Happy holidays? Pt. 2

Consumerism still out of control, a few hours later.

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Happy holidays? Pt. 1

Consumerism out of control?
No way.

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Want to hear me purr?

Every Friday morning, you can hear me on K-Rock 105.7 in Kingston promoting The Whig-Standard's entertainment magazine, The Ticket. And I gab a little too. Morning host Darryl Kornicky has this One Last Question game he plays with on-air guests. So far, we've talked about my childhood home and prom night. You'll have to listen tomorrow to find what we gab about next.
Check in around 8 a.m.
And please don't tell me I've got a great face for radio. That's my dad's joke.

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Why I love going to the hospital

For months, months I tell you, I have been trying to lose nine pounds.

When I got married almost a year ago, I was a svelte 136 pounds - the smallest I've been since I was in Grade 8, kid you not.

But, over the past year, as I became less stay-at-home-exercising-mommy and more corporate-newspaper-career-woman, I packed on nine pounds; not 10, which seems like a lot, but nine.

My pants still fit, but I have two great dresses that no longer go over the boot-ay since my derriere has changed. It used to be tight like a celebrity's tucked face. Now it's Jello.

But tonight, I had an appointment at the pulmonary function lab at Kingston General Hospital, to figure out what was going on with my asthma and I had to get my weight and my height done.

A young med student (or young respiratory therapist?) got me on the scale and had me turn around. I thought he was being kind so I didn't have to stare at the numbers, but he said it's easier for the scale to get my height right if I'm not facing it. (It had one of those bars that sticks out over your heard to get your height).

After he was done with me, I went and saw another respiratory therapist.

She looked at my chart and said: "Sarah Crosbie, right?"

"Yes," I replied.

"You're 5'5?"

"Yes," I replied.

"139 pounds?"

Huh?

"139 pounds?"

Um, sure. I've apparently lost six pounds in 24 hours, but if the doc tells you you weigh 139, who's gonna argue?

Love you, KGH.

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HOT NEWS: Queen's Cancels Homecoming (But adds a spring fling)

Hot news from Crosbiemania: Queen's University is cancelling its Homecoming... See letter (I received this morning because I'm a Queen's grad) from Queen's principal Tom Williams:

Dear Alumni,

I am writing to tell you about a difficult decision that I have made with respect to the Fall Homecoming.

As many of you know, Homecoming weekend for the past 4 years has been the occasion of a large and growing unsanctioned student gathering on Aberdeen Street – a small street located off campus in the student village. Numbers associated with this event have ranged from 5,000 to 10,000. This year’s event was the largest yet and resulted in an unprecedented number of police charges, arrests, violent incidents and injuries.

Since 2005, the University community, including faculty, staff, students and alumni, have worked in collaboration with City of Kingston officials and law enforcement agencies in an effort to contain this volatile situation. Despite our best efforts, the situation has worsened. The unsanctioned gathering has come to be seen by many as a “tradition” whose timing is associated with Queen’s Homecoming.

Concerns for safety have been mounting steadily and are now at a critical point. After broad consultation with faculty, staff, students, alumni, parents and groups who comprise the Queen’s family, the Town/Gown Aberdeen working group, the Police, the hospitals, Fire and Rescue and legal experts, there is broad agreement that a new course of action is required.

I have therefore reached a very difficult decision: the University will not be hosting its Fall Homecoming Weekend for a minimum period of 2 years, beginning with the Homecoming of Fall 2009.

This decision has not easily been reached. I have seen first-hand the joy that alumni feel in returning to campus in the fall and I have joined in the excitement of the half-time parade at Richardson Stadium. I will feel the loss of these experiences very personally and in an effort to continue this time-honored and valued tradition the University will hold a homecoming-styled Spring Reunion Weekend in May (May 22 -24) 2009, that will include class reunions, MiniU and the Tricolour Guard dinner.

Queen’s alumni are an invaluable source of strength for this University. Your loyalty is what sets us apart from many others. I am calling on you now to make this sacrifice, because I am persuaded that something very precious and fragile is at risk: our hard-won reputation as a University that defines standards of excellence that respects the neighbourhood in which we live, and that cares about each member of our learning community.

I welcome your input on how to make the spring event the best possible occasion for alumni.

I can be reached by email at principal@queensu.ca or by regular mail.

Tom Williams
Principal and Vice-Chancellor

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Dear Women's Health Magazine,

What I would like to say is "WTF" but since my mother reads this I won't.
Instead, I'll say "WTH" for What the Heck?

My husband and I are loyal Men's Health and Women's Health magazine readers. We don't buy them every month, but we do buy them frequently - just not usually at the same time. Sometimes when he's out on a hockey road trip, he'll grab one to read on the bus. When I'm in a drug store and I see Women's Health at the cash, I'll grab it. But we don't usually have Men's Health and Women's Health in the house at the same time.

This past weekend, our worlds collided. My husband picked up your magazine to take to a hockey tournament and I bought one at a store to read while he was gone.

Mine has country sweet peach Taylor Swift on the front (blah. She's like 12. What stresses of real life (9-5 job, kids, home) does she actually have to worry about? And my husband has the new teen heartthrob from Twilight/Never Back Down/The O.C. Cam Gigandet. (Last month's Barack Obama was a much more interesting choice).

Here's the thing. We came home together on Sunday and threw our magazines on our bed.

And, surprise, surprise, they didn't sound the same when they landed.

Now, I'm a sociology major so I did some social science research when I was at Queen's University and after conducting a very thorough examination of these two magazines, I found something shocking:

December Women's Health: $5.99
December Men's Health: $5.99

But check this out:

December Women's Health: 140 pages
December Men's Health: 236 pages

Why is my husband's magazine almost 100 pages more than mine – for the same price?

Truthfully, men's health is far more interesting than women's health. It has better recipes, tech features and exercise stuff - and far less of the frilly "How to Survive Your InLaws" and features on shoes.

So, here's what I'm going to do. I'm not going to buy Women's Health anymore. I'm going to read my husband's magazine.

I know women pay more for their hair and drycleaning, but my husband gets 100 more pages of ads and editorial content? Don't think so.


And here is the rest of it.

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Thank you mama for the concert Tee

This is for the young rockers: Your Hedley is my Debbie Gibson and I know just how you feel. Tomorrow is your first concert. You're going with your three best friends (BFF -until Jacob Hoggard smiles at only one of you!) and you've arranged for a parent to drop you off at the K-Rock Centre and a parent to pick you up -and right away since it's a school night. "No dilly-dallying," your parents have instructed. Or, you're too young to go unaccompanied, so God bless 'em, your parents are going with you.

When I tell people about my first concert experience, I always say it was going to see The Tragically Hip when they played Ontario Place in Toronto to promote their 1991 album Road Apples. But that wasn't really my first concert experience; it was my second. (It's just so much cooler than my first show.)

My first concert experience was when I went to Canada's Wonderland to see Debbie Gibson in the summer of 1988. Her album Out of the Blue, released in 1987, was a smash. She and Tiffany were going head-to-head on all the charts and like all the great battles of my young life in the '80s - Orser versus Boitano, Jem and the Holograms versus The Misfits, and Bryan Adams versus Corey Hart - you were loyal to only one, and I was on Debbie's team.

I was 12 at the time of the 1988 Out Of the Blue tour, so I went to my first concert with my mom and dad and eight-year-old brother.

The show was the first time I encountered the sit-versus-stand concert crowd. Everyone in front of us was standing up, screaming and jumping and singing. But the people behind us wanted to sit, so they kept tapping my mom on the shoulder asking our family to sit down. My mother politely told them I couldn't see Debbie if I sat down, so I'd have to stand since everyone else was standing. (My mother can also vividly recount this night, she had such a good time).

Debbie did all her hits - Only In My Dreams, Out Of the Blue, Foolish Games and Shake Your Love - and I sang along to every one.

At one point, even my mom had a good time. The standers became sitters when some of the people in the row in front of us abandoned their seats for a few songs.

Back in my day, I would have come home to my diary and written about my great night at my first show. You'll come home, update your Facebook page, e-mail your friends the picture you got with Jacob, and then maybe blog about it. The technology is different, but the concert experience is still very much the same. Your heart is racing (Jacob is so cool); your ears are buzzing (the concert is so loud); and your wallet is aching (buy the T-shirt, not the commemorative program. You'll get more use out of it).

And who do you have to thank for all of this? Most of you need to give your parents a big hug and kiss and then go vacuum the house for them, because they've had a role in this night out. They paid for the tickets, or helped you order them on their credit card, or are picking up you and your friends to take you to the arena or are going to the concert with you.

You do need to tuck it in the back of your mind that they made Hedley happen for you because, 19 years from now, (hypothetically speaking, of course), you'll remember that when you went to that Debbie Gibson (er, Hedley) concert, that row in front of you did abandon their seats for a few songs - only to return with concert T-shirts, which they proceeded to whip over their heads like helicopter blades.

Which repeatedly hit your mother in the face.

Over and over and over again.
And here is the rest of it.

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Two-faced Sarah Crosbie (Pretty Ugly)

Before I had a baby, I'd always look at the pictures of celebrities in the fashion and gossip magazines who looked perfecto just a few weeks after having their babies. Their stomachs would be flat, their skin perfect, their hair flowy and gorgeous and their clothes ripped from the runways.
"It's so easy!" I thought to myself.
Ha, ha, ha, ha. Ha. (That's me laughing at myself right now).
Monday to Friday, I do it up. I wear clean (sometimes even ironed) clothes. I style my hair and put on lipstick and mascara. (I dropped eyeliner earlier this year, since I think it saves me a couple of minutes each morning, which I can use to eat cereal or watching Toopy and Binoo.) But on weekends? Oooo, I'm ugly. Or "f-ugly" as the kids would say. No makeup. I don't do my hair and I'm always in runners. But some mornings, it's worse than ugly. Some mornings like in the pic above left, I'm that "Fat Celebrities Without Makeup, Caught on the Beach With Blubber and Celulite Hanging Every Which Way" mother. See this pic you young, unmarried, childless girls? This is what motherhood looks like. It's not pretty, but it's the truth.
However, please see what a little makeup, hair putty and sleep can do for you (right). I'm a freakin' supermodel. I'm just like that Evolution Dove commercial, really. Pretty on the inside, and on the outside? It depends – on the day, on the mood, whether or not I just happen to be posing for my wedding photos.
But know this mothers: We all have our good days and bad days.
I guess what I'm saying is, when you feel ugly? Think of me.
We all have our moments. Good and bad.

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How to Get a Job, By Sara(h) Cosby

This week, I was invited to return to Queen's University, my alma mater, and speak to arts and science undergrads about finding a career (or not) once they graduate.

Maybe it was the free pizza and pop or maybe the students were really interested to learn about what they can do with an arts degree, but they packed a classroom - and on the night of the American election no less.

(Let me just say right now that if Sarah Palin had won the election with John McCain, I was seriously contemplating switching my given name for my middle one.)

Here are some of the issues we covered and the advice I gave:

1. What if I have no idea what I want to do after I graduate:Well, what if I don't really know what I want to do when I'm 31? Most people have the wrong idea that everyone knows what they want to do "when they grow up." No, they don't. Sure, some little girls start playing doctor with the little boys next door at the age of three and now they're surgeons, but many of us aren't sure what we want to do for the rest of our lives. It's true that since I was a little girl, I wanted to work at a newspaper, but that doesn't mean I don't also have dreams about working on a TV show, running a small B&B with my hubby in England, or hosting a radio show. I say after you graduate, if you can afford it, take a year and dabble. Teach English in China. Serve in a fancy restaurant. Volunteer in Mexico, building houses for people who are less fortunate. Train for a marathon. You've been in school since kindergarten. Take 12 months for yourself.

2. But if I take a year off, all my friends will have a career and I won't!: Oh, so what. I can tell you from experience, that one or two years aren't going to make or break you. In my group of friends, we all chose different post-university paths. Some of us went straight into the workforce, some of us went to college, some of us took multiple internships, but guess what? In the long run, it didn't matter. It's not a race. Your career (and, more importantly, your life) is about you and your pace.

3. Interview tips? The best advice I ever read is that the second you wake up on the day of your interview, the interview starts. Think about the fact you could cut off your potential boss on the highway driving to the interview, or she could see you putting your hand under your shirt and rubbing it on your armpit so you can smell it to make sure you don't have B. O. You never know who's watching you. Also spend some time in the city in which you're applying for the job. That says you want to learn more about your future home. And in the interview you can say: "As soon as I leave here, I'm actually going to zip over to Sam's Coffee Bar. They have the best lattes. I've only been here for a weekend, and I'm addicted." Also, Google your future employers and learn everything you can about them.

4. Resume tips? I don't ever want you to send me your resume if you're going to tell me you're hardworking. What else are you going to be? A lazy sloth? Tell me who you really are on your resume. If you are applying to be a newspaper entertainment writer, you should tell me you've seen 74 movies at the Screening Room, you have six magazine subscriptions and you're taking a French cooking class. That says more about who you are than telling me you're hardworking, motivated and a fast learner.

5. Final thoughts?Please, I beg of you, learn how to spell your potential employer's name: I've been Sarah Crosby, Sara Crosbie, Sara Crosby and Sara(h) Cosby. (Although, if the world turns on its head and things go horribly wrong in the U. S. in 2012 and a certain somebody becomes a major player on the world stage, you may also call me Elizabeth Crosbie.)

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My love for Barack's love

Do you want to know why I love Barack Obama?
Yes, of course, he handily defeated Sarah Palin, who's the worst kind of woman since she thinks she has a right to speak for every single woman in the United States with her pro-life nuttery, but that's not why I love him.
I love him because he loves his wife.
Way, way more than I should, I hear boyfriends/partners/husbands make disparaging remarks about girlfriends/partners/wives. They tell intimate secrets that I would be mortified to know is out in the public domain and they make inappropriate comments to other women.
I don't ever want to hear again that it's OK for men to look as long as they don't touch. Yes, fine, look, but don't tell me you're looking.
What I rarely hear and see from men are public declarations of love and PDAs. Think about it: When's the last time you were out with a group of friends, and one of the couples just spontaneously kissed? Grabbed? Hugged? Gave the bum a little squeeze?
I think Obama's warm marriage makes him appealling to women. He looks like he wants to kiss Michelle, unlike the staged Al and Tipper Gore face smushings we had to deal with in 2000.
On Tuesday, a beaming Obama brought Michelle and his two daughters out on stage in Chicago to make his acceptance speech and within a minute or two, he was professing his love for all the world to see and hear: "... I want to thank my partner in this journey, a man who campaigned from his heart, and spoke for the men and women he grew up with on the streets of Scranton and rode with on the train home to Delaware, the vice president-elect of the United States, Joe Biden. And I would not be standing here tonight without the unyielding support of my best friend for the last 16 years the rock of our family, the love of my life, the nation's next first lady Michelle Obama."
Now, if Obama can get up in front of the world – the world – and declare that his wife is "the love of my life" can't you send your honey some flowers at work? Grab her as she's leaving the office for lunch and plant one on her? Send her a card in the mail, just because? Take out an ad on your local newspaper to say her short hair looks nice. Blog about her? And then, most importantly, boast about it to your buddies?
As Barack Obama would say: Yes, You Can!

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Beans, beans the magical fruit. They make you happy, they make you t**t

Every year at The Whig, we hold a Chilifest as a United Way fundraiser.
A few years ago, when I was a single gal living in my own little apartment, I made a massive batch of chili according to my mama's instructions.
It was OK, but no one really ate it. There were really good cooks at work who were making steak chili, pork tenderloin chili and chilies with real chili peppers and authentic seasonings. I tossed in a bunch of extra lean ground beef, some chili powder and green peppers.
Last year was a little worse. The husband and I were in a massive, massive fight so I was ticked off the whole time I was making the chili. In between dumping ingredients into our big pot, I was fighting. During one wicked round of arguing, I left the chili, only to discover that all the kidney beans had stuck to the side of the container and had burnt themselves black.
With no time to make another batch, I had only one option: I had to pick out all sizzled-black kidney beans, one by one. Do you have any idea how long it takes to pick two cans of kidney beans out of a batch of chili. Again, no one at work really ate my chili (even though I threw in pineapple to sassy it up a little).
This year.
Well, what can I say.
It has been a nutty few weeks.
There's work, which takes up a bulk of my life.
Exercise.
Toddler.
Errands and the stuff of life.
Plus, I've been doing a bunch of things for our United Way fundraising.
(We also spent a night this week at the Wiggles. See previous post).
So, it's Thursday night, chili is due the next day, and as a member of the United Way committee, I have to have it done. I have all the ingredients: Lean ground turkey, peppers, onions, chili powder, (pineapple, maybe) and beans.
Except, by the time I got home from work at 6:30, I still had a column to write for work, movie capsules to finish off for the Saturday paper, Halloween stuff to get ready for the next day, and dinner to make.
And, yet, being the superstar mother, wife, baker, cook, leaf-raker woman that I am, I got my pot of chili done and still had time to watch CSI at 9 p.m.
How'd I do it?
I'd like to take this moment to thank Campbell's, maker of wonder soups and Chunky CHILIs. Four cans of chili, plus one can of beef soup to alter the consistency, plus some hand-cut green peppers and I had chili. Which no one ate again. But chili it was. And on time. (Don't tell anyone. My United Way chili committee would be "a-gassed.")

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Wanna make me smile? Wiggle that thang.

Spend a decade covering entertainment as a columnist, reporter and editor, and you can become jaded. When musicians, actors, comics and artists are starting out, they ask and plead for coverage and they're happy for any help they get. Sometimes, depending on how many events are going on in the city, how busy reporters are, and the size of the newspaper, all we can offer them is a listing: Their name, location of the event, time it starts and cost of admission.

Often, they're grateful and appreciative. Usually, we do much better: Every week, we publish [in the Ticket] photos and feature stories on local artists and out-of-town artists performing/exhibiting/ entertaining in the Kingston area. A story usually warrants a heap of love from the person being profiled.

You always hope that when they say they'll remember you when they make it big, they mean it.

Having the K-Rock Centre has ushered in a new level of frustration for those of us who cover entertainment. Bigger stars equal bigger shows, but bigger headaches, too.

We try to give our readers superior coverage but that's hard to do when Sheryl Crow would only do preshow interviews with two radio stations and Avril Lavigne's handlers levied a heavy contract on us about what we could and couldn't do with the photographs we took and refused to give her hometown newspaper an interview. Photographers in Canada are already buzzing on the 'Net about the fact they haven't been allowed to shoot the Bob Dylan show. (Kingston could change that on Nov. 15).

But it doesn't have to be this way. When the Little Guy becomes the Big Guy, The Guy can still be gracious and accommodating. I have proof of it from Anthony, Jeff, Murray and Sam.

It's true: Avril Lavigne could learn a thing or two from The Wiggles.

The Australian entertainers were in town Tuesday to perform for one of the toughest crowds: Children; hungry, overtired, overexcited, poopy-in-their-diapers, (Oh, was that just my kid?) children.

These four singers -middle-aged men who are known as the yellow Wiggle (Sam), the red Wiggle (Murray), the blue Wiggle (Anthony) and purple Wiggle (Jeff) - started the show by leaving the stage and walking around to meet the concertgoers.

What's scarier - Lavigne having to walk through a crowd of teens or Wiggles dancing through throngs of children who will be out for blood soon if they don't hear classics like Dorothy the Dinosaur and Fruit Salad (Yummy, Yummy). I think the Wiggles take the bigger risk by leaving the stage.

I may be the only person who saw Lavigne at the K-Rock Centre and thought the concert was a snoozefest. Everyone I talked to looovved her. She didn't interact with the audience and there was no dancing. Yes, the hot pink piano was sexy and her vocals were good, but her show, in terms of entertainment? Not good enough for such a seasoned performer.

The Wiggles, on the other hand, mixed song with dance - including the famed lift from Dirty Dancing - with acrobatics and comedy. Murray (Mr. red Wiggle) was outed by his band-mates, who told the crowd he was named the sixth best guitarist in Australia. To show the adults he has a sense of humour, he played the opening to Stairway to Heaven.

The Wiggles' publicist also called us and asked if we'd like an interview - and which Wiggle we'd like to interview. They called us?! Huh?

Yes, these guys are children's entertainers but they're rock stars for anyone under eight. And they're rich.

Maybe they're truly gracious or maybe they're brilliant self promoters, but it doesn't matter. I was entertained. Performers who come to the K-Rock Centre have a new standard to attain. They better Wiggle it.
And here is the rest of it.

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