It's like you're a drug...

Oh, how right Kelly Clarkson is when she sings that... Well, another study has come out talking about how love makes you crazy, especially new love. You know, that giddy, we just started dating feeling. The time when you virtually fall off the face of the planet, friends and family hearing neither hide nor hair of you in weeks. When all you can think about is calling, talking to, emailing, etc., etc., etc. the person that you are newly dating. Well, apparently, new romantic love does not activate the sexual centers in the brain as one might think, but in fact activates the part of the brain that is generally associated with "hunger, thirst or drug craving." And when this love deepens beyond the initial attraction and honeymoon stage into something deeper, then areas "deep in the primitive brain that are involved in long-term attachment" are activated.

The research helps explain why love produces such disparate emotions, from euphoria to anger to anxiety, and why it seems to become even more intense when it is withdrawn.

Hmmm, so absence may make the heart grow fonder. There's also an interesting bit about how the brain basically goes through a state of drug-like withdrawal when one is dumped.

I find it ironic, then, that after reading that article, I came across this one talking about how love has ruined the institution of marriage.

Love is hard. Love is painful. Love makes you crazy. Love makes you sad. Love can give the soul the greatest joy that it can ever experience. And when that is experienced, it can outweigh everything else. When you find it, you want to hold onto it forever. When you lose it, the world has come to an end... until you learn that you can rediscover it if you search hard enough.

We tried to see U2 and all we got was a Poang!

You had to be there...

But yes, the short road trip to Philly for the U2 concert Sunday was definitely worth it! We were greeted in Philly with A Beautiful Day, strolled around Chinatown, wandered our way down to South Street, found a street fair - The Italian Market Festival, I believe. Food, people, music (some of it really bad... I mean really, do we need to see the Guido Quintet in their matching bright blue suits?), your general fun street fair kinda stuff. We made our way back to Chinatown, met WL for dinner at Penang, stuffed ourselves silly. Yummy.

Now comes the challenge - trying to find our way to the I95 to get to the Wachovia Center. We had a map. Felumpfus was navigating, although at one point, both Fel and JD were screaming to turn or not turn from the back seat... Follow the signs to I95 and eventually we will get to the onramp. This was a great theory. It didn't really work in practice. Although we continued to follow signs saying that the I95 was ahead, we continued to have the highway on our right. Or rather, we tried to follow the signs for the I95. We learned something about Philly - for some reason, all pertinent signs are hung BEHIND tall trees. So for all we know, we missed the onramp multiple times.

Time for plan B. At some point we would need to turn right, hopefully before we made it all the way down Columbus Ave. to the IKEA. We turned and went in search of Broad Street. The Wachovia Center is on Broad Street, we know this because we passed it on our way into Center City Philly. Finding Broad Street was easy. Getting onto Broad Street was another matter. We learned another very important thing about Philly - apparently one cannot make left turns, or rather, is NOT ALLOWED to make left turns, anywhere, even onto seemingly valid two way streets. No problem, go to the next block and circle onto Broad. Yeah, that didn't work. Again, a couple of blocks where we could not make a left turn... then finally we turn... AAAHHHHH! The next street is blocked off, so again, we can only make a right turn! Well, a couple of more right turns (one a little sharper than we had anticipated), and finally we find Broad Street. And we turn right.

At this point, we were relieved that we were able to get in the general direction we wanted to go. We did finally make it to the concert, a little dizzy from all the right hand turns we had made, found our seats, and allowed ourselves to be blown away (and I do mean blown away) by the boys from Dublin.

I think that the best part of the show was that they ended it in classic fashion.

Power between the legs

No, we are not talking about anything dirty. We are talking about motorcycles. I've been wanting to learn how to ride a motorcycle for quite a long time. I used to be a fan of the "crotch rocket" type bikes, but as I have aged (and developed a bad back), I have reconsidered. I love Harleys, particularly the Sportster Family of bikes. The funny thing is that as much as I have wanted to learn to ride and to own a motorcycle, I had never been on one... I have a need to control. And let's face it, I'm a bit of a chicken-shit. But, I have resolved that little issue.

I went out to Hagerstown to visit BC. He had promised me two things for when I came to visit - that he would teach me how to drive stick and that he would take me out on his bike. We didn't get to the stick driving lesson. But we did go out for a ride. First on the Cruiser (the slow bike, he calls it), then on the Vmax (the power bike). If I wanted to have a motorcycle before actually being on one, I REALLY want one now. We went for a long ride, up and down back roads, BC occasionally opening it up a bit, just to let me feel the acceleration and the power. I asked him not to scare the shit out of me too much. The interesting thing is that I wasn't scared the entire time on the bike - not even for the stretch that BC let it out to 100mph. I felt such wonderful exhilaration and so free. I don't think the smile left my face the entire time we were out. And I didn't want it to end.

BC told me that I would get "the bug" in my ear, even starting today. Oh, boy, do I have the bug. So the first thing I need to do is take a basic rider safety course and get myself an M license. I can't wait. Whether or not I'll actually own a bike anytime soon, well, only time will tell. But I have to get started.

Gentlemen Only, Ladies Forbidden

I like golf. I will say that very openly and honestly. From some people I get a groan, a roll of the eyes, and that wondrous question of why. From others, I get the full understanding of what a great sport it is - and yes, it is a sport, a skill and concentration sport. One where focus and technique can beat sheer strength any day of the week. I have one big problem, however - I'm not particularly good at golf... at least not yet. But give me a little, I've only been attempting to play for a couple of years and I have yet to play a full round (pitch and putt doesn't count).

Since the weather was nearly perfect yesterday, BC and I cut out of work early and headed for the driving range. He's been telling me for a few days how good he is, consistently hitting in the high 80's and such, that I wanted to see it for myself and hopefully be able to pick up something. Before we went, I gave him this warning: I have no idea how to use my irons. None at all. Don't know how to hold them, swing them, anything. This was as much personal protection as anything, so I didn't go out there and completely make a fool of myself.

It's been a while since I've hit a golf ball. And it really showed. I shanked a whole bunch of them with my 7 wood before I made a couple of good hits. But could not stay consistent. BC on the other hand was launching them. Don't think I've ever been to the driving range with someone who hit so well (sorry, Jay). A bit of amusement arose when we saw groups of people, who were oblivious to any sort of danger, walking across the driving range... pretty much in the range that BC was hitting his. (10 points if you hit one!! There's no way they'll be able to get here before we get into the car.) A couple came pretty close. Close enough that there was a bit of staring and pointing from one of the groups.

I was not doing nearly as well. And after a bit of frustration, BC took pity on me, watched and evaluated my swing. Why was I not making good contact? Why did I feel uncomfortable? Don't move the feet, relax the front shoulder, keep the feet aligned better and closer to the ball, shift the weight back a little more, follow through, and most importantly - DON'T GET FRUSTRATED! Each small thing corrected made each shot smoother and straighter. That lovely sound of solid contact. Well, we got something to work better.

Now the fun part - how in the world do I use my irons? I have issues with the irons in general. I always feel two very specific things when I try to use an iron: (1) that I am right on top of the ball (2) I'm going to smash my club into the ground. As a result, I generally stand much too far away and I pull up in the middle of my swing, resulting in the golf ball dribbling away sadly. As many adjustments BC tried to make, I would only make rudimentary contact with the ball. A couple were lifted nicely, but most dribbled away or were short line drives. Not exactly what we were hoping for. Try as I might, the ball was not going anywhere good. So we decided to retire to the pitching/putting area to practice our "short game." (The fact that I have yet to get any game much less a short game was obviously ignored at this point.)

In theory, working with the pitching wedge on the grass should be better - not as much fear of slamming into the rubber mat... if I hit the ground, well, I get a divot. Theory and practice were obviously opposing at this point. The ball was going nowhere; not even coming close to the pitching green. I can't tell what I'm doing wrong. BC can't tell either, saying my swing was okay, but not making clean contact. Relax, relax, don't think about it too much. The ball won't mind being hit. That's what it's there for. And then... *plink* Ball lifted. "Hey, what did you do that time?" "Dunno, tried not to think about it too much." So I tried it again... *plink* Ball lifted again. "Hey, that's really good!" I wasn't getting the distance, but at least I was hitting them cleanly and actually lifting the ball. By the end of it, I was pretty much consistently hitting and lifting the ball with my pitching wedge. A vast improvement from where I started. Vast.

Going home, I was much more satisfied that I was able to get some of the mechanics of using my irons (or at least the pitching wedge) to go somewhere. Well, anywhere from the state I began would have been an improvement, let's be honest. But I was happy that I felt like I took a step forward, learning a little more, attempting to improve. I hope that I don't forget it all by the next time.

I'm hoping to get a full round of golf in by the end of the summer. I know that I will likely suck it up and shoot around 200. But again, taking a step forward from the driving range and onto the actual golf course. Isn't that the whole point of it really?

Message in a bottle

We are going to continue with the theme of friendships for a bit. Since I've moved and started working, I have been thinking a lot about making new friends, trying to stay in touch with old friends, etc. And I began to think about the kinds of friends I have. Not too long ago, I read a little thing about the 5 Friends Every Woman Should Have. I think this list would go for men and women, but men have different types of relationships with their guy friends. I have come to realize that the most important person to have is "The Truth Teller". Or as I like to say - the one that will call bullsh*t on you. You know, the friend who can tell if you are trying to or have convinced of something and will set you straight with honesty and straightforwardness (is that a word?). The one that will not allow you to delude yourself with the nonsense and bullsh*t that can creep into the brain. Everyone needs someone like this in their life. Keeps you honest with yourself and everyone else.

On the flip side, while looking for the list of friends a woman should have, I also found this list of the people to avoid having as friends. Interesting the contrast.

On friendships

I made a realization today of the preciousness of very good friends. I think about all of the people in my life that are important to me and realize the years that they span... from high school, college, grad school, and more recent times. It took a little while for some of us to get on the same page. With others there was a more immediate connection.

I think that the most common comment from many of my friends, particularly those from grad school, is that the first impression I give off is "scary, loud chick." I have been told over and over by some of my friends that when they met me, they were truly fearful. I'm sure it had more to do with the environ in which we met (ie. in lab or in a class for which I was the TA) versus me (or at least I hope that it was). Nevertheless, we are all still in communication mostly due to wonders of modern technology.

The value I place on friendships is very high and it always pains me when a friend is lost to distance, life, or differences that grew over time. It's always hard to leave behind someone to whom I once felt close.

I don't make friends easily. And generally, those friendships that do develop last a very long time. I consider myself lucky and blessed to be surrounded by such wonderful, warm, funny, intelligent, fabulous friends.

Here's a tip for you...

It used to be that leaving a gratuity was just that... something extra left to show a waiter/waitress/server that they did a good job and to thank them for their courtesy. Nowadays, however, tips seem to be more expected than earned. 15% used to be given for average service, while 20% or more for excellent service. Servers seem to expect at least 15% or more, no matter the quality.

Last evening, M, D&S and I went out to a little tapas place on Spring St. near Greenwich. The food was really good. The champagne sangria tasty. And the company, ever so excellent. The service, however, wasn't great. It was pretty much what one would expect in a somewhat trendy (or trying to be trendy) NYC restaurant. The waitresses were a little snobby, and gave you the look that they really couldn't be bothered.

During dinner, our second pitcher of sangria was knocked over by people sitting at the next table. This wasn't such a big deal (except for my wet pant leg) since we hadn't even started the pitcher yet. We just told the wait staff that we didn't want another one. Well, they seemed to insist. Finally, one of the waitresses said that a pitcher was being sent over. Fine, another pitcher of sangria. More conversation, more drink, and an order of dessert - where the order for cappuccino mysteriously appeared as a double espresso. When M pointed out to our waitress that the order was wrong, our oh so cool waitress gave M a look as if she was insane. The correct cup of caffeine was eventually delivered.

When the check came, we gave our waitress what we thought was fair for what we got, considering the rudeness, the insistence on the second pitcher of sangria and the incorrect drink delivery, which was answered by more rudeness. After a few moments, waiting for M to return from the loo, our waitress came back and asked if there was anything wrong with the service, since the tip appeared to be low. We explained that the service was only okay, but we didn't really appreciate the second sangria insisted upon us, but that's the tip we felt was deserved. Our waitress went on to say that it was standard that the tip is double the tax, and we didn't give her this amount, continued to ask why, and if we knew what a standard tip should be. Thank God for D. He looked her straight in the eye and told her that she had no right to demand more tip, that the service was only fair, and that since they "sent" the pitcher of sangria over, which we didn't want, that we shouldn't have to pay for it. I think the waitress' exact quote was:

"I just wanted to let you know that I don't work for free!"

And here I thought that quality of service should reflect what she deserved. Silly me.


gra·tu·i·ty n. pl. gra·tu·i·ties
A favor or gift, usually in the form of money, given in return for service.


I guess some people just need to be reminded what it actually means.