No trolls, I will write what I want, when I want, how I want. Please check to see if you can handle any of this before continuing here. Random thoughts, music videos, mentions of friends, enemies, cats, dreams and some strangeness. Sometimes I'm here, sometimes not. Meow. Namaste. Sashay. Shante. Merci Bien.
Whew. Glad that's over. No, this is not the costume he wore. But since I couldn't find any decent pics? I chose the one that started it all from January 2004. Sooo sparkly....
Well? It was a tiebreaker. A TIEBREAKER. When does THAT happen? If a tiebreaker had happened in 1988, Brian Orser, and not Brian Boitano, would have been Olympic Champion. Yeesh...YOU explain this new scoring system! I don't get it!
Lysacek knocked J out of gold by the technical score. Ok. J's quad was a bit two-footed, with a slick "tick" of the ice during the landing, but overall, his edges were pretty smooth. That super-slo-mo really helps.
In Ladies, USFSA continues to eat their own young with a crappo rule: you're too young at 14 to go to Worlds. So, Kimmie, who won no medal gets sent to Sweden. So does BeBe Liang, a strong jumper. Only Ashley Wagner, the bronze winner, will be the only medalist who gets to attend worlds with a medal. Sooo redundant. This rule was invented due to media coverage of teenagers taking away the older girls' chances at winning. Then Tara Lipinski had a hip replacement at the age of 20, so they said, "Are we killing them with technical requirements?" Well, of course you are. If you say "Double jumps are ok, but triples still get more points, " WHAT DO THINK A 13 YR OLD WILL DO? Not a double axel, but a triple toe/flip/insert jump here. That seems to be contradictory, doesn't it?
So, a cutie from California wins at age 14, and gets sent to Junior Worlds. HUH? If she won the gold at the senior ranks, why is she given the option of Jr. anything? Ridiculous.
But back to J: he did redeem himself from last year's bronze by getting a silver this year. That's an improvement. What a weekend!
And now we're in retrograde. What a strange Monday this is...
He's done it! My skater's edged out Lysacek from the top spot. Apparently, J heard someone say that he was a "disaster" last year, and that did it. This is looking good.
Skating needs a rivalry and nothing's more exciting than seeing Nancy Kerrigan on icenetwork.com having to eat her words after she sat earlier this year and giggled while making fun of J's sexuality, of all things. That former IFS asshole, whose name I don't care to remember, must be cringing, too. Nancy's also looking sheepish again since J's coach is the same woman that gave Oksana Bauil the edge to take the gold medal from Miss Teeth in Norway, 1994. It was Oksana that inspired J to skate. When J was asked about Miss Teeth's comment? He basically said, and I'm paraphrasing, 'I don't support her or her television aspirations.' MEEE OWWWW!
Bitchy is as bitchy does, people. Oh god, I'm loving this.
In other news, social security checks were rolled out for Kimmie Meisner (who's 18 now) in the ladies event. Why this sport continues to eat its young (and, apparently, middle-aged LOL) I'll never know. Don't count Kimmie out. She trains very well and her look is much more mature than the current crop of jumping beans. Still, sports writers always love a baby Tara coming from nowhere. Not at the expense of our world champs, please?
So, I'm still fighting off a cold and waiting for American Ballet Theatre to get back to me. I walked over and applied in person, which is a very ballsy thing to do. I think I'll ease into part-time employment before jumping the whole hog again. I do NOT look forward to 60 hour weeks, by any means. With this recession, let's see if anyone calls me back. I have enjoyed the time off. My back and fibro is truly rehabilitated. I've kicked my insane coffee habit and added more fruit and less crap to my daily intake. Most of fibro is stress, then comes sleep, nutrition, and mobility. I feel so much better it's amazing.
My friend Mary had a baby and sent me a funny email. I've known her 20 years so this is special. She lost 120 pounds last year, which improved her health. As for the baby, Keiffer is his name. They're gearing up for the superbowl in her house, so the photos will be fun to see. Two cats, a husband, and a rabid Giants fan makes for great baby pictures. Knowing Mary, she undoubtedley went out and bought a blue onesie for Keiff. Cute!
The snow storm I keep hearing about is nowhere to be found, so ???? your guess is as good as mine.
Tonight's gonna be fun. Can't wait to see who wins it all in St. Paul.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Well, this is the only story I care about right now, so....
Sigh.
Another one. Brad Renfro last week, and now Heath. Who's gonna be the third actor? It's always in 3. What really hurts is that I used to walk down that block when I was still at His Name We Abuse. I know exactly where that loft is. Yikes.
Ambien. He's not the only person who's had problems with that particular pill. Lately with what I've been reading? I want to double-check every damn prescription I'm on. Scares the hell outta me.
My favorite Heath moment is "10 Things I Hate About You." Perfect, intelligent and damn funny. You had to love this guy--he chose Brooklyn to be anonymous! Coulda lived anywhere, but he chose Boerum Hill. For that alone, he goes on my top ten actor list. Sad year so far...the Oscar tribute-if we have 'em this year--is going to be a doozy.
No pics on this one. I'm a bit miffed at the useless squabbling. I think John Edwards won last night. He stuck to the issues, the answers and didn't try to swing any brass knuckles.
The highlight of the night was Barack being asked if Bill Clinton was the "first black president", and his answer was priceless. CNN's playing highlights, so go ahead and find it.
I'm getting over three hours of political madness from last night, and today is the 35th anniversary of Roe v. Wade, so no pics. No fetal ick, no recaps, no nothing.
Well, it wouldn't be fair if I didn't show you the similarities between what I see in Johnny Weir and Toller Cranston if I didn't post back to back.
This clip I chose came from EuroSport, which has fine British commentary rather than the silly pratter that passes for American media. If it ain't Dick Button or Scott Hamilton? I'M NOT LISTENING TO IT AND NEITHER SHOULD YOU.
EuroSports's Torino 2006 coverage includes some excellent choices: slo-mo shots of the elements and excellent boom camera work, which covers the "drop" onto the ice from 10 feet above. Aerial shots of spins are the finest way to watch them in slo-mo, though the current judging system requires a horizontal slo-mo replay for counts of spins, position angles and overall technique through the tip of the blade through the skater's legs.
The "controversial comments" Johnny made that were mentioned here--which were HILARIOUS--included his trip to the mixed zone (tape, radio, video, etc.) on his feelings after Nationals. The media had a field day, naturally. Johnny stated--and I will paraphrase--that it was kind of a "vodka shot with a snort of coke" feeling he had as he zipped through the program. Mind you, we are not dealing with a druggie, he was trying to make a joke out of how he looked--hair wild, and quickly moving from phrase to phrase. This, of course, had the USFSA's panties in a bunch and Johnny was made to apologize. Gotta kiss those sponsors asses, or all is shot to hell. Johnny's Mom, Patty, rolled her eyes. Political correctness be damned, the kid's half-Irish for god's sake!
Notice the similarities between he and Toller that I have mentioned--beautiful carriage, expressive arms, costumes that extend from top to side down the leg, the clockwise rotation (jumping to the left, not right), and stretch of the legs and strength of the lower back. Both go from high to low in their choreography with what seems very little effort. It's supposed to look easy, which of course it isn't.
Johnny will try to regain his National title this week (coverage begins on ESPN on 1/26) to knock Evan Lysacek out of his current position. For those of you questioning J's choice of Saint-Saens's "The Swan", 1) it was a signature piece for Oksana Baiul who was the inspiration for Johnny to quit equestrian and pick up figure skates; and 2) it is a Russian iconic symbol from the time of the czars.
Traditional Russian literature refers to elegant women as having the shape and transformational qualities of birds. Stalin himself commissioned the famed ballerina Maya Plisetskaya to dance this piece for him privately during the 1950's. Since Johnny loves Russia so much, it was a natural choice. He is simply paying homage not only to his idol (Baiul), but also his on-ice mentor, Tatiana Tarasova.
Johnny's technical coach is Priscilla Hill, who trained him from the time he was 12, but Johnny opted to change this past summer to Galina Smievskaia, Oksana's former coach. He has currently won two of his three competitions and has trained very well. I think he'll pull out all the stops this week. Watch for a new haircut, a custom-desinged costume, and commissioned music made specifically for the technical elements. J may not always be able to do what he wants, but he always does what he says. He delivers, period.
Just like Toller. They are twins (to me) from different generations. I see an affinity that is purely spiritual.
Well, current sources say that the former person who made my life a forked-tongue-two-face HELL from that place is leaving her post today. You know THAT PLACE? The one that used to be an ice rink on 33rd? Like a good (former) journalist, I will not reveal my sources. But the call came. And it made me happy. Today is the Forked-Tongue's LAST DAY.
Now, you may ask why is there a really bad picture of Eva Longoria attached to this post? Eva is beautiful. Eva also shares my birthday (we're four years apart, exactly.) This photo is here because of a very private (and TRUE) joke that I, and so many of my former journalist/ice rink colleagues share: we all agree that Fork Tongue reminds us of The Ugly Version of Eva Longoria. Shorten that phrase to EVIL Longoria, and you've got the name we gave her.
Ms. Longoria is known for flawless makeup, cute outfits and sparkly eyes. EVIL Longoria is known for buck teeth, blotchy skin, peroxided hair and telling you what you want to hear while she lies to management to save her own ass while putting your's on the block at the lowest price. In fact, this photo here STILL makes the real Ms. Longoria beautiful. EVIL could eat an apple thru a fence with that overbite. This was the same person (Evil, not Eva) that looked me in the eye and asked about my "health and well-being" while going to Bassett Hound with everything I said back on October 10, 2006 (my dad's birthday--Ooooh I wish he were alive, whatta phone call THAT woulda been!) and basically sold me out. What made this whole incident particularly galling was 1) Evil suffers from the same host of physical maladies that I've survived; and 2) never told the powers that be that I needed a good rest, not a shove out the door. It's all in the wording. I know this because OOPS! I'm the journalist. She's the evil HR rep. And now, her time has come.
My sources were happy to let me know that after all the suffering I went thru? Some of these people are OUT the door. I guess they have no one else to abuse and now the abuse is turning on them?
Karma's a motherfucker, kiddies. Let's see how her new place treats EVIL.
And Eva? I love ya, babe. Happy Birthday to You...um, Me...umm....US!
I gush over this man. I can't help it--he's simply amazing. For those of you who've followed this blog, here is the performance I've raved about. This is Toller, the famous "peacock" costume that he claimed "never fell down" and perhaps his most signature piece that cemented his pro career. Toller identified with Pagliacci for his sadness, his wanting to believe that magic and hope could be saved at all costs, but we know that that's not true.
It's all here: the extensions, the lunges, the split jumps, the broken-leg spins. He is often imitated, but never duplicated. Toller put his best on the ice and on his canvas. This clip undoubtedly came from a professional competition in the early 80's, so I'd put Toller's age as a bit past 30. I see so much of Johnny Weir in him it positively excites and frightens me at the same time. I have said of Toller (as I believe with Johnny) that he did not choose skating, skating chose HIM.
And we are blessed for it. Take all the triples and quads away from our current competitors and you still wouldn't get a skater like this. Watch this a few times back to back--his blades make NO sound across the ice. No scratching, no pulling, no "snow" flying up as he lands. Perfect back, solid square shoulders and legs that seem to keep stretching in his spins.
My blessed trinity of C's from the 70"s: Cranston, Curry, and Cousins.
Well, here's something I found interesting. Tavis is one of my favorite hosts because of the number and range of guests he hosts on his show.
As we know, caucuses are currently convening all around the country. And while I'm not completely endorsing a candidate right now, I am curious to see who shows up on which talk show, which media outlet and who snubs FOX news (a/k/a Faux News.)
Today is the day after MLK's actual birthday. We will observe this as a holiday on Monday, which kinda irks me. On the day we are supposed to commemorate one of history's finest black teachers, we go shopping at white sales? Seems ironic to me.
Here's a clip of Obama and Tavis talking about the issues of safety given today's world for a political leader and the world of 40 years ago. The world that eventually took MLK's life.
Yup, I'm helping out a friend. What does that mean? Dexter and Kashi are getting a new visitor next week. BuBu is Belasco's kitty, he's 12, and cannot live with her temporarily. Bel's had it with the crap in the Bronx and the commute's killing her, so she asked me--La Femme du Chats!--to take in Bu.
Now here's where it gets interesting: Dexter's nickname is BOO, and this guy's name is BUBU, so there might be some confusion. Bu is very mellow, so Dexter won't have to lose his alpha male spot. Bu will also be a middle cat like Miss Muffin once was, to ease the rambunctious nature of the old fart Dexter (age 15) and the snippy whippersnapper Kashi (age 5.) Bu will replace the "referee" status between the two that Muffin once held. I have also never had a pure gray cat, so this is a treat. Gray fur, pink jellybean toes. I might have him for a year or more while Bel goes to school and relocates to Park Slope, where other animals are not allowed.
Hey, I took a visitor for my college friend Richie and his girlfriend back in 1995, I'd be glad to do it again. Let's just hope Dex doesn't freak out. Kashi's sure to have a fun playmate, but Dexter tends to channel Ike Turner when he can't get his way. Let's hope my sofa and curtains aren't slashed to ribbons.
We'll see! Notice the "praying lotus" position here in the photo. I think this will work out just fine.
Well, The Showman has died at the tender age of 40. He admitted to drug abuse earlier (cocaine being the culprit), and what he could have been. He tried coaching, but didn't have the discipline. What he did have, in huge amounts, was natural talent that could have taken him to incredible heights. But how far can talent get you? There is, in the end, the acceptance of hard work: as a principle, a responsibility, and a path to your true self.
In February 1991, I was sick with chicken pox for the first time in my life. I caught it from my friend Dianne, who was two years older than I. What a better way to convalesce than to sit home and watch Nationals in its entirety? I had been on the fence about returning to skating after an absence on the ice from 1985, the year I graduated grammar school. We had a pond that froze in the winter, so I spent much time there free. I knew the costs of skating at a rink and wondered if I should venture into the paying spectre of skating rather than the pond to which I could not return. I was a sophomore in college, and trying to catch up with my work as my body resembled that of a leper.
The night Tonya Harding landed her triple axel, my temperature soared to 104 degrees. However, that afternoon, I was lucky to see Christopher "The Showman" Bowman perform his short program in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Toller Cranston had taken him on as a student and, as he put it, "dipped" Christopher in black. Black costume, black skates--as is the norm for men--black hair dye. Since Toller is also a famed painter, he tried to emphasize not the importance of color, but its shades. Christopher's well-publicized break with Frank Carroll in 1990 caused Chris to start over and take a completely different approach to the shakiness of his career. Chris was 23 at the time, the absolute prime of a competitive skater's life.
Toller's struggles with Chris as a student is well-documented in his book, Zero Tollerance. He and Ellen Burka, worked tirelessly to discipline Chris into a champion, but it was all for naught. His drug habits (which were well-hidden given USFSA's non-random drug testing) never interfered during competitions. He binged, trained, then went clean again, quite the contradiction. Toller tired of him quickly, and sent him home at the end of 1991 to John Nicks, coach of Tai & Randy and Sasha Cohen.
Chris pulled out a silver medal from the sky in 1991. The choreography, music, editing and look is almost exact to Toller's own style. Had Chris trained a bit more? He would have been on top. Here is Chris's short program, one of the finest ever choreographed by Toller and Ellen Burka, his own coach. Toller knew what hard work and loyalty meant. Sadly, Christopher did not.
This past Thursday, Chris paid the price for his demons with his life at the age of 40. Toxicology tests will take time, but I can tell you that cocaine abuse wears away the lining of the heart. My mother knows this, since she triaged and helped mend many patients that passed through the Lutheran Medical Center emergency room when cocaine OD's were the rage back in the 80's.
A few coaches had privately said to me in the past that Chris would be lucky to make it to 40, since his drug and alcohol habit were quite well-known. You can't really hide anything when you skate all your life. Skaters know other skaters. It's a big sport, but a small world for us.
Anyway, here's a look back at 2 minutes and 30 seconds of liquid purity. It's to Rachmaninoff's Concerto #3, a favorite of mine and a rousing choice for well-linked choreography. Toller is truly a genius. I doubt Christopher believed that of his own talent.
You will be missed, Chris. And I will wonder what could have been. This program was one of the reasons I dragged my skates out of hiding and hit the ice on March 2, 1991. I don't regret my choice. Chris will never know that he had something to do with it.
I forgot to mention I missed winning one of her autographed shoes from an eBay collector on Christmas night. The winning bid? $406.99. My bid? $401.99. I sobbed like a three-year old when I lost.
FIVE DAMN DOLLARS AND THEY COULD HAVE BEEN MINE. And yes, I was ready to crack open my retirement account for them. Her shoes are so rare that any and all bidding is rampant. The last time I saw her shoes, they were shadowboxed in a window for $700 in the now-defunct "Ballet Shoppe." In its place sits a spa, which used to be a t-mobile, and before that "for rent." I don't want a spa. I want those $700 shoes back. At least it was a set price.
Now if I didn't screw up the youtube link, it should be right here. Misha's solo comes first, then Gelsey. Here's a video of my 30-year obsession. Look at her arches. LIKE BUTTAH!!!
Nina, Michael and Heidi really screwed this one up. Ugh. Hopefully you can see this shot of Victorya's mess, which won this past challenge. Our PR contestants had to make a prom dress. For a Vera Wang wannabe? It looks like she grabbed my bedazzler in the dead of night and ran away with it.
Sweet P's dress was much lovelier and I thought she had the win. However, I could care less for this episode's content since I never went to my prom. I felt much better knowing Rami, the Israeli cutie, didn't have a prom either. They just don't have proms in Israel. Makes me wanna fly to a Tel Aviv high school this moment and say "thank you!"
Funny this was a prom episode, too, since my high school (which I will always loathe and despise) hit me up with another golf "event" for me to give them more money. Weren't there enough rich, nose-jobbed mafia-ettes to get money from? Why do they keep bothering me?
By the way, I hate golf. It's rich, elitist, and just think of all the housing that could be built on that land. George Carlin riffed on this about 15 years ago at the Beacon Theatre and I whooped and hollered. Best comedy show I ever saw, and yes, HBO taped it. Should it come on again? He was wearing his trademark black sweater, jeans and black sneakers. His beloved wife, Brenda, was going thru the last stages of breast cancer. I think this was one of the shows he did right before she passed away. The only thing I can tolerate about golf is Tiger Woods. I thoroughly enjoy watching old fat white men try and catch up to him. It ain't NEVER gonna happen!
Belasco, my skating buddy, gave me the number of someone who's looking for tutors. That should hold me over-if this person wants me part-time-for some moolah until one of the monster/careerbuilder people calls back. Wow, those listings are really good in January!
Well, it's raining here and more laundry awaits. My wrists are killing me from all the typing I've been doing. I've also got to find the rest of my medical files for my doctor. I just don't like the idea of having to go to this clinic. I had a five year relationship with my other doctors. Now I have to start all over again. Yuck, bleah, and ick.
Photo from toothpastefordinner.com. Hilarious! Explains my love of Old Navy.
Fishy info (no pun intended) courtesy of freewillastrology.com. I love u, Rob B!
"The stars would love to influence your future," reported a horoscope for Pisces in The Onion newspaper, "but they are powerless against your well-established patterns of behavior." While this might sometimes be an accurate statement, it's not true now. The next three weeks will be a very favorable time for you to escape well-established patterns of behavior, especially the ones that are no damn good for you. Here's a bonus perk: You will also have marked success if you not only rebel against your habits but also against the stars' influence. The upshot of all this good news is that you'll be in prime time to unleash your freest free will.
VICTORIA BECKHAM MAKES WORST-DRESSED LIST. Um, little man? ARE YOU FUCKING MAD?
Are you BLIND? I don't consider someone who's that far out worst-dressed. First of all, let me say she was never my fave spice girl (Gerri Halliwell was), but she is NOT a bad person to be a fashion icon! And I shop at OLD NAVY so this really is a declaration for me!!
Um, fashion-forward, dahling? It's amazing to me after a year of bitchy, sneery, nasty and all the other rotten elves how quickly I have learned to see thru those with immediate and complex amounts of self-loathing.
Look at this picture. Do you call this badly dressed? The British are different than you and I. And Mr. Bitchwell? I would gladly, if had the proper pounds sterling, pay the UK media to rip your little troll ass apart just for all the nightmares you've caused. In a country filled--no, SPEWING--with toxic negativity (the USA! not UK, which I adore), I am going to ask the gods and goddesses right now to
MAKE YOU GO AWAY. Poof! Boing! Whooosh! GONE. Banished back under the rock of troll origin.
Bitchwell's just pissed off because Lagerfeld views him as an h'ors d'oeurve he'd never chew on and Oleg Cassini (bless him in heaven's showroom) is dead.
Take your vile drama elsewhere. We've got the E channel and Page Six to do allll the damage.
That's my rant for the day! And a bit more positive than those past, wouldn't ya say?
Here's a zoomed-in crop of my Mariah shot when I met her at Macy's. Her perfume smells like nothing else on the market and I'd know! My vanity tray is up to 112 bottles.
And she was nice to ALL the children who came up to her. That scores big points with me.
Nope, looks like blogger is changing or I just don't know what I'm doing. Let's see if it shows up. The angels have come calling, however. All water signs and earth signs will have a fabulous year (thru the next 12, actually) since Jupiter, Mars, and Saturn have stopped their bitchy sibling rivalries. Air and fire signs have had their due and my earthy and swimming brethren have really had the short end of the stick.
No more, kiddies!
My first example? A random look at ABT & NYCB's websites (yes, two ballet companies) are seeking help with writing, editing, fund-raising, a B.A., and a dance background. Does that sound like me? You bet it does. NYCB's doing a massive overhaul and now that Nutcracker season's over, I can get down to brass tacks and nag them like mad again. ABT's person who hires will return tomorrow, so I will strategically zap my resume so it lands in the email box first thing tomorrow morning. The way I see it? I tried my father's life for 6 years and it almost drove me to a nervous breakdown. I tried my mother's life and they sent me packing since I was viewed as flightly, flakey, unpredictable and basically incompetent. I know for a fact that I am none of these things, yet these words from that crazed yenta have been a source of doubt and pain over the last 12 months. Never doubt your angels, though.
I dreamed very clearly of a former nemesis who'd accused me of stealing a key to her prized possessions locked in a room. It wasn't true, but I did not fight this woman. In real life, she was always hurling narcissistic accusations at me of how I didn't recognize her grandiosity, something I will never do. At the end of defending myself, I reached into my pocket after being cleared of all charges as a security team waltzed from room to room stating that they'd seen many keys and she had a copy so why was she so consumed about it? She could make a copy of the original and stop picking on me. As I left this estate, I reached into my pocket to find that very key. I did not know how it got there, but it wanted to "be" in my pocket. I'll take that as I sign that I have what I need and when I need it, it will find me. All I have to do is reach in.
I woke up with the repetitive phrase from a neo-soul tune playing over and over..."Who made you the boss of me?"
And that's exactly what I need to be saying to myself right now. Do these people (did they ever) know me? Have they called? No. Have they spent time with me outside an office? Haven't I attended their events, gone to their parties, given lavish gifts at holiday times (when I received nothing), and basically cleaned up their messes? And all for what...so I could be painted as an incompetent. I'm sure my weight gain has something to do with it, too. Fat people are despised in this country, so some subtle discrimination is definitely in play here. I have had a 60 lb. weight gain since my thyroid, hormonal and fibro issues took over my life starting way back in 2000. Could it possibly be that while I'm definitely NOT so shallow to think like this, it's finally hitting me that other people are?
While I do not believe presentation is everything--character is--I am beginning to realize from my theater life that if you want the part, you must play up and reside in your costume. Would we trust a Hamlet who wears jeans and slays everyone with a butter knife? Probably not. Would Odette from Swan Lake show up in eyelash yarn and angora rather than feathers to portray her bird-like delicacy? No. So why do I think that I can try only half as much as someone else while pulling around a much larger--and still damaged--body? Time to get out the Crest whitestrips, buy some new blazers, pants and shoes, get a facial, wax my eyebrows, straighten up and fly....the part. Perhaps that would help.
So I will indulge--since these are two ballet companies--in my demi-lashes to brighten my eyes. A famous makeup artist said to me over 2 decades ago, "Your eyes tell a story now, but your mouth is what you will become." That translated into focusing on lip colors and and not shadows. Well, we know where my mouth has gotten me, so I think it's back to my daring little green windows on my soul. They will hear what I have to say eventually. I want them to look me in the eye.
