Sneak Peak Excerpt from Peeing in Peace!

FROM WHAM TO THE WIGGLES...
YVETTE AND THE WIGGLES: A LOVE/HATE STORY

(Copyright 2007/NK Publications)

It all started with a favor. In 2001, I was producing a News and entertainment show on WCBS called, “New York Live.” I picked up the phone one day to hear one of my favorite publicists, Katie Schroeder, of Radio City Music Hall, pitching a segment on this great, but still relatively unknown Australian Children’s group called The Wiggles. The last thing I wanted to do was book some goofy looking group of guys who sang about fruit salad and mashed potatoes. But Katie was a great contact and my one stop shopping access to booking a kick line with the Rockettes and Santa every holiday season, so I felt I owed her and agreed to book the unknowns from down under.

The day finally arrived and the Wiggles showed up in the studio. All I can remember thinking is wow, I feel really sorry for these guys. I bet they’re all frustrated out of work actors who just can’t catch a break and decided to try the kids’ party circuit for a change. Here were four grown men walking around my studio looking ridiculous in their color-coordinated costumes, with these goofy grins on their faces and actually wiggling every time they introduced themselves. I was completely embarrassed for them and annoyed with myself for caving in and putting them on the air.

As for the Wiggles, they could not have been nicer. Laughing, joking with the crew and so completely grateful for being given exposure on American television. Katie and the Wiggles left that day thanking me up and down for giving them some airtime. I left the studio that day swearing never again to do any favors that involved grown men making fools of themselves and so openly enjoying themselves as they sang about mashed bananas and cold spaghetti. That was my life B.C. (before children).

Fast-forward three years and I’m once again face to face with the Wiggles. This time, however, it’s not in the studio and I’m not the producer. No, this time they’re in my living room, den, kitchen, car, and even my bedroom. This time I’m a mother of a two-year-old girl who is obsessed with the goofy group of guys I reluctantly put on television a few years back. Now I no longer think they’re goofy. I think they’re gods. Christiana actually sits still long enough to watch them make that damn fruit salad and you would think that batch of mashed potatoes would have gone bad by now, but no, her little fingers are mashing right along with theirs...

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