All the counselors hate the waiters. And the lake has alligators.

With my blogging buddy Eric (http://ericmathew.blogspot.com/) off at his old overnight camp for the week, I started thinking about my own time at camp. Though two of my very favorite movies - Indian Summer & Camp Nowhere - revolve entirely around the world of the true camp experience, I have to say I hated it. Even thought "Salute Your Shorts" has always been highly entertaining, I was not a fan of being away from home for anywhere from 3-6 weeks.

My first summer away from home was in 1992. I was eight. You think my parents wanted to get rid of me? Well, at least I wasn't five like my dad was when he spent his first summer at Camp Mayfair. My parents sent my brother and I to Camp Saginaw in the mountains of Pennsylvania. It was, as most, a typically Jewish overnight camp with many kids from the Philadelphia suburbs. There were Friday night services and forced athletic activities. Not exactly my thing, even at eight years old. I remember the horror of swimming in the lake and my utter disappointment at my mom for making me let my recently pierced ears close up just because I would be away from home. I can still picture the bunk and the bathroom. Oh god, a nightmare. Color War was the camp Olympics, and I remember singing some form of "La Cucaracha" to represent our fight song as Spain. For that summer, and the following one, there wasn't too much I really enjoyed about being away from home. For my brother, who was 11 and 12 at the time, there was a lot of trouble. The camp didn't exactly take care of the problems in the upper bunks, and, after two years at Saginaw, we moved on.



Our parents did a lot of research on camps. We often received brochures and videos from various places. This time, there were a few different camps they explored in upstate New York. Because my brother and I were both very into performing arts and music, it seemed going in a different direction was the answer. Again, I hated going, but knowing my brother was around made the summers a little easier. This time, we were bound for French Woods Festival of the Performing Arts in Hancock, NY. What's funny to me now is that the video we were sent featured an Entertainment Tonight clip about the camp. Who would've thought?

Over the years, French Woods was home to plenty of notable alumni including Jon Favreau, Adam Levine (Maroon5), Zooey Deschanel, and David Blaine. None of this information - had I known who these people were then - could have made my experience any more enjoyable. I was 100% that kid that wrote letters home stating things like, "I hate this place. Come get me. I don't like anyone." Though I made friends with kids in the bunk, I dreaded visiting day because it only meant my parents would leave me there all over again. My homesickness was such that I couldn't wait in those lines to speak to my parents once phone calls were allowed. My brother was given a list of things I wanted him to tell them, and that was it. My communication with anyone was left to letters and the occasional care package.

For three weeks one summer and six weeks the following two summers, I spent most of my time rehearsing for various musicals - Nightmare Before Christmas, Redhead, Starting Here Starting Now (worst crap I've ever heard in my life) - and sitting by a pottery wheel. I ended up with weird craft items like needlepoint pillows, woodcarving names, and leather bracelets I stamped. Though I took my swim test every year, I couldn't bring myself to swim in the lake and usually spent swim activity time sitting on the grassy hill. I rarely went to canteen at night to get junk food and instead chose to return to the bunk and take the longest shower possible while no one was around. Luckily the theatre kids' version of Color War was something called SING, a vocal competition, and the camp had activities like Rock Band concerts and circus performances. While it all sounds fun and completely entertaining to me now, I never ever wanted to go back there by choice.

After three summers are French Woods, I was to return for a six week session all by myself when my brother decided not to go. Figuring I'd rather stay home for the summer heading into 8th grade, I was no longer an overnight camper. When I went to see a bunch of my friends perform in Summer Theatre's "Schoolhouse Rock," the 1998 summer was already decided... And then came Godspell. Oh, the memories.

I often vow to my mom that I will never send my kids away to camp. When you think about it, I went to camp and hated it. I went to school in Miami and moved back. I moved to Los Angeles and returned after a while. I guess it really is true that home will be where the heart is. And where my heart is, is where my parents are.

"Camp is very entertaining, and they say we'll have some run if it stops raining."

Here I am. Signed, sealed, delivered. I'm yours.

Two days ago my friend was telling me about his trouble with a hacked Facebook account. In a message he posted on his profile before deactivating, he encouraged his friends to contact him in other ways and even stated the possibility of going "old school" and writing an actual letter. Since he mentioned it, I've been thinking about the lost art of letter writing. E-mails not included.

Like most people, I have always enjoyed getting what so many of us now call snail mail. Letters delivered by post that arrive in that box at the end of the driveway (apartment lobby, free-standing box on a property) bring with them a sense of excitement. Nowadays it seems that the only things that arrive that way are bills and junk that gets thrown into the trash. And unfortunately most event invitations have been transformed into Facebook events or e-vites. The day I see a wedding invitation in my inbox I think I'll cry. So why is it that people have stopped communicating almost completely through such a time-honored means?

With so many things, there is the need for instant gratification. When I worked at a desk job, I almost never even needed to pick up the phone. Inter-office communicating was so fast through e-mail that sometimes it was just easier to avoid actually speaking to a person. I wonder if students in elementary school are still taught the process of actually handwriting or typing a physical letter that requires a stamp to be delivered. I remember pen pal programs with other schools. The teachers would collect all the letters from one class and send them off. A few weeks later, we would all receive a response. Do kids have e-mail pen pals now? How uneventful. We were also taught how to write business letters. Kids would pick a product or a company and draft a letter of complaint or congrats to be sent to a place like Nabisco or Proctor and Gamble. Usually the answer came in some form of coupon, maybe for things like dish soap, things a fifth grader didn't need. But still, the idea of waiting for that return letter in the mailbox made it so much more exciting.

I miss letters. I miss getting real mail so much so that a few years ago when I was part of a fan network for a group that shall remain nameless (no, not Jonas Brothers), someone organized a pen pal system, and I exchanged addresses with fellow fans. The object was to physically mail letters and receive ones in return, simple. It was fun to get to know someone that I had something in common with through what is now considered an archaic form of communication. Writing the perfect letter takes skill and patience. There's no unsend option, and there's no retract a message form. Maybe that's the problem for people. Once it's out there, the process is completely irreversible. No backspace, no delete, no immediate apology. You've said it. It's done.

Today, I maintain the fact that the actual letter appearing in someone's pile of mail is far more effective than a quickly typed message. After a poor flying experience with Southwest Airlines, my brother and I both wrote complaint letters. With my apparent skill, I received a phone call and $400 in flight vouchers. Recently, I crafted a letter to Cunard Cruiselines following my parents' disappointing trip. They were given $1000 in on board credit. I promise you, it is not the same when you simply send off an e-mail.

In the drawer of my desk, I still have a letter my friend Ari sent to me (on 'N Sync stationery) back in high school. Even though we saw each other almost every day and spent that summer officially stuck in her house or mine, the random letter made me smile. Guaranteed, if it had been sent in any other way, I wouldn't still have it, and it wouldn't have meant as much.

All this being said, I would love to start the letter writing process and find some sort of pen pal somewhere. As long as no one sends me chain letters. I always hated those things...

"Ooo-eee, babe, you set my soul on fire. Now I know you're my heart's only desire."

Now I gotta cut loose. Footloose.

This morning, I signed on to Twitter, and I was met with words that mark the end of an era. At the end of the new season of "Entertainment Tonight" (its 30th), host Mary Hart will leave the show. As host of the number one entertainment news magazine, Hart, for me, remains one of the very few credible people in this area of journalism. In her absence, ET will seriously be missing a television icon. A celebrity in her own right, Hart leaves the show with a gaping hole.



For 2 and 1/2 years, I was an employee of ET and The Insider. My time spent with both productions is something I think about and smile. Joey Fatone. Jeremy Piven. Jonas Brothers. As with any job come the daily gripes, but I can honestly say, working there was a dream come true, and I ultimately made the changes I saw necessary for myself. I guess it does sound silly to say this job was a dream one because, for most of my friends and former colleagues, it's common knowledge that I grew extremely tired of my day-to-day work, and the only light I began to see was working with interns. In addition, my dreams never included petty cash and timecards. That being said, I do believe it's hard to realize some of your dreams are coming true until after the experience has passed.

When I was 13, I was vacationing in Los Angeles with my family. We discovered that the Sunday night of our stay was also the night the Hollywood Foreign Press Association would be holding the annual Golden Globe Awards at the Beverly Hilton Hotel. Not knowing what to expect, my parents and I made our way over to the venue and joined some fans on the top of a two-level parking structure at the entrance to the red carpet. Back in 1997 the event was a lot smaller than it is today. There weren't huge grandstands for fans, and the media attention was much less. Still, it was a Hollywood award show, and it was fascinating. I remember using a hotel notepad to remember all the people I saw. I can still see Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman holding hands and Madonna with Carlos Leon, just months after having her daughter.

My parents did their research, and the following year - and many after, we became red carpet spectators. The Golden Globes always fall around my birthday, and I still smile thinking about the trips to Melrose to pick out a new pair of Doc Marten boots. Over the years, I collected numerous photos and autographs. Some of my favorites being Angelina Jolie, Johnny Depp, and Elijah Wood (oh, now that's a story...). However one memory in particular became a guiding force and what I thought was a very far off dream. With my family, I walked around the Paramount lot on a tour of the only major studio with its facilities still located in Hollywood. I remember the stories of Lucille Ball and the parking lot/water tank. I visited the ET set. This was 1998.

At the time, I had a friend whose dad worked in publicity for Paramount. When I visited her at her mom's Dreamworks office, she gave me a press kit for A Very Brady Sequel. At that moment, I decided I was going to work in movie publicity for Paramount and would drive through those famed gates every day.

Year after year of Golden Globe going and moving up through high school and college, I solidified my desire to be an entertainment publicist. Not only would I be working at Paramount, I told myself, one day I would be working on the red carpet. In January 2006, I spent the day prior to the Golden Globes in the Beverly Hilton with my parents. Before I left to start my final semester of college I told them that the following year I would be working there.

I spent my last summer at home waiting tables and saving money for the "Emily Goes to California Fund." As luck would have it, my parents, who were on a cruise, found themselves seated next to ET executive producer Linda Bell Blue. Sparing you all the details, I can simply say that the rest is history. Suddenly, I walked past that park named for Lucille Ball every day, and I would pass by the sky backdrop and water tank whenever we felt like taking a walk. I remember standing on ET's Paramount soundstage watching a clip that was going to be used to the Broadcasting and Cable Hall of Fame. The brief video included so many red carpet years that I was a part of in a very different way. It was really corny, but I was totally welling up with tears. Mary Hart wasn't just walking down the carpet, she was standing right in front of me. And in January of 2007, I was on the Golden Globe red carpet but on the press side this time.





With Hart gone, I can only wonder what will happen to the program. A genuinely kind person who would hold open doors or greet anyone that passed her by, she is a true star, with caliber greater than some of those she has interviewed over the years. Unlike many of her competitors, she doesn't produce an air of believing she is just as great or greater than the person of whom she asks questions. There's no need to pretend she's best friends with Harrison Ford or Julia Roberts because when you're Mary Hart, people respect you. Many speculate that "The Insider" host Lara Spencer will get the gig, but as a current Washington Post article states, Hart is simply irreplaceable. While I'm not so secretly hoping that ET brings Jann Carl back, I can't even imagine Spencer in the position. She just can't compare.

This truly marks the end of a television era. Let's hope they bring John Tesh for the goodbye. :-)

"I get this feeling that time's just holding me down."
A very special video for you today. A Mary Hart classic.

I Wanna Love You Forever

And they lived happily ever after...

If you watch ABC's version of the search for true - television - love, you already know by now that Ali Fedotowsky picked Roberto Martinez to be the last man kneeling with a gorgeous Neil Lane sparkler. As I wrote previously, though many speculated the season finale would conclude with Ali standing alone, she did in fact choose the guy that I picked from the very first night they met.

It was in those two hours that Ali introduced both upstanding men to her family. While her father felt that Roberto was the better pick, Ali's mom, brother, and sister all sided with me in their admiration for Chris. I can't say I wasn't completely heartbroken for Chris when Ali decided to let him go at the start of what was to be their final date. When she entered his beautiful suite in Bora Bora, Ali spoke a mile a minute, clearly signifying her nervous desire to send him home. I truly think that over the course of this season, the bachelorette redeemed herself and proved to be a genuinely nice person with a good heart. Her previous stabs at Vienna maybe only signified a competitive spirit and the need to win. Through her own process, Ali became likable, minus that horrifying laugh, and I found myself pulling for her.

So what happens now? Is it possible that the road to love can be this easy? Picture yourself the one person in a room of 25 admirers all told they are in this place to vie for your affections. Undoubtedly the circumstance becomes intoxicating, and you're likely to discover that at least one person there has feelings for you. But are they there just to win? In truth, it's a competition, and the goal - at every rose ceremony - is to be given the go-ahead to the next round. Can it be real at all? While former bachelorette Trista Sutter has been married to her pick for the final rose since 2003, most of these supposedly real TV romances have faltered. What seems to be all happiness and romance after that last episode can quickly fall prey to gossip magazines and red carpet photographs.

Now, the American public waits. Will the engagement ring be returned to the production? Or will Ali and Roberto walk down the aisle with millions watching?

And what happens to my poor Chris? Ah, Chris...

"You set my soul at ease. Chase darkness out of view."
1. Remember when Jessica Simpson could really sing?
2. Take a look at a young Ashlee Simpson.

Today I Met The Boy I'm Gonna Marry.

I watch "The Bachelorette." I wish I didn't, but I do. Over the last couple of seasons, it's sort of become a snowball, forcing me to watch Bachelor after Bachelorette on a quest for television true love. I didn't watch all of DeAnna's season, but I knew of Jason (and mistakenly liked him). I ended up watching his season of "The Bachelor," and, although I was a huge Melissa fan, I grew to really like Jillian. Of course, I then needed to see this Canadian's search for THE ONE. Well, enter Jake. A man of great honor, flying on the wings of love to that perfect woman.



I spent that horrible season rooting for Tenley though I didn't completely discount Vienna. If you follow pop culture at all, you know how well that turned out. Initially, I found something really sweet about Ali, the San Francisco resident and Massachusetts native who, at 25, wisely chose her career over a man. Yet along the way, Ali began to show her true colors, and those vibrant hues involved throwing Vienna under the bus. But with the season required "Women Tell All" special, Ali offered an apology and explained that she didn't know how horribly blunt she had been until she actually watched herself. Clearly, Ali was not taught, as I was, to think before speaking. A little ABC image rehab, and I was a guaranteed viewer for the next round of the show. I waited to watch Ali join a long list of people unsuccessful at attempting to find a life of love and happiness before millions of viewers. Not all of them have been as lucky as Trista. In fact, if you look at his road to marriage with Molly, Jason wasn't so roadblock free either.

I write this entry on the final night of Ali's go at hooking the perfect man into proposing with an ABC supplied diamond, secured from one of the most sought after Hollywood jewelers (of late, I do believe that honor has gone to Neil Lane). This season has been full of drama and - GASP - heartbreak, leaving our girl-next-door wondering whether or not anyone can ever love her back. Exit Justin "Rated R," and Frank, and that creepy guy Casey that sang to her (REPEATEDLY). Enter two guys that TV makes seem like perfect catches.

Let's begin with Roberto.



Pretty hot, right? Well, I'm smart, because I picked Roberto the very first night, even before Ali bestowed upon him the honorable First Impression Rose. Around Roberto, Ali seemed like a nervous high school girl, and it was obvious that she was completely interested in knowing him beyond the five minutes of chatting we see on TV. Fast-forward to the appearance in The Lion King in NYC and their date in Portugal, and now Roberto is one of two left standing. The former baseball player and very, very good-looking insurance salesman (blah), would easily be my pick for Ali's heart. Do not mistake me. He would not be MY pick.

Moving on to Chris. Oh, Chris...



I'd be lying if I said I picked him from the start. I did like him from the beginning, but it was my mom that immediately decided Chris was a contender. Over the course of group dates and one on one dates, I picked Chris for myself! Who could deny this guy? Completely a family man, and devoted to his mother that recently passed. Though Ali has claimed that her relationship with Chris was slow to develop, maybe he's a guy that's a little bit more normal and doesn't fall in love with a girl right away, just because the situation demands it. I have determined that Chris is perfect. But he's not perfect for Ali.

So, how does it end? A lot has been written about the fact that it's likely Ali did not make anyone feel obligated to propose to her at the end on some beautiful island. And if you look back over her heart to hearts with host Chris Harrison, it seems to make perfect sense that maybe after all the heartbreak, Ali just isn't ready to believe someone will commit fully to her. However, that being said, I think Roberto and Ali would make a good pair. Chris is ready to settle down right now, and Ali, well, she's still looking to have some fun. Did anyone else notice how tipsy she got in Iceland? The nervous laughter turned into drunken laughter...

Only about 30 minutes until it airs. To be continued...

"He smiled at me and the music started playing, here comes the bride when he walked through the door."
(Pardon the Disney video. I wasn't able to find footage of Darlene Love singing one of my all-time favorite songs.)

I gotta go back, back, back to school again.

Today, my friends, is a two-blog day.

After all the wedding business this morning, I took a trip to the mall. Suddenly, I was jealous that there will no longer be Back to School Shopping for me. You'd think this would have hit me earlier considering the fact that I've been out of college for four years and out of high school even longer, obviously. It's slightly scary to think about the fact that I went shopping for freshman year of high school in 1998. Um, how has it been that long? Where are the lockers? And the bookbags/backpacks? When did I last have a Trapper-Keeper?

For some reason, today, I decided that knowing I will never be shopping for those "impress your classmates" outfits until they are for my own children sort of upset me. Though I was never that kid who had a grandparent that gave her a dollar amount and took her into a mall, nor was I one of those Cherry Hill girls that walked out with armloads of jeans from Smith Bros, I do remember my mom taking my brother and me for a few new things, especially an outfit for the first day. A couple of weeks ago I was looking through old photo albums, and I was completely mortified by the things I thought were cool enough for that first day on the bus. Thankfully there are no first day photos from high school. I think we stopped that trend with sixth grade. However, cool or not, it was something I did every year. It is something kids all over the country do about this time. Now, they pick the skinniest jeans (both the girls and the boys, scandalous), the trendiest top, and the newest footwear. Don't you remember boys getting the newest Air Jordans or those weird sneakers with the pumps on them? What the hell was the point of that anyway?



Back to school shopping is sort of a rite of passage. You go from elementary school to middle school. Middle school to high school, and so on... For those that prolong the schooling experience, this yearly activity goes on and on. For the lucky ones that are teachers, something about Back to School Shopping still seems acceptable. New dresses. New shoes. New sweaters. Darn, I missed my calling. The one opportunity in life to excuse dropping a load of cash on all sorts of new wardrobe items. Why didn't someone include this memo when we took career tests in high school? Maybe I would have checked something more along the lines of educator instead of communications. Although, that test told me I'd be in advertising. Hmm... For most, you reach adulthood and the work world knowing that your parents will most likely never take you into the mall just to let you impress your friends. Be honest, we all know that's what it was really about.

Instead of walking into Abercrombie (and getting a headache from the cologne) or Gap with a blatant excuse for new duds, many - if not most - of us resort to buying new things as needed. We find a few seasonal staples, and we resign ourselves to spending money on things like rent, groceries, phone bills, etc. If you happen to work in a casual environment, like I did for a few years, new clothes are excused as work attire. If you're an office type, you get a new pair of slacks or a sensible pair of flats to go with last season's ensemble. Or, if you're like me and you work in a place with a uniform (white shirt, white apron, shitty jeans, non-skid shoes), you simply forget buying anything at all. Or, if you do, at least you know it will last a while because it will barely be worn.

Today I truly longed for any reason at all to say I needed some of the new clothes. And yesterday, in Staples, I wanted to buy a planner and notebooks just for the hell of it! What the hell do I need that for? Ah, right, I don't.

Anyone want to go back to school with me?

"You won't find me 'til the clock strikes three. I'm gonna be there 'til then."

I love you. I do, I do, I do, I do, I do...

Summer is wedding time. And now, at the age of 26, it seems the fever of people all around getting engaged, married, and, gulp, even having children gets closer and closer, bringing the realization of one's single life all the more present. Today, with the news of Chelsea Clinton's marriage - to a nice Jewish boy, mind you - I felt inspired to write about the prospect of getting married and the idea of knowing it's far off into the future.

I have a great group of friends. The number of those I'm extremely close with is small and perfectly so. Maybe that explains why this week I only just received my second invite to a friend's wedding (I must add, this invitation is absolutely the coolest thing I have ever seen... Words can't do it justice). And I'll be off to LA for my brother's wedding in just a few weeks. However, multiply my close circle of friends by the world of Facebook, and it seems as though I have been part of a number of weddings. I can't lie, and I'm sure you can't either, that you have not so secretly looked at wedding photos belonging to every person that is a social network friend. Even if you don't know the person getting married. If a friend (or acquaintance) even so much as attended one of these glorious affairs, you've seen the photos. One of my best friends and I have a terrible habit of sitting down at the computer and going through recent wedding photos we've each seen on the almighty stalking tool. We've dissected flower choice, hair style, venue quality, and - of course - dress decision.

"Why would anyone wear that? Or why would anyone even make that?!"

"It's pretty, but I don't think it does anything for her."

"Wow. That is incredible."

Every girl does it. I think it's the idea of living vicariously through someone else's occasion. And, for those of us, that don't have rings on our fingers - engagement or band - it's sort of a lesson of what to do and what not to do.

*Don't use brown anything.*



*Do pick dresses that look good on every girl.*


(NOTE: I do not know these people and have not-so-subtley hid their identities. I simply respect the bride's choice in dresses.)

Thanks to all those people that put up unprotected wedding photos, you almost don't need to buy bridal magazines.

Beyond Facebook, there is the beauty of wedding programs on TV. While being home sick from work, I have not only become completely obsessed by the aforementioned cake shows. I cannot turn off a wedding show. Unless of course it's "Bridezillas" because the idea that men would marry these women makes me sort of sick, and I'm horrified by the embarrassing nature of the program. However, give me "My Fair Wedding," "Girl Meets Gown," or "Say Yes to the Dress," and I'm in some serious trouble. "Say Yes to the Dress: Atlanta"? Even bigger problem. I love watching the whole process of putting a wedding together, especially when it involves the KING of weddings, David Tutera, taking a Party City designed affair and turning it into an event worthy of the princess every bride claims she wants to be (me? Not so much... I'd like to look like a I'm going to a 1950s prom).

The industry of getting married is completely infectious. And I sit here writing this with no ring on my left hand. I actually will not even wear a ring on that hand because a friend's grandmother once told her it was bad luck. That day, I put the ring I wear everyday - and bought for myself - on my right hand. I'm not even superstitious, but I couldn't help it.

I have a few friends that are either engaged (YAY, SARA!) or pretty close to being in that position within the next couple of years. Me? Eh, nowhere near it. But that doesn't mean I can't fantasize about what it will be like for me. Hello??? That is what these reality shows are for... and now there's an entire network for it, Wedding Central. Those of you that know me, wouldn't even need to read this to know what my plans are for that big day somewhere off in the future. I've sat at my computer looking at vintage wedding dresses that look like they came right out of the prom scene in Back to the Future - Lorraine would be proud. I've also recently started telling my mom to not be surprised if my dress ends up being dyed in an ombre hot pink reminiscent of the one and only Gwen Stefani.



I mean, it is pretty perfect, and the lucky girl got to wear it twice - once in London, and once in Los Angeles (both times to Gavin, obviously).

And location? Well, that's easy. Though I've said that if I had all the money in the world to plan this fantasy wedding, it would be happening at Rosecliff in Newport, Rhode Island... The Gatsby Mansion, the truth is, nothing - and I do mean NOTHING, not even a resistant groom - could keep me from getting married at Walt Disney World. When I was in high school, we had to plan and budget a wedding as part of a health class project, and I sent away for all the Disney info. Yeah, well, that idea hasn't changed, though the specifics vary. Gazebo on the Boardwalk? Wedding Pavilion looking out at Cinderella's Castle? Just walking straight into the park, dressed and all? Eventually that will get figured out. They're just details, right?

Oh, and I'll find the guy too. Again, just a minor detail. :-)

"So come on let's try it. I love you, can't deny it."