Never say never. Dare ya.

Regrets, as most will agree, are viewed as a waste of time. Some friends have expressed proudly to me that they have NO regrets. That’s like saying I’m above reality television: Bullshit.

Regrets can also conveniently be turned into learning experiences. In high school, I accidentally insulted the class Wiccan. He claimed the ability to make it rain, so you can imagine my horror of turning around and finding him staring deep into my now damned soul. I felt terrible and have ever since been more careful before making fun of others. This regret turned into a Life Lesson, therefore making me appreciate that it occurred in the first place.

But I will go on record right now as having one regret. Just one. And it's a biggie.

In college, for our annual Flunk Day celebration (school sanctioned celebration), I booked Chicago’s Kill Hannah as the musical entertainment instead of...

...OkGo.

Ugh. Now you see why. There’s no lesson to be had. I couldn’t have seen a few months into the future when they’d release their sensational treadmill video. My error has forever left a void in the hearts of every student...a garish gash upon the gentle, porcelain veneer that is Coe College. No offense meant to Kill Hannah, of course.

What's your greatest regret?

Neurology

My elitist magazine tastes pointed me to a very interesting New Yorker article written by none other than Jonah Lehrer.

Why does the article stand on its own? Because it includes a story about firefighters (awesome!) AND finding out exactly why humans have insights (Aha!).

Ever had a great idea in the shower? Read the latest theory on why.

And then subscribe to Lehrer's blog.

Intervention

By grace (and modern medicinal steroids), my eye has healed. As quick as the right retina contracted the eye cold, it just as quickly went back to normal.

Using my newfound 20/20, I read a fascinating study this morning which provides a perfectly adequate explanation for my response to the malady. The study says that the willpower contained in our prefrontal cortex is proportionate to the calculating load that our brains can manage. This means that if you are using lots of brainpower to concentrate on something big, the amount of willpower at your disposal will be severely lacking.

Stress eaters find this as no surprise, but I’ve never been one. Imagine my shock then, that by excessively worrying about my eye this week, I suddenly sought to satisfy my comfort cravings NO MATTER WHAT...and my diet growing up dictates that sugar is my comfort food. With a feeble brain on full pink eye alert, I had to hold back the urge to chug on packets of Splenda. Hour upon hour I would drink honey tea so full of sugar that it had the taste (and texture) of cotton candy.

Now, with the eye healed and stress dissipating, I get to confront a dark, visceral addiction to sweets. My usual afternoon snack of almonds tastes like cardboard. I choke on water. Irritable. Moody. Delusions that I can fly. Fantasies of building a refinery in my basement...it's getting out of control.

Of course, I’ll need massive amounts of caffeine just to make it through tomorrow...but that’ll be another entry.

Catch-20/20 with no end in sight

I count myself lucky to so rarely take ill. Other than a seasonal cough, most bugs don’t stick around in my system for too long. This may very well explain why I’m such a whiny brat when my health gives the slightest sign of weakness.

Enter pink eye. Yes--that infection of the ocular nature everyone contracted once in grade school when it was okay to stick your dirty little grubs in other people’s faces.

Except I’m not nine years old. And I certainly don’t tolerate dirty hands touching my eyeballs. So, why me?

Beyond that, why pink eye? Instead of a nice, easy cold that I could suppress with trippy drugs and yummy teas, I instead get to wear the careless disregard for my immune system on my face! And people definitely treat you with less sympathy than if you had a nagging cough—-especially when I can’t seriously look them in the face because of a droopy eyelid. Damn you, conjunctivitis!

For many years, I’ve worn contacts. I wear them so much that I never replaced my broken eyeglasses from college. Now I stare back, red faced and pink eyed, at my optometrist who tells me that not only can I NOT wear my contacts, but I CANNOT get a new prescription for eyeglasses until my eye heals.

Do optometrists have to take the Hippocratic Oath like other doctors?

Testic Lit, copied!

Esquire has released it's 75 Books Every Man Should Read.

Only one direct match to Testic Lit (Saunders' Civilwarland in Bad Decline, which was submitted to me by a female friend), but many authors crossed over including Vonnegut, McCullough, and Kerouac.

PS They totally copied me. The criteria was, "...unranked, incomplete, utterly biased list of the greatest works of literature ever published." Sounds a lot like what I was asking for...

In a flurry of unpreparedness...

...I boarded a plane to Nebraska last Thursday for a weekend visit. Trips to my homeland are few and far between, so I beg family members to cram the entire weekend with as many celebratory gatherings as possible. I returned home late last night reeking of airport plush and heavy muscles from all the lugging.

Friday, it all began with a family day-cation to Yankton, SD. This border town boasts a large dam, the resulting Lewis and Clark Lake, and per capita the largest number of pickups and boats that take glee in blocking traffic. Though I spent most of my childhood summers here, driving over the dam never fails to scare the living heck out of me. (When playing at the beaches, I often had day-mares that I would fall asleep on a water noodle and wake up finding myself being sucked down to the turbine vents. Worst. Possible. Death. Imaginable. Ensues. And surprised fishermen watch as a shredded noodle pops out on the other side.)





The highlight of the trip though, was spending time with the newest addition to our family: Lola, my fresh-faced and surprisingly smiley-happy niece. She’s my new fave. And of course, I’m hers.

We finished the day defining the word gluttony at Jo-Dean’s, “a South Dakota tradition” famous for OD’ing on (most certainly NOT safe-caught) seafood. For $20, you can belly up to a buffet of shark, eel, frog legs, and other aquatic fare. It’s utterly weird to witness but tastes great when washed down with a Bud Light.

Saturday found my father and I doing our best to make sure my mom’s 50th surprise birthday party stayed a surprise. It did, she was thrilled, and we saw many old friends and extended family.

Sunday was Lola’s baptism. I made friends with a Catholic deacon who couldn’t stop hugging me, became a godparent for the first time, and swore -- in front of a statue of Jesus, no less -- that I’d lead her to a fulfilling life of servitude to the church. Afterwards, we celebrated Lola’s escape from Limbo by dining at Valentino’s – a favorite childhood restaurant of mine only because their spaghetti sauces contain so much sugar that you need an insulin chaser.

Then comes the return flight to Chicago. I would never classify myself as a sentimental person – conversations regarding weddings, funerals, etc. make me so uncomfortable I tend to eject a Hallmark-template response and walk away from the situation as fast as socially acceptable. I also RAN at my first opportunity to move away after high school.

It must be a sign of aging, then, that for the first time I felt nostalgic about leaving the people and place that represented my upbringing. Even more odd was that I was more at home in the airplane 25,000 feet above both the place I used to call home and the city I do now. I fittingly happened across an article about Restless Life Syndrome which described a person who needed to rewrite their life every 6-12 months. I’m not sure that at age 27 I can identify with the solution they propose, but I can certainly relate to the idea that after leaving a bit of myself in so many places, I feel a bit disconnected from the person I’ve actually become.

Thankfully, I don’t have much time to dwell on it. If you need me, I’ll be at the gym for the rest of the month.





View from breakfast at Mahoney Park.

The Spirit Issue

What do you believe in?

I believe in Friends. They are the best.

Also, I believe in Mangoes. They taste good with pretty much anything.

As well as Telling Stories, Love after love, and Curiosity.

Now you...