(retro)photo Friday | Megan McCafferty

Posts Tagged ‘(retro)photo Friday’

(retro)photo Friday #8: Laugh.

Friday, March 12th, 2010

I have no idea who or what was making me laugh so hard when this photo was taken.

But every time I see it, I’m reminded that I need to laugh more often.

Especially at myself.

Tags: (retro)photo Friday, 1977

(retro)photo Friday #7: Kids invent everything.

Friday, February 12th, 2010

A bunch of neighborhood kids were at the top of a steep, snow-covered incline, arguing over who had the idea to stand up on his sled and use it as a makeshift snowboard. Each boy insisted he had been first to come up with the brilliant new sport, a solution to the too-many-kids-not-enough-snowboards conundrum.

When I was seven, I also thought I was the first person to stand up on my sled. I called it “snurfing.”

The great narcissism of youth convinces you that you’re the first person ever to experience the thrill of whatever it is that you’re doing. It’s like you invented this awesome new thing–be it snurfing or sex.

As you get older, there are fewer and fewer firsts. And you realize that everything has already been done before by someone else. The best you can do is make the old feel new through creative application of your own unique point of view.

The kids did this by turning snurfing into a daredevil team sport, sending pairs, trios and even a quartet of kids down the hill on a single sled. They crashed more than they snurfed, but had so much fun congratulating themselves over the setting and breaking of world records that existed only in their imagination.

I’m doing this by getting back to work on my book.

Tags: (retro)photo Friday, 1980

(retro)photo Friday #6: SNOOOOOOOOOW!

Friday, February 5th, 2010

Look at how psyched my brother and I are. WE. ARE. PSYCHED. SNOOOOOOOW! YEAH!!! This is the BEST DAY EVER. We’re gonna go SLEDDING on the GOLF COURSE! WHOO-HOO! And we’re gonna build an IGLOO FORT in our front yard and a SNOWMAN who we will still call FROSTY even if we have to improvise with a ROCKS and STICKS because we don’t have a CORNCOB PIPE, a BUTTON NOSE, or COAL because who has that stuff lying around the house anyway? And we’re not gonna come inside for hot chocolate until we can’t feel our feet anymore because it’s SNOOOOOOW and SNOW is the BEST and WE ARE SO PSYCHED!!!!!!!!!!!!

I’ll try to recapture this enthusiasm when I’m shoveling my walkway.

Tags: (retro)photo Friday, 1980

(retro)photo Friday #5: Special Birthday Edition

Wednesday, February 3rd, 2010

Yeah, I know it’s Wednesday. But it’s also my birthday so I can break the rules of my own blog if I want to. So this is the very first photo of me ever taken. I got it about a half hour ago from my parents who drove across Jersey to take me out to lunch for my birthday. They came bearing four trash bags* bursting with hundreds of loose pictures and dozens of photo albums spanning a century of family history. They want me and my brothers to scan and label these photos for posterity. This is a momentous task because every other photo inspires peals of appalled laughter and conversation that goes like this:

Me: OH MY GOD.

Dad: That’s some hair right there.

Me: And the outfit? Why? Seriously. WHY?

Mom: But that was the style…

Me: Egad.

ETC.

Obviously, this photo is free from such scrutiny.

* Which, as anyone who watched JERSEY SHORE knows, are the offficial luggage of the Garden State.

Tags: (retro)photo Friday, 1973

(retro)photo Friday #3: Pink foam rollers

Friday, January 22nd, 2010

This is my third grade class photo. The blouse was silk, the vest was velvet, and though you obviously can’t see them in this photo, the culottes were tweed and brown.

That’s right. Culottes. 1880s newspaper delivery boy knickers updated for the 1980s. Modern pantaloons.

The three elements of this outfit–blouse-vest-culottes–were never separated from one another. Never did I wear the blouse sans vest under my baby blue monogrammed sweater*. Never did I wear the vest over my Cheryl Tiegs brand plaid blouse with ruffles down the front*. Never did I wear the brown tweed culottes with my purple, teal and magenta batwing velour sweater*. BLOUSE-VEST-CULOTTES. It’s as if the whole outfit would self-destruct in a conflagration of bad fashion if one element was removed from the ensemble as a whole.

*Not hypothetical. These are actual descriptions of clothing I once owned and wore and will perhaps post on this blog in the future.

This was my “special occasion” hair. On any ordinary day, my hair was less…flouffy. I can’t even begin to explain what’s happening with the triangular swoop of bang across my forehead. I only know that such special occasion hair could only be made possible through the use of….

Pink.

Foam.

Rollers.

My mother was a big believer in the pink foam rollers. (Rollers, Maybelline mascara and Oil of Olay night cream. That’s the extent of beauty knowledge passed down from mother to daughter. My mother is a natural babe so that minimal routine served her well. It’s all she needed. Not to be too unkind to my younger self, but suffice it to say that I required a bit more assistance than that.) Long ago my mom upgraded to hot rollers. The problem with rollers of any kind is that I never learned how to roll my own, so to speak. My mom always rolled for me which she gladly did for just about every special occasion from this third grade class photo up to my senior prom and even some very recent book signings when I didn’t want to shell out for a blowout. The downside to putting mom in charge of all my good hair days is that I’m 36 years old and DON’T KNOW HOW TO STYLE MY OWN HAIR. If you ever see me and my hair is styled in any way but a ponytail or a sloppy bun I DIDN’T DO IT. I’m a capable person in many ways but styling my own hair isn’t one of them.

Tags: (retro)photo Friday, 1982

(retro)photo Friday #2: Too much make-up

Friday, January 15th, 2010

When I was in 5th grade I auditioned for a variety show called RAZZLE DAZZLE ‘EM at a local community theater. For the try-out, I sang the trenchant, big vibrato ballad “Don’t Cry Out Loud” made famous by a singer named Melissa Manchester that I don’t expect any of you kids to know about. (EDIT: It has been pointed out to me that any fans of the movie “Drop Dead Gorgeous” will be familiar with this song.) The sheet music was totally not in my key and it was kind of an inappropriate song to be sung by an eleven-year-old. Not inappropriate as in like, porny, but lyrically speaking it’s not a song an eleven-year-old could really sing with any authentic feeling…yet if done well I guess it could’ve had a haunting effect kind of like The Langley Schools Music Project’s version of “Desperado.” I chose “Don’t Cry Out Loud” for two reasons: 1. My mom liked it. 2. I was very familiar with it because it played on WOBM all the time.

Despite my horrible audition, I got cast in the show. I’m pretty sure they took everybody. RAZZLE DAZZLE ‘EM consisted entirely of scenes and songs from a bunch of famous broadway shows. All the pre-teens and teens were put in a number from the musical “Bye, Bye Birdie” called “The Telephone Song.” I had four solo lines:

DIDJA HEAR ABOUT KIIIIIIIM?/I JUST KNEW IT SOMEHOOOOOOOOOW/I MUST CALL HER RIIIIIIGHT UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUP/I CAN’T TALK TO YOU NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!”

I clearly did not understand my character’s motivation. I held my notes sooooooooooo looooooooooong that it was pretty obvious to even the casual listener that I did indeed have plenty of time to sing-talk and I would go on sing-talking indefinitely if only these other stupid girls on stage weren’t sing-talking their own lines about Hugo and Kim and getting pinned yeahyeah.

My mom did pull together a very cool bobby-soxer costume, so I was placed upstage center which made me very happy.

What did not make me happy was how shortly after these photos were taken my mom made me wash off 95 percent of my stage make-up, which I had applied myself in the hopes of coming across as older and more sophistcated to the 7th grade boy in the show that I had a major crush on.

He ended up dating a 6th grade girl in the show named Holly whose mom let her wear as much make-up as she wanted, on-stage or off.

Sigh.

Tags: (retro)photo Friday, 1984

This is supposed to be (retro)photo Friday #1

Friday, January 8th, 2010

But as you can see* the picture didn’t upload properly. The World’s Greatest Webmaster has been trying to fix it all week. (Apparently it’s a WordPress problem, not a MegMessedUp problem, as is often the case when it comes to things technological.) So the general idea is that I’ll upload random pictures from my youth and write a little about them. I think I’ll do this on Fridays because I like the alliterative flow of the words (retro)photo Fridays and also because I hope I’ll get enough writing done on BUMPED at the end of each work week that I’ll be able to take time out to do this without feeling like I’m screwing myself priority-wise.

So this is me at eight years old, tap dancing my heart out in my final recital for Miss Nonie’s School of Dance which I attended for four years even though I wasn’t very graceful or flexible. My only misgiving about dropping out of Miss Nonie’s School of Dance to take voice lessons was that I wouldn’t have a socially acceptable excuse for tarting-up like an underage can can dancer anymore. Believe me, I’m grossed out by the objectification of little girls on Toddlers & Tiaras and the like. But a tiny part of me sort of understands the appeal of getting all glitzed and glammmed because I LOVED this costume. LOVE LOVE LOVED it. I loved the green sequined bustle, I loved the pink marabou feather trim, I loved the pink satinesque top hat and silver shoes and THE WHOLE TACKY SPLENDOR of it. Seriously, if I could have worn this costume to school every day I would have, though my mom most certainly would have made me wear a turtleneck underneath as she always did with all my Halloween costumes but that’s another post for another day. One big difference (and there are MANY) between me and the Painted Babies and Living Dolls (or then and now) is that these recitals weren’t about trying to be sexy (I didn’t know what that word even was at eight years old) it was all about SHOWBIZ. And I loved every sparkly, shuffle-ball-changing second I was on stage. If I sucked, I certainly didn’t know it.

I mean, just look at the saucy angle of my top hat.

*You can see this photo in all its sparkly glory, here. I hope this issue will be resolved by next week.

Tags: (retro)photo Friday, 1981

Megan McCafferty