The Funniest Thing of the Week

Dr's office jokes making me laugh recently

2010-06-01T18:04:00.000-07:00

Read the first one last night in Let The Great World Spin. Thought I should add a couple more too.:

Patient walks into the Dr's office with a carrot shoved up his nose.
Doctor: I know just what's wrong.
Patient: Okay, what?
Doctor, You're not eating properly.

Receptionist: Doctor, there's a man here who says he's invisible.
Doctor: Tell him I can't see him right now.

Patient: Doctor, I saw myself in the mirror this morning, and I look terrible.
Doctor: Well, there's nothing wrong with your eyesight.

Tummy Cake

2007-10-29T17:20:00.000-07:00

Excerpted from a New Yorker piece, "The Ambien Cookbook."

Tummy Cake

Ingredients:
5 eggs
2 cups flour
1 cup Crisco
1/2 cup milk
5 mg. Ambien

Take Ambien, fall asleep.

Wake up in kitchen, mixing eggs, flour, Crisco, and milk in—for some reason—a mop bucket.

Let batter settle.

Go to living room, turn on TV, search channels for a show that explains the second part of how to make a cake.

Curse the designer of your TV remote for making a device that has the buttons on the wrong side—all facing the floor, where you can’t see them.

Remember batter.

Retrieve bucket from kitchen, drink entire contents in 3-5 gulps.

Remember that the batter was supposed to be cooked.

Draw hot bath, immerse yourself in it, knead bloated stomach in effort to facilitate cooking process.

When mouth fills with now cooled bathwater, wake up and return to bed.

Lie back on pillow, watch cartoon bluebirds orbiting your head.

Grab one cartoon bluebird in midair and devour it raw, feathers and all.

Wake up at 7 A.M., with wife or girlfriend demanding to know what the F happened in the kitchen last night.

While trying to answer, burp up a single cartoon-bluebird feather. Cover mouth guiltily, even though she seems not to have noticed the feather.

When she slams the bedroom door and goes to work, pick cartoon-bluebird feather out of the air and swallow it.

Fall asleep for 36 more hours, interrupted only by periodic—and somehow epic-seeming—trips to the bathroom.

http://penfield.psych.uiuc.edu/omnibrain/2006/10/sleep-eating.html

ATF

2007-08-15T12:15:00.000-07:00

A friend and I were discussing the ever-confusing triumvurate of alcohol, tobacco and firearms. "Whenever I have one," she said, "I want the other two."

Bull Run Run Race Report

2007-04-16T06:48:00.000-07:00

My alarm went off at something like three in the morning on the Saturday of 2007's Bull Run Run. This was fine. I'd barely been sleeping for most of the night. I'd broken from my usual pre-race pattern by packing my stuff the night before, leaving my primary anxiety for concerns about finding my way into Virginia and ending up in the right place. I'm relatively new to the area and good at getting lost. Especially in the dark.

And man, was it ever dark on Saturday morning. Dark! I've done a few 50Ks in the last several months in preparation for the Bull Run Run, and my general navigational strategy--these things are always way out in Virginia or Maryland--is to follow the personalized license plates and import cars to the start of the run. This strategy works suprisingly well. I don't often see plates that say "RUN100s" and the like, and when there's a bunch of them together, it's best to get out and trudge in the same way as everyone else until I see people in tights and dirty shoes.

So I knew I was in the right place when there were familiarly-dressed and friendly folks with flashlights leading me and my import car into a parking spot, and if that weren't enough, the people wearing funny clothes were also taking advantage of the darkness to trot into the trees. Conspicuous signs led me right to where I wanted to be, near the food and warmth. Bathrooms, people, heat, a place to sit down, indoors. The organizers of this race know exactly what they're doing. They've anticipated everything I need short of a jet pack. All I had to do now was sit and keep an eye on my watch. Maybe stretch a little bit.

In the very pleasant dining hall I watched people drink coffee and eat bagels and catch up with friends. I ran into a couple of guys I'd met on the HAT run a few weeks prior, Paul and Drew, a nephew and uncle team who had been a great lot of fun. These guys let me tag along, which was quite kind of them, and shared with me their "DFL" strategy for finishing the race. I must have made a funny face while trying to parse out this acronym--what does the democratic party have to do with running a successful race?--so Paul explained the "dead effing last" approach to running. Which made great sense to me. We also chatted with Pete, a fellow Potomac Runner I often see on the Mount Vernon trail and whom I had the pleasure of running with for much of the Eagle Run earlier this year.

Pete has a great story of last year's Bull Run Run, where he wiped out shortly before a planned rendezvous with his wife. He whacked up his forehead in the fall, leaving a shallow cut that bled through everything. He pleaded with the volunteers at the next aid station to wash off the blood so that his wife wouldn't see him looking like the battle wounded and pull him from the course and ultra running entirely. It worked. Little did she know.

I caught up with Pete after Saturday's race, and not only did he stay bleed-free this year, but he PR'd by an hour! He credited his performance to his family, who'd greeted him at a late aid station, giving him the strength he needed to finish strong. Way to go, Pete! Great job staying vertical when it really counted.

Eventually we followed the patchy stream of runners out to where the clock was. I wasn't really nervous, just excited. Saw lots of familiar faces from the other ultras and VHTRC events I'd done since December. I was as ready as I could have been, and even if I wasn't ready, well, it was too late to worry about that now. Shoes tied: Check. Water and gu: Check. Have to pee: Check. Wouldn't be the start of a race if I didn't.

Then we were off. No idea whether there was a gun or a shout or what, but on we went into the half-light. It was dry, it wasn't too cold, no one was pushing or shoving--perfect.

I'm more used to marathons, where you start to the holler of a politician and the echoes of someone singing the national anthem into a PA system. I really like the let's-git-r-done attitude of ultras. There's a sense of community at these things that's not really possible to replicate at 10,000+ entrant road races. Don't get me wrong--I love marathons and road races, particularly the huge ones where everyone makes me feels like a rock star.

But ultras are a lot more like a bar-b-que weekend at someone's cabin where I'm made to feel welcome among these many folks who've known each other for years. People pick up after themselves at ultras. Folks chat on the course and encourage each other. Aid station volunteers do anything and anything they can think of to make sure that I have a great day. Taking my water bottle, filling it with whatever I want, and then seeking me out to return it to me, cap replaced, filled to the brim with Mountain Dew. Care for olives and sardines with that, sir? Quesadilla? How 'bout an ice cream sandwich?

Much of the race sort of folds into itself in my recollection. I didn't start my watch when we began, mostly because my watch only counts minutes, not hours, and as such wouldn't really provide me with a whole lot of useful information. Occasionally I'd ask someone else what time it was, but too often that was the aforementioned Uncle Paul, who also hadn't started his stopwatch. So he'd look at his watch and say "We've only been running for eight minutes!" When in fact it was only 8.00 am. This is the sort of humor I came to expect on the course. You know. The "know what/chickenbutt" variety.

At the Hemlock aid station I was met by a coworker and her daughter. No, not just met--I was received. As soon as she caught sight of me, she hollered out my name, 'cause that's the kind of all-or-nothing person she is. Seeing Christine was very good. She's one of the folks who gives up her time just to enable the rest of us to have events like these. After a few fun pictures and some olives, I went on my way. Thanks, Christine! It was great to have a friendly face out there.

My next partner was a mother of at least two whose story of the day was her new shoes. (How on earth do people with families manage to train for these things? I'm single and I can barely find the time.) She said that she put them on in the morning and knew within the first step that she'd made a mistake. The collar of the shoes was hitting her ankle in the wrong way, causing a bruise that became worse with each step. Considering that the steps she had taken by that time were in the tens of thousands, I'm sure that the pain she was in dwarfed anything I thought I was experiencing. She and I had a great chat for a number of miles, but we lost track of each other after the marina aid station. Or maybe she just lost track of me, a move that wouldn't necessarily have been ill-advised. I tend to talk a lot when I run.

My discomfort at this point was mostly limited to the fourth toes on each of my feet, which felt like they were broken. I've linked this pain to lack of arch support. No idea how or why, but it has something to do with my high-arched rigid feet. My wandering thoughts schemed up ways of surgically or ballistically removing these toes. Remove the cause and you remove the effect, right? Toes hurt, therefore remove toes, and you remove the hurt. Right?

Somewhere in the Do loop I fell in with Krista, whom many may recognize from the theatrical knee wound she sported for most of the race. Man, did that thing ever look dramatic! "I cut myself and then fell in the water, so it's clean," she rationalized, which endeared her to me immediately. I love the logic we use when doing these sorts of runs. This wound really did look great. Here's a pic. I wouldn't have been surprised to see her step to the side of the trail to cauterize her cut, Rambo-style, and then continue as though nothing had happened.

While charging through the Do loop with ueber trooper Krista, I fell in with Fred, a fellow first-timer to the fifty miler. In these last few hours the fun really started. Up 'til then I'd been holding myself back a bit. I'd run too fast in all my training and knew that keeping a sane pace would be the most difficult part for me, but now knowing that I had only ten or fifteen miles to go, I could finally let it out and feel like I was actually racing rather than just treading water, waiting for the end to appear.

We ran damned near all of it, charging around trees and up the small hills, helping each other over the rocks next to the river, all that stuff. We probably dropped down to an 8.30 or 8.15 pace over the flats, which felt like the speed of light after doing most of the day at 10 and 11 minute miles. It felt grand. Tiring, but grand.

Past the bluebells and along the river and up the seemingly vertical final hill, I was feeling a bit exhausted, a little floaty, and really happy. The grass at the top of the final hill looked otherworldly. Hadn't been in a clearing like that since early in the morning, hadn't seen vegetation that wasn't a flower, bush or tree in at least as long. Then suddenly there's this expanse of muted green under the grey sky, and all we have to do is run through it. Things were getting weird. Or perhaps I was finally beginning to notice that things were getting weird. My legs weren't that tired, really, but my shoulders ached, my stomach felt a bit nasty, and my entire being was tired. Not like sleepy tired or I-need-to-stop-now tired, but a general feeling of being faded and worn, sort of dulled and beated down. It was a tired that centers in the chest and sucks energy from everything else, as though my chest were the center of a low-grade black hole.

With less than a mile to go, it having become clear that we would indeed finish this thing in spite of the distracting disappearance of energy, I suggested to Fred that we sprint the end. He was a bit incredulous and probably swore at me. If he didn't, he should have. I egged him on, saying things like "It'll be fun!" So with maybe a quarter mile to go he stepped it up, and I followed, thinking that I'd humor him, make him feel like he's doing fine, and I'd go easy, not unleash my kick.

Well, he bolted away from me in no time and my kick got unleashed to little noticeable effect. I ended up in his wake as we crossed the line. Without a doubt, the most fun I've had finishing a race.

We stood dumbly near the finish line for a little bit, and I had a jacket in my hand before I knew what was happening. Amazing organization at this race. Truly amazing. Went up to the dining hall to change and possibly get some food. We were both pretty famished at this point, or at least assumed that we were. Fred called his wife, who's a doctor, and who considers his hobby a senseless abuse of his health. He finished the conversation, looked at me and said, "I'm going to be under observation for the next 48 hours." I dug around in my bag to find that I'd brought no pants, no apples, and about a dozen non-matching socks. So much for packing the night before.

We returned to the finish to stand around in the rain for a while longer. It was notably chillier, but now there was pizza and coke and Lord knows what else for the eating. I picked up my finisher's pin that will go to my mom; a while ago I realized that I have far more race shirts and geegaws than I'll ever need, so the swag I now get goes to my mom. I can't say whether she's the only woman in her exercise classes with marathon shirts, but I can say that there's no one more proud to wear them.

Pizza in hand, I greeted folks I'd seen on the course and met up with Fred's friends, all of whom had finished well. One lived only a short distance from me in DC and I look forward to running with her in the future; another grew up very near where I did in Minnesota, and I look forward to having midwestern-expat conversations with her in long runs to come.

Thanks a million times over to the VHTRC, its many volunteers, and its many many supporters for putting on this event and doing it so well. This ultrarunning stuff is where it's at. Thanks for making it so much fun, everyone.

Works Cited vs Bibliography

2007-04-08T08:27:00.000-07:00

The idea is this: There are works that we quote in life, and there are those that we don't quote or paraphrase directly, but upon whose ideas we draw directly. This spans Christians who quote from the Bible and the pop culture enthusiasts among us who quote from comedians. Also helps to shed some light upon those among us who can't get lines of songs from our heads, or those of us who really like to fall back upon Calvin & Hobbes or different years of Seinfeld or Northern Exposure.

The works cited covers those works to which we can refer directly, either for purpose of paraphrase or quoting directly. The bibliography covers those that we don't quote or paraphrase directly, but which provide excellent background reading to explain our thoughts or actions in a particular circumstance or over a span of time.

An example would be the first Batman movies. "This darkened alley in this decaying city makes me feel weird and kind of arty," one might say, and one might then call to mind the various Batman movies directed by Tim Burton. Think of a footnote, as in, See Tim Burton, Dir., "Batman," MGM films (or whatever), 1990-1992.

That would be something for a bibliography.

If for example you were later to comment to a friend that she really didn't weigh 108 pounds, or whatever it was that Kim B. said she weighed when Batman asked her before lifting her far above the street before the bad dudes showed up, well, if you didn't get your face slapped for saying such a tasteless thing, then that'd be a direct quote from another work, and therefore would enter into the works cited. Get it?

Further examples of works cited entries:

Saying "So it goes" whenever something dies: Slaughterhouse-Five, by Mr K Vonnegut, lately deceased; so it goes.
Commenting upon a trail run by saying "Where we're going, we don't need roads": Whichever Back to the Future movie it was where Doc said the same to Marty and proceeded to levitate the Delorean and blast into the future.
Saying "Badges? We don't need no stinking badges": Treasure of the Sierra Madre, et al. Paraphrases count.
Saying "3PO! Where could he be?" in a shrill-sounding manner: Star Wars, A New Hope, or whatever that first movie was called. Here's a really good example where a similiar citation would be appropriate.

Whereas bibliography entries would just be helpful to understand the general context of things. Basically if there isn't a specific passage or specific words to cite, then it's a bibliography thing. If we were talking about silly picture captions, then I may generally refer you to The San Francisco Chronicle. If the situation in which we found ourselves were rife with windowless rooms in which the only thing clear to us were our persecution and we knew nothing of the charges, then we may refer generally to the works of Kafka.

Vanity Plates from the Style Invitational

2007-04-07T20:48:00.000-07:00

Rene Magritte: NOTACAR (Brendan Beary, Great Mills)

Ruth Westheimer: , SUTRA (Mark Eckenwiler)

Moses: O4AGPS (Kevin Gowen, Stevensville, Md.)

Jesus: WWID (Russell Beland)

Werner Heisenberg: I DUNNO (Brendan Beary)

Edvard Munch: :-O (Jay Shuck, Minneapolis)

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/04/06/AR2007040600857.html

Missed Connections

2007-03-24T15:19:00.000-07:00

M4W: Borders books on Rte. 9, Saturday afternoon, 2.30. You: striking blonde, standing near the magazines, sipping on a hot drink of some sort. Me: in the car across the highway with a telephoto lens. Would you please turn to the left?

M4W: Giant Foods, Lowertown, Sunday evening, 10.30. You: short brunette, glasses, dark jeans and white t-shirt. Me: trenchcoat and nothing else. We had a moment, but I blew it. Second chance?

Pay peanuts, get monkeys

2007-03-24T15:17:00.000-07:00

A friend works for The Food Network. He considered, but decided against, pasting "Will work for food" onto the cover of his laptop.

Globe and Mail caption contest

2007-03-02T08:34:00.000-08:00

Gordon Fulthorpe from Dundas, Canada writes:

" These damned new Tokyo hotel rooms ....where's the loo ?"
http://www.theglobeandmail.com/servlet/story/RTGAM.20070223.wcapcon0223/CommentStory/National/home#comment671411

peter k from Canada writes:

A eureka moment in artifical insemenation.
http://www.theglobeandmail.com/servlet/story/RTGAM.20070223.wcapcon0223/CommentStory/National/home#comment682211

http://www.theglobeandmail.com/servlet/story/RTGAM.20070301.wcapcon0230/BNStory/specialPhotos/

Caption Contest #82 Contenders

2007-01-08T13:49:00.000-08:00

A collection agency? Already?
There has to be some clause in the lease that prevents this.
Let's keep this brief; my roaming charges are going to be big in the coming epochs.
I haven't even invented an economy yet! How should I know when you'll get your money?
I can still hear your booming voice. You didn't have to call just to rub it in.
First you're a snake, and now you're a realtor?

Cow abduction

2007-01-07T11:07:00.000-08:00

From the FAQ:

Eileen from Modesto, CA:

Q: How often do they visit?
A: Our charts and graphs point to a visit every 3.7 days. We have reason to believe that their workweek is 3.7 days, and that cow abduction could be a weekend event for them.

Max Reed:

Q: Why doesn't the mooing sound of the abductee exhibit the Doppler effect, just like station bells to the occupant of a moving train?
A: Well, Max, obviously because the aliens are using some highly sophisticated technology that defies our humble understanding of the laws of physics.

Timothy Plain from Akron, OH:

Q: Where are the abductions happening the most?
A: The cow abductions seem to be most concentrated in California. One theory may suggest that the milk in California is particularly creamy and delicious. There are at this time, however, reports of cow abductions in at least 27 other states, and even scattered reports of missing cattle in Europe and Russia.

John Flookes from Berkeley, CA:

Q: Is it possible that cows are actually aliens themselves, and now, after centuries on earth, they're simply returning to their planet?
A: No.

Alexander from Ferndale, CA:

Q: If I dress up like a cow, can I trap them?
A: Dear Alexander, why don't you give it a shot? Be sure to let us know how it goes.

Be sure to move the mouse over the image of a grazing cow at the top of the screen to see a simulation of the horror.

www.cowabduction.com

Runner Types

2006-12-27T10:36:00.000-08:00

1) The Glutton
One for whom the term "junk miles" has a more narcotic than qualitative meaning. Time is measured in tens of miles, or shoes, as in, "I haven't worn anything other than Nike Air Heads in eight pairs of shoes!" or "I try to change the oil in my car once every pair of shoes."

2) The Hobbyist
Doesn't quite understand why some folks will run if it's not really nice outside. Also balks at spending more than $65 on shoes. Has time for things like family and hobbies and friends who aren't runners. Can talk about things other than running. Measures time in days, weeks, months, and years, not marathons or miles.

3) The Therapist
Has one answer to everyone's problems. "Have you tried running marathons? They'd be great for your [insert ailment here: marriage, job woes, sore tooth, bad haircut, etc.]."

4) The Personal Space? What Personal Space?
Attempts to walk a mile in your shoes while you're wearing them. Can be identified by unique breathing pattern, most often Darth Vader-like, that appears shortly after the start of the run, right above your shoulder.

5) The Won't Shut Up
Loveable and brilliant fellow who enlightens all with his insights and questions into the nature of things, like knee pain, latin roots, someone else's businesses, cars and how awesome they are, and who just farted, because it wasn't him.

6) The 66%er
Starts a run with a particular pace group and helpfully identifies the point at which the run is approximately two-thirds done by disappearing. Usually doesn't join in conversation, 'cause he's working too hard at maintaining the pace to force out any words, and prefers falling back and hiding behind a tree to notifying the other runners that he's going to go a bit slower. Will never ever start out a run at sustainable pace. Will always finish by walking.

7) The Dumper
Knows the exact location of park restrooms, gas stations, schools and community centers that are open in the evening and on Saturday mornings, Starbucks, construction sites with unlocked port-a-potties, along every route.

8) The I Hate Running
Identified by grunts, dragging of feet, and always showing up. Not to be confused with the "I Love Running" whom you meet at the office or in a bar who doesn't show up when invited to a 6.30 am run.

9) The Let's Do Another Set!
Instead of laughing like everyone else when someone says "fartlek," this runner gets all excited and starts going "whee!"

10) The Runner Who Actually Stretches
Often greets other runners with his or her butt, owing to the fact that The Runner Who Actually Stretches shows up on time for group runs and spends that extra time touching his or her toes, and always finishes before everyone else and immediately starts stretching again.

11) The Yogi
Somehow doesn't look like Frankenstein's monster while doing anything other than the corpse pose, as do all the other yokel runners who followed him or her into the yoga class for the first and last time. Can exhibit behavior similar to The Therapist and The Runner Who Actually Stretches.

12) The Naturalist
Like The Dumper, but sees little need for his detailed knowledge of societally-sanctioned areas of relief.

13) The Toenail Tea Drinker
Adheres to a very strict diet of strange foods that are absolutely indispensible to the training regimen. Take care when inquiring about this training regimen, 'cause the Toenail Tea Drinker will tell you, and in no small detail.

14) The Walking Billboard for Glide
Identified by their uniform, a white shirt seemingly adorned by one or two red carnations worn directly over the nipple. Sometimes mistaken for victims of gunshot wounds.

15) The God I'm Still Drunkard
The very nice person you talk with at the starting line who expects to run with you and finish well behind you, owing mostly to the debauchery or late-night diaper-changing of the previous evening, and then beats your time that day and your long-standing PR by some unimaginable differential and then has the audacity to seek out your haggard self at the finish and congratulate you for your strong race.

16) The Flatfoot
Instead of running heel-toe, heel-toe, this runner attempts to disperse the shock of impact evenly across the foot and the rest of the neighborhood by planting the entire foot down at once, hard; can be heard for miles. For fun, try attracting one by mimicking its mating call: Simply obtain a couple of foot-long pieces of 2x4 or two ping-pong paddles and bang them together. Sound can also be imitated by dropping a sheet of plywood on the ground or the bed of a truck.

17) The Newly Single Guy
Begins running in an effort to start a new life after the divorce or breakup, to get himself in better shape, and meet young women. Often gets in shape, more often finds a great deal of competition for the attentions of available young women from his every other guy in the world who started running for the very same reasons. Ends up having lots of fun chasing these women with his demographic peers.

18) The Newly Single Girl
Most often easier to follow the gaze of The Newly Single Guy than attempt a fitting description of this particular type.

19) The I'll Teach You To Pass Me

Will do anything to pass you and get maybe ten or twenty paces ahead, then slows down to your exact pace, then keeps slowing down until you pass him again. Repeats for the duration. Will not acknowledge any friendly conversation. To him, this is war.

20) The I Forgot My Inhaler

For whom every missed PR is attributable to some very specific atmospheric or situational singularity.

21) The World Champion Of The Workout

Identifiable by his or her inability to do anything other than sub-6.00 miles, or whatever it takes to beat everyone else, as you near the finish of the workout. Sometimes seen chatting, guardedly, with I Forgot My Inhaler and No Points For Second Best. Not to be confused with Smells The Barn.

22) The Smells The Barn

Often quite friendly and oblivious to how he or she pushes the pace toward the end of the run. Sometimes says things like "Gosh it's windy!" without realizing that there is no wind at all, but that it can certainly feel windy when you're running at the speed of sound through unmoving air. Also doesn't realize that wind is being sucked by everyone else who until the previous mile had been yammering on like they usually do.

23) The I'll Teach You Not To Pass Me

Identifiable by noxious fumes, silly noises and a steadfast determination to pretend that nothing happened. Sometimes displays behavior similar to The Dumper.

24) The Creepy Guy

More a meta-type than a single type, as he occurs in many separately identifiable sub-types, including I Can Barely Stand How Amazing I Am, Says Really Inappropriate Things, and If You Talk To Me You'll Regret It. Rarely meets women's eyes yet always manages to meet their sports bras. Shows up more often in warmer weather for this reason. Often used to be a very competitive runner; may invite you to look up his college times.

25) The Genuinely Likes People

Invites people over for brunch, organizes social outings, doesn't grumble and bitch like so many runners love to do. Somehow isn't put off by the single-mindedness and self-absorption of other runners.

26) The I'm Freezing You Jerk Now Let's Go

Generally asked only once why he or she chooses to wear long sleeves in summer and all the clothes in the world during the winter. Sometimes difficult to understand, especially in winter, through the half-dozen layers of fabric worn over the fact. Can be very funny to watch this type try to tie her shoes between October and March.

27) The Where I'm Going, I Don't Need Tights

Will never acknowledge being cold. Important to keep the number of an ambulance handy when this type is around, because if he ever does get cold enough to admit it, you've got about two and half minutes before the coma sets in.

28) The Six Million Dollar Runner

After knowing this person for a while you learn that she somehow survived eight stress fractures, two dislocated joints, hip replacement, three car crashes, frostbite, sunstroke, dehydration bad enough to dry out her inner ear, a bike accident, and eight years of physical therapy, is ten years older than you, and is still running faster.

29) The All I Need Is One More Neoprene Thing

Easy to spot but sometimes difficult to personally identify due to the sheaths, bands, supports, and wraps covering every joint and weak point between the bottom of the ribcage and the tip of the toe.

30) The Seven Million Dollar Runner

Most easily identifiable in early morning or late night, as this type is most often preceded by a spotlight clipped to the forehead that thoroughly illuminates a half-mile-square area before the runner. This runner singlehandedly accounted for roughly $1200 in receipts during his first visit to the local running shop. Tempting to ridicule this type, but remember, if nothing else, they sustain the stores that everyone else visits only when they have a 30% off coupon.

31) The Connection

The person you keep in mind because she always carries ibuprofin, Tylenol, aspirin, a cell phone, salt tablets, a map, dog treats, extra gu, extra water, or a quarter for the phone.

32) The Galloway Gaggle

Difficult to identify individually, this type appears to travel in groups of ten thousand or more. It stops unpredictably and en masse, managing to cover an entire path, sidewalk, on-ramp, race course, soccer field, runway, or whatever else you're trying to cross, and often at the suggestion of a whistle or a beeping watch. Like the Seven Million Dollar Runner, it can be tempting to ridicule this type, but remember, if nothing else, they sustain the stores that everyone else visits only when they have a 30% off coupon.

33) The Beer Gut Hides A Sex Machine

The guy with a gut who routinely kicks your butt at local races.

34) The Elite Hottie

Professional racer that someone, often a lifetime member of The Newly Single Guy classification, claims to have met once and flirted with.

The Valiant Taste Death But Once

2006-12-19T07:13:00.000-08:00

From a conversation yesterday, about the practicality of chickens as pets.

David Sclothe: But don't chickens die all the time?
Moocow: Chickens die once, David.

Next Stop Absurdistan: Things Couldn't Be Better on the LIRR

2006-12-06T05:48:00.000-08:00

A photo caption from an article in today's New York Times, "M.T.A. Gets Bill When Armrests Chew Up Pants":

"Philip Horowitz, who commutes to Grand Central Terminal from Westchester, has had pants ruined twice by armrests on Metro-North trains."

This aggrieved customer takes his place among the others who "seemed to exhibit the classic symptoms of victims of abuse: guilt mixed with anger and shame. "

If this is the biggest problem facing riders of Metro North and the LIRR, then things are really just fine. Either that or the terrorists have already won.

The John Wilkes Toll Booth of the Information Superhighway

2006-11-29T19:45:00.000-08:00

1. A friend had to explain the process by which Wikipedia articles are written to her seventh graders after a number of them "turned in mini-biographies about Charles Dickens indicating that, in 1836, he married his first love, FLAVA FLAV [emphasis original]."

2. From Unshelved, the hip librarian's favorite comic strip:

"I need to miss work tomorrow. Grandma's having her sicsempertyrannus removed."

http://www.overduemedia.com/archive.aspx?strip=20061128

Chewbacca's Blog

2006-11-21T13:16:00.000-08:00

http://rrrrrrrrrrrrrnnnnnnnnnnhhhh.blogspot.com

Upon seeing this I found it really, really hard not to snort and slam the table and bust out laughing. But I had to, 'cause I work in a corporate library. I think I may have burst some blood vessels in my eyes.

Apparently this reaction is known as a "boffo" in the world of professional comedians, according to A. O. Scott of the NYT, ranking above "titter" and "belly laugh." And if A. O. Scott don't know funny, then please, people, who does?

Caption Contest #76 Contenders

2006-11-20T06:56:00.000-08:00

"White man sold it to me."
"It's filled with explosive and a few of those damned beads they've traded to us."
"Even if it doesn't go off, finding it will scare the hell out of them."
"They think they're the only ones who have Warsaw Pact connections."
"It's called The Peacemaker."
"These arrowheads just make a mess out of the animals we hunt."
"Naw, we're okay without backup."

http://www.cartoonbank.com/CapContest/CaptionContest.aspx

Excellent sample of running group conversation

2006-11-19T11:18:00.000-08:00

http://www.letsrun.com/forum/flat_read.php?thread=1635247

The first four entries of this string are perfect. They're more or less what any given training run is like with a group of marathoners who know each other. One statement or question, a half-assed sanctimonious response, someone calling the first responder an asshole, and some other guy says a surprisingly vulgar fart joke.

Oh, and I'm listening to the radio right now; some old blues guy is being interviewed. The moron interviewer says something like, How did you become so knowledgable about the blues? The guy responds, "I'm so full of knowledge about the blues, I need a laxative."

Caption Contest #75 contenders

2006-11-13T13:45:00.000-08:00

"Who requested that Burt Bacharach?"
"Nope, don't know that one. Who else wants to hear something?"
"The auditors said we'll have to dance to whatever music they play."
"Ready for the Soxley-hop?"
"I'll be here all week."
"At first, I was afraid. I was petrified."
"I will henceforth respond only to Piano Man. Dismissed."
"Screw your budgets. Today we discuss Liberace."
"Please conduct yourselves in a manner befitting a chamber concert."
"Anyone in the market for a slightly used conference table?
"And from now on, write everything on bar napkins."
"You'll take turns slinking around on the piano, singing."
"I haven't heard any mention of the new furniture."

http://www.cartoonbank.com/CapContest/CaptionContest.aspx

Caption Contest #74 contenders

2006-11-08T08:30:00.000-08:00

"Strange--he wasn't there a minute ago."
"Looks like we don't have a position to fill after all."
"This conference room is almost always available."
"We've been acclimating our new Middle East-Africa team."
"Will he never die?"
"Oh, well. We're too late."
"One second you're working at your desk, and the next--quicksand!"
"Me, step in that? Not in this suit."
"You jump in. You heard him first."
"Can't be quicksand. No pith helmet on top."
"I'd jump in, but there's no vine to climb back out on."
"See if he answers his cell phone."
"He survived the other feats of strength so bravely."

Caption Contest #73 Contenders

2006-11-03T15:46:00.000-08:00

"Do you hear gnawing on the line?"
"Remember my weird horoscope from this morning?"
"Your husband, yes."
"I'm sure that putting boric acid on my ankle would help, but I'm not doing it."
"Henry finally turned up."
"A six foot, two-hundred-fifty pound rat, yes."
"What? Of course it hurts."
"Of course I've asked him to stop."
"911 operators aren't supposed to laugh like that."
"Strangest thing..."
"This latest applicant might not be a good fit."
"This latest applicant would be great, just not here."
"We're losing sight of the real issue, ma'am. Your temp is chewing on my leg."
"I need a copy of Kiss, Bow, or Shake Hands, fast."
"...so that's what I'm dealing with. I'll take my answer off the air."
"If this isn't an HR issue, then who do I call?"
"I charge $500 an hour, but not for this."
"I offered him the phone. He doesn't want to talk."
"Can I call you right back?"

http://www.cartoonbank.com/CapContest/CaptionContest.aspx

New Yorker Caption Contest contenders #72

2006-10-24T13:22:00.000-07:00

"Turns out the interpreter got the translation wrong. You can come back inside."
"Yup, I'm right behind you."
"Now they're saying, 'Go back, go back.'"
"My money's against you. Nothing personal."
"I've been asked to remind you to take your Blackberry."
"Can you quick sign these?"
"Sir? Turns out the firm's life insurance doesn't pay out for this sort of thing."
"Oh, okay, it can wait."
"They can't hear you on the conference call."
"Turn back before the next building and you still have to captain the softball team next year."
"We were kidding. There's no shortcut to partner. Seriously."
"Had time to think about what you've done?"
"Come back without a pigeon and it's your job."
"The board said something about this canceling out the glass ceiling, or whatever."
"No shame in crying. No one has yet, but there's no shame in it."
"So do you have to bring a brick back from the other building or something?"
"While you're over there, tell them we can totally see into their men's bathroom, and it's gross."
"Come back, you forgot your spoon for the egg."
"Feats of strength and daring are will always have a place in our annual reviews."

http://www.cartoonbank.com/CapContest/CaptionContest.aspx

"...resulting in abrupt cessation of the hiccups"

2006-10-09T16:47:00.000-07:00

Warning: For all I know, the PubMed "related articles" link below may not be work safe.

Winner of Ig Nobel award in Medicine 2006:

MEDICINE: Francis M. Fesmire of the University of Tennessee College of Medicine, for his medical case report " Termination of Intractable Hiccups with Digital Rectal Massage"; and Majed Odeh, Harry Bassan, and Arie Oliven of Bnai Zion Medical Center, Haifa, Israel, for their subsequent medical case report also titled " Termination of Intractable Hiccups with Digital Rectal Massage ."

http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/entrez/query.fcgi?cmd=Retrieve&db=PubMed&list_uids=2299306&dopt=Abstract

Termination of Intractable Hiccups with Digital Rectal Massage: J Intern Med. 1990 Feb;227(2):145-6.
Related Articles, Links

Termination of intractable hiccups with digital rectal massage.Odeh M, Bassan H, Oliven A.
Department of Inernal Medicine, Bnai Zion Medical Center, Haifa, Israel.

A 60-year-old man with acute pancreatitis developed persistent hiccups after insertion of a nasogastric tube. Removal of the latter did not terminate the hiccups which had also been treated with different drugs, and several manoeuvres were attempted, but with no success. Digital rectal massage was then performed resulting in abrupt cessation of the hiccups. Recurrence of the hiccups occurred several hours later, and again, they were terminated immediately with digital rectal massage. No other recurrences were observed. This is the second reported case associating cessation of intractable hiccups with digital rectal massage. We suggest that this manoeuvre should be considered in cases of intractable hiccups before proceeding with pharmacological agents.

http://www.improbable.com/ig-pastwinners.html#ig2006

"The trooper said it was the oddest traffic accident he had ever handled."

2006-10-09T16:39:00.000-07:00

4 penguins perish in freak Texas truck accident
Octopus unhurt, exotic fish not as lucky en route to temporary home
Reuters
Updated: 3:26 p.m. ET Aug 9, 2006

SAN ANTONIO, Texas - Twenty-one penguins were rescued on a hot east Texas highway on Tuesday after a truck carrying the wildlife to a temporary home south of Houston overturned, said a state trooper.

Four penguins and some exotic fish were killed in the accident, including three penguins that were hit by passing motorists, said Texas Department of Public Safety Trooper Richard Buchanan. "The rest of the penguins kind of stayed together in the ditch."

"We've worked several wrecks involving cows, horses, pigs, even fish, but this is the first where the live animals were penguins."

He said he was glad the accident was not worse.

"There was another truck full of snakes and alligators that was an hour ahead of them, so luckily we didn\'t have to deal with the alligators," Buchanan said.
The first truck arrived safely in Galveston by late afternoon, Hamacheck said.

Copyright 2006 Reuters Limited. All rights reserved. Republication or redistribution of Reuters content is expressly prohibited without the prior written consent of Reuters.

URL: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/14254314/

Sweden: Remove your silly hats and eye patches, please

2006-09-19T10:06:00.000-07:00

Wired notes that the Pirate Party of Sweden failed to win over more than .62% of the electorate in their most recent election.

Happy Talk Like A Pirate Day!

Another Craigslist ftotw candidate

2006-09-16T19:43:00.000-07:00

best of craigslist > chicago > Anyone ever been caught...Originally Posted: Thu, 27 Jul 13:34 CDT
email this posting to a friend
Anyone ever been caught...
Date: 2006-07-27, 1:34PM CDT...doing the most private of private things? Last night my girlfriend came home earlier than she ever has and caught me, naked, watching porn, and stroking it with a mask and snorkel on. There's not really much to say at that point. She walked right past me and went into the bedroom. I quickly turned the porn off, put on some pants, and took the mask and snorkel off. Five minuets later she came out of the bedroom and asked how my day was... it was like she didn't just catch me throttling myself with a mask and snorkel on. The rest of the evening went as normal. We had baked chicken and green beans for dinner, and then watched the simpsons. I don't really don't know what else to say.

Catharsis

2006-09-16T18:42:00.000-07:00

= Little Miss Sunshine

Three things

2006-09-11T13:59:00.000-07:00

Not long after 9/11 a friend and I were discussing how everyone had a story about it. And everyone did. Most arresting were those of people who were supposed to be in the towers that morning but weren't. I made some remark about Wow, dude, that was close, etc. He pointed out that it shows you "just how many Americans don't show up for work on any given day."

This and the post-9/11 issue of the Onion are only two funny things I know of on the subject. Oh, and about a month afterward, someone on NPR sang "Hey, Mr Taliban, turn over bin Laden" to the tune of "Daylight come and we wan' go home."

As told to me by another, funnier person

2006-09-08T15:17:00.000-07:00

This one surgeon has been stopping by this one bar for this one drink every day for years. His one drink is a hazelnut martini.

Gross, I know, but there's no accounting for taste.

He's been doing this for years. One day, due perhaps to advancing years and forgetfulness, the bartender has somehow neglected to maintain his stock of hazelnut schnapps or whatever foul spirit is used to make hazelnut martinis. Thrashing about behind the bar, he knocks over a small and weighty box of something so dust-covered and sticky that it can't be new, and it can't be good. He runs his thumb across the label of this box, wiping away the grime of years, to read its contents: "HICKORY APERTIF MIX."

I know what you're thinking. Remember, there really is no accounting for taste.

Hurriedly he tears open this mix, sloshing thick and misty foul-smelling liquid here and there, and pours it in a shaker, along with the strongest gin standing beneath the mirror. To take off some of the edge that he fears the mix may have accumulated over time, he tosses some ice chips in the glass, nervously telling the surgeon, who by now is looking at the bartender with raised brows, that just a few chips of ice are what all the kids are asking for these days. The doctor glances out the window in something resembling boredom. A whiff of the shaker tells him that it's going to take a great deal more than mildly lowered temperature to mask the taste of this abomination, so while the doctor is looking away, the bartender slips some lime juice and sugar into the glass as well. The juice and sugar are cheap, the sugar clumpy and the juice in an absurd little bottle shaped like a lime, but he keeps them lying about for the younger set. "We like our drinks girly!" they're fond of telling him.

The surgeon's drink is placed him with clouds of something sinister twirling languidly twirling within. It resembles nothing so much as the surface of the planet Jupiter set behind glass.

Perhaps not even noticing the appearance of his order, the surgeon lifts the murky concoction to his lips. Quite immediately he finds himself leaning heavily on the well-practised elegance and poise for which he has become so well known over the years. He wants to pucker his lips and remove the drink from his tongue to the mirror behind the bar. But he swallows, primly, and after taking a breath, asks the bartender just what on earth he has been served. "If you please."

The bartender, hanging his head, his ever-ready rag now nearly brushing the floor as it hangs from his hand, sighs. "It's a hickory daiquiri, Doc."

Yet more Rollergirls names

2006-09-04T17:57:00.000-07:00

Horton Hears a Whore
Schehera's Bod
Beyotch Rocket
Fleeced and Desist
Agiskater
Minority Whip
Foggy Bottom
Beryl of a Gun
Bitchigan
Bitch Lap
Hops & Scotch
Dominatrix Rabbit
Petite Mal Caesar
Seizure Palace
Ludicrious Caesar
Smashington DC
Loly Pop
Pretty Love Muffin
Hurricane Sugar
Mary Mangling
Moan of Arc
Lock Mess
American Eaglette
2 Lose La Track
Miss Avowallknowledge
Brooch Coach
Just His Suitor
Hester the Molester

Still more Rollergirls names

2006-08-25T07:53:00.000-07:00

Tornado Ali
Skirt Racer
Def Jammer
Ann Blue Lancechaser
Ideaologjam
Dee Liverins
Hellion Wheels
Sandra Day Neoconner
Bruise Cruise
Delta Bruise
Gurlilla
Margaret Thrasher
Annie Thracks
Bullette
Jen Tonic
Lye Scentus
Bubonic Supersonic

For guys--you know, refs and stuff:

Carb Uncle (really one of my favorites, but I ever since smallpox and anthrax ceased to be the big problems they were in Early Modern Europe, no one much thinks about carbuncles anymore)
Commander in Briefs
Yankee Dude
Power Sergei
Zorba Faster (again, not funny to those who haven't listened to Dr Zorba Paster on public radio)
The Reverending Story
Sergey Brinstone (the last explanation, I swear, for those who haven't been fascinated by the Google cultural juggernaut)

More potential roller derby names

2006-08-23T13:48:00.000-07:00

Shematoma
Tina Jangst
CoFetish
Breast to Kill
Mother Superior Fucker
Boob Tube Top
Booby Trap
The Clap
Bloody Holly
Gail Bait
Handsome Gretel
Eve L. Empire

Use for the Batcape #18

2006-08-21T09:19:00.000-07:00

"...the Phantom, for example, keeps swishing his cloak to one side at random intervals, like Batman getting rid of a bad smell."

http://www.newyorker.com/critics/cinema/?050103crci_cinema

Brought to my attention by my running partner, Kristee, this nearly caused me to bust a gut at mile fourteen this past Saturday.

From Gavin

2006-08-18T16:31:00.000-07:00

From Gavin's rarely-updated blog, the "bad ideas" section:

http://www.mcnett.org/gavin/

COMIC BOOK:
Like one of those '70s DC titles with the scary stuff -- 'Weird War Tales,' 'Creepy Sea Stories,' or what-have you. Tales of the Haunted Toilet will always end with something unspeakable happening in the smallest room of the house. ("Ah yes, Heh heh. I have committed the perfect murder. ...My, what a heavy dinner last night. I think I'll sit down and take care of some 'personal business.' Yes. Heh heh..." RAAAH! Aieee!) Or maybe not always 'end' -- there might be mysteries where the clues are assembled by a team of Van Helsings with plungers.

Because you see, no matter how you run and hide, there's no escaping nature's call. Picture a fugitive, mincing woodenly from one town to the next, desperately avoiding the justice that awaits behind the door with the towel rack on it.

PROBLEM: I laugh and laugh, but I know I'm only laughing at the notion of myself reading such a comic as a child and being scared by it.

[I snorted twice while looking at this. Three super funny things:

1) An evil genius murderer moving seamlessly from his moustache-twirling machinations to I-think-I'll-poop, yes, heh heh.

2) An army of Van Helsings bearing plungers

3) A bad guy, thin and hook-nosed with pitted sallow skin, tootling on his heels across the countryside, "desperately avoiding the justice that awaits behind the door with the towel rack on it."]

Yipfung Doorslam

2006-08-16T07:47:00.000-07:00

An actual person's name that couldn't have been anglicized quite right.

I know I shouldn't laugh--I try never to laugh at things that aren't a result of a decision somewhere along the line--but this one is a real challenge.

Ftotw contenders: Charm City Rollergirls names

2006-08-14T07:09:00.000-07:00

Ivana E. Chabrains
Iona Handgun
Anarchy Kournikova

http://www.charmcityrollergirls.com/teams/

Panera? I barely know her!

2006-08-06T12:47:00.000-07:00

A couple weekends ago at Panera I chatted for a time with an elderly woman while both of us waited in line; we disagreed about something, I think it was the general state of the public's will to inform itself and its appetite for information. She insisted that people don't read and suffer for it, whereas I'm of the opinion that in general people do read, but it's most often not in the form of newspapers. It's TV and web stuff and magazines and perhaps novels, and I'm not convinced that people suffer for it; they just aren't looking for the same thing that she is out of her reading.

And I think that a valid argument can be made for the narrative element of television shows, that if folks are willing to couch themselves in plots and narratives in the shows the like, such as CSI or whatever other dramas have plots, that this kind of immersion could be as beneficial to the imagination as traditional reading, the kind that is so popular to lament, now having supposedly died its long death.

And this woman was well-known and respected in the Panera. The employees and other patrons knew her, and being familiar here was very important to her.

I'm thinking that if she can get such satisfaction and pleasure out of regular visits to Panera, the horrible big box bakery that takes up in strip malls and advertises nationally, then it could very well be possible that the more common forms of media, like magazines and websites and television, can be as satisfying as the traditional ones, like novels and serious newspapers and The Economist and presidential addresses, or whatever else might fit into this category.

Stop That Metaphor!

2006-08-05T18:48:00.001-07:00

I had an exchange of several instant messages with a colleague yesterday, and though I was certain of the project when I we started talking, my certainty swayed and staggered afterward, warranting a few more confusing exchanges I'm not sure if it was she or I who was running the dance steps into the mirror, but it takes two to tango, and we both slammed our noses on the glass. Least that's what it felt like. I'd make further reference to birds running into windows, but I really shouldn't throw the first stone into the glass house before I remove the speck from my neighbor's eye

Directions

2006-07-28T08:51:00.000-07:00

My reluctance to ask directions isn't a reluctance to admit my ignorance. I do that freely. My experience has been that most people of whom I ask directions have absolutely no idea

what the hell I'm talking about, or
what they're talking about.

So they make shit up, afraid to say that they don't know. So if I ask these folks something, they babble on, then take their directions until I leave their sight, and continue to wander. My objective then becomes twofold: to get where I'm going, and to avoid the directions-giver.

Ftotw Contenders

2006-07-20T06:19:00.000-07:00

Two contenders for funniest thing of the week, from yesterday evening:

1) "We're fighting a war of attrition. It's like the Western Front in 1917." -Kevin's comment on the high body count of vermin recently laid waste by traps in his kitchen

2) "With this you could feed a village. A village, perhaps, that had already eaten." -Greg's comment on my rice and beans

Flying

2006-07-16T21:30:00.000-07:00

I used to say that the most difficult thing about flying was staying in one place--that cramped seat--for that long. It's difficult.

But getting to and from the airport can be as challenging. I don't think I made a single wrong turn on the way there and it still must've taken an hour. And that doesn't count finding the ticket counter.

But the way back! Man. First I have to take this shuttle to the main terminal, find the right bus to the parking lot, get off at the right time, then take the correct exit from the freeway. And all that while a pretty interesting thing was on public radio. I expect a bit too much from myself.

The closest thing I have for a contender for funniest thing of the week is this:

Asked friend Dave why he wasn't running on Saturday. He said that he was hurt. A very small bit of prodding revealed that he'd injured himself while bar hopping. He took bar hopping a step further by hopping down some wall and hurting his leg. "I can't really blame being drunk," he said, "because I probably would have done the same thing if I were sober."

Good times.

Oh, and I caught my sister's garter at he wedding this weekend. Damn near hit me in the eye. Good thing I ignore fate as a rule. My life would be much more prosperous and harmonious if I didn't. That's how you know I make a habit of ignoring the universe when it's trying to tell me something.

Tried to toss the garter off on my nephew, but he knew the score, and threw it back to me. Clever, that kid.

Further potential candidate for ftotw is the dream I had last night, that I got hornswaggled into enrolling in a international relations graduate degree. Of course I skipped most of the classes and never really realized that I was actually a student, and before I knew it I owed something like $129,000 in tuition and fees. Man, was I ever pissed. I think I crashed someone's Ferrari into a house across the street, too. All in a day's work.

Acronymonious, or, Le chat c'est moi

2006-07-13T09:43:00.000-07:00

Had to understand a sentence in an email that wasn't long, but must have been 30% acronyms. This is like reading French. Sure, the basic words I understand, things like l'etat c'est moi and maison and bonjour. But then most of the significant words are those whose meaning is not revealed by guessing.

Once I tried reading a German newspaper and found most articles to be utterly preposterous. For example, upon reading something in the business section, I was all like "The giraffe did what in the evil exchange?"

Le chat c'est moi.

Liberry

2006-07-07T13:32:00.000-07:00

Finally got a DC library card last night. It was a hell of a lot more satisfying than I'd expected. The whole thing just puts a spring in my step.

The building that smells like a school, the home-made displays, the beaten up shelves, the books that should have been tossed long ago mixed in with an entire set of the Oxford English Dictionary. Disheveled and very friendly workers, the pissy-looking children's librarian, the woman at the reference desk who would really rather be in an office, working. The familiarity of these places affirms my soul. It's like the watermark of urban American society. I go to these places and I feel like Yes, this is the real deal, and I'm in love with it.

I've been going into bookstores lately to look for reading stuff, 'cause I ain't got none to take on the bus with me, all of my subscriptions now on the four to six month forward schedule. So I've been going into Olsson's (is that what it's called?) or Borders or another place and looking for good car magazines--they never have the one I like best, "Thoroughbred and Classic Cars"--or something with reasonably good articles that aren't overwritten and harpy, or something with good fiction.

But these magazines are pricey, and often times I'll read through a whole issue and not find anything I want to read. And books--without a Dewey Decimal System or a Library of Congress system to go by, I got no idea where my nonfiction is, and their fiction is always ridiculously expensive (fifteen bucks for a trade paperback?) and they don't have what I want on the shelf, namely rockin' noir-y spy novels, something funny and obtuse, like Pynchon, or a young adult biography of Churchill. I like reading the young adult biographies, the poorly-written ones that are usually like 90 pages. These are quick reads, they give you the good anecdotes, they get most of the big facts right, they don't try to make impossible and over-reaching arguments about the subject's sexuality or possible history of drug abuse or whatever. And they aren't stupidly dry, and they aren't muffled by every last piece of information the biographer found in his research that he can't bear to leave out of the book.

But the public library! Dirty, underused, underfunded, idealistic institution! These things are better than Henry Rollins' "well-stocked garage"! I go there and suddenly I'm floating in space.

And I especially like urban ones. Anyone can go there and waste as much time as they want, as long as they don't stink too bad or make a big mess or make lots of noise or bathe in the bathroom.

So I checked out four or five books, one or two of which I'll probably read. And now I can plug into their databases and shit, and renew books online, and request stuff online, and check out as much of their crap as I want.

Just that this thing is there makes me feel great.

Concerts

2006-07-03T17:29:00.000-07:00

I used to think concerts were the ne plus ultra of the ne plus ultra life I was somehow missing.

And a few were more than fantastic, experiences that were most certainly this-one-goes-to-eleven kinds of experiences.

A few that were like this:
-Trip Shakespeare
-Green Day when they opened for Bad Religion, even though the friends I went with, they thought it was lame; excellent ride home, very late
-Fugazi, particularly the ride home
-Some weird show, Lollop For Losers, held on the West Bank in the summer of 1993

Maybe that was it. I went to more that had less significance. Come to think of it, I think all these shows were in 1993, except maybe for the Fugazi show, which may have been in early 94.

I liked the drive home, the whole experience of getting there from my relatively littler town with friends who'd been driving less than a year. I liked being in the city at night, downtown. And I liked being with my friends, who had a glow about them that we carried together as we wandered around, very tired, looking for the car. I liked that everything we did was an adventure and more fun and more independent than anything else. I liked that everything was the making for an excellent story. It was really as close to being a rock star as I ever care to get.

I saw Sigur Ros in May or April of this year and found it to be a completely different experience. Okay, that's not what I thought about at the time. At the time I was just really sick and I enjoyed it. But it wasn't like I was looking at my life through a magnifying glass. Which is for the best. I've got more shit to do these days, and I'm not so consumed with an intended rebellion.

Then again, I'm sure that the interior decorating of my brain hasn't changed. I'm probably consumed in the same way with very similar things, like girls and other such activities in which i feel the need to be affirmed, and stressed out to the very same degree with different things. Having a job instead of getting into college, the general repair of my living situation rather than how pissed I am at my family.

Music and going to concerts, however, is an area of my life that has seemed to dry up and lose significance without having been replaced with some other driving and angry plaintive passion.

Hm. Maybe this is a symptom of treated depression. I become a floating point operation machine instead of a serial processor, or whatever it's called. Instead of focusing intensely on one thing and then moving onto the next, or instead of being consumed with the completion of one thing and not being able to let it go before finding another, I can sort of do multiple things at one time. None is super important--okay, they become important only when they're neglected--but it's maintenance, not creation.

Rode bike in the city tonight for the first time

2006-06-07T21:16:00.000-07:00

in years, come to think of it. I've missed it. Damned good time.

I'm here.

2006-06-06T21:17:00.000-07:00

In DC. Few hours on the road yesterday, Monday, and several more today. Spent the night in Richmond, Indiana. Add Indiana to the list of states that plagiarize their town names. Ohio remains the worst, by far. Take a look at a map. Their only originals are Akron and Cleveland. And maybe Sandusky, but I'm pretty sure they stole that one, too.

There is a lot of Christian radio between here and Minnesota. Really a lot. And like four headlines on public radio, over and over again.

Ran four miles on a treadmill at a Holiday Inn this morning, the one I stayed at last night. Lord. How can you people do more than a half hour on those things? I'd had enough of CNN Headline News in five minutes. Marginally interesting story about a CSI highschool class in Bumblefuck, Fl., that found the body of a dead guy while doing their homework or something. The news people were all "Isn't this just the craziest thing?" and the teacher was trying her best to counter with sentiments of Hey, this is a dead human, a homeless dead human whom we stumbled upon while looking for clues to whatever little exercise I wrote up for the kids and they were supposed to run around the high school grounds chasing these clues to find the stuffed animal or whatever, and this poor guy died and now he's on national TV. The news wasn't having any of it. "Great! Up next: Cat has kittens! And do donuts make you fat? Correspondent Prettyboy McHaircut has the story!"

I arrived in town about nine or ten, I guess, and if God is on my side, the cops won't think I've parked too close to the fire hydrant. If not, well, it is the will of Allah, I guess. I spent today and yesterday listening to a book on tape about the Balkans. Lord. What a clusterfuck. I knew it was bad, but criminy. Montenegro sounds interesting. Very interesting. They're the only people in that area never to have been taken over by the Turks. And boy, do the Turks have a bad rap down there. According to the author, anyway, and he's a moron. I've read another of his books, The Professor and the Madman, which was a good story about the making of the Oxford English Dictionary, but this dude, Simon Winchester, what a damned Narcissistic pompous punk. He took it upon himself in the dictionary book to spend the better part of a chapter yammering about how maybe it was genius that made this one contributor mad, or maybe madness made him a genius. Criminy. Blow it out your ass, Winchester. Look that one up in your pissing OED. I wanted to know the story, not how this Winchester guy had a deep look into the soul of a man so screwed up that he sliced off his own most valuable appendage and threw it into the fire in the hopes that he wouldn't continue to have dreams in which he was transported to faraway lands with horrendous underage concubines, etc.

Anyway, so now I'm here and I'm very very glad I wasn't a non-Serb in Kosovo when the Serbs decided to clean house. And I'm also glad I'm not sharing a car with that dude who wrote the book. Apparently he once thought it would be a great idea to drive from Oxford to Mumbai in an old car containing him, his twelve year old son, his soon-to-be ex-wife, and some guy he'd known in college. I'd divorce the fucker, too, and long before India.

DC feels like a temporary stay. Can't say why. The drive didn't feel long, I didn't get super lost when I came into town (not nearly as lost as I got in Indianapolis, a city Kurt Vonnegut had led me to believe was tremendously regular and dull. Dull, yes; regular, not in the least; there were streets that bent back upon themselves like black holes. And me traveling them with my beloved bike hanging off my bumper, just above the "I'm from Minnesota!" license plate). Now I'm here, I have shit to do in the next couple of days, like get a parking permit so I don't get towed, buy groceries, sleep, get something resembling a closet or wardrobe so I can hang up my fancy expensive clothes, find a place to launder the shirts so they don't look like they've spent the past few days in my trunk. Small things like that. Things that ensure breakfast in the morning and the avoidance of a panic attack come day 1 of work, this coming Monday.

But I hardly feel transplated. May have something to do with having left Mpls so suddenly, and having steeled myself for leaving several months ago, but not really knowing where I'd end up. Passivity. Not unlike what the Christian radio people talked about. Except here I'm not submitting to my husband. I'm submitting to the fickle will of the librarian job market, particularly that end of the market reserved for young men without loads of experience whom the more established old guard of librarians--public librarians, anyway--have a significant tendency to dislike. This whole business librarian thing is working remarkably well. I had to move to DC, sure, but these last three hours I've spent in the city are any indication, it'll be fine.

Oh, and I got to stop at the Motorcycle Hall of Fame today, which is somewhere in Ohio, in some town that probably shares its name with a more significant town elsewhere (see Dublin, Cairo, Berlin, London, Versailles, etc.). Damn. Motorcycles rock. Particularly the engines of Moto-Guzzis that have been cut away to show the transmission, flywheel, connecting rods, camshafts, pistons, tappets, pushrods, ignition, and all that stuff. I don't think there was much else, save the clutch assembly. Simple engine. Sure, I say that now. Wait 'til I buy one from 1977 for $3000 that just needs a little work. I'll be swearing in Italian before I skin my knuckles. And after I skin my knuckles, too.

RC

So this is a blog.

2006-06-01T21:06:00.000-07:00

If I ever get around to so doing, this would be a fabulous place to post entries for Funniest Thing of the Week.

As everyone knows, the Funniest Thing of the Week is chosen from a list of contenders, each of which must meet these criteria:

Must be something funny
So funny that the mere recollection of it causes me to laugh out loud
Just on one occasion is all it takes to qualify
And it can't come from The Onion or The Simpsons
Craigslist entries can be fantastic
As can be other classified ads
Particularly those where someone's trying to sell something they value very highly
That is really probably crap
Or I'd think it to be crap, anyway
Or weird barters are good, too
Like I saw an ad one time where someone wanted help installing a sex swing, and offered--I don't know--something like "a nice abstract painting" in return
Weird reference questions work well, too
Like the one where the toothless old man asks for help finding information on "Birt' control." "Um," replied the rather reserved librarian, "What kind of information, exactly, were you looking for?" She thought an answer to this question might help her think of the right section of the Dewey Decimal System this dude might consider appropriate, like abortion vs. sheepskin vs. Lord knows what else. He answered, "Damn birts is flappin' they wings an' shittin' all over the yard, I needs somepin' can fix 'em up good!"

Anyway, the big reason I put this thing up is so that I could send a msg to a friend who also has a blog.