One Crazy Sunday

When we commute into the city for work, we’re usually on the reverse path of everyone else. People with more regular-type jobs are leaving; we’re coming in.

I like to imagine that a salmon swimming upstream to spawn has moments where it goes My God! Why am I doing this? Oh right. Happy ending.

Swimming the wrong way in a sea of people can be a pain when you’re not terribly tall, like me. And have demophobia that only gets triggered at a certain crowd capacity and/or speed, which is pretty much always reached in Penn Station and Times Square.

I usually try to tag a mark– some person bigger than me who appears to be going my way, behind whom I can fall in, while they make the path. This is much easier when I’m with my husband.

Because when I’m by myself sometimes I guess wrong. I tag the wrong mark and find myself pinned up against a wall, unable to make it to where I need to be without just ramming into a crowd of people willy-nilly. That isn’t taken too kindly here, and isn’t terribly effective given my size.

I finally figured out how to clear a path all by myself. How to get a seat alone on the train or the bus, how to get space around me on the subway, how not to get shoved accidentally down to the LIRR instead of the C train at Penn Station.

Look crazy.

Do you hear Patsy Cline? I totally hear Patsy Cline.

The woman about to ram into me as I was exiting the elevator stopped dead in her tracks and let me pass. Nobody rushed at me when I was getting off the subway. I lead the way with CC behind me through Penn Station and I felt like Moses.

I saw people looking over their shoulders as I passed by. Observed people whispering as they passed me. But nobody blocked my path for once, and I had the added benefit of not being able to hear what they said. BECAUSE I HAD FOXES ON MY EARS.

This is how it begins, isn’t it? How we start to not give a crap what we look like or what we say in public as we age. It’s only a matter of time before we’re wearing fuchsia leopard print flannel pajamas in public while sucking on a long, empty ebony cigarette holder, being trailed by about a hundred and fifty cats.

I can’t wait.

Here are your links.

Richard Van As and Ivan Owen teamed up to create a robotic prosthetic hand, intending to post the design in the public domain so that anyone in need of one could make it. They recently completed their design and the recipient was a young boy named Liam (at a cost to his parents of $0). This is such an excellent project which is still in need of funding- their intent is to assist anyone who asks with parts and supplies as well as expertise. Please check out coming up short handed (the Robohand blog)

One of my friends shared this link with me and I think it’s an important and well-written piece: So You’re Feeling Too Fat to Be Photographed on My Friend Theresa’s Blog

Hmm. I’m sensing an encouraging theme here. Jen e sais quoi wrote this piece recently encouraging her friends that are going through a very rough time. Since I have several friends in a similar place, I’m including it here. You Are Not Alone.

Okay, I guess I’m late to the party, but I had never heard of Sam Gordon before. You neither? Sweet! I saw a clip of her during the Superbowl. She’s this 9-year-old girl from Salt Lake City who just finished up a season of completely kicking ass on a boys’ pee wee team. She’s got some crazy stats, and can also take a hit. Here’s a link to Kavitha A. Davidson’s article and the video on Huffington Post.

Finally, I know we got a little snow here on the east coast this weekend, but in Brazil, it’s raining spiders. (ummm, Darla? Are you aware of this?)

Happy Sunday

One Zombie Sunday

Okay, here’s the deal.

There’s this race I really want to run in. I’m only sort of a runner. Like, mostly I run on the treadmill, because it hurts less and I don’t trip as often as I do when I run outside. Plus, I don’t trust you people on the road- have you seen you drive?

The race is a 5k obstacle course. With zombies. Who try to eat your brains.

I know, awesome, right?

I’ve been asking around to try and find some people to run it with me. The race closest to where I live is just outside of Philly, on a Saturday in June. I’ll have to take two shows off work to do it, which means that anyone I work with would have to do the same (which means, Jonny, you can’t do it, because somebody still has to mix the show).

So far I have no takers. People at work don’t want to lose the shows. The young people in my house don’t want to exert the effort. The women that I train with- who are all fitter and younger than me- say they’re afraid of getting injured and then their households will fall apart without them. I hadn’t considered injury as a real possibility, but I am pretty sure that my household will be Just Fine if that happens.

The race is called Run For Your Lives. Are you in? Or am I gonna have to do this all by myself?

Don’t want to run ? You can be a zombie! Or a spectator. (Go Jules Go, I’m talkin’ to you!)

Prombie — Photo by ismellsheep via WANA commons

That was your picture. Here are your links:

So this woman named Beth Howard lives in the house from the American Gothic painting. You know, the one with the pitchfork and the farmer father and his spinster daughter? Yeah, she totally lives there! She wrote this great book too, called Making Piece and is pretty much on a mission to make the world a better place through Pie. Yes, Pie with a capital P. She runs the Pitchfork Pie Stand at the American Gothic House and teaches all kinds of people how to make pie, including urban high school students. This just may be one of my favorite blog posts from anyone of all time. Wuz Up Wit Dat Hip Hop Pie Class on The World Needs More Pie.

Did you know Home Depot has a bondage aisle? 5 Things I Learned in Philadelphia or How To Love Your Double Life on 50 Dates in 50 States.

I’m including this one for my high school kids and anybody who has ever had to write a stupid repetitive essay: Since The Beginning of Time Mankind Has Discussed on The Onion.

In Thailand, 6 feet vomiting is still less expensive than 3.5 feet bloody. Just so you know. 3.5 Feet of Bad Blood on The Good Greatsby.

And finally, I leave you with a video that my Cirque du Soleil stage manager friend hipped me to. As she said, Layoffs? Not Funny. This Video? Funny!

Happy Sunday.

Wordless One & Done

Hey. It's One & Done Sunday. — Hey. It’s One & Done Sunday.

Here are your links:

There’s a lot to be said for feeling the fear and doing it anyway. Go Jules Go writes about posting a video clip of her singing on her blog: Hitting The Right Note Please do click on the clink in the post of her singing- it made me really happy.

Renée A. Schuls-Jacobson wrote this really cool and disturbing piece that stuck with me. Not a Tale for Children.

Darla always makes me laugh: Top Fifteen Signs You’re Old– She’s a Maineiac

Another badass post from Melissa Stetton on Pretty Bored: Bikini Auditions, Ugh.

I loved this post too– it’s funny-yet-poignant-but-not-in-a-way-that-makes-you-want-to-strangle-kittens-or-kick-babies: Life- The Yelp Reviews on Byronic Man. I gotta work on my own review.

Happy Sunday.