Three (or so) things to write about
Missing the DC earthquake by being in California and other tales from last week's trip
The 100th storm of the century or why the hurricane doesn't seem to scare people
Facebook is ubiquitous or the I just had a baby text and status update
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Riding in the moonlight
First I'll tell you about the good. As darkness settled on the district, some hundred and change bike riders stood near the coolest bike store I've found- BicycleSpace. Some were decked out in their finest, those were the sponsoring dandies and quaintrelles, while others were in light or bright colors. A trumpet played us out and we rolled out into the coming darkness with tail lights blinking. With my neon orange shirt flapping in the wind, I joined in this evening parade of bicycles. We nearly took over the streets as we made our way to Truckeroo. Truckeroo was a gathering of food trucks and a musical act. A new idea in DC summer nightlife and one that I support. We wound through the streets waving and ringing bells as we traveled. As we dipped down around RFK stadium, I looked back over my shoulder to see the mass of cyclists, white lights blinking against the dark sky. There was a powerful connected feeling in our celebration of cycles- the moon and the two-wheeled variety.
When we arrived near Truckeroo, we darted up an empty parking garage winding up, up, and up, until we reached the top with an overlook at Nationals stadium and Truckeroo. We could see the trucks lining the outside of the venue and the people were lined up and packed in the center. It was like a human whoopie pie. Or what I imagine a whoopie pie to be, since like many of the food items, the whoopie pie was sold out.
The not so good: The ride itself was full of fun, but cruising through intersections and asking drivers to wait patiently with a wave struck me as presumptuous and worse. I continue to battle with my place on the roads and this group-think takes over the world seemed like a step in the wrong direction. How can I complain about cars crowding me during the day if at night I and my lightly-dressed cohorts act as though the roads are ours? When I think of sharing the roads I think of simultaneous co-existence, not an agreement where bikes take over the roads at night and cars take them on during the day.
The interesting: This ride gave me bike and clothing envy. I don't know that I need to be a dandy on a fixie, but I'm tempted. I feel like this month I've started to explore a world where competition is not the focus. I seem to be stumbling on social clubs and considering ideas that are about creating and sharing instead of competing. We'll see where that takes me.
First I'll tell you about the good. As darkness settled on the district, some hundred and change bike riders stood near the coolest bike store I've found- BicycleSpace. Some were decked out in their finest, those were the sponsoring dandies and quaintrelles, while others were in light or bright colors. A trumpet played us out and we rolled out into the coming darkness with tail lights blinking. With my neon orange shirt flapping in the wind, I joined in this evening parade of bicycles. We nearly took over the streets as we made our way to Truckeroo. Truckeroo was a gathering of food trucks and a musical act. A new idea in DC summer nightlife and one that I support. We wound through the streets waving and ringing bells as we traveled. As we dipped down around RFK stadium, I looked back over my shoulder to see the mass of cyclists, white lights blinking against the dark sky. There was a powerful connected feeling in our celebration of cycles- the moon and the two-wheeled variety.
When we arrived near Truckeroo, we darted up an empty parking garage winding up, up, and up, until we reached the top with an overlook at Nationals stadium and Truckeroo. We could see the trucks lining the outside of the venue and the people were lined up and packed in the center. It was like a human whoopie pie. Or what I imagine a whoopie pie to be, since like many of the food items, the whoopie pie was sold out.
The not so good: The ride itself was full of fun, but cruising through intersections and asking drivers to wait patiently with a wave struck me as presumptuous and worse. I continue to battle with my place on the roads and this group-think takes over the world seemed like a step in the wrong direction. How can I complain about cars crowding me during the day if at night I and my lightly-dressed cohorts act as though the roads are ours? When I think of sharing the roads I think of simultaneous co-existence, not an agreement where bikes take over the roads at night and cars take them on during the day.
The interesting: This ride gave me bike and clothing envy. I don't know that I need to be a dandy on a fixie, but I'm tempted. I feel like this month I've started to explore a world where competition is not the focus. I seem to be stumbling on social clubs and considering ideas that are about creating and sharing instead of competing. We'll see where that takes me.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
The not-so-good morning
"Is this what you want to do?" she asked me. "Yes" wasn't an answer I was prepared to give. That seemed ok before, but yesterday my hesitation weighed heavily on my innards. Is it really hesitation if it's lasted 8 years? I played it off poorly, "That's the question of my life."
We circled advertising, but her memories of the world were everything I didn't want. She claimed it was great training and recalled her experience fondly, but I was mired in her description of the long hours, the high pressured accounts, and a lack of disagreement when the word soulless came to my lips. I think that window has closed. What door has it opened?
I mentioned teaching. The fall back option that I've never even tripped toward. She murmured and there it sat. We moved on to other topics, but "is this what you want to do?" sticks with me like gum to the bus seat.
It was fine not knowing what to do two years out of college. Fine to stay for the benefits five years in. It was mostly fine last week. It lets me do what I want to do, I'd say. With injury and summer lurking, I'm left to wonder. It's ten years out, now. It's not as cute as it once was. Time wasn't supposed to change things, me, this way. It's ok not to know what to do, but it might be about time to start thinking about a plan. Retirement calls after all.
"Is this what you want to do?" she asked me. "Yes" wasn't an answer I was prepared to give. That seemed ok before, but yesterday my hesitation weighed heavily on my innards. Is it really hesitation if it's lasted 8 years? I played it off poorly, "That's the question of my life."
We circled advertising, but her memories of the world were everything I didn't want. She claimed it was great training and recalled her experience fondly, but I was mired in her description of the long hours, the high pressured accounts, and a lack of disagreement when the word soulless came to my lips. I think that window has closed. What door has it opened?
I mentioned teaching. The fall back option that I've never even tripped toward. She murmured and there it sat. We moved on to other topics, but "is this what you want to do?" sticks with me like gum to the bus seat.
It was fine not knowing what to do two years out of college. Fine to stay for the benefits five years in. It was mostly fine last week. It lets me do what I want to do, I'd say. With injury and summer lurking, I'm left to wonder. It's ten years out, now. It's not as cute as it once was. Time wasn't supposed to change things, me, this way. It's ok not to know what to do, but it might be about time to start thinking about a plan. Retirement calls after all.
Saturday, August 06, 2011
Being earnest
Last night I attended a performance of "The importance of being earnest". I knew the playwright Wilde was known for being witty, but little else. The wit was delivered and it came with a side of gender-bending. The men in the play were played by women and the women were played by men. At times this was equal parts amusing and off-putting. Some of the women made charming men and some of the men made fine women. Others had less success with the transformation. I don't know how intentional this casting may have been.
The actress playing Jack seemed to take on a caricature of manhood in her movements. It was as if she was constantly fighting the urge to grab her crotch and spit. Algernon was more convincing, her softer features seemed to lend him the appropriate air for a man of leisure. Cecily was a handsome women, oddly tall, but feminine nonetheless. Gwendolyn was a sight, feminine mostly in wardrobe and as a reflection of Cecily, but otherwise rather masculine. Lady Bracknell was a giant man/woman with a booming voice and matching hat. Yet, after the initial shock, he/she was somehow she was very convincing as a woman of that age and temperament.
I don't attend many plays, but the H Street Playhouse was an intimate venue. From the third row I felt as though I could look right in the eyes of an actor. This as much as anything kept me engaged.
Overall, the play was average. I chuckled sometimes at the wit and sometimes at the squeals of men or the forced masculinity of the women. I enjoyed the evening, but despite a few great lines from Wilde and the curiosity of equal acting rights I couldn't quite recommend this performance.
Last night I attended a performance of "The importance of being earnest". I knew the playwright Wilde was known for being witty, but little else. The wit was delivered and it came with a side of gender-bending. The men in the play were played by women and the women were played by men. At times this was equal parts amusing and off-putting. Some of the women made charming men and some of the men made fine women. Others had less success with the transformation. I don't know how intentional this casting may have been.
The actress playing Jack seemed to take on a caricature of manhood in her movements. It was as if she was constantly fighting the urge to grab her crotch and spit. Algernon was more convincing, her softer features seemed to lend him the appropriate air for a man of leisure. Cecily was a handsome women, oddly tall, but feminine nonetheless. Gwendolyn was a sight, feminine mostly in wardrobe and as a reflection of Cecily, but otherwise rather masculine. Lady Bracknell was a giant man/woman with a booming voice and matching hat. Yet, after the initial shock, he/she was somehow she was very convincing as a woman of that age and temperament.
I don't attend many plays, but the H Street Playhouse was an intimate venue. From the third row I felt as though I could look right in the eyes of an actor. This as much as anything kept me engaged.
Overall, the play was average. I chuckled sometimes at the wit and sometimes at the squeals of men or the forced masculinity of the women. I enjoyed the evening, but despite a few great lines from Wilde and the curiosity of equal acting rights I couldn't quite recommend this performance.
Thursday, August 04, 2011
Thanks, body
Somehow, some way, my body answered my pleas, at least for the weekend. It might have been the sand or it might have been a miracle. I'd gone to Wildwood expecting only to play a few token points, but I managed to stay in the rotation in every game.
Although this was the seventh consecutive year I've been to the tournament, this year was full of changes. As we packed up to hit the road, the most glaring difference was in who wasn't coming. Alan and Megan were missing. It's been five years since that happened. The second difference was that there had been no last minute scramble to the thrift store to supplement a silly outfit. Instead, we donned crisp white jerseys. Tracie designed a hideous zombie hand holding an engagement ring. We were "Death Do Us Part" lovingly shortened to D-Dup. We were a celebration of beach, Ultimate, fun, and the upcoming nuptials of Jim and Tracie. And the undead.
Matts, Sam and I piled into Sam's swanky van with the automatic everything and hit the road. We stopped mere blocks away for some semi-fancy grub at Smith Commons. Later we worked our way into the traffic. There's always traffic. It should be on that list with death and taxes. Ben Franklin probably left it out because he had a side job with the Wildwood chamber of commerce. FACT. Or something resembling fact.
We arrived at the Bolero sometime well after Arin and Alan would usually be a few drinks past thirsty and howling at the moon. This year, that duo was not around; so we found a zillion Ultimate players hanging on every balcony of our hotel instead. I wondered what exactly we'd gotten ourselves into, but our suite turned out to have thicker walls than I'd imagined. Eight on Friday and nine on Sunday called the suite home. (Suite home).
Saturday morning, we found more changes afoot. The beach and boardwalk remained, but we were entered in the 2-2 beer division. It'd been years since I'd been in the beer division and I'd been clamoring for a try at 2-2 for almost as long. We faced off well against our opponents. We often led, but rarely by much. Tracie's friend Em was a sweet handler and lots of fun to play with.
Speaking of fun to play with, I had managed to convince Amanda to join us. We last played Ultimate together in Lawrence, Kansas in 2002. Nine years had passed and Amanda was awesomer than I remembered. I don't even think that's a word, but it doesn't matter. It felt pretty special to be able to take the field/sand with her again. I never would have guessed that our friendship would survive this long, but man, look at it sailing.
Kyle helped us with some sweet cheers and we turned to musical numbers that replaced "love" and "marriage" with "brains". Going to the chapel and we're gonna get BRAINS" or "brains and marriage, brains and marriage"
Despite our musical stylings, we won all 4 games on Saturday, but we lost Jim. He went down hard and broke his collar bone. Tracie put up a disc to him, he went after it, ran out of field, saw the wooden walkway to the ocean, dove over the walkway, and then came the writhing and the "I broke my fiancee" shout. A doctor, a nurse, and a fiancee all converged on Jim, but we still needed the EMTs.
Amanda lent us some help from Bawlmer and we closed out the day with victories. Natalie helped us focus on beer league with a bottle of tasty liquid, but most of us couldn't get our minds off the score. Nat just shook her head and went off to find someone with a more understanding palate. Later in the evening, a group of us meandered off boardwalk and finally discovered a splendid Italian restaurant. We savored it, conversation, wine, dessert, waitresses who told personal stories. The food and company were standing equal to the Ultimate.
Sunday, we were looking for help again, but soon decided to go with what we had. Stills was back in the mix and he was rested. The previous day, he'd had a nice layout from a floater from Jim, but on Sunday he had more giddy-up. His throws were crisper and we were looking good. Up 7-3, we hadn't turned the disc over, until I tested out a hammer. We got a little sloppy after that. Hopefully, I made up for it with a layout D. It was my only one this year. We looked great and cruised to victory.
Our semi-final battle would not be so easy. We were challenged at every spot. We made a few mistakes, one of them perhaps being in score-keeping. Down by 2, with the sounds of the closing horn in the air, we had to find a way to go full field for 2 points to tie. We hadn't scored a 2 all weekend. We hadn't even taken that many shots. The team we were playing was a bit taller, and had some really good players, but without the 2 we were bound to lose. Somehow they let me slide back to the end zone to catch a dump. I saw Matt B. working his way toward the endzone. I knew a flat throw would be dicey, so I put the disc outside in and hoped Matt would out read his man. The throw worked out perfectly. Matt dove for it as it was bending toward the back line and the defender didn't seem to have a chance.
We had a shot on universe point, but came up short. With no finals match-up, we ended up on the boardwalk as a team, eating pizza, and fried goods (Boardwalk Treats!), and in the go-karts. That felt like quite a prize.
That prize was nearly outdone by my three best of seven victories in the game of trees. Wildwood weekend is such a great weekend.
Somehow, some way, my body answered my pleas, at least for the weekend. It might have been the sand or it might have been a miracle. I'd gone to Wildwood expecting only to play a few token points, but I managed to stay in the rotation in every game.
Although this was the seventh consecutive year I've been to the tournament, this year was full of changes. As we packed up to hit the road, the most glaring difference was in who wasn't coming. Alan and Megan were missing. It's been five years since that happened. The second difference was that there had been no last minute scramble to the thrift store to supplement a silly outfit. Instead, we donned crisp white jerseys. Tracie designed a hideous zombie hand holding an engagement ring. We were "Death Do Us Part" lovingly shortened to D-Dup. We were a celebration of beach, Ultimate, fun, and the upcoming nuptials of Jim and Tracie. And the undead.
Matts, Sam and I piled into Sam's swanky van with the automatic everything and hit the road. We stopped mere blocks away for some semi-fancy grub at Smith Commons. Later we worked our way into the traffic. There's always traffic. It should be on that list with death and taxes. Ben Franklin probably left it out because he had a side job with the Wildwood chamber of commerce. FACT. Or something resembling fact.
We arrived at the Bolero sometime well after Arin and Alan would usually be a few drinks past thirsty and howling at the moon. This year, that duo was not around; so we found a zillion Ultimate players hanging on every balcony of our hotel instead. I wondered what exactly we'd gotten ourselves into, but our suite turned out to have thicker walls than I'd imagined. Eight on Friday and nine on Sunday called the suite home. (Suite home).
Saturday morning, we found more changes afoot. The beach and boardwalk remained, but we were entered in the 2-2 beer division. It'd been years since I'd been in the beer division and I'd been clamoring for a try at 2-2 for almost as long. We faced off well against our opponents. We often led, but rarely by much. Tracie's friend Em was a sweet handler and lots of fun to play with.
Speaking of fun to play with, I had managed to convince Amanda to join us. We last played Ultimate together in Lawrence, Kansas in 2002. Nine years had passed and Amanda was awesomer than I remembered. I don't even think that's a word, but it doesn't matter. It felt pretty special to be able to take the field/sand with her again. I never would have guessed that our friendship would survive this long, but man, look at it sailing.
Kyle helped us with some sweet cheers and we turned to musical numbers that replaced "love" and "marriage" with "brains". Going to the chapel and we're gonna get BRAINS" or "brains and marriage, brains and marriage"
Despite our musical stylings, we won all 4 games on Saturday, but we lost Jim. He went down hard and broke his collar bone. Tracie put up a disc to him, he went after it, ran out of field, saw the wooden walkway to the ocean, dove over the walkway, and then came the writhing and the "I broke my fiancee" shout. A doctor, a nurse, and a fiancee all converged on Jim, but we still needed the EMTs.
Amanda lent us some help from Bawlmer and we closed out the day with victories. Natalie helped us focus on beer league with a bottle of tasty liquid, but most of us couldn't get our minds off the score. Nat just shook her head and went off to find someone with a more understanding palate. Later in the evening, a group of us meandered off boardwalk and finally discovered a splendid Italian restaurant. We savored it, conversation, wine, dessert, waitresses who told personal stories. The food and company were standing equal to the Ultimate.
Sunday, we were looking for help again, but soon decided to go with what we had. Stills was back in the mix and he was rested. The previous day, he'd had a nice layout from a floater from Jim, but on Sunday he had more giddy-up. His throws were crisper and we were looking good. Up 7-3, we hadn't turned the disc over, until I tested out a hammer. We got a little sloppy after that. Hopefully, I made up for it with a layout D. It was my only one this year. We looked great and cruised to victory.
Our semi-final battle would not be so easy. We were challenged at every spot. We made a few mistakes, one of them perhaps being in score-keeping. Down by 2, with the sounds of the closing horn in the air, we had to find a way to go full field for 2 points to tie. We hadn't scored a 2 all weekend. We hadn't even taken that many shots. The team we were playing was a bit taller, and had some really good players, but without the 2 we were bound to lose. Somehow they let me slide back to the end zone to catch a dump. I saw Matt B. working his way toward the endzone. I knew a flat throw would be dicey, so I put the disc outside in and hoped Matt would out read his man. The throw worked out perfectly. Matt dove for it as it was bending toward the back line and the defender didn't seem to have a chance.
We had a shot on universe point, but came up short. With no finals match-up, we ended up on the boardwalk as a team, eating pizza, and fried goods (Boardwalk Treats!), and in the go-karts. That felt like quite a prize.
That prize was nearly outdone by my three best of seven victories in the game of trees. Wildwood weekend is such a great weekend.
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