I always thought “The Sublime and The Ridiculous” would be a great title for a soap. Oh wait—there are no more soaps. ABC has canceled One Life to Live and All My Children, and I am shocked and saddened to my soap opera loving core. General Hospital is still with us, interesting, given it’s morally ambiguous and violent content. I’m not complaining, mind you; it has Maurice Bernard as crime boss Sonny Corinthos, and he’s just yummy. Maurice Bernard was also equally yummy, Nico Kelly, on All My Children. Remember when Nico and Cecily got married? It was a beautiful wedding. Oh, not as fancy as Cliff and Nina’s with the horse drawn carriages and all, but very nice, and in Hawaii. I must confess that I’ve had steamy recurring dreams where Maurice Bernard pleaded with me to leave my husband and shack up with him for some really hot sex in Port Charles. But since Vanessa Marcil came back from the dead, again, as Sonny’s soulmate, Brenda, I am not indulging that dream anymore. Destiny designed them to be together and even in my rich fantasy life, I would never mess with that. That would be soap opera evil. Read more
Cathy finds a beautiful day in the bay, sunny, cloudy and confusing
There’s a new girl in town: a new weather girl. Yes, they still use that term. Even though she’s a full-grown woman and an ordained meteorologist, she’s the new Bay Area “girl” and she’s H-O-T.
Meet Christina Loren, Today in the Bay’s morning cup of sexy; and boy does she pour it on. Case in point: see screenshot above. While she’s got a rockin’ bod (if you’re into the Barbie look), she’s actually got brains too and a fun on-air personality, but what she’s selling isn’t what’s behind her botoxed forehead or what’s coming from her bee stung lips; she’s selling what sells, S-E-X. Read more
Connie stays the course while Madison Avenue tries to mess with her mojo
I watch a lot of TV, I love TV, in fact the TV guy is here right now, even as I type, installing my brand new flat screen HD TV upstairs in my bedroom. Oh, I can hear you now—“TV in your bedroom??? A terrible idea, it’ll ruin your sex life”. Well, “pish-tosh,” says I, basketball season is upon us and the ol’ ball and chain will be occupied till May, so I’m delighted to have the company up there.
Because I do watch TV, I’ve been noticing a very interesting marketing trend. Advertisers are really hitting our age group hard. Instead of just producing commercials for Metamucil, Viagra, Depends, and that yogurt-like stuff Jamie Lee Curtis is shilling so we can all poop better; we are seeing trotted out, resplendent in their magnificent menopausal middle age, the big guns of the baby boomer generation. Read more
Connie Stetson mixes it up with inspiration, perspiration and dizzy dancing feet.
Dear readers, we have become so close now, I feel I can tell you anything. I know you won’t judge me harshly when I confess to you how very much I love the “reality” game show. The contestants, the competition, the prize—the whole format, well, it’s all just so darn much fun.
I love Survivor, The Amazing Race, American Idol, The Bachelorette, Top Chef, Project Runway and even the great American cheese-fest, Dancing With the Stars. But by far and away, I love So You Think You Can Dance. Partly because at one time I did think could dance, and partly because I now wish I could dance as well as I once thought I could. Watching these beautiful, talented, athletic young dancers sends me into a pulse-pounding frenzy of vicarious joy; and I am with them every soaring step and heart stopping stumble along the way. I am hooked and I am also impressed.
In 2009, producer Nigel Lythgoe, actress Katie Holmes, dancer/choreographer Debbie Allen, and a host others, began The Dizzy Feet Foundation . Its mission is to support, improve and increase dance education in the United States, provide scholarships, set standards for dance education and insure that disadvantaged children have access to dance. The Dizzy Feet Foundation has also declared Saturday July 31st, National Dance Day. View the cool choreography that Napoleon and Tabitha have created to get America off our collective asses and onto the dance floor. They have made it easy enough for anyone to learn and I’m getting down right now with my very bad, very funky self. Read more
For Connie Stetson, accompanying her actor husband to New York City was all glitz, glamour and excitement, but coming home was a true revelation.
Hi all—the lovely Mrs. Stetson here.
Lee and I had a perfectly wonderful trip to New York City enjoying the many sights (our hotel was right in the shadow of the Empire State Building) and sounds (does the horn honking never stop?) and smells (ahhh, the smell of falafel in the air….) We hit the ground running our first night there and had a great Turkish dinner with my dear old friends, Barbara and Jim. Day two we set off walking, did some shopping, and then readied for our black-tie gala celebrating the premiere of Ken Burns’ The National Parks—America’s Best Idea on Ellis Island.
I showed up quite glamorous in my black satin trousers, white tuxedo shirt, stiletto strappy sandals, Cathy’s fabulous black and white embroidered shawl and oodles of pretty great looking faux pearls, and except for the satin, the shawl, pearls and stiletto’s that’s what Lee wore too (the lucky, cuz’ my feet were killing me!!). He looked mah-velous, darlings. We sat at the muckymuck table with Ken Burns, Dayton Dalton, Shelton Johnson, Gerard Baker and their lovely Missesses, Roxann and Mary Kay. We enjoyed our desserts to a live performance of Alison Krauss and Union Station. Pretty darn good. Read more
Cathy Fischer’s hot fun in the summertime means live music, good friends and not postponing joy.
Tom Jones knocked my socks off. He danced, he sang—soulful and sexy. From Prince’s “Kiss” to “Sex Bomb” to the classic “It’s Not Unusual,” Sir Tom (yes he is a knight) had the crowd in a frenzy. Those of you who scoff, think again. The crowd spanned teenagers to baby boomers—singing along, dancing and eagerly throwing multi-colored lingerie. Then when Tom pulled up his sweat-soaked shirt to reveal a very fit 69-year-old body, well, I…I digress…
Staying “hip to the groove” is a state of mind.
Recently I joined my 50-something pals Mara and Shelly and our friend Jeff at the Outside Lands three-day music festival in Golden Gate Park. Leading up to the day, I was certain we’d be the oldest ones there—me, with my salty pepper hair and all—but I was mistaken. Read more
1969 is known for Woodstock and “The Summer of Love,” but for Christie Healey, it was a special winter day when she was at the right place at the right time.
I was doing a little paintwork touch up around the house the other day, musing about my life and thinking how satisfying it can be to paint over things—chips, scratches, cracks, dust. NPR was playing in the background and I heard a review of Ang Lee’s new movie, Taking Woodstock. I don’t remember much about Woodstock. Not because I was there, I (unlike others of my generation) will emphatically state, I was not there. My defining music moment happened in January of 1969.
I was working in the marketing department of Tyne Tees Television, a commercial TV station that occupied the fifth floor of an office building on Savile Row, London near Regent Street. My boss, Oliver Trigg and his tall, handsome sidekick, John Finch, were off to the boozer for their usual lunch of a pint and some rib-sticking food. They asked if I wanted to join them. I was working on some magical marketing numbers that needed to be presented later that day and, reluctantly, said no. I settled down in Ollie’s office to study the most inventive fiction ever created by humankind, audience demographics, when I noticed some activity on the roof opposite. I opened the window and leaned out.
There was lots of musical equipment being set up, drum kit, amps, guitars on stands and mikes. A door to the roof slowly opened and some women drifted out and settled themselves off to one side. Good Lord, it was the Beatle women. Then the door opened again and the Beatle men appeared. By this time I am hanging out of the window about 30 feet above the opposite roof. The first chords struck and the Beatles launched into their last concert. Read morekeep looking »