Whoa. That's a long way.
I made it. Details later.
Sunday, October 31, 2004
Saturday, October 30, 2004
Thursday, October 28, 2004
Hello Madness, let's hug
The itching, I can't stop it.
Is it the sheets? the towels?
I'll bathe, but not dry off. I'll sleep on the floor, the couch, the bed, only not in the sheets, in a sleeping bag.
I'm sick. The coughing, the sneezing, the dry scratchy throat. Scratchy? Scratching. My nose, my chest, my fingertips- the itching.
I'm fine. My knee hurts less than it did three weeks ago. I ice it. I heat it. I lather it with icy hot and rub it. I stretch it. I rest it. The itching. The scratching. I tear off the sheets. They are the poison. There must be little bugs everywhere, I just can't see them. The Internet. Bed Bugs search. No. Madness.
Drink orange juice with a chamiolle chaser. Gargle salt water. Bathe. Must bathe. Will the water stop the itching or will it intensify? The new soap. Why "icy blast" this week of all weeks? I'm allergic to the soap. Stop the soap. Stop the itching. It's not stopping. Laundry. I wash the sheets.
Cough. Cough. Cough. Scratch. knee pain. I'm fine.
It's funny. I try to laugh and no sound comes out. I smile. I scratch some more. The timing.
I run to the mirror. Only I don't run because I haven't run in a week. I look. Who is that guy with the tiny head and the maniacal smile?
Spies. Not bed bugs. It's drugs. I need more ointments. The smells. Icy Hot. Anti-itching cream. Vick's Vapor Rub. They mix. They mix with the tea and the o.j. I can't smell them. My nose is clogged. Overwhelmed. I'm undone. I'm itching. I'm scratching. I'm rubbing.
I'M FINE!
The itching, I can't stop it.
Is it the sheets? the towels?
I'll bathe, but not dry off. I'll sleep on the floor, the couch, the bed, only not in the sheets, in a sleeping bag.
I'm sick. The coughing, the sneezing, the dry scratchy throat. Scratchy? Scratching. My nose, my chest, my fingertips- the itching.
I'm fine. My knee hurts less than it did three weeks ago. I ice it. I heat it. I lather it with icy hot and rub it. I stretch it. I rest it. The itching. The scratching. I tear off the sheets. They are the poison. There must be little bugs everywhere, I just can't see them. The Internet. Bed Bugs search. No. Madness.
Drink orange juice with a chamiolle chaser. Gargle salt water. Bathe. Must bathe. Will the water stop the itching or will it intensify? The new soap. Why "icy blast" this week of all weeks? I'm allergic to the soap. Stop the soap. Stop the itching. It's not stopping. Laundry. I wash the sheets.
Cough. Cough. Cough. Scratch. knee pain. I'm fine.
It's funny. I try to laugh and no sound comes out. I smile. I scratch some more. The timing.
I run to the mirror. Only I don't run because I haven't run in a week. I look. Who is that guy with the tiny head and the maniacal smile?
Spies. Not bed bugs. It's drugs. I need more ointments. The smells. Icy Hot. Anti-itching cream. Vick's Vapor Rub. They mix. They mix with the tea and the o.j. I can't smell them. My nose is clogged. Overwhelmed. I'm undone. I'm itching. I'm scratching. I'm rubbing.
I'M FINE!
Wednesday, October 27, 2004
Tuesday, October 26, 2004
Relativity
Hearts are broken and rise from the ash again. Careers are undertaken, paths are lost, pacts are formed. New friends are made and postponed. Great hopes are dashed, and small hopes glimmer weakly through the fog. Pressure rains down from nowhere and sleep comes in spurts. What do you mean it's only Tuesday?
Hearts are broken and rise from the ash again. Careers are undertaken, paths are lost, pacts are formed. New friends are made and postponed. Great hopes are dashed, and small hopes glimmer weakly through the fog. Pressure rains down from nowhere and sleep comes in spurts. What do you mean it's only Tuesday?
Monday, October 25, 2004
Listen up, me
We're done with your negative thinking. We're done with your whining and your sliding down the slippery slope of depression. We've had it. We're not going to take it anymore. It's over. Life's not fair. Things don't always work out the way you want them to. Hang on Sloopy. Sloopy, hang on. For the rest of this week, we're going to nurse the knee, we're going to nurse the throat. We're going to eat well. We're going to rest well. We are going to be all that we can be. Come Sunday, we're going to toe that starting line (or that line 13,000 people back from the starting line), smile because it's been a great ride and give it a go. If we have to walk, we'll walk. If we have to quit, we'll quit. There are people who have much bigger problems than not fulfilling a goal the way they wanted to. Consider yourself lucky. Remember the 20-miler? Wasn't that worth it? Of course it was. And how lucky are you that you've shared so many runs with your good friend Matt? Very lucky, man. Very lucky. So children are starving in somewhere, and old people are desperate for fanny packs somewhere, but you've got food on the table and a fanny pack stylishly situated on your hip. You're set. So, let's see that big smile. Give it the old college try. And quit your whining. Que sera sera. And other Latin that means get over it, punk. Enjoy. Rock on.
We're done with your negative thinking. We're done with your whining and your sliding down the slippery slope of depression. We've had it. We're not going to take it anymore. It's over. Life's not fair. Things don't always work out the way you want them to. Hang on Sloopy. Sloopy, hang on. For the rest of this week, we're going to nurse the knee, we're going to nurse the throat. We're going to eat well. We're going to rest well. We are going to be all that we can be. Come Sunday, we're going to toe that starting line (or that line 13,000 people back from the starting line), smile because it's been a great ride and give it a go. If we have to walk, we'll walk. If we have to quit, we'll quit. There are people who have much bigger problems than not fulfilling a goal the way they wanted to. Consider yourself lucky. Remember the 20-miler? Wasn't that worth it? Of course it was. And how lucky are you that you've shared so many runs with your good friend Matt? Very lucky, man. Very lucky. So children are starving in somewhere, and old people are desperate for fanny packs somewhere, but you've got food on the table and a fanny pack stylishly situated on your hip. You're set. So, let's see that big smile. Give it the old college try. And quit your whining. Que sera sera. And other Latin that means get over it, punk. Enjoy. Rock on.
Sunday, October 24, 2004
What's wrong with this blog?
I realized that one of the unfortunate side effects of this little blog-thingy is that everything I write is pretty much spewed into this box and then forgotten. Nothing I do is a labor of many weeks or days; instead it's a reaction, it's a moment, and then it's gone. This little space does many things, but if I want more than a moment, I need to find another outlet.
I realized that one of the unfortunate side effects of this little blog-thingy is that everything I write is pretty much spewed into this box and then forgotten. Nothing I do is a labor of many weeks or days; instead it's a reaction, it's a moment, and then it's gone. This little space does many things, but if I want more than a moment, I need to find another outlet.
Spectators RULE
If all goes well, at this time next week I'll be past halfway in a marathon (adjusting for daylight savings time). There will be thousands of runners, but few of us would survive without the thousands of spectators who have supported us all along the way. This morning, I spent some time as a spectator for a 10-miler. I learned a thing or two. As a runner, I learned that the crowd will respond if I ask. Any time a runner hollered, "Let's hear the crowd" or threw up their arms, the crowd cheered. Race spectators are there because they love runners, usually a specific one or two, but they'll certainly take any excitement they can get. As a spectator, I learned that prolonged clapping can be difficult, even painful. If I had a cowbell, or a bugle, or some other noisemaker that wouldn't frighten people, I think I might pack that with me. I also recommend that spectators prepare a few choice phrases to cheer on runners as they wait for their runner. Personally, I turned to the high-pitched "WOOOOO" quite often. I also liked "Good job!" and "Keep it up!" Spectators should probably avoid, "Move your ass!" and "Dear God you're slow!" Runners like cheering, but most of them don't miss that style of motivation.
As a spectator, I couldn't help but notice how much I wanted to cheer for people, but I didn't know what to say. The runners with college names, cities, states, etc. received loud cheers of "Go New Jersey!" or "Come on Colgate!" Some runners took it a step further and provided a script. "Go Steve!" emblazoned across one man's chest, elicited numerous screams of-- "Go Steve!". My scream included. I'm not going to go that route, but my name does appear on my shirt. Unfortunately, it should be larger. I think I'll take what I can get though.
As a spectator, if you don't have somewhere to be, stick around one spot until the crowd thins, but the runners are still carrying on. I promise you, you'll see some big big smiles in between some gritted teeth and pained looks. It felt good to be a spectator cheering everyone fighting through it. I'm counting on a few next week to get me through.
If all goes well, at this time next week I'll be past halfway in a marathon (adjusting for daylight savings time). There will be thousands of runners, but few of us would survive without the thousands of spectators who have supported us all along the way. This morning, I spent some time as a spectator for a 10-miler. I learned a thing or two. As a runner, I learned that the crowd will respond if I ask. Any time a runner hollered, "Let's hear the crowd" or threw up their arms, the crowd cheered. Race spectators are there because they love runners, usually a specific one or two, but they'll certainly take any excitement they can get. As a spectator, I learned that prolonged clapping can be difficult, even painful. If I had a cowbell, or a bugle, or some other noisemaker that wouldn't frighten people, I think I might pack that with me. I also recommend that spectators prepare a few choice phrases to cheer on runners as they wait for their runner. Personally, I turned to the high-pitched "WOOOOO" quite often. I also liked "Good job!" and "Keep it up!" Spectators should probably avoid, "Move your ass!" and "Dear God you're slow!" Runners like cheering, but most of them don't miss that style of motivation.
As a spectator, I couldn't help but notice how much I wanted to cheer for people, but I didn't know what to say. The runners with college names, cities, states, etc. received loud cheers of "Go New Jersey!" or "Come on Colgate!" Some runners took it a step further and provided a script. "Go Steve!" emblazoned across one man's chest, elicited numerous screams of-- "Go Steve!". My scream included. I'm not going to go that route, but my name does appear on my shirt. Unfortunately, it should be larger. I think I'll take what I can get though.
As a spectator, if you don't have somewhere to be, stick around one spot until the crowd thins, but the runners are still carrying on. I promise you, you'll see some big big smiles in between some gritted teeth and pained looks. It felt good to be a spectator cheering everyone fighting through it. I'm counting on a few next week to get me through.
Saturday, October 23, 2004
Friday, October 22, 2004
Thursday, October 21, 2004
"O" MY GAWSH
Recklessly, I threw down my hard-earned cash on the "O" Cirque de Soleil show. I had heard good things from at least two people that I didn't trust. People I do trust also said they had heard good things. I was a little concerned that two people were responsible for the entire "good-things frenzy" and I was getting suckered. But O, how wrong I was.
Cirque de Soleil is a Canadian Circus. I, with my seven worthless years of French, want to translate it as "Circus from the Sun". Those wacky Canadians. There appeared to be a story of some sort. I have no idea what it was. I just know that there was a red curtain at the beginning and it appeared at the end. I was satisfied with that closure. In the middle, was the most amazing display of a cross-pollination of circus, synchronized swimming, diving, gymnastics, contortions, physical comedy and music. Every "scene" was my new favorite scene. Every time I got overwhelmed, they brought out the clowns. Even the set was phenomenal. It would probably be neat to just watch the set change. There were people walking on water. There were people on fire. There were people flying through the air, launched by giant swings, or carried off on large swaths of cloth. People dove, plopped on stage like dolphins and then promptly flipped back into the water. They danced, they balanced on trapezes, they balanced on flying ships, and they floated on houses. It was wild. It was beautiful. In that way it reminded me so much of myself. I digress.
I had my doubts, but they were blown out of the water. This circus had no lions, no tigers, no bears, but "O" MY!
Recklessly, I threw down my hard-earned cash on the "O" Cirque de Soleil show. I had heard good things from at least two people that I didn't trust. People I do trust also said they had heard good things. I was a little concerned that two people were responsible for the entire "good-things frenzy" and I was getting suckered. But O, how wrong I was.
Cirque de Soleil is a Canadian Circus. I, with my seven worthless years of French, want to translate it as "Circus from the Sun". Those wacky Canadians. There appeared to be a story of some sort. I have no idea what it was. I just know that there was a red curtain at the beginning and it appeared at the end. I was satisfied with that closure. In the middle, was the most amazing display of a cross-pollination of circus, synchronized swimming, diving, gymnastics, contortions, physical comedy and music. Every "scene" was my new favorite scene. Every time I got overwhelmed, they brought out the clowns. Even the set was phenomenal. It would probably be neat to just watch the set change. There were people walking on water. There were people on fire. There were people flying through the air, launched by giant swings, or carried off on large swaths of cloth. People dove, plopped on stage like dolphins and then promptly flipped back into the water. They danced, they balanced on trapezes, they balanced on flying ships, and they floated on houses. It was wild. It was beautiful. In that way it reminded me so much of myself. I digress.
I had my doubts, but they were blown out of the water. This circus had no lions, no tigers, no bears, but "O" MY!
Wednesday, October 20, 2004
I lost a filling and I feel empty
This is the first installment on the week I spent in Las Vegas. The Las Vegas Strip has to be one of the worst places in the world. It's zany and crazy at night. Excitement is trumpeted for as far as the ear can hear and lights blaze as far as the eye can see. If I had to hear Queen was ready to "rock me" one more time or if I had to see that giant g-string advertising some great nudie show, I think I was going to snap. It's sensory overload. It's beyond the ultimate tribute to materialism. Here's a place that peddles hope in the worst possible way. Winners are the people who turn their hard earned cash into more cash, I assume so they can buy more stuff. And this is entertainment? The worst part of it all, is that it is. I have been known to get excited about the sound of change falling into that metal pan. And now...
And now, half the time it's fake change! Slot machines now play the noise of change hitting the pan, because you get a ticket instead of change.
At least I had to spend a large portion of my time working. I work for an organization that is trying to help seniors age with dignity. It's a noble goal. Only, after working for 3 days in a booth giving away fanny packs stuffed with program literature, I question how much dignity these people really want. I may be narrow-minded, but dignity in my mind does not correlate with an overwhelming desire for a free fanny pack. Please, people, if you need a fanny pack so much that you're willing to stand in line for one, argue about one, I submit that you have absolutely no interest in dignity. You are as bad as the rest of Las Vegas in your relentless pursuit trying to turn what amounts to virtually nothing into something worthwhile. The phrase "Is this all there is?" haunts me and chases me through the maze of slot machines, tables and hotels. I hope for the sake of humanity that at least a small part of the free goodie grabbers were haunted by the same question. If not, we all need to forget aging with dignity and focus our energies on finding dignity in the first place.
In the morning, the Las Vegas Strip is a slightly different place. The cigar smoke has nearly all been washed away. The sun seems to bring a fresh hope to this sad architecturally-challenged little street. The lights pale compared to the morning sun. The fake Eiffel Tower, fake New York Skyline, fake everything seem small, insignificant, almost silly with a mountainous backdrop.
More to come...
This is the first installment on the week I spent in Las Vegas. The Las Vegas Strip has to be one of the worst places in the world. It's zany and crazy at night. Excitement is trumpeted for as far as the ear can hear and lights blaze as far as the eye can see. If I had to hear Queen was ready to "rock me" one more time or if I had to see that giant g-string advertising some great nudie show, I think I was going to snap. It's sensory overload. It's beyond the ultimate tribute to materialism. Here's a place that peddles hope in the worst possible way. Winners are the people who turn their hard earned cash into more cash, I assume so they can buy more stuff. And this is entertainment? The worst part of it all, is that it is. I have been known to get excited about the sound of change falling into that metal pan. And now...
And now, half the time it's fake change! Slot machines now play the noise of change hitting the pan, because you get a ticket instead of change.
At least I had to spend a large portion of my time working. I work for an organization that is trying to help seniors age with dignity. It's a noble goal. Only, after working for 3 days in a booth giving away fanny packs stuffed with program literature, I question how much dignity these people really want. I may be narrow-minded, but dignity in my mind does not correlate with an overwhelming desire for a free fanny pack. Please, people, if you need a fanny pack so much that you're willing to stand in line for one, argue about one, I submit that you have absolutely no interest in dignity. You are as bad as the rest of Las Vegas in your relentless pursuit trying to turn what amounts to virtually nothing into something worthwhile. The phrase "Is this all there is?" haunts me and chases me through the maze of slot machines, tables and hotels. I hope for the sake of humanity that at least a small part of the free goodie grabbers were haunted by the same question. If not, we all need to forget aging with dignity and focus our energies on finding dignity in the first place.
In the morning, the Las Vegas Strip is a slightly different place. The cigar smoke has nearly all been washed away. The sun seems to bring a fresh hope to this sad architecturally-challenged little street. The lights pale compared to the morning sun. The fake Eiffel Tower, fake New York Skyline, fake everything seem small, insignificant, almost silly with a mountainous backdrop.
More to come...
Sunday, October 17, 2004
"It's cheesy and sleazy no matter how you slice it."
Vegas Airport/Slotville USA- My coworker said this about Vegas and I think it should replace the wonderful "What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas" slogan. It might not attract the same crowd, but judging from the people I watched this week, it probably won't matter.
More details to come on Sin City, Seniors, wet pants, "O", and adventures in Boise, ID.
I miss my blog and yours.
Vegas Airport/Slotville USA- My coworker said this about Vegas and I think it should replace the wonderful "What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas" slogan. It might not attract the same crowd, but judging from the people I watched this week, it probably won't matter.
More details to come on Sin City, Seniors, wet pants, "O", and adventures in Boise, ID.
I miss my blog and yours.
Friday, October 15, 2004
Sunday, October 10, 2004
High Fructose Corn syrup is my favorite food
I just saw Supersize Me and it was ok. I'm not awed, but I am thinking. That's a good thing. It's making me think, and I'd like to keep thinking for a while. I think I need to look at my own diet. I think I need to start making some healthier decisions. I think maybe I should replace some of the Tuxedos with fresh vegetables. Then I'd like to think a little bigger. I'd like to start thinking about the kinds of companies I'm supporting with my dollars. Maybe it's time to grow up a little and start really looking at the decisions I make. I realize this is in a post-movie sort of glow, but maybe if I put it out there it might last a bit longer. We'll see.
I just saw Supersize Me and it was ok. I'm not awed, but I am thinking. That's a good thing. It's making me think, and I'd like to keep thinking for a while. I think I need to look at my own diet. I think I need to start making some healthier decisions. I think maybe I should replace some of the Tuxedos with fresh vegetables. Then I'd like to think a little bigger. I'd like to start thinking about the kinds of companies I'm supporting with my dollars. Maybe it's time to grow up a little and start really looking at the decisions I make. I realize this is in a post-movie sort of glow, but maybe if I put it out there it might last a bit longer. We'll see.
Put your pants on and cheer
One of my favorite things about Washington DC is public transportation. Yes, the fares are getting out of control and so are the MetroPolice. Yes, I've experienced overcrowding and long delays. But, Mass Transit is cool. So cool that people sing about it. Song #0107.
One of my favorite things about Washington DC is public transportation. Yes, the fares are getting out of control and so are the MetroPolice. Yes, I've experienced overcrowding and long delays. But, Mass Transit is cool. So cool that people sing about it. Song #0107.
Saturday, October 09, 2004
Pick me up and fly away
In airports I like to sit in that last row, the one that faces out into the space of the airport, the one where I can watch people hurrying to a gate, or munching on cinnamon rolls. I also like to sit at the end of a row, but I think that is more of a personal-bubble issue.
I was sitting at the end of a last row comfortably reading a book and waiting for a plane. I would be a negligent story-teller if I didn't admit that I had noticed her before. She was directly in my line of sight whenever I looked up. To say she was unattractive would be grossly unfair. To say she was distracting me from reading, probably inaccurate. Until he arrived. I watched out of the corner of my eye as this Irish-looking fellow put his bag down at her table and then took a couple of steps into my light. Perhaps he was looking at flight information above my head, but I'd realize later he was collecting himself before he returned to the table.
He sat down and began speaking to the woman. I stopped reading and watched as discreetly as I could. He was pale and his red hair was thinning. He looked to be in his late 30's. She was Asian and no older than 30. It was not impossible that these two knew one another, but I watched to find out. Snippets of conversation quickly told me that my instinct was right. It didn't take much to realize that our man here was on the prowl. I caught, "I was hoping to get a card." He was denied. She politely took his phone number and he mumbled something like "it was worth it," as he hurried off to his plane.
Wouldn't it be funny if she was on the same plane as me? I thought and forgot as I returned to reading. I was far more attentive to my book this time around. I perked up when my name was called over the PA system. All right already, I'll board the plane.
I made my way past all the full rows and spotted my empty window seat. Who was sitting in the aisle seat? She was. Funny indeed. My stomach rolled all around as I tried to decide what if anything I should say. Finally the pressure inside got to be too much and out popped, "I have to know, was that guy successful picking you up?"
She laughed and asked somewhat horrified, "You saw that?"
I did. And I was fascinated. We chatted for a while like single-serving friends will do. Then we arrived and said our goodbyes.
Did I get her card? Why, a gentleman never tells. Not to mention that this gentleman couldn't figure out how to go from poking fun at a guy who asked for a card to asking for a card himself. Starting a conversation with a not-unattractive stranger is a triumph for me.
In airports I like to sit in that last row, the one that faces out into the space of the airport, the one where I can watch people hurrying to a gate, or munching on cinnamon rolls. I also like to sit at the end of a row, but I think that is more of a personal-bubble issue.
I was sitting at the end of a last row comfortably reading a book and waiting for a plane. I would be a negligent story-teller if I didn't admit that I had noticed her before. She was directly in my line of sight whenever I looked up. To say she was unattractive would be grossly unfair. To say she was distracting me from reading, probably inaccurate. Until he arrived. I watched out of the corner of my eye as this Irish-looking fellow put his bag down at her table and then took a couple of steps into my light. Perhaps he was looking at flight information above my head, but I'd realize later he was collecting himself before he returned to the table.
He sat down and began speaking to the woman. I stopped reading and watched as discreetly as I could. He was pale and his red hair was thinning. He looked to be in his late 30's. She was Asian and no older than 30. It was not impossible that these two knew one another, but I watched to find out. Snippets of conversation quickly told me that my instinct was right. It didn't take much to realize that our man here was on the prowl. I caught, "I was hoping to get a card." He was denied. She politely took his phone number and he mumbled something like "it was worth it," as he hurried off to his plane.
Wouldn't it be funny if she was on the same plane as me? I thought and forgot as I returned to reading. I was far more attentive to my book this time around. I perked up when my name was called over the PA system. All right already, I'll board the plane.
I made my way past all the full rows and spotted my empty window seat. Who was sitting in the aisle seat? She was. Funny indeed. My stomach rolled all around as I tried to decide what if anything I should say. Finally the pressure inside got to be too much and out popped, "I have to know, was that guy successful picking you up?"
She laughed and asked somewhat horrified, "You saw that?"
I did. And I was fascinated. We chatted for a while like single-serving friends will do. Then we arrived and said our goodbyes.
Did I get her card? Why, a gentleman never tells. Not to mention that this gentleman couldn't figure out how to go from poking fun at a guy who asked for a card to asking for a card himself. Starting a conversation with a not-unattractive stranger is a triumph for me.
Friday, October 08, 2004
A-ooooo-ga. A-oooooooooo- ga
I'm in this fog. It's that pre-eight-am-not-quite-awake sort of fog. The world is a little fuzzy, possibly not all there, but I'm not worried about it. I'll be awake soon enough.
The whistle blows. (I don't have a whistle, but I'm thinking maybe that's what's missing from my existence.) It's time to go home. The fog still hasn't lifted. It's Friday and the fog persists. The cloudless sky, the blue, the upper 70's temperature, none of these things is lifting the fog.
The fog says "Go back to bed." Isn't that what got me to the fog in the first place?
Sound the alarms. Brave a headache. Drink a milkshake. (I am not clear on why this will help, but I have a hunch that I need a milkshake.)
The fog says, "Just a little nap."
Maybe, I think. Maybe just a little nap. That can't hurt, can it? No, surely not, I think. A little sleep never killed anyone.
(Cue the dopey statistician and the suspensful music.)
I'm in this fog. It's that pre-eight-am-not-quite-awake sort of fog. The world is a little fuzzy, possibly not all there, but I'm not worried about it. I'll be awake soon enough.
The whistle blows. (I don't have a whistle, but I'm thinking maybe that's what's missing from my existence.) It's time to go home. The fog still hasn't lifted. It's Friday and the fog persists. The cloudless sky, the blue, the upper 70's temperature, none of these things is lifting the fog.
The fog says "Go back to bed." Isn't that what got me to the fog in the first place?
Sound the alarms. Brave a headache. Drink a milkshake. (I am not clear on why this will help, but I have a hunch that I need a milkshake.)
The fog says, "Just a little nap."
Maybe, I think. Maybe just a little nap. That can't hurt, can it? No, surely not, I think. A little sleep never killed anyone.
(Cue the dopey statistician and the suspensful music.)
Wednesday, October 06, 2004
For God's sake man. Just cry.
-I'm listening to the latest Hem CD and this Sally Ellyson woman sings unbelievably. Unbelievably. Her voice is loves lost, promises to keep, and perfect.
-I just read The Time Traveler's Wife. It's fantastic. It's a timeless love story told in a charming time-traveling tale. What great love is not past, present, and future? I can't tell you how many times I got choked up, or how many times I had to just close the book and stare off into the distance. This book is artful, it's philosophic, did I mention fantastic? (good call, Kate)
-There are some things about travel that make me very lonely. Travel also makes me want more travel.
-Speaking of time, travel, and philosophy, I paid 25 dollars for this hour*. I haven't figured out if that was a bargain or if I got ripped off. For 25 dollars should I be trying to achieve more, or should I relax? Was it really this hour? Or was it an earlier hour? And finally should work reimburse me for an hour? Sometimes they seem to owe me so much more and sometimes it seems maybe I owe them.
*For 25 dollars, a certain airline will allow you to leave on another scheduled flight if they have seats available. Hence, I am home an hour earlier than anticipated.
-I'm listening to the latest Hem CD and this Sally Ellyson woman sings unbelievably. Unbelievably. Her voice is loves lost, promises to keep, and perfect.
-I just read The Time Traveler's Wife. It's fantastic. It's a timeless love story told in a charming time-traveling tale. What great love is not past, present, and future? I can't tell you how many times I got choked up, or how many times I had to just close the book and stare off into the distance. This book is artful, it's philosophic, did I mention fantastic? (good call, Kate)
-There are some things about travel that make me very lonely. Travel also makes me want more travel.
-Speaking of time, travel, and philosophy, I paid 25 dollars for this hour*. I haven't figured out if that was a bargain or if I got ripped off. For 25 dollars should I be trying to achieve more, or should I relax? Was it really this hour? Or was it an earlier hour? And finally should work reimburse me for an hour? Sometimes they seem to owe me so much more and sometimes it seems maybe I owe them.
*For 25 dollars, a certain airline will allow you to leave on another scheduled flight if they have seats available. Hence, I am home an hour earlier than anticipated.
Sunday, October 03, 2004
Oxford American Dictionary
date (dayt) n.
1. the day on which something happened...--no.
2. the period to which something belongs... --don't think so.
3. an appointment to meet socially.-- maybe, that sounds about right.
4. a person of the opposite sex with whom one has a social appointment. --its ok for me, but it seems a bit exclusive. Then again you can't be too hard on a book with a 1980 copyright.
That's it? That's all Oxford American has for me? It's the College Edition for crying out loud. That's not what date means. Where's the overthinking? Where's the elevated heart rate? Where's the potential for a roller coaster ride of emotions? I don't see any mention of the awkward pauses, of the should-I-or-shouldn't-I-goodnight kiss, the nerves, the thrill, the disappointment, the out and out rejection. Oh Oxford, you fail me here. You're usually so on top of things, right to the point, all over it, but here; here, you seem to agree with my mom.
Have you and my mom been conspiring? Are you actually trying to tell me that date doesn't have to be such an overdramatic experience? It's just an appointment. It's just social. Nothing more. My very life does not in fact hang in the balance? I should just be myself? Not get so worked up? Is that what you're saying?
Maybe next time, Oxford American Dictionary. Maybe next time.
Or maybe I should stick with the small, brown sweet edible fruit of the date palm, a palm tree of North Africa and Southwest Asia.
date (dayt) n.
1. the day on which something happened...--no.
2. the period to which something belongs... --don't think so.
3. an appointment to meet socially.-- maybe, that sounds about right.
4. a person of the opposite sex with whom one has a social appointment. --its ok for me, but it seems a bit exclusive. Then again you can't be too hard on a book with a 1980 copyright.
That's it? That's all Oxford American has for me? It's the College Edition for crying out loud. That's not what date means. Where's the overthinking? Where's the elevated heart rate? Where's the potential for a roller coaster ride of emotions? I don't see any mention of the awkward pauses, of the should-I-or-shouldn't-I-goodnight kiss, the nerves, the thrill, the disappointment, the out and out rejection. Oh Oxford, you fail me here. You're usually so on top of things, right to the point, all over it, but here; here, you seem to agree with my mom.
Have you and my mom been conspiring? Are you actually trying to tell me that date doesn't have to be such an overdramatic experience? It's just an appointment. It's just social. Nothing more. My very life does not in fact hang in the balance? I should just be myself? Not get so worked up? Is that what you're saying?
Maybe next time, Oxford American Dictionary. Maybe next time.
Or maybe I should stick with the small, brown sweet edible fruit of the date palm, a palm tree of North Africa and Southwest Asia.
Saturday, October 02, 2004
Dear Great-Highlight-filmmaker in the sky,
When you are making my highlight film after I've danced my last dance or whatever we're calling it, can you please include today's highlight. I only point it out because I am fearful that it might otherwise be overlooked. It is not as obvious as say, the fake-ballet dive I did into a fellow groomsman's arms last year at the Smith wedding. The ballet was fake, but the dive oh so real. Or apparently the time I wore all of the clothes in the lost and found at FARC. It certainly isn't as obvious as the time I outkicked "Nacho" in a two-mile, or the time I caught a Callahan for the winning score in a Sectionals game. I know I'm only 26 and the highlight reel might seem a little long, but how can you resist a highlight that involves 4 dashing young men, a wee bit of the street smarts, and queen-sized box springs? I'll fail to do it justice in the description, which is why I hope you got it on tape, or whatever they use for recording up there. For those people who don't get to view the tape, I'll try to explain how this highlight unfolded.
We were in the process of moving some friends.
The main players in this portion of the drama were Matt, Rob, Reuben and me (we're the 4 dashing young men, see). We had just finished struggling up three flights of stairs with a mattress. We hit wall at nearly every turn, and if not for the bendy nature of a mattress we may have struggled for quite a bit longer. When we returned with the box spring, the proverbial light bulb went off in someone's head. If we turned the box spring, we might be able to hand it up through the hole at the center of the staricase. Like a SWAT team in a highly-skilled manuever we rotated expertly as we pushed and pulled the box spring to its final destination. We were a well-oiled machine- a team of high powered box spring movers. For a moment we four were the grand champions of the moving universe. All those who saw bowed before us. Which is why it's so unfortunate that no one saw this triumph in moving.
Respectfully yours,
When you are making my highlight film after I've danced my last dance or whatever we're calling it, can you please include today's highlight. I only point it out because I am fearful that it might otherwise be overlooked. It is not as obvious as say, the fake-ballet dive I did into a fellow groomsman's arms last year at the Smith wedding. The ballet was fake, but the dive oh so real. Or apparently the time I wore all of the clothes in the lost and found at FARC. It certainly isn't as obvious as the time I outkicked "Nacho" in a two-mile, or the time I caught a Callahan for the winning score in a Sectionals game. I know I'm only 26 and the highlight reel might seem a little long, but how can you resist a highlight that involves 4 dashing young men, a wee bit of the street smarts, and queen-sized box springs? I'll fail to do it justice in the description, which is why I hope you got it on tape, or whatever they use for recording up there. For those people who don't get to view the tape, I'll try to explain how this highlight unfolded.
We were in the process of moving some friends.
The main players in this portion of the drama were Matt, Rob, Reuben and me (we're the 4 dashing young men, see). We had just finished struggling up three flights of stairs with a mattress. We hit wall at nearly every turn, and if not for the bendy nature of a mattress we may have struggled for quite a bit longer. When we returned with the box spring, the proverbial light bulb went off in someone's head. If we turned the box spring, we might be able to hand it up through the hole at the center of the staricase. Like a SWAT team in a highly-skilled manuever we rotated expertly as we pushed and pulled the box spring to its final destination. We were a well-oiled machine- a team of high powered box spring movers. For a moment we four were the grand champions of the moving universe. All those who saw bowed before us. Which is why it's so unfortunate that no one saw this triumph in moving.
Respectfully yours,
Friday, October 01, 2004
Fine. I admit it.
There are times I like cell phones. It sure is convenient when I'm lost; that's lost on my way to a party or lost in the more cerebral sense. I like that you'll be there on the other end when I need you. I realize that you might be busy and I certainly hope that in those cases you'll ignore me, but if you're not busy then you're there to listen. And sometimes I need someone there to listen. Because I do get lost. I get lost more than I want to. Most of the time I find my own way out, but every so often it's nice to know that I can call you and you can help me out. Thanks. And thanks for having a cell phone.
Even if they are a direct connection to the devil.
There are times I like cell phones. It sure is convenient when I'm lost; that's lost on my way to a party or lost in the more cerebral sense. I like that you'll be there on the other end when I need you. I realize that you might be busy and I certainly hope that in those cases you'll ignore me, but if you're not busy then you're there to listen. And sometimes I need someone there to listen. Because I do get lost. I get lost more than I want to. Most of the time I find my own way out, but every so often it's nice to know that I can call you and you can help me out. Thanks. And thanks for having a cell phone.
Even if they are a direct connection to the devil.
Who let Bartlett loose?
A quote from the roommate
"I feel like I want to shower again but I'm not sure if that's necessary or a good idea. I'm not sure I smell bad. But walking to and from here and Foggy bottom..."
The ellipse occurs at the precise moment when my ability to hold a conversation (cough. cough.) and my ability to type (giggles.) were at odds with one another.
A quote from me
"I feel like I want to unbutton my shirt and dance on my chair. I also want to do lots of whooping and hollering 'cause it's the weekend and I'm kind of pleased with that."
A quote from Amber
"A Belgian Waffle has no offensive tactical strength."
A quote from my green naughyde couch a.k.a. "The UltraLounge"
"pfftttf"
One more quote that won't make my mother proud
The setting of this quote is pertinent. I was at a Catholic University playing Ultimate. When my team made a mental error, I started screaming, "When you switch the mark in the middle of a play, you are SCREWING! your teammates." Repeat at full volume at least 3 times.
A quote from the roommate
"I feel like I want to shower again but I'm not sure if that's necessary or a good idea. I'm not sure I smell bad. But walking to and from here and Foggy bottom..."
The ellipse occurs at the precise moment when my ability to hold a conversation (cough. cough.) and my ability to type (giggles.) were at odds with one another.
A quote from me
"I feel like I want to unbutton my shirt and dance on my chair. I also want to do lots of whooping and hollering 'cause it's the weekend and I'm kind of pleased with that."
A quote from Amber
"A Belgian Waffle has no offensive tactical strength."
A quote from my green naughyde couch a.k.a. "The UltraLounge"
"pfftttf"
One more quote that won't make my mother proud
The setting of this quote is pertinent. I was at a Catholic University playing Ultimate. When my team made a mental error, I started screaming, "When you switch the mark in the middle of a play, you are SCREWING! your teammates." Repeat at full volume at least 3 times.
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