There's no doubt Jon and Kate are angry. So are Heidi and Spencer.
These are the days of headlines being overrun by news of reality TV stars who do and say outrageous things. Marriage and divorce among these D-list "celebrities" warrant magazine covers, except for today.
With the deaths of iconic model and actress Farrah Fawcett and "King of Pop" Michael Jackson on the same day, there's no doubt journalists are scrambling to pull together highlight clips and information about these true celebrities.
After Farrah's death this morning, one that was expected following her fight with anal cancer, news agencies were making plans to provide retrospectives on the icon from Charlie's Angels. Entertainment Weekly likely was planning a special commemorative cover. And then Michael Jackson was rushed to the hospital.
The 50-year-old singer gained extreme fame throughout his music career, and his unexpected cardiac arrest just after noon, turned the tables for media outlets. Early reports of his untimely death started appearing on TMZ.com and at the L.A. Times Web site. CNN and other major news outlets were holding out, lacking the proper confirmation from sources.
As Farrah spent her final days resting after extensive treatments, Michael Jackson was preparing for a serious of major shows in London. There is no question Michael Jackson will be making headlines for weeks.
And it's much deserved. I, for one, will be glad to not have to look at Kate's terrible haircut for at least a little while.
Rest in peace, Farrah and Michael. You will forever be remembered by your fans.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
A blog post about numbers
There are at least a million reasons I don't blog seven days a week. One of them is the fact I have about 15 ideas running through my head every 60 seconds. But enough with those numbers, already.
For me, there is one number that is as memorable in pop culture as the word supercalifragilisticexpialidocious (spelling not checked). And no, it's not 867-5309.
My pop culture number to remember is 525,600. As in minutes. It's how I measure a year.
If you are anything like me, you already have burst into the popular song from the musical RENT. It happens to be one of the most magical musicals of all time, if not for its poignant message, because it broke records and helped define my generation.
There are people who love RENT so much they follow the national tour around the country. They stand in line for more than a day for the RENT Rush, which allows them to purchase a limited number of $20 tickets in the front rows. They made continuous trips to see the show on Broadway, before it closed last year. They are RENTheads. I am not quite that dedicated. I am just an average fan who will go a little bit out of his way — a couple hundred miles, at most — to see the show live.
Last week, I was fortunate enough to catch one performance of the week-long run at The Paramount here in Seattle. The special thing about this national tour is that Adam Pascal and Anthony Rapp, originators of male lead roles Mark and Roger, returned for the tour. There also are several other cast members in the current tour who are reprising their roles from the Broadway run or have long been attached to the show.
Seeing these performers on stage who have sang these songs and told these stories so many times — 525,600, perhaps — giving a performance that feels just as passionate as their first night in character was a real treat.
For whatever reason, RENT has captured my attention and kept it. I frequently listen to the soundtrack. I have watched the movie version more times than I can count. I even bought the final Broadway performance on DVD. I have watched it twice.
My count for seeing RENT live is now at six. And every time I see it, I want to jump out of my seat and sing along with that powerful title track. I can't wait for the solos and my favorite songs. I still get choked up by the emotional ups and downs of the story.
I probably could give 525,600 reasons I love RENT. Maybe I will save those for another post.
For me, there is one number that is as memorable in pop culture as the word supercalifragilisticexpialidocious (spelling not checked). And no, it's not 867-5309.
My pop culture number to remember is 525,600. As in minutes. It's how I measure a year.
If you are anything like me, you already have burst into the popular song from the musical RENT. It happens to be one of the most magical musicals of all time, if not for its poignant message, because it broke records and helped define my generation.
There are people who love RENT so much they follow the national tour around the country. They stand in line for more than a day for the RENT Rush, which allows them to purchase a limited number of $20 tickets in the front rows. They made continuous trips to see the show on Broadway, before it closed last year. They are RENTheads. I am not quite that dedicated. I am just an average fan who will go a little bit out of his way — a couple hundred miles, at most — to see the show live.
Last week, I was fortunate enough to catch one performance of the week-long run at The Paramount here in Seattle. The special thing about this national tour is that Adam Pascal and Anthony Rapp, originators of male lead roles Mark and Roger, returned for the tour. There also are several other cast members in the current tour who are reprising their roles from the Broadway run or have long been attached to the show.
Seeing these performers on stage who have sang these songs and told these stories so many times — 525,600, perhaps — giving a performance that feels just as passionate as their first night in character was a real treat.
For whatever reason, RENT has captured my attention and kept it. I frequently listen to the soundtrack. I have watched the movie version more times than I can count. I even bought the final Broadway performance on DVD. I have watched it twice.
My count for seeing RENT live is now at six. And every time I see it, I want to jump out of my seat and sing along with that powerful title track. I can't wait for the solos and my favorite songs. I still get choked up by the emotional ups and downs of the story.
I probably could give 525,600 reasons I love RENT. Maybe I will save those for another post.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Purple dryer lint and other reasons I need to expand my wardrobe
A pile of clean clothes is overflowing from a chair in my living room. The pile of mostly t-shirts has one thing in common — most everything is the same shade of K-State purple.
Being a proud graduate of Kansas State University, my casual wardrobe tends to be overpowered by t-shirts that proclaim, "Willie is my homeboy!" or, simply, "K-State." The white printing on the royal purple shirts have been a mainstay since I enrolled at the university in 1998. Even my dressier clothes tend to come in various shades of purple, plum and anything else you get when mixing red and blue hues.
Today, before heading out for a quick lunch, I grabbed one of the many t-shirts from the pile. This one, I have come to realize, leads to dozens of complete strangers adding their thoughts. It's as if the shirt says, "Well, what do you have to say?"
In reality, it simply says, "I MISS MANHATTAN." I saw the t-shirt on a fellow K-Stater when I was back in Manhattan last fall. She told me she had gotten it from this Web site, and I immediately placed my order. It's one of my favorites.
But wearing this shirt today prompted at least one person on every single block — and I'm not exaggerating one bit — to comment. I stopped at the bank where one of the employees asked, "Are you from New York?" No, "Kansas," I said.
"I didn't know there was another Manhattan," another teller said. I wanted to launch into my usual explanation of how Manhattan, Kansas, aka The Little Apple, is home to Kansas State University. I wanted to tell her it was where I met some really amazing people and made some even more amazing memories. Thus, "I MISS MANHATTAN."
Instead, I said, "It's where I went to college." And I left it at that.
Within the next block, a homeless man told me he wishes he never would have left New York. At the crosswalk a few steps away, another guy, a recent college graduate, tried to strike up a conversation about his native Staten Island. I couldn't contribute.
By the time I had finished my lunch and made the half-mile walk back to my apartment, no fewer than five others proclaimed, "Me, too," and one man turned his head, pointed East and said, "It's that way."
I got the feeling he wanted me to keep walking, all the way to the East coast. Little did he — or anyone else today — know, that walk only would have been about half as far as he'd expected. Because "I MISS MANHATTAN," as in Kansas. Not New York. Though that Manhattan is lovely, too.
A shirt this simple shouldn't cause such conversation. It's not like I am making a political statement or proclaiming my hatred for any other place on the planet. I am quite happy with living in Seattle, really.
Proclaiming, via a t-shirt, that "I MISS MANHATTAN" is the equivalent to missing your first car, that clunker that had an 8-track player, or the dog you had when you were a child. It's not like saying, "I AGREE WITH (FILL IN THE BLANK)" or "(FILL IN THE BLANK) IS STUPID."
But, just like people in Seattle tend to let outsiders believe it rains here all the time, I will continue to let people think I miss Manhattan, N.Y. Because, when someone looks at me when I'm wearing this t-shirt and asks, "K-State grad?" it makes all the misdirected comments worthwhile. I know, in those cases, Willie likely is their homeboy, too.
Being a proud graduate of Kansas State University, my casual wardrobe tends to be overpowered by t-shirts that proclaim, "Willie is my homeboy!" or, simply, "K-State." The white printing on the royal purple shirts have been a mainstay since I enrolled at the university in 1998. Even my dressier clothes tend to come in various shades of purple, plum and anything else you get when mixing red and blue hues.
Today, before heading out for a quick lunch, I grabbed one of the many t-shirts from the pile. This one, I have come to realize, leads to dozens of complete strangers adding their thoughts. It's as if the shirt says, "Well, what do you have to say?"
In reality, it simply says, "I MISS MANHATTAN." I saw the t-shirt on a fellow K-Stater when I was back in Manhattan last fall. She told me she had gotten it from this Web site, and I immediately placed my order. It's one of my favorites.
But wearing this shirt today prompted at least one person on every single block — and I'm not exaggerating one bit — to comment. I stopped at the bank where one of the employees asked, "Are you from New York?" No, "Kansas," I said.
"I didn't know there was another Manhattan," another teller said. I wanted to launch into my usual explanation of how Manhattan, Kansas, aka The Little Apple, is home to Kansas State University. I wanted to tell her it was where I met some really amazing people and made some even more amazing memories. Thus, "I MISS MANHATTAN."
Instead, I said, "It's where I went to college." And I left it at that.
Within the next block, a homeless man told me he wishes he never would have left New York. At the crosswalk a few steps away, another guy, a recent college graduate, tried to strike up a conversation about his native Staten Island. I couldn't contribute.
By the time I had finished my lunch and made the half-mile walk back to my apartment, no fewer than five others proclaimed, "Me, too," and one man turned his head, pointed East and said, "It's that way."
I got the feeling he wanted me to keep walking, all the way to the East coast. Little did he — or anyone else today — know, that walk only would have been about half as far as he'd expected. Because "I MISS MANHATTAN," as in Kansas. Not New York. Though that Manhattan is lovely, too.
A shirt this simple shouldn't cause such conversation. It's not like I am making a political statement or proclaiming my hatred for any other place on the planet. I am quite happy with living in Seattle, really.
Proclaiming, via a t-shirt, that "I MISS MANHATTAN" is the equivalent to missing your first car, that clunker that had an 8-track player, or the dog you had when you were a child. It's not like saying, "I AGREE WITH (FILL IN THE BLANK)" or "(FILL IN THE BLANK) IS STUPID."
But, just like people in Seattle tend to let outsiders believe it rains here all the time, I will continue to let people think I miss Manhattan, N.Y. Because, when someone looks at me when I'm wearing this t-shirt and asks, "K-State grad?" it makes all the misdirected comments worthwhile. I know, in those cases, Willie likely is their homeboy, too.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Jamie Foxx is taking over the world
He's an actor. A comedian. And an amazing singer.
Jamie Foxx is so much more than a Hollywood triple-threat. Don't believe me? Watch the video above from the ACM Artist of the Decade presentation. Jamie, a native of Terrell, Texas, was the only non-country artist to perform a tribute to honoree George Strait.
And he killed it.
As Ray Charles in the big-screen film Ray, he proved he was a musical genius. On American Idol a few weeks ago, he proved to be the most impressive celebrity mentor of Season 8. And now this.
You can just tell Jamie Foxx is a genuinely nice guy, too. He's now at the top of my "dream list" of celebrities I would like to interview. Sitting down with him for just a few minutes would be an absolute honor. I can't imagine how much more we will see from him.
I will continue to watch. You should, too.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
My hometown
Watch Minneola, Kansas in Faith Videos | View More Free Videos Online at Veoh.com
(Editor's note: I just found this video online. It's from the mayor of Minneola. I think it's amazing Minneola has a commercial. I used to dream as a child that I'd grow up and they would put one of those signs at the edge of town that proclaimed it was my hometown.)
Minneola is a tiny place.
The small Kansas town is a place where the only grocery store will be open during stretches of four or five years, then closed for a few years before another hopeful entrepreneur breezes into town with the idea of reinventing the Main Street shop.
Minneola is like a lot of places in Southwest Kansas. Teenagers graduate from classes of 12 students, move away for college, then on to their first job and, next thing you know, they are rarely looking back. Holidays are about the only time they return to the farming town, where the local grain elevator is the closest thing to a skyscraper.
That has been my story, since graduating 13 years ago. I since have lived in Iowa, Michigan, Louisiana and now Washington state.
Growing up in Minneola meant getting pizza from the only stable restaurant in town, one operating from a converted two-car garage. No delivery available. It meant driving 20 miles to get to the closest Wal-Mart, which was about the only major retail option for another 30 or so miles. A "real" mall meant driving at least a couple of hours past open fields and endless lines of irrigation pipes. You definitely see more cows that cars when driving through that area of the country.
Minneola requires knowing everyone's business and everyone knowing your business. It just happens that way when there are only 700 or so people claiming the area as home.
When I recently was asked to identify my hometown for my part-time job as a tour guide, I had a bit of an identity crisis. I haven't lived in Minneola for 13 years. And I haven't lived in my first residence, Shubert, Neb., an even sleepier town, for 26 years.
But the places I lived in Iowa, Michigan and Louisiana only were my permanent address for a few years each. And Seattle, where I now fall asleep each night, hasn't even made the three-month mark.
So, "Minneola, Kansas," I said. I now am reporting to work at the Space Needle, Seattle's most recognizable structure, with a nametag that declares my hometown. Already, several tourists have questioned, "Where's Minneola?"
I tell them it's likely nowhere near anywhere they have visited. But if they ever get there, that pizza from the garage is some of the best in the world.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Finding life's purpose. Or what in the heck am I doing?
Purpose. I've been on a mission to find mine.
A newscast today made me think about it, again. A mom and dad were talking about their son's purpose. He died just shy of turning 20 from a prescription drug overdose. They now promote programs to properly dispose of unwanted or unneeded prescriptions, all in the hopes of preventing another family from going through similar tragedy.
I'm not sure if this counts as the son's purpose in life — it seems more like the purpose of his mom and dad — but it had me thinking about my own contributions to society. What, when I go, will be my greatest contribution to the planet or the people who call it home?
We all have a purpose, or so many people believe. It's kind of like the idea that everyone longing for love will one day stumble upon "the one."
Not to get all philosophical, but, um, I just don't know how this can work. I guess the simple answer is that everyone has a different purpose. And not all purposes are created equal. But as I think more about this — and blog the random thoughts in my head right now — I can't help but worry I won't have done enough when the end comes for me.
So, what the heck am I doing? Or, more specifically, what the heck am I supposed to be doing? The stress of a declining economy has made me think much more about the opportunities in my future. Now, when I really have a clean slate, is the time to rally the troops and make that huge difference for which I've always dreamed.
Then, again, I find myself spinning in circles trying to nail down exactly where to start. I guess finding life's purpose is like finding "the one" — you may be better off waiting for it to find you.
A newscast today made me think about it, again. A mom and dad were talking about their son's purpose. He died just shy of turning 20 from a prescription drug overdose. They now promote programs to properly dispose of unwanted or unneeded prescriptions, all in the hopes of preventing another family from going through similar tragedy.
I'm not sure if this counts as the son's purpose in life — it seems more like the purpose of his mom and dad — but it had me thinking about my own contributions to society. What, when I go, will be my greatest contribution to the planet or the people who call it home?
We all have a purpose, or so many people believe. It's kind of like the idea that everyone longing for love will one day stumble upon "the one."
Not to get all philosophical, but, um, I just don't know how this can work. I guess the simple answer is that everyone has a different purpose. And not all purposes are created equal. But as I think more about this — and blog the random thoughts in my head right now — I can't help but worry I won't have done enough when the end comes for me.
So, what the heck am I doing? Or, more specifically, what the heck am I supposed to be doing? The stress of a declining economy has made me think much more about the opportunities in my future. Now, when I really have a clean slate, is the time to rally the troops and make that huge difference for which I've always dreamed.
Then, again, I find myself spinning in circles trying to nail down exactly where to start. I guess finding life's purpose is like finding "the one" — you may be better off waiting for it to find you.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Hiking in my neighborhood ... almost
There are plenty of days — OK, every single day — when I complain about having to "hike" up the hills of my neighborhood, Seattle's Capitol Hill.
While there are some steep inclines in the neighborhood, complete with panting and sweating when I'm walking up them, nothing really compared to my visit today to Snoqualmie Falls. My friend Tony has been in town for the last few days, and I wanted to make sure I showed him some of the great outdoors of Washington State. That happened on the eve of his departure when we visited Snoqualmie Falls with a couple of my other friends. The site is beautiful (see photo above), but the hike down and back up to the bottom of the falls is, well, a complete nightmare.
In reality, it's not that terrible. But it's certainly making me realize the inclines on Pike and Pine streets in my neighborhood have nothing on this little slice of happiness in Snoqualmie. The beautiful views make it all worthwhile, though. So, no matter how much I complained, I will return many more times. Plus, I'm convinced today's hike will come in handy when I scarf down a pint of Birthday Cake ice cream from Molly Moon.
(Editor's note: I should mention Molly Moon just opened a location at the halfway point down the hill from my apartment. So, that means a workout always will be in order when I grab another pint.)
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