I Love Dear Havanah

The Band came for a visit…in actuality...a pit stop before their gig the next day. And you know what that means…lotsa instruments, equipment, and cords…lotsa loud music…lotsa late hours…lotsa food.

I tried to accommodate the band guys and be the best band mom ever…by giving them a them a roof over their head….and some grub for dinner and breakfast the next morning. I didn’t have to worry if they would like my cooking. I knew they would be happy, even though I was serving grub…and not gourmet. After all, they are starving musicians. Plus I didn’t charge them. I make it a habit not to charge my favorite band for accommodations. I usually charge my guests 50 dollars per night - per head…Kids under 6 are free…they have smaller heads.

Anywhooooooooooo………………….

I love Dear Havanah……
Did I hear you ask: How much do you love Dear Havanah? (Come on…play along with this Kat.)

Let me tell you how much I love Dear Havanah...

I love their music here and there
I love their music everywhere

I love their music in the car
I love their music at the bar

I love their music on the plane
I love their music on the lane

I love their music in a chair
I love their music on a mare

I love their music in the tub.
I love their music in the pub.

I do I love them, Kat I am.
I am a big Dear Havanah fan

PS. Shameless plug: Check out dearhavanah.com
Click on “Adopt a Band” and watch the video…video might take a minute to load. You’ll see Colin as Sarah McLachlan…1/2 funny and ½ scary. http://www.dearhavanah.com/adopt-a-rock-band/

Chelsea's Milestone Birthday

Today marks Chelsea’s 25th birthday...a milestone. Woo hoo.

Quarter of a century.

I remember living in Jax when Chelsea was just an infant.

I was a new mom...lucky to be home with my first born bundle of love and we were getting used to our new routine together.

The morning would fly by...

breakfast,

bowels,

bath,

and back to bed for Baby c.

Then it was the afternoon schedule...lunch....hmmm...what now?
I would have to come up with a diversion to pass the time.

I remember sitting on the couch with her next to me...thinking of new ways to amuse her.

Whenever she got her little arms moving and legs kicking,
I knew I had a career in entertainment.

I’d wiggle Mr. Roly Poly Bird...rattle plastic car keys...shake and squeak wiggle worm.

After a half hour of wiggling, shaking, squeaking, and rattling...I’d start wondering.

Now what am I supposed to do?

What will my next act be?

Now it’s...9,125 days later and Chelsea is 25.

And I’m asking myself... “Where did all those days go???”

Anywhoooooooo................

I can still see Chelsea’s face

as she looks down at her birthday cake to blow out her candles...

her big dimples and smile glowing in the flame...until we sang.

We quickly learned that singing “Happy Birthday” brought tears.

Maybe Chelsea didn’t like all the attention directed to her,

maybe we were singing off-key,

or maybe both.

But Chelsea would go into the “It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to” blues.

But that was then and this is now...
now Chelsea loves a celebration and even celebrates her half birthday.

I know Chelsea won't be doing any crying today...

but I feel the tears coming when I think back

and reminisce on those 9,125 days gone by.

It’s her birthday and I’ll cry if I want to...

Happy Birthday, Chelsea.

Lots of Love...25 Hugs and 25 Kisses.

Elevator Etiquette

When I’m staying in a hotel, the first thing I need to find when I wake up is a cup of Joe. The idea of making coffee in one of those germ breeding hotel coffee makers, using water from the bathroom sink faucet is a total turn-off.

So I am forced to get dressed in my best business blogger outfit and leave the room…in search of the almighty Joe. Into the world I must venture...

The elevator doors open and I get in. I wait for the doors to close. I hear footsteps.

Hmmm…….Decision time: Are you nice (like PaulA) and hold the elevator for the person you hear coming? Do you press the ‘Open Door’ button? Maybe you stick your hand in the doors and wait for the person to come around the corner?

OR…

Do you try (like hell) to get the doors to close as fast as possible….pushing the ‘Close the damn Door’ button…over and over…to get the doors to shut before they get there? (like mwwaaa)

Regardless of how hard I try...the intruder puts his big foot in the door and manages to get in. So there I am...standing with the elevator intruder…wondering if he knew I just tried to shut the door in his face.

Anywhoooooo………

I am aware of social protocol involving the elevator, so I do my best to be pleasant. I manage to mumble, “Good Morning”…which is major for me to string 2 words together…seeing I haven’t found the almighty Joe yet. After an attempt at elevator etiquette I stare at the floor…Nice buff job on the shoes, Mr. Intruder...I can see myself.

After what seems like a 5 minute elevator ride to the lobby…the doors open. And I am free to make my way out. Free to find coffee.

Score! A Starbucks. (Not exactly DD’s, but it feeds my caffeine addiction.) Back to the hotel to blog.

With coffee in one hand, a bagel in the other, and my room key in my mouth…I scurry to make the elevator. I see the elevator doors starting to close and I’m quite certain someone is inside who will hold them open for me. As I approach………

…the elevator doors close…in my face.

What the hell? I know there was someone hiding in there...they could have held the damn doors open for me.

Where is their elevator etiquette?

Chinese proverb say: With elevators...what goes up, must come down. With elevator etiquette: What goes out....comes back around.

Foot Comment

Did you hear about the Patriots football player, Wes Welker, who used either the word "foot" or "toe" ten times in his comments about the upcoming game between the Patriots and the Jets last Sunday? All words were subtly inserted in his comments having to do with an embarrassing foot-fetish video with the Jet's Coach Rex Ryan and his wife.


Both teams had been trash-talking before the big game...just big men trying to act bigger than the next guy...by puffing up their chests, beating their chests, and exposing their chests.


The Jets, however, threw out the first off-color comment when Antonio Cromartie called Patriots quartback, Tom Brady, an "assbeep." Maybe he did it to fire up his fellow teammates, or maybe he did it because he's an "assbeep" himself...but it brought retaliation from the Patriots.


So in an attempt to say something to "get back" and bring embarrassment to an already embarrassing situation...Welker fit the words "foot" and "toe" in a subtle...yet not-so subtle way. We all knew what his comments were referring to.


Being a blogger...I was very impressed and amused by Welker. Did he come up with those comments off-the-cuff, on-the-fly, or around-the-waist...or did he practice what he was gonna say? Did he write them down on index cards? I wonder if he used footnotes.


If I was clever enough to make a point in my blog...I would follow his footpath and imbed a subliminal word into my blog postings. I would make subtle comments so everyone would understand my commentary.


Wait...what was my last comment? What comment or lack of comment was I making?


Anywhoooooooooooooo...............


The way I see it...after that Patriot's loss on Sunday, it appears that Welker put his foot in his mouth ten too many times with his commentary. At this time Welker has "no comment." And Coach Belichick and his Patriots foot soldiers are now out of the playoffs...back home...footloose and fancy free until next season.


PS...I think I just pulled a Welker. Hopefully you noticed my subtly not-so subtle, mentioning of the word "comment"...11 times.


In others words...."Leave a Comment."

Grimm Movie Review

I would never consider myself a film critic, but I know what I like and I like the movie…Black Swan…in a weird way. Weird = good. Do you see why I’m not a film critic? My critique would be cryptic.

I don’t normally write movie reviews, but I can’t resist throwing in my two cents alongside Roger Ebert. Together we add up to almost a nickels worth of sense.

Roger Ebert: “A melodrama, told with passionate intensity, gloriously and darkly absurd.” 2 Thumbs Up.
KatOUT: “A dark movie to ruffle your feathers. Another feather in director Darren Aronofsky's cap." 2 Feathers Up.



The Black Swan is very dark, so it might not be for everyone. (Think anorexic, self-mutilating, psychotic, ballerina with feathers.) The title of the movie might throw one off, but please know it is not a tender-hearted children’s story for the faint-hearted. The movie is billed as a psychological thriller.

Soooooo….If you enjoy being psychologically disturbed by disturbing psychological thrillers…this Swan is for you.

Anywhooooooooooooo………………….

If you are familiar with the material of Aronofsky’s other movies…it would follow that the director experienced an overdose of fairy tales as a youngster. Fairy tales are full of violence and disfunction. You don’t have to dig very far to find many unsettling, graphically disturbing stories…just pick up a book of Brother’s Grimm fairy tales…and you’ll find……….


Cinderella (Grimm’s version): self-mutilation and deceit. The ugly stepsisters cut off parts of their feet in an effort to fit into the slipper and fool the prince.

Hansel and Gretel: child abandonment and cannibalism. Two young children are abandoned by their parents in a dark forest…and encounter a woman with cannibalistic intentions of child snacking.

Little Red Riding Hood: deceit, cross dressing, and violence. A wolf dressed as a Grandmother-what-big-teeth-you-have eats LRRH whole. A hunter cuts open the grandmother/wolf’s belly with a pair of scissors to free LRRH.

Such sweet stories of violence and despair…to read to your child just before they drift off to sleep.

******Light Bulb Moment: Now that I think about it…the scene with the rabbit boiling in the movie Fatal Attraction…must have evolved from the disturbing bedtime story about Peter Rabbit..........…

One rabbit was killed and cooked in a pie…the other rabbit was killed and cooked in a pot. One is from a children’s story…the other a psychological thriller.

………Both very Grimm in context………….

Snookified

I have said…and continue to say that it bothers me that I know the “doings” of Lindsay Lohan. There is no escaping Lindsay’s escapades. Now I have to add Snooki to the list.

Why in god's name do I have to know about Snooki? I've never sought her out. Never watched her show. Never had any interest what-so-ever! But yet, I know she is a troll of a young woman, with incredibly bad manners, on the television "Jersey Shore" and wears a bump in her hair called the Snooki pouf. Plus there was even talk of putting her in the ball drop at Times Square for New Years. Someone with half a brain lobe woke up and scrapped that scary idea.

I ask you...why would we ever need to start the New Year out snookified? It's one thing to be pie-eyed... but I draw the line at snookified.

Anywhooooo....................

As you can see from my hideous picture, I was snookified. But it was unintentional snookification. I plead snookification by default. Please God, don’t let me become Snooki.

Those who know me…know…I wear a clip in my hair. It’s a fashion statement that I’ve been making…for 20 years.

Anyway, while riding in the car for a couple of hours, I kept moving the hair clip on the back of my head…higher and higher...so I could lay my head back to take a snooze while my chauffeur drove home. Home PaulA James Home.

When I got in the house, I walked by a mirror and caught a glimpse of my Snooki bump...and fell over laughing. The strange thing is...I had been in a conversation with PaulA and he never even mentioned my new Snooki do. Tell me…what does that say about your relationship…when your husband hasn’t noticed that you’ve been snookified.


Okay, maybe men don’t notice everything…which can have its benefits...but a full out Snooki do???

Then to add insult to injury/salt to the wound/gum to the hair…I turned on the Today Show and saw Matt Lauer chatting with Snooki about her recently released novel about an out-spoken party girl. Wow…what a streeetch. I wonder if the main character in her novel gets in a petrie tub and drops F-bombs.


Snooki has had far longer than her 15 minutes of fame…she’s going on 2 years. Why couldn’t she just have been a case of Hair Today….Gone Tomorrow?

Love "Fans"

A minute and a half, 90 seconds…that’s how long it takes me to sing the National Anthem…A cappella…which I did for the men’s UCONN basketball game last night. Go UCONN.

No instrumental accompaniment to drown me out. Yep, me, the microphone, my loud mouth…and my fingers crossed.

Singing the National Anthem…A cappella…is probably the most vulnerable I could feel…unless I also experienced a wardrobe malfunction. After all, I’m not a professional, and there are thousands of people there…plus or minus those who saunter in late. Next time, could you please try to be on time.

So was I anxious? You bet your late ass I was. Even though I have done this for over ten years…anxious feelings still creep in. But I came up with a new ritual this time…I decided to call on my inner diva.


I had seen an interview with Gwyneth Paltrow about her performance in "Country Strong." She said her performance in the movie was inspired by Beyonce. To prepare, Gwyneth had watched Beyonce’s performances and tried to capture some of that incredible self-belief and abandon that Beyonce has on stage.

If it worked for Gwyneth…why not Kat? So I decided I would call on my inner diva for performing the national anthem. I conjured up images of Beyonce shaking her booty and struttin’ her stuff. And images of Beyonce with all those fans blowing on her while she's performing. Bootylicious. Maybe that would bring me luck..... or laughs.


Everyone has good luck rituals. Actors say “break a leg.” Tiger Woods wears red on Sunday. University of Alabama Coach Saban keeps a lucky penny in his pocket. Roll Tide. And lucky enough, I was singing on 1/11/11. Ya hoo. Eleven, my favorite number.

Anywhooooooooooooooo………..

The hardest time is the wait before the game…when I pace and wait. Practice a few notes. Wait and pace.


Game time…my name is announced…I walk out to center court, take a deep breath, check for wardrobe malfunctions, stare at the flag….and adrenaline kicks in with..."Oh say, can you sing."

I automatically shift into auto sing and the words just come ...and luckily in the correct order, which is totally awesome because I might confuse a few people singing along with .. “And the rockets blasted in red air. The glare bursting in bombs.”

Every year I keep going back for more…A minute and a half….of an adrenaline rush, being on the spot, and trying, oh so hard, not to bring shame to the family name.


Note to Diva self: Next time request a few turbo fans to blow on me while I sing.


PS. Thank you to the real “fans” who were there for support.