"OH! The people you will meet!

"Ohhhhh The places you'll go!

You'll be on your way up!

You'll be seeing great sights!

You'll join the high fliers who soar to high heights"

One of my best friends handed me the famous "Oh! The Places You'll Go" as we said goodbye on my final night in Bethlehem, prior to my leaving the states, prior to my new journey. I always wanted to rewrite this book and title it "Oh! The people you will meet!"

I think of this over and over again each time I meet a new person, each time I hear a new story, each time I hear a new name. I think of writing it today as I have made my trek across the Atlantic and have introduced myself to numbers and numbers of people: from the airport security men, to the young man who sat next to me in the terminal patiently awaiting the flight to see his girlfriend to my new roommates. Most of these people are people that I will only have met for a few minutes, a brief instance of mutual exchange, a valuable moment. I'll normally take the moments after to create more of a story for that person. I'll pretend that the airport security man has had to tackle a terrorist or that the boy waiting to see his girlfriend has not told her that he is coming, that he is surprising her, and that their world is going to be perfect. I love people. I love stories. So when I come across someone and I get to hear their story...I can't help but smile over that moment--that perfect moment where one of us felt comfortable enough with the other to share a brief valuable time in our lives.

I got to hear a few of these stories yesterday.

Let's face it, my Italian is molto brutto (very ugly---for now), so when I entered a cab in Florence and tried to speak Italian to my driver, it was a relief to hear him know English. This first ride would not be a quiet one. We spoke back and forth to one another, me desperately trying to speak Italian and him fixing my every error. And then with ten minutes left in our drive, he reminded me why I loved Italy so much, why I love Italians so much. It is not because of the food (though my first slice of pizza yesterday was phenomenal), and it isn't because of their leather (though I did feel like I fit in, in my black fake leather jacket), no, it is because of their love for talking, their love for stories.

And as I exchanged life stories with Stefano, I wondered if I would ever find the same happiness as him, if I would ever be perfectly content never marrying someone the way he has (my mother would never approve), if I would ever be content dedicating my life to one thing like he has (he rowed in the 1996 Olympics and considers himself marries to his boat), and if I would ever just be simply happy. He clearly knew happiness, as he dropped me off at my apartment refusing tip money and wishing me the best of luck in my time in Florence.

But he was just the first of many that I exchanged stories with on my first day--in my first hours. As I sat down for my first cappuccino, a young man sat to my left with his own. I turned with a smile on my face and exclaimed, MI PIACE CAPPUCCINO!. And he turned, and smiled, a big wide grin, and said, "ANCHE IO!" I soon discovered that he was from Africa, but knew no English. Fortunately, he bared with me and my wonderful (ahem) Italian. We ended up going on to speak in fragments for nearly forty minutes exchanging names and numbers and an arrangement for a future coffee date. And as he walked away, to return to work, I just kept thinking about all the people I will meet...and all the stories that I will hear.

As I continued to sit alone at my table, I looked around me and just felt happiness--like Stefano, and I just smiled--a lot. It may become a very lasting habit...In the words of Elf--Smiling may just become "my favorite."

Like a Forever Stamp...

I wish suitcases were expandable. I wish that inside the pockets of each pair of pants that I have packed I could shrink a friend s mall enough to fit within. I wish that when I pulled out my shoes on the other side of the Atlantic that there’d be a little Jack in the shoe popping out, a friend who would say “Surprise, bet you didn’t know I could sulk up like a slinky.”

But I know that in this year, this decade, possibly this century, and most definitely this lifetime, that will not ever be possible. This is something I have to do on my own—this is something I want to do on my own.

In just a few hours, I will arrive at JFK, swipe my Passport through the scanner, drop my luggage onto the conveyor belt, brace myself for body scanners, sit in a terminal alone, and board a plane across the Atlantic. I will say goodbye to large sized coffees, most of my wardrobe, and all the best of friends. Ten hours later, I will walk off a plane into a land where the exit signs read “Uschita” and where Dunkin Donuts are replaced with local hole-in-the-wall shops. I will say hello to cappuccino con chocolate, beautiful romance languages, a months worth of wrinkled clothes, and a world filled with wonderful people that have stories to share. I will be home…I will be in Italy.

I use the word home to describe a place that I once lived for three months, a place that welcomed me with open arms, a place that granted me safety and security, a place that provided me with happiness.

Like a forever stamp placed carefully on the corner of a fresh letter to be mailed, the value of my love for Italy never seems to change. I have not gone a day since leaving Italy without thinking of the kindness of strangers, without dreaming of the cobblestone roads, without imagining the scent of the steam radiating from the wood burning ovens. I have not gone a day without missing Italy. I have not gone a day without missing home.

Returning to Italy means seeing old friends and making new ones. It means rediscovering nooks and crannies placed all over the wonderful cities that I once conquered. Most of all, it means returning to my significant other…that’s right…Italy and I are in a serious relationship, and while I have had my serious love affair with New York City, I think that Italy will forgive me. No—I know that Italy will forgive me. Despite my heart and mind wreaking of city subways and alleyways, Italy will embrace me the instant that I return, it will grasp me so hard that I will find it so very difficult to release myself from it’s pull 6, 7, 8 months down the line.

And while I’ll still carry a long distance relationship with New York City, I know that Italy will completely have my heart. I won’t look back—I’ll never look back.

I’ve talked of going back to Italy since December of 2008—when I first returned to the states—when I first forgot how to say “Thank You” and “Hello” and instead belted out “GRAZIE…” and “CIAO!”

And while this week has offered me some difficult challenges to overcome in the days leading up to my travels…I know that they were not meant to deter me. Rather, I believe they may have occurred in order to keep me busy—to keep my mind from questioning the next eight months of my life, to keep me from even thinking about cold feet.

But I almost broke down twice…I almost lost all hope for today coming and myself being prepared. But I am ready—I am ready….I am SOO ready. I’ll see you on the other side folks. I can’t fit you in my pockets…But won’t you join me?

I’ll take a cappuccino… how about you?

Just not a material girl in a material world...

When I was younger, I was terrified of the dark. Two or three nights a week I would sleep with the lights on, the door open, and a big old blanket wrapped around my body. I’d wait for my parents to go to sleep and I’d slowly get up from my bed and creep out of my room to make sure nothing was in the hallway. Some nights I’d go downstairs and turn on the television for a bit until I felt really safe, and some nights I just fell asleep. If I had a bad dream, and the lights were off, I would cover my face, remain motionless, and silently listen to the things that went bump in the night.

When I did convince myself that it was okay to turn off the light during the night, I’d imagine shadows on the wall were people sneaking into my house to kidnap me or my family or steal all of my belongings. For me a shadow on a white wall was like a cloud in the sky—it had the ability to deceive me into thinking it was something else. The shadows would take the forms of creatures in the night haunting me until my eyes got too tired to recognize their shapes anymore—or until 4:00am.

4:00am is what I call the safe zone. It’s the time when I have convinced myself that bad guys don’t prowl the streets and the time that the world—in my time zone—is in a safety bubble.

So when I woke up at 5am on my final morning in New York City, I was ready to walk out to my car to embark on my new journey. I headed down the third floor walk up of an apartment I had slept at in the Bronx, opened the door laughing as I said goodbye to a friend and slowly realized that things from my car were sitting on the ground. It was past 4am and I suddenly felt as if the safe bubble had popped and covered me in a terribly gewy mess. My car had been broken into via a back smashed passenger window.

I stood there trying to take in that most of my belongings, except my clothes, were stolen, and nearly fell over in disbelief.

I walked back into the apartment, unready and unwilling to face the fact that my car had just been ransacked for everything that had some significant money value to it. As my friend woke my best friend up to come down to me, all I could think was that I was stuck in a bad dream. I attempted to use the power of Inception (Gosh LEO you made it seem like it was so easy to do in the movie) to stop the terrible nightmare and make the shadows of broken glass and unlocked doors disappear. I stood motionless, wishing I had a blanket to cover my face so I could take in all the bumps in the night around me. Only I wasn’t stuck in my 10 foot by 10 foot room imagining that terrible things were happening in the darkness—terrible things DID happen in the darkness.

Now a little less groggy, I was slowly putting together that my external hard drive, my flip camera, my camera memory cards, and my iPod had been stolen, on top of a number of other things.

As I wrote down the list of items I was missing, I stared at them thinking: “This could be a hell of a lot worse.” All I could say to myself and to my friends were “They are just replaceable accessories Libs—just disposable items, just things that I really wanted—but never really NEEDED. After forty-five minutes to an hour of putting myself back together and forcing through strong reluctant feelings of guilt, I motivated myself to get back into my car and drive home—the final trip I was supposed to make from New York City to Pennsylvania for the next eight months.

I kept repeating to myself “They are just accessories Libs…just accessories.” And while it’s hard for me to imagine the fact that I will never get my videos, pictures, or songs back—there’s something even more valuable to me that this person took…something so precious that annoys me more than someone taking the last cookie from the jar…and that’s time.

Time to prepare for Italy, time to relax with my family, time to cuddle with my cat, time to work on various projects that I have in the works, and time to just get the things done that I absolutely need to get done. Time—something that I could not physically hold in my hands…something more valuable than any of the things in my car…something that isn’t buyable—that isn’t replaceable. And then I started remembering other things that were important to me that weren't in that car--like my memories, and my passions, and my hopes, and my love for the city of New York.

My epiphany came sometime around the moment the sunrise was sitting perfectly in my rear view mirror, almost like a cleverly plotted detail in a film. It was in that moment that I realized that the items we can hold are seldom the items that truly matter the most in the end. If it fits in the palms of our hands—then it can probably never truly fit in our hearts.

Often times we give in easily to the material things around us: the iPods, the Nooks, the makeup, the ugz, the smart phones, the cameras, the stiletto heels, the perfect Halloween costume, and the many other individual things that we always think we need.

But maybe it takes someone stealing your “valuables” to truly see what is of value in your life…to really understand how material you may have become, and how immaterial you wish you could be. You may have taken my hard-drive Mr. Bronx Robber, but you didn’t steal my heart—in fact, I think you may have just made it a little bigger.

"Your Art Matters--It's What Got Me Here"

“Amidst all of the skyscrapers, all of the Broadway shows, and all of the chaos of the city, it’s not hard to find a person with a dream…a person with a passion…a person with a heart made of gold. “-Me

There is no denying what the city of New York has done for me over the past nine months. The city not only welcomed me with open arms, but it embraced me and held me tight while I tried to pursue all the dreams I had when I first arrived, which were to become a television producer and writer. But I didn’t find a career in coming here—I found something even better--I found gold.

Each day I have discovered new treasures. And the best part about it is that you don’t need a compass, and you don’t need a map—Every corner you turn, every alley you peek down, every block you stumble upon, there is some sort of gold within reach. It may be the best bagel on the Upper West Side or the best dive bar on the Lower East. It may be in the form of artwork in a Chelsea gallery—or it might be in the nooks and crannies of the subway stations. It could be in the cracks on the Brooklyn Bridge—or the artistic graffiti on the sides of buildings. Wherever you look—wherever you go—there is magic and a sort of rich feeling.

For me, the gold has been in all the people that I have met during my time in the city. From starving artists to acoustic guitarists and from graphic designers to actors and actresses…from drummers to singers…and from producers to writers—I have never met so many unique and talented people as I have met in these five boroughs. I have been lucky enough to surround myself by those who never let their passion falter—by those who push and push and work and work to keep their work alive. I’ve met make up artists working three jobs to help pay rent, and I’ve met comedians who waiter on the side in order to put food on their table. I’ve met writers and volunteers trying to live simply on only necessities.

Life is not easy: especially for all of those trying to really make it. But for each of these wonderful people that I have met, I can honestly say that for each of them it appears to have been nothing short of WORTH IT. These people, my friends, my acquaintances, my inspirations are living out what they want to do—in the city they want to do it in—and who could EVER criticize that? I have met people who have challenged me to be a better person, a more passionate person, and a more intensely determined creative person. This city introduced me to some of the most amazingly talented people in the world, and I know that this is just the beginning for most of them, and in five, ten years; this will just be a shot in their scrapbook filled with many more amazing moments of when they all make it. This city has opened up my eyes to all the talented people out there that I may have even been ignorant to in the past—including people from my hometown. The truth is you can find gold ANYWHERE you look. (Like the wonderful Paul Knakk).

In these nine months, I have met people who provide more love for others than space in this world provides. I have met people who are waiting for that one shot—that one opportunity—to do what they want to do, without caring what financial burdens that one thing brings for the time being—because in the end, it will ALL be worth it. I have met people who truly turn everything they touch to gold.

It has taught me to be spontaneous—jump into a new class, try something completely off the wall, and create my own adventures—so long as I am passionate about it. It is these artists, these guitarists, these graphic designers, these actors and actresses, these drummers, these singers, these producers, these writers, these comedians, these waitresses, and oh god the list could go on—it is these people that have pushed me to make the sudden leap to Italy. It is these people who have pushed me to act on my passions—my beliefs—my dreams. It is these people who are my gold in New York City and in Bethlehem, who have become my gold in life. I may have slept on the floor for months—and I may have eaten cheerios out of a box for two meals a day—but I have been the richest person …I have been a billionaire. And it’s because of you—you all—you see…your art REALLY does matter…It’s what got me here.

A side note: A good friend of mine is working to build a website that I am convinced will change the world, and I am convinced that most of the creative people that I have met—will in fact also do something so overwhelmingly amazing that it will change the world. So here’s your challenge—find another amazing person tonight, check out someone else I’ve tagged in those entry and connect with them—see how your creative powers can act together to combust with greatness. I’ve posted some links to help you out. But don’t be fooled there are many creative minds out there that don’t fit any of these categories (for example: Music Extraordinare: Dannya Azem). This list -- in no way, shape, or form encompasses all the gold that I have found in this city--all the people that I have found.

If they don’t have a link listed, don’t be afraid to ask me for contact information…I would be happy to put you in touch with any one of these wonderful people. And if you are someone who feels left off the list—let me know and I’ll add you immediately. I’m all about the connections…I’m all about the creativity.

ACTORS/ACTRESSES

BRANDON OPEL—ACTOR

CAROLINE RITCHIE—ACTRESS –WEBSITE PORTFOLIO
http://www.carolineritchie.com/

JENNIFER BISHOP—ACTRESS—WEBSITE
http://web.mac.com/jennifermbishop/iWeb/Site/Home.html

KIM DIPERSIA—ACTRESS—WEBSITE
http://www.KimberlyDiPersia.com/

MARK KIRSCHENBAUM—ACTOR

MARK PORTER—ACTOR

BEHIND THE SCENES FILM/THEATRE/TELEVISION

BRANDON OPEL—WRITER/DIRECTOR/PRODUCER

DAVID VENDETTE—DIRECTOR/EDITOR/PRODUCER—MUSIC VIDEO
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FQEEVnSISxA

JOHN OLSON—WRITER
www.WonderfulOK.com

MARK KIRSCHENBAUM—DIRECTOR
http://www.showtimeboca.com
Also—this November, opening the World Premiere of a brand new, never done before version of “A Christmas Carol Musical

MEGAN NORRIS—HAIR AND MAKEUP ARTIST
--Has worked on Greta Gerwig, NBC talent Lauren Scala, ABC/NYC MEDIA Talent Tory Johnson, and Sharkstores

NATE SMITH—EDITOR/FILMMAKER—DEMO REEL
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_3aMsn6Z8vw

COMEDIANS

NICK RUGGIA

DANCERS

EMMA POWERS—DANCER

GRAPHIC AND MULTIMEDIA DESIGN

ANGELA AMATO—MULTIMEDIA DESINGER
http://www.angelaamato.com

GRANT SIKON – GRAPHIC ARTIST

MUSICIANS

ANDREW CHABOT—GUITARIST--MYSPACE
http://www.myspace.com/kachinasound

BRANDON JACOBS—DRUMMER—YOUTUBE VIDEOS
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lc4eipnLHp8
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LkrDZbIyizI

CAMILLE HARRIS—SINGER—WEBSITE
http://www.camilleyoungsilly.com

CHRIS DIFFERENT—SINGER and GUITARIST—WEBSITE
http://www.chrisdifferent.com

KATHRINE BECKER—SINGER/SONGWRITER—MYSPACE
http://www.myspace.com/suzysellout

MARK KIRSCHENBAUM—SINGER

MIKE URSO—SINGER

PAUL KNAKK—SINGER/SONGWRITER/GUITARIST

RYAN BAIR—SINGER

WRITERS

HANNAH BRENCHER—WRITER—BLOG
http://www.hannahkaty.com

LARA WILINSKY—WRITER—BLOG
http://glittermethis.blogspot.com

She's a Maniac

A good friend of mine posted this quote today on her status: "To be creative means to be in love with life. You can be creative only if you love life enough that you want to enhance its beauty, you want to bring a little more music to it, a little more poetry to it, a little more dance to it." -- Osho (As posted by Kim D.!)

The air's cold, and my eyes are drooping. My alarm has just gone off and I remember that I have set it for 4:30am in order to complete a goal, one that is supposed to remind me about taking time for myself. I shake out the eye boogies, throw on some deoderant, pull my hair back, and I'm ready to complete my mission...but why and what mission?

After a long and great conversation with a friend, I was reminded that we many times don't take enough time for ourselves. We don't just sit and enjoy company; we don't just have a piece of chocolate and cringe over how good it tastes, and we don't just take a second to relax. We begin to care too much what others think and we begin to just lose ourselves while trying to be what someone else wants us to be. We give, and then we give even more, and then sometimes we don't get to take--even when we deserve that break--even when we deserver a second, or a minute, or an hour to just breathe.

Just like the world--we never stop moving. We go from one project to another forgetting that if we don't take the time we need to relax, we will never find the time we need to be happy. And in those moments--those brief moments that we have to ourselves, we are reminded that the world's not such a complex place...and that things aren't so difficult. Sometimes it's the small things that make us happiest--like mom's apple turnovers or a good song...or...a good dance. So that's what I did this morning: I woke up to the cold air, with drooping eyes, at the sound of my obnoxious alarm-and I got off the floor-and into my kicks- and out onto the track of Astoria Park--and DANCED. I danced to lose myself. i danced to find myself. I danced to start my day: I danced to dance. So here's a thought: take a second--take a minute--take a week--take an hour--take as long as you need--and just DANCE it out. I promise you'll feel so much better...And hey you may even inspire a stranger to join too.

P.S. If i seem tired the first time I talk to the camera...I WAS! ha. But it was the best WAKE UP EVER

Idiot's Guide to Being a Superhero

About a week ago, i wrote about how my dream occupation is: Superhero. Here is a fun "superhero" video.



To watch the infamous "My Jeans Video" of which the extra clip at the end mocks... Click Here

"Behind this heart, there's 1,000 hearts that keep me on track"

The most intimate concerts often take place in low-lit, hole-in-the-wall bars where you can literally reach out and touch the artist from the furthest point in the bar. These are the types of concerts where you get nervous to take a photo, because you believe that the flash you set off will blind the artist as well as the entire crowd that has squished together. It’s the kind of show where you can stab a line here and there back and forth with the artist—making it feel as though you have created a friendship—a relationship—an affair, for the brief forty-five minute set.

But I’ve found something even better: The kind of show where you sit down with the artist one-on-one, where he or she plays every song that he or she has ever written, and offers you a story behind each one. This is the type of show where you don’t even take photos because you feel such a personal connection between the artist and yourself. You realize quickly that a picture wouldn’t capture the moment as well as the exchange of words, and it’s the type of show where you truly feel like the only person in the room…because…well you are.

And that’s the experience that I had recently, when I got to sit down with friend, singer, and songwriter Paul Knakk, who breaks the standard “1 in 10 songs is a hit” rule and creates an abundance of music that would have overtaken the once highly rated TRL every day. Paul Knakk is a gem.

Never have I had the opportunity to truly sit down with someone and talk about their work—their creative niche—their passion, while watching them really engage in that talent that they have. It truly is a rare and exhilarating moment to see someone smile while they are doing what they love.

Paul and I attended the same high school, but I didn’t really know him until recently. A year younger than me, we never had the same classes, and we didn’t share groups of friends. I had known who he was because of pictures he had posted from when everyone was in middle school, pictures that many people got a really great laugh about when originally posted. About a year ago, Paul and I became Facebook friends, probably because one of us saw that the other had many mutual friends and we went to the same school. Soon after, I learned that Paul was pursuing music. I checked out his videos, his notes, and took the time to listen—and I really enjoyed it.

Unable to make it to one of Paul’s shows in the last year, I formed a friendship with him always discussing the music and what he had planned next. He went on to try out for American Idol this past year where he met many contacts and formed connections that will truly help his music career. The more he talked about his music—his recent show—and the fact that he was going to get a brand new amazing guitar—the more I knew that I had to hear him play live.

So the other day I finally took the opportunity to sit in on a private concert, where Paul played every song he has ever written. Two guitars, two locations, and three and a half hours later, I now knew Paul better than I had known many people that I have been acquainted with for many years. Paul’s music gives sound to his life experiences while also allowing you to connect and feel like the words have been written just for you, like Paul wanted to tell not only his story, but yours too. At most points, during my private show, I had wished that I had a pencil and paper because his lyrics drove thoughts and inspired ideas of my own. His music—his stories—they gave me chills.

Paul’s story is an amazing one that highlights most people’s experiences in adjusting to a world filled with love, hate, and jealousy. What else is amazing about Paul and his musical endeavors? He has self-taught himself, putting together his delicate words with outstanding notes. I would have guessed Paul had been playing for years…but was surprised to learn that he has only really been writing and playing for a year and a half. As Paul and I agreed, there’s nothing that other artists have—that he doesn’t.

Not everyone has the guts to go for their dreams and not everyone has the will to fight for their passions. But after leaving Paul’s house, I realized how important it is that we recognize our talents and the talents of others. Many nights we sit around and fight to find something to do. Should we go get drinks? What about a movie? How about one night where we just sit around with a close friend and experience what makes them happiest...where we just fully experience them. The lights don’t have to be dim, the location doesn’t have to be a hole-in-the-wall, the cameras don’t have to be in hand, and the conversation doesn’t have to be simple…even if it’s a simple night. This is the best kind of concert—this is the best type of night.

For more information on Paul Knakk, I suggest friending him Paulie or by joining his Facebook Group. Once becoming friends with Paul, you can check out his beautiful lyrics in his notes and watch videos of him playing. His YouTube page is currently undergoing maintenance, but you can bet that once it is back up, the volume on his site is going to soar. And at shows…well the girls will be chasing him down, of that I can guarantee. I’m lucky to know and be friends with such a talented musician.