“Grease” Isn’t The Word — “Copyright” Is
I love old family movies. You know, those frenetic-yet-nostalgic, motion-sickness-inducing Super 8 films from your childhood? (Believe you me, the cinéma vérité, shaky-cam directors who are currently in vogue have nothing on my dad…) Now that my family’s home movie library has been converted to DVD, there are endless opportunities to force my husband to watch me and my mom ride a camel at “Jungle Habitat” (can I get a shout-out from those of you who grew up in the NY/New Jersey area in the mid-1970’s?) or the fourth of July picnic where the sparkler burned my hand, or — one of my personal favorites — my five year-old self singing “On the Good Ship Lollipop” and dancing the Charleston in the first grade holiday play (trust me, its cuter than it sounds).
And so it was with great anticipation that I prepared our video camera for my seven year-old’s musical theater debut in her summer camp’s production of Grease: The G-Rated Version (no swearing, no teen pregnancy, no smoking, no men rubbing cellophane on their crotches…)
But then we got the letter. Continue reading the full story . . . »









