LAS CRUCES — When I search my Easter memory banks, I find very little in the way of traditional stuff. It doesn’t seem as clear-cut, black and white (or red and green) as holidays like Christmas.
My fondest memories center around the art, activity, spirituality and pageantry of it all.
The Easter basket cellophane grass really was greener, back in the day — it wasn’t color coordinated with themed Spider-man or Dora the Explorer eggs and baskets. And the baskets were flimsy little pastel things that probably decomposed in earth-friendly ways shortly after the bunny left them. There is a lot of controversy now about kids and sugary holiday treats, but I can’t think of much that stands out in that department. The distinctive taste of stale, hollow bunny chocolate is not something I’m deeply nostalgic to relive.
My memories center more around fashion than food. Though I came from a family of great cooks and artistic homemakers, I can’t think of a single distinctive basket or Easter dinner menu. But I do remember a beautiful blue dress with cap sleeves and tucks and embroidered flowers on the bodice, and matching white shoes and purse that seemed very glam in elementary school days. And there was a simple, bright yellow sheath in my early teens that made me feel like Jackie O, back when she was Jackie Kennedy and First Lady.
I remember blowing out eggs and decorating them with my artistic mom, and the distinctive smell of hard-boiled eggs and vinegar dye.
There are lots of artistic egg memories that continue into adulthood, like decorating dozens of brown-and-white eggs with Mimbres and other Southwestern Indian designs one year in Florida, when I was missing New Mexico.
Las Cruces has been the source of many great egg memories, dating from my first encounter with Preciliana Sandoval’s cascarones. I took lots of them across the Great Pond to delight residents of our sister city in Nienberg, Germany, who loved Preciliana’s candy-and-confetti-filled little miniature piñatas. So did grandson Alexander the Great, who shared many happy hours designing exotic eggs with me.
No eggy hiding, hunting or gathering memories come to mind. I don’t remember a single Easter egg hunt, so maybe it wasn’t a family custom. Instead, my maternal grandparents hosted shell hunts for the cousins. We’d paddle in canoes to a remote shore on Lake Margrethe in northern Michigan that we called “Magic Beach,” where tropical shells would mysteriously appear. It was years before we made the connection to our grandparents’ winter trips to Florida and Mexico.
My spiritual memories are a bit exotic, too. I remember little white gloves and the smell of lilies decorating church pews and altars. And a few rare, lovely, rejuvenating Easters in my adult years spent alone, watching Franco Zeffirelli’s wonderful “Jesus of Nazareth” TV miniseries.
It’s my favorite dramatization of the Easter story. By now I know every line and gesture, including Ann (Mary Magdalene) Bancroft’s righteous indignation at disciples who wouldn’t acknowledge that Christ appeared first, post-resurrection, to a woman. I discover something new and profound with each viewing ... and each rereading of the biblical original.
Easter is especially meaningful now that I’m living in the City of the Crosses. There is something eternally restorative and inspiring about the symbol of the cross.
Sometimes I wish we had better ways to stress all the messages of Easter: not just the courage, sacrifice and suffering, but also the joy of the resurrection.
And I remember an Easter when I felt marooned and exhausted, broken in body and spirit, and friends suddenly appeared to invite me on a trip of a lifetime, a cruise on their yacht through the Caribbean.
Seasickness confined me to the boat one day when the rest of the gang were having adventures ashore. Finally, I felt better and went on deck to find a sight my amigos missed: the shore was alive with kites. A crew member explained that it was a local custom, symbolizing the ascension of souls and Christ’s return to heaven.
And nearly two decades later, that’s where my thoughts go first, when I think of Easter: not to eggs or bunnies or even lilies and altars, but to a fleet of kites on a small tropical island, symbolizing a joyful, soulful promise.
S. Derrickson Moore can be reached at dmoore@lcsun-news.com
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Happy Easter Memory-Making
LAS CRUCES — When I search my Easter memory banks, I find very little in the way of traditional stuff. It doesn’t seem as clear-cut, black and white (or red and green) as holidays like Christmas.
My fondest memories center around the art, activity, spirituality and pageantry of it all.
The Easter basket cellophane grass really was greener, back in the day — it wasn’t color coordinated with themed Spider-man or Dora the Explorer eggs and baskets. And the baskets were flimsy little pastel things that probably decomposed in earth-friendly ways shortly after the bunny left them. There is a lot of controversy now about kids and sugary holiday treats, but I can’t think of much that stands out in that department. The distinctive taste of stale, hollow bunny chocolate is not something I’m deeply nostalgic to relive.
My memories center more around fashion than food. Though I came from a family of great cooks and artistic homemakers, I can’t think of a single distinctive basket or Easter dinner menu. But I do remember a beautiful blue dress with cap sleeves and tucks and embroidered flowers on the bodice, and matching white shoes and purse that seemed very glam in elementary school days. And there was a simple, bright yellow sheath in my early teens that made me feel like Jackie O, back when she was Jackie Kennedy and First Lady.
I remember blowing out eggs and decorating them with my artistic mom, and the distinctive smell of hard-boiled eggs and vinegar dye.
There are lots of artistic egg memories that continue into adulthood, like decorating dozens of brown and white eggs with Mimbres and other Southwestern Indian designs one year in Florida, when I was missing New Mexico.
Las Cruces has been the source of many great egg memories, dating from my first encounter with Preciliana Sandoval’s cascarones. I took lots of them across the Great Pond to delight residents of our sister city in Nienberg, Germany, who loved Preciliana’s candy-and-confetti-filled little miniature piñatas. So did grandson Alexander the Great, who shared many happy hours designing exotic eggs with me.
No eggy hiding, hunting or gathering memories come to mind. I don’t remember a single Easter egg hunt, so maybe it wasn’t a family custom. Instead, my maternal grandparents hosted shell hunts for the cousins. We’d paddle in canoes to a remote shore on Lake Margrethe in Northern Michigan that we called “Magic Beach,” where tropical shells would mysteriously appear. It was years before we made the connection to our grandparents’ winter trips to Florida and Mexico.
My spiritual memories are a bit exotic, too. I remember little white gloves and the smell of lilies decorating church pews and altars. And a few rare, lovely, rejuvenating Easters in my adult years spent alone, watching Franco Zeffirelli’s wonderful “Jesus of Nazareth” TV miniseries.
It’s my favorite dramatization of the Easter story. By now I know every line and gesture, including Ann (Mary Magdalene) Bancroft’s righteous indignation at disciples who wouldn’t acknowledge that Christ appeared first, post-resurrection, to a woman. I discover something new and profound with each viewing ... and each rereading of the biblical original.
Easter is especially meaningful now that I’m living in the City of the Crosses. There is something eternally restorative and inspiring about the symbol of the cross.
Sometimes I wish we had better ways to stress all the messages of Easter: not just the courage, sacrifice and suffering, but also the joy of the resurrection.
And I remember an Easter when I felt marooned and exhausted, broken in body and spirit, and friends suddenly appeared to invite me on a trip of a lifetime, a cruise on their yacht through the Caribbean.
Seasickness confined me to the boat one day when the rest of the gang were having adventures ashore. Finally, I felt better and went on deck to find a sight my amigos missed: the shore was alive with kites. A crew member explained that it was a local custom, symbolizing the ascension of souls and Christ’s return to heaven.
And nearly two decades later, that’s where my thoughts go first, when I think of Easter: not to eggs or bunnies or even lilies and altars, but to a fleet of kites on a small tropical island, symbolizing a joyful, soulful promise.
S. Derrickson Moore can be reached at dmoore@lcsun-news.com
My fondest memories center around the art, activity, spirituality and pageantry of it all.
The Easter basket cellophane grass really was greener, back in the day — it wasn’t color coordinated with themed Spider-man or Dora the Explorer eggs and baskets. And the baskets were flimsy little pastel things that probably decomposed in earth-friendly ways shortly after the bunny left them. There is a lot of controversy now about kids and sugary holiday treats, but I can’t think of much that stands out in that department. The distinctive taste of stale, hollow bunny chocolate is not something I’m deeply nostalgic to relive.
My memories center more around fashion than food. Though I came from a family of great cooks and artistic homemakers, I can’t think of a single distinctive basket or Easter dinner menu. But I do remember a beautiful blue dress with cap sleeves and tucks and embroidered flowers on the bodice, and matching white shoes and purse that seemed very glam in elementary school days. And there was a simple, bright yellow sheath in my early teens that made me feel like Jackie O, back when she was Jackie Kennedy and First Lady.
I remember blowing out eggs and decorating them with my artistic mom, and the distinctive smell of hard-boiled eggs and vinegar dye.
There are lots of artistic egg memories that continue into adulthood, like decorating dozens of brown and white eggs with Mimbres and other Southwestern Indian designs one year in Florida, when I was missing New Mexico.
Las Cruces has been the source of many great egg memories, dating from my first encounter with Preciliana Sandoval’s cascarones. I took lots of them across the Great Pond to delight residents of our sister city in Nienberg, Germany, who loved Preciliana’s candy-and-confetti-filled little miniature piñatas. So did grandson Alexander the Great, who shared many happy hours designing exotic eggs with me.
No eggy hiding, hunting or gathering memories come to mind. I don’t remember a single Easter egg hunt, so maybe it wasn’t a family custom. Instead, my maternal grandparents hosted shell hunts for the cousins. We’d paddle in canoes to a remote shore on Lake Margrethe in Northern Michigan that we called “Magic Beach,” where tropical shells would mysteriously appear. It was years before we made the connection to our grandparents’ winter trips to Florida and Mexico.
My spiritual memories are a bit exotic, too. I remember little white gloves and the smell of lilies decorating church pews and altars. And a few rare, lovely, rejuvenating Easters in my adult years spent alone, watching Franco Zeffirelli’s wonderful “Jesus of Nazareth” TV miniseries.
It’s my favorite dramatization of the Easter story. By now I know every line and gesture, including Ann (Mary Magdalene) Bancroft’s righteous indignation at disciples who wouldn’t acknowledge that Christ appeared first, post-resurrection, to a woman. I discover something new and profound with each viewing ... and each rereading of the biblical original.
Easter is especially meaningful now that I’m living in the City of the Crosses. There is something eternally restorative and inspiring about the symbol of the cross.
Sometimes I wish we had better ways to stress all the messages of Easter: not just the courage, sacrifice and suffering, but also the joy of the resurrection.
And I remember an Easter when I felt marooned and exhausted, broken in body and spirit, and friends suddenly appeared to invite me on a trip of a lifetime, a cruise on their yacht through the Caribbean.
Seasickness confined me to the boat one day when the rest of the gang were having adventures ashore. Finally, I felt better and went on deck to find a sight my amigos missed: the shore was alive with kites. A crew member explained that it was a local custom, symbolizing the ascension of souls and Christ’s return to heaven.
And nearly two decades later, that’s where my thoughts go first, when I think of Easter: not to eggs or bunnies or even lilies and altars, but to a fleet of kites on a small tropical island, symbolizing a joyful, soulful promise.
S. Derrickson Moore can be reached at dmoore@lcsun-news.com
Auditions today in Las Cruces
BAM CASTING, L.L.C., IS NOW CASTING EXTRAS FOR THE FEATURE FILM:
THE YEAR ONE
Starring: JACK BLACK / MICHAEL CERA & DIRECTED BY HAROLD RAMIS
WHERE: HOTEL ENCANTO (CONFERENCE ROOM)
705 TELSHOR BLVD
LAS CRUCES, NM 88011
(575) 522 - 4300
WHEN: TUESDAY, MARCH 18th, 2008
10AM – 5PM (OPEN CALL IS FREE!)
SEEKING EXTRAS OF ALL AGES, RACES AND ETHNICITIES, in particularly:
*** HISPANIC, MEXICAN, PUERTO RICAN, INDIAN, DARK AFRICAN AMERICANS, ASIAN, CHINESE, EGYPTIAN, HEBREW, JEWISH, & CAUCASIAN ETHNICITIES OR BACKGROUND
*** REAL JUGGLERS, METALSMITHS, & ARTISANS
*** BOYS & GIRLS – 5 TO 10 YEARS OLD
*** MEN IN THEIR 30’S & 40’S 6FT TALL AND UP!!! (If you are not 6ft, we still want you to come!!)
ALL APPLICANTS (if you have one) SHOULD BRING A SELF-PHOTOGRAPH NO LARGER THAN 4X6
THE YEAR ONE
Starring: JACK BLACK / MICHAEL CERA & DIRECTED BY HAROLD RAMIS
WHERE: HOTEL ENCANTO (CONFERENCE ROOM)
705 TELSHOR BLVD
LAS CRUCES, NM 88011
(575) 522 - 4300
WHEN: TUESDAY, MARCH 18th, 2008
10AM – 5PM (OPEN CALL IS FREE!)
SEEKING EXTRAS OF ALL AGES, RACES AND ETHNICITIES, in particularly:
*** HISPANIC, MEXICAN, PUERTO RICAN, INDIAN, DARK AFRICAN AMERICANS, ASIAN, CHINESE, EGYPTIAN, HEBREW, JEWISH, & CAUCASIAN ETHNICITIES OR BACKGROUND
*** REAL JUGGLERS, METALSMITHS, & ARTISANS
*** BOYS & GIRLS – 5 TO 10 YEARS OLD
*** MEN IN THEIR 30’S & 40’S 6FT TALL AND UP!!! (If you are not 6ft, we still want you to come!!)
ALL APPLICANTS (if you have one) SHOULD BRING A SELF-PHOTOGRAPH NO LARGER THAN 4X6
Friday, March 14, 2008
Celebrate St. Pat’s Day with green chile and a turquoise margarita
By S. Derrickson Moore
Sun-News reporter
LAS CRUCES — It’s hard to imagine a worse time for a fiesta than Monday — especially the way some revelers choose to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day in America.
If your idea of full-tilt erin go bragh involves consuming massive quantities of green beer, your work week could be off to a rocky start.
Since many of us are still coping with sleep deprivation and playing catch-up with REM time after last Sunday’s Daylight Saving Time switch, it’s hard to spring forward into a new fiesta mode.
The thing is, most of us aren’t Irish anyway. According to www.census.gov, “Irish is among the top five ancestries in every state but two: Hawaii and New Mexico.”
The same site tells us Ireland is the source of the nation’s second most frequently reported ancestry and that 34.5 million United States residents claim Irish ancestry, “almost nine times the population of Ireland itself: (4.1 million).”
So St. Patrick’s Day is arguably more All-American than Irish, through it commemorates what is believed to be the day of death of Patrick, who introduced Christianity to Ireland in the 5th century.
Like most New Mexicans, Patrick wasn’t Irish, either. He was born in Britain, and was captured as a teenager by Irish raiders. He made good his escape, returned home and became a deacon, a bishop and later a missionary to the land of his former captors, so successfully that he became Ireland’s patron saint.
It’s an interesting story and worthy of some sort of celebration.
And we do celebrate. According to Hallmarkresearch.com, 8 million of us will send cards, making St. Patrick’s day observance the ninth-largest card-sending occasion in the United States, and 93.3 million of us plan to wear green.
The numbers vary according to several Web sites I checked, but the consensus is, we’ll blow a bundle on things like green beer, corned beef and cabbage, shamrock plants and green and white chrysanthemums.
I say, let’s give St. Pat his due, but do it the Nuevo Mexico way.
Monday, like any time in the Land of Enchantment, is a great day for the wearin’ o’ the turquoise and the eatin’ of the green chile.
And there are places in the Mesilla Valley where you can combine both…and even add a third dimension with the eatin’ o’ the green chile, and the wearin’ — and drinkin’ — o’ the turquoise.
The Double Eagle in Mesilla has a signature drink that includes a real chunk of turquoise, all polished and suitable for plucking out and saving to create a jewelry souvenir.
“It’s a best-seller, very popular with tourists We use a touch of blue curacao (an orange liqueur with a deep blue color) to give it a turquoise blue color when mixed with the light yellow sweet ’n’ sour,” said Double Eagle manager Jerry Harrell, who invites alternative St. Pat’s day revelers to “come have a couple and make a set of earrings!”
Or green purists could get the color right and still keep the local emphasis by imbibing green chile beer.
It’s a pan-cultural, fiesta-fusion, win-win celebration. ¡Viva San Patricio!
S. Derrickson Moore can be reached at dmoore@lcsun-news.com
Sun-News reporter
LAS CRUCES — It’s hard to imagine a worse time for a fiesta than Monday — especially the way some revelers choose to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day in America.
If your idea of full-tilt erin go bragh involves consuming massive quantities of green beer, your work week could be off to a rocky start.
Since many of us are still coping with sleep deprivation and playing catch-up with REM time after last Sunday’s Daylight Saving Time switch, it’s hard to spring forward into a new fiesta mode.
The thing is, most of us aren’t Irish anyway. According to www.census.gov, “Irish is among the top five ancestries in every state but two: Hawaii and New Mexico.”
The same site tells us Ireland is the source of the nation’s second most frequently reported ancestry and that 34.5 million United States residents claim Irish ancestry, “almost nine times the population of Ireland itself: (4.1 million).”
So St. Patrick’s Day is arguably more All-American than Irish, through it commemorates what is believed to be the day of death of Patrick, who introduced Christianity to Ireland in the 5th century.
Like most New Mexicans, Patrick wasn’t Irish, either. He was born in Britain, and was captured as a teenager by Irish raiders. He made good his escape, returned home and became a deacon, a bishop and later a missionary to the land of his former captors, so successfully that he became Ireland’s patron saint.
It’s an interesting story and worthy of some sort of celebration.
And we do celebrate. According to Hallmarkresearch.com, 8 million of us will send cards, making St. Patrick’s day observance the ninth-largest card-sending occasion in the United States, and 93.3 million of us plan to wear green.
The numbers vary according to several Web sites I checked, but the consensus is, we’ll blow a bundle on things like green beer, corned beef and cabbage, shamrock plants and green and white chrysanthemums.
I say, let’s give St. Pat his due, but do it the Nuevo Mexico way.
Monday, like any time in the Land of Enchantment, is a great day for the wearin’ o’ the turquoise and the eatin’ of the green chile.
And there are places in the Mesilla Valley where you can combine both…and even add a third dimension with the eatin’ o’ the green chile, and the wearin’ — and drinkin’ — o’ the turquoise.
The Double Eagle in Mesilla has a signature drink that includes a real chunk of turquoise, all polished and suitable for plucking out and saving to create a jewelry souvenir.
“It’s a best-seller, very popular with tourists We use a touch of blue curacao (an orange liqueur with a deep blue color) to give it a turquoise blue color when mixed with the light yellow sweet ’n’ sour,” said Double Eagle manager Jerry Harrell, who invites alternative St. Pat’s day revelers to “come have a couple and make a set of earrings!”
Or green purists could get the color right and still keep the local emphasis by imbibing green chile beer.
It’s a pan-cultural, fiesta-fusion, win-win celebration. ¡Viva San Patricio!
S. Derrickson Moore can be reached at dmoore@lcsun-news.com
Thursday, March 6, 2008
MOVIE AUDITIONS FOR "THE YEAR ONE"
Casting Calls: Alamagordo, San Juan Pueblo, Truth or Consequences
BAM CASTING, L.L.C., IS NOW CASTING EXTRAS FOR THE FEATURE FILM
Starring: JACK BLACK / MICHAEL CERA & DIRECTED BY HAROLD RAMIS
ALAMOGORDO, NEW MEXICO
WHERE:
HOLIDAY INN EXPRESS
100 KERRY AVENUE
ALAMOGORDO, NEW MEXICO, 88310
(IN THE CONFERENCE ROOM)
(505) 434 - 9773
WHEN:
SATURDAY, MARCH 15th, 2008
11AM – 6PM (OPEN CALL IS FREE!)
SEEKING EXTRAS OF ALL AGES, RACES AND ETHNICITIES, in particular:
*** HISPANIC, MEXICAN, PUERTO RICAN, INDIAN, DARK AFRICAN AMERICANS, ASIAN, CHINESE, EGYPTIAN, HEBREW, JEWISH, & CAUCASIAN ETHNICITIES/DECENTS
ALL APPLICANTS SHOULD BRING A SELF-PHOTOGRAPH NO LARGER THAN 4X6 (if you have one)
SAN JUAN PUEBLO, NEW MEXICO
WHERE:
OHKAY CASINO & RESORT
HIGHWAY 68
SAN JUAN PUEBLO, NEW MEXICO, 87566
(IN CONFERENCE ROOM)
(505) 747 - 1668
WHEN:
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 19th, 2008
11AM – 6PM (OPEN CALL IS FREE!)
SEEKING EXTRAS OF HEBREW, JEWISH, & CAUCASIAN DECENT, in particular:
*** Men/Women – 20’s to 50’s
*** Dancers (Girls) – 18 to 21 years old (or you look this young)
*** Girls and Boys – 6 months old to 15 years old
*** HEBREW, JEWISH, & CAUCASIAN ETHNICITIES/DECENTS
ALL APPLICANTS SHOULD BRING A SELF-PHOTOGRAPH NO LARGER THAN 4X6 (if you have one)
TRUTH OR CONSEQUENCES, NEW MEXICO
WHERE:
SIERRA GRANDE LODGE & SPA CONFERENCE CENTER
(THE VERA) – RIGHT NEXT TO THE SIERRA GRANDE
500 MAIN STREET
TRUTH OR CONSEQUENCES, NEW MEXICO, 87901
(575) 894 - 6976
WHEN:
SUNDAY, MARCH 16th, 2008
11AM – 6PM (OPEN CALL IS FREE!)
SEEKING EXTRAS OF ALL AGES, RACES AND ETHNICITIES, in particular:
*** HISPANIC, MEXICAN, PUERTO RICAN, INDIAN, DARK AFRICAN AMERICANS, ASIAN, CHINESE, EGYPTIAN, HEBREW, JEWISH, & CAUCASIAN ETHNICITIES/DECENTS
*** REAL JUGGLERS, METALSMITHS, & ARTISANS
*** BOYS & GIRLS – 5 TO 15 YEARS OLD
ALL APPLICANTS SHOULD BRING A SELF-PHOTOGRAPH NO LARGER THAN 4X6 (if you have one)
Jennifer Hoffman
jenniferh@ballantinespr.com
Tel: 505-216-0889
Cell: 505-603-8643
Ballantines PR
http://www.ballantinespr.com
If you would rather not receive future email messages from Ballantines PR, let us know by clicking here.
Ballantines PR, 60 East San Francisco Street, Sante Fe, NM 87504 United States
BAM CASTING, L.L.C., IS NOW CASTING EXTRAS FOR THE FEATURE FILM
Starring: JACK BLACK / MICHAEL CERA & DIRECTED BY HAROLD RAMIS
ALAMOGORDO, NEW MEXICO
WHERE:
HOLIDAY INN EXPRESS
100 KERRY AVENUE
ALAMOGORDO, NEW MEXICO, 88310
(IN THE CONFERENCE ROOM)
(505) 434 - 9773
WHEN:
SATURDAY, MARCH 15th, 2008
11AM – 6PM (OPEN CALL IS FREE!)
SEEKING EXTRAS OF ALL AGES, RACES AND ETHNICITIES, in particular:
*** HISPANIC, MEXICAN, PUERTO RICAN, INDIAN, DARK AFRICAN AMERICANS, ASIAN, CHINESE, EGYPTIAN, HEBREW, JEWISH, & CAUCASIAN ETHNICITIES/DECENTS
ALL APPLICANTS SHOULD BRING A SELF-PHOTOGRAPH NO LARGER THAN 4X6 (if you have one)
SAN JUAN PUEBLO, NEW MEXICO
WHERE:
OHKAY CASINO & RESORT
HIGHWAY 68
SAN JUAN PUEBLO, NEW MEXICO, 87566
(IN CONFERENCE ROOM)
(505) 747 - 1668
WHEN:
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 19th, 2008
11AM – 6PM (OPEN CALL IS FREE!)
SEEKING EXTRAS OF HEBREW, JEWISH, & CAUCASIAN DECENT, in particular:
*** Men/Women – 20’s to 50’s
*** Dancers (Girls) – 18 to 21 years old (or you look this young)
*** Girls and Boys – 6 months old to 15 years old
*** HEBREW, JEWISH, & CAUCASIAN ETHNICITIES/DECENTS
ALL APPLICANTS SHOULD BRING A SELF-PHOTOGRAPH NO LARGER THAN 4X6 (if you have one)
TRUTH OR CONSEQUENCES, NEW MEXICO
WHERE:
SIERRA GRANDE LODGE & SPA CONFERENCE CENTER
(THE VERA) – RIGHT NEXT TO THE SIERRA GRANDE
500 MAIN STREET
TRUTH OR CONSEQUENCES, NEW MEXICO, 87901
(575) 894 - 6976
WHEN:
SUNDAY, MARCH 16th, 2008
11AM – 6PM (OPEN CALL IS FREE!)
SEEKING EXTRAS OF ALL AGES, RACES AND ETHNICITIES, in particular:
*** HISPANIC, MEXICAN, PUERTO RICAN, INDIAN, DARK AFRICAN AMERICANS, ASIAN, CHINESE, EGYPTIAN, HEBREW, JEWISH, & CAUCASIAN ETHNICITIES/DECENTS
*** REAL JUGGLERS, METALSMITHS, & ARTISANS
*** BOYS & GIRLS – 5 TO 15 YEARS OLD
ALL APPLICANTS SHOULD BRING A SELF-PHOTOGRAPH NO LARGER THAN 4X6 (if you have one)
Jennifer Hoffman
jenniferh@ballantinespr.com
Tel: 505-216-0889
Cell: 505-603-8643
Ballantines PR
http://www.ballantinespr.com
If you would rather not receive future email messages from Ballantines PR, let us know by clicking here.
Ballantines PR, 60 East San Francisco Street, Sante Fe, NM 87504 United States
Hanging with newsroom supermodels
LAS CRUCES — America really is still the land of opportunity, I was thinking the other day, while hanging out in the newsroom with my fellow supermodels, including cover girl Tracy Patrick and video vixen Jenn Kistler.
This is kind of a Clark Kent-Superman situation, though in this case, you may know our superstars more by their not-so-secret journalistic identities: Jenn is Pulse editor and Tracy is our online editor.
While doing a story about what it takes to make a music video, Jenn had a running role in a Jared Sagal video … literally. She was shown running with her co-stars and as fate would have it, she’s also a marathoner who has chronicled her runs and training regimen in her own blog.
And Tracy, of course, is staring at you at sites all over the Mesilla Valley, from the cover of this month’s Healthy U magazine. That’s Tracy’s beautiful, supersized aqua eyeball over the “Saving Your Vision” headline.
“I’m not sure my eyes are really that blue,” Tracy said last week, when I asked her about her first cover gig.
It’s true that the really great newsroom supermodels are modest … and often anonymous.
Modeling, even newsroom modeling, is generally regarded as a young woman’s game, and I must admit that after a long career, I’m happy to turn things over to a new generation.
But I do keep my hand in, now and again — literally. That was my hand you saw modeling Dracula and skeleton rings in a Halloween feature last fall. Usually the glam hand gigs go to my supermodel colleague Amanda Husson. Amanda’s not only a great singer, fine writer and one of the best editors I’ve ever worked with, she also has very pretty hands.
It might be nice to say my experienced, expressive appendages won out after a spirited hand-to-hand competition, but the truth is, deadlines were looming and it was Amanda’s day off, so I was recruited.
If it were generally known how easy it is to get in print, I suspect newsrooms everywhere would be prime gathering spots for models.
It’s not that we manufacture news, I stress … these are feature photos, often secondary shots, as we call them in the trade, when deadline desperation can be the mother of invention and opportunity, and the parts are usually more important than the sum of one’s pulchritude.
I’ve had a long and rewarding career that started in Michigan, when I got my first professional newspaper gig at age 13, reporting school news for the Muskegon Chronicle, and the occasional pick-up modeling assignments that came with the job.
If I remember right, my first, last and only real fashion shot as an identifiable person came during my teens, when I was asked to wear a paper dress for a day to see if a prospective fad of the late 1960s had any potential. I recall that the dress was kind of cute, but had the texture of a fast-food napkin and developed some pretty revealing rips after a few hours.
As a journalist in Portland, Ore., I covered a lot of assignments with an arty photographer, so I had several years of steady extra “modeling” work, casting ethereal shadows on various breaking news scenes and as an anonymous bystander in the fog and rain.
When I defected briefly to public relations and advertising in South Florida, my modeling career suffered almost as much as my soul. There was too much competition from the pros. Still, I managed, even in my 40s, to get my foot in the door. One of my feet, in a chic sandal, entering a gilded door, appeared in a proposed ad for an upscale gated community.
It was only a stunt-foot gig, as it turned out. They called in a professional foot for the real shoot.
But with the Halloween hand, I figure I’m already in the company of Lauren Hutton, at least in terms of career longevity.
It’s quite an accomplishment, I think, for someone who never soared much higher that 5 feet, 5 inches (and lately, have been shrinking, alas) or managed to get skinnier than a size 7 (and lately have shown no signs of shrinking in girth, alas).
Still, experimenting with video cams recently, I accidentally shot my feet and noticed my toes are holding up rather well. My focus these days remains on mentoring younger newsroom models, but I think I’ll keep my pedicure current, just in case.
This is kind of a Clark Kent-Superman situation, though in this case, you may know our superstars more by their not-so-secret journalistic identities: Jenn is Pulse editor and Tracy is our online editor.
While doing a story about what it takes to make a music video, Jenn had a running role in a Jared Sagal video … literally. She was shown running with her co-stars and as fate would have it, she’s also a marathoner who has chronicled her runs and training regimen in her own blog.
And Tracy, of course, is staring at you at sites all over the Mesilla Valley, from the cover of this month’s Healthy U magazine. That’s Tracy’s beautiful, supersized aqua eyeball over the “Saving Your Vision” headline.
“I’m not sure my eyes are really that blue,” Tracy said last week, when I asked her about her first cover gig.
It’s true that the really great newsroom supermodels are modest … and often anonymous.
Modeling, even newsroom modeling, is generally regarded as a young woman’s game, and I must admit that after a long career, I’m happy to turn things over to a new generation.
But I do keep my hand in, now and again — literally. That was my hand you saw modeling Dracula and skeleton rings in a Halloween feature last fall. Usually the glam hand gigs go to my supermodel colleague Amanda Husson. Amanda’s not only a great singer, fine writer and one of the best editors I’ve ever worked with, she also has very pretty hands.
It might be nice to say my experienced, expressive appendages won out after a spirited hand-to-hand competition, but the truth is, deadlines were looming and it was Amanda’s day off, so I was recruited.
If it were generally known how easy it is to get in print, I suspect newsrooms everywhere would be prime gathering spots for models.
It’s not that we manufacture news, I stress … these are feature photos, often secondary shots, as we call them in the trade, when deadline desperation can be the mother of invention and opportunity, and the parts are usually more important than the sum of one’s pulchritude.
I’ve had a long and rewarding career that started in Michigan, when I got my first professional newspaper gig at age 13, reporting school news for the Muskegon Chronicle, and the occasional pick-up modeling assignments that came with the job.
If I remember right, my first, last and only real fashion shot as an identifiable person came during my teens, when I was asked to wear a paper dress for a day to see if a prospective fad of the late 1960s had any potential. I recall that the dress was kind of cute, but had the texture of a fast-food napkin and developed some pretty revealing rips after a few hours.
As a journalist in Portland, Ore., I covered a lot of assignments with an arty photographer, so I had several years of steady extra “modeling” work, casting ethereal shadows on various breaking news scenes and as an anonymous bystander in the fog and rain.
When I defected briefly to public relations and advertising in South Florida, my modeling career suffered almost as much as my soul. There was too much competition from the pros. Still, I managed, even in my 40s, to get my foot in the door. One of my feet, in a chic sandal, entering a gilded door, appeared in a proposed ad for an upscale gated community.
It was only a stunt-foot gig, as it turned out. They called in a professional foot for the real shoot.
But with the Halloween hand, I figure I’m already in the company of Lauren Hutton, at least in terms of career longevity.
It’s quite an accomplishment, I think, for someone who never soared much higher that 5 feet, 5 inches (and lately, have been shrinking, alas) or managed to get skinnier than a size 7 (and lately have shown no signs of shrinking in girth, alas).
Still, experimenting with video cams recently, I accidentally shot my feet and noticed my toes are holding up rather well. My focus these days remains on mentoring younger newsroom models, but I think I’ll keep my pedicure current, just in case.
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