When it comes to food, I am an absolute wuss. My stomach has become so sensitive over the years that I am doubled over in pain if I eat the wrong thing.

Anything spicy? Forget it.

A little spicy? Nope. Can?t do it.

A teeny, tiny bit spicy? Uh … no.

For example, just today I went to a local deli to grab a cup of soup. It?s cold outside, soup is hot. You get the idea. So I went with chicken and couscous, which seemed relatively safe. Except that it was made with a nice helWhen it comes to food, I am an absolute wuss. My stomach has become so sensitive over the years that I am doubled over in pain if I eat the wrong thing.

Anything spicy? Forget it.

A little spicy? Nope. Can?t do it.

A teeny, tiny bit spicy? Uh … no.

For example, just today I went to a local deli to grab a cup of soup. It?s cold outside, soup is hot. You get the idea. So I went with chicken and couscous, which seemed relatively safe. Except that it was made with a nice helping of onion flecks?which is doom for me.

Why then, did I keep eating it? Ah … an excellent question, and one that I wish I had given a little more thought to. Because despite chowing a bunch of large-sized Extra-Strength Tums, I was still in pain, even three hours later.

As I chewed those berry-flavored tablets, I was reminded once again about how insanely selective I have to be about what I eat. Which for me means essentially no Mexican food, which I really like, limited Asian food and only the mildest forms of everything else. Which doesn?t give me a lot of excitement food-wise, but better boring food than having the spices burn a hole through my stomach.

There have been a few times that I?ve been out to dinner with friends and had to leave in a hurry, trying not collapse in the street as I stumbled home while trying to avoid an accidental dookie in my shorts, then chomp down as many Tums as I could tolerate, curl up on the couch in the fetal position praying that I wouldn?t need an ambulance.

Not fun.

So if you ever see me out to eat, don?t expect anything too exotic on my plate. If it ain?t dull, I won?t be eating it. This is all kind of a bummer for me, because I love a good meal, but the other option is a worse bummer still.

Over these last months I’ve talked about the query process with agents and even about some of the sometimes bizarre and hilarious rejection notices I’ve gotten.

Last week–after a bit of a quiet period following that last surge of yeses–a few rejections trickled in. And one of them just tickled me, because I’ve gotten a few like them before.

I always know when an agent’s response to one of my queries is an unequivocal no when the envelope the letter comes in ISN’T EVEN SEALED! I mean,Over these last months I’ve talked about the query process with agents and even about some of the sometimes bizarre and hilarious rejection notices I’ve gotten.

Last week–after a bit of a quiet period following that last surge of yeses–a few rejections trickled in. And one of them just tickled me, because I’ve gotten a few like them before.

I always know when an agent’s response to one of my queries is an unequivocal no when the envelope the letter comes in ISN’T EVEN SEALED! I mean, how hard is to seal an envelope? Seriously. You know someone can’t be bothered with you when they consider the energy it takes to actually seal an envelope and think, [i]nah, too much[/i]. [i]Just stick the no in the envelope and if it falls out somewhere along the way, so be it. What do I care?[/i]

Now, when I say they aren’t sealed, sometimes they’re actually not sealed–the flap is folded over into the envelope. And sometimes, like with this last letter, only the very tip, just that little triangle in the center, is moistened to touch just the very tip of the other side, barely hanging on. It’s like the rejection letter equivalent of a hangnail. It’s slightly painful, it’s annoying and it’s barely hanging on … barely. Just this limp, lame excuse of an existence, and easily cast aside.

Whenever I get a response letter from an agent, I get a little anxious, wondering if it’ll be a yes or no. When I get a hangnail letter, let me tell you, there ain’t much suspense there. But it’s so lame that I can’t even be annoyed that I got the rejection letter. Anyone who would send a letter like that isn’t anyone I would want to deal with anyway.

So for all the agents out there who can’t bother to exert enough energy, to, you know … PROPERLY SEAL AN ENVELOPE … how about next time, you invest another two seconds of your time and show a little respect. Hm? Maybe? Whadaya think?

Great. You’re a peach.

Well, at least give it some thought, and while you’re mulling that over, I’ll be sealing an envelope in my mind with your name on it … and hope it doesn’t fall out.

American Gangster–with Denzel Washington and Russell Crow in the leads–has all the makings of a classic crime movie. The fact-based story is compelling, and corrupt cops and gangsters just generally makes for interesting drama.

When it comes to cops and robbers/heist/good guy-bad guy movies, as a viewer, I want one of two things. Either I want to root for the bad guys to get away with it, or I want the good guys to beat the bad guys.

For me, the problem with American Gangster is thaAmerican Gangster–with Denzel Washington and Russell Crow in the leads–has all the makings of a classic crime movie. The fact-based story is compelling, and corrupt cops and gangsters just generally makes for interesting drama.

When it comes to cops and robbers/heist/good guy-bad guy movies, as a viewer, I want one of two things. Either I want to root for the bad guys to get away with it, or I want the good guys to beat the bad guys.

For me, the problem with American Gangster is that I didn’t really care which side won. I won’t give anything away, but even though both leads were very good, and the storytelling was methodical and intricate, it lacked emotional impact. I just didn’t care very much for either character. I didn’t hate the lead characters, but I didn’t root for them either.

So while American Gangster is a well-crafted movie overall, it lacks oomph. I give it a thumbs up, but it was a movie loaded with 4-star potential that falls a little short of the mark.

Today–November 2–Liz and I are celebrating our fifth wedding anniversary. And I’ve gott say, it’s pretty darn cool.

In total, Liz and I have been married five years and have been together for seven, and it’s like having a split personality of sorts. I’ll explain. On the one hand, I feel like Liz and I have known each other most of our lives, as it’s sometimes hard for me to remember what it was like before we were together. And on the other hand, I can’t believe it’s gone by this fast!

Today–November 2–Liz and I are celebrating our fifth wedding anniversary. And I’ve gott say, it’s pretty darn cool.

In total, Liz and I have been married five years and have been together for seven, and it’s like having a split personality of sorts. I’ll explain. On the one hand, I feel like Liz and I have known each other most of our lives, as it’s sometimes hard for me to remember what it was like before we were together. And on the other hand, I can’t believe it’s gone by this fast!

It would be very easy for me to go on and on about how and why Liz and I have such a good thing together and the highlights thus far, but it pretty much boils down to this:

Liz might be my wife, but she’ll always be my girl.

Five years of marriage and seven years together with my girl has been great … and it’s just the beginning. By my calculations we still have at least 60 more anniversaries to go–I plan on us living to be at least 100–and this is just the first of those five-year married milestones.

Liz and I are right for each other in the ways that matter most, filled with excitement and fun, but mostly it’s that we’re two absolute dorks–compatible dorks–who would rather be on the couch watching silly TV shows and giggling like fools than being almost anywhere else.

So today’s blog is dedicated to Liz … my wife … my girl … who makes every day better for me than it could ever be otherwise.

Happy Anniversary, Baby!

Love you

Last night on my way home, I was comfortably seated on the F train, reading a Sandman comic. It had been a fairly long day, and I had a 6 pm meeting, so it was around 7:30 p.m., at the 57th street stop, when the conductor announced that the train was being taken out of service and that we would have to exit the train and wait for the next one.

Not the end of the world, but annoying.

So we all got out of the train, and since it’s the second to last stop in Manhattan, it was crowded, whLast night on my way home, I was comfortably seated on the F train, reading a Sandman comic. It had been a fairly long day, and I had a 6 pm meeting, so it was around 7:30 p.m., at the 57th street stop, when the conductor announced that the train was being taken out of service and that we would have to exit the train and wait for the next one.

Not the end of the world, but annoying.

So we all got out of the train, and since it’s the second to last stop in Manhattan, it was crowded, which was now the case on the platform.

By the time the next train came by–the next crowded train–it was quite clear I wasn’t getting a seat. Thing is, for me, getting a seat is more than a matter of comfort. It’s a matter of pain. I have a bad back. I hurt it about five years ago, and if I have to stand up for too long, my lower back starts to throb and tighten up, and then I’m in considerable discomfort, which can last for hours. But I make due.

Once on the train, standing up, I went back to my comic as the we rumbled along underground, hoping that a seat would open up at one of the next stops. And with one stop to go, that’s exactly what happened. Except that a woman was on the other side of me, also eying the seat. And this is where my dilemma kicks in.

I try to be courteous and polite. If I see an old man or woman, I’ll give up my seat. Same for pregnant women or anyone disabled. But other than that, I have to consider the pain I’ll be in if I give up my seat against my desire to be a nice guy. So in this case I let the woman, who seemed nice enough, have the seat, which she accepted graciously. And for the next few minutes or so, I stood up, my back barking a little bit. It wasn’t the end of the world.

Now, I don’t know if this is sexist, chivalrous or something else entirely, but if it hadn’t been a woman eying the seat, I would have taken it without hesitation. I would have pounced on it.

I run into this situation now and again, and it’s always a situational call. I don’t know if I’m always making the right decision, but I try. So if you see me standing up on the subway, struggling, like I’m not quite sure what to do, it’s because my back is in pain, and I’m trying to make the best of it.

Post edited by: rcolchamiro, at: 2007/11/07 21:12

Post edited by: rcolchamiro, at: 2007/11/07 21:13

I’m exhausted.

Because of a seriously family issue with someone I work with, I wound up pinch hitting this week, and took a last-minute trip to Las Vegas to attend an industry convention. I didn’t find out until Monday, confirmed the trip Tuesday, and then flew out on Wednesday–and then flew back to NY on Thursday. Yep. Cross country flight–twice–just to be in Las Vegas for one day. So aside from the urgency in booking and planning the trip, there were a few wrinkles:

[b]Day 1[/b]Because of a seriously family issue with someone I work with, I wound up pinch hitting this week, and took a last-minute trip to Las Vegas to attend an industry convention. I didn’t find out until Monday, confirmed the trip Tuesday, and then flew out on Wednesday–and then flew back to NY on Thursday. Yep. Cross country flight–twice–just to be in Las Vegas for one day. So aside from the urgency in booking and planning the trip, there were a few wrinkles:

[b]Day 1[/b]

My flight was due to take off at 10:45 a.m. Wed., getting me to Las Vegas at 1: 30 pm (Vegas time), so that I could attend a reception at 5:30 pm, and then another at 7 pm. I got the airport with plenty of time to spare, got an aisle seat (which I prefer), and was all set and ready to go. Except that we couldn’t take off. For three hours! That’s how long we sat on the runway. And why? Well …

Turns out that one of the planes in the queue in front of us blew a tire. Okay, I suppose these things happen. But then they had to clear the tire debris from the runway, and with 20 planes ahead of us in line to take off–and the fabulous systems of the FAA–we sat for three hours before we got clearance. Lovely.

Once we were in the air, the flight itself was fine. (I’ve also been flying Jet Blue lately, as they have the most comfortable seat and the friendliest flight attendants). We landed at about 3:30 pm Vegas time, and I was at the hotel (Treasure Island) by 4 p.m. So I checked in showered, and then changed into my suit, ready to do the whole work networking thing.

But I still needed to register for the conference and get badge, so I walked across the street to the Venetian (where the conference and the first reception was being held), got my badge and signed and was ready to go. But they gave me a complementary bag with the programs in it, which I didn’t want to carry with me all night. So I walked back across to Treasure Island and dropped off my stuff, and then back over to the Venetian.

I hit the first reception around 5:45 pm Vegas time. At this point I’m hitting a down cycle, and need to get my second wind, which kicked in right after my first Tequila and Ginger Ale. I did the networking thing for about an hour (along the publisher I work with; about 100 people there), and then we walked along the Las Vegas Strip to the Fashion Mall for another networking event. This one had about 4,000 people. Seriously. It was a total madhouse. Food was mediocre and the bar was packed, but I still I soldiered on, shaking hands and flying the flag–and I ran into someone I know, a friend of the family. Too funny. But by 8:30 pm Vegas time, I was done. My back ached, my head was heavy. Time to go back. I was asleep by 9:30 Vegas time.

[b]Day 2[/b]

Thursday morning I got up around 6:30 a.m. Vegas time, went down to the gym, worked out for 30 minutes, then came back upstairs, showered, and suited up again. But since I would be spending time at the convention, I had to pack my bag again because I had to be checked out by noon. So I got my stuff together, checked out of my room, and then left my bags with the bellman.

From there I went back over the Venetian, and did some networking for about an hour. I then had a quick, scheduled meeting, attended a session at 11:30, did a quick networking lunch at 12:45, wrote up a story by 1:30 to be posted on our company web site, and then dealt with a few work emails. And now it’s a little past 2 p.m., and I gotta go back to the airport.

I went back over to Treasure Island, got my bags, went into the men’s room in the lobby to change out of my suit and into my street clothes, and then hopped a cab to the airport for a 5 pm. flight. My plane left on time and got me back to JFK around 1:30 a.m. Friday morning New York time.

All in all I did about 6,000 miles, attended two cocktail parties, shook about 100 hands, attended a session, wrote a story, had a meeting, scheduled a few more, saw a family friend, and made it there and back in one piece. All in 36 hours.

So, yeah, I’m a little tired right now. But no worries. Sometimes that’s just the way it goes. And it’s okay. There’s a lesson to be learned here somewhere. It’s just that, at the moment, I’m too tired to see what it is.

I tried. I?ve really tried.

My doctor has pretty much scared me straight into finally accepting that I need to adjust my eating habits so that I can, you know, not die.

It?s a genetic thing. I have high triglycerides that can fry my liver (or was it kidneys?) into oblivion unless it keep it under control. Medication might very well be in my future, but I?d sure like to avoid it, if at all possible. And if I do, I’m totally fine health-wise.

So as part of my eating habits I?ve pretI tried. I?ve really tried.

My doctor has pretty much scared me straight into finally accepting that I need to adjust my eating habits so that I can, you know, not die.

It?s a genetic thing. I have high triglycerides that can fry my liver (or was it kidneys?) into oblivion unless it keep it under control. Medication might very well be in my future, but I?d sure like to avoid it, if at all possible. And if I do, I’m totally fine health-wise.

So as part of my eating habits I?ve pretty much cut out the junk?meaning, everything that tastes good. Pizza. Burgers. Fries. Chinese food.

… sniff …

Truth be told, I haven?t cut them out entirety, but I have cut back on them in a big way, and I really don?t miss them much. Sure, I sometimes I have a craving for sausage pizza … [i]mmmmm …. sausage pizza [/i]… but overall it really hasn?t been too bad. In fact, I?ve lost a few pounds, got an overall clean bill of health from by doctor and generally feel better, so … so far so good.

But the one thing I just can?t accept, the one conversion I just can?t make, is light mayo. I tried. I?ve really tried. But it?s just so … you know, what?s the word?

Gross. Yep, definitely gross.

And let?s dispel with the notion that it tastes just like regular mayo. Uh … no. It?s awful. Just truly and utterly awful. (Sorry if I?m annoying anyone who likes light mayo, but I just can?t take it anymore …)

And this isn?t coming from one little sample and giving in.

I tried it in tuna fish: Yuck.

I?ve tried it on ham and cheese: Yuck.

I?ve tried with turkey and Swiss: Yuck.

Double yuck, triple yuck, quadruple yuck. :sick:

I wanted to like it. I really did. I even stopped buying regular mayo as show of confidence and conviction. But no more. No more light mayo! No more lies! I can?t betray my taste buds like this any more!

I?m still keeping my eating habits in check, switching out the grease and chips and pizza for fruits and veggies?which I actually do kinda like?but the one thing I can?t get on board with is light mayo. I even eat sandwiches dry sometimes, and if it?s light mayo or no mayo, then no mayo it is.

So as I adjust into this world of healthier eating, there are some sacrifices I just can?t make. Light mayo is one of them.

Post edited by: rcolchamiro, at: 2007/10/24 05:39

Sometimes when I sit down to write the words just roll off my fingertips and I?m all [i]clackety-clacekty-clacking[/i] on the keyboard, with enthusiasm like the first time ever ate ice cream. Other time, not so much. It?s unpredictable. More often than not I find it pretty easy to just get going, but sometimes I find myself just sitting here, fingers ready to go, the desire to write, but yet I can?t seem to find the words.

In today?s blog I was going to write about one of those pet peeves oSometimes when I sit down to write the words just roll off my fingertips and I?m all [i]clackety-clacekty-clacking[/i] on the keyboard, with enthusiasm like the first time ever ate ice cream. Other time, not so much. It?s unpredictable. More often than not I find it pretty easy to just get going, but sometimes I find myself just sitting here, fingers ready to go, the desire to write, but yet I can?t seem to find the words.

In today?s blog I was going to write about one of those pet peeves of mine, as last night Liz and I were coming back from the supermarket, and this guy blew a stop sign. Granted, he wasn?t speeding?he just kinda rolled through it?but he startled me nonetheless. So we got into a little bit about who was right?a few f-bombs were lobbed both ways?and I was going to go on this who tirade this morning about responsibility and care for our fellow citizens and all that.

It?s one of my things. As George Carlin says, he learned the secret of living a long time ago: [i]Not dying[/i]. I second that motion, and I find that drivers who ignore stop signs, as if they?re optional, kinda goes against the whole not running me over thing.

But I just wasn?t in the mood to get into a whole thing. I didn?t want to get myself all riled up again over what turned out to be a lot of hot air. Liz and I were fine. We moved on.

Instead, I found myself sitting here at the desk, thinking of what to say … and I just sat here, my fingers bouncing in place, tips on the keys, but not able to channel my thoughts into words. And it wasn?t so much that I was stuck; I wasn?t set. I wasn?t connected. My physical body was present; I was ready to go. My energy was good. But I had that sense of trying to remember someone?s name, when you?re telling a story, and you?re snapping your fingers and rolling your hands like that will make the name suddenly pop into your mind, and you?re going, ?[i]oh, you know who I mean, the one with the uh … who always … oh, you know … the uh … tsch … sigh … you know, the one, I uh … uh … um …?[/i]

And you feel like the name is right there, and try as you might you just can?t get your brain going. And it?s not that you?re running through various thoughts and rejecting them. There?s [i]nothing[/i].

That?s how I was just moments ago, with this utter lack of understanding of what to do next. My energy was flowing, but my rhythm was on pause. Not broken, not stuck. Paused.

The words were there?deep down I felt I had something I really wanted to write?but I couldn?t reach them. They eluded me. And this is frustrating, as a writer, as it?s my instinct to communicate with you. To say something.

Yet this elusiveness turned out to be a great reminder about the value of silence. Of how just sitting still and letting that silence, that magic?sprayed on me like a mist?holds the key to everything I want to say. It?s all up in the ether all around us, and sometimes I just need to sit quietly, patiently, and let it come. And as soon as I let myself fall still, when I let myself embrace the silence, rather than just trying to fight my way through it, the words came.

These words that you?re reading now.

And this process is something I?ve learned to trust. Usually. I try not to get too frustrated when the words elude me, because I know they?re out there. It?s just that sometimes I need to remember that I can?t [i]make[/i] them come. I have to relax, find the quiet, and [i]let [/i]them come. And when they do, it?s magic.

Post edited by: rcolchamiro, at: 2007/10/23 05:13

Oh, man, I’m Jonesing already … I got the shakes, man … I’m losin’ it …

Okay, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration, but it’s an annual occurrence for me, one I forget about during the year because I’m enjoying the high so much. The buzz is so soothing that it takes me to that place where I like to be, where I’m not even thinking about the possibility that it will wear off.

What am I talking about? What else?

Baseball.

I’m a junkie. I admit it. I love baseball. Love it, lOh, man, I’m Jonesing already … I got the shakes, man … I’m losin’ it …

Okay, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration, but it’s an annual occurrence for me, one I forget about during the year because I’m enjoying the high so much. The buzz is so soothing that it takes me to that place where I like to be, where I’m not even thinking about the possibility that it will wear off.

What am I talking about? What else?

Baseball.

I’m a junkie. I admit it. I love baseball. Love it, love it, love it, love it, love it.

I love watching the games. I love going to games. I love reading about baseball, talking about baseball and thinking about baseball. I love stats and scouting reporting. I love news and analysis. I love blurbs and rumors. I love trades. I love trade talk. I love speculation.

And now it’s gone.

Not totally gone … the playoffs are still going on, but the day to day of the regular season is over.

For me, there’s nothing quite like coming home after work, changing my clothes and putting on the TV, knowing that the Yankee game is on. Or the Mets. Or some game on ESPN. Maybe the Braves, maybe the Brewers. Maybe the Padres, maybe the Pirates.

Whatever. Just gimme. Gimme gimme gimme.

Some people drink a beer after work. I watch baseball.

It fills up such a large part of my time, of my thoughts and emotions, and now it’s gone. There’s a void. This happens to me every year. I forget what it’s like to not have it around.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s good to miss things sometimes, but I always hate the end of the season. I miss it. And football, hockey and basketball just don’t do it for me like baseball does. They’re perfectly fine sports. But nothing else compares to baseball.

Don’t worry, you don’t need to send me into rehab or anything, but as the World Series approaches and the 2007 season fades into the background, I’ll be counting down the days until the new season starts. Waiting. Just waiting.

My name is Russ Colchamiro. I’m a baseball junkie.

And I need a fix.

If the reports of George Steinbrenner stepping down as leader of the Yankees, that’s HUGE! He’s been such an icon for so long, and despite all his faults, he always wanted to win, and put the team’s earnings back into the team. I’m really interested in seeing how this all plays out.If the reports of George Steinbrenner stepping down as leader of the Yankees, that’s HUGE! He’s been such an icon for so long, and despite all his faults, he always wanted to win, and put the team’s earnings back into the team. I’m really interested in seeing how this all plays out.