I Missed My Chance
After teaching on Sunday I decided to “just do it”–go outside and walk for 20 minutes. I was afraid I’d talk myself out of it once I got home, so I immediately changed into comfortable clothes, set the pedometer, and headed out the door.
I’d walked halfway around the block when I caught my reflection in the glass doors of the elementary school. I looked like a giant toddler, or the female unabomber. I was sporting a bright green t-shirt, stretchy black capris, shiny silver sneakers, dark blue bedazzled socks with “Superstar” written on them, a beige windbreaker, and a black knit hat. I looked unbalanced.
I was more amused than embarrassed by my ensemble, and took comfort that it was raining and there weren’t many people out on the street to witness my sartorial missteps. Besides, my goal was not to meet people during the next 20 minutes.
So, imagine my surprise when I turned the corner and was greeted with, “Hey sexy lady!” I wanted to laugh, but I put on my stony face and kept walking. This did not deter the catcaller, who repeated, “Hey sexy! What are you, Indian?”
I nearly swooned in rapturous passion (passionate rapture?) to hear those words directed at me. But I remained outwardly calm, and continued my exercise.
It wasn’t until I got back to the apartment that I recalled the Tiny Bride of Sierra Leone and realize I’d missed my chance at real happiness.
Man on the corner, come back! No, I’m not Indian!
Facebook is Killing this Blog
Sorry for lack of posts. Will try to update good and proper once spring break starts.
This is Getting Downright Spooky
Ryan North somehow knows I’m giving a midterm today. I hope the students fare better than T Rex.
Random Memory
Inspired by today’s lunch.
Jojo, age 5: “Hi Granny, whatchya eating?”*
Granny: “I am eating soup.”
Jojo: “What kind of soup?”
Granny: “What does it look like?”
Jojo, peering into Granny’s bowl of wonton soup: “A ear.”
*Jojo had a very high-pitched voice until he turned 14. So, try to audiate the dialogue above as if one of the speakers is Alvin the Chipmunk.
Why Do I Hate Exercise?
I don’t think I always hated exercise. I’m not quite so sure I hate exercise now. I wish I could cultivate a love of exertion. Part of me wants to be one of those sporty folks who can climb fake walls, or kick people to death from across the room, or ride a bicycle to another state.
TenFeet is an incredibly sporty woman. This still blows my mind, because when I met her, she slept 12 hours a night and smoked a pack a day. Exertion for us back then was walking to Cafe Bongo/Kairos from HRE. And now she goes to the gym, even on days when she has something else to do!
I consider exercise medicine: something mildly unpleasant that I must do in order to maintain my health. But it’s not something I wake up wanting to do. I sometimes wake up thinking about doing it, but in that case I’m merely considering getting it over with first thing in the morning so I don’t have to nag myself about it later. (News flash, that argument never wins. I always choose more sleep over working out. This was before the creepy Ikea grandma started making those devilish commercials).
People talk about endorphins and the rush and the great feeling of accomplishment that comes from working the body hard. I don’t feel these things. During the first 10 minutes of any exercise, my one thought is, “How much longer do I have to do this until I get to rest?” I’ve gotten to the point that I recognize it’s a pattern, and I can push myself to the 10 minute mark, knowing that the discomfort will subside for the next 15. The last 5 minutes find me asking the same question though.
Once I’m done, I don’t have a triumphant feeling of accomplishment. I feel just as satisfied washing a sinkload of dishes. The best I can muster at the end of a workout is, “Well, I didn’t die from that. So, I suppose I can do it again tomorrow.”
Sporty folks in the audience, how do you cultivate the love?
Love!
Yoko has informed me that tomorrow is International Pie for Breakfast Day! What better way to celebrate Valentine’s Day with the one I love the most?! (I will be sure to eat breakfast AFTER weigh-in tomorrow).
Chocolate Porn
I’ve been meaning to post about this for some time now, and TenFeet’s recent post about Twix reinspired me.
Folks, we have to talk about the Green M&M.
You know the myths surrounding the green M&Ms, right? Eating them supposedly makes one horny. I’d heard this urban legend even before I knew what horny meant.
It shouldn’t have surprised me that the female M&M character in the TV commercials is sexualized. Red, Yellow, and Blue are all regular guys who get into scrapes because people want to eat them.
No one actually wants to eat Green. They want to fuck her.
Have you seen the new premium ads where Green is jumping up and down on a bed in slow motion, rolling around on silky sheets, and gyrating? Then the scene pulls back to reveal Red, Yellow, and Blue dumbfounded and salivating behind some film equipment. Yes, we are witnessing a porn shoot.
It gets worse. Behold:
There is a French commercial in which Yellow loses at strip poker and disrobes in front of Red right down to the nut. But even then he’s not spreading his legs around a stripper pole.
First Lego for Girls and now this. Are none of my childhood joys safe?
I Left My Face in San Francisco
Superfudge and I are back from SF. It was pleasantly decadent to jet off to Calif. for the weekend, esp. when the temps in NYC were bitterly cold last Thursday. Before you start hating, this was no-frills travel. We have mastered the art of the bargain holiday. Our secrets? Free hotel continental breakfast and public transportation.
Every morning we loaded up on boiled eggs and chocolate chip muffins like it was our last meal. An all-you-can-eat dim sum buffet in Chinatown provided dinner our first night. Lunch on Saturday was leftover sandwiches we’d packed for the flight. Dinner was a splurge at IHOP. (I really wanted to be complete glutton and take full advantage of the neverending pancake stack, but there’s only so much breakfast one can eat). Walgreen’s $1 selection of snack crackers, gallon bottles of water, and dried fruit helped us through the occasional bout of munchies. The last night was a splurge–we ordered pizza delivered to our room.
The second day of the trip we figured out how to use the bus transfers. It seems that a fare buys you not just one ride, but a block of time in which to travel, regardless of line or direction. One kind driver gave us a transfer that was good for 6 hours. We rode all over town practically for free. Some confusion with the map had us walking through the Presidio more than we’d planned. (The weekday and weekend stops for the free shuttle are reversed). But we saw more views of the Golden Gate Bridge than we had ever hoped. A few (free) bus rides later, and we were walking through the Japanese Tea Gardens at Golden Gate Park.
The “reception” at SFMoma was on Sunday. It was a reception in the sense that we received something, and the building received us. But we were counting on a free lunch (no such thing) and instead got some plinky-plink piano music and long lines.
The lines were worth it, though. It was fun to see who got which portrait. We were hoping to see our own, but we did not. Lots of people were walking around SF that afternoon holding portraits of strangers. A group of really cute queens stopped us and asked us what the pictures were about. (And complimented me on my ring).
The artist asked us to display the portraits and upload photos of the display on Flickr. You can see them here: http://www.flickr.com/groups/the_gift_sfmoma/pool/. Look for the hotel pic posted by QuietQuai.
Since the reception wasn’t a party, we walked around the block to the Museum of the African Diaspora and the Cartoon Museum for some more inexpensive fun. (MoAD is free for the month and the Cartoon Museum has a fascinating exhibit on Coraline. I recommend both museums. They are the perfect size and do not bring on museum fatigue at all, even for the semi-lame). The clerk at the Cartoon Museum didn’t understand why we would want to hang a picture of a stranger in our homes. (I never met Napoleon, but I have his coronation portrait over my tv, too!)
A photographer stationed himself outside SFMoma and took pictures of all of us coming out with our pictures. (So meta!). If you wait patiently during the slideshow, you will see me and Superfudge walking by with ours. http://www.chigirev.com/2009/02/people-with-the-portraits-of-p.html
Right now the picture is resting against my bookshelf. My place is too messy to photograph. I’ll try to install it this weekend.
Ex-Men (and Women)
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!
Oh, wait, it appears that they are serious. Whoops!
Charismatic Megafauna by Quiconque 