I've Moved!

Hi kids - Just an update for those who may stop by that I'm in the process of moving my blog over to Wordpress. In case "www.circlingtheglobe.com" isn't working, you can always try "http://circlingtheglobe.wordpress.com" to find any new (yeah, right) content.

I'll update this post once everything is sorted at my new blog home. Don't worry - all of your favorite CT reviews are already transferred. ;)

Introducing The CT Drinking Game

In honor of tomorrow's appearances on QVC, my sister and I resurrected the idea we had back in September of a drinking game, based on those little quirks the guys demonstrate during these appearances. For instance, I had noticed that on every appearance, besides trying to take over the sales pitch, Paul would always take a teeny tiny step in front of the other guys. Keith frequently gets the giggles, particularly when he thinks he's off-camera. George is either ignored completely or addressed as the token Scottish/married/old guy. Damian can't be addressed without being referred to as the youngest. Ryan looks up to the studio lights right before he sings, like he's drawing inspiration from their glare.

So why not have a little fun with these quirks and create a drinking game?

That's what all sane people do, right? Right? *hears crickets*

Anyway.... I hereby present the first official draft of the "CT on QVC" Drinking Game. This is the Heritage edition, with some items specific to tomorrow's appearance. C'mon, you just KNOW that Emmet is going to be asked, "So what's it like being the new guy?" Poor thing. He's going to need our support!

To see the full-size version, click here to view a PDF or here to view it as a JPG picture. Play along during their appearances.

There will be a running commentary on Twitter as we all watch together. If everyone remembers to hashtag their tweets "#ctqvc" then people can search by it and we can all play along and enjoy the shows together, regardless of who you follow or who follows you!

Happy St. Patty's Day, everyone. And for the love of all that's holy, please don't break down and buy an Aran sweater, which make the wearer look horribly thick at the waist. And they cost far too much! Friends don't let friends buy Connemara marble, either.

Lots of news to post from Portland/Everett... Stay tuned!

Everett & Portland Shows

Hi all! *waves*

Though I'm far too busy with work these days to be flying off across the country to go to two more Celtic Thunder shows, I'm not letting that stop me. ;)

I just wanted to stop in and say that if you're going to be going to Saturday's show in Everett or Monday's show in Portland, I'd love to say hi to the people who actually come by and read my blog! You can see pics of what I look like in the final Poughkeepsie post - there's a shot of me with Sephira. Heck, I'll probably be wearing that very same shirt! (Good concert wear is hard to find!)

I don't know if I'll have time to post any reviews, but I'll have my trusty notepad standing by. If there are any CT spottings, I'll be sure to fill you all in, as always.

Hugs!
Circling

Writing

(Note: I've been saying for YEARS that I was going to write a novel. I've always wanted to be a writer. I write at work, but I'm talking about being a novel writer. And for the last couple of years I've actually had a story in my mind that might work. So my best friend Estell (who posts at this blog) and I have begun scheduling calls to discuss what we're writing in an effort to spur one another on.

So what appears in the rest of this post is part of that story, I think. It's not edited, and it's not final... it's just a blurb. :) While it's written in the first person, it's not about ME. It's about a young girl named Grace, who has a lot of my humor.

I'm posting this here so Estell can read it and critique me on it. I like where it's going so far, if I can stick with it, maybe you'll read the rest of it in a book someday.)



CHAPTER ONE

It was, quite possibly, the worst day of my life.

My stepdad's cat woke me up around 4 a.m. Or rather, the sound of Sugar barfing on my bed woke me up. We're not talking hairballs, here. We're talking regurgitated Meow Mix on the pillow next to me.

So I did what any nearly-18-year-old would do - I left it for my mom to clean up, dragged an afghan to the living room, then curled up on the sofa and went back to sleep.

With no alarm clock to blare me out of slumber, I woke up an hour late.

While rushing about trying to get ready for school, I dropped my mascara wand down the front of my shirt.

I was late to homeroom - the third time this week - and earned myself a detention because of it.

And I'm supposed to work after school. I don't normally have a job, but I'm currently working at my stepdad's dental office to pay for a new retainer. Last week, I discovered that my baby brother Ethan had dropped my retainer in the toilet. My mom fished it out, but I don't care what she says, I'm not putting that thing in my mouth again - ever. Even if she boils it, with like, a ton of bleach.

"Fine," she'd said. "It's your choice. But you have to work off the cost of a new retainer."

Never mind that Ethan has an ongoing fascination with seeing what will flush and what will not. (In case you're wondering, an iPod is capable of being flushed away but my favorite pair of flip-flops will not flush. Nor will my hardback copy of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. My mother's wedding ring? Oh yeah, that flushed.)

Apparently it was 'irresponsible' of me to leave my retainer on the bathroom sink... in its case.
Whatever. I think her ongoing frustration with Ethan's expensive flushing habit is what has led her to requiring me to work to pay it off.

So instead of heading home after school, I get to go to my stepdad's office and busy myself with grunt-work, like filing and dusting, for two hours. Lucky me.

Though, honestly, I don't think I'll be alive by then, because I'm quite certain I'm going to die of embarrassment within the next 30 minutes.

At least, I hope so.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not suicidal or anything, and I'm not even shy as a general rule - I just would rather face imminent death than climb up on my school auditorium stage and make a fool out of myself in drama class.

You may be wondering why someone who hates being on stage, hates being looked at, and never, ever, wants to be in the spotlight would ever sign up for a drama class.

Well, I didn't.

It's a new requirement for graduation, courtesy of our new school superintendent. He's like a freaking huge art patron or something. Somehow he thinks that forcing teenagers who hate being the center of attention to get up on a stage and 'express ourselves' is going to turn me into a better person.

Ain't. Gonna. Happen.

So far this semester, I've managed to eek my way out of actually doing much acting. I've read the part of the narrator. I've volunteered to run the lights. Last week I faked a really excellent coughing fit to get out of performing a monologue when it was my turn to take the stage. It worked so well I was escorted to the nurse's office.

So maybe I am becoming a good actress after all.

Maybe it will turn out to be fire drill day. I hope so. I would be more than happy to lead my classmates to safety. Even if it was just a drill. But what if it wasn't?

Oh - that's an idea. I could start a fire.

Maybe not.

There are only eight months until graduation and I'd prefer not to spend them behind bars.
Mrs. Mackenzie is reaching into a dusty old top hat to pull out names. Please let me not be one of them.

For this particular assignment, every person in the class is to get paired up with two others and improvise a scene with a couple of props. Maybe I can pretend to be a waitress who comes in, drops off a couple of glasses for the other two players and then leaves the stage. Or the girl in the background of the cafe reading a book. Ooh - maybe they could be detectives discovering my lifeless body. That could work. Very dramatic.

There are only a few of us remaining who haven't been called up for our turn. I nervously gnawed at a rough hangnail and tried to dissolve into my chair.

One guy and two other girls. Another ten minutes' reprieve. Perhaps I can sneak in a text to my mother and have her call me. If I pretend it's some kind of family emergency, I just might—

"Grace."

Huh? I look up at Mrs. Mackenzie, who's smiling at me from the stage, in what she probably thinks is an encouraging manner. Well, yes, it's encouraging... if she's hoping to spend the next fifteen minutes cleaning vomit off the carpet. "Yes?"

Is my voice always this squeaky?

"Your group's on deck. Why don't you three go ahead up to the prop closet and take a look around for some inspiration while this group's getting set?"

Apparently I'm out of time, and out of excuses. My only hope now is to pick a simple, quiet character and get this over with. Maybe I'll play a mute, to save them from my squeaky voice.

Yes, a mute just might work.

I stand - on somewhat unsteady legs, if I'm being honest - and begin making my way to the stage. It's only then that I notice the two others in my group.

I nearly stumble as I take them in.

I've managed to get both the best and worst possible options in one swoop.

Best, in the sense of Charles Williams. Worst, in the sense of Erich Parker.

Oh, hell.

= = =

I actually know very little about Charles Williams. He's new this year and we only have this class together. It must suck transferring in your senior year, but he seems to be settling in okay.

I've never actually spoken to him directly, come to think of it.

I wouldn't have said he was overly tall, but he's taller than most of the boys in this school. But he stands out because of his hair, which is all one length, pulled back into a neat low ponytail. (He's lucky, because most teenage boys who grow out their hair have really thin, pathetically limp hair that clings to their skull and looks dirty all of the time. But his hair has enough mass and body to actually hang well and look good.)

What? What can I say... I notice hair. And his is nice, even if it is somewhat at odds with his really preppy clothing.

Other than what I've seen with my own two eyes, all I really know is that he's from England, and he's got a famous dad. His dad is some kind of Shakespearan actor and is over here in the States doing a theater run, and Charles decided to spend the year over here with him.

I've seen his dad in a couple of movies, actually, and he's pretty good.

I'm hoping this translates to Charles, and that he is also a good actor. Maybe a hereditary, 'it's in the blood' kind of thing. I sincerely hope so, because then I can let him do the brunt of the work in this scene.

Especially because I'm bound to be tongue-tied in front of the other third of our trio.

Erich Parker is, in a word, gorgeous. 'Amazing' would also work. For years he's been the object of far too many of my daydreams.

I met him when we were in the same second grade class. He wasn't gorgeous then, of course. I probably never looked at him twice - he was a goofy boy just like any other goofy boy who ran around getting sweaty with the other boys at recess, ignoring all of us girls when they weren't chasing us around or pulling our hair.

But somewhere around seventh grade, fate smiled on Erich. The other boys went through a goofy stage, where their teeth seemed larger than their faces and their arms appeared to reach to their knees while their bodies filled out out of proportion.

But not Erich. He bypassed any potential awkward stages and sailed right on through to the Land of Handsome. Wispy, dark brown hair that always looked as though he'd run his fingers through it. Dark eyelashes that sucked you into light hazel eyes. A gorgeous, wide grin which showed off teeth that hadn't even needed braces.

He wasn't that much taller than I was, but he wasn't thin. He was solid, and what he lacked in height he made up for in speed. He's, like, this amazing athlete. There are scouts coming to tomorrow night's Homecoming game to watch him play. He'll probably get a full scholarship to some great school, and people say that if he plays his cards right, he's got a shot at playing for the NFL someday.

If there's anyone I don't want to make a fool of myself in front of, it's Erich Parker.

If there's anyone more likely for me to make a fool of myself in front of, it's Erich Parker.

He makes me nervous. As if I wasn't already nervous enough.

I made my way up the stage, glancing about surreptitiously.

Fire alarm, anyone?

Final Thoughts on Poughkeepsie

Okay, this will be my last CT post for a few weeks. I am going to the concerts in Portland, Ore., and Everett, Wash., so if any of you will be there, let me know - I'd love to say hello in person. I also expect to be going to the concert in Atlanta, unless I get sent off on a work trip. (I may be spending that week in Hong Kong, but I don't know yet.) If there's anything amazing to report from those concerts, I'll be sure to let you know.

I haven't had time to post about meeting the lovely ladies of Sephira (Ruth and Joyce) after the taping. They'd driven in from New York City, and had arrived just before the intermission. They are so beautiful and charming in person! My friends and I stood talking to them for awhile, and they were so gracious. When I told them that we were so sad they weren't going on tour, and how much we'd miss them, they were quick to point out that they'd be on future tours, just not this one. They said that they were doing their own thing for now, and hoped they would have something big to share with us soon. I have no idea what that means, but I hope it means great things for them.

We we told them they followed us on Twitter, they were trying to match our real names to our Twitter names. I could tell that they really do read the posts we send them and get to know their fans. I thought it was a pretty cool thing.

Since we stood in the auditorium talking to newly met CT friends and Sephira for quite a while, it was pretty empty by the time we left. The garage across the street (where we were parked) was already empty.

Now, I should explain that the Civic Center and the only hotel anywhere around were thisclose. And by thisclose, I mean that stepping off of the sidewalk of the auditorium meant you were in the driveway of the hotel. You couldn't walk three feet outside of the venue without being on the hotel property.

I've never been a hotel groupie. (Well, I take that back. I was a regular around the Four Seasons Atlanta in 2000 when the Backstreet Boys were in town, but that's a whole other story. And in retrospect, it's pretty embarrassing.) I'm not against it, or think it's 'wrong' in any way. I just always figure that if you're at a hotel hanging around with a lot of fans, you're either going to be out of luck, or, if you see the group, you won't get the kind of experience or interaction you're hoping for.

But since the hotel was RIGHT THERE, we couldn't help walking by, and I'm kind of trying to dissuade my friend "J" from wanting to go in. We could see through the sliding glass doors into the lobby. I said something to the effect of, "Look at all those people... there's so many of them... and they're all taking pictures.... of Neil."

Um, excuse me? Neil's standing ten feet away?

Heck yeah, we went inside!

He was so kind. He had his bag over his shoulder and kept trying to sneak upstairs to go and shower. He promised to come back down, but the fans wouldn't stop coming up to him. Finally he set his bag down and settled in to chat.

It was at this point that I found a moment to talk to him and told him that he had a voice like butter. And when I asked him about the "Nori" song that he sang in the Heritage portion of the show.

He is just an utter doll. See? I snapped this photo of him and "J" after she finished telling him that his voice was 'Nat King Cole smooth'. I didn't get a photo with him, and that's perfectly fine with me. I had a moment to talk to him, and that's what's important.

Finally he was able to sneak away. The fans thinned out over time, and various band members came through - we spotted Nicole, Dave the Piano Dude, Brendan the Barbecue Master and Declan. Sharon came through and "J" got to talk to her for a few minutes too. We could tell that the group was all heading out to another location for an after party.

It was getting really late, and we were tired. "J" had traveled all night the night before, and we were starting to feel tired.

Suddenly, there was a commotion near the elevators, and there was the Golden Boy himself: Keith.

He was obviously on his way to the party and was trying not to stop. But then a fan practically stampeded over, wrapped her arm around him and smiled to her friend with a camera. He didn't have much choice but to stop for the photo.

And then another, and another. At which point he said, "last one." I don't blame him.

But "J" was by herself, standing closest to the door and said, very sweetly, "one more?" I think he realized that he could do it and then easily slip out, because there was no one else around.

Luckily I was ready with the camera.

Which took FOREVER to focus.

And I mean, forever. I was afraid that one or both of them was going to throw something at me. (Not really. that's a joke, people.) Finally the picture took, and he was off. I looked down at the display.

Holy Mother of Kodak. It was beautiful. The extra moment that the camera needed apparently gave Keith time to relax and smile.

Wow.

So the secret, my friends, if you happen to be taking a photo of Keith, wait an extra second. And you just might get perfection. :)

See you on the road!
Circling

P.S. the top picture is a scan of one of my note pages from the show, just to prove that I really do take illegible notes during the show. I'm not looking down as I write, but just trying to scribble something to remind myself later of what I saw. If I can't remember what it meant, I don't put it in the review...

Tweaked the reviews...

Hi everyone! *waves* Thanks for stopping by!

I've reordered the posts from this weekend so that they're easier to read - you'll start with the first bit of the show, then go all the way to the end. Anything in yellow is stuff that was added after the initial post... additional info, links to lyrics, etc.

You all rock. Seriously. I write these for myself - I have the world's worst memory. (If I don't scribble notes during the shows I wouldn't be able to remember anything by the time I walked out the door. I write them up so I can remember them later.) The fact that people come by here to read what I have to say kind of amazes me... and humbles me. I hope I've done a good job, though I'm sure there are tons of errors. That being said, if anyone from the Celtic Thunder organization wants to contact me to correct me, I'd welcome that kind of correction!! *wink*

I'll do my best to respond to every comment, as well as the questions in the comment sections.

Thanks again!
Circling