Results tagged ‘ Michael Kay ’

Kay wedding just like in the movies

tender-touch-300.jpg

New York City. The Plaza Hotel. Across from the northwest
corner of Central Park. Black tie attire. Two New York personalities tie the knot.
Room full of baseball celebrities and pros. Yankees and YES bosses. Former
mayor of New York officiates. Beautiful people in gowns and tuxedos.

Were we on a movie set???

Of all the swanky details to impress a person at the lavish
Michael Kay and Jodi Applegate wedding February 12, the one that pinned this
Italian girl to her seat was eyeing THE Johnny Cammarerie - a character in my all-time
favorite-seen-it-a-hundred-times movie, Moonstruck
(1987). Only if Cher had walked into The Plaza would I have been more keyed up.

I’ve been acquainted with Michael Kay since my husband Ken
began announcing Yankees games on the YES Network, yet I never knew
that actor Danny Aiello was his uncle … Johnny! Johnny Cammarerie! (And
apparently Michael never knew Moonstruck
was my favorite movie or he may have shared that little tidbit.)

 For all of you aficionados of the movie, you get it …

“Johnny -
Ronnie’s brother”

? “You got a
hat? Wear a hat.”

? “Do you
love him, Loretta?”

? “Oh Ma, I
love him awful”

? “Yes, Mrs.
Castorini, I would love some oatmeal.”

The movie is timeless. In
Baltimore, where I am director of the Promotion Center for Little Italy, Moonstruck
is the first film – every year – in our Open Air Film Fest summer lineup.

Actor-Danny-Aiello-big.jpgI wonder how many times I’ve
watched it? Two weeks ago actually – with a friend who had never seen it. (Can
you imagine?) I finally traded in my old VHS version for a DVD. (Although no
one much enjoys watching it with me because I quote all the lines – that can be
just plain annoying. Can’t help myself.) We have a Moonstruck movie poster hanging in our theater room, too, to egg me
on.

 

Please excuse me … here I am gushing over Moonstruck and Johnny as if I were watching the movie. The Kay wedding was
impressive itself – absolutely superb – a Hollywood-type-picture-perfect
ceremony and reception.

Besides our daughter-in-law, Tricia – who we thought was the
most gorgeous bride on earth – Jodi was stunning in her strapless white gown
(which she did not change three
times, contrary to the dumb reports in The
New York Post
and other online Kay wedding tales). Michael was very
handsome sweating in his tuxedo. Ken and I are thrilled for the newlyweds -
what a great fit.

Michael and Jodi know a lot of people. The Grand Ballroom
had not a spare inch in which to shake our booties to the tunes of a fabulous
14-member band. The Kays also have a cute sense of humor. Who would have
expected such a posh venue to serve pizza, hotdogs, wings and sliders during
cocktail hour? (There was also a sushi bar and other lavish appetizer fare.)

Moving into the Grand Ballroom, we were served a fabulous
white-gloved sit down dinner – a choice of filet mignon or branzini. Upon
exiting the wedding well after midnight, clear jars boasted a variety of candy
bars there for the taking. Fun!

Yes, Saturday night was indeed one magnificent wedding with distinctive details … like “Johnny Cammarerie” singing to the bride and groom on the dance floor.

We could have been on a movie set after all.

Nineteen years is a lot of baseball

By September in the Singleton household, admittedly, I’m weary of baseball. Let’s just get the Yankees to the World Series already, and get Mr. Singy home to make spaghetti.

If I had a dollar for every baseball game I’ve watched (um, sort of watched) being a Singleton, I could have loads of fun at The Dollar Tree. (You thought I was going to say I’d be rich?)

Throughout Ken’s radio announcing days for the Montreal Expos, TV broadcasting for Madison Square Garden and the YES Network, our son Justin’s little league, high school, and Clemson University games, his summer leagues (including Cape Cod), and on up to his Minor League career in the Toronto Blue Jays’ Triple-A system … whew, that’s a ton of baseball for someone who connects with the phrase ants in her pants.

Wait … forgot to count two other sons’ rec council baseball games. Now we’re up to 19 years’ worth of being a baseball mom and wife, loyally sitting through mega-innings of a sport with which I have a love/hate relationship. Good thing the tickets have been free.

It’s not a secret – Ken admits it, too – baseball is a slow, methodical, and sometimes
L-O-N-G game. I’ve been the one in the stands reading a book (hey, a girl has to prepare for rain delays somehow), and I’ve walked around stadiums to stretch my legs and people watch. I’ve hunted for the healthiest stadium food possible and even shopped in team stores to pass time through extra innings, although our household does not need one more jersey, cap, or jacket in the closets. (Wait – do they make high heels yet with team logos?)

I try to pay attention, honestly I do, but the distractions are too great … watching people pig out or guzzle beer, noticing kids more bored than I am fiddle with their dad’s hat or fold their stadium seat up and down 42 times. I contemplate why that girl walking up the aisle would want to show that much cleavage in a male-dominated venue (oh right); and calculate the time we’ll get back to the hotel to catch a “Sex and the City” rerun.

Basically I’ve decided that watching baseball is like going to work with my husband. The sport has been extremely good to the Singletons, certainly, I’d never want to sound ungrateful (that’s the love part). Baseball feeds our hungry teens and my shoe fetish. Yet it separates our family for seven months (that’s the hate part). We miss Ken, and Ken misses out on family life such as birthdays and weddings, meeting visiting cousins from Italy, simply hanging out with the kids – and the most recent, as you may have heard Michael Kay announce on air – the birth of our first grandson September 21.

We can bring Ken’s face into our living room via airwaves, sure, but that is no substitute for the real deal.

Yes, 19 years is a lot of baseball. Excuse me while I run out to the dollar store.

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