Tying together Ultimate and New Year's Resolutions. Finally.
About three weeks ago, Ultimate failed me or I took part in its failure. Sometimes, it’s hard to tell which. It was a global-warming is coming hard kind of day, a thermometer-checking sweat-drenched shirt June day in April. We had a double-header scheduled and ample subs. We must have suited up in our lead boots. The other team was wearing their aluminum shoes. Few times in my life have I seen so little enthusiasm for a game of Ultimate. My team played without trust or enthusiasm. The other team played just well enough to beat us. We politely spoke in the huddle of pulling ourselves together, but there was nothing. No one could stir us up and lead us. I made a few feeble attempts, but was squashed for being reluctant. My failures were our failures. We took to ill-advised hucks after our half-hearted in cuts failed us. The other teams were far more talented in the air, but we still clung to a strategy that doomed us. I know that now in hindsight, but I couldn’t see it in the haze of the day.

I left bitter and dejected. I left ready to put my Ultimate playing career mostly in the rearview mirror. That’s a bad day. We improved the next week under more familiar leadership, winning a game against a team that expected to beat us. I miffed a gorgeous hammer that practically landed in my hand as I ran down the field in a full sprint, but otherwise played reasonably well, even breaking the mark with a flick and playing acceptable containment defense. The win felt good, but I still felt a little bruised and beaten. This is where I admit that while I love the team aspect of Ultimate, sometimes my own ego gets in the way. It’s great to be a cog in a machine, but sometimes I want to be a bright shiny cog that gets noticed. I try to control it, but sometimes that need still seeps out.

This past week as I rode my bike down from the suburbs to the site of our previous failure, I mentally prepared myself. It wasn’t as hot and muggy, but I wasn’t going to come out lethargic and I wanted to do a better job at picking the team up as best I could. I gave myself a little pep talk and came ready to play. I took a few hits early when my mark got broken, but I came out with some intensity. I did my best not to let my spirits fall. I stayed engaged on the sidelines. I looked to make the most of my points. After the team’s rough start, we began to battle back. I found myself in a nice battle with a very good player on the other team. We were going back and forth. I couldn’t manufacture any D’s, but I was close enough to cause some errant throws. The team as a whole still had trouble cutting and gelling, but at least we had some fight in us this time around. After one turn, we moved the disc up the field and I found myself marked in a three on two situation. I cocked back and threw up a hammer for a score. It was a nice surprise. The bigger surprise for me was when I turned to the sidelines and gestured for them to get fired up. We closed the gap to 1 point, but then couldn’t find our way. I begged off on one zone point. Then with the game on the line, we played zone again. I was short deep and I really think I blew it. I wasn’t following the poppers all the way into the cup and they were moving the disc. When we switched to man, I bit on a fake and watched my guy throw for a score. I guess I had a rough start and a rough finish, but overall I was pleased with the effort.

I’m not as proud of my post-game reaction. I grabbed my hat and flung it into the air as I announced, “Zone is for old people,” in frustration. The real frustration was with my failure, but instead of accepting that I blamed the scheme. I was able to turn the tide on intensity, now I need to shift my thinking on my reactions. I think that was one of my New Year’s Resolutions. Looks like there is still work to be done. Ultimate and I didn't fail each other at all. We just opened up an area for new lessons.

Another 60 seconds, another lollipop

I think I pay more attention to advertising than most people. At one point, I intended to make a career out of it. Now it's more of a hobby. I can't help but think about strategy, or appreciate a good line, or cringe in embarrassment for some client somewhere who thought that was a good idea. Now and again I see an ad or a campaign that makes me want to shake somebody's hand, or at least gets to me. I don't run out and buy things in response, but when it's really good, I can't stop talking about it for a while. It doesn't last, it's pop art, it's as disposable as most of the products, but it's something for a minute or two. As fast as things come these days, that's got to be worth the cable it runs through. Right now, I find two TV commercials worth talking about.

The first may be directed solely at me. This is part of cotton's new campaign. It's got Zooey Deschanel, whose music and look I find charming, singing about cotton while she goes through her day surrounded by music and cotton. She tickles the ivories on a great looking up right, she leafs through some records, she swings her hips while walking a bike, but what really gets me is when she reaches up for a banjo. Look out. I'm changing out of my dri-fit and putting on my cotton. Hi Zooey.

I did a little research and this ad is part of what is now a three-piece series. There's one for a country singer and one for an R&B singer as well. All are shot beautifully, with lots of color, glossy lips, and suggestions of creativity. Each takes the viewer on the journey from "fame" to everyday ordinary life. And look at that, everybody ends up in cotton when they aren't all glammed up. I'll be. Cotton just might be the fabric of our lives.

The second ad worth mentioning reaches me on a different level. Long ago, I'm not sure I understood what about advertising interested me. Now, I know. I wanted to take some words, rearrange them, and when they came out on the other side, they'd have some power, even if they didn't have meaning. Perhaps, I was (I am?) a little lazy, so I figured it would be best if I was limited to 30-second spots, or maybe a billboard. Advertising would have been a great outlet for that, instead I've got a blog. Which leads me to the "most interesting man in the world" campaign for Dos Equis. This campaign packs enough meaningless statements in 30 seconds for six young aspiring copywriters. A couple contenders:
"His beard alone has experienced more than a lesser man's entire body."
"His reputation is expanding faster than the universe."
My favorite and the champion meaningless statement, deserving of the highest honor, "He lives vicariously through himself."

That's enough to make me re-think my career path.

Wait, I have a career path?

The sky is crying

The 2nd Annual Alumni game seemed an apt metaphor for the season. We had grand plans and then as time approached to complete the plans things looked to get a little messy. We had to ignore the mess, make the most of it, and play Ultimate. Mostly, this was weather-related messiness and fortunately, the weather turned to light sprinkles which was no problem for the turf beneath our feet. So, we played.

Alan has recapped the game here, which is fortunate, because I was lost. I played with the alums, but couldn't help but cheer on both sides. I never really found my legs, but wasn't that worried because I'd found my friends. Sometimes, I love CUA Ultimate and yesterday was certainly one of those times. Sure there was some on field goodness that made me proud, stuff like Ranjo bugging the heck out of John, while John earned his most improved player status by keeping that disc moving so well. Or seeing Templon throw to Karpo and flashing back three years. It was a little hard to watch Alan pick us apart knowing he is going to be on the alum side next year, but then it was nice to remember that sheer will coupled with physical ability are what make Arin such a force. It was kind of sweet to see Cat prancing around again out of position on the dump and really sweet to see Classics making things happen on both sides of the disc. Nobody could guard Stills and hopefully that trend will continue for other teams. Maybe CUA Ultimate will bring some defense next year if Templon's brother is really on his way to CUA. (Who would have believed that statement would ever be typed?)

It was the off the field stuff that were the true highlights for me. Even with the alum crowd slightly thin, it was a great way and day to celebrate CUA Ultimate. I wish I hadn't screamed at Jimmy, but some things never change, and I did take charge of the situation which I'm proud of. It's been very hard for me to be a vocal leader and I felt like I did that pretty well yesterday with some of the organizing and awards. It felt really good to pull all the grads up to be cheered and it even better to huddle up with everyone at the end and really celebrate with our Popemobile cheer. Thanks everybody. Hopefully our
crowd will grow even larger next year.

Pirate kisses and Glenrothes

The thing I like about this blog is the commingling of the high and low brow. This blog is medium brow when taken as an average, and furrowed brow when taken in aggregate, but at any point a reader might find the high: Drinking single malt at the Round Robin, I couldn't help but notice the man in the grey suit, a throwback to another era with his matching grey fedora. He was a regular. It was my first time.

Or the low: There in the back alley, a pirate pawed his wench as they traded puffs on a cigarette. Their brand of lust was the empty sort found between shifts at the local pirate-themed tavern. I shouted "Pirate love!" in their direction since "Shiver me timbers" sounded profane. They responded with a smile, though a little parrot mouthing off would have gone a long way.

Meat. It's for eatin'

I went pescetarian for two months. This was not a decision that I made lightly, although it seemed like it. My pescetarian ways started on a bet at a vegetarian joint in Canada. Nope. Not lightly. I know some vegetarians and what they lack in meat-based protein they generally make up in overall coolness. Still, I'm a KC meat guy. They moved cows in my town. I bleed bar-b-que sauce.

Yet, as I ate meat-lover's poutine (it's a Montreal hangover cure that doesn't inherently require meat only fries, gravy, and cheese curds), I found my heart racing and rather than blame the curds I chose to pick on poor defenseless piles of meat. So after some discussion and a delicious meal of non-meat items my pescetarian path unfolded before me. No meat, except the fishes and I don't like fishes.

What had I signed on for? I blamed meat for my poor eating habits and figured if I removed the mammal, I could force myself into a food pyramid. There were some faulty assumptions in there, but I dove into couscous and tofu hard. I finally got around to slicing and cooking up sweet potatoes and kale. I ate fruit- pears, peaches, apples. For two weeks, it was veg-tastic. I shifted my paradigm. I didn't need to have a slab of protein as the centerpiece. I could instead have a series of sides. It was not as unsatisfying as I imagined.

The first real challenge came at a meal with my coworkers. I had steered them away from the seafood joints prior to signing up for this new lifestyle, so they could have registered surprise when I ordered tilapia, but I learned a non-vegetarian lesson that day- even people up in your business aren't always paying attention. Tilapia was the only option I could find that wouldn't make me a bet loser. It was crusted and the fish taste was minor. I survived. Maybe even thrived.

The next big challenge either came at an Ultimate tournament or a rehearsal dinner. Either way, the story was the same- BBQ. I ate cole slaw, beans, and buns and hoped to find an egg salad sandwich later in the evening. This stung a little, but I had a bet and was highly motivated. The Ultimate tournament was manageable, but the rehearsal dinner was pescetarianism under a magnifying glass. It's hard to hide meat-shirking from a family. There was not much hiding here. My cover was blown, but I wasn't backing down.

More weeks went by and I battled on with pasta and some tuna salad sandwiches. I wasn't about to lose. I was cruising along thinking maybe I could make a permanent change when two events struck back to back. First came the steak house. When someone ordered ribs after I'd ordered a sweet potato and a salad, my tear ducts quivered. I held back the waterworks, but just barely. Next came the portobello cheeseburger. It was an ok sandwich on its own, but as a faux-cheeseburger it burned my insides with its inferiority. I longed for beef. Each bite was mushroom covered defeat. It was almost sickening.

I'd learned some things during the challenge. Maybe I could survive without making meat the sun of my dinner solar system. Maybe to eat healthy I needed to focus more on portion size and the particular components of a meal, rather than on trying to assign blame to some poor animal flesh. These were the lessons, but my challenge lacked completion. The bet had gone a bit off the tracks, so I set my sights on the two-month mark. I was going to make it to that point without meat. I dug in, chugged couscous and made it.

To celebrate I ate a pepperoni pizza, a small cheeseburger, and a tofu explosion. I'm kidding about the tofu explosion. There are some things that require bacon. Maybe I'll cling to what I've learned and let someone else eat those things.

Dear legs, please don't quit on me

Since Tuesday's squeaker second-place finish, I have run a track workout- 2 times 4 by 400m at 69 second pace with 90 seconds rest and 3:30 between sets, run a 4.5 miler, played shoddy laid-back Ultimate, biked 23 miles, run a 5k race, and hiked 4 or so miles.

When I woke up this morning for the local Earth Day 5k, I thought my legs might go on strike. If I hadn't already paid an entry fee, I likely would have bailed. The event was so close to my house that after I picked up my packet, I jogged a warm up home to drop off my new t-shirt and socks. I knew several of the participants from the local running store runs. The atmosphere was relaxed. One of the runners suggested that victory could well be mine, but like most runners I supplied appropriate doubts. It wasn't modesty talking, it was soreness.

The race was an out and back course, with most of the first mile on a long sloping downhill and everyone fully aware that going down meant coming up. I toed the starting line because not many others seemed to want to. Once GO was uttered and the chips were activated, my mind went a little blank. We soared down the hill. I was running in fourth or fifth for a while as we ripped through a mile in 5:21. The leader soon established his dominance and I found myself trailing an older man in a jersey with the words "third place" on the back. After looking at those words for a while and thinking about the potential prize money, I decided that it was my duty to help this gentlemen attain his jersey-given name, so soon after crossing the 2 mile at 11:10, I moved into second place. When we turned back up the long hill, I had the good fortune of being so far out of first that a second pacer on a bike appeared to lead us on the course. This gave me someone to chase up the hill. I chased well for a while and then the pain began to set in. I slowed, kept the visions of cash close at hand, and fought on. I'd opened up a sizable gap on third, but could feel the gap shrinking.

There was a pretty good internal battle going at this point, but I just wanted it to be over. With several glances behind me, I finally made it across the line at 17:55. The little pay day was mine. I was more than a minute out of first and had taken second by just a few seconds. My legs did not fall off. Hopefully, the earth appreciated it.

Tomorrow, I rest.

An April mile
Two nights ago, ignoring the triple threat of rain, traffic, and straying so far outside the DC city lines, my friend M and I journeyed to the untamed suburb of Gaithersburg, Maryland to test our mettle on the Quince Orchard High School track in the mile.

We spent quite a while cruising up and down an avenue, desperately missing those who had organized and directed us in the past or at least a map. With minutes to spare we arrived at the track in time to register and then wait.

The evening was divided into heats with the milers predicting times over 10 minutes going first, 9 to 10 minutes second, 8 to 9 next, and on down. Almost every heat seemed to share several characteristics.
1. Someone (or several people) would start out faster than they intended to and fade painfully.
2. Someone would run 30 seconds or more below the low end of their predicted time.
3. Much to the crowd's delight there would be a furious agonizingly close finish for at least one pair of people.

M and I studied and applauded these heats and planned our strategy. M ran first and with a little coaxing agreed that if she could hold 7:30 pace for a half-marathon; she could run in the 6 to 7 minute mile heat. This was her first timed mile and so she plotted a conservative approach. She started off well at the back of the pack as planned. Her heat was HUGE and she shared the track with about 30 people. Entering the second lap, I thought she made a big move, but was told later that 10 high school kids were regretting their fast start allowing her to smartly move up to around the middle of the heat. She crossed the half mile in 3:21 and continued to look comfortable and on pace. The crowd was forcing her to lane 2 on the turns, but she cruised on. M stayed steady throughout, passing a few more people on lap 3 and keeping pace on lap 4. She picked off one more entering the final turn and headed home with a 6:38 mile. She had a new personal record! She looked strong and I suspect there may be some untapped speed in there, but we'll wait to find that out next time.

The evening wore on, the crowd thinned, and 7 runners toed the line as a light rain began to fall on what had become the under 5:30 mile heat. My goal was to run under 5 minutes. When the gun went off, 4 runners jumped out front and I tucked in a few yards behind. The man in front was soon out of reach, second place had 15 yards and the runner in third, fourth, and
and I all crossed the first lap in 75 seconds, right about on pace. I thought I was pouring it on in laps 2 and 3, especially since I passed and put some distance between the now fourth and fifth place runners, but instead I clocked times of about 77 and 75, just off the desired pace. With the final lap, I set my sights on second place. I'd shed my glasses since it was raining, but I could still see that I was gaining on the runner in white. He was a blur, but I didn't need to see his features to know that he was a ways in front. I thought his lead was too great, but I went after him anyway. I gained a few yards on the backstretch and gained a few more on the homestretch, but the distance wasn't closing fast enough. As we made our way over the last 80 yards, I kept staring at his back waiting for him to pour it on as I gave chase. I believe that if he'd had just a hard step or two, I would have been broken and stuck in third. Instead, somehow with 10 yards left, I pulled even with him and then slid past. The runner reacted with a late kick, but the finish line arrived just in time. Second place and a 4:57 mile were mine.

I've got a theory

Groups with enthusiasm are an awesome force. Saturday night I was part of a sing-a-long birthday party. We had parts and dressed up and we performed. Some more than others. The stage was set on a cardboard and construction paper Sunnydale, California. If we'd ripped up the carpet we probably would have found a cardboard Hellmouth, but we were contented with magic shop contents and eating at The Bronze between the store fronts of main street. The Buffy The Vampire Slayer TV show episode "Once More with Feeling" was our assignment and celebrating Kim was our motivation.

I practiced many hours to learn the part of Xander as best I could. I still clung to the security of my script during my songs. Others either practiced more or have more natural talents. It was an impressive display of modest singing ability. The most impressive part was the enthusiasm everyone shared. We were into it and thrilled by each performance. People knew or made up choreography. Everyone smiled and laughed and sang like he or she was in the episode. We could have been the understudies. I'm a little biased, but it was that good. And if it wasn't, at least it was that much fun.

Somehow, it felt like more than fun . It was more like teamwork. It felt like it meant more than just a sing-a-long. I've heard most of my friends sing karaoke in that same basement, but this was bigger. I saw the talents of my friends in a renewed light. It felt important that we had trusted each other enough to show that we cared about something, even a basement performance. The event didn't transform my view of my friends, but it reminded me a little of what it was like to first meet them and be amazed. That's a special gift and quite a party.

Making up for lost time

March Madness
The Missouri Tigers run to the elite 8 did wonders for my bracket, for a moment making me a believer as I captured all 8 of the elite correctly. Then UConn and Michigan State destroyed my hopes and sent me to 14th place. I watched too much basketball and enjoyed some nice mad moments. I rushed out of work and headed to a sports bar to watch Maryland win their first round game. It was a bit like being in church. I felt fellowship with the Terps fans as the emotions rose and fell while I took sips of my beer. Maybe not exactly like church. Those two little guards from American giving a scare to Villanova was a treat. My favorite game was a women's game.

It was Maryland vs. Vanderbilt. I was flipping channels and I caught the start and couldn't stop watching. Maryland was heavily favored, but Vanderbilt came out scrapping from the jump. They were led by a senior and she was having a day. She was 5 to 7 inches shorter than the women she was guarding, but she was swatting balls away, making steals, getting rebounds, and finding ways to score. Her scrappy attitude put Vandy out in front of Maryland, way in front. With her on the court, Vanderbilt was unstoppable, but she got some fouls and needed some rest and Maryland managed to stay within striking distance. Vandy kept fighting all game long, but one Maryland player, Marissa Coleman (who recently became a Washington Mystic in the WNBA) refused to lose. She put Maryland on her back and scored 42 points. It was a great battle. I didn't need a bracket to enjoy fiery competition.

Sectionals Madness as told with help of a halfbeard
"I'm dressed for you today. I'm wearing these cargo pants, so you can put all of your baggage in my pockets. I'm wearing this tie-dye shirt so you can play with calm and chill. I'm wearing this hat so you remember that divided we fail, but united we stand. Teamwork. And I have this ridiculous beard because I Want You TO PLAY RIDICULOUS!"

After seven months of growing an increasingly charming(?) beard, I finally shaved half of it in part as an effort to inspire my team to overcome the odds and go on to Sectional glory. I agreed that I'd go to work looking ridiculous if we met our early season goals. The plan had been laid out, though not followed, and the section was ripe for a shake up.

I was doing my coaching best, which leaves something to be desired, but has progressed since September. The team was seeded seventh overall and second in our pool. It was going to take an incredible amount of gelling and a bit of good luck to get where we wanted to be, but I've taken to searching for wells of optimism. The sun was shining, but the wind was blowing. Discs and wind are a bit like coffee and Irish creme. The right amount can be wonderful, but mess up the ratio and trouble awaits. The first game was against Johns Hopkins. The game was like the halfbeard, sometimes hairy, sometimes nearly smooth, never exactly pretty. At universe point, we blew it and our lofty goals took their first hit. My well of optimism sank, but JA said it well as we would time and again over the weekend, "We didn't come here to go undefeated. We came to go to Regionals."

So the team rallied a bit and polished off the 4 seed Maryland B in marginally convincing fashion. The biggest problem in that game other than the spate of dropped passes was our ailing star Lemon who took another hit trying to help the team and his limited playing time was reduced further. After a bye, Bad Habit took on Delaware B and with a little help from their disinterest steamrolled to a 13-1 victory, narrowly missing a shutout. Life was further improved when Maryland B upset Johns Hopkins at universe point, making way for Habit to at least make it into the 3rd place bracket comfortably. Still, the 1 seed, GW awaited. For the first few points, Habit held serve and looked strong doing it. Stills was playing his heart out, but slowly the facade began to show cracks. GW put on a zone and then reeled off 4 in a row and never looked back. Stills came up with one of the individual highlights for the team with a huge layout D on a swing pass, but Habit couldn't find a groove and GW ran away. With a 2-2 record, Habit would have to come out strong on Sunday and reel off 4 wins. It was a tall order, made taller by a lack of depth. The team was carrying more members than usual, but practice together had been limited and it was difficult for me to tell who could be counted on in the clutch. This was made even more difficult by my general fondness for the group I was with. I had to balance optimism and realism as we entered the game on Sunday against Salisbury.

We came out with very little punch on Sunday and things did not go our way. Salisbury dispatched of us and our poor throws rather quickly and our Regional aspirations were gone before I knew what hit us. A series of mistakes and missed opportunities along with an inability to capitalize continued to haunt us. We went on to play in the seventh place bracket.

I set a poor tone for the game against GMU. My line calling was as lax as my attitude and I was far from alone. Down way too many, the team finally dug in and pulled out a miracle by coming back from down 12-7 or 8 and winning at universe point 14-13. It wasn't pretty, but they did the job. That victory meant a match-up with the host St. Mary's and a chance to prove that we had deserved to be seeded 7th to their 8th. Feeding off the GMU game, Habit sliced up everything St. Mary's put out. SM scored 4 or 5 and showed that her recent dominance is only in its beginning stages. For subs, I was rotating the top 7 to 9 through about 5 or 6 spots and trying to get the other players in as much as possible in the other 2 spots. It seemed to be working all right. The top group was playing well, and KG and Classics made a push to really fill out some of the gaps, while SM, Tini, and Frodo all had solid performances in their limited points. The team was starting to be a team.

Bye-bye St. Mary's, hello rematch with Salisbury. The Salisbury Buzz weren't really interested in playing for seventh, but after a weekend of hemming and hawing, we had finally found some kind of groove. I kept with the same substitution game plan for the next game, and got huge points from KG and Classics again. The starters were playing great and this became a battle of attrition. KG wasn't interested in much attrition and came up with about a zillion D's using his little spring-loaded legs, and then grabbed several scores to boot. JA found a way to get deep and AJ started finding a way to get his big throws to him. Salisbury found themselves in a mighty battle. JG continued his solid play finding big gaps for cross-field throws and just making the offense run through him. The score went back and forth. We'd go on a run and then the Buzz would answer. At Lemon's urging I used our timeouts to stop runs and it seemed to work pretty well. JM hit on a backhand for a score and the tide seemed to be turning, but the Buzz kept finding answers. The battle was reaching epic status when Banjo made a huge grab for a score on an out cut, took the body blow and held on to the disc. Frodo tried to fight his way to victory. At 13-13, we were receiving for universe point. We had at least 2 chances, one 5 yards from the goal line and one on a deep cut with two receivers, but couldn't finish it off. We ended up 8th.

It was nowhere near where we wanted to be, but there were many things to be proud of and as a team we got what we worked for. Hopefully, we'll learn from it. At the end of the last game, an effusive fellow stopped by and in an apparent sober but heartfelt moment detailed his personal history and love for the game. It was awkward and slightly uncomfortable, but the message that I heard was spot on. That message: "Whatever you're playing for, there is a honor in competing and giving it your all. Be proud that you took part and enjoy the moments."

Right on, guy. Don't cry.

East Capitol and the Washington Monument

I spent my day wandering DC like a lost tourist. It was a good way to spend an unpaid Friday. For years, I have meant to make a return to the monument with the multi-colored bricks. My intentions were waylaid, not by lack of funds or civil war like the builders, but by the desire to avoid a line and the proximity factor. I'm developing a theory that the closer one lives to a popular destination the harder it is to attend. "There's always tomorrow," becomes a mantra as strong as any voodoo curse or force field.

In Isaiah's Feather style, I finally made tomorrow today. I joined the ticket line later than I would have liked and was rewarded with a ticket three hours from that moment. I went on a long walk in search of an eyebrow window, the future, and some digital pictures. I found two of the three, snapping shots of row houses and Volkswagens along East Capitol street as the minutes ticked by. I discovered a musty book store, a diner with an American name run by Vietnamese women, but not an eyebrow window.

With the future just 30 minutes away, I dodged school groups and eager teens snapping photos to take a quick look at the Lincoln exhibit at the Smithsonian. The top hat was in disrepair, the replica bed clothes were not picture-worthy, sorry teen girls, and I was rushing, but I still had time to stop and take in a series of Lincoln portraits. The first thing I noticed was Lincoln's strong jaw line. He was better looking than legend tells. His beard wasn't as ubiquitous either. The series conveyed the toll that presidency and a civil war had taken on the man. I considered it for a moment with a stroke of my own beard before heading off to the Washington Monument stairs.

The stairs of the monument closed years ago, now the only way up is by park service escorted elevator. The elevator is the size of my bedroom and metallic. It seems completely out of place as does most of the interior of this 555-foot structure. Masons on the outside, St. Louis Arch-builders on the inside. The incongruity is off-putting, but the real disappointment was in he realization that 555 feet isn't that high up. Sure this was the tallest structure going in the mid to late 1800s, but an airplane flying in to Reagan provides a better view and it includes the Washington Monument. Fly in to town and get the same view with less security. Check it off the list.

Beard News

The pros:
I’m now finding beard hairs up to 3.5 inches long. I measured. I can fold
my beard up into my face and touch my nose. I adore my shadow; my head
looks so elongated, like there’s a little Lincoln hidden in there. I
haven’t noticed anyone staring at me on the street, but I do get
noticed. Ultimate players really dig the beard. This is just another
reason that I like Ultimate players.

The cons:
I can’t eat anything without getting it in my beard. Couscous is my
favorite food to pick out because it is very satisfying to pull little
food pellets out. Syrup, ice cream, and anything similar are not so fun.
I can’t fight the syrup at all. It’s an instant mess. It makes me feel
three years old. People are constantly telling me that I have food in
my beard at mealtime. I always have a napkin ready to go, but sometimes
even a quick draw with the quicker-picker-upper isn’t quick enough.

The jokes:
I went to a meeting the other day with a coworker that I haven’t seen in
months. After she realized who I was, she said, “Has it been that long?”
Another coworker answered for me, “He’s been stranded on a deserted
island- Castaway style.”

The spreading world-wide acceptance of facial hair:
This clip from the Buenos Aires Film Festival is awesome. Thanks, Alan.

Wedding receptions are fun

I thought it was just the dancing that made me enjoy wedding receptions so much, but after this weekend I'd like to revise my theory. I like wedding dancing because it takes place in this bubble of love, conversation, and reminiscing. English teachers and grandmothers and nieces, nephews, and best friends all get together and celebrate with some food or drink. This combination of people with past seems to put the crowd in a pretty good mood. I want to figure out how to throw dance parties with that same vibe. Inviting English teachers and digging out some old photo albums might be good first steps.

One part of the experience that I will leave out of my dance party is the garter toss. When it came time at this wedding, I must have been the last single guy still around. The groom held the garter up in the air and looked around. Reluctantly, I raised my hand and he tossed it in my general direction. There wasn't much I could do. This couple had eschewed many of the traditional reception festivities and yet the bouquet and garter still came out. And so, I snagged another this weekend. I think that puts me up to three. I apologize to anyone whom I'm holding back. I can toss the garter in your direction if you are worried about the order of these things. I don't want to slow anyone down, especially not if I get invited to the reception for dancing.

Stop thinking
I miss my hour. I have a headache. My ankle hurts so much that it's overshadowing the rest of my pains. Today was a good day. I didn't mean to play Ultimate. I wore the going-out-spectacles. I didn't pack my cleats or my ankle brace or a red jersey. Yes, I wore shorts and a white jersey, but those other items are pretty essential, I thought.

P had some extra cleats. B taped my ankle. I raided my running shoes and made some in-soles. We went white. I tried to keep my glasses on my face. Somewhere deep inside I wanted to play, of course. I wouldn't have done it if today had been a strictly college tournament, but the snow melt had turned Huck into Muck and so 8 teams met to play and one of those 8 was a local club team. All bets were off and CUA only had 7 active players. I made 8. That's kind of how this whole thing began 6 years ago.

First, we faced SUNY-Buffalo. We were playing well out of the HO stack, the hucks were working thanks to some pretty big throws from AJ and we found a groove. J was scoring all over the place. Turnovers were fairly scarce and despite our lack of subs, we started to pull away and we never looked back taking the game 13-5. Personally, I was struggling on my ankle, feeling slow, and feeling the lack of subs, but I did get one big guy to bite on a couple of fakes so that I could pull in a deep one. My mind is pretty fuzzy on a lot of other details, but everybody was working well together and having a good time. We won 13-5.

Next, we faced the local club team WireTap. Even with numbers, we would have been overmatched. JA gave a great speech about getting points and we set a goal to get 5-10 on this team. Talk about a blur, the details really get fuzzy for me in this game. I think they scored first and then we scored. Everybody continued to work well together. AJ kept hucking. JA was working well in the middle. B and P were doing good handler work, J was slicing through the zone and everybody was running as much as they could. K got a cleat stepping on his hand which put us down to no subs, but we kept fighting. Turnovers for our team were few and far between. I seemed to be about the biggest mess on the field. AJ threw a huge hammer/blade that just missed the outstretched fingers of my defender and then came screaming down into my chest. I couldn't hold on. JA kept throwing one more fake than I thought he was going to and I ended up throwing it away. Then in a series that baffles me almost as much as my sticky fingers, I couldn't get P to make a move on the dump, so I turned to B. He got open and I lofted the disc away from him and into his defender. To top that off, I laid out into the feet of the guy who scored on the next throw. Not sweet. Still, despite some miscues on my part, we had the early lead. We were up about 6-3 before squeaking to half at 7-6. We kept fighting, a few points seemed to last forever. WireTap did a poor job of running us to death (age no doubt played a factor) and instead decided to play into our hands for the most part. Unfortunately, our hands couldn't quite grasp victory and we lost 10-11. I know that this was the beginning of their season and that they took us lightly, but this mattered to us.

We were supposed to play 3 more games, but cramps, hands, ankles, and more left us too spent to continue. The lessons to learn: we can get in there and battle with good teams. We can do the little things right, stay close on D, turn it over less, and we can mix it up with some good teams. That's a good lesson if we can cling to it.

What a pleasure to take the field with those guys, several who I've been around for 4 years now. Yeah, Habit, yeah.

Thinking about Ultimate
I'm having a quiet day full of thoughts and many are swirling about the game of Ultimate and my involvement in it. Some of that is brought on by a sore ankle and some of that is ripped right from the start of the day. As my alarm was beeping at me, I was screaming at my team to go for the disc. My dream screams were pleas to have the urgency and aggression to fight for a floating disc. If the disc hasn't hit the ground yet, there's still a chance. It's not a ball, it's hanging in the air, ripe for the taking. There are many things I don't know how to teach, today it's felt like most things, but one I've struggled with on both a small scale and on a large scale is that sense of urgency.

The goal, the test, Sectionals is less than a month away for the team. Our practice attendance has remained low and now we're having trouble drawing adequate numbers for tournaments. These are obviously big problems that need to be addressed, but I'm realizing that they are next year's problems. This is the hand we've got, regardless of the hand we wanted. There aren't enough weeks left to implement big changes or find other players, we have to work within this framework. We'll hope that our injured come back quickly, but we need to face the facts.

I've spent my day trying to figure out what the facts are. I think they are first that we need to admit that we could have been better and then put that behind us. Not enough people on the team did the work to really raise the level of play and we've had some bad luck, but what can we do now? I believe we can still do plenty. I believe this team is better than last year's team. There are more people I trust to have the discs in their hands. There are more players when they show up. Attendance is not a new problem. The only thing this team lacks compared to last year is that monstrous defensive closer; a painful thing to miss for sure, but if we'd play to our strengths it wouldn't be so detrimental. Again, I'm asking what can we do? We have to come together as a team and support one another instead of tearing people down. We've got to be engaged in the game- knowing the force, being ready to catch discs, being aware. Maybe I should be able to teach these things, but I don't know how so I just have to ask everyone to wake up and be ready, even when they are tired. Maybe morning practices taught some of that.

I also have some question of what to do during the next three weeks. On that front, I think I'd like to focus on one skill per practice, drill on it and then play. Ultimate should still be about play. It's fun and it's important to remember that. It's also fun to be better and improve. During some unscientific thought, I figured that if every person had one less turnover that could potentially result in three more scores. Three more scores could very well be the difference between losing 10-13 and winning 13-10. Nobody needs to win the game on the next throw, they just need to complete the next throw. They need to be there on defense to cause problems. Big things can still get done in the next three weeks, but the urgency has to be there and heads have to be in it. And I have to do more than write about it.

Snow day

I stood at the end of the driveway in three inches of snow. The government didn't close, so neither did my workplace. Large flakes floated down from the sky. I stood and watched them fall. The earth had that silent bright white magic of a snowstorm. I pulled out my phone, I can do that now, as I stood in the glistening silence. I dialed work and declared my own snow day. I've debated the merits of my decision between shoveling the driveway, sledding, and making snow ice cream. My grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup lunch go in the plus column. The people without jobs, my responsibility to my employer weigh on the con side. It's almost over now, this snow day. I need to be over it too. I made my decision. I enjoyed the snow. I need be fine with the rest of it. Maybe another bowl of snow ice cream would help.

Such an imperfect weekend. So lovely

My body hasn't really felt the same since that doubleheader in January. I've worked hard to try to get myself back in place, but I'm not there and Winter League Tournament time had rolled around to meet me. Our first game was cancelled. Our numbers were high and we managed to roll through the new first game. I played a few points and felt ok. I felt like a contributor and that was the best I could be. Fortunately, we had lots of male subs and we went on to victory. The second game was against that team that took us down by universe point the last time I was feeling good. That defeat still hurt and I made that clear to my teammates. We got off to a quick start and were up by a few points, before the game became 6-5. I was contributing where I could and then took a step in the wrong direction and went down with a twisted ankle. The team marched on and took the game with a commanding finish. It was a good feeling everywhere except in my ankle. There were a number of shining moments, but none more than the dominance of SM. She was a game changer. She's always been fast and relentless, but yesterday I think Team Schaefer finally saw her for the Ultimate player that we all knew she could be. No one could cover her deep. I think she scored a dozen if she scored one. She made great grabs stretched out up in the air and great grabs reaching out. The other team starting giving her a 10-yard cushion, so the offense ran through her in cut almost every time. After that, she probably still went on to score a few. It was awesome.

My day wasn't done as I went from Burrito Brothers to the local tavern after icing my ankle. I heard a Monkees cover band which is as fun as it sounds and then saw a Rock-a-billy show. At the urging of one member of our group, I did get up and dance which did nothing for my ankle. It didn't take but a few steps for me to realize that the group member urging us to dance wasn't just a dance enthusiast, she was one heckuva dancer. Her Keds were flying all over the place to the Rock-a-billy beat. She brought guys to their feet so they could dance with her. It was splendid. I could only last two songs before my ankle cried out, but I think she could have danced the floor off.

Today should have been semi-finals and finals, but thanks to weather it has turned into brunch and a movie. My ankle thanks Mother Nature.

I can't believe it's not France: The written account

Bonjour. I need to get this down on the Internet before I forget that vacation ever happened.

First stop: Stowe, Vermont. I've been threatening to do some East Coast skiing since I moved to the East Coast. After a few trips to Pennsylvania and a few trips back out West, I finally hit the slopes of Stowe. One day at a resort is hardly enough to make a good judgment, but I will admit to being pleased with the vertical drop and the variety of terrain Stowe offered. There were a few spots where that variety extended to grass and tree roots, but mostly the runs did the trick. I was fortunate and unfortunate that my snowboarding took place on a Thursday in the rain. Those two factors meant that the mountain was mostly empty. I've never skied in the rain before- once-in-a-lifetime experience, I hope. The rain was annoying, but I suspect that the accompanying warm temperatures kept the mountain from becoming the towering icicle that I anticipated. The snow conditions weren't the powder of the West, but they were a wet and mostly un-sticky sort that allowed for both speed and traction. I enjoyed myself. After a few runs I realized that something was missing. That something turned out to be altitude. Neither my heart nor my lungs ever reached that pounding, pulsing stage of a good run in Colorado. My legs would tire, but the rest of me felt just fine. That's skiing at 4000 feet above the sea and 4000 feet below the base of Winter Park.

By later afternoon, the temperature dropped and the rain turned to snow. I was unprepared for such a drastic shift in weather and could only stare in frustration at my wet gloves and clothes as the chill became too much. I was off the slopes a bit too early, but still had time to eat free ice cream at Ben & Jerry's plant, so that was a wash.

Next stop: Montreal, Canada. Montreal in February is cold as advertised. I wandered from our old old hotel down along the water where I saw the Habitat 67 (now apparently a chi-chi residence if wikipedia is to be believed), ships docked in ice, Montreal's answer to Big Ben, and I think the Biosphere or the Biodome, or some kind of Bio-enclosure. I learned an important lesson as I wandered by the water. That lesson: Never go out without my long underwear again. My legs were freezing! During this meander, I was able to summon my otherwise halting French to announce, "Je ne parle pas Francais." I don't speak French. Like most of the locals we ran into the woman I was speaking to immediately switched to perfect English. Some, particularly those in service, tended to say sentences in French and without missing a beat follow it up with the English translation. It was quite remarkable, really. Which is why I remarked on it, in case you were wondering.

I think Montreal would be a great place to practice French. I found that even a few past tense rules snuck back into my consciousness during the visit. Still, other than the language and some common names, I think we found that Montreal was less European than we'd expected. There were European influences, but the cars, the vibe, the je ne sais quois was still pretty Western.

There was a nice winter stroll through a park, and some interesting time spent underground where city art abounded. The Olympic Stadium complex wasn't all I had hoped it would be, but then the Olympics happened there before I landed on this planet. There was a five-course meal that tasted pretty, well, tasty. There was some poutine, a local delicacy of fries, gravy, and cheese curds that I spiced up with three kinds of meat. That actually turned me into a pescetarian for the time being. All of this was enjoyable and very vacation-worthy, but my favorite event didn't take place in Montreal. It was a dinner in the middle of nowhere. It was a singing, dancing, spoon-playing, delicious-eating extravaganza. The carafe of maple syrup on our table was amazing, and so were the pickled beets. The maple something-or-other pie for dessert was only outdone by the sugar on snow that capped off the evening. Even if the place hadn't been owned by a man with a big white beard, I think I would've been thrilled. I'm glad the NY Times wrote it up.

After a full weekend which must have involved some 795 hat/glove to pocket transfers, I almost made it home with my hat and gloves, but didn't. At the gas station, not a mile from the Manchester, NH airport my hat must have fallen out of the car. I realized it before I checked my bag, but there was nothing I could do by then. It wasn't the perfect end, but it was the best time to lose the hat. I only had to wear my helmet on the walk home.

Fight beard-ism!

I was involved in a very ugly incident today. If I hadn't gone down the path of sharing my every waking thought with as little editing as possible so many years ago, I might just tuck this one away. Instead, I'll trot out my anecdote, not to teach a valuable lesson, though if I'm fortunate someone will learn one, and not to sell some product, though the young hooligans might prefer that course.

Riding my bike, minding my own business, wind blowing through my beard on this gorgeous day, an SUV passed me. From this SUV of lacrosse players, came an angry shout. It welled up from inside the passengers as they overtook the magnificent beard. Perhaps it was jealousy, or personal weakness. Perhaps they doubted my virility or failed to recognize my beauty. Whatever the case, the poor angry lacrosse players shouted one word and one word only: "SHAVE!"

For a moment I considered chasing the SUV to explain my pain, but that seemed to be an ineffective course of action. I dreamed that my beard would grow even longer and more fierce until it had tentacles that could reach out and pluck lacrosse players from their vehicles and smother them in the Head and Shoulders-scented glory of facial hair. That seemed unlikely.

I don't understand. This shout hurt me. Beards have rights too.

Somewhat of a tradition

I don't think last night's commercials gave me a lot to work with, but there's something to be said for sticking to a tradition. I wrote down some notes before I went to bed, but I spent the day reading reviews, so my biases may have shifted. Oh, it's easy to be a critic...

*Since there was a ton of animation, I feel like I need to make a special category for that. My award for coolest CGI goes to the Coca-Cola picnic. I especially liked the butterflies as coke bottle effect. (Disclaimer: One of my favorite childhood stories was about a can of root beer in a park.)

*The commercial that made me stop and watch was the Hyundai commercial with the various languages. I don't know that it had a lot of sticking power, but it caught my attention initially.

*The updated mean Joe Green commercial with Troy Palamalu hurt me. I couldn't tell how many from my party even caught the reference.

*The Godaddy ads were painful to watch on tv. I broke down and went to see the "Too hot for TV" versions. As far as I know, they weren't too hot for tv, but at least they made sense online. Godaddy needs to get a real strategy. This one trick pony should be put out to pasture.

*I thought the cars.com commercial with the guy who had it all going his way showed a lot of promise, but the payoff was cars.com and that seemed like squat. Nothing like having your product come off as a disappointment to drive people to your site.

*I liked the John Elway twist at the end of the Heroes promo ad.

*The women at my party didn't seemed pleased with the talking flowers ad, but for my money it was right on. How can I buy boxed flowers now?

I don't really have a favorite ad this year, but the one that was just one stray alien tentacle away was the Alec Baldwin hulu.com ad. He had me until he became an alien. I was perfectly happy with a Baldwin sucking my media-addled brain, but as soon as he became otherworldly it had all gone too far.

It's a fine line. Or at least that's what I think.

What a game.

Brr- oh my gosh I need to stay inside for a little while

I don't see how I'm going to avoid getting a cold, I've been outside and usually sweating seven out of the last nine days. I don't have enough warm clothes to keep up this pace. I'm not sure I have enough muscle and joint power either. My skin feels a bit like it just wants to come off my bones. At least it does in the places where I'm not so tight that I feel like I need a jackhammer massage.

Yesterday and today were Ultimate and as much as it hurts, I do like Ultimate. I was playing in a double-header and except for the fatigue I feel like I found the groove I'd asked for.

My team got off to a slow start and we found ourselves down 5-0 very quickly. It was a little disappointing and I feel like I contributed to an early game flatness. We finally started to shake it off after that. One early moment stands out for me as I was cutting to the back corner with my defender on me. My teammate RB ripped off one of his wicked backhands down the line. The disc just seemed to hang in the air in front of us. The defender, who has also been a teammate in past seasons, and I gave chase. It seemed that we were stride for stride for several steps and the disc kept hanging. Finally, I found one more notch and managed to get to the disc before he did for a score. We battled back and forth and ended the half down 3-8. The second half saw SM come out strong with some good defense and some scoring punch. Then we became a different team. Much of the second half is a blur. I remember multiple battles with my former teammate including a layout D (I'm told), a layout bid on a disc that he D'd, a box out on a disc to him, and continuous battling on almost every cut we matched up. I had my own battles going on as the team slowly clawed back in. Our defense got a little better. Tipped discs started to go our way, including a wicked second-effort layout score by SM. As we were coming back, I do recall one moment that I'm particularly proud of in my second half. We'd been beat on a number of hammers across the field in the first half. The man I was guarding planted and cut for a hammer and I sensed it. He had a few steps on me to the break side, but I left my feet and knocked the disc away. I was starting to believe.

At 14-14 with universe point, I can't really remember what happened, but I know both teams had chances. Somehow our miraculous comeback ended in defeat. That's not the way the story is supposed to go and I'm not pleased with the ending.

We had a second game and although I think we let them hang around far too long, we were finally able to dispatch them 15-9. My favorite contribution in that game was a rare hammer. I saw RB with space in front of him, but I wasn't sure he saw it, so I faked the hammer. He headed for the space, so I let it go. I think the wind pushed it further than I would have liked, but fortunately he tracked it down for a score. Yee-haw. I also had at least two throws that were tapped by the defender land in my teammates' hands. Sometimes wrong things go right. I can't really figure out why or how that goes.

Today was practice. We had enough to play 7 versus 7. It sure would be nice if we could snag just a few more folks. The team had some good moments, but we just can't seem to get our vertical stack going. More practice, but for now, I'm spent.

Brr- take 1.8 million

Used up packets of warmth littered the ground where people had stood and cheered. People had cheered everywhere. As far as I could see and two monuments beyond that, they had waved their flags and hooted at the swearing in of President 44. I was there. I was one of an estimated 1.8 million people witnessing history in the flesh. Although the flesh was mostly covered and the witnessing was mostly done on the fourth giant TV from the capitol. I estimate I was about 600,000 people away from the new President and 599,995 away from the last one. On the National Mall at 8 AM to grab such a coveted spot, I spent most of the morning waiting and watching giant TV. My favorite rerun moment was Garth Brooks asking me and all my patient flag-wavin', Obama-lovin', cold-catchin' pals to "Shout." Oh, we did. We shouted. We shouted like Garth could hear us. We shouted like we'd been standing all morning and we had nothing better to do. It was a revival atmosphere and Brooks was reviving.

My crowd, which was really only a small portion of the crowd, settled after that. Maybe the shouting took a little something out of us. Maybe we realized we better save our screaming lungs for 44. He was coming. I could tell because when my giant TV switched to live coverage they kept showing lines of black SUVs. Nothing says peaceful transition of power like a long line of armored SUVs escorted by motorcycle cops. The crowd would grow a little quieter. Breath would be inhaled a little bit slower. I thought Julie Andrews got out of one of the SUVs, but mostly I knew that 44 didn't get out and the crowd and I would return intently to our standing in place.

Finally, W and his brood showed up. I (and wikipedia tells me many others) had the idea that singing goodbye to Bush might feel good. Instead, when the boos and the shoes around me came out, I felt bad for the guy. After all, some of this was our fault. As one guy near me said, "He did make all of this possible."

What all of this is remains to be seen. The moment though was pretty amazing. I wanted to be able to hear all 1.8 million cheers, but I'll settle for the frantic flag waving. I'll settle for the powerful speech. I'll settle for the kindest crowd I've ever seen. There was a scary moment or two when everyone was trying to exit and no one seemed to agree on which way to go.

I went. I survived. It was another once in a lifetime experience. Just like the last one. Except different.

Brr... take 1
It's so cold this morning that while reading a book, I couldn't fathom how people could be outside hanging around. It seemed impossible until I realized the story was set in June in Illinois. What a day for an Ultimate game. With four solid layers, ski goggles, gloves, and a condensation-catching beard in full effect, I took the field with my winter league team. We started slowly, chilled to the bone, but then seemed to warm up. There were a few nice moments, some big grabs, but mostly we seemed to be doing the little things right, or at least righter. I continue to throw away discs that I want back, even with the gloves on. The one that slammed right into that guy's hand for instance, or the inside out flick that just kept drifting. I handled some, which never feels quite right, and quietly worked against my opponents on defense. The huck and then play defense strategy seemed to work well for us. I never really found my rhythm, but one good thing about being on a team is that some days that doesn't matter. Even without the beat, we managed to take more than we gave away and others managed to finish the business as it needed finishing. I think I caught one score, but even that one felt like I was running on ice and over-thinking.

Last weekend, I felt like I was three weeks into a season that had just begun. This week, I felt behind the curve. Maybe next week it will all gel together. Twice in a doubleheader. I'm asking a lot, but it seems worth asking.

The price of stupidity is high

The easy "rental" of a Zipcar has been my pal on numerous occasions over the last two years. Cars have always been stocked and ready to go at most any time I had a need. Today was no different. Just ten minutes before I was to head out the door, I reached for my wallet and found that the all important key to my Zipcar success was missing. I searched through my wallet and my pockets but never found the card that opens the doors and lets me go about my merry car-free existence. Flummoxed and approaching the point of no return, I searched to see if a bus would get me to my off-site work destination. No dice. At best, I would be 20 minutes late. I darted out the door and headed for the taxi stand. There was no frantic arm waving, just heavy breath hanging in the air.

The taxi got me to my destination for less than I had expected to pay, but factor in the already-reserved zipcar and my trip was a hefty 8 dollars a mile. Ouch.

I found my card in a pocket of another jacket when I got home. The card was jammed back into my wallet for another ride some other day.

Aw, that felt good

Winter league started yesterday. We somehow managed to skirt the "winter" weather. In a field with holes, sprinkler heads, and some gravel, I should probably feel lucky I didn't hurt myself. I feel luckier than that.

I arrived at the fields almost 45 minutes before game time with a foolish belief that our game might start on time. I warmed up with the dynamic stretching that we've been doing at Catholic. I wanted to practice what I preached. It felt good and I felt warm. I was ready to play when game time finally rolled around. In the first two points, I'd layed out for two D's and snagged a score. Some have argued that the second layout may have been showy, but I swear their speed demon of a woman had a shot at it. Our team jumped out to an early lead, but the momentum shifted back the other way. We battled back and forth until half, before finally taking control, at least mostly. We let the other team creep back in to within 2 after being up 11-7, but we managed to put them away. I had one more grab that I'm pretty proud of. I stumbled into a hole and I watched as the disc floated above me. Thinking that I would tumble to the ground, I was surprised when I found a bit of footing. The disc was still hanging, so I lunged with my left hand and made the grab for a score. I also had one throw that I think I'm proud of. I was on the sideline, the dump cut went to the line, but wasn't open. I wanted the score (I did have trouble holstering my throws all day), and as the dump continued along the line, I stepped out, then was forced further out by my mark. I managed to put up a loopy outside in flick that came right down in the receiver's path. Yeah.

The coolest part of the day, other than just being out there playing and having some success was to be able to feel some upper body strength. I've been working out for the last four weeks or so, and I really felt stronger. Too bad, I felt like I'd lost a bit of endurance. Soon, I hope to be firing on all cylinders.

Raindrops on whiskers and warm woolen kittens
Hovering a few degrees above freezing, it rains. I do not like this weather. It's too cold to wear my raincoat and it's not cold enough to turn to fluffy white goodness. The umbrella, my umbrella, unfolds with such enthusiasm like it misses me and needs a hug, but I can't. Umbrellas are space invaders and not the arcade kind. Sidewalks, escalators, personal bubbles do not take into account two umbrellas passing in the dreary night. One must bend. "Good evening, kind sir," it bows failing at its one job for a moment to pay respect to the higher class. The bulbs pass and return to attention, an umbrella in service. All fine and good, except that I'm wet.

Fortuitously, or with great inner fortitude, I don't feel the raindrops that collect in the mass of hair on my chin. I'll have to dry them later, but for now I'll celebrate my natural balaclava. It has more powers than water resistance it seems. In a weaving, billowing sort of way, it also has the power to bring out true feeling. I know this because today a coworker dropped in and as we were discussing our holidays happened to mention that she didn't like my beard. The subtlety of her comment could have been missed by some, but "I don't like it," hit a chord with me. "It makes you look older," she continued. There may have been some light backtracking after that, but I missed most of it. As I reflect on this statement and sometimes stare at my own reflection, I have to wonder a few things. First of all, why isn't facial hair afforded the same consideration as weight, fashion or hair style? I don't know of very many coworkers who would just come out and say such a thing about a new haircut. I've always thought that I admired the blunt reaction, but I've come to realize that some things can probably go unsaid. "That shirt makes you look like a killer whale," might be one of them. I'll keep thinking on it to be sure. And also listen to The Beards. They like it.

On we run

I had tasted victory and I liked it. As detailed in this space, I won a 6k about a month ago. Victory was nice, but the races I tend to enter have little fanfare- no prizes, hundreds of people, no spectators, and so I try to keep the glory and the not-so-glory in perspective. I suppose any contest belongs in some context and comes down in one way or another to who shows up that day. In that sense, I shouldn't belittle the accomplishment and I don't mean to. I guess in some way I'm trying to explain that internally I've found my need, that pure burning desire to win, has waned some. Today though, as I begin a new year, I have to wonder if it's just become a competing priority as I toed the starting line of my 2nd annual New Year's Day 5k.

With a little prodding from my past self, I toed the starting line and prepared a return to the victor's proverbial stand. From go, I was fighting to be one of the leaders. My fight was short-lived as two gentlemen left me in the dust. I fought on in third, crossing the mile in a time like the day 5:28 and brisk. As we climbed a slight hill, my focus remained on second place. The chill wind was freezing my hand and I soon found myself alone on the course. The same lessons repeat themselves in race after race, a fast start is a dangerous gamble. I had two things going for me. First, this was my distance, the 5k, so I knew what I was into. Second, I've been working on my upper body more lately and that has given me some kick in the past. I think I also carried a confidence that may have been a liability.

As I fell further out of touch with second place, I began to look over my shoulder. That's never a good sign. My friend and another seemed to be gaining on me. I tried to hold them off, but with about half-mile to go they passed me. I fought on and tucked in with them for a moment as the finish line approached. I had visions of a daring finish. I kicked hard and caught one competitor as my friend pulled slightly away. After only a few steps the effort proved to be too much for me this morning. The speed may be there from the strength training, but it didn't last. Something was missing. I have some theories, one being "some days are like that." I finished in fifth at 17:40. That's 15 seconds slower than last year. Maybe 2009 can be a year with room for improvement.

Some interesting (to me) post-race notes- I think that being able to discuss races with my friend afterwards shift the dynamic of my racing. It means that I think more in terms of what I need to improve and it also allows me to recall some very fond high school memories. It's a really special thing and if I can nurture it, I think it could very well lead to improvement this year. GO '09.

Books of 2008

I set a lofty goal for myself for reading in 2008. I wanted to read 5 books a month, 60 for the year. I pushed and I struggled and I read a few short ones and was on pace through August. It was challenging for me because it required me to plan ahead. I had to know what I was going to read next before I was through with the book in my lap. I was a regular visitor to the library and bookstores. I misfired at least twice and had to give up well before I could finish. My priorities shifted in September and the months got away from me. I was back on pace for December, but finished at 49 books completed. I'm three-fourths of the way through a book of F. Scott Fitzgerald short stories that would have put me at 50, but I just couldn't do it. Something about shooting for the moon and landing among George W. goes here. Here are the books I read in 2008:

1. The Happiness Myth: Why What we think is Right is Wrong
2. He's just not that into you
3. Early Bird: a memoir of premature retirement
4. Something Wicked this way comes
5. Freakonomics
6. Friendship: An Expose
7. I Am America (And so can you!)
8. Animal Dreams
9. Taft
10. Born Standing Up: A comic's life
11. Slam
12. Love is a mix tape
13. Candy Girl: A Year in the Life of An Unlikely Stripper
14. Last Night at the Lobster
15. Everything is Illuminated
16. 1984 (reread)
17. The Little Prince
18. The Group
19. Unaccustomed Earth
20. Kiss & Tell
21. The Relationship Cure
22. Prodigal Summer
23. Who Moved My Cheese?
24. Raising the Bar: Integrity and Passion in Life and Business: The Story of Clif Bar & Co.
25. Snuff
26. The Quiet Girl
27. Then We Came to the End
28. No one belongs here more than you
29. The Golden Compass
30. The Subtle Knife
31. The Amber Spyglass
32. If you could see me now
33. The Five People you Meet in Heaven
34. Playing for Pizza
35. The Poisonwood Bible
36. I was told there'd be cake
37. The Feast of Love
38. Dave Barry's History of the Millennium (so far)
39. What I talk about when I talk about running
40. The Natural
41. Life After Man
42. Pigs in Heaven
43. Buying In
44. Paris to the Moon
45. Hooking Up
46. Outliers
47. Unbreakable You
48. Me of Little Faith
49. Leadership 101

My favorites were Unaccustomed Earth and Prodigal Summer. In negative news, I think I'm going to stop reading comedy books by comedians.

Movies 2008
Netflix entered my life in force this year...

1. Enchanted
2. D.E.B.S
3. The Thomas Crown Affair (1968)
4. Chariots of Fire
5. Berkley in the Sixties
6. North by Northwest
7. Casa de los Babys
8. The Spirit of the Marathon
9. Secretary
10. 27 dresses
11. Atonement
12. Definitely, Maybe
13. LA Haine
14. I think I love my wife
15. Brokeback Mountain
16. The Pursuit of Happyness
17. The Ten
18. Charlie Bartlett
19. The Simpsons Movie
20. Persopolis
21. The Prestige
22. The Darjeeling Limited
23. Dan in Real Life
24. Becoming Jane
25. Alvin and the Chipmunks
26. The Hours
27. American Flyers
28. Roger Dodger
29. I'm a Cyborg, but that's ok
30. Smart People
31. Swing Time
32. Southland Tales
33. Lars and the Real Girl
34. Iron Man
35. Raging Bull
36. No Blood for Oil
37. P.S. I love you
38. Forgetting Sarah Marshall
39. Into the Wild
40. Music Within
41. Sex & The City
42. The Hustler
43. The Holiday
44. The Greatest Game Ever Played
45. American Teen
46. The Other Boleyn Girl
47. Better Off Dead
48. Saint Ralph
49. Cash Back
50. Pistol: Birth of a Legend
51. August Rush
52. 4 months, 3 weeks, 2 days
53. 21
54. Without Limits
55. Son of Rambow
56. Prefontaine (review)
57. The Duchess
58. Burn After Reading
59. School for Scoundrels
60. Body of Lies
61. Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day
62. Against the Ropes
63. Good Luck Chuck
64. Be Kind, Rewind
65. Rachel Getting Married
66. The Aviator
67. The Departed
68. Tenacious D and the Pick of Destiny
69. Slumdog Millionaire
70. Charlie Wilson's War
71. Seven Pounds
72. Hancock
73. Harold and Maude
74. Opportunity Knocks (review)

I would say Atonement and Lars and The Real Girl were my favorite movies this year. I'm a Cyborg, but that's ok was memorable for sure. Spirit of the Marathon gets a special mention because it was part of and helped recall a great experience.

The Midas remote control

You've seen Click and read up on your Greek mythology, but if you'll indulge me for just one moment, I'll tell you about the time my remote control was pure gold. Literally. Except, not literally at all.

Last night, I found myself stumbling around the digital air waves. (What are these now? They aren't air waves, are they? Where do we stumble when we're flipping channels; why it's not even a flip anymore, maybe a blip...) In a New York minute, I can never remember if those are fast or slow, but I want the fast ones here, I went from having nothing to watch and very little meaning in my Monday evening to having three sporting events that I cared passionately about. When I say passionately here, I mean the sort of passion that one might feel for his third favorite pair of pants- that's the passion I'm talking about. First, I found Georgetown upsetting Connecticut in some Big East basketball. I don't know when I became a Georgetown fan exactly, but I think it happened. It might be because they are good and nearby, some sort of beacon of awesome or something. Between channel blipping, I found that G-town was able to hold off Connecticut for the victory. Yay! recently adopted team. Then, through the telepathy of ESPN and the rippling facebook status updates, I found that Missouri was battling the vastly inferior except when they weren't which was like all night Northwestern team. Missouri escaped with a victory. All right. That actually concluded after the Washington Wizards went on their first winning streak of the season. These 2 recent victories bring their record to 6-23. Needless to say, that's been fun to cheer for.

All of this through the magic of my remote control. And I want to get rid of cable...

Live a life of a modern person with a classy watch
There is much to say and someone else is probably saying it.

I'd had a low level Christmas buzz going since about December 9, so I figured that I wouldn't have the energy to really take that up many notches. Why, I'd even won the door/cubicle decorating contest edging out 8 others for the high honor. I was right about my energy, but had a good Christmas anyway. I enjoyed a planned and a surprise visit with some FARCers early on and then really dug into the family stuff. My niece didn't think much of the magnificent beard. She seemed to be avoiding most men and it took her all week to warm up to me. She did get around to petting my beard and saying "woof," which is exactly the hollow sort of victory that it sounds. With hair in my mouth, and the reaction of my niece, I was having some beard doubts until I stumbled onto a site celebrating facial hair as "nature's bib" and then discovered the magic of Beard Science. Never fear, beard fans, my facial hair resolve is renewed.

The weather, like my beard, was up to some other good tricks this vacation. I went for a run in 6 degree weather. There were beard-cicles, frozen mustache pops, and for a moment or two I thought my eyes might freeze. Days later, I was running in shorts and a t-shirt at some 60 degrees warmer. To prove the weather was crazy, the Midwest threw in snow, a thunderstorm, and both sleet and rain for good measure.

I'm back home now with the vague sense that something important needs to be done. I'll have to save any life-altering decisions until after the soup.

A Sunday status race

David is wishing for more time between social life and alarm.
David is cold.
David is preparing for an abbreviated warm-up.
David is waiting for the 2-letter command.
David is going.
David is going out slowly.
David is in the top 40.
David is letting the leaders go.
David is feeling ok.
David is moving up slowly.
David is feeling neither good nor bad.
David is without his watch.
David is racing without enthusiasm.
David is focused forward.
David is still seeing the leaders.
David is in the top 20.
David is done with more than a mile.
David is joined by blue hat.
David is moving up with blue hat.
David is lost in his stride.
David is feeling ok.
David is passing.
David is being passed by blue hat.
David is still looking up.
David is in the top 15.
David is done with 3 miles.
David is not interested in losing to a girl in pink.
David is sorry for being sexist.
David is not so sorry that he slows down.
David is closing on another group.
David is not losing the blue hat.
David is not gaining much on pink.
David is a fan of front door fans.
David is in a new group.
David is exchanging places with blue hat.
David is joined by blue hat as we give chase.
David is less than a mile from the finish.
David is making his move.
David is regretting making his move.
David is slowing down.
David is being passed by blue hat.
David is being passed by a big guy.
David is struggling.
David is removing his gloves.
David is considering chucking them.
David is passing a big guy.
David is being passed by a big guy.
David is no longer interested in this pursuit.
David is done.
David is recognizing his surroundings.
David is not done.
David is kicking.
David is passing a big guy.
David is closing on the end.
David is 29:43 for 8k.
David is pained, tired, pleased, frustrated, and out of breath.
David is eighth.
David is an age group champion.
David is being greeted by the runner-up.
David is enjoying the company of his competition.

David is not sure this is the most enjoyable way to communicate.
David is glad he tried.
David is crediting Daimon for the inspiration.

Miracle in transit

Friday night a cosmic event occurred and I was there to witness it. Traveling from a party sometime around 2 AM, I prepared for the long Metro ride home. Across town, out late, I knew I was destined to log some serious waiting minutes, complete with long platform-hugging times for my train and my transfer. Instead, with the full moon looming thirty percent larger, I descended the escalator to find my train arriving. At my transfer, my wait time was less than a minute. I was at home and in bed before Santa could even make a pass at mom. Also, it wasn't Christmas, but I was getting into the spirits, just like my favorite North Pole rapper- E double G Nawg.

Hittin' the egg nog

Yesterday I began constructing my entry into the office door-decorating contest. My vision includes a window lit by twinkling lights, potentially with the shadows of Dickensian carolers outside. The piece-de-Christmas, though, will be a small tape recorder stuck to the door and a sign that says "Press play for carols."

On the tiny tape of the tape player will be the recorded voices of carol singers. The hitch in my plan is that I have not come across any singers. I considered some Internet stealing, but wanted something closer to the genuine experience. At least it needed to be as genuine as tiny tape can be. Two of my coworkers politely declined my entreaties to form an a capella trio. Alone and buzzing from the energy of an idea, I decided to take matters into my own larynx. I hesitated, considering that I might sound better with bathroom acoustics or muzzled, but decided to press on by pressing record. Standing in my office, reading song lyrics from my computer, I belted out an off key, "Sleigh bells ring, are you listening?"

As I was finishing up my fourth mangled carol, I could sense some energy in the air, a cheeriness, a feeling that curled the ends of my mouth skyward, and made me fight off a chuckle. It wasn't from me; I've mangled many a song before. It was something else, not Christmas spirit exactly, more like two coworkers laughing at me.

The ups and downs of XC
I can't tell how much of my running is mental. Somewhere, yesterday morning the usual jitters disappeared for reasons that I can't explain. It made me a little nervous, but not in the right way. To add to the mental/emotional roller coaster I stumbled into a negative cloud thanks to the Internet. I may not know how much running is mental, but I knew I didn't want to race under a dark cloud. I spent my few spare moments seeking out something positive to counteract the cloud. I turned to music to cheer me up. Even though I knew I was doing it, it seemed to work.

I set out without nerve or cloud, with friends on the starting line, through the woods. Learning from Tuesday's two-mile, I held back. Working into single file as we ran on a path beneath and between leaveless trees down toward an unfrozen creek and lake, I worked my way into about fifth place. Openings appeared where I could have moved to fourth or third or up further, but I was reigning myself in, trying not to move too soon. Single file continued for quite some time. I worried about rocks and tree roots twisting my ankles. I grew momentarily annoyed when an s-curve in the trail slowed our pace, but still I held back. As we crossed a path above the lake that may have been a reservoir, space opened up around us. I moved onto the heels of the leaders, but didn't pass. I was waiting for at least the 3k mark, the halfway point. We took the turn, but I was not ready to move immediately. A little further down the trail, I saw my opening. I can't remember what the opening was. It may have been the slightly wider trail, or it may have been just a half-step of pace, or it may just have been that I was looking to open things up a little more. Whatever it was, I moved to the front. I don't like races to come down to wild sprints at the end. To win, I like to have a lead. I tried all the tricks I could think of as we moved back through where we'd come. I crested hills hard and made turns strong, hoping that those behind me would lose sight of me for a moment and be demoralized with the ground they'd suddenly lost.

The sounds in my ears were breath and footsteps, but most of the noise came from inside. The personal battle was waging as I crossed the three mile mark. Soon after, I mentally lamented the 6k race, wishing that I'd already broken the proverbial tape in a 5k. At the previously annoying, s-curve, I slalomed through with jerky hips and powerful steps. I bounded onto bridges and hoped for the finish to appear. It did not. The battle wasn't over and the trail turned upward. I don't recall bounding down so far in the beginning, but here I was climbing up. Hills at the end of races, seem to be a club hallmark and yet I'm usually unprepared. I pressed up the hill, but most of the pressing seemed to be taking place against my chest. My heart and lungs were burning as I fought on. I didn't want to look back, but I sensed my competitors gaining. Halfway up the hill, I thought to myself, if I can clear this hill, I can win. I cleared the hill, and found more hill. With another push of painful steps, I crested that next part of the hill and saw the finish line. Finally. I may have sprinted, but there wasn't much left in the tank. Chest heaving, I crossed the line and waited just a few seconds before being followed into the chute. Victory tasted of cold air.

My new shoes now sit on my bedroom floor undefeated. They are the only shoes I've ever owned that have held that honor. They are considering retirement, but more than likely they will be back to better that (probably inaccurate) 6k time of 26:27.

There's a whole other world out there. They call it morning.

For much of the past three months, I've been waking up early twice a week to make some Ultimate. It's been tiring at times, but it's also been very rewarding. Playing and thinking Ultimate before work is confusing to my system, but freeing in many ways. It frees my evenings. It frees that part of my soul that likes to see the sun rise on a crisp fall morning. It frees my alarm from the snooze button. There have been a number of good practices and some not so good practices along the way. I may be biased by the passage of time, or the recent break in the action, but one of the best practices of all took place on Tuesday.

With only a slight chill in the air, we took to the track to run two miles. There were no moans, only a small group of Ultimate players willing, if not ready, to run. I started out too fast, but wound my way around to a time of 10:56. Fortunately the others ignored my efforts. They all run pretty well, some even much better than I expected. It was exhilarating to put down those miles before many went for coffee. Then, to add caramel flavoring to the day, we chased the disc around in a silly game of boot that brought out tired smiles. Running and disc chasing are great ways to start the day.

Another step toward grownupsville

On the outskirts of adulthood, that residential district filled with chamois shirts and flower print blouses, there's a small town where if you want something done, you do it yourself. As I was unconsciously sifting through my memory banks, I came to the realization that there are certain tastes and smells that I associate with the holidays. One of those tastes done to near perfection by women in my family is the taste of sweet potatoes. I've had the recipe for ages, but I've never had the will or the gumption to take on my memory. This year, with Thanksgiving looming and no alternative sweet potatoes in sight, I decided to take action.

Twice I made the sweet potatoes, once misunderstanding the directions "peeled and cooked" and once coming up short in the magic sauce department, and twice I lived to smile about it. They may have lacked the texture and the look of the family tradition, but at least in part they packed the flavor. With a mixture of pride and sadness, I brought the sweet potatoes to two different Thanksgiving day meals.

"There's no better than best."

I think I'm about to rant. I don't know if I can control my words very well as I recount this event. I apologize. I'm hoping that by getting it out in this space, I can get this off my mind.

Ultimate is a self-officiated sport whose rules state that we put fair play above winning. I am paraphrasing. As the game gets more competitive and the stakes get higher, this becomes increasingly difficult. For years, I have clung to these tenets of our game because I believe that the people who play Ultimate can take on this challenge and do at least as good a job as a referee. At the highest levels of the game, observers have been introduced. They act as self-officiation help. In the event that players can't agree, the observer can make his/her impartial ruling. I've resisted this as well. Today, a call was made in a game that had no observers; it deeply weakened my anti-observer bias.

The play: A huck that went directly up the line was caught in the end zone barely in-bounds or just out-of-bounds. One player, probably 25 to 30 yards away from the catch called the receiver out of bounds. An argument ensued. Now, not only do Ultimate players get to argue about the call, but we argue about who had the best perspective. This individual on the other team, was not only not particularly close to the play, but he was not on the sideline, meaning that his call would have been extremely difficult since he had neither the angle nor the proximity to make a good call. When the thrower argued that his perspective down the line was better, since he could at least see the two cones that make up the front and back of the end zone, the caller responded, "There's no better than best." While the sentiment was and is a fantastic and hilarious defense of the "best" perspective, it was also ridiculous.

Both teams dug in their heels, but eventually a re-do ensued. I think it ended badly for the (full disclosure) team I'm partial to, but I hope that the boy with the "best" perspective thinks about his calls in the future.

Preposterous.

Bring on the observers. Cue my head bowing dejectedly.

Update: I've realized that I have focused a lot of energy and frustration on this moment and all of it does not belong there. I think what I really need to take out of today, is that odd winds will blow, strange calls will be made, and I have to keep my head and help the team keep their heads on straight. There are plenty of excuses, but we've got to find ways to seize and keep momentum at the crucial moments.

A whole new world

We practiced in the gym today. It felt a little like PE class, but mostly it felt like another world. It was like playing basketball without some gravity or playing baseball with a softball. It was playing Ultimate without wind. The disc just seemed to cut through the air better, and it usually does pretty well.

Then to really throw a wrench in things we ran some seven versus zero. It may seem lopsided, but it just might have worked. One of many, many challenging things to try to teach Ultimate players is the way the traditional vertical stack offense should look. The flow drills, the scrimmages, the diagrams, and the discussions haven't quite seemed to get us there. Time will tell if seven versus zero did the trick, but I thought I saw some light bulbs coming on. Here's hoping.

Another great drill we ran to get throwers thinking about where they were throwing was a come-to drill with a requirement to catch the disc with the outside hand. After almost three full months of an ongoing mantra of catching with two hands, we switched it up. The drill did a number of important things- it took people out of their comfort zone, it forced concentration, and best of all it looked good. I don't know how much being indoors contributed to the feeling, but I was glowing with pride at the amount of success we had with the drill. I keep thinking about September when everything was being dropped, two hands or not. We've come a long way.

There's one last tournament this semester and I hope we've started on an upward trajectory.

The antithesis of the last post?
I threw the disc so much on Tuesday that my arm hurts. I thought I could throw, but on a lined field with a slight wind at me, I found out that it takes a ton of work for me to throw 35 yards (insert air quotes here) accurately (close air quotes) and repeatedly, especially with my backhand. All of a sudden, I want to be able to throw. Maybe it stems from the realization that I felt old last weekend. I felt like the college and high school kids were exploding on their first step and I felt tired when they continued to run in all kinds of directions. So maybe I know that I need to round out my game.

While my game grows more spherical, let me point to some personal moments of enjoyment from the last weekend. I felt like I had a relatively quiet few games. I couldn't find my groove and I did have a sense of being out of place. I made some bad throws and some less than stellar decisions. I did get a big D early on the mark that I managed to catch off my deflection and toss in for a score. Finally, somewhere late in the day, I did manage to settle in and do a bit of damage. I got up to grab an errant disc, called a timeout and then faced some serious stomach butterflies before throwing an easy score. Both were caught on tape, and I'm disappointed to say that it felt like I jumped a lot higher than it looks on film. Maybe some things aren't worth seeing again and again. Another moment caught on film that was much bigger in my head was a little flip pass that then led to a winning score. I caught the disc and looked up field, desperately I wanted to throw deep for a score, but saw no one to throw to. A struggle roiled inside of me, until my teammate ran by, I flipped it to him and he threw a nice flick for the win. On film, this took about a second, in my head the struggle lasted much longer. One in-game moment not caught on film that I'm particularly proud of was a dump pass. I had committed to my dump. The stall count was getting high and my handler wasn't open. As stall 8 rang out, I gave a good fake that sent the defender racing after nothing, at 9 I tossed the disc to my now wide open handler to keep it moving.

I still find it easier to discuss my on field adventures than my off field ones, but I will mention the half-time speech in the final fifth place game. After trading points for the first half and being up 7-5, I nicely demanded that we not let the other team back in the game. I brandished the new universal symbol for finish them off (a closed fist rubbing out an open palm) and then watched in awe as we went up 12-5. We finally closed the game at 13-7, but it was a good run and not a bad day. The room for improvement remains more like a convention center, which is good because it keeps me busy.

Tough like jerky: A lesson in perspective

For the first time in a long time, I tried to run home from work. I had my backpack on, which is always a bit discouraging, but I didn't let that stop me. It was a little cold, but I didn't let that stop me. I was cruising up the hill, dodging the foot traffic for about four miles. Then I got tired and I got cold. I fought with myself for a little while, but responded to the siren song when a bus rolled by. I hopped on and found a seat.

Lost in slightly dejected thought, a woman called out to me. I turned my head and gave her a confused look. If I knew her, I had no idea where we could have met. My brain was clicking away, when she called again. "I saw you way back there. You ran far."

"I wore out," I replied as a slight smile crept into my words.

"You did good," she said. "That's a long way."

"It is," I said. I meant, "Thank you."

The sticker

I'm days late, I know.

As my finger hovered over the screen near the box for Obama/Biden, I felt a tingle, a surge, the full electric charge of history pulsing through my body. The red "X" silenced the sensation. By the time I passed through the door of the elementary school turned polling place I was over it. Yes, I'm excited to have a leader that I might actually feel like following, but no matter where I voted, I'm from Missouri. I'm waiting for Obama to Show Me.

College and lunches: the staple of my travels

It starts with lunch. At the far end of the Detroit terminal I found Gourmet PB&J. With so many choices in peanut butter complements, I went with the classic- grape jelly, wheat bread. It was decent, limited by the vat taste of too much PB and too much J in large containers. It was a bit overpriced, as the sandwich ran almost $4. It wasn't the answer, but I liked the idea and I don't really know the question.

Detroit was a layover; I had other places to be. Flying in over suburbs and farmland, descending, but still too high above to make out much detail, I pictured the various paths my own life could take and considered the pieces of some of those lives that I already had. My navel-gazing was interrupted by a field with a farewell message to Favre. I saw no such signs for me.

In Madison, I stumbled on to the home of the Badgers almost as soon as I'd left my lake view hotel room. Caught up in my own travel cliche, I wandered around campus. The architecture reminded me of my alma mater. The students reminded me of myself, only younger, and with redder sweatshirts. I was already enjoying the fall colors mixed with academia when I found a small game of Ultimate on a grassy area. I smiled as I considered graduate school before walking on into town. The university campus and the downtown "State street" area merge almost seamlessly. Searching for dinner and the sights, I walked from campus to capitol and then turned around and walked back. Joined by coworkers, my journey took me a block from where I started at State Street Brats. The college crowd was absent on a Tuesday, but jovial nights of drinking and jawing clung to the neon signs and bench seating. We ordered at the bar- brats and beer. It was "flip night" and after correctly calling "heads", I enjoyed a local brew from New Glarus. During the week I'd work my way down from dark to lighter, perhaps easing myself out of Madison through the prism of beer.

The beer and brats were delicious, but my growing crush on Madison solidified when even a cold drizzle couldn't stop me from my morning run. The crew teams were out on the lake and I could spy on them through the trees off the path I'd discovered. I passed a few runners and bikers in the rain, but nothing like I would find the next afternoon in the sunshine. With the sun out, the isthmus sprouted athleticism like dandelions. Runners and bikers filled all manner of path, not so crowded that it was uncomfortable, just enough to be engaging. As if the city were trying to reel me in, I found myself running by the practice field of the Badger marching band. Forget iPods, nothing rocks a run like a full marching band tooting and drumming away.
It's funny how well things go, when things are going well. As I ate my macaroni and Wisconsin cheese with a side of bologna and sipped my Spotted Cow, I tried to picture myself in the lofts of downtown Madison, Wisconsin.

Did I mention my hotel rented cross-country skis?