10:46 PM: OK... Pumpkin! We're beat. We'll see the remaining results in the AM.
10:00 PM: Clooney! Cloo-NEY! Cloo-NEY! Cloo-NEY!
9:52 PM: YES! Yes yes yes! Thank gods. I had a horrible moment where I though Conad would steal it.
9:51 PM: Oh, please, PLEASE let it be Jon or Stephen. Please?
9:47 PM: Wait, seriously? No booze the Emmys? That shit is bananas. B-A-N-A-N-A-S.
9:46 PM: Gods, I adore Ricky Gervais.
9:32 PM: Holy shit does Tina Fey look amazing. Holy shit. If it weren't for the laptop being where it is, I'd be busted right now.
9:13 PM: Are you kidding me? The dude from Breaking Bad wins over Coach, House, and Jack? Fuck me in the eye socket.
9:12 PM: It never ends. I'm trying to watch the goddamned Emmys and instead I'm bleeding bandwidth arguing with another damned Glibertarian. It never ends.
9:01 PM: Oh, wait, what? This is for writing? Heh, I thought it was a little early for Best Actor in a Drama.
9:00 PM: OK, Coach Taylor has to win this. Has to...
8:52 PM: Please let Amazing Race or Survivor win this. Or DWTS. Just not some terrible piece of shit like American Idol or The Bachelor... Wait, what? Top Chef? Never watched a minute of it. Hmmmmm. Might have to check it out?
8:25 PM: Ahhhhh... I just put four pieces of pizza in my face. NOW I'm ready to rock.
8:00 PM: This blog is still good for something, no? How 'bout an Emmy Couch!?
Tags: Emmys
"Quick, Canada! Write "Don't"!" -- Jonathan Chait, reacting to news of a man who drove 12,238 miles around the continental U.S. to spell "Read Ayn Rand" with his Google Earth GPS track.
Tags: Ayn Rand
Our tomato plants are finally starting to bear fruit, and in addition to the wonderful, tasty, ripe orbs that will soon be ours, they've decided to throw a little beauty our way.
Unrelated story: I don't have too much on my plate for today, but the one chore I'd like to get done is to finish inspecting the brakes on our Sentra. The front brakes have been making a grating, metallic noise for weeks now, so last week I jacked up the car and took the front tires off, expecting the pads to be shot. Turns out that wasn't the case. The outside pads, at least, look to have plenty of life left on them. The noise, it seems, is coming from rust on the rotors hitting the inside of the rotor guards. But before I satisfy myself with that diagnosis, I need to pull off the calipers and check the inside pads to make sure they've got material left too.
Anyhow, I was explaining all this to Tracy before I headed out to the garden to get this shot. And after I finished, she followed me out the door and said "If you look at the inside pads and the outside pads and they're equal, you know what you've got? Pad Tie.
I adore my wife.
How is it possible that more than two thirds of the regular season is behind us? Seriously, it seems like opening day was last week. Maybe it's the fact that Tracy and I have had an unusually action-packed couple of months, or the fact that, until quite recently, I was unusually busy and engaged at work, but I've never seen a baseball season fly by like this.
The first week of August finds my beloved Yankees atop the AL East - albeit barely - where they have spent most of the season. The Yanks have struggled a bit recently, going 5-5 over their last 10, but it's still hard to find much to criticize about the team with the best record in baseball. C-Money went out and added three nice pieces before the trade deadline - Austin Kearns (OF), Lance Berkman (1B/DH) and Kerry Wood (RP) - giving up very little in the process. They've had few injuries of note this year, the most serious being to starter Andy Pettitte, who is poised to return from the DL ahead of schedule. Maybe that's another reason the season is flying by: There just hasn't been that much drama on the field. They've been taking care of business since Day One. The stories that have put them in the spotlight have been the death of Bob Sheppard, their announcer of fifty-some years, and of course the passing of The Boss. Yeah, there was also the minor distraction of the long wait for A-Rod to hit home run number 600, but like everything else, the Yanks just continued to play through it. Heading into the final two months of the season, they look as strong or stronger than last year's team, and the likelihood of a repeat feels pretty high from where I'm sitting.
Tonight the Red Sox limp into the Bronx to resume hostilities in the timeless battle that is The Rivalry. I have to say, I feel a little bit bad for the Sox, who have been snake-bit by injuries this season. Without Pedroia for over a month now, the team just announced that Youkilis will be having season-ending surgery on his thumb. Jacoby Ellsbury, no doubt stung by accusations that he was malingering on the DL, just returned on Wednesday. Varitek's on the DL (although that may be addition by subtraction), as is Mike Cameron. Suffice to say, this isn't the team I thought we'd be facing at this juncture. That they're only six games out is actually somewhat amazing.
None of which, by the way, should be taken to indicate that I'm not looking forward to watching the Yankees unleash hell on the bastards this weekend.
How's baseball treating the rest of you? Surprised to see Chemist's Angels underwater, trailing Oakland for third in the AL West. What's that all about? 'Shift's Braves, on the other hand, are acquitting themselves quite nicely. They're sitting atop the NL East, ahead of the defending NL Champs and only 1-1/2 games behind the Padres (!) for the best record in the National League. Whaddaya say, 'Shift? How about a Yanks/Braves World Series? Followed, a few months later, by a Jets/Saints Superbowl? That scenario is far from unrealistic.
Tags: baseball
"Defense spending is white collar welfare." -- Bob Cesca, pithily summarizing a problem that gets far too little attention.
Tags: defense spending
I've noticed a very strange style of writing that's been popping up in emails, status updates, and online comment threads with increasing frequency of late. You've probably seen it too, especially if you routinely come into contact with right wingers or other crazy people. It looks like this:
"Help me with the new math....Republican = Racist? But Obama + Jeremiah Wright= President (and NOT a racist)? Media + Public= Whatever The Media Decides...what I would love to see is....All of us fighting against the PREDATORS WHO ARE HURTING OUR CHILDREN..."
The stylistic twist that's of interest here isn't the ALL CAPS bit at the end (totally passé) or the attempt at political algebra; no, it's the ....... extended bursts of periods..... separating partially-formed thoughts.....randomly breaking them apart for ....no apparent reason except maybe that a......... crazy person types what?
You know what I'm talking about, right?
The above example is from a winger status update Chris passed along, but I've got a fraternity brother (or two) on our alumni mailing list who expresses himself this way, and I see this chopped word salad approach deployed all the time in the comment sections of online publications. (You don't see it on lefty blogs that much for reasons that should be pretty obvious.)
What's been bugging me - more than the "writing" itself, which I can't help but find amusing - is the question of where this style came from. What's driving it? Is it an artifact of the texting/IM'ing era? An indication of our society's general decline in writing skills? A sign of the apocalypse?
But then it came to me, the real cause: Eight years of exposure to George Bush.
If you translate the period bursts (I won't call them ellipses, and you shouldn't either) as pauses, this idiot-syncratic writing style is the perfect written expression of Bush's speaking style. You remember how he'd break mid-sentence, or even mid-clause, and pause for uncomfortably long periods, like he had speech apnea? I used to try to picture the little progress bar over his head on the TV screen with the word "buffering..." above it. Is that not exactly what we're seeing in this new winger/crazy-person linguistic idiom? I submit that George Bush has infected the population of the United States with a strange - and strangely virulent - writing disorder.
Tags: George Bush, people who write funny
This:
Senate Republicans on Thursday rejected a bill to aid small businesses with expanded loan programs and tax breaks, in a procedural blockade that underscored how fiercely determined the party's leaders are to deny Democrats any further legislative accomplishments ahead of November's midterm elections.
And this:
Congress turned thumbs down on the Zadroga 9/11 Health and Compensation Act on Thursday night, raising doubts it will ever pass.
Most Republicans refused to back the measure, calling it a "slush fund," and saying it was another example of Democratic overreach and an "insatiable" appetite for taxpayers' money.
And of course this:
Senate Democrats conceded on Thursday that they lacked the votes to pass a comprehensive energy bill and will propose a less ambitious measure that focuses on the oil leak in the Gulf of Mexico.
Speaking after a caucus by Senate Democrats, majority leader Harry Reid, of Nevada, blamed Republicans' for refusing to budge on an energy bill. Sixty votes were needed to prevent a GOP filibuster and Democrats did not have the support without some GOP help.
A hundred more items could go here. Start with a more muscular stimulus bill and the public fucking option in healthcare reform. Back in the day, when the Senate actually operated on the principle of majority rule, we could have passed all these things. But before you blame the GOP exclusively for this long litany of woulda, coulda, shoulda, don't forget this:
Five Senate Democrats have said they will not support a lowering of the 60-vote bar necessary to pass legislation. Another four lawmakers say they are wary about such a change and would be hesitant to support it. A 10th Democrat, Sen. Carl Levin (D-Mich.), said he would support changing the rule on filibusters of motions to begin debate on legislation, but not necessarily the 60-vote threshold needed to bring up a final vote on bills.
Yeah, you wouldn't want to lower that 60-vote filibuster bar, or maybe get rid of the stupid fucking antiquated, anti-democratic, piece-of-shit rule in its entirety. It's much more important to protect the power and privilege of ye Mighty Senators than it is to govern efficiently, do the people's business, and fix our goddamned broken mess of a country.
Tags: filibuster
"It's like I'm sitting here at a bar having a beer with two unicorns!" -- Fridge, on the oddity of being in the company of not one but two female Rush fans.
The show, in case you were wondering, was stupendous. It seemed like they played something from every Rush album ever released. While that's unlikely, especially since a good deal of the second set was taken up with a performance of Moving Pictures in its entirety, they certainly covered every era, every facet of their storied career in the limelight. Great production all around. The hilarious and innovative video segments were a major added value. The band was Mariano-esque in terms of showing jaw-droppingly sharp skills for their advanced age. Geddy connected well with the crowd and they all appeared to be having a blast. It was just awesome. All hail the Holy Triumvirate!
Tags: Rush
"Mainstream journalism in America largely consists of the worship of the rich and powerful by the gutless and the stupid." -- Sir Charles, speaking the sad truth about the Fourth Estate
Tags: douchebags and the people who love them
"They're a huge source of joy, but they turn every other source of joy to shit." -- an unnamed psychologist describing the effect children have on the lives of their parents
The entire piece is quite interesting and well worth a half hour if you've got it to spare. Which, if you have young children, you probably don't...(h/t: kate)
Tags: children
I don't care how well-endowed you are; doing the Superman stance in front of a urinal is just completely uncalled for.
Tags: obnoxious restroom behavior
Just got back from a beautiful three-mile run. Seventy five degrees and mostly sunny out. Kept a 9:45 pace, which is really good for me for that distance. I am now sitting in front of the fan after a cold shower and I'm still sweating a bit. You could say that my body is not good at shedding heat. If you wanted to be more accurate, you could even say my body hoards heat. But, no matter. A little residual sweatiness is a small price to pay for the groovy post-run mellow I get that can last several hours. Oh, and another thing? I should make it a point to always run on shaving mornings. For some reason, shaving my face when my skin is still flush yields the most amazing results.
I pity Paul Allen. The man co-founded Microsoft with Bill Gates and has to be considered one of the most successful businessmen of all time, with a personal fortune that currently stands at $13.5 billion dollars. And yet, if reports out of Portland are accurate, Allen fired Kevin Pritchard, the Trailblazers' popular and effective general manager, because he was tired of Pritchard getting all the credit for turning the team around. "Credit" being that thing you get when you're, you know, the person who actually accomplished a praiseworthy task. Like Kevin Pritchard did, transforming Allen's team from the league laughingstock "Jailblazers" into a team that's teetering on the cusp of contender status (and would be there already were it not for a spectacular series of injuries to key players). See, to my way of thinking, if you hire someone to do a job, and they do it exceptionally well, you should be happy for them. While you might indulge in a little self satisfaction that you were the smart guy who gave them the gig, you shouldn't think that cutting the check entitles you to a claim on their actual accomplishments. It doesn't. To instead fire an employee who is great at their job, harming in the process the very enterprise you purportedly hold so dear to your heart, is a sad and petty thing, and marks you as a small person. And that's true no matter how much money you have in the bank.
Yesterday, on my way home from work, I stopped at Liquor Despot in Avon to pick up some wine for our evening with the Hartford Symphony at the Talcott Mountain Music Festival. We had an absolutely lovely time, by the way. Good weather, good wine, great music, and for the first half of the show I got to enjoy hearing the orchestra accompanied by the sound of four young children playing cards and games three feet from my right ear! I especially enjoyed the percussive contributions from the one boy who kept making a loud gakking sound every few minutes like he had a hairball stuck in his throat. But I digress.
Anyhow, I go into the liquor store and there's a guy there giving beer samples. I walk over and discover the brand: Kronenbourg. This puzzled me. I knew I'd heard of Kronenbourg in the past, but it seemed like it was ages ago. My first thought was that they must have gone out of business at some point and were now trying to reboot the brand. But no, according to the rep from the distributor, it turns out that Kronenbourg has been there all along, but they've never been distributed in Connecticut before. Verily, I say that the ways of the beer distribution industry are strange and mysterious. I did take a sample and rather enjoyed it. Seems like a pleasant summer beer. I may even go back and pick some up for the party we're attending up in Massachusetts this afternoon.
If you have a few minutes, check out John McWhorter's scathingly awesome evisceration of Robert McCrum's Globish, a book that takes as its central thesis the notion that English is becoming the globe's default language not because of the blisteringly obvious historical and economic factors, but because of the intrinsic qualities of the language itself. McWhorter's piece does more than make you feel sorry for McCrum and never want to read him; it's actually illuminating and educational in its own right, and quite entertaining, albeit in a "Nerd Fight!" kind of way.
I am blasting the Fratellis' Chelsea Dagger in the office right now, a song you know even if you don't know the title. Made famous in Amstel Light Commercials and through the singing of its infectious, chanting chorus ("Da-da-DUM, DA-DAH-dum, duh-duh-DA-DA-da-da-dum") at sporting events, this song is rapidly rising up the ranks of my favorite songs of all time. The rest of the album, Costello Music, "shared" my way by Fridge, who may not always agree with my tastes but is certainly familiar with them, is pretty damned outstanding as well. One of those rare gems that rocks my world start to finish. On tracks like Henrietta, Whistle for the Choir, Creeping up the Backstairs, and Vince the Lovable Stoner, the band exhibits the kind of relentlessly catchy, hook-laden, accessible-yet-edgy songwriting that is smack dab in the middle of my wheelhouse. In the month or two since I've had it, I think I average listening to this album at least four or five times a week. It's fucking awesome. And, naturally, now that I've discovered them (or had them discovered for me), I find that the band is on indefinite hiatus and may not get back together.
If you're friends with me on Facebook, you know that Tracy and I have been attending the Sunken Garden Poetry Festival at the Hill-Stead Museum in Farmington. This series of events has become one of the highlights of our summer. We went once last year and twice the year before, and this year we've vowed not to miss one of the five dates in this summer's series.
SGPF is free save for a $10 parking charge. The venue is gorgeous, a circular garden with concentric bands of hedges and flowers alternating with strips of grass where people set up folding chairs, coolers, tables, and whatnot. Wine flows freely as the sun settles behind the trees. Vendors outside the walls of the garden supply noshies if you didn't bring your own, and you can also purchase books by the night's featured poets. There's typically a musical act, usually offering and eclectic mix of jazz/blues/rock/world. All together, I don't think I could construct a more chill scene if you paid me.
Oh, and the poets. I've always sort of liked reading poetry. From the first time I encountered Kahlil Gibran's The Prophet, which I read in a single sitting back in college, and Rilke's Duino Elegies which I read sitting under a tree near my ex-in-laws house on a cold day in November, I've found myself intrigued by the way language is deployed in a poem. It's so different from everything else in my experience that I can't help but be jolted out of whatever grind my brain is in. Too often, day-to-day life contracts. Poetry expands.
This year's poets have been wonderful. The first week featured the brilliant Galway Kinnell, who just gob-smacked Tracy and myself with his ziz-zagging between humorous observational work and piercing profundity. (Read Little Sleep's-Head Sprouting Hair in the Moonlight (third poem down) and tell me you're not moved.) This past Wednesday featured the bawdy and bracing Gabrielle Calvocoressi as well as the wise and poignant Bessy Reyna, who treated us to her work in both English and Spanish.
I sense that my occasional dalliance with poetry may be turning into a full-blown passion. Something about hearing poetry, as opposed to just reading it, has really opened up some new doors in my brain. I am tickled by this development.
Speaking of things my mind is opening up to, I am shocked at how much I've enjoyed watching the U.S. in the World Cup. I've watched every minute of their first three games - really made a point of it - and for the first time ever I think I'm starting to "get" soccer. It's amazing to me how, when you actually attend to almost any sport, it becomes fascinating. Seriously, I've never been a soccer hater like so many other 'Murkans, but from my casual intersections with the game it did seem tedious. But after watching the game, studying the television to see the patterns of what they were doing, the importance of maintaining possession, the intricate passing, the diligent attempts to "engineer" - highly appropriate word - a shot on goal... I get it now.
Before Wednesday's match with Algeria, I set my work IM status to "away", went downstairs, and planted myself on the couch. Alone, I watched the first ninety minutes of a scoreless soccer match. And I was riveted. When the U.S. raced down the center of the field and Donovan launched that put-back into the corner of the goal, I launched off the couch screaming my head off. It was exhilarating. That play, that culmination of a half with so many missed opportunities, left me buzzing for hours.
I guess I should stop being surprised at things like this. I loathed and disdained baseball for years, and now it's neck and neck with football for my favorite sport. I turned my nose up at wine for all those years of beer drinking, and now I adore it. For my entire life up until now I've considered running a form of torture, and now I feel frustrated when I don't get a chance to run. The lesson, as always? Open your fucking mind, Toast.
(Naturally, I'm amped up over-the-moon for today's match with Ghana, annnnnnnnnnd... we're going to be in the car driving to the aforementioned party when the game gets underway at 2:30 PM. Grrrrr.)
One final show note: If you find yourself watching tonight's Yankees/Dodgers game, be sure to scan the seats along the first-base line for a sandy-gray-haired bespectacled dude wearing a Mariano Rivera t-shirt and a thousand-yard hangover stare. My boy Fridge has departed Vegas for L.A. and will be attending the second game of the Yanks' Joe Torre Reunion Series with the Dodgers. GO YANKS!
Tags: jogging, Paul Allen, Kronenbourg, Globish, Fratellis, poetry, soccer, Yankees
The 2010 NBA Draft kicks off in just a few minutes. Aside from the always compelling stage presence of The Commish, I'm watching this year mostly to see what kind of trades and jockeying for position go down as opposed to really caring about which college stars go where. It's all about setting the table for what should be a blockbuster summer of free-agent action.
Tags: NBA
Forbes magazine came out with their annual survey of America's Most Disliked Sports Figures on Friday. No, I didn't know they had an annual survey of America's Most Disliked Sports Figures either. I mean, they're a business mag, no? Anyhow, it's an odd list. Here are the top ten, along with my thoughts:
10. Gilbert Arenas (44%): I guess the gun charge and the suspension took their toll. Still, not a name I expected to see on here.
9. Allen Iverson (45%): Wait, what? Why?
8. Alex Rodriguez (45%): Poor A-Rod. 'Fesses up to using 'roids (unlike a certain DH who plays about three hours east-northeast of him), turns in a clutch post-season, earns a ring and he still can't get any love.
7. Terrell Owens (47%): I hate him because he has a generation of fans growing up accustomed to the wrong pronunciation of the name "Terrell".
6. Mark McGwire (48%): Soooooo ten years ago.
5. Jerry Jones (53%): Utterly predictable. If Big Stein were lucid enough to process these things I bet he'd be jealous.
4. Tiger Woods (53%): I get thinking that Tiger Woods is a freak. Seriously, my brain is still trying to process the fact that a man whose demeanor suggested a void of virility is actually a Sex Demon. But I wouldn't say it made me dislike him.
3. Ben Roethlisberger (57%): How the mighty have fallen. I guess two sexual assault charges will do that to a guy's rep.
2. Al Davis (66%): I know Davis is a prick, but number two? Really?
1. Michael Vick (69%): Totally on board with this pick. No, I don't believe in "redemption" for animal torturers. When you torture helpless animals (or, for that matter, detainees) there's something corrupt in the core of your being that no apology can atone for.
No Steinbrenner? No Kobe? No Belichick? Not even Jay Cutler, who pretty much everyone agrees is a douchebag?
I'd guess the methodology is the issue here, as the poll seems designed to measure unanimity of dislike, not intensity. I mean, OK, 45% of respondents dislike Allen Iverson, but do they fucking hate him the way that people who dislike Kobe do? I rather doubt it.
So, any names surprise you either by their presence or absence on this list?
Tags: dislikable sports figures
Memo to Ray Ray, KG, Truth, Rondo, Big Baby, and Nathaniel Cornelius Robinson: Please apply boots to Laker ass. Thank you.
Tags: tagname
"Who could have predicted that a cranky, leaderless movement with no real goals and driven mostly by an inchoate sense of persecution, aggrievement, and Sarah Palin hero worship would eventually turn in on itself and splinter into a thousand embittered little pieces?" -- Kevin Drum, on the flailing, foundering and increasingly unpopular Tea Party "movement"
Tags: Teabaggers
I can't promise I'm going to watch a ton of the World Cup this year, but I'm going to make a concerted effort to see all of the United States' matches and maybe a few other big name matchups down the road. (Note: I may need some pointers as to which those are.) This is about as close as any sport gets to a true "World" Championship. Time I started paying attention.
U.S.A. vs. England gets underway shortly.
Tags: World Cup
Contract negotiations between Darrelle Revis and the Jets are not going well. Revis is apparently demanding that the Jets make him the league's highest-paid cornerback - specifically pointing to Raiders CB Nnamdi Asomugha's $15.1 million as the mark to beat - and the Jets are rumored to be low-balling him.
I feel surprisingly ambivalent about this. Darrelle Revis is, if not the best cornerback in the league, certainly in the top two or three. He was an awesome defensive weapon for the team last year, allowing the Jets to essentially erase the opposing team's number one receiver from the field. Revis deserves to get paid, and paid handsomely.
However, I think it's ridiculous to demand to be the highest paid player at your position. When you do that, you're essentially putting your GM at the mercy of any idiot out there who overpays for a player. I've never heard of Nnamdi Asomugha before this week. He sounds like a good cover corner, although he's only had one interception in each of his last three seasons. He's certainly no Darrelle Revis. So does he "deserve" to get paid more than Revis? I would say no, although "deserve" is a sketchy concept when you're talking about salaries in the eight-figure range. One thing I do know is that it's not Mike Tannenbaum's fault that the Raiders overpaid for their cornerback, and one team's ill-considered deal shouldn't be allowed to set the entire market at a position.
I hope the Jets and Revis come to an agreement soon. The Jets should know that they're going to come out of any protracted battle looking worse than Revis Island will. After what the guy did last year fan sentiment is sure to fall solidly on his side. Also, the Jets have something of a track record of being cheapskates in situations like this. Still, I can't blame them for resisting this particular tactic.
Tags: Darrelle Revis
This morning, I ran the Iron Horse* 5K, part of an annual running event held right here in town that also features a 10K and a half marathon. This is the second 5K road race I've done. Last year, after an 8-week "No K to 5K" training program that my company's fitness center ran, Tracy and I did the Celebrate West Hartford 5K. That was quite an accomplishment, but I'm starting to think it was just the beginning of something bigger. After those few weeks of excruciating knee pain last year, I came out the other side finally able to run for extended periods - you know, like, more than 10 minutes - for the first time since JV soccer. This year, I've been running fairly regularly. I've got over 60 miles under my belt since the start of the year, most of that racked up in the two months since the cold weather left us for good. I routinely run between 2 and 3 miles now, and my normal pace has settled in at right around a 10-minute mile. I won't be trying out for the Olympics any time soon, but for a guy who's 41 years old, 41 pounds overweight, and has battled exercise-induced asthma his whole life, it ain't bad.
Anyhow, today's race was quite the affair, featuring two hazards that I didn't have to tackle last year. The first? Well, word of advice: When deciding what to eat the night before a race, you might want to pass on mango habanero wings and Buffalo pulled-pork sliders. I won't go into graphic detail, but suffice to say that my backfield was in motion this morning. I thought things had settled down by the time we had arrived and I'd gotten my bib and radio tag, but three minutes before start time I was again gripped by stomach cramps and cold sweats. There wasn't a porta-potty in sight, and I would have missed the start even if I'd been right next to one. Not good times. But, fuck it. I'd be damned if I was backing out now. I waited for the wave to pass, kept my shit together (sorry, had to), crossed my fingers, and then it was Go Time.
Hazard number the second? Minutes after we crossed the start line, the skies opened up and it began to pour like a motherfucker. The line of storms that had been skirting to the north of us all morning decided it wanted to come visit after all. By mile marker one my clothes were soaked completely through. The back of my t-shirt was the most water-logged, so it pulled the front collar up 'til it was choking me, and I had to keep grabbing it and pulling it back down every 100 yards or so. By mile marker two the rain had scaled back to a drizzle, but the damage was done. Also at mile marker two, I made the mistake of grabbing a cup of water on the fly from the water station and taking a swig. This upset my gastrointestinal system's precarious balance, leading to another wave of cramps and a desperate desire to relieve the pressure. That ill-conceived idea was fended off by visualizing spectators at the finish line saying "Wow, that guy doesn't look so good. Hey... what's that running down his... !" Followed by the crowd desperately scrambling for cover, my being banned from future races, and Tracy and I having to move away from the Shire in shame. Again, I kept it together.
Where last year's race finished on a long, gentle downhill, this course ended with two short climbs right before the final half mile. Trotting up them, waterlogged, fearing for my intestinal fortitude, slowed to a grind, I was quite the sight. But you know what? I finished right around 33 minutes on the dot, more than three minutes under last year's time. So, all things considered, not too shabby an outing.
I like this running thing. I really do. I'm not doing it with that resigned "eat your vegetables, they're good for you" attitude I had last year. At least not all the time. In fact, more than a few times recently, I've found myself sitting around at home or at work thinking "You know, I can't wait to go out for a run!" As someone who has loathed running since I was first forced to do it in grade school, that ranks as one of the most unlikely personal transformations I've ever undergone. At this point, I don't think it's too ambitious to start thinking about a 10K next year. The bike path nearby is perfect for out-and-back runs to gradually build up distance and endurance. If I can get to the point where I'm running to the trail head in Avon and back by fall (5.5 miles), I'll be most of the way there.
Who knows? It might turn out that signing up for that No K to 5K program last year was one of the best things I ever did for myself.
Tags: running
Among humans, only babies and NBA players are referred to as "long" rather than "tall". Discuss.
Oh, and by the way: GO CELTICS!!!
Tags: NBA
For a nation that likes to run our mouths incessantly about our vaunted freedom making us the envy of the world, we sure do like to give our police officers a hell of a lot of unfettered authority over us.
Tags: you will respect their authority
