First and Final Breath

There is much to be learned from the miracle of birth and death. 

Both are challenging, awakening, and humbling.   

Both expand our limited ability to see beyond the brevity and beauty of human life.

William Wordsworth wrote that babies come into the world trailing clouds of glory.  The dying hold the same cloud and ride it home.  

Photographer Sarah Robertson of Image Bearer's Photography, captured the first and final breath of Paul Perkins who's heart beat for less than an hour and a half.  During that time he was surrounded by love.

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:

The Soul that rises with us, our life’s Star,

Hath had elsewhere its setting,

And cometh from afar:

Not in entire forgetfulness,

And not in utter nakedness,

But trailing clouds of glory do we come  

William Wordsworth 

This video was featured on Life with Kaison, "a place filled with happiness and love"


***

Ho, Ho, Ho

(I'm the HO on the right)

Last weekend, in celebration of all things jolly,  I attended my 5th annual Santa gathering known as Santacon - a colossal band of costume clad misfits focused on spreading goodwill, good cheer, creativity and spontaneity. 

Santa's take over Time Square

Santacon (short for Santa Convention) got its start in San Francisco in 1994 and now takes place in over 178 cities and 24 countries.

The largest gathering on record took place in Moscow in 2006, when over 70,000 Santa's formed a virtual sea of red.

Santa's fill the streets of Moscow

Santacon - a marathon long flash mob meshed with libations, reindeer games, song and dance - begins at 10:00 am and if you pace yourself just right, finishes at sunrise.  

Washington Square Park - NYC

Contrary to what people might think, Santacon is NOT a pub crawl and Santa gets upset when you call it that.  So much so that every time you say it's a "pub crawl" a sugarplum fairy looses its wings (t's that serious).

Panda finds herself at the right hand of the father 
Santacon 2009

Santa is never sloppy, nor does he participate in violence, vandalism, or inappropriate groping.

Frosty Shannon - Santacon 2008

Santa encourages good deeds by bringing canned goods for the homeless, treats for the children and free entertainment for the tourists.

Gothic Santa hanging with hero's 

Santacon 2007

But mainly, for me, it's an excuse to costume up, click away, and party like a Rock Star!

Santa Shannon aka "Tally Ho" dancing on a bar 

Santacon 2006

Christmas Mess Me - Santacon 2010

Talk about a ROCK STAR!!!

Thawing Out

Outside - There is a light dusting of snow coupled with a ridiculous amount of salt.  The waterfall, which flows less than 200 feet from my door, is 75% frozen.  I rush from the car to the house and have persuaded the dog to do the same.

Inside -  My curtains are closed to keep out the cold.  A treadmill replaces my laptop.  I have pounds to lose and nothing to write about (half truth).

I'm reading Naked, Drunk and Writing by Adair Lara.  I'm fully dressed, sober and running out of excuses.

If I were not in a self imposed funk what would I write about?

Step One - Ideas

1.  Dad stuck in the tub - how he got there and how I got him out ...with dignity.
2.  Red Dance - moving beyond my insecurities.
3.  Online Deception - dating gone wrong.
4.  A Best Friends betrayal  - a juicy good TRUE story
5.  Santa Convention - jolly, clean, holiday fun

Lets see where I go from here.   Most of my work stems from an email.  Who wants an email?

Thank you for not giving up on me, and for reaching out, repeatedly.

Shannon

Thawing Out 

Short Film by Jean-Julien Chervier

synopsis
Since he arrives to the nude-camp forced by his mother, Leo a 12 year-old, feels like dying. Until he meets Antoinette and her magic mushrooms...

http://www.brooklynfilmfestival.org/films/detail.asp?fid=964

Hope Floats

...beginnings are scary, endings are usually sad, but it's the middle that counts the most.  Try to remember that when you find yourself at a new beginning.  Just give hope a chance to float up.  And it will.  (from Hope Floats)

Happy VooDoo

I am caught in a multi-sensory spell of fine food, rich culture, great friends, enticing spirits, and irresistible music. 


Today is the start of the VooDoo festival in City Park, New Orleans.  For three days, twelve hours each day, six stages will host an eclectic twist of music genres meshed with crafts and interactive art installations.  


A giant glow-in-the-dark paper airplane, technicolor mushrooms, illuminated hula-hoops, and a bottom-lit translucent tsunami wave bursting from a lagoon, will accentuate our playground.  Vibrant pieces that fuse technology and electronic media with the nonconventional use of sustainable materials. 


We'll be catching headliners Ozzy Osbourne, Muse, Drake, My Morning Jacket, Crystal Method, Weezer, MGMT, Paul Van Dyk, Hot Chip - mixed with our local favorites, Kermit Ruffins, Galactic, Trombone Shorty, Buckwheat Zydeco and Treme Brass Band. 


In addition to Voodoo there's a full schedule of events including the Witching Hour Ball, Krewe Halloween parade, and the Saints game.   


I will need to pace myself. 

Here For You

Each person is an intricate piece of infinity - Eyedea

I have cried every day since hearing of Micheal EYEDEA Larsen's death.  

I am crying for many reasons.

  

For the loss of his talent - his sophisticated, musical brilliance and poetically genius, lyrics.  

For the loss of a son - knowing the sting, the sling, and the sorrow, too well.  

For the loss of a friend, a best friend.  

For the loss of his omni strong presence.  

I am crying because Micheal died alone despite the fact that he held out his hand and his heart to anyone in need.

I am crying because a mother found her son.  Lifeless

I am crying in a mirror of memories.

I remember watching Eyedea spit it out in Blaze battles when he was just a kid - confident, cocky, lyrically destroying his opponents.  He was a warrior.   

There was something about the way he spoke his truth.  He didn't stick to the conformities of hip-hop or rap, he fused genres - tossed in punk and rock, picked up a guitar and jammed.  

His voice was raspy and raw, an acquired taste (in a Dylan, Neil Young sort of way), but the moment you heard it you knew it was real - cause it hit you so, damn, hard. 

I grew up in a musically magical era.  Everything was rich, powerful and new.  Hendrix, Morrison, Joplin, were part of my preschool.  

Finding my way watching The Stones, Led Zeppelin, Jethro Tull and Pink Floyd take the stage. 

Thinking nirvana would last forever.... 

But it didn't.

I didn't connect with the hair bands of the 80's so for over 10 years I stopped listening to new music.  

There was one distinct exception...  

I remember standing in a neighbors living-room, with my toddler son balanced on my right hip and both my arms wrapped around his waste - jamming to Sugar Hill Gang's Rappers Delight and thinking...where the hell did this sound come from!

I raised my son on all my greats, and as he grew he developed his own taste.  Biggie, Tupac, Tribe Called Quest and the Fugees to name a few.  And thats how this lily white grandmother got her first taste for hip-hop and rap.  

Eyedea and Abilities first album, First Born, came out the same year my son's first child was born.  I remember Kerry showing me the cover - a picture of a fetus in utero.   

Eyedea connected the most with those that heard the message.  Those who needed to know they were not alone.

For fans in need, his lyrics kept hope alive.

I can't say I have a lot of respect for much of the main stream stuff thats out there now.  There are some notable exceptions and they earn my ears by keeping it real, following their truth, just as E & A did.  

Rap in Paradise Mikey, and please tell Big Pun, Dolla, Baatin, Tao, Aaliyah, Eazy-E, JMJ, Tupac and Biggie, we miss them...

and if you have time, tell Hendrix, Joplin, Morrison and Bob Marley, peace out, one love, and right on.  

 "Always remember that whereever you go and what ever you do, my love will always be with you. I knew before you were born that you were going to affect the world. I didn't know how or with what gift, but now I do. You have given me the most joy, trouble, happiness and pain. Now it's time for the rest of us to step up and be the humans you know we can be." 

Ross Raihala

HERE FOR YOU

We're all born into this river without knowing how to swim
And eventually we learn how to keep this water under our chin
Some times this river is so cold to be in
Freezing my soul, solidifying my skin
Regardless of how far I see, I never see my travels in
Were carried by the current, being driven by the wind
The scenery we pass, we'll never see again
So we store it up as memories and don't let go of them
Were under a spell thinking the river should go straight
He said, "(holds?) and desire to control our own fate"
But all the pain we experience as a result of our expectations
Because it's the rivers nature to twist and turn
The shit can burn
And I know it
I have the same conflict
But I try to sit and flow with this rivers natural process
And sometimes when I watch myself float downstream
I see the beauty of it all, and it feels like a dream
And at that time I appreciate the rivers course
Some part of God, reality, momentum, force
I stare up at the naked moon, and she stares down at me
(I'll cite false boundaries and all my powers to see)?
The universe is not something separate from yourself
I know you feel alone, but that's why I'm here to help
I know you feel alone, but just look up at the stars
And everything that is out there is what you really are

We gotta learn to see the beauty in each moment of life
Everyone has different pasts and we're seeking the light
The world is divided between peasants and kings
But the truth is everyone is looking for the same thing
Now I want you to know
The role you play is part of the whole
Without you it couldn't be, and I mean that with compassion
So if you need anything, I mean anything at all
I'm here for you; all you gotta do is ask man
I'm here for you, in the same way that you're here for me
Each person in an intricate piece of infinite
I feel that if you could see what I see
Then we as humanity could be free
I'm here for you, not for any self centered reasons
Because existence is interdependent and all related,
Connected in its different manifestations of one single mind
You ain't isolated from the world even though it feels like that sometimes

I see the hurt when I look into your eyes
How you struggle to hold it and keep in bundled inside
It drives a dull blade deep in my heart; it makes me want to cry
So I offer you a hand to help wash away the rainy skies
I'm running out of words, but I haven't yet made my message clear
So if none of this makes sense, I just want you to know I'm here
As a musician, as a friend, as a teacher, as a student
To grow and realize everything is in constant movement
Each problem that we face is just a part of this movement
It seems helpless, but if we stick together we'll get through it
And return to the essence from which we've been uprooted
And wake humanity from these illusions
The second you can look into the sky and see your own reflection
You know your head is in the right direction
The river riding always moves, but with it I live
And everything is perfect, just the way it is

We gotta learn to see the beauty in each moment of life
Everyone has different pasts and we're seeking the light
The world is divided between peasants and kings
But the truth is everyone is looking for the same thing
Now I want you to know
The role you play is part of the whole
Without you it couldn't be, and I mean that with compassion
So if you need anything, I mean anything at all
I'm here for you; all you gotta do is ask man
I'm here for you; all you gotta do is ask man
I'm here for you; all you gotta do is ask man 

I'm Here For YOU!

Micheal Larsen EYEDEA Memorial Fundraiser

pictures courtesy of google image

Phoebe's on Facebook

I write in bed - propped up by a tower of down pillows and layered in 1200 count, soothing french blue sheets and a matching cashmere blanket.  If I'm lucky my cat will curl up beside me, her purr synced perfectly with the tap, tap, tap of my laptop.

Here, from my MacBook Pro, I journal, compose short essay, anecdotal blog posts, self imposed writing assignments, and attend to my memoir.

And sometimes, when I'm feeling flighty, I flirt with Facebook.

Facebook goes well with a glass of wine, husband by my side, and a sluggish night of television.  Instead of leaving the room during golf, formula one racing, or baseball, I pacify myself with status updates, photo comments, threads, links, notes and video posts.

But lately, Facebook has been interfering with my morning writing ritual - especially now that my cat has become attracted to the roaming images that pop up during Facebook surfing.  So much so that she curls up, on top of my keyboard, and stares directly at the screen.

This could only mean one thing... Phoebe wants her own Facebook page.

It seemed simple enough.  All she needed was an email account (bogartincognito@gmail.com) and a top-secret password (biggiefurballs).

She did, however, have to lie about her age.  According to the rules of Facebook, you must be at least 13 years old.  I explained that most women, at one point or another, adjusted their age, so Phoebe felt ethically comfortable rounding up.

After feeding information into her profile, I realized Phoebe's a lot more savvy than I gave her credit for.

She has a broad range of interests that include; fast moving objects, small insects, rodents, and Tai Chi (who knew!) and, apparently when we're not watching, she's busy hunting, fishing, birdwatching, and patrolling the neighborhood.

She has an opinion on politics, religion, health-care reform and pound puppies.  She claims she reads books (highly unlikely) and watches more on television than just the Animal Planet.

We went through dozens of photo's before Phoebe found one that didn't accentuate her pouch.  In this pose, she liked the way the blossoms highlighted the fresh while fur on her paws, neck, and underbelly.

Once live, Phoebe's first stop was YouTube.  She found clips of crazy cats romping it up, mounds of animal humor, and her favorite "Cat and Dog Walking" - footage of this sultry kitty taking a walk on the wild side.

But Phoebe was missing one thing...friends.

Sure, I'd be her pal, but who else would be willing to friend a feline?

I began by approaching my daughter who abruptly informed me that I was a "looser."  Annoyed by her dismissal, I wagered that by the end of a month, Phoebe would out trump her friend count.

My daughter currently has over 1,200 friends, so this could prove to be a bit of a challenge. But come on, we all know that I LOVE a challenge!

Would it be weird if I asked my friends to be Phoebe's friends?

What if I just asked my good friends, friends that won't judge me, and/or are slightly entertained by me?

After doing so, Phoebe's friend count was up to 12.

I started doing searches for screen names that began with the word "cat" or contain the word "cat." Assuming anyone with "cat" in their name would be open to befriending a cat, I feverishly sent out friend requests.

I was interrupted by a unassuming Facebook notification, asking if I knew these Cats, which I blatantly ignored.  Shortly thereafter, I was interrupted by a second prompt, this one warning me that soliciting friends you did not know personally could be considered spam.  Hell, I don't know half my Facebook friends personally, so I ignored this as well.

And then the unthinkable happened.

Phoebe got in trouble with Facebook!

Haaaaaa.......   :)

Phoebe's Facebook account was frozen - for two days.

This was unacceptable in the world according to Phoebe.  Anytime I opened my laptop, she was right there - pushing her whiskers into the screen and flipping her tail at me, as though it was my fault.

I started doing cat searches from my own account.  Not only people with CAT or KITTY in their name, but I included those who listed cats as one of their interest.  I then transferred this information onto a spread sheet for future reference.

When her punishment was finally lifted, I sent emails, instead of friend requests, to everyone on our cat list.

And then I waited.

After 27 hours, her friend count remained at 12.

Where were all these cats and why were they ignoring Phoebe's messages?

Further investigation turned up the following fact.


Cats are clueless when it comes to Facebook.

Don't believe me?

Here's the proof...

But not Phoebe.  Phoebe has it all figured out.

Even so, to date, Phoebe still has only 12 19 45 friends.  At this rate, I'm going to be the never ending butt of my daughters jokes.

So, if you can find it in your heart to help a kitty out, please consider friending Phoebe on Facebook.

You can find her under  Phoebe Fong.

Although lately, I'm questioning her motives and wondering if this was a good idea after all.

BE ONE OF THE COOL CATS AND FRIEND PHOEBE FONG 

Images courtesy of google image


***

TRUE GIFTS

Every negative experience is an opportunity for growth.  This is something I repeat to myself often.  It has lifted me out of many dark holes, when I'm weighted in, "Why is this happening to me?"

Yesterday, I was blindsided by a heavy blow of betrayal.  I will save the sticky details for my best selling novel (how else will I coerce you into reading it) but if you're extra curious, I will tell you that Colonel Mustard and Professor Plum had absolutely nothing to do with it.

The way I consciously chose to handle it, created an immediate positive reaction.  Once I let go of the negativity, opting not to give it any energy, I felt an intense gush of freedom.

It helped that I started my day with a dose of His Holiness, the Dalai Lama.

Sometimes, when we are discouraged by a difficult situation, anger does seem helpful, appearing to bring more energy, confidence and determination.  And while it is true that anger brings extra energy, it eclipses the best part of our brain:  its rationality.  So the energy of anger is almost always unreliable.  It can cause an immense amount of destructive, unfortunate behavior.  

After reading and sitting with the Dalai Lama's message, I clicked on my son's memorial website and discovered a letter from one of his former classmates.  She has given me permission to share it with you.

I met Kerry in Central Middle School.  I didn't have the privilege of knowing him but I can proudly say he was my first crush.  I was so young and did not know what love was.  We used to take the same bus which took us to Greenwich Ave so I would see him pretty much everyday.  He was always with Curtis, his best friend. The funny thing was that one of my girlfriends had a crush on his friend.  Every time we would be around them we would get so nervous.  They were the cool kids and we were just some weird girls that would not stop staring.  One day I got the courage to write him a little note and tell him what I felt for him.  I gave it to someone that knew him and waited for him to say something to me.  I didn't expect much since I knew deep down that I was not his type.  I don't know if he ever received it or even read it.

After Middle School, we both attended the same High School, GHS.  I didn't see him much but whenever I did see him, he brought a smile to my face because I always remembered him as my first crush.  He was so handsome still.  His smile...his eyes...they brought all my attention to him.  

I think the last time I saw him was on Greenwich Avenue.  I was walking near the park and he walked right by me.  It took me by surprise since I had not seen him for a long time.  Again, I smiled.  I have a picture of him that I stole from Central Middle School.  I saw it on a bulletin board and loved it so I just took it.  For some reason I looked him up today and I had no idea what happened to him.  It brought a lot of tears but I know he's an angel that is watching over us, especially his loved ones.  

                                                                                                                     - Heidy Johanna Mutis

Photo of my son, Kerry Ryan Magann, that I never saw before.

A memory is the greatest gift you can give me with regard to my son.  Knowing he is remembered fondly, brings me enormous comfort. 

I arrived at work just in time for lunch (I write from home in the mornings - brilliant plan, don't you think). 

In celebration of a crisp, clear, autumn day, Miss Pegged (coworker and cohort in play) and I left the car keys behind and mindfully meandered our way to the bank and then to a small restaurant on Greenwich Avenue.  

As soon as we crossed the first intersection, I noticed the sidewalk had been graffitied with large SMILING faces.  One after the other, all the way down the street, leading directly to the bank.

I don't know who drew them, but I know they are for ME!

After the bank and a relaxing lunch, we ran into my friend Jay.  I tell you, recently, it's Jay every day!

Jay and I both attending a writing workshop at the Omega Institute in Rhinebeck, New York this past weekend titled, Memoir a Buddhist Practice, taught by James Kullander and Rikki Asher.  He is also one of my trapeze buddies (I love saying that).

Being at Omega is refreshing.  Rural simplicity, bursting with beauty and seeded in like minds - minds focused on expansion, goodness and wellness.

Jay and I have been running into each other a lot lately, and I know why.  We are on the same path.  Jay too sees his obstacles as opportunities for growth.  Jay's journey will be chronicled in his best selling novel (to be completed on May 17, 2011), so I can't give you any details, but trust me...Jay's got it going on!

The people I have attracted into my life are AMAZING gifts.  Starting with my husband and streaming down into my core circle - my true family, my camp-mates, my coworkers, and my extended family.  Friends from far and near - in real time and in blogger format, all of them compassionate, earnest, and forthright.

 Green Monkey, Jesse, Piko, Jelly 

Pappy, War Bunny, Bull Bunny, Dust Bunny, Pinky, Ian, Tiger, Chad 

Alan, Wally 

If you are reading this, that includes YOU.  You have nurtured my creativity.  You have encouraged me to be myself, to trust myself, and to honor myself.  Please know that I appreciate your open heart, your genuineness, your kindness and most of all, your unconditional love and friendship.

Namaste

Aspiring Best Selling Authors:  Stephanie Thompson, Ami Bhalodkar, Shannon E. Kennedy, Mary Ann Donahue, Mary T. Keane, Carol Wolff, Jay Chalnick, Cassie Eshelman, and Kathy Robinson 

With brilliant instruction by literary geniuses, James Kullander and Rikki Asher

James Kullander, MDiv, is a program curriculum developer at Omega and a writer.  His acclaimed essay "My Marital Status," originally published in The Sun magazine, has been anthologized in The Best Buddhist Writing 2008 and the Mysterious Life of the Heart.  jameskullander.com 

Rikki Asher, EdD, has practiced Chan (Zen) meditation since 1979 and teaches meditation at the Dharma Drum Mountain Retreat Center in Pine Bush, New York.  As director of art education at Queens College in New York City, she uses writing, visual awareness and meditation, as part of her curriculum with college students.  cultd.net/rikkiasher 

For more information on the Omega Institute visit:  eomega.org

"AWAKEN THE BEST IN THE HUMAN SPIRIT"



Green Monkey Tales © 2010 Shannon E. Kennedy 


Dalai Lama and Heart Energy photo courtesy of Google image

My Monkee

Being "Black Irish" only got you so far.  Colleen was clearly, everyone's favorite.  

She was the pretty one.  The one with the golden locks, the ever present smile, and the sunny disposition. 

She was the older one, and in her own words, “SHE was the boss of ME.” 


She got to stay up 30 minutes later, she was the first to ride the big yellow school bus, and the one who got everything new.  


And she got Davy.  She always got Davy.  And I got Micky. 


They were the best part of the Monkees. The Monkees were bigger than Elvis and better than Lassie.  And we were just sisters, and I was little and she was big. 


They were the reason we raced each other down our staircase, around the pantry corner, to our still black and white TV every Monday night at 7:00. 

I was convinced that, if it weren’t for her, I’d have everything I ever wanted. I’d have her side of the room.  Davy’s picture would hang above my bed.  Davy’s face would be the first thing I’d see every morning and the last thing I’d see before mother made us turn out the lights.

If it weren’t for her, I’d have those cool, baby blue sheets. I’d have the bigger pillow, the better blanket; and I’d have her Bummy, her best friend Bummy.  Her NOT REAL, Easter basket, bunny rabbit.  


But I wouldn’t have sucked him till he turned gray.  She hugged the pretty pink stuffing out of him, pulled the tickle from his tail.

Everyone knew she loved Bummy more than me.

And tell me, why does the yellow brick road - that long, dangling, double-sided stretch of sticky tape weight in misguided flies - have to hang on my side of the room, from my part of the ceiling?


I can no longer lie on my bed of mismatched sheets, stretch my legs up high and point my toes, or I’ll touch it.  


And I never sleep without my blanket pulled up over my head, because I know, someday, one of those flies will come unstuck, and land right between my eyes.

***

Ironically... my son's father, Terry, looks a lot like Micky.

This was one of my very first blog posts.  It's been tweaked a bit since then.  And sadly, the fly, finally came unstuck.

TOP SECRET BEAUTY TREATMENT

Burning Man is a lot like intensive therapy.  During my week in the desert I subjected myself to a bevy of spiritually profound, enlightening, uplifting experiences.  I battled deeply rooted fears and insecurities.

I returned joyous, content and deeply fulfilled.

I was living in a puffy bubble of  PINK.

Everything was wonderful, life was grand, and I was the BOMB!

Until.... a not so news worthy story caught my eye...

The HBA Global's Positively Beautiful Awards 

Now, instead of settling in to write about my life altering experiences, I'm back in the pit of my belly, exposing yet another one of my BAD ATTITUDES.

This one involved Christie Brinkley.  

This photo of Christie was taken in September of 2010.

Let me start by stating the obvious....  She is tall, thin, trim, taut, BLOND, with impeccable taste, and grace. She is breathtakingly GORGEOUS!

Now, let's take a closer look...

Flawless complexion, sparkling blue eyes, radiant smile, fabulous locks.   Pure perfection!

Oh, what I wouldn't do for those cheekbones.  If only my mother had given me good bone structure. (yes, I blame mother).  Instead, I have a high forehead, a horsey overbite and a weak chin.

I remember my mother telling me, over and over again, "Shannon, there is always going to be someone prettier, so stop comparing yourself."

Yes, its true, I spent a big part of my youth comparing myself to beauty queens - focusing on my flaws and in the fruitless pursuit of perfection.

And I realize that, with each passing day, my skin will continue to wrinkle, fade and sag.

But NOT Christie Brinkley.  

Lets pull in, just a bit closer...

Call me petty or call me crazy, but this is NOT the face of a 56 year old woman.  I know because I stare, vacantly, at the reflection of a 51 year old woman daily.

I don't care about her gene pool, how often she exercise, or what she eats.  This is some sort of scientific breakthrough.  Someone, somewhere, has found an anti-aging miracle drug or procedure and they're keeping it top secret.

It can't be about lifestyle choices, with 3 failed marriages and one, very messy, very public, divorce, this beauty has had more than her fair share of personal drama.

Surgery? Injections? Lasers? Fillers? Peels, scrubs, exfoliators?  All of the above? 

Perhaps it's the 24-carat GOLD anti-ageing treatment I've heard so much about.

Living in an affluent area, I am surrounded by pampered women with endless supplies of time and cash and access to the best Park Avenue doctors, yet none of them look like Christie Brinkley.

This photo of Christie, set me over the edge.  Perky breasts, tiny waist and

ZERO under arm giggle. 

This is physically impossible! 

I know what you are thinking... her photo's have been altered and/or the lighting was just right.

Well, here she is in natural lighting, unposed, checking out the U.S. Open, AND drinking a Guinness!

Guinness...really???  Christie Brinkley drinks Guinness?  Was she setting her golden locks in it? I don't think so.  Her sweater has fallen off her shoulders and her hat is tilted a tad too much, proof that she's sloshed.

Here she is again beside the talented actress Edie Falco.

Who, by the way, is 10 years younger than Christie.

WHAT IS CHRISTIE BRINKLEY HIDING?  

I'd be willing to "grow old gracefully" if we were all on an even playing field.

Here she is with a real pony, trying to copy one of my Burning Man outfits.  And is that a crop in her left hand? Why Christie, you naughty girl!

I think a purple bow on a pony is redundant and sorry, but your belt does NOT match that adorable dress and the cuffs are overkill.    (yes, its true, I'm oozing in pettiness)

So tell me Christie Brinkley, and I'll decide if its worth it, WHAT IS YOUR BEAUTY SECRET???

Until then.... I'll keep my bad attitude hidden behind a team of moisturizers, exfoliators, brown spot eliminators, pour minimizers, firmers, lifters and plumper -  all available at your local, neighborhood drugstore.

Green Monkey Tales © 2010 Shannon E. Kennedy

Photo by Stephen Lovekin/Getty Images North America




***

BUT

here is the catch boys...

once you go Christie, you can't go back! 

Billy during Christie 

Billy after