Urban-Girly Phenomenon

"Do you have the tickets?" "Do you have the tickets?" "Do you have the tickets?" Every single sweetheart in the Big Apple was out with their fabulous foursome tonight standing in line at AMC theaters for the proverbial schmaltzy showing of SATC, the world premiere.

And because the rest of the Big Apple was watching Mr. Big tonight I decided to as well. No sooner did I have a couple hours of free time I scored the last ticket to a showing at the AMC in Battery Park City. But, shame on me, I forgot my tissues!

Boo-hoo went the evening. Tears of joy, pain, confusion, relief and happiness all wrapped up in 2.5 hours of outrageous slapstick situations, sexy soap-opera drama and bittersweet dialogue. A blathering, sobbing, pathetically salty mop head, that's what cheesy love on the big screen turns me into. And though I was alone, I was with 500 like-minded gals and 4 gay guys doing exactly the same thing.

Say what you will about Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte and Miranda but their expectations, anticipations and situations are terrifyingly real. Negotiating relationships, work and friendships are no easy tasks for successful urban women and their plights directly hit a nerve with everyone in the theater. There was a standing ovation and mighty roar of applause when the credits rolled.

The movie ties up a lot of narrative loose ends and satisfies fans and non-fans alike. Never mind the designer brand labels, the tragic yet mature material couldn't be wittier and better executed. And despite the nudity it's too bad that so few straight men want to see it. Then again that leaves more seats for funny, independent, complicated, sexual, cynical and happy singles everywhere to wish for a fairy tale ending of their own. Just don't forget the tissues.

Road Trip to Scraggy Neck

Don't let the name fool you - Scraggy Neck is anything but scraggy. Our road trip extended onto Scraggy Neck peninsula, home of the Chart Room Restaurant and one the Cape's most popular dockside hotspots.

We arrived minutes after the busy bar ran out of Strawberry Mudslides, sadly, but minutes before the sunset, happily. Captains and passengers traversed Red Brook Harbor while others docked their investments nearby at the Kingman Yacht Club and joined the festivities.

A sunset worth a thousand words slipped quietly into the ocean taking with it our warm spring breeze. We were left feeling the chill and getting hungry so we ducked out at 9 o'clock and found ourselves gobbling up generous portions of lobster ravioli and mozzarella cheese sticks.

Jen, a woman raised in these parts, instantly recognized the local acoustic musician/singer setting up for an evening performance. The place was pumping with young people but a day of sun, surf and mudslides did us in.

We fell into bed before the stroke of midnight wishing our last evening in paradise could last just a few days longer...

Bark If You Love Me

What better way to share Memorial Weekend than taking my beloved Golden to see the ocean for the first time. The Cape was calling and Jen invited us to her 3-floor beach house with a sprawling deck to bask in the sun and unlimited views of the Atlantic.

Rocco prepped for the trip - a few tennis balls, a bag of chow, his bedding and doggie shampoo. We arrived shortly after 1am Friday to avoid congestion. A few minutes later we're falling asleep to the sweet sounds of crashing waves and the whistle of windswept skies.

Despite the frigid temps Rocco plunged headfirst into the salty sea water like a fish out of water. Discombobulated at first he lapped up the waves with unbridled enthusiasm and canine curiosity. This wasn't a fresh water river, lake, pond or stream this was a salty ocean and he surveyed his roost with a new found respect and admiration. Then he discovered the rocks. Thousands of rocks. Hundreds of thousands of rocks. So many rocks and so little time to bury them all. Yes, bury. He's a digger by nature and became fixated on uprooting rocks and planting them back in the sand. This behavior was most perplexing. No longer interested in the tennis balls he was acting out some deep-seated impulse or instinct that only a dog brain could understand.

I figured that after the tide swept forward he'd abandon his obsession but I was wrong. Three days later and he was still trying to dislodge rocks like a world class excavator. Even other dogs, people and seagulls couldn't distract him from his new purpose. It took a heavy leash and plenty of dog snacks to coax him back to the deck where we took a long needed nap to the smells of coco butter and sounds of 1980's flashbacks on the I-Pod.

A Sicilian Pleasantville

Eisenhower's America exists and I found it in Hull, Cohasset and Hingham, MA. This is a place of serenity, security and the most beautiful (as well as expensive) seaside homes in the state. It's flawless like Pleasantville but not nearly as conservative with names like Grieco, DiVito, Meschino and Ciccariello running the show. But you won't find gambling, prostitution, loansharking or bootlegging here, a generation of Sicilians keep this place nice, tidy and welcoming to visitors.

While videotaping Nantasket Beach in Hull, Massachusetts, a local offered to escort me to better parts of the peninsula for scenic shots. I took him up on it and scored a rare shot of the summer home once owned by the Kennedy patriarch including the eldest, Joseph Patrick Kennedy, who was born here in 1915. Other locals were just as magnanimous. The town Magistrate and a D.A. invited me to join them for coffee and bagels at a corner cafe in Higham, a Radio D.J. at WBUR (NPR affiliate) chatted about the history of Paragon Park and the Manager at The Estates Condos spent the afternoon helping me film his property. I was surprised not to hear the "Lingua Franca" spoken but maybe they save that for the North End neighborhood in Boston, a place I'm off to next!

Tallest Coaster in the World

Go ahead - quiz me on Cumberland, Attleboro, Lexington, Waltham, Woburn, Hingham, Cohasset, Hull or Quincy, MA. I'm on assignment this week in these historic little neighborhoods surrounding Boston relying solely on my built-in compass to navigate from town to town. Who needs an expensive car GPS when the 'ol noggin works just as well? Today, the journeys take me into "Joy Heartland", the epicenter of childhood memories for a friend who grew up here by the name of Jen Joy. Jen now lives in Saratoga but on the days that her beloved Red Sox play ball that highly distinctive Kennedy or Corleone accent proves she's from here.

Tomorrow morning I'll be waking to the sounds of waves breaking off Nantasket beach here in Hull. Jen informs me that this is where she came as child to ride a rickety wooden rollercoaster (1917) called the "Giant Coaster." Back then the "Giant Coaster" was the tallest in the world, open to all ages, at a venerable old seaside amusement park called Paragon Park. But in 1985, the Paragon closed taking with it everything except the antique carousel (1928). The 66 wooden horses and Wurlitzer organ have stayed in Hull, only a few feet away from it's original footprint, thanks to the local townspeople. It's also undergone serious restoration.

Walking what used to be the boardwalk I can almost smell the lingering memories of fried dough, fried clams, hot dogs and salt water taffy. The place is empty today except for a fisherman in tall boots trolling the gray sand. I wonder if he dreams of bumper-cars and penny arcades?

Fun in the Sun on the Fairway

With Bobby at the wheel of a tardy golf cart on Saturday how could I do anything but hang on for dear life and cackle till my sides punctured? Producer Bob lives to gibe, jeer, jest, mock and poke fun of everybody and every situation, especially his own. Wheeling a golf cart around the Sagamore Country Club is easy enough but Bob managed to slam into a tree in reverse, jump a few curbs, get chastised by a few super sober-sided golfers and have the machine stolen at the end of the day. It took everything out of me to keep my shots steady filming PGA Pro Blaine McCallister on the 11th hole.

Blaine was the celebrity guest at the Double H Ranch Charity Golf Tournament this past Saturday in Bolton Landing. He and about 100 local golf enthusiasts played 18 holes to raise money for an Adirondack ranch called Double H Hole in the Woods that provides camping and year-round support for children and families dealing with life-threatening illnesses. Thanks to Saturday's golf tournament and numerous other charity events, all programs at the camp are free of charge.

Following the game I quickly edited a 9 minute highlight reel to showcase on the big screen during dinner at the Victorian-era Sagamore Hotel. There were no eagles, birdies or hole-in-ones but plenty of sandpit wedge action as well as deep woods driving to keep the audience in stitches. Even an embarrassed Blaine, who's won 5 PGA Tours and writes left-handed but strikes the ball right-handed, ripped up a few divots and sliced a ball or two 20 feet from teeing off. Hey, it's for charity after all and who better to help than children with chronic illness.

Remembering Myanmar and My Friend Joe

The death toll from the 7.8-magnitude earthquake in China's Sichuan province might topple 50,000 soon but lets not forget Cyclone Nargis in Myanmar that's taken twice as many lives. It's getting far less coverage because the Junta refuses to let journalists and aid personnel enter. The Junta is the the nation’s secretive military regime and it's withholding visas from reporters including Dan Rivers of CNN who managed to sneak through anyway and provide us with this brief description.

When I traveled the Irrawaddy in 2005 it was one of the most memorable experiences I had in the Southeast. The vast marshlands were beautiful, the people were generous, kind and helpful and the food was incredibly delicious. Since then I've stayed in touch with my favorite tour guide by the name of Joe (Kyaw) who also sells the most time-consuming handcrafted bamboo gifts ever produced. Joe and a team of doctors and relief workers are helping carry medicine, instant foods, waterguard pills, plastictanks,buckets, plates and anything else they can garner from donations into the troublesome areas. If you'd like to help the people of Myanmar, Joe has a Bank account set up called the "The Nargis Victims of Myanmar Trust"and would appreciate any contribution you feel comfortable with. Here is the information:

Bank: Washington Mutual
address: Yorba Linda Financial Center 1358
20385 Yorba Linda Blvd,
Yorba Linda, CA 92886
Phone: 1-800-788-7000

Name of Account: "The Nargis Victims of Myanmar Trust"
Account # 34033 45916
ABA# 321180748
Swift Code# WMSBUS66
Routing # 322271627

To send a check, please address to "The Nargis Victims of Myanmar Trust" and mail to:

Andrew Khaw
4382 Via Miguel
Yorba Linda, CA 92886

Thank you Capital Region and beyond!

Love Hate Relationships

A perfect sky, a perfect sunset, a perfect shot - the perfect way to end a soggy week in St. Louis. All went well our last day in Missouri which is not to say the whole trip was Utopia.

On the contrary, I misplaced a portable monitor, was threatened by my producer, pried my eyes open until 6am digitizing footage and busted my camera viewfinder. Far, far from perfect. But living and working together with the same people day in and day out is bound to make anyone crazy, especially if there are sharp personality differences between otherwise strangers. Still, seeing that the subject matter gets shot the best way we know how keeps our little unit from splintering. In this case, our subject matter includes the magnanimous folks of Hermann and who better to keep us from tearing each other to shreds.

But that was yesterday and this is today and I'm off flying solo for an assignment in Bolton Landing this weekend. By Sunday I'll make my way to Providence, Rhode Island then Boston,MA then Hull, MA then finally back to Albany by Thursday. For the first 300 miles I'll savor the solitude of me and my car radio but after the 301 mile passes I'll wish I had my crazy crew around to bat innuendo and quips with, maybe...

A Rhine River Town in Missouri

Shooting from 100 feet up, our Helicopter banked north and over the Missouri river for a fabulous shot of one of the nicest little teutonic towns in the midwest - Hermann. The folks of Hermann speak with a southern drawl mixed with roots of Swiss German ancestry. Preserving the past is what makes Hermann so appealing. While German was the first language taught until 1950, wooden clogs stayed popular until 1960. The town by the river is surrounded by rolling pastures, wooden barns and the half-timbered brick buildings where home-made wurst (sausages) sauerkraut, wine, beer and Lebkuchen are served up in friendly diners and restaurants. In fact, Hermann’s 55th Maifest celebration takes place this weekend so if your looking to thump your feet to Volksmusik or sip some local Reisling or stay in a stone gasthaus this is the place for you. I'd love to return with Mutti but first she'll have to learn to carry a tripod and plenty of tape stock.

Playtime on the Pier

It's raining cats and dogs when we bolt from the parking lot into the Old Spaghetti Warehouse at Laclede's Landing. Historical Laclede's Landing in downtown St. Louis is minutes from the Arch, with clubs, restaurants, theaters, a brewery and even a casino.

The weather has been nasty here in Missouri including turbulent gusts from a tornado that touched down a little over 50 miles from us. But we're a hungry bunch and even the middle-of-the-road chain restaurant, Spaghetti Warehouse, appeals to our palettes. The OSW is housed in a building with handsome red brick, dark cherry poster beams and rich cornices. The interior and observant waitress make up for the lack of Italian staples like fresh parmesan cheese, a peppermill and al dente dishes.

While we wait for our order.... "Don't encourage him," whispers Rutherford.

I'm laughing not at but with Paul, our Executive Producer who can memorize, recite and tell a joke like nobody's business. Some jokes are better left for stranger company but the majority leave me in stitches, clutching at my sides and wishing I could contribute my own funny pages. Finally the food arrives and we plunge into the feast like ravenous vultures. Topping off the mediocrity we settle on 2 slices of decadent chocolate and espresso cake. Dripping chocolate and caramel these were a wise choice on a wet evening.

Kabobs and Calypso Salad in St. Louis

I'm back in the Gateway City shooting a documentary about family roots, American values and a couple who launched a pet food dynasty. Just outside our apartment is this dressed up fire hydrant in stars and stripes. I'm bunking in Benton Park in an adorable 3-floor Victorian home restored to it's original beauty.

There's 10 of us who would otherwise be squeezed into a insufficient hotel unless our boy Paul didn't do some digging for this find. And what a find it is! This palace would go for a few million in NYC but here in St. Louis the selling price is just under $350,000. Yesterday we spent the day roaming the good and the bad neighborhoods of St. Louis, both sides of the Missouri river.

East St.Louis is crumbling to pieces but a bright ambitious local by the name of Rocco is doing everything to save it. And it's working. He and the mayor, politicians and area residents are pulling out all the stops to denail boarded up windows and doors to places that have potential at future use again.

Later that evening we stopped at The Venice Cafe, a quirky, colorful, Caribbean bar with a bearded old hippie named Uncle Bill "Green" that both collects the door charge and sings like Johnny Winter . I dragged my Republican cohorts to this peace-loving dive where fountains spray bohemian pattrooli oil and mosaic tile envelope the stairways. They were reluctant at first until I scouted a location on the patio with a wacky speed boat-turned-table to dine at. The table, chairs, hanging paintings, mannequins, bottle caps, license plates, dolls and abstract mosaics were great conversation starters.

Tom ordered the jerk chicken (how apropo), Jay had the sesame pasta (too cold for his liking) and I went for the fried plantains (not bad). Good stuff with a great waitress to help us refresh our thirst but decidedly we all left hoping for a little whiff of something more than chili sauce and tabouli, if you know what I mean!

Clean Teeth, Dirty Mind

It was time for my bi-annual cleaning and guess who had to go to Dr.Simon Rosenberg on 399 East 72nd Street between First and York Avenues? You guessed it. He and his crew are my favorites and they'll be yours too if you need the world's best dentist, a professional who can make you laugh while pulling out your molars.

The 125 mile trip from Albany to NYC is so worth it, especially if your a photographer, straight chick or gay guy wanting to take in a Robert Mapplethorpe exhibit. A voyeuristic journey awaits you at the International Center of Photography called "Notes in the Margin of the Black Book." This installation is a series of photographs exposing “the black man.” The images were highly controversial at the time they were taken because they forced the viewer to accept and/or critique the stereotypes of black, gay culture.

The lighting of each image isn't half bad neither!

The Ladder Theory

Maxwell lives in one of the residence halls on the sprawling 25-acre campus known as Pratt Institute of Brooklyn, NY. He's a senior at one of the most highly acclaimed industrial design schools in the country. In fact, Pratt receives almost twice as many applications as any other art school with over 5000 applications for 645 freshman spots.

In exchange for a messy dorm room to bunk Sunday night I took Maxwell to a fabulous Italian haunt on Myrtle, a stretch of road that, up until just recently, was littered with drugs and violence. Now, the neighborhood on historic and ethnically diverse Clinton Hill is one of the safest places in Brooklyn. Dozens of hip, funky bars, clubs and restaurants complement the tree-lined streets topped with Victorian homes. Maxwell knows this area well and took me on a tour of many 19th-century brownstone mansions and rare architecture. There's definitely an electricity and creativity here and it shows in Pratt's outdoor art installations, like this one called... hmmm.

Well, I guess you can call it whatever you like - maybe "Climbing the Ladder to Success at Pratt" or maybe "Jacob's Ladder," though this school isn't exactly known to quote a biblical patriarch. What they are known to do is teach graduates to go on to lead hyper successful lives in engineering, architecture, illustration and communications design. The library is another unique gem and Maxwell wasted no time escorting me up 5 flights of Tiffany-influenced glass floors and ceilings before closing.

90-Year Old Rips up Roads in Long Island

This weekend I'm in Nassau Eisenhower Park to shoot the Long Island Marathon, Half Marathon, 10K and 5k. I got the call late last night and because a large swath of roads get blocked off as early as 7a for the events I jumped in my own race mobile at 3a and got here by 6a. Whew! A draining ride but smooth sailing with zero traffic at that ungodly hour.

One of my favorite runners of the 5K this morning included a spry youthful 90 year old by the name of Emmanuel Cappello or "Poppy" as his kids call him. Donning bright red sweats and a custom blue tshirt that said "Poppy, 90 years Young", the former furniture store owner jogged lightly alongside his children and grandchildren for 3.1 miles. His oldest granddaughter, a runner herself, convinced him he could do it and she was right. Amid a cloudy chilly morning, I caught sight of him at the start line when police detail informed me that he was the oldest gent in the pack, nearly a Centenarian.

Sure enough - there was Poppy - gathered with his energetic family alongside his grandson holding a video camera to document for posterity and Poppy's wife, who, unfortunately, couldn't attend. Before the gun went off he sucked in as much air as physically possible and launched himself forward within a crowd of 400 runners. Soon after that I lost sight of him. Security and police presence laughed that he'd probably need an oxygen mask before the race was over but Poppy triumphed leaving dozens of others trailing behind him.

As he neared the finish line just under 51 minutes I jumped at the chance to jog with him the last 500 yards while my shoulder camera rolled on his smiling mug and bright red sweatpants. Surprisingly, he didn't look winded or exhausted or drained whatsoever.

After receiving a medal for his impressive participation I asked, "Poppy, what's the secret to your longevity?"
Poppy looked to the sky for a moment and then down at his sweatpants... "it's all in the genes, it's all in the genes."

Because this is Poppy's first but not last 5K something tells me it's much more than just genes.

Table Scraps on Wolf Road

Wolf road in Colonie, NY, never seizes to amaze me. How it continues to accommodate so many chain restaurants, many only six degrees separated in quantity and quality, without draining the pool of privately owned restaurants is a real blessing.

In a city with fewer than a million hungry mouths every parking lot at Chili's, Moe's, P.F. Chang's, Fuddruckers, The Fox and the Firkin, Cheesecake Factory and Buca di Beppo was full tonight. Full parking lots say a lot about the economic health and wellness of the Capital Region and while our waistlines stretch so do our wallets. I'm sure Mayor Jennings couldn't be more pleased that the recession isn't affecting our appetites.

Of course, this is not haute cuisine we're talking about. Chains offer cheap, greasy, dependable and convenient food with quick service. Generally chains are overrun with customers but that's never a bad thing for the bottom line. Waiting in line at Ruby Tuesdays, Ninety Nine or Old Chicago Pizza and Pasta is a privilege for anyone who loves deep fried mediocrity. The other problem with busy chains is the decibel level in conversations. Between the background music, babies wailing and general chatter, there's an assault on my earlobes and who do you know who's good at reading lips?

But chains serve a purpose and if some could make a small effort to serve intricately seasoned, fresh-tasting entrees with local ingredients, I'd wait in line as well. If not, I'll still go because there's always a boffo view of a hockey or football game at the bar counter.