Summer
Summer. Summer is so hot. It's still really quite hot. Hot.
I've always remembered Pamie's entry about moving in with someone, so I went to her archives and found it. Here it is. It's still very funny.
So far, we've lived together for 2.5 weeks. We haven't killed each other or any of the animals yet. We baked honey whole wheat banana walnut bread in his bread machine. We made this in the crock pot which continues to taste much better than a Weight Watchers recipe should. I think it's the mango chutney. It's just so good, and I don't even like mangoes. We watched season two of Weeds. We ate sushi and played 80s trivia with friends. Somehow B. got the "Tim" and I got the "Reid" on the answer to a question about a WKRP in Cincinnati actor's show, Frank's Place. That was some good teamwork. He's been studying mostly every waking minute; I've been lying on the couch sweating and wishing the So You Think You Can Dance tour would come to my town.
I started going to my crazy exercise class again because I can no longer button my shorts and I need some endorphins released pronto before I melt away with summer blahs. It has been good to go back. I recognized most of the people there my first time back, the old faithfuls. It is still very painful and sweaty but not in an altogether terrible way. The teacher still shouts, "Love yourself." The gym is a bit like Dante's inferno, but I'm bringing a big bottle of water and drinking from it every few minutes. My shins hurt me so badly when I tried to jog very slowly around the gym for sixty seconds that I cannot believe I once ran 13.2 miles in a row without stopping. How did I ever do that? I'll never know. I wiped sweat out of my eye with my hand, which had just gotten someone else's sweat on it from a sweaty, sweaty mat, and I marveled at my ability to ignore germophobia while actively struggling to catch my breath. Sometimes breathing is more important than cleanliness, you know? And that is why I should probably keep going to this class. Being covered in other people's sweat reminds me that other people aren't walking around trying to make me sick and that their bodily fluids are much like mine. I am crazy; it is true. I also like how people meet eyes across the gym. I'll be doing some insane abdominal exercise and on every sit-up I'll meet eyes with someone on the bike across the gym and she'll be peddling like crazy and looking either empowered or about to die and it's sort of silently acknowledged that there are only sixty seconds to this round and please God we will all make it through until the teacher yells for us to switch. There is a camaraderie there. I am inspired by the fast, lean, incredible hardbodies and by the slower, more overweight people who all seem to be working equally as hard. It's all just sweaty and hot and inspiring and I don't even care how fat my stomach looks or how completely uncoordinated and ungraceful and unathletic I am when I'm there because at least I'm there sweating to high heaven and trying.
I am taking some classes myself this fall and went through a credit card debacle with the bookstore wherein they charged my card four times the price of my textbooks and thus threw my checking account into jeopardy of being overdrawn. So that was a joyous way to start the semester.
Sometimes internet dreams do come true. The entire Days of Our Lives 1986 Thanksgiving episode is now up at YouTube. When we were kids, we would always have Thanksgiving at my aunt's convent, and my brother, sister, and I would sneak upstairs to watch the show every year after lunch on a communal nun TV. And this was by far the best Thanksgiving episode of Days of Our Lives that we ever clandestinely watched. It was flashback bliss.
My latest internet hope is to somehow find a video or a recording of Shawn Colvin singing "Try to Remember" on Broadway's Best on Bravo. Sometimes I wonder if anyone but me even saw this show. But it was a beautiful, heartbreaking rendition and I'd love to hear it again. (There are few clips of the special up, such as Mandy Moore singing "Adelaide's Lament," though the audio is kind of uneven in this clip and makes her sound kind of off. I remember her doing it quite excellently, though.) I'm just putting it out there in the universe so hopefully one day this song will magically re-enter my life.
I've always remembered Pamie's entry about moving in with someone, so I went to her archives and found it. Here it is. It's still very funny.
So far, we've lived together for 2.5 weeks. We haven't killed each other or any of the animals yet. We baked honey whole wheat banana walnut bread in his bread machine. We made this in the crock pot which continues to taste much better than a Weight Watchers recipe should. I think it's the mango chutney. It's just so good, and I don't even like mangoes. We watched season two of Weeds. We ate sushi and played 80s trivia with friends. Somehow B. got the "Tim" and I got the "Reid" on the answer to a question about a WKRP in Cincinnati actor's show, Frank's Place. That was some good teamwork. He's been studying mostly every waking minute; I've been lying on the couch sweating and wishing the So You Think You Can Dance tour would come to my town.
I started going to my crazy exercise class again because I can no longer button my shorts and I need some endorphins released pronto before I melt away with summer blahs. It has been good to go back. I recognized most of the people there my first time back, the old faithfuls. It is still very painful and sweaty but not in an altogether terrible way. The teacher still shouts, "Love yourself." The gym is a bit like Dante's inferno, but I'm bringing a big bottle of water and drinking from it every few minutes. My shins hurt me so badly when I tried to jog very slowly around the gym for sixty seconds that I cannot believe I once ran 13.2 miles in a row without stopping. How did I ever do that? I'll never know. I wiped sweat out of my eye with my hand, which had just gotten someone else's sweat on it from a sweaty, sweaty mat, and I marveled at my ability to ignore germophobia while actively struggling to catch my breath. Sometimes breathing is more important than cleanliness, you know? And that is why I should probably keep going to this class. Being covered in other people's sweat reminds me that other people aren't walking around trying to make me sick and that their bodily fluids are much like mine. I am crazy; it is true. I also like how people meet eyes across the gym. I'll be doing some insane abdominal exercise and on every sit-up I'll meet eyes with someone on the bike across the gym and she'll be peddling like crazy and looking either empowered or about to die and it's sort of silently acknowledged that there are only sixty seconds to this round and please God we will all make it through until the teacher yells for us to switch. There is a camaraderie there. I am inspired by the fast, lean, incredible hardbodies and by the slower, more overweight people who all seem to be working equally as hard. It's all just sweaty and hot and inspiring and I don't even care how fat my stomach looks or how completely uncoordinated and ungraceful and unathletic I am when I'm there because at least I'm there sweating to high heaven and trying.
I am taking some classes myself this fall and went through a credit card debacle with the bookstore wherein they charged my card four times the price of my textbooks and thus threw my checking account into jeopardy of being overdrawn. So that was a joyous way to start the semester.
Sometimes internet dreams do come true. The entire Days of Our Lives 1986 Thanksgiving episode is now up at YouTube. When we were kids, we would always have Thanksgiving at my aunt's convent, and my brother, sister, and I would sneak upstairs to watch the show every year after lunch on a communal nun TV. And this was by far the best Thanksgiving episode of Days of Our Lives that we ever clandestinely watched. It was flashback bliss.
My latest internet hope is to somehow find a video or a recording of Shawn Colvin singing "Try to Remember" on Broadway's Best on Bravo. Sometimes I wonder if anyone but me even saw this show. But it was a beautiful, heartbreaking rendition and I'd love to hear it again. (There are few clips of the special up, such as Mandy Moore singing "Adelaide's Lament," though the audio is kind of uneven in this clip and makes her sound kind of off. I remember her doing it quite excellently, though.) I'm just putting it out there in the universe so hopefully one day this song will magically re-enter my life.
posted by eliza @ 8:50 PM
3 Comments:
Is that the same special where Hootie (Darius something or other) sang Luck Be A Lady? And Adam Pascal sang Suddenly Seymour? (With, I think, Mandy Moore... but I cannot be sure.) I loved that special but I don't remember hearing Try To Remember.
And.. we're huge fans of that WW dish, too. I snagged the recipe the first time you posted it. :)
michele: YES.
Also, michelle: Sort of horrifying?
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