You can guess by whom...
Sunday
Friday
22 July 2011
No more running for the Border's.
I has a sad...
I spent a lot of time here over the last 4-5 years. I wrote much of It's Not About the Cookies, The King and Queen of Perfect Normal, and The Flipside of Here sitting at one of the little tables while downing gallons of tea (extra ice).
Now the cafe in Border's is closed (as are the restrooms, which is unfortunate) and people are descending on the place like it's Book Nirvana.
The signs outside say "up to 40% off" but honestly, the only thing that was actually marked at 40% was a rack of greeting cards. There was a stack of DVDs marked at 20% off, but everything else is only marked down 10%.
Considering the deals you could get prior to this closing sale, that 10% off is more than you would have paid yesterday.
Yet that line? It goes from the starting point near the far right register, across the front of the store, and all the way to the back by the cafe, where I stood to take the picture.
I would guess people in that line will wait 45 minutes in order to pay more for books they would have 18 hours earlier.
I'd like to ask where they were all along, but I know the answer. They were buying books from Amazon, where they could get even better deals than they could buying stuff at Borders on sale. They were downloading e-books to their Kindles and Sony e-Readers and Nooks. They were paying dirt cheap prices at Costco.
I'm just as guilty of that as everyone else. I embraced the e-reader fervently, not just because of the price of books and the ease of which one can just buy a book no matter where they are, but because as a writer, I earn a hell of a lot more on e-books than I do print.
Still...I hate to see a bookstore go.
I really hate to see one where I spent so much time in go away.
I has a sad...
I spent a lot of time here over the last 4-5 years. I wrote much of It's Not About the Cookies, The King and Queen of Perfect Normal, and The Flipside of Here sitting at one of the little tables while downing gallons of tea (extra ice).
Now the cafe in Border's is closed (as are the restrooms, which is unfortunate) and people are descending on the place like it's Book Nirvana.
Considering the deals you could get prior to this closing sale, that 10% off is more than you would have paid yesterday.
Yet that line? It goes from the starting point near the far right register, across the front of the store, and all the way to the back by the cafe, where I stood to take the picture.
I would guess people in that line will wait 45 minutes in order to pay more for books they would have 18 hours earlier.
I'd like to ask where they were all along, but I know the answer. They were buying books from Amazon, where they could get even better deals than they could buying stuff at Borders on sale. They were downloading e-books to their Kindles and Sony e-Readers and Nooks. They were paying dirt cheap prices at Costco.
I'm just as guilty of that as everyone else. I embraced the e-reader fervently, not just because of the price of books and the ease of which one can just buy a book no matter where they are, but because as a writer, I earn a hell of a lot more on e-books than I do print.
Still...I hate to see a bookstore go.
I really hate to see one where I spent so much time in go away.
Thursday
21 July 2011
I was about halfway through my hour-long swim this morning, gliding down the lane with a slow freestyle stroke, minding my own business, when I noticed ahead of me a hand slapping the water in my lane.
Being the deductive person that I am, I figured someone needed my attention, and stopped.
"Your swimming keeps splashing my kid!" I was informed indignantly by a 20-something oddly complected blonde.
Fake tan gone wrong?
I glanced at the kid; maybe 6 years old, hanging on the rope dividing my swimming lane from the rec area of the pool.
In that entire area, there were maybe 2 two more people; hard to tell because I didn't have my glasses on. But that kid had been hanging on the rope for a good ten minutes and she obviously hadn't felt pressed to move him elsewhere in the vast nothing of that side of the pool.
I'm not a wild swimmer. I'm slow. Slow doesn't create much in the way of splatter. But holy hell, her kid was in a swimming pool and HE WAS GETTING WET.
Clearly I was at fault.
So I said the only thing one should say in such a situation.
"Get over it."
I will be so glad when school starts back up...
Being the deductive person that I am, I figured someone needed my attention, and stopped.
 |
| It was like this, but...not... |
Fake tan gone wrong?
I glanced at the kid; maybe 6 years old, hanging on the rope dividing my swimming lane from the rec area of the pool.
In that entire area, there were maybe 2 two more people; hard to tell because I didn't have my glasses on. But that kid had been hanging on the rope for a good ten minutes and she obviously hadn't felt pressed to move him elsewhere in the vast nothing of that side of the pool.
I'm not a wild swimmer. I'm slow. Slow doesn't create much in the way of splatter. But holy hell, her kid was in a swimming pool and HE WAS GETTING WET.
Clearly I was at fault.
So I said the only thing one should say in such a situation.
"Get over it."
I will be so glad when school starts back up...
Sunday
17 July 2011
 |
| If this were a little black kitty, it could be Buddah... |
I also set the speed a little faster than I walk normally. And it's working; my walking pace has increased quite a bit.
I was looking forward to it today; I planned on hitting the gym at about 10 a.m. and using a treadmill there, and then hitting the pool for an hour, but... 15 miles yesterday kicked my ass.
Literally, I think. It started last night with a pain to my right buttcheek, and when I got up this morning I hurt like crazy on my entire right posterior side. I know the cause--using a backpack I normally don't on a long walk--but knowing that doesn't exactly help every time I try to get up and feel like I'm 95 years old.
And nearly every time I get up I groan inwardly. I really am getting too old for this chit. Not that I'll quit because I do enjoy the walking and swimming, but I'm thinking it's time to go with one of the Spouse Thingy's long-term wants.
Not that, you sick freak.
If I'm going to keep moving on a daily basis, this is turning from something that would be nice to have to practically being medical equipment.
That's justification, right?
Right.
Wednesday
13 July 2011
When the July weather backs off and gives us a hint of April, it means taking the bikes out and heading for roads like these:
Didn't get much else done yesterday or today, but when the temperatures are a good 15 degrees below the normal and it's nice and sunny, you take the time to ride.
Even if you do wind up with bugs crawling in your helmet and across your glasses...
 |
| Highway 128 between Winters and the Monticello Dam |
 |
| Pleasants Valley Road, heading toward Hwy 128 from I-80 |
 |
| Just before what used to be a hairpin turn...it was more fun with the hairpin |
Even if you do wind up with bugs crawling in your helmet and across your glasses...
Sunday
10 July 2011
Thumper's spelling lesson for today, having seen it no fewer than 3 times today and a dozen in the last 6 weeks:
bussed = kissed
bused = put on a bus and taken somewhere.
No, you were not bussed to the YMCA. You may have been bussed IN the YMCA.
And yes, I know that TECHNICALLY the dictionary allowed for "bussed" to be used when "bused" should be BUT IT'S WRONG, PEOPLES!
It makes my eyes all wonky and makes me want to stab someone with a spork.
Srsly.
bussed = kissed
bused = put on a bus and taken somewhere.
No, you were not bussed to the YMCA. You may have been bussed IN the YMCA.
And yes, I know that TECHNICALLY the dictionary allowed for "bussed" to be used when "bused" should be BUT IT'S WRONG, PEOPLES!
It makes my eyes all wonky and makes me want to stab someone with a spork.
Srsly.
Thursday
7 July 2011
Know what makes an hour in the pool shrink your brain?
Having one line from an 80's song playing over and over and over in your head.
♫ The jig is up, the news is out, they finally found me ♫
Thanks, Michelle...
Having one line from an 80's song playing over and over and over in your head.
♫ The jig is up, the news is out, they finally found me ♫
Thanks, Michelle...
Friday
1 July 2011
How I know I'm getting old?
While swimming laps, I develop this strong urge to chuck aquatic kitties at the kids darting in front of me while screeching "Get off my lane!"
I'm really starting to miss the days of adult-only gyms...
While swimming laps, I develop this strong urge to chuck aquatic kitties at the kids darting in front of me while screeching "Get off my lane!"
I'm really starting to miss the days of adult-only gyms...
Tuesday
Saturday
25 June 2011
I stopped at McDonald's partway through my training walk today, as I typically do if I'm going to be out for more than a couple of hours. It's a decent place to take a short break, they have a/c, clean restrooms, and $1 large drinks with unlimited refills.
Saturdays it's usually pretty busy so I cram myself into the smallest spot, a tiny table at a long booth seat that runs nearly across the room. There are other tables along the bench seat, but I make sure I take the small one, because hell, I'm by myself and don't need an entire booth. I sit there and glare at the lone customers staking claim to the booths that are essentially 6-tops.
Today, though, it wasn't crowded at all, though I still sat at the tiny table. I must have looked like hell, because more than one person glanced at me and damn near recoiled...dripping sweat, coated in a thick layer of sunscreen, and redfaced, I'm sure I was absolutely beautiful and they just couldn't help themselves avoid my stunning self.
Or maybe they were worried I was going to keep over dead, and they didn't want to be near me when it happened.
As I sat there and sucked down my cheap drink, I noticed a little girl, maybe 5 years old, at a nearby table; while her dad finished his lunch, she played quietly with her knock-off Barbie doll, making it spin and dance across the table top. She did it quietly, and I entertained the idea that Daddy had told her to be quiet while he ate, but he didn't look like he'd spent the day being irritated by a loud little kid, so I also entertained the idea that she was just making her doll dance to the music in her head.
It was certainly energetic music. That doll spun quickly, did dips and splits and backbends over fries and a half-eaten burger, and flew effortlessly over Dad's drink.
She was lost in her own little world, and happy as hell about it.
Dad finished his burger and she was still making her doll dance; I braced myself for the 5 year old whining that was likely to happen when he said it was time to go, put the doll away and clean the table up. But instead of being done and ready to go, Dad turned in his seat and leaned forward, elbows on knees, looked right at the doll and said, "You're a very good dancer. Are you a professional?"
His daughter didn't miss a beat, and in a pretend-falsetto replied, "No, I just love to dance! Do you want to help me dance?"
He reached out and took the doll from his little girl, and guided it--although not as gracefully--across the table, over the unfinished burger and fries, until she reached out in a fit of giggles and grabbed it from him.
It occurred to me in one of those odd flashes: this was nothing out of the ordinary for them. He wasn't weekend dad trying too hard to turn an I-can't-cook-for-crap visit to McD's into something fun. It was all too familiar to him, routine, comfortable, and something he loved.
To his little girl it was just Daddy being Daddy. Nothing all that special.
For now, anyway.
When they left, I watched them go; she was poking at his leg with the doll's feet and laughing as if it was the funniest thing she had ever thought of doing, and his hand was resting comfortably, protectively, on her head as he guided her toward the car. I got up to refill my drink and then head outside to change my socks and check for blisters, and I wondered if she would ever remember those moments, if twenty years from now she would have a flash of Daddy making her doll dance, and how absolutely wonderful and extraordinary that really was...all the moreso because it didn't seem to be special at all.
Saturdays it's usually pretty busy so I cram myself into the smallest spot, a tiny table at a long booth seat that runs nearly across the room. There are other tables along the bench seat, but I make sure I take the small one, because hell, I'm by myself and don't need an entire booth. I sit there and glare at the lone customers staking claim to the booths that are essentially 6-tops.
Today, though, it wasn't crowded at all, though I still sat at the tiny table. I must have looked like hell, because more than one person glanced at me and damn near recoiled...dripping sweat, coated in a thick layer of sunscreen, and redfaced, I'm sure I was absolutely beautiful and they just couldn't help themselves avoid my stunning self.
Or maybe they were worried I was going to keep over dead, and they didn't want to be near me when it happened.
As I sat there and sucked down my cheap drink, I noticed a little girl, maybe 5 years old, at a nearby table; while her dad finished his lunch, she played quietly with her knock-off Barbie doll, making it spin and dance across the table top. She did it quietly, and I entertained the idea that Daddy had told her to be quiet while he ate, but he didn't look like he'd spent the day being irritated by a loud little kid, so I also entertained the idea that she was just making her doll dance to the music in her head.
It was certainly energetic music. That doll spun quickly, did dips and splits and backbends over fries and a half-eaten burger, and flew effortlessly over Dad's drink.
She was lost in her own little world, and happy as hell about it.
Dad finished his burger and she was still making her doll dance; I braced myself for the 5 year old whining that was likely to happen when he said it was time to go, put the doll away and clean the table up. But instead of being done and ready to go, Dad turned in his seat and leaned forward, elbows on knees, looked right at the doll and said, "You're a very good dancer. Are you a professional?"
His daughter didn't miss a beat, and in a pretend-falsetto replied, "No, I just love to dance! Do you want to help me dance?"
He reached out and took the doll from his little girl, and guided it--although not as gracefully--across the table, over the unfinished burger and fries, until she reached out in a fit of giggles and grabbed it from him.
It occurred to me in one of those odd flashes: this was nothing out of the ordinary for them. He wasn't weekend dad trying too hard to turn an I-can't-cook-for-crap visit to McD's into something fun. It was all too familiar to him, routine, comfortable, and something he loved.
To his little girl it was just Daddy being Daddy. Nothing all that special.
For now, anyway.
When they left, I watched them go; she was poking at his leg with the doll's feet and laughing as if it was the funniest thing she had ever thought of doing, and his hand was resting comfortably, protectively, on her head as he guided her toward the car. I got up to refill my drink and then head outside to change my socks and check for blisters, and I wondered if she would ever remember those moments, if twenty years from now she would have a flash of Daddy making her doll dance, and how absolutely wonderful and extraordinary that really was...all the moreso because it didn't seem to be special at all.
Friday
Tuesday
21 June 2011
I have had some freaky dreams lately. About a week ago I dreamed that we got rid of Buddah to make Max happy, and then got a dog because Max wanted one...but then we realized what a mistake that was and had a spastic freak out trying to get him back. We found him in a cage with about 50 other black cats that all looked so much alike that in order to figure out which one he was I kept picking them up and holding them close, stroking the length of their tails.
Buddah has a really long tail, which is how I finally found him. And when I did, he grabbed onto me like a toddler and just wailed. It was sad and mournful and a horrible, horrible cry that still makes me feel guilty just thinking about it.
For the record, Max can be as pissy about Buddah as he wants. Buddah stays.
Last night I had another cat dream, but this time I wasn't getting ride of either of them...I was taking custody of cats from the cat blogosphere. It was a house trashing party extraordinaire, but I could not grasp why these kitties what are such good friends online didn't seem to get along very well when thrown together. I kept shouting "But you LIKE each other?" over the din of hissing and growling, and remained upset and confused until some of the cats who have long since left for the Bridge showed up to calm everyone down.
There was no mistake...those kitties were judging me. I still don't know why I took custody of so many cats, or why I expected them to all actually get along, but the Bridge Kitties made it pretty clear: I'm a moron.
I'm almost afraid of what my brain will cough up next...
Buddah has a really long tail, which is how I finally found him. And when I did, he grabbed onto me like a toddler and just wailed. It was sad and mournful and a horrible, horrible cry that still makes me feel guilty just thinking about it.
For the record, Max can be as pissy about Buddah as he wants. Buddah stays.
There was no mistake...those kitties were judging me. I still don't know why I took custody of so many cats, or why I expected them to all actually get along, but the Bridge Kitties made it pretty clear: I'm a moron.
I'm almost afraid of what my brain will cough up next...
Friday
17 June 2011
Oddz N Enz #64.3.1923-a
- I belong to several different online message boards. I recently joined a new one, and before you can post images or send private messages, you have to have made 15 posts. Fine. I get that. But if someone else sends you a PM, you still can't respond to it.
- I got a PM from someone on said board; he followed links from my profile to my blog and saw that I was walking the SGK 3 Day. He wanted me to know that there's already a cure for breast cancer, but because the SGK makes so much money off these events, the public isn't going to get it.
- I cannot send a PM response, so I'll do it here: You cannot be fucking serious... I hope you are not serious. Holy crap, you cannot be serious...
- Originally, I had something far less polite to say.
- Oh yeah, I won't be going back there. It's a motorcycle forum, and there are so many more, less restrictive places I can play and get real information about bikes and the like.
- Tomorrow's training walk = 11 miles. Last year I freaked about that distance. Now? As long as it's not too hot, it's no big deal.
- I am not, however, looking forward to the days when I have to walk 15 or 18, especially followed by 12 and 13.
- Those distances on teh actual walk? Don't seem like much, really.
- It's supposed to be really hot the middle of this coming week, the high 90s.
- My Tuesday training walk shall be done in San Francisco, where the high is supposed to be about 70.
- Damn, I love living this close to the city.
- If my 15 and 18 miles days hit on hot days, I may take myself into SF and walk.
- Ooh. get a room and stay the night!
- I did not work out today. I intended to, but slept really late, and figured if I was that tired, I needed a day off before tomorrow's 11.
- That's not an excuse, it's a reason. 'Cause I really wanted to swim.
- Max's 10th birthday is in 3 days.
- I won't buy his present until Monday. So it won't go bad.
- That is all
Thursday
16 June 2011
We joined a gym.
Well, yeah, we've done that before, but this time we totally mean it! Like, we'll actually go there and do sweaty stuff. It's a brand new gym, has only been open for 16 days, and we've gone, hmmm, 7 or 8 times. That might be more than all the times we went to our last gym gym combined.
The problem with the last gym was that it was very, very small. It seemed cozy and adequate at first, but when you have people sweating in a space not much bigger than my family room and living room combined, it starts to smell. And the worst odoriferous offenders seem to be the guys who act like they own the gym, and they don't seem to like sharing the equipment with the out of shape people.
Sure, that gym was close by--3 miles--but if you're uncomfortable, you don't go no matter how close it is.
The new gym...it's huge. I suspect at its busiest there will always be cardio equipment available, and it won't take long to get onto the weight machines. The only downfall--but it's what made me want to join this gym--is the pool. There are only 3 lanes for lap swimming and walking. There's a rec area for nonswimmers to play in, but getting them to stay in that area is already problematic.
I haven't yet been there when I haven't had to tell some kid to get out of my lane and to stop darting out in front of me. I get it, the kids don't really know any better, but someone--probably me--is gonna get hurt sooner or later. So I have to be the wicked witch of the water and bitch these kids out, because their parents either don't care or aren't there.
Mostly, the parents aren't there. The offenders are usually 13-14 years old, ideally old enough to be in a pool without constant supervision
Even without the kids there, it would be nice if there were 5 more lanes to accommodate all the people who want to swim. I'd forgotten how much I like to swim. I'm pretty freaking slow, though...did about a mile today and it took half an hour. I can walk a mile and a half in that time frame.
In any case, we're back at a gym. I'm hoping that between the walking and the gym I can get into good enough shape that two Walks this year won't kill me. Because it would really suck if I got to the end of day three of the second walk and just up and croaked.
Well, yeah, we've done that before, but this time we totally mean it! Like, we'll actually go there and do sweaty stuff. It's a brand new gym, has only been open for 16 days, and we've gone, hmmm, 7 or 8 times. That might be more than all the times we went to our last gym gym combined.
The problem with the last gym was that it was very, very small. It seemed cozy and adequate at first, but when you have people sweating in a space not much bigger than my family room and living room combined, it starts to smell. And the worst odoriferous offenders seem to be the guys who act like they own the gym, and they don't seem to like sharing the equipment with the out of shape people.
Sure, that gym was close by--3 miles--but if you're uncomfortable, you don't go no matter how close it is.
The new gym...it's huge. I suspect at its busiest there will always be cardio equipment available, and it won't take long to get onto the weight machines. The only downfall--but it's what made me want to join this gym--is the pool. There are only 3 lanes for lap swimming and walking. There's a rec area for nonswimmers to play in, but getting them to stay in that area is already problematic.
 |
| Yo, if you think you're gonna share MY lane, think again! |
Mostly, the parents aren't there. The offenders are usually 13-14 years old, ideally old enough to be in a pool without constant supervision
Even without the kids there, it would be nice if there were 5 more lanes to accommodate all the people who want to swim. I'd forgotten how much I like to swim. I'm pretty freaking slow, though...did about a mile today and it took half an hour. I can walk a mile and a half in that time frame.
In any case, we're back at a gym. I'm hoping that between the walking and the gym I can get into good enough shape that two Walks this year won't kill me. Because it would really suck if I got to the end of day three of the second walk and just up and croaked.
Sunday
12 June 2011
(Yes I'm nuts...but I wanna go play with my friends...)
So.
Yep. All da monies.
ALL OF DEM!
From here until the end of August, 100% of my book royalties will go towards this endeavor. Got a Kindle? They're cheap. Don't got a Kinde? They're not as cheap and I actually get a whole lot less on the print books.
Srsly. A lot less. Plus, I get paid for Kindle books sooner.
I luvs me the eBook Revolution.
Either way...Click here to get to my Amazon author page.
Friday
10 June 2011
I started out with good intentions today. The goal was to gear up and ride my bike to the gym, warm up on the treadmill and then hit the circuit, and ride around a little bit more.
Then I got to the gym and realized I didn't have my running shoes with me. And walking on a treadmill in boots seemed kind of sucky. Now, I could have gone home for the shoes, but it seemed like a cosmic sign that I should take the Day Before Ten Miles and just ride.
So I did.
I zoomed around town and the outskirts of town, and right at about 50 miles I stopped at a McD's about 10 miles from home to make use of the facilities and get a drink.
All right, I know bike gear is not attractive and not flattering. I was wearing a hi-viz armored jacket and silver armored pants with clunky boots. I have fairly short hair. I've gotten the comments before, usually they roll off me, sometimes amuse me, but when I came out of the stall and was confronted by an Asian woman yelling NO FOR WOMEN repeatedly while she whacked me with her purse, I damn near lost my shit.
And thank you for that turn of phrase, Murf, because it fits.
I did manage to tell her to back off or I would ^$&# her up, and as soon as she heard my voice she realized her mistake...and she promptly ran into the handicapped stall to hide.
An apology would have been nice.
If she was scared, she had a reason to be, because at that moment I was embarrassed and angry, and I probably would have done some serious damage with one swing of a fist.
I could have waited her out, but it didn't seem worth it. I washed my hands and got the hell out of there; I got my drink and sat on the far side of the McD's where she could slip out without having to face me, and I stewed. I didn't dare get back on the bike as ticked off as I was.
Yeah, this time, it was humiliating. There was no shrugging it off, no sarcastic amusement over the way people judge without knowing. This was just...wrong.
I had intended to ride for another house or so, but figured I'd better just head home. If I'm not focused, I don't ride. So I put my jacket back on and headed for the parking lot, and as I was putting my helmet on I heard a little boy asked someone, "Is that a girl's bike? It's pretty."
And the response from his dad? "No, it's not a girl's bike. It's just an awesome one. But a girl is riding it."
"Cool."
The took just enough of the irritation away to get me to refocus...but I still headed home.
The kinda-sorta longish way.
Then I got to the gym and realized I didn't have my running shoes with me. And walking on a treadmill in boots seemed kind of sucky. Now, I could have gone home for the shoes, but it seemed like a cosmic sign that I should take the Day Before Ten Miles and just ride.
So I did.
I zoomed around town and the outskirts of town, and right at about 50 miles I stopped at a McD's about 10 miles from home to make use of the facilities and get a drink.
All right, I know bike gear is not attractive and not flattering. I was wearing a hi-viz armored jacket and silver armored pants with clunky boots. I have fairly short hair. I've gotten the comments before, usually they roll off me, sometimes amuse me, but when I came out of the stall and was confronted by an Asian woman yelling NO FOR WOMEN repeatedly while she whacked me with her purse, I damn near lost my shit.
And thank you for that turn of phrase, Murf, because it fits.
I did manage to tell her to back off or I would ^$&# her up, and as soon as she heard my voice she realized her mistake...and she promptly ran into the handicapped stall to hide.
An apology would have been nice.
If she was scared, she had a reason to be, because at that moment I was embarrassed and angry, and I probably would have done some serious damage with one swing of a fist.
I could have waited her out, but it didn't seem worth it. I washed my hands and got the hell out of there; I got my drink and sat on the far side of the McD's where she could slip out without having to face me, and I stewed. I didn't dare get back on the bike as ticked off as I was.
Yeah, this time, it was humiliating. There was no shrugging it off, no sarcastic amusement over the way people judge without knowing. This was just...wrong.
I had intended to ride for another house or so, but figured I'd better just head home. If I'm not focused, I don't ride. So I put my jacket back on and headed for the parking lot, and as I was putting my helmet on I heard a little boy asked someone, "Is that a girl's bike? It's pretty."
And the response from his dad? "No, it's not a girl's bike. It's just an awesome one. But a girl is riding it."
"Cool."
The took just enough of the irritation away to get me to refocus...but I still headed home.
The kinda-sorta longish way.
Thursday
9 June 2011
Nothing does your ego as much good as being on a treadmill next to an 80 year old woman who is going at nearly twice your pace and barely breaking a sweat while you sop it out of your eyes and gasp for air...
Friday
3 June 2011
Last week I joined a gym that hadn't even opened, sight unseen. The list of amenities was nice--cardio theater, free weight room, resistence equipment area, dedicated circuit training, pool and hot tub, racquetball courts, spinning classes--but what did it for me was the availability of Yoga.
I keep thinking that'll be good for my back, and the class times are ideal: M-W-F at 11 a.m. I can walk before hand, hit the gym for the class, play in the pool, and then have the afternoon for whatever.
It seemed like a plan.
Two days ago it opened, but today was the first time I stepped inside, and holyeeee carp. This place is HUGE. It doesn't just have cardio equipment, it has CARDIO. You could fit the gym we used to belong to in the resistance equipment area twice, maybe even three times. The free weight room is big, too, and in the back corner where the muscle-heads can play without us normal people getting in their way. The pool isn't huge, only 3 lanes, but unlike the only other gym around here with an indoor pool, it's brightly lit.
There's an upstairs, but I have no idea what's up there. By the time I got done in the circuit area, I really didn't feel like climbing teh stairs. I just felt like going into the locker room and changing.
Did I mention the locker room? It's big and it's CLEAN. 'Course, it's new, but it's CLEAN.
When I wandered trough the front door and stood there with my mouth hanging open because I had just entered gym nirvana, wondering where the locker room was, a very helpful but I-hate-you-slender kid bopped over from behind the counter to help me and point out the areas I was interested in. She was able to answer the one question I had forgotten to ask before signing a year of my workout life away: can I drop off my stuff in a locker, leave the gym to go walk for a few hours, then come back and hit the pool?
I was worried I might not be able to use the locker while not actually in the gym.
But...no problem. I can ride my bike there, dump my gear in a locker and take off for training walks, and then hit the pool or hot tub and shower if I want. But mostly, I can store my gear! That means this year I can both ride a lot and walk a lot.
This may be the summer I turn into a gym rat.
I have pink spandex to fit into, you know.
Hot pink spandex...
I keep thinking that'll be good for my back, and the class times are ideal: M-W-F at 11 a.m. I can walk before hand, hit the gym for the class, play in the pool, and then have the afternoon for whatever.
It seemed like a plan.
Two days ago it opened, but today was the first time I stepped inside, and holyeeee carp. This place is HUGE. It doesn't just have cardio equipment, it has CARDIO. You could fit the gym we used to belong to in the resistance equipment area twice, maybe even three times. The free weight room is big, too, and in the back corner where the muscle-heads can play without us normal people getting in their way. The pool isn't huge, only 3 lanes, but unlike the only other gym around here with an indoor pool, it's brightly lit.
There's an upstairs, but I have no idea what's up there. By the time I got done in the circuit area, I really didn't feel like climbing teh stairs. I just felt like going into the locker room and changing.
Did I mention the locker room? It's big and it's CLEAN. 'Course, it's new, but it's CLEAN.
When I wandered trough the front door and stood there with my mouth hanging open because I had just entered gym nirvana, wondering where the locker room was, a very helpful but I-hate-you-slender kid bopped over from behind the counter to help me and point out the areas I was interested in. She was able to answer the one question I had forgotten to ask before signing a year of my workout life away: can I drop off my stuff in a locker, leave the gym to go walk for a few hours, then come back and hit the pool?
I was worried I might not be able to use the locker while not actually in the gym.
But...no problem. I can ride my bike there, dump my gear in a locker and take off for training walks, and then hit the pool or hot tub and shower if I want. But mostly, I can store my gear! That means this year I can both ride a lot and walk a lot.
This may be the summer I turn into a gym rat.
I have pink spandex to fit into, you know.
Hot pink spandex...
Wednesday
1 June 2011
Wanna win an iPad? Or a Kindle? Or an iPod Nano?
In just a hair over 3 months, I'm--again--walking in the Susan G. Komen Walk for the Cure. 3 Days, 60 Miles. All to raise money for breast cancer research and treatment.
I need donations, folks. I am way behind where I need to be in order to reach my $2300 goal in time.
But...I'll get there. And thanks to a generous donor and digging a little into my own pocket, I have some AWESOME prizes this year.
Donate $5, and you have a shot at one--or even all--of these:
The winners will be chosen using a random number generator on August 26, 2011 at around 9 p.m. Pacific Time and will be notified via email ASAP. Be sure to use a real email address when you donate, as well as your correct mailing address.
Thank you so much.
In just a hair over 3 months, I'm--again--walking in the Susan G. Komen Walk for the Cure. 3 Days, 60 Miles. All to raise money for breast cancer research and treatment.
I need donations, folks. I am way behind where I need to be in order to reach my $2300 goal in time.
But...I'll get there. And thanks to a generous donor and digging a little into my own pocket, I have some AWESOME prizes this year.
Donate $5, and you have a shot at one--or even all--of these:
A 16 GB iPod Nano...that'll hold a metric ton of songs.
An Amazon Kindle 3, with free 3G and Wi-Fi
An Apple iPad...it's a first generation model, but it's the 64 GB w/3G version.
The winners will be chosen using a random number generator on August 26, 2011 at around 9 p.m. Pacific Time and will be notified via email ASAP. Be sure to use a real email address when you donate, as well as your correct mailing address.
Thank you so much.
Monday
Sunday
29 May 2011
An angel on my shoulder?
Today is A Day. One of those days you put in capitals because it just seems right. Not just a day; it's A Day.
Today would have been my parents' 62nd wedding anniversary. That in itself is awesome and worth remembering; they made it to 61, something most people never see.
Today is also the day that my blogging & Facebook friend Gael is gathering with her family to honor her brother Dan, who died far too young on December 13, 2010.
I never met Dan, but I know I would have liked him. I know most of you would have liked him, and if you go back and read the archives of the blog she's been keeping dedicated to his memory, you'll see why. He was a standup guy and a wonderful brother, and he is deeply missed.
Dan was also a motorcycle rider.
There's a tradition in biking; when one of you has fallen, those left behind drop their rear pegs and take a ride in memory of the lost rider. Some strap a helmet to the passenger seat, facing backwards.
I dropped my shiny new bike off at the dealership on Thursday and left it there so that it could get its 500 mile service done this weekend and won't be able to pick it up until Tuesday, but I still have the Gladius sitting in the garage. So this afternoon I backed it out and fired it up, dropped the rear pegs, and off I went.
Now, the Gladius is up for sale. After wiping out in the snow last December and wrecking my shoulder, the riding position of the little sport standard isn't especially comfortable anymore and long rides on it are out of the question. A short ride, sure. It's still a fun bike and if not for my aches and pains, I'd keep it.
But, there's a reason I'm selling it, and a few minutes into the ride I was clearly remembering why.
My initial plan had been to take the back roads from Dixon into Vacaville, a fairly short ride that would have had me out for about 45 minutes. But the wind is a little stronger than I like, and I was fighting with my back and shoulder, so I turned onto a street that cuts through the backside of town and decided I would stay close to home.
Still, I was fighting the wind and fighting the aching, and when I made the turn onto the street that would cut right through town, I swear I felt a hand slap my shoulder and a voice I've never heard before say quietly, "Just go home."
I shrugged it off to a shoulder spasm and thought I would loop around town a few more times, but that was a persistent voice. "Go home. It's all right."
I went home.
It was definitely a short ride; 20 minutes, tops, and less than 10 miles. I pulled into the driveway feeling like I should be disappointed that I didn't ride longer and farther, but I wasn't. I took the ride I was supposed to take. And I felt like someone was making sure I didn't do anything stupid.
In a few minutes I'm heading out to walk; my training for this years' SGK 3 Day is kicking into gear, and while it's breezy out, it's still a beautiful day to be out there pounding the pavement.
Most definitely A Day.
Today is A Day. One of those days you put in capitals because it just seems right. Not just a day; it's A Day.Today would have been my parents' 62nd wedding anniversary. That in itself is awesome and worth remembering; they made it to 61, something most people never see.
Today is also the day that my blogging & Facebook friend Gael is gathering with her family to honor her brother Dan, who died far too young on December 13, 2010.
I never met Dan, but I know I would have liked him. I know most of you would have liked him, and if you go back and read the archives of the blog she's been keeping dedicated to his memory, you'll see why. He was a standup guy and a wonderful brother, and he is deeply missed.
Dan was also a motorcycle rider.
There's a tradition in biking; when one of you has fallen, those left behind drop their rear pegs and take a ride in memory of the lost rider. Some strap a helmet to the passenger seat, facing backwards.
I dropped my shiny new bike off at the dealership on Thursday and left it there so that it could get its 500 mile service done this weekend and won't be able to pick it up until Tuesday, but I still have the Gladius sitting in the garage. So this afternoon I backed it out and fired it up, dropped the rear pegs, and off I went.
Now, the Gladius is up for sale. After wiping out in the snow last December and wrecking my shoulder, the riding position of the little sport standard isn't especially comfortable anymore and long rides on it are out of the question. A short ride, sure. It's still a fun bike and if not for my aches and pains, I'd keep it.
But, there's a reason I'm selling it, and a few minutes into the ride I was clearly remembering why.
My initial plan had been to take the back roads from Dixon into Vacaville, a fairly short ride that would have had me out for about 45 minutes. But the wind is a little stronger than I like, and I was fighting with my back and shoulder, so I turned onto a street that cuts through the backside of town and decided I would stay close to home.
Still, I was fighting the wind and fighting the aching, and when I made the turn onto the street that would cut right through town, I swear I felt a hand slap my shoulder and a voice I've never heard before say quietly, "Just go home."
I shrugged it off to a shoulder spasm and thought I would loop around town a few more times, but that was a persistent voice. "Go home. It's all right."
I went home.
It was definitely a short ride; 20 minutes, tops, and less than 10 miles. I pulled into the driveway feeling like I should be disappointed that I didn't ride longer and farther, but I wasn't. I took the ride I was supposed to take. And I felt like someone was making sure I didn't do anything stupid.
In a few minutes I'm heading out to walk; my training for this years' SGK 3 Day is kicking into gear, and while it's breezy out, it's still a beautiful day to be out there pounding the pavement.
Most definitely A Day.
Saturday
28 May 2011
Why is it that the FedEx guy always shows up in the morning except the one time when I have to stay here to sign for something?
Why do people call about things you have listed on Craigslist 4 times and say they'll come see it, but then never do?
Why is there no chocolate in this house?
Why did Max pick 3:42 a.m. to pop me in the face with the Paw of Doom?
Why is there nothing worth watching on TV on a Saturday when I'm stuck here waiting?
=sigh=
Why do people call about things you have listed on Craigslist 4 times and say they'll come see it, but then never do?
Why is there no chocolate in this house?
Why did Max pick 3:42 a.m. to pop me in the face with the Paw of Doom?
Why is there nothing worth watching on TV on a Saturday when I'm stuck here waiting?
=sigh=
Friday
20 May 2011
If you're old enough, you remember the political posturing over the Equal Rights Amendment in the late 70s and early 80s.
That was it. Congress passed it, but it fell short by three states needed for ratification.
Not surprisingly, the Mormon Church opposed the ERA. Not surprisingly, either, some members of the church had issues with that. One, Sonia Johnson, chained herself to the gates of the Seattle LDS Temple (among other things...she really championed against her church for the cause) and those actions brought a lot of notoriety.
The LDS church embraced the controversy. Welcomed it.
Why?
Because controversy breeds curiosity. Curiosity brings questions. And questions bring seekers of truth, and the LDS Church had a lot of their version of the truth to share. People speaking out against the church, picketing at the Republican National Convention, chaining themselves to temples...it brought in new members. They knew it would.
And now?
Now we're all sitting round waiting to prove Harold Camping and his Rapture-Is-Tomorrow followers wrong. We're having a hell of a lot of fun with it--and why not? I suspect God has a healthy sense of humor--whether there's an underlying belief that someday this will happen, or not.
(And for the record, I don't think that finding this funny is a slam against those who believe that someday there will be a Rapture and accountability. You can believe in it and still find this whole thing so absurd that humor is the only way to address it.)
Like the whole ERA fight in the late 70s and Johnson chaining herself to the Temple, bringing an influx of members to the LDS church, I suspect that even though we're all going to stay put tomorrow, the entire controversy is going to cause a whole bunch of people to take a hard look at their lives and ask What if? It will likely bring as many people to faith as the distaste of hard line evangelicalism has turned away...and hard right leaning conservatives have pushed a lot of people away from faith.
If you're one of those, suck on it. You screwed up. And though it won't be tomorrow, someday you will be held accountable for that. Don't be surprised to find yourself stuck here with the rest of us when the End Times truly begin.
But.
In a distasteful, money grubbing manner (and I suspect it's all been about the money) Camping and his group may actually get a few people to really investigate what they believe and why, and may spur some faith in a few.
Whether that's a good thing or bad, that's up to you to decide.
I think anytime someone steps up and defines for themselves what they believe, what they truly believe--as opposed to what they were taught as children or have adopted out of anger and disappointment--it's a good thing. It's a foundation to build upon.
And when you have that foundation...nothing people like Harold Camping say will have you selling your house and cars, quitting your job, drinking the Kool Aid.
You won't need to.
Because you'll know...
Section 1. Equality of rights under the law shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any state on account of sex.
bullet Section 2. The Congress shall have the power to enforce, by appropriate legislation, the provisions of this article.
bullet Section 3. This amendment shall take effect two years after the date of ratification.
That was it. Congress passed it, but it fell short by three states needed for ratification.
Not surprisingly, the Mormon Church opposed the ERA. Not surprisingly, either, some members of the church had issues with that. One, Sonia Johnson, chained herself to the gates of the Seattle LDS Temple (among other things...she really championed against her church for the cause) and those actions brought a lot of notoriety.
The LDS church embraced the controversy. Welcomed it.
Why?
Because controversy breeds curiosity. Curiosity brings questions. And questions bring seekers of truth, and the LDS Church had a lot of their version of the truth to share. People speaking out against the church, picketing at the Republican National Convention, chaining themselves to temples...it brought in new members. They knew it would.
And now?
 |
| Ok, maybe the kitties will be Raptured... |
(And for the record, I don't think that finding this funny is a slam against those who believe that someday there will be a Rapture and accountability. You can believe in it and still find this whole thing so absurd that humor is the only way to address it.)
Like the whole ERA fight in the late 70s and Johnson chaining herself to the Temple, bringing an influx of members to the LDS church, I suspect that even though we're all going to stay put tomorrow, the entire controversy is going to cause a whole bunch of people to take a hard look at their lives and ask What if? It will likely bring as many people to faith as the distaste of hard line evangelicalism has turned away...and hard right leaning conservatives have pushed a lot of people away from faith.
If you're one of those, suck on it. You screwed up. And though it won't be tomorrow, someday you will be held accountable for that. Don't be surprised to find yourself stuck here with the rest of us when the End Times truly begin.
But.
In a distasteful, money grubbing manner (and I suspect it's all been about the money) Camping and his group may actually get a few people to really investigate what they believe and why, and may spur some faith in a few.
Whether that's a good thing or bad, that's up to you to decide.
I think anytime someone steps up and defines for themselves what they believe, what they truly believe--as opposed to what they were taught as children or have adopted out of anger and disappointment--it's a good thing. It's a foundation to build upon.
And when you have that foundation...nothing people like Harold Camping say will have you selling your house and cars, quitting your job, drinking the Kool Aid.
You won't need to.
Because you'll know...
Sunday
15 May 2011
Oddz N Endz #1947562-4852.9/b
You know the dude who started the whole "The Rapture begins on May 21, 2011"? Some preacher who says he's studied the Bible back and forth and using math determined that that's the date? aside from the fact that he predicted the same thing about 15 years ago and when it didn't happen was all "Oops, I made a math error?"
Well, I'm thinking he's working from a Bible with a few pages torn out. Mr. Preacher, turn to Matthew 24:36--Concerning that day or hour nobody knows, neither the angels of the heavens nor the Son, but only the Father.
I'm thinking that if God hasn't let Jesus in on it, he's not letting some marginal cult leader in on it, either.
My new obsession:
I traded in the MP3 scooter on it; not that I didn't like the scooter, I did. It was tres spiffy but had some issues that made me increasingly uncomfortable to ride it. The alarm for the hydraulics kept going off, and the dealer shut down so I couldn't keep taking it back to be checked (and they seemed determined to not find the problem...probably because they were getting ready to go out of business) and rather than have the front end lock up at 75 mph, I traded it in on something fun.
And since I don't need two bikes, the Gladius is for sale.
You want it, you know you do.
I would like a new back, thankyouverymuch.
I got nothin' else...
You know the dude who started the whole "The Rapture begins on May 21, 2011"? Some preacher who says he's studied the Bible back and forth and using math determined that that's the date? aside from the fact that he predicted the same thing about 15 years ago and when it didn't happen was all "Oops, I made a math error?"
Well, I'm thinking he's working from a Bible with a few pages torn out. Mr. Preacher, turn to Matthew 24:36--Concerning that day or hour nobody knows, neither the angels of the heavens nor the Son, but only the Father.
I'm thinking that if God hasn't let Jesus in on it, he's not letting some marginal cult leader in on it, either.
My new obsession:
I traded in the MP3 scooter on it; not that I didn't like the scooter, I did. It was tres spiffy but had some issues that made me increasingly uncomfortable to ride it. The alarm for the hydraulics kept going off, and the dealer shut down so I couldn't keep taking it back to be checked (and they seemed determined to not find the problem...probably because they were getting ready to go out of business) and rather than have the front end lock up at 75 mph, I traded it in on something fun.
And since I don't need two bikes, the Gladius is for sale.
You want it, you know you do.
I would like a new back, thankyouverymuch.
I got nothin' else...
Friday
6 May 2011
Last night I walked past my office and noted that Max was curled up on my desk chair, contorted into one of those weird positions that only cats seem to find comfortable; head resting on one paw, back twisted, belly up, two other paws sticking straight out to the side and the last paw almost pointing up, but not quite.
I wondered how the hell he could sleep like that, but hey, whatever works for him.
An hour later he was still there, still in the same position.
Two hours later, as I was heading back to go to bed, he was still there. He hadn't moved. So I stood there and watched, looking to see his chest or belly rise and fall with each breath...only nothing was moving.
I waited a little longer, still nothing.
I stepped into the room, not quietly, and he didn't so much as twitch, and I could feel dread beginning to pool around me. He's ten years old, he's seriously fat, he's not breathing, this is not good.
So I decided to out my hand on his chest, hoping to feel what I couldn't see. And people, my fingers barely brushed his fur when he jumped like I had shot him; he rolled over onto his back, glaring at me, and began meowing in what I can only assume was a string of expletives regarding my parentage, my brains, and the odors surrounding me that displease him.
Oh yeah, he looked a lot more annoyed than that.
I thought about offering him some crunchy treats by way of apology, but when he was done cussing me out he stretched and rolled over facing away from me.
I only feel bad about laughing when he jumped.
I wondered how the hell he could sleep like that, but hey, whatever works for him.
An hour later he was still there, still in the same position.
Two hours later, as I was heading back to go to bed, he was still there. He hadn't moved. So I stood there and watched, looking to see his chest or belly rise and fall with each breath...only nothing was moving.
I waited a little longer, still nothing.
I stepped into the room, not quietly, and he didn't so much as twitch, and I could feel dread beginning to pool around me. He's ten years old, he's seriously fat, he's not breathing, this is not good.
So I decided to out my hand on his chest, hoping to feel what I couldn't see. And people, my fingers barely brushed his fur when he jumped like I had shot him; he rolled over onto his back, glaring at me, and began meowing in what I can only assume was a string of expletives regarding my parentage, my brains, and the odors surrounding me that displease him.
Oh yeah, he looked a lot more annoyed than that.
I thought about offering him some crunchy treats by way of apology, but when he was done cussing me out he stretched and rolled over facing away from me.
I only feel bad about laughing when he jumped.
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