When you go on the road as much as I do … you learn to expect the unexpected.  Plan for the worst … expect the best … as my mom would say.

A while back I scooted to Fresno to produce a television campaign for a culinary academy.   The shoot was going swimmingly.  I was working with a new spokeswoman who I officially adore … Kristi Capel, a former Miss Missouri.    I had a top notch crew who catered to my every whim.  And I had managed to visit every city in Northern California ending with an “O” sound.  Sacramento.  Tahoe.  Modesto.  Fresno. 

On my twelfth day of successful shooting, I was on the very last take of my very last shoot.  I was so close to being finito, I could physically taste it.  Well, that … and I had champagne chilling back at the hotel. 

Without warning, there was this horrible whiff of singed hair, sulfur and something that smelled like nuclear waste seasoned with nutmeg.  I looked down to notice a power surge had smelted one of our power cords.  Stupid electricity.   Stupid spontaneous combustion.  Clearly, I did not expect or plan for such an occurrence. 

In my haste to get away from what was certain to become a raging inferno, I may have accidentally shoved Miss Missouri to the floor.  My bad.  Really, though … pageant winners should move faster. 

Now normally, I’m calm and collected under pressure.  Not this time.  I was flailing around and screaming “FIRE!  FIRE!”  Clearly, my flame burned brightly that day.  Uh, more than usual. 

One of the chefs heard all the commotion and came in.  He calmly picked up the melting cord with his tongs … put it in a nearby skillet … turned on the overhead hoods … and offered to make S’mores over the burning embers.  I politely declined.  And by decline — I mean I was hyperventilating so much the chef couldn’t understand me. 

Needless to say we finally got the last shot we needed (once Miss Missouri got up off the ground).  And all was right with the world … which is what I expected and planned for in the first place.

Popularity: 1% [?]

Let’s face it … I’m photogenic.  Well, in my mind, I’m photogenic.  I’ve never met a mirror or a camera I didn’t like.  But as I settle in to my 30′s, I’ve noticed my looks aren’t holding up the way they used to.  I don’t just roll out of bed with my devastatingly good looks and tousled hair anymore.  Now it takes spackle AND putty to hold my face where it needs to be. 

Last week while traipsing through New England, my friend Kati and I swung by New Haven to play Joe Tourist.  We perused the Yale campus and chugged the occasional hot apple cider.  It was the perfect, crisp fall day.  Not a cloud in the sky.  Students were out studying or playing Frisbee or smoking pot – or whatever students do nowadays.  

When we stumbled upon Yale’s Campanile, I was instantly smitten.  There was so much good energy going on, I had to soak it all in.  No, I literally had to soak it all in.  I sat down in the middle of the quad and immediately started meditating.  My friend Kati thought I had lost my mind.  But the sun was setting and it seemed the perfect locale to plop down and have a Zen moment.  

Right after I stood up to join the real world again, Kati snapped this picture.

I look relaxed … I look calm … and, more importantly, I look wrinkle-free.  Thank God for Kati’s photography skills and ambient sunlight. 

Years from now when I’m 80 (and I’ve had far too much work done and resemble Kenny Rogers), I’ll look back on this picture.  It’ll give me fond memories of a phenomenal New England adventure and, uh, what was left of my youth.

Popularity: 1% [?]