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.
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