I'm a day behind writing (and more than a year behind in transcribing), but I'll try to get caught back up. We opted for a cold breakfast only forcing our chef to slice carrots, oranges, and ginger for a morning smoothie rather than cooking a complete breakfast. We then got a very interesting garden tour from the head gardener. It felt strange to have our car brought up to us and our bags brought down, but our lifestyles of the faux-rich and pretend-famous were coming to a close.
We headed toward Mt. Cook, stopped for lunch in a shopping center where I had a delicious savory pie, and then rolled on. As the gardner had promised the first hour of the drive wasn't that pretty, but soon the vistas improved. When we hit the brilliant blue of Lake Tekapo we had to pull over to take pictures. Sediment disturbance caused by glaciers when they formed the lake gave it a bright blue coloring. It was gorgeous. Mt. Cook became visible an hour later in front of a bright blue lake as well. Our DOC campground was in the shadow of a glacier and hill a hill in the shadow of Mt. Cook. We set up camp and walked 45 minutes until we could see Mt. Cook clearly. We had dinner at a ski lodge, I had Sir Edmund Hillary's Pork Sausages. It was the most expensive meal (we've paid for). We went to bed while it was still light out and awoke to a light rain and awoke to a light-ish rain, and awoke to rain.
We packed our wetness in a hurry just before 7 AM, skipped the hike we'd planned and pointed toward Queenstown. We had breakfast in Twizel in a park with food courtesy of an open Four Square supermarket. Driving on to Queenstown, we stopped to admire Merino wool and possibly the home of Shrek the most famous sheep (blinded by his 25 kilogram coat). I'm not clear on the fame or Shrek's life story. Traffic picked up as we entered Queenstown, so did lodges and perhaps intensity. C compared Queenstown to Gatlinburg, it's apt, but it's also like an amped up ski town or college town where adventure activity is the university. Almost every third store on the main drag was able to book some type of adventure for an interested traveler. We go canyoning tomorrow.
We had lunch at a kebab place and then decided to separate for the afternoon. C went to Arrowtown and I rented a mountain bike and rode around the peninsula. The scenery was great, but getting my heart pumping and getting a taste for what a mountain bike could really do were even better. It was mostly flat stretches, but there were some wiggles through trees and over rocks. I returned to town the same way I'd come pumping hard to get back. It took about two hours and then I spent 45 minutes more trying to climb some of the ridiculously steep streets around. I don't know if I've ever climbed anything so steep for so long. I had to stop because my legs were burning. It was great in an odd sort of way. Tonight we're up on the roof deck of our hostel the Laughing Southerner after pizza at Winne's (and a Monteith Black- yum) and some ginger dark fudge. The view from here is once again spectacular as clouds have just released the tall peak to the North (?). If it weren't for the 500 or so resort-style homes and hotels in my view I could believe I was in Middle Earth looking to unload the ring.
Monday, December 17, 2012
12/12/11- Otahuna Lodge
Fancy dinner. Fancy hotel. More to come.
Continued the next morning.
If jumping out of a plane was a strange sensation it's hard to describe what staying at Otahuna Lodge is like. It lacks the adrenaline rush of skydiving, but it's novel or mor accurately makes me feel like I'm in a novel (or perhaps a movie). A lovely Queen Anne home part way up a hill, surrounded by countryside, it's where the very rich come to stay. The per night prices hover in the area of our monthly rent. Our room with verandah hovers in the same square footage as well. We were almost so comfortable, it was uncomfortable. If we hadn't felt out of place, our every whim appeared to be just a wink and a nod away. Hooray for this perk from C's job.
At 6:30 last night we went down for drinks. I had a Glenmorangie neat. The scotch selection was not that impressive, but otherwise I'm awed. We talked with Ben the butler until the other two guests Aussies Victoria and Olivia arrived. After socializing a while and learning that Olivia had been to the Kentucky Derby for her birthday, we settled down for a five course meal. I don't usually like wine, but I found out that wine (well-paired) with gourmet dishes made mostly from local (as in on the property) items can be delicious. By the time the port came with dessert, I had drank enough. Ben recommended we stroll around the grounds once more while the sun set in the pink sky. We giggled through a walk before retiring to our elegant room. It's all almost too much. Is this how Pretty Woman felt?
During the day yesterday, we biked a bit in Christchurch. We saw some earthquake damage and had coffee and scones at C in the Re:Start shipping container mall. It was quite chic. We heard there were other shipping container malls, but none were being used post-disaster like this. It reminded us of the tin city we'd learned about in Napier, post-disaster there. It made me want a shipping container home. I do enjoy the re-purposed building/container.
Continued the next morning.
If jumping out of a plane was a strange sensation it's hard to describe what staying at Otahuna Lodge is like. It lacks the adrenaline rush of skydiving, but it's novel or mor accurately makes me feel like I'm in a novel (or perhaps a movie). A lovely Queen Anne home part way up a hill, surrounded by countryside, it's where the very rich come to stay. The per night prices hover in the area of our monthly rent. Our room with verandah hovers in the same square footage as well. We were almost so comfortable, it was uncomfortable. If we hadn't felt out of place, our every whim appeared to be just a wink and a nod away. Hooray for this perk from C's job.
At 6:30 last night we went down for drinks. I had a Glenmorangie neat. The scotch selection was not that impressive, but otherwise I'm awed. We talked with Ben the butler until the other two guests Aussies Victoria and Olivia arrived. After socializing a while and learning that Olivia had been to the Kentucky Derby for her birthday, we settled down for a five course meal. I don't usually like wine, but I found out that wine (well-paired) with gourmet dishes made mostly from local (as in on the property) items can be delicious. By the time the port came with dessert, I had drank enough. Ben recommended we stroll around the grounds once more while the sun set in the pink sky. We giggled through a walk before retiring to our elegant room. It's all almost too much. Is this how Pretty Woman felt?
During the day yesterday, we biked a bit in Christchurch. We saw some earthquake damage and had coffee and scones at C in the Re:Start shipping container mall. It was quite chic. We heard there were other shipping container malls, but none were being used post-disaster like this. It reminded us of the tin city we'd learned about in Napier, post-disaster there. It made me want a shipping container home. I do enjoy the re-purposed building/container.
On pause
I sit at the desk with poor posture as my back crushes itself. Those muscles that hold me up grow lazy and weak from lack of use. My writing muscles follow the same regime. I sometimes ride to work and sometimes rally my pen there too, but neither are enough exercise to grow strong, just enough to stop from putting on much weight.
I've straightened my back and I'm searching for the rhythm on the computer keyboard. The tap-tap-tappity-tap of a confident writer. I gaze into that space between glasses and screen, the space that blocks out the world and where creativity might float by. I've strapped on my headphones and turned up Hem to drown out the sounds of TV. The light bulbs of our Christmas tree dance in my peripheral vision and reflect in the corner of my iMac.
If questioned, I'd still call Hem my favorite band. Sure, Carley Rae Jepsen's Call Me Maybe and PSY's Gangnam Style make me want to sing along and dance respectively, but no body of work moves me like Hem's. There are rumors that new music is coming and I look on with interest. I can't say exactly what it is about Hem that's allowed them to not only claim the title of my favorite band, but to remain there, virtually unchallenged. There's something so beautiful (and perhaps timeless) about the music, the lyrics, and the singing. I find each song filled with emotion. The songs manage to be inspirational, sad, and uplifting all at the same time. As I listen and write I wonder why I haven't listened more recently.
I could use some of that inspiration to propel me through more blog posts. Perhaps I needed to slow down enough to appreciate the nuance of sad and uplifting. Maybe I just need more exercise.
I've straightened my back and I'm searching for the rhythm on the computer keyboard. The tap-tap-tappity-tap of a confident writer. I gaze into that space between glasses and screen, the space that blocks out the world and where creativity might float by. I've strapped on my headphones and turned up Hem to drown out the sounds of TV. The light bulbs of our Christmas tree dance in my peripheral vision and reflect in the corner of my iMac.
If questioned, I'd still call Hem my favorite band. Sure, Carley Rae Jepsen's Call Me Maybe and PSY's Gangnam Style make me want to sing along and dance respectively, but no body of work moves me like Hem's. There are rumors that new music is coming and I look on with interest. I can't say exactly what it is about Hem that's allowed them to not only claim the title of my favorite band, but to remain there, virtually unchallenged. There's something so beautiful (and perhaps timeless) about the music, the lyrics, and the singing. I find each song filled with emotion. The songs manage to be inspirational, sad, and uplifting all at the same time. As I listen and write I wonder why I haven't listened more recently.
I could use some of that inspiration to propel me through more blog posts. Perhaps I needed to slow down enough to appreciate the nuance of sad and uplifting. Maybe I just need more exercise.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Missed my 10 year
Poor neglected little blog- Ten years ago you were the adventure in social media. I was connecting with friends, getting my writing out there, and trying to find my voice. There have been a few restarts and some side projects, but for the most part this little blog has all but dried up. I'm connecting on Facebook, in a sense, maybe, I think. My writing is tucked away, hibernating, waiting to re-emerge when inspiration strikes. Those strikes seem few and far between. My voice is this one. It doesn't feel as wacky as it once did. The vocal cords are rusty. If they were in a wagon, they'd need a push down the hill.
Yet, somehow, I can't quite give this up. Both of my readers might be disappointed. What would they read once every month? Where would they go for the latest in vague statements and stories about running.
At 10, I sense it might be time for a change, but I don't know yet what that change might be. I thought there would be more shocks to the system, more giant spotlights pointing me in the right direction, more trumpets heralding the path, more giant arrows, but instead I find just little clues. Life is a lot more like a scavenger hunt and lot less like a movie than I was expecting.
Yet, somehow, I can't quite give this up. Both of my readers might be disappointed. What would they read once every month? Where would they go for the latest in vague statements and stories about running.
At 10, I sense it might be time for a change, but I don't know yet what that change might be. I thought there would be more shocks to the system, more giant spotlights pointing me in the right direction, more trumpets heralding the path, more giant arrows, but instead I find just little clues. Life is a lot more like a scavenger hunt and lot less like a movie than I was expecting.
Saturday, October 13, 2012
A little bit crushed
I didn't expect to feel this way. I only went to one game. I only watched a handful on TV. Last night, I checked the updating box score online and then finally in the seventh inning turned on the radio and curled up on the kitchen floor.
As I listened to the Nationals in game 5 of this wild series, I flashed back to my childhood. I missed Denny Matthews and Paul Splitorff, Kansas City Royals announcers, even as I pictured the game currently in progress. I missed my transistor radio too.
I could tell it was nuts at the stadium, but my heart remained relatively calm. I checked my pulse even as the Cardinals made their surprising ninth-inning comeback. My pulse remained relatively normal. I still believed. These Nats had come back before. They would do it again. This was the year.
Then it was over.
I turned off the radio and went to bed. Disappointed that I didn't get to bust out the door and join DC for some cheering in the streets, I fell asleep quickly. I thought when I woke up it might be different.
I turned to the sports page and it described the disappointment and shock so well. I turned to Facebook and read the alternating reports of jubilation from the many Missouri pals and sadness from the DC area. I celebrated most of the season with the Internet. I read Washington Post stories all year and excitedly followed this young Nats team, yet today the Internet's account feels inadequate.
Even my oatmeal lacks a certain something this morning.
As I listened to the Nationals in game 5 of this wild series, I flashed back to my childhood. I missed Denny Matthews and Paul Splitorff, Kansas City Royals announcers, even as I pictured the game currently in progress. I missed my transistor radio too.
I could tell it was nuts at the stadium, but my heart remained relatively calm. I checked my pulse even as the Cardinals made their surprising ninth-inning comeback. My pulse remained relatively normal. I still believed. These Nats had come back before. They would do it again. This was the year.
Then it was over.
I turned off the radio and went to bed. Disappointed that I didn't get to bust out the door and join DC for some cheering in the streets, I fell asleep quickly. I thought when I woke up it might be different.
I turned to the sports page and it described the disappointment and shock so well. I turned to Facebook and read the alternating reports of jubilation from the many Missouri pals and sadness from the DC area. I celebrated most of the season with the Internet. I read Washington Post stories all year and excitedly followed this young Nats team, yet today the Internet's account feels inadequate.
Even my oatmeal lacks a certain something this morning.
Sunday, August 26, 2012
12/11/11- Glowing and waiting
It's been a day of waiting. I woke up early and wandered the mean street of Waitomo, then we loitered until an i-Site opened up so we could book a Waitomo cave "tubing" ticket and loiter some more. After all our waiting we were rewarded with a glow worm* tour of the caves. It was a walk, crawl, slide through a cave, about 1.5 km of cave. The glow worms have a tail light that shines during their pupae stage. The caves had been compared to the night sky and the glow worms stars, but I thought they looked more like a city at night when a plane is landing. The lights tended to extend more like a peninsula and less like the cosmos.
We wore wetsuits in the caves. I can only imagine what discovering those caves must have been like, the glow, the strands (like a spider's web) hanging from the ceiling. Our moment of faux-discovery was a waterfall. We had to earn it by wading through waist deep water and then crawling through a space that would have scared me heaps if I'd come across it on my own. We emerged under a seven meter falls and it was pretty neat. From there it was more glowing and more tubing, not to mention a slide and a backwards hop onto our tube. All in all kind of fun.
The drive to the airport, complete with lap sandwiches, lead us to a delayed flight that finally got us to the South Island. The window seat was glorious. The South Island mountains had snow on top. The scenery was gorgeous- LOTR gorgeous. I'm excited again. To top it off, our hostel for the night is a converted jailhouse and they've tried to stick with the theme. I swear the lights clanked off. We're in a cell in bunk beds. The windows are barred and there are some serious creaking noises. I look forward to seeing daylight. A nice pick by C.
*The worms are insects, so not worms at all.
We wore wetsuits in the caves. I can only imagine what discovering those caves must have been like, the glow, the strands (like a spider's web) hanging from the ceiling. Our moment of faux-discovery was a waterfall. We had to earn it by wading through waist deep water and then crawling through a space that would have scared me heaps if I'd come across it on my own. We emerged under a seven meter falls and it was pretty neat. From there it was more glowing and more tubing, not to mention a slide and a backwards hop onto our tube. All in all kind of fun.
The drive to the airport, complete with lap sandwiches, lead us to a delayed flight that finally got us to the South Island. The window seat was glorious. The South Island mountains had snow on top. The scenery was gorgeous- LOTR gorgeous. I'm excited again. To top it off, our hostel for the night is a converted jailhouse and they've tried to stick with the theme. I swear the lights clanked off. We're in a cell in bunk beds. The windows are barred and there are some serious creaking noises. I look forward to seeing daylight. A nice pick by C.
*The worms are insects, so not worms at all.
Saturday, August 25, 2012
12/10/11- Jumping out of the sky
It's hard to know where to start this day. Yes, it was great to wake up in our free campsite to the sounds of goats, stream, and NZ yokels. There was a light mist accompanying breakfast, but we got ready to go and headed to Taupo. We arrived to find the trappings of a race. It wouldn't be until after second breakfast at Indulgence (bacon and egg sandwich and an iced coffee- oh look iced coffee here comes with ice cream. Score.) that we'd discover the race was the Taupo half-Ironman. I watched a bit of the bike to run transition and decided that I need to enter a tri. 2012 goal? Straight from NZ.
All morning we kicked around the idea of skydiving, but it was overcast and I was scared, so we put it off. We hiked out to Huku Falls (a little over 5k) and had the good fortune to see three kayaks run the falls. We had wandered through the park which included a "confidence course" and a zipline (6 inches off the ground under our weight.) on the way out to the falls. On the way back, we jumped into the Waikato River. It was fed in one place by a geothermal stream, but it was still cold and refreshing at our chosen plunge point. C was shocked by the temperature, having expected the spring to warm the water considerably. From there we went to sit in the geo-thermal stream-feed. The sun had started shining, but only winter could have made the stream a place to sit comfortably. The water was H-O-T, HOT! We dipped our toes and sat for a bit where river and stream met, before heading on to lunch.
Taupo was an athletic sort of place, on a lake and river and particularly today holding a triathlon. I liked it. I had a mexican stack (pie-like enchilada) and a Phoenix Lemon and Lime and Bitters for lunch at Replete. I'd say I'm three for three on soda that are ok, but that I don't really need again. With the sun out and our bellies full, we decided to see Taupo from the sky, or at least check out the skydiving options.
We drove out to the airport, found the very yellow Taupo tandem skydive business and steeled ourselves. TTS had a million jump options, 12k feet or 15k feet, with a photographer or a videographer, silver, platinum, gold options all to choose from. C and I decided that our budget could and should only handle the most basic package. We got a long chat from a worker on the experience chose our package and proceeded to wait another 30 minutes to even start to get going.
I was terribly nervous on the way in and sitting on the couch. I was nervous waiting, and then I put on my flight suit. The nerves didn't go away, but they were suddenly more manageable. Cue the safety video and harness set up before heading out for more waiting. Now we could see others floating down from the sky. I met a nice German named Markus on a 3.5?! month trip. More waiting and then Albert appeared and introduced himself.
Albert was nice enough, but I couldn't help noticing his crazy eyes. He had over 4,000 jumps, probably more and he seemed a bit disappointed that I wasn't going to pony up for the 15k jump. He seemed far more possessive than the other jump masters, but what the hey.
We boarded the plane, sitting close between the legs of our tandem master. They closed the gate, passed the camera and the plane started to take off. We were facing backwards and I had another jolt of nerves that I was able to clam. Albert asked if I liked flying. I answered yes and I thought about all those commercial flights where my nose was pressed against the glass taking in the city. I tried to do the same as the little prop plane climbed and climbed above Taupo, but my palms were sweating. My heart and breathing seemed ok. The scenery was brilliant, mountains, cityscape, the giant lake. On we climbed, circling up to our height. I was calmer than I'd been in the waiting room, but still had to push down thoughts of, "What the hell did I just sign on for?"
Albert put me on his lap and tightened us in together. The altitude got me a bit at around 11k feet. Albert's conversation attempts were politely answered and I was forcing a smile. C seemed to be ignoring my looks, but she did glance back a few times and we shared nervous smiles. At 12k feet, they opened the door. One cameraman stood outside the plane, wind and sky were rushing by. My thoughts shifted again as I tried to stifle a "You've got to be kidding me!"
Three jumpers and two cameramen were away and my tandem and I shifted closer to the open door. C had jumped, but I don't recall seeing her go. As we moved toward the door, my legs filled with lead. I could feel Albert straining against my weight to get us seated with our feet out in the sky. I couldn't move my legs, but Albert got us out the door. We leaned back to have our photo taken. I smiled brightly and then we were off tumbling- plane and cloud and sky and free fall.
It was strangely calming for a 200 km/h fall. I found a comfort level quickly. We plunged. I released my hands and got in a few gyrations, like the dancing catfish, and then plunged on trying to take it in. We fell through a cloud. Oh my god, a cloud! I had time to register the cloud, consider that it felt colder in there and wonder when I'd be able to see again. Still falling- unbelievable!
And then the parachute pull. Violently, I was jerked vertically with my feet toward the ground. We spun quickly in circles; it was frightening again, but then we settled into a graceful float. I had to hold the controls for a moment and I didn't have full function, in fact in writing this I get nervous thinking about it. We continued to float lower and lower. I tried to soak up the sights. It was a postcard in every direction. We landed with a thud. I reluctantly tried to stand up on the rocky landing patch.
Triumph! TTS tried to sell us a DVD afterwards, but we resisted the cheesy pitch. I did buy a photo of my exit from the plane (which immediately was shared on Facebook with pride), but decided that my memory would serve me best on this adventure.
From there we drove excitedly to Waitomo. I couldn't drive because I was still so pumped up. C drove us to a nice hostel Kiwi Paka with a bar down the hill called Curly's. We had dinner there. I had a Sheperd's Pie and a Steighton Old Dark (thumps up) and a Waikato Draught (so-so). The highlight though was sharing a table with a couple of Kiwis. They were very nice and we traded stories, quite a few about animals and roadkill. I was quite excited to discover that one of the women was Maori. I didn't catch her name, but she was lovely and it was pleasing to meet a Maori after hearing quite a lot about the indigenous people of New Zealand. Bed has come late tonight and I think I may be in a bit of trouble since retelling my day has give me another kick of energy.
All morning we kicked around the idea of skydiving, but it was overcast and I was scared, so we put it off. We hiked out to Huku Falls (a little over 5k) and had the good fortune to see three kayaks run the falls. We had wandered through the park which included a "confidence course" and a zipline (6 inches off the ground under our weight.) on the way out to the falls. On the way back, we jumped into the Waikato River. It was fed in one place by a geothermal stream, but it was still cold and refreshing at our chosen plunge point. C was shocked by the temperature, having expected the spring to warm the water considerably. From there we went to sit in the geo-thermal stream-feed. The sun had started shining, but only winter could have made the stream a place to sit comfortably. The water was H-O-T, HOT! We dipped our toes and sat for a bit where river and stream met, before heading on to lunch.
Taupo was an athletic sort of place, on a lake and river and particularly today holding a triathlon. I liked it. I had a mexican stack (pie-like enchilada) and a Phoenix Lemon and Lime and Bitters for lunch at Replete. I'd say I'm three for three on soda that are ok, but that I don't really need again. With the sun out and our bellies full, we decided to see Taupo from the sky, or at least check out the skydiving options.
We drove out to the airport, found the very yellow Taupo tandem skydive business and steeled ourselves. TTS had a million jump options, 12k feet or 15k feet, with a photographer or a videographer, silver, platinum, gold options all to choose from. C and I decided that our budget could and should only handle the most basic package. We got a long chat from a worker on the experience chose our package and proceeded to wait another 30 minutes to even start to get going.
I was terribly nervous on the way in and sitting on the couch. I was nervous waiting, and then I put on my flight suit. The nerves didn't go away, but they were suddenly more manageable. Cue the safety video and harness set up before heading out for more waiting. Now we could see others floating down from the sky. I met a nice German named Markus on a 3.5?! month trip. More waiting and then Albert appeared and introduced himself.
Albert was nice enough, but I couldn't help noticing his crazy eyes. He had over 4,000 jumps, probably more and he seemed a bit disappointed that I wasn't going to pony up for the 15k jump. He seemed far more possessive than the other jump masters, but what the hey.
We boarded the plane, sitting close between the legs of our tandem master. They closed the gate, passed the camera and the plane started to take off. We were facing backwards and I had another jolt of nerves that I was able to clam. Albert asked if I liked flying. I answered yes and I thought about all those commercial flights where my nose was pressed against the glass taking in the city. I tried to do the same as the little prop plane climbed and climbed above Taupo, but my palms were sweating. My heart and breathing seemed ok. The scenery was brilliant, mountains, cityscape, the giant lake. On we climbed, circling up to our height. I was calmer than I'd been in the waiting room, but still had to push down thoughts of, "What the hell did I just sign on for?"
Albert put me on his lap and tightened us in together. The altitude got me a bit at around 11k feet. Albert's conversation attempts were politely answered and I was forcing a smile. C seemed to be ignoring my looks, but she did glance back a few times and we shared nervous smiles. At 12k feet, they opened the door. One cameraman stood outside the plane, wind and sky were rushing by. My thoughts shifted again as I tried to stifle a "You've got to be kidding me!"
Three jumpers and two cameramen were away and my tandem and I shifted closer to the open door. C had jumped, but I don't recall seeing her go. As we moved toward the door, my legs filled with lead. I could feel Albert straining against my weight to get us seated with our feet out in the sky. I couldn't move my legs, but Albert got us out the door. We leaned back to have our photo taken. I smiled brightly and then we were off tumbling- plane and cloud and sky and free fall.
It was strangely calming for a 200 km/h fall. I found a comfort level quickly. We plunged. I released my hands and got in a few gyrations, like the dancing catfish, and then plunged on trying to take it in. We fell through a cloud. Oh my god, a cloud! I had time to register the cloud, consider that it felt colder in there and wonder when I'd be able to see again. Still falling- unbelievable!
And then the parachute pull. Violently, I was jerked vertically with my feet toward the ground. We spun quickly in circles; it was frightening again, but then we settled into a graceful float. I had to hold the controls for a moment and I didn't have full function, in fact in writing this I get nervous thinking about it. We continued to float lower and lower. I tried to soak up the sights. It was a postcard in every direction. We landed with a thud. I reluctantly tried to stand up on the rocky landing patch.
Triumph! TTS tried to sell us a DVD afterwards, but we resisted the cheesy pitch. I did buy a photo of my exit from the plane (which immediately was shared on Facebook with pride), but decided that my memory would serve me best on this adventure.
From there we drove excitedly to Waitomo. I couldn't drive because I was still so pumped up. C drove us to a nice hostel Kiwi Paka with a bar down the hill called Curly's. We had dinner there. I had a Sheperd's Pie and a Steighton Old Dark (thumps up) and a Waikato Draught (so-so). The highlight though was sharing a table with a couple of Kiwis. They were very nice and we traded stories, quite a few about animals and roadkill. I was quite excited to discover that one of the women was Maori. I didn't catch her name, but she was lovely and it was pleasing to meet a Maori after hearing quite a lot about the indigenous people of New Zealand. Bed has come late tonight and I think I may be in a bit of trouble since retelling my day has give me another kick of energy.
Sunday, August 12, 2012
12/9/11- Art Deco style
Today is a new day and I'm going to wipe yesterday's frustration away. Little orphan Annie did say the sun would be out today, or was it tomorrow? Either way I'm going to take some deep breaths and make today a good one.
The campground echoes with CCR and Lynard Skynard? Am I home? It's 20:30 in December and children at one end of the grounds are kicking a soccer ball while children at the other are playing cricket. Oh, I'm in New Zealand. This FREE DOC campground is almost all I could dream of. It's on a river in the shadows of rolling green hills; sheep are bleating when the music is off.
We drove to Napier this morning and arrived in the art deco capital of the world. I had expected something quainter and more clearly demarcated between art deco and other styles. We wandered a bit and found lunch. I had fancy nachos and Frank's Pink grapefruit soda. We then hit the Internet. It wasn't that busy. We wandered some more. I found opossum world and discovered what I'd been seeing splattered on so many of the winding roads. Speaking of roads, I discovered today that right-of-way is about turning vehicles today. (As I retype this, I now have no idea what this means. It might mean that turning vehicles get to go first?)
We took an art deco walking tour in Napier. Our volunteer guide had some interesting asides and showed us numerous art deco and Spanish mission buildings. The most interesting tidbit from the tour was actually about the earthquake that started it all for Napier. It moved the ground up two meters, filled in swamp land and allowed Napier to expand.
We left town, stocked up for a roughing-it style dinner at a roadside fruit stand with cheese, golden kiwis, and some bread, and then made our way to this little piece of paradise (now with groovin' soundtrack- either me singing songs about tiny towels or some Maori radio. I'm not sure which.)
The campground echoes with CCR and Lynard Skynard? Am I home? It's 20:30 in December and children at one end of the grounds are kicking a soccer ball while children at the other are playing cricket. Oh, I'm in New Zealand. This FREE DOC campground is almost all I could dream of. It's on a river in the shadows of rolling green hills; sheep are bleating when the music is off.
We drove to Napier this morning and arrived in the art deco capital of the world. I had expected something quainter and more clearly demarcated between art deco and other styles. We wandered a bit and found lunch. I had fancy nachos and Frank's Pink grapefruit soda. We then hit the Internet. It wasn't that busy. We wandered some more. I found opossum world and discovered what I'd been seeing splattered on so many of the winding roads. Speaking of roads, I discovered today that right-of-way is about turning vehicles today. (As I retype this, I now have no idea what this means. It might mean that turning vehicles get to go first?)
We took an art deco walking tour in Napier. Our volunteer guide had some interesting asides and showed us numerous art deco and Spanish mission buildings. The most interesting tidbit from the tour was actually about the earthquake that started it all for Napier. It moved the ground up two meters, filled in swamp land and allowed Napier to expand.
We left town, stocked up for a roughing-it style dinner at a roadside fruit stand with cheese, golden kiwis, and some bread, and then made our way to this little piece of paradise (now with groovin' soundtrack- either me singing songs about tiny towels or some Maori radio. I'm not sure which.)
Friday, August 10, 2012
12/8/11 Pacific Coast Highway
The day started well as we watched the sunrise. Sure we set off the car alarm twice in the pre-dawn hours , but things could only look up from there, right? Not so fast. It seemed ok for a while as we made our way to the East Cape. We had second breakfast at a Robert Harris coffee chain in Tauranga. Driving was going pretty ok for me. I was enjoying the road squiggles and trying to sort out my left from right. As we neared the point of no return I saw that the trip was going to take six more hours. I made a weak case for skipping the coast. On we went to the land of scenery. There were some beautiful vistas, the ocean in blues and greens, stormy clouds, sheep lice on chia pet hills, but the driving to to be too much and the scenery not enough.
Travel, hunger, tiredness, mis-communication, took us places we didn't want to go. Now we're stuck. We've driven a long way to do less. We've seen more of New Zealand in the mileage sense, but I'm frustrated with myself and us for cutting so much into our ability to explore. C had a great route planned for us, but I nudged it and then she pushed it and now we need to find a way to get back on track.
Pasta and salad at the Gisborne hostel thanks to Pak & Save got us back on track. The Tim Tams didn't hurt. Tomorrow we drive on...
Oh, I nearly forgot about the lunch spot on the "post-apocalyptic" beach- no tables, a creepy playground and gulls circling and coming way too close. We left in a hurry.
Travel, hunger, tiredness, mis-communication, took us places we didn't want to go. Now we're stuck. We've driven a long way to do less. We've seen more of New Zealand in the mileage sense, but I'm frustrated with myself and us for cutting so much into our ability to explore. C had a great route planned for us, but I nudged it and then she pushed it and now we need to find a way to get back on track.
Pasta and salad at the Gisborne hostel thanks to Pak & Save got us back on track. The Tim Tams didn't hurt. Tomorrow we drive on...
Oh, I nearly forgot about the lunch spot on the "post-apocalyptic" beach- no tables, a creepy playground and gulls circling and coming way too close. We left in a hurry.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
11/28/11 and 12/7/11- Supreme and the left
Upon reflection this day was great. It didn't always feel that way within, but as a whole it comes out a head. The main reason is the Supreme Court. I watched an oral argument. It was fascinating. The best part was body language. Clarence Thomas slouched a lot. Justices looked perplexed, thoughtful, frustrated, pleased and they joked and prodded. I would have been completely lost if not for the helpful explanation of a stranger in line. He helped me listen to the case with context.
The case was about standing, injury in fact or injury in law. It made sense at the time.
I actually had long-ish conversations with three strangers today. The last in a game shop where I may have completed Christmas shopping.
Productivity was solid. Activity was decent. Thankfulness good. Creativity didn't kick in until I captioned my photos. More to do tomorrow, but it will be hard to top today's success in court.
12/7/11- The Internet calls to me this morning. Its call is hunger, boredom, a need for connection. I have none of these things with much strength, but there's an emptiness before breakfast I'm going to look at the map and see if that settles me.
We're in Opoutere now at a quaint little campground with beach access. We spent several hours walking the beach and lounging about. It was quite nice. Driving out of Auckland was Xtreme!, but otherwise the left side of the road makes about as much sense as the right. Turns still scare me a bit, but for the most part I found a groove as we drove to and then rejected a Department of Conservation (DOC) campsite. It was lovely and spartan, but we were unprepared at that point.
We had lunch in a beach town, Tairua, at a joint called "Out of the Blue." It seemed family run. Both our dishes had plum sauce and were quite good. We also sampled L&P, world famous in New Zealand since ages ago, as recommeded by TJ and Reis . Tasty, but not noel like Malt in Iceland. I often find myself making comparisons like that, though not always with so much judgment. It's like I'm seeking to classify the experience with or near another I've had. Even the walk to the beach reminded me of Jurassic Park and I didn't even experience that. Hopefully a T-rex won't wake us from our tent slumber tonight. We can hear lots of birds and the wind is whipping over the hills, but I think crashing waves are out of earshot.
The case was about standing, injury in fact or injury in law. It made sense at the time.
I actually had long-ish conversations with three strangers today. The last in a game shop where I may have completed Christmas shopping.
Productivity was solid. Activity was decent. Thankfulness good. Creativity didn't kick in until I captioned my photos. More to do tomorrow, but it will be hard to top today's success in court.
12/7/11- The Internet calls to me this morning. Its call is hunger, boredom, a need for connection. I have none of these things with much strength, but there's an emptiness before breakfast I'm going to look at the map and see if that settles me.
We're in Opoutere now at a quaint little campground with beach access. We spent several hours walking the beach and lounging about. It was quite nice. Driving out of Auckland was Xtreme!, but otherwise the left side of the road makes about as much sense as the right. Turns still scare me a bit, but for the most part I found a groove as we drove to and then rejected a Department of Conservation (DOC) campsite. It was lovely and spartan, but we were unprepared at that point.
We had lunch in a beach town, Tairua, at a joint called "Out of the Blue." It seemed family run. Both our dishes had plum sauce and were quite good. We also sampled L&P, world famous in New Zealand since ages ago, as recommeded by TJ and Reis . Tasty, but not noel like Malt in Iceland. I often find myself making comparisons like that, though not always with so much judgment. It's like I'm seeking to classify the experience with or near another I've had. Even the walk to the beach reminded me of Jurassic Park and I didn't even experience that. Hopefully a T-rex won't wake us from our tent slumber tonight. We can hear lots of birds and the wind is whipping over the hills, but I think crashing waves are out of earshot.
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
11/26/11 - Kermit and fate?
The Muppets were the highlight of the day. Better than the Pancake Pantry, better than the Cherokee Grill, better than a canoe ride around the lake, even better than a little run, enjoying the Muppets in theaters with Clare, Carol, and Mimi took the cake. I laughed. I nearly cried. I missed my grandma and our trips to the movies. I missed my childhood and the hopeful singing messages of those wonderful Jim Henson puppets. They were self-aware enough to be cool. Cheesy enough to be fun. I think I laughed more than anyone in the theater.
I'm ready to be home again. I hope I can last longer in New Zealand. Wait. One more note on the Muppets: I found it particularly troubling that Kermit had slipped into a life he'd never meant. If Kermit can't stay the course, how can the rest of us hope to?
I'm ready to be home again. I hope I can last longer in New Zealand. Wait. One more note on the Muppets: I found it particularly troubling that Kermit had slipped into a life he'd never meant. If Kermit can't stay the course, how can the rest of us hope to?
11/25/11 and 12/6/11- Naps and Mac's
Napping, hiking, eating, napping- today was a day of classic relaxation. We hiked to Abram Falls, about 5 miles and I'm not sure what else we did. I'm thankful that I got to spend some time with C and have a nice chat with her sister. I got a few decent photos, played a 30-minute hand of UNO and watched the tale end of Lohan's Freaky Friday. I go to bed thinking I need to run. It wasn't a bad day at all, but I look forward to eating better soon. Soon is probably not tomorrow. By better, I really only mean fewer desserts.
12/6- I crashed hard on the flight to Auckland and struggled to get to the youth hostel. We made it though. C said at one point my sleep was a snore. I remember saying that I didn't like the bed while sitting up, but as soon as I was prone it was glorious. I look forward to a return to bed right now.
I woke up early, maybe 6:30 NZ time, walked around the block, started a new book and then crashed until 10 AM. We had some pies for breakfast. What is silver beet? We then walked down Queen St. to the harbor. We looked at marked down Rugby World Cup merchandise, but didn't buy. C needed a nap, I went to a nearby square where Occupy Auckland and a live art display shared some space. I helped a small group of people put together a puzzle of red over-sized pieces. It had the desired effect as strangers were talking and working together. I left extremely satisfied. Not even giant seagulls or dancing businessmen with cell phones could deter me.
C and I ate lunch at a cafe called Shaky Isles. We then took a bus to Mt. Eden, a former volcano now with grassy crater, with great views of Auckland. There's much more to the city than we'll see, but we got ready for our meal with Daimon's friend TJ and his flat mate Reis. They are both comedians and it was a joy to share a Mac's beer and exchange observations and conversation. We had drinks at Cassette and dinner at Mezze. I'd to like to better recount the day and tie it to philosophy the way my book Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance does, but sleep calls and I just want to get the day down. Tomorrow we drive--- on the left.
12/6- I crashed hard on the flight to Auckland and struggled to get to the youth hostel. We made it though. C said at one point my sleep was a snore. I remember saying that I didn't like the bed while sitting up, but as soon as I was prone it was glorious. I look forward to a return to bed right now.
I woke up early, maybe 6:30 NZ time, walked around the block, started a new book and then crashed until 10 AM. We had some pies for breakfast. What is silver beet? We then walked down Queen St. to the harbor. We looked at marked down Rugby World Cup merchandise, but didn't buy. C needed a nap, I went to a nearby square where Occupy Auckland and a live art display shared some space. I helped a small group of people put together a puzzle of red over-sized pieces. It had the desired effect as strangers were talking and working together. I left extremely satisfied. Not even giant seagulls or dancing businessmen with cell phones could deter me.
C and I ate lunch at a cafe called Shaky Isles. We then took a bus to Mt. Eden, a former volcano now with grassy crater, with great views of Auckland. There's much more to the city than we'll see, but we got ready for our meal with Daimon's friend TJ and his flat mate Reis. They are both comedians and it was a joy to share a Mac's beer and exchange observations and conversation. We had drinks at Cassette and dinner at Mezze. I'd to like to better recount the day and tie it to philosophy the way my book Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance does, but sleep calls and I just want to get the day down. Tomorrow we drive--- on the left.
Thursday, July 05, 2012
12/5/11- A long day
There is no December 4 entry. It was gobbled up in a mess of time zones and travel. The flight to Sydney was better than expected. I watched "Bridesmaids," "Thor," and "I love you too" before finally getting to sleep at something like who knows what time- maybe ten to midnight Sydney time. I was very grateful for the in-flight entertainment options of Virgin Australia and for the kind flight attendants with brilliant accents. I slept off and on for four good hours and two average hours. The plane landed around 6:30 AM and we were seeing the Sydney sights by about 7:30.
The Opera House and the bridge were very photo-worthy in the morning. We walked the bridge, had a snack, headed to Balmain by ferry and had brunch. I enjoyed green eggs and ham. We walked Darling street for a while and battled fatigue. We then headed to Bondi beach. C had hopes of a nap on the beach, but a brisk wind and a light rain curtailed that desire. We walked Bondi street to Bondi junction passing souvenir shops and homes along the way. We had very little interest in anything as a desire to sleep grew stronger. We were looking forward to a New Zealand bed that night, but that was another three hour flight away. This is the other side of the world.
Arriving in Sydney, looking down at the ocean and trying to consider that we'd been over that water for 14 hours was too much to handle, but getting outside and getting to see some sites was worth it. Seeing the city as we landed was exciting. I sometimes forget how much I enjoy new places. There is mystery and fun in the new.
I'm tired and words aren't coming easily. The flight announcements are breaking my concentration. I'm easily distracted and easily angered. This may be the price of "time travel".
The Opera House and the bridge were very photo-worthy in the morning. We walked the bridge, had a snack, headed to Balmain by ferry and had brunch. I enjoyed green eggs and ham. We walked Darling street for a while and battled fatigue. We then headed to Bondi beach. C had hopes of a nap on the beach, but a brisk wind and a light rain curtailed that desire. We walked Bondi street to Bondi junction passing souvenir shops and homes along the way. We had very little interest in anything as a desire to sleep grew stronger. We were looking forward to a New Zealand bed that night, but that was another three hour flight away. This is the other side of the world.
Arriving in Sydney, looking down at the ocean and trying to consider that we'd been over that water for 14 hours was too much to handle, but getting outside and getting to see some sites was worth it. Seeing the city as we landed was exciting. I sometimes forget how much I enjoy new places. There is mystery and fun in the new.
I'm tired and words aren't coming easily. The flight announcements are breaking my concentration. I'm easily distracted and easily angered. This may be the price of "time travel".
Wednesday, July 04, 2012
11/23 and 11/24/11- On pie and pace
My work may be on hiatus, but Clare's goes on. We spent the morning in her office and I reaffirmed my distaste for: 1) long commutes 2) intern-type work.
The long drive to Gatlinburg, TN was a great chance to talk about the future, so we did. Nothing was settled, but we share more freely and we're in a good lace together even as we sometimes struggle to be in a good place individually. The drive did steal away some of my feeling of endless time and freedom. The miles will go quickly. I'm thankful to be here with Clare's family and I'm looking forward to our Thanksgiving day hike. Clare's sister is having a baby, affirming that Clare and I are moving at our own pace.
11/24- I appreciate the Thanksgiving tradition of the last 4 years. Clare, her dad, and I hike ini the Smoky Mountains while her mom and grandmother prepare dinner. This year's hike involved a cabin and a schoolhouse, a departure from our usual high altitude, big-view hikes of the past. Dinner was delicious, but the day challenged me. I couldn't find a satisfying balance of napping and not. I missed my family.
Tonight, we shopped. The chaos lasted a little more than an hour. I'd like to say it was a sociology experiment, but I must admit I was swept up in the idea of finding a bargain. I found none and instead found myself overwhelmed by the crowds.
The long drive to Gatlinburg, TN was a great chance to talk about the future, so we did. Nothing was settled, but we share more freely and we're in a good lace together even as we sometimes struggle to be in a good place individually. The drive did steal away some of my feeling of endless time and freedom. The miles will go quickly. I'm thankful to be here with Clare's family and I'm looking forward to our Thanksgiving day hike. Clare's sister is having a baby, affirming that Clare and I are moving at our own pace.
11/24- I appreciate the Thanksgiving tradition of the last 4 years. Clare, her dad, and I hike ini the Smoky Mountains while her mom and grandmother prepare dinner. This year's hike involved a cabin and a schoolhouse, a departure from our usual high altitude, big-view hikes of the past. Dinner was delicious, but the day challenged me. I couldn't find a satisfying balance of napping and not. I missed my family.
Tonight, we shopped. The chaos lasted a little more than an hour. I'd like to say it was a sociology experiment, but I must admit I was swept up in the idea of finding a bargain. I found none and instead found myself overwhelmed by the crowds.
Sunday, July 01, 2012
12/3/11- Headed to New Zealand
Dear Diary:
We're in LA. We've been traveling all day. Now it's time to travel all night. I feel better than expected at this point. I hope that can continue. We've had some bumpy spots; already had to change flights coming back, needed an Australia visa to be there for 13 hours. It's all ok though. C and I are snapping at one another a bit. Hopefully we can get used to spending this much time together again. I'm thankful we have the opportunity to try.
Today we've had no real problems. We're on time, our flights have been smooth, our Gyros delicious. I look forward to movies and sleep. I don't actually know when to call this day over. I'm amused by my lack of clarity about time and day already. Also totally psyched for more Aussie and Kiwi accents.
We're in LA. We've been traveling all day. Now it's time to travel all night. I feel better than expected at this point. I hope that can continue. We've had some bumpy spots; already had to change flights coming back, needed an Australia visa to be there for 13 hours. It's all ok though. C and I are snapping at one another a bit. Hopefully we can get used to spending this much time together again. I'm thankful we have the opportunity to try.
Today we've had no real problems. We're on time, our flights have been smooth, our Gyros delicious. I look forward to movies and sleep. I don't actually know when to call this day over. I'm amused by my lack of clarity about time and day already. Also totally psyched for more Aussie and Kiwi accents.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
11/22/11- The first day of renewal
After being with my company for seven years, they offer four additional weeks of vacation to be taken all at once. The program is called "renewal" and it comes with a two-year commitment to stay with the organization. It's a pretty sweet deal. I'm now seven months into that two-year commitment and needing to look back at my renewal. I kept a journal during that time and will share parts of that journal here. I reserve the right to edit as I go.
RENEWAL: My practice retirement started today. Leaving work reminded me of the last day of school. I had the urge to pull papers from my locker and toss them in the air.
I walked to the library in the rain. It was damp and dreary, but I smiled. Time was on my side. Time. Time. Stretched out before me.
I've cleaned, watched TV, made this journal more personal and now prepare to read and go to bed early. Work stress flared up a bit, but this writing is helping me calm back down. I'm considering a one Internet connection per day rule. I like the potential peace that could bring to my days. The rule did cause me to enter, leave, and re-enter the living room several times as I tried to figure out what to do with my time, glorious time. It feels weightless.
RENEWAL: My practice retirement started today. Leaving work reminded me of the last day of school. I had the urge to pull papers from my locker and toss them in the air.
I walked to the library in the rain. It was damp and dreary, but I smiled. Time was on my side. Time. Time. Stretched out before me.
I've cleaned, watched TV, made this journal more personal and now prepare to read and go to bed early. Work stress flared up a bit, but this writing is helping me calm back down. I'm considering a one Internet connection per day rule. I like the potential peace that could bring to my days. The rule did cause me to enter, leave, and re-enter the living room several times as I tried to figure out what to do with my time, glorious time. It feels weightless.
Friday, June 29, 2012
New vocuabulary- straight from Germany
I learned a new word today: torschlusspanik. I'm told it's German and means something along the lines of worrying about diminishing opportunities as I age. There are a number of reasons for my torschlusspanik: another birthday approaches, another olympics approaches, Ultimate isn't being played, finding my dream job is a much slower process when I never make efforts, etc., etc.
I keep having this Facebook status thought that goes something like: "This past year has really sucked when you take out my 6 week vacation that included 2 weeks in New Zealand, the fact that I got engaged, and the fact that CUA played its best Ultimate yet." Look at that statement. When am I going to have another 6 week vacation? Retirement or unemployment are my best hopes. New Zealand was amazing. Gorgeous. Awesome. There's more to come on those 6 weeks. I've got blog posts already written. Engaged? That's good stuff. Good Ultimate from the team I coached? What's not to like?
It makes for a ridiculous statement, yet the day-to-day has been pretty frustrating over the last year. There's been more job stress and uncertainty. There's been less exercise and certainly less intense exercise. I've stopped or lost almost every other pseudo-hobby I've had. I watch way too many movies and spend way too much time on the Internet.
If I get it down here, if I re-live or at least re-write my renewal, maybe I can change that status update. Maybe it can say something like: "Torschlusspanik or not, I knocked off some pretty serious stuff from my bucket list this year. Not too shabby, but man, I'd like to play some Ultimate." Maybe.
I keep having this Facebook status thought that goes something like: "This past year has really sucked when you take out my 6 week vacation that included 2 weeks in New Zealand, the fact that I got engaged, and the fact that CUA played its best Ultimate yet." Look at that statement. When am I going to have another 6 week vacation? Retirement or unemployment are my best hopes. New Zealand was amazing. Gorgeous. Awesome. There's more to come on those 6 weeks. I've got blog posts already written. Engaged? That's good stuff. Good Ultimate from the team I coached? What's not to like?
It makes for a ridiculous statement, yet the day-to-day has been pretty frustrating over the last year. There's been more job stress and uncertainty. There's been less exercise and certainly less intense exercise. I've stopped or lost almost every other pseudo-hobby I've had. I watch way too many movies and spend way too much time on the Internet.
If I get it down here, if I re-live or at least re-write my renewal, maybe I can change that status update. Maybe it can say something like: "Torschlusspanik or not, I knocked off some pretty serious stuff from my bucket list this year. Not too shabby, but man, I'd like to play some Ultimate." Maybe.
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Perspiring quietly- additional reflections on life without AC
The whir of the portable fan begins to drown out the more pronounced shoosh-click of the ceiling fan. I watch the blades turn until my eyes can find just one. I follow it round and round and round until my eyeballs get sore, a hint of the dizzy sets in, and I start to worry that the light fixture will fall down on my head when I sleep.
Sleep. I long for it. I try not to focus on the sweat I can feel forming where my body and the sheets meet. I move ever so slightly, hoping my grateful warm skin will appreciate the air just enough that it will cancel out the effort of moving. Being hot is a form of relaxation. It limits movement, slows down bodies and thoughts. Being hot forces me to the floor. I want to be low, like a limbo-winner, lower still. I want to hover just above the ground. In a perfect world I'd have a whirring fan so powerful that it could lift me off the ground and keep my beads of sweat from forming. Instead, I have a fan the size of my head that can blow air all the way to my toes. Only a few beads will form. It could be worse.
Air conditioning has made me this way. I'm used to a certain level of cool, used to certain level of whir, used to covering my skin with a little weight when I sleep. Air has conditioned me to expect these things and to rebel when I don't have them. My rebellion is a quiet sort. It's a grassroots movement that starts in my hair follicles and eventually agitates my whole being. I'd twitch violently, but that would just be more movement. Slowly, I wipe the sweat away, adjust my beard just so, and count the sheep jumping into the pool.
Sleep. I long for it. I try not to focus on the sweat I can feel forming where my body and the sheets meet. I move ever so slightly, hoping my grateful warm skin will appreciate the air just enough that it will cancel out the effort of moving. Being hot is a form of relaxation. It limits movement, slows down bodies and thoughts. Being hot forces me to the floor. I want to be low, like a limbo-winner, lower still. I want to hover just above the ground. In a perfect world I'd have a whirring fan so powerful that it could lift me off the ground and keep my beads of sweat from forming. Instead, I have a fan the size of my head that can blow air all the way to my toes. Only a few beads will form. It could be worse.
Air conditioning has made me this way. I'm used to a certain level of cool, used to certain level of whir, used to covering my skin with a little weight when I sleep. Air has conditioned me to expect these things and to rebel when I don't have them. My rebellion is a quiet sort. It's a grassroots movement that starts in my hair follicles and eventually agitates my whole being. I'd twitch violently, but that would just be more movement. Slowly, I wipe the sweat away, adjust my beard just so, and count the sheep jumping into the pool.
Monday, June 25, 2012
Highway to some unpleasant locale
The AC went out on me on Thursday. There was a power thingy and some surges, probably some lightning, and I'm not a doctor, but the cool breeze that blows out of my floorboards stopped blowing. This seemed bad. Particularly, when I considered that summer, the official one, had just arrived. The heat from the outside became Miami's basketball team- The Heat. I turned on all the fans that we had- 4 in 3 rooms and just sweated a lot when using the WC. My sweat had a cooling effect and fortunately, some actual thunder accompanying a rain cloud also cooled the world a little because I was sweating up a storm in my own home.
The AC returned today, but not before I had the chance to reconnect with summer. There was a time, some number of years ago greater than the number of years ago that I graduated high school when my world was not always climate controlled. (That time resurfaced in college, but I'm thinking of a time when only one room in our house had a window unit.) Summer was hot and sticky those days. People drank lemonade and looked for shade. They also congregated around the window unit which is why central air conditioning became so popular. The days of window units are all but gone. My office now requires a sweater in the summer. I can go from air conditioned building to air conditioned building with just a hint of sweat on my brow. I had forgotten summer.
It can't all be blamed on central air. I haven't had nearly the same punishing outdoor schedule of years past and the weather hasn't stayed as consistently warm. Nonetheless, it was time for me to reacquaint myself with summer time. The living may be easy, but it's also pretty sweaty. Somehow, through the fits and starts of sleep and the sweaty television viewing, I found myself comfortably warm. The outside temperature and my body temperature were not so far apart. The world and I were one. Nature was just on the other side of the screen and sweat was a lubricant for life.
Today, the AC returned. I'll go back to admiring summer from behind the glass.
The AC returned today, but not before I had the chance to reconnect with summer. There was a time, some number of years ago greater than the number of years ago that I graduated high school when my world was not always climate controlled. (That time resurfaced in college, but I'm thinking of a time when only one room in our house had a window unit.) Summer was hot and sticky those days. People drank lemonade and looked for shade. They also congregated around the window unit which is why central air conditioning became so popular. The days of window units are all but gone. My office now requires a sweater in the summer. I can go from air conditioned building to air conditioned building with just a hint of sweat on my brow. I had forgotten summer.
It can't all be blamed on central air. I haven't had nearly the same punishing outdoor schedule of years past and the weather hasn't stayed as consistently warm. Nonetheless, it was time for me to reacquaint myself with summer time. The living may be easy, but it's also pretty sweaty. Somehow, through the fits and starts of sleep and the sweaty television viewing, I found myself comfortably warm. The outside temperature and my body temperature were not so far apart. The world and I were one. Nature was just on the other side of the screen and sweat was a lubricant for life.
Today, the AC returned. I'll go back to admiring summer from behind the glass.
Friday, June 15, 2012
A flight to nowhere, a honeymoon, and a 15 year reunion
The vacation did not begin well. After 30 minutes of flying toward KC, the pilot announced we were returning to DC. The delays became cancellation and the scramble to get a new flight as the tornado rolled into town became a scramble to find a flight the next day. Thanks to the generosity of C&L, we made the most of our flight to DC with a nice dinner and some movie watching.
After a sunrise jaunt to Chi-town, we nabbed a stand-by flight to KC and got to town well ahead of my cousin's wedding. The wedding was a jumbled gyration of family and FOG. It was over before the DJ even had a chance to play "Call me maybe". He did manage to play the cupid shuffle twice thanks to Madeline's request, however. My nieces danced 'til late, but would not be outdone by the bride and groom who kept going strong even after this clean up crew began removing decorations. This apple doesn't fall far from that tree.
Although some of the FOG dispersed, two clans headed out for an annual canoe trip, now with honeymooning. The usual water gun fights were complimented with a rope drop. The rope drop is a close cousin of the rope swing, but instead of that graceful arc out over the deep water of the Niangua, this involved hands being ripped raw from the rope as those of us who tried fell into the water. Tedward had more luck than I did, but I feel lucky that my only injury was rope burn.
I enjoy canoeing as it happens, but I think I enjoy it more in retrospect. It's such a peaceful activity with an occasional burst of activity and tension. It's a good mixture of relaxing and interesting. Parker made her first trip successfully. She relaxed so much that at different points on the trip she fell asleep, head lolling while the boat drifted down stream.
My sister discovered that although the her grown-up version enjoys canoeing far more than the teenage version, she still doesn't want to run a boat, at least not with her kids in it. For a while I wondered if I'd contributed to this lack of confidence, but then I decided that even if I hadn't been running the boat in our teen years, she would have resisted. It really seemed like she didn't like it those years. Eventually, every woman on the trip (except my mom) decided that, at least on a river like this, she preferred a kayak. I don't think it was a statement of independence as much as it was a comment on boat agility.
I particularly argue this since C and I closed out the week with a tandem ride. It didn't solve all our problems, but it was nice to be on the same bike ride at the same time. We would get better with starting given time. That required a little extra trust.
My story telling feels off now, but I'm trying to fight through it. My final paragraph is about the 15-year reunion I had with my track. My legs had no zip, but I still wanted to run a mile. It resulted in a pretty evenly paced 5:19. This is a good 4 seconds per year slower than, well, 15 years ago. I don't know that this is entirely reflective of my state of fitness, but it's pretty close as I continue to fight with this same mess. I'm back to PT and hoping to get over the hump. I want to sprint again and jump again (and yeah, play some Ultimate again.)
After a sunrise jaunt to Chi-town, we nabbed a stand-by flight to KC and got to town well ahead of my cousin's wedding. The wedding was a jumbled gyration of family and FOG. It was over before the DJ even had a chance to play "Call me maybe". He did manage to play the cupid shuffle twice thanks to Madeline's request, however. My nieces danced 'til late, but would not be outdone by the bride and groom who kept going strong even after this clean up crew began removing decorations. This apple doesn't fall far from that tree.
Although some of the FOG dispersed, two clans headed out for an annual canoe trip, now with honeymooning. The usual water gun fights were complimented with a rope drop. The rope drop is a close cousin of the rope swing, but instead of that graceful arc out over the deep water of the Niangua, this involved hands being ripped raw from the rope as those of us who tried fell into the water. Tedward had more luck than I did, but I feel lucky that my only injury was rope burn.
I enjoy canoeing as it happens, but I think I enjoy it more in retrospect. It's such a peaceful activity with an occasional burst of activity and tension. It's a good mixture of relaxing and interesting. Parker made her first trip successfully. She relaxed so much that at different points on the trip she fell asleep, head lolling while the boat drifted down stream.
My sister discovered that although the her grown-up version enjoys canoeing far more than the teenage version, she still doesn't want to run a boat, at least not with her kids in it. For a while I wondered if I'd contributed to this lack of confidence, but then I decided that even if I hadn't been running the boat in our teen years, she would have resisted. It really seemed like she didn't like it those years. Eventually, every woman on the trip (except my mom) decided that, at least on a river like this, she preferred a kayak. I don't think it was a statement of independence as much as it was a comment on boat agility.
I particularly argue this since C and I closed out the week with a tandem ride. It didn't solve all our problems, but it was nice to be on the same bike ride at the same time. We would get better with starting given time. That required a little extra trust.
My story telling feels off now, but I'm trying to fight through it. My final paragraph is about the 15-year reunion I had with my track. My legs had no zip, but I still wanted to run a mile. It resulted in a pretty evenly paced 5:19. This is a good 4 seconds per year slower than, well, 15 years ago. I don't know that this is entirely reflective of my state of fitness, but it's pretty close as I continue to fight with this same mess. I'm back to PT and hoping to get over the hump. I want to sprint again and jump again (and yeah, play some Ultimate again.)
Monday, May 28, 2012
Longing
As the heat of summer slides between the hairs on my chin, I long to chase plastic. There are certain charms to the discussions of home maintenance, wedding planning, and the best way to grill a burger, but I'm distracted by thoughts of flying discs. I wasn't helped at all by the free streaming college nationals on the Internet. I watched the collegiate greats ripping long hucks in front of a mountain back drop. I watched great players diving and leaping and I longed to shed this lameness and join them or at least join their older brothers and sisters in a sloppy game of pick up.
I've done better with my disappointment this time around, but this weekend my resolve is slipping. I feel betrayed by my body. My mind lunges for discs unthrown. I throw fakes to shake defenders who aren't there. I hold conversations when I'd rather be running up and down a field panting, thirsting, and chasing after the disc that's brought me so much joy. I made it through a very good college Ultimate season, primarily focused on the improvement of others, but now left on my own I feel empty without it. I want to run free, sweat free, and celebrate my freedom pushing a working body to exhaustion in pursuit of a silly little disc.
Sometimes I question how this can matter so much; I search for suitable alternatives. I've found a few, enjoyed other moments and other games. I've put my focus elsewhere, but today in the full force of the DC humidity, I grow weary of this state of affairs and long to break free.
I ramble in my frustration, trying to shake it. I turn up the music. I let the words spill out and I breathe deeply.
Life's lessons, I suppose. I'm taking my sweet time learning this one.
I've done better with my disappointment this time around, but this weekend my resolve is slipping. I feel betrayed by my body. My mind lunges for discs unthrown. I throw fakes to shake defenders who aren't there. I hold conversations when I'd rather be running up and down a field panting, thirsting, and chasing after the disc that's brought me so much joy. I made it through a very good college Ultimate season, primarily focused on the improvement of others, but now left on my own I feel empty without it. I want to run free, sweat free, and celebrate my freedom pushing a working body to exhaustion in pursuit of a silly little disc.
Sometimes I question how this can matter so much; I search for suitable alternatives. I've found a few, enjoyed other moments and other games. I've put my focus elsewhere, but today in the full force of the DC humidity, I grow weary of this state of affairs and long to break free.
I ramble in my frustration, trying to shake it. I turn up the music. I let the words spill out and I breathe deeply.
Life's lessons, I suppose. I'm taking my sweet time learning this one.
Saturday, May 05, 2012
17 months of rest leaves me feeling fresh
I woke up nervous. It was nice to have that feeling back. It's been too long since I raced. My body still knew what to do. I joined Sam and Matt on a warm-up to the start of the MBT 5k. I went to the bathroom early and often. We had too much time to warm-up or not enough desire to get a full warm-up going. Either way, it seemed the only thing warming up was the sunshine.
I had plans. Plans are important. I never follow my plans, but that doesn't make them less important. I planned to run 6:15 miles. That would have netted a 19:25. That's just a touch faster than my slowest 5k I believe. After 17 months, it seemed like conservative was the way to go.
The leisurely morning finally turned into a race. It was a typical small road race where people are shy about toeing the starting line. We ended up in the pole position. We got out faster than 6:15. I couldn't tell how fast, but I used my plans to slow myself down. I found myself in about 10th place and struggling with pace. Was I out too fast or was this too slow? I felt like I was in the way. I tucked in behind a woman for a bit and then she pulled away. On we ran. I felt good, like I was holding something back. I had no pain. All systems were go.
We made the first turn and I caught two guys on the downhill. I was tucked in behind them, but on this out and back course where runners were supposed to stay to the left, we found runners and walkers had gone right. I surged past the two and began waving frantically, even arguing for a moment on the run. That got me going.
I thought I saw the halfway mark and I was at 9:17. My plans were out the window, but I felt ok with pace. I just hoped I could hold it. I picked off a few more folks. At the second turn I passed another and found myself in fifth. The woman from earlier and one guy were within striking distance. Second place was off in the distance and first was long gone. I struggled a bit and checked my watch. It read 14 and change. I didn't really do a pace calculation, but I told myself, "Give me 4 more minutes. That's all." I passed Matt and Sam heading the other way and Matt pointed out the guy in third. His message crystallized my goal. I accelerated slightly. I passed the man in third and set my sights on the lead woman. She was running well. I cheered her as I went by, hoping she'd accept my support and knowing that she might come back on me at the end.
I held her off with a final push around the corner and up the hill. I hit 18:28, a 5:57 pace. I hope this pushes me back into the game. I feel a little tightness tonight, but for the most part I feel good. I'm happy to be back racing and perhaps happy to be back writing about it too.
I had plans. Plans are important. I never follow my plans, but that doesn't make them less important. I planned to run 6:15 miles. That would have netted a 19:25. That's just a touch faster than my slowest 5k I believe. After 17 months, it seemed like conservative was the way to go.
The leisurely morning finally turned into a race. It was a typical small road race where people are shy about toeing the starting line. We ended up in the pole position. We got out faster than 6:15. I couldn't tell how fast, but I used my plans to slow myself down. I found myself in about 10th place and struggling with pace. Was I out too fast or was this too slow? I felt like I was in the way. I tucked in behind a woman for a bit and then she pulled away. On we ran. I felt good, like I was holding something back. I had no pain. All systems were go.
We made the first turn and I caught two guys on the downhill. I was tucked in behind them, but on this out and back course where runners were supposed to stay to the left, we found runners and walkers had gone right. I surged past the two and began waving frantically, even arguing for a moment on the run. That got me going.
I thought I saw the halfway mark and I was at 9:17. My plans were out the window, but I felt ok with pace. I just hoped I could hold it. I picked off a few more folks. At the second turn I passed another and found myself in fifth. The woman from earlier and one guy were within striking distance. Second place was off in the distance and first was long gone. I struggled a bit and checked my watch. It read 14 and change. I didn't really do a pace calculation, but I told myself, "Give me 4 more minutes. That's all." I passed Matt and Sam heading the other way and Matt pointed out the guy in third. His message crystallized my goal. I accelerated slightly. I passed the man in third and set my sights on the lead woman. She was running well. I cheered her as I went by, hoping she'd accept my support and knowing that she might come back on me at the end.
I held her off with a final push around the corner and up the hill. I hit 18:28, a 5:57 pace. I hope this pushes me back into the game. I feel a little tightness tonight, but for the most part I feel good. I'm happy to be back racing and perhaps happy to be back writing about it too.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Isn't there an REM song like this?
Ears submerged in water, the sound of splashing dulled, legs kicking, eyes focused on ceiling tiles, I felt a calm that has been elusive in recent weeks. On my back, slicing through the water, I was in an active recovery. The real difference from the laps I would crawl before and after was my ability to breathe. With the gasping and thrashing gone, swimming laps in the neighborhood pool became a meditation.
I've been swimming more times this year than I go most summers. With running and Ultimate not available the way I'd really like and the idea of a triathlon never quite sticking, it seemed like a good time to head to the pool. I've been fortunate to have a teacher on a few of my swims. Jim imparts the wisdom of his high school swimming days as best he can remember. His explanations of form taught me more about swimming in 30 minutes than I've learned in 20 years.
After a dip or two into the water, I purchased goggles and they have also changed swimming for me. If I was prone to hyperbole, I'd say they opened up an underwater world. If not a world, they've at least allowed me to see when I'm submerged which means I don't have to hold my head above water to look out. I haven't mastered all of this, but not bobbing my head out there increases efficiency considerably.
I swim with urgency. Like I'm being chased by sharks. This is ok for a length or two, but since I'm still working on breathing techniques and since I'm trying to get in a workout, this often leads to large sips of pool water and hacking coughs that echo off water and wall.
On Wednesday, I watched other swimmers and they move their arms more slowly, rhythmically, like a runner who understands pace rather than a child trying not to drown. I often compare my swimming experiences to running experiences. I'm fascinated by the breakdown, that point where physically and mentally I can no longer keep my form. It comes quickly in swimming, but it's so soft compared to running. The thrash is similar, in running it's harder on the legs than the arms, but the overall wobble is familiar. Yet, the swimming collapse would be so much stiller, so much quieter. I don't see legs buckling and balance teetering. I just see sinking.
After my swim, I ran home. It's less than half a mile, but my legs felt shaky. My body didn't quite know how to react. I couldn't go much faster, but I sensed I could go on much farther. It felt wonderfully terrible. It felt affirming. It felt like accomplishment.
What does REM have to say about that?
I've been swimming more times this year than I go most summers. With running and Ultimate not available the way I'd really like and the idea of a triathlon never quite sticking, it seemed like a good time to head to the pool. I've been fortunate to have a teacher on a few of my swims. Jim imparts the wisdom of his high school swimming days as best he can remember. His explanations of form taught me more about swimming in 30 minutes than I've learned in 20 years.
After a dip or two into the water, I purchased goggles and they have also changed swimming for me. If I was prone to hyperbole, I'd say they opened up an underwater world. If not a world, they've at least allowed me to see when I'm submerged which means I don't have to hold my head above water to look out. I haven't mastered all of this, but not bobbing my head out there increases efficiency considerably.
I swim with urgency. Like I'm being chased by sharks. This is ok for a length or two, but since I'm still working on breathing techniques and since I'm trying to get in a workout, this often leads to large sips of pool water and hacking coughs that echo off water and wall.
On Wednesday, I watched other swimmers and they move their arms more slowly, rhythmically, like a runner who understands pace rather than a child trying not to drown. I often compare my swimming experiences to running experiences. I'm fascinated by the breakdown, that point where physically and mentally I can no longer keep my form. It comes quickly in swimming, but it's so soft compared to running. The thrash is similar, in running it's harder on the legs than the arms, but the overall wobble is familiar. Yet, the swimming collapse would be so much stiller, so much quieter. I don't see legs buckling and balance teetering. I just see sinking.
After my swim, I ran home. It's less than half a mile, but my legs felt shaky. My body didn't quite know how to react. I couldn't go much faster, but I sensed I could go on much farther. It felt wonderfully terrible. It felt affirming. It felt like accomplishment.
What does REM have to say about that?
Friday, January 13, 2012
Crazy, Stupid, Chemistry
John has asked what I liked so much about Crazy, Stupid, Love and it's forcing me to consider my off-the-cuff year-end reflection a little more closely. Was it a "slow movie" with one good scene? First, I'll admit that I don't judge all movies equally, but my tastes often overlap with John's. So where did we depart on this one?
Was it expectations? It was advertised in line as a sort of offbeat romantic comedy and it delivered what I was looking for on that front with some laughs and the promise of happy enough endings.
I'll admit that it wasn't amazing on the comedy front and I do think the one scene John referred to was the big moment of the film, but what got me was something else. In my highly unscientific movie rating scale I usually rate two factors higher than the rest. Those factors:
1. Character connection or chemistry and
2. believability- that the rules of the created universe are followed.
Crazy, Stupid, Love succeeds on both of those fronts. In a romantic comedy, two is always very much a part of one, and I thought every relationship (every major one anyway) was well connected and believable. The connections didn't blow me away like Lost in Translation, but the solid performances by all the actors and the connections they created kept me entertained until that scene which caught me off guard.
Was it expectations? It was advertised in line as a sort of offbeat romantic comedy and it delivered what I was looking for on that front with some laughs and the promise of happy enough endings.
I'll admit that it wasn't amazing on the comedy front and I do think the one scene John referred to was the big moment of the film, but what got me was something else. In my highly unscientific movie rating scale I usually rate two factors higher than the rest. Those factors:
1. Character connection or chemistry and
2. believability- that the rules of the created universe are followed.
Crazy, Stupid, Love succeeds on both of those fronts. In a romantic comedy, two is always very much a part of one, and I thought every relationship (every major one anyway) was well connected and believable. The connections didn't blow me away like Lost in Translation, but the solid performances by all the actors and the connections they created kept me entertained until that scene which caught me off guard.
Sunday, January 01, 2012
Happy New Year! Books 2011
1. Captain Freedom
2. Going Long
3. Once a runner
4. Just Revenge
5. I Capture the Castle
6. The Guernsey Literacy and Potato Peel Society
7. Going in Circles
8. The Science of Single: One woman's grand experiment in modern dating, creating chemistry, and finding love
9. Mantle and the end of America's childhood
10. The Year of the Flood
11. Plainsong
12. Three cups of tea
13. Yugo: The rise and fall of the worst car in history
14. Better Off
15. Corelli's Mandolin
16. Diary of a Bad Year
17. The Dip
18. What now?
19. The Lacuna
20. The Hunger Games
21. Catching Fire
22. Mockingjay
23. A Little Bit Married
24. The Help
25. Tao of Pooh
26 . Made to Stick
27. Animal, Vegetable, Miracle
28. Devil in the White City
29. A visit to the goon squad
30. The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake
31. The Upside of Irrationality
32. Lance Armstrong's War
33. Superfreakanomics
*Sex on the Moon* (audiobook)
34. Divine Justice
35. I'm Down
36. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
37. The Runner's Rule Book
I was blown away by The Hunger Games trilogy (especially the first two books). Plainsong is a sleeper hit. If you have to pick one book about running, I think Going Long would edge out Once a runner.
2. Going Long
3. Once a runner
4. Just Revenge
5. I Capture the Castle
6. The Guernsey Literacy and Potato Peel Society
7. Going in Circles
8. The Science of Single: One woman's grand experiment in modern dating, creating chemistry, and finding love
9. Mantle and the end of America's childhood
10. The Year of the Flood
11. Plainsong
12. Three cups of tea
13. Yugo: The rise and fall of the worst car in history
14. Better Off
15. Corelli's Mandolin
16. Diary of a Bad Year
17. The Dip
18. What now?
19. The Lacuna
20. The Hunger Games
21. Catching Fire
22. Mockingjay
23. A Little Bit Married
24. The Help
25. Tao of Pooh
26 . Made to Stick
27. Animal, Vegetable, Miracle
28. Devil in the White City
29. A visit to the goon squad
30. The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake
31. The Upside of Irrationality
32. Lance Armstrong's War
33. Superfreakanomics
*Sex on the Moon* (audiobook)
34. Divine Justice
35. I'm Down
36. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
37. The Runner's Rule Book
I was blown away by The Hunger Games trilogy (especially the first two books). Plainsong is a sleeper hit. If you have to pick one book about running, I think Going Long would edge out Once a runner.
Happy New Year! 2011 Movies
1. The Diving Bell and the Butterfly
2. The King's Speech
3. Toy Story 3
4. Easy A
5. The Winning Season
6. Rear Window
7. Scott Pilgrim vs. The World (I slept through part)
8. The Social Network
9. 100 Girls
10. Cedar Rapids
11. The Good The Bad The Weird
12. Never Let Me Go
13. Youth in Revolt
14. Monster
15. Tangled
16. 61*
17. The Road
18. It's Kind of a Funny Story
19. Source Code
20. The Dilemma
21. Rough Riders
22. Morning Glory
23. Changeling
24. How do you know
25. Black Swan
26. Somewhere
27. Super 8
28. The Green Hornet
29. Bad Teacher
30. Midnight in Paris
31. The Fighter
32. The last kiss
33. Paper Heart
34. Roman Holiday
35. Crazy, Stupid, Love
36. Duck Soup
37. ExTerminators
38. Blue Crush 2
39. Casino Jack
40. The Princess and the Warrior
41. Hall Pass
42. happythankyoumoreplease
43. Reservoir Dogs (re-watch)
44. 127 Hours
45. Red Cliff
46. Adjustment Bureau
47. You Again
48. Last night
49. Everything Must Go
50. The Flying Scotsman
51. Get Low
52. Something Borrowed
53. Waiting for Superman
54. Inside Man
55. The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters
56. Scream 4
57. Bridesmaids
58. Thor
59. I love you too
60. The Help
61. Horrible Bosses
62. Rise of the Planet of the Apes
63. The Descendants
64. Chipwrecked- Alvin and the Chipmunks
65. Once (re-watched)
I think I re-watched several others as well the week I was sick, but I didn't track those. I usually only track the new-to-me ones. If you were going to watch three movies from my list, I'd suggest happythankyoumoreplease, 127 Hours, and Crazy, Stupid, Love. If you want to avoid three movies, I'd suggest Chipwrecked, The Good The Bad The Weird, and Scott Pilgrim vs. The World.
2. The King's Speech
3. Toy Story 3
4. Easy A
5. The Winning Season
6. Rear Window
7. Scott Pilgrim vs. The World (I slept through part)
8. The Social Network
9. 100 Girls
10. Cedar Rapids
11. The Good The Bad The Weird
12. Never Let Me Go
13. Youth in Revolt
14. Monster
15. Tangled
16. 61*
17. The Road
18. It's Kind of a Funny Story
19. Source Code
20. The Dilemma
21. Rough Riders
22. Morning Glory
23. Changeling
24. How do you know
25. Black Swan
26. Somewhere
27. Super 8
28. The Green Hornet
29. Bad Teacher
30. Midnight in Paris
31. The Fighter
32. The last kiss
33. Paper Heart
34. Roman Holiday
35. Crazy, Stupid, Love
36. Duck Soup
37. ExTerminators
38. Blue Crush 2
39. Casino Jack
40. The Princess and the Warrior
41. Hall Pass
42. happythankyoumoreplease
43. Reservoir Dogs (re-watch)
44. 127 Hours
45. Red Cliff
46. Adjustment Bureau
47. You Again
48. Last night
49. Everything Must Go
50. The Flying Scotsman
51. Get Low
52. Something Borrowed
53. Waiting for Superman
54. Inside Man
55. The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters
56. Scream 4
57. Bridesmaids
58. Thor
59. I love you too
60. The Help
61. Horrible Bosses
62. Rise of the Planet of the Apes
63. The Descendants
64. Chipwrecked- Alvin and the Chipmunks
65. Once (re-watched)
I think I re-watched several others as well the week I was sick, but I didn't track those. I usually only track the new-to-me ones. If you were going to watch three movies from my list, I'd suggest happythankyoumoreplease, 127 Hours, and Crazy, Stupid, Love. If you want to avoid three movies, I'd suggest Chipwrecked, The Good The Bad The Weird, and Scott Pilgrim vs. The World.
Friday, December 02, 2011
Somewhere between college and retirement
This week has been a kick. Time and its abundance are often on my mind. I seem to oscillate from feeling like a college kid to feeling like a retired guy. Last night was just like college, as I flitted from dinner with college students to a friends' home at 10 o'clock just to hang out and chat before he left town. I continued that theme with a visit to a coffee shop where I wrote bad poetry and overstayed in a comfy chair. That feeling of a definite end (semester? graduation?) looms and it adds a richness to the daily experience. I also have a sense that I need to get work done (homework?), but that no one is really watching and won't know for quite a while if I'm successful.
On the other part of the wave is the retirement, or what I imagine retirement might be like. I've already discussed the visit to the Supreme Court, but there's a meandering to my outings. I have to run errands, but I get distracted. Yesterday, on my way to the Library of Congress I found a classic suitcase that someone had tossed out. I picked it up, walked home, dropped it off, and then headed to the Library of Congress. Yes, I am now picking up other people's discarded items. Not only that, but I have grand plans to turn it into a suitcase of memories. It could be a rather involved art project and I immediately put it off until later. Once at the Library of Congress, I wandered about, soaking up exhibits that I usually couldn't or wouldn't spend so long enjoying. I've cooked. I've cleaned (although not enough). Today, since the weather was nice, I decided to rake leaves. That's right, yard work. I'm fairly certain that teenage me swore off yard work forever. Next up, traveling.
On the other part of the wave is the retirement, or what I imagine retirement might be like. I've already discussed the visit to the Supreme Court, but there's a meandering to my outings. I have to run errands, but I get distracted. Yesterday, on my way to the Library of Congress I found a classic suitcase that someone had tossed out. I picked it up, walked home, dropped it off, and then headed to the Library of Congress. Yes, I am now picking up other people's discarded items. Not only that, but I have grand plans to turn it into a suitcase of memories. It could be a rather involved art project and I immediately put it off until later. Once at the Library of Congress, I wandered about, soaking up exhibits that I usually couldn't or wouldn't spend so long enjoying. I've cooked. I've cleaned (although not enough). Today, since the weather was nice, I decided to rake leaves. That's right, yard work. I'm fairly certain that teenage me swore off yard work forever. Next up, traveling.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Supremely interesting
Washington DC- After walking East Capitol Street on an unseasonably warm November morning, I arrived at the line to the halls of justice, the highest court in the land, the Supreme Court. Attending an oral argument was my goal, but it took some time for me to get the courage to talk to one of the police officers and discover that I needed a ticket to wait in line. The ticket was numbered 87, but I had the impression that lines were known to stretch far longer and that I would manage to get in to meet my goal on this Monday morning.
My interest in the Supreme Court was governmental tourism. History gets made, policy gets interpreted a few blocks from my home and most days I don't even remember to wave as I ride by. With time on my side this week, I could go hear an oral argument. I had no idea what I was getting in to. The Internet was informative, but didn't really give me much context. Fortunately, a gentleman in line provided several of us the story that we needed. The case was First American Financial vs. Edwards. According to the helpful line lawyer the case was about legal standing. On the surface it was a case of a woman upset that the insurance she had purchased related to her real estate purchase had been through a company that received funding/a cut/a kickback from the real estate company that recommended the insurance. Although she seemed to have no complaint about the insurance or even the price, this "kickback" was the basis of the case and the justices were particularly focused on injury "in fact" versus injury "in law". I'm not a lawyer and can't pretend to be one, but without this context I think I would have been completely dumbfounded by the proceedings.
Getting into the court required a series of checks along with the shedding of most carried personal belongings. There was a mixture of fascination and confusion as we entered the courtroom. Large columns and red velvet curtains provided the back drop for the nine justices. I immediately recognized Justice Thomas and was soon able to determine the identities of Chief Justice Roberts, Justice Sotomayor, and Justice Ginsburg. If pressed I would have been able to pick out Justice Scalia as well, but beyond that I was drawing blanks.
During the first argument I was enthralled by body language. Thomas looked like he wanted to be anywhere else on this Monday morning. I guess even the Supreme Court is a job. Breyer (I'd discover later) tended to lean back in his chair staring upward deep in thought. A light placed far above him seemed to shine down on his balding head and glow. That sounds disrespectful, but once the justices questions started coming, it was awe-inspiring. They were clearly brilliant individuals. Their questions were often in plain language, but insightful and referential. They made the crowd laugh in several instances; Scalia in particular toward the end as the counsel had said something like "There are two sides to this issue" and Justice Scalia had said "Yours and theirs."
After the first argument, I thought for sure the court would side with Edwards, but they probed the opposing counsel with equal interest and skepticism. I've never wanted to be a lawyer, and watching the lawyers sway and dodge and try to answer the justices questions didn't change my mind, but I have to admit to being extremely impressed, sometimes even awed at the proceedings. I just found a new respect for the judicial branch of government.
My interest in the Supreme Court was governmental tourism. History gets made, policy gets interpreted a few blocks from my home and most days I don't even remember to wave as I ride by. With time on my side this week, I could go hear an oral argument. I had no idea what I was getting in to. The Internet was informative, but didn't really give me much context. Fortunately, a gentleman in line provided several of us the story that we needed. The case was First American Financial vs. Edwards. According to the helpful line lawyer the case was about legal standing. On the surface it was a case of a woman upset that the insurance she had purchased related to her real estate purchase had been through a company that received funding/a cut/a kickback from the real estate company that recommended the insurance. Although she seemed to have no complaint about the insurance or even the price, this "kickback" was the basis of the case and the justices were particularly focused on injury "in fact" versus injury "in law". I'm not a lawyer and can't pretend to be one, but without this context I think I would have been completely dumbfounded by the proceedings.
Getting into the court required a series of checks along with the shedding of most carried personal belongings. There was a mixture of fascination and confusion as we entered the courtroom. Large columns and red velvet curtains provided the back drop for the nine justices. I immediately recognized Justice Thomas and was soon able to determine the identities of Chief Justice Roberts, Justice Sotomayor, and Justice Ginsburg. If pressed I would have been able to pick out Justice Scalia as well, but beyond that I was drawing blanks.
During the first argument I was enthralled by body language. Thomas looked like he wanted to be anywhere else on this Monday morning. I guess even the Supreme Court is a job. Breyer (I'd discover later) tended to lean back in his chair staring upward deep in thought. A light placed far above him seemed to shine down on his balding head and glow. That sounds disrespectful, but once the justices questions started coming, it was awe-inspiring. They were clearly brilliant individuals. Their questions were often in plain language, but insightful and referential. They made the crowd laugh in several instances; Scalia in particular toward the end as the counsel had said something like "There are two sides to this issue" and Justice Scalia had said "Yours and theirs."
After the first argument, I thought for sure the court would side with Edwards, but they probed the opposing counsel with equal interest and skepticism. I've never wanted to be a lawyer, and watching the lawyers sway and dodge and try to answer the justices questions didn't change my mind, but I have to admit to being extremely impressed, sometimes even awed at the proceedings. I just found a new respect for the judicial branch of government.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
A piece of work
I made a P.A.C.T. with myself. I'll fill parts of my days with Productivity, Activity (of the physical sort), Creativity, and Thanks (giving). I woke up early and did yoga. C put me to work at her place of employment. I took a test and now I'll give thanks in acrostic form. Check and check. That will just leave the driving and the finding out whether my audio book selection was a winner.
Thanks for the time which suddenly seems so prevalent
How about that peace that comes from morning yoga?
All I want is to enjoy the quiet a little longer
Now I'm ready to enjoy lunch
Kind of hoping for BBQ
Sweet tea, too.
Thanks for the time which suddenly seems so prevalent
How about that peace that comes from morning yoga?
All I want is to enjoy the quiet a little longer
Now I'm ready to enjoy lunch
Kind of hoping for BBQ
Sweet tea, too.
Monday, November 21, 2011
A regular pot o' emotion
This year is really an odd one. We've been through the part where I have stopped exercising and started working late, but we haven't yet been through the part where I have one work day left in 2011. I chose this particular renewal vacation schedule so as I left for Thanksgiving I could tell my coworkers, "See you in 2012."
In September and October, I thought this day would never come. In the last two weeks, I realized the day was almost here. For most of last week, my giddiness grew with each passing day. I'd wake up early and stressed, but go to work singing. The songs would wear off by 10, but I'd always find a moment or six that reminded me that my work for the year was almost done. I worked later hours, but it didn't matter with respite coming.
Today was not like the other days. It dragged a bit. Every project that seemed done suddenly came back to need just a little more. Other projects started to unfold before me. I couldn't think them through. My thoughts clicked and whirred, but the gears didn't seem to be turning. I struggled.
Then some other gears began to turn. These weren't the work-maker gears. These were the doubting gears. Will work realize that I am the peter principle personified? What if my dad is right and they discover in my absence that I wasn't really that useful any way? What am I going to do with all this time? Can I even fill an evening without Ultimate? What if I'm bored? Or worse, what if I want to go back to work?
I'll have a few days to think through those questions, but just one more day to practice my "craft" in '11. It's just so cool to say. If I wasn't so nervous, I'd never tire of it.
In September and October, I thought this day would never come. In the last two weeks, I realized the day was almost here. For most of last week, my giddiness grew with each passing day. I'd wake up early and stressed, but go to work singing. The songs would wear off by 10, but I'd always find a moment or six that reminded me that my work for the year was almost done. I worked later hours, but it didn't matter with respite coming.
Today was not like the other days. It dragged a bit. Every project that seemed done suddenly came back to need just a little more. Other projects started to unfold before me. I couldn't think them through. My thoughts clicked and whirred, but the gears didn't seem to be turning. I struggled.
Then some other gears began to turn. These weren't the work-maker gears. These were the doubting gears. Will work realize that I am the peter principle personified? What if my dad is right and they discover in my absence that I wasn't really that useful any way? What am I going to do with all this time? Can I even fill an evening without Ultimate? What if I'm bored? Or worse, what if I want to go back to work?
I'll have a few days to think through those questions, but just one more day to practice my "craft" in '11. It's just so cool to say. If I wasn't so nervous, I'd never tire of it.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Trying to take the hippo from the hypocrite
I'm aware that what I'm about to write borders on hypocritical, but like a non-resident alien, I don't really have anywhere to go with this.
I'm worried about the written word.
This concern has been expressed before, probably quite loudly in a few newsrooms, but it comes to my fingertips from an unexpected source.
I was buying greeting cards last night. On the surface, this seems to show a traditionalist's support of the postal service, Hallmark, and words. Upon closer examination, we find that I was wholly unable to resist the charms of the musical cards. Even with the 150% mark-up in price and my usually conservative wallet, the music could not be stopped. Dear Mr. Mclean, the music did not die, they just made it really small and hid it in the grocery store aisle inside birthday greetings. Love, Dave.
I'm certain there were suitable cards for dads, bros, nieces and nephews, but again and again I was drawn to the cards that could make the recipient sing and dance. This makes some sense when buying for my nieces. They will sing and dance with a musical card. They will open and shut that card until the music does visit good old Don or the paper wears away to shreds, but my brother-in-law? He might chuckle, but he won't keep that card around until it wears thin. He'll toss it. Logically, I know it, and yet, as I said, I couldn't resist. The musical cards spoke to me (some quite literally) and they made me smile fondly and think of my family. The regular cards failed to capture that same spirit. I didn't regret my decision until I was home. The music was too strong and had moved me too far from the 99 cent rack. Now, I wonder if I also helped to kill the radio star. What's next? Bookstores?
Oh yeah... Speaking of that, author Ann Patchet just opened a book store in her town because she didn't want to live in a town without a bookstore after the last independent one closed. I'm impressed on a number of levels, but most impressed by the idea that Ms. Patchet is successful enough to say bookstores and words mean so much to me, I'm not letting them go down without a fight. That's a fight I might like to join.
I was buying greeting cards last night. On the surface, this seems to show a traditionalist's support of the postal service, Hallmark, and words. Upon closer examination, we find that I was wholly unable to resist the charms of the musical cards. Even with the 150% mark-up in price and my usually conservative wallet, the music could not be stopped. Dear Mr. Mclean, the music did not die, they just made it really small and hid it in the grocery store aisle inside birthday greetings. Love, Dave.
I'm certain there were suitable cards for dads, bros, nieces and nephews, but again and again I was drawn to the cards that could make the recipient sing and dance. This makes some sense when buying for my nieces. They will sing and dance with a musical card. They will open and shut that card until the music does visit good old Don or the paper wears away to shreds, but my brother-in-law? He might chuckle, but he won't keep that card around until it wears thin. He'll toss it. Logically, I know it, and yet, as I said, I couldn't resist. The musical cards spoke to me (some quite literally) and they made me smile fondly and think of my family. The regular cards failed to capture that same spirit. I didn't regret my decision until I was home. The music was too strong and had moved me too far from the 99 cent rack. Now, I wonder if I also helped to kill the radio star. What's next? Bookstores?
Oh yeah... Speaking of that, author Ann Patchet just opened a book store in her town because she didn't want to live in a town without a bookstore after the last independent one closed. I'm impressed on a number of levels, but most impressed by the idea that Ms. Patchet is successful enough to say bookstores and words mean so much to me, I'm not letting them go down without a fight. That's a fight I might like to join.
Wednesday, November 02, 2011
Ads of the 80s
I don't think I remember the famous Apple commercial from the 1984 Superbowl game itself. I know the commercial, but I think it was one of those things that got discussed for many years and then it came to the forefront for me while studying advertising in school. It was a breakthrough commercial and it resurfaced in conversation again recently when Steve Jobs passed. At some point along this sine wave of life, I'd made the assumption that everyone my age knew that commercial. That assumption seems to get harder to make in the world of the Internet, but I think every book in college referenced it once. (You'll see why 1984, won't be like The Golden Ass. I kid.)
I forgot not everybody had so many books about advertising, so I was surprised to learn that C hadn't seen it. I made her watch it, but I don't think it changed her much. Not too long after my run-in with memories of the 1984 commercial, I visited Wendy's. Up on the signs it said, "Where's the beef?" I pointed in amusement, but the college guys I was with didn't even smile. Then it hit me. I was 6 when that older woman and her two friends were squawking, "Where's the beef?" They were 10 years from being born. I know my teachers discussed the Wendy's commercial in college, but that one was a cultural tsunami. I saw it for sure. Probably during Dukes of Hazzard. Everybody got inquisitive about meat. My memory isn't much, but I'm almost certain I remember my own grandmother asking, "Where's the beef?" and laughing. Now, today, out of the deep recesses of my mind I recalled another commercial from the 1980s. It was a Folgers coffee commercial that involved secretly switching regular coffee with Folgers crystals. I wasn't drinking coffee or even thinking about coffee, so I'm really not sure what stirred memory. Caught up in this wave of 1980s advertising, I have to wonder what will shake out next and also what I'd do for a Klondike bar.
I forgot not everybody had so many books about advertising, so I was surprised to learn that C hadn't seen it. I made her watch it, but I don't think it changed her much. Not too long after my run-in with memories of the 1984 commercial, I visited Wendy's. Up on the signs it said, "Where's the beef?" I pointed in amusement, but the college guys I was with didn't even smile. Then it hit me. I was 6 when that older woman and her two friends were squawking, "Where's the beef?" They were 10 years from being born. I know my teachers discussed the Wendy's commercial in college, but that one was a cultural tsunami. I saw it for sure. Probably during Dukes of Hazzard. Everybody got inquisitive about meat. My memory isn't much, but I'm almost certain I remember my own grandmother asking, "Where's the beef?" and laughing. Now, today, out of the deep recesses of my mind I recalled another commercial from the 1980s. It was a Folgers coffee commercial that involved secretly switching regular coffee with Folgers crystals. I wasn't drinking coffee or even thinking about coffee, so I'm really not sure what stirred memory. Caught up in this wave of 1980s advertising, I have to wonder what will shake out next and also what I'd do for a Klondike bar.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Couple's costume- It must be serious
Despite C's complaints about Halloween, the party in our midst meant that she agreed to dress up. The perfectionist and the procrastinator may make costumes more challenging, but a simple concept done right can overcome those obstacles. After batting a few ideas around, we'd settled on a costume. What it lacked in timeliness, it made up in simplicity.
We decided to be the 2010 youtube sensation Double Rainbow. With more than 31 million views, we knew that a few people wouldn't get it, but for the most part we'd be covered. We started to realize how well covered when we were shopping for shirts with rainbows on them and found mostly double rainbow shirts. Not wanting to be a quadruple rainbow, we kept our search going and eventually settled on homemade fabric pen rainbows. C also found a sweatband set to really round out the look. Nothing like a balding man in a rainbow headband to make the crowd say "It's so beautiful."
I can't be certain that "it's so beautiful" was an exact quote, but we did manage to snag an Honorable Mention at the party. The crowd had already cheered for Google maps (best overall edging out Axl Rose), the gnarwal (most creative), and the nurse (most risque), so they didn't have much left for our double rainbow, but we know in their heart of hearts they had to be thinking, "What does it mean?"
Despite C's complaints about Halloween, the party in our midst meant that she agreed to dress up. The perfectionist and the procrastinator may make costumes more challenging, but a simple concept done right can overcome those obstacles. After batting a few ideas around, we'd settled on a costume. What it lacked in timeliness, it made up in simplicity.
We decided to be the 2010 youtube sensation Double Rainbow. With more than 31 million views, we knew that a few people wouldn't get it, but for the most part we'd be covered. We started to realize how well covered when we were shopping for shirts with rainbows on them and found mostly double rainbow shirts. Not wanting to be a quadruple rainbow, we kept our search going and eventually settled on homemade fabric pen rainbows. C also found a sweatband set to really round out the look. Nothing like a balding man in a rainbow headband to make the crowd say "It's so beautiful."
I can't be certain that "it's so beautiful" was an exact quote, but we did manage to snag an Honorable Mention at the party. The crowd had already cheered for Google maps (best overall edging out Axl Rose), the gnarwal (most creative), and the nurse (most risque), so they didn't have much left for our double rainbow, but we know in their heart of hearts they had to be thinking, "What does it mean?"
Thursday, October 27, 2011
A bit of pride, a bit of jealousy
My friends ran a 50-miler last weekend. Read Paul's recap here. I'm awed by that accomplishment. I don't know that 50 miles of running is something I ever need to do, but I don't like that I missed out on this running adventure.
I didn't just miss out either; my running right now is in another universe. They ran for 7 hours, I ran for 7 minutes. Other than Wildwood and bike commutes, I haven't really done any exercising since July. I would complain about my 7 minutes since it felt far from right, but I won't. Instead, I'll tell you about reaching for my shoes. Sometime in August, I took my running shoes out of the hallway and stored them high up in the closet. My black dress shoes that don't get out much go up in the closet. Today, even in the rain and the hint of a cold, I reached up into the closet and pulled down my dormant running shoes. They looked white and clean. They were firm and crisp, almost like new. As I gingerly brought them down, I had to push away high school cross country practices and recreational 5ks. I couldn't call up those memories today. Today I just had to put one foot in front of the other.
Today was another step on a long journey.
My friends ran a 50-miler last weekend. Read Paul's recap here. I'm awed by that accomplishment. I don't know that 50 miles of running is something I ever need to do, but I don't like that I missed out on this running adventure.
I didn't just miss out either; my running right now is in another universe. They ran for 7 hours, I ran for 7 minutes. Other than Wildwood and bike commutes, I haven't really done any exercising since July. I would complain about my 7 minutes since it felt far from right, but I won't. Instead, I'll tell you about reaching for my shoes. Sometime in August, I took my running shoes out of the hallway and stored them high up in the closet. My black dress shoes that don't get out much go up in the closet. Today, even in the rain and the hint of a cold, I reached up into the closet and pulled down my dormant running shoes. They looked white and clean. They were firm and crisp, almost like new. As I gingerly brought them down, I had to push away high school cross country practices and recreational 5ks. I couldn't call up those memories today. Today I just had to put one foot in front of the other.
Today was another step on a long journey.
Friday, September 30, 2011
New TV is shiny
Internet, I have to admit something. The new TV season is making me giggly inside. I can't stop watching new shows. There's hope and promise that comes with the season. It's like going back to school with a fresh slate. Freshmen year is over. We're sophomores now, so we kick butt.
I know that I sometimes rail against television and the negative effects it has on my life, but for now I'm mildly enthralled. That's a step up from slightly jazzed, but down from medium pumped.
In a few words, maybe even a sentence or three, let me give you my rundown on the latest shows (and some of the not-so-latest).
The New Girl: The promos were everywhere and I was sick of them, but it's Zooey Deschanel. Claims have been made that hipsters could watch her eat spaghetti and be pleased. After watching an episode, I'll give it a C. Zooey managed to pull off a few adorable moments, but there's something just off about the show. I'll probably watch another. The Douchebag jar was a nice flourish.
The Hart of Dixie: Wow. This show is a giant cliche, written poorly, acted poorly, and really predictable. Rachel Bilson is amazingly unbelievable as a wanna-be heart surgeon. Eight minutes in, C asked me how much longer we were going to give the show. I answered slowly, six to eight.... weeks. She laughed at me, but I might be serious. It's so bad, it's fun. Plus there's Bilson and banjos.
Free Agents: It's now been on in my house twice and I didn't like it either time. I'm just not interested.
Up All Night: Will Arnett should stop trying to be the lead in shows. The end.
Ringer: It's great to see SMG back, but not so great that we need to see her on screen with herself. That didn't last long, but I think the show is moving too fast for its own good. The idea of suspense is starting to build, but episode two made me start to lose interest. Grade: B-
Whitney: I watched a tiny bit of Whitney, died a little inside, and considered writing a show for Will Arnett. No thanks.
The Office: I'm still clinging to some hope. The Nard Dog pulled it together as boss and the writer's reminded us that even without Michael Scott Dunder Mifflin is a big ol' family. Wait and see mode on.
Community: They are hyper-aware of their awareness and it's getting to me a bit. The song about their awareness was pretty funny and so was the Britta/Chang symbiosis, but they might be pushing Jeff Winger to places I don't want to follow. I'm hoping they return to form soon.
Modern Family: I keep missing the first 8 minutes of Modern Family, so I'm giving them a pass for now.
Parks and Rec: This is a warning to myself. I hated this show when it first came out. I hated it so much that I swore it off forever. Well, after some badgering, forever ended and I decided to give it a chance. It was kind of funny, then Ron Swanson enacted an elaborate high-speed escape plan from work. He ended up in the woods with a giant beard. That, my friends, was a turning point. I'm cruising on through the season with this show. I may even find time to catch up on the episodes I missed.
TV. You've got my number. Please keep it away from the Internet. Oh, crap.
(Added late: Oh, I forgot Suburgatory. It's got a "Mean Girls" flavor. It seems promising.)
Internet, I have to admit something. The new TV season is making me giggly inside. I can't stop watching new shows. There's hope and promise that comes with the season. It's like going back to school with a fresh slate. Freshmen year is over. We're sophomores now, so we kick butt.
I know that I sometimes rail against television and the negative effects it has on my life, but for now I'm mildly enthralled. That's a step up from slightly jazzed, but down from medium pumped.
In a few words, maybe even a sentence or three, let me give you my rundown on the latest shows (and some of the not-so-latest).
The New Girl: The promos were everywhere and I was sick of them, but it's Zooey Deschanel. Claims have been made that hipsters could watch her eat spaghetti and be pleased. After watching an episode, I'll give it a C. Zooey managed to pull off a few adorable moments, but there's something just off about the show. I'll probably watch another. The Douchebag jar was a nice flourish.
The Hart of Dixie: Wow. This show is a giant cliche, written poorly, acted poorly, and really predictable. Rachel Bilson is amazingly unbelievable as a wanna-be heart surgeon. Eight minutes in, C asked me how much longer we were going to give the show. I answered slowly, six to eight.... weeks. She laughed at me, but I might be serious. It's so bad, it's fun. Plus there's Bilson and banjos.
Free Agents: It's now been on in my house twice and I didn't like it either time. I'm just not interested.
Up All Night: Will Arnett should stop trying to be the lead in shows. The end.
Ringer: It's great to see SMG back, but not so great that we need to see her on screen with herself. That didn't last long, but I think the show is moving too fast for its own good. The idea of suspense is starting to build, but episode two made me start to lose interest. Grade: B-
Whitney: I watched a tiny bit of Whitney, died a little inside, and considered writing a show for Will Arnett. No thanks.
The Office: I'm still clinging to some hope. The Nard Dog pulled it together as boss and the writer's reminded us that even without Michael Scott Dunder Mifflin is a big ol' family. Wait and see mode on.
Community: They are hyper-aware of their awareness and it's getting to me a bit. The song about their awareness was pretty funny and so was the Britta/Chang symbiosis, but they might be pushing Jeff Winger to places I don't want to follow. I'm hoping they return to form soon.
Modern Family: I keep missing the first 8 minutes of Modern Family, so I'm giving them a pass for now.
Parks and Rec: This is a warning to myself. I hated this show when it first came out. I hated it so much that I swore it off forever. Well, after some badgering, forever ended and I decided to give it a chance. It was kind of funny, then Ron Swanson enacted an elaborate high-speed escape plan from work. He ended up in the woods with a giant beard. That, my friends, was a turning point. I'm cruising on through the season with this show. I may even find time to catch up on the episodes I missed.
TV. You've got my number. Please keep it away from the Internet. Oh, crap.
(Added late: Oh, I forgot Suburgatory. It's got a "Mean Girls" flavor. It seems promising.)
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Barefoot and in the kitchen
Nearly half a can of tomato sauce meets my approximation of half a cup of brown sugar. Then, I heat it. As the sugar turns to liquid and the brown and reds start to become brownish red, I reflect on the culinary arts as practiced by an amateur.
I'm mostly following a recipe from the Clarks, a fine family that I've met twice before. It's a recipe from a cookbook celebrating a time and place I never was- Windy Hill. The co-mingling of personal effects that comes from co-habitation sometimes leads to this brand of exploration. Memories and associations cross-pollinate and become meatloaf. As a kid, I loved meatloaf. My mom made it better than anybody. Other meatloafs tried to compete, but slathered in Heinz, mom's meatloaf was blue ribbon grade A gold star delicious. Mix that reminiscence for meatloaf with C's nostalgia for Windy Hill, add some Worcestershire sauce and BAM, now we're cooking.
It's not always meatloaf, of course. These explorations can take all sorts of funny twists and turns. Sometimes it's an affinity for Britney Spears that didn't seem quite so strong before. Is it mine? Is it yours? Is it stronger than yesterday?
Can we even share an affinity for a pop star? It would seem so. Now my meatloaf is nearly done. Will it taste like I remember? Or does that require my mother's touch? Will it taste like Windy Hill or is that a Clark secret ingredient that didn't get transcribed?
The mystery is in the meatloaf. The lunch ladies know what I'm talking about.
Nearly half a can of tomato sauce meets my approximation of half a cup of brown sugar. Then, I heat it. As the sugar turns to liquid and the brown and reds start to become brownish red, I reflect on the culinary arts as practiced by an amateur.
I'm mostly following a recipe from the Clarks, a fine family that I've met twice before. It's a recipe from a cookbook celebrating a time and place I never was- Windy Hill. The co-mingling of personal effects that comes from co-habitation sometimes leads to this brand of exploration. Memories and associations cross-pollinate and become meatloaf. As a kid, I loved meatloaf. My mom made it better than anybody. Other meatloafs tried to compete, but slathered in Heinz, mom's meatloaf was blue ribbon grade A gold star delicious. Mix that reminiscence for meatloaf with C's nostalgia for Windy Hill, add some Worcestershire sauce and BAM, now we're cooking.
It's not always meatloaf, of course. These explorations can take all sorts of funny twists and turns. Sometimes it's an affinity for Britney Spears that didn't seem quite so strong before. Is it mine? Is it yours? Is it stronger than yesterday?
Can we even share an affinity for a pop star? It would seem so. Now my meatloaf is nearly done. Will it taste like I remember? Or does that require my mother's touch? Will it taste like Windy Hill or is that a Clark secret ingredient that didn't get transcribed?
The mystery is in the meatloaf. The lunch ladies know what I'm talking about.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Riding in the moonlight
First I'll tell you about the good. As darkness settled on the district, some hundred and change bike riders stood near the coolest bike store I've found- BicycleSpace. Some were decked out in their finest, those were the sponsoring dandies and quaintrelles, while others were in light or bright colors. A trumpet played us out and we rolled out into the coming darkness with tail lights blinking. With my neon orange shirt flapping in the wind, I joined in this evening parade of bicycles. We nearly took over the streets as we made our way to Truckeroo. Truckeroo was a gathering of food trucks and a musical act. A new idea in DC summer nightlife and one that I support. We wound through the streets waving and ringing bells as we traveled. As we dipped down around RFK stadium, I looked back over my shoulder to see the mass of cyclists, white lights blinking against the dark sky. There was a powerful connected feeling in our celebration of cycles- the moon and the two-wheeled variety.
When we arrived near Truckeroo, we darted up an empty parking garage winding up, up, and up, until we reached the top with an overlook at Nationals stadium and Truckeroo. We could see the trucks lining the outside of the venue and the people were lined up and packed in the center. It was like a human whoopie pie. Or what I imagine a whoopie pie to be, since like many of the food items, the whoopie pie was sold out.
The not so good: The ride itself was full of fun, but cruising through intersections and asking drivers to wait patiently with a wave struck me as presumptuous and worse. I continue to battle with my place on the roads and this group-think takes over the world seemed like a step in the wrong direction. How can I complain about cars crowding me during the day if at night I and my lightly-dressed cohorts act as though the roads are ours? When I think of sharing the roads I think of simultaneous co-existence, not an agreement where bikes take over the roads at night and cars take them on during the day.
The interesting: This ride gave me bike and clothing envy. I don't know that I need to be a dandy on a fixie, but I'm tempted. I feel like this month I've started to explore a world where competition is not the focus. I seem to be stumbling on social clubs and considering ideas that are about creating and sharing instead of competing. We'll see where that takes me.
First I'll tell you about the good. As darkness settled on the district, some hundred and change bike riders stood near the coolest bike store I've found- BicycleSpace. Some were decked out in their finest, those were the sponsoring dandies and quaintrelles, while others were in light or bright colors. A trumpet played us out and we rolled out into the coming darkness with tail lights blinking. With my neon orange shirt flapping in the wind, I joined in this evening parade of bicycles. We nearly took over the streets as we made our way to Truckeroo. Truckeroo was a gathering of food trucks and a musical act. A new idea in DC summer nightlife and one that I support. We wound through the streets waving and ringing bells as we traveled. As we dipped down around RFK stadium, I looked back over my shoulder to see the mass of cyclists, white lights blinking against the dark sky. There was a powerful connected feeling in our celebration of cycles- the moon and the two-wheeled variety.
When we arrived near Truckeroo, we darted up an empty parking garage winding up, up, and up, until we reached the top with an overlook at Nationals stadium and Truckeroo. We could see the trucks lining the outside of the venue and the people were lined up and packed in the center. It was like a human whoopie pie. Or what I imagine a whoopie pie to be, since like many of the food items, the whoopie pie was sold out.
The not so good: The ride itself was full of fun, but cruising through intersections and asking drivers to wait patiently with a wave struck me as presumptuous and worse. I continue to battle with my place on the roads and this group-think takes over the world seemed like a step in the wrong direction. How can I complain about cars crowding me during the day if at night I and my lightly-dressed cohorts act as though the roads are ours? When I think of sharing the roads I think of simultaneous co-existence, not an agreement where bikes take over the roads at night and cars take them on during the day.
The interesting: This ride gave me bike and clothing envy. I don't know that I need to be a dandy on a fixie, but I'm tempted. I feel like this month I've started to explore a world where competition is not the focus. I seem to be stumbling on social clubs and considering ideas that are about creating and sharing instead of competing. We'll see where that takes me.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
The not-so-good morning
"Is this what you want to do?" she asked me. "Yes" wasn't an answer I was prepared to give. That seemed ok before, but yesterday my hesitation weighed heavily on my innards. Is it really hesitation if it's lasted 8 years? I played it off poorly, "That's the question of my life."
We circled advertising, but her memories of the world were everything I didn't want. She claimed it was great training and recalled her experience fondly, but I was mired in her description of the long hours, the high pressured accounts, and a lack of disagreement when the word soulless came to my lips. I think that window has closed. What door has it opened?
I mentioned teaching. The fall back option that I've never even tripped toward. She murmured and there it sat. We moved on to other topics, but "is this what you want to do?" sticks with me like gum to the bus seat.
It was fine not knowing what to do two years out of college. Fine to stay for the benefits five years in. It was mostly fine last week. It lets me do what I want to do, I'd say. With injury and summer lurking, I'm left to wonder. It's ten years out, now. It's not as cute as it once was. Time wasn't supposed to change things, me, this way. It's ok not to know what to do, but it might be about time to start thinking about a plan. Retirement calls after all.
"Is this what you want to do?" she asked me. "Yes" wasn't an answer I was prepared to give. That seemed ok before, but yesterday my hesitation weighed heavily on my innards. Is it really hesitation if it's lasted 8 years? I played it off poorly, "That's the question of my life."
We circled advertising, but her memories of the world were everything I didn't want. She claimed it was great training and recalled her experience fondly, but I was mired in her description of the long hours, the high pressured accounts, and a lack of disagreement when the word soulless came to my lips. I think that window has closed. What door has it opened?
I mentioned teaching. The fall back option that I've never even tripped toward. She murmured and there it sat. We moved on to other topics, but "is this what you want to do?" sticks with me like gum to the bus seat.
It was fine not knowing what to do two years out of college. Fine to stay for the benefits five years in. It was mostly fine last week. It lets me do what I want to do, I'd say. With injury and summer lurking, I'm left to wonder. It's ten years out, now. It's not as cute as it once was. Time wasn't supposed to change things, me, this way. It's ok not to know what to do, but it might be about time to start thinking about a plan. Retirement calls after all.
Saturday, August 06, 2011
Being earnest
Last night I attended a performance of "The importance of being earnest". I knew the playwright Wilde was known for being witty, but little else. The wit was delivered and it came with a side of gender-bending. The men in the play were played by women and the women were played by men. At times this was equal parts amusing and off-putting. Some of the women made charming men and some of the men made fine women. Others had less success with the transformation. I don't know how intentional this casting may have been.
The actress playing Jack seemed to take on a caricature of manhood in her movements. It was as if she was constantly fighting the urge to grab her crotch and spit. Algernon was more convincing, her softer features seemed to lend him the appropriate air for a man of leisure. Cecily was a handsome women, oddly tall, but feminine nonetheless. Gwendolyn was a sight, feminine mostly in wardrobe and as a reflection of Cecily, but otherwise rather masculine. Lady Bracknell was a giant man/woman with a booming voice and matching hat. Yet, after the initial shock, he/she was somehow she was very convincing as a woman of that age and temperament.
I don't attend many plays, but the H Street Playhouse was an intimate venue. From the third row I felt as though I could look right in the eyes of an actor. This as much as anything kept me engaged.
Overall, the play was average. I chuckled sometimes at the wit and sometimes at the squeals of men or the forced masculinity of the women. I enjoyed the evening, but despite a few great lines from Wilde and the curiosity of equal acting rights I couldn't quite recommend this performance.
Last night I attended a performance of "The importance of being earnest". I knew the playwright Wilde was known for being witty, but little else. The wit was delivered and it came with a side of gender-bending. The men in the play were played by women and the women were played by men. At times this was equal parts amusing and off-putting. Some of the women made charming men and some of the men made fine women. Others had less success with the transformation. I don't know how intentional this casting may have been.
The actress playing Jack seemed to take on a caricature of manhood in her movements. It was as if she was constantly fighting the urge to grab her crotch and spit. Algernon was more convincing, her softer features seemed to lend him the appropriate air for a man of leisure. Cecily was a handsome women, oddly tall, but feminine nonetheless. Gwendolyn was a sight, feminine mostly in wardrobe and as a reflection of Cecily, but otherwise rather masculine. Lady Bracknell was a giant man/woman with a booming voice and matching hat. Yet, after the initial shock, he/she was somehow she was very convincing as a woman of that age and temperament.
I don't attend many plays, but the H Street Playhouse was an intimate venue. From the third row I felt as though I could look right in the eyes of an actor. This as much as anything kept me engaged.
Overall, the play was average. I chuckled sometimes at the wit and sometimes at the squeals of men or the forced masculinity of the women. I enjoyed the evening, but despite a few great lines from Wilde and the curiosity of equal acting rights I couldn't quite recommend this performance.
Thursday, August 04, 2011
Thanks, body
Somehow, some way, my body answered my pleas, at least for the weekend. It might have been the sand or it might have been a miracle. I'd gone to Wildwood expecting only to play a few token points, but I managed to stay in the rotation in every game.
Although this was the seventh consecutive year I've been to the tournament, this year was full of changes. As we packed up to hit the road, the most glaring difference was in who wasn't coming. Alan and Megan were missing. It's been five years since that happened. The second difference was that there had been no last minute scramble to the thrift store to supplement a silly outfit. Instead, we donned crisp white jerseys. Tracie designed a hideous zombie hand holding an engagement ring. We were "Death Do Us Part" lovingly shortened to D-Dup. We were a celebration of beach, Ultimate, fun, and the upcoming nuptials of Jim and Tracie. And the undead.
Matts, Sam and I piled into Sam's swanky van with the automatic everything and hit the road. We stopped mere blocks away for some semi-fancy grub at Smith Commons. Later we worked our way into the traffic. There's always traffic. It should be on that list with death and taxes. Ben Franklin probably left it out because he had a side job with the Wildwood chamber of commerce. FACT. Or something resembling fact.
We arrived at the Bolero sometime well after Arin and Alan would usually be a few drinks past thirsty and howling at the moon. This year, that duo was not around; so we found a zillion Ultimate players hanging on every balcony of our hotel instead. I wondered what exactly we'd gotten ourselves into, but our suite turned out to have thicker walls than I'd imagined. Eight on Friday and nine on Sunday called the suite home. (Suite home).
Saturday morning, we found more changes afoot. The beach and boardwalk remained, but we were entered in the 2-2 beer division. It'd been years since I'd been in the beer division and I'd been clamoring for a try at 2-2 for almost as long. We faced off well against our opponents. We often led, but rarely by much. Tracie's friend Em was a sweet handler and lots of fun to play with.
Speaking of fun to play with, I had managed to convince Amanda to join us. We last played Ultimate together in Lawrence, Kansas in 2002. Nine years had passed and Amanda was awesomer than I remembered. I don't even think that's a word, but it doesn't matter. It felt pretty special to be able to take the field/sand with her again. I never would have guessed that our friendship would survive this long, but man, look at it sailing.
Kyle helped us with some sweet cheers and we turned to musical numbers that replaced "love" and "marriage" with "brains". Going to the chapel and we're gonna get BRAINS" or "brains and marriage, brains and marriage"
Despite our musical stylings, we won all 4 games on Saturday, but we lost Jim. He went down hard and broke his collar bone. Tracie put up a disc to him, he went after it, ran out of field, saw the wooden walkway to the ocean, dove over the walkway, and then came the writhing and the "I broke my fiancee" shout. A doctor, a nurse, and a fiancee all converged on Jim, but we still needed the EMTs.
Amanda lent us some help from Bawlmer and we closed out the day with victories. Natalie helped us focus on beer league with a bottle of tasty liquid, but most of us couldn't get our minds off the score. Nat just shook her head and went off to find someone with a more understanding palate. Later in the evening, a group of us meandered off boardwalk and finally discovered a splendid Italian restaurant. We savored it, conversation, wine, dessert, waitresses who told personal stories. The food and company were standing equal to the Ultimate.
Sunday, we were looking for help again, but soon decided to go with what we had. Stills was back in the mix and he was rested. The previous day, he'd had a nice layout from a floater from Jim, but on Sunday he had more giddy-up. His throws were crisper and we were looking good. Up 7-3, we hadn't turned the disc over, until I tested out a hammer. We got a little sloppy after that. Hopefully, I made up for it with a layout D. It was my only one this year. We looked great and cruised to victory.
Our semi-final battle would not be so easy. We were challenged at every spot. We made a few mistakes, one of them perhaps being in score-keeping. Down by 2, with the sounds of the closing horn in the air, we had to find a way to go full field for 2 points to tie. We hadn't scored a 2 all weekend. We hadn't even taken that many shots. The team we were playing was a bit taller, and had some really good players, but without the 2 we were bound to lose. Somehow they let me slide back to the end zone to catch a dump. I saw Matt B. working his way toward the endzone. I knew a flat throw would be dicey, so I put the disc outside in and hoped Matt would out read his man. The throw worked out perfectly. Matt dove for it as it was bending toward the back line and the defender didn't seem to have a chance.
We had a shot on universe point, but came up short. With no finals match-up, we ended up on the boardwalk as a team, eating pizza, and fried goods (Boardwalk Treats!), and in the go-karts. That felt like quite a prize.
That prize was nearly outdone by my three best of seven victories in the game of trees. Wildwood weekend is such a great weekend.
Somehow, some way, my body answered my pleas, at least for the weekend. It might have been the sand or it might have been a miracle. I'd gone to Wildwood expecting only to play a few token points, but I managed to stay in the rotation in every game.
Although this was the seventh consecutive year I've been to the tournament, this year was full of changes. As we packed up to hit the road, the most glaring difference was in who wasn't coming. Alan and Megan were missing. It's been five years since that happened. The second difference was that there had been no last minute scramble to the thrift store to supplement a silly outfit. Instead, we donned crisp white jerseys. Tracie designed a hideous zombie hand holding an engagement ring. We were "Death Do Us Part" lovingly shortened to D-Dup. We were a celebration of beach, Ultimate, fun, and the upcoming nuptials of Jim and Tracie. And the undead.
Matts, Sam and I piled into Sam's swanky van with the automatic everything and hit the road. We stopped mere blocks away for some semi-fancy grub at Smith Commons. Later we worked our way into the traffic. There's always traffic. It should be on that list with death and taxes. Ben Franklin probably left it out because he had a side job with the Wildwood chamber of commerce. FACT. Or something resembling fact.
We arrived at the Bolero sometime well after Arin and Alan would usually be a few drinks past thirsty and howling at the moon. This year, that duo was not around; so we found a zillion Ultimate players hanging on every balcony of our hotel instead. I wondered what exactly we'd gotten ourselves into, but our suite turned out to have thicker walls than I'd imagined. Eight on Friday and nine on Sunday called the suite home. (Suite home).
Saturday morning, we found more changes afoot. The beach and boardwalk remained, but we were entered in the 2-2 beer division. It'd been years since I'd been in the beer division and I'd been clamoring for a try at 2-2 for almost as long. We faced off well against our opponents. We often led, but rarely by much. Tracie's friend Em was a sweet handler and lots of fun to play with.
Speaking of fun to play with, I had managed to convince Amanda to join us. We last played Ultimate together in Lawrence, Kansas in 2002. Nine years had passed and Amanda was awesomer than I remembered. I don't even think that's a word, but it doesn't matter. It felt pretty special to be able to take the field/sand with her again. I never would have guessed that our friendship would survive this long, but man, look at it sailing.
Kyle helped us with some sweet cheers and we turned to musical numbers that replaced "love" and "marriage" with "brains". Going to the chapel and we're gonna get BRAINS" or "brains and marriage, brains and marriage"
Despite our musical stylings, we won all 4 games on Saturday, but we lost Jim. He went down hard and broke his collar bone. Tracie put up a disc to him, he went after it, ran out of field, saw the wooden walkway to the ocean, dove over the walkway, and then came the writhing and the "I broke my fiancee" shout. A doctor, a nurse, and a fiancee all converged on Jim, but we still needed the EMTs.
Amanda lent us some help from Bawlmer and we closed out the day with victories. Natalie helped us focus on beer league with a bottle of tasty liquid, but most of us couldn't get our minds off the score. Nat just shook her head and went off to find someone with a more understanding palate. Later in the evening, a group of us meandered off boardwalk and finally discovered a splendid Italian restaurant. We savored it, conversation, wine, dessert, waitresses who told personal stories. The food and company were standing equal to the Ultimate.
Sunday, we were looking for help again, but soon decided to go with what we had. Stills was back in the mix and he was rested. The previous day, he'd had a nice layout from a floater from Jim, but on Sunday he had more giddy-up. His throws were crisper and we were looking good. Up 7-3, we hadn't turned the disc over, until I tested out a hammer. We got a little sloppy after that. Hopefully, I made up for it with a layout D. It was my only one this year. We looked great and cruised to victory.
Our semi-final battle would not be so easy. We were challenged at every spot. We made a few mistakes, one of them perhaps being in score-keeping. Down by 2, with the sounds of the closing horn in the air, we had to find a way to go full field for 2 points to tie. We hadn't scored a 2 all weekend. We hadn't even taken that many shots. The team we were playing was a bit taller, and had some really good players, but without the 2 we were bound to lose. Somehow they let me slide back to the end zone to catch a dump. I saw Matt B. working his way toward the endzone. I knew a flat throw would be dicey, so I put the disc outside in and hoped Matt would out read his man. The throw worked out perfectly. Matt dove for it as it was bending toward the back line and the defender didn't seem to have a chance.
We had a shot on universe point, but came up short. With no finals match-up, we ended up on the boardwalk as a team, eating pizza, and fried goods (Boardwalk Treats!), and in the go-karts. That felt like quite a prize.
That prize was nearly outdone by my three best of seven victories in the game of trees. Wildwood weekend is such a great weekend.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
A month without Ultimate
I went to practice today. I didn't play. I tried to be supportive, helpful, and useful. I even wrote those three words on my hand to remind myself of my goals. In some degree, I think I managed to be that. What I didn't count on, but probably should have was how much I'd want to get out there and play.
Watching the disc fly through the air, sets my muscles to twitching. I want to run and jump and pluck discs out of the air. I went after a few because I couldn't help myself. Unfortunately, those plucks only served to remind me that I'm not yet healed and I may have a ways to go.
I've spent the month fairly well. Exercise has slipped a bit, but my reading has increased considerably and I've spent some time on other pursuits- biking, canoeing, even a bit of banjo picking. What I want though, is a return to Ultimate. I've got a week before Wildwood about 6 weeks before Sectionals. I'll probably go easy on the beach, but I need some good healing to happen in the next 6 weeks.
Please body, let me play.
I went to practice today. I didn't play. I tried to be supportive, helpful, and useful. I even wrote those three words on my hand to remind myself of my goals. In some degree, I think I managed to be that. What I didn't count on, but probably should have was how much I'd want to get out there and play.
Watching the disc fly through the air, sets my muscles to twitching. I want to run and jump and pluck discs out of the air. I went after a few because I couldn't help myself. Unfortunately, those plucks only served to remind me that I'm not yet healed and I may have a ways to go.
I've spent the month fairly well. Exercise has slipped a bit, but my reading has increased considerably and I've spent some time on other pursuits- biking, canoeing, even a bit of banjo picking. What I want though, is a return to Ultimate. I've got a week before Wildwood about 6 weeks before Sectionals. I'll probably go easy on the beach, but I need some good healing to happen in the next 6 weeks.
Please body, let me play.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Dear driver,
I'm sorry about our exchange today. I think we both said some things in a tone we didn't mean. The words were ok, like when I said, "Please go ahead, you don't have a stop sign," except without the "Please", oh, or the "go ahead." Or when you said, "Your hand was out, like you were turning." You were correct, I was signaling a left turn, but I didn't want to make it directly in front of your moving vehicle.
I think we were both trying to respectfully share the road and avoid collision. For this, I am grateful. I thought about you as I rode away and I'm thinking about you now. I thought about the venom in our words and wondered if I should turn around and say, "We were right. We were both right."
I hope you'll accept this letter instead and not run me over next time either.
Hugs and kisses,
Dave
I'm sorry about our exchange today. I think we both said some things in a tone we didn't mean. The words were ok, like when I said, "Please go ahead, you don't have a stop sign," except without the "Please", oh, or the "go ahead." Or when you said, "Your hand was out, like you were turning." You were correct, I was signaling a left turn, but I didn't want to make it directly in front of your moving vehicle.
I think we were both trying to respectfully share the road and avoid collision. For this, I am grateful. I thought about you as I rode away and I'm thinking about you now. I thought about the venom in our words and wondered if I should turn around and say, "We were right. We were both right."
I hope you'll accept this letter instead and not run me over next time either.
Hugs and kisses,
Dave
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Philadelphia quicksand or How I learned to watch the clock and stop worrying about the place
It doesn't get better. It only gets worse. -Matt
We arrived just before 10 PM, Bull, Murray, Matt, and I, taking Philly and a bit of silly, in the dark of night. Our directions weren't clear, and yet, when we stopped and got of of the car we found ourselves just outside of the campsite. At that point, it was more city park, more make-out spot, more odd place to be after dark than anything else. Just on the other side of the building where the indomitable Rocky climbed the steps in triumph, we set up Paul's house-sized tent by headlamp. We went to bed in one of only three tents on the site and woke to a growing tent city.
The race started at 10 AM. Our relay team of 5 had shrunk to 4, with me nursing an injury. I'd hoped that rest, acupuncture, doctor, stretching, miracles might lead to recovery, but as I tested myself soon after sunrise, I knew it was not to be. I readied my support.
As we talked to other runners in various iterations of the 20in24 event, we realized that flexibility abounded. Some runners were running 24 hours. Some part of relays running 4 laps each of the 8.4 mile course, some part of relays running only 1 lap each. We had 10 laps, 84 miles, but we could divide those laps any way we wanted. Recognizing that I wanted to do more than support and that the challenge of 10 laps by 3 individuals would be a big one, I offered to walk a lap. Maybe I could run a bit if things went well. Regardless, I could provide Paul and Matt a rest before they embarked on clearing 20 or 30 miles for the day and I could contribute more to the team than just support. It felt right and I hoped it would work.
As we circled museum drive looking for parking, Paul and Matt hatched a plan and negotiated who would run 4 laps and who would be left with only 3. Then it was 10 AM.
Paul kicked off the running portion of the adventure for the team known as Fast Fraction Five. I started my watch. Marie, Matt and I then made our way back to the tent and the shade, glorious shade, to wait for our team to be announced over the loudspeaker. We conversed and snacked and laid the groundwork for an enjoyable Saturday cycle. When Paul reached two miles from the finish of the loop, a PA announcer would interrupt the blaring music to let us know. At least that was the intent. With about 50 minutes gone by, I began to expect the announcement that didn't come. We soon headed back to the start line, just in case. As we arrived, so did Paul. We'd botched the first hand off, but only by a few moments as Paul came in right around 61 minutes. Matt bounded into action and left for lap 2.
Paul got a drink and his first wet towel and we returned to the tent and shade. Paul gave us an economics lesson while we waited for Matt. Team names like Gingerbread men, Dirty Birds 1 (and 2), B'more Charmers were read over the loudspeaker. Concepts like debt and deficit and Nutella were discussed. The latter less for economical reasons and more for snack reasons. Matt arrived early, but the announcers were on it. So, the team waited together for his arrival at the chute as he cruised in having looped in about 55 or 56 minutes.
Exact times seemed too much for me to track, but I busied myself with paying close attention to pace and making sure we were ready when the runner on the course came in. Although race day comfort is a personal thing, I also found myself trying as much as I could to be involved in the off-the-course comfort of the team. If all went well, I wouldn't walk until nearly 6 PM, so my day would be largely spent in support of FFF. I wanted to embrace that and being in the company of friends. At the early stages, it was easy. Marie was off and clicking through her first lap. Paul and Matt discussed their first loops and I tended to snacking, listening, and writing the early portions of this retelling. About 68 minutes later, off went Paul for his second lap.
We'd just passed the 3 hour mark and were sending out Paul for the fourth leg. The race was off to a good start. Marie toyed with idea of napping and brushed off compliments of her speed. We waited longer than expected for Paul. I thought I'd accounted for some delay, but I was nervous that we'd again missed the announcement on the loudspeaker. My nervousness was slightly misplaced, as Paul had some runner's trouble on his second loop. He still came in at 64 minutes, but he was a little pale and quite a bit rattled. We got him cooled off inside for a bit and calmed down a few notches while Matt made his second loop. The body was ok and there was time to rest.
The PA announcements came in spurts, interrupting the likes of Beyonce or Phil Collins in turn. Got the runs, On your left, Blank Romans, Molasses were all making their way through the course. We began to hear about the ultra-marathoners over the PA as well. A subdued celebration with light applause echoed for the scratch on the surface for those brave souls taking on the course on their own, lap after lap after lap.
Matt was back in 58 minutes. He handed off the yellow and sweat-covered wristband of joy to Marie for her second and final lap. Most relay teams were now in or nearing the first round of their runners. Our brave team was taking on their second lap already. The vibe in the camp was upbeat. People were happy to be done with a loop, proud of their accomplishment, and only tired in little ways. FFF still had a big day ahead, but Paul's swagger had started to return, and Matt looked well. If I looked closely though, I could see they both had a hollower look of fatigue that other campers would soon know. I knew and they knew they could go on, but we also knew they had a lot still to ask of their bodies.
While Marie was out, Matt hatched a revision to the plan. Paul readily agreed. We'd push me to leg 9, so that way Matt would be fresher if he was needed in all or in part for leg 10. I didn't mind, another 70 minutes of waiting to walk didn't change my day much at all. So it would be.
Marie came through in about 76 minutes, pushing us near the 6 hour and 22 minute mark for the day. The three who were acting as five, held us in fifth through 6 laps in the 10 lap division, as Paul took out again. After Marie cooled off and settled a bit, her first question was about Paul. Moments before Marie had finished her leg, and several minutes after he'd wearily declared the next loop would be a slow one, the color and confidence had returned to his face. Paul would knock out his third leg just fine. We could sense it.
He did while Marie basked in being done for the day. Matt knocked out a fine last leg of his own while I started to develop a few jitters. I had a two hour walk ahead of me. I knew I could walk 8.4 miles and I was fairly certain I could do it without much pain, but could I do it "fast" and more than that did I want to? The questions swirled in my head and the snack food rolled a bit in my stomach.
As I stood waiting for the hand off, I eyed young fast runners jealously. I told Paul that I was shooting for 2 hours to give him some sense of when to expect me. Matt came in, wished me well, and handed me the sweat covered wrist band. I stuffed it in my pocket feeling more disgust than joy and waddled off. As the perspiration of the sweat band seeped through my pocket, I turned the corner around the art museum, and picked off two others, one resting ultra-marathoner and another walker like me. As I searched for my identity as a walker, I was fortunate not to be passed by anyone until nearly 3/4 of a mile. Soon after the runners came by, but it didn't hurt to be passed. This was my pace and passing happened. It just did.
If we believe the mile markers, and I'm told we didn't, my first mile was in 14:30. At times, I glanced at the scenery. At times, I focused on my breathing and tried to manage or improve my nagging injuries. I found times where I was lost in the speed of my breathing and my walking, times where the world melted away just like it does when I run. I tried not to look at my watch much, knowing that I'd be out on the course for a good long time. I thought I'd found a groove and skipped right through mile two, but it wasn't true. Mile two came in another slow 14 minutes. The relative speed of the miles would get better, though.
I passed walking runners and runners passed me. Some exchanged positive words and others slipped by silently. I lost and found focus. I grabbed water or Gatorade when I passed by the relief stands. My steps weren't the steps of a runner, but my time and place were still measured by getting to the next mile. This sense of purpose, this fight for focus, these are reasons I run and the reasons that walking on this day were ok. I had time to consider my pain points and I had time to try to make adjustments to correct that pain. I had time to see some scenery. As I made the turn nearing halfway, the sun and the hills worked together to cast shadows on the bridges and the river, but not on the cemetery on the hill. The cemetery was bathed in evening light with shadowed bridges below. None of my teammates saw the cemetery at all, even though the course passed right by it. I didn't see it all, sometimes lost in my own thoughts, and never allowing myself to lollygag, even if my walk slowed.
The team Nice View From Behind passed me by and I gave a cheer. Then I began to notice others in our division go by. I struggled to keep some within striking distance for our last runner, but the difference between walk and run was vast. Four miles became five and the time to go seemed almost pleasant and manageable. Aided by a salty pretzel, I passed and was passed and passed and was passed again by one of the ultra-marathoners. Being in a battle, I on my 8 mile walk and he on his 100 mile run, seemed strange, almost wrong, and yet still a little motivating.
As we neared mile 6, I was passed by a division competitor who then slowed to a walk. I passed him, but soon he passed me again. He didn't last long though and by mile 7, my walk was once again closing in on him. They'd radioed in that my finish was coming, probably still 26 minutes away, but still coming and I knew that FFF would be waiting.
I wanted to close the gap on my competition, but I had no other walking gear. I kept my man in site for some time. Then as the signs on the road read 1/2 a mile to go, my eyes started to water. Desperately, I wanted to gallop. I wanted to close out the race with a wicked kick. I wanted to support my team with speed. I wanted to do what I do well. I wanted to run, not walk. I wanted to test my guts and my mettle against those other runners around me. I wanted to prove that I was runner, to hear my lungs heave and my heart beat and to feel that exhausted satisfaction of the finish line. I wiped my eyes and steadied my walk. I was a walker today. Paul would close the gap. Despite what my head and my heart and my lungs told me, my side, my groin, my back had been telling me for weeks not to run. I'd gone 8 miles not running. There was no reason not to go .4 miles more as a walker.
In about 1 hour and 53 minutes, I'd covered the course and handed the now nearly dry wristband of joy to Paul for FFF's final leg. Darkness was moments away and the full moon was rising.
The team had packed the tent in my absence. My legs did have more soreness than I expected. I wobbled just a touch as we packed up a little more and waited to celebrate with Paul.
He came in 11 hours and 25 minutes after we'd begun. He'd had to walk a bit in the last leg, but still finished strong. He grabbed more cold wet towels and we celebrated with rest and dance moves. Marie, Matt, Paul and I relished our collective success, our very different days, and our shared joy. We relished it as we snacked and talked our way, sometimes delirious way, home.
Maybe the body and the legs didn't get better as the day wore on, but it did get better. There's a reward in trying and a reward in finishing and there's a reward in doing it together. Thanks, team.
*Matt did clarify that he only meant in the context of getting more tired in a long distance race and not in general.
It doesn't get better. It only gets worse. -Matt
We arrived just before 10 PM, Bull, Murray, Matt, and I, taking Philly and a bit of silly, in the dark of night. Our directions weren't clear, and yet, when we stopped and got of of the car we found ourselves just outside of the campsite. At that point, it was more city park, more make-out spot, more odd place to be after dark than anything else. Just on the other side of the building where the indomitable Rocky climbed the steps in triumph, we set up Paul's house-sized tent by headlamp. We went to bed in one of only three tents on the site and woke to a growing tent city.
The race started at 10 AM. Our relay team of 5 had shrunk to 4, with me nursing an injury. I'd hoped that rest, acupuncture, doctor, stretching, miracles might lead to recovery, but as I tested myself soon after sunrise, I knew it was not to be. I readied my support.
As we talked to other runners in various iterations of the 20in24 event, we realized that flexibility abounded. Some runners were running 24 hours. Some part of relays running 4 laps each of the 8.4 mile course, some part of relays running only 1 lap each. We had 10 laps, 84 miles, but we could divide those laps any way we wanted. Recognizing that I wanted to do more than support and that the challenge of 10 laps by 3 individuals would be a big one, I offered to walk a lap. Maybe I could run a bit if things went well. Regardless, I could provide Paul and Matt a rest before they embarked on clearing 20 or 30 miles for the day and I could contribute more to the team than just support. It felt right and I hoped it would work.
As we circled museum drive looking for parking, Paul and Matt hatched a plan and negotiated who would run 4 laps and who would be left with only 3. Then it was 10 AM.
Paul kicked off the running portion of the adventure for the team known as Fast Fraction Five. I started my watch. Marie, Matt and I then made our way back to the tent and the shade, glorious shade, to wait for our team to be announced over the loudspeaker. We conversed and snacked and laid the groundwork for an enjoyable Saturday cycle. When Paul reached two miles from the finish of the loop, a PA announcer would interrupt the blaring music to let us know. At least that was the intent. With about 50 minutes gone by, I began to expect the announcement that didn't come. We soon headed back to the start line, just in case. As we arrived, so did Paul. We'd botched the first hand off, but only by a few moments as Paul came in right around 61 minutes. Matt bounded into action and left for lap 2.
Paul got a drink and his first wet towel and we returned to the tent and shade. Paul gave us an economics lesson while we waited for Matt. Team names like Gingerbread men, Dirty Birds 1 (and 2), B'more Charmers were read over the loudspeaker. Concepts like debt and deficit and Nutella were discussed. The latter less for economical reasons and more for snack reasons. Matt arrived early, but the announcers were on it. So, the team waited together for his arrival at the chute as he cruised in having looped in about 55 or 56 minutes.
Exact times seemed too much for me to track, but I busied myself with paying close attention to pace and making sure we were ready when the runner on the course came in. Although race day comfort is a personal thing, I also found myself trying as much as I could to be involved in the off-the-course comfort of the team. If all went well, I wouldn't walk until nearly 6 PM, so my day would be largely spent in support of FFF. I wanted to embrace that and being in the company of friends. At the early stages, it was easy. Marie was off and clicking through her first lap. Paul and Matt discussed their first loops and I tended to snacking, listening, and writing the early portions of this retelling. About 68 minutes later, off went Paul for his second lap.
We'd just passed the 3 hour mark and were sending out Paul for the fourth leg. The race was off to a good start. Marie toyed with idea of napping and brushed off compliments of her speed. We waited longer than expected for Paul. I thought I'd accounted for some delay, but I was nervous that we'd again missed the announcement on the loudspeaker. My nervousness was slightly misplaced, as Paul had some runner's trouble on his second loop. He still came in at 64 minutes, but he was a little pale and quite a bit rattled. We got him cooled off inside for a bit and calmed down a few notches while Matt made his second loop. The body was ok and there was time to rest.
The PA announcements came in spurts, interrupting the likes of Beyonce or Phil Collins in turn. Got the runs, On your left, Blank Romans, Molasses were all making their way through the course. We began to hear about the ultra-marathoners over the PA as well. A subdued celebration with light applause echoed for the scratch on the surface for those brave souls taking on the course on their own, lap after lap after lap.
Matt was back in 58 minutes. He handed off the yellow and sweat-covered wristband of joy to Marie for her second and final lap. Most relay teams were now in or nearing the first round of their runners. Our brave team was taking on their second lap already. The vibe in the camp was upbeat. People were happy to be done with a loop, proud of their accomplishment, and only tired in little ways. FFF still had a big day ahead, but Paul's swagger had started to return, and Matt looked well. If I looked closely though, I could see they both had a hollower look of fatigue that other campers would soon know. I knew and they knew they could go on, but we also knew they had a lot still to ask of their bodies.
While Marie was out, Matt hatched a revision to the plan. Paul readily agreed. We'd push me to leg 9, so that way Matt would be fresher if he was needed in all or in part for leg 10. I didn't mind, another 70 minutes of waiting to walk didn't change my day much at all. So it would be.
Marie came through in about 76 minutes, pushing us near the 6 hour and 22 minute mark for the day. The three who were acting as five, held us in fifth through 6 laps in the 10 lap division, as Paul took out again. After Marie cooled off and settled a bit, her first question was about Paul. Moments before Marie had finished her leg, and several minutes after he'd wearily declared the next loop would be a slow one, the color and confidence had returned to his face. Paul would knock out his third leg just fine. We could sense it.
He did while Marie basked in being done for the day. Matt knocked out a fine last leg of his own while I started to develop a few jitters. I had a two hour walk ahead of me. I knew I could walk 8.4 miles and I was fairly certain I could do it without much pain, but could I do it "fast" and more than that did I want to? The questions swirled in my head and the snack food rolled a bit in my stomach.
As I stood waiting for the hand off, I eyed young fast runners jealously. I told Paul that I was shooting for 2 hours to give him some sense of when to expect me. Matt came in, wished me well, and handed me the sweat covered wrist band. I stuffed it in my pocket feeling more disgust than joy and waddled off. As the perspiration of the sweat band seeped through my pocket, I turned the corner around the art museum, and picked off two others, one resting ultra-marathoner and another walker like me. As I searched for my identity as a walker, I was fortunate not to be passed by anyone until nearly 3/4 of a mile. Soon after the runners came by, but it didn't hurt to be passed. This was my pace and passing happened. It just did.
If we believe the mile markers, and I'm told we didn't, my first mile was in 14:30. At times, I glanced at the scenery. At times, I focused on my breathing and tried to manage or improve my nagging injuries. I found times where I was lost in the speed of my breathing and my walking, times where the world melted away just like it does when I run. I tried not to look at my watch much, knowing that I'd be out on the course for a good long time. I thought I'd found a groove and skipped right through mile two, but it wasn't true. Mile two came in another slow 14 minutes. The relative speed of the miles would get better, though.
I passed walking runners and runners passed me. Some exchanged positive words and others slipped by silently. I lost and found focus. I grabbed water or Gatorade when I passed by the relief stands. My steps weren't the steps of a runner, but my time and place were still measured by getting to the next mile. This sense of purpose, this fight for focus, these are reasons I run and the reasons that walking on this day were ok. I had time to consider my pain points and I had time to try to make adjustments to correct that pain. I had time to see some scenery. As I made the turn nearing halfway, the sun and the hills worked together to cast shadows on the bridges and the river, but not on the cemetery on the hill. The cemetery was bathed in evening light with shadowed bridges below. None of my teammates saw the cemetery at all, even though the course passed right by it. I didn't see it all, sometimes lost in my own thoughts, and never allowing myself to lollygag, even if my walk slowed.
The team Nice View From Behind passed me by and I gave a cheer. Then I began to notice others in our division go by. I struggled to keep some within striking distance for our last runner, but the difference between walk and run was vast. Four miles became five and the time to go seemed almost pleasant and manageable. Aided by a salty pretzel, I passed and was passed and passed and was passed again by one of the ultra-marathoners. Being in a battle, I on my 8 mile walk and he on his 100 mile run, seemed strange, almost wrong, and yet still a little motivating.
As we neared mile 6, I was passed by a division competitor who then slowed to a walk. I passed him, but soon he passed me again. He didn't last long though and by mile 7, my walk was once again closing in on him. They'd radioed in that my finish was coming, probably still 26 minutes away, but still coming and I knew that FFF would be waiting.
I wanted to close the gap on my competition, but I had no other walking gear. I kept my man in site for some time. Then as the signs on the road read 1/2 a mile to go, my eyes started to water. Desperately, I wanted to gallop. I wanted to close out the race with a wicked kick. I wanted to support my team with speed. I wanted to do what I do well. I wanted to run, not walk. I wanted to test my guts and my mettle against those other runners around me. I wanted to prove that I was runner, to hear my lungs heave and my heart beat and to feel that exhausted satisfaction of the finish line. I wiped my eyes and steadied my walk. I was a walker today. Paul would close the gap. Despite what my head and my heart and my lungs told me, my side, my groin, my back had been telling me for weeks not to run. I'd gone 8 miles not running. There was no reason not to go .4 miles more as a walker.
In about 1 hour and 53 minutes, I'd covered the course and handed the now nearly dry wristband of joy to Paul for FFF's final leg. Darkness was moments away and the full moon was rising.
The team had packed the tent in my absence. My legs did have more soreness than I expected. I wobbled just a touch as we packed up a little more and waited to celebrate with Paul.
He came in 11 hours and 25 minutes after we'd begun. He'd had to walk a bit in the last leg, but still finished strong. He grabbed more cold wet towels and we celebrated with rest and dance moves. Marie, Matt, Paul and I relished our collective success, our very different days, and our shared joy. We relished it as we snacked and talked our way, sometimes delirious way, home.
Maybe the body and the legs didn't get better as the day wore on, but it did get better. There's a reward in trying and a reward in finishing and there's a reward in doing it together. Thanks, team.
*Matt did clarify that he only meant in the context of getting more tired in a long distance race and not in general.
Canoe come out and play?
My hands pulled dry bags from the van and I plopped the rubbery pillow-like masses on the driveway. My younger sister walked by carrying a sleeping bag into the garage. I saw her out of the corner of my eye and I felt the urge to check the answering machine for messages from our friends. I turned my eyes up the street and saw my nieces, two growing girls with a third on the way.
The answering machine is ten years gone, our friends have moved up and out of town; like my sister, they are married and have children of their own. The family van is long gone, replaced by my parent's Sportsmobile for rolling in retirement.
Canoeing with my family makes me feel like a kid. I'm getting better at hoisting the canoes on cars and tying knots to hold them down, but that's still the purview of my dad. It's not something I do much more than yearly. Sometimes that seems like a problem, but like most of my problems, that all seems to flow downstream when we finally get to the campground near the river. Water gun warfare returned in force this year as even more big and small children joined the manufactured fracas.
My niece Madeline, now 4, had stocked up on small-person-friendly artillery and threatened a watery downfall for her Uncle Dave. As we headed out again this year on the Niangua river with a smaller group of about 20, water came down from the sky. The rain slowed the first volley as raincoats and ponchos were donned. The rain lasted longer than predicted, but it was a soft cool rain in the July summer and I found it refreshing.
With Clare working and my uncle unable to join us on the river, I had the unique pleasure of paddling the old Grumman with my aunt. We knocked off two days and 14.4 miles with relative ease. The water was down from last year, and the few rapids left seemed all but harmless. My aunt's been canoeing longer than I have and her experience in the bow was noticeable. She'd know to draw before I needed to ask and we'd glide past fallen branches and protruding rocks. She did brace more than expected, but that seemed to provide her some comfort. We mostly stayed out of trouble when we weren't causing it.
Aunt Julie and I launched a number of in-boat attacks on small children and her grown children and their significant others. In some of these we came out wetter than planned. When not being drenched by a spray of water, I couldn't help but smile to see my cousins both running their boats calmly on the Niangua. When did we all have time to age? It must have been between canoe trips, because I found myself asking the same question at the campsite, between s'mores.
The tents have mostly been replaced by Sportsmobiles and some of the tents that did remain had blowing fans plugged in to electrical outlets. This is not the roughing it, the conservation, that I remember. Comfort has come to outweigh those other values. It's hard to get too upset about those choices though, especially when family, community, and enjoying the outdoors on and off the river remain.
My hands pulled dry bags from the van and I plopped the rubbery pillow-like masses on the driveway. My younger sister walked by carrying a sleeping bag into the garage. I saw her out of the corner of my eye and I felt the urge to check the answering machine for messages from our friends. I turned my eyes up the street and saw my nieces, two growing girls with a third on the way.
The answering machine is ten years gone, our friends have moved up and out of town; like my sister, they are married and have children of their own. The family van is long gone, replaced by my parent's Sportsmobile for rolling in retirement.
Canoeing with my family makes me feel like a kid. I'm getting better at hoisting the canoes on cars and tying knots to hold them down, but that's still the purview of my dad. It's not something I do much more than yearly. Sometimes that seems like a problem, but like most of my problems, that all seems to flow downstream when we finally get to the campground near the river. Water gun warfare returned in force this year as even more big and small children joined the manufactured fracas.
My niece Madeline, now 4, had stocked up on small-person-friendly artillery and threatened a watery downfall for her Uncle Dave. As we headed out again this year on the Niangua river with a smaller group of about 20, water came down from the sky. The rain slowed the first volley as raincoats and ponchos were donned. The rain lasted longer than predicted, but it was a soft cool rain in the July summer and I found it refreshing.
With Clare working and my uncle unable to join us on the river, I had the unique pleasure of paddling the old Grumman with my aunt. We knocked off two days and 14.4 miles with relative ease. The water was down from last year, and the few rapids left seemed all but harmless. My aunt's been canoeing longer than I have and her experience in the bow was noticeable. She'd know to draw before I needed to ask and we'd glide past fallen branches and protruding rocks. She did brace more than expected, but that seemed to provide her some comfort. We mostly stayed out of trouble when we weren't causing it.
Aunt Julie and I launched a number of in-boat attacks on small children and her grown children and their significant others. In some of these we came out wetter than planned. When not being drenched by a spray of water, I couldn't help but smile to see my cousins both running their boats calmly on the Niangua. When did we all have time to age? It must have been between canoe trips, because I found myself asking the same question at the campsite, between s'mores.
The tents have mostly been replaced by Sportsmobiles and some of the tents that did remain had blowing fans plugged in to electrical outlets. This is not the roughing it, the conservation, that I remember. Comfort has come to outweigh those other values. It's hard to get too upset about those choices though, especially when family, community, and enjoying the outdoors on and off the river remain.
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