Training Update

I thought I'd just write all my friends (and I count all my fans as friends and my friends as fans) and give a quick update to how my training is going.

As most of you know, training for the Cup-Stacking Olympics can be a grueling and thankless undertaking. And don't get me started on the politics. Aside from the small problems with our first coach -- he really just didn't understand that he wasn't in Slovenia or Slovakia (or whatever Slavic country he was from) anymore and in the United States we have rights. His rules and curfews were as bad as Hitler and his idea of Olympic fashion was atrocious. Once he was replaced, things have pretty much fallen into place with the team.

So don't believe all that trash they've been printing about us. The behind-the-scenes in-fighting and late-night hook-ups simply are nothing like as bad as they've described. Jeannie (the only girl even close to as fast as me) is really a sweet friend. If my style is just a little looser, a little better, than hers, it's not something we fight about. She really did fall down those stairs and since then she has apologized over and over again about making those accusations. Like I've said before, painkillers can make you say crazy things.

Anyhow, I've got pretty much everything in my routine nailed down, but am having "creative differences" with my personal Ukrainian coach. He insists I should do something he calls a "quiet close" (if you ask me it is just a sudden stop) where I place the last cup and make this slow sweeping motion with my arms.

But I'm convinced I need a big finish, something that will leave the folks in the back row of the stadium gasping. If only I can convince the cup-stacking governing body (CSIA), to allow the use of pyrotechnics. Please help me decide what to do. Should I fire Vlad and do it my way, or give him one more try. I will try to figure out how to put a survey on this blog thingee and you can vote one way or the other. Whatever you decide, I'll do.

Just remember, everything depends on the next competitive heat where the new head coach decides who participates in which event. I will just die if my friend Jeannie gets to do the freestyle and I'm stuck with the technical events. She won't say this to the press, because of the gag order, but even she tells me that "No one performs the Flying Dutch Squat like" yours truly

Wish me luck!

No Worries, at least not next time

We're still recovering from moving in June (or was it July, it's all a blur now). But I think I have finally reached that stage of the healing process where I can talk (or write) about the traumatic experience.

The hardest part about the move (or at least one of the many hard parts) is notifiying everyone and then trying to explain it. So, for the most part, we have ignored it, putting off the chore of sending out change of address notices until now. The holiday season (which I will excoriate in a future posting) has exacerbated the situation. The issue is this -- our address has changed so very little. Not much at all, in fact. Only 9 digits, to be precise. You see our new address is:

1436 Mordor's Way
Merkin, TX
(not our real new address)

Our old house address was 1445 Mordor's Way.
(not our real old address)

Did you catch that? Do you see the problem?

Old = 1445
- New = 1436
===============
= 0009

Yes, we moved 9 whole digits away. Let me make that clear. That's 9 digits, not miles, not blocks, not even houses -- 9 digits. And that's even closer here in our part of Merkin, since every lot is equivalent to 4 digits. What all this means is simple -- we moved two houses down. And across the street.

Out of a certain masochistic curiosity, I went to Google Maps and asked for a travelogue of our projected move. Here are the instructions in their entirety:

1. Turn Right on Mordor's Way.
2. Proceed 187 feet.
3. Turn Left.

I have never, ever, not even once in all my life have I ever experienced a worse move. I think the folks selling us their house (friends and neighbors, of course) had an easier move. From 1436 Mordor's Way, Merkin, TX to 205 Smeagol Dr., LL Beane, NH. Such was my frame of mind as I walked a dolly (or hand truck) loaded with four or five boxes of books the 187 feet from house A to house B. My new (and old) neighbor yelled across the street to me, "Easiest move ever!"

If I hadn't been staying in the neighborhood I would have, at the very least, flipped him the bird. What I wanted to do was put his bald cranium in a head lock and goose-step him over to my garage. If he thought it was so easy, he could move my shit.

Well, as the Aussies love to say, "No Worries." Especially since I have decided that the next time I move I won't know what year it is and I'll be wearing a diaper under my pajamas.

Check the Weather in Hades

Okay gang, for those of you who don't know: I have finally been selected to represent the United States in the Cup-Stacking Olympics in 2008. Therefore, I am taking the next year off from my very demanding and busy job of being a hand and ankle model to hone my craft. This is a great opportunity and also reduces the anxiety I have had ever since I started trying to juggle my two passions. I constantly worried that I would injure my hands and lose my modeling gigs, or worse, get so famous as a hand and ankle model that my efforts as a serious athlete would be overshadowed.

Anyhow, I just wanted to let you all know that when you no longer see my wrists modeling the latest in anti-static wristbands, or see my ankles on TV (that work as Victim Number Three - the Hush Puppies sticking out under the car -- in Law and Order is still paying my cable bill!), it is only because I am pursuing an Olympic Gold, and not because of any rumors you may hear about my supposed use of Botox to increase the size of my pinkie-toes.

Alas, I still have to pay that legal bill (that doctor so needed his tires slashed), so I have taken a job at (only until the cup-stacking endorsements start rolling in). I am a Customer Service Representative (so pretentious) in the Financial Accounting department, and I am sure you can't wait to start hearing about all my adventures here. My job is only fifteen minutes from home, and they have some state-of-the-art exercise facilities here that will be a great help in my "bid for gold."

My new phone number is 212/555.6624.

Please don't give my phone number to any sports agents or studio reps -- I don't want the folks here to treat me like some kind of celebrity -- I'm enjoying this little bit of anonymity. Of course, I'm sure my coworkers will soon spot the similarities between my right hand and the blood-drenched hand on the poster for that great indie flick, Elvis's Hand Lives.

And for god's sake, don't let Nan Talese know you've heard from me -- she hasn't left me alone for five minutes since I was her stunt double on that Entertainment Tonight special.

Of course you can always reach me through my agent at Hillbilly Hands and Feet (I do so wish they'd change that name, but the original founder, bless her soul, discovered Granny, and just won't let it go).