"It was a pretty good depiction of how a chain would look wrapped around your legs."

I’m totally excited for the upcoming grilled cheese eating competition in New York. If I continue to attend eating competitions, does that count as a hobby? Krista and I spent a fevered few days trying to figure out if it was reasonable for us to go to Vegas for the Big Daddy Burger competition (9 pounds) on the 21st. Ultimately, no, it wasn’t. It seems as though the competition is notorious for comparing the size of the burger to David Hasselhoff’s head and now they are out to prove it by convincing the man himself to agree to a “(non-surgical) weighing procedure.” Now if they were doing that AT the competition, that might have been enough to persuade us.

My dad sends me email forwards constantly, so I didn’t think much of it when he sent me this one about an artist who’d locked his feet up in chains in order to draw them, and then proceeded to lose the key was reduced to hopping 12 hours across a desert to get help. However, Ahe brought my attention to another article on the guy, this time alerting me that we actually went to school with him. This is a guy who was in my dorm freshman year, with whom I had multiple classes, and who I may have drunkenly kissed the first week of college. Well, anyway: that’s how THAT turned out. Haa. Don’t you wish you could travel back in time every once in awhile to give yourself some fabulous insights into other people’s futures?

In other news…dun…dun…DUNUH: New Lost! New Project Runway! Could this Wednesday night television BE any better? I don’t think so. Last night at dinner some of the ladies were crabbing about how much sports their boyfriends watch* and how utterly time consuming it is. One said that if her boyfriend plunks down for two football games, it’s eight hours of television watching and she doesn’t understand how he could do that for so long. I agreed, but then took it back when I thought about all the hypothetical marathon showings of television series that I would totally sit down and watch for eight hours. Time flies when you’re watching good TV.

*Dear J,
Thank you for having no interest in watching professional sports on the television. I apologize for watching Sex and the City even though it makes you leave the room.
Love, Liz