Am I Famous Yet?

Does having a photograph published on e-bay make me a famous photographer? Anyone want a groovy Fender bass?

Need To Get Out More

Trixie pointed me to this post, where you can map out all the states you've been to... I need to travel more. Sheesh.



create your own visited states map

No Longer a Cingular Girl

I got my new phone tonight. It was relatively painless - I walked into the Verizon store, told him what I wanted... and he told me he could cancel my Cingular Account right there... If I had my account number, which I didn't.

As fate would have it, Cingular had a store two doors down. So I went there. The guy was with two customers who looked like they were signing up. I told him I just needed my account number.. He was processing some computer info, so he looked at me and said, "So why are you leaving us?"

"Cingular doesn't work on my couch at home (or my office, or on the road between work and the office... I silently added)." I looked at the two newbies. "I"m sure it'll work great for you guys!"

They looked at me. "What town do you live in?" (great, I thought) I told them.

They looked at each other.

"What street?"

(Oh phooey!) I didn't want to tell them - but then they guessed! "Uh. Yeah!" I said. It's a known dead spot.

Then they just looked at each other. I *assured* them they'd be just fine and left as quickly as possible.

_____________

Oh. In High school news, I attended my neice's choral ensemble dinner theater the other night. My 16-year old neice did her thing on stage, and it was lovely... Until their choir director sang not one, but FOUR duets with her high school student. What really creeped me out was that she sang FOUR LOVE DUETS with a student. I've never seen anything like it and I'm not over it yet. I actually sent her an e-mail telling her she creeped me out (I was nicer than that about the whole thing. I said something like "You have a very lovely voice - and I'm sure there are adult choirs or bands that would be thrilled to have you...") I just really needed her to know that students should sing at student concerts - and teacher's shouldn't call such creepity-creepy attention to themselves.

(For all you Broadway buffs out there, she sang "All I ask of You" from Phantom of the Opera with a 16-year old kid.

ew.

She merely sent me a note back saying thanks for the note - and she'd keep it in mind for next year.

Dave Picks with The Greats

I sent Dave to a banjo workshop with Tony Trishka, one of the world's best banjo players. (It's Dave's birthday present - even if Dave's birthday isn't till June). If you listen to NPR's 'Car Talk,' you've heard Tony. He plays the theme song. Tony is the inspiration of Bela Fleck, and all the banjo greats you HAVEN'T heard... And he's nice. Here are some photos of Tony, Dave, and Tony playing Dave's banjo.

(Thanks to our friend Don, for taking pics!)

Social Marketing (Rated PG-13)

Yesterday, I came across a company called Better World. They do something called social marketing – which combines traditional advertising and public relations techniques to promote healthy living. They’re responsible for such campaigns as “HIV Stops With Me,” “Ex-Prisoners are Family Too,” “The Biggest Threat (to your teen is you),” and “the ever popular “METH: The Good, The Bad, The Ugly.”

I have to say this up front, because 1) I respect the type of work they're doing. 2) I'm glad SOMEONE is doing this work, and 3)from here on out, my blog story gets ridiculous.

Better World has a campaign, through the San Francisco (and now Santa Clara and Seattle) Dept. of Health called “Healthy Penis.” (I will link it later – now try to focus and read my story. Hey! Dave! Don’t touch that mouse! READ!) The campaign features a costumed mascot penis, and a costumed red raspberry-type character named Phil the Syphilis Sore (I know. I hate costumed mascots – but I’m writing about this anyway). There are also cartoon advertisements, toy healthy penises and palm cards that say 'get tested!'

I found an article on the web, via Dave Barry's Blog regarding the Healthy Penis character. I sent it to the boys in my band – just to make them giggle a little. I didn’t post a subject… Just a link to an article, complete with photo of the Caucasian-Costumed version of Healthy Penis – and an article talking about the campaign moving from San Fran to Santa Clara, California. (He was leaving because his work in San Fran was done. Cases of Syphilis had gone way down) They actually had a going away party for the costumed mascot.

This is high-end marketing, my friends. (It's high-end whenever there's food, btw.)

My e-mail sparked the following comments from the band (note: This is about a penis costume. It’s not meant to be disgusting, but if you have an issue, please feel free to stop reading my post now. I won’t be offended – and you shouldn’t be either. Please remember that the band saw only a photo of the caucasian costumed Healthy Penis Mascot):

Fran: OK guys....Kelly has just found our new band outfits (for the 3 of us)....let's see, if we gotta wear these getups, what's Kelly gonna wear?

Dave: Do they come with a reattachable hood for Gentiles?

Scott: I think the bass player should dress up as "Phil the red-faced syphilis sore…. Did you notice that the costume is white? I think it's a genocidal plot to save the white race while destroying black and latino communities through a syphilis epidemic. Probably Bush's doing.

(Scott likes to try to spurn me on about politics… I like to spurn back, so I wrote):

Kelly: The question - Where does one draw the line? Three Penises and only One Disease? Just Syphilis? What about those suffering AIDS or Ghonorea - or CRABS? Why leave them out? I think it's Bush's fault.
So the solution is clearly to even the score. We need three or four penises, and at least a dozen cauliflower-shaped diseases. While we're at it, why not just build a theme park?
Hey! I hear Mall of America just ended their relationship with United Features Syndicate, and no longer have Snoopy - Why not theme the mall with Healthy Penises? Think of the video games, t-shirts, and endorsements! "Kobe Bryant has a Heathy Penis.... Do you?"
Does anyone want to talk about this any more?

Dave then suggested we call my new penis-clad (cough, cough) band “The Lean Mean Schween Machine.”

I suggested a few names at this point that I won’t share with you guys, in case the offended person is, for some reason, still reading this post. Anyway, the subject was too tempting, so I Google'd the Healthy Penis Campaign Website (making sure I added "Better World" to the inquiry). It wasn’t hard to find.

And there are penises of all races! Phil the Sore is joined by HIV!

Social Marketing, thy name is diverse! Now go and cure the world from the spread of syphilis… Just know I won’t be hiring the mascot for any parties!

New Writing Assignment: Nonfiction

For anyone (HP) who's interested - the next writing assignment is 500 words on the impact of a world event on you. I had to think about this for a long time - but I think I have a premise. I'll do it this weekend.

Have fun with it!

Family Portrait

I just thought y'all would like to know exactly *how close* my family is... The other day my father called and asked if I'd like to have lunch. I'm always astounded by his last minute invitations (because I rarely make them... because I'm over-busy) - I was even more shocked to find that I was indeed free for lunch. We met at a little diner close to my office. He explained that he was coming from his doctor's office, and what had happened at the visit, and how his bad back was doing.

When we were finished lunch, he hands me a CD. Here. Wanna see the screws in my spine? Knowing my parents don't have a computer, I took the disk. "Uh, sure, Dad. Thanks..."

So, this was two weeks ago. I finally got around to putting it in MY computer. This stuff amazes me, so I thought I'd give you guys a little insider info on my titanium-clad father.

Writing Assignment 4

Here it is. We had to develop a story based on the initial sentence. My assignment is 340 words too long, but that's just how it is. Enjoy. For HP's version of the assignment, click here.

___________________________________
Chris was starting to question the wisdom of this trip. Diagnosed with claustrophobia and Vertigo, Chris Parker suffered from a lifelong fear of flying. What was he doing on an airplane? Chris swallowed another Dramamine (his fourth), and hoped to fall asleep. As he drifted, he pondered the varying degrees of fear in his life. Yes, Chris hated heights. Even more, however, he hated the thought of living the rest of his life alone…

He not only lost his favorite car in the divorce, but also his social standing. His married male friends found his singlehood threatening. His brother offered too much advice. Despite the multiple infidelities, his ex-wife's friends quickly chose her side.

Chris wasn't getting any younger. At 47, he was convinced if he didn't find a new partner, he'd die a pathetic soul — like Eleanor Rigby, Boo Radley, or worse yet - his embittered father.

It was this particular fear that prompted him to sign onto an Internet dating site. He was quite specific. He was not looking for a casual fling. Deciding honesty was the best policy; Chris stated his intentions clearly:

“What I'm looking for is a new life. I'm not exactly a trophy, so you don't have to be one either. If you're under 170-pounds with a well-proportioned body, a good sense of humor, and independence, read on. If you don't own cats, are willing to tolerate my occasional trip to the betting parlor, and have some sort of life-supporting job, we just may go together. Please. Only serious inquiries need bother writing.”

His honesty didn't garner a lot of interest, but one woman took the bait. Her name was Rhonda. She said she managed a restaurant, and found his demeanor oddly charming. She even sent a photo. Aside from her over-processed red permanent, she was not entirely unpleasant to look at. If anything, she had similar goals and was willing to give him a shot.

Swallowing his fears, Chris threw low expectations and high hopes into an overnight bag. He purchased a plane ticket and tried to knock himself out for the 4-hour flight.

Falling asleep immediately upon takeoff in Chicago, Chris dodged the bullet that made flying a nightmare. He was still groggy when the plane landed in Denver. Deciding a quick cocktail might further calm his nerves for his connecting flight, Chris downed a martini at the airport bar. Immediately regretting this decision, Chris popped an antacid.

After a long delay, and another round of pills, Chris finally boarded. As the 747 taxied across the long, terrifying runway, Chris turned green. The woman next to him leaned toward the window.

Chris silently prayed, “God, if you get me through this flight, I'll start believing in you… It'd help your cause a lot if Rhonda were my next destiny…. Um, Amen.”

He inhaled slowly. He thought about Rhonda with her red hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. He thought of her restaurant, and the kinds of food her chef may be preparing… For some reason, he pictured liver. His stomach churned, so he desperately thought of Rhonda somewhere else — anywhere else…even the beach… Yes. The beach.

He exhaled deliberately, envisioning her red hair whipping in the wind. He could feel sand blowing around his feet. This annoyed him enough to open his eyes. When he remembered where he was, his stomach gave it's final warning churn. Chris, amidst protests from the seat-belted crew, Rushed down the crowded aisle, and dove into the lavatory. There, he spent the remainder of the flight, kneeling at the foot of the commode, wishing he had met some nice cyber-girl from Evanston.

At long last, the plane stopped moving. The stewardess forgot about him, or she'd have required him to return to his seat for landing. Chris shivered as he tried to shake his legs awake. The last to deplane, he wobbled down the staircase and into the crowed terminal.

Barely recovered, the spinning carousels of baggage claim caused a new wave of dizziness. Chris found that if he turned his head and looked in such a way that he could only see the very tops of the luggage in the periphery, he could control his nausea. He blindly reached for his bag, accidentally shoving a mother and baby from their path.

The outdated loudspeaker of LAX sputtered, “Paging Mr. Parker. Mr. Chris Parker. Please pick up any red courtesy phone for a message. Chris Parker, pick up the red courtesy phone for a message.”

Kellifornia's Wedding Adventures

As the Beach Boys so aptly said, ‘The East Coast Girls are hip….”

They’re right. We are.

And if all the other ECG’s are like me, they’re also poor planners. Every time I pack for a trip, I bring the wrong stuff. In February, I didn’t pack correctly for 85-degree West Palm Beach weather. I figured February would mean cold weather – so I packed pants. So to prepare for Santa Barbara, I packed for warm weather…. I wasn’t expecting the 55-degree weekend I got. Weather (and airline travel) aside, it was a lovely weekend in a beautiful place. I flew out to photograph (and be a guest at) my friend, Alison’s wedding. Enjoy the pics. I’m told I merely need to multiply my current salary by a billion or so, and I could live there!

The day began with breakfast and makeup. Our Hollywood makeup artist taught us the “Hollywood Way” of accepting compliments when you hate accepting compliments: “Just say thank you then (she points to her head) and then you think to yourself, “I know!”
Ok. A word on Al’s past – her mom died when she was fifteen. Shortly after, she got pretty close to her uncle. He got ordained so he could perform the ceremony… And the wedding was lovely. Al planned to wed on the beach, but the weather sent us into city hall’s clock tower (I’m told this tower is in a lot of TV shows).


Alison is also, like me, a wedding photographer. After shooting hundreds of ceremonies, she decided to go small. I like that.
Upon our arrival, another couple was getting married, so we waited until they were done and took our places (all 8 of us.) We took our places with a mountain backdrop. As soon as the ceremony began, a member of the previous wedding party marched right in the middle and asked if anyone had seen a camera. It was kinda funny… But cute.
After the wedding, we went to dinner. It was lovely. The whole weekend was lovely.


So enjoy the pics!

6AM EST; 3AM PACIFIC

If you consider I'm on West Coast Time, I've been either in Airplanes or Airports for about 13 hours. United Airlines was having a bad day. In Chicago this AM, at 8, plane censors said the plane was unbalanced. The guy sitting next to me said the gnomes were in the belly of the plane, frantically repositioning luggage... It took an hour and a half to fix. We sat on the tarmac for an hour and a half... No drinks, no snacks...

(Maybe I'm too tired to be blogging)

When the plane finally flew, they didn't serve food - which was rude. I missed my connecting flight, so I sat in LAX for four hours waiting for the next flight...

All to photograph a wedding.

But I must say, the flight up the coast was lovely in the sunset. California's rolling green hills and lovely lovely ocean bring to mind Kermit and Fozzie Bear, singing "Gee, I've never seen the sun come up in the west..."

Ok. That's it. Because if I keep typing, it'll just be nasty. I did meet a nice custommer service rep. AND! Chad at the hotel helped me with my computer, so all told, not the worst day...

Writing Assignment 3, or I Hate The Misuse of Costumed Mascots

I know I've blogged about this before, but since I'm posting all of my writing assignments, here it is. For blog purists out there, I can say this is a neater, more concise version of the previous post... At least there's that.

Upcoming Topics:

Crabby John Gets Married
Santa Barbara Wedding (Not Crabby John's)
Further Installments of Band Gigs at Seasons Grille

________________

Recently, I attended a classy birthday party at an upscale restaurant. The host wore a silk Versace shirt and velvet blazer. The guests looked as if they were ready for a theater premiere. Danny, the guest of honor was ceremoniously presented with picture perfect gifts: the key to a new BMW Z4 M Roadster, a rare emerald-cut diamond ring, and a cake sheathed in edible gold leaf.

It was a perfect night.

Danny’s sister thought she’d surprise her brother with a big 'ol gift of her own, in the form of chicken-costumed singing telegram. The bird arrived, looking like it had scrabbled up the elevator shaft. The yellow costume was natty, matted, and saggy. It looked like it smelled. During the bird’s routine, no one moved, laughed, or responded. In short, the chicken’s presence proved nothing but fowl.

It’s not the first time I’ve seen costumed mascots perform inappropriately at inappropriate events. A singing gorilla-gram graced a recent wedding reception. It made penis hats out of balloons. It stripped down to a tasseled brassiere. I was specifically embarassed when, following the gorilla’s exit, the flower girl danced madly about in the penis hat.

If I’m not at Disneyworld, Chuck E. Cheese’s, or a major sporting event, spare me the costumed mascots. If for some reason, you simply have to have one, then a few rules should be observed:

1) Costumed mascots should only make appearances if the costume is high-end, good looking, and well maintained… When the costume is natty, fragmented, incomplete, smelly, torn, cracked, or dirty, it should be cleaned, repaired and reconsidered.

2) Costumed mascots should only appear if the material is appropriate for all ages present.

3) If a costumed mascot is required for some reason that feeds into some warped private joke – or a patriotic duty to feed into someone’s economy, limit the costumed mascot’s appearance house parties. Don’t subject your costumed mascot to an unintended audience (see rule 2). Other appropriate events include grand openings, children’s birthday parties, and of course, civic events like fairs…

4) Costumed mascoteers should be professional, energetic, and charming at all times. If you can’t support the humungous head of your costume, find another. If the tail is too long and must be carried, cut it off. If a child runs by and kicks you, do not retaliate.

The way I look at it, the artists and writers who slaved over drawings, storyboard meetings, script revisions, and cel after cel of animation work hard. Their creations should not be dishonored by cheap imitations, inappropriate banter, bad singing, or poor placement. If these characters were flesh and blood, their managers would never allow them to appear at the wrong place looking badly.

Stop the madness. Limit costumed mascots to their appropriate place, time and appearance.

Six Things I Hate

This week’s Writing Assignment asks me to list five things I hate. I can’t believe how quickly I came up with five things I hate:

1) Home Parties
2) Costumed Mascots
3) People who leave the empty toilet paper roll hanging on the spool (the epitome of laziness)
4) “Dogs who return to their vomit” – In other words, people who keep making the same mistake over and over and over again
5) What happened at Friday Night’s gig

I’ve blogged about most of this list (barring the toilet paper – but it just ticks me off. There isn’t a story about it.) I haven’t had the opportunity to blog about item five yet – and will do so now.

On Friday, the band played at our perpetual monthly restaurant. We love it there. We have regulars. It’s great when people come and tell me about shows they’ve seen in New York: “Kelly, you’ll love Jersey Boys!” I’m not sure how he knows I’d love it, but I love that he thought of me about it. We love the couple that always comes in for the first hour of our set and leaves when dinner is done. I love them because they never read menus. They have an arrangement with John, the chef. He just makes them what he thinks they’ll like. It’s possible that he doesn’t even know their names!

We love that the owner just bought a new puppy and named her “Cuervo.” We love the middle-aged couple that never misses our shows - I think it’s mostly an opportunity for them to make out at the bar.

A new guy came in on Friday. He sat at the bar – sort of right next to
Dave. He asked us to play a song. “Sorry, Man,” said Dave. “ I know it – but we don’t have it worked out.”

“But it’s only four chords!” replied the Jerk-off.

This ticked Dave off. I hadn’t heard the exchange, or I’d have been ticked too. I was busy singing a song with at least 6 or 7 chords.

To make matters worse, I was already having an off night. I broke my “A” string right at the beginning of the set. In an attempt to keep things rolling, I grabbed Fran’s extra guitar. The cheap leather strap immediately broke. This caused my throat to tighten. I never really “got it back” that night. I was off, I felt like I wasn’t always on key – and I was looking forward to going home.

As we were packing up, the jerk from the bar came over to me and said, “I’ll give you a nice tip if you play Dueling Banjos.” Dave cringed. He reluctantly agreed, for the sake of keeping our client’s clients happy. He retrieves his banjo from the case. The jerk-off customer hands me a ten (I don’t mean to sound ungrateful here, but $10, divided by four is NOT a great tip. It felt cheap. At times like this, I’d rather not be tipped at all.)

So we play the song. We play another. Jerk-off is happy as happy can be. He pulls me aside. “I have a restaurant not far from here. I’d like you guys to play there… I have to tell you, though I advertise. And that costs hundreds of dollars, so you’ll have to play the first gig or two for free. If you draw, we’ll start paying you.”

I glared. I took his number and said, “We’ll talk.”

I waited until he left and looked at my band. “Do I look EIGHTEEN? Do I look like he’s doing me such a great favor? Do we sound like we just started playing last week? Do I look like I'm auditioning here?” Fran piped in, “You know, Paula’s (local band chick) band plays there – and I know they make (he stated their minimum compensation)” Yeah.

Maybe Jerk-off was drunk and didn’t know what he was saying. If I call him, and if he starts that “free gig” stuff again – I’ll have to politely turn him down. I can be gracious. I can tell him we’d really like to play at his establishment, but if we do, we will charge. I'll be nice. I promise!

Before Jerk-off left that night, he asked us if we played any Kingston Trio. (Has anyone seen my eyes? They just rolled outta my head.) My band will agree with me - so without reservation, I must inform you that the Kingston Trio is number six on the list of things I hate.

A Failed Shopping Experience

I was in New York City last weekend. The goal was to do a little shopping. I failed. I walked into Lord & Taylor - and couldn't circumvent the Botoxed beauties lining the fragrance and makeup counters - or at least coudn't circumvent all of them. I sampled DKNY's new apple fragrance. (nice) - Decided that Vera Wang's wasn't for me... Then got suckered into a free facial at the Borghese counter.

"I'm sorry," I said, "I've been through the wringer - spent thousands of dollars at the Dermatologist - what makes you think you can fix my skin?" (So glad I asked...) The Borghese line was started by a princess. She fell in love with the healing waters of the land that would soon become the Borghese Spa in Italy. She bought the land - and now, for only 57$, the same facial mud mask that soothed the cheeks of royalty could be mine!

"And besides," said the lady at the counter. "It'll only take 5 minutes!"

Two hours later, she's finishing my makeup. I looked good, I'll admit.

To be honest, I didn't even mind. My friend Audrey and I were having a New York Moment (or 2 hours worth, as the case may be) - discussing everything with the makeup artists from sisters who were on "America's Next Top Model" to what Sarah Jessica Parker looked like when she did a promo thingie at L&T, to children to the hysterical results of Borghese's "Lip Plumper" (It's like my lips got dipped in Novacain - really nutty. "It's not like your friends will notice your lips are bigger - they'll just notice what you're doing with them... LIke what you're doing now!" It's true - I was puckering without realizing it. They were numb!).

It's weird, but over Borghese, we bonded.

At the end of the day, I went home with product that I wasn't intending to buy - but she threw in a free tube of Lip Plumper.

What could be better?

Writing Assignment Two

This week's writing assignment was an exercise in "showing" as opposed to "Telling." I'm a teller - so it was difficult. I was to write a descriptive paragraph that got the following points across:

Loretta and Mick were in a car
They hit a steamer trunk
There was a discussion of drunkeness
They opened the trunk to find a bunch of stuffed animals
They decided to leave the trunk there.

Enjoy


“’Rett? You ‘wake?” Half hoping to awaken her, Mick needed company. He knew what his wife really needed was sleep. A recent money laundering scandal and subsequent round of head rolling kept Loretta working brutal hours at the hospital. The precious little time she wasn’t writing reports, testifying in court, or generally scrambling was spent preparing for her first AMA presentation. Despite the 8-hour drive to an out-of-state hospital, she specifically requested that Mick drive. “I’d only work on the plane, but I’d get sick reading in the car… So if you drive, we can talk – and maybe I can get a little sleep.” She yawned her closing arguments. Mick, always the prudent lawyer, did not object.

Her careful preparations paid off. Although her presentation raised quite a few eyebrows, Loretta’s plan for optimizing ER procedures got her a dinner invitation with the hospital’s board chairman.

As dinner ended, the chairman walked his guests to the parking lot. Mick asked for a hotel referral. “There are closer places – but they’re unsuitable,” said the chairman. Bending, he sketched a quick roadmap on the newly fallen snow. “Easy enough!” With a wave, Mick and Loretta headed to the car.

Mick ushered Loretta into the car. Pulling a credit card from his wallet, he chipped the icy frost from the driver’s side. The cold clawed at his ungloved hands. The half-cleaned view would have to do until the defroster kicked in. Loretta, exhausted, was already asleep in the passenger seat.

The falling snow hitting the half-cleaned windshield was nearly hallucinogenic. Mick cracked the window. Wind rushed around his head. Again, the cold was too much. He closed the window and reached across the lighted dashboard to turn up the defroster.

Without warning, the car hit a something with a hollow, chilled thud. Mick hit the brakes, and instinctively turned the wheel away from the guardrail. Immediately awakening to the sound of rubber skidding across slick pavement, Loretta had no bearings. “What?” she cried. The car spun 270-degrees and stopped. Mick clicked the ignition off. The immediate silence that followed completely engulfed the senses of Mick and his wife.

“You okay?” Mick asked.

“What?” The shock of the collision wasn’t quite enough to shake Loretta from her nap. She shook her head.

“We hit something.”

“Are you drunk?” asked Loretta.

“No! Don’t be ridiculous.” A dent in the car scraped the tire of slush as Mick moved the car to the side of the road. As she stepped out of the car, Loretta’s foot landed in an ankle-deep puddle that revives her senses. “Gaakkk! Brrr!”

They approached the culprit. Sitting squarely in the middle of the road was an old sailor’s steamer trunk. It’s leather exterior scraped, and metal bindings dented with age and hard use. “Where’d this come from?” asked Loretta.

“Do you think we should open it?” She pulled a bobby pin from her failing updo and rattled the tumblers. “Can you do that?” Mick asked.

The lock clicked, combining a dull echo with a warming surge of victory.

Loretta smiled. “I’m a surgeon!”

Mick lifted the lid. The heap of white fur inside seemed to grow long ears, whiskered noses, and crystalline eyes. Loretta lifted one of the plush rabbits from its musty cage. Mick lifted another by the scruff of the neck. In his best mouse voice, Mick’s rabbit quipped, “Kind of a letdown.”

Together, Mick, Loretta and the rabbit closed the lid and drug the trunk to the side of the road. Smiling, Mick took Loretta’s hand and led her back to the car.

“Weird, huh?”

“We’re lucky they were rabbits…”