For you, the dress code is casual.

Tuesday, May 29, 2007

And Suddenly She Wrote

Wow. I could be a real writer or somethin'. I actually wrote something pretty decent for the first time in forever. Feels awesome. THIS is why I do that. THIS feeling. I articulated. I said exactly what I wanted to say and I didn't have to fight to make it happen.

Wish this would happen every time, but then I guess there's a little thrill in the pursuit and that's what makes the occasional catching of it so damned sweet.

So as not to fuck it up, I'll stop here. :) Off to make Mexican rice for the much-lauded chicken burritos in the last posting. I'm going slow. Ha.

Sunday, May 27, 2007

Laziness on a Sunday

Sigh. Lazy day. Oh, so VERY lazy.

My accomplishments: Half-prepared a batch of black beans (which are destined to be a Havana'd batch of refried black beans for burrito wraps I'll be freezing for work) and roasted a chunk of beef.

That's it. And a few groceries. It's awesome. Trouble is, I borrowed my brother's boxsets of The Sopranos. Can you say DVD-a-thon? Mm-kay. Art of time suckage. Thank you, HBO! Smooches. The home of Weeds and The Wire and all things good.

So, the Sopranos and Facebook: where my day went. I just joined Facebook. Holy mother of God is it ever addictive. Like mainlining crack or something. Shit. I could be here all strung out for days. This six-degree stuff's wicked.

But I have a three day weekend and can atone for sins of slackage tomorrow. I mean, fuck, I have three more seasons of Sopranos to watch. GAH! Trapped!

Honestly, though, I'm shoring up energy. The month ahead of me is going to be hell. There are two MAJOR school concerts, three small school concerts, awards to organize, a school year program to conjure, pre-registration to begin, a major going away party, and my small goal of cycling to and from work two to three times a week, which is so far really punishing my body.

A little slack couldn't hurt me. Next weekend I have one day off. Wah.

Anyhow, tomorrow the plan is to make some homemade Mexican rice (with tomatoes, peppers, cilantro, et al) to go with the refried black beans (for which I saved some bacon fat -- shoot me now. Shudder!) and some poached chicken, homemade salsa, sour cream, and a touch of cheese, in a tomato wrap. Lunches just took it up a notch. I'll make about 10 or 12 and freeze them. Between them and the curry ones made with my brother, I'll have nearly a month's worth of work lunches, if not about 5 weeks actually! Homemade Mexican rice and refried black beans with lime juice and bacon fat! DEAR GOD!

Life just got a) cheaper and b) healthier. (No, really, aside from the bacon fat... and sour cream and cheese... okay, the burritos are for cycling days. "Fuel.")

Well, if I don't watch it, I might just accomplish more today, so I'm putting a stop to this posting and going back to The Sopranos.

Tomorrow's my real Sunday anyhow. This one's just for practice.

Monday, May 21, 2007

Shorn! At Long Last!

I blew off the loveable GayBoy today when my schedule began looking dicey. The plan was a hockey game, which I hope he's enjoying as I type. Instead? I got a haircut. YAY HAIRCUT!

I was looking a little mop-top there for a bit but now it's nice and manageably short again. Praise Jesus.

I've bought fish for supper. Tonight we dine on halibut. This is two fish steaks in two weeks. Unfrigginbelievable. Cooked BY me FOR me. I could wind up being a healthy person before long after all. Whodathunk it?

Tomorrow, I get off my fat ass and cycle to work for the first time in about a week and a half. I think my body's needed this break because the inflammation and residual burn-out was killing me for the last two weeks. This weekend was a rainout, and tomorrow the sun's supposed to resume, just in time. I think it was the cosmos' way of telling me I deserved a weekend of slack. Deserve or not, it's what I had.

Back to the fish. My chiropractor has me on Omega-3 supplements. Apparently the omega-3 fatty acids are (not created by the body and is only taken in through food) largely responsible for moods. Lack of them can lead to depression. HMM. It apparently is also a huge factor in how your body fends off inflammation. I'm depressed and I have a bad record with inflammation. Don't you just love remedial mathematics?

Apparently a lack of omega-3 can make your thinking foggy, too. And that's another thing I've been suffering of late. Go figger! Anyhow, I'm now Omega-3'ing and have started working flax seed into my diet in a number of ways, and have branched into the seafood-eating thing.

(Tonight's fish: Halibut on a bed of corn, red peppers, sweet onion, lime, and cilantro, baked in parchment. We'll see how it all unfolds, pun intended.)

Friday, May 18, 2007

Sigh. Curse You, Cosmos (and Landlord)

It's Friday morning and for the first time in 10 days, I have the energy to cycle to work. That it's the Friday before a long weekend certainly isn't hurting matters. The weather's gorgeous, all is well.

So, I get downstairs to mount my trusty steed, to find what? That when my landlord "cleaned up" the boiler room (my steed likes it hot; what can I tell ya?) two days ago, she relocated my beloved red standing air pump somewhere. I can't find my mini pump, and my tire's flat. Now I'm pissed because it's a Presta valve, so I can't just take it to the gas station. Thus I'm getting changed in a minute and scooting to work.

Which is a major disappointment, as I've not cycled at all this week. I'm just gonna have to punish myself on a couple rides this weekend. Atone for sins and all.

Every now and then I put my Catholic heritage to the test. I'm not about to don a hair shirt or begin self-flagellation any time soon, but I've got the guilt thing down pat. To be fair, I've had a rough couple weeks physically. My accident history and prone to doing dumb shit ensures I go through a two-week pain-filled adjustment to activity when I take things up to the "aggressive" notch. It was three weeks this time and the last half of that was a little too intense for me.

But I'm FINE now, thankyouverymuch. Even though I'm stuck riding the fuckin' scooter like a dough girl again or something. It's sunny! I wanna play.

On the upside, there's a new bike shop across from my work. I can pay them to change my back tire next week so I don't get surprised in the morning anymore. Sure, I could change it, but I could also do something useful with an hour of my life, too. Ha.


Happy long weekend. I'll be spending mine pushing a limit or two because now that I'm well-adjusted again, why the heck not?

And I'll definitely be writing, so check in.

Oh, and the only good thing about the new landlords? They're repainting the whole interior and then re-carpeting the whole place. (I have hardwood interiors, I mean the common spaces.) Nice to see them investing. I'm gonna put a work order in for cool new kitchen floors and laminate countertop. Let's see if they cough up. Could make a rent increase a little less painful. If I'm to get a rent increase at all, that is. Hasn't happened yet. :)

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

revenge of the caps-hating form-filling office type (and thoughts on writing)

i have a post-it note sticking limply to the top of my monitor and it reads, "write anything".

write. about anything. whatever hits. write. fuck grammar, to hell with punctuation, just write.

the desire to write isn't there right now. i don't care to do it. i don't want to do it. i'm not sure i get anything out of it. and i know that's temporary, 'cos i don't feel like that about writing. writing's a hard thing for me and fails to ever come easily, but it tends to be worth the grief because it's the only way i have to get to know myself the way i want. that sounds dumb, doesn't it?

but there i go, overthinking it again. there's this Anne Lamott book, Bird by Bird, in which she talks about being so stumped for writing a report once in grade school. her father, noticing her frustrations, asked her what the trouble was. she told him she was feeling overwhelmed by this report she had to write on birds.

he shrugged and replied, "just take it bird by bird."

and that's the thing. we writers go through these stupid fucking phases in which nothing we say is brilliant and nothing feels true. maybe it strikes a chord with others, but for us it rings flat and hollow. then that phase may begin to slip away from us, but the overthinking and excessive judgment becomes a recurring theme.

see, it's confidence, pure and simple. we begin judging every little thing we say. while that judgment may occur 24/7 anyhow, it's conducted differently. how, exactly? well, when things are good, we're looking for the positives and we try to play them up as best we can. we may edit, but we edit for the good in things. when things are going badly, the motivation changes. we start looking for our weaknesses, failings, and redundancies. no surprise, then, when that's exactly what we should find.

i'm going through that phase. i'm judging everything -- so much so that i've been avoiding editing. why? maybe i'm afraid i'll discover something terrifying... like a well-written sentence that might cause me to feel pressured to recreate that event down the road.

i'm beginning to force myself through it, though.

i've been withholding the writing from myself for just long enough that i'm beginning to feel as though i've been missing out on something. as i was told by a poseur friend of mine who claimed he was quoting Robertson Davies, "a writer ought not write until the thought of not writing becomes unbearable."

well, i've been ignoring shit sufficiently this week, and when i went to take a look at my blog, the server had failed. apparently my site was down for a while. fluke that i should log on just then after nearly 2 weeks of unbridled apathy, but there you have it. the first reaction? "whatever." then? "my blog!" i felt the first pangs of pain and loss -- what if all my work was gone, censured by the gods that be? what if? ah, terror. terror! for all of 22 seconds. then i chilled and figured it'd be back up in a few hours. heh.

but i'm starting to feel something again. it's been a very blah, unfeeling couple of weeks. just fatigue or something, i guess. it's been a hell of a few years, eh? it's not too big a surprise that i should feel some semblance of calm and peace -- aka apathy and self-imposed downtime -- after i should reach the end of my three-month probationary period on the new job. maybe it's some kind of transition, and a low point was necessary before a new plateau could rumble up out of my newly-leveled earth. shrug.

i did begin something today i think might assist me, though. i began chiropractic treatment. this new dude does cranio-sacral work and stuff, and i think he might help me become more clearheaded. a lot of people have mentioned cranio-sacral therapy to me over the years. what with having three concussions and four cases of whiplash, this old noggin's taken some beatings.

i honestly have never been as clearheaded as i used to be before my scooter accident, y'know. something about me changed that day and it's never gone back. i've always known that, but maybe this is just evidence on a different level. i've certainly never been ready to tackle that before. now maybe i am.

got to wonder, too, if it all might just be some built-in safety measure to prevent one from looking too deeply in those dark corners. some cobwebs don't need rustling. i mean, there are things i still know i've never really had the courage to write about, and the thought occurs to me that i might just be nearly strong enough to finally Go There. maybe subconsciously i know it's really time i force the issue and take a look in those corners after all. i mean, it really has been a hell of a year. why not go all the way, huh?

more food for thought, i guess. speaking of food, i've some jasmine rice needing cooking.

Sunday, May 13, 2007

Way to Edumecate the Youth, Diego

So, working at a children's school, I know all the fuss that gets made over Dora the Explorer and her cousin Diego. Today, sitting around and being a loser (pajamas, snacking, and hours of television... bliss), I was flipping through the channels and spotted Diego on PBS.

"Hmm, let's see what the fuss is about," I thought, as I put the remote down on the couch.

And what's the very first thing that Diego's doing? He's befriending a mother jaguar who's under duress because her jaguar cub is missing.

I'm a Canadian. We kinda get to learn early what to do around bears, cubs, that sort of thing. Making nice and palling around with them? NOT a good plan. And when they're depressed and scared and panicking about their offspring? Dumb fucking notion.

Yeah, sure, let's go play with mama jaguar. I'm sure she'll keep her claws in until we're done playing around. Right.


I once had to caption an old children's series in which the natives were chanting "Ooga booga" and I had to put "[singing native language]". Man, did I ever feel like the evil honky. Never mind that one of the characters referred to the natives as "those heathen monkeys". Ahh, the '70s. All in an honest day's work, eh?

Friday, May 11, 2007

Jesus Saves, But He's Good in Business, Too

You can't talk politics without talking morality and God. And the more I hear some people talk about God, the more I want to slap 'em and inform them that they're already off God's Christmas card list.

God's become big business in the States. It seems America's God has deeper pockets and can afford to buy a whole shitload of billboards and telly spots. God's got a PR agency and it's called Evangelism.

It's like the old U2 lyric goes...
In the next room I hear some woman scream out
That her lover's turning off, turning on the television
And I can't tell the difference between ABC News, Hill Street Blues
And a preacher on the old time gospel hour
Stealing money from the sick and the old
Well the God I believe in isn't short of cash, mister!

I mean, I look around America today and it seems to have changed so much in the last 10, 15 years. It's been 6 since Muslim Extremists hijacked a couple planes and took out a few thousand seemingly innocent folk. I think a lot of people went back to church that week thinkin' "It'd be so much easier if I could just know this was God's plan. Well, is it?"

And Jesus has at long last finally become bigger than the Beatles. (Which isn't half as funny if you don't know the flogging John Lennon [I think. McCartney?] took when he proclaimed that the Beatles would be bigger than Jesus.)

I don't know. I don't get the whole thing. I get the God thing. It certainly is easier when you can throw your cynicism away and defiantly believe that everything does in fact happen for a reason. I sometimes feel like being a devout not-really believer like me, who likes to claim she buys into a universal spirit and energy and all that, is a little more trouble than it all is worth.

But Jesus is bigger than the Beatles and he's got packed stadiums to prove it. And he's already dead so a nutbag with a copy of Catcher in the Rye in his pocket ain't gonna do any harm, so there's that.

Everywhere you look there's Jesusware, Jesus signs, Jesus churches, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus. Jesus! Like I say, I have no problem with religion. I get it. I just don't like any of them enough to drink the whole Kool-aid cocktail. Mebbe just a wee sip.

What I don't like, in the least, is the commercialization of God. You know what? If this "God" guy really did go and build this big fucking universe of ours, you might think he could let his works do his talking for him. Like he needs some goddamned mouthpiece from Kansas? God doesn't need slogans on t-shirts. He doesn't need billboards on highways.

If God's as cool as can be, he's not going to be a big meet-yer-quotas obsessor, don't you think?

Why this obsession with converting EVERYONE? Why not just let it be?

Besides, the money changing hands in all this is just insane. There are those who believe the modern push for Evangelical growth has a lot to do with the Republican party's thin grasp on the country's power. From the pulpit to the podium, y'know.

How's it even remotely cool that these guys are making money off God's name, anyhow? Jesus stormed into the temple and hurled out the merchants, screaming at them about honouring his father's home. A place of worship, not a place of market.

Then there's all the judgment coming from the fundamentalists. They're eyeballing the rest of us and talking about our date with destiny and the retribution that'll come our way. The Bible says judgment rests with God almighty, not some fuckin' wanna-be down on this big oxygenated bubble floating in space. Get over yourself, right?

I dunno. I just hate inconsistencies. Right-wing fundamentalist/traditional Republicans freak me out, but the hardcore religious "Army of God" types are, in my mind, every bit as bad as Islamic fundamentalists. Your god, my god, it's all the same judgmental bullshit.

And that's all I have to say. Felt like a political ramble for a change.

Sunday, May 06, 2007

The Everything (But The Kitchen Sink) Super-Duper UnBran Muffin

All right, I've outdone myself. These are some mighty tasty-good muffins that are freakishly good for you, but still taste very indulgent. Let me preface this by saying I hate bran muffins. No, seriously. Do I ever. Bran muffins, those made-by-mom boring-as-fuck bran muffins, suck.

These are not those. Nuh-uh. These have bananas, peanut butter, cranberries, almonds, big-ass raisins, and, yes, bran. They're light, though, fluffy, yet still full of fibre and protein.

And it's my recipe. So there. But I'll share, 'cos that's the kind of gal I am. These are what I'm making so that I have healthy breakfasts that keep me going, in more ways than one.

Steff's Everything (But The Kitchen Sink) Super-Duper UnBran Muffin

Keep these away from kryptonite, 'cos they're super! But freeze 'em and they'll keep for 2-3 weeks. Toast 'em and butter 'em and have with a slice of cheddar. Or be healthy and eat them plain. Booorrring. Makes 24 fist-sized muffins.

In a big bowl, combine:
1/2 cup chunky peanut butter
1 cup packed dark brown sugar
1/4 cup butter

Cream together. Add:
2 eggs
1 old (black) banana, broken up
1/3 cup molasses

Cream it together. Add:
2 cups milk

Mix well. Stir in:
3 cups wheat bran

In a bigger bowl, combine:
2 cups unbleached flour
1 1/2 tablespoons baking powder
2 tsp baking soda
1.5 tsp salt

Mix the bran mixture with the flour mixture as lightly as you can. You should try to stir muffins less than 20 times or they will get heavy and tough. As soon as it's ALMOST mixed, add to the muffin dough:

1 cup chopped almonds
1.5 cups dried cranberries
2 cups jumbo raisins

Combine until the fruit/nuts are evenly distributed. In a preheated 400-degree oven, bake the muffins for 18 - 22 minutes, until they spring back to shape after poked with a finger. :)

(They tend to get really stuck to paper muffin cups, so I would recommend either foil muffin cups or none at all.)


What Was I Thinking? Babel = Babble

My instincts told me not to spend my time watching Babel, but for some stupid reason I thought I'd give it a shot. I rented it last night along with Dream Girls, and have concluded both were highly overrated.

The difference is, Dream Girls is what it is -- an entertaining musical with reasonably good singing (and a whole lot of screaming) and an interesting storyline. Not great, but decent. Babel, though, seeks to be this highly symbolic existentialist treatise on the six degrees of separation phenomena of happenstance and coincidence.

In other words, it's suitably full of shit.

I don't know how many times I'm going to have to rant about pretty pictures not equalling substance in movies, but let's speculate that this one more time won't hurt anyone. I don't care HOW nicely shot the cinematography is in a flick like Babel, 50% of the images could've been shot faster, better, and more to the point. The lack of editorial restraint is mind-numbing.

The trouble with Babel is that the director seems to think his inordinately long approach to establishing a shot is somehow akin to visual foreplay -- more is better. No, more is just too much.

The movie's pointless, arrogant, self-important, and offers no insight.

The thing about powerful cinematography is that every shot should add something to the tale. Shots should offer symbolism, commentary, juxtaposition, clarity, and more. There can't be long, sweeping panoramics for the hell of it. There has to be a reason. This movie's reasonless. One could argue it's an impotent attempt to arouse our empathy for the characters, but then they'd just be pointing out yet another way the movie fails.

Sigh. I've still never seen Amores Perros. The second installment in this trilogy, 21 Grams, was a waste of my time. It was the opposite of this -- highly cut, furtive and pointless frequent glimpses into interconnecting lives. Impossible to build any emotional connection with the tale because we're underexposed to character building. This movie's a 180 -- full of character-building scenes, but it's in those scenes that our impatience with the film comes to a head.

Inaritu is guilty of one of the worst crimes a storyteller can be guilty of -- believing their spin is more important than the story itself. If the story has legs, it'll almost tell itself. Make yourself scarce, and let the tale be the star.

It's easy to get tied up in ego when one's supposed to be telling a story. It happens. It happens too much with Inaritu. I think he fails to realize how much these stories need a narrator sometimes. Using a narrator is the easiest choice to expedite a story. This 2-hour 20-minute ramble of his could've been an hour shorter if he'd just swallowed his pride and made it more linear.

There goes another 2 hours of my life that could've been spent standing around the kitchen and pondering the galactic significance of a bowl of spaghetti or something. Shit, man. Should've watched Harold & Kumar Go to Whitecastle instead. At least THEY knew where they were going.

Saturday, May 05, 2007

Miss Serendipity Strikes Again

I'm feeling pretty cheery about life this morning. I was lying there in bed thinking about a turn of events this week, and I find myself being really happy about what I think is about to be a stunning change of events for someone I met a couple years back.

See, my school's a performing arts school, and it's really cool to be around these kids who are trying to find identities through the thing they love, be it singing, dancing, playing, or acting. Everyone's got something they love, and no one's really rich through doing it, but they sure seem content, you know?

It's an awesome environment (and partly for blame about my overthinking the act of writing right now and too little of the doing) and one I think would improve just about anyone's life in some ways.

So, I'm pretty pleased that I think we're about to offer a job to a girl I met 2 years ago. I can't remember why but something about her really hit home with me. We didn't really get together at all 'cos that was a bad time in all our lives, but I'm curious to see how she's doing now. I think she might really profit from this job.

Funny thing is, this one teacher submitted his resignation for the coming year because he's decided to go back to school. His discipline (voice) is bursting at the seams and the boss had just asked him if he'd be willing to teach another day per week (at a good rate). Then I remember this girl from my past had submitted a resume earlier in my time there but for another position. I knew her as a voice teacher who'd done a lot of touring, and thought she might be a fit. I read off her experience and the boss was "hmm"ing out loud, reasonably impressed. Then she emails the departing prof and he replies that not only does he know of her reputation, but he's worked with her and she's "an absolute gem!" Similar accolades were heard from the boss's well-known musician sister.

And I'd told the boss of her and provided the resume within 5 minutes of the boss mentioning the departure. Funny how things work. I have my three-month review next week, btw. I'm expecting good things. Nervous? Pfft.

But still. I know how much it means to move into the right job at the right time, and to think I've just managed to orchestrate it for someone I think really deserves a good break, and yeah, I'm feeling pretty smug today!

I can't afford to be the generous person I'd prefer to be, but I certainly am getting a lot of good out of this little moment. It's also really, really cool to know my intuition about people is that good. I've always thought I had a keen eye for folks. Fun to put it to the test for a change.

Well, I've had my brother shoving that The Secret stuff down my throat for a long time, y'know? The whole visualize-them-and-they-will-come law-of-attraction crap. I do actually believe in it all, to tell you the truth, but it's a hard thing to put into action sometimes. This is the first time I've been able to sort of push myself into wanting the better for others, and I'm kind of enjoying the way it's all unfolding. It's an ongoing work in progress 'cos I have some chips to dust off my shoulder still, but it's a start. I feel grateful today. THAT's that odd twinge. Right. Gratitude. Nice.

Now if I could just shake off this gimped-in-sleep shoulder I've got twanging in dull pain, it'd be a banner start to my weekend. On the horizon: chill time. Heading to the biggest bulk store in the city, an emporium of top-quality bulk, to buy the bitsies for my stab at morning glory muffins -- wheat bran, cranberries, raisins, almonds, pistacchios... Then I'll chill around the homestead and clean up, bake bread (with several grains for the first time, i'm concerned about rising challenges, but what the hell), and that sort of thing. Some quietude and focus.

I'm going to eliminate shit from my storage and other places. Free myself of some clutter. Then we've got 2 weeks of sun on the forecast (I laugh at the thought of two unbridled weeks of sun exposure -- as if!). And it's Saturday.

Thursday, May 03, 2007

Rambling about the craft again

I was gonna write about a whole bunch of other shit until I saw a random quote on a random webpage. "A writer is someone for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people."

Oh, so wrong. For some of us it's like breathing. When I'm sucking at it, I feel vacuous in life. I feel that way now, or have, of late. Normally, writing comes easily. It's not always good, no. There's writing, and then there's writing. "Writing" is not fulfilling. It's drone-ful, like the act of having to consciously breathe. It's troublesome but necessary. Writing, however, is everything. It's when your synapses are laced with serendipity. Everything's just another happy happenstance. It just comes together the way you'd been wishing that it might.

It doesn't happen often. The other writing, that's easy. Knowing how language fits together is just another skill. But knowing what good writing is means that failing to accomplish it, however short the distance between it and your reality might be, THAT is something very difficult to endure for any length of time.

And I've been sucking the big one of late. I haven' t had a trance-like writing experience for quite some time. There's something about those rare times where an idea just TAKES HOLD and doesn't let go. Might be 5 minutes, might be 50, but for that spell of time, it seems entirely possible that this writing thing could be the bestest thing you'd ever do. After all, how often in life is it that you truly wish you were doing exactly that and nothing else, anywhere, at all? Being truly present in a moment of time is the coolest damned thing there is. Doesn't hit me too often. Writing's the best route to it.

Pfft. For the briefest moment I had this "wow, I'd like to write about X" epiphany cycling home tonight as I huffed my way over the bridges. Think I can remember it now?

Sigh. The inner rage I feel is presently brought to you by The Kills. Ain't no wow now, she says. But because I can't write, you're not plugged in. Oh, curse the cosmos.

I hate to admit this, but Twisted Sister's "We're Not Gonna Take This (Anymore)" just spun onto my 'POD. Snicker-snort. Oddly apropos in a stunted artistry kind of way.

Wednesday, May 02, 2007

The Verdict Is In

How'd boxing go, you asked?

Uh... I came, I saw, I boxed, I hurteded.

I hurt a lot.

I didn't get to punch anyone 'cos I had to leave when my ride decided to bail before the sparring began, but I had 1.5 hours of pretty intense workout. I did the heavy bag, the speed bag, the up-and-down bag, and then I felt I needed a body bag.

There was also shadow boxing with five-pound weights (two three-minute rounds of punching the air with 5-pound weights -- two three-minute rounds of HURT, actually) and too many push-ups for an insane individual.

But the kicker -- pun fully intended -- was when I first arrived and the very first thing I did was try to skip jump-rope, and on the very first jump I threw my knee out. Luckily it's a recurring thing where my kneecap slides off to the right (it seemed serious when I couldn't put any weight on it). I was able to force it back into position and, like the ballsy trouper I am, was able to forge ahead and do the workout anyhow -- including stairclimbing.

[The injury comes from when I was on crutches from a thrice-blown knee for about 20 weeks over the course of 14 months -- much of what made me into the blogger you see before you, brought on by insane boredom and uber-isolation. Acupuncture finally saved my sorry ass and fixed me up.]

So, how bad do I hurt? Well, today I wore dress pants with those slip-in clip fasteners instead of a button, and just trying to undo them brought a tear to my eye at the end of my day. Mother of god! My underarms are scccrreeeeaming.

Would I do it again? In a heartbeat. 'cept for the fact that he wants $100 a month. I'll wait and see if my friend (who knows him) can barter him down by half for me next week. If so, I'm in. Totally. I'd be pretty fond of that workout, too. Harsh! But good.

Did I mention OW yet?

OW. Wah! Sob. Grunt.