October 14, 2007

Yahoo Email as Time Capsule: (I still really hate these things)

I was searching for something totally unrelated in my Yahoo email and found this survey I filled out back in October 2004. It’s one of those obnoxious “What song are you listening to right now?” type things, but I found it sort of fascinating in a time-capsule kind of way, so I thought I’d share. Clearly I was working on the President’s Council meeting and the Red Sox had just won.

Date: Thu, 21 Oct 2004 20:08:54
Subject: Have I mentioned how much I hate these things?

The REAL question of course is: “Why do I help this cruel cycle of time-abuse continue?”

1. WHAT IS YOUR FULL NAME?

XXXXX L. XXXXX* (The “L” stands for “Tarzan” if you were curious) *edited for online privacy

2. WHAT COLOUR PANTS ARE YOU WEARING?

Black

3. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?

Simon & Garfunkle’s Greatest Hits. Oh, and the bass from whatever the person who lives below me is listening to.

4. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE?

Seasonal sliced fruit, chocolate covered strawberries and assorted Viennese dessert pastry things. And a coffee. (I was at a dessert reception.)

5. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOUR WOULD YOU BE?

Cerulean. (Or in the OLD Crayola set: yellow-green, but not green-yellow.)

6. HOW IS THE WEATHER RIGHT NOW?

Not bad. It’s definitely cooled off and it looks like it could rain.

7. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?

Actually, that would be the Audio Visual coordinator at the Westin Copley Hotel in Boston. Forgot her name.

8. THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT THE OPPOSITE SEX?

I notice whatever is most striking about them. If they have amazing eyes I notice that. If they have a cool laugh or an excellent nose (because I like the larger noses) then that’s what I notice first. If you were hoping for, “Oh, I, like, totally check out their ASS first, y’know?” then you came to the wrong lady.

9. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT YOU THIS?

This is the stupidest question yet! Duh! Of COURSE I don’t like her! 😉

10. HOW ARE YOU TODAY?

We’ll just say “stressed” and leave it at that.

11. FAVOURITE DRINK?

Dr Pepper because it makes the world taste better. And I like juice, too.

12. FAVOURITE ALCOHOLIC DRINK?

I like fuzzy navels, white Russians or strawberry margaritas.

13. FAVOURITE SPORT?

Does figure skating count? Otherwise I’ll say baseball, but only if it is the Red Sox.

14.HAIR COLOUR?

Mine? Sort of a reddish-brownish-blondish.

15.EYES?

Hazel green

16. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS?

No.

17. SIBLINGS?

No thanks. Oh…you meant…Yeah, I have a brother who is 30-something and lives in Georgia and routinely forgets my birthday. Other than that he’s a good guy I think.

18. FAVOURITE MONTH?

Oh for the love of…favourite MONTH?! Who wrote this?! I’ll say March or October. Don’t make me pick and don’t ask why.

19. FAVOURITE FOOD?

The portobello pizza at Figs. I’m also fond of pudding.

20. LAST FILM YOU WATCHED?

King Kong vs. Godzilla.

22. ARE YOU TOO SHY TO ASK SOMEONE OUT?

I’m too shy to even answer that question.

23. SUMMER OR WINTER?

In Boston? NEITHER PLEASE!

24. HUGS OR KISSES?

Hugs from Grandma, kisses from Johnny Depp.

25. RELATIONSHIPS OR ONE NIGHT STANDS?

Christ you’re nosey!!! I’m gonna’ go with
relationships on this one.

26. CHOCOLATE OR VANILLA?

Chocolate. Are we almost through here?

27. DO YOU WANT YOUR FRIENDS TO WRITE BACK

I want a lot of things. I want a bigger bathroom, world peace, to have Madonna’s body…

28. WHO IS MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND?

Whoever can get away with filling this out at work.

30. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING?

The Shipping News

31. WHAT DID YOU DO LAST NIGHT?

Watched King Kong vs. Godzilla over at my friend Lefty’s and then watched the Sox game over at The Kinsale, which was cool except for these bits:
a. When some drunk guy started rubbing my arm. Sox fans are full of love…
b. When we won and someone sprayed champagne all over my wool coat.
c. When Larry’s manager (who was also there) was squeezing my hand and jumping up and down screaming and she almost broke my hand I swear to god.

32. LAST PLACE YOU WENT ON VACATION?

Well, we went to Brooklyn to visit friends for the weekend. Long trip: We drove to Colorado and got to see the WORLD’S LARGEST BALL OF TWINE in Kansas.

33. FAVOURITE SMELLS?

Rain, snow, new CD, Pacific Northwest forest.

34. WHO/WHAT INSPIRES YOU?

Jon Stewart inspires me (I’m dead serious) because he’s funny but he’s also incredibly intelligent and aware of what’s going on in the world. And people listen to him because he isn’t full of shit. Also, Red Sox fans inspire me because you have to love the blind devotion. Even when the Sox suck their fans stay true. It’s silly but also kind of cute.

35. BUTTERED, PLAIN, OR SALTED POPCORN?

Buttered and salted and in one of those festive movie theater bags/tubs (the old ones with stripes or cheesy movie themes, not the new ones with ads all over them).

36. FAVOURITE CAR?

Minis and anything pre-1940. But I don’t drive anymore, so what the hell do I care?

37. FAVOURITE FLOWER?

Pansies. And unlike Susanna (who is obviously
mentally ill) it is NOT because I think they “look like little old men.” I like pansies because they are friendly and come in almost any color. When I was younger I was also especially fascinated by black tulips—still kinda’ am.

38. HOW MANY KEYS ON YOUR KEY RING?

If someone out there actually cares, e-mail me and I’ll get up off my ass and go count the keys on my keyring.

39. CAN YOU JUGGLE?

Yes. For about .057 seconds.

40. RED OR WHITE WINE?

I like those pink ones best.

41. WHAT DID YOU DO FOR YOUR LAST BIRTHDAY?

Larry and I went to a topiary garden. Obviously it was my 80th birthday.

42. DO YOU OWN A DONOR CARD?

Hell yeah!

43. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING U DO WHEN U WAKE UP IN THE MORNING?

Look at the alarm clock and say, “Dammit, Larry! You turned off my alarm again!!!”

44. EVER BEEN IN LOVE?

Shut up.

September 30, 2007

Catching a Play in London: In which I am exposed to the arts, or something like that

We finish our trip in London. Last night Jen and I went to see the play “Elling,” which stars one of our favourite Brit actors—and my imaginary boyfriend—John Simm. The play itself was terrific: funny, well written, excellently cast. And of course John was a thousand kinds of brilliant in it. But let me start at the beginning.

We decided to err on the side of classy. Jen wore a very nice dress; I had a brand new stripy blouse with black slacks. I wore all kinds of makeup. If you squinted you might have thought I looked like a girl. I even left the flaming Converse in the hotel room. After making our way over to Trafalgar Square, stopping for a snack and a few photo ops, we found the theatre and made our way inside. We quickly abandoned any hope of using the ladies’ room when the line ahead of us stubbornly refused to move for 10 minutes. So, tickets in hand, we made our way into the theatre itself to take our seats.

This is when what can only be described as the first “Oh shit” moment occurred. We knew we were in the front row—were very excited about this in fact. And whenever anyone joked about how on earth I was going to resist throwing myself on stage or blushing like a maniac or yelling something inappropriate in a Tourettes-like fit of affection for John, I had comforted myself with the knowledge that 1) I have more control than that, 2) He’d be up on stage—not an easy place to access, and 3) I’ve been on stage before and you can’t really see the audience.

Except this was not your average theatre. It was, to put it mildly, “intimate.” It had that stadium type seating that comes straight down to the floor, which is where the “stage” was. So basically, our feet were on the stage. And it wasn’t a big stage either. At no point would the actors be more than about twenty or thirty feet from us. Maximum. Other times they would be much closer, say…right at our feet.

Oh, and they could totally see us.

I panicked. Well, first I burst out laughing. For her part, Jen, between laughs, just said, “I’m sorry. I’m so, SO sorry.” I can’t really describe how exposed being in this situation felt. Because you are literally within reach of the actors at some points. And even though they are focused on the play, you still know that they can see you the whole time. Including the various times John appeared to be using our seats as a mark, which meant he appeared to be looking straight at us. Extremely unnerving. But I am made of strong stuff, so by the time the play started I had calmed myself down and figured, ah hell, it can’t get any worse, right?

Right?

Ha ha, sucker!

A couple of minutes into the play John took off his trousers. (That’d be “Oh shit” moment number two, in case you hadn’t guessed.) It was like suddenly being very sure that you’re dreaming because no situation could possibly be this absurd. They weren’t off for long, but still—there should be a warning or something! I feel like the tickets should have come with a note: “Dear fangirls, John will be in his underwear, so maybe, y’know, brace yourselves. And don’t sit in the front row.”

Mercifully the moment passed quickly, though I am pretty sure I was still blushing when the intermission arrived. But the play was very funny, and his character was extremely silly, so I was able to relax eventually.

And then the trousers came off again.

Honestly! I ask you: How much is one woman expected to endure?

Just so you don’t worry, I survived with my dignity pretty much intact. When it looked like he was staring straight at me? Well, I may have averted my eyes a bit. When he fell on the floor at my feet? I stayed cool as a cucumber. (Despite what Helen had urged me to do, I kept my hands to myself!) The third time the pants came off? Barely flinched.

Still, as much as I loved the play and everyone in it, I think that may be the last time I ever decide to sit in the front row.

September 26, 2007

Greetings from Cymru: (aka Wales)

Jen and I are in Wales. We still have no internet access, so I’m typing this from the local Visitors Center. Eventually I will post photos.

Someday.

Possibly.

Wales is great! We drove down from Manchester through Snowdonia National Park, which is absolutely ace. As soon as you enter Wales it’s like someone set the camera on “vivid”—the fields and trees are a delicious, lush green and the sky was a bright blue. And we must have seen four or five rainbows at least. There are sheep everywhere! They look a bit ridiculous because many of them have been marked for sheering with a bright spot of colour, like blue or pink. Poor sheep. Maybe they enjoy it though, I don’t know.

So now we’re in Cardiff and it is a bit rainy but otherwise very nice. Last night we went to the local Doctor Who exhibit (much of the show is filmed here), which had lots of the costumes. Jen swooned a bit when she saw Christopher Eccleston’s leather jacket—I can’t say I blame her! We also had a look at the waterfront. Today we’re off to explore some more.

September 24, 2007

I Need More Jaffa Cakes: Highlights of the UK Trip So Far

Greetings from the United Kingdom! Jen and I are spending the evening in our very strange apartment in Salford hiding from the storm and catching up with the rest of the world now that we finally have internet access again. So far we’ve been to York, Kendal, Beeston, Blackpool, and Manchester. I won’t give you the details of the entire trip, but here are some personal highlights.

I ARRIVE
Friday, 6:45 am, Heathrow Airport. Halfway through the longest immigration line since my people came through Ellis Island, I notice a small Asian man leaning against the ropes a few feet from me, possibly stretching after the long flight. Several minutes later I realize he’s not stretching when he starts projectile vomiting into the garbage can. This goes on for some time; every time I’m sure he’s empty he starts up again, full force. Let me be really clear here: This was not subtle vomiting. This was really loud, wet, deep HOARK HOARK BLAAAAAARGH!!! vomiting. And it went on and on and on. Everyone was trying to be really polite and not notice. But I have a really strong gag reflex and as far as I’m concerned, I don’t want to see anything coming out of someone else’s mouth—not saliva, not phlegm, not vomit—and I certainly don’t want to hear it or smell it. Eventually someone called over an airport employee who took Vomiting Asian Man away, but by this point it was all I could do not to vomit myself. The room was warm and stuffy and the smell lingered and I must have gone about three shades of green if the looks on pitying faces around me were anything to judge by. For the record, there was a restroom within sight. Why didn’t he go vomit there? Just my lucky day I guess. When I finally escaped the line I wanted to do a dance of joy. I hurried down the escalator to the baggage claim, but stopped at a cash exchange to get a little money. Unfortunately I was stuck behind a man carrying the equivalent of a Swiss Bank in his luggage. Oh well, I thought, Jen won’t arrive for about two hours anyway, so no hurry. I was determined to be patient, to maintain a Buddha-like calm. Until I heard the distinctive sounds of HOARK HOARK starting up behind me. Yes, Vomiting Asian Man had been released, had staggered down the escalator, and was now vomiting in the trash can a few feet behind me. What he could possibly have had in his stomach at this point I cannot even begin to imagine. He must have been vomiting up internal organs. Pure magic, I tell you. Welcome to England!

I EXPLORE
Jen and I were walking down the charming streets of York, looking in the shop windows and generally soaking up the ambience. Suddenly we come upon two young men in the midst of an altercation. They are literally inches from each other, yelling: “Fock yeeew!” I am immediately torn between a desire to get away before I am accidentally punched in the face, and being utterly charmed by the accents. I wish I had a tape recorder since this is precisely the kind of thing Josh wanted a sound clip of. We move on. A few minutes later the young men catch up to us, still arguing. One of them asks the other, “D’you wanna’ take this around the corner and sort it out?” I think this is hysterical but manage not to giggle. It’s like listening to two of the Beatles having a badly scripted fight. Jen and I spend the next few days alternately saying, “Fock yeeeeeeew!” and “D’you wanna’ take this around the corner?” to each other.

I EAT
I ate some pig blood. I didn’t mean to; it just sort of…happened. Those of you who are familiar with Brit cuisine already know what I’m talking about. For those who aren’t, here’s what happened. We went down to breakfast on Saturday morning. I had some eggs and toast and fruit and hashbrowns and black pudding. The black pudding wasn’t bad—Jen thought it tasted a bit like stuffing. I didn’t know exactly what was in it. I suspected it would be something gross like pig intestines or something, but ignorance is bliss, and I was hungry. As I speared the very last bite and raised the fork to my mouth I heard the man at the next table ask the hostess what was in the black pudding. “Pig’s blood,” she said. There was a moment where my brain sort of seized up. Then I slowly lowered the fork back to the plate. I felt sick, tainted. Up in the room, Jen emerged from the bathroom to find me mournfully eating mini Jaffa Cakes, clinging to the bag like a life preserver and trying to forget the horror of breakfast. She laughed a lot. There have been many jokes about eating pig’s blood.

I BOOGIE
Sunday we decided to drive through Blackpool, a seaside town only marginally more charming than Atlantic City. We weren’t even going to get out of the car…until we saw the disco ball. An enormous piece of outdoor art right on the boardwalk, the giant disco ball was deemed worthy of the $3 we paid to park the car. Many photos were taken.

I GET THE JAWS OF LIFE
Today we visited the Doctor Who exhibit in Manchester. It was very good. A talking Dalek made a small boy cry. This struck us as pretty funny. But the real magic of the day—other than the constant stream of pouring rain every time we stepped outside—was when I decided to buy a new cover for my iPod Nano. It was this really lovely black and white pattern. When we got back to the apartment I went to put it on. It got about halfway and got stuck. Eventually I noticed the very small notice on the packaging saying that this was specifically to be used for 2nd generation Nanos, which—SURPRISE!—are slightly smaller than 1st generation Nanos. My 1st generation Nano was stuck. I couldn’t get it into the case and I couldn’t get it back out. It reminded me very much of the time I was trying on dresses and once I had gotten an unusually snug one on, could not get it back off. The thing just couldn’t make it over my chest. I thought I was going to have to live out the rest of my life in that dressing room because there was NO WAY I was going to seek help. Clearly I was eventually able to extricate myself without damage to clothing or person; sadly the same cannot be said for the iPod case. After several hours of struggling I had to cut it off. Oh well, at least I didn’t eat any pig’s blood today.

September 24, 2007

Love the UK: Hate the Technology

Right. This’ll have to be the world’s fastest post because I have less than twenty minutes on this computer, courtesy of the Manchester Public Library.

Overall the trip has been going well. I’ll fill you in on the good bits when I have more time. Sadly, I seem to be technologically doomed everywhere I go. Even the Hilton wouldn’t grant me internet access. So no pictures and no fun stories until I find somewhere with wireless.

I will say that despite what everyone says, Manchester is great. We drove by Old Trafford yesterday just as everyone was arriving for the Man United – Chelsea game. It was amazing! I have never seen so many excited people in red drinking beer on the sidewalk. And singing. Delightful.

OK, more later when I get some tech stuff figured out. I’ve taken lots of pictures, so I’ll post those as well when I can.

August 22, 2007

Sentimental Schmuck: In which I cry so hard that I laugh

I’m writing this blog post through swollen, teary eyes. I’m not actually sad—or rather, I wasn’t when I started crying—it’s just that I got something in my eye. No, seriously. I think it was an eyelash or something, and believe me when I say it hurt like hell.

First I tried rolling my eye around a bit to locate the foreign object. I poked and prodded and shined a little keychain flashlight into it, but couldn’t see anything unusual. When that didn’t work I splashed a bunch of water in my eye—so much it actually came out my nose and trickled down the back of my throat. It never even occured to me that such a thing would happen. (See the gross new things you can still learn about your body each and every day?) Anyways, the damn thing wouldn’t come out of my eye and I couldn’t get myself to tear up. So I ran into the living room begging Larry to put a sad song on that might trigger some tears. He was only too happy to oblige and immediately leapt into action.

He started, interestingly enough, with “Let’s Go Fly a Kite” from Mary Poppins. This is how I know Larry pays attention at least some of the time. You’re probably thinking: Why of all songs does that make you cry? I don’t know, something about the dad taking his kids out to fly the kite when he’s spent the whole movie being such a jerk…look, I don’t have to justify my sad songs to you! That’s not the point of this. Anyway, it got me started but wasn’t heavy enough, so Larry pulled out the big guns: “The Rainbow Connection” from The Muppet Movie (if it doesn’t make you cry, you are a robot) followed by the only thing that could possibly top it: “Imagine.” Oh, John Lennon!

By this point I was an absolute mess. And I’m one of those people who once I’m going it’s hard to make me stop. So each song just piled on top of the next to reduce me to a complete and utter ball of blubbering mush.

Larry thought this was pretty funny because he’s not familiar with this thing we humans call “emotions” and the only thing that would make him cry is if they closed down the Internet. So he actually made a Making [DocSmartypants] Cry iTunes mix! He says it is to use in case of future such emergencies, but I think you and I both know he’s just going to bust it out some random night as a science experiment starring me as the soppy guinea pig. For those who are interested, here is what is currently on the list:

“Let’s Go Fly a Kite” – Mary Poppins
“The Rainbow Connection” – The Muppet Movie
“Imagine” – John Lennon
“Candle on the Water” – Pete’s Dragon
“Doomsday” – Doctor Who season 2 finale
“Wild Horses” – Rolling Stones
“Hallelujah” – k.d. lang version
“The Last Unicorn” – America
“Fields of Gold” – Sting
“What a Wonderful World” – Louis Armstrong

Now before you judge me, let me just say this: Shut up! I may be a sap but I’m guessing you are, too. You just have different triggers. And yes, many of mine you may have noticed are from my childhood or have a certain nostalgic quality about them. The ones you don’t get probably have some personal connection.

The real question is: When on earth did I become so sentimental? I think it’s been slowly creeping up on me for years, but it’s sort of funny to see it so clearly in action. I was actually laughing at myself as I cried during some of the songs.

The ironic part is that I’m not even sure I ever got the eyelash out of my eye. Both eyes are so sore and swollen now I can’t really tell. But I guess that’s something, right? Sort of like shooting yourself in the foot to distract yourself from a toothache, but hey, whatever works.

June 14, 2006

Terror and the Treadmill: A long version of a short story

Come, friends! Join me as I attempt to infiltrate that most mysterious and exclusive secret society—no, not the Freemasons, a women’s gym. In a moment of temporary insanity I joined a gym. I have a lot of work to do, not being what you’d call “athletic” or “healthy” or “comfortable in a gym setting.” But one has to try, don’t you agree? So here’s
an account of my Monday workout, which was, I believe, my third visit.

Obstacle One: Blending In
I’m not sure what it is about me that makes me stand out at the gym. Last time I went to a gym I wore the flaming Converse, but this time I went all the way in my effort to blend. I bought some of those black workout pants with the white stripes down the sides—stretchy and, dare I say it, not two sizes too big! And I bought some of those generic looking sneakers in an inoffensive dark shade. Wore an unassuming blue ringer T-shirt and pulled my hair back in a ponytail. Should have been the perfect disguise.

And yet…and yet.

The pants are just a touch too long, the T-shirt a smidge too baggy, everyone else’s shoes are white, my ponytail hangs too low, and I’m still wearing that stupid monkey watch. Oh, and I had a three-inch Superman temporary tattoo visible from yards away on my pale, exposed left forearm. But I think it’s more than just the costume. There’s a look that I haven’t yet mastered. A look that clearly says “I belong.” Like those movies where they make a thin woman fat for a flashback scene, I never really buy it because she doesn’t own the fat; she knows she can escape it at any time. Those actresses can’t quite get the fat look and I can’t quite own the gym look. Without that look I will always seem just a little insecure, a little out of place, uncomfortable in the skin I’m in—a gym fraud. This then must be my top priority—learn to fake it.

The last few times I came to the gym I showed up at 4 p.m. and it was monsoon season in Boston. That, for the record, is the very best time to be at the gym. It was just me and five other women, most of them older or slightly overweight. And it’s easy to use whatever equipment you want without the fear of being right up next to someone.

Monday I went at 5. And the weather was excellent. It was like I’d entered an alternate-universe version of my gym. An EVIL version. The first thing I noticed was that the guy at the front desk was different. If he’d looked
the same as the normal guy except with a big black mustache I’d have had some warning about the EVIL alternate universe thing, but he was just some guy I didn’t recognize. Still, it was unsettling. When I got to the changing
room I noticed it was much fuller than usual and that he’d assigned me a locker located between two half-naked ladies. (They were changing, they don’t just stay naked in the locker room—I think.) Which brings me to…

Obstacle Two: Public Nakedness and How to Look Like it Doesn’t Totally Wig You Out
We’ll just make this another goal shall we? Because me? Not a fan of the nakedness. So after I’d done a clothing swap so fast it would’ve put Superman to shame I headed out into the gym.

And that’s when the full extent of EVIL alternagym hit me. Because I ran smack dab into…

Obstacle Three: Aerobics Class.
All of the equipment in my gym faces inward toward this big open floor space that I avoid like the plague. Today it was full of an army of small energetic women being led in a bizarre spastic dance by a hobbit on speed. Shouting into a mic. Over very loud music. I think I must have looked a bit like a deer in headlights at that moment. If I’d thought about it I could have looked in one of the ten thousand mirrors that line the walls and seen what I looked like, but I was too disturbed by everything going on in front of me. In the center, the spastic hobbit brigade hopping around like they were in a giant frying pan, around them tiny buff women as far as the eye could see. All wearing little shorts and littler shirts. All sweating just enough to show that they’re into their workouts without ever crossing the line to looking gross. I of course was already bordering on gross just from the anxiety-induced sweating. At that moment I realized that I had been maintaining an unspoken understanding with the 4 p.m. women, the chubby and the middle aged, and that by coming at 5 I had violated it. I had abandoned my clan and was doomed, exiled in the land of the beautiful for the rest of my gym days.

With my soul just a little deader than it had been a moment before I trudged over to one of the few unoccupied cycles to start my workout. Behind me a woman I’d judge to be about 900 was cycling at breakneck speed, eyes unfocused, exuding the “I belong” attitude. Fifteen minutes in my knees felt like jelly and my head felt woozy and one of my feet started to feel numb and I thought: Do I really know the signs of a stroke? Really? Didn’t Douglas Adams die after a trip to the gym? Am I going to be that person who dies at the gym because they were too stupid to stop when their body was giving them all the signs? But I went for another five minutes because I didn’t want to admit defeat in front
of …

Obstacle Four: Hot Asian Supermodel Chick
who entered just about the time I was thinking I’d get more benefit out of the elliptical machine. She walked in wearing a crop top and perfectly tailored spandex short pants, long hair glistening and swaying as she walked over and snagged my elliptical machine in the corner. It was all I could do not to just stop mid-cycle, stand up, and yell at the top of my lungs, “Aw come ON! Are you kidding me?!”

Hot Asian Supermodel Chick was still on the machine when I stopped cycling so I headed over to the weights. As I passed the 900-year-old woman I noticed she’d only just broken the barest glimmer of a sweat, like someone had misted her for an ad shoot. And she was still going full steam. Great, I thought, what could possibly be worse than getting my ass kicked by a 900-year-old woman?

 Oh, that’d be the blind woman lifting weights.

 With her seeing-eye dog.

 No, I’m not kidding.

 And that was when I knew that this was just not my day to shine at the gym. My spirit was officially broken. One can only put up with speed-freak hobbits and hot Asian supermodels and 900-year-old cycling champs and blind weightlifters if they have something left to believe in, and at that moment the only thing I had left to believe was that maybe, just maybe if I left very quickly I wouldn’t have to see the seeing-eye dog kick my ass on the stair stepper.

I finished off my workout with a quick round of weights and 20 minutes on the treadmill but my heart just wasn’t in it. And I never did make it to the elliptical machine.

When I left the 900-year-old woman was still cycling. And the dog was smirking at me. ]

June 2, 2006

The Eyes Have It: Something a little different for you

Here’s a little game for you. It’ll be pretty impossible but what’s life without a little frustration? Below are ten photos. Each one is of an eye. I will tell you whose eyes are pictured and you get to match the person to the correct eye. OK. Here are the ten choices:

Babaganoush

Ghetto Booty

Doc Smartypants

Emily

Heather-Bob

Helen

Jacques

Larry

Lefty

STEVE!

Now here are the ten photos:

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

If you guess them all right I’ll give you a lollipop. Good luck! ]

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