Wednesday, January 24, 2007

Primate and apes and lemurs, oh my.

If all apes are primates, and all lemurs are too, then are all primates apes and lemurs?

No, because there are monkeys to consider, and some humans as well.

Just thought you should know.


Ever take an online IQ test and when you get the answers, are disappointed?

Yeah, me too.


A while back I did my astrological chart on a lark. Some ancient chinese secrets were doled out in the making of this thing, I'm sure. Apparently, by intputting the date and time and place of my birth (through not that fact that I was breech and 11 days late, because they didn't ask), the shamans and magicians of the internet were able to place me in a certain celestial sphere and read my most personal drives and ambitions and shortcomings.

I posted about this a while ago, but if you're curious as to how to do it yourself, and get a FREE 9-page breakdown of who you are (ostensibly), the check out this link and play away, playah.

You also get nifty picture of how all your aligments work together in the great "circle of life" or some such ideal. Let me just say for the record that my alignments resemble more an electron cloud than a clear path (Below is the thing itself, for your consideration). I'm not surprised by this, nor should you be.

If you DO run your chart, feel free to share the results in the comments.


The 35-pound smackdown is going well. Down 4 pounds in the 2 weeks I've been weighing. That's sustainable. At this rate, I'll be back to an acceptable tonnage by, oh, August.

That's an exciting thought. I totally can't wait to get back in a size 12. To see my collarbones. To not have the over-bra bulge on my back. To not risk bursting into flame if I wear pantyhose (the friction can be considerable). To love my upper arms again. To say "buh-bye" to that little bit of extra chin that I hate with the fire of a thousand suns.

4 pounds down. 31 to go to reach the smackdown goal. 10 more after that to reach a personal goal.

You know what? I think I can do it.

I have a coach now. JC is my drill sergeant, and as she is training for a half-marathon in April she is a gym rat extraordinaire of late. I am aping her attendance. Well, not so much APING, as being guilted into it. When JC says jump, the only proper response is "how high"? The REALLY sick part of it is that I asked her to do this to me. We've even roped another coworker into the corral of fitness, so it's a happy group that descends to the first floor of our office building on a daily basis.

The beauty part of the gym thing is that 1) it's free, and 2) we're salaried, so it's like we get PAID to go. Two very worthwhile things to focus on as I'm learning which muscles hate me the very most.

So far, it appears that all of them hate me equally.

They'll have to do better than that to stop me. Oh yes, yes, they will.


I was going to write a little about something else entirely today, and yet all of what you see above came out instead. Maybe tomorrow will be the day I tell you about the first time I experienced a certain kind of nirvana, on stage.

And, yo, if THAT'S not enough to bring you back, all a-salivating over the possible story, then I don't want to know you anymore.

Later, y'all.

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