Racing up staircases or jumping down them gives you that I’m-in-a-rush rush. Handrails play helper as you leap on stage as the quick-zipping star of the show.

Here’s how to make the magic happen.

Okay, if you’re going up, two of the classiest moves include:

1. Roboto Man. You’re a straight-faced, mild-mannered Stairskipper 4000, an advanced prototype who skips steps nonchalantly and even does the triple step every so often. Robotos sometimes act super casual because they’re quietly racing someone in the escalator beside them.

2. Eager Beavers. These are sweaty six-year olds who just scarfed all their candy, businesswomen racing to catch the commuter train, or teenagers in ballcaps and baseball gloves running to the park. Eager beavers sometimes leap up two, three, four stairs at a time. Although it’s in their best interest to avoid you, keep your eyes peeled for sharp elbows and sweat showers.

Okay, now if you’re going down I recommend one of the following:

1. The Tarzan. Some lords of the jungle motor down the stairs and then plant their hands on the rail to swing themselves the rest of the way. We’ve all heard long tales of six, seven, even eight steps at once, but details are always fuzzy and hard to check out. Still, if done well The Tarzan can be very majestic. If done poorly, it can be very ankle sprainy.

2. Cliff Jumpers. This one’s for pros only. This is just a huge, free falling jump, generally on the way down to the rec room to play video games. Hopefully you’ve got a padded cushion landing and don’t crash head first through the thin wood veneer wall. There is no limit to the heights you can reach with this move.

Yes, jumping stairs gets your blood flowing from mini cardio workouts throughout the day. For a few brief moments you transform from a gal on her way to biology class into an animal in the wild again — scaling mountains, leaping rivers, and jumping cliffs like you were born to do. So as you go about your day don’t forget about your primal roots and caveman instincts.

Jump up. Jump down.

Jump forever.

AWESOME!

Photos from: here, here, here, and here

Lazing around in crumpled sheets, sun streaking through the blinds, your eyes slowly blink open and your lips curl into a slow smile. You make some deep, grunting noises as you twist your back and stretch your neck.

You smile and enjoy the soft and slow process of waking up after sleeping in on a weekend morning. You glance casually at the alarm clock, you stare at the ceiling, flip your pillow, and roll around in Sheetworld.

Then it hits you.

Nose twitching, brain sniffing, you catch faint fumes of sizzling bacon drifting up from the kitchen. Can it be? Is this why you woke up? You bunny-sniff again and this time you’re positive, you’re certain, you’re sure.

Bacon!

It smells like mom’s cooking breakfast. It smells like a sunny Sunday sleep-in. It smells like pajamas and a fresh paper. It smells like little white grease bubbles in a crispy black frying pan.

And it smells a lot like

AWESOME!

Photo from: here

The kids, they love The Jonas Brothers.

When the pop group visited Toronto a few weeks back you would walk down the street and notice anxious little pods of teenagers circling around their hair-stylists and drum tuners. Or maybe people were crowding an actual brother in the flesh. I couldn’t quite see in there, but when there’s a celebrity in our midst , we know what to do, don’t we gang?

That’s right: Get tight around them, shove Sharpies in their face, and tell them to make the autograph out to our little sisters.

Right, usually when you see those buzzy groups of people crowded together, it’s because there’s a celebrity in the middle winking, making kissy-faces, and signing autographs. Either that or it’s a dead bird and a group of sixth-graders are poking it with a stick. Either that or it’s an open sewer and everyone’s scratching their hard hats looking down at the one crew-member who fell in there.

Either that or it’s a baby about to burp.

Come on, don’t lie to me, you know what I’m talking about. It generally happens after the adults have eaten and our special little someone just downed a big bottle of milk all by himself. Oh yes he did! Ohhhhhh, yes he did! Didn’t he? Didn’t he?! Who’s the big burper! Who’s that little guy!

Sorry, but this is hilarious. Wrapped in blankets, rocking on a shoulder, everybody peeks in for the big moment when the bundle of joy lets out a thundering adult-sized burp.

And then there is cheering.

I mean, it’s funny to hear a big booming sound come from something so tiny and fragile. Only babies and old people get away with this kind of social behavior. And it’s not nearly as cute with old people. Hey, I’m not knocking them, though. When I let out a loud belch after chugging a glass of soda, people hold their applause because there’s nothing adorable about it, either.

But with babies, it’s different. It’s like they’re discovering the true biological pleasure that comes with popping out hot gas from their insides. Burping, farting, just look at them smile and laugh when nature rings. They’re loving and appreciating the small joys in life.

We can learn so much from the baby.

AWESOME!

Photos from: here, here, and here

It doesn’t matter whether you’re on clean up duty at your niece’s wedding reception, throwing in for a third poker tournament with the boys, trying to defeat every level of Bubble Bobble, or last to get dropped off after the bachelorette party downtown. All that matters is if you stumble over tomorrow’s newspaper sitting on the stoop on your way up to bed, it means your excellent evening out just got a little extra party cred.

AWESOME!

Illustration from: here

As old school assignments, half-downloaded mp3s, and duplicate photos crumple and disappear from your hard drive, you settle back into your office chair, slap your hands together, and smile at finishing up The World’s Easiest Chore.

AWESOME!

Illustration from: here

Spin the dial to the left and you’re drowning under a frozen glacier waterfall. Spin it to the right and you’re stinging under some sharp second degree burns.

We all know your perfect temperature lies somewhere between these dangerous extremes so every time you strip down to scrub up you’re playing detective. Oh, you know that perfect temperature is out there, but there are so just many problems.

First off, there’s the tale of the tank. See, we all know hot water is made not born. Chances are good that a fat clunky water heater sits somewhere in the basement under piles of rust, cobwebs, and Christmas tree ornaments, and each morning you’re crunching numbers to figure out what she’s got left to give. Bubbling to the top, you’re fine, but if you’re the last to go, it’s time to crank it.

Secondly there’s The You Factor. Yes, you and your temperature fussiness. After all, if you live somewhere chilly winter mornings are marked by running from your sheet cave across ice-cold linoleum floors to the bathroom, then your perfect temperature could be hotter than normal. And on sweaty summer mornings, you might make do with a slightly cool rinse. And if you just finished a basketball game, just got out of the pool, or are aching with a sore neck, you could have all kinds of different shower plans.

Point is: there’s one or two dials max, without numbers or letters on them, that you’ve got to spin around in your groggy half-asleep state, to find the perfect shower temperature. Sometimes you stick your hand in to test, sometimes you jump in there in your birthday suit ready for anything.

When you step into the shower and it’s at the exact right temperature, you’re absolutely loving it. Bring on the shampoo afros, lathery bellies, and nose blowing as you get ready for ten hot minutes of

AWESOME!

(Wow, PC Mag just named us one of the Top 100 Websites of 2009. In July? Sure. Thanks, guys.)

Photos from: here and here

You played a risky game, friend.

But you made it.

AWESOME!

Photo from: here

My apartment looks over a busy downtown intersection.

Shredded bird feathers, swirling dust funnels, and car exhaust fumes cover my balcony in a thick layer of city grime.

If you come over and go out there, I’ll tell you to put shoes on or suffer shocking sockicide. Don’t believe me and your white socks will suffer a case of career-ending blackfoot. It’s a toxic and sad way to go and generally results in grabbing a new pair on the way home.

The worst part isn’t the balcony floor, though. It’s the table and chairs. They get slimed too, but are harder to cover up. I can’t just say “Oh, before you sit down, grab a plastic bag from under the sink and tuck it into your jeans. Thanks!”

No, I can’t do that, I won’t do that, I don’t do that. Instead, I grab a hunk of wet paper towels and slide them all over the chairs and tables while my guests watch with jaw-dropping disgust. The thick mat quickly turns the blackest black you’ve ever seen and I sort of smile and wave it in their face before going inside to throw it out.

And you know why I smile? You know why I wave it in their face? Besides the fact that I’m not a very nice person, I mean. Well, I’ll tell you why: because I’m proud of how much dirt came off. To me it’s a sense of accomplishment. It’s the same as showing your sister that Swiffer cloth with every square molecule covered in dust and cat hair. It’s the awe with which you stare at the McDonald’s napkin that just swabbed all that wet, yellowy grease off your forehead.

Looking at how much dirt came off something you just cleaned causes this big swelling inside you. It’s a few rich, satisfying feelings all swished together. It’s accomplishment, cleanliness, and most of all “I’m glad I’m not sitting in that.”

AWESOME!

Photo from: here

Illustration from: here

Feel the buzz and rub that fuzz.

AWESOME!

Photo from: here

Home temperature is important.

Head in the freezer, hands in the oven, whatever your move, just make it. Pick a temp, baby, then bake it. Pump up the thermostat, bang on the rad, or crank up the air. If you’re hot, ditch the sweats, if you’re cold, slip on slippers.

Home temperature is important.

If you’re not feeling comfortable you just won’t be happy. Roommates want it hotter, spouses want it cooler, and you may want it jussssssssst right, so you’ll need to tweak dials and add layers until you figure it out.

And you eventually will. And you’ll think everything is great. And everything will be great.

Until it comes.

Bedtime.

Yes, before you flick out the lights and slip into golden slumbers, you must first guess your Sleep Comfort Zone (SCZ or “See-Zee” for short). And See-Zee’s ain’t easy. If you’ve ever woken up with the shivers or the sweats, then you added too many blankets or slept too nude.

If you’re on your own, there are ceiling fans, heating vents, and your general sweatiness to consider. If you’re with a pet or a partner, you’ve got double the hot-breath factor and a lot more sweaty legs under the covers.

If you’re like me then your eyes might blink open in the middle of the night as you realize that you’re uncomfortable. And if this happens, then just hook yourself a solid and toss one leg out of the covers and one leg under them.

Also known as the Toe Vent.

AWESOME!

Photos from: here, here, and here

Illustration from: here