The Art of Awesome

Last weekend, I was lucky enough to be able to head home to NYC (unfortunately, for a doctor's appointment) for the first time since moving down to DC. I got to hang out with my best friend, which was seriously needed. I wanted to head up a couple weeks earlier to attend the premiere of The Art of Flight and all the pre-premiere marketing events but sadly, work got in the way. Luckily, #TAOF (what all us really cool [not really] social media nerds call it) was released on iTunes and I quickly scrambled ten dollars to download that ish. I could have my own premiere party... by myself. Suck on that, people. (I'm only a little bitter, I promise.)
I saved the movie for my bus trip up to NYC, since I'd have the time to give it my undivided attention and possibly be able to watch it twice. I may have sneaked a couple 5-minute peeks here and there, but I was mainly unspoiled.

I am happy that I did because this movie was freaking unbelievable.
It definitely appeals to the snowboard film purists, if only because of the sheer, raw amazingness of the terrain Travis Rice and friends were able to ride. It also appeals to the regular film-goer/person who likes cool things because it wasn't just sick shots of people riding; #TAOF (there I go again) was definitely a "film" in the cinematic sense of the word... there was a progressing story line and, one might even say, a climax. I have since watched it a couple more times and, each time, I am most impressed by the filming/editing/production. It is unbelievable to think of what this crew went through to complete this movie. Obviously, Travis Rice and all of the other riders in the film are what make it what it is, but it would have been an entirely different kid of movie without the teams behind its creation: Brain Farm Digital Cinema (one of the coolest companies ever) and Red Bull Media House. I know there were more people involved, but these are the only two filming and production-involved whose websites I could find. If you know of more, I'd definitely give them a shout-out, too.
There is something so singularly special about ski and snowboard films that is incomparable to anything else out there. It's almost like a glorification of man's power to control nature, but simultaneously showing the same power that nature and the terrain have over that man. Nothing can even come close.



While #TAOF is an amazing snowboarding movie, it definitely is in its own category. Many may like that it is different from others, and I'm sure many hate that as well... but it is the first that I have seen capture non-snowboard audiences, which is definitely a step in some kind of direction. I, personally, loved it for what it was but will continue to absolutely love the "traditionalist" snowboard films as well.

So, my point is: see it for yourself. I won't say that you'll love it -- because, strangely, some people just don't like this sort of thing-- but it'll definitely impress you.

(photos courtesy of www.theartofflight.com)

Lazy Saturday... and Sunday

Mike is away for work this weekend and I am taking full advantage of having control of the remote for these two days. While we usually agree on our primetime viewing (Suits, White Collar, Parks & Rec, The Office, etc.,) the lure of my dirty little secret, trashy reality television, is just too strong to resist.
I do not have much else to write (well... I have lots to write, but not enough time in which to do it), and will return after my weekend of television viewing freedom ends.

Update:
Actually, I'll be watching the Yankee game this afternoon and cheering them on all by lonesome. Hoping this game doesn't get rained out/postponed either. I'm looking forward to a good butt-kicking.

My 9/11 Story

It was my first week of high school, at Fiorello H. LaGuardia High School of Music, Art and the Performing Arts, on the Upper West Side. I was starting to make new friends, which made me feel a little more comfortable in this entirely new situation; everyone was talented, everyone was special, everyone was truly unique. I was sitting with some of my new friends at my strangely early lunch period (10:45am) when one of my new barely-friends came running in and told us that someone had blown up the World Trade Center. She said they were gone. “Impossible,” I thought, I had just been there the previous afternoon, meeting my mom after school. 

This news then brought a rush of emotions. I could feel the blood rushing to my face, the confusion building. I gathered my things and left the lunch room and somehow in my fog of confusion, I heard that there was an emergency room set up on one of the other floors for all of us whose parents were in the WTC area that morning. In 2001, cell phones still were not very popularly used, and my mom and I shared one very strange looking phone with a flip-out bottom, which I happened to have that day. I called her office, her friends’ offices, my aunts, and anyone else I could think of. For some reason, my phone was one of the only ones working in that emergency response room. I made friends with another freshman, who had just moved to NYC from Madrid to study ballet, and whose brother worked in the South Tower. I let her use my phone to call whoever she wanted. I saw one of my classmates from my vocal music classes sitting with her dad, both of them crying. All the while, I had not heard from my mom and I still did not know exactly what had happened downtown. 

We were made to go to our homerooms at some point to listen to the principal make an announcement that I’m sure he never imagined making during his career. He retired the next year. They told us that we could not leave to go home without a parent coming to pick us up— well, my single mother was unaccounted for, and I was not about to sleep over at my new school that I did not like very much. I called my mom’s friend from work who was now working at a new law firm uptown; miraculously, I got a hold of her and she agreed to come pick me up. I don’t really remember much of the rest of the day at school, but I imagine it was spent calling anyone and everyone I possibly could. I got calls from friends in Spain making sure we were okay— I told them I was fine but still had not heard from my mom. 

Eventually, around 3pm, my mom’s friend got to LaGuardia to pick me up and we started walking out of the building, not really knowing what to do. I saw a woman walking up the steps of the school and realized she was my mom. I ran over and hugged her; I had never realized until that moment how much I loved my mom. We shared stories of what had happened to us and she told us about the hell she had gone through that morning. She had seen things that no civilian should ever see. She saw an airplane wheel on the corner of her block, stood and watched the towers burning above her, hid from the dust clouds, and had walked all the way from the Financial District up to my school on the UWS. 

We all went to dinner at a Japanese restaurant a couple of blocks away and watched the news, trying to figure out how we would get home to Queens. We ended up walking down 57th Street and got on a bus (some buses were running, and all were free) as far East as we could go. We then found that the only way to Queens was to walk across the Queensboro Bridge. You never fully realize how long a bridge is until you’ve walked across it. We stood in the center of it for a few minutes, just looking at the cloud of ash and dust that had formed over where the beautiful World Trade Center once stood. It didn’t sink in, what had happened that day. We continued our walk home, in disbelief and shock, confused and scared about what the future would bring, but happy that we had our family.