earworm...

and an abs stellar first verse.

when porn is downright funny

today's twofer tuesday: two (okay, 3; maybe 4) pterodactyl; one chick.
WTF is up with Mr Squawky Beak, who arrives mise en scene midway through??
most def NSFW. you've been warned.

pssssssssssssst. flap your arms some more.

i want you

Fiona Apple covers Elvis Costello

The VH1 Decades Rock Live Elvis Costello tribute. When Costello was asked about the highlights of the show, he responded "...Fiona's incredible job on "I Want You." For me, that was musically the high point of the evening, in terms of how much you can reach within a song and come up with something that was for you."

end of an era

that's it??

so long ian, and thanks for all the fish.

splendor in the grass

teh Good, the Bad, and the Yoda.

what november is

november is....

i'm looking forward to december, when all month i can celebrate national I Fucking Hate the Idea of Fake Grass in My Office. and boys who don't put out. and the pimples that come after waxing. and breaststroke kick. and pantry moth larvae in my granola squares. and some other stuff.

i'm ready to get thankful, bitches.

a pig in a poke

tomorrow my mom turns 60. she pleads for no fussing, no fete-ing, but i'm giving her the lladró i bought for her in barcelona. my mom’s tastes aren’t high-dollar by any stretch, but when she and my dad married, he gave her a lladró: a maiden limned in characteristic fluid pastel sweeps. she looks like my mom. llater, when they were going splitsville, the maiden fell over and her head broke off at the neck. my mom kept her and repaired her, and the maiden and her finely-cracked necklace occupy the mantel.

recently, to commemorate a seminal day in MY life, my mom gave me a lladró of a girl with dog, rampant, licking her face. it’s so perfect that when she gave it to me i bawled a little. (okay, a lot.) she’d had it for years, waiting.

so tomorrow i’m giving her a pig, un cerdito de la suerte, which, the accompanying brochure informs me, embodies “courage and determination, for it only fights to defend its own and knows how to use all its resources to sidestep difficulties.” fits. plus, my mother took a shine to pigs after my grandmother, well-versed in pen & ink ways, went through her pig period.

so, a pig for her birthday tomorrow, and last night, for an early birthday present, an argument about rose. my friend shteve, whose daughter i learned this weekend was a friend of rose’s before the accident, said that rose is hardly responsive. if you give her a present, she’ll just pluck at the wrapping paper; that’s about it. her situation hasn’t changed since last march.

- she’s 18 – i told my mom – and she’s not getting any better. if that were me, i don’t think i’d want to stick around. this is an argument for… whaddya call ‘em… those something wills.

- a living will.

- right. i mean, what’s the point?

- she’s still alive.

- but what constitutes “alive”? mom, she’s not like dr. fellows. there is NOTHING there that i can see. no brain activity, no responsiveness. steve says her state’s almost vegetative.

- so if that happened to someone you love, you wouldn’t take care of them?

my mom’s voice has gotten small and tight. we’re now talking about something completely different, and i am regretting those 2 glasses of shiraz. then again, would this conversation be any better completely sober?

- …. no, i’m not talking about caretaking. i’m talking about what i would want if i were in rose’s situation.

- well, how would we know what you wanted if you were rose?

- that.is.why.i.am.talking.about.living.wills.

jesus christ this should not be so difficult. we fucking stopped the machines on pete because we knew living in a wheelchair, in an unresponsive body, would be too cruel, against his wishes. we didn’t NEED a living will to understand this.

- but finn you don’t KNOW. you don’t know how rose’s family feels.

something is up,and it’s time to back down, to keep pete resting where he is.

- no, i don’t, no. and yeah maybe she’ll come back.

i’m unconvinced and my mom’s hackles are raised. i walked into the minefield of someone who’s taking care of a parent with alzheimers. i should have known better.

that lucky pig better work.

warming up with the gods

you can't be a runner in this town without hearing of vicki huber. after dominating at villanova and competing in 2 Olympics (in the 1500 and 3000m), vicki returned to her hometown and married the guy who holds her ITB and plantar fasciitis at bay, that miracle of miraculosity, sir andrew of rudawski, AKA rudy. officially, vicki's retired now, but she does show at the occasional race so that we mortals, as FMC so eloquently encapsulated, can fart along in her beautiful etheral wake though it be not quite as ethereal as the steeplechaser's but perhaps as a woman i'm slightly biased.

vicki's a friend & ex-roommate of my massage therapist denise, who's a gifted runner herself and one of the kindest, most grounded people i've met. by extension i'd grafted those qualities onto vicki, whom i hardly know.

2 weeks ago vicki, ML and i were warming up before the winterthur 5K. vicki had some trepidation about the footing, which was a little hillocky in places, but whatdya expect from XC?? -however vicki's had some bad experiences with precarious footing, and she told me and ML about spraining her ankle running in the dark the night before junior nationals.

-- so the next morning, i had my ankle taped and i went to the start line and my coach was FURIOUS.

-- furious? why?

-- because he thought that in my competitors' eyes it was a sign of weakness.

i considered this for a second. there was some merit.

-- well, could you have worn tall socks or something?

vicki fixed me with a steely gaze.

-- please. i didn't want to look like a DORK.

no indeed.

dorkus malorkus wishing you a fine frivolous weekend. bottoms up.

[how'd the story end? vicki bonked 200m before the line and got passed by half a dozen girls who may or may not have had questionable fashion sense.]

the mortals, and the gods

last night’s hard hills workout was the last of the year. 9 days & counting ‘til my last race of the season, it really doesn’t make any sense to do anything but taper & sharpen. and maybe race a 5K this weekend.

2 weekends ago i raced for the first time since worlds back in july (not counting my delightfully disastrous first swim meet in october); and this past weekend i raced a 4-miler, the 2nd annual Race for Rose. a friend of a friend organises this fundraising event to defray some medical expenses for rose, a local high school student who last march was in a car accident that killed two other students and left rose with permanent brain damage.

rose showed for the post-race gathering and awards ceremony – rather, rose was brought in by two classmates who maneuver her wheelchair with nonchalant, practised ease. well-wishers showered balloons and flowers upon her; a woman with a french bulldog coaxed the dog to stand on its hind legs and rest its chin on rose’s knee. FMC, you might have squeeed with delite.

while this activity roiled around her, rose’s head lolled, her cocked wrist trembled and she scratched desultorily at her chair’s armrest. from my POV, on the fringes and admittedly unfamiliar with rose’s signs & signifiers, i didn’t see many conventional signs of awareness. i’m sure rose’s family would argue that her life is meaningful and rewarding, just different; but if i were in the same position, with no control over my body, few outward indications of sentience and an inability to communicate effectively, i’m pretty sure i’d be begging for somebody’s mercy just like that chick in Million Dollar Baby. rose is a teenager, not an 80-year-old stroke victim who can run movies of her solid past life in her head ‘til someone finally turns off the lights.

my take, anyway. the mileage always varies.

anyway, though my time wasn’t anything to write home about, i ended up first female, bested only by two UD XC guys and the steeplechaser mike diG, who’s peaking for the Rothman 8K in philly this weekend and was running a light tempo at 6:15min mile pace. i started at 6:30 and caught him at the 2nd mile. he looked like he was out for an easy jog, whereas i metered in a gasping breath after every 3 words, like george-bush speak:

dude you know – it would be – really nice if – at least you – were a little – bit out of – - - breath.

there was a response from him, and more words after that, but in my oxygen-deprived state they didn’t register very effectively and i didn’t put up a fight when he motored ahead on the last hill.

the steeplechaser – called so because he went to the last Olympic trials in that event but didn’t make the cut because he’s a bit of a head-case – is one of those creatures who looks perfectly human jogging (7min mile pace to him) but who, once put into overdrive -- that notch in the clutch that most of us don’t have -- settles into a fluid, light grace that drops your jaw and holds you spellbound. not bad for a cracker.

at the wintherthur 5K XC race, my return to racing 2 weekends ago, DiG ran a 15:07 – on an undulating course of hillocky grass. that’s a 4:53 mile pace. MF NotWorthy.

for adam, who will clamor for pix (by Bud Keegan):

• the steeplechaser, AKA mike diG (men’s winner)
• rudy’s wife vicki (1st F)
• finn (2nd F)

it is so good to be back, my friends.

a little help

THE GOOD

[13:54] [F]: u runnin hills today?
[13:54] [finn]: that was the plan neway.
[13:54] [finn]: am feelg rather wimpy.
[13:54] [finn]: not v warriorlike.
[13:54] [finn]: i need my warrior.
[13:54] [F]: u need to fast
[13:55] [finn]: U need to fast.
[13:55] [finn]: that's when you started to go downhill, when u stopt fasting.
[13:55] [F]: lol.....i know:-(
[13:55] [F]: that was my mojo
[13:56] [finn]: meb u need a substitute mojo.
[13:56] [finn]: like tons of candy corn.
[13:57] [F]: what i need is a miracle....
[13:58] [F]: i wish i was a prophet
[13:58] [finn]: rudy is a miracle.
[13:59] [F]: yeah i'm waiting for God to send me a sign like he did for jesus and muhammad
[13:59] [finn]: you want me to burn a bush for you?
[13:59] [F]: and then i can heal myself
[13:59] [finn]: well, rumsfeld resigned. that's a miracle.
[14:01] [finn]: and we did some ass kickin' yesterday.
[14:01] [finn]: u know, it would REALLY be nice to be proud of my country again.
[14:01] [finn]: inst of making excuses for our asshat leaders.
[14:16] [F]: yeah i'm so excited
[14:16] [F]: it makes up for my depression that i went through 2 years ago
[14:17] [finn]: me too!!
[14:17] [finn]: when i was driving to work this morning, listening to NPR, it was almost like a dream.
[14:18] [finn]: you know what i WISH were a dream?? that i didn't just go through that whole AAA meeting with my zipper down.
[14:18] [finn]: classy.
[14:18] [F]: yeah it's awesome to kick some butt
[14:18] [F]: LOL
[14:18] [F]: well good thing that wasn't me cuz i'm riding commando

(esplodes)

elekshun dei

thanks to The Chief Source.

teh good

after a most shiteous week, this is all i've got.

The Good:

• jeff schwaner

a prayer for all the you(andi)s
and if i die be
fore i wake
i tried to swim
(you know) i swear
            -- js

SCY @ GMU

learnings from my first swim meet, this past weekend:

• always circle-swim in the warm-up lanes. otherwise, you run the risk of head-on collisions with cranky competitors who assume you've been doing this for years and just have shit-for-brains.
• no matter now many times your coach has watched your individual medley in practise, you still might get disqualified in competition. twice.
• freestyle is the only stroke where you're allowed to travel backwards to touch the wall if you missed it. because, if you completely swish the wall on a flipturn, you're disqualified.
• after getting deeked and subsequently scolded by the head ref (twice), the possibility of walking into the men's locker-room (in error) is very high.
• even when performed by skilled, fast swimmers, breast-stroke is still a ridiculous endeavor whose only use, as i see it, is to make you appreciate freestyle even more.
• butterflyers are hawt. breast-strokers tend to be stringy. i imagine they taste like squirrel.
• it is possible to finish almost dead-last (or get disqualified) in every single event you swim and still have a blast.

you crack me up, said alicia my neglectful coach. everytime i looked at you, you were trotting around the deck with a huge grin on your face.