Lament for the Day

No sooner had I begun toying with the idea of making some sort of effort to somewhat curb my severe nicotine addiction sometime in the not too distant future than those evil sons of bitches at U.S. Smokeless Tobacco come along with their luscious new Skoal Citrus Blend, a pinch of which is like one of those tangy lemon flavored Dum Dum suckers I used to get after breakfast at Denny's when I was a kid, but with a special kick, damnit.

Addendum 25.3.07: Please do note I'm about the most atypical consumer of smokeless tobacco there is. Even the apparent new dipping fad at certain gay bars in Austin, according to Dagon, is merely an uptick in patronage by closet-ish country queers from surrounding areas.

Note to Self

Even the sickest BMX on the planet gets you zero respect in the world of SUVs, so in the interest of not being maimed or killed, please, from now on, keep the damn bird in its cage.

Need Endorphins

Day two of complete rest following 40 miles of excruciating non-leisurely* running in one week finds me in a miserable state of withdrawal—fidgeting, pacing, unable to focus on anything (besides blogging) for more than about two minutes. It sucks so bad I'm even thinking perhaps I should finally just stop all this madness—all this insufferable recuperation between workouts, I mean.

*I especially scorn the idea of a "target zone". My own target is simply to push 200 bpm for as long as I possibly can.

Note to MnkyGrl

I can't stop thinking about your navel.