Me-WOW!

Absolutely no legs!

I laughed so hard I cried - and even hyperventilated a little bit - when I saw this commercial yesterday.

Lots of comedy shorts on SuperDeluxe.com, where I found this disturbing yet hilarious commercial.

There's also a great Bob Dylan parody called Bob Dylan: No Direction, Period. In it, he's credited with writing every popular song since the 1960s, including Nookie, Gold Digger and Toxic. It's pretty brilliant.

The Last Word? Hardly.

So, the slippers don't actually look anything like this, as you can see on Jen's blog where the picture actually exists. But this is how I envisioned them when I first read Jen's lede, so it's how I told Rob he should draw them.

Jen's Last Word ran last week and it's gotten great feedback on CiNWeekly.com, which is very cool.

You can read the original version here. I had to edit it down for space so the lede is a little bit different, but the slippers are intact. The original is longer and better, but the print version comes with the very cute slippers drawing and a picture Jen took of herself in my apartment before they left.

In other news from Detroit, Jen had her first A1 story today and will have another one tomorrow. What's better is that the Detroit News totally schooled the Free Press on the story, which didn't have it in today's paper at all.

You're going to have to wake up pretty early in the morning, Free Press, to pull one over on the Detroit Dynamo.

Laurel Canyon Review

Since The Tall Drink of Water subscribed to Netflix, we've been on a movie-by-mail binge. And it's fun - when I pick the movies.

He would argue otherwise (but then again, who wouldn't), but I pick better movies.

Because I don't particularly like the act of watching movies - that is, deciding which one to watch, deciding on a time because you have to factor in when you're going to eat, how long the movie is, what else you could be doing with those 2 hours of your life, etc. - I don't go in to watching a movie lightly, at home or at the theater.

I've been burned too many times by boring and mediocre movies. And unlike me, most people (The Tall Drink of Water, for example) are unwilling to walk out of movies or stop watching them if they're dull. Not me. I relish the walk-out. Getting to eat an hour before you thought you'd be able to makes the food sweeter, and I've never regretted not seeing the end of a movie I walked out on.

So I do my best to only watch movies I think I'll like. I'm well researched before I take that two-hour dive because I know it's very likely I'll have to stick it out because someone else wants to.

So last night after the first 40 minutes or so of Laurel Canyon, with Frances McDormand, Christian Bale and Kate Beckinsale, I was all for turning it off and watching TV instead. But TDW, ever the optimist, wanted to keep watching to see if it got better.

Our compromise was to watch it on fast forward and then watch only the scenes we thought would be important. (For me that was only the last one.)

Laurel Canyon is I guess about a son's wish for a decent mom. Bale plays the son, McDormand plays the mom. Good ol' mom, a rock producer, nearly lets her worthless boyfriend (and herself) seduce Bale's fiance, Beckinsale, before realizing she needs to stop with her bad parenting ways.

It was all too far-fetched for me. For example: You're a girl dating a guy. Now, imagine yourself making-out with your boyfriend's mom.

Go ahead, I'll wait.

Yeah. That was my reaction when McDormant and Beckinsale started kissing. First I was, "Ick.' Then I was, "Riiight." That on top of the fact it was slow-moving, too long and underdeveloped in its attempts at deep and meaningful. Relationships, blah blah.

Of course TDW picked out this movie. Though in his defense, he knows I'll watch Frances McDormand in anything. (Frances McDormand's living room Web cam? Hells yes I wanna see it!)

And, this goes without saying, but she was awesome in it, even if the movie was thin everywhere else.

Of course, my opinion on movies often differs from the reliable crowd. Best Picture Oscar winner Crash? After a good start I walked out thinking it was sophomoric and preachy. I thought the "coincidences" were so horribly manufactured that I laughed out loud, but the whole time I felt bad because I was thinking, "Aren't I supposed to love this movie? Isn't this supposed to say something about our everyday, American-way?"

The only thing Crash said to me was, "If you walk out now you can be done eating before it gets crowded."

Ditto for this last year's Big Brave Indie Movie Everyone Loves, Little Miss Sunshine. I loved the characters. They were funny and colorful and wildly entertaining, but the movie as a whole was a big bore for me. Only the last 45 minutes were any good. The rest of the movie, minus a few sweet moments here and there, was slight at best.

So, I've shown my cards. This should help you decide if you can ever trust any of my reviews.

Put 'Em On Notice!

I didn't have room, but I'd also like to put Hot Pockets on notice. Get your own On Notice board here.

Lessons Learned - Dancelife Preview

The preview of the premiere of J. Lo's Dancelife (I know, whatever MTV) was this afternoon at 1 p.m., and since I'd vowed to go to the gym for the first time in over a month, I decided to watch it while on the treadmill.

Huzzah!

It was genius, because not only did I go farther than I would have had it not been on, but I was so into it that I ran during the commercials because of all the sculpted abs on there. ("Gotta get in shape, Gotta audition for Dancelife!")

A few of the lessons learned from 1 to 1:30 p.m. this afternoon during Dancelife.

1. Giant hoop earrings are a must-have for any burgeoning hip-hop dancer; ditto for baggy capri pants, preferably in camouflage.

2. Long hair is another must. Fake hair? Go on, girl. Tearing off your weave in the middle of your audition and throwing it onto the floor is certain to get you a call-back.

3. It's cool to say "the business" - a lot - when referring to life as a dancer.

4. I agree with Nolan that Blake is a diva beeyotch.

5. Gymnastics and tumbling is a good subsitute when you a.) can't think of any dance moves or b.) don't have any actual dance skill or c.) both

6. Marc Antony, in his little blue skull cap looks tiny and roachlike, but seems good-natured and likeable.

7. J. Lo is completely likeable. (Full disclosure: While it's uncool to admit this, I am in love with J. Lo and Dancelife and am forcing - against his better judgement - the Tall Drink of Water to DVR it.)

And though I didn't learn this on the treadmill, it's still important to note: My body fat is .3 percent lower than The Tall Drink of Water's body fat. Which means he is made up almost entirely of pudding, while I am awesome and svelte.

Rainbows, Puppies, Kittens and Popsicles

Conversation highlight from the Adidas outlet store:

Me (Holding women's t-shirt in pink with rainbow colored sparkles popping out of the word "Adidas): "Everything for women is pink with rainbows and glitter and crap. The men's stuff is better."

The Tall Drink of Water: "It's all rainbows and puppies and kittens."

Me: "Yeah, unicorns and popsicles."

TDW: "Mmm. Popsicles."

Yes Please!

Finally, the fabulous David Beckham will grace the US with his stellar good looks and mad soccer skillz. He's signed a five-year deal with the Los Angeles Galaxy. More here.

I predict Posh wowing the tabloids with fantastic style choices and kids across America sporting Becks' latest haircut.

Gooo Galaxy!

Sad Blog

It's very sad at this blog.

Most distressing, Jen and Pat have moved to Detroit. In addition to that horrible news, my iMovies have sucked every last bit of my hard-drive space, so I can't make any movies until I get an external hard-drive.

The latter is sad because I have lots of footage from Jen and Pat's going away party - including a reenactment of a Detroit street fight/shooting - that I can't turn into a movie.

So here are some photos until the LaCie fairy comes with some external storage.


Sheet cake for everyone in the newsroom.



Is that...? Noo, it can't be. OMG, it is!



Everyone has The Club in Detroit.



And yet another niche publication that will save the company. Or Jen and Pat's going away page.



Oh look, a book about Michigan. How convenient.



Senseo single-cup cup of coffee? Why, yes, thank you.



Jen made me a Best Friends book. And then I cried.



We're not posing. We're just really excited to stand so close together.



Grrr.



Last photo until March.

Buh-lieve It!

More shocked, I could not be.

But low-and-behold, my sister and 17-year-old neice came to visit. And it was so fun!

We did lots of shopping, tried on tons of clothes, gossiped, giggled, stayed up late, slept in and got Leah's cartilage pierced, which she said hurt way more than her belly button piercing. (Yes, my junior in high school niece has her belly button pierced.)

You'll undoubtedly notice in the video that I call my sister Sissy. Always have. I'll be 50 and still calling my 62-year-old sister, Sissy. I didn't know her real name until I was about 7.

I'm also happy (yet sad) to report that my iPod Mini, the pink, 6-gig, little pretty with an insatiable appetite for 80s R&B (it really loved New Edition) now belongs to Leah.

It was tough giving Mini up, but Leah has long wanted an iPod, and since I want to get a Nano, my sister bullied me into selling Mini to her. And by bullied I mean she slapped down some crisp bills and said, 'Leah, let's look at your new iPod. Here, Gina, you can put this toward that other one you want.'

So... Leah's ecstatic. And I'm getting a Nano!

I'll Believe It When I See Her

My sister randomly called me up today. (Jen always says, "It's so weird you have a sister. I always forget." I reply, "Me too.")

It's about the fourth time we've talked in five years. I think I've seen her about three times in those five years. We get along great - she's quirky and funny and says outrageous things, which I admire. (And she says them with a severe, southern accent.)

But she's also 13 years my senior, has lived in Lexington almost her entire life (whereas I've never lived in Lexington), has been married for nearly 20 years and has two grown children. So our lives are very different.

She's also completely unreliable, given to great whims and it's become her trademark to disappoint.

She's been promising my dad a visit on Thanksgiving/Christmas/Insert-Any-Holiday-Here for the last 10 years. She's never made good on any of them, though she promises every time.

So when she announced on my voice mail, "We're coming up on Friday. Hope you're home!" I was more than a little suspicious.

But I called her back, promised I'd send her directions, she swore she was coming, etc., etc.

I realized that if she does come, it will be the only time my life when I'll have seen her away from my parents. Every time we've seen each other - in my whole life - it's because we're all together, usually because she is visiting my dad or I am visiting her with our dad.

She says she and my 17-year-old niece, Leah (who makes the boys swoon), are just coming for the night to "have fun and hang out!"

I sincerely doubt this, but she has a way of being very convincing. I've already started to think of things we can do together... Even though I know she's completely unreliable.

Dancelife Dilemma

First I wasn't. Then I definitely wasn't. Last week I thought I might. Now I think I definitely will.

Maybe.

I stopped taking dance class in the fall and was absolutely liberated that my Wednesday nights were free again. The winter session starts January 15, and I wasn't going to sign up. But then I saw a preview for J.Lo's Dancelife on MTV, her reality show that follows would-be professional dancers.

I know it's crazy, but I can totally see myself getting addicted to that show and then wishing I had a dance class to go to.

So I thought I better sign up so I don't get dance-envy. But what if J. Lo's show sucks? Then I've signed up for dance again, my Wednesday nights are spoken for and what I really want to do to is go home and watch TV. (But not watch Dancelife, because in this scenario, Dancelife sucks.)

But it could be completely addicting and dance-inspiring... And I'll be the big slug on the couch not dancing. Or I'll be the strange girl gettin' down in her living room.

The premier is January 15, the same day winter classes start. So I can't even watch the show first, then decide.

Damn you, Dancelife.

A Holiday Spectacular

Last week Jen drew a schematic of her yard and her neighbor's yard with illustrations of all of her neighbor's Christmas decorations. They wanted to erect a giant, inflatable, light-up penguin on the property line, which would have made the Penguin look like it was in Jen's yard.

Like any good neighbor, she was outraged. But only to Pat and me. And fortunately, the neighbor ended up putting the penguin in his front yard instead.

Well, along with the penguin, the neighbor also put up lighted teddy bears and snowmen on the porch, wood snowmen cutouts and lighted reindeer in the yard. (There is a photo of this merry-madness in my Merry Christmas post earlier this week.)

Holidays on Jen's street are always fantastic, which is why for the last two years I've spent the Fourth of July and New Year's there. Last year, her neighbor nearly caught his house on fire when a firework flew from the street, onto the porch and under the porchswing where someone was sitting, all while spraying sparks everywhere. It was FANtastic. (He almost caught the tree on fire another time.)

The first time I saw his house he had a huge HAPPY THANKSGIVING sign projected onto his garage door. Ahh. Good stuff.

But my personal favorite from this holiday season are the gelatinous-looking snowmen that sing Jingle Bells. All. Night. Long. Last night, Jen and Pat slept in their guest bedroom because, she said, "It was like they were singing in my closet."

Because I am such a good friend, I laughed out loud at her pain and suffering.

We decided she should tape the snowmen so we could post it on YouTube for others to enjoy.

"I was thinking, 'This is very risky to tape this for Gina," Jen said. "Too bad we're not staying for another two or three years, god knows what holiday craziness I could videotape for you."

So enjoy the little video while Jen's still living in Cincinnati. You can hear her shoes click as she scurries down the driveway. And the penguin is there, too. Hee hee hee.

Whew!

Now back from a whirlwind visit to Indiana.

And by whirlwind I mean mostly I sat around my parents's house for three days with no Internet access (bloody hell!), went to the mall, went to Wal-Mart, then went to the mall again. Wait... I think "mall" is overstating here. Did I mention you could fit all the stores in the Marion Mall into Macy's at Kenwood?

Had a great time, though.


Got a record player for Christmas, but only because my mom had gotten one for my dad, then my dad went out and got himself one before we opened presents. That means I got the one dad didn't want. Jackpot!

Then I took some of their old records. Made out with the Elvis' live TV special and a two-record Kiss set. (Cool. Records came in sets, like CDs.)


Got my mom a Senseo single cup coffee maker. I told her mine changed my life. She thought I was exagerating, then the Senseo worked it's magic on her and she was waking up early to make single cups of coffee.


I hung-out with my high school BFF Lori and made candy. Technically, she made the candy. But I helped make such important decisions as "watermelon or cherry?" And I helped break it apart by hitting it with a hammer.


Got my dad a new hunting cap. It has earflaps on it like Holden Caulfield's. We took his hunting dog Moochy to the vet. Video to come on that later.

"She just ain't feelin' right," he told the vet. "Won't hunt."

The vet thinks she "got into something" while hunting. "Could be," my dad said. "People gut deer and leave the entrails and everything else out there."

I'm don't exactly have an iron stomach, but I can handle my fair share of blood and needles and entrails, but when my dad wiped Moochy's seeping, puss-filled eyes with a tissue, I started to gag in the parking lot. Bleh.


Also, here is a photo of my dad's truck that was totalled. I wrote about it a month or so ago and how he got insurance money for saying he was injured (he hit his knee and elbow or something) and said his dog died. Which, technically, the dog did die, but not because of the accident probably.

Merry Christmas

From the penguin who lives next door to Jen and Pat.

Looks Like Cornhole Has A New Beatwriter

My life-long dream of being a fringe sports reporter came true this weekend.

I've long wished to write fringe sports stories, and I've even chalked up a few peculiar bylines with stories on dirt track racing (where I got hit in the face with a dirt clod), cage fighting (where I was horrified when my boy got knocked unconscious) and bull riding (where I interviewed professional rider Jody Newberry, who was absolutely hilarious).

But I finally got a byline in the sports section on Sunday, which now makes me honest. (I bought three papers for my dad, who will be so proud.)

It was pretty sweet. I covered the first ever national cornhole championship, and while you might think these guys are just tossing feed bags into a hole (because they are, in fact, just tossing feed bags into a hole), it was pretty serious for them. (Several of them make some nice change traveling to tournaments and beating people.)

I thought it would be a festive tournament, with lots of beer drinking and rowdiness. Instead, it was very quiet and serious, with several players storming away from the cornhole court, swearing and pissed. One of them even kicked the cornhole board - twice - and flipped it over he was so mad he finished fourth.

I reported the tournament as though it was an actual sporting event - like a baseball or basketball game - complete with post-game quotes, comentary and play-by-plays. I'm pretty proud of it, really. It's my first excursion into that kind of writing, and since it was on deadline, I had only 20 minutes to finish it, so that made it even more exciting and sports-like.

I also got some feedback on the story, which is rare. Some guy emailed me with a question for the winner: "Is the crown going to be big enough for his head?" Ouch. He also pointed out that his friend, Dewi, who won the doubles competition, would have beaten the winner had he entered the singles competition. Cornhole smack-talk is vicious.

The Tall Drink of Water, while reading the story on Sunday, laughed out loud thinking that the winner's quote, which compared himself to Randy Johnson pitching 9-innings, was a joke. It wasn't. He was very serious. But not in an over-inflated sense of self way, though it seems that way. It was just his way of pointing out he was tired from throwing bags for two days.

The preview video was an underground success, too, though not because of anything I did.

If you wait for it - or skip ahead - you'll see an old guy walking out of the frame wearing only his underwear. He was a regular at the bar where I reported the preview for the tournament who kept threatening to streak. Finally, he came prancing out in just his skivvies. The whole clip is hilarious, but I didn't include it in its entirety for fear the Enquirer would make me redo it if there was too much old guy in his underwear.

Pretty fun stuff.

Actually, I just realized this is only partially true. In fact, my first official sports byline was Saturday with a trampoline preview story for the same sports festival that the cornhole tournament was in. But I still feel like it was Sunday's piece that made me legit, I think because it was the first sporting event I actually covered, not just previewed.

Happy. Sad. Mostly Sad.

Yesterday Jen and Pat accepted new jobs in Detroit.

I've known for a long time that they want to get back to her family before they start their own, so I thought I'd be cool with it when it finally happened. I was wrong. The fact that they're leaving ran over me last night like a Mack truck.

Jen's been my confidant, co-conspirator and partner-in-crime for the last two years. She's also my biggest fan and greatest ally. It's great comfort knowing that should the situation arise, Jen would kick a pointy heel in the face of anyone who even remotely implied I am not the greatest thing in the world. (Go ahead, I dare you.)

No one's ever asked me to be in their wedding before, but Jen did. She didn't even get mad when I screwed up the poem I read for them. And she gave a nod to me in the vows she wrote to Patrick.

Jen's also the only person to pick me flowers from her garden and leave them for me with homemade cards. She's made some of the nicest dinners I've ever eaten. And when she runs off to get a scarf at the Race for the Cure, she brings me back one, too. And I don't even have to ask.

You just don't find friends like her very often. If ever.

And yet, this sudden move is partially my fault. They weren't even looking yet. I was the one who found the job postings, first for Pat, a job I thought he'd like doing Flash and graphics. Then a few weeks later, I found the mirror image of Jen's job here, only in Detroit, covering Detroit Public Schools on a site I didn't even know had job postings. (Secretly I considered not sending her the link.)

Within weeks they had interviews, job offers, signing bonuses and counter offers. (If you're looking for a new job let me know. I'm kind of on a roll.)

Of course I'm happy they've found great new jobs together in the city where Jen's family lives. But it's bittersweet. Truthfully, I'm mostly sad about the whole thing.

Pop Rocked

Video lowlights of Rob's poster show. I edited out the highlights.

Dan has more here.

The Tall Drink of Water and I arrived an hour later than we had planned because someone (TDW) couldn't tear himself away from the open bar at his office's holiday party. And who can blame him!

Pink... It's The Whip

The front end of the Blue Angel got burried under a pile of leaves last week while some landscapers were working next to the Tall Drink of Water’s apartment.

When I went out to leave for work, one of the guys told me to wait and he’d blow the leaves off. Cool, I said, and proceeded to wait on the sidewalk.

After he pulled the cord and got his backpack leaf blower started, he walked over to me, leaned in because of the noise and said I should get into the car since leaves were about be blown everywhere.

Then he looked at me and said, “Whatever you’re wearing is the whip!”

He was so excited it made me excited.

“Really! It’s the whip? It’s good?" I said.

“No, it’s not good. It’s great. What is it?”

“Aww. That’s nice of you to say. It’s Pink, from Victoria’s Secret.”

“Well, it’s made my day,” he said.

“Well you’ve made mine,” I told him.

Then I got into my car, he blew the leaves off and we waved excitedly as I pulled away from the curb.

So there you have it, ladies and gentlemen. Pink is the whip.

Buy it for your girlfriend, wear it for your man. Or wear it for the man who works on the yard next to your man’s.

Mag Loading

Chuck Klosterman has a sidebar to his Esquire column this month on taking magnesium supplements, a little mineral advice he got from reading Bill Romanowski’s autobiography, “Romo: My Life on the Edge–Living Dreams and Slaying Dragons.”

Chuck writes:

Romanowski started taking magnesium supplements in 1995. “From then on,” writes Romo, “my dreams were so real and so vivid that the only way I can describe it is this: It was as if the rare dreams I had [in the past] were broadcast in black-and-white. The new ones were being transmitted in high-definition TV.”

Amazingly, this seems to be a very real phenomenon. I’ve started “mag loading” before going to bed, and my dreams have become memorable, dynamic, and beautiful; taking magnesium is akin to ingesting Michel Gondry in tablet form.

So today, the Tall Drink of Water picked up a bottle of magnesium. And while he was at it, he picked up an extra bottle for me after the label touted it also "helps nerve and muscle function, is essential in the formation of bones and teeth and in converting blood sugar into energy."

Jackpot!

We each took one tonight. I don't really have any dream requests, but here's hoping for something crazy fun.

Top 'O The Muffin To Ya

How humiliating.

In my defense, I had to wrench my jeans together, but still.

Trainer Drew helped out with this muffin top article. And he gave us this great treadmill workout. (No more mailing it in!) Don't like to run? Tough muffin.

And here are some muffin busting exercises.

Good luck, Cupcake. (Oh, wait. That's me.)