My weekend was intense and wonderful: an epic night at Benny's, a four-mile race to kick off the 2007 running year, a trip to the airport to see James, a birthday party, church, a classic Manhattan afternoon, a great gym class, and Oscar-night food coma. I want to write about all of this stuff, but it's too overwhelming, so I'm going to go all Orientalist on you and break it down haiku-style:
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Juan's a good waiter:
'Ritas, black flowers, and shots
The men's room is home
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Seven degrees, wind
7:28 per mile
He outruns the cold.
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Wait at Arrivals...
Walk away happy and sad
Five months in one hour
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Eight-count to the beat
It's my song! It's my birthday!!
Don't spill on my rug.
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Twenty-seventh year:
Good wife, good life, good city,
church points out to me.
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Usually in the back,
At the gym I play it cool--
now your boy's up front.
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Friends, Oscars, excess
Life resumes so pleasantly
And they even sang.
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