BOLT

When I was growing up, we did not follow sports. But we sure watched the Olympics.

Part of its allure, which transcended our disinterest in basketball or obliviousness about football, was the symbolism of it - what it stood for: the nationalism, the passion of each athlete, their singular goals which rose above the pursuits of fame or fortune or glory. Olympians are defined by their pursuit for greatness. Great Olympic moments are characterized by acts of great talent and sportsmanship.

Which is why it was particularly annoying to watch the 100 meter dash with the Jamaican sprinter, aptly named "Bolt." Usain Bolt.

In case you didn't see it, without breaking a sweat, Bolt (in gilded shoes) glided past his opponents, looking around at the end to make sure he was in a class of his own, then slowing down before reaching the finish line and indulging in some premature celebratory gestures. It was like a cheetah had entered the race only to jog lightly then swagger across the finish line at the end after having glanced back to make sure he had left his exhausted competitors in the dust.

He beat the world record (one he set) effortlessly. But he could have beaten the world record by almost a second more had he not decelerated to gloat...but that wasn't his goal. He had no interest in elevating the sport and setting new benchmarks for greatness. He just wanted the gold medal and to make everyone in his country go wild.

Bolt is undeniably great, even incredible. He has a talent that makes the rest in his class seem like members of a different species...a much slower species.

Maybe it is the ease with which he does it that makes him value his talent so little, but his own personal goals are as terrestrial as they come.

He wants to be The Man of Jamaica.

Ironically, if he had the grace to match his talent, Usain Bolt could be a phenom, an inspiration, a hero of international proportions.

He could be The Man of the World.

Check out this little gem for the best description of the race: http://sports.espn.go.com/oly/summer08/columns/story?columnist=caple_jim&id=3538723.

locks of love

For someone as stylistically conservative as I tend to be, I get bored with my hair pretty often. It wasn't long after getting bangs that I started to wonder if I should cut all of this hair off. I have had it long for years, now, having kept it long for the wedding. Before that, it had been super short and everything in between.

Then it hit me - there's a way to give this restlessness a purpose and even a touch of philanthropy:

Locks of Love.

So there started my goal of growing my hair out long enough to have the requisite 10 inches to donate. I wasn't quite sure if I would reach the goal when I made my appointment for a haircut with Amy at Pixie Salon around the corner, but I was done with long hair. I was ready to exercise this act of charity and relieve myself of these 10 inches.

So, here is what I looked like today before the haircut:

...And here I am after, posing with my cut ponytails like all of the little girls on the Locks of Love website:

10 inches, exactly!! What do you think?

Jorge and Lucy in NYC

singalong at steve and anni's

going to the Bee Gees tribute concert

My dad

When you lose someone close to you and it happens too early or is tragic or so painful or all of the above....you have to practice talking about it.

You have to say it. "My dad died."

If you don't, it becomes this untouchable thing, this frozen sadness, and you plunge it deep underneath everything else while you try to float above it -but it doesn't really work that way.

When you practice saying it, saying "My dad died," or, even worse, "My dad died by..." (which I still can't say), it plucks it out of the realm of the surreal and plants it securely in the ground, where it can be acknowledged and dealt with and accepted.

So, I'll say it. Seven years ago today, my dad died.

All day I did not feel a single pang of sadness, yet now my eyes are filling up with tears. Not that I want that sadness to fade away completely because something so horrible deserves so strong an emotion, but this tells me that I need more practice.

I am good at alluding to it. In passing, when people ask, I can say "My mom lives in North Carolina, but my dad unfortunately passed away several years ago." But I still can't talk about it so much. Not in any detail. Mostly because it is a giant conversation stopper and most people have no idea what to say next or they nervously turn the conversation on themselves, and it becomes an intensely lonely moment. Probably the biggest reason why I can't talk about it so much is because, on most days, when I am going to work or brushing my teeth or watching TV, I just don't want to go there.

But today is different. Today, my dad died.