Avoiding the Boring

There's a patch of sidewalk on Smallman street in the Strip District, that has 3 hopscotch games painted on the cement.  On each square, in addition to a number is a sentence.  Each game tells a story, or makes a statement, and yesterday, while I was walking home, the last couple squares of one in particular caught my attention.

Because I think about quitting a lot of things too.

However, I think that there are few things as tragic as a boring life. And while it's something that can be easily avoided, I think it's also something that can sneak up on you slowly, and by the time you realize it, it's too late.  It's a great fear of mine, to wake up 10 years from now only to discover that I've stopped paying attention to living, and have fallen into a routine and am boring.

So, I'm gonna keep on trying to cram in as much experience as I possibly can. Without, you know, losing my mind or anything like that.  Although it should be said that crazy people are rarely dull.

The bottom line? Don't quit. 'Cause that would be boring.

Dinner Conversation

Me- You know what sucks? When you try a new recipe, and it turns out it's gross, and then you eat cereal for dinner.

Precisely- What did you make?

Me- ::sigh:: It was a chilled soup, with plain yogurt, spinach, and chick peas.

Precisely- ::wrinkles nose:: First of all, yogurt, is not a soup.

Me- It's what the recipe called for.

Precisely- No, no, a chilled soup is like a gazpacho. Not yogurt.  That is some vegan nonsense.

Me- Yogurt isn't vegan!

Precisely- Either way, it's gross.

Me- Yea, it was yucky.  ::eyes up Precisely's dinner plate which is half pasta, half green beans::

Precisely- ::raises eyebrows:: What? Jealous of my Yin Yang of nutrition?

Me- So jealous.

The Anatomy of a Proper Sandwich

There are some things in life I just know to be true.  Things like, I know how to make a good sandwich. While the majority of my culinary skills may not be what one would call advanced, I can make a sandwich that rocks.

Last night, I stopped by my sister's apartment to go to a party.  Lynn had made hummus, and bought a bottle of wine to bring, and just when I thought I couldn't be more impressed with her adult-ness, I mention I'm hungry, and she immediately responds with, would you like a sandwich?

Heck yes, I want a sandwich!

So she pulls out a sandwich wrapped in paper and some cheese, and says, this is from Panera, and here's some cheese if you want to add it. (This should have been the first warning sign, any good sandwich already has cheese on it. duh.)

I unwrap and open the sandwich to add the cheese and stared at it.  Sitting on the 2 pieces of bread was a slice of tomato, a piece of lettuce, and some green spread, that I assume was a guacamole type substance.  I blinked and looked again, but nothing had changed.

"Lynn!!" I yelled.

"What?"

"There's nothing on this sandwich!!"

laughs, "It's vegetarian!"

Which, I mean, come on!  Vegetarian sandwiches are great, but they usually involve some mushrooms, or eggplant, or I don't know, anything more than a piece of lettuce and a tomato. I mean really Panera, what do you even call that sandwich?  It's an insult to call that thing a sandwich.

Lynn grabbed some turkey out of her fridge, so between that and the added cheese, I actually was able to eat a proper sandwich. And it was good.  Just be wary of the vegetarian selection at Panera...

Should be

Yesterday, I was a productive, happy member of society.  I was up early, and worked hard.  I ate a lot of fruits and veggies.  I went for a run, caught up with friends, attempted a Pirates game, and enjoyed a torrential summer thunderstorm instead. It was a good day.

Today. Work was alright, and after an evening event was canceled, I found myself with a free night. A rarity in the middle of the week.

And instead of being productive, or doing anything fun, I find myself completely at a lack of what to do with this time, and have ended up curled up on the couch with a book, angsty over the fact that:

I should be going for a run.

I should be doing more work/research.

I should at the very least be reading something substantial, and not a murder mystery.

I should be out somewhere, socializing, meeting new people, maybe even finding myself a date for this weekend.

I should be doing something summery, summer's almost over!

I should be painting my toes, playing the piano, sewing that dress I've been thinking about, making my own crackers, doing something, anything, with this free time.

And while it's important to stay motivated, and important to grow, and to be challenged and do things. Sometimes, what you need is nothing.

So what I'll be doing now is closing up my laptop, and going back to my murder mystery. I'll get back to  all those things tomorrow.

Apples not falling far from trees...

Yesterday I drove across the state with my running buddy, Frank and Tassy.  They were going out to the Jersey Shore to celebrate the long weekend and fourth of July.  I joined them for the a ride across the turnpike to visit my folks over the weekend.

For those of you who don't know Tassy's story, or how he's become connected to my life, you can read about it here.  The shorter version is that Tassy is 18, comes from Haiti, and has quickly become one of my favorite people.

Tassy has a terrific voice, and loves music, but it became quickly apparent to Frank and I that he has not had a lot of experience with classic rock.  As he will be attending high school in the fall here in the states, we decided it was only necessary to use these couple hours to introduce him to Zeppelin, Hendrix, the Stones, etc.  We set up a Pandora station and were having a great time singing along, drumming on the steering wheel, and generally waxing nostalgic about music, that while certainly not from our time, was what we were raised on nonetheless.

At one point, we turned around to ask Tassy whether or not he liked a particular song, also mentioning that is was great and famous, and therefor implying obviously that he should be loving this, when I realized.

"Oh my god," I said to Frank.  "Do you know who we are right now?"

"Who?"

"Our parents!"

And there we were forcing this poor kid to listen to classic rock while we sang along and talked about how great it is on a road trip in the summer.

Music, shameless self-promotion, Katy Perry, n'at.

The boys over at the awesome music blog Draw Us Lines, were looking for chicks to offer some female perspective to their line-up, and I ::blushes:: was one of the chicks they asked.  I guess because I like music and have opinions.

So, for my first piece, I wrote about Katy Perry.  Or more accurately how a hipster named Darwin Deez made me really start liking her song Teenage Dream.

You can read it here.

Also, next weekend Draw Us Lines is celebrating their first anniversary with a birthday party that is basically putting all 24 of my birthday parties to shame.  Meaning, it's going to be really fun, and you should buy a ticket.

The bet.

I do not have a good track record with bets.  In fact, I can't outright think of a time I've ever actually won a bet, which I suspect may have something to do with my disbelief in the theory of probability.  The point is however, that this doesn't stop me from participating when the offer of a bet comes up.  Oh god, that's the definition of insanity isn't it?

I have a lot of friends that are runners.  This is great.  It means I am consistently encouraged to get out of bed, leave the couch, stop working for an hour to meet someone to go for a run.  You also form a special bond with your running buddies.  It's nice.

After the Pittsburgh marathon, of which several of us ran the full, half, or a relay, we caught the racing bug, and began scheduling races through out the summer.  It was determined that the group would run the Race for Roch in Mount Washington in July.

It was all fun and games and witty email chains until Regina threw out the question "Wait, should we make this a bit of a...race?"

To which I, who can never turn down a dose of competition responded with "Oh, I don't know should a group of ambitious relatively type A people make a race a race? Heck yes, we should make this a race! We should make this a race with a cash prize!"

We've decided that rather than cash, the winner gets to assign karaoke songs to the losers while the losers buy the winner their drinks of choice.

This has inevitably lead to emails full of tough talk and threats to pick songs exclusively from Cats, make everyone sing the same Jimmy Buffet song, orders of expensive aged scotch, and the hill work we are all doing in preparation for July 30.

I don't know what I was thinking.  I am not a fast runner.  Especially not in Pittsburgh July heat, uphill, in the morning.  However, I'm hoping that my gut-wrenching fear of karaoke will cause an endorphin induced miracle that allows me to win.

We'll see.  In the meantime, I've got hill repeats to sprint.