I Wonder Why I Love Going to the Movies So Much

Maybe it’s the super-salty popcorn. Maybe it’s the overpriced but oh-so-tasty Butterfinger Bites. Maybe it’s the gargantuan lobby posters that change every week. Or maybe it’s the sticky floors. (OK, it’s totally not that last one.)

I’m sure part of my cinematic love affair stems from the fact that my first job was as a concession girl at Shadybrook 10 Cinemas. Nepotism rules in all areas of the performing arts. My best friend Juls got a job there first, then got me hired six weeks later. I brought three friends and a sister on board before it was all said and done and I left for college as an assistant manager. I loved that job—all the free movies I wanted (and nobody ever enforced the “three friends a week” policy), all the popcorn and Concession #2 Sprite I wanted as long as I brought my own cups, all the chatting with customers who were excited to have a night away from the kids or who were nervous about their first date or who were there mostly b/c Juls and I were working and they wanted to see IQ or Forrest Gump or Mortal Kombat gratis.

And now that I’ve returned to the other side of the ticket counter, I keen for the excitement that spills over me when the house lights finally go down and I’ve seen so many previews I have to turn to The Boy and whisper, “What movie are we seeing again? Oh yeah. I remembered while I was asking.” I love the laughter that usually starts with me but soon crashes over the whole audience like a wave until everyone is staring up and ahead with mouths open and hands clasped with loved ones or clapping or clutching a belly or spread over a chest to try to keep from bursting into sparks of happiness. I relish the catch in my heart when someone on screen says something true and right and I know I’ll never forget that moment with all its beauty and music and magic. I adore feeling dazed and sated and fuzzy when the credits have rolled and The Boy has to tug on my sleeve a little to bring me back to here/now so we can leave the theatre and talk about the story and the acting and the concept and the jokes and the tragedy all the way home.

What should we go see this weekend?

I Wonder What I Look Like From Behind.

So there is good news and bad news. The bad news is that I rarely, if ever, do a little turn to see what I look like from behind. The good news is that I rarely fret over this issue. So, I had to do some special research with regard to this topic. It was, um, eye opening.

I did a little twirl in the mirror this morning. I wanted to be honest and fair, so I did it without clothes on. Racy, eh? Uh, no.

My hair isn't so awful from the back. It's short, growing out, and I manage to tame it fairly well. It's in that strange growing out stage, so I am sure that on some days I look like an ex-Flock of Seagulls member. Hair: Work in progress. My neck and back are pretty okay. I don't worry about them very often unless I am stressed. Neck and back? Not so bad. My ever-expanding backside is an issue for me as are the stretch marks and cellulite. That part of me isn't pretty from behind. At all. Apparently, it doesn't matter how much running or exercising I do. It just gets worse every year. Backside? Not so good. My legs are pretty okay since I run. They are fairly muscular, but they are usually covered in bruises. Superman is always asking where I got them from and I never remember running into anything. Legs? Pretty okay!

So, I re-did the little twirl in the mirror before leaving for work -- After I put my clothes on. Ah, muuuuch better.

I Wonder What I Look Like from the Rear?

This is a topic I actually spend many hours consciously not wondering about. If I’m not out there being a gym bunny every other day (as I did very diligently from mid-February to mid-May but then immediately killed the habit when my gym-bunny buddy left town for the summer), what right do I have to fret about how I look to others when I walk away? I am not faced with super jane’s horror of a three-way mirror at work; there are only three (two, really, as one’s decorative and in the hallway and a 10”x10” square) mirrors in my home. I can mostly remain blissfully unaware most of the time.

I have been thinking lately, though, about how I view my whole self—front and back—mentally. I often surprise myself when I look in the mirror and see myself in the present … so much so that I actually do a double-take sometimes. This is because in my mind’s eye, I think I still envision the 21-year-old me. (So sad I missed that entry from last week—my 21st year was, well, an experience!) Yes, I still think that I’m that young, tiny blonde. So when I see photos of myself or really stop to look at myself in the mirror (or windows, which I often do when shopping), I’m shocked to see an older, not-very-tiny almost-brown-haired person. It’s hard to reconcile the two images. They’re separated by almost a decade and many inches of all kinds.

I know I probably look better from behind in reality than I think I do, if The Boy is to be believed. But he’s a man, so he can’t be trusted to see as clearly as another WonderWoman—or a total stranger. But like I stated at the beginning of this wonder, I’m going to go back to telling myself that nobody ever sees me except from the front and as a towheaded, slender twentysomething.

Self-delusion. It’s a beautiful thing.

i wonder about my behind.

unfortunately, i have a pretty good idea as to what i look like from behind. we have mirrors on 3 of the bathroom walls here at my office, so every time i get done doing my thing, i am forced to look at the back of myself as i wash my hands.

let's start with my hair and work my way down.

my hair is long and falls below my shoulders. it used to be straight as a board, but over the years it is starting to get wavier and wavier, especially if i let it air dry. and that, my friends, is where the problem with my hair lies. i usually blow dry my hair in the morning, but the front of my hair receives the most heat. consequently, the front of my hair is fairly straight while the back of my hair (which is usually damp after my quick blow dry) is quite wavy. in my opinion, it just doesn't look pretty. i could cure this by taking the extra 5-7 minutes needed each morning to ensure that my hair is completely dry in both front and back. but, come on, folks. that's 5-7 whole minutes that i could be doing something more important - like sleeping. plus, i don't have anyone here at work that i need to (or want to) impress, so why bother?

like g-love i too am plagued with a cowlick. except that mine is in the very front of my head, located on the left hand side, right about my eyebrow. what causes cowlicks anyway? aren't they they most bizarre little things? whatever their origin, they suck and are little things that make a huge difference in the world of vanity.

okay, making my way down my body, the next stop naturally would be at my face. it's okay. it's fine. i look lots better when i walk into the office all freshly made up than i do when i leave at 4:30pm. by late afternoon, my face is awfully shiny and not soft looking at all. oh wait, that's the front of me. sorry...i need to keep on topic.

back to my backside. i guess that's where i land next. yep, my patooty. my sister says i have a nice butt, but i'm not so sure. it's just there. thankfully, i didn't inherit my father's flat butt. i don't have a nice, full, ghetto booty either. i'm somewhere in the middle and i'm okay with that. i hate panty lines, but most days i have them. i hate the way my curves appear in pants/skirts/etc. i don't have a nice hourglass figure; rather, i have this lumpy appearance that begins just below my stomach and continues to the tops of my thighs. i think i used to look better from behind before i had children. now, i just blame my lumpiness and even wavy hair on my kids.

that's the best thing, i suppose. while i may not be 100% satisfied with the way i look from behind (and let's not kid ourselves...not many people are), i can always blame it on having been pregnant and given birth to 2 children even if it may not be entirely true. surely those cinnabons i snarfed down last night didn't have anything to do with my lumpiness, right?

I wonder what my hair looks like from the back? And other questions.

One of the deepest questions I know for an egotistical actor such as myself is – how do other people see me? What am I like? Would I like me, if I met me on the street? More to the point of this post – WOULD I LIKE MY HAIR?

I’ve never been a big risk taker when it comes to hair. My hair is long, brown, and cut into layers but not in a funky way. More in a please make my very thin limp hair look bigger kind of way. I haven’t always been so chicken. Once when I was in Australia I had a boyfriend chop it with kitchen shears and dye it red. (It was one of those kind of weekends). One other time when I was pretty slim I cut it short enough that it needed shaved in the back. I was very stylish then. I’ve discovered though, as my swivel chair spread is spreading further and further and my cheeks get chubbier and chubbier (that’s the cheeks on my face people), that longer hair is a good camouflage for a few extra pounds. On me, on this current office worker body, short hair makes me a pinhead on top of a pear. So I do the long hair thing.

Long as my hair is, though, there is an undeniable cowlick in the back. My hairdresser calls this a “whorl.” Whorl Schmorl, it’s a cowlick that leaves a spot of pasty scalp showing through my very dark hair. I struggle with styling this thing into oblivion. Sometimes I can manage it. Other times, when I’m running late, when I don’t have any customers or interviews set up at work, I just leave it and try not to let anybody walk behind me. Tall people are a problem. Tall people can see the whorl. I keep my distance from tall people.

So, from the back, if I had to guess, I’d say people describe my hair as long, dark, layered, with a whorl in the top right back “corner” (if round heads could be described as having corners), frequently tangled, and thereby frequently caught up in a claw barrette. This claw barrette style is my default ‘do. Few days pass without seeing me in a claw barrette by the end. It hides the whorl.

This is a wandering wondering post. It leads my mind to wondering about other questions, such as – Do people notice when my fingernails are dirty? How does my nose look today? And the inescapable - Does my butt look big/jiggly/bad in these pants?

I think this is a sea of questions that we don’t want to jump into, a road we don’t want to go down, an iceberg that’s submerged and should stay that way, and various other metaphors.

If this post has you thinking about questions that bring you down - if you're currently questioning the jiggliness of your butt and the wisdom of your choice of underpants today - if you're running your fingers through your hair self consciously and wondering if you look ok - then remember this mantra “If you can’t change the way you look, change the way you see.”

Peace and love to all of us, beautiful and flawed, jiggly and tangly-haired, however we may look to people from behind - G Love

I Wonder What Took So Long

This is an article in USA Today on a topic that I first heard about on NPR this morning. The article is from February of this year, but the topic has resurfaced since Wimbledon 2007 is about to start. The first sentence sums up what I wish to discuss, so I repeat it here:

"After years of holding out against equal prize money, Wimbledon bowed to public pressure Thursday and agreed to pay women players as much as the men at the world's most prestigious tennis tournament."

The French Open only started paying equal prize money for the champion last year, though men still win more money overall at that competition. The article says that the U.S. and Australian Opens have paid equal money for years. To be more specific, I found that the U.S. has paid equal prize money for 35 years; I couldn't find when Australia started - but I did note in my research (performed surreptitiously at work, via internet, so don't quote me) that it stopped paying equally from 1996-2000, then took up the practice again.

Here's another more sinister example of the same discrimination. Lilly Ledbetter worked for Goodyear for years. She may or may not have been a good employee - she had some poor performance reviews, but she and other females claim that women overall tended to be rated lower than men. As an HR Manager myself, I appreciate the difficulty of dealing with a sub-par employee who demands similar perks to the high performers (it's usually the worst workers who complain to me the most). But I've also heard from management such comments as "the guys aren't ready for a woman to be in charge of them," "I don't think our customers would like dealing with a black person," and "girls don't like to get their hands dirty, so we'd better hire/promote/give a raise to the guy." Back to our story - after a 19 year career during which, despite her "poor performance," she was promoted, she received an anonymous tip that she was paid less than the men in her department - not only men with her same job title and experience, but also other men in the same job who were new hires. Not only did this impact her pocketbook to the tune of $225,000 over her 19 year career - it also lowered her 401K match eligibility, her Social Security payouts in retirement, her life insurance coverge, her ability to purchase homes. The list goes on.

She was awarded a payout which has since been overturned by the newly conservative Supreme Court. The reason? The statute of limitations on discrimination claims per the Equal Employement Opportunity Commission is 6 months. Even though she filed her claim immediately after receiving knowledge of her discrimination, because it extends over a 19 year career she isn't entitled to anything past the final 6 months. Even though the discrimination was occurring without her knowledge.

So it's not a huge revelation here that men are typically paid more than women, for any and every thing. And it's not particularly useful to gripe unless one gripes with an end to change. So I won't gripe. I'll just throw this out there, to my fellow Wonder Women, and any readers we may have. The work isn't over. If women from blue collar Lilly Ledbetter to famous tennis stars like Jennifer Capriati and Serena Williams are still being shortchanged, then we still have a lot of fighting to do. I would love to come up with some sort of cause to link you to that we could support, but I have to get back to work. At my job. My HR job traditionally held by females that falls in a pay bracket significantly lower than more male dominated fields. Ah, the subtle, subversive nature of discrimination.

Not feeling the love today - G Love

I Wonder How I Would Do 21 Over Again...

This whole topic came to be when two guys in my office were talking about how they would do over their 21st year. The first guy said that he would never go back and do 21 over again -- he'd had enough fun and misery and didn't want to do that to himself again. The other guy said that he would have more fun -- he'd been in the military and needless to say wasn't living it up at fraternity parties every weekend. It got me to thinking. Would I want to do 21 over again? And, if I did, what would I change?

I turned 21 in the winter of my junior year of college. It was a Monday and the year started off with a bang. Monday nights were a big night for going out to the "bars" that we had near our little campus. (1) A guy we knew from school was also turning 21, so he and his buddies were there. We ended up doing a bunch of shots together and my night ended with my boyfriend laughing hysterically at me wanting him to take care of me and my sorority big sister telling me that she wasn't going to leave me alone. I didn't drink anything I didn't want to and there were no tears shed at all that night. (2) I woke up hangover free and ready for my first day as a 21 year old adult with a smile on my face. (3) In all honesty, I really did have a pretty good 21st birthday celebration.

My 21st year found me dating a guy that I had been with for two years and thought that I was going to marry. Looking back, he really was a sweet guy for the most part, but he is probably in the top three most selfish men I've dated. I broke up with him the morning after my 21st birthday celebration after I realized that him laughing at me was because he was a jerk and not the sweet guy I thought he was. (4)

I worked at a neighborhood swimming pool for the summer of year 21. It was a really fun job and I don't regret working there at all. I do regret not going out more often during the summer though. I wish I had really used my last summer of true freedom to my advantage. (5)

I spent the fall of my 21st year completely stressed out as most seniors in college do. At the college I attended, we have two things that all seniors dread. Senior comps and independent study. I still shudder thinking about it. All fall I busted my tail to complete my independent study so that I wouldn't have to do both that AND my senior comps in the same semester. I hardly went out, I was nervous about failing, and I made myself needlessly miserable. (6) It was during this fall that I also took over the recruitment chair position in my sorority. This was one of the most rewarding things that I've ever done, so I don't regret it, but it really did stress me out. Nearly every time someone would talk to me about it, this sentence would come out of their mouth, "We're depending on you. If this doesn't work out, we don't know what will happen to our house." Grrreeeat. No pressure there. In the end, the recruitment effort was a wild success, but the stress was insane. I think I slept for a week after that whole ordeal. (7)

By the time my 22nd birthday dawned, I was a transformed lady. I had a new boyfriend who would wait almost a year before cheating on me (8) and I had a houseful of support from my sorority sisters. I had a fantastic second semester and ended my college career on quite a high note. (9)

(1) So I guess I got lucky that ten people were there.
(2) I cried in the bathroom over my friends made me do a blow-job shot off the gross guy who was turning 21 that night too. He was, um, creeeeeepy.
(3) I woke up to my first full day of being 21 hanging over a trash can and praying for death. It was a lovely start.
(4) I wish that I had tossed him to the curb earlier than I did and I also wish that I hadn't played the make-up/break-up game with him until December of my 21st year.
(5) Instead, I worked constantly and would pass out in bed from exhaustion every night.
(6) I wish I could deny that part and say something witty, but I was a pretty unhappy gal that fall.
(7) Honestly, I think I went out and got totally wasted. Thus began my triumphant return to party girl. The second semester of my senior year is what I like to call "My Experiment in Terror and Partying." It was awesome.
(8) I know how to pick them, don't I?
(9) Walk of Shame, anyone? I did it 20 minutes before my parents arrived for my college graduation! Sweet!

Of course, all of these things worked out in the end. I think there are things that most of us would change, but I don't know that any of us would actually want to go back and re-do the whole experience. While I do miss the freedom and fun of my 21st year and the joy that came from having all of my closest friends in one place, I'm happy that I had that year so that it could bring me to where I am now. I am quite enjoying my 30th year.

MSO Rin is Not On This Continent

Unfortunately, there will be no post from MSO Rin this week due to her good fortune of being in Prague. We hope she is having a wonderful time and doing some things that she might not have done when she was 21! Safe travels, MSO Rin and we can't wait for you to be back next week!

i wonder about a re-do at 21.

i honestly don't think i would change a thing about my 21st year. nothing in particular stands out, so i'm assuming that it went okay. or maybe it didn't and i'm just blocking it all? *scratches head*

i turned 21 in january of my junior year in college. we had just started our 2nd semester and i didn't have a huge bash or anything. i remember my roommate and jas took me to a local watering hole called "shipley's." we had a few shots (mainly apple pucker) and then went back to campus to celebrate. we traipsed from fraternity house to fraternity house and i got my fair share of free drinks. it was nice. it was a typical saturday night on campus.

i guess you could say that technically, i spent some of my 21st year in my senior year of college. i had a ball during that 1st semester and while i did some things that i'm embarrassed of now or even ashamed of, i'm not sure i would re-do it. you live and learn, you know? those events (aka mistakes) build character, right? i guess so, but most importantly...they also allowed me to have a kick ass time.

I wonder what it would be like to do age 21 over again?

Here is my imagined re-do of my 21st year. It was largely a good year, but there are a few things I would change (written in bold italics). See footnotes below for what actually happened in place of my edits.

_______________________________________________________________

I turned 21 at the end of 1999. **I had a blowout bash where I gathered my high school friends from California, college friends from the Midwest, and a few others I’d met in life along the way, and we all went to Vegas. I won a thousand bucks gambling and bought everyone’s drinks all weekend. My parents were sort of nervous about it but I told them TOO BAD!**

I started my senior year a few days later. I worked on finishing up classes, and also had several small part time jobs, so I could save up money for travels I had planned. It was hard work, but a lot of fun, too. I really enjoyed my theatre work and my friends. In February of my 21st year, I flew on a plane to Australia. &&It was a direct flight from LA to Sydney, my final destination.&& I was met at the airport by my boyfriend. ##I walked right past him into a taxi, ignoring his shouts, and sped off to the university where I would finish up school, dating freely and enjoying myself after a loooong semester of working every free hour and saving every penny.##

At the end of my studies, I bought a car and drove up the coast, exploring, meeting new people, and maturing. I snorkeled at the Great Barrier Reef. I hiked to the Byron Bay Lighthouse. I walked through tropical rainforests, sunned myself on beaches, and @@lost ten pounds from all the activity. @@ I made lifelong friends in the hostels.

I returned to Sydney and got a job under the table at a coffee bar. I flew home briefly during this period to walk in my college graduation - the plane tickets were a gift from a friend, a gift I will always treasure. I went to several Olympics events. ++I skipped work the night of the Opening Ceremonies and went to a mate’s house to watch it together, cheering and drinking all night.++ I went to the Closing Ceremony fireworks at the Sydney Harbor Bridge, and joined thousands upon thousands of visitors celebrating downtown.

$$I spent my 22nd birthday in Bali, having saved enough money to take the short flight over there and explore some of Asia.$$ I knew I had 3 months left in Australia, and knew that after my trip was over and I returned home, the world was my oyster.

_____________________________________________________________

** I WAS AT MY PARENTS’ NEW HOUSE IN A NEW STATE. THEY WERE AFRAID TO MENTION ALCOHOL. IT WAS CUTE, AND ALSO LAAAAAME.**

&&I FLEW FROM CINCINNATI TO DETROIT. DETROIT TO SAN FRANCISCO. SAN FRANCISCO TO LA. LA TO AMSTERDAM. AMSTERDAM TO TOKYO. TOKYO TO MALAYSIA, WHERE I SPENT A 24 HOUR LAYOVER. MALAYSIA TO BRISBANE. BRISBANE TO SYDNEY. IT TOOK ME 55 HOURS. $300 WOULD HAVE BOUGHT ME A DIRECT FLIGHT. SILLY, SILLY ME.&&

##I KISSED HIM HELLO, AND THEN TOOK ALL MY HARD-EARNED MONEY OUT OF MY BANK AND LIT IT ON FIRE.##

@@GAINED TWENTY POUNDS FROM ALL THE BEER AND MCDONALDS.@@

++ I WORKED, HE WENT TO THE PARTY. OHHHH, HE WAS A BASTARD.++

$$I WANTED TO SPEND MY 22nd BIRTHDAY IN BALI, BUT SPENT THE MONEY ON BUYING HIZ ROYAL LAZINESS A PLANE TICKET HOME. INSTEAD, I WAS – YOU GUESSED IT – WORKING.$$

_____________________________________________________________

In closing – I loved my 21st year. I would go back and tell my younger self to kick that man to the curb, but other than that, I wouldn’t change a thing! And I still enjoyed my travels in spite of Hiz Royal Laziness. We all make mistakes. Australia though – Australia was not a mistake. Not in the least. No, 21 was a pretty good year for me. How about you?

Peace and Love to those of us coming up to the 8th/9th/10th anniversary of our 21st birthdays - G

I Wonder Why This Makes Me Laugh So Hard...

Lately Superman and I have been on a funny commercial kick. I mean to say that we judge commercials and lately have found a few that make us laugh -- a lot. A typical evening will find us parked in our living room with the television tuned to something that is either
a) awesomely bad reality t.v.; b) Discovery channel; or c) a comedy. Each of these offers a different type of entertainment, but they also offer varying commercials. Here are the three that are making me laugh the most right now (I hope you've seen them!).

The Cingular Wireless commercial with the mom and the little girl. I call it the idkmybffjill commercial. The mom is asking the little girl about who she is texting all the time and the little one replies, "idk, my bff, jill." she says it so matter of factly and i love the tone of her voice. It's very, "Duh, mom, I'm totally texting my friend and we speak in this text language all. the. time." The mom takes the little gal's phone as punishment and as she is walking away, the little girl says, "This is snf!" The Mom looks irritated and in an attempt to speak her daughter's language, she says, "Me paying this bill is what's s (pause) n (pause) f!" Hilarious. This commercial even comes with captions! Genius! http://youtube.com/watch?v=4nIUcRJX9-o

The Geico commercial in which they are interviewing the Geico Gecko about why he got chosen. He says something about geckos and how it sounds like Geico and then compares how a different animal would have been used if the company had a different name. He says something about a puma and the way he enunciates the word is priceless. After the gecko says puma, I hear nothing. I've stopped listening. I'm entranced by the puma. Superman and I can be heard at various points during the day yelling, "Pu-ma!" in fake Australian accents to each other. It makes us laugh. http://www.geico.com/video/puma_h.htm

The last commercial is one for Cox Communications. This commercial opens with a guy standing in the center of a room full of sports memorabilia. He's got stripes all over his body and he is talking to someone on the phone. Apparently, he's gotten some tattoos and wants them removed. The Cox Communications application is supposed to make his message more clear, but, "Sorry, Roger, you tiger now," is all he hears. This one is gold! Superman and I say this to each other constantly when something doesn't go our way. The image of a man with permanent tiger stripes is awesome enough, but when the guy on the other end pronounces him a tiger, I was completely won over. http://www.ifilm.com/video/2830858

Happy Friday!

Hello (Hello, Hello) Is there anybody out there?

Honestly, I don't know about this one. Sorry to disappoint you by not having some great theory about this, but I just don't know. I'm not studying the galaxies and planets for information and, for some reason, it really doesn't matter much to me. I figure some old guy who has been studying all of this for the past fifty years should have a breakthrough any day now. He would deserve to.

There's evidence to point in either direction, so I'm just going to wait for the scientists to tell me. In the mean time, I'll go listen to some Pink Floyd and imagine astronauts floating in space.

I Wonder if We're Alone

It’s pretty presumptuous of us humans to assume we’ve got the market cornered on intelligent life … well, on life, anyway. Let’s leave the ‘intelligent’ modifier off.

What I really wonder is if, somewhere out there in the vast reaches, some other being is sitting around at work wondering the same thing. Maybe remarking to a coworker over a cup of eeffoc, “Hey, Egroeg, do you think there might be some other tenalp way far away that is inhabited by, I don’t know, sgniht that work and eat and sleep and go to the rodeo like we do? Wouldn’t that be yzarc? I don’t know, man, it’s pretty dliw if you think about it.”

That would mean we’re thinking about each other right now and we don’t even know it. I gotcher meta right here, Mr. Kaufman!

is there life out there?

i dunno about this one. i guess technically i believe in life in outer space, if you want to count single celled creatures and such. i just have a really hard time believing that there are other forms of highly functioning life out there.

bacteria? sure.

protazoa? okay.

moss? i'll buy that.

other human-like creatures that eat, sleep, and drink like those of us on planet earth? umm...no.

but, then again, i did have some funky neighbors back where i used to live? they lived in a multi-colored blue house that played ninjas in their back yard while they swung nunchucks at each other and their pit bulls. they were definitely a bit odd... okay, i take back my originial answer. maybe...

I Wonder Whether We Are the Only Life in the Universe

Sometimes, this question leads me to thinking about
· Movies about aliens
· Little green men with probes and lasers
· Sci fi shows like Firefly (my all time favorite tv series, cancelled too soon, alas)
· Werewolves
· Science fiction novels by Robert Heinlein

. . . and my imagination runs wild with the wacky possibilities. I want to write stories and novels and children’s songs, and wish I could draw or paint so I could show you all the fantastic scenes that play through my mind.

Sometimes, this question leads me to thinking about
· Carbon-based life forms, and how we are all guilty of non-carbon-life discrimination (Who says granite isn’t alive? Why, creatures not made of granite, that’s who)
· The mind-blowing pictures from the Mars Rover
· Solar system models from elementary school
· Space shuttle missions and how nowadays they get no fanfare at all (NASA totally needs a new publicist)
· How unfathomably long a light year actually is

. . . and an old childhood desire to be an astronaut is rekindled, and some love of science which is buried deep (I say deeeeeep) in my soul is touched, and flickers awake for a moment.

Sometimes, this question leads me to thinking about
· God
· Angels
· Ghosts
· Unbelievable coincidence
· Death, and where we go when it happens
· Microcosms and macrocosms and just ‘cosms in general, and how everything is just like everything else, and nothing like anything else

. . . and I realize how lonely I really am right this second, how lonely we all are, and how small, and how large. How ignorant and how hopeful. How alive and unreal and inexplicable we are. I feel breathless terror at the abyss of universe that we are all perched on the edge of, and a little thrill to wonder what it would be like to suddenly fall off the earth, up into the sky, and float into space, and I wonder how long it would be before my body was annihilated and how much I would see before that happened. It would almost be worth it.

I feel like a pinky toe dipped into a fathomless, still, dark underground lake. Of and not of. Touched. Unseeing, unknowing, but with a vague sense of being enveloped by some great mysterious thing.

I wonder, indeed.

Peace and freaked out interstellar love to all you carbon-based life forms - G

I Wonder Why I Can't ...

… make flossing a habit. I mean, come on, self, it’s not that hard! You take a piece of Glide (or the Target equivalent), twist the ends around some fingers—one from each hand is the best method—and you go to town on that evil, evil plaque!

I’ve read the articles. I’ve heard it from my dentist. I’ve felt the guilt. But I just can’t make it a habit. 30 days straight of that strangely unsettling plinking/pick-pick noise? A month of sensitive gums? Four weeks of getting grossed out when emptying the bathroom trash can? Can’t do it. Sorry, teeth! Sorry, heart!

Does anyone have suggestions? I want to floss. I want to engage actively in personal dental care beyond brushing two to three times a day. I just … can’t. HELP ME!

I Wonder Why a Good Run Feels So Good...

It's no secret to anyone that knows me that I'm a runner. I've been a runner for about three years now and I still have the bug. I still get up every morning looking forward to pounding the pavement (or the treadmill).

I think running feels good for several reasons. It's a chance to escape reality for a brief time. I can blast my iPod and rock out to "Sweet Home Alabama" or disco along to The Hues Corporation. I can think about my upcoming day or about the funny thing that happened the night before. I like being in my own world for forty-five minutes. There's something almost hypnotic about the repetitive motion of running and before I know it, the time has flown by.

As an ex-athlete, I love pushing my limits. I love being surprised by what my body can do and how much it can achieve. It was a great lesson for me early on in life that I was strong and could push myself to do things that at first seemed impossible. I still love this. I love approaching a big hill and at first thinking, "Uh, absolutely no way is that happening," and then kicking that hill's butt. It makes me feel like Rocky!

One of the things that feels most great about a good run is that the entire time I feel like I am burning a million calories. I ate a Twinkie yesterday? Who cares, I'm running it off! Not only are you accomplishing something physically by pushing your body, you are teaching yourself that you can do it -- and the big bonus is that you can eat Cheetos for dinner!

Sometimes the best feeling is the feeling after the run. Seriously. There are days when I suck wind and have to stop in the middle of that big hill because my asthma is threatening to drop me right there and never come back to pick me up. Even on the days when the run is fantastic and I feel like I could run for hours, it feels great to finish. I'm sweating like a buffalo and my lungs are burning, but I've really accomplished something. What a great way to start the day!

I Wonder Why _______ Feels So Good?

For starters, our bed is old. Older than we are as a couple. It came with The Boy; he’d had it for at least two girlfriends before me. There was many an argument over its banishment from our collection when we married and our furniture joined forces. It symbolized the former, the no-longer, the past. Until I realized just how much a new one would cost.

It’s a crappy brand, the name of which I can’t even remember. The fabric is Pepto-Bismol pink with poorly-designed blue and green flora snaking across it.

It’s not a perfect fit … we have to put it up on wooden blocks (The Boy made them from scrap at work and we felt environmental and superior because we reclaimed our bed boosters instead of buying them at Linens’n Things). We must make very sure the cross-slats don’t move too far toward one side or the other or else one corner of the box spring will fall through the frame and possibly squash a cat. It’s also loud and very scary to experience when you’re in the bed and it falls.

The bottom where that gauzy, scratchy material covers the box spring is exposed because it ripped long ago and the cats would alternately chew the gauzy, scratchy material and climb through the rip to hide inside the box spring whenever the doorbell rang. So we had to cut it all off.

The sides of the box spring and the mattress are all picked—cats again the culprits. Those plastic handles on the sides are broken, so it’s a pain and a half to flip or move.

So why does our bed feel so good? I. Love. It. It’s always comfortable and always inviting and always there for me. I am one of those people who comes home from anywhere—a vacation, a visit with friends, Christmas with our families, house-/dog-sitting for one night at a location not five minutes from my house—and says, “[sigh] I can’t wait to sleep in my own bed.” Even if there’s no one in the vicinity to hear me say it, I must say it out loud.

We’ve talked off and on about getting a new bed and moving this bed into the second bedroom. We always chicken out. What if the new bed isn’t as … well, as perfect?

Our bed is awesome. It feels goooooooood. I wish I were in it right now.

i wonder why those prickly, nail things...

...feel so good.

do you know what i'm talking about? those rectangular boxes filled with small nail-like pins that mold to whatever shape you stick in there? i'm not sure what they're called and i can't even find a picture of one on google.

back in the day those things just rocked. my friends and i would go to spencer's gifts in the mall and pull one off the rack. we'd put our hands in it...we'd stick up our middle finger and then giggle. we'd even put them on our faces which now really grosses me out, because seriously, how many other people put their faces in it too? it's just too nasty for me to even think about.

anyway, i loved the feel of those nail-like pins on my skin. and isn't that weird? because i would never think of just taking a regular old nail and poking myself, so why would i enjoy that feeling multiplied by 200?

I Wonder Why *ITEM OF CHOICE Feels So Good?

Sand. I wonder why sand feels so good.

In my car. In my house. In my sandwich. In between my toes. Sand is awesome. Even when you plan a beach weekend with friends? And you drive real far to get there? And you pack up all your beach chairs and your swimsuit and your sunscreen and your Coronas and your bug spray and the two-person beach towel that your husband’s wacky aunt gave you as a “congratulations you’re dating” present years ago? And then it rains most of the weekend? Even then, sand makes it all ok.

I’m an oceanfront lovin’ girl. Sea air makes the hair curly and piecey, how I like it. It makes the skin taste salty. Beach walking exfoliates the feet, exercises the calves, and leads to contented contemplation. One seems so small next to the enormity of the ocean. The immediacy of the cold. The inevitability of the tide. The sand on which you beach-walk is a great metaphor, useful in deep thinking. Big things get broken up into little things. You get enough little pieces of things together and build a totally new thing, called the beach. Or you look at the little pieces one at a time and they sparkle. When you set your Corona down in it, it holds the bottle up. Sand is excellent.

Even this short somewhat chilly weekend with friends at their beach house was enough to regenerate. We sat in the sand with blankets, digging our toes around, massaging it into our hands, lifting it and shaking it out and doodling with one finger. The time with friends felt good. The sea air felt great. And the sand, warmed up by the sun, scratchy on my legs, scritchy in my ears, scrunchy in my sandwich. It felt very good, like it always does.

I Wonder Where I'll Live...

This topic is extremely appropriate at this time in my life. It is something that Superman and I discuss constantly. Where would we like to live? What would our ideal location be like? And here's the conclusion we've come to: who the heck knows at this point?

We don't even know where we will be in two years; how could we possibly predict where we will be in ten? What I do know is that I would like to not be here, in DC, but Superman loves it and his job is here. So, maybe I will have to learn to love this place and will have to raise a family in a place that is so expensive it makes my teeth hurt.

Instead of thinking negatively, I've decided to do some positive thinking. Let's pretend we win the lottery and can live anywhere we choose! Here are a couple of places that I wouldn't mind living.

Option A: Somewhere tropical! How great would it be to sit on the beach all day, sip fruity cocktails, and get my feet massaged by some guy named Franz? I would have no worries about when my next shipment of fine jewels would be arriving because my butler would be on top of that for me. My home would be on top of a bluff overlooking the sparkling ocean and there would be sunshine every day.

Option B: Back Home! Yes, if I had an unlimited supply of money I would consider moving back to Indiana. It is where my family is, it really is a beautiful part of the country, and it is a good place to raise a family. My money would certainly go farther here than most other places in the world and I wouldn't feel guilty about spending a little bit more of the money we saved by living in such an affordable place.

Option C: Las Vegas! Vegas is a place that I've long fantasized about moving to. It is always such a fun place and there is always something going on. You have great weather, the Strip, the desert, and so many cool hotel pools! I know this isn't necessarily a place that I would want to raise a family, but I think it would be a fun place for Superman and I to explore together. I just know that there is more to it than casinos and showgirls.

In all seriousness, I really don't know where we will end up. It mostly depends on Superman's job and what industry he chooses to work in. Although we've agreed that we both have to want to move to the place that we choose. So, it should be an adventure! An adventure I look forward to.