Brushes With Fame

Kate at One More Thing… told us some of her favorite celebrity stories, and asked readers to comment. This post started as a comment, but I had verbal diarrhea and it got too long. A blog post is born!

I’ve had many run-ins with the famous and the wish-they-were-more so. All of them are memorable, except the ones I’ve forgotten.

The band at my 8th grade St. Valentine’s Day Dance was a terrific band named Atlantic City Expressway. I was on the Dance Committee, so was involved in set-up and break-down. Now we were quite rockin’ in the Jersey burbs, and would dance the night away at our dances. At that dance, though, there was little dancing because the band was soooo good. In addition to the normal drums, bass and electric guitar they had a horn section! And did I mention that the lead singer was hot? Hot! Afterwards my pubescent friends and I took some of the paper cupids we’d used to decorate the gym and got his autograph. I also got a very Monica Bradyesque kiss on the cheek. A few years later that lead singer, Jon Bon Jovi, became a Really Big Deal with a different band. A note to Wikipedia: I see you removed my contribution about Jon being in Atlantic City Expressway and playing at least one local school dance but you kept the edit about him having a very large penis. Couldn’t they both be true?

I hit the jackpot when I was doing promotions for a large fair, including but not limited to:

• I had to keep hiding newly-opened beer bottles from a very drunk Peter Noone (of Herman’s Hermits fame)
• Took a fun-filled golf-cart ride with a smokin’ hot John Stamos and a huge bodyguard named Tiny and later turned down an offer to hang out at his hotel (no hanky or panky being offered, just a really nice guy)
• Watched security remove a belligerent John Waite from the premises
• Was told off by Randy Travis’ wife/manager for no good reason, though he was perfectly wonderful
• Michael Damien. Enough said.

When I was eleven I spent our country’s Bicentennial 4th of July weekend in a hotel room in Toledo, Ohio. My siblings and I spent one of the Most Special Days in History in our hotel room while my father and stepmother went out on the town. In those days it wasn’t an arrestable offense to leave your children alone (and our ages ranged from 10-14), but at the time I thought they should have been arrested for robbing their children of the experience of celebrating the Bicentennial. Therapy has only slightly lessened the pain.

Still, there were two celebrity bright spots that weekend. We played pinball in the game room of the hotel with Mark Spitz and members of the US Olympic Swim Team. We also discovered that Peter Cole of Mod Squad fame was staying there. I had a mad, mod crush on him, so my sister and I snuck up to his floor and listened at his door. And we heard…nothing. We did not come away empty-handed: we reached under his door and pulled out a few carpet fibers and ran back to our room with our treasure. What can I tell you? I was eleven.

My father and stepmother were personal friends of the late, great Joe Williams. In addition to being one of the greatest Jazz singers ever, some of you may remember him as Bill Cosby’s father-in-law on The Cosby Show. One of my favorite celebrity moments was at my sister’s wedding, when he joined the band to sing my sister and new brother-in-law a special song. A terrific, warm man. May he rest in peace.

My most embarrassing brush with fame occurred in a local bar/dance club in the early 1990’s. Ed Begley, Jr. was there, and we wound up chatting with him for a few minutes. I knew who he was, sort of. I’d not watched St. Elsewhere, but I knew he was in it. I told him I loved him in the movie Something Wild . He looked at me like the moron I am and said, “Uh, that wasn’t me, that was Jeff Daniels.”

Whoops.

What about you?

The 7 Random/Weird Things About Me Meme

Emily from Remodeling This Life has tagged me to participate in a fun meme. I get to share 7 random/weird things about myself with you and then tag 7 more people to do the same.

Here we go.

1. Seven is my favorite number. Why? When I was a kid I noticed that whatever age I was became my favorite. When I was five my favorite number was five, etc. When I was seven, of course my favorite number was seven. So I decided to conduct an experiment. I was going to try to hate the number eight and see what happened. So I went around saying to myself, “I hate eight! i hate eight!” To this day seven is my favorite number, and while I won’t say that I hate the number eight (it’s even sillier to hate a number than it is to love it), it is my least favorite.

2. I once went tubing naked (except for my life preserver) on Lake June.

3. I love onion flavored things (onion bagels, onion dip) but I hate onions. Too slimy. Blech. I’ll even cook with onions because I love how they flavor food but I won’t eat the onions themselves.

4. I don’t think penises are pretty. Really, does anyone?

5. I’m fairly loud, assertive and clumsy. I’ve often wished I was more soft and graceful, like Audrey Hepburn. When I’ve tried to be people ask me if I’m sick.

6. I’m fair, as in objective. My best friend tells me that I’m the most fair person she’s ever met, but to be fair she hasn’t met everyone. I tend to see all sides of issues, much to the chagrin of Husband, who wants me to agree with him on all things all the time. Even when I do agree I can see the other side of the coin, see how the other person might feel, and can see how the issue or person’s feelings can be valid. At times it’s caused some strain in some relationships, as some (including Husband) think I’m being disloyal. I can see why they feel that way, but I don’t think that pointing out the other point of view, or having a different point of view altogether,  is being disloyal at all.   Besides, I can no sooner cease being what I consider fair than I could cease wanting chocolate. Neither is gonna happen in this lifetime. That doesn’t mean I love or respect the other person any less. Just so you know.

7. I hate 99.5% of rap music. I can take the Sugarhill Gang. And Will Smith. A little Pink. And that’s about it. Have you noticed that every generation thinks the next’s music is the worst ever, and wonder how bad music will sink in the next generation? Yeah. I’m already thinking about what’s going to be worse than rap.  I get those thoughts when I can’t get back to sleep at 4am. Really, I’m scared.

And there you have it. Me. It.

I will tag some terrific people I know:

1. Jennifer at Good Fountain.

2. Kate at One More Thing….

3. Patty at Our Life as an Air Force Family.

4. Lisa at Ramblings of a Pseudo Intellectual.

And some people whose blogs I enjoy and would like to know better:

5. LJ at Mommy Gets Paid.

6. Funny About Money at Funny About Money.

7. Learningwoman at Learningwoman’s Weblog.

Here are the rules:

1. Link to your tagger and post these rules on your blog.
2. Share 7 facts about yourself on your blog. Some random, some weird.
3. Tag up to 7 people at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blogs.
4. Let them know they are tagged by leaving a comment on their blog. Well, I’m not doing this. You’ll see the pingback! I may comment on some other post, though.

It’s a Good Thing I’m Not Watching the News This Week

If I was watching the news this week I’d have to comment on:

this: Jamie Lynn Spears engaged … good idea? ,

this: TSA Forces Woman to Remove Nipple Ring, Woman Represented by Gloria Allred, and

this: Drew Petersen’s PR Expert Tangles with CNN Host Nancy Grace.

I could have had a lot of fun with these.

Indeed.

Zero Tolerance for…Skittles?

Husband sent me an e-mail just now, and here’s what it said:

Maybe you or Deb (my sister) can find out exactly what school this was and get me an e-mail address so I can tell them what I really think of them.

I feel a real dickish moment coming on.

At the very least - maybe you can write about the absurdity of this whole thing.

Personally - I would like to ask them why they didn’t just shoot the kid onthe spot and then execute his whole family.

After reading the article, I wholeheartedly agree.

Michael Sheridan, a student at New Haven’s Sheridan Middle School, was suspended from school for one day, barred from attending an honors student dinner and stripped of his title as class vice president. His transgression?

He bought a bag of candy from another student.

The horror!

As part of it’s wellness policy, the New Haven school system banned candy sales as fundraisers in 2003. There is no candy allowed in the schools. Okay, a bit stringent, but I can support that.

The student who sold the candy also was suspended.

Nothing like killing an ant with an uzi, New Haven.

It makes a great deal of sense to obliterate a child’s sense of accomplishment for having worked hard to attain honors because of a relatively minor transgression. And why on earth wouldn’t we want to spit on children who have the character and gall to wade through the rampant apathy and self-absorption of the middle school biosphere, get involved in their community and learn about the democratic process by taking on the office of Student Government Vice President?

Why indeed.

It certainly wouldn’t have made sense to give him detention, or to have him, in his role as Vice-President, make a presentation to the student body about nutrition.

No, it’s much more important to teach them how to rebel against unfair and overdone punishment, to seethe with injustice.

And why did the nefarious candy dealer get less punishment than the user-addict? Perhaps he’s supplying the school board….?

(By the way honey, the name of the school was right in the article, babe. But I’m sure your ire made your eyes skip over that part. Love ya!)

Update March 15, 2008

Both students’ suspensions have been expunged and the buyer has been reinstated to the Student Council. Apparently the school administration failed to notify the parents of this rule in writing.

I don’t think the school needed to undo all of the punishment. I just thought the punishment should fit the crime.

Friday Night Fever

Our once per year community garage sale is tomorrow.

I am totally unprepared.

It’s supposed to rain tomorrow. During the garage sale. That we’re only allowed to have once per year.

We have a 1 pm birthday party twenty minutes away for Husband’s cousin’s twins, and I have not wrapped (or decided upon) their gifts yet.

My cough still sucks. Last night I was so miserable (constant body-jerking, hacking spasms, so violent they caused severe headachey-type pains in my head, plus made breathing difficult) Husband wanted me to go to the ER. I went to the (45 minutes away) doctor today and got the steroid I asked for the day before but she wouldn’t just call in, so hopefully this will be the end of it (and yes, I’m going to get a new doctor, but that’s a whole other post).

I’m exhausted.

We have a clogged toilet and Husband fell asleep before fixing it. Plus he hasn’t done any of the things I asked him to do to prepare for the garage sale.

Son, who until this week would not pick up a crayon to save his life, now wants to write numbers and draw trains ALL THE TIME. Threw a tantrum at bedtime (no nap today) because he had to draw “one more CABOOSE!!!!!!!!!!”

Sunday is Pete’s grandmother’s 95th birthday, and I also need to find time before 1 pm that day to make a corn casserole and cupcakes.

Wake me on Monday, somebody.

Redemtion is a Ten Letter Word

It’s been a heck of a week. I’m trying to decide on a preschool for Son for the fall, Son got violently ill to the point he almost had to be hospitalized for dehydration (he’s okay now, thank G-d!), and I had to face a truth that was obvious to everyone but me. In addition to all that, I own two pairs of Lia Sophia earrings, and this week I’ve lost one from each pair. One earlier this week, one today. Apparently my ears are suddenly slippery.

With Son feeling much better, today he and I joined my Dad, brother, sister-in-law and her kids for breakfast. It wasn’t planned, but we then decided to head to the local church’s Italian Festival for a few hours of scorching sun and children’s glee. Son and his cousins had usual fun riding the rides and playing carnival games.

I really wish I’d had my camera. First, of course, to get pictures of said children’s glee. But that’s not the only reason. The kids got tickets for winning the games and could trade them for trinkets. The sign above where we went to redeem the tickets for trinkets said, “Redemtion”. At a Church festival. I am amused.

The festival is in a field at the school, and there’s not been great amounts of rain here lately. Dust. Lots of dust. Add a lollipop and some fried dough. Son was F I L T H Y when we got back. I just hosed him down outside and sent him up for a nap, hoping to take one myself.

Alas, that was not to be. Guy was scheduled to come over to work on his website about fifteen minutes after I finally got Son to bed. Exhausted and hungry I did a little bit of house straightening but gave up after picking up a few bigger pieces of debris off of the Rug That Even My Dyson Cannot Keep Debris Free For More Than Ten Minutes.

I was so exhausted I didn’t freshen my makeup or run a brush through my hair. (Guy, I am so over you, dude.)

Guy arrived and had no idea what he wanted to do, so he left, very apologetic.

That’s fine. I can relax! But no, son is awake and needs to be fed and bathed and cuddled and read to. Son is fed, bathed, cuddled, read to and put to bed.

Now, at 9 pm, I finally get to sit down and relax, blogging with the Oscars on the background. Ahhhhh.

You know you have a lot of hair when you lose an earring and then find it, hours later, in your hair.

I wish I knew exactly when I lost it. Because now I’m just wondering how long it was dangling there.

Friday, er, Saturday Evening Book Meme Fun

I got tagged by Emily at Remodeling This Life to participate in a Friday Evening Book Meme Fun. I am supposed to grab the nearest book and look to page 123 and the 5th sentence and then type the next 3 sentences. Good thing there were none of my husband’s comic books graphic novels (insert eyeroll) lying nearby or I may have fallen asleep by the 2nd sentence.

Luckily I went to the library today and checked out the latest Stephanie Plum novel by Janet Evanovich, Plum Lucky.

If you’ve never read any of this terrificly fun series, I urge you to do so.

Anyway, here we go. Page 123:

When I got out, I felt energized. “I got an idea while you were in the shower,” Diesel said. “We need money, right?”

Not the most exciting or representative three lines, but I’ll take ‘em.

So, now to tag someone else.

Who to tag? Who to tag?

I shall tag:

Learningwoman (My guess is we’ll either hear a little bit about Poetry or Australia)

Good Fountain (I have a feeling we’ll be hearing about hyperlexia)

Ramblings of a Pseudo Intellectual (Porn. Definitely porn.)

One More Thing (Depends on where she is when she writes it, but I’m guessing it’ll be How to Knit a Shroud for your Mother-In-Law)

And you. If you’re game…

American Idol, Rock My World

My favorite guilty pleasure makes a return to the airwaves tonight.

American Idol, with all it’s drama, talent, bad notes and overdone hair (and that’s just the judges) is finally back. The talent of a few and the watching-the-train-wreck-ness of many (hello Sanjaya) will keep me listening with at least one ear for the next few months.

I started watching the first season, but not until the last ten minutes of the finale. I poo-pooed it along with all of the other pseudo-intellectuals, but decided to watch “just the auditions” of season 2 to get a laugh.

And that, my friends, was the beginning of my downward spiral into a special kind of Hell.

I love it. I love the great singers, I love the William Hungs. I love Clay’s Mini-Me, and Paula’s possibly-pharmaceutically-induced weirdness (did anyone catch Hey Paula?). I love Ryan, and I don’t care if he’s gay. I love the outrage over contestants sent home too early, the tears of the little girls in the audience, the sultry come-hither looks of the Aces and the Constantines…
And I really love my TiVo, which lets me skip the commercials.

So, please join me from wherever you are, and watch the first show. 8pm Eastern time. I’ll bring the hot chocolate.

Guilty Pleasure - Tila’s Shot at Love Finale

Shhhh. Don’t tell anyone.

I cannot wait until tonight, when Tila Tequila lets us know which way her wind blows, at least for now.

Tila, someone famous for being on MySpace, for goodness sake, extended her 15 minutes of Warholian fame by signing on with MTV to become the Bi-chelorette on A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila. The show’s hook?

Tila is bisexual. So twelve males and twelve females compete for a Shot at Tila. Yes. And as the prospective winners were winnowed down to the final two, they all had to sleep on one very large bed.

Yes.

So, now that Tila eliminated all but two, will she choose the mostly-male Bobby, a twenty-something student of…something, who apparently has stolen Richard Dreyfus’ voice? Or Dani, a firefighter with a somewhat odd forehead curl, who is decidedly NOT a “lipstick lesbian” (I just looove that term!), in whom she could theoretically get the best of both worlds?

And am I the only one who didn’t miss the irony that the two finalists have sexually ambiguous names?

Oh, yes. A very guilty pleasure. And I’m apparently not the only one, if the frequency of the reruns and the pre-finale hype are any indication.

My normally quite sane sister confided to me that she watches the show, and that she’s rooting for Dani. When I told her that Dani’s firehouse is less than a mile from my home she advised me to start a fire in the hopes that Dani would be the one to come and put out the flames, just so I could tell her my sister was rooting for her.

Okaaaaaaaaaaaaay.

Not that I haven’t thought about dropping by the firehouse so that my son could see the fire trucks, and if Dani just happens to be there…but I SWEAR I was thinking about it even before I ever heard of Dani!

So, who am I rooting for? Bobby. Why?

I like Dani. I think she seems really, really sweet. And I think she deserves better than Tila, who still doesn’t know which way she’s twisting.

And I hate the haircut, Tila. HATE IT.

I will be watching tonight.

I know you will be too, you naughty, naughty guilty pleasure seeker, you.

Perhaps Jewish girls shouldn’t have Christmas trees

I think He is trying to tell me something.

We put up our Christmas tree last Thursday, and all was well.

Then, yesterday, I attempted to put water in the base of our new tree stand, which I had bought on sale after Christmas last year. It’s a really cool stand - supposed to be one-person workable, easy as pie, make your Christmas even better. We were impressed.

And the tree looked beautiful. It was a perfect tree. The One. We’d had The Moment. You know, that moment when you just look at each other and know you’ve found the perfect tree.

We decorated it, and it looked lovely. Then, yesterday, I tried to put water in it. It did not go well.

The tree fell over. Yes, it really did.

The stand had broken, in a way that my post-tragedy online research has revealed is all too common with this type of stand.

Okay. We lost a few ornaments, nothing too tragic. We put the tree in a bucket so it wouldn’t dry out, cleaned up the mess and planned to go out in search of another stand today.

Which I did. I had to break my promise not to purchase any more Christmas stuff this year. I bought a very plain, regular stand. No muss, no fuss.

So, tonight we tried to put up the tree again. Tried being the operative word.

Seems the tree’s trunk is too narrow for the stand I bought.

Yes, it really is.

My husband now insists that he’s done, and this is the last real tree we’ll ever have. We’re supposed to immediately purchase a faux tree, complete with lights for next year.

As if.

So, tomorrow I have to go out and buy yet another tree stand. And if this doesn’t work, I don’t have to worry about what He is trying to tell me because the other “he” in my life, my dear husband, will throw the tree out the window.