My body’s temple seems to be perched atop the smoldering heap of Sodom and Gomorrah. I can rationally understand the fact that I am no longer a 19 year old college freshman capable of eating whatever I want, sleeping whenever I get around to it and defying all laws of body-maintenance, but I am having serious difficulties implementing the changes I need to make to ensure I don’t turn into a walrus.

I hereby commit to eating more lean protein, less fat and occasionally exercising. These foreign activities are not fun (as I can’t get any of those things - especially the exercise - via drive through window).

Why, you may ask, is this revelation that has been years in the making only recently coming to the forefront of my mind? A recent turn of events made me realize that I’m walking firmly down the path of adulthood and that this is a one-way path. Your life, and your health, are under no one’s control except for your own and try as we might we can’t will ourselves to good health. Ask yourself this - are your teeth, your hair and your bones as healthy as your tan and your checkbook? If the answer is no, then join me on the healthy bandwagon. God knows I need the company of a good support group.

Geek?!

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This was one of the advertisements chosen for me by Facebook. Should I be offended?

Gay I get, but it’s not nice to call people geeky without their express written permission.

Mock sadness/irritation put aside, the site is an interesting idea. It reminds me a little of sweetongeeks.com which swept the news a year or so ago as the number one place to meet your geeky life-partner. They even had a meet up in Charlotte. I didn’t go…did you? Geek Chic is the new black. I do have to say “A Place Where Gray Matters” as a slogan cracks me up.

I want so badly to spend money right now. Calvin Klein suit for work, Diesel jeans for the weekend. But no. No I say. It’s bad. We’re in a recession, I owe the IRS (WTF is that about by the by…), and the headlight is out in my car and needs to be replaced before some kid gets a bruise from his brother when they pass the popeye car on the highway.

If you care about my feelings, and are interested in my happiness, start throwing cash at me post haste.

I’ve decided that - even though I need to iron every single item of clothing that I could ever possibly have to wear to work, sweep up MASSIVE amounts of dog hair, polish the leather sofa before it sustains irreparable damage and vacuum the living room rug so that I can see what color it once was - I want nothing more than to pack for my vacation and not think about being domestic at all.

I’m going to NYC Wednesday afternoon and am staying through Saturday night, which I think will be so much fun I’m nearly peeing my pants, but I know if I can’t make this house presentable before I go I’ll be miserable when I come back.

Maybe I could just do all the laundry. That’s a start…right?

If you haven’t been following this story here’s a nutshell version…

The microwave in my last place was built in, so when I left it stayed. I bought another one long before I moved to my current condo, but never got around to opening it (mostly for lack of counter-space to store it). After awhile, it became a challenge to see how long I could go without one of life’s little conveniences. Maybe it was some odd self-flagellatory bent in line with the year that I lived (mostly) without a TV. But Lean Cuisines called my name and they are a seductive mistress.

Long (and fundamentally stupid) story short…

Several months ago, after much consternation and gnashing of teeth (and the occasional rending of garment) I made the plunge and ordered custom dupioni silk drapes for the living and dining room windows in my condo. They weren’t cheap, and at first I didn’t love the color once I saw them against my walls, but oh how my story has changed! The picture below is of my (newly cleaned) dining room.

I’m a little bit in love right now. But notice that I’m missing a key component for dinner parties - chairs! If only we had a new Ikea in Charlotte…

Enter Norvald (times 4, of course, with those little red stools in the back proving some overflow in case I have more than 3 friends at once.

I’ve lived here for 6 months. It may just make a decent place to live after all! At the very least the dining room will be something other than the only way to get to the kitchen.

…but I live in one of the most affluent neighborhoods in Charlotte. Make no mistake, my place is humble and I’m not wealthy by any stretch but my neighbors are not hard up.

The reason I mention this is to illustrate a point. Rich folk get cold too. This is the second night in a row - after the freak March snow took out a transformer and this my power - that the ambient temperature in my condo has been the same as the ambient temperature outdoors.

How cold is it you ask? I don’t exactly know. My thermostat, which works the electric blower on my heat stops at 50. I can guarantee it’s colder than that. I did scrounge up enough hot water for a shower that lasted for 4 minutes, but it didn’t do a lot of good. I need a new bar of soap and the cupboard is so dark I couldn’t find it. Now is not the time to make smelly jokes.

My neighbors - the ones who aren’t living in a modest condo - have a backup generator. I’m thinking about finding a really long extension cord.

Thankfully Winston, being of the K9 persuasion, is always warm and willing to sleep in the bed. It’s the first time in recorded history a dog of his breed has been useful. Cute and warm. How did I live without him?

For those of you keeping score, I have taken control with aplomb. As of 6:15 PM, I had one email in my inbox at work. One. Just one. HAHAHAHA! Organization rocks!

David-1, Inbox-0

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I am bombarded by email at work. While I may never top my personal best (74 messages in one day when I worked at McColl Center for Visual Art), I am often very worried that something languishing below the fold needs attention while it’s little red flag goes unnoticed.

The solution? Inbox Zero! I’ve been doing some research and found a useful if not downright inspirational tips at 43folders.com. Starting right this second, I’m going to be an inbox ninja. I resolve to never again be afraid of the delete key. I won’t continue to believe that Queens University of Charlotte will cease to function if I wait 10 minutes to respond to an email. I will take back control of my day, and my extension my workflow.

Here is a case in point. When I left the office on Friday, there were 108 emails in my inbox. Now there are 4.

My job is about taking disarray and making order out of it. This is a step in the right direction. Now if I could just clean off my desk a bit…

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