Hoy Hotdog!

Oh lawdy. The gentle spring has abruptly given way to sticky summer. The seasonal change is not entirely unwelcome, especially now that I have the A.C. wedged (though somewhat precariously) into the living room window where it can put forth its waves of relief from the stifling heat of this third floor apartment. The sun was out in full force this weekend--I already have tan lines of varying darkness: the criss cross of sandal straps, demarcations across the thighs from shorts, and the color differential between light shoulders and brown arms. I look like a crossword puzzle, basically. It's pretty attractive. Must restock the sunblock. But, I must reiterate from previous posts, I'd rather languish in the heat any day over icy snow and sleet. Bring it on, Sun!

Disappearing into Anonymity

Ever feel like up & leaving for a far-flung locale where nobody knows your name? Kinda like Jason Bourne in "Bourne Supremacy" when he's living in Goa, India before the Russian mafia offs his girl and he jets over to Europe to avenge her murder. But I digress. So yes, how about taking the life savings and hopping a plane for Madagascar to study the monkeys or teaching Korean children how to speak English? A little rash? Probably so, if you have a couple kids and a mortgage. But I don't even own a dining table. I haven't had a car in over a year. I wouldn't miss my job, that's for sure. And most importantly, I have this uncanny talent for packing light when I travel. It's a little liberating not to have any ties, but unnerving as well. Well then, meet me in outer space.

Boogey Man

Last night I dreamt I heard someone walking across the living room of the apartment above (I am on the 3rd story of a 3 story building), going to his door & making his way down the steps to my apartment landing. In my dream, I am asleep but aware of this guy approaching my door & fiddling with the locks. I remember that I didn't lock the deadbolt (in reality) & start freaking out, but it's one of those dreams in which you are paralyzed and mute, incapable of movement or screaming bloody murder. This scenario repeats in a loop 3-4 times in my nightmare before I finally wrestle myself out of paralysis, wake up, & lock the door for real. At 2:45am. Slept like a baby after. I'm such a wierdo.

Self Help

So last week I went to a book signing for the brilliant Augusten Burroughs, author of the heart-wrenchingly hilarious "Running with Scissors" (which, by the way, is coming out as a movie soon!!), and was cackling like a maniac while he read from his new book of short stories "Possible Side Effects." He read the piece "Moving Violations" in which he recounts his friendship with the bizarre yet endearing "Druggy Debbie." They would toil down the highway to nowhere destinations within a 100 mile radius of the dead-end Massachussetts town where they lived and search for drivers who failed to obey the rules of the road (no blinker, cutting off fellow drivers, tailgaiting, etc.) When encountering these violators, they would pass by slowly & flash blown-up cardboard cutouts of people in various deviant sexual positions (my favorite mental image: the gal with a pound of frankfurters shoved up her bunghole.)

Anyway, during the Q&A he mentioned that in one of his memoirs, "Dry," his friend Greer, who plays an integral role in the book (haven't read it yet), read "Dry" despite the fact that her only exposure to literature was perusing cheesy self-help books like "Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway." Was a funny little quip that brought forth a few giggles. But what I found funnier is that I attended an evening "networking tea" (complete with scones & clotted cream!) directly after--a totally different vibe and audience--and the speaker was a professional "networking coach" who earnestly suggested reading "Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway" to aid in building personal character. Tee hee. I've never heard of the book, yet I heard it referred to twice in a two hour period (albeit in two contrasting contexts.) Coincky-dink-ical. Apparently its popularity rivals "What color is your parachute?" (Mine is mauve, by the way.)

Oh and another thing...

I'm spreading my yet-to-be corroborated belief that it's ok to substitute beers for pasta the night before a race as a means of carb-loading. By God, it works.

Another Broad St. Run

A sampling of raving thoughts that crossed my mind during yesterday's Broad St. Run:

Starting line
Feels abso-friggin-lutely awesome outside.
Stop pushing, we're wearing timing chips!

Mile 1
I can run forever! I am indestructible! World peace is within our grasp!

Mile 2
Is that a slight incline on this famously-touted downhill sloping course? That wasn't here last year.

Mile 3
Gettin' a little warm out. I would really like to stop now.
Another incline? Liars, all of you!
Why is my chest burning and where are the paramedics?

Mile 4
Ahhhhh, where did that sudden breeze come from--there is definitely a merciful higher being! But no gatorade for you girl until you pass the halfway point.

Mile 5
"Louie, Louie! Oh baby! We gotta go. Yea yea yea!" Thank God for the bands and screaming cheerleaders on the curb.

Mile 6
Mr. Rendell, your toupee is looking fabulous.
Are those my friends over there? Sure are! Hey, over this way! It's me, the tired, sweaty gal!
Only 3.3 more miles to go, you say? Cake!

Mile 7 (a mere 0.3 miles later)
Why did I have to try to rely on myself for motivation & leave my mp3 player at home? What I'd give to hear a little "Run Lola, Run." Where's the guy that plays the Rocky song already?

Mile 8
There's no way.
Start repeating your mantra, girl: "I'm a horse, I'm a horse. I'm a leannn, longggg horse."

Mile 9
Another mile? Who measured this course? It's been incorrect for the past 27 years!!

1/4 mile left
Hallelujah! I see the finish! Sprint!

1/8 mile left
Shit, that's the photo op area, not the freaking finish line.
Is this how the onset of cardiac arrest feels?

Finish
Mommy?

White gelatinous blob

How long does it take mayo to go bad in your fridge? I'll let you know soon if the answer is at the very least 8 months. Pepto...

Tiny

Miniscule, fleeting, and insignificant as a dust mite set against the cosmos. That's what I feel like reading Bill Bryson's "A Short History of Nearly Everything." I'm only a hundred pages in and he's taken me from the genesis of all things atomic and particulate to the discovery of dinosaurs in an extremely engaging, and not the least bit dull, story-like fashion. Pleasingly entertaining and edifying.