In Da Club

During all of my years flying out of Denver International Airport, I would wander past the elusive United Club and simply wonder what magical activities were occurring behind that frosted glass. My imagination ran wild, picturing celebrities in sequined gowns toasting glasses of champagne with ambassadors and business executives.

When my father handed me a United Club Pass, I may as well have been Charlie Bucket seeing the first glint of the golden ticket peek out from the Wonka Bar wrapper. I was in da club and would finally gain access through the frosty glass doors and into the exclusive world of the United Airlines elite. Had I known prior to arrival the degree of glamour achieved by the airline's hoity-toity little room in Terminal B (or maybe it was A, don't judge me for forgetting), I would have arrived an illogical amount of hours prior to my flight.

Like when Dorothy first beheld the emerald doors of Oz, my eyes widened and jaw fell agape as my sights fell on the escalator taking 50-something-businessman after 50-something-businessman up to the mysterious club. This also provoked me to look down shamefully at my outfit comprised of a lumberjack-style plaid shirt, jeans, and running shoes. Never had I felt so out of place. Thankfully, sticking out like a sore thumb as I did amongst the aforementioned herd of businessmen provoked the desk lady (who was a glorified bouncer, essentially) to ask me if I was at least 18. Score! I still got the youth look goin' on.

I tried my best to suppress my giddiness as I rode up the magical escalator. Even better than my excitement at simply being admitted was what awaited me at the top. A shelf full of every newspaper imaginable (I collected one of each publication, which was enough to give away how out of place I was), a buffet of fresh fruit and other snacks, a coffee bar, and a grown-up bar. My nerves and lack of knowing if I needed to pay for the drinks at the bar or not almost prevented me from ordering a bloody Mary. I decided to observe the manner in which others ordered and came to the conclusion that the alcohol (top shelf, I may add) was FREE! Seriously? I still felt strange walking away from the bartender without paying, like she was going to accuse me of stealing.

Let me also mention how ridiculous I find it that airlines still adhere to a caste system. Special treatment for business class passengers? What century are we living in? 

The Average Gatsby

I just felt very proud of that blog title, despite the likelihood that I am not the first to have thought of it. I like to think of myself as an original, like Werther's. I really hope you all get that reference.

I am about to give away the entire plot to The Great Gatsby, so if you are like the 90% of students who did not actually read the book when they were supposed to and didn't read it when you went through a post-college classic literature phase, you may want to skip reading on. If you are one of the aforementioned individuals AND have a sick sense of literary masochism, then by all means charge on. Just don't get all offended about me putting oh-so-terrible spoilers in my blog. You have been warned like a cigarette smoker (have you seen those carton warnings these days??).

My particular teachers growing up never actually required that their students read The Great Gatsby. After reading the book in my later years, I was thankful for this- I was irritated enough by Daisy when in my twenties and able to contain my ire- I probably would have lost it Christian Bale style had I read of her obnoxious antics in my teens. Carey Mulligan (one of my major Hollywood girl crushes) captured the irritating naivety of Daisy, the love interest of J. Gatsby (Leonardo DiCaprio, my Hollywood guy crush), perfectly. I know this because I wanted to wring her stupid little neck and beat some sense into her. She has Leo pining for her and seeking his fortune so he can feel worthy of her love and spend the rest of his life with her, and how does she repay him? She kills a woman with his car and lets him take the blame which gets him revenge-murdered (one of the worst kinds of murdered. Gotta love those crimes of passion). Nice gal. I guess the major takeaway from that is don't let hysterical women drive cars after they have been drinking.

Cinematically, Gatsby, directed by Baz Luhrmann, was very Luhrmann-esque. Anyone who has seen Moulin Rouge ought to know exactly what I mean by that invented adjective. Vibrant colors splashed in every scene and hip hop music completely out of place given the time period are plenty to induce a migraine on their own- throw in the 3D element and we are talking epileptic seizure-inducing. I saw it in good ol' fashioned 2D and trust me- it was more than enough.

Worth seeing? Sure, why not. I've seen worse. Worth paying $9 for? Probably not. Will it piss off loyal fans of the book? What movie based on a book doesn't?

You don't get a guy like that murdered. What a witch with a B. 

Stereotypical Cities

Airports needn’t (woah- there’s a contraction you don’t see every day) bother putting the destination city on the electronic boards above the gate. All airline passengers need to do is take one glance at the group seated in the surrounding area, as they tend to be a pretty good sample group of the city’s population. Flying to Texas? You know you are in the right place if Cowboy Johnny wearing leather boots and donning a fumanju moustache is in the designated seating area, chatting it up with his neighbor in a thick southern drawl. Flight 222 to Boston should attract a sea of Red Sox hats and any plane headed to SoCal will be inhabited by bleached-blondes with overly-tanned skin possibly holding Chihuahuas and wearing Ray Bans in addition to excessive amounts of silver jewelry. Still confused? There is typically a handful of university students who still hold the naïve impression that it is “hip n’ happenin’” to wear their school’s logo on every possible piece of clothing which gives a pretty good indication of where you are headed (or leaving from, which could actually cause some confusion). Trust me- it is overkill to have the CU buffalo (which is actually a bison, I might add) on a headband, hair tie, t-shirt, bra that you can easily see through aforementioned t-shirt (because college girls do that), sweatpants, socks, shoes and wristbands (who wears those anymore?).

Speaking of SoCal types (well, I’m not really “speaking” but I don’t think I can say “typing of”), I’ve decided that my past trips to San Diego have given me a false impression of their personalities—a false impression that I have carried with me all my life and just now realize is not based in reality. The San Diegans viciously burst my naive little bubble this time around, however, on numerous occasions. I have to admit that after feeling like a behind-the-wheel pushover in Boulder letting car after car after car merge in front of me, selfish pleasure came over me when driving in California. I no longer had to let people in if I didn’t feel like it, and I could cut people off without being guilty. That is defensive driving at its prime.

Many of the younger generation in Southern California have this assumption that it is completely normal to glare at people angrily as if you have just insulted their family in the worst possible way just because they crossed your path. Even worse, as I discovered, is the death glare you receive when you accidentally bump into them as you walked past. Californians have a very wide personal-space bubble, and that is something you don’t want to mess with. 

Outrunning Yogi

...As in the cartoon bear. I hope you all got that reference and if not, you need to catch up on your pre-Spongebob cartoons. Actually, in pre-retrospect (is that a thing?) I'm not sure that Yogi is the best example to use the purposes of this blog. I'll let you decide.

So, a common example used in the anatomy/physiology world to describe the differences between the autonomic and somatic nervous systems is that of outrunning a bear. Essentially, the example serves to demonstrate that you see the bear and your somatic (a.k.a voluntary) nervous system kicks into gear when you conscientiously decide to move your leg muscles and get the hell away from the bear. Your autonomic nervous system is also like "holy shit, it's a bear" and makes all of your glands secrete all of these stress hormones to make you sweat like a pig and they dump a high dose of adrenaline into your system. Clearly I paid attention in class...

On a seemingly unrelated note (but it actually is related, otherwise why would it follow that example? My blogs generally follow a sequence of related thoughts), my training for the Bolder Boulder 10K race has begun. I know you are all vicariously excited. And any of you readers running the Bolder Boulder as well are the-opposite-of-vicariously excited. All of you who know me personally (random creepers who stumbled across this blog via a search engine, please leave) know about my semi-abusive, love-hate relationship with running. We are talking Chris Brown and Rihanna style love-hate. One day, Running (now that it is personified, I can capitalize it) leaves me battered and bruised and on the cover of a Los Angeles-based tabloid contemplating our abusive relations to readers desperate for their daily intake of celebrity gossip. The next, the same readers are cooing at a paparazzi-snapped photograph of Running presenting me with an elegant bouquet of crimson roses. They are just, like, so totally in LOVE! (Because that's how tabloid readers talk, and they also seem to have poor short term memory since they forgot to photo of my beaten face resulting from Running's abuse that was on the cover just yesterday... morons.)

The initial stages of my daily run consist of my mind incessantly nagging at me to stop and desperately asking why exactly I am doing this, and me screaming at it to shut up and take the pain, feel the burn, no pain no gain, insert other physical trainer phrase to get you pumped here. This mental struggle lasts for quite awhile, usually until my crankiness overpowers my will to be fit or whatever and I stop. That normally happens at around mile 3. However, another little tasty tidbit of information I learned is that during the first 15-20 or so minutes, depending on the individual, our bodies use anaerobic respiration which basically sucks, is inefficient and makes you feel like crap. After that, however, the body is like "wow, this sucks, and I could generate a lot more ATP through aerobic respiration!" and then you feel like a rockstar on a drug high but without the drugs undoubtedly leading to rehab. What confuses me is why the body is so moronic and seems to "forget" that it has the aerobic respiration ability.

Anyways, since I have been training, I have had no choice but to push myself beyond my "running comfort zone" (which essentially doesn't exist- or so I thought). In doing so, I have discovered the EXACT moment at which my body has its a-ha moment and transitions from slow, unproductive anaerobic to efficient, speedy and awesome anaerobic. 3.2 miles. All those runs preceding the ones since I have begun training, I was .2 miles away from the "I can do anything! WOO" feeling. Now I will tell all of you, those first 3.2 miles are, not to be dramatic, rather hellish. To stick with the personification of running theme, that would equate to Running beating me senseless and then admitting he was wrong and taking me out to get Indian food for the next five nights in a row (because that completely makes up for the beating me senseless part).

Now, to draw the bear thing back into context. We talked in class about how making sure you have a strong cardiovascular system (by partaking in athletic events like running) is crucial in case you need to outrun a bear (or at least outrun the person you are with so they are the one that ends up bear dinner [or breakfast or lunch, depending on the time of day. I'm not really sure that bears have set "meal times" in the wild, but you could ask a zoologist if you cared that much]). However, I don't think the bear would be willing to give me a 3.2 mile head start and wait for me to pant and wheeze and internally struggle mentally before it started to chase me. Well, maybe Yogi would. But he is not too threatening. If I remember correctly, he just eats picnics.

Not threatening- probably would not chase you

Freaking terrifying- according to Stephen Colbert, the number one threat to our nation. This is probably the one that ate the guy in Alaska

State Harassment

On some days, cosmic forces seem to align with the single goal of deterring me from working out. One such day was today. Colorado didn't seem to get the "flip-your-calendar-to-May" memo and decided to throw another of her (I feel like CO is a feminine state) characteristic infantile temper tantrums by dumping copious amounts of snow onto her poor, unsuspecting inhabitants who were enjoying 70+ degree weather just two days ago.

I'm not sure what is with Colorado's weather 'tude. Either she is on a mad power trip and is laughing maniacally while messing with us, or an attention whore ('scuse the language) hamming it up since she was feeling ignored. Whatever the case, it is quite a deterrent from running outside. But I am training for the Bolder Boulder and am determined not to let Colorado and her bipolar weather fits discourage me. I gave Colorado the middle finger today after work and decided to get the upper hand in our relationship by braving the cold and blowing snow and running anyway.

Mistake. Colorado does not like being defied, and she gave me the middle finger right back by following my every turn and manipulating the wind to switch directions and blow snow smack-dab into my face every direction I ran. I persisted until my clothes were soaked and my breathing labored and only then did I declare Colorado the winner. After my run, I was off to deal with a very different kind of power-hungry entity- the Bar Method instructor.

I have to be honest, the patience to describe what the bar method is and how it deals with isometric muscle toning and then going on to explain what isometric muscle toning is and blah blah blah simply is not on my list of capable actions at the moment. So, watch the video embedded below and look up their website if you feel so inclined. If you don't, that's your prerogative. Whatever.

Let me tell you, running from the bitter, Siberian cold with numb hands that could barely grip the weights and a bright red face still void of feeling made an already intense class all the more difficult. I get harangued plenty by instructor who constantly appears at my side to shift my hips to a more proper posture enough as it is, but the appearance rate nearly quadrupled while I was half-assing my way through class. I wanted to look her square in the face and inform her that after being mercilessly harassed by Colorado, my hip was going to jut out slightly to the right and I had no intention of correcting it. Yet somehow, through sheer willpower, I managed to make it through another class comprised of somewhat suggestive muscle-toning moves to lean and strengthen my butt just a little more. A productive day, I'd say.

My Name is Mud

Categorizing the film Mud proves a difficult task, as the line differentiating it as a coming of age film from a love story is more blurred than the eyesight of an individual with 60/40 vision (and I’m not sure if those vision numbers are even possible). Therefore, since it doesn’t neatly fall into either category, I have decided that it falls into both, and possibly others.

The plot follows the intertwined and damaged lives of inhabitants of Arkansas; a 14-year-old boy in particular, who still possesses the enviable, glass-half-full optimism about love and life that exists within us until life experience mercilessly beats it out of our core. His name is Ellis, and he is played exceptionally well by silver screen newcomer Tye Sheridan. One day while out exploring a little island with his foul-mouthed friend Neckbone (I pray to God that is just a nickname, but we never actually find out and it is Arkansas, after all), the two boys discover that the abandoned boat stuck up in a tree that they hope to claim as their own is already inhabited by a mysterious man named Mud. Played by Matthew McConaughey, Mud solicits the boys’ help by asking them to bring him food. In exchange, he makes a deal with them that should they choose to help him, he will give them the coveted boat (I’m still not sure of what is so exciting about a non-functioning boat in a tree). The boys soon learn that Mud is on the run from the law and the plot quickly becomes a race against time to get Mud and his sexy lady (played by Reese Witherspoon), who just arrived in town to run away with him, away before he is caught. Dr-AH-ma!

In all seriousness, the character development in the film is quite powerful. Ellis’ mindset about love is all bunnies and unicorns at the beginning- he is more of a romantic than Ewan McGregor in Moulin Rouge. To him, it makes sense to do ANYTHING for love- no questions asked, and not to do so thrusts his mind into the ultimate state of confusion. When his parents inform him of their impending divorce, it simply doesn’t make sense- if people are in love, why would they ever get divorced? This thought process applies to all kinds of love in Ellis’ life- friendships just as much as romances. That’s why, as relationships begin to break and dissolve around him, he feels so deeply betrayed.

I’m not convinced that Matthew McConaughey would have so much muscle tone after living on a small island for an indeterminate period of time eating nothing but a couple of cans of beans a day. But aside from that, I was truly engrossed in this powerful film.  

Using Spikes to Relax- Major Contradiction?

Acupuncture goes against everything us as humans have evolved to learn.
The basic evolutionary message: don't try and strike up a conversation with a being wielding spikes.
Our hormonal, fight or flight response is hard-wired within the core of our being to avoid them at all costs. I feel no desire to rush towards a porcupine with open arms yelling "stick me" nor direct the same phrase to a lion or puffer fish. I tried to pet a hedgehog once and just ended up with a bloody puncture wound on my finger.

So it seems, lying down in a submissive supine position in nothing but your skivvies covered by a gown and having a lady (in my case, but could be a gent) stick you full of needles while telling you to relax contradicts everything we have evolutionarily learned.

My mind tells me:
Porcupine- Not Friend, DO NOT RELAX!

Not Even This One (he's up to something...)

All I see here is DANGER DANGER:

This thing is MENACING!

I also have no strong urge to go hang out with a cactus. 

Other images that strengthen the contradiction of acupuncture being relaxing:

More unrelaxing things:

And yet this is perceived as warm and welcoming:

At least this one is cute

She's lovin' it!

Moral of the story- it seems very contradictory that having needles stuck in you is supposed to heal and relax whereas a prick from a lion fish would cause instant poisoning. I guess an evil acupuncturist with a vendetta against the world could poison his needles and take out a few patients too. How well DO you know your acupuncturist, anyway!?