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Living In The Fish-Eyed Lens
Forget the speech I gave when I ran for student council president, that night I performed in front of five thousand Iowa State Fairgoers, or even my wedding day; I hadn’t experienced pressure until I’ve been locked into a 6 x 12 foot trailer with ten colleagues, 66 monitors, and two and a half hours…
View Post Across The Universe
I’ve collected four NBC Universal Visitor Passes (white, blue, yellow and purple, if you’re playing along at home) in my 96 hours on the back lot. They’ve been long hours, some chained to my computer here in the Abbott & Costello Building (a parking lot with one floor of offices, really; also, home to CSI),…
View Post Sway & Samberg Talk Popcorn, Pimp Cups & Penises
Yup, that’s what two degrees and fourteen years in the workforce’ll get a guy: oversight of riveting headlines like “popcorn, pimp cups and penises.” It’s late (12:59 am PT), I put in a fifteen hour day and concluded it with two beers, so lemme’ explain quickly. Our job here is to cover all of the…
View Post Life In Technicolor
The Sheraton Universal City Hotel sits astride a great, cement-covered slab of dirt just over the hill from the Hollywood sign. My tenth-floor, corner room overlooks the San Fernando Valley: Van Nuys, Reseda, Northridge. The 101 is a stream of red and white light winding northward towards the Ventura Highway. Universal Studios — home of…
View Post The Barking Crab
It seems to me that the best experiences in life come at a cost. As uber-rare, stomach churning, temple-throbbing, cold and clammy, cotton-mouthed, bloodshot and dizzy hangovers go, then, Sunday’s was well worth it. Imagine… A dull gray morning yields to a summer afternoon exploring the heron-strewn edges of the Mystic River with dear friends.…
View Post My American Idols
I shuttled between mixing “Feels Like Home” in my bedroom studio and “American Idol” on my living room flat screen tonight. I caught Black Eyed Peas “performance” (freaky nails, Fergie), Cyndi Lauper and Allison Iraheta’s “Time After Time (like the pants, Cyndi, but not nearly as deep as Tiff and my version), Rod Stewart’s “Maggie…
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