And the winner of the Katotainment rebrand is ...

Don't worry, you're in the right place. This is the former Katotainment blog, where I wrote about all the same things I plan to write about now. But I switched jobs at the paper, focusing now on writing about K-college education. So writing an entertainment blog for The Free Press didn't jive very well. The solution? A new name and a rebranding. Hence, the lovely new background of spring-like greens and blues that you see before you.

You'll also notice the new name, above. I wasn't clever enough to come up with something on my own, so I opened it up to my readers and promised a $10 coffee card to the guy or gal who came up with the best new name that encompassed my impulsive personality. The name had to include a variety of interests, from fitness to local entertainment, and it had to represent my personality, which is sort of bubbly and crazy and weird and all over the place.

As you can see, Ryan Gehrke, the manager of Blockbuster Video, by the way, came up with the winning name. My last name is Dyslin, hence the "Dys," and "disjointed" pretty much sums up the rest. So you put it all together, and you've got one hell of a blog title.

So, Mr. Gehrke, you are the winner of $10 in free coffee, as well as the incredible bragging rights of having rebranded Katotainment. Well done, sir. Well done.

So thanks, everyone, for reading Katotainment the past couple of years, and I hope you'll all stick with me through many more years of "Dys-jointed" blogging.

West's Shelby Tweten back on 'Idol' this week

It's Hollywood Week on "American Idol"! North Mankato's own Shelby Tweten, 17, was featured on the Fox show a couple of weeks ago when her audition resulted in a golden ticket to Hollywood. So there's a good chance Ms. Tweten will get some air time this week, especially considering her personal story about her depression and bipolar disorder resulted in numerous national news outlets reporting on her audition.

During the first part of Hollywood week, group performances take place and sweeping cuts are made. Sometimes whole groups go home. Sometimes the judges send contestants home just for forgetting the words to a song, or for not standing out against their more talented group members. So Tweten will definitely be up against a challenge.

Hollywood Week episodes are not live, so in all likelihood, the Twetens already know if Shelby has progressed to the semifinals. Perhaps even further than that. Again, some blogs and fan sites are reporting a list of the top 42 contestants, and Shelby's name is on it. If it's true, that is. No official confirmation has been made.

Anyway, be sure to tune in! The schedule is below. And if you don't know what I'm talking about, read the story here.

"American Idol" schedule:

Wed, Feb 8: 7:00 PM, Hollywood Round, Part 1

Thu, Feb 9: 7:00 PM, Hollywood Round, Part 2

Wed, Feb 15: 7:00 PM, Hollywood Round, Part 3

Thu, Feb 16: 7:00 PM, Performance Challenge

Wed, Feb. 22: 7:00 PM, FINAL JUDGMENT, PART 1

Thu, Feb. 23: 7:00 PM, FINAL JUDGMENT, PART 2

Wed, Feb. 28: 7:00 PM, Semifinalists perform, part 1

Thu, Feb. 29: 7:00 PM, Semifinalists perform, part 2

Wed, March 1: Finalists Announced and Judges' wild card picks revealed

There is only one Marilyn Monroe

My screensaver on my Smart phone is a black and white photo of Marilyn Monroe in a bikini about to go down a slide into a pool. I have several other framed pictures of her in a spare bedroom upstairs. I love the look of women in the late 1950s and 1960s, overall. To me, there's never been a period in history when women were more sexy and beautiful. But Marilyn Monroe was the most beautiful of all. I admire her in the way that everyone else during her time seemed to: as an object of extraordinary beauty. Nothing more.

The camera loved in her in a way that, to me, it has never loved another. Her beauty is other worldly. And that special something, that spark, I've never seen that in another woman. The biographies and interviews with those who knew her say that it was manufactured. Marilyn Monroe was a clever creation of sexy poses, fluid movements and a delicate whisper of a voice. But that doesn't matter. What she created was art. Her beauty, her persona -- it worked and continues to work to woo and enchant all of us.

All of this poses quite a challenge for an actress attempting to portray her. Portraying a character who herself was a character is difficult enough. Portraying one so extraordinarily enigmatic, that's nearly impossible. Which is why it wasn't Michelle Williams' fault she fell so flat in "My Week With Marilyn." Flat doesn't even seem to describe it. False maybe gets closer. Marilyn Monroe swallowed the meek and ordinary Williams the way she swallowed the lives of every man she ever loved. A great performance by a leading actress is one where the actress herself disappears. She becomes the role. There was only one moment in "My Week With Marilyn" where I didn't feel Williams' straining to portray a woman far beyond her own ability to charm, enchant, intrigue and excite. She was laying on a couch talking with Colin Clark about the many men she's loved and wondering why they've all gone wrong. She says, "They always seem right at the start." I remember thinking if Williams could only be this effortless throughout the whole film, her performance could be brilliant. Unfortunately, it was a fleeting moment.

If you plan to see the film to get a peek at who Marilyn was behind the scenes, you'll be disappointed. The movie is based on a memoir written by Colin Clark about a week spent with Marilyn during the filming of "The Prince and the Showgirl," but it barely scratches the surface of being any sort of character study of Marilyn. That's probably best. Williams couldn't have pulled it off. Rather, it's a sweet little film about the power a beautiful woman can have over a man. One man after another is so taken by Marilyn's stunning beauty that it seems to be life changing, and just as quickly, she turns her gaze to another.

Williams was my early pick for best actress, judging just be previews. But I have to throw my support fully behind Viola Davis now. "The Help" wasn't a great film, but Davis was great in it.

I'm overdue on a more in-depth Oscar post. It's coming soon. And be sure to check out the Feb. 24 Currents section for my official picks before the big show.

Making amends with my lungs

My lungs and I haven't always been friends. I haven't been very kind to them, you see. Until the age of 10, they grew up in a home with a smoker. So while other children's lungs were developing into healthy organs that look like thick, juicy cuts of ribeye steak, mine probably resembled dirty, shriveled yams. And to add insult to injury, it was just four years after leaving a home with a smoker that I took my own first puff behind the Bowl Mor Lanes and Lounge in Fairmont. Being an "invincible teenager" and all, I smoked for a solid couple of years in high school and then dabbled again when I turned 21 and discovered how very well ciggies pair up with beers and liquors of all colors and flavors.

Of course, then a few more years past. By the time I hit 25, feelings of "invincibility" turned to fears of dying tomorrow, and I was horrified thinking about what I'd done to my poor, helpless lungs, which, at that point, probably resembled burned and blackened baked potatoes.

Recently, though, I'm happy to report that I've made amends. This past year, through tons of exercise, I've been pumping a lot of healthy oxygen to my little buddies, and they've really come along nicely. They've perked up, seem happier. I'd venture to say we're friends again.

But then we hit a little roadblock this past week. I went crazy and decided I was going to train for a 5K. Never ran in my life, but I thought I'd give it a go. My lungs were angry. Too much exertion. They burned. Bad. Cried out in anger, a feeling reminiscent of that first drag behind the Bowl Mor. Honestly, I was ready to quit the running program, especially after I hurt my hip from not having the right shoes. I was feeling quite defeated, like my body was working against me.

As I was writing the blog entry that outlined this very situation, I got a text from Jackie, my personal trainer from last year. It was out of the blue. She and I don't text that often. And it said how happy she was that I was training for a 5K, and that she would love to train with me and run with me when I'm ready.

Now, that wonderful girl coached me through quite a few moments when I felt like I wasn't up to the physical challenge that lied before me. She told me I could, and so I did. Whatever it was. When that text came at exactly that moment when I needed it most, I swear to you it was like a sign. It was like she knew. It was truly incredible.

That very night I went out and I bought women's Nike running shoes (at Plato's Closet for only $18!!), women's sports under things (heehee), and a waterproof watch with a stopwatch function. And the very next morning, I went back to the gym, up to the track, and I tried again.

And you know what? I did it. I ran 60 seconds, and I walked two minutes, repeating the pattern 10 times. And my lungs were completely on board. No burning. And then I went down to the life center and did 20 minutes on the bike, just for that added fitness bonus and to prove to myself that not only can I train to be a runner, but I can train and then some.

But my biggest sense of accomplishment came this morning. Today I ran 90 seconds, walked 90 seconds, and repeated the pattern 10 times. Only my last bout of running, I ran two minutes without even realizing I'd gone over. To those who haven't ran before, two minutes sounds like nothing. But seriously, try it. Running is HARD. It's hard! So I felt in-cred-ible. And then once again, I went down to the Life Center and did 20 minutes on the elliptical.

I feel good today. I can do this, I think! Woo hoo!

Help! Rename my blog. I'm not clever enough.

It's time to rename this blog, or at least that's what everyone keeps telling me. "Amanda, you are no longer the entertainment writer at The Free Press, so you keeping your blog as "Katotainment" is the crime equivalent of clubbing baby seals." So, so true.

I have no idea what to call it, though. The history of my posts indicates a couple of things: 1. I tend to post on whatever I'm thinking at that very moment. So, impulsive blogging. 2. I tend to post extensively on whatever is at the forefront of my thoughts during a given period of time. So, last year: losing chunks of weight. When "Project Runway" is on, I blog about that. (Except for "All Stars," because I think it stinks and the title is 100 percent misleading.) During Awards Season, I blog about movies. When there's something intriguing/interesting in Mankato's entertainment scene, I blog about that.

I think the takeaway here is that this blog is personality based. It doesn't reflect my job at The Free Press, and that's OK. The newspaper industry is changing, and whereas reporters were once expected to be 100 percent objective and diplomatic and tended to be neutral, overall, now we are expected to brand ourselves, to show you who we are as people and connect with you on a human level. Some are for, some are against. For me, it makes it easier because I tend to be myself, whether that's good or bad, wherever I tend to be and whomever I tend to be with.

So, with all of this in mind, maybe y'all can help me out. I need a blog title that sort of encompasses a personality-based blog about random thoughts, fitness, TV (lots of TV), movies, Mankato and such. If any of you come up with a super good one, I'll award you a $10 coffee card and, of course, bragging rights (ha! I'm sure that's the hugest incentive ever, right?) Plus, I'll blog about you and your incredibly clever blog title.

Email me at adyslin@mankatofreepress.com or call me at 344-6388. Thanks!!!

Frustration mounts, and I have that icky quitter feeling

My left leg is perched on my ottoman at home, and I have the worst pinch in my left hip than I've ever felt. When I walk, it feels more like a crunch.

For the first 15 minutes of day four of my couch to 5k today, I WAS SO HAPPY. My lungs have been the issue this week. They burn so bad that I feel like I can't get enough air. But today, they didn't burn at all. It was more my legs that felt heavy. Maybe they've felt heavy all week and I haven't noticed because of all the burning in my lungs. ... But anyway, I was about 10 yards into my fourth running segment when I felt some sort of twist in my hip. It was immediate, and I could barely walk.

I hobbled out into the hallway and stretched it for a bit. But frustration set in pretty much immediately. I know it's because of my shoes. I haven't had money to invest in running shoes. And that just made me madder because I kept thinking about all these pieces of advice-command hybrids from runners that not only added up in dollars, but also pains-in-the-tuckus.

Me: I don't own a watch and I need to track my running minutes. Does anyone I know, like in life -- anyone at all -- own a watch or a stopwatch they aren't using?
Everyone in the world: No. You have to go buy a watch. You should get a stopwatch that you can program and alert you to when you need to start running again. They're the best kinds of watches for runners.
Me: I have blisters. How do you run with blisters?
Runners: You need sweat-wicking socks if you want to be a runner. You need moleskin to put on your blisters.
Me: Mole-what? ... Maybe I should lose the rest of my weight first. I'm bouncing all over the place when I run. Gives a whole new meaning to booty-shake.
Runners: You need Spanx or quality spandex shorts. That's what I use, as well as a sports bra. You have to buy quality under-things if you want to be a runner.
Me: My toes are hurting a little. These shoes are too small.
Runners: Those shoes won't do anyway. You need good quality shoes. You need to spend an enormous amount of money on shoes. Do you want to run? Then you have to spend money on shoes. Shoes are everything. Buy shoes.

So, basically, I need new gear from head to toe, and unless I plan on doing laundry every day, I need several sets of "good quality under-things." And since running is the most important thing in the universe, I guess I'd better get on it right now.

Gah! I'm going to take a step back here and just think this out. I need my hip to feel better anyway before I can try again, so I'm going to just think about whether the ginormous hassle of running is even worth it. I lost 74 pounds without running AT ALL. So there are other ways to be healthy, right?

But I know myself, and I know backing down from a challenge this early will make me feel really bad.

I don't know. I just don't know.

Finally flipping the bird at Mr. Jones

We'll call him Mr. Jones (so I won't get sued). I heard tell of him from my dad and my dad's siblings. They all had him for gym class when they were in middle school. My dad was a naughty kid. So he'd had an altercation or two with Mr. Jones, which I couldn't even imagine. When nobody in my sixth-grade gym class was doing anything to piss him off, he still looked so severe. Never smiled. Stood shoulders back, arms crossed. Tight blue shorts made of unidentifiable fabric, most likely produced in the '70s or '80s. White leg hair from mid-thigh to ankle. White arm hair, thicker than what seemed normal to a 12-year-old. White head hair (what was left of it). No trace of a smile or even smile lines that might indicate he actually did show his teeth once in a while at home. Plenty of frown lines, though. So the idea of anger in those eyes directed right at my dad, inches from his face, made me keep as quiet as a Sunday morning in January.

I had just moved to Fairmont from K.I. Sawyer Air Force Base in the U.P. of Michigan. I had no friends, and it was my first year of middle school. So the last thing I needed was another reason to feel out of place and behind my fellow classmates. First-period gym class with Mr. Jones was that extra reason. It was a few months after my parents' divorce. I had put on weight. I was out of shape. I'd never run before, except for short bursts the way kids do. And here stood this cold statue of a man barking at me and my classmates in military style to run eight laps or 10 laps or however many he felt like that day.

I was always near the back of the pack. It wasn't unusual for me to get lapped by the fastest boy in the class. But still I remember how grateful I was that two or three girls were actually slower, somehow, than I was so that I wouldn't be dead last.

Every time I past Mr. Jones during each lap, a bit of anxiety would creep in. Sometimes he'd shout things. "Pick it up! Pick it up!" And when one of my tactics on long runs was to put tissues on the stage at the edge of the gym and pretend to have a cold, he was onto me in a heartbeat. "Carry that Kleenex with you, Dyslin! Don't stop!"

Until now, this is the only experience I ever had running. And every single time I have circled the track at the Y this week, having begun my couch to 5K, I have imagined Mr. Jones standing there, arms crossed, watching every unsteady stride. The funny thing is, though, the negative connotation I have with the actual act of running has started to go away. I wonder if it's because I'm choosing to be there, and I feel like it's for an actual purpose. When you're 12, there seems to be no reason at all to be asked to run half a mile in front of your peers, wearing hideous red shorts and doing everything you can to hide your pit stains. It just seems like a really mean social experiment, and you start to imagine ways to make Mr. Jones disappear without anyone tracing the crime back to you.

Hopefully, when I'm ready to move this running campaign outside and hit the streets, the old man won't be in my thoughts at all. Or maybe if he is, I'll just flip him the hand gesture that my dad was brave enough to do when he was just a kid.