I learned a new word today: torschlusspanik. I'm told it's German and means something along the lines of worrying about diminishing opportunities as I age. There are a number of reasons for my torschlusspanik: another birthday approaches, another olympics approaches, Ultimate isn't being played, finding my dream job is a much slower process when I never make efforts, etc., etc.
I keep having this Facebook status thought that goes something like: "This past year has really sucked when you take out my 6 week vacation that included 2 weeks in New Zealand, the fact that I got engaged, and the fact that CUA played its best Ultimate yet." Look at that statement. When am I going to have another 6 week vacation? Retirement or unemployment are my best hopes. New Zealand was amazing. Gorgeous. Awesome. There's more to come on those 6 weeks. I've got blog posts already written. Engaged? That's good stuff. Good Ultimate from the team I coached? What's not to like?
It makes for a ridiculous statement, yet the day-to-day has been pretty frustrating over the last year. There's been more job stress and uncertainty. There's been less exercise and certainly less intense exercise. I've stopped or lost almost every other pseudo-hobby I've had. I watch way too many movies and spend way too much time on the Internet.
If I get it down here, if I re-live or at least re-write my renewal, maybe I can change that status update. Maybe it can say something like: "Torschlusspanik or not, I knocked off some pretty serious stuff from my bucket list this year. Not too shabby, but man, I'd like to play some Ultimate." Maybe.
Friday, June 29, 2012
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Perspiring quietly- additional reflections on life without AC
The whir of the portable fan begins to drown out the more pronounced shoosh-click of the ceiling fan. I watch the blades turn until my eyes can find just one. I follow it round and round and round until my eyeballs get sore, a hint of the dizzy sets in, and I start to worry that the light fixture will fall down on my head when I sleep.
Sleep. I long for it. I try not to focus on the sweat I can feel forming where my body and the sheets meet. I move ever so slightly, hoping my grateful warm skin will appreciate the air just enough that it will cancel out the effort of moving. Being hot is a form of relaxation. It limits movement, slows down bodies and thoughts. Being hot forces me to the floor. I want to be low, like a limbo-winner, lower still. I want to hover just above the ground. In a perfect world I'd have a whirring fan so powerful that it could lift me off the ground and keep my beads of sweat from forming. Instead, I have a fan the size of my head that can blow air all the way to my toes. Only a few beads will form. It could be worse.
Air conditioning has made me this way. I'm used to a certain level of cool, used to certain level of whir, used to covering my skin with a little weight when I sleep. Air has conditioned me to expect these things and to rebel when I don't have them. My rebellion is a quiet sort. It's a grassroots movement that starts in my hair follicles and eventually agitates my whole being. I'd twitch violently, but that would just be more movement. Slowly, I wipe the sweat away, adjust my beard just so, and count the sheep jumping into the pool.
Sleep. I long for it. I try not to focus on the sweat I can feel forming where my body and the sheets meet. I move ever so slightly, hoping my grateful warm skin will appreciate the air just enough that it will cancel out the effort of moving. Being hot is a form of relaxation. It limits movement, slows down bodies and thoughts. Being hot forces me to the floor. I want to be low, like a limbo-winner, lower still. I want to hover just above the ground. In a perfect world I'd have a whirring fan so powerful that it could lift me off the ground and keep my beads of sweat from forming. Instead, I have a fan the size of my head that can blow air all the way to my toes. Only a few beads will form. It could be worse.
Air conditioning has made me this way. I'm used to a certain level of cool, used to certain level of whir, used to covering my skin with a little weight when I sleep. Air has conditioned me to expect these things and to rebel when I don't have them. My rebellion is a quiet sort. It's a grassroots movement that starts in my hair follicles and eventually agitates my whole being. I'd twitch violently, but that would just be more movement. Slowly, I wipe the sweat away, adjust my beard just so, and count the sheep jumping into the pool.
Monday, June 25, 2012
Highway to some unpleasant locale
The AC went out on me on Thursday. There was a power thingy and some surges, probably some lightning, and I'm not a doctor, but the cool breeze that blows out of my floorboards stopped blowing. This seemed bad. Particularly, when I considered that summer, the official one, had just arrived. The heat from the outside became Miami's basketball team- The Heat. I turned on all the fans that we had- 4 in 3 rooms and just sweated a lot when using the WC. My sweat had a cooling effect and fortunately, some actual thunder accompanying a rain cloud also cooled the world a little because I was sweating up a storm in my own home.
The AC returned today, but not before I had the chance to reconnect with summer. There was a time, some number of years ago greater than the number of years ago that I graduated high school when my world was not always climate controlled. (That time resurfaced in college, but I'm thinking of a time when only one room in our house had a window unit.) Summer was hot and sticky those days. People drank lemonade and looked for shade. They also congregated around the window unit which is why central air conditioning became so popular. The days of window units are all but gone. My office now requires a sweater in the summer. I can go from air conditioned building to air conditioned building with just a hint of sweat on my brow. I had forgotten summer.
It can't all be blamed on central air. I haven't had nearly the same punishing outdoor schedule of years past and the weather hasn't stayed as consistently warm. Nonetheless, it was time for me to reacquaint myself with summer time. The living may be easy, but it's also pretty sweaty. Somehow, through the fits and starts of sleep and the sweaty television viewing, I found myself comfortably warm. The outside temperature and my body temperature were not so far apart. The world and I were one. Nature was just on the other side of the screen and sweat was a lubricant for life.
Today, the AC returned. I'll go back to admiring summer from behind the glass.
The AC returned today, but not before I had the chance to reconnect with summer. There was a time, some number of years ago greater than the number of years ago that I graduated high school when my world was not always climate controlled. (That time resurfaced in college, but I'm thinking of a time when only one room in our house had a window unit.) Summer was hot and sticky those days. People drank lemonade and looked for shade. They also congregated around the window unit which is why central air conditioning became so popular. The days of window units are all but gone. My office now requires a sweater in the summer. I can go from air conditioned building to air conditioned building with just a hint of sweat on my brow. I had forgotten summer.
It can't all be blamed on central air. I haven't had nearly the same punishing outdoor schedule of years past and the weather hasn't stayed as consistently warm. Nonetheless, it was time for me to reacquaint myself with summer time. The living may be easy, but it's also pretty sweaty. Somehow, through the fits and starts of sleep and the sweaty television viewing, I found myself comfortably warm. The outside temperature and my body temperature were not so far apart. The world and I were one. Nature was just on the other side of the screen and sweat was a lubricant for life.
Today, the AC returned. I'll go back to admiring summer from behind the glass.
Friday, June 15, 2012
A flight to nowhere, a honeymoon, and a 15 year reunion
The vacation did not begin well. After 30 minutes of flying toward KC, the pilot announced we were returning to DC. The delays became cancellation and the scramble to get a new flight as the tornado rolled into town became a scramble to find a flight the next day. Thanks to the generosity of C&L, we made the most of our flight to DC with a nice dinner and some movie watching.
After a sunrise jaunt to Chi-town, we nabbed a stand-by flight to KC and got to town well ahead of my cousin's wedding. The wedding was a jumbled gyration of family and FOG. It was over before the DJ even had a chance to play "Call me maybe". He did manage to play the cupid shuffle twice thanks to Madeline's request, however. My nieces danced 'til late, but would not be outdone by the bride and groom who kept going strong even after this clean up crew began removing decorations. This apple doesn't fall far from that tree.
Although some of the FOG dispersed, two clans headed out for an annual canoe trip, now with honeymooning. The usual water gun fights were complimented with a rope drop. The rope drop is a close cousin of the rope swing, but instead of that graceful arc out over the deep water of the Niangua, this involved hands being ripped raw from the rope as those of us who tried fell into the water. Tedward had more luck than I did, but I feel lucky that my only injury was rope burn.
I enjoy canoeing as it happens, but I think I enjoy it more in retrospect. It's such a peaceful activity with an occasional burst of activity and tension. It's a good mixture of relaxing and interesting. Parker made her first trip successfully. She relaxed so much that at different points on the trip she fell asleep, head lolling while the boat drifted down stream.
My sister discovered that although the her grown-up version enjoys canoeing far more than the teenage version, she still doesn't want to run a boat, at least not with her kids in it. For a while I wondered if I'd contributed to this lack of confidence, but then I decided that even if I hadn't been running the boat in our teen years, she would have resisted. It really seemed like she didn't like it those years. Eventually, every woman on the trip (except my mom) decided that, at least on a river like this, she preferred a kayak. I don't think it was a statement of independence as much as it was a comment on boat agility.
I particularly argue this since C and I closed out the week with a tandem ride. It didn't solve all our problems, but it was nice to be on the same bike ride at the same time. We would get better with starting given time. That required a little extra trust.
My story telling feels off now, but I'm trying to fight through it. My final paragraph is about the 15-year reunion I had with my track. My legs had no zip, but I still wanted to run a mile. It resulted in a pretty evenly paced 5:19. This is a good 4 seconds per year slower than, well, 15 years ago. I don't know that this is entirely reflective of my state of fitness, but it's pretty close as I continue to fight with this same mess. I'm back to PT and hoping to get over the hump. I want to sprint again and jump again (and yeah, play some Ultimate again.)
After a sunrise jaunt to Chi-town, we nabbed a stand-by flight to KC and got to town well ahead of my cousin's wedding. The wedding was a jumbled gyration of family and FOG. It was over before the DJ even had a chance to play "Call me maybe". He did manage to play the cupid shuffle twice thanks to Madeline's request, however. My nieces danced 'til late, but would not be outdone by the bride and groom who kept going strong even after this clean up crew began removing decorations. This apple doesn't fall far from that tree.
Although some of the FOG dispersed, two clans headed out for an annual canoe trip, now with honeymooning. The usual water gun fights were complimented with a rope drop. The rope drop is a close cousin of the rope swing, but instead of that graceful arc out over the deep water of the Niangua, this involved hands being ripped raw from the rope as those of us who tried fell into the water. Tedward had more luck than I did, but I feel lucky that my only injury was rope burn.
I enjoy canoeing as it happens, but I think I enjoy it more in retrospect. It's such a peaceful activity with an occasional burst of activity and tension. It's a good mixture of relaxing and interesting. Parker made her first trip successfully. She relaxed so much that at different points on the trip she fell asleep, head lolling while the boat drifted down stream.
My sister discovered that although the her grown-up version enjoys canoeing far more than the teenage version, she still doesn't want to run a boat, at least not with her kids in it. For a while I wondered if I'd contributed to this lack of confidence, but then I decided that even if I hadn't been running the boat in our teen years, she would have resisted. It really seemed like she didn't like it those years. Eventually, every woman on the trip (except my mom) decided that, at least on a river like this, she preferred a kayak. I don't think it was a statement of independence as much as it was a comment on boat agility.
I particularly argue this since C and I closed out the week with a tandem ride. It didn't solve all our problems, but it was nice to be on the same bike ride at the same time. We would get better with starting given time. That required a little extra trust.
My story telling feels off now, but I'm trying to fight through it. My final paragraph is about the 15-year reunion I had with my track. My legs had no zip, but I still wanted to run a mile. It resulted in a pretty evenly paced 5:19. This is a good 4 seconds per year slower than, well, 15 years ago. I don't know that this is entirely reflective of my state of fitness, but it's pretty close as I continue to fight with this same mess. I'm back to PT and hoping to get over the hump. I want to sprint again and jump again (and yeah, play some Ultimate again.)
Monday, May 28, 2012
Longing
As the heat of summer slides between the hairs on my chin, I long to chase plastic. There are certain charms to the discussions of home maintenance, wedding planning, and the best way to grill a burger, but I'm distracted by thoughts of flying discs. I wasn't helped at all by the free streaming college nationals on the Internet. I watched the collegiate greats ripping long hucks in front of a mountain back drop. I watched great players diving and leaping and I longed to shed this lameness and join them or at least join their older brothers and sisters in a sloppy game of pick up.
I've done better with my disappointment this time around, but this weekend my resolve is slipping. I feel betrayed by my body. My mind lunges for discs unthrown. I throw fakes to shake defenders who aren't there. I hold conversations when I'd rather be running up and down a field panting, thirsting, and chasing after the disc that's brought me so much joy. I made it through a very good college Ultimate season, primarily focused on the improvement of others, but now left on my own I feel empty without it. I want to run free, sweat free, and celebrate my freedom pushing a working body to exhaustion in pursuit of a silly little disc.
Sometimes I question how this can matter so much; I search for suitable alternatives. I've found a few, enjoyed other moments and other games. I've put my focus elsewhere, but today in the full force of the DC humidity, I grow weary of this state of affairs and long to break free.
I ramble in my frustration, trying to shake it. I turn up the music. I let the words spill out and I breathe deeply.
Life's lessons, I suppose. I'm taking my sweet time learning this one.
I've done better with my disappointment this time around, but this weekend my resolve is slipping. I feel betrayed by my body. My mind lunges for discs unthrown. I throw fakes to shake defenders who aren't there. I hold conversations when I'd rather be running up and down a field panting, thirsting, and chasing after the disc that's brought me so much joy. I made it through a very good college Ultimate season, primarily focused on the improvement of others, but now left on my own I feel empty without it. I want to run free, sweat free, and celebrate my freedom pushing a working body to exhaustion in pursuit of a silly little disc.
Sometimes I question how this can matter so much; I search for suitable alternatives. I've found a few, enjoyed other moments and other games. I've put my focus elsewhere, but today in the full force of the DC humidity, I grow weary of this state of affairs and long to break free.
I ramble in my frustration, trying to shake it. I turn up the music. I let the words spill out and I breathe deeply.
Life's lessons, I suppose. I'm taking my sweet time learning this one.
Saturday, May 05, 2012
17 months of rest leaves me feeling fresh
I woke up nervous. It was nice to have that feeling back. It's been too long since I raced. My body still knew what to do. I joined Sam and Matt on a warm-up to the start of the MBT 5k. I went to the bathroom early and often. We had too much time to warm-up or not enough desire to get a full warm-up going. Either way, it seemed the only thing warming up was the sunshine.
I had plans. Plans are important. I never follow my plans, but that doesn't make them less important. I planned to run 6:15 miles. That would have netted a 19:25. That's just a touch faster than my slowest 5k I believe. After 17 months, it seemed like conservative was the way to go.
The leisurely morning finally turned into a race. It was a typical small road race where people are shy about toeing the starting line. We ended up in the pole position. We got out faster than 6:15. I couldn't tell how fast, but I used my plans to slow myself down. I found myself in about 10th place and struggling with pace. Was I out too fast or was this too slow? I felt like I was in the way. I tucked in behind a woman for a bit and then she pulled away. On we ran. I felt good, like I was holding something back. I had no pain. All systems were go.
We made the first turn and I caught two guys on the downhill. I was tucked in behind them, but on this out and back course where runners were supposed to stay to the left, we found runners and walkers had gone right. I surged past the two and began waving frantically, even arguing for a moment on the run. That got me going.
I thought I saw the halfway mark and I was at 9:17. My plans were out the window, but I felt ok with pace. I just hoped I could hold it. I picked off a few more folks. At the second turn I passed another and found myself in fifth. The woman from earlier and one guy were within striking distance. Second place was off in the distance and first was long gone. I struggled a bit and checked my watch. It read 14 and change. I didn't really do a pace calculation, but I told myself, "Give me 4 more minutes. That's all." I passed Matt and Sam heading the other way and Matt pointed out the guy in third. His message crystallized my goal. I accelerated slightly. I passed the man in third and set my sights on the lead woman. She was running well. I cheered her as I went by, hoping she'd accept my support and knowing that she might come back on me at the end.
I held her off with a final push around the corner and up the hill. I hit 18:28, a 5:57 pace. I hope this pushes me back into the game. I feel a little tightness tonight, but for the most part I feel good. I'm happy to be back racing and perhaps happy to be back writing about it too.
I had plans. Plans are important. I never follow my plans, but that doesn't make them less important. I planned to run 6:15 miles. That would have netted a 19:25. That's just a touch faster than my slowest 5k I believe. After 17 months, it seemed like conservative was the way to go.
The leisurely morning finally turned into a race. It was a typical small road race where people are shy about toeing the starting line. We ended up in the pole position. We got out faster than 6:15. I couldn't tell how fast, but I used my plans to slow myself down. I found myself in about 10th place and struggling with pace. Was I out too fast or was this too slow? I felt like I was in the way. I tucked in behind a woman for a bit and then she pulled away. On we ran. I felt good, like I was holding something back. I had no pain. All systems were go.
We made the first turn and I caught two guys on the downhill. I was tucked in behind them, but on this out and back course where runners were supposed to stay to the left, we found runners and walkers had gone right. I surged past the two and began waving frantically, even arguing for a moment on the run. That got me going.
I thought I saw the halfway mark and I was at 9:17. My plans were out the window, but I felt ok with pace. I just hoped I could hold it. I picked off a few more folks. At the second turn I passed another and found myself in fifth. The woman from earlier and one guy were within striking distance. Second place was off in the distance and first was long gone. I struggled a bit and checked my watch. It read 14 and change. I didn't really do a pace calculation, but I told myself, "Give me 4 more minutes. That's all." I passed Matt and Sam heading the other way and Matt pointed out the guy in third. His message crystallized my goal. I accelerated slightly. I passed the man in third and set my sights on the lead woman. She was running well. I cheered her as I went by, hoping she'd accept my support and knowing that she might come back on me at the end.
I held her off with a final push around the corner and up the hill. I hit 18:28, a 5:57 pace. I hope this pushes me back into the game. I feel a little tightness tonight, but for the most part I feel good. I'm happy to be back racing and perhaps happy to be back writing about it too.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Isn't there an REM song like this?
Ears submerged in water, the sound of splashing dulled, legs kicking, eyes focused on ceiling tiles, I felt a calm that has been elusive in recent weeks. On my back, slicing through the water, I was in an active recovery. The real difference from the laps I would crawl before and after was my ability to breathe. With the gasping and thrashing gone, swimming laps in the neighborhood pool became a meditation.
I've been swimming more times this year than I go most summers. With running and Ultimate not available the way I'd really like and the idea of a triathlon never quite sticking, it seemed like a good time to head to the pool. I've been fortunate to have a teacher on a few of my swims. Jim imparts the wisdom of his high school swimming days as best he can remember. His explanations of form taught me more about swimming in 30 minutes than I've learned in 20 years.
After a dip or two into the water, I purchased goggles and they have also changed swimming for me. If I was prone to hyperbole, I'd say they opened up an underwater world. If not a world, they've at least allowed me to see when I'm submerged which means I don't have to hold my head above water to look out. I haven't mastered all of this, but not bobbing my head out there increases efficiency considerably.
I swim with urgency. Like I'm being chased by sharks. This is ok for a length or two, but since I'm still working on breathing techniques and since I'm trying to get in a workout, this often leads to large sips of pool water and hacking coughs that echo off water and wall.
On Wednesday, I watched other swimmers and they move their arms more slowly, rhythmically, like a runner who understands pace rather than a child trying not to drown. I often compare my swimming experiences to running experiences. I'm fascinated by the breakdown, that point where physically and mentally I can no longer keep my form. It comes quickly in swimming, but it's so soft compared to running. The thrash is similar, in running it's harder on the legs than the arms, but the overall wobble is familiar. Yet, the swimming collapse would be so much stiller, so much quieter. I don't see legs buckling and balance teetering. I just see sinking.
After my swim, I ran home. It's less than half a mile, but my legs felt shaky. My body didn't quite know how to react. I couldn't go much faster, but I sensed I could go on much farther. It felt wonderfully terrible. It felt affirming. It felt like accomplishment.
What does REM have to say about that?
I've been swimming more times this year than I go most summers. With running and Ultimate not available the way I'd really like and the idea of a triathlon never quite sticking, it seemed like a good time to head to the pool. I've been fortunate to have a teacher on a few of my swims. Jim imparts the wisdom of his high school swimming days as best he can remember. His explanations of form taught me more about swimming in 30 minutes than I've learned in 20 years.
After a dip or two into the water, I purchased goggles and they have also changed swimming for me. If I was prone to hyperbole, I'd say they opened up an underwater world. If not a world, they've at least allowed me to see when I'm submerged which means I don't have to hold my head above water to look out. I haven't mastered all of this, but not bobbing my head out there increases efficiency considerably.
I swim with urgency. Like I'm being chased by sharks. This is ok for a length or two, but since I'm still working on breathing techniques and since I'm trying to get in a workout, this often leads to large sips of pool water and hacking coughs that echo off water and wall.
On Wednesday, I watched other swimmers and they move their arms more slowly, rhythmically, like a runner who understands pace rather than a child trying not to drown. I often compare my swimming experiences to running experiences. I'm fascinated by the breakdown, that point where physically and mentally I can no longer keep my form. It comes quickly in swimming, but it's so soft compared to running. The thrash is similar, in running it's harder on the legs than the arms, but the overall wobble is familiar. Yet, the swimming collapse would be so much stiller, so much quieter. I don't see legs buckling and balance teetering. I just see sinking.
After my swim, I ran home. It's less than half a mile, but my legs felt shaky. My body didn't quite know how to react. I couldn't go much faster, but I sensed I could go on much farther. It felt wonderfully terrible. It felt affirming. It felt like accomplishment.
What does REM have to say about that?
Friday, January 13, 2012
Crazy, Stupid, Chemistry
John has asked what I liked so much about Crazy, Stupid, Love and it's forcing me to consider my off-the-cuff year-end reflection a little more closely. Was it a "slow movie" with one good scene? First, I'll admit that I don't judge all movies equally, but my tastes often overlap with John's. So where did we depart on this one?
Was it expectations? It was advertised in line as a sort of offbeat romantic comedy and it delivered what I was looking for on that front with some laughs and the promise of happy enough endings.
I'll admit that it wasn't amazing on the comedy front and I do think the one scene John referred to was the big moment of the film, but what got me was something else. In my highly unscientific movie rating scale I usually rate two factors higher than the rest. Those factors:
1. Character connection or chemistry and
2. believability- that the rules of the created universe are followed.
Crazy, Stupid, Love succeeds on both of those fronts. In a romantic comedy, two is always very much a part of one, and I thought every relationship (every major one anyway) was well connected and believable. The connections didn't blow me away like Lost in Translation, but the solid performances by all the actors and the connections they created kept me entertained until that scene which caught me off guard.
Was it expectations? It was advertised in line as a sort of offbeat romantic comedy and it delivered what I was looking for on that front with some laughs and the promise of happy enough endings.
I'll admit that it wasn't amazing on the comedy front and I do think the one scene John referred to was the big moment of the film, but what got me was something else. In my highly unscientific movie rating scale I usually rate two factors higher than the rest. Those factors:
1. Character connection or chemistry and
2. believability- that the rules of the created universe are followed.
Crazy, Stupid, Love succeeds on both of those fronts. In a romantic comedy, two is always very much a part of one, and I thought every relationship (every major one anyway) was well connected and believable. The connections didn't blow me away like Lost in Translation, but the solid performances by all the actors and the connections they created kept me entertained until that scene which caught me off guard.
Sunday, January 01, 2012
Happy New Year! Books 2011
1. Captain Freedom
2. Going Long
3. Once a runner
4. Just Revenge
5. I Capture the Castle
6. The Guernsey Literacy and Potato Peel Society
7. Going in Circles
8. The Science of Single: One woman's grand experiment in modern dating, creating chemistry, and finding love
9. Mantle and the end of America's childhood
10. The Year of the Flood
11. Plainsong
12. Three cups of tea
13. Yugo: The rise and fall of the worst car in history
14. Better Off
15. Corelli's Mandolin
16. Diary of a Bad Year
17. The Dip
18. What now?
19. The Lacuna
20. The Hunger Games
21. Catching Fire
22. Mockingjay
23. A Little Bit Married
24. The Help
25. Tao of Pooh
26 . Made to Stick
27. Animal, Vegetable, Miracle
28. Devil in the White City
29. A visit to the goon squad
30. The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake
31. The Upside of Irrationality
32. Lance Armstrong's War
33. Superfreakanomics
*Sex on the Moon* (audiobook)
34. Divine Justice
35. I'm Down
36. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
37. The Runner's Rule Book
I was blown away by The Hunger Games trilogy (especially the first two books). Plainsong is a sleeper hit. If you have to pick one book about running, I think Going Long would edge out Once a runner.
2. Going Long
3. Once a runner
4. Just Revenge
5. I Capture the Castle
6. The Guernsey Literacy and Potato Peel Society
7. Going in Circles
8. The Science of Single: One woman's grand experiment in modern dating, creating chemistry, and finding love
9. Mantle and the end of America's childhood
10. The Year of the Flood
11. Plainsong
12. Three cups of tea
13. Yugo: The rise and fall of the worst car in history
14. Better Off
15. Corelli's Mandolin
16. Diary of a Bad Year
17. The Dip
18. What now?
19. The Lacuna
20. The Hunger Games
21. Catching Fire
22. Mockingjay
23. A Little Bit Married
24. The Help
25. Tao of Pooh
26 . Made to Stick
27. Animal, Vegetable, Miracle
28. Devil in the White City
29. A visit to the goon squad
30. The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake
31. The Upside of Irrationality
32. Lance Armstrong's War
33. Superfreakanomics
*Sex on the Moon* (audiobook)
34. Divine Justice
35. I'm Down
36. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
37. The Runner's Rule Book
I was blown away by The Hunger Games trilogy (especially the first two books). Plainsong is a sleeper hit. If you have to pick one book about running, I think Going Long would edge out Once a runner.
Happy New Year! 2011 Movies
1. The Diving Bell and the Butterfly
2. The King's Speech
3. Toy Story 3
4. Easy A
5. The Winning Season
6. Rear Window
7. Scott Pilgrim vs. The World (I slept through part)
8. The Social Network
9. 100 Girls
10. Cedar Rapids
11. The Good The Bad The Weird
12. Never Let Me Go
13. Youth in Revolt
14. Monster
15. Tangled
16. 61*
17. The Road
18. It's Kind of a Funny Story
19. Source Code
20. The Dilemma
21. Rough Riders
22. Morning Glory
23. Changeling
24. How do you know
25. Black Swan
26. Somewhere
27. Super 8
28. The Green Hornet
29. Bad Teacher
30. Midnight in Paris
31. The Fighter
32. The last kiss
33. Paper Heart
34. Roman Holiday
35. Crazy, Stupid, Love
36. Duck Soup
37. ExTerminators
38. Blue Crush 2
39. Casino Jack
40. The Princess and the Warrior
41. Hall Pass
42. happythankyoumoreplease
43. Reservoir Dogs (re-watch)
44. 127 Hours
45. Red Cliff
46. Adjustment Bureau
47. You Again
48. Last night
49. Everything Must Go
50. The Flying Scotsman
51. Get Low
52. Something Borrowed
53. Waiting for Superman
54. Inside Man
55. The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters
56. Scream 4
57. Bridesmaids
58. Thor
59. I love you too
60. The Help
61. Horrible Bosses
62. Rise of the Planet of the Apes
63. The Descendants
64. Chipwrecked- Alvin and the Chipmunks
65. Once (re-watched)
I think I re-watched several others as well the week I was sick, but I didn't track those. I usually only track the new-to-me ones. If you were going to watch three movies from my list, I'd suggest happythankyoumoreplease, 127 Hours, and Crazy, Stupid, Love. If you want to avoid three movies, I'd suggest Chipwrecked, The Good The Bad The Weird, and Scott Pilgrim vs. The World.
2. The King's Speech
3. Toy Story 3
4. Easy A
5. The Winning Season
6. Rear Window
7. Scott Pilgrim vs. The World (I slept through part)
8. The Social Network
9. 100 Girls
10. Cedar Rapids
11. The Good The Bad The Weird
12. Never Let Me Go
13. Youth in Revolt
14. Monster
15. Tangled
16. 61*
17. The Road
18. It's Kind of a Funny Story
19. Source Code
20. The Dilemma
21. Rough Riders
22. Morning Glory
23. Changeling
24. How do you know
25. Black Swan
26. Somewhere
27. Super 8
28. The Green Hornet
29. Bad Teacher
30. Midnight in Paris
31. The Fighter
32. The last kiss
33. Paper Heart
34. Roman Holiday
35. Crazy, Stupid, Love
36. Duck Soup
37. ExTerminators
38. Blue Crush 2
39. Casino Jack
40. The Princess and the Warrior
41. Hall Pass
42. happythankyoumoreplease
43. Reservoir Dogs (re-watch)
44. 127 Hours
45. Red Cliff
46. Adjustment Bureau
47. You Again
48. Last night
49. Everything Must Go
50. The Flying Scotsman
51. Get Low
52. Something Borrowed
53. Waiting for Superman
54. Inside Man
55. The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters
56. Scream 4
57. Bridesmaids
58. Thor
59. I love you too
60. The Help
61. Horrible Bosses
62. Rise of the Planet of the Apes
63. The Descendants
64. Chipwrecked- Alvin and the Chipmunks
65. Once (re-watched)
I think I re-watched several others as well the week I was sick, but I didn't track those. I usually only track the new-to-me ones. If you were going to watch three movies from my list, I'd suggest happythankyoumoreplease, 127 Hours, and Crazy, Stupid, Love. If you want to avoid three movies, I'd suggest Chipwrecked, The Good The Bad The Weird, and Scott Pilgrim vs. The World.
Friday, December 02, 2011
Somewhere between college and retirement
This week has been a kick. Time and its abundance are often on my mind. I seem to oscillate from feeling like a college kid to feeling like a retired guy. Last night was just like college, as I flitted from dinner with college students to a friends' home at 10 o'clock just to hang out and chat before he left town. I continued that theme with a visit to a coffee shop where I wrote bad poetry and overstayed in a comfy chair. That feeling of a definite end (semester? graduation?) looms and it adds a richness to the daily experience. I also have a sense that I need to get work done (homework?), but that no one is really watching and won't know for quite a while if I'm successful.
On the other part of the wave is the retirement, or what I imagine retirement might be like. I've already discussed the visit to the Supreme Court, but there's a meandering to my outings. I have to run errands, but I get distracted. Yesterday, on my way to the Library of Congress I found a classic suitcase that someone had tossed out. I picked it up, walked home, dropped it off, and then headed to the Library of Congress. Yes, I am now picking up other people's discarded items. Not only that, but I have grand plans to turn it into a suitcase of memories. It could be a rather involved art project and I immediately put it off until later. Once at the Library of Congress, I wandered about, soaking up exhibits that I usually couldn't or wouldn't spend so long enjoying. I've cooked. I've cleaned (although not enough). Today, since the weather was nice, I decided to rake leaves. That's right, yard work. I'm fairly certain that teenage me swore off yard work forever. Next up, traveling.
On the other part of the wave is the retirement, or what I imagine retirement might be like. I've already discussed the visit to the Supreme Court, but there's a meandering to my outings. I have to run errands, but I get distracted. Yesterday, on my way to the Library of Congress I found a classic suitcase that someone had tossed out. I picked it up, walked home, dropped it off, and then headed to the Library of Congress. Yes, I am now picking up other people's discarded items. Not only that, but I have grand plans to turn it into a suitcase of memories. It could be a rather involved art project and I immediately put it off until later. Once at the Library of Congress, I wandered about, soaking up exhibits that I usually couldn't or wouldn't spend so long enjoying. I've cooked. I've cleaned (although not enough). Today, since the weather was nice, I decided to rake leaves. That's right, yard work. I'm fairly certain that teenage me swore off yard work forever. Next up, traveling.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Supremely interesting
Washington DC- After walking East Capitol Street on an unseasonably warm November morning, I arrived at the line to the halls of justice, the highest court in the land, the Supreme Court. Attending an oral argument was my goal, but it took some time for me to get the courage to talk to one of the police officers and discover that I needed a ticket to wait in line. The ticket was numbered 87, but I had the impression that lines were known to stretch far longer and that I would manage to get in to meet my goal on this Monday morning.
My interest in the Supreme Court was governmental tourism. History gets made, policy gets interpreted a few blocks from my home and most days I don't even remember to wave as I ride by. With time on my side this week, I could go hear an oral argument. I had no idea what I was getting in to. The Internet was informative, but didn't really give me much context. Fortunately, a gentleman in line provided several of us the story that we needed. The case was First American Financial vs. Edwards. According to the helpful line lawyer the case was about legal standing. On the surface it was a case of a woman upset that the insurance she had purchased related to her real estate purchase had been through a company that received funding/a cut/a kickback from the real estate company that recommended the insurance. Although she seemed to have no complaint about the insurance or even the price, this "kickback" was the basis of the case and the justices were particularly focused on injury "in fact" versus injury "in law". I'm not a lawyer and can't pretend to be one, but without this context I think I would have been completely dumbfounded by the proceedings.
Getting into the court required a series of checks along with the shedding of most carried personal belongings. There was a mixture of fascination and confusion as we entered the courtroom. Large columns and red velvet curtains provided the back drop for the nine justices. I immediately recognized Justice Thomas and was soon able to determine the identities of Chief Justice Roberts, Justice Sotomayor, and Justice Ginsburg. If pressed I would have been able to pick out Justice Scalia as well, but beyond that I was drawing blanks.
During the first argument I was enthralled by body language. Thomas looked like he wanted to be anywhere else on this Monday morning. I guess even the Supreme Court is a job. Breyer (I'd discover later) tended to lean back in his chair staring upward deep in thought. A light placed far above him seemed to shine down on his balding head and glow. That sounds disrespectful, but once the justices questions started coming, it was awe-inspiring. They were clearly brilliant individuals. Their questions were often in plain language, but insightful and referential. They made the crowd laugh in several instances; Scalia in particular toward the end as the counsel had said something like "There are two sides to this issue" and Justice Scalia had said "Yours and theirs."
After the first argument, I thought for sure the court would side with Edwards, but they probed the opposing counsel with equal interest and skepticism. I've never wanted to be a lawyer, and watching the lawyers sway and dodge and try to answer the justices questions didn't change my mind, but I have to admit to being extremely impressed, sometimes even awed at the proceedings. I just found a new respect for the judicial branch of government.
My interest in the Supreme Court was governmental tourism. History gets made, policy gets interpreted a few blocks from my home and most days I don't even remember to wave as I ride by. With time on my side this week, I could go hear an oral argument. I had no idea what I was getting in to. The Internet was informative, but didn't really give me much context. Fortunately, a gentleman in line provided several of us the story that we needed. The case was First American Financial vs. Edwards. According to the helpful line lawyer the case was about legal standing. On the surface it was a case of a woman upset that the insurance she had purchased related to her real estate purchase had been through a company that received funding/a cut/a kickback from the real estate company that recommended the insurance. Although she seemed to have no complaint about the insurance or even the price, this "kickback" was the basis of the case and the justices were particularly focused on injury "in fact" versus injury "in law". I'm not a lawyer and can't pretend to be one, but without this context I think I would have been completely dumbfounded by the proceedings.
Getting into the court required a series of checks along with the shedding of most carried personal belongings. There was a mixture of fascination and confusion as we entered the courtroom. Large columns and red velvet curtains provided the back drop for the nine justices. I immediately recognized Justice Thomas and was soon able to determine the identities of Chief Justice Roberts, Justice Sotomayor, and Justice Ginsburg. If pressed I would have been able to pick out Justice Scalia as well, but beyond that I was drawing blanks.
During the first argument I was enthralled by body language. Thomas looked like he wanted to be anywhere else on this Monday morning. I guess even the Supreme Court is a job. Breyer (I'd discover later) tended to lean back in his chair staring upward deep in thought. A light placed far above him seemed to shine down on his balding head and glow. That sounds disrespectful, but once the justices questions started coming, it was awe-inspiring. They were clearly brilliant individuals. Their questions were often in plain language, but insightful and referential. They made the crowd laugh in several instances; Scalia in particular toward the end as the counsel had said something like "There are two sides to this issue" and Justice Scalia had said "Yours and theirs."
After the first argument, I thought for sure the court would side with Edwards, but they probed the opposing counsel with equal interest and skepticism. I've never wanted to be a lawyer, and watching the lawyers sway and dodge and try to answer the justices questions didn't change my mind, but I have to admit to being extremely impressed, sometimes even awed at the proceedings. I just found a new respect for the judicial branch of government.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
A piece of work
I made a P.A.C.T. with myself. I'll fill parts of my days with Productivity, Activity (of the physical sort), Creativity, and Thanks (giving). I woke up early and did yoga. C put me to work at her place of employment. I took a test and now I'll give thanks in acrostic form. Check and check. That will just leave the driving and the finding out whether my audio book selection was a winner.
Thanks for the time which suddenly seems so prevalent
How about that peace that comes from morning yoga?
All I want is to enjoy the quiet a little longer
Now I'm ready to enjoy lunch
Kind of hoping for BBQ
Sweet tea, too.
Thanks for the time which suddenly seems so prevalent
How about that peace that comes from morning yoga?
All I want is to enjoy the quiet a little longer
Now I'm ready to enjoy lunch
Kind of hoping for BBQ
Sweet tea, too.
Monday, November 21, 2011
A regular pot o' emotion
This year is really an odd one. We've been through the part where I have stopped exercising and started working late, but we haven't yet been through the part where I have one work day left in 2011. I chose this particular renewal vacation schedule so as I left for Thanksgiving I could tell my coworkers, "See you in 2012."
In September and October, I thought this day would never come. In the last two weeks, I realized the day was almost here. For most of last week, my giddiness grew with each passing day. I'd wake up early and stressed, but go to work singing. The songs would wear off by 10, but I'd always find a moment or six that reminded me that my work for the year was almost done. I worked later hours, but it didn't matter with respite coming.
Today was not like the other days. It dragged a bit. Every project that seemed done suddenly came back to need just a little more. Other projects started to unfold before me. I couldn't think them through. My thoughts clicked and whirred, but the gears didn't seem to be turning. I struggled.
Then some other gears began to turn. These weren't the work-maker gears. These were the doubting gears. Will work realize that I am the peter principle personified? What if my dad is right and they discover in my absence that I wasn't really that useful any way? What am I going to do with all this time? Can I even fill an evening without Ultimate? What if I'm bored? Or worse, what if I want to go back to work?
I'll have a few days to think through those questions, but just one more day to practice my "craft" in '11. It's just so cool to say. If I wasn't so nervous, I'd never tire of it.
In September and October, I thought this day would never come. In the last two weeks, I realized the day was almost here. For most of last week, my giddiness grew with each passing day. I'd wake up early and stressed, but go to work singing. The songs would wear off by 10, but I'd always find a moment or six that reminded me that my work for the year was almost done. I worked later hours, but it didn't matter with respite coming.
Today was not like the other days. It dragged a bit. Every project that seemed done suddenly came back to need just a little more. Other projects started to unfold before me. I couldn't think them through. My thoughts clicked and whirred, but the gears didn't seem to be turning. I struggled.
Then some other gears began to turn. These weren't the work-maker gears. These were the doubting gears. Will work realize that I am the peter principle personified? What if my dad is right and they discover in my absence that I wasn't really that useful any way? What am I going to do with all this time? Can I even fill an evening without Ultimate? What if I'm bored? Or worse, what if I want to go back to work?
I'll have a few days to think through those questions, but just one more day to practice my "craft" in '11. It's just so cool to say. If I wasn't so nervous, I'd never tire of it.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Trying to take the hippo from the hypocrite
I'm aware that what I'm about to write borders on hypocritical, but like a non-resident alien, I don't really have anywhere to go with this.
I'm worried about the written word.
This concern has been expressed before, probably quite loudly in a few newsrooms, but it comes to my fingertips from an unexpected source.
I was buying greeting cards last night. On the surface, this seems to show a traditionalist's support of the postal service, Hallmark, and words. Upon closer examination, we find that I was wholly unable to resist the charms of the musical cards. Even with the 150% mark-up in price and my usually conservative wallet, the music could not be stopped. Dear Mr. Mclean, the music did not die, they just made it really small and hid it in the grocery store aisle inside birthday greetings. Love, Dave.
I'm certain there were suitable cards for dads, bros, nieces and nephews, but again and again I was drawn to the cards that could make the recipient sing and dance. This makes some sense when buying for my nieces. They will sing and dance with a musical card. They will open and shut that card until the music does visit good old Don or the paper wears away to shreds, but my brother-in-law? He might chuckle, but he won't keep that card around until it wears thin. He'll toss it. Logically, I know it, and yet, as I said, I couldn't resist. The musical cards spoke to me (some quite literally) and they made me smile fondly and think of my family. The regular cards failed to capture that same spirit. I didn't regret my decision until I was home. The music was too strong and had moved me too far from the 99 cent rack. Now, I wonder if I also helped to kill the radio star. What's next? Bookstores?
Oh yeah... Speaking of that, author Ann Patchet just opened a book store in her town because she didn't want to live in a town without a bookstore after the last independent one closed. I'm impressed on a number of levels, but most impressed by the idea that Ms. Patchet is successful enough to say bookstores and words mean so much to me, I'm not letting them go down without a fight. That's a fight I might like to join.
I was buying greeting cards last night. On the surface, this seems to show a traditionalist's support of the postal service, Hallmark, and words. Upon closer examination, we find that I was wholly unable to resist the charms of the musical cards. Even with the 150% mark-up in price and my usually conservative wallet, the music could not be stopped. Dear Mr. Mclean, the music did not die, they just made it really small and hid it in the grocery store aisle inside birthday greetings. Love, Dave.
I'm certain there were suitable cards for dads, bros, nieces and nephews, but again and again I was drawn to the cards that could make the recipient sing and dance. This makes some sense when buying for my nieces. They will sing and dance with a musical card. They will open and shut that card until the music does visit good old Don or the paper wears away to shreds, but my brother-in-law? He might chuckle, but he won't keep that card around until it wears thin. He'll toss it. Logically, I know it, and yet, as I said, I couldn't resist. The musical cards spoke to me (some quite literally) and they made me smile fondly and think of my family. The regular cards failed to capture that same spirit. I didn't regret my decision until I was home. The music was too strong and had moved me too far from the 99 cent rack. Now, I wonder if I also helped to kill the radio star. What's next? Bookstores?
Oh yeah... Speaking of that, author Ann Patchet just opened a book store in her town because she didn't want to live in a town without a bookstore after the last independent one closed. I'm impressed on a number of levels, but most impressed by the idea that Ms. Patchet is successful enough to say bookstores and words mean so much to me, I'm not letting them go down without a fight. That's a fight I might like to join.
Wednesday, November 02, 2011
Ads of the 80s
I don't think I remember the famous Apple commercial from the 1984 Superbowl game itself. I know the commercial, but I think it was one of those things that got discussed for many years and then it came to the forefront for me while studying advertising in school. It was a breakthrough commercial and it resurfaced in conversation again recently when Steve Jobs passed. At some point along this sine wave of life, I'd made the assumption that everyone my age knew that commercial. That assumption seems to get harder to make in the world of the Internet, but I think every book in college referenced it once. (You'll see why 1984, won't be like The Golden Ass. I kid.)
I forgot not everybody had so many books about advertising, so I was surprised to learn that C hadn't seen it. I made her watch it, but I don't think it changed her much. Not too long after my run-in with memories of the 1984 commercial, I visited Wendy's. Up on the signs it said, "Where's the beef?" I pointed in amusement, but the college guys I was with didn't even smile. Then it hit me. I was 6 when that older woman and her two friends were squawking, "Where's the beef?" They were 10 years from being born. I know my teachers discussed the Wendy's commercial in college, but that one was a cultural tsunami. I saw it for sure. Probably during Dukes of Hazzard. Everybody got inquisitive about meat. My memory isn't much, but I'm almost certain I remember my own grandmother asking, "Where's the beef?" and laughing. Now, today, out of the deep recesses of my mind I recalled another commercial from the 1980s. It was a Folgers coffee commercial that involved secretly switching regular coffee with Folgers crystals. I wasn't drinking coffee or even thinking about coffee, so I'm really not sure what stirred memory. Caught up in this wave of 1980s advertising, I have to wonder what will shake out next and also what I'd do for a Klondike bar.
I forgot not everybody had so many books about advertising, so I was surprised to learn that C hadn't seen it. I made her watch it, but I don't think it changed her much. Not too long after my run-in with memories of the 1984 commercial, I visited Wendy's. Up on the signs it said, "Where's the beef?" I pointed in amusement, but the college guys I was with didn't even smile. Then it hit me. I was 6 when that older woman and her two friends were squawking, "Where's the beef?" They were 10 years from being born. I know my teachers discussed the Wendy's commercial in college, but that one was a cultural tsunami. I saw it for sure. Probably during Dukes of Hazzard. Everybody got inquisitive about meat. My memory isn't much, but I'm almost certain I remember my own grandmother asking, "Where's the beef?" and laughing. Now, today, out of the deep recesses of my mind I recalled another commercial from the 1980s. It was a Folgers coffee commercial that involved secretly switching regular coffee with Folgers crystals. I wasn't drinking coffee or even thinking about coffee, so I'm really not sure what stirred memory. Caught up in this wave of 1980s advertising, I have to wonder what will shake out next and also what I'd do for a Klondike bar.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Couple's costume- It must be serious
Despite C's complaints about Halloween, the party in our midst meant that she agreed to dress up. The perfectionist and the procrastinator may make costumes more challenging, but a simple concept done right can overcome those obstacles. After batting a few ideas around, we'd settled on a costume. What it lacked in timeliness, it made up in simplicity.
We decided to be the 2010 youtube sensation Double Rainbow. With more than 31 million views, we knew that a few people wouldn't get it, but for the most part we'd be covered. We started to realize how well covered when we were shopping for shirts with rainbows on them and found mostly double rainbow shirts. Not wanting to be a quadruple rainbow, we kept our search going and eventually settled on homemade fabric pen rainbows. C also found a sweatband set to really round out the look. Nothing like a balding man in a rainbow headband to make the crowd say "It's so beautiful."
I can't be certain that "it's so beautiful" was an exact quote, but we did manage to snag an Honorable Mention at the party. The crowd had already cheered for Google maps (best overall edging out Axl Rose), the gnarwal (most creative), and the nurse (most risque), so they didn't have much left for our double rainbow, but we know in their heart of hearts they had to be thinking, "What does it mean?"
Despite C's complaints about Halloween, the party in our midst meant that she agreed to dress up. The perfectionist and the procrastinator may make costumes more challenging, but a simple concept done right can overcome those obstacles. After batting a few ideas around, we'd settled on a costume. What it lacked in timeliness, it made up in simplicity.
We decided to be the 2010 youtube sensation Double Rainbow. With more than 31 million views, we knew that a few people wouldn't get it, but for the most part we'd be covered. We started to realize how well covered when we were shopping for shirts with rainbows on them and found mostly double rainbow shirts. Not wanting to be a quadruple rainbow, we kept our search going and eventually settled on homemade fabric pen rainbows. C also found a sweatband set to really round out the look. Nothing like a balding man in a rainbow headband to make the crowd say "It's so beautiful."
I can't be certain that "it's so beautiful" was an exact quote, but we did manage to snag an Honorable Mention at the party. The crowd had already cheered for Google maps (best overall edging out Axl Rose), the gnarwal (most creative), and the nurse (most risque), so they didn't have much left for our double rainbow, but we know in their heart of hearts they had to be thinking, "What does it mean?"
Thursday, October 27, 2011
A bit of pride, a bit of jealousy
My friends ran a 50-miler last weekend. Read Paul's recap here. I'm awed by that accomplishment. I don't know that 50 miles of running is something I ever need to do, but I don't like that I missed out on this running adventure.
I didn't just miss out either; my running right now is in another universe. They ran for 7 hours, I ran for 7 minutes. Other than Wildwood and bike commutes, I haven't really done any exercising since July. I would complain about my 7 minutes since it felt far from right, but I won't. Instead, I'll tell you about reaching for my shoes. Sometime in August, I took my running shoes out of the hallway and stored them high up in the closet. My black dress shoes that don't get out much go up in the closet. Today, even in the rain and the hint of a cold, I reached up into the closet and pulled down my dormant running shoes. They looked white and clean. They were firm and crisp, almost like new. As I gingerly brought them down, I had to push away high school cross country practices and recreational 5ks. I couldn't call up those memories today. Today I just had to put one foot in front of the other.
Today was another step on a long journey.
My friends ran a 50-miler last weekend. Read Paul's recap here. I'm awed by that accomplishment. I don't know that 50 miles of running is something I ever need to do, but I don't like that I missed out on this running adventure.
I didn't just miss out either; my running right now is in another universe. They ran for 7 hours, I ran for 7 minutes. Other than Wildwood and bike commutes, I haven't really done any exercising since July. I would complain about my 7 minutes since it felt far from right, but I won't. Instead, I'll tell you about reaching for my shoes. Sometime in August, I took my running shoes out of the hallway and stored them high up in the closet. My black dress shoes that don't get out much go up in the closet. Today, even in the rain and the hint of a cold, I reached up into the closet and pulled down my dormant running shoes. They looked white and clean. They were firm and crisp, almost like new. As I gingerly brought them down, I had to push away high school cross country practices and recreational 5ks. I couldn't call up those memories today. Today I just had to put one foot in front of the other.
Today was another step on a long journey.
Friday, September 30, 2011
New TV is shiny
Internet, I have to admit something. The new TV season is making me giggly inside. I can't stop watching new shows. There's hope and promise that comes with the season. It's like going back to school with a fresh slate. Freshmen year is over. We're sophomores now, so we kick butt.
I know that I sometimes rail against television and the negative effects it has on my life, but for now I'm mildly enthralled. That's a step up from slightly jazzed, but down from medium pumped.
In a few words, maybe even a sentence or three, let me give you my rundown on the latest shows (and some of the not-so-latest).
The New Girl: The promos were everywhere and I was sick of them, but it's Zooey Deschanel. Claims have been made that hipsters could watch her eat spaghetti and be pleased. After watching an episode, I'll give it a C. Zooey managed to pull off a few adorable moments, but there's something just off about the show. I'll probably watch another. The Douchebag jar was a nice flourish.
The Hart of Dixie: Wow. This show is a giant cliche, written poorly, acted poorly, and really predictable. Rachel Bilson is amazingly unbelievable as a wanna-be heart surgeon. Eight minutes in, C asked me how much longer we were going to give the show. I answered slowly, six to eight.... weeks. She laughed at me, but I might be serious. It's so bad, it's fun. Plus there's Bilson and banjos.
Free Agents: It's now been on in my house twice and I didn't like it either time. I'm just not interested.
Up All Night: Will Arnett should stop trying to be the lead in shows. The end.
Ringer: It's great to see SMG back, but not so great that we need to see her on screen with herself. That didn't last long, but I think the show is moving too fast for its own good. The idea of suspense is starting to build, but episode two made me start to lose interest. Grade: B-
Whitney: I watched a tiny bit of Whitney, died a little inside, and considered writing a show for Will Arnett. No thanks.
The Office: I'm still clinging to some hope. The Nard Dog pulled it together as boss and the writer's reminded us that even without Michael Scott Dunder Mifflin is a big ol' family. Wait and see mode on.
Community: They are hyper-aware of their awareness and it's getting to me a bit. The song about their awareness was pretty funny and so was the Britta/Chang symbiosis, but they might be pushing Jeff Winger to places I don't want to follow. I'm hoping they return to form soon.
Modern Family: I keep missing the first 8 minutes of Modern Family, so I'm giving them a pass for now.
Parks and Rec: This is a warning to myself. I hated this show when it first came out. I hated it so much that I swore it off forever. Well, after some badgering, forever ended and I decided to give it a chance. It was kind of funny, then Ron Swanson enacted an elaborate high-speed escape plan from work. He ended up in the woods with a giant beard. That, my friends, was a turning point. I'm cruising on through the season with this show. I may even find time to catch up on the episodes I missed.
TV. You've got my number. Please keep it away from the Internet. Oh, crap.
(Added late: Oh, I forgot Suburgatory. It's got a "Mean Girls" flavor. It seems promising.)
Internet, I have to admit something. The new TV season is making me giggly inside. I can't stop watching new shows. There's hope and promise that comes with the season. It's like going back to school with a fresh slate. Freshmen year is over. We're sophomores now, so we kick butt.
I know that I sometimes rail against television and the negative effects it has on my life, but for now I'm mildly enthralled. That's a step up from slightly jazzed, but down from medium pumped.
In a few words, maybe even a sentence or three, let me give you my rundown on the latest shows (and some of the not-so-latest).
The New Girl: The promos were everywhere and I was sick of them, but it's Zooey Deschanel. Claims have been made that hipsters could watch her eat spaghetti and be pleased. After watching an episode, I'll give it a C. Zooey managed to pull off a few adorable moments, but there's something just off about the show. I'll probably watch another. The Douchebag jar was a nice flourish.
The Hart of Dixie: Wow. This show is a giant cliche, written poorly, acted poorly, and really predictable. Rachel Bilson is amazingly unbelievable as a wanna-be heart surgeon. Eight minutes in, C asked me how much longer we were going to give the show. I answered slowly, six to eight.... weeks. She laughed at me, but I might be serious. It's so bad, it's fun. Plus there's Bilson and banjos.
Free Agents: It's now been on in my house twice and I didn't like it either time. I'm just not interested.
Up All Night: Will Arnett should stop trying to be the lead in shows. The end.
Ringer: It's great to see SMG back, but not so great that we need to see her on screen with herself. That didn't last long, but I think the show is moving too fast for its own good. The idea of suspense is starting to build, but episode two made me start to lose interest. Grade: B-
Whitney: I watched a tiny bit of Whitney, died a little inside, and considered writing a show for Will Arnett. No thanks.
The Office: I'm still clinging to some hope. The Nard Dog pulled it together as boss and the writer's reminded us that even without Michael Scott Dunder Mifflin is a big ol' family. Wait and see mode on.
Community: They are hyper-aware of their awareness and it's getting to me a bit. The song about their awareness was pretty funny and so was the Britta/Chang symbiosis, but they might be pushing Jeff Winger to places I don't want to follow. I'm hoping they return to form soon.
Modern Family: I keep missing the first 8 minutes of Modern Family, so I'm giving them a pass for now.
Parks and Rec: This is a warning to myself. I hated this show when it first came out. I hated it so much that I swore it off forever. Well, after some badgering, forever ended and I decided to give it a chance. It was kind of funny, then Ron Swanson enacted an elaborate high-speed escape plan from work. He ended up in the woods with a giant beard. That, my friends, was a turning point. I'm cruising on through the season with this show. I may even find time to catch up on the episodes I missed.
TV. You've got my number. Please keep it away from the Internet. Oh, crap.
(Added late: Oh, I forgot Suburgatory. It's got a "Mean Girls" flavor. It seems promising.)
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Barefoot and in the kitchen
Nearly half a can of tomato sauce meets my approximation of half a cup of brown sugar. Then, I heat it. As the sugar turns to liquid and the brown and reds start to become brownish red, I reflect on the culinary arts as practiced by an amateur.
I'm mostly following a recipe from the Clarks, a fine family that I've met twice before. It's a recipe from a cookbook celebrating a time and place I never was- Windy Hill. The co-mingling of personal effects that comes from co-habitation sometimes leads to this brand of exploration. Memories and associations cross-pollinate and become meatloaf. As a kid, I loved meatloaf. My mom made it better than anybody. Other meatloafs tried to compete, but slathered in Heinz, mom's meatloaf was blue ribbon grade A gold star delicious. Mix that reminiscence for meatloaf with C's nostalgia for Windy Hill, add some Worcestershire sauce and BAM, now we're cooking.
It's not always meatloaf, of course. These explorations can take all sorts of funny twists and turns. Sometimes it's an affinity for Britney Spears that didn't seem quite so strong before. Is it mine? Is it yours? Is it stronger than yesterday?
Can we even share an affinity for a pop star? It would seem so. Now my meatloaf is nearly done. Will it taste like I remember? Or does that require my mother's touch? Will it taste like Windy Hill or is that a Clark secret ingredient that didn't get transcribed?
The mystery is in the meatloaf. The lunch ladies know what I'm talking about.
Nearly half a can of tomato sauce meets my approximation of half a cup of brown sugar. Then, I heat it. As the sugar turns to liquid and the brown and reds start to become brownish red, I reflect on the culinary arts as practiced by an amateur.
I'm mostly following a recipe from the Clarks, a fine family that I've met twice before. It's a recipe from a cookbook celebrating a time and place I never was- Windy Hill. The co-mingling of personal effects that comes from co-habitation sometimes leads to this brand of exploration. Memories and associations cross-pollinate and become meatloaf. As a kid, I loved meatloaf. My mom made it better than anybody. Other meatloafs tried to compete, but slathered in Heinz, mom's meatloaf was blue ribbon grade A gold star delicious. Mix that reminiscence for meatloaf with C's nostalgia for Windy Hill, add some Worcestershire sauce and BAM, now we're cooking.
It's not always meatloaf, of course. These explorations can take all sorts of funny twists and turns. Sometimes it's an affinity for Britney Spears that didn't seem quite so strong before. Is it mine? Is it yours? Is it stronger than yesterday?
Can we even share an affinity for a pop star? It would seem so. Now my meatloaf is nearly done. Will it taste like I remember? Or does that require my mother's touch? Will it taste like Windy Hill or is that a Clark secret ingredient that didn't get transcribed?
The mystery is in the meatloaf. The lunch ladies know what I'm talking about.
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