countdown to richmond: 3 weeks

in the bank is another week's training, highlights of which were a track workout of 1200s and quarters at sub-5K pace; and hill intervals on the bike last night, followed by a tempo trail run on legs a bit tenderised by 6 miles on the treadmill that morning. an easy ride today, and easy brick tomorrow and maybe a race sunday will finish off the week. ordered my Team USA uniform, too.

hill intervals on the bike are never fun, even when you've got pantera's "Walk" stuck on the mental jukebox. there's no fluidity or zen, only hurt -- plus there's the burmese mountain dog that sits in wait on the hill cos he knows your stupid ass is gonna come up and go down, again & again, but at least you KNOW when he's coming, not like the Three JackRussells of the Apocalypse that pop up out of fucking nowhere.

but as fisch noted on tuesday, the suffering is timed and finite, and if you can get your mind on-board so it's working with you rather than against, the time does pass and you do get stronger. and when you're going head-to-head in richmond with some chick from germany, you can brew some confidence from the memory of this workout and the fact you got through it. a little pantera never hurts, either.

so here's phil, provin that his band iswas waaaaay better than zep ever was:



happy MFBT.

Halo 3 and/or Smarties may cause loose stools

loucypher came in an hour late this morning and, glassy-eyed, rifled the bowl of Smarties in the kitchen then crumpled into his chair.
- late night? - i asked.
- uh-huh.
- Halo?
- yay-ah.
- like it?
- mmmmm - he sucked down 3 lines of Smarties and shook his head vigorously - oooh that tickles. yeah, i like it. the graphics aren't as good as Bioshock or Gears of War, but what it lacks in atmosphere Halo makes up in sick toys.
2 more Smarties down the pipes.
- dood you'll want to be careful with that shit - i warned him - i ate 8 of those things for breakfast yesterday and had the runs for the rest of the day.
- that's the rotten fruit you eat. so yeah, like there's this bubble you can throw up around yourself, and your enemies' weapons won't penetrate. the problem is that they can WALK through it, so unless you've got friendlies around for sniping, the grunts can just walk in. and there're these hotrod ATV's called mongooses, that if you're playing co-op, your buddy can drive while you ride and cover.
it's either sugar or pleasure of recollection that's loosened him.
- but the problem is that there are checkpoints, you know? -like Gears of War? and they come so fast that you think oh, i'll just make it to one more checkpoint, okay just one more, and then you look at the clock and it's quarter to 2.
- sooooo i'm guessing you didn't see the democratic debates last night. loucypher is about as political as my stapler.
- dude, i was creating my OWN democracy. peace through superior firepower. a pained expression splintered on his face. excuse me - he said and hustled toward the bathroom.
- told you so! - i addressed his fleeting backside and got a dismissive wave and slammed door in response.

you do it as long as you can

- two weeks in a row!? - Queen T said to me when i showed up at tuesday nite track. yeah sometimes ppl r ok. LAF was there, and AJ, mcgrunty and teej. i imagine the steeplechaser is doing super-secret stealth training to prep for Trials... a bummer as he is lovely to watch.

coach fischer lays out the two workout options then extends his thanks to those who showed for kim's funeral 2 weeks ago. in his 20 years of coaching, kim's been fisch's only female NCAA champion, and they became good friends after she graduated from UD and settled in wilmington. she died sept 11th, having been in a coma since july '06, when she fell down her stairwell and incurred a C2 spinal injury. she was 43 then.

the viewing and funeral were packed with runners, because outside her sport kim was rather solitary, with a tough, bristly shell that gave way under hours on the trails but not at the water cooler. before the service fisch was drawn and nervous: he was one of 3 to speak about kim's life. it's okay - i told him - we're most of us runners. talk to us as though we're your team. his wife smiled sadly and led him away. i heard a voice at my shoulder pipe - hey finn! - and turned to face theresa, whom i hadn't seen since the XC race last fall. she ran with kim at dickinson high.
- hi theresa. how're you doing?
- did you hear i set an age-group record?!! - coming from theresa, this should not have been a surprise, but i was so distraught after talking to fisch that i shook my head and just walked away.

so thank you all for coming out - fisch is saying as we shuffle nervously before our 1200s - because it's really hard to lose someone that young but seeing familiar faces out there made it easier. i know she's in a better place but she still leaves a big hole behind. ummm, also one of our volleyball coaches was recently diagnosed with ovarian cancer, and it looks like the aggressive kind, so please keep her in your thoughts. enjoy your run. enjoy the night, and enjoy being healthy enough to do this. you won't have this forever, so do it as long as you can.

phil anselmo is off the dope show

the new Down album officially hits the streets today. pantera fans may be drawn like moths to the flame of phil anselmo's vocals while still holding a grudge against him for, well, being a dick. whacked on heroin most of his time onstage, anselmo was given to johnny reb speechifying. here's one of his infamous performances:



when i saw pantera live my man was so tuned up that when the band exited the stage anselmo left us with, "good night philly! we're led zeppelin and this is the zoso tour!!" i think he really believed that.

anselmo's purportedly been clean since 2002. whether he pulls it off as well as trent remains tae be seen. but the new album, Over the Under, is good stuff: sure it's heavy but it's surprisingly hooky as well. it's more crafted & refined than pantera & corrosion of conformity (which offered up pepper keenan) without dulling the edge.

samples from Over the Under:
on march the saints
3 suns and 1 star
his majesty the desert
in the thrall of it all

"if every day were a duathlon"

racing is HARD.
duathlons are HARD.
running 2 miles, then cycling 20, then running 5 – that's HARD.
i forgot this during the last 2 months when i was playing dollies with LAF and loading tanqueray.

AJ popped up next to me at the starting line.
- i SO don't want to be here – he announced – i don't know why i came.
- hi AJ.
- you'll probably pass me on the bike. i don't know why i even came. Ivy Tibialis is acting up and i probably shouldn't even be here – Ivy Tibialis is AJ's pet name for his ITB. hen calls his Van Halen. - DON'T pass me on the bike. i'll cry like a baby.
- okay.
- my ankle still hurts from crashing last weekend too. i feel old and creaky – AJ is 26 – i really don't know why i'm here. how do YOU feel?
- me? hungry.
- hungry?!? - i had my normal breakfast at the normal time and there's no reason i should be hungry, but i have an empty, rumbling feeling in my gut.
- yeah. i could go for some scrambled eggs and bacon right now. maybe some scrapple - AJ looks at me disbelievingly - and a short stack of pancakes, with kerrygold butter and maine maple syrup. - the guy in front of me snorts; AJ looks cross.
- why do i even talk to you.

the starting gun sounds and i take off at a manageable pace with maggie, my closest competition as i figure it, right on my shoulder. she sits there for the first mile; i can hear her breathing harder than i am and it's comforting to know that i could leave her behind if i tighten the screws just a bit. i don't, though, because i'm not sure that tightening the screws won't detonate me.

as i'm pulling my bike off the rack, maggie's just coming into transition, and as i'm noodling the beginning of the bike leg maggie passes me moving at mach-10. maggie has NEVER passed me on the bike. maggie has never passed me EVER. this is not right. but i don't panic because i'm still in my small chain ring after all, gathering the gods of war. and a half-mile later when i pass her going 24mph i feel implacable and bulletproof... until a minute later i hear the rumble of her disc wheel and there she is. i know you'll smoke me on the run – she yells to me as she passes me A-gain – so i just figure i'll try to stay as close as i can on the bike! WTF?? who talks that much in a race?? who's to say i'll smoke her on the run?

after so much time off from racing, it takes me 10miles to recover the zen of time-trialing, that feeling where your knees tuck neatly under your armpits and you draw the strength for your pedal-stroke from your core instead of just your legs. i start to feel good then, or maybe it was just a tailwind; and when i pass a cluster of 4 guys blatantly drafting off each other, i feel even more immortal; but when i make the last turn before transition i can see the rose-pink of maggie's uniform in my peripheral vision.

i nail a smooth second transition until i realise i'm still packing my spare tube, co2 cartridges and inflater in my jersey pocket, so i flit back to transition to drop the weight. maggie's pulling on her flats.
- go get 'em! - she says brightly. she is so NICE. why am i such a BITCH.
- see you out there.
- yeah, i'll see the back of you. - again, why so nice??

i believe i'm a stronger runner than maggie, but i believed that of the bike too, so i'm running uncertain now. my hamstring settles the issue, though: i find there is a certain edge at which it begins to speak its case most plangently, so i pitch my effort just below this red zone. a man with a lovely, rolling gait passes me and i focus on his feet, his turnover a mantra, but he breaks halfway in – i see it like we saw rasmussen break in the mountains after another contador attack – his form suddenly deteriorates; that easy roll is gone.
- just stay relaxed – i murmur as i leave him behind, and wonder if he's asking himself who talks that much in a race?

no part of this run is fun until i am crossing the line and high-fiving roy, my pal the fuji rep. i'm hanging with roy and his sidekick frank awaiting the awards ceremony when AJ finds me.
- i can't believe it. i was frickin' third.
- congratulations! that's awesome, AJ.
- no it's not. i thought i was second, and i worked my ass off to pass the third-place guy, but i just looked at the results and one dude was so far ahead of us that i didn't even know he was out there.
- are you sure the results are right?
- yeah. he's beaten me before. and get this: he's 43. that's OLD. he's older than YOU, and you're frickin OLD!!
- why are you wearing a skirt?
- it's not a skirt, it's a KILT.
- looks like a skirt to me. you got anything on under there?
- no. wanna check?
- i may be old, but you still jerk off thinking about me don't you.
- fuck you.
- i'll take that as a yes.

we ceased our banter to cheer the final finisher, a 10-year old girl who finished about an hour and a half after we did. her mom paced her to the line, and her dad hefted her in the air as soon as she crossed the finish line. a huge smile emblazoned her face.
- that's almost a reason to have kids right there – i said to AJ, a confirmed bachelor.
- yeah, if every day were a duathlon - he giggled at his own joke - if every day for 18 years were a duathlon.
i laughed too. but if every day were a duathlon i would be a very tired finn indeed. i was out of commission for the rest of the day. racing is hard fucking stuff, man.

finn comes clean about doping

if you live under a rock, or you don't eat, drink and bleed (oh, the bleeding!!) cycling, you may be unaware that floyd landis lost his appeal and has been found guilty of using synthetic testosterone during the 2006 tour de france; and he's been stripped of his yellow jersey. and yesterday we learned that espoir phenom genevieve jeanson admitted to taking EPO since age 16. this is the first time she's admitted doping since being suspended for life after a positive drug test in 2005. in the interview that aired yesterday, she confessed to hating herself while cheating, lamenting that she was living a lie and claiming that she felt much better now after fessing up.

well my insides are roiling a bit myself so i'm banking on feeling much better when i come clean here.

see, i'm a doper too.

before every hard training ride and race, i eat a tray of Peeps. only the yellow, pink, white and purple ones though. i can't stomach the blues. they turn my lips a funny color and i think about that Perfect Circle song and then i think that maybe i HAVE been dead all this time and i get into a real mindfuck and wake up curled in front of the toilet with my stuffed otter. so i don't eat the blue ones.

if i have absolutely no other recourse and all that's left are the blues, i will melt them on a spoon and bang that shit right into my iliac vein.

when i'm Peeping i can go harder and recover faster.

i intend to Peep hard tomorrow morning, right before i return to the racing season after a 2-month layoff. 2 months?? jesus, i hope i remember how to fuck up my transitions.

i apologise to all those i've disappointed.
but you needed to know the truth.

[hmm. that didnt rly help teh old bow-els.]

"Bring Your Bike to Work" day

- did you ride your bike to work today? - F asked.
- yeah, up I-95. it was a little dicey around the merge to 495 but i made it.
- really??
- NO, dumbass. i'm meeting a friend to ride after work and didn't want to leave my bike in the car. if it heats up too much the tubes pop.
- oh. hmmm. so, how much does a bike like that cost?
- more than you'd think.
- more than 500 bucks?
- more than 500 bucks.
- more than a grand?
- yes.
- a couple grand?
- more.
- that's crazy! i could go to walmart and get a Huffy for 300 bucks! actually, you can get one for $179; i checked when we were in maine. rust had already begun to filigree the handlebars and brakes, but what do you expect. F picked up my bike and hefted it experimentally.
- man, that weighs like 4 ounces!
- that's why it's more than 500 bucks.

as i climbed 3 flights of steps to the office this morning with my bike on one shoulder (it's more than 4oz, trust me), Lapple® tucked under arm and iphone in pocket, it occurred to me that i was carrying most of my worldly wealth. according to edmunds my laptop's worth more than my car... which gets me to wondering...

countdown to richmond - 1 month

one month.
that's 2 1/2 weeks of race-specific training & intensity, with a 10-day taper.

last week i felt like shit, leveled by such a deep fatigue that all i wanted to do when i got home from work was curl up on the sofa and nap... so i did. i wondered whether the chills i had were lyme disease or a low-grade fever. i wondered whether i will ever race well at worlds.

this week has been better. i went to the track tues nite for the first time in months. i ran quarters (3x[5x400m @ 5K pace w/100m recovery]) by myself because the only person close to my speed was AJ, and if i'd run with him our workout would have degenerated into a pissing contest from which it'd take me a week to recover. during our warmup i noticed he was running uncharacteristically creakily.
- what's YOUR problem.
- oh, i crashed at the race on saturday.
- again?!? - this is the same guy who rode into a goose and crashed on a training ride back in july and believe me, we haven't tired of mining that incident for snappy comments & rejoinders. a sudden realisation strikes. - oh jesus, AJ. of all the races to lay it down, you have to choose the race our CYCLING team puts on?!? - he's abashed, as well he should be.
- i know. and it was right out of transition, too. at the first corner - which means EVERYONE saw, and our multisport rep for being laughably bad bike handlers has been reestablished - but it wasn't my fault, really! there was a course marshal there saying look out for the puddle, but what he didn't mention was the big pothole the puddle was hiding. i hit that and flew out of the saddle.
- nice job, holmes. did anyone else hit this "pothole"?
- ummmm no... but hey, where were you? why didn't you race?
- sorry! have to pee!! - and i darted into the fieldhouse.

the quarters were neither fast nor slow, but they were dead-consistent (88-89 sec) and it felt good to open up. yesterday afternoon, after procrastinating for hours, i climbed on the bike for some 7min intervals which weren't as excruciating as they looked on paper. today LAF and i will do an easy hour-long brick and a week's training will be in the bank.

maybe i will make tollhouse cookies tonite.

marketing genius

WTF is "crab spice"?

does it come from crabs, as the creature on the bag would have me believe?

if i share this bag with the Mayor, will i GET crabs?

i don't think i can wiki my way around this one.

mangan, jameson, travis and trent

first of all, how freakin' cool is it that i can see a satellite view of dublin on my iphone?!? look, there's mangan's bust in st stephen's green, there's twenty walking into mulligans and FMC into BT2. i would take a pic to awe you but i only have one iphone alas and F decided that for his birthday (tomorrow) he's forgoing the iphone he originally asked for in favor of an xbox, a defection akin to choosing the yanks over the orioles IMO. plus, practically speaking, my iphone sees a whole lot more action than my xbox... then again, i can think of better ways to spend friday night than playing BioShock on xbox live with a bunch of mole-eyed dudes jacked on mountain dew gamefuel. i could be well into a fifth of jameson, for instance, or i could be picking burrs off the dog. i do really cool things, see.

nails wrapped up their european tour in hawaii last night (that's american geography there); here's an archive of the tour photo blog (thank you iphone!) loved and nurtured by rob, TR and keyboardist alessandro cortini. buddyhead was there -- aaron doing acrobatics onstage, travis freeloading -- and they've offered some sensible recommendations for "the upgraded Europe 7.3" addressing ketchup, queues, warm soda and yer monetary system:

Also, let’s get rid of all these fucking coins you savages have to lug around. It sucks dick having to haul all of these worthless pieces of metal in your pockets everywhere you go, and NOBODY with a clue wants to start sporting fanny packs (AKA fag bags). Next time you come out with the newest versions of Swedish pesos or whatever the fuck you have here, let’s press those puppies onto paper, deal?

read the treatise here, but you might have to scroll to the Aug 18th entry because brothas haven't twigged to the concept of anchor links.

finally, if you didn't think trent reznor was prescient, outspoken or attached to a pretty nice ass before now, here's yer sign, offered as a measured, articulate call-to-action before the day the world went away in sydney on sunday:



yo Interpol, peep that eh? THAT is stage presence.

no i have DON'T have anything better to do

your better isn't very much fun.

I came in here for that special offer

a sunday trip to zingo's always ends in front of the ice cream, and this week as i stood contemplating the haagen dazs two high-school boys were restocking the turkey hill.
- yeah, so breeyonda is back here. (my total stab at spellink.)
- who?
- breeYONda.
- who the fuck is breeYONda?
- you know. the black girl who got pregnant.
- oh her. yeah i heard she dropped out of UD. she's back?
- yeah and she'll probably be doing this for the rest of her life. a whole rest, then:
- dude, that's fucking harsh.
- mmmm hmmm.
fuck it i can't decide so i take all 6 pints and muscle my cart to the cashiers. a young black woman is working the first register and i wonder whether that's breeYONda. she's express though, so i move on and catch the eye of the chick on register 2. i'm pretty sure she's the one who, Way Back in the Day when D used to shop for groceries, inquired whether he preferred paper or plastic, MA'AM. though she may have precipitated his rebellion against grocery shopping henceforth, i cannot hold that against her because MA'AM was so effin' brilliant.
- hey, how're YOU?!? she asks brightly, deftly sweeping an octogenarian's Gerbers across the scanning plate. who's eating the vanilla custard, i wonder.
- yeah, good. um, how're you? - and i have no excuse but to slot into her line.
- good, good. haven't seen you in a while. you been okay? the old lady cuts a glance my way. yeah, i'm in tight with the zingo's girls, bitch. you stick with me and we'll get your large yellow onions rung up as smalls.
- yeah fine. how was your summer?
- it went by so fast! i'm back in school now. i want to ask where she's going but i'm aware of possible-breeYONda at my back. might be a touchy subject.
- your man still hunting? - she asks. OMG does this girl know everything?
- yeah. you remember that?
- i remember ringing up his whole cart and there was no meat. and i asked, 'are you a vegetarian?' and he said 'why?' and i said 'because you didn't buy any meat' and he answered... i know this story and finish it for her.
- and he said, 'because i'm a hunter.'
- yes! -and it kind of freaked me out a little, because my uncle died hunting bear in alaska. Gerber Lady suddenly ages 100 light-years; now she is eleventy-billion years old. i've got new respect for my cashier; i'd written off her response as knee-jerk Bambi-ism.
- no way. i'm so sorry.
- oh, it's okay. he was kind of a dick anyway - she giggles, then looks guiltily at Gerber Lady - i mean, he made my aunt's life real difficult. he drank too much and he loved guns. she clears out Gerber Lady and then commences ringing me up.
- is this fennel?
- yep.
- glad to see you're still buying weird food.
- the more things change, the more they stay the same. she nods.

reason #100 why i love Mac

getting my $100 credit was a 2-step process, which required only the following:

- my mobile number
- my iphone's serial number (easily accessible via Settings)
- an activation number texted to me after entering the above
- 2min -- if that -- of my time

apple i love you.

but.
it would have been nice if my iphone could have changed my bicycle tube when i flatted yesterday. just sayin.

interpol at the tower theater - 9.15.07

another musical fieldtrip with the RockStar, this time to see Interpol at the tower theater in philly on saturday night. truth be told i wasn't too jazzed about going, but i didn't know what else to get for D's birthday and it's always edifying to hang out with the RS.

opening up was Liars. the last time we we were supposed to play in philly - the lead singer informed us midway through their set - we had to cancel. because no one bought tickets. - that's because you SUCK - the RockStar responded matter-of-factly. i'm not gonna neg on Liars too bad because they amused me. clad in a white suit, the lead Liar cavorted around on stage, shimmying his chest and tossing his head. he looked like a small bird taking a dust bath, and i couldn't help smiling, which RS misinterpreted. you LIKE them. i can't believe you actually like this crap. some parts of Liars' performance were fun, and some were downright screechy and i regretted needling D for bringing earplugs.

Interpol took the stage and cranked out the following setlist:

pioneer
obstacle 1
cmere
narc
say hello to the angels
pace is the trick
mammoth
public pervert
threesome
slow hands
chemistry
heinrich
evil
not even jail
---------------------
nyc
stella
pda

i'm not a huge Interpol fan, but RS and his wife are, so when they pronounce the show "incredible" and i say it was kinda ho-hum, whom should you believe?? the tracks sounded a lot like they do on the CDs -- there were no noodly interludes or interesting segues in the live version; and there didn't seem to be any grander design, like -- oh bear with me; you knew this was inevitable -- a NIN show, where the tempo and mood speed and slow, sweeping you on a sine wave of energy. the light show was minimal, and with the exception of two background pix from the new album, didn't contribute much to the overall experience.

at the very least i can say the sound was good: the vocals played well with everything else, and though RS said the two guitars were sloppy on their transitions, i didn't notice. but paul banks has the vocal range of a sheep and his vocals seem to constrict and bind Interpol's songs. i hoped that live, the songs would break free with some extracurricular instrumentals, but it never happened. but like i said, i'm not a fan AND we had seats about 40 rows back. maybe i'd have been more entertained had we been closer.

there was good people-watching, however. this was a different demographic than the shows i normally attend: a lot more asians, and hotter women too, not the heavy, inked metal chicks i usually see. between Liars' and Interpol's sets, a dude took a header in the aisle next to me and was so drunk he couldn't get up and lay there twitching until security bustled him out. i also saw an acquaintnince -- one of those people you see at all the NIN shows but have never officially met. i wonder who dragged her to see Interpol and if she too got all moony for perfection.

sums up the week

UPDAYT cos the day hasnt gotten much bettur cos i been workin on the failroad, nukka.
(yes i am the caption of that, moran.)

Bring Me Back -- to "pre-surge" levels

tonight Our Glorious Leader will offer a performance worthy of cicero i'm sure to explain why we're drawing back from iraq the extra troops he lobbied so hard for several months ago. should be an amazing display of verbal dexterity. regrets dubya; i've a funeral tonight.

in the same spirit i offer WK Interact's Bring Me Back series, now making guerrilla appearances in manhattan & the bronx. In protest of the ongoing Iraq war - says guerrilla art blogger Supertouch - WK INTERACT has taken it to the streets with “Stage I” of a new series called “Bring Me Back” featuring images of US army soldiers, who he calls “the most exploited group of human beings in recent history,” bearing the iconic slogan.




more pix of Stage I here and Stage II here; Stage III coming soon.

while i don't roll with the characterisation of US soldiers as uncommonly "exploited," WK Interact's installments are compelling stuff. OTOH one man's art is another's pedestrian graffiti, and you could argue that WK Interact's builds are no more worthy than the tagging practises of our local hooligans, who've left no Wawa and topsoil dealer unscathed/unmolested. state legislators recently passed a unanimous bill that makes it illegal for minors to possess paint cans outside their homes and forbids retailers from selling such products to minors without a note from their parents. kids have been busted for having pictures of tags on their mobiles – it's Evidence of wrongdoing, yo – while citizens have been advised to take pictures of graffiti ON THEIR MOBILES for Documentation.

i think OGL could appreciate that logic.

i keep telling myself....

do not need.
do not need.
do not need.

have $100.
comes with laser engraving.
is Apple.

garggghh!
not in stock yet. thank god.

danny lohner reinterprets a classic

not his BEST remix, but i could still watch this all day.



and maybe i will.

[thanks to rev, the MySpaceAddict, for finding this.
now turn off the comp and git outside, boyo.]

we fight 'em in EYErak or we fight 'em here.

i like things Simple.

No Aid or Comfort To the Enemy -- NO WAY!

Performing Monkey Day

and thisun's a biggun.

winning this job will allow the Mayor to retire to Sherwood Forest and smoke doobies for the rest of his life; and it'll almost-guarantee i'll never have to whore myself out to any more financial giants.

last night i wrote out my script. here's the part where i really get my wheels revving:

what will make our assessment successful? it's recognising PURPLE NURPLES are more than just SCROTAL SACS -- it's taking into account business and user KNOCKWURST. FOREPLAY! it's appreciating how information is FUCKFACED and FLIBBERTYGIBBETED, as dictated (DICKtated!!!) by those SCROTAL SACS. it's easy to overwhelm your HAMMER TOES by presenting all your information up front, unfiltered, UP YOURS -- what's harder, but ultimately more efficacious, is the practise of FIST FUCK, or telling users TO FUCK THE FUCK OFF, revealing the right PECKERHEAD to the right SAVASANA at the right PENISFUCKSUCKCUNT.

wish me luck.

my housesitter left his porn behind...

having returned from vacay with a need to go minimal, i've spent the last two weekends weeding out my closets and packing bags for Goodwill. this weekend i attacked the closet in the TV room, where winter clothes are stored.

imagine my first-consternation, then glee, when i came upon these works of art jammed between a couple of my wool sweaters:

i'm 99.9% sure the culprit is F, who house-sat while D and i were in maine -- homie left the plastic wrap for the jenna jameson oeuvre under the TV tray for D to find when he vacuumed. (we're a little burned that F left just the boxes and absconded with the discs.) we entertained various hypotheses to explain why the boxes were hidden in my sweaters: cleaning up for company, perhaps? a cry for help? were your sweaters stuck together? - asked D.

the real question is, do i return these to F? if so, how? do i pop into the biz dev meeting tomorrow morning and say thanks for house-sitting man, but you left these behind while half of MyCo looks on? do i leave them in full view on his desk? do i tell F i'm through with D because i found porn in the house and i'm sure it's his? or do i pack them in a brown paper bag and coolly leave them on his chair?

cruel or kind?
WWYouD?

my iPhone cost an extra $200

when the MyCo lunch crew returned yesterday, quasar shuffled back to his desk and with all the righteous glory a man who wears slippers at work can realistically muster, fired
- so, what do you think of Apple now?!?
- whaddya mean? - quasar loves to bear bad news and deserves to be toyed with.
- did you hear they dropped the price of an iphone by two hundred bucks?!? - he's puffed with indignation and doesn't even have an iphone.
- yeah well, i won't feel so bad when i lose this one.

he's visibly deflated and disappointed that i won't play the Hating Game. sure i'm taking the piss with him a little bit, but i am so enamored of Apple right now that steve jobs could take a shit on my head and i would hand him a wetnap and ask if he wanted a coke.

this isn't to say i won't avail myself of the $100 apology Apple's purportedly offering, but if Apple products were *5* times more expensive than its competitors, i'd still pony up the cash. because my nano, Lapple® and iphone make me THAT happy.


Happy MFBT and have a great weekend, all.

for FMC and quasar

luv,
opus and finn

[from lolnin a'course.]

daily earworm: Gotta Go

oh that's so 25-years-ago - said loucypher.

but indulge me -- NMA's entire north american tour was canceled because Immigration Svcs wouldn't grant the band US visas. thank you Homeland Security!!

maine, in numbers

days in maine: 14

read by finn
books: 3 ¹
magazine back issues: 9 ²
newspapers: 0

consumed by finn
fifths of gin: 1 gordons, 1.5 tanqueray
liter bottles of tonic: about a quarter
gargantuan ice cream sundaes at Gillmores: 3 ³
six-packs of Redbridge gluten-free beer: 2.5 ⁴
12-packs of coors light: 0.75 ⁵
bottles of wine: 8 ⁶
lobsters: 3
tablespoons of butter per lobster: ~4
1-lb bags of skittles: 1.5 ⁷

activities performed by finn
early-morning swims: 0
skinny-dips: 5 ⁸
times D said to me you can read ANYwhere: 5
times i told him leave me alone i'm reading: 5
BJs: 2
fish caught: 9 ⁹
keepers: 0
kayak trips to pickerel cove: 7
times i considered not kayaking back: 7
times i kayaked back: 7
bear, moose and mink sightings: 0
dead, skinned beaver-hanging-from-a-tree sightings: 1
flicks watched on the Lapple (cos u kno i had to bring it): 3 ¹⁰

in summary, aside from kayaking to molest pickerel (many bites; none hooked), i didn't do much in maine but read and drink. 'twas a far cry from L's june visit, which included water-skiing, mtn biking, running and flinging off the rope swing; but it was exactly what i needed.

¹ the last Harry Potter book (HP and the SomethingSomething), Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norell, and I am Charlotte Simmons. Hannibal Rising doesn't figure in because the writing was so atrocious i was skimming after page10, snuffling for the salacious truffly bits, of which there were too few to justify this book IMHO. i don't know what exactly happened to thomas harris, but sometime after Red Dragon and Hannibal the firstust, dude lost his muse.
² Running Times, Runners World, Inside Tri, Tri-geke and The New Yorker
³ or, everytime i got dragged to walmart.
⁴ made from sorghumyum.
⁵ for lunch, yo. i know CL doesn't count as beer.
⁶ i had help here.
⁷ kept me awake at the wheel for the 15-hour drive.
⁸ not counting baths in the lake.
⁹ small-mouth bass.
¹⁰ American History X, 'Pocalypse Now, and Fight Club.

more pix on flickr.