Retouching

Lately, I've been looking at a lot of other wedding photographer's work - For some reasons to compare myself to them, for other reasons, just to see what's new and exciting... Well, I've found that many photographers are doing a lot of um "Designer Styling" on their photographs - adding blurry or replacement backdrops, spot coloring, spot black and whiting.... you name it... And I've decided to ask what you guys thought. Be honest. If you think these are cheesy, tell me. If you like them, tell me that too! Thanks for your help.

The Deaf DJ & The Tophographer

That's what the flower girl at today's wedding asked me, "Are you the tophographer?"

"Yes, I am. Do you know what a photographer is?"

"No." she answered.

"I take the pictures..."

"Oh," she said, "That's why you have that thing (the camera) around your neck..."

Yeah. I guess having that thing around my neck gives me the right to do cool things like poke fun at the DJ. It's not something I often do, but as one who firmly believes that a DJ's job is to play music, make the occasional announcement, and stay in the background, I must say that I believe I've found the most obnoxious DJ on the face of the planet. His name is Brian - and he reminded the crowd of that fact every time he picked up the microphone - which was often.

The first thing that annoyed me about Brian was that he was late to the reception. When I walked in, mid-cocktail hour, after photographing the bride and groom at the church, the lobby of the venue was full of amps and a hand truck. "Excuse me!" said Brian, pushing his way through the entering bridal party. He grabbed the handtruck and promptly ran over the bride's train.

Ok. So I asked him to go over the schedule with me. He said he didn't have time because the banquet manager was being pushy... So I just kept an eye on him, and could pretty much figure out what was going on.



He did come up to talk to me, but much later, after the introductions and first dance... And when he did, I found it curious that he had a very loud, very monotone speaking voice - as if he were sitting in a subway with all the windows blown out, and needing to be clear when he asked the person sitting next to him for directions: "HEY! I'M REALLY SORRY I DIDN'T HAVE TIME TO TALK TO YOU EARLIER. I'M REALLY, REALLY GOOD AT COMMUNICATING WITH THE PHOTOGRAPHER, BUT THE BANQUET MANAGER WAS BEING REALLY PUSHY ABOUT STARTING INTRODUCTIONS..." (Which was true - but she was pushy because he was late in setting up and beginning the proceedings...)

He also had hearing issues. I realized this because a) he was wearing a hearing aid, and b) because he mentioned to me that he was surprised the sound was so good - usually it wasn't this good (I didn't think it was that good, but what do I know?) I understand hearing loss is probably normal in the industry, but it may be time for Brian to choose another career - like Line Dance instructor (oh, wait - he taught that too last night)

At one point during the evening, he approached me, looked over my shoulder as I was photographing a wedding guest laughing. "HEY THAT'S A REALLY GOOD SHOT RIGHT THERE - SHE WAS SMILING!!!" He then asked if he could see the digital picture. I reluctantly showed him - and he slapped me on the back and said, "GREAT WORK! NICE SHOT!" He later explained "WE'RE DOING THE Y-M-C-A SOON. I HAVE TO TELL YOU, I GO ALL OUT. SOME DJ'S JUST DO THE HATS - BUT I DO THE WHOLE OUTFIT - AND NOT IN THAT CHEAP PLASTIC STUFF EITHER! I'M ALSO GOING TO SHOOT CONFETTI STREAMERS INTO THE CROWD. BE READY! OH - AND BY THE WAY, DID YOU KNOW THAT I STARTED THE WHOLE DRESS UP Y-M-C-A THING? EIGHT YEARS AGO, I WAS THE ONLY ONE DOING IT - BUT NOW EVERY DJ IN WEDDINGS IS DOING IT... BUT I WAS THE FIRST ONE!"

I mentioned this little tidbit to the banquet manager... Just for fun. "Wait. That song is 25 years old... Hey everyone, the DJ started the YMCA costumes! How BOUT that?!!

Then he began doing the things that I hate - and even though I may be a litte grinchy on this issue, as kids DO need to be entertained - but I hate it nonetheless... He started giving out toys - neon whippy things, Cat-In-The-Hat Stovepipe hats, feather boas, plastic tamborines, neon whippy glasses, fairy princess headpieces, magic wands, inflatable microphones, inflatable hands, cowboy hats - and scarecrows for Halloween. It was a little overkill.

Throughout the course of the evening, he also donned an Elvis costume. That's about when I left... The banquet manager and one of the two bartenders that evening were sitting on the outside stoop. "Hey, Kell! We gave the DJ your card and suggested you two work together all the time..."

"Wow. He was really juiced, wasn't he?" I asked...

The other bartender ran out the door - "You have GOT to see this!" he exclaimed. Like fools, we all rushed in.

Brian was standing on the front of the stage. He was playing "That's the Way..." by KC & The Sunshine Band. In his right hand was a card that said "That's the way" - Which he raised with the lyric. He lowered his right hand - and raised his left, to show the lyric "UH-HUH, UH-HUH."

He then flipped the card in his right hand to reveal "I LIKE IT" - followed by the re-raising of his left hand sign.

(On the back of the left card, by the way, was "Doo Doo Doo Doo...." etc...

It takes a lot of planning to be this self-absorbed, doesn't it? I'd always figured that the job of the wedding support staff was to support the bride. After all, it's her day - followed by the groom's, and their family... That's why everyone cringes at bad toasts, obnoxious tophographers, and well, Brian.

I guess I've always felt that the best DJ's around are those who are seen but seldom heard - and unless you're the resurrected Wolfman Jack well, shut up and play the songs... And that's the way, uh-huh, uh-huh - I like it, uh-huh, uh-huh.

The Top Ten Richest So-And-So's in America

I don’t know if I want to editorialize here, but I just read the Forbes 400 richest men list…

Ok, whom am I kidding? Here’s the editorial: The first year after I graduated college (4-year degree), I made 18.5K. A friend, whose father owned a sanitation company in a major American city paid his non-graduate sanitation workers a helluvalot more than I made…

Here are those of the top ten richest people in America who either didn’t finish their college degrees or never went:

1) Bill Gates (Microsoft) – Education: Harvard dropout – Worth: 53 billion

3) Sheldon Adelson (owner of the Sands Casinos – rumor has it that this man purchased the sidewalk outside of his Las Vegas casino so that the union couldn’t picket out front.) Education: City College of New York dropout. Worth: 20 billion

4) Lawrence Joseph Ellison (Oracle Software Corp) Education: University of Illinois dropout – Worth: 19.5 billion

5) Pall Gardner Allen (Microsoft software) – Education: Washington State University dropout – Worth: 16 billion

6) Jim Walton (Wal-Mart heir) – Education: high school – Worth: 15.7 billion

7) Christy Walton & Family (Wal-Mart heir) – Education: high school – Worth: 15.6 billion

9) Michael Dell (Dell Computers) – Education: University of Texas Austin dropout – Worth: 15.5 billion

Now, here are those who went to school:

2) Warren Buffet (Berkshire Hathaway & Investments) – Education: University of Nebraska, with a masters from Columbia – Worth: 46 billion

Tied at 7) Robson Walton (Wal-Mart) – Education: University of Arkansas with a doctorate from Columbia – Worth: 15.6 billion

Tied at 9) Alice Walton (Wal-Mart) – Education: Trinity University of San Antonio – Worth: 15.5 billion.

There you have it. It seems to that to make any money on this planet, I would have needed to be born or married into a rich family, procured a graduate degree at Columbia - or simply dropped out. I think I did it all wrong! (I'm not bitter - honest. This list just struck me as highly ... telling. What does this say about the education situation in America vs. our wills/our initiatives/or dumb luck?)

The Club

About 5 years ago, I found myself stagnating in a job that had absolutely no future. I couldn't move up, I couldn't be more creative, I couldn't get anywhere. I'm not bitching about the job - I'm just stating for the record that I learned a lot from this experience, and a lot happened because of it.

In case you feel like you know where this is heading, I'll put the moral of my story up front: What I learned that when I feel this way about a situation, it's time to get out. There's no shame in moving out, and moving on.

What happened to me in this process was: I got to the point where I was so overwhelmed with my feelings that I could barely get through a day without crying. I never knew crying and driving were possible. I had a hard time justifying my time... I finally broke down, fashioned a white flag out of every Kleenex I could get my hands on and waved it until I needed to wipe my nose.

I scheduled an appointment with a counselor. It was a hard thing to do... Difficult not only because it was expensive, but difficult because I'd always felt I could remain in control and up until then, felt I had the answers to everything I needed.

Luckily, a friend referred me to a counselor who worked for me. (Not every counselor can work with just anyone...) She didn't mind that I cried a lot. She didn't mind that the first thing I said to her was, "I just need you to know that I don't want to be in therapy forever..." She listened and asked a lot of poignant questions that maybe should have seemed obvious, yet weren't. We worked together for maybe a year... And was the only person who correctly suggested that I was suffering from Depression.

If that wasn't a blow - I don't know what is. Depression meant that something besides my personal will was hindering my abilities, my emotions, and my success... It was a lot of things - if not... well, darn depressing.

I e-mailed my doctor, and cried as I typed. He scheduled an appointment with me and felt so badly for me at the end of our teary discussion (my tears, that is), that he actually hugged me when I left (have you hugged YOUR doctor lately?). He prescribed a low dose of Zoloft to see how I would do with it.

A note on depression: Doctors have a wide range of medicines available to them - and each affects people differently. The trick is to find one whose side effects aren't debilitating... There are SSRI's, or Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors (which current research believes affects glutamate, not serotonin), Tricyclic drugs, and Monoamine oxidase inhibitors ... They all work differently. Some block the body's production of certain chemicals (like norepinephrine or dopamine) - so the body works harder to produce more. Others simply aid in the production of chemicals that help us feel better.... I don't want to go into a lot of detail - if you want it, it's more than availble online... Suffice it to say that a lot can go wrong when you're on the wrong type of medication.

Zoloft was the wrong drug. It worked in that it did make the doldrums seem less severe... But it also made the emotional highs less enjoyable. In short, Zoloft rendered me an emotionless lump. I didn't really care to talk to anyone, I didn't go places, I couldn't think of anything to say... The lack of emotion became even more depressing...

What made matters worse was my first weekend on Zoloft. I was talking to my friend, Bob, who out of nowhere, started telling me stories of a social group he once led. He said, "There were some real loonies. My wife and I often commented that we should serve Zoloft Cookies at all of these functions!!" I'm not kidding. I was *this* close to offering him my stash.

After a time, my doctor and I decided to switch meds to Celexa (which I believe is now Lexapro). Both drugs are SSRI's, but I responded very differently to Celexa.

My sense of humor slowly returned. I started to take ownership of the things that were bothering me. I began to feel better. I actually quit my job - because I felt it was really the reason I was feeling so badly in the first place. I told my counselor that it was easier to get through the days... "You know," I said, "I'd like to market a depression kit... It would consist of sunglasses, to hide the fact that I'd been crying... Kleenex, and a bottle of allergy meds..."

"What are the allergy meds for?"

"So when I'm wearing my sunglasses and wiping my eyes, I can pull the bottle out of my pocket, rattle it around, and say, "Damn allergies!" and exit the room sans suspicion of crying.

I knew I was feeling better when I had the courage to start telling other people what I was going through. I realized that many of my friends, their parents, and some of my colleagues had either gone through or were going through the same thing... It was such a great number of people, I started calling it "The Club..." and would frequently have conversations about medications... "Oh really? I didn't try Prozac!" "Zoloft worked for you? That makes one of us!" "What are you trying next? I had a good result with Celexa!" "Have you heard about the depression kit?"
_____

Three or four years ago, I felt better enough to get off the meds (although I reserve the right to start them again if I ever need to.) I learned that there's no shame in depression. In truth, it's probably made me more compassionate, less quick to judge and maybe just a tad more.... vincible.

Oh, and by the way - If you're wondering what I did with my leftover Zoloft? Why I made cookies of course!

I shellacked them and gave them out to my favorite Club Members...

Ay-Chee-Wow-wah!

More from Assateague

I forgot to post this one - Do you suppose this little Sika Deer is under House Arrest? I've never seen a tracking device quite like this one.

Treading Legos

OK Go was bound to produce a few treadmill video spoofs - but this one has got to be the best - and all I can say is that SOMEONE has a lot of time on his/her hands!!!!

Here's the original, if for some reason you missed it (I won't point any fingers, but you know who you are!) (\../)

How I Spent The Rest of My Vacation

I came back from vacation a day early. The moment Dave stepped into the *free* beach house, he got a raging cold. Now, before you think Dave is some pansy with the sniffles, I have to defend him - It was a chest-clinching-coughing-head-so-stuffy-his-eyes-were-bulging-from-his-poor-sad-why-does-this-always-happen-when-I-could-otherwise-be-having-a-satisfying-sick-day kind of cold. Poor guy.

I mention the *free* beach house - because I want you to know how important it is - that when you're sick as a dog, at least you're not shelling out money to sleep someplace...

I mention Dave's cold, because people will wonder why we're home early... Poor Dave. He was a trooper. Once per day he ventured out of the house to either attempt to enjoy a restaurant, or look at the ocean. "Let's go up to the boardwalk, Kell..." he said on Tuesday. We walked about 20 blocks or so before Dave got this "I'm going to die" look on his poor stuffy face and I took him back to the house. He slept, I drove to Asscheek Island (see post below) - to visit those with clear sinuses.

Outside of the obvious disappointment at not being able to do all the cool things we'd planned to do (like rent those silly chariot things on the boardwalk, play music, go to the gem and jewelry show (ok, that's my idea of fun, not Dave's - but he was willing to go!), walk on the beach, ride bikes, drink fruity things with umbrellas in them, watch the Harley's go by (it was "Bike Week" in Ocean City), go see "Little Miss Sunshine (which would've been cool because it's one of the few movies that both Dave and I want to see), and eat fabulous seafood)... But for a bad situation, I have to say, having a quiet week (for me - not poor Dave) wasn't too bad.

Even though I did most of my vacation things alone, I got to hang out on the beach, just get the tiniest sunburn - the kind that doesn't hurt and doesn't peel too badly - see the ponies of Asscheek, buy jewelry from a local store, and even cook a little bit (ok. I realize driving to a restaurant to get takeout one night and reheating a rotisserie chicken doesn't necessarily constitue cooking, per se, but I liked it all right!

So I'm home - a little early. Dave's kind of bummed (but I made him go to the doctor's - and he's now probably sleeping under the influence of whatever prescription he got...) - but I promised we'd find some cool day trips to do this fall...

Asscheek Island (or "How I spent my First Vacation of the Year)

My friend, Mark, calls Assateague Island (one of my favorite corners of the world) "Asscheek Island..." I know - it's catchy, isn't it? Anyway, I thought you'd like to know how the natives of Assateague were faring this afternoon at about 3 pm:




Sorry about the potty humor - I swear, I'm the only one who thinks "Asscheek" is funny, and am a self-diagnosed Potty Humarian.

Fall Festival

We gigged today at a township historical society fall festival. We love this place. It's so full of people who like the kinds of music we play!!!

It's also kind of fun to play at a place where we have scheduled breaks - that are also scheduled activites... Like Watermelon Eating contests.

It was also kind of fun playing at a farm. Here's some of the local wildlife. note the foal pony and the wild tiger!

After seeing the baby, we moved to the next stall where Sadie lived. She is an 11-month old donkey - who was if not adorable and a little bit hungry.

We also saw the largest goat I've ever come across - His name was Carlos - and he was giving people rides during the day's festivities. When I walked over to take the picture, I said to the man at the right, "I'd like to photograph this goat!."

He replied, "That's no way to talk about this woman..." sigh. Everyone's a comedian. Carlos and I weren't amused.

On a more serious note, the festival also had this 1915 hearse on display. I guess there is something to be said for traveling in style. Here's Dave and the buggy.


My only regret was not having enough time to purchase many of the lovingly fashioned handicrafts at the festival - Maybe next year - or better yet, Maybe I can make my own!

Fully Loaded

I recently had lunch with a former co-worker of mine. We worked at a television station together - and had a lot to catch up on. For example, he told me he purchased a replica Volkswagon Beetle Herbie the Lovebug. He takes it to charity events, and was recently invited to the premiere of "Herbie Fully Loaded," along with all the other replica Herbies across the nation.

I asked, "Um, Bob - after the event, I assume you walk into the parking lot into a sea of Herbies. How do you know which one is yours?"

Bob: "Well, on MY Herbie, the interior is wrong..."

Oh how I miss Bob.

My favorite Bob story happened about 11 years ago. Bob agreed to go with me to pick up a manequin a that a local department store was willing to sell. I wanted to use it on a show set. Before we left, I grabbed a football jersey (so I wouldn't be driving through the streets of Allentown with a naked manequin in the back seat of my recently purchased car. It just didn't seem like a good idea). "Kelly," chided Bob. "You don't need that silly shirt. We'll be fine."

I stuffed the shirt into a bag anyway. I'm no dummy.

We parked in the department store's deck, and went to retrieve the manequin. There she was, in a seated position, with her head propped on her hand. She was as bald and naked as the day she was manufactured. I pulled the shirt out of my bag as Bob picked up the manequin.

You must, at this moment, imagine the scene: Picture a seated manequin in the arms of a live man. Bob looked as though he was about to carry his plaster bride across the threshold. It was more than a little unsettling, yet hysterically funny at the same time. "Bob, please let me put the shirt on her."

"Don't be ridiculous, Kelly! I'll put the manequin in the car... You get the parking ticket validated, and we'll go to lunch!"

"Oooooookaaaaay..." I watched as Bob carred Nudie Trudie to the elevator.

Moments later, I validated the parking ticket, and rode a crowded elevator to level four of the parking deck.

The door opened.

There stood Bob... Manequin in arms.

Time stopped. The people in the elevator froze. This cleary was not what they were expecting to see in a parking deck.

Bob looked sheepish: "Kelly, I couldn't find your new car!"

I bit my lip, but it did no good. I burst into hysterics - which of course, freed the rest of the elevator riders to do likewise. My eyes were watering, my stomach ached, and yet the sight of that man carrying that naked manequin kept me laughing all the way to the car.

"Do you mind if I put the jersey on her now?"

"By all means, Kelly... By all means."

House Hunting (or "Looking For A Place To Roost")

Did I tell y’all that I’ve been starting to ponder the possibility of looking at houses? I actually made my first call to a realtor the other day to look at this cool little house. It’s in a town I like, next to a little creek. The main house is small, and next to a busy road – but it has a guest building, a 2 car garage with back-room storage, and a fourth building behind the garage. (In my mind, I decided that it would make a great studio. Dave exclaimed, “BAND ROOM!”). I had high hopes. The little compound had potential.

In my mind I picture the great parties I could throw in the beautiful back yard. I’d finally have enough room to get a dog! Dave, on the other hand, reminded me that having a dog at that locale would be bad… “Kelly, are you prepared for that dog to get killed on that busy road?”

“There is no dog... You’ve just killed my imaginary dog. How dark are you?” I asked.

We walked back to the driveway. Suddenly, a little black rooster appeared. “Hey,” said Dave observantly, “A little black rooster!”

I moved away from the bird. Birds aren’t my thing. I have nothing against birds in the wild – I like looking at birds in bird feeders, I've held birds, I've spread peanut butter and birdseed on pinecones to feed birds. I've allowed my father to listen to bird call tapes in the car... but to be honest, ittle birdy feet just gross me out. I am not, I repeat, am not petrified of birds. They're just not my thing.

“You’re afraid of roosters?” asked Dave.

“Not really. Their feet gross me out, and I’d much prefer to live and let live,” I explained. I silently wondered if Dave was making fun of me… Ok, I actually knew he was making fun of me. The rooster WAS only about 8” high at the top of the comb.

“Stop making fun of me!” I said, responding to the look of mockery on his face.

(Non sequitur bird story #1: Once, I had to free a sparrow who flew into a deli I was going to buy my lunch from. The bird was freaked out, the deli ladies were ridiculously unhelpful - and the thought of a bird pooping on my chicken salad was just unbearable. It was clearly up to me - I caught the bird, released it, and sanitized.)

The rooster, meanwhile, was checking out the car. He strutted by the tires nonchalantly as I walked to the front of the house. The rooster then moved towards us somewhat purposefully. “He's coming after us. I really think he's following us.”

Now, Mr. Smirkity Smirk was just loving this.

“You’re afraid of roosters!”

I gave up the normal explanations, and wasn't in the mood to proove my history with birds. I muttered something about bird flu and walked around the front of the house, peeking into the front windows.

(Non sequitur bird story #2: When I was young, my father, rescuer of animals in distress, acquired a crow who couldn't live in the wild due to some injury or some such thing. The crow's name was Jasper - and he lived in a cage in our backyard. Eventually, for some reason I can't remember, we gave the crow to our vet, who was really happy to have him.)

As we left the property that evening I just want you to know that I checked to make sure we didn’t run the stupid rooster over.

(Final non sequitor bird story: Years ago, my parents went to dinner at a now defunct restaurant called "The Golden Goose." The place was by a pond - and naturally, had a few geese hanging around. As my parents approached the restaurant, they were surprised to see another patron get too close to one of the geese. It reared up it's wings, lowered it's head and ran right towards the guy. My father, rescuer of humans in distress, ran towards the goose, and in one fell-swoop, grabbed the goose, diverted it from it's near-victim, and once again, saved the day - sans injury to himself, the goose, or the other patron. True story)

A few days later, we returned to see the house with a realtor. She was kinda cranky, if you ask me. “You know," she started, "You really should have bought a house three years ago…”

What does one say to that? I nodded and smiled politely - I have to be honest here - the realtor didn't really earn my confidence that afternoon. She sort of waved around the house pointing out the obvious, "This is the bathroom. This is the master bedroom. Here's where you can hook up a washing machine."

It didn't bother me much... It took a mere ten seconds to realize that even if Mrs. Realtor crankypants handed me the deed for free– this wasn’t the house for me:

1) The walls were painted paneling – with stenciling… Large swags of stenciling everywhere you looked. I cannot tell you how painted paneling grates my Trading Spaces/Vern Yip sensibilities. I can't tell you how 96% of all stenciling gives me great pause.
2) The drop ceiling was low enough to reach flat-footed… at my height. Ridiculous. I'm 5'5".
3) The only bathroom in the house was miniscule, had no tub, and was located directly off the living room.
4) The master bedroom had no door.
5) The central air never worked – “And don’t ask the owner to fix it. He said under no circumstances would he fix anything…” explained the realtor.
6) The second bedroom had a very, very low ceiling. Lower than the living room.
7) Need I mention that the carpet was bright blue?
8) And in loving memory of the imaginary dead dog, I must say for the record that the road was awfully close to the house, and the traffic was awfully loud.

I was annoyed and disappointed - so I'm not proud to say it, but I began pointing the more hideous features of the house to the lack-luster realtor: "Um, where's the DOOR?" "This doesn't make sense." "Where does one take a bath?" "And Where did the rooster come from?"

Then she told me the worst thing of all - that the rooster lived in the storage room behind the garage - and at one point attacked a fellow house hunter the other day. I looked at Dave triumphantly.

To be honest, the property was so lovely that I was disappointed… But the good news is – I fully enjoyed fussing about how bad the house was – it’s kind of therapeutic in that odd neurotic sort of way… And – the better news? It’s still a buyer’s market. I'll find another place to roost.

Brow Beating

I just read this little tidbit - for the Perfect Eyebrows... Mind you, I take the time to shape my brows. I shadow and line - when they get weird looking, I do get them waxed... However -I had no idea how badly I was neglecting this clearly underattended to body part (price of all the advice below is $88, a small price to pay for flawless brows):

All this from Helen Andreos, Brow Specialist... Andreos has worked with celebrities such as Allison Janney from The West Wing, Angela Bassett, Tori Spelling, Doris Roberts Everybody Loves Raymond, Debra Messing, Cheryl Hines Curb Your Enthusiasm, Kathy Bates and the Fab Five from Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.

Helen offers these brow tips:

Powder skin. This helps brow pencil go on smoothly and evenly. Apply powder with the Blending Brush #4.
Find the right brow pencil shade. Try Le Crayon Poudre and select a shade that blends with your hair color, not one that is too dark.
Keep brow gel on hand. It can slightly deepen the brow hair color if brows appear too grey or too light. It also helps control and hold brow hair in place.
To define the brow, use the flat edge of Precision Brush #14 plus a concealer of your choice. To soften the definition, apply a touch of powder over the brow using Blending Brush #4.
Highlight the brow bone by applying a lighter shade of Color Design Eye Shadow in Daylight or Filigree using Precision Shadow Brush #12. Apply color both under and over the brow bone.

Hip to Be Square

Yesterday, Dave asked me to take a drive with him - he was playing a gig in Delaware with our friend, Don. I thought it was going to be interesting - Don asked a bunch of musicians who never play together to come and play together... I always wonder why that works out - but in Don's view - he only asks musicians he thinks are the best (which thrills Dave's bass-playing soul to know he's included in that category). Anyway - it usually works out pretty well for Don, so I kind of admire the hootzpah he has for not going through the work of having to do band practice every week - yet always being asked to come back and play again...

Anyway, I looked at the directions - it said they were playing at St. Andrews School... It said they were providing the background music for a square dance. It was all instrumental.... Isn't that crazy? Who's ever heard of a private high school sponsoring a square dance. I immediately discussed the matter with Audrey, salsa dancer extraordinaire... "It makes sense. America doesn't really have it's own group dance. Those kids NEED square dancing."

Ok. Before I get any further, I have to tell you what I only found out when arriving at St. Andrews - it was the school "Dead Poets Society" was filmed at. Isn't that weird? It's a lovely place - lots of lush lawns and gothic architecture... looks like a lot of schools in the east coast prep-type school region... (Here's a production still I found on the web - I have more photos -but I took them with Don's camera - and will post later when I get them back... And the dancing photos came from St. Andrew's website)

Back to the issue of high school students and square dancing. I met the caller, a guy named Alan - who liked to talk - so I asked, "Do students really like this?"

"Oh yes, he said, "When the Student Activites committee started this, they needed something to wear the kids out on their first night before classes. So they simply went around, told the kids they'd have a good time - and ever since then, the upper classmen just told the new students it was fun..."

I don't know that I believed him - but at 7 pm sharp, the hoarde of 300 or so students rushed the field, stood in a big circle, and waited for instructions. After the prerequesite do-si-do, prominade left and so forth, the kids enthusiastically formed squares and danced for the next few hours. They were so into the square dance, that even after their breaks, they, without being called, returned to the field, stood in squares, and waited for the caller to begin again. Who knew?

Dave: "If they asked my kid to do that, she'd be standing off to the side with her girlfriends thinking it was stupid..." But the truth is, if square dancing IS indeed, stupid, it's also fun - or so it looked from the faces of the kids who not only did the dance, but did all the dances, and loved doing them. They even made their best attempts at looking "western..." (which in some cases meant rolling up jeans and wearing wife beaters.)

So swing your partner, do-si-do - carpe diem and away we go...

_________

PS - On a final note of how different this shool was from MY school experience, the weekend "Dead Poets Society" hit the theaters was also the weekend I was slated to march in my high school graduation. I BEGGED my mother to let me go to the movies and skip the ceremony... But alas, she said the same thing when I volunteered to skip my college graudation, "Kelly, I did not suffer through four years of your education to miss your graduation..." So I had to wait until later to watch Robin Williams stand on a Desk at St. Andrew's School. I guess I'm just not a joiner - is that so wrong?