Ah, nothing like the good old cosmic joke, eh? You know what I mean; the notion that the universe is orchestrated by some kind of benevolent clown-type-deity who decrees strange events in our lives so bizarre that we either go crazy trying to figure them out or admit we don't know what in tarnation is afoot on this here mortal coil. Case in point: on a morning where I ate months-old bootleg-brand cereal (Super O's) with water, I come to my vague-in-limbo job and find out they plan to send me to the Virgin Islands to run a triathlon. More precisely, I'll be on Nevis Island, which is near St. Kitts. So, to put it in perspective: my cat and I are splitting a case of Fancy Feast today, next week I'll be on the beach, eating like the King of Colorado.

Now, let me answer the question you all have: How does a magazine that can't afford to pay its online editor enough to buy milk send that same editor off to a tropical paradise to run, swim, and bike? The answer: Hooked doesn't pay for press trips, the agencies representing the attraction foot the bill. So in this case, I would assume it's the good citizen of Nevis Island (and the cash flow of tourists) treating me to the adventure.

So for a week, I get a reprieve from looking up pay-for-blood donation clinics and instead, I prepare to indulge in the warm crosswinds of the Lesser Antilles. I guess the best way to put it is: Life can be really stupid and wonderful.

Posted by James Dziezynski @ 11:27 AM