Carnivore, Beware.

My friend Larry was a garden-variety carnivore (HAHA!) when I met him at one of Marla and Eric's parties. I kept calling him Allen that night, for some reason.

We were at another party at Marlic's several months ago (was it last September, Larry?) when he announced his decision to become a vegetarian. I think I choked on the canned champagne that I was drinking at the time (Yes. It had its own little telescoping straw, like one of those kids' juice boxes. I had to get it when I saw it on the shelf at Trader Joe's. Coppola made it. It was really bad.). Here's what I remember....

Me: A vegetarian? Why?

Larry: The sheep died.

Me: What sheep?

Larry: The one they cloned. The first successfully cloned sheep. It died a terrible death.

Me: What does that have to do with anything?

Larry: blah blah blah meat blah blah blah cloning blah blah blah really bad blah blah blah book by Blah Blah

Someone Else (who discovered months later that he wasn't 5'9" as he'd always thought, but was instead 5'8"+, which he divulged at the dessert table at another of Erla's parties recently, to which a 6-foot-tall Larry responded that he might get taller if he spent time in the zero-gravity environment of outer space): Are you going to stop eating meat gradually?

Larry: No, I'm just going to stop.

Me: So you're going cold tofurkey?

*laughter* (I think I laughed at my comment more, perhaps much more, than the others did. It was tres funny, after all. But the canned champagne and whatever else may have had something to do with my inability to stop laughing.)

So, of course I had to point out later that most vegetables are cloned. And of course he found out later that he'd totally misunderstood about the sheep. I think it was run over by a tractor or something. But he's still a vegetarian. And now he's talking about going vegan.

So this came up because he just sent me an email. His subject header: "carnivore beware"

The body of his email contained two articles:
1. ConAgra Closes Pot Pie Plant Due To Salmonella Concerns
2. E. Coli-Tainted Beef Leads to Suit Against Manufacturer, Stores

Yeah. Maybe we should just stick to something safe. Something vegetarian. Something like, hmmm. Spinach! Who was ever killed by spinach? Oh...wait....

HAHAHA!

The college application stated that the photo was optional, but the one below might warrant a full scholarship for this prospective student...


...or maybe I'll add a Photoshop class and ask him to teach it. Or maybe we'll just go for a bike ride or see lots of movies at the cineplex.

~~Happy Anniversary, Mom and Dad! 43 years!~~

Addendum: The Office was tres funny this week. YAY!

Chairman Mao Finishes First!

Welp...

I've seen lots of photos of me lately, so I decided to start running again this week, after a little unintentional hiatus as cycling ever so insidiously usurped my life.

The original plan was balance: Cycling*, yoga, running, lifting.
Which became cycling, yoga, running.
Which became cycling, yoga.
Which became cyclingcyclingcycling.
Which became cycling, yoga.
Which became cycling, yoga, running.

*includes spinning

Now you're all caught up (if you haven't moved on to check your email or water your plants or something).

The running's going OK, I guess, except when I almost died on Thursday at the gym while trying to high-five Marc from my treadmill. I was just so excited to look up to see a friendly face, and as I took out my earphones and turned, there was a wobble, a yelp, and a remarkable save (pure athletic prowess). This is why I keep my head down, under my baseball cap, in spin class. They don't make blinders for people; that's pretty much just a horse market.

Speaking of farm animals, last night at the Black Sheep reunion and slideshow (I can't believe there really was an inflatable sheep, in response to my "who's bringing the inflatable sheep?" comment on the evite! Especially since inflation is anathema to our leader! Do you see the personal sacrifice here?! Or at least the irony?!? Did you even look up "anathema" for crying out loud?!?!), right before Morgan told me that I always keep my head down in spin class and never talk to anyone, Wendy mentioned that representatives of the gym's running club would be running this morning's Lake Merritt 5-10-15K; you can run once around the lake, twice around the lake, or three times! "Choose-a-you," as we Italians say. I'm not really Italian, but once upon a time, I knew an Italian named Luciano who spoke really poor English, and that's how he said it - he also had the most hideous fluorescent board shorts that he wore constantly, because men don't wear shorts in Italy no matter how hot, unless they're tourists, and he was just so happy he could wear shorts here that he didn't care what they looked like. So picture this trim, well-groomed guy with the most fashionable horn-rimmed tortoise-shell glasses, and crisp button-down shirts...and fluorescent board shorts.

Oops. Back to the race. It's held every 4th Sunday of the month by the Lake Merritt Joggers and Striders. Wendy is training for a 24-hour run (where she aims to top 100 miles in a row, and of course she will, because she's already done like 72 miles over the course of a 12-hour run), Marc's her antelopean protege, and Judy's been training for the Rock and Roll Half Marathon (her first, I think!) next month.

Well I live in the area, so I decided to join them. It's such a great concept (to foster a sense of community and camaraderie in my very own neighborhood!), and it's so cute because everyone gets a gold ribbon at the end, just for finishing. I entered the 10K (it didn't occur to me that it might cost money, so Wendy had to front me some cash. Duh.). My absolute favorite part was when Wendy was explaining to Marc and me before the start exactly how she was going to pace us (because she was thinking I might be able to keep up! How cute is that?!). I didn't tell her, but my only goal was not to get lapped by Wendy (she was doing the 15K).

I WON!

Well, among the women, aged 30-39, who did the 10K, anyway. And I may have been the only woman aged 30-39 who did the 10K. But I got a blue ribbon, so whatever, OK? Actually, I thought it was a mistake. But the results announcer said my name again, and told me to come get my ribbon, so I knew it wasn't a mistake. Of course I said, "Oh, shit!" in shock. To which she responded into the megaphone, which she still had to her mouth, "Don't swear!"

Then Marc was announced the winner in his category! And I couldn't stay for her finish because I had to leave for my haircut, but Judy looked awesome as she headed out for loop 3 (go Judy!). And I was there when Wendy came in, and I'm sure she won in her category.

While I'm certain I will barely be able to walk tomorrow, my second toe (which is usually perpetually in agony when I run a lot, because the nail gets all deformed from repeated impact against my shoe, and I've tried lots of things but still haven't figured out how to fix that, and it's really weird because I don't have one of those insanely long 2nd toes, it's actually shorter than my big toe, yet my big toe is always fine, and aren't parentheses the coolest? You can go off on tangents without having to start a new paragraph!) isn't really bothering me yet.

So what's with Chairman Mao, you ask?

I have these legwarmers that are made of army green-colored wool. They have brass, army-ish buttons all down the outside. And they have built-in spats (they partially cover your shoes, with a strap that goes underneath the foot). Chairman Mao's been dead for, what, 30 years? He totally missed the Jane Fonda legwarmer craze. Anyway, Jane Fonda was pretty political. He probably despised Jane Fonda and all that her corrupt, capitalist legwarmers represented. But if he had worn legwarmers, people, he'd wear these! They just look so...communist. Then, the other night at the slideshow (where my 10K run plan was hatched), I was wearing them (they're very snuggly on a cold and/or rainy evening like yesterday) and it was brought up (who brought this up?!) that they could be British army legwarmers, and that, in fact, they just look "army." Usually, when I introduce them as my "Chairman Maos," people just think it's weird that I'd imagine Chairman Mao wearing legwarmers. But now people are actually imagining other nations' armies wearing legwarmers. From Anthropologie. A boutique that sells women's apparel, smelly soaps, candles, and coffee table books.

If this catches on in Britain (personally, I think France is more likely): They'll always be Chairman Maos to me, China!

My First Screenplay

I've been hearing a lot about film lately, so I thought I'd write one. How hard could it be?

I No Longer Heart My Upstairs Neighbor, Who Never Hearted Me Anyway (A Tragedy Based On a True Story)

Fade in to laundry room, which contains only one washer and only one dryer, and which is in the basement of the apartment building next door to Laura’s apartment building, and which is meant to serve both buildings, which themselves contain a total of at least 10 apartment units, some of which are double occupancy.

Close-up of washer, which totally sucks even when you don’t fill it to capacity, and this is obvious because when you open the lid after a cycle, all of your clothes are in exactly the same place as when you put them inside, and clearly you are the only item that’s gotten agitated in the last 30 minutes.

But the playwright digresses.

Cut to Laura, who looks tragically amazing framed in the doorway against the late afternoon light as she enters the room, despite having carted her awkward laundry bag thingy down the stairs and into the basement of the next building after a long run and some puttering around in the intense heat of the farmer’s market, at which the Chair Massage Guy, who is always there, and who was pretty much the reason for her visit (well, that and the heirloom tomatoes), was noticeably absent. She also looks tragically amazing despite contemplating the three (three!) loads of laundry she has to do, and the fact that it’s a race against the clock because she has plans for the evening.

Justin Timberlake’s Cry Me a River plays in background.

Laura walks over to the washer and opens the lid. Close-up of washer innards from above reveals wet clothes. The last items placed in the washer are still on top. Laura wasn’t there for the loading procedure (since these are not her clothes), yet she is secure in this knowledge, and the mere sight of the wet clothing evokes for her a moment of Pavlovian, classically conditioned, agitation. Laura was a psych major, and she recognizes these things.

Closer inspection reveals quarters poised in the washer’s coin-op mechanism, waiting for the owner’s next load. Even closer inspection reveals a basket of whites to the left.

Laura doesn’t know who’s stuff this is. Could be anyone’s. They could have gotten side-tracked. Maybe they’re yammering away on the phone. Laura utters some expletives to herself. Improvisation here (regarding the expletives) is OK. As she dumps out the owner’s quarters, places them on top of the basket of whites, and pulls the wet clothes from the washer, Laura wonders who will play her when this becomes a major motion picture. Maybe Scarlett Johansson. Laura notes to herself that whoever plays her must be extremely facially expressive, due to the lack of actual dialog so far.

Cut to stairway back up to Laura’s apartment, about 10 minutes later. Laura runs into her favorite upstairs neighbor ever, “X”, who is coming down with, OMG, some whites.

Laura: Uh-oh.

X: Hello. What.

Laura: Um, I think I just took your laundry out of the washer.

X: OH. I had quarters in there, for my next load.

Laura: Oh! *helpful look* I put them in your basket!

X: That’s. So. Rude. I can’t believe you did that. I’m always punctual coming back to the laundry room.

Laura (VOICEOVER: Then where the f*ck were you?), out loud: Sorry! I didn’t know it was you! Would you like me to spring for the next load?

X: No. It’s not that. That's not the point. I just can’t believe you would be so rude.

Exeunt X, who keeps going down the stairs, screaming some expletives herself. X eventually comes back up the stairs, making a point of slamming her door and stomping around up there for a couple hours. Laura worries about a possible return of the Dreaded Oscillating Fan.

--Fin--

Mental post-its don't work

Yay! A blog!

Steve's birthday is tomorrow. Before his birthday last year, I kept reminding myself to call, and then of course I missed the 'actual' day. So I called him a day early this year, just in case, while I was thinking of it. I know. Not the same. Oh: Steve's my friend from Baltimore. But he and his wife Pam moved to Miami in July. On purpose.

Anyway, whilst we're on the subject of brilliant ideas, I got my hair corn row-ed yesterday during lunch, right across the street from work! I'm going on a week-long cycling trip next weekend, and I thought it would be a great way to prevent helmet-head. Because, hullo, it's important to have perfect hair around a bunch of other cyclists who have helmet-head. So I was running around gathering my stuff together for my morning ride, and I was late to meet the group, and I went to slap my helmet onto my now-helmet-head-proofed-self, and:

My helmet wouldn't fit over my head.

Apparently, the addition of the

a. braids;
b. rubber bands at crown of head; and
c. sundry head coverings placed strategically to prevent scalp burn

(all factors completely beyond my control) had converged to enlarge my head's circumference beyond helmet capacity. So I shoved my head into my helmet as best I could, and started my ride with an excruciating headache. Which only got worse, together with my vision, as I began to sweat, rivers of the sunscreen that I'd slathered all over my forehead (because my forehead's been looking kind of wrinkled to me) flowing directly into the delta that is my eyes. Wait: Do rivers flow to or from deltas?

Me, taking a helmet break:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/7616589@N06/932066120/in/set-72157601064849835/