Chicken Pot Pie. In a pumpkin.

Don't be mislead by this post. I'm not morphing into a food blogger. However, if I were to morph into a food blogger, what type of blogger would I be morphing out of? A running blogger? Blah. Running blogs are boring. Even for runners. How about "Variety Blogger." Yeah, that's it! I wanna be a Variety Blogger. Like the variety shows of old. Remember Carol Burnett and the Smothers Brothers? Good times were had on variety shows. I'm sure there was some running on the Carol Burnett and Smothers Brothers shows.

Now back to our previously scheduled program in the which is titled:
Chicken Pot Pie. In a pumpkin.

About 6 years ago, while possessed by the Pregosaurus Rex of Yahoo #2, I made Chicken Pot Pies. In pumpkins. It was a deliciously, fantastic crapload of work. Being as I'm fresh these days (with the added adrenaline of the approaching vacation), I figured I'd make the Chicken Pot Pies again. In pumpkins. This is something special because it takes all day. ALL DAY. I don't know when (or even if) I'll feel this fresh ever again (my bones and whatnot are getting older you know).

Therefore it is with great pleasure and digital imagery, that I present:

Chicken Pot Pie. In a pumpkin.


Step 1: Gut the pumpkins

Step 2: Slime pumpkin innards with butter. Sprinkle with nutmeg, salt and pepper.

Step 3: Bake at 375. Set timer for 30 minutes so you don't forget.

Step 4: Begin pastry with butter and flour.

Step 5: Finish pastry with thyme, salt and water.

Step 6: Don't drop thyme on floor while positioning props for photo.

Step 7: Let dog out 'cause he asked nicely.

(See. He asked nicely.)

Step 8: Prepare taters, onions, mushrooms and carrots by chopping them.Be sure to make hi-yah! noises. Don't peel potatoes because you'll loose loads of nutrition. That and you're lazy like me.

Step 9: Welcome Yahoo #2 home from school.

Step 10: Boil chicken and shred - like Shaun White shreds.

Step 11: Cook taters and onions in butter for a few. Sprinkle with flour.

Step 12: Add carrots and shrooms, then cook a few. Add milk and chicken stock.

Step 13: Simmer for a few.

Step 14: Welcome Yahoo #1 from school. Commend for starting homework all by himself. Ask if red junk on left sleeve is a 3rd-grade hickey.

Step 15: Roll pastry and shape into pumpkin tops. (Trust me, that pastry is good enough to roll.)

Step 16: Load pumpkins with chicken and veggie goo. Top with pastry.

Step 17: Bake at 375. Set timer for 45 minutes so you don't forget.

Step 18: Remove from oven. Take picture.

Step 19: Voila! (Over the top delicious by the way... and worth the work.)

Ryan Wins!

After hundreds of tries, someone has managed to nail all 7 of the airports necessary for the upcoming adventure.

If you're curious, here they are:

Paris, France (four days)
Dubai, United Arab Emirates
Mumbai, India
Pune, India (eight days)
Amsterdam, The Netherlands
Detroit, USA
Salt Lake City, USA

As mentioned earlier, we're taking this trip because Spouse needs to work in Pune. Incidentally, the flight goes right through Paris! What are we supposed to do, hang out in the airport for four hours and get on another? Hardly.

Paris will be our 10-year anniversary celebration (2 months premature). Holy Matrimony!

Okay "Ryan", send me an e-mail at grebdbersman@gmail.com so that I can send you the prize.

Member? My word is good!

Tuesday Tune (Vol 16)

It's official!

At an undisclosed date and time, Spouse and I will travel abroad. We will hit two destinations. A gander at the seven-airport itinerary is sure to make the head spin.

This particular adventure landed on the lap of Spouse - his job requires that he take it. I'm not the kind of wife who says, "You go ahead dear, you go on and travel the world. I'll stay right here with the Yahoos and bake cookies."

I'm not that kind of wife.

I'm the kind of wife that demands that I go. I guess demand is the wrong word. It's more like I'm the kind of wife that bats my Big 'Uns at him and he replies with, "show me your spreadsheet." (Sorry, Spouse. But you knew this about me when you took me to that Big White Castle in the Salt Lake City.)

Today's Tuesday Tunes are about the destinations. Can you guess where we're going? I'll give you a hint: The tale of these two cities is an alliteration, so see if you can catch the pun -eh?

First person to leave a comment with the city and country of all 7 destinations - in the order listed - will get $5 at the meTunes store. It's true! My word is good.

Destination One, 4 Days :
Havanaise, op 83 - Camille Saint-Saens
Alala - Cansei de Ser Sexy
Une Very Stylish Fille - Dimitri In Paris
Frances Farmer Will Have Her Revenge on Seattle - Nirvana
(this one added to throw you. Starting to look too easy.)
La Marseillaise

Destination Two, 1 hour 30 minutes:
Dubai Chill House Grooves

Destination Three, 7 hours, 5 minutes (starts with "M"):
Ringa Ringa - A.R. Rahman
O...Saya - M.I.A.
Bombay The Hard Way - Guns Cars & Sitars

Destination Four, 8 days (starts with "P" rhymes with eh):
Fanaa - A.R. Rahman
Aaj Ki Raat - Sonu Nigam
India - Roxy Music

Destination Five, 45 minutes:
Amsterdam - Coldplay

Destination Six, 3 hours 45 minutes:
Detroit City - Tom Jones

The flight above to destination six, is 18 hours and 55 minutes. Believe I'll be singing: Get Off - Dandy Warhols and Gouge Away - The Pixies and Paper Planes - M.I.A.

Destination Seven, 'till next trip:
Salt Lake City - The Beach Boys

In the mean time, I've got so much to do! I've gotta get to the health department for a Typhoid Fever immunization (among others), pack, plan, save money, build a playlist and sweet talk a consulate. The list goes on.

I'm stewing, however, over whether I should tell the blog world when I'm going. Telling all you weirdos that I'm out of town is breech of security, isn't it?

It would be fun to post a travel log, however. Do you want a travel log?

Hot E-mail Mess

I'm a hot e-mail mess.

I've managed to spaghetti-ize my e-mail situation. This whole snafu began with the need to make a bunch of decisions. One of those decisions had to do with the acquisition of a mePhone.

Roughly 10 days ago, I found myself possessed, trapped, and driven to the AT&T store. It was an out-of-body experience, really, for I didn't know what was happening. I had no control! I walked in and said, "I would like a mePhone, please [we always say please], make it 16 gigs of black 3GS, please [see told you, we always say please]."

Twenty minutes later, I walked out of there with my very own mePhone, complete with an address book transfer.*

Named him Ringo.
You know, like the Star. Cause he plays music and rings! Get it?

Ringo and I burned two whole days on an Apps Reconnaissance Mission (Finding the right apps is strategic and important and funded - therefore it's considered reconnaissance.)

After a few gleeful days of figuring-it-out, I discovered that my blasted MSN e-mail address doesn't have a hook-me-up for the mePhone.

Ringo is without automatic e-mail notification.

This is when I had to call in the troops. The troops said, "switch to gmail." Rrrrriiiiiighhhtttt. Have you looked into changing your e-mail address lately? Have you seen the efforts, the trackings, the address books, the groups, the everything?

Changing an e-mail address of 12 years is 200 billion times worse than changing your name three times. And I've changed my name three times. (Don't ask.)

(Okay, you can ask.)

To get Ringo to automagically notify my e-mailings, I've created a New Nifty gmail account, one that somewhat matches the naming convention of that stupid MSN account. I then set up that MSN account to forward everything to my New Nifty gmail account.

I should just change everything over to this New Nifty gmail account, right? There are many problems with this logic. I already have a gmail account - else how would I have a blog on the blogger dot com? And wouldn't you know that I cannot change the primary e-mail of my Blogger Dot Com account to my New Nifty account. To make things worse, I have to login to my Blogger Dot Com gmail to get to my Googley Reader - else how would I know you posted something new? Click on your site? Whatever. If I want to read my New Nifty gmail, I need to logout of the Blogger Dot Com gmail and relogin to the New Nifty gmail. If I want to make a comment on some blog and not expose my true identity, I need to loug out of the New Nifty gmail account and login with the Blogger Dot Com account.

I looked into transferring all of the blogs I follow in the Googley Reader from the Blogger Dot Com one to the New Nifty Googley Reader, but geez guys... I have a job and kids and miles to run. This is too much work.

See? I'm a hot e-mail mess.



*I'm in the mood for politics lately. So play along, if you will. Imagine, friends, that the government controls all cell phones. In order for you to acquire a new cell phone, you must go through a government operation. Just imagine that. Imagine the difference. Compare/contrast the DMV. Compare/contrast the Driver's License Division. Compare/contrast the Health Department. Do you think I would have acquired my precious Ringo is 20 minutes? Prolly not! Do you want 'em to operate your health care?

And speaking of the health department, I have an announcement to make tomorrow! OH! Makes me squeal like a pig just thinking about it!

Temple, Hunting or Football Game

Today, Spouse had the honor of owning the morning. See that's what we do around here is take turns owning the morning. I like the mornings. A LOT. I like to run in those mornings. A LOT. Spouse also likes the mornings A LOT. He likes his mornings to ride bicycles, shoot his assorted weaponry and hunt (when the season allows.)

Being as the Yahoos are 8 years and under, we cannot share the same morning. We must take turns. When it's Spouse's morning, I get to run later without my little running gang. That means by myself - without the chit-chat and the jokes and the gossip.

Today was Spouse's morning and he was ever so conflicted. Should I bike? Should I hunt? Should I run about in my knickers? He was ever so conflicted.

Spouse decided to bike with Zimm and Giant Gym. (Identities have been changed, somewhat.)

Before leaving on his adventure with Giant Gym and Zimm, he made an awesome display of saying goodbye. I was still in bed with three pillows over my eyes (helps with the wrinkles, you know.) When one of us leaves in the morning, we normally mumble, "see ya... have fun" without any fanfare.

Things were different today. It was in his voice. Spouse wanted some attention. When he gets that look-at-me-I-want-attention tone of voice, he's usually dropped his trousers some in order to show a bit of crack. Not today. Today was extraordinary.

Spouse had a new cycling outfit.

"I call it 'Cycling Suicide.'" He said.

Zimm offered Spouse a tan jersey. You know, to seal the deal on Spouse's life insurance policy (in the which I am the sole beneficiary.)

See? Conflicted! Poor guy couldn't decide if he wanted to bike or hunt. Now he'll get to bike and be hunted.

Just as Spouse returned from his adventure (alive so sadly I'm not a millionaire), I was polishing off my warm bread with butter and honey (that's what Armstrong eats each morning of the Tour de France, did you know that? His chef told me so on some documentary.) Being as going for a run on a full tank of warm bread, butter and honey doesn't fly so well, I had to wait a half-hour before I went out for my run.

(Now why did I tell you this useless piece of information? It honestly has nothing to do with the story I'm trying to tell. This means my subconscious wants to show something off. Prolly the fact that I know what Armstrong eats? Or the fact that I eat butter, honey and warm bread? Who knows. Either way, it ain't being deleted now because I've consumed an entire afternoon writing it.)

Finally, 'round 11:00am I ventured out.

Here's where the Temple, Hunting or Football Game comes into play. I live in north Utah County - a place where I can cover 6 different cities on a 6 mile run. Today was a beautiful, fall day. Perfect, perhaps. Today was one of those days that helped me remember the joys of running by myself. The air is cool, the mind becomes clear and the tunes are CRANKED! All of these things, set the stage perfectly for playing my favorite running game: The Temple, Hunting or Football Game Game. ("Game" twice was on purpose so don't send me an e-mail.)

Here's how the game goes. Runners run against traffic. This is a safety precaution, so that you can see who is going to hit you before they do hit you. See? Safety. Now, running against traffic makes it easy to look into windshields of oncoming cars and make up Stuff. Stories. Scandals. Scenarios. Fun!

As the car comes towards me, the idea is to figure out if the car is going to:

A) The Temple
B) Hunting
C) A Football Game at the BYU

Sounds difficult, right? Well it isn't! Even you can do it. Let me give you some clues. If the dude in the car is wearing a tie or the girl is wearing something frilly, they're going to or coming from The Temple. If the vehicle is towing a trailer, that's a dead giveaway. A Hunting They Are Goin'! You can also spot the Hunting crowd by the bright orange or 5-day-old beards (even on the chicks.)

Doesn't the above sound so very obvious? It is - but compared to the BYU Football Fan crowd, it's not. First, there's the big Y flag on the antennae. Or the matching "Y" hats and visors. And if they refuse to wear BYU blue (like I would if I were to partake)? Every last idiot in the car would be smiling like a zoobie. Don't know what a zoobie looks like when they're smiling? Just picture "annoyingly happy" and you've got the idea.

The Temple, Hunting or Football Game game was all good and entertaining for about 5 miles. I was nearing the mouth of American Fork canyon when I realized there were two new groups of Saturday-goers to add to the mix. They were:

D) Mountain Bikers (who carry their bicycles on their vehicles and wear smashing shades. Roadies don't carry their bikes on their vehicles, right? Unless they're going to somewhere like Vermont to ride.)

E) Shower Gals (are a carload of girlies in designer clothing heading to a Baby or Bridal shower. And you know they're all ticked because that bitch Marsha scheduled the shower during The Game.)

(Incidentally, I just checked some facts. The BYU game is at San Diego State - so oops for me. HOWEVER, those goofy gomers were getting all geared up to watch the game at a house somewhere, not at The Stadium. Really folks. It's just football. Not religion.)

(OOPs again! I forgot today was already the 24th. Incidentally, the game IS at The Stadium. Everyone say "HOMECOMING!" Still. It's just football. Not religion.)

I'm mad at Spouse now. He didn't invite me to go to The Homecoming at The BYU with him. Isn't that what you do as alumni? Bring yer spouse 20 years later?

He just announced, however, that he's cooking dinner. I'd rather have him cook dinner.

Science Fair, Anyone?

As shown before, I like experiments that involve urine. Not YourIN actually, MyIN. YourIN is gross. Which brings up an interesting point... where does the word urine come from? Do they call it urine because it comes from the ureters? Then why don't they call it urout? (It ain't traveling in you know.)

Anyway, have I got an experiment for you!

Ready?

Drink a Rock Star and eat a can of beets then see what happens.

Payday!

I had one of those payday moments just three minutes ago. Figured I'd document it. Or at least show you all that I've trained the Yahoos to be mannerly and polite. (This is all about me, you know.)

Just now, maybe 5 minutes ago (took me roughly 2 minutes to construct that miserable paragraph above), I yelled down to the Yahoos.

"Hey. Do you guys want a brownie?"

Do you know what I heard?

"No thanks" from one and "Yes please" from the other.

Wow.

Just goes to show that if you demand a no thanks and a yes please eight times a day for five years, it will pay off. If you do the math - and I know you would 'cause not only are you a Word Nerd, you're a Numerical Necromancer - that's 14,600 naggings from yours truly.

(Incidentally, they're whining back and forth over the playstation. Payday over. Sigh.)

Tuesday Tune (Vol 15)

Today's Tuesday Tune is brought to you by that beloved Deer Hunt. Today's Tuesday Tune is also brought to you by 75%.

Allow me to explain.

The Deer Hunt is on right now. Yipee. (That's Yipee sans an exclamation point.) Spouse does the Deer Hunts. This year we had the special treat of Spouse doing the Elk Hunts too. Yipee. (Again sans exclamation point.)

I believe it's time to remind ya'll and especially Spouse that my Truly Beloved wasn't a hunter when I married him. (Now why, exactly, did I leave "can't be a hunter" out of the prenup?)

It's all good really. I run every morning in November, December, January, February, March, April, May, June, July, August, and September. Spouse disappears for most of October and returns with a freezer full of chow.

Now that we've covered the "Deer Hunt" representation. Let's move on to 75%.

I have this ritual for listening to music for the very first time. I don't know if ritual is proper word, because how I listen is automatic and cannot be controlled. Irregardless, the first time I listen to a song, I immediately determine how the song is counted. I figure the number of beats per measure.

Vera has turned me on to this new little band called The Dear Hunter (felicitous and apropos, right?) After listening to this precious Dear Hunter band, I have concluded that 75% of their tunes have 3/4 (three-quarter) time. Which is way strange. Most rock/alternative music is rarely written in 3/4 (three-quarter) time. It's hard to pull off the 3/4 (three-quarter) time in rock without it sounding all waltzy and such. (Unless, of course, you're MUSE and obviously you are not. If you were MUSE, you'd have me pull my endorsement.)

Get it? 3/4 (three-quarter) is also 75% in that 3 divided by 4 is .75.

You love it when I add math for spice, don't you!?

Beautiful Life
Son
The Tank
Black Sandy Beaches
Blood of the Roses
This one gets extra credit for being a tango AND including a cello.
The Church and the Dime

Have You Backed Up Your Blog Lately?

Friends and fellow blog blasters, please ponder with me for a moment.

Think with me, about the time and energy you've spent on this here blogspot.com. Think of the memories, the frustrations, and the history. Think of the content. Your little spot at blogger dot com has grown to reveal who you are.

Being the nay-saying ninny that I am, I've considered the what if. What if the blogger goes belly up and my content is gone? What if the blogger has a technical crash and my content is gone? What if the blogger decides to pull the plug on me and my content is gone?

None of that Content Gone stuff is going to happen.

But just in case, I have a solution for you.

1) Go to: http://yourblog.blogspot.com/search?max-results=1000
If you have more than 1000 blog posts, then enter a number greater than what you have.
If you have a reserved domain, then enter your domain instead of yourblog.blogspot.com. For example: http://www.rabidrunner.com/search?max-results=1000

2) Wait a while

3) Right click the window and choose Select All

4) Right click Selected and choose Copy

5) Open new document in Word (or other word processor)

6) Right click in new document and choose Paste

7) Save that Bad Boy


The formatting is not pretty, but it's fast. And the content is there!
(Fer yer posterity and whatnot.)

There. Now go have yourself a Happy Blog Backup day.


(This will work only for those who use blogger. If you use wordpress or some other bastard blogging web site, this info will not help you. Or maybe it will. Might give you a start. Or at least get you thinking about backing up your blog.)


-

Down. Dog.

I've posted this photo for many reasons.
1) To show that I have a yoga mat. It's pink.
2) To make you think that I'm an awesome yogini who can touch her toes while standing.
3) The fact that the mat is out and flat is displayed to fake you into thinking it gets used.
4) To prove that I can remove a TV and carpet yuk using photoshop. (Although I have to tell you about the TV and carpet yuk in order for you to believe me. It would clearly reveal to much to show the before and afters.)
5) To show that the Pound Hound can chill. He can! Really!

In other news, Hillene is coming to get me for a bike ride in 90 minutes.
I'm scared spitless.

-

Crappy Camera Phone Photoshop Action

Are you tired of your crisp, clean photos? Do you wish your photos resembled those found on the facebook and blogs of today? Do you hope for blur and grain? Do you long for muted colors and illegibility. Are you feeling left out?

Well look and hope no longer - for I have a solution for you! Allow me to introduce the Crappy Camera Phone Photoshop Action.

With the new CCPPA, you now have the power and know-how to turn those great photos into something below marginal. You can upload photos just like the rest. See the difference today!

Before Crappy Camera Phone Photoshop Action:

After Crappy Camera Phone Photoshop Action:

Act now while supplies last!

Tuesday Tune (Vol 14)

Today's Tuesday Tune is in honor of garbage day. I'm grateful for garbage day. Specifically, I'm grateful we can pay someone to swing by and get thee rid of our trash.

Today's Tuesday Tune is also about all things that belong in the garbage. When I ask myself what should go in the garbage, you know what comes to mind? Very first?

That 28-day cycle. That's why you get:

Garbageman - The Cramps (Run Forest Run!)

Wouldn't you know that this whole Garbage Theme turned itself into a playlist - how does this happen? Every time? Vera received a copy on garbage day. Living in our hood is exciting. You just never know what will happen next...

Trash, Trampoline and the Party Girl - U2 (Run Forest Run!)
Garbage Grove - Sublime
Aluminum Can - Ditty Bops
Smells Like Teen Spirit - Nirvana (Run Forest Run!)
Throw Me Away - Korn
I'm Only Happy When It Rains - Garbage (Run Forest Run!)
Those Damned Blue Collar Tweekers - Primus
Throw It All Away - Zero 7
Trash - New York Dolls (Run Forest Run!)
We Live In A Dump - They Might Be Giants
Beercan - Beck
Broken Glass - Crystal Method (Run Forest Run!)
Love Dump - Static X (Run Forest Run!)
A Plea For Dump - Dump
Empty Spaces - Pink Floyd
(This one totally reminds me that my "Wall" CD has escaped. Is There Anyone Out There? Who has it? I'll trade you the DVD for it...)


*** By-the-by, Decision #1 from my list o' Big Decisions has been decided. I registered the Dyke Mobile today. Looks like she and I will be Dykin' it out for one more year.

Big Decisions

I have some big decisions to make.

Strangely enough, all these big decisions have the deadline of October 31. Which is Halloween. Halloween is second to April Fools Day on the Rabidrunner Recreation Richter Register (seven point Oh! to be exact). There won't be any responsibility on Halloween. And most certainly there won't be any decision makin' either.

This means the decisions must be made by October 30.

Big Decision #1: Should I register the car or buy a new one.
This is a tuff one. I want a new car. It might be time for a new car. The Dyke Mobile is turning into a rattle trap. Still runs like a champ, but has developed noise. Sometimes I can cover up this noise by boosting the volume voltage on the tunes. As of late, however, the volume voltage fails to mask the vibrations. (They're rattles, really. But vibration doesn't sound so, you know... rattley.) There's also this screeeech! when I start it up. Sounds like the slaughter of sixteen Sasquatches. (Now you know that Sasquatches don't die quietly.)

Other factors involved: It will be 90 bucks to register the car. Roughly 25,000 to replace it. I'm a don't-fix-it-if-ain't-broke kinda person, so I intend to buy the same car, same color - only 12 (or 13 or 14) years newer. Boring, right?

Another factor? They've changed the transmission so as to increase fuel economy. This is good and bad. Good because more mileage with the same fuel is always a plus. It's bad because it's a new tranny. (I love that word Tranny. You should know I'm doing this post only so that I can use the word Tranny.) A New tranny (oops! there's that word again) means it ain't tried and true. There's prolly bugs in those new trannies. EWE!

Tranny Bugs are nasty.

The final factor in this Big Decision #1 is the new car will need a name. I don't know if I'm up for that. "Scooby Rue," perhaps? Will ponder.

Decision #2: Should I buy a Midweek Season Pass at Sundance.
Another tuffy! See here's the deal. Powder is righteous. The Yahoos are in school. Do you see the connection? When it dumps, I am free to partake. As in POW!

So I hear you saying, Why Sundance (Scumdance)? Let me tell you why Sundance. First and foremost, Daddy works for Park City (Park Schitty) - we're hooked up at Park City (even after Spouse Crushed his Calcaneuses there). Park City is far away. One hour minimum - and midweek morning traffic stinks. Sundance is 36ish minutes away. I can drop the Yahoos off at school, burn up the Canyon de Provo and make many turns.

So I hear you saying, Why Not Alta (Shmalta)? Or Snowbird (Snowturd)? Or Brighton (Frighten)? Let me tell you why not Alta or Snowbird or Brighton or even Solitude (Solid Turd). First and foremost, The Canyon. I've been in line for that canyon to open one time too many. It's painful. Itchin' to ski and you can't even drive up the road. I only have a few precious school-time hours to burn - I just don't have time to wait for a dumb canyon to open for measly avalanche control.

Avalanche... Bah!

Another reason for not choosing the above? Every Powder Hound in the state heads to Snowbird or Alta after a dump. CROWDED. And the arrogance of the Powder Hound crowd is intimidating. They just swallow me up whole with their knee dropping.

(Knee droppers. Bah again! They're like cyclists who ride a single speed! Double Bah!)

Another bad thing about the above? The runs at those Powder Hound Resorts are all tracked up in 30ish minutes flat. I've made first tracks at Scumdance around 2:00pm, in the afternoon.

Now that I've established that it will be Sundance, I need to decide if. It's only $225 but goes up a bunch after October 31. Did I mention that my Midweek pass would include the Nordic Center (whereby I can cross country ski with Spouse?) No? I didn't mention that? It does. Fer reals.

Unbelievable. All those words and I've only covered two of my Big Decisions.

Big Decision #3: Should I get a MePhone.
My cell phone service ends on October 31. I need to sign up for something new. Should it be a mePhone? I know you will all says yes (for we have already discussed this.) But do I need a stinkin' mePhone? I mean, is it really worth the cash each month? It ain't the phone I'm worried about, its the service agreement.

Big Decision #4: Should we sign the Yahoos up for Mountain School
This is a big commitment. That's 10 Saturdays of committed skiing. Not a big deal for us. Downright great for us, in fact. The Yahoos will be babysat and taught to ski. This is a big deal for the Yahoos, however. I mean, no friends ('cept the ones their ski group), no games ('cept the ones they play on the mountain), no electronic toys ('cept the ski lift).

If we do the Mountain School, running a spring marathon will either not happen or be a bust. This vital piece of info must go into the equation.

Big Decision #4 carries the most weight. It's pricey. The Yahoos won't appreciate it. They will whine. Will I be able to handle all of that? Take in all in stride? With big breaths? (Hah! You read that as Big Breasts, didn't you?)

Big Decision #5: Speaking of Big Breasts, should I get the implants?
Kidding. No implants here. I prefer my plants out of my person. Sorry to let you down.

-

10 Years Late

Why couldn't they wait 10 years before casting Edward Cullen?

Yahoo #1 would make a better Edward Cullen. Then we'd all be rich. And Spouse could finally get a new bike. And I could finally get a new camera. And the Yahoos could finally have a DS.

More from this demonic attempt to freeze time can be found here.

On House Training A Dog

Out, damn'd spot! out, I say!—One; two: why, then
'tis time to do't.—The smell is murky.—Fie, my dog, fie, a Pound Hound, and
afeard? What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our
clean'r to scrub?—Yet who would have thought the old dog to
have had so much piss in him?


(Text adapted from Act 5, Scene 1 of Shakespeare's Macbeth.)

From the 2008 Running Log: April

April 2, 2008
8 miles / ave pace 7:53 / hr ave 151, 171 max / Equestrian Loop

Slept in… didn't dare leave Yahoo #2 (nightmares) with Spouse [in his current condition]. Went later by myself. Good mind-clearing run.

April 4, 2008
14.5 miles in 1:55 / ave pace 8:03 / hr ave 150, 170 max / Alpine Figure 8 + Temple loop

Decided to do long run today for various reasons. "E" couldn't go Saturday and I wasn't up for the gang - that and I couldn't be gone that long. We did a 4 mile tempo.

April 5, 2008
6 miles on treadmill

Very theraputic. I must work hard at not getting discouraged about everything.

April 7, 2008
10 miles in 1:22 / ave pace 8:10 / hr 151, 167 / AF Canyon Loop

Good run. Doctor appointment today to see if Spouse will have surgery.

April 8, 2008
7 miles on treadmill

Spouse had surgery today. They said it'd be about 4-6 hours, so I found a Gold's Gym nearby and pounded out the tension and anxiety. Did 3 miles at 6:54 pace with 2 mile warm up and 2 mile cool down.

April 9, 2008
10 miles in 1:20 / ave pace 7:54 / hr 151, 174 / Provo Bench Loop

Mom took the kids and we all slept at her house. Thankfully I was able to get a run in before the Rodeo of Pain happened to Spouse later. Would take two days off for exhaustion (and I'm not even the one with the pain).

April 12, 2008
11.5 in 1:28 / ave pace 1:41 / hr 159, 181 / Temple Loop

Great run! Started out sobbing but everything turned out great. Did a 3 mile tempo, 6:27, 6:43, 6:47. Talked to Spouse and we decided I'd still go to Boston if we could find people to come stay here. I feel selfish.

April 14, 2008
8.5 in 1:08 / ave pace 8:03 / hr 138, 164 / Equestrian Loop

I'm going to Boston. Didn't know for sure if I could go but it looks like I'll be able to go. Spouse is doing so much better today. Ran with "E"; both of us were pretty tired. We took it easy most of the run, but did a few pickups and a couple of miles with a bit more effort.

April 19, 2008
Flew to Boston.

April 20, 2008
Walked all over Tarnation.Watched the Women's Olympic Trial Marathon.

There's a Subway in Tarnation

Women's Olympic Trial Marathon

Is that Deena Kastor!?

Sho 'nuf!

April 21, 2008
26.2 in 3:23 / ave pace 7:47 / hr 157, 176 max / Boston Marathon

Yipee! Will write more later. Okay it's later. I had the best time in the race. It felt easier than most. I'm starting to believe that I don't need a hundred 20+ milers to do well in a marathon. The trip was fun too. I did blister up pretty good though. Lost milimeters of skin on the ball and pinky of my left foot. Couldn't wear a shoe. The pinky toenail went bye-bye too. Hurt like hell in the airplane on the way home. Hillene wanted me to get a wheelchair during the layover in Denver, but you know, Spouse is in a wheelchair and we can't have two in a wheelchair. I freaked out on her. Then the pain was so bad I had to lay on the floor in the airport with my foot elevated. How the heck does Spouse handle two crushed heels? Then I begged Hillene to just cut off my foot and be done with it. Yes. That bad. Pressure is bad. Hillene said no, let's pop it and tried to do so with an earring. Sadly, the earring was too blunt. Hillene disappeared on me for a while and returned with the on-call medic for the airport, in the which she rudely interrupted his date with a hunting show. Deer? Elk? Can't remember. He took us to his little office full of medical supplies. Handed her a needle and she poked. I've never felt relief like that in all of my days. Hunter-crazed medic wasn't much help. Made Hillene do all the work while he watched his huntin' show. Note to self: Don't have a heart attack at the Denver airport.

Wish I could remember what I said here...

Or What Was Said Here

The Light of My Running Life, Hillene...

... Can Get Grown Men to Wear Makeup

... Can Also Carry Lots of Bags

Advice from a statue.

Duck Boat Tour
We Have Matching Jackets!

Blister from Hades

Can't wear a shoe
(Rocking chairs at the Boston Airport!?)

"Lay"over in Denver

What was poor Spouse doing? While I was away?

Loads of this...

Except at Home

(OH! How I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy... not even Hitler)

(Okay, I'd Wish It On Hitler)

Seven (7) Spouse Sitters were needed for me to go. Here's a segment of the document left for Spouse Sitters.

General notes:

- Spouse will need water with ice on occasion, 1 tsp metamucel in a glass of water at breakfast, quiet words of encouragement, a joke a day, and plenty of redneck porn.

- Clothes for Spouse are on the dresser… he should be able to get himself dressed. He might need a sponge bath (which he can do himself, unless of course you want to help). He should also be able to brush his teeth, etc.

- Yahoo #1 is responsible for emptying Spouse's pot and urinal. Rubber gloves under bathroom sink.

- You don’t have to be there the whole time… maybe just meals and check to make sure everything is okay.

- Yahoo #1 will go to school at 9:00.

- Yahoo #2 will go to school at 9:25 on Tuesday

- If you have any questions, call me or ask Spouse. He knows where most things are and can crawl now!

Tuesday Tune is BACK! (Vol 13).

Have you missed the Tuesday Tune? I have. Oh my, have I ever. Let's start it again, shall we?

Today's Tuesday Tune is brought to you by Johnny Cash and Stevie Nicks. Which means today's Tuesday Tune is also brought to you by Folsom Prison, yodelers, guitars and fancy broomstick skirts with gypsy ornamentation.

What do you get when Johnny Cash and Stevie Nicks have a love child?

Brandi Carlile

A few weeks ago, the whole fam damily (The Mom & Moe, the Sister & Smart-A husband, the Brother & Wife, Spouse and I) went to see Brandi Carlile. This is becoming a tradition of sorts. That same fam damily has seen her before.

If you've been around a couple of years, you might recall that the Rabid had her photo taken with the lovely Brandi Carlile. (Does Brandi like girls? I heard she likes girls. Is that true? Spouse... can she join us?)

Here's that photo again...

What am I holding? A signed t-shirt. And No, you can't have it.

Isn't she cute? Talented too... Do you want to know what's so great about Brandi? She has a cellist in her band. Hooked up to electricity and everything. I'm a sucker for the cello.

Anyway, Brandi (like how we're on a first-name basis) played a bunch from her new album. And wouldn't you know that same album was released today.

Oh! Oh! OH! YES! It's a good one.

There is one song that I cannot get enough of. Thought I'd share.

Touching The Ground (Run Forest Run!)
(Sorry it's live... couldn't find one from the album and I'm not about to break copyright laws by finding a way to publish it here.)

Dreams (Run Forest Run!)
(This is the only one from the album that I could find. Good anyways.)



-

Running On Fumes

I should be working, but I'm not. I should be removing sensitive information from tax forms and editing photos, but I'm not.

The blog is lonely. It needs me.

In lieu of working for cash, I'll feed the blog. This could be tragic because I'm low on content. Low, however, doesn't mean empty.

To illustrate the low content concept, I'll use the gas tank metaphor. Being low on content is similar to being low on gasoline. The car will still go, but not very far. As the gas tank sinks to empty, the car will run on fumes.

This blog post is running on fumes.
(Consider this a warning. Get out while you can.)

Since the marathon is over, running is so last season - I can't write about running. I guess I'll just replay a phone call with Spouse from yesterday.

"Ring, ring." That's how the phone rings at our house.

"Hello?" I say.

It's Spouse. "Wanna go to India?" he asks.


India, brace yourself. I'm coming!

(As soon as I purchase the ticket and figure the logistics of the Yahoos and the Pound Hound and as soon as I figure out how to spend 3 days in Paris on the way back.)

Various Personal Records

I have conquered The George!

This race was exceptionally memorable, for I have set various Personal Records (PRs).

1. The finishing time was 3:22:47 (The :47 was added so that Ryan could tell me it was more like 3:23). This was a PR for 3:22:47 - for I have never done that before.

2. I walked more in this marathon than any other. Began at mile 17 and continued. Incidentally, my slowest marathon (4:03) had less walking than this one.

3. I walked many of the downhill parts. This is a PR because I never walk down hill. It's bad form when you don't use gravity.

4. My back ached THE WHOLE DAMN time. But I still finished. Making this a PR for the most pain in any marathon.

5. This was a PR for best outfit. My top had not one, but TWO giant trout-sized pockets in the back. I could have carried a small child - but that would make the back ache more, so obviously I didn't carry a small child. It's a good thing too - OSHA would be all over me for that.

6. I nearly barfed at the finish. That's a PR. I always feel like I'm going to barf but never have I nearly barfed. This is a great PR because I can still work on it. I mean, won't it be great when I actually do barf? I have so much room for improvement.

7. The night before the race, we walked right into the restaurant and were seated immediately. Immediately! Have you been to St George during George weekend? A family of four can expect to wait up to 2 hours for a table. Again, this is a good one to improve on, for I can always set a PR for the longest time spent waiting for a table.

8. My feet finished unscathed. No blisters. No lost toenails. I always end up with at least a tiny blister or a new black toenail. PR!

9. The bed in this hotel is the worst bed I've [not] slept in. PR for worst bed on the planet. And isn't the timing on this one just picture pefect? Bad boy bed and bent back? Led to a PR for the worst night sleep before a marathon.

10. My cheering section had matching shirts. That's never happened. We can thank Megan for that. This was the best part of the race. PR! PR! PR! PR!