Strawberry Swing

I'm just gobsmacked by this video for the song Strawberry Swing by Coldplay (directed by Shynola)

Perfect antidote to this gloomy Tuesday.

link right here



via Black Eiffel

Dirt is Good for You

So they've changed the name, but it still looks pretty kick-ass.

Babble.com's first anthology comes out this fall, and yours truly is included (p. 67 to be exact!)

Rest assured, I'll let you know about 2,387 times beforehand where you can get your copy.

(p.s. Because I never expect such blurbage to occur again, I would like to direct your attention to the blurb from the NEW YORK TIMES on the back of the book. It's like Brad Pitt declaring that he finds white women in their mid-30s to be his type. I, my friends, so qualify.

In other pub news, I expect my first truckload of Veiled Remarks copies today, so the glorious divine who have pre-ordered can expect a copy soon!

More Schorr!

Ta-dah!

Howdy!

It is with great pride and pleasure that I'm announcing pre-sales for my book, Veiled Remarks: A Curious Compendium for the Nuptially Inclined. The book will officially be on sale in a couple of weeks, and it will be available through my website and Amazon. (I'm also finalizing plans to have it carried locally, as well)

I plan to have a couple of book signings here in September, so stay tuned!

Wait.

Hold up.

What is this book thing, you ask?

It's the culmination of about 6 years of research, heartbreak, a wedding, a baby and a crash course in publishing. After planning one wedding that was never to be, I wasn't exactly up with matrimony and took great solace in reading stories about the dark side of such a storied ritual. Hell, it wasn't that long ago that marriage was glorified kidnapping and barter, so the stories of superstition, bizarre ceremonial rites and receptions gone wrong were legion.

A book idea was born.

Know a bride that can use a laugh? Married and curious about the history of the ceremony? Hate the idea of government sanctioned unions and will take great pleasure in reading about cell blocks specifically for homicidal Indian mothers-in-law?

Then this book is for you!

Katie and Chris get married

There was definitely some lovey voodoo magic in the air, because last Saturday may have been some of the nicest weather ever to occur in Memphis in mid-July. Luckily for Chris and Katie, it was the day they became husband and wife. Having gotten to know both of these sweet, loving folks, it was truly an honor to capture their big day. I have to take a sec here to thank Chip Chockley who took time out his insanely busy schedule to second shoot with me. He spent time with the groom and not only caught some great moments with Chris but snapped some beautiful detail shots as well.

Here is a hodge podge from their day . There are so many I'd like to feature that I think I'll have a second post with more "traditional" family shots and more of the wedding details. Enjoy!

Save the Date

Wooo-hoo!

I just got my kick-ass save the date to Elizabeth and Gary's wedding that I will be shooting this fall, and I have to show you the adorableness from our awesome session.

Weak-end

Whew. The Sweazys are getting too old for this sh*t.

We had a jam-packed weekend of Elmwood cemetery tours, a wedding shoot, a screenwriting seminar, a photo shoot at a drive-in, recording an album at Ardent, and the corresponding migraine and stomach bug, respectively.

I'll let you guess who did what while I try to haul my worn out bones to the computer to edit the photos.

In the meantime, if you're in town and like hearing live music, Caleb plays his first gig at the Hi-Tone this Wednesday at (gulp) 10 PM. I know this eliminates about 90% of you, but what if I told you Wednesday was my birthday (it really is!) and the best gift you could ever give me (besides plane tickets) would be to come out and support my extremely hardworking and talented hubby? He's gonna have a backing band and it's just gonna be awesome.

I hope to see you there!

p.s. I'd like to say BIG THANK YOU to Gramma Sue who helped make this crazy weekend manageable!

Puppies & Babies

It's a gloomy day, so how about some puppies and babies! There's been a flurry of new additions (and one adorable mainstay) around the Sweazys as of late.

Congratulations to Laura, Tony and big brother Diego on the birth of sweet Jesse!



The Rattons have a new baby girl! Welcome to the world, cute burrito (otherwise known as Anna)



And then there is my puppy nephew, Walter, the cutest great dane that will grow up to be the cutest pony on the block.



And my diva, working it by not working it for the camera.

It's Not Easy Being Sweazy

Around midnight Thursday, Caleb fished our screaming daughter from her crib and flipped on the light, revealing her little body covered up with angry red hives.

Shit.

We took a deep breath and ran through the calm, organized checklist we've adapted for Caleb since his own mysterious hive-riffic allergies appeared three years ago:

1. What did she eat?

M: Nothing new!
C: Nothing new?
M: Wait! What did she eat for breakfast? Did she have breakfast?

2. Was it a bug bite?

M: It has to be a bug bite.
C: It's not a bug bite.
M: It's a bug bite!
C: It's not a bug bite. I checked her sheets! (reveals sheets, mattress pad, pillows and cases flung around the room)
M: It totally could have bitten her and gone into hiding.
C: It's not a bug bite!


HIves are ickyness non grata in this household. After watching my husband's body turn bright red after taking a bite of beef short ribs, I look at hives as those great bulldozers of the flimsy walls we put up around us. They are the reason Caleb has to keep an epi pen close by in case he accidentally gets a piece of bacon in his baked beans and his throat decides to close up. They are a frightening reminder that no matter how many rules you follow, how many outlets you cover and lactose-free milk you provide, the very air you breathe could one day swallow you up in the hot, red welts that were currently snaking their way around my daughter's torso.

Oh yeah. After eliminating food and bugs as the culprit, we were going with "air."

Moments later, I'm on the phone with the pediatrician's emergency dispatcher, her voice thick with sleep.

And what is your name, ma'am?

Sweazy.

Sw ---?

SWEAZY.

I'm sorry, ma'am. I'm having trouble hearing you. Could you spell it?

My daughter is gagging.

S-W-E-A- Z-Y

"C" as in car?

Motherfucker. Never in my life have I longed more for my old, boring name, the Anderson that forever offended me with its bland, vaguely Scandinavian blahness and belonged to my kindergarten teacher and my principal and that girl who played blind Mary on Little House on the Prairie and took up 12 solid pages in the phone book.

Why was I yelling Z! NO Z! Like motherfucking ZEBRA! when my daughter's esophagus could be swollen shut from hives?

Fortunately the gagging was just from the excessive crying. After the nurse established that I wasn't Melissa SWEACKY or SWYZXC or her flight confirmation code phoning her up to mess with her, she finally patched me through to the nurse who said pretty much what we expected.

Benadryl.

We gave Harlow the instructed dosage and watched Wordworld on PBS until the hives magically disappeared.

And all was right with the world.

Until the air made them come back the next day.

Et tu, tutu?

Last Monday found me at Target, my child standing in the cart and urging us onward like some baby General Lafayette, if said general were searching for tutus.

"I WANT TUTU. TUUUUUUUTUUUUUUUU!"

Who was this kid? One day she's begging to go outside and eat dirt, and the next she's listing off the names of Disney's princess clique and demanding their wardrobe. What was confusing is that we don't own a single princess movie, but after spending a week with her cousin in Maine where I think the word princess was said about 8,476 times, I knew she was a goner. Add that to her parents' day out program where she learns terms like "Whoopsie!" when she whips off her diaper and drops it on the floor, it seemed the inevitable Disneyfication had begun. And honestly, why fight it? Her mama wears mascara to the farmers market and considers 4 inch heels practical, so I figure I'm the biggest hypocrite in the world for trying to deny what's in her blood.

Still. My skin crawled when we entered the pepto Barbie aisle, and I quickly searched for the least offensive concoction of frills and tulle. I found a blue fairy dress - with wings! This was a big plus as Harlow wanted to fly as well as rule a kingdom, so I proudly showed her my find. She gestured for me to hand it to her, and she narrowed her eyes, her fingers moving straight to a small plastic brooch affixed to the bodice. Inside was the picture of a comely brunette.

"Who's that?" she asked.

I had no idea.

"Tinkerbell's...sister?"

She stared at me, and I KNEW that she knew I was BS'ing her, but it somehow it passed muster. We came home, and I helped Harlow wiggle into her brunette kid sister of Tinkerbell dress, handed her Majesty the paper crown her father scotch taped together for her, and we stood on the front porch, holding hands.

She turned to me and pointed to the sky.

"Fly!" she demanded.

Ok, I said, spreading my arms wide and doing my best seagull.

She stared at me, those huge blue eyes narrowing in frustration. She stamped her foot. (She was getting this princess thing down cold. )

"No!" she insisted. "FLY!"

She reached up on her tippy toes and hopped, looking like a baby bird about to make the leap from the nest. I felt a sudden pain in my chest. How to tell her what I knew would break her heart?

"Honey, we can't fly. We're not made that way. But we can pretend!" Again, I spread my arms wide and flapped like crazy lady dancing to ragtime on her front porch.

She burst into tears.

I wondered if Amelia Earhart took to running around the family lawn with a pair of pipe cleaner wings, determined to prove everybody wrong. I wondered how much it hurt her parents to tell her what they knew to be true.

I gathered up my little sobbing princess and carried her inside, wishing that one day she might prove me wrong.

The Hives

Dear Mysterious Hives on my Kid,

Quit it. You're freaking me out.

Sincerely,

The Management

The List

What I neglected to mention in my last post was that this extremely hot, extremely naked actor has been on The List for about a year now. You know, the five actors/celebrities you'd leave your spouse for if you had the opportunity to have one crazy wild night of...staring at them from your friend's couch? ( I say with all sincerity that I am married to a man I find so irresistible that he still makes me all fluttery inside when he walks into a room. Oh, true story: Caleb was at the premiere party for a movie back in the 90s, and his buddies kept pointing out that the actress star of the movie kept checking him out. They made eye contact. There were some smiles, and fortunately for me, nothing else. The actress? Angelina Jolie. )

Angelina Jolie, who I believe, is #2 on my List.

So, basically, I am chatting real time with my friend who is taunting me, TAUNTING ME with Mr. #1's proximity to her bedroom. Oh hey! He's juggling limes in my backyard! Now? He's sitting in my porch swing, being dreamy.

How often does this happen? Where you actually know the whereabouts of Mr #1 on The List, and they happen to be in your friend's BEDROOM?

Lesson learned? It is a very, very good thing to be a photo rep.

When Nylon Magazine comes out in a few months, I'll post some pics of Mr. #1

Rounding out my list?

#3 Johnny Depp (I know. He's on everybody's list. But thanks to Public Enemies, he's firmly back in the top 5. And I'm just a sucker for men in tailored coats and suits...and guyliner)
#4 Gerard Butler (300 may be the gayest movie that wasn't straight out gay porn, but it worked for me)
#5 Cary Grant (yeah, he's dead (hint for #1) But he was my very first celebrity crush. And did you see The Philadelphia Story?

Who's on your List?

At this very moment...

...one of my best friends is hosting an extremely handsome, extremely naked actor in her LA home for a magazine photo shoot.

And right now, I'm trying to reassure myself that leaving LA was a good thing.

Anybody wanna help?

Please??

Happy 4th

Week in Review

It appears an illiterate but well-meaning drunk took over blogging duties. The mistake is being corrected and the responsible parties are being sacked.

Posting has been light this past week because I've been writing. A lot. I'm facing down a huge, self-esteem shredding deadline, so unfortunately this also means I've also been...how should I put this? A smidge batshit crazy. Not diaper-wearing, driving cross country crazy, but the kind where I had to rule out possible medication snafus and hysterical pregnancy before I had to accept that I just really have a hard time writing on deadline. In deference to my husband who craves privacy like I do chocolate covered anything, I'm not gonna go into details of our week of marital discord, but I will say that I've been awful to live with. And to the woman who walked in on me sobbing in the Volvo dealership bathroom, no, mascara is not supposed to look like that.

I'm sorry.

I hope that when I make my deadline, my everyday, endearing brand of crazy will return, along with more posts.

Happy 4th

If you have fight, and you didn't blog about it, did the fight really happen?