"SECONDS TO SPARE"

I'm watching a program on Nova about the phsysiology of marathon runners. Oh man, okay, okay seven goals for the year ahead. But that's it. Seven.

"PRUDENCE NEVER PAYS"

Kids, I cannot believe how bizzay I've been. But, it's all good. All good! Let me catch all of youse up. Okay, let's see, I last updated youse on Thursday. So, Friday morning, I went out to meet the remarkably fabulous Shauna James Ahern, also known as Gluten-Free Girl at Swirlz, a lovely little cupcake joint (yes I did just say cupcake joint) in Lincoln Park. I walked in and met Shauna and Swirlz' delightful pastry chef, Jeremy Sher, and chatted for almost two hours, first with him about culinaria, New York, Boston, Austin and Yidishkeit as he was kind enough to give me a tour of the back kitchen then with her. Shauna's on a booktour, you see, and we talked books, touring, publishing, and she gave me some fabulous details behind this lovely post and that infamous tattoo of hers. So, when sitting across from her at a table at Swirlz, I leaned over, throwing everything I know and am supposed to make myself adhere to about touching people without asking, and put my hand around her wrist and pressed my thumb on that perfect tattoo. I love it. I told her how my motto in life is Just Say Yes (to keep things as simple and clear as possible), and we laughed and talked and I think she is a marvelous, positive human being and everyone should go buy her book. I don't have a gluten allergy, and it's still a great read. So, go forth! Buy, buy, buy. (Ahem, Ms. James Ahern, any interested in doing an installation of Guthmantics? My readers would looooove it, I'm sure. See lower section of my sidebar for past Guthmantics interviews.)

Friday night, then, guess who was in town? Guess. Couch Pat and his delightful wife, Barbara. Can I tell you I was just over the moon to hang with them. They were in town after she ran and he coached for the Dublin marathon and had an overnight layover in Chicago so we went for Greek and had the most delightful time. Really, we laughed so hard the waitress kept coming over to make sure we were okay. So great to see them, I should go visit them soon on their turf.

Saturday and Sunday, I kid you not, were a whirlwind of working my ass off. On what you ask? Projects, kids, projects. I have three projects cooking that you are not going to believe. So big and so great and I am excited beyond. This week promises to be busy as well, but it's all worthwhile, for sure. For sure.

"STOP ME...?"

Now, this is about as awesome as it gets for fundraising! This marathon, The 26.2 with Donna (a women who beat breast cancer twice and is about to start treatment for lung cancer), gives 100% of race entry fees to support breast cancer research at the Mayo Clinic. One hundred percent. Jacksonville Beach, eh? February, eh? Hmm... I think I need to consider this one very seriously. Hmm...

Jeff Galloway, running guru I totally listen to, recommends it, and even recommends buying a bib (that's the piece of paper with your runner number on it that you clip to yourself for you non-runners out there) if you can't make it down there to run just to support.

Also, don't forget to click for free and fund mammography to women in need and to give to my fundraising efforts for the Making Strides Against Breast Cancer event on the 21st if you can. I only need a bit more to reach the goal!

Now, let's talk. This morning, I got an anonymous comment here on Bigmouth that instead of publishing to my comments section, I thought I would plop it out front and center for everyone to enjoy. Anonymous writes (By the way, not leaving your name immediately strips you of so much credibility in my book.):

"Amy: no offense, but we're all a little tired of the breast cancer links you're doing. Are you seriously going to do this for the rest of the month? I like your blog but it's pretty lame right now with breast cancer shit being pushed on us. I don't know anyone with it, you wrote about a near-miss but you don't have it so drop it, will you? no offense. it's just annoying and seems like a you're wasting your time with the hassle of it all."

Really nice fucking attitude, huh? Readers of Bigmouth, Anonymous seems pretty confident about speaking for you. Anyone care to comment? I'm formulating my answer and will post it there shortly.

"THERE IS A LIGHT THAT NEVER GOES OUT"

So, the marathon was today. And, it was called after only a few hours. I felt for the runners, I really did (a) having personally marathon'd I felt their pain and (b) dude, it was hot and unforch just to sit and watch. I sat and watched the final group, determined to finish even after the race was called, then even after the cops came through will bullhorns and insisted the runners then had to move to the sidewalks and proceed at their own risk. Uh, and I am hearing rumors that the stations were running out of water and Gatorade. Not good.

So, the scoop at this hour is that about 300 people were taken to the hospital and one guy, Chad Scheiber (only 35!) a police office in Midland, Michigan died. Died. I googled him because I don't want to say "some dude"; I wanted to know who he was-- a husband, father, police officer, and I just feel so bad for him. Did he wake up and think he'd die today? No, of course he didn't. Was he running for a charity? That I don't know. I do know it wasn't his first marathon by a longshot. I do know it probably wasn't a easy death, and that sounds horrible. For him today, for his family tonight. Can you imagine his wife tonight? Probably around his same age, so a young woman, my age most likely, thinking over and over about her guy out on the racecourse and what his last moments must have been like. Ugh, I can't stop thinking about it and I never even met the guy. The guy was doing something healthy, something he'd done before and loved to do, maybe even something charitable and blammo.

It bothers me that sometimes good karma doesn't seem like it's enough. But, then none of us really know how the world works. We can only guess it spins on karma wheels. But, the truth is that bad things happen to good people, bad people and everyone in between and, yes, death is just as natural-- and in its own way beautiful-- as birth and life, man it's a shame when people are doing something good-- not wasting their lives, not spewing negative crap out into the world, not taking their lives for granted, things like that-- and they die. It's a shame is what it is. A shame. I wish the world worked that way. I do believe that being a good person and living fully counts for something. I just wish it counted for more sometimes, I guess.

You know what we should do? (We meaning runners of Chicago) We should have a benefit run to raise money for his family. I'd help organize and I'd run it, too.

And, speaking of causes I'm gung-ho for, it's still breast cancer awareness month. Let's click through to The Breast Cancer Site and donate mammography to women in need. Shop to cure with these notecards offered directly from Komen. And, I am halfway to my new goal, and the race is two weeks from today. This week's goal: $650. I know there are a lot of causes to get behind, another worthy one I mentioned just a paragraph ago, but please consider donating to this cause in addition to whatever other causes you support. Thanks!

"NOW, TODAY, TOMORROW"

Meh. Day two of sniffles/fever/sore throat junk. I'm hanging out and resting up and on the mend, to be sure.

So, I have a favor to ask you guys. You know me, always passing the hat for somebody, right? Right. Well, I'm going to do the Making Strides For Breast Cancer event on October 21st here in Chicago. I've set my personal cashola goal at a measly grand, but if you guys will help me out and all throw a buck or two my way, I'll bet we can make a thousand bucks look like chump change. Click right here for everything you need on my fancy little donation page.

For those of you in my email address book, you might as well cough up a couple of dollars now because I'm going to give you the email-shakedown nonstop until you do it. All the cool kids are giving to charity, hello? And, ahem, members of the tribe, it is Elul, is it not? Need I say more?

Tell you what, I'll only stop nagging youse for money every day until the event if we get to $5,000. Otherwise, get ready for the daily nag, ha!

"HOW SOON IS NOW?"

"Amy Guth, you are so fucking hard-headed." -Ma Guth

I went running. At the one mile mark, having already long since hit the point where I generally start to find my groove, I was struggling and thinking why am I running so slow? why do I have a stitch in my side? why am I huffing and puffing and-- oh right, dumbshit. The other day's unforch lung biopsy. Doy. Fair enough. Maybe running days after Needle-in-Chest is a fucking stupid idea.

Speaking of wtf, there was just a guy in a sedan sitting in front of my building blaring (and clapping along to) gospel music with his windows down. I'm all for people getting down with what moves them, but dudeitwassoloud! My poor kitty was at the window yeowling like dudewhatthefuck? Weird.

I got another piece of glass in my foot from my kitchen floor. I thought I got all of the glass up from when I was last playing OOPAH-Ouzo-drunken-glass-smash, but apparently not. And by "playing OOPAH-Ouzo-drunken-glass-smash", I, of course, mean hand-washing my stemware. I do enjoy a nice Ouzo, though.

On Monday, my darlings, I am going to be doing a very exciting week of guest blogging (But you're going to have to wait a few more days until I tell you where) and I'll shortly start doing a regular correspondent blog posting on another site. Lots of fun things in the works, eh? More on that later. I've got to buckle down and get some serious work finished tonight.

"ASSEMBLE THE WAYS"

So, who will I be seeing tomorrow night at The Fixx Reading Series? 7:30. There or square, sweetiepiefaces.

In other news:

Well, the blue isn't as turquoise as I wanted it to be. I bleached the crap out of that hair, turned it nearly white-blondey and still that pretty turquoise haircolor is a subtle peacock-feather green highlight at best. Eh well. If I recall from the last time I did a bluey hue (almost a decade ago), it took a few months worth of bleaching and coloring to get it right. So, whatevs.

I went for a run, but didn't catch the running wind in my sails, so I ended up on a two-mile walk, which is fine. The miles matter more to me today. Walking plus iPod equal a nice time for me. I came home with yet another variety of cat food my cat doesn't want to settle for, and cooked myself a lovely little pasta with basil I dun growed myself. What a nice little dinner.

Uh, have you guys seen the Viva Viagra advertisement? Oh no. Unnnforch.

"THIS NIGHT HAS OPENED MY EYES"

I started the today on all fours meowing. Sparkypoo, you see, has become a near-neighbor, and asked me to watch her kitties while she was on vacation this week. Well, loving the stuffing out of animals, I, of course, happily accepted. But, her landlord posted signs over the weekend that today, every apartment would be sprayed by the exterminator and all pets should be in a closed bedroom. Skeevy but manageable. No biggie. So, I went over early and found one cat, already in the bedroom, closed the door behind me and set out to find the other. No luck. And, since Sparkypoo just, just moved, there were many cardboard kitty hiding places. So, I'm looking, then I'm on all fours looking and meowing and shaking the food bag, then I'm looking and shaking the food bag and meowing and on the phone with Sparkypoo inquiring about favorite hiding places. I finally found the poor creature hiding out for dear life from the meowing, crazy woman in her house. Both cats, safe from the exterminator. Done.

So, I worked on this and that all day. Went to the supermarket, and with an armful of produce, was told by the manager they've done away with shopping baskets to cut down on theft. What? What's the connection? I don't get it. What did I miss? Whatever. No big whoop, then I went to the gym, and had a really good workout. So nearly compulsive and fear-driven, yes, but people do a whole lot worse out of fear. At least this was productive. I ran the treadmill silly, I crunched and lifted and squatted and curled. I kicked ass and left feeling like a million. Sure, no level of fitness is really going to shield anyone from anything, but it never hurt, that's for sure. (Speaking of running, this article, while it raises a good point, made me a little sad. I don't know if I even want to do another marathon if I'd have to do it without my earbuds on, truth be told.)

And that brings me up to right now. Hello from the bathtub. Yeah, yeah, I know. My laptop isn't falling in. It's safe as can be. And, joke's on you-- I happen to soak in the tub wearing a 1920s-era bathing costume, so no need to let your mind wander too far, my dears. I poured myself a glass of pinot grigio, made a little plate of apples, cheese, strawberries and olives and Calgon is, as they say, taking me the fuck away.



The "How Are Guthie's Nerves?" Test of the Weekend wasn't lost on me. I'm pausing and chillin' and all the things I always mean to do but do not. No way, not me, I'm doing them. I'm not just blogging, I'm blogging in the tub with pinot and snacks and Calgon and all that shit. (Oh, and speaking of blogging, I might be in love with this post my other BFF, Laurel Snyder, posted about blogging. Love her. Isn't she so great?)

Anyhoot, I'm signing off to finish my bath. Take good care.

"ACCEPT YOURSELF"

I visited Mermaidhead today and sat with her in her living room in the chair as she fidgeted on the couch. She looks so good now that she is out of that hospital and in her house again. I mean, wait, she looked fine in the hospital, she's always gorgeous, but she looks smiley and glowey at home. I brought her construction paper and posterboard; inspiration struck her in the morning and I happily brought art supplies to fulfill her creative mojo.

You know, not that it matters what I think in this regard, but we were talking today about life and ideas and meaning and purposeful, mindful living and I think that really, whatever people that she and King Neptune guide into adulthood are going to be really fine people. I really think that. I do.

That said, we got the laptop and sneaked a look at tiny punk baby shirts and laughed at awesome "onesies" with funny, badass graphics like the one with a tricycle that read "boobie, binky or blankie-- nobody rides for free" and laughed about "there are people fucking on the back of my shirt!" and "mommy drinks because of me". So funny. Yes, yes, I'm completely Jewy superstitious about not buying baby items before a birth too, but it was just a look at a website, nothing was purchased. Just a peek. I pride myself on giving tiny children dirty t-shirts. This is my plan, always. I am that gifter.

After, I ran to the gym and got a super-fast workout and two mile short-run in just before they closed. The first 3/4 mile was shitty, but then I found the right song (not surprisingly, I run with music in the same way that write to it) and was able to rock out the rest of the run fast and evenly and well and perfectly paced. Pace is key. I see people hop onto treadmills or start on races or just run around the block and just haul ass and seem confused as to why they can't run very far. Pacing is everything, I feel. I learned that one the hard way-- even though I'd trained really well, and even though I knew better, I was so excited to be finally running a marathon that I ran just a tiny, tiny bit faster that my usual pace for the first few miles that day and really struggled to keep myself feeling fueled and energetic later in the race. Now when I run, I hit this pace that I know is the perfect pace for me and it feels good and strong and any silly crap that popped up during the day disappears.

I might be nuts if I didn't run. It's the best time to just be and just think and just feel my muscles and tendons and bones and joints and sense of balance and all just work together. It's a funny thing, too. When I set out on a run, my mind is always busy and filled with to do lists and errands and projects, but stride after block after mile, my brain sort of rearranges itself and settles down and I can just be.

Anyway, enough seriousness, I'm watching a show on television asserting that the Bermuda Triangle (Puerto Rican Trench at about 5 miles deep) and the Pacific Dragon Triangle (Mariana Trench at about 11 miles deep), because they both fall, latitudinally, about the same, are connected in at planetary core by a land-bound blackhole that connects via wormhole and thereby presenting a hypothesis that black holes, active Atlantic volcanism and less-abstract versions of white holes exist on earth (in an igneous way), interconnectedly and this theory is being supported mainly by example of agonic lines.

Okay, wait, that was serious, also. Nerdy as shit, too. Okay, uh, forget I just said all of that.

I'm going to bed. Night, folks.

"IF YOU HAVE FIVE SECONDS TO SPARE"

Random things:

1. You know, a few posts ago, Kapgar asked me, mostly jokingly, to clarify a bit when I said my Dad was on "the other side of the world". Turns out, he is, though not at an exact opposite location to Chicago. In discovering this, I found this website which is fun to play with. You set your location, then find out where you'd pop up if you were to dig a hole through the earth. I'd, uh, pop up just to the side of Australia if I dig from Chicago.

2. Paris Hilton might have to go back to jail. I am embarrassingly happy about this.

3. I still need one local author for the June 28th Fixx Reading Series night. I am taking nominations and suggestions. Aaaaaand, go.

4. I had a great long run and workout yesterday. I'm still running under my marathon pace, but I'm pacing okay considering I didn't really run all winter.

"DISPLAYING YOUR NAME"

Ah, the vanterie sans scruple returns! Read this. Third paragraph. How come nobody told me I fall into the "writers, participants and notables" category, eh?

Anyway, fun, right?

Off to work out. I need a treadmill.

"EL CONDOR PASA"

I have felt a little "eh" all day and knew a couple of miles on the treadmill would perk me right up. My gym, as it so happens, is fantastic. I use the city park and rec facilities and they are perfect. And, they offer fantastic people like Morty. I checked in for some quality treadmill time, popped my iPod on the ever-changing "don't worry you're okay" playlist and set off. This adorable old man, I would later hear called Morty, came in and commenced a fast routine of hopscotch, kicks, shadowboxing and wild arm-swinging before easing onto the floor and doing that bicycle-in-the-air thing. I kid you not, this man was easily 90. Easily. In-between activities, he'd chat up the other exercisers in that adorably endearing Yiddishkeit we all know and love.

As I left, he gave me a wink. An innocent old-man flirt is the greatest.

Speaking of Yiddish! Purim was delightful. I went to different shul and was impressed immediately with the boozeapalooza, I mean, excellent turnout. I was particularly thrilled to see a four-year-old goth girl dressed as a bat. She flapped her little fabric wings mightily with her gragger in her tiny fist and her last reaction to Haman was as enthusiastic as her first. At one point, a rabbi ran in front of the ark in a gold leotard. The other rabbis were dressed like Harry Potter. But, the real hightlight was seeing bubbes doing shots of whiskey. I passed them en route to the ladies room, where they adjourned as I was washing my hands and, with a giggle, one of them asked me, "Have you evah seen Girals Gwone Wyuld?" G-d, imagine my surprise and simultaneous dread then subsequent relief when they burst into laughter in lieu of, say, whipping off their tops and making out.

Oh, wait, there is more to discuss in reference to the gym! I have been observing something terribly troubling happening at gyms, and, after asking around a bit, I have come to realize that it is happening everywhere. There is a very shitty male-female dynamic happening. A woman comes in and is working out, minding her own business. A guy approaches, and, in an attempt to force a conversation, corrects her somehow. No! This right away opens a dialogue with the dynamic of her being in the wrong. Think about it. If someone comes and corrects your workout, you might be a little embarrassed. What ever happened to a good ol' "Hello. My name is..." ice breaker? Why a put-down? By coming over, pretending to know better, embarrassing a woman and preying upon societal conditioning that women are raised with to be nice and pleasing (and therefore less inclined to be direct and terminate the conversation), ka-boom, a conversation is happening, that may or may not even be a welcome conversation, and the man has asserted his dominance. I'm sick of this. It has got to stop and the only way it is going to stop is when we (women) start looking out for each other, start standing up for ourselves, and feeling more comfortable with assertiveness. There is a sea of difference between direct and rude. We can be direct and we're going to have to be if this is going to stop.

On a large scale, I'm sick to death of women being catty to one another, or even indifferent, when so much good could come from even a little bit of support. Sometimes I worry and think we (women) are falling behind and things are getting worse and worse. Then, I think of my little bat friend. Her commitment to blotting out the name of one asshole makes me think she, at least, will be okay.