Gösta Holmér Would Be Proud

I was out the door even earlier than yesterday. I ran two miles to the gym, blasted my shoulders and triceps, and then I shuffled home. Running there was fun. Two miles is cake. I got my blood going. I was excited about lifting weights for the first time since I hurt my back. I think a two mile run qualifies as a sufficient warm up. The guy that checks ID’s asked how far I ran, and I told him, then he reminded me that I had to run back. I wasn’t thinking about that. I was thinking about lifting weights without serious injury, and I’d worry about the trip back when it was time. I finished with my weights, turned my watch back on, and got ready to run home. It wasn’t happening. I was barely a quarter mile into the trip back when I had to start walking. It wasn’t a total loss. I basically turned the session home into a modified fartlek. I’d run all out for a block and then walk a block. What was strange was that I was good for about thirty seconds of anything faster than a brisk walk. I could run at an 11 minute mile pace for thirty seconds or I could run at a 4 minute mile pace for thirty seconds, which is why I decided to “go for it”. I was haulin’ ass through Riverside. I don’t know if I looked like an idiot or not, but it wound up being fun, and at the end of my run I wound up averaging about a ten minute mile pace. It took me twenty minutes and ten seconds to get back. My heart rate topped out at 187, but since I couldn’t keep it down I figured I might as well get it up. It was interesting. Legs are tomorrow and I haven’t decided what I’m going to do. I may do more speed play with some interval training or I may lift weights and do the elliptical to give my feet and shins a break. We’ll see.

Dawn Patrol

I was able to get out the door at ten till six this morning. The early dawn light and smells reminded me of when MJ and I used to walk around the neighborhood every morning. Unfortunately, that was before the blog so I have no idea when it was. I think it was after I moved to Lincoln, which means it was after the spring of 2005. There was a rooster in a tree – if I’m lyin’ I’m dyin’ – that crowed as we passed every morning. It was the weirdest thing. Anyway, I did six and a half miles this morning, which was a mile and a half more than I planned on doing, but I felt good so I ran. The cooler temperature made running a little bit easier, but I swear it was more humid than it is in the middle of the day. I don’t even know how that’s possible. I was surprised by the lack of runners on the road. I thought pre-dawn is when the serious runners did their work. I saw a pack of old ladies power-walking, and I saw some people with their dogs, but I didn’t see anyone running faster than me, which was strange because I was taking it very easy. I’m proud of myself for getting up at 5am. I woke up at about 4:15 and seriously considered changing the alarm from 5 to 6, but I didn’t. I got up, ate some breakfast, checked on my Facebook stuff, and was out the door. I really enjoyed running along the river as the sun came up. It’s a breathtaking scene. I may take a camera along tomorrow. And although I’m a little bit tired right now, there’s a big satisfaction in knowing that I’m done for the day. I burned my 12 hundred calories and was on my way to work before 8:15. I’m going to try to make this a habit.

No Hormones or Antibiotics in This Post

We didn’t plan anything today, so we sat around frustrated. It’s different when we plan nothing – then that’s the plan. When we don’t plan at all everything becomes, “So what do you want to do?” I hate days like this. For some reason we decided not to go to the beach. It may have been that we’re spending $50 a week on gas in the van alone, but I don’t think that was all of it. We were drunk on pasta last night, but that doesn’t leave a hangover. We just weren’t motivated. We didn’t have any get up and go. The highlight of the day was going to the church park down the street with LMJ, but it was 95 degrees and MJ got bitten by some kind of ninja ant. I thought about running this morning to burn off some of the 8,500 calories I consumed, but I didn’t because we were thinking about going to JSG’s and EJG’s for time in the pool and we hadn’t ruled out the beach yet. The next thing I knew it was noon and the day was shot. I couldn’t even get into the most exciting Wimbledon men’s final ever. I was so bored I cleaned the kitchen, set up the coffee for tomorrow, ironed a shirt for work, and all of this was done before 2pm. Fortunately, MJ saved the day by cooking a delicious chicken dinner with some kind of Uncle Ben’s rice concoction. Springer Mountain Farms chicken is worth the price. I don’t know what they do, but it’s the only chicken we’ve ever bought in the grocery store that tastes like the chicken you get in fine restaurants, plus they’re a family farm in northeast Georgia and it’s fun to say Springer Mountain Farms like we grew up there. The best part of the dinner was that the whole thing was a complete surprise. I was moping around wishing tomorrow would get here, completely ready to skip dinner, when MJ basically put a plate of food in front of me. I guess days like this are necessary every once in a while so we can appreciate the beach days.

We Hold These Truths...Man I'm Wasted.

I needed to get the blood flowing this morning and MJ flushed all my cocaine down the toilet, so I went running instead. I got out early enough so I could run fast, but not early enough that it wouldn’t be painful. It wasn’t too bad. I hit my goal, but my legs are a little bit stiff. The reason I needed to get the blood flowing this morning is because I’m going to celebrate the Declaration of Independence with some friends by engaging in some good old fashioned American gluttony. Take that you limey bastards! I would feel bad about the planned overindulgence but I saw a show last night on the History Chanel called Secrets of the Founding Fathers. They interviewed some history professors and some conspiracy theorists who didn’t agree on much, but what they did agree on was that everyone involved with the decision to secede from England was definitely drunk, most likely high, and the only reason the meetings weren’t held at strip clubs is because clear heels hadn’t been invented yet. All these farmers from all thirteen colonies had three things in common: they all made their own booze, they all considered the commandment against adultery as more of a guideline than a hard and fast rule, and they all had large portions of their lands dedicated to the growing of hemp. Blah, blah, blah rope, blah, blah, blah, paper, these fools were high enough to play in the NBA. With the exception of making their own booze, all these guys lived the NBA lifestyle. If it was good enough to start a revolution, then it’s more than good enough to celebrate that revolution. I think drinks should be on the house. The second hour of the show was the conspiracy theorists ranting about how everything that has happened in this country since the Declaration of Independence has been a Masonic plot and the history professors rolling their eyes and clouding things up with logic and facts, and I got bored. Anyway, I plan on pursuing some happiness tonight with good friends and good food, and that’s about as American as I can get.

A Case for George and Ringo

I’m wondering how much mp3’s and iTunes have changed the music industry and the listening experience for teenagers. There’s no album experience anymore. I think it may be leading to more and more processed crap since, for all intents and purposes, everything that’s released is a single. I can’t think of a single album where I like every single song on it. Thriller is the greatest pop record ever, but looking at it now I would only buy five of the nine songs on it unless there were some serious extras or a massive discount for buying the whole thing. Imagine the Beatles trying to sell the White Album the way it was originally done. Their record company would start by scrolling down the writers’ credits and just deleting anything with Harrison or Starr next to it. Ctrl-F, Harrison or Starr, delete all. That would get it down to twenty-five songs. Then they would get rid of everything under 2 ½ minutes. There’s no room for artists being quirky. That would get rid of another eight songs, and so far the only hit that’s been eliminated is Blackbird. Revolution 9 would have to go for the same artists’ indulgence reason the super short songs had to go. So we’re left with twelve songs and all but one of the hits, but would it really be the masterpiece that the thirty song original was. I seriously doubt it. Actually, this started with CD’s making it easy to skip songs. Skipping songs on a tape was always more trouble than it was worth and skipping songs on a record was almost as bad, so you sat there and listened to “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” even though it wasn’t your favorite song, but after a while it grew on you because it was part of the album. There’s something to be said for listening to the flow of an album. It’s what makes it more than the sum of its parts, and I think iTunes is making it too easy to just get the parts.

This Scratches the Surface

LMJ had her first music class today. She thought it sucked overall. She was tired from the beach, it moved way too slow for her, and there were too many points where she wasn’t getting to bang on or shake something. I thought it was fun and educational. Not just because of the music though. It was an anthropological expedition into deep deep WASP. The only other non-Anglo Saxons in the room besides LMJ and me were Kiki the granny from Greece, as in from Athens, who spoke no English and, Paola the Nanny in training via Mexico. I don’t know where she’s actually from but she came through Mexico to get here. After me the oldest male in the class was Samuel, who I think was 3 ½. We sat on the floor on little circular rugs in a room that was 80 degrees. I sat criss-cross-apple-sauce, which is the new politically correct version of Indian style. I’m not set up for that. I’m getting more flexible but my fat ass can’t handle long periods in that position. Nothing below my waist was getting new blood. My feet fell asleep after about five minutes, and when the numbness crept up past my knees after about fifteen minutes I started to panic about gangrene and straightened out my legs. This is about the same time that LMJ decided that the songs we were singing sucked, and that she would be much happier exploring the church. Her mom took her out of the room, and I was left as a basso black guy in a room of Ortega and Avondale soprano moms and a crazy music teacher singing some song about cats running or something. The lesson was about rhythm and meter, but I was “singing” – term used VERY loosely – in a key a piano player would only play with his left pinky because that’s all I’ve got while the desperate housewives and hot nanny, whose name I can’t remember, were all singing in a right side of the piano key. None of us would have been considered for Into the Woods, but we were all there for our kids. Only video could do this scene justice. I would have been embarrassed about LMJ's behavior, but the son of the Avondale mom sitting next to us decided that the egg shaped rattles the crazy teacher handed out would make perfect missiles. He got about six inches from his mom and threw one at her as hard as he could. LMJ has never done anything remotely like that, and I was happy that I had a daughter. Unfortunately, MJ and I took turns taking LMJ out of the class and bringing her back in. She just was not into it. I’ve left SO much out and I may have to come back to it later but I don’t want to write a nine thousand word post.

Hip Pop, Stink, The 4th, and We're You're Back Yard Friends

I guess I’m in a random thought mood this week. I just have blurbs tonight. We just got back from Publix and we heard the Black Eyed Peas song Boom Boom Pow. There’s a part in the song where the token white chick with the hot body who’s only there to help sell records and really adds nothing artistically Fergie shrieks sings the line “Will I Am drop the beat now!” I changed it to “William Wallace drop the beat now!” and sing it in a Scottish brogue. It works because she stretches “Am” into two syllables like Ayyum. Or is that a diphthong?

I spent most of the afternoon trying to figure out if my washing machine had stopped working or if I had some kind of disease because I stink. It’s not either of those things. It’s the old fashioned, European, “I didn’t bathe today” that’s causing the putridity. I was in a hurry this morning, and I planned on coming home early and going running. Unfortunately, none of that happened. It’s actually a relief. I’m not out a thousand dollars – or whatever washer dryer combos cost – and I’m not dying of some tropical flesh eating disease. I just need to hop in the shower. Yay me!

The bad economy is hitting everyone in new and exciting ways. In commemoration of the founding fathers’ version of Austin 3:16, aka Independence Long Weekend, the Modis building is cutting of the air conditioning at 2:30 tomorrow – Thursday. It will not be on Friday at all. In other words, don’t come in to work. It’s Independence Long Weekend and we live in Florida. Go blow something up. I’m the most casual worker I know, you know not a workaholic, but shutting down on Thursday afternoon for a holiday that’s two days later is a bit much.

I looooovvvve the Backyardigans. It’s the most fun on television since the Sid and Marty Krofft stuff. It makes me want to go play in the backyard. I let LMJ watch too much of it this evening, but I really don’t care.