It's not whether you win or lose, but I'm going to describe it anyway
or Personal highlights in a team game
My psoas and related pains have been plaguing me for two weeks. As I headed for a full day of Ultimate, I wondered if this might be a day where the pain became crushing. Somehow, I ended up with the opposite. My psoas hardly bothered me at all. Ultimate seems to be the cause of my greatest pains and of the greatest healing. That sports as life metaphor thing was really kicking into overdrive.
The fields were a little muddy and wet and the grass was high, but it was better than the alternative- sleeping in. We only had two women, so they had a full day ahead of them without anyone to relieve them. My team jumped out early in a shortened game and rolled over the other team. I caught one on a slide and ended up hydro-planing through a puddle to great splash effect. Our second game was much tougher as it was against the perennial champs. We fought well through the first half, but couldn't keep pace in the second half. My highlight there was a strange one. I tapped a disc on D and then hit the body of the offensive player. He missed the disc and called a foul. Usually, I react strongly in those situations, but this time I stayed calm and tried to get him to explain to me if he still thought he could have caught the disc if I hadn't fouled him. I was trying to figure out whether I should contest the foul or not, when he suddenly decided to overturn the foul. I don't think I've ever been on that end of a call/non-call before. There were some lows in that game as well, as discs bounced off my hands and throws went errant.
We had a nice bye after that and I wondered how I could go on for the rest of the afternoon as my body was already aching. We jumped out early again in the third game and rolled to victory. There were some great individual performances throughout the day, especially from the women who were having to grit through. MB was having a usually solid day and Karpo was shining in a way I haven't seen for years. Everybody was contributing, even Young B's layouts were going for D's. I think the third game might have been the game where I threw a hammer for a score. That's got to be my highest percentage throw. Especially after what would come later. I had backhands going high and flicks being handblocked in the fourth game. The game was a good match up. They had some good speed, but we were matching it. We traded points for a while. I got handblocked twice, but evened things a bit with a handblock of my own. I layed out around one player about three times, but never came up with anything. The wind had picked up a bit and misreads became more prevalent. We ended up falling 11-9.
Things really started to get tough in the fifth game. We lost one woman to exhaustion and had to play down a person. I was fighting cramps and the need to vomit. I ended up cramping first as I laid out for a huck, missed, and slammed my head into the ground. Ouch. Down a person, we started trading points, but it wasn't enough. The final team decided to play 6 men and 1 woman against us. More people were cramping. We fought hard early, but exhaustion was catching up with everyone. I managed to get in for a few points and get another handblock. We couldn't find enough to stick with the team and lost. Still, we fought all the way through and had a really good day. S was amazing. She was still running at the same speed and getting open on the last points of the day. I said it earlier and I'll say it again. Everyone contributed. The new faces really shone and helped the cause yesterday. We worked the disc well and worked together well. I'm really proud to have taken part.
Today, I'm scratched, sore, sun-burnt, and it takes me 30 seconds to get out of a chair, but I feel pretty happy about the whole thing.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Therapy: This time with gnomes
Acupuncture is different every time. It always feels like energy, or tiny particles, or tiny gnomes, or something are seeking out pain and then trying to find a way to get rid of it. Sometimes, it's pulling. Sometimes, it's pushing. This time it was swirling. It took longer than the other times. The energy/particles/gnomes got hung up in my knees. It's not that my knees don't sometimes hurt, but I came for the psoas and it took a long time for the gnomes to get there. They eventually made it, but I think they were tired from their time spent swirling around under/behind/through my knees, so they didn't do as good a job. I'm still left with something. Do I go back? I don't know proper Eastern remedy protocol.
There's a darkness in my psoas. As I sit with my eyes closed and needles poking out of me, I can't help but wonder if every person carries his/her darkness in some body part. I know it sounds a little crazy, but it feels like a reasonable theory even after the needles come out. Maybe all the bad stuff, the negative energy, the meanness, the evil in each of us has to go somewhere. Mine chooses the psoas. Sometimes the gnomes or deep breathing can clear it out for a while, but if I'm not careful the darkness returns. Right now, the darkness is still pissed.
Acupuncture is different every time. It always feels like energy, or tiny particles, or tiny gnomes, or something are seeking out pain and then trying to find a way to get rid of it. Sometimes, it's pulling. Sometimes, it's pushing. This time it was swirling. It took longer than the other times. The energy/particles/gnomes got hung up in my knees. It's not that my knees don't sometimes hurt, but I came for the psoas and it took a long time for the gnomes to get there. They eventually made it, but I think they were tired from their time spent swirling around under/behind/through my knees, so they didn't do as good a job. I'm still left with something. Do I go back? I don't know proper Eastern remedy protocol.
There's a darkness in my psoas. As I sit with my eyes closed and needles poking out of me, I can't help but wonder if every person carries his/her darkness in some body part. I know it sounds a little crazy, but it feels like a reasonable theory even after the needles come out. Maybe all the bad stuff, the negative energy, the meanness, the evil in each of us has to go somewhere. Mine chooses the psoas. Sometimes the gnomes or deep breathing can clear it out for a while, but if I'm not careful the darkness returns. Right now, the darkness is still pissed.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Monday, May 18, 2009
Therapy
Two hard bounces of synthetic cow on concrete. One fluid motion to push the ball into the air before letting gravity take over. The soft pause of scuffed orange sphere falling against sun-worn criss-cross of white netting. Repeat.
Pleasure, purpose, points. There's a deep relaxation technique that I find myself missing on this Sunday afternoon. The driveway basketball hoop. Its virtues have been extolled in this space before. The hoop absorbed unrequited loves and insecurity. The bouncing ball followed no script and was not a metaphor. The neighbors were all inside, but I stood in the driveway lost in shot. My thoughts circled the makeshift court bouncing from the problem of the day to the next reverse lay-in. Nothing can be so bad if the shots are falling. With no defense, the shots had a way of falling, even for a runner.
I could use that today. Something to shake the earth one thud at a time. Something to shoot toward. Something to make. Something to repeat.
Two hard bounces of synthetic cow on concrete. One fluid motion to push the ball into the air before letting gravity take over. The soft pause of scuffed orange sphere falling against sun-worn criss-cross of white netting. Repeat.
Pleasure, purpose, points. There's a deep relaxation technique that I find myself missing on this Sunday afternoon. The driveway basketball hoop. Its virtues have been extolled in this space before. The hoop absorbed unrequited loves and insecurity. The bouncing ball followed no script and was not a metaphor. The neighbors were all inside, but I stood in the driveway lost in shot. My thoughts circled the makeshift court bouncing from the problem of the day to the next reverse lay-in. Nothing can be so bad if the shots are falling. With no defense, the shots had a way of falling, even for a runner.
I could use that today. Something to shake the earth one thud at a time. Something to shoot toward. Something to make. Something to repeat.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
2.65 things
1. Monday night I went to see Leonard Cohen live and in concert. Even though I was only familiar with one of his songs, I found his music to be very accessible. He had some great lyrics, sung in that gravelly 74-year old man voice and the songs seemed to flow together like one long song with changes in pace and instrumentation. My favorite lyric of the night was not "Where is my gypsy wife?" although that one sticks in my head, but instead, "There is a crack in everything/ that's how the light gets in." Lenny came on for encore after encore and eventually outlasted us in the cold and rain.
2. I went to graduation yesterday to support those with Bad Habits on their resume. I managed to spot four and congratulate three. Despite the rain, the optimism and idealism were everywhere, particularly in the address. My own graduations were always rather anti-climatic, but witnessing someone else's seemed somehow more purposeful. Congrats, grads.
.65. Nutella, advanced degrees, psoas
1. Monday night I went to see Leonard Cohen live and in concert. Even though I was only familiar with one of his songs, I found his music to be very accessible. He had some great lyrics, sung in that gravelly 74-year old man voice and the songs seemed to flow together like one long song with changes in pace and instrumentation. My favorite lyric of the night was not "Where is my gypsy wife?" although that one sticks in my head, but instead, "There is a crack in everything/ that's how the light gets in." Lenny came on for encore after encore and eventually outlasted us in the cold and rain.
2. I went to graduation yesterday to support those with Bad Habits on their resume. I managed to spot four and congratulate three. Despite the rain, the optimism and idealism were everywhere, particularly in the address. My own graduations were always rather anti-climatic, but witnessing someone else's seemed somehow more purposeful. Congrats, grads.
.65. Nutella, advanced degrees, psoas
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Fun runs are not high school
High school cross-country practice was five days a week. In the good years, the same seven to ten guys all ran together on most runs. In the lean years, the same three or four were all there day in and day out. There was always an element of competition, even in practice. It took a lot of willpower and the occasional reminder from Coach that every day was not a race. The group of guys were working toward the same races.
There's an element of competition at the fun runs I attend. The difference is there is less familiarity, no coach, and everybody is on his or her own race schedule. Last night, I felt good, so I rejoined the "fast guys" who headed out the door claiming they would run about seven minute per mile pace. It quickly became obvious that false modesty was at play here. I struggled to get my legs moving to keep up with the pair I was now running behind. I suppose I could have slowed and maintained the agreed upon pace, but instead I was caught up in going lickety-split. I suspect we were out in a touch over six minute per mile pace for the first mile or so. I found my stride and soon after, the man I had bounded after announced that he was feeling fatigued. I thought it was more false modesty until he pulled up and slowed way down. Annoyed, with my legs awake, I decided to continue on at a quick pace. I didn't see the point in ripping off a first mile and then slowing way down. The respectful thing to do would have been to communicate that plan from the start. My suspicion is that the real intent had been to run us off the pace, slow down, and then keep us uncomfortable in the event that we had caught back up. That plan failed when I didn't go away. So, the new plan was to pound out the rest of the run as best I could on my own. I slowed a little, but still think I was running about six-fifteen to six-twenty pace. I was alone, just off race pace for the five mile distance and feeling great on a perfect evening.
I really appreciate having people to run with. It makes me miss that high school team experience. As I go to these runs, I need to make sure that I am building toward my goals, because no one else is looking out for them. Fortunately, my goal last night was to have a good crisp run. It got a little crispier than expected, but I'll take it.
High school cross-country practice was five days a week. In the good years, the same seven to ten guys all ran together on most runs. In the lean years, the same three or four were all there day in and day out. There was always an element of competition, even in practice. It took a lot of willpower and the occasional reminder from Coach that every day was not a race. The group of guys were working toward the same races.
There's an element of competition at the fun runs I attend. The difference is there is less familiarity, no coach, and everybody is on his or her own race schedule. Last night, I felt good, so I rejoined the "fast guys" who headed out the door claiming they would run about seven minute per mile pace. It quickly became obvious that false modesty was at play here. I struggled to get my legs moving to keep up with the pair I was now running behind. I suppose I could have slowed and maintained the agreed upon pace, but instead I was caught up in going lickety-split. I suspect we were out in a touch over six minute per mile pace for the first mile or so. I found my stride and soon after, the man I had bounded after announced that he was feeling fatigued. I thought it was more false modesty until he pulled up and slowed way down. Annoyed, with my legs awake, I decided to continue on at a quick pace. I didn't see the point in ripping off a first mile and then slowing way down. The respectful thing to do would have been to communicate that plan from the start. My suspicion is that the real intent had been to run us off the pace, slow down, and then keep us uncomfortable in the event that we had caught back up. That plan failed when I didn't go away. So, the new plan was to pound out the rest of the run as best I could on my own. I slowed a little, but still think I was running about six-fifteen to six-twenty pace. I was alone, just off race pace for the five mile distance and feeling great on a perfect evening.
I really appreciate having people to run with. It makes me miss that high school team experience. As I go to these runs, I need to make sure that I am building toward my goals, because no one else is looking out for them. Fortunately, my goal last night was to have a good crisp run. It got a little crispier than expected, but I'll take it.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
More advertising
I've seen live advertising before, but it usually takes the form of young gentlemen spinning signs or folks dressed up in ridiculous costumes, like hot dogs. I've also seen live advertising at events like conventions or concerts. The last two days, I've seen lunch time live advertising on the streets of DC. Monday it took the form of two guys camping out on the street corner. They had a tent, a pine tree, and were pretending to roast marshmallows over a fire. They were unobtrusive, but eye-catching. It was an ad for Zipcar, a company I'm a fan of that rents cars hourly, and their sign said something like "You'll need us to get here." I dug it. Today, I found five women in fancy clothes carrying large shopping bags from recognizable department stores. They chattered together as they walked down the street. Their chatter was broadcast from their microphones and through speakers on a wagon. Every hundred yards or so, they would stop and stage a fashion intervention among themselves. I admit I didn't pay too much attention, but I and some of my fellow lunchers were annoyed. It felt like an invasion. It was blatantly fake and since it was some kind of performance I had the urge to boo. I didn't, but I returned to my office to complain. When I told my coworkers, they said, "Well, all PR is good PR. They've got you talking." I was talking, but I've got a bad taste in my mouth. I wasn't the target audience, and I certainly wasn't encouraged to go shopping.
I'm curious to know if live advertising is worth it. I suspect these people were paid minimum wage. They probably got several thousand views. I like the effort even if I don't like the execution.
I've seen live advertising before, but it usually takes the form of young gentlemen spinning signs or folks dressed up in ridiculous costumes, like hot dogs. I've also seen live advertising at events like conventions or concerts. The last two days, I've seen lunch time live advertising on the streets of DC. Monday it took the form of two guys camping out on the street corner. They had a tent, a pine tree, and were pretending to roast marshmallows over a fire. They were unobtrusive, but eye-catching. It was an ad for Zipcar, a company I'm a fan of that rents cars hourly, and their sign said something like "You'll need us to get here." I dug it. Today, I found five women in fancy clothes carrying large shopping bags from recognizable department stores. They chattered together as they walked down the street. Their chatter was broadcast from their microphones and through speakers on a wagon. Every hundred yards or so, they would stop and stage a fashion intervention among themselves. I admit I didn't pay too much attention, but I and some of my fellow lunchers were annoyed. It felt like an invasion. It was blatantly fake and since it was some kind of performance I had the urge to boo. I didn't, but I returned to my office to complain. When I told my coworkers, they said, "Well, all PR is good PR. They've got you talking." I was talking, but I've got a bad taste in my mouth. I wasn't the target audience, and I certainly wasn't encouraged to go shopping.
I'm curious to know if live advertising is worth it. I suspect these people were paid minimum wage. They probably got several thousand views. I like the effort even if I don't like the execution.
Tying together Ultimate and New Year's Resolutions. Finally.
About three weeks ago, Ultimate failed me or I took part in its failure. Sometimes, it’s hard to tell which. It was a global-warming is coming hard kind of day, a thermometer-checking sweat-drenched shirt June day in April. We had a double-header scheduled and ample subs. We must have suited up in our lead boots. The other team was wearing their aluminum shoes. Few times in my life have I seen so little enthusiasm for a game of Ultimate. My team played without trust or enthusiasm. The other team played just well enough to beat us. We politely spoke in the huddle of pulling ourselves together, but there was nothing. No one could stir us up and lead us. I made a few feeble attempts, but was squashed for being reluctant. My failures were our failures. We took to ill-advised hucks after our half-hearted in cuts failed us. The other teams were far more talented in the air, but we still clung to a strategy that doomed us. I know that now in hindsight, but I couldn’t see it in the haze of the day.
I left bitter and dejected. I left ready to put my Ultimate playing career mostly in the rearview mirror. That’s a bad day. We improved the next week under more familiar leadership, winning a game against a team that expected to beat us. I miffed a gorgeous hammer that practically landed in my hand as I ran down the field in a full sprint, but otherwise played reasonably well, even breaking the mark with a flick and playing acceptable containment defense. The win felt good, but I still felt a little bruised and beaten. This is where I admit that while I love the team aspect of Ultimate, sometimes my own ego gets in the way. It’s great to be a cog in a machine, but sometimes I want to be a bright shiny cog that gets noticed. I try to control it, but sometimes that need still seeps out.
This past week as I rode my bike down from the suburbs to the site of our previous failure, I mentally prepared myself. It wasn’t as hot and muggy, but I wasn’t going to come out lethargic and I wanted to do a better job at picking the team up as best I could. I gave myself a little pep talk and came ready to play. I took a few hits early when my mark got broken, but I came out with some intensity. I did my best not to let my spirits fall. I stayed engaged on the sidelines. I looked to make the most of my points. After the team’s rough start, we began to battle back. I found myself in a nice battle with a very good player on the other team. We were going back and forth. I couldn’t manufacture any D’s, but I was close enough to cause some errant throws. The team as a whole still had trouble cutting and gelling, but at least we had some fight in us this time around. After one turn, we moved the disc up the field and I found myself marked in a three on two situation. I cocked back and threw up a hammer for a score. It was a nice surprise. The bigger surprise for me was when I turned to the sidelines and gestured for them to get fired up. We closed the gap to 1 point, but then couldn’t find our way. I begged off on one zone point. Then with the game on the line, we played zone again. I was short deep and I really think I blew it. I wasn’t following the poppers all the way into the cup and they were moving the disc. When we switched to man, I bit on a fake and watched my guy throw for a score. I guess I had a rough start and a rough finish, but overall I was pleased with the effort.
I’m not as proud of my post-game reaction. I grabbed my hat and flung it into the air as I announced, “Zone is for old people,” in frustration. The real frustration was with my failure, but instead of accepting that I blamed the scheme. I was able to turn the tide on intensity, now I need to shift my thinking on my reactions. I think that was one of my New Year’s Resolutions. Looks like there is still work to be done. Ultimate and I didn't fail each other at all. We just opened up an area for new lessons.
About three weeks ago, Ultimate failed me or I took part in its failure. Sometimes, it’s hard to tell which. It was a global-warming is coming hard kind of day, a thermometer-checking sweat-drenched shirt June day in April. We had a double-header scheduled and ample subs. We must have suited up in our lead boots. The other team was wearing their aluminum shoes. Few times in my life have I seen so little enthusiasm for a game of Ultimate. My team played without trust or enthusiasm. The other team played just well enough to beat us. We politely spoke in the huddle of pulling ourselves together, but there was nothing. No one could stir us up and lead us. I made a few feeble attempts, but was squashed for being reluctant. My failures were our failures. We took to ill-advised hucks after our half-hearted in cuts failed us. The other teams were far more talented in the air, but we still clung to a strategy that doomed us. I know that now in hindsight, but I couldn’t see it in the haze of the day.
I left bitter and dejected. I left ready to put my Ultimate playing career mostly in the rearview mirror. That’s a bad day. We improved the next week under more familiar leadership, winning a game against a team that expected to beat us. I miffed a gorgeous hammer that practically landed in my hand as I ran down the field in a full sprint, but otherwise played reasonably well, even breaking the mark with a flick and playing acceptable containment defense. The win felt good, but I still felt a little bruised and beaten. This is where I admit that while I love the team aspect of Ultimate, sometimes my own ego gets in the way. It’s great to be a cog in a machine, but sometimes I want to be a bright shiny cog that gets noticed. I try to control it, but sometimes that need still seeps out.
This past week as I rode my bike down from the suburbs to the site of our previous failure, I mentally prepared myself. It wasn’t as hot and muggy, but I wasn’t going to come out lethargic and I wanted to do a better job at picking the team up as best I could. I gave myself a little pep talk and came ready to play. I took a few hits early when my mark got broken, but I came out with some intensity. I did my best not to let my spirits fall. I stayed engaged on the sidelines. I looked to make the most of my points. After the team’s rough start, we began to battle back. I found myself in a nice battle with a very good player on the other team. We were going back and forth. I couldn’t manufacture any D’s, but I was close enough to cause some errant throws. The team as a whole still had trouble cutting and gelling, but at least we had some fight in us this time around. After one turn, we moved the disc up the field and I found myself marked in a three on two situation. I cocked back and threw up a hammer for a score. It was a nice surprise. The bigger surprise for me was when I turned to the sidelines and gestured for them to get fired up. We closed the gap to 1 point, but then couldn’t find our way. I begged off on one zone point. Then with the game on the line, we played zone again. I was short deep and I really think I blew it. I wasn’t following the poppers all the way into the cup and they were moving the disc. When we switched to man, I bit on a fake and watched my guy throw for a score. I guess I had a rough start and a rough finish, but overall I was pleased with the effort.
I’m not as proud of my post-game reaction. I grabbed my hat and flung it into the air as I announced, “Zone is for old people,” in frustration. The real frustration was with my failure, but instead of accepting that I blamed the scheme. I was able to turn the tide on intensity, now I need to shift my thinking on my reactions. I think that was one of my New Year’s Resolutions. Looks like there is still work to be done. Ultimate and I didn't fail each other at all. We just opened up an area for new lessons.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Another 60 seconds, another lollipop
I think I pay more attention to advertising than most people. At one point, I intended to make a career out of it. Now it's more of a hobby. I can't help but think about strategy, or appreciate a good line, or cringe in embarrassment for some client somewhere who thought that was a good idea. Now and again I see an ad or a campaign that makes me want to shake somebody's hand, or at least gets to me. I don't run out and buy things in response, but when it's really good, I can't stop talking about it for a while. It doesn't last, it's pop art, it's as disposable as most of the products, but it's something for a minute or two. As fast as things come these days, that's got to be worth the cable it runs through. Right now, I find two TV commercials worth talking about.
The first may be directed solely at me. This is part of cotton's new campaign. It's got Zooey Deschanel, whose music and look I find charming, singing about cotton while she goes through her day surrounded by music and cotton. She tickles the ivories on a great looking up right, she leafs through some records, she swings her hips while walking a bike, but what really gets me is when she reaches up for a banjo. Look out. I'm changing out of my dri-fit and putting on my cotton. Hi Zooey.
I did a little research and this ad is part of what is now a three-piece series. There's one for a country singer and one for an R&B singer as well. All are shot beautifully, with lots of color, glossy lips, and suggestions of creativity. Each takes the viewer on the journey from "fame" to everyday ordinary life. And look at that, everybody ends up in cotton when they aren't all glammed up. I'll be. Cotton just might be the fabric of our lives.
The second ad worth mentioning reaches me on a different level. Long ago, I'm not sure I understood what about advertising interested me. Now, I know. I wanted to take some words, rearrange them, and when they came out on the other side, they'd have some power, even if they didn't have meaning. Perhaps, I was (I am?) a little lazy, so I figured it would be best if I was limited to 30-second spots, or maybe a billboard. Advertising would have been a great outlet for that, instead I've got a blog. Which leads me to the "most interesting man in the world" campaign for Dos Equis. This campaign packs enough meaningless statements in 30 seconds for six young aspiring copywriters. A couple contenders:
"His beard alone has experienced more than a lesser man's entire body."
"His reputation is expanding faster than the universe."
My favorite and the champion meaningless statement, deserving of the highest honor, "He lives vicariously through himself."
That's enough to make me re-think my career path.
Wait, I have a career path?
I think I pay more attention to advertising than most people. At one point, I intended to make a career out of it. Now it's more of a hobby. I can't help but think about strategy, or appreciate a good line, or cringe in embarrassment for some client somewhere who thought that was a good idea. Now and again I see an ad or a campaign that makes me want to shake somebody's hand, or at least gets to me. I don't run out and buy things in response, but when it's really good, I can't stop talking about it for a while. It doesn't last, it's pop art, it's as disposable as most of the products, but it's something for a minute or two. As fast as things come these days, that's got to be worth the cable it runs through. Right now, I find two TV commercials worth talking about.
The first may be directed solely at me. This is part of cotton's new campaign. It's got Zooey Deschanel, whose music and look I find charming, singing about cotton while she goes through her day surrounded by music and cotton. She tickles the ivories on a great looking up right, she leafs through some records, she swings her hips while walking a bike, but what really gets me is when she reaches up for a banjo. Look out. I'm changing out of my dri-fit and putting on my cotton. Hi Zooey.
I did a little research and this ad is part of what is now a three-piece series. There's one for a country singer and one for an R&B singer as well. All are shot beautifully, with lots of color, glossy lips, and suggestions of creativity. Each takes the viewer on the journey from "fame" to everyday ordinary life. And look at that, everybody ends up in cotton when they aren't all glammed up. I'll be. Cotton just might be the fabric of our lives.
The second ad worth mentioning reaches me on a different level. Long ago, I'm not sure I understood what about advertising interested me. Now, I know. I wanted to take some words, rearrange them, and when they came out on the other side, they'd have some power, even if they didn't have meaning. Perhaps, I was (I am?) a little lazy, so I figured it would be best if I was limited to 30-second spots, or maybe a billboard. Advertising would have been a great outlet for that, instead I've got a blog. Which leads me to the "most interesting man in the world" campaign for Dos Equis. This campaign packs enough meaningless statements in 30 seconds for six young aspiring copywriters. A couple contenders:
"His beard alone has experienced more than a lesser man's entire body."
"His reputation is expanding faster than the universe."
My favorite and the champion meaningless statement, deserving of the highest honor, "He lives vicariously through himself."
That's enough to make me re-think my career path.
Wait, I have a career path?
Monday, May 04, 2009
The sky is crying
The 2nd Annual Alumni game seemed an apt metaphor for the season. We had grand plans and then as time approached to complete the plans things looked to get a little messy. We had to ignore the mess, make the most of it, and play Ultimate. Mostly, this was weather-related messiness and fortunately, the weather turned to light sprinkles which was no problem for the turf beneath our feet. So, we played.
Alan has recapped the game here, which is fortunate, because I was lost. I played with the alums, but couldn't help but cheer on both sides. I never really found my legs, but wasn't that worried because I'd found my friends. Sometimes, I love CUA Ultimate and yesterday was certainly one of those times. Sure there was some on field goodness that made me proud, stuff like Ranjo bugging the heck out of John, while John earned his most improved player status by keeping that disc moving so well. Or seeing Templon throw to Karpo and flashing back three years. It was a little hard to watch Alan pick us apart knowing he is going to be on the alum side next year, but then it was nice to remember that sheer will coupled with physical ability are what make Arin such a force. It was kind of sweet to see Cat prancing around again out of position on the dump and really sweet to see Classics making things happen on both sides of the disc. Nobody could guard Stills and hopefully that trend will continue for other teams. Maybe CUA Ultimate will bring some defense next year if Templon's brother is really on his way to CUA. (Who would have believed that statement would ever be typed?)
It was the off the field stuff that were the true highlights for me. Even with the alum crowd slightly thin, it was a great way and day to celebrate CUA Ultimate. I wish I hadn't screamed at Jimmy, but some things never change, and I did take charge of the situation which I'm proud of. It's been very hard for me to be a vocal leader and I felt like I did that pretty well yesterday with some of the organizing and awards. It felt really good to pull all the grads up to be cheered and it even better to huddle up with everyone at the end and really celebrate with our Popemobile cheer. Thanks everybody. Hopefully our
crowd will grow even larger next year.
The 2nd Annual Alumni game seemed an apt metaphor for the season. We had grand plans and then as time approached to complete the plans things looked to get a little messy. We had to ignore the mess, make the most of it, and play Ultimate. Mostly, this was weather-related messiness and fortunately, the weather turned to light sprinkles which was no problem for the turf beneath our feet. So, we played.
Alan has recapped the game here, which is fortunate, because I was lost. I played with the alums, but couldn't help but cheer on both sides. I never really found my legs, but wasn't that worried because I'd found my friends. Sometimes, I love CUA Ultimate and yesterday was certainly one of those times. Sure there was some on field goodness that made me proud, stuff like Ranjo bugging the heck out of John, while John earned his most improved player status by keeping that disc moving so well. Or seeing Templon throw to Karpo and flashing back three years. It was a little hard to watch Alan pick us apart knowing he is going to be on the alum side next year, but then it was nice to remember that sheer will coupled with physical ability are what make Arin such a force. It was kind of sweet to see Cat prancing around again out of position on the dump and really sweet to see Classics making things happen on both sides of the disc. Nobody could guard Stills and hopefully that trend will continue for other teams. Maybe CUA Ultimate will bring some defense next year if Templon's brother is really on his way to CUA. (Who would have believed that statement would ever be typed?)
It was the off the field stuff that were the true highlights for me. Even with the alum crowd slightly thin, it was a great way and day to celebrate CUA Ultimate. I wish I hadn't screamed at Jimmy, but some things never change, and I did take charge of the situation which I'm proud of. It's been very hard for me to be a vocal leader and I felt like I did that pretty well yesterday with some of the organizing and awards. It felt really good to pull all the grads up to be cheered and it even better to huddle up with everyone at the end and really celebrate with our Popemobile cheer. Thanks everybody. Hopefully our
crowd will grow even larger next year.
Friday, May 01, 2009
Pirate kisses and Glenrothes
The thing I like about this blog is the commingling of the high and low brow. This blog is medium brow when taken as an average, and furrowed brow when taken in aggregate, but at any point a reader might find the high: Drinking single malt at the Round Robin, I couldn't help but notice the man in the grey suit, a throwback to another era with his matching grey fedora. He was a regular. It was my first time.
Or the low: There in the back alley, a pirate pawed his wench as they traded puffs on a cigarette. Their brand of lust was the empty sort found between shifts at the local pirate-themed tavern. I shouted "Pirate love!" in their direction since "Shiver me timbers" sounded profane. They responded with a smile, though a little parrot mouthing off would have gone a long way.
The thing I like about this blog is the commingling of the high and low brow. This blog is medium brow when taken as an average, and furrowed brow when taken in aggregate, but at any point a reader might find the high: Drinking single malt at the Round Robin, I couldn't help but notice the man in the grey suit, a throwback to another era with his matching grey fedora. He was a regular. It was my first time.
Or the low: There in the back alley, a pirate pawed his wench as they traded puffs on a cigarette. Their brand of lust was the empty sort found between shifts at the local pirate-themed tavern. I shouted "Pirate love!" in their direction since "Shiver me timbers" sounded profane. They responded with a smile, though a little parrot mouthing off would have gone a long way.
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