Stuff Realtors Don't Tell People and The Chris Farley Diet

I honestly don't understand how I can get out of shape so fast. I took a week off, and I can barely run a mile without dying. I dropped the '97 Ford POS off at the garage to fix a flat and my AC, and I ran home. It's only .96 miles according to mapquest, and I followed the exact route that mapquest plotted. 7 minutes and 42 seconds later I'm in my kitchen trying not to throw up a lung in the sink. I had fun though as I ran through the ghetto. I guess not many people jog in the ghetto because I got some funny looks. I wasn't running fast enough to be running from the police, but I was running much too fast to be on my way to the liquor store. I'm not white so I probably wasn't running for my life, so what the hell was I doing? I love living where I live. I'm less than a mile from 8 figure homes on the river and less than a mile away from HUD housing -- only in Florida. I'm running in something called the Tour de Pain this weekend. It's three races in 24 hours, but the total distance is less than nine miles so it shouldn't be too bad. I will not be running 8 minute miles. My goal is 12 minute miles. If I get beaten by a group of mall walkers then I get beaten by a group of mall walkers. West Virginia set me back. Apparently, I tend to gain weight if my meals consist of 2500 calorie breakfasts paired with 2500 calorie dinners, and the only exercise I get is pushing a baby stroller around a ghost town. Who knew?

I Solemnly Swear I Am Up to No Good

I just got back from Charleston, West Virginia. I tagged along to play Mrs. Doubtfire while MJ gave her seminar. I was worried about air travel with LMJ. She’s just ten weeks old, and I was afraid the pressure changes would really bother her ears. She came through it like a champ, a very sleepy champ. She hibernates like a frickin’ bear. She dealt with the plane ride better than MJ and I did. I hate the whole air travel industry. I hate its casual acceptance of inefficiency. It seems that all the airlines have colluded to suck, which I’m sure has to be some type of anti-trust violation. Maybe the government should consider leaving Barry Bonds alone and fix the airlines. I digress. Perhaps it would have been better in the long run for LMJ to have been a little more trouble because on both the way up and the way back not everyone too young for Hogwarts (HSWW) was well behaved, and I’m worried that MJ and I are turning into those politely arrogant parents that pity other parents whose children aren’t perfect. If only they would read the literature. The little bastard on the way up made everyone on the plane laugh as we were landing when he screamed, “I AM NOT MISBEHAVING!” at his mother as she tried to settle him down.

We stayed at the Embassy Suites in Charleston. It was nice. They’re a little stingy with the pork at their breakfast buffet, but I understand that’s a bigger deal for me than it should be. There is nothing in downtown Charleston, WV. Team LJ (Ya boy and ya boy’s baby girl) searched and searched but we couldn’t find anything of interest other than the mall across the street. Our pattern took us a mile in each direction but there were few signs of life. We saw banks, furniture stores, a movie theater, both the state and federal courthouses, an actual haberdashery, but no crowds. The only discernable groups were the mall walkers who had to see the baby. It was like a movie set where the back drop was a façade. We walked to the Kanawha “river”. Maybe it’s because I’m from Jacksonville and I live near the mouth of the St. John’s, but I don’t know if the Kanawha qualifies as a river. It’s definitely more than a brook but not much more than a creek. Maybe it’s deep. I did see a large barge sitting underneath a bridge with no one on it at ten thirty in the morning on a Tuesday. The few people we did encounter were extremely nice. Charleston is friendly town. I don’t see how the people could have been nicer, but then I was pushing a pretty baby around. Charleston seems like a nice place to live but you wouldn’t want to visit there.

The reason we were in Charleston was that MJ, JG, and MB were giving their world renowned Writers Institute. Teachers came from all over West Virginia to see The Crew do their thing. Everyone knows that JG and MB are fantastic people, but they are also consummate professionals, which is rare. My job forces me to deal with people from a bunch of different professions in a bunch of different situations, and professionalism is rare. People don’t do their jobs to the best of their abilities. The Crew does. I think so highly of JG and MB personally that they each walked away with LMJ at different points and I didn’t think twice about it. My lack of a second thought is what gave me pause. I didn’t really want to go on this trip. I had a lot of stuff I could have been doing if I had stayed at home, but from now on, as long as they are going to travel around the country helping teachers get better at their jobs; LMJ and I are going to tag along at least once a year so that she can see exactly how powerful women get it done, and get it done well. Plus, adventure will always be the order of the day for Team LJ.

***WARNING: HARRY POTTER SPOILERS***

I just finished Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows and I want to thank J.K. Rowling for the happy ending, but I really need to know what Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny do in their adult lives. Do they all become Aurors? Does Harry try his hand at professional Quidditch? Does Hermione reverse the spell on her parents? Who becomes headmaster at Hogwarts? What happens with Draco Malfoy? I’m bittersweet about the ending. On the one hand it’s great, it’s everything I wanted and there is a sense of closure. On the other hand I am

http://www.iht.com/articles/ap/2007/07/30/arts/EU-A-E-Potters-Afterlife.phpgoing to miss them.

Billy Joel Sucks

About a month ago a local high school football coach, J.D. Hall, dropped dead from a heart attack. Normally I wouldn’t think twice about it but I went to school with him. He was a year behind me at Robert E. Lee Senior High School (Go Generals!). I was class of ’88; he was class of '89 . He wasn’t a close friend. He was barely more than an acquaintance, but sitting here at 3:30 in the morning reading a crappy Times-Union column about him, his death is hitting me kind of hard. Maybe it’s because I remember the columnist occasionally lifting with us in the afternoon of my senior and J.D.’s junior year. I was the hard case knucklehead counting down the last 180 days of my sentence. J.D. was the star quarterback. The only way to describe him is he was a hell of a nice guy, which is a consensus. The next guy with a bad word about J.D. will be the first guy with a bad word about J.D. We all encounter a few people like this in our lives, people you just hope good things for. The anecdotal/speculative cause of death was that he worked himself to death. What the hell for? He was thirty-five years old. Maybe we just had different perspectives. I grew up the petulant middle class kid whom the world owed things. J.D. was a poor kid who had to be focused from day one just to escape the ghetto. Right now as my life is beginning to take form and I can see the real possibility of a near fairy tale existence my worst fear is that I die at work when I could have been spending time with my family and friends. Nobody in the history of the world has ever been on their death bed wishing they had spent more time at the office. I don’t know if only the good die young, but sadly J.D. Hall sure did.

Baby's First Protein Shake

Technically it was a full on nutrition pack. We went with 20g of whey isolate because she needs short protein strings. We went with 5g of creatine monohydrate so she can recover quicker. That's why she looks a little bloated. Creatine makes me sick, but everything makes her sick so I figured what the hell. Don't tell her mom but I gave her 5mg of iocane powder because it's never too soon to start building a tolerance (extra points if you can tell me where iocane is from). Which brings us to the 100 micrograms of Asian, not African, cobra venom because what if she finds herself barefoot in a Bangledeshi jungle? She doesn't own a lot of shoes yet, and the ones she does own aren't hip boots. It was all suspended in 2 oz of human milk. Healthy, healthy babies.

Random Stuff

Are you checking that out? That vomit stain is bigger than she is. She puked on me again ten seconds later. She's like Jeff Goldblum in the fly.

I'm gearing up for a 1/2 marathon next year, and I started a 10 week program I saw in a magazine. Sunday I went for a long run, roughly eight miles, and on the way back I was attacked by a mockingbird. Mockingbirds are psychotic. If something gets too close to its nest it dive bombs the interloper. It's funny when they attack cats, dogs, crows, other people. It's not funny when the little bastard heads my way. I was in the last 1/4 mile of my run and I felt a really weird wisp of air on the back of my right arm. I whipped my head around and saw this sumbitch flying back towards a tree. I kept going because if I stopped I would still be there. I had waited until the early evening to start my run so the temperature was a breezy 94 degrees. I had run another ten yards when I felt a disturbance in the Force, so I turned around and saw Harper Lee headed my way again. She tried to play it off like she wasn't attacking me, but I knew what was up. Damned bird.

Sorry for the short post but The Closer is starting and Chief Johnson needs my attention

Bored on a Conference Call

I'm trying to post more often this month.

Oh, give me land, lots of land under starry skies above,
Don't fence me in.
Let me ride through the wide open country that I love,
Don't fence me in.
Let me be by myself in the evenin' breeze,
And listen to the murmur of the cottonwood trees,
Send me off forever but I ask you please,
Don't fence me in.

That’s the first verse of Bing Crosby’s “Don’t Fence Me In”. This is what I foresee George W. Bush’s life being after he leaves office, and good for him. I’m looking forward to him replacing his father as Bill Clinton’s international wing man. Add Newt Gingrich and Colin Powell to complete the New Rat Pack – sorry, no other Democrats are cool enough for this crew. They’ll do two sets of brokering world peace by day and party till dawn every night. However, I see Dick “Darth Coronary” Cheney spending the rest of his life getting revenge on the weak willed traitors in the Republican Party who have betrayed him recently. You know, for expecting him to tell them what he’s been doing for the past six and a half years. He’s trying to accomplish something, dammit. He’s Victor Drazen from 24 with better resources and a fouler disposition. He found out that bird shot isn’t going to get the job done when he tested it accidentally shot his friend in the face. I imagine he’ll skip buckshot and load the shells with 18 dimes dipped in rat poison.

Misogyny

I rented the first season of 24 last week, and after watching it the only conclusion I can come to is that women are stupid (Teri and Kim Bauer) or careerist, backstabbing, uber-beeotches (every other women on the show). If Bill Gates and Warren Buffett pooled all of their money the Bauer women still wouldn’t have enough to put a clue on lay-away (90 days same as cash). Kim gets a pass because good Lord is she a lot of Aryan refreshment. I apologize if anyone is offended, but I think I can speak for the group here, the heterosexual American male finds little more appealing than a young, dumb, hot chick with an aversion to clothing. SPOILERS FOLLOW SO STOP READING IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN THIS SHOW AND YOU WANT TO: As for the uber-beeotches: Nina is has been a double-agent the whole time. She was Jack’s mistress when he was separated, not divorced, from Teri, and after stabbing Teri in the back metaphorically she shoots her in the back literally. The soon to be first lady, Sherry Palmer, attempts to have one of her husband’s aides seduce him so he won’t be able to ignore what she wants. She’s covered up a murder and is frustrated when her husband won’t cover up a second. Those are the four main women on the show. If I have missed a female with even a glance at a redeeming quality please comment and let me know.

Ratatouille

LMJ slept through her very first movie last night. She, her mother, and I went to the Playtime Drive-In to see Ratatouille, the new Disney/Pixar flick about a rat chef. Yes, we party like rock stars. It’s a really fun movie, and I recommend it to everyone. However, the movie wasn’t the main event, the theater was. The Playtime Drive-In Movie/Flea Market has a rich history in addition to being to being a relic and a dying piece of Americana. When I first moved to Jacksonville in the early ‘80’s I remember passing the Playtime on our way to Orange Park Mall. I remember it because we didn’t have flea markets in Montgomery County, Maryland, and it was a XXX drive-in movie theater. Even as a ten year old I thought, “Seriously?” In the mid ‘80’s, as a teenager, I remember sneaking through the forest that surrounds the Playtime with a couple of buddies and confirming, “Yeah, seriously.” It was 60 feet by 40 feet of hardcore pornography. Not that watered down weak stuff you get on Cinemax and in music videos. All I can think about now are the employees, “Yes sir, I understand that I’m wearing latex gloves, but until the Teflon tongs finish their cycle in the napalm and boiling bleach I won’t be able to take your money. And under no circumstances will there be any discussion about imitation butter on your popcorn.” I thought this was the Bible belt; actually, this is supposed to be the buckle. Someone remembered that around 1987, and an ordinance was passed stating that you couldn’t broadcast Ass Me No Questions, I’ll Tell You No Lies randomly into the night. So the theater closed; I don’t know if the flea market closed or not. I guess around ten years later someone figured out that they could show non-pornographic movies, and the Playtime Drive-In reopened.

Last night was the first time I’d been since trekking through the wilderness. LMJ, MJ, and I stopped at Publix to load up on goodies: Swedish Fish, Twix, and Starbursts. MJ got a Sprite, I got a Sprite Zero, and LMJ was good with breast milk. We got to the theater, paid our $8, found the right radio station, and settled in for Ratatouille. It was about 8:30 so the sun was still up and we could people watch – better than any preview, ever. We felt bad for a mom who was arguing with her older son, possibly 14, about the movie choice. There was no violence but the youngster stormed off to go see the new Die Hard. Then mom slammed her younger son’s toes in the mini-van door. He was camped out on the van roof with his feet dangling over the edge, then SLAM! “Open the door, open the door!” It was almost too sad to be funny, almost. I guess the stress of the night was too much for them because they barely made it ten minutes into the film before they started up the mini-van and left. LMJ started getting antsy so MJ fed her, and she fell asleep on her mama’s chest. Florida is hot, even at night. LMJ is made out of fire or some close approximation, so MJ got hot. But we couldn’t start the car and turn on the AC because the car has daytime running lights that can’t be turned off. At night daytime running lights are just plain headlights, and we didn’t want to be rude by shining our brights into the car in front of us. In hindsight we may have wanted to be rude. In my nigh unfathomable wisdom I found a way to turn on just the fan without starting the car so we would keep the air moving without taxing the compressor or ruining the drive-in experience for the car in front of us. We had to do something because with LMJ comatose on her mama’s chest it was just a matter of time before MJ burst into flames. The sun finally went down around ten past nine and everyone seemed to settle down. The temperature even dropped from 85 to 84 degrees. The movie ended around eleven and people started filing out or just moving to the next screen to see a different movie. We had a Chinese fire drill getting LMJ back into her car seat. We’d had a previous drill getting LMJ out of her car seat when she got antsy at the beginning of the movie. Then MJ turned the key and click click click.

We’d run the battery down. I guess the compressor had been drawing power from the battery without the engine being on and yet failing to blow any cold air. Earlier MJ had scoffed at a negative review of the theater that complained the management didn’t have any jumper cables. Fortunately, MJ drives a stick shift so we could pop the clutch. This didn’t really stop her from falling into panic mode, but it did mean we weren’t necessarily dead in the water or dirt as the case may be. I told her that I would get out and push, and once the car started rolling she should let go of the clutch with the car in first gear. A few minor problems. I was wearing flip flops. We were on gravel. The ’06 Honda Accord weighs significantly more than her ’00 Civic or her ’87 CRX, the cars we had done this to before. I had better traction than I thought, but because MJ was worried about running into the cars in front of us she let go of the clutch before we had enough momentum a couple of times, which forced her into a deeper panic. When MJ panics she doesn’t curl up into the fetal position waiting for the inevitable. She prefers the "follow whatever impulse enters the transom of my mind, sooner or later something has got to work" style of panic. She jumped out of the car, in her flip flops, and suggested we trade places. She would push the car and I would pop the clutch. I ignored her suggestion like I was Dick Cheney ignoring a subpoena. There were words there but they didn’t mean anything to me. LMJ is still comatose, bloated on milk and summer heat. With no response from me, MJ turned and asked the people next to us if they had any jumper cables; they didn’t, so she got back in the car. I asked her to wait until we got going a little bit before she released the clutch, she did, the car started, and off we went. There could be a moral to this story, but I grew up on Seinfeld: No hugging, no learning. We had an absolute blast, and we can’t wait to go back. I love the fact that no matter what we do it always winds up being an adventure.