Una colada, por favor

We spent a fantastic long weekend in Miami, which was much better than I thought it would be. In three short days, I became addicted to cafe coladas, or a double shot of sweetened espresso served in a styrofoam cup for $1 from a coffee window. Who needs Starbucks?

I burned the tar out of myself and proved, once and for all, that melanin gets you only so far. Sunblock is needed for the final distance. And by the time I started slathering myself with Elin's potions and lotions, the damage had been done.

By the time we were leaving for the airport, I was ready to go. Although I loved lying on the beach, eating Cuban food and caffeinating myself with coladas, I was reaching saturation point. Part of me wished I'd spent some of my 20s dropped out and working as a waiter in South Beach. But, for the person I am now, three days in a posh beachside hotel was enough.

One of the highlights of the trip was being stranded for two hours in an Urban Outfitters (don't judge) while a monsoon-like storm (complete with hail!) raged outside. The store flooded, and the hipsters that worked there tried their level best to stay the floodwaters by kicking at the deluge. I'm not joking. Kicking. But it was nice of them to let us camp out on the risers while the world ended outside.

And after walking 10 blocks through the flooded streets, childhood memories of Bombay in the monsoon in my head, I went straight to a window and ordered myself a colada.

Now that I'll miss.

Three Years

My cousin, Jay, IMed me today to say "your wedding feels like it was yesterday." It does, but yesterday, it was three years ago. I don't know where the time went, and I also still think I'm terribly lucky.

We celebrated by going to a fancy dinner. No leather -- that's the third anniversary gift.

Where does time go? It seems to evaporate.

A Day Bookended By Fame

On Thursday last week, I saw the Shins in the evening. In the morning, I interviewed Richard Branson, and I've never felt so famous. After his speech, his handler took me aside, and security ushered Branson, his PR guy, me and three fembot flight attendants to a room upstairs, past the throngs trying to get a word in with him. There, with two of the fembots and security posted outside, I interviewed Branson.

That night, I saw the Shins, as I mentioned above. They're not as famous as Richard Branson, nor did I have a one-on-one with any member of the band. But it made me think about famous people and how much I'd love to bask in the limelight.

Call a what?

I've been fighting a battle all day, and I might have to concede defeat. I've been claiming all day that the expression, "to call an audible," is obscure and that no one knows what it is. But, after querying people in the office all day, it turns out that I"m the only one who had never heard it before.

Football. Of course it would be football. My only real exposure to football comes from "Friday Night Lights," and I usually don't pay that much attention during the game scenes.

Let's not forget that I had been using the expression "throwing a Hail Mary" for years before realizing it is a football metaphor.

So I lost my valiant battle today. "Calling an audible" indeed. Whatever.

Making the hands move

Clocks are wonderful things, and I feel naked without my watch, to the point that I've sometimes walked back to the house from the Metro on the rare days I've left the house without my watch on my wrist.

I have one quibble with watches and clocks, though. I wonder why I can't will the hands to move faster, particularly during some hours of the day. And, on the flip side, I wonder why I can't urge them to slow down at others.

Good Morning

A couple of weeks ago while we were on a shopping expedition in the 'burbs, Elin and I passed a Porsche dealer, and I remarked that I probably will never own a Boxster, a car I've long coveted. Elin agreed, and that prompted me to say the following: "I guess I've reached that point where life isn't about limitless possibilities but about the few remaining things that are achievable." Elin said that was an inutterably depressing sentiment.

But it's kind of true. I'm not talking about unrealistic goals -- I never would have won an Olympic Gold medal in the 100-meter sprint. I'm talking about things that are or were within the realm of possibility. I probably never will get that Ph.D., and nor will I probably ever write a novel or work for The New York Times. I probably won't own a Boxster (because by the time I can afford to buy one, we'll all be driving glorified golf carts).

I made choices. I could have gotten (and could still get) a Ph.D. I probably could have written a novel (written, not published, mind you). I perhaps could have worked for The New York Times. I probably still could qualify for a car loan to get a Boxster.

I made decisions that for the most part I don't regret. I don't want to give up a salary to study for the next 7 years, nor do I want to saddle myself with the debt for the car. The NYT probably would have required me to do a million internships and would have been up to a hiring committee -- the odds were slim but not beyond reason. The novel? I don't have the wherewithal.

I gave up these dreams for various reasons, some of which are listed above. The problem I'm facing now, as I hurtle toward my 40th birthday, is I haven't replaced those dreams or goals with anything else. The limitless possibilities of my 20s, and the feeling that there was always time if I changed my mind are fading. Instead, I'm trying to figure out what other attainable goals I can replace those with, fully cognizant, though, that I'm not getting any younger and my appetite for sacrifice is ebbing.

I'm always slightly jealous of those people I know who have a calling, who approach life seemingly with a single-minded purpose. I wonder, though, if anyone really ever has a "calling," or do these people just have a better facility for following through with what they say they want to do?

Perhaps it's time for a break

All things must come to an end, or at least take a hiatus. Hell, AMC's "Mad Men" has been on hiatus for about ten months, and the result is die-hard fans like me are gagging for Sunday's episode.

I'm under no illusion that Rozi Roti is like "Mad Men," but like that series, I think it's time for a hiatus. A time to pursue other things.

So until we meet again....