That's ClassE. With an E
I have developed a fantanstic new habit of drooling on myself during my evening nap/commute. It leaves a nice little splotch on my chest. I'm leaking!
Monday, August 08, 2005
Breaking news
Those of you who knew my neighbor freshman year of college will be happy to hear that he's on his way to be a kiwi. And if I'm counting my readership correctly that might only be Daimon, the man, himself. For the rest of you, I'm talking about him. (On second thought, Abba might've known that.) I'm also publicly announcing my jealousy. I just wanted to get that out there right now and then remind myself that sometimes the coolest looking path is not your path.
Is it November?
Because there is boldness brewing.
Summer's over
How can she leave me? She just got here.
Broken Flowers
Today a coworker of mine sneered that "If you liked Lost in Translation, you'll like Broken Flowers." Sneer or not, she was right. It lacks some of the cinematic flair and Scarlett, but otherwise plays quite well.
Those of you who knew my neighbor freshman year of college will be happy to hear that he's on his way to be a kiwi. And if I'm counting my readership correctly that might only be Daimon, the man, himself. For the rest of you, I'm talking about him. (On second thought, Abba might've known that.) I'm also publicly announcing my jealousy. I just wanted to get that out there right now and then remind myself that sometimes the coolest looking path is not your path.
Is it November?
Because there is boldness brewing.
Summer's over
How can she leave me? She just got here.
Broken Flowers
Today a coworker of mine sneered that "If you liked Lost in Translation, you'll like Broken Flowers." Sneer or not, she was right. It lacks some of the cinematic flair and Scarlett, but otherwise plays quite well.
Saturday, August 06, 2005
Thursday, August 04, 2005
Is this a movie?
I had nearly forgotten my promise to try to unmask the not-so-secret identity of new cute girl at work having not seen her for nearly a week, except for that one time when she just appeared out of nowhere and I was totally not ready to get to the unmasking at that moment. So, having nearly forgotten the aforementioned promise, my opportunity literally passed me by today. Immersed in writing a note on my hand, she must have walked directly past me between the corridor of elevators because when I looked up I saw her black skirt swoosh across her trailing calf.
Somehow I managed to squelch the urge to chase after her.
Self-control.
And also fear. Because as someone said in the elevator the other day, "It's easy to like people you don't know."
I had nearly forgotten my promise to try to unmask the not-so-secret identity of new cute girl at work having not seen her for nearly a week, except for that one time when she just appeared out of nowhere and I was totally not ready to get to the unmasking at that moment. So, having nearly forgotten the aforementioned promise, my opportunity literally passed me by today. Immersed in writing a note on my hand, she must have walked directly past me between the corridor of elevators because when I looked up I saw her black skirt swoosh across her trailing calf.
Somehow I managed to squelch the urge to chase after her.
Self-control.
And also fear. Because as someone said in the elevator the other day, "It's easy to like people you don't know."
Nocturnal Admissions
Bedtime is two hours past, ideally. Only one in practical terms. My wallet pokes at my cheek ready and waiting for morning even when I'm not done with night. New music is no longer spinning, not off, just digital. The weight of earlier words trimmed by a diet of meals, music, and the all-knowing unfeeling Internet. I sit in my chair, back tilted one way, head the other. I'm not exactly waiting for that one thing that will cap it all off. Would it help if I heard applause? The credits rolled? I don't. They don't. So I search some more. Will I find it on screen? Should I have sipped on caffeine? My brain and my finger dance, though not together. I am surrounded by a mess of my making- letters written that will go unsent, next to plastic discs that go unthrown, all sprinkled with clothes in varying stages of clean; an optimist launders here. My bed is not three feet away, but my dreams are nowhere in sight. I'm sure I could sleep, but I won't close my eyes. Until now. I quiet my mind with some words. Perhaps they are stolen; I don't own them. I just rearrange them and try to be heard. Is that my voice? Is this my choice?
Inertia.
Bedtime is two hours past, ideally. Only one in practical terms. My wallet pokes at my cheek ready and waiting for morning even when I'm not done with night. New music is no longer spinning, not off, just digital. The weight of earlier words trimmed by a diet of meals, music, and the all-knowing unfeeling Internet. I sit in my chair, back tilted one way, head the other. I'm not exactly waiting for that one thing that will cap it all off. Would it help if I heard applause? The credits rolled? I don't. They don't. So I search some more. Will I find it on screen? Should I have sipped on caffeine? My brain and my finger dance, though not together. I am surrounded by a mess of my making- letters written that will go unsent, next to plastic discs that go unthrown, all sprinkled with clothes in varying stages of clean; an optimist launders here. My bed is not three feet away, but my dreams are nowhere in sight. I'm sure I could sleep, but I won't close my eyes. Until now. I quiet my mind with some words. Perhaps they are stolen; I don't own them. I just rearrange them and try to be heard. Is that my voice? Is this my choice?
Inertia.
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
Nothing's right and nothing's wrong
Dinner won't be what I want, but exactly what I make. My evening will consist of a series of tasks which need to be completed, but can just as easily wait another day. I'll do something for fun, something for me, and still go to bed a little unsatisfied. It's not so hot that it's uncomfortable. It's not cool enough to be nice. I'll call you on the phone, but I'll have nothing to say. Then I'll do it all over tomorrow.
Dinner won't be what I want, but exactly what I make. My evening will consist of a series of tasks which need to be completed, but can just as easily wait another day. I'll do something for fun, something for me, and still go to bed a little unsatisfied. It's not so hot that it's uncomfortable. It's not cool enough to be nice. I'll call you on the phone, but I'll have nothing to say. Then I'll do it all over tomorrow.
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
New Joisey- what a curious place
Forget the fact that my 3 hour drive to a town outside Princeton was delayed 3 hours by a jumper not 15 miles from home. Jumpers are for skyscrapers, not highways. Come on, people. At about 3 a.m. I settled into the appropriate place for the elder statesman of an Ultimate team, the parent's bed. The parents weren't home, thankfully. I still felt a little awkward, but fortunately I was only there for 3.5 hours. Then it was off to the beach.
Beach Ultimate. I know what you're thinking because I was thinking it too. Sand. Sun. Bikinis. Plastic. This could be heaven? Where's the record scratch when you need it? The gray overcast skies were only out-grayed by the beach and the pools of water that had collected on the beach. The sand was more like mud. The sun played hooky. Bikinis aren't really Ultimate attire, although I did see one guy with a hole cut out of his shirt to reveal his batman-shaped chest hair. Plastic though? It was out in force. There were more Ultimate fields than I've ever seen. I've heard reports of 180 teams. I don't remember a lot from Saturday. I know that the sand was soft and I did my share of laying out in it. When I say laying out, I'm not talking about tanning. I'm talking about diving, which I did inbounds, out of bounds, for discs, for defense, for kicks. I kinda like sand. I was accused of playing the best Ultimate they'd ever seen me play. It's not worth arguing about, especially when Sunday would restore balance to the universe. Saturday, I basked in the overcast. I soared. I scored. I threw full (short)field throws for scores. I had a sand and mud covered blast as the team went 3-1. Between games we took dips in the Atlantic. In games we took dips in the puddles. I ate more sand and dirty water than I care to admit. Everybody was doing it. Every direction I looked it seemed like someone was flying through the air. Soft landings encourage people to attempt flight more often. It was almost unreal.
If Saturday was unreal, Sunday was all too real. At least, too real for my throws to hit the mark and my defense to keep pace. It was a reality where we quickly found ourselves at 3-3 on the weekend. It was a reality that involved "Drive-by biddings", free meals, quirky little sisters, and the repeated singing/hollering of Kelly Clarkson's Since you've been gone. Ok, so not that real, but quite enjoyable.
Forget the fact that my 3 hour drive to a town outside Princeton was delayed 3 hours by a jumper not 15 miles from home. Jumpers are for skyscrapers, not highways. Come on, people. At about 3 a.m. I settled into the appropriate place for the elder statesman of an Ultimate team, the parent's bed. The parents weren't home, thankfully. I still felt a little awkward, but fortunately I was only there for 3.5 hours. Then it was off to the beach.
Beach Ultimate. I know what you're thinking because I was thinking it too. Sand. Sun. Bikinis. Plastic. This could be heaven? Where's the record scratch when you need it? The gray overcast skies were only out-grayed by the beach and the pools of water that had collected on the beach. The sand was more like mud. The sun played hooky. Bikinis aren't really Ultimate attire, although I did see one guy with a hole cut out of his shirt to reveal his batman-shaped chest hair. Plastic though? It was out in force. There were more Ultimate fields than I've ever seen. I've heard reports of 180 teams. I don't remember a lot from Saturday. I know that the sand was soft and I did my share of laying out in it. When I say laying out, I'm not talking about tanning. I'm talking about diving, which I did inbounds, out of bounds, for discs, for defense, for kicks. I kinda like sand. I was accused of playing the best Ultimate they'd ever seen me play. It's not worth arguing about, especially when Sunday would restore balance to the universe. Saturday, I basked in the overcast. I soared. I scored. I threw full (short)field throws for scores. I had a sand and mud covered blast as the team went 3-1. Between games we took dips in the Atlantic. In games we took dips in the puddles. I ate more sand and dirty water than I care to admit. Everybody was doing it. Every direction I looked it seemed like someone was flying through the air. Soft landings encourage people to attempt flight more often. It was almost unreal.
If Saturday was unreal, Sunday was all too real. At least, too real for my throws to hit the mark and my defense to keep pace. It was a reality where we quickly found ourselves at 3-3 on the weekend. It was a reality that involved "Drive-by biddings", free meals, quirky little sisters, and the repeated singing/hollering of Kelly Clarkson's Since you've been gone. Ok, so not that real, but quite enjoyable.
Thursday, July 28, 2005
Power up kids
We lost power here last night and I had the opportunity to break out the candles. I couldn't remember how to play Cribbage and I couldn't crack the code that was the rules. From there it cascaded down and I realized that I really couldn't do much of anything and when the electricity is on, I don't anyway. Would the Amish be kings if the electricity stayed down? What would we do when our battery-operated goodies died down and we were left to our thoughts and other people? I think it'd get ugly in a hurry. The milk situation alone would cause some serious problems. I decided two things last night
1. I need more canned goods.
2. A little less talk and a little more action.
That ought to do the trick. And also some more DVDs to dull the world as it comes back to light.
We lost power here last night and I had the opportunity to break out the candles. I couldn't remember how to play Cribbage and I couldn't crack the code that was the rules. From there it cascaded down and I realized that I really couldn't do much of anything and when the electricity is on, I don't anyway. Would the Amish be kings if the electricity stayed down? What would we do when our battery-operated goodies died down and we were left to our thoughts and other people? I think it'd get ugly in a hurry. The milk situation alone would cause some serious problems. I decided two things last night
1. I need more canned goods.
2. A little less talk and a little more action.
That ought to do the trick. And also some more DVDs to dull the world as it comes back to light.
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
Very interesting
-The subscription solicitation for Skiing magazine and the solicitation for Powder arrived on the same freaking freaking freaking hot day in July. Both came from Tampa Florida. Conspiracy? Seems likely.
-There is a man at my office. Everyday I see this man. Most days I see this man two times. Some days I see this man two times in the copy room and then other times too. This man always smiles. He always says hi. I always say hi back to him. This has gone on for quite some time. Today as I got off the empty elevator on our floor, he made moves to get on. I threw my hands up blocking the door and said, "Wait. What's your name?"
He probably thinks I'm crazy. At least now he knows that crazy has a name.
-The subscription solicitation for Skiing magazine and the solicitation for Powder arrived on the same freaking freaking freaking hot day in July. Both came from Tampa Florida. Conspiracy? Seems likely.
-There is a man at my office. Everyday I see this man. Most days I see this man two times. Some days I see this man two times in the copy room and then other times too. This man always smiles. He always says hi. I always say hi back to him. This has gone on for quite some time. Today as I got off the empty elevator on our floor, he made moves to get on. I threw my hands up blocking the door and said, "Wait. What's your name?"
He probably thinks I'm crazy. At least now he knows that crazy has a name.
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
Monday, July 25, 2005
Sunday, July 24, 2005
Sexy jobs
I couldn't find the Post story that turned me on to boat jumpers, so I had to google it. I have the print version in my room if you want to see it. Limited time only. If you aren't planning a stop to my room in the near future, check out the propaganda. Ignore the fact that they're young and that they make $6.50/hour and think about how cool it is to jump to the dock, sprint to the mailbox, and then jump back onto the boat. The Post article had one particularly appealing paragraph, "Sweating and red-faced, she leaped four feet from the pier, grabbed a rail and just managed to catch the stern. Her Nikes slipped, and her body thumped loudly against the side of the boat."
So. Cool.
I couldn't find the Post story that turned me on to boat jumpers, so I had to google it. I have the print version in my room if you want to see it. Limited time only. If you aren't planning a stop to my room in the near future, check out the propaganda. Ignore the fact that they're young and that they make $6.50/hour and think about how cool it is to jump to the dock, sprint to the mailbox, and then jump back onto the boat. The Post article had one particularly appealing paragraph, "Sweating and red-faced, she leaped four feet from the pier, grabbed a rail and just managed to catch the stern. Her Nikes slipped, and her body thumped loudly against the side of the boat."
So. Cool.
With obsession comes pain
Last weekend was the first weekend I'd played Ultimate in almost 2 months. I was nervous. Nervous that I might have lost more than a step and nervous that I would crumple to the ground with another injury. It passed as I did. It faded as I soared through the air.
"What is your vertical?" William, our elder statesman, a short man with gray hair and a love for the hammer asked me after I ripped a disc out of the sky.
"That was it," I laughed. "I can't go any higher."
****
I spent this week daydreaming. I was flying. I was diving. Even when the disc was bouncing off my outstretched hand, it was still magic. Maybe I had lost a step, but the renewed wonder and the seed of a thought that I might regain it were enough to keep me smiling at work.
I spent this week reading. I read about Ultimate. I read about coaching and how that applies to Ultimate. I want to test my theories. I want to grab a team and I want to go go GO. I spent a lot of moments jittery, excited, nervous, because I want to play some more.
But I've had to wait. I've had to wait for my sore muscles to forgive me. I've had to wait for a game. I've spent the last month relatively at ease with my decision to take a break. I've been riding and running, and even swimming with renewed vigor. This week, this week I've been a mess. I want more. I want to play. I want to improve. I'm frustrated that I can't channel that energy into the game, but I know from experience in a land called Ohio that there is such a thing as too much of a good thing. Ultimate 4 to 6 days a week and nothing else leaves me unhappier than this waiting.
I've got to find balance. I've got to find books that aren't about Ultimate. I've got to find thoughts that aren't about flying. I've got to funnel this energy somewhere else, so that when I'm a little down I can turn to those excited moments, but when I'm up, it doesn't have to be from an Ultimate high.
Last weekend was the first weekend I'd played Ultimate in almost 2 months. I was nervous. Nervous that I might have lost more than a step and nervous that I would crumple to the ground with another injury. It passed as I did. It faded as I soared through the air.
"What is your vertical?" William, our elder statesman, a short man with gray hair and a love for the hammer asked me after I ripped a disc out of the sky.
"That was it," I laughed. "I can't go any higher."
****
I spent this week daydreaming. I was flying. I was diving. Even when the disc was bouncing off my outstretched hand, it was still magic. Maybe I had lost a step, but the renewed wonder and the seed of a thought that I might regain it were enough to keep me smiling at work.
I spent this week reading. I read about Ultimate. I read about coaching and how that applies to Ultimate. I want to test my theories. I want to grab a team and I want to go go GO. I spent a lot of moments jittery, excited, nervous, because I want to play some more.
But I've had to wait. I've had to wait for my sore muscles to forgive me. I've had to wait for a game. I've spent the last month relatively at ease with my decision to take a break. I've been riding and running, and even swimming with renewed vigor. This week, this week I've been a mess. I want more. I want to play. I want to improve. I'm frustrated that I can't channel that energy into the game, but I know from experience in a land called Ohio that there is such a thing as too much of a good thing. Ultimate 4 to 6 days a week and nothing else leaves me unhappier than this waiting.
I've got to find balance. I've got to find books that aren't about Ultimate. I've got to find thoughts that aren't about flying. I've got to funnel this energy somewhere else, so that when I'm a little down I can turn to those excited moments, but when I'm up, it doesn't have to be from an Ultimate high.
Friday, July 22, 2005
Reason #67 to like this town
6:15ish on a Friday night. The exercising was undone. The evening plans uncrystallized. Scouring the movie section I spotted Happy Endings and decided it was time for doing and crystallizing. I grabbed a spare shirt, some water, and my bike. Doing my best Lance Armstrong impression I sprinted on over to the movie theater across town or at least on the "other side of the tracks." I pulled up panting with minutes to spare, bought my ticket, changed my shirt and enjoyed a dark comedy with some lighter amusing silent-movie-esque narration. While I attended to an aged and darker Lisa Kudrow, a scene-stealing Maggie Gyllenhaal, and a decent Tom Arnold, night came 'round.
What would a boy and his bike do?
Take the Metro. It was slower than the ride, but there was less panting. Nice.
6:15ish on a Friday night. The exercising was undone. The evening plans uncrystallized. Scouring the movie section I spotted Happy Endings and decided it was time for doing and crystallizing. I grabbed a spare shirt, some water, and my bike. Doing my best Lance Armstrong impression I sprinted on over to the movie theater across town or at least on the "other side of the tracks." I pulled up panting with minutes to spare, bought my ticket, changed my shirt and enjoyed a dark comedy with some lighter amusing silent-movie-esque narration. While I attended to an aged and darker Lisa Kudrow, a scene-stealing Maggie Gyllenhaal, and a decent Tom Arnold, night came 'round.
What would a boy and his bike do?
Take the Metro. It was slower than the ride, but there was less panting. Nice.
Thursday, July 21, 2005
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
Tying the week together
So Potter pushed me up against the edge, but couldn't bring the rain. With the McCrush still lingering I turned to The Notebook to finish the job. I was sensing another failure about two-thirds of the way through the movie, and McAdams was fine, but not Wedding Crashers fine, if you know what I mean and I think you do. So I was a little bummed because it looked to be another long and grumpy night, propped up by an ok movie and the smile I've grown to admire in less than 3 days, when suddenly the floodgates opened. I don't know what happened next, but I was trying to fold laundry, and instead I ended up blowing my nose in the stuff and it hasn't been like this since The Family Man. Weird howls cropped up toward the end and I had to go check out my own pink puffiness in the mirror and then I couldn't help but laugh.
After that I went and practiced my pulls. I seem to be hovering at about 60 yards. I think I need to polish the guns. Or get a (better) grip.
Pleased as punch-
So Potter pushed me up against the edge, but couldn't bring the rain. With the McCrush still lingering I turned to The Notebook to finish the job. I was sensing another failure about two-thirds of the way through the movie, and McAdams was fine, but not Wedding Crashers fine, if you know what I mean and I think you do. So I was a little bummed because it looked to be another long and grumpy night, propped up by an ok movie and the smile I've grown to admire in less than 3 days, when suddenly the floodgates opened. I don't know what happened next, but I was trying to fold laundry, and instead I ended up blowing my nose in the stuff and it hasn't been like this since The Family Man. Weird howls cropped up toward the end and I had to go check out my own pink puffiness in the mirror and then I couldn't help but laugh.
After that I went and practiced my pulls. I seem to be hovering at about 60 yards. I think I need to polish the guns. Or get a (better) grip.
Pleased as punch-
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
It's over
I feel a bit like I've broken up with my girlfriend. I didn't eat that much. I'm going to go to bed soon. Thanks for another, J.K.
I found one line to be particularly applicable to everyday life- "It was, he thought, the difference between being dragged into the arena to face a battle to the death and walking into the arena with your head held high."
I feel a bit like I've broken up with my girlfriend. I didn't eat that much. I'm going to go to bed soon. Thanks for another, J.K.
I found one line to be particularly applicable to everyday life- "It was, he thought, the difference between being dragged into the arena to face a battle to the death and walking into the arena with your head held high."
Monday, July 18, 2005
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