The Method
I first heard about fitness guru Tracy Anderson on Gwyneth Paltrow’s GOOP, and then, when fellow bloggers and friends Asian Cajuns told me about her workout DVD. (Side note, you’ll get to know twins behind the site, Lauren and Catherine better next week.)
Knowing I was going to be at my mom’s and out of my normal workout routine, this DVD seemed like the obvious choice to take with me. Though, I was forewarned, and I’m warning you, to say Tracy isn’t the best teacher is an understatement.
It’s the first workout DVD I’ve done that you really do have to do several times before you get it because she’ll just start going into a new exercise without telling you. Plus, I get the impression she’s pretty much in love with herself and adds dance moves to just about everything. She reminds me of girls who dance in clubs that stare at themselves in the mirror making sexy faces. Oh, and she looks like Shakira while doing it all. Awesome.
But, in her defense, the interview chapter of the tape did resonate with me. She experienced college weight gain, and nothing worked to get her long and lean, she just kept bulking in the gym. Knowing girls want really toned dancer limbs, she spent eight years developing and researching this program, and the end result is this: it works.
My abs after the first workout killed. Which is ironic because that’s the exact section on the DVD I despised the most, her standing abdominal workout where it appears she’s in a Beyonce video and is ridiculously annoying. Seriously she’s just keeping beat to the music. But, I’m thinking the likes of Gwyneth and Madonna, who are Tracy’s clients (I love that I’m writing about her like we’re old friends) know a good thing when they see it. Though not available for download on iTunes, it’s worth the purchase on her website.
And to completely counterpoint, it might be best to get in the whole club scene and pop a bottle of Armand de Brignac while you’re at it. At the very least it’ll make the standing ab portion actually make sense.
Yes, Drill Sergeant
Growing up in a military household, I can’t say I’ve ever had to the motivation to attend a boot camp fitness class. But last summer one of my writing clients was all gung-ho about doing them and asked me to join her long before the sun was up and newspapers delivered. Strangely enough (pretty sure wine was involved), I agreed. Of course I overslept badly and got in a explosive screaming match with my GPS who was giving me poor directions in his British accent to it’s-anyone’s-guess-where-the-eff-I-am-park a good twenty miles from my house.
I knew I was in the right spot when I pulled up to a lot packed with people decked out in running clothes and clearly pumped to be there. I managed to double-park as the crowd waited on me and my unbrushed teeth and raccoon makeup from the night before to join them. They may’ve even clapped in that, “so glad you could join us” way, which is what I also like to call “the sarcastic clap.”
In the end, the workout proved to be really hard, but really fun. Two days later when I was itching from the fertilizer rash I had from all the rolling around in the grass for sit-ups and squat thrusts, I was second-guessing my initial excitement about the camp.
Fast-forward a year to when I’m burned out big time on my usual workouts–yoga, Pilates, and running. I’ve peaked. Beyond a plateau, my body just stayed the same and I was plain bored. And don’t even get me going on lack of motivation when my husband was laid off and both of us were working freelance; let’s just say there was lots o’ sleeping in at my house and not enough working out.
I needed something to boost my workout enthusiasm and kick me back into shape. So, for four weeks I decided to do a boot camp series. That’s twenty classes, five days a week for four weeks. Plus, nutritional support. I decided to go in with an open mind; forget about the actual military father, and my usual course of action when someone is screaming in my face of either hitting the road or completely shutting down. None of the above happened. No one yelled, no one cried, no one stormed off in a huff.
London Calling Playlist
I’ve always been a fan of solid Brit pop. From the ’90s Blur, James and Oasis to today’s Travis and Coldplay. I’m a sucker for brooding scowls and accents duking it out with a catchy beat.
As I’ve mentioned before, we’re traveling for a wedding in mid-August and we’ve just begun the planning stage. It’s looking fairly certain that we’ll have three legs to this trip–England, Hungary, and Poland, or more specifically, London, Budapest, and Krakow.
For now, I’m putting together the London version of my playlist that includes a heavy dose of UK invasion, plus a few I think will be perfect for gazing out train windows, daydreaming.
The Beach Read
I’ve always been a reader (it sort of goes hand in hand with us writers). As a child, I was certainly the happiest when buried in a book and honestly that hasn’t changed much with age. Since we’re approaching summer months and perhaps I’ll even admit to a little escapism on my part, here are my picks for what to read. Not all of these are newly released titles, but some of my favorites. And truthfully, when you’re in a house rental with your entire family for seven days you won’t care when it came out if you’ve gotten to the point of isolating yourself in a quiet room with a stiff drink reminding yourself serenity now! PS—things would be so much easier if I had a Kindle.
Shutterbabe
Deborah Copaken Kogan working in Zimbabwe, 1989
I read Shutterbabe the first year I worked at CNN. I was fresh out college with my journalism degree in tow, drowning in a newsroom pool of brilliant minds and it couldn’t have come at a better time–I was an incredibly small fish in a vastly deep pond, struggling to swim. An ex-boyfriend brought the book over, along with a stack of others on our first date. Sounds promising, but I assure you, the book was the best thing out of the relationship.
Since reading it, I’ve likely lost, loaned, or gifted at least 20 copies. It’s just such a great read. I’m beyond thrilled to interview Deborah Copaken Kogan, the author of (among other titles) Shutterbabe. Read More
Reality TV Soapbox
In December, James Wolcott wrote an incredible piece for Vanity Fair about the dumbing down of American culture due to the influx of reality television.
That article got me thinking of the Andy Warhol quote; “in the future everyone will be famous for 15 minutes.” So, here we are in 2010, with the MTV, CW, VH1, and E!, lineup of what television executives should be calling 15-minutes-of-fame programming.
The reality in my life is this; I’m the wife of a television and film writer and producer, and I’m about to get on my soapbox about the state of television in America. I’ve come up with this notion … reality TV is the new television “reel”-the new stepping stone for any sort of career in entertainment. Reality TV standouts parlay these vixens, airheads, and otherwise nobodies into other jobs-Kendra Wilkinson, Melissa Rycroft, Kyle Brandt, Lauren Conrad-line them up.
Because what we do know is that Kendra starred on Girls Next Door and it catapulted her into a spin-off show, a husband and a baby; Melissa went from being “blindsided” on The Bachelor’s “After the Rose” ceremony to a gig not just Dancing with the Stars, but as a special correspondent for Entertainment Tonight and 20/20. Go a few years back to when The Real World was in Chicago and Kyle was on it, he then got a reoccurring role on Days of our Lives. And who could forget LC, who starred on Laguna Hills as a mere 17-year-old high school senior, wham bam, now she’s a New York Times bestseller and clothing designer.
It’s as if it’s all a sociology experiment of he who puts themselves out there the most gets a bigger deal, to the nth degree. But, isn’t life kind of like that? He who wows the interviewer, get the job? He who writes the most niche/compelling blog, gets the book deal, then lands at HGTV…hi there Dooce. Or he who competes in a reality cooking show gets a three-show deal on that same network, then a hosting job on NBC this spring … fist pump Guy Fieri and your meal-ticket, Food Network.
Turkey Tension Playlist II
In keeping with tradition, it’s time for the annual playlist fitting of all the turkey and tension your family can handle. This year’s list combines all the components of both food and family dysfunction with a side of past relationship awkwardness. The whole mess equals a true symbol of going home for the holidays in music form.
Here’s to not taking our issues, others, or ourselves too seriously this season. Oink oink, my good man!
Read More
What’s Your Road, Man?
An ode to the season of heat…the ultimate road trippin’ summer set playlist loaded with lots of oldies and some new goodies, perfect for parties or long rides on the open highway…
Load up the iPod, gather your friends, get out the map, throw caution and inhibitions into the wind…Jack Kerouac would be so proud.
Safe travels to you and yours this holiday weekend – happy road trippin’.
Thriller Nights – An MJ Tribute
This was a piece originally posted in April, but I find it only fitting to repost. Rest in peace, MJ. And thank you, for one of the greatest nights of my life. xoox, from danapop to the King of Pop.
Growing up, music was always a pretty big deal in our house (um hello Bruce Springsteen garage door). I remember slumber parties my twin and I hosted where we were embarrassed by my father’s wake up call – usually Stevie Wonder or Rod Stewart blaring through the Bose speakers in the living room at 7 am. Not fun after a night spent gossiping about boys and stuffing ourselves with soda and Pizza Hut and definitely not cool either.
Since music was such an enormous part of our life, it’s no surprise that my first concert would have an amazing back-story. The biggest concert of the year, hands down in 1984 was when Michael Jackson toured with his brothers in what was called The Victory Tour. The first stop of the tour was – you guessed it – Kansas City, Missouri and us folks in the Heartland were such big fans that they had to schedule three performances. You must remember this was at the absolute height of Michael’s career; back when MTV actually aired videos and would show Thriller in its half-hour entirety. All us kids were cuckoo for cocoa puffs over Michael Jackson.
Read More
Yellow Journalism
Photo illustration courtesy of The Economist
I wonder what William Randolph Hearst would think about the notion of blogging. Would Ernest Hemingway have traded his typewriter for a laptop with a super fast wireless connection to update his loyal readers with his latest musings…
Went to the cellar. Drank three liters of wine. I lost all track of time. Stopped by Sloppy Joe’s. Had a conversation with some guy, called himself Danny. He showed me the contents of his knapsack. They included an elephant tusk, British pounds, swatches of fabric woven from the Incas and a withered photograph of him as a young boy, sitting in the front seat of his father’s Hudson Hornet. After that, I headed home to pet the cats.
I’ve been thinking about journalism a lot lately. I guess you could say that I’ve been a part of the industry since birth – my father was a print journalist – a reporter in the Army and later a public affairs officer. I loved hearing him talk about covering 1967’s Six- Day War or transporting high-profile prisoners to Ft. Leavenworth. I just knew that I would eventually follow suit. And I did. I graduated in 2000 with my B.S. in Broadcast from the William Allen White School of Journalism at the University of Kansas (on the six-year plan).
I remember my father saying how broadcast was the next step in the industry (it sounds archaic to even say less than a decade later). So, in theory, print bred broadcast (TV and radio), which bred online, which bred blogs. And so it goes.
