Sunday, August 19, 2012

Tip Of The Old Red Hat

I worked with Tony Scott, both as an actress, and later in wardrobe on commercials.

I used to see saw him round town sometimes, and he was always lovely.  One night I had dinner with Tony and his brother Ridley- just the three of us met up after work one night.  It was nice to see the closeness and love between the brothers. They weren't the usual creepy, slimy Hollywood guys. That alone was much appreciated in this town of snakes and wannabes.

I don't know a single person who has ever spent time with him that won't tell you he was a nice man, and a gentleman. My brothers also both worked with both of the the brothers, and they had great times with them.

No one knows what went wrong today, this week, this year, but the news will leak out soon enough.

The vultures will swoop. He knew that before he jumped.

I just want to say Rest in Peace, Tony. Whatever it was that took you down, you will be missed. You touched a lot of us with that friendly, mischievous smile; waving those Cuban cigars around sometimes, as you talked.

Heartfelt condolences to your family.

I'll think of you when I'm out walking, wearing my old battered red baseball hat.


Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Sitting At The Dock of The Mac

I remember exactly where I was when I first heard it. Outside Vancouver. A suburban party. Small, low key, nice. This song came on and I we all stopped talking. Who was this, I wondered? I could envision the singer sitting there, tapping his toes, wondering about his next move.

That was the moment I discovered the back beat.

When we were 14 or 15, my girlfriend Evelyn and I used to get dressed up and go into downtown Vancouver to the clubs. 

There were places we liked. One was an all black R&B place in Gastown. We were the only white people I ever saw there, and the youngest by decades. We wanted to dance to great music. Simple as that.

We must have waltzed to "Me and Mrs. Jones" about a hundred times, with tall, dark strangers who surely wondered how we found our way there, but nobody- not the men or the women- ever made us feel out of place. Everyone was there for the music.

There was another place later on where we went (again much under-aged), and fell in love with Donna Summer and K.C. and the Sunshine Band.

I remember when I was a kid, there was always music. At the pool, at the beach, in the car. My Dad used to make fun of Mick Jagger, telling the radio it wasn't giving him much Satisfaction...

My parents were both into music. My Mom still is. She loves to put on some rock and roll and dance in her house. She does it all the time.

My sister was older, and she had a record player. I heard stuff ahead of my time. I remember when I was 10, playing "Do You Know The Way to San Jose" over and over, lip synching in the mirror with my hair brush.

My Dad had some favorites. His favorite was Mahalia Jackson, but he also loved Nat King Cole, Brenda Lee and Cliff Richards. My Mom's current favorite guy is Jon Bon Jovi, but I think that might have a lot to do with his charities, and how pretty he is.

No matter what, there is music. I’m thankful for growing up with that. 

Last March we held my Mom's birthday with a weekend long string of parties in Vancouver. My Uncle came with friends from Manitoba, and we had a surprise party for her, full of fun and music. My Mom and brother can jive together like nobody else. 

That woman, my friends, is what a cool 80 year old looks like.

Continuing the birthday celebrations, my Mom, my sister and I went to New York at Easter. It was grand. (Of course. It was New York! How could it not be?)

We went to Marcus Samuelsson’s restaurant, “The Red Rooster” up in Harlem, at his invitation. It was spectacular.  So chic, so cool, so very, very stylish. 

After dinner, we went downstairs to a little club he has, Ginny's. It is beyond cool. Imagine going to a small private party up in Harlem with the best music EVER- a throwback to a speakeasy from the '20's.

We felt shy and out of place, standing at the back. No matter. A lovely woman grabbed us, and pulled us out to the dance floor. I can honestly say, I haven’t had that great a time in a club since Studio 54. When we left, someone else invited us to another club/restaurant down the street, and we went in for a bit. The Apollo is just to the west.

There we were, my Mom, my sister and me in Harlem, on 125th and Lenox at 12:30am, and it was fantastic. All for the love of the beat. Which leads me back to the song at the top…

Music warms the heart and feeds the soul. You can always play something and revisit the memories attached to many, many moments, and feel gratitude.

So, tip of the hat to Mr. Redding for leaving us such a gift. Thanks for the introduction.

And, for starting my day at the dock of the Mac with a smile, and several trips down memory lane. I hope you enjoyed the ride, too.

Monday, August 13, 2012

He Speaks My (Shoe) Language

I was born too late to meet the man, but I've studied him (for work), and admired him for so many things. Happy to say we have the slipper love in common, and I like his sense of humor.

Here's a vintage Pepsi commercial I worked on- a huge collaboration on that one. He was the subject of interest for us in the costume department, not the product. He was a fascinating character to research. How could he NOT be?

Sunday, August 12, 2012

Prada. Rock (et) On.

I have a great new friend. She lives on the internet. She writes a wonderful blog which is touching, real, funny, thought-provoking, intelligent and very true for all kinds of women.

If she lived in Los Angeles, I'd see her all the time. We'd plan great trips together, (she also has dreams of lunch in Paris, although hers seem to be more about l'affaire avec un beau gendarme.)

I would introduce her to my friends, we'd find interesting things to do, and she would be welcomed into our conversations.

She writes about things all women go through. The challenges, the doubts, the joys, the dreams.  Making a living while she works to stay creative.

She has a great infatuation, however, which I cannot understand.


Some of my other friends have this fascination. My dear friend Janelle from Sydney just spent a good part of her holiday here burning through Neiman's, Barney's, Saks, Fred Segal and Nordstrom's shoe departments at Mach 3 with her hair on fire. They almost called the fire department. (Hmm. On second though...the firefighters......)

I had to sit down. It was exhausting just to watch her and the gathering crowd who was staring- all agog- at this spectacularly beautiful 5' 9", 115 lb. wonder who can run in 5" heels. (Really. She did this at Neiman's to test some Prada platforms. Then again, she does have three young boys she chases after all day long.)

The salespeople completely ignored the brown haired English chick from Housewives of Beverly Hills, who was trying desperately to catch anyone's eye, as Janelle moved on to the handbag department. By the time we left, she had them on speed dial to confirm delivery of her Celine, Bottega Veneta, and Chanel handbags, along with a mountain of Diors and Pradas. It was a sight. She was a blur. I was a mess.

Janelle is a legend, but the others are each devoted in their own way to the shoe loving sisterhood.

Rose has her shoes organized in her closet by color and season. Ely and Susan actually do a show-and-tell after they've been on a shoescapade, and they are deliriously happy while doing so. "Aren't they cool?" they ask, as I nod in silence. Louise had her bunions removed so she could wear prettier shoes, and she'd squeeze into anything if it had Manolo stamped on the last. Each of them are smart. They make their own money. They can do as they wish.

So, here we are. I have now found yet another friend who is shoe crazy.

I dream about diamonds, never shoes. A girl like I needs a tiara. I have often wondered if I am missing the shoe chip. Give me slippers, I'm in heaven.

Since I am a stylist, people often assume I would love to trot around in Louboutins. Au contraire, my friends. I hate shoe shopping. If I could, I'd wear my Fit Flops everywhere.

I have the same pair of black patent leather Gucci loafers I wore in 3 feet of snow while shooting the Olympic athletes for the Salt Lake winter games way back when. (Even at 12,000 ft., I refused to wear those ugly snow boots, or trade my navy blue cashmere TSE overcoat for a- God forbid- snow parka.)

So, in honor of my new friend, I am running some pix of a shoe which she and my other friends will surely admire. It is a work of art, to be sure.

To D. A. , Janelle, Ely, Rose, Louise, Susan, and all of my other girlie friends, here is your fabulous fix for the day! Rocket on!  xoxox

I, myself, will stay with visions of Capri, Bergdorf, and the vintage 6 carat Asscher cut Van Cleef & Arpels platinum ring I fell in love with one perfect afternoon, at the temple of all things shiny and beautiful, Fred Leighton...

p.s.- You can find the fabulous D. A. Wolf at

Monday, August 6, 2012

Clown vs. Politician- Which Is Which?

I bet you thought I was going to go on a political rant.

Nope. Not I. Not today.

This is a commercial I styled recently. Lots of fun, and for a very good cause.

As a bonus, the real Bozo the Clown and his lovely wife stopped by to help with the make-up.

Please click on the bottom right icon to watch it on full screen.