dog. (So much more refreshing than insincere romanticism.)

I don't have much to say about the fashion show except that Holly should have skipped the moonwalk. It's hard to be sexy in stocking feet.

Michelle P kicked off what would soon turn out to be an evening of song with a cabaret-style ditty. Complete with exaggerated, self-aware, show-tune type facial expression. All of a sudden she looks like Jack MacFarland doing his best Brit-Brit impression, and I'm mortified.

Again, having missed the first episode, I was feeling behind the curve, but my first impression of Robin, the Advertising Coordinator, was that I was going to love hating her. First of all, I'm sure her career is skyrocketing from Holland, Michigan - the advertising capital of the world (I know I'm being snobby, but that's what watching The Bachelor is about). Second of all, she pulled one of those click, click sound effect maneuvers with her mouth and combo swivel head tilt that told me she needs help (I can't think of a better description of this mannerism - but I feel like I've seen it mocked on an SNL skit. Does anyone know what I'm talking about? It's driving me crazy that I can't remember this character)...

Ashlee is a wing nut. and I love how she dances around right in front of everyone literally drowning out Matt's speech about how it's too bad he can only give one rose. I see it's taking every ounce of her strength not to start chanting "nanny nanny nah-nah!".

Moving on to the casino date, several of the ladies prove that an IQ test was not part of the entrance requirement as they butcher the English language. Kelly comments, "There is other girls here who want to get to know him," while Shayne points out, "You have 20 other girls eyeing for your attention.".

Speaking of Shayne, I'm so happy to see that Matt has no time for her drama as he slaps her with, "Everyone else is putting up with [the awkwardness of being one of 20 girls dating me], and you're the only one with the issue." Shayne - he's a Brit! They don't find temper tantrums cute. Take it down a notch, girl...

Chelsea may have ended up with the rose, but I sense this may be nothing more than a fleeting, curious dalliance with American trash for our randy Brit. Chelsea's dress looked like a cross between what a cocktail waitress would wear at the Bada Bing and a figure skating costume from the 80s. Already looking like someone who knows how to work the register at the Dairy Queen, she then completes the picture with this classic phrase, "I do great things, but it's hard to share them with nobody but yourself." Indeed.

Some additional (shallow) comments/observations:

I love Erin S simply becuase she's a hot dog vendor.
Shayne's hair at the cocktail party makes her look like Elisha Cuthbert as a bordello worker. I sense she and her Agent came up with a list of looks that will demonstrate her acting versatility over the course of the season. Can't wait to see her (slutty) merchant ivory get up.
Robin might be this season's premier psycho. Or it might be lap-dancing Marshana. Either way, I think they'll both be fun.
Carri is a "Church Marketer". Who pays her salary? What would Jesus have on his business cards?
I love Amanda because she gets stress hiccups. Hilarious!

Of course, I can not let pass without comment the most embarrassing moment of the of the show (possibly of the season - can't say). Carri decides she must continue the talent show parade and while sitting not 12 inches from Matt who is trapped by the edge of a mysteriously small love seat, she opens her mouth and lets her opera singing pipes do their thing. But the song selection just puts me over the edge. Summer time and the livin is easy!? Oh the humanity...

Finally, it's time for the rose ceremony. Not yet emotionally attached to any of these girls, I found it pretty uneventful (except for Amanda's hiccups. Adorable). Chris comes in to remind us it's the final rose and I remember how useless he is, and how much I've missed him.

Erin H get the boot and tries to give our Brit a European-style double sided kiss, but turns her head weirdly so he ends up kissing her hair. Awkward!

Ending on a high point, we're treated to a moment of psycho drama after Michelle P emphatically implores Matt to seek out the good. She then goes (tearfully) on and on about how much she misses her cat who is the love of her life. As my friend J pointed out, "At that moment I flashed forward and saw many, many more cats in her future." Couldn't have said it better myself...

Chaos is dangerous

2008-03-24T23:30:00.000-04:00

Not only did I miss The Bachelor: London Calling premier episode last week, I didn't even realize I missed it until a couple of nights ago.

Let's blame it on the fact that my kitchen and dining area looked like this for most of last week:

Luckily, I caught tonight's episode and will have comments posted shortly. Stay tuned...

Anniversary

2008-03-21T08:28:00.000-04:00

My surgery was one year ago today. I can hardly believe it. It's funny how anniversaries can bring everything right back. The weather feels the same, the sunlight feels the same - it's made me remember how scared I was. I wish I could go back and tell that girl that brain surgery is no big deal. Just do what they tell you and before you know it, it's over.

To alleviate some of my anxiety, I interviewed a lot of brain surgery patients in the weeks leading up to my procedure. One of the things they all advised me was that I would feel much better after the first three months, and I would think I was back to normal after six. But at one year it would be as though a veil had been lifted and then I would remember what normal is.

Well, I believe that I will miss this epiphanal experience as my body is far from normal at this point. Something tells me another epiphany is right around the corner...

Every room needs a focal point

2008-03-19T14:03:00.005-04:00

New Yorkers know full well, and the rest of you may have heard that there was a devastating construction accident here in New York over the weekend. A crane collapsed and fell across a city block and a half, leaving death and destruction in its path. The kind of freak accident we don't like to think about since most of us walk in blissful ignorance under massive overhead construction projects on a daily basis.

So let me first say that both Terry and I understand the depths of this tragedy.

Be that as it may, you can tell we're in the midst of a kitchen renovation. When Terry saw this picture on the news last night he said, "Oh. That's a Wolf range. Nice."

No comment on the I-beam that I read in the Times today had been catapulted into the air by the falling crane and hurled more than a football field’s length through the sky. It shot like a spear through the roof of a town house on the next block, then down through four floors and a brick wall. It ended up lodged in the concrete floor of the basement of a town house next door, its top half in the kitchen on the first floor, and as further reported by the Times, "just inches from a microwave oven and a stainless steel Wolf range."

I'm still here!

2008-03-12T22:29:00.002-04:00

Are you?

I can't believe it's been so long since I posted something. It's because I've been working a lot. It's not that I don't have time to write - I'm a night owl, and could certainly write into the wee hours - it's just that nothing interesting is happening to me because I'm usually in the office. No inspiration...

This past weekend I managed not to do any work at all, but I did have to attend TWELVE HOURS of birthing class over two days. Seriously. Twelve hours. 14 year olds give birth in locker rooms and go back to class. What could possibly be on the agenda that takes 12 hours to explain? About 1 1/2 hours of it was useful. Really all I wanted to know was 1. when do I go to the hospital and 2. when should I get the epidural.

The remaining 10 1/2 hours involved a lot of "learning exercises" that I found ridiculous. For example, they made us hold ice cubes in our bare hands to create discomfort and had us try various distraction techniques. Of course then we had to share our thoughts out loud with the group. When the instructor asked us to share what we "trust about childbirth" I felt like saying, "Well, I trust that it's going to hurt more than holding an ice cube. Can we speed this up?"

After the first "hold the ice cube" exercise, when the teacher asked us all how we had coped with it, one guy said, "Well, I tried talking to the ice cube. I told it soon it would melt and I wouldn't feel it." Teacher: "Oh, that's excellent. How could you help your wife apply that during labor?" "Well, we could talk to her cervix." I did not belong in this class.

Saving grace? The class was held in a building across the street from one of my favorite restaurants in New York: Artisanal. Fondue for lunch. Now cheese I can talk to...

Milestones

2008-02-19T20:33:00.002-05:00

1. My haircutter told me at my last appointment that my hair is now even on both sides, and he no longer has to cut one side differently to camouflage an inconsistency. He was going to pop some champagne, but alas, no bubbly for me in my condition. (By the way, didn't it take forever to grow out my hair!? No one could tell there was any difference for some time now, but there was. The texture and density were different. Apparently it takes a while for blood supply to return to the follicles so they begin to function normally again. Who knew? Turns out my follicles were more traumatized than I was.)

2. I just drove on the highway for the first time this past weekend. I didn't feel entirely comfortable because turning my head from side to side still triggers the vertigo sensation, so switching lanes is a little unsettling. But it really was time - and it went fine. But if you see me on the roads in a little silver jetta - may want to keep your distance.

3. I cooked something last night. Terry is still in Argentina and I've already finished the package of English Muffins that was in the freezer (I've been getting home from work way too late to have the patience to wait for takeout), so I actually resorted to making something all by myself. Mac n Cheese with tuna and peas. I don't know if you would count this as cooking, but I do since I combined ingredients that didn't originally come together. Plus I had to use the stove top and several kitchen gadgets such as a slotted spoon, a can opener and a collander. Consider how desperate I am: last week I was still hungry after finishing some doggy bag chicken so I topped it off with three spoonfuls of chunky peanutbutter.

4. Terry has ordered the range for the kitchen. There is no turning back. After torturing for several months about whether the love of his life was a Thermador, a Blue Star or an American Range, he went with the American Range. They start ripping out our kitchen on March 10th. Seriously, could I have timed this worse? Taking chaos in stride is going to be an early life lesson for Baby Voltz. Here's a picture of the range. We might include this picture on the birth announcements.

Crazy Like a Fox

2008-02-17T23:09:00.006-05:00

I've written before about my affection for the New York crazies in general, and I've talked about one of my favorites, The Naked Cowboy. Turns out he's suing Mars for $6 million. Check out this article in the Journal explaining the situation. Basically, Mars used his likeness in a Times Square ad that attempts to draw people into the Hershey Store there. From what I've heard, the ad has already been taken down. Let's see if they are forced to pay up...

Guest Post From Argentina

2008-02-15T14:55:00.013-05:00

While my pregnant wife is hanging around Starbucks waiting for a wink from her fantasy barista, I am riding horses and taking boat trips to have lunch and drink caipirinhas on a private island.

Preggers can't be choosers

2008-02-11T21:52:00.000-05:00

At not quite 7 months pregnant, I am suffering from fashion famine. I keep wearing the same five outfits over and over. And with all the cute Spring lines in the stores, I just feel more huge than ever.

So I think it must have been the fact that the 19 year old part time worker behind the Starbucks counter couldn't see my belly - it being obscured by the register - that made this conversation possible. But since it's been at least 6 months since I've felt even remotely cute, I'll take what I can get...

"Yo, that haircut is hot."
"Thank you."
"Seriously. I don't think I've ever seen that hair on a real girl before."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, it looks like a picture you'd see, you know, like on a model, but I've never seen it in real life."
"Oh. Thanks."
"You should always keep it like that. I hope your boyfriend likes that hairstyle."
"Well, yes, my husband likes it."
"Oh. That's cool."

I think I was very close to free lattes for at least the rest of February and possibly one dutch movie date before I mentioned the husband. Who's in Argentina for two weeks, by the way. So maybe I'll hang around Starbucks tomorrow for fun...

What on earth am I going to do this Sunday?

2008-02-06T22:29:00.000-05:00

I just can't let it go. I've been keeping all the sports sections from the newspapers this week. I bought The Daily News (which I never read) on Monday because they had a special edition 40 page Super Bowl section. I will savor every minute of the season's last Inside the NFL which will be on HBO tonight. I can't wait for this weekend when I have the time to watch the game again - which I may never erase off TiVO. I am totally smitten with this team of mine and I don't want to face the fact that this unfathomable season is over.

Indulge me one more time. I promise to find another topic to fixate on for upcoming posts (a kitchen renovation or the state of denial I'm in about a child coming to live with us soon both come to mind).

In the meantime, here are some pictures that I find fun:

Our work here is done...

My mother's sage words brought to life, "Super models don't like losers."

New Yorkers line the Canyon of Heroes

It's so great to see these Giants so excited - even cynical, trash-talking Michael Strahan has his video camera out to capture the day. How cute is that?

Well, as of Monday, I guess we're all undefeated. Can't wait for Week 1...

18 - 1

2008-02-03T23:00:00.001-05:00

Manning mania

2008-02-02T22:45:00.000-05:00

Trivia: 18 sets of brothers have played in the Super Bowl, but this is the first time for a pair of quarterbacks. Obviously, I'm hoping Eli will repeat Peyton's outcome from last year.

Needless to say, I can't wait for tomorrow's game. The family is coming over. My brother and I have watched all the playoff games together, so we can't break the karma. I'll continue to wear 11 and Brendan will wear 10. We're a little superstitious.

I didn't write about it before because I've been busy at work - not a lot of free time for hobby writing - but the NFC Championship Game was a total blast. My family was in Montauk for the holiday weekend, and we watched the game from The Montauket. I don't know if any of you know that place - it's a local bar on the South Fork. It's very hard to find and it's patrons are locals. Not exactly the usual Hamptons scene - no investment bankers, or trophy wives - just fishermen, firemen and off the wall local characters. The place has been there forever and I just love the completely unpretentious atmosphere. Perfect place to watch a Giants game.

Living up to its reputation, the place was filled with some colorful characters. My two favorites were 1. a guy who had tied a bar of soap on a string around his neck. His friends made him lick it everytime he cursed and 2. a guy whom we had seen the night before at another local bar - he was drunk then and was still drunk now. He was spewing language like you could not believe. At one point my mother told him to watch his mouth. Mistake. He apologized and then glommed onto her and decided the two of them were going to Phoenix together. He also asked her if the Giants won, would she streak across the bar naked with him. Unphased, she replied that she had given that up years ago.

Live entertainment aside, the game was not to be believed. I have never come so close to having multiple heart attacks. This was more than luck - the Giants were amazing, and Eli has finally shown all the doubters he really is a Manning. It was so exciting and I just can't even believe we're here. Here are some pictures from The Montauket.

Clearly, this is one classy joint.

Ready for some serious cheering.

Number 72 is the crazy guy with the foul language who wants to take my mom to Phoenix. In this picture he's talking to her while she patiently endures his rants. She taught emotionally distrubed children for 30 years in the New York City Public School system. She handled this guy just fine.

My two sister in laws and my mom are obviously only there because my brother and I dragged them. They try to pretend they know what's going on with the game...

...but by the end even they are caught up in Giants mania.

Here Brendan and I are - praying during the last regular time field goal attempt by Tynes. This one ended in tears.

Guardedly happy when the Giants pull off an interception during overtime. (I look a little manic - don't I?)

Slightly in shock after Tynes is finally successful. On to Phoenix...

Narcissism in action

2008-02-01T09:03:00.000-05:00

This is an old story by now, so undoubtedly, some of you have already heard this one. But it's fascinating and creepy, so I'm sharing for those that missed it.

A couple in England was forced to have their marriage annulled after discovering that they were twins! Yikes!

They had been separated at birth and each raised in adoptive families. They ended up meeting later in life. In a true demonstration that we're all in love with ourselves, they fell head over heels and married. ("You're so attractive." "No - YOU'RE so attractive...")

Yuck.

Here's the full story as reported by CNN.

There's a recession coming? Let's embark on an expensive renovation...

2008-01-26T10:37:00.000-05:00

Being parents to be, it's normal that we're all wrapped up in nesting right now. Normally I'm the only one who cares about home design, but our kitchen project has dragged Terence onto the bandwagon. The lucky thing here is that we care about totally different things when it comes to this renovation, and our individual obsessions ensure that someone is paying attention to all aspects of this project. (By the way, several people have pointed out the unwise decision to kick off this project at this time. It's a game of chicken, and I'm at peace with the fact that I will be giving birth into a construction zone.)

Terry is the chef in our relationship. I think I've informed you all of this already, but to underscore the point I'll repeat that I have cooked exactly two dishes since I started dating Terry in 1995. I made Guinness based chili for the 1997 Super Bowl and a kick-a#$ lasagna from the Marcella Hazan cookbook for a 2007 holiday potluck gathering at the office. Twice in thirteen years. So perhaps it's my lack of experience that keeps making me call the "oven" a "stove". Terry corrects me with a combination of amusement and concern. Come on. Like he doesn't know what I mean. They're attached for the love of God...

God bless him, Terry has researched all the appliance choices for hours upon hours. He knows every detail about every feature available. Not understanding anything about the advanced functionality of a particular model, I almost wouldn't approve one of his choices because there was a 20 minute period where I thought the knobs only came in blue (you can buy a conversion kit for black or stainless. Design crisis averted.)

I care obsessively about the really important things like the hardware and the backsplash (which is GORGEOUS). Terry felt I was spending too much time comparing materials here - but I reminded him the backsplash will be the signature of the entire room. He rolled his eyes. (Our designer agrees with me, by the way. He felt my choice took the whole project "up to a new level.")

As for his obsession, after changing his mind several times, Terence has finally settled on the oven/stove he wants for our new kitchen. He's in absolute love because it has a ceramic broiler and some ridiculous amount of something called "BTUs". We have visited it on several occasions in multiple stores over the past month. Two weekends ago, we visited it twice on the same day in two different stores. In that same day I also dragged Terence to a Restoration Hardware, Pottery Barn Kids, Calypso Home and Calypso Home Kids. We were exhausted by the end of the day - but not as tired as this guy waiting for the A train with me. He was snoring loudly - on my hearing side.

Anniversary

2008-01-19T16:02:00.000-05:00

It was exactly one year ago today that I tried to jam a quick doctor's appointment in before a conference call and out of the clear blue was told I had a brain tumor. After a few moments of genuine confusion, it sunk in a little and I actually started laughing. I was clearly in shock - although it was a little funny when you consider the tetanus shot story. It was a pretty dramatic start to the year (I skipped the conference call, by the way).

Yes, 2007 was an intense year to say the least. And some of you only know the half of it. It's time to fess up: I've been keeping a secret. Any of you who have seen me recently already know. As for the rest of you, click here.

I've never been so happy to see a grown man cry...

2008-01-13T22:22:00.000-05:00

I admit now that I didn't have enough faith. I never thought we'd be here. I did not expect to see the Giants become one half of the NFC Championship match up. But here we are - on our way to Green Bay.

Not only did we beat Dallas tonight in an amazing nail biter of a game that literally could have gone either way until the final nine seconds, but we actually made Terrell Owens cry. I kid you not - in case you missed it, he actually cried at the press conference following the game. There, there. It's ok, TO. You're on vacation. Go enjoy your millions in the off season.

My brother, Brendan, and I watched the game at his place, and neither one of us could believe what happened. After the game was over, we rewound the DVR and re-watched the final four minutes just to be sure. Here's a picture of us after the win.

If anyone wants to watch the Championship game with us, we'll be at The Montauket next week. Join us there. Unless you're a cheese head. In which case - better bring some tissues.

(Side note: This is a switch. Peyton's done before Eli?)

A love hate relationship

2008-01-07T19:53:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I love him so much I can hardly stand it. Sometimes he disappoints me to the degree that I wish he'd just get out of my life forever. I'm speaking of Eli Manning, of course. And today I love him.

Let's see how I feel next Sunday at about 7:00 pm. But for now, I'm thrilled that there even is a next Sunday.

In case you haven't heard by now, the Giants beat the Bucs yesterday and won their first playoff game since 2000. It was Eli's very first playoff win since being drafted, in fact, hopefully laying some demons to rest. Next week we play the Cowboys - and here's something that may surprise you: it will be the very first time the Giants play Dallas in the post season. Ever. Weird - huh?

This past week I was discussing the upcoming game with a colleague who asked about my weekend plans. I explained that I had all but written my team off due to an abysmal showing in the second part of the season, but now I had some hope after seeing how they performed against the Pats. I started to continue, but my colleague stopped me mid-sentence and said, "Joan, let me just interrupt you right there. Gay men just don't care about football. Many before you have tried to engage me in this conversation. I can't go there." I countered that I was a little puzzled by that stance since there were so many exceptionally good looking men in the NFL. "It's a bunch of 300 pound men. Not my thing." Still not accepting this, I said, "Well, they're not all that way. The quarterbacks and receivers, for example are very svelte. Look at Tom Brady." I was stopped dead in my tracks with a wave of the hand and a simple statement that I could find no fault with, and indeed, have myself invoked in many situations: "Yes. Well, I just don't have time to sift through all that riff-raff." Say no more...

A picture of my brother and I watching yesterday's game at my mom's house (I went old school with Simms - I felt we could use a little 1986):

Advertising Loses a Legend

2008-01-03T19:22:00.000-05:00

It's been a while since I posted an obit, but here's one that affected me.

Advertising is a business full of larger than life legends, and this past weekend we lost one of our most revered. I met Mr. Dusenberry in an airport once - introduced by a mutual colleague - and was totally star-struck. Even if you've never heard of him before, no doubt, you've been in contact with his award-winning work.

His obituary as reported in AdAge:

NEW YORK (AdAge.com) -- Phil Dusenberry, the famed BBDO creative known for campaigns such as GE's "We Bring Good Things to Life" and Pepsi's "The Choice of a New Generation," died at his Manhattan home Saturday, Dec. 29, after a battle with lung cancer. He was 71 years old.

The son of a cab driver, Philip B. Dusenberry attended Emory & Henry College, Virginia, on an athletic scholarship. He left after the athletic program was canceled and dabbled in radio before landing at BBDO in 1962, where he launched a career as a creative.

After his initial seven-year stint as a copywriter, Mr. Dusenberry left BBDO to start his own shop, Dusenberry Ruriani & Kornhauser. The business didn't take off with the gusto he had hoped, and Mr. Dusenberry rejoined BBDO in 1977 as an associate creative director. Within the next decade, he was promoted to chairman-chief creative officer of the network's flagship New York office. He was also named vice chairman of BBDO Worldwide and later chairman of BBDO North America, a role he retained until his 2002 retirement from the Omnicom Group agency.

'A gentleman in every respect'
"He was a great person to work for, to work with, and a great friend," recalled Ted Sann, former chairman and chief creative officer at BBDO, New York. "It's really a loss to everybody who knew him, and to the business."

Allen Rosenshine, former chairman-CEO, BBDO Worldwide, remembers Mr. Dusenberry as a consummate gentleman. "He rarely if ever raised his voice in anger, and you never heard a profanity coming from his lips," he said. "Phil was always well-groomed and immaculately dressed. He was a gentleman in every respect.

"Although he was a hard taskmaster in getting the creative product to be as good as it could be, he always shared credit with the people who did the work, and he always celebrated the success of the work," added Mr. Rosenshine. "Being his partner was one of the things I really loved most about being in the business."

Selling with celebrities
With his ability to reel in the most famous names of the day -- Michael J. Fox, Madonna and Michael Jackson among them -- for his clients' ads, Mr. Dusenberry helped set the trend for marketers' inking of lucrative celebrity-endorsement deals. "He pioneered the use of celebrities not just for the sake of having a celebrity, but choosing a celebrity that had relevance ... and that had some emotional attachment to the brand, and was believable as a user of a brand," Mr. Rosenshine said.

He's also credited with changing the creative direction of the agency behemoth, and under his leadership, BBDO was named "Agency of the Year" numerous times by trade publications. Mr. Dusenberry also was known for the role he played on the famed Tuesday Team, whose "Morning in America" commercials helped Ronald Reagan get re-elected in 1984.

Mr. Dusenberry -- named by Advertising Age as one of the century's top 100 advertising people -- published a memoir in 2005: "One Great Insight Is Worth A Thousand Good Ideas." Among the numerous awards and achievements earned over a career spanning five decades, he was a 2003 American Advertising Federation Hall of Fame inductee and in 2007 was inducted into The One Club's Hall of Fame.

Putting Pepsi in popular culture
In an October interview with Ad Age on the eve of his One Club induction, he reminisced about his days on Madison Avenue, saying he was proudest of his work for Pepsi, GE and FedEx. "Those were the accounts I was probably closest to and enjoyed the most."

"Working with Phil produced some of the most enjoyable and rewarding moments in my years at PepsiCo," said Roger Enrico, former chairman-CEO of PepsiCo. "The advertising he did for our brands helped make them icons of popular culture and added significantly to the growth of the PepsiCo enterprise. He was a great ad man and a dear friend."

Until the end, Mr. Dusenberry remained a believer in the holding-company model, citing the "smorgasbord of services" that large marketing organizations can offer as a feature of the business that many clients will always find appealing over smaller, independent shops.

Making 'The Natural'; becoming a legend
His talents ranged far beyond advertising, too. The Brooklyn native and lifelong Yankee fan's screenwriting credits include "The Natural," the classic baseball film starring Robert Redford. His 18-minute documentary film, "Final Journey" became a permanent addition to the Reagan Presidential Library.

"Our industry has lost a legend. BBDO has lost an inspiration. And many of us have lost a friend," said Andrew Robertson, president-CEO, BBDO Worldwide, in a statement. "Those of us who were lucky enough to work with him knew he always wanted more time to make it better. Sadly, he didn't get it this time."

Mr. Dusenberry is survived by wife, Susan; stepson, Ben Procter; daughter-in-law, Ilana Sparrow; brother Harry, and his wife Marcy; brother Joseph; sister, Jean Driscoll, and her husband, Jack; and a large extended family.

A wake will be held Thursday, Jan. 3, from 7 p.m. to 9 p.m., and Friday, Jan. 4, from 2 p.m. to 4 p.m. and 7 p.m. to 9 p.m. at the Frank E. Campbell Funeral Home, 1076 Madison Avenue at 81st Street in Manhattan. A funeral Mass will be held Saturday, Jan. 5, at 1 p.m. at St. Ignatius Loyola, at 980 Park Avenue at 84th Street in Manhattan.

Donations may be made in Mr. Dusenberry's name to the Coalition for the Homeless, 129 Fulton St., New York, NY, 10038, or the St. Jude Children's Cancer Research Hospital, 501 St. Jude Place, Memphis, TN, 38105.

AdWeek Obituary

She eats real food

2008-01-01T18:34:00.002-05:00

I went to The Palm for lunch last Friday. Sometimes a girl just needs some fillet and creamed spinach. Guess who was in the booth next to me? Hillary Duff. I could not begin to tell you why she's famous, but I know all the little girls in my family are big fans. My impression: she's cute as a button, eats like a normal person and has great taste in handbags.

She was with her mom and sister - notable since this was the day after those same three had a big enough run in with the paparazzi to make the evening news (not just TMZ - which of course it also made).

Because we were trying not to get kicked out of the restaurant this is mostly a picture of the light fixture, but there you go...

Entrepreneurial spirit: alive and well in the burbs...

2007-12-28T09:03:00.000-05:00

I can't remember if I've mentioned this already, but we're renovating our kitchen. Our designer is a former Israeli soldier and we're just a little scared of him. But he's doing his best to keep us on schedule, so I guess we're getting the tough love we've paid for.

Terry and I are both off from work this week and we're torturing ourselves with frustrating kitchen errands to stay in A's good graces. Over the past two days, we have spent a disproportionate number of hours and mental effort attempting to pick out a faucet. We zig zagged all over Long Island from show room to show room and so far the only thing we've accomplished is confirming that we have unreasonably expensive taste. Put us in a room with 237 faucets and we zoom in on the one tucked away in the corner that is the most outrageously overpriced one in the room. The kind of price tag that would make my farm-raised grandfather spin in his grave. Neither one of us can bring ourselves to give in to the urge and just say, "In the grand scheme of the overall budget, it's not that big a deal..." I don't think we can bear the thought of being those people. The people with the cool looking faucet who are in hock up to their eyeballs. So the search continues.

We saw some curious things in our journeys through the suburbs yesterday. My favorite was this duo of stores in Huntington. The first was a themed store I've seen many times before and wondered how on God's earth these businesses stay viable. The picture is a little blurry, but I'm sure you get the idea...

Seconds after passing this treasure trove of bargains, we passed another store almost directly across the street. I can only assume it was launched after exhaustive research - no doubt including a thorough need-gap and SWOT analysis - indicated an open opportunity in the market. The owners of this store seized the day...

Unfortunately, the faucets we like would never be sold in the first store...

Don't mind me, I'm just trying to get home...

2007-12-19T23:28:00.000-05:00

Sorry I haven't been posting. I'm caught up in a lot of work demands - and it's left little time for more important stuff like blogging. Because I feel like venting, I'll share a quick peek into one of the more frustrating moments of the past two weeks.

I had to work kinda late last Thursday night, so I took a cab home when I was done. It was a bad, stormy night with a lot of ice on the road, so it was not entirely surprising that my less than timid cab driver got into an accident. Not a bad one - but one that required us to get off the West Side Highway so my driver could discuss the particulars of the incident with the driver of the other car. Stellar. The three main problems as I saw it:

My driver (who was clearly in the wrong) and the other driver both appeared to live life on the unsavory side of the fence. As their argument got more and more heated it occurred to me that it was not outside the realm of possibilities that one of these guys could pull a gun. This didn't really worry me so much as annoy me. I had zero time for this nonsense.
The accident occurred far enough up the West Side Highway that the exit we were forced to pull off left us in a remote area of town under a dark overpass. Not a great place to bail and grab another cab even were it the height of rush hour, never mind 9:45 at night in an ice storm.
The most egregious offense: my driver had left the meter running the entire time.

The huffing and puffing finally calmed down, my driver got back in the cab and continued on the way as though nothing had happened. Yes - I paid the full fare, but no - I did not tip very well.

Haven't we all been humbled by a cafeteria worker at some point?

2007-12-10T19:21:00.000-05:00

I know some of you must be Star Wars fans. You will find this hilarious. Advance warning, there is some bad language in here, but it's not gratuitous, I promise. Enjoy. (A, thanks for sending)

Make yourself at home, just stay out of my way

2007-11-30T17:22:00.000-05:00

I've made it well known here that I love New York City. I'm very protective of this town, and don't like to hear people disparage this place as dirty, crime-ridden or no place to raise a child. I know that non-natives can't understand or love it the way those of us who are "hardwired New Yorkers" do, but I do know that outsiders can love it their own way. Trust me, I am not interested in keeping non-New Yorkers out and love the spirit that draws them here in the first place.

Having said all that, this past Wednesday brought the confluence of two events that will require an extra dose of patience for me from now until about January 12th. On Wednesday evening at around 8:00 pm, the tree in Rock Center was lit. Later that same evening, an agreement was reached that ended the strike of the Broadway stage hand workers' union and the lights were up again on the Great White Way.

From past experience, I know what I am in for from the minute that tree is lit until Little Christmas. A glimpse into the patience-trying situations I will be forced to endure over the next month and a half as I go about my every day life: overweight families wearing sneakers will leisurely stroll arm in arm down the sidewalk at a snail's pace - and a width of five across - blocking my dash to get a sandwich before my next meeting starts. Fathers will stand in front of me on the Starbucks line and bungle through a list of intricately customized beverages for their teenage kids who are already mortified to be seen on vacation with their parents, compounding the pressure this guy feels to get the drinks right. He will apologize to me several times as he steps back from the register to confirm details from his family claiming real estate and guardedly clutching their handbags and fanny packs in the seating section. People will stop dead in their tracks in the middle of any sidewalk or subway thoroughfare and look at a map or the top of a building as I nearly crash into them (like most New Yorkers, I read emails on my Blackberry while I walk). It will be harder than ever to find a taxi when I need one, and useless anyway since the whole city is a giant gridlock now.

All of this will make me want to scream at the top of my lungs, "Will all you people PLEASE go back to whatever bridge or tunnel brought you here and get off my island! Oh. And Merry Christmas."

So I had to laugh when this week's issue of Time Out New York arrived in our mailbox and I saw that it's dedicated to the tourist holiday season.

By the way, we both work in Advertising, so my husband I receive many magazines. TONY, Bon Ap and Food and Wine are the only subscriptions we actually pay for. If you haven't been dissuaded by the disdain in this email and you're coming to New York for a visit, pick up Time Out New York on the newsstand. It's a great mag to find some good, non-touristy things to do in town.

See TONY's collection of articles that explain why Tourists Heart Us.

My favorite piece in the issue included highlights from some recent TONY shenanigans. They sent out a TONYPD "cop" to ticket tourists for annoying out of town behavior. (See? This is what I'm talking about! I'm not the only one who can't stand these distractions.) In my opinion, the most deserved ticket went to the couple that was tagged for eating at The Red Lobster. Seriously. I never understand this. Why come to New York and eat in the same crappy chain restaurant that you have in your own Smalltown, USA? Stay home if all you want is a meal at Olive Garden.

Seeing as how my office is across the street from the Gershwin Theater and one of my Clients is down the block from Carnegie Hall, there is no way to avoid the onslaught of the next six weeks. I will try to endure it with as much grace as possible.

Do me a favor. If you're coming for a visit, walk single file and with purpose.

Show me your scar and I'll show you mine...

2007-11-27T23:24:00.000-05:00

I have a new appreciation and fascination with medical stories.

Anyone who's known me for any period of time knows I have always been squeamish about bodily interference. I passed out in the nurse's office in sixth grade following a nasty gash suffered at the business end of a linoleum carver in art class. In seventh grade I had to sit down on the curb of the strip mall parking lot after my knees buckled under the weight of my newly pierced ears. I sobbed so uncontrollably when a tetanus shot was administered that my mother was called in from the waiting room to deal with me. This was my college entrance physical. The people in the waiting room were stunned when an 18 year old emerged from the exam room with a pile of bunched up tissues and puffy eyes. I was 34 the first time I had blood drawn (not counting the finger pricks I had endured with great surrounding drama as a child).

But let me tell you, brain surgery has changed all that. I won't lie, I still don't love having blood drawn, but there have been some amazing transformations. The fact that I'm even contemplating the follow up surgery to have a snap implanted in my skull to anchor a hearing device onto my head speaks volumes (no pun intended). I've attended enough cocktail parties and dinners in other than museum-quiet settings to know that I will eventually have this surgery.

Beyond this, I seem to have passed comfort into fascination with all-things-medical. I ask inappropriately specific questions of friends - or even people I've just met - about procedures they've had done or are contemplating. I just wade right in and probe on the kinds of details I would have shunned in the past. I also have a new obsession: the plastic surgery makeover show on the Discovery Health channel. Have you SEEN this show? Amazing. There was a marathon on the other day - I could not tear myself away. [Update: I started writing this post last week before the death of Kanye West's mother following a tummy tuck and breast reduction. Did you know her doctor was the host of that Discovery Health show? Turns out he's not even board certified. What the hell!?]

Anyway, here's a story I heard recently that I find totally amazing. I don't know if it's truly fascinating or it's just my newly acquired taste for medically oriented tales that holds me rapt, but you be the judge.

I met two of my good friends for lunch the other day. They are a pair of creatives I worked with up until about 5 or 6 years ago - and I LOVED working with them. They still work together. I try my best to catch up with them from time to time. This was our first gathering since my surgery, so they were asking me lots of questions. Turns out, I'm not their only friend who's been through a recent major surgery, and they recounted this story to me...

Another friend of theirs faced a much more dire situation, but luckily is doing just fine now. This poor woman suffered from lung disease that necessitated a lung transplant. Indeed, she was lucky enough to be the recipient of an amazing act of generosity from a family in their own dire situation. After a successful transplant surgery and recovery, the patient reached out to meet the family. They hadn't sealed the records. Maybe they felt that meeting this person would help them feel their loved one had not died in vain.

During the emotional meeting, the family asked what kind of physical differences the patient was experiencing. She explained that other than the exhilaration of simply feeling healthy again, this lifelong dedicated organic-food worshiper had the odd side effect of an undeniable craving for the fish fillet sandwich at McDonald's. She was horrified to find she couldn't help but give in to the fast food urge once or twice a week.

Of course you can guess what I'm about to say. The girl who's lungs had been donated loved the fish fillet sandwich from McDonald's and ate it all the time.

I'm sure doctors could never explain this. But I think the good ones would not dispute it.

I can't get no satisfaction...

2007-11-25T18:16:00.000-05:00

I watched "After the final rose" last week looking for some answers, and I am left utterly unsatisfied. Probably not as unsatisfied as DeAnna, or her father as it turns out, but unsatisfied in a "that's ten hours of my life I'll never get back" sort of way.

My main conclusions:

Chris is as appealing in the "grilling host of talk show format" as he is useless in the "facilitator of action as it unfolds" format.
Brad is full of crap.
Jenni is vapid.
DeAnna deserves better, and could be a contender for the next Bachelorette.

The show opens and Chris whets our appetite: "Jenni, DeAnna and Brad are all here. And Brad has some 'splainin to do!"

Because they want to reaffirm The Bachelor franchise as a credible source of happy couples in the face of this season's debacle, and because they need some filler to get to a full hour, ABC trots out some happy couples from years gone by. Of course, Trysta and Ryan lead the parade with their brand new baby in tow. Yeah, yeah, cute baby. Get Brad out here.

Ryan is babbling about fatherhood but I'm more interested in the supers flying across the bottom of the screen: "Jenni confronts Brad" and "DeAnna confronts Brad"

After they bring out Byron and Mary - another "successful Bachelor couple" they finally bring out Jenni.

She hasn't seen Brad since she got the boot. Poor Jenni, they review the footage of her rejection in front of the live audience. I forgot how ugly her cry was up on that pedestal. Yikes.

Chris rubs it in, "You took a huge leap of faith. You told him you loved him. And then he rejected you." I swear he's gloating.

Jenni shows some impartial critical assessment of the DeAnna situation when she says exactly what the rest of us have to be thinking. She doesn't understand why he didn't say, "I can't propose to you right now, but I do want to see where this can go in real life. I do want to go the movies with you. I do want to talk on the phone with you." Yea! What about dating!?

Oh no! Then we learn Jenni's Grandmother just passed away. I'm so sad. I loved that cranky old woman. They dial up the drama with a video tribute to grandma. That woman was an octogenarian (? at least a septuagenarian) who no doubt accomplished many great things in her life. Yet for millions of people, her lasting legacy will be the three minutes of airtime she got on The Bachelor. Jenni couldn't have been more touched.

Finally DeAnna shows her face. An equal opportunity humiliator, Chris grinds her nose into the dirt as well, "You told Brad you loved him and he couldn't say the same." (Is there a graceful response to that? Was it a question?)

DeAnna laments that most men only get one woman! He had two. How could he not choose one? Chris points out maybe the problem is Brad. Dee has to concur. She summarizes the key issue, "I could understand if he couldn't propose, I don't understand how he could let me walk away."

DeAnna goes on to give us insight to the hell she's been living in the "real world". People keep coming up to her and saying, "I think he chooses you." She reenacts how she smiles through her pain and says, "You have to watch and see!"

I get a hint at the train wreck a comin when DeAnna actually admits that she still loves him. She would take him back. She's there with hope in her heart. Good God. My stomach is in knots.

Brad comes out and is probably encouraged by the lack of tomatoes thrown by the audience. Chris cuts to the chase: "Can you explain what happened? You let them declare their love for you and then you broke their hearts."

Brad provides an evasive answer punctuated with a shallow term of endearment with all the skill of a politician, "I don't have a formula for falling in love, man."

Chris plays the trump card that's been up his sleeve and this is when I know Brad is not going to redeem his reputation, "The audience doesn't know we flew DeAnna's father out at your request because we were that sure that there would be a proposal and then there wasn't. How does that make you feel as a man?"

Not satisfied with emasculation, Chris impugns Brad's character when he gets him to admit Brad knew there was something wrong when he bought the ring. Chris exploits the admission, "So, did you feel like a jerk?"

While Brad admitted that yes, it was hard not to conclude that he indeed, was a jerk, he denied the rumors that he was dating someone else, that he has children and/or is gay.

I'm not yet satisfied with the level of awkwardness. But luckily, as had been promised earlier in the show, it's time for "Jenni to confront Brad."

Jenni comes out and she gives Brad a big hug. They do some awkward touching of each other's knees. In his defense, Brad offers this explanation to Jenni, "I was thinking of her when I was with you and vice versa." This boy does not know how to help himself.

Chris chums the water and prods Jenni to state that she's lost respect for Brad. I love Chris.

Just when we think Brad's anxiety level can't get higher, out comes DeAnna. She looks so shiny and full of hope, and I want to scream, "Run! Save yourself! It's not too late!" She's not sure if she should hug him or not, but she does and it is AWK-ward.

I can't avert my eyes from the lamb's journey to slaughter. With stunning speed, Brad effects the fatal wound, "You deserve someone [else] who's going to tell you all the things you told me: that you're so in love with me, that you want to have my kids." Oh, the bleating. It will haunt my dreams.

Brad tells DeAnna he is just as broken hearted as she is, that he thinks of her everyday. But immediately douses whatever hope that may have ignited with the definitive, "I'm very confident in my decision."

DeAnna sobs, "It still doesn't make any sense. I guess I hoped you wouldn't let me walk out of your life for a second time. You won't get another chance after today." I'm thinking, Brad - her nails are perfectly manicured and that dress is adorable. You may have some crow to eat to get back in dad's good graces, but what are you doing!?

Impervious to the flawless fashion in front of him, Brad continues, "I understand. I can't apologize for not falling in love."

Trying to make a case for not being stoned to death in the parking lot by the studio audience, Brad pleads, "I thought I was taking the high road."

DeAnna assures him, "You made a mistake. Whether you know it or not."

With one last hollow comment, Brad tells DeAnna, "I'll miss you more than you'll ever know." Over his particular brand of bullsh*%t, DeAnna doesn't let him off the hook, "Please don't say that to me right now."

Could DeAnna be a contender for the next Bachelorette?

!?!?!?!?!?

2007-11-20T21:59:00.000-05:00

Ok, Bachelor fans. I am still trying to figure that one out. Needless to say I will be watching tonight's "After the Final Rose" episode for an explanation from Mr. Womack. Since most of you reading this already know what happened, it will feel all wrong to start at the beginning, but allow the indulgence for those that get their only Bachelor fix here...

Meeting Mom

First of all, is this supposed to be Brad's house? I'm confused. Isn't he from Austin? That house looks like it's on the ocean. My friend from Austin tells me there is a river there and parts of it are wide enough that it could seem like a wider body of water, but I don't know. Anyway, where ever that house really is, he needs an interior decorator. It seemed like a Hampton's share house - you know those big gorgeous houses that get stripped of everything before they get rented out to minimize the damage. It felt empty (hmm... symbolic foreshadowing?)

But Brad's mom seems cute and fun. I'm thinking she would be a good mother in law as far as MILs go (I married an orphan. I'm a lucky, lucky woman).

In preparation for DeAnna's arrival, Brad describes her as one of strongest and most independent people he's met in a long time. I don't know if that would be a good thing for a MIL used to ruling the roost, but momma is happy that DeAnna is from Atlanta.

Maybe this is not new and I missed it before, but all of a sudden Brad is calling her "Dee". Out loud I said, "What? He's calling her Dee now?" Without skipping a beat, Terry pipes in, "I think it's short for 'D Cup'"

Anyway, Brad tells his family "Dee" has been a bartender for 8 years. He said "has been". Doesn't that sound like present tense to you? She's listed as a realtor. I just found that odd. Anyway, Brad jokes that maybe DeAnna can be an employee if she sticks around. How affectionate.

Brad's mom notices that he can't stop touching Dee and asks Dee if she's expecting a proposal. She immediately responds, "Definitely". Cocky. But she seemed appropriately respectful and butt-kissing and I think she wins over Mrs. Womack in the end.

Off camera, DeAnna says Brad's mother reminds her of her own mother. That dead mother card has worked extremely well for this girl. (If Hillary is watching this episode she's thinking, "I wish my mother was dead")

I don't really have anything to say about the Jenni family summit. She just keeps laughing that dolphin laugh and it's SO annoying. I think Momma finds her sweet but is none too thrilled about spending every Thanksgiving with the sonic giggler.

At this point I'm thinking that D cup is going home with a ring...

Brad has a heart to heart with mom, and watching the two of them is so endearing. Brad is clearly a momma's boy. He tells mom that he knows he will be breaking two hearts, "Mine and the woman I say good bye to." Mom basically says, "Yeah, good luck with that. I don't know what I would do if I were you." Brad responds, "Thanks for nothing!" How cute are they?

DeAnna, I can see why you want to share that Mrs. Womack title with this woman...

Last chance to tell me how much you love me...

When Brad stops by DeAnna's place for a visit, she is cooking and baking to relieve her stress. What man could resist a woman who relieves stress by making cobbler instead of shrieking about how he just doesn't understand her?

Just so Brad doesn't think it's going to be all cobbler and coddling, Dee sets the record straight on who will rule that house when Brad asks what will happen if he leaves the toilet seat up, "The first three times I'll put it down myself. After that we're going to have a talk. I want things done the way I want them done. The dishes should be put where I want them. The laundry should be folded the way I want." Ok - I may not know how to turn the oven on, but I have more in common with Dee than I thought.

Does Jenni make him cobbler? No. She tells him she's going to be a lot of work, but she thinks she's totally worth it. After all, she can communicate with dolphins. She lets him know she's falling in love with him, but the words come out in sputters in between spit projecting exhales. She is so unappealing right now that I'm betting Brad wishes she was back in Phoenix.

The final rose?

Jenni shows up for what she has to hope is a proposal. Would you wear those Christmas ornament earnings to such an occasion? Or to any occasion, really? Brad utters some sweet nothings and all seems to be going ok. But then he brings his head up with sudden drama and through her sonar, Jenni senses the swift blow coming. They hug and her hair sticks to his Don Johnson stubble. A final humiliation before she's whisked away.

Chris appears out of the bushes by the driveway to escort DeAnna to Brad and I notice that our host is particularly useless in this episode.

Brad tells DeAnna he's already said goodbye to Jenni. She smiles and I'm thinking this is all going according to plan. I thought she would be the one. But suddenly Brad starts having a freak out. He begins walking in a circle and exhibiting that calisthenic behavior he displayed right before booting Bettina. This is unexpected. What is going on? DeAnna is left awkwardly standing up by the rose pedestal all by herself and I'm thinking she must feel like Jennifer Grey in Dirty Dancing when Patrick did his solo down on the floor and she was left standing on the stage.

But he comes back. And that's when he says it. Did she remember when she told him that marriage was forever? He believes that too which is why he can't make that promise right now and he has to say goodbye.

Holy cow, I did not see that coming. I half expect our host to pop up on the podium and re-explain the premise of the show to our Bachelor-would-be-proposer.

If I were DeAnna, I think I would be speechless - but God bless her, she demands some answers. "So what? We're just friends? That just doesn't sound right. How can you say you care about someone and then just let them walk away?" She hugs him before leaving, but the look on her face is not embracing.

Wow. Poor DeAnna. First a dead mother and now this. And I think this is even worse than coming in second place. In that scenario at least you can tell yourself, "Well, he likes me, but he likes someone else more." This is, "Well, he'd rather blow this whole thing off - the whole reason he came here - than get engaged to me." Come on, Brad! We all know you don't have to stay together! Give the girl some Chopard.

I need answers. Thank God it's time for the "After the final rose" episode.

The Women Tell All so I don't have to...

2007-11-18T23:19:00.000-05:00

It's Sunday night, and I still haven't written up last week's Bachelor. I'm really sorry for my lameness. This week was filled with inconvenient Bachelor delays. I watched the sunrise on Wednesday morning - from the runway at LaGuardia. Yuck. Then I spent just a little under 20 hours over the course of two days in a cramped conference room with 25 people in PowerPoint hell.

After my zombie-state-inducing week, I thought I would get to the write up over the weekend. But that, too, was jam packed. I worked until 9:00 on Friday night, met with a kitchen designer on Saturday before heading out to the wilds of Brooklyn for a friend's birthday and then entertained my cousin who's visiting from London on Sunday (after watching my Giants beat Detroit). No Bachelor time.

So here it is, Sunday night, and I'm so tired. I don't really have the energy to give the play by play of last week's jilted women episode. Lame (me. not the episode).

I'm going to just leave you with some topline thoughts on my favorite moments, and we'll move on to tomorrow's episode.

First of all, can I note, the tell all episode is a fabulous platform for our host, Chris. I've never seen him so empowered. He had an actual role and purpose. He really came out of his shell, and it turns out he can be snide. Who knew?
I was so happy to see crazy McCarten again. I loved when we got a reprise of that bi%$#iness we could always count on her for when Chris asked her about her reputation of being a bully. She explained it as a by product of her extreme maturity. This catalyzed a little on-stage fight which ended with Sarah calling McCarten a little skank. As I was filled with nostalgia for those early cat-house days, Terry pointed out that much like politicians are, by nature, liars, the girls on this show are, by definition, skanks.
Hillary was a great sport. She had to watch all those clips of the most dramatic exit ever (which demonstrates how bat-sh*#$ crazy she is) in front of a live audience. Did you notice they clapped after the clip was shown, by the way? What was that!? Anyway, Hills laughed it off. That takes guts. Or really good medication. And then, there goes Chris with his new streak of sarcasm. After Hill laments that she wished Brad had just told her he wanted to be friends, Chris shoots back, "I think he could have written it out in sky writing and you would have said, 'Oh look, he's proposing!'" Later when Brad comes out, Hillary gets an apology which ends with Brad's assurance to Hillary, "I think more highly of you than you realize". She smiled in a way that said, "Oh my God, I'm so excited that we're dating again."
Bettina's revisionist history recount of her hometown date indicated the public humiliation she endured had sent her over an emotional precipice and caused a rift with reality. She stated Brad was too defensive in the face of what she felt was a reasonable line of questioning by her family. How can she defend those people and their abhorrent behavior? A team of family therapists needs to get over to her dad's house immediately and coach Bettina out of her emotional dependency issues.
I truly loved when Chad came out and admitted what we all thought from day one: "We don't look anything alike." Meanwhile, I think he's married, but Chad and Sheena could not keep their hands off each other. I was cringing for Mrs. Chad as he went on a scree of how classy and elegant Sheena is.

That's all I got. Just a few thoughts. But the positive side of such a delay is that it's already Bachelor time again. Can't wait to meet Brad's momma ...

Where have all the crazies gone?

2007-11-09T18:01:00.000-05:00

As I've documented before, one of the things I love about New York is the crazies. They're not just tolerated here, they're celebrated. Perhaps you've heard of Naked Cowboy Man - the guy who hangs out (literally and figuratively) in Times Square with a guitar and some sh*% kickers. He's a mainstay on the tourist circuit. And of course we all have our local favorites.

I took this picture in the Meat Packing District a few weeks ago as I was strolling to get my haircut. It was not Halloween, by the way. Just folks doing their errands on a regular Saturday morning. No one batted an eye at this guy. (Granted, he may not be a bonafide crazy - he could just be a kids party entertainer trying to make a buck. I still love that he doesn't stand out a bit on 13th street.)

I don't know what it is about the crazies that I love. There is something so defiantly independent about some of them. Just living their life out loud, not at all caring what the rest of us think. Highly evolved, really. (Remember, I'm a girl who gets upset if I think people on the subway mistake my commuting shoes for the actual shoes I plan to wear with that outfit.)

Speaking of the subway, it offers some of the best freak watching in the city. I am sad to say, my half deafness has put a hindrance on my enjoyment in this area. I don't know if this will go away over time or not, but loud and piercing noises are particularly bothersome to me now. Aside from the cranial discomfort, I'm also really paranoid about exposing my only hearing ear to decibles that could be loud enough to cause damage. Gotta protect what little I have left!

So I ride the subway with an earplug in my good ear. It muffles out the screeching of metal wheels on the tracks as we pull into or out of stations and makes the ride more bearable. But it has the unpleasant side effect of blocking out most of the psychotic ramblings one is normally treated to while riding the A train.

Yesterday I knew I was missing a good one. There was a guy sitting amongst the tired morning commuters and he could have blended right in. No tattered clothing, no stuffed shopping bags, just a normal looking guy. Totally average, except that he was shouting out his deeply pondered life philosophy at the absolute top of his lungs to a car full of unphased people immersed in the The Post - none of whom paid him any mind. I could hear enough through my earplug to know he was preaching about Starbucks. Something about a crazy person belting out wisdom through the symbolism of a yuppie icon such as Starbucks made me yearn for my un-handicapped eavesdropping days.

Mind you, I don't love ALL the crazies. Some of them are scary. Or smelly. Or both. But Starbucks man was ok by me...

Cab-Oh-No!

2007-11-07T18:59:00.000-05:00

There is something so wrong about the overnight dates. It's just mortifying watching these ladies give it up one by one. And sure enough, the teaser opening scenes let us know this episode would be fit for Channel J. Uncomfortably, I settled in for some voyeuristic mimbo watching. Not that I'm some raving feminist, but there is a name for a girl who has overnight dates with three different guys over the course of three nights in a row, and it's not "Texas millionaire looking for love." Something about Debbie Does Dallas comes to mind, but let's move on...

Jenni

Brad's opening greeting, "What is up?" reminds me of my seventh grade boyfriend's favorite conversation starter.

So what does one do for a date when you're in beautiful Cabo San Lucas? Swim with the dolphins, of course. Jenni tries to act psyched, but is clearly nervous.

Yet as Jenni and Brad frolic in the water, I suddenly realize Jenni may have been separated at birth from a dolphin family. Think about it. She likes to perform in front of a clapping crowd. I've seen her jump through many hoops over the past six weeks. And most striking - she's constantly throwing her head back and pealing out syncopated, high-pitched laughs. I'm now convinced we're only hearing the lower sound waves of those obviously sonic quality "giggles." An inexplicable distinction: dolphins have very large brains. Maybe Jenni is smarter than she appears.

Enough frolicking. On to the romantic dinner. All of a sudden, Jenni gets coy. She let's Brad in on a secret: she doesn't want to tell him what she feels if he's just going to disappoint her. She goes on, "It's hard for me to say it, it's so much easier for me to show it." Cue the Channel J music...."I'm pretty sure you have something in your pocket" She's either referring to the fantasy suite card or something more naughty. Either way, she's a slut.

She full body frisks Brad all the while cackling like a dolphin.

Terry's comment from the peanut gallery: "She is the most shallow out of all of them. And she has a dumpy butt." (Oh, the irony.)

Jenni's rationale for her loose behavior, "I feel that I'm here because I was supposed to meet him [and further my career as a Phoenix Sun Dancer.]"

I'm mortified. Let's hope Gramma isn't watching.

Bettina

Brad gives us a line into his thinking as he gets ready to greet Bettina. "I've got to keep an open mind. [I've got two more women to sleep with, after all.]"

He lets us know the stakes are high for Bettina. If he doesn't see the true Bettina now, he fears he never will.

Brad and Bettina head out on an America's Cup racing boat. High class enough for even Bettina's family. Speaking of, Bettina mentions, "My family's only concern was whether it was a two way street." Ok, that is total crap. They had many concerns, the least of which was whether it was a two way street. Their main concern was that Brad's livelihood was equivalent to street-sweeping and that were she to marry him, Bettina would inevitably end up a street-walker.

There was no chemistry during the romantic dinner, and I know Bettina is going home. But not until Brad samples the goods.

Nice butt shot getting into the hot tub. The camera just lingered and lingered.

Bettina says she is falling in love with Brad, but she is "shy about it" Yes. Very shy.

DeAnna

Poor DeAnna clearly drew the date short straw. Race car driving. Helmet hair and dust storms. Awesome. But DeAnna shows she's a good sport and even sasses Brad over his poor driving skills. Well done, playful-doesn't-let-her-dead-momma-get-her-down-DeAnna.

Over dinner, Brad pulls out the line, "I don't meet people like you very much." Oh my God! He uses this line on EVERYONE. Jenni's mom. DeAnna's dad, and now DeAnna. What the hell? Ok, but it is better than, "What is up?"

DeAnna pours her guts out on the table. She tells Brad she's falling in love with him. But her bangs are driving her crazy. And the way she keeps brushing them out of her eyes is driving me crazy. I can't concentrate.

But I do know that DeAnna is one smart cookie. Of course, EVERYONE told Brad that they're falling in love with him. But DeAnna has been so reserved until now, it absolutely maximizes the impact of her words. Well done, Ms. Crafty. Opa, indeed.

The Rose Ceremony

Oh, crap this is awkward...

Brad uses a metaphor and I'm stunned. "The weather is tumultuous just the way my feelings are tumultuous." I didn't know he was so literary. Take that, Bettina's family!

He goes on with some hilarious commentary, and I swear, he's become some kind of one man show.

"Someone is going to walk away with what I assume will be a broken heart, and to be the cause of that breaks my heart." That's why I slept with all three of them.

"When I started this it was me standing in front of a room of strangers." Now I'm in front of three women I just slept with and you all know it.

Meanwhile, Bettina looks a little hungover at the rose ceremony. I think she knew she was going home so while Brad was shacking up with DeAnna the night before, Bettina was down at the bar preparing for the searing humiliation she'll feel when she has to face her family again. "Why am I such a loser? Hey, bartender, I told you to keep 'em coming. What does a girl have to do to get a drink around here!" Even worse than the hangover pallor, her dress looks like a milk maiden's costume.

Brad literally starts stretching and flexing before giving out the final rose. It seemed like he was getting ready to be in a shot-put competition. Very unsettleing, but accomplishes the task of underscoring the drama.

As expected, Milk Maiden Bettina gets the boot. Brad's explanation: "After all this time, I'm still looking at Bettina as a complete mystery, it shouldn't be that way." Yes, you should definitely know someone completely after six weeks. I don't think Brad is much for complexity.

Anyway, Bettina keeps it together. Already looking ahead, she cautions, "I can't even imagine putting myself out there right now." Terry's comment, "Maybe she should go back to her first husband." As if he'd have her.

Next week's tell all brings back craz-azy Hillary - can't wait. And the girls meeting Brad's family slash it would be impossible for me to love you more contest looks like it will be a winner...

Nice to meet you, Sir

2007-11-01T19:05:00.000-04:00

I just love the Bachelor hometown dates. I derive such schadenfreude from watching our Bach meet the fathers. Meeting your girlfriend's parents is stressful enough - then throw in the fact that everyone in the room (not to mention America) knows you're dating three other women in addition to their precious daughter. Pure entertainment.

But first, the "previously on The Bachelor" scenes remind me of Hillary's visit to crazy town. I miss that girl. Enough dwelling on the past, there's new drama to get snide about. Let's meet the families...

Jenni
Hometown: Somewhere in Kansas (does it matter where?)

I've never noticed Jenni's inability to stop giggling girlishly before, but I see it now and it's driving me crazy. Moving on...

After telling Brad to meet her at the theater where she won her very first dance competition, arranging to gain access to the hall, making sure the stage lights were on and having a set constructed complete with heart decorations that match her dress, Jenni gets out on stage to perform and says, "Oh my God, I'm so embarrassed." Somehow, Brad drags her out of her shell by saying, "Don't be at all." Jenni flips her hair and jumps into her routine without pause.

While watching her perform, Brad can't help but see her love for cheerleading shine through (she loftily refers to it as dance, but let's call a spade a spade). Brad knows if she makes the Phoenix Sun Squad for another year, she'll have to follow her heart and stay. The prospect of a long term romance fills Brad with worry. Jenni reminds him compromise is important in a relationship. You know, like when you have to share your boyfriend with 24 other girls on national TV. Compromise.

Off to dinner with the family at the hair salon (!?) where Jenni's mom works. Grandma Betty is scary. I don't like to show disrespect for my elders (except my husband), but that woman looks like a troll. But her relentless crankiness begins to warm my heart. As she lashes out with her snide one liners, it's hard not to realize it's like looking in a mirror. It's me in 40 years. But I will have a better T shirt. Favorite line, "That little lady ain't no walkin' baby makin' factory." You tell 'em, Granny!

In between courses, Jenni's mom brings Brad over to the shampoo station(!?). While she's whipping his head around like a spinning top, Brad offers a furtive compliment, "This is comfortable." Yep - that's the word I would use to describe this situation. Comfortable.

Brad informs Jenni's momma that despite being in a bar all the time, it's hard for him to meet the right kind of women there. He doesn't get to meet women like Jenni very often at all. This seems to mollify Jenni's mom and she doesn't seem offended even though I'm fairly confident she met Jenni's dad in a bar.

I liked Jenni's dad better after he made a wheelchair joke, "Let me tell you a secret, Brad. You don't have to worry about Grandma as long as you stay out of her reach."

Over dinner, Jenni finds out she's made the team. Let's all compromise. She's in it a million percent. Meanwhile, Brad's hair doesn't look so hot. So good luck with that salon that appears to be in a corn field in the middle of nowhere.

Sheena
Hometown: Walnut Creek, CA

Sheena's parents pull up in what has to be a $200,000 boat and I'm thinkin that makeshift dining room in the back of the salon is looking pretty shabby right now.

Speaking of salons, Sheena's mom should get to one because it looks like has been hennaed within an inch of her life.

We get a peak at the looniness to ensue while still on the boat and Sheena's mom asks Brad what sign he is. Luckily his sign passes the compatibility test, and the fun loving afternoon continues.

But after dinner the hippy dippy crap really starts pouring out. Sheena's mom believes she's seen the truth, and it's that Sheena is the ONE. She may not be Brad's ONE, but she is SOMEONE'S one. I swear she had to be drunk because she wasn't making any sense at all. "You know, you can lasoo the big dipper from our hot tub. Oh! And you're the same sign as my husband. Oh my Gosh." Brad doesn't know what to say and eeks out a tentative, "Mm-hmm." A lifetime of Thanksgivings spent eating tofu turkey before gathering around the oujie board flash before his eyes.

Later, from the Big Dipper Hot Tub, Brad tells Sheena meeting her mom has been a great way to see how she got to be who she is. And he kissed her on the cheek. And that's when I know it was over for Sheena.

DeAnna
Hometown: Canton, GA

DeAnna must know she's coming off as a hard edged b*%#ch, because she actually showed up to meet Brad with a basket of Georgia peaches. Because she's so Martha like that.

I don't have much to say about DeAnna's family. They seem like fun. Who wouldn't like a family that drinks Ouzo and dances in a circle in the middle of the day?

DeAnna is so clearly a Daddy's girl, so Brad knows he's got to impress Papa. He says, "I don't meet girls like your daughter too often," and I almost die. No he didn't. He used that same exact line on Jenni's mom! (Meanwhile if he had only met Hillary's parents - that line would be perfect.)

Fearing that the peaches may not have been enough to completely soften her image, D trots out the dead mother. And how. Photo albums galore. Papa reminds Brad that his little girl has had a hard life without her momma. Who's a b*%#ch now? Beat that, ladies!

Bettina
Hometown: Washington, DC

First of all, I'm befuddled by the wardrobe choice. What's with the yoga warm up outfit? Your boyfriend is coming to see you in your hometown for the first time, and you pull on sweatpants? That decision will come to haunt her - the opening shot as she turned to hug Brad with sweatpants up the butt was not flattering.

So where do I begin with Bettina's family? They are awful, awful people.

Right after Brad mentions that he dropped out of school to go into business (aka, become a bartender), he finds out Bettina's dad is a professor. Off to a great start. Trying to make light of the situation, Brad jokes, "It's a family friendly business." Do they graciously let him off the hook? Of course not. "Oh, so your family is in this business?" Squirming, "Um no, I meant that as a joke."

Silence.

I feel the blood rushing to my head. I'm ready to crawl under my couch.

I'm half hoping this could be a case of dramatic editing. Maybe the mood in the room is not as uncomfortable as I imagine. But then the behind the scenes commentary from Bettina's father tells me all I need to know, "I don't want my daughter to be with a guy who runs a bunch of bars. The fact is that her first husband was a wonderful, wonderful (two wonderfuls!?) man. She'll never find anyone who's any better." Thanks for the vote of confidence, dad. If my father ever said that, I would punch him.

Stepmom tells Brad how important this all is as she looks down her nose at him and gives him a condescending glance. "This conversation has grown tiresome, I'm going to take the dog out now."

Brad feels justifiably judged and B's response is, "I don't look that good on paper either." In other words, don't worry that my family thinks you're a loser. They think I am too. Didn't you just hear my dad say I'll never do better than my first husband whom I couldn't manage to hold on to? Hell, I couldn't even get out of these sweatpants today. We're perfect for each other.

Going into the rose ceremony, I was torn. That passionless peck on the cheek in Sheena's Big Dipper Lasso tub said a lot. On the other hand, I really could not get over how dreadfully snobby Bettina's family was.

But in the end, snobby beats hippy dippy and Sheena gets sent packing. At first she handles it well, but it all comes flooding out at once when Brad says he's not the guy for her. I guess she's someone else's ONE after all.

Cheer up honey. You got the Chopard. I think you're ahead of the game.

Just standing around chatting with my three girlfriends...

A Giant week

2007-10-29T21:35:00.000-04:00

This past week was a banner one for me as a lifelong lover of Big Blue.

Some of you already know that I am a huge Giants fan. The oftentimes frustrating, sometimes exhilarating preoccupation was instilled in me from an early age by my father. My dad grew up going to the games in the Polo Grounds in Northern Manhattan with his buddies. I grew up going to the Meadowlands with him.

When the Meadowlands was built my Dad and a group of his friends became season ticket holders. They secured a block in section 112 – row 22. Pretty good seats, I must say. Sometimes we’d pick up a pair of seats from one of the group that couldn’t make a particular game and our whole family would go. We’d drive through the city on the way home and eat dinner at Gallagher’s Steak House. A truly perfect Sunday. But most of the time we had just two tickets. Absolutely no gender discrimination in our household, my brother and I alternated home games.

A stellar example of my father’s even-handedness on this particular matter was the methodology used to determine Traynor attendance of the 1986 Playoffs. It had been an amazing year for the Giants. We only had to win one game against San Fransisco to get to the National League Championship game. My brother and I were sat down for a conference in the living room and my father explained, “We only have two tickets to the 49ers game. I can bring one of you. Whoever goes is guaranteed to see a playoff game. If we win that game I will take the other of you to the next game. But there is no guarantee that will happen. You two think about it for a minute and tell me what you want to do.”

I didn’t have to think. There was no question in my mind the Giants were going all the way. I wanted to be at that Championship Game. Inconveniently, Brendan felt exactly the same way.

“Ok, who wants to go to the San Fran game?”

Silence.

“No one?”

Silence.

“You both understand that passing this game up means you may not get to go to one at all?” We did. “Ok. We flip a coin.”

My brother was ok with this plan until I emerged victorious two minutes later. Cries of foul play flew through the air. My brother pointed out that as a member of our high school's football team, he should be given weighted advantage. I, afterall, had never even played a game in my life and never would. I was just a girl. This was not right.

I'm sure my father agreed with Brendan on many levels, but God love him, fair was fair and I went to that eventual Championship game. The Giants shut out the Redskins 17 - 0, and to this day, that game was the most thrilling event I have ever attended in my life (ok, maybe a close second to my wedding). It should be noted for context, I went to the Super Bowl in 1998 down in Miami. No where near as exciting. There were no fans in the stands. Just corporate sponsors. Not so back at that Redskins game where the entire stadium was packed with season ticket holders. The wave went around the stadium continuously for the entire three hours. Strangers high-fived. Face painters cried. No one cared that their feet were frostbitten and they would have to sit in traffic for three hours to get out of the parking lot. (By the way, this amazing team went on to beat the Broncos 39-20 a couple of weeks later in Super Bowl XXI).

My brother and I are very close. But to this day, when that game gets brought up, Brendan repeats his true belief, "That wasn't right."

Fast forward to the 2007 season. I admit, I started out with a faint heart. We had lost Tikki, and there was no reason to believe our shortcomings from last year would not continue to haunt us: an inconsistent quarterback not living up to his last name, a Coach known for harsh discipline overseeing one of the most penalized teams in the league and a cast of larger than life personalities who seem to air their disagreements in the media instead of the locker room.

I am now filled with remorse for my lack of faith. I know it's dangerous to get optimistic - this is just about the point in the season when we imploded last year. But I'm feeling good. We've won six in a row and we're just back from London where we were treated like rock stars. We're headed into a bye week after which we play Dallas, the only team in front of us in the NFC. A sign of changing times, Jeremy Shockey, freshly shorn, is even starting to look like a grown up.

For me personally, this past week in particular was indeed a Giant week in every sense of the word. I went to last week's game against San Fran and got on the jumbotron. First time ever and so exciting! I was on the big screen coming back from the commercial break with about 7:23 left in the third quarter. If you watched the game on TV, I was the one in the white hooded sweater screaming, "Go Giants!"

Then last Tuesday I had one of the coolest experiences I've had in a long time (and remember, I was hooked up to a morphine drip for two days this past March). I participated in a corporate boondoggle in which I got to go hang out with a small group of fellow corporate geeks at the Meadowlands and play a game of touch football (I observed) and eat dinner with a bunch of former Giants players. Old school guys - some of whom were playing during that famous 86 season. How cool is that!? These guys were so much fun. They were hilariously funny and easy going and having free reign at Giants Stadium was a thrill. Here are some pictures.

Touchdown!

Doesn't seem like it would be so hard to get the ball through here...

On the 50

Dee Hardison warming up for the game.

Just hangin on the side lines with my buddies Scott Brunner, Howard Cross and Dee Hardison.

On the jumbotron - second time in less than a week!

I had the most hilarious conversation with Chris Calloway who casually dropped some tid bit about something he had seen on The View that day. I looked at him and said, "You watch The View?" He kind of shrugged his shoulders and said yes he did. I asked him what he thought of the Rosie controversy. Well, he went on a 10 minute critical overview of hosts and which ones were his favorites. He was going back to Star Jones days. This guy is a fan. Whoopie is ok by him, by the way. And in case anyone was wondering, Chris reports Elizabeth has left to go have her baby in Arizona.

Howard Cross was by far the biggest character there. Totally hilarious. This is the face he made at me after another corporate geek had just told him he had so much fun playing in the game with him and how it was the most exercise he had gotten in years because he's under doctor's orders not to exercise. Cross told him to stop talking. (That's Eric Dorsey in the background)

Me and Scott Brunner, Howard Cross and Stephen Baker

Me and Scott Brunner, Dee Hardison and Karl Nelson.

And then there were four...

2007-10-23T22:02:00.000-04:00

I have been finding this season of The Bachelor a little boring. Maybe it's because I was making it through the last season on narcotics. But this week the introduction lets me know that we will be witnessing "The most dramatic exit in Bachelor history." Ok. They've got my attention.

Terry tries to act like he's working, but looks up from his laptop as our host Chris explains whoever makes it past tonight gets the hometown dates and says, "This guy is useless. And what's up with that shirt? That is awful." (As much as I love our host, the shirt is awful.)

Right off the bat, DeAnna claims that she's onto Bettina's game. That wiley Bettina is trying to be the mysterious girl, says DeAnna. The girl you can't figure out what she's got going on. Yes, she's trying to make Brad fall in love with her in six weeks or less. Very hidden agenda. Covert, even.

Bettina pipes in and implies she's been playing hard to get up until now. It's just the way she's been brought up. Hmm. Sending in an application and auditioning to appear on national televition and compete to marry a man you have yet to meet. Very hard to get.

On to the Group Date. A pool party at Brad's. He drawls out that he just wants to get to know these ladies in a more comfortable situation. More comfortable. Like in bikinis on a slip 'n slide. Mmmm... comfy.

Hillary's not-made-for-TV bleeper fantasy fest was hilarious. Made even funnier because I know it will be soon followed by "The most shocking exit in Bachelor history." Then I see a glimpse into the catalyst. Right after Hillary gives Brad the "you remind me of my dad and they say girls marry their dads," speech (a very disturbing scene to cut to after Hillary's let me tell you what I want Brad to do to me fantasy) Brad tells her he thinks they may be too good of friends. The F word. Right to her face. I'm wincing, but God bless her, this blows right past Hillary who claims to be thrilled about their connection. Glancing up from the keyboard, Terry notes, "She's not reading the right mail, is she?"

Hillary doesn't get it when Brad tells her they are "too good of friends," but the facade starts to break down when she realizes he's going off to kiss Jenni in a hammock. "Why is that not me!?"

On to Sheena's one on one date. What was with the balloons? That did not seem romantic to me. It looked like a low budget bar mitzvah. Redeeming moment: strapping on the Chopard.

Sheena's kind of goofy, and it's endearing (how about that fall down the stairs? Haven't we all been there?). But the sweetness crosses the line to awkward with the rose ceremony poem delivery. She sets the moles on Brad's arm and patch of hair on his ear to iambic pentameter. What the hell? She's trying to tell him that she likes him and that's what she says? Why didn't she say she noticed how small his hands and feet are for God's sake. Brad is speechless and asks if he can keep the poem. Terry's comment from the peanut gallery, "So I can show it to all my friends next month after I boot you off the show."

Brad tells Bettina their date was perfect. Bettina agrees. Of course, not as perfect as walking away with Chopard diamond earrings, but pretty good.

Then more signs of the trainwreck that's a comin' with some commentary from Brad, "I want to talk to Hillary so badly because at the pool party she asked me point blank what my feelings for her were, and I had to be honest - that this girl is just a friend. That's what I want her to know tonight. But how can I relay that to someone who won't listen to a word I'm saying?"

Brad gives her the speech, "Let me be a straight shooter. We're good friends. I don't get nervous around you because I think of you as a friend. I'm telling you this because I am trying to be a good friend. Are you ok? I'm only asking as a friend."

God bless her, she doesn't miss a beat and launches into her response, "I feel the same way. We're best friends. We could be lovers. And husband and wife. I'm so happy when I'm around you, I just want to thank you for that." Brad blinks twice as his life flashes before his eyes. Later Hillary lets us in on her thoughts, "Some of the girls see us as more of a best friend type of thing. You know what? I feel more than that, and I know he feels more than that too and I know with the circumstance he can't really say how he feels."

Oh my God. Somebody get her therapist on stand-by. With a syringe full of something powerful.

Suddenly it's happening. The meltdown is in full throttle. Hillary holds her head in her hands while she tries a visualization exercise and repeats over and over, "Everything happens for a reason. Everything happens for a reason." My therapist always says, "everything happens for a reason."

Brad tries to step in and calm down the scenario, "I want you to know I think you're one in a million." To which Terry responds, "Or at least one in twenty five. Of all the women I've met on this show, you're definitely one of them." [Way to go, ABC - you've converted another viewer with your slutty girls and NFL mentions.]

Hoping next week's hometown dates will bring more drama....

Wanna meet my dad?

Traveling in Style

2007-10-19T19:31:00.000-04:00

Terry went to South Carolina to play golf this weekend. He called me from the airport Friday night to tell me Tim Gunn was at the gate. I asked the obvious questions, "What's he wearing and what does his bag look like?"

"He's got on a blue blazer and khakis and his bag looks like one you'd get at a golf tournament."

"Ok, I really don't think Tim Gunn is wearing Dockers and carrying a gym bag."

"You're right. I'll go get a better look and call you back."

"Check out the shoes, too."

A few minutes later confidence in my fashion instinct was restored when the phone rang again, "I was wrong. He's wearing a gray suit. Very well cut. The bag is Jack Spade. Shoes look like Allen Edmonds lace ups."

One of my favorite things about my husband - he is just gay enough.

If your name is not Jenni, please pack your bags...

2007-10-19T18:28:00.000-04:00

Right off the bat, Jenni gets the one on one date and nearly dies of elation. I thought I saw her eyes roll back in her head for a minute and I truly thought she might short circuit.

Brad's dramatic entrance to pick her up in the helicopter would have been a lot more romantic and less comic had there not been all that debris swirling around like hundreds of little Tasmanian devils. The girls refused to stop flashing their best toothpaste model smiles even as they were pelted by flying objects moving with stingingly strong centrifugal force. Hard to look cute when your hair is caught up in a wind tunnel, but God bless them, they tried.

The other girls can not hide their resentment as Brad and Jenni whiz off. Hillary immediately gets her therapist on the horn and asks for refills on three of her seven prescriptions.

Jenni giggles girlishly as she flips her hair and says, "If he doesn't give me the rose I'm going to jump off this building!" As if he's not giving her the rose. Unless she tells him she has gonorrhea during dinner, I think she's safe. Even then, she might be ok - unless she says she caught it from her dad. (Ok, I know that was over the line, and my mother is appalled right now if she still reads this blog. But there is something so sickeningly pure about Jenni that brings out my dark side.)

Just when I think Brad is going to give Jenni a puppy before they pedal off on a tandem bike, ABC cuts through the sweetness with a peak at what's going on back at the house. McCarten and DeAnna are stirring the pot with some Class A, high-school style mind games. Don't you remember that girl who was the leader of the "in crowd," but really no one liked her? Think Rachel McAdams in Mean Girls. That's what's going on back at the mansion in the name of, "Let's be friends. Let's put on our pj's and bond. Let me tell you why you're stupid and ugly and SOOO not Brad-worthy. Oh, and Hillary, I forgot to tell you. Your therapist called you back five hours ago. I meant to tell you before, but I didn't think of it until just now when I saw you walking around with that steak knife."

On to the group date. Brad tries to pretend like any of the non-Jenni girls still have a chance. They all humiliate themselves to the absolute base level during the improv session and I die a little inside as I watch them grovel. Hillary's uppers kick in as she bounds around as a cheerleader and then pronounces, "I was a FREAKin' rock star today!"

Kristy has a meltdown because she sucks at improv. Brad tells her not to worry. Bettina gets the rose and Hillary pages her therapist.

Bettina envisions the future, "Brad likes me...I can really see us having this great life together." Yea. Just you and Brad. And Jenni.

DeAnna and Jade's date with Brad was HIL-A-RI-OUS. Dueling banjos. All I could think of was that character on SNL played by Kristen Wiig. The one who's always one one-upping everyone with outrageous claims. She's a recurring character and the first few times I saw it I found it annoying, but now I think it's funny (If you don't know what I mean, check this out: Penelope at an Auction)

Meanwhile, back at the house, Bettina injects some unwelcome level-headedness when she tells the others it's naive to think you can get engaged to someone after knowing them for six weeks. As a divorcee, she knows from experience. Hillary calls her a used car and laughs like a jackal.

Poor Jade gets the boot. She was no match for that DeAnna.

The mind games continue at the rose ceremony party. The girls grill Jenni about her intentions once they find out she got the first kiss. One by one, the ladies pull Brad into a corner and tell him they don't want to cry as they begin to cry. "Brad, how can you turn away from someone brave enough to express this kind of raw emotion?" Meanwhile, I don't know what happened to McCarten. All of a sudden she's wearing an elegant dress and she's unsure about whether she even wants a rose. What's going on?

No surprise, McCarten and Stephy get sent packing.

The winning parting line came from McCarten, "Brad is an amazing person that I could see being the father of my children. Or my husband." Multiple choice.

Scenes from the next gave me a peak into what I knew was coming all along. Hillary's nervous breakdown. The carefully calibrated medication balance seems like it may get off center next week. We may need another medivac. Is it so wrong that I find that so funny?

Conflict of interest

2007-10-15T20:01:00.000-04:00

Just some forewarning (advance lame excuse?). As though I haven't been late enough with my Bachelor recaps (I was so much more prompt when blogging and brain surgery recovery were my only two jobs), I will be experiencing a scheduling difficulty tonight that will likely delay the recap yet again. My Giants are playing Monday Night Football. Sorry to say I will be watching them - not Brad Womack. If Solisa were still on I might have the priorities the other way 'round, but alas, I'd rather watch Manning, Burress, Shockey, Ward, Jacobs, Strahan, Kiwanuka and Umenyiora than Stephy, Deanna, Jenni, McCarten, Hillary, Sheena, Kristy, Bettina and Jade.

Super Twin Power

2007-10-11T22:17:00.000-04:00

Having been primed to expect "the most shocking cocktail party ever," I was pretty excited as I settled in for this week's Bachelor.

I was instantly filled with a disoriented feeling, however, when I saw Solisa wearing a shirt. I almost didn't recognize her. But Bachelor antics quickly ensued, and I began to feel comforted by the recurring themes of shameless manipulation and stultifying displays of complete lack of self awareness.

On to the wacky circus group date. Knowing she was in a position of strength after executing a round-off-backhandspring-back tuck (which I used to always do at the beginning of every date in my younger years), Jenni asks a critical question of Brad: "Would you let me stay in Phoenix?" It's very important to her that she get to finish her season as a Phoenix Sun Dancer. Again, Brad demonstrates that unscripted goofiness that I'm really starting to love when he very logically points out, "Well, you're letting me date other people." Hard to argue. Jenni is a very agreeable girlfriend.

Vying for some attention, Stephy talks (too much) about Daddy the triathlete who has really high standards. Please, oh please, let her get a home town date so Brad the bartender has to meet that guy. She can't remember the last time she's been asked out. Oh. Poor Stephy.

Now that Michele shower-cap-highlights-on-taupe is gone, I'm obsessed with McCartens' tan lines. Can we get some bronzing powder? Some tan spray? A non-strapless dress? Is the stylist on vacation or what?

Brad likened the feeling of being at the Circus with all these fine ladies to being "that kid from Titanic." I wasn't sure if he felt like The King of The World, or if he was having premonitions of one of these ladies prying his cold dead fingers off her arm and pushing him to the cold, bottomless sea...

Hillary-I'm-on-amphetamines' peeling scream and immediate speed trip when she found out she got the one-on-one date was enough to rattle anyone to the core, forget someone with titanium in their head. I bravely pressed on.

Not to be outdone, Stephy-daddy's-girl let out a squeal when she got the date rose that prompted a comment from Terence (until that point, busily typing away on his laptop - not paying attention due to the complete lack of bikini wearing and/or NFL celebrity appearances), "She's annoying." Back to typing.

After much primping (and later evidence would suggest, the consumption of some downers to take the edge off those amphetamines) Hillary descends the stairs ready for her one on one date. Dehanna loses that sunny, good girl disposition for a moment to state the obvious, "It wasn't fun watching another girl get a million dollars worth of jewelry thrown on her." The other girls shot daggers from the couch as still-speeding-Hillary bounded out the door.

After a few champagne chasers, the downers kicked in. Hillary spiraled into an "I want to be in love with you for the rest of your living days" speech. God bless him, Brad kept interrupting her. I could see the deer in headlights look in his eyes when he said, "Are you ok?" What he meant was, "Good God, please don't say another word. I'm sure you're capable of ending my living days should I decide not to 'love' you anymore." At this point they've known each other for what - a week? I'm convinced he gave her the rose simply to stop her from crying.

Brad quickly devises a plan to bring Hillary back to manic mode (manic Hillary is more fun than depressive Hillary): ice cream. Did you catch the bartending maneuver with the sundae glass? Very Tom Cruise in Cocktail.

On to the sailing group date. I knew we'd be in for some psycho-Solisa fun. And of course, she couldn't help but get all "Christian" again. She explained the lap dance performed on the aft deck this way: "I think I have a really strong connection with Brad, and we have so much in common. So I kinda like went over and like, started like, shaking my butt really fast 'cause it's the only thing I know how to do." (I'm not kidding - she said that.) Is it coincidence that the next scene was a cannon shooting with Brad yelling, "Fire in the hole!"? That is downright pornographic. But very Christian.

On to the "Most Shocking Cocktail Party Ever." I'm giddy with anticipation. But let me just say - that twin does not look like a twin. Brothers yes. Identical twins no. They don't sound alike either.

Brad ponders, "I'm kind of curious to see who can tell the difference." Well, I'm guessing they all will. Except Solisa. She always seems to be in a position other than face to face when she's around Brad.

Chad (Chad!? Really? Brad and Chad?) wants to know, "What if someone pulls me away and tells me she loves you for the first time." "Let's face it. If she tells you that she loves me, that's a problem." He may be an uneducated bartender, but it's hard to deny that logic.

So, some figure it out, some don't. Setting this up as "The Most Shocking Cocktail Party Ever" may have oversold it.

More shocking was McCarten's dress at the rose ceremony. Chain link bling with chartreuse chiffon. It looked like a 70s prom dress updated with some 80s rapper bling but reinterpreted to be age-appropriate for a mother of the bride trying to look younger than she is.

After a boring rose ceremony, almost without warning, the best line I have EVER heard on Bachelor (granted, it's only my second season) was breathlessly uttered by a freshly ousted Solisa, "I was a little more truthful and honest about who I was. Because he did see the very special parts of me because I wear those special parts on the outside." In most states, there are laws against showing those very special parts, but indeed, Solisa wore them on the outside.

I already miss Solisa...

Real Beauty is a skull scar...

2007-10-11T12:36:00.000-04:00

Lunchtime diversion...

My Agency did an amazing video called Evolution for Dove last year that won all kinds of industry awards, received unbelievable media attention and was passed around the web like crazy. It placed Dove firmly at the leadership front of the beauty debate in the US - an important discussion to be having in this age of obsession with "perfect" anorexic celebutantes.

The follow up, Onslaught, was just launched and has already been getting unbelievable buzz in the media. I think it's great work. Enjoy...

Chloe!...

2007-10-09T20:46:00.000-04:00

...I need you to download the engineer plans for the duct system at the LA County jail to my PDA. Right away!

TMZ is reporting that our buddy, Jack Bauer, will likely serve 48 days in jail for his most recent DUI conviction.

I'm sorry, I love Kiefer, but there really is no excuse for anyone to drive while intoxicated, let alone someone who can so easily afford a driver.

Seems that Sutherland will be able to serve mostly during a time that 24 production is on break for the holidays.

LA County should be a breeze after that secret Chinese torture camp...

"I'm a Christian. Can't you tell by these?"

2007-10-07T23:29:00.000-04:00

Again, I'm really late with The Bachelor write up. I'm really sorry. I do have a good excuse this time. This week I was busy battling my first post-brain-surgery head cold. Word to the wise: try not to get a head cold for at least a year following skull contact with the business end of a bone-saw. It wasn't fun. Now that the sinus drama is over, let The Bachelor drama ensue...

First let me comment on the brilliant strategy ABC seems to be employing to increase viewership. They are clearly endeavoring to capture the males in viewing households by recruiting sluttier girls. It seems to be working on Terence.

The girls in the first group date couldn't stop playfully slapping each other with those riding crops, and the second group immediately began their string bikini/pole dancer fashion show the minute they heard they were going to the beach with Brad. More on the beach date/Channel J audition in a moment.

First, let's discuss The Fall. The scream sound effect could not have been more fake. But it did underscore the fact that we were in for some high impact melodrama. The stretcher. The medivac. The tears. Let's find out what the Bach thinks. He's been busy at the racetrack with the riding crop girls...

Just a quick pause before bringing Brad into the medical emergency: a timeout for a random drive-by visit from San Diego Charger Line Backer Shawn Phillips. What the $#%@? No attempt to provide context or any sort of explanation for why he's at the racetrack, what interest or relevance he could possibly have to The Bachelor and/or why Brad should listen. I'm puzzled by this non sequitur until I remember the objective to increase male viewership. Slutty girls, bikinis and NFL players. Genius.

Back to the girl in the stretcher. Brad receives a dramatic phone call. He seems unable to place a face with the voice. He tells the other girls, "One of the ladies slipped down the stairs and has a mild concussion." Someone must have held up a cue card off camera because he followed up with quick clarification: "It was Michele. From New Jersey." McCarten is so filled with compassion that she wants to know, "Wait. So she has a concussion and she's able to call you?" That McCarten, she sees what's going on here. Images of Bevin's ankle "injury" propelling her to the final two race through McCarten's mind.

Clever girl, she immediately asks for one-one-one time which interrupts Brad as he scans his memory to try and come up with what in the hell Michele from New Jersey looks like. McCarten plants one on him, which God bless him, Brad admits was awful. And he can't stop laughing as he says so. I am afraid my friend may have been right when she rushed to judgement about Brad's lack of intellectual power, however, his goofiness is starting to grow on me.

Hillary provides some commentary from behind the scenes and it quickly becomes apparent that she's on speed. Or has a serious caffeine addiction. Every other word was "frickin'!" (spelled with an "in' exclamation point"). I hope she gets booted quickly because as a cynical New Yorker, I can't abide by such gratuitous exertion of energy.

I don't know what to say about the bikini fashion show. Ri-DI-cu-lous. (Of course, it was Terry's favorite segment.) While mild-concussion-Michele-from-New-Jersey leaned forward to check out a particular pole dancing outfit, I noticed she must be the same Michele I tagged as needing a colorist in the last rose ceremony (the back of her head was taupe). Once I saw the front it was hard to ignore the stripes. I think she must have gotten one of those do-it-yourself highlight shower cap jobbies. Not a good look. And now that she has that neck injury, I don't think a proper colorist can help her.

On to the beach group date. Underwritten by the producers of the "Girls Gone Wild" videos available by mail order on late night cable.

I can't sum up my reaction to Solisa's shameless body shot ploy any better than Bettina's comment, "Seeing Brad do the body shot off Solisa was really hard for me to watch. I was like, 'Oh my God, I think I'm going to throw up. So gross.'" However, the pure entertainment line of the night was when Solisa then went on to explain to Brad that she's a Christian, and she has strong morals. God made her body, so she's comfortable with it. Later in the night she further demonstrated her strong faith by stripping off her top and going skinny dipping. It was hard to deny... she has a nice set of morals.

Jenni gets the first real kiss. There she goes, fanning the fires again. Hillary-I'm-on-speed thinks Jenni is only here to advance her career. (Career? As a stripper?)

Jenni's comment on her one-on-one time indicates her narrow view of topics available for discussion: "We just talked about everything in the whole wide world." They were upstairs for four minutes. They were kissing for three of them. Quite the conversationalists.

On to the rose ceremony. Aside from the medical drama, reflections of Bevin abound. There is another secret divorce. Looking forward to watching that unfold.

During the table top booty shaking competition, did anyone else notice Michele trying to discretely haul her boob back into her dress? 47 minutes and 25 seconds in for those who wish to review the tape (in line with ABC's male viewership strategy, I'm employing NFL language.)

By far, my favorite line of the evening came from Erin, "I came out here to find true love and I meet this beautiful man and just when my faith in relationships was beginning to be restored, I find myself out in the parking lot." At this point, Terence pointed out that if you're really trying to restore your faith in relationships, you probably shouldn't go on TV and prostrate yourself. (Good job, ABC. Pull them in with bikinis. Keep them guessing with NFL player appearances. Make it impossible for them to turn away with train wreck dialogue.)

Can't wait for next week when we get to witness "The most shocking cocktail party ever." Although there was no indication that bikinis would be involved, even Terence got a kick out of that hyperbole.

By the way, if you stuck around till after the credits, you got to see more slutty antics. But the more interesting insight from this little kitchen conversation was the proof that the scream from Michele's fall down the stairs was indeed a sound effect placed in later. No scream after Solisa's naughty-Brad-slap demonstration, although that's where it occurred when shown earlier in the show. I'm shocked that there would be any dramatization.

Rock bottom?

2007-10-01T18:24:00.000-04:00

(Judging by what we saw through that "costume" at the VMA Awards, maybe this is not the best title. Moving on...)

We already knew she had lost her mind, now it seems poor Brit has lost her kids. TMZ is reporting Britney Spears has just lost physical custody of her children to Fed-Ex. They'll be handed over on Wednesday. Hopefully someone is keeping a close eye on them until then, because this girl is desperate, and judging by some of her recent weaves, she's capable of unspeakable acts.

Maybe this will be the wake up call she needs.

Speaking of over the edge, given this news - someone better put that "leave Britney alone" freak from youtube on suicide watch. You've probably seen the full video already. Here's an edited version and a funny take from Jimmy Kimmel

Update: Britney was required to hand over the kids on Wednesday, but she voluntarily handed them over to Kevin's bodyguard today after going through the drive through at Carl's Jr.

The void that can never be filled

2007-09-29T11:01:00.000-04:00

Something terrible happened to me this week. On the scale of "wrong outfit" to "brain tumor," it definitely fell to the former side of the spectrum, but nonetheless, I'm somewhat devastated.

My DVR wasn't set to record The Bachelor. I only caught the last 19 minutes of the hour and a half premeire. It's only thanks to my friend Denise that I even saw that much. She emailed me part of the way in to the show to say she thought Brad was dumb, what did I think? I was sitting on the couch (next to my Blackberry, thank God) looking over a presentation I had to give to a group of Clients the next morning, completely oblivious to the fact that I was missing the premier. WHERE were my priorities, I ask you?!

By the time I got clued in, the rose ceremony was already in progress. How could this happen to me in the age of DVR?! Haven't I been through enough? Well, for what it's worth, I'll pass along my comments on the brief part of the drama I managed to catch...

The first thing I saw was a girl named "McCarten" (oh for the love of God), and right away she used the word "bottom dwellers" to refer to the other candidates. I was filled with dread knowing I had missed some good trash TV. I bravely pressed on.

Thank God they played highlights from the episode in Brad's "memory montage" so I could catch up while The Bach provided [yes, Denise. dumb] commentary in The Deliberation Room. By the way, I don't remember a Deliberation Room from last season, but I appreciate the poignancy. It really helps underscore the burden that falls to Brad.

Not to beat a dead horse, but it's just not the same when all the craziness is played in a montage reel. It's more startling and delivers more horrifying thrills when you see it unfold in situ. Be that as it may, the stroll down episode one memory lane buoyed my spirit as I could tell we were in for a good season. How did I know?

The introduction in Greek that filled Brad with confused wonder. Did he love it? Did he hate it? Damned if he knew, but he figured she must be a heck of a girl if she could memorize all that.
That whackadoo song singer knocked it out of humiliation park. A. she didn't know the words B. she cant' sing. They cut off the video before I could see Brad's response to that gem. What does one say? Thank you? Why did you do that? Can you feel your left arm and do you want me to call a doctor?
Gotta love the drunk girl. Based on my limited experience, it's looking like that's the deal with the premiere. Always a drunk girl to provide entertainment. (I'm remembering last year a girl in a yellow dress who was so plastered she fell down)
The human pretzel. I have no further comment on this, except to say I'll bet that girl pulls that maneuver at every party she goes to.

So on to the rose ceremony. I don't have the same emotional investment I normally experience. Having missed practically the entire show, I barely know these girls. Oh wait, neither does Brad. Come on, Joanie! Get your head in the game...

Favorite acceptance: McCarten who snidely threw out an "Excuse me," as she barreled past the girls in the first row. What she was really saying was, "Get out of the way, losers! Enjoy the ride home you bottom dwellers!"
Biggest question: why is the back of Michelle's hair taupe? Do they not have a colorist on this show?
Favorite rose ceremony demeanor: drunk girl who began to remind me of a blond Paula Abdul.
Best attempt to apply third grade slumber party rules: Lori who tearfully explained that all the other girls in her limmo got roses and she didn't. You're right Lori - that's not fair!

The coming attractions hinted that this will be a season full of the *f* bomb, catty backstabbing, gratuitous bikini wearing (and lack thereof), helicopters (including a medi-vac! oh the drama), crocodile tears and general tom-foolery. Can't wait for the twin caper...

I know that you know that this doesn't work!

2007-09-19T22:52:00.000-04:00

Last week was one of those weeks where I just couldn't catch up to where I was supposed to be. All week I felt ten minutes late and ten minutes away. I was getting it done, but just barely. It's a feeling I hate. I prefer being well prepared and ahead of the game.

Imagine my horror when this extended into an egregious fashion faux pas.

First, allow me to set some context. I always select my work outfit the night before. I'm not a morning person, so it would take me three times as long if I didn't do it this way, and I also know I would let things slide. I wouldn't feel like switching handbags, for example, so I'd just go out with a purse that simply isn't right because it's the one I carried yesterday. I'd regret it the moment I came before the scanning eyes of subway riding fashionistas, but in the haste of getting out the door I know I'd just blow it off. So I pull it together the night before. (Side note: if I ever have to wear shoes for the commute and they really don't go with my outfit, I make sure the shoes I'm going to change into are visible - peaking out the top of my handbag, for example. If that isn't possible, I feel like screaming out: "I KNOW these don't go with my dress! I have my real shoes in the bottom drawer of my desk, and they're perfect for this ensemble!")

Within this framework of obsessive compulsive dressing, you can imagine I selected last Tuesday's outfit carefully on Monday night. Several factors had to be taken into account:

Tuesday was September 11th. I always wear a small pin made by a former colleague's son in 2001 as part of a fundraiser for the victims' families. My outfit had to be simple enough that the pin (a funky version of the flag) would be visible but not overly obvious. So, probably black.

I would be attending focus groups with Clients. The back room at these facilities is always freezing. I needed something that could accommodate layers and be comfortable enough to sit in for several hours.

My handbag would need to be large enough to accommodate the files I'd want at the groups.

After the groups, we'd be attending dinner at an old New York steakhouse. So nothing trendy.

None of this was easy because we're also in that awkward time of year when the seasons are changing and nothing in my closet seems exactly right. I ended up in a respectable, but conservative outfit without an ounce of flair. Pleated skirt. Black sweater. Small jacket. Ballet flats.

So guess what happened!? The dinner venue changed mid-morning. Instead of an old-school New York steak house as originally planned, I ended up in the private dining room of The SOHO House. I was wearing the absolute wrong outfit. The SOHO House is a trendy hipster spot located in the heart of the meatpacking district, open only to private members (one of our Clients is a member). It's quite the celebrity, euro-jet-setter crowd, and here I show up in a dorky pleated skirt and flats with a handbag that looks like a briefcase. As we were led past the Dolce & Gabbanna clad crowd snootily sipping whatever the tendy cocktail was for that 10 minute period, I felt just as I feel on the subway when I'm in the wrong shoes. I wanted to scream, "I selected this outfit to fill very specific functional needs! I didn't know I'd be here! This is not representative of what's in my closet at large, and by the way - this would have killed at Kean's Steakhouse!"

It gets worse. When I completed my walk of shame and was finally sequestered away in the private room, safely out of the view of the fashion nazis, I looked down only to realize I was still wearing the dorky corporate looking "Visitors Badge" sticker that had been forced upon me by security at the focus group facility.

I can never show my face south of 14th Street again. I'll miss Pastis.

(Update: The real story. It was hard not to realize how trivial all this outfit nonsense was the instant we were seated in the dining room. There was a large window facing south, and it allowed an open view to two stunningly bright columns of light reaching for the sky from Ground Zero. A stark reminder to pay attention to what's important.)

Quotable?

2007-09-17T22:29:00.000-04:00

Sorry for falling off the radar for a while. Last week was busy. But in the middle of it, I did experience a pleasant acknowledgment of the fact that my eavesdropping days are not over. It was a sweet reminder of a favorite hobby I thought was only in my past.

I'm a shameless eavesdropper. I will listen in rapt attention to any conversation happening within earshot. It doesn't have to be interesting. I once missed my subway stop because I was listening to two women talk about their daughters who were taking clarinet lessons. From the same teacher as it turns out. Imagine that. The next stop didn't have an overpass so I had to exit the station, walk across the avenue and pay again to re-enter on the uptown side. But at least I knew clarinet lessons were every Wednesday at 4:30.

Since the surgery, I can't discern words against any kind of background noise. My eavesdropping skills have been compromised to the point that I have been forced to mind my own business in public spaces for the past 6 months.

So imagine the depths of my vicarious thrill while waiting for friends in the (quiet) waiting area of a restaurant last week as I slowly discovered I was overhearing a conversation between the hostess and a waiter who'd been hanging around the hostess station to flirt:

Waiter: "Smell you later"

Hostess: "Hey, who was the first person to say that?:

Waiter: "I don't know."

Hostess: "Was it Urkel? That sounds like something Urkel would say. [repeat in an Urkel voice] Smell you later

Waiter: "I think it was Screech."

Thank God I didn't miss that one.

Coincidence?

2007-09-10T20:57:00.000-04:00

It's pretty obvious to me the designers at Bannana Republic read my blog while planning for their Fall line. I've started a circular trend...

What!?

2007-09-05T20:36:00.000-04:00

I know this has been floating out on YouTube for a while, and I'd heard a lot of jokes about it, but I hadn't actually watched Miss Carolina's stunningly stupid answer to a question posed to her during the recent Miss Teen USA pageant until two days ago. If you haven't seen it yet, click below.

My husband thinks it's mean that everyone is picking on her. Do you think he would feel that way if she wasn't cute as a button?

Goodness gracious

2007-09-04T20:57:00.000-04:00

We were the recipients of two gracious acts during dinner on Sunday night that bookended an already wonderful meal and made it that much more enjoyable. It was a good reminder that small gestures can make a large impact.

I love staying around New York on holiday weekends. Everyone else takes off and those that remain have the run of the place. You can see any movie you want at a moment's notice, stores are airy and empty (as long as you stay out of places that sell back to school supplies on Labor Day) and it's the perfect opportunity to try the trendy restaurant you can't normally get into.

This Labor Day Weekend we took full advantage and went to an AMAZING restaurant that I highly recommend to any non-vegetarians out there: BLT Prime. It's one of the gems in the Chef Laurent Tourondel empire, and it's just perfect. They have a 30-foot dry aging room and a menu boasting 20 different cuts of meat. It's got everything the classic steak house offers, but the space is contemporary and beautifully designed. Not a trace of the stodgy feel traditional steakhouses can impart (although that can be fun in its own way too - a true carnivore, I'll always be a huge fan of Gallagher's, Luger's, Sparks, Frankie & Johnnie's and Smith & Wollensky's to name a few).

Gracious Act #1:
I have a friend who lives in the neighborhood and is a regular at BLT Prime. He's always talking about how good it is, so I mentioned to him at the end of last week that we were headed there on Sunday. When we arrived for our reservation, the hostess said, "Welcome to BLT Prime. You're a friend of [D's]?" He actually called ahead and had them find our name so they could make a note. As a result of his extra effort, we got comped on several special appetizers. Uncommonly thoughtful. Bon appetite, indeed!

Gracious Act #2:
Just as we ordered our dessert (passion fruit crepe), the woman at the table next to us gestured with a sweeping motion that sent her glass of red wine sailing to the floor, spattering my ivory shirt (very first time I wore it) with deep, garnet colored speckles. Breathless apologies gushed. Club soda and napkins appeared. Broken glass was swept away in the blink of an eye. Within two minutes there was no evidence the incident had ever occurred, except for my wet shirt covered with now slightly faded spots. I knew the girl was mortified. And as Terry had rightfully pointed out, "On a different night we would be apologizing to you for the same thing." Obviously it was an accident yet, I felt a little cranky as I sat doused in cold seltzer. Apparently, my favor can easily be bought. The maitre d' appeared and let us know our dessert was being paid for by the table next to us. This time I meant it when I said, "Really, it was no big deal! That was completely unnecessary." Well, not completely.

Small gestures. Big impact.

It's in the jeans

2007-09-03T12:20:00.000-04:00

This father and son seem to have a very healthy relationship. For some reason this father owed his son $41K, but they got so drunk together that the transaction never happened. That's not the worst of it.

No further comment required. This story - reported on CNN - is hilarious.

WAUKESHA, Wisconsin (AP) -- It was embarrassing enough that Mark Stahnke woke up in a neighbor's yard without his pants. Then he remembered they contained a cashier's check for $41,093, meant for his son, and several hundred dollars in cash.

But he got it all back Friday, including the pants, thanks to a man and his dog.

Stahnke said he doesn't know what happened between when he left the bar and when he woke up the next morning, and police were skeptical when he filed a report on Monday.

"We're used to hearing weird stories, but with his intoxication we figured this one would be different, that the amount of money wouldn't be exact," Police Lt. William Graham said. "How do you get so intoxicated that you lose your pants?"

Stahnke said he had met his son at a bar and doesn't remember much afterward.

"I woke up cold not knowing where the heck I was, and I didn't realize it at first because I still had my shoes and socks on," he said. "When I got up, I realized, my God, I don't have any pants."

Tim Curzan's dog, Joe, found the pants at an intersection, according to a police report. He found the cashier's check and tried twice, unsuccessfully, to deliver it and the cash to where he thought the owner lived.

On Wednesday, the pants were still at the intersection, so Curzan took them to the police, who contacted Stahnke to claim his belongings.

Money is wasted on the wealthy: Part II

2007-08-26T22:36:00.000-04:00

Maybe it's because we're getting ready to embark on a kitchen remodeling project, but I seem to be only writing about money this week. How gauche. Nonetheless, I came across this piece in Shouts & Murmurs (The New Yorker), and it really cracked me up.

My Mega Millions
by Larry Doyle

What am I going to do with my Mega Millions? Good question. Here’s a hundred dollars.

The truth is, I haven’t really thought about it. I mean, I suppose I’ll have to hire a lawyer to start preëmptively suing people who claim that I owe them money or fathered them or blinded them in a bar fight. And I’ll need bodyguards with double-0 clearance, for insurance purposes. And another lawyer to sue the first lawyer. But, beyond that, my life is going to stay pretty much the way it is, only with the Mega Millions.

Cheryl has been a good wife, financially supporting me all these years while I pursued my dream of winning the Mega Millions, and I’d like to keep her. She’s not really a Mega Millionaire’s wife, though, as she would be the first to admit. However, in light of all her years of loyal service, I’m going to give her first crack at the position.

Out of my own pocket, I’m advancing Cheryl up to three hundred thousand dollars for a series of upgrades. She has all sorts of complaints about her face that, frankly, I don’t see, but, fine, we’ll fix all that stuff. We’ll also be installing state-of-the-art breasts, right above the original ones, which we’ll keep around for old times’ sake to remind us where we came from. To go with her new Mega Millions looks, Cheryl will be getting extensive training in trophy-wiving from Melania Trump, on loan from my new friend Don, at a special discounted rate.

I do hope it all works out, because Cheryl was with me back when it all started. All those scratch-offs. All that black stuff all over the bed. She’s probably wishing that she hadn’t bitched so much about it now.

As for me, I can’t think of anything I want. Hair, maybe. Specifically, George Clooney’s. So far, he’s been unwilling to part with it at any price, but we’ll see how he feels about playing Khrushchev or Gorbachev or Blofeld or Mr. Clean in the new movie I’m financing. Plus, he travels a lot, often to countries where it’s possible to get what you want done done. You know what—that was off the record. Oh, and I forgot: here’s a thousand dollars for each of you.
Also, I may get a heart transplant, just as a precaution.

We’re going to keep the old house. We love the neighborhood, and we’ll love it even more without a lot of the neighbors. We’ll probably do some additions, preserving the original house as a centerpiece in the new living room, or maybe as a playhouse for all those grandkids we will no longer be denied. Cheryl’s going to be too busy pleasing me to take care of a house that large, so we’ll need some kind of staff: just a few French maids, one of those sinewy masseuses with Chinese tattoos, some house lawyers, a night masseuse, and a butler. A really good butler, from England.

Out back, I’d love to put in a small lake, where Mike McKenzie’s place is now. We’ll dock the yacht there, and copter it to whichever coast, as necessary. I haven’t decided what to stock the lake with, but I’ve been thinking a lot about the environment now that I’ll be owning so much of it. And it seems to me that the “greenest” thing to do would be to get a bunch of those Sports Illustrated swimsuit models, brush some scales on them with biodegradable body paint, strap each one in a helmet rigged with a giant eyehook or an industrial-strength magnet on top, and toss them in. Maybe. Like I said, I haven’t given it much thought. But I guess the short answer to your question is: I’m going to do a lot of fishing.

Money is wasted on the wealthy

2007-08-26T22:34:00.000-04:00

A couple of years ago, while working on the financial services division of American Express (since spun off and now called Ameriprise), we shot a series of TV spots and my producer coincidentally booked one of our locations in the town across the bay from my hometown. She chose the spot because it had expansive grounds with multiple structures on the property, and we could make it look like 5 locations as opposed to just one. Very efficient.

The house was in Kings Point, which is in Great Neck - just a stone's throw from where I grew up. I had learned in my 9th grade American Lit course that the "Sands Point" section of my town and its across-the-bay-sister- peninsula, Kings Point, were East and West Egg, respectively, of Great Gatsby infamy (important note: I am from the other side of the tracks). Drawn to glamor at an early age, it became a favorite novel.

So it was a thrill to turn up the day of the shoot and find out that indeed, F. Scott Fitzgerald had summered at one of the cottages on the very same property. It was believed to be during that summer he wrote the fantastically fabulous - yet ultimately tortured - great American novel.

The grounds and houses still belonged to the original family, yet in touring the property it was clear to see why they had offered it up for commercial shoots. They needed the money! It was quite down at the heel and its better days were long behind it. Still, it was obvious those better days had been pretty grand.

Speaking of grand, the family Grand Dame was poking around with one of her sons at her side throughout the day. She was frail, yet she still had a twinkle in her eye, and she was clearly tickled at the frenzied activity happening all over her property. I had a chat with her at the Craft Services table over coffee. When she heard I was from Port Washington, she was very excited to tell me she had long been a member at the Manhasset Bay Yacht Club there. I told her that was where I had held my wedding reception. She seemed to approve (although I didn't mention I still hadn't ordered pictures).

Fast forward to this morning. I sauntered through the New York Times while drinking my morning latte and stumbled across this article about that very same house and that very same family. It gave more insight to the scene that unfolded that day. Apparently this clan has seen their share of drama and tragedy.

People always use stories like this to make themselves feel better about not being rich. "Yes, they have all that money, but are they happy?" Let me tell you something, I could be very happy living on 21 acres overlooking the Long Island Sound. And no matter who picked a fight with me, I wouldn't let them take my money, and I would keep that house looking Gatsby-level-fabulous.

A singularly beautiful sound

2007-08-21T19:57:00.000-04:00

If you read my blog you have probably surmised by now that I am a slightly more than casual golf fan. I definitely enjoy watching the tour, and I know a lot about the sport from growing up around two fanatics (my father and brother). I run an annual tournament, for pete's sake. So it would be reasonable to make the leap and assume I play. I do not.

Lord knows, I have tried. I have my own clubs (purchased after a combination of private lessons and a dose of beginner's luck falsely led me to believe I had a natural gift). I have more than a passable understanding of course etiquette. Occasionally I still go out there (on an "Executive Course" - a fancy title for an easy Par 3 course meant to make bad golfers feel less emasculated) and try to act breezy. Like I'm having fun in my cute outfit. But I'm not. I'm just not good at this game, and it's hard not to look silly when you're shanking a swing. Being a (recovering) perfectionist, I find that too frustrating to be an acceptable way to spend 6 hours of a perfectly good Saturday.

So when I heard this story, it made me question: what is my excuse, exactly?

The AP is reporting that yesterday in Leighton, PA a TOTALLY BLIND woman hit a hole in one on a 144-yard, par-3 fourth hole at the Mahoning Valley Country Club. She plays regularly with her husband, who acts as a guide. She had to clear a water hazard and avoid sand traps to reach the green. Sheila Drummond reports her husband and the other players in her foursome told her it was a great shot, and then she heard it hit the pin.

Can you imagine how that sounded?

My brother once hit a hole in one during a tournament while playing for our high school's varsity team. Hearing the story gave me such a vicarious thrill - and he's not even blind! Brendan didn't realize it had gone in, although he knew it was a good shot off the tee. As he approached the pin and he didn't see his ball, he thought his aim must have not been that good after all. He began searching the rough beyond the green with growing frustration as he contemplated the fact that not only was it not a good shot, he may even have to take a penalty if the wayward object didn't reveal itself soon. With spontaneous insight, one of his teammates said, "Brendan, why don't you look in the hole?" He later told us that had never occurred to him because he just isn't that lucky (his wife begs to differ).

The PGA won't recognize a hole in one unless it's part of a full round of 18 holes. With a start time delayed until after classes are done for the day, high school varsity matches typically only consist of 9. So my brother, his coach and one of his friends from the team played the back nine in the dark. Worth every one of the 63 strokes!

Join the campaign against cruelty toward Account Executives

2007-08-20T17:56:00.000-04:00

I'm hearing all over the news that "cage-free eggs" are the all the rage now. If consumers are willing to pay more for cage free eggs, I think the Ad industry should get ahead of the trend. I sat in a cube for at least the first 5 years of my career.

Have a heart: insist on Cage Free Ads

Sign up now for the Sixth Annual!

2007-08-19T19:47:00.000-04:00

I'm finally over the post tournament coma I succumb to every year the minute my family's annual charity event is over, and I can now begin to shed some light on how The Fifth Annual Bud Traynor Classic went. It was a huge success, and my whole family is feeling great about it.

State Park Rangers lead carts down the front nine for the shotgun start

Ready at the first tee

Beautiful swing! (Shelly Berger went on to win Low Net, Ladies)

Laurie and Lorri take a break from selling raffle tickets to say cheese

Mamma Joan mans one of the auction tables

My brother and I get ready to hand out some prizes

And what can we say? Prizes make people happy...

Abigail Sollecito easily wins the "Most Colorful Pants" award

Regan Mullaly shows off the trophy her dad, Thomas, won with the lowest score of 77

Ryan Mullaly and Krysta Sollecito check out the trophy at closer range

We'll get the rest of the pictures up on our tournament website shortly and I'll put a link here so you can see them all if you're interested. But suffice it to say the day was an unqualified victory. Our volunteers were enthusiastic and amazing, our donors were incredibly generous, the course was in pristine condition, the catering was delicious, the bar was free flowing and at the end of the day we raised a lot of money for cancer research at Memorial Sloan Kettering - a good cause that's near and dear to my heart.

What could be better?

I will say, this year gave us more agita than any year prior. We started with the usual race to the finish. My brother, his wife, Terence, my mother and I all hunkered down in the organization's corporate headquarters (my mother's house) for the three days leading up to the tournament. We only left the house to run errands that had to do with the event. My mother had deli salads and cold cut platters on hand. When that ran out, we ordered takeout. In between re-fueling sessions we printed event programs, fine tuned the line up 23 times, coordinated deliveries and pick ups of donated items, jazzed up auction gift baskets, crafted bid sheet copy writing, picked up sponsor signs, bought 288 cans of beer, finalized the volunteer assignment list, made logo labels for gift bags, washed centerpiece vases, affixed the engraved plates with last year's winners to our perpetual plaque, collected pictures of my dad for display, picked up trophies, picked up golf hats, sustained several paper cuts, one glass cut, and several headaches. But we were having so much fun!

As Sunday afternoon dragged on, the giddy exuberance slowly eroded as the evolving weather reports cast a pall over the entire family. Text messages began coming in from around the tri-State area as participants queried, "What do we do if it rains?" "Get out your golf umbrella and don't expect a refund," seemed flip. Yet true.

A few choice quotes may help illuminate the panic that had overtaken the group. I won't attribute them, but probably easy to figure out.

"Ok, but just because it's going to rain in Seaford, doesn't mean it's going to rain in Bethpage."
Upon the fifth zip-code specific hour by hour satellite check, "I think we should just face the fact that it's going to rain on the golfers for the entire five hours that they're out there. Let's just get over that and move on."
"Does the lightening have to actually hit the ground for them to close the course?"
"My scar itches." "Mine too."

The final bid sheet came off the printer at about midnight, but who could sleep? The weather reports on the late evening news were too harrowing. Our alarms went off at 3:45 am and the ground was still dry. Not a good sign. Had the rain already let loose, there could have been some hope it would blow over before the 7:30 am shotgun start.

Our caravan made it's way out to Bethpage under angry skies. Many cars packed with many auction prizes, and a special tradition: we always drive my dad's two seater out to the tournament. It was the car he used to go golfing. Although it doesn't fit much cargo, we make sure it's always in the Bethpage parking lot while The Bud Traynor Classic is being played.

The first person I saw when I arrived at the Red Course was Bob Guarino. He's the Tournament Director at Bethpage and my go to guy for these events. Immediately he begins telling me about the TORNADO watch that's in effect and how we will handle cancellation/postponement/raincheck accommodation in various scenarios. The State Park Rangers tell us they're not going to bother putting out the hole sponsor signs just yet. They don't even have our golf carts lined up. They clearly don't think there will be a tournament teeing off in two hours. I have never been more nervous. Not even in the two hours before my brain surgery (although, I was medicated at that point).

Well, God bless our golfers. Most of them showed up. Only minimal no-shows. And do you know, that rain held off, I kid you not, until the players were all on their very last hole. (Shotgun start means everyone finishes at approximately the same time, just on different holes.) It poured rain all over Long Island that day, but not over the Red Course. Thanks, Bud.

After a quick nap, we already can't wait for next year...

Speaking of dubious pairings...

2007-08-15T20:56:00.000-04:00

That's right, ladies. Lt. Andy Baldwin is back on the market. Questions remain:

Who gets to keep the product placement diamond ring?
Do we think we'll ever hear from Tessa Horst again?
What are the chances the "love of Andy's life" will turn out to be a bimbette starlet hanger on now that he's a D-list celeb? Maybe they can double date with Nick Lachey and Vanessa Minnillo.
Do we think Bevin is on a plane to Hawaii as we speak?

TMZ reports:

News Flash: Another "Bachelor" Engagement Called Off!

Posted Aug 15th 2007 3:43PM by TMZ Staff
Filed under: Break-Ups

Hunky Navy Lt. Andy Baldwin is once again a confirmed "Bachelor!"

One week after ABC announced their newest Frankenbachelor candidate, Baldwin and his Season 10 bride of "Bachelor", Tessa Horst, have called off their sham marriage. No way!

Baldwin tells In Touch, "When the fantasy wore off and the reality set in, we both realized that we weren't ready to be engaged"-- especially with the cameras gone! The relationship is allegedly still on, but Tessa is holding off on moving to Hawaii to be near the cardboard muscle man. Alo-HA!

At least TomKat can rest knowing they still have the most contrived marriage in Hollywood.

Can I ask you a question?

2007-08-15T18:46:00.000-04:00

Shortly after sunset nine years ago today, on this beach in Sag Harbor, I agreed to marry Terence. I've been driving him crazy ever since. Let's face it. I was driving him crazy for the three years leading up to that day, and although he likes to act like he didn't know what he was getting himself into, he knew full well. He asked anyway. Not as smart as every one thinks, that boy.

By the way, this just may be the year that I finally order a wedding picture - if not the whole album.

When I recently told a good friend at work that I had yet to order a single wedding picture and I was about to celebrate my eighth anniversary, he suggested I outsource it. He thought my bagel bearing friends would be a good task force, or at last resort - I could just send the job overseas. When I further told him my mother has made several personal requests for just one picture from that day because she simply wants one of the whole family with my father in it, he looked at me with an expression that said, "Stay right where you are, lady. Don't move. I'm calling the police. There's a place for people like you."

I'm normally very efficient. I don't know why this particular task seems so daunting - although in my defense, our photographer shot about 35 rolls of film. That's a lot of sorting. Maybe I'll start tonight. I can pretend the skin under my eyes is still that taut...

Let's hear it for the boy. No - not that boy...

2007-08-12T22:47:00.000-04:00

Tiger Woods won the PGA Championship today. Not a big surprise. He went into the day with a three stroke lead, and it's hard for anyone to catch up to him once he's on a roll like that on red shirt day. To me, the more interesting story about this tournament was John Daly's performance on Thursday, but that's long since disappeared from the headlines. Allow me to bring you back.

On Thursday crowd favorite John Daly seemed to be making a run at the title and was on the leader board going into Friday. It was particularly notable because 1.) he doesn't even have exempt status anymore (although he's got a life long invitation to this tournament as one of it's past winners) and 2.) even worse: instead of playing in the practice rounds earlier in the week with the rest of his earnest competitors, he was at the casinos playing slot machines.

I saw him interviewed off the green of one of the holes during play on Saturday. They were playing in EXTREME heat, so with a nod to his reputation he was asked how much water is in his bag. He replied, "There's four diet cokes, 12 packs of cigarettes, there's flints and lighter fluid - enough for nine holes - and then we worry about the golf balls and other stuff."

Watching him on the tour is funny and sad, inspiring and frustrating. His peers seem to feel the same way, with notable players (including Tiger) acknowledging that Daly's raw talent is likely greater than their own. His destructive habits get in the way of his own success.

An affable and humorous soul, he telegraphs his flawed life unabashedly. He scraps by on that sheer and obviously enormous talent. What else could explain how he manages to stay on the tour despite a serious gambling problem (he admits he's lost between $50 and $60 million over the past 15 years), severe alcohol addiction (he claims he drank a fifth of Jack Daniels every day of his 23rd year) and several tumultuous marriages (he's on his fourth, and in June he showed up at the Stanford St. Jude Championship with scratches and cuts on his face after claiming his wife had attacked him with a steak knife the night before.)

He's fatter than any two other golfers you could find on the tour. To this he applies his usual brand of self deprecating humor. He refused to partake in the British Open Champions Dinner because "You can't get this fat boy into a suit." He has stated the only reason he does not lift weights is because the health club does not let him smoke there.

As much of a train wreck as he is, his no-nonsense, what you see is what you get attitude makes fans just love this underdog. There was a perfect quote in the San Jose Mercury News: "If Tiger Woods is a Rembrandt, John Daly is a paint-by-numbers Elvis on black velvet. Tacky, for sure. Yet there's something oddly endearing about it..."

Speaking of perfect quotes, here are some winners from Daly:

"I don't think I've ever stepped into a gym - they won't let me smoke there. I just thank God Miller Lite isn't as fattening as most beers. If I cut back on beer, though, I'd look anorexic."

"I learned you can't drink whiskey and play golf."

"I said to myself, 'I'm gonna marry that girl.'...She said, 'I don't like blonds and I don't like golfers, but I do like fat boys.' So I knew I had a chance."

"I was never able to just have three or four beers. One's too many and ten ain't enough."

“I still say they made that movie after me,” (about Tin Cup, which really does seem like it's about him. Fun movie if you like golf. I've seen it at least 10 times.)

Check out this New York Times article about John's amazing Thursday round and some background on his 1991 "zero to hero" victory in this same tournament.

Rockin Saturday night

2007-08-11T21:49:00.000-04:00

Tonight Terry and I are both doing things we love. He's at the Mets game, and I'm home watching the Giants (New York, not San Francisco) while purging the clutter from underneath the kitchen sink. I derive an abnormal, and likely diagnosable, amount of pleasure from organization. Couple that with Giants football (even though it's pre-season and I'm really missing Tiki), and I'm in heaven.

I've been coveting this amazing sliding shelf that my mother already bought at Bed Bath & Beyond. I got it today and could hardly wait to get home and put it together. Those white slats slide back and forth so you can accommodate the sink's drainage pipe. It doubles the storage space in that cabinet in a way that makes me so happy. (If you want it, order it here.)

I also bought a snazzy looking thing to hold all those plastic bags that seem to take over like a giant ball of tumbleweed. It will hold up to 50.

It's hard to top a Saturday night like this.

Coolest sofa bed I've ever seen

2007-08-11T12:57:00.000-04:00

Check out this sofa bed I found on unclutterer. It doesn't look like it would be comfortable for anyone over 5 feet, but it might be good for kids' sleepovers. And who cares if it's comfortable? It looks fabulous!

Giddy with anticipation...

2007-08-10T14:48:00.000-04:00

According to the press release on ABC.com:

ABC'S NEW BACHELOR IS A SINCERE, SEXY, SUCCESSFUL SELF-MADE MAN WHO MAY BE THE SERIES' HOTTEST GUY YET

The 11th Edition of ABC's Popular Romance Reality Series Will Premiere With a 90-Minute Special on Monday, September 24

Brad Womack, 34, a successful, self-made entrepreneur, has been selected to star in the 11th edition of ABC's popular romance reality series when it returns this fall on MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 24 (9:30-11:00 p.m., ET), on ABC with a special 90-minute season premiere. It doesn't hurt that his sexy good looks make him The Bachelor's own "McSteamy."

For all his hard-earned accomplishments, there is one thing missing from Brad's life: He is ready to find his soul mate, settle down and have the family life he has so long desired. But Brad's heart, determination and commitment have already given him a good head start.

Currently residing in Austin, Texas, Brad co-owns four lucrative bars with his two brothers, Chad and Wesley, both of whom are married. With the success of these establishments, they are now looking to expand into other ventures and are in the early stages of developing a hotel.

Brad had an early plan to make his mark on the world and, at 19, left Texas State University (known then as Southwest Texas State) after one year of college to work in oil fields across the country to save up money. His eight-year odyssey took him all over Texas and then to Louisiana, North Dakota and California.

After working diligently in the oil fields, he got into bartending with his twin brother, Chad. After some eight months tending bar, he had enough money saved to finance the purchase of his first drinking establishment with his brothers in 2001, when he was just 28. Since then, their very successful business has exploded to where they've purchased a bar a year.

However Brad has had to overcome some obstacles on his way to his booming business career. Born in Atlanta, his family stayed there until he was 12 years old, and then the family moved to Livingston, Texas, where he went to high school. Growing up in a single-parent home, his challenging days as a youngster helped to instill in him a good work ethic, the importance of a stable family and the ability to be a good provider. Not born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he is appreciative of what he has accomplished on his own. These strong values, coupled with great looks and undeniable sex appeal, make him the perfect catch. Brad is sincere about his search and optimistic that he will find the woman who could become his wife.

Hosted by Chris Harrison, The Bachelor is produced by Next Entertainment in association with Warner Horizon Television. Mike Fleiss and Lisa Levenson are the executive producers. David Bohnert and Martin Hilton are the co-executive producers.

Love it or leave it

2007-08-09T23:02:00.000-04:00

I was raised in the suburbs and will always think of Port Washington (Long Island) as "home." I love spending lazy weekends out there. Yet after living in Manhattan for the past 14 years, I now think of myself as a New Yorker in the urban sense of the word. Between yesterday and today I had two experiences that made the evolution more transparent.

Wednesday:
Yesterday's morning commute in New York City was historical. A sudden and intense storm overwhelmed the city's drainage system with an unmanageable volume of water. It was serious enough that service was stopped entirely or severely disrupted on literally every single line within the entire subway system. NYC came to a grinding halt.

When I turned on the local morning news the traffic reporter vehemently admonished, "If you haven't left for work yet, don't bother. Stay where you are for at least another hour." So I did. I didn't even leave my apartment until 9:00. I didn't walk into the lobby of my Agency until nearly TWO HOURS later (normally a roughly 35 minute trek including a stop at Starbucks).

The worst of it was the 20 - 30 minutes that we stood absolutely motionless with no announcements in the dark tunnel outside the Columbus Circle station. Almost every cubic square inch of that subway car was jam packed with sweaty body parts in a way that made it impossible for anyone to feel clean. We were all frustrated, anxious, late for work and MISERABLE.

Not for one minute did the thought, "I need to get out of this god-forsaken city" cross my mind. Instead I thought, "I should make a donation to Straphangers."

Thursday:
I have already expressed the ballet flat induced fashion-fatigue I've been experiencing, so I'm starting to brave kitten heels in the office. My balance is compromised enough that I can't walk around on sidewalks in them, so today I wore flip-flops for the commute and then slipped on some cute green suede mules with a modest heel to wear for the day. Because I'm kind of old school, I don't think it's right to be seen in flip flops in the office, so I make the switch a block away. You never know whom you'll run into on the elevator.

The same philosophy applies going home, so I waited until I was out of the building and had crossed 8th Avenue into the side street before making the switch. I leaned against a concrete tree planter to keep my balance through the footwear swap. First one shoe, then the other, then a quick Blackberry check. The whole transaction took maybe a minute and a half. With mules safely back in my gigantic purse, I continued flip-flopping down 49th Street cursing the tourists for taking over the theater district.

Guess what was going on just on the other side of the planter? Not two feet from me? A homeless man was standing up from his evidently fake wheelchair and peeing against the same hunk of concrete I had been leaning against for the last 90 seconds.

Did I bat an eye? No. I simply thought, thank God none of that got on my cute suede shoes.

I know these anecdotes only fortify the soundness of others' decisions to live in a location that affords a house with plenty of space, a yard, maybe even a pool - and virtually no risk of anyone peeing on them during their commute.

As for me, I loved the camaraderie that came with being stuck in a laughably ridiculous commuting situation that could not have resulted had we all been behind the wheel of our own cars. And I laughed for at least two blocks over the audacity of the "cripple" peeing in broad daylight right smack in front of the Ambassador Theater amidst throngs of tourists.

I love this city.

Can TMI lead to DWI?

2007-08-05T21:06:00.000-04:00

In preparation for the tournament, I went to Costco with my brother and his wife to load up on beverages. We have big tubs of iced drinks placed throughout the course. Well, we bought so much beer that I had to fill out a form that gets registered with the State! What the hell!? Feels very big brother to me.

I filled it out, but should I be worried? I haven't driven a car since my surgery, but I thought I might have had to tomorrow. We have a LOT of stuff to bring out for our silent auction. Turns out we've squeezed it all into four other vehicles, and we are going to make one extra trip for a large screen TV. No driving for me.

But I'm feeling ready and may try on Tuesday while I'm still out in the burbs at my mom's. What if I get pulled over? Given my vertigo status, I know for a fact I would fail a line test on the spot. Then all they have to do is check in their computer and see that I purchased 288 cans of beer on Friday. Perhaps Nicole Ritchie and I can share a cell.

On a separate note, we're very depressed about the weather report in the Traynor household tonight. There is a good chance for on and off showers all during our tournament tomorrow. We've always held our event on the last Thursday in July. This year was the first year we were given the option to hold it on a Monday - so we thought that would be easier for folks to take a day off - make a long weekend out of it. But we knew we were tempting the golf gods. When we booked it I said to my brother, "This will probably be the first year we get rain."

What can I say? Golfers are hearty souls. That's why there is an object called a "golf umbrella."

Guest Blogger (Terry) - TV Review: "Flight of the Conchords"

2007-08-05T09:22:00.000-04:00

"The Sopranos" is history.

No more "Deadwood".

"Entourage" is great, but it's only a half hour.

And let's face it - "John From Cincinnati" just ain't getting the buzz.

What's a Sunday night HBO fan to do?

I'm going with "Flight of the Conchords", a show about about the eponymous, slightly dim-witted folk singing duo from New Zealand trying to make it in New York while sharing a tiny apartment on the Lower East Side. Their efforts are "aided" by supporters like Murray, their manager, who also works as "Cultural Attache" at the New Zealand Consulate - which is portrayed in the show as a finished basement in Levittown, c. 1974. Their #1 (read: only) fan, Mel, is a daft groupie who stalks them, and their buddy Dave's advice is heartfelt but mostly idiotic.

As a bonus, every now and then the characters break into song about whatever happens to be going on in their lives at that moment - usually some romantic agony or ecstasy. The songs are presented as sort of surreal, MTV videos, and are so ridiculous they are sublime.

Bret and Jemaine (in Kiwi, that's "Brit and J'mayn") are played by Bret McKenzie and Jemaine Clement, and they are dry-as-a-bone deadpan, and hilarious.

If you haven't already, give "Flight of the Conchords" a try! Here's a sample clip:

Aussie-Aussie-Aussie-Oy-Oy-Oy-Vey!

2007-08-04T10:43:00.000-04:00

You will not believe this video of Jake Brown. While competing in yesterdays X Games in LA, this 32 year old man fell from over 40 vertical feet and somehow walked away. He is hospitalized today, but his injuries are not as serious as you would expect after seeing him fall 5 stories.

This video is truly shocking, but somewhat easier to watch when you know the outcome. Make sure you watch to the end to see the slow motion. He literally hits the ground so hard his shoes explode off his feet.

I didn't believe he could walk away until I heard he was an Aussie. Those folks are just not like anyone else.

PS: Terry and I are in a debate over the title of this post. He tells me no one has heard the phrase "Aussie-Aussie-Aussie-Oy-Oy-Oy." It's a cheer of national pride for Australians. Like "U - S - A! U - S - A!", but without the Confederate flags and tinged with less xenophobia.

Update: Apparently YouTube has removed the video due to copyright issues with whatever network aired the X Games. Good thing, I suppose - it was the stuff nightmares are made of.

Taking recovery one leopard-patterned step at a time

2007-08-03T17:21:00.000-04:00

Have you heard of the phenomenon whereby patients rebel against their treatments? Diabetics stop taking their insulin. HIV positive individuals won't take their cocktails. Against a disease over which they have no control, this is a means to assert their own will.

Well, in my head I know I'm still balance challenged, but in my heart I'm so bored with flats. Truly. I'm feeling the need to rebel. And these cute numbers are reduced for the Nordstrom's anniversary sale. It's not like it's an outright heel - a wedge is practically a flat, for heaven's sake!

Bloomingdale's inflicted temporary insanity

2007-08-02T23:01:00.000-04:00

I already have a well documented problem with circles. But since a friend staged an intervention, I've been self aware and have been recovering nicely without rehab. So how can I explain Saturday's purchase?

I was in the market for something colorful. We give a prize for "Most Colorful Pants" at my tournament - a playful tribute to the outfits my father had the nerve to wear both on and off the course. Although I can't win, I like to support the fun. I bought this dress at Bloomie's SOHO. Not really that colorful, but all the Fall lines are out already. Pickings were slim. I was thinking some bright Tory Burch shoes could punch it up. Anyway, I truly didn't even realize it had circles all over it until I got home.

It's almost as though my subconsciousness was working so hard to suppress the circular pattern that it didn't allow the more obvious problem to emerge. Seconds behind the discovery of the offending geometry, a realization that I already have almost the same exact dress came rushing into my brain.

The dress is going back. But it's all working out for the best. It forced further exploration for something colorful and I think I have outdone myself this year.

Bless her cotton socks, the sales lady asked me if I wanted to join the store's loyalty program. Once I spent $300 I would get 5% off every future purchase. Of tacky crap. No thanks. (By the way - I got them on sale, thank God, because the original price was $80! For these!?)

Shameless promotion

2007-08-01T17:59:00.000-04:00

Sorry about the lack of posts. I haven't had much time for blogging this week because:

I am expected to show up at the office every single day in exchange for my paycheck (!?!?)
Lately, every moment of my free time has been spent on tournament activities.

There is still time to sign up for my tournament on Monday. Don't you deserve a long weekend? Play hooky and come enjoy a round of golf on the beautiful Red Course at Bethpage. The US Open was played here in 2002 and will be again in 2009. But it's real claim to fame is the Annual Bud Traynor Classic.

Sign up here. If you're a single - we'll pair you up with a fun group. Or at least a group. We serve beer on the course - so you won't care if your partners are boring.

Sales: going, going, gone...

2007-07-28T23:34:00.000-04:00

I love Bloomies. I love a Bloomies sale even more. This is a good one, but it's only good online, and only good through MONDAY. An extra 40% off applicable on top of items already on sale. Total of 50 - 75% off original price.

This one may be even better. eluxury offering 70% off designer offerings. Enjoy...

File under: stuff you can't make up

2007-07-27T23:32:00.000-04:00

Dannielynn is now ten months old and couldn't be cuter. She has six teeth, her mother's charisma, and even better, she seems to be surrounded by the one thing that eluded Anna Nicole: unconditional love.

That crazy baby daddy race seems like a distant memory, doesn't it? Yet it all came rushing back today with deliciously bizarre news from the most surreal DNA applicant. Prince Fritz von Anhalt, fifth husband of Zsa Zsa Gabor and former Dannielynn-daddy wannabe, is now pioneering new ground in odd behavior.

TMZ is reporting a heck of a wrap up to the week for this batty old guy. On Thursday the Prince was found naked in his Bentley, handcuffed to his steering wheel. He claims to have been robbed at gun point by three women, but there seems to be reason for a healthy dose of doubt. I'm guessing there is a more embarrassing explanation. The very next morning he was in court on a different matter. Apparently, the Prince is fighting Zsa Zsa's daughter, Francesca Hilton (Great Aunt of Paris. oh, the tangled web), whom he believes stole money from his wife.

Do we think this turmoil is the result of royal inbreeding or wealth induced eccentricity?

A picture says a thousand words

2007-07-25T08:33:00.000-04:00

This past Saturday was my four month anniversary. I don't know why this seems like the right time, but I'm including a link to some pictures taken during the four days following my surgery. They're not bad at all, but if you're particularly squeamish, don't look. I have already shown them to a lot of folks - I've been surprised by how genuinely curious people are about this whole thing, and the pictures seem to answer some questions.

I never felt like sharing them more publicly before. But now I have some distance, and frankly, when I look at these today, I feel proud.

This is my brag book.

48 is not just a number

2007-07-22T23:17:00.000-04:00

I may only qualify by marriage, but on Saturday I was very proud to be a Voltz. My husband and his sister, Mary Ann, are two of FORTY-EIGHT first cousins. On Saturday we jammed as many of them as we could into one back yard in Clifton, Virginia (it was a big back yard), and held the first ever Voltz family reunion. It was an impressive event. Truly.

With so many cousins (keep in mind, they're all from Terry's dad's side. Mom was an only child), it would be impossible for anyone to keep track of them all. So not only were there many family members I hadn't met in the 12 years I've been with Terence, there were even family members Terry had never met. In fact, the gathering was hosted by Frank Voltz (and his delightful fiance, Anita), and although Frank was named after Terence's father, these two cousins had never met.

We had an unforgettable day. Lost time was made up. Legendary tales breathed new life. Matriarchs mingled. Progeny debuted. Spouses looked on in awe, fully aware we were witnessing an important event in the history of a great family.

Everyone immediately began thinking about the second annual locale. My mother doesn't know this yet (are you reading, mom?), but Terry volunteered her backyard. She may not be a Voltz, but my mom can't wait to meet you all!

Aunt Martha and Aunt Terry. Two of the original 10 siblings. Terry's dad was the oldest (thus nicknamed Sonny), and Aunt Terry (right) is the youngest.

We need a wide angle lens!

Voltzes make good looking children.

They say you can't choose your family, but we're all pretty happy with this assignment.

What a difference 3 months and 27 days makes

2007-07-18T19:24:00.000-04:00

Last night I met Terence after work at a casual, neighborhoody restaurant we love on the Upper West Side. (Celeste. 84th and Amsterdam. Great food, great prices. Word to the wise: cash only.)

I met Terry on the sidewalk and we walked in together. It wasn't until we were led through the dining room and I was seated that it suddenly hit me like a ton of bricks. This is the restaurant we went to the night before my surgery, and I hadn't been back since. Ironically, last night we were seated at the table right next to the one we were at that night which is probably what triggered the realization as I sidled into the chair.

I remember being very quiet that night, and somewhat nervous, of course - but more eager to simply get it over with. It was right after we finished our bufala frita (fried cheese. what else do you think I would eat the night before brain surgery?) when Terry called and checked the home machine. There was a message from the hospital informing me my report time had been changed from 6 am until noon. Ugh. I don't think I spoke for the rest of the meal. 6 am is one thing. You just get up and go. It's over before you're even really awake. For the life of me, I couldn't figure out how I was going to get through those extra 6 hours.

As though the karma gods knew where I was last night, they sent me a welcome sign of progress: the waiter seemed to notice that I was turning my head sideways to hear him read the specials. Without any prompt from me, for the rest of the meal he approached on the other side although to do so meant a more cramped place to wedge himself into. I tipped him extremely well.