chimes

another crappy swim this morning, following a crappy run yesterday. suddenly, i inhabit another person's body, with alien form and rhythm. no i'm not retaining water fuck you very much.

such instability may be addressed with more caffeine. i make the first pot of ass coffee, double-packet strong, cos if you're gonna drink ass, it might as well be bracing ass. this time i man the machine to insure i do not brew a pot all over the counter, as i'm wont to do on friday mornings. i beep, whistle & hum like R2-D2.

kel's disembodied voice drifts up to me.

-- finn, what are you humming?
we rewinds, reflects.
-- umm, the doorbell?
-- that's what i thought. are you okay?
-- depends. did you bring me rum balls?

i like our doorbell. it's chimey and shit, just like mcgraw tower; and it's seductively hummable.

e defended his thesis yesterday. he may be sober enough to ride this afternoon.

Q & A

-- do you love me?
-- no. why?
-- i just wanted to ask a question you could answer.

help! BCN recommendations??

now that i've found barcelona on a map, i need to find a place to sleep one night in early june.

can anyone recommend accommodations in the city center? i'm looking for something that's friendly to single travellers who speak enough spanish to ask if your mom's in the bathroom.

cheap & utilitarian is ideal.

many thanks.

so very out-classed

the nemesis was top amateur woman at powerman north carolina this weekend. she ran the first 8K at 5:48/mile pace and then followed with the fastest bike time, almost a minute faster than than pro woman who won. i, OTOH, spent the weekend on the couch with another horribly addictive diana gabaldon novel. if i tried to run a sub-29min 8K, i'd puke and die.

yesterday my swim coach had us do a timed 500yd. i was 15sec slower than a month ago.

last night at the track we did sets of 800m and 1200m intervals @ 5K pace. i felt like crap and talked fisch into talking me into cutting the set short. this, after a recovery week.

"you can't swim, run and ride PRs every day," says the afghan metrosexual.
"why?" say i. "what's the point of training, then?"

it'd be best if senility comes earlier rather than later, because if this is any indication, i will not go with gentility into that good night.

.....................

venezeulen scientists claim they've developed a "flatulence-free bean." where, pray tell, is the fun in that?

your tongue's potential

Scientists Probe the Use of the Tongue
In their quest to create the super warrior of the future, some military researchers aren't focusing on organs like muscles or hearts. They're looking at tongues.

By routing signals from helmet-mounted cameras, sonar and other equipment through the tongue to the brain, they hope to give elite soldiers superhuman senses similar to owls, snakes and fish. more...


i gotta think this is something like touching a 9V battery to your tongue and sensing a mouse tucked in the grass 100yds away.

thank god for the military. without its nefarious collective mind, our tongues' potential might well be squandered.

geographically challenged

like any american, my grasp on geography is pathetic. this weekend, i found barcelona on a map for the first time, and i learned that newfoundland is an island: discoveries borne only from the necessity of finding my way to those destinations this summer.

since 40% of americans don't have a passport and therefore don't travel abroad, when -- in the course of their circumscribed lives -- are they ever gonna learn world geography? school? hah! geography, along with recess, art and sports, got left behind so no child would.

just back from spain herself, A reported she didn't hear much english, even in the larger cities. and barcelona, she noted, is imbued with catalan and its funky X's. i fiddled with my GPS navigator so it now directs me in spanish. i know where "bajo" and "izquierda" is, but catalan may sink me.

perhaps i'll just stay home and drink sangria on the porch.

wanted: pet psychologist

D returned and the cats are back in the house. yesterday morning at 6am i awoke to the unmistakable sound of a cat getting sick under the bed. this activity roused the other two. while one used the bedspring as her scratching post, the other squawked from the door.

when the cat under the bed began heaving again, i lunged over the side to roust her, hoping to drive her away from the carpet onto the hardwood floor. she froze, of course, and delivered her pile right in front of me, while the other two began the growling standoff that usually culminates in a hair-raising screech-fest. nasty things.

the dog's not normal, either. now he's eschewing his doggie bed, sleeping instead atop my running shoes. dogs like stinky things i know, but does this look comfortable? i've no interest in budging him, though: as long as he's there, the cats won't be throwing up in my shoes.

the dog whisperer comes to lancaster in may. i've got a puzzle for him.

better than the farting preacher...

"it's not about competition, it's about cooperation."
stupid bitch.

and here's one of the more flamboyant runners from the trail race last weekend. note the egg he's carrying in his right hand. it's raw, and for keeping it intact throughout 15K of rocky, rutty, hilly terrain, this intrepid soul won 8lbs of godiva chocolate. i drooled when he received his reward and vowed next year to enter the egg lottery.

practising assertion

forgot to set the pot in the coffee machine and brewed a lake of coffee across the counter. it's going to be one of Those Days.

am feeling v manly, however, for last night i kicked two would-be fisherman off the property. i'd just come back from a run and was contemplating getting nekked and hopping in the pond for a cooldown when i heard a crashing in the bamboo. muffled curses. more crashing, then two guys popped out, readjusting their hats. i cocked my head.

-- hello, um, do you know this is private property?
they both did a passable job of looking surprised.
-- no. really? is it yours?
no need to get technical and explain i'm just a caretaker, right?
-- yes. and there's really nothing here anyway. the pond's really shallow --
here a fish makes an audible plop behind me -- and we've got wood ducks nesting in that box.
i gesture to a pristine-looking box. of course the male duck that's been perching there all week is in absentia.

to their credit, the dudes do NOT challenge my authority, despite the fact i'm standing there in my skimpy running togs, dripping with sweat and feeling like the biggest liar-head on the planet. they listen politely as i direct them to the park's pond across the street and then vanish into the bamboo as i march back up to the house with my chest puffed out.

i hope they don't come back and toilet-paper the house.

MyCo's state of the union

my company's just completed a 6-mo branding initiative. here are the results thus far.

what we DO have

• new lighting fix-chures in the stairwell
• a new security system outside. we have been Badged.
• a 4x4 area of new tile in the entryway
• a tiled floor in the elevator
  

what we DON'T have

• a new name
• a new logo
• a new Identity
• an updated website

we also don't have an HVAC system that works. when it gets hot in the afternoon, we have to turn the AC off or else it'll freeze up.

at 3 o'clock, when we've all got sweat dripping down our crevasses, i like to think well, at least our elevator floor looks nice.

the litterbox plot

yesterday D left for the rockies, where he's co-leading a treehugger trip. when he led this trip a year ago, he saved the group's skin by performing mad evasive maneuvers when a sleepy elderly dude sailed his car into oncoming traffic. the exec director received effusive letters of praise on D's behalf when the group returned home safely. wonder what herculean task he'll perform this year.

meanwhile, i am a bachelorette. pajama party all the time! just me and the dog. the fucking cats will not set foot in the house while i'm in charge. they can do all their fighting and scratching and puking and other retard activities OUTSIDE. i have a song to commemorate these occasions. it's sung to the tune of Camptown Races, and it goes like this:

Outdoor Kitties, sing this song
doo dah, doo dah
Outdoor Kitties all day long
dum didahdoo da day.

no doubt one or more of 'em will express their displeasure by hoarking on the hood of my car, but it's worth it.

the only spot of disquiet i have is the litterbox. D's suspicions will be raised if he returns to a clean litterbox, and he will not believe me if i said i cleaned it, cos i've never done so in my life. thoughts? will a couple sticky tootsie rolls suffice? should i take a dump in there? could be fun...

1st win of 2006

got some hardware this weekend -- and won my first race of the year!

honestly, all's i wanted was to have Sum Fun after last weekend's sufferfest, and a 15K trail race seemed just the thang. if i placed in my AG and/or beat my time from a couple years ago, i'd be happy, i thought.

i lined up mid-pack with tastymatt and then spent the next 4 miles passing a steady stream of runners. i had a grand time, picking up a margarita (er, "sports drink") at the Special Needs station @ 7-ish miles. fueled by the sports drink's electrolytes, i passed the 2nd place chick with a mile to go, and 1st maybe a half-mile from the finish. won by a mere 14 seconds, and if i say i didn't piss myself with sheer delight i'd be lying.

here's to serendipity.

and here's some footage of the easter bunny.

corner brook, canada

hills. hells yeah.

QUALIFIED

back from West Va late last night -- said goodbye to D's grandma and put her in the ground -- with her glasses on, which seemed odd.

am pretty wiped out from the weekend and am so glad it's a short week. i'm not particularly catholic, but i'll don the guise of a devoted christian to take off good friday. that's easier to swing than rosh hoshana anyway.

finally, unless USA Triathlon gives me the ix-nay, i'm going to worlds. thanks to my nemesis kerri receiving a 2min penalty, i won my AG on saturday and qualified for short-course worlds ... and got comped into nats. which're in 3 weeks.

holy shit.

to race, or not to race

i gave my bike an hour or so of luv last night, digging out winter's gunk and washing off a shitload of worm parts on the seat tube. she hasn't been this spanky in years, which provides me with a great excuse to NOT race in tomorrow's predicted torrential washes w/20mph winds.

the countless hours of life i've frittered away on YouTube and google video weren't applefrittered in vain. here's a dude doing an acapella, layered version of Closer.

neil gaiman drives a mini

ugh. still trying to catch up on the sleep i lost over the weekend. but i'm FINALLY healthy again and done with the antibiotics that made me dizzy and forgetful (ALWAYS blame the drugs). i'm hardly prepared for saturday's race, however: haven't yet put on the aero bars, and my re-rimmed zipps are tucked away in some corner, still w/o tubes or tires. i probably will not qualify for worlds, i may be spanked unmercifully and/or i may just not race, period.

i did, however, have a gratifying track workout last night. queen T was not in attendance, so i ran on my own, knocking out 15 quarters @ 5K pace w/100m recovery. if nothing else, my pacing is solid; with only a couple exceptions, i ran straight 1:30s, and i felt grand. not too hard; not too easy.

saul williams' black stacey has been kicking around in my head for days. so damn catchy. big props to TR for putting him on the bill, and to saul for playing to a bunch of white kids in black t-shirts.

oh, and tambourines are hawt.

march left like a lion -- there's a blizzard of snow outside. it's awesome. joolieboolie says she loves spring: "there's magic around every corner." well fuck that. i prefer cold and snow, hibernation and death. temporary death.

speaking of joolieboolie, here are some things you might not know about neil gaiman.

wrapping up winter-06