Random Musings...

I've been writing and crying and whining on this blog thing for several months now, but what more do you REALLY know about me since I started it? What, that I'm incoherent under general anesthesia? That I don't enjoy watching R.icki Lake give birth? That I'm great at picking out hot chicks in pageants? That I have a weak Achilles tendon? OK, but what BESIDES that? Here are some things I've been thinking about as I sit in the Salt Lake City Airport Courtyard Marriott, Room 345:

• When I was about 5 years old, I was convinced that I had invented skipping. Don't ask me why I thought that, except that perhaps I was the first person in my neighborhood to do it. That may be true, except for the likely fact that my older sisters had probably skipped in front of me before... so actually I must have just been delusional, my friends.
• Try as I might, I never feel like I have put the right amount of ice in any fountain drink. It's frustrating and annoying, but I always tenderly touch the lever of the ice dispenser, rhythmically tapping the lever like the pecks on Jessica's cheek as I leave each morning (awwwwww....) until I feel as if I've gone OVER the amount of ice I would like. What is that amount, you ask? It's the amount where the last morsel of the last cube melts just as I take my last sip of the soda. And yet, I have never found that perfect amount.
• I think too much about ice at the soda fountain.
• When I misspell a word when I type, I have to go back to the beginning of the word and restart. Absolutely inefficient, but in my mind for some reason necessary ( I did it twice in this sentence alone).
• If I decide to re-phrase an entire sentence or paragraph, instead of selecting the entire paragraph and pressing the Delete key once I will feverishly press the Delete key or just hold it down. Again, inefficient. Is this some disorder I should be aware/scared of? Can someone let me know?
• I put the over/under on my crying moments during Olympics coverage at 10. First of all, I plan on watching a lot of it, and second, I am a sucker for the heartstrings-pulling stories with soft camera tones and Kenny G soundtracks that NBC and that jerk B.ob Costas pull out almost every hour.
• I already turned in my man card after watching the R.icki Lake documentary, so don't ask for it again after that last bullet point. It's being held for me until further notice at the Mad Greek Deli on West Union Road.
• Most surprising artist I have lots of songs from on my iPod: Sade. I have her Greatest Hits.
• Second most surprising iPod artist: Positive K ("What's your man got to do with me?" "I got a man" "I ain't tryin' to hear that, see?")
• Jessica found 3 gray hairs on my head a couple months ago. I blame work.
• I always choose the aisle on a plane. If I have checked luggage, I choose an aisle in the back of the plane (less likely to have someone next to me and I have to wait at Baggage Claim anyway). If I only have carry-ons, I try to get as close to the front as possible (I once stowed away in the cockpit just to be the first off the plane).
• If I'm flying internationally, I always order a special meal -- initially I went with kosher (if a rabbi blesses it, it CAN'T be too bad), but it got annoying because every individual plate had to be shrink-wrapped which took a lot of time and effort to get off. I now opt either for low-fat or high-fiber meals when available. At any rate, the special meal is the way to go since you get your meal before anyone else and it makes you feel kind of special (OK, maybe that's just me. And there's another way to feel special on a plane: fly First Class, punk!)
• Songs that always get me going when I work out: Snap's "The Power," The Who's "Baba O'Riley" and Cake's "The Distance."
• I would rather drive an extra 15 miles if it means not sitting in traffic. If you want to see me at my worst, sit with me in traffic. I hate all of humanity and wish various and sundry plagues on anyone in front of me who lets someone cut in front of them. I'm ashamed, but it's true.

OK, perhaps that's enough information for now. I'm tired, and still crying from Mr. Costas' last tribute to Nicaraguan table tennis.