West Virginia.

About a week ago, I got the idea that I wanted to go paragliding - this is when you run off mountains strapped to a fabric wing and let the wind carry you. Because I couldn't find Paragliding for Dummies on Amazon, I decided to actually take some lessons, so Han - my most foolish friend - and I drove 6 hours into West Virginia to meet Dwayne McCourt, the area's premier paragliding instructor.

Here are some thoughts from the trip:

West Virginia local cuisine is delicious.

But there are consequences.
Mountain biking is hard. There is more walking than biking.
Happy cows look like this.
Country humor.
Sketchy dudes are everywhere.
Paragliding is not easy.

24 Hours.

The poet Rilke said about a self-portrait, “He reproduced himself with so much humble objectivity, with the unquestioning, matter of fact interest of a dog who sees himself in a mirror and thinks: there‘s another dog.” I’m not sure what it means - I’m guessing something about people who are less enthralled with themselves than I am - but it inspired me to go to Philadelphia by myself last week, as an experiment.

My hypothesis is that I’m in love with myself. And to prove that, I needed to spend time alone with myself.

It occurred to me that I have never been alone for a whole 24 hours. And I don’t even mean like cabin in the woods, my best friend is a squirrel, Ted Katzinsky kind of alone.

I just mean hang out by myself, sunrise to sunrise - no coworkers, no friends and lovers, no acquaintances casual or intimate.

So I packed my weekender - a giant green thing that’s seen its share of shenanigans - booked a nonrefundable hotel room, fought through snow, wind, fire, and orcs / hopped on the Chinatown bus, and spent the weekend in Philly.

Here are some of my reflections:

9 degrees is fucking cold.

Drinking alone in a gay bar is kind of sad.

Drinking alone in an Irish bar is kind of impossible. Someone inevitably talks to you.

Taking pictures of yourself is super hard.









Donovan McNabb is a controversial figure.

Overheard conversation on the bus: “Ohmygod, isn’t Fatosh weird? Like, he’s sooo indescribably weird! Like, he is so weird, I can’t even describe it.” I need to stop talking like that.

I have embarrassing taste in music. As I was getting into my seat on the bus to Philly, I drop my phone/mp3 player, the earphones yank loose, and the entire bus is regaled with Michael Buble. Embarrassing.

HBO is awesome. I had it in my hotel room, and I almost didn’t make it out the door after I checked in.

Chinatown buses are awesome. Only $30 bucks roundtrip to Philly!

Chinatown buses suck. They overbook their buses and are rude about it!

I'm a lot more timid when I don't have enablers around me.

I miss my buddies.

Selfish.

My good friend and fellow Indianapolis Colts fan – I’ll call her Burma – just informed me that she cannot watch the Colts vs. Ravens Divisional Round Playoffs this Saturday, because she has to attend a wedding that day.

The degree of narcissism required to schedule your wedding during the fourth most important event of the entire year – following my birthday, Superbowl, and Wrestlemania – appalls me down to the fingerprints at the end of my fingertips.

Before you say, “Whatever, bitch, people don't care that much about football,” let me hit you with a few numbers.

Let’s take the NY Jets vs. Cincinnati Bengals Wildcard game last Saturday. That game received 16.9 rating – which means that 16.9% of all households with televisions, not just the ones watching TV, were watching the game. This is in contrast with a typical Saturday. Without football, the highest rated show Saturday show is America's Most Wanted, which only gets about 1.5%, depending on who is being wanted.

If 17% of people with TVs, many whom wouldn't even be watching TV on a Saturday if there was no football, tuned into two mediocre, lucked-into-a-playoff-spot teams play, how many would you guess will tune into Colts vs. Ravens – an epic battle between the NFL’s best offense and its hardest hitting defense? Let’s conservatively estimate 25%.

And unless the engaged pair are Amish, we can assume that everyone at the wedding have TVs. Which means that a quarter of the attendees want to watch the game but can’t because of the nuptials. You wouldn’t have your wedding on Passover, and Jews represent a much smaller percentage of the population than football fans.

Some of you are saying, “But Carol, American Idol gets about the same ratings – does that mean people can’t schedule their weddings during that?” And my answer is in three parts.

1) American Idols is lame, so it’s different.

2) An NFL playoff game isn’t some show you can just TiVo and enjoy the contrived entertainment at your leisure. It is a play-by-play, second-by-second, realtime event, that happens only once a year and upon which everything hinges.

3) Unlike the popular shows on TV, NFL viewers cross demographics, and represent a true vivisection of the American population. The age, income, gender, race, and other indicators match our national averages. So unless your wedding guestlist consists mainly of teenage girls, you wouldn’t be selfish to have it when American Idol is on.

So, to the future Mr. and Mrs. You Suck – after your marriage inevitably fails due to your shared selfishness, have your next wedding during baseball season.