In preparation for our New Year's Eve midnight race, Roxie and I ran the Jingle Bell Jog in Prospect Park yesterday. Outlook: cold and victorious with a monster side of jingle.
I find this beard oddly sexy; it's like half of his face is Mandy Patinkin. And tweed never hurts, nor does insouciant scarf-wearing. Nor the fact that he's Daniel Day-Lewis.
I hate the commercialization of Christmas as much as the next Charlie Brown, but I do believe in running out of doors in all temperatures. With clothes on. Clothes I purchased with money. At a store. So here we are: clothes you can move yet stay warm in if you're a chick who's signed up for the almost-guaranteed-to-be-frigid New Year's Eve Emerald Nuts Midnight Run in Central Park. Or are nuts in general. Feel free to self-identify; nobody has to know.
On the bottom: Nike thermal running tights — These are lined with fleece, as all warm things you sweat in should be. Mine sort of bunch up at the ankles, since I'm short, and at the hips, since I have hips. YMMV.
Sweat-wicking base layer: Nike Pro Hyperwarm Tipped long-sleeve shirt — Esp. good for very cold weather (10s/20s). Likewise fleece-lined with a tight compression fit, and long enough to compensate for those cute fortysomething bellies. (But ugh, sweat-wicking, what an unholy conglomeration of ugly words.)
Optional thin layer: Nike Dri-FIT wool v-neck — Depends on the weather. Could be worn alone if it's in the high 40s or over another shirt if it's in the 20s, etc. Made of merino wool, so it's a little scratchy, but you probably won't die from it. Or in it, unless you're mugged by a sheep. Not likely to happen, but still. Carry mace. Or a shepherd.
Optional heavy layer: The North Face Momentum thermal half-zip — Again, depends on the weather and exactly how hot you need to be; i.e., more fleece lining. It's cozy and warm but the sleeves are quite long, so this would be good if you're ever shopping for monkeys at the North Pole.
Outer layer: The North Face Animagi jacket — Very—how shall I put this?—form fitting, but with a lot of give, you know? (cf. tummy, prev.) Can effectively be worn over 1, 2, or all 3 of the above layers; it was 15 degrees in Wisconsin last week, so I was able to confirm this. Plus it has pockets for all your various gewgaws and gimcracks, etc. I carry $10, ID, keys, eyedrops, and an inhaler, which is what makes me the pick of the litter, life-wise, and also eternally single, spouse-wise.
Head layer option 2: Title Nine fleece beanie — Toasty! Includes one of them ponytail keyholes that never seem to function as advertised but who knows, maybe I just have the wrong style of head for this style of hat.
Hand layer: Saucony 3 Season Glove 2 — I can't think of a dumber name for a product but let's not quibble. They're only gloves, they won't have your back in a gunfight or anything.
This crybaby dog enjoyed zero peace and much separation anxiety.
This little clown lost not one but two count 'em two front teeth.
And these lifelong friends were finally reunited.
Give up the world; give up self; finally, give up God.
Find god in rhododendrons and rocks,
passers-by, your cat.
Pare your beliefs, your absolutes.
Make it simple; make it clean.
No carry-on luggage allowed.
Examine all you have
with a loving and critical eye, then
throw away some more.
Keep this and only this:
what your heart beats loudly for
what feels heavy and full in your gut.
There will only be one or two
things you will keep,
and they will fit
in your pocket.
— Sheri Hostetler, from the anthology A Cappella: Mennonite Voices in Poetry
I follow the blog Remodelista only sporadically because, come on, everybody and their grandma knows blogs are dead. But it's filled with pretty pictures and wildly implausible life scenarios, and I do my best to remember the people who inhabit the structures it promotes are basically aliens, at least to a middle-class Midwestern middle-of-the-road tract house conformist like me. Still, I like to think I'd have the presence of mind and backbone to say that when I ask for a gazebo, do not build me a goddamn Japanese teahouse.
In my imaginary future, though, sure, I'd have tea here, why not.
p.s. Something about dream houses makes me unusually aggressive. Is this related to my status as the 99%? Or the 47%? Math is the worst.
"If you had an aunt who would give you a million dollars if she liked you and you knew she wouldn't like you if she found a leopard in your apartment, what would you do?"
I joined my running coach and one of my teammates at mile 23 (Fifth Ave between 102nd and 103rd) to cheer on some of our other teammates. I get so excited watching a marathon that I always think, I could do that, and then I stand on the asphalt for two hours and my knees say, No, you couldn't.