Okay, David Beckham can join the list of celebrites (Derek Jeter, Antonio Banderas, Britney Spears) that should not have their own fragrances.

Staring at the Digital Clock in My Mind

It takes 30 seconds for the elevators in my elevator bank (going express) to reach the lobby from the 27th floor. It takes 30-45 seconds for most of the traffic lights I encounter to change from red to green. It takes 4 minutes to properly warm up before jogging 6 miles. I haven’t had time to warm up for the past week, although I am averaging 18-20 miles per week now, so at least I’ve got that going for me. I don’t think it lowers stress at all, because now I stress about how fat I’ll be if I don’t make that distance.

Which means I am locked into, every week, 180-200 minutes (3 hours to 3 hours and 20 minutes), plus time to walk to the gym (10-15 minutes per trip, depending on pedestrian traffic), plus time to change (up to 5 minutes depending on locker room crowding), plus time to warm up (the aforementioned 4 minutes), plus time to stretch afterwards (5 minutes at 30 seconds per muscle group), plus time to change into street clothes (10 minutes)…I’ll add another minute or so for the time it takes to get from the 2nd floor treadmills to the basement locker rooms to the ground floor exit (if there are no slow walkers ahead of me). So a bare bones trip to the gym (with no additional classes or weight training) averages 100 minutes if absolutely no time is wasted.

As it is, I curse the rush hour pedestrian traffic nonstop as I walk to the gym. If I am too slow, I may have to wait in line for a treadmill, which means I will miss the 7:43, now 8:00, now 8:30 bus that I really want to catch. 3 seconds is enough to miss an MTA bus, which, depending whether the next one is late or never comes at all, could end up costing 30 minutes to an hour. So the real cost of 3 seconds=30 minutes to an hour.

Luckily, I can usually make it home for dinner by 9:15-9:30.

Theoretically, it should take 1 minute to 1 minute and 30 seconds to walk one city block, but there are frequent delays due to sidewalk congestion, the result of: slow walkers, dog walkers, tourists, couples who hold hands, people who walk while talking on their cell phones, sidewalk seating for restaurants, and scaffolding/construction. I tailgate when I walk. I’m not alone in this. I try to time my walk down the block so that the light turns green as I reach the curb — that way I won’t lose momentum by stopping. (This is the pedestrian equivalent of prewalking to the right spot of the subway platform so that you eventually disembark from the car in line with the proper exit.) Crossing the street is always a struggle. You definitely have to beat the cars that want to turn (they often inch forward even on red lights, but then, so do we), or you’ll never reach your destination. Luckily, like a Geo Metro, I have the advantage of less weight and a speedier start. The zippier and more likely competition at this point are the pedicabs, bike riders, rollerbladers and takeout delivery men. I show them no mercy.

If 3 seconds can cost you an hour, every second counts.

This is my version of insomnia, I suppose.

Although I suffer a sort of sick longing for the Amazon Kindle (the “kindle”? really?) like I do for the Sony Reader, let’s face it: endorsed by Toni Morrison or not, the thing is still $400. And the library is still free.

Today, I received a call to a wrong number by a man who opened with a simple “Good morning, beautiful.”

Yesterday, it was a boy trying to reach the World of Warcraft hotline.

I only wish I had the time to play with their minds, but there you go.

Oh, hey. Summer Glau (Firefly‘s River Tam) is in the new Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles show coming in January. You know, I wasn’t actually going to watch this, but I know it would be a total waste of Summer Glau not to have KICKASS FIGHTING SCENES, like, EVERY WEEK. So perhaps I shall give it a shot.

The Consolation Dish/But I Can Boil Water

The Office Holiday Potluck is this Friday. As I never get home before 9pm and generally don’t cook without a kitchen to call my own (hover much, Dad?), I have been charged with/shamed into bringing…the green salad.

Everyone else is bringing their specialty, such as crab cakes and baked ziti and champagne chicken. In the past, I have made muffins and cake and a good pan tomato sauce, popovers, pancakes, dal (yes, I made dal once!), turkey-spinach meatballs, roasted squash, cauliflower in anchovy sauce, pan fried tofu, chili, stew, etc., but…these days, I don’t have a specialty, per se.

Typical…I can break 4 boards with a spinning back kick, but the logistics involved in making a dish for the office potluck can throw me. All the same, if the Flying Spaghetti Monster had really meant for me to cook, He wouldn’t have created ALL THE RESTAURANTS IN MANHATTAN.

Is all I’m saying

No, really, I totally want to see Southland Tales. And you owe me for not taking me to see Grindhouse.

Gone in 60…uh…minutes

The girl who spent the previous hour on the treadmill next to me told me “Good run,” as we were both stretching out on the mat.

So I’ve got that going for me. It’ll be pretty cold comfort when my joints give out, but still it was a nice moment.

Several days late for Halloween, but both Planet Terror and 28 Weeks Later are pretty good zombie flicks. Ah! I am satisfied.