Still Tall

All my life, I've enjoyed the advantages that come with being tall. My height added 20 mph to my serve, upgraded my basektball skills from pathetic to useful, forced a few people to take me seriously in the business world, and offered me views of cleavage unavailable to the average person. There's a certain comfort that goes along with almost always being the tallest person in the room, and I wouldn't trade that for anything.

Lately, though, I'm finding more disadvantages to my height. Ever try squeezing 78 inches and 245 pounds into an airplane seat? How about one of those cruel wooden seats at Fenway Park? Worse still is the strain on the knees and back from carrying around all this weight, of which I could probably only lose about 12% before I lost the ability to stand upright.

There are times when I'm sitting on a couch and I know I need to get up, so I look six and a half feet in the air and think how the hell am I getting all the way up there? I feel like I'm aging four years for every year I exist at this altitude. I'm 27 years old, and at this point, I still feel like the pros of my gargantuanity outweigh the cons. I wonder if I'll be saying the same at 47. Or 67.

The Red Sox won. We got a whole bunch of trick-or-treaters. Lots of car time in the near future, starting with Mike and Lisa's wedding this weekend. That is all.