So glad
I've freed up my hands so that I can jam them in my pockets. So glad that I can once again stand up straight so that I can slouch while I walk. So glad that I can walk so that I can feel bad about not running. So glad that my "appreciate what you've got" lasted all of 5 minutes.

I'm walking again and off the crutch ride. This morning the crutches would have been faster. There are moments where I still find myself ready to crawl into the next room or where I'm leaning heavily to the good side. I know these things take time, but three weeks was time. Shouldn't I be able to put down the crutches and step straight into a pair of running shoes? What's all of this strengthening talk?

I threw a disc today. I will be back. Soon.

It's all about the music

The wedding music
I've been reading entirely too much about weddings, lately. (I'm blaming you, Sweeney. Since I started reading your blog, at least three other blogs I read have gone wedding-y.) How do I know that weddings have entered my consciousness just a wee bit much? Let me tell you. I was listening to Tennessee Waltz on Hem's latest, No Word from Tom, and I thought, "Hmm. Might be a good dance for my daughter and me at her wedding." WHAT!?!
There's no daughter. There's no wedding. There's no!!!! AH!

Here are the lyrics (credit Redd Stewart and Pee Wee King),

I was dancing with my darling to the Tennessee waltz
When an old friend I happened to see
I introduced her to my loved one
And while they were dancing
My friend stole my sweetheart from me

I remember the night and the Tennessee waltz
Now I know just how much I have lost
When I lost my little darling the night they were playing
The beautiful Tennessee waltz

I remember the night and the Tennessee waltz
Now I know just how much I have lost
Yes I lost my little darling the night they were playing
The beautiful Tennessee waltz
The beautiful Tennessee waltz

The crazy guy music
There is something about fingerless gloves that makes me think of crazy homeless people. I don't know what it is. Bikers wear fingerless gloves. Hunters wear fingerless gloves, but when folks aren't biking or hunting I assume crazy.

Now, I've taken to wearing my bike gloves as crutch gloves. They have good palm padding. It just made sense. Still I can't help feeling a little crazy with my gloves and my crutches. Today, I was sitting on the Metro in my fingerless gloves. My crutches were propped up next to me. Just a little crazy maybe, until, I reached into my bag and started fiddling with my new CD. So I added crinkling of cellophane to this whole picture. Fingerless gloves, crutches, fiddling with items in a bag- CRAY-z guy. Crazy bearded guy, no less. Oh my. This inspired me to sing a song as I crutched it home. That's right, crazy guy singing to himself. You've got to love it. Here are parts of my song. We don't make excuses for crazy here.

Fingerless Gloves
Wearing fingerless gloves
searching for bittersweet loves
My palms are covered
My fingers are not
Don't you wonder
What I've got
Fingerless glove
searching for love
My fingers are free
my heart at cost
Fingerless gloves
what have you lost?
My fingers can feel.
the sweat of my brow.
My hands are covered.
My fingers are not.
Don't you wonder
What I've got?

I forgot the rest, but it went on for at least 10 minutes.

Hello Tuesday
I'm pounding cherry limeades one after another. Just throwing them back like every serving doesn't contain 10% real fruit juice. I've got my feet propped up on the coffee table. My slut-red toenails are glistening by the light of the 75 watters. I can almost feel my chest hair growing, but still I'm looking for something. I stop the pounding for a moment to change the channel. A little belch. A little scratch. Ah. There it is. The Gilmore Girls.

You are here
Yes, but where are the nearest restrooms? Am I ok here or would I be better off somewhere else? Is there a pretzel store on this floor?

Don't cry for me NY Times
It's a linkfest and it all ends in NYT.

The much talked about Modern Love led me to this article about working abroad. Very interesting.

Giving it my all
My wastebasket shooting percentage has plummeted in recent weeks. For a while there I was hitting shots from the naugahyde chairs, from the sink. I was automatic. I was hydromatic. I wasn't Greased Lightning, but I could hold my own with an empty bread bag or a wadded up paper towel. Lately though, I've been shooting blanks. It's trashcan airball after trashcan airball. It's like there is a force field surrounding our wastebasket. Nothing goes in. If it wasn't for the tenacious rebounding skills of "Rodman" Reuben our kitchen would be littered with my misses. Luckily, he's been there for the put back.

I'm in a slump, but I'm going to keep shooting. That's what the greats do. I'm always looking for the assist too, but those opportunities can get pretty scarce.

Those Mancusos sure are screamers
I've been hitting the Olympics pretty hard the last couple of nights. I have to try to slurp down a few more Olympic moments to hold me over for another couple of years. I dig the Olympics. I admire the athletes and their sacrifice. I love the competition and the joy that comes from incredible performances, but I've had just about enough of the media. Have we really gained anything from sticking a microphone in someone's face immediately after victory or loss? I got it. When Julie Mancuso was screaming and her family was screaming, I understood that she was overjoyed. When Jeret "Speedy" Petersen didn't quite nail his "hurricane" I understood that he was disappointed, but not beaten. I don't need a reporter to shove a microphone in the competitor's face to get an inane quote like, "it hasn't sunk in yet." Just let the cameraman capture it and then give the athlete a chance for it to sink in. That way later in the studio we can hear insightful comments from the likes of "The Flying Tomato" about how Burton lets him choose the buttons on his clothing line.

All right. Fine. The Olympics reminds me that I'm glad that I'm not famous because then I might have to try to answer ridiculous questions while I'm still out of breath from another stirring curling performance. (I don't get curling and I'm ok with that. I hope curlers don't begrudge me for that.)

My favorite Olympic moment this time around was from Nordic combined. I didn't even see the ski jump portion. I just saw the lead pack of three get eaten up by the favorite who was coming out of seventh when the cross-country skiing portion began. Only the leader refused to get passed, so the favorite and this young kid pulled away and the young kid stayed tough and won the gold. Then in the race for the bronze, they had to go to the photo finish and even then it was hard to determine whose boot crossed the line first. It was awesome. I don't know the people's names involved. I don't even know the countries. I just know that it was special.

ARGHHHHH!
I fell on my face. I've been trying to think of a way to make it poetic or life-affirming, or anything other than what it is. I can't. I fell on my face. There was a moment as I was falling where the world blurred and slowed down. That was the moment where I contorted a little bit, so my face would land on the floor rather than against a bookshelf. Strangely, it didn't hurt when I landed. I was just a little stunned. I looked briefly at the carpet beneath my lips and then thanked the bookshelf for staying out of my way. I realized as I propped myself back up that possibly some of the rest of my body absorbed the blow, so maybe I didn't really fall on my face. I'm pretty unclear and still a little perplexed.

The face is fine, the patience, fraying.

Triumphs of the un-wonderdog variety and assorted other good news

*My crutch-ride to the Metro today was closer to 20 minutes than 30 minutes. I also think I can feel my stomach muscles starting to enjoy themselves as my legs swing through to the next step.

*When I dropped off a rental car, the counter guy noticed that I took almost full advantage of the pre-pay gas option by leaving the tank nearly dry. I barely had to try!

*I just got a gift certificate in the mail for last year's running. I didn't even know I could win stuff. Now I want to go run.

*I just remembered that I saw The Matador the other night and the funniest part was when the projector shut off at a "pivotal" moment. The best part was when the theater gave us a free ticket for our inconvenience. (Don't see that movie. I don't know what is wrong with kids today. One told me it was "hilarious.")

*I have banjo fingers starting to re-emerge.

*Tom Petty won't back down. I'm thinking I'll follow his lead.

Sprain boy drones on
I'm fairly sick of being in my own head. When that happens I usually try to avoid this here dee-verrr-sion, but not today. Today I'm going to prattle on about sprains, overcoming hardship, and how much I miss the use of my foot. Or I'm going to write six more sentences, look angrily at the screen and push "Publish Post" and walk away. Only time will tell.

I've learned some interesting lessons in the last week. A bus driver told me that crutches never get easier no matter how many times you use them. I've learned that people are basically helpful and mindful. They'll open doors. They'll ask how you are. They'll try to help you. If they like you, this helpful/mindful-ness seems to quadruple. If they're in a hurry, then not so much. I've also had to learn that it's easier and sometimes even entirely necessary to accept this helpfulness. Because it turns out that doors weighted to close on their own can be a real pain. Bathtubs can be particularly difficult to negotiate. There is no obvious way to go grocery shopping- I can't figure out how to hold a basket or how to push a cart and use crutches.

My jumping has become very useful. I find I can go short distances carrying items and hopping. This was particularly effective for negotiating stairs (Hop, hop, hopping down two flights has been some of my best work), for packing a car for a trip, and for transporting dinner and snacks from the kitchen to the couch. I also can be effective in a crawl. The problem is tile. I've considered investing in some kneepads, but I usually have to stand when I get to my destination anyway.

Once I find a rhythmn I do pretty well, but changing things up can be rough. Almost all of my near-falls have come when I've gone from sitting to standing, from crutching to hopping, or the reverse, or when I stop and try to restart. So far, I've either landed in a sitting position or jammed my shoulder into a wall or grabbed onto a handle before tumbling to the ground. I can imagine that one of these times I won't be so lucky.

In conclusion, don't sprain your ankle. And get to work on your plyometrics, they'll make life easier.

Erwin, TN is my new arch nemesis
Sorry, R, you had your shot.

I've never met a town quite like Erwin. Then again, when I met Erwin, I thought it was Weaverville. First impressions can set the tone of a relationship. I circled Erwin several times and long enough to get stuck waiting for a train to pass on my first visit. I did manage to notice the town had a Sonic and a Presbyterian church. One of those would entice me to return. On my second pass I was headed for gas and for Sonic. God would have to wait in another town. I managed both and only moments from the highway. It's been a while since I've been to Sonic. It turns out they've phased out my favorite item- the Hickory Burger. For the first time I can recall, I piped up and asked about a menu item.

"Do you guys still make a Hickory Burger?"
"(Muffled sounds), lettuce, bar-b-que sauce?"
"That sounds right."
"I can make that for you."
"Sweet."

Ah, Erwin, perhaps I misjudged you. I got my burger and then got stuck at a railroad crossing. Come on. I had a schedule to keep. I had to be home before the dawning of the age of Aquarius. The train wasn't interested in my schedule. It rolled past slowly. The conductor gave me a wave. I had time to count his moles. Thankfully, I didn't. I sat for a while. Then I pulled out my lunch and ate for a while. In the meantime the train rolled forward and backward several times. Forward and backward. Erwin, what's this all about?

With the slightly disappointing burger gone, and the tots gone, I was running out of ways to pass the time at an Erwin intersection. Eventually I gave up, turned around and headed another route to the highway. I knew I could get there from my first experience.

I finally hit the highway, chomped on black jelly beans and guzzled sweet tea (SWEET TEA! from a gallon jug. There's a taste sensation. Yum. That combination carried me most of the way home.

Other than the Erwin hiccups, I haven't had such a fine drive in a long time. A car (with automatic transmission) is a wonderful place for the sprained to remember, to sing, to dance, and to enjoy the scenery. All of that and a destination too.

The umbrella man is just trying to make a buck

It rains and he appears. He wasn't there a minute ago, but when the sky opened up and let out a drizzle he arrived. Magically, he has a box full of umbrellas to offer to those of us caught in the rain without so much as a newspaper to prop up over our heads. We could've looked at the forecast, or carried our umbrellas every day, but we chose not to. Some of us are too busy. Some of us don't think we need umbrellas. There are numerous reasons we get caught in a downpour without that trusty canopy on a stick. When that happens, the umbrella man is there offering up umbrellas at a "reasonable" price. Some folks will buy an umbrella. Some folks will just get wet. It's a personal decision, not something to get worked up about. I don't have the statistics, but I bet the people that buy an umbrella from our umbrella man today end up in the rain without an umbrella next time, or not too far down the road. It doesn't make them bad people. It just makes them wet.

Greeting card companies, the flower joints, these are million-dollar umbrella men. Valentine's Day is the rain.

Overindulgence, lack of creativity, high-priced teddy bears- those might be less-than-stellar things, but spreading love isn't a less-than-stellar thing. It's a stellar thing and Valentine's Day is a yearly reminder to spread some love. We don't blame the umbrella man for the way the rain makes us feel, even when he's pushy and annoying. So why blame those companies for polluting a holiday with its heart in the right place?

Valentine's Day might be all wet, but love the umbrella, man.

Ice + crutches= not best friends

Today has to be a good day because I did not fall when my crutches were slipping on the ice. I was showered with attention of the "What happened?" variety. Then after I told people that I hurt myself playing Ultimate in the snow, I did not beat them when they said, "You better be more careful." Other good things, I worked out my arms, got a seat on the Metro, got to plop my foot up on my desk. Tonight, I'm teetering on the brink of a cleaning spree. If I had knee pads, this place might get all spic and span. Instead, it'll probably just get all spi and spa. Closer, but far from complete.

I'm skipping a Hem show to save my right leg and my armpits from further agony. I haven't purchased the new album yet. They'll surely be back and they come to town every couple of years or so. (I just edited out two superfluous "anyways". I'm not quite sure what that says, but I'm sure it says something.)

Anyway, get ready for tomorrow, 'cause I'm dreaming of a white Valentine's Day.

A weekend of wizardry and magic hobbles to a close
All alone and surrounded by 13,000 people I sat in row Q, my back to the wall, and watched the Washington Wizards defeat LeBron James and the Cleveland Cavaliers in a less-than-stirring NBA basketball game. There were fireworks and dancing girls, but the drama of a good high school or college game just wasn't present. It was probably not worth the nearly obscene ticket price, but it was something I needed to do. Now it is done.

Saturday as the weather tried to decide between rain and snow, I, not surprisingly, played Ultimate. I was a trash man, cleaning up the junk that floated through and around the crowds. My team won easily, but I was most proud of an inside out flick that went right to my teammate Lauren in the endzone. We connected for at least 4 scores. Kinda sweet. Later that day, the weather made up its mind and left a nice white present for everyone to enjoy. Sunday arrived with 6 inches of snow- Whee. I made a snow couch and some snow angels. I took some snowy pictures and then I went to play- you guessed it!- Ultimate in the snow. That was going just fine. I was hurling my body around with abandon and having a lovely time in the snow and mud.

Then the fun ended rather abruptly. I was running along, my feet slap, slap, slapping, when for some reason my ankle decided to join in the fun with a slap of its own. Ankles aren't built for the slap, slap of running, so I collapsed on the ground in quite a bit of pain.

I made my way home, thanked my lucky stars and a few unlucky ones too that I had a roommate to take me to the emergency room, since walking doesn't seem to be working real well at the moment.

No broken bones, it turns out. Just a severe sprain. I always feel a bit like I've let down my doctor when something isn't wrong. Although judging by the baseball swelling out of my ankle, something isn't right. I'm now the proud owner of some swanky crutches.

Those should be fun in the snow. whee, indeed.

High School news

A step forward, regardless of what the writer thinks of the fashion of male skirt wearing. Two steps back. Three people from the same church have a school in Fulton, MO canceling The Crucible after a stir over Grease. Ooh. This irks me.

Love is in the mail

The first wedding invitation of 2006 arrived today. (Probably not the first in the world, just the first in my little niche.) I've heard a lot of I'm getting married chatter, but this is the first indication that I'm actually allowed to watch. Not just watch, actually the honour of my presence has been requested. Honor is serious when it includes the "u."

I'm thinking that I should try to come up with some sort of wedding announcement, invitation, wedding paraphernalia art project that represents what it is to be 20-something and making the rounds on this carousel of commitment ceremonies. The idea needs some refinement, but I can see it will need a catchy title like- Weddings 2006: Wave 2. However, that might make me wish that I'd followed through with a similar project during Wave 1. How about "pieces of weddings" or "An invitation origami diorama." I like that, but that might require me to acquire some additional skills. If I want I'm sure I could pull off something a little darker, juxtaposing singles and couples, maybe I could call it "And Guest" or "A tribute to Ted." Maybe I could do a bride and groom cake topper kind of thing, only full size. That might be cool.

There's potential with this art project. I might have to crash a few weddings just to get some extra goodies.

Uh. No. I am not just here to make a spectacle of myself. I was actually hoping I could snag some of the centerpieces. Do you mind? It's for an art project. The wedding was lovely. The bride looked hot, didn't she?
Oh.
Yea.
Sorry.
Well, I can see the resemblance. About those centerpieces, then?

Tom Ford saved my life

Thanks to those of you that alerted me that I need a subscription to Vanity Fair immediately. This could've been the cover that stopped my beating heart. Instead, Tom Ford ended up filling in for Rachel McAdams and therefore saving me from death. I saw the picture first. After taking several deep breaths I thought, if only Rachel could've been there too. (It's never enough, is it?) I had no idea how close we were, until I read some more. It's almost inconceivable, except for that part where clearly Tom Ford and I both conceived it.

I tip my hat to Tom Ford, art director, life-saver, FRICKIN' GENIUS.

My memory is fading
I'm pretty sure today wasn't that good of a day, but I can't remember. I was on a run, my thighs pink in the cold. The sun was setting, set even, before I noticed the sky layered like a dish my mother might make. It was light like cool whip at the bottom with a growing topping of the blueberries of night. The trees without leaves jutted into the dessert like diswasher-mangled utensils. Beneath the after dinner sky, I panted slightly, breathing in the crisp "winter" air. A chill from the breeze flitted through the mesh of my stocking cap. My lungs and heart awoke to the change of pace as I surged up the hill on my fortified calves. I climbed through the suburbs as possibility unfolded around me. There was no need for breath-taking views as I'd already taken my own breath. I slowed as I reached the top. I tried to remember my last run. I forgot the trials of my day. The memory may fade, but the soul can shine.

Rejection

In my line of work, I get a fair share of rejected emails. People drop addresses and don't tell me. They switch service providers the way some people clip coupons. I've noticed recently that the rejections, the bounce-backs we say, have become rather sensitive. "We're sorry asdfa@blahblah.com is not a valid address. Please check the address. Blah blah blah." And then, the big finish, "Virtually yours," from the Administrator. Virtually yours. I like it. It's the promise ring of closings. Not yours, but we're almost there. Maybe if you didn't bite your nails so much we could lose the virtually. 'Til then... Virtually yours.
Yep. Definitely like it.

There was another one that struck me, too. It didn't have the flair of "virtually yours" but for a last line, it was pretty touchy-feely for an automated response, "I'm sorry it didn't work out." Was it me? Was it something I emailed? I could've been virtually yours and it could've been B-E-A-U-Tiful. It's your loss, automated response. Don't come begging to have me back. I won't hear of it.

I should take my own advice

Here's the letter I just wrote my team.

Dear Team,

This is a sad email because I’m sad.
In November, you told me that Ultimate mattered. I don’t believe you this week. Was the end of January getting you down? Because it’s over. Did I misunderstand your intentions? Do you want to go to Sectionals and cause a stir? Because it’s not going to happen if we have many more weeks like this.

Look. I know Ultimate is not your top priority. Sane people don’t make plastic discs number one in their life, but you’ve got to make it near the top. Your teammates are putting it up there. You said you wanted to put it up there. Now do it.

I know it’s cold. I know it rains. I know you’re tired. Guess what? In a few years, you’re not going to remember that February 1 was cold and you were sleepy. You might remember that you and your team took down a giant at Sectionals. Or that you played beautiful Ultimate with an incredible bunch of guys laying it on the line. The only way to make those memories is to play for it now. To be a team, you have to play as a team. You have to test one another every time you have the chance to play.

I can’t make you play Ultimate. Dan can’t make you play. You are the only one that can make that decision.

Figure out what you want and then go get it. Or sit around and regret it.

Life is all about choices.

-Dave