Coming to a store near you...

I was watching TV a few weeks ago, when I noticed one of those Gatorade commercials where the athletes are bent over, with colored sweat dripping profusely off their mono-chromatic frames. And it hit me like the bolt of lightning on the Gatorade logo...

Gatorade Sweat (tm)

Why not market a drink as an exact replacement for what you've lost?! That's essentially what they're saying with their fancy commercials: "This is the stuff that your stinky clothes are soaked in when you finish working out."

"Honey, can you pass me a tall glass of Sweat please?"

I think it's hip and clever. My roommate thinks it's gross. What do you think?

Who's Afraid of the Dark?

I was lying in bed a few nights ago--trying to get to sleep with all the ambient light from the street flooding my room--when I remembered something that I had totally forgotten about my childhood.

My night light.

I remember needing a small light on top of my dresser to calm my fears while trying to get to sleep. This seems strange to think about now, because I really prefer to have the room completely pitch black now. (I even cover my alarm clock readout with cardboard so it doesn't stare me in the face all night.) But back then, there was something calming about being able to see what is or isn't sneaking up on you while you lie unprotected in your bed.

But was it really all that helpful? I seem to recall that the same light that was supposed to be comforting was actually casting all of those menacing shadows across the room. I seriously wonder now if the same light that was banishing the monsters in my room to the shadows was actually causing all the problems in the first place.

I can't remember when I actually stopped using a night light--whether I decided it was unnecessary because I didn't believe in monsters or (more likely) I was just getting old enough to be embarrassed that I used one. Either way, it's strange how you can totally forget something like that....

Swimming Against the Current

I'm frustrated with my progress in dancing lately.

This has been a busy semester, and I simply cannot afford to practice or attend all of the dance team coaching session that I have access to. This is a choice I make, and I do it because I value other things more than dancing, but I get frustrated when I don't see any progress. My dance partner and I did fairly well in our most recent competition, but it seems the results are always the same--people that place higher than us move on to more competitive levels, and those we beat last semester are taking their place above us at this level.

Developing dance technique and skill is like swimming upstream--you have to work hard to make significant progress, and minimal or moderate effort will allow you to stay where you are, but if you do nothing, you're only going to move backwards. As a reformed perfectionist, this is frustrating; there is no end of improvement that can be made.

I don't aspire to be a professional dancer, but I don't think I can be satisfied never progressing past where I am now. The more experienced dancers and instructors I talk to have tried to talk me down from the ledge by encouraging me that I am improving and that you don't really regress as much as you think you do, but that's of little comfort now. And I do realize and agree that our placement in a competition is not a pure measure of how well we dance--it's amazing how much subjective value and luck factor in. But this week it's been tough to decide what a reasonable goal is going forward.

Why I Hate Bob Barker

Allow me to introduce you to Herman...

Herman is my aunt Sharry's dog, a beagle-something mix with the BEST PERSONALITY of any dog you'll find. Herman plays nice with other dogs, barks only when there's a real reason to, and likes taking rides--like this one we were preparing to take to downtown Swansboro.

Herman will lay in your lap and let you pet him for hours, and he absolutely loves the attention. If your hand is dangling from the arm of your chair, he's not above walking under it and nudging you to get you to pet him. No other dog has ever made me feel more welcome or wanted. He's always been pretty mellow, and he's even more so as he gets older. (He's 13, but you'd never guess it by how well he gets along.) Herman's nose is a bit crooked, which gives him this hilarious face when he looks straight at you. His muzzle is turning a distinguished white with age...

My aunt got Herman from a friend who'd found him wandering her neighborhood with a leash but no collar. When a month-long search failed to turn up his owner, Sharry agreed to take him. She tells that when she went to pick him up, she opened the truck door and he hopped in like he was right at home--and he has had the run of her place ever sense. He was housebroken from Day One.

Here's the bad news that it pains my aunt to recall: In her own words--"I was so brainwashed by Bob Barker and his 'Spay and Neuter your Pets' campaign that I didn't even think about how great it would be to have little Hermans running around. It's a shame, because he's the perfect dog." If a little Herman puppy had even half of his good nature it would be worth its weight in gold.

I guess we'll just have to enjoy every day we have with him and take every opportunity to spoil him while we can....