Author: LobaBlanca

Flashback Friday: U.N.I.T.Y.

~ LobaBlanca

One of my Internet PersonalitiesTM has been thinking a lot about old school rap today, which, in turn, has got me thinking about it as well.

I used to love rap. I loved how, “back in the day,” it was often equal parts rump-shaking fun and social commentary that could get your head out of your ass while getting your ass out of your seat.

Something went horribly wrong somewhere along the way and mainstream rap turned into a derogatory, misogynistic cesspool in which every song seemed based on a boilerplate template of: 1) mention your name as often as possible, preferably while grabbing your junk; 2) mention popular products that cost an exorbitant amount of money, preferably while grabbing your junk; 3) drop a violent threat or five against a competitor rapper, preferably while making a gun motion with your hand…right before grabbing your junk; 4) cram in as many curse words and racial epithets as possible, preferably while grabbing your junk; 5) insult women as many times as possible, preferably while grabbing your junk.

I know there are still decent rappers out there, who honor the traditions laid down by the likes of Grandmaster Flash, the Sugarhill Gang, Eric B. and Rakim, MC Lyte…one of my favorite rappers who came to the scene toward the end of my enchantment with the genre was Queen Latifah. Black Reign remains one of my favorite go-to albums when I’m in that old school frame of mind (Who got my back? The Queen, of course).

The fact that Queen Latifah wasn’t afraid to step up with her song “U.N.I.T.Y.” and take the men to task for their ignorant lyrics (along with other things) definitely earned her a great deal of respect from me. And so I drop this on you:

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f8cHxydDb7o&w=640&h=480]

All hail the Queen.

Flashback Friday: The Pepsi Generation

~ LobaBlanca

I should place this disclaimer right at the top of this week’s flashback: I don’t really like any plain cola anymore. Coke is too fizzy and Pepsi is too syrupy. Really, the only thing either is good for is as a partner for rum or vodka. Actually, though, I kind of prefer my rum with Dr. Pepper and my vodka with ice.

Even though I might not like either cola now, I can tell you that there was definitely one clear winner in my mind back in the day. Wanting to buy the world a Coke aside, I’d have to say that Pepsi was the one that owned the advertising crown during my misspent youth.

After all, they were the ones who succeeded in convincing us that Pepsi was “the choice of a new generation.”

Talk about a brilliant marketing ploy there. Take a campaign from the 60s (that was when “The Pepsi Generation” was first introduced as a concept), snazz it up a little bit, and proceed to convince an entire generation of impressionable kids and teens that theirs is a generation that belongs to one particular brand name? Nice.

And how do you accomplish this? Through a series of commercials that feature such hot-at-the-moment stars like Marty McFly and the Bedazzled Glove himself, Michael Jackson.

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BFEQ7aH7JDQ&w=640&h=480]

Fox advertised for regular Pepsi for a while before the company switched him over to their more “adult” Diet Pepsi campaign, pairing him with the likes of a pre-NYPD Blue Gail O’Grady…

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=grP6QeIjVjU&w=640&h=480]

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N0Hkqh1IAsQ&w=640&h=480]

Recognize the little MJ in the second commercial in this collection? That would be Carlton Banks himself, Alfonso Ribeiro. Of course, not long after this video was made, he would get his first big break as Ricky Schroder’s token friend of color on the otherwise decidedly Caucasian sitcom Silver Spoons.

Pepsi relied heavily on Michael Jackson’s powerful persuasive presence in their marketing campaigns throughout most of the 80s and early 90s. But things started getting a little awkward toward the end of their relationship…what with Jackson incurring ever more negative scrutiny for his strange behavior. So Pepsi decided that it might be time to find a replacement spokesperson, just in case Jackson’s personal peccadilloes proved to be more harmful to their advertising relationship than Pepsi nearly immolating Jackson during one of their earliest commercial shoots.

So who would they turn to as a less controversial performer? Why, Madonna, of course! That’s right, Pepsi tried to tame Madonna and make her palatable to play in Peoria. They made a deal with her that would allow them to debut her song “Like A Prayer” for the first time on television through a 2-minute commercial that was pretty much Pepsi’s attempt to duplicate the marketing success they’d had at the beginning of their contract with Jackson. I swear, there are a couple of sets from the Madonna commercial that look like they were recycled from previous MJ shoots.

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h8qtsUaoVak&w=640&h=480]

But then Madonna had to ruin it all when she stripped down to her slip and jiggled about on a hillside lined with burning crosses right before dry-humping a Black Jesus on a church pew. The pope got his papal panties in a bunch, religious groups threatened to boycott Pepsi, and the company panicked and revoked their contract with the Material Girl because she was simply too controversial. So they went back to MJ. Yeah, because there was a controversy-free singer.

Don’t cry for Madonna, though. She got to keep the $5 million that Pepsi paid her for her contract. Not a bad price, if you think about it, for such high-profile global publicity.

No such thing as bad publicity, right? Right.

I know that Pepsi still pulls in big names for their marketing campaigns. I just don’t know who any of those names are anymore. Coke still tries as well, I guess. They’ve got those big fluffly polar bears…because, you know, when I think fizzy-up-my-nose cloying sweet cola, I immediately think polar bears.

Actually, now that I think about it, I do immediately think of polar bears. Whatdya know…advertising does work after all.

Who Are You?

~ LobaBlanca

I was fingerprinted this morning.

No, you’re not going to see me on the national news, being led away in handcuffs from the scene of some horrible pre-caffeinated rage crime. Believe it or not, I had to be printed for my job.

This statement is just going to fuel those pesky secret agent rumors. I know it.

Truth of the matter is, while what I do does require a bit of clearance from the agency to which I am detailed, I really don’t do anything that would demand this level of security clearance. However, the federal government, being the machine of brilliance and preparedness that it is (and not the least bit hyperbolic in its actions whatsoever), has decided that all people affiliated with any aspect of the federal government will inevitably have to go through this security process.

Which is how I ended up being fingerprinted while my two pieces of government-issued photo identification were scanned and I was photographed. And then everything was uploaded into a government database to be processed to confirm that I am who I say I am, and that I have not committed any sort of crime that would prevent me from receiving final clearance.

After the initial disappointment I felt when I realized that: A) I was actually going to be fingerprinted (there was some confusion about this fact from my sponsor); and B) the fingerprinting wasn’t going to be done by Sara Sidle, I settled into a state of conflicted resignation. The tech-geek side of me was fascinated by the tool they used to capture my fingerprints. Gone are the days of messy ink stains and paper ten-cards. It’s all digital, denizens. You know those machines we see those TV CSIs using? The ones that always make us roll our eyes and tsk in disbelief?

They’re real.

The security agent pulled out this device that was no bigger than a box of teabags and proceeded to print my fingers, just like you see them doing it on TV. Each finger, rolled across a plexiglass slide. Each print immediately captured in a digital image on his screen, saved to the appropriate designated box. Took fewer than 5 minutes.

While the tech-geek was mesmerized by all this, the conspiracy side of me was raging over the fact that the digital capturing of my fingerprints has somehow stolen that much more of my privacy. Kind of like how those isolated tribes felt that pieces of their souls were stolen away every time one of those pesky National Geographic excursions came through to photograph them.

If you hadn’t noticed this about me, I’m a bit of a private wolf. I like keeping as much personal information as I can…well, personal. I know it makes me seem paranoid (which I admittedly am), but I like the false belief that I have some shred of control over my identity. Up until this morning, one of the things over which I thought I would always have control was my fingerprints not being in any database.

Now, like those sad little tribes and their ever-shrinking souls, another little piece of my privacy has been hacked away. And they couldn’t even send Sara Sidle to do the hacking.

Flashback Friday: Purple Passion

~ LobaBlanca

I don’t remember much more about Purple Passion beyond the fact that it tasted like grape-flavored rubbing alcohol. What else would it taste like? It was made from Everclear grain alcohol. I’m surprised I have any stomach lining or tooth enamel left after drinking this stuff.

Purple Passion’s sole purpose? To lead you quickly down the path to total blitzed status. If there’s another purpose for this drink, I can only assume it involves battlefield emergency triage. On the night I was introduced to it, however, it was about the blitzing.

My best friend was home from college for the weekend and excited to introduce me to this drink she’d discovered at one of the parties she’d been to on campus. And, yes, this would be the same BFF of the infamous sleepovers that caused me to charffle Dimetapp and pepperoni pizza. Apparently, she had a thing for getting me buzzed on purple things.

Slight problem: We weren’t quite 21 yet. I mean, we were emotionally way more mature than 21. Unfortunately, the government doesn’t acknowledge emotional age. Not that big a deal, though. We had one of her friends buy us a four-pack of this high-octane Kool-Aid. He then drove us around down all the rural backroads of the county where she lived while we sprawled in the backseat, splitting the Purple Passion bottles.

Oh, but wait. You have to have music for something like this, right? How about a cassette of The Fugees’ The Score, on constant rotation? I heard that damned album so many times that even while burning a hole through my central processor with grain alcohol, I was able to identify that they’d sampled Enya on their song, “Ready or Not.”

And now I’ve just outted myself as being familiar enough with Enya that I was able to identify her music.

Shut up. I hear you laughing.

You know what? For that, I’m leaving you with the Fugees/Enya song. I told you to shut up…

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-8Oi1gtu_Kw&w=480&h=360]

BookBin2012: Epileptic

~ LobaBlanca

Not wanting the “Public Library” portion of my BookBin2012 widget to go unloved, and because I simply cannot stay out of a library as gorgeous as our neighborhood library, I bring you my latest discovery from the graphic novel section: Epileptic by David B. (or David Beauchard).

Originally released as a six-volume series under its French title, L’Ascension du Haut Mal (which translates as “The Rise of the High Evil”; also, “haut mal” is the French equivalent of the English term “grand mal” in reference to epileptic seizures), Epileptic is Beauchard’s retelling of his family’s journey through the sudden onset of his older brother’s epilepsy when his brother was 11.

Beauchard’s choice to approach his family’s story from his younger version’s perspective brings the narrative to a less convoluted, more accessible level. A story dealing with such a serious medical condition runs the risk of becoming overburdened by medical jargon; telling the tale from the perspective of the little brother who must process all these changes and ordeals as they are happening gave Beauchard permission to simplify his narrative without watering it down.

He balances the various family dynamics and reactions to his brother’s worsening condition, demonstrating not only the extraordinary measures to which family is willing to go in order to save their own, but also the disconnectedness and solitary confinement each member experiences, even in the face of familial cohesion in pursuit of a cure. Though they are together in family experimental journeys into alternative medicinal treatments and alternative religions, Beauchard explores well the varied and separate emotional responses he and his family experience.

Beauchard is not an overly sentimental writer, which I believe serves his story well. He is, however, a phenomenal artist. Just as I praised Craig Thompson for the artistry of his novel, Blankets, I believe that Beauchard is another whose artistic prowess has raised my opinion of graphic novels to an even higher plateau of respect. The inky intricacy of his oftentimes nightmarish tableaux roll over you in swells of beauty, horror, desperation, promise, resentment, and resignation. His artwork is unsettling, reflecting at times the disturbing aesthetic of a Grand Guignol influence.

[Or perhaps I merely think this because they’re both French. This is sometimes how my brain works.]

Admittedly, the artwork is bold and distinct enough that it was a bit overwhelming at first. I pressed through my initial discomfort and soon found myself enraptured by the dark details of Beauchard’s beautiful black and white panels. His view of the world, both the real one and that of his exquisite imagination, is rich and complex and full of the fury and impotence with which so many families are familiar when faced with an intractable disease. At times I found myself lingering over a page long after finishing the text, simply trying to take in the layers hidden beneath the words…layers that provided a deeper narrative unhindered by the boundaries of letters.

Final Verdict: I hope that this novel has already found its way into another’s book basket at our library. Definitely another one for the Amazon wish list.

Flashback Friday: Breakfast-Time Sugar Buzz

~ LobaBlanca

A long, long time ago, I wrote about the joy of cereal box prizes. I mentioned that my favorite was Frosted Flakes. How do you not love the cereal with the mascot voiced by Thurl Ravenscroft?

(Don’t recognize that name? Don’t worry. He’s just a bad banana with a greasy black peel, denizens).

Ravenscroft provided the voice of Tony for more than 50 years. Perhaps it’s just me, but Tony hasn’t sounded quite the same since Ravenscroft died. Here’s one of his early commercials (black and white, even…and what’s up with his teeth? If that’s what Frosted Flakes does to your teeth, you might want to reconsider them as a balanced part of your sugar rush):

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U_VEQbZUVGI&w=640&h=480]

And then there’s this little gem. Well, hey there, “Cathy”!

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qmcj53NmpUs&w=640&h=480]

I remember this commercial. I always thought it was a sad attempt by Kellogg’s to get adults who grew up eating Frosted Flakes to come back. You know, because it’s never too late to need insulin.

If I wasn’t flaking out, I was going a little fruity. Er, loopy. Fruit Loopy, with my home bird, Toucan Sam. I used to love eating a bowl a Fruit Loops and drinking a cup of coffee while watching Scooby Doo before school (and, yes, there are several things wrong with this sentence). Befitting, then, that I would find this commercial, as animated by Hanna-Barbera (watch closely and you’ll even see a guest appearance by the very first “ghoul” to ever haunt Scooby and those meddling kids):

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f5O0EHwfPno&w=640&h=480]

And, before one of them prowled the woods of Sunnydale at the full moon or the other discovered he held the power to electrify the lives of our favorite (some might even say they were X-ceptional) FBI agents after surviving a lightning strike (impress me, denizens, by following this clue), these two up-and-coming Gen-Xers were getting their own Loop-on:

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gdsV1ROQTZg&w=640&h=360]

Other favorites? Trix, of course…and one of my favorite commercials was this two-parter in which Bugs Bunny tried to help the Trix Rabbit finally get his hands on his own Trix cereal. Didn’t he know? Trix are for kids.

And hookers. But that’s for a different story.

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d2yRgp3xRYk&w=640&h=480]

Then there were the chocolate cereals: Cocoa Puffs, Cocoa Krispies, and (my personal favorite) Count Chocula. It’s not even that I really liked Count Chocula cereal. I just liked the mascot more than that annoying bird or those rodent-sized elves. Snap, Crackle, and Pop the hell away from my food, dammit.

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kMjgDjEZfa0&w=640&h=480]

How about a monster sugar buzz for breakfast today?

The true crime isn’t the fact that they now only sell Count Chocula, Frankenberry, and Boo Berry cereals at Halloween. It isn’t even the fact that apparently one or all of them disposed of the Fruity Yummy Mummy (probably as retribution for this commercial). It’s that they still sell any of these teeth-rotting concoctions at all.

Actually, that’s not true. The real crime is that many, many (full) moons ago, somewhere along a dark, lonely highway, Count Chocula and Frankenberry disposed of their first fruity competition, Fruit Brute. A moment of silence, please.

There are tons more of these commercials and cutesy cartoon mascots designed to trick kids into consuming more sugar in one bowl than you’re probably supposed to have in one week…Dig ‘Em the Frog, the Cinnamon Toast Crunch bakers, Captain Crunch, Sugar Bear, Lucky, the Flintstones…not to mention the movie, TV show, or video game tie-ins like C3PO Cereal, Pac-Man, Ghostbusters, Smurfs…we truly were the marketed generation, weren’t we? Thank the prophets we were also the “Fluoride in the Water” generation.

Reflections on a Golden Gate

~ LobaBlanca

As touristy and predictable as it is, whenever I go to San Francisco, I always end up taking an excessive number of photos of the Golden Gate Bridge. I simply can’t help myself. It’s stunning, no matter what time of day or what type of weather surrounds it. I’ve seen it damasked by fog, gilded by moon glow, and shimmering in the brilliant sunlight, and I’ve yet to tire of its beauty.

This past trip, I decided that I needed to mix it up a little bit…get a different perspective. I also wanted to visit yet another filming location from Vertigo, one of my favorite Hitchcock films. I ended up at Fort Point, right beneath the bridge and just as the sun was reaching a prime position in the sky for some gorgeous Golden Gate glow.

I would have liked to have gotten even further under the bridge or closer to the water’s edge for some of these shots. Unfortunately, the fort was closed and surrounded by a pesky security fence. Oh well. Perhaps next time.

Here, then, are my favorite shots, including one of a drippy-billed seagull who seemed quite amused by my impromptu photo shoot…

And, finally, here’s my favorite shot, which I took specifically as an homage to Vertigo. It came out so exactly as I had hoped it would that I couldn’t resist taking it into PhotoShop and turning it into my own “poster” for this movie:

BookBin2012: Secret Identity

~ LobaBlanca

I promise, this will be the last book review for a while. It will also be much shorter than my last two reviews. I don’t want to overload you.

I’m now finished with the stack of CSI graphic novels that I purchased last year, with the fifth in the series, Secret Identity. I thought this was the last one illustrated by Gabriel Rodriguez, but it looks like there might be one more, although it doesn’t seem to be part of the longer serial novels. I think it might be a one-shot novella done back when Ashley Wood was still doing the abstract artwork. More investigating is required.

For Secret Identity, Rodriguez again paired with Steven Perkins on the abstract art. Steven Grant took over from Kris Oprisko as the writer of this story. It’s a shame that this was the last novel Rodriguez and Perkins worked on together, because I believe this is the best of the bunch. Not only did these two artists’ divergent styles merge beautifully for this novel, Rodriguez really came into his own for the main artwork. He invests a great deal of care and creativity into exploring the space of each page, each panel, bringing a sense of grace and artistry to what is also the darkest, and in my opinion, best written story from this batch of five novels.

Steven Grant did a tremendous job writing this story, giving readers something that not only can compete with a television script, but might in some ways surpass what we’ve seen from the show (especially in recent years). It’s refreshing to see such a cumulatively extraordinary effort put toward a medium that, when done in such a mass market style as comic book tie-ins to television series, typically tends to suffer from mediocrity and apathy from all involved. Case in point? Go flip through a stack of hastily written/drawn/published Trek comics and tell me what you think…you know, after you finish peroxide-washing your brain and eyes.

The coloring is again superb, drawing from a palette of soothing to passion-infused, and enhancing the almost cinematic-quality angles of Rodriguez’s cleverly drawn panels. Also, IDW Publishing returned to the standard size for this graphic novel (although it looks like they also offered it in the smaller “New Format” size; avoid this one at all cost), which means larger space for artwork that truly deserves every inch and more.

Final Verdict: Definitely a keeper. I’d vote this the best of the first five CSI graphic novels, hands down. If you’re at all interested in seeing what the comics can offer you, this would be my top recommendation.

Penning the End and Beginning the New

~ LobaBlanca

Happy New Year, denizens!

There. I was remiss before. Now, I’m…unremiss.

I wandered away from the lair for some end-of-season celebrating. Penn’s sylvan city of brotherly love played surprise host to the festivities. I haven’t been to Philadelphia since a high school field trip my Senior year, so it was interesting to see it from an adult perspective…and for more than a quick day trip.

Plus, they do seem to enjoy the New Year party mentality. There were fireworks twice: once at 6 p.m. Saturday evening and again at the midnight hour. There was also a dazzling number of people roaming the streets, adorned with all variety of flashing and flickering gaudiness, enjoying the various vice-fueled buzzes that would carry them into the new year. I was disappointed, however, that, yet again, no one tried to ring that big famous bell, giant crack be damned. Honestly, why no one’s tried to patch that thing up yet eludes me.

Let me in there…I’ll have her good as new in no time.

Actually, we didn’t engage in any Americana worship at all this trip (although we did walk past the Liberty Bell twice). This was more of a food extravaganza journey. The prime destination on New Year’s Eve was a tapas restaurant, Amada. They offered a special New Year’s Eve menu, which consisted of what seemed like a never-ending arrival of little plates containing all manner of decadence. It was an experience that shames any previous concept of the phrase “food coma.” The rest of the evening is honestly a bit of a glorious blur. All I know is that fireworks occurred again. Indeed.

Did you know that Philly holds a pretty much all-day parade on New Year’s Day? It’s called the Mummers Parade and it’s this insane blending of all sorts of traditions from all sorts of ethnic influences. Basically, it’s a day-long party parade that represents the blended ethnic motif of the city itself.

Not really being parade people, we avoided most of the Mummers festivities…although at some point we did get to witness drunken douchebaggery dressed in flamboyant Mardi Gras jester attire. Apparently, drinking starts early at the Mummers Parade and doesn’t stop until well after dark. Neither, unfortunately, does the douchebaggery. Needless to say, I was not expecting to encounter the aforementioned merry band of miscreants who, for several uncomfortable blocks, serenaded any woman within their visual range with the visceral chant for them to “reveal their endowments.” Oh, the shear poetry of it all.

However, inebriated revelry was nowhere to be found at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. There was, however, an abundance of lovely art…and a lot of furniture. There was also an entire section devoted to armor and weaponry, which I found surprisingly fascinating. I think it was the horse armor. How do you not love horse armor?

Afterward, we roamed the city, allowing its culinary redolence to lead us through its grid of diverse neighborhoods. Unfortunately, it being New Year’s Day and all, a lot of places were closed, including the place we wanted to go for what many have rated one of Philly’s best cheese steaks. The more touristy places, Pat’s and Geno’s, were both open, with lines that curled in on themselves like ravenous M

Flashback Friday: “Shake Your Love”

~ LobaBlanca

I know what you’re thinking right now. “But, Loba, you’ve already done an entire Flashback Friday dedicated to Debbie Gibson! Why another one just for one of her songs?”

I have my reasons, denizens. Lemme ‘splain.

So one of my Internet PersonalitiesTM is currently subjecting me to a viewing marathon of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I’m almost halfway through the third season. It’s a bit of a manic experience, I can assure you. However, the highs are exponentially higher than the lows are low (thus far), so I’m sticking with it.

One of the secondary characters who arrived in the first season and immediately caught my attention was Jenny Calendar, the computer science teacher and, as we soon learn, a “techno pagan” whose mad Internet searching skills quickly come in handy to “the Scooby Gang.”

Robia LaMorte Totally Looks Like Nana Visitor

One of the things that makes me laugh the most about Calendar’s arrival at Sunnydale High is how in awe the Gang is of her computer skills (and how distrusting Watcher Giles is of anything that doesn’t slide back onto a bookshelf once he’s finished reading it). I had almost forgotten how new and unknown things like personal computers and teh Interwebz were back in the mid 90s. So quaint. It’s also a nice juxtaposition that Whedon makes with her character being both a dabbler in the dark arts and a dabbler in the techie arts, which when they were first catching on were viewed by many with an equal level of distrust as being nothing more than electronic hocus pocus. Good one, Whedon.

So what does all this have to do with Debbie Gibson? Jenny Calendar was portrayed by an actress named Robia LaMorte. Okay, right now I also know what you’re thinking: That has to be a stage name. LaMorte? “The Death”? I know, I know. Strangely, enough, this is her real name. And before she was an actress, she was a dancer.

Starting to click for you yet?

That’s right. If you watch the video for Gibson’s song “Shake Your Love,” you will see a 16-year-old LaMorte bopping along in the background with her Jennifer Beals-esque hair. Look for the dark-haired girl in the white T-shirt and the backward suspenders…

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ldE800eFJps&w=640&h=480]

Sometimes I really miss the 80s. Then I remember Reagan and the fact that I was a pudgy little nerd at a Baptist school and I get over it.

It gets better, though. LaMorte went on to be “Pearl” for Prince’s Diamonds and Pearls album. She appeared with Lori Elle (“Diamond”) in several of the videos for songs from this album and even accompanied Prince on his “Diamonds and Pearls” tour back in the early 90s. I’d post a link for one of the videos but Prince doesn’t allow his music on YouTube. Even if I found a video online now, it’d be a dead link in a few weeks. Instead, here’s a screen capture of LaMorte and Elle sandwiching the tiny Purple One in some dance moves from, I believe, “Cream.”

Not long after she finished touring with Prince, LaMorte hung up her dance shoes and decided to chase the acting dream for a little while…which is how she eventually found her way to Sunnydale High. My first encounter with her, however, (other than “Shake Your Love,” of course) was as Joan Marks, from the CSI episode “You’ve Got Male.”

It’s a small one, this geeky world I inhabit.

And now for the…well, not the bad news. But the weird news. Apparently, LaMorte found Jesus. Three months after hitching her wagon to the Buffy Train, she became a Christian. Playing a techno pagan.

Yes, I am making a face right now. It’s my “difficult to process” face. But you know what? It’s obviously something that gives her fulfillment. So much so, in fact, that she runs her own ministry. You’re making a face now, too. I can tell. But it’s all good. She can have her faith. And I can have Jenny Calendar and “Shake Your Love.”

See? And here you all thought this was going to be another Flashback Friday on Debbie Gibson. You all should know me better than that, denizens…