A friend of mine just let me know of a frustrating and seemingly unfair issue in his neck of the woods:  A popular and much-loved priest in South Dakota is apparently about to be deported due to what seems to be a pretty lame bureaucratic snafu (pemanent residency application accepted but later lost/misplaced).  An advocacy site is here: HelpFather.

Something you can count on

I managed to get up at 8am to go to the gym today.  This is impressive, because:
- Today is Saturday.
- I went to the gym yesterday.

But that’s not really the story here.  Rather, we had a substitute teacher for our gym class who giggled in an adorable, Japanese-school-girl’ish way, and apologized for not speaking much English.  Continuing on in mildly broken English, she pleaded for us to just follow her and everything would be okay.

Okay, then. But I soon realized that something wasn’t quite okay.

I’m not a crazy athlete, but I like working out at the gym and also dancing a few times a week.

Finding good dance shoes wasn’t so hard for me.  I got personal recommendations from some of my lindy hopping friends, and was also delighted that the friendly folks at dancestore.com were happy to offer personalized suggestions over the phone.  For the record (and now from personal experience), I recommend that all lindy hoppers get this dance sneaker; it makes turning and spinning a breeze.

But I’m having a much harder time finding good cross-training and running shoes.  I’ve had good luck with New Balance shoes in the past, but it’s hard to find a good selection of ‘em locally in my size, so I decided to go online.  Sure enough, via Amazon.com or Zappos and undoubtedly countless other sites, I have a choice of zillions of shoes.  And that would be okay if there was some help filtering… but there’s not! :o

Yesterday, I bought ”Wii Fit” (a balance board + training CD). I decided I was really committed to exercise more and eat right. Today, unfortunately, I missed breakfast due to a dentist appointment and came into work late.  I grabbed a pack of cashews… not too bad.

And that’s when it happened.  Charles walked by my desk.

In junior high, I was not thinking about love.
In high school, love was for everyone but me.
In undergrad, love was only for the Bad Boys.
In grad school, I was delighted to realize that good guys could find love, too.

And now, I am tempted to believe that love is surprisingly, frustratingly, completely random.

The Rational Me yearns to apply logic to love, typically less out of need than pure intellectual curiosity.  Do [x] and you will find love.  Be [y] and you will find love.  Or, most simplistically and IMHO reasonably, be a Good Person and you will be well-deserving of love and will be correspondingly likely to find it.

And yet, despite seemingly having many data points, I fail to find many firm correlations, much less prerequisites or guarantees.