The NBA

I've had a resurgence of interest in the NBA this summer. I watched more playoff games than I've ever watched as I cheered on the Wizards and then the Spurs. The daily checking of ESPN carried me through May and June and the habit stuck. I've been watching and waiting to hear what LeBron James was going to do.

Today he came out with "The Letter" announcing his return to Cleveland (http://www.si.com/nba/2014/07/11/lebron-james-cleveland-cavaliers)

I don't root for LeBron. I saw him play once at the MCI center in DC. He was powerful and fluid and at times it looked like he was playing a level above the Wizards. Yet, I prefer the underdog and I don't really like to root for "the best player." It took me a long time to appreciate Michael Jordan. I had Magic Johnson posters in my bedroom and it took a long time to let that go.

"The Decision" in 2010 made it easier to dislike LeBron. His televised hubris was more than I could stomach, but I'm not a Cleveland fan and so my wound wasn't particularly deep. I rooted hard against LeBron last year and this year, but my interest didn't come from a place of anger.

I'm impressed by "The Letter". LeBron seems to want to do more than win. He wants to pick up a region in the process. He knows this time that it won't be easy. He lays that all out eloquently. I can't help but cheer a little bit for a hometown hero returning home and trying to lift Ohio up. It sounds like a movie. The only mis-step I see is that hubris once again. He told Cleveland and Miami at the same time that he told the general public (EDIT: Apparently that's not true. Guess he learned several things.). Perhaps I don't understand free agency and I don't understand what it's like to be considered "the best", but it strikes me again that he is putting himself ahead of the organization that gave him his "college education" and the organization that he's returning to. 

I can root for Cleveland and Ohio as places, but I'm not going to root for LeBron or the Cavs for long. By the time LeBron takes home his first million, I'll be rooting for the Wizards, the Spurs, and most of the rest of the NBA to take him down. 

I can root against him and admire what he's trying to do.

Urban country

I'm working on a country song about public transportation, but I'm stalling out.

Here's what I have come up with so far:

Well the gold rush passed me by
but the gold line will be found

My horse is a light rail
and my pasture is downtown

Saddle up, boys
There's enough country to go around

My twang'll never leave  me
the next train comes at 10

Packed tighter'n sardines
good thing I left my spurs

Saddle up, boys
There's enough country to go around

Goodbye, half my face

I stood staring into the mirror. The scissors open and poised to cut, engulfing a good 4 inches of beard. I looked at my reflection and wondered.

It's been 11 months since I've really trimmed my beard. There's been some maintenance along the way, but mostly I've just let it grow and grow and grow. I get compliments in the street. My mother complains every time she sees me.

I wasn't able to form coherent thoughts as I stared. The decision had already been made. The scissors were in hand. I cut. The first snip didn't quite close. I paused as 75% of my beard hung in the balance. Now the thoughts came to me, could I somehow reattach this beauty? The decision was made and my moment of remorse was just a moment. I finished the cut and got out the clippers. 

No longer does my beard get stuck when I pull on my t-shirts. I don't have to move it out of the way to sleep on my stomach. Far less food will get stuck and I will better weather the temperatures in the 90s. As I looked at all that hair in the trash, I couldn't help but reach in and touch it one more time. That's the longest my beard has ever been. 

In the first 24 hours, I've had phantom beard moments where I thought it was there brushing up against my chest. I've looked in the mirror and seen a thin face staring back at me. I'm sure I'll get used to that guy. He's not bad looking, but I'm not sure he'll get compliments in the street. 

Slot car racing

I met a man who regularly plays foosball alongside his girlfriend. This made me smile. He described the local scene, where to play on a given night, and alluded to a surprising depth of strategy and organization. I smiled because he was smiling and because I have a soft spot for the niche scenes. I was having this conversation just off a roller derby track after all.

Foosball is a bar game, a fancy office game, a basement game, I'd never considered it a scene.

Of course it's a scene. Almost everything I've ever enjoyed is a scene and so are lots of things I've never enjoyed.

I happen to be looking for a scene right now. I'm still too hobbled to play disc golf let alone Ultimate.

I need a scene.

My dad used to race slot cars. I've thumbed through his neighborhood rules and he's always shared his track and cars.  Many times during childhood we commandeered the ping pong table to set up a wonderful track that he'd played with as a kid. A few times we've even found shops where they race cars by the hour. One of those shops happens to be an hour from here.

I've been meaning to get there, but the distance, the limited hours the shop is open, and life has been in the way. About two weeks ago, I ducked all those excuses and showed up to check things out. Other than the owner, I was the only one in the shop. He set me up with a car and let me go to racing. I zipped around the track, absorbed his helpful tips and smiled as my lap times sank. I crashed a lot, but eventually got down to just over six seconds. I felt like a kid and I wanted to share that feeling with someone.

The best way I could think to share that feelings was to get my family into the shop. I used some birthday leverage and brought the crowd by. It worked out wonderfully. We raced and crashed and crashed and raced, laughing all the way. My dad was delighted and everyone seemed pleased.

Is this my scene?

There are still several steps to make it so. I'm going to have to get my own car or cars. I'm going to have to find a way to the track on a regular basis. I'm going to have to meet new people, admit I don't know what I'm doing, and do it.

It all sounds exactly like something I need. I just have to find the slot and get racing.

Inside my mind

I just need to write. I need to stop making excuses and write. My best excuse is that I have nothing to say, but something can pour out. I just need to knock this jug over.

Yesterday I started wondering what would happen if I had Internet amnesia. I'd wake up tomorrow and all my browser history and bookmark bars would be empty. I wouldn't remember Google or Facebook or even that the Internet existed. The Internet wouldn't be gone, I  just wouldn't remember it.

I'd come down the stairs and see my computer on the desk. I'd walk by and into the kitchen where I'd pour myself a bowl of cereal. I'd sit at the table instead of the desk and read one of C's magazines. I'd finish breakfast and then what? I wouldn't know what to do. I could work on the house or read a book or keep trying to get rust off my grandma's bike. I'd have the sense that I needed to go to work, but I wouldn't known how to get there. I'd ask C. She'd tell me how to get work.

"How do I get to work?" I'd ask. 

She'd guffaw while I stood there looking as innocent as a large-bearded man can. 

Her head would tilt and her eyebrow would scrunch up. She'd sigh and say, "Go to your desk."

I'd go to my desk, move the jar of peanut butter to one side, thumb through a pile of post-it notes and then touch my mouse to turn on the computer. I'd see the items on my desktop and the ribbon of applications running along the bottom of my screen, but I'd have the sense that I was missing something. 

I'd open a few word files on the desktop, but those would look finished, so I'd ask C again. 

"Now what?" I'd shout.

She wouldn't hear me. 

I'd wait. I'd open a few items on the ribbon while I waited. The simon says-looking ball might be a good place to start. I'd click and a Chrome window would open in front of me. 

There in bright colors "Google" would greet me with an empty box. What's a google? It sounds like a lot. The box would beckon. It begs to be filled in, typed in, completed somehow. 

"Hello" I'd type, hoping that Hal from 2001 a space odyssey was not going to answer.

 A menu of Hello's would pop up in response. A menu of 337 million if the little gray type is to be believed. None were a response, instead I got Hello! online magazine, hello wikipedia- the free encyclopedia, and a small Lionel Richie Hello on something called YouTube. Intrigued and overwhelmed I'd choose the familiar Lionel Richie.

I'd enjoy a moment of sweet nostalgia played on the keyboard and that familiar syrupy voice, but then Lionel would ask if it was him I was looking for. Hello! Is it me you're looking for?  

It wasn't. Now what?

It is a race?

I made a button that said, "It is a race."

Lately, it seems I'm losing that race. I've had moments like this before. There are foot races where I am so overmatched that it isn't even worth the energy to focus on the leaders. I just let them go and focus on my own abilities. Others aren't a factor in my race anymore. I need more of this right now in the metaphorical race.

There have been other races where I've been hanging around only to slowly fall off the pace. I watch as my opponent pulls ahead even though I'd swear that my stride hasn't changed. I can grit my teeth, squint my eyes, and try to will myself back on the pace, but often that only serves me for a few steps before I falter. I've found this happening to me as I walk lately. It happened a lot on stairs this past weekend. I'd be plugging along and my group would motor on ahead. It happened subtly, I was hardly aware until they were yards ahead.

I'm happy to be walking and walking almost normally, but this inability to keep pace is staggering. Before I had pain as an explanation, but the pain is mostly gone. Now I only have slow. My gears are stripped. I can only plod. So, I plod.

I don't know when I'll be able to run again, but I got out on the bike for the first time since March tonight. It was scary. Even small hills were massive since I had minimal pushing power. It was good to be out, but there was no darting across streets or whizzing down the trail. Self-propelled movement even at this reduced speed felt foreign. It may have been like riding a bike, but I felt heavy, tentative, and weak.

This race is not going to be won in a week or a month. The long road back continues.

Knee jerk poetry

'Round 'bout a month ago
I twisted my knee

Falling hard to the ground
I screamed "INJURY!"

I rested and iced,
elevated and compressed

R.I.C.E helped a little
but I remained depressed

The doctor said,
"You did a number on that knee"

It appears that number
was not one million and three

No, no, that number
requires surgery

I tore my ACL,
a stabilizing tendon

I lost my way
no more twistin' or bendin'

I'll go under the knife
and borrow some hamstring

Hopefully all will go well
and I can return before next spring

The case of the missing mojo (unfinished)

A gust of wind blew open the bedroom door of Spurlock Homes. Spurlock opened one eye slowly and wiped the gunk out of it with his sleeve. The sun was shining and fading Spurlock's classic Farrah Fawcett poster on the wall.

Spurlock closed his eye and pulled the covers over his head to block out the sun. At that moment, the piercing scream of Momma Homes rattled the house.

"SPURLOCK!"

Reluctantly, Spurlock got out of bed, put on his lucky pants and his Tuesday blue Dr. Who t-shirt and headed down the stairs.

"SPUR- oh, there you are, dear," said Momma Homes. "here's some oatmeal. Do you have any of those cute cases today?"

"Momma," answered Spurlock, "My cases aren't cute, but no, I don't have any." Exasperated he continued, "I haven't had any for a month."

Momma Homes turned away to cover her smile and asked, "What about those flyers? Didn't they work?"

"I think Captain John had his deputies take them down. I didn't get a single call."

The phone buzzed in Spurlock's pocket. With his left hand he checked his phone and with the right he grabbed a spoonful of oatmeal. Mumbling a farewell, Spurlock headed out the door.

It hadn't always been this way for Spurlock. Five years ago he'd had a booming business. He solved crimes and made cabinets on the side. He lived with his girlfriend Shirley, had a brand new bike, and a smile that even a dentist could love. Then one day a cabinet he'd sold to the mayor broke and fell on the mayor's wife .The publicity was not good. So much for that saying. All publicity is NOT good publicity. The cabinet orders dried up and the investigations sputtered to a halt.

Spurlock went into a downward spiral. He played pinball until he ran out of quarters during the day and cried at night. Shirley got upset that she couldn't do laundry and left him. Someone stole his bike and Spurlock couldn't muster the energy to solve the case. His depression continued. His mother took him in and hired a life coach.

Meet Martin Jones. Martin is a terrible life coach. He seems to dislike life from the top of his bald head down to his too-small feet. The only advice he gives is that when the going gets tough, the tough get going. Martin never leaves after he says this. He just sits there and looks blankly at his clients. It's never clear whether he expects his clients to leave either. This usually results in a lot of awkward silences. After one hour, Martin always tells his clients to leave. He usually does this by saying, "Out." It doesn't matter if his clients are in the middle of a sentence. Spurlock was sobbing in one session, but when Martin's clock reached one hour, he just said, "Out."

Spurlock left. It took his whole walk home to stop sobbing.

The buzzing phone had been a text message. It said Missing Cat 510 East Ave.

Missing pets used to be Spurlock's specialty. He had a way with cats and he was excited to have a case. The start of a smile spread across his face. When Spurlock arrived at 510 East Avenue, his mind went blank.

Spurlock didn't know what to do.

Breakfast Builder

A song inspired by the Parks and Rec tv show line, "Looks like we have ourselves an old-fashioned pawn shop waffle iron bidding war."

I built a house for breakfast
Its walls were bacon strips
The roof was a waffle
I'd sell that place for tips

Cereal and milk
bagels and oj
I built a house for breakfast
I'll eat well today

Breakfast builder- hooray!
Breakfast builder- hooray!
WA-WA-WA-WA-WAFFLES

My eggs are over easy
The bacon's rather greasy
The floors are all toasted
The shower's mostly roasted

Breakfast builder- hooray!
Breakfast builder- hooray!
WA-WA-WA-WA-WAFFLES

Sung by Waffle Fright at MDPL. Recording pending. 

Sports, sports, sports!

It will come as no surprise that I'm back to write about my sports.

First, I had the opportunity to return to good old Team Schaefer in DC for this year's winter league tournament. Besides being pleased to see so many friendly faces, I was also pleased to finish a season after I cut short last year's with a move. Team Schaefer wouldn't be able to capture last year's winning ways, but I was thrilled to play alongside teammates of yore like Matt, Ryan, Ali, Scrap and Sam and to meet and battle with new teammates. We ended up 1-3 on the day. I snagged a few D's, won a few battles, and enjoyed scraping up my body with a variety of failed layouts. One of my favorite moments came on a line with Matt, Scrap, and Sam. Sam got the D, the disc moved quickly and Scrap put up a nice throw that I could track down in the end zone. My favorite personal play (other than perhaps winning a battle of the beards in the air) was a strange one. I dove for a disc as my opponent went to catch it. He was successful, but I got my whole hand on the disc. Rather than let go, I tugged on it to keep my balance and he ended up swinging me around into position to put on a mark. I don't think it was as intentional on my part as it sounds, but it worked out well and I was happy I hadn't let go until my balance was regained.

I miss those games on the mall, the polo fields, and glug, glug, glugging with Team Schaefer.

I returned to games under the lights for winter league playoffs mile high style, still battered a bit from the weekend. In a wild scheduling twist, what had once been a game I was to miss became one I could make although without the rest I would have liked. I arrived and dragged myself through a warm-up. I declined to start, hoping instead that I could be ready off the bench. Unfortunately, the team seemed to be in the same mode. We played very little defense in the first half and fell behind. We switched to a zone and I had some good success in the cup, but then our offense faltered, particularly in the red zone. The game was over and so was our season. It was not the way I thought we'd go out.

To continue the trend of underperforming, I ran a 3 mile race yesterday. I can tell you about the skiing the day before or the fact that it was once again about 10 degrees with snow and ice on the ground, but I think the real story is that I'm out of shape. Running once a week and playing Ultimate once a week and then doing a little (stress on little) are not keeping me in good shape. This series of races I'm in is handicapped, so based on the performance at the 10k, I had a rather favorable start time. I knew I could run away from my group and that I had lots of people to pass, but I could tell that the miles were not flying by. I battled throughout, and in the last 400 meters had passed all, but one young man, probably 12 or 13. I pulled up behind him with about 200 meters to go and to his credit he kicked it in. I was kicking too and I had two thoughts, 1. It seems kind of mean to beat a kid, 2. Maybe he's not going to break.

I put aside the first and pushed on. Fairly quickly, the kid's kick wore out and I cruised into the finish line in what turned out to be (readers of this blog from way back when will know) second place overall. I actually finished 14th by time, a survival of a 20:14, 6:45 per mile pace. I don't really understand what this does to my season points or the trophy series, but I've got a 4 miler in April where I can start to figure that out. These slow times may actually help me in this series if I can find a way to build up my base and start running like I mean it again.

Until we sports again...

In search of discomfort

One of my resolutions for this fine year is to seek out discomfort once a week.

Week 1: 10k in 10 degrees
Week 2: Volunteering at MD Promotion of letters
Week 3: Invited friends for dinner (Bonus: Attended an open house)
Week 4: Sang and played banjo at MDPL
Week 5: Volunteering at MDPL without C
Week 6: TBD

In an uncomfortable twist, it is already getting more difficult to accomplish my goal as the year continues. I actually think week 2 directly affected the bonus for week 3.

Previously an open house would have intimidated me. Knowing that I wasn't planning to buy and that I would have to explain that to someone interested in selling would have kept me away, but considering that I'd already done several uncomfortable items recently, I just walked in and looked around. When asked, I calmly explained that I lived near by and I was curious. I even told the realtor that I thought the price was too high. (I think it's dropped since I visited.)

Little victories build momentum. Momentum makes discomfort seem more comfortable. By the end of the year I may have to do big things.

MDPL has already made several appearances on the list. This is a volunteer opportunity that I'm really enjoying. More on that later.

Brrr. I haven't lost a step. I've misplaced a staircase.

The singing of the radio alarm was not what I wanted to hear. I could skip the race, sleep in, and run on my own later. C gave me a little push, she could tell I was resisting my plans. Anger roiled inside of me, I just wanted to sleep.

I got up a few minutes later, still angry, but pushed by my plan. It was snowing lightly when I walked outside. I got to the race at Twin Lakes early and stood around awkwardly. I felt underdressed. I thought the owners of yak-traks attached to their shoes looked wise. Then I found out that a 5k wouldn't count for the race series. I would be running a 10k. 

My 2.5 mile race on Christmas Eve had been slow and tiring. I haven't run 6 miles in quite some time. I added a few minutes to my estimated time so I could be handicapped and I was given a time to start of 9:37. Nearly 30 minutes after "race time" in this staggered start event. 

I spent much of my time in the car trying to stay warm in the snowy 10 degree morning. When I emerged for a warm-up, I realized that there was nothing warm about me. I added a layer of coat and gloves and unloaded a few more nerves in the facilities. 

I was one of the last four to start the race. I left alone and shot off into the snow. I quickly caught up to the person who started in front of me, his red jacket a clear early goal. I realized I was probably moving too fast for this long of a race and tucked in behind him. We were soon passed by the two behind us. As we approached mile 2, I began to unravel. 

I lost touch with red jacket and began the long process of holding on. I was alone at the turn-around, running in last place. Without a watch, I can only guess that I'd run about 20 minutes for the 5k. The pain of continuing kept mounting, but after the out on an out and back course, there was only back now. 

I set my sights on the man in front of me. I didn't recognize him. In this race, there was no telling where he'd started. I made up some ground, but my steps were labored and my beard frozen.

I passed a few walkers and worked my way closer to the man in front of me. The world was cold and white and that man and the pain in my side felt like my only company. I worked closer, but not quickly. This felt like a tortoise and the hare situation. Slowly and steadily, I passed the man at about mile 5. 

He congratulated me and urged me onward. I struggled ahead and focused on the next person. Three times I thought we were nearing the final curve and twice I was sorely disappointed. I passed one more woman with a quarter mile to go. 

I stared at the white snow beneath me and begged me feet to carry me to the finish. They did. Reluctantly.

I finished cold and tired in a running time of about 47:42.  It was my slowest timed 10k in ages, perhaps ever.

It was the highlight of my day.

By the numbers 2013 (or a year of logs)

• 78 books read or 27,495 pages
• 112 movies watched
• 114 rounds of disc golf at 13 different courses
• October 9th, first (and only) ace unwitnessed, except by walkers
• 1 round of disc golf random draw doubles (pay-in)
• 17 meals of pizza
• 2 races of the 5k distance and 1 race of about 2.5 miles thanks to me turning around early
• 10 job applications
• 2 job interviews (for the same job)
• 1 move across the country
• 2 road trips- aforementioned move and the Pacific Coast
• 2 foreign countries visited (Mexico and Canada)
• 1 wedding attended
• 1 Ultimate tournament played (Lungbuster in Breckenridge)
• 1 broken sesamoid which led to 1 missed half-marathon and several missed Ultimate games (including a summer championship)
• A record of 22-14-1 in the board game of Carcassonne (Not including 1 game which was declared ineligible for harmonious relationship reasons)

Happy New Year!

2013 books

Working part-time, living near the library, time for a few books...

1. Talking to Girls about Duran Duran
2. The Forgotten
3. Is Everyone Hanging Out without Me?
4. Lord Vishnu's Love Handles: A spy novel
5. 11/22/63
6. The Age of Miracles
7. Bike Snob
8. One thousand beards
9. The Art of Fielding
10. Who will run the Frog Hospital?
11. Casual Vacancy
12. Calico Joe
13. Doomsday Book
14. Farm City: The education of an Urban Farmer
15. Dream Team: How Michael, Magic, Larry, Charles, and the Greatest Team of All Time Conquered the World and Changed the Game of Basketball Forever
16. Seraphina
17. To Sell is Human
18. Room
19. Flight Behavior
20. The Fault in Our Starts
21. Weird Things Customers say in bookstores
22. Atlas Shrugged
23. Looking for Calvin and Hobbes
24. The Nightmare
25. Arcadia
26. Dare Me
27. Divergent
28. Love's Winning Plays
29. To Kill a Mockingbird (re-read)
30. And the Mountains Echoed
31. The Racketeer
32. Beer Blast
33. Candy Freak
34. Let's Pretend This Never Happened
35. Running the Rift
36. Six Years
37. What Would Google Do?
38. Time and Again
39. Duel in the Sun
40. In the City of Bikes
41. Unbroken
42. Steve Jobs
43. More Baths, Less Talking
44. Heads in Beds
45. Ten Little Indians
46. The Bartender's Tale
47. The Burgess Boys
48. Decisive
49. The Best a Man can get
50. What Happened to Sophie Wilder
51. Hairstyles of the Damned
52. Wild
53. Fire Witness
54. The Husbands of Wives Club
55. The Dinner
56. Stay Close
57. Half asleep in Frog Pajamas
58. The Gospel According to Larry
59. Good to Great
60. The Wind-up Bird Chronicle
61. The Uncoupling
62. The Interestings
63. Eleanor & Park
64. Fangirl
65. The Hit
66. Thinking Fast and Slow
67. Open
68. Mr. Penumbra's 24-hour bookstore
69. The Just Right Home
70. Abstinence Teacher
71. Hour Game
72. The Reason I Jump
73. Lady Oracle
74. Bringing up Bebe
75. The Money Code
76. I Love You Miss Huddleston
77. The House on Mango Street
78. The Zero Game
79.

2013 Movies

There has never been a year like this before. I thought I watched a lot of movies last year, but this was the year when I had a heap of spare time, lived close to the library, and had no commute. The movies came fast and furious (though not 2Fast2Furious. Ah, movie jokes.) Only four were in theaters (no wonder it now costs nine dollars+ for a ticket), and three others were in outdoor venues. Twenty-two were my second (or more) viewings.

Without further ado,

1. Liberal Arts
2. Looper
3. Back to the Future (re-watch)
4. Premium Rush
5. Because I Said So
6. Back to the Future II (re-watch)
7. Source Code (re-watch)
8. Kansas City Bomber
9. Kissing Jessica Stein (re-watch)
10. To Rome with Love
11. The Watch
12. Trouble with the Curve
13. The Campaign
14. Bonsai
15. Magic Mike
16. Here Comes the Boom
17.  The Words
18. True Grit
19. Whip it (re-watch)
20. When in Rome
21. Rock of Ages
22. Stay Cool
23. Here's the Kicker
24. One for the Money
25. Lincoln
26. Adventureland (re-watch)
27. Taken 2
28. Atlas Shrugged Part II
29. The Great Gatsby (theater)
30. Anna Karenina
31. Humble Pie
32. Safety Not Guaranteed (re-watch)
33. This is 40
34. War Horse
35. Bernie
36. Toast
37. Bend it like Beckham (re-watch)
38. Grease (sing-along)
39. A little help
40. Silver Linings Playbook
41. Take Me Home
42. Playing for Keeps
43. Atlas Shrugged Part I
44. Unstoppable
45. Post Grad
46. Brave
47. The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel
48. Argo
49. The Intouchables
50. Robot & Frank
51.  The Incredible Burt Wonderstone
52. The Bourne Legacy
53. New Year's Eve
54. The Mighty Macs
55. Hyde Park on Hudson
56. Ted
57. Hunger Games (re-watch)
58. Now You See it (theater)
59. Moonrise Kingdom
60. Pitch Perfect
61. Broken City
62. The Odd Life of Timothy Green
63. Sneakers (re-watch)
64. Man on a Ledge
65. Identity Thief
66. The Guilt Trip
67. Maverick (in the square)
68. Exporting Raymond
69. Spiderman (in the square)
70. The Cup
71. Jack Reacher
72. The Goonies (re-watch)
73. Flypaper
74. Admissions
75. Flight
76. For a Good Time Call
77. The Red Wagon
78. The Oranges
79. The Sitter
80. The Sessions
81. Cloud Atlas
82. Star Trek: Into Darkness
83. 42
84. Oblivion
85. Interviews with Terrible Men (half-watched, half-ignored)
86. Lifeguard
87. Sex and the City 2
88. Country Strong
89. Sleepwalk with me
90. Your sister's sister
91. This is the end
92. Inception (re-watch)
93. Couples Retreat
94. Super
95. Hitchcock
96. Warren Miller's Ticket to Ride
97. Decoy Bride
98. Batman: The Dark Knight Rises (re-watch)
99. We're the Millers
100. Reality of Love
101. The Grifters
102. The Best and the Brightest
103. MIB3
104. Love Actually (per tradition)
105. Paychcck
106. Hunger Games 2 (theater)
107. Damsels in Distress
108. Gangster Squad
109. Sliding Doors (re-watch)
110. It's a wonderful life (re-watch)
111. Save the Date
112. Home Alone (re-watch)

It's a wonderful life?

It's a wonderful life is a Christmas tradition that just snuck up on me. It's always on network tv right around Christmas and by now I've seen it so many times that I don't think anybody has to watch the whole thing. I can't say when I last watched it from start to finish. I thought last year, but C doubts it. I seem to recall a couple Christmas Eve's curled up on the couch with the faux-fire going and George Bailey trying to get it all figured out. I think I tuned out before I finished those up. I might not have watched It's a wonderful life all the way through since I watched it on KSHB TV-41. That's been a while.

Why tonight? The presents are packed around the tree. I've been here all day, all week, all month, trying to get it figured out. I don't have George's worries, but there's a heaviness, a sense that I need to get out in the world. All that called to me, so I watched. The broadcast was packed with commercials which is pretty funny when I think about it. Aren't commercials pushing Potter's vision?

I sat through it all and it got to me. There was George at 27 being offered a job by Potter. I could see the dollar signs in his eyes before his principles seized him again and he walked out. There was George with a family and the stress of losing all that money. I felt for the guy. I related in a way I've never really related before. Life is piling up moment after moment and plans get moved and forgotten.

So when George had his epiphany, I teared up. I wasn't ready to let go and cry, but I wasn't too far from it. The people matter and it's time to be with the people.

2014 is coming. There's things to be thankful for and things to be done.

It's a wonderful life.

Positive Vibes shooting from my fingertips

Winter league Ultimate started last night. The performance of my creaky body and a brand new drafted together team have taken a back seat to another thought.

There are many things that I miss about coaching at CUA, but one more than I realized. I knew I missed the people, and the Ultimate, but until last night I hadn't realized how much I missed the positive vibes. During the school year, I was twice weekly psyching myself up to be a positive force. Most of the time, that was not a daunting task. Watching and helping people learn Ultimate is a joyous activity, but it still required that I be present and aware.

When I'm playing, I want to be positive, but I get wrapped up in my self. Coaching, I was wrapped up in everybody else. It turns out that was glorious. I was focused on the good. Oh, sure I was sometimes focused on the drops and the distractions and all the rest, but my mind was churning and I was searching for the things I could compliment and cheer for.

How great is that? Two or even three times a week, I was finding things to cheer for. 

I need to do more of that. It might cheer me up.

18:53 for a 5k

If I had to put a percentage on it, I'd say I was seventy-five percent just happy to be outside running and twenty-five percent, come on, man.

I knew when we lined up at the starting line that it was probably going to be about a four-man race. People were avoiding the front like it was the firing line. I didn't really feel like I was in shape to win. My feet have been hurting a lot lately, especially since the broken sesamoid and the exercise hasn't really been a priority. All of that and I was a little antsy without my watch. At go, the wire-to-wire leader bolted out front and I tucked in behind him. I felt good, like the pace was in my comfort zone, and he kept checking his watch. It seemed to be more of a nervous tic than anything else, but maybe it was helping him with pace. I hoped it meant he was beatable.

It didn't.

I hung on his shoulder for about 600 meters and then I couldn't hang anymore. It didn't feel like he was pulling away, but his breathing was silent and mine was panting. I knew things weren't going great when the mile took ages to arrive. I tried not to let him run away from me too much, but 15 seconds became 20 and then the twists and turns of the course took him farther and farther out of my vision.

Third and fourth place were about as far back from me as I was from the leader. When I hit the two-mile mark and thought, "I could be done now," I started to wonder how this 5k was going to end.

I tried to press on. I glanced back a few times and watched as fourth moved past third and wondered if he was on his way to get me. I looked forward and did my best to make sure that wouldn't happen.

The final stretch was a climb and after an initial surge, I wilted a bit, but then in the last 150 meters, I willed myself to finish strong. The leader was about a minute and a half ahead and third was out of view and just under a minute behind, but I finished fighting off imaginary opponents.

I broke 19 minutes and am not all together surprised, but I sure would like to get in a few more runs and start moving the clock in the other direction. It doesn't work that way for age, but it can work that way for races, can't it?

8/31/13 and 9/1/13+- West Van and other Vans

Saturday was spent in a drive to Vancouver that wouldn't seem to end. The border crossing took 45 minutes and the border patrol agent wanted to know why I hesitated at his question of whether anyone in the car had been arrested. I wasn't sure no one had. I don't enjoy border crossings much.

Vancouver traffic seemed bad as we made our way to West Vancouver (fondly called West Van by some t-shirt that I saw) and our gorgeous accommodations next door (possibly?) to Elvis Costello. We had drinks at Tuc where we met Matt and Sharyn coming home from their Alaskan cruise. It was fun to see them again so soon and swap stories from our trips. Matt joined us for sushi and then we set off in search of another round of drinks. West Van was practically shut down. We finally located a tap room and they were slammed after a nearby concert had just concluded. The hostess was very apologetic, but for drinks the speed of service was a-ok. I very much did not enjoy my Backhand of God stout.

9/1- Kirsten and I went out to collect breakfast supplies while the West Van crew slept. Bri would not call this "sleeping in" but at least she got a fine dose of Kirsten's breakfast burrito when she did rise. We headed into Vancouver, rented two tandems and a city bike and rode around Stanley Park. It was a nice counter-clockwise ride, but rather crowded. We did manage to stop at Vancouver's most visited tourist attraction, the totem poles (according to Daimon). After we turned in our bikes, we had a picnic in Stanley Park or at least at its edges. From there we headed back into the synergy of Vancouver.

Vancouver did have an interesting mix of industry, nature, and cosmopolitan city feel, but it didn't seem to capture our imagination and hearts the way it had for Carlton when he told us about it at the Sylvia Beach Hotel. That didn't stop us from repeating "synergy" all around "the couv". (Nobody calls it that as far as I know.) We hit the shops in a market on Granville Island. They were unique, but we weren't in a buying mood. I spotted in a keychain at one store advertising a neon sign exhibit at the MOV (Museum of Vancouver). We headed there next. It was tough to find, but 45 minutes before closing time, Clare and I took in interesting exhibits on neon signs, street photographers, and sex while the others napped outside.

The neon signs exhibit was all I'd hoped it would be, detailing the fight to keep Vancouver beautiful in 1974 and the tidbit that neon signs in Vancouver were maintained by the city (not the business) and so there were many well-preserved signs in the museum.

The best part of the sex exhibit was what wasn't there. In a glass case of vibrators spanning the decades, the 70s and 80s were missing. The sign said that like toy museums, relics from that era are hard to come by (no pun intended) because of the prevalent use of cheap plastics.

The Foncie exhibit on street photographers was an interesting slice of history. In a time before many personal cameras, Foncie was taking millions of candid photos and selling them to people on the streets. The exhibit said that for some people, this was their only photograph. The styles and smiles through the years were telling and amusing.

From the MOV, we headed to Chinatown for dim sum and bakery goods. The coconut bun melted in mouths and vaulted to the culinary (and even perhaps trip) highlight reels. We had a beer in Yaletown at either The Hooker Green or the New Oxford and closed down the night with a gelato. I think Daimon won this round of food vs. exercise, but when my foot is healthy, I hope to return and strike a blow in my favor.

9/2- The border crossing took seconds in the early morning and we had time for a cup of coffee at Fuel after dropping D & K off. From there, it's been airport adventure all the way. From La Bufadora to West Van- that's a long trip, but a good one.

8/29/13 and 8/30/13- Never say die!

P.Y. Post Yurt- We headed to nearby Astoria and popped by the Goonies house. The owner was in the yard and it was all kinds of awkward. We left quickly and went to the jailhouse from the opening scene which also houses the Oregon Film Museum. The OFM consists of some jail history, an incomplete list of films made in Oregon and a jail cell full of Goonies memorabilia. The highlight of the film museum was the opportunity to film five one minute movies with green screens. Our films included a scene from The Shining, a scene from Saved By The Bell, and an original commercial about yurts. In six weeks, we'll see how successful we were, but the takes and our memories were good.

We had lunch at the Wet Dog Cafe and then set our course for the World's Largest Frying Pan in Long Beach, Washington. It should have been an omen when we had to ask for directions a curiousity shop called Marshes'. They directed us across the street where we found what some are calling "the world's biggest disappointment." I think that's over stating it, but can't think of anything other than lunch in Sausalito that was more disappointing on this trip. It wasn't even a real frying pan! For shame. We drove on a while to Olympia, home of Clare's aunt and uncle. They treated us to an evening of delicious food and entertaining stories. Clare's Uncle John is a character, a man one can imagine takes no guff and wouldn't mind wrestling alligators. His stories whether about hunting or not, all seemed to concern animals. Clare and Bri both enjoyed the salmon he had caught the day before. Julie's lemon bars and strawberry rhubarb cobbler were only equaled by the quinoa salad she made for dinner. It was a good stop and we enjoyed the backyard views of the sound.

8/30- From Uncle John's we made our way to Daimon and Kirsten's in Seattle by 11 AM. We took Daimon's tour of Seattle including stops at Paseo for the "best sandwiches in town" (good and sloppy), the locks to watch a few salmon swimming up stream, the Fremont Troll (at our request) to see the sort of creatures that guard Seattle's bridges, a few great view points in the city, and to the Ballard neighborhood. There we made another Oprah Winfrey endorsed stop at Hot Cakes and indulged in molten lava cake. Daimon questioned the use of the term cake for the gooey chocolatey decadent treats.

After Ballard, we made our way to the University of Washington campus where we rented boats under the shadow of UW stadium and set sail (or paddled) for the rich homes of Seattle, the highways, and a glimpse of Mt. Rainer. The canoeing was quite a pleasant way to spend the afternoon. We rewarded ourselves with dinner at Skillet where I stuffed my face with a grilled cheese and a strawberry rhubarb shake. This was after a stop at a great dive bar called the Unicorn. I enjoyed two Deathly Porters and some deep fried snacks. No wonder my stomach hurts.