feeling bamboozled

Okay, writers of Lost, I've got a bone to pick with you. WHAT IN THE HELL is going on? A whole lot of nothing, that's what. Wait, let's back up. I've loved this show from the beginning. I dutifully gasped and scratched my head in confusion when Oceanic 815 first fell out of the sky and onto the beach, and have obediently tuned in every week since then, following along as best I could with all the various on- and off-island shenanigans. Of course, as with all TV, some episodes have been better than others. This is unfortunate, but forgivable; the good episodes were awesome (remember Sun and Jin in Season 4? And the time travel storyline? The Penny and Desmond story, and Charlie? KEVIN JOHNSON??) and the big picture was still a good one. Plus, with this show there has always been the promise of answers, the expectation that when we do find out what the hell it is that's been going on, it is going to be really f*cking good. Our minds, they are to be blown.

Cut to this season - the last, final, the-end-is-upon-us season - which has just up and gone to the monkeys. I mean, let's take for example last week's episode - which was the third-to-last of THE ENTIRE SERIES, just to be clear - wherein (*SPOILER ALERT!*) Jacob and MIB's fake mom says she "made it so that [they] can't hurt each other". Yeah okay lady, we already know they can't hurt each other. What we don't know is WHY, and this is what we get? The answer is that fake-mama made it so?? Way to tie up that loose end, guys. Then a few minutes after she says this, Jacob hurls MIB down the forbidden light hole of "life, death and rebirth" (really? That's what we're going with here?) (also, perhaps you could have splurged a little on this cave of light - I half expected the Disneyland electrical parade to come marching out of there) and kills him, making a liar out of fake-mama. (But maybe not, because isn't that why fake-Locke had to make Ben kill Jacob instead of doing it himself?)

Writers, pick a loose end, any loose end, they're scattered everywhere, and TIE IT UP already! Time's a-tickin'!!

Side note: woah Nelly, Kate was a hottie in Season 1! What happened?!?


three-peat, baby!

A tidbit about me: I hate running. I know that "everyone" does it, and it's exercise, and it's free and it's easy - just lace up, open the front door and off you go! - and blah blah blah. It's also boring as all hell. It doesn't matter what I do to try to distract myself - TV on the treadmill, music on the iPod, running outdoors (which, actually, is SO MUCH BETTER than pounding away on a treadmill, it's amazing what a difference that makes) - my mind refuses to settle down and stop wondering if we're done yet. But because it's good for you (and, let's face it, I love food but my metabolism just ain't what it used to be), every several months I think that I should really make it a habit, and then every several more months I actually try to make it a habit. And I'm usually pretty good about it for the first few weeks, because I always do feel really good after a run. But then, invariably, one thing or another happens - seasons change and it's raining, or it's hot and humid and what, I'm supposed to exert myself in less-than-perfect weather? So life just generally gets in the way, the inertia is lost and oops, there it is over there, my ass on the couch again.

So a few weeks ago, mostly due to the 2 weeks' worth of dining out, pastries and overall gluttony that comes with traveling and playing tour guide, I decided to try once again to start exercising. I live somewhat near the Imperial Palace, which is probably the most popular place in Tokyo to go running. One lap around is 5k, and I figured a loop like that, with no other option but to get back to where I started, would be good for me and my weak mind. And because the last time I had exercised was a year ago, my plan was to just make my way around any way I could by walking most of the way, with maybe 5-10 minutes of running somewhere in there.

Well, what do you know, I ran the whole damn loop! Okay, technically it wasn't so much a run as it was a slow jog, but whatever. The whole loop! And it wasn't so much physically difficult - obsessive vacuuming IS cardio conditioning, I KNEW IT! - as it was mentally difficult. I think that after about 10 minutes my body just resigns itself to its fate and accepts the fact that there are another 20 minutes in store, and it obliges. But my mind, as usual, was being a pain in the ass and would not stop with the Are we done yet? How long has it been? What time is it? How much faaartherrrrrr??? So I started playing mind games with myself. I kept promising myself a rest - after this song was done playing, after I passed that old guy up there in the yellow spandex, after I rounded this next corner. But when the song ended or I reached the mark, I DID NOT REST. I kept falling for the same ploy over and over again, until eventually I found myself at my starting point. How's that for clever trickery!

And of course, my iPod was loaded up with all kinds of energizing songs to get me through the rough patches, those times my body did raise a fuss about being too tired to go on. When that happened, I pretended I was out dancing, channeling the endless stores of energy I seem to have when I'm shakin' my money maker. But as it turned out, what really got my mind off the pavement pounding was the immense concentration it took to refrain from actually throwing my arms up in the air and waving them like I just didn't care. So... that also helped.

I've done this 3 times now in the past 3 weeks, and I am totally patting myself on the back about it. I'll probably always have to resort to trickery and mind games to get through a run, but hey - whatever it takes, right? Whatever it takes.


up my alley but not my thing

During the summer after my 2L year in law school, I, like most other law students at the time, interned at a law firm where I was plied with alcohol, steaks and Broadway shows - and a ridiculous amount of money for the amount of value I brought to their table (that amount being approximately zero) - so that I would accept their offer of employment at the end of the summer. Tough life, I know.* Anyway, at some point during this summer of excess and debauchery, I made a bet with a friend. I've forgotten what it was we were talking about that brought us to that point in the conversation, but I said that I could never bring myself to spend hundreds of dollars on a pair of shoes. Not that I find anything wrong with doing so; it's just that everyone has their "thing", and shoes are not my "thing". I'm way too anal to wear expensive shoes - streets are so dirty! What if my expensive shoes TOUCHED THE GROUND? Even if I water-proofed, scratch-proofed, everything-proofed them, I would still not be able to walk straight for all the time I'd spend examining the ground in front of me. Of course, I do appreciate a nice shoe, and definitely am not beyond coveting. But that's as far as I go - just lookie, maybe touchie, but never beyond first base. Handbags, on the other hand, I will go all the way with. Handbags are my "thing".

My friend, however, was sure that I would soon change my tune; according to him, everyone changes their tune after enough exposure to the obscene amounts of money that are tossed around in the finance and legal industries. I explained that for me, a handbag is something I would pay to take home, but a pair of shoes is something I would only look at and fondle, and only for free (okay, I'm done with that metaphor). But he was convinced that it was only a matter of time before I would bend under the weight of all that money, and bet that within my first 3 years of lawyering, I'd cave and pay over $500 for a pair of shoes. If he was right, I would owe him a pair of $500 shoes. If he was wrong, he would owe me a pair of $500 shoes. Well, nevermind that I wouldn't have known what to do with that kind of victory - at that time, I'm pretty sure I had no idea where to even look for shoes in that price range. I just love to gloat about being right, so I took the bet.

Here we are, 7 years after my graduation, and I have yet to own (or even want to own) shoes that cost that much. If my friend had listened to me, he could have won the bet on a handbag, because I've definitely hit that mark more than once. I haven't bothered collecting on the bet, though, because again, all that really matters to me is that I was right. And that everyone knows it.

Anyway, all this is a long-winded way of gloating saying HELLO, BEAUTIFUL:
Introducing the Ipswitch Brogues by Rachel Comey. Or, as I like to call them, My Lovlies.

Shall we look at another angle? Let's.
That silhouette! That heel! I'm swooning. Hold me.

These don't cost $500, but they're still above my threshold. And if we've learned anything today, it's that I'm always right the most I'm going to do is look at pictures of it online, maybe fantasize about it occasionally, maybe pet it if I see it in person (now I'm done, really I am). See you in my dreams, My Lovlies.

* But now the sky has fallen, and alas, such life is no more.