Tonight, I (mostly) ran my first 5K (well, 3.5 miles so 5.63 kilometers) as part of the JP Morgan Chase Corporate Challenge. I signed up with my company and was one of 15,000 people from various companies who completed the course through Central Park.

I had to slow down to a walk more often than I would’ve liked since my allergies were bothering me and my throat was burning. I now have a nice cough and post-nasal drip to show for it, though. Still, I managed to finish 3.5 miles in just under 47 minutes, meaning that I’m doing a 13-minute mile when I split it between walking and running.

Afterward, a bunch of us went over to a pub to get some food and drinks. We got there about 8:10. They didn’t start serving us food until 9:40, at which time I had to leave to get to the subway (at 77nd and Lex) and take the 6 down to Astor Place (down by my old NYU stomping grounds) to get to the 9th Street PATH and take that back to NJ to get back to my car in Hoboken before the parking garage closed at 11. I got my car at 10:48.

So, until I had some of this peanut butter and jelly sandwich 3 minutes ago, I hadn’t eaten real food (Gatorade and a Special K bar don’t count) since lunch at noon, and had done a 5K in between. I have no appetite, but I ate half of the sandwich so that I don’t wake up in the middle of the night with hunger pains (it’s happened before when I told myself it was too late to eat dinner and skipped it after a day of physical exertion).

I’m glad that I did it, because I proved to myself that I could. But I’m angry that I couldn’t run the whole time because of my allergies. This just means I’ll be working to prove that on the treadmill - which won’t be hard because the treadmill is not asphalt, it doesn’t have hills, it’s not humid and covered in 15,000 other runners, and I can watch TV while I’m at it and not pay attention to how far I’ve gone or how fast I’m going.

Yes, it was good to do, but everything hurts (despite my stretching) and I am not feeling as tired or clear-headed as I thought I would in the aftermath. But that’s my problem, isn’t it?

I don’t feel as though I have much to write about right now. And I don’t have any new pictures to post.

I could mention how much I enjoy my new cell phone.

I could mention that I went climbing tonight and seemed to be getting back into my groove and that my back will certainly hurt tomorrow.

I could mention that I signed up for my company’s corporate challenge walk/run taking place on Thursday and that while I am having second thoughts, I think a 3.5 mile run is quite manageable and I will do it.

I could mention that I’m very stressed and tired and have been getting headaches every day for the last four days.

I could mention how happy I was when a friend complimented me on the photos I’ve been posting lately.

I could mention the books I read this weekend - there were several - and talk about the new one I’m really enjoying.

I could whine about my currently re-emerging headache.

However, I don’t really want to write about any of these at length. I’m tired and know that I won’t sleep for a bit yet since my mind is speeding and awake. It’s partially due to the soda I had at dinner because my headache was so bad, I resorted to caffeine to help me over the hump.

Ah well. As Miss Scarlett said, “After all… tomorrow is another day.”

This week seems interminably long, even in light of a half-day at work tomorrow and a day off on Monday. It’s just been chock-full of activity - possibly because one of my co-workers is on maternity leave and the other is on vacation. This might just be me catching the overflow, but I’m thinking it’s something more. This doesn’t feel temporary.

But I’m feeling good in a small-scale philanthropic way because I just donated some moneys (not a lot, but apparently their most popular pledge amount) to my local public radio station during their pledge drive. I was going to forgo the thank you gift (another tote bag?) but then I saw that I had the option to get an iPod cover. I’ve been looking for a new iPod cover. So I’ll have this (mildly pretentious) cover in a few weeks:

I might have to start putting some of their podcasts on my iPod just so the inside matches the outside. Right now, my radio listening is NPR (WNYC, more appropriately), the oldies station (rarely now because DJs really annoy the crap out of me these days), or my iPod. That’s it.

I don’t think I’m alone in these listening habits - it’s a bit of the DVR/TiVo mentality:

a) I don’t want commercials
b) I want to hear/see what I want when I want it
c) I’m willing to pay a little more for this privilege (which is a little f’ed up if you think about, but it’s modern life - we pay a lot to maintain our respective levels of peace and quiet in life)

And now, I think I’m going to go by my local bagel shop and get a bagel before I catch my train. It’s a rainy morning and I’m feeling tired, but OK.

Once more into the fray!

Kind of well. My stomach is not pleased with the amount of food I placed into it this evening. It was a bit more than it’s been used to lately. But it was a business dinner - the restaurant had a three-course prix fixe thing going on… what’s a girl to do?

My workday was exceptionally long-feeling and, frankly, a bit overwhelming. Not to the point of tears or anything, but I haven’t multi-tasked like that or accomplished so much in so little time (or started so much in so little time) in a few months. And it’s not like I’ve been sitting at my desk twiddling my thumbs over the last few months either. Therefore, a business dinner with a small group of people I enjoy was just what the doctor ordered.

We went to Tabla. Mmmm, tasty.

First off, signature cocktail: the Tablatini. Imagine if you will: Skyy Citrus with Lemongrass-Infused Fresh Pineapple Juice. Served in a martini glass with a shoot of lemongrass resting atop it, piercing a wedge of pineapple. Points for presentation and many more points for taste.

I started off with the braised duck samosa, served over a salad of shaved fennel, orange & pea tendrils. That was mighty tasty. Since my colleagues had all decided upon fish for their main courses by this point, we ordered a bottle of white wine - Vouvray, Prince Poniatowsky, “Clos Baudoin” 1989. I had a glass before I started my main course just to get a taste - a mite sweet, but very good. And I’m not usually a fan of white wine.

I moved onto chili rubbed hanger steak & braised short ribs of beef with purple Adirondack potatoes and baby spinach. This was some red meat heaven. Prepared medium rare (my preferred level of done-ness) so it looked lovely on my plate as well - red and purple and brown and green… rich jewel tones, really. Aesthetically quite pleasing.

In between courses, we discussed our ethical issues (or lack thereof) with eating things like foie gras and veal, and how our connection with cats and dogs is the only thing that saves them from being food-stuff, talked about playing the ukulele and ukulele festivals, documentaries and the Anglican church, then drifted into talking about work, then forked off to talk about Facebook and Twitter first in a work capacity and then in a personal… and it was soon time for dessert.

When the dessert menu arrived, there was really only one thing I could pick - not because there weren’t other delicious options, but because I am obsessed. With crème brûlèe. If it’s on a menu, I am ordering it. Period, end of story. A lot of that has to do with Amelie - but not all of it. I’m not that easily influenced and shallow. There is something romantic (in a poetic old-timey way, not a bouquet of roses way) about the cracking of the caramelized sugar. Mmmmm. But there it was: coconut crème brûlèe with carrot cake, tamarind sauce, coconut ice cream and carrot sorbet.

And I am so full now, and so tired, and still have a bit of work to do from home. But it’s well worth it after this tastiness.

My friend Sara was up visiting the NY metro area this weekend, so she came into Manhattan yesterday morning and spent the majority of the day with me. We had tea, walked a bit, did some shopping, walked some more, took the dog I’m sitting for on a super long walk in the park, ate some yummie vegan-friendly foods and had more tea.

Throughout the day, we were both finding it difficult to think of the words we wanted to use - this resulted in made-up words (I’d call them neologisms - but I’m pretty sure they’re not real), saying the wrong words (but knowing what we meant) and just lots of “I know this!” moments/”tip of the tongue” syndrome (lethologica if you can’t remember the right word; anomia is a more severe version of this that comes with aphasia - impairment of speech due to brain damage). In both our cases, this was due to lack of quality restful sleep - and I find that’s the first manifestation of sleep deficit in my world. All this week I’ve been struggling to think of words - words like “attrition” and “tomb”, for example.

Today, I’ve been feeling gross and headachey, so aside from walking the dog, my activities have included watching movies, reading and doing NYT crossword puzzles. Between last night and now, I’ve watched “The Diving Bell and the Butterfly” (impressed), “Juno” (underwhelmed), “Hairspray” (surprised), “Bride and Prejudice” (Bollywood version of Pride and Prejudice - Naveen Andrews line-dancing = strangely hot), and, randomly, the E! True Hollywood Story of the Kardashian family (because I thought to myself, “What the hell are they actually famous for? I’m still asking the same question…).

Aside from seeing Sara, these are all just empty diversions and I am aware of it. I spoke with my mother in Poland today; amidst everything else, she had forgotten it was Mother’s Day. The service for my grandfather is tomorrow, and I lost it a little when she told me about picking out the urn (he wanted to be cremated, so that was done on Friday) and going over home renovation plans with my grandmother to make sure that she’s safe now that she’s going to be alone (another hard realization).

She mentioned to me that she’s reminded of my grandfather everywhere she looks… when coming back from a cousin’s house last night, she looked up at the balcony of my grandparents’ home where my grandmother and grandfather would always stand and wait for us when we were arriving from the airport or from being out somewhere anytime we came to visit. We would pull up and they would be standing up there together, waving down at us and smiling. I can see them; it’s an extremely vivid memory. Now, she said, it was just my grandmother standing there waving to them - and I can’t write about that anymore.

And this is probably too personal for the direction I want to be heading here, too much information, and I think I shall end this post now.

I think I’ve chosen one of my “weekend in NYC” activities: The Brooklyn Museum’s Murakami exhibit.

I’ve never been to that museum and my Brooklyn experience totals three (3) visits, so it would be an adventure on more than one count.

Anime-inspired art? Yes, thank you. A retrospective of the artist’s development from traditional Japanese painting to modern pop culture flavored works? Totally.

“A Japanese girl jumping a rope created by milk spurting from her gargantuan breasts…” - not so much, but I’m sure it’ll look amazing. And give me a whole new mental picture when my friend talks about breast-feeding her impending child.

I’m finally getting a bit caught up on my RSS feeds. I haven’t had much time or desire to read through, so there are literally thousands of posts to read. Some are just getting skipped since they’re from before I went on vacation in late April. However, here are some things I found interesting, compelling, or otherwise worth sharing:

1. A three-dimensional exploration of Pablo Picasso’s Guernica.
2. Craftzine’s instructions on decorating office supplies with fabric.
3. A product that appeals to me in so many ways: a gizmo that creates perfectly spherical ice “cubes” - or, um, ice spheres, I guess.
4. An article in The New Yorker (via Bella Sugar) about how even Dove’s “real beauty” ad campaign makes liberal use of photo retouching done by a premiere photo retoucher who works for all the big magazines and ad agencies. Not surprising, but f’ed up nonetheless.
5. A post from BiblioAddict about buying a book for its cover. It’s saying basically what I was going to say about Michael Chabon’s Maps and Legends. I bought this book for the dustjacket (or jackets - there are three, ingeniously designed and cut to produce a stunning package). I also really liked The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, and the first 60 pages of this (his first non-fiction) book are phenomenal. I’ll pick up The Yiddish Policeman’s Union next week since it’s in paperback now and is supposed to be fantastic, as well. But really, look at Maps and Legends:
   

From YesButNoButYes, a video that made me crack a smile. Despite this week’s ick, a splitting sinus/pressure headache and neck pain and a general sense of malaise resulting from a crappy morning commute.

Also - it’s funny because it’s true:

While I’m quite used to paying a little extra for everything when I’m in Manhattan, it’s sometimes still a bit of an adjustment.

For example, I just stopped at a supermarket here to get some food for the weekend: a bag of baby spinach leaves, a can of beets, small tube of goat cheese, box of cereal, carton of orange juice, a lemon, a couple of tomatoes, a container of chocolate-covered raisins, loaf of whole grain bread, jar of peanut butter, jar of jelly and (my luxury) two medallions of filet mignon ($11, so that wasn’t too bad). Stuff to make salads, sandwiches, breakfast and a couple of dinners.

The total bill (for me to eat this weekend) was $67. Granted, if I went out for all those meals, I’d be paying a lot more, but I couldn’t help but think about how the same stuff would’ve cost me no more than $40 “back home.”

And for that moment, I felt a bit stodgy and country bumpkin-like. But I understand that that’s what it costs if I want to eat well and not get McDonald’s for every meal or eat toast from morning ’til night. I have friends at work who will do their food shopping in NJ before heading home to NY at night so they can save $10 or $20 or $30. I was toting a suitcase today, so that wasn’t an option.

Still, it’s going to be a nice change to be here for the weekend: spending time with an adorable doggie, walking in the park and taking photos, meeting up with some friends, and just not being home (where the quiet would probably begin to affect me, given the events of this week.)

For a variety of reasons, I don’t have the energy or time to write a full summary (perhaps this weekend) here is one story from Coachella I shall share since I told it to two friends over lunch today and feel like telling it again. Telling stories is a useful distraction and my grandfather was a man who loved to tell stories - of (his perceived) glories of Communist-era Poland, sneaking kielbasa across country lines, going fishing with a bottle of vodka, bread and some lard for sustenance… and man, could he make some good pickle soup. Don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it.

Coachella story:

My friends and I arrived at the festival grounds (Empire Polo Club/Field in Indio, California) late on Thursday night. Friday morning, I was up at 7:30 to hit the shower mobile and feel clean again. Shortly after returning to my tent (around 8:30 in the morning) I heard some loud talking in the not-so-distant-distance. The voice was that of a young woman - perhaps 19 or 20 years old. It was a sitcom voice; what you would think of as a “Valley Girl” voice from an 80’s movie. A voice not dissimilar from the “Oh. My. God, Becky. Look at her butt…” chick in the beginning of Sir Mix-a-Lot’s “Baby Got Back” video, except a lot higher in pitch. The voice yelled:

HAPPY COACHELLA, EVERYONE!
THIS IS MY FIRST MUSIC FESTIVAL EH-VAR!
THIS IS MY FIRST COACHELLA!
I’M A COACHELLA VIRGIN!!!

Followed by about a minute of silence. Then we would all hear, yet again:

HAPPY COACHELLA, EVERYONE!
THIS IS MY FIRST MUSIC FESTIVAL EH-VAR!
THIS IS MY FIRST COACHELLA!
I’M A COACHELLA VIRGIN!!!

She was working the campground, walking up and down the rows, making sure that EVERYONE knew it was her first Coachella. I can only assume she was trying to make friends/attract attention. This was also my first Coachella and my first proper music festival, but something (common sense? pride? old age? East coast cynicism??) prevented me from engaging in this behavior.

(A shot of the campground and mountains nearby.)

After about 30 minutes, she was far enough away to stop assaulting my ears. But the next morning, around the same time, she was back. This time, a Brit (from Manchester, actually) staying in one of the tents near me replied, “Cheers, mate - you said the same thing yesterday.” (Yes, from Manchester, and yes, he did say “mate.”) The girl was all flustered and embarrassed and Mancunian Man just said, “No worries - have a great festival.”

When back on the festival grounds, I noticed a LOT of people greeting each other (these deep new-found Coachella friendships) by saying, “Happy Coachella!” I guess it was “a thing.” It didn’t catch on with me. It’s that East coast attitude, I suppose. I think we were making sure to represent Cynicism at this event and balance out the effects of all the hippies in attendance.

Case in point: we totally and completely avoided Jack Johnson.

Anytime someone mentioned that they’d come to Coachella to see him, it was understood in our group that any additional words falling from this person’s lips would be heavily discounted and their taste in other things was highly suspect and questionable.