Category Archives: Life As It Happens

April 1, 2012

Quarterly Report

By Susan

Do you ever get so busy with your life you sort of forget…well…your life?

That was my first quarter of 2012.

(I love applying business terms like “first quarter” when I really mean “from January through March”.  It’s way more efficient.  Except when I write three follow-up sentences to explain why I used the term. But I digress.  It’s been a while since I’ve posted.  Thus my writing is a little rusty.  Which now explains those last three sentences. And these last two sentence fragments.)

Since January, I have  been a chin-deep in work trips and deadlines.  For me, it was an unprecedented perfect storm: three big projects with major deliverables due at all around the same time.  This meant a lot of working late in the evening, early in the morning, and all through the weekends. For weeks and weeks… and weeks…on end.

For example, we had a special family gathering on my husband’s side up in Grande Prairie in early March.  It was the kind you don’t miss.  So I pulled along my enormous brief case on wheels, the one that makes me look like a pharmaceutical sales rep from Pfizer.  I took the Saturday off, the day of travel and the big event.  But on the Sunday – which also happened to be my birthday - I spent the entire day at a table in the deserted cafeteria at Grande Prairie Regional College with my lap top, brief case and files furiously trying to get a draft report out (cue your cries of sympathy).  I got it done.  However, I can think of better things to do on my birthday.

I lost track of some details during these months.  Like my kids and husband.  My friends.  My writing.  I’d see my kids in the morning and think “wow, you’ve grown like three inches and your face is changing”. I found myself saying “I gotta work today, kiddo” far too much. It was all I could do most nights to collapse into bed and high-five my husband.

But now, one by one, the reports are getting done.  The horizon beginning to clear.   I’ve stopped waking at 4:30 in the morning in flop-sweats of panic and dread.  I come home in the evening and feel all confused because I don’t have six more hours of work to do. Then – lo and behold –  I found I had time to take my daughter swimming on a Saturday.  Then – gasp – last weekend my husband took me away for a belated-birthday night in Banff.  We cross-country skied. I wallowed in the gleaming snow, crisp air, and azure blue sky.  That shocked a few more brain cells awake.

Yes there’s still work.  But now it’s reasonable.  There is time to breathe and be present in the rest of my life. I can see colour and detail again.

So now I’m reveling in the lost details.  This week I’m volunteering in Isabelle’s class.  I’m going to the dentist appointment that I had to cancel…twice.  The following week, I may get crazy and get a hair cut.  And I’m going to finally pull out the new recipe book I got for Christmas.

I know, it’s riveting stuff.  It’s a little weird how happy these small things are making me. But that’s life, right?  What you lose sight of for a while, you end up treasuring that much more.

1 comment | posted in Life As It Happens

February 19, 2012

My Love Affair with Executive Class

By Susan

A few weeks ago I got a rare treat.  I got to fly Executive Class.

(Or is it First Class? Business Class?  Are those even different things?)   

I think I’ve done it before…flown non-economy.  I have a vague memory of a business trip to Asia in the late-90s involving marginally more leg-room and a special pillow.  Clearly I didn’t appreciate it in my youth. But after a decade-and-a-half more life experience, a long-haul business trip in Executive Class felt like a big deal.  There were many things to love.

Let’s start with the refreshments.  Typically I fly with food and beverages on-my-person.  I hate getting caught starving, shaky, and having to pay $7.00 for a soggy ham sandwich.  But when I arrived on the first leg of my flight and the service began, I saw I may not need my enormous bottle of water, huge Ziploc of nuts and beef jerky, and several protein bars.  You don’t need these things when there’s a nice lady offering you a glass of ice water every 15 minutes.  And champagne.  And delicate ceramic bowls of almonds and cashews.  Followed by a three-course meal at 3:00 in the afternoon.  At least there was a special little table-arm-rest-thing for my enormous bottle of water.  And all my champagne glasses.

Hot towels.  I’d forgotten the glory of hot towels.  Remember those guys?

Uh, that's not me.

Before the three course meal, the nice lady came around with a tray of rolled up hot towels that she handed out with tongs.  I don’t know what it is about those towels, but I felt like I was at the spa.  I wanted to ask her if I could get like seven more, so I could cover my whole head with them.  Then I could just lie there for a while and have a steam.  I also wanted to ask if she could scoot back later and give me a Swedish hot stone back massage. 

The bathroom. Sure, the bathroom was still a tiny little box.  But I swear something was subtly different about the lighting and the mirror.  I suddenly had a tan and looked skinny.  Somewhere between Calgary and Toronto, in a little toilet at 30,000 feet, I momentarily resembled Elle MacPherson.  It must have been all those hot towels.

The coat check.  I didn’t know there was a coat check.  At the end of the first leg of the flight, the nice lady who’d given me all the water and hot towels started handing out coats from a secret closet at the front of the airplane.  When everyone else had their coat, she stopped at me, puzzled.

“Did we get your coat, Ma’am?”

“Uh, mine’s rolled up in a ball in the overhead compartment.” 

Like I said, I didn’t know there was a secret coat check. 

The Star Trek Pod.  The next phase of the journey – the overnight part - was a whole other thing.  I got a pod.  My own little compartment with a fully reclining seat/bed and a fold away TV.  With the hum of the engine and the blue-ish mood-lighting and panel of buttons, I felt like I was strapping into the Starship Enterprise.  It took me a while to figure out all the buttons to actually fully recline the seat and find the REAL comforter and FULL-SIZED pillow.  No worries though.  There was lots of time.  After all, I still had a four-course meal to consume at 1:30 in the morning before settling in for some sleep.    

I eventually figured it all out.  And as I later lay totally horizontal in my little pod - wearing my complimentary Air Canada socks, fruity lip balm, and silky sleep mask - hurtling down the coast of South America amongst the stars, I thought I could get used to this.  I do believe this is how I was born to travel. 

Also not me.

Executive Class, it was a great couple of nights.  Thank you for everything and all you taught me.  I know we may not see each other again.  But I love you.  

Call me.

2 comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in Life As It Happens

December 13, 2011

10,252 Cookies

By Susan

The Christmas season is extra busy in our household.  Between all the regular madness, both our daughters have late-December birthdays.  So I look for every opportunity to maximize efficiency.  

Enter: the Cookie Walk.

The Cookie Walk is a new concept for me.  Think cookie exchange.  Except you don’t do or bring any baking.  You just show up at a local church where other people have done a mountain-load of Christmas baking.  You bring $20 and get a plastic box with a lid like you see in the grocery store.  Then you proceed to stuff as many cookies as possible into the box, while several hundred other people are trying to do the same.   The only rule is that the lid has to be able to snap shut when you’re done.  They seal it with packing tape as you leave so you can’t sneak back in and get more. 

It’s the perfect blend of my penchant for competitive sports and my love of Christmas baking. 

My mom told me we should get there early.  The Cookie Walk – held at my parents’ church – is apparently very popular.  Last year all the cookies were gone in 45 minutes.  I couldn’t quite imagine an early morning line up at a church fund-raiser.  But Isabelle and I took the advice to heart and got there at 9:30 a.m. (doors opened at 10:00).  Boy, am I glad we did.    

These are serious competitors

My competitive instincts immediately set in.  I envisioned a stampede of plastic glove-wearing senior citizens running wildly to the tables of cookies the second the door to the church hall opened.  Rookies like us may be in trouble. I needed a plan.           

We began to chat with the lady in line behind us.  Let’s call her Paula.  Paula, it turned out, had been coming to the event for years.  I probed for details.  How many cookies are in there?  Do people throw elbows? Should I fear for the safety of my five-year old?

“It’s about strategy,” Paula told us seriously.  “If there’s a particular kind of cookie you like, find them first.  Don’t oooh and ahhh at the selection.  Hone in on what you want.  Then take lots.”

Good, I nodded.  This is good. 

Paula went on to tell us that she comes to the Cookie Walk every year.   She gets a tonne of cookies and squares, which she then packs up into care packages and sends to her grown children who live in various provinces.  They think it’s her own baking.

“Like they’d ever know,”  said Paula, with a laugh.     

As we waited, one of the organizers – let’s call her Marge - stopped by to say hello to Paula.   

“We have a lot of cookies this year,” Marge said proudly.  ”10,252 of them to be exact.” 

That fact that she knew the exact number of cookies impressed me.  These were my people.   Paula inquired to Marge about the location of the iced gingerbread men.  Marge went into the main hall to check.  When she came out, she spoke in a whisper.

“There’s not many.  I can only see one tray.  They’re on the back table, toward the left.”  

Marge was Paula’s mole - her gingerbread man mole.     

At 9:57, I warned Isabelle that it was almost time.  I got down on my knees and took my daughter by the shoulders. 

“We’re going to move quickly,” I said.  “So stick together.”  Isabelle looked at me wide-eyed.  

“If you see cookies you like, just take some,” I continued.  ”Don’t dilly-dally.”  Isabelle nodded. 

“And not too much shortbread.  Go for ones with icing and sprinkles.  And chocolate chips.  DO YOU HEAR ME, CHILD? THE ONES WITH CHOCOLATE CHIPS!” 

Isabelle and I did some trunk rotations and lunges to get the blood pumping.  The last thing we needed was a pulled hamstring.  We had senior citizens to outwit and out run.   At 10:00 a.m. precisely the line started moving.  As we entered the hall, we got our boxes and plastic gloves.  The crowd scattered.  It was game on. 

We went to work.  We blocked and pivoted around aggressive old people.  I sent Isabelle in first at times, seeing that people were taken by her cute charm.  With laser focus and nimble footwork we filled those containers. 

"FILL IT TO THE CORNERS! DO YOU HEAR ME?" someone may have hollered to her child.

At 10:24 a.m. we emerged from the church hall.  I was sweating lightly but feeling good.  Our two boxes were sealed with very few air pockets.  We got a nod of approval from the elderly packing-tape-cookie-box sealer at the exit. 

Not bad for a couple of rookies.

As for Paula, we didn’t see her again to inquire how she fared.  She was last seen standing her ground at the gingerbread men. 

But something tells me she did just fine.

10 comments   |  tags: , , , , | posted in Life As It Happens, What Goes in the Pie-Hole

October 14, 2011

Emilio Estevez Counts

By Susan

There are a lot of things to love about New York City.  Every day is a glorious assault to the senses.  Everyone’s stories of that city, I imagine, go deep and wide.

The possibilities are endless

So when I met my old university friends Martha* and Marianne* there last weekend in honour of Martha’s recent 40th birthday, things could have gone in many directions.  I hadn’t seen these girls in years.  In between our collective list of must-do’s in the Big Apple, there was a lot of catching up to do. 

Two of my New York must-dos came together nicely on the Friday night: 1) eating a fabulous meal at a fabulous restaurant; and b) spotting a real, live famous person. 

We had just finished the chef’s menu five-course dinner at Maze by Gordon Ramsay.  It was almost midnight.  I may or may not have been tipsy.  Because I may or may not have had a cocktail and two glasses of wine over dinner.  That’s three drinks, people.  I am that wild.  

I was heading back to our table from the ladies’ room.  I walked right passed him.  He was standing at the entrance waiting to be seated.  Just like a normal person would.   

“Emilio Esteves is in the house,” I whispered, as I slid back into our booth.

“Shut up.  Where?” said either Martha or Marianne.  I can’t remember exactly who said what. 

“Right behind me,” I whispered.  “Behind the post. Short guy with the hockey hair.” 

This is the point in the story where details become fuzzy. 

But what  followed was a discussion of where exactly behind the post he was located.  Then a discreet walk by Martha to the ladies room in order to confirm.  Then there was some hysterical laughter about a range of things I can’t remember.  Ultimately, a plan was hatched to send Mr. Estevez and his male companion a drink along with an unignorable and witty message. 

How does the story end?  I present you some options.  

Possible Ending 1:

We sent over two Scotches with the message “Thank you for ’Bobby’.  You deserved the Oscar“.  Within moments, a message came back via the waitress.  The message was ‘Thank you.  Would you care to join us?”  We joined them.  He was dining with his agent.  Eventually Martin Sheen and Charlie Sheen arrived.  Charlie was totally wasted, but quite charming.   He told rude stories about Ashton Kutcher.  Emilio dished about what really went down with Demi Moore on the set of St. Elmo’s Fire.  After the third round of Scotch, Gordon Ramsay joined us.  We all did the dance scene from The Breakfast Club with the waiters.  Martin Sheen is  a good dancer.  And he seemed to appreciate me constantly impersonating him from Apocalypse Now.  At 3:00 a.m. we convinced Emilio to prank call Molly Ringwald.  He totally woke her up.  Later, we left hilarious messages on C. Thomas Howell’s answering machine.  The night ended on a high, as we were promised small roles in  “The Outsiders 2“.  It starts filming in February.   We also got an invite to the Sheen’s for Christmas dinner. 

Possible Ending 2: 

We did a few more double checks to confirm Mr. Estevez’s identity.  We ignored the waiters hanging around who were clearly waiting for us to leave.  One young  waitress told us the about the time she met George Clooney (I think) in the restaurant.  She’d never heard of Emilio Estevez.  We laughed hysterically about more things I can’t recall and got side-tracked talking about other things.  We could not come up with a witty message that would make sending over drinks worthwhile or remotely cool.  We left.  Outside the restaurant, we attempted to snap a picture of Mr. Esteves through the window.

Can you see Mr. Estevez? Keep trying.

More hysterical laughter.  We hailed a cab.  We fell asleep in the taxi on the way back to the hotel.  At about quarter past midnight.  

Care to hazard a guess which was the actual ending? 

Tough one, I know.

*names may or may not have been changed.

10 comments   |  tags: , , , , , , | posted in Life As It Happens

September 15, 2011

(Crappy) Life Lessons from a Disney Princess

By Susan

Our five-year old, Isabelle, is into princesses.  I’m going with the flow on this one.  Sure, I appreciate princesses’ general against-all-odds spunk, but the being-rescued-by-a-Prince schtick is so old.  Personally, I’d like to read to story about Snow White nine years into marriage where she’s trying to get her kids to soccer on time.  Or the one where Cinderella kills it on the volleyball court.

Nonetheless, when we saw Princess Aurora (aka the Sleeping Beauty) and Snow White wandering through Disneyland on our recent vacation, it was a big moment. 

“Isabelle!” I hollered.  ”Look! Princesses!”  I don’t know what came over me. 

Isabelle gasped.  We instinctively picked up our pace and started following them. 

Soon there was a little group of girls and parents following the two Princesses. Everyone looked a little startled.  The kids, because they couldn’t believe what they were seeing.  And the parents, because they weren’t sure what the plan was.  But it very clear that we should follow these ladies because THEY’RE PRINCESSES, PEOPLE! 

It’s exactly what I image will happen if I ever run into Colin Firth walking down the street. 

Eventually the Princesses stopped, and the little crowd of girls gathered around them.  Princess Aurora spoke to us in a very princess-like voice.

“We must keep walking over to our castle,” she said. ”Our show is starting soon.  We hope you’ll come and see us there.”  (Read: back off folks. I’m gonna be late for work). 

“But…” she continued.  At this point Isabelle happened to be standing right beside her.  Aurora looked down at Isabelle.

“…would you like to walk with me?”

Isabelle looked back at me, mouth open and eyes wide. 

She went pale.  

She couldn’t speak. 

Not unlike my reaction when Colin Firth eventually stops and politely says Ma’am, if you insist on following me, I’m going to have to call the police.

I nodded to Isabelle.  Yes.  Rare life opportunity presenting.  GO! 

So Isabelle took Princess Aurora’s hand.  Snow White fell into place on the other side.  And off went my five-year old daughter for a ten minute stroll with two real-live princesses.     

Be cool, kid. Be cool.

As I tripped along behind them, fumbling for my camera,  I could only imagine what Isabelle was thinking. I hoped those ladies knew the power they had over my daughter.  This was an opportunity to incite big life lessons.  Their discussion could transform her emerging neural pathways.  I hoped that dealing with these moments with little girls was part of their So-You-Wanna-Be-A-Disney-Princess job training.    

When it was all said and done, Isabelle reported that they had a nice talk.  Apparently, Aurora had asked her name and where she lived. 

And what else, I wondered?

“She asked if I lived in a castle.”  Isabelle reported. 

“What?” I chirped. ”She what?”

“She asked if I lived in a castle.”   

“But what else?” I said. 

“That’s all.” 

That’s all? Do you live in a castle?  Are you kidding me? Like that’s a life goal. 

It was a moment to remember, that’s for sure.  But, thanks ladies, I think I’ll take it from here.

8 comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , | posted in Life As It Happens, Things I Tell My Kids

August 27, 2011

Geometry Set, Label Maker, Telescope? Gearing up for Grade One.

By Susan

It’s back to school season. How did that happen? In typical Canadian fashion, summer just gets going, and all of a sudden it’s last call.

So ready or not, we’re preparing our eldest daughter for grade one.

Grade one! This is the real deal. No more circle-time-and-sand-box shenanigans of kindergarten. We’re talking full-day, sit in a desk, bring your lunch, school.

Sharpen your pencils, kid, things are getting serious.

We’ve been trying to figure out what ‘stuff’ she needs for her new academic adventures. I am determined not to have a repeat of last year and do the equivalent of showing up for the first day of kindergarten with no indoor shoes (the horror).  And if a list of Grade one necessities came home with her on the last day of kindergarten…let’s be frank, I don’t recall it and it’s long gone by now. 

So out came the Staples flyer to do a little brainstorming. And with it came my repressed love for all things school supplies.

What does a Grade-oner need?

A geometry set is likely not required. But, man, how cool are those triangle rulers? And the compass that makes perfect circles with the little golf pencil? I mean, you can use the sharp bit on the compass to scratch your name on the tin case too!

Does she need a six-pack of hard pink erasers? Or a twelve-pack of ones shaped like clouds? Maybe. Possibly. Did I mention they’re shaped like clouds?

What about three-dozen fine tipped markers? In all the colours of the rainbow. Look, they smell like fruit!

What about spiral notebooks and binders? And subject tabs? A wide spectrum of duotangs? And, my God, a label maker? It can never be too soon to get your thoughts organized.

Look, the telescopes are on sale!

Eventually, after almost buying her a daytimer, a Bunsen burner, and a set of lab beakers, my husband did the smart thing. He called the school.

Turns out she doesn’t really need anything for Grade one, except a back pack and lunch kit. And the indoor shoes (yeah, I got it). The school will supply everything else.

It was a bit anti-climactic. Lunch kit, back pack, and shoes are so familiar. So, well, kindergarten. I was sure there would be something else required. Something big and different to mark this big step.

Regardless, maybe we’d better get her a pencil-case.

And a pencil sharpener.

And one cloud eraser. 

Just to be sure.

Leave a comment   |  tags: , , , , | posted in Life As It Happens, Things I Tell My Kids

June 9, 2011

What Happens in Vegas…

By Susan

My husband turned 40 a few weeks ago.  To celebrate, we arranged a six-days-with-no-kids excursion to Las Vegas and then onto the Zion National Park area of Utah.  The plan was to fill the six days with the things we love to do.  You know, hang out with some good friends, see some sights, get lots of exercise.    

The Vegas segment of the trip involved some other things.  It involved two days of complaining about cigarette smoke.  And realizing we have no desire at all to gamble.  Or watch people gamble. Or even really drink.  My God, we’re old.

So we walked the strip a lot.  We marvelled at the bright lights and the excess.  The obesity!  The slutty outfits!  All the toddlers and babies that should be at home in bed!  

We also saw a show.  We figured on our one Saturday night in Las Vegas we should see something big.   

Leave the show to me, I told my husband, as we planned the trip.  It’s your birthday.  I’ll surprise you.  You can thank me later. 

This was the result.

The one and only Barry Manilow

You’re welcome.

It was between Donnie and Marie and this guy.  There was a brief moment of considering Penn and Teller.  Or Copperfield.  Or those guys with the man-eating lion. Wayne Newton wasn’t around (thank goodness I caught him on my last Vegas trip). 

Manilow it was.  I could not think of anything funnier. 

And when Barry came on the stage in that red velvet theatre in the Paris Casino, I could not stop laughing.  Could. Not. Stop.  There he was in all is glory.  The cultural icon from the 1970s.  Remember that guy? 

Yeah, that guy

I don’t know how old Barry is now, but his face didn’t quite move properly.  He was a funny colour.  He was wearing a purple brocade blazer.  And high-heeled boots.  And he looked like he weighed about 100 pounds.  Tiny. 

But you know what? 

The man can sing.  His voice was like butter.  And he was charming and engaging.  And the songs?  Seriously, he does write the songs that make the whole world sing.

Oh Mandy

 
So when the laughing settled down, we settled in and enjoyed the show.  The jazz hands.  The lame dancing.  But mostly the songs.  I waved my glow-stick.  I enjoyed his video montages from memory lane.  I sang out loud to the Copacabana.  Probably a little too loud.  This is what happens when you turn 40.   
 

Enough said.

 

In the end, I guess there is a reason certain people get really famous.   There are reasons that people have been performing for 35 years.  And still sell out theatres in Vegas. 

Onwards, Mr. Manilow, onwards.

Enjoy.

4 comments | posted in Life As It Happens

April 25, 2011

Royal Intrigue

By Susan
 
As a keen observer of the British royal family, I am gearing up for the royal wedding this weekend. 
 
I have been an observer of the royal family since childhood.  I spent some formative childhood years living in England.  This meant significant exposure to the Queen and all associated pomp and circumstance. We had to sing God Save the Queen in our school assemblies, and line the streets of our little town waving Union Jacks on the rare occasion the Queen would be passing through. 

I have memories of the old farm-house we lived in Berkshire in the mid-1970s.  My parents’ bedroom had big bay window with a view across the English countryside.  On a clear day, you could see Windsor Castle in the distance.  My dad explained to me that when the flag was up that meant the Queen was in residence.  I would go to that window often to check for the flag.  

When Lady Diana burst on the scene in 1981, I was 11 years old.  We were still living in England.  Along with the rest of the population, I was fascinated by her. To this day, I’m not sure where the fascination stemmed from.  But I – along with most people in England – quickly went to work studying her, watching her, collecting things about her.  Within a two-week period in February 1981, every school girl in England got their hair cut like Lady Diana.  I was no exception.

 
The 1981 original.

Diana, the original (1981)

 
Me, the knock-off (1981)

  

I remember watching Diana and Charles’ wedding that day in July 1981. It was literally the day before we moved from England to Canada. All our stuff was shipped and we’d moved out of our house.  We were staying with some family friends.  One of my last memories of my childhood in England was sitting with a large group of people all day watching the royal wedding.  Everyone was giddy with excitement.  It was sort of like how Canadians get giddy and gather at people’s houses to watch play-off hockey. 

Even as life continued in Canada over the last thirty years, I’ve quietly remained fascinated by the Royal family.  I got up early to watch Andrew and Sarah’s wedding in 1986.  I’ve kept tabs on royal babies, scandals, speeches, memoirs, documentaries, and fashions.  I even got up early to watch Edward and Sophie’s wedding (and, come on, Edward is pretty lame). 

And I probably watched CNN every waking free hour for six straight days after Princess Diana died.  I am still drawn to documentaries, books, and theories about her.  Particularly the ones about how she faked her own death, got a nose job, and is currently living in gated community in Orange County.    

So I was expecting to get pretty jazzed about William and Kate’s wedding.  But oddly I’m not.  I will likely PVR the wedding and watch some highlights at my leisure.  But I will not get up at 2:00 a.m., put on an outrageous hat, and have tea and scones for breakfast.  Not that there’s anything wrong with that.  

How do I explain my less enthusiastic interest this time around?  Maybe the myth of the royal family was more a function of childhood fantasy and fairy tale.  Maybe the royal family itself is getting more accessible and thus less interesting.  I mean, we’ve seen the footage of William frying his own eggs.  Maybe it’s that these kids are younger than me, and it all seems a bit been-there-done-that.  I’m not sure really.   

But, don’t get me wrong, I’m still interested.  I will watch in my own time.  I will get in on the commentary.  And I will – if it kills me – track down a commemorative wedding plate.  Or maybe a tea towel.  A china thimble?  Whatever.  I just need something to mark the occasion and the whims of my childhood. 

And, after all, I need something to go with my Charles and Camilla commemorative wedding mug.

8 comments   |  tags: , , , | posted in Life As It Happens

March 8, 2011

Celebrity Spotting

By Susan
I see celebrities everywhere.  I have seen Nick Nolte walking his dog in my neighbourhood.  Barbara Bush at the bus stop.  I saw Mao Tse-Tung on a ferry once.  And I regularly see Bob Hope in business meetings. 

I am, of course, talking about celebrity look-alikes.  But my brain seems to pick up on these things.  If you’d like to know who should play you in the movie about your life,  just let me know. 

So on my whirl-wind trip to LA last week for the premiere of a movie my brother directed, I hoped my high-frequency-celebrity-spotting radar might finally be put to good use. 

Pulling up at the premiere in downtown LA, I saw that this was the real deal.  The marquee shone, and the street was buzzing.  There was a wall of paparazzi, the promotional back-drop, and bright white lights  set up outside the theatre.  And there was a hundred PR people with ID-tags scurrying around the block.  

Bright Lights Big City

We (my brother, his wife, my parents and I) stood in the light rain under a black umbrella held a very nice PR guy for a bit.  He explained the deal to my brother.  All those associated with the movie – and all celebrities who came to the event – would walk the red carpet for photographers.  Oddly, he didn’t seem to think that my parents and I fit in to either of these categories.  We would have other duties. 

While my brother and sister-in-law walked the red carpet...

…I stood in the rain with my Dad holding holding jackets and purses

I took the opportunity to casually ask the PR guy what ‘celebrities’ they were expecting.  He pulled out the list and handed it to me.  I scoured it intently.

Gold mine.  It was a D-list gold mine. 

My brother had mentioned this would be likely.  People apparently come out of the woodwork for movie-related parties and events in LA.  But given the 80s theme of the movie, the marketing strategy involved inviting a lot of stars from the 80s.   The list was long and very familiar. Leif Garrett! Corey Feldman! Ralph Macchio!  This gave me a lot to work with.

I struck early. Within minutes, I spotted Debbie Gibson.  She was just standing by a signpost chatting with a couple of people. 

“Debbie Gibson at nine o’clock,” I whispered to my brother. 

Game on. 

I approached her.  I asked if she was Debbie Gibson.  She replied in the affirmative.  I introduced myself.  She introduced herself and introduced her boyfriend.  We all shook hands.  A very pleasant 90 second conversation ensued about her knowing the film’s producer and that she’d been invited and was excited to see the movie, and about me being here to support my brother who directed the movie.  We also touched on being children of the 80s. 

‘We’re about the same age,” I said, in closing. “So I just wanted to say you look great”. 

“So do you!” she exclaimed. 

Debbie Gibson and I are now friends.   It was an excellent start.

In the theatre, we were ushered to our seats.  People continued to pour in.  As people settled into the row in front of us, my sister-in-law started pointing.  She mouthed the words ‘fifty cent’.  The rapper 50 Cent was sitting in front of us.  Now, I actually wouldn’t have known what 50 Cent looked like.  This guy was wearing a turtle neck; I didn’t think rappers wore turtle necks.  I thought he looked like Billy Ocean.  Doesn’t matter.  He counts.  50 Cent counts. 

I kept my eyes peeled.  Everyone looked either very glamorous, earnestly dishevelled and artsy, or a bit slutty.  Frankly, everyone looked like they could be famous.  I racked my brain, going through all the recent editions of People magazine I’ve thumbed through in the grocery store over the last few months, hoping for glimmers of recognition.   

Eventually I became more interested in getting some popcorn and a diet coke.  Mostly, I was pretty happy to be sitting there with my family sharing a big moment with my brother.  Things started to normalize.

I got a few more though.  I think one of Tiger Woods’ mistress was sitting  a few seats down from me; but I can’t confirm that.  Mingling in the foyer after the movie, I spotted Lea Thompson.  I also got introduced to some of the actors in the film by my brother (the formal introduction sort took the sport out of it).  Debbie Gibson approached me as we were leaving.  She said to tell my brother congratulations.  Like I said, Debbie and I are super close.  

We moved over to the after-party.  Lance Bass was at the table next to us.  He seemed to be having a good time.  He was surrounded by girls all night, who kept taking pictures with him on their i-Phones (girls, you got the memo right? ).  He was wearing wacky flourescent glasses from the 80s.  

In the wee hours of the morning, as the after-party dwindled, there was about thirty people left.  Most were on the dance floor grooving to Come On Eileen and The Safety Dance.  This included a few celebrity types.  Everyone appeared drunk and slightly disheveled.  It was like a bad family wedding.  And we were all awkward distant cousins. 

In that bleak and tired moment,  I realized these are all just people.  I don’t know what tricks the camera lens and glossy paper plays with us regular folk, but face to face everyone looked pretty normal.  And incredibly bad at dancing.  Frankly, I expected more from Lance Bass.  He was on Dancing With The Stars for chrissakes.  He could have at least given us a little Bye Bye Bye.  We all could have stood around him in a circle and clapped. 

On our way out, Lance Bass was standing with some of the actors as my brother said his goodbyes.

“I don’t know why I’m wearing this glove,” Lance Bass remarked to my sister-in-law and I, as we stood there in the same group for a moment while others talked. 

He was now wearing a 1980′s Madonna-esque flourescent mesh glove on one hand.  Something he’d obviously picked up in the course of the evening from the 80′s costume and make-up booths that were stationed around the party. 

“Well, I’m going to regret not taking the chance tonight to wear leg-warmers one last time,” I said. 

We all chuckled.  An awkward silence followed.  

He went on to ask where we were from, and made some pleasant remarks about Canada.  Then he hoped that ‘y’all’ had a good night. He was just nice and regular.  Quite normal.  Except he was tiny.  I could have popped him in my purse. 

So my 24 hours in LA ended with some solid celebrity I.D.s.  There was no Matt Damon or Daniel Craig.  And I’m not sure where Colin Firth was.  But there will be time for those folks another day.  For now I take Debbie Gibson and Lance Bass and Billy Ocean 50 Cent and give them a nod for the regular people they appear to be. 

And I’ll leave you with this….

Barry Williams was in the house. Come on.

Barry Williams was in the house. Come on.

13 comments   |  tags: , , , , | posted in Life As It Happens

March 1, 2011

One Day in L.A.

By Susan

Fresh off my annual Oscars-related excitement, I’m off on my own little Hollywood adventure. 

Tomorrow I depart for 24 hours in Los Angeles.  After all my recent complaining about business travel and being away from home, I’m really looking forward to this excursion.  This one’s different.

I’m going to attend the premiere of my brother’s latest movie.  It’s time to wave the big flag of support for my little bro, and the “I-write-and-direct-funny-movies-for-my-job” dream he is living. 

My brother, he’s pretty low-key about it all.  He long ago moved on to other projects since he directed and shot this movie several years ago.  But after several Canadian and European films that he has written and/or directed (Fubar, Fubar 2, It’s All Gone Pete Tong), this is his first Hollywood release.  How many Canadian filmmakers get to direct a Hollywood film?  Not too many.  So I don’t care what he says.  It’s a big deal.   

The movie, by the way, is called Take Me Home Tonight.  Here’s the trailer. 

The last time I was in LA was when my brother was making this film.  The film was in post-production and he and his family were based in LA for six months or so.  We stayed with them for a week in a fantastic house overlooking the ocean in Pacific Palisades.  They rented it from an un-named television actress who apparently had a hoarding problem.  When they got the house, it was filled with her crazy junk that she couldn’t throw out, which had to be stored away in some mysterious sealed-off rooms in the basement.  But I digress.  It was a great house. 

I love LA.  That last trip, we hung out at the beach every day.  We drove up and down the Pacific Coast Highway a lot to cool places like Zuma and Malibu.  We went to Disneyland and the Santa Monica Pier and the In-and-Out Burger.  We visited my brother on the Universal Studios lot where he worked every day.   He toured us around “the lot” on the golf cart, pointing out Spielberg’s offices and such.  Or was it was Ron Howard’s office?  Whoever it was, my brother suggested it would be frowned upon for me to hang outside with a prepared monologue or a little song and dance number.  Be cool, Sue.  Be cool.

There won’t be time for sightseeing this trip.  It will be in and out, and all about supporting my brother in his success. 

But here are my general plans when at the premiere tomorrow tonight: 

  • Insist on being in one of the limos that brings all the film-related people to the Nokia theatre;
  • Walk the red carpet and pretend I am someone famous.  Or the assistant of someone famous.  Or in some remote way related to the film. If there is no red carpet, I will find another premiere that does.   
  • Disappoint people hoping to see someone actually famous.  
  • Generally stand around grinning with my parents, and generally get in the way of people who have a real reason to be there. 
  • Offer to hold jackets and purses. 
  • Double check the guest list of any movie-related party to see if Colin Firth will be attending.  I’m pretty sure he’d want to be there.  While I’m at it, I’ll also check for Javier Bardem. 
  • Get clarification once and for all on what exactly a Key Grip is.
  • Be on the constant look-out for my big break and opportunities for spontaneous auditions. 

With that in mind, I’d better get my little song-and-dance number prepared again.  Or maybe I’ll work one something more contemporary.  Like one of the drunken Jeff Bridges scenes from True Grit. 

It’s LA.  You never know who might be there.  Anything could happen.

7 comments | posted in Life As It Happens

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