>NKOTB, BSB, virginity, stalkers, artists and me

Posted by Jessica Jewett No Comments »

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This is certainly something I never thought I’d see in my lifetime. After New Kids on the Block split in 1994, I drifted into Backstreet Boys when I was in high school. They were, for a time, “bigger than Jesus” as John Lennon once said about the Beatles. I often describe it now as Jonathan Knight was my first love and then Kevin Richardson was my first rebound guy. Now that these groups are touring together minus my rebound guy, a lot of memories from high school have been coming back to me. Looking back on it now, I think my ride with the Backstreet Boys was crazier than my ride with New Kids on the Block has been, complete with infiltrating a fancy hotel, a busty blonde, security, identity theft and my very own stalker that broke into my house.

Gather ’round, children! It’s story time!

Once upon a time, there was a young girl in high school in a small town in northwest Georgia….

Wasn’t I cute with my short hair? Not. Anyway, in high school, I had an art teacher who was ironically named Mr. Knight. He recognized my gift for doing portrait work and encouraged me to focus on developing those skills. He was my mentor. He was largely responsible for my training as an artist and he bought my first portfolio as a gift. We were even planning for me to go to the Art Institute of Chicago (the Savannah College of Art and Design was our second choice for me) to further my education. I did a lot of portraits in that class and I grew so much as an artist at that time that I was basically allowed to choose my own projects so long as they were appropriate. I did a large project of a man and woman in an embrace based on a perfume ad that I had seen, I did a portrait of Native Americans, and so forth. By the time the Backstreet Boys released their album Millennium, I had a new portrait in mind.

When I began this portrait, I had chosen to do it because Kevin had beautiful facial structure and his eyes were clear enough that I could really practice capturing the soul. That sounds very hippie and New Age, I suppose, but any good portrait artist becomes great when they have the ability to capture life in the eyes. Mr. Knight didn’t really know who Kevin was but the other girls in my class knew and they all thought I should send it to him. I thought they were crazy. I put months of work into it to develop my skill on something I enjoyed looking at and I wasn’t willing to part with it just to have Kevin say, “Oh that’s nice,” and throw it away. I wanted to add it to my portfolio for getting into the art institute. All I cared about in those days was getting the hell out of Georgia and making something of myself.

At some point that year, I went to visit my uncle in Atlanta because my portraits were in an exhibition in the city and I was expected to be there. He was living with an actress at that time. I think her name was Michelle or Melanie or Melissa Winters. I can’t remember now. At any rate, I was talking to her about how I was going to see the Backstreet Boys in concert that November and she told us that she had the same agent as Leighanne Wallace and she knew her. Leighanne was Brian Littrell’s girlfriend at that time. M had seen my portrait of Kevin (it was part of my art exhibition) and she and my uncle began conspiring together about getting Kevin to see it. To a girl in high school, that was a huge deal. I agreed to it under the terms that Kevin was not allowed to keep it and I needed it back for my portfolio to get into the art institute. I laugh at myself now, thinking it took balls for a seventeen-year-old girl to make demands on her work like she was already somebody. Somebody I was not but I was thinking beyond Kevin toward my future.

Months passed by and when the Backstreet Boys’ tour buses rolled into Atlanta, my uncle took the portrait to their hotel with a manila envelope filled with information about me and my photograph. He used to work in the high-end hotel industry so he knew everyone and it was no big deal for him to get on their floor. I think they were at the Four Seasons, which is ironic, because I was just there a week ago for a Halloween charity function. I found out that day (the day of the show) that Leighanne had flown into Atlanta. My uncle and M said she flew in for me to make sure I got to meet the guys but I’m not sure if that was true. It was the day before Thanksgiving and Leighanne is from Atlanta, so it was just as likely that she came home for the holiday.

When I got to Phillips Arena, it took no time at all for Leighanne to find me. I was up on the first tier and I saw her come out from backstage on the floor. She spoke to an usher who pointed up at me and I watched her climb a zillion stairs all the way up to my seat. We talked a little bit and a crowd was gathering behind us because everybody knew who she was and Brian’s security was with her. She gave me a backstage pass and that was my first taste of crazy fans. As I went around the arena to get drinks or merchandise, some called me a slut, others glared at me, and one tried to rip the pass off my body. I had to be escorted down to the bottom to get backstage because I had been seen with Leighanne and, I suppose, people assumed I was “with” them. I didn’t understand fan mentality back then. I was young and naive.

As soon as I got backstage, I saw AJ walk by in his stage costume. There weren’t other fans around, so I tried not to stare. I remember how skinny he looked and I wondered if he was sick. I was wandering around backstage for a long time before I saw any of them again. At one point, I had to get out of the way because AJ was laughing and piggyback riding his security guard down a narrow hallway. When I finally got to a room where I could see all of them together, they filed in wearing their stage costumes. Howie came first with his cup of tea and he grasped my hand and talked to me for a minute. Brian was a little standoffish but I think that was just his way. Kevin strolled in with my portrait in his hands and he monopolized me from that point. Nick tried to get in and say hello but I wasn’t really paying attention to him because I was all about my rebound guy. AJ sneaked in next to me and leaned against the wall in silence for a long time. Finally, he said quietly, “I really like your glasses,” and in turning to him, I was struck by how melancholic and lonely he looked. I felt something was wrong with him but I didn’t know what.

Kevin was wonderful and everything I imagined. Sometimes I heard that he was “the bitchy Backstreet Boy” but my experience with him was nothing but positive. We talked about art and his feelings about fans and he asked me some questions about my portrait work. I remember talking about charcoal vs color at some point and he smiled, grasped my shoulders and kissed my cheek with a “mmmmmm” hum in his voice. As young as I was, all I could do was blush like a fool. In those days, I was very religious and I was a strict no sex before marriage girl, so I wasn’t accustomed to the opposite sex being close to me, on friendly terms or not.

I know. It’s hard to imagine me as being ultra-conservative, religious and committed to virginity until marriage. Don’t hurt your heads trying to picture that oddity. Those days are long over for me.

Perhaps it was my ultra-conservative view on life at that time that made me really offended by Nick Carter. He didn’t seem to be very happy about being ignored by a fan and finally ended up standing directly behind me waiting for the pictures to be taken while Kevin talked to me. There was a break in the conversation and Kevin began talking to my mother. At that point, I felt like I was being watched. I looked up and behind me and discovered that Nick was blatantly peering down my blouse, which was a V-neck, so I suppose boys were going to look. He looked away immediately and I looked away from him. I was only seventeen and my experiences with the opposite sex at that point were very limited, so finding Nick looking down my blouse made me extremely uncomfortable. Of course, now that I’m an adult with several relationships and rotten experiences with men under my belt, it’s not that big of a deal, but at the time, I hated Nick for it and I thought he was a pervert.

In going home from the concert that night, I thought that was the end of it. Kevin graciously returned the portrait and I intended to continue looking for new inspiration for my artistic development. I lived in Calhoun, Georgia, however, which was a small town and everybody knew that I “hung out with the Backstreet Boys” by the time I got home. I worked for the high school newspaper and created an entertainment section before that concert and my journalism teacher wanted me to do a piece about my experiences. Another girl in the class volunteered to work with me on it. I didn’t know her but I thought she looked nice enough. That week, I called Backstreet Boys management to seek permission to print their photograph in the paper and when they returned my call, I suppose something clicked in that girl’s mind that I was on personal terms with the group.

Things got scary and weird really fast.

The girl started following me around school all day long. I thought it was annoying but I was nice about it. In a few days, she apparently figured out where I lived. One afternoon, I was at home by myself watching television in the bedroom when I heard somebody come into the house. I thought it was my ex-stepfather coming home early from work. Suddenly there was stalker girl in my bedroom doorway and I freaked out inside but something in my head told me to act casual. She took my Backstreet Boys pictures with me. She took my autographed items. She took everything and left my house. A few days after that, her father called my mother and demanded to know why I was making long distance calls to Los Angeles from his phone. I explained that I had never been to his house, nor had I ever made any long distance calls to Los Angeles. He said that his daughter said I did it and that Backstreet Boys management had called his house and asked for me. We eventually figured out that night that the girl had been making phone calls to Backstreet Boys management and posed as me.

Seventeen-years-old and I already had a bat shit crazy stalker. Long story short, because this girl invented it in her mind that I had some sort of relationship with the Backstreet Boys, I had to drop the journalism class I shared with her and I had to stop going inside to eat at Chick-fil-a where she worked. I spent the rest of my time in Calhoun locking my doors and windows and avoiding her as much as I could until I moved away.

After Kevin left the group, they faded away from my life. My rebound guy gave me an interesting adventure when I was in high school and I continued doing portraits on commission for many years until my vision got too bad. I had corrective eye surgery a few years ago and the first portrait I did to get back on the horse, so to speak, was my first love, Jonathan Knight.

Unlike Kevin, Jon got to keep his portrait. I’m not the artist I thought I was back then and life took a few turns that pulled me away from the art institute. My portfolio is buried in my closet and filled with half-finished projects. Portrait artists haven’t had careers since portraits were in fashion a hundred years ago or more. Jon was, after all, my first love, so it was only right that he kept it instead of me putting it in a portfolio that is just collecting dust in my closet. My perspective on life has changed since I was seventeen just like my artistic perspective has changed since my eye surgery. It’ll be interesting to see what new experiences come with New Kids on the Block and Backstreet Boys joining together for next year’s tour. I still have Kevin’s portrait. My uncle hung it in the stairwell with my other pieces of art many years ago. It’s too bad I won’t get to see Kevin again since he left the group a long time ago. I look at it sometimes though and remember how innocent and naive I was back then.

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>Titanic exhibit in Atlanta

Posted by Jessica Jewett 1 Comment »

>Today, in honor of the 98th anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic, I’m lifting a blog from my old website about my visit to the Georgia Aquarium in 2009. There was a special exhibition that summer of artifacts from the Titanic wreck site. Here is what I experienced.

Saturday was one of those amazing days that teaches you what’s really important as far as being around people who really understand you and accept you unconditionally. Michael and I spent the day with our friend from high school, Lindsey, and her husband, Paul, who I hadn’t met before but turned out to be exceptionally awesome.

Our plan was to go to Gladys Knight Chicken and Waffles to eat lunch and then go to the Georgia Aquarium for the afternoon, but when we got to downtown Atlanta, we realized the parking garage was too far of a walk from the chicken and waffles place. Lindsey is seven months pregnant, so I kind of eye her like a ticking time bomb. We ended up cutting through the park by the CNN building to go to Ted Turner’s restaurant. I think it’s called Montana or something. They serve bison instead of beef there and apparently bison is supposed to be healthier for you. I ate bison pot roast, which was shockingly good. It only tasted a tiny bit different than beef.

After lunch, we cut back through the park and walked to the Georgia Aquarium, slower since we were full from eating so much. I was pretty surprised at how crowded the aquarium was because I had read in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution that attendance had dropped by 37% since it opened in 2005. You would never know it by the lines on Saturday to get tickets. Most of the tickets for the Titanic exhibit were sold out so we had to wait an hour and a half just to get into it. We were going to do the Titanic exhibit first and the regular aquarium afterward but we didn’t count on the Titanic exhibit being so popular. I do love this aquarium with or without special exhibits. It’s the biggest one in the world with animals like four whale sharks (which average at about 30 feet each) and three beluga whales (about 15 feet each). I have a special attachment to Nico (pronounced like Jon Knight’s Nikko), which is the male beluga whale, because he plays with us at the window the most. I had very high aspirations of being a marine biologist throughout my childhood and the first book I ever wrote was a guide to whales and dolphins. I’ve been to this aquarium enough now that I could probably give a tour on my own.

The Titanic exhibit itself was stunning, by every meaning of the word. The only fault I found with it was how crowded it was. They had us crammed in there like sardines so I didn’t get to have a close look at every display. I understand how popular it is and how they have to try to get to everyone but cramming so many people into it might be a little dangerous for the artifacts if somebody bumps into a display too hard or whatever.

Before we went into the exhibit, aquarium workers handed out faux tickets for the ship. We were each given a different passenger with a little biographical information and at the end of the tour, we were to find out if our passenger was a survivor or victim. I was given a second class passenger by the name of Mrs. Irene Corbett and this is what I found about her on the internet:

Mrs Walter H. Corbett (Irene Colvin) was born in 1881/1882, the daughter of Bishop and Mrs Levi A. Colvin of Provo, Utah. Irene was married to Walter Corbett and had three children. She had travelled to London in the winter of 1911-1912 to study nursing while her children stayed with her parents.

Irene’s parents received a letter from her on April 15th in which she said she would take passage on the Titanic. She said several Mormon elders were taking passage on the ship, however it was later uncertain as to whether these elders had actually travelled on the ship. Irene Corbett boarded the Titanic in Southampton.

After the sinking, Bishop Colvin telegraphed New York to find out what had happened to his daughter. He received in answer two telegrams on the afternoon of April 19th. The first stated: “New York, April 19, Levi Colvin, Provo, Utah. Neither the name of Mrs Irene Corbett nor anything like it appears on the Titanic’s second cabin list of passengers as having sailed from Southampton. WHITE STAR LINE.” Minutes later the second telegram arrived: “New York, April 19, Levi Colvin, Provo, Utah. Now find name of Mrs Irene C. Corbett is on the list of passengers having sailed from Southampton, but regret is not a survivor on Carpathia. WHITE STAR LINE.”

Irene Corbett was one of 14 second class women who perished in the sinking.

The exhibit took you through the conception of Titanic, into building it, through the journey to New York, the sinking and the rediscovery of the wreckage by Robert Ballard in the 1980s. There were replica cabins set up with some real artifacts in them to show you what first class and third class were like. I read that the cost of a first class suite would be the equivalent of something like $40,000+ today and a third class cabin that you shared with four other people would be the equivalent of something like $400 today. It was especially interesting to enter the corridor built to replicate the third class corridor because you could feel how cramped it was and how starkly bare it was compared to first class. The replicated third class had ambient noise like what you would have heard and felt being so close to the ship engines and it was loud enough that children on the tour were getting scared and asking what the noise was. It was an absolute eye opener to be amongst the finery in first class and then, boom, thrown into the bareness of third class. Interestingly enough, the accommodations we had on the NKOTB cruise with Carnival were much closer to third class on the Titanic than first class and that was a little shocking to me, considering we are supposed to live in this advanced modern society.

A lot of people were asking me what I felt in the exhibit as far as spirits go because my Ghost Hunters guys investigated there earlier this year (or was it last year?). Nothing in particular struck me about the reconstructed cabins themselves and that tells me there were not many things in them pulled from the actual wreckage. There were a few things in them but no real energy attached to them. It was mostly the pieces of clothing that had the most energy attached to them. Before I got to the clothing, though, I do remember a display with items of a lady’s toilette (like beauty stuff) and it was the hairbrush that grabbed me. It was too crowded for me to feel out anything specific about the residual energy from the owners of these things though.

The last room was what grabbed me the most. There were a lot of things in one room that had been excavated from the wreckage and it was like coming into a space with a lot of different confused energies. There were two shirts in separate display cases in the middle of the room. One was mostly white (it might have been another color but faded to white) and the other was a blue and white striped shirt. I never got close enough to read the plaques because it was so crowded so I don’t know to whom the shirts belonged, but the closer I got, the more I felt that brick in my stomach before my panic attacks hit. Both of the men who owned those shirts, or maybe it was just one man, did not survive and he knew long before he died that he was going to die. Excuse my language but you’ll never experience a mind-fuck like that unless you are empathic or spiritually sensitive in similar ways. Feeling the lingering affects of fear that intense was actually far worse than the feelings I’ve picked up from Civil War uniforms. The difference between a soldier and a passenger on a ship is the soldier lives every minute of his life knowing he might die but dying never enters the passenger’s mind. A disaster and facing death is much more of a shock for the passenger and there is absolutely a distinct difference in energy between a soldier and anyone else.

All in all, the Titanic exhibit was well-worth the money. I just wish tourists would learn to heed the “no photography” rule at these things. There was a lady in front of me taking a million pictures with a camera that had a huge bright flash and I wanted to pummel her. Not only was her flash, flash, flash distracting for me and others around her, but the flash of a camera is actually damaging to artifacts. There is a reason why the “no photography” rule exists at historical exhibits. Artifacts – especially paper and fabric – are extremely sensitive to light, temperature and humidity. Too much exposure to any of those things will cause fading and disintegration, the same as touching any artifacts with bare hands. We all have oils in our bodies that will destroy artifacts, no matter how often or how well you wash your hands before you touch anything. So next time you’re at a historical exhibit, please remember that the “no photography” rule does exist for a reason and you should never, ever use a flash with artifacts.

I did not get any pictures, obviously, but I found some pictures from some media outlets online of what I saw. There are objects in these pictures that I talked about already. Enjoy.

 

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11 Freakin’ Months!

Posted by Jessica Jewett 11 Comments »

>Some men do keep their promises, contrary to what everything in my life has taught me. This jersey pictured below has magical powers. I’m convinced. Once you read the story behind it, you will be convinced too.

Eleven months ago, on March 25, 2009, I went to my third New Kids on the Block show. Maine is a very special place to me. Some of my best friends live there and many of the happiest memories of my present life have taken place there (see this page for my past life connections to Maine: http://www.jessicajewettonline.com/unveiled.html). The show was fabulous as always, even though a random girl plowed over me and broke my leg in her attempt to get closer to Jordan for better pictures. That story is a whole other blog, though.

At the end of the show, the guys all wave to the crowd, blow kisses, say good night and all of that fun stuff. Jon knew me pretty well by that point since I had given him a “pitchah” as he called it when I was at the Nashville show. He waved at me and I thought that was nice. Then he tugged on the jersey he was wearing and mouthed the words, “I’m gonna give you my shirt.” I think I gave him a blank stare of disbelief for a second because I thought maybe he was talking to someone else. Surely not me! I nodded though and he nodded back. I watched, probably with my jaw on the floor, as he stripped off his jersey, hopped down from the stage, handed it to my brother and blew a goodbye kiss at me. You can watch the incident in this YouTube clip somebody took. (Sorry, Jon. I know you hate YouTube but this is one of the best memories of my life.)

My euphoria was short-lived, however. The guys left the stage and people started to leave. Armando, their security guy, approached and said that he needed the jersey back because all five of them were destined for an auction for breast cancer research. I think he expected me to throw a fit but I gave it up willingly. The money that jersey could raise, in my mind, was more important than one fan having it for nothing. I let it go and never expected to see it again. Jon apologized in his own way and I went home with a busted leg but some of the best memories I could ever hope to call my own. The gesture and the thought that he wanted me to have the shirt off his back was something that nobody could take away from me.

A little while later, the five jerseys that New Kids on the Block wore on stage in Maine were listed on eBay for breast cancer research fundraising. I thought maybe I could use my story to bring in bigger donation bids on Jon’s jersey, so I started advertising the eBay link everywhere I could. I wanted Jon girls to knock the other guys’ jerseys out of the ballpark. Little did I know, as the bidding surpassed $1,000, there was a conspiracy going on behind the scenes. Two girls that I barely knew felt the jersey should have been mine and they were unknowingly bidding against each other to win it back for me.

I will let Sissy tell her part of the story:

I had no idea any of this was going on until I got to the cruise last May. Sissy found me at the Family Feud game on the first night, I think (that whole weekend was a blurr of RedBull, seasickness and cat naps), and she told me what she had done with winning the jersey. At the cruise meet and greet, she wore the jersey in and told Jon what she was wearing. She took it off right there in front of him and gave it to him, much to the shagrin of New Kids security, who really hate it when you sneak gifts in right in front of them. The plan was that Jon was supposed to be the one to give me the jersey when he saw me on the cruise. Sissy thought he should be the one to give it to me. We all know Jon, though. We know that a) he’s forgetful, b) he’s late for everything, and c) he’s easily distracted. The cruise was crazy and Jon forgot to give it to me, or whatever happened. Instead, he took it home with him.

And so began the nine month badgering fest of, “Jon, don’t forget the jersey.” “Jon, do you still have the jersey?” “Jon, you ought to go to the post office.” “Jon, I don’t live in Tennessee anymore.” “Jon, Jon, JONATHAN RASHLEIGH KNIGHT!!! HELLOOOOO??!!”

Jon is cute but is busier than a puppy in a puppy biscuit factory. He responded from time to time, promising that when he had some time, the jersey would be mine. The words, “I promise,” coming from any man scare the hell out of me though, because I don’t really have any examples in my life of men who understand the meaning of, “I promise.” Maybe one or two. I admittedly have very little faith in men who make promises, so for most of these last nine months, I didn’t bother reminding him about the jersey. If it was meant to be mine, it would find its way to me eventually. If I know anything about Jon, it’s that nobody can order him around. He does things on his own time. Even when I was told to remind him, I had a crisis of conscience because I didn’t want to irritate him and I knew I was looking like a spammer to those who enjoy tearing me down.

After Jon’s surgery, my friends picked up on what I was doing through my tweets to him and they joined the effort to get him on the ball and return my jersey. I don’t even know how many of them helped me now. Probably a dozen or more in the last few months. There is a lot of dishonesty and jealousy running rampant in the blockhead world, but there is a lot of sisterhood, brotherhood and joy in seeing each other succeed too. I’ve seen both sides of the coin and I choose to take the joy with me rather than the jealousy.

Around my birthday, Jon finally had the opportunity to put the jersey in the mail. I think he mailed it on my literal birthday, in fact. My friends all seemed more excited for me than I was for myself and we even made a “package pool” to see which day it would arrive. I woke up today feeling more energetic than I had in a while and I was deep into doing past life and tarot readings for people as I always do with my job. I was deep into a reading when my mother brought a box in the house and put it in the chair next to me. I recognized Jon’s handwriting before I saw his name and, needless to say, I still haven’t finished that reading (sorry, Amanda D., you’ll get it tomorrow!). He was thoughtful enough to send a birthday card along with the jersey.


Everybody knew the jersey story all these months and I would have felt selfish in not sharing my joy, so I put a picture of the jersey with the card on Twitter. Hopefully Jon didn’t mind about that. I’m keeping the contents of the card to myself, so I don’t think he would mind the fuzzy image of it with the jersey. Truly, it only proves how thoughtful he is. It’s not an act. It’s not an image for the public. Jon is who he is whether he is on stage in designer clothes or on his hands and knees laying hardwood floorboards in dirty work boots. Yes, he can be a bit of a procrastinator, wickedly stubborn, late for everything and all of that, but those things all make him who he is right along with his thoughtfulness, sincerity, generocity and his true need to see people happy. For once in my life, “I promise,” actually means something substantial.

The jersey also brought me together with great people who I would not have known had Jon not impulsively took off his “shirt” that night. Sissy and Lauren went above and beyond the call of friendship for someone they barely knew. Now Sissy and I are great, close friends and I adore her. Tinah! Tina helped with reminding Jon about it and we are fabulously great friends in the last several months too. So many people had a hand in it. I couldn’t possibly name everybody but you know who you are. It may be just a piece of clothing that Jon once wore but when I look at it, I will always remember how many people cared enough to get it back to me. It went to several states and countries, lived for months in Jon’s house, and finally came home to me where he intended it to be way back in March 2009.

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