There is a place in San Marcos called the Eskimo Hut. They serve alcoholic drinks to go. The drinks come in a styrofoam cup encased in a plastic bag. The consumer is provided with an oversized straw to poke through the bag to reach the contents. Products are thus consumed while driving - all of this is legal. Only in San Marcos would there exist a pronounced effort to circumnavigate the perfectly reasonable drinking while driving law. But the margaritas are good!

The greatest Facebook story since Brody Rukus or whoever (If this group reaches 100,000 I'll have a threesome with my girlfriend, and all the resultant tributary groups...remember the brilliance?) is the group "Kick a Ginger" created by a 14 yr old boy. Supposedly nationwide physical attacks on redheads have ushered in a veritable neo-prejudice, with "authorities" now charging the boy with a hate crime. I'm sorry and perhaps a little mean but that is downright hilarious...the attacks, not the charge. Don't charge the boy. Charge the kickers. And laugh at the same time.

Following is a running story, but it's not really about running. In the spring, prolly in March, I went for a two hour long run, hoping to get about 16 or 17, on the River Run/golf course/Grey Rd. loop (single 13+ mile loops are great) in Davidson, NC. Now I left around 2 or so in the afternoon, and I had only eaten a bagel that day, and I don't think I had eaten that much the day before. Because around 90 minutes in I started to feel pretty...different. Things were...changing. I started weaving and feeling a little dizzy, but it wasn't necessarily a bad feeling. At 110 minutes I forced myself to stop because I didn't know what the fuck was going on and I feared, but only slightly, for my physical self. I stumbled across campus in the direction of my apartment and everything was entirely funny, I was laughing a lot. I was also ridiculously fucking hungry and not thirsty at all. Weird? You'd think after 15 miles a person would be thirsty. No, just ravenously hungry.

I barged into my apartment (totally hilarious) and into the kitchen. I grabbed everything I could find: chocolate, an apple, cookies, peanut butter, a banana...there was a lot, I don't remember it all, cream cheese, maybe? I attacked the apple first, and followed with the swiftest double take I've ever subjected my head too. What the fuck was I holding in my hand? Surely not an apple. But it fucking looked like an apple. What the hell was going on? It was mana from heaven, I was convinced. Nothing ever tasted so good in my life as that apple thing.

It was a weird and amusing experience. I've had similar run-induced things happen, but never one that severe, or fantastic, or whatever (once in Colorado I ran 12 miles in a blizzard and started feeling fuzzy at the end and got into the shower afterwards and the heat wouldn't go all the way up so I chanted Heat, Heat....Heat, Heat in high wailing voice, alternately laughing and despairing, until finally the heat gods heard me and the heat rose enough for me to just laugh, and be grateful that prized bodily possessions had in fact not irreversibly froze). I'm pretty sure I was undergoing intense episodes of runner's high with cannabis like symptoms (makes sense since apparently endorphins and cannabis are molecular analogs and have the same receptors in the brain) induced by having little readily convertible energy in my body at the time.

Those episodes were pretty intense compared to the more mild and more common form of runner's high that I occasionally get. That kind is prolly the best drug-induced state I've ever experienced, better even than alcohol even though the homunculus in my brain is saying "NOTHING is better than alcohol," and he is an erudite, wise homunculus. Mild runner's high has, count em, 0 negative side effects.

I promise I won't turn this blog into a self-help center but I will offer the following advice. The desire to extend it does not stem from any recent incident or revelation, just my general accumulation of experience and observation.

Do not take negative insults or attitudes personally, but those that are positive that can be construed as personal, take them that way. Some philosophers would have a field day with this piece of advice, a glaring case of logical inconsistency. Of course this approach is inconsistent, but what good is logical consistency if it doesn't make you any happier or content with your life? Furthermore, I think there is an element of truth in it anyway. For one, life and people are inconsistent, and it would almost seem that being consistently inconsistent is an appropriate corollary. For another, few people want to intentionlly harm others, directly or indirectly. Those that do are called pyschopaths; they lack the ability to empathize, and their numbers are few. So I would say that 99% of the time people get hurt by an individual it is because that individual is struggling with an issue more purely within themselves and is manifesting the struggle, and people get in the way. By no means do I condone the unintentional hurting of others, but it occurs, and I believe that the best way to cope is to not take it personally. Seriously, try it. It works.

Of course, take positive things personally - there is no downside to that. The whole point is to take the best parts of something and discard the bad. Now, is it too much to ask to carry this attitude elsewhere...like religion????

A ten minute conversation with an old grey-haired naked man at night in the middle of the hill country is an interesting experience.

"All right, round em up...it's election day!"

"Vote native."

I'm proud of myself for participating in Halloween last night for the first time in like eight years, since back when I couldn't even grow a beard (oh wait, nevermind). That includes not going to the Franklin St. party in Chapel Hill a couple years ago because I had shit to do the next morning. We learn from our mistakes.

Some notable costumes were: motivational speaker Matt Foley (guy even looked a lot like Farley, check), Colt McCoy (guy wouldn't shut up about his faith, check), anchorman Ron Burgundy, Hugh Hefner (would have been more impressive with a lady entourage), Captain America, Dick in a Box (didn't open it), Sarah Palin, Forest Gump (the runner), and Strawberry Blonde (she was a strawberry, but she was also very blonde). I was a person sized napkin, part of a five piece set including M, T, J, and Jonnce as a plate, spoon, fork, and knife, respectively. It was better than anticipated, although it fell apart when we didn't stick together.

There was much dancing, drinking, laughing, and changing venues. It was a shit ton of fun. M dropped me off at a quarter after five en route to catch his seven o clock flight.