The Prologue

Let me say right off the bat, I am an avid fan of Director Wes Anderson’s movies. I have loved every film from Bottle Rocket right through The Grand Budapest Hotel and shamelessly fall for all of his best film tricks – those candy-coated color palettes, the perfectly curated soundtracks, the stable of amazing talent he brings in time and again. I’ve cooed over lines like “What Kind of Bird are You?” and been drawn in at the sheer beauty of how he frames every single shot.

Animated or live action, I’m a sucker for it all. And I won’t even apologize. When Isle of Dogs was announced, I knew I’d be eager to see it. I wasn’t sure it could match the high expectations I had developed.

The animated film has all the marks of a Wes Anderson film. It’s sweet with touches of dark humor. It toys with familiar devices – incorporating everything from a stage play to head strong, idealistic young characters to voice-overs that tug at your heart. It’s the story of 12-year-old Atari Kobayashi, ward to a corrupt mayor who has exiled all pet dogs to Trash Island. Atari goes bravely in search of his bodyguard-dog, Spots, meets a cast of lovable mongrels despite being tracked by drones and robot pets. And we wonder can he save the future of his city - on tenacity alone?

At first glance the animation looked so unusual, so unlike anything else in theaters or otherwise, I wondered how audiences might respond. I wondered if I’d have the suspension of disbelief necessary to sink into this place – it is Trash Island after all.

Not a perfect film experience, but a quirky, smart and very enjoyable one.

Yes, I came to adore the animated pups – in spite of repetitive jokes but especially for a pug named Oracle who deserved more screen time. At its core it’s a film about a boy and his love for his dog. It takes a stab at some politically-charged themes – where in this case dogs are literally treated like garbage. Isle of Dogs introduces us to an array of mutts from varying backgrounds – meet them all here. It’s easy to care about them.

Sink into the cats vs. dogs world of fictional Megasaki City and see it for yourself. Expect a talent-heavy cast with the likes of Bryan Cranston. Edward Norton and Bill Murray -  to name a few. You can’t help but be amused, surprised and hopefully a little bit delighted.

All this and honestly, I’ve always been more of a cat person.

Isle of Dogs, released by Fox Searchlight, is rated PG-13, playing in select theaters – and open now - in Detroit. 

I’ve been called a lot of names. 

I’ve been labeled according to other people’s perceptions for as long as I can recall. 

You too? 

When I was little, my parents often told people I was shy or sensitive, even called a cry baby. 

As I got older - and searched out my writer’s voice - I was accused of being a perfectionist, opinionated, too passive or stubborn. I fell easily into the roles of a mediator, a trusted advisor, or secret-keeper. 

It’s taken decades to grasp the ability to define myself my by own words, choices and actions. I know now that I decide what kind of person I am and who I want to be. 

We’ve all got limited time here. I  choose not to spend my time trying to please other people - or to prove them wrong, or right. It’s futile.

It’s too easy to be too hard on ourselves. So, let’s stop.

Today is my birthday. My 41st. That’s my excuse for being openly reflective. 

Here’s my wish for the coming year - for myself and all those I care about. 

Let go of fear.

Act out of kindness.

Embrace what and who you love.

Be unapologetically you. 

xoxo, 

Here’s a confession that will come as little surprise to those who know me. 

I’m a little high strung. OK I’m a stress case, just naturally. I worry. I overthink. I get anxious. It’s chronic and as much as I chalk it up to my personality and my ability to get things done. But it’s also likely to take a toll on my health. 

I try to manage stress and anxiety as best as I can. I attempt regular meditation, commit to daily workouts. I get enough sleep and take vitamins. I also sabotage all of this due to my love of coffee and don’t always stick to the strict diet I should. 

I work in a high-stress, deadline-driven world and have for so long that this feels normal to me. I might even thrive on it. Gasp!

So I’m always willing to try out new ways of managing stress or finding a healthier path. Since I started my own business, work and clients take priority. So to make sure I am eating healthy real food - especially when cooking it seems impossible - I order from Better Woodman. I head over the gym 5 days a week and I opt to walk, rather than drive, whenever it’s feasible. 

I’ve been a major fan of massage and acupuncture for managing stress (not to mention chronic migraines). And truly, the only way to disconnect and shut off my busy brain seems to be physically traveling to another location - a day away at the beach or a quiet plane ride helps when it’s possible. 

This week I tried something new - sensory deprivation via a salt water float. 

I met the owners of Motor City Float at December’s Detroit Urban Craft Fair and instantly had questions. Would it look like that giant tank from Stranger Things? How much water is in the chamber? How long do you stay inside? Do people get claustrophobic? 

As it turns out, floating isn’t nearly as spooky as I suspected. I love water, lakes, oceans and pools but - little known fact - thanks to a scary fall into a deep pool at age 3, I still haven’t mastered swimming. So I definitely approached floating with a bit of fear. I was assured the tank contained only 10 inches of water and all it takes is the ability to trust that you can and will float. 

As someone convinced she sinks like a stone when submerged in water, I can attest to this - floating was very relaxing. Curious about it, too?

Here’s how it goes:

At Motor City Float you can make an appointment and read the FAQs or talk with the friendly staff beforehand. Upon entering, you exchange shoes and socks for rubbery shower shoes (or can bring your own) and flip-flop over to the float rooms. They are completely private, but before you begin on a first visit the staff will go over some tips. 

Remember to put those earplugs in first. Then you shower under a fantastic rainfall showerhead. Then if you have any cuts put a bit of petroleum jelly on them to prevent the salt from stinging. It’s a good tip - be sure to do this. 

Then it’s time to enter the sensory deprivation tank. It resembles a giant refrigeration unit. But as soon as you open it, you see an array of relaxing lights and steam coming off of the water - which is about your exact body temperature and very comforting.

The only real challenge was letting myself trust the process and float. I found myself holding tension in my arms, lower back and neck. Once I submerged myself past my ears, it felt pretty amazing. The lights and music subside after a few minutes and it took me longer than that to get the hang of it. 

After that, though I felt completely supported, warm and relaxed. A wiggle of a finger or toe, touching the top of the water was the only real reminder of the setting. The only sound I could hear was my own breath. It sounded a bit intense in the tank with my earplugs in - think Darth Vadar. But after an hour, the lights and music returned and lulled me back to reality. 

Taking time to exit the float tank is important. I felt less than graceful doing so and really hope no one witnessed my flailing about. Then, a second shower followed to remove all remnants of the epsom salt. I conditioned my hair and grabbed a fluffy towel. That was that.

The whole experience leaves you feeling super relaxed. My skin was very soft and I took time to relax in and enjoy some water before heading out into the world.

I slept really well - and actually couldn’t wait to go to sleep that evening. The following day I experienced some odd aching in my joints and a bit of a headache - which I might attribute to the weather. I can only wonder if the sensations were related to any detoxing effects of the float. I plan to try it again and see what happens. 

Tom Ford’s latest film Nocturnal Animals is the sort of movie that draws you in visually and has the power to keep you talking after its final frame.

As the writer, director, producer of 2009′s A Single Man, I walked into the theater fully prepared to see images that would pop on screen like a fashion shoot that has come to life. Unsurprisingly, there is plenty to see in Focus Features’ Nocturnal Animals. The camera lingers on its characters, provides disorienting overhead shots of its changing environment and landscapes - all with careful attention. Each shot is curated perfectly. 

Ford has gone darker this time. A tale within a tale, he introduces us to Susan (Amy Adams) an art gallery owner who’s seemingly charmed life exists on the verge of collapse. Impeccably adorned in every scene, Ford assures us she is hiding something from her past, a failed first marriage.

Susan flinches when she receives a copy of her first husband’s most recent novel Nocturnal Animals, and gets lost in its brutal, dark and disturbing context.

Ford swings his audience in and out of the book’s narrative, presenting a haunting tale through the imagination of our protagonist. He mirrors moments in the novel to those in present day by overlapping voices and replicating body movements. In a sense, the director’s choices make it feel more like a character study or voyeuristic look into the life and psyche of a damaged woman.

As Susan reads words dedicated to her, we’re swept into a swift, scenic and tense metaphor, a form of literary revenge inspired by her first marriage. 

The story follows a family  traveling in remote West Texas who are terrorized on the road by an unexpected encounter. Tony Hastings (Jake Gyllenhaal) is depicted as sensitive and loving father who struggles to protect his wife and daughter amid the dangers that befall them. We follow him through sweeping desert landscapes, eventually on a mission of revenge.

Performances by Adams, Gyllenhaal and perhaps especially Michael Shannon  - the latter portrays a bristly Texas lieutenant with nothing to lose - hold tight interest in a story that, while visually stunning, pulls along too slowly and deliberately. A case could be made for the pacing, which adds to the tension.

Ford keeps his audience guessing, working to tie together the pieces of Nocturnal Animals together as it unfolds. Though in the end, what’s most surprising is its simplicity. Susan’s first husband Edward (also Jake Gyllenhaal) exacts his revenge. However appropriate, the final scenes provide little satisfaction after the gripping emotional moments that carried this film forward. 

Overall, the success of Nocturnal Animals relies almost completely on Adams and Gyllenhaal, both of whom prove less than likable but quite human. And it all may be saved by Shannon’s performance, which embodies a strength and intensity that reverberates through the story even when he’s not on screen.

Growing up a music snob in Detroit, I took the path less traveled. Think hair metal heyday of the 80s and grunge takeover 90s - long before iPods, Soundcloud and Spotify. Music came in heavy doses at our house. It was an era of supergroups and full-length album appreciation, not singles.

My pop music education came courtesy of Casey Kasem’s Top 40 on Sunday mornings, simulcast WLLZ radio and video TV shows before MTV, concerts at Pine Knob and early Madonna cassettes worn out in my Walkman.

Here’s a playlist of what it sounded like to grow up a little metal girl and music fan in Detroit way back then:

1. Blame my parents

Che La Luna Mezzo Mare - I can still hear my Sicilian dad singing this to me in the car, on the way to the market. Note to Lou Monte: I always wrongly assumed your song belonged to my father’s favorite performer, Luciano Pavarotti. Apologies. I was 5.

Unchained Melody - Every single time this song was in earshot my mother’s heart would melt. She would belt it out and remind us all just how much she loved it and The Righteous Brothers. Thanks a lot Ghost. In 1990, that happened a lot.

2. My sisters’ required hits

The Heat of the Moment - Arena rock was big in our house and this Asia song seems to sum it up well. It’s companions might’ve been anything by Duran Duran (my first favorite band, hello John Taylor), Journey or REO Speedwagon. Even our Atari games reflected it. Next to Space Invaders and Adventure you’d find Journey’s Escape, 

Round and Round - Blame this for the beginning of my metal and hair-band obsession. From Ratt’s classic Milton Berle cameos to the hair and makeup cues I later took from this video (below), the song is etched in my brain forever. It sounded better when we were all drenched in baby oil, baking on the deck in the sun and bleaching our hair with lemon juice. Things were different then. We were rebels in ‘84.

3. My friends’ and I would camp out for concert tickets

By the late 80s and early 90s, I lived and died by MTV, played a black BC Rich Warlock (above, next to Garfield), regularly videotaped the final hours of Headbanger’s Ball, and listened to enough Poison, Guns N Roses - and later Faith No More and Soundgarden - to pursue a journalism career writing about music. It started with my long-lost, first, middle school badass best friend, Billy Burke (below), to whom I attribute my love of motorbikes.

College looked and sounded a lot more like The Lemonheads, dancing to The Ramones, screaming out Alice Cooper songs with friends to celebrate my birthday, anything by The Beatles, my Brit pop period beginning with Blur, and listening to Weezer well into the morning light. There was so so much more.

4. Work Work Work

Reviewing local and national acts for a newspaper in the early 2000s was nothing less than a dream job. Garage rock, shiny pop and alt-country caught my ear in the form of The White Stripes, Brendan Benson, The Waxwings, Ryan Adams and on and on and on. The CD stacks alone rivaled my height, and I miss the treks to SXSW and CMJ. My friend and co-worker at the time remarked: “Oh I see Beck has a new album and Stephanie has a new boyfriend.” (Yes, there was slight a resemblance back in the day).

This all came flooding back during a dinner with friends and unexpected fall down the rabbit hole of old 80s videos. (YES I had the dreaded 80s Aqua Net bangs. Of course I did. Braces, too much demim and a perm, too. Deal with it.)

Nothing marks time and place like what was on the radio - or, Spotify -  or who you saw on stage when. 

What song brings back the most vivid memory for you? 

Superhero movies are a money-making blockbuster genre unto themselves. About to jump the shark? Maybe. But those facts didn’t deter my childlike excitement to catch Zack Snyder’s Batman Vs. Superman: Dawn of Justice in its opening weekend. 

After all my city, Detroit, doubled as Gotham - and I couldn’t wait to see it in that role. Neither could legions of other fans, and movie-goers from the looks of the packed houses this weekend. After rubbing elbows with Henry Cavill at my favorite hometown watering hole, Ferndale’s Public House, watching filming downtown during lunch breaks, hearing the oohs and ahhs of Birmingham residents lucky enough to catch a glimpse of Gal Gadot’s Wonder Woman, I couldn’t wait to see how it all turned out.

While it was easy to see where Snyder was going with it, and the whole superheroes-at-odds (or not) premise is enough to entice any fan who grew up loving the comic books or movies and TV shows they later spawned - it was the way Batman Vs. Superman was shot and its performances that held my attention the whole way through. 

At a staggering 153 minutes my attention waned between explosive action sequences and longed for a stronger story. But the movie was more about setting us up for what’s to come, and in doing so, its shots looked fantastic. 

My brain called out locations like a Where’s Waldo story unfolding, though the look and feel overall was pure modern Gotham City. And Gadot’s stunning scene-stealing truly set us up for a Wonder Woman origin film yet to come. She’s not only presented as smart, beautiful and brave - a theme that carries through in all of the female characters we meet in this movie - but one you can’t help but want to learn more about. 

And yes, Jesse Eisenberg’s Lex Luthor, an entitled and maniacal heir to the Luthor fortune is a completely re-envisioned look at this villian - but one I rather liked. His dialogue carried the story through, explained the whys and the what-fors more than anything. He wasn’t so much scary as he was a metaphor. But wasn’t Lex always a bit that way? Big business. Power hungry. That kind of danger feels like a different threat all together today than it did when I first watched Gene Hackman tackle it. 

And as much I wanted to dislike Ben Affleck’s Batman, I didn’t. I still want to drive the Batmobile. But this movie had me on Superman’s side. Can you blame me? Henry Cavill in glasses, as a mild-mannered reporter? I admit bias there. No one in any newsroom I ever worked looked quite like that. Or got away with never filing his stories. Ah such is the mystique of Superman. The New York Times declared a winner by the numbers. Who’s yours?

Bonus points should be granted for the creepy glowing eyes - a great reminder that we’re wandering in the DC Universe, not our own. I appreciated the tiny glimpse of Jason Momoa’s Aquaman, though (as a Game of Thrones fangirl) I hoped to see more of him. 

One question: Where does Superman change into his cape these days? I haven’t seen a phone booth around in decades. 

I recently made a big, scary, exciting life decision. 

I walked away from the newsroom life I knew for more than a decade and then a PR and social agency life I called home for 7 years to take my future into my own hands. 

Without a net. 

For those of us in creative jobs it may be evident that this kind of leap isn’t the sort you can always pre-determine. There are rules, financial worries and more that bind you from preparing for, even thinking about doing this. 

The result? 

When it happens everything starts fresh. A blank page. The unknown. Spooky stuff for a planner, an achiever, a hard worker who likes to make every second count. But it feels amazing.

Thankfully my own story is long. It features a bit of perspective, a sense of place, a lot of experience and a cast of characters it has taken a lifetime to meet. Many of them inspired this decision somewhere along the way. Others have been supportive of it since long before I was. (In my late 20s while still writing full-time my then-boyfriend suggested I do this and I am sure I rolled my eyes.)

It’s been 21 days.

I have started every one of them with a smile. With wonder. With determination. (and a few frustrated or in need of IT help..) 

I have never had the luxury of feeling as if anything was easy in life. I would never expect it. 

I am a proponent of working for you have. My father taught me that. I hope to make him proud.

The one thing I feared all of these years as a professional (except for maybe having to do my own taxes or diving into deep water) was losing a job without having somewhere else amazing to go. 

Living without a net.

Once in a while life calls for us to face our fears. I leapt. Before I could ever feel ready.

And every day someone new, unexpectedly says “congratulations” or those closest tell me they are proud of me. A few look at me with worry or concern. Those closest show their own brands of support. I am absorbing every ounce of it and am more grateful than anyone will ever know. 

We’ll see where it all goes. Anything could happen. I’m OK with it.

It feels like I finally took a trust fall. You’re all doing a great job of holding me up. Thank you! And know, I will always do the same.

The wonder of beer didn’t quite hit me until I spent a summer in London studying communications during my final summer at Michigan State University. At a packed Irish pub I watched a bartender carefully pour a Guinness into a tall glass and - with the skill of a barista - draw a signature shamrock in the foam. Properly wowed, I couldn’t wait to take it back to the table and show all of my college friends. 

I didn’t know then that that beer was on nitro - a phrase I’ve come to adore in many cases. 

It refers to the addition of about 70 percent nitrogen in the carbonation process, typically rooted in carbon dioxide. Nitrogen gives beers a creamier texture, and its telltale sign comes from a thick head made of tiny bubbles. 

These days Left Hand Brewery’s Milk Stout is a favorite example on taps across the country. This chocolately stout is perfectly complemented by the addition of creamy nitro. My Michigan-brewed pick, though, goes to Right Brain Brewery’s CEO Stout with its strong coffee and chocolate notes. 

Today, a favorite brewery powerhouse from right here in Michigan blew my mind with a nitro announcement involving a pale ale! Imagine the possibilities. Founders has added nitro on draft to three phenomenal beers: the rich chocolate malt and oats flavors of  Oatmeal Stout, the tart raspberry wheat Rubaeus and Founders’ dry hopped Pale Ale. 

Now these sound like a great way to weather through wintery days. It has me wondering if a creamy, sweet treat like Short’s Brewing Co. Local’s Light or Saugatuck Brewing Company’s Oval Beach Blonde would work on nitro. They aren’t predictable styles - like delicious Short’s Swirl Stout or Saugatuck’s venerable Neapolitan Stout - but if a pale ale can go nitro, are there any boundaries?

Perhaps the only beverage that makes me happier than a nitro beer, is a well-prepared nitro coffee. 

Stumptown Coffee opened my eyes to the initial possibility of adding this rich and creamy texture to their already perfectly balanced coffees. Thank you Portland! I’ll seek out a coffeeshop that offers a perfect cup on nitro any chance I get. 

Thankfully I don’t have to travel to far anymore, either. 

The word on the streets of Detroit? Great Lakes Roasting Co. has debuted nitro coffee. 

I can only imagine that the 50/50, a rotating menu option that pairs a cold brew coffee with a dark stout would be an amazing way to go here. 

My connection to music began so early, I can’t even pinpoint it. And I react so strongly to music I enjoy that I suspect I almost couldn’t exist without it my life. My memories connect to it. Experiences are enhanced by it. I mark time by the composition of a band’s members, a song’s titles, specific concert tours. 

Waking up this morning to the news on every channel and social network (and via Nerdist.com) that David Bowie had died after a long battle with cancer, well, I reacted just as strongly.

I have never known pop music without him. Through four decades of musical personas, and even though my foray began late, in the great big 80′s, I loved them all. 

The youngest of three girls, I distinctly remember dancing in the living room, hoping against hope no one would see me, singing along to the video of “Let’s Dance” on MTV with all my heart. To my shock I realized afterward my sisters had been there snickering and watching me from behind a bedroom door. 

Flushed with 10 shades of embarrassment I’ll still tell you I can’t dance and sing.

It should come as no surprise I find Tim Gunn, Project Runway co-host, inspiring. From his books to his fashion advice, Gunn is a master at making it work. When I awoke this morning to read the New York Times take on Gunn’s Sunday morning routine - I couldn’t help but relish his weekend agenda with glee. 

On a giggle-filled call with my good friend Ponti (pictured at right below) we couldn’t help but compare our days, and laugh. 

So I’ve detailing just how my own life stacks up. You might say I’m not quite making it work this weekend, friends. Are you?

Tim Gunn: Wakes up bright and early - even on Sundays - at 6 a.m. and does sit-ups before visiting his favorite diner for scrambled eggs, where he reads the New York Times digitally.

Me: I was fast asleep at that time. My cat Boo Radley was likely purr-snoring around my head on a nearby pillow.

Tim Gunn: After his 7:30 a.m. breakfast he returns to check email, shower, dress in a suit and visit The Met, walk through Central Park and be generally fabulous.

Me: I lounge around in bed and the apartment, check various social sites, read the news digitally - also in the New York Times! - as well as many other sources curated via Flipboard on my iPhone, iPad or laptop. Maybe pin in a few favorite images on Pinterest, or catch up on the new ep of Girls on Apple TV. Check email and the weather. Plan my day. I get some work done. Balk at the fact that I never put away the cat litter from the day before. Start the Chemex coffee process.

Tim Gunn: After his jaunts to the museum and park he grocery shops, cooks and later lounges in pajamas with a Manhattan. 

Me: That’s where our schedules start to converge! (It might be noted I love to travel, and often wake on lazy Sundays daydreaming of a Sunday visit to my favorite places just out of reach such as walking Central Park or the Highline, shopping in Georgetown, savoring coffee and beignets in New Orleans or wandering the Picasso Museum in Barcelona. Alas, I’m here in 30 degree sunshine at home.) 

Some days I’ll pop over to the DIA to wander - it’s not a weekly affair like Tim’s Sunday’s at The Met. However I do typically insist on seeking out two favorite paintings. One light, one dark. Love Flight of a Pink Candy Heart by Florine Stettheimer always improves my mood. And The Nightmare by Henry Fuseli is beautiful, haunting and moving every time. 

In reality, if I am home and have no where to be, no deadline to meet, I’ll stay in my pajamas as long as possible and sip Stumptown Coffee. 

I’ll skip a shower as long as I can. Slather on a hair or face mask for a little spa break and Netflix when no one is looking. Then I opt for my uniform: favorite jeans, tee and black Chuck Taylors. 

Often there is a brunch plan as the food scene in Detroit is enviable. And there will be a visit to the local market for fresh fruits and vegetables. I’ll cook what I can for the week (yet it’s no fancy roast chicken dinner unless I have company coming!).

 I’ll wash the MINI Cooper, do the laundry and clean the apartment - all those chores Mr. Gunn can have hired out. (Oh how I’d daydream to have those chores hired out!) 

Rather than a nightly Manhattan, lovely as it sounds I trust those to The Oakland, I’ve taken to making fresh cucumber lemon mint water in a glass carafe.