more lessons from j-school: i am apparently quite the natural at coming up with headlines. who knew? i'm going to take pride in this accomplishment because a) no one else is good at it and b) i suck donkey balls at everything else.

continued update on my spinning classes, since you're all so fascinated: since the original class disaster, where we barely broke a sweat while spinning uselessly in the dark in a black hole of twangy 70s rock, i've been to a bunch more classes and they are all excellent. i nearly fell down the stairs after the last one. not being able to walk is a badge of workout honor, i guess.

the bad news: since i've started working out again, i've gone down a half cup size. in my boobs, in case that was unclear. i discovered this during a totally humiliating trip to victorias secret this weekend to buy a new bra. i was all like, hey saleslady, i'll take this size! she's all like, uh, looking doubtful, are you sure? i'm like yeah, i've been this size forever! five minutes later i pop out of the dressing room and sheepishly inform her i need something smaller. the shame of my shrinking boobs.

if someone could market a drug wherein you work out and all the weight from your butt instead shoots itself through your veins to your chest, that would be awesome.

I just met Mrs. Vir/gin/ia. She works in this office, apparently (hence the googleproofing), and just got back from competing in the Mrs. America pageant in Florida. Sadly, she didn't place.

I figured she was probably sick of conversations about what her talent was, so I didn't ask. But based on our brief interaction and my time in this office, I suspect her talent may be remaining chipper in the face of soul-crushing tedium. It's certainly impressive, but I can see how the judges might not "get" it.

I can't say that I understand the idea behind the Mrs. America contest. Isn't the point of a beauty pageant, in the abstract, to identify the most fit physical specimen? It's eugenics for people who like small dogs. How can you mash that institution together with another that expressly forbids the directed procreation necessary to capitalize on it? How are we supposed to construct the tiara-clad master race that one presumes to be the pageant organizers' object? It's all very confusing.

Wonkette picked up my Google Maps Metro hack a little ahead of schedule, so I've pushed this sucker up to its final resting place — surprise surprise, it's DCist — and put up a forwarding notice.

Anyway, if anyone was biding their time to link to it, now you can go nuts. It's also had some bugfixes applied. There'll be an announcement on DCist later today if you want to trash me in a higher-profile venue.