Lawyerish: Sore Legs and Pageant Hair (plus GMILH Nos. 21-40)

How many of you watched the Miss America pageant on Saturday night? (I'm imagining crickets chirping). I did -- I mean, of course I did -- because, for my money, it doesn't get much better than a beauty pageant, preferably one hosted by Mario Lopez. It's difficult to articulate what I love about these events, although ranking high among my reasons to watch is the ever-present possibility that someone will deliver a nonsensical answer to one of the judges' hard-driving questions, in the manner of Miss South Carolina in the Miss Teen USA competition in 2007.

This time, no such luck, but there was a fairly arresting talent portion, in which Miss District of Columbia performed one of the saddest ballet -- well, "ballet" if we're being honest -- pieces ever to grace the American stage, and Miss Florida and Miss Michigan both did "contemporary jazz" choreography that primarily consisted of posing and looking jauntily over their shoulders while wearing perky little costumes that enhanced their legs and...assets.

I absolutely LOVE when the contestants dance in the talent competition; it always calls to mind "Waiting for Guffman" -- come to think of it, perhaps I should find a way to contact Christopher Guest and suggest to him that we collaborate on a film that spoofs small amateur dance companies, because that would be some quality viewing right there.

Miss New York, who had seemed quite charming and intelligent throughout, disgraced our state with her wavering, off-key performance of some hideous song from some obscure musical (or maybe it was a well-known musical; my knowledge of contemporary Broadway tunes ends somewhere around "Phantom of the Opera"). Oh, DEAR, it was painful. I felt badly for her, but I'm hopeful that she can pick up another hobby for the future, like handbells or the pan flute.

Oh, and I almost wet myself with anticipation when Miss Florida first came out for her talent, because she brought with her a stool and a book, and for one thrilling moment I thought she was going to do a DRAMATIC READING. I would PAY to see a pageant contestant do a dramatic reading. But it turned out it was just a prop for her dance, which also involved her waving a frying pan around. While looking jauntily over her shoulder.

Also, the swimsuit competition now looks like some kind of Hardbodies Flex-Off, especially since they had the contestants pose dramatically in a semi-circle of mirrors before pony-walking to the front of the stage. These girls are serious gym-goers, to a one. Which itself isn't surprising, of course (having to prance around in a two-piece in front of millions of people would certainly get my ass to the gym); but most of them looked like they could crack your head in half with their thighs, and you could bounce quarters off their rears. They're not willowy or model-like in the slightest.

I like this development, in the sense that they appear to be promoting strength and fitness, rather than some unattainable ideal; you get the sense that these women happily toss back cheeseburgers on a regular basis. I'm just saying if you meet one of them in a dark alley, keep in mind that they could take you down.

To cap off the weekend, Joe and I ran a half-marathon this morning, pretty much on a whim. I can't remember the last time I ran more than four miles, and the last time I ran more than six was in November 2007; yet when I was poking around online last Wednesday and saw that the Manhattan half was this weekend, I decided that I felt like running it. Joe agreed to join me, probably because he was concerned I would drop dead midway through and he wanted to assure that I would have a proper burial.

The fact that it was 14 degrees when we left the house did not help matters, and I put the odds as 1 in 4 that I would peel off the course and race for home when we passed by our street (twice -- so tempting!). Somehow, though, with our faces and extremities numbed by the cold and our noses running nonstop, we made it through the full 13.1 miles.

I felt fantastic during the first loop, even on the enormous hill on the top end of the park (which is larger even than the other 8,000 humongous hills in that blasted park -- one of these days I'm going to go out there with some dynamite and level out that loop, because it's just too MUCH); was still feeling strong around mile 8 or so; and by mile 10 I was ready to lay down and perish. It was a decidedly back-of-the-pack performance, but I finished, and I feel pretty good about that, even though I may not be able to lift myself off the couch for the rest of the day. Or week.

To close, here are 20 more items from my list of things I'm happy to have done, plus a picture of Miles for no real reason:

Chatting with the tailors and touts in the market in Hoi An; the girl with the hat saying Joe was “very sexy, very opulent” and “like cowboy”
Motorbiking through Hue at night after our $10 blowout dinner (and before that, our $4 blowout lunch)
The breakfast buffet at the Sofitel Metropole in Hanoi
Seeing my nephew for the first time, just after he was born
Swimming in Ha Long Bay, then eating (yet another) blowout lunch on our private boat
Spotting humpback whales from our yacht in Cabo
Spending hours sweatily browsing for books in the non-air-conditioned Strand the summer before law school; reading “A Prayer for Owen Meany” on a bench in Washington Square Park
Taking class with Ethan Stiefel and Sasha Radetsky (from “Center Stage” – hee!) at ABT; standing next to Baryshnikov and near Allegra Kent at the barre at Steps
Meeting Maggie for the first time at the Newark Airport (and knowing I was done for)
My number being called after a four-hour audition for Boston Ballet
Performing “Stars and Stripes” at NCSA
Reading a stack of books on the white sand beach of Parrot Cay; looking out over the marshlands from my soaking tub during the Javanese Lulur Bath at the spa
Looking out over Central Park from the relaxation room at the Mandarin Oriental
Listening to Jimmy Scott sing as the moon illuminated the Park that spread out below the wall of windows at Dizzy’s
Swimming in the rooftop pool of the Pan-Pacific Hotel in Bangkok after eight weeks of roughing it in Vietnam and Thailand
Lounging on silk pillows at a low candlelit table with a group of friends on a remote island in the Gulf of Thailand, sipping Singha beers and watching “Big Daddy” on the bar’s TV
Getting Thai massages at Wat Pho
Making friends with Tuan, a little boy standing on a corner in Saigon; he had a South Park backpack and spoke perfect English, and wanted us to take him to the museum
Crossing the stage at Avery Fisher Hall, shaking Al Gore’s hand, and officially graduating from Columbia Law School
Watching “Change of Heart” and “Blind Date” with my roommate at two in the morning when we should have been studying