While Dizzy Gillespie was indeed one cool cat, it has come to my attention that actual cats can't do what this one is doing. Which is totally true.

In light of this, and since I've been feeling rather average myself lately, I'd like to share a fun website with you all. Average cats is for those of you who have been cheezeburgered to death and would prefer a healthy dose of reality. Of course, it's only funny because of ICHC's success, but still. You should laugh.

And speaking of death, please visit Jeff. Seems he may suffer a horrible death soon. Stay tuned to find out more.

Look. I know New Year’s Eve is supposed to be fun. I get it. You gather with friends. There is drinking and laughter. You watch the ball drop. Kiss your lover. Hug all your friends. Get sentimental. Say goodbye to the old year, welcome the new. I get it, but honestly, I’ll pass.

Seriously. I panic at the thought. Although I used to feel perfectly comfortable around drunk people (as I was often a member of their slurring, stumbling flock), I now find them simply annoying. Loud. Obnoxious. A bother, all of them. And it seems that no matter where you are, New Year’s Eve is just freezing. Inside our out, fireplace or no, I’m just never warm enough. And you know what is not fun? Being really cold around a bunch of loud, drunk people. See!? Hideously awful, all of it. Then there’s the ball dropping. Talk about anti-climatic! 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 – Yay! This moment is exactly like the last! Yay! Nothing is actually different! Yay!

Please.

Is there a bah humbug for New Year’s Eve? ‘Cause if there is, I have it.

Which is why the prospect of the New Year’s Eve party I’m supposed to be attending makes me want to crawl in a little hole. I’m sure it will be fine. I'm sure I’ll handle the cold and the drunk people and will even throw confetti at the appropriate moment. I'll survive.

But right now, I’d rather hold my breath until I pass out.

EDIT OF UNEXPECTED CHEER

This is just a quick note to say thank you to Seedsower for my neat new profile pic! Thanks for sending me a little unexpected cheer. You rock.

This

office is a frozen ghost town. Not minding the ghost town part, but my fingers and nose are literally cold as ice. Hinders productivity a smidge. Well, that and the morale busting fun show that is the new executive leadership but anyway. . .

That

book, Level 26, is a big FAIL in my opinion. The video bridge is a neat idea in theory but really, who wants to stop reading to log into a website and watch a little show? Not me. Also, although the plot is creepy and engaging, I found no meat on those bones. So, meh. Not a winner. What is winning: World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War. Sounds stupid, but it's brilliant, actually. Not finished reading so I'll save further comment for later.

The other

stuff to look forward to in my world: 

• A short work week.
• The P.F. Chang's Rock N' Roll half-marathon in January, which I may or may not run but will certainly attend. I need to see how my Phoenix colleague organizes her running team, which I have also been charged with forming here (should I remain in this extremely fun environment). Yay! Work is happy awesome spectacular fun. Yes. So totally worth the paycheck. But anyway.
• Surgery. Never been under the knife before. If I die of a mishap (or my own panic), someone please avenge my death. Thank you.

And you?

 So, I did it! I completed the Tucson Half marathon. I didn't finish last, I didn't throw up and I didn't die, which means I met my goal for the event! And now I'm totally addicted. It was such a wonderful, fun and rewarding experience that I have no doubt I will keep doing it. My good friend Gretchen flew in from Canda to run with me, and gave me lots of useful advice for how to become faster and stronger while avoiding injury. She completed the Nike women's marathon in San Fransisco and has a great training team, so I plan to listen to her advice. Her trainer even said she'd coach me virtually! Anyhoo, YAY!

Now here are the piccars:

Me and Gretchen, shortly after start. You can't tell, but it's actually dark and cold. But we were already cracking everyone up around us with our utter silliness.

Later on along the route:

We had to ham it up a little for the cameras:

And I took every opportunity to do the Rocky thing with my arms. Honestly though, we laughed more than I expected we would:

At this point, we were on the last 3 mile stretch and there was a wicked incline. I thought I was going to die, but then I saw the camera and pretended I was still happy and having fun:

At which point, Gretchen stepped in and tried to get me to keep on going. Gretchen: "There's no crying in running! C'mon! DOn't let the hill beat you!" Me: "I hate you.":

But I did it, I finished! And there were still a few hundred people behind me! Imagine my surprise.:

Yay! It's over! We did it!

This is just the beginning. . .

So. . . Sunday I run my first half marathon. I hope I've at least done a fair enough job of training that I don't hurt myself. Either way, I plan to finish, even if I have to crawl or jump on someone's back. Hopefully it won't come to that, but I'm preparing my "pick me up and carry me" face, just in case.

No matter the result, I'm happy that I have finally followed my father's advice. When I was in college, he used to end all his letters to me with, "Fight Inertia!" If nothing else, running is most certainly that.

Here's to your attempts to fight inertia this holiday season, whatever they may look like to you.

Lately I have been taking a beating and, as usual, it’s self inflicted. I beat myself up because I haven’t finished that novel yet. I condemn myself for not yet reaching that 13.1 mile mark I’ll need to be able to run come December.  I chastise myself for floating a little while longer at a job that no longer provides the growth and satisfaction I need, rather than seeking new lands. The list goes on, and my welts get bigger.

But this morning I had an epiphany. I had just finished a 7 mile run when I realized I had not stopped even once to walk or rest. This means my endurance is finally improving. Maybe it’s not the 13.1 miles I need, but it’s a small victory nonetheless. This got me thinking. . . I have three novels that are all nearing their halfway point. They’re not amazing works of fiction, not by a long shot, but they represent a lot of work and they’re not the worst out there. In fact, I’d venture to say they’re interesting enough to keep people reading, and to keep me writing. That, also, is a minor victory. No, it’s not a complete published novel, but it’s something worth celebrating anyway. And although I am probably ready to move on to something new, the fact that I’ve succeeded and built strong, satisfying relationships with a hundred or so volunteers, that I’ve reached my income goals and maintained a level of success with both volunteers and colleagues, that too is worth celebrating.

So tonight, I take a moment to celebrate those small victories that must take place before we can achieve our larger goals. I don’t want to miss those in all the beatings. I hope you’ll do the same as well.

Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday to meeeeeeee, happy birthday to me!

Every year just gets better, right guys?

And happy birthday to scifiknitter! Hope it's wonderful.

Then stop by and tell Jeff how much you like it. That's what I plan to do, as soon as I finish reading.

(Look it up)

[A few days ago on Facebook, I posted a request for sponsorship of my Relay For Life event, promising a prize of unspeakable value to whomever was bold enough to help me. Two people rose to the challenge: Our good friend, Jeff and one of my best friends, Gretchen. This is my prize for them. Although its value is questionable, it's all I have these days. (And if you believe you've already read this - yes, you may have and no, you're not crazy. I posted it on my writing blog first.)]

TWO CAN PLAY

 “It’s beginning to look a lot like murder, isn’t it?”

Jeff lit a cigar and turned to his rookie partner. Gretchen was turning blue, and it wasn’t from the cold.

“Yeah, murder.” She said, holding her breath. “I don’t know many people skilled enough to sever their own head. Not even here.”

Gretchen was new to the force, having moved from Calgary only a year ago. She was a U.S. citizen, but had lived in Canada long enough to get used to not seeing corpses on a regular basis. Jeff wasn’t sure she would last in Chicago. The windy city had a way of blowing dead bodies around that would make even the most seasoned veteran wear an extra parka or two.

Gretchen’s composure was threatening to run away. She took a quick, desperate grab. “Okay Jeff, what next? This one’s new to me.” Jeff studied the scene and did what smart detectives do: he called it in, and fast.

***

After standing for hours in the cold Chicago air while the crime scene unit did their thing, the warm, greasy smell of Dot’s Diner seemed like a welcome reward to both detectives. Jeff watched Gretchen stir her cloudy coffee with mild amusement. “That’s enough sugar to make a horse sick, don’t you think?” She eyed his black coffee with disgust. “Well, I’m not a horse, so I wouldn’t know. Why don’t you drink your acid and mind your own business, eh, Swordfish?”

Jeff smiled. He hadn’t always been a homicide detective. Once, in his younger years, he was an undercover vice agent, Codename: Swordfish. Swordfish had a tough exterior, but his heart was soft, and after so many years of watching drugs transform otherwise beautiful humans into something monstrous, he asked for a transfer. A corpse could be prettier than a human, sometimes.

“Puts hair on your chest, meydele. You’re gonna need all you can get on these streets.” Gretchen nodded her agreement. “Yes, I suppose I could use a bit of that. So. . .now we look for the head, yes?”

Jeff nodded, “Yes.  And the hands and feet wouldn’t hurt either.”

                                                                    [To be continued. . .]