Bananas Foster breakfasts.

I’ve been watching ‘Bunheads’ for the first time and feeling pretty envious of all the dancing teenagers (and Sutton Foster) for their crazy flexibility and grace and all the things I don’t have. I am made of granite. Even as a kid, I often struggled to touch my toes, so perhaps it was a good thing that ballet classes got too expensive after I turned six.

My recent addition of 20-30 minutes of yoga to my daily routine is helping already, though. My aching-from-tensing shoulders no longer plague me all the time. My hip crankiness has lessened enormously. I don’t creak* or cramp nearly as much the day after one of my (slow) runs. That’s great, right?!

But man, if that whole 10000-hours-to-become-an-expert thing is true, I won’t be able to do a shoulder stand until 2078.

(It also explains why I’m not an expert in anything. I’m not patient. If I don’t do well at something more or less right away, I lose interest. Or try something else. Or try nothing.)

‘Gilmore Girls’ nonsense: Paris’s plotline somehow involves Stacey Oristano playing her secret/unknown half-sister who is fighting for a chunk of the Gellerseses’s ill-gotten mountain of offshore money.

* I do have the creaking knees of an 801 human, though. Like, I don’t walk through the cinema auditorium from my office to the lobby during quiet bits in movies because they are that frickin’ audible when I am walking down stairs. (But not upstairs, oddly.)

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