The most disappointing thing I've seen in years?

Getting the newsletter for the Calgary Half Marathon and seeing that this year's 10K race is being sponsored by -wait for it!- LA Weight Loss. Sorry, make that LA fucking Weight Loss.

Isn't there a rule against this kind of shit? Some ethical guideline that prevents race organizers from accepting a title sponsorship from a bullshit diet company? I guess I feel slightly protective of this particular 10K , since it's the first one I ever did, but I'd be appalled to see any event advertising the name of a commercial diet company. Especially one with ads like LA's - "Hey! I lost XX pounds in X weeks! A doctor might say that's unsafe and unsustainable, but that's because they don't know the LA secret!"

Okay, I made that last bit up. But you get the idea. A real athletic event being sponsored by a diet company? should. not. happen.

I even went to LA site, just in case they had a legitimately healthy plan. Here's what I found:

1. Does L A Weight Loss really work?
Absolutely and you'll love the results. As a matter of fact, internal studies have shown that L A clients lose two- to three-times more weight than those on other programs. We're so sure we can help you reach your weight loss goal, that L A Weight Loss will guarantee your weight loss on our program in writing.

Hee. An internal study says they're the greatest! Holy Crap! But wait, it gets better:

3. Do I need to be a client to use L A Weight Loss products?
L A features an exclusive line of supplements and weight loss enhancers that are only available to L A clients. These products were specifically designed to work in conjunction with our program and will help maximize weight loss.

Yes, that's right. Only people that have paid their initiation fee get the privilege (yes, the privilege. Wipe that disbelieving smirk off your face) of buying LA products.

Gah. I'm glad I'm doing the half marathon this year, because there's no way I could tolerate supporting the 10K. I supposed I should do the responsible thing and write a letter instead of ranting. But I can't face the idea of a form letter response, or worse - a response defending it. I'm sure there's a twisted justification, but I don't want to know it.

Why yes, I did watch the entire two-hour American Idol finale...

Not only that, but I've been haunting Youtube and Rickey.org, rewatching the best parts over and over again. Like when the guy in the picture sees Clay Aiken and completely loses his shit, which is seriously one of the best things ever. I'd link to a video if I could, but they keep disappearing soon after I find them. Never fear, because as fast as Youtube can remove the videos, crazed fans are putting them back up. If you were too cool to watch, go there now and get caught up. Some things to warch out for in the Clay/Clay fan sequence:

1) When Clay Aiken magically appears on stage, unbeknownst to fake Clay, who is still pouring his heart into an earnest impersonation. The poor guy can't figure why everyone is cheering, and starts to falter in the song, clearly terrified that his fly is open or something

2) The kid's reaction when he realizes his hero is right there. It's a beautiful thing. Seriously, when was the last time you saw such pure joy and excitement? New mothers seeing their babies for the first time aren't that excited...

3) The fact that he keeps right on singing - I think the plan was to usher him off the stage and just have Clay Aiken sing alone, but he wasn't going to let go of the glory that easy.

And the rest was almost as brilliant. Medieval coronations probably had less pomp and arcane ritual than the American Idol finale. I honestly think that it might have been even better than the World Idol show a couple years ago. And I don't say that lightly, since I thought that World Idol was the single greatest televised event in the history of overblown televised events! But this time American idol had Mary J. Blige in huge sunglasses, Prince being Prince, and David Hasselhoff weeping from the sheer joy of seeing the annoying chick lose...

Damn it.

Crap. Crap crap crap crap crap. Crap.

I ran the Mother's Day 10K today, but forgot to wear my timing chip, so I won't be showing up in the official results. The glory of having my name in the paper in 6-point type will not be mine ths year. My time was firmly back-of-the-pack, but it's still nice to be able to prove that I did it.

This year I finished in 67 minutes, which was around what I was aiming for. Two years ago I finished in 63 - it would have been nice to match that, but it hardly matters. To be honest, every single time I finish a run I'm amazed. Battling against the cheeto-eating, American Idol-watching side of myself is hard enough, I don't need to set time goals on top of that.

Actually, it's Coronation Street's fault that I forgot my time chip. I had just finished getting my race numbere on when they pulled this big fake-out, pretending Rita was dead. Turns out she was just sleeping. Wow, does that ever sound pathetic, especially since I was so mesmerized that I forgot to finish getting ready.

The race itself was...a really big race. Something like twelve thousand people this year, at least half of which are totally unable to grasp the concept of seeding. I suppose it would be considered unsporting to punch somebody in the head as you're running past them, but sometimes it's so very tempting. Seriously, walking six abreast and pushing SUV strollers while several thousand runners struggle to get around you? Are you trying to make my head explode?

Don't hate me because I'm beautiful

Getting your nails done is supposed to be one of those girly indulgences that all women look forward to. I can't understand why. It's actually kinda painful and toxic, and, to top it off, temporary. You can't just go once, you have to buy in for the long haul. So why do I even bother? Doctor's orders. No, really.

It's the latest chapter in my trich chronicles. Let's see, there's been stress journals , notebooks where I had to keep track of every urge to pull my hair, the baggie(oh, this one was extra-special) that I had to carry around with me at all times, to save any hair I did end up pulling... And now fake nails. The theory being that I can't pick at my eyelashes with big long nails gettng in the way. And I guess I have to admit that it's effective - it's impossible to pull unconsciously, what with almost poking my eyes out, and all. Actually, you know what might be even better? Nail Art. Extra-long nails with rhinestones, glitter... themes. That would certainly be a deterrent - three strikes you're blind.

The problem is, it's hard to do anything at all when I've got the nails on. Nothing comes naturally anymore and I feel like a mutant. Tying my shoelaces? requires utmost concentration and dedication. Is having eyebrows again worth not being able to dial the freaking phone? sigh...I guess it is. But it still sucks.

Zakir Hussain and the Masters of Percussion

Truly awesome show last night at the Jack Singer. It was part of the World Music Series, which can be pretty hit or miss (especially when you suddenly remember oh yeah, I hate flamenco 30 seconds into a full flamenco extravaganza.) But I love tabla and these were some of the most amazing musicians out there.

A tribute in MS Paint:

The mess around the hands represents how fast they were moving. like hummingbirds.

FRUUUUUUUUUITBOOOOOOOTERS!

It's spring and they're out again. Clogging the sidewalks. Swooshing their asses down the pathways. Careening wildly down Centre Street and Crescent Hill.

hate. hate. hate. Get out of my way.

And one more thing, Mr. SuperSkater: Although your torso may be on the right side of the path, when you push off your left leg swings out-way, way out-into the left side and within inches of my tire. Do you want to get your leg tangled up in my spokes? No? Well, THAT'S WHY I'M RINGING MY BELL! So wipe that snotty look off your face. And, for the love of god, put a shirt on.