Michael Jackson. Michael Phelps. And now yours truly Michael Mackie have all experienced the joy of pure, pressurized O2. Seems hyperbaric chambers aren’t just for deep-sea divers suffering from the bends anymore. Now the procedure is used for everything from aiding in digestion to helping autistic kids.
Who knew?
So, of course, because it’s become all the rage … I simply HAD to try it out for myself. Imagine getting in to a big oversized space suit – one that expands and expands until you feel like a tick about to explode.
When I met with the doctor about what to expect I had tons of questions. Like, “Are you single?” Seems he had even more questions for me. The first being, “You aren’t claustrophobic, are you?” He then warned me about chronic ear popping as the machine filled up with pressurized oxygen. Now I’m a seasoned flier – but even I wasn’t ready for the snap, crackle and pop going on inside my eardrums. Mercifully, I grabbed some gum and gnawed on it like a manic cow chewing its cud.
The experience itself is wildly underwhelming. After my ears stopped popping, I grabbed my ear buds and listened to Madonna’s new CD. The doctor would pop in occasionally to ask how I was doing – peering through an oval-shaped porthole positioned above my head. Good thing he was attractive because there would be nothing worse than a mediocre-looking person suddenly appearing in your window to the outside world.
There’s a zipper on the inside of the tube and an emergency release valve in case anyone was to freak out mid-session. (Apparently, it’s happened … and I can see why. It’s like being entombed in a casket that resembles a tanning bed.)
Did I feel any different afterwards? Not really … although I had achieved some sort of weird, Zen bliss. And I did sleep really well that night. I’m trying it again for a full-hour in a couple weeks. I’ll report back then with the 411.
The first thing you notice about MSNBC anchorman Thomas Roberts – I mean, other than his sturdy shoulders, megawatt smile and perfectly unflappable hair – is his authoritative voice. I forgot how much gravitas he holds when he’s simply being a Chatty Cathy.
During a recent MoxieQ red carpet interview, Roberts talked about his decision to come out as the first openly gay anchormen on a cable news network. I have to admit … I could listen to Roberts read the ingredients off a cereal box and I’d be quite smitten. Yeah – he’s hunky, but he isn’t just another pretty face. It was Roberts who held down the anchor desk at CNN during the Space Shuttle Columbia disaster in 2003. He’s since jumped ship to MSNBC – where he’s been for the last couple years.
Roberts was a good sport when I joked about all things social media. There was a fast flurry of fingers as he and I duked it out for Twitter superiority. (Uh, he won. He trumped my ace by getting a Tweet from singer Chely Wright while I was talking to him.)
What you didn’t see in the interview is the difficulty I had snagging him for our brief one-on-one. I was interviewing someone else when his handlers walked him by. Whoever I was talking to at the time (some film director, I think) … let me apologize yet again … as I usually don’t wrap up interviews with, “Kthanksbai! Hey, Thomas Roberts … get OVER here!”
It was also during this interview that the videographer’s head exploded. For whatever reason, I was practically yelling during our chat. (Which would explain why my sound is a little distorted. Ooops.) As soon as Roberts walked away, the videographer nearly beat me to death with the stick mic. Happens. Had she actually succeeded … it probably would have made for a good story.
Oooooh … that means Roberts would have likely read my full name in the scandalous “shocking murder investigation”. Well, if I’m gonna go out in a blaze of glory … I want Thomas Roberts to be the one who drops my name early and often.
If you haven’t met my mom, Bev – a.k.a. “The Bevinator” or “Bev-erage” – well, you’re missing out.
She puts the no in no-nonsense. The mean in well meaning. And she’s felled many a lesser individual with a single furtive glance. She’s the sole reason why I became such a strong black woman … I learned it by watching her.
Unbeknownst to the general public, she is well known for her pearls of wisdom. Many of which are worthy of sharing on this Mother’s Day Weekend.
1) “One, Two, Three – Drop Where You Be”. This is not only a magical rhyme that I heard growing up, it was Mom’s passive-aggressive way of reminding me to pick up my toys, clothes or various other sundry items that I may have inadvertently left in her way.
2) “Asshole!” While my mom doesn’t swear, she does use this term of endearment to describe just about anyone who may displease her. She’ll bark it at the TV when enraged by a politician or hurl it at a driver who has incurred her wrath on the road. When she’s truly inspired she’ll pepper it in to a sentence two or three times for dramatic effect, such as: “That’s right, you asshole. I called you an asshole, ASSHOLE!”
3) “What … are … you … DOING?” Because my mom is master of all she surveys, she’ll often point out certain things that are not done to her specifications. Of course, she’ll ask you what you’re doing first – in a braying manner – because that’s the polite thing to do. But by her tone you’ll know that regardless of whatever you’ve done, you’ll soon be doing it over.
4) “DINNER!” After hearing this exclamation, you have approximately 30 seconds to get your sorry butt to the table before my mom loses her ever-lovin’ mind. If you dawdle – even in the slightest – my mom will have a conniption fit and laser beams will shoot out of her eyeballs and melt a hole in your stomach. Think I’m kidding? I dare you to test my theory.
And 5) “I’m WATCHING that!” My mom never sleeps. Oh sure, she may be reclined on the couch with her mouth agape and eyes closed, but she is still fully aware of everything going on around her. If – God forbid – you should try and change the channel or lower the volume on her TV, she will suddenly spring wide awake and chastise you for taking the remote. And heaven help anyone who gets in the way of a “Waltons” marathon.
So here’s to you, Mom. It’s your day.
You don’t have to lift a finger if you don’t want to. The world will cater to your every whim. And everyone will spend the next 24 hours trying to win you over. But really – how is that different than any other day? You’re the most … to say the least.
Johnny Weir is a whirling dervish … both on and off the ice. For someone who spends 22 of his 24 hours a day on the ice, he sure is up to speed on all his trashy reality TV shows.
When MoxieQ snagged him during a red carpet interview, Johnny was quick to dish on “Real Housewives of Atlanta”. Turns out he wants to be part of the cast and pays homage to the one and only NeNe Leakes.
While a majority of the world knows him as an Olympic figure skater … they also know him as the over-the-top flamboyant one. And for that particular sport – that’s saying something. He was much more subdued on the red carpet – which came as a bit of a surprise. Maybe being a newlywed has calmed him down a bit.
Turns out Weir is spending a majority of his time training in the rink. Given that the 2014 Winter Olympics are less than two years away – that makes total sense. But when all is said and done, will Weir try to compete in “Dancing With The Stars”?
Well, duh. Score one for common sense.
He’s a proud New Jersey resident (and, no, that’s not an oxymoron) who has weathered his share of scathing remarks over the years … always managing to keep his persona, pride and sanity intact. From fashion spreads to make-up advertisements, Weir works it both in and out of his skates.
And he follows no one’s lead. He marches, er, skates to the beat of his own drummer. Case in point – unlike most figure skaters – he’s a clockwise spinner and jumper. The 2014 Olympics had better watch out … no one is going to know what hit them once Weir takes the ice. Come to think of it … 2013 should probably watch its back too … as Weir is just warming up for more glitz, glamour … and, dare I say, ostentatious costumes that will have every one gob smacked.
In the meantime, enjoy newlywed bliss, my friend … and your upcoming wedding ceremony this summer. You deserve it. Maybe NeNe can be in the wedding party? I’ll gladly be her date. We can mock what everyone’s wearing.
Every disease, disability or deplorable condition has a walk and/or run for its respective cause. Not a week goes by that I don’t have an evite in my inbox to donate to or participate in a walk.
For the last seven years, I’ve volunteered at AIDS Walk KC. You’ll note I said volunteered … instead of participated. One year I saw a request to help “cheer on the walkers” and thought … that would be right up my alley. So I grabbed some of my co-workers to co-cheerlead with me. Together we would clap and high-five participants on the route.
This year I decided to traipse along with the rest of the crowd (and to help my favorite charity of choice SAVE, Inc. along the way.)
Every year AIDS Walk KC gets bigger and bigger – raising upwards of $500,000+ for Kansas City’s four local AIDS Service Foundation organizations. Each of them specialize in a certain area to collectively target the needs of the AIDS community.
The thing I like about AIDS Walk is that it’s like old home week … truly. Friends I’ve known for years that I don’t see that often are out in full force. And they have rounded up many of their closest confidants to join in the walk. The groups are all very charismatic and passionate. Many tears and laughs are shared on that day.
Over the past couple years, AIDS Walk has grown by leaps and bounds. If I’m not mistaken, this was their biggest turnout yet. And it’s likely due to the social media effect. A majority of people raised funds and promoted the event via Facebook and posted pictures via Twitter. The social media effect has also introduced a new crop of the oh-so coveted 20-somethings to the event. Today’s 20-somethings are tomorrow’s pioneers in the on-going fight against the disease.
Standing around and relentlessly cheering for 90 minutes can take a lot out of a person. For once I was actually glad to put on my sneakers and hoof it. And for such a good cause too!
Once or twice a year, I’ll breakdown and commit to a hellacious food detox. It all started a few years ago when I wanted to see if I could nip a pesky medical condition by changing my diet. My doctor said I could reverse a lot of the symptoms with medication OR by simply cutting out all of my favorite foods for 2-3 months.
Looking back – I should have gone with the medicine. Better living through chemistry, huh? I kid.
So I decided to bite the bullet – which was apparently the only thing I could eat. Out went all fruits. I said goodbye to bread, dairy and sugar. Alcohol and nearly every other beverage were forbidden. I could sustain life only by eating meat, veggies and the occasional grain. The ol’ adage “nothing ventured, nothing gained” became “nothing processed, nothing gained.”
And it was killing me.
The first time I did it, I nearly had a nervous breakdown for the first week. To say I was crabby, irritable and shaky would be an understatement. I craved Taco Bell something fierce … and I don’t even like Taco Bell in the first place. Seems my body was in full-blown withdrawal as it tried to reset itself.
My symptoms cleared up, the weight fell off and all was right with the world. For about 10 minutes. Once I reintroduced certain foods in to my diet, I folded like a cheap card table. (I’m a sucker for Oreos … what can I say.)
Since then, I’ve learned through trial and error that “everything in moderation, including moderation” should be my mantra. It seems to work well – but I’ve learned that a serious cleansing detox a couple times a year keeps me balanced. It keeps my weight in check and it reminds me that healthy eating is the way to go.
I’m in Day 8 of a 30-day cleanse. On an up note, I’m no longer homicidal. Yes, I’m still biting people’s heads off … but that’s normal. Wish me luck … I’ll need it.
Blondiful. Gorgeous. Dazzling. Gracious. These are just a few words that pop to mind when meeting Megan Hilty, the new star of NBC’s smash “Smash”. Talking with her is like chatting with a living China doll … porcelain skin and all.
After years of paying her dues on Broadway, the singing starlet has found the perfect vehicle to showcase her talents. If you haven’t seen her in “Smash” – you’re missing out. She plays Ivy … a rather jaded, but determined singer vying for a slot as the star of an upstart Broadway musical. She reeks of talent, but just needs this break to propel her to stardom – unless her conniving ego and/or a rival ingénue get in the way.
It’s like “Glee” … but for adults with discerning taste.
Meeting Megan meant one degree of separation from Dolly Parton – who I’ve longed to meet for YEARS. Hilty starred as Doralee in the Broadway adaptation of my all-time favorite flick, “9 To 5”. Parton turned the film in to a musical … and Hilty nailed Parton’s iconic role from the film. (She also does a pretty good imitation of Dolly – as you’ll see in the interview.)
In real-life Hilty is bubbly, giggly and cuts an hourglass figure that any Hollywood actress would covet. Okay – nearly any girl would maim, pillage and destroy to have her body. And she’s short. Like really short. But was wearing some killer high heels that would rival Dolly’s infamous stilettos from hell.
Megan seemed to have a wide-eyed appreciation for this red carpet event. Some stars will simply phone in their interview, but Megan appeared genuinely excited to be a presenter at the recent GLAAD Media Awards. She’s been bubbling under the fame radar for a few years now and is ripe for mainstream success. She’ll be a household name in no time since “Smash” was recently renewed for a 2nd season.
A couple things to note in my MoxieQ interview: 1) Why am I talking so loud? I’m still not quite sure. I’ll blame nerves. (The videographer was poised to punch me in the throat after our interview.) 2) Unlike most of the other stars on the red carpet that night, I wanted to give Megan a hug after our interview. She just seems so casual and down-to-earth. She did give me the cheek-to-cheek air kiss – which was a fine substitution.
You’ll notice right after the interview I predicted that Megan’s shooting star is about to go Supernova. What can I say? When I’m right … I’m right.
I swear when I turned 40, my body did a painstakingly slow revolt. It was as if the wheels fell off the last shreds of my youth. I started growing hair where I didn’t want it and losing hair where I needed it. Dairy became the bane of my intestine’s existence. And – for whatever reason – I began having trouble sleeping soundly through the night.
Oh, my kingdom for eight straight hours of uninterrupted slumber.
At some point in the night, one of four things happen. 1) I would have an unwavering urge to pee. 2) I would be too hot or too cold … or both – at the same time. 3) I’d suffer some sort of debilitating cramp in my leg, foot or earlobe. Or 4) some random, innocuous thought would wake me up out of blissful R.E.M.
Why my mind starts going in to hyper-overdrive at around 4:12am each morning, I’ll never know. And it’s completely arbitrary stuff that NO one should EVER worry about – let alone in the pre-dawn hours.
This morning’s early wake up call came at 4:41 a.m. when I had this zinger pop in to my head: “What ever happened to Melanie Mayron from ABC’s “Thirtysomething”? And, more importantly, why did I never watch that show?” I couldn’t fall back asleep until I got up, grabbed my computer and Google’d her. And I may have looked briefly at Amazon.com to see if there was a DVD box set of “Thirtysomething” for cheap.
On Monday, I woke up abruptly with the Michael Jackson refrain “mamasay mamasa mamakusa” reverberating through my medulla oblongata. Again, my brain would NOT let that infectious lyric go … and I was forced to look up its origin. Turns out it’s an African chant. Joy.
I’m not sure when or how Rainman suddenly entered my body, but I’ve become quite knowledgeable on any number of insipid things simply because my brain won’t shut off. Like … did you know that Honeycomb cereal was created in 1965? Last week, I gleaned this information when my subconscious suddenly regurgitated this gem at 4:17 a.m.:
Honeycomb’s big…yeah yeah yeah!
It’s not small…no no no!
Honeycomb’s got…a big big bite!
Big big (taste/crunch) in a big big bite!”
Believe me, I’ve considered trying a sleeping pill or something to force me into unconsciousness. But I’m not a big proponent of side effects. Besides – how many people can say they’ve researched the complete history of Poughkeepsie, New York at 3:10 a.m.?
Man, I gotta take a nap.
How do I love thee, Carson Kressley? Let me count the ways.
Ever since the formidable fashionista debuted on “Queer Eye For The Straight Guy” a hundred million years ago, I’ve strived to be as irreverent and sassy as he is. He’s quick with a seemingly spontaneous quip … and snarky when warranted.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say we were separated at birth. (Although I’m sure my parents would beg to differ.) He’s like the big sister I always wanted.
To say I was excited to potentially meet him at the recent GLAAD Media Awards was an understatement. Like any giddy doppelganger, I stalked him accordingly on Facebook. I even came up with a secret code word to yell at him, lest his publicist should whisk him away before our one-on-one MoxieQ interview. I must have made a lasting impression because when he saw me – we both yelled out “Farfegnugen” in unison – which was followed by some high-pitched cackling and jumping up and down. Oddly – no one around us even batted a perfectly sculptured fake eyelash.
Lately The Kressler has been everywhere. He was on last season’s “Dancing With The Stars”, he’s splashed on “Good Morning America” and, of course, he’s tight with The Big O, Oprah herself. Of course, I had to ask what hanging with Oprah is like. (Or Miss Winfrey, if you’re nasty.)
Some things to note about the interview: Yes, I’m completely manic and I’ll be the first to admit it. Stupid nerves. I would have bitch-slapped myself, but I was waiting for Carson to do it. And I purposefully forgot to bring up Carson’s love of horses since I have a completely irrational fear of any/all equines.
Carson talks fast, smells good and darts around like a hyperactive hummingbird. He was a huge hit on the red carpet because every interviewer knew they would come away with great material. Heck, he even complimented what I was wearing (after a wee bit of prompting from the peanut gallery).
Little known fact … when I did a series of fashion-friendly webisodes for Halls a few years ago, I channeled my inner Carson. Some people have bracelets that say “WWJD” … mine says, “WWCT” (What Would Carson Think?).
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vNsFDktiIPU
Even though we’re only a few months apart in age, I’d still like to say that I want to be Carson when I grow up. Why? Because he’s inspiring AND inappropriate. No wonder I bow down to him.
Poor Vinny Guadagnino! Who knew that everyone’s favorite bada-boom-bada-bing-boy suffers from mad-crazy anxiety attacks? Yep … it’s true – and he just revealed his battle with stress recently on CNN.
When MoxieQ snagged him for a one-on-one red carpet interview, he was just as jovial and peppy as you’d expect. No signs of teen angst. He prided himself on not being Snookie’s babydaddy and then talked about being the object of cougars’ affection.
Ever since Jersey Shore invaded every crevice of our pop culture landscape, Vinny has been known as the cerebral, understated one. That’s high praise given the Mensa-free cast of characters. (Although he did graduate from college with a 3.9 GPA.) His antics on the show are fairly limited – which means he’s less likely to end up in rehab, prison or a spinoff series.
He’s shorter and buffer than he appears on TV – and surprisingly more articulate. That’s what happens when you’ve been thrust in to reality TV’s limelight for years upon years. You become media-savvy whore … able to turn on the charm whenever there’s a bright light shone in your face. He’s the self-proclaimed “good boy” of the cast. Well, goal achieved.
At the red carpet event, Vinny was a rock star/demi-god. Girls screamed. Reporters swooned. And photographers practically got in to a shoving match to get the best shot of him. Props to him for taking the time to talk to every single media outlet on the red carpet.
When I stopped watching Jersey Shore – about three seasons ago – that was apparently when the rest of the world discovered it. He, along with the rest of the cast, is allegedly poised to make over $2 million each for the next season of the show. Vinny is an integral part of one of TV’s most dysfunctional reality TV families. Stressed out or not — we wouldn’t want it any other way.
