Brr- oh my gosh I need to stay inside for a little while
I don't see how I'm going to avoid getting a cold, I've been outside and usually sweating seven out of the last nine days. I don't have enough warm clothes to keep up this pace. I'm not sure I have enough muscle and joint power either. My skin feels a bit like it just wants to come off my bones. At least it does in the places where I'm not so tight that I feel like I need a jackhammer massage.
Yesterday and today were Ultimate and as much as it hurts, I do like Ultimate. I was playing in a double-header and except for the fatigue I feel like I found the groove I'd asked for.
My team got off to a slow start and we found ourselves down 5-0 very quickly. It was a little disappointing and I feel like I contributed to an early game flatness. We finally started to shake it off after that. One early moment stands out for me as I was cutting to the back corner with my defender on me. My teammate RB ripped off one of his wicked backhands down the line. The disc just seemed to hang in the air in front of us. The defender, who has also been a teammate in past seasons, and I gave chase. It seemed that we were stride for stride for several steps and the disc kept hanging. Finally, I found one more notch and managed to get to the disc before he did for a score. We battled back and forth and ended the half down 3-8. The second half saw SM come out strong with some good defense and some scoring punch. Then we became a different team. Much of the second half is a blur. I remember multiple battles with my former teammate including a layout D (I'm told), a layout bid on a disc that he D'd, a box out on a disc to him, and continuous battling on almost every cut we matched up. I had my own battles going on as the team slowly clawed back in. Our defense got a little better. Tipped discs started to go our way, including a wicked second-effort layout score by SM. As we were coming back, I do recall one moment that I'm particularly proud of in my second half. We'd been beat on a number of hammers across the field in the first half. The man I was guarding planted and cut for a hammer and I sensed it. He had a few steps on me to the break side, but I left my feet and knocked the disc away. I was starting to believe.
At 14-14 with universe point, I can't really remember what happened, but I know both teams had chances. Somehow our miraculous comeback ended in defeat. That's not the way the story is supposed to go and I'm not pleased with the ending.
We had a second game and although I think we let them hang around far too long, we were finally able to dispatch them 15-9. My favorite contribution in that game was a rare hammer. I saw RB with space in front of him, but I wasn't sure he saw it, so I faked the hammer. He headed for the space, so I let it go. I think the wind pushed it further than I would have liked, but fortunately he tracked it down for a score. Yee-haw. I also had at least two throws that were tapped by the defender land in my teammates' hands. Sometimes wrong things go right. I can't really figure out why or how that goes.
Today was practice. We had enough to play 7 versus 7. It sure would be nice if we could snag just a few more folks. The team had some good moments, but we just can't seem to get our vertical stack going. More practice, but for now, I'm spent.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Brr- take 1.8 million
Used up packets of warmth littered the ground where people had stood and cheered. People had cheered everywhere. As far as I could see and two monuments beyond that, they had waved their flags and hooted at the swearing in of President 44. I was there. I was one of an estimated 1.8 million people witnessing history in the flesh. Although the flesh was mostly covered and the witnessing was mostly done on the fourth giant TV from the capitol. I estimate I was about 600,000 people away from the new President and 599,995 away from the last one. On the National Mall at 8 AM to grab such a coveted spot, I spent most of the morning waiting and watching giant TV. My favorite rerun moment was Garth Brooks asking me and all my patient flag-wavin', Obama-lovin', cold-catchin' pals to "Shout." Oh, we did. We shouted. We shouted like Garth could hear us. We shouted like we'd been standing all morning and we had nothing better to do. It was a revival atmosphere and Brooks was reviving.
My crowd, which was really only a small portion of the crowd, settled after that. Maybe the shouting took a little something out of us. Maybe we realized we better save our screaming lungs for 44. He was coming. I could tell because when my giant TV switched to live coverage they kept showing lines of black SUVs. Nothing says peaceful transition of power like a long line of armored SUVs escorted by motorcycle cops. The crowd would grow a little quieter. Breath would be inhaled a little bit slower. I thought Julie Andrews got out of one of the SUVs, but mostly I knew that 44 didn't get out and the crowd and I would return intently to our standing in place.
Finally, W and his brood showed up. I (and wikipedia tells me many others) had the idea that singing goodbye to Bush might feel good. Instead, when the boos and the shoes around me came out, I felt bad for the guy. After all, some of this was our fault. As one guy near me said, "He did make all of this possible."
What all of this is remains to be seen. The moment though was pretty amazing. I wanted to be able to hear all 1.8 million cheers, but I'll settle for the frantic flag waving. I'll settle for the powerful speech. I'll settle for the kindest crowd I've ever seen. There was a scary moment or two when everyone was trying to exit and no one seemed to agree on which way to go.
I went. I survived. It was another once in a lifetime experience. Just like the last one. Except different.
Used up packets of warmth littered the ground where people had stood and cheered. People had cheered everywhere. As far as I could see and two monuments beyond that, they had waved their flags and hooted at the swearing in of President 44. I was there. I was one of an estimated 1.8 million people witnessing history in the flesh. Although the flesh was mostly covered and the witnessing was mostly done on the fourth giant TV from the capitol. I estimate I was about 600,000 people away from the new President and 599,995 away from the last one. On the National Mall at 8 AM to grab such a coveted spot, I spent most of the morning waiting and watching giant TV. My favorite rerun moment was Garth Brooks asking me and all my patient flag-wavin', Obama-lovin', cold-catchin' pals to "Shout." Oh, we did. We shouted. We shouted like Garth could hear us. We shouted like we'd been standing all morning and we had nothing better to do. It was a revival atmosphere and Brooks was reviving.
My crowd, which was really only a small portion of the crowd, settled after that. Maybe the shouting took a little something out of us. Maybe we realized we better save our screaming lungs for 44. He was coming. I could tell because when my giant TV switched to live coverage they kept showing lines of black SUVs. Nothing says peaceful transition of power like a long line of armored SUVs escorted by motorcycle cops. The crowd would grow a little quieter. Breath would be inhaled a little bit slower. I thought Julie Andrews got out of one of the SUVs, but mostly I knew that 44 didn't get out and the crowd and I would return intently to our standing in place.
Finally, W and his brood showed up. I (and wikipedia tells me many others) had the idea that singing goodbye to Bush might feel good. Instead, when the boos and the shoes around me came out, I felt bad for the guy. After all, some of this was our fault. As one guy near me said, "He did make all of this possible."
What all of this is remains to be seen. The moment though was pretty amazing. I wanted to be able to hear all 1.8 million cheers, but I'll settle for the frantic flag waving. I'll settle for the powerful speech. I'll settle for the kindest crowd I've ever seen. There was a scary moment or two when everyone was trying to exit and no one seemed to agree on which way to go.
I went. I survived. It was another once in a lifetime experience. Just like the last one. Except different.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Brr... take 1
It's so cold this morning that while reading a book, I couldn't fathom how people could be outside hanging around. It seemed impossible until I realized the story was set in June in Illinois. What a day for an Ultimate game. With four solid layers, ski goggles, gloves, and a condensation-catching beard in full effect, I took the field with my winter league team. We started slowly, chilled to the bone, but then seemed to warm up. There were a few nice moments, some big grabs, but mostly we seemed to be doing the little things right, or at least righter. I continue to throw away discs that I want back, even with the gloves on. The one that slammed right into that guy's hand for instance, or the inside out flick that just kept drifting. I handled some, which never feels quite right, and quietly worked against my opponents on defense. The huck and then play defense strategy seemed to work well for us. I never really found my rhythm, but one good thing about being on a team is that some days that doesn't matter. Even without the beat, we managed to take more than we gave away and others managed to finish the business as it needed finishing. I think I caught one score, but even that one felt like I was running on ice and over-thinking.
Last weekend, I felt like I was three weeks into a season that had just begun. This week, I felt behind the curve. Maybe next week it will all gel together. Twice in a doubleheader. I'm asking a lot, but it seems worth asking.
It's so cold this morning that while reading a book, I couldn't fathom how people could be outside hanging around. It seemed impossible until I realized the story was set in June in Illinois. What a day for an Ultimate game. With four solid layers, ski goggles, gloves, and a condensation-catching beard in full effect, I took the field with my winter league team. We started slowly, chilled to the bone, but then seemed to warm up. There were a few nice moments, some big grabs, but mostly we seemed to be doing the little things right, or at least righter. I continue to throw away discs that I want back, even with the gloves on. The one that slammed right into that guy's hand for instance, or the inside out flick that just kept drifting. I handled some, which never feels quite right, and quietly worked against my opponents on defense. The huck and then play defense strategy seemed to work well for us. I never really found my rhythm, but one good thing about being on a team is that some days that doesn't matter. Even without the beat, we managed to take more than we gave away and others managed to finish the business as it needed finishing. I think I caught one score, but even that one felt like I was running on ice and over-thinking.
Last weekend, I felt like I was three weeks into a season that had just begun. This week, I felt behind the curve. Maybe next week it will all gel together. Twice in a doubleheader. I'm asking a lot, but it seems worth asking.
Friday, January 16, 2009
The price of stupidity is high
The easy "rental" of a Zipcar has been my pal on numerous occasions over the last two years. Cars have always been stocked and ready to go at most any time I had a need. Today was no different. Just ten minutes before I was to head out the door, I reached for my wallet and found that the all important key to my Zipcar success was missing. I searched through my wallet and my pockets but never found the card that opens the doors and lets me go about my merry car-free existence. Flummoxed and approaching the point of no return, I searched to see if a bus would get me to my off-site work destination. No dice. At best, I would be 20 minutes late. I darted out the door and headed for the taxi stand. There was no frantic arm waving, just heavy breath hanging in the air.
The taxi got me to my destination for less than I had expected to pay, but factor in the already-reserved zipcar and my trip was a hefty 8 dollars a mile. Ouch.
I found my card in a pocket of another jacket when I got home. The card was jammed back into my wallet for another ride some other day.
The easy "rental" of a Zipcar has been my pal on numerous occasions over the last two years. Cars have always been stocked and ready to go at most any time I had a need. Today was no different. Just ten minutes before I was to head out the door, I reached for my wallet and found that the all important key to my Zipcar success was missing. I searched through my wallet and my pockets but never found the card that opens the doors and lets me go about my merry car-free existence. Flummoxed and approaching the point of no return, I searched to see if a bus would get me to my off-site work destination. No dice. At best, I would be 20 minutes late. I darted out the door and headed for the taxi stand. There was no frantic arm waving, just heavy breath hanging in the air.
The taxi got me to my destination for less than I had expected to pay, but factor in the already-reserved zipcar and my trip was a hefty 8 dollars a mile. Ouch.
I found my card in a pocket of another jacket when I got home. The card was jammed back into my wallet for another ride some other day.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Aw, that felt good
Winter league started yesterday. We somehow managed to skirt the "winter" weather. In a field with holes, sprinkler heads, and some gravel, I should probably feel lucky I didn't hurt myself. I feel luckier than that.
I arrived at the fields almost 45 minutes before game time with a foolish belief that our game might start on time. I warmed up with the dynamic stretching that we've been doing at Catholic. I wanted to practice what I preached. It felt good and I felt warm. I was ready to play when game time finally rolled around. In the first two points, I'd layed out for two D's and snagged a score. Some have argued that the second layout may have been showy, but I swear their speed demon of a woman had a shot at it. Our team jumped out to an early lead, but the momentum shifted back the other way. We battled back and forth until half, before finally taking control, at least mostly. We let the other team creep back in to within 2 after being up 11-7, but we managed to put them away. I had one more grab that I'm pretty proud of. I stumbled into a hole and I watched as the disc floated above me. Thinking that I would tumble to the ground, I was surprised when I found a bit of footing. The disc was still hanging, so I lunged with my left hand and made the grab for a score. I also had one throw that I think I'm proud of. I was on the sideline, the dump cut went to the line, but wasn't open. I wanted the score (I did have trouble holstering my throws all day), and as the dump continued along the line, I stepped out, then was forced further out by my mark. I managed to put up a loopy outside in flick that came right down in the receiver's path. Yeah.
The coolest part of the day, other than just being out there playing and having some success was to be able to feel some upper body strength. I've been working out for the last four weeks or so, and I really felt stronger. Too bad, I felt like I'd lost a bit of endurance. Soon, I hope to be firing on all cylinders.
Winter league started yesterday. We somehow managed to skirt the "winter" weather. In a field with holes, sprinkler heads, and some gravel, I should probably feel lucky I didn't hurt myself. I feel luckier than that.
I arrived at the fields almost 45 minutes before game time with a foolish belief that our game might start on time. I warmed up with the dynamic stretching that we've been doing at Catholic. I wanted to practice what I preached. It felt good and I felt warm. I was ready to play when game time finally rolled around. In the first two points, I'd layed out for two D's and snagged a score. Some have argued that the second layout may have been showy, but I swear their speed demon of a woman had a shot at it. Our team jumped out to an early lead, but the momentum shifted back the other way. We battled back and forth until half, before finally taking control, at least mostly. We let the other team creep back in to within 2 after being up 11-7, but we managed to put them away. I had one more grab that I'm pretty proud of. I stumbled into a hole and I watched as the disc floated above me. Thinking that I would tumble to the ground, I was surprised when I found a bit of footing. The disc was still hanging, so I lunged with my left hand and made the grab for a score. I also had one throw that I think I'm proud of. I was on the sideline, the dump cut went to the line, but wasn't open. I wanted the score (I did have trouble holstering my throws all day), and as the dump continued along the line, I stepped out, then was forced further out by my mark. I managed to put up a loopy outside in flick that came right down in the receiver's path. Yeah.
The coolest part of the day, other than just being out there playing and having some success was to be able to feel some upper body strength. I've been working out for the last four weeks or so, and I really felt stronger. Too bad, I felt like I'd lost a bit of endurance. Soon, I hope to be firing on all cylinders.
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
Raindrops on whiskers and warm woolen kittens
Hovering a few degrees above freezing, it rains. I do not like this weather. It's too cold to wear my raincoat and it's not cold enough to turn to fluffy white goodness. The umbrella, my umbrella, unfolds with such enthusiasm like it misses me and needs a hug, but I can't. Umbrellas are space invaders and not the arcade kind. Sidewalks, escalators, personal bubbles do not take into account two umbrellas passing in the dreary night. One must bend. "Good evening, kind sir," it bows failing at its one job for a moment to pay respect to the higher class. The bulbs pass and return to attention, an umbrella in service. All fine and good, except that I'm wet.
Fortuitously, or with great inner fortitude, I don't feel the raindrops that collect in the mass of hair on my chin. I'll have to dry them later, but for now I'll celebrate my natural balaclava. It has more powers than water resistance it seems. In a weaving, billowing sort of way, it also has the power to bring out true feeling. I know this because today a coworker dropped in and as we were discussing our holidays happened to mention that she didn't like my beard. The subtlety of her comment could have been missed by some, but "I don't like it," hit a chord with me. "It makes you look older," she continued. There may have been some light backtracking after that, but I missed most of it. As I reflect on this statement and sometimes stare at my own reflection, I have to wonder a few things. First of all, why isn't facial hair afforded the same consideration as weight, fashion or hair style? I don't know of very many coworkers who would just come out and say such a thing about a new haircut. I've always thought that I admired the blunt reaction, but I've come to realize that some things can probably go unsaid. "That shirt makes you look like a killer whale," might be one of them. I'll keep thinking on it to be sure. And also listen to The Beards. They like it.
Hovering a few degrees above freezing, it rains. I do not like this weather. It's too cold to wear my raincoat and it's not cold enough to turn to fluffy white goodness. The umbrella, my umbrella, unfolds with such enthusiasm like it misses me and needs a hug, but I can't. Umbrellas are space invaders and not the arcade kind. Sidewalks, escalators, personal bubbles do not take into account two umbrellas passing in the dreary night. One must bend. "Good evening, kind sir," it bows failing at its one job for a moment to pay respect to the higher class. The bulbs pass and return to attention, an umbrella in service. All fine and good, except that I'm wet.
Fortuitously, or with great inner fortitude, I don't feel the raindrops that collect in the mass of hair on my chin. I'll have to dry them later, but for now I'll celebrate my natural balaclava. It has more powers than water resistance it seems. In a weaving, billowing sort of way, it also has the power to bring out true feeling. I know this because today a coworker dropped in and as we were discussing our holidays happened to mention that she didn't like my beard. The subtlety of her comment could have been missed by some, but "I don't like it," hit a chord with me. "It makes you look older," she continued. There may have been some light backtracking after that, but I missed most of it. As I reflect on this statement and sometimes stare at my own reflection, I have to wonder a few things. First of all, why isn't facial hair afforded the same consideration as weight, fashion or hair style? I don't know of very many coworkers who would just come out and say such a thing about a new haircut. I've always thought that I admired the blunt reaction, but I've come to realize that some things can probably go unsaid. "That shirt makes you look like a killer whale," might be one of them. I'll keep thinking on it to be sure. And also listen to The Beards. They like it.
Thursday, January 01, 2009
On we run
I had tasted victory and I liked it. As detailed in this space, I won a 6k about a month ago. Victory was nice, but the races I tend to enter have little fanfare- no prizes, hundreds of people, no spectators, and so I try to keep the glory and the not-so-glory in perspective. I suppose any contest belongs in some context and comes down in one way or another to who shows up that day. In that sense, I shouldn't belittle the accomplishment and I don't mean to. I guess in some way I'm trying to explain that internally I've found my need, that pure burning desire to win, has waned some. Today though, as I begin a new year, I have to wonder if it's just become a competing priority as I toed the starting line of my 2nd annual New Year's Day 5k.
With a little prodding from my past self, I toed the starting line and prepared a return to the victor's proverbial stand. From go, I was fighting to be one of the leaders. My fight was short-lived as two gentlemen left me in the dust. I fought on in third, crossing the mile in a time like the day 5:28 and brisk. As we climbed a slight hill, my focus remained on second place. The chill wind was freezing my hand and I soon found myself alone on the course. The same lessons repeat themselves in race after race, a fast start is a dangerous gamble. I had two things going for me. First, this was my distance, the 5k, so I knew what I was into. Second, I've been working on my upper body more lately and that has given me some kick in the past. I think I also carried a confidence that may have been a liability.
As I fell further out of touch with second place, I began to look over my shoulder. That's never a good sign. My friend and another seemed to be gaining on me. I tried to hold them off, but with about half-mile to go they passed me. I fought on and tucked in with them for a moment as the finish line approached. I had visions of a daring finish. I kicked hard and caught one competitor as my friend pulled slightly away. After only a few steps the effort proved to be too much for me this morning. The speed may be there from the strength training, but it didn't last. Something was missing. I have some theories, one being "some days are like that." I finished in fifth at 17:40. That's 15 seconds slower than last year. Maybe 2009 can be a year with room for improvement.
Some interesting (to me) post-race notes- I think that being able to discuss races with my friend afterwards shift the dynamic of my racing. It means that I think more in terms of what I need to improve and it also allows me to recall some very fond high school memories. It's a really special thing and if I can nurture it, I think it could very well lead to improvement this year. GO '09.
I had tasted victory and I liked it. As detailed in this space, I won a 6k about a month ago. Victory was nice, but the races I tend to enter have little fanfare- no prizes, hundreds of people, no spectators, and so I try to keep the glory and the not-so-glory in perspective. I suppose any contest belongs in some context and comes down in one way or another to who shows up that day. In that sense, I shouldn't belittle the accomplishment and I don't mean to. I guess in some way I'm trying to explain that internally I've found my need, that pure burning desire to win, has waned some. Today though, as I begin a new year, I have to wonder if it's just become a competing priority as I toed the starting line of my 2nd annual New Year's Day 5k.
With a little prodding from my past self, I toed the starting line and prepared a return to the victor's proverbial stand. From go, I was fighting to be one of the leaders. My fight was short-lived as two gentlemen left me in the dust. I fought on in third, crossing the mile in a time like the day 5:28 and brisk. As we climbed a slight hill, my focus remained on second place. The chill wind was freezing my hand and I soon found myself alone on the course. The same lessons repeat themselves in race after race, a fast start is a dangerous gamble. I had two things going for me. First, this was my distance, the 5k, so I knew what I was into. Second, I've been working on my upper body more lately and that has given me some kick in the past. I think I also carried a confidence that may have been a liability.
As I fell further out of touch with second place, I began to look over my shoulder. That's never a good sign. My friend and another seemed to be gaining on me. I tried to hold them off, but with about half-mile to go they passed me. I fought on and tucked in with them for a moment as the finish line approached. I had visions of a daring finish. I kicked hard and caught one competitor as my friend pulled slightly away. After only a few steps the effort proved to be too much for me this morning. The speed may be there from the strength training, but it didn't last. Something was missing. I have some theories, one being "some days are like that." I finished in fifth at 17:40. That's 15 seconds slower than last year. Maybe 2009 can be a year with room for improvement.
Some interesting (to me) post-race notes- I think that being able to discuss races with my friend afterwards shift the dynamic of my racing. It means that I think more in terms of what I need to improve and it also allows me to recall some very fond high school memories. It's a really special thing and if I can nurture it, I think it could very well lead to improvement this year. GO '09.
Books of 2008
I set a lofty goal for myself for reading in 2008. I wanted to read 5 books a month, 60 for the year. I pushed and I struggled and I read a few short ones and was on pace through August. It was challenging for me because it required me to plan ahead. I had to know what I was going to read next before I was through with the book in my lap. I was a regular visitor to the library and bookstores. I misfired at least twice and had to give up well before I could finish. My priorities shifted in September and the months got away from me. I was back on pace for December, but finished at 49 books completed. I'm three-fourths of the way through a book of F. Scott Fitzgerald short stories that would have put me at 50, but I just couldn't do it. Something about shooting for the moon and landing among George W. goes here. Here are the books I read in 2008:
1. The Happiness Myth: Why What we think is Right is Wrong
2. He's just not that into you
3. Early Bird: a memoir of premature retirement
4. Something Wicked this way comes
5. Freakonomics
6. Friendship: An Expose
7. I Am America (And so can you!)
8. Animal Dreams
9. Taft
10. Born Standing Up: A comic's life
11. Slam
12. Love is a mix tape
13. Candy Girl: A Year in the Life of An Unlikely Stripper
14. Last Night at the Lobster
15. Everything is Illuminated
16. 1984 (reread)
17. The Little Prince
18. The Group
19. Unaccustomed Earth
20. Kiss & Tell
21. The Relationship Cure
22. Prodigal Summer
23. Who Moved My Cheese?
24. Raising the Bar: Integrity and Passion in Life and Business: The Story of Clif Bar & Co.
25. Snuff
26. The Quiet Girl
27. Then We Came to the End
28. No one belongs here more than you
29. The Golden Compass
30. The Subtle Knife
31. The Amber Spyglass
32. If you could see me now
33. The Five People you Meet in Heaven
34. Playing for Pizza
35. The Poisonwood Bible
36. I was told there'd be cake
37. The Feast of Love
38. Dave Barry's History of the Millennium (so far)
39. What I talk about when I talk about running
40. The Natural
41. Life After Man
42. Pigs in Heaven
43. Buying In
44. Paris to the Moon
45. Hooking Up
46. Outliers
47. Unbreakable You
48. Me of Little Faith
49. Leadership 101
My favorites were Unaccustomed Earth and Prodigal Summer. In negative news, I think I'm going to stop reading comedy books by comedians.
I set a lofty goal for myself for reading in 2008. I wanted to read 5 books a month, 60 for the year. I pushed and I struggled and I read a few short ones and was on pace through August. It was challenging for me because it required me to plan ahead. I had to know what I was going to read next before I was through with the book in my lap. I was a regular visitor to the library and bookstores. I misfired at least twice and had to give up well before I could finish. My priorities shifted in September and the months got away from me. I was back on pace for December, but finished at 49 books completed. I'm three-fourths of the way through a book of F. Scott Fitzgerald short stories that would have put me at 50, but I just couldn't do it. Something about shooting for the moon and landing among George W. goes here. Here are the books I read in 2008:
1. The Happiness Myth: Why What we think is Right is Wrong
2. He's just not that into you
3. Early Bird: a memoir of premature retirement
4. Something Wicked this way comes
5. Freakonomics
6. Friendship: An Expose
7. I Am America (And so can you!)
8. Animal Dreams
9. Taft
10. Born Standing Up: A comic's life
11. Slam
12. Love is a mix tape
13. Candy Girl: A Year in the Life of An Unlikely Stripper
14. Last Night at the Lobster
15. Everything is Illuminated
16. 1984 (reread)
17. The Little Prince
18. The Group
19. Unaccustomed Earth
20. Kiss & Tell
21. The Relationship Cure
22. Prodigal Summer
23. Who Moved My Cheese?
24. Raising the Bar: Integrity and Passion in Life and Business: The Story of Clif Bar & Co.
25. Snuff
26. The Quiet Girl
27. Then We Came to the End
28. No one belongs here more than you
29. The Golden Compass
30. The Subtle Knife
31. The Amber Spyglass
32. If you could see me now
33. The Five People you Meet in Heaven
34. Playing for Pizza
35. The Poisonwood Bible
36. I was told there'd be cake
37. The Feast of Love
38. Dave Barry's History of the Millennium (so far)
39. What I talk about when I talk about running
40. The Natural
41. Life After Man
42. Pigs in Heaven
43. Buying In
44. Paris to the Moon
45. Hooking Up
46. Outliers
47. Unbreakable You
48. Me of Little Faith
49. Leadership 101
My favorites were Unaccustomed Earth and Prodigal Summer. In negative news, I think I'm going to stop reading comedy books by comedians.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Movies 2008
Netflix entered my life in force this year...
1. Enchanted
2. D.E.B.S
3. The Thomas Crown Affair (1968)
4. Chariots of Fire
5. Berkley in the Sixties
6. North by Northwest
7. Casa de los Babys
8. The Spirit of the Marathon
9. Secretary
10. 27 dresses
11. Atonement
12. Definitely, Maybe
13. LA Haine
14. I think I love my wife
15. Brokeback Mountain
16. The Pursuit of Happyness
17. The Ten
18. Charlie Bartlett
19. The Simpsons Movie
20. Persopolis
21. The Prestige
22. The Darjeeling Limited
23. Dan in Real Life
24. Becoming Jane
25. Alvin and the Chipmunks
26. The Hours
27. American Flyers
28. Roger Dodger
29. I'm a Cyborg, but that's ok
30. Smart People
31. Swing Time
32. Southland Tales
33. Lars and the Real Girl
34. Iron Man
35. Raging Bull
36. No Blood for Oil
37. P.S. I love you
38. Forgetting Sarah Marshall
39. Into the Wild
40. Music Within
41. Sex & The City
42. The Hustler
43. The Holiday
44. The Greatest Game Ever Played
45. American Teen
46. The Other Boleyn Girl
47. Better Off Dead
48. Saint Ralph
49. Cash Back
50. Pistol: Birth of a Legend
51. August Rush
52. 4 months, 3 weeks, 2 days
53. 21
54. Without Limits
55. Son of Rambow
56. Prefontaine (review)
57. The Duchess
58. Burn After Reading
59. School for Scoundrels
60. Body of Lies
61. Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day
62. Against the Ropes
63. Good Luck Chuck
64. Be Kind, Rewind
65. Rachel Getting Married
66. The Aviator
67. The Departed
68. Tenacious D and the Pick of Destiny
69. Slumdog Millionaire
70. Charlie Wilson's War
71. Seven Pounds
72. Hancock
73. Harold and Maude
74. Opportunity Knocks (review)
I would say Atonement and Lars and The Real Girl were my favorite movies this year. I'm a Cyborg, but that's ok was memorable for sure. Spirit of the Marathon gets a special mention because it was part of and helped recall a great experience.
Netflix entered my life in force this year...
1. Enchanted
2. D.E.B.S
3. The Thomas Crown Affair (1968)
4. Chariots of Fire
5. Berkley in the Sixties
6. North by Northwest
7. Casa de los Babys
8. The Spirit of the Marathon
9. Secretary
10. 27 dresses
11. Atonement
12. Definitely, Maybe
13. LA Haine
14. I think I love my wife
15. Brokeback Mountain
16. The Pursuit of Happyness
17. The Ten
18. Charlie Bartlett
19. The Simpsons Movie
20. Persopolis
21. The Prestige
22. The Darjeeling Limited
23. Dan in Real Life
24. Becoming Jane
25. Alvin and the Chipmunks
26. The Hours
27. American Flyers
28. Roger Dodger
29. I'm a Cyborg, but that's ok
30. Smart People
31. Swing Time
32. Southland Tales
33. Lars and the Real Girl
34. Iron Man
35. Raging Bull
36. No Blood for Oil
37. P.S. I love you
38. Forgetting Sarah Marshall
39. Into the Wild
40. Music Within
41. Sex & The City
42. The Hustler
43. The Holiday
44. The Greatest Game Ever Played
45. American Teen
46. The Other Boleyn Girl
47. Better Off Dead
48. Saint Ralph
49. Cash Back
50. Pistol: Birth of a Legend
51. August Rush
52. 4 months, 3 weeks, 2 days
53. 21
54. Without Limits
55. Son of Rambow
56. Prefontaine (review)
57. The Duchess
58. Burn After Reading
59. School for Scoundrels
60. Body of Lies
61. Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day
62. Against the Ropes
63. Good Luck Chuck
64. Be Kind, Rewind
65. Rachel Getting Married
66. The Aviator
67. The Departed
68. Tenacious D and the Pick of Destiny
69. Slumdog Millionaire
70. Charlie Wilson's War
71. Seven Pounds
72. Hancock
73. Harold and Maude
74. Opportunity Knocks (review)
I would say Atonement and Lars and The Real Girl were my favorite movies this year. I'm a Cyborg, but that's ok was memorable for sure. Spirit of the Marathon gets a special mention because it was part of and helped recall a great experience.
The Midas remote control
You've seen Click and read up on your Greek mythology, but if you'll indulge me for just one moment, I'll tell you about the time my remote control was pure gold. Literally. Except, not literally at all.
Last night, I found myself stumbling around the digital air waves. (What are these now? They aren't air waves, are they? Where do we stumble when we're flipping channels; why it's not even a flip anymore, maybe a blip...) In a New York minute, I can never remember if those are fast or slow, but I want the fast ones here, I went from having nothing to watch and very little meaning in my Monday evening to having three sporting events that I cared passionately about. When I say passionately here, I mean the sort of passion that one might feel for his third favorite pair of pants- that's the passion I'm talking about. First, I found Georgetown upsetting Connecticut in some Big East basketball. I don't know when I became a Georgetown fan exactly, but I think it happened. It might be because they are good and nearby, some sort of beacon of awesome or something. Between channel blipping, I found that G-town was able to hold off Connecticut for the victory. Yay! recently adopted team. Then, through the telepathy of ESPN and the rippling facebook status updates, I found that Missouri was battling the vastly inferior except when they weren't which was like all night Northwestern team. Missouri escaped with a victory. All right. That actually concluded after the Washington Wizards went on their first winning streak of the season. These 2 recent victories bring their record to 6-23. Needless to say, that's been fun to cheer for.
All of this through the magic of my remote control. And I want to get rid of cable...
You've seen Click and read up on your Greek mythology, but if you'll indulge me for just one moment, I'll tell you about the time my remote control was pure gold. Literally. Except, not literally at all.
Last night, I found myself stumbling around the digital air waves. (What are these now? They aren't air waves, are they? Where do we stumble when we're flipping channels; why it's not even a flip anymore, maybe a blip...) In a New York minute, I can never remember if those are fast or slow, but I want the fast ones here, I went from having nothing to watch and very little meaning in my Monday evening to having three sporting events that I cared passionately about. When I say passionately here, I mean the sort of passion that one might feel for his third favorite pair of pants- that's the passion I'm talking about. First, I found Georgetown upsetting Connecticut in some Big East basketball. I don't know when I became a Georgetown fan exactly, but I think it happened. It might be because they are good and nearby, some sort of beacon of awesome or something. Between channel blipping, I found that G-town was able to hold off Connecticut for the victory. Yay! recently adopted team. Then, through the telepathy of ESPN and the rippling facebook status updates, I found that Missouri was battling the vastly inferior except when they weren't which was like all night Northwestern team. Missouri escaped with a victory. All right. That actually concluded after the Washington Wizards went on their first winning streak of the season. These 2 recent victories bring their record to 6-23. Needless to say, that's been fun to cheer for.
All of this through the magic of my remote control. And I want to get rid of cable...
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Live a life of a modern person with a classy watch
There is much to say and someone else is probably saying it.
I'd had a low level Christmas buzz going since about December 9, so I figured that I wouldn't have the energy to really take that up many notches. Why, I'd even won the door/cubicle decorating contest edging out 8 others for the high honor. I was right about my energy, but had a good Christmas anyway. I enjoyed a planned and a surprise visit with some FARCers early on and then really dug into the family stuff. My niece didn't think much of the magnificent beard. She seemed to be avoiding most men and it took her all week to warm up to me. She did get around to petting my beard and saying "woof," which is exactly the hollow sort of victory that it sounds. With hair in my mouth, and the reaction of my niece, I was having some beard doubts until I stumbled onto a site celebrating facial hair as "nature's bib" and then discovered the magic of Beard Science. Never fear, beard fans, my facial hair resolve is renewed.
The weather, like my beard, was up to some other good tricks this vacation. I went for a run in 6 degree weather. There were beard-cicles, frozen mustache pops, and for a moment or two I thought my eyes might freeze. Days later, I was running in shorts and a t-shirt at some 60 degrees warmer. To prove the weather was crazy, the Midwest threw in snow, a thunderstorm, and both sleet and rain for good measure.
I'm back home now with the vague sense that something important needs to be done. I'll have to save any life-altering decisions until after the soup.
There is much to say and someone else is probably saying it.
I'd had a low level Christmas buzz going since about December 9, so I figured that I wouldn't have the energy to really take that up many notches. Why, I'd even won the door/cubicle decorating contest edging out 8 others for the high honor. I was right about my energy, but had a good Christmas anyway. I enjoyed a planned and a surprise visit with some FARCers early on and then really dug into the family stuff. My niece didn't think much of the magnificent beard. She seemed to be avoiding most men and it took her all week to warm up to me. She did get around to petting my beard and saying "woof," which is exactly the hollow sort of victory that it sounds. With hair in my mouth, and the reaction of my niece, I was having some beard doubts until I stumbled onto a site celebrating facial hair as "nature's bib" and then discovered the magic of Beard Science. Never fear, beard fans, my facial hair resolve is renewed.
The weather, like my beard, was up to some other good tricks this vacation. I went for a run in 6 degree weather. There were beard-cicles, frozen mustache pops, and for a moment or two I thought my eyes might freeze. Days later, I was running in shorts and a t-shirt at some 60 degrees warmer. To prove the weather was crazy, the Midwest threw in snow, a thunderstorm, and both sleet and rain for good measure.
I'm back home now with the vague sense that something important needs to be done. I'll have to save any life-altering decisions until after the soup.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
A Sunday status race
David is wishing for more time between social life and alarm.
David is cold.
David is preparing for an abbreviated warm-up.
David is waiting for the 2-letter command.
David is going.
David is going out slowly.
David is in the top 40.
David is letting the leaders go.
David is feeling ok.
David is moving up slowly.
David is feeling neither good nor bad.
David is without his watch.
David is racing without enthusiasm.
David is focused forward.
David is still seeing the leaders.
David is in the top 20.
David is done with more than a mile.
David is joined by blue hat.
David is moving up with blue hat.
David is lost in his stride.
David is feeling ok.
David is passing.
David is being passed by blue hat.
David is still looking up.
David is in the top 15.
David is done with 3 miles.
David is not interested in losing to a girl in pink.
David is sorry for being sexist.
David is not so sorry that he slows down.
David is closing on another group.
David is not losing the blue hat.
David is not gaining much on pink.
David is a fan of front door fans.
David is in a new group.
David is exchanging places with blue hat.
David is joined by blue hat as we give chase.
David is less than a mile from the finish.
David is making his move.
David is regretting making his move.
David is slowing down.
David is being passed by blue hat.
David is being passed by a big guy.
David is struggling.
David is removing his gloves.
David is considering chucking them.
David is passing a big guy.
David is being passed by a big guy.
David is no longer interested in this pursuit.
David is done.
David is recognizing his surroundings.
David is not done.
David is kicking.
David is passing a big guy.
David is closing on the end.
David is 29:43 for 8k.
David is pained, tired, pleased, frustrated, and out of breath.
David is eighth.
David is an age group champion.
David is being greeted by the runner-up.
David is enjoying the company of his competition.
David is not sure this is the most enjoyable way to communicate.
David is glad he tried.
David is crediting Daimon for the inspiration.
David is wishing for more time between social life and alarm.
David is cold.
David is preparing for an abbreviated warm-up.
David is waiting for the 2-letter command.
David is going.
David is going out slowly.
David is in the top 40.
David is letting the leaders go.
David is feeling ok.
David is moving up slowly.
David is feeling neither good nor bad.
David is without his watch.
David is racing without enthusiasm.
David is focused forward.
David is still seeing the leaders.
David is in the top 20.
David is done with more than a mile.
David is joined by blue hat.
David is moving up with blue hat.
David is lost in his stride.
David is feeling ok.
David is passing.
David is being passed by blue hat.
David is still looking up.
David is in the top 15.
David is done with 3 miles.
David is not interested in losing to a girl in pink.
David is sorry for being sexist.
David is not so sorry that he slows down.
David is closing on another group.
David is not losing the blue hat.
David is not gaining much on pink.
David is a fan of front door fans.
David is in a new group.
David is exchanging places with blue hat.
David is joined by blue hat as we give chase.
David is less than a mile from the finish.
David is making his move.
David is regretting making his move.
David is slowing down.
David is being passed by blue hat.
David is being passed by a big guy.
David is struggling.
David is removing his gloves.
David is considering chucking them.
David is passing a big guy.
David is being passed by a big guy.
David is no longer interested in this pursuit.
David is done.
David is recognizing his surroundings.
David is not done.
David is kicking.
David is passing a big guy.
David is closing on the end.
David is 29:43 for 8k.
David is pained, tired, pleased, frustrated, and out of breath.
David is eighth.
David is an age group champion.
David is being greeted by the runner-up.
David is enjoying the company of his competition.
David is not sure this is the most enjoyable way to communicate.
David is glad he tried.
David is crediting Daimon for the inspiration.
Monday, December 15, 2008
Miracle in transit
Friday night a cosmic event occurred and I was there to witness it. Traveling from a party sometime around 2 AM, I prepared for the long Metro ride home. Across town, out late, I knew I was destined to log some serious waiting minutes, complete with long platform-hugging times for my train and my transfer. Instead, with the full moon looming thirty percent larger, I descended the escalator to find my train arriving. At my transfer, my wait time was less than a minute. I was at home and in bed before Santa could even make a pass at mom. Also, it wasn't Christmas, but I was getting into the spirits, just like my favorite North Pole rapper- E double G Nawg.
Friday night a cosmic event occurred and I was there to witness it. Traveling from a party sometime around 2 AM, I prepared for the long Metro ride home. Across town, out late, I knew I was destined to log some serious waiting minutes, complete with long platform-hugging times for my train and my transfer. Instead, with the full moon looming thirty percent larger, I descended the escalator to find my train arriving. At my transfer, my wait time was less than a minute. I was at home and in bed before Santa could even make a pass at mom. Also, it wasn't Christmas, but I was getting into the spirits, just like my favorite North Pole rapper- E double G Nawg.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Hittin' the egg nog
Yesterday I began constructing my entry into the office door-decorating contest. My vision includes a window lit by twinkling lights, potentially with the shadows of Dickensian carolers outside. The piece-de-Christmas, though, will be a small tape recorder stuck to the door and a sign that says "Press play for carols."
On the tiny tape of the tape player will be the recorded voices of carol singers. The hitch in my plan is that I have not come across any singers. I considered some Internet stealing, but wanted something closer to the genuine experience. At least it needed to be as genuine as tiny tape can be. Two of my coworkers politely declined my entreaties to form an a capella trio. Alone and buzzing from the energy of an idea, I decided to take matters into my own larynx. I hesitated, considering that I might sound better with bathroom acoustics or muzzled, but decided to press on by pressing record. Standing in my office, reading song lyrics from my computer, I belted out an off key, "Sleigh bells ring, are you listening?"
As I was finishing up my fourth mangled carol, I could sense some energy in the air, a cheeriness, a feeling that curled the ends of my mouth skyward, and made me fight off a chuckle. It wasn't from me; I've mangled many a song before. It was something else, not Christmas spirit exactly, more like two coworkers laughing at me.
Yesterday I began constructing my entry into the office door-decorating contest. My vision includes a window lit by twinkling lights, potentially with the shadows of Dickensian carolers outside. The piece-de-Christmas, though, will be a small tape recorder stuck to the door and a sign that says "Press play for carols."
On the tiny tape of the tape player will be the recorded voices of carol singers. The hitch in my plan is that I have not come across any singers. I considered some Internet stealing, but wanted something closer to the genuine experience. At least it needed to be as genuine as tiny tape can be. Two of my coworkers politely declined my entreaties to form an a capella trio. Alone and buzzing from the energy of an idea, I decided to take matters into my own larynx. I hesitated, considering that I might sound better with bathroom acoustics or muzzled, but decided to press on by pressing record. Standing in my office, reading song lyrics from my computer, I belted out an off key, "Sleigh bells ring, are you listening?"
As I was finishing up my fourth mangled carol, I could sense some energy in the air, a cheeriness, a feeling that curled the ends of my mouth skyward, and made me fight off a chuckle. It wasn't from me; I've mangled many a song before. It was something else, not Christmas spirit exactly, more like two coworkers laughing at me.
Sunday, December 07, 2008
The ups and downs of XC
I can't tell how much of my running is mental. Somewhere, yesterday morning the usual jitters disappeared for reasons that I can't explain. It made me a little nervous, but not in the right way. To add to the mental/emotional roller coaster I stumbled into a negative cloud thanks to the Internet. I may not know how much running is mental, but I knew I didn't want to race under a dark cloud. I spent my few spare moments seeking out something positive to counteract the cloud. I turned to music to cheer me up. Even though I knew I was doing it, it seemed to work.
I set out without nerve or cloud, with friends on the starting line, through the woods. Learning from Tuesday's two-mile, I held back. Working into single file as we ran on a path beneath and between leaveless trees down toward an unfrozen creek and lake, I worked my way into about fifth place. Openings appeared where I could have moved to fourth or third or up further, but I was reigning myself in, trying not to move too soon. Single file continued for quite some time. I worried about rocks and tree roots twisting my ankles. I grew momentarily annoyed when an s-curve in the trail slowed our pace, but still I held back. As we crossed a path above the lake that may have been a reservoir, space opened up around us. I moved onto the heels of the leaders, but didn't pass. I was waiting for at least the 3k mark, the halfway point. We took the turn, but I was not ready to move immediately. A little further down the trail, I saw my opening. I can't remember what the opening was. It may have been the slightly wider trail, or it may have been just a half-step of pace, or it may just have been that I was looking to open things up a little more. Whatever it was, I moved to the front. I don't like races to come down to wild sprints at the end. To win, I like to have a lead. I tried all the tricks I could think of as we moved back through where we'd come. I crested hills hard and made turns strong, hoping that those behind me would lose sight of me for a moment and be demoralized with the ground they'd suddenly lost.
The sounds in my ears were breath and footsteps, but most of the noise came from inside. The personal battle was waging as I crossed the three mile mark. Soon after, I mentally lamented the 6k race, wishing that I'd already broken the proverbial tape in a 5k. At the previously annoying, s-curve, I slalomed through with jerky hips and powerful steps. I bounded onto bridges and hoped for the finish to appear. It did not. The battle wasn't over and the trail turned upward. I don't recall bounding down so far in the beginning, but here I was climbing up. Hills at the end of races, seem to be a club hallmark and yet I'm usually unprepared. I pressed up the hill, but most of the pressing seemed to be taking place against my chest. My heart and lungs were burning as I fought on. I didn't want to look back, but I sensed my competitors gaining. Halfway up the hill, I thought to myself, if I can clear this hill, I can win. I cleared the hill, and found more hill. With another push of painful steps, I crested that next part of the hill and saw the finish line. Finally. I may have sprinted, but there wasn't much left in the tank. Chest heaving, I crossed the line and waited just a few seconds before being followed into the chute. Victory tasted of cold air.
My new shoes now sit on my bedroom floor undefeated. They are the only shoes I've ever owned that have held that honor. They are considering retirement, but more than likely they will be back to better that (probably inaccurate) 6k time of 26:27.
I can't tell how much of my running is mental. Somewhere, yesterday morning the usual jitters disappeared for reasons that I can't explain. It made me a little nervous, but not in the right way. To add to the mental/emotional roller coaster I stumbled into a negative cloud thanks to the Internet. I may not know how much running is mental, but I knew I didn't want to race under a dark cloud. I spent my few spare moments seeking out something positive to counteract the cloud. I turned to music to cheer me up. Even though I knew I was doing it, it seemed to work.
I set out without nerve or cloud, with friends on the starting line, through the woods. Learning from Tuesday's two-mile, I held back. Working into single file as we ran on a path beneath and between leaveless trees down toward an unfrozen creek and lake, I worked my way into about fifth place. Openings appeared where I could have moved to fourth or third or up further, but I was reigning myself in, trying not to move too soon. Single file continued for quite some time. I worried about rocks and tree roots twisting my ankles. I grew momentarily annoyed when an s-curve in the trail slowed our pace, but still I held back. As we crossed a path above the lake that may have been a reservoir, space opened up around us. I moved onto the heels of the leaders, but didn't pass. I was waiting for at least the 3k mark, the halfway point. We took the turn, but I was not ready to move immediately. A little further down the trail, I saw my opening. I can't remember what the opening was. It may have been the slightly wider trail, or it may have been just a half-step of pace, or it may just have been that I was looking to open things up a little more. Whatever it was, I moved to the front. I don't like races to come down to wild sprints at the end. To win, I like to have a lead. I tried all the tricks I could think of as we moved back through where we'd come. I crested hills hard and made turns strong, hoping that those behind me would lose sight of me for a moment and be demoralized with the ground they'd suddenly lost.
The sounds in my ears were breath and footsteps, but most of the noise came from inside. The personal battle was waging as I crossed the three mile mark. Soon after, I mentally lamented the 6k race, wishing that I'd already broken the proverbial tape in a 5k. At the previously annoying, s-curve, I slalomed through with jerky hips and powerful steps. I bounded onto bridges and hoped for the finish to appear. It did not. The battle wasn't over and the trail turned upward. I don't recall bounding down so far in the beginning, but here I was climbing up. Hills at the end of races, seem to be a club hallmark and yet I'm usually unprepared. I pressed up the hill, but most of the pressing seemed to be taking place against my chest. My heart and lungs were burning as I fought on. I didn't want to look back, but I sensed my competitors gaining. Halfway up the hill, I thought to myself, if I can clear this hill, I can win. I cleared the hill, and found more hill. With another push of painful steps, I crested that next part of the hill and saw the finish line. Finally. I may have sprinted, but there wasn't much left in the tank. Chest heaving, I crossed the line and waited just a few seconds before being followed into the chute. Victory tasted of cold air.
My new shoes now sit on my bedroom floor undefeated. They are the only shoes I've ever owned that have held that honor. They are considering retirement, but more than likely they will be back to better that (probably inaccurate) 6k time of 26:27.
Thursday, December 04, 2008
There's a whole other world out there. They call it morning.
For much of the past three months, I've been waking up early twice a week to make some Ultimate. It's been tiring at times, but it's also been very rewarding. Playing and thinking Ultimate before work is confusing to my system, but freeing in many ways. It frees my evenings. It frees that part of my soul that likes to see the sun rise on a crisp fall morning. It frees my alarm from the snooze button. There have been a number of good practices and some not so good practices along the way. I may be biased by the passage of time, or the recent break in the action, but one of the best practices of all took place on Tuesday.
With only a slight chill in the air, we took to the track to run two miles. There were no moans, only a small group of Ultimate players willing, if not ready, to run. I started out too fast, but wound my way around to a time of 10:56. Fortunately the others ignored my efforts. They all run pretty well, some even much better than I expected. It was exhilarating to put down those miles before many went for coffee. Then, to add caramel flavoring to the day, we chased the disc around in a silly game of boot that brought out tired smiles. Running and disc chasing are great ways to start the day.
For much of the past three months, I've been waking up early twice a week to make some Ultimate. It's been tiring at times, but it's also been very rewarding. Playing and thinking Ultimate before work is confusing to my system, but freeing in many ways. It frees my evenings. It frees that part of my soul that likes to see the sun rise on a crisp fall morning. It frees my alarm from the snooze button. There have been a number of good practices and some not so good practices along the way. I may be biased by the passage of time, or the recent break in the action, but one of the best practices of all took place on Tuesday.
With only a slight chill in the air, we took to the track to run two miles. There were no moans, only a small group of Ultimate players willing, if not ready, to run. I started out too fast, but wound my way around to a time of 10:56. Fortunately the others ignored my efforts. They all run pretty well, some even much better than I expected. It was exhilarating to put down those miles before many went for coffee. Then, to add caramel flavoring to the day, we chased the disc around in a silly game of boot that brought out tired smiles. Running and disc chasing are great ways to start the day.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Another step toward grownupsville
On the outskirts of adulthood, that residential district filled with chamois shirts and flower print blouses, there's a small town where if you want something done, you do it yourself. As I was unconsciously sifting through my memory banks, I came to the realization that there are certain tastes and smells that I associate with the holidays. One of those tastes done to near perfection by women in my family is the taste of sweet potatoes. I've had the recipe for ages, but I've never had the will or the gumption to take on my memory. This year, with Thanksgiving looming and no alternative sweet potatoes in sight, I decided to take action.
Twice I made the sweet potatoes, once misunderstanding the directions "peeled and cooked" and once coming up short in the magic sauce department, and twice I lived to smile about it. They may have lacked the texture and the look of the family tradition, but at least in part they packed the flavor. With a mixture of pride and sadness, I brought the sweet potatoes to two different Thanksgiving day meals.
On the outskirts of adulthood, that residential district filled with chamois shirts and flower print blouses, there's a small town where if you want something done, you do it yourself. As I was unconsciously sifting through my memory banks, I came to the realization that there are certain tastes and smells that I associate with the holidays. One of those tastes done to near perfection by women in my family is the taste of sweet potatoes. I've had the recipe for ages, but I've never had the will or the gumption to take on my memory. This year, with Thanksgiving looming and no alternative sweet potatoes in sight, I decided to take action.
Twice I made the sweet potatoes, once misunderstanding the directions "peeled and cooked" and once coming up short in the magic sauce department, and twice I lived to smile about it. They may have lacked the texture and the look of the family tradition, but at least in part they packed the flavor. With a mixture of pride and sadness, I brought the sweet potatoes to two different Thanksgiving day meals.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
"There's no better than best."
I think I'm about to rant. I don't know if I can control my words very well as I recount this event. I apologize. I'm hoping that by getting it out in this space, I can get this off my mind.
Ultimate is a self-officiated sport whose rules state that we put fair play above winning. I am paraphrasing. As the game gets more competitive and the stakes get higher, this becomes increasingly difficult. For years, I have clung to these tenets of our game because I believe that the people who play Ultimate can take on this challenge and do at least as good a job as a referee. At the highest levels of the game, observers have been introduced. They act as self-officiation help. In the event that players can't agree, the observer can make his/her impartial ruling. I've resisted this as well. Today, a call was made in a game that had no observers; it deeply weakened my anti-observer bias.
The play: A huck that went directly up the line was caught in the end zone barely in-bounds or just out-of-bounds. One player, probably 25 to 30 yards away from the catch called the receiver out of bounds. An argument ensued. Now, not only do Ultimate players get to argue about the call, but we argue about who had the best perspective. This individual on the other team, was not only not particularly close to the play, but he was not on the sideline, meaning that his call would have been extremely difficult since he had neither the angle nor the proximity to make a good call. When the thrower argued that his perspective down the line was better, since he could at least see the two cones that make up the front and back of the end zone, the caller responded, "There's no better than best." While the sentiment was and is a fantastic and hilarious defense of the "best" perspective, it was also ridiculous.
Both teams dug in their heels, but eventually a re-do ensued. I think it ended badly for the (full disclosure) team I'm partial to, but I hope that the boy with the "best" perspective thinks about his calls in the future.
Preposterous.
Bring on the observers. Cue my head bowing dejectedly.
Update: I've realized that I have focused a lot of energy and frustration on this moment and all of it does not belong there. I think what I really need to take out of today, is that odd winds will blow, strange calls will be made, and I have to keep my head and help the team keep their heads on straight. There are plenty of excuses, but we've got to find ways to seize and keep momentum at the crucial moments.
I think I'm about to rant. I don't know if I can control my words very well as I recount this event. I apologize. I'm hoping that by getting it out in this space, I can get this off my mind.
Ultimate is a self-officiated sport whose rules state that we put fair play above winning. I am paraphrasing. As the game gets more competitive and the stakes get higher, this becomes increasingly difficult. For years, I have clung to these tenets of our game because I believe that the people who play Ultimate can take on this challenge and do at least as good a job as a referee. At the highest levels of the game, observers have been introduced. They act as self-officiation help. In the event that players can't agree, the observer can make his/her impartial ruling. I've resisted this as well. Today, a call was made in a game that had no observers; it deeply weakened my anti-observer bias.
The play: A huck that went directly up the line was caught in the end zone barely in-bounds or just out-of-bounds. One player, probably 25 to 30 yards away from the catch called the receiver out of bounds. An argument ensued. Now, not only do Ultimate players get to argue about the call, but we argue about who had the best perspective. This individual on the other team, was not only not particularly close to the play, but he was not on the sideline, meaning that his call would have been extremely difficult since he had neither the angle nor the proximity to make a good call. When the thrower argued that his perspective down the line was better, since he could at least see the two cones that make up the front and back of the end zone, the caller responded, "There's no better than best." While the sentiment was and is a fantastic and hilarious defense of the "best" perspective, it was also ridiculous.
Both teams dug in their heels, but eventually a re-do ensued. I think it ended badly for the (full disclosure) team I'm partial to, but I hope that the boy with the "best" perspective thinks about his calls in the future.
Preposterous.
Bring on the observers. Cue my head bowing dejectedly.
Update: I've realized that I have focused a lot of energy and frustration on this moment and all of it does not belong there. I think what I really need to take out of today, is that odd winds will blow, strange calls will be made, and I have to keep my head and help the team keep their heads on straight. There are plenty of excuses, but we've got to find ways to seize and keep momentum at the crucial moments.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
A whole new world
We practiced in the gym today. It felt a little like PE class, but mostly it felt like another world. It was like playing basketball without some gravity or playing baseball with a softball. It was playing Ultimate without wind. The disc just seemed to cut through the air better, and it usually does pretty well.
Then to really throw a wrench in things we ran some seven versus zero. It may seem lopsided, but it just might have worked. One of many, many challenging things to try to teach Ultimate players is the way the traditional vertical stack offense should look. The flow drills, the scrimmages, the diagrams, and the discussions haven't quite seemed to get us there. Time will tell if seven versus zero did the trick, but I thought I saw some light bulbs coming on. Here's hoping.
Another great drill we ran to get throwers thinking about where they were throwing was a come-to drill with a requirement to catch the disc with the outside hand. After almost three full months of an ongoing mantra of catching with two hands, we switched it up. The drill did a number of important things- it took people out of their comfort zone, it forced concentration, and best of all it looked good. I don't know how much being indoors contributed to the feeling, but I was glowing with pride at the amount of success we had with the drill. I keep thinking about September when everything was being dropped, two hands or not. We've come a long way.
There's one last tournament this semester and I hope we've started on an upward trajectory.
We practiced in the gym today. It felt a little like PE class, but mostly it felt like another world. It was like playing basketball without some gravity or playing baseball with a softball. It was playing Ultimate without wind. The disc just seemed to cut through the air better, and it usually does pretty well.
Then to really throw a wrench in things we ran some seven versus zero. It may seem lopsided, but it just might have worked. One of many, many challenging things to try to teach Ultimate players is the way the traditional vertical stack offense should look. The flow drills, the scrimmages, the diagrams, and the discussions haven't quite seemed to get us there. Time will tell if seven versus zero did the trick, but I thought I saw some light bulbs coming on. Here's hoping.
Another great drill we ran to get throwers thinking about where they were throwing was a come-to drill with a requirement to catch the disc with the outside hand. After almost three full months of an ongoing mantra of catching with two hands, we switched it up. The drill did a number of important things- it took people out of their comfort zone, it forced concentration, and best of all it looked good. I don't know how much being indoors contributed to the feeling, but I was glowing with pride at the amount of success we had with the drill. I keep thinking about September when everything was being dropped, two hands or not. We've come a long way.
There's one last tournament this semester and I hope we've started on an upward trajectory.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
The antithesis of the last post?
I threw the disc so much on Tuesday that my arm hurts. I thought I could throw, but on a lined field with a slight wind at me, I found out that it takes a ton of work for me to throw 35 yards (insert air quotes here) accurately (close air quotes) and repeatedly, especially with my backhand. All of a sudden, I want to be able to throw. Maybe it stems from the realization that I felt old last weekend. I felt like the college and high school kids were exploding on their first step and I felt tired when they continued to run in all kinds of directions. So maybe I know that I need to round out my game.
While my game grows more spherical, let me point to some personal moments of enjoyment from the last weekend. I felt like I had a relatively quiet few games. I couldn't find my groove and I did have a sense of being out of place. I made some bad throws and some less than stellar decisions. I did get a big D early on the mark that I managed to catch off my deflection and toss in for a score. Finally, somewhere late in the day, I did manage to settle in and do a bit of damage. I got up to grab an errant disc, called a timeout and then faced some serious stomach butterflies before throwing an easy score. Both were caught on tape, and I'm disappointed to say that it felt like I jumped a lot higher than it looks on film. Maybe some things aren't worth seeing again and again. Another moment caught on film that was much bigger in my head was a little flip pass that then led to a winning score. I caught the disc and looked up field, desperately I wanted to throw deep for a score, but saw no one to throw to. A struggle roiled inside of me, until my teammate ran by, I flipped it to him and he threw a nice flick for the win. On film, this took about a second, in my head the struggle lasted much longer. One in-game moment not caught on film that I'm particularly proud of was a dump pass. I had committed to my dump. The stall count was getting high and my handler wasn't open. As stall 8 rang out, I gave a good fake that sent the defender racing after nothing, at 9 I tossed the disc to my now wide open handler to keep it moving.
I still find it easier to discuss my on field adventures than my off field ones, but I will mention the half-time speech in the final fifth place game. After trading points for the first half and being up 7-5, I nicely demanded that we not let the other team back in the game. I brandished the new universal symbol for finish them off (a closed fist rubbing out an open palm) and then watched in awe as we went up 12-5. We finally closed the game at 13-7, but it was a good run and not a bad day. The room for improvement remains more like a convention center, which is good because it keeps me busy.
I threw the disc so much on Tuesday that my arm hurts. I thought I could throw, but on a lined field with a slight wind at me, I found out that it takes a ton of work for me to throw 35 yards (insert air quotes here) accurately (close air quotes) and repeatedly, especially with my backhand. All of a sudden, I want to be able to throw. Maybe it stems from the realization that I felt old last weekend. I felt like the college and high school kids were exploding on their first step and I felt tired when they continued to run in all kinds of directions. So maybe I know that I need to round out my game.
While my game grows more spherical, let me point to some personal moments of enjoyment from the last weekend. I felt like I had a relatively quiet few games. I couldn't find my groove and I did have a sense of being out of place. I made some bad throws and some less than stellar decisions. I did get a big D early on the mark that I managed to catch off my deflection and toss in for a score. Finally, somewhere late in the day, I did manage to settle in and do a bit of damage. I got up to grab an errant disc, called a timeout and then faced some serious stomach butterflies before throwing an easy score. Both were caught on tape, and I'm disappointed to say that it felt like I jumped a lot higher than it looks on film. Maybe some things aren't worth seeing again and again. Another moment caught on film that was much bigger in my head was a little flip pass that then led to a winning score. I caught the disc and looked up field, desperately I wanted to throw deep for a score, but saw no one to throw to. A struggle roiled inside of me, until my teammate ran by, I flipped it to him and he threw a nice flick for the win. On film, this took about a second, in my head the struggle lasted much longer. One in-game moment not caught on film that I'm particularly proud of was a dump pass. I had committed to my dump. The stall count was getting high and my handler wasn't open. As stall 8 rang out, I gave a good fake that sent the defender racing after nothing, at 9 I tossed the disc to my now wide open handler to keep it moving.
I still find it easier to discuss my on field adventures than my off field ones, but I will mention the half-time speech in the final fifth place game. After trading points for the first half and being up 7-5, I nicely demanded that we not let the other team back in the game. I brandished the new universal symbol for finish them off (a closed fist rubbing out an open palm) and then watched in awe as we went up 12-5. We finally closed the game at 13-7, but it was a good run and not a bad day. The room for improvement remains more like a convention center, which is good because it keeps me busy.
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