IncredibleShrinkingCritic

I've decided to train for a half-marathon. Yesterday I put in 3 hours at the gym -- yeah, it's great to be unemployed! -- and today I set out for a 45-minute training run. But you need a goal when you run, and my goal was Costco.

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Fitness doesn't mean you can't multitask. I jogged in leisurely fashion to Costco, where what I really wanted was Post-it flags. They make my heart sing. This Costco didn't have Post-it flags, but they did have other extremely necessary items, like 10 pounds of herring. And everything there is sold in Family Pack size, which is so handy when you're jogging without a backpack or anything suitable in which to carry home a party tray of international cheeses.

I put my Costco card, key, and money in a plastic zip-lock baggie -- snack size -- which makes a good impression on everyone behind you on line when you drag it out from your sweat-drenched running shorts pocket. But I forgot my debit card -- Costco doesn't take Visa -- and I didn't have enough cash on me for anything so fabulous as herring.

There's nothing like being unemployed, fishing dollar bills out of a Baggie, and having to put back one item at a time: A tub of hummos with pine nuts. An already defrosting bag of frozen berries for smoothies. Whole-wheat pita pockets for, like, 100. I ended up with the cheese party pack and a bathmat tucked under one arm as I jogged home.

They say fitness is good for self-esteem, but I'll bet when they say that they're not taking into account the bathmat.

Posted by Jami Bernard at 12:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Welcome to my blog, hosted most graciously by David Poland and Movie City News. I've named it after my forthcoming book, The Incredible Shrinking Critic ... 75 Pounds and Counting: My Excellent Adventure in Weight Loss. A blog on weight loss and movies? Worse things have happened.

After 13 years as a film critic with the New York Daily News, we've parted ways. As Dianne Wiest would advise in Bullets Over Broadway, I'll say no more.

Except that you can watch my little movie, Behold the Future of Film Criticism, for a quick look at what movie critics do when they're sans portfolio.

The first movie I saw as a civilian is The Break-Up, as depressing a movie-going experience as I've had. The half-hour of ads and trailers that preceded it, the poor sound quality and projection, Jennifer Aniston's uncomfortably real misery (the Brangelina thing, you know), distasteful characters, too much Vince Vaughn ... I'm not necessarily blaming the filmmakers for the searing stomach pain I experienced during the second act, since the pre-movie pita joint mght have been a contributing factor. But still. In the days of screwball comedy -- the comedies of remarriage, as they say -- watching a bickering couple wear down their own defenses against true love was as comforting as being rocked in a warm bath. Here, the Aniston-Vaughn union is too toxic even for extreme couples counseling (although the opening-credit photo montage of the progression of the budding relationship is quite well done, the most genuine part of the movie). Tell me, what kind of romantic comedy has you rooting for the protagonists to see other people and move on with their lives?

But really, there's hope in the world as long as there's a Brangelina baby, or something like her, being birthed in Namibia every so often. This just in from Britney Spears:

I'm freaking out, y'all, about this Namibia thing! When the press said I was going to Africa to have Kev's spawn, I was, like, whoa!

Fortunately, the Associated Press corrected their initial report that Spears was going the Jolie route. Namibia's deputy environment and tourism minister, Leon Jooste, regretted leaking the news based only on an anonymous phone tip. What's interesting here is not just the tantalizing thought that celebrities are having their babies in places where they can better control the auctioning of the rights to the baby photos. It's also the matter of this tidbit about Brangelina, from the ABC News website:

The Namibian government shielded the Hollywood couple from the paparazzi, insisting that visiting journalists obtain permission in writing to cover them.

Let me see if I understand. Security is so tight in Namibia, suspicions so high, you have to perform the 12 labors of Hercules if you want to interview the country's honored guests. But anyone can just pick up the phone and tell Leon Jooste that the Martians have landed, and he calls a press conference.

Click here to send me an e-mail, and click on Buzz, below, to see that little movie about unemployed film critics again.

Posted by Jami Bernard at 01:01 AM | Permalink | Comments (5) | TrackBacks (1)