7 p.m. update: I'm still at work.

As the God clock ticks well past my eleventh hour here today, I'm comforted by these words of wisdom from this wise, wise man:


"Oh, you hate your job? Why didn't you say so? There's a support group for that. It's called EVERYBODY, and they meet at the bar."

Sleeping with the enemy

OK, my love of Amy Fisher is both mocked and legendary. If Amy Fisher would call me tonight, I'd hang out with her this weekend. We could go to the strip mall, get our nails did, have some Italian food and polish off a bottle or two of pinot noir ... I really think we could be friends.

Meet my new enemy. This is Lou. Lou is Amy's husband.

Reasons to not trust Lou:


1. His name is Lou.

2. Look at that hair.

3. Those sunglasses.

But I digress.

Lou and Amy were in the midst of a fun divorce. Granted, it probably didn't help Amy much when she and Joey rekindled their Long Island love story for about 38 minutes this past summer, but after cooler heads and sobriety prevailed, Amy and Joey both went back to their respective spouses.

But according to today's edition of the New York Post, Lou took matters into his own hands. He was going to do divorce the American way. And as we all know, in America the one thing that can ease all pain and suffering is ...

Money!! Lots of it.

Lou and Amy, as wacky, in love, married couples tend to do, made themselves a video memento of their passion. Lou, scorned man that he was, decided to take revenge against his then-estranged wife by ... selling it.

But Lou didn't really think it through ... they got back together. And this company owns the tape.

That's gonna make the holidays a little awkward around the Bellara house.

That's right, kids. Now you, too, can own the Amy Fisher sex tape.

Here's the story from the Post:

October 29, 2007 -- The world soon could be seeing more of the Long Island Lolita - a lot more.
A sex tape of Amy Fisher and her husband, Lou Bellera, is in the hands of a Los Angeles porn distributor, and the onetime teen temptress isn't happy about it, her former business partner said yesterday.
Fisher and her husband apparently made the tape earlier this year, before they filed for divorce, according to David Krieff, a TV executive who has produced reunion specials with Fisher, her ex-lover Joey Buttafuoco and Buttafuoco's ex-wife, Mary Jo Buttafuoco.
But in the time Fisher and her hubby were in Splitsville, Bellera hawked the tape to L.A. smut peddler Red Light District Video, which is expected to start selling their steamy footage next month.
"I was told she was a willing participant at the time it was made, as a private video with her husband," Krieff said.
It wasn't until August that Fisher, who has since reconciled with Bellera, learned of the Red Light deal and wants to stop the video's release.
"She's disgusted," Krieff said. "I'm disgusted by it, too, the whole genre. I can't believe in the United States of America things like this can be released.
"I feel bad for Amy and Lou," Krieff added. "I think they were having a fight and he made a bad decision that's coming back to haunt them now."

A bad decision? To me, a bad decision is eating Chinese food from a place called "Wok and Roll." A bad decision is seeing any movie with Christian Slater. A bad decision was the third "Major League" movie.

I'm not sure I could forgive him for this. If I were hanging out with Amy tonight, I'd tell her to send his goldbricking ass packing. I'd buy her some chianti and we'd rent DVDs and paint our toenails. She doesn't need Lou. She doesn't need any guy who'd do that.

But the lessons to be learned?

1. Videotape NOTHING. It's not a good idea. It's never a good idea. There is not a single shred of good in anything like that being videotaped.

2. Write nothing down.

3. Deny. Deny. Deny.

And don't date dudes named Lou with hair like that.

Monday Morning Shoutouts

Here are a few blogs I recommend you check out this week:

WVU Blog by Mike Casazza (Sports commentary that's intelligent)

Ninja of the Mundane (Jim's blog ... this guy puts it all together like a tasty sandwich)

This Side of Patty O (Congratulate the Sox fan on his sweet World Series!!)

The "Blog" of "Unnecessary" Quotation Marks (Plain hilarious ... especially for journo-geeks.)


(If you've got a suggestion, send them my way. I'm happy to love all, serve all ... just like those kids at the Hard Rock Cafe.)

This morning's entry is brough to you by Erinn

And the words:

Manscaping

Man tan

And:

"I just snorted like a pig."

Thank you, head cold from hell.

The last 12 hours of my life I just lost are brought to you by NyQuil, the nighttime sniffling, sneezing, coughing, aching, stuffy head, fever, YOU ARE SO GOING INTO A COMA so you can rest medicine.

I fell asleep last night watching "Fatal Attraction" on HBO 2 for the millionth time. I was chatting online with babes (Julie, as she toiled away on her masters, and Jim, as he was working away as the editing badass he is) and when I wrapped up I just sort of lay back on the couch, covered up and the next thing I remember is 7:23 when Inky decided to engage the boxes by the stairs in battle. Of course, after that woke me up and she noticed I was disturubed, she curled up by the couch and started purring. F-ing cat. She's staring at me now as I write this because she knows I'm talking about her.

My friend Ben and I are planning a vacation for December. Somewhere tropical. I think we both are due. We've both had a lot of changes this year. He's buying his first home in the Miami, Fla., area and I've just kind of had a rough year. Traveling's expensive. I'm going to be on the "plain spaghetti and water" meal plan after it's over to pay off the credit card I put this trip on.

He made the offhand comment, "I need to get into beach shape." Yeah, pal. Me too. It isn't so much that I'm getting fat, I just need to get it under control. I've been "adjusting" for a month now, and now it's over. I'm adjusted. I need to get my ass to the grocery store and buy food I should be eating, not food I want because it's tasty and I'm lazy.

Maybe that's what I'll do today when I get off the couch. I'm NyQuil hungover and Food Network's on. I may not move until I start getting ready for the show at 8. I'm going to "perimeter shop" when I go -- I will avoid at most costs the center aisles of the store where delicious things like salt and vinegar chips live.

It's 40 minutes until the Steelers and Jeff hasn't called yet to hang out. He must be more hung over than I am. And at least he had a good time doing it.

It's happened. I'm old.

I've spent most of the day building furniture from Wal-Mart and listening to the adult contemporary station.

Well, except for the few hours of Mountaineer domination.

When did I get old? I used to be young. Now I'm old. I want to wear sweatpants and read rather than go out.

Weird. Things like that hit you quickly. But at least I've got some Holland Oates on the radio. Hahaha ... :)

It's funny 'cause it's true

Julie sent me this video this morning, and it cracked me up. The cat in this cartoon is totally Miss Cleo, my cat who lives in my old house. I miss her a whole lot. She's always kind of ill-tempered, but I love that about her.

My friend Philip just got a cat. He should get ready for this.

First Song Friday (10-26-07)

Another week where "best" is a theme ... this one comes to us courtesy of Styx, and Mix 100.9 Charleston.

(... sigh. Styx.)

The Best Of Times

Tonight's the night we'll make history
Honey
you and I.
'Cos I'll take any risk
To tie back the hands of time
And stay with you here tonight.

I know you feel these are the worst of times
I do believe it's true.
When people lock their doors and hide inside
Rumor has it
it's the end of Paradise.
But I know if the world just passed us by

Baby
I know
I wouldn't have to cry. No
no.

The best of times are when I'm alone with you
Some rain
some shine
We'll make this a world for two.
Our memories of yesterday
Will last a lifetime.
We'll take the best
forget the rest
And someday we'll find
These are the best of times.
These are the best of times.

The headlines read:
These are the worst of times

I do believe it's true.
I feel so helpless like a boat against the tide

I wish the summer wind could bring back Paradise
But I know
If the world turned upside down

Baby
I know
You'd always be around. My
my.

The best of times are when I'm alone with you
When I'm alone with you
Everything's alright.
When I'm alone with you
You brighten up the night.


Well, it's not "Come Sail Away" ... and the song that followed it up was "My Life" by Billy Joel, which is far better.

Am I the only one who thinks this song kind of sounds like "Night Man" from "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia"? :)

I'll take "Self-fulfilling" for $500, Alex

I went out to lunch today with Julie. When I got back to my office's parking lot, the box with my remaining peanut noodles popped open and went everywhere. Not only did I lose my leftovers, the Camry is going to reek of peanut for the rest of its life.

I'm also sure I'm getting a cold. I've done nothing but sneeze today.

Damn you, Bon Jovi. Damn you.

I'm in for it ...

When the song that wakes you up is "I'll Be There For You" by Bon Jovi, I think that's God's special way of telling you that you're about to have a really, really bad day.

I want this girl to get run over

I saw this on FARK.com and immediately wished something really, really bad would happen to her:

Guest Column: Sorry, but this bikini stays on

By: Stacy Jacobson
Posted: 10/18/07

The Playboy Big Ten edition has come to Evanston. I'm sure by now you've read the news story about the NU casting calls, or you've heard your friends talking about it over lunch. They might say how "no one at Northwestern would ever do that," or how Playboy is insulting the integrity of NU students.

In the past, I've been asked if I ever would do Playboy (I've also been asked if I'd ever get a breast reduction). My answer will always be a firm "no." I believe in the sanctity of nudity and the idea that it's between only you and another - not any pre-pubescent boy locked in a bathroom looking through his father's stash. But I couldn't turn a chance at journalism down, just to get a taste of the other side (without that side being full frontal).

When I told my mother, she shrieked, "What?!" I assured her my morals were intact, and that it was only for a newspaper commentary. She said, "OK, but I'm not telling your father."

After registering online, the producer, Cynthia, called me. I was to come to the Hilton Garden Inn on Maple Avenue bearing a bikini and heels (classy, huh?). Later, her innocent Chicago accent and eagerness to meet me would reveal a maternal instinct as she sweet-talked me into taking provocative photos. Nice.

In preparation, I decided on a turquoise bohemian print two-piece I'd ordered from Victoria's Secret. My mind filled with questions. Do I want drastic hair and make-up? Will I look tacky? Is it even possible to be Playboy chic?

On the morning of the interview, I faced the mirror. To match my suit and to emphasize the overdone vibe, I lined my eyes with a blue-green pencil. I applied navy and green eye shadows that looked surprisingly natural (I'm not used to this va-va-voom stuff). To finish, I put on long, dangling silver earrings.

Down Sheridan Road I went, in my terry-cloth sweats, gray T-shirt and made-up face. While carrying my school bag with my four-subject notebook and a globalization case study on one arm, I lugged a plastic CVS bag holding my bikini and taupe sling backs on the other.

Once there, I realized the room Cynthia so calmly offered me was a private suite rather than a banquet room. Things just got creepier.

I filled out forms and changed in the bedroom before Rudi, the photographer, entered. The usual boy-on-the-beach gawk I often get - it starts at my boobs and sometimes makes its way to my eyes - was absent. Instead, he mentioned my interest in sports. So, as I stood there in a triangle bikini and near-five inch heels, I gushed to him about my love for the Baltimore Ravens.

We shot about 10 poses. Rudi told me to place my hand on my hip, or lean against the wall and continuously chanted "smile big." Transferring to the bed seemed risqué, but I first just sat on my knees with my hands on my hips. The next pose, though, involved my body facing the wall as my head peered around at the camera. That one hit me. I wasn't just smiling at a camera. I was twisted into an unnatural position to try to tempt someone with my body. That's not me.

Yesterday, Cynthia called. Apparently, the Chicago offices "love" me and are offering me $1,500 for a full shoot Saturday. In her recurrent maternal tone, she told me how "cute" I am and how excited the head photographer sounded.

Each time I listened to her praises, I couldn't help but giggle. It all seemed funny to me! I'm just a 19-year-old girl, and I don't feel different than thousands of others at NU. In a college environment, we face sexuality issues everyday.

Long ago, I drew my line before pornography. But what about modeling in general? Does a seductive pose in a bra catalogue demean women in the same way? Is it solely the male reaction to different photos that determines acceptability?

I liked my body before the shoot, and I like my body now. I don't need Playboy to tell me they like it to make me like it. I could never use Playboy as the basis of my self-esteem.

So I guess this delves into the mind set of somebody who does pose for Playboy. Maybe she wants fame. Maybe she has likes having an international audience for her body. Maybe it gives her confidence. That's fine, and I respect her. Who am I to judge?

Yes, there are girls among us, just like at other schools, who would pose for Playboy. They'll also graduate from NU with degrees. Females can do what they want with their bodies. So if I wanted to be the next Playboy star, I guess I could consider NU my launching pad. I plan, however, to go elsewhere. I still need to call Cynthia to deliver the news. NU is launching me into a world of clothed, professional journalism.

... I really am speechless. I think I'll just let it go for itself.

Hangin' (out) in the gallows

A nearly 1o-year career in news will do that to you -- you develop a fantastic gallows sense of humor.

Amber's phone rings and she answers it. It's her husband Sam asking her a question about something he'd heard over at his job at University of Charleston.

She looks up at me and says, "Have you heard anything about somebody jumping off a bridge and getting hit by a car?"

My response?

"No, but that's a shitty way to start your Wednesday."

I'm going to hell ...

Six hours. (You don't get them back, but you don't forget them)

Tonight I was going through a couple of boxes to unpack and I found a newspaper from Syracuse.

I lived in Syracuse (and Binghamton, N.Y.) for the better part of a year -- Syracuse exclusively for almost four months.

My shift at the Post-Standard as a copy desk intern was odd. My days off were Tuesday and Wednesday -- a real party, I assure you. The hours I worked were just as strange to non-newspaper types: 5 p.m. to 1:30 a.m.

This was an odd life while it lasted. We'd hang out after work and before you know it, it's 4 a.m. I'd go home, watch NY 1 (God, I miss you, New York) and by the time you're actually tired, it's almost 6 a.m.

I'd sleep until 11 a.m. when "L.A. Law" would come on.

Yes, that's right.

"L.A. Law."

I'd watch back-to-back episodes on Lifetime while I ate my Wegmans leftovers. Around 1, I'd get in the shower and get ready. I'd drive to Wegmans in Fayetteville, buy a New York Post and eat lunch and read the paper.

It really is as glamorous as it sounds. But there was comfort in that kind of routine. Lazy days, busy shifts, long nights.

One that sticks out in my mind is what came to be known as "Amy Fisher Day."

I love trainwrecks. The bigger the wreck, the more I love. I was only 13 when all of this happened back in 1992, but I remember being fascinated by it. And then confused when I saw what Joey Buttafuoco looked like. Chicks were willing to kill for that guy? What? I probably hit the "You have problems" stage when I actually went out and bought the book, "Amy Fisher: My Story" and read it in one sitting.

(In the interest of full disclosure, I also read "Monica's Story" from front to back in one day.)

On one beautiful, sunny Sunday morning, I woke up to Lifetime. Best I can tell, there was an infomercial I was watching and I clocked out during. Probably for something like the JuiceTiger or maybe some kind of clothing steamer.

At 10 a.m., however ...

A marathon.

Three movies. Six hours.

ALL THREE AMY FISHER MOVIES!!

It started off with "Lethal Lolita (Amy Fisher: My Story)", which tells this tale from Amy's point of view. Amy is played by Noelle Parker and Ed Marinaro plays Joey.
* Note: This has the best Joey. Ed Marinaro puts the other two to freakin' shame.

At noon we rocked "Casualties of Love: The Long Island Lolita Story", which is the Joey Buttafuoco side of the story. This starred Alyssa Milano as Amy and Jack Scalia as Joey.
* Note: I'd give this one the "Best Amy" award -- Alyssa NAILS this role. It probably wasn't much of a stretch.

The piece de resistance of this trilogy was simply "The Amy Fisher Story", which prides itself on being the neutral account. This stars Drew Barrymore as Amy and some guy I've never heard of named Anthony John Denison as Joey. This is by far the least memorable of the three.

I didn't leave my room for the entire six hours. I was captivated. It was like time had just stopped and I was basking in all of this tabloid trash glory.

I went to work that night so proud of what I'd accomplished, but nobody seemed to get it. To this day, I haven't found anybody who really gets it -- why I gave up six hours of my life like that to TV that sucks on a subject that's just a complete and utter disaster.

But that's part of my genetic makeup, I think. I don't mind losing hours of my life to pursuits others find wasteful.

But if anybody's looking for a Christmas idea, I bet you could find the DVDs of these on Amazon. And you can come over and watch them on my Man TV.

A picture's worth ...

One of my friends just e-mailed me this picture. She said it was an actual picture of a parking space outside her place of employment.

At least she doesn't work in media ... I'd be really sad in that case.

... freaky.

This was written on the slip of paper that came in my fortune cookie at lunch today:

"It's not the end yet. Let's stay with it."

... Freaky.

The results are in: You hate Ohio State.

In the inaugural blog poll:

Is Ohio State really worthy of their No. 1 ranking?

Um, YEAH. Hello? — NOT. ONE. VOTE.
Yeah, I mean, University of Phoenix Online IS tough this year. — 3 votes (16 percent)
Better them than Notre Dame. — 4 votes (22 percent)
I want to blow up The Horseshoe. — 11 votes (61 percent)

I'm glad to see an overwhelming 61 percent feel the same way I do.

Make sure to vote in this week's poll. :) Anybody who knows me knows what my answer will be. Break out the Duran Duran and "Better Off Dead."

Kids are awesome

My friend Amber looks over at me and says, "Luke got in trouble at school yesterday. He would have been done with his punishment right after school, but he got another day tacked on for that."

Luke is Amber's kindergarten-aged son. I asked what he did.

"They had a play at school yesterday, and apparently, he was rude to the actors."

I nearly spit out my diet Mountain Dew. And I'm still laughing about this.

Her 5-year-old was hassling actors. He's a heckler. I told her that she and her husband are failing to see the potential in this little future movie critic! That kid is an untapped resource. I'd encourage him to heckle MORE actors. And musicians.

I don't know if I'll ever have kids, but as long as there are kids like this hanging around, I'm happy.

How I knew it was bed time

As I lay on my couch thinking about what I need to do, what's been done, what I should have done, I cracked myself up. I mean, genuine belly laughing.

In between "Pull that ad for a story hole" and "I need to pack my bag for volleyball," I thought ... "DAYMAN!! FIGHTER OF THE NIGHTMAN!!"

These two clips are from an episode of "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia" a couple weeks ago.

The first one, Chemical Toilet presents, "Night Man":



This was followed up by Electric Dream Machine's "Day Man":



I've said it hundred times, but this is the best show ever. Ever.

But I knew it was time to go to bed when I called Jeff and just started cracking myself up when I was singing "Day Man" to him on his drive home. He pointed out that if I'm on my couch almost in tears, bed's probably not a bad idea.

Oh, and just because it was on Flix tonight, and because it's my second-favorite movie of all time and because this probably is the best scene:



JESUS!

You said it, man.

A band I'd tell a friend about

I'm becoming all about bands people around here haven't heard about yet.

I've recently gotten really into Radiofix, a band that's based in Phoenix.

A girl I know who used to live there got me into them, and I'm glad she did. I've downloaded all of the albums they have available at iTunes -- Dogs of Night (a four-track release), Radiofix and Angels and Skeletons, which was just released Oct. 5.

They're very musical, very gifted. Their songs are GREAT driving music. I'd highly suggest downloading a song or two from them. Start with "Simplify."

Nobody will admit to this ...

But this picture is hanging out in my newspaper's pagination server: