Monday, March 16, 2009

Kiss Me, I'm Irish...

All me best friends are leprechauns...in fact, many of them are family.

The Holiday calls for the blogging of a traditional Gaelic blessing:

May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face;
the rains fall soft upon your fields and until we meet again,
may God hold you in the palm of His hand.

Happy St. Patrick's Day to my favorite pint drinkin', rosy cheeked, freckle faced, porcelain skinned, claddagh wearing, clover pickin', magically delicious, spitfires!

In celebration, I'll be watching, "Far and Away"......gotta love the Brogue!

One of the best songs:

Puttin' On The Ritz....

The hallway of the Ritz Carlton was buzzing with energy. Three journalists sat in a row along a wall papered with what appeared to be, expensive felt. A bus boy with kind eyes made his way towards the door labeled, "Nicolas Cage". He pushed a cart with four cups of coffee and scones. Upon approaching the door he turned to a woman wearing a headset circa Madonna's "Re-Invention Tour". For shits and giggles, we'll refer to her as, "The Handler".

At this point, I uncrossed my legs and glanced at the reporter next to me. She gave me a nervous smile. It was clear to me this young woman didn't have a psychic medium, which, in turn, meant she wasn't in possession of a positive energy crystal. I reached down to grab my ginormous purse and began digging around inside for my little friend. Finally, my fingertips met the satin, Asian inspired pouch and I pulled out the crystal for some positive reinforcement.

Crystal in hand, I glanced down at my five inch, hidden platform, grey stilettos for comfort. I then took notice of the reporter's fabulous, suede, black booties. Instantly, I knew I liked her. I felt the need to start conversation with her, in the hopes of breaking the blanket of nerves that encompassed the felt hallway. "I love your booties", I said, to which she replied, "I got them for fifteen dollars at TJMaxx". A girl after my own heart. She smiled and, almost immediately, I noticed the tension leave her shoulders.

The next thing I knew, "The Handler" was calling my name and I gracefully, (ha), tugged at my pencil skirt before entering the room. I told "The Handler" the network in which I represent, (this almost posed an issue as I don't really represent TUN and the call letters escaped me for a moment). Old Reliable I am, I pulled it together, or out my a$$ as I like to say, and entered the hotel room.

It was dark and quiet, unlike the rooms of leading lady, Rose Byrne and director, Alex Proyas. The energy was calm and reserved. As I turned the corner the lights were bright, the movie poster framed and Nicolas Cage was sitting opposite an empty directors chair.

Even though he was seated, I could tell he was a tall man, at least 6'3. I'd only been at the press junket three hours...he'd arrived three hours before me. I'm sure he was exhausted after six hours of questioning from a variety of reporters, yet, he looked refreshed and at ease. Perhaps his psychic medium provided him a crystal, as well?

As soon as I shook his hand and introduced myself I knew I'd stilletto'd upon entirely foreign territory. Accustomed to interviewing many a politician, this Jersey Girl was happy to learn she didn't have to fight to get a word in. Mr. Cage answered each of my questions and he was generous with his time.

When the producer gave me the "wrap it up" signal I smiled, said thank you and wished him a great day. He replied, "Cheers".

And that's exactly what I did...after calling for reinforcements....

I promptly headed to the hotel lobby to paint the town Jersey with my favorite producer, Mary, where we discussed the dirty details over even dirtier, and REALLY EXPENSIVE martinis....

Cheers to you, Mr. Cage!