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?

That Song I Was Singing this Morning

Came on in the coffee shop this evening the moment I arrived. It's one of those moments where I didn't think I'd heard the song anywhere before I had it in my brain this morning, but I could be wrong. But whether or not I did, it doesn't change the mildly unusual circumstance of hearing that same tune on entering this establishment, especially since this was an oldie.

But before complete boredom sets in or, rather, to help settle it into a thicker paste, once again the rudeness and ineptitude of walkers begs to be front and center in my life — it boggles my mind. This morning I faced three abreast and brushed my arm against a woman's purse mouthing Are you serious to no one as I walked by. Is it strange that being rude is just about my most hated quality in a human being? I think it's because I find it to be an extension of so many other things, the building block of a butthead or, as I've been calling most people that aggravate me of late: a dingle. Regardless, just one more puzzle piece in my mosaic of misanthropy.

Just now I had my iPod plugged in and attempted to skip tracks by hitting the skip key on my laptop keyboard. That's when you know your brain is firing on all cylinders. I'm glad to have these moments though, lest I ever think myself infallible to idiocy. I believe my specific idiocy makes me acutely adept at spotting it in others.

Other than that, we've got the Olympic Trials a runnin' (and throwin', and jumpin'). I love to view the beauty of motion of so many of these athletes. And sometimes it's nice to see those that do it the ugly way and gut it out. Makes me frisky to be out there and run fast, but that's not always the way.

It's also Euro 2012, so be sure to tune in and get some great haircut ideas.

Note to self: write about something interesting in here.

The Cramps

The Cramps were a band that I knew nothing about save for the fact that one of my middle school classmates was often wearing a shirt sporting their name. Even with the power of the Internet, I never really delved into giving them a listen, and that streak continues since I'm seated in a public place and my headphone jack is broken.

But the real reason I've mentioned cramps is because, of late, it appears I am the number one result for the term "grundle cramp." I thought briefly it might be time to retire from blogging as a result, but due to the manner in which google functions, I believe I must continue to update this thing in order to remain atop the rankings.

Mercifully, long has it been since I have had a grundle cramp. They can be quite terrible indeed. Rather than the painful seizing of a muscle that renders a part of the body near inoperable, this is predominantly a sharp pain, crippling in its own right, as if someone decided to stab you from within the depths of your nether-regions. It's just confounding when it happens because you don't really consider that whatever is in there—probably the pc muscle—is ever even doing all that much. In my limited and yet too vast experience it seems to be brought on by awkward foot planting. Like dropping from a ledge one is hanging on that is just a touch too high. Dehydration is surely a factor as well, as it tends to be in most cramping, but even with proper vitamin volume and hydration, that awkward drop can get the grundle going. As for overworking the grundle, I believe this happens when trying to cut off a urine stream, or other fluid that may be trying to rundown the wee wee.

As that is far more into detail than I really intended to get, let's hope that keeps me atop the grundle cramp leaderboard a little longer and may I not speak of it until it crops up in search terms that land folks at my blog again.

And that's apparently all my brain could put together at this moment. That's the way it is sometimes folks, that's the way it is sometimes. Stay friendly folks, and smile like you mean it.

Diesel Power

As I was leaving work the other day, I had some earbuds mashed in and tunes a-playing. With the death of my iPod Nano some time ago, I've been a lazy loader of tunes on the shuffle I now possess. The effect is that there are not many songs, and the songs on there have been there largely from day one. Because I'll run with the damn thing, it's also populated with tracks I feel like running too. Were you to listen to some of these tracks, this might surprise you. Suffice it to say that, because I like running and music both to a great degree, most people probably wouldn't be running to the tunes I've got loaded.

Blah blah blah and a fiddledy-dee, the reason I bring it up with way too many background details is that one of the few tunes on there is Diesel Power by The Prodigy.

It's on the album that had Smack My Bitch Up and Firestarter and Breathe, but I wonder how many people besides me were down with Diesel Power and Kool Keith's raps. Hell I don't know if I know another Kool Keith song, I just recognize the name due to its alliterative nature.

I'm also really itchy. This is the second time in my life I have experienced this kind of itchiness. Perhaps third, but my brain retains no memory of the chicken pox. I'm calling what I've got the Seven-Year Itch  just because my brain goes with free association. I had no idea before a quick google that it dealt with the urge for infidelity and the title of a Marilyn Monroe film that features her iconic skirt-blowing scene. Roots are cool. I'd like to find the root of this itch, as it's a real bitch.

The point then, is that this temporary itch makes me feel as if I could grasp quite well how this type of thing could drive one insane. 

Before I trundle off to enjoy a delicious Big Flats beer, let's talk about Big Flats beer. I see it at the Walgreen's in a giant array as below, complete with that $2.99 tag.

My first issue with this, is that $2.99 is not that cheap. One can easily grab themselves a thirty of PBR for the equivalent, or cheaper, per can cost. Say what you will about PBR, it's worlds beyond Big Flats. 

Let's examine closer:

It's also listed as a "premium beer," and by no definition of that word does it seem an applicable adjective. Incentivize? Only if the incentive is to convince the consumer not to drink any more beer...But really, it's not even that bad. I'm sure I've had worse. I just don't want people to confuse this with value. I'm all about value. So if you send me free Big Flats beer, I'll make my way through it.

Scratch on folks, scratch on.