Get My Fash On

"I'm too sexy for Milan, too sexy for Milan, New York or Japan..."
Enter the syncopated drum machine here, and you have the one-hit wonder Right Said Fred's 1991 smash, that still finds its way onto radio playlists, much to my chagrin.
It's also been the anthem for just about every fashion model on the planet.
For the past several years, I've modeled for an annual fashion show fundraiser for St. Barnabas Charities.   They ask for local celebrities to model clothes, and I was one of the "lucky" ones some time ago, and have done it ever since.
I enjoy it.  Who doesn't enjoy wearing clothes they can't really afford, if only for a moment?
I started wearing two outfits, then three as the years progressed.
The agenda changes each year.
Most of the same models participate, like me.  And we always try to find a way to be more efficient with our clothes-changing, only to see things change once again.
When we're out on the 'runway', we have literally SECONDS to change into our next outfit, if we're modeling another one.
The first outfits are usually casual, with the second or third becoming more formal.
When we model the first outfits, the audience is given a substantial bio on each one of us, in addition to the wardrobe we're modeling.  What we do for a living, how long we've done the fashion show, family and kids, even hobbies and interests.
Naturally, the powers-that-be like to keep the best for last.  As in, the more formal outfits as the very last ones we put on.
I said before that we have seconds to change into our next outfit.  Cut that amount in less than half if you're putting on a tuxedo.  It's the most time-consuming outfit to wear...so many accessories.
This year, I was pretty impressed with my outfits.
Especially the suit and the tuxedo.
You know why?
Because I learned I could run in them.
You have to.
I barely have my pants up on the suit when the knock comes on the dressing room door.
"Ken, we need you...you're on in a minute."
What the what?
I knotted my tie while walking (OK, running), and just had the other shoe tied when my cue came.
Now I understand why so many models fall on the runway.
They don't have enough time to get dressed, and then not enough time to maintain balance.
I'm so glad I don't do it for a living.


NEXT WEEK:   Sandy Beach

Zombie Apocolypse

I'm not a scary movie guy.
Even George Romero's "Night of the Living Dead", with its low-grade film quality and antiquated special effects, I still find off-putting.
But since it was filmed in Butler County, where I made my home, it still has a place in the massive shelf in our family room that stores our DVD collection.
And we have a ton of them.
Recently, my wife brought home a DVD of the first season of "The Walking Dead" on AMC.
I don't like gory.  The closest I'll get to gory on a recurring basis is watching old re-runs of the ABC gothic soap opera "Dark Shadows".
But I thought I'd give "Dead" a chance.
I didn't like the first episode.
But then after Margie watched an episode or two without me, I found myself curious as to what happened next.
I couldn't imagine a show like this as sustainable.
In the words of Major Lance (for you oldies fans), I was born with a curious mind.
So I plopped down on the couch next to her earlier this week (after putting the kid to bed of course), and went back to watching.
The backstory has been slow in coming about, as to how this happened.  Nonetheless, I enjoy seeing mankind's resourcefulness in dealing with a situation like this.
And with my curious mind, I somehow manage to find plot holes or inaccuracies here and there.
Like speed.
I asked Margie how a zombie, who walks with a limp and at a very slow pace, is somehow able to run at great speed in a forest?
Especially being partially devoured by one of their own before they 'come back' as the undead.
And did nobody among our most intelligent military people think of the benefits of a flame-thrower?
It was my understanding that these beings were highly flammable.  When one catches fire, isn't that an incentive for them to consider an alternate plan?
Obviously the writers knew they were treading a line when they put this show together.  I can see how a typical meeting would go.
"We don't want to go too Romero on this," one would say.
Because George scared the hell out of us on a shoestring budget in 1968 that's become a cult classic, despite  virtually no promotion dollars and no big-name actors other than Pittsburgh celebs.
In case you missed it, they were Bill Cardille (TV reporter) of WPXI, and Dave James (face-grabbing zombie), then of KQV, later at KDKA.
The baby-boomers had "Night of the Living Dead".  Could this be the next generation's comparison?
One thing I am sure of is this:
The scary movie has endured since the 1920s.
And it will as long as people have that thrill for the horror.
In the meantime, pass the popcorn.


NEXT WEEK:  Get Your Fash On

Family Matters...Part II

You'll recall I wrote about my cousin Tina's passing in last week's column.
I wrote mostly about the kind of person she was.
But I didn't truly reflect on that until Sunday, September 9, 2012.
Much like every Sunday, I was tapping away at my computer keyboard in my office at the radio station where I work.  I work a Sunday through Thursday work week, with Fridays and Saturdays off.
It was about 8:30 in the morning, and I was in the middle of typing a news story into our website portal when  I heard my cell phone ring.
I gazed at the caller ID.  It was my Dad's number.
Right away I knew something was amiss.
Number one, my dad's not really a phone guy.  Two, he returns calls, but doesn't necessarily initiate a phone conversation.  Then there was the hour at hand.
Immediately, I thought..."someone died."
My mind immediately flashed to my 92-year-old grandmother.  My last surviving grandparent.
She's survived two mild strokes, and aside from occasional forgetfulness, she's still very much well within her right frame of mind.
She still lives in the same house she raised her family in since 1955.  She still cooks for whomever stops over that happens to be hungry.
Fully independent.  But at 92, anything can happen.
Especially after she said on more than one occasion that she was 'ready to go'.  That was after my grandfather's passing in December of 2006.
But it wasn't Grandma.
"Tina passed away last night," my dad said.
My jaw dropped.  But I kept a firm grip on that phone as he gave me the details.
Nothing could have prepared me for that one.
Tina had survived ongoing health problems since first being diagnosed with kidney failure at the age of seven.
Once she survived her teen years, everyone relaxed a bit.
After all, it was Tina.
She was an example of "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger."
And strong she was.
But as she was approaching 40, the hospital visits were getting to be more frequent.  Middle age, I mused.
I somehow knew she wasn't going to live a full chronological life as the rest of us knew it.
45 or 50, I thought.
Never in a million years would I have dreamed that she would have left this world at 37.
The injustice of it all began to wash over me.
How does someone who used her ill health as a motivator to try harder than everyone else have to die, and those who throw away opportunity after opportunity to do better get to live?
I'm sure it was running through my Aunt Bev's mind as she wept over her daughter's lifeless body in the viewing room at the funeral home, with a strangled 'why' between stifled sobs.
That's when I began to remember my faith.
Our final rewards are not found on this earth.
We were not meant to inhabit this world forever.

"The man who loves his life will lose it, while the man who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life."  John 12:25

Now Tina no longer has to worry about things like dialysis, doctors, hospitals, frequent medications or anything else slowing her down.
I began to think of how Tina left this world.
My grandpa might have come to get her.
And she might have protested at first...at the thought of leaving everyone behind.
"They'll be OK, Tina," is what Grandpa would say.
And that would be enough for her.
I like to think of them sitting on a front porch like the one at my grandparents' home, with Grandpa still in his tank top shirt with his leather flyswatter in his hand.  Woe to any insect that came near him.
Or maybe she's reunited with Uncles Henry and Ed and cousin Joey at a pig roast at a camp just like Henry had in Pennsylvania when he came 'down' from Michigan.
Maybe Uncle Bill will be there too...and she'll say "Don't I know you?"
She was five when he died.
Then Uncle Frank.  He'll greet her with his usual stock line:  "So what's the good word?"
And maybe she's enjoying a beer or a shot with them all without worrying about 'paying for it later', and in a much more severe way than we would.
After the funeral, I took a gamble and told her brother's wife that she was going to give God a run for his money.  The gamble paid off...we were both able to laugh, as were a few others.
And before that, as we filed past her body, and while others were saying goodbye, I could think of only one thing to say:
I managed a slight smile through my still-hydrating eyes as I said "Give 'em hell, Tina."
And I felt her behind my back saying "Oh, don't you worry about that."
Because we know she will.
She wouldn't have it any other way.
After all, someone's gotta keep those other angels on their toes.


NEXT WEEK:   Adventures in Zombieland

Family Matters

You're probably wondering about the reason behind my unannounced 'hiatus' from my column last month, for those of you willing to give a few minutes of your time each Sunday to what it is I have to say.
An upcoming vacation, our daughter's beginning of preschool, and a sudden death in the family, are life changes that, when all happening simultaneously, can require the most seasoned journalist to need time to regroup.
The death in the family was the big one.
My cousin Tina had been battling kidney disease since the age of seven.  The daughter and youngest child of my father's younger brother Bob and his wife Bev, she had been used to fighting to live for almost her entire life.
Two kidney transplants still did little to restore the independence that we all too often take for granted.  Having the strong will of Uncle Bob, she didn't allow her illnesses to stop her from living.
To those of us who knew her, she was a fighter who never backed down from a challenge and if told she couldn't do something she would do it with all the passion she had for the sake of proving that person wrong.
And most often, she did.  Even if it meant putting her own health at risk.
To those who didn't know her, she might have been perceived as someone characterized with a five-letter word for a female dog that rhymes with 'pitch'.
Someone once told me that it's an acronym that means Babe In Total Control of Herself.
And Tina was just that.
Because I did know her.
She was very much in control of her own life.  She made some choices in life that put her health in jeopardy, but she was someone determined to live her life to the fullest.
She didn't just survive her illness for many years, she also survived a failed marriage, and despite her health challenges, she managed to find happiness the second time around with Mike.
I would later learn that Mike is a U.S. Marine.  He has been honorably discharged, but as all Marines know, "Semper Fi".  Once a Marine, always a Marine.
It would take that level of strength to endure her challenges with her.
He went into their marriage knowing of her poor health, the fact that children together would be impossible, if not potentially deadly, and that she might not live a full life as we knew it.
Tina had a couple 'close calls' during her teen years, and even became a Make-A-Wish kid.  She received an above-ground swimming pool that year.
But she didn't 'milk' her health problems for the sake of taking advantage.
And no one dared to complain about a headache or bad back in her presence.  I can still see her rolling her eyes and thinking to herself how she wished that's all she had.
Her often-brutal honesty was one of her defining characteristics.  But we all took it in stride.
I often do modeling for a fashion show to raise money for a personal care home concern in Pittsburgh's North Hills.  I was talking about it with my Aunt Bev at a family function one year and Tina overheard us.
"You were in a fashion show?  Their standards must be pretty low."
Then she walked away.  I couldn't help but raise my eyebrows and smile, turning to Aunt Bev.
Bev said "if she were any other way, you'd think there's something wrong" with a laugh.
Very true.  We still loved her nonetheless.
One week before she died, my wife and I, along with our three-year-old daughter, went to Bob and Bev's for a cookout.  Tina was there with her new puppy.  Having never met Savannah before, she approached her and put the little dog in Savannah's arms.
"Work on your parents," Tina said pointedly to Savannah.  "Get them to buy you a dog!"
And Tina knew a pet was not part of our plans.  But that didn't stop her.
"I don't really like little kids," Tina told us later, "but she's adorable."
She then walked off, but then turned around.
"She takes after her mom," she added.
And there it is.
Being in an ego-driven profession such as radio, she was helping me keep mine in check.
Then it came time to leave.
"Seriously," she stage-whispered to Savannah, "tell them you want a dog!"
Then the call came one week later.


NEXT WEEK:  Part II