What a 180 I've pulled from this time last week. In the last two days, I have switched residences, gained employment and been able to buy myself a stable full of new clothes in a 48-hour period. All things I simply never could have predicted would be happening by now at the start of the month.
Start with the new place. Aviana graciously helped me move a full cab's worth of my crap to my new digs, which continue to impress and excite me with each passing moment. The fact that my bedroom is legitimately bigger than my dorm is one detail I can never outlook, but having a TV with digital cable, a living room, fully functioning kitchen and a bathroom shared with three people as opposed to 30 are all definite plusses too. And I can finally drink booze in my own room again! To celebrate, I washed down my inagural meal on Friday with a Dos Equis from the Mexican joint down the street.
The rest of Friday was of course spent sharing the incredible news of my sudden employment with friends and family, all of whom were impressed if insanely jealous. Most notably Jason, who was searching for all sorts of vices I could develop from having a well-paying job in New York City.
"Well...you're going to become a drunk because of all the booze you can afford now!" was one.
To which I replied, "But see, I've weaned myself off of alcohol this fall because I wasn't able to afford it for so long, so I really don't see that happening. Plus I've learned that nasty hangovers are sooo not worth it past the age of 22."
"Well, you realize they own you now. Don't be surprised if you have to work on a weekend burning midnight oil!"
"Oh yeah, Jonah mentioned I might have to fly out to like L.A. or San Francisco for a conference some weekend. Which would, you know, suuuck..."
Bragging aside, he was still very proud for me (as I'm sure all my friends are deep down beneath their raging envy) and reassured me that I got the job due to my hard work and journalism skill, etc. etc. And that's the most satisfying part — I came in through the back door as an intern, worked my ass off and got a full-time spot after 2.5 months not because I knew someone or was so-and-so's kid but because I was legitimately qualified and had a demonstrated ability to do the job.
The celebration continued into work at Kidding Around yesterday (which I've decided to not quit till after Christmas, unless it looks like my Christmas visit will be limited to five days or less due to both jobs, in which case it's adios Susan and Uma). I got to leave early, though, because it was time for SATURDAY NIGHT FRIGGIN LIVE!!!!
The event I'd been looking forward to since winning the tickets back in September had finally arrived, and it was nearly overshadowed by my tremendous news from earlier in the week. Luckily Lorne Michaels and Co. pulled out all the stops to ensure that the show stood out in a competitively awesome week.
For starters, being in Studio 8H was a tremendous experience. Seeing all the sets and hearing Lenny Pickett & The Saturday Night Live band play in-person conjured so much nostalgia for me of watching the late-80s, early-90s casts on Comedy Central during my high school days, particularly during the Christmas marathons.
Secondly, it's hard not to feel claustrophobic with the way everything's crammed into such a tight space. Watching the sets change frenetically is stressful enough for me to watch from the audience -- I can't even walk down the marble stairs of my new apartment building without fear of tripping and cracking my skull. Imagine trying to run across the soundstage to your next skit as giant walls are being moved all around you and chairs are being rolled out from every direction.
Then there's the fact that every seat in the house is a good one, just at different times. The skits are held in all corners of the studio, so while your view of the opening monologue may be obscured by, say, a spotlight (as I was), you could also have a front-row seat for a humorous sketch in a Brazilian night club -- or, best of all, TONY mothafuckin' BENNETT! That's right, he was the surprise guest during a "Tony Bennett Show" skit where Alec was doing a dead-on impression and decided to bring out his favorite impersonator, who just happened to be the real guy. Mr. Bennett is in my list of Top 3 People I Need to See Before They Die, along with Eartha Kitt and Woody Allen. Not only did I see him live with Alec Baldwin, I also got to take in a duet between him and Xtina. Seeing him sing "with my top hat and my white tie and my tails" gave me goosebumps. I nearly cried when it was over I was so overjoyed.
Steve Martin (!!!) was also there for a really funny sketch about how Alec was one show away from tying his hosting record. The dress rehearsal was much more natural and funny, but the live taping also had Martin Short and Paul McCartney (!!!), so I missed out on at least one awesome thing, I suppose.
And if you haven't already, go to NBC.com and check out the skit with Amy Poehler as Britney Spears. They may not have coined the phrase, but it was the first time I heard the expression "panty crickets" and I was nearly comatose from laughter.
Sunday, November 12, 2006
Friday, November 10, 2006
This is the happiest I've ever been
Let it never be said that dreams don't come true.
In a startling turn of events, I am suddenly moving into a new, huge apartment on the very same day I've been offered a full-time, well-paid job working a newbeat I couldn't be more excited about. I start Monday and am excited, scared and overwhelmed all in one, but confident I have the support of a talented, friendly staff who can occasionally slow down from their machine-like reporting tendencies to help their new baby brother out.
Drinks on me, bitches!
In a startling turn of events, I am suddenly moving into a new, huge apartment on the very same day I've been offered a full-time, well-paid job working a newbeat I couldn't be more excited about. I start Monday and am excited, scared and overwhelmed all in one, but confident I have the support of a talented, friendly staff who can occasionally slow down from their machine-like reporting tendencies to help their new baby brother out.
Drinks on me, bitches!
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
You say it's your birthday...well it's my birthday too
Turning 23 has never been so newsy.
No sooner had I returned from covering the ad:tech conference for 10 grueling hours did all the news start pouring in.
A text from Jason: "[H]ow exciting to share this day with the coronation of Kevin Fed-ex!"
I knew it was coming, but not this soon!!! Halle-lu-jah!
And then, via phone from Pritha (my Internet was down in the dorms): "Strickland and Brown won! Democrats took the house!"
I, like many of my journalist friends, should and would have loved to be parked in front of a TV watching poll results all evening if it weren't for 1.) my lack of TV and 2.) the need to see Borat on Student Tuesday at the Village East for my birthday.
And boy am I happy I made that decision. There is nothing like watching a totally non-PC comedy that a Tiffin crowd wouldn't even know what to do approach with a packed amphitheater full of New York hipsters. They even cheered at the opening credits. The movie was, of course, dead-on in its satire and screamingly funny, if not squirmingly gross at times (seriously...that naked fight scene did NOT need to go on for half as long as it did.) And Pamela Anderson is officially 1,000 times cooler by her mere participation in her big scene.
So then there was today's announcement that Rumsfeld was stepping down. Could my birthday be too good to be true? So much justice prevailed in a 24-hour period I began to feel rather powerful. I need to turn 23 more often!
But the amazing part of my birthday week is that the awesomeness has only just begun. Tomorrow night, for example, I will be attending a Billboard awards ceremony where they will be honoring none other than ELTON JOHN. To even be in the same room as him is a huge deal, regardless of any interview possibilties (which I doubt will even happen.) However, he is being awarded the Live Legend Award for his accomplishments in concert tours, so they jump at any and all opportunities to enhance media coverage. So we shall see...
Most amazing of all, on Friday, I am MOVING!!! It's happening a month early (much to the detriment of my current funds, but the Bank of Mom & Dad have handily stepped in for a short-term loan), but I needed to get out. And once I saw this apartment, I knew I would be dumber than Reese Witherspoon to give up something so beautiful.
Let's start with the bedroom, which in and of itself is bigger than my dorm alone. It comes equipped with queen-size bed (I wanted to jump on it right away), an entertainment center with TV AND a two-seater leather couch that folds out into a bed. Too good to be true? Keep reading...
The rent is $200 LESS than what I'm paying to live in a hole-in-the-wall dorm (which, admittedly, is a heavily inflated price to begin with), the space is smack dab in the middle of Washington Heights (by Columbia Med School) and my four roommates all seem very agreeable. There's even a cat named Grey Charles (it's a she, and she was born without eyeballs...poor sweetie!)
So after spending all of Friday basking in the glow of being a real New Yorker with a real apartment, I will toil at the store for 10 hours before heading over to Studio 8H in Rockefeller Center.
That's right, I am going to a dress rehearsal of Saturday Night Live.
I won the tickets months ago now and never fully realized that the date was the weekend after my birthday, which is why I'm all the more excited about this week. I wanted to keep the host and musical guest a surprise, but after Joey told me the musical guest was a former Mickey Mouse Clubber I had to know. And even better than Justin Timberlake: it's X-Tina!!!
Let it be known to any and all people sitting within a five-foot radius of me on Saturday: you are subject to bruised eyes, noses or other body parts as a result of my excessive finger-waving.
No sooner had I returned from covering the ad:tech conference for 10 grueling hours did all the news start pouring in.
A text from Jason: "[H]ow exciting to share this day with the coronation of Kevin Fed-ex!"
I knew it was coming, but not this soon!!! Halle-lu-jah!
And then, via phone from Pritha (my Internet was down in the dorms): "Strickland and Brown won! Democrats took the house!"
I, like many of my journalist friends, should and would have loved to be parked in front of a TV watching poll results all evening if it weren't for 1.) my lack of TV and 2.) the need to see Borat on Student Tuesday at the Village East for my birthday.
And boy am I happy I made that decision. There is nothing like watching a totally non-PC comedy that a Tiffin crowd wouldn't even know what to do approach with a packed amphitheater full of New York hipsters. They even cheered at the opening credits. The movie was, of course, dead-on in its satire and screamingly funny, if not squirmingly gross at times (seriously...that naked fight scene did NOT need to go on for half as long as it did.) And Pamela Anderson is officially 1,000 times cooler by her mere participation in her big scene.
So then there was today's announcement that Rumsfeld was stepping down. Could my birthday be too good to be true? So much justice prevailed in a 24-hour period I began to feel rather powerful. I need to turn 23 more often!
But the amazing part of my birthday week is that the awesomeness has only just begun. Tomorrow night, for example, I will be attending a Billboard awards ceremony where they will be honoring none other than ELTON JOHN. To even be in the same room as him is a huge deal, regardless of any interview possibilties (which I doubt will even happen.) However, he is being awarded the Live Legend Award for his accomplishments in concert tours, so they jump at any and all opportunities to enhance media coverage. So we shall see...
Most amazing of all, on Friday, I am MOVING!!! It's happening a month early (much to the detriment of my current funds, but the Bank of Mom & Dad have handily stepped in for a short-term loan), but I needed to get out. And once I saw this apartment, I knew I would be dumber than Reese Witherspoon to give up something so beautiful.
Let's start with the bedroom, which in and of itself is bigger than my dorm alone. It comes equipped with queen-size bed (I wanted to jump on it right away), an entertainment center with TV AND a two-seater leather couch that folds out into a bed. Too good to be true? Keep reading...
The rent is $200 LESS than what I'm paying to live in a hole-in-the-wall dorm (which, admittedly, is a heavily inflated price to begin with), the space is smack dab in the middle of Washington Heights (by Columbia Med School) and my four roommates all seem very agreeable. There's even a cat named Grey Charles (it's a she, and she was born without eyeballs...poor sweetie!)
So after spending all of Friday basking in the glow of being a real New Yorker with a real apartment, I will toil at the store for 10 hours before heading over to Studio 8H in Rockefeller Center.
That's right, I am going to a dress rehearsal of Saturday Night Live.
I won the tickets months ago now and never fully realized that the date was the weekend after my birthday, which is why I'm all the more excited about this week. I wanted to keep the host and musical guest a surprise, but after Joey told me the musical guest was a former Mickey Mouse Clubber I had to know. And even better than Justin Timberlake: it's X-Tina!!!
Let it be known to any and all people sitting within a five-foot radius of me on Saturday: you are subject to bruised eyes, noses or other body parts as a result of my excessive finger-waving.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
We're never gonna survive unless we get a little crazy
After days of resisting the urge to prematurely unleash our costumes on the general public, Amy and I finally got introduce New York to J.F. Gay and Jackie Ho. Halloween in New York City had finally arrived.
Even though we completely pulled off my original concept of being a warped version of iconic figures, we paled in comparison to the elaborately costumed demons, sluts and board game characters we encountered at the Village parade. Unfazed, I roamed around the various floats and crowds with Amy as she shot any and all interesting costumes that passed by, and what a spectacle that was. The best costumes were the ones that made me go, "How'd they do that?" This is the most sterling example of that:
But after two hours or so of non-stop shooting and crowd-shoving, Amy and I were tuckered out and needed a breather. So we grabbed burgers at the Broome Street Bar and parted ways shortly thereafter because she'd been on autopilot since 7 AM, running errands at work. But the night was still unbearably young — the clock had just struck 10. It was time to meet up with Joey for the gay portion of the evening.
I head over to Chelsea to meet up with him at his friend Steve's apartment. Steve is in fact the 50 (60?)-something friend of Joey's aunt, a retired Broadway actress I have yet to meet but seems absolutely fabulous; the ultimate gay aunt to have around in New York City. To say that Steve was a character is an understatement — he's not just a character, he's a whole friggin' movie.
Witness his remarkably put-together Elvis costume, the vintage drag Judy outfit he found for Joey and his immaculate, horn-clad living room.
Steve is one of few remaindres of the dying breed of gay men (literally — his husband is tragically due to die of cancer any day now...so so sad) from the late 70s heyday who summered in the city and partied at Studio 54 and had crazy, coked-out nights in Hollywood with Halston, Raquel Welch and Truman Capote. He tells stories in such a theatric, Robin Williams-in-Birdcage way that I wouldn't have believed him if he didn't have the photo album (all Polaroids, no less) to prove it. He even dished on one of his celebrity conquests. I won't name names, but let's just say he has a rather key role in a film often associated with midnight showings around Halloween...
So anyway, Steve accompanied me, Joey and Sean out to Avalon in the West Village. The trip there was probably the most fun I had all night. While my Jackie Ho/J.F. Gay combo might have had low impact to the paraders, the cumulative sight of seeing me, Joey as Judy and a middle-aged queen dressed as Elvis was a huge hit with random passers by (nearly all of whom seemed to be tourists, in fact) who stopped to ask us for pictures. Never have I posed for so many strangers' cameras before. Now I know how the real JFK must have felt...
After Steve finagled our way on to the guest list at Avalon (where he and his husband naturally once performed a show back when the venue was still a church.."they had to desanctify it, darling"), he offered us up to the club kids for the rest of the night because "I'm 50 years old [crickets], I don't like sweaty clubs and my husband's about to die any hour. Be safe, kids."
A hilarious yet melancholy note to start an evening of debaucherous dancing, but there was a dramatic shift in tone as soon as we entered the main floor and saw this spectacle:
She's not in this picture, but Amanda Lepore was there, grinding upon a rocking horse to the beat of some truly skanky house music. I said to myself, "You know it's a New York Halloween when you end up at the same club as Amanda Lepore." It's easy to think that this could be the modern equivalent of a Studio 54 or Michael Alig Party Monster bash, or at least a direct replication of all the parties I dreamed of attending during my teenage years after seeing them in the pages of Interview and Paper.
It was an incredible night, definitely one for the memory books. I observed much more than I participated, which was the bulk of why I enjoyed myself so much. I could've been one of the numerous glitter-caked boys in briefs and angel wings at Avalon, but instead I danced my minimal cares away in a dead woman's shirt (thanks Grandma Mitten!) while twirling a truly flamboyant ascot around on my finger. Isn't Halloween grand?
Even though we completely pulled off my original concept of being a warped version of iconic figures, we paled in comparison to the elaborately costumed demons, sluts and board game characters we encountered at the Village parade. Unfazed, I roamed around the various floats and crowds with Amy as she shot any and all interesting costumes that passed by, and what a spectacle that was. The best costumes were the ones that made me go, "How'd they do that?" This is the most sterling example of that:
But after two hours or so of non-stop shooting and crowd-shoving, Amy and I were tuckered out and needed a breather. So we grabbed burgers at the Broome Street Bar and parted ways shortly thereafter because she'd been on autopilot since 7 AM, running errands at work. But the night was still unbearably young — the clock had just struck 10. It was time to meet up with Joey for the gay portion of the evening.
I head over to Chelsea to meet up with him at his friend Steve's apartment. Steve is in fact the 50 (60?)-something friend of Joey's aunt, a retired Broadway actress I have yet to meet but seems absolutely fabulous; the ultimate gay aunt to have around in New York City. To say that Steve was a character is an understatement — he's not just a character, he's a whole friggin' movie.
Witness his remarkably put-together Elvis costume, the vintage drag Judy outfit he found for Joey and his immaculate, horn-clad living room.
Steve is one of few remaindres of the dying breed of gay men (literally — his husband is tragically due to die of cancer any day now...so so sad) from the late 70s heyday who summered in the city and partied at Studio 54 and had crazy, coked-out nights in Hollywood with Halston, Raquel Welch and Truman Capote. He tells stories in such a theatric, Robin Williams-in-Birdcage way that I wouldn't have believed him if he didn't have the photo album (all Polaroids, no less) to prove it. He even dished on one of his celebrity conquests. I won't name names, but let's just say he has a rather key role in a film often associated with midnight showings around Halloween...
So anyway, Steve accompanied me, Joey and Sean out to Avalon in the West Village. The trip there was probably the most fun I had all night. While my Jackie Ho/J.F. Gay combo might have had low impact to the paraders, the cumulative sight of seeing me, Joey as Judy and a middle-aged queen dressed as Elvis was a huge hit with random passers by (nearly all of whom seemed to be tourists, in fact) who stopped to ask us for pictures. Never have I posed for so many strangers' cameras before. Now I know how the real JFK must have felt...
After Steve finagled our way on to the guest list at Avalon (where he and his husband naturally once performed a show back when the venue was still a church.."they had to desanctify it, darling"), he offered us up to the club kids for the rest of the night because "I'm 50 years old [crickets], I don't like sweaty clubs and my husband's about to die any hour. Be safe, kids."
A hilarious yet melancholy note to start an evening of debaucherous dancing, but there was a dramatic shift in tone as soon as we entered the main floor and saw this spectacle:
She's not in this picture, but Amanda Lepore was there, grinding upon a rocking horse to the beat of some truly skanky house music. I said to myself, "You know it's a New York Halloween when you end up at the same club as Amanda Lepore." It's easy to think that this could be the modern equivalent of a Studio 54 or Michael Alig Party Monster bash, or at least a direct replication of all the parties I dreamed of attending during my teenage years after seeing them in the pages of Interview and Paper.
It was an incredible night, definitely one for the memory books. I observed much more than I participated, which was the bulk of why I enjoyed myself so much. I could've been one of the numerous glitter-caked boys in briefs and angel wings at Avalon, but instead I danced my minimal cares away in a dead woman's shirt (thanks Grandma Mitten!) while twirling a truly flamboyant ascot around on my finger. Isn't Halloween grand?
Monday, October 30, 2006
Correction
So, Ohio Andrew and New York Andrew can both find a bit of solace from this e-mail I got from the Gawker guy today:
hey, sorry we got cut off -- was there anything else you needed to know?
He didn't hang up on me after all. I do recall the connection being a bit iffy, so I suppose I'm not surprised by this late-blooming excuse. It was just a bit ironic for that to happen just as I got to talking about lawsuits following a litany of his curt, miffed responses to my questions.
So, he's off the hook for now. But just wait Google, YouTube and Digg...I defy you to hang up on me!
hey, sorry we got cut off -- was there anything else you needed to know?
He didn't hang up on me after all. I do recall the connection being a bit iffy, so I suppose I'm not surprised by this late-blooming excuse. It was just a bit ironic for that to happen just as I got to talking about lawsuits following a litany of his curt, miffed responses to my questions.
So, he's off the hook for now. But just wait Google, YouTube and Digg...I defy you to hang up on me!
Friday, October 27, 2006
Hey, j-j-jaded
The truly unique events of the past 24 hours could be described from two perspectives: the jaded, seen-it-all New Yorker or the wide-eyed, dumbfounded Midwesterner that I very much still am despite all efforts to the contrary. Therefore, I shall write from both P.O.V.s for today's blog post.
1.) The concert
New York Andrew: So, this flack totally calls my office phone on Wednesday and tells me Ken recommended he talk to me about this party Paste Magazine is putting on at the Knitting Factory and that Beck may be there. I say, cool, whatever, I like Beck and all. It'd be neat to see him at a venue that small, but no worries if he didn't. I got tickets to that sweet Daily Show concert with Mountain Goats and Clem Snide at Irving Plaza next month that would make up for it. So, I mean, I go and hit up the open bar with Amy, check out Hem's opening set and jump up and down a little bit for Beck. I mean, he played "Devil's Haircut" and some cuts off the new album, so it was pretty good, I guess. But it's not like it was Patti Smith at the fuckin' CBGB's closing show or anything. And blah blah, James Iha was there and Ben Kweller walked right by me. I interviewed him once no big woop..
Ohio Andrew: Holy shit, I saw a secret Beck show!!! And it was legitimately secret -- Brooklyn Vegan, Rolling Stone, NO ONE knew about it beforehand! Even Paste was surprised -- they were told Beck was going to play a half-hour acoustic set and he ended up playing an hour-long, funkdafied electric set!! It was tremendous — he opened with "Black Tambourine" (one of the best possible songs in his oeuvre to open with) and after just three songs started taking requests. I screamed out "Devil's Haircut," knowing it would be incredible to hear in such a small venue, and what does he do? He plays it!!! The famous riff sounded wayyy better blaring from such small speakers. The main room is the size of my old living room at Sunnybrook! In-fuckin-credible. He also played "Girl," "E-Pro" and of course "Where It's At," plus half the new album, which I bought immediately afterward. Easily one of the best shows I've ever seen, let alone this year. I wanted to hug the editors of Paste on my way out. And oh my God I saw James Iha!!!! Regardless that he doens't do anything these days except go to shows, he's still a Smashing Pumpkin.
2. The good interview
New York Andrew: So this morning I went over to Trump Tower to cover this game show taping for AOL's "Gold Rush," which was being guest-hosted by Donald Trump. I mean, whatever, it's New York, I was bound to cover him sooner or later. So he asks the contestants a few questions that involve his name, me and this other reporter laugh a little bit, the publicist invites us backstage to do our interviews, I tell him I'm from AdAge, he pats me on the back and answers a few questions really diplomatically. Nothing big, definitely no great quotes. If he wasn't Donald Trump it wouldn't have been even half as big a deal as any other interview I do with Important People. And I totally should've tugged his hairpiece.
Ohio Andrew: You know you're a New York journalist when you interview Donald Trump at Trump Tower! It was pretty friggin' cool...me and two other reporters (one from MeidaPost, the other from some agency, I dunno) took turns asking The Donald a few questions, and I started. He patted me on the back when I told him I was from AdAge and evne tailored his repsonse to my question to AdAge by playing up the corporate sponsorships. It was pretty sweet. He even ended the interview by saying he doens't have time to spend on the Internet because he's "too busy trying to make money." He had bad breath, though. All the money in the world can't cure halitosis, I suppose.
3. The bad interview
New York Andrew: So I volunteered to do this new-media mogul feature Ken pitched but no one took. I mean it's not like I had all that much going on after getting two stories for the book in the can, anyway, so I figured it was the least I could do. Ken sends me a list of people he'd like me to contact, and the first ones I try are Facebook, who blow me off by saying Mark Zuckerberg "isn't really doing interviews right now." I figure, whatever, I can get someone way cooler for this piece anyway. So I e-mail the publisher of Gawker to see if he'd be interested in speaking to me, he agrees to talk under the condition I don't ask him about his temporary partnership with Yahoo that fizzled out last year. I don't, but I ask him a few other questions he presumably gets asked freuqently because — why the fuck not? I have him on the phone, so who wouldn't ask the same questions like when he might sell his web site if it means I could be the reporter who finally gets the scoop? Eventually, once I get around to asking him about potential lawsuits, I realize I'm talking to a dead line. He hung up on me. Whatever — I still got MySpace, Flickr and Digg, among many many others, to pursue...Who needs Gawker?
Ohio Andrew: The bastard hung up on me!!! I don't care how many times you've been asked a question by the media (which, honestly, can't be *that* many...it's not like it's Carly Simon and I'm asking her who "You're So Vain" is about), you don't hang up on a reporter who just wants to get a few quotes for a story that isn't about you, anyway. Ugggghhhh...Ken told me to make sure to include in the article that he hung up on me, which I most certainly will. What's funny is I had read this article in Slate (http://www.slate.com/id/2145413/) *before* speaking with him, and I was still feeling fairly confident about my chances of having a pretty breezy interview. That's a definite no.
But no matter, I have been very schooled since yesterday in many ways of New York culture: what to expect at a "secret show," how to interview The Donald and what not to ask a notoriously difficult source. If only I were being tested on this for Technical Writing this weekend, I'd for sure be looking at an A come Monday...
1.) The concert
New York Andrew: So, this flack totally calls my office phone on Wednesday and tells me Ken recommended he talk to me about this party Paste Magazine is putting on at the Knitting Factory and that Beck may be there. I say, cool, whatever, I like Beck and all. It'd be neat to see him at a venue that small, but no worries if he didn't. I got tickets to that sweet Daily Show concert with Mountain Goats and Clem Snide at Irving Plaza next month that would make up for it. So, I mean, I go and hit up the open bar with Amy, check out Hem's opening set and jump up and down a little bit for Beck. I mean, he played "Devil's Haircut" and some cuts off the new album, so it was pretty good, I guess. But it's not like it was Patti Smith at the fuckin' CBGB's closing show or anything. And blah blah, James Iha was there and Ben Kweller walked right by me. I interviewed him once no big woop..
Ohio Andrew: Holy shit, I saw a secret Beck show!!! And it was legitimately secret -- Brooklyn Vegan, Rolling Stone, NO ONE knew about it beforehand! Even Paste was surprised -- they were told Beck was going to play a half-hour acoustic set and he ended up playing an hour-long, funkdafied electric set!! It was tremendous — he opened with "Black Tambourine" (one of the best possible songs in his oeuvre to open with) and after just three songs started taking requests. I screamed out "Devil's Haircut," knowing it would be incredible to hear in such a small venue, and what does he do? He plays it!!! The famous riff sounded wayyy better blaring from such small speakers. The main room is the size of my old living room at Sunnybrook! In-fuckin-credible. He also played "Girl," "E-Pro" and of course "Where It's At," plus half the new album, which I bought immediately afterward. Easily one of the best shows I've ever seen, let alone this year. I wanted to hug the editors of Paste on my way out. And oh my God I saw James Iha!!!! Regardless that he doens't do anything these days except go to shows, he's still a Smashing Pumpkin.
2. The good interview
New York Andrew: So this morning I went over to Trump Tower to cover this game show taping for AOL's "Gold Rush," which was being guest-hosted by Donald Trump. I mean, whatever, it's New York, I was bound to cover him sooner or later. So he asks the contestants a few questions that involve his name, me and this other reporter laugh a little bit, the publicist invites us backstage to do our interviews, I tell him I'm from AdAge, he pats me on the back and answers a few questions really diplomatically. Nothing big, definitely no great quotes. If he wasn't Donald Trump it wouldn't have been even half as big a deal as any other interview I do with Important People. And I totally should've tugged his hairpiece.
Ohio Andrew: You know you're a New York journalist when you interview Donald Trump at Trump Tower! It was pretty friggin' cool...me and two other reporters (one from MeidaPost, the other from some agency, I dunno) took turns asking The Donald a few questions, and I started. He patted me on the back when I told him I was from AdAge and evne tailored his repsonse to my question to AdAge by playing up the corporate sponsorships. It was pretty sweet. He even ended the interview by saying he doens't have time to spend on the Internet because he's "too busy trying to make money." He had bad breath, though. All the money in the world can't cure halitosis, I suppose.
3. The bad interview
New York Andrew: So I volunteered to do this new-media mogul feature Ken pitched but no one took. I mean it's not like I had all that much going on after getting two stories for the book in the can, anyway, so I figured it was the least I could do. Ken sends me a list of people he'd like me to contact, and the first ones I try are Facebook, who blow me off by saying Mark Zuckerberg "isn't really doing interviews right now." I figure, whatever, I can get someone way cooler for this piece anyway. So I e-mail the publisher of Gawker to see if he'd be interested in speaking to me, he agrees to talk under the condition I don't ask him about his temporary partnership with Yahoo that fizzled out last year. I don't, but I ask him a few other questions he presumably gets asked freuqently because — why the fuck not? I have him on the phone, so who wouldn't ask the same questions like when he might sell his web site if it means I could be the reporter who finally gets the scoop? Eventually, once I get around to asking him about potential lawsuits, I realize I'm talking to a dead line. He hung up on me. Whatever — I still got MySpace, Flickr and Digg, among many many others, to pursue...Who needs Gawker?
Ohio Andrew: The bastard hung up on me!!! I don't care how many times you've been asked a question by the media (which, honestly, can't be *that* many...it's not like it's Carly Simon and I'm asking her who "You're So Vain" is about), you don't hang up on a reporter who just wants to get a few quotes for a story that isn't about you, anyway. Ugggghhhh...Ken told me to make sure to include in the article that he hung up on me, which I most certainly will. What's funny is I had read this article in Slate (http://www.slate.com/id/2145413/) *before* speaking with him, and I was still feeling fairly confident about my chances of having a pretty breezy interview. That's a definite no.
But no matter, I have been very schooled since yesterday in many ways of New York culture: what to expect at a "secret show," how to interview The Donald and what not to ask a notoriously difficult source. If only I were being tested on this for Technical Writing this weekend, I'd for sure be looking at an A come Monday...
Saturday, October 21, 2006
I got to admit it's gettin' better, gettin' better all the time...
There have been many days these past two months (most, in fact) where I have to literally stop and wonder if my life is real. Today was definitely one of them.
In perhaps one of the most successful weeks in the history of employment, I received two job offers in two days. One was from Kidding Around, the toy store I interviewed at last month but didn't get because I wasn't available enough. The other...well, I'll hold off on posting here until the details have all been ironed out, but once they are it'll be HUGE and my excitement will no longer be contained (it barely is now haha.)
So today was my first day at the toy store and it was quite the surreal one. First of all, any chances of it being similar to my summer at Mr. Fun's last year were immediately vanquished when I showed up to work and FIVE other people were there. To work at a store roughly the same size as Mr. Fun's, mind you. But then again, Mr. Fun's was in a plaza between a Fashion Bug and a Rite Aid in Kent, and Kidding Around is in a nice part of Chelsea frequented by rich people, rich children and celebrities. Lots of them, judging by stories my co-workers were telling me today.
"Yeah, Harrison Ford comes in a lot, Calista Flockhart will sometimes come too," my boss' son said. "Molly Shannon always brings her daughter when she comes, Brooke Sheilds was just in the other day and said she liked my window decoration. Susan Sarandon actually used to be a regular and her daugher even worked here for a little bit."
"Really?" I said, my long-dormat starfucker hormones suddenly stimulated. "Before she became an actress?"
"Yeah, it was for like a year or so. She and my sister are actually pretty good friends."
I was impressed by all these tales, but I hardly expected to have one of my own to tell that day. Until...
It's 2:30, I'm reorganizing the princess hats or the magic wands or something in the costume section when all of a sudden I hear a woman's voice call, "Levon! Come look at this!"
I think, "Levon?! There must be a celebrity in our midst because who names their k--"
And that's when I saw her, looking impeccable in a white pea coat, the very epitome of what you always think a gorgeous actress would look like on her day off.
There, walking toward me, was Uma Thurman.
As Jason said, it was like a really rare wildlife sighting. Like seeing a gazelle/leopard cross-breed and not knowing whether or not to grab for the nearest camera or just stare in awe for a few moments.
I chose the latter, but from a distance. As soon as I saw her, a sudden shock went through me of both recognition and embarrassment (only for not being equally fabulous..despite wearing a nice sweater and my new ass-tastic jeans, I could not hold a candle to La Thurman) and retreated nearby to the trains. As for Uma, she made no effort to remain incognito (aside from a rather dorky ski lodge hat she later donned halfway through her half-hour stay), and conversed playfully and quite loudly with her adorable blonde son, who she called "Levi."
I kept myself occupied for the most part, but I picked up on bits of pieces of her numerous cell phone convesations (including a very touching one with her daugher Mya) and realized how utterly surreal it is to see a celebrity just being a normal mom. Especially one who killed tons of bitches in two Quentin Tarantino movies just a few years back. (She was also in "My Super Ex-Girlfriend" this summer, which a cursory glance at my ticket stubs reminded me today. What a waste of celluloid that was.)
After a good 25 minutes of successfully staying out of Lady Uma's way, I finally had a reason to intrude. There were some stray toys on the ground near where she was perusing games and I went to reorganize them.
This is where the wildlife comparison comes back into play, because it was like disturbing the (very glamorous) lioness and her cub. Seeing me kneel down, Uma walks over, waves her hand apologetically and says sweetly, "Oh, sorry, I'll take care of those. I don't wanna make you do that."
"OK, no worries," I said with a sheepish smile as my internal voice shouts "YOU JUST EXCHANGED WORDS WITH BEATRIX KIDDO!!!")
And that was that. No autograph hounding, no shameless kudos for one of her many fabulous performances (even though I really wanted to tell her how much I loved "Prime"), not even a ham-fisted attempt to suck up to her kid and ask him what toys he was looking for. I just walked away and let that be that.
It took me a hot minute to calm down after my moment of recognition from who is without question the most beautiful woman I've ever seen in person. I would have just sat and basked in my day of incredulity, but alas, I had another pretty lady to go see. Specifically, Esquire's Sexiest Woman Alive Scarlett Johansson (a prediction I made back in JULY, thank you!) in The Prestige. First The Illusionist, now this -- why haven't there been more magician-related thrillers up till now?!? Both of which happen to be excellent, The Prestige in particular. And a bit spooky — I was a lil' nervous Christian Bale was going to send his creepy doppelganger after me to spy on my journalism tricks or something.
Speaking of which, it's going to take magic for me to get through the next two months (and probably longer) of working EVERY SINGLE DAY of the week now, with Kidding Around on weekends. The way I look at it is this: both jobs don't (have to) last past 7, which is more than ample nightlife time, and therefore more time spent making money to blow on said nights.
It's a win-win, if you ask me. Even Uma would agree.
In perhaps one of the most successful weeks in the history of employment, I received two job offers in two days. One was from Kidding Around, the toy store I interviewed at last month but didn't get because I wasn't available enough. The other...well, I'll hold off on posting here until the details have all been ironed out, but once they are it'll be HUGE and my excitement will no longer be contained (it barely is now haha.)
So today was my first day at the toy store and it was quite the surreal one. First of all, any chances of it being similar to my summer at Mr. Fun's last year were immediately vanquished when I showed up to work and FIVE other people were there. To work at a store roughly the same size as Mr. Fun's, mind you. But then again, Mr. Fun's was in a plaza between a Fashion Bug and a Rite Aid in Kent, and Kidding Around is in a nice part of Chelsea frequented by rich people, rich children and celebrities. Lots of them, judging by stories my co-workers were telling me today.
"Yeah, Harrison Ford comes in a lot, Calista Flockhart will sometimes come too," my boss' son said. "Molly Shannon always brings her daughter when she comes, Brooke Sheilds was just in the other day and said she liked my window decoration. Susan Sarandon actually used to be a regular and her daugher even worked here for a little bit."
"Really?" I said, my long-dormat starfucker hormones suddenly stimulated. "Before she became an actress?"
"Yeah, it was for like a year or so. She and my sister are actually pretty good friends."
I was impressed by all these tales, but I hardly expected to have one of my own to tell that day. Until...
It's 2:30, I'm reorganizing the princess hats or the magic wands or something in the costume section when all of a sudden I hear a woman's voice call, "Levon! Come look at this!"
I think, "Levon?! There must be a celebrity in our midst because who names their k--"
And that's when I saw her, looking impeccable in a white pea coat, the very epitome of what you always think a gorgeous actress would look like on her day off.
There, walking toward me, was Uma Thurman.
As Jason said, it was like a really rare wildlife sighting. Like seeing a gazelle/leopard cross-breed and not knowing whether or not to grab for the nearest camera or just stare in awe for a few moments.
I chose the latter, but from a distance. As soon as I saw her, a sudden shock went through me of both recognition and embarrassment (only for not being equally fabulous..despite wearing a nice sweater and my new ass-tastic jeans, I could not hold a candle to La Thurman) and retreated nearby to the trains. As for Uma, she made no effort to remain incognito (aside from a rather dorky ski lodge hat she later donned halfway through her half-hour stay), and conversed playfully and quite loudly with her adorable blonde son, who she called "Levi."
I kept myself occupied for the most part, but I picked up on bits of pieces of her numerous cell phone convesations (including a very touching one with her daugher Mya) and realized how utterly surreal it is to see a celebrity just being a normal mom. Especially one who killed tons of bitches in two Quentin Tarantino movies just a few years back. (She was also in "My Super Ex-Girlfriend" this summer, which a cursory glance at my ticket stubs reminded me today. What a waste of celluloid that was.)
After a good 25 minutes of successfully staying out of Lady Uma's way, I finally had a reason to intrude. There were some stray toys on the ground near where she was perusing games and I went to reorganize them.
This is where the wildlife comparison comes back into play, because it was like disturbing the (very glamorous) lioness and her cub. Seeing me kneel down, Uma walks over, waves her hand apologetically and says sweetly, "Oh, sorry, I'll take care of those. I don't wanna make you do that."
"OK, no worries," I said with a sheepish smile as my internal voice shouts "YOU JUST EXCHANGED WORDS WITH BEATRIX KIDDO!!!")
And that was that. No autograph hounding, no shameless kudos for one of her many fabulous performances (even though I really wanted to tell her how much I loved "Prime"), not even a ham-fisted attempt to suck up to her kid and ask him what toys he was looking for. I just walked away and let that be that.
It took me a hot minute to calm down after my moment of recognition from who is without question the most beautiful woman I've ever seen in person. I would have just sat and basked in my day of incredulity, but alas, I had another pretty lady to go see. Specifically, Esquire's Sexiest Woman Alive Scarlett Johansson (a prediction I made back in JULY, thank you!) in The Prestige. First The Illusionist, now this -- why haven't there been more magician-related thrillers up till now?!? Both of which happen to be excellent, The Prestige in particular. And a bit spooky — I was a lil' nervous Christian Bale was going to send his creepy doppelganger after me to spy on my journalism tricks or something.
Speaking of which, it's going to take magic for me to get through the next two months (and probably longer) of working EVERY SINGLE DAY of the week now, with Kidding Around on weekends. The way I look at it is this: both jobs don't (have to) last past 7, which is more than ample nightlife time, and therefore more time spent making money to blow on said nights.
It's a win-win, if you ask me. Even Uma would agree.
Sunday, October 15, 2006
Kent get enough of you, baby
I'm afraid Mr. Thornton might have outblogged me before I've even begun to recap the insanity that was Friday night. However, I shall do my best to summarize my Kent comeback to the best of my wit's ability.
Upon arrival in the Tree City, I called up Jackie and surprised her with my early presence. She wasstill clad in her football gear from the Media Bowl and gave me a great big bear hug. It's always good to see your Facebook wife after two months of no contact. She and Carrie hopped in my car and I did something I haven't done since February: I knowingly furnished minors! Knowing full well, of course, that even if the cops did show up this time, however, I could get away Scott-free because I don't live on Sunnybrook Road no more. Let the head smashing begin, I say.
Next was a big reunion dinner at Taco Tanto's, which kicked off with Kelly jumping into my arms unexpectedly and the two of us tumbling onto the floor within eyeshot of Lindsay, Ryan and Jeff. My knee's better, by the way, Kelly!
Erin Roof was randomly there. We swapped big-city stories and I parted ways by offering up my sympathy for one last semester with the Robot.
Dinner in general was a very happy time. I had greatly missed everyone at that table ....even if I had just seen two of them just weeks prior in my new city .. and being back together at Taco Tanto's was a pleasant blast from the past. The pizzaritos are also just as amazing as I had remembered them, if not more so.
I also noticed that TIlly & The Wall were playing at the Grog Shop that night, EXACTLY like my last visit to Kent in June. For a few seconds I pondered driving to Cleveland to check it out, but those were the briefest seconds in the history of time.
Visited with Barb for a good hour or so, and shamelessly whipped out my Ad Age cover story. Apparently Fran Collins (!) brought it to her attention before I could even tell her I made the cover. Aww Fran, I knew I liked her...Barb and I dished New York, Ohio politics and graduation strategies (I have an even better one now!) over blueberry beer. Mmmm...
By the time I get to the old apartment the driveway is already full by 10 (a common occurence). So I set out on the familiarly terrifying trip that is the pitch-black walk from the neighbors with the shooting range back to the apartment. There was a fucking cat meowing the whole time that made me want to clobber the next moving thing with my 12 pack of Bud out of extreme fear, but luckily I never had a reason to.
I opened the door to the sounds of Le Tigre or The Rapture or something indie and pretentious and it was like being home again. A total time capsule trip. There was Ben and co. kicking things off with a game of Kings, Ryan and Lindsay cuddling on the couch, Gavin and Jackie beginning a night of on-and-off making out, with a few new twists added to the proceedings.
It was both sad and exciting to hear that the soiree was the first real dance party since my departure. Don't get me wrong, I was proud to usher in the return of the Sunnybrook Road dance-offs. But am I really that lively that parties just die in my absence? Ah, I am sunlight and the rest of you Stater partiers are just wilting perennials...
I made my first moves to the tune of "SexyBack," fittingly, with Carrie and Jackie as my dance partners. More dancing ensued, but just enough to entice other people to keep it going while I made the rounds of hugs and reunions. I was most excited to see Rachel, Meranda, Sean, Kali, Lindsay and Jeff again, with plenty of other little surprises thrown in. I even manged to entice Jessica Smiley, Katie Alberti, proofreader Amy and Brian Thornton to attend their very first Stater party!
There was a bit of apple bobbing, but the combination of the wetness and Gavin removing half the apples with his mouth kind of killed that. There's no topping last year's bob-a-thon anyway.
It was around this time that I realized the gay quotient at this party was the highest it's ever been. Perhaps the highest of all parties combined, in fact. Very, very impressive. I know I won't be back any time soon, but keep up the good work, ladies and gents!
By midnight I realized I was not drunk at all after three sporadilcally consumed beers and decided to make up for lost time. Worst decision EVER. Were New York not so expensive that I could actually afford to drink this fall, I would have remebered the cardinal rule in college binge drinking: "Beer before liquor, you couldn't be sicker." Truer words have never been slurred.
Oh I got drunk all right, but I paid for it big time. Almost instantly. No sooner had I downed a few rum and ciders did I feel a little funny and went running to the bushes outside (a Sunnybrook first for me, if you can believe it.) I can't even tell you how many times I had to do this because after the first one is when I don't remember anything. Apparently I said my good-byes to Lindsay covered in vomit and dirt with twigs in my hair. Classy. Where the fuck was a camera when this happened?!
I ended the night in Ben's pajamas (strangely, I do remember taking my clothes off in front of Ben and Kelly...weird) and without any blankets. But unconscious people don't get cold, so when I came to at 8:30 I just stole Kali's.
11:00 slowly rolled around, and Jackie and Ben emerged from their drunken hazes and we all slogged over to Wild Goat for a commemorative brunch and some much-needed nourishment. I couldn't even drive yet I was still fucked up. It took me the rest of the day to relieve my hangover. My dad even made Long Islands later that night and the mere mention of alcohol turned my insides a lil' bit.
All in all, my Kent return was a huge success. I saw everyone I could have possibly wanted to see (and nobody I didn't, best of all!), had the sloppiest attempt at a bathroom hookup ever and ended up making a drunken fool of myself.
It wouldn't be a Sunnybrook Road party if any of things hadn't happened.
Upon arrival in the Tree City, I called up Jackie and surprised her with my early presence. She wasstill clad in her football gear from the Media Bowl and gave me a great big bear hug. It's always good to see your Facebook wife after two months of no contact. She and Carrie hopped in my car and I did something I haven't done since February: I knowingly furnished minors! Knowing full well, of course, that even if the cops did show up this time, however, I could get away Scott-free because I don't live on Sunnybrook Road no more. Let the head smashing begin, I say.
Next was a big reunion dinner at Taco Tanto's, which kicked off with Kelly jumping into my arms unexpectedly and the two of us tumbling onto the floor within eyeshot of Lindsay, Ryan and Jeff. My knee's better, by the way, Kelly!
Erin Roof was randomly there. We swapped big-city stories and I parted ways by offering up my sympathy for one last semester with the Robot.
Dinner in general was a very happy time. I had greatly missed everyone at that table ....even if I had just seen two of them just weeks prior in my new city .. and being back together at Taco Tanto's was a pleasant blast from the past. The pizzaritos are also just as amazing as I had remembered them, if not more so.
I also noticed that TIlly & The Wall were playing at the Grog Shop that night, EXACTLY like my last visit to Kent in June. For a few seconds I pondered driving to Cleveland to check it out, but those were the briefest seconds in the history of time.
Visited with Barb for a good hour or so, and shamelessly whipped out my Ad Age cover story. Apparently Fran Collins (!) brought it to her attention before I could even tell her I made the cover. Aww Fran, I knew I liked her...Barb and I dished New York, Ohio politics and graduation strategies (I have an even better one now!) over blueberry beer. Mmmm...
By the time I get to the old apartment the driveway is already full by 10 (a common occurence). So I set out on the familiarly terrifying trip that is the pitch-black walk from the neighbors with the shooting range back to the apartment. There was a fucking cat meowing the whole time that made me want to clobber the next moving thing with my 12 pack of Bud out of extreme fear, but luckily I never had a reason to.
I opened the door to the sounds of Le Tigre or The Rapture or something indie and pretentious and it was like being home again. A total time capsule trip. There was Ben and co. kicking things off with a game of Kings, Ryan and Lindsay cuddling on the couch, Gavin and Jackie beginning a night of on-and-off making out, with a few new twists added to the proceedings.
It was both sad and exciting to hear that the soiree was the first real dance party since my departure. Don't get me wrong, I was proud to usher in the return of the Sunnybrook Road dance-offs. But am I really that lively that parties just die in my absence? Ah, I am sunlight and the rest of you Stater partiers are just wilting perennials...
I made my first moves to the tune of "SexyBack," fittingly, with Carrie and Jackie as my dance partners. More dancing ensued, but just enough to entice other people to keep it going while I made the rounds of hugs and reunions. I was most excited to see Rachel, Meranda, Sean, Kali, Lindsay and Jeff again, with plenty of other little surprises thrown in. I even manged to entice Jessica Smiley, Katie Alberti, proofreader Amy and Brian Thornton to attend their very first Stater party!
There was a bit of apple bobbing, but the combination of the wetness and Gavin removing half the apples with his mouth kind of killed that. There's no topping last year's bob-a-thon anyway.
It was around this time that I realized the gay quotient at this party was the highest it's ever been. Perhaps the highest of all parties combined, in fact. Very, very impressive. I know I won't be back any time soon, but keep up the good work, ladies and gents!
By midnight I realized I was not drunk at all after three sporadilcally consumed beers and decided to make up for lost time. Worst decision EVER. Were New York not so expensive that I could actually afford to drink this fall, I would have remebered the cardinal rule in college binge drinking: "Beer before liquor, you couldn't be sicker." Truer words have never been slurred.
Oh I got drunk all right, but I paid for it big time. Almost instantly. No sooner had I downed a few rum and ciders did I feel a little funny and went running to the bushes outside (a Sunnybrook first for me, if you can believe it.) I can't even tell you how many times I had to do this because after the first one is when I don't remember anything. Apparently I said my good-byes to Lindsay covered in vomit and dirt with twigs in my hair. Classy. Where the fuck was a camera when this happened?!
I ended the night in Ben's pajamas (strangely, I do remember taking my clothes off in front of Ben and Kelly...weird) and without any blankets. But unconscious people don't get cold, so when I came to at 8:30 I just stole Kali's.
11:00 slowly rolled around, and Jackie and Ben emerged from their drunken hazes and we all slogged over to Wild Goat for a commemorative brunch and some much-needed nourishment. I couldn't even drive yet I was still fucked up. It took me the rest of the day to relieve my hangover. My dad even made Long Islands later that night and the mere mention of alcohol turned my insides a lil' bit.
All in all, my Kent return was a huge success. I saw everyone I could have possibly wanted to see (and nobody I didn't, best of all!), had the sloppiest attempt at a bathroom hookup ever and ended up making a drunken fool of myself.
It wouldn't be a Sunnybrook Road party if any of things hadn't happened.
Sunday, October 08, 2006
What I've accomplished in 12 hours' worth of procrastination
While my Technical Writing essay is still not complete as of this writing, I sure learned a lot of other things today. Here's a sample:
--My IMDB browsing taught me that Jennifer Love Hewitt is huge in South Korea. While her romantic comedy "If Only" went straight-to-DVD here in the States, it set a box office record among South Koreans, who apparently can't get enough of the onetime Jennifer Love Fefferman (remember her guets spot on Boy Meets World?!?)
--The Kent College Dems attracted a crowd of 500 people to its Sherrod Brown event yesterday, including special celeb guests Adam Brody and Luke Perry. Upon seeing Luke Perry's attendance on Wednesday I instantly Facebooked Kali to inform her that it is her duty as politics reporter to make Monday's front page story "Luke Perry is gay" a la "Family Guy." If only it were Adam West running for Ohio Senate and not Sherrod Brown it would have been a near-perfect recreation!
--"The Departed" kicked the Texas Chainsaw killer's ass this weekend at the box office, and rightfully so. That movie was damn good. Any movie with Matt Damon in a starring role is always a must-see on my list (and not just for the obvious reasons — he really is a tremendous actor), and Jack Nicholson hammed it up just enough for me to still appreciate his performance. Best of all, perhaps, was Mark Wahlberg, who puts into place everyone who's on screen with him. Which is saying something given his boffo list of co-stars.
--My Chase account is freezing $200+ of my money, which is both a relief (I thought I really had spent all but $20 of my paycheck yesterday...see what not balancing my checkbook gets me?) and an extreme frustration. I'm gonna neeed money this coming week since events this weekend will prevent me from getting my paycheck on Friday.
--I need a sugar daddy. Joey found a rather nice one who has an in-fucking-credible apartment in Tribeca that overlooks the entire city, Hudson River and New Jersey. His living room is the most tremendous panoramic view I've seen of New York yet, and that's saying something. That's what dating a Wall Street banker will get you, though.
--Joey's creativity never ceases to surprise me. Tonight, in honor of the Flavor of Love recap episode, he made us all individual candy clocks out of Skittles, licorice, Jolly Ranchers and Eclipse gum. They really were so good you could eat them. Joey's bf also kept the martinis pouring, first a Malibu/pineapple mixture (delish), followed by a vodka/melon/cranberry hybrid that was part Cosmo/part autumn-tini. Abby summed it up when she said, "I feel just like Carrie now.":
All in all, a fabulous weekend, but none of the above events or writing this here entry is going to finish my essay. Rats. Back to the homework...
--My IMDB browsing taught me that Jennifer Love Hewitt is huge in South Korea. While her romantic comedy "If Only" went straight-to-DVD here in the States, it set a box office record among South Koreans, who apparently can't get enough of the onetime Jennifer Love Fefferman (remember her guets spot on Boy Meets World?!?)
--The Kent College Dems attracted a crowd of 500 people to its Sherrod Brown event yesterday, including special celeb guests Adam Brody and Luke Perry. Upon seeing Luke Perry's attendance on Wednesday I instantly Facebooked Kali to inform her that it is her duty as politics reporter to make Monday's front page story "Luke Perry is gay" a la "Family Guy." If only it were Adam West running for Ohio Senate and not Sherrod Brown it would have been a near-perfect recreation!
--"The Departed" kicked the Texas Chainsaw killer's ass this weekend at the box office, and rightfully so. That movie was damn good. Any movie with Matt Damon in a starring role is always a must-see on my list (and not just for the obvious reasons — he really is a tremendous actor), and Jack Nicholson hammed it up just enough for me to still appreciate his performance. Best of all, perhaps, was Mark Wahlberg, who puts into place everyone who's on screen with him. Which is saying something given his boffo list of co-stars.
--My Chase account is freezing $200+ of my money, which is both a relief (I thought I really had spent all but $20 of my paycheck yesterday...see what not balancing my checkbook gets me?) and an extreme frustration. I'm gonna neeed money this coming week since events this weekend will prevent me from getting my paycheck on Friday.
--I need a sugar daddy. Joey found a rather nice one who has an in-fucking-credible apartment in Tribeca that overlooks the entire city, Hudson River and New Jersey. His living room is the most tremendous panoramic view I've seen of New York yet, and that's saying something. That's what dating a Wall Street banker will get you, though.
--Joey's creativity never ceases to surprise me. Tonight, in honor of the Flavor of Love recap episode, he made us all individual candy clocks out of Skittles, licorice, Jolly Ranchers and Eclipse gum. They really were so good you could eat them. Joey's bf also kept the martinis pouring, first a Malibu/pineapple mixture (delish), followed by a vodka/melon/cranberry hybrid that was part Cosmo/part autumn-tini. Abby summed it up when she said, "I feel just like Carrie now.":
All in all, a fabulous weekend, but none of the above events or writing this here entry is going to finish my essay. Rats. Back to the homework...
Friday, October 06, 2006
The best things in life are $5
So how do I even begin to sum up the experience that was "The Dave Hill Explosion" at the UCB last night? Normally, I would just say, "two words: Sandra Bernhard." But I wouldn't want to do anything to discredit the awesomeness of Mr. Hill himself.
I could add two more words, "Rufus Wainwright," but he didn't really do anything to contribute to the overall greatness of the show. He was just there, and spotting him in the crowd put a big ol' smile on my face that didn't leave for the rest of the show, particularly because I was laughing so hard.
So let me go back a bit: the Dave Hill Explosion is a monthly improv talk show of sorts put on by one Dave Hill, a Daily Show-meets-Ali G. type with a kitchen cabinet of delicious web shorts on his official site (davehillonline.com) and an impeccable ability to book New York's finest and gayest as his celeb guests.
The theme song alone was worth the unspeakable bargain-priced admission ($5). He started out just speak-singing his name, then an electric guitar kicked in, which then prompted him to pogo across different parts of the stage and jerk his body into weird contortions at random moments.
Then, without warning, a bubble gan goes off, a chiuaua runs out on stage, Dave's shirt magically disappears and the music goes from shrieky electric guitars to "Hips Don't Lie." Genius, I tell you, genius!
To top things off, Little Michael Jackson then comes out to the sounds of "Beat It" and does a whole dance routine while Dave composes himself hilariously in the background. I was wondering if anyone else would find the humor in one of New York's oddest subway attractions, but leave it to Dave Hill to discover who's on N.Y. entertainment's short list (pun intended.)
The rest of the show continued in the opening's random footsteps, particularly throughout the entirety of Sandra Bernhard's appearance. The unflaggable star of stage and screen (which she rarely gets hired for these days -- shame on you, Hollywood!) was the very definition of off-the-cuff. She informed the audience that the zipper of her specially tailored suit would cost $2,200 to fix, made liberal use of the "n" word in reference to Star Jones (defending it by saying she came of age in Arizona...) and did a totally wild interpretive dance when Dave Hill improvised a song about her and her crazy life in showbiz.
The musical guest for the evening was Joan as Police Woman, who I saw two years ago when she opened for Rufus in Cleveland. Dave had a piano set up for her with a mirror facing her ("it was Rufus's idea!" she insisted) but it was too weird for her to go through with it. Joan was significantly less candid than Sandy, but just as fabulous. She's playing a show on Tuesday at Tonic that my new work buddy Dan the copy editor and I might check out...
All in all, last night's show was the epitome of what I love about this city and all its opportunities. I mean, where else do you find yourself -- as I did -- following Rufus Wainwright in a crocodile hat walking unaccompanied down the street for two blocks on the way to your subway stop? Lord knows that shit just doesn't happen in Ohio...
I could add two more words, "Rufus Wainwright," but he didn't really do anything to contribute to the overall greatness of the show. He was just there, and spotting him in the crowd put a big ol' smile on my face that didn't leave for the rest of the show, particularly because I was laughing so hard.
So let me go back a bit: the Dave Hill Explosion is a monthly improv talk show of sorts put on by one Dave Hill, a Daily Show-meets-Ali G. type with a kitchen cabinet of delicious web shorts on his official site (davehillonline.com) and an impeccable ability to book New York's finest and gayest as his celeb guests.
The theme song alone was worth the unspeakable bargain-priced admission ($5). He started out just speak-singing his name, then an electric guitar kicked in, which then prompted him to pogo across different parts of the stage and jerk his body into weird contortions at random moments.
Then, without warning, a bubble gan goes off, a chiuaua runs out on stage, Dave's shirt magically disappears and the music goes from shrieky electric guitars to "Hips Don't Lie." Genius, I tell you, genius!
To top things off, Little Michael Jackson then comes out to the sounds of "Beat It" and does a whole dance routine while Dave composes himself hilariously in the background. I was wondering if anyone else would find the humor in one of New York's oddest subway attractions, but leave it to Dave Hill to discover who's on N.Y. entertainment's short list (pun intended.)
The rest of the show continued in the opening's random footsteps, particularly throughout the entirety of Sandra Bernhard's appearance. The unflaggable star of stage and screen (which she rarely gets hired for these days -- shame on you, Hollywood!) was the very definition of off-the-cuff. She informed the audience that the zipper of her specially tailored suit would cost $2,200 to fix, made liberal use of the "n" word in reference to Star Jones (defending it by saying she came of age in Arizona...) and did a totally wild interpretive dance when Dave Hill improvised a song about her and her crazy life in showbiz.
The musical guest for the evening was Joan as Police Woman, who I saw two years ago when she opened for Rufus in Cleveland. Dave had a piano set up for her with a mirror facing her ("it was Rufus's idea!" she insisted) but it was too weird for her to go through with it. Joan was significantly less candid than Sandy, but just as fabulous. She's playing a show on Tuesday at Tonic that my new work buddy Dan the copy editor and I might check out...
All in all, last night's show was the epitome of what I love about this city and all its opportunities. I mean, where else do you find yourself -- as I did -- following Rufus Wainwright in a crocodile hat walking unaccompanied down the street for two blocks on the way to your subway stop? Lord knows that shit just doesn't happen in Ohio...
Monday, October 02, 2006
Poli-tickle me Homo
Since I'm technically at work right now, I really shouldn't be watching all 50 minutes of last night's Meet The Press debate between Mike DeWine and Sherrod Brown. However, there sure are some interesting things going down politically lately, huh?
This Sen. Foley thing is all kinds of creepy, not to mention sad from a gay perspective. Why do all the gay politicians gotta be corrupt about their sexuality? Don't get me wrong, I appreciated all the Jim McGreevey hoopla for all of its salaciousness, despite the bottom line that his affair with one of his advisers was despicable from both a political standpoint (giving someone you're crushing on job preference for something as pivotal as homeland security is a huuuge conflict of interest) and, of course, marital. Although his wife seemed creepily loyal and undeterred throughout the scandal and fallout.
Still, mad props are due to McGreevey for turning his negatives into a huge positive by being the first opnely gay U.S. governor and in a much happier, committed relationship on the cover of The Advocate. It's just sad to see the path it took for him to get to that point.
Mark Foley could have had the same chance to make a big statement for gay politicians, too...if he wasn't such a creepy, perverted Republican hypocrite. I applaud the press for pointing out the largest irony of his page-seduction scandal: that the touchstones of his political career were all about cracking down on child predators.
However, while Foley's foibles certainly don't do much to help the gay-marriage-as-divisive-issue problem, they could potentially bring light to the fact that homosexuality transcends political parties. The supposedly righteous Republicans gotta be blushing big time that someone on their team just blew their cover over the weekend. Should be interesting to see how this scandal affects voting habits over the next month for the midterm election. Which, interestingly enough, falls on my birthday this year.
I am adamant in my belief that my birthday will not be happy unless Strickland is crowned governor (and wins for Brown and Brunner would be great, too.) Turning 23 in New York will be great and all, but unless my home staters get their shit together, all will not be well in the 92nd St. Y on that day.
This Sen. Foley thing is all kinds of creepy, not to mention sad from a gay perspective. Why do all the gay politicians gotta be corrupt about their sexuality? Don't get me wrong, I appreciated all the Jim McGreevey hoopla for all of its salaciousness, despite the bottom line that his affair with one of his advisers was despicable from both a political standpoint (giving someone you're crushing on job preference for something as pivotal as homeland security is a huuuge conflict of interest) and, of course, marital. Although his wife seemed creepily loyal and undeterred throughout the scandal and fallout.
Still, mad props are due to McGreevey for turning his negatives into a huge positive by being the first opnely gay U.S. governor and in a much happier, committed relationship on the cover of The Advocate. It's just sad to see the path it took for him to get to that point.
Mark Foley could have had the same chance to make a big statement for gay politicians, too...if he wasn't such a creepy, perverted Republican hypocrite. I applaud the press for pointing out the largest irony of his page-seduction scandal: that the touchstones of his political career were all about cracking down on child predators.
However, while Foley's foibles certainly don't do much to help the gay-marriage-as-divisive-issue problem, they could potentially bring light to the fact that homosexuality transcends political parties. The supposedly righteous Republicans gotta be blushing big time that someone on their team just blew their cover over the weekend. Should be interesting to see how this scandal affects voting habits over the next month for the midterm election. Which, interestingly enough, falls on my birthday this year.
I am adamant in my belief that my birthday will not be happy unless Strickland is crowned governor (and wins for Brown and Brunner would be great, too.) Turning 23 in New York will be great and all, but unless my home staters get their shit together, all will not be well in the 92nd St. Y on that day.
Sunday, October 01, 2006
Now it can be told
I crammed a month's worth of awesomeness into the last seven days. Here's a very cursory summary of all that transpired over the past three:
Friday: The last day of Advertising Week. I was both relieved and sad to watch it end. The whole thing was a bit of a spectacle, and it sure was nice to not worry about grabbing breakfast or lunch on my own if I was covering anything between the hours of 9 and 2. But my last two events helped me go out with a bang: a three-hour presentation of ad campaigns from high school students around the NYC area (impressive stuff by all, even if some blended into the others) and the Advertising Icons parade. The parade itself was fairly interesting (I mean, it was in Times Square after all), but seeing all the icons backstage at the Hard Rock with their heads off really sealed it for me. How many people can say they've spoken to a headless Chester the Cheetah, the AOL Running Man and the guy who plays Col. Sanders in a 5-minute period? Sooo weird...
My cover story ended up getting pushed back a week because the photo was, in the words of Susie the awesome photo editor, "too much 'Saved by the Bell' and not enough 'Rolling Stone.'" I agreed, even though I was a little bummed to wait an extra week for my cover debut. I was comforted by the fact, however, that I am now the second-ever intern to have a story run on the cover. And the first one has been employed by them ever since, which is certainly a good sign... I got wind of a work-related rumor on my way out, and though it made me very happy, I'm too superstitious to discuss it here.
Finished the night by taking Amy to dinner at Serendipity (only the famous frozen hot chocolate is worth their extravagant prices, and even that's really pushing it at $8.50) and grabbing a nice German beer at a bar by my place called Heidelberg. Made me think of, but not miss, Tiffin. Crashed on Amy's air mattress in her ginormous Brooklyn loft so I could explore Williamsburg with her.
Saturday: Had an incredible burger at Teddy's on Lorimer that filled me up the rest of the day and window-shopped around W-burg with Amy for a few hours. Loved the mix of industry and urban culture and decided I am totally singling that out when I start looking for apartments in the coming weeks (that's right, I'm sticking things out past December.) Had to take a bus and two trains back home because the L was down for the weekend for a "police investigation" and trucked over to the 1,2&3 Cinemas to see "The Queen" with Joey. The longest line I've ever witness for a movie — in Kent terms, it was like waiting all the way back at Giant Eagle to see "Scary Movie 4" or something. Luckily, it was worth the wait, and Helen Mirren was just as fabulous as the critics made her out to be. If not more so. Makes me want to watch footage of the real one now.
The best part of the weekend: rushing out of the movie to Times Square to return to Town Hall for another concert, which came up at the last-minute: SUFJAN STEVENS!!! Morgan Phillips randomly e-mailed me on Friday to say her friend Amy had an extra ticket to see him while she was in NY, which couldn't have been more vague. Who was this Amy person and what night was the show? (He played all weekend.) Nevertheless I arranged for Amy to have the ticket waiting for me at the box office, which I arrived at just in time to make the end of Sufjan's first song. And what a surreal thing to walk into. Sufjan and his 14-piece band (folkestra?) were all decked out in forest ranger-esque uniforms with eagle wings and feather headresses, with bright purple streamers framing a video screen that played footage of Sufjan and the band throughout the set. His songs sounded downright hymnal in a live setting, and Sufjan himself is way dreamier in person. I'll admit I imagined he was singing "To Be Alone With You" to me the whole time. Absolutely fantastic. Amy and I ended up hitting it off, too, and grabbed food and raspberry cocktails at Yaffa Cafe in St. Mark's.
Just when I thought my night was over, my drunk friend Kate calls me to say she's heading to a bar in midtown, specifically rigiht next to my work on 44th and 3rd, so I find myself hopping back on the subway to meet up with lovely self at a bar I didn't even know existed called Overlook. Met her two awesome friends, including one guy who may become the topic of a freelance story. Stay tuned on that one..
Sunday: Slept in till 1 and hung around the room doing laundry and reflecting on the amazing week till finally leaving the dorm to see UCB on a whim. Made the free ticket cutoff by 8 people and saw the best UCB show yet: Amy Poehler was finally there (YESSS!!!), in addition to Seth Myers, Dan Bakkedahl from "The Daily Show" again, this cute blonde dude from "Talladega Nights" and "30 Rock" and Paul Scheer, who stole the show. He's the bald-headed, gap-toothed dude from "Best Week Ever" who always says the most ridiculous things and makes them hysterical. Tonight was no exception.
All in all, a totally surreal week full of crazy occurrences (did I mention I totally interviewed Howie Mandel on Thursday and threw off his OCD?) that confirmed why I wanted to come here in the first place and why I should definitely not leave after Christmas. Hallelujah!
Friday: The last day of Advertising Week. I was both relieved and sad to watch it end. The whole thing was a bit of a spectacle, and it sure was nice to not worry about grabbing breakfast or lunch on my own if I was covering anything between the hours of 9 and 2. But my last two events helped me go out with a bang: a three-hour presentation of ad campaigns from high school students around the NYC area (impressive stuff by all, even if some blended into the others) and the Advertising Icons parade. The parade itself was fairly interesting (I mean, it was in Times Square after all), but seeing all the icons backstage at the Hard Rock with their heads off really sealed it for me. How many people can say they've spoken to a headless Chester the Cheetah, the AOL Running Man and the guy who plays Col. Sanders in a 5-minute period? Sooo weird...
My cover story ended up getting pushed back a week because the photo was, in the words of Susie the awesome photo editor, "too much 'Saved by the Bell' and not enough 'Rolling Stone.'" I agreed, even though I was a little bummed to wait an extra week for my cover debut. I was comforted by the fact, however, that I am now the second-ever intern to have a story run on the cover. And the first one has been employed by them ever since, which is certainly a good sign... I got wind of a work-related rumor on my way out, and though it made me very happy, I'm too superstitious to discuss it here.
Finished the night by taking Amy to dinner at Serendipity (only the famous frozen hot chocolate is worth their extravagant prices, and even that's really pushing it at $8.50) and grabbing a nice German beer at a bar by my place called Heidelberg. Made me think of, but not miss, Tiffin. Crashed on Amy's air mattress in her ginormous Brooklyn loft so I could explore Williamsburg with her.
Saturday: Had an incredible burger at Teddy's on Lorimer that filled me up the rest of the day and window-shopped around W-burg with Amy for a few hours. Loved the mix of industry and urban culture and decided I am totally singling that out when I start looking for apartments in the coming weeks (that's right, I'm sticking things out past December.) Had to take a bus and two trains back home because the L was down for the weekend for a "police investigation" and trucked over to the 1,2&3 Cinemas to see "The Queen" with Joey. The longest line I've ever witness for a movie — in Kent terms, it was like waiting all the way back at Giant Eagle to see "Scary Movie 4" or something. Luckily, it was worth the wait, and Helen Mirren was just as fabulous as the critics made her out to be. If not more so. Makes me want to watch footage of the real one now.
The best part of the weekend: rushing out of the movie to Times Square to return to Town Hall for another concert, which came up at the last-minute: SUFJAN STEVENS!!! Morgan Phillips randomly e-mailed me on Friday to say her friend Amy had an extra ticket to see him while she was in NY, which couldn't have been more vague. Who was this Amy person and what night was the show? (He played all weekend.) Nevertheless I arranged for Amy to have the ticket waiting for me at the box office, which I arrived at just in time to make the end of Sufjan's first song. And what a surreal thing to walk into. Sufjan and his 14-piece band (folkestra?) were all decked out in forest ranger-esque uniforms with eagle wings and feather headresses, with bright purple streamers framing a video screen that played footage of Sufjan and the band throughout the set. His songs sounded downright hymnal in a live setting, and Sufjan himself is way dreamier in person. I'll admit I imagined he was singing "To Be Alone With You" to me the whole time. Absolutely fantastic. Amy and I ended up hitting it off, too, and grabbed food and raspberry cocktails at Yaffa Cafe in St. Mark's.
Just when I thought my night was over, my drunk friend Kate calls me to say she's heading to a bar in midtown, specifically rigiht next to my work on 44th and 3rd, so I find myself hopping back on the subway to meet up with lovely self at a bar I didn't even know existed called Overlook. Met her two awesome friends, including one guy who may become the topic of a freelance story. Stay tuned on that one..
Sunday: Slept in till 1 and hung around the room doing laundry and reflecting on the amazing week till finally leaving the dorm to see UCB on a whim. Made the free ticket cutoff by 8 people and saw the best UCB show yet: Amy Poehler was finally there (YESSS!!!), in addition to Seth Myers, Dan Bakkedahl from "The Daily Show" again, this cute blonde dude from "Talladega Nights" and "30 Rock" and Paul Scheer, who stole the show. He's the bald-headed, gap-toothed dude from "Best Week Ever" who always says the most ridiculous things and makes them hysterical. Tonight was no exception.
All in all, a totally surreal week full of crazy occurrences (did I mention I totally interviewed Howie Mandel on Thursday and threw off his OCD?) that confirmed why I wanted to come here in the first place and why I should definitely not leave after Christmas. Hallelujah!
Thursday, September 28, 2006
T.F.I. Nearly Friday
Lord knows this week has been kind to me, but it's also drained so much energy out of me I'll probably need one big stinkin' nap before I do anything this weekend.
Today was among the more hectic of the last four days, beginning with my late arrival to the panel on the future of print media. With the exception of the sweet-ass short film festival I got to attend on Tuesday (complete with free well drinks afterward) it was my favorite Advertising Week event of the week. I'm going to miss getting paid to go to awesome venues across the city in Tribeca, Chelsea and Times Square and eat free food and listen to really important people talk about less than interesting things.
What I will not miss is the tremendous amount of work-related stress going to all of these has put me through. So far I've covered seven events, with two more to finish things off tomorrow. Add to that two MediaWorks stories and my long-awaited feature for next week's book and I will have written TWELVE articles this week. That's a dozen! And you can't even fry, hardboil or scramble them either for a sandwich later...
My diversity feature impressed the M.E. so much she decided to make it Monday's cover story, which is both very exciting and anti-clmactic. Sure, I'm proud of the reporting I did for the piece and definitely think it presents some new information, but it wasn't my idea, nor did I really shape much of the story itself on my own. It was all kinda strongarmed either by the features editor or my contacts at City Tech. Not a bad thing, necessarily, but I'm reserving my utmost pride for the cover story I write that's based on my own ideas and source gathering.
Having said that, apparently I'm the very second intern to have a story run on the cover. Who was the first? Well, now she edits the Digital section for us, so that would seem to bode well for my chance at employment, right? We'll see...
Luckily, I didn't even have to wait for the weekend to reward myself for my immense productivity this week. Regina Spektor took care of that with the show I just caught at Town Hall tonight. It's a no-brainer: she put on one of the best female shows you're likely to see this year.
There just aren't too many singers — male or female — who can completely capture an audience's attention and interest with nothing but vocals and a piano for 45 minutes straight. Playing a lot of new material, no less. But Regina's songs are all so cleverly humorous (one of the new ones was about keeping a statue of the baby Jesus in her closet and feeding it bread and water), melodically intricate and damn well sung it's impossible to find her anything less than captivating. By the time she brought out the band for the second half, it was on like Donkey Kong. And "Samson" was just as heartbreaking to see live as it is to listen to.
I end this still in one of the most optimisitc moods I've been in all year, let alone since arriving in New York. I could not be more content with my social or professional lives at the moment, and am considerably less worried about my academics even though they remain unresolved. I'm still working on the romantic part, but perhaps I'll have some luck at the "Hedwig and the Angry Inch" sreening with John Cameron Mitchell I'm plannin on attending Saturday night!
Today was among the more hectic of the last four days, beginning with my late arrival to the panel on the future of print media. With the exception of the sweet-ass short film festival I got to attend on Tuesday (complete with free well drinks afterward) it was my favorite Advertising Week event of the week. I'm going to miss getting paid to go to awesome venues across the city in Tribeca, Chelsea and Times Square and eat free food and listen to really important people talk about less than interesting things.
What I will not miss is the tremendous amount of work-related stress going to all of these has put me through. So far I've covered seven events, with two more to finish things off tomorrow. Add to that two MediaWorks stories and my long-awaited feature for next week's book and I will have written TWELVE articles this week. That's a dozen! And you can't even fry, hardboil or scramble them either for a sandwich later...
My diversity feature impressed the M.E. so much she decided to make it Monday's cover story, which is both very exciting and anti-clmactic. Sure, I'm proud of the reporting I did for the piece and definitely think it presents some new information, but it wasn't my idea, nor did I really shape much of the story itself on my own. It was all kinda strongarmed either by the features editor or my contacts at City Tech. Not a bad thing, necessarily, but I'm reserving my utmost pride for the cover story I write that's based on my own ideas and source gathering.
Having said that, apparently I'm the very second intern to have a story run on the cover. Who was the first? Well, now she edits the Digital section for us, so that would seem to bode well for my chance at employment, right? We'll see...
Luckily, I didn't even have to wait for the weekend to reward myself for my immense productivity this week. Regina Spektor took care of that with the show I just caught at Town Hall tonight. It's a no-brainer: she put on one of the best female shows you're likely to see this year.
There just aren't too many singers — male or female — who can completely capture an audience's attention and interest with nothing but vocals and a piano for 45 minutes straight. Playing a lot of new material, no less. But Regina's songs are all so cleverly humorous (one of the new ones was about keeping a statue of the baby Jesus in her closet and feeding it bread and water), melodically intricate and damn well sung it's impossible to find her anything less than captivating. By the time she brought out the band for the second half, it was on like Donkey Kong. And "Samson" was just as heartbreaking to see live as it is to listen to.
I end this still in one of the most optimisitc moods I've been in all year, let alone since arriving in New York. I could not be more content with my social or professional lives at the moment, and am considerably less worried about my academics even though they remain unresolved. I'm still working on the romantic part, but perhaps I'll have some luck at the "Hedwig and the Angry Inch" sreening with John Cameron Mitchell I'm plannin on attending Saturday night!
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Stoned in New Jersey
Well, my things-to-do-before-I-die list just got shorter. Tonight I saw the Rolling Stones. In New Jersey. That's two birds with one stone: see the Rolling Stones and go to New Jersey.
And let me tell you, it was worth it. Set list wise, the show was nothing to write home about. Opened with "It's Only Rock N Roll," played a bunch of obscure/newer stuff for the next hour then closed with a rousing if predictable stream of the biggest hits, ending with "Brown Sugar."
What made it worth the ticket price (which the delightful Amy Mitten comped as an early birthday present for me) is seeing Mick Jagger in person. Much is often made of his vitality at 63, but it's something that has to be seen to truly register. Watching him strut, shake and swagger for a full two hours 1.) wore me out 2.) impressed the hell out of me and 3.) kinda turned me on. If it weren't for his slightly weathered face and his singing voice that has turned into more of a howl than a croon (not that he was ever a Sinatra in his heyday, either) you'd swear he was a 20-something New York rocker. He had the multiple costume changes of clingy shirts and tight black pants to prove it.
Keith Richards, however, is also more ridiculous in person. (And by in person, as seen through binoculars on a Jumbo-Tron from the VERY LAST row in Giants Stadium. As in the very top, the summit, against the wall. Hey, I still enjoyed myself, even when I ducked the occasioinal low-flying plane.) He has so many deep-set wrinkles on his face it's as if someone folded his skin and glued it. You could lose change in those creases! He even sang on two songs, which was just as impressive vocally as it was incoherent lyrically. No one sings "No wuh luhv meee like yuh duh" the way Keith does. Can't wait for your PIrates cameo, by the way, dude!
All in all, it was a totally memorable, surreal experience, and my first time leaving the city (and state) since coming here five weeks ago today. Both hard and crazy to believe it's been that long already.
And tomorrow, the week of insanity continues. Two more Ad Week events (including one at 8:30, but with free breakfast and CEOs from Meredith, Hearst and Conde Nast — sweet!) and an interview with Howie Mandel at Toys R Us (how's that for a check-off on the ol' to-do list?) before another concert, Regina Spektor. I'm expecting that one to be completely opposite of the Stones, but every bit as awesome. And after THAT, Kate Bigam's supposed to be in town, making her the third hag to touch down in the city in one week. Oh, Advertising Week, you have so many more surprises left up your sleeve these next two days, don't you?
And let me tell you, it was worth it. Set list wise, the show was nothing to write home about. Opened with "It's Only Rock N Roll," played a bunch of obscure/newer stuff for the next hour then closed with a rousing if predictable stream of the biggest hits, ending with "Brown Sugar."
What made it worth the ticket price (which the delightful Amy Mitten comped as an early birthday present for me) is seeing Mick Jagger in person. Much is often made of his vitality at 63, but it's something that has to be seen to truly register. Watching him strut, shake and swagger for a full two hours 1.) wore me out 2.) impressed the hell out of me and 3.) kinda turned me on. If it weren't for his slightly weathered face and his singing voice that has turned into more of a howl than a croon (not that he was ever a Sinatra in his heyday, either) you'd swear he was a 20-something New York rocker. He had the multiple costume changes of clingy shirts and tight black pants to prove it.
Keith Richards, however, is also more ridiculous in person. (And by in person, as seen through binoculars on a Jumbo-Tron from the VERY LAST row in Giants Stadium. As in the very top, the summit, against the wall. Hey, I still enjoyed myself, even when I ducked the occasioinal low-flying plane.) He has so many deep-set wrinkles on his face it's as if someone folded his skin and glued it. You could lose change in those creases! He even sang on two songs, which was just as impressive vocally as it was incoherent lyrically. No one sings "No wuh luhv meee like yuh duh" the way Keith does. Can't wait for your PIrates cameo, by the way, dude!
All in all, it was a totally memorable, surreal experience, and my first time leaving the city (and state) since coming here five weeks ago today. Both hard and crazy to believe it's been that long already.
And tomorrow, the week of insanity continues. Two more Ad Week events (including one at 8:30, but with free breakfast and CEOs from Meredith, Hearst and Conde Nast — sweet!) and an interview with Howie Mandel at Toys R Us (how's that for a check-off on the ol' to-do list?) before another concert, Regina Spektor. I'm expecting that one to be completely opposite of the Stones, but every bit as awesome. And after THAT, Kate Bigam's supposed to be in town, making her the third hag to touch down in the city in one week. Oh, Advertising Week, you have so many more surprises left up your sleeve these next two days, don't you?
Monday, September 25, 2006
The "Yeah!" (almost) heard 'round the world
This weekend, many of my mini-New York dreams came true. A Friday stroll into the beautiful depths of Central Park (20 tiring blocks worth, in fact), a discovery of a truly rare CD in St. Mark's Place (Cat Power radio sessions circa 2000, complete with emotional breakdown within the first minute) and a Sunday visit to Serendipity (which was just how I pictured it would be from the movie appearance-wise, even though we didn't honor our reservation.)
But the best yet was being in the studio audience for "The Daily Show" today with Kelly and Logan (Joey missed making it by literally one minute — stupid ticket lady!) I've been watching that show for what I can't believe has been a decade now. Since the days of Craig Kilborn, the Beth Littleford interviews and correspondents like Brian Unger. Ah, those were the days...
The studio was much smaller than I pictured it, and even its current state is apparently impressive compared to years past. The 200-something capacity place has apparently doubled in size in the last year. Yikes! But small venue means intimate relationship with the performers — excuse me, journalists, who included Samantha Bee (my current fave correspondent), Dan Bakkedahl (who I also saw at UCB two weeks ago) and of course Jon Stewart, one of the foxiest men in news today, fake or otherwise.
As far as talk show experiences go, I can't imagine a more welcoming one. Dave Letterman, for example, never addresses his audience before, during or after the show, and I definitely can't see the ladies of "The View" taking time before their show to chat up their audience.
Jon Stewart, however, does a Q&A with the crowd before taping, which naturally turns into standup. A woman stood up and introduced herself as Elizabeth Swallow, which of course got a huge laugh. "I thought you could do something with it," she said to Jon. "I'm not even going there..." he said, waving his hands.
Another dude in the front row asked why JOn — a notorious germophobe — doesn't allow hugs from fans but welcomes handshakes.
"See, you think it's for my protection, but it's actually for yours," he said with perfect timing.
It was so crazy to see him in action. Even between takes or while footage was playing, he seemed both intently focused and ready to make an insanely witty comment at a moment's notice. He and Stephen Colbert even did some off-camera banter via satellite in between commercials that involved a ram's horn (he reprised it for tonight's show, in case you saw it.)
But if you saw "The Daily Show," you probably did not hear my contribution. After the first commerical break, Jon introduced Dan Bakkedahl's piece by saying, "And now for something completely different, a story about boys..." Anyone who's attended a show with me could tell you what the sound I made was called: the concert "Yeah!" It's deep, guttural and not unlike a frat boy at a football game. It was perfectly timed and, I thought, pretty darn loud.
But whether it was drowned out by the studio during taping or during our collective excitement as we watched the edited broadcast at 11, my "Yeah" was nowhere to be heard. But just knowing that I did it is satisfying enough. Besides, as Samantha Bee pointed out during her "live broadcast" from the Fox News headquarters, "I heard it with my eyes."
But the best yet was being in the studio audience for "The Daily Show" today with Kelly and Logan (Joey missed making it by literally one minute — stupid ticket lady!) I've been watching that show for what I can't believe has been a decade now. Since the days of Craig Kilborn, the Beth Littleford interviews and correspondents like Brian Unger. Ah, those were the days...
The studio was much smaller than I pictured it, and even its current state is apparently impressive compared to years past. The 200-something capacity place has apparently doubled in size in the last year. Yikes! But small venue means intimate relationship with the performers — excuse me, journalists, who included Samantha Bee (my current fave correspondent), Dan Bakkedahl (who I also saw at UCB two weeks ago) and of course Jon Stewart, one of the foxiest men in news today, fake or otherwise.
As far as talk show experiences go, I can't imagine a more welcoming one. Dave Letterman, for example, never addresses his audience before, during or after the show, and I definitely can't see the ladies of "The View" taking time before their show to chat up their audience.
Jon Stewart, however, does a Q&A with the crowd before taping, which naturally turns into standup. A woman stood up and introduced herself as Elizabeth Swallow, which of course got a huge laugh. "I thought you could do something with it," she said to Jon. "I'm not even going there..." he said, waving his hands.
Another dude in the front row asked why JOn — a notorious germophobe — doesn't allow hugs from fans but welcomes handshakes.
"See, you think it's for my protection, but it's actually for yours," he said with perfect timing.
It was so crazy to see him in action. Even between takes or while footage was playing, he seemed both intently focused and ready to make an insanely witty comment at a moment's notice. He and Stephen Colbert even did some off-camera banter via satellite in between commercials that involved a ram's horn (he reprised it for tonight's show, in case you saw it.)
But if you saw "The Daily Show," you probably did not hear my contribution. After the first commerical break, Jon introduced Dan Bakkedahl's piece by saying, "And now for something completely different, a story about boys..." Anyone who's attended a show with me could tell you what the sound I made was called: the concert "Yeah!" It's deep, guttural and not unlike a frat boy at a football game. It was perfectly timed and, I thought, pretty darn loud.
But whether it was drowned out by the studio during taping or during our collective excitement as we watched the edited broadcast at 11, my "Yeah" was nowhere to be heard. But just knowing that I did it is satisfying enough. Besides, as Samantha Bee pointed out during her "live broadcast" from the Fox News headquarters, "I heard it with my eyes."
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Yikes!
First of all, much love to everyone who's been reading and commenting on the blog this week. I finally have an audience!
Secondly, I've barely been able to keep up with updates because I've finally gotten big assignments to work on at AdAge. I'm currently waiting on sources to call me back for this big piece for the book on racism in the advertising industry (heady stuff, I know) and couldn't be more excited to actually be working on a story that invovles more than congratulating an ad exec on his new promotion or the unveiling of the new Elmo (although that was admittedly pretty funny.)
But things will get even crazier this weekend when Dana, Kelly and Logan all come to the city at once for a big NYC free-for-all I've dubbed Hagfest 2006. There are talks of museum visits, party hopping, karaoke and Amy Poehler all in store for the next three days, with a big finish at "The Daily Show" on Monday night.
Even crazier, however, is Advertising Week, which kicks off Monday and will be held at a variety of swanky locations across the city (Rainbow Room, Tribeca Cinemas, Museum of Television & Radio, etc.) I've always wanted to go to and now have a reason. But the event I'm most excited about covering above all is the Crativity No Spot Short Film Festival at the Chelsea Clearview. I have purposefully linked to the festival at the list of directors because there are at least two who are pretty damn sweet.
Add to the excitment and rush of Ad Week the Stones and Spektor concerts and it's pretty much going to be my most fabulous week in the city yet. Best of all, my eds want me to write a column for the book at the end of Ad Week from a consumer's point of view, summarizing whether or not the week was effective to anyone outside the industry. Coming from someone who just learned what it meant for an account to be placed into review two short weeks ago, I'd say they definitely picked the right person for the job.
Finally, I will end today's post with a link to a video that has provided me endless mirth and merriment this past week. Strangers With Candy fans, take note!
http://youtube.com/watch?v=BCMStcns-Qs
Secondly, I've barely been able to keep up with updates because I've finally gotten big assignments to work on at AdAge. I'm currently waiting on sources to call me back for this big piece for the book on racism in the advertising industry (heady stuff, I know) and couldn't be more excited to actually be working on a story that invovles more than congratulating an ad exec on his new promotion or the unveiling of the new Elmo (although that was admittedly pretty funny.)
But things will get even crazier this weekend when Dana, Kelly and Logan all come to the city at once for a big NYC free-for-all I've dubbed Hagfest 2006. There are talks of museum visits, party hopping, karaoke and Amy Poehler all in store for the next three days, with a big finish at "The Daily Show" on Monday night.
Even crazier, however, is Advertising Week, which kicks off Monday and will be held at a variety of swanky locations across the city (Rainbow Room, Tribeca Cinemas, Museum of Television & Radio, etc.) I've always wanted to go to and now have a reason. But the event I'm most excited about covering above all is the Crativity No Spot Short Film Festival at the Chelsea Clearview. I have purposefully linked to the festival at the list of directors because there are at least two who are pretty damn sweet.
Add to the excitment and rush of Ad Week the Stones and Spektor concerts and it's pretty much going to be my most fabulous week in the city yet. Best of all, my eds want me to write a column for the book at the end of Ad Week from a consumer's point of view, summarizing whether or not the week was effective to anyone outside the industry. Coming from someone who just learned what it meant for an account to be placed into review two short weeks ago, I'd say they definitely picked the right person for the job.
Finally, I will end today's post with a link to a video that has provided me endless mirth and merriment this past week. Strangers With Candy fans, take note!
http://youtube.com/watch?v=BCMStcns-Qs
Monday, September 18, 2006
I love tickets!
Especially when they're free. NBC just called to tell me I won two free tickets to see a dress rehearsal of SNL on Nov. 11, which is four days after my birthday. So Happy Early Birthday to me!
In fact, I've gotten a series of other birthday-related tickets lately. I realized early this month that all I'm really going to want at my age and in my financial and geographical situation is to see a couple concerts for my 23rd. So my mom went ahead and gave me free reign of $100 (an amount of money I sadly have not been able to spend all at once for weeks now) to use on concert tix of my liking.
So I put it toward the Regina Spektor show next week at Town Hall and the Goldfrapp show at Roseland next month, which is her only US date on the entire fall tour. After all the stupid convenience and shipping charges, I was only left with $20 or so, which I spent on the new Amy Millan (from Stars and Broken Social Scene) CD and haven't stopped listening to it since. The first five tracks are all insta-classics, particularly "Losin' You." She's playing two shows at Joe's Pub next month, so assuming I can hold onto $13 by then I can probably just show up and catch her there.
But that's not all the free tickets I have lined up. Kelly and Logan arrive this weekend for what is sure to be my most exciting three days in the city yet, and with them come free tix to "The Daily Show" next Monday. I can't imagine a cooler show for me to lose my studio audience virginity. I have no idea who the guest is, although apparently if we were there tonight it's Bill Clinton. But there's a dude in my building who interns there (we call him "Daily Show Dave") so he can give me the scoop.
Also, perhaps most exciting of all in the realm of free tickets, I'm seeing the Rollign Stones and Kanye next week!!! One of the many joys of a friendship with the fantastic Amy Mitten is the reckless abandon with which she spends her inheritance on cab fare, nice dinners and her friends. If any other friend had asked me if I wanted to see the Stones with them, it would have required months of planning and saving just to be able to afford the concert and make it there on time. With Amy, it was "Do you want to go?" and "We can totally get a car service to take us to Jersey." Granted, the seats are nosebleed, but it's Giants Stadium, where they're certain to have at least five Jumbo-trons, and it's the mothafuckin' Rolling Stones. They're perhaps the only classic rock band that is both still together and has all its importnat founding members still alive and kicking, a claim Pink Floyd, The Beatles The Who and Led Zeppelin cannot make.
But the free ticket that is the most significant to me in terms of fulfillment of a lifelong dream is the one I have reserved on Oct. 20. That is the day I will be sitting in the studio audience for a taping and after-show audition for "Who Wants to be a Millionaire," still hosted by the untouchable Meredith Veiera. Ever since my days of faking sick in kinergarten so I could go home early to watch "Price Is Right," "Name That Tune" and "Press Your Luck," I have always, always, ALWAYS wanted to be a contestant on a game show. And now that I'm piss poor, to win even $1,000 would be amazing, let alone on national television with my absolute favorite daytime talk show hostess.
New York City may be killing my wallet, but just like in life, the best things are free!
In fact, I've gotten a series of other birthday-related tickets lately. I realized early this month that all I'm really going to want at my age and in my financial and geographical situation is to see a couple concerts for my 23rd. So my mom went ahead and gave me free reign of $100 (an amount of money I sadly have not been able to spend all at once for weeks now) to use on concert tix of my liking.
So I put it toward the Regina Spektor show next week at Town Hall and the Goldfrapp show at Roseland next month, which is her only US date on the entire fall tour. After all the stupid convenience and shipping charges, I was only left with $20 or so, which I spent on the new Amy Millan (from Stars and Broken Social Scene) CD and haven't stopped listening to it since. The first five tracks are all insta-classics, particularly "Losin' You." She's playing two shows at Joe's Pub next month, so assuming I can hold onto $13 by then I can probably just show up and catch her there.
But that's not all the free tickets I have lined up. Kelly and Logan arrive this weekend for what is sure to be my most exciting three days in the city yet, and with them come free tix to "The Daily Show" next Monday. I can't imagine a cooler show for me to lose my studio audience virginity. I have no idea who the guest is, although apparently if we were there tonight it's Bill Clinton. But there's a dude in my building who interns there (we call him "Daily Show Dave") so he can give me the scoop.
Also, perhaps most exciting of all in the realm of free tickets, I'm seeing the Rollign Stones and Kanye next week!!! One of the many joys of a friendship with the fantastic Amy Mitten is the reckless abandon with which she spends her inheritance on cab fare, nice dinners and her friends. If any other friend had asked me if I wanted to see the Stones with them, it would have required months of planning and saving just to be able to afford the concert and make it there on time. With Amy, it was "Do you want to go?" and "We can totally get a car service to take us to Jersey." Granted, the seats are nosebleed, but it's Giants Stadium, where they're certain to have at least five Jumbo-trons, and it's the mothafuckin' Rolling Stones. They're perhaps the only classic rock band that is both still together and has all its importnat founding members still alive and kicking, a claim Pink Floyd, The Beatles The Who and Led Zeppelin cannot make.
But the free ticket that is the most significant to me in terms of fulfillment of a lifelong dream is the one I have reserved on Oct. 20. That is the day I will be sitting in the studio audience for a taping and after-show audition for "Who Wants to be a Millionaire," still hosted by the untouchable Meredith Veiera. Ever since my days of faking sick in kinergarten so I could go home early to watch "Price Is Right," "Name That Tune" and "Press Your Luck," I have always, always, ALWAYS wanted to be a contestant on a game show. And now that I'm piss poor, to win even $1,000 would be amazing, let alone on national television with my absolute favorite daytime talk show hostess.
New York City may be killing my wallet, but just like in life, the best things are free!
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
New career
Screw the part-time job hunt. This is my new calling. Consider it mine:
Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey®
Conducts Nationwide Search for Next Ringmaster
Selected Candidate to Tour America as
36th Ringmaster of The Greatest Show On Earth®
WHO: "Who?" is the big question as Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey conducts a nationwide search for a worthy candidate to don the Ringmaster top hat and join an elite group of only 36 individuals in the 137-year history of The Greatest Show On Earth to hold the Ringmaster title.
The ideal candidate will be that special individual with a commanding presence and a pop-star voice who is able to spark the imaginations and stir the passions of families across America. He will be a dynamic, charismatic and spontaneous comedic actor who is prepared to perform in more than 40 cities across the United States, introducing a myriad of entertaining acts, including death-defying Chinese acrobats, a tiger trainer with nerves of steel, comic dare-devil Bello Nock - named by TIME magazine as America's Best Clown - and the audience's favorite stars, the enchanting elephants.
WHAT: Feld Entertainment producers Kenneth Feld and Nicole Feld, Vice President of Talent and Production Tim Holst, and director of the 137th Edition Gabe Barre will hold auditions in New York City, searching for the perfect Ringmaster to say the immortal words, "Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls, Children Of All Ages, Welcome to The Greatest Show On Earth!"
WHEN: Auditions will be open to males 18 years or older and at least 5' 10" tall. Auditions will be open to media and will be held on:
September 18, 2006 in New York City
10:00 AM - Press
10:30 AM - Auditions to Begin
WHERE: New York City
Ripley Grier Studio (Between 36th and 37th Street)
Studio 16T
520 8th Ave
Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey®
Conducts Nationwide Search for Next Ringmaster
Selected Candidate to Tour America as
36th Ringmaster of The Greatest Show On Earth®
WHO: "Who?" is the big question as Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey conducts a nationwide search for a worthy candidate to don the Ringmaster top hat and join an elite group of only 36 individuals in the 137-year history of The Greatest Show On Earth to hold the Ringmaster title.
The ideal candidate will be that special individual with a commanding presence and a pop-star voice who is able to spark the imaginations and stir the passions of families across America. He will be a dynamic, charismatic and spontaneous comedic actor who is prepared to perform in more than 40 cities across the United States, introducing a myriad of entertaining acts, including death-defying Chinese acrobats, a tiger trainer with nerves of steel, comic dare-devil Bello Nock - named by TIME magazine as America's Best Clown - and the audience's favorite stars, the enchanting elephants.
WHAT: Feld Entertainment producers Kenneth Feld and Nicole Feld, Vice President of Talent and Production Tim Holst, and director of the 137th Edition Gabe Barre will hold auditions in New York City, searching for the perfect Ringmaster to say the immortal words, "Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls, Children Of All Ages, Welcome to The Greatest Show On Earth!"
WHEN: Auditions will be open to males 18 years or older and at least 5' 10" tall. Auditions will be open to media and will be held on:
September 18, 2006 in New York City
10:00 AM - Press
10:30 AM - Auditions to Begin
WHERE: New York City
Ripley Grier Studio (Between 36th and 37th Street)
Studio 16T
520 8th Ave
The many faces of Fergie Ferg
As a shameless fan of Kids Incorporated reruns on the Disney Channel during my younger days, I felt a certain sense of pride and ownership when Stacy Ferguson got a grown-up gig as the lead singer of Wild Orchid in the mid-90s (almost no one rememebrs them, but I'm not ashamed to say I still have two of their CD singles from all the way back in 1997).
That said, I couldn't have been more shocked when Stacy reappeared four years after Wild Orchid's demise as the newest Black Eyed Pea, all thugged out and looking incredibly Latina, neither of which were traits she possessed during her ultra-white bread days on Kids, Inc.
As if to remind me of how far she's come, someone went to the trouble of assembling a highlight reel of Stacy "Fergie" Ferguson's best Kids Inc. clips to tune of "My Humps."
http://youtube.com/watch?v=LIMhhrygGXQ
It doesn't always work editing-wise, but it sure is fun to see all those dance routines, uber-80s outfits and fake smoke again. Noticeably absent, however, is footage from the episode where she sang "You Can't Judge a Book By Its Cover" and danced with a frog. A gross oversight by the editor's part if ever there was one...
At any rate, I'm hoping a post like this finally gets me some comments on this mofo. Check out the video and let me know what you think! And if you were a Kids Inc. geek like me, too, and remember the days when Jennifer Love Hewitt was credited as Love Hewitt but strangely called "Robin" on the show, holla back!
That said, I couldn't have been more shocked when Stacy reappeared four years after Wild Orchid's demise as the newest Black Eyed Pea, all thugged out and looking incredibly Latina, neither of which were traits she possessed during her ultra-white bread days on Kids, Inc.
As if to remind me of how far she's come, someone went to the trouble of assembling a highlight reel of Stacy "Fergie" Ferguson's best Kids Inc. clips to tune of "My Humps."
http://youtube.com/watch?v=LIMhhrygGXQ
It doesn't always work editing-wise, but it sure is fun to see all those dance routines, uber-80s outfits and fake smoke again. Noticeably absent, however, is footage from the episode where she sang "You Can't Judge a Book By Its Cover" and danced with a frog. A gross oversight by the editor's part if ever there was one...
At any rate, I'm hoping a post like this finally gets me some comments on this mofo. Check out the video and let me know what you think! And if you were a Kids Inc. geek like me, too, and remember the days when Jennifer Love Hewitt was credited as Love Hewitt but strangely called "Robin" on the show, holla back!
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
The stars at night, are big and bright [clap clap clap clap] deep in the heart of Times Square
Today's "Dancing with the Stars" insane-a-thon was even more hysterical than it sounds on paper.
First of all, they weren't kidding when they said they'd have stars all across the city. I encountered them three times before I had even met up with the account manager at the Richard Rogers Theatre at noon. The stars were prepared to dance to pretty much anything -- cha cha, swing, even fiddle. As one of the street teamers scaremed out, "Dancing with the Stars, tonight at 8 on ABC! Be there or be square-danced!" I made sure to put it in my article today, too, for which I also made my photography debut due to web deadlines.
http://adage.com/mediaworks/article?article_id=111815
And, since this assignment was rife with puns, I could say I was shooting stars all morning.
What was even more awesome than the sight of stars dancing on top of a theatre, Hard Rock, double decker bus and with a fiddle player in a subway was being on the set of "Good Morning America." Right behind Diane Sawyer, who was impeccably blond and gorgeous in person despite her unfortunate leopard-print skirt.
It's so weird to watch newspeople off-camera (as the voyeuristic window of the GMA studio allows you to do), though. They were airing a totally bizarre cooking segment with Justin Timberlake where he baked a blueberry crunch cake with his grandma, but intercut the footage with clips from the "SexyBack" video. So one moment it was, "OK Grandma, let's put the cake in the oven," cut to: "Go 'head be gone with it." I half-expected him to say at one point, "Uh oh grandma, I think you have something on your blouse." [camera cuts away a la Janet Jackson at Super Bowl.]
So while they're showing all the Timber-cake footage, the anchors are distributing samples of their very own Grandma dessert, complete with Sawyer flittering around good-naturedly to make sure each member of the studio audience was pleased with their dessert. As fabulous Claire said, "She looks beautiful, but there's still something a bit treacly about her."
All in all, it was one zany morning, and one I should only hope to top as the season progresses. With today's job interview still ahead of me, I can at least hope for one more good story to come out of the day.
First of all, they weren't kidding when they said they'd have stars all across the city. I encountered them three times before I had even met up with the account manager at the Richard Rogers Theatre at noon. The stars were prepared to dance to pretty much anything -- cha cha, swing, even fiddle. As one of the street teamers scaremed out, "Dancing with the Stars, tonight at 8 on ABC! Be there or be square-danced!" I made sure to put it in my article today, too, for which I also made my photography debut due to web deadlines.
http://adage.com/mediaworks/article?article_id=111815
And, since this assignment was rife with puns, I could say I was shooting stars all morning.
What was even more awesome than the sight of stars dancing on top of a theatre, Hard Rock, double decker bus and with a fiddle player in a subway was being on the set of "Good Morning America." Right behind Diane Sawyer, who was impeccably blond and gorgeous in person despite her unfortunate leopard-print skirt.
It's so weird to watch newspeople off-camera (as the voyeuristic window of the GMA studio allows you to do), though. They were airing a totally bizarre cooking segment with Justin Timberlake where he baked a blueberry crunch cake with his grandma, but intercut the footage with clips from the "SexyBack" video. So one moment it was, "OK Grandma, let's put the cake in the oven," cut to: "Go 'head be gone with it." I half-expected him to say at one point, "Uh oh grandma, I think you have something on your blouse." [camera cuts away a la Janet Jackson at Super Bowl.]
So while they're showing all the Timber-cake footage, the anchors are distributing samples of their very own Grandma dessert, complete with Sawyer flittering around good-naturedly to make sure each member of the studio audience was pleased with their dessert. As fabulous Claire said, "She looks beautiful, but there's still something a bit treacly about her."
All in all, it was one zany morning, and one I should only hope to top as the season progresses. With today's job interview still ahead of me, I can at least hope for one more good story to come out of the day.
Monday, September 11, 2006
Oh my God
My job just got a whole lot awesomer.
Tomorrow morning, I will be following 100 of these guys across the city for a story on ABC's bizarre promotional launch of the third season of "Dancing With the Stars." In a move so literal I'm kicking myself for not thinking of it, "stars" will be dancing everywhere from Times Square to Broadway to the Brooklyn Bridge. And I get to write a man-on-the-street reaction type story, something I've missed from my Dispatch days. Hurrah for me!
Sunday, September 10, 2006
Counting the stars
What a uniquely New York weekend.
I'm too tired right now to recount all the details, but here's a summary.
Went to the Empire State Building on Friday despite my initial reservation to doing anything touristy during my first few months here. I mean, I had to compare the view at night to the Eiffel Tower, right?
Saturday I got a new pair of jeans for 25 un-freakin-belieavble dollars at Mexx in SoHo. What's even more amazing than the price and the quality of the jeans is the size — 32, bitches! This whole less-money/more-walking approach to New York living has prompted me to eat less in order to save money and end up sweating off more weight in long commutes. I have already dropped a full jeans size since moving here three weeks ago, with no signs of the pound-droppage letting up anytime soon. Hurrah!
That night I saw "Sherrybaby" with Joey on the Upper East Side and Maggie Gyllenhaal did a Q&A with the audience afterward. She was crazy preggers (8.9 months, by the looks of it) and very candid. I'm just disappointed no one asked her, "If heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say to you at the pearly gates?"
We then went on a whirlwind run through St. Mark's in the Village and stopped for drinks at the Yaffa Cafe, breezed through Phoenix and sang a Pink song at this karaoke bar on Avenue A. I got mad props from a few gays who were singing along.
Today, I mostly took it easy with my ginormous Sunday times and spot of homework for my new (and absolutely final) online class, Technical Writing. I finally left the dorm for an extended period for my second attempt to get free tickets to see Amy Poehler and Horatio Sanz in ASSSCAT 3000 at the UCB. This time, it worked, even though you have have to get there by 6:45 to get the free passes at 8:30. Oh well...Daniel kept me entertained with his many impressions, "Friends" quotes and Celine Dion references.
As for ASSSCAT itself, Poehler was a no-show (boo, that whore!) But Horatio was there with Jason Sudeikis, a Daily Show writer and a couple dudes who are going to be on the new Tina Fey show 30 Rock. But star wattage aside, I think "The Stepfathers" on Fridays is better.
This week should have many surrpises up its sleeve, and a part-time job interview on Tuesday I can't help but be really excited for. Not only would it be fantastic to actually have spending money, I would really enjoy working at this place, too. So stay tuned, and you may be reading a lot more posts where yesterday's jeans splurge came from. And by "splurge," I of course mean spending money...
I'm too tired right now to recount all the details, but here's a summary.
Went to the Empire State Building on Friday despite my initial reservation to doing anything touristy during my first few months here. I mean, I had to compare the view at night to the Eiffel Tower, right?
Saturday I got a new pair of jeans for 25 un-freakin-belieavble dollars at Mexx in SoHo. What's even more amazing than the price and the quality of the jeans is the size — 32, bitches! This whole less-money/more-walking approach to New York living has prompted me to eat less in order to save money and end up sweating off more weight in long commutes. I have already dropped a full jeans size since moving here three weeks ago, with no signs of the pound-droppage letting up anytime soon. Hurrah!
That night I saw "Sherrybaby" with Joey on the Upper East Side and Maggie Gyllenhaal did a Q&A with the audience afterward. She was crazy preggers (8.9 months, by the looks of it) and very candid. I'm just disappointed no one asked her, "If heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say to you at the pearly gates?"
We then went on a whirlwind run through St. Mark's in the Village and stopped for drinks at the Yaffa Cafe, breezed through Phoenix and sang a Pink song at this karaoke bar on Avenue A. I got mad props from a few gays who were singing along.
Today, I mostly took it easy with my ginormous Sunday times and spot of homework for my new (and absolutely final) online class, Technical Writing. I finally left the dorm for an extended period for my second attempt to get free tickets to see Amy Poehler and Horatio Sanz in ASSSCAT 3000 at the UCB. This time, it worked, even though you have have to get there by 6:45 to get the free passes at 8:30. Oh well...Daniel kept me entertained with his many impressions, "Friends" quotes and Celine Dion references.
As for ASSSCAT itself, Poehler was a no-show (boo, that whore!) But Horatio was there with Jason Sudeikis, a Daily Show writer and a couple dudes who are going to be on the new Tina Fey show 30 Rock. But star wattage aside, I think "The Stepfathers" on Fridays is better.
This week should have many surrpises up its sleeve, and a part-time job interview on Tuesday I can't help but be really excited for. Not only would it be fantastic to actually have spending money, I would really enjoy working at this place, too. So stay tuned, and you may be reading a lot more posts where yesterday's jeans splurge came from. And by "splurge," I of course mean spending money...
Friday, September 08, 2006
Ewwww
Carson Daly looks orange, bald and old in this video.
http://www.itsyourshowtv.com/carson.shtml
Makes you nostalgic for the "TRL" days when he wore chipped black nail polish and actually seemed like the man for dating Jennifer Love Hewitt and Tara Reid...
http://www.itsyourshowtv.com/carson.shtml
Makes you nostalgic for the "TRL" days when he wore chipped black nail polish and actually seemed like the man for dating Jennifer Love Hewitt and Tara Reid...
Thursday, September 07, 2006
Brotha gotta work it out...
One downside to my otherwise fabulous internship is the fact that no one is ever available to speak with you when you need them to. Nor is anyone in advertising accessible directly. You have to go through their PR to arrange a phone interview, and even then you often have to go through an assistant to even get ahold of the PR.
Such has been my day of phone tag while trying to complete four different stories, only two of which look like they may pan out by day's end. Already did a rather interesting one about The Economist's "Green" issue (both of my sources were British -- awesome!) and am currently waiting to hear back from a veteran broadcast media buyer who was just named "chief activation officer" at Initiative, whatever that means.
Sure, it's not quite the same as my days of Paul Simon and Raven-Symone Q&As just weeks ago at the Dispatch. But no matter what you're reporting on at AdAge, you're guaranteed to talk to at least one "very important person," and often moreso. My mom has such a warped concept of what journalists actually do she didn't believe at first that I actually talked to the West Coast Pres. of NBC a few weeks ago.
So even though Tim Spengler or Marc Graboff may not have as much name recognition as Jessica Simpson or Dashboard Confessional, I'm arguably talking to people more powerful than the majority of my previous interviews combined. I mean, nearly all the celebrities I've interviewed have only achieved enough fame to be one album/movie away from being has-beens. They can't make or break careers at a network like NBC or influence the way people listen to and learn about music like NPR.
OK, enough about my job. In other news, I've been hanging out with the Y kids a lot this week, and it's been both fun to relive my dorm days, it's a little weird. A lot of the kids who hang out at "the stoop," as we call it, are 18 or less. At least two girls are 17 and born weeks after me in November, making me a full FIVE years older than them. That's pretty weird to me...
But I have also made two really good friends -- Aviana and Daniel -- who have become great surrogates when the Kent kids and Christie (who seems to have disappeared since I last saw her nearly two weeks ago) are busy. Not to mention I finally registered for my final online class (Intro to Technical Writing..I think I can handle that) and my part-time job hunt is finally showing some signs of life. I just got my first callback today from this toy store in Chelsea seeking parttime help and will be interviewing with them on Tuesday. I figure, I did Mr. Fun's for a summer. I could eeeasily do a toy store in Chelsea, right?
That's all that's worth updating for now, although I'm crossing my fingers I get out of here in time to see Anderson Cooper for FREE at the Y tonight. GOD, I love my building!!!
Such has been my day of phone tag while trying to complete four different stories, only two of which look like they may pan out by day's end. Already did a rather interesting one about The Economist's "Green" issue (both of my sources were British -- awesome!) and am currently waiting to hear back from a veteran broadcast media buyer who was just named "chief activation officer" at Initiative, whatever that means.
Sure, it's not quite the same as my days of Paul Simon and Raven-Symone Q&As just weeks ago at the Dispatch. But no matter what you're reporting on at AdAge, you're guaranteed to talk to at least one "very important person," and often moreso. My mom has such a warped concept of what journalists actually do she didn't believe at first that I actually talked to the West Coast Pres. of NBC a few weeks ago.
So even though Tim Spengler or Marc Graboff may not have as much name recognition as Jessica Simpson or Dashboard Confessional, I'm arguably talking to people more powerful than the majority of my previous interviews combined. I mean, nearly all the celebrities I've interviewed have only achieved enough fame to be one album/movie away from being has-beens. They can't make or break careers at a network like NBC or influence the way people listen to and learn about music like NPR.
OK, enough about my job. In other news, I've been hanging out with the Y kids a lot this week, and it's been both fun to relive my dorm days, it's a little weird. A lot of the kids who hang out at "the stoop," as we call it, are 18 or less. At least two girls are 17 and born weeks after me in November, making me a full FIVE years older than them. That's pretty weird to me...
But I have also made two really good friends -- Aviana and Daniel -- who have become great surrogates when the Kent kids and Christie (who seems to have disappeared since I last saw her nearly two weeks ago) are busy. Not to mention I finally registered for my final online class (Intro to Technical Writing..I think I can handle that) and my part-time job hunt is finally showing some signs of life. I just got my first callback today from this toy store in Chelsea seeking parttime help and will be interviewing with them on Tuesday. I figure, I did Mr. Fun's for a summer. I could eeeasily do a toy store in Chelsea, right?
That's all that's worth updating for now, although I'm crossing my fingers I get out of here in time to see Anderson Cooper for FREE at the Y tonight. GOD, I love my building!!!
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Even better than U-Wire
Even though my story was old news when it ran last week, that apparenty didn't stop Jossip from picking it up and treating it like fresh meat. Either way, I got my first (anonymous) shout-out from a Manhattan gossip blog! I am SO in...
http://www.jossip.com/gossip/jessica-simpson/jessica-simpson-will-say-your-name-say-your-name-20060830.php?rss
http://www.jossip.com/gossip/jessica-simpson/jessica-simpson-will-say-your-name-say-your-name-20060830.php?rss
Friday, September 01, 2006
Gloomy forecast
What crappy weather we've been having lately. And more to come — heavy rain in store for tomorrow and scattered thunderstorms planned for Sunday.
Luckily I've had a legitimately nice week to make up for all the indoor moping I'll likely be doing this weekend to avoid the weather.
So after Tuesday's Jessica Simpson insanity, I met my new roommate Antonin on Wednesday. He's everything I didn't expect him to be — French, extremely polite and looks exactly like Orlando Bloom. I mean, EXACTLY. I'll post pictures soon for proof.
Antonin is from Provence, France, and will be working at the French Embassy this year as part of a special training program at his college in Toulouse. His English is pretty good, even when his knowledge of the States isn't.
"So you're from Ohio. Do you ever visit Des Moines [pronounced as a French word]?"
"No, Antonin, that's actually in Iowa."
Later on: "Do you eat a lot of potatoes in Ohio? Isn't that what you're famous for?"
"Nope, that's Idaho."
It's cute and fun to correct, and we've gotten along famously for what few hours we've actually been in the same room together. Yesterday got pretty busy.
The highlight of my 10-day work day was my phone interview with the lead singer of Ok Go, who was on his way to the VMAs via limo as we spoke. The Q&A was in regards to the fact that their hysterical dance routine video for "A Million Ways" recently became the most-downloaded music video in history, a strong example of viral marketing on the web. I'm always proud when I can manage to work straightforward entertainment/music pieces into pitches and actually have my editors approve.
After catching bits of the VMAs themselves online (Jack Black was soooooo lame, JT's performance was so-so and Lil' Kim's outfit was extremely underwhelming) I headed out to Chelsesa for another night out with the Kent kids. We were determined to make up for our failed attempts to get crunk last Saturday. And boy did we succeed this time.
I met up with Joey, Mary and their cute Asian friend Sorai from work at Dallas BBQ or margaritas and appetizers (onion loaf before going out? NOT a good idea...) My Texas size margarita was aptly named and awfully tasty. The dangerous part was that it came with an extra test tube full of tequila, which I periodically poured into mine to keep the juices flowing.
We then hopped over to Duvet — whose sister club "Bed" may sound familiar to fans of "Sex & The City" — for what was unbeknownst to us a VMA after-party with a special performance from Wyclef Jean!!! Talk about a week of celebrity surprises — first Jessica Simpson, now this!
It was absurd — the most crowded I have ever been in a club but also one of the most memorable times I've had in one. I mean, how many people can say they went to go dance at a club and ended up seeing Wyclef sing everything from "We Tryin' To Stay Alive" to "Ready Or Not" to "Hips Don't Lie" all while all the ladies in the hosue got to come up on stage and dance with him. Including Mary, who definitely seemed to be enjoying herself.
Joey was having fun until the booze got the better of him and caused him to puke all over the backseat of the taxi on the drive home. Looks like tequila wasn't his friend.
Cut to me running back home from Harlem this morning to shower, change and make it to work on time. Only to discover that our servers were down and no one had Internet. It was like a snow day or something. So I made a bunch of photocopies for the editorial asst. before heading out after just three hours time. The three-and-a-half day weekend has already begun!
As for what to do for said weekend, I'm clueless. There was talk of trips to Syracuse or Boston, but both are out as I am broke. Even more so after last night's adventure. Antonin had the best idea when he said of the rain, "It's museum weather." So maybe I'll do that. Venture over to MOMA for a student discount — or possibly a free ticket. Apparently they have them from 3-7. So who knows what this weekend has in store, but based on the events of the days preceding it it's bound to be good...
Luckily I've had a legitimately nice week to make up for all the indoor moping I'll likely be doing this weekend to avoid the weather.
So after Tuesday's Jessica Simpson insanity, I met my new roommate Antonin on Wednesday. He's everything I didn't expect him to be — French, extremely polite and looks exactly like Orlando Bloom. I mean, EXACTLY. I'll post pictures soon for proof.
Antonin is from Provence, France, and will be working at the French Embassy this year as part of a special training program at his college in Toulouse. His English is pretty good, even when his knowledge of the States isn't.
"So you're from Ohio. Do you ever visit Des Moines [pronounced as a French word]?"
"No, Antonin, that's actually in Iowa."
Later on: "Do you eat a lot of potatoes in Ohio? Isn't that what you're famous for?"
"Nope, that's Idaho."
It's cute and fun to correct, and we've gotten along famously for what few hours we've actually been in the same room together. Yesterday got pretty busy.
The highlight of my 10-day work day was my phone interview with the lead singer of Ok Go, who was on his way to the VMAs via limo as we spoke. The Q&A was in regards to the fact that their hysterical dance routine video for "A Million Ways" recently became the most-downloaded music video in history, a strong example of viral marketing on the web. I'm always proud when I can manage to work straightforward entertainment/music pieces into pitches and actually have my editors approve.
After catching bits of the VMAs themselves online (Jack Black was soooooo lame, JT's performance was so-so and Lil' Kim's outfit was extremely underwhelming) I headed out to Chelsesa for another night out with the Kent kids. We were determined to make up for our failed attempts to get crunk last Saturday. And boy did we succeed this time.
I met up with Joey, Mary and their cute Asian friend Sorai from work at Dallas BBQ or margaritas and appetizers (onion loaf before going out? NOT a good idea...) My Texas size margarita was aptly named and awfully tasty. The dangerous part was that it came with an extra test tube full of tequila, which I periodically poured into mine to keep the juices flowing.
We then hopped over to Duvet — whose sister club "Bed" may sound familiar to fans of "Sex & The City" — for what was unbeknownst to us a VMA after-party with a special performance from Wyclef Jean!!! Talk about a week of celebrity surprises — first Jessica Simpson, now this!
It was absurd — the most crowded I have ever been in a club but also one of the most memorable times I've had in one. I mean, how many people can say they went to go dance at a club and ended up seeing Wyclef sing everything from "We Tryin' To Stay Alive" to "Ready Or Not" to "Hips Don't Lie" all while all the ladies in the hosue got to come up on stage and dance with him. Including Mary, who definitely seemed to be enjoying herself.
Joey was having fun until the booze got the better of him and caused him to puke all over the backseat of the taxi on the drive home. Looks like tequila wasn't his friend.
Cut to me running back home from Harlem this morning to shower, change and make it to work on time. Only to discover that our servers were down and no one had Internet. It was like a snow day or something. So I made a bunch of photocopies for the editorial asst. before heading out after just three hours time. The three-and-a-half day weekend has already begun!
As for what to do for said weekend, I'm clueless. There was talk of trips to Syracuse or Boston, but both are out as I am broke. Even more so after last night's adventure. Antonin had the best idea when he said of the rain, "It's museum weather." So maybe I'll do that. Venture over to MOMA for a student discount — or possibly a free ticket. Apparently they have them from 3-7. So who knows what this weekend has in store, but based on the events of the days preceding it it's bound to be good...
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Roller skating with the stars
Well, I can scratch "celebrity party" off my list of things done during my first week in New York.
And I'll keep the words "celebrity" and "party" in quotes because both aspects were rather questionable for the Roxy release of Jessica Simpson's Public Affair.
First of all, Jessica is one failed movie and ignored album away from being right back on the C-list. That said, she was still the biggest star by far who showed up at her own party. And even she only stayed for two hours.
I arrived around 7:15, after grabbing some dinner at a nearby Chelsea diner where no less than three other journalists swung by to grab something before the relentless circus that is a red carpet photo shoot — or purple in the case of this Yahoo! Music event.
In case your'e wondering how I got tickets, by the way... Well, Claire in all her fabulousness (not all of which has to do with her being British, but that plays a huge part) swung by my desk today to tell me about the shindig and, with a laugh, asked if I'd like to go. "You don't have to if you don't want to," she said in all seriousness.
Most people in my generation — including Joey, who happily came as my plus one — would say, "bitch, you crazy! It's Jessica Simpson!!!" And even I thought it was going to be pretty sweet when I saw the guest list — Ashlee, Lance Bass and Lil Jon were all "expected," while Fergie, Diddy and "all Epic talent" were under "unconfirmed."
If this were the album release for, say, Justin Timberlake (who incidentally was also on the list) those people might actually have showed up. But since it's Jessica Simpson, whose last album no one bought until she ruined "Take My Breath Away" and ripped Robbie Williams' "Angels" to shreds, you get slim pickin's.
Try Oksana Baiul, Gavin DeGraw, Paige Davis, Richie Rich and a handful of socialites/MTV stars/faceless rich people who even the photographers had to ask for their names.
I got the feeling that this might be the typical celebrity event — the guest list is always 10 times as fabulous as the attendance, the freebies are fantastic (free skates, candy, hot dogs AND all-you-can-drink booze) and the gossip columnists are more fascinating to watch than the guests themselves.
Seriously. I got more of a kick out of seeing MIchael Musto from The Village Voice (with those instantly recognizable glasses of his), Perez Hilton and George Whipple (he of the immaculate caterpillar eyebrows) than I did of seeing anyone other than Jessica.
OK, I will admit, I got a little tingly with surrealism when the singer of "The Sweetest Sin" (strangely my fave song of hers for whatever reason) skated past me on the rink at one point. And skating right next to Gavin DeGraw was cool in a trapped-in-an-episode-of-TRL sorta way.
But otherwise, my first celeb party in NYC was a bit of a disappointment. Luckily, Fashion Week starts in two weeks, and as the editor announced during yesterday's weekly staff meeting — "everyone will be covering that."
Yesssssss.......!!!!
And I'll keep the words "celebrity" and "party" in quotes because both aspects were rather questionable for the Roxy release of Jessica Simpson's Public Affair.
First of all, Jessica is one failed movie and ignored album away from being right back on the C-list. That said, she was still the biggest star by far who showed up at her own party. And even she only stayed for two hours.
I arrived around 7:15, after grabbing some dinner at a nearby Chelsea diner where no less than three other journalists swung by to grab something before the relentless circus that is a red carpet photo shoot — or purple in the case of this Yahoo! Music event.
In case your'e wondering how I got tickets, by the way... Well, Claire in all her fabulousness (not all of which has to do with her being British, but that plays a huge part) swung by my desk today to tell me about the shindig and, with a laugh, asked if I'd like to go. "You don't have to if you don't want to," she said in all seriousness.
Most people in my generation — including Joey, who happily came as my plus one — would say, "bitch, you crazy! It's Jessica Simpson!!!" And even I thought it was going to be pretty sweet when I saw the guest list — Ashlee, Lance Bass and Lil Jon were all "expected," while Fergie, Diddy and "all Epic talent" were under "unconfirmed."
If this were the album release for, say, Justin Timberlake (who incidentally was also on the list) those people might actually have showed up. But since it's Jessica Simpson, whose last album no one bought until she ruined "Take My Breath Away" and ripped Robbie Williams' "Angels" to shreds, you get slim pickin's.
Try Oksana Baiul, Gavin DeGraw, Paige Davis, Richie Rich and a handful of socialites/MTV stars/faceless rich people who even the photographers had to ask for their names.
I got the feeling that this might be the typical celebrity event — the guest list is always 10 times as fabulous as the attendance, the freebies are fantastic (free skates, candy, hot dogs AND all-you-can-drink booze) and the gossip columnists are more fascinating to watch than the guests themselves.
Seriously. I got more of a kick out of seeing MIchael Musto from The Village Voice (with those instantly recognizable glasses of his), Perez Hilton and George Whipple (he of the immaculate caterpillar eyebrows) than I did of seeing anyone other than Jessica.
OK, I will admit, I got a little tingly with surrealism when the singer of "The Sweetest Sin" (strangely my fave song of hers for whatever reason) skated past me on the rink at one point. And skating right next to Gavin DeGraw was cool in a trapped-in-an-episode-of-TRL sorta way.
But otherwise, my first celeb party in NYC was a bit of a disappointment. Luckily, Fashion Week starts in two weeks, and as the editor announced during yesterday's weekly staff meeting — "everyone will be covering that."
Yesssssss.......!!!!
Laments of an underpaid undergrad
It is inaccurate for me to think that all the things that happen in my dorm are just "like" college. It IS college, just not for me anymore — technically.
My new roommate moves in tomorrow, and I will once again surrender the privacy and ability to watch and listen to whatever I want on my laptop I've come to enjoy these last few days. I still know absolutely nothing about him, just that his name is Antonin Chef. Here's hoping he's not as weird as his name.
But the worst college reminder occurred when I came home from work today and these two loud J.A.P.s were giggling and running off the elevator. I ignored them initially, till I went to press my button and noticed all the floors were lit up. Those freakin' orange-faced freshmen were off to spend their daddys' money in their screaming-for-air size 10 designer jeans and totally pissed me off for a hot minute. Granted, it wasn't nearly as bad as all the shit (literally) people would put on the Tri Towers elevators, but it's just the principle. New Yorkers should have a little more decorum sometimes!
But then I remembered that no matter how fabulously wealthy those brats' parents may be or how obnoxiously immature their freshman elevator antics get, they most definitely will not be going where I'm going tonight.
The (roller-skating) album release party for Jessica Simpson at Roxy!
My new roommate moves in tomorrow, and I will once again surrender the privacy and ability to watch and listen to whatever I want on my laptop I've come to enjoy these last few days. I still know absolutely nothing about him, just that his name is Antonin Chef. Here's hoping he's not as weird as his name.
But the worst college reminder occurred when I came home from work today and these two loud J.A.P.s were giggling and running off the elevator. I ignored them initially, till I went to press my button and noticed all the floors were lit up. Those freakin' orange-faced freshmen were off to spend their daddys' money in their screaming-for-air size 10 designer jeans and totally pissed me off for a hot minute. Granted, it wasn't nearly as bad as all the shit (literally) people would put on the Tri Towers elevators, but it's just the principle. New Yorkers should have a little more decorum sometimes!
But then I remembered that no matter how fabulously wealthy those brats' parents may be or how obnoxiously immature their freshman elevator antics get, they most definitely will not be going where I'm going tonight.
The (roller-skating) album release party for Jessica Simpson at Roxy!
Monday, August 28, 2006
Hey Mrs. Potter won't you talk to me?
Another fabulous day in the city.
First off, one of the many wonderful things about my job is the endless access I have to free copies of pretty much every magazine you can think of — and many you wouldn't (Atlanta Peach, a quarterly horse trainers mag, etc., the Capitol Hill lifetsyle mag, etc.) As I was telling the fabulously British Claire, "it's like a crack whore diving into a dumpster full of used needles" for this magazine addict.
Also in talking with Claire, I learned what I should have noticed from reading AdAge for the last month: there really isn't anyone actively covering music advertising at the magazine — "one of the most over-loooked sectors of the industry, I'm afraid," Claire said impeccably. I told her I would be happy to fill that void, and to prove it, I got started on my first pitched story: a quick piece on the Yahoo! Music promotion Jessica Simpson has where you can have your first name inserted into the second verse of "Public Affair" and buy your very own copy. It's more than a little ridiculous (hey anyone named Zera, Tuma and Kimball — Jessica made sure you were included!) which is why it will make for such a fun story.
After knocking out a quick story on Godiva, I bussed it over to Chelsea, which I immediately fell in love with. Where else can you see a billboard for gay.com that's just as large as the anti-abortion ones that used to decorate my drive to and from Columbus?
I also ate quite possibly the best burger I've ever had at the inventively named New York Burger Company. Everything about it was perfection. The bun was flaky and flavorful. The burger was cooked just right and well seasoned. The tomatoes were extremely fresh and of the cherry persuasion. And the selection of condiments was ridiculous — more than 10. I opted for the Chipotle honey myself. A wise choice.
I was then off to an advance screening of Miss Potter, starring one Renee Zellweger as Peter Rabbit author Beatrix Potter and one Ewan McGregor as her publisher/paramour.
I saw this dude handing out passes for it yesterday in SoHo and knew I HAD to check it out, if only so I could have my first (FREE, even) moviegoing experience with New Yorkers. It was a comforting lesson in culture: no matter how comparatively less cool I may feel by not being a native New Yorker, any airs of aloofness or jaded suaveness disappear at an advance screening of an Oscar bait movie.
Each and every person around me — from the chatty gay Jews to the mop-topped Napoleon Dynamite NYU student to the 50-something sisters who were in line behind me — became just as dorky and annoying as the clueless Ohioans who used to attend all the press screenings in Loews Richmond with me last summer.
For the first time since my arrival here, I felt a sense of authority and purpose. New Yorkers may have a lot on me in terms of style, cultural options and definitely money, but my film buff skills are still up to snuff.
After the movie (which was very good — will end up being marketed pretty much exactly like Finding Neverland, which it so obviously wants to be) I even got to participate in a discussion about the film with a marketer from the studio and 19 other New Yorkers. Everyone seemed to be in concordance with my observation that Emily Watson's character, while very humorous, was most likely a lesbian and wanted Renee Z real bad.
It was a fantastic ending to a thoroughly enjoyable day in the city. But as my much-anticipated fall preview issue of New York informed me today, I have many many more where those came from in store these next three months...
First off, one of the many wonderful things about my job is the endless access I have to free copies of pretty much every magazine you can think of — and many you wouldn't (Atlanta Peach, a quarterly horse trainers mag, etc., the Capitol Hill lifetsyle mag, etc.) As I was telling the fabulously British Claire, "it's like a crack whore diving into a dumpster full of used needles" for this magazine addict.
Also in talking with Claire, I learned what I should have noticed from reading AdAge for the last month: there really isn't anyone actively covering music advertising at the magazine — "one of the most over-loooked sectors of the industry, I'm afraid," Claire said impeccably. I told her I would be happy to fill that void, and to prove it, I got started on my first pitched story: a quick piece on the Yahoo! Music promotion Jessica Simpson has where you can have your first name inserted into the second verse of "Public Affair" and buy your very own copy. It's more than a little ridiculous (hey anyone named Zera, Tuma and Kimball — Jessica made sure you were included!) which is why it will make for such a fun story.
After knocking out a quick story on Godiva, I bussed it over to Chelsea, which I immediately fell in love with. Where else can you see a billboard for gay.com that's just as large as the anti-abortion ones that used to decorate my drive to and from Columbus?
I also ate quite possibly the best burger I've ever had at the inventively named New York Burger Company. Everything about it was perfection. The bun was flaky and flavorful. The burger was cooked just right and well seasoned. The tomatoes were extremely fresh and of the cherry persuasion. And the selection of condiments was ridiculous — more than 10. I opted for the Chipotle honey myself. A wise choice.
I was then off to an advance screening of Miss Potter, starring one Renee Zellweger as Peter Rabbit author Beatrix Potter and one Ewan McGregor as her publisher/paramour.
I saw this dude handing out passes for it yesterday in SoHo and knew I HAD to check it out, if only so I could have my first (FREE, even) moviegoing experience with New Yorkers. It was a comforting lesson in culture: no matter how comparatively less cool I may feel by not being a native New Yorker, any airs of aloofness or jaded suaveness disappear at an advance screening of an Oscar bait movie.
Each and every person around me — from the chatty gay Jews to the mop-topped Napoleon Dynamite NYU student to the 50-something sisters who were in line behind me — became just as dorky and annoying as the clueless Ohioans who used to attend all the press screenings in Loews Richmond with me last summer.
For the first time since my arrival here, I felt a sense of authority and purpose. New Yorkers may have a lot on me in terms of style, cultural options and definitely money, but my film buff skills are still up to snuff.
After the movie (which was very good — will end up being marketed pretty much exactly like Finding Neverland, which it so obviously wants to be) I even got to participate in a discussion about the film with a marketer from the studio and 19 other New Yorkers. Everyone seemed to be in concordance with my observation that Emily Watson's character, while very humorous, was most likely a lesbian and wanted Renee Z real bad.
It was a fantastic ending to a thoroughly enjoyable day in the city. But as my much-anticipated fall preview issue of New York informed me today, I have many many more where those came from in store these next three months...
British invasion!
I just met my other Media editor, Claire, and she - like the EIC - is British, too! I love this job more and more by the second...
Sunday, August 27, 2006
What will you do when your suntan is fading and the summer's gone?
So in the frenzy of adjusting to the newness and excitement of all things NYC, I was a little startled when I called my dad earlier this evening.
"Hey Dad. What's up?"
"Oh nothing, just reading this 'Pop Quiz' in today's Dispatch..."
"Wait, 'Pop Quiz..' Wha-"
Then I remembered. My music labels/Flaming lips package ran today!
http://dispatch.com/features-story.php?story=dispatch/2006/08/27/20060827-F1-00.html
http://dispatch.com/features-story.php?story=dispatch/2006/08/27/20060827-F1-02.html
And I'm ecstatic about the results from a clip perspective. Pat Kastner desgined a fantastic graphic to accompany the rock glossary, and I even assembled a batch of songs and bands to represent each genre for the web site:
http://www.dispatch.com/multimedia/multimedia.php?story=dispatch/2006/extras/genres/genres.html
A lot of them are dead giveaways — Dashboard for Emo, Fall Out Boy for pop-punk, DMB for jam bands, etc. — but I'm still proud of sneaking Goldfrapp and Camera Obscura on the Dispatch web site.
The story itself was written with the 60-year-old clueless grandparent with two teenagers to shop for at Christmas and birthdays in mind first, but with the would-be hipsters at Alive a close second. I'm sure someone has already blogged about the Dispatch's lame attempt to put their stamp on indie musical genres, but I don't really care. It was tons of fun to write and it looks rill pretty.
In other news, my love affair with New York continues.
Christie did in fact materialize — after what was apparently a marathon night of drinking in the financial district that left her surprised to be home safely in Flatbush and with a Dunkin' Donuts sandwich in her fridge.
So she took me to Ground Zero, which was too surreal and intense for me to process at the time. I was in too much of a happy-to-be-in-the-city mood to really take in the fact that we were standing right by the site of the most horrifying historical event of my lifetime. Luckily I still took time to look at all the photos, walk around the perimeter of the site and even check out St. Paul's Chapel, which was most powerful of all. The videos and the cot where victims slept on definitely got my throat all tingly.
In a rather abrupt shift of tone, we then ventured out to the Chelsea Pier and watched some sweet breakdancers and ate some truly terrible food court grub. I found myself rushing to a McDonald's to rid my body of the toxins supplied by the "Cuban" portion of the pier's food court.
I then returned to the Pier hours later with Joey, Mary and their Late Show friends to see Absinthe, a raunchy cabaret show increasingly growing in popularity around the city. It just got two big mentions in New York and Time Out last week, each with the same photo of a fire-eating burlesque performer. It was so popular that Joey was able to convince everyone that the free tickets he had booked us were "sold out," but, as he later confided in me, he didn't get the right manager to approve his comp tix so he was worried he might be in trouble at work the next day (he wasn't, thank God.)
So while we had no Absinthe, we did get some cheap ($3-$6, not bad) booze at my new favorite bar, Milano's. I say new favorite only because of how unimpressive it was. It's a narrow, claustrophobic, unassuming little bar in SoHo (right by the Will & Grace building!!!) with photos of previous clientele around the wall and a big bass drum with a vintage print of Sinatra on it. There was one bartender working the whole bar, and a noisy juke box that made conversations hard to carry in inside voices. I fucking loved it.
The rest of the night was a bit of a bust, and I spent wayyy too much money on booze for what amounted to no lasting buzz and no random play. Just a slightly tipsy subway ride home that was much safer than the one the night before.
As for today, it rained all bloody day, but I didn't let that stop me from window shopping for the better part of three hours in SoHo. I managed to weave in and out of every boutique and trendy retailer imaginable (H&M, Zara, Label, Puma, Paul Frank, etc.) and walked away with socks from Old Navy (I only brought three pairs of white ones!) and a Sunday Times.
And I will end this post by saying how much I love the fact that the Sunday Times is a full buck fifty cheaper than it is Ohio!!! And today's Fall Fashion issue — with surprising cover girl Catherine Keener — is a whopping 300 pages, making for one heavy ass newspaper. And I'm about to plunge into it for the rest of this wet, mellow day.
"Hey Dad. What's up?"
"Oh nothing, just reading this 'Pop Quiz' in today's Dispatch..."
"Wait, 'Pop Quiz..' Wha-"
Then I remembered. My music labels/Flaming lips package ran today!
http://dispatch.com/features-story.php?story=dispatch/2006/08/27/20060827-F1-00.html
http://dispatch.com/features-story.php?story=dispatch/2006/08/27/20060827-F1-02.html
And I'm ecstatic about the results from a clip perspective. Pat Kastner desgined a fantastic graphic to accompany the rock glossary, and I even assembled a batch of songs and bands to represent each genre for the web site:
http://www.dispatch.com/multimedia/multimedia.php?story=dispatch/2006/extras/genres/genres.html
A lot of them are dead giveaways — Dashboard for Emo, Fall Out Boy for pop-punk, DMB for jam bands, etc. — but I'm still proud of sneaking Goldfrapp and Camera Obscura on the Dispatch web site.
The story itself was written with the 60-year-old clueless grandparent with two teenagers to shop for at Christmas and birthdays in mind first, but with the would-be hipsters at Alive a close second. I'm sure someone has already blogged about the Dispatch's lame attempt to put their stamp on indie musical genres, but I don't really care. It was tons of fun to write and it looks rill pretty.
In other news, my love affair with New York continues.
Christie did in fact materialize — after what was apparently a marathon night of drinking in the financial district that left her surprised to be home safely in Flatbush and with a Dunkin' Donuts sandwich in her fridge.
So she took me to Ground Zero, which was too surreal and intense for me to process at the time. I was in too much of a happy-to-be-in-the-city mood to really take in the fact that we were standing right by the site of the most horrifying historical event of my lifetime. Luckily I still took time to look at all the photos, walk around the perimeter of the site and even check out St. Paul's Chapel, which was most powerful of all. The videos and the cot where victims slept on definitely got my throat all tingly.
In a rather abrupt shift of tone, we then ventured out to the Chelsea Pier and watched some sweet breakdancers and ate some truly terrible food court grub. I found myself rushing to a McDonald's to rid my body of the toxins supplied by the "Cuban" portion of the pier's food court.
I then returned to the Pier hours later with Joey, Mary and their Late Show friends to see Absinthe, a raunchy cabaret show increasingly growing in popularity around the city. It just got two big mentions in New York and Time Out last week, each with the same photo of a fire-eating burlesque performer. It was so popular that Joey was able to convince everyone that the free tickets he had booked us were "sold out," but, as he later confided in me, he didn't get the right manager to approve his comp tix so he was worried he might be in trouble at work the next day (he wasn't, thank God.)
So while we had no Absinthe, we did get some cheap ($3-$6, not bad) booze at my new favorite bar, Milano's. I say new favorite only because of how unimpressive it was. It's a narrow, claustrophobic, unassuming little bar in SoHo (right by the Will & Grace building!!!) with photos of previous clientele around the wall and a big bass drum with a vintage print of Sinatra on it. There was one bartender working the whole bar, and a noisy juke box that made conversations hard to carry in inside voices. I fucking loved it.
The rest of the night was a bit of a bust, and I spent wayyy too much money on booze for what amounted to no lasting buzz and no random play. Just a slightly tipsy subway ride home that was much safer than the one the night before.
As for today, it rained all bloody day, but I didn't let that stop me from window shopping for the better part of three hours in SoHo. I managed to weave in and out of every boutique and trendy retailer imaginable (H&M, Zara, Label, Puma, Paul Frank, etc.) and walked away with socks from Old Navy (I only brought three pairs of white ones!) and a Sunday Times.
And I will end this post by saying how much I love the fact that the Sunday Times is a full buck fifty cheaper than it is Ohio!!! And today's Fall Fashion issue — with surprising cover girl Catherine Keener — is a whopping 300 pages, making for one heavy ass newspaper. And I'm about to plunge into it for the rest of this wet, mellow day.
Saturday, August 26, 2006
Oh, dream weaver. I believe we can make it through the night...
I just woke up from a terrible dream — a nightmare, if you will — that I was back in Tiffin, going back to COLUMBIAN, to finish my degree at Kent. I was forced to take three classes, one of which involved pie baking. I remember thinking, how am I going to pull of baking a pie when I can barely make macaroni free of errors?
The only solace I found in the dream was the fact that I was wearing white patent leather shoes — something the non-dream me has wanted for months now — and a belt to match. But no amount of amazing fashion accessories in TIffin could replace being in New York. Especially this weekend.
Last night I caught up with some old broadcast buddies — Mary Traina and Joey Seaman — at the Upright Citizens Brigade for a mostly hysterical two hours of improv comedy. If the name sounds familiar, that's because UCB used to be a Comedy Central show starring Amy Poehler, who still does shows there most Sunday nights with ASSSSCat 3000. The best part about all the shows? They're only $8!
After UCB we moseyed over to a diner right by Madison Square Garden and feasted on fries, pancakes and tiramisu (the latter would be mine, thanks). We wanted to go out but needed to find a place to accomodate Mary and her underage sister, so we settled on Opaline, which was on 39th and 5th. Keyword being was — only after we got there did Mary's friend Boomer realize it had moved to the West Village.
So rather than force our tired bodies to get drunk, dance and somehow make it home at 12:20 on a Friday, we decided to call it a night and regroup tonight for a burlesque show and some serious boozing. The best part? The burlesque show will be FREE, courtesy of Joey's part-time job selling tickets on Broadway. Between all of our connections — mine at Ad Age, Mary at Transistor, Joey on Broadway and Boomer on the Late Show — we will probably do some sweet-ass stuff this fall for little to no money.
Unfortunately, all the money in the world does not make the V train pick you up any faster after-hours on a Friday night, so I found myself improvising my way home. After waiting a good half hour for a D or V train to come, I ultimately hopped on the A to 125th, walked through Harlem for the longest 15 minutes of my life (the only other white person I encountered was a cop, natch), hopped on the 6 and finally got off at 96th. It was a riskly 90-minute commute, but it probably would have been even longer had I decided to wait for the buses that could have taken me home on a route that actually made sense to travel.
Nonetheless, I am home in one piece and stinky as hell — all this walking and waiting in the steamy subway queues makes an out-of-shape boy work up a pretty decent sweat. So it's shower time, then track down Christie for the afternoon of Chelsea and visiting the WTC she promised me.
The only solace I found in the dream was the fact that I was wearing white patent leather shoes — something the non-dream me has wanted for months now — and a belt to match. But no amount of amazing fashion accessories in TIffin could replace being in New York. Especially this weekend.
Last night I caught up with some old broadcast buddies — Mary Traina and Joey Seaman — at the Upright Citizens Brigade for a mostly hysterical two hours of improv comedy. If the name sounds familiar, that's because UCB used to be a Comedy Central show starring Amy Poehler, who still does shows there most Sunday nights with ASSSSCat 3000. The best part about all the shows? They're only $8!
After UCB we moseyed over to a diner right by Madison Square Garden and feasted on fries, pancakes and tiramisu (the latter would be mine, thanks). We wanted to go out but needed to find a place to accomodate Mary and her underage sister, so we settled on Opaline, which was on 39th and 5th. Keyword being was — only after we got there did Mary's friend Boomer realize it had moved to the West Village.
So rather than force our tired bodies to get drunk, dance and somehow make it home at 12:20 on a Friday, we decided to call it a night and regroup tonight for a burlesque show and some serious boozing. The best part? The burlesque show will be FREE, courtesy of Joey's part-time job selling tickets on Broadway. Between all of our connections — mine at Ad Age, Mary at Transistor, Joey on Broadway and Boomer on the Late Show — we will probably do some sweet-ass stuff this fall for little to no money.
Unfortunately, all the money in the world does not make the V train pick you up any faster after-hours on a Friday night, so I found myself improvising my way home. After waiting a good half hour for a D or V train to come, I ultimately hopped on the A to 125th, walked through Harlem for the longest 15 minutes of my life (the only other white person I encountered was a cop, natch), hopped on the 6 and finally got off at 96th. It was a riskly 90-minute commute, but it probably would have been even longer had I decided to wait for the buses that could have taken me home on a route that actually made sense to travel.
Nonetheless, I am home in one piece and stinky as hell — all this walking and waiting in the steamy subway queues makes an out-of-shape boy work up a pretty decent sweat. So it's shower time, then track down Christie for the afternoon of Chelsea and visiting the WTC she promised me.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Everyone should write a concert review at some point in their lives...
...that way you can Google yourself months later and discover amazing threads such as these devoted to your musical opinions:
http://www.vh1.com/artists/boards/main.jhtml/goo_goo_dolls/ViewThread?tID=1112042&mID=5531429&offset=0&index=0
My personal favorite comment on my vicious ripping apart of the Goo Goo Dolls:
"As for critics, isn't it great that we live in a country where we can legally own our own thoughts? This man could publish his opinion without fear of prosecution, persecution, or torture. Not enough countries can say that. The man has poor taste. There are starving children, cancer, and AIDS. I have bigger things to worry about. I can't take the time to teach him better taste."
Glad that person at least found the time from their busy schedule of curing cancer and AIDS to check the Goo Goo Dolls message board on VH1.com, of all places, though...
Also, as further proof of how rapidly I'm settling into things here in NY, my first story was finished by noon and up on the site by 2:
http://adage.com/mediaworks/article?article_id=111473
Second one will be up tomorrow. As for the actual magazine, it's pretty much up in the air till Friday as to when/if your stories will actually run in print or if they'll stay online. Chances are neither one is going to make it in this week, and that's fine. I'm still a bit shellshocked by the fact that I've already written two stories ready for publishing in the 48 hours since I've arrived in the city.
Finally, had my first celebrity spotting today. It wasn't much of one, but it still counts. Vanessa Kerry, the blonde daughter of John (not the one who wore the scandalous see-through dress two years back) at Duane Reade pharmacy on 44th and Lexington. I'm almost positive it was her, although she seems to have filled out a little bit from the pictures on Google Images.
If not, oh well. I have mad plans to arrange to see celebrities — guaranteed — in the coming weeks, including checking out Amy Poehler and the Upright Citizens Brigade this weekend. Huzzah!
http://www.vh1.com/artists/boards/main.jhtml/goo_goo_dolls/ViewThread?tID=1112042&mID=5531429&offset=0&index=0
My personal favorite comment on my vicious ripping apart of the Goo Goo Dolls:
"As for critics, isn't it great that we live in a country where we can legally own our own thoughts? This man could publish his opinion without fear of prosecution, persecution, or torture. Not enough countries can say that. The man has poor taste. There are starving children, cancer, and AIDS. I have bigger things to worry about. I can't take the time to teach him better taste."
Glad that person at least found the time from their busy schedule of curing cancer and AIDS to check the Goo Goo Dolls message board on VH1.com, of all places, though...
Also, as further proof of how rapidly I'm settling into things here in NY, my first story was finished by noon and up on the site by 2:
http://adage.com/mediaworks/article?article_id=111473
Second one will be up tomorrow. As for the actual magazine, it's pretty much up in the air till Friday as to when/if your stories will actually run in print or if they'll stay online. Chances are neither one is going to make it in this week, and that's fine. I'm still a bit shellshocked by the fact that I've already written two stories ready for publishing in the 48 hours since I've arrived in the city.
Finally, had my first celebrity spotting today. It wasn't much of one, but it still counts. Vanessa Kerry, the blonde daughter of John (not the one who wore the scandalous see-through dress two years back) at Duane Reade pharmacy on 44th and Lexington. I'm almost positive it was her, although she seems to have filled out a little bit from the pictures on Google Images.
If not, oh well. I have mad plans to arrange to see celebrities — guaranteed — in the coming weeks, including checking out Amy Poehler and the Upright Citizens Brigade this weekend. Huzzah!
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Cause we're all better off in New York...
Three weeks ago, I never would have believed I'd be writing this blog post.
It was just three Wednesdays ago that I was interviewed over the phone for a fall internship with Advertising Age magazine, a publication I was vaguely familiar with through my Magazine Publishing class but hardly something I read avidly. The interview went OK, but I thought I could've sold myself a lot better on some of their questions. I completely choked on the "Where do you get your news from?" question. I didn't even think about blogs, which is where 90% of story ideas come from nowadays.
Nonetheless, here I am from my dorm above the 92nd St. Y on the Upper East Side, fresh from dinner and a quick viewing of the Metropolitan Opera in Central Park, starting a new blog on my new Macbook to commemorate a new chapter in my life.
And what a perfect time to start one.
I am done at Kent State, although I have not graduated. I am quite literally one class away from my degree — a last-minute failure on my part to meet participation points for my online Great Books class caused me to fail the whole class. I was supposed to graduate last Saturday and found out on Thursday that it was going to be an impossibility.
Needless to say, I was a bit of an emotional wreck for the rest of the weekend, which included a road trip with my Dad and Dana to return her to Syracuse. My only comfort amid rampant regretful thoughts of how I could and should be graduating in Kent was the fact that I would be moving to New York City in just three short days.
I'm doing much better now as far as not getting down on myself about not graduating on time, although Sweet Lady New York certainly plays a large part in that. I have already visited Union Square (LOVE it), Times Square (blecch), Grand Central Station (I'll be taking the subway there everyday to get to work on 44th) and, as previously mentioned Central Park (breathtaking view of the city). There are plans for much, more more, including a trip to Chelsea and the World Trade Center this weekend with my friend Christie from high school.
I left Ohio with a lot of loose ends untied (the whole not-graduating thing meant no trip to Kent and therefore no farewell party at my old apartment) but honestly, no regrets. Finishing up an internship, trying to do two classes and moving to New York in a three-week period leaves you absolutely no time to stop and wonder what you're going to miss or think about what you'd like to do before you leave. All you can do is finish up whatever you can and take breaks to sleep.
As a testament to the whirlwind pace of the last three weeks, here's what I've accomplished since flying into LaGuardia yesterday at 2 PM:
--took Super Shuttle to 92nd St. Y (ended up riding for 2 hours because three different people had to be dropped off in Harlem)
--checked in at Y
--hopped on the 6 and imagined I was J. Lo
--realized I was going the completely wrong way to Union Square and ended up in heart of The Bronx
--turned around and went to Union Square
--got treated to dinner at Spice by Christie
--shopped at Virgin on 14th St.
--strolled through (and hated) Times Square
--met my roommate who moves out on Friday (he's studying to get his PhD. in economics from Harvard--yeesh!)
--got lost again, this time by foot, on the way to work this morning
--wiped away drool in anticipation of all the amazing opportunities AdAge will afford me
--started my first story (on this kid's network NBC and Telemundo are launching next month)
--dinner and opera in Central Park
--acquainted self with local grocery store (and fierce Boricua cashiers)
My only regret over the last 24 hours is not having access to a cable TV. Project Runaway is on right now and I'm totally missing it!!! My goal is to find a bar somewhere in Manhattan that has weekly viewing parties (which I totally miss at Union Station!!!)
But that is a minuscule complaint to an otherwise unbelievable arrival in the City That Never Sleeps. I will be pinching myself till early next week that this is actually happening.
Thanks for reading my inaugural post. Stay tuned for updates and, by all means, comment and tell me what's going in your lives as well!
It was just three Wednesdays ago that I was interviewed over the phone for a fall internship with Advertising Age magazine, a publication I was vaguely familiar with through my Magazine Publishing class but hardly something I read avidly. The interview went OK, but I thought I could've sold myself a lot better on some of their questions. I completely choked on the "Where do you get your news from?" question. I didn't even think about blogs, which is where 90% of story ideas come from nowadays.
Nonetheless, here I am from my dorm above the 92nd St. Y on the Upper East Side, fresh from dinner and a quick viewing of the Metropolitan Opera in Central Park, starting a new blog on my new Macbook to commemorate a new chapter in my life.
And what a perfect time to start one.
I am done at Kent State, although I have not graduated. I am quite literally one class away from my degree — a last-minute failure on my part to meet participation points for my online Great Books class caused me to fail the whole class. I was supposed to graduate last Saturday and found out on Thursday that it was going to be an impossibility.
Needless to say, I was a bit of an emotional wreck for the rest of the weekend, which included a road trip with my Dad and Dana to return her to Syracuse. My only comfort amid rampant regretful thoughts of how I could and should be graduating in Kent was the fact that I would be moving to New York City in just three short days.
I'm doing much better now as far as not getting down on myself about not graduating on time, although Sweet Lady New York certainly plays a large part in that. I have already visited Union Square (LOVE it), Times Square (blecch), Grand Central Station (I'll be taking the subway there everyday to get to work on 44th) and, as previously mentioned Central Park (breathtaking view of the city). There are plans for much, more more, including a trip to Chelsea and the World Trade Center this weekend with my friend Christie from high school.
I left Ohio with a lot of loose ends untied (the whole not-graduating thing meant no trip to Kent and therefore no farewell party at my old apartment) but honestly, no regrets. Finishing up an internship, trying to do two classes and moving to New York in a three-week period leaves you absolutely no time to stop and wonder what you're going to miss or think about what you'd like to do before you leave. All you can do is finish up whatever you can and take breaks to sleep.
As a testament to the whirlwind pace of the last three weeks, here's what I've accomplished since flying into LaGuardia yesterday at 2 PM:
--took Super Shuttle to 92nd St. Y (ended up riding for 2 hours because three different people had to be dropped off in Harlem)
--checked in at Y
--hopped on the 6 and imagined I was J. Lo
--realized I was going the completely wrong way to Union Square and ended up in heart of The Bronx
--turned around and went to Union Square
--got treated to dinner at Spice by Christie
--shopped at Virgin on 14th St.
--strolled through (and hated) Times Square
--met my roommate who moves out on Friday (he's studying to get his PhD. in economics from Harvard--yeesh!)
--got lost again, this time by foot, on the way to work this morning
--wiped away drool in anticipation of all the amazing opportunities AdAge will afford me
--started my first story (on this kid's network NBC and Telemundo are launching next month)
--dinner and opera in Central Park
--acquainted self with local grocery store (and fierce Boricua cashiers)
My only regret over the last 24 hours is not having access to a cable TV. Project Runaway is on right now and I'm totally missing it!!! My goal is to find a bar somewhere in Manhattan that has weekly viewing parties (which I totally miss at Union Station!!!)
But that is a minuscule complaint to an otherwise unbelievable arrival in the City That Never Sleeps. I will be pinching myself till early next week that this is actually happening.
Thanks for reading my inaugural post. Stay tuned for updates and, by all means, comment and tell me what's going in your lives as well!
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