WHO SUCKS MORE THAN ME?

Answer: Very few. I wish I had a valid reason for not posting in so long. And considering the very morbid tone of my last post, people probably assumed I dove off a building or something. Not the case. A whole lot has gone on this past month - and some REALLY great blog topics too! Alas, the truth is... I am fucking lazy.

BUT I'M BACK! Um... for today. Let's not get crazy with the expectations.

Hmm... Okay -- big news: I moved up out of The Grotto and took over my aunt's apartment. We had it painted all these great, bright colors and refurnished the hell out of it. There are huge windows, one of which acts as a headboard for my bed. And the sun happens to rise through that window every morning. And it's glorious.

Secondly, I became an aunt again! Bean has a little brother (whom I have not yet nicknamed so for now he shall be called #2). He's pretty cute for a little smoosh of a thing. I forgot how small they are when they first come out!

And lastly (but certainly not leastly) I myself have a new pride and joy. Behold:


Who knew such joy could come from some metal and rubber? Okay wait - BIGGER pieces of metal and rubber. For exterior use. I'll stop.

The long-hated Saturn that I'd been driving for the past few years decided to puke antifreeze all over the inspection station (a blog entry unto itself) and rather than blow $2,000 on fixing the head gasket, I traded it in to lease this wonderful little guy.

So yes, I am very much alive and life gets better with each breath. And now that the blogging seal has been broken, I will do my best to get back on task and write. I've missed it. Truly.

IGNORANCE = BLISS?

I think I think too much. I also think that if I weren't me, I'd find me annoying.

What separates being mentally ill from NOT being mentally ill? Apparently, there is a verrrry fine line between the two. I don't think it's a very straight line either. I think it curves is some areas, and is blurry in others - more like a smudge. And try as I may to walk down the center of it, it's darn near impossible.


Depression and mental illness run rampant through my Dad's side of the family. Probably Mom's too, but Dad's actively sought treatment. They all spent their fair share of time in psychiatric hospitals, and each had a revolving cocktail of meds. I wonder what it felt like inside their heads? I mean, we all have ups and downs -- sometimes the downs last longer than the ups. But when do you cross the line?

For a while now, I've had this theory that "depression" is the soul's way of telling you you're not in the right place in your life. But with all the options available to us; and with all of society's pressures that we put on ourselves, how the hell do we know where (or who) we're truly supposed to be?

Who are the "Happy People"? Are they the ones who really know who they are? Or are they just people who are so distracted by the everyday things in life - work, kids, money - that they're too busy to sit around thinking about this shit? My brother J, for instance. He and his wife work so damn hard. They have a house that they bust their asses over; a 3 year-old son and one on the way; they even have the frigging Golden Retriever. They're about as All-American as they come. And they truly seem happy to me.

But I don't get it. 'Cause I don't think that having all that shit would make me happy -- it would just keep me busy.

I dunno... I think that for a long time in my life, I was one of them. Able to get caught up in the surroundings and just BE. But somewhere along the way, I became an overthinker, and have since been 'defiled'.

ADDICT.

SCONES FOR THE BUDDHA

Today I went to my local Asian nail salon for my bi-weekly fills*. Whilst sitting there inhaling acrylic dust, I noticed the shrine again.

I am assuming my Korean(?) manicurists are Buddhist and that the assemblage on the floor near the sink - which consists of an elaborate statue and a bunch of bowls and flowers and stuff - is indeed a shrine of sorts. And, as in times before, I noticed that there was food laid out in front of the statue - offerings.

Today this particular Buddha received a cup of Starbucks coffee and a scone.

I don't know much about Buddhism, aside from what little I picked up in the Religion & Culture elective I took in grad school. So I Googled Buddhist offerings (and then scones... and then offerings+to+Buddha+scones) I learned that offerings to Buddha are known as "puja", and that they can sometimes be of food (although no sites specifically mentioned scones).

I would really like to know more about all of this, but I feel strange asking my Asian manicurists. I don't want them to think I'm stupider than they already do. Ever seen the Seinfeld episode where Elaine is paranoid that her Asian manicurists are making fun of her in a foreign language? Been there.

So I dunno. Perhaps it's hard to find milk-rice and lotus blossoms at the nearby ShopRite. And let's face it -- scones be some damn tasty puja.

* I am probably the most NON-high-maintenance woman on the planet, but I recently got the nails cause my own just will not grow. At all. So this is my one vain indulgence. Truly.

A REALLY GOOD WEEKEND.

You know it's been too long since your last blog post when you forget your password to login.

What a great few days it's been. Had a busy week - two performances with my kids. The first was Wednesday night at my school - our annual Jazz Cafe. Excellent event -- featured my jazz band and a bunch of soloists and small ensembles, along with a gigantic coffee cambro, courtesy of the ECE. It was the first time HE had been to my school and seen me "in action". I was proud of my kids and really happy that HE was there. Friday night's performance was brief, and involved just a handful of my students playing at a fundraiser at the high school.

Saturday I woke up early and went out for my first longer-type run in a while - the weather was AMAZING -- I am so ready for spring. I worked about 6 hours at ECE and spent a fine evening at HIS place with take-out Chinese and three TiVo'ed episodes of "American Idol". I'm rooting for Taylor Hicks. He reminds me of a cross between Ray Charles and Robert DeNiro... with autism.

But today was the best day by far. We drove down to visit HIS family - first stopping at this incredible place for breakfast, before heading to HIS brother's place for a visit. Afterwards, we wandered around scenic Bordentown, NJ -- it was a little like stepping into a Colonial timewarp. Very cool. And then we went to HIS folks' for an amazing dinner.

I really hope HE realizes how lucky HE is to have such wonderful parents. They are the kind of people that radiate warmth and just scream to be hugged. More than anything, they are just very real, genuine, good people. If I could choose parents, they'd be way up there. Right with Mike and Carol.

PAMIR - A Haiku.

Belly full of food
Norange Palaw and cheap wine
The burps remind me

I KNOW ... I SUCK.

At least I can admit that. I get pissed when the blogs I love to read aren't updated regularly, and here I am being a hypocrite (and a cocky one at that - assuming anyone actually READS this blog). So yeah, it's been nearly two weeks since my last post. I wish I could say I was doing something amazing - like riding a bicycle 244 miles from Prague to Budapest (no wait, that's happening this summer!) - or maybe being held as a POW on some third-world island nation (hopefully NOT happening this summer) - but really I've not been doing much of anything.

Last week was Mid-Winter Recess. It was glorious. I slept in almost every morning unless I made plans, which was rare. On Wednesday I went into the city with P.McQ and D. We had gotten cheap tickets to see "Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" so we did lunch and stuff. Was a nice time. I'm not a huge fan of Broadway though, and - true to form - I did doze off during the first act. Fucking siestas are to blame.

Friday I drove down to the annual NJMEA conference (aka: Giant Convention for Dorky Music Teachers). And like every year, it was basically a big reunion of the people that I went to college with. I went with my friend L, whose school district is nice enough to pick up her registration fee AND a hotel room. After we went to dinner at Makeda, I really just wanted to go back to the room. So I did. And fell asleep by like 10:30. Woo hoo. Meanwhile, L stayed down in the hotel sportsbar and drank her face off. When she (and some friends) stumbled back to the room at 3:30, I was less than pleased. I'm becoming such an old fart.

Then the snoring began. And even through my noise-canceling headphones - which are able to drown out the sound of a 747 jet engine - the snoring was audible. So around 4:00AM, I decided I had slept enough, packed my shit and drove home. That was NJMEA 2006. Although I did go to a couple cool workshops including one on the Alexander Technique and one which taught me about my new favorite program, Garage Band 3. All was not lost.

Last night I went to a NJ Devils vs. Philadelphia Flyers game. P.McQ got cheap tickets (did I mention she is Queen of Cheap Tickets? I think she may have a mob connection ... or maybe she just puts out) and that was kinda fun. I'm not a huge sports fan or anything, but hockey is definitely exciting. It moves really fast and there are grown men wearing ridiculous amounts of padding, sliding around the ice and bashing each other. What's not to like?

During the second period, a fan-fight broke out in the stands. Mixing Jersey and Philly is never a good idea. Throw in alcohol and face paints and chaos is sure to ensue. It was actually more entertaining to watch the fan-fight than the game. It made me think that they should sell weapons at sporting events -- right next to the beer kiosks. Not guns or knives or anything, more like medieval weapons - like flails and maces. Just food for thought.

Anyway, so that's where I've been. Sorry if I disappointed you. If it makes you feel any better, I'll tell you I'm on my way to Iraq to be a human shield.

ALL IN A DAY'S WORK

Contrary to popular belief, I do have a heart. And today being the last day of school before Mid-Winter Recess, I decided to surprise my "Period Zero" Band class with a treat: breakfast. So this morning I stopped at the local Dunkin' Donuts and picked up a few boxes of munchkins and swung by the local bagelry for a couple dozen bagels. Hell, I even bought JUICEBOXES!

Needless to say, the kids were very pleased. NOTE: If you ever need a kid to do ANYTHING, bribing them with copious amounts of food - especially sugary food - usually does the trick. As they were enjoying the bounty, I begged them to please just kinda sit and relax, and to make sure they don't make a mess.

Ha.

About 15 seconds later, I see a group of sixth-grade boys jumping at one of the basketball hoops - we rehearse in the "gymatorium" - while another boy went to get a long-handled broom. I made my way over to them just as he was about to start poking at the net with the broom.

"Come on guys, why can't you just sit down and relax for a few minutes? What are you doing?"
"We're trying to get that down", replied one kid, pointing up where a juicebox was lodged between the backboard and the net.
"Why is that there? How did that possibly get there?"
"John threw it up there."
"Is it full or empty?"
"It's full."
"Why would John throw a full juicebox into the basketball net?"



-- Here's where an obvious and almost acceptable answer of: "we were playing ball" might fit in. But that would make sense. Instead I got --

"To get Matt's retainer down."
"..." [me - dumbfounded.]
"...did you get it?"
"Yes."
"...um.. Well done."

I decided they should just leave the juicebox up there and see how long it takes for someone else to notice. I think it would be kinda funny if it were still up there when these kids are 8th graders.

And so in case you were wondering why teachers get all these weeks of break off from school, this is why. Welcome to my world.

WHEN I RULE NORTH AMERICA ...

I will institute a mandatory daily siesta period.

A siesta is a short nap taken in the early afternoon, often after the midday meal. Such a period of sleep is a common tradition in hot countries. The word siesta is Spanish, from the Latin HORA SEXTA - "the sixth hour" (counting from dawn, therefore noon, hence "midday rest").

It's the same story every day: I get in my car to drive home after a full day at school and as soon as my ass hits that car seat, I want nothing more than to crawl into bed. Seven years teaching and this feeling has not lessened. My body has not "adapted" to getting up at the ungodly hour of 5:21 and turning on the juice for 50 kids at 7:00AM P.C. (that's Pre-Coffee, my friends).

Recently, I've been giving in all too often. Sacking out for an hour in the middle of the day, when the rest of the workforce is in full-swing, keeping the world running smoothly. I wake up feeling refreshed, rejuvenated and full of shame, promising that tomorrow I will make it through the day without a snooze. I know it's an evil cycle and I'm only feeding the habit.

But perhaps I should not feel guilty for my 3:00PM "crash" and subsequent nap. There has to be some sort of validity to this whole Circadian rhythm stuff. Could entire nations of people be wrong? Granted they're mainly South American countries -- they tend to be laid back folk. But India and China too? Could such a large chunk of Asia be considered lazy?

I think we'd all be a little better off for hauling out the nap-mats. Perhaps the world might be a better place.

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY FROM THE SOUP GODDESS.

Not too big a sucker for this Capitalist holiday, although I am certainly grateful to have someone wonderful with whom to share it. Shout out to HIM: "I love YOU!"

Other than that, fighting off a cold and a cough so drastic it's actually left me with aching ribs. Do you know that people have actually cracked ribs from coughing so much? This idea frightens me.

Last night I made my first-ever BIG POT OF SOUP and it kicked ASS!! It was a vegetable and chicken broth-based soup full of cabbage, onions, carrots and a bunch of other healthy goodies. And it was actually really frigging good! Perhaps I've found my true calling?

Hope your day is a good one - full of warmth, love and gas-inducing cuisine.

SNOW WHAT?


Just settling into The Grotto after a fine weekend - particularly the last 24 hours spent snowed-in with HIM. We got hit with the "Big NJ Nor'Easter" and were forced to snuggle up, drink lots of wine, eat lots of junk food, and watch lots of movies. HE subjected me to 'Star Wars', and I retaliated with 'Bridget Jones'.

Sometime around 4PM we decided to brave the elements, and this wonderful man drove me back home and proceeded to help me dig out both my car and my Mom's - all the while enduring my incessant whining about how cold my hands were, and how much snow just sucks in general.

I'm not sure what I did to deserve this relationship - certainly nothing worthy enough in this lifetime. Maybe in a past life I voluteered to work on the Underground Railroad, or hid some Jews during the Holocaust. Whatever it was, I am certainly reaping the benefits today.

HUMILITY.

This is one of those things I probably shouldn't share, but I feel compelled to, nonetheless.

*Ahem* Here goes ...

On weekdays, it is my habit to set my alarm clock for 5:21 AM. This way, I allot myself nine minutes of snooze time, and then I am up at 5:30. This morning when my alarm went off at 5:21, I realized that I reeeeeally had to pee. But I was determined to get my full 9 minutes of snooze. So as I lay there - enjoying the warmth of my bed while simultaneously fighting with my bladder - I turned my head and saw A GIANT FUCKING SPIDER on my pillow.

This was no Daddy-Long-Legs or little, brown ceiling spider. This was a miniature tarantula -- a 'hard' arachnid that wouldn't crush lightly in a Kleenex.

Suffice to say, the shock of finding it beside my head - in my semi-lucid state - led me to attempt to leap out of bed. But not before my way-too-full bladder failed me.

Just a little. But enough.

I didn't find the spider. I balled up my wet, insect-ridden sheets and carried them shamefully up to the laundry room. Luckily my Mom was already up to witness my ascent.

"Should I ask?" she said.
"Please don't", I replied.

WHAT TEACHERS DO IN THEIR FREE TIME

1) We send each other e-mails about kids:

"Oh My God, I'm gonna puke..."Timmy" just took his shoe off in Math class...it smells like hot buttery ass. February Break can't come soon enough for me."

- Courtesy of D, who teaches 7th grade Special Ed.

OFFICIAL SEX CONVERT


Mmm - maybe not what it sounds like. I am still heterosexual. But I have gained a whole new perspective on, and appreciation for sex. I think I finally 'get' what the big deal is.

I was a bit of a late bloomer, sexually. I waited until I was 24. Not sure what my reasoning was for this - certainly not religious or anything. I think it was largely fear-based. All the 'evils' of sex pounded into my subconscious during years of Health class - pregnancy, disease, etc. Maybe part of it was due to my poor body-image. Maybe part of it was due to the fact that I didn't date anyone who I had tremendous feelings for. Whatever the case, I waited.

My 'first' was a guy who was significantly older than me. Like ... 30 years older. Oh, and he was married. Doesn't take a certified psychoanalyst to figure THAT one out I guess. But I have to say it was a great experience. And in that sense, I have no regrets cause my first time was with someone who really knew what he was doing (one would hope so after all those years) and it put me at ease.

The whole situation was exciting - albeit a very unrealistic one. It was a new thing for me: being put on a pedestal, being wooed by this wealthy, Richard Gere-looking guy. But after a while I started to feel not so good about it. I felt like I deserved something more REAL. So in the end, it was me who put the kibosh on it.

For the next few years, I dated a lot and had a lot of mediocre sex. But I wasn't a slut or anything -- never did much whorin' around (aside from the one one-night-stand of my life with the Austrian busdriver, Gunter ... that has potential to be its own blog entry). Sex was -- eh.

Sex with The Brit was very good in the beginning. And I now know it's because I had very real feelings for him, I believe he may have been my first real love. He was an extremely physical person, and I think he helped me to get over a lot of insecurities. Alas, as the relationship became rocky, I no longer enjoyed the sex. Nothing physical had changed - but emotions did - and that changed everything. Sex became an act of control on both parts - it was not good. I even started seeing a therapist to find out what was wrong WITH ME -- why I couldn't get into it with him.

Post-Brit sex returned to mediocrity (as mentioned in prior entries) and frankly, I was pretty okay with giving it up altogether.

But then I met HIM.

And not to blow HIS horn or anything (innuendo, yes - I like those) but sex has suddenly taken on a whole new meaning. I don't wanna go into too much detail - this is a family show, after all. But just THINKING about sex with HIM gives me butterflies in my stomach. I'll be in the middle of teaching a class of 7th grade saxophones or something and just have a remembery and get all flustered. It's WRONG! And it's GREAT!

I finally feel normal. For the longest time, I thought women who said they enjoyed sex were full of crap. Like they were only SAYING that - cause no one actually enjoys it. Like opera. Does anyone actually ENJOY listening to opera? Hell, maybe after this big revelation I ought to give "Il Pagliacci" another shot.

YEAY! I'VE BEEN TAGGED!

Yeah, so I'm a dork - and? True, most people might find it annoying to get tagged, but I'm flattered. It actually gives me a glimmer of hope that more than one person (me) reads this blog. And although the benefits of being tagged are not as bountiful as that of the dishtowel chain-letter (from which I amassed 11 dishtowels) - it does give me something to write about. So here goes...

DIRECTIONS: Remove the blog in the top spot from the following lists and bump everyone up one place. Then add your blog to the bottom slot:
1) Marginal Utility
2) Sarah With No H
3) Just Thoughts
4) I Am Prepared to Give Up at Any Time
5) Views from the Shell

Next, select five people to tag:
1) The Dark Lord
2) Odie
3) Portuguesa Nova
4) Bored Housewife
5) Jerry

What were you doing 10 years ago?

I had just turned 21. I was a junior in college, dating Sean, a jazz trumpet major who liked to spend his days sleeping and his nights smoking pot and eating Hot Pockets on his couch. His weird roommate (Ted) used to sleep fully-clothed (shoes too) with his lights on and with no covers.

What were you doing 1 year ago?

Living in squalor with The Brit - wondering how my life had taken such a tragic turn - and thinking of ways to get the hell out of Dodge ... without hurting his feelings.

Five snacks you enjoy:
1. Chocolate Twizzlers
2. Dark chocolate Hershey Kisses
3. These amazing pretzel chips they only seem to sell at Costco
4. Teriyaki turkey jerky
5. Yogurt-covered almonds

Five songs you know all the words to:
1. “Hook” – Blues Traveler
2. “Square Dance” – Eminem
3. “Like A Cannonball” – Menudo
4. “My Favorite Things” – (“Cream-colored ponies and crisp apple streudel; doorbells and sleighbells and schnitzel with noodles…”)
5. Just about any song by Queen

Five things you would do if you were a millionaire:
1. Pay off all my debts (lame)
2. Pay off my family’s debts (lamer yet)
3. No longer endure teaching 6th grade drummers
4. Find a brilliant person to show me how to best invest and then …
5. Travel the world

Five bad habits:
1. I pick my teeth with the mail
2. I chew gum incessantly [chain-chew]
3. I doubt myself – often
4. I go through phases where I become addicted to computer solitaire, and play it when trying to escape from all things work-related
5. I procrastinate (see #4)

Five things you enjoy doing:
1. A good run in nice weather
2. The Sunday crossword w/a cup of coffee
3. Savoring a warm & fuzzy wine buzz
4. Threesomes with me, HIM and TiVo
5. Waking up early and realizing it’s a weekend, and then rolling over and going back to sleep

Five things you would never wear again:
1. “Mom-Ass” jeans (which sit just below the rib cage, allowing for maximum ass exposure – a truly flattering look)
2. Tucked-in button-down shirts (which go best with #1)
3. That pesky house-arrest anklet
4. Blue eyeshadow
5. The Under Armor sportsbra which chafed the hell out of my boob

Five favorite toys:
1. Hehe … no. Pervert.
2. “Podgie” (my iPod) & his friend Herr Bose
3. My laptop
4. The E.T. doll I got for Christmas in 1982
5. Okay… so yeah … maybe #1

I think I may have come up with a suitable solution for the naming of my new man.

Many different ideas came to mind but were discarded for one reason or another. The truly great nicknames - like "The Chinchilla" and "Hank" - were taken, while others - such as "TPMIM" - weren't very appropriate, considering he's not Portuguese.

I thought of some loftier names: "Uber-Mensch", "Wunder-Schlong", "Dr. Spleen" or "Mr. Boombastic". But such names might put undue pressure on the guy (that is, assuming he even reads this blog -- as if he's got nothing better to do) and I surely wouldn't want to cause him stress. I also briefly considered some cheesy, sappy names such as "Soul Mate" or "The One" - but come on. Even I am not THAT nauseating.

So I decided that from now on, I will simply refer to him in the appropriate male pronoun, in caps. Like HE or HIM (or HIS, possessively). It's important to distinguish HE from He, as I do not want to infer any biblical meaning or - God-forbid - give HIM a Jesus complex.

I think it is subtle, yet significant. It seems accepted that when you write something REALLY IMPORTANT, you tend to capitalize the WHOLE word. Emphasis. Yelling. Yeah. YEAH!

So henceforth, the amazing man in my life has a name. And we like HIM. A LOT.

IF MY LIFE WERE A TV SHOW, I'D TOTALLY WATCH IT.

Big weekend approaches. On Sunday, I am meeting the 'rents. I don't know that it's ever been this big a deal to me before. I'm trying to remember a relationship of any significance when I got all nervous about meeting his Mom & Dad. I can't think of any. That's a little disturbing. But it also makes this whole thing that much cooler.

The Brit's family was all in England. And it took almost two years for ME to arrange a trip over there to meet them (long story, not worth the effort). I think when you meet someone's family, you can gain a lot of insight - learn how they became who they are, who it was that helped to shape them. It kind of gives the person a past - makes them seem a little more "real". I dunno.

He met my Mom last week. Again, I don't remember ever being more excited for her to meet someone that I've brought home. I even CLEANED!

So Sunday I meet his family. But before that, he will get to meet my "other" family on Saturday night. My good friend D is having a housewarming party, and all my school peeps will be in attendance.

When you think about it, you really spend a large majority of your life with the people at work. Most of your waking hours, in fact. I am so very lucky to be able to consider these people my family, albeit more like a sitcom family. The cast is hilarious - each role adding its own flavor to the mix. I love each and every one of them (even the ones that I hate -- they all have a place). I can't wait for him to see this part of my world, cause I know he will fit right in.

TRUE STORY
(I swear to God I am not making this up)

I belong to the local World Gym, and have been going regularly for the past 7 or so years. I like my gym a lot. Yeah, like any other chain gym, it has its share of Meat-Heads. But since I have the coveted "teacher's schedule", I am usually in and out before the evening muscle crew comes in to tear things up.

One day a few years back, I had just finished up my workout and was heading into the locker room to get my stuff and go home.

It was a day like any other day.

I walked into the bathroom area to wash the millions of germs and bacteria off my hands, not thinking too much when suddenly -- I was face to face with this:

At first I thought I had somehow wandered into the wrong locker room. Here was this amazing spectacle of a man, standing before me wearing nothing but jeans - pecs glistening, abs rippling - blowdrying his ... shoulder-length hair?

"Hey - how's it going," the creature asked in a not-very-feminine female voice. I just stood there - gawking, confused - for what seemed like hours, until it finally registered that this was some sort of ... woman.

I maintained eye contact with the beast as I slowly backed away, out of the locker room, and ran like hell to my car.

I later learned that the creature was indeed a woman - a lawyer, in fact! And, obviously, a professional bodybuilder.

I even found she had a website where I learned that she has a 50" chest and can bench press 500 lbs.

I know I may be putting myself in danger by posting this -- she may hunt me down and swallow me whole. But I feel I somehow owe this to the world.


* If you don't hear from me again soon, please send help.

I LOVE RUNNING.



Ten years ago, I would not have ever thought I would be someone who could say that and mean it, unless perhaps it was followed by - "out to the store to buy ice cream, alcohol or both." But somehow, and over a long period of time, I have become a runner. And I can say that now and love it and believe it.

Initially, I guess I started running as part of a fitness regime. I'd do laps around this creepy little indoor track they had that ran around the upper level of the YMCA in Rochester, NY. I think it was something like 24 laps around = 1 mile. You can imagine how exciting that became. When I moved back down to NJ, I took my running to the local high school track.

Anyone else remember those dreadful spring days as a high school student? When they dragged us out - once a year - and made us "Run The Mile"? Absolutely no training for it. Nothing to compare it to, aside from the previous year's humiliating time. Do you know that THEY STILL MAKE KIDS DO THIS TODAY?! Let's just say I was not the stellar athlete you might think. I usually prided myself on being the only kid in class to take the full 42-minute period to crawl my four laps. My gym teacher despised me. But I digress...

Being back on that track as an adult was humbling. When I actually ran an entire lap without stopping, I almost cried. And so it began.

I started running routes around my town, alternating days on the treadmill. The treadmill is a good tool for crappy weather, but it takes away the very best part of running: the meditation. After my body figured out its natural gait and I realized that the discomfort fades, I became aware of my ability to kind of just 'lose myself' in my head. Body on autopilot - lungs filling my blood with oxygen - feet hitting pavement, leaving pavement.

It's truly hypnotic. It's healing. I do my very best thinking while out on a run. Sometimes I will be so caught up in my head that I will have no recollection of how I end up where I do - the miles and scenery just a backdrop to my thoughts.

I never ran with music until this summer, when I started to train for my first big race. Until then, the longest one I'd done was a 5-mile boardwalk run at the NJ shore. I did tons of local 5Ks, but really wanted to challenge myself. So I registered for the inaugural half-marathon in Rochester, NY [significant and all, right?] I followed Hal Higdon's training program to the tee, and realized that running lost a little something when it became something I HAD to do. But I pressed on. I bought an iPod Shuffle and it got me through the weekend long runs.

The half marathon went amazingly well. Better than I could have ever imagined. I planned to take a week off from running, but found I could only go about 4 days til I was itching to get back out there. Something about being done with the training made me sad - like I'd lost a little part of me. It was hard to make that transition back to running for the sake of running.

But I got there. And today - the 40 degree weather a gift in the middle of January - was a fine day for running. Out there on a Sunday morning, before the rest of the world rolled out of bed - just me and my head. Two old friends spending some quality time together. And I say again -- Life is Good.

MY DIRTY LITTLE SECRET

*DISCLAIMER* - This may be the gayest thing I ever post.
Remember... you've been warned.

I have a confession. I am a closet "American Idol" fan. I mean -- like, REALLY bad. I've been trying to figure out the draw. I have deduced that the only reason I watch it is for Simon Cowell.

He is the ultimate cynical bastard. Yeah yeah - people hate him, people love him - whatever. But I truly think he is fucking hilarious. His insults are both bizarre and brutally brilliant (points for alliteration) - like the other night when he told one guy that he sounded "as if he were temporarily possessed by a 6-year old." FUCKING BRILLIANT!!

On the complete opposite end of the spectrum for me are Paula and Randy. They are clearly the most useless sheep on the planet. Paula Abdul is retarded. I mean, I really think she is retarded. What qualifies her to be a judge of anything, least of all "talent"? How was she chosen - out of the millions of ACTUAL successful entertainers - to represent a musician??

And Randy Jackson? Who the hell IS he?? A Google search and subsequent IMDb profile reveals absolutely NO credentials, aside from being Samuel L. Jackson's cousin, and starring (as himself) in a bunch of stupid award shows. WHO IS THIS MAN??

Maybe part of the reason I watch the show is because I am some sort of masochist. Perhaps a sick little part of me enjoys the humiliating, squirmy feeling I get when one of those two imbeciles tries to offer legitimate criticism. Or maybe it's just the look of absolute disbelief Simon wears after either one of them speaks -- confirming my own feelings.

Whatever it is, I don't know and don't care. All I do know is that I am happy as a clam that my favorite show is back on for another season. Yes, life is truly good indeed.