Saturday, August 29, 2009

The Goods...


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(Photo taken by me!)

Thursday, August 27, 2009

Five Little Piggies


This little piggy:


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Started Kindergarten today.
Prefers an outfit of mis-matched jammies
and smiles with his eyes.


This Little Piggy:

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Started 3rd grade a week ago.
Will loose that snaggletooth and
prepare for piano recital.

This Little Piggy:


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Has learned sit, down, drop and GET OUT.
Has also learned to chew shoes and other valuables.



This Little Piggy:

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Works with people in 4 time zones.
Will continue the frustration of 2:00am e-mails and
language discrepancies. Will also hold down the fort.


This Little Piggy:

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Is going to a 3-day Photography Workshop.
Will learn to take fantastic pictures.

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

My Favorite Cheese

Cheese is a wonderful food. I like cheese. There are many breeds of cheese. There's Cheddar and Asiago and Marscapone and Swiss and Provolone. There are cheeses that start with "R" like Rabacal, Raclette, Ragusano, Ricotta, Richelieu, Romano and Rocamadour. There are also the fragrant. Examples include Feta and Blue and Limberger and Chevre. There are even cheeses you might name your kids after, like Fontina and Brie and Colby Jack and Lou Palou.

But of all the cheeses there are to choose from, my favorite cheese is:

The Carpenters

Top Of The World
Piano Picker
Breaking Up Is Hard To Do
We've Only Just Begun
Superstar
Close To You
Rainy Days And Mondays
Happy

Sunday, August 23, 2009

Tell Me Why... I Don't Like Christmas

To the tune of The Boomtown Rat's I Don't Like Mondays
(Oh how I heart Bob Geldof!*)

Tell me why... I don't like Christmas,

Tell me why... I don't like Christmas,
Tell me why... I don't like Christmas.... [more stuff... then...]
I wanna shoot the whole day down.

Before you bark at me for sacrilege, let me explain.

I've got this new thing. This thing I got, is listening to the mePod... by song title... alphabetically. It's so new! It's so fun!

Today I was enjoying the songs that begin with "W". Specifically it was "Wind" and "Wind". Here's where the English language surprises you with rampant hoodwinkery. You thought I typed "Wind" twice. Right? Oh how you were wrong! I typed "Wind" (for Wind Cries Mary) and "Wind" (for Wind It Up). Here's also where I explain how fun the English language is by showing you one of the many words in our fun language with multiple options. Same spelling... different meaning! Fun!

I digress. Where was I? Oh yeah, Tell Me Why I Don't Like Christmas.

After the many variations of "Wind" and "Wind", the mePod eventually made it to The Eurythmics' version of Winter Wonderland. And you know my first response? It wasn't I like this song. It wasn't I like winter or Can't wait to ski! It wasn't even I like the Eurythmics. It was: Ah hell. It's just around the corner.

That IT, that's just around the corner? That IT...? Is Christmas.

Now Why Don't I Like Christmas?

It's because on that day, the 25th of December, the world requires and expects that I be more Christian. It's unChristian of me not to show that I'm more Christian on that day.

Truthfully folks, I would hope that I'm the same Christian today as I am on December the 25th. If my daily etiquette (or lack thereof) requires I change my tune for the Month of December, I believe it's time I rethink my priorities.

So how exactly do I show that I'm more Christian on that day?

By putting up expensive decorations and spending extra cash on electricity. By handing out $5 gifts to obligatory neighbors and relatives. By eating more food that I want. By giving people more food than they want. By spending A LOT of money. By attending this event and that party. By exposing myself to the rudeness of Christmas shopping. By taking the kiddies to see Santa and ensuring Santa shows up on the Celebratory Eve of The Savior's Birth. By giving to charity (when I could be giving to charity all year).

Do I give Santa the year off? And tell the Yahoos he'll make it to everyone's house but ours? Because Santa loves the neighbor kids more? Hardly.

It's a cultural head-lock, I tell you. Even amongst us Mormons... Especially amongst us Mormons.


*Ironically, Bob Geldof is the mastermind behind one of the best selling Christmas songs of all time... Do They Know It's Christmas.


Note:
I sincerely enjoy the Christmas Morning Extravaganza. Sincerely. But it's the expectation of it all that drives me bananas. I'm not a big fan of expectations.
EX-pecially culturally induced expectations.

Saturday, August 22, 2009

David Lee or Sammy?

Life to me is so black and white. Would you care for an example?

I can categorize ALL of humanity by asking one simple little question. Ready?

David Lee Roth or Sammy Hagar?
(I'm talking Van Halen contribution, not solo.)

Need a photo to refresh your noggin? Here you go:

David Lee:



Sammy:



Update on Pukefest 2009: Three of us down, one [hopefully not] to go. Spouse came home early from his trip. Spent last night on his knees looking into a toilet bowl at some strange hotel in Wyoming. Decided it was best to come home. He is currently in the middle of the 24-hour slumber required to kick the bug entirely. Yahoo #1 is the only household entity yet to contract this bastardo bugoruso. Keeping our fingers crossed.

I was able to run the 1/2 marathon this morning in the midst of pukefest induced anxiety and lack of fluids and/or solids.* Finished in 1:30. Tickled pink, I tell you. Tickled pink.


SHIZ! I just heard Yahoo #1 barfing. That leaves 4 for 4.



*Are popsicles considered a fluid or a solid? I had lots of those.


Thursday, August 20, 2009

This Is All I Got!

Late last night at 9:00pm (shush! that's late for me), the tummy began to churn. I made it 5 whole hours before the call to the porcelain bowl came.

It's been a very, very, long day. (Incidentally, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button in all of it's just-under-three-hours, is a great movie for days like today.)

Being as I'm sure this is a 24 hour fluke, it should be lifting any time now, but I'm not feeling much relief.

This is bad for several reasons:

1) I'm having pregnancy flashbacks.
2) School started today. A sick mom on the first day of school ain't cool.
3) I'm registered for a half marathon on Saturday. I cannot stand up without the world going black.
4) I might run out of otter pops.


Oh how my brain hurts! Kind of like this:

Monday, August 17, 2009

Spike

A few moments ago I was reviewing the analytics for my dot com - when what should my wandering eyes should appear? A giant spike on August 13, 2009. Big spike. I say... I say... I say.... It was big. This spike was similar to that bronzish monument up ta Promontory.

I began to wonder why.

First, I didn't post anything that day. Second, the blogland is at a lull right now (or at least it appears there's a lull). Third... well there's no third, but I was taught that you should list things only when you have more than two. If you have only two items to list, just scrunch 'em together with a conjunction. For this reason, we have a third.

(Can you sense that I've got my tail between my legs over my grammatical reprimanding?)

After some careful investigating - actually just clicking 'round the Google Analytics, I found that the spike in activity at rabidrunner.com was a direct result of Les Paul's death.

Running - Rabies - Les Paul. Makes sense, don't it?

Now I'll explain the connection. A while back, I put myself in the habit of posting a feature on every Friday - called it the Friday Flashback - wherein I'd research a bit, listen to some music, then type up a report on who I had researched and listened.

On May 28, 2008, Les Paul and Amy Ford were my Featured Flashback.

So, it's more like: Running - Rabies - Friday Flashback - Les Paul & Amy Ford.


P.S. Hobble Creek Canyon is aflame. Meaning On Fire. Does this mean I won't be racing this weekend? I don't know whether I should be sad or relieved. (Notice that "whether" was not used to reference something in the affirmative or negative. Therefore it was necessary to include the things I was "whethering.")

P.P.S. Anyone catch my Foghorn Leghorn reference?

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Sunday, August 16, 2009

Creative Writing Reject Gone Software Documentation Superstar

I used to work for this one software company.

To protect innocent standers that are by, or bystanders, I'll keep that software company's name secret. For now anyway. I might reveal it's true identity after it tanks. And by tanks I mean sinks to the bottom of the Pacific - not the bottom of Utah Lake where it currently resides. It's a good thing this company is a tall one. Utah Lake is almost 10 feet deep in the middle, so some of it's floors and a few of its employees are still afloat and breathing. Others? Not so lucky.

Anyway. While at this software company, I worked with many personality types. One such type was the Creative Writing Reject Gone Software Documentation Superstar (or CWRGSDS). You know the type. The type who's sole purpose in life began at the age of 3 - when they learned to read and mostly write.

Write, I tell you. They were born to write.

Some of us were Born To Run. Some of us were Born To Be Wild. Others of us were simply Newborn. These guys were born to write. They had dreams of releasing themselves, fresh with collegiate cap and gown, onto the typewriter (or word processor - whatever these new writing kids on the block are into), only to discover that the world doesn't buy stories from the unknown.

And so they write software documentation. And they try to make it snazzy. And then people like me, who were hired to test software and its documentation for accuracy, would have to break it to them softly - I'd have to tell them that Sweet Grandma Edna and Little Ol' Uncle Chuck would not be able to understand their ornamental operative for sending an e-mail.

Make it simple, I'd tell them. Use smaller words, I'd also tell them.

Since I left this software company, a little web site called Facebook has changed the way people keep in touch. I've been keeping in touch with my old work cronies on this Facebook thingee. And just last week, while responding to a controversial topic, one of those Creative Writing Reject Gone Software Documentation Superstars (CWRGSDS) got me back.

Here's how the conversation ensued...

A former up-worker (he was a VP - so he's an up-worker not co-worker), one with a controversial countenance, posted a controversial photo with attached question. It was something about Victoria Secretish supermodels showing off their mastectomy scars. He asked if the photo was offensive. I responded with "that depends on whether or not the scar was photoshopped."

Then Creative Writing Reject Gone Software Documentation Superstar (CWRGSDS) said, "Peeve alert! When the options expressed by 'whether' are affirmative and negative and no other, it's unnecessary to include, 'or not.' For example, 'Depends on whether or not the scar....' could be simply, 'Depends on whether the scar....' There. I feel better; hope you don't feel worse."

First, lets say that I welcome feedback, criticism and corrections in all things - and this includes the way I write. In fact, consider this an open invitation to hack through any post of mine, preferrably with a red pen, and let me have it. I make no claims on the goodness (or badness) of my writing, so give me your best shot.

But Facebook? You're going to project literary corrections on Fellow Facebookers? A place where OMG and WTF and LOL are without a doubt the most transcribed expressions?

Makes me wish that we could send texts back 'n forth. So as I can see him munch up his allotted character space lashing out at the literary illiterate.

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

What is the Absolute Worse Day?

Every once in a while, I have a day that warrants a certain phone call to Spouse. This certain phone call is the one reminding him that he needs a vasectomy.

Yesterday was one of those "You need a vasectomy" phone call days.

It wasn't an unusually hard day. It began with the fight over wearing clothes (as opposed to pissed-in jammies), brushing the teeth (as opposed to not), combing the hair (as opposed to not) and making the bed (as opposed to not).

Then there was the fight over practicing the piano. Which begins with scrunched eyebrows, stomping feet and mumbles that include the word "hate." Due to mumbles and complaining, the actual practice session takes 2 point 5 times longer than the necessary half hour.

All of the above includes relentless reminders and foam-at-the-mouth nagging. Have you done...? What are you working on...? Did you wash your hands...? Put your dishes away... What do you need to be doing....? Leave the dog alone and do your chores... Put your toys down... No friends until your work is done. Nag. Nag. Nag.

Finally, the work was done and the friends came. It was all fun and games until the arrival of the bickering and fighting, cookie crumbs, spilled milk, otter pops on the car, otter pops on the kitchen floor, sticky everywhere and an empty can of whipped cream. This was more than poor little rabid me could handle. "Okay, time for everyone to go home," I said.

I was relieved. Until we discovered that Yahoo #3 (also known as the Pound Hound), had chewed through poor T's shoes (T is Yahoo #1's friend) - in the which I barked at Yahoo #1 for not taking care of his friends' belongings. (You should note that the beloved Pound Hound has munched many a shoe, watch, pillow and pinewood derby car - it's business as usual to put things out of the Yahoo #3's reach.)

Yahoo #1 escaped to safe ground in extreme agony. I found him sobbing uncontrollably about how he "always messes things up."

Great.

I guess I can kiss that Mother-of-the-Year nomination good bye. The kids don't do what I ask and I don't discipline well. The Yahoos are unhappy and suffer from low self esteem.

Great.

After 6 more hours of the above, I was finally in bed. And as I sat there stewing over my dreadfully "bad" day, I thought "You know, tender Rabid, there are many out there who are having worse 'bad' days than you."

For example, I know of someone who had a funeral for his wife. Another friend has a broken femur and needs surgery. And as bad as their days might be, I'm sure somebody, somewhere is having yet a worse day than they are.

Makes me wonder what the absolute worse day is.

Then I think about how it's all relative and then I pretend to understand Einstein's Theory of Relativity and my mind turns to mush and I feel relief over how much better today is.

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Consumer Cleanse Confession (part 2)

As mentioned in the post of yesterday (feels like yesteryear), I have broken the Consumer Cleanse. Incidentally, did you know, that if you google Consumer Cleanse, my little post of heavy commitment shows up very second? I've coined a new phrase! It's true! Try it.

Many of you have guessed. One of you figured I broke my spending spree on a Sham Wow! Another one of you guessed the fast was broken with a Stampin Up! Starter Kit. Although both items produce temptation similar to that of my favorite narcotic, I did not purchase the Sham Wow! or the Stampin Up! Starter Kit. (Funny how both items require an exclamation point - do they think it sells more that way? Huh.)

The rest of you thought I bought a bike. I did not buy a bike.

But Spouse did!

We found a one-year old Santa Cruz Juliana with XT compenentry and hydraulic disc brakes. This same Juliana had been ridden 10 miles (if that). White marks on the seat were the only sign of wear 'n tear - the result of resting the seat against a wall with white paint.

Spouse insisted I ride the bike. I rode the bike. This bike spoke to me. I've ridden many bikes - none of which have actually spoken. This bike spoke to me. In my language.

Spouse bought the bike.

I understand your confusion, dear reader. Because as the Cleanse goes, I cannot buy anything for me, but Spouse can. Spouse buying this wonderful creation of a bike doesn't warrant the breaking of said Cleanse.

However.

One must use a helmet to ride bikes. At least this one does ('cause I got kids at home to render and care for.) Spouse is out of money, so I purchased a helmet.

One must also use fancy pedals when riding a bike. At least this one does (if I want to keep up.) Spouse is out of money, so I purchased fancy pedals.

One must also use fancy shoes when riding a bike with fancy pedals. At least this one does (again if I want to keep up.) Spouse is out of money, so I purchased fancy shoes.

I bought a couple of tubes too, just in case.

The Cleanse lasted 9 months and 8 days. I still haven't purchased clothing. I will not purchase clothing, jewelry and other useless crap (for me that is - I can still buy useless crap for you) until November 1.

Consider this the transition phase.

Monday, August 10, 2009

Death of the Consumer Cleanse

It has happened. The end has come. I have failed.

The Consumer Cleanse is over.

As I type this confession, I have many questions. Questions like, How did this happen? What catalyst ended it all? Was the purchase worth the death of all those "I didn't buy myself anything fer a year" bragging rights? And finally, Why the hell did I do it in the first place?

So many questions.

And because I like you all so much, I'm going to end now and leave you hanging....

Wednesday, August 05, 2009

From the 2008 Running Log: March

March 1, 2008
18.5 miles in 2:33 / 8:03 pace / hr 150, 171 max / on the "Holy Crap Everywhere" route

Physical therapy is magic! Great run. And I am so happy. The weather was delightful (about 38-45ish), the company was good and the body felt like a million (bodies, that is). Tough at the end, but that's expected, right?

March 5, 2008
10 miles in 1:17 / 7:51 pace / hr 144, 167 max / Provo Bench Loop

Everyone was running hard. Focus focus focus focus! Had some good bid'ness conversations with Docteur Scott, however. Skiing was fantastic. We [me 'n Spouse] hiked McConkeys and had some powderish runs (not quite deep but "conditions were perfect").

March 8, 2008
15 miles in 1:57 / 7:44 pace / 154, 199 max / Alpine - AF - Highland loop

Holy high heart rate. Great run today - with a 3 mile tempo added for spice. I think I'm improving, but it's so hard to feel it mentally when you're chasing others. I need to remind myself that as long as I'm chasing - I'll get faster. Had a margarine style massage today (and margarine ain't good).

March 10, 2008
10.5 miles in 1:25 / 8:06 pace / 147, 164 max / Alpine Figure 8

Seemed cold? Cannot remember and it was only two days ago. Daylight savings happened this weekend (you know the whole SPRING forward excitement - it made it hard to get up.) The pace felt like I was taking it easy. Nice.

March 11, 2008
5.5 miles and spin

Rona [spin teacher] is back. That girl is wacky.

March 14, 2008
21.5 miles in 2:58 / 8:18 pace / 144, 157 max / 7 city tour

American Fork, Lehi, Highland, Alpine, Highland, Cedar Hills, Manilla, Pleasant Grove, American Fork.

March 19, 2008
10.5 miles in 1:19 / 7:44 pace / hr 154, 177 max / Provo bench loop

Ankles and tendons feel taxed, will take tomorrow off.

March 24, 2008
10 miles in 1:24 / 8:17 pace / hr 145, 159 max / Alpine Figure 8

I've got 1800 levels of anxious running around in my bloodstream. Worried and excited and freaked out all at the same time. Oh yeah. There must be a marathon on the horizon.

March 26, 2008
11 miles in 1:30 / 8:09 pace / hr 144, 161 max / Provo bench loop

Spouse's Accident

March 31, 2008
10 miles in 1:20 / 7:58 pace / hr 159, 176 max / AF Canyon loop

Spouse is home from the hospital. I left him alone with Yahoo #2 for a run. Was nervous. All was well when I got home.

Tuesday, August 04, 2009

Wasatch Crack Relay: Post 13 of Many

Notes

I take notes. While driving, while talking on the phone, while reading a book or watching TV. If you say something interesting or (better yet) funny, I will write it down. If you say a word that resonates or makes my heart sing, I will write it down. This is irregardless of whether it's a legitimate offering or a made up word.

I write notes on receipts, gum wrappers, to-do lists, tax forms and even my very own person - whatever I have laying around. I use pencils, pens, sharpies, even eyeliner. You can imagine the clutter around our house - little bits of papers and whatnot here, there and everywhere. Can you see why I need a mePhone? So as to consolidate my notes into one nifty little device!

On the first day of our Wasatch Crack expedition, I was driving the car while Hillene was the designated navigator. "We should take notes." I said.

"Notes?" said Hillene. "Why?"

"So we can document what happens."

Hillene says "Okay" then grabs the nearest pen and piece of chemically processed tree. She proceeds to write: "10:13pm - Rabid said we should take notes. Ha Ha."

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10:15pm - Hillene says she wants to Jump Himene. Found out he's in the Ogden Canyon. Rabid is driving and thinking about Sandwiching the Spouse.

12:00am - Rabid announces it's her birthday and everyone should sing. Downhill Diva has a bee-you-tiful voice! Where did that come from?

1:48am - [At this point, Hillene and Himene are in their van, the rest of us our in ours]. We smell at least four skunks and phone Himene to verify that it isn't his wife. "She does have night emissions," he says.

1:51am - We see the first walker.

1:52am - Crystal Meth [our talker extraordinare] has quit talking. Is she asleep? Think so. How can she sleep with this noise? How can she sleep in that position?

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1:55am - We see male human that's running with bunny ears. Docteur Scott [the resident Frenchman - for he really does come from France] tells him he looks good.

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1:58am - Shirtless guy running. Docteur Scott hits on him. We realize this nonsense will not be funny tomorrow.

1:59am - Out 'n Back receives inspiration for a title for our notes: "The Ramblings of Van 2."

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2:30am ish - Get in sleeping bag and try to sleep.

4:34am - Awake and refueling. Docteur Scott tells me my food stinks [turkey wrap with hummus and spinach].

4:45am - Docteur Scott offers to share used dental floss.

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4:48am - Hillene sings "We Are The Champions" in her finest opera while waiting for our runner. Dances too. Foxes are filming the performance.

4:55am - Docteur Scott [out the car window] says, "Pardon me. Would you happen to have any Grey Poupon." Then yells like angry France person in French. We laugh.

6:03am - We see a train.

6:27am - Out 'n Back installs weather app on Docteur Scott's Crackberry.

1:05pm - Rabid announces the time of her birth. Everyone sings. Docteur Scott wakes up long enough to sing, then passes out. It's raining.

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3:30pm ish - Hillene discovers that her sister beat her time on the beastie hill. [Her sister is on another team and running the same legs as Hillene. We'll call her Sisterene.] Hillene is bummed. Rabid comforts her with, "She lives in Colorado. The air's so thin there, she gets a workout in her sleep." Hillene opens her sleepy eyes big and wide then says, "True. True... TRUE. We need to move to Colorado."

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Saturday, August 01, 2009

Define Clunker

Evidently, the bright-eyed powers that be have engineered a genius plan for boosting our economy and saving us from the evils of gas hogging. It's called the Cash for Clunker. It's also called the CAR Allowance Rebate System (CARS).

(So I seriously think that this administration should fire the 10 guys who come up with all of these so-called cleverly coined appellations. They are so dippy. Maybe they could hire me 'cause I'm good at that stuff. 'Specially if it involves an alliteration.)

Anyway. As you have all heard, the government has stimulated us once again with a program called the Cash fer Clunkers - wherein you get $4500 dollars to destroy your perfectly good 'n running car if you buy a new one. This program is available for both new American and new Foreign vehicles.

You've also heard that they ran out of the allocated funds within the first week.

Duh. (Why are they so surprised?!)

You hand out $4500 of FREE money and you expect people to take the high road? Yes, people in droves will sit back in their recliners and choose NOT to take the deal because they couldn't take money that so many others need.

(Me for example. I'm one of them people who wouldn't take advantage of free money because I recognize whole-heatedly that all proceeds from government handouts will come from my parents... or my employer... or my friends... or Yahoo #1's sweet first grade teacher... or my neighbors... or even my enemies.)

To qualify for this program, you must hand over your clunker. Let's define clunker, shall we? Your clunker:
  • Must have been manufactured after 1983
  • Must have a "new" combined city/highway fuel economy of 18 miles per gallon or less
  • Must be in drivable condition and
  • Must have been continuously insured and registered to the same owner for the full year preceding the trade-in
(Complete list of criteria can be found at http://www.cars.gov/faq)

After you have cashed in on your so-called smokin' $4500 deal, the dealership gets to smoke your so-called clunker, as is demonstrated so nicely here:



If you don't feel up to viewing all 4 minutes and 28 seconds, let me give you the cliff notes version: Dealership drains oil from car and runs it 'til it dies. Which results in:
  • 2 tons of garbage (give or take a few)
  • Overly, overly packed junk yards
  • Engine parts that cannot be used (by say, oh... I don't know, another Volvo perhaps)
  • A few gallons of wasted fuel
  • A few pints of wasted oil
  • Redneck entertainment

Recycling's finest hour. What a waste.

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