Conviction by numbers

Over the weekend I ran a half-marathon in Boston. There is nothing which makes you feel more "just like an number" than actually being a fucking number and starting a race surrounded by thousands of people, who will then proceed to fart, spit, and dump their water on you. And, since I don't listen to music when I run, I heard everything. The guy running and farting who thought no one could hear him? Yup, I did. I knew it was him. And I looked at him so he knew I knew, but I don't think he was even aware it was happening. Runners are the worst.

The most important part of the race is OBVIOUSLY the gear. So first there's like what you are actually going to wear to the race. I don't even mean what's comfortable, I mean how are you going to signal to other runners that you know what's up with the race: you shop at Super Runners and not Nike because you aren't fucking around. Athletic apparel with a number(s) on it, which do not actually reference your specific number from a previous athletic event but is going for more of a trendy feel, won't cut it. For example, Old Navy shorts with "27 American Football" does not count.

And then there's the actual event gear. Beyond important. This is key because it will signal to people/ future competitors that you race. You don't run "for fun," you run because winning is fun. (The fact that you are not from Kenya will inevitably work against this and should prompt you to buy gear from races you don't run ---just for conviction by numbers).

Oh my god, look how she does the macarena

Ha! Weren't expecting that were you! Do you remember the Macarena from middle school dances? The song would come on and everyone went crazy. There was the standard way to do it but also the slutty way. Like we would stand and look at someone and go, "Oh my god look how she does the macarena."

I can't add anything

I can't beat this article about Mallomars by Ralph Gardner in today's WSJ.It's amazing. Here's just one pull quote: "instead of being happy for him and his fiancee, I was secretly envious that he had access to fresher cookies than I did, probably straight from the factory."

See question 9

Last night I went to an excellent dance performance where they handed everyone an audience questionnaire. Luckily on the top it assured that "No information will be linked to you personally" in case we were worried BAM was code for Dharma Initiative.

I had no choice but to look and I'm glad I did. The very best question was # 9 : What type of experience do you typically look for when you attend a live performance (Please check all that apply). I'm just going to give you the best ones

-Affordable: Are you poor? We won't like that. If so, please stop filling out the survey now, as your answers are of no use to us and, in general, we do not care.

-Countercultural: I only see things that look weird and different. If a group of my friends are going somewhere and they ask me to come, I say "No." I do this because I'm different. Did you see my outfit? It should be clear.

-Exclusive: Have you seen Gossip Girl? Like that.

-Star-Studded: Yes, I would like my live performances like a constellation or like the Upper West Side on Hanukkah.

The next questions asked if we went to the Public Theater, my friend wrote "??! see question 9 re exclusivity."

There was no "leisurely pace"

As soon as Brooklyn got sweet, so did biking. I don't mean like biking around the park, I mean biking to work, or around NYC, in your cool outfit.

When I was at Oxford people biked everywhere, so naturally I got a bike because I wanted to fit in. I wanted to bike on the wrong side of the road and feel cool about it. You know what? Not fun. It sounds like a good idea but it is not. First off, I can't not bike as fast as possible--there was no "leisurely pace". When I got on that bike I was not fucking around. Whether or not I had to be somewhere soon was completely irrelevant. I was going to fucking race to my destination: anyone who was next to me was not a friend, they were my enemy, and they were going to lose. 

The problem with riding a bike is that it's impossible to dress properly. I would start out feeling fucking awesome about my outfit and then by the time I reached my tutorial--in record time--I was sweating and completely disheveled. What are you supposed to wear? There is really only a five minute period where you are actually hot, but it is really hot.

Speaking of hot: I was in Nantucket for the 4th of July this summer and my friend suggested a group of us bike to the beach. It sounds fucking awesome. It sounds like we're about to take a scene from Now and Then and be best friends forever. We are not. 

People love Pizza. They don't love math.

I was innocently watching TV over the weekend, when this ad came on. It's true, this is a real ad and it glorifies other ads that really concerned me.  Let me just re-quote, even though you just watched it, Pizza Hut now promises no more "confusing deals, or math problems." I'm sorry: am I missing something? At what point were deals on food complicated math? I can only assume they're referring to a mind boggling two-for- one deal or, even worse, buy-this  get-that bullshit. Or "super sizing," which might lead the inquistive  mind/fat fuck to question just how super is super? Is it super enough? Thank you Pizza Hut I was worried that, when I wanted to stuff my face, I might be led astray. Fuck math, feed me. 

I'm going rococo

I feel like my recent music posts have had no sluts. And considering the number of music posts it seem disproportionate. In order to apologize here is a hot music video and an excellent song.