rivalries

Never will I forget my ACT score. It is burned into my memory forever. Not necessarily because it was a good score, but because of who else got that same magic number as me.

I am a middle child. I have a brother older by one year, a younger sister by four. My sister was like my mascot (growing up), but my brother and I were neck in neck for leadership. He once told me that he thought I was older until he went to kindergarten. That's how bossy I was, even then.

Growing up, whenever something needed to be taken care of in my mother's absence, it was assigned to me. In many ways that made me proud, but also I resented my brother for his freedom from responsibility. I can clearly remember being six, my mother having to go to the hospital for a couple of days to get her gall bladder removed, when I was put in charge of cleaning the fishbowl. There were no jobs imparted to my brother, just to me. This chore of course involved the very complicated maneuver of running fresh water into the fishbowl and letting the old water spill out of the top. As I started to do this, I felt badly for poor Swim and Swam (hey, I was six, what names did you expect?) because the water was so cold. So I turned on the hot water. Hot water and goldfish do not mix.

We gave Swim and Swam a proper funeral burial, and I cried and cried for what I had done. I so dreaded telling my mother how I had failed, what I had done. On the other hand, I considered that if my brother, with his infinite extra year of wisdom had taken care of this duty, would their deaths have been avoided? I don't know - but for years I was upset that it was me who had been left in charge. Obviously, as I'm 33 and still telling this story.

It was never made clear to me how strong of a sibling rivalry I felt toward my brother was - at least until I took my ACT. I can remember the day that I got my results very clearly. Opening the envelope, nervous, excited, and curious. Scanning, reading, interpreting. I got a 30! I started jumping up and down and screaming. And then I realized why I was so excited, exactly what thought was running through my head. That I was as smart as my brother, who had gotten a 30 the previous year - he did not beat me.

I halted mid-jump. Did I really care that much? How could I care? My parents by no means ever compared us to each other. They never pulled the why can't you be like games. We had both gotten good scores in school all of our lives, done well for ourselves.

It is a mystery that although I can't understand, still exists. The paths our lives are so different, our successes as diverse as they come. My brother is married with three wonderful children. He owns a home, has a terrific group of friends and a strong religious support network. I have moved to New York, live the "glamorous" professional single life, having worked my way up to a position of responsibility for a major publisher. My brother super family man, me super sassy girl.

My mother informed me yesterday that my brother got a new job, involving a base salary bump and an increased commission rate. Even as I am happy for him, I can feel that evil green monster wondering if he is making more than me now...

Ah, sibling rivalry.

rules of the game

Now that I have an impending dating situation I realized I need to review dating culture and customs. Problem is, I feel like the whole thing is a foreign lifestyle that I know nothing about. I feel like Nell of the dating world. I try to say "pass the salt please" and it comes out "aaaauuuuuuuuuurrrrrlllll". Not good.

For example, historically whenever I have gone on dates, I offer to split the check. Just because it seems silly and outdated to have a guy pick up the tab. If I went out with friends we would split the tab, why not with someone who could potentially be your best friend? This person just may be seeing you naked soon, after all. So all my life I thought this was okay, but read recently in moo cow's blog that basically in doing this I have signaled the nix on dating. Who knew? Thank god for blogs, I learn so much.

So now the question is, what other customs do I break that may send the wrong message? HB and I have been playing phone tag, and I figured with this next round (me calling him) I would suggest a date and time to go out next week. Is that too forward? Am I breaking date protocols? Do I have to wait until he suggests something?

I won't even get onto who makes the move for the fist kiss, one dilemma at a time, thank you very much!

be careful what you wish for...

you just might get it.

So I was thinking about getting a new job - and a potential called me. Note - THEY recruited ME from my online resume. For a Senior position. Sadly I hear the company is doing badly, not a good time to take them up on their offer. Still, nice to be wanted. If they are doing as badly as they hear, not worth the time for me to fenagle off for an interview.

I was thinking the other day that I may just feel like a boyfriend, and here I am playing a very comfortable non-confrontational game of phone tag with someone who seems to have potential. I got some more dish about him tonight, and it seems he really is my type. Fun, outgoing, adventurous, responsible, good times mixed with good sense. Who woulda thunk it? At least, that's what one of the original fix up queens of my life says. The source of information is a cause for suspicion maybe, but I don't think there was a set up in mind, HB was just invited to the party by chance.

People say there is power in prayer, and I believe them. Not because I believe there is a higher power checking their messages, but because thought can turn into will or energy and then deed. When I was younger I used to meditate every day on positive images of myself. I wanted to be successful, confident, attractive, strong, so I willed myself to be those things every day. I can honestly say that now i have succeeded in those goals, and I belive the most important reason why is because I willed them into being. If you hear something often enough, you tend to believe it, regarless of the source.

So recently my mantra has been new job, get a boyfirend, go to grad school. Seems I'd beter get my school skills in order, something is bound to happen soon.

off the hook

Today I got off the hook in so many ways.

I stayed home sick today, unintentionally avoiding some potential work drama, of which I am actually afraid to blog about fearing legal repercussions. Let's just say I did not have to ice down my emotions to deal with a situation.

I called HB back (thanks to coaching from the best ever Connecticut Jen, thank you!) and got his voicemail - left cheery and long message about meeting up next week. Tomorrow night I have a very important and fun engagement that I cannot miss, even for a date. Although yes I still am intrigued and want to go on one. Would you believe that being home sick and watching too much cable that Jane Eyre discouraged me and Sex in the City encouraged me? Is that prophetic that the concept of romance intimidates me these days? New York skepticism or once burned twice shy?

So tomorrow I am back to work, back to life, escaping from the safe cocoon of my apartment and medication induced sleep. I actually dread going back to work, which is so unlike me but my real situation. Fortunately I have one hell of a party to look forward to at six, to get me through my day. And maybe a little more positive affirmation from HB. All kinds of good potential up in there.

vitamin c

Was home sick today. Seems the flu has been winning the battle. I slept for more than half the day, listened to the audiobook of The Tipping Point, which was brilliant. Mr No Name called, now I have a name. I let it go to voicemail, he sounded pleasant enough, suggested we go out sometime soon, but he will be going out of town Thursday so it has got to be Wednesday or next week. We'll call him HB for Hoboken, I'll call him back tomorrow.

I have consumed almost a gallon of Immunity Defense Tropicana, here is hoping my body did it's share as well.

humor

Good news, I got over my cold by taking a little nap in my office and drinking lots of OJ. Yay for the easy cure!

Saturday was the big birthday party for a friend. It went really well, she was in good spirits and I believe it went off without a hitch. Oh, and I gave some guy my phone number.

I don't know his name, all I know is he is a friend of the birthday girl's sister and he lives in Hoboken. I know NOTHING else about him, which should make this interesting. He did not call me today, and its funny but I'm relieved. Not because I don't want him to call, just that he is not desperate or clingy or too eager. If he calls me in the next couple of days I'm up for a date. I was not really attracted to him, but he was fun enough that maybe it will be something that ends up happening.

How much does initial attraction really mean? Or that first impression? For me the jury is still out on that one. If I am really attracted to someone, I become a blithering idiot. If I enjoy someone's company, I can relax, enjoy myself, and sometimes end up growing attracted.

Mr No Name is not necessarily unattractive; he's just not my type. He is fair and stocky, where I tend to lean towards dark and wiry.

When I think back to when I met the ex, my one really long-term relationship, I was not really into him when I first met him. He was cute enough, but I did not think of him as being either here nor there. And I remember being really afraid of the first date - that it would be boring or tedious. That first date we ended up spending the entire time laughing, which was such a pleasant surprise. The event of that date that really clinched it for me was at the end. We had gone to a cider mill, eaten some donuts and had some cider. We had talked, laughed, had a good time, and were on the way home. I was driving, and he moved to put his elbow up on the door - but the window was not rolled down. Thunk! Then it happened - he laughed. At himself.

The ability to laugh at ones self is a rare and beautiful trait. Especially when you are in a high-pressure situation like a first date. I believed it then, and I still believe it now. He laughed, and I melted. And the attraction grew.

Hopefully Mr No Name is not a republican. That would be a deal breaker. I should do a blog on deal breakers one day, which might be interesting.

uh oh

I can feel myself getting sick.

My throat feels thick and sore, my head has a general ache, I am tired and a little spacey.

Must. Power. Through. I have a very important birthday party to attend tomorrow night, a friend's 35th.

Which remedy should I try? Vitamins? OJ? Sleep? Water? Zinc?

Maybe I should try the Guiness cure. On more than one occasion when getting sick I have imbibed a minimum of four Guinesses, and voila, the next day am all better.

Oh, the gamble.

icon

There is this shop I pass every day on my way to the subway. It sells a little bit of everything, especially if it is selling well. In the past six months I have seen those magnetic ribbons for cars, ponchos, those damn caps brittney wears, etc etc.

As the main attraction, the windows are covered with posters of various superstars, either in some state of undress or providing a standard for some ideal. There are posters of JLo, Brittney, Anna Kornikova, Bob Marley, John Lennon, and so on.

Today Pope John Paul II was added to the window. I wonder if anyone spanks the monkey to him?

musak

Okay, I'm going to lay it all out on the table. I love Barry Manilow music. I even have his box set.

That's right, all cool points out the window. You gotta understand though, it's not my fault.

Growing up I grew up in a musical depravation chamber. My mother listened exclusively to easy listening type stuff - musak. I did not get to broaden my music horizons until high school when I received my first walkman. It had a radio, and my musical world expanded exponentially.

Fast forward twelve years, I'm at a wedding of a friend. At this point in my life I had heard of Barry Manilow, but had no idea what any of his songs were. Oh, and I was also in my goth phase. Wore lots of black and doc martins, had done my pink hair, and listened to front 242, ministry and such.

Anyhoo, I'm at the wedding and the Copa Cabana came on. Brilliant!!! A song about love, sex, power, money, murder, alcoholism, and madness - all tied together in an upbeat tune. The irony of it all had me at hello.

As my friends absolutely LOVED the idea that I could be so into something as completely off my radar as Mr Manilow. The jokes began, escalated, and culminated in a gift to me in the form of his box set.

Next thing you know, I'm listening to the four cds, reading the booklet, watching the video. And falling completely in love with the unadulterated romanticism. Along with the complete shallowness behind it.

If you listen to any of his lyrics, they sound sweet and touching. Sadly Barry did not write most of his songs. Including the one titled "I write the songs." Oh, and Mandy was written about some guy's dog. Good ole' Barry did write "This One's for You", but it is a tribute to his grandfather.

Sitting at my desk today, working my regular overtime and watching my life slowly slip away, my ipod on random started playing a Barry song, and I smiled. Being able to have that kind of moment makes withstanding the mockery and disdain worthwhile.

just in case

I love the onion.

My favorite is the third from the last.

fountain of youth

I have a solution as to why I look and act so much younger than I actually am. I have found the black hole of age, the worm tunnel of time, the long sought after fountain of youth.

Drunken oblivion. I know, this answer seems strangely obvious, but let me explain.

Today in the midst of meetings, I ran into a familiar face. And that would be who this gent was in his entirety, a familiar face. I saw him, he saw me, we both started in recognition, smiled, said our hearty hellos, and kept on walking.

Half a day later I am pretty sure which one of my bar outings over the course of the last two weeks was the one where I met him. Even more interesting, I'm fairly sure we had a whole conversation that went so far as to include relatively detailed histories of our lives.

How much do I remember? Not so much. What is really great is that this is happening more and more to me - I recently became re-acquainted to another fellow last week, who I had met a month ago. Last week as we spoke more and more of our prior interaction came back to me. Memories gained.

So in the manner of the question if a tree falls in a forest and no one is around, does it make a sound - if time passes me by and my perception lacks, do I actually age? Alcohol puts my body in a state of stasis, and my mind as well.

On a less substance dependant alarming level, I have also reached the point in my life where sober I can be introduced to someone, exchange niceties, and completely erase them from my mind as well.

I am seriously considering tattooing my name backwards on my forehead - just in case.

rapid eye movement

I don't know why it is, but waitresses tend to have terrible recurring nightmares.

It is weird I know, one would not think that being a server could take such a strong mental toll on someone. For some reason having your life and income judged every day at the minimum of ten times (ten checks/tips) wears on your mental capabilities.

The dreams tend to be of the same storyline for each individual. Mine always consisted of me getting slammed, one table after another getting seated, me taking order after order after order, unable to do anything to fill any of them because there is already another table to greet. The first tables that I talked to are getting angry, waiting for drinks and food that I have been unable to even start to arrange for them. I can sense impending doom and hopelessness - and then I leave the restaurant. I just go, take a walk, run an errand, for about a half hour. At some point I then realize that all those customers are still waiting for me, waiting for their service. And go back, in a panic. I have to return and take care of the people who have been waiting for a half hour for anything that they ordered, and explain my delay.

At this point I wake up. Amazingly I still have this dream on occasion, even though I have not waited tables in over a year and a half. The pressure of having to deal with the disapproval of so many people weighs on me to this day.

It occurred to me that if I was to be a financial advisor, I would have to provide a service to people in much the same way as I did when I was a waitress - only now I would be handling their money. If people get peeved at a lukewarm steak, how do they react when a stock you sold them tanked? Needless to say, I did not attend the financial advisor seminar over the weekend.

I did drink a lot, though. Some good stories came from that for sure; but tonight I am tired, and will have to share my adventures tomorrow.

Sweet dreams.

livin' on the edge

I wore my "i'm blogging this" t-shirt to work today.

Seems I'm pushing the envelope, if I'm discovered I could always suffer the same fate as dooce. When asked I simply said the shirt was a joke, of course I don't have a blog!

Overall the shirt was highly regarded and appreciated. Only one person thought it referred to some unknown ancient celtic practice.

told you so

Remember that joke that I used to tell my customers when I was a waitress?

Now even more evidence comes to light.

Crazy as a fox, I tell ya.

take me out

It is 62 degrees, sunny, and the day of the first softball game of the year!

Even better, the other team had to cancel, so my team gets to scrimmage itself. These are the games that are the most fun. Hijinks such as me stealing the physical bases so the base runner cannot tag up will ensue. I heart mischief!

We have a permit to a field in central park, which is like gold. Even better, good friends whom I have not spent nearly enough time with will turn out for the game - and the beers afterwards.

Neither hell nor high water will keep me from leaving work on time today to make this great event! Yay for softball in the park!

anonymous wisdom

I got a really thought provoking comment on my last blog, investigating my motives to fly, fly away from my current job.

I’ll tell you what – reading it really made me sit back and take pause. Do I in fact fear responsibility and a loss of freedom? If you look at my career history, it would seem like a logical conclusion.

It is too soon for me to decide if such is my case, I need to mull it over, dig to the source of my compulsion to leave.

One thing I do know, is that the comment was surely correct in saying I have worked hard for what I have, and should step back and enjoy the benefits. Of course, the question is what was I really working for and have I actually gotten it?

I love a good quandary.

On a bright note, my leg has healed, and I have been able to start running again. I’m taking it slow - if having had a hernia taught me anything, it was to take time and let my body heal properly. I ran three miles Monday night and the same tonight, and am feeling darn good. I’m thinking a nice mile and a half jog around the reservoir this weekend may be in order. It will nice to take a look at spring.

procrastination

Today was a really full day. The first half I spent with my VP and director - my two bosses. The director,Ms Random, is okay, the VP, however, is a character. Somehow I have seen her inspire great depths of loyalty from the last two directors. Well, that is, until they each left. Both within my four and a half years of employment. Hmmmm.

Anyhoo, my current job has a future. I have been promised a promotion, increase of direct reports, and a good raise in four months time. Almost every day allusions are made to my increased responsibilities and long-term success.

Problem is, the longer I stay the more I have to put on the businesswoman facade, the less I can act freely and be myself. This has to be done to inspire confidence from the higher ups and the lower downs. It is very tiring.

So after spending a day with the nurturing VP with hopes and dreams of my future accomplishments (for her as well, on that note), I had an appointment to check out another job.

On the way to the job, I could feel the iron clad butterflies rattling around in my stomach. Fear. Trepidation. Anxiety. Not at interviewing, or potentially starting a new job. At very idea of telling the VP I was going to leave. How can one person's reaction have so much clout?

I took the test, and passed. Now on Saturday I go in to listen to the overview. If I am still interested, I set up an interview.

At least I can put off making a decision until Saturday afternoon. Ah, procrastination, a girl's best friend!

still

A lot of people complain that New York is dirty, is crowded, is ugly.

This man has a photoblog that pictures the city as I see it. Lucid, spellbinding moments captured in time.

Some people see a concrete jungle, I see beauty.

it's all about trust

From the moment I started dating The Ex (dated for two years, lived together for one of them) I trusted him implicitly. It was just one of those things, I innately knew that he would not cheat on me. Like me, he dated rarely, was more inclined to remain single than to date casually. He also insisted on waiting a period of time past the three-date rule before having sex, to really give ourselves time to decide if we really wanted to be together. He believed that sleeping together too early could potentially cloud my judgment.

I gotta tell you, knowing that sex was not his highest priority really allowed me to relax and get to know him. It definitely worked.

So as I mentioned, when we were together I trusted in his fidelity. Hands down.

About a year and a half into the relationship, I found a pair of panties wedged in our couch.

They were not mine.

Never had I doubted him, but how do you ignore something like that? Every movie, every book, every song SCREAMS that I just caught him in the act. I confronted him. Questioned him, over and over and over. He insisted that he knew nothing about the found underwear. I pushed, I cajoled, I threatened. After a very long and arduous grilling, I decided to believe him. What else could I do? I, however, remained unsettled.

Two days later my sister called - and mentioned that she thought that she had potentially accidentally left a pair of panties at my place the week before when she had spent the night.

That was the best tasting crow I ever had.

a nice stroll

One really cool thing about New York City is that you never know what will be around the next corner.

New York has several districts - the flower district, the Persian rug district, the financial district. I know about these because at various times I have stumbled across them. I walk down a street and - surprise! - Flowers surround me; the entire street is full of flower shops. I don't know why the city is set up this way; you would think having so much competition so close would be bad for business. I don't know the reason, but it sure is neat to find little areas like that.

Tonight I walked up to Home Depot to make a purchase, and then decided to enjoy the beautiful weather and walk home. I had a few streets and avenues that I had to cross, so I walked wherever the streetlights lead me.

Suddenly I discovered a district I've never been to before. The fur district. I pass shop after shop selling fur coats and more fur coats. And people are staring at me. Why?

Well, I only bought one thing at Home Depot. A gallon of paint.

Timing is everything, isn't it?

willpower

I am strong.

I must keep telling myself this. Why? They have installed an ice cream vending machine a whole ten yards away from me.

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

It was hard enough resisting the regular vending machine, but this is torture. Thank god the machine does not have Ben & Jerry's, or I'd be a goner.

A fat goner at that. Oh leg, heal already so I can at least exercise off the impending urges!

for love or money

So yesterday I updated my resume and posted the new, shiny version on HotJobs.com. I subsequently applied to a business analyst position at a company for a salary way way way above what I currently make. Likelihood I overshot? About 50/50.

It comes down to the idea that I believe deep down in my soul I am too smart to be this poor. I also am too hard of a worker. Today I got an email from American Express trying to recruit me to be a financial advisor. So I'm going to go check it out.

Oh dear, I know there are risks involved. What is the base salary while I build up my client/commission list? How long does it take to establish oneself in the field? What is the average return, or at least the median? Thing is, this career is how Suze Orman got her start, and I find that rather encouraging. I'm good with numbers. I'm good with people. I think this may be the kind of job that could get me to my goal of grad school a little bit quicker. Or at least out of my current work situation - change begets change, after all.

No, it’s not quite as altruistic as I like, but helping other people make money can't be bad, can it?

I'm scheduled to meet with the recruiters next Tuesday. Career number fifteen? Quite possibly.

something about spring

I have been happily single for quite some time. But last night I had a feeling I have not felt in, oh geez, maybe six years?

That's right, I genuinely wanted a boyfriend. I found myself sending out mental vibes, brainwaves to make our paths cross. The last time I was in this mode it only took three months of psychic prowess and BAM I was in a two-year relationship.

Now don't you worry reader, this will not deter me from my goals of running the nyc marathon or going to medical school. It just means I'm going to have to shave a little more often.

macrobiotics

So my company publishes this book, You Are What You Eat, and I was able to pick up a copy. It is a runaway best seller in the UK, that kind of thing always peaks my interest. Especially after my love for the British born Eats, Shoots & Leaves. I mean, I really never thought I could enjoy reading about punctuation, so why not give macrobiotics a whirl.

I thumb through, and the page that automatically opens starts with "Greasy stools that won't flush."

This does not bode well. But by god, I don't give up easy. I read on about how I should be eating more raw foods and seaweed. Flaxseed oil and lemon water. Detox and colonics. I'm wary, but hey, the body is one big science experiment, chemistry is for real and the author is surely on to something.

But wait - the book demands that I give up caffeine. I love how people swear that caffeine perpetuates the vicious cycle of being sleepy. They just don't realize that 1) I really am nocturnal and 2) I love stimulants but stick to the legal ones. Those things combined make me a very loyal coffee lover.

Errrrrr, I gave up smoking already, I think I'll skip the avocado milkshakes. Besides, for some reason I'd be a lot more embarrassed if someone at work caught me taking a couple teaspoons of flaxseed oil than if they found those compromising pictures of me on the internet. There is something innately uncool in studying your stool.

daring

You know that feeling you get in your stomach when you arrive at the top of the first hill of a roller coaster? Or when you are standing on a high diving board? Or before you jump out of that plane? That feeling has resided in my gut ever since I posted my last blog about med school. Doesn't mean I'm not gonna do it, just means that I'm in for one hell of a ride.

impulsive

I have never been a patient person. Or one to make plans. I like to wait until I feel inspired, and then act. This characteristic has its ups and downs.

Ups - Interesting adventures. Exploits in cutting/coloring my own hair. Meeting diverse people. Having a myriad of jobs.

Downs - Always cramming the night before a test. A pretty high debt. Having a sense of no purpose, floating.

Back when I was 22 my life was picture perfect, my parent's dream come true. I was going to school for electrical and computer engineering, and had a co-op job working for the General Motors Headquarters, which guaranteed me a job and a nice salary upon graduation. Then I went and read "The Fountainhead" by Ayn Rand, and decided to continue in that life was a betrayal to myself. I literally sat down, paged through my college bulletin, and picked out a new major - Psychology.

From that moment on I just lived from moment to moment. It took me an additional six years to finish with my bachelors because every time I thought of something else to do I just went and did it. My family panicked because I seemed to live such a disconnected and purposeless existence. During the crazy years if anyone asked me what I wanted to do with my life, I always had the same answer - to eventually teach psychology at the college level. This career path encased so many of the ideals that I found meaningful: Intellectual study, proper use of my mental capabilities, the joy of making a difference in the lives of so many people, the potential for change on a regular basis through varying classes, schedules, and students.

Moving to New York I have continued to believe in the same calling, problem is my attention has been consumed with establishing a secure existence. Working and working to be able to afford to pay the rent, dig my way out of my debt, not live on credit. I have been consumed by this need to nest, but build a safety net for myself. The problem is when you consume yourself with financial concerns, they don't stop. Suddenly my debt has an end in sight, and I'm thinking about investing, getting equity. Its like now that I have started I can't stop. I started thinking I should get my MBA because I have been so successful in business, abandoning psych altogether. Even though it would mean that I would have to stay at my job, become a corporate lackey.

This past week has very much revealed to me what that would mean. The Facade. In order to maintain my job, I have to advance. It sounds strange, but I have been chosen to be groomed for upper management. A lot of effort is being put into this by my superiors. As I love a challenge, so far I have welcomed all the attention. Unfortunately I have reached the point when, because of my responsibilities, I have to monitor everything I say and do, I have to guard my identity. It is one thing for me to have to dress a certain way, its just a uniform, I've had lots of those. They want me to be something I am not. Other executives are conservative by nature; they don't have much of a persona to hide. I just got this far because I'm good at what I do, because I take my performance personally. I believe my work reflects on who I am. So I work hard.

It is like fate is telling me it is time to go to graduate school. It snapped me out of my nesting reverie. With my current income I will be debt free and in good credit standing by the time the next school year starts. This means I'm going to have to do something completely out of character, however. I'm going to have to study, and work hard over a period of time. Discipline, planning. Because it occurred to me in the last couple of weeks that I couldn’t be just a psychologist, I need to be a psychiatrist. I don't know why, but I realized that I need to be a medical doctor. Until now I have never dared imagine this, it was too intimidating to me, too much to accomplish. Something in me is insisting, however. Stupid inner monologue - it is pushing me to learn organic chemistry. Baugh.

So now I have to make myself an action plan to get into medical school. I guess I’m not one to dream small, am I.

pride

Every now and then people tell me I should be proud of myself, my accomplishments in life. Sometimes I am. More often I wonder at their accolades, I feel like I have done what anyone could do. I really am very ordinary, I just don't shrink at the thought of hard work. If anything I enjoy it because of the rewards it offers.

Something I am really proud of? The accomplishments of my cousin. His story is something to inspire, as it does me.

prayers

I was raised catholic. I went to 12 years of catholic school (no I did not keep the uniform), performed all the sacraments, yada yada yada. Once I asked my parents why they believed they were alive, and their response to me was "to know god, to love god, and to serve god"; you might say I had quite some time to study the faith. This study eventually made me lose it, funny how things work that way.

So Pope John Paul II is near death. He has been somewhat ill for a while, but the past 24 hours the news media has been holding their collective finger over the enter button to download his obituary.

My question: Why so many prayers and tears? The reports keep coming in of the people going to droves in mass, of Italy being in a state of mourning. One of the main tenets of Catholicism or Christianity is that the good or the saved will go to heaven, which offhand I hear is pretty nice or something. Really, crying because he finally gets his reward is almost insulting!

So you have the pope, the spiritual leader of the Catholic Church. He had to do a thing or two to get where he is. In doing so I have the general idea that he pretty much devoted his life to getting others to heaven - which tends to guarantee his entry by default. I believe he would be very low on the ladder of people who need the prayers. Even for his physical suffering. Yeah it is sad he has to suffer, but people are worse off than him every day.

I don't know why I'm so cynical, I can understand how people mourned Princess Di or JKF Jr, but the attention the Pope gets baffles me. Am I a product of my generation or what?