rabidrunner

This Is The Sound....!

2012-01-30T14:00:00.003-07:00

I realize today isn't Tuesday, but you're going to get a tune anyways. It's

The Sound of Silence by Simon and Garfunkel

Note the photo below. This is not the sound of silence. It's the sound (and site) of water damage. Boo! The blowing hum of these basement-savers produces enough white noise to silence the whole neighborhood I cannot wait to turn them off!

Women's Olympic Trial Marathon

2012-01-23T21:00:00.003-07:00

Holy smokes I'm busy! Wow. Like, I'm so busy that I think I'm busier than everyone else. Like, I'm the only one with a job – which has a busy-pull-yer-hair-out season of RIGHT NOW, and kids, and a birthday party to plan – complete with eight-year-old religious rite, and an anniversary – twelve years young, and a Spouse who's been called to work – for an absurdly undeterminable amount of time – to repair some international espionage-esque hacking, I AM THE BUSIEST PERSON ON THE PLANET. I might even be busier than Martha Stewart. Or at least busier that you.

Right here I'm totally making fun of how we women (yes, even me) have I'm-busier-than-anybody-else contests. It's that one thing, where we list (and list and list), all of the worth while crap we gotta do. Which, let's just face it, had we forgone the academy-award-wining display of said list, half of it would be complete. These contests aren't official, or even acknowledged verbally, but they're happening. And for the record, "worth while crap" is a very relative term, in that what's worth while crap to you ain't worth while crap to me. Mostly because what I consider worth while is crap, so there you go.

I am soooooo busy that it's a good thing I'm not training for the Olympics or something. Few... That was close! But you know who is training for the Olympics? Shalane Flanagan, and Desiree Davila, and Kara Goucher! Care for a recap of how that came to be? Sorry, not today for I'm just too busy. Kidding!

Rabid and Yahoos at the finish line, the day before race.

On January 14, 2012, at exactly 8:15am, the Women's Olympic Trial Marathon was kicked into gear by Frank Shorter. I think. Don't quote me on that. Maybe it was Joan Benoit Samuelson. If you know who did shoot that gun, let me know.

This Olympic Trial Marathon for women is my second live viewing. I saw the women's race in Boston's 2008 trials. This was so much fun. So fun was this race, that it was worth a repeat. Hence the Houston Trip.

As stated earlier, we had just watched the first lap of the Men's Olympic Trial marathon and were patiently waiting for the women. (We were strategically situation at miles 1.25ish, 9.25ish, 18.25ish, and 25.25ish.) When lo and 17 minutes and 45 seconds behold... the Women! Running slower than normal. We heard later that their first mile was in the 6:30 range.

Here's the lead pack. Davila in front. To me it looked like everyone in that pack had chosen Davila as the girl to beat, and therefore decided to stick behind her. Davila, on the other hand, looked as if she was waiting for someone to pick up the pace and declare the game "on."

Then there's Goucher. Sigh. That girl is so hot. She ran right by me.

More Goucher. I refrained from posting all of my Goucher photos so that Spouse wouldn't get worried or jealous.

Then the masses passed.

Then we waited. There's Spouse. Sigh. That boy is hot. I didn't post all of my Spouse photos so that Goucher wouldn't get worried or jealous.

At lap two, the field had split considerably. Up front were (left to right), Davila, Katie McGregor, Shalane, ???, Janet, Hastings, Deena, and Goucher.

Round three was exciting. Amy Hastings was in the lead! And looking awesome.

Followed by a Flanagan, Goucher, Davila scrambling.

Further back, Janet and Deena looked like they were sticking together.

The third to fourth lap was the most fun. The field had spread and there was lots to watch. Just when the last female ran by, Shalane Flanagan turned the corner and in the lead! She was hauling ass.

Davila was close behind Flanagan. But not close enough to catch, it seemed. We were pretty sure that Shalane Flanagan had won the race at this time.

Just behind Desiree Davila, was that babe Goucher.

... then that other babe Amy Hastings. She has my favorite running style of the bunch. Very tight, efficient and strong looking.

Janet was fifth. She finished the race with an eight-minute personal best. Wow.

Deena came in sixth with a 2:30:40. Deena had a baby ten months ago, by the way.

Men's Olympic Trial Marathon

2012-01-19T20:00:00.001-07:00

On January 14, 2012, and for the first time ever, the Men's and Women's Olympic Trial Marathon was held on the same course, at the same. Houston, Texas was the place. The men's race started at 8:00 and the ladies started at 8:15. Today, I plan to give a brief recap of the men's race.

The marathon course was a 2-mile loop followed by three 8-mile loops. Therefore, if one picked their spot right, one could see the runners zip by four times. HOLY FREAK! I WAS THAT ONE! I PICKED OUR SPOT JUST RIGHT. I SAW THEM ALL FOUR TIMES!

Here's the course map. We were stationed at the 15k mark, which was also 1.25ish, 9.25ish, 18/25 ish, and 25.25ish:

I suppose it all began when I picked the hotel. I picked a hotel downtown because that was where the action is. In my traveling days, I've learned that if you're going to travel thousands of miles, for cryin' out loud, stay in a strategic location; a location close to whatever action you plan to partake.

As luck would have it, I picked a hotel right along the marathon course. It was a blind selection that turned into a total treat. So here we are in our spot, bright 'n early. Waiting...

... and eating...

...and reading...

At long last, we looked, and behold! The truck with the clock!

(Notice the time for 1.25ish miles.)

Then who should appear in the lead? Ryan Hall!

Then Abdi Abdirahman, Dathan Ritzenhein, Meb, and Mo Trafeh.

The masses followed.

We waited patiently for the women to come around. After the women came by the first time (women's race will be documented at a later time, hopefully tomorrow), we waited in ernest for the men to make their second loop. Finally (felt like forever, but not really) the boys made their way around to the 15k mark. The lonely lead was a pack of five.

(Ritz, Abdi, Meb, Hall, and Mo)

After the men made their second loop, I spotted Ryan Hall's little brother. I have no proof that this was Ryan Hall's little brother. However, the gent next to him was sporting an official Olympic Trial something-er-other, and the kid was dressed head-to-toe Asics. Also, notice the smile. It's totally his little brother.

With what seemed like a mere blink, round three at approximately 18.25ish miles, was before us. With the lady race happening in between, there was plenty to watch. Trafeh had fallen back, but the four up front were running strong.

(Meb, Hall, Ritz, Abdi)

Shortly thereafter, Utah's very own Paul Petersen made his way through the pack. He looked great. I hollered his name and he looked at me with a confused Who the...? I'm Rabid, 'member me?

By the time the boys had made their fourth lap, approaching us at 25.25 miles, they had caught up to the girls. MEB WAS IN THE LEAD! Oh my stars! Somehow, Meb had zipped past us without me seeing him (imagine that) and I couldn't get a photo of him before he passed. Here's his backside. Meb is sponsored by Sketchers now. I tried on some of those Sketchers while in Houston. Figured they'd help me run 5-minute miles for a couple of hours straight.

Hall was next. He was far enough back that we were sure that Meb would win.

Next was Abdi...

... then Ritz not too far behind. Ritz was working so hard! I hollered at Ritz to Go! Go! Go! so very loud, that I scratched my larynx. Or some other body part nestled in there.

Guess who fought his way into fifth place? None other than Brett Gotcher! I wanted Gotcher on the team. Heck, I wanted them all on the team. Can't they all be on the team? They are all so very awesome!

Houston Table of Contents

2012-01-18T13:00:00.002-07:00

Today is Wednesday, the 18th of January, and our vacation is officially over. Frownie face. In an effort to solidify last week's events into a lasting impressions memory bank, I shall recount each and every last detail.

Not today though. Today, I build the Table of Contents, which is totally backwards, but oh well. And it won't be a true table, in that it will be in paragraph form instead of a list, but oh well again. I need to take inventory of what happened real quick-like so that the memory bank has each and every last one of those lasting impressions.

On Thursday, January 12...
... at approximately 9:00am, we loaded ourselves onto an airplane. I read some of Great Expectations, and the Top 100 Guitar-Gurus-Like-Evah issue of Rolling Stone. I handed another issue of Rolling Stone to Yahoo #2. (I received a subscription for Christmas and they sent me three at once to catch up or something.) Yahoo #2 subsequently opened the mag to a page housing a class-act photo of Courtney Love flashing her tatas. That would be super-cynical-great-parenting-moment number one million. The photo was blurred, but it did show skin. And it did show Courtney Love. And it did present some horror to the poor boy. Which makes me super sad that his first non-related exposure to tatas were Courtney Love's.

Spouse read a four-hundred-eighty-seven-charactered Robert Jordan* book. I think. Yahoo #1 is into the Animorphs series lately. He finishes one about every other day.

*I've since learned that it's a George R.R. Martin book, not Robert Jordan, but being incorrect about his book selection is part of history now and I must leave it as is.

The plane-ride was without incident, and the capturing of luggage, rental car, and directions went equally without incident. We checked into a hotel downtown – The Hyatt on Louisiana between Polk and Clay, if you must know – and began the mad scramble for food. Everyone had become hangry. We had a chicken 'n basil 'n tomato 'n garlic 'n olive oil pizza – which Yahoo #2 hated and cried because of our blatant injustice (directly to him), then we fought a un-Texan-like head-wind on our way to the Houston Aquarium. It was cold! Later, we learned that the Aquarium had great food. You could go around to the many tanks, pick your fish, and they'd stick it 'n fry it before your eyes. Just kidding. They don't do that, but we heard the food is great.

We walked back to the hotel through the theatre district and crashed while watching TV.

On Friday, January 13...
... Spouse and I refinanced the house in the lobby of the Hotel. Weird. It was truly paranormal. Spouse had started the house-refi-ball rolling a while back ('cause like we wanted to cash in on the low-interest rate thing that's sweeping the nation.) Due to that term "lock in," we had to sign the paperwork and whatnot before the end of the week. They sent a Houston notary to watch us sign. Still weird.

After the signing, we explored the Houston Tunnels without getting lost. Kind of. We definitely did some back-tracking. Not all was lost over this back-tracking, however, because Yahoo #2 mastered escalator entry and exit (a true feat... Remember when the escalator was as scary as the high dive?)

We arrived at the convention center, coincidentally the start and finish of the Olympic Trials and Houston Marathon, picked up my bib – labeled "Rabidrunner," which I didn't remember signing up for – wandered the expo and took the tunnels back to our hotel.

We spent the afternoon with Spouse's brother and kids in a community called The Woodlands. We played a rousingly frustrating game of frisbee golf, then I ran six miles while Spouse's brother made us dinner. The miles were heavenly and sea-level, and the food was spectacular. Turns out that Spouse's brother loves to cook. He also loves the Food Network. So much did he love this Food Network, that his former TV had the Food Network logo burned into the bottom right.

On Saturday, January 14...
... I woke up early. Really early. I wanted to make sure we had a spot front and very center, so as to spectate and photagraph the Olympic Trial marathon rightly. I mean, that Olympic Trial marathon was 60% of the reason for scheduling this trip. That 60% figure is exact, by the way. Turns out, I didn't need to get up early, because on a course of roughly 8-10 miles (they did one two mile loop, then three 8ish mile loops,) there's plenty of spectator room. This part of the trip will get two of its very own posts soon. One for the women's race, another for the men. Stayed tuned.

After the race, we went back to our room. The course ran right past alternate sides of our hotel, so we didn't have far to go. I napped for about an hour, 'cause, like, I had to run the next day. Then we watched the Olympic Trial rebroadcast on the tube. We are weird like that. I'd watch it again if I had access. There are definite differences between tube-watching a marathon, and actually seeing the competition unfold. More to come on that.

That evening, we decided to drive by the LDS temple in Spring and have dinner there. Because of construction, we were stuck in traffic for hours, arrived late, and, once again, were very hangry. To avoid a possible "lack of food situation" for young children, and pre-marathoners, we just grabbed some Chinese. It was spicy Chinese and prolly not a great choice. But they had brown rice. My body does well on brown rice.

On Sunday, January 15...
... I ran the Houston marathon in 3:17:09. A serious accomplishment for the circumstances, AND, I had the time of my life. The end left me extremely pleased and very sick to my stomach. After pickles and juice – the recovery food of gut-sick-champions – we went to the Children's Museum of Houston. We played there for about four hours, had some Tex-Mex, left my purse in the restaurant (duh!) went back for it in a panic, and it was still there. Praise Karma.

We (really, I) have become hooked on Sprinkles cupcakes. This is all thanks to Jessica, who brought us some from LA the last time she was in town. Turns out, there was one in the greater Houston metropolis, and we spent an hour finding it. Was it worth it? Not sure, 'cause the Yahoos ate half of both my peanut butter cupcakes. Of all the nerve. I just ran 26.2 miles (26.5 according to my watch) I can have TWO cupcakes, all to myself. Right? Please show some support for me right now on this delicate issue.

On Monday, January 16...
... we visited the San Jacinto battleground – which was instrumental in liberating Texas from the tyranny of General Santa Anna of Mexico – and we played battleship for a couple hours on the U.S.S. Texas. After we could no longer take the oil-fish smell on that boat, we asked the Yahoos, "Would you rather go to the Space Station or play with the cousins?" They picked "Cousins." Of course. Cousins rule. So we went back to The Woodlands to play in the park and chat and eat Pho and Sushi. Spouse's brother and family were terrific hosts.

On Tuesday, January 17...
... it was our last day. I wanted to photograph a fountain and take Spouse to this ritzy area of town that the marathon went through. This was the Galleria area of town, where the high-end housing and shopping resides. We partook in a Kolache brunch, wandered through Neiman Marcus and others 'til we couldn't stand it any longer (seriously... who pays $500 for a dang blouse? Who? Think of the down coat you can buy for 500 bones. Or skis? Or bike parts? Or... ?) This mall-jaunt led us to believe that Houston is bringing in GOBS of cash. Gobs.

After leaving the mall, Spouse drove by the Lululemon joint, we went in, and I bought nothing. What the...? Am I okay? I'm okay. I'm more than okay. I just had five blissful days of play with my family. Nothing can top that. Not even Lululemon.

Storage Olympic Hopefuls

2012-01-14T14:00:00.002-07:00

I have lots to say about today's Olympic Trial Marathon, for it was the most fun I've had in years. I don't have the time to tell ya'll about this race just now, for I'm resting and relaxing with the family.

Tomorrow, I run. Meb says you should always have a strategy. Ryan Hall said that his trials' strategy was to have no strategy. Therefore, I'm going to have a strategy and no strategy – a runner's metaphorical cake 'n eat it too. I will run 7:40s for three miles. If I "feel it," then I shall "pump up the kicks" and let the Rabid roar. If I don't feel it, I shall chill and meet some friends.

With that, I leave you with my favorite photos of the day (kind of... I got some great ones of the leaders – to show you later – oh, and Amy Hastings is my new favorite!)

The Storage Hopefuls: Either I'm way good at photoshop, or there's two. Photos taken at mile 25ish. They dress the same, they step the same, they swing the same. Perhaps their mama made them wear different colored laces to tell them apart? Perhaps.

Olympic Hopeful: Amy Hastings

2012-01-13T08:00:00.002-07:00

This is Amy Hastings. She's fast. She landed a marathon debut of 2:27:03 at the Los Angeles marathon. She trains with Deena Kastor in Mammoth Lakes, California. Amy is from Kansas and ran for ASU.

Olympic Hopeful: Brett Gotcher

2012-01-12T20:00:00.003-07:00

There's this California punk* named Brett Gotcher. He says his name like Go-tcher (not Gaw) because he Gos. Not really. I'll bet he pronounces his name Go-tcher because that's how his ancestry came upon the pronunciation. But I didn't come here to talk about the vowel modulation of a California punk's last name, I came here to talk about a California punk and how he runs.

*Punk is an endearing term in my vocabulary, by the way.

Brett Gotcher, a graduate of Stanford University, is 27 and trains in the mountains of Flagstaff, Arizona. While spending time with a few hip 'n edgy NAU graduates in Arizona last summer, we learned that locals do not call it Flagstaff. They refer to it as just Flag. As in We're going to Flag for the weekend, or, NAU is in Flag.

Flag is at 7000 feet, so I see why Brett would choose Flag as his high altitude training station. He is part of Greg McMillan's elite post collegiate program, and holds the fourth fastest marathon qualifying time – a smoking 2:10:36. This Brett Gotcher is most definitely a contender.

Incidentally, Greg McMillan holds a Spring and Fall running/training camp for old people (aka adults.) I want to go. Anyone wanna go to Flag and run with me? I'm being serious. (For reals. Now, had I said "seriously" instead of "I'm being serious," then you could rest assured that I'm not all that invested, as "seriously" has joined the ranks of "what's up with that?" and "it's all good" and other such euphemisms made popular in this, the 21st century, which, while they mean something, they've become diluted by illustrious use.)

This professional distance running thing is so much work. Did you know that? As I've read various bios, and what each has been up to, I've noticed that all of them fight the daily battle of health. Brett Gotcher has had hip issues. Dathan Ritzenhein, an achilles issue requiring multiple surgeries. And Meb Keflezighi missed many weeks of training because of a foot infection. Keeping each athlete's machine in top working order is no small feat. And gearing them up for a specific day is a divine work of art. To compete, their bodies must be spot on. To do well, their willpower brain-stuff must be dialed in as well.

My hat is off to all of them.

Olympic Hopeful: Dathan Ritzenhein

2012-01-11T15:00:00.001-07:00

Today's Olympic Hopeful is 29-year-old, Michigan-born, University of Colorado-alum, Alberto Salazar-coached-in-Oregon, Dathan Ritzenhein. Few. I'll bet I couldn't load that sentence more if I tried.

Ritzenhein had some great competition in his years for he is the same age as super greats Alan Webb and Ryan Hall – I'd trade a load of cash to watch three race. Ritzenhein was the Footlocker cross country champ in 1999 and 2000 (two years!) and is the current 5k American record holder of the 5k. He married Kalin Toedebusch – also a University of Colorado distance runner – and have spawned two future runners of the girl and boy variety.

Dathan will be 2nd or 3rd. I predict. You can read his blog here.

Olympic Hopeful: Shalane Flanagan (Tuesday Tune vol 105)

2012-01-10T21:00:00.000-07:00

Today's Tuesday Tunes are Shalane Flanagan's. Now get a load of how today's post unraveled: As is the case with all Tuesday Tunes, I let them just fly at me. I don't ever sit down, with applied pressure and tension headache, to say, "It's Tuesday and I need some Tunes." No siree, for Tuesday Tunes cannot be forced. I just go about my day, and if a Tuesday Tune inspiration comes my way, then so be it. If not, then so not be it.

Well, today, I was thinking about Shalane Flanagan. Mostly about how fast she is and whatnot. But also about how spectacularly adorable she is, and how she should be one of Rabidrunner's Olympic Hopefuls. Then it hit me. She prolly has some tunes on the internet somewhere! After a quick google, my hunch proved true. Runner's World published a Playlist of hers not too long ago.

The funny thing about this list, however, is that some ugly Joe in a basement somewhere left a comment and declared her playlist "crap." I was all sorts of disgusted with this Joe. For one thing, any true music aficionado knows and testifies, that when it comes to music, there is one rule: to each their own. There's no such thing as the end-all, be-all in music. True music-lovers respect others' taste in music. So while Joe is holed-down in a basement in his ugly unders, listening to Blink 182 and all the bands that sound like Blink 182 (or whatever), and wallowing in his musical superiority, others of us are looking at one another's lists and showing some respect. 'Cause we all know that we're about to discover something we like, right?

Truthfully, I've never met a playlist I didn't like.

So with that, here are some go-get-'em tunes a la Shalane Flanagan:

Saul Williams – List of Demands
Fergie – Glamorous
Mary J. Blige – Just Fine
Kevin Rudolf & Little Wayne – Let It Rock
Coldplay – Viva la Vida
Kid Cudi – Day 'n' Nite
Lady GaGa – Poker Face (Watch this one for the rad black 'n white Great Danes!)
Vampire Weekend – A-Punk
Maroon 5 – Harder to Breath
Metro Station – Shake It
Lupe Fiasco ft. Matthew Santos – Superstar
T.I. ft Rihanna – Live Your Life
Christina Aguilera – Fighter
Bruce Springsteen – Working On a Dream

Now that we've covered Flanagan's musical taste, let's move on to her Olympic Hopeful featurette. Massachusettes-raised Shalane Flanagan is 30 years of age, and the current American record holder for the 3k, 5k, and 10k. She owns (and fondles daily, I'm sure) a Bronze from the Bejing Olympics in the 10k. Running is in her genes, I suppose, as she was born to runners Cheryl Bridges (former world champion marathoner) and Steve Flanagan (a 2:18 marathoner.) Shalane attended and ran for the University of North Carolina-Chapel Hill, and is married to Steven Ashley Edwards.

Here are the Shalane Flanagan Personal Greats:

1500 m – 4:05.86 (Eugene, Oregon 10 June 2007)
3000 m – 8:33.25 (Boston, Massachusetts 27 January 2007)
5000 m – 14:44.80 (Walnut, California 13 April 2007)
10,000 m – 30:22.22 (NR Beijing, China 15 August 2008)
Half marathon – 1:08:36 (Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 19 September 2010)
Marathon – 2:28:40 (New York City, New York 7 November 2010)

Right here and now, I predict that Shalane will be on the U.S. Olympic marathon team. Let's see if I'm right! Three days and counting...

Olympic Hopefuls: Adam and Kara Goucher

2012-01-09T15:00:00.002-07:00

Today's Olympic Hopefuls are Adam and Kara Goucher. They're married. Isn't that sweet? They're going to run the Olympic Trials together! (Spouse? Can we run an Olympic Trials Marathon together? Pretty please? As if a pretty please and an eyelash batting will get me to the Olympic Trials. As! If!)

Kara was born in Queens, New York, but moved to Duluth, Minnesota at age four when her father was killed by a drunk driver. Kara started running at age six. She says, "I love to run. I truly believe I was born to do it. My quest for the perfect race is an adventure that never loses its excitement for me." She competed in high school, and later ran for the University of Colorado where she graduated in 2001.

Kara ran well at shorter distances (1500, 5000, 10000), but discovered in 2007 that maybe longer races were her forte. In 2007, she ran a 1:06:57 half marathon, which made her the fastest American woman ever to run that distance. In 2008, Kara competed in the Bejing Olympics – the 5000 and 10000 – and nailed some personal bests. She didn't medal in Bejing, but was well on her way to greatness.

Kara's marathon debut was during the fall of 2008 with a dizzyingly fast New York in 2:25:53. Kara took third and established herself as America's next great distance runner. In 2009, she ran the Boston marathon in 2:32:25. In 2010, she had a baby boy and named him Colt. In 2011, she returned to the Boston to finish in 2:24:52 – her new personal marathon best.

Until recently, Kara has trained with distance running legend Alberto Salazar. She and Adam live and run in Portland, Oregon. You can follow Kara's blog here.

Adam Goucher was born and raised in Colorado Springs. In 1993, Adam won the Footlocker National High School Cross Country Championship, which, seriously, is a big deal. Big. Like Adam was the fastest high school aged boy in the nation for 1993. See? Big deal. Adam also ran for the University of Colorado. I presume this is where the couple met, but have yet to discover the story. So for now, I guess we get to "guess" the specifics of the Goucher romance.

In 2000, Adam qualified for the Olympic Team in the 5000 and competed in the Sydney Olympics. He placed 13th. From 2000 on, Adam has struggled with some significant injuries. He didn't make the Olympic team in 2004 due to an achilles problem. He has spent the last few years running with and supporting his lovely wife, Kara.

Adam qualified for the Olympic Trial marathon at the Philadelphia Rock 'n Roll half marathon with a time of 1:04:53. Those Gouchers like their times in the 52 and 53 seconds, don't they? Also, did you know you can qualify for the Olympic Trial marathon by running a half? Or even a 10k? It's true. Check it out.

Adam wrote a book recently. It's called Running The Edge. Kara also wrote a book. It's called Kara Goucher's Running for Women: From First Steps to Marathons.

I'm super excited to see what these Gouchers end up doing this weekend. Aren't you? Gads, this is exciting!

One Hundred Years of Solitude

2012-01-08T21:00:00.005-07:00

(One Hundred Pages) of One Hundred Years of Solitude
by Gabriel García Márquez

I have two major rules. They are:

1) The One-Mile Rule
2) The Hundred-Page Rule

The One-Mile Rule is my running rule. The subset rules of this major rule involve running a mile. The rule says I must run a mile. And if I feel like crap after that one mile, then I can call it quits. But no matter how crappy I feel, no matter how grumpy, or bloated, or bored, or no matter how bad the head hurts, just give it a mile. If, after that one mile is over, I still feel the yuck, I can turn around and call it a day.

I have used the One-Mile Rule many times. As of today, I've yet to call it quits after that first mile. Usually a mile is all it takes for me to realize that "Hey! This is fun. I feel okay. Let's keep going."

I also have a reading rule. It's called the Hundred-Page rule. The subset rules of this rule mandates that I must read a hundred pages. If I've finished a hundred pages, and the book is either horribly dull or too much work to enjoy, then I can toss it aside and get a new one. After all, reading is entertainment now, not work.

I read tax instructions for pay (meaning it's my job.) Nothing is more work than reading tax instructions. Therefore, if my entertainment selection is even the slightest amount of work, I say it's a no go. Being an adult is great sometimes, isn't it? Like, you totally get to choose what you want to read and when.

Incidentally, it's prolly not a good idea to tell your teenagers that one of the highlights of adulthood is choosing your own book. Might give 'em a sense of impending doom. I can hear it now. Wait... What...? Choosing your own book is one of the perks of being an adult...? What the...? That's it? Not a million dollars or a mansion? Or Disneyland every weekend?

I gave One Hundred Years of Solitude a hundred pages. Nothing happened, really. Except for the father of the clan went nuts and they tied him to a tree. That was exciting. Also, there was a sister-chick fight over marrying some piano forte dealer who came to town, and one of the sister-chicks tried to poison the other sister-chick, but then the poison ended up killing their sweet, innocent, peace-making sister-in-law.

Other than the excitement listed above... oh and one of the brothers spent the night with a gypsy. She ended up with child, then the brother bailed town, and the gypsy dumped the baby on the front porch for the family to raise. So I guess there was some excitement. But it just wasn't exciting. Nothing really happened. And when something did happen, like the traveling gypsy magician died, the author just said, "He died. And they mourned for a year." Or something like that.

One Hundred Years of Solitude is a family affair. A tale that chronicles the entire this 'n thats of three generations. All three generations, however, have the same dang name. I guess that's a thing – this naming your offspray after yourself. All three main characters had the same name and I could not keep track of who did what with whom and when.

Anyway, I gave One Hundred Years of Solitude its symbolic hundred pages, found it too much work, and took it back to the library. I've since picked up Great Expectations. I'm into that masterpiece sixteen blissful pages. This one will pass the hundred page rule.

Drinking: A Love Story

2012-01-04T22:00:00.003-07:00

I have five books to tell you all about (lucky for you, I won't tell you about them all now.) Five books can be months and months of reading. For many nights I have tucked myself into bed and read 'til the pages blur from tired eyes. This can take anywhere from five to twelve minutes.

Having a good book at night is essential to my happiness for it helps end the day without worry. I put my cares away and dive into the jaws of whatever I happen to fancy. Basically, I shut the brain off and go into entertainment-land.

Traditionally, I have finished a book and typed up a real nice book report on this here blog. I do this so that I'll remember what I've read. I also do this because it's like my very own book club – only there's no time commitment and/or constraints, and I get to be the designated windbag. You know what I mean by that, right? Book clubs are scary (or so I've heard) because there's always that someone who participates just so they can go on-and-on (and on) about some inner (boring) deep meaning, deciphered by the hand of their quick wits and the lyrics of a Todd Rungren album.

Uh-oh. I'm feeling some history here. In high school, the weirdos I hung out with had somehow established that it was hip and edgy to be known as "deep" or "deep thinking." We'd discuss important stuff like philosophy (for teens) and why Aldous Huxley should rule the (under) world. We'd also talk some about preserving our mother nature, which usually involved climbing a tree, doing something illegal, then climbing back down.

We were so cool... but we were so dumb. It's crystal clear now. I mean philosophy for teens? Is there a paradox more hysterical? And that gaffer Huxley can't rule the world 'cause he's dead – was dead even way back then. But dude... what about the doors of perception... man... you gotta open them... ... ... Now insert more trailing phrases that make no point and mean nothing and you'll get the idea.

Hehehehe. That's my blog! The more things change, like, the more things, like change just a little bit, and then like, they come full circle and change in the other direction, and then, like, fall from the tree, and like the next thing you know, you're an apple all morphed up with the faces of both yer parents.

Anyway. I have five books to report. They are (in the order I read 'em):

The Life of Pie – Yann Martel
The Partly Cloudy Patriot – Sarah Vowell
A Romance on Three Legs – Katie Hafner
(A Hundred pages of) Hundred Years of Solitude – Gabriel García Márquez
Drinking: A Love Story – Caroline Knapp

I read The Life of Pie somewhere around a while ago. I figured that since I finished Drinking just yesterday, it's still all fresh 'n stuff, so I better do it first. Then I figure I'll finish up the book reports in any order I choose. You okay with that? Good. Here we go.

Drinking: A Love Story
by Caroline Knapp

Drinking is another dandy that Megan threw at me. For reals. She flew into town for Christmas and I picked her up at the airport. She jumped in the car, threw this book at me and said, "Read it." Or something like that. For the record, Megan can throw any book at me, any time. Just as long as it's not one of those heirloom hundred-pound Bibles. That would hurt.

Drinking is Caroline Knapp's sobriety memoir. In vivid technicolor detail, she describes how she went from a casual drinker to a full-fledged alcoholic who was drinking every day, and in secret – even had booze stashed behind the toilets and whatnot at the homes of family and friends. She would obsess and live her day as if the whole point was to get drunk.

Ms. Knapp is what she calls a "high functioning alcoholic." She was a writer for a magazine who made it to work every day, paid her bills, and managed to accomplish all of that other life stuff. Even though she was "high functioning," every relationship in her life was a mess. Mom, her two boyfriends (who didn't know about each other), dad, friends, drinking friends – you name it, there was friction because of her drinking. The irony, however, is she couldn't handle being with any of them unless she was drinking.

After a bunch of years (I forget exactly how many), Caroline Knapp decides she's had enough and ends her love affair with The Drink. So she checks herself into rehab, makes the commitment to quit for good, and writes this book. I believe she was sober three years when the book was written.

Here's what I found most interesting: Knapp discovers the difference between casual drinkers and alcoholics. She discovers that alcoholics drink to avoid life, and specifically, to avoid any pain associated with life. Alcoholics choose to drink in lieu of facing their many life choices, mistakes, sorrows, and moments of cozy good. They are uncomfortable in their own skin and drink to avoid feeling themselves in that skin.

Ultimately, she realizes that while she's chasing three bottles of wine with a pint of cognac, she's robbing her life of progress. Every time she sideswipes the looking of life right between the eyes by getting drunk, she's stunting her individual growth.

I had never seen or heard addiction explained this way. I found it rather eye opening. Parts of life include pain. And pain usually makes one grow stronger. I suppose it's best just to deal with the pain so as to recover and grow strong. Kinda like when weight lifters bench press and stuff like that.

I'm not a drinker now. I'm a full-fledged abstainer. However, I have this personality that does not stop. Once I start something, be it study, or spending money, or (hullo!) running, I cannot stop. Therefore it would be in my life-growth's best interest to remain an abstainer.

p.s. Megan said to "pass the book on." Anyone care to read it next?

Olympic Hopeful: Desiree Davila

2011-12-31T13:00:00.001-07:00

I've been a complete slacker with this Olympic Hopeful business. Not too long ago, I promised to showcase a bunch of the Olympic Qualifiers for the upcoming Olympic Trial Marathon in Houston. Since establishing this outlandish undertaking, I've produced exactly two (Paul Peterson and Ryan Hall.) Two. That's some pitiful performance and proof positive that I'm no Olympic Hopeful.

I think it's because I'm anti-commital lately. I cannot commit to anything. The tax season starts on Monday, which brings forth ocean-sized buckets of commitment. Therefore, I've resolved to do what I want, when I want, and refuse to decide that whatever event today at 4:30 falls in that what-I-want-when-I-want category. I'LL DECIDE IF I WANNA DO THAT WHEN 4:30 ROLLS AROUND, KAY? Geez. Get off my back, will ya. Grin.

So what does this have to do with Desiree Davila? Nothing! Let's move on, shall we?

All-American ASU graduate Desiree Davila is best known for her spectacular performance in last year's Boston Marathon. While the press and general populace were eying sweethearts Kara Goucher and Blake Russell, Desiree Davila swept in and stole the USA show. Davila's plan was to hang with the elite pack for 20 miles, and, if it felt right, kick it into full gear for the final 6 (point two.) And kick it in she did. Davila finished second with a 2:22:38, just four seconds behind Kenya's Sharon Cherop. FOUR SECONDS. This is huge. An American hasn't won the Boston Marathon in years – please hold while I check exactly how many years. The last female American woman to win the Boston was 1985 when Colorado resident Lisa Rainsberger finished in 2:34:6.

An American woman hasn't won the Boston in 26 years, and Desiree Davila was so close to winning, (I presume) that she could taste it. That was a spectacular race. If you watch one Marathon finish ever, last year's Boston would be the one to watch.

Desiree is a member of the Hansons-Brooks Project, which is a team of elites selected, coached, and groomed into Olympic readiness. You can follow her blog by going here.

This Desiree Davila is something special, I can feel it, and it's not because her name is an alliteration (all folks with alliterations for names hold a dedicatory spot in my heart.) Davila just might be the next Deana Kastor (who currently holds the American marathon record with a 2:20, who, incidentally, also holds a dedicatory spot in my heart... hell, all distance runners hold a dedicatory spot in my heart.)

Here's to running. And the Olympic Trials. And alliterations. And Desiree Davila.

Paradigm Shift

2011-12-30T17:00:00.004-07:00

Today's topic of discussion is as mundane as it gets: Laundry.

Although laundry is, without a doubt, the most cumbersome and monotonous of household chores, it occupies a significant amount of time and therefore deserves its very own essay. 'Sides... it allows for several opportunities to use paradigm in a sentence.

During the olden days, and even today in some parts of the world, the laundry paradigm was a social event. All of the lady-folk from all of the villages would gather at the river to drag fabric along rocks. I presume they laughed, and complained, and solved a few problems, and criticized Sally when she wasn't there because of her helicopter-like parenting. I suppose in the olden days, and in some circumstances today, laundry might have been something to look forward to: an event; a gathering; a civic cattle-call; even a relief.

Take Mikey's laundry paradigm for example. Mikey's my dad and has made laundry a "thing" for the last 33 years. That many years ago, Mikey found himself a new bachelor in a house without a washer and dryer. He decided to visit the local laundry mat so as to accommodate his laundry needs. I presume the laundry mat ritual was a temporary arrangement. He discovered, however, that his weekly laundry mat be-in was something of a joy.

I've been to this laundry mat be-in with Mikey a few times. Besides the need for quarters and the task of packing-it-up, the laundry mat is an extremely efficient use of time.* Mikey would sort by color and throw each load into a washer. While the wash was whirling – for somewhere around 40 minutes – he'd read a magazine, or watch some sports, or organize stuff. He would relax. When the 40 minutes were up, he'd move each of those loads into a dryer. While drying, he'd go back to magazine-reading, sports-watching, and stuff-organizing. He would relax some more. When the dryers stopped, usually one at a time, he'd fold and hang.

The whole process was two hours, tops.

Compare 'n contrast Mikey's paradigm to my laundry process and you'll see a whole lot of wasted time. It's not two hours, tops. It can be a whole day. A whole day without the relaxation of magazine-reading, or sport-watching, or acute-organizing. And when that day is over, the laundry baskets are half full again.

A few weeks ago, just before shifting my laundry paradigm, I'd have what we women call Laundry Day. One day each weak, from before sun-up to well after sun-down, and maybe into the next day, I'd wash. The machines would run all day. All day. The reason for the all day thing is so we can "get it all done," and so that the rest of the week could be free of laundry. The trouble, though, is there's no such thing as getting laundry "all done," and the rest of the week was never free of laundry.

You're seeing why I needed that paradigm shift, right? Right! 'Cept I didn't go all the way over to the laundry mat paradigm. My new laundry paradigm is – get this – one, maybe two loads, every day, in the morning. I throw in a batch before I run, I return from the run and throw it in the dryer. Maybe rinse 'n repeat while doing breakfast and piano practice. Laundry is over 'n done by 9:00am.

It's totally changed my world. Hence the need for all those sentences with a paradigm in 'em.

Speaking of a world totally gone changed, you should see me play Apocalypse Please on my new piano. It's horribly awesome!

Have Yerselfs a Mairy Christmas

2011-12-24T07:00:00.004-07:00

And if you been nice (er even the right kinda naughty), I'll fix you up with one of our gen-you-ine Redneck Binoculars.

Carol of the Bells - Tuesday Tune, vol 104

2011-12-20T23:00:00.003-07:00

Today's Tuesday Tune is 1460 swear words in the making, in as many days. It's also one of those tunes that many might refer to as a "banner moment" or "the light at the end of the tunnel" or even "the day that Rabid never thought would come."

Carol of the Bells is a Ukrainian Christmas carol based on local Ukrainian folklore. As the story goes, a swallow would fly into a house and proclaim bounty and blessings to all. I suppose the tune is meant to mimic that of swallows flitting and flying about.

This Carol of the Bells tune is an altogether fitting arrangement for Yahoo and my's first duet. Mostly because I feel like that same pesky swallow. Except for swooping in and proclaiming bounty and blessings, I swoop in a holler "GET IN THERE AND PRACTICE THE PIANO!"

An Untraditional Christmas - Tuesday Tune, vol 103

2011-12-13T21:00:00.000-07:00

I've been around for a lotta Christmases, which means I've heard a lotta Christmas music. Mostly, I've heard the same 18 (give or take) songs over and over and over. And over. And over. And over. And over. And frankly, I'm rather tired of those 18 songs.

I've had enough Jingle Bells in a Winter Wonderland, Good King Weceslas resting on ye Merry Gentlemen, Rudolph's Red Nose Watching Mommy Kiss Santa, and Halls that are Decked. Please, I say, Bring that Torch to Jeanette so she'll quit Isabella-ing, and Baby I KNOW that it's cold outside. I have a thermometer.

Before you holler Hah-Bumhug at me or shout sacrilege, note that I do enjoy these over and well-done Christmas greats. It's just, well, there's a lotta creative people in this world and I think that we need more originals. That's why today's Tuesday Tunes are all about Christmas tunes that are not among the traditional 18 (give or take.)

So here you go. I'd also like to provide a giant "shout out" to Vera's friend Mr. Reese, who, by 'n large has the greatest music collection in the United States (give or take.) Many of these nontraditionals were brought to my attention by this Mr. Reese.

Merry Christmas you Suckers Roger Twiggy
Oi to the World No Doubt
You're a Mean One Mr. Grinch The Hit Crew
Best Kind of Friend Christabel & the Jons
Soul Cake Sting
Clean Up For Christmas Aimee Mann
That Was the Worst Christmas Ever! Sufjan Stevens
The Christmas Waltz She & Him
Christmas Smorgasbord Swedish Chef
Mary's Boy Child Trailer Trash
Everyone's A Kid at Christmas Time Stevie Wonder
Snowed in with You Over the Rhine
Christmas Song Dave Matthews & Tim Reynolds
Boots The Killers
It Snowed Meaghan Smith
Your Holiday Song Indigo Girls
The Heart of Christmas Matthew West
Our December Thriving Ivory
When A Child Is Born The Moody Blues
Why Can't It Be Christmastime All Year Rosie Thomas
Christmas Lights Coldplay
Snowflakes Jeremy Fisher
Mistletoe and HollyFrank Sinatra
Mr. & Mrs. Santa Clause George Jones & Tammy Wynette
Christmastime Smashing Pumpkins
Fairytale in New York The Pogues
Merry Christmas Eve Better Than Ezra
Christmastime Aimee Mann & Michael Penn
Christmas Day Dido
Do They Know Its Christmas Band Aid (1984)
The Chipmunk Song The Chipmunks
'Zat You, Santa Claus? Louis Armstrong
Christmas Vacation Theme National Lampoons
Wish List Neon Trees
A Very Special Acoustic Christmas Alison Krauss
Papa Noel Brenda Lee
Star Of Wonder Tori Amos
Cinnamon & Chocolate Butterfly Boucher
Christmas The Who
Christmas is Going to the Dogs the eels
Old Toy Trains Joe Nichols
Happy ChristM.A.S.S. M.A.S.S.
Christmas for Two Sixpense None the Richer
Holidays Silver Swans
Mistletoe Colbie Callat
I won't Let You Lick My Candy Bar Susan Kay
The Christmas Queen Miss Piggy
Christmas In New Orleans Louis Armstrong
A Snowflake Fell (And It Felt Like a Kiss) Glasvegas
The Dear Aquaintance (A Happy new Year) Regina Spektor
Holiday Road Lindsay Buckingham
River Sarah McLachlan
Very Merry Christmas Dave Barnes
Candy Cane Christmas Darius Rucker
Christmas This Year (feat. Leigh Nash) TobyMac & Leigh Nash
Christmas Wish She & Him
32 Feet And 8 Little Tails Gene Autry
Another Christmas Song Stephen Colbert
Don't Need A Reindeer The Moody Blues
Better Do It Right Smash Mouth
Darlin' (Christmas Is Coming) Over the Rhine

Do you have a favorite nontraditional? Please, do share. The more the merrier.

Amazon on the Internet

2011-12-07T12:00:00.011-07:00

Amazon is my BFF. Oh how Amazon is my BFF. I'm going to contact the copyright people in charge of that Twelve Days of Christmas tune, and ask that "Partridge in a Peartree" be changed to "Amazon on the Internet." That way, the beloved phrase "Amazon on the Internet" can be repeated twelve (or is it thirteen?) delicious times.

Partridge in a Peartree? So not useful. Amazon? Useful. And Amazon Prime? Eee gads.

This was Christmas 2009. Lookie how Amazon even does the wrapping.

Isn't that beautiful? Brings tears of joy just looking at it.

Here's a closeup of their fabulous wrap jobs.

Also note that I have blurred the addresses so you freaks cannot figure out where I live.

How on earth did we handle Christmas without Amazon? Tune in next time when I tell you about how UPS is my other BFF (HELLO BROWN! You can do LOTS for me!) Without UPS, Amazon is just as useful as a Partridge in a Peartree.

Lunacy - Tuesday Tune, vol 102

2011-11-29T14:00:00.007-07:00

For many lunar moons now, I've positioned Mr. Ludwig van Beethoven atop my list of favorite all-time composers. There are many reasons for this. First, Beethoven is a tweener. He was born at the tail-end of the Classical period, and subsequently paved a golden-brick-road for the up-and-uproarious Romantic era. He wasn't Classical. And he wasn't Romantic. This made Beethoven in between periods and thus a tweener.

I, too, am a tweener because I feel as if I'm perpetually in between classifications of all types and walks. I like Beethoven bunches because we're both tweeners. But that's not all. I dig his tunes Major and Minor. Beethoven's masterpieces have a dark quality – one that teeters the edge of implosion. This speaks to me, for I too have some dark qualities (like eyes 'n hair 'n humor.) I also teeter the edge of implosion. (Why do you think I run? I'm preventing a teetering implosion.)

Mozart is too happy (this ain't kindergarten), Strauss too waltzy (unless you're Andre Rieu), Bach too rigid (imply: predictable), Chopin too amorous (makes me blush), and Liszt (with his fifteen-inch phalanges) has too many notes. But Beethoven? Beethoven speaks to me. Beethoven knows my language. Beethoven knows how I feel.

(For the record, I adore all of the above mentioned composers. They just aren't as Bad A as Beethoven.)

This weekend I watched a movie about Beethoven and discovered yet another reason for my prolonged attraction. Beethoven was bat-shit crazy. Nuts, I say, nuts. Prone to manic episodes of dramatic highs 'n lows.

Dearest, beloved Luie? I'm bat-shit crazy too! Cheers.

Being as I'm happy to admit that I'm crazy in the likes of Beethoven-bat-shit-crazy, today's Tuesday Tunes are about lunacy. And remember, don't waste your weary-time over the self-proclaimed crazy, waste your weary-time on people who think they're sane.

The Lunatics (Have Taken Over The Asylum) The Fun Boy Three
I'm Going Slightly Mad Queen

I Almost Lost My Mind Pinetop Perkins
Crazy On You Blitzen Trapper
Mental Eels
Your Head's Too Big The Ditty Bops
Hyper Chondriac Music Muse
Can't Get You Out Of My Head Kylie Minogue
Paranoid Megadeth
Where Is My Mind? Pixies
Mad World Tears for Fears
Paranoiattack The Faint
Cold Brains Beck
Suspicious Minds Fine Young Cannibals
Do-Wacka-Do Roger Miller
Shine On You Crazy Diamond (Parts I-V) Pink Floyd
Shine On You Crazy Diamond (Parts VI-IX) Pink Floyd
In My Head No Doubt
Got A Lot On My Head The Cars
Could've Gone Mad Poe
Crazy Tori Amos
All In My Mind Love and Rockets
Manic Monday The Bangles
Partizan / Drives Me Crazy Partizan
Crazy Seal (... we're never gonna survive unless we get a little crazy... )
It's All In Your Mind Beck
Let's Get Crazy White Lion
Map Of Your Head Muse
City Of Delusion Muse
Brain Damage Pink Floyd
Church Of The Poison Mind Culture Club
Crazy James
Manic Depression Jimi Hendrix

Just got bored with the copy 'n paste. Want more? Holler.

Crazy On You Heart
My Mind Is Ramblin The Black Keys
I'll Go Crazy If I Don't Go Crazy Tonight U2
Mad Season Matchbox Twenty
Psycho Theme The Ghost Doctors
Paranoid Eyes Pink Floyd
Always On My Mind Elvis Presley
Lost in My Mind The Head and the Heart
You Nearly Lose Your Mind Leon Redbone
You Call It Madness Nat King Cole
Lunatic Fringe Red Rider
I'm Mad Willie Mabon
Trigger Happy Jack (Drive By a Go-Go) Poe
Sir Psycho Sexy Red Hot Chili Peppers
Madder Red Yeasayer
Out Of My Mind Duran Duran
Psycho Therapy The Ramones
Crazy For You Madonna
Leave You Far Behind Lunatic Calm
We're All Mad Here Tom Waits
Crazy Patsy Cline
Space Dementia Muse
Crazy Ones John Mellencamp
You're Crazy Guns N' Roses
Blow Your Mind Langhorne Slim
Teenage Lobotomy The Ramones
MindKilla Gang Gang Dance
I'm Deranged (Edit) David Bowie
I Wanna Go Crazy (Featuring Will.I.Am) [Explicit] David Guetta - Will.I.Am
Rambling On My Mind Robert Johnson
Troubled Mind Kula Shaker
I Think I'm Paranoid Garbage

Luie just might roll over in his grave after listening to the playlist I put together in his honor.

Thank You For The Music – Tuesday Tune, vol 101

2011-11-22T20:00:00.000-07:00

Um. It's Thanksgiving-time. I really don't understand Thanksgiving. I mean, I understand the part about Abraham Lincoln declaring it a national day of thanksgiving, but I don't really understand the need to overdo the food preparation and consumption.

My favorite Thanksgiving ever was the one Spouse and I spent eating vedge in Pune, Maharashtra (India.) That was my favorite (even rode a camel!) Since, I get all sorts of weepy around Thanksgiving because I want to go back. Badly. Somehow the addition of a cranberry chutney to the traditionally stuffed bird doesn't do the trick.

While I don't understand the mass quantities of food and the stuffer-fest, I do understand the part about spending time with family and the part about being thankful. That's why today's Tuesday Tunes are all about being Thankful.

I'm thankful for many things. But guess what's in the top five of my all-time thankful faves? Music. That's why today's Tuesday Tune is:

Thank You For The Music - ABBA

And some others:

Gratitude - Oingo Boingo
Thank You - Led Zeppelin
Saving Grace (Theme) - Everlast
Thank the Lord for the Night Time - Neil Diamond
Gratitude - Paul Cardall
Thank You For Letting Me Be Myself Again - Sly & The Family Stone
Messiah, HWV 56 - But Thanks Be To God - Handel
Thank You - Tori Amos
Thank God I'm a Country Boy - John Denver
Gratitude - Earth Wind & Fire
Full Of Grace - Sarah McLachlan
Thank You - The Pipettes
Thanks A Lot - Johnny Cash
Grace - U2
Amazing Grace - Cat Power and Dirty Delta Blues
Thanks for Nothing - Danton Eeprom
(Not really a gratitude song, but it's kickin' and says "thank" in the title)
Thank You - Alanis Morissette
State Of Grace - Seal
I Thank You - ZZ Top
Gratitude - Mika
Thank You - Dido

For the record, WE HAVE SNOW (!), which means the Thanksgiving Boycott will be in full swing this year.

Breaking Ground

2011-11-18T10:00:00.014-07:00

I just watched a clip from that new Twilight treat (um, yeah, you caught the sarcasm in the use of that word treat.) Honestly, I cannot take any more of this Twilight stuff. It is so cheesy – and not the good kind of cheesy like the Carpenters. (For the record, The Carpenters are still my favorite kind of cheese.)

I saw the first movie and couldn't cope with the discomfort. It made me so uncomfortable. Like, remember in high school? When you were at a rowdy party and stumbled into the wrong room only to see the wrong stuff? Then you closed the door and felt icky, 'cause, like the lighting is so not right? And they're just kids?! Yes, that's the discomfort I'm talking about.

I read the books and they were okay at best. The movies? NOT OKAY. Far from okay. (But that's just my opinion, you can dig them from here until all infinity and I'd still call you friend – but only if you had other interests.)

The clip I watched just now had some redeeming qualities, however. The uber funny Ellen had a supporting role. Watch it, then come back to me.

What did you think? Ellen is funny, yes? But Belle and Edwardo? Discomfort! Belle says, "How many days since the Wedding?!" followed by "I'm late!" and he behaves like a know-nuthin'-bout-the-birds-n-bees doofus. Give me a break Edward, you've been stuck at 19 for a hundred years, obviously you know what she's talking about.

Duh.

Many years ago, I decided I wouldn't see any more Twilight movies because of the discomfort.

This morning during the run, one of the girls mentioned that she had been invited last minute to see the movie. (Not at midnight, she had to clarify that she wouldn't go at midnight else she'd miss the morning run at 5:30.)

This friend – you might know her around here as the Olympic Hopedful from this post and this other post – affirmed the above mentioned accusations.

"How was it?" said we. (Where "it" refers to Breaking Dawn, and Part I no less.)

"Bad" said she. (Means Part II will prolly be worse than bad.)

"What about the Cullen house? Was the house in it?" said me.

"Oh! There was lots of the house!" said she. (We both have a mad crush on that house.)

"Well then, maybe I'll see it for the house. That house does something to me. Forget about Jacob without a shirt. Show me the house."

So, I guess I'll see the movie. But only when it comes out on video so that I can fast-forward through all of the icky Edward-and-Bella-constipated-and-staring parts. Come to think of it, why doesn't someone just come up with a Breaking Ground movie, and build a Cullen replica? Now there's something I'd go see at midnight.

Intervals are Fun!

2011-11-14T18:00:00.003-07:00

When I'm out running, I sometimes do this thing called intervals.

Intervals? What are intervals? I'll tell ya what are intervals. Intervals are that one thing... where you run (bike, ski, slobber) faster for a designated distance or a designated time, then follow that surge with a recovery of some designated distance or time.

For example, tomorrow's plan calls for 8 to 10 intervals of one minute with a one minute recovery. This is that one thing... where you run fast for a minute, jog for a minute, then rinse 'n repeat, like, 8 to 10 times. On another occasion, one might run intervals of 400 meters with 200 meters recovery, or even 400 meters with one minute of recovery. Alternatively, one could do that one thing... where you run four minutes then recover for 100 meters. There are many surge/distance/time/recovery/distance/time options. (Four to be precise.)

This can be tedious. For one must watch the watch to count minutes, or find a track or other marked territory. Now that it is dark all of the time, it's beyond tedious because the watch cannot be seen easily. (Unless you're a bat or vampire, in which case you prolly have rabies, which means you are rabid and I'm jealous.)

Well folks, that tedium is no longer, for the Rabid has discovered the "interval" feature on her fancy Garmin 305, which, I'm embarrassed to admit has been owned for, like, three years. That's three years of tedious intervals that needn't be tedious – if only I would have read the darn manual.

Today is your lucky day because I've taken the time and... uh-hem... know-how to provide you with a tutorial. This way, no matter what your intervalling action – run, bike, walk, climb, beat-the-kids, or nookie – you'll have the proper tools.

Step 1: Click the Mode button. Scroll down to "Training" and select enter.

Step 2: Scroll down to "Workouts" and select enter.

Step 3: Scroll down to "Interval" and select enter.

Step 4: View the many options. All four of them. Figure out which options you plan to use.

Step 5: Scroll down to your option and select the one you want. For this exercise, I chose "Time/Rest Time" 'cause that's what I'm doing tomorrow.

Step 6: Chose your options (time or distance for each interval and the number of "reps.") When the options are chosen, select "done" and you're ready to roll.

The watch will sort of "yell" at you with a fancy beeping when it's time to switch-up your interval. Run/bike/walk/climb/beat/nookie your first interval until you hear the fancy beep. Perform your recovery run/bike/walk/climb/beat/nookie until you hear yet another fancy beep. Rinse 'n repeat x amount of times, where x is a number of your choosing.

See? Intervals are Fun!

On the Bench

2011-11-10T22:00:00.005-07:00

Each Tuesday, the Yahoos and I drive to the metropolis of Salt Lake City for piano lessons. Their teachers live in an area called Millcreek. Millcreek is on the bench.

The Salt Lake Valley is made into a giant bowl by it's surrounding mountains. The Wasatch mountains border the east and the Oquirrhs create a smaller wall to the west. The gradual incline of these mountains allow for neighborhoods and whatnot to establish themselves in a stadium-like fashion. When one refers to the benches of this valley, they're talking about the stuff that climbs the base of the mountains. Millcreek is on the east and sits 500 or so feet above the valley floor.

Millcreek is on the bench.

(Incidentally, if I were a Salt Lake liver, I'd choose the Millcreek area for my liver spot. It's near a canyon, has a terrific view, is close to Park City, and near perfect. Near. It's still a little too populated for my liking.)

Whenever we make our way to the Millcreek bench for lessons, I always look down at the Salt Lake Valley and smile. When I'm able to take a step back from Salt Lake, or any city, whether it's on a bench or an airplane, I always smile. I smile at cities. I see thousands (or millions) of people working together in some way. I see organization. I see progress. I see manners. I see beauty. I see art. I see a civilization made from many decades of cooperation and hard work. This is what I see when I'm on the bench.

When I'm not on the bench, or, in other words, when I'm not able to step back from a city, I see icky politics. I see litter. I see buildings that are either too small or too big. I see dick-head driving. I see overcrowded schools. I see hunger. I see a government that spends too much money, and in the wrong places. I see construction that won't end. I see drugs and violence. I see people who have no place to sleep. Basically, when I'm not on the bench, I see what needs improvement; I see a too-much-to-do-and-no-one's-making-progress dimple of doom.

Being a parent is similar. When you're smack-dab in the middle of the chaos, and not on the bench, all you see is a giant cluster. This needs work; that needs attention; this needs more love; that needs more discipline; this needs more push; that needs some pull–but only a little bit of pull–oh wait, that was too much pull! The parental adjustments are never-ending.

I have this – uh-hem – "friend." She's a real piece of work, I tell you, a mess because she won't let things be a mess. This "friend" just cannot get up on the bench. She's always in the middle with a fiddle. Criticizing how she did this and worrying about how she did that. She even uses that "F" word – "failure" in conjunction with, "I'm a." Like, often. Sometimes I feel like pulling that girl aside and screaming a Beatle-esque "Let it be...! Bitch...!" (Or maybe an "Everybody's Got Something to Hide Except Me and My Monkey....! Bitch...!")

For example, this – uh-hem – "friend" really enjoys music, comes from a family of musicians (although she herself is not a musician,) and has a couple of boys who play the piano. This "friend" unearthed the country-side in a frenzied search for the perfect teachers; left few stones unturned. When at last the perfect teachers were found, she spent countless hours practicing with her two boys – correcting and adjusting, fidgiting and criticizing.

The perfect teachers need a perfect practice. This will lead to the perfect lesson. That was her thinking.

As you can imagine, because, like, duh – you're out there on the bench – things got frustrating for all parties involved. Practice-makes-perfect was making everyone pissy. It all came to a head when my "friend" was in the Millcreek area last week at her boys' lesson. (And isn't it weird how this friend and I both go to piano lesson on the Millcreek bench?! Crazy weird!)

At lessons this last Tuesday (yeah, this "friend" also has lessons on Tuesdays, crazy weird again!) my "friend" was forced to get on the bench. The coach even said so, "YOU! Friend of Rabid! On the bench!"

See, all this correcting and criticizing, and the making of things perfect wasn't helping; it was enabling. Those boys were relying on their mom to correct every last mistake and had therefore lost their own ability to course-correct. Someone was always there to do their thinking for them. In some ways their progress was going backwards.

Parenting requires that we walk a fine line – a line that separates guiding and encouraging from enabling. We all try to guide and help and provide resources. We all try to make sure that our kids do everything "right." One day, we might discover that we aren't guiding anymore and that we are doing it all for them. It happens slowly and maybe we won't see it happen. Hopefully, before it's not too late, we might discover the enablement and make some adjustments.

This discovery of guidance-gone-awry happened to my "friend." She sat there in lessons, right in the middle, and not on the bench, thinking she was working hard and working smart, only to discover that her efforts were hindering, not helping.

So what does this "friend" do? After she discovers that she's right in the middle enabling, and needs to get on the bench? She jumps back in the middle again, and facilitates the ritual of adjusting and worrying. This is wrong, that is bad, this needs help, blah, blah, blah, in ad nauseum.

If only this "friend" could step back and put herself on the bench, she would see progress. And organization. And manners. And hard work. Basically, she'd see that everything is just fine.

So get on the bench...! And let it be...! Bitch...!

Happy Trails - Tuesday Tune, vol 100

2011-11-08T12:00:00.001-07:00

For the Tuesday Tune, in its hundredth running, I was hoping to do something special. I racked both my brains and all of itunes for some help with the 100th Tuesday Tune. Received nothing. Throwing you all a few songs with "100" or "hundred" in the title was just too easy.

In my short life – eleven years shy of a half century – I've learned that the more you force something (like ideas, creativity, or Spouse) the less you get. I decided to lay low on the Tuesday Tune until an idea of centurion quality slapped me silly.

That happened today. My friend Tina posted it on Facebook. Today, November 8th 2011, election day*, would be the 100th birthday of the one and only Roy Rogers. And that's why the 100th Tuesday Tune is:

Happy Trails – Roy Rogers

So there you go. Happy Trails to you! And remember "It's the way you ride the trail that counts" and "Just sing a song [to] bring the sunny weather."

*FYI, we've already had a Tuesday Tune about voting. Click there if you're interested. And you might be interested because it displays my formula for voting.

Happy Halloween!

2011-10-31T07:00:00.000-06:00

Remember now, "Stupid is as stupid does."

I look just like my dad. That's scary, creepy and wicked right there.

Gallows Hill and Andersonville

2011-10-30T21:00:00.000-06:00

Last week was a doozy. It wasn't all that bad – meaning not much happened that was "bad" – but boy was it disappointing. Let's document the disappointments, shall we? I mean, mostly I plan to document them and then tell you about a song called It Could Be Worse by They Might Be Giants and Sarah Vowell. This little ditty reminds us that, whatever it is we're going through, it isn't all that bad when you compare it to Gallows Hill and Andersonville.

The disappointments started on Monday. It was the very first day of my 12-week Houston training. This day included a 9-10 mile run with 8 to 10 strides of 30 seconds with a one-minute recovery jog in between. Nothing major. Just something to get the body turning over. It was a cold, dark morning. One without a moon. One without street lights. Prolly crawling with vampires. I was running along and fell off a six-inch ledge at the side of the road. Took a nasty little spill.

Here's the cool part about this spill: After 15 years and who knows how many sprained ankles, whenever I trip or begin to roll an ankle, my knees do this buckle-thing, and I go down. This has saved an ankle or two on many occasions. I don't know how it happens, but it happens. Automagically.

Here's the not-so cool about this spill: The knees buckled and I was headed for a face plant. At the last minute I did a tuck 'n roll kind of thing, and somehow thwacked the tailbone. Hard. I jumped up and hollered "I'm okay! I'm okay!" Mostly to convince myself that I'd be fine.

While I thwacked the tailbone, I really thought I was okay. I was able to finish the strides and the remainder of the run. About two hours later, however, I was sure I broke it. Or something. It hurt to walk and it screamed at me violently when I walked up stairs.

Oh my finger, oh my thumb,
Oh my belly, oh my bum!

(I'm happy to report that after several doses of ibuprofen, a couple days rest, and sitting on an ice pack, the tailbone is back to normal. No pain!)

The next disappointment has to do with Halloween. I enjoy a good Halloween celebration. Extra especially if the celebration involves the wearing of costumes. Spouse and I have had a "crunch mode" week with both of our jobs. We rarely have our crunch modes at the same time, but when we do, it's intense. Spouse and I are working a bunch, every spare minute, in fact.

On Wednesday, there was a costume party for kids and adults. A Costume party? Oh please! Please, yes! I had a pretty serious deadline on Friday. If I was going to take a few hours to party a la masquerade, then I'm most definitely be up half the night working. But it would be worth it. Any costume party is worth working all night. And so it was, that I worked my guts out in the morning, worked my guts out through the day, ran around to fetch ingredients for a dish to take, and finally made time to put on my costume. I arrived at the party, only to discover that adults weren't wearing costumes. Boo. I went home to sit on an ice pack and finish my work. (Remember? I still had a sore butt.)

The third disappointment came in the form of the biggest cluster I've witnessed in the running world – the Provo Halloween Half Marathon. My friends and I had registered for this race several months ago. We started working on our costumes several months ago. Tina was coming to stay. We have been looking forward to this race since several months ago.

Long story, short, the race organizers changed their software last minute and lost anyone who registered before October 1. That would be us. Hillene had gone to pick up her number and found that people were waiting in line up to two hours, then told to come back later because their number wasn't ready.

Luckily, I had received word of the mess before driving down. Luckily. Others weren't so lucky. Many drove an hour or two, only to discover that they'd be turned away empty handed. I planned on finishing this race in an hour and half. I will not, refuse to, wait in line longer than it takes to run. Therefore, I bagged the race, expecting that if the bib numbers weren't ready, nothing else would be ready either.

Saturday morning, I slept in with the Yahoos. We read about Abraham Lincoln, made banana-blueberry bread, and watched a few episodes of the Munsters. Then we took a nap. Then I ran 14 miles while listening to The Partly Cloudy Patriot by Sarah Vowell. Sarah told me about how she uses things like Gallows Hill and Andersonville to remind her that whatever she's going through isn't so bad.

She's right you know. Nothing could be worse than Gallows Hill and Andersonville.

They Might Be Giants recorded a song called It Could Be Worse that was fashioned along Miss Vowell's Gallows Hill and Andersonville comparison. I cannot find the audio anywhere, but here are the lyrics:

It's raining so hard
And the cabs, they won't stop
But compare and contrast for one moment
to the Montgomery bus boycott

Gallows Hill and Andersonville
It could be, it could be worse
Gallows Hill and Andersonville
It could be, it could be worse

You're hosting a party
And you ran out of beers
And your guests, they left early, now, didn't they, but
That's no Trail of Tears

Gallows Hill and Andersonville
It could be, it could be worse
Gallows Hill and Andersonville
It could be, it could be worse

Assassination Vacation

2011-10-30T18:00:00.001-06:00

Assassination Vacation
by Sarah Vowell

Sarah Vowell is terrific. She's a history buff with a strict reverence for historical plaques of any kind. To her, a plaque says, "Something happened!" (page159.) She gets excited about something happening anywhere.

Sarah Vowell enjoys – like Disneyland enjoys – visiting the sites of history. So much so, that she generally patterns her vacations around the landmarks of historical events. United States presidents are of particular interest to Miss Vowell and many have been assassinated. That's why she chose a year or so to visit the sites and relics of the presidential assassinations of Abraham Lincoln, James A. Garfield, and William McKinley.

The Assassination Vacation with Abraham Lincoln included a trip to the theater in which he was shot and various museums that house relics. One such relic was the bullet that John Wilkes Booth used. Vowell also followed Booth's escape route that ended in his ultimate shooting and capture. Samuel Mudd, the doctor who assisted Booth was sent to prison at Fort Jefferson, on the island of Dry Tortugas (near the Florida Keys.) Sarah made sure to visit that site too.

Sarah Vowell's Garfield Assassination Vacation was perhaps the most eye-opening for me. As you might recall from your history lessons of 5th grade, Garfield was elected during the most serious of partisan turmoil – partisan turmoil brought afloat by the abolition of slavery.

After the Civil War, it was assumed mostly that Republicans were against slavery while Democrats were for it. Nothing like picking your team over one issue, right? (Think about the issue in which you pick your team now... not as clear.) Republicans were united in their fight against the evil of slavery. Once slavery was abolished, however, the party began to see their differences. That's what happened to the Republican party after slavery was no longer legal; without "slavery" to agree upon, the many differences in the party's politics began to boil.

When James A. Garfield received the Republican presidential nomination, there was a great deal of tumultuous disagreement among the party. US Grant, James G. Blaine, and John Sherman were all running. Due to radical views on all, Garfield received the Republication nomination as a compromise. This was a controversial event. One that would ultimately lead to his assassination by Charles J. Guiteau after Garfield's three short months in office. There was a political scandal that involved the U.S. Customs house, and the revenue therein, but that is entirely too involved to bring up here. (Hint: Read the book!)

Garfield was shot on July 2nd, 1881 at a Baltimore train station just as Garfield was leaving for vacation. He didn't pass, however, until September 19th. After the shooting, Garfield was expected to live. It appears as though an attending physician threw sanitation to the wind, then proceeded to dig around in the wound for the bullet with his bare and unclean hands. There are theories that the infection from said digging around was what killed him, not the actual bullet.

Garfield's vice president, Chester Arthur became president after the assassination. This was indeed a bad time for Arthur because the assassin, Mr. Guiteau, claimed he offed the president for Arthur's benefit. Mr. Arthur was relieved of any fault during a spectacled farce of a trial where Guiteau chose to defend himself.

Sarah's final chapter of the Assassination Vacation, was the assassination of William McKinley. In 1901, President McKinley was shot by Leon Czolgosz during a meet, greet, and handshake session at the Pan-American Exposition. Apparently, McKinley was standing in a reception line of some kind. And apparently, Czolgosz shook McKinley's hand then shot him.

If you'll recall, again from 5th grade, the Pan-American Expo was a Buffalo, New York-based gathering that was used to promote some trade and whatnot between Canada, the United States, and Latin American. This feat of public relations was issued in response to the Spanish-American War of 1898.

Vowell visited McKinley's grave, his presidential library, the site of the shooting and other such locations that relate. Leon Czolgosz, a believer in the anarchist movement, was found guilty and executed with three jolts of 1800 volts in Auburn Prison. Vowell visited that too.

Interestingly enough Robert Todd Lincoln was within the vicinity of all three assassinations. Robert Todd Lincoln, son of Abraham Lincoln, was with his father the night he was shot. During Garfield's presidnecy, Robert Todd Lincoln was secretary of war and was with Garfield when he was shot. Finally, Mr. Lincoln, feeling cursed, was at the Pan-Am expo when McKinley was assassinated. The three events led Mr. Lincoln to stay clear of activities that involved any president. This is called the curse of Robert Todd Lincoln.

There you go. The assassination vacations of Lincoln, Garfield, and McKinley, through the eyes of one Sarah Vowell. One might think her interest in presidential assassinations morbid, but Vowell's interest in such stems from a deep love of history, and an unequivocally intense respect for America. Few are as patriotic.

With that, I leave you with a quote from page 211:

"There is one thing that assassinated Americans have in common. Fate seems to grant each man one last good day, some moment of grace and whimsy before he bleeds. (Except, surprisingly, the notoriously good-time JFK, Dallas offering little by way of whimsy.) Lincoln, of course, was giggling at the moment of impact; Booth, knowing the play Lincoln was watching by heart, chose a laugh line on purpose to dampen the noise of his derringer's report. Garfield was jauntily leaving on vacation. Before Robert Kennedy went to the Ambassador Hotel, he spent his last day at the beach with his wife and children at the Malibu home of John Frankenheimer, director of The Manchurian Candidate. My favorite, though is Martin Luther King Jr., who had a pillow fight with his brother and his friends at the Lorraine Motel. I very much enjoy picturing that, and when I do, I see it in slow motion, in black and white. A room full of men in neckties horse around laughing, bonking heads, feathers floating in the air. For William McKinley, it was a day trip to Niagara Falls."

Next Up: The Life of Pi, by Yann Martel

So You Think You Can Cyclocross (SYTYCC)

2011-10-26T22:00:00.003-06:00

There's this sport called cyclocross. Heard of it? No? Lemme essplain. Cyclocross is a cycling activity whereby athletes of considerable coordination ride a roadish-type bike with beefy tires through a muck 'n mire obstacle course. Muck 'n mire is anything from grass, to mud or dirt, concrete, and even ballpits. A cyclocross course is a loop of varying lengths and features that is ridden again-and-again by race participants for a designated length of time. Like, say, 50 minutes (plus some laps.) Basically, the Bloke (er Sheila) with the most laps in the designated time wins.

Last Friday, SkiBikeJunkie produced a tweet about racing the Clammy Cross that evening. Me, being schooled in clams, and all things clammy, knew right away that this Clammy Cross was a half-mile from my house.

(As an aside, don't you hafta be careful with clam jokes? Sure do. And fer reals I've been clam digging. It's a gas.)

Junkie informed us that the race started at 9:30pm. Spouse, Yahoos, and I decided to show up and watch. And watch we did. I've watched a cyclocross race before, but I don't remember paying attention to the dismount performance that precedes the obstacles.

This time, at the Clammy Cross, I paid attention to the dismounts. Mostly because one of the obstacles was a 12-foot pile of asphalt. (Holy barrier Batman!) I watched 'em dismount and carry their bikes up that 12-foot pile of asphalt for a bit, then wandered over to some of the other obstacles to watch more dismounting.

(We also met Mr. StupidBike in person. That was super, duper, fun. Or like he said: awkward.)

I've used two words in this post that I'd like to draw attention to at this time. They are: performance and coordination. (Italics added for emphasis.) Cyclocross is a coordination performance. (More italics added for emphasis.) Only the coordinated can participate, only those with acute eye-foot-cleat symbiosis can play, only those who have mastered the unclip-sissor combo can transact. Hell, you might as well throw in some jazz hands with a cross-body chassé and a samba.

Where do these guys come from?! The whole pack was doing some fancy stuff.

During this bedazling display of finesse, it dawned on me that the cyclocross world must be full of washed-up ballroom dancers. Oh the coordination! The hip motion! The footwork! The backleading! The body (bike) support! The center point of balance! The heel turns! The lead stealing! (Also called hijacking in the ballroom world, but, like hijack has nothing but negative energy these days. Stealing on the other hand has some positive energy. Grin.)

Cyclocross is coordination. (And some other random, unrelated stuff like endurance, and strength, and lactic threshold, and high VO2 max.) Remember how I said I'm schooled in all things clam? Well, I'm not schooled in any things ballroom dance or any things that requires coordination. Walk and chew gum? Nada. Walk. Then chew the gum. It is in my best interest to stay out of the cyclocross world.

However. How... ever... it would be quite entertaining to teach a nut-job clod (er clam) like myself to ride cross. Then it hit me. My million dollar idea. We should do a reality show where you take a nobody who cannot cyclocross and turn them into cyclocrossers. Just like that one ballroom dance show.

We'd call it So You Think You Can Cyclocross.

What'ya think? A winner? Below, please find some youtube video I found that demonstrates a proper (I guess it's proper; says so in the title) dismount and remount. Enjoy. You can get the gist in only a minute.

P.S. Dearest cyclocross crowd, please don't hate me for comparing your beloved sport to ballroom dance. It's meant to be a compliment. Of sorts.

The Brothers Grimm - Tuesday Tune, vol 99

2011-10-25T23:00:00.007-06:00

The Brothers Grimm. I love this movie. It's a terrific flick. It's also a great movie to watch at Halloween time. How do I love thee, Brothers Grimm? Let me count the ways.

1. The Setting. The Brothers Grimm is based in Germany, me thinks, during a stint of French occupation, also, me thinks. I'm a sucker for anything French and 18th century, which includes anything of historical anything, and 18th century French costuming. One day I'll tell you about my love for French Historical Fiction. One day.

2. The Characters. While the happenings of this Brothers Grimm tale are fictional, the storyline was inspired by true characters Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm. Those two are ridiculously fascinating. Jacob and Wilhelm, lawyers both, had an intense interest in language. Specifically they studied philogy – which, according to wiki, is the the study of how "sounds in words shift over time" and combines linguistics with literature and history. See? Ridiculously fascinating.

If that doesn't blow the top of your house made of straw, then get this: Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm began the first German dictionary. They had completed letters "A," "B," "C," and "E" when Wilhelm passed (1859) and Jacob, set to finish as much as possible, was smack-dab in the middle of F when he passed (1863.) Apparently Jacob had just documented the definition for fruit. Or frucht as the Germs say. (I'm still confused as to why they skipped "D" and moved on to "E." German words don't begin with "D," maybe? Anyone out there speak German?)

The Grimm Brothers, perhaps, are best known for their collection of folklore. The two made a life-long quest to interview various peasants, middle-classers, 'n aristocrats, so as to document the stories passed from generation to generation. Many of the fairy tales we know are based on the documentation of folklore collected by Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm.

3. The Lighting. This movie has the warmest glow of any dark flick I've ever witnessed. The lighting is beautiful. Many of the stories collected by the Grimm brothers are dark and violent. The movie – or lighting guy, whatever – was/were able to capture the dark and violent essence of the fables while maintaining a cartoony-artsy glow. I watch this movie for the lighting alone. If you're not sure what I mean, I suggest you check it out and look only at the lighting. Prepare. To. Be. Amazed. Or something. (Perhaps I'll come across some time to find an image that demonstrates this.)

4. Heath Ledger. Sadness.

5. It's Scary! And Suspenseful! But not over-the-top-pee-yer-pants-can't-sleep-for-weeks scary and suspenseful. The Yahoos refuse to watch it again, however. That part where the gingerbread man steels Sasha's eyes and mouth sent the Yahoos away for good. They will have none of this Brothers Grimm action. Once upon a time, around 15 years ago, I was into horror flicks. I mean, into. Loved them. Loved the rush. Loved the special effects. Loved the gore. Loved to scream. That little love affair was tempered by a three-year stint of living alone. Nothing sours a lover of horror flicks like living alone.

6. The clever collage of fairy tales. Somehow, the writers of The Brothers Grimm were able to take some treasured stories – Jack and the Beanstock, The Frog Prince, Rapunzel, Little Red Riding Hood, Snow White, The Gingerbread Man, Hansel and Gretel, Cinderella, and Sleeping Beauty – then massage each into a well-collected capsule of a story. It's very clever. I like clever.

I love this movie. That's why today's Tuesday Tunes are about The Brothers Grimm, and specifically, about the folklore presented in The Brothers Grimm. (Without links again... if I have some time – har har – I'll add them later. Maybe I'll watch the movie AGAIN! while doing some copy 'n paste with links.)

Jack and the Beanstock
Sunbeams and Some Beans - Kimya Dawson
Happy Jack - The Who
Trigger Happy Jack (Drive By a Go-Go) - Poe
Stealing The Stock (Into] Le Renard De Nuit - David Holmes

The Frog Prince
Return of the Frog Queen - Jeremy Enigk
Kiss that Frog - Peter Gabriel
A Sorta Fairytale - Tori Amos
Kiss Me - Sixpence None the Richer
Kissed It (feat. Velvet Revolver) - Macy Gray

Rapunzel
Rapunzel - Dave Matthews Band
Sister Golden Hair - America
Hair - Lady Gaga
Don't Cut Your Hair - The Pretenders
Hair of the Dog - Nazareth

Little Red Riding Hood
Grandma's Theme - John Mellencamp
The Little Red Rooster - Willie Dixon & Howlin' Wolf
Hungry Like the Wolf - Duran Duran
Crooked Teeth - Death Cab for Cutie
Your Red Dress (Wedding Song at Cemetery) - Alaska In Winter
Red Right Hand - Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds
Mothers of the Disapearred - U2
Code Red - Tori Amos

Snow White
White Snow - Ben Weaver
Mirror Mirror - Diane Birch
I Wish - Stevie Wonder
Hunter - Dido
Stand and Deliver - Sugar Ray
Mirror Mirror (Mon Amour) - Dollar
Mirror in the Bathroom - The English Beat
One Bad Apple - The Osmonds
One Magic Kiss - Brandi Carlile

Gingerbread Man
Martha's Foolish Ginger - Tori Amos
Hot Cookin' - G. Love & Special Sauce
Run On - Moby
Catch Me if You Can - Outasight

Hansel and Gretel
Hansel and Gretel - Humperdink
You Want the Candy - The Raveonettes
Candyman - Spacehog
Candylane (Bibio Remix) - Gonjusufi
Woods - The Rosebuds
The Cutter - Echo & The Bunnymen
Crumbs From Your Table - U2
Burn the Witch - Queens of the Stone Age

Cinderella
Cinderella Man - Eminem
Cinderella - Langhorne Slim
Sisters Are Doin' it for Themselves - Eurythmics
Hit the Floor - Linkin Park
Marlene and her Sisters - Joe Firstman
Velvet Slipper - The Lem Arcon Sound
Working (wo) Man - Rush
Ball of Confusion - Love and Rockets
One Night, One Kiss - The Russian Futurists

Sleeping Beauty
She's A Beauty - The Tubes
I'm Only Sleeping - The Vines
Sleep - The Dandy Warhols
Kiss Them For Me - Siouxie & The Banshees
Had a Dream (Sleeping With the Enemy) - Roger Hodgson
Kiss - Tom Jones

Olympic Hopeful: Ryan Hall

2011-10-23T22:00:00.001-06:00

Say Hall-ellujah! because today's Olympic Hopeful is the one, the only, the humble, the giving, the spiritual, the blonde-haired, bright-eyed, 29-year-old Ryan Hall.

Have you ever in your life spent some time watching famed greatness? I have. Twice. And, to be clear, this is famed greatness; the greatness from famous people that you don't know. I know plenty of great people, but that's the thing – I know them personally, and therefore have received and witnessed proof that they're great.

Sometimes, again, twice to be exact, you'll observe a famous someone. And sometimes, as is the case with Ryan Hall, you'll see the oozing of "spectacular human being." This happened last November. Ryan Hall was at the New York City Marathon expo signing posters. (If you'll recall, I was able to get in on that NYC Marathon action.) I didn't get a signed poster, but I watched this gentle, running giant for a good 30 minutes. I watched him make eye contact. I watched him smile shyly each and every time someone sent him a well-deserved compliment. I watched him ask names and questions. I watched him listen intently to each and every stranger that slobbered a "yer-so-awesome!" on him. There was no arrogance.

If you know of Ryan Hall, and know of his grandiose statistics, you'd expect some arrogance. Hall's personal bests include a 3:42.70 1500m, a 13:16.03 5k, and a 28:07.93 10k. His half marathon of 59:43, and last year's Boston, a ridiculously quick 2:04:58, have made Hall the fastest half-marathoner and marathoner in U.S. History. He has plenty to be arrogant about.

But he's not. He's a practicing Christian from a town called Big Bear California who went on to succeed as California's state cross-country champion during both his junior and senior years. After high school, Hall ran for Stanford. He is married to the lovely Sara Hall who is also a practicing Christian and professional runner. The two have founded an organization called The Hall Steps Foundation "to take small steps towards the marathon goal of ending poverty."

In short, the Halls are definitely a duo I'd welcome to my hood at any time. Prolly even feed 'em.

Being Christian is a huge part of Ryan Hall's life. He used to think he was a runner that's Christian but has since evolved into a "Christian that runs." In a Runner's World article, Hall explains that he didn't always run. "My parents were strong Christians. I definitely believed, but I wasn't really strongly pursuing my faith. I was playing baseball, basketball, football--I was into, like, the cool crowd at school. And then one day traveling down the mountain to a basketball game, I got this random--I describe it as a vision, but you could call it an idea, whatever--this thing pops into my mind where I am looking out at Big Bear Lake, and I think, well, it would be a great thing for me to try and run around that."

So Hall ran around the lake and hasn't stopped running since. "It was at that point that Jesus really became my best friend. That's when our relationship took off...and it was a direct result of him bringing running into my life." He also said, "I believe I have a gift from God. But then I also have to train really, really hard. So I see it as being a good steward of the gift God's given me...it's my obligation to God to develop this talent the best I can. So, I try and make that my focus rather than wanting to beat people. Not that it's not fun to win, because it is?"

In that same Runner's World article, Ryan Hall's sweet grandma insisted that the public know something. She said, "'I want you to know that this family prays, and prays for many things. That it will be a good race, that it will be a safe race, but they never?they never?' She stops now, holding her hand to her mouth as her eyes fill with tears. It takes her a moment to gather before she can speak again."

"'They never pray to win.'"

His family might not be praying for him to win, but I certainly am. And I'll be prayin' (and hollerin') like mad on January 14th, 2012 in that little town called Houston. Go Ryan Go! I also have this super cool t-shirt that says "Hall-elujah!" over a silhouette of Ryan Hall. It's rad.

You can follow Ryan on his blog or on twitter at @ryanhall3.

With that... I'd like to leave you with some snaps and quotes from the aforementioned blog.

"The question I try and ask myself when I consider whether or not to train more is what is my body craving and what is my body ready to absorb? Sometimes pushing harder is not the answer. It takes self control, confidence, and intuition to know when to train and when to rest, but when in question error on the side of being over rested."

"I am thankful that there are different seasons in life and training. I have learned to embrace each season realizing how important it is to allow the body, mind and spirit to fully cycle through each. My current season of marathon training is my favorite. I love the simple life of training and going after a goal with everything I have."

"I feel honored to be invited back to this years race and see it as a great opportunity for me and for all of us who are running."

"When I look back at a race I look at it first through the lens of a scientist and then through the eyes of an artist. What factors contribute to my performance? What things can I tweak or try out next time out? What good things were reinforced? What felt tired? What workouts do I need to do to be better prepared? How were my thoughts out there? Did I enjoy the race? These are all questions of the scientist.

"The artist in me looks back at the race and asks how does this race fit into the larger picture being painted? What things about my performance do I not understand? Did I do a good job of fully expressing me with whatever energy I had to give on the day? What new strokes can I try out next time? There is always in tension in running between the scientist who wants to have an explanation for everything and the artist who is ok with not understanding all the mysteries of running, knowing that perhaps the next great performance may come from thinking outside the box. I have found that both the scientist and the artist are necessary in becoming a complete runner and processing the good, the bad, and everything in between on race day."

"When I look at a week I don’t see the necessity for mileage, I see the necessity for hard, quality workouts followed by adequate recovery and even making sure to over-recovering (if there is such a thing)."

"Mileage can be a good thing if it encourages us to run more, but not at the expense of recovery. I have certainly learned throughout my career that it’s not always necessarily he that runs the most mileage that wins the race."

On Top of Big Baldy

2011-10-21T12:00:00.022-06:00

Last Monday, I did something spontaneous. I mean, super spontaneous. I haven't done anything that spontaneous in around... uh... a long time.

A group of gals that I run with had arranged a hike to the top of Big Baldy. One sent a text on Saturday with the specifics: meet at Dry Canyon, 8:15. The Yahoos don't have school until 9:15 so I immediately tossed the idea aside. There's no way I'd make it there at 8:15.

No Big Baldy Mounting for me. Frownie face.

If you're a mom, then you know how ridiculous the morning throw-off situation is. Or maybe I'm the only mom with a ridiculous throw-off situation. Morning-time before school-time is hectic. I also have this thing with walking the Yahoos to school. I do it as much as possible because it's currently my favorite part of being a parent. We walk for a little under a mile, and I just watch 'em. I watch them run and walk, and wander, and giggle, and play-fight, and talk. It's terrific. Before I know it, they'll be all grown-up and won't let me walk with them any more. I'm in no hurry for that to happen.

Anyway, on Monday morning, my little Fastinista Friend and I were running (she does that... slows down to run with me and I thank her kindly for it.) She wanted to Mount Big Baldy too, but had a similar morning situation with her kids. She said, "Let's just go later, after you get your kids off to school." And I said, "Nah... it's too much work to rearrange everything." Which is what I say a lot of these days.

As we finished our run on Monday, she was still trying to talk me into it, and I was still poo-pooing it with a blubbery "Too much work!" Then a couple hours later, at about 8:30ish, I decided to blow off my responsibilities – which included helping Yahoo #1's teacher; don't know one turn me in 'cause I'll be there next week – and we did it!

We Mounted Big Baldy. Smilie face.

For the record and for my posterity and whatnot, it's important that I mention this: Big Baldy is not a hike. It's a scramble. Like a grab-on-to-trees-and-branches-to-keep-from-falling-and-maybe-you-slip-and-fall-and-draw-blood scramble. And if you decide to take the Bossette Camera and all her lenses, then you'll do the scramble with a bunch of extra weight, and then you'll be sore the next day. Which is okay. The pictures were worth it.

First, here's the Garmin (for Jessica, cause she likes my Garmins, and notice the 3500ish vertical in a little over 2 miles):

This is my Fastinista Friend. She Fast. And she's Inista.

Ran into one of the gals from the other group as she made her way down.

She and I sat next to each other in first grade. We figured this out a few months ago.
Cue "It's a Small World After All."

On Top of Big Baldy!

All Covered with Sweat!

The Trek Back Down,

Will be the Hardest Yet!

Going down. Big back-pack 'n all.
I don't recall if this was before or after I fell on my keaster and tore open my finger.

What a Wonderful World! - Tuesday Tune, vol 98

2011-10-18T23:00:00.001-06:00

Today's Tuesday Tune is inspired by the state of Utah, and is brought to you by a rainy spring that turned into a bright, colorful, wonderful fall. Utah is the most (or at least one of the most) beautiful places in the world – even on a normal year. But this year? Holy wow! It's beautiful. If you live somewhere else, I suggest you find yourself on a plane that finds its way on over here. It will be worth your time and/or money and/or efforts and/or vacation days.

On Sunday, Spouse, Yahoos and I drove the Alpine Loop. We stopped to take a few snaps, wander around for a while, and Yahoo #1 gave us some sign language lessons. He began these lessons with the colors.

On Monday, after dropping the Yahoos at school, a friend and I scrambled to the top of a little hill called Big Baldy. I'd tell you about that now, but I'm way tired and my neck hurts. See, I was up in the mountains again today, this time on my mountain bike, partaking in the beauty, when something – like my mountain bike skills or lack thereof – went awry. I went over my handlebars and landed on my face. That's right folks, I had my very first endo today. So, if all goes well, and I'm still alive tomorrow, even after my monster crash, then I'll show you my Big Baldy photos.

I've had three outdoor outings in three days and it's been wonderful. This world (expecially the Utah World) is so very wonderful. And that's why today's Tuesday Tune is:

What a Wonderful World by Louis Armstrong.

As usual, I couldn't stop there, so here's a bunch more without links. Do you want links? Let me know if you want links. Perhaps I can find time to accommodate.

Top of the World - Carpenters
The World The People Together (Come On) - Dandy Warhols
Gained The World - Morcheeba Feat. Manda
Mama's In The Moon - Marc Cohn
Midnight In A Perfect World - DJ Shadow
Staring At the Sun - Alaska In Winter
Waiting On The World To Change - John Mayer
Keep On The Sunny Side - The Whites
Moonlight Serenade - Glen Miller
On Nature - Matisyahu
Here Comes the Sun - Yo-Yo Ma & James Taylor
Here On Earth - Love and Rockets
The Sun, the Moon & the Stars - Kalae All Day & SciryL Cooper
Heaven and Earth (Album) - Blitzen Trapper
Hey Pretty - Poe
She's A Beauty - The Tubes
I'm Sitting On Top of the World - Les Paul & Mary Ford
Pretty Vegas - INXS
Big Girl (You Are Beautiful) - Mika
Planet Earth - Duran Duran
The World Is Waiting for the Sunrise - Les Paul & Mary Ford
Walk Through The World - Marc Cohn
Beautiful Day - Len
Shanghai Breezes - John Denver
The World We Live In - The Killers
Moonlight Sanata - Beethoven
O Green World Gorillaz
Standing In The Sun - Howie Day
Sitting On Top Of The World - Taj Mahal
Shepherd Moons - Enya
World Waits - Jeremy Enigk
Wild Montana Skies - John Denver
You're Always The Sun - Supreme Beings of Leisure
Modern Nature - Sondre Lerche
Take Me Home, Country Roads - John Denver
Life Is Beautiful - Vega4
Give Me Some Sunshine - Shantanu Moitra, Sharman Joshi & Suraj Jagan
P.Y.T. (Pretty Young Thing) - Michael Jackson
This Beautiful Life - The Dear Hunter
Ladies Of The World - Flight Of The Conchords
Time Of The Season - Big Blue Missile & Scott Weiland
Sunshower - Chris Cornell
Take Me Home, Country Roads - John Denver
Peace To The World [Live] - B.B. King
Sunbeams And Some Beans - Kimya Dawson
Full Moon - The Black Ghosts
Seasons of the Heart - John Denver
Beauty Of Uncertainty - KT Tunstall
Beautiful Way - Beck
A Thousand Beautiful Things - Annie Lennox
Mother Nature's Son - The Beatles
A Place In The World - Mary Chapin Carpenter
In My Little Corner Of The World - Marie Osmond
Sunday Sun - Beck
Pretty Little Thing - Fink
Moon Over The Freeway - The Ditty Bops
Joy To The World - Three Dog Night
You Are So Beautiful - Joe Cocker
(Reach Up For The) Sunrise - Duran Duran
Beautiful - Noel Gourdin
Blue Moonlight - Los Lobos
One Sweet World - Dave Matthews
Beautiful World - Devo
Sunshine - Simian
Beautiful Freak - Eels
Big Rock Candy Mountain - Harry McClintock
Sundrenched World (In-store Play Version) - Joshua Radin
Here Comes The Sun/The Inner Light [Transition] - The Beatles
Pretty Good Year - Tori Amos
Sunshine On My Shoulders - John Denver
Heaven's Here On Earth - Tracy Chapman
Mother Earth - Memphis Slim
Earth Song Michael Jackson
Rocky Mountain Way - Joe Walsh
Thank God I'm a Country Boy - John Denver
Oh! You Pretty Things - David Bowie
The Sound Of Sunshine (Album Version) - Michael Franti & Spearhead
How To See The Sun Rise - Ben Sollee
The World at Large - Modest Mouse
Large World Turning - John Mellencamp
Two Suns In The Sunset - Pink Floyd
Bumpin' On Sunset - Brian Auger
Beautiful Day - U2
Un World Mysteriouse - Dimitri From Paris
Beautiful Girl I- NXS
Prettiest Tree On The Mountain - Ben Sollee
Catch The Sun - Jamie Cullum
Moonlight Drive - The Doors
Beautiful Future - Primal Scream
"Whole Wide World" - The Pristeens, Scandal, Controversy, & Romance Interscope Records
You Are My Sunshine - Norman Blake
Sunset, 1989 - Swimming With Dolphins
Theme For A Pretty Girl That Makes You Believe God Exists - Eels
You Are My Sunshine - Dave Monson
Wild Flower - The Cult
Rocky Mountain High - John Denver

Lexicographer?

2011-10-14T07:00:00.005-06:00

Last Monday, I wandered into Yahoo #1's classroom. This is what I saw:

What will he be when he grows up?! A lexicologist? A lexicographer? An etymologyst? A verbarian? What will he study? Delectus? Concordance? Terminology? Derivation? Orismology?

There are so many options.

Steve's Boogie - Tuesday Tune, vol 97

2011-10-11T21:00:00.020-06:00

I've seen quite a few inventions in my lifetime. The microwave. The personal computer. The internet. The dishwasher. The video disc player that turned into the Betamax then evolved into something called the VHS which was trumped by the DVD and now the Blue Ray. There's also the cassette tape that morphed into the CD that finally morphed into the MP3.

Of all the inventions I've seen, nothing – I mean, absolutely, honestly nothing – has changed my life more than the iPod. Not the "mp3 player" mind you, because I've had a few of those and they didn't change my life much. The iPod, with it's companion iTunes, has changed my life dramatically. It's by far one of the greatest material, tangible things I've ever owned.

I have a 160 gig iPod Classic that holds all of my music. It stays in the car. I have an 80 gig iPod Classic that I keep around for kicks – just in case; can't bring myself to get rid of it. I also have a 2 gig iPod Shuffle that I use for exercise, and finally, I have an iPhone. Spouse has an iPod Nano and an iPhone, Yahoo #1 has an iPod Touch, and Yahoo #2 is saving money for his very own iPod Touch.

My job requires the use of computers. A little over a year ago, I ditched the PC and went Mac. I now work on a 27-inch iMac or a 13-inch MacBook Pro. We watch TV. We ditched the cable and replaced it with a Mac Mini. As a bonus the Mac Mini is great for streaming music. And if I need speakers any where or how, I hook 'em up to an Airport Express.

Basically, there's an Apple in every room of our house. And all of these Apples were made possible by the one, the only, the visionary, Steve Jobs.

To commemorate, celebrate, and decorate – today's Tuesday Tunes are for Steve Jobs. Boogie in peace, friend. Boogie in Peace.

Steve's Boogie – Eric Johnson
Let's Make A Better World – Dr. John
Life and Death – The Dear Hunter
The Leader of the Pack – Shangri-Las
Song For A Friend – Jason Mraz
The Power of One (Change the World) – Israel Houghton
Made For Us – Mackintosh Braun
From Which I Came/A Magic World – Eels
You've Got A Friend In Me – Randy Newman
Takin' Care of Business – Bachman-Turner Overdrive
New World Man – Rush
Life In Technicolor – Coldplay
Three Steps to Heaven – Eddie Cochran
Genius Next Door – Regina Spektor
Over The Rainbow / What A Wonderful World – Israel Kamakawiwo'ole
Magic Man – Heart
Ain't No Sunshine When You're Gone – Bill Withers
Apples – Delhi 2 Dublin
Some Kind Of Wonderful – Grand Funk Railroad
Computer Heat – Cansei de Ser Sexy
Revolution – The Beatles
Mr. Magic – DJ Shadow
Changes – David Bowie
Man On The Moon – R.E.M.
Song For A Friend – Jason Mraz
All Over the World – Electric Light Orchestra
Modern Man – Arcade Fire
Meet Me In Heaven – Johnny Cash
The Boss – James Brown
Hero – Jars Of Clay
Macho Man – The Village People
Smart Patrol/Mr. DNA – Devo
Happily Ever After – He Is We
Good Riddance (Time Of Your Life) – Green Day

Olympic Hopeful: Paul Petersen

2011-10-10T12:00:00.004-06:00

As was mentioned earlier, I'm heading to Houston in January to watch the Olympic Trial Marathon. I'm excited. I'm also excited to do a little research to know some stuff about the hopefuls that have qualified. From now until then, I plan to do a little bit of research on a few of the athletes and post what I find here.

First on this list is Paul Petersen. The reason I chose Paul is because he's a Utahn. I hail from the great state of Utah, and as of today, he's the only Utahn to qualify. Ironically, I've since learned that Paul, a self-employed GIS contractor who lives in Smithfield, is now moving to Colorado. Bummer. We're losing our Utahn.

Most of the information I found was taken from an interview from UtahRunning.com. Paul, 31, and a graduate of Michigan's Calvin College, had a "decent college career" which included a one-time All-American title in cross country. Petersen's top mileage is in the high 90s to low 100s, and believes the key to running well is consistency. He says, "People talk about mileage or doing special workouts, and we all read runners’ magazines and we all read Daniel’s Running Formula and Pfitzinger’s Advanced Marathoning. Those are great things. That’s where you get a lot of ideas. But there’s no substitute for consistency and you can get away with having not so great workouts and not so great science behind your running, just if you get out and do it."

Paul Petersen qualified for the Olympic Trials in April by running 2:17:35. He was the 17th male and 3rd American. He attributes his success to nine years of training, where one year builds upon the next. He says, "Boston, you talk about a training cycle; when we think of a training cycle we think of the six months leading up to a marathon, or four months leading up to a marathon. Really, this was eight or nine years leading up to Boston, learning how to run a marathon and learning how to train for a marathon."

Petersen also says that a little luck had a great deal to do with his success at Boston. Temperatures were mild and there was a substantial tail wind. He says, "The training was there and my work was there. Now it was a matter of you have to get a bit lucky. That means things like weather."

I concur. Weather has everything to do with a marathon. That's the trouble with marathoning; everything can be stacked up perfectly, but if you wake to foul weather, or are generally feeling "off," the day might not go well. And the other trouble with marathoning is that you can't give it a go again the next week. There's no bluffing, there's no room for being conservative. Runners who are serious about marathoning must go "all in" at first hand.

As Paul says, "Not every race is going to be great. You’ll lay an egg here and there. I just had a tough race in Moab, physically I just wasn’t able to respond. It was a hard race for me. But you just have to shake it off, figure out if there’s something that you did wrong, maybe you learn from it and move on and forget it. Don’t dwell on it. Learn what you can from it. Then leave it behind you."

And as serious as he is, Paul tries to keep his life in check. "I’m constantly balancing training with family and other things, so I want to keep my life in balance and a healthy balance, make sure my priorities are right. That’s my main priority, to keep my family and my work and things like that ahead of running. Running needs to be just a hobby. Sometimes it becomes more than that, so I’m always balancing that out."

Wanna know what I'd ask Paul if'n I ever got the chance to ask him something? "Don't you get tired of wearing the same outfit for each race?" Sponsorship has some serious drawbacks....

You can read what Paul Petersen is up to by reading his blog or you can review his workout details by going to fastrunningblog.com.

Foreskin's Lament

2011-10-09T12:00:00.001-06:00

Foreskin's Lament
by Shalom Auslander

To circumcise or not circumcise. That is not the question.

The question is: eight days from birth, your son shall receive the Brit Milah (circumcision) by an authorized Mohel (holy person trained in Brit Milah) else your newly born son will receive Kareth (spiritual excision/divine punishment.)

Notice it's not a question.

Therein lies the basis of Foreskin's Lament, which Spouse so endearingly refers to as "The Foreskin Monologues." (I giggle every time.)

Foreskin's Lament is a memoir from Shalom Auslander, a writer who was raised in an extremely orthodox Jewish family and community. He attended a yeshiva (Jewish school,) he wore the kippah (yarmulke) and tallit with four tzitzits as was instructed by Jewish law. He was forced to strictly observe the Shabbat (Sabbath), and was convinced that death or extreme mutilation would befall anyone he loved if he failed to obey kashrut (dietary laws.) Auslander grew up with fear. Fear that his negligent actions would result in the All Mighty Smiting of those he loved. Fear that his mother (or brother or friend or sister or rabbi) would be killed if he drank milk within 5 hours and 50 minutes of eating meat instead of the commanded six.

Although Mr. Auslander is no longer practicing, he is still terrified of God. He fears God's wrath in every small aspect of his life. That fear becomes exponential when he discovers that his wife is pregnant with a boy, for he must decide what do do about the circumcision. He was raised to believe that an infant boy's salvation was held ransom by the act of circumcision on precisely the eighth day of boy's life. (There's some sunset rules in those eight days, and it depends on what time the child was born. It's totally complicated. I couldn't wrap my head around the concept and gave up understanding.)

Through the book, Auslander provides some insight to his upbringing and traditions. He spent some time is Israel studying, then, with the blessing of his parents married an orthodox Jewish girl. They practiced for some time but decided that their religious traditions were a matter a force. He says, "Isn't tradition just another word for that particular religious, self-righteous, non-thinking inertia that propels so many to extremes they might not ever have engaged in had they stopped to actually consider, to weight, to examine?"

In the end Auslander and his wife decide to circumcise their son just after birth, in the hospital, by a doctor of unknown faith. Auslander's family visits the parents only to chastise and hold the couple accountable for the damnation of their newly-born son. The family leaves and Auslander hasn't spoken to them since.

Some Thoughts on Religion
Here's what I honestly believe about religion, and why I love America: To Each Their Own. You wanna eat kosher? Great! You wanna pray to an Elephant God named Ganesh? Dandy! You wanna wear a scarf to cover your hair? Sweet! You wanna abstain from alcohol and other stuff for religious reasons? Go for it! You wanna believe there is no god? It's your choice! You wanna believe in Jesus on your own terms? Do it! To Each Their Own.

I would call myself particularly involved in my religious persuasion. I do my best to obey commandments and whatnot, and try my hardest to separate some cultural traditions from doctrine. One of the very most important aspects of my religious involvement, however, is that I am doing it all because it is my choice. Not my parents' choice. Not Spouse's choice. Mine. Once I feel that I'm being forced into my religion, I'm out. Luckily, my religion is based on choice. It's part of the foundation. I'm finding that any type of "force" in my religion is a result of expectations from family and the culture.

This book was rather eye-opening to me. You cannot force a belief. You just can't. You can force actions and traditions using fear or bribes of some sort, but when it comes right down to it, you cannot force someone to believe a particular something. The culture in which I live has some serious cultural coercion. Families and churches and schools are inundated with a the predominant religious beliefs. This book helped me realize that no matter my beliefs, it's my role as a parent to make sure my Yahoos have a choice in what or how they worship. They come to church with us now, partly by force and partly because they cannot stay home without proper supervision, but there will come a time that they will choose if it's what they want. And it's my role as a parent to love. Not love them because they are part of my religious club. To quote my favorite person in history, Jesus, "A new commandment I give unto you, That ye alove one another; as I have loved you, that ye also blove one another" – John 13:34.

I think that Foreskin's Lament would be a good read for most people within my religious orientation. To illustrate that we cannot force a belief. There's some serious language in this book, however, and I'm not the type to recommend books with swears to people who don't like books with swears.

How This Book Came To Be
I have this friend Megan, who is getting a graduate degree in Creative Nonfiction. She doesn't know this, but her attendance in this program has opened up another whole! new! world! for me (complete with spastic purple genie.) She tells me about some Creative Nonfiction and I read this Creative Nonfiction. Then I become tickled with glee over whats inside. Sometimes, as is the case with Foreskin's Lament, Megan actually sends me the book in the mail. Talk about glee. Few things make me as happy as receiving random books in the mail.

What is Creative Nonfiction?
The Rabid dictionary says that Creative Nonfiction is factual stuff written in an entertaining manner. That is, it's written creatively instead of text booky. Text books aren't fun to read. Creative Nonfiction is fun to read. Creative Nonfiction takes a collection of factual events or ideas and pulls them all together in a creative fashion. Memoirs are considered Creative Nonfiction, but not all Creative Nonfiction must be a memoirs. Creative Nonfiction can also be research-related. For example, Megan told me about her advisor, and how she is writing a book on journals and blogs and the like. I can't wait to read that one.

Right now I'm reading Assassination Vacation by Sarah Vowell. This is another Megan recommendation in the Creative Nonfiction classification. It's terrific. I was about to finish it today but decided to let the love continue a bit longer and wait. That one's up next!

The Help

2011-10-08T09:00:00.002-06:00

I woke up early this morning to go running. (Surprise!) It's raining, however, and not just a sprinkle. It's pouring. Everyone knows that I don't run in the rain because I'll melt.

I'm up. I'm ready to run. It's raining. Instead of moping about, wanting to run and wishing that this weekend's weather would have rolled into St. George last week, and dreaming about cool, PR-betiding temperatures, I decided to catch up on my book reports for I have a bunch, just waiting. (Evidently I'm not running but my sentences insist on doing so. Those sentences, they have a possession of their own, don't they? They just do what they want and we sentence creators have no control)

The Help
by Kathryn Stockett

Here's the problem with popular literature: The popular people are always turning books into something they're not. Take Stefanie Meyer's Twilight Series for example. They are great little stories for what they are. They are teeny bopper romances, and nothing more. Popular people insist on making the stories more than teeny bopper romances, and the unwarranted hype has turned a lot of folks off. I've beat that already-dead vampire to a garlic-infused pulp, so I'll quit now and save you the droning diatribe.

While The Help was a great read, one I recommend, the popular people have once again turned it into something it is not. My opinion of the book was tainted the minute I laid eyes upon the cover. (Those of you who say you cannot judge a book by its cover are missing all sorts of opportunity to judge stuff by covers!) Let me show you what I mean:

See that? Let me spell it out for you. The cover says, "This could be one of the most important pieces of fiction since To Kill a Mockingbird." Nuh-uh. No way. There will be one – and only one – To Kill a Mockingbird. Any book that resembles To Kill a Mockingbird, in even the remotest way possible, will be nothing more than a copy. A fraud. A fake. A mockingbird mockery. So, yeah, the NPR critic, and then the publisher who allowed this vulgar claim, managed to place a nice cloudy film between this cute little story and myself.

Even though my view was tainted significantly by an outlandish claim, I still think it was a great story. I would recommend it and I'll see the movie too. For future rabid reference, I'll provide a brief synopsis.

This is a story of a girl from Jackson, Mississippi who goes to college, comes home, and discovers how blatantly racist the situation is. Most southern homes have "help"– that is, they pay "colored" people small bits of cash to put up with their crap. Mostly. Some who hire "Help" are nice and pay well.

This girl's name is Eugenia but goes by "Skeeter" – don't get me started on how this does a shoddy job of emulating Harper Lee's "Scout." But hey, they started it, what with the claim that it's the next To Kill a Mockingbird.

Skeeter, having her eyes and ears opened to the racist ways of The South, returns home from college only to discover that her friends and family have some serious race issues. One friend had a new toilet installed in the garage for "The Help" because blacks and whites aren't supposed to use the same toilets. This is was got it started. Skeeter decides to write a book about The Help from The Help's point of view. Skeeter holds secret interviewing meetings and sneaks around so as to write the stories without getting caught. Getting caught would lead to someone getting hurt, for fraternizing with the Help and those of "color" was a crime punishable by the public while the law looked the other way.

As an aside, I find the whole concept of not toilet-sharing assinine. They say that the black folks cannot use the white toilets because of "diseases." However, the white folk are just fine with the black folks preparing their food, doing their laundry, and CLEANING THE WHITE TOILET. I mean, were they really that stupid to think that they'll get diseases from using the same toilet, but will be in the clear if it's cleaned by the alleged disease-ridden Help?

Anyway, one by one, Skeeter convinces a few people to help her write her book. Her book is published but not without a few close calls and various obstacles.

I think that The Help was cleverly constructed in the way that Kathryn Stockett told the tale from a few different viewpoints. One chapter would be from the view of Skeeter, while others would be written in first person from a few of the featured Help (Minnie, Aibileen.) I liked how the language was different for each, and that the language was a direct reflection of the amount of schooling each of them had. This was my favorite part of the book. I'm also a big fan of words that are written so as to show how they're mispronounced. There were bunches of this.

Segregation is the predominant theme in this book. To be honest, I have little exposure to segregation. I grew up in Utah where there was one black person in my high school, and he was the student body president. Actually, he was Indian, not black, but we thought he was black and way cool. Being black in Utah was ridiculously awesome, because it was implied that you were athletic, and had rhythm. Therefore you got lots of attention and/or scholarships. My only experience with racism would be from my born-in-1900 granny, in the which everyone just blamed her senility. I knew better though. It wasn't so much her aged senility as it was the age in which she was born. Folks born back then were just born racist-ish. (I say "ish" cause she's my sweet granny and St. Peter has most assuredly set her straight.)

Spouse, on the other hand, has some serious experience with segregation. Spouse attended high school in a suburb of Memphis, Tennessee. He has some stories. Each time he tells me some of these stories, I am beside myself. My gaper opens wide and I'm so shocked I can't even say "no way."

The Help takes place in Jackson, Mississippi. Aside from computer-related trade shows in Atlanta and Oak Ridge, then a trip to see my sister sing in Charleston, and a jaunt to Disneyworld, I have not really visited or experienced "The South." The Help made me think that visiting Jackson would be an interesting thing to do. I pulled it up on a map only to glower in disappointment. Jackson is too close to Memphis. Spouse will not go near Memphis on purpose, for Spouse has no desire to visit any location within a few hundred miles of his high school stomping grounds.

With that I conclude the latest installment of my rabid book reporting. It stopped raining. Perhaps I'll go wander around in it.

Next up: Foreskin's Lament by Shalom Aslander, and Assassination Vacation by Sarah Vowell.

Be Sure to Drink Your Ovaltine

2011-10-07T10:00:00.001-06:00

A few days ago, on the cusp of my Houston Marathon decision, I decided to consult with an exercise physiologist who specializes in distance running. I was all like, "Dude. Something's missing in my training. It needs some tweaking. My running style is not typical, for I have only one pace. My 10k and marathon pace are the same. I need something a little more custom. I realize I'm not Olympic or Elite material, but I seriously want to see what I can do."

Mr. Exercise Physiologist said that for a nominal fee he could help and sent me a questionnaire. I filled out this questionnaire – took almost two hours to complete. Mr. Exercise Physiologist wanted some detailed information, like the last 20 week's work, cross-training, max heart rate, personal bests in various races, and how many jars of Nutella I go through in a year.

Right now, at this very minute, my custom training plan for this Houston Marathon is sitting unopened in my e-mail box. I've got the butterflies and don't dare open it. In the back of my mind, I'm afraid that Mr. Exercise Physiologist's secret decoding will say, "Be sure to drink your Ovaltine."

The Road to Houston

2011-10-05T14:00:00.010-06:00

Now that the St. George Marathon is out of the way, I get to focus on what's next. This is exciting, because what I have planned next is BIG. Big, I say. Big.

In exactly 101 days, on January 15th, 2012, I will run the Houston Marathon. Why the excitement? I hear you say. It's just another city marathon, why is that such a big deal? It's not that big of a deal – at least by itself. What makes the Houston Marathon (set to take place in 101 days) so big is what will happen in Houston in 100 days. (The day before.)

Exactly 100 days from now, the city of Houston will host the United States Olympic Trials Marathon. For the first time ever, the Men and Women will race the same course at the same time. Kind of. The races will start 15 minutes apart. They will run one small loop, then three 8-mile loops around downtown Houston. For the first time ever, the entire U.S. Olympic Marathon Team will be crowned at the same time, and at the same place.

I Am Woman! I Will Be There! As will the Yahoos and Spouse. We will watch it all unfold. And after I've watched them crown the team, I'll run my very own Olympic Trial marathon the next day. This will be a marathon that I win no matter what. Come PR or DNF, I will win. It's just how I roll lately. Happy to be alive, happy to have the ability to run.

In the mean time, I have some training strategies to cement, and some Olympic Hopeful biographies to research. I need to study the who's-who of Olympic Qualifiers so as I can spectate with knowledge. Guess what? You're going to help me with both. From now until Olympic Trial Day (a Holy Rabid Relic day if there ever was a Holy Rabid Relic day), I shall present a sporadic spewing of athletes here and there. Each will be very interesting. Each will have it's own rabid spin. (To get a jump on said athlete spewing, you can see a list of who is currently qualified for the trials, by going to the official web site.)

And what about my race strategy? The race is in 14.5 weeks. This is enough time to recover from St. George for about three, then train good 'n hard for 12. I need to decide what I want to do. Do I want to train hard and race the marathon? Or do I want to show up casually and run for fun? Either option will be ridiculously awesome. I just don't have a lot of time for deciding and need to do so within the next week or two. Thoughts?

I'm leaning towards racing it. The course is relatively flat and at sea level.

Oh how I love to be flat and at sea level.

The Graveyard Book / Danse Macabre – Tuesday Tune, vol 96

2011-10-04T20:00:00.002-06:00

The Graveyard Book
by Neil Gaiman

The Rabid family road-tripped this weekend. And while most fancy-pants-parents stock their vehicles with movie-watching accommodations, we Rabid folk prefer entertainment the old fashion(ish) way. We listen to audio books.

Finding an audio book to wet each and every one of our listening whistles is quite a challenge. I mean, princess stories are out because I hate princess stories. Memoirs are out, because, let's just face it, only bad stuff happens in memoirs – at least only the memoirs with bad stuff get published and recorded for audio. Science fiction is tricky these days, because of their go-nowhere spaghetti plots, and details that are so far-out they're boring.

And so it was, on a day like today, but last week, I asked the facebook crystal ball to recommend a good audio book for us. That's what your facebook status is for... did you know that? You ask it stuff and it tells you answers. Sometimes it even provides solutions, like life-jackets, where you can have register your car AND have fun, halloween costumes... you name it! Facebook is the modern-man's crystal ball.

Through the haze of said facebook crystal ball, the recommendations came fast and furious. I received two apparitions for The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaimen. I downloaded the book and we gave it a stab. The trip to and from St. George was enough time to finish it. Sevenish hours, I believe.

The Graveyard Book is the tale of a small pacifier-sucking child who's family is murdered one night. By chance, and perhaps by some mischief, the toddler had escaped the house before the murdering. Somehow he made it to a nearby graveyard – a graveyard whereby the dead float around. Somehow the child's dead mother had begged the dead floating people to raise their child. Somehow the dead floating people agreed. Somehow they were able to get him food and schooling and other stuff. (You'll have to read the tale yourself to know about all of those Somehows.) Because the boy looked like nobody they knew, the dead-floaters decided to name him "Nobody." Called him "Bod" for short.

Each chapter is a self-contained graveyard adventure that gets tied together nicely at the end. I've since learned that the chapters are based on some Rudyard Kipling, so perhaps I'll get my meat-hooks on a printed copy and do some real research.

This Graveyard Book is a children's story, but it sounds disasterously morbid, doesn't it? It is! And it's awesome! I loved it. Spouse loved it. The Yahoos loved it. The reading was presented by the silky-smoth superbness of Mr. Gaiman himself. We want a sequel.

The segments of the audio version were separated by some fun spooky-like music. The Yahoos liked the music. It donned on my that it's That Time of Year – That Time of Year being the Spooky-Music time. And boy, do I have the Spooky Music all lined up ready, thanks to last year.

The tune on the audio book was one called Danse Macabre by Charles-Camille Saint-Saëns. It reminded me of all the classical spooky tunes that I have. Here's a sampling, for your spooking pleasure, inspired by and for, the spooking time of year. Spook it up, yo:

Danse Macabre - Camille Saint-Saens
Toccata & Fugue D Minor, BWV. 565 – Johann Sebastian Bach
Carmina Burana - O Fortuna Carl Orff
Ride Of The Valkyries – Robert Wagner
Totentanz – Liszt
Communio: Factus Est Repente – Some random old guys who call themselves "Greg"
Also Sprach Zarathustra (Opening Fanfare) – Richard Strauss
Symphony No. 7 In A, Op. 92 - II. Allegretto – Ludwig Van Beethoven
Symphony No. 9 In D Minor, Op. 125, "Choral" - II. Molto Vivace – Rossini
Requiem In D Minor, K 626 - Dies Irae – Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
Piano Sonata No. 2 In B-Flat Minor - III. Marche Funebre – Chopin
Le Sacre Du Printemps (The Augurs of Spring (Dance of the Girls): Igor Stravinski
Offertorium: Terra Tremuit – Other old random guys who call themselves "Greg"
Praeludium (Fantasie) & Fuge in G Minor, BWV 542 – Johann Sebastian Bach
Peer Gynt - Suite No. 1, Op. 46 - Death Of Ase – Edvard Grieg
Don Giovanni - Overture – Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
Violin Concerto No. 3 In F Major, Op. 8/3, RV. 293 - 'The Four Seasons': 'Autumn' – Handel (This one isn't all that spooky, but it is autumn, you know, when the spooks come out.)
The Planets, Op. 32 - Uranus, The Magician – Gustav Holst
In The Hall Of The Mountain King (From "Peer Gynt") – Edvard Grieg
Chorus Of The Witches: Che Faceste? (From "Macbeth") – Verdi
The Old Castle – Mussorgsky
Music for Strings, Percussion and Celesta, Sz.106: III. Adagio – Béla Bartók
Transylvanian Lullaby – (From "Young Frankenstein," Jenny Oaks Baker has the best recording, but it's not on youtube.)
Night On Bald Mountain – Modest Mussorgsky (Do you think Modest Mouse go their name from Mussorgsky? Just put those two together!)
Etude In C Minor, Op. 25 No. 12 - Chopin

Rabbit! Rabbit! Rabbit!

2011-10-03T18:00:00.016-06:00

Marathon #20, and my 9th St. George was a great success. I believe each and every marathon is its own version of success. A marathon is either fast and furious, or slow and slumbering. One marathon might leave you feeling boss, while yet another will slap you with the humility-hand – so hard that you wonder if you're mostly monkey and raised by humans. All marathons leave a great story. All marathons teach a lesson. This is what makes all marathons a success.

Let's start by getting on and over with the mumbo-jumbo: Had the usual taters 'n salt for breakfast; saw Spouse and Yahoos at Snow Canyon (mile 16); also saw Tina; also saw Becca; chirped with glee over seeing all these loved ones; Becca ran a stretch with me; had a perfectly conservative 20 miles, even with the hills, even felt I had reserved plenty for final stretch; it got hot; I got thirsty; I slowed down considerably; took giant big-stick popsicle from stranger at mile 23ish, it wasn't candy, so give a girl a break; finished in 3:14:12; second fastest of my marathoning mayhem; whah-whah-whah-whaaaaah-whah-whah.

It was a great day. My performance was decent for the summer's training and the conditions of the day, there was suffering, there was fun. My favorite part of the day, however, had nothing to do with me, other than the fact that I was there to hear the story.

First, let me introduce you to this dynamic-dynamo, daddy-daughter duo:

This is Triabry and his daughter Danielle. I've known them somewhere around six years. We run in the same circles, and when I say "run" I really do mean "run." It's not figurative-ese for hanging out while doing a various assortment of activities. We really do run in circles together. Sometimes we shake it up and run in a 400-meter oval.

Triabry, one who swims and does many "tris" or triathlons, just ran his 23rd St. George; Danielle ran her 12th. Each year, they travel to St. George as a family and partake in the marathoning festivities.

The morning of the race, we were waiting to get on the bus and Danielle was telling a story about rabbits. It's not a Lenny story, or a Glenn Close story, or even a Bugs Bunny story. It is Danielle's story, and it will forever and ever be Danielle's Rabbit! Rabbit! Rabbit! story. It goes something like this:

There's a legend, that on the first day of each month, and on your first speaking, hearing, etc, if you say Rabbit! Rabbit Rabbit!, you'll have a great month. Danielle told us all about how she had a grade-school teacher who got her started on the superstition. She also explained that after learning of this legend, Danielle has squawked a triumphant "Rabbit! Rabbit! Rabbit!" on the first day of each and every month since.

Now there's some fine print to acquiring this Rabbit! Rabbit! Rabbit! luck. The words must be said by you, and by you very first. No one can say anything, and you certainly cannot say anything else. If you mumble a "quit snoring" at your beloved, or if a Yahoo runs in with nightmarish tales, the Rabbit! Rabbit! Rabbit! is null and void.

(Danielle is not hitched and has no Yahoos. I was just trying to point out that being married with kids, and doing the Rabbit! Rabbit! Rabbit! would be quite a challenge.)

This, the 35th St. George marathon, was set to take place on October 1st. That's the first day of the month. And just before retiring the night before – (that night before being September 30th) – Danielle instructed the entire family that there would be no talking to her until she was able to get her Rabbit! Rabbit! Rabbit! out.

The family, being altogether acquiescent and amiable and affable and all the other "a" words, agreed. The next morning, on October 1st, Danielle was able to pronounce herself rabbitable, by performing a solicitous Rabbit! Rabbit! Rabbit! recital.

After which Danielle ran a 2:51 marathon, and placed 5th.

Rabbit! Rabbit! Rabbit! indeed.

Tuesday Tune, vol 95 - Beethoven's 9th

2011-09-28T14:00:00.011-06:00

Here we are.

It's the end of September. October is around the corner. This means that one of my favorite marathons is also around the corner. It's the St. George Marathon, and it happens on the first Saturday of October every year.

Saturday next will be the Rabid's 9th St. George Marathon. NINE! Wow. Wish I could tell you something like, it doesn't seem like it'll be nine, or it feels like my first St George was just yesterday, or where did all that time go? But truthfully, time sure does not fly when you're running marathons. And strangely enough, the faster you go, the longer it feels.

It's too bad Mr. Einstein and I weren't buddies, because I could have shown him how running could help explain his theory of relativity. Einstein's theory-o'-relativity explanation-of-choice was the hot plate – hot stripper corollary.

People would ask ol' Albert (trust me, I've read the book) to explain the theory of relativity in terms for lay people. He said something about how time does not feel constant, and that one's perception of time is based completely on their circumstances. For example, 30 seconds with your hand on a hot plate will not feel the same as a stripper on your lap for 30 seconds. That's the theory of relativity explained via hot plate – hot stripper. (At least the theory of relativity for dudes. Anyone care to take a stab at the female equivalent of a hot stripper on the lap for 30 seconds? And I s'pose that some strippers out there might make 30 seconds on the hot plate seem rather short in comparison, yes?)

This same theory of relativity applies to running. The faster you run, the more it hurts, and the longer it seems. So, although you might finish faster, it will hurt more, and seem longer. Got that? Faster is longer. Slower is shorter.

Sometimes I'm so fascinated with my very own logic that it makes me dizzy.

In celebration of this, my 9th St. George and 20th total, I present to you, the Tuesday Tunes (on Wednesday 'cause I'm a slacker): Beethoven's 9th Symphony.

First Movement: Allegro ma non troppo
Second Movement: Molto vivace
Third Movement: Adagio molto e cantabile
Fourth Movement: "Ode to Joy"

Let's hear it for Joy! And all the Odes that go with this Joy! And for hot plates! And for Strippers! And for marathons!

p.s. My Sister will be a soloist for this 9th Symphonic Masterpiece of Beethoven's. I just sent her a text to get the exact date and time and whatnot. I'll keep you posted.

p.p.s. My Sister and I both have the names of famous porn stars. Aren't we lucky? And you wonder why I don't use my for-reals name!

Outliers

2011-09-25T12:00:00.003-06:00

Outliers
by Malcolm Gladwell

In my eyes, there is one reason for reading: Entertainment. My job requires the reading of various tax documentation. Unless you've spent some time reading tax specs from various departments of revenue, you cannot imagine the amount of tedium that comes when reading this kind of stuff. If, however, you would like to imagine large amounts of tedium, try this publication for starts. It's a tedious gas.

When I read, it's gotta be entertaining. This includes non-fiction and researchish publications. Outliers, a book that could be categorized as non-fiction and researchish, was ridiculously entertaining. What I found most enjoyable, were the stories. Gladwell includes stories about various high-achievers, Korean pilots, geniuses (both successful and not-so,) and Jewish immigrants. He researched Canadian Hockey, law firms, and the Beatles. He also researched the founders of some computer hardware/software giants, as well as the subject of math, and how certain areas of the world are better at math than others.

Gladwell's conclusion of all this research, thrown together with my rabid interpretation? Success is all about the rule of 10,000 hours. It takes roughly 10,000 to be successful at something. And what separates the super-successful from the not-so-successfull is opportunity. The super-successful have been given extreme opportunities and taken full of advantage of these extreme opportunities. Gladwell says (page 267):

"Outliers are those who have been given opportunities – and who have had the strength and presence of mind to seize them. For hockey and soccer players born in January, it's a better shot at making the all-star team. For the Beatles, it was Hamburg. For Bill Gates, the lucky break was being born at the right time and getting the gift of a computer terminal in junior high. Joe Flom and the founders of Wachtell, Lipton, Rosen and Katz got multiple breaks. They were born at the right time with the right parents and the right ethnicity, which allowed them to practice takeover law for twenty years before the rest of the legal world caught on. And what Korean Air did, when it finally turned its operations around, was give its pilots the opportunity to escape the constraints of their cultural legacy."

Is Gladwell saying that success only comes from opportunity? I don't think so. When acquiring a skill, those 10,000 hours do not come without hard work. The opportunities to get these hours, however, is what sets the hard-working successful from the hard-working not-so successful.

In addition to the 10,000-hour rule, I found that gratitude was an underlying theme. I believe that gratitude is the most attractive of all actions and traits. We need to be grateful for all – even though it isn't so easy at times. Outliers reinforced my belief of this. All of our successes, all of what we have learned and enjoy, comes as a result of opportunity. He says (page 285):

"It is impossible [for various Outliers] to look down from their lofty perch and say with truthfulness, 'I did this, all by myself.' Superstar lawyers and math whizzes and software entrepreneurs appear at first blush to lie outside ordinary experience. But they don't. They are products of history and community, of opportunity and legacy. Their success is not exceptional or mysterious. It is grounded in a web of advantages and inheritances, some deserved, some not, some earned, some just plain lucky – but all critical to making them who they are. The outlier, in the end, is not an outlier at all."

I think we are all successful at something. We have some talent and some strengths. If anything, this book has made me reflect on certain advantages, and maybe even certain periods of holy-crap-when-will-it-end? that have made me who I am.

For the good and the bad, I am grateful. Here's to all of us as Outliers.

Where are you going?

2011-09-22T16:00:00.008-06:00

Where are you going? Where you headed? Why you driving so fast?

These are questions that friendly neighborhood (fun-hating!) police officers ask when they catch you speeding, flip on the cherries, make a u-turn like MacGyver, then follow you 'til you pull over. Not that this has happened recently.

Okay, you got me. It happened this morning.

A friendly neighborhood (fun-hating!) police officer pulled me over, and before I could hand him the license, he said, "Where you headed?" He was smiling. And he had some nice teeth. My first thought was to butter him up with a "wow them are some nice teeth" comment then bat the lashes all violent-like so as to produce some tears. But then I realized from past experience that this has never worked. I also realized that I have yet to be pulled over and let loose like in the fairy tales. "You go on ma'am. Today is just a warning. You just slow down now, you hear?"

That's right, I said "fairy tales." People aren't let loose with warnings. Unless of course you're a cop relation, carrying donuts, or Richard Matheson.

"Where you headed," he said. (Notice the missing question mark.)

"Well," I said. "It all began yesterday when I decided we were having Fish Tacos for dinner. I was out of my Signature Secret Sauce, and needed to make some. Now this was a problem for dinner, because the Secret Sauce needs to sit and simmer so as the savory seasoningss can blend properly. The fish was thawed and ready – tillapia if you must know, halibut is just so pricey these days – but the sauce was nowhere near ready.

"When Spouse arrived home," I continued, "he took one look at my lazy butt on the couch and hollered, 'Woman! Where's my Secret Sauce?' and I was all, 'Dude. You know where your Secret Sauce is' (*wink, wink.*) Now spouse was hungry, he didn't feel up to making some Secret Sauce, so he suggested we go for pizza. The Yahoos were all over that – Yahoos, that's what I call my kids, they're boys, age 7 and 10, want to see a picture?

"While eating pizza last night, I remembered a conversation we friendly neighborhood (fun-loving!) moms had on the way to school – you'll like this part, it's about donuts. I told them all that I had been craving this heavenly buttermilk biscuit from a donut joint in Portland. That joint is called Voodoo Donuts. Have you heard of it? No? Oh. EM. Gee. You need to go to Portland for one of those buttermilk biscuits. Sorry, back to the story – one of the friendly neighborhood (fun-loving!) moms said something about a buttermilk bar at a bakery in Provo called Provo Bakery.

"Anyways, in between a slice of barbecue chicken and a slice of three-cheese, I told Spouse about Provo Bakery's buttermilk biscuit. He was all over getting his mouth on one of those, (as was I, but don't tell anyone.) Just then I remembered that I was taking my mom Summy to her physical therapy the next morning. I could totally drop her off and go to the bakery for donuts. Spouse said, 'Yeah. Do that.'

"That was the plan. I rose early, got the Yahoos ready and sent them to school. Then I drove to get on the freeway, only to discover that the danged freeway on-ramp was closed AGAIN, and what is up with the construction? It's really gonna cause someone to snap one of these days, don't you think? So, the overpass was closed, for heaven knows how long, and that's when I discovered I had to go around, which generally adds AT LEAST 10 minutes to my commute.

"I turned left all mad-like, just before the on-ramp and whipped around the corner. While whipping around the corner, I thought 'What if I get all the way to the Provo Bakery and they are clean-out of buttermilk bars? That can't happen!' so I dialed the number on my trusty Apple Telephone Device (complete with voice recognition,) and received a 'Hello, thank you for calling Provo Bakery.' Bonus! They're still in business. 'Do you still make buttermilk bars?' I inquired, with fingers and toes and everything but legs crossed. 'We sure do!' she replied.

"And that, Mr. Police Officer with nice teeth, is when I saw you flip on the cherries, make a MacGyver u-turn, and follow me 'til I pulled over. So, you be real nice, and you let me off without a ticket, and I'll bring you back some of those buttermilk bars. As many as you like."

That's where I said I was going.

Know where I get to go now? Traffic school. (But no sooner than 5 days and no later than 14.)

RUN DMC - Tuesday Tune, vol 94

2011-09-20T21:00:00.003-06:00

On Saturday, last, The BYU and University of Utah were playing some football. This game is a big deal around here. BIG deal. A Big Rivaling Deal. Colors (BYU blue – U of U Red) are worn, children are costumed, and derogatory remarks are thrown back and forth over twitter, facebook, and various street corners.

This game is the game of the season; a big deal. So big is this deal, that most stay in to watch it. And if you're my dad Mikey, you go to your friendly neighborhood bar so as to enjoy it with a frothy pint of Amber Ale (or two.) This Mikey, watching the local football rivalry at the local bar is quite a combo, because Mikey is true blue BYU – through and through. I suppose you need to live around here to appreciate the rarity of a beer-drinking BYU fan.

Now, being as most are in watching the game – either in a home, or in the stadium, or in a bar – the streets, and the stores, and the restaurants are empty. I don't like crowds. This BYU vs U of U game is a prime errand-running, shopping, and eating-out opportunity. Which brings me to the point of this Tuesday Tune episode. (Finally!)

In the dead of the BYU vs U of U evening, Yahoo #1 and I were out buying some school clothes. He was in a dressing room, dressing. I, being one who has trouble waiting, was wandering around looking at stuff, when what do my wandering eyes see? A RUN (freaking!) DMC t-shirt.

Holy rap.

I bought that shirt. Without even thinking about it. And I wore that shirt with pride on Monday, as can be seen in Exhibit A: RabidRUNner in RUN DMC t-shirt:

Rad, right? Rad.

Here's where the story gets interesting, however. I was out with the Yahoos, and had ventured into an undisclosed location to purchase a new super-human-shock-absorbant phone protector. While in this undisclosed location, a tall, um... very dark, handsome, and very gentlemanly employee says, "Someone's wearing a RUN DMC t-shirt."

So I get excited. "Serious! Isn't it rad? Total find of the decade."

(Picture this: White, middle-aged mom sporting a classic rap tee. Oh right. You can picture it because there's a picture up there.)

"Alright then, name three RUN DMC songs," he says.

Obviously, this very dark 'n handsome employee didn't know who he was dealing with, did he. He was dealing with a rabid listener-of-everything-hard-core-fan-of-none. I listen to it all bro. All. Especially the rap of old; the happy rap of the 80s; the rap that transpired before rap turned into a bunch of eff'n, n-words this, and suck my thats.

In the which I proceeded to name my favorite RUN DMC tunes, which are:

You Talk Too Much
You Be Illin'
Walk This Way
Run's House
Mary, Mary
King of Rock
It's Tricky
Hard Times
Down With the King
Christmas in Hollis
Can You Rock it Like This

Aw Shucks

2011-09-12T12:00:00.010-06:00

It's corn season in our parts. Corn season in our parts is something to be celebrated. Local, homebred, homegrown, homefed corn is literally something to die for. Or kill for. That Children of the Corn flick totally makes sense to me.

Friday evening, we had some corn (Vera gave it to us, but that really isn't an important part of this story, it's only to say "THANKS VERA!" and to tell you where the corn came from.) When Spouse arrived home from work, I handed him the sack o' corn and asked, "Will you shuck this?" He said, "Sure," and walked out the door.

Okay? "Whatever," was my only thought. Perhaps he was doing it outside to save some mess or whatnot. 'Cept he came right back into the house without the corn.

My only next thought was, "You know? I tend to micromanage everything around here. I'm going to let him shuck the corn any way or how he chooses. And I'm gonna shut up about it."

I finished the other dinner business, which included, but was not limited to, setting a giant pot of water to boil. When the water reached the optimal boiling point, I said to Spouse, "Where's the corn?"

"I chucked it."

Evidently I need to work on the way I enunciate "sh." I need to practice saying "sh." I shall start with my favorite word that starts with "sh." The Yahoos don't like it when I say that word, however, so maybe I'll chuck the "sh" and say "chit." (Or should I shuck the "ch" and say "shit?")

Born Again

2011-09-09T12:00:00.004-06:00

I have received the compliment of all compliments. Until this week, I didn't know that there was a such a thing – the compliment of all compliments. I always thought that compliments in excess are nothing more than a vat of hallow flattery. This is not true, compliments in excess can be sincere.

For the last month, Jessica has been sending me random postcards. One here, two there, three a few days later. On the first postcard, Jessica gave strict instructions for holding onto these postcards because they are the pieces of a puzzle. Therein lies compliment #1: She likes me enough to send a month's worth of post cards. That alone is saying something.

Each of these hand written postcards had a little message. Each contained some form of tribute to me and to friendship; each contained a distinctly heart-felt and sincere compliment. Jessica also sent a few to Megan and The Winder to help. Megan and The Winder said some distinctly sincere and heart-felt stuff too. Therein lies compliment #2: She was able to come up with (or delegate) a month's worth of compliments.

Because I always do as is instructed, I hung onto those postcards, anticipating its completion like another one of my goofy marathons. After I had a bunch, I put them together:

What could it say?! What does it mean?! As if each finely crafted message on each finely crafted postcard wasn't enough... there's a master plan! A secret message! A week or two later, I thought maybe we were done, so I gave another stab at the puzzle.

So close! Only two more! What will that last word be?!

I'll tell you what last word is. It's:

Compliment #3 is: The compliment of all compliments, "I'm so glad you were born." You want to make a person's day, or even life, tell them you're glad they were born.

Jessica sure knows how to make a life worth being born. (Which I hope is a close second to the compliment of all compliments.)

Criticism

2011-09-08T14:00:00.003-06:00

Why on earth do we humans insist on criticizing? I mean, really. Do we (and by we, I also mean "I") need to criticize even a small percentage of what we criticize?

I was reading my good friend's blog just now, and she mentioned that she wasn't into potty training her kid, and that she was going to put it off; refuses to think about it. After proclaiming her postpone-the-potty-training plans, she said, "Go ahead and criticize, I don't care."

This made me so sad. I'm sad that my friend is not going to potty train her boy right now. This boy deserves to be potty trained RIGHT NOW. If he's not potty trained RIGHT NOW, he won't get into Harvard, or The BYU, or USC (~~wear~~ go Trojans!) His IQ will suffer, he'll have no self esteem, and he'll be called on a state-side mission (as opposed to somewhere exotic like Brazil.)

I'm totally kidding. Do I need to say that I'm totally kidding? Prolly not, but since irony is lost in the blogging world, and every thought must be spelled out in its entirety, I'll tell you I'm kidding, just to be safe. (And since we're spelling stuff out, don't throw daggers at me over the state-side mission thing – that was supposed to be funny. Also Spouse served a state-side mission and I married him anyway. It was a small sacrifice but I am able to endure it.)*

I say waiting to potty train is a great idea. Kids go dukey in the proper receptacle when they're good 'n ready – and not a day before. You try – emphasis on try – to potty train too early and it will take you three times as long. Trust me. I know this to be true. I've got a two-year scar. That's 24 months. Half of the poor kid's lifetime.

Even though I'm kidding about the above mentioned criticism, I am not kidding about the being sad part. I'm sad that we feel the need to criticize each other. Seriously, why? You've heard it, I've heard it. She made that "go ahead criticize, I don't care" comment because people actually criticize. People criticize everything... walking, exercise (not enough, too much), clothing (too big, too small, too revealing, too tacky), yard work (or lack thereof), cleanliness (too clean, too dirty), discipline and styles, weight (too fat, too thin, too soft, too hard – no one is ever just right,) money (spending habits, etc.), on and on and on and on...

Potty training, among various other "accomplishments," has somehow become a direct reflection of one's parenting prowess. "My Johnny was potty trained at eighteen months." Is often trumped by, "Well that's nothing. My Sally was born potty trained." Bee. Eff. Dee. No one cares how old Steve Jobs was when he was potty trained.

Bottom line? It's time for me** (us, you, Katy Couric) to discontinue oxygen waste via criticism. ALL criticism is taken out of context. And if you need to criticize in order to feel superior in some way, come on over! We do everything wrong around here. You'll be feeling like King Tut in no time.

* A few notes on my state-side mission joke: My current religious persuasion asks young men to serve two-year missions spreading The Good Word. Many do, but it is not a requirement. Some are called to serve in the United States while others are called to other places around the world. The culture I'm surrounded by has this ridiculous notion that being called in the United States, or as we say "state-side," is not as cool as being called elsewhere. For the record, I feel all missions are equally cool.

** I have been known to criticize here. However, most*** criticism is directly related to those who take money for a good or service. If you're providing a service, and someone is paying money for said service, I expect the good or service to be as advertised. If it does not, then I'll criticize. (For example, Sexy Modest, or that one magazine that features, and is read only by, those who might make a point of criticizing others' potty training skills.)

***I just remembered a few times where I've criticized. I'm going to do better. And if you're criticizing to be funny, that's an entirely different matter altogether.

Suffering In Park City - Tuesday Tune, vol 93

2011-09-06T22:00:00.005-06:00

When I think of the toughest endurance races, I think of that blistering 100+ degree Badwater ultramarathon, or the wallop of the Wasatch 100. Both are foot races meant to push man and woman to their absolute limit. Both are something I'll (most likely) never do. Mostly because of boredom. I cannot do (or watch) anything longer than four hours without losing complete interest (hence my distaste for football.) The Badwater and the Wasatch will take much (much!) longer than four hours. Therefore the Rabid, and her attention deficit, will decline entry to either.

That lofty Leadville mountain bike race is another such endurance event that I'll (most likely) never do. I've said this before, and here it is again. In addition to the boredom factor, there's also the skill factor. When it comes to mountain biking, I have none. (Okay, I have some, but this is a meager smidgin above none.)

This weekend, I added another I'll-never-do-that-race to my ever expanding list of endurance events that I'll (most likely) never do. This new addition is the Park City Point-2-Point; a 78ish mile mountain bike, single-tracked death roll with 14,000 feet of vertical.

Look at all those zigs! And all those zags!

My great friend Hillene was enlisted in this Park City Point-2-Point. Because I like Hillene, and I like to watch suffering, Spouse, Yahoos, and I decided to spectate. Figured we could make the day of it with some of Park City's summer activities.

The Point-2-Point is brutal! There is no other way to describe it. One finisher, who I'll call Dave, rolled across the finish, and in tears, said he'd spent 30 miles praying desperately for a mechanical. "Take a tire, a fork, my seat, the brakes, the whole dang bike... anything! Just make it so I don't have to finish!"

See, therein lies the difference between serious endurance athletes and the rest of us. They will not, can not, refuse to quit unless forced. Iron will is what keeps these people going. The only way to stop them is to take their equipment.

Case in Point-2-Point (har-har): Hillene, Bry, and Rad. Them three is crazy! Even crazier than me (and I'm pretty crazy.) First, let's tell Bry's story. Bry rolled into the Park City aid station, climbed off his bike and nearly tipped over. He stumbled about all dizzy-like, saying, "I'm done. I ain't finishing. I've been out of water for two hours. Where's some Carborocket. Somebody get me some Carborocket. I need some Carborocket." He collapsed into a random chair, jammed a sandwich into his mouth, and began a repeat, "Ahm done (chomp chomp) did suhmyone get me some (chomp chomp) Cahbohwocket? I can't finish (chomp chomp.)"

Bry couldn't even stand up. How was he going to ride another 22ish miles?

This is when being a popular guy helps. Out of nowhere, four people ran to his assistance. They told Bry that he was finishing, put him on his bike with two bottles of Carborocket, and pushed him on out. Perhaps I should mention that Bry was riding a rigid single-speed, which means no gears and no cushy suspension. Bry is either super tough or super dumb. Haven't decided which.

Bry ended up finishing in just over ten hours. And interestingly enough, he looked better after finishing than he did at the previous aid station. I told him he looked great and gave him a series of congratulatory hoo-rahs. "I'm telling you, Rabid," he said. "I couldn't have done it without those two naps."

"What?! You took naps?"

"Yeah. I stopped and curled up in the grass. But no one would leave me alone... everyone who went by kept asking if I was alright so I had hike a ways off so they'd leave me alone."

I suppose I'd take a nap too. 'Cept I would curl up and die. Which leads me to wonder if anyone has died on this Park City Point-2-Point. Wouldn't surprise me.

Hillene rolled into the Park City aid station twenty minutes after Bry. She looked great, but I had received word that she wasn't feeling great and was ready to quit at the previous aid station. She rode by the official P2P aid tent while someone yelled "Coke...?" She hollered "COKE!!!" jumped off her bike and began to guzzle. While guzzling, the volunteer looked her square in the eyes, and just a few decibels above a whisper, said, "You're killing it."

"I am? Serious? Give me some more Coke."

Hillene's husband John loaded her with soup a la chicken 'n stars, and more goodies. She climbed on the bike, we told her how awesome she is, and pushed her off. Just as she left, a lady next to us said, "Is that your sister?" I said, "I wish!" Then John said, "If you two were sisters, you'd fight."

Really? Would we really? Hmmm.

Hillene finished just shortly after Bry, in 10:19 (that's hours:minutes,) and placed second in female 36 and over. When she finished, she looked at me and said, "There is no point to that. I am never doing that again. Ever. It's all your fault! I wouldn't have finished if you hadn't been here!"

Looks like I have officially become part of her equipment.

Rad finished about an hour after Hillene. I wasn't able to see him finish (due to some starving Yahoos) but I did receive the following text: "That thing was AWFUL. Tree roots, rocks, trees, holes, and my suspension fork was locked out for the first 60 miles. And I had to notice it twice before I unlocked it. My neck hurts. Glad it's over, and somebody will have to do a lot of talking before I'll do that again."

Folks, there was some suffering at Park City Point -2-Point. That's why today's Tuesday Tune is:

Suffering In Park City – Davie Bowie

And all these years you thought Bowie was saying Suffragette City. Bah!

John at the Park City aid station.

Hanging with the talent at the finish.

Hey look, it's Rebecca Rusch!

The Great Backup Project

2011-09-04T21:00:00.001-06:00

At this very minute, I'm watching the Finder copy 28,402 files.... ope, now it's 28,367. You should try watching files copy, it's a gas. Much like watching paint dry is a gas. These 28,500ish files are all photos and they should be done copying in "about 2 hours." After I'm done watching the photos copy (all 28,500ish), I'm going to copy my itunes library. That might take only 1.5 hours.

Where, pray tell, am I copying these files? These bad boys are going on a hard drive, and that bad boy hard drive is going in a fire proof safe. The plan is to take the hard drive out of the fire proof safe each month, give it an update, and put it back in the fire proof safe for all time and protective infinity (or at least the next month when I do the backup again.) This is an additional backup to the backup that I keep in the house.

I'm giddy about this, really. Super, duper excited. Calling it a backupgasm.

Additionally, I'd like to take this file-copy-watching opportunity to remind you all to go backup your photos, files, and music. Go do it, anyway and how, so as to annihilate any anguish that might accompany a hard-drive-related atrocity.

Hey, look at that! Only 23,461 files to go!

Walkathon! - Tuesday Tune, vol 92

2011-08-31T16:00:00.003-06:00

Today's Tuesday Tunes (on Wednesday because I'm the CEO of this operation and I can do this from time-to-time) are brought to you by your friendly, neighborhood Public School. I've decided that the only thing wrong with Public School is the Public. (Don't ask 'cause it'll get me started. TRUST ME.)*

*I love these types of comments. They always scream "ask me! ask me! ask me! ask me!" don't they? Sure do. Then you'll ask, and I'll GO OFF and I'll say all sorts of horrible stuff. Then it'll be your fault because you're the one that asked and you were warned. This little trick is learned in manipulation 101 (or kindergarten) of your local public school.

The Yahoo's Public School is doing the Walkathon** in a couple of weeks. Isn't that exciting? Sure is. Even more exciting is that it's in September instead of April or May like usual. In previous years, we've had weather to contend to during these April and May months so having the Walkathon during Spectacular September is a welcome change.

**I sure hope the definition of Walkathon was correct. The Public via Wikipedia entered this definition and I didn't even read it! Hah! That'll show the Public.

Another welcome change is the mom in charge of the playlist. It's me this year! Yay! Let's hear for Rabid Playlists! At Public School! Being as I have some issues with appropriateness – specifically, what kind of tunes are appropriate for grade school – I'm asking for some assistance and/or guidance and/or recommendations. Here's what I have so far:

Work It Out - Jurassic 5 Feat. Dave Matthews Band
The Edge of Glory - Lady GaGa
I Gotta Go - Robert Earl Keen
Forever Young - Bob Dylan
I Like to Move It - will.i.am
Crocodile Rock - Elton John
Say Hey (I Love You) - Michael Franti & Spearhead Feat. Cherine Anderson
Magnificent - U2
I Run To You - Lady Antebellum
A Hard Day's Night - The Beatles
Aal Izz Well (Remix) - Shantanu Moitra, Shaan, Swanand Kirkire & Sonu Nigam
Footloose - Kenny Loggins
Drivin' My Life Away - Eddie Rabbitt
Give Love (Giving4Living Mix) - MC Yogi
Ready to Run - Dixie Chicks
I've Been Everywhere - Johnny Cash
Viva La Vida - Coldplay
One Day - Matisyahu featuring Nameless
Push It (Remix) - Salt-N-Pepa

For giggles, the final tune is so that the the Public can blame their education hardships on whoever made the Walkathon playlist. (That would be me. Blame me. I'm the Public too!)

Don't Blame the World, It's the DJ's Fault - Cobra Starship

I figured that a tune from each genre would be necessary, so I added some country and some pop, and some oldies and a few from the hip-hop(ish.) And because I feel no playlist is complete without a Bollywood hit, I added one of those as well (bet you can find it if you concentrate real hard.) The rock genre has not been represented. I need some help with this. All of the ones I'd pick have racy lyrics or angry jams. Anyone?

Incidentally, this makes me think that next week should be tunes about the inappropriate. Like Stacy's Mom by Fountains of Wayne. Ouch! So inappropriate. Tune in next week for the inappropriate. Now that'll be exciting. I won't take the easy route by adding tunes with swears. These tunes will be inappropriate for other reasons. Still not that difficult, I know, but humor me.

Drive To Five - Tuesday Tune, vol 91

2011-08-23T22:00:00.004-06:00

Last November, I (from American Fork, Utah) met my friends Tina (St George, Utah) and Megan (Sparks, Nevada) in New York City. Tina and I were there to run the marathon, and I begged Megan to join us for some kicks and many giggles. Tina brought her son Tyson (Scottsdale, Arizona), because, as was obvious, Tyson is Tina's biggest fan. Tyson brought his friend Branson (Salt Lake City, Utah) and Branson and Tyson had a rendezvous with their Connecticut friend Tony.

We were quite a bunch, us. And while we were spread amongst the country with our ages and careers and hobbies, we had one thing in common: The Internet. We had all met, and befriended one another with the help of our high-on-tcp/ip brother: The Internet

Megan and I met through our prospective blogs, and became friendly enough to vacation together multiple times. Tina and I met at a race in Hurricane, Utah, and thanks to Facebook, we became friendly enough to vacation together multiple times. Tyson, Branson, and Tony, however, befriended one another because of this internet – enough to vacation together multiple times – but the internet wasn't the only thing that brought the three stooges together. They were brought together because of a particular type of car, the Acura Legend.

Tyson, Branson, and Tony are Acura Legend connoisseurs, aficionados, etc. who are members of some Acura Legend on-line club for Acura Legend collectors. They're hot stuff. Legendary, in fact.

When I first met Tyson, I knew there was something special about him. I'm sure one could know this Tyson for many years without uncovering all of his specialness. I quite like the kid, and not just because he's Tina's.

As many of you already know – uh-hem – uncovering the specialness of a person is quite easy if they have a blog. (I mean, look at all the specialness you've learned about me.) When Tina was here last, she told me that our dearest, specialist Tyson has a blog. I was tickled pink to discover that Tyson, and all of his many specials, can be read about on a blog.

Tyson's blog is called Drive To Five. Check it out, you're gonna wanna, because it's an unfolding drama. Tyson has an Acura Legend with (just over) 490,000 miles. This reference to "Drive to Five" is a specific one. The reference being Drive To Five HUNDRED THOUSAND. That's 500,000 miles. On the same car, with the same engine, the same clutch, and same other stuff – even the tranny (I love that word, tranny. Say it. Go on. Say it out loud. It's fun. Tranny!)

Can you believe that? 490,000 miles. Makes you want an Acura, doesn't it? Does me. However, it has also renewed some gusto for my current vehicle and it's 158,000 miles. I'm going to take it all the way to 250,000. Watch me.

But before you watch me take my little vehicle to 250k, watch Tyson take his to 500. Should be happening any day now (not really, might be a month or two.) That's why today's Tuesday Tunes are all about driving and miles and cars and whatnot.

Ride The Lightning - Metallica
Journey To Oasis - Metisse
Dubbing In The Back Seat - The Upsetters
Shut Up and Drive - Rihanna
Middle Of The Road - The Pretenders
Cars And Guitars - Tori Amos
Good Times Roll - The Cars
I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles) - Proclaimers
Jerry Was A Race Car Driver - Primus
Joy Ride - The Killers
Rockin' Down The Highway - The Doobie Brothers
Spinning the Wheel - George Michael
Get Miles - Gomez
I Like to Move It - will.i.am
The Dreaming Road - Mary Chapin Carpenter
Mint Car - The Cure
How Many Miles Must We March - Ben Harper (covered by WET)
Ten Miles Back - The Crystal Method
Rough Rider - The English Beat
Ghost Towns Along The Highway - John Mellencamp
When The Road Runs Out - Blonde Redhead + Devastations
Freedom's Road - John Mellencamp
King of the Road - Roger Miller
Roadhouse Blues - The Doors
40 Miles To Vegas - Southern Culture On The Skids
Road To Nowhere - Ozzy Osbourne
The High Road - Broken Bells
I Am The Highway - Audioslave
Slow Ride [Single Version] - Foghat
Rental Car - Beck
Drive You Home - Garbage
Elvis' Wild Ride - String Cheese Incident
Love Is A Long Road - Tom Petty
Ride Of The Valkyries - Richard Wagner
Highway - Ingrid Michaelson
On the Road Again - Canned Heat
Take Me Home, Country Roads - John Denver
Car Wash - Rose Royce
Car Lights - Papermoons
Under My Wheels - Alice Cooper
Asleep At The Wheel - The Bloodhound Gang
Highway 51 Blues - Bob Dylan
Key To The Highway - Derek & The Dominos
Gypsy Road - Cinderella
Ride - The Dandy Warhols
Passenger Seat - Death Cab For Cutie
The Long And Winding Road - The Beatles
Wide Open Road - Johnny Cash
Walk Or Ride - The Ditty Bops
Enjoy The Ride - Morcheeba Feat. Judie Tzuke
Slow Ride - Sublime
Oil 1 - Moby
Journey Within - Paul Cardall
Same Road, Same Reason - Acoustic Alchemy
Gasoline - Audioslave
Road Man - Smash Mouth
Side Of The Road - Beck
Why Don't We Do It In The Road? - The Beatles
Coming Down The Road - John Mellencamp
Silver Wheels - Heart
Car Song - Elastica
Moonlight Drive - The Doors
Carry On Wayward Son - Kansas
Miles Away - The Verve Pipe
Every Day is a Winding Road - Sheryl Crow
Riders On The Storm - The Doors
Race Car Ya-Yas - CAKE
Freedom Of The Road - Martin Sexton
The Road - Patty Larkin
Highway Unicorn (Road to Love) - Lady GaGa
Road To Joy - Bright Eyes
Roads - Portishead
'Round The Wheel - String Cheese Incident
Drive - The Cars
In the Backseat - Arcade Fire
Ticket To Ride - The Beatles
Queen Of The Highway - The Doors
Winding Road - Bonnie Somerville
King's Highway - Kenny Wayne Shepherd
Heavy Fuel - Dire Straits
Stickshifts And Safetybelts - Cake

... And this just in, a few, fine additions from Jenn:

Hell on Wheels - The Clarks
Texas Ride Song - The BoDeans
All My Roads - Colin Raye
Lost My Driving Wheel - Cowboy Junkies
Drivin' My Life Away - Eddie Rabbit
Just a Ride - Jem
The Truck Song - Lyle Lovett

The Verdict Is...

2011-08-19T09:00:00.002-06:00

We are IN!

Yahoo #2 asked if Josh would kindly "play the Mario Bros song."

Josh obliged, and it's better in person.

Not sure what I'm talking about? Go here.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

2011-08-17T17:00:00.004-06:00

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
by J.K. Rowling

Hey kids! Check it out. I finally finished the final installment of the Harry Potter phantasm. Took me long enough. What the heck took me so long? I'll tell you what took me so long. Right around book five, I got bored with it and needed a break. Like a four-year break. I got tired of the J.K. Rowling Recipe. Which, you know, included Harry and friends finding something evil, then fighting the evil, then getting in trouble for fighting the evil. Round and round it went.

The Deathly Hallows finale, however, did not follow the recipe. It was intensely satisfying and unpredictable. I quite enjoyed myself through all of it's many pages. Interestingly enough, I cheated a bit and watched both Deathly Hallows flicks before starting the book. Even then, the book did not disappoint. Even then, I found it intensely satisfying and unpredictable.

For the record, I found both Deathly Hallows flicks to be fantastic. A fantastic phantasm! Also for the record, I'm rather fond of Ms. Rowling's alliterations. She uses them everywhere. She and I should have tea some time.

Up next: Outliers by Malcom Gladwell

Theme from Mario Bros – Tuesday Tune, vol 90

2011-08-16T06:00:00.010-06:00

As was mentioned earlier, we are losing our beloved piano teacher to the city of St. George (insert obnoxious sadness here.) We've looked hither and yawn for the perfect fit. Sadly, we haven't had much luck. My sister mentioned a young prodigy with whom she is acquainted – they're both getting the Masters in Music Mark at a University called Utah – and sent me some youtube video. He's fabulously talented and perhaps waaaaay out of our league. Forget the perhaps part; this guy is waaaaay out of our league.

His name is Josh Wright.

After some careful research, I still felt that he was waaaay out of our league. But then I stumbled upon a little ditty he does with the Super Mario Bros theme.

One viewing of Mr. Wright and his Mario Bros Masterpiece, and I was hooked. "I want this boy to teach my boys," said I, and decided then and there that it was worth a shot. I mean, the worst thing he could say is no, right? Right! It's totally worth a shot.

We have an audition with Josh today. Note that he is auditioning us, and not the other way around.

Wish us luck in the Mushroom Kingdom. And may we save Princess Toadstool, gather the right amount of coins, reveal the correct question-marked bricks, and defeat all the Goombas and Koopa Troopas. While we're at it, let's home the Yahoos don't pick up any Fire Flowers, for we want this Mr. Wright seeing the Yahoos in their true colors.

Taking It Out Back

2011-08-15T06:00:00.012-06:00

Spouse and me, we have this saying. When we love something, we say that we're going to take it out back and get it pregnant. This new camera lens? I love it so much that I'm going to take it out back and get it pregnant. Spouse's Tall Boy? He's gotten that thing pregnant multiple times. We love lots of things around here, so you'd think that the house would be full of impregnated articles of this 'n that.

Being as we have young Yahoos, we cannot rightly say the pregnant part. Mostly, it's because they're young, but it's also crude, and parents aren't supposed to be crude. So, when the Yahoos are around, and we love something so very much, we drop the pregnant part, and say, "I love this so much, I'm going to take it out back."

We cannot take credit for this get-it-pregnant genius. The idea was stolen from 30 Rock's Tracy Jordan. During one episode, Tracy declared his love for cornbread and said he was going to "take it behind the middle school and get it pregnant." We dropped the middle school part, because we don't have middle schools around here. But if we did, it would be at least a block or two away, and that would be too far. No matter where you are, "out back" is just a IUDs-throw away, so naturally, taking something out back is much more convenient than taking it behind the middle school. (When it comes to pregnancy, we like to keep it convenient.)

]

Well, just as you'd expect, the Yahoos are catching on. A few days ago, Spouse said something about my cooking being so awesome that he was going to take it out back (we'll just ignore the fact that he wanted to take the cooking out back, and not me.) Yahoo #1, tired of the "out back" mystery, closed one eye half way, and barked "What is with you two taking stuff out back?!"

Then, just two days ago, Yahoo #2 and I were preparing dinner. When I wasn't looking, the Pound Hound jumped up and grabbed some food, hung his head low, and disappeared. Yahoo #2 covered his mouth with both hands, and sheepishly – even impishly – hollered, "Mooooom. Max just took it out back!"

It's Leadville Day!

2011-08-13T12:00:00.003-06:00

Today is Leadville Day and I LOVE Leadville Day. Specifically, it's the Leadville 100 MTB day. (That's 100 miles on a mountain bike.) There are several types of Leadville events, so one must be specific these days. I love Leadville Day because it's the day I sit at my desk not suffering while I watch the stats of those suffering. This year, I'm watching around six people, and sending info on to their various support teams. My at-the-desk-not-suffering is important this year. I feel special.

Hillene just checked into Columbine Mine, which is the half-way mark. YOU'RE ALMOST THERE BABE! (Just kidding, she's not almost there, she has 50 miles to go.)

There's also the RadRacer who has also checked into Columbine Mine.

I'm also watching the Hammer, which if you'll recall, was on my Wasatch Back team.

And, because I like the Hammer, I decided to check the stats of her racing Spouse. Note that I'm checking his stats because he's is betrothed to the Hammer and not because he's Fat Cyclist. (But seriously, check Fatty out... he's killing it!)

For giggles, here's the map for Leadville. Doesn't that look fun!

Now, if you'll excuse me... I have important work to do. They might have all checked into the next check-in, and if they have checked into the next check-in, then I'll need to send some text messages.

Relaxed or Bored? – Tuesday Tune, vol 89

2011-08-09T23:00:00.002-06:00

This week, I learned that there's a super fine line between relaxed and bored. Seriously it's a very fine line. Like the fineness of fishing line or laser beam trip wires that they use in the high-tech thievery movies. That's why today's Tuesday Tunes are about relaxing and being bored.

Relax – Frankie Goes to Hollywood
Relax, Take It Easy – Mika
I Never Can Relax – Hellogoodbye
Bored – Deftones
I'm So Bored of the U.S.A. – The Clash
I'm Bored – Iggy Pop
Bored With Sorcery – Monster Magnet
Are We That Bored – The Great Fiction
So Bored – Sia

(It's a Fine Line Between) Pleasure and Pain – Divinyls

Jupiter Peak Inner Commentary

2011-08-08T10:00:00.054-06:00

Saturday's Jupiter Peak left me with some inner commentary. This inner commentary has been mulling about for many hours. I figured that if it's mulling about, there must be a reason. That's why today's post is about making my mullings public.

The E Word
Here's the trouble with recreating on single track around here – each and every person on it believes the trail belongs to them, and only them. The Park City folks claim the trail because they live in town, pay the taxes, and it's their back yard. Racers demand dominion, because they paid good, hard-earned cash to be there, and each has a numbered bib to prove it. Other racers, prolly 90%, postulate privilege because their podium positioning depends upon it. Outta my way! There's only 300 in front of me, but I'm gonna pass 'em all on a single track, just watch!

There's also the hikers, who, in their vested virtue, are using the trails the way The Grand Creator intended, on foot; not running, and certainly not cycling. Finally, we have the cyclist. Most are generous about crowds, but a few elitist egotists demand full reign because, well, just look at how awesome they are. Their awesomeness alone should have the city council waving a submissive white flag in their honor. Look at you climb! No one else is worthy! The trail is all yours! Follow me to the court house pronto! And we'll turn it all over to you, and only you!

The E word. Entitled. That's what they are. My Jupiter Peak adventure was full of the Entitled. About a mile and a half into the race, a group of us racers were trotting along when we came upon a hiker. A gentleman ahead of me said, "Can we get by you please?" and she replied with a "Sure thing asshole." That was the first run-in.

The second one came on the way down. I came upon another runner, one sporting the head phones. So I said, "Can I get by you?" He said nothing, and I figured he couldn't hear me, so I said it again. "CAN I GET BY YOU SIR?" Still nothing, so when the trail opened a bit, I darted past him. He wasn't pleased. But here's the deal with headphones on a a crowded single track – if you cannot hear the twigs breaking, or the stomping behind you, then your tunes are too loud. Maybe I should have tapped him on the shoulder, or pinched his tight little toosh? Next time.

The rest were cyclists coming up. Pretty much every cyclist I came upon was a near crash, and most were ticked that there was a race that day. When I could see them coming, I jumped off the the trail. Some of the corners were blind, however, and neither of us could see much. One girl coming around the corner looked at me and yelled "BIKE!" so I jumped off. She said thanks, and I said, "Sure thing, babe." Cause that's the kind of gal I am – the kind that will jump off so as to avoid a crash.

Shortly after the BIKE! babe, I heard some guy crash, then yell "There are bikes on this trail! Watch the eff out." And when I finished, a received word that a girl I know actually had a collision with an uphill cyclist.

Saturday was extremely crowded. And everyone felt they were there first. So what's the protocol? Trail rules say that the uphillers should yield to the downlhillers. This meant all racers had the right-of-way. But when speed is involved, there isn't time for a decent yielding; there's only time for a panicked reaction.

Next year, I would suggest that the Mountain Trails folks post a sign at the bottom of various trailheads to warn travelers that a race is happening and to expect a crowd. Might not hurt to remind them that the race is a fundraiser for said trails. Then we could all slow down a touch and be considerate. I realize that our beloved workouts might suffer because of this, but we'll all be alive and unharmed, yes?

After I've coerced the trail community to slow down and be considerate, I'll get right to work on the drivers of Utah. The whole lot of them. Wish me luck.

Attention Race Directors!
Wanna make more money at your race? It's super easy. All you have to do is provide an ugly shirt with the race, then present the option to buy a super cool shirt. That's what the Mountain Trails people did. They gave us all this ugly shirt, but had a "limited edition" La Sportiva on display that we could take home for just $15 more. Did I buy the super cool shirt? No, but Spouse did! I heart Spouse. He knows a super cool t-shirt when he sees one.

Exhibit A, ugly race shirt:

Exhibit B, Super Cool Race Shirt:

See? No comparison. Wouldn't you pay more for the super cool shirt?
Or at least get your Spouse to pay more for the super cool shirt?

Let's Hear it for Humans
Did you know that I'm human? Sure am. But did you know that among us humans there are non-humans? It's true. These non-humans can do super human things. Like run up 3000 vertical feet, then back down, a total of 15 miles, and do so in 1:51. That's one hour, 51 minutes.

How do they do that? Forget the fitness. I'm talking about the footing. How do you run 6:00 minute miles on a trail and not trip? Blows my mind. I'm human. Those freaks are not. And it's high time I stop comparing myself to those non-human freaks.

And Humans Take Pictures
While I was climbing this mountain as a human, I decided that humans take pictures. Non-humans don't take pictures because they're always going too fast. If they were to take photos, the photos would end up blurry (that fast thing, you know.) When I succeeded to a race that would most definitely blow chunks, I stopped for photos. Glad I did. I mean, it'd be tragic if I never made it up there again, and didn't have any photos. You never know when your last trip will actually be your last...

See that mountain in the background? That's The Peak. I'm almost there, and I'm trying to hide the grimace. Doesn't look like I'm any good at hiding the grimace, though. It's a grimace that says, "holy crap, I gotta climb that thing." Notice the anti-embelism socks, that, contrary to Skibikejunkie belief, do wonders for the calves.

Aid station with gummy bears, pretzels, Swedish fish, Powerade, water, and digested cat food mixed with raisins and formed into a bar of some sort. Stuck with my pomegranate Honey Stingers.

In the Which I Reveal that I'm a Hypocrite
After the race on Saturday, I had posted some thoughts on my rough day. Jenn commented about my attitude; something about my attitude being "awesomely epic." In full disclosure, I must confess that the finish brought with it a complete I-suck-at-this-I'm-going-to-quit-running meltdown. The kids were not impressed. "Mom! You're swearing! Quit swearing!" they said.

This is their "Mom, quit swearing face."

Either that or they aren't pleased with me positioning a photo in front of a pink bike.

To add further insult to my already melting meltdown, the race people were selling those super cool shirts, would only take cash, and we didn't have enough cash on our person. Spouse, being the super cool spouse that he is, said, "Let's go to a store for a drink or something and get some cash."

So that's what we did. We went to the store for cash, and while we were there I grabbed a bottle of pickles. On the way back, I swallowed eight baby dills whole and guzzled a few tablespoons of the juice. Pickles and juice are where it's at! Partaking the pickles pushed-out miss pissy-pants and replaced her with the positivity princess.*

*Why does the letter "P" produce the most promise for alliterating? It's true. Do more words start with "P" than other letters or what?

Do it in Gore (TM)
And finally, we get to the highlight of the day. The part where we bedecked ourselves head-to-ankle in everything Gore (TM) and jumped in the Gore (TM) hurricane booth. Super cool, this Gore (TM) hurricane booth. There was wind and rain. And during the wind and the rain, we jumped around and wailed the "aaaa-aahh-ah" from Immigrant Song. Then we jumped some more and hollered – had to holler, it was noisy in there – "We come from the land of the ice and snow, from the midnight sun where the hot springs flow!"

We walked out of Gore's (TM) hurricane booth dry. Gore (TM) really works! Check it out:

Personal Worsts are More Work than Personal Bests

2011-08-06T20:00:00.005-06:00

Why is it, that a personal worst seems like more work than a personal best? I asked Spouse this same question an hour go. His reply was epic. (I feel like dropping that epic word today, so I'll prolly drop that epic word multiple times, and I might even pull a fast one and call something amazing and epic.)

In reply to my personal-worsts-seem-like-more-work-than-personal-bests question, Spouse's epic reply was, "The joy of victory erases all pain." See? That was amazingly epic.

I pulled some fast Faulkner foreshadowing on you today. Did you catch that? That first paragraph was a hint that today's Jupiter Peak Steeplechase didn't turn out so great. Holy crap, it was awful. Awfully fun, but awful none-the-less.

My subconscious pulled some fast Faulkner foreshadowing on me as well. Spouse drove me to the race this morning. On the way, I looked up at the great beyond, way up high with the airplanes, to that epic peak in the sky, that peak known as Jupiter, looming above like one of those two towers with Gollum on it, and said, "Do I really have to do this?" I don't remember what he said, but like I'm ever going to plop down cash to run the most epic (and usually my favorite) race of the year, then bail 400 meters from the parking lot. (Seriously though, I could see 'n hear Gollum up there growling for his precious.)

Well, I showed up, and I ran/hiked all the way up, and ran like hell all the way down. In years' past, (specifically, last year) I've been able run all the way to a ridge called Pioneer, which is pretty close to the mad scramble at the top. This year, however, was not so good for running. Great for hiking? Yes. But running? Nada. I've told everyone that I wobbled in 30 minutes slower than last year. But after careful research, I can conclude that I was only 12 minutes slower.

Here's the official map from the web site:

And here's the proof from the watch that I actually did it:

Isn't that so cute how the Garmin map people call it "Jupiter Hill?"

That ain't no hill. That Jupiter is a mountain!

So what happened? Besides the 3,490 feet of vertical? Not sure. And I'm not sure I care either. Today was a great reminder. A reminder that when participating in endurance activities, there will always be a rough day here and there. I will not, however, call these rough days "bad." For any day that the body will move is never a bad day. And any day you can spend in the mountains of Utah is an amazingly epic day for sure.

I'll do it again next year. It wasn't that rough.

Focus on Fun

2011-08-04T21:00:00.007-06:00

I've been super duper burned out on all sorts of things lately. Running included. Running especially. I've been unable to see the point in my day-to-day happenings, and also see no reason to shake up the day-to-day happenings so as to produce a point. Heck, I'm so unable to see points, that I've removed point-producing items, like the pencil sharpener, all the ballet shoes, and the bra to my Madonna costume.

I am burnt. And you know you're in trouble when your one tool for preventing the burn-out is causing the burn-out (running in my case.)

To be honest, I wasn't looking forward to the actual running of the Timpanogos Half Marathon last weekend. I was excited to see friends and whatnot, but the prospect of racing gave me dread, and it's all because I want to be (and run) fast.

When summer rolls around, I have an undulating desire for speed and focus on fast. All I think about is getting faster. I read this 'n that from various circulars and publications, all in the hopes that I will finally find the thing, the plan, the mileage, the supplement, the shoes – the whatever – that will make me run faster.

All this focus on fast can make a runner forget about the fun, and how the fun of running is the reason you do it in the first place.

Last Saturday morning, I was not in the mood to run. Goes without saying that I was not in the mood to race either. I was all sorts of blah. On the bus ride, I decided that I'd just run the first mile and see what happens. That's it. Run the first mile and try to have fun doing it. So that's what I did, I ran the first mile and discovered that I was enjoying myself. Decided that I could prolly push it and still have fun. I finished the race decently, had a great time, and earned a new PR.*

*Well kind of a PR. I'm calling this race my new half marathon PR. I've run a half marathon in 1:29:07, but that half marathon was the Hobble Creek and it always measures around 12.8 instead of 13.1. At a 7 minute mile average, that's about 1 minute 45 seconds of cheating. With this same logic, one might infer that Saturday's 1:30:22 would be a 1:28:37 at Hobble Creek.

Something magical happened this weekend. I discovered that I run because it's fun, and not because I'm fast. I also discovered that if you focus on fun, the fast will come.

I think there's a life metaphor in there somewhere, don't you? Whatever you're doing, whatever your responsibilities, find the fun in it first, and the rest will work itself out. Not having fun? Make it fun or do something else. Not able to do something else? Wear that Madonna bra and sharpen pencils 'til you decide that anything is better than sharpening pencils in a Madonna bra. Especially running.

The Timpanogos Half Marathon

2011-08-03T22:00:00.002-06:00

This is a Race Report! Race Report! Race Report! Race Report!

I feel like Steve Martin and his phone books. This means you should picture me all spazzy and such. I have a race report! Race report! I have a race report because I ran a race! And my name ended up in the results! In print! Number 15 in women! Number 2 in women aged 35-39!* This is the kind of spontaneous publicity that makes people! Things are going to start happening to me now!

*For the record, they handed me the Number 2 award in female 35-39 at the official award ceremony, but when I looked at the results on the web site, they say I'm number 3. This has happened to me a few times. They say one thing at the end of the race, but the "official" whatever on the site says something different. This generally means that somebody, somewhere, got a bad shaft, and we'll never know who! Note that I have the official Number 2 award in my possession, so I'm going with Number 2. Hu hu hu hu hu. Why do I feel like either Beavis or Butthead every time I type something about a "Number 2 Award?" Hu hu hu hu. Number 2. Hu hu hu hu.

Now that I've cooled significantly, let's back it up and start at the beginning. On this last Saturday, July the 30th, I ran the Timpanogos Half Marathon. Now, here's the fun part about this race: It was strangely familiar (like 8 miles familiar) to the AF Canyon Half Marathon that I ran just a month ago. Why is this the fun part? Because I could compare 'n contrast, that's why.

Rather than present you with a flowery description of the course, I'll just upload the Garmins for each. First, I present to you, the map for the AF Canyon Half Marathon, which I completed in 1:32:25, a 6:59/mile average, but who's counting:

Next, I present you with the map for the Timpanogos Half Marathon, completed in 1:30:22, a 6:52/mile average, but who's counting:

See the difference? The first 8 miles are the same, the rest is different except for the spot that it finishes. In my professional opinion, I'd have to say that the AF Canyon Half is faster. However, due to that silly Wasatch Back Relay, I was unable to run at par, and ran it two minutes slower. (Catch that? Might need to read that sentence a few times to get my drift.) Here it is again, just another way. Even though the AF Canyon Half is a faster course, I ran it slower.

Both the AF Canyon and the Timpanogos Half Marathons were spectacular races. Spectacular. If I were a picking person (which I am, but I'd say I'm more along the lines of a "picky" person as opposed to a "picking" person) I have to say that hands and feet down, the AF Canyon Half marathon is a better race.

The AF Canyon is better because it's faster, better organized, $20 less, benefited a charity, and provided the top finishers with some cool prizes. The top three at the Timpanogos Half received little stuffed animals. Cute, right? Run yer guts out for an hour and change for a stuffed moose. Also, the AF Canyon Half started on time. Bonus for starting on time! We runners like the business of starting on time.

Will I do the AF Half again next year? You betcha. Will I do the Timpanogos Half next year? You betcha. Loved them both. One awesome thing about the Timpanogos Half, is that it also has a full marathon. I'm thinking about doing that one next year for the finishing medal alone. The finishing medal is a sparkly dinner-plate sized medallion thing. If I earn one, rest assured that it will be converted into a dinner-plate-sized belt buckle. Gonna wear it with my Wranglers and snake-skin sh** kickers.

(I don't have Wranglers or snake-skin sh** kickers. But maybe if I earn one of them dinner-plate medallion things, and if I convert said dinner-plate medallion thing into a belt buckle, I might just need to fetch me some of them Wranglers and snake-skin sh** kickers.)

Now that we have covered the race itself, I must tell you all about my favorite part of this race. It was Tina! Tina came all the way from Logan to stay with me and run. She and I haven't spent any time together since our New York Marathon jaunt, so it was good to spend the evening together catching up. That Tina is a keeper.

Prerace Picture Off

Post-race Tom Foolery

My little brother with his blister.

(He's not really my little brother but I wish he was my little brother.)

This friend I like to call "The Most Beautiful Girl in all the Land" because it's true.

She's the most beautiful girl in all the land.

Some girl with a funny shirt.

Piano Man - Tuesday Tunes vol, 87

2011-08-02T13:00:00.000-06:00

There's been some sadness 'round our parts. We've had some bad news, and this bad news has been so tragic that I cannot bring myself to discuss it. Whenever the topic comes up, I look the other way and sing a happy song. I think about flowers and fruits and pastries. I think about clouds and ferries to Vancouver Island. I do not want to look this situation square in the face.

In the interest of history, however, and how I feel during certain parts of history, and how I generally keep track of how I feel during certain parts of history on this here blog, and how I should prolly start dealing with this tragic news instead of avoiding this tragic news, I had better do some recording about this bad news.

Ready? The Yahoo's piano teacher is moving.

This is so bad. Bad, bad. Megan understood my grief – somewhat. She said something about how losing the Yahoo's piano teacher was just like dropping her MacBook Pro, and ruining it beyond repair. I told her that was close. But actually, it is just like the Macbook Pro WERE NEVER INVENTED.

Do you see how bad this is? Bad.

Imagine life without your Macbook Pro, then imagine how I feel about losing our beloved piano teacher, Rachel. I asked the Spouse if we could move. He said no, but we could buy an airplane to take the Yahoos to lessons each week. Trouble is, we don't have cash laying around for a plane. If we did have cash laying around for our very own plane, I would have surely gone to Portland for donuts yesterday.

Oh Rachel, dearest Rachel. How we will miss you so. How I wish we could get you to stay. You can all expect a full tributary, complete with photos and videos and bonding rituals and whatnot. Look for it soon.

Since we are now in the market for a new teacher, today's songs are inspired by:

Piano Man – Billy Joel

But here's some more:

Wrapped In Piano Strings – Radical Face
Unplayed Piano (Chris Lord-Alge Mix) – Damien Rice & Lisa Hannigan
The Piano Knows Something I Don't Know – Panic! At the Disco
A Love Note from Your Piano – Alaska In Winter
Piano Picker – Carpenters

And here are some of my classical favorites:

Beethoven's Piano Concerto No. #3, performed by Arther Rubenstein
Franz Liszt's La Campanella, performed by Josh Wright
Mozart's Rondo alla Turca, performed by me! Just kidding. Performed by someone else.
Chopin's Nocturne #2 in E Flat, an E is never flat. Trust me, I've been an E.
Faure's Sicilienne, performed by someone on a Yamaha. Evidently.

p.s. You there in St George, Utah? You have no idea what kind of talent hurricane is coming your way! No idea!

If I Were A Rich Man

2011-08-01T12:00:00.001-06:00

If I were a rich man, I'd grab a plane ride to Portland, grab three dozen Voodoo donuts, then fly right home. If I were a rich man, I do stuff like that every day. EVERY. DAY. It's not that they are great donuts (which they are) it's the spontaneous novelty.

Lately, I've been lacking this spontaneous novelty, and it appears as though I'm blaming the funding of this spontaneous novelty.

p.s. I started this on the facebook, then realized it was too deep for the facebook. Also, I rewrote that last sentence, like, five times. Holy crap, I'm a mess. Anyone got any ideas for some spontaneous novelty? Do share.

A Story Without a Point (Or Get Your Techy-Wear Wash at Trek!)

2011-07-28T15:00:00.010-06:00

I'm out of techy-wear laundry soap and haven't done any techy-wear laundry for almost two weeks. New to this techy-wear laundry soap business? Still washing your techy-wear in tide? Does it stink more after washing than it did when you finished using and abusing it? Does your room reek of used-but-washed techy-wear? Let me help you with that.

Here's the deal with techy-wear: You pay a fair amount of cash for this techy-wear, and even more if it's attractive techy-wear, so why not take care of it? Wash it in cold water with a techy-wear wash, then hang-to-dry. Easy as pie.*

*Oh and here comes a tangent. Since when did pie become easy? Good pie, that is. Why do they say "easy as pie?" Pie is not easy. I made four pies Monday, and it was far from easy. Worth it? Of course. Easy? No way. Washing techy-wear is easier than pie.

My favorite techy-wear laundry soap is ProWash. Comes in a pouch, works nicely, is relatively inexpensive, and until recently, was carried at the local grocery store.

My next favorite is Sport Wash. Sport Wash costs more and is carried at a few specialty places here and there. In the past I have ordered it from my favorite online running store, Running Warehouse.

I don't know of a third option, and therefore I do not have a third favorite. This is where you tell me about some up-and-at-'em techy-wear wash that I need to try today. Or not. Whatever.

As was mentioned earlier, the local grocery store quit carrying the ProWash variety of techy-wear wash. As is natural for people like me, I stopped at the store's service station to fill out one of those can-you-carry? cards. This store's can-you-carry? card asked for my phone number. In most circumstances, I cease to include the correct contact info. My mobile phone, or home phone, or any other phone, is not available for any sort of harassment. My mobile phone, and home phone, and other phones, are at my disposal for discussing stuff I want to discuss. Therefore, I generally discompose my digits when somebody asks for 'em. (I know what you're thinking. And the answer is "No. I didn't date much.")

The store wants my phone number. This left me at an impasse. I don't want to give them my phone number, but I want ProWash. They might have ProWash. They might be able to phone me when they get ProWash.

I gave them my correct phone number, then traveled home to trusty ol' Amazon to order some ProWash. I ordered three pouches. I have yet to be charged for these pouches, and I have yet to receive them. Yesterday, the puzzle all came together. The grocery store called to inform that ProWash had been "discontinued by the manufacturer."

Bummer. Or in this case, stinky bummer.

And now... finally... the point of my story. If there is one. Actually, there is no point...

Last night the family was out. We were in the same area as the Trek dealership, so I hollered at Spouse to stop at the Trek store for some Sport Wash. (I don't have to "holler" at Spouse to stop at a bike shop, like, ever, so it wasn't a literal hollering, I just like the word "holler" in all of its forms.)

We walked into the store, I picked up the Sport Wash, and I paid for the Sport Wash. While going about my business, Spouse found the road bikes (he's on a road-bike kick right now. Happens periodically.) I stumbled upon Spouse as he was fondling a fancy shmancy Trek Madone with a carbon frame.

"Pick up this bike." He says. Which always means, "Wow. Can you believe how light this bike is? I can lift it with my left nipple."

To humor him, I picked up the bike. "Ah. That's HEAVY!" I said, all loud-like.

After calling this carbon-framed Trek Madone "heavy," I looked up at the salesperson to make sure he was listening, and you know, see if he caught my joke.

He did not catch my joke. He marched over, complete with puffy chest, and commanded, "How much does YOUR bike weigh." Notice that there isn't a question mark. It wasn't a question, it was a commandment. (Thy bike shalt not weigh less than a Trek Madone! In carbon!)

"Dude. I'm just here for some Sport Wash. And the Spouse is here for the jollies he gets from fondling something he cannot have." (I didn't really say that, but you knew as much, right? I just told the guy that I had a mountain bike, which is an implied no contest.)

There you have it – my Story Without a Point. However, this whole carbon-framed techy-wash field trip got me thinking. Ready? We should make techy-wear out of carbon. Think how light and fast carbon techy-wear will make us!

Also, no one ever gets my jokes. Maybe I'm not funny.

Amityville Altamont

2011-07-25T21:00:00.034-06:00

There are two things that scare the dickens out of me. They are: 1) running backwards 'n naked into a brass doorknob, and 2) cows. Not kidding. I've had nightmares over brass in the buttocks (pewter and sterling are okay) and I am beyond-category horrified of cows.

In my short(ish) lifetime, I've stumbled upon several moose without losing my cool, and I've seen a few rattlesnakes. When I was a kid, I used to chase bears and elk and deer and birds with my dad Mikey so that he could take some photos. This was no big deal. But cows on the loose? Holy Krishna.

Spouse, Yahoos, and I have just returned from the annual reunion of Spouse's family. We vacationed in a town called Altamont, Utah. Which, incidentally, is where my Ma lived 'til she was five. A lovely place, this Altamont, Utah. I hope to return. Heck, I'd give a lot of money to stay there for a whole month every year. Altamont is a ranching, oil-mining town where houses are separated by half, or even full miles. I became enamored with the "nothingness" of this town – most all of the "nothingness" anyway. I am not into the "nothingness" that involves cows.

Right now, I'm in the middle of some marathon training – I think I'm always in the middle of some marathon training, so I guess that should just be assumed. But you and I both know that you shouldn't assume because it makes an "ass" out of "u" and "me." (Get it? "ass u me?" I know, you got it. I'm just recording this "ass u me" trick for my grandkids.) Anyway! I'm in the middle of some marathon training, and a 20 miler was on the schedule for this last weekend. Being as I was in Altamont, Utah, I used this 20 miler as an opportunity to see some Altamont, Utah.

Saturday's 20-miler plan was as follows: Spouse would wake early, drive me 20 miles to a place called Moon Lake, where he'd throw me out the door with some fuel and water. He would then drive back to the ranch in which we were staying, climb on his bike and pedal back to me.

Well, that was the plan. This plan, however, was thrown out with both the baby and the bathwater during the ride to Moon Lake. This plan was thrown out once the Rabid spied a giant "Open Range" sign. Open Range! You might as well turn me over to Voldemort. Or bury me naked in a casket full of brass doorknobs.

Turns out that the "Open Range" sign was legit. Over a five mile jaunt, we spied four (count them four!) separate cow herds. All mad heffers with calfs, and all wandering about in the road. Spouse took one look at my poor trembling cow-tenance and offered to drive with me until the bovine brood was good and behind. We figured it would be about five miles.

Ready. Set. Go run past the cows!

It was a bit chilly. Had to start with some warmers. But that didn't last long. Notice the scaredy cat below. That face is scared. Cows can smell my fear. They smell my fear and know that I'm weak.

Oh and lookey here. Cows. I was tucked in behind the vehicle. Look at the stare down of this one! Scary. I'm afraid the Hindus have picked an evil being for their sacred.

And so it was, for the space of five(ish) miles, Spouse drove ahead of me, all the way through the cow herd 'n turd war zone. I made it safely back to the "Open Range" sign – which going the other way, is a welcomed "closed range" sign. Yay! Once at this sign, however, Spouse was having such a grand time that he decided to leapfrog the entire 20 miles. He'd drive ahead, get out his giant knockers, (aka binoculars) look at stuff, wait for me to pass, then drive ahead.

He took great care of me. I quite enjoyed him taking care of me. To date, this 20-miler is among one of my favorites. Even with the cows. Purdy too! Oh my heck!* Purdy.

*"Oh my heck!" is a local Utah-ism. One I try real hard-like not to say. But being as we just returned from hickville, it was decently apropos. Speaking of hickville, you shoulda seen them ranchers drive by. All five of them. They'd look at me as if to say, "You ain't from 'round hair, ur ya? You ain't workin' hurd nuff if you got inergy ta run."

Half Way! Check out the sweat droplet.

Bovine behind barbed wire. Where they should be.

From whence I came. This was a decent hill.

From whence I plan to go. Down hill then up again.

Hot now. No arm warmers. Temperature was 79F when I finished.

Finished!

Villain of Choice

2011-07-24T20:00:00.001-06:00

If I could be any villain in the whole wide world, I'd pick Bellatrix. That girl is Bad A.

Or perhaps I'd be the Red Queen. She, also, is Bad A.

Oh, but then there's Mrs. Lovett. Holy crap, a villain and a cannibal. Bad A.

I think my obsession with the above Bad A villains has more to do with my lust for Helena Bonham Carter (aka Mrs. Tim Burton), than their individual badness. That woman gives me chicken skin (and chicken skin is good! Especially with butter.) I hear that the next villainous adventure from Mrs. Burton is in the form of a terminator. I can't wait to get chicken skin from a robot.

The Race Calendar

2011-07-22T15:00:00.006-06:00

Spouse has asked for the race calendar. With a text he said, "Are all of your races on 'the calendar?'" I said not quite and got to it. See Spouse and me share a Google calendar. Sharing an on-line calendar has proven itself paramount in our parenting partnership. When something comes up, you put it in the calendar. If we both check the calendar on a regular basis, then we both know what's about to go down and out. Except for when one of the partners forgets to include events. Like my part of the partner.

For giggles (cause somehow my race calendar gives me the giggles) I've decided to spell it out here. For all time and infinity.

June 30 – Timpanogos Half Marathon. Tina's coming. Yay!

August 6 – Jupiter Peek Steeplechase. (Peak spelled Peek on purpose, 'cause I'm going to go to the top to have a peek. Isn't that what you do on peaks? Peek?)

October 1 – St. George Marathon. Number 9. That's nine yays.

January 15 – Houston Marathon. Everyone says, "Why?" and I always say "Why not?"

I'm sure some other stuff will come up. But as of now, this is the plan. What's on your race calendar?

Tammy Wynette - Tuesday Tunes, vol 87

2011-07-19T17:00:00.004-06:00

For many years, I've wanted to pick a bone or two with Tammy Wynette. Rather than bombard you with a flowery introduction, I'll just come right out and say it: Tammy Wynette released a song called D.I.V.O.R.C.E., then released a tune called Stand By Your Man. All in the same year, 1968.

Oh Tammy. NO YOU DINUNT.

She did. Somehow she thinks (thought) that you could do both the divorce thing and the stand-by-your-man thing. She lectured us all about putting up with our men running amok, but called it quits with a pathetic divorce song – a song that required the spelling-it-out so the kids wouldn't know.

Now why the aich do I care? I don't really. Except for when I hear that D.I.O.V.R.C.E song. For when I hear that song, I always insist on barking "How can Tammy get a way with a Stand By Yer Man song in addition to a D.I.V.O.R.C.E song? How can she do that?! It's just plain wrong. Not to mention the poor woman was married five times. FIVE! That's just plain wrong too. What does she think marriage is? A piece of paper that you sign?"

As an aside I always get a chuckle when I remember ol' Hillary proclaiming that she's "not some Tammy Wynette standing by [her] man." Um, Hillary? Tammy, with her five divorces, didn't really stand by her man(s). Just sayin'. Perhaps Hillary needs a staffer to feed her with an accurate representation of pop (country) culture?

The D.I.V.O.R.C.E. song made its grand entrance at Vera's house last Saturday night. In customary rabid fashion, I began my signature "Hypocrisy of Tammy Wynette" diatribe. Vera told me to shut up and blog about it. So that's why today's Tuesday Tunes are Tammy Wynette's:

D.I.V.O.R.C.E.
Stand By Your Man

Irregardless of the hypocrisy, they're great tunes anyways. (That was for you Jenn. Grin.)

So good are these tunes, that they've been covered multiple times. My personal favorite? Stand by Your Man - Motörhead

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Mondays (and sometimes other days) are RAD!

2011-07-18T17:00:00.002-06:00

I'm a Monday person. Always have been. Mostly it's because I'm more productive and whatnot on Mondays. Generally this is due to a return to routine after a pandemic cram-it-til-it pops weekend. Summers are expecially chaotic.

Speaking of summer Mondays, these summer Mondays (and sometimes other days) are RAD! And the reason they are RAD! is because in the summers, people participate in races, and then when they're done racing, they blog about it.

Am I the only one that gets all charged up about this? Today's Monday was expecially RAD! Here's why:

Stupidbike raced some ridiculous steep thing in Breckenridge at something like 23,000 feet, without oxygen, and lived to tell about it.
Grizzly Adam Cruuuuushed the Tushar in it's inaugural offering.
Fatcyclist, in an effort to live up to that "Fatty" moniker, chowed (and raced) the Tour de Donut.
This just in (7:34pm,) SkiBikeJunkie raced the Tushar Crusher, and gave us all a gander.

Anyone else have a race report worth reading and/or sharing? Please do! Haven't written your race report from last weekend? Well get on it already!

p.s. I have the tour now. Just in time for the Alps. We found a computer and hooked it to the our main stage TV so that I can absorb the tour while I go about my morning business. Even though I no longer "need" the Tour de POOR ME playlist, I'm still listening to it because it's RAD!

Bright-Sided

2011-07-17T19:00:00.003-06:00

Bright-Sided
by Barbara Ehrenreich

The last few years we've been rained upon by self-help this, and a bunch of power-to-the-postive that. If you've read (or watched) The Secret, you know it's a book of promises from various life coaches, positive psychology buffs, and success gurus. Theses folks say that you can have anything you want... even all that you want... just be positive, and dream it!

It's true. Try it now. Close your eyes and visualize me knocking on your door with dinner and tickets to Disneyland. Make sure you keep it real by dreaming in color. Kay? Ready...? Now go dream...!

Did I knock on your door?

Hopefully the answer is an affirmative nope. (An "affirmative nope" is a "nope" with a positive spin. Gotta keep it positive. Also, it seems that I'll need to stay home for the next while so as to prove this here point.)

The Secret promises stuff. Mostly material stuff. Riches, mansions, even your very own giraffe. All you gotta do is be positive! And it will happen! Just like that! It's magic! They promise this. If you don't believe me, read the book. Or watch the silly show.

The Secret et al. also promises lasting health, prolonged wearing of your skinniest jeans, as well as a visit from the positivity princess herself, Oprah. All you gotta do is be positive. Have cancer? Be positive and it'll go away! Broken feet? Think happy thoughts and you'll walk tomorrow! In your fattest of fat jeans? No problem! Think about rice cakes while you inhale twelve pizzas and a diet coke. Those jeans will finally fit! And Oprah? Just subscribe to her magazine and she'll knock on your door too!

But what if you are positive, and you are dreaming for all of your riches and giraffes, and you fail to receive these riches and giraffes? What then? You failed. You're a pessimistic ninny! You aren't being positive enough! That negative thought you thought about your dirty garage? That ruined your chance of riches and giraffes! Drop-down and give me the reading of all of Tony Robbinses books! Or 25 push-ups. You decide.

Truth is, I'm a believer in positive affirmations. I believe that being positive makes things happen. I believe that the more positive you are, the harder you will work, and the better your life. I also believe that every now and again, we could all use a swift kick o' motivation. So, in fairness to the mega-motivation squad, I believe they are on to something.

However, I don't believe the dream-it-and-achieve-it bull. I subscribe to more of the dream-it-work-your-ass-off-then-scrupiously, even critically-review-your-work-and-then-achieve-it. That's what I believe.

In regards to sickness, I believe there's a mind-body connection somewhere. Not sure what it is, and at this point, it cannot be proven. Irregardless, I believe (from my own experience) that the body will heal better if you're positively hopeful. I believe that. Do I believe that being hopeful alone will do the trick? That's an affirmative nope (there I go being positively negative again.) Health requires some work too. That work might involve rest, or restraint, or exercise, or or some help from modern medicine.

I think Barbara Ehrenreich and I could agree on some things. This Barbara is the author of today's book report titled Bright-Sided. While we both agree that the motivation hocus pocus is a farce, I'm pretty sure Barbara believes there isn't a place in any country on any planet for the mega-motivation squad. She's pretty much anti-mega-motivation squad. This Barbara is a hard-core realist who believes we should see things as they are, and review them critically.

If you do some background research on Ms. Ehrenreich, you'll find that this realist, critical thinking stuff makes sense. She's a scientist. Scientists need and require facts and experiments with lots of control. Positive Psychology doesn't have a lot of facts or control.

The inauguration of this Bright-Sided book came in the form of breast cancer. Barbara was diagnosed with cancer and Barbara was pissed off about it (seems natural to me, I mean isn't anger one of the stages?) To help her through it all, she started reading forums of various cancer support groups. Groups she found overbearingly positive and obnoxiously fake.

As an experiment, Barbara left a comment about her general pissed-offness, and was told by many that she needed an attitude adjustment. One commentator suggested hat her negative thoughts would suppress her immune system which would make the cancer run amok. Good grief, even I know that the immune system has nothing to do with cancer because cancer cells are seen by the human body as human, and the immune system only combats foreign stuff. Logically then, with that train of thought, one could presume that positive thoughts would increase, not decrease, cancer growth. Just sayin'.

After recovering from cancer, Barbara Ehrenreich began to research this positive thinking phenomenon and wrote this Bright-Sided book. She has illustrated some intriguing arguments for how the positivity craze has made American delusional. Maybe she's right. Still not sure. In a chapter titled, "How Positive Thinking Destroyed the Economy," she blames the subprime mortgage mess on the positivity phantasm. You might recall that this was the same subprime mortgage mess that wiped out the nation's economy. Barbara says that the positive people envisioned riches, had been promised these riches, and therefore paid for said riches with debt. Credit cards became easier to obtain, and the mortgage – with that bonus! free money! second – became an ATM on the horizon, waiting, even hoping, to make the dreamer's mega-material wishes come true.

I don't believe that the subprime mortgage mess was the fault of positive thinking. My personal opinion is our country has been able to avoid something called the "natural consequence." Heard of this term, "natural consequence?" It's where YOU make a decision, and YOU are responsible for the fallout of this decision. Weird, right? I know! Somehow bankruptcy wasn't such a bad thing anymore, the equivalent of a slap on the wrist. And somehow, maybe because the word "bail-out" is thrown around so much these days, over-extension has become a welcome way to have it all. Even the giraffe.*

*Note that I'm talking about over-extension used to buy freaky not-necessary stuff, not overextension for various emergencies, so don't send me any hate mail. However... if your overextension emergency involves a giraffe, then gads! You got problems!

It just occurred to me that Barbara's whole problem with positivity, is that it makes people delusional. Delusional people don't see consequences, so perhaps she might be indirectly right. Hmmm. Still thinking on this one.

With that, (which is pronounced damn-it in German) I'd like to conclude with a very thoughtful remark from this talented author:

"The alternative to positive thinking is not, however, despair. In fact, negative thinking can be just as delusional as the positive kind. Depressed people project their misery onto the world, imagining worst outcomes from every endeavor and then feeding their misery on these distorted expectations. In both cases, there is an inability to separate emotion from perception, a willingness to accept illusion for reality, either because it "feels good" or, in the depressive's case, because it reinforces familiar, downwardly spiraling neural pathways. The alternative to both is to try to get outside of ourselves and see things "as they are," or as uncolored as possible by our own feelings and fantasies, to understand that the world is full of both danger and opportunity–the chance of great happiness as well as the certainty of death."

That Barbara is a smart cookie.