Hair Loss

I cut my hair yesterday.

This in itself may not seem significant. It probably is not. It's just that my hair was past my waist in length, and over time, we grew very attached to one another.

I can be a messy eater. I do not mean to be. Often, I am quite careful. Yet somehow, I always manage to spill some food product on my shirt front. Sometimes it is because I am talking and not paying attention, sometimes it is because the food lends itself to messiness (e.g., saucy), and sometimes just because. My hair would diligently come to the rescue and hide the offending spot/drip, thus allowing me to at least leave the restaurant with my head held high.

My hair was long enough to create a whipping ponytail, so when I played tennis any time I would serve my hair would help balance me. I am sure it also looked intimidating with its whip action to my opponents.

Babies would like when I used my hair as a tickler. They would laugh and laugh. So cute.

Plus, I think I look better with longer hair. Short hair does not become me.

But, I guess it was getting heavy and a bit unwieldy. Sometimes I would slam my hair in the car door and not realize it until I had to turn my head. Sometimes I would be blinded, especially on windy days. Also, my hair would occasionally fall into my food, which my mother finds extremely disgusting ("Eeww, put your hair up when you eat!") (Also, refer to my earlier comment that I can sometimes be a messy eater).

The icing on the cake is that I was growing my hair out for a reason...to donate it to Locks of Love. They make human hair wigs for kids that need them due to cancer or other illness / treatment that causes baldness. So, Locks of Love gets 13 inches of my hair.

I guess I can be intimidating on the tennis court without my whipping ponytail and I can start carrying around those little stain-remover towelettes with me. Either that or start wearing a bib.

Under Pressure

Former U.S. Surgeon General Richard Carmona testified at a House Committee on Oversight and Government Reform hearing to advocate that his former post be made more independent and less subject to political influence. Apparently (try to contain your shock here), the current Bush administration exerted a lot of political influence over what the Surgeon General('s office) could say or not say. To the point where the President had to be mentioned at least three times per page of any speech. Bleh.

Now, one of the great things about science is that there is a scientific community. Any results you get and any conclusions you form in the course of your work gets published and the whole community can poke and prod and validate or dismiss your claims. And because of all of this, there is a certain weight and deferential acceptance that comes with scientific findings for society at-large. It seems to have worked relatively well.

But now, how can we put our confidence in "scientific conclusions" if what we are told has been altered, omitted or just plain made up by political forces? Apparently this kind of influence has always been wafting around the Surgeon General's Office (Clinton fired Dr. Jocelyn Elders), but not to the degree that the Bush administration has taken it (see ma, we're number one in something!) Bleh.

Dr. Carmona said he was not allowed to say that comprehensive sex education was the most effective route, because the Executive Office was pushing abstinence-based education only. He also was not able to attend or speak at events for children with disabilities, because that was a cause for the other political party (i.e., Special Olympics is a Kennedy project).

Yet, the statement from the White House says that they are not allowing politics to influence science (hello, global warming) and that if Dr. Carmona did not feel he could express himself while in office, it is his own chicken-clucking fault. Okay, so they did not use the term "chicken-clucking," but you get the flavor of the statement. Bleh.

Seriously, what is up with this myopic vision by the White House. Are they so insular, so brainwashed by their own propoganda that they truly feel the Emperor is super fly in his fancy threads? How often, how loudly must we yell, "HE'S NAKED!" before someone hears and does something about it? Or should the rest of us just be glad that there is a term-limit on the office of President? Double bleh.

Patriotism (or lack thereof)

Yesterday was America's Independence Day. My country . . . by birth and by choice. Being third generation Asian-American (sansei), I grew up saying the Pledge of Allegiance, singing all those military hymns (I actually had an LP of them) and living in a household that believed in the American Dream.

My father grew up on a sugar plantation on the Big Island. My mother was raised on a small farm on O'ahu. They were the generation that saw what happened when there were no labor unions securing workers' rights (and the struggle and sacrifice that ensued in trying to establish them). When having white skin meant getting a job with an influential firm that did not bother to interview people of color for management positions. When civic responsibility and giving back to your community was expected.

No wonder I turned out to be such a liberal socialist! I have no idea what happened to my sisters who are conservative Republicans and actually voted for GWB . . . twice! Bleh. After numerous mind-numbing, head-banging "conversations," it seems my hope must rest with the next generation, my nieces and nephews, to think for themselves and not succumb to their parents' ignora...uh...misguid...er...views. Yeah, okay, views.

I want to be proud of my country. I think in many ways, I am. I mean, every country has its faults, its skeletons, right? It's not like we committed genocide. Oh. Well, it's not like we enslaved another race. Oh yeah. Well at least America never put her own citizens in internment camps. Uh. Hmm, well at least we hold true to and protect our civil liberties. Geez. Vehemently oppose torture? Take the lead in safeguarding our environment? *Sigh* What was the original point of this paragraph again?

Seriously though, I feel part of the reason I am so critical is because I still believe. I have not given up hope. There is a part of me that wants to waylay the cynicism and revel in the proverbial cock-eyed optimist perspective. To believe this country can live up to its highest ideals. (Cue crescendo of patriotic music now.) (SweetlyDemure frantically tries to swat cynicism away.) In political science it was all about deconstructionalism. Perhaps it is time to start constructing. To create a new paradigm. Civil discussions. The respectful exchange of ideas. Hmm...guess I better start working on my nieces and nephews now...

Paying It Forward

The floor of the building in which I work has been over half empty since I started. Several months ago, however; a new organization moved in and took over all the empty space. The majority of this organization's employees seem to be female. This means, of course, that the previously never busy restroom has become the equivalent of Grand Central Station.

Now, I am not one to linger in the restroom. I do not go there for solitude or to socialize. I enter, do my business (so to speak) and leave (washing my hands first goes without saying). I rarely even spare a moment to check the mirror, so I often leave the restroom looking as disheveled or unpolished as when I entered.

Even though I have no real affinity for restrooms, it has been my goal to get the women of my floor to pay it forward there.

Let me explain. We have a paper towel dispenser in which you have to pull down a lever in order to get the paper towel to unroll. It is not one of those motion-sensor towel dispensers. After ripping off the paper towel for my own use, I use my now crumpled paper towel to pull down on the lever to dispense more towel, thus leaving a swath of towel hanging down for the next person to use. This way, they do not have to use their clean, just-washed hands to touch the paper towel dispenser and possibly get someone else's germs.

Good idea, no?

Well, I thought so. Now that the restroom was a high-traffic area, I thought it might be nice for us to...well, be nice, even with our limited exposure to each other (no pun intended). So, whether someone else is in the restroom or not, I always leave a little paper towel hanging down for the next person to just rip off and use.

I just came back from the restroom (Yes, I'm typing this at work, but I'm on a break and I type fast. Don't judge me.) And what did I find? What did these weary eyes behold? A swath of paper towel hanging down, ready for me to use in the empty restroom.

Yeah, ok, so I'm not Rosa Parks or anything. Yet, perhaps this one small step of hygienic kindness may lead to still other remarkable acts. The tiny pebble in the pond creates far-reaching ripples and all that. You know what I mean. C'mon ladies, let's join together in paper towel harmony!

Plantation Nostalgia

Today I took my mom and my aunt to Hawaii's Plantation Village in Waipahu. There is a 20-minute video about some of the basics about sugar plantation life in Hawai'i and there is a small, but packed museum. A volunteer takes you through the museum as well as the "Village." It is not a typical Village, which would generally only have been made up of one ethnic group (i.e., only Japanese or only Korean, etc.), but a sampling of each type of house that could be found between 1900 and the late 1930s. They also show the Portuguese outdoor oven to make bread, a Japanese tofu-ya to make tofu, the Plantation Store and even a little replica of a Saimin Stand.

It was a long tour (about 2 hours). Our guide was a really nice man, but he was kind of slow talking and so the tempo of the tour tended to drag. It was really interesting, though. I did not realize that most of the Korean immigrants came to escape religious persecution; they wanted to practice Christianity. The Japanese came to make their fortune and planned (originally) to return back to Japan. The Portuguese on the other hand, came with their families planning to settle and raise the next generation in Hawai'i. The Japanese bachelors here were apparently a rowdy bunch that would drink and fight a lot. In order to "control" them, the Plantation owners got them to bring women over...in the form of picture brides. The Chinese were the first to come over (about 16 years before the next group, the Japanese). Again, mostly men came, so they started marrying the Hawaiian women. No wonder the Hawaiian and Chinese combination is so prevalent.

It was nice spending time with my mom and my aunt. It was also a little sad, too. They're getting old. Slowing down. In fact, another aunt was supposed to come out with us today, but she decided not to because she was not feeling up to it. My mom said that aunt (who is older than them) would not have lasted during that 2-hour walking tour anyway. My mom is still really mobile and active, but my aunt is losing her sight and has a more difficult time getting around.

I love tagging along with my mom and my aunties. I enjoy hearing their stories, hearing them laugh...and of course, they would always pay for everything. Heh. It was an endless source of amusement for me when my mom and aunties would go out. Those little asian ladies would have ninja-fast reflexes any time a bill would come. They're all talking, then the waiter would bring the bill to the table. Woosh! Hands would just start flying, seeing who could pick up the bill first. After establishing physical prowess, the "winner" would have to withstand the psychological and verbal assault that would immediately ensue.

"It's my turn! You paid last time."
"No, I didn't. It is my turn now, remember?"
"No, no, no! We always go through this. It is my turn, because..."

Only the strong would survive.

Now, they are a little slower physically, but they make up for it in craftiness. I noticed the planning occurred even before the day of our outing. My mom gave me money before we got to the Plantation Village to pay for our entrance fees, feeling my youth gave me an advantage to whip out my wallet and pay before my aunt would know what was going on. It worked. But somehow during the tour, my aunt convinced my mom she was going to pay for lunch, and it was all decided before we even chose at which restaurant we would dine. Older means craftier and working more through diplomatic channels.

Sigh. To my mom and aunty: Thanks for letting me hang out with you guys again. It was a wonderful way to spend my vacation day. I hope there are many more days we can spend together and I can listen to you tell stories, laugh and scold each other.

Volunteering (kicking and screaming)

About ten years ago, my entire immediate family (parents, siblings and their spouses and kids) vacationed in California. There were 13 of us all together. One of the stops, of course, was Disneyland. My nieces and nephews were ages 3 through 13 years old at the time. It was a great trip, but by the end of the two weeks, I think we were all ready to come home...to our separate homes. There definitely is such a thing as too much family togetherness. We all had about reached our limits (some of us exceeded our limits, but not in any irreparable way, as we all still choose to be in each other's presence).

Anyway, I bring this up because at the time, my sister's youngest boy was 8. She wanted to take him on the Matterhorn (a roller coaster-ish ride), which looked pretty scary to his 8 year old eyes. She told him, "you'll have fun...you'll like it." To which he replied, "Noooooooo, Mommy, pleeeeaaaassseee! Don't make me gooooooo!" as he cried and tried to dig his little sneakered feet in while my sister was dragging him by his arm to stand in line.

At this point we were attracting some attention from the other visitors to the "happiest place on earth" (aka the most heavily sugared place on earth). Back then, I cared more about what people thought than I do now and was noticing them noticing our little scene. But more importantly, I seriously thought she was going to psychologically scar this poor kid for life. He really seemed freaked out about it all.

I ask my sister if she really thinks it is worth it to drag him on this ride when it will probably result in a huge expense for her down the road when she has to pay for his therapy bills. She seems blithely unconcerned and continues dragging her son (who is literally crying and begging as only an 8 year old in full dramatic mode can) to stand in line for the Matterhorn. I make another attempt upon my poor nephew's behalf and my sister throws over her shoulder, "Don't worry. He'll love it once he tries it."

Skeptical, I stand in line with them (my nephew has been reduced to whimpering at this point, since he realized volume was not getting him anywhere, so he, as most children, quickly learned to cut his losses and try another tact). I forgot who I sat next to (probably not my brother, since he complains my screaming makes him lose his upper decibel hearing), but my sister sat next to my nephew. I hear them screaming and laughing through the ride. Once we get to the end, my nephew (whom I have been championing), looks at my sister and says, "Mommy! Can we go again?" My sister give me that vastly smug, superior look that only an older sister can give her younger sister and says, "See?"

Now why did I share this slightly entertaining yet seemingly meaningless anecdote? Because this week I had my volunteer work and I did not want to go. It is only a couple of hours each month and I often find myself hunting for excuses not to go. I am performing the same acts my nephew did, but just in my own mind.

And I don't know why. Because once I get there, I am totally into it, have a great time and at the end am glad that I went. I know this from prior experience. Yet for some bizarre reason, each month when I am scheduled to be there, I feel an illness coming on / am extremely tired / need to stay late at the office / am supposed to meet a friend / etc.

I recently had a conversation with a co-worker who volunteers once a week to help adults learn to read. She said she has the same problem. She has to drag herself to the session, but once she is there, it is a great experience and she is glad she did it. Plus, she has a great relationship with the person she tutors.

At least my nephew had a good excuse. He did not know how much fun he was going to have on the Matterhorn. A few hours each month to help out a worthy program is very little. Why am I so reluctant when I probably get more out of being there and interacting with the kids than they do? Perhaps the obvious answer is that I am selfish. But is it that simple? Perhaps it is.

Me Likes the View from My High Horse

A friend recently forwarded me an e-mail that is supposedly a quote from Jay Leno about a Newsweek poll saying 67% of Americans are unhappy with the direction the country is headed and 69% are unhappy with the performance of the President. Basically the e-mail asked the question, "What are we so unhappy about?" We have electricity, running water, shelter and over 95% have jobs. We can travel freely. We have access to hospitals and technology for entertainment as well as to improve our quality of life. We do not live with a constant barrage of bombs in fear for our lives.

Then Leno (allegedly) goes on to say that Bush guided the nation in the dark days after 9/11 (and then proceeded to alienate almost all other countries by wanting to play by his own rules and manipulate them the way he tries to manipulate the American people...aka if you are not for us, you are against us); and that he cut taxes to get the economy out of recession (hello, when Clinton left we had a surplus); and basically kept all us spoiled, ungrateful brats safe from terrorists (debatable at best). (Obviously parenthetical comments are my responsive tidbits).

I started typing a response to my friend, the sender of this e-mail, but then realized it was getting quite lengthy and the tone was, shall we say, a bit agitated. I knew she did not mean for me to get riled up about her e-mail, so I decided I would not respond to her directly and instead, my verbal vomit will appear here, where people do not need to continue reading this if they choose not to. Yes, I believe in choice!

This e-mail is such a great example of the problem I am having with this seemingly pervasive perspective by Americans. I love this country. I agree that we are spoiled. We (meaning me) are not as thankful as we (I) should be for all the wonderful things that come with being a citizen of the USA and being middle class (and geez, discussing class issues needs its own post). But some people are equating ungratefulness, disloyalty and lack of patriotism with the desire to question our leaders and the subsequent demand for accountability. That to voice dissent is equal to telling our military, "screw you." But isn't that what being American is all about? I contend that it is distinctly un-American (to use this awkward but ubiquitous term, after all have you heard of anyone being un-Irish or un-Pakistani?) to demand quiescent compliance and unquestioned admiration for leadership (political and otherwise) in order to prove you love America and are loyal to her. Criminy*, we'd still be an British colony if that were true.

We (as I am part of that 2/3+ that are unhappy with this President's actions) also know this is the President that assured us there were WMDs in Iraq and later we find out critical information was ignored and disregarded because it did not fit into his pre-existing plan to go after Hussein. He made Hussein the face of the terrorist attack (or at least Cheney did when he did the media circuit) which we now know belonged on Bin Laden and Al-Quida. All but one of the airplane hijackers on 9/11 were Saudi Arabian, but we did not invade Saudi Arabia. The Bush family have a long, lucrative history with the Royal family.

This is the man that authorized the illegal wiretapping of Americans, condones torture (under the guise of his Attorney General) and wants to take away most of our civil liberties (via the Patriot Act, Guantanimo and the like). I could go on and on regarding the Kyoto Protocol, the premature declaration of us having "won" the war in Iraq, etc. but I'll safe that for a future rant.

We do not live in a world of only black and white. It might make things easier if we did, but oversimplification has its deficiencies (as we have seen in the Bush administration). Yes, black and white exist here, but so do the many shades of gray. Some of us live in the gray. We're still part of the spectrum while acknowledging that black and white live there, too. Cheney lives in the gray...after all according to him, he's not part of the Executive Branch, right? Guess he didn't get the memo.

*I used the exclamation "criminy" because I thought it was a British exclamation (wouldn't that have been so clever given the context?), but I looked it up and it's actually derived from Italian, but I still like it, so I decided to leave it in.

Feminist Fantasy?

I was having dinner with a friend recently and the topic of movies came up in our conversation. He asked me if I had seen Waitress, and I enthusiastically said I had (see review, infra.) Just as I am about to launch into my thoughts about this movie, he says, "I knew you would like this movie. It's a total feminist fantasy."

Hmph! Ok, first I took exception to his tone (which I know I cannot clearly communicate here, but let me try). It was kind of a throwaway statement, with a hint of condescension and a dab of scorn tossed in there for good measure. Let's just say his tone made what could have been a critical (in the sense of analysis) or even innocuous comment into a negative one. He thinks (I use this word loosely, obviously) that feminists fantasize about not needing men. That women naturally(?) find their worth and identity through relationships (with men) and family. He feels the ultimate message of this film is that women do not need men...they can throw that all away and still be fulfilled.

Which leads me to my second point . . . that is simple fact, not fantasy. I was raised to be independent and that I should be able to provide for and take care of myself (along with being kind to others, telling the truth, washing behind my ears, etc.) I do not feel I need a man to make my life complete. At some point I may want a relationship like that, but I do not need one. I think that holds true for men and women alike.

"So," I ask trying to tamp down my belligerence so I am not yelling in the restaurant (I was also taught to be polite and circumspect), "in what do men find their worth if not through having a significant other and/or family?" To which he responds, "Work." I assume he means the prestige and wealth that comes with work. Perhaps even being the "provider" of the family...uh huh, which means that a significant other/family would be the most important thing, after all isn't provider is just a role in that unit?

Anyway, he argues that once Jenna had a daughter (not a son!), she is able to blithely walk away from her best friend and lover and make a success of her life, because she and her daughter have female power and no longer need men (a.k.a. feminist fantasy). He feels that it did not ring true because her loverwas the first person to sincerely care about her as a person, with whom she could share her innermost thoughts and fears and be completely vulnerable because he made her feel safe. It should have been more difficult for her to leave him. Bleh.

I contend Jenna planned to leave her lover once she met his wife and saw how much she loved and respected the cheating bast . . . uh, him. Furthermore, it is irrelevant whether Jenna gave birth to a girl or boy, the result would have been the same. It was more about the love of a mother for her child. Jenna having a girl just completes the circle, because she has all these precious memories of baking with her mother (and now she can create new memories baking with her daughter). And lastly, I think my friend has his own issues to deal with. Perhaps he is feeling unnecessary or easily dismissed by the woman in his life? What else would describe his outrage about "feminist fantasy?"

For some reason I do not like that phrase. Maybe feminist archetype is better? Perhaps it is just semantics, or perhaps it is because I can still hear his tone while saying, "feminist fantasy," or maybe it is just the odd and disturbing picture I get in my head of feminists sitting around fantasizing? I don't know why that picture is disturbing, it just is.

Pie on the Beach

I saw two movies last weekend. And yes, I paid separate admission for each one, although to be honest, I was tempted to just sneak into the next theatre. These multi-plexes seem to lend themselves to sneaking, but perhaps that's just me.

*****Spoiler alerts for Fantastic 4: Rise of the Silver Surfer and Waitress*****

Fantastic 4: Rise of the Silver Surfer....was ok. A fun comic book action romp. Although I actually kind of feel mean for saying this, I'm gonna say it anyway: Jessica Alba does not seem to be a very good actress. Either that or she was not directed very well in this film. She is super gorgeous and she's not horrible, but other than making puppy dog endearing eyes to the Silver Surfer, I am not sure how much she contributed to this film. Frankly, that look she does reminds me of Puss in Boots from Shrek. (I could almost hear the background music swelling). Plus, she still seems too young for the dude they have playing Reed Richards (who is pretty hot, by the way).

But anyway, the film I would really like to write about is Waitress, written and directed by Adrienne Shelley. She also acted in the movie as "Dawn" a fellow waitress and friend of the main character Jenna (Keri Russell). I believe she also sang the movie's closing song. The film is dedicated to her memory, because she was killed on November 1, 2006. According to IMDb:
"Shelly's death was first considered a suicide. Days later, a 19-year-old Ecuadorian illegal immigrant and construction worker confessed to slaying the actress, who he left hanging by a bedsheet from a shower rod in the bathroom of her Manhattan office / apartment. She was found by her husband."

How tragic. She was obviously very talented. She also had a daughter, who played Jenna's daughter at the end of the movie. She was such a cutie with bright yellow curly hair and an angelic smile.

I enjoyed the movie. It was told in a fairy tale spirit. It is the kind of story a mother tells her daughter when her daughter demands a bedtime story about how she came to be. A story to be repeated, with sometimes a new detail added here or there, but basically the same. A story that, when that little girl grows up, she will tell her own daughter...and so on and so on, down through the generations. Eventually it becomes almost like a fable (kind of like the movie Big Fish). A story about how the love of a mother for her daughter changed the course of that mother's life forever by freeing her from her fears and insecurities.

And Nathan Fillion was hot. I've liked him since I first saw him on that television show, Two Guys, a Girl and a Pizza Place. But really loved him as Capt. Malcolm Reynolds in Firefly (and the subsequent movie Serendipity). Of course, he's a big cheater in this movie, which was kind of distracting, because I wanted to like him (he plays this awkward, neurotic, yet endearing doctor), but I kept thinking, "he's cheating!" Ugh.

Andy Griffith was also in this movie, and I liked him (and his character) a lot. In fact, the supporting cast (Jeremy Sisto as Jenna's controlling jerk of a husband, Cheryl Hines as the smart-talking waitress/friend, and of course Adrienne Shelley) were stellar. There were some inconsistencies and incongruence regarding the plot and the actions of the characters, but I am ready to forgive them because the movie was so charming and I feel, meant to play out like a fairy tale or fable.

Plus, did I mention how hot Nathan Fillion was in this movie?

The main character makes pies. She makes pies because it is a link to her past and reminds her of times when her life was better (as a young girl baking with her mother, who obviously loved her very much) and because it is a creative outlet for a life that is slowly suffocating her spirit. It is her means of escape (some people do drugs or otherwise create alternate realities), she bakes.

Jenna names her pies after whatever circumstance she is going through at the time. I just wish the pies would have tied in better with the names...or vice versa. That would have been cool. I think one of her pies was "Baby waking me up in the middle of the night" pie and it had pecans and nutmeg in it. What does that have to do with a crying baby? There was an Earl (her husband) killing me because I'm having an affair" pie that had raspberries and blackberries crushed up...allusion to bruises? A bit of a stretch, since none of the other pies really matched their names.

But still, I enjoyed Waitress a lot. One thing I really liked about it is that she did not choose any of the men in her life. Jenna decided to face the world for and with her daughter Lulu. Although, if one chose to be very picky, one could say that she did rely on a man to "save" her . . . that man being Old Joe (Andy Griffith) who gives her enough money to create her own pie business. I choose not to be picky here.

Plus, have I mentioned how hot Nathan Fillion was in this movie?

Getting Older

I am getting older.

I know, I know, it does not seem like much of a news flash. But I do not mean that I am aging in the universal sense (in that we are all getting older because of the way the time-space continuum operates). I mean I am getting older...as in reaching a definitive destination. Much like how someone may be "getting" sick.

For example, I am beginning to get aches and pains when I am in one position too long. Currently, I'm on the DL for my women's tennis team because I have acute tendinitis in my wrist. I am definitely not healing as quickly as I was able to do even a few short years ago. My mother felt so sorry for me that she offered to cut my meat tonight! Seriously. That is so sad and pathetic.

Gone (apparently) are the days when I could jump out of bed and play tennis until dark (warm up and cool down stretching? We don't need no lousy warm up and cool down stretching!) and get up the next day and do it again, all the while feeling no pain. Back then I took no pain killers. No anti-inflammatory medication. (Although at various times I did have to wear braces on my ankle, knee, back, wrist and elbow. Hmmm...perhaps my body has always been older than my chronological age?) All that concerned me was being hydrated, avoiding sunburn and kicking butt. Oh and geez, speaking of butts, have I mentioned the size of mine? Where the heck did that monstrosity come from?

My doctor has begun talking to me about good cholesterol and bad cholesterol and living a healthy lifestyle. He just recently put me on medication for hypertension. He said it is the mildest medication and I only take half a pill a day and my family has a history of high blood pressure, but still...isn't that something for old people to worry about?

Part of the reason I think I am having such difficulty with all this is because of the disconnect in my mind. In my mind I am still in my 20s...or younger. Perhaps it is because I am the youngest in my family. Or maybe I am just naturally inclined to feeling youthful and silly. I don't know. All I know is that I, er, display a youthful joie de vivre? Let me provide an example. I drove my company's van to the dealership for servicing. I was following our Office Manager, who knew the way (I am directionally challenged) and he was going to drive me back to the office while the van was being fixed. We are at a stop light and I see him check his rear view mirror to make sure I am still behind him. As soon as I see him looking, I stick my thumbs in my ears and wiggle my fingers while crossing my eyes and sticking out my tongue at him.

Have I mentioned that I am a few years short of being 40? What adult feels compelled to do that kind of stuff? Much less to be so lacking in fortitude as to be unable to resist such a temptation? The Office Manager is younger than I am and I see him rolling his eyes at my antics.

My office is at the end of a long hallway. Sometimes I feel like skipping down that hallway. Yeah, okay, so I have done it once or twice.

Yet, I pay my mortgage on time, do my own taxes and have managed to remain gainfully employed for most of my adult life. I mean, it is not like I am a total flake or anything. I even started "introducing" more fiber in my diet (insert eye roll here). Bleh.

We have all heard that adage: you're only as old as you feel. I always took that to mean that if you are "young at heart" (to use another cliche), that it did not matter what your chronological age was. They didn't tell me it actually refers to how one feels physically (See, aches and pains and worrying about throwing your back out). Frankly, I don't think it's fair that I am diligently working my way towards being aged and yet I have to pay full price for everything. If I have the aches and pains of a senior citizen, shouldn't I also be able to take advantage of their discounts? It's not my fault I'm so advanced for my age.