Blog Redux

I really get a kick out of Chicken Little for some reason. He's cute on toast.

Disclaimer: This is (mostly) a response to my previous post "Mentors & Muscle Spasm" so you might want to read that one first...

My drunk blog remains the uncut version - checked for typos but otherwise left alone - and having read it this morning, I have some responses to...Myself.

My structural observation is that I think my writing in "Mentors & Muscle Spasm" lacks cohesion and self-editing. However, when I really think about it, the constant flip flop sans segue - commenting on everything from politics, to pop culture, to personal observations, to making exaggerated statements about all - that is really the process of how I think. So in that sense, it's an accurate/transparent record of my crazy mind.

"Welcome to the suck"...
The main thing that struck me as needing some clarification was my defense of Jarhead. I'm not quite sure now to whom I was defending the film, seeing as that I only know one person who saw it and disagreed with my positive review. Apparently I took real issue with A.O. Scott and frankly, in the light of today, I don't really care all that much. I'd give Jarhead a solid B+ but if A.O. and I disagree, that's cool, and I'd venture to say I don't necessarily have the right to be calling him "minor" or "retarded". And, I'd like to save my energy for others, for I think we can all agree that Judith Miller is retarded. Anyways, I found a good, fair review of Jarhead, it's from the Village Voice, you can check it out here.

Total Body Conditioning...I rue you.
In case any of you were wondering about my prediction, I was right, I can barely walk. I must take a moment to vent about my physical pain because last night I was at dinner with my family including my cousin who had in run the marathon, so obviously I couldn't complain in front of her. In general, I consider myself to be in fairly good shape but the thing is, I haven't really done many squats or lunges in my entire life, let alone 45 minutes straight of them. I apparently awoke some muscles that had been previously napping and they ain't pleased. I've been uber-sore before (shout out to to soccer pre-season in high school) but this is a global soreness that has taken over my entire body. I walk slowly and gingerly, I can barely get up or down stairs, and don't even get me started on trying to sit down. For those of you who are aware of my tiny Chiclet-size bladder, this is a big problem. I usually agree that exercising is followed by the release of happy endorphins, but my current emotional state is more akin to that lady in the "I've fallen and I can't get up" commercial. I've been attempting the My Left Foot move of picking stuff up with my toes because bending down is nearly impossible, but unfortunately even before this class I was inflexible, and now I'm like a stiff robot that needs to be oiled.
Oh, and my boss is calling me Limpy.

I guess that's all I have to say in reference to my last blog post (which a kind friend labeled "bloggorhea").

I leave you with a funny story to amuse on this Monday afternoon:

Last night, my aforementioned cousin - the one who ran in the marathon - regaled us with stories, specifically of the phenomenon that people run the marathon dressed up in various costumes. I had never heard of this but it's apparently quite common. The funniest one she saw was...a man running in a testicle suit! Yes, you read that correctly, a man was running the 26 miles dressed up in a styrofoam testicle costume! My cousin told this story at the dinner table, gleefully adding at the end, "and there were hairs sticking out of the balls!"