Monday, June 25, 2007
Go Congratulate Her
It was a great weekend. I saw the Brewers win with an old friend, ran some fast miles, walked the beach with the family, and ate polish food. Half of that would have been good enough.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Stupid Stuff That Makes Us Shout
I don't usually post off of links, but sometimes I just can't resist. So I might as well post them in groups so I'll feel less guilty.
This is hilarious to me. As one right-winger would say: the gay mafia has won. Whether that is OK or not doesn't really bother me. I have no opinion here. What amuses me is the headline: "There's No Way I'm Homophobic". Because we all know the way our logical minds work. They say: "Prove it, Isaiah. Let's see it. Let's see you prove you're not gay." Unless this guy starts dating another guy, I'm not convinced. You know you aren't either.
***
At work, we're prompted to donate all this money to some idiotic arts cause. I never really participate, other than in the event that -- if my team were to win -- we get to wear jeans to work for a week. My team never wins, I should add. I don't like donating to big causes or gigantic organizations. I don't know where the money goes, and it feels like dropping money on the sidewalk, not like giving. I like donating to small causes. Little people. If you do too, here's one that breaks my heart and probably yours too.
***
This is the greatest video of all time, in my narrow, humble opinion. It has all the drama and emotion of a grand epic . . . in the span of 8 minutes. It just goes to show: lions may be kings and crocs may be tough . . . but you don't mess with 100 water buffalo.
***
And this is the greatest song title, not to mention, a pretty spiffy song.
This is hilarious to me. As one right-winger would say: the gay mafia has won. Whether that is OK or not doesn't really bother me. I have no opinion here. What amuses me is the headline: "There's No Way I'm Homophobic". Because we all know the way our logical minds work. They say: "Prove it, Isaiah. Let's see it. Let's see you prove you're not gay." Unless this guy starts dating another guy, I'm not convinced. You know you aren't either.
***
At work, we're prompted to donate all this money to some idiotic arts cause. I never really participate, other than in the event that -- if my team were to win -- we get to wear jeans to work for a week. My team never wins, I should add. I don't like donating to big causes or gigantic organizations. I don't know where the money goes, and it feels like dropping money on the sidewalk, not like giving. I like donating to small causes. Little people. If you do too, here's one that breaks my heart and probably yours too.
***
This is the greatest video of all time, in my narrow, humble opinion. It has all the drama and emotion of a grand epic . . . in the span of 8 minutes. It just goes to show: lions may be kings and crocs may be tough . . . but you don't mess with 100 water buffalo.
***
And this is the greatest song title, not to mention, a pretty spiffy song.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
as good as clear
I think if I were diagnosed with terminal cancer right now that I would drop everything and try to write out all the books left in me. Which most likely would end up with some very forced fiction. As I see things now, there's a lot of work to do. I don't really give a damn about publishing anymore. It's just such a hassle, and the books really aren't any missing link in American fiction. But I would be disappointed if I didn't get the books out of my system -- the right books. I wonder how that would feel, having written every idea. I imagine that would feel as light as air. Writing a book is just like running. Starting out is such an effort, setting out what you know and then beginning to chip away at yourself, molding yourself into this better version. It's exhausting looking at it, but I can't stop looking. I would really like to say there has been a lot of progress on my running or writing, but it's probably the opposite. I have the sense that being fully devoted to neither takes a toll. This is really the only place I can bring this up. I really enjoy being old, but one of the downsides to it are the constant weather/job conversations you have to go through. All the 'sum up'. It's exhausting, having to choose what to tell people, deciding how much is enough, what will move them, what will shut them up -- just what is it they want to hear? That's the problem I have with so many friends that live away -- "How are things in Milwaukee?" What is that? How the hell do I answer that? I don't know how things are in Milwaukee. They change every day, just like everyone and everywhere else. It's too bad it's so far away that people don't know -- that email and telephones and instant messaging and cell phones never really bridge that divide. If you're not present, the technology never really cuts down the distance. So that's how things are: I better get writing. "This is like starting all over all over again."
Saturday, June 09, 2007
On Consistency
Our new dog, Rufus -- he's not really new, but he'll always be new to me, as he came after my dog Ranger, the greatest dog of all time -- finally proved his worth today.
Yep. He did it too.
I couldn't believe it. I heard the scream of indignation from in the house, and by the time I got outside, there was the puddle on the sidewalk, and my wife with the hose to her ankle.
Yep. He did it too.
I couldn't believe it. I heard the scream of indignation from in the house, and by the time I got outside, there was the puddle on the sidewalk, and my wife with the hose to her ankle.
The Lions Have Won
our mouths are bigger than our feet
There's something about white guys in their 20s that gets so tiresome. I can say that now that I'm not one of them. So I'm no longer guilty of too much self-importance, beer drinking and talking.
We have season tickets to the Brewers, so we're constantly subjected to white guys in their 20s. They're everywhere. My wife doesn't have much patience for them, but my past guilt helps me understand a little better. Still, I agree with her. One can take only so many jokes about meatloaf dinners and strip clubs.
The scope becomes so narrow, that it's no wonder so many of these people have such a damn hard time finding what they are looking for. They never find it at the Brewer games, win or lose. That I can attest to.
I keep coming back to what ol' TJ said about the greatest talent being to never say two words when one will do.
you can go home, but I can't go home
There's something about white guys in their 20s that gets so tiresome. I can say that now that I'm not one of them. So I'm no longer guilty of too much self-importance, beer drinking and talking.
We have season tickets to the Brewers, so we're constantly subjected to white guys in their 20s. They're everywhere. My wife doesn't have much patience for them, but my past guilt helps me understand a little better. Still, I agree with her. One can take only so many jokes about meatloaf dinners and strip clubs.
The scope becomes so narrow, that it's no wonder so many of these people have such a damn hard time finding what they are looking for. They never find it at the Brewer games, win or lose. That I can attest to.
I keep coming back to what ol' TJ said about the greatest talent being to never say two words when one will do.
you can go home, but I can't go home
Friday, June 08, 2007
Rainbow Flags Between Alligator Teeth
Well, it's the weekend of Pridefest here in Milwaukee, so all the gay people are proud.
Maybe that came off wrong. I certainly don't mean to belittle the proud gay folk. It just seems to me that this weekend gives the Pride a reason to be even more gay than, say, a regular weekend out to Home Depot and Target. In fact, it seems to me that it becomes a bit of a competition to see who can be the most gay. And I'm so tired of that. My only message here is:
You're gay already. We get it. Congratu-fricken-lations. Do you think the rest of us really care? You don't have to push it all in our faces.
Disclosure: I work in a call center in which . . . . 50% of the employees are gay. So I'm familiar with the Pride. I'm good with the Pride. Love the Pride. OK? But enough is e-fricken-nough. You're gay, already. We get it.
And why did you have to fucking co-opt the rainbow, huh? I want to discuss that, while I'm at it. Thanks to the Pride, any straight person with an interest in a rainbow catches themselves and thinks: "I can't wear that shirt, everyone will think I'm gay."
Now, I know where the Pride line of thinking goes: "That's the POINT! Maybe THEY'LL understand what it's like to . . ." Blah, blah, blah.
The rainbow is a result of weather. Couldn't you have co-opted something else? How about alligators? Alligators would have been a much cooler image to steal. Why can't gay people have alligator bumper stickers or fly alligator flags?
I know the Pride won't accept my alligator submission. They would feed me some line of crap about how "all the colors of the rainbow symbolize the rich diversity of the gay blah, blah, blah, blah, blah".
You stole the fucking rainbow. You want symbolism? How about tough skin? Huh? How about sharp teeth? What's wrong with that symbolism?
I just want it on record that if I were president of gays everywhere, they would be flying alligator flags and we would be giving rainbows back to the pre-schoolers.
Maybe that came off wrong. I certainly don't mean to belittle the proud gay folk. It just seems to me that this weekend gives the Pride a reason to be even more gay than, say, a regular weekend out to Home Depot and Target. In fact, it seems to me that it becomes a bit of a competition to see who can be the most gay. And I'm so tired of that. My only message here is:
You're gay already. We get it. Congratu-fricken-lations. Do you think the rest of us really care? You don't have to push it all in our faces.
Disclosure: I work in a call center in which . . . . 50% of the employees are gay. So I'm familiar with the Pride. I'm good with the Pride. Love the Pride. OK? But enough is e-fricken-nough. You're gay, already. We get it.
And why did you have to fucking co-opt the rainbow, huh? I want to discuss that, while I'm at it. Thanks to the Pride, any straight person with an interest in a rainbow catches themselves and thinks: "I can't wear that shirt, everyone will think I'm gay."
Now, I know where the Pride line of thinking goes: "That's the POINT! Maybe THEY'LL understand what it's like to . . ." Blah, blah, blah.
The rainbow is a result of weather. Couldn't you have co-opted something else? How about alligators? Alligators would have been a much cooler image to steal. Why can't gay people have alligator bumper stickers or fly alligator flags?
I know the Pride won't accept my alligator submission. They would feed me some line of crap about how "all the colors of the rainbow symbolize the rich diversity of the gay blah, blah, blah, blah, blah".
You stole the fucking rainbow. You want symbolism? How about tough skin? Huh? How about sharp teeth? What's wrong with that symbolism?
I just want it on record that if I were president of gays everywhere, they would be flying alligator flags and we would be giving rainbows back to the pre-schoolers.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Begging for a Broken Arm
Well, hell. I had my first injury of the year. Of the last couple years. Make sense of this:
1.) I notice some soreness in my inner knee. This had actually going on several weeks. It felt kind of like an IT-ban thing, but . . . not sure. The soreness isn't bad. Not sharp. Sort of a tightness.
2.) Being a savvy veteran, I begin treating this injury with the only two remedies known to any runner in the business: ice and ibuprofen. This -- surprise-surprise -- fails to do any good.
3.) So I decide, in the interest of not wanting this injury to get worse (even though it really wasn't bad, just worrisome and not improving) that I will rest it. So I plan to take 3 days off. In the end, I go whole-hog and take 5 off.
4.) My first day back, the knee is iffy. OK on asphalt, not so good on grass, which isn't a great surprise, as it never seemed like a "pounding" injury.
5.) The second day back, the injury is definitely worse. It hurts the same as it ever did, despite the surface. Doesn't hurt enough to keep me down, but it shows me the rest did nothing. So I decide I will run the knee into the ground. No use going to a PT or doctor with a half-injury. Might as well go messed-up.
6.) The third day back, the knee is fine. The fourth day back, the knee is fine.
I love the sport, but it would be really refreshing if I could just get a broken arm some time.
1.) I notice some soreness in my inner knee. This had actually going on several weeks. It felt kind of like an IT-ban thing, but . . . not sure. The soreness isn't bad. Not sharp. Sort of a tightness.
2.) Being a savvy veteran, I begin treating this injury with the only two remedies known to any runner in the business: ice and ibuprofen. This -- surprise-surprise -- fails to do any good.
3.) So I decide, in the interest of not wanting this injury to get worse (even though it really wasn't bad, just worrisome and not improving) that I will rest it. So I plan to take 3 days off. In the end, I go whole-hog and take 5 off.
4.) My first day back, the knee is iffy. OK on asphalt, not so good on grass, which isn't a great surprise, as it never seemed like a "pounding" injury.
5.) The second day back, the injury is definitely worse. It hurts the same as it ever did, despite the surface. Doesn't hurt enough to keep me down, but it shows me the rest did nothing. So I decide I will run the knee into the ground. No use going to a PT or doctor with a half-injury. Might as well go messed-up.
6.) The third day back, the knee is fine. The fourth day back, the knee is fine.
I love the sport, but it would be really refreshing if I could just get a broken arm some time.
All Your Enemies in Cartoon
There's this woman at work, and I don't have to deal with her in any way, shape or form. But she looks . . . . EXACTLY like Ursula, from "The Little Mermaid". It's uncanny. And I know that may sound silly, since, people typically don't look like cartoon half-octopus, half-overweight women. But that's what this woman looks like. I try not to run into her.
