Cooler than You: Stupid Things I Say and Do

Twenty bucks says there's typos.  Oh well.   While I most likely had every intention of brain dumping about my recent trek down Insanity 95, reading a piece on rituals made me think about things.  Particularly, my mind has been swirling around what rituals actually are and what they mean.  Rituals, in and of themselves, are strange beasts of memory, burden, and daily life I presume.  Yet, do all rituals look alike and do they all provide a sense of spiritual release, connection, and solace?  Doubtful, as I would say the face of the ritual changes with time and place.  My drives from NY to DC, always along I-95, change for meaning and purpose.  Yet, the trip never alters.  My parents live three plus hours south of DC, along the dreaded I-95, college friends live in Richmond and DC.  The bulk of my trips have landed me in DC, and they have not always been filled with the laughter and cheap beer that old college buddies bring.  Ho...

Friends with iPhones tell me that the auto-correct function changes fucker to duchess.  I have to take their word for it, as I am a Crackberry user (for the moment) and I do not use auto-correct.  I use spell check, but no auto . . . None-the-less, when fucker becomes duchess it turns to a point of humor.  Snickers abound about "That duchess stood me up!" "That duchess lied to me!" or "I saw that duchess in traffic." Yesterday I schlepped out to Stony Brook to see an old friend, and in the course of my life a short little venture "out East" couldn't be crazy free.  Out on the depths of Long Island, not within the comfort and restless (yet peaceful) noises of my 'hood and devoid of the Manhattan backdrop along the East River, I always feel like I am putting my memories and sanity into the hands of reckless agents of wary laden moments of self-destruction.   We already know I have seen a certain ex in traffic twice now, and yesterday mad...