48 hours from now I will have finished the Raleigh Marathon and be lying on a couch. It shall be a glorious time.
Then it’s definitely back to 5Ks for the foreseeable future. Well at least next year. We’ll see how Sunday goes before we start to look at the 2009 marathon calendar…London…Madrid…Sydney…yeah we’ll see how the first one goes.
Should I be concerned that what I’m eating for dinner is supposed to feed four people according to the box? Eh, whatever. Maybe I’ll start eating like a normal person after the marathon. Probably not.
Seeing the Giants play in Wembley Stadium yesterday was kind of neat, though the beginning was a bit disconcerting. There was just something askew about hearing God Save The Queen before an NFL football game. I’m used to hearing the Canadian anthem at some baseball games, which due to the peaceful nature of the Canadians is almost comforting. Maybe I need to watch more events where the English are involved.
One thing I will never get tired of at sporting events is our national anthem. I mentioned the feeling in one of my newspaper columns three years ago. I don’t know why, but when it gets to O’er the land of the free…I get chills. Every time.
In March I ran a half-marathon. Well, due to a partially torn tendon in my foot, I ran 3 miles and walked the rest. I planned on walking the entire thing until five minutes before the race started. That’s when they played the national anthem, and had three jets fly over head. If that doesn’t give you chills and make you run, nothing will.
The anthem tells a story, of standing strong and persevering. It has low notes and high notes, a range that is threaded together through bombs bursting in air. What makes it even more beautiful is that it can evoke the same emotions whether it’s played by the Boston Pops or belted out by Carrie Underwood. A strong version of the anthem can be done with or without words and still raise the hairs on the back of your neck.
It can even be a time for comedy. In the Baltimore/Washington area, there is a tradition of yelling O!!!!!!! when the song gets to O say does that… as an homage to the Baltimore Orioles. At a Washington Capitals game, a fan with great timing yelled out “Stop doing that!” at the pivotal moment. It was a great moment in anthem history. Here’s a Washington Post blog on the topic.
Ok the meal for four has been consumed. O’er the laaaaaaaaaaaand of the freeeeeeeeeeee. And the hoooooooooome of theeeee braaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaave!!!!!!
Sometimes you get a sign that it’s good you’ve made it to the weekend.
Maybe you’re really tired and need some rest, have had a really stressful week or you’ve survived some kind of ordeal. No matter what the reason, you made it to a time where you can relax…and not a moment too soon.
For me, the reason probably has something to do with adjusting to starting work at 2 o’clock in the morning. I got home and started making some eggs and toast for lunch. I left the kitchen for a minute to let the eggs cook a little. When I returned, in my head I actually said “Let’s see how his eggs-ellency is doing.”
That’s right. I made a horribly bad pun. To myself. In my head.
The answer was that the eggs were phenomenal and ready to go to Stomach Town. But the question was sort of troubling. It takes certain levels of sleep deprivation to think strange thoughts in your head. It takes even greater forces to turn those into puns…especially bad ones at that.
So TGIF.
Marathon in a week. Some sort of mohawk hairstyle will be deployed. A team is working on the design. Opinions are welcome. Excitement is high.
What happened to infomercials? I mean the ones that had such enthusiastic hosts showing you how the latest 47-in -1 slicer dicer juicer mixer chopper cutter baker seerer peeler can make your life so much simpler…and if you order RIGHT NOW you get the steak knives too.
Our station shows infomercials early in the morning, like many do, and I just happen to go to work very early in the morning. Now infomercials are all about two things: How you can make a bazillion dollars playing the stock market by just buying low and selling high (just look for the three green arrows), or all-natural ways for you to eschew modern medicine.
This morning we had both. Then came Entertainment Tonight.
If you happen to live under a rock inside of a spaceship on its way to Pluto, you might have missed the story about wildfires ravaging southern California. ET was all about telling us which celebrities had houses in trouble, and which were safely chillin in their Malibu mansions.
I get that it’s an entertainment show and they feel like they have to play an angle. But sometimes its appropriate to use your resources in a more productive way. You want to play the television angle? Fine. Talk about the San Diego reporter who did a live report from in front of his own burning house. That’s a great story.
The fires in Malibu, while certainly not a good thing, are some of the smallest in this outbreak. Unfortunately, we live in a Britney-centric world. So of course ET had to not only tell us that Britney’s house was safe so far, but that the Starbucks she goes too–it’s even known as the “Britney Starbucks,” is closed for now.
Maybe we need to go door-to-door and give people a swift kick to the priority zone in their brain so we can rethink some priorities. It’s not like it’s unprecedented for an entertainment-based show to change its programming to reflect a more serious situation that’s affecting a lot of people.
Not to equate the fires to 9/11, but the example of ESPN in the days following the terrorist attacks is the first example that came to mind. ESPN, which drills sports as hard as ET pimps Britney, basically turned into the Eastern Seaboard Provider of News. Sure, they had a few sound bites from players and management saying how games really weren’t important at a time like that. But those were poignant comments accompanied by pictures of players standing in empty baseball stadium watching CNN on the jumbotron. The rest of their broadcasts were essentially ABC News on a different channel. They realized what was important, and shifted their focus to reflect the situation.
There is an argument from a programming standpoint that morning shows should feature lighter content so people can have non-contentious items to talk about when they get to work. Don’t give them a bunch of nuggets on the presidential election, that will just stir things up in the office. Britney is what they want to discuss. But what kind of a country do we have if you get to the water cooler and say “Hey, did you hear that Britney’s Starbucks is closed!” instead of “Hey, half a million people out of their houses now, I can’t imagine what they’re going through. Do you know anyone out there? How are they doing?”
Let’s leave Britney alone for a few days. Please.
It’s just past 4 a.m. on a Saturday.
Most people awake at this time are either really pissed off that they’re awake, or not exactly in a state where the time is all that important.
Me? I’m good. I got more than eight hours of sleep, slept several hours past when I normally get up and there was no alarm involved in my waking progress. Anyone can agree those three things make for a good morning.
After I got up I went into the kitchen to get a drink of water. I looked up at the microwave clock and noticed it read 3:42 a.m. I’ve lived here for two weeks now and looked at that clock dozens of times. But today was the first time I noticed it had the a.m./p.m. designation.
I think if you are awake enough to get yourself to the kitchen, there should be no question as to whether it’s a.m. or p.m. A few times in getting adjusted to my new schedule I’ve woken up in a semi-dark room and seen 6:04 staring back at me and panicked. I was hours late for work! Oh wait, I’ve only been asleep for an hour. Phew.
But if you make it all the way to the kitchen, your brain should be at a high enough state of alert to figure out which half of the day you’re stumbling through.
Maybe it should feature the day of the week, since it’s a lot easier to forget where you’re at on that piece of information.
Yesterday at work I really lucked out on where I was sitting. Well lucky in that if I had actually viewed a hilarious scene instead of just hearing it from behind me, I would have died from laughter.
There is a printer that was maybe 10 feet back over my left shoulder. I’m trying to write super serious news stories, and often there’s not much that can distract me from that task.
Until I heard: “Paper jam? Why does it say paper jam when there is no paper jam?!”
Office Space was not on TV. I don’t think the person who said those words has even seen Office Space. And yet, they nailed the quote so perfectly.
I glanced up at the half-dozen people who were in range to hear the magic words. Not one of them even blinked. I was so disappointed. But hey, as they say, “Them’s the rubs, kid.” Ok maybe they don’t say it, just guys named Lou The Wrench after I plead my case about owing his boss money and though he is on my side he still has to break my leg. I hate that guy.
October is Filipino-American Heritage Month. So if you haven’t celebrated the world of Filipino-Americans or told your favorite Filipino-American they are awesome, time is running out.
The fluorescent lightbulb was invented by a Filipino guy. So was the Yo-Yo. Say you’re bored at work, you could be sitting in the dark with nothing to do. But now, you can have your space filled with fluorescent light and amuse yourself with a Yo-Yo. Better recognize.
His name was Toshe Proeski. Until about 10 minutes ago, I knew virtually nothing about him.
Apparently, he was a pretty big deal.
Proeski died Monday in Macedonia after the car he was riding in slammed into the back of a truck. That’s the news I read this morning on the AP wire.
Later in that story I learned the Macedonian parliament canceled its session that day as the government declared a day of mourning. That’s what made me do some more searching. After all, it’s hard to even fathom a person big enough in our country to declare a day of mourning or even cancel a session of Congress.
Turns out he’s basically the Elvis of the Balkans, according to the great Wikipedia. He took classes in New York from a guy who taught Pavarotti. Despite being a massively successful pop star, he was finishing music school specializing in solo performance. You don’t hear Fergie doing that.
Perhaps the most interesting nugget is from that Wikipedia page in the links section. Check it out at the bottom. There’s a link to video from his burial ceremony. Not a lot of those on YouTube.
This week, perhaps Wednesday, I set a new personal record in a field in which I used to be quite an authority–soda drinking.
At 4:37 a.m. on that glorious day, I opened and drank a Mountain Dew.
Easily the earliest I’ve ever done that. It was a good day.
Stories can be entertaining for lots of reasons. Often the general gist of the story carries the comedy…and sometimes there that one extra detail that makes it a truly great piece of entertainment.
Today’s story of a six-year-old boy who “borrowed” his grandmother’s car is one of those stories.
A six year old driving is funny. Stealing his grandmother’s car keys in order to drive is even better. The fact that he was just really hungry and decided to drive to Applebee’s is nearing the top of the comedy chart.
But the kicker to this story is that he actually went in the back seat, grabbed his car seat, and placed it in the driver’s seat before taking off. The kid knew exactly what he wanted, chose to do it safely, just flubbed the execution of the driving.
So what that he knocked out power to 200 people when the car crashed. That’s a small price to pay for a great story.
Sitting in Raleigh, N.C., right now after a successful phase I of manifesting destiny. Smooth ride down with only the strange noises of a car full of my stuff creaking and shifting as I rolled down the interstate.
Should be rolling into Jacksonville early tomorrow afternoon so I can prepare myself for a day of waiting for the cable guy to come on Saturday. Hopefully the Comcast people in Florida are better than their compadres in Maryland, who easily ruined three entire weeks of my life when I was in College Park.
Work starts 2 am Monday morning. Woot. I’ll get out just in time for the rest of my stuff to arrive…annnd then I can spend the rest of the day unpacking. Hopefully I can fit the beach in there somewhere.
Hannas. Out.
The schedule for today said “Easy 10-11.” That’s miles. No problem. It’s sort of a rest week in the middle of marathon training to give the body a break before the stretch run here.
Easy means you feel like you can run at that pace all day. Again, no problem.
Until he passed me. It was about 12 seconds after I started, a guy about my height and my build flew past me on the trail. Just after he passed, a man going the other way asked me for directions. After dispensing knowledge to the wayward walker, I took off.
I’m not sure why I started so fast, but it definitely wasn’t “easy.” I think my body is just itching for a race and sometimes can’t be held in check.
And so it went for the first mile, I was cruising but didn’t see the target. Just as I was starting to think it would be a good idea to slow down and actually be able to finish 10 miles today, I caught a glimpse. I guess it doesn’t pay to be roughly 6’3″ and wearing a white shirt when someone’s chasing you.
Now I’ve chased down a lot of people on runs who had no idea we were racing. It’s actually pretty easy to do when they’re not in on it. As I got within 20 feet he could hear my footsteps. He looked back over his shoulder to check where I was. Again, and again he checked. At about the 2.5 mile mark there’s a steep uphill on the trail. Whenever I’ve run there before I always picture the moment in the Tour de France where Lance Armstrong stared down his top rival seconds before obliterating a mountain climb and demoralizing the entire field.
It was his “fuck you, this is my race” moment. This was mine, though I didn’t do the whole staredown thing. I just blew by the guy with enough speed to be sure he wouldn’t just pass me right back. After a mile of running about as fast as I would in a 3-mile race and not a 10-mile “easy” run, I thought I lost him. I peeked back after a straightaway in the woods and didn’t see him.
It was then that my wonderful brain reminded me that I had quite a ways to go and should slow down…so I listened. At mile 4 he caught me and passed me. My brain said, “ok, we had our fun, let’s not forget what our goal is today and that’s not racing this guy.” My competitive side disagreed and hijacked the legs into a chase-down plan. I got 3 feet behind him for the next two miles before he turned off in a parking lot. During that time he looked back over his shoulder at least a dozen times. He knew we were racing and that I had him.
But it’s a good thing he quit then, since my athletic ego and competitive nature wouldn’t have been able to do much more at that pace and happilly dropped back into a more normal pace for the final 5 miles.
Side note: Most people in Bangladesh don’t have last names. The story is about more than that, read it.
Side note 2: This is amazing. I would have killed 283 people if I was driving like that.