*Is Madonna the pioneer of “celebreality”?
In 1991 Madonna decided to go where no celebrity had gone before. Shows such as The Sonny & Cher Hour and The Monkees had let the audience peak into the peephole of celebrity life but the scripted shows that imitated life of fame and even glamorized what was the real life of these celebrities by twisting what was meant to be real situations into abstract comedic scenarios were no match for what the Queen of Pop had up her sleeve. For her Blonde Ambition Tour she decided to be followed by cameras documenting everything that happened on stage as well as behind the scenes. The result was a door that was kicked open into what really were celebrities: people like everyone else. With little editing and an almost hazy-dream like feel by the black and white exposing footage that glorified celebrity pedestal was destroyed. Weather a nightmare or a dream, regular folks got to ride in the bus or even tucked into bed with Madonna as she shared personal stories. It broke barriers between who was the celebrity and who was the audience. It also gave celebrities the extra attention that they craved. It screamed “look at me! This is my life! Love me!”

*Have people always enjoyed seeing aspects of their lives projected onto a screen?
Reality television is not a new rage. The 1948 TV series Candid Camera is often credited as the first ever reality show series. It began as a radio show called Candid Microphone and gave people a sense of something “real” rather than scripted entertainment. The 1973 show An American Family was the dramatic soap opera everyone was looking for but the best part of it was that it was real. Important social issues that were topics of discussion at the time and taboo family secrets were exposed right there in “real” time to all other American families. It was a way of people diving into the real private lives of others and find themselves in there too. Their own private home struggles were projected back to them in the privacy of their own homes. And it felt good.

Is Persistence Really Worth It?
“Eighty percent of success is showing up.” – Woody Allen. And to that quote I add the question “so why go above and beyond? Is persisting on an idea really worth the try?” We often want things simply because they are fed to our minds. Every day, we are exposed to thousands of images selling us products of what the ideal way of living should be. We are constantly exposed to a world of advertising whether from the comfort of our homes through television, websites, or video games or away from home through billboards, magazines, and etc.
We catch ourselves obsessed with movies and television, wrapped around the “perfect” lives and scenarios of characters we either wish we were or actually knew in real life. We desire Monica’s Greenwich Village apartment or Claire Fisher’s lime green hearse. Monkey sees and monkey does! We fall into these corporate traps and the next thing we know it’s three in the morning and we’re on Amazon shopping for a $30 periodic table shower curtain because it’s the same one from The Big Bang Theory when the dollar store sells one just as good for $5.
Every ad campaign we see is photoshopped and air-brushed into perfection to make it more appealing for the eye. We see celebrities in these ads, the same faces that play the characters we get emotionally attached to, looking “hot” on covers of magazines. We ogle these images and desire to become what we see spread across them. I, personally, have those images on my bedroom wall. Rolling Stone covers that I see first thing in the morning when I wake up and last thing before I go to bed. Images of people I am inspired by but that one day betrayed me into feeling ashamed about my own body and ending up in a disastrous jogging episode. I looked at them one day and realized I was getting out of shape and needed to look thinner or more toned so I desperately tried to shed weight by going on a 10 mile run that ended up injuring me for weeks. I learned my lesson and realized what I was persisting was useless. I was fine the way I looked and the real world was not photoshopped.
I have always been a lazy person and in my opinion being lazy pays off more than persistence and chasing tails. Bill Gates once said “I choose a lazy person to do a hard job. Because a lazy person will find an easy way to do it.” And he couldn’t be any more correct. Simply by controlling my diet I know I am able to shed the same amount of weight it’d take me months to lose by sweating on a treadmill worry and pain free. Lao Tzu said “Practice not-doing and everything will fall into place.” Getting things done right is simply accepting reality and the fact that everything takes time regardless of how much hard work you put into it. By doing those things you learn that living worry free is way more fun than getting stuck in unnecessary stressful situations.
In Sarah Andrew’s memoir “Seaside Platter” she talks about her persistence to present her final piece into a school art show. She talks about her fears of missing the deadline, having to start fresh, or even quitting before she finally goes with her own timing and finishes her one original project. This proceeds into her winning the contest under the best sculpture category. This is the perfect example to prove my point. Even though she persisted on finishing what she had already started and putting her mind and hard work to complete the project, she followed her own instincts and took her own time and in the end it paid off way more than if she had rushed for quantity as opposed to quality.
In Jacqueline’s blog, she states “I have decided I will do less chasing, more pondering, and while I’m showing up on a daily basis to the do the things I think are important, I will no longer dwell on the future. I’m learning how to do less in the present.” One could obsess with the idea of what “success” in life is defined by lies on the images we see every day and bust your ass in law school to become a successful lawyer and work for the best law firm in New York City, a real life Patty Hewes, and live in a duplex in the heart of Manhattan. But I see life in a different way. I know I am capable of doing what I want to strive, but I also know that patience is the real key to getting there by taking my own steps in my own pace.
As a lazy person I demand less of life and others. I don’t need to persist on trying something new, into succeeding at something for reasons that don’t complete me in happiness just to know I was capable of doing something. Knowing I can is simple enough for me and doing things only when needed will get me through life. And I know that by doing so, my life will be happy. Take that, corporate ads!

“Eighty percent of success is showing up.” – Woody Allen. And to that quote I add the question “so why go above and beyond? Is persisting on an idea really worth the try?” We often want things simply because they are fed to our minds. Every day, we are exposed to thousands of images selling us products of what the ideal way of living should be. We are constantly exposed to a world of advertising whether from the comfort of our homes through television, websites, or video games or away from home through billboards, magazines, and etc. We catch ourselves obsessed with movies and television, wrapped around the “perfect” lives and scenarios of characters we either wish we were or actually knew in real life. We desire Monica’s Greenwich Village apartment or Claire Fisher’s lime green hearse. Monkey sees and monkey does! We fall into these corporate traps and the next thing we know it’s three in the morning and we’re on Amazon shopping for a $30 periodic table shower curtain because it’s the same one from The Big Bang Theory when the dollar store sells one just as good for $5.
Every ad campaign we see is photoshopped and air-brushed into perfection to make it more appealing for the eye. We see celebrities in these ads, the same faces that play the characters we get emotionally attached to, looking hot in covers of magazines. We ogle these images and desire to become what we see spread across them. I, personally, have those images on my bedroom wall. Rolling Stone covers that I see first thing in the morning when I wake up and last thing before I go to bed. Images of people I am inspired by but that one day betrayed me into feeling ashamed about my own body and ending up in a disastrous jogging episode. I looked at them one day and realized I was getting out of shape and needed to look thinner or more toned so I desperately tried to shed weight by going on a 10 mile run that ended up injuring me for weeks. I learned my lesson and realized what I was persisting was useless. I was fine the way I looked and the real world was not photoshopped.
I have always been a lazy person and in my opinion being lazy pays off more than persistence and chasing tails. Bill Gates once said “I choose a lazy person to do a hard job. Because a lazy person will find an easy way to do it.” And he couldn’t be any more correct. Simply by controlling my diet I know I am able to shed the same amount of weight it’d take me months to lose by sweating on a treadmill worry and pain free. Lao Tzu said “Practice not-doing and everything will fall into place.” Getting things done right is simply accepting reality and the fact that everything takes time regardless of how much hard work you put into it. By doing those things you learn that living worry free is way more fun than getting stuck in unnecessary stressful situations.
In Jacqueline’s blog, she states “I have decided I will do less chasing, more pondering, and while I’m showing up on a daily basis to the do the things I think are important, I will no longer dwell on the future. I’m learning how to do less in the present.” One could obsess with the idea of what “success” in life is defined by lies on the images we see every day and bust your ass in law school to become a successful lawyer and work for the best law firm in New York City, a real life Patty Hewes, and live in a duplex in the heart of Manhattan. But I see life in a different way. I know I am capable of doing what I want to strive, but I also know that patience is the real key to getting there by taking my own steps in my own pace.
As a lazy person I demand less of life and others. I don’t need to persist on trying something new, into succeeding at something for reasons that don’t complete me in happiness just to know I was capable of doing something. Knowing I can is simple enough for me and doing things only when needed will get me through life. And I know that by doing so, my life will be happy. Take that, corporate ads!

Can Laziness Be A Good Thing
The Fearless Factor | Overcome Fear Now.” The Fearless Factor Overcome Fear Now. N.p., n.d. Web. 12 Mar. 2015.
10 Reasons Why Being a Lazy Dude is Actually a Good Thing
Cutting Through Advertising Clutter
“Cutting Through Advertising Clutter.” CBSNews. CBS Interactive, n.d. Web. 11 Mar. 2015.

I have always struggled with weight- related issues and coming from a pod of whales I get to call family, growing up I was a little whale myself. After graduating high school I decided to finally get into shape and give farewell to the double chin and b-cups, bury the fork if you will. With the support of my friends and family I was able to shed a lot of pounds, a true Ogre-becomes-Prince-Oprah-Show story by jogging. I did very well and surprisingly, actually enjoyed such thing as exercise. But like knitting and as all new things I try, I eventually quit. With my running shoes put away paranoia took over and eating became something very controlled. It took me getting canned from my stable job to lose that little bit of control I had over my nutrition and exercise became something erased from my vocabulary completely.

It was a boiling day in the month of August and the sky was blue, the air was warm, and people tried to stay cool by exposing their skins in shorts and skirts while kids ran free screaming, sunbathers bathed and swimmers swam in their plastic pools. Or at least for all I know it was the month of August.  Since retiring from running, and consumed by unemployment,  I was no longer a fan of summer or an outdoor person. The only fan part of my life on my summer days sat by my window blocking my view of such nonsense keeping me cool in my shelter as I binge watched new shows and movies that the internet could provide.

I had been unemployed for four months then and after hundreds of applications sent and countless resumes in God-knows-where, all I had to do was to sit and wait. And I waited a long time: I was eleven seasons in on what was the eleventh show I had watched that summer.  I had gained about 30 pounds and just as the credits came up to an amazing series finale bringing another masterpiece to an end so did what seemed to be the last hot pocket I had.  I was double heartbroken. But it was time to move on, “it’s not me, it’s you” kind of deal and it was time to pick the next best thing to watch, download

it just in time for me to walk four blocks downhill to the closest 7 Eleven for more snacks, climb that Everest  back up again into my idea of Summer Heaven. Pretty much the only time I left the house; a day vampire hunting in order to survive.

It was then that it hit me like a baseball: there was nothing else to watch. I had literally watched everything that sparked any interest in me. I had been through every episode of The X-Files, watched both films, caught up on all episodes of The Big Bang Theory, cured all nostalgias from childhood cartoons, kicked ass with Xena, and even hoarded episodes of Hoarders among other crap made for that box with pictures we all love. I felt miserable. I was a junkie who used all their junk.  And deep down I realized I was bored. What was I to do now?

I sat up on my bed and stared at the ceiling. I stared at the walls. I bit my lips and just looked around. I analyzed my room, the minty green walls I painted myself that made me feel at ease, the stick figure drawings my nephews made that don’t really look like anything but for some reason I cannot throw out, the Rolling Stone pictures on the walls, people I admired, people I found attractive. They were my heroes, those faces and bodies spread across those covers, amazing movie stars and celebrities, such inspira- whoa. Those people and the stick figure drawings all had one thing in common: they were all thin. And the celebrities, well, they were pretty hot.  It was then I looked down and saw it, sitting on my thighs like a purring cat: my gut. Dear God. I was an animal in aestivation and all of a sudden I was a beast swallowed by shame and guilt. My heart sank and it felt like my life was the Truman Show and somehow my parents had caught me without a towel on. I felt like I had completely abandoned something I had worked so hard to achieve in the first place. I knew exactly how I was going to spend my time for the last weeks of summer: I was going to jog and get in shape just like those Rolling Stone pictures. Abs of steel here I come.

I was motivated, I was ready, I was Rocky Balboa and Eye of the Tiger was number one on the jogging playlist I had made for myself (naturally followed by Queen, What Is Love, and If I could Turn Back Time. Hey, every exercise needs a little Cher). I had my running shoes on that I dug out deeper in the closet than John Travolta himself.  I was truly unstoppable. But I knew I had to start small, I wasn’t stupid, I remembered a thing or two about exercising. “You got this” said my brain. And as I laid out my jogging blueprint out it had not occurred to me then what I was getting myself into and that running a five mile marathon your first time exercising in years was , maybe, just a bit of a terrible idea.

I counted the eleven blocks that would take for me to run from my house to the post office on the Government center. “Hmm… about a mile… not bad.” I told myself. “A mile to get there and a mile back… two miles.” Okay. Perfect plan: I was gonna do

five laps. “5×2 10… 10” I calculated. Ten miles on my first time exercising in years. I… I was unstoppable.

Like I said, I remembered a thing or two about exercising. I remembered that thing where you should stretch after exercising and that doing before wasn’t really important. So I started. Jumped right in. “Slowly does it” said my brain. And as I began jogging, one foot in front of the other, keeping my balance, I realized how much time I had wasted watching television. I loved jogging. What was I doing with my life?  I went a little faster and by the sixth block towards the post office I was running. And by the time I made it to the post office I was an athlete. By the third lap I felt I had won a gold Olympic medal. And by the end of the fifth lap I was The Flash.

I had done so well. My breathing was right and one bottle of water after every lap I was much hydrated.  And I could feel the burn. My legs were on fire, my muscles were alive and sooner than later I knew I’d have the legs of a horse. “You know what? I think I can go for two more laps.” And so I did. I ran block after block and my muscles hurt more and more. I was sure losing 30 pounds in one run. By the end of the seventh lap I had really overcome all expectations for myself and I deserved a golden star. When I came around the block to my house it was time for this racing stallion to relax. I ran straight into my house, shot upstairs where I stopped abruptly and threw myself on the floor. “Maybe I’ll end this day with some five minute YouTube yoga to help me stretch.” And I did. I stretched: arms up, breathing in; legs out, breathing out. My leg muscles were on fire. It was time to hit the showers and sleep. And so I did…

I woke up and I couldn’t move.  I was paralyzed. I managed to sit up and felt sharp pains on my ankles and knees as I did so. I grabbed my thighs and moved them towards the edge of the bed so I could get up. I pulled myself up by holding onto the night stand and as I did invisible knives seemed to stab my legs in all directions. I dropped onto the floor and shrieked in pain. Tears I could not control rolled down my cheeks and I laid there on the floor in the fetal position whimpering, holding onto my knees trying to somehow relieve the pain. I managed to crawl army style out of my room across my apartment to where my cell phone was charging and called my mother. “Mommy.  Help.” –  a deep grunt that sounded more like Jodie Foster than my own voice came out of my mouth. When worse comes to worst even Greek warriors call out to their mother. She yelled at me, naturally but came running to save her dying child (naturally). At the rate I was going, I wasn’t going to make it ‘til Christmas. Once there, she assisted me back into my bed and strictly ordered me to stay there and ice my knees while she made me something to eat.  Maybe re-watching the X-Files wouldn’t hurt now.

It was then she walked into the room with the official final hot pocket left in my fridge. Stars filled my eyes and as I bit down I could taste the melted cheese and hot pepperoni. Pizza flavor, my favorite! I ate it with a smile because it was the best hot

pocket I’ve had in my life. It was finger- licking good. I came to the realization that I was fooling myself. This was just another hot pocket, carbs, but it tasted so good. It was then I realized why: carbs were my true friends, the ones I could get by with a little help of.  Exercising was evil. It was Annie Wilkes from Misery trying to break my legs.  I have lived my entire life embraced to carbs and being lazy so why stop now? I was trying to do the impossible; I was trying to change the currents of an ocean.

So for the remainder of the two weeks of that hot month of August, I was a paralyzed aestivating polar bear. And as Advil became part of my unhealthy diet I knew I was in the only Summer Heaven there was for me. I have not yet attempted to jog again ever since exercising tried to kill me but I no longer feel guilty about eating. I’d rather have the ability to eat and choose not to walk than be able to eat and not walk at all. Since the incident, I no longer struggle with weight issues. Or at least I like to believe so. I just let it sit in the back of my mind like I did most of that summer before I almost became Professor X.

I have always struggled with weight- related issues and coming from a pod of whales I get to call family, growing up I was a little whale myself. After graduating high school I decided to finally get into shape and give farewell to the double chin and b-cups, bury the fork if you will, and with the support of my friends and family I was able to shed a lot of pounds, a true Ogre-becomes-Prince-Oprah-Show story by jogging. I did very well and surprisingly actually enjoyed such thing as exercise. But like knitting and as all new things I try, I eventually quit. With my running shoes put away paranoia took over me and eating became something very controlled. It took me getting canned from my stable job to lose that little bit of control I had over my nutrition and exercise became something erased from my vocabulary completely.
It was a boiling day in the month of August and the sky was blue, the air was warm, and people tried to stay cool by exposing their skins in shorts and skirts while kids ran free screaming, sunbathers bathed and swimmers swam in their plastic pools. Or at least for all I know it was the month of August. Since retiring from running, I was no longer a fan of summer or an outdoor person. The only fan part of my life on my summer days sat by my window blocking my view of such nonsense keeping me cool in my shelter as I binge watched new shows and movies that the internet could provide. I had been unemployed for four months then and after hundreds of applications sent and countless resumes in God-knows-where, all I had to do was to sit and wait. And I waited a long time: I was eleven seasons in on what was the eleventh show I had watched that summer. I had gained about 30 pounds and just as the credits came up to an amazing series finale bringing a masterpiece to an end so did what seemed to be the last hot pocket I had. I was double heartbroken. But it was time to move on, “it’s not me, it’s you” kind of deal and it was time to pick the next best thing to watch, download it just in time for me to walk four blocks downhill to the closest 7 Eleven for more snacks, climb that Everest back up again into my idea of Summer Heaven. Pretty much the only time I left the house; a day vampire hunting in order to survive.
It was then that it hit me like a baseball: there was nothing else to watch. I had literally watched everything that sparked any interest in me. I had been through every episode of The X-Files, watched both films, caught up on all episodes of The Big Bang Theory, cured all nostalgias from childhood cartoons, kicked ass with Xena, and even hoarded episodes of Hoarders among other crap made for that box with pictures we all love. I felt miserable. I was a junkie who used all their junk. And deep down I realized I was bored. What was I to do now? I sat up on my bed and stared at the ceiling. I stared at the walls. I bit my lips and just looked around. I analyzed my room, the minty green walls I painted myself that made me feel at ease, the stick figure drawings my nephews made that don’t really look like anything but for some reason I cannot throw out, the rolling stone pictures on the walls, people I admired, people I found attractive. They were my heroes, those faces and bodies spread across those covers, amazing movie stars and celebrities, such inspira- whoa. They all had one thing in common: they were all hot. It was then I looked down and saw it, sitting on my thighs like a purring cat: my gut. Dear God. I was an animal in aestivation and all of a sudden I was a beast swallowed by shame and guilt. My heart sank and it felt like my life was the Truman Show and somehow my parents had caught me without a towel on. I felt like I had completely abandoned something I had worked so hard to achieve in the first place. I knew exactly how I was going to spend my time for the last weeks of summer: I was going to jog and get in shape just like those rolling stone pictures. Abs of steel here I come.
I was motivated, I was ready, I was Rocky Balboa and Eye of the Tiger was number one on the jogging playlist I had made for myself (naturally followed by Queen, What Is Love, and If I could Turn Back Time. Hey, every exercise needs a little Cher). I had my running shoes on that I dug out deeper in the closet than John Travolta himself. I was truly unstoppable. But I knew I had to start small, I wasn’t stupid, I remembered a thing or two about exercising. “You got this” said my brain. And as I laid out my jogging blueprint it had not occurred to me then what I was getting myself into and that running a five mile marathon your first time exercising in years was , maybe, just a bit of a terrible idea. I counted the eleven blocks that would take for me to run from my house to the post office on the Government center. “Hmm… about a mile… not bad. A mile to get there and a mile back… two miles.” Okay. Perfect plan: I was gonna do five laps. 5×2 10… 10. Ten miles on my first time exercising in years. I… I was unstoppable.
Like I said, I remembered a thing or two about exercising. I remembered that thing where you should stretch after exercising and that doing before wasn’t really important. So I started. Jumped right in. “Slowly does it” said my brain. And as I began jogging, one foot in front of the other, keeping my balance, I realized how much time I had wasted watching television. I loved jogging. What was I doing with my life? I went a little faster and by the sixth block towards the post office I was running. And by the time I made it to the post office I was an athlete. By the third lap I felt I had won a gold Olympic medal. And by the end of the fifth lap I was Superman.
I had done so well. My breathing was right and one bottle of water after every lap I was much hydrated. And I could feel the burn. My legs were on fire, my muscles were alive and sooner than later I knew I’d have the legs of a horse. “You know what? I think I can go for two more laps.” And so I did. I ran block after block and my muscles hurt more and more. I was sure losing 30 pounds in one run. By the end of the seventh lap I had really overcome all expectations for myself and I deserved a golden star. When I came around the block to my house it was time for this racing stallion to relax. I ran straight into my house, shot upstairs where I stopped abruptly and threw myself on the floor. Maybe I’ll end this day with some five minute YouTube yoga to help me stretch. And I did. I stretched: arms up, breathing in; legs out, breathing out. My leg muscles were on fire. It was time to hit the showers and sleep. And so I did…
I woke up and I couldn’t move. I was paralyzed. I managed to sit up and felt sharp pains on my ankles and knees as I did so. I grabbed my thighs and moved them towards the edge of the bed so I could get up. I pulled myself up by holding onto the night stand and as I did invisible knives seemed to stab my legs in all directions. I dropped onto the floor and shrieked in pain. Tears I could not control rolled down my cheeks and I laid there on the floor in the fetal position whimpering, holding onto my knees trying to somehow relieve the pain. I managed to crawl army style out of my room across my apartment to where my cell phone was charging and called my mother. “Mommy, help!” When worse comes to worst even Greek warriors call out to their mother. She yelled at me, naturally but came running to save her dying child (naturally). At the rate I was going, I wasn’t going to make it ‘til Christmas. I was told to strictly stay in bed and ice my knees. Maybe re-watching the X-Files wouldn’t hurt. It was then she walked into the room with the official final hot pocket left in my fridge. I ate it with a smile because it was the best hot pocket I had in my life.
And for the remainder of the two weeks of that hot month of August, I was a paralyzed aestivating polar bear. And as Advil became part of my unhealthy diet I knew I was in the only Summer Heaven there was for me. I no longer struggle with weight issues. Or at least I like to believe so. I just let it sit in the back of my mind like I did that summer before the incident.  Paranoia and body ache are not the right way to go and I learned that I do like to exercise. But I also like being lazy. Health is finding the correct balance between the too.

It was a boiling day in the month of August and the sky was blue, the air was warm, and people tried to stay cool by exposing their skins in shorts and skirts while kids ran free screaming, sunbathers bathed and swimmers swan in their plastic pools. Or at least for all I know it was the month of August.  I was never a fan of summer or an outdoor person. The only fan part of my life on my summer days sat by my window blocking my view of such nonsense keeping me cool in my shelter as I binge watched new shows and movies that the internet could provide. I had been unemployed for four months then and after hundreds of applications sent and countless resumes in God-knows-where, all I had to do was to sit and wait. And I waited a long time: I was eleven seasons in on what was the eleventh show I had watched that summer.  I had gained about 30 pounds and just as the credits came up to an amazing series finale bringing a masterpiece to an end so did what seemed to be the last hot pocket I had.  I was double heartbroken. But it was time to move on, “it’s not me, it’s you” kind of deal and it was time to pick the next best thing to watch, download it just in time for me to walk four blocks downhill to the closest 7 Eleven for more snacks, climb that Everest  back up again into my idea of Summer Heaven. Pretty much the only time I left the house; a day vampire hunting in order to survive.

It was then that it hit me like a baseball: there was nothing else to watch. I had literally watched everything that sparked any interest in me. I had been through every episode of The X-Files, watched both films, caught up on all episodes of The Big Bang Theory, cured all nostalgiasfrom childhood cartoons, kicked ass with Xena, and even hoarded episodes of Hoarders among other crap made for that box with pictures we all love. I felt miserable. I was a junkie who used all their junk.  And deep down I realized I was bored. What was I to do now? I sat up on my bed and stared at the ceiling. I stared at the walls. I bit my lips and just looked around. I analyzed my room, the minty green walls I painted myself that made me feel at ease, the stick figure drawings my nephews made that don’t really look like anything but for some reason I cannot throw out, the rolling stone pictures on the walls, people I admired, people I found attractive. They were my heroes, those faces and bodies spread across those covers, amazing movie stars and celebrities, such inspira- whoa. They all had one thing in common: they were all hot. It was then I looked down and saw it, sitting on my thighs like a purring cat: my gut. Dear God. I was an animal in aestivation and all of a sudden I was a beast swallowed by shame and guilt. My heart sank and it felt like my life was the Truman Show and somehow my parents had caught me without a towel on. I knew exactly how I was going to spend my time for the last weeks of summer: I was going to jog and get in shape just like those rolling stone pictures. Abs of steel here I come.

I was motivated, I was ready, I was Rocky Balboa and Eye of the Tiger was number one on the jogging playlist I had made for myself (naturally followed by Queen, What Is Love, and If I could Turn Back Time. Hey, every exercise needs a little Cher). I had my running shoes on that I dug out deeper in the closet than John Travolta himself.  I was truly unstoppable. But I knew I had to start small, I wasn’t stupid, I’ve had read a thing or two about exercising. “You got this” said my brain. And as I laid out my jogging blueprint it had not occurred to me then what I was getting myself into and that running a five mile marathon your first time exercising in years was , maybe, just a bit of a terrible idea.  I counted the eleven blocks that would take for me to run from my house to the post office on the Government center. Hmm… about a mile… not bad. A mile to get there and a mile back… two miles. Okay. Perfect plan: I was gonna do five laps. 5×2 10… 10. Ten miles on my first time exercising in years. I… I was unstoppable.

Like I said I had read a thing or two about exercising. I remembered that thing where you should stretch after exercising and that doing before wasn’t really important. So I started. Jumped right in. “Slowly does it” said my brain. And as I began jogging, one foot in front of the other, keeping my balance, I realized how much time I had wasted watching television. I loved jogging. What was I doing with my life?  I went a little faster and by the sixth block towards the post office I was running. And by the time I made it to the post office I was an athlete. By the third lap I felt I had won a gold Olympic medal. And by the end of the fifth lap I was Superman.

I had done so well. My breathing was right and one bottle of water after every lap I was very hydrated.  And I could feel the burn. My legs were on fire, my muscles were alive and sooner than later I knew I’d have the legs of a horse. “You know what? I think I can go for two more laps.” And so I did. I ran block after block and my muscles hurt more and more. I was sure losing 30 pounds in one run. By the end of the seventh lap I had really overcome all expectations for myself and I deserved a golden star. When I came around the block to my house it was time for this racing stallion to relax. I ran straight into my house, shot upstairs where I stopped abruptly and threw myself on the floor. Maybe I’ll end this day with some five minute YouTube yoga to help me stretch. And I did. I stretched: arms up, breathing in; legs out, breathing out. My leg muscles were on fire. It was time to hit the showers and sleep. And so I did…

I woke up and I couldn’t move.  I was paralyzed. I managed to sit up and felt sharp pains on my ankles and knees as I did so. I grabbed my thighs and moved them towards the edge of the bed so I could get up. I pulled myself up by holding onto the night stand and as I did invisible knives seemed to stab my legs in all directions. I dropped onto the floor and shrieked in pain. Tears I could not control rolled down my cheeks and I laid there on the floor in the fetal position whimpering, holding onto my knees trying to somehow relieve the pain. I managed to crawl army style out of my room across my apartment to where my cell phone was charging and called my mother. “Mommy, help!” When worse comes to worst even Greek warriors call out to their mother. She yelled at me, naturally but came running to save her dying child (naturally). At the rate I was going, I wasn’t going to make it ‘til Christmas. I was told to strictly stay in bed and ice my knees.  Maybe re-watching the X-Files wouldn’t hurt. It was then she walked into the room with the official final hot pocket left in my fridge. I ate it with a smile because it was the best hot pocket I had in my life.

And for the remainder of the two weeks of that hot month of August, I was a paralyzed aestivating polar bear. And as Advil became part of my unhealthy diet I knew I was in the only Summer Heaven there was for me.

• My hometown was a wonderful (or choose your own adjective) place to grow up.

My hometown had safe neighborhoods where strangers always carried a friendly smile and a helping hand at ready if needed.

• Laci had a rather eccentric style.

Laci’s bright lipstick would always bring out her cat-like contacts that would otherwise seem obscured by her face tattoo.

• Mr. Brown is the worst teacher I’ve ever had.

Mr. Brown is always unable to distinguish between his classes and is always teaching students the wrong lessons.

• The room seemed very small (or choose your own adjective).

The walls seemed to squeeze you the moment you stepped into the room.

Who am I as a writer? I am exactly what writing is: a working process. I am not sure of which directions I want to take as a writer but I do know that I do enjoy writing very much. I like creating stories, creating people of whom I have control of their lives. I like telling their stories, their struggles, and the ability to almost play God that only in writing we can find. It’s relaxing and interesting to do creative writing. It’s the escape into another reality, into your mind, into your fantasies. I like writing short stories, plays, and even have so novel ideas (drafts, writing is a working process). I enjoy reading a lot as well and much like my writing my taste in novels is also very eclectic. My favorite writers are Stephen King and JK Rowling. I also do enjoy a lot of movies and television that tell a good story and even inspire me to write. Music is also a big inspiration of mine. If I like an album, I’ll envision story it could be the soundtrack for.