The last few weeks have been especially rough.  There was one day, in particular, during which the world seemed to be closing in on me:  I couldn't get from point A to B without above average amounts of pain.  I couldn't open jars, write for more than a few minutes at a time, or lock my finicky door.

It certainly doesn't help that the locksmith who installed the lock on my door must have been an ex-convict because he jerry-rigged this thing to be so difficult to lock/unlock that it takes five minutes every time to get the damn key to work.  I guess it's better to be safe then sorry ...

That said, I wasn't going to allow a little bit (OK, a lot) of pain stand in the way of an overbooked social schedule, with parties, dinners and celebrations to attend every day of the week.  The world kicked back into overdrive after the lull of the holidays.

As the week progressed, my limp became more pronounced.  By Friday I was outside of a club, approaching the doorman, and he said, "A man with swagger like that must be important."  It made my day!  I smiled and thanked him, and proceeded downstairs (slowly) but felt as though my pain was not for nothing after a shout out from a giant bouncer like that.

There are worse things in this world, I suppose.

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This weekend I caught up with a friend who happens to have moderate-to-pretty-bad anklyosing spondylitis.  I've known him for a while (he's actually the father of some friends), and I've seen his ups and downs over the years -- trying new meds, desperately clinging to old meds, searching every which way for answers.  And some days have been better than others.

This weekend he was doing great, and we chatted over light snacks and club soda (what one does at such gatherings) about how well he was feeling.  I must have knocked-on-wood a dozen times (I'm That Guy), but was really happy to hear that things were going well.

Feeling great didn't deter him one bit from charging ahead and searching for answers and the pursuit of feeling even better -- and I think that's what impressed me so much.

Needless to say, he is on a roll and I wish him well.  I told him to go celebrate.

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There are two types of volunteering:  the kind that helps make the world a better place ... and the kind in which you tell the gate agent you'll accept a travel voucher in exchange for giving up a seat on an overbooked flight.

While both leave you feeling incredibly good -- especially when your travel plans are flexible and you were smart enough not to check any luggage -- the former (helping the world) has a lasting effect on your mind, body, and spirit.

I found a new kind of volunteering lately, one that's my speed and incorporates one of my favorite things in the world:  laughter.  Like the old saying -- "If you like your job, you never work a day in your life" -- the best kind of volunteering doesn't feel like work and is something I have enjoyed doing:  spending time with a senior citizen on weekend afternoons.

I go to her house and we talk about life and she tells me stories from "the old days" -- which are extremely entertaining.  She knows she's a pistol, and has impeccable timing when she delivers a joke or tells a funny story.  It's what I love about spending time with her -- I always leave happier than when I got there.  And I know she does, too.

Everyone should volunteer.  The world would be a better place if people gave back with their time or their skills.  While past volunteering has taken me to the side of the FDR Drive in midtown Manhattan to clean up garbage (prisoner style!) or in to children's wings of hospitals to juggle -- hanging out with Ruth and making one another laugh is just as much a good deed.  A good deed at my own speed.

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These have been some Hot August Nights (as the great Neil Diamond once said).  The weather in the New York area has been absolutely brutal -- hot and sticky with a very unstable atmosphere.  This has taken a toll on my body, and I'm ready for the fall.

Or for a fall, whichever comes first.

Part of the problem with humidity is the sweat factor.  No matter what you do -- whether you're in the sun or the shade -- your body sweats like a leaky faucet.  This is uncomfortable on the surface but, for me, the discomfort runs much deeper.

These Hot August Nights have given me headaches, made my joints stiff and achy, and put me in a bad mood.  And I'm not the only one -- over 8 million New Yorkers were pacing the streets, cranky as can be, these past few weeks.

Far be it for me to complain about the heat when there are so many other worthwhile things to complain about.  But sometimes you just need to vent.

I am stoked for the morning I wake up chilly, needing to bundle up in a sweater and scarf (just in case).

Call me crazy.  Actually, just call me arthritic.

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This past weekend was a very interesting one for me.  I opened my mind and, as a result, hooked up my body.

Yoga has never been something I'd consider a hobby (or even an interest) of mine.  Probably because, in college all those years ago, I signed up for a class just to follow a girl on whom I had a crush.

Needless to say, that didn't end well (on any front) and left a really sour taste in my mouth for yoga.

It might have been the attitude (a good one), the clean country air, summer sun or all of the above which conspired to make my first (technically second) yoga experience a really great one.  Alignment, happiness and clarity came together at once to make me feel better -- on the spot.

Seriously, what the heck is this all about?  I am definitely on to something here, there is much more to come.

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