Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Boots 'n' Rally


Ohhh what a weekend!

Left the ol’ ball ‘n’ chain in the city (just kidding ManBoy, I love you and missed you the whole time, I mean it) and headed out to the country with my girls. (And by the country, I do mean Philadelphia, PA for the Kenny Chesney Concert!) {Can I get a yeee-haw?!?! No? OK.}

Let me just say – don’t let the tough, horn-honkin’, bird-flippin’, occasionally cursin’, city girl exterior fool you...toss on a pair of boots, a sundress, and my aviators, and I might as well be servin’ up home fries and flapjacks down south.

I like to think of it as a split personality (but not in a scary, Sybil, dissociative identity disorder kind of way). The love of all things country affords me the freedom of leaving the aforementioned hard-ass at home to assume the role of a boot-scootin’ cutie.

And so it was, this past weekend in Philly (a rather unlikely setting for a hoe-down of sorts, I know).

Four girls set out from Mantoloking, NJ for Philadelphia, PA early(ish) Saturday morning. The car was laden with coolers packed to the gills with foot-long subs; chips n’ dip; a mini-keg; a six pack; and an unidentified clear liquid that was (not-so) vaguely reminiscent of rubbing alcohol. Our iPods poised and ready, we were geared up for the perfect tailgate and a night to remember (or forget…your prerogative).

Kenny, true to form, promised an all out no holds barred kickass country festival. And boy did he deliver. Having arrived on site at 2:15pm, by 6:00 we were a few deep, had made a host of new “friends”, and were practically charging the stadium with excitement. {In retrospect, the charge seems an unwise decision as it was quickly subdued by the inevitable long haul to the nose bleeds…we’re talkin’ as far from the stage as you could possibly be – the place I like to call The Land of True Fans on a Budget}.

Having missed the performances of Lady Antebellum, Miranda Lambert, and the majority of Montgomery Gentry, we all buckled down to await the entrance of the band we’d traveled so far to see (Kenny is a great time no matter what, but let’s get real, Sugarland was the true draw of this spectacle).

Sugarland TORE. IT. UP! My closest companion on the morning commute, Jennifer Nettles, sang to the rafters (which is convenient, considering our seats). She was fantastic and totally set the tone of the party for Kenny to continue. {If you’re unfamiliar with Sugarland, I’ll work on forgiving your ignorance, provided you go listen to them immediately, if not sooner. Go…GO!}.

Kenny, as per usual, brought down the house. He played “hit after hit!” (a little shout-out, boys) and, quite frankly, looked shocked that at the number of rednecks inhabiting the Northeast who knew his songs, word for word.

Classics like “Summertime”, “Young”, “She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy”, and “Big Star” (a favorite of mine) could be heard all the way to the front steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art (better known as “The Rocky Steps”). After closing with a somber “Don’t Blink”, he sent us all home, ears ringing, humming his tunes, and anxiously awaiting next year’s soiree.

So, while for some, summer started over Memorial Day Weekend, I consider mine just begun (a rainy June only strengthens my case). It’s just something about a country song…

Friday, June 26, 2009

"Gone Too Soon"

Like a comet blazing 'cross the evening sky, gone too soon
Like a rainbow fading in the twinkling of an eye, gone too soon
Shiny and sparkly and splendidly bright
Here one day, gone one night
Like the loss of sunlight on a cloudy afternoon, gone too soon
Like a castle, built upon a sandy beach, gone too soon
Like a perfect flower, that is just beyond your reach, gone too soon
Born to amuse, to inspire, to delight
Here one day, gone one night
Like a sunset dying with the rising of the moon, gone too soon, gone too soon.

- Michael Jackson, 1991



It is necessary, on this day, to address the loss of one of our nation’s, our world’s, greatest performers. Having grown up as a dancer and a singer, Michael Jackson was an integral part of my maturity as an artist. He was a beacon for us, the shining image of what dreams one was capable of achieving.

His music is inventive, inspiring, and globally accessible. He reached the four corners of the earth with his sound, his words, and his message. And, in this time of sweeping global strife, the loss of an individual whose mission was to eternally preach peace, through the universal language of music, is a staggering one. Today, on the New York Times website, his global reach is exemplified through quotes, from individuals around the world, flashing across the screen, as they react to this sudden and tragic loss.

In my life, the music of Michael Jackson has played a central role. His albums trace the progression of my childhood, both in my development as a performer and as your average kid living in the United States.

Growing up, I had friends who had close personal relationships with the King of Pop. They shared with me stories that revealed his true character amidst the haze of an unforgiving media and an irreverent paparazzi. Today my heart goes out to those friends. Having seen him through great turmoil in his life, and bearing witness to the struggles he faced, they grieve the loss of their dear friend, and they, along with his family, are in my prayers.

The story of Michael Jackson – the awe-inspiring fame and the torturous internal conflicts – is a touching and heart wrenching one. I suspect many of the people across this nation who criticized and denounced him during an embarrassing and disturbing trial, are the same who now mourn his death. He lived a life that externally seemed fantasy-like, other-worldly in its ostentation, and yet, it is clear that the emotional pressure and mental abuse he encountered as a child, left wounds that never healed. Perhaps we are all so captivated by him because the tale of the tortured artistic genius is one that reads and sells well. But I implore you today, to take a moment and acknowledge his humanity; soften your hearts to a star that shone brighter than any our generation has ever, and will ever know.

While he has left us with an anthology of riveting and inspiring music, I can’t help but feel as though we have been robbed of the great treasures he had yet to create. It is a sad reality for the entertainment industry and for the world, as one of its most beloved icons has truly “gone too soon”.

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

A Pinch of Overacting + Attractive Characters + A-Whole-Lotta-Blood ‘n Guts = Harper’s Island

Having been scolded for the lack of substance in my last post (to be fair, I did warn you), it sounds like I need to get back on track.

In the throes of indecision over whether to address the disconcerting events taking place in Iran, the embarrassment that is The Real Housewives of New Jersey, or the Kenny Chesney concert I’ll be attending this weekend in Philadelphia, I thought I’d take this opportunity to ease myself back in to the blog by talking about Harper’s Island.

For those of you unfamiliar with the show, it’s a gory, Agatha Christie-esque, fit for DVR 13-episode murder mystery set on a small island off the coast of Seattle.

The ManBoy and his roommates coaxed me into watching this addicting bloodbath, and now I’m hooked.

Though initially aired on Thursday evenings, the series has been, unfortunately, moved to the graveyard of television – Saturday night. Nevertheless, the show makes for the perfect Sunday night wind-down (especially when paired with a bowl of popcorn and a companion who won’t mind the occasional startled squeal or two).

While I certainly don’t want to reveal any spoilers on here – this post is simply meant to entice you to jump on board (the series is drawing to a close, but the episodes are available at CBS.com) – I will give you the general gist of the show:

From a Review provided by John Kubicek, Senior Writer for BuddyTV:

“It’s a lot like Friday the 13th, but as a series. The cast starts out huge at 25 major characters, but Harper’s Island promises to kill at least one off every episode, slowly whittling the cast down until the killer is revealed. With the fates of the characters unknown, it plays more like a reality show than a typical scripted drama.”

These 25 characters set sail for Harper’s Island, the childhood summer home of Henry Dunn and Trish Wellington who are to be married there. The island, though picturesque and charming, has an eerily palpable aura of mourning and desertion, as seven years prior a series of murders had taken place. Counted among the victims was the mother of Abby Mills – a guest at the wedding, the daughter of the local sheriff, and Henry’s best friend.

As the plot unfolds, the wedding guests and locals get picked off “one by one”, in manners of varying creativity and gruesomeness, until the killer is revealed.

At first a reluctant spectator with a proclaimed distaste for “slasher films”, I can assure you that Harper’s Island will have you at the edge of your seat and leave you with an unfamiliar longing for Sunday night (unless, of course, you watch it when it actually airs, or any other night of the week).

Having already watched the most recent episode and beginning to enter into a state of weekly withdrawal, I came across these 10 Tips for Enjoying the Show. Whether you’re a first timer or a full-fledged addict and member of Harper’s Globe, it will be sure to enhance your Harper’s viewing pleasure. Enjoy!

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Rain, Rain, GO AWAY!


I know, I know. I’ve been neglecting my duties as a faithful blogger. My sincerest apologies. I’ll do better, I promise.

Truth be told, I’ve simply not had much to say (a first, I can assure you). Nevertheless, I thought it best to touch base with all of you out there on the blogosphere.

How are you? If you’re an inhabitant of the northeastern United States, the answer is, most likely, wet and fed up with this weather. I mean really? What happened to the good old days – the time when June meant gorgeous sunny weather and the wind down of classes? Apparently, someone left the faucet running.

Now, I promise this blog has not been reduced to “talking about the weather”, but someone had to say something, because COME. ON. ALREADY!

{Consider my angry, soggy rant complete.}

In other news, I took my first trip of the season to the Shore. The ManBoy and I drove down last Saturday (his first experience at my Shore house) and spent the weekend with my family. Lots of relaxing, not a lot of sun. On Sunday, after having snuck in a few minutes of boat cruising around the bay, we returned home with the feeling that summer really had arrived (though with no tan to show for it). My summer is usually spent anxiously awaiting Friday afternoon, hopping into my car after work, blasting some country music, and heading down to the Jersey Shore for the weekend (most of the time you can add sitting in traffic to that equation, but that ruins the poetic nature of the image, so we’ll leave it out for now).

As I stare out my office window at the grey, drenched landscape (thinking about my thwarted plans of enjoying Happy Hour at the Boat Basin) I am reminded that sunny skies are just around the corner (they have to be, this can’t go on forever, can it? Is someone building an ark and I didn’t hear about it?) If I close my eyes, for just a moment (because that would look incredibly strange to anyone on the trading floor who notices), I can envision myself relaxing on the beach – “…the sun and the sand, and a drink in my hand…” and I know it’s closer than it feels all the way out here in Connecticut.

So, until things dry up, splash in the puddles, dance in the rain, and soak it up….there are so many great things to look forward to this summer – and I’m fairly certain, the sun won’t want to miss out on them.

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

Lil' Sickling

Sooo after a great weekend up in Boston...I'm a lil' sickling...

And, to make matters worse, it's an icky, rainy week in New York City.

Dear Dr. ManBoy, please come take care of me. I believe the prescription calls for: The latest episode of Harper's Island, Chicken Soup, and lots of hugs and snuggles.

Thank you.

Thursday, June 4, 2009

I'm Shipping Up To Boston


The weekend comes early this week; in fact, it begins at 4:30pm today!

This evening, the ManBoy and I ship up to Boston for the weekend. It’s his 5 year high school reunion (for which he’s the Chairman of the Young Alumni Annual Giving Committee) and I’ve been invited to accompany him to a number of festivities! {Yayyyy!}

{Multiple cute outfits packed – check!}

To date, I’ve only been up to visit his hometown twice. That said, since we started dating, he’s only been up there an equal number of times. The last time we were in Mass. was Christmas, so this trip is long overdue (especially since we visit my hometown and my parents practically every weekend). {30 minutes over the GW Bridge sure is a hell-of-a lot easier than a 4 and a half hour drive}. Nevertheless, the few times I have visited, I’ve absolutely loved it, and I’m sure this trip will be no exception!

Now, I know that as a general rule, girlfriends rarely mean it when they say, “I love his family”, but truth be told, I really do! {I am certain the ManBoy’s brother-in-law will insist that I’ve just branded myself a brown noser to the entire blogosphere, but I stand by my words nonetheless – Thvvvv! (That’s me sticking my tongue out at you)}.

Let’s get real though; families are tough entities to navigate. I come from a large, loud, opinionated, and extremely close family (for which I provide both comic relief and a steadfast dedication to my role as the black sheep). We’ve got it all in my house: Hot –headed Italians, verbose intellectuals, silent (and not-so-silent) judgers, a few stuck-in-their-ways grandparents, and a whole slew of Republicans (of which I am one) all living in relatively close proximity to one another (excluding, of course, the environmentalist uncle who moved to Bondi Beach, Australia 23 years ago, and my brother and sister-in-law who set up shop in Kentucky – don’t ask, I don’t know why people leave the Tri-State Area either). In other words, there’s never a dull moment.

I think though, that my colorful background is precisely the reason why I adore, so deeply, the ManBoy’s family. They’re just like us (if you replace Australia with Russia and the environmentalist uncle with the ManBoy’s sister…and I’m pretty sure they don’t allow Massachusetts Democrats in Kentucky, so scratch that part too)!

Admittedly though, while there are a million reasons why I love visiting his family and his hometown, there’s one that tops the list…

CHAMPIONS PUB in Peabody, MA (pronounced, on the North Shore, “Peebudie”, as opposed to everywhere else in the English-speaking world where it would be “Pea-body”).

Champions is a diamond in the rough – a gem amongst the rubble of sports bars. And, it just so happens (get this) that the ManBoy’s uncle OWNS IT!

For those of you familiar with the splendor of this seemingly innocuous watering hole, you are well aware that the #1 best thing to do at Champions is gorge yourself on Steak Tips. They are, hands down, amazing! I don’t know what they do back there with the marinade and what not (and I’m not meant to as it’s a very well-guarded secret) but, whatever it is, it’s damn good!

{In fact, I suggest you all get up from your desks, walk out of your offices, find your way to Peebudie, and enjoy the feast of a lifetime, IMMEDIATELY (if not sooner) because you’re missing out!}

So expect that, upon my return from our trip up to the Commonwealth, I will be (more than) a few pounds heavier, and a whole lot happier having satisfied my craving for the glorious meaty goodness that is a plate of Steak Tips at Champions!

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

Aaaaaand I'm In


After a long and stressful process I can, once again, call New York City home.

This joyous occasion has been a long time coming and I couldn’t be happier about its arrival.

Last night, I spent my first night in my new home in Manhattan! Though preceded by a grueling day of lugging furniture (not me of course, we hire people to do that where I come from, and then there's the ManBoy), unpacking boxes, bags, suitcases and crates, organizing my closet, and adorning the stark white walls with all of my adorably shabby chic wall hangings (again, not me, that’s Mom’s job – the woman has a keen eye for décor and is a genius with a hammer and nail), I’m finally in and it was well worth the hard work (for me at least, not sure if the aforementioned others would agree).

However, though I do believe that all’s well that ends well, the days leading up to the ceremonious return to the old stomping grounds was, shall we say, a little less than uneventful.

For starters, as a shopaholic, borderline materialistic, pack-rat, it’s safe to say that I have more than my fair share of “stuff”. {These are the moments that cause one to take pause, reflect, and adjust, one’s spending habits – even if only in the short term}. It quickly became apparent, that moving from a 1050 square foot 1 bedroom with 1.5 bathrooms apartment in the Burbs to a quaint converted 2 bedroom 1 bathroom apartment in the City would encounter a few obstacles.

It took 4 days, the weekend and a personal day from work to pack up my life and move its contents to New York.

However, after having already taken multiple trips to-and-from Connecticut, we arrived on Saturday to find the elevator in my Greenwich building OUT OF SERVICE. {Cue irrational temper tantrum thrown at the expense of the Super}. Me (and ManBoy) = NOT happy.

We spent the next 6 hours loading the car via the stairwell, driving 35 minutes to unload at the new place, and returning to Connecticut to repeat the process (only to then drive to New Jersey to unload the excess into my parents’ house). Phew.

Somewhere amidst the frenzy however, it occurred to me that the deal upon which we settled with the movers was one that included an elevator at both buildings. Such was no longer so as the elevator was not scheduled to be fixed until Tuesday. Not acceptable considering the additional $500 it was going to cost me to have the men carry all the pieces down the stairs. EEEEEK! {Bye bye new pair of Christian Louboutin’s I’ve been drooling over for months}.

Luckily, I have my own personal Superhero to step in and take control in just these sorts of circumstances. The ManBoy, on Sunday, got on the phone with one of the moving companies we’d previously written off and beseeched them to fit me into their schedule the following morning. E voilà! Old movers cancelled, new movers booked! (Perhaps we just won’t tell them about the elevator mishap).

Arrive Monday morning. I spend the last few frenzied minutes tossing out stray debris and tossing a few odds and ends into my car. Then I waited….

Unfortunately, though scheduled for a 10:00am pick up the truck did not pull up until 12:05pm. {Hey, beggars can’t be choosers, right?}. Meanwhile, the technician had arrived early to fix the defunct elevator and it was once again up and running prior to their arrival. Crisis averted! 4 hours (and $671) later I was standing in my freshly furnished Manhattan digs with a lot of unpacking to do.

Nevertheless, the end product is fantastic! Now all that’s left is to stock the fridge, and plan the housewarming party! {Deets to follow}. Oh right, and of course The Roomie moves her “stuff” in on Wednesday!
Welcome Home!