There Is A Defunct Hospital in Cincinnati Called Besthesda

"There is a pool in Jerusalem called Bethesda. There gathered
crowds of sick people, blind, lame and paralyzed. John 5:2"
Written on a mural at Bethesda Oak Hospital.

Where I work is kind of freaky in a Stephen King, Sixth Sense, The Shining kind of way.

My office is located in the old Bethesda Oak Hospital, right off 71 at the Taft Road exit. But there is no actual hospital there anymore, not in the "healing" sense anyway. It's confusing because everything about it still looks like a hospital, right down to the white cross on the top of the tower announcing to travelers on 71 north that people can, or at least did, find comfort there.

Where admissions used to be there are now Tri-Health office workers, shuffling papers rather admitting patients or helping sick people.

Old surgery rooms are now simulation rooms for Children's Hospital surgeons. And it's completely bizarre walking past them because there are dummies lying on surgery beds hooked up to IVs, machines, etc. There is even fake blood during the simulations. (I felt my own blood drain out of my body the first time I walked past not knowing it was a "simulation" room, and saw a sheet covering up everything but a dummy's feet. The lights were off inside the room, and it flashed through my mind that a patient from god knows when had been abandoned there during a failed surgery.)

Tri-Health closed Bethesda Oak as a hospital around 2000, and slowly but surely Children's has been taking it over and using it as space for various departments. (Tri-Health's corporate offices are still there.)

My office is located in a former OB/GYN physicians office, and I can't help but wonder how many expectant moms passed through there, rubbing their bellies in anticipation. (How do we know it was a former OB/GYN office? Because my colleague Steve found the old schematic, complete with the locations of exam tables with stirrups.)

When my colleagues and I go to get water and ice we walk to what is now just a bunch of cubicles in little suites, but countless babies were born in those suites. It's the old labor and delivery wing of the hospital, now stuffed with computers and cubes and non-baby delivering Children's employees. (At least hopefully they're not delivering babies in there because there aren't any doctors around.) When I walk past I can't help but flash back to what that ward must have looked like 10, 20, 30, 40 years ago.

Sometimes on my way in to work I'll enter through the old emergency room, imagining what sorts of pained faces once sat there anxious for help. Broken bones. Bloody wounds. Wrenching pain.

My imagination runs wild in that place.

The strangest thing is imagining what it would be like if you didn't know it wasn't a hospital anymore. What if you were driving down the highway with an emergency and pulled in to the old ER, only to find an abandoned hospital, just filled with office cubicles and baffled employees, wondering what you're doing bleeding on their floor.

The whole idea of it has the makings of a great piece of surreal fiction. Then again, I find it all pretty surreal now.

I'm moving buildings next week and am super excited to be moving into Children's brand spankin' new research building, but I have to admit, I'll miss this weird place. (Fyi: Many of the photos have notes in them, so hover and you can read the details.)

Also, just to be clear, Bethesda Oak has never been Children's hospital. Children's is located about a mile away, just a block or so from University Hospital.

How Ya Like Me Now?

The tears of a mix-tape clown.

This pretty much captures the scene at lunch today. Me happy to blow minds with my hella-cool '80s mix, and Adam crying in the background.

His turned out to be a movie soundtrack '80s mix, while mine was more skating rink music. We were "judged" on ten items, including aesthetic beauty, first track strength, closing track and a "bonus" category, the "backwards skate ability" of the disk. Ummm... hello. My mix has Lisa Lisa and Cult Jam on it. All Cried Out anyone? Sing it with me! "Don't you know my tears will burn the pillowwwwww!"

We both swiped awful photos of each other from Facebook for album art, but my cover totally won for it's Photoshopped image of my mix being so awesome it does, in fact, blow his mind.

The "judges" however, if you can even call them that, didn't declare a winner. Instead they said they had to "listen" to the CDs in their cars or whatever. Which is complete crap because everybody at that table, and some random people at nearby tables, totally knew I won.

Looking back I'd have a made a few different song choices, but overall I think I dropped the bomb on him. Baby. (Man, I can't believe I didn't include that song. Damn.)

But you can judge for yourself.



Next time we've decided we'll set some genre perimeters and also have a skate off. Psssssshhht. He don't even know that I grew up at the Idyl Wyld. I can roll, y'all.

It's Already Been Broughten

I'm in the throes of a mix-off with a colleague.

The only guideline is that it's got to be '80s music, but today I got an email saying "I'll bring the boombox. You bring the cardboard."

He don't even want none of me if this is an old-school hip hop mix. Dana Dane, anyone?

The hardest part has been excluding some great stuff that doesn't fit into the decade. I'm ruling out anything pre-1980 (Rapper's Delight) and anything post-1989 (Iesha) for fear of a technical disqualification.

The smack talk is getting pretty intense, including this from my inbox last week:

"My 80's mix is very close to finished. I was listening to it on the way to work this morning and it was so awesome that it blew the mind of the lady in the car next to me on 471. You'll see it on the news tonight. She never knew what hit her. It was DeBarge."

The mix-off goes down at high noon on Friday. Apparently there will be judges.

It. Is. So. On.

The Men Behind the Genius

My feelings about the Geniuses at the Genius Bar are mixed.

Sometimes they're awesome, able to correct your Mac's problems in a single huffy Genius jag. Other times they're completely clueless and just say "Is it backed up? We're gonna have to send it out."

Or worse, they show you the shiny new model and convince you that the latest iPod/iPhone/Super-duper brushed silver Mac is what will fix you're ailing Mac heart.

It's like life and death those moments. I'm not a damsel in distress, but I can play that role if I think it will swing things in my favor when it comes to getting a new battery, cord, logic board, what-have-you that I want fixed in-house rather than in Memphis.

I got the rare opportunity to meet a former Genius in the wild a few months ago. I was on a clinical tour of the hospital when this guy kept whipping out his iPhone and touch scrolling through his messages.

Show off, I thought.

"Oh, you got some important stuff you have to read right now on your fancy iPhone?" I asked him.

He laughed, as I knew he would (we are one Apple soul, you know), and then proceeded to rub salt in my iPhone-less wound by telling me he "actually got it for free."

"Don't even tell me you worked at the Apple store," I said.

Yes, he did work at the Apple store.

"Oh my god, did you used to work at the Genius Bar?" I wanted to know.

Indeed, he did.

As we toured the various departments in the hospital my new Genius friend would point out the Windows pieces of crap he'd repaired. We talked about how grateful we are that our departments (though different) allow us to work on Mac's since that's our preference. Then we shared agonizing tales of having to "remote in" to PCs.

Obviously we were bonding, even after I told him my mixed feelings about the Geniuses.

"There are a bunch of us here now," he said. "I'm the fourth Genius to come to Children's from the Apple store."

So last week I had to go to the lair where the geniuses are. (My computer wasn't broken of course, I just needed VPN access.) And there they all were, minus the black t-shirts.

We stood around chatting about the MacBook Air, iPhones and why they like working at Children's better than the Apple store. Now if something goes down with my MacBook Pro, I don't have to make a "reservation," I just call my Mac crew.

I totally love those nerds now.

Scary Or Cool? Hmm...

Google street view is freakin' me out.

Somehow Cincinnati isn't on there, but I can I get panoramics of my little hometown of Marion, including this 360º shot of my parents' house, which looks like it was taken in their front yard!

What's freakier is that it just so happens that Google's spy van was driving by when I was there. Now what are the odds that I'd be at my parents' house when they were taking the photo? But there she is, the Blue Angel, lookin' all angelic.



Obviously Google wants to get closer to the Blue Angel. Well, get in line Google!

Here are some other randomly funny/odd things the Google street view camera has captured. Careful out there, you might end up in a 360º Google panoramic!

OMG: For Immediate Release

CINCINNATI - Finally, a blog with chocolate and caramel topping!

omgHelmetSundae is your Great American Ballpark tour guide this season for the one topic that's underserved by Reds blogs: Ballpark food.

Because you can read about trades and games and scores anywhere, but you can only read about hotdogs, nachos, brats, lemon chills, pretzels, coneys and peanuts at omgHelmetSundae.

"It is the only blog in Greater Cincinnati with sprinkles," said creator and ballpark food eater Gina Blogs. "We'll tackle important, hard-hitting issues like, Should fans follow up a coney with a Lemon Chill? Or get a pretzel first? And during what inning should they go for the helmet sundae? There are no other blogs answering these questions, but certainly the fans are eager to know."

Indeed they are. According to Sitemeter reports, omgHelmetSundae is already racking up 3 visitors a day, and the first helmet sundae of the season is still 36 hours away.

"I had no idea it would be these huge," Gina Blogs admitted.

But omgHelmetSundae has not started without some controversy. Its first few posts takes no prisoners in admitting it's a rival blog to omgReds.com, an irreverent, "balls out" blog with Mr. Redlegs as its mascot.

When asked to comment on why she'd take-on an already established, much bigger Reds blog, Gina Blogs said, "My logo is cooler."

omgReds.com founder, Dan, released this statement: "Ummm... we blogrolled that shiznit. Whatevs."

Hold on to your mini baseball helmets people, because tomorrow is Opening Day and omgHelmetSundae will be photo blogging the first bites of the season!

-30-

Sunday Mornin' Comin' Down

All of these people did the 15k but me. Suckers!

I was all, "I can't catch my breath. I need to walk for 20 more seconds."

The Tall Drink of Water was all, "You don't need 20 more seconds, you want 20 more seconds."

Daaaang.

But thanks to his pushing, I was able to smoke my last 5k time at the Heart Mini this morning. Ow! Ow! Then I ate a delicious brunch, courtesy of Gretchen's mad breakfast casserole skillz, then took a long nap.

Some photos from the race.

Macaroni Grill Kenwood, Now Closed

In attempt to "carb load" tonight (e.g. eat our body weight in pasta) the Tall Drink of Water and I went to Macaroni Grill in Kenwood.

It's closed.

The empty parking lot and dark restaurant was the only confirmation we needed, but a sign taped to the door elaborated with, "This restaurant is now closed. Please visit our other restaurants."

We went to Arthur's instead. I had the Cajun Chicken linguine. I'd recommend the burger instead.

Layin' Low

TDW's a model, you know what I mean and he does his little turn on the catwalk.

I'm takin' 'er easy right now for all you sinners.

Ok, actually I'm takin' 'er easy for me. I've got a cold comin' on that I want no part of. So I'm kicking back with some tea with lemon and honey, some Zicam and high hopes I've got it shook by Sunday.

Sunday I'm supposed to run the Heart Mini. I'm doing the 5k and the Tall Drink of Water has agreed to run with me (and allow me only 60 second walk breaks) before he runs the 15k.

I had a cold during my last 5k too, the Jingle Bell Run. Clearly my body is rejecting these things and I should take heed.

I'm hoping to beat my Jingle Bell Run time on Sunday, which I think I can do if I run at all on Sunday. So, you know, rule.

I blame a lack of Easter candy for this cold. I'm not sure why but I've had virtually no Easter candy this year and the lack of stale Peeps in my diet seems a likely culprit. I'm gonna need to get some Peeps stat!

Speaking of stat and hospitals and what have you, TDW and I are doing the Heart-Mini on Children's Hospital team, which has raised $28,000 for the American Heart Association. (A drop in the bucket compared to the $1 million+ Children's gets from the AHA in research money, though.)

But the best thing about participating on the Children's team is that the back of our shirts have only the Children's logo, instead of being all crapped up with the gazillions of logos like everyone else's shirts.

Ha ha! Our shirts have more white space.

I So Wish This Was My Story

A colleague came into work this morning and chirped, "So I got kicked in the face this weekend!"

Apparently my colleague's friend was lying across some barstools posing for a photo at The E on Saturday night when a particularly awesome song came on. (I'd name the song, but I can't. Big Brother is probably reading this.)

In her excitement her friend kicked her leg into the air and drove her spiked Jessica Simpson heel into my colleague's mouth, which resulted in mucho blood spillage.

She said the heel went right into her palate, "like, I tasted her heel."

To try to make amends - and furthering the scene that was created - her friend got down on the floor and said, "Go ahead! Kick me in the face! I deserve it!" Meanwhile, my colleague is bleeding from the mouth and spitting up blood, embarrassed she was "that girl" at the bar.

Ahhhh. Just thinking about it makes me laugh so hard I cry. I don't know what I was doing Saturday night when this happened, but I'm certain it was not as entertaining as this.

How Did This Happen?

Somewhere between three and five years ago my parents got way cooler.

Last week they went to see Bruce Springsteen, and earlier this month they traded in my mom's Taurus for a Pontiac, complete with a sunroof, leather seats and tinted windows.

It's like I don't even know them anymore.

Something New Everyday

Yesterday I saw an x-ray of my back and pelvic area and after the doctor pointed out that my hips are rotated (awesome), he also pointed out a bunch of staples that showed up on the x-ray.

What?!

I knew there were probably two staples, one on the left and one on the right. But as he pointed out on the film there's actually a whole mess of them.

"Unless you ate staples for lunch, there's more than two," he said, then he started counting. "There's ten."

There was a fleeting moment where I thought, Did I accidentally eat staples for lunch?

My question is, What are they all stapled to?

Oh Great

I thought the grapes I was just eating tasted kinda weird but I wasn't paying attention because I was looking at my computer.

I just looked down and realized they're covered in white fuzzy mold! FYI - mold tastes like kitchen cleaner. I thought the baggie I have them in got into contact with a cleaner somehow, but no. It's just moldy grapes.

What is the likelihood this will make me sick later today? I'm in Flash training all day, so hopefully if it does make me sick it happens after Flash training.

Your Vote Is Important

Snow Bound

The Blue Angel, now with more snow.

Last night the Tall Drink of Water and I put on our snow boots (yay, my snow boots had their coming out party!) and walked up to Lemongrass for dinner.

There was about nine feet of snow. And it was up hill, both ways.

This morning there was even more snow. We were going to walk to get brunch but nothing was open, so we didn't. It's just as well, walking four blocks in nine feet of snow up hill both ways is kinda hard.

That's the Blue Angel, on the Left

As seen from the confines of a non-snowy apartment.

Non-essential employees in my department got the boot at 11:30 this morning. I love being non-essential!

Because the Blue Angel weighs only about, ohhh 40 pounds (rough estimate), we slipped and slid and burned our tires all the way home. It was tenuous at times, but the Blue Angel didn't get stuck. Whew.

That's more than I can say for a Porsche I got behind for a few miles, which I watched get stuck and unstuck and slide sideways down Madison, nearly side-swiping another car.

In the midst of this I got a panicked call from a colleague who announced,"I'm not gonna make it up Reading! I'm getting stuck! Oh no, I'm sliiiiiding!"

Good times!

What I hope is winter's last gasp is more like a hiss. Like a big, giant, snowy hiss.

All Right Designers!

This season's Must Have is a Chris Glass original. Get your own!

Primary election? Whatever! The real contest will be decided tomorrow by Heidi, Michael and Nina.

Will it be an America filled with Rami's draping and visions of Joan of Arc?

Or perhaps everyone will stay warm and fashionable in one of Jillian's cleverly detailed jackets.

Or perhaps Christian and his pointy 80s hair will come out on top and everyone will be wearing skinny black pants, ruffles and Aquanet next season.

Any way it goes, Tim Gunn wins!

Re Gets Her Dance On - RIGHT NOW!

Tonight was a big night at dance class. BIG.

On my left the entire hour was none other than one of Cincinnati's stellar TelePrompter readers.

HINTS: She and I share the same first name, only her has a "re" in front of it and her last name rhymes with Lusso. (Maiden name rhymes with Parswell.) Got it? Let's call her "Re."

So, I wasn't sure at first if it was even her because she was sans make-up, and you know how shockingly different news people look without their theater make-up on. Plus, she rolled in with a hoodie pull-up over her head, all Uni-Bomber like.

I was wildly entertained by this, wondering, "Is she doing that because she's so famous? Like she doesn't want we non-TelePrompter readers to speak to her while she's trying to bust a move?"

For the first 15 minutes or so she kept her hood up and scowled, like she was in hell. She even hung out in the way back during parts of dances and sulked at everyone. But then, post-warm-up, LOOK OUT! Re was gettin' down. Don't even get in her way during an arabesque with a turn. She will run your wrong-way turning ass over! And look like she's having a good time in the process.

By the end she was looking like she was enjoying herself, but she bolted just before our leg calisthenics. Can't blame her for that, except the instructor put on some Jody Watley. Now who can turn down something as old-school 80s dance as Jody Watley? Not me, kid. But Re and her hoodie were Audi 5000.

Anyway, I totally missed her when she was gone.

Rick Was All Talk

Someone Left the Cake Bucket Out in the Rain

Me and a few crew members checked out Hyde Park's latest watering hole Thursday night, which is where Fudrucker's used to be, before it became a Nothing But Noodles then a Wild Bowls. Now it's called the Rusty Bucket.

Hope y'all got your tetanus shots.

I was actually surprised at how different it looks. I guess I thought it'd look like the noodle joint, only with beer instead of pasta. Nope. It's actually a pretty nice, roomy joint. We sat at the big round bar, as we are want to do.

It's been open only since Tuesday though, which kind of explains all the breaking glass. There were no fewer than three plate/glass/tray crashing incidents when we were there, one of which of sprayed glass onto the bar in front of us. A few minutes later I noticed a big shard on my lap. Whatevs. At least the bathrooms were clean. (Though one stall was out of order, as is customary at every bar. Wtf?) Other than spraying glass, the service was excellent.

Jules had some nachos, which she said was "all right." Translation: These aren't very good but I've had a few Miller Lite's, so I'll eat anything. Then the three of us shared a few orders of the Rusty Pail (Rusty Bucket? Rusty Nail? I can't remember what it was called exactly, but it was Rusty something), which was four mini-burgers.

By that time I'd had a few Miller Lite's myself and let me tell ya, Yumee on the Rusty Trail, er Pail, or Nail or whatever. Those mini-burgers, grilled with cheese, onions and pickles, hit the spot. And they came with fries too, so word up to that.

Overall, I'd give it a B. But not an A because, you know, the flying glass and all.

TITLE RELATED: If anyone knows the song lyric from where this blog title came from, I should mention my dad sang it every day throughout my childhood. It's such an awesomely ridiculous chorus I thought he made it up. But it works here because, you know, the bucket had to get rusty somehow. Seems plausible it might have gotten left out in the rain.

Eat, Pray, Read Something Else

Good riddance to Eat, Pray, Love, one of the more wretched, grating and boring books I've read lately.

I made it about halfway through before I finally resigned myself to the fact it was not going to get any better. (I always hope books will get better, and they never do.)

The first third (the Eat chapter) is abysmally long and repetitive. She spends 100+ pages saying she had a crappy marriage, a difficult divorce and that she loves, loves, loves the Italian language and Italian food. Now press repeat and you've got the first chapter. She reveals nothing so personal about her marriage, divorce or love of all things Italian as to warrant 100 pages on all this, so let's move on, Liz.

When I told my friend Ann in desperation I couldn't handle it anymore, she told me to press on, that the next chapter "Pray," which finds her finally out of Italy and in an ashram in India, is better.

I'd agree. It is better. But that ain't saying much. She spends the Pray chapter whining about how she's no good at meditating and quoting a caricature of a Texan who's only interest seems to be giving her pithy advice. Somehow I doubt how conveniently this person always says the perfect, trivial thing.

I feel like the Texan, and everyone else she meets, deserves better than her egocentric descriptions of them. I feel readers of this book deserve better.

The final straw for me was finding her - for the billionth time - on a bathroom floor crying about an ex-boyfriend. For Christ's sake Elizabeth Gilbert, pull it together! I know... you're depressed... you've mentioned it about 900 times already!... but good god, you should be crying about the fact that you're clearly missing an editor, not a boyfriend.

Many people loved this book. Loooooved it. I've read endless glowing reviews. But trust me when I say that it's like reading a self-help book written by a stunningly self-absorbed 14-year-old. There's no way I could finish traveling with her through India, let alone visit Indonesia with her. She's annoying, egotistical and self-agrandizing (monks tell me I'm lucky, and they're right!) and her writing is wholly unremarkable.

She is the woman I would run screaming to get away from at a party. The attraction to this book reminds me of people's bewildering attraction to the Grey's Anatomy character Meredith Grey. There is absolutely nothing likable about the Grey's character - she's constantly whining, unable to make decisions and looks for answers from everyone else - and yet people love it. It's just like Eat, Pray, Love. Elizabeth Gilbert is Meredith Grey in real life. Completely and utterly uninteresting and exasperating.

I did skim to the end of Eat, Pray, Love and it ended just as predictably as you'd expect from a chapter titled "Love." No surprises here. The only interesting part is that she nearly gets fleeced by a Balinese woman.

But mostly it's more of the same, Gilbert attempting to make a non-story a story. Everything fits so perfectly into the thesis - In this book I will eat, pray and love - that nothing else happens. There is nothing to propel the story forward because there is no story. How anyone ever read the whole thing is beyond me.

After the last two lackluster books I've read, I'm on to read Lolita, which Jen counts as one her favorites.

Here we go, Nabokov, here we go! (Clap, clap.)

Contraindications

Firemonster babies and leathery tails.

Woo Wee

It's been a rough day. Remind me to not follow up a too-strong margarita with bowling pin shaped beers.

That said, I did bowl two strikes last night, which is possibly the first time I've ever bowled two strikes in one game. Unfortunately, it was all down hill from there.

The Tall Drink of Water got his first tattoo on Saturday. He'd been working on the design for some time, and it turned out fabulously. He posted some photos on his blog too.

UPDATE: I forgot about my stellar Ms. Pac Man performance also on Saturday night. It was a deft ballet at the joystick, and those dots and ghosts hardly stood a chance.

The Daugherty Report

After hearing so much about the Mitchell Report, I decided to just go ahead and read the thing. All 311+ pages.

I feel like a more apt title would be "The New York Times/Sports Illustrated/Albany Times Union/ESPN.com/Various Books/ Affidavit Report."

Because 85 percent of it is taken from already published accounts of steroid use in newspapers, magazines and books. Mitchell writes he interviewed over 700 people for this report. I can count evidence of 7, but there are really only 3 big players here. The rest is essentially a literature review.

There were some definite highlights, though, which I copied and pasted into a document. A Mitchell Report Cliff's Notes, if you will. I'm happy to email it to anyone who'd like to say they've read the report without having to actually read it.

If the Mitchell Report is the HGH of reports, then the Daugherty Report is "the clear." (Which, as the chemist who created it explains, is "sickly bitter." FYI.)

In other reading, Esquire has a great piece by David Simon on the decline of the Baltimore Sun, and ultimately, the sadness that's descended over many newspapers.

How I Spent My 3-Day Weekend

With all due respect to my other shoes, these are the most fabulous shoes I currently own, though this photo doesn't do them justice.

Friday
• I refuse to do anything Friday nights because of running group on Saturdays. Went to bed around 11:30. Crazy!

Saturday
• Got to meet Rob and Corrie's little bundle of adorable.
• Saw Juno - I'd give it a B, or B-. Pretty good, but not as as good as Waitress.

Sunday
• Dance class, got my ass handed to me before the warm up was over.
• TDW brought home cherries from Jungle Jim's. Whew, shady cherry deals averted! (Thanks Jon and TDW.)
• Had belated Valentine's Day dinner at The Precinct, where my new shoes had their coming out par-tay. (See photo.)

Monday
• Went to The Bodies Exhibit. There were bodies there. It was pretty good, but not as good as Waitress.

And They're Mine, All Mine!

Come Back

For the last couple of months I've eaten a few pounds of cherries each week.

I pack them into sandwich bags and carry them into work, shooting the seeds into my trash can as a kind of target practice. Let's see how far I can spit this one!

They've become my favorite fruit. But tragedy has struck - I can't find anymore cherries.

Sure they're out of season and I should probably not be eating cherries that have been shipped and trucked in from Chile, but I want them. I don't care if it's February, I'm sure they're in season somewhere.

Last night I wandered around the produce section lost and confused. But they were here last week...

So I asked the fruit guys if they knew the cherry schedule and if there were anymore coming in. They acted like they'd never heard of cherries before.

"You just asked the teenagers on the night shift if they know when they're getting cherries in," the Tall Drink of Water said. "I used to work in the produce section as a teenager. They have no clue if there are going to be anymore cherries."

He said this consolingly, like, What do they know?

Today I went to the one place that I was certain would have cherries - Fresh Market. I was willing to pay top dollar. (Otherwise I wouldn't have been at Fresh Market.) No cherries.

I feel like an addict, like I'm a day or two away from back alleys and shady cherry deals.

Decisions

This morning I was sitting at a stoplight when I saw my running group jog through the intersection.

They've already left, I thought. I could turn around, go home, go back to bed.

But I didn't. Because I knew when it was over I'd get to eat a slice of spinach and artichoke quiche, and I had my heart set on that quiche.

It was delicious. I ate every bite.

She Is Her Own Husband

Today I ordered for my friend Ann the Hamilton Beach Automatic drip coffee maker from her Target Wishlist.

Ann and I met in journalism school. After graduation I went to work for a newspaper in Virginia and she moved to Chicago to pursue her dream of becoming a dancer. Five years later she moved to New York to continue her dancing career and landed in some awesomely unusual Off-Off Broadway productions.

As one of my most spirited, independent friends, I wasn't surprised last week when she told me she was marrying herself. She had just gotten back from traveling through Europe - by herself! - and after a hilarious description of Ireland, she added she was glad she'd gone ahead and traveled alone because she wasn't sure if she'd ever find a man.

"So I'm marrying myself," she said, adding that it's high-time people start shelling out for her like she's shelled out for their weddings, and showers and babies.

Excellent idea, I told her. "Send me your registry."

She's also moving into her first New York apartment sans roommates soon, so she needs some basics. I think the coffee pot goes both ways in terms of a good gift - it's fun but also practical.

So happy wedding/new apartment to Ann. I think she'll make an excellent husband for herself. Plus she has great taste in tea towels.

I Loathe Cincinnati

Saturday's lung exploding course.

Specifically, I loathe it Tuesdays and Thursday starting at about 5:30 p.m. and every Saturday at 8:30 a.m.

Would it be too much to ask the glacier that flattened northern Ohio to come back and also flatten Cincinnati? Is it too late for that? What if the glacier got a cool name, hmm? Hmm, glacier?

Of course I love these same drops and climbs when I'm not on foot. But man, I really hate the ascents when I am. Saturday morning my friend Byron called them "lung explosions." Fitting.

I think these lung exploders also ripped off my soleus muscle.

Thanks, Cincinnati. Thanks a lot.

Awww. Sad.

A still from the video I did before the tournament.

Cornhole champ Chu Farfsing died on Sunday.

I met Chu when I covered the National Cornhole Tournament for sports two years ago, and he and I became fast-friends. He'd been knocked out the tournament (his buddies said because he was hung-over, though Chu denied this vehemently saying, 'Sometimes you throw good bags, sometimes you don't. Drinkin' ain't got nothing to do with it' so he and I sat and traded commentary on the other players.

He make it interesting by chiding the guys still in the tournament for demanding everyone be quiet while they played cornhole. "It isn't quiet in bars when we play! This ain't tennis!" he said.

I thought he might actually get us ejected from the tournament, which I was kind of hoping for. (Getting removed from the tournament with a cornhole rebel rouser would have made an excellent addition to my story.) The stories I wrote about the tournament are no longer available online unfortunately, but Chu was so wonderfully quotable and such a great character that I quoted him in both the preview and the post tournament story.

It's funny the things you remember about people.

He and I went to dinner last summer and traded stories over margaritas and chips and salsa. He told me the story of how he started going by Chu instead of Chuck in elementary school and how every Sunday after church he visited his mother's grave. I hope they're able to bury him near her.

Anyway, I hate to hear he's died. Chu was funny, real laid-back and a very sweet, kind person. Not only that, he threw good bags.

I'm sorry I never got a "next time" to make good on my offer to buy his dinner.

Wow

I'd love to have this on my iPod. No sign of an MP3 yet, though.

Thanks Dave for the heads up.

UPDATE: My supergenius colleague Mark was able to make an MP3 of it. I ran 73 percent faster (rough estimate) tonight having it as my "powersong."

Until it's available on iTunes I'll send out the MP3 if y'all want it. Just email me.

36 Hours In Indiana

You're home. Good. Feed me.

Coming soon - awesomely stretchy calves.

Why pay $85 for a slant board when your dad can make one for free.

A block away from my sophomore year apartment.

Ow!

Coworker sighting! Though I barely recognized him he was so blurry.

My Mom: Career Woman

She's too good for Cracker Barrel anyway.

My mom told me during our Sunday chat tonight that last week she wanted to work at the Cracker Barrel gift shop but now she's not sure she wants to work there anymore.

When I asked her what happened she said the manager insulted her by not sitting down during her interview. She seemed kinda crushed by this, because she thought she'd make an excellent greeter/gift shop sales associate.

"I could talk to people while they wait and hand out samples from the little trays they have," she said. "But once he found out I didn't want to work in the restaurant he didn't want anything to do with me, Gina."

That bastard, I thought. Insult my momma.

My mom's been retired for five years but has been looking for something to do lately, and she told me the night before her "interview" she couldn't sleep she was so excited thinking about what days she could work and not have to miss volunteering at the hospital or her water aerobics classes.

But after the manager "walked her off" she decided Cracker Barrel was kind of far for her drive anyway. (It's about seven miles away.)

"So I've pretty much talked myself out of it," she said, adding that the gift shop manager is back this week but she probably won't go talk to her after being insulted by the general manager.

"Awww, I'm sorry he crushed your dreams of working in the Cracker Barrel gift shop," I said.

This struck us funny and we laughed until tears were in our eyes.

And then she goes: "Your dad said, 'You're gonna fool around and end up with a job, Susie. Then what are ya gonna do?' He's right, they'll have to beg me to work there now."

Film of the Year

Last night I went to see the movie Spirit of the Marathon, a documentary that follows six people of varying fitness levels training for the Chicago Marathon.

I'd been anxiously awaiting seeing it since I bought the tickets for the "one-time only" big screen showing weeks ago. Thursday night finally arrived and I was giddy with anticipation.

The movie turned out to be everything I'd hoped it would be, captivating, heartfelt and humorous. I didn't want it to end, and I don't even run marathons.

The six stories were of two first-time marathoners, a Boston hopeful qualifier, a hilarious old man, and two elite athletes - Bronze medalist Deena Kastor (who I absolutely adored by the end), and Kenyan Daniel Njenga. I was sweating every step of their race to win Chicago, damning their competitors and hoping for them a strong finish for a race they ran two-years ago.

If I'd have had pom pons, I totally would have done a cheer in the theater to encourage them.

Interspersed among the runners' stories was the history of the marathon, including shots of Kathrine Switzter's famous challenge of the all-male Boston Marathon in 1967. Seeing the black-and-white photos of the race director attacking her in attempt to tear off her race number was a seminal moment for me as a young girl. I truly was astounded to learn that girls weren't always allowed to run in certain races. (Though the movie hardly mentions this, I'm still astounded that it was 1984 before there was a women's Olympic marathon. 1984.)

Last night, I got see Switzer's Boston marathon breakthrough on the big screen. What's better, I got to watch her big ol' boyfriend jack the race director and send his ass sailing. Man it was awesome.

A writer from the Chicago Tribune called Spirt of the Marathon a "love letter to Chicago," but it's really a love letter to the human body - its athleticism, prowess, adaptability, resolve. And of course, spirit.

Having said all that, I'm no fool. You won't see me running 26.2 miles anytime soon. But I think everyone else should so I can go watch.

And apparently the film's popularity was bigger than anticipated, because there's an encore showing at select theaters February 21. Trust me, you'll like it way better than No Country For Old Men.

BFFs Just Wanna Have Fun

BFFs Alena (left) and Alivia.

In the last year I've found myself in the enviable position of being something of a rock-star in the eyes of a three-year-old. I've never been so important. I'm not quite Taylor Swift status, but still, I got some cachet. And now I totally live for it.

Knowing that a little girl thinks I'm the coolest kid in school is pretty much the best thing ever, so on my day off on Monday I made sure to pay a visit to my good friend Yvette and my BFF Alena, along with her adorable sisters and brother.

It was raucous. There were dance costumes, high-heeled dress-up shoes, horseback riding (of the plastic variety), Playdough flowers and lots of photos taken - mostly by Alena, who is obviously a wunderkind with a Canon.

We had way too much fun. Did I mention there was also singing and dancing? Oh, there was. And at one point there was even some competition over who'd get to sit in my lap next. (Best day ever!)

What's more, I got to see how a mother of four kids under the age 4 tackles her day. The naps, the meals, the play time, the fights, the injuries, the tears, the delightful ways they look up to her and adore her. I wondered how Yvette does it all day, every day. It must exhausting, or at least I was after only a few hours. Yet she balances it all so skillfully and with such great warmth and patience.

What lucky kids they are to have such a rock-star mom. And the rock-star BFF is totally honored to have her lap fought over.

Next on the BFF agenda: More dance costumes, possible nail-polishing sessions and more bouncing on my lap. I got a cool kid reputation to maintain.

Geezus! You Walked In Here?!

I'm supposed to sleep in this. Yay.

Last week I fired my podiatrist.

I went in because my gait is jacked up and causing some pain in my left foot. So I was all, "My heel-to-toe transition is jacked. I'm not pronating properly, and it's causing me to walk on the outside of my foot. What's up with that, yo?"

So he poked me in the hips a few times and said I have a leg length discrepancy.

"Doesn't everyone have that," I asked.

"Yeah, but as we get older it can cause problems. You just need an orthotic."

"You think so, huh? Hmm. You're fired."

Ok, I didn't say that out loud, but I was thinking it.

Explain to me how a podiatrist can properly evaluate foot pain generated from walking without watching you walk? He didn't do a gait analysis or anything. So he got fired. See ya, Podiatrist One.

Yesterday I went to see a new podiatrist, well call him Podiatrist Two. I told him the same things and gave him the same medical history.

He took some measurements.

"Flex your foot," he said.

"I am."

"Flex it!"

"I am!"

"Wow."

That's positive, right?

So he had me walk up and down the hallway a few times. As I was coming back on my last round he said, all nonchalant-like, "You have the gait of a stroke victim." I thought about punching him in the face.

Then he said, "But you've learned to compensate really well."

Somehow I was flattered by this backhanded compliment.

"I do compensate really well, " I thought. "Thanks for noticing." (Eyelashes batting, in my mind.)

I'm proud of my ability to mask the nerve damage that causes me to wobble when I walk. But that's on my right side and we agreed that's never going to get better. So back to my left foot.

He gave me a physical therapy prescription, some sound advice, and a splint to sleep in.

"Do you think I need an orthotic? Do you think this is because one leg is longer than the other?" I asked him.

"What," he said, kind of confused. "No. Only a jackass would think that."

Ok, so maybe he didn't say that last thing. But it was implied.

Table For... 6

Went to Detroit this weekend for Baby M's baby shower, where he/she made out with lots of loot, including a teeny tiny Bengals jersey I got him/her.

I kept up my end of the baby-shower bargain by failing all of the shower games, scoring only 4 out of 12 correct on a quiz about Jen, overguessed by yard how big her belly is and drew the worst picture imaginable of what Baby M will look like. (My "vision" was Baby M circa 2029.)

Jen, true to form, is just about the cutest, most agile and sprightly pregnant woman ever. If not for the 8-month pregnant belly, you'd never know. She doesn't act pregnant and she looks exactly the same - face, legs, arms, hips, all the same - except that her belly looks like she's stuffed something under her shirt. (I had her show me her belly as proof she didn't just have a big Nerf ball under her top.)

While in Detroit the Tall Drink of Water and I hit Ikea on the hunt for a new dining room table. Our two-seater table was kind of laughable in our giant dining room/dance floor space.

But how we ended up with the biggest table at Ikea I'm uncertain. It seats six regularly, plus it has two leaves so it can seat 10. When we'd ever need to seat even 6 people is beyond me, but I love it, and TDW got me some lovely flowers to put on it.

Then again, maybe we will need 6 seats - me, TDW, Jen, Pat, Baby M and Baby M II. Hmm... we better go ahead and put the leaves in, just in case Jen has twins in the next go around! (Sorry Pat.)

Dear Time Magazine

Dan took this photo.

Vinyl has always been cool.

Coffee, Grapes and Bile - Breakfast of Champions

I want to punch Maureen Dowd in the face.

Her op-ed piece in today's Times, "Can Hillary Cry Her Back to the White House" is making my blood boil. It's one of the more sexist things I've read lately. Way to stereotype your way to the top of the Most Emailed list, MoDo. Ugh. It's just so... bitchy.

I'm going to dismiss it though. This is the person who wrote the most boring cover story on Jon Stewart and Steven Colbert imaginable. And it's an impressive feat to bore people with two of the funniest people on TV. Enough about them, Maureen. Tell us more about YOU.

Dowd's piece is the exact opposite of Gloria Steinem's excellently crafted piece from yesterday, "Women Are Never Front-Runners."

My money is on Steinem getting more hate mail, though. Hillary is bashing is easy. Everybody gets behind it. Reminding people that sexism is alive and thriving doesn't go over as well.

Today's Geography Lesson

The weather in Cincinnati, Ohio.


The weather in Cincinnati, Iowa.

Did you know there is a Cincinnati, Iowa?

I know this because my weather widget was wrongly set to Cincinnati, Iowa and for days I've been wondering why when it's 65 and warm out my weather widget says snowflakes and 33º.

The weather in Cincinnati, Iowa sucks.

The Day Maker

Yesterday there was a little boy and his mom walking down the main hallway of the hospital. He was about 4 or 5 maybe, wearing cute little glasses and a plaid shirt.

His hair had fallen out and he was wearing a mask over his mouth. Poor little guy is pretty sick.

Yet he was such a little ray of sunshine. He and his mom were holding hands and as I passed him I smiled at how cute he was. He looked up at me with these big blue eyes, gave me a sprightly wave and said a big "Hi!" as he passed.

It totally made my day.

Loook Out!!! (A Pop-Culture Post)

It's funny that my tagline is "Books, Records, Films... These things matter" because I never blog about them.

They must not matter that much. (Ohhh, but they do. I just never write about them.)

Until now!

Books
I finished reading Straight Man, by Richard Russo a few weeks ago and thoroughly enjoyed it. It's a funny book about academia, but I couldn't help but see the ridiculousness of all petty ambition in its pages.

It's a good read, but not as good as my favorite read from last year, But Enough About Me, by Jancee Dunn. If you're in the market for a funny, terrific little ditty of a 30-somethings life so far, this is your book. I can't say enough about how much I loved it.

Movies
Went to the movies Christmas Eve and saw No Country For Old Men. I walked out about after about 30 minutes. I tried to be an accommodating girlfriend and agreed to see it, even though I knew I'd hate it. It wasn't a bad movie per se, but I hate feeling tense and anxious and watching endless numbers of people get killed. It's just not fun for me. So I squeaked into Barnes and Noble minutes before it closed and bought a few magazines to read until the movie was over.

I ended up reading them in the hallway of the theater because I couldn't stand listening to the Christmas music that was playing everywhere else in the Levee. Wasn't bad though. The bench was kind of comfy and up against a wall, so I could rest my back. That's nice. I'd give it a 7 out of 10 stars on the movie experience scale. (The magazines were pretty good.)

Saw Walk Hard on New Year's Day. Hee-larious. Jack White as Elvis was my favorite scene. (Don't click the link if you plan to see it, though. Save it for the Big Screen.) It reduces me to tears whenever I think about it/watch it. Loook out!!! (The Tall Drink of Water does a great impression of this, btw. Ask him to do it next time you see him.)

Walk Hard has a some lulls, but overall, good stuff.

Rentals
Also, watched Waitress on demand last week. I know it got some mixed reviews, but I adored it. I'd have ended it a bit differently, but overall the dialog, characters, and story was so quirky and cute. And it's one of my favorite flavors for movies, bittersweet.

Books again
Back to books... I'm about halfway through the running cult classic Once a Runner. I recently found out it's out of print and worth about $200, so I dug out my pristine copy (I don't actually read most of the books I buy, you know) and man, what horrible writing.

I'll probably finish it because I feel I should - it being a cult classic and all, plus I'm mildly interested in what happens to ol' Cassidy - but woo wee does it have some trite-ass dialog and silliness. I also think the main character is thus-far the least developed, though the author, John Parker, is trying really, really hard to shroud him in mystery and intrigued. It's not working. Instead he comes across as vague and somewhat unlikable.

A friend of mine says he can't imagine anyone but a former or current competitive runner finding it compelling because it's so poorly written. So far that assessment is spot on. I was once gripped by a book on the history of Blood, proving that if it's well written, anything can be absorbing.

Aaaand that's it for now folks. This should serve my tagline well for next year or so. Or until I walk out of another movie.

Happy New Year!

Dan and his fancy new camera took this photo.

The Tall Drink of Water and I had a little soireé last night. We ran out of pretty much everything (Ok, just Coke and beer), but it was fun anyway - Dancing, 45s, champagne and a I'm sure a ball dropped and countdown happened at some point.

Dan got a fancy new camera and took some fantastic photos. And wrote even better titles for them.

Hope the new year is wonderful for you and yours. Happy '08!

And The Winner of the Improptu Contest Is...

This is a still from the scooter video. Not too shabby for a cheapie $100 video camera, eh?

Wow, there are some pretty awesome names for my sweet ride in the comments of Obsessed.

I should have sponsored a naming contest. Winner gets to take my sweet ride out for a spin. (Best contest ever!)

Purple Passion. Purple People Mover. Purple Haze. Purple Devil.

Purple Passion would be excellent considering that was my drink of choice in the 10th grade. My BFF Lori and I would score it however we could and commence to thinking of ourselves as hard-core boozers. If memory serves me it came in two-liter. Can you still buy that stuff? Yikes.

My Purple Passion days were also only a few short years ahead of when my middle school boyfriend, Travis (real name), rode me around on his Honda Elite. (Me and Honda Elite's go way back.)

Excellent suggestion, Big Bri. You had no idea the history I could attach to that.

Purple People Mover is cute, mostly because apparently there is a train/bus/large cab called that in Detroit. Jen I'm going to need more information on this here Purple People Mover.

And the Blue Angel would be totally flattered if I named my scooter the Purple Devil. And I like to make the Blue Angel happy.

But Amy's Purple Haze suggestion is the name I had started to think of too. Mostly because at 35 mph, the only thing people will see of me is a haze of purple when I fly by on it! Ow!

And it sounds more bad ass than Purple Passion. (Though barely!)

Amy and Big Bri, please report to my dead end street this spring to redeem your prize as winner and runner up - free scooter ride!

Side note, you can still buy Purple Passion, though they fancied up the bottle it appears. What, no street cred with the two-liter?

Turns out, Lori and I were more hard-core than I thought. That grape soda-tasting swill is made with Everclear. LaToya Praeter, who ever that is, has a funny blurb about Purple Passion in her list of Top 10 Classiest Drinks. It's number 9. Cheers to that LaToya.

Hmm... I Don't Feel Any More Sculpted

Tonight I hit the Total Body Sculpting class at my gym. There was definitely some burning, but mostly it was in my quads because we did about 300 squats and lunges, so I'd say overall it wasn't a "total" body sculpt. Maybe they should rename it "Total Quad sculpt."

A colleague of mine couldn't walk for three days after taking the "Tone and Chisel" class at her gym. Sounds scary/awesome. I wish my gym had a class that sounds as bad ass as that.

Which got to me thinking as I was lying on the Bosu Ball cranking out chest presses - classes at gyms should have more fun names, such as:

• Ab Shredder - A class featuring myriad ways to make your insides feel like they're coming out

• High and Tight - After this class, your butt will be like a Marine's haircut

• Sick - Not only will you feel like throwing up from this crazy hard-core work-out, but your body will be totally sick afterwards (in a good way)

I could probably start my own gym with these terrific class ideas. It's what 50 chest presses will get you.

Last night I went to Pilates class.

What's up with all these classes, Gina?
Oh, the Tall Drink of Water is in Florida for four days, so I have nothing else to do but go to the gym.

The instructor was kind of mean. Not the normal, coddling "You're doing great!" kind of instructor. It was refreshing.

As I was wollering around on the floor like a beached whale I started calling her the Pilates Monster. In my head. One girl groaned when we had to do planks and the teacher made us all do "around the world" planks. Which are even more horrible than regular planks. Thanks groaning girl.

That could be another class, Groaning Girl - it's like boxing, only instead of heavy bags you punch the girl who complains and makes everyone do more work. It's a great cardio workout.

Obsessed

Unless I'm blogging/talking/writing about my new scooter, I'm pretty much uninterested.

On that note:

• I've decided I should buy a house, so I can park my sweet ride in the garage. If said house doesn't have a garage, I will have my dad build me a shed.

• Late Februrary/early March will be busy. That's when I'll take my motorcycle license exam (required by Ohio to drive a scooter) and thusly become a certified bad ass.

• Charity fundraising scheme #1: Offer scooter lovers the chance to drive my Elite down the dead end street. Donations gladly accepted. (There is no charity fundraising scheme #2 - yet.)

• Attend summer cook-out at Metro Scooter, where Dave, my new scooter BFF, sold me my first helmet - A lovely red Bell helmet. (Discounted $40 because "No one will buy the red ones.")

• Figure out best way to transport fruits and vegetables from Findlay Market/Hyde Park Farmer's Market. Milk crate with bungee cord? In a sack on the floorboard? A backpack? These are serious questions that must be answered by spring.

• Imagine myself crashing with loads of fruits and vegetables strapped to my back. Painful, but kinda funny.

• Rename blog "Gina Blogs All About It, It Being Her Scooter: The Official Blog of (To-Be Named) Scooter." I think it has a nice ring to it.

• Perhaps you'd like to know more about my scooter. Please call/write/come over. Any time. Really. I'm always up for chatting about it.

Scooter Wow!

Merry Christmas To Me!!!

My sweet "new" ride.

Video coming tomorrow!

Yay! (What's a Giraffe Bed?)

Nick Lachey made his hometown proud last week by winning Clash of The Choirs.

I didn't watch because I didn't want to jinx him. I feel like whenever I want someone to win and I watch, they lose. But if I want them to win and don't watch, they win. So... Thanks to me not watching, Nick won. :)

I'm a fan of Nick if not professionally certainly personally. Seems like a good guy to me. Nice. Laid-back. Friendly. My sort of dude. Plus I wanted Children's to win the $250,000 prize money, which everyone reported would be used for Giraffe beds in the Regional Neonative Intensive Care Unit.

Awesome! I imagined fun, yellow and brown Giraffe decorated beds that kids were like "Whoa!" when they see them. Like they're so huge kids forget about how sick they are.

Then I thought $250,000 sounded like a lot of money for plastic Giraffe beds.

Turns out a Giraffe bed is one of those clear plastic chambers teeny tiny babies are put in when they can't be contaminated by the world.

Or more specifically, it's a fully featured neonatal care station, with an X-ray cassette tray, internal bed tilt, integrated in-bed scale, warming drawer for diapers and blankets, mounting rail for IV poles, pumps and shelves; it's also a controlled humidifier with oxygen systems and temperature controls; and alarm noises and lights are designed so as not to disturb the baby.

It also has sleeves so physicians and nurses and moms and dads can poke their hands in without actually touching the baby.

It's quite a bed. I wish I had one.

Thanks to Nick, Children's can buy about 5 of them with $250,000.

Oopsy

Don't try this at home, kids. Bad news bangs.

Cold Busted

Instead of scraping my windows this morning I just squirted some wiper fluid on the windsheild until I could see out of a little hole.

When I needed to see out of the side windows, I'd just roll the window down.

Obviously I was running late.

On my drive I heard my text alarm go off.

I got to work and the text said, "Girl you better defrost yo' windows!"

Gleefully Insured

In between jobby jobs I had to go a month without health insurance.

I wasn't too concerned because I had 45 days to sign up for Cobra (which I was going to do if I got hurt or something) but I didn't really want to because it costs about a gazillion dollars, or something thereabouts. So my "plan" was just to stay injury/sick free.

And it totally worked. I skated through the whole month... without falling down and breaking my tailbone.

I woke up December 1 and before my eyes were even open I smiled slyly to myself and thought, "You're insured!" I even did a little insurance dance around the bedroom when I got up. I whispered into the Tall Drink of Water's ear, "Hey, wake up. It's a glorious day. My health insurance starts today!"

I get really excited about health insurance, especially good health insurance like I have now.

I pay four dollars extra a month for the supremo coverage, which means they'll bring me back to life for free should I find myself seriously dead.

I'm going to go drive across the Brent Spence just for fun.

Wee!

Overheard This Afternoon

Colleague 1: "Is it like, super-moldy in here? My eyes are burning."

Colleague 2: "I don't know. I noticed something this morning, that's why I had to turn my desk light on."

Colleague 1: "You're all blurry. I can barely see you."

Almost A Team Photo

It was a walking battle royale between me and this much larger, much older dude to the finish line today at the Jingle Bell Run/Walk for Athritis.

Quite honestly I didn't think I'd be able to pull it out, but super-runners Dan and the Tall Drink of Water came back for me after they finished and escorted me to the finish, encouraging me to jog a few steps here and there to get ahead of him.

I beat him fair and square. My head cold however, according to my Nike+, finished dead last. Serves it right.

Thanks to TDW and Dan for making it out on this cold Decmeber day to usher me to the finish line. And thanks to my colleague Missy who also braved the cold this morning to participate.

And Big Fat Hearty thanks to Dave and Amy, who were so generous to donate to my Arthritis Foundation page.

It was so nice of all of you. You have no idea how much I appreciate it.

I chatted with Susie Daugherty (aka Mom) this morning and she wanted me to tell you guys that she's "very proud of us" and she thinks "it's just terrific and so sweet" that we walked/ran and donated.

And she hopes that we dressed warm.

Ban Comic Sans

I was in the research building last week and saw a big tank with a sign on it that said Liquid Nitrogen. The sign was written in Comic Sans.

Poor font choices make liquid nitrogen less potent. FYI, researchers.

Temporarily "That Girl"

The Man of the hour.

Never at parties or weddings do I take my heels off to dance.

I try to always wear quality heels that are comfortable, and even when they're not, I pride myself on my ablity to endure the pain and always keep them on.

The pile of discarded shoes at wedding receptions always makes me laugh, and while I don't blame any girl for shedding uncomfortable but fabulous shoes, I am never one of them.

Except last night I was.

After about two hours of dancing to a terrific DJ at Tabari's Sweet 16 (+14) birthday party - one of the rockin'-est parties I've attended in a long time, and at the CAC's UnMuseum, so fun - I finally succumbed to the intense pressure in the balls of my feet and took my shoes off.

My black patent leather t-strap Mary Jane's understood, and waited patiently until I returned. Except I didn't return. It was so freeing that the Tall Drink of Water had to bring them to me to put back on at the end of the night.

I could tell they had been crying.

I don't have any photos of the cast aside Mary Jane's, but I do have plenty of party and pre-party photos of the night here.

Happy Sweet 16 (+14) Tabari! I was proud to be part of your slide show. And the fade you had back in the day was awesome.