The final word on floating poop!

"You are the only person who manages to mention poop everytime I talk to you," said Stephanie one day several years ago.

I bear the title proudly. Now, debunking the floating poop phenomenon!

It's fitty - fitty....

"We make ourselves happy, or we make ourselves miserable. The amount of work is the same." -anon.

From Blubber to Blogger

Are you there God? It's me, Alannah...oh hey, you MUST be there, because you've given us what we've always wanted...Judy Blume in the blogosphere. Hell yes.

http://papercuts.blogs.nytimes.com/2007/08/10/stray-questions-for-judy-blume/

girls on the run

I'd heard of the organization Girls on the Run several times before actually diving into the wide world of Web to get the true scoop. What pushed me to finally research the group is a mystery; next to my political apathy, my lack of binding support for any particular non-profit (with the exception of my employer, of course) is one of my greatest personal flaws. Regardless, I Googled, and the results blew me away....

Molly Barker, a North Carolinian social worker, founded Girls on the Run in 1996 in an effort to preserve something very valuable; our real, authentic, inspired, divine little girls. I'm willing to bet that any female reading this blog can remember the age when she began to falter, even briefly; when she somehow doubled back on herself, doubting her brains, body, or ambitions. Knowing the value of finding one's feet and the thrill of achievement, Barker developed a 24 lesson curriculum devoted to the mission of educating and preparing girls for a life-time of self-respect and healthy living. Barker pulled in the women of all ages whom she loved, admired, and respected, and passed the torch; the program borne of this group combines 5k race training with life-changing self-esteem enhancing lessons that enhance social, physical and mental health in 8 – 12 year old girls.

Inspired, I dug further and discovered that the Brighton YMCA had tried several times to launch this program without the proper staffing. "I'll do it," I told them. "Let's roll!" they responded. And so it is. I'm happy to announce that we'll be kicking off a six month GOTR program at the Oak Square YMCA in Brighton for the late fall session beginning in November. If you're on the fence about helping or are at all intrigued, I encourage you to read this post from Molly Barker's GOTR blog and be reminded of your real, fourth grade, stranger-hugging, freely dancing self. Love to have you.

http://girlsontherun.sitewizard.biz/molly_sblog.html

I've arrived...

For the record, everything that could have gone wrong this morning went drastically, horribly awry. I sat back, closed my eyes, pushed my thumbs into my eyelids, and my brain flashed a marquee-caliber sign: I love my job. It's true. I actually do. Refreshment, thy name is chaos.

Squeaking by...

Huddle up, team.

Yes, it's been awhile. The quick rundown in timeline form:

• Monday, May 21, 4:00p - receive wonderful and sudden new job opportunity working in publicity for children's programming at WGBH. Accept.

• Monday, May 21, 4:02p - give notice at Emerge, and blow through two wild and woolly weeks of wrap up.

• Monday, June 4 - begin kickoff week at WGBH in Brighton.

• Friday, June 8 - leave for Italy. Travel with Stephanie through Rome, Florence, Cinque Terre and Lucca.

• Friday, June 22 - return from Italy, happy and full of gnocchi sloshing in vino.

• Monday, June 25 - return to WGBH to find that the more senior half of my department was laid off in one clean sweep. Your author, thankfully, was spared, but panicked.

• Sunday, July 1 - open door of new "move in ready" Beacon Hill apartment to find moldy rugs, ceilings collapsed to the floor, and miscellaneous construction shit strewn throughout. Sit down on floor. Try not to cry from exhaustion. (*Spent next three weeks ripping up carpet, scraping mold, painting walls and assembling Ikea furniture derived from several botched delivery attempts by dysfunctional Swedish company.)

Currently: working tremendously (joyously) hard, living in a lovely, light-filled, newly-decorated apartment with a fantastic roommate, and finally making the time to return to the things I love, like horses and painting and books. Sigh of relief.

However, it must be noted that a move to one of Boston's favorite old neighborhoods doesn't come without a very standard set of uncomfortable moments. The period of conflict began with a call from my cool-under-pressure roommate during working hours (never happens).

::Alannah picks up the phone:: "Yes roomie?"

::unintelligible screaming ensues::

I managed to discern from Melissa's hysteria that we did, in fact, have a small brown mouse sharing our two story walk up. Who could blame him? The food is organic, the air conditioning works, and the living is finally easy. After a brave leap from the couch, leaving her work abandoned, Melissa acquired four snap-style traps. We baited them with peanut butter (purchased especially for the purpose) without setting them; the owner of the hardware store had explained that the mice in Beacon Hill are a particularly advanced breed and must be eased into the traps. These days, it's necessary for the mouse to become acclimated to using the traps as a food source BEFORE they can be utilized effectively. Okay, fine. Much to Melissa's horror, our squirmy little friend devoured six tablespoons of peanut butter overnight. We were pretty sure that he'd reach New York City subway rat proportions before his next appearance, but still we persevered.

I hadn't seen our house guest, and actually wanted to; I'd had an imaginary friend for many years (reminder: only child) who'd taken the form of a tiny grey mouse, the aptly named Squeaky. Squeaky rode on my shoulders at all times. I patiently/condescendingly explained to my mother (at the tender age of three) that Squeaky and I were inseparable due to the fact that Mrs. Squeak, my accomplice's mother, gave birth to a new brother or sister on a weekly basis, and Squeaky took offense to this, preferring to spend his free time with our family rather than deal with "those babies". When I woke up one morning to find a mouse "napping" on the sticky trap in our bathroom, I was overjoyed. I spent nearly an hour petting the "sleeping" mouse, and brought it into the living room to watch Reading Rainbow with me. Needless to say, my mother did not react well upon encountering her bowl cut-wearing three year old tying hair ribbons around the neck of a dead rodent. I have a very vivid memory of hours upon hours of hot water, scrubbing, and skin removal. My hands have never been the same.

Still, I was curious to see the mouse. One evening, after I'd gone to bed, Melissa texted from downstairs. "He's here" it read. I crept downstairs; the mouse disappeared. I crawled around, peeking under radiators and bookcases. No dice. Went back to bed.

Another text: "He's taunting me."

Again, the mouse refused to be seen. Later, Mel almost lost a toe trying to set the snappy traps. Not being overly excited about the prospect of scraping mouse guts from the newly painted walls, I bagged them all and replaced them with peanut butter scented sticky traps. At the very least, I thought, he'd go from a quick heart attack instead of an evisceration. Much better plan.

The following weekend, Melissa left for a business trip. I tripped home on a Thursday night, visions of weekend dancing in my head. While making a slice of toast with almond butter, it dawned on me to check the traps, fairly certain that I'd find them empty, our third roommate perhaps having moved on to greener pastures (our neighboring apartment has a balcony, and I can smell their garlicky Italian cooking; if I were a creature, I'd consider a relocation for sure). I peered over the couch and gasped; two black, jet-bead eyes blinked up at me, and with a tiny, terrified squeak, a tiny brown mouse continued to thrash on the sticky paper. This was not the heart attack scenario I'd envisioned. Amazed that a two inch rodent could drive two smart, level-headed, normally rational girls to hysterics within a week, I embraced my new role (Starring: Alannah as the cliche) and called my parents, blubbering.

"Daaaaaaaaaad," I wailed, "he's stuuuuuuck, and I can't killlll him, and he's (::gulp::) squeaking."

"Well, for God's sake, don't touch it. You'll need tetanus shots in your stomach for six weeks.* I don't know, honey, throw a shoe at it or something."

"You bastard!" screams my mother in the background. "Our daughter is not a killer!"

"I don't knooooooow," I snuffled on. "He's so smaaall." (::squeaking from the living room continues, inciting a fresh wave of tears::)

I hung up on them and called Melissa, relaying the bad news with tears streaming down my face and snot pouring from my nostrils in symphony. "Just leave him," she said, "you can throw a towel over him, or I'll call Boomer?"

"No, I'll think of something." At this point, I sat cross legged in the living room, staring at the mouse. He blinked and twitched his whiskers at me, pitifully squeaking now and again.'

My mother called back. "What are you going to do, honey? We can call Uncle Mike, he can come up from the North End."

"I'm going to save his life," I announced, tears stemmed, resolve steeled by my own noble gesture.

"Wear gloves!" instructed my father.

"WHAT gloves?" I asked, "Where do you think I'm living?"

I marched upstairs, dressed in my best Joan of Arc wear (Wake Forest sweatpants and a long sleeved t-shirt, just in case my rescuee got fired up), and then proceeded to open the door to our apartment and the two front doors of the building three floors down. I wrapped my hands up to the elbow in dishtowels, securing my "mittens" with rubber bands. Sticking a rubber spatula and a soup spoon in my pants, I picked up my friend, newly terrified but still affixed to the gummy paper, and marched down the stairs, out the front door, and to the center of Boston Common, ignoring the horrified looks from my well-heeled neighbors. Seating myself on the grass amidst the colony of fifty-something regular homeless folk, I worked with spatula and soup spoon for over forty-five minutes to free Fievel, taking care with his skinny tail and teeny legs. Luckily, whiskers and ears had not gotten stuck. I freed him near the entrance to the Park Street T station, hoping he'd meet up with some tougher mice who'd teach him some survival strategy. Wouldn't you know, the little jerk never said thank you.

a wise lady told me...

...today that "fine" is simply code for fucked up, insecure, neurotic, and emotional. next question - what about "nice"? describing one's self as "fine", or being described as "nice" = social kiss of death? yes sir.

a big eff you to the industry, i'll do it myself

Fast Company's Jamie Bryan covers the evolution of hip-hop's middle finger to Cristal...and Branson B. takes matters into this own hands. (Screw you guys, I'll just buy a champagne vineyard....)

http://www.fastcompany.com/magazine/111/open_bottled-up.html


Bottled Up

Just When Cristal got kicked out of the party, Hip-hop fixture Branson B. was rolling out his own champagne. So where are his famous friends now? Hey, it's just business.

From: Issue 111 December 2006 Page 94 By: Jamie Bryan

Editor's note: After this story went to press, HipHopGame.com reported that Armand de Brignac, the champagne featured repeatedly in a new Jay-Z video, is not "a premium, high-end brand in France" that has been "produced for centuries," as the company claims. It appears the brand was created after the Cristal boycott began. Read on to understand why…

Hip-hop giveth and hip-hop taketh away.

Earlier this year, Frédéric Rouzaud, managing director of Louis Roederer Champagne, was asked by The Economist whether the hip-hop world's love of its flagship, Cristal, "could hurt the brand." "What can we do?" Rouzaud responded. "We can't forbid people from buying it. I'm sure Dom Pérignon or Krug would be delighted to have their business."

Chalk up another one for French diplomacy. An indignant Jay-Z, the multiplatinum rapper and Def Jam Records president and CEO, promptly slammed the statement as racist and called for a boycott, triggering a rush of nasty PR for the gold-tone bottle he helped put on the map. No more endorsements in hit songs, no more gauzy close-ups in videos or on red carpets. The embrace that made Cristal the eighth most-mentioned brand in Billboard's Top 20 chart in 2005, according to American Brandstand, was summarily withdrawn.

Cristal will survive, of course. Demand still runs high, even if some of the slack has to be picked up in the less-than-glamorous Chinese and Russian markets. But within hip-hop--and the coveted young demo that follows its cues--what will take its place?

This is the question for Branson B., a Harlem talent manager and entrepreneur with local roots that run about as deep as they get. Branson doesn't rap, but he was once described as "hip-hop's version of the Dalai Lama." Now, with Cristal's implosion, he's looking to become hip-hop's version of Frédéric Rouzaud: A self-taught oenophile, Branson has spent years developing his own high-quality champagne and has just begun rolling it out in select venues nationwide.

Branson's venture has all the makings of the perfect entrepreneurial storm. He has name recognition in a champagne-fueled subculture and a new bubbly to bring to market at precisely the moment when the dominant bottle has gone flat. But his story is an object lesson in how hard it can be to build a brand even when you seem to be the right guy, in the right place, at the right time. By his own calculations, Branson has been paid tribute in more than 50 songs over the years. Now he's hoping some of those old friends in the hip-hop community will show up to back one of their own. Hoping … and still waiting.

Almost Famous

Long, neat dreadlocks fall across Branson's broad shoulders as he sits beside a line of empty champagne bottles in his Harlem wine bar, which is still under construction. Scattered among the empties are various promotional materials for rap artists and events. One glossy card plugs a DVD documentary on the notorious street thug 50 Cent, whose violent exploits inspired the chart-topping rapper who took his name. Branson narrates the project.

Branson's name, like Cristal's, is a hip-hop staple: It has popped up in hit lyrics from stars such as the Notorious B.I.G., Sean "Puffy/Puff Daddy/P. Diddy/Diddy" Combs, Mase, Redman, and LL Cool J. It's "like he's a celebrity," says Jimmy Rosemond, CEO of Czar Entertainment and manager of rapper the Game, adding that for out-of-town artists, an audience with Branson is a "status symbol." Fab 5 Freddy, coexecutive producer of VH1's Hip Hop Honors, agrees: "When you go to the top of the food chain, he's a well-known guy."

In fact, Fab 5 Freddy and other industry insiders credit Branson with having triggered rap's champagne craze in the first place in the early to mid-nineties, when he'd show up at recording sessions or other events with a few bottles of his latest favorite. But Branson is not your typical upturned-pinkie connoisseur. The lyrics about him tend to be of the "smoke a little Branson inside the mansion" variety (he's quick to point out that "I don't control the lyrical content, I don't control the artist"). And his reputation in the neighborhood goes back decades, to its most storied hip-hop incubator, the Rooftop Roller Rink. He has since managed artists including major R&B star Christopher Williams and the influential producer and Jodeci member DeVante Swing. He had his own record label for a while and later worked on another with Andy Hilfiger (brother of Tommy). For more than 20 years, his candy store, the Sugar Bowl, was an uptown landmark.
Branson's love of champagne led him downtown, however, to Manhattan's finer wine shops; with their guidance, his fascination evolved into an obsession. "He was always exploring different champagnes," says J.R. Battipaglia, manager of Garnet Wines & Liquors in Manhattan, who has known Branson as a customer for more than 15 years. "He wasn't a label buyer."

Branson says it took a good decade before it occurred to him to go into the business. He gravitated toward the rare but unsung "grower-producer" champagnes--those grown and bottled on one estate--and when he first expressed interest in importing some by the acclaimed Guy Charlemagne, Battipaglia was surprised but jumped to help. He put Branson in touch with Jeanne-Marie de Champs, who represents some of the top estates in Burgundy, as well as Guy Charlemagne. "He has a personality that we are maybe not used to in France," de Champs chuckles, "but it's great." She agreed to broker an introduction overseas.

So, more than two years before the Cristal controversy even broke, Branson journeyed to the village of Le Mesnil-sur-Oger, in the Champagne region, for the nearly three-month-long process of selecting grapes for three cuvées. He sweated through the rules and regulations imposed on new businesses by the French government and the region's hyperzealous governing body. (The laws, de Champs notes, "are very strict. You cannot do what you want, how you want, or what kind of label you want.") He fought off a challenge to his trademark from another company that claimed Branson's name was too similar. He created his own sleek, understated logo for the label and secured a New York State broker's license to buy and sell alcohol.

After three and a half years and an investment he puts in the mid six figures, Branson had three bottles of his own: a blanc de blanc/brut réserve, a brut rosé, and a special 2000 vintage, now available as "Guy Charlemagne selected by Branson B." Retail cost: $40, $43, and $65, respectively, or roughly a quarter the retail cost of a bottle of Cristal, which can run $800 or far more in some nightclubs.

Brand Flash

"There are two realities in champagne," explains Roberto Rogness, general manager of Santa Monica's Wine Expo and a commentator on the industry for NPR and MSNBC. "It's almost exactly like the music industry. Over here is pop music and over there is the music you want to listen to." Powerhouses like LVMH (Moët Hennessy Louis Vuitton), the world's largest producer of luxury goods, dominate the game with millions in marketing muscle, while the best small vineyards in Champagne remain all but invisible despite arguably superior--and definitely cheaper--products. "You have always been able to buy our bottles of better champagne than Cristal for the same money," Rogness says flatly.

"I'm not going to lie. I'd love nothing more than for Jay-Z to stand up and say, 'Hey, I'm drinking Branson B. now.' That would be wonderful, and help sell the product."

In other words, the champagne hierarchy is no meritocracy, and the rest of the $23 billion U.S. wine market is no different. Fab 5 Freddy and others point out that rappers are expanding into wine and liquor just as they moved into apparel following Russell Simmons's striking success with Phat Farm. Meanwhile, the rise of bottle service in large clubs has made them far more influential as distribution and promotion channels--making brand flash a critical component of sales.

Both trends--rappers' entry into the wine-and-spirits business and the use of clubs to promote brands--are being built into the entire product-development strategy. For example, David McCallen, CEO of Straight Up Brands Inc., a publicly traded company, is launching a sparkling wine called Wave with rapper Foxy Brown, as well as other beverages with Ja Rule and DJ Clue.

According to McCallen, because Foxy is signed to Def Jam, Jay-Z has agreed to host Wave's launch this winter, "appear around the product with her," carry it in his 40/40 Clubs, and include a promotional insert in her new CD.

The quality of the wine isn't the main point--it's all about placement and cross-promotion. McCallen stresses that deals like Foxy's aren't endorsement deals. The artist "owns a piece of the brand" and shares in revenue as a creative partner (he puts the profits on wine products at around 35% to 40%, and up to 100% on spirits). "We give them signing bonuses, just like a record deal," he explains. "I want the artist to literally work [the name] into their songs, rap about it, have it in their videos. It's all product placement." After Busta Rhymes released his hit "Pass the Courvoisier" in 2001, that tipple saw a 30% sales increase.

"This is a fit for [rap artists] from a product point of view," McCallen adds. "I mean, they're shameless promoters… . So it's not a disconnect for them to rap about a liquor deal, a liquor product that they own. It's spot on."

The Shepherd

And then there's Branson, with his studiously chosen grapes, his understated bottle, his legit French label and trademark. For Branson, the quality of the wine is the point. But as wine merchant Battipaglia knows all too well from the retail side, grower-producer champagnes like Branson's, outstanding as they may be, have struggled here. "Americans, I would say, are very label conscious," he says, adding that Branson is "really working hard to get exposure. I think he initially thought it would have been a little easier."

Up at his as-yet-nameless bar in Harlem, Branson gives voice to a classic business quandary: "I don't want to pigeonhole myself to the rap community and be like, 'Hey, this is a rap champagne,'" he says. "I'd like the support of the hip-hop audience, but I'd like the hip-hop audience to be educated and aware and conscious of what they're drinking." In other words, he's serious about this stuff. And that has always been his way. "When Puff and other people in hip-hop were young and just about to do it, they were very inspired by Branson and his tastes," says Fab 5 Freddy. "Branson is a very intelligent, very aware tastemaker. He's one of those shepherds."

Wouldn't you think, then, that a guy with so much legend behind him would have the hip-hop community rallying, eager to put forward one of its own?

Branson mentions having sent some samples with a personal note in early 2006 to Jay-Z's 40/40 Club in Manhattan. He and Jay-Z aren't close, but they know each other socially through a mutual friendship with the late Christopher Wallace, aka the Notorious B.I.G. Branson worked for Biggie as a consultant during portions of his multiplatinum career, which was cut short in 1997 in a still-unsolved homicide.

Though he's built like a linebacker, Branson comes across tonight like a self-possessed yet world-weary professor. "I mean, I'm not going to lie. I'd love nothing more than for Jay-Z to stand up and take a position and say, 'Hey, I'm drinking Branson B. now.' That would be wonderful, and that would help sell the product." After Jay-Z cited Krug--hardly a brand known for its uptown cred--as an alternative to Cristal, it saw "a nice sales increase," acknowledges Emily Cohen, Krug's New York--based senior brand manager (she says she can't link the two events, but Wine Expo's Rogness says he also noticed a spike--and does attribute it to Jay-Z's plug). Jay-Z didn't respond to repeated requests for comment about whether he would support Branson's new venture.

Combs, too, is nowhere in sight. Czar Entertainment's Rosemond says Branson's role in advising and building up Biggie was "definitely one of the components" of Combs's own ascent. ("So Branson, pass me a jar cuz these cats done went too far," he raps on one track.) For months, however, Branson has been hearing that Combs was considering launching his own champagne.

"You know, it's funny," Branson says, without laughing or smiling, "here I am trying to do something, and now he's trying to do it." He adds, "Puffy and I had a good relationship for a lot of years, and I used to share champagne with him, but I wouldn't… ." His voice trails off. "I know that I had some kind of impact in his life, but I don't know if he would admit it.

"You know what I've learned?" he adds. "Everybody remembers different things."

Combs also refused to say whether he intended to support Branson's champagne--or compete with it. Fab 5 Freddy is sure he and Jay-Z will do their part (Combs owns a number of popular restaurants as well). "Oh, absolutely. It's just a matter of time, if it hasn't happened already." He relays that Combs tried some of Branson's label earlier this year and enjoyed it.

Then, in October, the rapper Nas was quoted talking about the possibility of "Diddy/Nas champagne." A week or so later, a Jay-Z video appeared shilling for Armand de Brignac, a champagne with a gold-plated bottle and an ace-of-spades-shaped label. The company's CEO insisted there was no financial arrangement with Jay-Z but complimented him on having "the highest standards and finest taste."

Maybe it's not about community, after all.

Bubble Up

Dining in a slick Murray Hill lounge one mild fall evening, Branson seems more upbeat than he did at his wine-bar-in-progress. Honey lounge in New York has signed on to carry Branson B., and the exclusive Cain clubs are thinking about it. Megu has added it to the wine lists at its tony Japanese restaurants in Trump Towers and Tribeca (Tribeca's list is a Wine Spectator award winner). Platinum-selling rapper the Game recently wrote Branson B. Champagne into the performance rider for his upcoming world tour. Momentum is coming Branson's way.

"I'm happy being creative," Branson remarks. "I'm happy doing things, making things happen, having ideas, and seeing them manifest." Asked about the days of dropping by while Biggie was in the studio, he recalls being present the night "Rap Phenomenon" was put down on wax.

"We're sitting in there, we're listening to the track, and then he just spits my name as part of the lyrical flow. You know, everybody turns and looks at you, but at the same time, it's not about you. It's about how it fits, it works, and it all feels good.

"I didn't know he was going to do that," Branson adds, sounding humbled.

Only recently did Branson decide to track down all the songs that have included his name and document them. The sheer volume took him by surprise. "I don't think there's another person who isn't an entertainer or star who has been mentioned more than myself in the lyrical content of this music," he muses.

"That, I guess, is building a brand."

Jamie Bryan's last piece for Fast Company was "The Mintz Dynasty," in April 2006.
Copyright © 2006 Mansueto Ventures LLC. All rights reserved.Fast Company, 375 Lexington Avenue.,New York , NY 10017

surreal!

this just in: al pacino has been tapped to play salvador dali in the upcoming film dali and i. how freaking cool can you get?

http://movies.monstersandcritics.com/news/printer_1248947.php


From Monsters and Critics.com
Movies News

Al Pacino cast in Dali biopic
By Stone Martindale
Jan 19, 2007, 23:04 GMT

Actor Al Pacino will play artist Salvador Dali in "Dali & I: The Surreal Story," and reunite with Andrew Niccol who is directing. Producers Room 9 Entertainment plan for a New York and Spain shoot in June, according to Variety.

Niccol originally acquired the project as a spec script written by John Salvati, based on Lauryssens' autobiographical book "Dali and I." Niccol is rewriting the script.

The film will be produced by Room 9 partners David O. Sacks, Daniel Brunt and Michael R. Newman, who also produced the hit satirical film, "Thank You for Smoking," reports Variety.
"Dali" will focus on the second half of Dali's life.