"I'd like to thank the Academy"
After Peter Jennings, Jeanine Pirro and Mary-Lou Whitney accepted theirs, Sony Sue (that's me) and my talented weather team took the stage for "Best Documentary" of the year . The 40th Annual New York State Broadcasters Awards Ceremony was held at the Sagamore Hotel in Bolton Landing last night with about 300 people, mostly from the #1 market. First drinks on the veranda then a 3-course dinner in the conference room and finally, presentations. A year ago, we beat out the ABC network winning a State Emmy for 'Storm Warning I", now a big blue pyramid for "Storm Warning II". Great timing too. A rival station is shamefully airing a copycat version of our show right now. Incestuous impostors or maybe I should be flattered?
posted by Sonja Stark of PilotGirl™ @ 7:11 AM
1 comments
Earlier this year, while in San Fransisco, I came across some wild red headed parrots on Telegraph Hill. They're squawking and cooing quickly became great nat sound for my highlights reel. I didn't know it at the time but a dharma bum named Mark Bittner took great care watching over this flock and that a documentary about him called "The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill" was coming out in theaters any day. Mark Bittner, the soul-searching homeless street musician, wandered San Fran for years before finally finding his true calling, bird-watching. The film was so moving, so touching, that I immediately lost a contact amidst my many balling tears. Pathetic, yeah, I'd say so, but when moved enough to lose a contact I usually decide to launch a trip to meet my muse. So it's off to The Cape next week where Mark Bittner and director Judy Irving are book signing. Countless other artists with talents that impress and inspire have me traveling the world to meet them. Much like the passion a Phish fan or Deadhead has (or had) destinations are more treasured when there's a brain to pick at the end of the journey.
I didn't fall off a bridge yet but it sure feels that way. I took a header while working yesterday - camera, sticks and all went crashing onto the pavement, twisting my foot and shredding up my left knee. The occupational hazards of working in the media and I'm not even in Iraq. I already busted up my big toe this week, crashed the car into scaffolding and was clocked in the face by a competitors tripod. Bumps and bruises are a daily part of this job, usually 5 or 6 black & blue marks before Friday is the norm but ironically, serious injuries only began after placing a first aid kit in my car this week. Since then, all bandages, Advil, and medicated gauze pads have been used up. It reminds me of when I first bought into Triple A car insurance. I drove for years without incident and then as soon as I got it, I used up my first 3 free calls locking my keys in the car, getting vandalized, and running out of gas. The moral of this story, no more Triple A and no more first aid kits.
makes the doctor go away but what about car salesmen? I just got off the phone with one. "...And another thing, I'll be sure to let everybody know what an dishonest and shady business you run!" Click. With that, I hung up on the most unscrupulous car dealership in the northeast, Denooyer Chevrolet. I kept it clean though, no swearing, no lawsuits, no ulcers. Their sales team wronged my stepfather this week and that's reason enough for me to blow a gasket. No wonder statistics show people would rather have their teeth pulled than face a mechanic or in this case, a GM salesman. Corruption and scandal on a scale not scene since my Netflix mob pick last week. Toyota's profitable #2 company has the lead in car sales and it's no secret if you visit Denooyer; their negotiating practices border on scare tactics. It's like that scene in the 1939 classic, Wizard of Oz, when Frank Morgan (the wizard) disappears behind the curtain to frighten the hell out of Dorothy. All smoke and mirrors with no real solution. Buyer beware at car dealerships, especially Denooyer - they will mislead and manipulate and it's all up to you to decide for how long.
“So when are you getting married Sony” asks little Miss Casey, the 5 year old middle child.. “Umm…., would you like to know why the sky is blue instead?” I return quickly, that’s a question I can answer. Since when did kids get so perceptive and so damn inquisitive and how is it that they know exactly what to say to turn my blissfully happy single status into an inadequate nightmare? I traveled from Albany to Atlanta this weekend to help a friend with her three adorable handfuls. Her hubby is away at the Bonnaroo Music Fest, a Woodstock ripoff in Tennessee, and she, the Meteorologist Mommy, works odd hours for the Weather Channel. Her kids, all under 10, are a scream – there’s Bridget in the Buff (she loves to streak), Krabby Patty Casey (I've watched and read enough Spongebob to last a lifetime) and the Benevolent Mr. Backstroke Brian (The swimming junkie who graciously gives up his full-size mattress every time ) Like all siblings, they pick, poke, pester, and pretend and when I’m not looking my sandals go missing, smoke pours out of the toaster oven and a stuffed horsey becomes my alarm clock at 7am. By Sunday, I've sized up their little personalities, moods, and habits and I'm feeling confident I can tackle anything...until Casey has to ask..."Sony, how old are you?" Oh no, not again...."
Thought I would save some serious green this winter by jump starting beds of perennials and vegetables from seed inside my house. The empty dining room became the block's best dressed greenhouse ever - hardwood floors, a chair rail and vaulted ceiling surrounded by dozens of trays of dirt. Every evening I watered and fertilized the seedlings and when they got big enough I transplanted them into larger plots. Indeed, limited gardening skills and a little TLC was adequate enough to tackle a mini-garden inside and the seedlings grew to a nice height. When it started getting warmer, I moved the starter plants outside to hearty beds of moist mulch and nutrient bone meal. So now, here I am, waiting for more and nothing more is happening. None of the little budding soft-stemmed lightweights are maturing beyond their days inside. I set them free to thrive, grow and multiply and I expect them to return the favor with bushels of juicy tomatoes, moon flowers and bachelor buttons but no, not the shastas, day lilies, poppies, zinnias, or boxes of wild flowers are propagating on their own. What to do? Did my little orphaned plants really prefer my stubby green thumb over Mother Nature? Or am I taking this hobby just a little too serious....
"Miss, you really don't care to see what your buying?" questions the BabyLand employee over the phone. "Mamam, I have absolutely no interest what so ever and your the expert. Just wrap it up in a big bag and I'll be there to pick it up in 10". I'm buying something called a Contour Pad with Blue Baby Cover, sounds practical enough. Nothing cute or frilly, instead a gift the happy couple registered for, so they must need it. Baby showers, wedding showers, engagement parties, weddings, birthdays, who knew having friends could be so expensive? Why, praytell, do we still celebrate someone else's love and good fortune by showering them with gifts they probably already have? It's so superfluous and tradition for the sake of tradition is such a waste. Wedding gifts are ancient tradition started in the 16th century. Giving gifts to the bride and groom came about when a dowry was paid by the bride's father to his future son-in-law and his family. The practice of paying a dowry died out long ago so why are we still following the practice of buying gifts? Call me an envious cynic, but if anybody should be buying gifts it should be them doing so for everyone else. They found each other, they're combining incomes and they're making it last, if not a new set of linens for the rest of us, how about sharing some advice on how we can make it work too? Of course, showers still have their place for unexpected pregnancies and low-income families, but for the rest of us the whole concept needs revamping.
Last Friday, Photographers and Reporters at Albany's FOX Channel 23 were pelted with processed cheese slices by the "cheese ninja" on live television. A media spokesperson says the disgruntled viewer was just venting his frustrations with media coverage that he says resembles packaged and processed cheese. And this week, coincidentally another cheese story is making headlines in England. Read on to get your daily allowance of lactate and laughter! "Chasing an 8-pound cheese down a hill is more dangerous than it sounds. Contestants in the cheese rolling competition broke bones and skinned their knees and elbows Monday in their pursuit of the big cheese. The competition, in which participants hurl themselves 640 feet down a hill after the cheese, has been celebrated for centuries in Gloucestershire, west of London. Teenager Chris Anderson, who won one of four cheese rolling races Monday, was taken to hospital on a stretcher, clutching his winning slab of cheese to his chest. "The pain was worth it," Anderson said. "This cheese is going straight in a cupboard when I get home. It's definitely not for eating." The race is thought to originate from a heathen festival to welcome the spring. The first person to follow the cheese across the line at the bottom of the hill wins the cheese and a small cash prize. Thousands of people attended Monday's event and the local ambulance service reported three people were taken to hospital with suspected fractured limbs, while 18 were treated for bruises and abrasions."
