As info: I trimmed Maoxie's stomach-fur, set my brother and college roommate up for brunchies in Philly, played my first two ultimate games with the spring team (really interesting grouping we have out there, for sure), plunged into the icy waters of lake michigan, made tentative living arrangements for lease-end, ran out of gas (pictured below), started Bikram again, vowed to buy a new bike this weekend (it won't happnen, though), have ridden my untrustworthy machine to work fairly regularly, and've thrown the frisbee all over the beach. The weather, though spotty, has been so enjoyable.

Say what you will, there is really only one way to divide the world into two types, and those types are The Pubber and The Clubber. I know, you're probably thinking "what about Karaoke Starz? Where do they fit in?" Belive it or not, The Karaoke Star is the umbrella under which both of the other categories fall. It's universal. Part of the collective unconscious. The archetype of all archetypes. Integral to the human experience. Whether or not you're aware, at some point during your life you either have embraced or will embrace your inner Karaoke Star. Don't hold back.

But I digress. The distinction at hand is: Pubber or Clubber? Please see the sets of lists below and decide for yourself.


Pubber

• A stockpile of of Bailey's, Jamison, Guinness
• A fridge-/range-full of Bangers & Mash
• A favorite sweatshirt or sporting jersey (preferably rugby/football)
• Some fudgesicles
• A bad haircut
• 20 gigs of classic rock, blues, motown
• A mental catalogue of all of Stevie Wonder's modulations

Clubber

• A stockpile of glowsticks
• A dry bar-full of Zima. Mmmmm.
• A favorite mesh top or torso
• Some mind-altering substances (on top of the Zima, naturally)
  
• 20 gigs of hard dubstep
• A knowledge of how many BPM's doth a good Beverly Knight groove make

Pubber

• Covered in bangers, mash, gravy, fudgesicle
• Sprawled on top of a broken chair
• Standing in a puddle of Coors Light
• Sitting in a puddle of Coors Light
• Changing pants in the shower
• Sharing a bar with woodland creatures
• Feeding tens of dollars into the jukebox

Clubber

• Covered in glowstick innards
• Sprawled on top of a Zima-filled bar
• Writhing in a mesh-and-torso-filled cage
• Quaffing vodka-based drinks with abandon
• Wearing Leather Pants

And I feel the distinctions are fairly clear. Please decide for yourself which one you are. Questions will be fielded in the Comments window.

It was enjoyably warm enough yesterday for me and my freshly scrubbed but still squeaky bicycle to be looking and feeling pretty zesty by the time we got into the loop. Now it's significantly colder, wet, gusty and grey but not enough so of any of these to result in discomfort. Makes me wanna go boating, and by boating I mean rowing in the moonlight, or maybe just sitting on a dock.

I am reading a second book by Anne Lamott and it is great.

Dental Charity (from two posts ago) Concluded: misery brought our sorry cast of characters together for a lovely little experience. I laughed more (from delirium caused by a plunging core temperature, mostly) than I usually do over the span of a good ten workdays, Jake made multiple trips to the laundromat to dry his chilled socks/feets, I spent some alone time with hot cocoa in the Dunkin Donuts bathroom (it's hot as Hades in there --amazing!), the Terry-Gross-lit-toting mama's husband and their three blonde-ringletted chilluns stopped by to deliver hot beverages, we learned all about Hustlemann's myriad projects and multple shawtiez, delved deep into the textures of his and Ran's relationship, and I spent some QT in Ran's truck post-cleaning (I was cavity free!), discussing Hustlemann's extraction and life in Gary Indiana while trying to stay a healthy distance away from the heaters. I was chilled the rest of the day, but no complaints. None. The end.

Maoxie 'Wild About Diamonds" Moonpie is going through some serious hormonal changes. Jake thinks they correlate directly to market fluctuations. I'm inclined to agree. Hopefully the HKEX and SSE will settle down because our sweet MANpie needs some peace!

I just had a series of very vivid dreams of driving down the freeway with my roommate in a snowstorm. There were flocks and flocks (schools? clusters? bevies? gaggles?) of calico patterned deer bounding across the powder-covered expressway in lovely, speckled abandon. Automotive peril and deer carnage were nonissues as we gracefully wove and dodged like no corolla has done before. It was sublime.

Ahem.

A story worth telling:

Two-and-a-half weeks ago (Valentine's day) the same cast decided to bow out on Corporate America for some free dental care. Having heard that 2006's event had been over-publicized and therefore completely over-patronized we arrived at the venue at 5:45 a.m., 195 minutes before the doors opened. Both of my warm coats were at the cleaner's so I did my best to layer heavily under a black fleece. Upon arrival we quietly filed into line behind three fellows of astounding fortitude and foresight and settled in for a long winter's queue.

Shortly thereafter I began to freeze from the outside-in. It was seriously miserable. A truck pulled out -- two guys who were eating ice cream bars (horrifying!) in its heated interior claimed the 6th and 7th places in line. Ok. Great. Jake's new sneakers had soaked through and he was getting worried about the status of his feet so I went in search of some coffee/socks while he held our place in line. Dunkin Donuts came through re: coffee, but re: potential foot-covering(s) the convenience store had only nylons. I returned and he set out to dry his socks in the laundromat abutting the convenience store. Brr. It got colder.

In fact, the freezin' temps are an overarching theme here, so please imagine numb-footed and numb-nosed misery through the rest of the tale.

Briefly placated physically we began to get friendly with the folks in line. A lovely mother of two who lived in the neighborhood had settled in behind us, accoutered with a transcription of some Terry Gross interviews and a lawn chair. The well-clad (one wore a full Carhart suit) gentlemen from the truck had also joined the sidewalk queue and some very lively banter was beginning to transpire.

More to come shortly.