A(nother?) run that could change my life
I went to practice with my brother-in-law's cross-country team on Saturday. They ran up "the chutes". I'm in decent high-school sophomore shape and I knew it, but I couldn't help, but try to run with the "Big boys". I let their #2 drag me up the hill and that worked for a while, but then I faded. Then after they waited for me at the turnaround I ripped most of the way down the hill on the heels of their #1. Until, once again I faded. The altitude had some effect as did the change in running surface, but I think mostly my inability to keep up comes from the lack of training.
So, how did the run change my life? Well, there's the burning in my quads (I love my Quads!), but that will probably wear off in a few days. I suppose it's possible that the renewed love of running and training could wear off in a few days too. What might not wear off is the sense that maybe English teacher and coach might not be a bad combination at all. That little desire keeps getting louder and harder to ignore.
Don't worry, I won't rush into anything.
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Saturday, August 27, 2005
Cap'n Humility keeps slugging me
It's been a tough year in the sports world. The record fell, PRs don't magically appear whenever I lace up my spikes, my body teeters on the brink of injury and now this. Dusting off my ping-pong prowess, I took on the best that my sister's house had to offer and I have come up short. My little sister. My little sister is consistently better than me. She has taken 5 games to my 3. She seems able to volley most everything I spin at her. I'm a little distraught as she claims that she had never beaten me before. Now she does it with apparent ease. I'm currently considering unloading my bedroom furniture to make room for a ping-pong table. I'm not sure there's adequate space. I may have to move so I can find a suitable practice area. For now, I have to tuck myself into bed and hold back the tears that losers cry.
It's been a tough year in the sports world. The record fell, PRs don't magically appear whenever I lace up my spikes, my body teeters on the brink of injury and now this. Dusting off my ping-pong prowess, I took on the best that my sister's house had to offer and I have come up short. My little sister. My little sister is consistently better than me. She has taken 5 games to my 3. She seems able to volley most everything I spin at her. I'm a little distraught as she claims that she had never beaten me before. Now she does it with apparent ease. I'm currently considering unloading my bedroom furniture to make room for a ping-pong table. I'm not sure there's adequate space. I may have to move so I can find a suitable practice area. For now, I have to tuck myself into bed and hold back the tears that losers cry.
Friday, August 26, 2005
Fantasy Island without that little guy
Yesterday while on a plane with this group of women, I thought to myself-- it wouldn't be all bad if we crash-landed on a deserted island. Then I realized there aren't a lot of deserted islands between Atlanta and Denver.
Yesterday while on a plane with this group of women, I thought to myself-- it wouldn't be all bad if we crash-landed on a deserted island. Then I realized there aren't a lot of deserted islands between Atlanta and Denver.
Monday, August 22, 2005
Yee haw! That was some kind of Sunday
I practically rolled out of bed and headed to The Dukes of Hazzard. Good stuff. I'll pay matinee prices just for watching the General Lee wiggle around and jump. Same for that Simpson girl in Daisy Dukes. I had some trouble adjusting to the personalities of these characters as compared to the originals. I want to go back and watch some episodes of the show to see how my memories compare with my current feelings. All I know is, I'd pick Hazzard County over The 40-year-old Virgin any day. Don't get me wrong, that flick had its share of laughs, but I don't like to feel sad and alone when I leave my comedies. Maybe that's just me...
From there, it was on to Ultimate. I do believe I've found a step or two in the last few weeks. I was jumping with confidence and running well. That's a good feeling. The only bad part- I found out that a disc doesn't fly in a parabola. That's for balls, not for floaty objects.
After dinner, I went to talk about Ultimate and then play some disc golf. Why, I reckon that's as good of an end to a week as I've had in quite some time.
These boots... walkin'.
I practically rolled out of bed and headed to The Dukes of Hazzard. Good stuff. I'll pay matinee prices just for watching the General Lee wiggle around and jump. Same for that Simpson girl in Daisy Dukes. I had some trouble adjusting to the personalities of these characters as compared to the originals. I want to go back and watch some episodes of the show to see how my memories compare with my current feelings. All I know is, I'd pick Hazzard County over The 40-year-old Virgin any day. Don't get me wrong, that flick had its share of laughs, but I don't like to feel sad and alone when I leave my comedies. Maybe that's just me...
From there, it was on to Ultimate. I do believe I've found a step or two in the last few weeks. I was jumping with confidence and running well. That's a good feeling. The only bad part- I found out that a disc doesn't fly in a parabola. That's for balls, not for floaty objects.
After dinner, I went to talk about Ultimate and then play some disc golf. Why, I reckon that's as good of an end to a week as I've had in quite some time.
These boots... walkin'.
Sunday, August 21, 2005
It started with jam and ended in toast
My wedding registry is shrinking. This isn't a particularly acute problem since I have neither nuptials nor a registry. Still, it's concerning. How will our friends express their desire for our lifelong happiness if not through small appliances? I'm getting ahead of myself though. Let's go back a few weeks to that fateful trip to Safeway.
Wandering the aisles with list in hand, I noticed that Safeway jam was "Buy one Get one FREE." My jelly and jam choices have never really wavered. I'm a Welch's grape guy. Jam, jelly, it's Welch's grape. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in my life have been grape 590 times out of 600. This is law. This is set in stone. There is not room for variety. There is not need for variety, but "Buy one Get one FREE?" How tempting. Not in the peanut butter and jelly sense, more in the toast sense. Wouldn't it be nice to have a little variety on my toast? It would. Nicer still if I had a toaster. Which at that time I did not. And yet, that didn't stop me from snatching up a couple of jam jars. Raspberry, peach, welcome to the fridge.
Sans toaster, I realized that I now had two jars of jam that would likely go to waste. I decided to try them with peanut butter on a sandwich. Now this would go on to open up a whole new world for me, but that's for another day. Right now, I want to focus on the fact that sandwich variety really did nothing for my toast craving.
I borrowed a toaster for my breakfast-as-dinner on Thursday and my new jams were jam-tastic. Mouthwatering, savory. If I was a testimonial on a jam commercial I couldn't say nicer things.
This only served to further illuminate my need for a toaster.
Taking control of the situation I purchased a sleek black small appliance of my very own.
Jam. It changes everything.
My wedding registry is shrinking. This isn't a particularly acute problem since I have neither nuptials nor a registry. Still, it's concerning. How will our friends express their desire for our lifelong happiness if not through small appliances? I'm getting ahead of myself though. Let's go back a few weeks to that fateful trip to Safeway.
Wandering the aisles with list in hand, I noticed that Safeway jam was "Buy one Get one FREE." My jelly and jam choices have never really wavered. I'm a Welch's grape guy. Jam, jelly, it's Welch's grape. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in my life have been grape 590 times out of 600. This is law. This is set in stone. There is not room for variety. There is not need for variety, but "Buy one Get one FREE?" How tempting. Not in the peanut butter and jelly sense, more in the toast sense. Wouldn't it be nice to have a little variety on my toast? It would. Nicer still if I had a toaster. Which at that time I did not. And yet, that didn't stop me from snatching up a couple of jam jars. Raspberry, peach, welcome to the fridge.
Sans toaster, I realized that I now had two jars of jam that would likely go to waste. I decided to try them with peanut butter on a sandwich. Now this would go on to open up a whole new world for me, but that's for another day. Right now, I want to focus on the fact that sandwich variety really did nothing for my toast craving.
I borrowed a toaster for my breakfast-as-dinner on Thursday and my new jams were jam-tastic. Mouthwatering, savory. If I was a testimonial on a jam commercial I couldn't say nicer things.
This only served to further illuminate my need for a toaster.
Taking control of the situation I purchased a sleek black small appliance of my very own.
Jam. It changes everything.
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
Details. Details. Unfinished thoughts on old friends and details
Ten years ago it would take a week of long slow distance to disect a few moments. The unfolding drama with some young lady, the reliving and retelling of that small sports moment, the theater of the classroom. Now it takes an hour to gloss over a year, pregnancy and all (not mine thankyouverymuch.) It's not the mastery of language that lets us achieve this efficiency. It's routine and distance. Yesterday was today is tomorrow. The minutiae doesn't travel well. For years it was carried in letters, and letters gave way to electronic mail and then to the online journal, but despite all the space on the Internets and all the trees that became paper the minutiae is still overwhelming. And so we turn to drink, or card game, to movie, to book, to an escape where all the minutiae belongs to them. And we discuss that minutiae, a common minutiae, connected general details that don't reveal too much. But in those minutes, of that hour, that glosses over a year, the tiny details that make a friend still slip out. New details emerge alongside familiar ones. None of it can be examined too closely, but all of it carries pieces of more. The minutiae marches on, it multiplies, and we try to ignore it, to condense it- "So when she touched her pinky finger on your knuckle, did your heart race?" now becomes "But you love her?" "My favorite movie is Lost in Translation" now replaces "Sometimes I feel so alone and then I meet a stranger and I see a look in their eyes or the way they walk and for a split second I feel intertwined in the universe."
We make our comparisons to a time and a place we both remember. Those lives are there. These lives are here. As hair disappears and sprouts in new places while experience and pain add depth to familiar eyes, we come to accept that there is a new minutiae and even if we still shared the time and the inclination to hash it out over a week of long slow runs, we'd never quite catch up. And as another meeting comes to a close we accept that we're ok with that.
Ten years ago it would take a week of long slow distance to disect a few moments. The unfolding drama with some young lady, the reliving and retelling of that small sports moment, the theater of the classroom. Now it takes an hour to gloss over a year, pregnancy and all (not mine thankyouverymuch.) It's not the mastery of language that lets us achieve this efficiency. It's routine and distance. Yesterday was today is tomorrow. The minutiae doesn't travel well. For years it was carried in letters, and letters gave way to electronic mail and then to the online journal, but despite all the space on the Internets and all the trees that became paper the minutiae is still overwhelming. And so we turn to drink, or card game, to movie, to book, to an escape where all the minutiae belongs to them. And we discuss that minutiae, a common minutiae, connected general details that don't reveal too much. But in those minutes, of that hour, that glosses over a year, the tiny details that make a friend still slip out. New details emerge alongside familiar ones. None of it can be examined too closely, but all of it carries pieces of more. The minutiae marches on, it multiplies, and we try to ignore it, to condense it- "So when she touched her pinky finger on your knuckle, did your heart race?" now becomes "But you love her?" "My favorite movie is Lost in Translation" now replaces "Sometimes I feel so alone and then I meet a stranger and I see a look in their eyes or the way they walk and for a split second I feel intertwined in the universe."
We make our comparisons to a time and a place we both remember. Those lives are there. These lives are here. As hair disappears and sprouts in new places while experience and pain add depth to familiar eyes, we come to accept that there is a new minutiae and even if we still shared the time and the inclination to hash it out over a week of long slow runs, we'd never quite catch up. And as another meeting comes to a close we accept that we're ok with that.
Of force fields and the search for the perfect movie
Lately, I seem to be on a quest to find the perfect movie. There's nothing else to explain the volume of films I've been digesting. I don't know what I'll do if I find that perfect movie. Maybe I'll throw my popcorn up into the air, squeal, and run screaming from the theater. Perhaps, I'll pause the DVD and dry-hump the TV. Maybe, we're all better off just not knowing. I was told that The Island might be the "perfect movie." I went. And it was kind of close. I've decided that it's the best thing I've seen all summer. Action, mild insight into the human condition, stars of the hotter variety, basic story elements. Yet, almost no one is talking about it. It's made more money than I do, but I don't think it's doing that well. It's eery. The name is boring. The trailers were uneventful and even this post is a week late. I think there is something fishy going on. I'd try to figure it out, but I've still got The Dukes of Hazzard to see.
The Dukes may not be part of the quest, but I've got to check. It's my duty as a self-proclaimed honory citizen of Hazzard County. Now go on, GIT.
Lately, I seem to be on a quest to find the perfect movie. There's nothing else to explain the volume of films I've been digesting. I don't know what I'll do if I find that perfect movie. Maybe I'll throw my popcorn up into the air, squeal, and run screaming from the theater. Perhaps, I'll pause the DVD and dry-hump the TV. Maybe, we're all better off just not knowing. I was told that The Island might be the "perfect movie." I went. And it was kind of close. I've decided that it's the best thing I've seen all summer. Action, mild insight into the human condition, stars of the hotter variety, basic story elements. Yet, almost no one is talking about it. It's made more money than I do, but I don't think it's doing that well. It's eery. The name is boring. The trailers were uneventful and even this post is a week late. I think there is something fishy going on. I'd try to figure it out, but I've still got The Dukes of Hazzard to see.
The Dukes may not be part of the quest, but I've got to check. It's my duty as a self-proclaimed honory citizen of Hazzard County. Now go on, GIT.
Monday, August 15, 2005
The age old question
If I want to race on a fateful day in September, the local running community is asking me to choose between preventing prostate cancer or preventing childhood cancer. I realize a swift 5k doesn't mean the end of either, but if it comes to it should I choose the cute and cuddly children or the cute and cuddly prostate?
If I want to race on a fateful day in September, the local running community is asking me to choose between preventing prostate cancer or preventing childhood cancer. I realize a swift 5k doesn't mean the end of either, but if it comes to it should I choose the cute and cuddly children or the cute and cuddly prostate?
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
Trying to make light of the fact that I've learned nothing in the last 17 years
Dear ~Insert Object of Affection here~,
I wanted you to know that I find your A. eyes B. smile C. feet D. antennae (circle one or more) almost irresistible. I say almost because if it were just (same as circled above) and a pile of dung, I would be able to walk away. Fortunately, it is not. In fact, it appears that you are completely intact and that is working out quite beautifully. I would prefer a closer look, with your permission, of course.
It occurs to me that although our paths have crossed, you may not be fully cognizant of who I am. Gosh, I hope you're fully cognizant in general, though I think you'll find me rather flexible if that is not the case. Flexible or not, I guarantee you'll find me winsome. That's not a money back guarantee, but you'll find that I am good for it. You'll also find that I'm athletic, educated, and can cook with the help of a microwave. My mother and numerous other women uninterested in me have hailed me as "quite the catch." I can give you their phone numbers as references if that would help. I've always considered myself to be a bit of an acquired taste, but I like to think that I'm pretty easy on the other five senses (I include ESP, though I'm not a psychic myself, just open to the possibility.)
In conclusion, we have never officially met, but I'm sure you've seen me prowling around and if you're up for it I had hoped that we might go out for some ice cream and a back rub tonight because I think you're beautiful and that makes us compatible.
Would you be up for it?
Yes. yes. sure. ok. Please circle one and return.
Sincerely,
Your Secret Admirer
P.S. I hope you are not married or a lesbian because if that's the case, this might not work. That well.
Dear ~Insert Object of Affection here~,
I wanted you to know that I find your A. eyes B. smile C. feet D. antennae (circle one or more) almost irresistible. I say almost because if it were just (same as circled above) and a pile of dung, I would be able to walk away. Fortunately, it is not. In fact, it appears that you are completely intact and that is working out quite beautifully. I would prefer a closer look, with your permission, of course.
It occurs to me that although our paths have crossed, you may not be fully cognizant of who I am. Gosh, I hope you're fully cognizant in general, though I think you'll find me rather flexible if that is not the case. Flexible or not, I guarantee you'll find me winsome. That's not a money back guarantee, but you'll find that I am good for it. You'll also find that I'm athletic, educated, and can cook with the help of a microwave. My mother and numerous other women uninterested in me have hailed me as "quite the catch." I can give you their phone numbers as references if that would help. I've always considered myself to be a bit of an acquired taste, but I like to think that I'm pretty easy on the other five senses (I include ESP, though I'm not a psychic myself, just open to the possibility.)
In conclusion, we have never officially met, but I'm sure you've seen me prowling around and if you're up for it I had hoped that we might go out for some ice cream and a back rub tonight because I think you're beautiful and that makes us compatible.
Would you be up for it?
Yes. yes. sure. ok. Please circle one and return.
Sincerely,
Your Secret Admirer
P.S. I hope you are not married or a lesbian because if that's the case, this might not work. That well.
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
The key to being a champion is rearranging your expectations and delayed tales from a 3000m run
I've stumbled into a running club. I'm pretty sure I've paid my dues for another year and a half. This club has what they call a "Championship Series" (CS). In the CS, there are twelve events during the course of a calendar year. To win, place, or show (like the horses) a person has to run five of those twelve events. If a person runs more, the club credits the runner with his/her best five finishes. Kind of exciting. Then, to make sure that lots of runners have a chance to win, place, or show, they break everyone up into age categories. Points are awarded in each race depending on the age-group finish. Win the age group, snag ten points. Get second, take home nine, etc. It probably goes all the way to zero, but usually there are less than seven runners in my age group. I ran the record setting 5k a few months ago. Turns out that was a win, ten points, in the CS. Then that mile came along and it went just about as expected. Turns out that was a show in my age division, second place, nine points. A glance at the CS standings showed that I'd move into 4th place in the CS series with five races remaining. I skipped the half marathon for *personal* (read even my craziness only stretches to a certain point) reasons. That cost me a place in the CS series. I decided I would take on the 3000 meters in last Friday's track meet.
I spent the day at an amusement park in the heat. Nothing like getting dehydrated before a track meet. Rushing to the track, I pulled into the parking lot at 7:15 for what could've been a 7:30 start time. I wasn't sure. It turned out to be a 7:45 start, allowing me to relax a wee bit. I still couldn't work the pain out of my shoulder and I began to wonder if I'd finish the race at all, let alone belong in the "fast" heat. It had worked for the mile, so I thought it was best to try. Pit stop, shot of water, some nervous striders and I was ready to go. A crowd of 15 or so gentlemen embarked on our seven and a half lap journey. Taking pages from my last two races, I again calmly let the leaders leave me. It's sad to see them go, but mid-race explosion is far sadder. There were a few moments where I guiltily hogged the inside lane, but it's not like I was going so slowly that I didn't deserve to be there at all. I just wasn't ripping along. Things settled down and the crowd thinned. I was running calmly, shoulder-pain-free in about seventh place. Somewhere around the third lap I picked off a guy in front of me. Soon after, I felt Marty tuck in behind me. I didn't know it was Marty at the time, but as we rounded every turn, a chorus of "go Marty" seemed to be chasing me. Very quickly I realized that I did not want to lose to Marty. Marty, possibly another body unpopular like me, and I picked off another struggling soul.
I didn't know Marty from Steve Prefontaine. Marty could've been 23, Kenyan and biding his time. I wasn't going to look. I just knew that Marty was smart enough to settle in behind me and that I was stuck dragging him around the track. He had the advantage tucked in behind me, but I wasn't that interested in his advantage. I've won races from the front before and the more "go Martys" I heard, the more invested I became in keeping Marty tucked BEHIND me. We came through the mile in 5:32. It was reasonable and ahead of the worst-case scenario I had plotted pre-race. I like the underdog role, confidence is often a secret I keep even from myself. The leaders were long gone by now, but we started to creep up on a young man. He looked like he could be in my age division. I suddenly had new motivation. His lead was pretty sizable at that point. I'd say 25 meters, which in track is an enormous lead, but he seemed to be fading. There's a little part of me that feeds off others' pain, especially when I'm feeling good. Sadistic? Yes. Pleasing? Uh. huh. I set my sights on overtaking this young man. He turned out to be fairly easy prey. As I passed him, I seemed to gain a step or two on Marty. At that point we had about seven hundred meters to go. With six hundred left, I bumped up my pace just slightly. Marty lost his enviable position as I gained a few more steps. With four hundred meters to go, I began what used to be called a "kick." I say "used to" because the difference between race pace and kick has grown rather subtle. It was something though because I pulled even farther away from Marty and guy that later turned out to be two age divisions younger. I finished in 10:14. One of one and fourth overall.
Pleased, but more pleased to return to fourth in the CS and a mere two points out of third.
Marty. He turned out to be a former club VP and two or three age divisions on the other side.
I've stumbled into a running club. I'm pretty sure I've paid my dues for another year and a half. This club has what they call a "Championship Series" (CS). In the CS, there are twelve events during the course of a calendar year. To win, place, or show (like the horses) a person has to run five of those twelve events. If a person runs more, the club credits the runner with his/her best five finishes. Kind of exciting. Then, to make sure that lots of runners have a chance to win, place, or show, they break everyone up into age categories. Points are awarded in each race depending on the age-group finish. Win the age group, snag ten points. Get second, take home nine, etc. It probably goes all the way to zero, but usually there are less than seven runners in my age group. I ran the record setting 5k a few months ago. Turns out that was a win, ten points, in the CS. Then that mile came along and it went just about as expected. Turns out that was a show in my age division, second place, nine points. A glance at the CS standings showed that I'd move into 4th place in the CS series with five races remaining. I skipped the half marathon for *personal* (read even my craziness only stretches to a certain point) reasons. That cost me a place in the CS series. I decided I would take on the 3000 meters in last Friday's track meet.
I spent the day at an amusement park in the heat. Nothing like getting dehydrated before a track meet. Rushing to the track, I pulled into the parking lot at 7:15 for what could've been a 7:30 start time. I wasn't sure. It turned out to be a 7:45 start, allowing me to relax a wee bit. I still couldn't work the pain out of my shoulder and I began to wonder if I'd finish the race at all, let alone belong in the "fast" heat. It had worked for the mile, so I thought it was best to try. Pit stop, shot of water, some nervous striders and I was ready to go. A crowd of 15 or so gentlemen embarked on our seven and a half lap journey. Taking pages from my last two races, I again calmly let the leaders leave me. It's sad to see them go, but mid-race explosion is far sadder. There were a few moments where I guiltily hogged the inside lane, but it's not like I was going so slowly that I didn't deserve to be there at all. I just wasn't ripping along. Things settled down and the crowd thinned. I was running calmly, shoulder-pain-free in about seventh place. Somewhere around the third lap I picked off a guy in front of me. Soon after, I felt Marty tuck in behind me. I didn't know it was Marty at the time, but as we rounded every turn, a chorus of "go Marty" seemed to be chasing me. Very quickly I realized that I did not want to lose to Marty. Marty, possibly another body unpopular like me, and I picked off another struggling soul.
I didn't know Marty from Steve Prefontaine. Marty could've been 23, Kenyan and biding his time. I wasn't going to look. I just knew that Marty was smart enough to settle in behind me and that I was stuck dragging him around the track. He had the advantage tucked in behind me, but I wasn't that interested in his advantage. I've won races from the front before and the more "go Martys" I heard, the more invested I became in keeping Marty tucked BEHIND me. We came through the mile in 5:32. It was reasonable and ahead of the worst-case scenario I had plotted pre-race. I like the underdog role, confidence is often a secret I keep even from myself. The leaders were long gone by now, but we started to creep up on a young man. He looked like he could be in my age division. I suddenly had new motivation. His lead was pretty sizable at that point. I'd say 25 meters, which in track is an enormous lead, but he seemed to be fading. There's a little part of me that feeds off others' pain, especially when I'm feeling good. Sadistic? Yes. Pleasing? Uh. huh. I set my sights on overtaking this young man. He turned out to be fairly easy prey. As I passed him, I seemed to gain a step or two on Marty. At that point we had about seven hundred meters to go. With six hundred left, I bumped up my pace just slightly. Marty lost his enviable position as I gained a few more steps. With four hundred meters to go, I began what used to be called a "kick." I say "used to" because the difference between race pace and kick has grown rather subtle. It was something though because I pulled even farther away from Marty and guy that later turned out to be two age divisions younger. I finished in 10:14. One of one and fourth overall.
Pleased, but more pleased to return to fourth in the CS and a mere two points out of third.
Marty. He turned out to be a former club VP and two or three age divisions on the other side.
Monday, August 08, 2005
Breaking news
Those of you who knew my neighbor freshman year of college will be happy to hear that he's on his way to be a kiwi. And if I'm counting my readership correctly that might only be Daimon, the man, himself. For the rest of you, I'm talking about him. (On second thought, Abba might've known that.) I'm also publicly announcing my jealousy. I just wanted to get that out there right now and then remind myself that sometimes the coolest looking path is not your path.
Is it November?
Because there is boldness brewing.
Summer's over
How can she leave me? She just got here.
Broken Flowers
Today a coworker of mine sneered that "If you liked Lost in Translation, you'll like Broken Flowers." Sneer or not, she was right. It lacks some of the cinematic flair and Scarlett, but otherwise plays quite well.
Those of you who knew my neighbor freshman year of college will be happy to hear that he's on his way to be a kiwi. And if I'm counting my readership correctly that might only be Daimon, the man, himself. For the rest of you, I'm talking about him. (On second thought, Abba might've known that.) I'm also publicly announcing my jealousy. I just wanted to get that out there right now and then remind myself that sometimes the coolest looking path is not your path.
Is it November?
Because there is boldness brewing.
Summer's over
How can she leave me? She just got here.
Broken Flowers
Today a coworker of mine sneered that "If you liked Lost in Translation, you'll like Broken Flowers." Sneer or not, she was right. It lacks some of the cinematic flair and Scarlett, but otherwise plays quite well.
Saturday, August 06, 2005
Thursday, August 04, 2005
Is this a movie?
I had nearly forgotten my promise to try to unmask the not-so-secret identity of new cute girl at work having not seen her for nearly a week, except for that one time when she just appeared out of nowhere and I was totally not ready to get to the unmasking at that moment. So, having nearly forgotten the aforementioned promise, my opportunity literally passed me by today. Immersed in writing a note on my hand, she must have walked directly past me between the corridor of elevators because when I looked up I saw her black skirt swoosh across her trailing calf.
Somehow I managed to squelch the urge to chase after her.
Self-control.
And also fear. Because as someone said in the elevator the other day, "It's easy to like people you don't know."
I had nearly forgotten my promise to try to unmask the not-so-secret identity of new cute girl at work having not seen her for nearly a week, except for that one time when she just appeared out of nowhere and I was totally not ready to get to the unmasking at that moment. So, having nearly forgotten the aforementioned promise, my opportunity literally passed me by today. Immersed in writing a note on my hand, she must have walked directly past me between the corridor of elevators because when I looked up I saw her black skirt swoosh across her trailing calf.
Somehow I managed to squelch the urge to chase after her.
Self-control.
And also fear. Because as someone said in the elevator the other day, "It's easy to like people you don't know."
Nocturnal Admissions
Bedtime is two hours past, ideally. Only one in practical terms. My wallet pokes at my cheek ready and waiting for morning even when I'm not done with night. New music is no longer spinning, not off, just digital. The weight of earlier words trimmed by a diet of meals, music, and the all-knowing unfeeling Internet. I sit in my chair, back tilted one way, head the other. I'm not exactly waiting for that one thing that will cap it all off. Would it help if I heard applause? The credits rolled? I don't. They don't. So I search some more. Will I find it on screen? Should I have sipped on caffeine? My brain and my finger dance, though not together. I am surrounded by a mess of my making- letters written that will go unsent, next to plastic discs that go unthrown, all sprinkled with clothes in varying stages of clean; an optimist launders here. My bed is not three feet away, but my dreams are nowhere in sight. I'm sure I could sleep, but I won't close my eyes. Until now. I quiet my mind with some words. Perhaps they are stolen; I don't own them. I just rearrange them and try to be heard. Is that my voice? Is this my choice?
Inertia.
Bedtime is two hours past, ideally. Only one in practical terms. My wallet pokes at my cheek ready and waiting for morning even when I'm not done with night. New music is no longer spinning, not off, just digital. The weight of earlier words trimmed by a diet of meals, music, and the all-knowing unfeeling Internet. I sit in my chair, back tilted one way, head the other. I'm not exactly waiting for that one thing that will cap it all off. Would it help if I heard applause? The credits rolled? I don't. They don't. So I search some more. Will I find it on screen? Should I have sipped on caffeine? My brain and my finger dance, though not together. I am surrounded by a mess of my making- letters written that will go unsent, next to plastic discs that go unthrown, all sprinkled with clothes in varying stages of clean; an optimist launders here. My bed is not three feet away, but my dreams are nowhere in sight. I'm sure I could sleep, but I won't close my eyes. Until now. I quiet my mind with some words. Perhaps they are stolen; I don't own them. I just rearrange them and try to be heard. Is that my voice? Is this my choice?
Inertia.
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
Nothing's right and nothing's wrong
Dinner won't be what I want, but exactly what I make. My evening will consist of a series of tasks which need to be completed, but can just as easily wait another day. I'll do something for fun, something for me, and still go to bed a little unsatisfied. It's not so hot that it's uncomfortable. It's not cool enough to be nice. I'll call you on the phone, but I'll have nothing to say. Then I'll do it all over tomorrow.
Dinner won't be what I want, but exactly what I make. My evening will consist of a series of tasks which need to be completed, but can just as easily wait another day. I'll do something for fun, something for me, and still go to bed a little unsatisfied. It's not so hot that it's uncomfortable. It's not cool enough to be nice. I'll call you on the phone, but I'll have nothing to say. Then I'll do it all over tomorrow.
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
New Joisey- what a curious place
Forget the fact that my 3 hour drive to a town outside Princeton was delayed 3 hours by a jumper not 15 miles from home. Jumpers are for skyscrapers, not highways. Come on, people. At about 3 a.m. I settled into the appropriate place for the elder statesman of an Ultimate team, the parent's bed. The parents weren't home, thankfully. I still felt a little awkward, but fortunately I was only there for 3.5 hours. Then it was off to the beach.
Beach Ultimate. I know what you're thinking because I was thinking it too. Sand. Sun. Bikinis. Plastic. This could be heaven? Where's the record scratch when you need it? The gray overcast skies were only out-grayed by the beach and the pools of water that had collected on the beach. The sand was more like mud. The sun played hooky. Bikinis aren't really Ultimate attire, although I did see one guy with a hole cut out of his shirt to reveal his batman-shaped chest hair. Plastic though? It was out in force. There were more Ultimate fields than I've ever seen. I've heard reports of 180 teams. I don't remember a lot from Saturday. I know that the sand was soft and I did my share of laying out in it. When I say laying out, I'm not talking about tanning. I'm talking about diving, which I did inbounds, out of bounds, for discs, for defense, for kicks. I kinda like sand. I was accused of playing the best Ultimate they'd ever seen me play. It's not worth arguing about, especially when Sunday would restore balance to the universe. Saturday, I basked in the overcast. I soared. I scored. I threw full (short)field throws for scores. I had a sand and mud covered blast as the team went 3-1. Between games we took dips in the Atlantic. In games we took dips in the puddles. I ate more sand and dirty water than I care to admit. Everybody was doing it. Every direction I looked it seemed like someone was flying through the air. Soft landings encourage people to attempt flight more often. It was almost unreal.
If Saturday was unreal, Sunday was all too real. At least, too real for my throws to hit the mark and my defense to keep pace. It was a reality where we quickly found ourselves at 3-3 on the weekend. It was a reality that involved "Drive-by biddings", free meals, quirky little sisters, and the repeated singing/hollering of Kelly Clarkson's Since you've been gone. Ok, so not that real, but quite enjoyable.
Forget the fact that my 3 hour drive to a town outside Princeton was delayed 3 hours by a jumper not 15 miles from home. Jumpers are for skyscrapers, not highways. Come on, people. At about 3 a.m. I settled into the appropriate place for the elder statesman of an Ultimate team, the parent's bed. The parents weren't home, thankfully. I still felt a little awkward, but fortunately I was only there for 3.5 hours. Then it was off to the beach.
Beach Ultimate. I know what you're thinking because I was thinking it too. Sand. Sun. Bikinis. Plastic. This could be heaven? Where's the record scratch when you need it? The gray overcast skies were only out-grayed by the beach and the pools of water that had collected on the beach. The sand was more like mud. The sun played hooky. Bikinis aren't really Ultimate attire, although I did see one guy with a hole cut out of his shirt to reveal his batman-shaped chest hair. Plastic though? It was out in force. There were more Ultimate fields than I've ever seen. I've heard reports of 180 teams. I don't remember a lot from Saturday. I know that the sand was soft and I did my share of laying out in it. When I say laying out, I'm not talking about tanning. I'm talking about diving, which I did inbounds, out of bounds, for discs, for defense, for kicks. I kinda like sand. I was accused of playing the best Ultimate they'd ever seen me play. It's not worth arguing about, especially when Sunday would restore balance to the universe. Saturday, I basked in the overcast. I soared. I scored. I threw full (short)field throws for scores. I had a sand and mud covered blast as the team went 3-1. Between games we took dips in the Atlantic. In games we took dips in the puddles. I ate more sand and dirty water than I care to admit. Everybody was doing it. Every direction I looked it seemed like someone was flying through the air. Soft landings encourage people to attempt flight more often. It was almost unreal.
If Saturday was unreal, Sunday was all too real. At least, too real for my throws to hit the mark and my defense to keep pace. It was a reality where we quickly found ourselves at 3-3 on the weekend. It was a reality that involved "Drive-by biddings", free meals, quirky little sisters, and the repeated singing/hollering of Kelly Clarkson's Since you've been gone. Ok, so not that real, but quite enjoyable.
Thursday, July 28, 2005
Power up kids
We lost power here last night and I had the opportunity to break out the candles. I couldn't remember how to play Cribbage and I couldn't crack the code that was the rules. From there it cascaded down and I realized that I really couldn't do much of anything and when the electricity is on, I don't anyway. Would the Amish be kings if the electricity stayed down? What would we do when our battery-operated goodies died down and we were left to our thoughts and other people? I think it'd get ugly in a hurry. The milk situation alone would cause some serious problems. I decided two things last night
1. I need more canned goods.
2. A little less talk and a little more action.
That ought to do the trick. And also some more DVDs to dull the world as it comes back to light.
We lost power here last night and I had the opportunity to break out the candles. I couldn't remember how to play Cribbage and I couldn't crack the code that was the rules. From there it cascaded down and I realized that I really couldn't do much of anything and when the electricity is on, I don't anyway. Would the Amish be kings if the electricity stayed down? What would we do when our battery-operated goodies died down and we were left to our thoughts and other people? I think it'd get ugly in a hurry. The milk situation alone would cause some serious problems. I decided two things last night
1. I need more canned goods.
2. A little less talk and a little more action.
That ought to do the trick. And also some more DVDs to dull the world as it comes back to light.
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
Very interesting
-The subscription solicitation for Skiing magazine and the solicitation for Powder arrived on the same freaking freaking freaking hot day in July. Both came from Tampa Florida. Conspiracy? Seems likely.
-There is a man at my office. Everyday I see this man. Most days I see this man two times. Some days I see this man two times in the copy room and then other times too. This man always smiles. He always says hi. I always say hi back to him. This has gone on for quite some time. Today as I got off the empty elevator on our floor, he made moves to get on. I threw my hands up blocking the door and said, "Wait. What's your name?"
He probably thinks I'm crazy. At least now he knows that crazy has a name.
-The subscription solicitation for Skiing magazine and the solicitation for Powder arrived on the same freaking freaking freaking hot day in July. Both came from Tampa Florida. Conspiracy? Seems likely.
-There is a man at my office. Everyday I see this man. Most days I see this man two times. Some days I see this man two times in the copy room and then other times too. This man always smiles. He always says hi. I always say hi back to him. This has gone on for quite some time. Today as I got off the empty elevator on our floor, he made moves to get on. I threw my hands up blocking the door and said, "Wait. What's your name?"
He probably thinks I'm crazy. At least now he knows that crazy has a name.
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