Top 10 top 10 lists from the last 10 years as we head into 2010

I'm working on 10 lists to highlight some of my experiences over the last decade. I'm afraid that some of my lists are going to be more heavily weighted to the last few years because I don't remember stuff that well. I don't have all 10 lists yet, but I'll keep at it. Some of this may spill into next year.

Top 10 books I read in the last 10 years
10. Pistol: The Story of Pete Maravich
9. Count of Monte Cristo
8. Jitterbug Perfume
7. Harry Potter (I'm just lumping them all together, but I preferred the ones with Quidditch)
6. Ender's Game
5. Interpreter of Maladies
4. Prodigal Summer
3. The Perfect Mile
2. Bel Canto
1. Time Traveler's Wife

Top 10 years of the last 10
1. 2004
2. 2009
3. 2001
4. 2005
5. 2006
6. 2008
7. 2000
8. 2003
9. 2002
10. 2007

Top 10 songs played on iTunes (This is obviously skewed to the mid to late aughts)
10. Drunken Lullabies by Flogging Molly
9. Feel Good Inc. by Gorillaz
8. Pale Moon by Shannon McNally
7. Screaming Infidelities by Dashboard Confessional
6. These Boots Are Made for Walkin' by Jessica Simpson
5. Gracie by Ben Folds
4. Age Six Racer by Dashboard Confessional
3. Half Acre by Hem
2. The Comeback by Shout Out Louds
1. 1B by Yo-yo Ma, Mark O'Connor and Edgar Meyer

Top 10 Athletic Achievements (I really feel like I'm forgetting something)
10. 6k victory
9. making HOV and contributing in the early season
8. consistent weight training (165 front squat!)
7. Return to Ultimate after the year (?) of the psoas
6. The Golden Cup from Wildwood
5. Sectionals '02 game-winning Callahan
4. Pacing MB to a 5-minute mile on the first try
3. breaking 30 minutes in a 5-miler PRs including 15:46 5k, 29:36 5-miler...
2. 4:41 mile, the fastest in quite some time by bunches
1. The training and completion of the Marine Corps Marathon in '04
1a. MUtants and the Peter L. Offense Sectionals '01

Top 10 TV shows (some on DVD)
1. Gilmore Girls
2. Buffy The Vampire Slayer
3. The Office
4. Friends
5. Project Runway
6. Coupling
7. Flight of the Conchords
8. Sports Night
9. Ed
10. Alias

The Christmas letter you didn't get from me

Dear Friends and Family,

I am going to share with you my year in Facebook status updates. I thought it might accomplish the same thing as a good letter, but I'm really quite vague.

Love,
Dave

Oh, yeah, the updates:

January:
David is looking for the team to come together after this.
David feels his philosophy shifting.
David is going to make popsicles… on the track.
David is kind of pretty sure we can. Maybe.
David is trying to fathom 1.8 million people.
David was on the wrong side of 15-14.


February:
David cannot think of a fitting superlative for Evie’s cookies.
David feels the sting of beard-ism.
David sends bearded kisses in your general direction.
David is wondering if anybody wants to go with him to support Kyle in the 24 hour musicals?
David's favorite moment of the day was entering the darkness on the first turn of the first 400 meters.

March:
David is frisbee crush on Sam, dance crush on Anne, general crush on February 28.
David is no longer amused by the Not-so-great Depression.
David is aw yeah.
David thinks marriages shouldn't last forever just so there can be more weddings.
David really just wants more parties with families, dancing, and love, not divorce as the genie named Aaron has pointed out.
David has a theory, will never tell, and walks through the fire.
David has a lot to learn.
Whatever it is, it isn’t here.
David just asked a squirrel, "Are you ok?" after it fell out of a 25-foot tree. The squirrel didn't answer, but scurried away.

April:
David has already been fooled.
Sometimes you get what you deserve and even though you want more, you can't be too sad about that.
David is on the verge of creating a series of surveys about himself to send to his friends.
David thinks a run is in order. Wishes Borman lived up the street.
David was in second place for about three steps, fortunately they were the last three. Yeah.
David is 2nd again.
David’s legs didn’t quit, but everything else is striking on their behalf.
David has auto-tuning on his mind.
“He lives vicariously through himself”

May:
David saw two pirates making out and couldn’t resist shouting, “Pirate love!”
The rain will not deter us. It will only moisten our spirits.
If I achieve nothing else, at least I taught Tedward to dance.
The intensity got fixed but the mark got broken.
David wants to make out with this weather.
David suspended “your mom” jokes for the day. No need to thank me.
David is quietly rocking the red.
David is quietly watching the red get rocked. Ouch.
David needs Parks and Rec to go away or needs some self control. Both seem unlikely.
David is all about the slow start this weekend.
David had a dream about cleaning and is now making that a reality. Hopefully, that’s the start of a trend.
David might become a loyal customer of Southwest after all.
David wonders if overreaction might be the right reaction.

June:
David is pretty sure his hamstrings are tuned an octave too high.
David is no match for an armored King Hippo.
David blames it on the al-al-al- weather.
David hopes Betty bounced back and was glad to spend time with familiar faces.
David is warming up his weirdness. The leftovers will be slathered in BBQ sauce.
everything but the canoe
David is going for an unofficial tubing record today. The late start won't do us any favors.
dodging rain drops and responsibility.
David would rather be night-tubing.
David experienced a glitch in the Matrix.
David would like to auto-tune father's day. I'm not sure it would do anything, but it makes T-Pain and the news better, so maybe it would work for Dads.
David is alive. Thanks for asking.
David laughed and cried at "The Proposal". That's one perfectly predictable romantic comedy.
Wait? What? Michael Jackson is dead? Inconceivable. (Also, Billie Jean. Not my girl.)
David wants to shed material possessions in theory, but not in practice.
David is whaddaya know? 2nd place again (This time in my age group).

July:
David is trying to hold off a thunderstorm with just an outstretched hand.
David is in the promised land of leftovers.
David was not second, but is feeling a little fast.
David has got the beach vision, but still needs the beach attire (half of it anyway.)
David can't believe it. Turns out I was second in my age group on Friday.
David is in the peloton, but always considering a breakaway.
David wrestles with the age-old Sunday night question: watch low quality Lohan movie or do something productive?
David enjoyed downtown Fort Worth and is now headed to the land of diving in the sand!
The faux-Brits DO drink from a faux-golden cup!
David has finished his championship laundry and grocery shopping. Next up: Championship bathroom cleaning. There's nothing like glory.
David is not happy with non-confrontational double-speak. Make a decision and mean it, punks.

August:
David is watching his own every move on the Internet in a mirror. Don't raise your eyebrow at me, mirrorDave.
David is unable to handle his rock and roll lifestyle; considering something more bluegrass-y.
It takes very little to create the illusion of security: just a few pieces of wood can do it.
David has the best non-roommate ever and I'm not talking about the giant dead beetle.
the modern amateur philosopher inside of me asks, "If I cannot tweet or share my status update, do I really exist?"
David finds an increasing number of things irrelevant. Why not this thing?
As I pack the artifacts from my life into boxes I realize that the people in it have helped make it pretty awesome.
Newsflash: Usain Bolt= Fast. Wow.
David curses stuff.
“don’t stop ‘til you get enough!”
“Goodnight, Moon”
David is tempted by the prospect of a landline. Really, really tempted.
David met his adorable second cousin, ran up the side of a little mountain, watched the bright orange sunrise and is using up his adjectives in hot Arizona.

September:
David was only over Facebook when he couldn't get to it.
David ran a practice on the turf in the rain with 25 people. Did I slip into an alternate universe?
Field space is on my mind.
David is after fjords and bjork.
David wonders if he can be a fan of Finse.
The ants are throwing a welcome back party and lots of them are invited.
David feels a low constant hum of the question, "is this important?"

October:
David is going to plop his priorities in a coliseum, have them battle gladiators, and if they live then he'll know what to do.
David played crab soccer in the park this morning. It was a crabtacular day to abuse my arms and hands.
David is quite pleased to know you.
David is ham and cheese, ham and biscuits, hamhocks, ham and pineapple, honey-baked ham, MC Hammer, green eggs and ham...
David screamed like mad for a tie and walked home with chants of U-S-A ringing in his ears.
David quietly wrestles some big questions. The questions appear to have both a size and tactical advantage.
David just found out that deep down inside, he's still a Chiefs fan.
As the Kool-Aid man once said as he broke through the wall, "Oh yeah!"
Wayne's World?
Adversity is the test. Defeat is the education. Pay attention and pack some extra socks next time.
David thinks the Internet should know that Roller Derby is awesome. See, look, I even said it on the Internet.

November:
David is turning left.
David thinks daylight savings time should be an individual choice. This could be problematic when meeting someone at 10 PM give or take 1 hour.
The rain is complicating an already complicated weekend. Biting off more Ultimate than I can chew is catching up with me NOW.
My marathon PR is about 50 seconds slower than Sarah Palin's. Who do I get to blame?
A very late layout on some bad force side defense led to full on cramping in BOTH calves simultaneously. Not the highlight of my day.
David is wondering when he became a planner.
I'm an Uncle x 2. Welcome Parker!

December:
The Internet is good for lots of things, but hugging isn't one of them.
David is brought to you by the number 5.
David is concerned that babies are taking over Facebook. First Facebook, next...
If I get sick, I'm going down fighting. I am not afraid to pull hair.
early to bed and early to rise, hopefully makes this man f-a-s-t.
37:07 in the morning, not shot by John Wilkes Booth at night. Nice day, indeed.
I need some hair to pull. I'm going down...
oh instant karma, why do you take so long to get at me?
David has decided to mentally add "in bed" to all Facebook updates. It's like eating fortune cookies for days.
You can cancel my flight, but you can't cancel my fun. Yeah, snow!
David is excited and nervous to tele-ski today.
David hopes status updates and snow blanket you and yours with all the holiday cheer you can handle, and maybe a cup more.

Back to basics

It's been about 10 years since I went from downhill skis to the snowboard. I can't remember the exact moment when I looked over jealously at all of those "cool" boarders shredding the mountain and thought, "I want to try that." I wasn't the greatest skier, but I could go pretty much anywhere on the mountain from in the trees to the black diamonds. I couldn't keep my skis perfectly parallel, but I sensed that it would take many expensive lessons to get me from "good" to "great". Instead, I decided to try a new way down the hill. I've read that skiing is easy to learn and hard to master and snowboarding is hard to learn and easy to master. I think that's accurate. The first few days of snowboarding were brutal. I slammed into the ground repeatedly as I caught edges or couldn't find a way to stop. Snowboards don't pop off in a violent crash, that plank stays attached to your feet which meant hopping up to try again was a cinch. Slam down, hop up, slam down, repeat. I took lessons, I had body aches, and then... it all came together. Turning in those sweeping parallel turns that look so cool and take years to get good at on skis, suddenly clicked on the snowboard. From then on, I was mostly a snowboarder. If pressed at the top of a precipice or a field of moguls, I would probably still choose skis, but on an open run a snowboard is still really cool.

Yesterday, I had the opportunity to try a new way down the hill- telemark skiing. It's downhill with a free-heel. It involves lunging turns and probably works best for use in the back country. I wasn't in the back country, instead returning to A-basin after 15 years or so away. A-basin has a lot of acreage above the tree line, which can be disorienting. Yesterday, I was disoriented for other reasons as I tried to learn this new way down. The lunges were as tiring as I expected and my struggle was mostly frustrating. I was surprised to find that in a pinch I could fall back on alpine turns, but since I'd come for the challenge of learning tele (short for telemark) turns, that's what I tried to do. I'd read a book of tips and A tried to give me hints as we went, but mostly I battled. I could see the similarities between snowboarding and tele-skiing, but translating the body motions was exhausting work. I was able to turn right with some success, but turning left was just not happening. A claimed I needed more speed, but I know that I needed more body control and a renewal of trust that when I moved from one edge of the ski, to the flat, to the other edge I would be able to recover. At times, I had enough success to make me proud and at other times I threw up my hands in exasperation. Tele-skiing and the altitude wore me out quickly, but I enjoyed the challenge enough that I might try again. In ways that I can't quite explain, I think getting out of my comfort zone was a very good thing.

DC has it

I got to place a small check mark next to a few big items on the DC list. Thanks to the deputy roomie, we woke up early in the morning and went to see decorations at 1600 Penn. We saw the more public spaces, the colored rooms, and such. It was a thrill and something on my list, but not quite as exciting as I'd hoped. I couldn't really detect the O' touch with any of the decor.

Later in the weekend, C took me to Ford's theater for "A Christmas Carol". It was good for getting in the spirit. I've never seen the play with actual Christmas carols, so I thought that was a nice touch. I'm told Ford's theater has recently been redone, but I don't have much theater experience, so I'm not sure what we saw. I did enjoy the set design of the play, but I'm pretty sure that wasn't part of the renovation. Lincoln's infamous balcony was still intact. I was proud that the bus got us part way too and from the play. So urban.

Last weekend, we got the snow I've been waiting since that first year when it snowed about 15 inches. I'd say it was about 20 inches where I was. It canceled my flight out of town, but was otherwise great. It was pretty, white, and I could dive in it. A lot. So, I did. I found I was only diving off my right foot. Next time we get 20 inches I might need to work on that. I left town before it got too messy. Probably not a bad way to go, well except for the 11-hour travel day...

Triumph in the land of doubt

I spent much of the week explaining to myself why my 10k race would not be a success. My body felt tired. My running felt out of sync. I hadn't run enough. I hadn't run fast in quite some time. I don't run 10k races. It would be cold or wet or I don't run 10k races. I've run enough races to know that my brain lies and I said something about it to AJ, "My brain is in negativity mode." He said something like, "You know how to push your limits from running and from lifting. You'll be fine."

MB and I formulated a conservative plan. We would run 6:15 miles for a while and see how we felt. We were running as Team Shiver, a collection of Ultimate players brave enough to run a race in the mild Mid-Atlantic winter. There was a chance of rain, but I was secretly hoping for snow. The rain let up and turned to a mist. We crawled over a barrier and into the front quarter of the starting group. There were thousands of runners. "Go" was uttered and we shuffled to the start. Moments later, the race plan was out the window as competitive urges took over. We dodged and weaved our way through the crowd. Sometimes I was on MB's heels and sometimes he was on mine. The mile came quickly at about 5:55. So much for strategy.

From there, MB and I settled in and passed people. He led me. I led him. We each took a side and cruised on. We passed the mayor. I took a look at Reagan National Airport in the morning fog. We cruised through two miles at about 12:08. We hit the 5k mark at 18:43. Things were going well. We wrapped around the point and doubled part way back. I felt my first twinge of tiredness at that point, but fought on. Our passing had slowed and teammate SM informed us we were in something like 55th place as those coming met those going. I wasn't sure what to do with that information, but my inclination was to find more people to pass. We crossed 4 miles at something like 23:58. I don't remember how it happened, but suddenly MB was way out in front of me. I could still chase the black and gold of his stocking cap, but we were out of touch. I struggled on. I watched him battle a green and gold singlet and move on. A little later I went past too. I kept my eyes up and on his hat. I passed the 5 mile mark at 30:03. My body felt strong, although at times my arms felt a little heavy. As I pushed on, with the bobbing black and gold as my goal, I figured if I could hold on for 6 minutes and 43 seconds, I would be done. I don't know exactly why I thought that was the amount left, but I was pretty convinced. I crested a small hill on the mostly flat course and found a small group to battle as we made our way to the straight-away finish. I checked my watch and I still had 3 minutes to power through. I chased a woman who was moving, then I passed a guy as well. For the first time all day, someone came up on my shoulder. I held him off as we picked up the pace more and more. Then I break him. The long straight to the finish was still a pretty long straight to the finish and I soon broke too. He came back and passed me and kindly encouraged me. I struggled in, frustrated that I'd made my move too early. I had to fight a bit and I used the team as inspiration. I made my way in at 37:07, with a final place of 31st. Not a bad little 10k.

Since there were very few uniforms, there was no way to get a sense of how the team was doing. We could only support one another and hope. I think each of us had a moment where the team inspired us to fight off a few extra seconds. Later we would find out that we were 4th out of 49 teams. We'd done well as our 7 or 8 member team had become 6 and one of those didn't get a working chip. Four times (at least one of each gender) counted toward our final time. We were about 7 minutes out of third place, but had lots to celebrate over breakfast. I'm hoping for more some other day.

The posts that got away
I didn't quite get through the blogging month, but I'm pleased with what I did get through. I found a few things out. When I work at it my interests do still extend slightly beyond running, Ultimate, and working out. I also found that writing every day made me more observant. In the last few weeks as I've fallen out of the habit of posting, days sometimes go by both instantly and terribly slowly. All of this can't be attributed to blogging, but I think blogging takes my awareness of interaction and purpose up a notch.

I can't decide if the daily writing also loosened up some other creativity inside of me. I had a quick spell where I was feeling all kinds of creative. I came up with projects for myself. I hardly ever do that.

I haven't meant to stop blogging completely, although the thought did cross my mind, but somehow each day has managed to get away. I'd like to tackle a few of the items in brief for my memoirs before moving into this weekend and adding a few more.


Hiking on Thanksgiving
For the second year in a row I was in the Smokey Mountains with C's family and we did a little hiking on Thanksgiving. The fresh air and the sense of completing a hike pre-turkey is extremely satisfying for me. It's all made possible by the fine cooks who stay behind, but it certainly gives me something to be thankful for. I don't know if two years are enough to make a tradition, but tradition or not, it's a great way to enjoy Thanksgiving.

Roller Derby Fan Club
Friends gathered together to cheer on LBJ in her first full bout. We brought signs. I had my face painted. When I sat down, I forgot that most of my face is covered in beard, but the artist did well to work around it. As a fan, I had a terrible time sitting still. I paced. I worried that LBJ wouldn't get playing time. I worried about how she'd do. I worried about her getting hurt because she seems to think that injury is a foregone conclusion. She played. Her team had a stirring come from behind victory. She had some nice hits and either hunger or nerves left a curious feeling in my tummy.

Girls on the Run
I don't even remember how I got roped into this one, but somewhere along the line I signed up to be a "buddy" for a fifth grade girl. I didn't know what to expect, but I was told that I'd been placed with the fast girl. Running a 5k at that age is impressive, but what's fast? I didn't have a clue. Up at 5:30 AM and riding with a stranger, I soon was on a bus full of young girls and their buddies (mostly moms and teachers). The girls seemed excited. They'd been working for several months building up to this distance. The chaos had only just begun. About 6,000 girls and their buddies later, we were crossing the starting line in waves and my buddy was rearing to go. The road was packed and my buddy tripped and fell. It was snowing. Buddy picked herself up and wiped away the pain and made her way on. There was lots to complain about- snow, cold, puddles, crowds, falling, but I tried to keep it positive. I offered to sing songs, but for some reason buddy wasn't buying it. She struggled a bit, but kept after it and finished in about 40 minutes. I think she was a little disappointed, but mostly proud as were her classmates. They had a lot to be proud of. It's a big deal to run that long at that age. I might consider returning in the spring, but probably only for the same buddy. I think it's a great program, but the race and be done involvement is likely not as rewarding as seeing the girls become runners. On the flip side, I feel great about my 5 hours of community service.

Symphony
I probably should have napped after the run, but instead I went to the Symphony to support a friend and her viola. The snow continued. I felt so cultured, warm, and sleepy.

Dance party
I've lost track of the days, but I'm pretty sure that some time after the Symphony I ended up at a dance party. It's well told that I enjoy dancing, but I'm primarily a wedding dancer. Club dancing to me is a bit like ice dancing to a figure skater. Maybe it was the size of the group I was in or the thump-thump-thump of the music hit me just right, but I awoke from my club dancing stupor and got into it. I wasn't as into it as the chubby guys GETTING DOWN to "All the single ladies," but I was into it. I've got moves. I'm pretty sure my moves are all about enthusiasm, but it seems to fool most people. I wonder where else that would work.

Check-in/check-out

I find the hotel check-in experience to be a little awkward, particularly later at night. It could be that I'm prim and proper and think that a gentleman should know his sleeping arrangements prior to the eight o'clock hour. It could also be that night desk clerks are not chosen for their customer service potential. Recently, I think it was the latter. Yes, I may have received a suspicious eye when I flashed a certain discount card that most strangers don't expect me to have, but the real awkwardness came a moment later when I gave him my address.

"DC? That's not far from here."

We were three or more hours away from home.

"I can't really get there to sleep tonight," I responded since I had just traveled three or more hours from there on my way to my final destination.

"Still. It's not far. I get up there two or three times a year to visit friends."

Did every guest who slept at the Days Inn have to travel a certain distance? Had I failed to meet that quota?

"Every trip can't be glamorous," I told him matter-of-factly.

Notes on Facebook from a desperate blogger

If memory serves (and it often doesn't) I "liked it" for the first time in my personal Facebook history. I never really understood why someone would click the "like it" button instead of just commenting or letting the whole thing go. I had no trouble doing either for quite some time. There's so much going on that it's pretty easy to let items just slide right off the feed without comment. There are a few things that resonate, certain updates from certain people do seem to prompt comment, but they usually stir something inside of me like a memory or compel a direct response. This was a fine way to live my life. Then along came Bob Dylan's Must be Santa and although I think it's a bit early for Christmas songs and I very easily could burn out on this one, I liked it. I don't know that I ever would have found this ditty on my own. It doesn't really stir anything inside me except for a smile and maybe the desire to dance around the room. I suppose I could have said all that, but "like it" and that little thumb up seemed so much more efficient.

This song and my reaction to it reinforces some value in Facebook for me. I've been losing interest a bit of late. Even with the recent surge brought on by my sister's sudden entrance, I recognize that I'm approaching friend capacity. It seems like I only know about six more people that I'm not connected to on Facebook. Does most of the thrill come from finding past lives or can the constant intersection of the now with the then keep Facebook's heart beating? I also wonder how much Twitter detracts from Facebook. It seems like the stuff I read has quieted on both topics a bit of late, well except for the word of the year being "unfriend" instead of "defriend". That must be regional. Yet, if my friends and acquaintances, at least those I've kept, can show me a great new Christmas song, then maybe I don't need the thrill of finding old friends or the media to keep the fire going. Maybe the exchange and the faux-community are compelling enough.

Oh, Facebook. Where do you see yourself in five years? Will you be a shadow of your former self like blogs or myspace or Orkut? Or will you manage to stay relevant? I'll give you two more years and then I'm afraid something new and shiny is going to replace you. That something new? It's going to be like those brainstorming clusters only all the input is going to come from iPhone/blackberry style devices and somehow navigation between clusters is going to be possible. I don't have it all worked out yet, but if I work it out, I'm sure it will be worth about 1.52 million dollars. Give or take .52. Or more.

Sunday

I'm trying to keep up with my NaNoBloPo quota. I fell behind this weekend, but I think since I'm making up the rules and I'm a day behind anyway, I can play a little catch-up. After pounding out two posts in one sitting I'm struggling a bit with inspiration. I think I'm going to take a short break and be more inspired when I return.

We'll try dinner for inspiration. I don't have a lot of goals, but one goal I do have is to go to Gladys Knight Chicken & Waffles in Atlanta, Georgia. I've been to Atlanta on a few occasions, but thus far have failed to combine the simple pleasure of a well-cooked chicken with the breaded breakfast goodness of a waffle. Tonight at dinner, I did not travel many hours to Atlanta, nor did I cook a chicken, but Gladys was my inspiration. I popped an Eggo in the toaster and reheated my whole-wheat pasta and sauce. When the toaster popped and the Microwave dinged, I had pasta & waffles. It was actually quite good and added a whole new texture to my pasta dish. The unfortunate side effect was that I had a leftover waffle because the pasta & waffle dish turned out to be singular, but I had toasted my waffles in plural. My roommate suggested that for dessert I try ice cream & waffle. This was a brilliant idea and his suggestion of using some maple syrup was even better. The waffle and ice cream were exquisite together as those who enjoy a cone probably realize, but the maple syrup didn't provide the proper punch for my taste. The best maple syrup moment was actually when I was scooping up the liquid syrup and melted ice cream combination, otherwise the syrup was just too subtle. I have about six more Eggos so I figure there are a lot of other blank & waffle meals still to come.

Old friends

Three times this week I got to spend some quality time with friends that I don't see as often as I'd like. All three times, I left thinking about specific points in my life where I was seeing those friends more regularly. Every conversation brought back pleasant memories, from road trips to Cleveland, to ice-covered pond Ultimate, to Thursday nights watching TV. It also made me think about the curious way that time seems to compress and expand in my mind. In my mind, change is the distinct divider. So, even though I went to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in September (or August?) of 2002 with one friend and was hanging out watching Friendswith another by December 2002, those three months seem impossibly far apart, while December 2002 and December 2004 where Friends was a common occurrence seem to be wrapped up in a bundle with several more years since. The difference is that in September of 2002 I was in Ohio, but by December I was in Maryland. Where the timing failed, geography stood strong.

I need markers to keep my memory going and my timelines even slightly intact. The move to this area was a major marker. I would think the move to my new house will be another major marker, and if my evening in the Spring was any indication it will be. I've only been in the house a few months, but already the Spring seems far away. I was nostalgic for the good- dinner and cinema down the street and surprisingly reminded of how pleased I am with the pleasures that have become normal- a washer and dryer down the hall. I don't know what the next marker will be or how many months or years will get bundled here, but it does seem that I've entered a new divider.

As a footnote, this notion of dividers seems woefully incomplete; there's also a complicated cross-referencing system going on, but Grey's Anatomy hasn't given me enough neuroscience to get into that.

The cows, they are-a-mooin'

My weekend was full of Ultimate. This no longer qualifies as news. I think when my weekend is not full of Ultimate, that's when it's news. My A league team had our best tournament in recent memory and we still ended up fifth out of six teams. We won two games and lost one, but even though we held our own against the perennial champs and we knocked off a team that we haven't beaten in ages, the second team beat the champs and we lost out by point differential. The standings don't reflect our success, but I still want to focus on that. I think we saw improvement from previous years for a couple of reasons. The first was a little practice together. It doesn't seem like at this stage in our Ultimate careers after not practicing together for so long, practice would mean much, but judging by yesterday it still matters. It didn't change our game greatly, but the things we worked on in practice magically appeared as opportunities in the game. We'd spent time on them in practice, so it was more than just words saying "move the disc", it was a non-game Saturday afternoon reinforcing it. Our stack was still a bit messy, but there were some opportunities that came directly from a drill we did in that practice. Personally, this tells me that I need to continue to take practice agendas seriously for my other gig. The second factor was a big one, he was 6 foot 5 and a quite a player. His defense and presence were very helpful, but it was offense where he made the most difference. He liked to throw it deep and he took some pressure off our handlers. It's neat to see someone's immediate impact like that.

I felt like my impact just wasn't what it used to be. I'm still competitive, but I'm really struggling to get there on defense and make something happen. I need to play a smarter game and so far I'm not there. My highlights were hustle and awareness plays and I'm not sure what that says about me. The first was just an out and out sprint down the field on a pull. I swerved toward the path of the first throw and the thrower threw it away. That's the easy way to get a D. The other highlight was out of the stack. My defender was ready to poach the lane, so I just turned to the break side and cut deep. He had to follow. He was running around the stack and about the time he was in position, I cut back in for a big 20 yard gain on the throw. The other was from practice. Using my will power I begged and pleaded with my eyes to get a break side throw to me in the front of the stack. As soon as I had it, I turned and put a backhand deep. My cutter almost didn't go, but then he was on it and tracking it down. Just like we'd drawn it up.

Today was rec league and my legs (both calves cramped up on Saturday) and my heart weren't quite in it. We were a mess, like the ground and the round, and we couldn't get going. We traded points and struggled and eventually lost. I was really fighting to keep my cool. I finally started to wake up at the end and enjoyed getting my defender to panting, but it was too little too late.

From that loss, I made my way to catch the college team in the finals of C league. I wasn't worried about any coaching at that point. They were beyond needing me after already going 6-0 on the weekend . There were taking on a team that had obliterated them early in the season with a zone defense, but with most of the veteran corps there, they were rolling. The three speedsters were working it and it would be hard to find three guys that fast on any C league team. Everyone else was holding their own and playing solid as they could get involved. They ran away with the championship to the tune of something like 15-6. Continuation cuts are still an issue, as are throwaways, but we're seeing fewer drops, pretty good disc movement and a lot more intensity.

I'm happy to have a week or so off from Ultimate, but I'd be lying if I said I knew whether I was going to play this winter.

Inspiration from the sky

In a rush this afternoon I agreed to meet a friend and her mother for dinner in Baltimore. I'm a little disappointed that I didn't think to take the train, but I was in a hurry, so I got a Zipcar. The rain had been sprinkling all day and I thought nothing of it. I'm such a novice when it comes to DC driving. I should know by now that if a guy riding a bike sweats and that perspiration hits the ground, traffic comes to a halt. When the clouds perspire, it's much worse. I fought my way to B'more and arrived about 15 minutes beyond the predicted arrival time window. It took me an hour and a half to get there and I was giving myself an hour to get home. I should have listened to the voice in my head that asked for more time on the zipcar, but I ignored it with a zippedy-do-da sense of optimism. That optimism shriveled up like a prune in a Phoenix when the rain beat my windshield and traffic came to a halt.

Desperate, I knew I needed to extend my reservation, but I was stuck in the middle of the road. We moved slightly or I might have knocked on someone's window and asked for a phone. I had to find a pay phone. Yes, those still exist. The thirty minute window to find a pay phone shrank to fifteen before I saw a sign for an Exxon at the next exit. Traffic crawled along as the minutes of the digital clock re-pixelated ever closer to the end of my reservation. With time slipping away, I pulled into the Exxon and scanned the station. I found the phone, pulled into a parking space, leapt from the car and grabbed the phone hoping for a dial tone. The Zipcar phone number has a "Z" and the phone did not. I ran back to the car where I'd seen the actual digits I needed to call and dragged them over to the phone. I dialed again. It was 10:59. My reservation ended at 11:00. I was punching buttons almost frantically trying to extend the reservation when the sky lit up and a great clap of thunder gave me a start. I nearly dropped the phone. The rain came down harder. I extended the reservation, hung up in my growing wetness and headed out. Hi-Ho Zipcar, away.

Seven years of blogging

On this date seven years ago I made my way on to the Internet of public consumption. It was a timid beginning full of vague aphorisms and run-on sentences. In a time before Facebook, I was writing status updates calling out to the world with digital smoke signals. As time went on, I've come to require more from my writing, not a whole lot more, but a bit more. I've chronicled ups and downs, runs, dives, sweet catches, whimsical tales, vanity, tales from the city, tales from vacation and a other things that cross my path. Until this month, my posts had grown more sporadic, but more complete, or at the very least longer. The range of topics has become more narrowly focused and my delight in turning a phrase harder to come by. I've been ready to call it quits many times, but so far something always brings me back. It's nice to be heard and since my memory seems to be failing, it's nice to have a record of some of the major achievements and goings on of the last seven years. There are milestones missing that were too private or too complicated, but much of my life appears in this very space.

I never thought this would be a project that lasted seven years when I started, nor that this would be my seventh year with my employer or my seventh year with the Ultimate team. If I were a slot machine, this would be a winner. There is the sound of change that slowly clinks out in triumph. It's not the rush of a jackpot, but it is change and triumph nonetheless.

In seven years, I've gone from jobless to temp to employed to snug as a bug in an office (sometimes maybe a little too snug). I've run a marathon, written 50,000 words in a month, traveled to Paris, Iceland, Norway, Idaho, read a bunch of books, watched even more movies, run 5k after 5k after 5k with a few miles and lots of Ultimate mixed in. I've become a coach, an uncle, a brother-in-law, a boyfriend. I've been tested and challenged. I've given up my car. I've turned to the darkness and purchased a cell phone and then lost the darkness and am trying to find my way back to a landline. I've struggled with my place in the world and the rules I should follow. I've moved. I've biked. I've changed. I don't know what it will be like to read this in seven more years or if it will even be here, but I know that at this moment I'm pleased to take a moment to celebrate life, the Internet, and a pursuit I'm not sure I even understand.

Maybe I'll figure it out tomorrow.

He googled what?

Slate recently had a contest of sorts where people submitted some interesting Google suggest search disparities. Language and spelling brought to light some disturbing and curious searches that folks are doing. Check it out here. It's getting hard to remember a world without search engines (aside: like saying facial tissue instead of Kleenex, saying search engine instead of Google almost seems silly, sorry Bing).

I'm too late for the contest and I don't have any terribly interesting results to report, but I am amused that "Where is" yields a search for Chuck Norris. Who is looking for Chuck Norris? What will they do when they find him? Nothing I'm sure, because I've heard that Chuck Norris does whatever he wants, even when God asks nicely. I also just discovered a site called makemebabies.com where a person can use two photos or celeb photos to create a picture of their future baby. I'm a little curious to find out how this works with beards, but not so curious that I'm actually going to try it. The Internet is a crazy place and I usually forget that I hang out in just a tiny little portion.

Shoe you love me?

DSW is like a shoe convention hall. I might have been intimidated, except that I knew I was looking for a new brown work shoe. That level of specificity allowed me to hone in on the three rows that contained brown shoes that were work appropriate. Work appropriate sometimes crossed the line into not, like the brown skechers with the dragon lightly etched in the heel. According to my informal survey of brown shoes, it seems that the slip-on is a popular choice these days. Trying to be "with it" I tried on a few pairs. I liked the way they looked with their smooth lines unbroken by the chaos of laces, but I worried. What if I had the urge to run, would the slip-ons stay on or would they go all antonym on me and slip off? I lightly tested several pairs and I didn't like what I was feeling. It felt precarious. The shoes might not slip off, but in a sprint I wasn't sure any of them could be trusted. After more pacing in strange shoes and some internal debate including the question of "How often will you really run in these?" and the disdainful and a smidge disrespectful "Unh," answer, I decided to go ahead and purchase the brand new version of the shoes I already own. I can run in those in a pinch. They look good. The only reason to change was really to prove that I could. I don't want people thinking I'm stuck in my ways.

To prove that I'm very comfortable with change, I also got a new pair of running shoes. Talk about change, I purchased a pair of 2140 series Asics. They are way different than the 2130 series I had before. I'm kind of unpredictable.

I had to be in 3 places at once

This weekend was crazy with Ultimate. I was supposed to play in two one-day tournaments and coach one two-day tournament. I created a priority hierarchy, which would allow me to play in one, and coach half. I was ok with my decision. Then some rain came and they rescheduled, so I had coached half and it felt like the team might end up in the championship game, but I was scheduled to play in two tournaments on the same day in different places. I like to chase plastic, but across town is not possible. I headed out this morning, not actually knowing where I would play. Finally at 8:30, the news came that the rain had stopped us again and I should finish my stint coaching.

I did. The team made it to the finals after a strong run of 13-1 and 13-7. Habit was set to play a team of alums they'd beaten previously. The air changed and the tournament went from kind of silly and fun to serious, championship Ultimate. Layouts, big throws, and intensity became the norm. Habit had looked like they were about to fall to pieces when the previous game was at 12-4 and now they had more energy than I'd seen all year. It was borderline sick (the good kind). Points were traded. Lemon swiped a disc right out of a guy's hand. Tini made a HUGE layout for a swing that looked completely out of reach. He landed with a thud and left a divot the size of his head in the endzone. Madness. Habit had a 6-4 lead, but dropped half 7-6. The fight kept coming. Everybody was playing with great intensity. Habit was moving the disc well, but the break throws from the alums were really hurting. There were some BIG grabs from Lemon and Classics. The highlights stick out, but it was all around solid play that kept Habit in the game. I think the alums built a 9-7 lead and then Habit knotted the game at 10-10, before falling 13-11. It was the best I've seen the team play and I'm really excited to try to find a way to sustain that effort. I'm so glad I got to be there to witness it.

Zippedy-doo-whaaaat?

My karma must be a bit out of whack. Today was some kind of odd. I had an immediate need for a Zipcar this morning. Zipcar allows me to rent cars by the hour and is usually near public transportation or high-traffic areas. Weekends are usually busy, but in three years I've always been able to find a car somewhat close to where I need it. I was able to find a car, but when I went to make a reservation, I found that I could not. For some reason, my credit card information was messed up. That took some time and phone calls to get solved. There were no cars in my vicinity, so I had to Metro a stop to find the Honda Fit I'd reserved. The morning was already an ordeal for other reasons, but When I started the Fit, I got nothing. After another phone call, the Zipcar rep decided the best course of action was to transfer my reservation from the Fit to a Mini Cooper. That's ok, except that the Fit had 5 seats and the Mini did not. We squeezed, like clowns, in a sporty little car and headed to our destination.

All was well, except for some cramped muscles and spaces and we made it to our destination. Hours passed and then I went to start the Mini I inserted the round fob, pushed down the brake, and pressed the "start" engine button. Nothing happened. I couldn't believe it. I checked the brake, the fob, the shifter, the windshield wiper, and the radio. I tried again. Still nothing. Disbelieving I called the zip folks again. At first the help was confused as he thought we were moving. I said, no, we were very much sitting still in a parking lot with the engine off. He went through a series of locking and unlocking of the doors remotely, which was odd and somehow both frightening and comforting. We are so close to flying cars, I know it! Eventually, the zip help was convinced that I should try the fob, brake, button press again. I did and the Mini came to life.

Karma corrected? Perhaps.

TV: my viewing habits

I thought I'd provide a run down of the shows that I am watching, so you can watch them too and prevent another Dollhouse.

I have been watching Dollhouse, but it's been an uninspiring season. There seemed to be some intrigue and interesting questions about what it meant to be human last season, but this season there wasn't much to go on. Fox must have noticed the same since they've killed it. I'm disappointed that we won't get resolution, but I'm not even sure there was anything to resolve.

I'm still holding on to How I Met Your Mother, hoping that one day we'll actually find out. The show manages about one genuinely likable moment per episode and is sometimes good for a really hearty laugh. Slap bets are pretty amazing and I find that like FutureMarshall and FutureTed, I'm making FutureDave deal with more and more of the ramifications of my decisions (or non-decisions).

I've recently picked up Modern Family. It's got Carol Vescey from Ed, the actual Ed from Married With Children and a pretty hilarious kid. The other cast members have their moments, but the kid just cracks me up. It's three families who are all part of one big extended family and I like the balance of the three stories and the interplay of the group. The kid is holding this one together though.

I also watch Glee. I have some concerns about their ability to tell a story throughout the season, but for now I like the music and the drama is on the right side of that show about pies that I quit watching. This could really go either way.

I'm still holding strong with The Office. I don't like Jim in his new role as much and Pam seems a touch crazier, but overall this group is one that I'm willing to continue to watch for quite some time. I feel pretty connected at this point. It's almost like a real office.

Community has my attention. The character Ahbed is the funniest character on TV. He has stolen the show multiple times. His Batman was hand-waving, foot-stomping fantastic. The other characters have good roles and the right mix of likable and not.

There are a lot of ensembles on this list, eh?

I'm still watching Grey's Anatomy. It has some good moments, balanced by some pretty silly overblown drama, but I feel invested enough to stick it out for at least this season.

I'm also still watching Project Runway. I have the sense that they are moving away from the creative process and into the human drama. I don't approve. I probably should've called it quits, but I'm loyal to Heidi and I like Tim and a some of the designers were really good looking this season.

Oh yeah, I'm all about the creative process.

Tivo is keeping me up to date and I just found a new hour on Fridays. Tuning in or out or on or rewinding to catch that again...

Oh, Internet, what are you up to?

A recent post on an Ultimate website I read is reporting that the women's team that won Club Nationals is done playing women's Ultimate and is looking for new challenges. It reads a bit like an April Fool's joke, but there is no indication that it is, including but not limited to the fact that it is not April. I don't follow the elite teams in any division closely, and I've never watched this particular team play. I've read that they've won Club Nationals four years running. It's not a long dynasty, but that's impressive. If this shift is true, it's fascinating to think about. I wish I had real insight to offer, but I only have questions.

My first questions tend to be about the level of play and the competition: How does the best women's team stack up against open teams? Are they good enough to beat mid-level open club teams? Strong enough to snag a series bid and knock an open team out? Is a division called open just waiting for something like this to happen?

My next questions are about spirit: Can egos on either side handle this climate? Presumably, the women's team would lose more games than usual. How used to dominance are they? Presumably, there are open teams who would not handle losing to a women's team very well. Can spirit of the game keep tempers in check?

I have questions about the community reaction: Would Ultimate as a whole be supportive of a women's team in the open division? Would this generate interest in the sport outside of the Ultimate community or confirm our niche status? Are there examples of this happening in other sports? If successful, could this open the door for other such cross-overs?

I really don't have any answers and I suspect that this will soon be revealed as a lark, but I think I would be interested to see an exhibition. I think about the women at CUA who play against men at nearly every tournament. An individual match-up may differ from a team setting, but I find both to be courageous.

four on the floor, one on the bus?

Today marks the first time I have taken the bus from home to work and then back again at the end of the day. Sometimes it feels like the rain is winning.

Tonight marks the first time I have driven a manual transmission vehicle in quite some time. I thought I was going to get a shot of re-living my early years (read 15.5 to about 28.5) in Iceland, but that rug was pulled out from under me by the rental agency. I had another shot a few weeks ago, but a series of car-borrowing events later put me behind the wheel of yet another automatic transmission machine. Tonight, through the generosity of others, I got my chance.

I will grant that Taylor Swift's song "You belong to me" may have contributed to my sense of nostalgia, but I still felt a ripple when I sat down in the driver's seat, depressed the clutch, put my right hand on the stick shift and was whisked away to another time and place. I felt the heartache of my late teens seep through the transmission and enter my body through my hand. I couldn't find a girlfriend, I wasn't sure of my place in the world, the rain made me sad and lonely. I released the stick and breathed back into my thirties. It's a more confident place, though perhaps not as far removed from those days as I like to pretend. As I maneuvered in and out of parallel parking spots, another wave of nostalgia came over me, this time in a surge of valet-instilled confidence. I was the sort of parking machine that women and men alike adored and under-tipped. I could park your big boat of a Lincoln towncar or pull around your late 90s T-bird, no sweat. I'm versatile that way. Manual, automatic, past, present- it's all here. Baby.

The turning point

This evening is on a teetering bridge made of rope and two by fours. If I scamper across, I'll go to bed early feeling productive and satisfied. If I stand here and stare at the abyss I will go to sleep late wondering how TV and the Internet managed to completely soak up my night off. I used to have hobbies, but lately it seems like I have exercise/Ultimate or I don't. This imbalance can be off-putting some nights, but mostly it's fine. Tonight, however, I'm passing on exercise, having gone pretty hard for several days in a row. Without Ultimate and without exercise my evening is free. I'd like to read, maybe play the banjo, or just meditate a moment on my career path, but somehow I find myself in the habit of just trying to fill the moments between thoughts of exercise and Ultimate or the actual activity. It's time for more action.

When I finish this paragraph, I'm leaving the Internet behind for several hours. I'm going to change clothes a la Monsieur Rogers, crack open a book and get to reading in my rarely used reading corner. When I get tired of being curled up, I will tune my banjo and bluegrass out. When even my leisure needs planning, I start to wonder who inhabits this mind of mine.

Seeking inspiration

I found myself in a full-on physical funk this evening when the little hand was on the six and big hand was on the twelve. My evening still involved getting home and working out. I was so tired I considered taking a cab home. I was going to call off the workout, but instead my mind started to wander to places of inspiration and motivation. I thought of the blog I'd read earlier in the day about my friend's 50 mile, 10-hour running odyssey. She ran 50 freaking miles. Wow. In the post, she detailed her run and the support she had a long the way. As I trotted home, weary only from a day of work, I thought about the support waiting for me. I couldn't quit today, not after I'd complained about others saying they were in before the moment when they bail. This is not FASHION, people. One minute you are IN and the next, you should still be in. I couldn't quit today because I'd already said I was in. I like to live up to the ideals and expectations I have of others. I didn't realize I would be tested so quickly. I arrived home and found my workout partners ready and waiting. My support was in place. There was really no quitting now. I turned to one final piece of inspiration and motivation, I turned to the toaster pastry of choice- the Pop-Tart. The Pop-Tart pushed me over the edge. I worked out. I lived up to my ideals. It's not 50 miles, but it's a step in that direction. I don't know what turned my mind to the positive tip, but I'd like to keep it around.

Focus on the positive

My rec league team had an unexpectedly great day. We were a small squad and I felt guilty as I’ve been a mostly absent captain, but once and a while, none of that matters. We started off trading points against a team and eventually pulled away. From there, we never really looked back. Our small group was clicking. Everything we did seemed to be working. Guys who have played fast and loose in the past, brought it down a notch. Our defense wasn’t great, but we were close enough to cause some problems and then able to punch it in for the score. ("Stalk and score", anyone?) Everyone was involved. Everyone was getting open, making good grabs, and working hard. The throws were generally pretty good. We had deep looks, we had dump swing offense, we busted through the zone on this perfect windless day in November.

My personal highlights involved laying out for a D on a dump by a member of Bad Habit and catching a trailing edge score off a ricochet D. I tried to huck a few times, but didn’t have much success. My game remains in the mid-range. I’m also excited because my Ultimate protégé coworker said that today might keep her coming back for more in the spring. Yeah, team.

Soda pops and italian subs

There aren't many days that I drink soda, but I couldn't pass up some post-practice root beer. The glass bottle in hand, sweetness on the lips and tongue, and the satisfying clink of a teammate to teammate cheer. Topping that off with an Italian sub from the warehouse district was the filling in the pothole. So smooth. I never would have ventured into the authentic Italian place on my own for a variety of reasons, but none so much as the fact that the building looked like a roughed up, downtrodden warehouse. Inside riches were displayed in olive oil of all shapes and sizes. Cans and bottles, truffles and extra extra virgin, all the olive oil I could imagine dominated the scene. In the far back, there was a butcher and some sandwich makers. They churned out real Italian subs, just like one might expect from the back of warehouse filled with olive oil and wine. If I knew Italian I'd whip it out right now and say, "delicious." I'm not that worldly, instead I present another post and the celebration of soda and subs.

more on lifting, more on vanity

There's another benefit of lifting that I neglected- MUSCLES! Every month or so, I find some muscles I never knew I had. Muscles remind me of a lot of people I know. They'll stay out of the way, lay low, try not to do work if they don't have to, but then give them a project and they work hard. Keep them motivated and they flourish. It started with my underarms. One day I flexed and I had triceps. My stick-figure arm suddenly had a little bulge. It was pleasing. I spent time in front of the mirror confirming that my imagination was not playing tricks. A tickle attack was in full force at some later date and I naturally tensed my stomach muscles. I knew I had stomach muscles, but these were tickle-stoppers. They shut down the attack. Now, this week as I was reaching across my body to grab a toothbrush, I found wings. I'm a few years removed from anything remotely resembling an anatomy class, so I don't know what they are, but trust me, I've never seen these muscles before.

If muscles were stocks, my portfolio would be looking good. Unfortunately, I still wouldn't be ready for retirement.

Lifting and special feelings

Some time ago, along about May or June, I started showing up at Alan's house to fit in a few basement weightroom workouts. I've never been much of a fan of weights. I never finished a weight workout feeling great like I did after a run. The workouts always took a lot of time and even though I didn't know what results to expect I knew that I didn't want to be too muscular. The best way to avoid that was to avoid the whole scene, I decided. I tend to make sweeping decisions even when they don't make sense. Then in May or June, after many declined invitations I decided to head to the basement and workout again. I wouldn't do it four days a week, but maybe two and I'd see what happened. I found that working out with Alan and Jim was nice enough. It felt like we were struggling together, a bit like the old days on a high school cross country team. They were (and are) clearly stronger, but weights like running can be an individual pursuit with individual standards and improvement.

I stuck with my two or almost two days a week and mixed in Ultimate, bike riding, running, and the fun stuff I enjoyed. Much of my exercise was transit, but I was spending a lot of time exercising. This netted some pretty nifty previously chronicled results in a mile I ran in July and I knew that much of the credit belonged to the lifting I'd been doing. That motivated me to continue to keep up my efforts in the weightroom. Throughout the summer, my efforts remained consistent. Then, as luck or fate or something would have it, Alan and I became housemates. That put his superior collection of weightlifting paraphenilia in the garage, as in close enough to trip over. The excuses not to work out shrank significantly.

At first I thought the weights were too close to the television. I could feel myself being sucked in and away from working out, but as we got into our new routine, I found something had changed. I found that I wanted to work out. I found that when I didn't work out, I was disappointed. It was a familiar feeling that I get with running. Now, I find that I'm itching to workout when I'm sitting on the couch. I don't get the same satifisfaction from lifting that I get from running, but I get more than I thought possible. I know that the strength will contribute to my other goals, running goals, Ultimate goals, and my own well-being.

That's a pretty special feeling.

Put that one in the kitty

A look through the archives reveals that yesterday’s post was treading on territory dangerously close to a post written in May. Either the realization is slower than I realized or my memory is so poor that I get to have the same epiphany every few months.

In hopes of getting out of my rut, I’m going to enter some new territory. This territory is inhabited by furry alien beings.

I’m not a pet guy. My sister had a fish when we were growing up, but for the most part I’ve spent my life in a pet-free zone. I did live with a dumb dog named Champ for a while, but that relationship never really clicked. Champ ran with me a time or two, but he couldn’t catch a disc and his conversation skills were lacking. He also smelled like dog. That wasn’t really his fault, but it wasn’t endearing.

I’ve gone many years again without a pet and I was happy, or mostly happy. I certainly didn’t feel like I was missing anything. I don’t hate animals, I just don’t have much use for them. I don’t connect. I don’t feel warm and cuddly when they are near. Did I mention they smell?

Not too long ago, I moved. I have new housemates. One of my housemates is named Manley and that’s my favorite thing about him. I think that’s worse than saying he’s ugly, but he has a great personality. For the record, Manley isn’t ugly and he doesn’t have a great personality. He’s got a cool name. Manley and I have the house to ourselves this week. It’s a bachelor pad. We’re watching movies in our skivvies, drinking brews, working out, staying up late watching inappropriate TV, tossing the lacrosse ball around, and belching without remorse. Awesome, huh?

No. Manley does not live up to his name. He doesn’t do manly things at all. He doesn’t even really do cat things. I’m told he’s a fine cuddler if the stars are aligned, but I’m also told that he’s a nasty biter if they aren’t. He’s a chubby cat and while he does chase a ball, bat a plush mouse, and eat, he doesn’t do much else.

There’s some tension in the bachelor pad. It grows with each passing meal. Manley wants more food. I want him to leave me alone while I scoop out his meal pellets. Will this end in bloodshed? Does Manley have secret hidden ninja powers? Will some other housemate return in time to quell this growing feud?

The slow burn of realization on the Ultimate field

When I first moved to town and I found CUltimAte, I was a year or two older than college seniors. I was the same age or younger than the grad students. I could slip into a college Ultimate tournament quite comfortably. If memory serves, I didn't play in the series or in games where I didn't belong, especially in the Spring. I jumped in to help the team or help myself to some more playing time, but not at the cost of someone's season, I gambled. The calendars have flopped over a time or seven and those college seniors I started with return only for the alumni game. New college seniors and grad students stand in their place, but time has moved on. I don't have quite the same speed or the same leap that I did back then, but my throws are better, and I can still hold my own. Last year, I jumped in to a mixed tournament during the fall college season. Being on the field was fun, but it didn't sit entirely right with me somehow.

This year, as the team has sometimes struggled with numbers, I've been asked to "cleat up" and take the field. I've resisted. I feel bad if I'm at a tournament where colleges expect to face colleges and I take advantage of a new player just learning the game. I feel worse if a college player uses superior speed and ability to take advantage of me in this same setting. So, I decline.

Saturday, the team faced a team of Haverford alums. I don't feel bad about battling college graduates, so I laced up the green cleats, donned the clown dress and afro-wig, and went to work. The team and I battled, but we again made too many mistakes to keep it close. The Mario-Kart clad alums were a bit drunk, but mostly solid. I had a few good moments- Tini picked up the junk deep put I threw his way. They threw zone without wind and I enjoyed dropping it over and around their cup. I picked up a layout D and got to hustle on the field. I got to share more directly in some of the frustration of our re-building year. I dropped a disc. I think I resisted throwing one away. We got rolled, but I couldn't stop smiling. I know the theme repeats itself here many times, but Ultimate means a lot to me. It's allowed me to meet and play with a lot of people. It keeps evolving with me or to me. I hope to be a part of it as long as it keeps bringing me joy and/or hot chocolate in a box.

I can do whatever I like

I've been told that it's National Blog Post Writing Month. It's supposedly this less-involved lower-key version of National Novel Writing Month. As a NaBloPo writer, I'm supposed to post something to my blog everyday. I'd link to the official site, but it's got all of these rules that I don't want to follow. Mostly the rules I don't want to follow are that since I didn't post yesterday I am no longer eligible for prizes. So, I'm making up my own rules while I try to build on my NaNoWriMo success of some five years ago by actually trying to get a little bit of writing done this month. In that less-than-inspired way, I plan to write more posts, post more writing, and find meaningful* ways to rearrange the language to suit my needs.

If I were betting, I'd say my readers can expect more posts about Ultimate, running, my vanity, lost cell phones, and the ongoing struggle of being a thirty-something man with the mindset of a twenty-something. If I'm feeling particularly feisty, I may again combine all five.

All of this is available for the low, low price of time. In the time it takes to brush some teeth, I can offer insight and brightening power.

*Meaningful in this case refers more to the act of making sense or attempting word play and less to the general appeal to the senses or emotions.

Of land and way, the ice and nor variety

Pronoun and character introduction: In the retelling of this journey will be C, she of world-traveling renown and amateur travel agent prowess and me, of this blog. The two of us will be the "we" to which I generally refer. If other we's sneak in, I trust that context will provide appropriate clues. Get on with it, then.

September 14- After a stint in the late twenties- to thirties-island-haven Hoboken and a plane ride across some of the Atlantic Ocean, we arrived in Keflavik, Iceland. The hour by Icelandic digital watch was in the sixes, but in my mind it was much later and earlier than that. We'd taken herbal "no jet-lag" pills, but even their black magic was not strong enough to overcome insufficient shut-eye. The bus from the airport to our hostel rolled through a grey-cloud covered land dotted with houses and cairns. We arrived at the downtown youth hostel at 0730, plopped down luggage and hundreds of krona (ISK) and enjoyed our yogurt that's also a website, skyrs.is. Too early for a room, we wandered the streets of the capital city, Reykjavik. We visited a church, Hallgrimskirkja, that was under construction and tried to find ways to battle weariness by wandering the streets and doing a little shopping. We eventually made our way to a library where I read a collection of Peanuts comics and dozed off.

After a restful three hour nap in our hostel, we had dinner at Geysir, the restaurant with cute little lamps in the windows, not the hot steam erupting from the ground, and I had my first introduction to the soft drink Malt. Malt was a sweet stout-like beverage. My taste buds found it curious and kind of wonderful. We capped off our night with a swim and some relaxing in geothermal pools. There are several of these pools around the city, but this was not really a tourist spot. It was a community pool with some geothermal heating. It was warm (39 and 42 degrees Celsius) and relaxing and made sleep even easier.

September 15- After some deliberation regarding the various touring options, we decided to rent a car. I'd started to get excited about driving a manual transmission vehicle when the rental agent asked, "Is automatic ok?" We took the red Opel Corsa to the streets, some of them gravel, and hit the tourist hot spots in Southwest Iceland. We found Geysir, where Strokkur erupted every 6-10 minutes, more often than even Old Faithful, as a crowd gathered to watch. Geysir itself has been quiet for some time, but to its credit is the reason that we call geysers by their name. We drove on, chasing rainbows through the black and green of lava rock and rolling rocky terrain to find the waterfalls and rainbows of Gulfoss. It was postcard perfect and I'm told that it's quite a sight in the winter when it's frozen. We stopped at a Pylsa stand for Iceland hot dogs and a Malt. Pylsa were everywhere. We ended up with hot dogs at more meals than I think either of us would have anticipated. The pylsa at this stand were quite good. We hit more of the dirt roads, drove along the coast, had some consistent sunshine for a few hours, saw just a few cars, and bounced and pitched our way to the Blue Lagoon, passing gorgeous views and rocky hills along the way.

The Blue Lagoon lived up to its billing. The water was milky-blue and warm. The price was high. I didn't want to leave until I'd shriveled into a prune-y version of myself with hardened hair. There were saunas and massage areas available, but we mostly stuck to slowly wading and floating around, sometimes with our silica masks. Silica masks and beards don't go that well together, but I tried. After nearly two hours of geothermal lagoon time, we polished off Iceland with my whale steak and Viking stout and C's reindeer burger and Polar beer. The steak was good, but I don't think the burger held up so well. I'm certain that Santa is none too pleased.

September 16, 17- We arrived in Oslo, Norway and almost immediately took a train to Finse. Our travel days were consistently sunny and few more gorgeous than this one. The train ride was about six hours long, but at every turn, at least when I was awake, beautiful views were just outside the window. There were lakes and streams with backdrops of mountains, some colored by evergreen and others starting to turn in the fall. We were on a rolling brochure for the natural majesty of Norway. As darkness came, we arrived at the highest train station in Norway, Finse, at 1,222 meters above sea level. The small town had sent a brisk wind and a light rain as a welcoming committee. We were right next to a glacier, but wouldn't know until the train brought us through again in several days. We made our way through the cold and dark to our shelter about 200 meters back of the train station and out on a peninsula. I could see the dark outlines of snow-capped mountains pouring into the wind-blown lake and couldn't contain my excitement.

Our lodging was spartan and cold as there seemed to be no heat in the rooms. After dinner with three interesting Norwegian fellows who were headed out to hunt the next day, we threw on our stocking caps and buried ourselves deep beneath the heavy comforters. We managed to shiver to sleep and make it through to morning fitfully, but without freezing. The temperature didn't rise well either and we set off on our bike ride in spitting rain at three degrees Celsius. We wore most of the clothes we'd packed, which made our bags light. I was nervous about our fingers and toes and a little upset with myself for not being better prepared. It was mid-week and bordering on the miserable, so for most of the trip down we were alone, or only in the sight of one older couple. The trail was rocky and the sky was gray, but the scenery remained unbelievable. I took more pictures that consist of colored homes, bodies of water, and rocky hillside than I should probably admit. Our route followed close to the train tracks, but there were a few moments when I wondered how long it might be before someone would find our frozen bodies on the trail. I talked C into wearing her spare socks as gloves and I worked hard to warm up my hands at every chance I got. The day eventually got warmer as we made our way down. We descended 1,220 meters over 56 or so kilometers. Our patience was separately tested, but I was mostly prepared and spent my time waiting enjoying the scenery. We survived without much incident after a 6.5 hour ride. The last 20 km had been crazy steep. Our destination was Flam, 2 meters above sea level and on a fjord. I was unimpressed by the Flam-fjord view after enjoying so many mountain views, but my perspective would be altered another day. We had dinner in Norway's only train car restaurant. The Norwegian meatballs and the faux-attraction of a train car restaurant were only enough to sustain, not entertain. The hostel shower, even at 10 krone per 5 minutes was glorious. I may have been tired, but I hatched a theory that "upstand" might mean urinal in Norwegian. That amused me. I probably could have asked since everyone spoke English well, but I already felt guilty enough about that.

September 18- After 13.5 hours of sleep in our hostel cabin, we ate our co-op shopping-procured-breakfast on our porch. We covered all the Norwegian breakfast bases as we understood them, drinkable yogurt, cheese, bread. Our drinkable yogurt may have been blueberry flavored milk, but the line there looks pretty blurry to me. We hiked about 9 km over fjord to Aurland, had lunch, and then caught a boat to Gravunden (?). "Oh, my fjord!" I have run out of ways to describe the views we saw. It was "fjords gone wild," and I only stopped taking pictures because I couldn't find any new ways to show how impressive it all seemed as our ferry-like boat slid through the water framed by high rocky gray and green mountains climbing into the sky on both sides. We took the bus back to Flam and went through the mountains. It was the only way to save space on my camera's memory card and there were no boats back.

September 19- It was another bright and sunny day spent traveling. We took the Flamsbana train ride, but the views were familiar as we'd already biked them. We could see from the train window how much busier the bike trail was. I still admired the scenery as we took another train back to Oslo. We skipped a possible Venga Boys concert at Oslo University, but saw where the king sleeps and some of Oslo in the night. The hip section of town on the harbor reminded me of an Ikea catalog explosion. The architecture was that mixture of awesome and sparse with hard corners and functional square shapes. The buildings in this area seemed to be high-priced lofts and places of business.

September 20- I had trouble getting going despite "breakfast in a bag" at the P hotel in downtown Oslo. We finally made our way through the gray skies and sprinkles to Vigeland Park where it was all-you-care to see naked statues. We stopped for coffee and then decided to tour separately. C went to see Munch and I went to see mini bottles. The entrance fee was steep, but this was the largest mini bottle collection in the world. I saw thousands of mini bottles. If Oslo were a giant hotel, this building would have been a brilliant mini bar. It had bottles from all over the world and in all shapes. Some were quite beautiful in blown glass, while others were quite crude and included or were part of lewd humor. I was quite interested in the Scotch section and in section of cognacs where a whole collection of mini bottles shaped like Napoleon resided.

We had dinner at a hipster joint and drinks at Olympen. We were expecting a dive, but instead found ourselves in a pretty nice bar with large wooden tables and 20 foot tall red velvet curtains. I tried the Norwegian drink Aquavit which I'd discovered at the mini bottle gallery. It was a bit like cough syrup. It grew on me as I sipped it, but I think I was supposed to shoot it and I don't know that I ever need to have another taste.

The end- Icelandair took us back to Iceland and then on to New York. We slipped on to a standby flight and made it home in time to be exhausted. The pictures turned out great and reliving it a month later is not a bad way to go. I've told everyone that I was quite taken by Norway, but I think I'd enjoy more outdoor adventures in either place. I'm keeping my passport handy. The world awaits.

Motion seconded

Disappointed that I wouldn't be able to join some friends running a race over the weekend, I jumped at the chance to run in a 5k at the Ham Festival in Trigg County, Kentucky. Surprisingly, C agreed to run/walk too. Perhaps it was Southern hospitality, but I wasn't asking questions.

There were about 40 people entered in the race. I knew that I would have a chance to win, but I also understood that my control was limited. I tried to explain this to C, but the mere act of explanation seemed to further cement me as the favorite in her mind. As I told her that even if I had a great race that would really only be different from a good race by 20 or 30 seconds. I didn't talk about what having a bad race would mean. She politely listened and told me that no one else in the race would be thinking about those differences. After seeing a few other people warm up, C did grant me that a few others might at least be thinking about their races.

I eyed my competition and narrowed it down to a trio of high-schoolers, likely on a local cross-country team, an older guy in blue shorts, and a guy about my age in a grey singlet. I knew that looks could be deceiving, but mentally figured this group would pose the threats. I still run like a respectable high-schooler in the 5k, so I had a pretty good idea what I might be up against. Later I would find out that the high-schoolers among my competition had eyed me and targeted me in the very same way. I guess a little judging by the cover can be effective.

I started the race in the second row behind an eager group of munchkins. It was an out and back course, a slight uphill out and a slight downhill back. After passing the kids, I was in a small pack with the threats I'd identified. The grey singlet was already starting to pull away. Blue shorts slowed and announced "It's time to slow down." For some reason, I responded, "But, I have to go after him."

Soon, I found myself alone and breathing. I focused on grey singlet's back. I crossed the mile in 5:23. Grey singlet carried on and I continued to lose just a little bit of ground as we carried on. I remember very little- a few words of encouragement, thanking a volunteer, and grey singlet slowly pulling away. As I came upon the two-mile mark, I was amused to see C headed in the other direction. We crossed our marks a few seconds apart. I'd run 11:03 at two miles, but was delighted that for now I can claim that I'm twice as fast. This will come in handy when we are getting ready to go somewhere.

From there, I pushed on. One man asked if I was going to be able to catch grey. I told him I didn't know, but I was trying. My efforts didn't amount to much more than maintaining the status quo, maybe pushing it slightly. I finished in 17:11. Second place. Grey was some 40 seconds ahead and 50 dollars richer. At least my streak stayed alive. I think I've now finished second overall or in my age group in 5 consecutive events.

Later in the day after the endorphins wore away, I found that I was sore. In very appropriate fashion, as I wandered the streets at the annual festival celebrating pigs, I found it was my hamstrings that were causing me the most trouble.

I'm serious.

Scared of the curb

I don't know how people rage against the machine every day. I am exhausted from my bike rides in the city lately. There's nowhere for me to hide. I was honked at and yelled at over the weekend. The honking provoked me to have a stare in a rearview mirror and then have a conversation where neither party heard a thing through closed windows. The holler to "ride on the sidewalk" prompted a deep angry shout of, "I'm on the road and I belong on the road." I don't know if I've ever shouted with such fury.

The problem lies in my route, but no route from my new home is without traffic. There are cars everywhere. As I ride, I also find that my moral superiority has slipped away and I find that I am particularly concerned about how drivers view not just me, but all bicyclists. I now better understand why some cyclists choose to don neon gear and have flags waving on the backs of their bikes. They are trying to convince one more driver to see them and then hopefully share the road with them without comment. It's a battle and if it didn't rock so much to get to work in 15 minutes with awakened heart and lungs, I'm not sure I could fight it.

New home: A poem of sorts

The dishwasher is training for a marathon,
Boston if the electric kettle has anything to do with it.
The TV stops and goes at my command.
Couches and desks fill up empty spaces.
There's a cat who adores me when I open a can
I climb out of the ground to greet the day
and shower beneath foot falls.

It takes six keys to enter, but only one to leave.

I'm not a blogaholic

It’s been 21 days since I last posted.

That sentence makes me sound like I want to join a support group. I have notes in the back of the “Iceland Review” all laid out for a chronological trip review, but I’m not ready yet to review it. Instead, I’m caught up in Saturday’s Ultimate games.

I’ve resolved to make my weekend Ultimate games take a backseat to my other fitness goals. That means I’m not going to skip a workout on Friday just because I have a game on Saturday. It means I still want to find time to run or even race and play. In theory, I believe this to be good well-rounded life-balancing policy. In practice, I am already finding this to be a painful way to exist.

On Saturday, we had a double-header and something like 3 subs. I found myself in the games more than I wanted to be, largely because I worked out on Friday and I was still sore. The first game was a lazily-defended, deep-cut slug fest. I was happy to be one of the deep cutters, less happy that I keep getting burnt on the defensive end. We can blame my sore legs, but it’s starting to feel like 50/50 discs go to the other guy 70% of the time. It’s the ones where I’ve got a step that I’m getting. In the first game, I often had a step. I need to figure out how to get back in the mix more often, even as I am getting out-jumped.

Other things to think about:

-Maybe if I’m going to show up sore, I shouldn’t be quite so zealous when it comes to getting down the field on defense on the pull. There were some great pulls though, and I like when hustle defense leads to a Callahan.

-I can do better dictating on offense and defense. I’m being too passive when my man is close on almost everything except for my force side cuts.

-Either the team needs to recognize our personality or I do. We’re going to have a tough time out-muscling other teams, so we have to play smarter and move the disc better. We looked pretty recreational with our clogging and inefficient use of players on the field.

We lost the first game 16-15. I had to watch the disc zip by me too fast and far to be the game-winning score and then watch my man jump up and grab number 16 for his team. The second game was a rainy mess and I didn’t have much fight and neither did the team. It was a bit rough.

Me and my trophy: A story that contains children

Long ago, before the month of August, which was an especially long month in some senses and an especially short one in others, I was part of a plaid-wearing, flag-waving team of beach blokes that managed to win a division in that beach Ultimate tournament of Wildwood, New Jersey. I recounted much of that adventure somewhere down there. Scroll down and I'm quite certain it can be located. This victory was particularly sweet as it had come after a number of years of losing. Those tales are also recounted in the archives. It's never the winning or the losing that really matter, but sometimes they do matter. Sometimes they matter enough to warrant a golden cup. This was one of those times. On that fateful day, I held the cup and drank from the cup and then I said farewell to the cup.

It is difficult to share a single trophy among a whole team, but I wanted my day with the cup. I had grand plans. The cup and I would sing and dance together. We would frolic in that way that only victors can frolic. This would be beautiful and glorious and it began to seem as if it would never happen.

Saturday, the cup and I were reunited. I grabbed the golden chalice and took a short victory lap around the picnic area. It was as golden and as heavy as I remembered. I gazed at my golden reflection and my beard shined just a little brighter. First, I held my cup with my left hand. Then, I held it with my right. I decided to toss the frisbee with my fellow picnic people, but rather than relinquish my grasp, I carried the cup with us. When one hand grew weary, I switched to the other. This led to an especially interesting game of catch as my fellow picnic people also switched to throwing with their off-hands. Passers-by must have thought we were rather talented at catching the disc to be throwing so poorly. I'm sure they also thought that I looked like a champion.

They were right.

The difficulty of being a champion is that others seek to knock champions off their high horses. Fortunately, my horse is vertically challenged. I don't have a horse, but the trophy did attract the attention of a young boy. He wanted to hold the cup. I was still uninterested in releasing it. The last time I let it go, I did not see it for more than a month. The boy was persistent, but I held my ground and my cup.

The boy attacked. At first I danced away from his advances, sometimes darting away in a sprint, other times with a juke move, but the boy pressed on. He climbed me. He strangled me. He hit me. He grabbed my shoulders and rocked me back and forth. I tried to discourage him by spinning and by holding the cup ever higher. This back and forth, this dance of strength and wits with a young boy went on for quite some time, maybe even an hour. Somemtimes, he would ask nicely or get his even smaller brother to ask for the trophy. Other times, he would come at me ferociously. He'd sneak up and jump on me or run by and make a grab at the gold. He would walk away, run a race, throw a disc, look distracted and then attack again. He'd climb my back again and I'd hold the trophy above my head and try to spin him away.

"What strange champion is this?" park-goers must have pondered. "He holds a trophy high and spins with a boy on his back." Perplexed, they must have wished to be champions themselves.

I just wished this kid's parents would show up before one of us got injured.

That cliche is hot

I usually live in areas with hot, humid summers. Perspiration drips off me instantly when I crack the door open. My poor towel-drying skills beccome laughable and moist becomes a state of being. Today, I'm visiting a climate where "it's a dry heat." I know of people who don't buy it. They say, "hot is hot." After a day in Phoenix where the mercury was licking the hundred teens, I am not one of those people. A temperature of 115 is a microwave on low. It makes all surfaces in the sun, particularly asphalt, radiate heat. Walking through a parking lot in mid-day with the sun beating down from above and the asphalt radiating heat upwards, leaves only a small section of my t-shirt covered torso unscorched.

It may not be fair to compare 115 and no humidity with 95 and humid, but I contend that both are fierce and fiery in very separate ways. In Phoenix the heat is sapping. In DC it seems to be more a wilter. I can't drink enough water in PHX, but in DC I can't get the sweat off of my hands fast enough.

I wonder if the difference is the difference between burning and drowning. It's been a summer filled with lovely weather, so maybe it's merely the difference between whining and crying.

Oh, my heart is breaking all right

I went to see The Time Traveler's Wife last night. Now I know that going to see a movie based on one of my favorite books is courting disappointment, but I thought this would be different. I thought Rachel McAdams could make it all work. She tried, but she couldn't. The movie was a mostly emotionless Cliffs Notes version of the book. On some level I understand that a lot of stuff had to be cut out, but I missed that stuff. Sometimes I missed that stuff with more emotion than Eric Bana ever managed in the whole movie.

My recommendation for this movie is to read the book. In the book, time travel and that desperate sort of star-crossed love are exactly the awesome combination that they should be. In the movie, time travel and love are just kind of there. They happen. I'm not sure the screen captured anything that the book didn't, except Rachel McAdams and even she wasn't enough for me.

I'm skipping ahead in time to the next Audrey Niffennegger novel. Update: It's out! I'm skipping ahead in time to when I'm reading it.

Supersonic August

This month is zipping by. My weekday evenings are filled with Ultimate, working out, and various social gatherings. My weekends have been busier than that.

Feeling like a first-class jet-setter flying coach, I took to Chicago two weeks ago Saturday to catch a wedding. I arrived by plane, subway train, bus, and a mile walk on or to the boulevards of the University of Chicago. With overnight bag strapped to my back. I wandered the empty ivy- and construction-covered campus searching for food, chapel, and something to occupy my time. I found a bit of what I was looking for and then stumbled on to the wedding party early and by mistake. Fortunately, catching a wedding does not require the same stealth that catching a fox might.

My love for the wedding has only grown stronger in the last few years. It's not the wedding, as much as the eating and dancing of the reception, but for the sake of brevity, "I like weddings." This one proved no exception. The company of the groom, his new bride, their friends, and friends I haven't seen for years were so delightful that I almost forgot to dance. Almost.

It may have been during Aretha's "R-E-S-P-E-C-T" that I looked up from the flailing I was doing and realized that I was lip-synching right along with 11 women. I was the only male on the makeshift dance floor in the lobby of the SmArt museum. One friend turned to me and said, "I'm glad I know you or I might think you were a little creepy."

I think it's the beard.

As the night wound down and the line dances grew in complexity, I was whisked away to Amy's where I was treated like the princess and the pea. On a hard floor stacked with multiple area rugs for padding I laid my weary head down after several hours of catching up. I felt no pea and instead slept wonderfully secure with old familiarity and thoughts of how nice these good people had turned out and how wonderful it was to see them. In the blink of an eye I was back to work and answering "What did you do this weekend?" with, "Went to Chicago."

Last weekend, celebration of a different sort convened on the beach of South Carolina. My roommate from sophomore year of college had a 30th birthday party in a beach house. My friends have been rocking the 30th birthday and this was no exception. It was really neat to see how the people I knew had grown up in the last few years and to meet people from his high school and his post-collegiate life. Everyone got along well and had a good time. I stayed up to watch poker one night, but mostly I couldn't hang with the late night crowd. For the weekend as a whole, I was particularly pleased with the camping that C and I did on the way there and on the way back. It pleased my desire to be rugged and thrifty which was deeply offset by the huge house a block from the beach, not that I don't have desires to be treated like beach royalty too. It's conflicted in here sometimes. We stayed one night at Jones Lake State Park. C had been laughing about the brochure that called the lake "tea-colored." The brochure wasn't turning mud into hyperbole, instead when we went to swim, we found ourselves in what looked and felt like a big cup of tea. We made the most of it, but I probably could've seeped a little less.

This weekend I'm packing which has been broken up by long periods of not packing. Soon it's on to the next adventure. Hi-ho blog reader. Away!

BAM. Life changed

Yesterday was completely different than so many before it. The sandwich has been moving out for days and we said our goodbye earlier in the week, but when I got home in the evening, the big stuff was gone. My house was huge, or bigger than small and my books had nowhere to call their shelf. It was like I'd been robbed and the thieves did some vacuuming.

I will miss the sandwich for more than just his stuff. He always listened to my rants and I enjoyed his perspective on the world. In some ways, I think he grew up right in front of my eyes. S has good taste in roommates, I'll give her that. This week when I came home and the car was gone, sadness bubbled up inside me. The bubbling sadness, sometimes mixed with nostalgia has been happening a lot lately. I pass by things I never really even cared about and think, "this could be the last time," or "I still haven't..." The last time I walk home and grab a bite from the generic Potbelly? I did that three times ever. Or I still haven't been to Nicaro? The Spring isn't getting torn down, I can still go. I guess six years in a place has made the "end" a little confusing for me. It is like 1/5 of my current existence we're talking about.

Feelin' Good. It's Wildwood.

This is my fifth trip to the vast swath of sand located between the waves of the Atlantic Ocean and the fried Oreos of the Wildwood boardwalk. I look forward to it every year because even in times of injury two days at the beach with a disc pretty much rules. The layouts are legendary and the good times are close behind. I joined the nucleus of Red Delicious who became Donk-a-phant Dance Party and were now Stillerman's Beach Blokes. Our intended jerseys were British Flags, a nod to Stills who was in Europe and unable to join us on the field. My flag was iron-on, one was drawn, another was the full jersey, others were tankinis, or neck ties or still flying somewhere in the great part of Britain. The word uniform took a turn to the individual last year when we went plaid and seemed to continue on its movement away from uniformity. With only four to a side on the playing field, uniforms really don't matter much.

I'm going to recount my weekend and as I formulate it on the screen I can already see that the action will dominate. If I could do this well, I'd mix the action in with the good feelings of being at the beach with my friends. I don't know that I can. Somehow layouts are easier to talk about than just enjoying time spent in the presence of others. The layouts seemed less frequent this year. It's hard to tell if that was a direct effect of our style of play which seemed to either be pretty accurate or pretty inaccurate or if it was a sign of something else, like exaggerations of past flight. We may never know. Friday night was familiar territory as the car I was in arrived late. I assume only people who leave on Thursday manage to arrive early. We arrived late and found the mansion of a tent already in place. Sweet relief was moments away, but wasn't as AJ, AH, and BH drank and talked well into the night while I curled up thinking violent thoughts and wishing for ear plugs. Finally quiet came and was soon followed by morning. Morning hit us hard and when we stumbled on to the puddle-covered beach we came out slowly. The other team had a step on us and we were dispatched in a quick game.

That loss lead to some fire and we tried to recreate the magic of last year, but taking down a superior-seeming team. We jumped out early on some beautiful throws from MH and hard work and good luck from everyone. One of my personal highlights came in that game, as I put up a loopy outside-in flick to a cutting MH. He was headed to the back corner. It was headed to the back corner. Meanwhile, MH's defender gave chase and the 6 foot 8? inch monster of a player came to help. Yet, the angle of the throw prevented anyone but MH from making the grab. We continued to celebrate. Then, the superior-seeming team clamped down in a flash of superiority and brought us back to earth. Fast. We didn't do much scoring after our 6-2 lead and lost 12-8.

In other years two losses might have put a dark cloud over us, but we seemed to be playing with very little in-game emotion. Instead we played with an almost calm familiarity and the tide began to turn. We won a game and then another really long game and ended our day 2-2. MH had sweet throws. MB had some sweet moments outfoxing his defenders, including one where he let two defenders fight over a disc in the air as they batted it away. He was able to react and recover the ricochet for a score. It wouldn't be the last time he would use smarts to make good things happen. HG was a valuable pick-up and she really worked the disc well and brought thoughtful comments to our sideline. She made us all handlers and she kept us calm and smooth when our edges started to get rough.

In the evening, when other teams went to the beer garden, we were cooking out on the grill. MVP awards to AJ, MD, and MH for some brilliant campground cooking. The kebobs and burgers were the tastiest creations this side of the state park. The relaxing outdoor meal in this on-going incredible weather of summer was the flaming marshmallow (non-cancer causing) in this s'more of a weekend. When our heads hit pillows Saturday night, we fell hard into slumber.

We bounced up on Sunday and still puttered around enough to nearly be late to the fields. The sand conditions had changed quite a bit as they had mostly dried out. SM did her captaining best to get us together and going again. JM was supplying some sweet odd cheers and we got out and rolling. We won our first game and then carried that tired swagger into the second. The puncture wound on my foot started to bug me, so I tried out my shoes. The other team complained about them for various reasons, but they were sweet relief. After the complaints kept coming, I ditched the shoes, got a layout D, had another hand block and we were in position for victory. Recent coaching time has brought me to a more strategic place and I was pushing for a timeout call. In a time game, the timeout is apparently more controversial than I knew as the other team reacted poorly. Discs were slammed down, but we took our time, scored the goal, got the horn, and headed for the bracket championship game.

We've been to championship games or pseudo-championship games the last two years. We were playing for the plastic cup of the third bracket. Again, the usual jitters were gone and we seemed to be ready to continue to play and then go home regardless of the outcome. Rather than time, the structure dictated the best two of three games, the first two to seven, and the third to five if necessary. JM threw down a wicked cheer, "In England, they drink tea in golden cups. Golden cups. GOLDEN CUPS!" Then the Beach Blokes went to work. Lightning-like we were up in the game. We threw some zone. We threw some hucks. Everything seemed to be working. MH put a throw in traffic to AJ. He went up and with two guys helpless below him and snagged a two-pointer. We took the first game 7-2. I felt a moment of jitters, but we discussed what adjustments the other team would probably make. If they made them, it was not evident. In the blink of an eye and on the leading edge of a storm, we took the second game 7-2. The other team seemed flat and stunned.

We jumped and danced and hugged. SM had wanted a cup and it was great to see her with it. AH stopped complaining for a moment and as the rain poured down we could gather our stuff like winners and make the long drive home. We sipped our victory drink from the cup and later continued our celebration over dinner and DQ ice cream. The spoils tasted sweet*.

*It's a funny thing, winning. We keep score and I do want to emerge victorious, but more and more getting to play is such a joy. To play with people that I care about means even more. We may not spend time practicing or working together much, but to share the field and to have those moments where we count on one another and then for it to work out in more wins than losses, that's something. That's one of the reasons I keep playing.