Greetings from the Future, Birthday Boy!!!

Hello, past self!

This is your future-self who wanted to be the first to wish you a happy birthday, From the Future!  See?  You know I'm legit because you're still around (don't jinx it there, Sarah Conner.) and that I'm wishing these birthday greetings before the well-wishes come in on Social Media!  (Another prediction- you'll get more than your immediate family but less than the entirety of  your posted number of friends.  That's just how it goes sometimes.)

Just to clear things up: I'm only from the not-too-far future and not the "far-far" because that guy is a total asshole.

Seriously.  His predictions come with a handshake that he pulls back at the last minute saying "PSYCCCCCHE!!!"

Naw, dude.  I'm here to skip over the birthday frass and end-of-year listing and resolutioning to give you some good, practical advice for 2014.  Which, in case you missed it is the last year of your 30's.  (Kidding.  KIDDING!  I'm YOU!  I know it's been wiggling around your brain and periphery the last month or so.  Drop it.)  I also know you'd have preferred I visit your 16-year-old self or even 1996 Mikey to drop some wisdom but there was a problem with the calibration and the rectification of the Voldranii and the last of the mecketric supplicants.  Well, it's just too technical for you.  (Sorry, SORRY!  I know you had snark, sarcasm, and condescendsion but...hey man.  Taste of your own medicine, amirite?  High five.)

Anyway.. take all of this with a grain of salt, brother.  The future is really Not Set, so I'd just as soon you take what I've learned over the next 12 months and at least maybe try to apply some of them.  If you could also continue to take care of yourself...your whole self...this future guy and maybe Future Crankpants I mentioned might not have to come back and visit with you again next year.  Seriously.  Who would've known you/me/we turn into a total 8th grade math teacher?

Ebbbbbbbeneeeeeezer Scrooo---cough cough cough---sorry.  Kiiiiiidding....Here's your birthday list, old man.  Trust me:

-You're fine.  Seriously.  People make fun of you for saying it, but it's as good a mantra as any to pick yourself up and continue forward.

-Really, really try to stop overthinking.

-If you think you're probably trying too hard/being excessive?  You are.  Definitely are.

-Try and listen more.  I shouldn't have to go back in time to give you advice- there's some good stuff to be learned just by listening, really listening.  You were better at this in 1991, actually.  I think it was because you were in a learning environment versus a production/job environment.

-You were given a remarkable mulligan and some pretty amazing opportunities in 2013.  You can bask in those and use the energy to propel you into the next thing.  My point is, don't always feel like you need to "take time to decompress" or whatever the shit it is you do.  Or wait for that other shoe to drop.

-You'll still swear a lot, just keep it down in front of the kids and important people.  And polite company.  And, your mom.   And...fuck...This is hard.  Just, uh, don't swear.  You won't succeed, but at least you'll be thinking of this...fatfuckface.

-Stop. Dragging. Your. Feet.  On everything.  You know.  I wish I could tell you the secret, since you're so damn stubborn when it comes to other people telling you what to do.  You'll need to figure that one way to kick yourself in the ass on things.  "Far-Far" Future Mikey (He prefers being called "Captain Six-Pack McLongdong" in the future.  In fact, hey...while I'm advice-ing you?  Can you not do that some day?) has comprised a list of your future regrets and also the secret to motivating yourself...then he pulled his hand away and said "PSYYYYYYCHEEE...Beeeeeeeee----itch!"

-Continue trusting your gut and be comfortable/okay with saying "No".  Conversely? Don't be afraid to jump ship to a new/better opportunity.  (Lest you take root and turn into a tree.  Like "Groot".)

-Be patient.  And by "patient", I mean stop with the dramatic reactions when things don't immediately go your way.  People will appreciate your "cool".  Or at least, not categorize you as a Spaz.

-Spend more time with your family.  Your niece and nephew are at the perfect age for...things.  You'll just have to enjoy discovering what those things are with them.  (Art-Fay Ongs-Say...)

-You have a lot of friends having babies.  And you just aren't funny any more by saying you're terrible around babies and better around bottles.  (Snerk.  Good one, past-Mikey)  Let's chuck that sentiment and give the baby-makers their due.  Okay?  They worked harder than you did to make that new carbon-based form of life, aware of the sacrifices, dealing with sickness/shots/fears/insecurities on a 24 hour/7 day basis.  They deserve a bit more respect and loving encouragement.  All you've had to worry about was weather you'd get Chinese take-out or Chipotle for lunch.

-Make yourself more available to other people.  Build karma points.  This includes helping friends move, babysitting, and getting your ass out and volunteering.  Anonymous donations are fantastic.  It's another feeling entirely to make your entire person available.

-Take better care of yourself...in your headspace.  Stop thinking about scenarios, conversations, outcomes that haven't even happened.  I'd like to be surprised by things once in a while, and being more "in the moment" is good for life and acting.

-One of the regrets"Far-Far" future You-chebag apprised me of, was how you didn't practice writing more- and how many of your "resolution" lists have "write more" on them.  Maybe try dropping more on a daily basis, regardless of the quality of content.  In FACT, forcing yourself to write LESS might make you write a little BETTER.  (Oooooo...yeah, sorry.  That was from a Facebook newsfeed post from one of your writer friends from SOME such college journal.  I won't tell you who it is, because you currently think they're a good writer but a little chuffy...and so far you get kind of bored by their self-congratulatory tone of their updates.  Which, I might add, are entirely in your head.)

-Really try to get your feet in the surf.  The ocean surf.  You might not make it, but try.

-Don't watch that movie.  Or that one.  In fact...yeah. 

-Speaking of learning and listening and the last time you were a great listener/learner being when you were in classroom environments...you know what to do.

-Get a new car.  New to you.  You'll be grateful for the peace of mind.

-Stay open...to anything.

-Stay closed...to some things.  (Don't visit comments sections in 2014.  That's all I'm gonna say.)

-That one joke?  And the other?  Aren't that funny when you're closer to 40 versus 1996 Mikey who had better game.  It makes you sound old, pervy, and the same kind of cat you made fun of when you were younger.

-Stay committed.  Karate, bettering the world, being a good employee, partner, son, brother, uncle.  Keep at it.



Okay.  Lists are still good things in the future and they keep you on task.  Some final thoughts:

Don't go back for seconds or accept it when the bowl is passed around for a 2nd helping.  Same goes for booze.

They'll all like/appreciate what you got them.  Even if you only give everyone 1 little thing.  Don't worry about it.

Just keep living.  "Far-Far" Future Mikey says our spirit animal "The McConnaughey" is revered for his hippy-dippy wisdom. 

Okay.  Gotta go.  Maybe next time I'll come back early with the winning Lotto or something.  (Did I miss the Mega-Millions drawing by a week?  Mannnnn...I'm sorry.  I'll get you next time, yeah?)

Hasta La Bye-Bye, homeskillet!

FYI- In 2014?  Still no jetpacks or hoverboards.  And since you bitch about MN drivers in any weather condition, do you honestly think that flying cars are a good idea?  You don't need the stress, Me.

4 reasons Winter really, truly, is awful

"Well...that's an hour I won't get back".  (Co-worker of mine regarding being stuck in traffic on the way in to work.)

As of my typing of this, we're still technically several days away from metereological "Winter".  Here in the Midwest, as Summertime loosens it's sweaty grip and the leaves begin to change,  a very small section of us start hailing the coming of Winter as a wonderful time.  They are the one's who have snowmobile calendars and quirky little "Ice Fishing" prayers pinned up to their cubes at work or collection of lift-tickets at littering the zipper rung of their Columbia Jacket's, I would never begrudge the casual hobbyist their seasonal joy...except when that season drags on like sharpened frozen obsidian.  These people are wrong. 

"Autumn", the truly beautiful season where you won't get swassy coming too and from your car...where you can wear jeans and sweatshirts and feel comfortable...where the landscape takes on the most wonderful hues outside of a school of clownfish lasts all of 15 minutes before it gets brutally cold.  And this year we are experiencing an early deep-freeze that George RR Martin couldn't dream up.  With my recently reading a great tumblr from a friend (from the South, no less.  Which you can/should check out here.) effusively praising winter, and experiencing my roommate's positively gleeful reaction to the cold(Except, he's qualified, for sub-zero temps), I think I've read my last Twit/Status update on how lovely this time of year is...And I'm about to straighten things out for y'all. 

No.  Really.  We're a hearty breed.  And we can also bitch mightily:

Transportation

This is a given, and topical seeing's how my S.O. just got into a fender bender.  (She's fine.  Fortunately she avoided other cars and physical injury and managed to slide into a concrete post outside of a Dairy Queen.  Because irony is sliding on ice in front of a DQ.)  Of course traffic sucks, and inclement weather always slows things down to a crawl.  Naturally, snow and subsequent icy conditions cause traffic to slow to a shuffling shamble seen only on "The Walking Dead".  It is necessary.  It is awful.  The first weekend we had slushy accumulation was immediately followed by a sub-zero freeze.  MNDOT is able to pre-treat the roads with chemicals to assist the plows with clearing the roads.  The rest of it is the benign hope we'll have some sun to melt away the rest and clear days to dry out.  Which doesn't happen.

What happens is you either get (A) uneven road conditions that cause hell with your alignment and driving as frozen nubbins pepper the roads and make it feel like you're driving up the base of Devil's Tower.  (Frozen, FYI, doesn't mean you get traction.  You'll still slide.) and (B) Patches of black or glare ice.  For some reason, you can be going below 3 mph...a crawl...and if you apply your brakes- thinking erroneously you're slow enough to stop- you'll still slide.  Sometimes picking up momentum as you go along.  I was commuting to work a few years ago, giving a wide berth so there was room.  It was snowy and icy, and you can gauge how awful it is when you first pull out.  I was in traffic going verrrrry slowly, and still managed to slide forward 50 feet into a truck in front of me.  And there was nothing. I. Could. Do.  

Upsides?  None.  You still contend with occasionally getting stuck in one spot with spinning wheels or if you're parked on a street when a plow comes through and pushes a snow berm up to your windshield.  Or the fact that to get your brush out of your car when it's snowed, you'll still get a "Bloop" of snow that falls on your seat.  Or that you can SEE when people have brushed off that small area in front of the driver side and rely on wind speed to blow off the rest of the snow.  (Which, ICYC, doesn't happen and is illegal as hell.)  Or the gas wasted on super cold nights starting your car to make and letting it run for a bit to ensure it starts in the morning. (And resentment when you see pristine cars that obviously were parked in a garage overnight.)  And lastly, people who drive SUV's, Trucks, etc who think they can still barrel forward on the freeway's because they have 4WD.  Which only means they can get out of a snowbank, and will still plow into you.  Because they're dumb as s#it.

It's unpredictable

It's weather.  See the aforementioned comments about MNDOT plows being unable to clear the roads fast enough if we're unlucky and get a dumping.  Meteorologists confess there's nothing to be done when they project an "arctic blast coming in from the North" or "expect a few inches overnight".  They LOVE to create douche-y catch phrases like "Snowpocolypse" or "Snowmaggedon" when we get a dumping. 

The Farmer's Almanac (and that f#ck head Groundhog Phil) usually act as our long-range forecasters in terms of whether winter will be a long affair or mild.  But as I mentioned before, our cold "snap" started in early November.  And it feels awful because last winter (2012-2013) didn't release us until Mid-May.   My point is, any state or area that thinks a snowfall in June is something to brag about, needs to check their priorities and "mush" their ass up to the Yukon.

(***Note:  That unpredictability can also result in unseasonably warm winters as well.  I'll cite '98/'99 when it was in the 70's heading into December and running outside in shorts and a tank top, as well as 2011 to 2012 in which I went on a date in February while wearing a light jacket and strolling through St. Paul.)

Cessation of any (safe) Outdoor Activity

Minnesota, the Twin Cities in particular, is frequently touted as being one of the best "outdoorsy" states- flaunting our trail systems, city lakes and parks, bike-a-bility.  They further try to make a case that we're a winter wonderland of activities- snow shoeing, cross-country and downhill skiing, ice skating...and I'm here to tell you- f#ck no.

First of all, even walking outside in the winter time is problem.  In the city, homeowners are responsible for shovelling their sidewalk in front of their home.  And guess what?  Not every body does it!  That's right!  I'm a runner, and there are frequently mounds of snow in front of homes that get packed down and tromped through by pedestrians when the owner's either give ZERO f#cks or assume Spring time'll take care of it eventually.

Crossing the street?  See the aforementioned comments about cars that lack control at intersections.  Not to mention the icy patches that create uncontrollable trip hazards where you will be going from standing to horizontal before you realize what's happened.  This means twisted knees and ankles, and if you're really unlucky a concussion. 

But what about the fun stuff?  Ice skating is fun, right?  Mmmmm...not really.  Snowmobile accidents average 200 deaths a year and 14,000 injuries.  Cross-country skiing and snowshoeing are exercises in knee and ankle injuries, and sledding/tubing incidents have caused most hills to implement waivers due to people slamming into unexpecting participants.  Ice fishing!  THAT'S fun!  YEAH?!?

Sure.  But even that is a misleading activity, as the actual amount of fishing/catching fish you do is not at all analagous to the amount of drinking, eating, sitting around in a heated shack listening to the radio/watching a portable TV before needing to go outside to pee yourself a frozen kickstand.

Oh...and it's cold.  Like, it gets ridiculously cold.  You don't get to do anything to stand around and "enjoy" the cold.  No.  It's dangerous, can result in any exposed skin becoming frostbitten in minutes, and even fun events to draw crowds are mostly an attempt to get you to enjoy the stupidly dangerous or nonsensically boastworthy.

The mind-numbing Sisyphesian Repetitive Nature of Winter, aka "Prison Bulls#it"

If you've seen "Cool Hand Luke", you'll remember the scene where the warden makes Luke dig a ditch, only to re-fill it and re-dig it.  It was intended to break his spirit...and through movie magic you know it doesn't.  (SPOILER Alert- he has a kick ass monologue directed at God before getting his ass shot by the search party after he escapes again.)

In 2010, we had one of those aforementioned sexily titled snowstorms (Snowmaggedon)that dumped 20+ inches down over 24 hours and promptly turned the state of MN into Hoth.  (The last record setting accumulation was a freak storm on Halloween in 1991...see previous bullet regarding unpredictability.)  That day, I shoveled a grand total of 5 x's  which included: The front walk, the sidewalk in front as well as my elderly neighbors, the long back walk (I have a larger lot for the city.), the driveway in order to get the garbage bins out, the walk out roof so that the snow didn't cave it in, the snow berms pushed up by the plows (requiring me to excise the cars from all the snow wedging it's way under wheel wells and making sure the tires had some traction.)  The entire time I kept thinking of old Lukey and I cursed the snow...which didn't help my separated shoulder and pinched nerve in my back.

Now, there are some people who have garages...and snowblowers...but folks, this was even overwhelming the plow trucks- which couldn't clear the freeways fast enough.  The were telling people to STAY HOME and STAY INSIDE.  Cars were getting stranded then plowed in and SNOW PLOWS were spinning out of control.  "Snowmaggedon" wasn't an inappropriate moniker.  And the only positive thing was that it happened over the weekend.  Think about the Halloween storm when the snow plows aren't even gassed up and out of their storage.

I inherited a Carhart snowsuit system after my dad passed.  It (and he) is/was a 50 Tall.  When I wear it, I feel like a Russian Nesting Doll.  I only break it out when we get into double-digits below Zero.  That snowmaggedon, I was forced to walk to the liquor store for some wine in the middle of the streets because it was thigh-deep everywhere else, only trudging out of the way if a truck was coming through.  Because I couldn't drive.  In fact, if I wear it in my car I can barely stretch the seatbelt over my lap. In 1996, I was forced to get up every 3 hours because we had record-setting cold and if I didn't start my engine on my used Crown Vicky, she wouldn't start at all.  (And she didn't, naturally)

Before you chalk this Negative Nelly-ism to all gloom and doom, please understand- I love the "Holidays".  The winter wonderland.  I love a White Christmas/Birthday.  It's pristine and pretty and washed in nostalgia and cheer.  I just have a cut-off point.  And that cut-off point lands exactly on February 18th.  At that point I am over and done with Winter.  Like, now.*  And as I mentioned previously, with last winter and this winter happening so close that they could almost hold hands (and effectively robbing me of a Summer.**)  I reached "Sick of this s#it" levels approximately 2.5 months early.

*And moving isn't an option.  Right now, the warmest part of the nation is Florida.  And I'm not going to jump from a shark tank into the lion cage for a neverending Summer.  I won't. Touch. America's. Wang.  They crazy.
**The sad thing is that if we don't get a good heavy dumping of precipitation we wind up hearing about it throughout the Spring and Summer...
 

Return of the Meme*

(*Which is funnier if you imagine it sang to the tune of Mark Morrison's "Return of the Mack")

The "honesty" aka "X# of things you might not know about me" meme's have been making the rounds on ye old F'book I actually enjoy seeing these again on the vasty regions of social media.  It brings me back a few years when my friends and I would shoot links and meme's to one and other via email to keep us from losing our minds at our day jobs.

On a similar vein, it makes me winsome for Callboard (RIP).  Callboard evolved from that banter, and with social media being what it is you could feel the death knell in the form of reduced traffic, reduced posting (it was me, and about 4 other people), and the fact that the mod's were getting tired of paying the domain fee.  Good memories there, and honestly I'm going to miss the "Anonymous" and "Honest Facebook" tabs where I could kvetch and b#tch about people in my life (and on Facebook.  Let's just be clear, I know that my line of bulls#it isn't for the great online world.  The Honest FB tab let me get it out about them in relative anonymity and with some impunity.)

Anyway, It's been kind of fun to read'em -better than the political rants, click-bait, and usual noise.  That said, I got my # (3) and posted my responses which I thought fell under the realm of "nobody really knows this about me" which included eating burnt match tips as a kid, my annual "bearding", and about my budding hockey career derailment as a result of the "kissing disease".   As a self-proclaimed open-book, I just don't think I have too many secrets burning a hole in my conscience, much less any "new facts" about me that'd surprise the masses.  On top of that?  I'd write a novel.  Greater than 160 characters.  Ain't nobody got time for that.  And then?  I figure I can do it here.

So here's some snippets that you might not know about me, unless you're a former s.o. or a family member.  There are a few embarrassing things, but nothing so painful that it'll cause a rift anywhere.  I'm still going to attempt to keep it frothy.  Enjoy.  And hopefully you don't know this crap or won't level it against me someday.

Things you may not have previously known about the author:  (If you desperately want any explanations, feel free to comment)

I've had this blog since 2004 (please don't read the historical articles.  They. Are. Terrible.) 

I frequently forget to zip up my zipper.  I have an old joke that I'm "trolling".  What you will.


I've broken my nose 3 times before the 4th grade, mostly engaging in childish Tomfoolery.

I went through a period of time when I really, really needed a lot of cologne. I'd spray that s#it everywhere.  Yes.  Everywhere. 

My 1st kiss was a neighborhood girl that chased me around her house down the street until I tripped.  She then fell on me and sort of headbutt-kissed me.  I viscerally remember it being a cruel act.  She tried adding me as a friend on FB, and I blocked her.  31 years later.

My 1st "real" kiss was in 9th grad at the NVJH Sadie Hawkins Dance.

I have terrific memory that's getting slower as I get older. ( Ex: The 1st thing I bought with a credit card was a black soft-sided briefcase at MOA, August of 1997.  SEE!?)

I have an irrational deep-rooted desire to be liked/accepted.  I care way too much about perception, and my deepest rooted fear is to be called on my bullshit.

I take supplements nearly every day.  I've tried very nearly every supplement out there.

I'm loyal to a fault.  My loyalty is faulty.  I tend to stick around past the born-on date, for better or worse.

I frequently get ready for work in the mornings in the pitch-black dark. 

I frequently prefer showering at night...but I won't lie.  I love showers.

The thing that will put me in a frothy rage is being late and condescension.  And every other driver on the road.  Addendum- I'm an excellent driver.

If I pull up to a 4 way stop at the exact same time as another driver?  I'll go.

I have no love of politics.  People who frequently get frassy about them raise my ire, and simultaneously make me feel bad that I can't construct a decent argument to support my own feels.

I still heed advice given when I was in Junior High and High School.

I had the gap in my front teeth filled in while I was in college.

I wear most articles of clothing, if I really like it, until it disintegrates.  (Mainly jeans, naturally)

Speaking of- I once owned a rainbow plethora of Girbaud jeans.  Dark Blue, White, Blue, Black...I had/have a problem.

I rarely- if ever- buy new clothing.  Lot's of thrift store stuff and Hammy Downs.

Shortly after taking this, I did a major closet purge.  Anything smaller than "XL", anything I haven't worn in 2 years, and basically anything that wasn't a bathrobe, hoodie, or Captain America costume.  What?  YOU don't have a Captain America costume in YOUR closet?  STAY JEALOUS

 

 

 

I can't have any dirty dishes left in my sink.  Can. Not.  I'll do dishes while people are eating.

 

I completely and utterly abhor folding clean laundry.  I pick out what I need from the basket at the foot of my bed.

 



I'm a hopeless sentimental freak.   

 

 

Pictured- top drawer of my nightstand.  Contents?  Bow-ties for my groomsmen from when I was going to get married, hackey sack from college, Boy Scouts "Order of the Arrow" sash, random hat pins, harmonica, love letter written on a receipt roll, notebook page with Russian/English terminology, wooden Rhino from Busch Gardens, and a tiny vial with $7 worth of gold flakes (1983 dollars) from a gold-panning visit in SD.  Not pictured: Contents of the other 2 drawers.  I think that'll be a blog on it's own.  Michael?   Remove smut and prophylactics.

I didn't get a checking (checking, mind) account until I was 20 years old.

My original career plans were forensic pathology, administrative business management, and Public Relations.  When I was in junior high, I considered a military career.

I needed either my dad or brother to help me tie a necktie until I taught myself...when I was 25 years old.

I didn't start doing my own laundry until I started college.  I *still* wash nearly everything on cold-wash and still avoid ironing shirts by throwing them in the dryer with a damp t-shirt.

I learned how to competently drive a manual transmission in my 30's...on a Model A Ford.  And it was for a film shoot.

I have a pretty good judge of character.  Scratch that.  Really good.

I'm not normally known to be a glass-half-empty kind of guy.  However I am always worried the other shoe is gonna drop.  If something good happens?  I'm pretty sure something bad will happen.

I went tanning...fake-baking...from about 1993 to 2005. 

I've been shot by a BB gun twice.  Both are funny stories.

My eating disorder is that I have no "off" switch.  I love food and all of it in my mouth.

I'm a terrible theater person.  Viewing, auditioning, learning new material, writing, getting new headshots.  Terrible.

I really, *really* can't drink hard alcohol.  And with that...

I think that regret is healthy, (dwelling or living in the past-including mistakes- is not.)  In which case, I'm pretty gawdamn regret-healthy.

Some comments from a 1st time Vegas tourist

Hello!

It's been a busy 2 months, yo.  I won't lie.  Between Summer coming to a swift and abrupt close and cramming new cabin (aka "Camp Awesome") time in, Ren Fest and the State Fair, and launching into a pretty intensive rehearsal/performance schedule in the Kung Fu show with Muper Forming Arts- I barely had time to breathe, much less write.

HOWever-

I was finally able to skip town, proper skip town, and go on a real-live-big kid vacation.  In case you're keeping track, this is the 1st vacation I've had in over 5 years.  Okay?  This means job loss, loss of a parent, etc etc etc...What I'm saying is I think I've earned it.

Ranch's grandparents were celebrating their 60th wedding anniversary down in Sun City, AZ and I was invited to come down for the festivities.  After some planning, we reckoned we'd fly into Vegas, make the 4 hour trek to AZ, then come back 2 days later after and spend some time putzing around Vegas-proper.

I should disclose that I've made a few trips to Vegas.  The Southwest is my heart.  It's bright.  It's obnoxious.  Ticket prices and drink prices and food prices can be a$$-rapingly exorbitant.  AND?  I don't gamble.  I should hate Vegas.   But I don't.  It's a 3-Day town.  (Three days and out.)  And s#it, deep within this blog is probably a post or three about my last few trips.  Point is, I'm comfortable enough navigating and playing tour guide that it felt like a fresh way to hit up the Strip. 

My s.o.'d never been.  Oh sure, she's travelled and learned around the globe...my issue is that VEGAS proper is the kind of town that might overwhelm the uninitiated.  And my deep-rooted need to be a hero meant I wanted her to have a good time.   And good time we did.  Lot's of walking the Strip.  Lot's of sleeping in.  A brief infection scare.  And a final night at a naughty Cirque show.  All told?  A great trip.  (Although we missed a few things due to said sickness)  And to tailhook back to the title of the post- I present you with some of her greatest hits:

-You can smoke anywhere?
-It's so CUTE!!!  (The rental company gave us a yellow FIAT, aka "The banana suppository".  It was then, I realized we wouldn't be able to haggle over a "true" mid-sized car and were stuck in the equivalent of a Nuprin on wheels.)
-"Well.  Some guy at check-in told me he could grab my boobs if I wanted."
-"AMAYYYYZING!"
-"That's AMAAAYZING!!!"  (This was a repeated theme.)
-"Well.  Two drag queens arguing in the make-up section of CVS.  On Sunday at 10a.m. Like ya do."
-"My boss thinks it'd be funny if we checked in at a drive-thru wedding chapel."  (So I did.  Fast forward to a gazillion comments on FB...buhwahhahahaha...NOTE!  This did NOT have the same effect when I checked us in at a tattoo parlor.)
-"Why would you even WANT to get married here?"
- (With great disgust) "Oh.  Carrot Top"
-"I think that's Rod Stewart!  Is that Rod Stewart!"  (Impersonator)
-"Oh...my GOD!"  (Repeated line during the Cirque show.)
-"I've never been to a town that has SO much p0rn being advertised!"
-"It was $32?!?!?"  (The vodka lemonade poolside.)
-"What is up with chicks wearing lacy bikini tops?  They like wearing underwear to the pool?"
-"We are NOT renting a p0rno!!!"

Finally: "I can never sleep on planes.  I don't know why."

We'll come back, Vegas.  We've the North end of the strip and Fremont street yet to conquer.

It's not the 20 years, doll, it's the mileage

"The" favorite senior photo circa 1992-93.  I was standing on a milk crate and a bunny ate part of that- my favorite- black leather jacket from Burlington Coat Factory.  If you're interested or buy me a drink, I can tell you the skeevy/uncomfortable conversation

 

Wow.  So, you are now officially talking to an old man.  Dates notwithstanding, I recently attended my high school reunion.   Numero...twenty...oh.   Whatever.  Conversations from the '08 reunion ending with "See you in 5 years!" are now coming around again.  1st it was a few emails from the committee, then the "official" Facebook page, the talking to my BFF about what to expect. 

Yeah.

 

Everything sort of snowballed, y'know?  Like it does at the end-of-Summer/Back-to-school.  (C'mon.  I'm not the only person in my generation to have that melancholy heart when late-August rolls around and Target starts pimping their Trapper Keeper's)  Fringe ends, then it's Ren Fest, then the State Fair, then a mad scramble to cram in mini-vacay's that you can afford then "Oh shit, when did all these tomatoes appear in my garden" etc etc etc...

 

I'll get to stories about the "new" cabin another time.

 

Anyway, I'll be honest.  I think it's kind of an exciting thing, reunions.  I've met people who think they're a stupid waste of time and money (my BFF) to people who's tails were literally wagging off their butt.  For my part, if I've learned anything it's how to (at least) give the appearance of "calm" and not allow my cool demeanor to crack or any of my growing list of social anxieties as I get older shine through.  In other words:

 

 

 

For a guy that starts thinking out about Halloween costumes as early as July, I was a bubbling cauldron of Frass.

 

No, really.  I found myself with low-grade anxiety and further found myself asking "Why"?  Was it because one of the email invite reminders asked if you were "excited to meet up with an old crush/secret admiree'?!??"   I mean PRESSURE!  Then I start thinking "who *didn't* I crush on during the angsty teenage era of my life filled with hormones and Drakkar?!?!? 

 

Not to mention my dysmorphia.  Holy.  Bells.  As one of the growing masses of kidless/unmarried homeowners, was their going to be some sort of unspoken judgement?  Or expectation?  (OF WHAT??!!)  I had the conversation with the g/f about her attendance.  Her thoughts were "Don't you want your friends to see how well you're doing?" and *MY* thought was "You are going to be bored out of your bra straps.  No."  (Curt?  Maybe.  But if you're trying to be considerate/sensitive/respectful, you're also thinking about your personal well-being.  The only think I felt I could safely predict is that I was going to be doing my best to stay sober, stay focused on one conversation at a time, and how nigh-on f#cking impossible it is to be a frassy, ADHD-addled flibbertigibbit in a room of a couple-hundred people you maybe haven't seen in years. 

 

In short- I knew that I would spend the night worried that she'd have a good time.  Okay?)

 

I had 86'ed booze a few days after we started kung-fu rehearsal's since I was exhausted and wanted to lighten up for aerial stuff so I wasn't too worried, and by the time it rolled around I sort of gave up on giving a s*t.  I'd wear pants (a success, IMO), tennis shoes (because comfort), and this new cowboy shirt I grabbed on clearance.  (Because...f#ck.  Didn't I wear a cowboy shirt to the 15 year reunion?  F#ck, F#ck, F#ck.)

 

Anyway, I took advantage of the reunion discount and rolled into the hotel early enough for a nap, shave, and shower.  (Okay, point of order?  This is the weirdest f#cking hotel ever.  It's like...smack in the middle of a Northwest Suburban Neighborhood.  Dropped in surrounded by townhomes and ramblers.) 

 

Showed up.  Grabbed my nametag.  Started to boogie.

 

And it was pretty fun.  Really fun.  I've read this is a part of getting older, but I just sort of "let go and let God" and figured I'd shuffle off any preconceptions about how the night "could" go.  (I had a few.  Yes.)  And social media being what it is, it's awful nice to have faces to put to profile images.  (Especially...cough cough...when half of their pics are of their kids.  I wanna see *You*, Gawdammit.  Yes, You.)  The thing that stuck out the most (besides the booze) was that most folks were pretty chill.  And I could dig that the most.  It ended, we spilled out into the lobby, I grabbed the bottle of moscato to toss on a communal table, and when 3am rolled around I called it a night.  (Aloooooone, thankyouverymuch.  Buddy boy had rehearsal the next morning.  And wouldn't that be some awkward shit?  "So.  Uhhhhh.  Wanna read what you wrote in my yearbook 20 years ago or do you just wanna leave?"  Riiiiiiiiiight.)

 

In short, don't skip your reunions if you have one coming up and it's your thing and you're on the fence.  For my part, I hope this means in the FB era that we might start trying to get together more often than not...maturing social anxities aside.   Before I leave you, I realize that I didn't write anything about the 15 year reunion but have some pretty vivid memories of the night- ergo, I decided to include a brief timeline below.  Enjoy.

 

The author, on the right, with classmates.  I didn't want too many pictures taken since I tend to get shiny and double-chinny when drinking in hot, crowded areas.  This was the best I could find.  Gawdamn cowboy shirt.

1998-  I leave my Uptown apartment to iron my dress shirt (a tan, pseudo-buttonless number.  I wasn't good at tying ties, so I left it in lieu of an a-shirt since I was 23 and vain.) at my folks.  As dad and I watched the Vikes, he started "sniffing" the air audibly....like a Bloodhound.  He then makes a wince-y face and says "That's a lot of cologne.  What is it?".  "Dolce and Gabbana" I reply.  "Never heard of it."   (...beat...we drink beer.  More Vikings.)  "You know you're not getting laid tonight, right?"  (Cue Mikey spitting his beer over the ironing board.)

Of note:  I was called the wrong "Mike" by two different people, Nobody was impressed with my sweet dance moves (and here I thought 4 years of being a club rat was gonna be good for something), when I said I had done a movie- no one cared, and when I said I lived in Uptown someone said "That figures."  In short, my perception was that a lot of folks hadn't changed *too* much, and that I needed to make sure the girl I was crushing on in homeroom isn't being hovered around by her husband.

AKA- Dad was right.

2003-  Missed it.  Young, in love, and on my way toward marriage my fiancee' and I made an easy choice and skipped it.  I was sent some nasty emails about my missing it, but nothing we weren't able to push past.

2008- KIERAN'S!!!  The girlfriend asked if she should drive, but I said I'd be fine.  Turns out, I was wrong.  (Surprise!)  Wore a cowboy shirt (GAWDAMMIT) and...got...wasted.  Sooooo I think I had a good time?  Facebook was pretty new, and I remember the trickle down of new "friend" requests over the next few weeks.   Lot's of people asked if I was married or had kids.  I needed to call my g/f for a ride, because I lost my car *somewhere* in downtown Mpls.  (I found it the next day after a bit of walking around...because drunken recall)

Theater Prom- Where you can be kind of a big deal

It was recently brought to my attention that "prom was overrated".  On the contrary, I seem to remember it being a fairly serious affair.  Clearly.  I mean I liked it enough to grind through 6 x's. (Missing: PC Prom '93 aka "Too much fake-bakin'")

Note/Study Guide for "Normal folk"- Theater Prom is the jokey nickname given to the annual Twin Cities Theater recognition ceremony that I've attended since the inaugural year in 2005.  It's a chance for theater-folk to gussy up in their finery (In my case a welcome change from only having the opportunity to use those nice outfits for on-camera auditions or independent film-shoot wardrobes), schmooze, walk a red carpet, see buddies get an award that resembles a lava lamp, and drink.   Not always in that order.

Over the years, I've vascillated between treating this like a must-attend event to preferring a Monday night to myself on the couch with box wine and take-out.  I've retired the concept of tuxing-out ala' prom to wearing more comfortable fare- as many friends have done as well.  (A common kvetch is how your feet effing KILL by the end of the night*.)  Anyway, rather than bore y'all with a recitive of the night (I started off f#ck all crabby which could be attributed to my desire to tie my own bow-tie**.  I got better.)  I'd like to relay a funny interaction I had with a guy at the post-party who had abbbbbsolutely nothing to do with the Award ceremony and gave me a fantastic laugh/ego-boost.  To you, friend, I'd like to extend my gratitude.  I'm not gunning for an Ivey any time soon and get overwhelmed when I'm in crowds, but you made me feel like a winner.

Gettin' you picture taken hack:  Bring a good looking date, and hide behind her head to mask your abnormal number of chins.  Hack #2- colorful ties pull focus, and if you tie it yourself you'll manage a few compliments.

A Conversation At The Ivey's Understaffed Post-Party Hotel Bar, where Mikey Makes a Friend:

(Drunk guest on the bar stool next to me) Are you wish these people?
(Me- Sober***) I am!
(DGoBSNTM) So you're wish the Ivy Feshtival?
(Me- starts to laugh.  Then laugh harder.  Then I stop b/c I'm thinking I'll look rude.)  Yes I am.  I take it you're not?
(DGoBSNTM) Nope.  New York City.
(Me) Oh yeah?  I'm Mike.
(Greg) Greg. 
We shake hands and have a laugh.  I give my briefest explanation that it's kiiiinda like the Tony's, the correct name ("Ivey Awards"/"Shorry"/"Nope.  It was awesome."), and why everyone is dressed up.

...beat...

(Greg) So you look important.
(Mikey) Sorry?
(Greg) You look like someone important here.
(Me) Nope.
(Greg) Naw.  I mean it.  You've been hangin' around these beautiful wimmin all night.  I jus' saw you kiss that one a minnut ago (gestures towards my date), you bin' talkin' and kissin' on a couple over there an'...

(At this point, my friend Colleen- who looked fantastic, btw- comes over for a hullo smooch and hug)

(Greg) SEE!
(Me) It's theater prom, man.  It's fun to get a little lubricated and play dress up for a change.  We're lovey people.  It's like a family reunion, you know?  We're not all workin--
(Greg) It LOOKS fun.
(Me) IT IS FUN!
(Greg) Well good for you, Mark (He Drunk).  I still shay you look like someone important.
(Me) If it matters, I had a guy help me with my tie.

And there was some more hearty laughter as I excused myself after we shook hands and stated how nice it was to meet one and other.

In short- If you're involved in theater in the Twin Cities and trip on a banana peel and "accidentally" read this?  I'm kind of a big deal.



*I opted for my red Chuck Taylor's...like "Dwight" from "Sin City".

**Someone got frassy with me about telling them where certain parts of my ensemble came from, but I was hella proud.  And I didn't put too much thought into it, except for one day I was out shopping and thought a self-tied bow-tie might be a nice touch.  And that was really the only expense to my outfit.  (Which my s.o. picked out with the stipulation that it'd be great if it matched my Chuck's.)  Black blazer, checkered shirt from Nordstrom- AND PROCURED at the Goodwill in Minnetonka in addition to my lucky blue jeans.   In fact, the only other cost revolved around getting my watch battery replaced.

This was a great, comfortable outfit.  And when the charming lesbian couple sat down next to us at the start of the show, the woman next to me pointed out how we were wearing the exact same outfit.  Look up on Citypages.com's section on the 2013 red carpet.  They up there.

***A lot of hoy-palloy has been made of the slow service.  It's true, on average it took 25-30 minutes to get someone's attention- and because I can't do the hard stuff without tummy repercussions I opted out of bringing a flask.  The issue was, LAST year there were plenty of mini-bars and places to order up and cop a squat.  THIS year it was almost designed to get the crowd to disperse quickly.  (Including an 11:45 pm "Last Call")

In which I break a resolution...for good d@mn reason.

So I know that I'm normally a little gusty with the number of times I get to write for your humor/benefit, and mostly it's because keeping my job is important so I have my nose to the grindstone while I'm there.  Not a bad thing, I know, but there are usually stories and situations that whirl around in my brain that I'd love to post for your amusement.  Really.  This issue is after they whirl, they tend to go down the drain.  And the other issue is that they usually happen while I'm in the car and can't write it down.  I'm too busy being "me" in the car and trying to not have an aneurysm based on the other drivers behavior.

This doesn't even begin to capture my frass...

I've also had a lot of stress, compounding stress.  I should mention that we're now on May 1st, and are entering our 7th or 8th month of winter.  And the last few weeks the temps have been all over and we're experiencing "historical" snow cover.  Subsequently, I have SAD.  And I have not been able to start outdoor projects, long outdoor runs with my running friends, and pretty much everything that makes "Spring" one of the awesomest times of the year has been batted down and stepped on like an AT-AT steps on a snowspeeder.

Pictured: 29th and Johnson St NE, May 1st.  It'd be more accurate if the AT-AT was played by one of the frightening neighborhood wild turkeys.

The other reason that I've been stressed is that home ownership has decided to flex it's dickhead muscles and muck with my plumbing. See, my hot water went out again.    The pressure just disappeared in the bathroom sink and shower from a trickle to non-existent...all because I tried dicking around with it and made it worse.  Any house project that requires any form of mechanical fortitude, I will spectacularly make worse.

You might remember, this is what happened when I tried fixing the P-trap on my bathroom sink.

If not for my roommate, (and the aforementioned desire to run outdoors...which means copious sweating that must be removed) I'd drag my feet.  I can shower at the gym, friends houses, etc.  My roommate, however, does not have those luxuries and so he's resorted to boiling water "Little House" style.  Anyway, I'm a landlord and had to act.  I'm just on a fixed income (read: Poor) so emergencies like this bite hard.

However, it's at this "gym" I speak of where I can take luxurious showers.  It's forced me to drag my butt out of bed while it's dark and since I can't bring myself to check in, shower, and leave- I get to work out.  Which invariably makes me feel better and gets it out of the way for the day.  Moreover, it's usually pretty dead at the boot crack of dawn- with the exception of a few sassy senior citizens- so I have carte blanche in picking equipment without waiting, people hogging in on the weights, the locker room being reasonably clear.  I mean, it's healthy hog heaven.  When I leave is when the early yoga classes start, so I don't even have to deal with the smelly yoga bear-man.  I have effectively solved my own issues by avoidance.  AND I've been getting killer workouts without having to cram them in right before karate.  I will be effectively READY TO HAVE MY BEACH BODY BECAUSE OF JANKY PLUMBING!!!.

You're welcome

Except for the Oompa Loompa..."Wait, what, handsome Daniel Craig lookalike?  I thought you resoluted back in January that you would try to be more understanding of your fellow humans?"  Yeah. Well.  Threshold has been reached.  And I'll tell you that it took about 5-6 strikes today that I'll outline for you so you understand.  And it's not even this horrible:

...but wait...it's still pretty bad.

I was already pretty annoyed this morning.  There were only 4 people at the gym, but in the men's locker room there were about 8 keys missing from the complimentary lockers.   (Yeah.  The "good" lockers.  The "way back" lockers closest to the showers.   Apparently my gym has an issue with members taking home the keys and leaving their shit in the locker...like it's a private club.  And there are signs everywhere indicating they're not supposed to do that.)   That, coupled with the fact that there's been some treadmill breakdowns that haven't been addressed in a few weeks- I was ready to get cleaned up and go to work.

And yes...I was making this face, and quietly judging the people walking on the treadmill- reading "Shape" magazine- right in front of the TV with the local news and weather.  You'd make this face too if the only other TV is showing Fox News.

While shaving, a gentleman entered the shower area in the raw.  It's a gym.  Okay.  An older biscuit-head with military bearing although slightly going to seed, the man stops- surveys the area- and heads to the shower.  Now, bear in mind there are "3" showers next to one and other.  And while I'm rinsing off shave goo and imagining the day I'll be able to manscape in the comfort of my own home again, this...orangey-tan guy...up and goes to the middle shower stall.  This is akin to breaking the urinal rule in public bathrooms...

It's a real thing.

Anyway...NBD.  I'm in the zone.  He gets done 1st and leaves for his locker so I can continue luxuriating...(Friends, when you have NO HOT WATER pressure at home, you try and shower as long as you can, where you can.  I was ready to go outside with a bar of soap and a loofah the last rain shower we had before it up and decided to become snow again.)  I finish, dry off, wrap my towel and head to my locker when I notice...this guy...

Pictured:  Actual shade.  And yeah, he had a tighty-white tan line.  Which meant he was either a snowbird or addicted to the tanning specials at the gym.  As a "retired" fake-baker myself, I'm speculating the latter.

Is in the locker right next to mine.  As in, there are about 70 lockers in the locker room.  (Less the missing keys and the current attending members)  And this guy can't be bothered to use any other locker in the locker room?  You can see a missing key, dude.  You KNOW there's someone in that locker.  And even if you've mentally established that locker as "your" locker?  Get the natural eff over it and find another.  ("Like you do, Mister 'Needs the Treadmill in front of channel 11 to watch Jeopardy'?"  "Shut it, heid")

I don't think I would have been able to mask my annoyance at this point, or made my go-to joke ("Murphy's Law of the gym, right?!?! HAHAHAHAH!!!")...oh, when is it?  Right, when it's busy and unavoidable you'll be butted up next to someone.  No, this turkey slapper actually made me stop in my tracks before quickly emptying my locker while still drippy and throw my s*iton the ground around the corner to give us a little breathing room.

Like this?  Like this...

As of this writing, you may assume that I was hella annoyed.  Nope.  I'd say that part came when he put his leg up on a stool and started liberally spraying "Axe" all over his nethers.  (I f#cking TOLD you it'd get worse!)  The guy was practically euthanizing his gonads, with the toxic cloud wafting over the locker bank.  And next?  Promptly stands in front of the towel discard chute to apply his hair jelly to his spiky head (In the mirror next to the exit)...which meant sort of herky jerky tossing it "around" him so that he finally took notice.  And then when he saw me make my awful banked shot, he didn't take the hint he was in the way... and went back to his careful application of pomade.

To recap:
-Takes the center shower.
-Fake bake.
-Squats in locker right next to mine with full knowledge someone was there and 60 odd alternatives.
-Copious amounts of Axe Body spray.
-A nesting quality and need to hoard "space" so everyone ("me") needs to move around his crap.

5 strikes...

I won't lie.  I'm going to be happy- so stupidly happy- when my shower is operational again and I can go back to tossing and turning until 30 minutes before I absolutely have to get up and get ready for work.  The plumbing quote just can't come back fast enough.

Which will obviously look like this, except soapier.

So. Boston.

What I want to start by saying, is that I'm pretty surprised by how I reacted to the news of the events that occured at the finish line of the Boston Marathon.  Unsurprisingly, someone articulated it better than I did.  So I'll defer to Craig's opening monologue.

I was shocked.  Yes.  I was upset.  Yes. And I hoped to God that whatever it was and whatever happened didn't cause a disproportionate reaction that caused more damage, and deeply hoped that people were able to mobilize effectively and safely to help the injured and (so help me) make sure that there were no more threats in the vicinity.  (As of this typing, there are 3 dead and 176 injured.  One of the dead is another child.  And some of the injured are maimed for life.)

So I'm a runner who's had the pleasure of running races.  I'm a runner in the sense that I'm a martial artist.  I'm dedicated, I learn enough to be dangerous, but these are still nothing more than serious hobbies for my health.  In terms of serious running, I'm barely barely a drop in the rain barrel.  I've volunteered a handful of times, I've spectated as much as time allows, I've crewed one full-Mary, and y'know I've never ran a full Mary myself?  It's kind of scary.  It's not "off" my radar, but it's there.  Like a store that looks interesting that you pass every day on your commute and say "some day I'll pop in there."

And I have no designs on Boston.  None.  That's fabled and storied and, frankly, a smidge intimidating.

But having acclimated myself to race culture, I know about Boston.  I follow the runners.  The "elites".  I know the history and the names.  I follow the tweets and social media updates.  The Master's was this Sunday and I was with a group who was rapt with attention at something that I could care less about, and consider to be kiiiiinda boring.   And here I am getting gooby about runner's. 

Oh, and I do know about running goodly long distances.  And pounding 26.2 miles- as much as I used to make fun of friends for doing it- is no fucking joke.  From the elites who finish in a little over 2 hours to the people (like the 101 year old Sikh marathon runner) who are running just to say the did it or just to finish.  It's...okay, so if you want to see people who willingly put themselves through the grinder, hang out at the finishing line of a marathon.  And cheer.  And watch.  It was humbling, filled with elation, tears, success.  It gets in your guts like no other sporting event I've ever attended.  And it is a feeling of accomplishment that you get to keep forever.

Same goes for running.  Everybody can have every single reason for wanting to run, and they can span from being insanely personal to just...plain enjoying moving outside.  It's unifying.  That's why I adore running with my friends on weekends.  That's why I love being in races with 10,000 other like-minded fools on a cold Saturday morning.  That's why I love plugging in and going for an 11 mile run around my neighborhood.  My mind floats off.  And when you're mildly ADHD, it's so wonderful to be able to engage in an activity that let's it all wash out into the world.  It takes every tiny to huge worry on my mind and let's it filter out into the universe.  It's hippy, but it's true.  There is absolutely nothing like the love letter I could write to running.

Which is why I feel like this is such a personal, and scarring act.   It's why I feel like I identify so strongly with those people.  I've cheered at a finish.  I've crossed the line in tears and ready to vomit.  I've had so many of these feelings while seeing a inflated banner that says "FINISH" that it's so unbelievably frightening how much I sympathize with the city of Boston over this tragedy.  Moreover, how every runner is probably feeling the same way. 

And it's why part of my heart reacted the way it did, and why Ferguson's words sat with me like they did.  I'm sick of this shit.  I'm sick of the fact that when it happened, I didn't fly off the handles- I wanted answers and I wanted people to stay calm and focused and to WAIT until more information was available.  Because when the panic bleeds into the instantaneous and wild speculation with which information travels these days, it can be so intensely detrimental to the situation.  And then I think I'm turning into my dad.

See, I found out via Facebook.  And from the first "What's going on in Boston?" post, I found myself doing all the Googling I could for information.  And when more and more social media posts came up, I noticed that there wasn't anything definitive that was being offered as to the "why" or anything about "victims".  (There were stories about limbs flung everywhere, blood running down the street, the explosion came from a hotel kitchen, etc.)  Websites and links were already showing some pretty gruesome images along with video of the explosion...And that, friends, is when I took a deep breath and stepped the fuck back.  And all within about 60 minutes.

In September 2011, I know where I was.  I was asleep.  I had a job interview. And I was popped out of bed and told to turn on the television.  I started scribbling in a notebook all the information I could assimilate from the news stations.  I still have it.  And I wrote down that they ("they") were reporting basically everything every conspiracy nut has posited over the last 12 years.  They ("they") reported that there were already over 10,000 fatalities.  (We know now that there were a little less than 3,000.  Including the aircraft.)  I wrote it down.  I thought I was watching history and needed to. 

And think about 18 years ago?  Before instantaneous gratification of social media and digital news feeds.  I was at my cousins wedding, and the only information we could get was what we'd see on the News several hours after the fact or in the paper the next day.  It must have been terrifying and devastating to the people closest to those who were lost.  And here we are now, looking for suspects and needing to know NOW!

And that's my point.  My 1st feeling was that I hope nobody panics.  That nobody loses their shit and starts immediately pointing fingers of blame.  That nobody get crazy and conspiratorial and start making rash leaps in logic and sense and swim in the murky cesspool of speculation and misinformation.  A Facebook buddy frassed something along the lines of  is that people don't question things and just accept what they see.  (In relation to why Snopes HAS to be the go-to place for debunking.)  I responded that it was because of that statement?  We need something to debunk the bullshit.


I also want to point out that I was deeply heartened to see that people spent more time on social media posting their support, Fred Rogers quotes, and finding out how they would be able to assist in whatever capacity.  Look to the helper's indeed, because there are always helpers.  And in spite of listing over 18 years worth of horrible tragedies that have befallen the US, I think that it's heartening to see that the way people are mobilizing in the face of these horrors is to meet it head on and to give strength where it's needed.  To give selflessly whatever support and care that they can.  I think that's pretty amazing if we stay on this course of action.

I love Boston.  I love the history.  The people.  I wish only light and healing and the hope that they will keep moving forward with their lives, and that in the following years this blight will become a sad and quiet footnote for a race that is the culmination of human perserverence, hard work, determination, and fortitude for 117 years. 

Temps are backing down...they never back down.

Go ahead and make your jokes, Mr. Jokey...

I've been feeling good.  I've been hitting the gym regularly.  Tracking my Cal on myfitnesspal is keeping me honest and I'm pretty sure I've dropped (maaaybe) 5 lbs?  (Amazing.  And all this time my frustration with working out was that I wasn't really losing weight when all along I was eating too much?!?  Fancy the f#ck that?!?)  I'm hitting karate 2-3 days a week and fixing to test for my brown belt.  And my cross-training elliptical/treadmill stuff has made the few times I can run outside in the winter...nice.  I've covered 5-6 miles and wasn't even laid up.

However...

I've re-established that it's approximately February 17th is my "Officially Done with this Winter Bullshit"...date.  At that point my mood is adversely affected and I stop wondering when I'll get to go sledding or skating and actively want to punch Jack Frost in the fleshy patch.   One year ago I was on a brunch date and we were able to traipse up and down Selby avenue in light jackets and sat in a sun-puddle while drinking coffee and getting to know each other.

Now?  Hey look...I'm still all for getting a few more inches of powder on the ground.  Gods know we need the precipitation.  But when I get home and my roommate is cackling that we're hitting another sub-zero deep freeze for a few days?  Something...something very deep inside me snaps and cries and dies a little.   Hope relents, and even little joys like the fact that my early-ass commute is now tinged with light blue sun versus bleak black cannot alleviate my misery.

This might sound melodramatic if you're a non-Minnesotan...and you may question my heartiness as a resident or (gasp) knee-jerk-off the old comment "It's Winter in Minnesota! <smack>  Whaddya exPECT?!?!".    Well eat a groomed wang.   I'm being robbed of my motivation.  Because right now, the only thing the cold has done for me is want to sleep...

...and skip the stupid gym...
...and order take-out...
...and drink an entire bottle of sweet Shiraz...
...and watch "The Running Man" before going BACK to bed...

Fuck you, sub-zero temps.  Back to the shadows, with you.  I'm tired of this abusive cold.

I'm not on your lawn, Old Man Winter.  And I'm about to send you to an assisted living facility.

Adventures in Gymfail

(This is a new-ish segment.  I'm hoping that I'll experience interesting kerfluffles at my loving neighborhood gym that I can share with you...like today.)

1st off, I'm notorious about over-packing for trips and OCD about checking my gym bag the night before I leave for work in the a.m. not because I'm an Over-prepared Oliver Billy-Boy Scout.  It's because, gawdammit, I'm a Forgetful Francis.   And this is true, because over the last 5 years I've belonged to my gym I've forgotten a fresh pair of underwear no less than...a lot.  Okay?  I've just plum forgotten.

                                              (No, Sweet Brown.  Nobody does.  Fo Sho.)

Today, I had the luxury of the morning off and so I was able to piece my ensemble (always tastefully matching my bandana, shorts, AND wrist bands) prior to the gym- and in a moment of divine inspiration I decided to toss my work clothes in my bag and under-dress my ensemble.

Except...except except someone with two thumbs and half a brain didn't pack a work shirt.  That's right.  Mikey gets to the gym and realizes that he just has his tank top...which will eventually become sodden and soggy in the upcoming 75 minute workout.

Now...you might be thinking "So what?  You forget your man-ties and now you've forgotten a shirt.  Where's the headsmack graphic?"  Oh.  That's because I was waiting to tell you that squirreled away in the bottom of my gym bag next to my shaving kit in a veritable nest is the following:

• 2 extra pair of boxer briefs.
• 3 extra pair of socks.
• 1 pair of long underwear.
• 1 extra bandana/wrist guards wrapped together.

So...I have back up.  And I cleverly wonder if I can cobble together some Tom Hanks/Castaway refugee garment from the above.  I quickly realize...I can't.  Natch.

Now, lest you think I Weismuller'd out of there to make a beeline for my jacket I want to remind you that we are in Minnesota in February- which affords me the luxury of wearing my zippered hoodie 80% of the time.  You know?  Without a shirt?  Which, I'll be honest, feels weird.  The zipper.  On bare skin.  Like wearing shoes without socks or going commando.  Not "awful", per se.  Just unnatural.  I couldn't even pull off the "Wolverine in the basement of the X-Mansion" scene from the 1st X-Men movie?  Remember?

(There is a very legitmate fear of losing chest hair on the zipper.  Don't pretend this isn't a real thing.)

So...less like Wolverine, and more like an embarrassed Terminator.  Which nearly happened the time I almost bolted out of the Men's Locker Room bare-ass because I'd forgotten a script I was working on and my Ipod in the fitness area.

                                     (Nothing clean...riiiiiight.  Also, hello anorexic Geef.)


We can now add that one to the current list of gymfails that includes forgotten skivvies, too-small or disintegrating t-shirts, gassy treadmill runs, "sweating out toxins" the day after a gin-fueled bachelor party by sitting in the sauna and smelling like a liquor store, and forcing the staff to move the floor fans from the weight room to the Men's Locker Room bathroom suspiciously minutes after I used it and noticed a fellow gym member come in after me- do an about face with a stink eye- and then make them re-circulate the air.*

I'm surprised that with all of these stupid gymfails I haven't actually, you know, had an actual accident on a piece of equipment.  (Knocks on wood)

*I'm only slightly mortified that I shared that.  I could have been being paranoid, but no.  I own that.