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.
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.
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.]
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):
[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)
after a most shiteous week, this is all i've got.
The Good:
learnings from my first swim meet, this past weekend:
as dung beetles, i and all the other laborers here at MyCo should get a free pass to The Scoop on Poop exhibit at the Miami Zoo.
here's more info on the exhibit.
even when you're down, you can take joy in teh poo.
because, friends, everyone does it.
happy halloween.
my parents' neighbor walt died last week. i'd say walt suffered from alzheimers for the last couple years but that's not really accurate: rather, his wife pat suffered from walt's worsening condition. he refused to give up the car, and a couple times a month pat would have find and escort him because he'd forget how to get home. the house became too big for them and though pat wanted to move she knew that was impossible because walt couldn't cope with the change. whomever bought their house would have to deal with the familiar scenario of walt trying to use his old key on the new door.
pat returned from work last wednesday to find walt peaceful in his chair. the night before he died, she said she woke to an empty bed. walt was pacing from window to window, peering out each one.
-- walt, what are you doing -- his wife asked gently.
he looked at her, stricken.
-- someone keeps calling me.
atsea.
but the law of the spinning plates says
s/he who maintains divers loves
can let one fall
without destroying all.
you are more than This one thing.
you need to know this about aussie lifeguards and butt-ocks.
(adam you probably already do.)
might be NSFW if your boss is a stinker.
hen’s running the Race for the Cure in princeton NJ this weekend. in one season, his physique’s morphed from a cyclist’s to a runner’s, and you could use his legs as an anatomy lesson for discrete muscle groups.
he and AJ finished up their duathlon (that's a run-bike-run race) seasons @ henlopen a couple weeks ago – without ME i might add, sulkily. hen’s a uniquely trained individual, in that he prepares for his races by getting shitfaced the night before and using the first miles of the race as detox. AJ made the mistake of following his lead when it came to jagermeister shots, and when race morning arrived, hen found him notably unenthusiastic about waking up.
-- i woke you up in the bedroom, and when i went back to check, you were gone. then i found you asleep in on the sofa. i woke you again, and somehow you ended up asleep in a corner of the kitchen. you kept running away and going back to sleep.
-- i don’t remember that.
he doesn’t remember hen driving them to the race, nor does he recall reaching up into the truck to hoist his bike out and in the process hurling the contents of his stomach onto the pavement.
hen shrugged.
-- it’s your truck. well do you remember this? when we were on the starting line in our gaylets (hen-speak for our tight racing singlets) and everyone’s all nervous and you can smell other people’s diarrhea farts, i said to you, “andy, is that a hickie on your neck?” and everyone craned to look.
-- i do remember that.
hen turned to me.
-- he’s kinda embarrassed but also a little proud and i lean closer to him but say loud enough so the people nearby can still hear: “andy, you’re a dirty little bitch.” the guy next to me’s jaw dropped and the starting gun went off. he looked great in that first run, but when i passed him in the transition zone and he was walking i knew he’d probably sobered up.
-- the first thing i remember about that race is wandering around in transition looking for my bike. i felt like a kid in the grocery store looking for his mom. you could have helped, asshole.
-- it was too funny. and i knew i had to make up time before the second run. even drunk, you’re faster than me.
hen ended up 7th overall, AJ 5th.
-- see what you missed tearing your shit up, finn?
that’s perfectly clear. resolved for next year: stay healthy. but don’t overnight @ hen’s beachhouse before a race.
so he’s racing for the cure this weekend, as i did last weekend in baltimore MD, where i saw race numbers in the 21,000s. my mom and i ran together, like we always do, finishing in around 34:40, NOT including the minute-forty it took us to reach the line after the start gun.
my mom did great: that’s one of the faster times we’ve run in recent years. and even when she’s running uphill, out of breath and suffering, she’ll still shout out "thank you officer!" to the police stopping traffic for us. i’m for some reason embarrassed to do the same thing when i’m with her, but i’ll do it during my own races, and thank the volunteers during a cooldown. i wish she knew i did this without having to tell her straight-up.
anyway, when we were running down Key Highway two chicks running in front of us were having an animated conversation. one looked to her friend to make a particularly emphatic point and ran straight into a traffic sign on the median. i can still hear the tuning-fork ring of that signpost after her body flattened on it. we thought she was out for sure, but she got right back up, giggled, and resumed her story.
i don’t even know the winner’s time.
-- a couple weeks ago i did support for a Ride for the Cure, which went from manhattan to trenton -- hen said -- and we had to mark the course with pink triangles.
-- triangles? not ribbons, or arrows?
-- triangles. which is stupid cos you can’t see which way they’re pointing on turns. turn all ways!! anyway, it was a crappy, cold rainy day, and where they started the pavement was buckled and potholed. and these women didn’t bitch AT ALL. they just got on their bikes and rode and talked and joked.
-- nice.
-- and i said to them, “you know i’ve done a lot of support for pro bike races and the racers make a stink about everything – even the weather. somebody can always find something wrong. but you ladies just take it in stride.” and one of them said to me, “are your racers cancer survivors?” “ummm, no.” “well, there you go.”
so you see life is good, mostly, if you choose to take it that way.
the ribbons have gotten out of hand, people. one yellow "support our troops" ribbon affixed to your car's bumper makes an effective statement sure, but what's the point of adding another, and another? do you stutter?
and to those people who have a ribbon for every single disease state under the planet -- again, what's the point? are you truly advocating awareness of breast cancer, autism, ovarian cancer, diabetes, gay pride, child cancer, gang prevention, HIV/AIDS and polycystic ovarian syndrome? aren't you tired of being so aware? not to mention the fact that the more crap you stick on your car, the more you run the risk of being accused of discrimination. hey, you don't have a periwinkle ribbon. does that mean you're FOR eating disorders and pulmonary hypertension??
friday afternoon, when i was languishing in pre-weekend rush-hour traffic on the interstate, i saw this van:
i have to give some credit here, as this individual displays singular focus instead of whacking across the awareness board. from left to right, we've got:
your grandmother said the funniest thing yesterday -- my mom told me on the phone last night -- i was buttoning up her shirt when suddenly she blinked and said, "life is good. mostly." i figure if she's that sentient she can't be too bad off.
so today, the good -- mostly.
small red thingsi need your help, peeps. you're intelligent folk -- so i don't know why the hell you're here but i'll not gift a look horse in the mouth -- and you're readers, so here's the dilly. F's preparing for the MCATs and feels his verbal skillz need improving, so he's requested a list of ~30 books that will challenge him without putting him to sleep.
can you help? who makes you feel smarter when you're reading their prose? who makes demands of you, as a reader, but engages and then rewards you?
things to consider as you're coming up with your recommendations:
the verbal section of the MCATs tests the ability tohere's what i've gathered so far, in order of increasing demand on reader:F:
- read critically and actively
- comprehend written material
- capture the essence of a passage by main idea
- intuit a writer's tone, and draw inferences/conclusions.
- is a dude (--> no austen or DH lawrence)
- is a chemical engineer, not an english major (--> no danielewski)
- is someone who'd rather read 5 short books than 1 long one
- loves fitzgerald, salinger & orwell
- got bogged down in the 1st chapter of Absalom, Absalom
- got bogged down on the 1st paragraph of Ulysses
- reads history books for fun
Quasar just spent 45min trouble-shooting one of his newly-programmed modules after a client complained about bad formatting. now he's bitching because it's the client's fault: vidya (aka the "vidiot") kept changing his CSS classes. "men don't make passes at women who change classes," i observed. dead silence.
sigh.
well, at least it's october. grab some lurch-worthy drinking buds and go on a Zombie Walk.
(sorry FMC and adam; this seems to be a yank fenom.)
yesterday morning, while i was sitting on a beach surf-fishing and resting my cranky OTHER hamstring, the American Cancer Society's Making Strides Against Breast Cancer 5K took off in downtown wilmington.
a women's-only race and fun walk, this event brings out thousands of people. our gov usually shows up to give the pre-race pep talk and fire the starting cannon. a local women's sports store puts up the 5K awards: a $100 gift certificate for the winner, and a voucher for a free pair of new balance running shoes for each winner in the 5-year age group categories.
last year none of the really fast chicks showed, and i won, taking the lead after playing some headgames with blondie. winning a race is always cool, but this win's even cooler because, since there are no men miles out in front of you, YOU get to follow the lead motorcycle and bask in the hoopla that comes with being the first across the finish line. and if your mom happens to be a 12-year survivor of breast cancer, the win's that much sweeter.
anyway, i didn'tcouldn't go this year, mollifying myself with the thought that rudy's wife vicki would show and win with a sub-16min time as she's done in the past.
but no, the results are posted and the winning time this year was 19:02, 15sec slower than my time last year, and the winning time for my age group was 23:48. arrrgggggh!
god i miss racing.
lord forgive me for i know not what i do. i am petulant, cranky and horny and therefore must be forgiven for this early monday morning impulse buy.
it's RED. and i love the leibowitz campaign.
last weekend F and I went to the sallies invitational XC meet in the Creek where, if all goes well, we’ll be coughing up lungs at the end of nov. the invitational hosts high schools from DE, MD, NJ and PA on a tough, hilly 5K course – the top guys were running just over 17min; the girls around 20.
i never ran XC in high school – badminton (don’t laugh, fuckers) was my fall sport – but surveying the runners last saturday, i wished i had; and it once again reminded me how good sports are for kids. 10min before the race, guys were doing striders and plyometric drills in team syncopation; 5min before, the air rang with guttural cheers and team chants while girls joined arms and high-stepped over the tall grass and then broke up to cheer their teammates when the horn sounded. parents clambered atop stone walls to encourage or exhort their kids to move faster, smoother. old men were young again.
i wondered how long it’d take someone to recognize F from his running days @ glasgow. 5min later, kenny introduced himself; F barely recognised him. that’s kenny? he marveled as we walked away. he used to be so short and dorky.
kenny and many strong runners of delaware’s past & present now coach high school XC & track. st. marks is coached by the olympic steeplechaser and his wife lauren, who told me one of their junior runners was thinking about attending her alma mater, JMU, largely because of the strength of the running program and lauren's high opinion of the coach.
the week before, the boy went to visit JMU, and after meeting with the XC coach he called lauren to tell her the men’s XC program had been axed because of Title IX, which stipulates spending on sports programs must be commensurate by percentage with the percentage of student population by gender. JMU's student population is 60% female and 30% male, so men’s sports get 30% of the total budget for sports programs. Citing inadequate funding, JMU’s shutting down its men’s XC, track and swim teams – and its mens’ and womens’ fencing and archery teams.
fencing and archery i can see as intramural sports, but what college doesn’t field running and swimming? running has got to be one of the cheapest programs on the planet. you could fund it on the football team's gatorade budget, or the money you'd spend on legal defense for members of the team indicted for gang-banging a cheerleader.
i am all for parity for men and women in academics and sports, but let's be reasonable. there are certain staples in college athletics, and swimming & track are right up there with the F-word. (hockey, too. Go Big Red.)
yesterday we presented the initial strategy doc i and several others labored over all weekend. this account is our first significant one with a local pharma giant, and since we’d all love to fasten on that teat, this job = Huge Fucking Ado.
5 of us trekked to the client’s HQ and stood goggling in the 3-story lobby like schoolkids on a trip to the zoo.
-- this lobby is as big as our entire building, M breathed.
-- is there a Vending Machine, i wondered.
-- there’s a Brasserie, The Mayor replied, and cocked his head upward where visible were little pharma lemmings bussing their trays.
-- yeah, but josé used to work here and he said that all their salads have meat, M observed.
well, there is one advantage we have. our Vending Machine does offer vegetarian options. and you’re not a closed-caption TV star the whole time you’re on our premises.
-- when i used to work for GSK -- D offered -- one of our vendors arrived late for a meeting and didn’t have time to make it to a restroom, so he relieved himself next to his car. of course everything was caught on camera, and security apprehended him. he got in big trouble.
hmmm. kinda makes you think twice about a late-night roll on the conference room table.
we’re expected guests, so all our security clearances and credit checks have been processed beforehand; straightaway we’re badged and given some really convoluted directions. all 5 of us listen and nod, naturally assuming that someone else has been the one paying attention. so when we’re sent on our way, we’re like puppies tumbling out of a kids’ pool, inclined toward clumping, but still nosing in different directions.
i get held up by the pockets of scent dropping down from the brasserie and am thus the last one to make it to the revolving doors, one of the first entrances into the inner sanctum. in video games, this is usually where the first Boss comes out and kicks your ass. in real life it’s not much different. next to the door there’s a pad with a red LED light. i push the light and sail in with blithe confidence, but the door does not budge. hmmm. again push light, which does not seem very pushable; and again, nothing.
but look – here’s someone coming the opposite way. it is a good thing everything here is glass, so you can plan for oncoming traffic. the other woman enters, the doors revolve and i slip in. hooray! -then the doors grind to a stop. there is a Voice:
-- the doors will now reverse direction. please move accordingly. the doors will now reverse direction.
the doors reverse direction, and the other woman and i dutifully shuffle backwards, looking at each other quizzically. an asian dude joins the queue behind her. the system resets, the other woman enters as do i. the Voice:
-- the doors will now reverse direction. please move accordingly. the doors will now reverse direction.
the reverse, shuffle and reset. M’s in paroxysms of giggles, D looks absolutely horrified and The Mayor’s jiggling his blazer at me. the other woman is looking rather pained. thinking to catch me off-guard, she charges quickly, but with my super-caffeine powers i am right on her. again, that fucking Voice. M almost collapses on the floor.
asian dude missed half the fun, but he’s already had enough. he waves his ID at me. DO YOU HAVE A BADGE he hollers. oh, THAT thing. i never knew they DID anything. i’m always losing them; usually The Mayor finds them in the elevator. i have one. SEE? I brandish my badge at asian guy. USE IT!!! he implores. i guess he wants to get out of the building real bad. i hope he's not planning to take a whizz in the parking lot.
i pass my badge over the pad, the light glows green, the doors move smoothly and i sail through like the fucking queen of england joining her subjects.
-- god you’re a loser, J says to me.
-- yeah and you still live with your mom.
turning to The Mayor, i explain with a touch of defensiveness, look i never knew these things had a USE. he shakes his head and flaps the badge clipped to his lapel.
-- i tried to tell ya.
the next 15min is a wild goose chase as we try to find our conference room using directions that were confusing even before 5 different people misinterpreted them, so we finally arrive 10min late, when we appeared at the reception desk 15min early. by this time D is so frazzled and fidgety her lips are thin white lines. it is a good thing i’m the main presenter, not her. once you get caught in a revolving door, things can only get better.
after this day, it was lovely to get out on the track. my still-weak hamstring triggers errant, compensatory pains but so far they’re minor; and i finished up my set of 1000m intervals at 6min mile pace and felt absolutely giddy. endorphins, man. wish i could bottle ‘em.
if you're not working at the MIT Media lab, the next best job would be making movie trailers. it'd be just like you imagined.
[here's the high definition link if you've got good pipes. badd ASS.]
my undergrad engineering courses would have been a lot easier with this:
partner-at-large corners me in the hallway, excitement writ on his face. christ. this will take hours. partner-at-large is notorious for his volubility and blue-sky abstractions.
-- hey, finn. let me run something by you.
-- i have to pee.
-- okay. what do you think of this for the space downstairs: we tear out all the architects' stuff except for the reception area and the east side becomes the production area.
he's already lost me. i'm not moving. i'm not giving up my window. it opens. air comes in. it's the greatest thing evar.
-- dude, my bladder.
-- okay. so there'll be transient work units [partner-at-large speak for "desks"] and whiteboards and print stations but we won't have enough money to do hardwood floors for the whole area so what do you think of -- he puffs his chest and breathes deep -- grass.
-- grass??
-- grass. not real grass, of course, kind of like astroturf but longer, with more texture. when you come into work, you could walk by the reception area and leave your shoes at the entrance to production what do you think?
he's looking at me the same way my dog does when he's waiting for me to throw the B-A-L-L. i expect his head to cock and one leg to lift. neither occurs, but he's still trembling with anticipation.
-- grass.
-- YES!!
-- um, what about the wheeled chairs?
there have to be wheeled chairs. my main stress relief in this place is packing loucypher in his chair and racing the width of the building.
-- we're thinking of those chairs that slide back and forth, you know, the suspended ones that...
and then he descends into some kind of herman miller jumbo but all i can think of is the slider-glider on my porch, which makes me think of summertime and mint juleps and boys with fans. ReveryTime.....
.........-- so, what do you think?
i think i have to piss.
-- well, i don't know. i mean, some people might be a little weird about their feet.
like jooliebooliemonkeystoolie. it's a safe bet that the chick who makes huge toilet paper nests in the bathroom so that her ass won't touch the same seat that other people's asses touch will NOT be thrilled about prancing barefoot with other barefeet.
-- and you know what a bunch of slobs we are. god, the Mayor can't make it from the kitchen to his desk without leaving a trail of coffee drips and donut sprinkles. who's gonna vacuum the grass every day?
partner-at-large looks visibly deflated. he really thought i'd be down with the grass.
-- but i'm only one opinion. ask joolie. can i pee now please?
without waiting for a response, i shoulder by and don't emerge from the bathroom until i'm reasonably sure he's gone.
fucking grass. WTF.
litany of yesterday’s sufferings:
stopt sleeping @ 1am
out of bed @ 2
3400yds in the pool; main set ended w/
6 x 100yd on 4:00; not so bad except it was:
6 x 100yd ALL OUT
meang the 1st 50 is suffering and
the 2nd is hanging on for deer life.
arms limp; shoulders burning
tummy upset
bc breakfast = Ass Coffee + bag of candy corn
(split w/loucypher tho)
listng to loucypher whinge abt how much his tummy hurt
Fmorsel looking impossibly delectable
(smells nice too)
shakyBldg
5 x 4min intervals @ tuesNiteTrack
Fmorsel running impossibly fast
(even w/fasting)
and then? POPCORN AND NACHOS AND BEER BEER BEER.
this sunday, the local paper featured a story about a vascular surgeon coping with life as a quadriplegic following a cycling accident a year and a half ago. while riding his bike on memorial day, dr. fellows struck the side of an SUV when it made a last-minute turn in front of him.
fellows severed his C2 vertebra and stopped breathing 3 times on the way to the ER. now he’s a quad, paralyzed from the neck down. once an avid tennis player, cyclist and windsurfer, he now navigates his life in a wheelchair.
this is the man who gave me back my athletic career after i’d spent 4 frustrating years exploring multifarious branches of medicine trying to figure out why my right leg would lose all power under intense effort. some doctors were utterly mystified; some wondered what the big deal was. “you can still walk. what’s the problem?”
fellows and i figured out the problem was vascular in nature, and it was he who carved out 5cm of my iliac artery, replacing it with gore-tex. it was fellows who adjured the residents checking my post-op status to MAKE SURE the pressures in both legs matched. and it was fellows who drove back that night through a driving snowstorm to perform emergency surgery when i clotted my new, strange vessel.
every race i do is a gift from dr. fellows, and i try to not squander it or take it for granted.
this doesn’t mean i’m not a total asshole.
since i’m one of fellows’ more unusual patients (i.e., not an elderly smoker with plaque-stiffened arteries), the article’s author interviewed me extensively and quoted me recollecting:unlike most doctors, who treat you like you have half a brain and are supercilious and patronising, [fellows] listened to you and wasn’t in a hurry to get to the next patient. he treated you with respect.
i may be in some trouble here – first for harshing on the entire medical profession (okay, MOST, not the entire) and second for dragging out the 11th grade SAT vocabulary.
granted, supercilious depends on context. if you’re talking about dracula, it’s kinda sexy. OTOH, when you’re summing up MOST doctors, it could be construed as a wee bit critical.
-- most doctors are “supercilious and patronising”? D mocked me. only if you’re an elitist, over-educated ivy league brat. you could WALK.
in a town where everybody’s connected by at most two degrees of separation, one of which is usually a dupont scion or capano, i fear my torrid phraseology may have gotten me black-listed in the local medical community. my name isn’t common, so i can’t play the “oh, that must be a different jan brady” card.
i can’t wait for the next time i establish a new patient relationship. “and what’s your name? ah…. yes… um, well, the doctor’s seeing patients in 2009. shall i put you down for june, you judas iscariot??”
i’d quote a wise man and say we get what we deserve, but that doesn’t hold true for fellows at all. he's undaunted, however, and continues to practise medicine as an advisor and educator -- his most important lesson, arguably, that your life can flip in a split second.
carpe diem, friends.
in the spirit of alex haley, who recommended "find the good and praise it," the good, today:
Halo 22:
the whiff of awitha teetha at the end of the above.
100IM.
morsels.
pisces; Only Revolutions.
the building not shaking quite so badly.
u-pick apples.
MFBT.
Grandmother
she sits on the edge of the bed and cries,
wishing that things were different.
she wonders when she began to feel this empty
and whether it's a permanent condition.
her husband does everything in the world to help
a stranger on the street
but he won't listen to her -- tells her
you don't need to read the directions.
her grandchildren visit occasionally
and she greets them with gifts:
a new book or game or small toy.
when she's caught by surprise, she rushes upstairs
to wrap one of her skirts or bracelets,
a piece of love her husband gave her years ago.
the doctor is too young, she says;
how would someone so young understand these feelings?
she squeezes her eyes shut and wonders if this is
a permanent condition.
(7 jan 1993)
my grandmother is 86 today. in general, she's physically healthy, but in the past month she's eliminated utensils from her narrowing focus and now eats with her hands.
i heard an interview with a woman who'd just written a book about caring for two parents with dementia. it's like watching them die twice, she said. first the person you know dies, then the body follows.
i wish i'd known this 13 years ago, so i could have told grandmother it wasn't permanent.
[13:27] [finn]: so i spose u r not up for tues nite track tonite?
[13:28] [F]: i was just going to talk to you about that....i can run this week, but it won't be today
[13:28] [F]: i need to get used to it
[13:28] [finn]: warrior heart.
[13:28] [finn]: is u.
[13:28] [F]: i worked out sunday and the results weren't good
[13:29] [F]: so i'm trying to easily get into it w/o fainting
[13:30] [F]: u get used to it
[13:30] [finn]: whatev.
[13:30] [F]: see before it wasn't that bad bc we cud break our fast like 5
[13:30] [F]: now it's 6:50
[13:30] [F]: every year it's earlier
[13:30] [finn]: sundown gets earlier?
[13:30] [F]: no like every year ramadan is pushed up by like 2 or 3 weeks
[13:31] [F]: so soon it'll be in the summer
[13:31] [F]: that means the days are much longer
[13:31] [finn]: oh...what marks the start?
[13:31] [F]: so you have to fast longer
[13:33] [F]: ummm...it's complicated i've never really understood it
[13:33] [finn]: like easter
[13:33] [F]: it's like when you see the ninth moon of the islamic calendar
[13:33] [F]: yeah like easter
[13:34] [finn]: dude, fasting in the summer will be even HARSHER.
[13:34] [F]: i know...but it'll make me stronger
[13:34] [F]: :-)
[13:35] [finn]: yeah, you look stronger already.
[13:35] [F]: i'll be running in the 100 degree weather w/o food or water in me
[13:35] [finn]: and fainting.
[13:35] [F]: and then i'll never sweat
[13:35] [finn]: and die
[13:35] [F]: lol
[13:36] [F]: i'll get used to it, it's all mental
[13:36] [F]: so when u wanna run this week?
[13:36] [finn]: whenever your ass wont faint on me.
[13:36] [F]: lol
[13:36] [F]: wanna go tom.?
[13:37] [F]: i'll hydrate real well tonight
[13:37] [finn]: w/beer?
[13:39] [F]: lol
[13:39] [F]: i can't drink for a month
[13:39] [finn]: oh god, it just gets worse & worse.
[13:40] [finn]: F, i luv ya & all, but i think you're a nutjob.
[13:40] [finn]: but i still respect u.
[13:40] [finn]: just want to make that cleer.
[13:58] [F]: lol...y do you think i am a nutjob?
[14:00] [finn]: cos you can do things way beyond my ken.
[14:00] [finn]: rly, i am just jealous cos i do not hv Warrior Heart.
[14:00] [finn]: and if i dont eat, or drink or sweat i will die
[14:00] [finn]: or be v cranky.
[14:01] [F]: lol....this is good for me finn, trust me.....it helps me be more disciplined
[14:01] [finn]: i can respect that.
[14:01] [finn]: as long as yr ass dont faint on me.
[14:01] [F]: i won't.....nothing will change in our workout schedule
[14:02] [F]: i'm still racing in november
[14:02] [finn]: kay.
[14:02] [finn]: mb we run tom then.
[14:44] [F]: u know, u r a warrior
[14:44] [finn]: not really.
[14:44] [finn]: unless warriors drown their stress in choc & whiskey.
[14:45] [F]: yum
[14:45] [finn]: NONE FOR YOU.
[14:45] [finn]: SUFFER, WARRIOR.
[14:45] [F]: i can still have chocolate
[14:45] [finn]: when it's dark.
[14:45] [finn]: uv got a ways to go.
[14:46] [F]: ur beggin for a spankin:-P
[14:47] [finn]: i see hunger hasnt dulled yr brainpower.
[14:47] [finn]: yet.
F and i have a rolling date to run sunday afternoons. this past sunday he texted me this:
run w o me... fasting statred tod. feel too waek. sory.
even on his shittiest days, F can spell passably well, so i infer that fasting has really fucked him up.
wait. fasting?!?
for all his afghan-ness, it never occurred to me that F might be a practicing muslim. with his new acura, weakness for blackjack & roulette tables and affinity for barbados rum, F seems, well, like ME. american. corrupted and secular. so the fact that he celebrates ramadan was an eye-opener, as was the reality behind the fasting the holiday entails.
-- so, when can you eat? i asked him yesterday. at 6:30 in the morning he sounded like an old man, nasal and wavering.
-- well, i woke up at 5:40 – he paused for a gulp of air. ah, that was filling – and i’ll be able to eat at 7:20.
-- so, like in an hour.
-- no, like tonight. you fast from sunup to – gulp & swaller; ah, nummy – to sundown.
-- dude, that's harsh. how long do you do this?
-- a month.
-- a MONTH?? i screeched. that is outrageous. F is my main man, my munchable morsel, for the XC race in november. this fasting bit is a definite wrench in my works.
and even for a sedentary human bean, fasting for a month cannot be healthy, can it? to gorge yourself at night and fall into bed? or do you sleep during the day and graze all night? is it understood that, in the muslim world, people will be pretty much dazed and tottery for the next month? do businesses and stock markets close during that time when people will not be making very wise decisions?
i did a little research and came up with dr. shahid athar’s writings on the medical benefits of the ramadan fast: There is a peace and tranquility for those who fast during the month of Ramadan. Personal hostility is at a minimum, and the crime rate decreases. This psychological improvement could be related to better stabilization of blood glucose during fasting as hypoglycemia after eating, aggravates behavior changes.
or it could be related to everybody being passed out on the kitchen floor! o folly folly folly. dr. athar also makes a case for not drinking during fasting time, arguing that dehydration is GOOD for you because it makes PLANTS live longer. right. dr. athar obviously wrote this treatise while dazed and tottery himself. it probably took him all month.
and what if you’re an athlete? your choice seems to be:
the city had its way with our block on friday, reducing the delapidated building alongside to a pile of rubble. the air's now a mix of sodden carpets and old sofas with delicate septic undertones, and the homeless guy who used to live there is now, well, homeless again.
sexy chicken, quest que cest.
my company began a Rebranding effort in 2005. half a year later, all we'd accomplished was cosmetic updates, a fresh coat of paint (literally).
another 6mos later, after interminable late night sword-clashing sessions between ego-hound, navel-gazing designers, we have a new name and identity. our palette is rich, power colors and we’ve chopped down the number of syllables in our name from 9 to 2 – one less than razorfish. we are that damn tight. only god has fewer syllables, and his design skills are suspect. look at penguins for chrissake. i saw that March of the Penguins movie and that is just way too much effort for scant fucking ROI.
our new website will probably meander down the pike in another 6mos, but as far as demonstrable brand identity goes, we now have this:
that’s right. look and weep, my friends: a Vending Machine. it just arrived this week, with much hue & cry. there are Apple Snack Pies. Tiny Twists. Limited Edition Kudos (we're elite, but approachable). and, of course, cans of fizzy sugar.
this is Progress.
the VM is strategically placed at the front door to provide maximum WOW-ness to visiting prospects & clients. with our tiled elevator floors, partially-tiled vestibule and VM, what sensible person could fail to be impressed? game's up, razorfish/Avenue A. we've got the Vending Machine.
the weather’s turning. the air bites now, has an edge; there are colors on the other side. yesterday felt like the first day of fall.
-- that picture always makes me smile.
i am in my dermatologist’s examining room, where one wall is dominated by a picture of dr. b in a boat, hefting a 26-inch rainbow trout. he’s wearing a floppy hat with a trailing skirt that flows down his bare head over his shoulders. he looks supremely triumphant and at the same time utterly ridiculous. the picture always makes me smile, and i tell him so.
-- this is my happy room -- he confides. sometimes in the middle of the day i just come in here and sit. i sit in that chair you’re in and after a couple minutes i feel that yes, there is life after death.
that is good to know. because when i woke up the previous night flaying my skin off with my nails i really craved something dark and merciful to stop the itching and fever in my upper arm. it is good to know you can come back from that. what is my thing with the fucking insect bites, i want to know. but he has more to say.
-- i don’t have a place like this at home. it’s bare. it’s not me.
i came for dr. b’s opinion about my body’s virulent reaction to a bald-faced hornet encounter, but what i’m getting is his loneliness. when his wife left, he explains, she stripped the house and it no longer feels like home.
-- and i’m not the kind of person who likes to be alone. i can't see a movie by myself. i loved going to wine-tastings but i can’t go anymore because i just sit there making idle conversation, trying to ignore how uncomfortable i feel because i’m not part of a couple.
is this what it comes down to, then? sinking your life into someone else and giving half of it away ifwhen she leaves? revealing your delicate skin to an infrequent patient?
-- when did she leave?
-- a year ago.
who am i to advise a 50-something divorcé who's uncomfortable alone? i am on the opposite end of the spectrum. what's my line?
-- it’s not so bad when the weather’s warm and i can be outside. but in the winter… he shrugs and stares at his younger self. i don’t get out enough to meet people. i see my kids, sure, but most of my time i spend here and, well, i just miss wine-tastings.
he’s still focused on the boat but the life-after-death perspective is sluggish today. a shoulder twitch and suddenly he recalibrates.
-- enough of that. what’s up.
our discussion turns toward allergic reactions to venom and the possibility of anaphylactic shock, but it’s a superficial riffle atop the undertow. as dr. b ushers me out of the examining room i need to make some attempt to dispel the pall.
-- maybe you should take that picture home -- i said. put it in one of your rooms.
his head tilts slightly but i am a patient now.
-- perhaps. you should get an ana-kit. have a good fall.
i don’t have answers. i’m sorry.
but my 200 IM felt sublime today. it is a rare day when all 4 strokes click. this morning the water was an ally, and sometimes that is enough.
the city informed us yesterday that the adjoining building will be demolished today.
-- is it safe? i mean, we're still gonna be here?? i ask HippieBossMan. no one told me stay home.
-- well, for a while. then we'll be dead.
the phones are already crackly and unpredictable, and our DSL connection drops periodically. supposively, our servers have been backed up & secured, but our Chief Tech Ottocrat has fled to beijing.
if the sitch gets dire, there's always the balcony. it's only a 4-story drop and there are some big planters below, with plenty of cigarette butts and a couple crack-whores for cushioning.
it's an easy cliché, the whole mac-PC argument, and taking up the cause against the opposing side is like arguing with a pro-lifer. neither of you will budge a fucking inch and you'll end up beating each other with umbrellas or whatever's at hand.
that said, rob's recent rant, jesus fuck i hate windows, is spot-on. all my woes summed in 2 competent paragraphs, featuring this observation: every time i use it, microsoft's ugly hunk of shit operating system manages to find new ways to make me want to take a dump on my pc and light it on fire.
i have been sitting on my ass long enough. i think it's time to get a mac laptop.
maybe i'll even get net access at home.
wait.
let's not be hasty. it's a slippery slope.
