Hack-Fans of the World, Unite!

I just read EW.com's article, "Is Gene Hackman the Greatest Actor Ever?" and am elated to know that I can safely come out of the Hackman closet now. (And of course, the answer is YES!)

Those who know me well, already know my secret. There's just something about the guy. I have this weird non-sexual "thing" for him. If he's on-screen, I can't look away. I feel like I know him. He's on my list of three people I'd love to have dinner with (along with Paul McCartney and J.J. Abrams). Weird right? Well, apparently, I'm not alone. Here's what the article's author notes:

He snagged a Best Actor Oscar as the hair-trigger narc Popeye Doyle in 1971's The French Connection. He had the range to play both the paranoid, twitchy surveillance expert in The Conversation and the blustery, hambone alpha-male preacher in The Poseidon Adventure. He was Lex freakin' Luthor, for crying out loud!

Ahh, Lex. I think that's when my obsession began, back when I was 6 or so, and first watched his brilliance as the "greatest criminal mind of our time." Genius!

OK, so maybe you're thinking it's a freaky journalist thing. After all, Gene was a journalist himself before breaking into the movies at a late age. (See, I do know a lot about him.) But now I know there are other Hack-fans out there. Check out these reader comments on the EW article:

> "He can play anything, tough, funny tough, sleazy/slimy and sleazy/vulnerable, ditzy, authoritarian, egomaniacal, bombastic, earnest, and wacko. He has NO EQUAL."

> "If Gene Hackman is in a movie or TV show- I ALWAYS watch it!"

> "I think Hackman's alacrity to play different characters makes him INVALUABLE as an actor."

> "It's strange how you don't think of him when you're talking about our greatest actors, but when you think of the films he's done, of course you remember he is."

So now that everyone is starting to jump on the "I heart Hackman" bandwagon, just remember where you heard it first. And step off -- I've got dinner dibs.

"Victory is Mine!"

If you watch "Family Guy," you recognize that title as Stewie's mantra as he gets the last laugh over his mom Lois. Since J.J. starting babbling, we've joked that he's just like Stewie, always strategizing, calculating, and chuckling to himself about the chaos he can cause on a whim. Or better yet, we liken him to the velociraptors in "Jurassic Park" that jump at the electrical fences, each time in a different spot, to test for weaknesses.

That's J.J. -- smart as a whip, ultra-observant, never missing an opportunity to explore newfound territory, like a drawer missing a safety latch, a glass of soda left dangerously close to the edge of a table, or the boundaries of my sanity. As a mom, I have to try to stay one step ahead of him all the time, always being "on," never letting him discover my weaknesses, while walking the fine line of allowing him to explore, learn, and develop. And I wouldn't have it any other way. He's really perfect to me in every way imaginable. Well, there is that one thing...

It's the battle I've lost every night for nearly two years. J.J. learned early on of my weakness for his puppy-dog eyes, pout lip, and the pathetic way he'd stand next to my bed with his little head resting near my pillow as he'd wait for me to pick him up and let him sleep between my husband and I. Night after night, I'd put off the impending showdown, reasoning that I really liked when he snuggled up against me most nights, and eventually he'd understand the need for his own (and our) personal space and stay in his "big boy" bed. In reality though, I've had countless kicks to the kidneys, gotten punched in the eye and nose, haven't enjoyed more than a two-hour stretch of uninterrupted sleep, not to mention its effect in the romantic department. I have spent many a sleepless night agonizing over my -- ahem -- sleepless nights, while watching "Family Guy" reruns. Ooh, that Stewie...

Labor Day weekend 2006: The time had finally come when J.J. would have no choice but to sleep in his own room. At least that was our long-weekend plan, one we'd tried before. This time, we put up a safety gate so J.J. couldn't come pitter-pattering into our room at night, explained to him the deal (adding a few measures of bribery including a trip to Toys R Us the next morning if he complied), and braced ourselves -- we knew what was coming.

Screaming. Wailing. Pleading. Pwitty Pwease-ing. Nearly two hours of J.J. preying on my weakness of not being able to ignore his cries. But this time, I had a new secret weapon. The advice of dear friends who assured me that no matter how painful it is to hear your child cry, it would be worth it to him in the end since he'd ultimately sleep better. Oh, and the haunting thought of another friend's daughter who still sleeps with them at age 4. Imagine doing this for another two years?!

Finally the cries turned to whimpers. Then silence. Then snores. Then came morning when we all realized we had made it through the toughest night. I think I hugged and kissed J.J. for about 15 minutes straight. J.J. couldn't wait to tell his Grandma and Nonna what a big boy he was. We had our trip to Toys R Us as promised, followed by night two. Just 10 minutes of crying this time. Then sleepy smiles and cuddling with Curious George. Night three. Not a sound. Just the low hum of our TV. Stewie was on again declaring, "Victory is Mine!"... only no one was awake to hear it.

My Cubicle, Five Years After 9/11...

The weekend before September 11, 2001 was a new beginning in my professional life. Our small little company, publishers of the best unknown teen magazine out there -- College Bound -- was moving on up to a beautiful corporate office from its previous location above a strip mall. So much potential, so many possibilities.

Then that fateful Tuesday morning came... I was in early that day, around 8:40, excited to start setting up my new cubicle while thinking about what my professional future had in store, when my co-worker started nervously reporting to the few of us early birds that a plane had hit the World Trade Center. What I first brushed off like many people did as a freak commuter plane accident, became the single most defining moment of my generation. As the next few hours, days, and months came, suddenly things were put in perspective. My cubicle decor was hardly a priority.

But life went on, as it inevitably does. By the grace of God, my family members and friends who were there that day survived as so many others hadn't. Such relief and thankfulness was quelled with the death of my grandfather two months to the day after 9/11. Then after the darkness, came the best days of my life. So much to be thankful for, as evidenced by a cubicle that gradually became adorned with photos of my wedding, and then a beautiful baby boy's growth into toddlerhood.

But that's not all that's displayed in my work space. To my left still hangs the yellowed Daily News cover from September 18th, 2001 with the simple headline: "I love NY More Than Ever." And there's the tiny cutout from a Fall 2001 issue of College Bound with a photo illustrating Wagner College's view of the New York skyline -- with the Twin Towers. I remember being glad that the photo had made it into a post-9/11 issue. Just like I'm glad when I catch a glipse of the World Trade Center in old films and TV shows. Images become memories -- and all the digital technology in the world can't erase them.

Now as we approach the five year anniversary of 9/11 and get bombarded with documentary analysis of what went wrong that day, all of those sinking feelings and emotions have started to come flooding back. Who am I kidding? They're always there ready to resurface really. In fact, I can't think of one family or friend get-together in the past five years that didn't circle around to "the 9/11 conversation" -- what were you were doing when the buildings came down? But as September comes, the feelings just weigh a little more heavily, thick like the black smoke that I watched from the drive home on the Verrazano that day in 2001.

Adding to the dread of this year's anniversary came the sudden news that our company would not be publishing College Bound anymore -- on which I've worked since 1997 -- and that many of my dear colleagues were being abruptly let go. Suddenly our thriving office family fell silent, save for the tears and random outbursts -- sounds and emptiness that I hadn't heard around here since that day.

And so once again, just like in 2001, my colleagues and I have to pick up the pieces and adjust to a different world and the guilt of being layoff survivors. While certainly not as life-altering or tragic as the terrorist attacks, I can't help but notice the parallels:
> How this could happen?
> We never saw it coming.
> It will take time to rebuild, but we'll be OK.

The rebuilding has already begun, starting with promises of a better tomorrow and an office redesign. Guess that means I'll be decorating a new cubicle once again. I can't wait to display the latest pics of my son. Ooh, maybe I'll get a funky area rug from Target, and de-clutter my space with cool shelving. I'll still have to find room for my Daily News cover, though... and maybe a couple of my favorite CB Teen issues. I'm not ready to forget.

La Festa

WARNING: If you're not from Brooklyn, you might not get this.

So I took J.J. to his first 18th Avenue Feast. So it got me thinking what should a first-timer know about the infamous beast -- err -- feast...

* On the first night, the zeppoles are fair game. Beyond that, though, it should be noted that vendors use the same oil for the remainder of the week, and stomach side effects may occur.
* Don't be scared of the guy with the snake around his neck -- he's just trying to make you his friend.
* The high-heeled, big-haired, decked-out kids, teens, moms and grandmas who attend consider this to be a huge event, so be sure to dress accordingly, set your hair, and cake on your makeup.
* And if you need to check yourself, pop into a local store and find a mirror -- the clerks will find it amusing, I promise!
* Enjoy a parade of ethnic cuisine comprised of 12 sausage and pepper stands in an 8-block radius. Side note: Lucy is the queen of the sausages (take that however you'd like)
* A little know fact... Remember that Saturday Night Live skit with the three guys at the bar, bobbing their heads to "What is Love?" and gyrating on any girl who happened to walk by? That skit is performed live every year at the feast. Don't miss it!
* It's a free night out... that will empty your wallet. You'll pay $25 for a T-shirt that says "Italian Power" (until you wash it once), $7 for a Toblerone left over from last year, and $5 to throw a basketball into an oval hoop (check out the side view if you don't believe me).
* Some big game prizes worth noting: a Dean Martin 8x10 in a $2 frame; a red, white, and green horn for your car; a goldfish or hermit crab that will die on the way home.
* Ooh that smell can't you smell that smell? After a while, you can't tell if it's the sausage that's been sitting out in 90 degree heat, the pony ride, or urine puddles in local driveways from the night before.
* It's a musical celebration! The Caleps, Bensonheart's own Little Suzy, KTU (the official goomba station), and illegal CDs for sale everywhere.
* Let's not forget, this is a big year. With Azzure winning the World Cup, there's no telling how much the Italian-themed souveniers will cost.
* Another little know fact... this is a religious feast celebrated on an avenue that has no church, and for which the honored saint wears a wig!

Enjoy la festa!