To Unbridled Joy

A few weeks ago Ronson and I were having brunch at The Green Dog Cafe when a couple of toddlers came teetering past our table all smiles and waves, their little bodies stuffed into puffy coats and mittens.

"That's what I want in 2010," Ronson said.
"Babies?" I asked, surprised.
"No, unbridled joy. Completely oblivious. Look how happy they are. You just walk up to strangers and they tell you how cute you are."

I raised my coffee in solidarity and polished off the above breakfast burrito. It wasn't quite unbridled joy, but it was damn good.

Look out Vancouver!

Wintry mix from GinaBlogs on Vimeo.

If sledding were an Olympic sport... Adam would crash into parked cars on the street, Aiden would rush over to laugh at him and I'd flip off my sled and get snow in my butt. But still, Olympics!

This Little Blog of Mine

I was at just about hook my thumbnail in between my teeth and rip it from the quick when a guy appeared in front of me and asked, 'Is your name Gina.'

It is, I told him. And I took my thumb out of my mouth.

"I read your blog," he said. "I just thought I'd say, 'Hi.'"

How awesome is that?!

This was today Target. I was giving up my search for sticker paper and was on my way to the potato chips granola bar aisle, so I guess I was somewhere near the notebooks and party planning aisles when I met Dan, a blog reader I've never met.

In the five or so minutes we stood there chatting I learned that he's a graphic designer and that his friend, Heather, who moved to San Francisco, sent him my URL when he was looking for local blogs to read. He told me Heather's last name, but I didn't know her. Then I learned that his sister has her dream job at Children's as a child-life specialist at the Liberty campus. I asked if he has a blog (he doesn't) and we agreed we both probably spend too much time reading about other people's random lives on the Internet.

I was happy to meet him.

Back in CiN's heyday it wasn't uncommon for me to be occasionally recognized (usually by a teenage boy) while I was out and about, an occupational hazard of having your photo in the weekly entertainment rag. But never has anyone recognized me simply because of my blog. How outstanding. I'm just sorry I had my thumb in my mouth for my first in-person impression. Aww well.

As I was pushing my cart away I wondered what Dan, my new blog reading BFF from Target, must have thought of its contents, because come on, who wouldn't look, right? So I took a photo and while I can't pretend to know what Dan thought, here's what I'd have thought if I'd have bumped into me at Target:

1.) She's addicted to Advil.
2.) She has sensitive teeth and might also be addicted to toothpaste.
3.) L'Oreal Excellent 9A Light Ash Blonde is a fantastic color on her. (Cooler blonde shades really bring out her brown eyes and pale skin.)
4.) She has a cat, or two.
5.) Wow, this girl really loads up on the toilet paper and cleaning supplies.

All of which is true, of course.

So anyway, a big 'Howdee' to all you Gina Blogs readers out there who I don't know. Which, now that I've met Dan is probably like, no one. So 'Hi' to everyone I do know. See you at Target!

TGIF 2010!

Let's kick off the year with one my fave songs from 2009, Nothing To Worry About. Not only is it a fantastic notion to start the year off with (just let it roll, y'all) but it's also the weirdest video since... Lily Allen kidnaps Elton John? (Another great song from 2009.)

But it just so happens that for my money, it doesn't get any better than extreme pompadour mullet mohawks and Asian motorcycle gang dance-offs. Happy New Year!

Decade In Review

• Kicked it off in Chicago with my great pal Sandy Bressner at some bar. Most vivid memory: Seeing Chicago's finest dressed to the hilt in SWAT gear. They look bored. The world was supposed to end, y'all.

• I get into grad school. Even though according to my GRE score, I am dumb. (At least I am terrible at taking tests.)

• Sitting at my apartment complex pool one sunny July afternoon, I see my downstairs neighbor and take note of his big guns and broad chest. Well helloooo there neighbor!

• I quit my newspaper job, move to Clifton, start grad school, begin dating the 'neighbor.'

• In grad school they require me to teach. Students. Hahahahaha!!!!

• Summer 2001, I get my piece of paper (I believe they call it a master's) and marry the neighbor under a full moon. Move to O'Bryonville.

• 9-11. I cry at work.

• Daniel Pearl is kidnapped. I take this personally.

• January 2002, I'm diagnosed with cancer. (So that explains the horrendous back pain!)

• I think if Daniel Pearl lives, then I'll live too.

• Daniel Pearl dies.

• I realize I make bad decisions when it comes to random connections that are totally unrelated to me. Further example: 'If I make this shot into the wastebasket, I'll live to be 70.' Shit.

• I 'survive' in spite of myself.

• I take a job writing press releases. Nearly die of boredom. Move to Mt. Healthy.

• Journalism keeps making eyes at me, I try to look away but get sucked back in. The Enquirer hires me in the spring of '03 as a feature writer.

• I meet some of the best friends I've ever had there.

• Fall/Winter of '04-'05 - I turn 30, my brother dies, I get divorced, I move to Mt. Lookout, I start this blog.

• Decide I hate my teeth, start sleeping with a retainer to straighten out them again. This marks the beginning of me being absolutely irresistible at night.

• Determine I want to move to another newspaper. Denver? Phoenix? I go to Phoenix for a visit, decide it's a boring cesspool.

• '06-'07 - Realize newspapers are circling the drain, decide to go to law school, start studying for the LSAT.

• While eating lunch with Julie and Kari and bitching about our futures in journalism, Kari tells me about a job posting at Children's. I apply, move to Hyde Park, continue to study for the LSAT.

• I get an interview at Children's, get dressed down during said interview by my now Boss Man... and then he hires me.

• Thank god I didn't end up in law school; move to another apartment in Hyde Park.

• Spring of '09 - Boss Man taps me for a different job at Children's, this one with more drama and intrigue... I now sit next to a mini-fridge and a microwave. (You can have it all.)

• Michael Jackson moon walks out of my life... and everyone else's.

• Realize under the full moon of 2010 New Years Eve that a) I don't want to move anymore, but know I will and b) note to the universe that I won't be mad if the next decade is marked by fewer personal traumas and c) raise my glass to life's rich pageant and the next ten years.

Huzzah!

Btw, I'm happy to report that the lovely woman sitting next to me in the "then" photo is still a good friend and an avid reader of this blog. How's that.

Singular Sensation

My best friend in the fifth grade, Kelley, had parents who were vastly different than mine. At the tender age of 11, Kelley's mom took us to see the movie A Chorus Line, starring Michael Douglas, dancers, moving songs about crappy childhoods and being gay and catchy songs about 'tits and ass.'

I freakin' loved it.

I also loved Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo about the same time. What can I say. I liked movies about dancing.

This weekend I was flipping through the On Demand movies (look out for this party, y'all!) and stopped at Every Little Step, a documentary about the revival of A Chorus Line on Broadway.

Wow. Freaking outstanding. I was gripped.

The movie follows the dancers who audition for the 2006 revival against the backdrop of how choreographer Michael Bennett came up with the idea of the stage-show in the first place.

How's this for novelty: In 1974 he put 22 dancers in a room with a jug of wine and interviewed them about their lives, his premise being, 'We dancers are a different and interesting breed, tell me your story.' Those characters I first met in the movie at age 11, actual people. How do you like that.

That's one of the best things I learned about being a reporter. If you ask people about their lives, more often than not, they will tell you. And what touching and entertaining stories they can be.

Rather than the stories Bennett uncovered from dancers in the '70s, Every Little Step follows a new bunch of hopefuls about what A Chorus Line, dancing and work means to them. But more than that, it's a documentary about the spirit it takes to be a performer in the face of near constant rejection.

One dancer, in describing her laser beam focus on dance and the pursuit of her dream, says, 'I feel like if you have something to fall back on, you'll fall back.'

Daaaang.

I found myself caring about each of these kids auditioning from the minute go, and as the director and his assistants wiped tears from their eyes during one especially poignant audition, I wiped them from mine. (Good news folks, it appears I am human!)

It's mercilessly intense, ruthless, exhilarating and hopeful. How can you not be impressed at what artists do to pursue their craft.

I sat on my couch wondering why I hadn't packed up 18, moved to New York and joined a dancer's union for this tough as nails life. Oh wait, I remember, I'm not cut from that mettle. But bravo to those who are.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to dance around my living room.

Success Is Mine

I don't ever have new year resolutions, but I'd like to be one of those people who do. So this year I'm just going to make up resolutions for things I either a) already do or b) don't already do.

Resolution No. 1, I'm not going to do heroin this year. I already don't do heroin, so this should be pretty easy. Success!

God I'm so going own 2010. I'm wrestling it down and pinning it before it can even tap out. What's that 2010, you crying cause you got your ass kicked already?! Well, there's more where that came from, Cupcake.

Joy to the World!

I got some new pots and pans for Christmas, y'all, and my dude could not be more excited. You know, being that he's the only one who cooks around here.

No more peeling Teflon, er "secret ingredient," in my spaghetti sauce.

Merry Christmas, My Little Elves!

It's double-shot of holiday fun today, y'all! Since I couldn't decide between Queen City Christmas and Must Be Santa for the final TGIF Video Holiday Spectacular (or whatever I called it), I'm giving you both.

Merry Christmas!



How awesome is this Jake Speed and the Freddies' song with all the little Cincinnati-isms in it? VERY. 'All I want this season is Graeter's ice-cream and a three-way with friends, if you know what I mean.' Yeah, I gotcha, Jake. And I'm totally down.

But wait, there's more... Bob Dylan released a Christmas CD and put out perhaps one of the most fun, rollicking videos I've seen lately. I can't believe I wasn't asked to be in it. Grrr! And don't even try to not fall in love with this crazy catchy song because you won't be able to do it.



Hope everyone gets lots of crap you don't need and maybe a few things you do.

You Are Here

I am waiting for something large... and possibly antlered.

Totally Unrelated Stories (Kinda) Held Together By Fate... or God or Luck or Science or Whatever

I've been making a lot of jokes lately about Christmas Miracles. The things we want for Christmas, the things we wish for. What it means and all that's wrapped up in beliefs and faith and fate.

You know, light thinking. How wonderful it would be to think that God had a part in things, right? Or that maybe not everything, but that some things happen for a reason.

Seems like some things happen and you're like, 'Damn, that just sucks,' no two ways about it. And other times you run into someone around a corner at a certain spot and next thing you know you're best friends or married or whatever and you're like, 'Wow. That was... something.'

There are and have been people in my life who I can't help but think they came along at exactly the right time. And there are things I've wished for that later I think, 'Whew, thank God you don't always get what you wish for.'

But then, sometimes you do. And it's exactly and truly what you need and what is most important.

So a friend of mine has finished her last bout of chemo and has a welcome, holiday respite before she hits radiation. She was most excited about being able to taste food again for Christmas. What's more, there are no signs of the tumors. But she wonders when they'll call and say, "oops, wrong results."

A Christmas miracle. A miracle of medicine. Blind luck. Who cares. I'll take it.

When someone asks me if I believe in fate or God or if things happen for a reason I always say something vague like, 'I'm not against the idea.' But in my head I totally don't believe it. You hope for the best, pray, wish on falling stars, whatever... but it's a roll of the dice.

Then you think about people just wanting to taste food for Christmas... or the love story I heard from my friend Natalie recently.

She and her now-husband dated for five years, broke-up, lived in separate states and had no contact. Two years later they reconnected at a Coldplay concert during the song Fix You, when he walked up to her, picked her up, spun her around and told her he was miserable without her. On the lawn. At Riverbend.

I know, awesome. So they were back together, 'let's do this,' happily ever after, right? Umm, no.

They didn't get back together (but he picked you up and spun you around at the Coldplay concert!) because she was dating a guy in Chicago (a doctor, no less) and she just wasn't "sure." So she went back to Chicago, months of silence followed and then she came home for Christmas and saw him again. Then finally - finally! - after all that, they started dating again.

It took ten years but last month they got married on a beach in Cabo. She walked down the aisle to Fix You.

Snif, snif. Is it is dusty in here?!

So I've been thinking about these little things that add up to big things as I make jokes about 'Christmas miracles.' For the last three nights I've been lying awake until 2 a.m. unable to fall asleep, and inevitably I start thinking about myself and the leaps of faith I've taken - jobs, relationships, school, life, all of it - and how I've managed to land on my feet all the better off for it, the whole time thinking, 'Nah, it wasn't fated. I made this happen.' And I think that's true.

But then sometimes, right when I'm about to fall asleep I think of all the things that snapped into place, all the small things that led to this and that and all the circumstances and moments that came together to form the patchwork of this sublime life and I think, "Holy crap, Daugherty, you better thank your lucky stars or God or something cause you sure as hell had no control over it and who'd have have thought you'd have it so good... certainly not you!"

Then I fall asleep and wake up totally skeptical again.

So, you know, the unbearable lightness of being and all that. Here's hoping for Christmas miracles for all of you.

And That's Why We Are BFFs

A few weeks ago my darling Missy showed me her fabulous new convertible dress. I was dying, y'all. You can wear it like, 900 different ways, and we tried about 9 of them in her bedroom. It's like transformers for girls. It was then and there I knew I had to have one. In blue.

The following Monday I went to Kismet to make this fantastic dream dress mine... all mine! I tried it on, it looked fab (of course) and I tossed it onto the counter while telling the cute sales girl who works there, 'My friend has this dress and I had to have it.'

The sales clerk looked at me, paused and said, 'Oh my god, I think your friend just bought you this dress.'

Say what? Silence while I process what she's just said.

'Uhm, what? No, I don't think so.'

'I'm serious. I think your friend was just in here like, 30 minutes ago with her boyfriend. He's tall. She's got short blonde hair and is really cute.'

'Uhm, well yeah, she is... but...'

'She said you were adoring the dress at her house, and she said she didn't get you a birthday present so she was getting you this dress as a birthday/Christmas gift.'

'Hmm, this is true... But I think you're crazy, Cute Salesgirl. There is no way. Ring me up.'

'I don't want to ruin the surprise, but she got you the blue one because that's the color you said you wanted.'

Whaa-HUH?!

So I stood there at the Kismet counter for about, ohhh 15 minutes, while I played out the possibility of all this in my head, all the while the sales girl was telling me she was absolutely certain it was my friend because, "She's really cute and fun." (Why yes, I am the kind of girl who rolls with really cute and fun girls... but still, how would she know that?!)

She was so positive in fact, that she convinced me to not buy the dress. Instead I put it on-hold figuring if she was wrong I could just get it after Christmas, hopefully. The one I had on the counter was the last blue one. The last one, people! This was serious. But, I rolled the dice.

Then I launched into full-on panic mode wondering what to get Missy for Christmas if she did, in fact, buy me this fabulous blue dream dress. I mean, what could even come close, right?

So guess what happened, you guys?

Last night Missy and I went to dinner and sitting at the bar next to her was a big giant box wrapped all pretty with a big ribbon around it. Please God, do me this one solid and let it be the blue dress.

And then, there it was. The most fabulous blue convertible dress in the world.

Indeed there is a Santa Claus, y'all, and she has short blonde hair, is hella funny and adorable, and has impeccable taste. When I opened the box she said, "You won't have to wear that same dress to weddings anymore!"

I adore her. Best. Christmas. Ever.

Emmet Otter, You Decorated My Life

We had HBO when I was growing up, which meant we were rich. Or that my dad liked boxing. Either way. This meant I got to watch a lot of shows I definitely shouldn't have been watching (About Last Night, anyone?), but also really great kids shows like Fraggle Rock and Emmet Otter's Jug Band Christmas.

It was a tradition for my mom and I to watch Emmet Otter together. Every year I'd hope that Emmet's mom, by some feat of Christmas magic, er, Hollywood editing, would win the talent contest to replace her washboard Emmet drilled a hole through and be able to unhock her dead otter husband's tools she had to sell for dress fabric.

(Christmas was sad for poor Otters who's dads died. Except... surviving Otter's win in the end when they're mash-up style song lands them a regular paying gig at the Bullfrog's restaurant. Woo hoo!)

A few years ago I got together with Ronson and some other folks to watch this magical Christmas story and spread its joy. Ronson shared a similar childhood watching it and being the true friends we are, we demanded other people love it as much as we did.

Except, we could hardly stop laughing when we watched it because everything looked so ridiculously... fake. In my hazy childhood memories it was perfection. As an adult I was stunned to so clearly see the strings attached to Emmet's arms. Emmet's not a real otter?! Say it ain't so!

Needless the say, the friends we were watching it with were not impressed. Phssht. Their HBO-less childhoods probably sucked anyway.

The highlight of watching the movie two decades later on DVD was the out-takes, so please enjoy the above video while I attempt to repair my childhood and rethink the meaning of Christmas.

TGIF Grinches!

It's Christmas time in Hollis Queens... Word.

In Sum: Movies I've Recently Watched and Mostly Liked

Aside from the four times I've watched Goodfellas on cable, I hadn't watched a movie in three months until last weekend.

Investing time in movies, not my strong suit. This is a harsh reality for My Dude, who loves movies. I love movies too... one's I've seen 20 times already.

But Friday night I agreed to hunker down and watch Away We Go.

Basically, John Krasinski and Maya Rudolph (I forget their characters' names) are early 30-somethings who are about to have their first baby. Realizing they have no family or friendships tying them to where they live, they go in search of connections... a "family" of friends and siblings who might give them a sense of belonging as they raise their baby. A feeling of "home."

I like this idea. How do you decide where home is? Is it where your house is? Where your friends are? The city where you work? The town where you grew up? What feels like home?

So they wander around to various cities and friends' and relative's homes in search of kinship. On the way hilarity ensues, along with some poignant moments as well.

It's not the mostly deeply felt movie I've ever seen, but it made me laugh out loud a few times and I thought the ending was sweet if a bit sad. It was worth the 98 minutes of my time.

Husband and wife writers Dave Eggers and Vendela Vida wrote the screenplay, so, if you're into them it's worth a look-see. (And come on, who doesn't love Dave Eggers.)

I'm embarrassed (but not really, whatever) to admit I also made Adam watch The Notebook on tv recently. Whenever it was on I'd joke I was going to make him watch it, but never did, until a few weeks ago. Mwauhahahaha!

First off, I could watch Ryan Gosling all day long. Ditto for Rachel McAdams, though for less prurient reasons. So what if the movie is sappy and silly and based on a book by Nicholas Sparks. (God help me, what have I become.)

But come on, who doesn't want to think that love is meant to be and that "the one" is out there, writing you love letters and being all manly and refinishing hardwood floors for you while he waits.

It's sentimental tacky crap, as Barry, one of my all time favorite movies characters would say. And I was totally into it. Suck it!

Holiday Spirit

Yesterday at Target I texted Adam, "Holy shizz I hate Christmas." And I meant it too. I hate trying to think of gifts for people for a certain day. It's inorganic and processed and unfun. Like New Years. (I'm bad with forced-upon holidays.)

But still, earlier this month I put up my three foot Christmas tree, hung some indoor-outdoor lights around my living room picture window and set out some red and white candles. It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas... in my living room.

I might hate Christmas, but I love lights. Twinkly!

Then I went home and bought a bunch of crap on Amazon. Because Christmas shopping at stores might be utterly joyless, but Christmas shopping online while listening to music and eating gooey brownies is supremely fun. Ho Ho Ho!

It's TGIF Video Time!

Oh man this song is awesome. I will seriously sit in the car and wait for it end before I get out.

The funniest thing about this video is that George Michael is pretending to like women. Good one, George! Then he appears to give her not only his heart, but also a broach for Christmas. Umm, a broach? No wonder you got dumped dude.

Happy weekend!

Gina Vs. The (Boss) Man

Last week my desk was full of drama and arguments between the Boss Man (the scientist one) and me over which version of Sunday Morning Coming Down is better, the Johnny Cash cover or the Kris Kristofferson version.

Clearly Johnny Cash runs away with it, but you can't tell people nothin'.

He'd storm into my aisle loudly criticizing my taste in music (which is ludicrous, I have phenomenal taste in music) and chiding that I was wrong and deaf. Then he had the nerve - the nerve, people! - to tell me I was "old" while he and the VP of finance celebrated this supposed burn by double-fist bumping. Have you ever seen two old white guys fist-bump? Talk about awkward.

I told the Boss Man that the Kris Kristopherson version sounds like something you'd hear on an adult contemporary radio station. Hey guess what you guys? Nothing excites anger quite like having a song you like identified with Warm 98.

Heads. Will. Roll. (And that head would be mine.)

We even dragged in passers-by to the dispute. Seeing us argue a colleague lamented, "Look at you guys fighting in front of us! What about us, the children?! Think of the Heart Institute!"

Friday as he was leaving the Boss Man said, "What's it like being smart but so dumb when it comes to music?"

Funny how our minds think alike.

TGIF Countdown to Christmas

No matter how many Christmas songs play on hot rotation throughout this festive month, all but four of them are crap. Welcome to the first ever (and probably last) TGIF Video Countdown to Christmas Song Spectacular! Four Fridays = Four awesome Christmas videos. It's going to be epic. Let's get started!

Do They Know It's Christmas. Wow, now this catchy little ditty fed some people in Africa and produced the most hilariously depressing upbeat song EVER. Let's examine the lyrics, shall we?

There's a world outside your window, and it's a world of dread and fear (pop the champagne, y'all, it's about to get real... real depressing.)

Where the only water flowing is the bitter sting of tears (crap, tears are falling into my champagne.)

And the Christmas bells that ring there are the clanging chimes of doom (doom? I guess the clanging chimes of Judgment Day didn't rhyme as well.)

Well tonight thank God it's them instead of you (thank you God for making other people's lives suck, but not mine. Whew!)

And there won't be snow in Africa this Christmastime (seems like the least of their problems with the clanging chimes of doom and all.)

The greatest gift they'll get this year is life (woo hoo, cheers to a sucky life!)

Where nothing ever grows, no rain nor rivers flow (except for, you know, that really big river, The Nile.)

Do they know it's Christmastime at all? (the real question here folks is, Do they know it's TGIF Video Countdown to Christmas Song Spectacular?!)

TGIF my little elves! Come back next week to learn the what other '80s Christmas song rocks my mittens off.

JC in the Hizzy

Sunday morning my dude and I were heading out for brunch. Now I can't help it, but pretty much every Sunday, especially when it's sunny, for some reason, I start to sing Sunday Morning Coming Down in my head. As we were backing the car out, I started saying the words.

Well I woke up Sunday morning, with no way to hold my head, that didn't hurt.

My dude looked at me, kinda expectantly. Yeah, he knows where I'm going with this!

And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad, so I had one more... (pause while I watched a car coming toward us)... for dessert.

He kinda laughed. I looked at him and said, Then I fumbled in my closet through my clothes and my cleanest dirty shirt.

Woo hoo, sing it with me!!

Again, smiles but no singing. It was devastatingly clear he had no clue what I was saying.

Had I not been dying for an egg and spinach croissant with roasted tomato sauce and bacon from my favorite brunch spot, Annabel's, I'd have totally gotten out of the car without another word, slammed the door and never spoke to him again. But as it was, I was hungry. And I needed coffee.

So I played the I'm-an-understanding-girlfriend, plus-you're-driving-me-to-brunch-so-maybe-we-can-just-let-this-one-over-sight slip-past, even-though-it's-HUGE-that-you-don't-know-this-song... who-are-you-anyway?!

You know, Johnny Cash, I said encouragingly, thinking it'd ring a bell... Sunday Morning Coming Down.

"I don't know Johnny Cash like you do," he said.

Pssht. You can say that again Jack.

Then we started talking about fried chicken, because, well... I was still singing the song.