Time is short. Actually, that isn't quite how time works. I should say instead we can tend to be short on time. And in that time I don't wish to have to sign up, in, and for everything I am ever to be presented with on the Internet (capital I, because it's muh-I internet).
If a website won't let me read content without signing up, even if sign-up is free, I don't want to read it.
If an e-commerce shop requires me to create an account in order to checkout and make a purchase, I won't be making a purchase from there.
You get the idea.
It's easy enough to get all of my information. I shouldn't have to take the time to enter it so you can send me emails I never signed up for and I can endlessly unsubscribe from them and then you can ask a question as to why I'm unsubscribing that you'd be able to answer without my help if you filled out a corresponding checkbox when adding me to the email list in question and the checkbox would say something to the effect of, "this poor sod just wanted to buy a pair of novelty socks for a friend and now he will be forever bombarded with emails suggesting purchases."
Once you unsubscribe, I'm fairly certain they then keep a reject bin list that they let sit idle for perhaps a few months before re-subscribing you. I might be annoyed to get that email after unsubscribing, but they're banking on enticing me with a catchy headline, or maybe tricking me into opening it, merely so that I can unsubscribe. And mostly they just don't care because they can set it and forget it and I'll be on and off that list without any effort on their part.
Then of course there is the email confirming your unsubscribe. It's all a true delight. And if enough time's not wasted deleting, unsubscribing, and/or setting as spam, well, you could always blog about it. Something tells me I've even done it before but I refuse to waste even more time with a quick search. I can only imagine how you might feel reading this far.
On an uplifting note, here's a tale of a high school girl persevering through the puzzling illness that is MS.
Showing posts with label Running. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Running. Show all posts
Saturday, November 30, 2013
Friday, September 27, 2013
Running Out of Ideas
There's a phrase "running out of your mind." In general it's come to mean when you run so well, so beyond any expectation, that the reality of it is difficult to grasp within the standard boundaries of the brain, which tends to operate on logic and limits. For me I always thought of it as those rare moments when I'd run and my body was moving independently of my mind. Mind you this doesn't happen often and perhaps it's not something every runner aspires to. I tend to think of this in race specific scenarios, meaning those races where I don't think at all for the majority of the race and just latch on, mindlessly to another runner, with hope the leader. I wait as long as possible to take action. This does happen on routine runs as well. I'm just moving, and don't have to give thought to anything as I almost can't feel my legs.
This is different from the runner's high. The runner's high I describe as an often elusive feeling of effortless perpetual motion — different than not even feeling my legs, it's a touchy and semantic training ground here. I can seemingly go forever and considerations of pace are ludicrous, just as they would be when running out of my mind. There are no limits, there is no beginning or end though you stop at an arbitrary and predefined point. I have never had the runner's high in a race, though I have run out of my mind as I said, and the distinction is likely drawn upon due to nerves. Running out of your mind, for me, is to tell yourself for the longest time that it's not a race, it's just running. Oh sure, at some point it becomes a race, but you seek to delay it.
Now I take back what I said about the runner's high in a race. It's been there. Once. In the scenario I expected to win and my opponent's attempts to be in the lead or anywhere near me were actions to which I took offense, which is a stupid and, unfortunately for me, natural occurrence. I want to be in the lead. We can be there together, but if I sense you upsetting the delicate balance, I want to get away, I want to be alone. This is what I think of as the loneliness of the long distance runner. For me I want to compete, I want to win, but it's just so that I am alone at the end of it all, until I am scared as that arbitrarily defined finish point approaches that I am truly alone, and scared as well that I am not.
But that race I spoke of was a time trial training run against three separate pairs of legs belonging to teammates. I ran away from the first and the second started when I approached. I ran away from the second and the third started when I approached. And as he took off at a speed I knew he couldn't sustain, the runner's high struck. I walked him down as the old racing phrase goes, and I was alone as I like it and I stopped, finally, where my coach was waiting, but I could have kept going.
Thoughts of this spawned from my run this morning, where I did something separate from all of this, I ran my mind out. A spike in the heat fatigued my body through dehydration, with salt depositing on my face in the wake of evaporated sweat the way it often did in the past when I felt 13-15 miles was the natural morning's activity after 13-15 drinks. This was called a weekend. And when it's through, the world appears brighter. Yes, my goddamn eyes seem to take in more light. I don't know why this happens exactly, but I do know that I like it. This is why you can believe a person when they say running is their drug.
This is different from the runner's high. The runner's high I describe as an often elusive feeling of effortless perpetual motion — different than not even feeling my legs, it's a touchy and semantic training ground here. I can seemingly go forever and considerations of pace are ludicrous, just as they would be when running out of my mind. There are no limits, there is no beginning or end though you stop at an arbitrary and predefined point. I have never had the runner's high in a race, though I have run out of my mind as I said, and the distinction is likely drawn upon due to nerves. Running out of your mind, for me, is to tell yourself for the longest time that it's not a race, it's just running. Oh sure, at some point it becomes a race, but you seek to delay it.
Now I take back what I said about the runner's high in a race. It's been there. Once. In the scenario I expected to win and my opponent's attempts to be in the lead or anywhere near me were actions to which I took offense, which is a stupid and, unfortunately for me, natural occurrence. I want to be in the lead. We can be there together, but if I sense you upsetting the delicate balance, I want to get away, I want to be alone. This is what I think of as the loneliness of the long distance runner. For me I want to compete, I want to win, but it's just so that I am alone at the end of it all, until I am scared as that arbitrarily defined finish point approaches that I am truly alone, and scared as well that I am not.
But that race I spoke of was a time trial training run against three separate pairs of legs belonging to teammates. I ran away from the first and the second started when I approached. I ran away from the second and the third started when I approached. And as he took off at a speed I knew he couldn't sustain, the runner's high struck. I walked him down as the old racing phrase goes, and I was alone as I like it and I stopped, finally, where my coach was waiting, but I could have kept going.
Thoughts of this spawned from my run this morning, where I did something separate from all of this, I ran my mind out. A spike in the heat fatigued my body through dehydration, with salt depositing on my face in the wake of evaporated sweat the way it often did in the past when I felt 13-15 miles was the natural morning's activity after 13-15 drinks. This was called a weekend. And when it's through, the world appears brighter. Yes, my goddamn eyes seem to take in more light. I don't know why this happens exactly, but I do know that I like it. This is why you can believe a person when they say running is their drug.
Thursday, September 5, 2013
The Future is the Second After You Read This
Though it was a little warm yesterday and a bit humid today, we're settling in on what is fall. The days are already notably shorter, though it's still a blessed eight weeks until the terrible shifting of the clocks. Wake in darkness or leave work in darkness?
But for now people are still riding their electric skateboards and wearing their cyclist's equivalent of a dashboard cam, which is just a camera on their head. In the case of the former, it was just one dude, and while the technology to have a motorized skateboard isn't new, I don't think I'd actually seen one before. If you were expecting that they guy looked and acted like a douche, you'd have been correct.
As for the cyclist with the headcam, this isn't that new either, but once again I'd never seen a person wearing one for general consumption. Also, rather than being attached to his helmet, he had it on his forehead. Nor did he appear to be a very competent cyclist, leading me to wonder just what kind of footage he'd capture on a typical ride. It might be time for me to wear one when I run to take note of cyclists being extreme assholes. This isn't anything unique to cyclists, assholes abound, but it's well-established that I have a gripe with cyclists.
It's a successive string of natural environmental enemies -- cars pose a danger to me too, especially the frequent stop sign rollers and cell phone involved Range Rover drivers (lots of drivers have pulled dumb shit, but there are a disproportionate number of Range Rovers and/or my brain recalls them with greater ease). But cars, pedestrians, and runners can universally agree on hating cyclists. It's a shame because as with any group they're not all bad. Some simple things worth remembering might be: if you want the road rights of cars, you're going to have to start observing traffic signals (things like stop signs and red lights), and moving into the blind spot of a bus or making a right turn across and in front of a bus is not really a good idea. And whatever I say, just remember that your helmet is your seatbelt.
I know what you're thinking, it's a good time for a snack.
But for now people are still riding their electric skateboards and wearing their cyclist's equivalent of a dashboard cam, which is just a camera on their head. In the case of the former, it was just one dude, and while the technology to have a motorized skateboard isn't new, I don't think I'd actually seen one before. If you were expecting that they guy looked and acted like a douche, you'd have been correct.
As for the cyclist with the headcam, this isn't that new either, but once again I'd never seen a person wearing one for general consumption. Also, rather than being attached to his helmet, he had it on his forehead. Nor did he appear to be a very competent cyclist, leading me to wonder just what kind of footage he'd capture on a typical ride. It might be time for me to wear one when I run to take note of cyclists being extreme assholes. This isn't anything unique to cyclists, assholes abound, but it's well-established that I have a gripe with cyclists.
It's a successive string of natural environmental enemies -- cars pose a danger to me too, especially the frequent stop sign rollers and cell phone involved Range Rover drivers (lots of drivers have pulled dumb shit, but there are a disproportionate number of Range Rovers and/or my brain recalls them with greater ease). But cars, pedestrians, and runners can universally agree on hating cyclists. It's a shame because as with any group they're not all bad. Some simple things worth remembering might be: if you want the road rights of cars, you're going to have to start observing traffic signals (things like stop signs and red lights), and moving into the blind spot of a bus or making a right turn across and in front of a bus is not really a good idea. And whatever I say, just remember that your helmet is your seatbelt.
I know what you're thinking, it's a good time for a snack.
Thursday, August 29, 2013
The Language of Disappearance
Whenever I travel to a place where they speak a language other than English -- a rarity -- the trouble is that the inhabitants of this place speak English. Sure this is in a lot of ways great for me, one not very adept at other languages, but I can't help but think it's also a shame in what it tells us about alternative cultural appreciation here. After all, we don't provide all these other peoples the benefit of speaking their language when they travel to the old US of A. Then again, they wouldn't be learning English if it weren't a business and lifestyle necessity. Alas, such is the cost of globalization, progression, unfication, quotation marks wherever you think I intended them.
At any rate, it's easy for the visitor to cast the wistful eye at foreign places without a full grasp of what it is to actually live there. What I can tell you in my latest visits is that in the Central European cities of Prague, Budapest, and Vienna, people do not run without shirts on. Even sizeable tourist groups from Italy (granted they happened to be teenagers), land of fashion that would attract a skeptical eye in America, do not understand the shirtless runner donning short shorts. I'm still on my quest to discover what it is about this situation that sets so many ill at ease. After all, in Budapest for instance there is no shortage of baths, where same-sex nudity is unquestioned, and in Prague there are ample banners for escort service sex.cz -- not to mention the city being well-known for its technically illegal, but blind eye more than turned and in fact approving of services to improve tourism. Hell in Prague I'm pretty certain I encountered a Brit taking good advantage of such access (I took his photo with a barely obliging woman at 6 in the morning) and in Vienna another Brit seemed to have brought an escort to 9:00am breakfast. But look, by no means should you run without your shirt on. A shame that Freud's no longer over at Berggasse 19 to help come to a precise psychoanalytical conclusion
And now, at this point, it's natural to wonder if the likes of Mozart and Beethoven went without wigs when they were out on long walks (maybe not Beethoven since he was blind) composing the classical music we still listen to today and, if so, whether they were looked upon strangely by peers. After all, "wiggin' out" is derived from the situation of one entering society without one's wig on, hence exposing the true self. Witnessing a person wig out makes people uncomfortable precisely because it exposes true nature and innately we fear the dark inner self.
On that note (a b-flat according to Wolfgang Amadeus), I'm going to head back to reality.
At any rate, it's easy for the visitor to cast the wistful eye at foreign places without a full grasp of what it is to actually live there. What I can tell you in my latest visits is that in the Central European cities of Prague, Budapest, and Vienna, people do not run without shirts on. Even sizeable tourist groups from Italy (granted they happened to be teenagers), land of fashion that would attract a skeptical eye in America, do not understand the shirtless runner donning short shorts. I'm still on my quest to discover what it is about this situation that sets so many ill at ease. After all, in Budapest for instance there is no shortage of baths, where same-sex nudity is unquestioned, and in Prague there are ample banners for escort service sex.cz -- not to mention the city being well-known for its technically illegal, but blind eye more than turned and in fact approving of services to improve tourism. Hell in Prague I'm pretty certain I encountered a Brit taking good advantage of such access (I took his photo with a barely obliging woman at 6 in the morning) and in Vienna another Brit seemed to have brought an escort to 9:00am breakfast. But look, by no means should you run without your shirt on. A shame that Freud's no longer over at Berggasse 19 to help come to a precise psychoanalytical conclusion
And now, at this point, it's natural to wonder if the likes of Mozart and Beethoven went without wigs when they were out on long walks (maybe not Beethoven since he was blind) composing the classical music we still listen to today and, if so, whether they were looked upon strangely by peers. After all, "wiggin' out" is derived from the situation of one entering society without one's wig on, hence exposing the true self. Witnessing a person wig out makes people uncomfortable precisely because it exposes true nature and innately we fear the dark inner self.
On that note (a b-flat according to Wolfgang Amadeus), I'm going to head back to reality.
Sunday, January 27, 2013
Milestones
While my last post marked the Denver area code citation, I managed to not realize I'd hit the Frank Miller comic-inspired movie about Sparta mark. This isn't really that big of a deal considering some folks compile that many posts in a year, or far less, but sometimes you need to adopt some kind of marker, and so I'll make this note and move on.
There's a stupid ad on TV right now for IBM and they're running on The Seine. It might not even be that stupid, but I tend to hate all advertising and I have the sound off so it really doesn't make much sense. Running on The Seine does though, something I was able to do on a couple of occasions. Running through Paris in general is a delight. While generally I'd prefer some trails, since Paris is a wonderful, foreign-to-me, place chock full of history — and yet, due to its fame, familiarity — it makes for an amazing feeling. Like, "Hey, isn't that Notre Dame," or "Hey, isn't that the Eiffel Tower." I imagine that someone coming to America and running in New York or even Chicago might say the same, but I am one of those you can file under "intrigued by the other."
A week has passed since the above took place and now my cat is questioning why he has yet to make it into this blog, not realizing that it is indeed a privilege to be forgotten here. But no more, Noodles, welcome to the Internet (though I know you Skype on here when I leave the damn thing open). My keyboard is hairy enough without the fuzzy bastard, but so it goes.
Anyway, that seems to be quite enough for the moment, marking this post more eventful than the entire third season of Downton Abbey thus far. I mean I know it's a period piece, but an exclamation point wouldn't hurt. Hell, I'll settle for a question mark.
There's a stupid ad on TV right now for IBM and they're running on The Seine. It might not even be that stupid, but I tend to hate all advertising and I have the sound off so it really doesn't make much sense. Running on The Seine does though, something I was able to do on a couple of occasions. Running through Paris in general is a delight. While generally I'd prefer some trails, since Paris is a wonderful, foreign-to-me, place chock full of history — and yet, due to its fame, familiarity — it makes for an amazing feeling. Like, "Hey, isn't that Notre Dame," or "Hey, isn't that the Eiffel Tower." I imagine that someone coming to America and running in New York or even Chicago might say the same, but I am one of those you can file under "intrigued by the other."
A week has passed since the above took place and now my cat is questioning why he has yet to make it into this blog, not realizing that it is indeed a privilege to be forgotten here. But no more, Noodles, welcome to the Internet (though I know you Skype on here when I leave the damn thing open). My keyboard is hairy enough without the fuzzy bastard, but so it goes.
Anyway, that seems to be quite enough for the moment, marking this post more eventful than the entire third season of Downton Abbey thus far. I mean I know it's a period piece, but an exclamation point wouldn't hurt. Hell, I'll settle for a question mark.
Monday, October 8, 2012
Fall[acies]
You ever dislodge a booger and have it go up your nose? It's really disconcerting for some reason even though it's comprised of just those things that just left there anyway.
I was thinking about sinus infections because I get them every fall, and because my girlfriend's sinuses are always crap and I thought I'd make a hyperlink to someone signing the word "us." But in rudimentary googling, I returned no results. What a sad thought that in ASL, there is no us. Bad enough that it's already co-opted for A/S/L.
Mostly in fall I dream of cross country and the pleasant experience of running over hill and dale. Even the scent of port-o-john chemical leads to fond reminiscence. Of course it's not long then until it will be nut-bitingly cold.
In other running news, the Chicago Marathon was yesterday. I was too lazy to get around to the course this year, but I did at least catch the last few miles on my computer. The NBC live webcast was rather awful, with cutaways every few minutes to interview god-knows-who or lend another update to the weather. I understand that not everyone happens to be a running enthusiast and they are trying to draw in viewers, but that is not the way to do it, especially not in the closing minutes of the race.
At any rate, watching these guys (Kebede and Lilesa), drugs or not, click off miles in the 4:40s and still be able to surge and drop into the 4:30s boggles my mind. And that they battled each other. It was an actual race. Multiple surges in races of 5k or less took their toll on me, though I suppose in the longer race there are more opportunities for moves and time to counter them. I can only imagine the horrible death of covering an early move and paying for it for 7, 9, 12, 15 miles.
One of the stranger aspects of the marathon to me is that you eat and drink during it (technically you're not quite eating in a lot of these instances). One year perhaps I'll get injuries figured out and be able to train to run a marathon in a time I'd consider reasonable. Maybe this will even be the city for it.
In political news, for the opening presidential debate it might be worth taking Matt Taibbi's word for it.
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Serenity Sans Cyclists
Ah the bicycle, a wonderful invention, but then enters the rider of the bicycle. And because these riders of bicycles are regular people, not all of them are quite what I'm looking for in terms of etiquette and understanding. There are those who use the bicycle as tool of transport, and there are those who go a step further and enter the realm of cyclist. Within the realm of cyclist there is quite the range, from the geared-out guys and gals on their pricey road bikes, to the stereotypical hipster on his or her fixie. It doesn't matter what they look like though, it's the attitude.
I run. At times this means sharing space occupied by pedestrians, by skateboarders and rollerbladers, folks on Segways (can the riders of Segways be called segues?), cars and — yes — cyclists. The sidewalk, the road, steps, grass, railroad tracks, shared lakefront paths. I'm naming but a few; the important part is the sharing.
The cyclist has angered me for some time, even before one ran into my leg and did [un]reasonable damage to my body. Before that event, on that very path (and hell I probably mention it there in that linked post), cyclists so frequently ride not just quickly, but closely. I do that too...to inanimate objects. I hug the lane next to a parked car, shimmy between a parking box, an outdoor bench, in the name of not slowing down some sure, but also in the name of not obstructing anyone else.
Often I run in the bike lane in my neighborhood, but what abuts the bike lane is parking space. I'm always tensed, awaiting a comment so I can point out the distinction. Or note that cyclists sometimes ride two abreast and my running certainly occupied no more space than would this second cyclist. But the quickest point is always, "Ever ride your bike on a sidewalk?" This messes with shit far more than me running in the bike lane. Further, since many ignore other traffic rules —like, for instance, red lights — you'll just have to deal with my running opposite you in your lane.
After all, there was a time when there was no bike lane...
Well there was plenty of other nonsense I might have mentioned but how about I let you know that about.me loves my page. How do I know? They emailed me you silly geese! I get that messages like that one are sent in bulk, but I think it's funny considering my profile is quite barely developed. Why did AOL buy this up for $10 million again? I guess because that's like $10 for me, and I do buy some silly shit for that price.
In the meantime, I'll be jamming to this until I make myself sick, just like I did before...and I surely will do again.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
The Color of Monet...
would be a great title for a book about the relationship of art and value or, well, maybe it wouldn't.
See, I was hoping to have something humorous to put down in here, but when you try to force out some funny, it rarely works.
Instead I'll just talk about how I've decided I'll always opt for the pat down if my only other option at airport security is the x-ray machine. I've only once had to go through that thing, but I was decided that yesterday would not be my second time. Having had enough radiation in one lifetime from imaging for all manner of injury, and with these machines not all that tested, I'd rather have a gloved hand once-over. They offered to do it in a private room if I was uncomfortable having it done in front of people, but somehow I feel a private airport pat-down would prove more to be far more uncomfortable.
Workers in McCarran Airport were also highly supportive of my consistently dopy style of mixing coloring on pairs of shoes. I wonder if this would be as well received if I did not appear to be a bit younger than I really am.
In the opposite vein of reception, on a brief jaunt last week some dude from a car yelled that I "looked foolish." With no noted response — I neither turned head, broke stride, or anything else — he repeated himself. I continue not to understand the threat of a relatively skinny guy running down the street, even if he's got no shirt on. And hell, foolish? Do any of the assclowns that yell these things really think it's both my first run and first run in such attire? Dream on, right Steve? The real question: why are all these people so insecure?
I wonder if old Gore Vidal was insecure...
I wonder if old Gore Vidal was insecure...
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Welcome to the Neighborhood
Seeing as how I have lived in the same neighborhood for nearing the start of my third year, one can forget about what might seem a touch ridiculous in other parts. Case in point: I left my apartment this evening carrying a handful of grapes — a bunch actually. This seemed perfectly normal as I wanted a snack for while I walked but then, as I sighted the man with a parrot on his shoulder around the corner, I realized that eating a bunch of grapes while you walk may, in fact, be vaguely outside the norm. Still, I would expect it lies closer to normal than having a parrot on your shoulder.
I've noted before that any sort of eating while one walks is considered rather strange behavior. Most people, it seems, sit down to eat. Me though, unless I have plans to dine with someone, I tend to feel that eating is more of an act to fill a void in energy before going to the next activity. I enjoy eating, I really do but, considering I'm often running late, if I can combine any activities, I'm doing myself a big favor.
Moving on in the extremely linear fashion that I tend to adopt in here, I want to take the time to post this video of Beth Stelling from last night's Conan O'Brien show. Beth is a person I got to know a little in my forays into comedy in Chicago and she's a real delight. Aside from actually being funny, she's also really nice and pleasant to spend time — even the limited time I've spent — with. Since I'm generally griping about nonsense on here, I want to be sure I'm balancing it with representing when good people do things well. So congrats to Beth Stelling, I'll always root more for the nice folks.
Speaking of nice folks, on the way to work this morning, a little girl in the backseat of a Volvo station wagon stared at me as I waited to cross the street so I gave her a big smile and a thumbs up. I realized this was not the most standard of responses, but it was enough for the kid. Thanks kid, for being one of those simple restorative dailies. I pulled the same on a little girl in a stroller walking home. For whatever reason, when kids smile at me, I get more excited than when adults to. I think their innocence translates to a genuine sense that I might not be an asshole. But also their innocence might make their judgment foolhardy!
Shit, other than that, I'm getting excited for the Olympics to kick off. I admit, I'd be happier if no one were on drugs, but there are so many weird chemicals in everything we eat and touch that many of us are turning out unwitting mutants...I just wish that for me it meant I was impervious to injury instead of being impervious to being impervious to injury!
Play on playas.
I've noted before that any sort of eating while one walks is considered rather strange behavior. Most people, it seems, sit down to eat. Me though, unless I have plans to dine with someone, I tend to feel that eating is more of an act to fill a void in energy before going to the next activity. I enjoy eating, I really do but, considering I'm often running late, if I can combine any activities, I'm doing myself a big favor.
Moving on in the extremely linear fashion that I tend to adopt in here, I want to take the time to post this video of Beth Stelling from last night's Conan O'Brien show. Beth is a person I got to know a little in my forays into comedy in Chicago and she's a real delight. Aside from actually being funny, she's also really nice and pleasant to spend time — even the limited time I've spent — with. Since I'm generally griping about nonsense on here, I want to be sure I'm balancing it with representing when good people do things well. So congrats to Beth Stelling, I'll always root more for the nice folks.
Speaking of nice folks, on the way to work this morning, a little girl in the backseat of a Volvo station wagon stared at me as I waited to cross the street so I gave her a big smile and a thumbs up. I realized this was not the most standard of responses, but it was enough for the kid. Thanks kid, for being one of those simple restorative dailies. I pulled the same on a little girl in a stroller walking home. For whatever reason, when kids smile at me, I get more excited than when adults to. I think their innocence translates to a genuine sense that I might not be an asshole. But also their innocence might make their judgment foolhardy!
Shit, other than that, I'm getting excited for the Olympics to kick off. I admit, I'd be happier if no one were on drugs, but there are so many weird chemicals in everything we eat and touch that many of us are turning out unwitting mutants...I just wish that for me it meant I was impervious to injury instead of being impervious to being impervious to injury!
Play on playas.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Things That Begin With 'R'
Running is certainly at the top of this list for my dumbass as I've been an over-enthused enthusiast of the activity and the sport pretty much since taking it up as a freshman in high school. I'm bizarrely competitive about a great number of things, but it wasn't until I started running for sport that I remembered how competitive I'd been about it anyway. Schoolyard races, gym class tests, blowing by someone in this or that sport, I prided myself on being faster than people expected.
Of course, as is the way for many people, the body can't always keep up with the brain, and even vice versa. And so many an injury has sidelined me over the years but, if anything, my love of running has only increased. And so then we have the Olympic Trials, where there is a rare showcase of track (and field) on a broader scale. People start to give a shit about swimming, and diving and, well, as ridiculous as some of the events can seem (I apologize racewalk, but I'll never understand thee), it's a thrill for me to watch people perform at such high levels in all of these things. But it's not just that that I often ask of an athlete, I often want to see them do it gracefully. It's the added confirmation that they were meant to do this, that we were as a whole too, but them more than others.
And then you have the sprint for news, in that photo set a race to get the word out on the passage of new health care initiatives, an initiative that one politician deemed on par with 9/11. I suppose you do dial that in an emergency, and now you might have health services to back you up...
But as a runner you can do weird things. Yesterday, for instance, I ran to my old apartment to pick up some cooking supplies and then ran back. Given traffic at that hour, my desire to get in a mile or two (and also that I don't drive), this made perfect sense. But a shirtless man in small red shorts toting a plastic grocer's bag looks a bit odd I'm going to guess.
Aside from that sort of thing, which I don't expect most folks do, it isn't just me being 'weird' on the running front. I know from speaking with others of the running ilk. I analyze every runner I see out running. Is he/she fast? How/why do they run like that? And then I wonder what I look like out there, form aside from general asshattery of appearance (as I have detailed in her before, at least vaguely, and perhaps even form as well). Of course, it doesn't matter if you can't run. When someone suggests you take up something other than running, and the thought is, "there is only running" a la Highlander, that's when you're in the leagues of the runner. I get grumpy about other runners when I can't run, but all that is is a petty jealousy. You think they can't possibly enjoy it as much as you, and perhaps don't deserve, all of which is bullshit.
So you take what you can get.
Another r-word would be rumour, and blogger does not like that I spelled that the old British way. I'm not sure I do either, but a rumour today that can be credited to fact is Ryan Braun's herpes. I can't say that I was too interested, but the topic came up while watching a baseball game and a friend could confirm that his friend had received a text from Mr. Braun advising to get herself tested. Generally that could be the kind of detail to share beforehand. Well, they're herpes now I suppose...
That isn't very many things that begin with 'r' yet but this entry is getting a touch long I'd say. So let's close out by the cheap use of adjective: radness. Imagine my sadness that radness appears not to be a word. Still, I was just peering through this tilt-shift photography post. Plenty of rad things, and why not that?
Tomorrow's July, July! Wherever does the time go?
Of course, as is the way for many people, the body can't always keep up with the brain, and even vice versa. And so many an injury has sidelined me over the years but, if anything, my love of running has only increased. And so then we have the Olympic Trials, where there is a rare showcase of track (and field) on a broader scale. People start to give a shit about swimming, and diving and, well, as ridiculous as some of the events can seem (I apologize racewalk, but I'll never understand thee), it's a thrill for me to watch people perform at such high levels in all of these things. But it's not just that that I often ask of an athlete, I often want to see them do it gracefully. It's the added confirmation that they were meant to do this, that we were as a whole too, but them more than others.
And then you have the sprint for news, in that photo set a race to get the word out on the passage of new health care initiatives, an initiative that one politician deemed on par with 9/11. I suppose you do dial that in an emergency, and now you might have health services to back you up...
But as a runner you can do weird things. Yesterday, for instance, I ran to my old apartment to pick up some cooking supplies and then ran back. Given traffic at that hour, my desire to get in a mile or two (and also that I don't drive), this made perfect sense. But a shirtless man in small red shorts toting a plastic grocer's bag looks a bit odd I'm going to guess.
Aside from that sort of thing, which I don't expect most folks do, it isn't just me being 'weird' on the running front. I know from speaking with others of the running ilk. I analyze every runner I see out running. Is he/she fast? How/why do they run like that? And then I wonder what I look like out there, form aside from general asshattery of appearance (as I have detailed in her before, at least vaguely, and perhaps even form as well). Of course, it doesn't matter if you can't run. When someone suggests you take up something other than running, and the thought is, "there is only running" a la Highlander, that's when you're in the leagues of the runner. I get grumpy about other runners when I can't run, but all that is is a petty jealousy. You think they can't possibly enjoy it as much as you, and perhaps don't deserve, all of which is bullshit.
So you take what you can get.
Another r-word would be rumour, and blogger does not like that I spelled that the old British way. I'm not sure I do either, but a rumour today that can be credited to fact is Ryan Braun's herpes. I can't say that I was too interested, but the topic came up while watching a baseball game and a friend could confirm that his friend had received a text from Mr. Braun advising to get herself tested. Generally that could be the kind of detail to share beforehand. Well, they're herpes now I suppose...
That isn't very many things that begin with 'r' yet but this entry is getting a touch long I'd say. So let's close out by the cheap use of adjective: radness. Imagine my sadness that radness appears not to be a word. Still, I was just peering through this tilt-shift photography post. Plenty of rad things, and why not that?
Tomorrow's July, July! Wherever does the time go?
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Bloggadocio
Now I don't mean to brag, but I am the number fifteen result for "Jude Law" and "Detachable Penis." As in, those exact terms each paired in quotes, and side-by-side. Lance Armstrong seems to be very popular once again (according to search results that land folks at this blog), and a lot of people are also interested in UPS and DHL uniforms.
If only this were Sunday so that I might say I was blogging on a Sunday afternoon. Or if it were sunny and not overcast, but then, were it sunny, I'd feel silly for blogging when I could be out in the good weather. As it is, I often feel silly blogging anyway.
Let's bring it to sillier by discussing my running shorts. I have to hand it to a lot of the pairs I've had over the years, they hold up pretty well considering the sweaty abuse I give them, but it is inevitable to have to replace some of these. Elastics go, fabrics degrade and expand, and liners (for I hate to wear underwear) grow limp. The latter leads to disasters of both visibility and support. So it was that I ordered some new shorts and new should perhaps be in quotations as they hardly seemed new. The company, which shall remain nameless, dug these up somewhere from the bowels of their warehouse, a warehouse that may very well be some guy's den. They are shipped in ziplock bags. I now own four pairs of these shorts, in four different colors, and they seem to be cut four different ways and made out of four different materials. In my running log I stated that I might very well discuss this – as I had in my running log – branding myself a loser for doing so. And here we are.
But really, this is so strange. Not wishing to deal with the hassle of returns, I put on one of these new pairs which seem to be constructed of parachute material and I have to say that I am rather fond of their strange quality. If any running shorts were ever constructed with asbestos, these are them. They are proudly made in the USA. Sometimes you gotta get behind outsourcing.
One of these days I will design my own running clothing line as I have long alluded to doing. Limitations like knowing nothing about fashion design won't limit me, I'll merely scour the earth for some well cut shorts, shirts, and so on, and then apply fabrics and designs that will make all who wear them into the kind of asshole I appear to be when I'm out on the streets. Fast or slow, you gotta look...notable...
This post strikes me as being rather like diarrhea. I'm not sure where it came from, why or when it will stop, and nobody is that excited about it. But it's here and I can't do anything about it. Oh sure, I could wipe it all away, but I'll still know it happened.
See you in April, fools...
If only this were Sunday so that I might say I was blogging on a Sunday afternoon. Or if it were sunny and not overcast, but then, were it sunny, I'd feel silly for blogging when I could be out in the good weather. As it is, I often feel silly blogging anyway.
Let's bring it to sillier by discussing my running shorts. I have to hand it to a lot of the pairs I've had over the years, they hold up pretty well considering the sweaty abuse I give them, but it is inevitable to have to replace some of these. Elastics go, fabrics degrade and expand, and liners (for I hate to wear underwear) grow limp. The latter leads to disasters of both visibility and support. So it was that I ordered some new shorts and new should perhaps be in quotations as they hardly seemed new. The company, which shall remain nameless, dug these up somewhere from the bowels of their warehouse, a warehouse that may very well be some guy's den. They are shipped in ziplock bags. I now own four pairs of these shorts, in four different colors, and they seem to be cut four different ways and made out of four different materials. In my running log I stated that I might very well discuss this – as I had in my running log – branding myself a loser for doing so. And here we are.
But really, this is so strange. Not wishing to deal with the hassle of returns, I put on one of these new pairs which seem to be constructed of parachute material and I have to say that I am rather fond of their strange quality. If any running shorts were ever constructed with asbestos, these are them. They are proudly made in the USA. Sometimes you gotta get behind outsourcing.
One of these days I will design my own running clothing line as I have long alluded to doing. Limitations like knowing nothing about fashion design won't limit me, I'll merely scour the earth for some well cut shorts, shirts, and so on, and then apply fabrics and designs that will make all who wear them into the kind of asshole I appear to be when I'm out on the streets. Fast or slow, you gotta look...notable...
This post strikes me as being rather like diarrhea. I'm not sure where it came from, why or when it will stop, and nobody is that excited about it. But it's here and I can't do anything about it. Oh sure, I could wipe it all away, but I'll still know it happened.
See you in April, fools...
Monday, March 12, 2012
Marchmellow
March has maybe been a little less than mellow, but at the risk of telling actual details of my real life, let's just say that I haven't been overly diligent about finding time to blog. Very few people's loss. I have heard it said that it is better to have blogged and blogged shittily than never to have blogged at all but clearly that is a made up statement and it isn't true because I don't want to read shit and I certainly don't want to write shit, despite what may develop at times.
That's when you order coffee at 9pm and listen to The Immigrant Song on repeat. Why are there even dislikes on that video? I don't understand my fellow Americans sometimes. It's also intriguing due to the very anonymous and simple clicking of a button, defining oneself while really not and doing so easily. Not that defining oneself should be such a conscious effort. It'd be great to just be. Like I wasn't just trying to be anything other than a guy who runs a lot and gets sweaty. Warm enough weather has hit the city of Chicago and I found myself on a jaunt in shorts sans shirt. I thought about it, thought maybe I should wear a shirt. But the usual came to my head: 1) I sweat a lot; 2) I hate doing laundry; 3) who gives an eff-bomb (I try not to be too profane on the old blog here)? I wonder how many dislikes I would have received if people could click as I ran by. The future!
As usual I'm getting really bad at recognizing people, by which I mean that I recognize people I don't even know, but simply have seen a lot. No sense enumerating because I don't want to add another layer to the weirdness pointing out who they are and it somehow coming back to blog me in the ass...paranoia much?
Well, here's hoping we're done being the land of the ice and the snow, even (especially?) when those refer to meth and coke respectively. Running is my drug. And caffeine. And sugar. And booze. There are more things on this list. My body is a temple, and I worship a little differently than some might. That's enough out of me.
That's when you order coffee at 9pm and listen to The Immigrant Song on repeat. Why are there even dislikes on that video? I don't understand my fellow Americans sometimes. It's also intriguing due to the very anonymous and simple clicking of a button, defining oneself while really not and doing so easily. Not that defining oneself should be such a conscious effort. It'd be great to just be. Like I wasn't just trying to be anything other than a guy who runs a lot and gets sweaty. Warm enough weather has hit the city of Chicago and I found myself on a jaunt in shorts sans shirt. I thought about it, thought maybe I should wear a shirt. But the usual came to my head: 1) I sweat a lot; 2) I hate doing laundry; 3) who gives an eff-bomb (I try not to be too profane on the old blog here)? I wonder how many dislikes I would have received if people could click as I ran by. The future!
As usual I'm getting really bad at recognizing people, by which I mean that I recognize people I don't even know, but simply have seen a lot. No sense enumerating because I don't want to add another layer to the weirdness pointing out who they are and it somehow coming back to blog me in the ass...paranoia much?
Well, here's hoping we're done being the land of the ice and the snow, even (especially?) when those refer to meth and coke respectively. Running is my drug. And caffeine. And sugar. And booze. There are more things on this list. My body is a temple, and I worship a little differently than some might. That's enough out of me.
Friday, February 17, 2012
If It's Dallas Thing I Do...
Well, did, it was go to Dallas. In fact, I'm there right now. You've got to mess around with the emphasis of the syllables in that there title for it to make sense, but once you do I think you'll catch my drift. I haven't really figured this city out since I've only spent about three days here, much of it in a hotel room, but there's plenty to like. Things or at least one thing that will prevent it from being a city I consider truly livable, is that one must drive everywhere, and I mean everywhere. I haven't experimented with public transit, and maybe it's not bad, but the fact remains you won't be doing much pedestrianing. There are dedicated paved paths that have been put in for pedestrians, runners, and cyclists, but it's still a sprawling metropolis. It's no real knock, it's just compared to what I have encountered, and enjoy, in other cities.
I've got a lot of Valentine-related wordplay I'm itching to lay down but I did already lay it down pretty thick on Twitter. That said, if you've ever read this blog description and my profile, we're not really talking the first time I've committed some redundancy. See also: many of my posts.
At any rate, folks down here in Dallas are really friendly, which is nice, because in spite of being a griping grumpus on here from time-to-time, I'm a pretty friendly individual. I have the benefit of staying awfully near Highland Park, which could also be considered not a benefit depending on how you view things. It's lush and wealthy and thus safe – and man is there a lot of high school pride [t]here – but that also makes it completely unrealistic as a place I'd ever be capable of living. Still, I enjoyed taking a jaunt out through the neighborhoods and seeing the amazing properties. Yes, many are huge, but the architecture tends to be tasteful, which you can't say of a lot of large homes. These go behind homes though, and cross into the hacienda realm.
I did venture out to far less lustrous segments that comprise the actual city, although that has been my strange feeling: I don't know in some ways where the city actually is. Highland Park is a town it's own, yes, but the parts I have wandered in trips and in runs, I hardly known if I truly have been in the Dallas confines. I think I did run out to East Dallas today, but cardinally challenged as I am at the moment, suffice to say that, wherever it was, it was not the place to be.
Though it isn't particularly valenkind, I'm going to jot down a few more valenlines. Those are for jotting and not for snorting, although after those some red liquid might be reporting. Really I'm feeling quite valenfine, not at all in a pickle or valenbrined. About the day I cannot valenwhine, for I enjoyed great valenwhine, and also some bourbon at the valentime that I did valendine. Vaguely here you see valenrhymes, some of which are lackluster, a few which valenshine, and none of which earn me one single valendime. For that I'd have to do some real valengrime, though nothing that would earn me a valenfine. You'll note that I used that last one already, but the meaning was different, so please, hold steady. It's about time I rode the valenpine, since I've nothing too earth-shattering like a valenmine. As the silence does settle, enter the valenmime, and now I believe I'm in a valenbind. Not many other options can I think of at this time, leaving me really quite valenblind. Really that's all that I care to compose: thanks for the memories Dallas, with that I close.
I've got a lot of Valentine-related wordplay I'm itching to lay down but I did already lay it down pretty thick on Twitter. That said, if you've ever read this blog description and my profile, we're not really talking the first time I've committed some redundancy. See also: many of my posts.
At any rate, folks down here in Dallas are really friendly, which is nice, because in spite of being a griping grumpus on here from time-to-time, I'm a pretty friendly individual. I have the benefit of staying awfully near Highland Park, which could also be considered not a benefit depending on how you view things. It's lush and wealthy and thus safe – and man is there a lot of high school pride [t]here – but that also makes it completely unrealistic as a place I'd ever be capable of living. Still, I enjoyed taking a jaunt out through the neighborhoods and seeing the amazing properties. Yes, many are huge, but the architecture tends to be tasteful, which you can't say of a lot of large homes. These go behind homes though, and cross into the hacienda realm.
I did venture out to far less lustrous segments that comprise the actual city, although that has been my strange feeling: I don't know in some ways where the city actually is. Highland Park is a town it's own, yes, but the parts I have wandered in trips and in runs, I hardly known if I truly have been in the Dallas confines. I think I did run out to East Dallas today, but cardinally challenged as I am at the moment, suffice to say that, wherever it was, it was not the place to be.
Though it isn't particularly valenkind, I'm going to jot down a few more valenlines. Those are for jotting and not for snorting, although after those some red liquid might be reporting. Really I'm feeling quite valenfine, not at all in a pickle or valenbrined. About the day I cannot valenwhine, for I enjoyed great valenwhine, and also some bourbon at the valentime that I did valendine. Vaguely here you see valenrhymes, some of which are lackluster, a few which valenshine, and none of which earn me one single valendime. For that I'd have to do some real valengrime, though nothing that would earn me a valenfine. You'll note that I used that last one already, but the meaning was different, so please, hold steady. It's about time I rode the valenpine, since I've nothing too earth-shattering like a valenmine. As the silence does settle, enter the valenmime, and now I believe I'm in a valenbind. Not many other options can I think of at this time, leaving me really quite valenblind. Really that's all that I care to compose: thanks for the memories Dallas, with that I close.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Potentially Embarrassing Moments
Ah yes, there are a great deal of these in life. Take, for instance, that seated in front of me in this coffee house is a guy I met once at some event, who then friended me on facebook, after which we even have facebook interaction (this is rare for me, in general, the interacting on facebook), and has, it appears, de-friended me. Of course, I can't remember his name, so I consider it not a big deal. But like, um, totally, for real, does he recognize me? Right. For me to be writing this paragraph is embarrassing.
The other much more potentially embarrassing moment is that I am reading through notations and editorial suggestions on a printed draft of a novel I have been working on for about two years (this statement alone is tough to stomach). On the back page is my photograph. No one really wants to get caught in such a moment, unless perhaps their name is Hank Moody. If you don't watch Californication I should note that, even that situation doesn't exactly work out tip-top for the man in question. So I'm sure to have a carefully placed hand over the photo. Ted Mosby had a run-in with this circumstance but let's face it, unless it's Bob Saget narrating as old man Ted, not a lot of people are lining up to be Ted Mosby.
What isn't embarrassing though, is the herding skills on display by these Scotsmen. Man, I think they are Scots. I am not rewatching the video with sound right now and I'd probably get accent identification wrong. Oh, the embarrassment...
Well, there were a few things I had thought about writing about but, as usual, I forgot them, so I am glad to once again be bringing up this fact. Today while running I was chewing gum. I can't remember the last time that happened but it really changes the run. In the beginning of my run I was all like, "What's different about this run today?" Then it hit me. Then, later, that gum hit the sidewalk when I attempted to be smooth and spit it in a trash bin on the sidewalk without breaking stride. Sorry couple I almost spit gum onto the path of. Some sort of karma might stick around. Took a while just to work up the gumption to attempt and then I botched it.
Well, see you at the party Richter.
The other much more potentially embarrassing moment is that I am reading through notations and editorial suggestions on a printed draft of a novel I have been working on for about two years (this statement alone is tough to stomach). On the back page is my photograph. No one really wants to get caught in such a moment, unless perhaps their name is Hank Moody. If you don't watch Californication I should note that, even that situation doesn't exactly work out tip-top for the man in question. So I'm sure to have a carefully placed hand over the photo. Ted Mosby had a run-in with this circumstance but let's face it, unless it's Bob Saget narrating as old man Ted, not a lot of people are lining up to be Ted Mosby.
What isn't embarrassing though, is the herding skills on display by these Scotsmen. Man, I think they are Scots. I am not rewatching the video with sound right now and I'd probably get accent identification wrong. Oh, the embarrassment...
Well, there were a few things I had thought about writing about but, as usual, I forgot them, so I am glad to once again be bringing up this fact. Today while running I was chewing gum. I can't remember the last time that happened but it really changes the run. In the beginning of my run I was all like, "What's different about this run today?" Then it hit me. Then, later, that gum hit the sidewalk when I attempted to be smooth and spit it in a trash bin on the sidewalk without breaking stride. Sorry couple I almost spit gum onto the path of. Some sort of karma might stick around. Took a while just to work up the gumption to attempt and then I botched it.
Well, see you at the party Richter.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
March[ing] on to April
Well I just made it on the old self-imposed quota here of four posts a month. It also gives me breathing room not to concoct an April Fool's joke. My regular content borders on the jokeline and seriousness to begin with, so I don't feel any particular need to joke it up extra hard tomorrow. Just as I am not any sweeter on Valentine's Day, any more expectant of winter ending on Groundhog Day (seriously, why is it still pretty damn cold), and any more likely to give gifts on Christmas (I'm vaguely a Jew).
I found myself viewing a rather choice Hallmark Channel film entitled "Chasing a Dream," during a somewhat insomniac-ish evening not long ago after catching wind of the existence of said film on a running forum. You can check it out here. It's about 90 minutes, and I certainly watched close to the whole thing, skipping some middle bits. It offended me as both a runner and a human, and as writer even, but I did keep watching. Blame accepted.
The vague outline is a chubby football-playing teenager's quest to run under 4 minutes in the mile, as a high schooler. He is doing this to fulfill the dream his childhood friend had. His childhood friend who trained hard and is at least lithe in build. And who dies running home from a party he didn't want to be at, dragged there by CFB (chubby football player). The football player is a Lawrence child, as in Joey and Matthew Lawrence. Tubbly and unathletic in movement, he'd be as hard to believe as a credible football player as he is as a runner. With no prior running experience, Lawrence takes off on short-legged sprints with looks of anguish on his face with every step. As someone who wasn't far under 4:20 in the mile, and never made faces like that, I found this, to use the word at least once more, offensive. With no disrespect to the Special Olympics, he looks more qualified to participate in those. Here is the part where I say I am allowed to say that because I have been called a retard while running.
The rest of the film fits the complete lack of research and realism brought to the film. When Lawrence is DQ'ed from the state sectional for knocking his top competitor — who has a poorly contrived African name — to the track, his competitor pleads for Lawrence to be re-instated by sending a fax to the state athletic board. What? This, yes, is set, in 2011. Earlier, there is a high school party scene where attendees jam out to a boombox, one that I don't even think has CD capability. That's not a knock, those things are just hard to come by, especially in the ritzy southern California area portrayed. There are also an awful lot of shots of New Balance sneakers, and when Lawrence races, he does so in shitty flats, not even a pair of spikes. At least his African opponent looks like he can run (in a way more normal fashion than I do when running, that's for damn sure), strange as it is to see his smooth gait confronted by the clodding disabled person that Lawrence portrays. Take it from my own style that it doesn't always look pretty, but there is a limit to the believability.
Spoiler alert: they set up a special race and Lawrence loses to the African but they both break 4! Argh, if only I had played football all of high school and then stepped onto the track, sprinting stiff-legged with a look as if I need to crap my pants, I'd have beaten Alan Webb to becoming the 4th high-schooler to break 4 minutes! New Balance kicks and the boombox were sure to be essential as well. But featuring a heartfelt theme using recycled Everwood cast members, it is what it is! Yes, it was a complete mockery of the sport I love, but everything about it was so preposterous that amusement superceded true anger.
In lighter news, I think this children's choir cat duet would make for a wonderful improv warm-up game. On second thought, though, I think it's great as is. Legitimately performed at a church.
Next, I've got an oldie but a goodie, oldie to me only as I stumbled upon it recently. In general I find British news, tabloid, and real, more fun to read. So check out this dude fathering kids and working the system. It really is a tremendous read.
And last but not least, a little news from the tennis world or, at least, in the tennis world it constitutes news. I am a tennis fan, no question, but it's amazing how in need of a story news sources can find themselves. So in need that they might post as news something about a news story that shows how in need of news something is...This article (and ABC News) alleges a frustrated David Ferrer lobbed a ball into the stands to quiet a crying baby. There's all sorts of things wrong with this situation, but I'm ignoring all of them to say that there are, as I type this, over 6,000 comments on the article. Over 6,000. I can't say if all of them are tennis fans. But let's just imagine that they are, and think of the people who watch tennis. It's generally the more affluent, just like the people who play the sport. The same people clamoring for Groupons and writing reviews on Yelp. The kind of people who produce self-masturbatory internet content thinking that their opinions...oh wait a minute...
Carry on folks, carry on. Stay safe out there.
I found myself viewing a rather choice Hallmark Channel film entitled "Chasing a Dream," during a somewhat insomniac-ish evening not long ago after catching wind of the existence of said film on a running forum. You can check it out here. It's about 90 minutes, and I certainly watched close to the whole thing, skipping some middle bits. It offended me as both a runner and a human, and as writer even, but I did keep watching. Blame accepted.
The vague outline is a chubby football-playing teenager's quest to run under 4 minutes in the mile, as a high schooler. He is doing this to fulfill the dream his childhood friend had. His childhood friend who trained hard and is at least lithe in build. And who dies running home from a party he didn't want to be at, dragged there by CFB (chubby football player). The football player is a Lawrence child, as in Joey and Matthew Lawrence. Tubbly and unathletic in movement, he'd be as hard to believe as a credible football player as he is as a runner. With no prior running experience, Lawrence takes off on short-legged sprints with looks of anguish on his face with every step. As someone who wasn't far under 4:20 in the mile, and never made faces like that, I found this, to use the word at least once more, offensive. With no disrespect to the Special Olympics, he looks more qualified to participate in those. Here is the part where I say I am allowed to say that because I have been called a retard while running.
The rest of the film fits the complete lack of research and realism brought to the film. When Lawrence is DQ'ed from the state sectional for knocking his top competitor — who has a poorly contrived African name — to the track, his competitor pleads for Lawrence to be re-instated by sending a fax to the state athletic board. What? This, yes, is set, in 2011. Earlier, there is a high school party scene where attendees jam out to a boombox, one that I don't even think has CD capability. That's not a knock, those things are just hard to come by, especially in the ritzy southern California area portrayed. There are also an awful lot of shots of New Balance sneakers, and when Lawrence races, he does so in shitty flats, not even a pair of spikes. At least his African opponent looks like he can run (in a way more normal fashion than I do when running, that's for damn sure), strange as it is to see his smooth gait confronted by the clodding disabled person that Lawrence portrays. Take it from my own style that it doesn't always look pretty, but there is a limit to the believability.
Spoiler alert: they set up a special race and Lawrence loses to the African but they both break 4! Argh, if only I had played football all of high school and then stepped onto the track, sprinting stiff-legged with a look as if I need to crap my pants, I'd have beaten Alan Webb to becoming the 4th high-schooler to break 4 minutes! New Balance kicks and the boombox were sure to be essential as well. But featuring a heartfelt theme using recycled Everwood cast members, it is what it is! Yes, it was a complete mockery of the sport I love, but everything about it was so preposterous that amusement superceded true anger.
In lighter news, I think this children's choir cat duet would make for a wonderful improv warm-up game. On second thought, though, I think it's great as is. Legitimately performed at a church.
Next, I've got an oldie but a goodie, oldie to me only as I stumbled upon it recently. In general I find British news, tabloid, and real, more fun to read. So check out this dude fathering kids and working the system. It really is a tremendous read.
And last but not least, a little news from the tennis world or, at least, in the tennis world it constitutes news. I am a tennis fan, no question, but it's amazing how in need of a story news sources can find themselves. So in need that they might post as news something about a news story that shows how in need of news something is...This article (and ABC News) alleges a frustrated David Ferrer lobbed a ball into the stands to quiet a crying baby. There's all sorts of things wrong with this situation, but I'm ignoring all of them to say that there are, as I type this, over 6,000 comments on the article. Over 6,000. I can't say if all of them are tennis fans. But let's just imagine that they are, and think of the people who watch tennis. It's generally the more affluent, just like the people who play the sport. The same people clamoring for Groupons and writing reviews on Yelp. The kind of people who produce self-masturbatory internet content thinking that their opinions...oh wait a minute...
Carry on folks, carry on. Stay safe out there.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Stupor Bowl
I mean that's what they should call the culmination of the NFL season right, because there is one game for folks to gather round and get universally shit-faced? Or at least eat lots of delicious and snacky foods. Or both. Yeah, okay, I get it, my word play can be aggravating. Pepper in enough puns and you take out all the fun. Routinely I think that "Super Bowl" is one word, but it is in fact two, and trademarked rather extensively, so that many cannot use the word without paying big bucks or getting sued.
Though I do enjoy the sport of football, I remain an avid if not rabid fan of high school running as well. One of my big favorites to come up was Craig Forys. He broke all kinds of records for Jersey high schoolers I never thought would be subsequently broken, or at least, not so soon. And yet they were, just a couple years after he graduated. I like to think Forys blazed the trail. I hope that kid goes on to rock it in his last seasons of eligibility in college.
Also in the track world, this Mo Farah guy is great. I don't know if this managed to be the first interview of him I have seem — that would seem rather incongruous with my track love — but what a nice, solid dude. Throw in that I cling to my connection and periodic flaunting of my own British heritage and, right, further incongruous. Rooting for this dude too.
After posting about Groundhog Day, I didn't even bother to see if old Phil saw his shadow. Looking out the window right now though, I believe there is going to be six more weeks of winter. Call it a hunch. But at least there are good things to do indoors (traipsing through the snow is fun too), like, if you are in Chicago, to check out this exhibit of Vivian Maier's photography. This has been getting some press in big time news sources like the New York Times and was on the local news here. I've already pointed it out to a few folks. If you can't make it to that, at least check out the dude's blog with a bunch of photos posted. Truly awesome and emotive.
I don't know who I even want to win this Super Bowl, maybe the Packers? But, after saying I wasn't down with Wiz Khalifa's "Black and Yellow", I gotta say, I like it, especially for repping his home town. Pittsburgh just keeps getting on the map, a funny term, since I'm pretty sure it's always been on the map, nomsayin'?
Right then, have yourselves an excellent Sunday.
Though I do enjoy the sport of football, I remain an avid if not rabid fan of high school running as well. One of my big favorites to come up was Craig Forys. He broke all kinds of records for Jersey high schoolers I never thought would be subsequently broken, or at least, not so soon. And yet they were, just a couple years after he graduated. I like to think Forys blazed the trail. I hope that kid goes on to rock it in his last seasons of eligibility in college.
Also in the track world, this Mo Farah guy is great. I don't know if this managed to be the first interview of him I have seem — that would seem rather incongruous with my track love — but what a nice, solid dude. Throw in that I cling to my connection and periodic flaunting of my own British heritage and, right, further incongruous. Rooting for this dude too.
After posting about Groundhog Day, I didn't even bother to see if old Phil saw his shadow. Looking out the window right now though, I believe there is going to be six more weeks of winter. Call it a hunch. But at least there are good things to do indoors (traipsing through the snow is fun too), like, if you are in Chicago, to check out this exhibit of Vivian Maier's photography. This has been getting some press in big time news sources like the New York Times and was on the local news here. I've already pointed it out to a few folks. If you can't make it to that, at least check out the dude's blog with a bunch of photos posted. Truly awesome and emotive.
I don't know who I even want to win this Super Bowl, maybe the Packers? But, after saying I wasn't down with Wiz Khalifa's "Black and Yellow", I gotta say, I like it, especially for repping his home town. Pittsburgh just keeps getting on the map, a funny term, since I'm pretty sure it's always been on the map, nomsayin'?
Right then, have yourselves an excellent Sunday.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Ring It In
I'm sippin' on a Four Loko with my homies and I thought I should go ahead and crap out one more post before the New Year is upon us, even though it's upon many of you in other parts of the globe.
I went on my last run of 2010 today and it was a balmy 55 degrees so I decided to do said activity sans shirt. This always invites heckling and I'm down with that. The first line I got was a very sarcastic and morose "Happy New Year," from some schlub. But that's cool. As always I don't know why my goofy shirtless figure inspires ire and slightly more mild derogatory responses but it does. Anyway, I don't let that ruffle me, and I talk about that shit more than enough in here. And plenty of folks gave me horn honks and smiles, so I'll take it.
There were some other bits and pieces I meant to go about discussing here but man, I am getting rapidly lokoed and I've got other business to attend to. Shout outs to all of my WesTech homies who made it out to the Chi and shout out to all of my WesTech homies that could not and shiiiiiiiiiiit all my other homies and family folks as well.
So have a safe and happy New Year celebration all. Dress like an asshole (I will, and always do), get down, do your thing, this holiday is no big deal, but yeah, make it count. Dave Matthews it up, because it's not where but who you're with that really matters.
I went on my last run of 2010 today and it was a balmy 55 degrees so I decided to do said activity sans shirt. This always invites heckling and I'm down with that. The first line I got was a very sarcastic and morose "Happy New Year," from some schlub. But that's cool. As always I don't know why my goofy shirtless figure inspires ire and slightly more mild derogatory responses but it does. Anyway, I don't let that ruffle me, and I talk about that shit more than enough in here. And plenty of folks gave me horn honks and smiles, so I'll take it.
There were some other bits and pieces I meant to go about discussing here but man, I am getting rapidly lokoed and I've got other business to attend to. Shout outs to all of my WesTech homies who made it out to the Chi and shout out to all of my WesTech homies that could not and shiiiiiiiiiiit all my other homies and family folks as well.
So have a safe and happy New Year celebration all. Dress like an asshole (I will, and always do), get down, do your thing, this holiday is no big deal, but yeah, make it count. Dave Matthews it up, because it's not where but who you're with that really matters.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Strong Enough for a Man
Ah Victoria's Secret (those are two separate links there guys, and gals, hehe). Yes, I just said hehe, but what the Hell? It's true that the image below is more like what I'm really getting at. With filming of the show completed (knowledge I have thanks to intel from my buddy Tom) I am pretty excited for the November 30th launch. Finally, something to look forward to after Thanksgiving, which is quite close to the highlight of my year. Food, family, and fecundity. I don't know why I picked that last word other than it makes for a third "f" and there is a rule of three. It could be vaguely relevant to the holiday. Anyway, back to Vicky's S.
Here's my favorite image from last year's show:
The thing is I'd never actually watched before last year and after reviewing past footage it appears I picked the right moment to decide to engage in viewership.
As the weather is nice I am about to embark on a run before daylight fades. Sometimes it's daylight savings, and sometimes it's daylight spendings. So I'll head out in my short-short shorts, comfortable in the knowledge that Henry Rollins wore shorter while performing. You perhaps get away with more when you have Henry's rep which, of course, is a mixed bag.
Speaking of mixed bags, or at least mixed nuts, I will relay the following. Back from a run and having forgot to hit "publish" I found this entry staring at me when I opened my computer. On my way I walked down the street shoveling bits of steak and lettuce into my mouth, the remnants of a delightful but structurally unsound carne asada torta. As I approached a crosswalk, I was asked by a woman of questionable chemical balance if I "would like to see Communism." Without waiting for a response, this woman directed me to the crosswalk lines which were not straight, but on an angle. I was tempted to respond that it depends what angle you're looking at them from, but I don't like to stir up too much trouble. Besides, she had a point, they'd repainted the line in an oddly-angled manner. Those reds...
Edit: taking this opportunity to drum up early excitement for it to be 11:11 on 11/11/11 in a year. It'll even happen twice. Save up those wishes fishes.
Here's my favorite image from last year's show:
The thing is I'd never actually watched before last year and after reviewing past footage it appears I picked the right moment to decide to engage in viewership.
As the weather is nice I am about to embark on a run before daylight fades. Sometimes it's daylight savings, and sometimes it's daylight spendings. So I'll head out in my short-short shorts, comfortable in the knowledge that Henry Rollins wore shorter while performing. You perhaps get away with more when you have Henry's rep which, of course, is a mixed bag.
Speaking of mixed bags, or at least mixed nuts, I will relay the following. Back from a run and having forgot to hit "publish" I found this entry staring at me when I opened my computer. On my way I walked down the street shoveling bits of steak and lettuce into my mouth, the remnants of a delightful but structurally unsound carne asada torta. As I approached a crosswalk, I was asked by a woman of questionable chemical balance if I "would like to see Communism." Without waiting for a response, this woman directed me to the crosswalk lines which were not straight, but on an angle. I was tempted to respond that it depends what angle you're looking at them from, but I don't like to stir up too much trouble. Besides, she had a point, they'd repainted the line in an oddly-angled manner. Those reds...
Edit: taking this opportunity to drum up early excitement for it to be 11:11 on 11/11/11 in a year. It'll even happen twice. Save up those wishes fishes.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Run For Your Life
Some straight up beast running took place this past weekend, a good deal of it in my "back yard" as the Chicago Marathon runs right past my apartment at about the seven-and-a-half mile mark. I got a couple of shots and a little video of the race leaders and all sorts of random competitors but I was fairly unprepared to do so most of the time and I've not taken the time to upload them yet anyway. It was also cold enough that my battery was falsely reading as being low on charge. In the meantime, here's a shot of race-winner and reigning Olympic champ Samuel Wanjiru.
Wanjiru: Total Beast.
These elites glide along so effortlessly running 4:50 miles and faster that it's a bit surreal. I'd be pretty content if I could be running that for 5k right now. The first question anyone asks when they find out you are a runner is if you've ever run a marathon. It's always been "no" and "I don't think I ever will" as responses, but I think I might change my tune after my first viewing experience. To put it mildly, it kicked ass: great venue, supporters/spectators all over the course, and various tunes bumping at different mileage markers.
In other running news this weekend wonderboyman Dathan Ritzenhein, my high school contemporary, threw down at the World Half-Marathon Championships, finishing just a second out of second to earn the Bronze.
Yes, Ritz, you earned that.
Ritz was dominating the high school scene when I first got addicted to running and watching his scrawny and over-exerted frame collapse to win the Foot Locker National Championship as a junior made me a fan of his for life. I couldn't scrounge up a photo of that on short notice, but here's another shot of what Ritz looks like after inhuman efforts:
Ritz makes me want to be tough. And speaking of tough, Man v. Food host Adam Richman, recently attempted a challenge I've long wanted to undertake and know I have no shot at: the fat sandwich competition at Rutgers' own Grease Trucks. The trick is to eat five sandwiches in 45 minutes to rename one. As the Targum spoils, Adam fails at four sandwiches. All I can say is I wish I had been there. I'm not even that beast of an eater, but with a long-run, a few beers, and perhaps a currently illegal THC-containing substance, I think I might have been able to match four...I can certainly do three, and I suck. Mostly it boils down to me being jealous of Adam's job.
Finally, there are those times I wonder why I haven't explored traditional paths to gaining a job as a teacher. Well, and I know it's a bit silly sometimes to use something like this as a barrier, but when my potential peers post messages like this:
"teaching a math lesson tomorrow....i should prob care more but i just dont lol"...well let's just say I feel less thrilled at being on an equivalent level with such an individual. You can't always let pride get in the way, but my god I sometimes fear for the education of the youth of tomorrow. Here I sit, doing little to amend that.
Wanjiru: Total Beast.
These elites glide along so effortlessly running 4:50 miles and faster that it's a bit surreal. I'd be pretty content if I could be running that for 5k right now. The first question anyone asks when they find out you are a runner is if you've ever run a marathon. It's always been "no" and "I don't think I ever will" as responses, but I think I might change my tune after my first viewing experience. To put it mildly, it kicked ass: great venue, supporters/spectators all over the course, and various tunes bumping at different mileage markers.
In other running news this weekend wonder
Yes, Ritz, you earned that.
Ritz was dominating the high school scene when I first got addicted to running and watching his scrawny and over-exerted frame collapse to win the Foot Locker National Championship as a junior made me a fan of his for life. I couldn't scrounge up a photo of that on short notice, but here's another shot of what Ritz looks like after inhuman efforts:
Ritz makes me want to be tough. And speaking of tough, Man v. Food host Adam Richman, recently attempted a challenge I've long wanted to undertake and know I have no shot at: the fat sandwich competition at Rutgers' own Grease Trucks. The trick is to eat five sandwiches in 45 minutes to rename one. As the Targum spoils, Adam fails at four sandwiches. All I can say is I wish I had been there. I'm not even that beast of an eater, but with a long-run, a few beers, and perhaps a currently illegal THC-containing substance, I think I might have been able to match four...I can certainly do three, and I suck. Mostly it boils down to me being jealous of Adam's job.
Finally, there are those times I wonder why I haven't explored traditional paths to gaining a job as a teacher. Well, and I know it's a bit silly sometimes to use something like this as a barrier, but when my potential peers post messages like this:
"teaching a math lesson tomorrow....i should prob care more but i just dont lol"...well let's just say I feel less thrilled at being on an equivalent level with such an individual. You can't always let pride get in the way, but my god I sometimes fear for the education of the youth of tomorrow. Here I sit, doing little to amend that.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Good Times Great Oldies
It feels like ages since I've dropped a post in here and the last week's events would seemingly offer plenty of material. I'll kick things off with a little shameless self-promotion of my most recent race. Since concluding college I've raced rather sparingly. Immediately following my last race (Thanksgiving) I ended up injuring myself, and I followed suit here so, not knowing when my next run or race might be, right, that self-promotion thing. The local paper also put together some photos of the event here. Booooooooring...
The next race I had planned was actually this past weekend, the now annual tradition of a WesTech graduation beer mile. Shout-out to the AgBat on his victory in a cookin' 6:10 and to Nick "Saturday Night" Holowka for his competitive spirit bringing that time so low even if post-race crime scene analysis would show failure to complete at least one beer and a resultant DQ. Wish I could have run it boys, but you made it a lot of fun to watch.
The true beauty of it all was the reuniting of the Stable Boyz and subsequently many other old friends. Basking in the resplendent beauty of Western Mass tugged at the dichotomous heartstrings that draw me to cities and people even as I am pulled toward the simplistic wonder of the outdoors. It was probably instilled in my youth on family camping trips even if I was likely grumbling about bugs while it happened. I still grumble about the bugs, but it's worth it. Hobbling down highway 112 from the Vermont border down into Colrain Mass after an ill-advised run was probably the best I've felt about any running injury I've ever incurred. Just a little more time to soak in the beauty.
The sweet (actually it's bitter, but you know what I mean) taste of a McNeill's Duck's Breath on cask even at it's now jacked up $4 (this is Brattleboro, VT after all) with some BYOIndian is the kind of simplicity I feel gets lost all too frequently in the materialistic society we've grown to.
But yes, the people. I spent about forty-eight hours on the campus of my alma-mater for the first time in a year and it really did feel great. To walk by an enormous backyard BBQ and waltz in seamlessly, that atmosphere is a big part of why I ended up where I did. They've changed a lot of my favorite things, for the worse in my estimation, but when a dozen or more of your good friends congregate and you can kick it with some legit undergrads/recent grads, it brightens my soul in an indescribable way. I'm actually not satisfied with the quality of education and guidance I received at school, but the people I met there made the experience more than worth it and I would never dream of changing where I ended up attending school. I always found that it allowed me to embrace who I was, who I am, or even maybe just who I thought I wanted to be. Look for some of those words when I speak at commencement next year...
I don't really know where all this post is going, it just felt like some of these things needed to get down. Same reason I've been trying to take more pictures of late. On the near final leg of my travels, on a Metro North train bound for Grand Central Station I must pen what I deem amusing banter between three elderly folks seated behind me and John "Diddlemonster" Kraus. Nearing the end of our journey I thought to reach up to grab my bag but thought better of it as it rested above said eldlerly folks' seats. Now it could have been coincidence, but as soon as I turned around their conversation turned to beards when one man began, "You should grow a beard Tom."
This was followed by Tom's precious response: "I feel like a beard is for someone who's accomplished something, that you can't grow one until then. Look at all those guys in the Middle East that have beards... they're all assholes." There was a nice little hiss of emphasis on the esses that I'm not sure how to replicate written down. The jury is out on whether I've accomplished enough to have earned my beard or if I'm just an asshole from the Middle East. I just think it balances my eyebrows...and shaving is kind of a hassle.
Dear Wesleyan,
It's always worth it for the 3rd Floor Olin Bathroom and the Freeman shower...
The next race I had planned was actually this past weekend, the now annual tradition of a WesTech graduation beer mile. Shout-out to the AgBat on his victory in a cookin' 6:10 and to Nick "Saturday Night" Holowka for his competitive spirit bringing that time so low even if post-race crime scene analysis would show failure to complete at least one beer and a resultant DQ. Wish I could have run it boys, but you made it a lot of fun to watch.
The true beauty of it all was the reuniting of the Stable Boyz and subsequently many other old friends. Basking in the resplendent beauty of Western Mass tugged at the dichotomous heartstrings that draw me to cities and people even as I am pulled toward the simplistic wonder of the outdoors. It was probably instilled in my youth on family camping trips even if I was likely grumbling about bugs while it happened. I still grumble about the bugs, but it's worth it. Hobbling down highway 112 from the Vermont border down into Colrain Mass after an ill-advised run was probably the best I've felt about any running injury I've ever incurred. Just a little more time to soak in the beauty.
The sweet (actually it's bitter, but you know what I mean) taste of a McNeill's Duck's Breath on cask even at it's now jacked up $4 (this is Brattleboro, VT after all) with some BYOIndian is the kind of simplicity I feel gets lost all too frequently in the materialistic society we've grown to.
But yes, the people. I spent about forty-eight hours on the campus of my alma-mater for the first time in a year and it really did feel great. To walk by an enormous backyard BBQ and waltz in seamlessly, that atmosphere is a big part of why I ended up where I did. They've changed a lot of my favorite things, for the worse in my estimation, but when a dozen or more of your good friends congregate and you can kick it with some legit undergrads/recent grads, it brightens my soul in an indescribable way. I'm actually not satisfied with the quality of education and guidance I received at school, but the people I met there made the experience more than worth it and I would never dream of changing where I ended up attending school. I always found that it allowed me to embrace who I was, who I am, or even maybe just who I thought I wanted to be. Look for some of those words when I speak at commencement next year...
I don't really know where all this post is going, it just felt like some of these things needed to get down. Same reason I've been trying to take more pictures of late. On the near final leg of my travels, on a Metro North train bound for Grand Central Station I must pen what I deem amusing banter between three elderly folks seated behind me and John "Diddlemonster" Kraus. Nearing the end of our journey I thought to reach up to grab my bag but thought better of it as it rested above said eldlerly folks' seats. Now it could have been coincidence, but as soon as I turned around their conversation turned to beards when one man began, "You should grow a beard Tom."
This was followed by Tom's precious response: "I feel like a beard is for someone who's accomplished something, that you can't grow one until then. Look at all those guys in the Middle East that have beards... they're all assholes." There was a nice little hiss of emphasis on the esses that I'm not sure how to replicate written down. The jury is out on whether I've accomplished enough to have earned my beard or if I'm just an asshole from the Middle East. I just think it balances my eyebrows...and shaving is kind of a hassle.
Dear Wesleyan,
It's always worth it for the 3rd Floor Olin Bathroom and the Freeman shower...
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