Found On the AP Wire Today

TOP 10 REASONS TO HAVE SEX FOR MEN
1. I was attracted to the person.
2. It feels good.
3. I wanted to experience physical pleasure.
4. It's fun.
5. I wanted to show my affection to the person.
6. I was sexually aroused and wanted the release.
7. I was "horny."
8. I wanted to express my love for the person.
9. I wanted to achieve an orgasm.
10. I wanted to please my partner.

TOP 10 REASONS TO HAVE SEX FOR WOMEN
1. I was attracted to the person.
2. I wanted to experience physical pleasure.
3. It feels good.
4. I wanted to show my affection to the person.
5. I wanted to express my love for the person.
6. I was sexually aroused and wanted the release.
7. I was "horny."
8. It's fun.
9. I realized I was in love.
10. I was "in the heat of the moment."

BOTTOM FIVE REASONS TO HAVE SEX FOR MEN
1. The person offered to give me drugs for doing it.
2. I wanted to give someone else a sexually transmitted disease.
3. I wanted to punish myself.
4. I wanted to break up my relationship.
5. I wanted to get a job.

BOTTOM FIVE REASONS TO HAVE SEX FOR WOMEN
1. I wanted to give someone else a sexually transmitted disease.
2. Someone offered me money to do it.
3. I wanted to get a raise.
4. It was an initiation rite to a club or organization.
5. I wanted to get a job.

Pretty Face And Amazing Curves

I battle the bulge constantly.

Every morning since for as long as I can remember, I strip down to nothing and hop on the scale before my daily shower and after my morning constitutional.

I watch the numbers climb up. I watch the numbers climb down. It's a ritual that's woven its way into the fabric of my essence. A girl who will never not watch her weight.

Sometimes I am very vocal about my latest, greatest campaign to keep the pounds off. I did Weight Watchers with stunning success seven years ago. Six months in to the program I had shed 30 pounds and developed a three-miles-four-times-a-week running habit.

I felt wonderful, I looked awesome and everywhere I turned I was getting a compliment about how hot I looked.

It was great.

Then complacency set in. One long john donut, a trip to Cold Stone. Maybe a big night out with bottles of white wine and amazing Thai food. A candy bar out of the vending machine at work. A homemade treat brought in by a friend. Too many afternoons sitting at the bar with a pint in the hand. Little indiscretions that added up to a long list of verboten caloric intake.

Years later I find myself carrying those 30 pounds again and 10 to spare.

And so, as every curvy girl does once in a while, I had a Come To Jesus moment.

I am never going to be thin.

I am never going to be an Olympic athlete.

I am never going to stand in for Heidi Klum at the Lagerfield show.

I could be healthy, though. I could be 5'8", broad shouldered and lean. I could be a walker or a runner or a swimmer or a biker.

I could be stunning all the time.

And so six weeks ago I joined Weight Watchers. I walked back in to those meetings ready to try and commit myself to a plan that has proven its success to me once before. It's a plan that allows amazing flexibility for people to try and work a program the way that's best for them. I am still wading through the rights and wrongs and have managed to lose some weight - even with a bit of cheating here and there.

This week's meeting left me feeling powerful and ready to conquer errant calories, all because of a statement a woman made.

She was responding to another 30-something woman complaing about her cup runneth over bra size. My ears perked up considering this is something I can relate to.

The older woman said, "You've got a pretty face and amazing curves. What I wouldn't give to have that in my youth! People can always lose weight, but they can't make themselves any prettier or naturally curvy. You've already won!"

I was dumbfounded.

Her statement, though directed to another woman, echoed what others have said to me before.

And she's right.

I've got great hair and a smile worth thousands of dollars. My skin is pretty clear and my eyes are a nice shade of blue. I've got proportional curves that some men are drawn to.

I guess I can't complain, can I?

The Way I Are

I am a bad ass.

I've already established this with some of you.

Well, now I'm a thug, too.

I can't get this song out of my head.

Baby if you strip, you can get a tip'Cause I like you just the way you are

Breaking News Bonanza

Every single story that made air in my newscast today could have stood alone as a worthy lead.

• Former Xavier basketball coach Skip Prosser dead of a heart attack.
• Authorities release 9-1-1 tapes in the burning of a multi million dollar mansion in Indian Hill.
• Doctors and Fire Chief discuss the recovery of six firefighters burned in said blaze.
• Two firefighters who helped put out those flames (also two Local 12 photogs) explain how their gear protects them during a time of crisis.
• Local family reacts to NTSB hearing on Lexington's Comair 5191 fatal plane crash.
• Bengals talk after NFL declines to reinstate Linebacker Odell Thurman.
  

That doesn't even include a bunch of great stories (some also lead worthy) that made the cutting room floor.

First at 4:00 especially rocked today. We'll have to wait 'til morning to find out whether I kicked Oprah's ass again.

In the meantime, I am going to wind down tonight with the following:

Eaten Alive

I must taste really good.

My legs have more bug bites and scabs than they did during my heyday of playing Freeze Tag and Capture the Flag.

I bet I had you going there, didn't I?

I don't know where these pesky bugs are coming from. I am certain I don't have bed bugs and I haven't noticed a mosquito in the vicinity for quite some time. That said, my legs look like a flesh version of connect-the-dots and so I'm wondering whether I have a secret bedfellow hidden somewhere in my sheets.

I've concluded summertime isn't as fun for grown-ups.

Sure. I love lazy day drinking on patios, going to concerts and cookouts and visiting street fairs and festivals. I love all of that. But I think I liked summer as a kid even better.

I can remember it like it was yesterday.

Burning rubber cruising the neighborhood on my sweet Raleigh 10 speed. Catching minnows and discovering treasure (or fossils) in the neighborhood creek. Running around the back yard with a jar full of lightning bugs.

The smell of fresh cut grass and the ticking sound of a refreshing sprinkler.

Early mornings doing laps at swim team practice. Sucking on those long, plastic tubed popcicles. Laying around in the afternoons in my bathing suit watching Nelly Olsen pull some crappy stunt on Laura Ingalls Wilder.

I loved our family vacations. We'd go up to a resort in Minnesota or to Hilton Head and we would have a blast. Rollerblading. Canoeing. Swimming. Tie-dying shirts. In Minnesota I developed a mean technique for shuffleboard. My parents would let us eat junk food and fast food the whole ride to and from our destination - it was totally sweet.

We'd always get some time in to see our grandparents in Youngstown. Those little excursions included culinary creations of jello filled with fruit or candy (yes, hard candy) and the most God-awful salads of iceberg lettuce, cut up bits of Kraft singles and bits of bologna. My grandpa would eat those crappy salads we made and say they were the best things he'd ever eaten.

Summertime was sparklers and tanning without trying and playing four square.

God, where did the time go?

Shameless Self Promotion - Vote For Kate!!!

So.

The Cincinnati USA Regional Chamber, cincinnati.com, and CincyTechUSA are having a little blog competition.

They want to name the top ten blogs in the region, and I'd like to be one of them (winners get a new i-Phone.)

If you aren't familiar with my blog, please give it a look.

If you like it, feel free to nominate me - and I'll be your best friend.


I'll be handing out buttons, stickers and "Kate the Great" cupcakes in the halls after fourth period.

Cheers,
KtG

Burrito Poll

Much of the newsoom has overdosed on Chipotle.

We've had burritos for lunch two days in a row now.

Which makes me wonder: who makes the better burrito, anyway.

• Chipotle
• Moe's
• Qdoba
• Habanero (Ludlow Ave. in Clifton's gaslight district)
• Boloco (Calhoun St. in University Heights)

Any other places that you crave?

Extreme Randomness

Me: (to the producer pod) So has anyone seen Psycho?

Double Platinum: Um, the original?

Me: No. The one (gestures to pull on a latex glove)...

DP: Ummm?

Me: You know. The one with Michael Moore.

DP: Oh you mean Sicko.

Me: Yeah that one.

**************
So today I scored 20 free burritos from Chipotle for my work friends.

I apparently had my business card pulled from a fish bowl at the Hyde Park establishment, much to the delight of the office.

So I ordered:


My Chipotle Burrito:

Chipotle Fan.com

Notice I skipped the rice on that one.

Well, apparently the good people at Chipotle misunderstood our faxed-in order and nixed the rice on all 20 burritos.

So Double Platinum decided to call in and complain.

About an order of 20 free burritos.

Free. Burritos. Complaining. In my book - this is a grouping of words that would not appear in the analogy section of the SATs.

The rest of us newsroom ladies pretty much chastised DP as he picked up the phone to complain, and he mentioned that maybe we'd score another round of free food.

I was so embarrassed. I thought my name would be blacklisted from every Chipotle in the tri-state.

And then the clouds parted. The birds chirped. Angels sang.

More free burritos. Tomorrow. All with rice. Except mine.

What a great way to start a week.

Lazy Sunday

Sometimes I just LOVE Sunday.

I'm not a fan of that particular day of the week when I've got a throbbing headache induced by a hangover, but that kind of thing doesn't happen nearly as often as it used to.

These days Sundays consist of a pretty loose itinerary of the following:

Sleep in until 8:30 am or so.
Laze around and watch Netflix du jour.
Go for walk or hop in car and head out for computer access to update blog.
Visit the farmers market for spectacular (cheap) produce and seafood.
Drive with great music and an open sunroof to explore a local community I don't know well.
Clean up a bit of the apartment.
Cook to my heart's content (homemade lemonade and sauteed eggplant).

Sunday was delicious.

Bridal Bling

My good friend Big Blue Blood has something to celebrate.


She's sporting a stunning engagement ring courtesy of her good friend, Mr. Brown. They started dating over a year ago and are now planning a wedding sometime next summer.

I hear the phrase, Love and Marriage, and I almost instantly think of that Married With Children theme song.

That sit-com certainly didn't glamorize marriage. All of those glossy magazines do. The ones with the massive 12-dollar-a-piece cakes and rocks the size of Gibraltar. Those two hundred page tomes perpetuate the myth that all weddings kick off a fantasy ride through future wedded bliss.

Hate to break it to you folks, but it doesn't always work out that way.

But a few key elements can help ensure the ride isn't as bumpy.

First: marry your best friend.

Here's to hoping your best friend is of the opposite sex. Now, I'm a novice where long term relationships are concerned, but I've witnessed several phenomenal examples of great marriages. The ones that appear to work well involve a commitment between two best friends.

Sure, you can marry somebody who you think is hot. You can marry someone who you think'll pay your bills. My impression is those marriages don't work so well.

Me? I wanna marry someone who I can sit next to in a rocker and still have something to laugh and talk about at 70.

And that brings me to my second point:

Looks go fast but a sense of humor never dies.

I think growing old can be beautiful. There's something stunning about a set of well earned smile lines and shiny, platinum hair. That said, there's no doubt I looked better at 25 than I will at 75. I don't expect to marry someone who wants a Trophy Wife.

I have more respect for relationships that are based on intelligence and similar interests. A good chuckle every day or so is a good thing, too.

And make sure you marry someone who trusts you as much as you trust them.

Trust is huge in my book. Doubt, suspicion, guilt, secrecy and a slew of other negative circumstances can rip apart a family. Church or not, I'm a fan of finding someone who has a similar moral compass as your own. That mutual, internal voice has a way of helping couples weather the rough stuff that always crops up in any relationship.

I'll admit - It's kind of insane to think of a single girl dispensing advice on how to establish a solid relationship.

But I've had a lot of great examples to analyse, appreciate and celebrate.

Like Big Blue Blood and Mr. Brown.

Netflix Reviews

I have to remind myself that patience is a virtue...

Sometimes the movies don't make it to my mailbox quickly enough.

I returned three DVDs yesterday and I am anxiously awaiting the replacements.

Jarhead was great. Jake Gyllenhaal has a great body (I really had no idea) and I loved Peter Sarsgaard's blunt, acerbic personality.

Sopranos Season Two: Disc One delivered exactly what I was anticipating.

Sophie Scholl: The Final Days made me cry like a baby, but then I have a deep spot in my heart for the atrocities that spurred World War II. Even if you're afraid of foreign films, I highly suggest you check it out.


I'm awaiting For Your Consideration (the most recent of Christopher Guest's hilarious improv movies. "Where is the busy bee??!!") and discs 2 and 3 of The Sopranos Second Season.

I am in love with Tony Soprano...

Dickensian Irony

I love the classics.

So many writers like Dickens, Fitzgerald and Hawthorne - they all attached descriptive names to characters to further symbolize who they are.

Pip - little, young, humble
Daisy - innocent, fresh, simple
Chillingsworth - dark, vengeful
Dimmesdale - insignificant, weak

I love this clever literary trick, and God must too, because I often find similar parallels in real life.

I sometimes wonder whether my own last name implies something - either a gift or a burden or something spiritually connected.

I was reminded of this real life version by a story making the news today involving a man by the name of Dickman.

I'm not kidding.

Do you ever notice this strange trick of fate - a person's name corresponding with some element of their being?

Late Night Parties And Other Escapades

There are some real humdinger shindigs in my past.

Crazy ass parties that erupted after nights of bar hopping, wild celebrations to commemorate a significant day in time or a friend's life. Massive, hedonistic fetes chock full of debauchery, high jinks and other good stuff.

I like a good drink in my hand and I love great conversation even more.

I am a reformed Party Girl.

Sure, some of my memories are hazy, but I can remember those wild and crazy days of way back.

So my brain raced to visions of a shotgunning beer and playing I Never when a ruckus stirred my from my sugar plum dreams of Dwight Schrute.

It wasn't quite a clatter on the rooftop. It was more like a cavalcade of cheers, shouts and other charismatic enthusiasm. The girls who live above me (is it two now? Three? And does that guy who lets himself in with a key live there, too?) decided to have a get-together last night.

Ladies, I want to say to them. Does massive social gathering at 3:30 am on a school night constitute get-together?

I imagine it's the same thing my neighbors thought when I had a crazy ass party in my small, Lexington apartment building - the same building that was full of a bunch of bona fide grown ups.

Karma.

She exists and sometimes she's a total bitch.

Surreal

Lexington seems like a million light years to me from time to time.

I don't go down there as frequently as I used to and as the pages of time pass on my friends and I check in with each other less and less.

I suppose it has something to do with that reason, season or a lifetime premise that some people believe in.

Regardless, I still think about how much fun and how much I learned in that great, little town.

My friend GOP Big Wig just moved back to this side of the river after spending a good chunk of time in Lexington. She's and incredible friend and we've had some good times together. Moments that include everything from crazy parties with wild guests (and Boone's Farm races and dance-off contests) and lovely holiday parties that ended up with one of the guests spending the night in jail.

GOP and her wonderful husband were nice enough to pick that party girl up from the lock-up in the morning.

GOP and I have weathered a lot over the years. New jobs, bad boyfriends, even worse bosses. Weddings, Babies (on both accounts - Hers, not mine). Promotions.

It's kind of wild to look back and think about the time a party guest broke the chiminaea because he was stuffing the wood in the hole too fiercely. Wild to think back to the drama at A1A years ago and all the crazy-ass characters we used to know and how and now we just laugh at the would-a, could-a, should-as.

GOP and her husband just bought a stunning home less than two miles away from my hideaway. It's a showplace of a home on storybook kind of street lined with massive oak trees and children riding bicycles.

Now our future plans involve casual glasses of wine on a sweeping porch and outings for coffee and child-safe places.

It's amazing how quickly life changes.

Stalker

I can't believe I didn't pee my pants...

Long story short: Like lots of people, I sleep in my underwear.

This is important.

Well, the upstairs neighbors decided to have a late night party at midnight last night so I went to my living room to read a few pages of C'est la Vie.

At 12:30 I heard the most frightening sound - the shocking rattle of my front door handle.

Someone was trying to get in my house.

It stopped abruptly then started again! I was freaked.

The only response I had? I yelled a loud, "Excuse me!!"

The blinds on my front door window are broken in one spot, and there's this three inch square of bare window exposed.

I threw a blanket around my body and saw a big hairy eyeball staring back at me through the window.

I freaked. I really can't believe I didn't pee my pants. I started yelling, and I'm pretty sure I wanted to cry.

For some reason (this was the not-so-smart part of this whole fiasco) I flung the door open.

And it was Double Platinum running from my front porch.

He and his girlfriend were at the bar down the street and they wanted to freak me out.

To say the least...

Porn

Some people get all hot and bothered by dirty videos and magazines.

Something about flesh touching flesh and all that "Oooh, baby. Right there," talk.

I guess that works for some people.

For me? I get excited by food.

Food Porn, as I call it, is the next best thing to wrapping your mouth around a big, juicy burrito or licking a massive ice cream cone from Graeter's.

Garlic & Sapphires is one of my favorite examples of FP. Gourmet food editor Ruth Reichl uses the most tantalizing, decadent imagery to describe the food she enjoyed while working as an undercover food critic for the New York Times.

My mouth starts watering at the sight of some visual FP, too.

I mean, how can you not get jazzed about that phenomenal picture of creme brulee?

The berries are so vivid and hint at their secret, saucy flavors. The glistening, caramelized sugar on top is so delicate and yet hard and ready to be beaten into submission. And while it's shrouded in sweet goodness, you know the custard is soft and gentle and just waiting for your tongue.

Dessert isn't the only course that gets me going.

Sometimes there's nothing like a big, juicy piece of meat, right?

Pink, tender flesh and a hot side dish like mashed potatoes, or maybe a rich bed of lettuce and vegetables - God, I love great steak, even after that two year vegetarian streak in my teen years.

What can I say? I was curious.

God, I'm hungry.

The title of the email said,

"So, do you like Applebee's?"

Yeah. It pretty much didn't stand a chance.

Big City State Of Mind

I was dying to be anywhere but here yesterday.

This weekend started off with me trying to watch as much cable television as possible while house sitting for Big Blue Blood and Mr. Brown (the smelly poop of 2 cats + 50 bucks = easy job).

I think I watched three episodes of The Simple Life Goes To Camp, five Bridezillas, two Platinum Weddings, half a Snapped and one full rotation of Four Weddings And a Funeral (I have a weakness for Hugh Grant, Divine Brown saga and all - did you know she put her kids through private school with all the cash she made after that little indiscretion with Ol' Floppy Hair? Who knew...)

I tried squeezing out some more sweet, cable goodness yesterday morning when the cells in my body collectively shouted must. move. around. pronto.

I guess I had had enough of laying around like a lummox (that's what my mom calls it, anyway).

So I threw away the beer bottles on the counter, stripped the sheets, scooped the poop out one last time and watered the plants (Mr. Brown - I swear the hose worked when I left Sunday) and hit the door.

The beastly heat slapped me in the face as I approached my car, quickly slamming the door shut while simultaneously cranking up the A/C.

After a few minutes of melting like an ice cream cone, I hit the road, Destination: Over-the-Rhine.

Regular readers know I love this diamond-in-the-rough neighborhood.

I really wanted to check out the monthly Second Sunday on Main event, which had a bit of a Latin flavor this month. The street-fair style venue showcased local artists painting the most colorful, vibrant, life size paintings, musicians pounding away on drums to create sounds that sounded straight out of the Andes. Dancers in costumes of every color swirled and bobbled and vibrated to the spicy beats. I felt almost like I was at a Carnivale event in the Bronx.

I took in the street scene and decided I needed to escape to a cool spot with some cultural nourishment.

The Cincinnati Art Museum tickled my eyes with a fabulous exhibit on wearable art. Apparently a woman who works at the museum collects the most whimsical, avant-garde pieces created by modern Asian designers. Some of these pieces looked like vertical columns made of accordion folds. Other pieces conjured up visions of space age aliens dressed for winter. The most delightful selection contrasted three different types of material - one rather wrinkly and wavy, another precisely and elegantly pleated and the third very graphic and three dimensional.

I also really enjoyed an exhibition on a massive mural created for a Cincinnati restaurant by classic New Yorker cartoonist Saul Steinberg.

I milled through the massive, free (!) museum and checked out the beautiful trinkets in the gift shop before a security guard pretty much shoved me out the door (why does closing time come so quickly?)

I still had to get out my elsewhere ya-yas, so I decided to head to a sunny patio with a good read.

I headed to a shady patch of porch at Longworth's in Mt. Adam's for a cool pint of Bud Light and a few pages from my novel. C'est la Vie is the entertaining, fascinating true story of a 50-something newly widowed woman who packs her bags to fulfill a life long dream of living in Paris.

It seems Suzy Gershman struggles with her elsewhere ya-yas, too.

The book takes you to the City of Light and the charming, if frustrating nuances of moving to the country where the bleu, blanc et rouge wave proudly. There she was, talking about the CE and Zagat's picks for best restaurants and flower boxes bursting with geraniums, and all my brain could process was more, more, more. I pretty much felt like I was in Paris, as I sat beneath the cafe umbrella, my dark shades on, sipping a cool drink. True, it was an ice-cold American beer, but hey, I was trying to live the dream.

Gershman also happens to be the same Born-to-Shop Gershman. She's written dozens of shopping guides for travelers visiting practically every corner of the globe, and she shares a bit of her wisdom in C'est la Vie. I've already made a mental note to track down what she says about shopping in London and Amsterdam.

Anyway.

C'est la Vie is a great read. If you enjoy travel literature you should pick it up - it might inspire you to buy a pack of cigarettes, too.

I hopped back in my car and headed back home after a full day of longing for a big city, only realizing Cincinnati has so much to offer the soul struggling with a bit of wanderlust.

There's A Baby In There!

It's taken me a while to post this pic. I've since discovered a way to get photos on the web without actually owning a computer.

It involves Mrs. Chocolate and her sweet scanner.

That's Bridge on the left with Yours Truly. We took this pic when I was down in Atlanta a couple weekends ago.

My niece, Maevey Bean, is really the star of this pic - even in utero.

It's Five O'clock Somewhere

This week was a rough one.

Vacation season has a way of leading to a domino effect in my business. A chain reaction that culminates into a frenzied, heart racing moment of desperation.

The induced panic only disipates once the show is over and the cameras are shut off.

The great thing about the tee-vee biz is that A) nobody died at work and B) we get to do it all over again tomorrow.

For me - I get a nice weekend break and get to do it all over again Monday.

That said, there is a long, tall drink waiting for me.

If I had any vodka on hand - this is what I'd mix it with.

Mint Lemonade
1 cup granulated sugar
2 cups water
Peel from 2 lemons, cut in strips
1 cup freshly squeezed lemon juice (from about 8 big lemons, including pulp but not seeds)
4 to 5 bushy mint branches

First, make a simple syrup by combining the sugar and water in a saucepan over medium heat, stirring until the mixture boils. Lower the heat and allow the syrup to simmer for another minute. Remove from heat and let cool. Twist each strip of peel over your pitcher to release its natural oil, and drop peels in. Stir in lemon juice and syrup. No more than a couple of hours before serving, add 3 mint branches.

To serve, pour 1/4 to 1/3 cup of base into a glass and fill with water or seltzer. You can also add a splash of water and a couple ounces of vodka. Or mix with champagne for a tart mimosa.

Garnish each glass with a sprig of mint.

Makes base for 12 servings.

Happy Birthday, Miss America!

The Best Salad To Bring To A Picnic

Two bags of mixed field greens
2/3 of a pint of fresh blueberries
1 bag of candied pecans (I can't remember the brand but they're sold in a green bag in the snack section at Kroger)
2/3 of a container of crumbled blue cheese
healthy dash of Old Cape Cod Balsamic Vinaigrette

Toss and enjoy.

Question:

What's wrong with laying on the couch for the rest of the night to watch tv and drink half a bottle of wine by myself?

Crystal Ball

What do you do when someone wants to know your availability for the next 10 months?

Like, the time when you're handed a calendar and asked to mark off the days you wouldn't hypothetically be able to attend a committee meeting?

Part of me jumped into action, flipping through my day planner and desk calendar to find conflicts. Vacation in Sept/Oct: check. Trip to Atlanta: check. Keeneland in October: Check. I flipped through the pages noting conflicts here and there when my brain figuratively slapped my cheek with the thought isn't this a bit excessive?

I'm all for trying to minimize conflict but when your committee involves eight busy people you've got to accept the fact that there are going to be meetings where some of your members are going to be absent.

Right?

A thin tremor of panic set in as I realized I didn't have as many committments after the New Year. I grew concerned that the figurative committee meetings would wreak havoc on all those events and occasions I've yet to commit to. Things like Keeneland in April and road trips to Chicago and last minute jaunts to Ibiza.

Okay, so I'm not currently planning a last minute jaunt to Ibiza. But I could - only that some damn committee meeting would be getting in the way of my footloose and fancy free lifestyle.

God, I struggle with committment.

Sympatico

Normally I don't talk about work but I thought this was worth it.

I've noticed a trend at work lately: I've been ending the day with a feeling of elation.


Several different things are contributing to this euphoria:

First, my newscast is kicking ass and taking names as we approach the July Book. In February of 2006 the 4 pm news was in third place, falling way behind Oprah and Judge Judy. I took the helm in March and I've been fortunate enough to enjoy a climb up in the books. This past February the newscast was a solid #2, beating Judge Judy pretty much every day of the week. In May the show was lucky enough to beat Oprah two or three times a week consistently.

Right now the newscast is close to a solid #1 and I am thrilled. I'm not enough of a fool to say I'm responsible for the progress, but I'm certainly going to take credit for my hard work.

Okay, enough of the bragging.

Everyone else is getting along at work. Sure, we've got our aches and pains, but most every day our solid crew of producers, writers, photographers, reporters, anchors, assignment editors, directors, PAs, and engineers works as a team to get first rate news programming on the air. The best part about this is - not only are we doing great stuff on tee vee - but we have a blast doing it. My colleagues and I get geeked about a good moment on television - whether it be some great show-and-tell or some phenomenal, exclusive video.

And we have fun, too.

Double Platinum and I are simultaneously teasing and and joking with each other. Big Blue Blood and Mrs. R are always good for a good dance party and some hilarious hijnks. The Duse sometimes tries too hard but he does a mean impression of someone to remain anonymous in this blog - and that always manages to bring a smile to my face. The Pepper and Count Chocula add to the frivolity, too.

This newsroom is working like a finely oiled (and very content) machine, and I'm really excited to see how the book turns out as we charge into July Sweeps.

Friday I'm In Love

I see you checking out my blog with somewhat regularity.

Feel free to call me if you're really curious.

Happy Birthday D-Money

You are a flying-high superstar and I can't wait to see where you land.

Anorexic Spender

I really hate saving money.

It's not so much that I can't stave off the urge to buy a new, $200 Coach purse or a sweet pair of stilettos.

More like - I have a problem doing away with the infrequent Starbucks latte (I like a venti, non-fat, sugar free version) and the occasional car wash.

Maybe a bottle of wine here and a bottle of body wash there and then I realize I've spent as much money as that 200-clam hand bag I've drooled over.

Lucky for me, most of the time I don't have to forgo the lattes and car washes and occasional drinks on a sunny patio. Most of the time my paycheck can stretch far enough to afford the necessities and little luxuries of my even littler life.

But the next few months will be a bit tough as I scrimp and save for a purchase far more luxurious than a bottle of body wash.

In a couple weeks I'll be buying a round-trip ticket to Europe. I'm taking a week off in Sept./Oct. to go back to London to see D-Money for a few days. After spending some time under the Union Jack she and I are planning to travel on to Amsterdam.

The plane tickets (including a one-way leg from London to AMS) are pricing at around $875.

That shouldn't be too painful.

The rough stuff is convincing my brain to skip out on a night out to save 20 bucks for spending money. I didn't bring as much cash with me as I should have last October and so this time I'm training my brain to be prepared. Believe it or not - 100 bucks a day doesn't go as far as you'd expect. This time I'm shooting for 200 bucks a day but I imagine $150 is a little more realistic.
I just have to remind myself I'm saving for this.

Movie Critic Joel Siegel Dead

Good Morning America's film authority passes away after a 10 year battle with colon cancer.