Washington Nationals Stadium

Usually a ride on the Metro is a solemn, staid affair as the multitudes slog home from work.  Today's ride, however, included a proselytizing Bible thumper and a blind man who decided to make conversation with his reluctant seatmates.  But I'm not a habitual Metro commuter, as the Purple Line does not yet exist and my daily routine requires me to drive to job sites that are not convenient to public transportation, so I am confined to the 4 wheeled carbon exuding beast as the two wheeled human powered variety also does not lend itself to efficient flitting about.

I use the Metro mostly to go to sporting events, which I often try not to pay for.  All of my glad handing and optimistic friendliness pays off in tickets to Nats, Caps, Skins, Ravens, etc games from friends, relatives, and work contacts that I gladly accept.  Today's dalliance on the Metro, however, revolved not around a game but in fact a tour of the PLACE where these games will be played.

In my workaday job I design buildings, new or of the rehab variety.  These projects are usually small scale to relatively sizeable projects, the current largest one being a 7 story, 130 dwelling unit apartment building with retail on the first level and two levels of subterranean parking.  This is the biggest project I've ever done, and it's multi-disciplined puzzle that reveals itself to me in ways that I can't describe, other than moments of pleasure and terror and everything in between.  Lines I draw can cost people or save people hundreds, thousands, millions, oodles of dollars.  My main goal is to stay on the friendly side of that equation and somehow create a structure that satisfies its users and maybe even provides a level of unexpected appreciation.  So I think that my job is pretty tough.

Until I walked into the behemoth that will be home to the Washington Nationals today.  One of the perks of being a member of the AIA, besides the privilege of paying a ghastly amount of money for dues, is the opportunity to check out monumental buildings under construction.  A little more than a dozen of us, including my esteemed colleague Scott toured the stadium this afternoon and, while I was in Stairwell 38 Level 2.5, I realized that the sheer immensity of a project of this scale, even with the forces required to conceive, design, finance, construct, and maintain this colossus was overwhelming to an unimaginable degree.  I have nothing but admiration for these people, who by force of will (and money) somehow make this thing happen.  

Like all buildings, it has its moments, and it has its complete screw-ups, and many will second guess major design decisions that will be regretted as the building cranks through its lifespan.  The obscene millions spent on the luxurious appointments of those who will spend (literally) thousands of dollars per game to watch (major generalization alert) spoiled millionaires is a tough pill to swallow, but unavoidable.  The gametime experience will be cool, just because the sightlines and the care in designing the relationship between field and fan was carefully considered, but there will be many bugs to work out in the getting to and going home from department.  Despite the jillions of dollars and hours spent on this project, this becomes another opportunity for the general public to once again gather in a place that can foster a sense of civic togetherness.  And while we're all singing Kumbaya, let's realize that the stadium is perched across the river from a part of DC that many people shun.  Maybe this building will change that perception, as it's really not that bad "east of the river" as Fox 5 says.

One hundred and thirty units?  Piece of cake.

Dream On

One of the routines lately at the House of Frites is to all "do our homework" together.  All in the same general area, tap tappin' on the keyboard(s), working out the pre-algebra, reviewing drawings, reading, whatever the case may be.  Sometimes the quiet is required, other times some background music is appropriate.  It's a mellow way to end the day.  Once this is done I get in the requisite hour on the bike and drop into the arms of morpheus, after which we begin the daily cycle anew. 

The music of choice on this evening and the previous few has been Side One of Aerosmith Dream On, their first foray into the land of LP's.  Cut in 1973, it predates my kids by nearly a quarter century, but now they're hooked.  I am a happy dude (dad).

I grew up with Aerosmith.  Not the reconstituted, smarmy, ballad yelping, Sanjaya accompanying, gag me with a spoon version.  The real McCoy.  Pre 1990 (I'll accept Permanent Vacation but that was the threshold of the transition into their current pop iteration) they were the epitome of the pre-hair rock bands that we all grew up with, and the deeper tracks in the earlier albums are crunchy and quite delectable in their own bluesy ways.  They even had a Hirschfeld album cover--now that's makin' it in the '70's.

Aaanywho, my 9 y.o daughter has gotten hooked as the overlay song in the credits to Miracle (which she is also hooked on) is, of course, "Dream On."   So now we listen to this song umpteen times a night, although I am stern in requiring that "Make It" and "Somebody", the preceding tracks, and "One Way Street", the following track, be played in conjunction, as I have this album engraved in my head before "shuffling" ever became a part of our lexicon.  Ergo these songs must be played in sequence--a valuable lesson that today's generation must learn, as every album tells a story and to interrupt the flow is to ruin the narrative.

Not really.  I'm just obsessive that way.  Fact remains I'm 42 and the kids are into Aerosmith.  More albums to follow...wait 'til they discover Pandora's Box...

Uncle

There are times when the brilliance around me is overwhelming.  This is once of those days.  This post and this other one (especially the last paragraph) make it hard for me to write, as their respective styles make it all seem easy, not unlike being passed on a hill so as to feel like I'm standing still...

These guys always nail it.

Rearranging the slices of the time pie

As I age I realize just how exponentially faster time passes, as the daily and weekly routine accelerates the sensation of the years slipping away. Looking back, the last twenty years seem like flashes of events that I only make sense of in the context of touchstones. Birthdays, holidays, births, deaths--these are constant and spontaneous reference points that compile and seem to compress the passage of days. Counter this with the years between college and when my shift into a life routine began, and these days seemed interminable. I guess the uncertainty of where I was going actually created a decelerating feeling.

I say this because my weekend with my cousins was a great way to look back. They live in New York, and we see them infrequently. But when we do, like all good relationships, we pick up where we left off and it's as if we live in the same neighborhood. The only evidence of time passing are our physical changes.

While I love having family visit, it really does wreak havoc on my precious routine. As I am on a quest for being the best bike racer in our house, this interruption of my Eastern European (read "the latest training fad") regimen is quite a quandary. It brings to mind the 24 hour pie that is our day, and the various ways we slice it. Usually I save the largest slice for myself on Saturday and Sunday mornings, where I galavant off with others who either take this racing thing seriously or just like to ride in a big group. The rest of the pie slices are allotted to the various commitments we make, which, in the end, are often more important. Like eating.

So on a weekend that I commit to my family and extended family, when do I ride? Especially this weekend, which was pretty awesome for a usually drab February. By ferrying people around and depositing them in various places, I am able to execute my nefarious plan to carve a different slice of the same pie for some "me and Eddy (the bike)" time. Only one problem. I have to make sure that I get back in time to pick these various people up and deposit them in their various new locales and/or arrange for dinner etc.

Let's just say I'm not so good at the latter. I'd like to call it "a work in progress".

Despite my clumsiness I was somehow able to make it all work out this weekend and got in two solid rides with my friend Kemal, the second of which I did some power testing that corroborates my previous findings that I am still not where I want to be. Unlike my known and unknown blogging/cycling aficionados who train with power I will not be publishing these numbers, as no one wants to see such small things.

I can empirically state, however, that I can crush anyone in my house (even the cats).

Why do we do it?

My cousin's husband and daughter are in town.  Cuz gets here tomorrow, for a good weekend of visiting and catching up.

They took the Chinatown bus from NYC, and met me at my office by closing time, so I was able to give them a ride home.  Karl is a great writer, musician, and overall good guy.  He's also quite fond of the two wheeled variety of transportation and is active in the Alternative Transportation movement up in Brooklyn.  Not quite Critical Mass, but close.  He uses his bike to commute and tour, but does not dabble in the racing scene.

Which made for good conversation tonight, especially as we watched the Tour of California.  We talked about the commitment that these guys have as pros, and how much training one has to commit to, etc.  I mentioned that the ironic attraction about bike racing is that you have to work really hard just to suck, unless you're a freak of nature.

This was on my mind because Fat Marc posted a similar thought earlier today, quite eloquently in fact.  This was then reinforced by Mr. Gamjams himself, who stated it in less colloquial terms than I did.  I think we all try to make sense of why we train and rationalize it as required, as the long road season has started.  In some cases this is just the preseason for 'cross.  Karl then connected the analogy to his efforts to become a better jazz guitarist...work hard, though no matter what you do, there's always someone out there that makes you feel like a rank amateur.

Regardless, I found it interesting that we all came to similar conclusions at about the time the lunar eclipse occurred.  Coincidence?  I think not.

Transitions

About 26 years ago or so I was a stranger in a brand new school.  This isn't unique, by any stretch, though I happened to be starting anew in a new high school as a senior.

My dad was serving a post in the Philippines with the US Embassy.  After three years, he had the chance to move us back to the US, where I could settle into a high school for 2 years before going off to college.  Or he could extend to four years, knowing that I would only have one year in high school at a new locale.  Five years was not an option for him, career-wise.  For me the choice was clear.  Being the optimist that I am, I said let's stay here as long as possible--surely he could finagle that fifth year, I could hang with my cousins for another year, and I could graduate with my friends from my high school, and glory days blah blah blah.

Not.

So I'm sitting in this new high school in Arlington VA on the first day, a complete stranger, among kids who (in most cases) were together since elementary school.  I felt like a complete tool, and figured it was going to be a long year.  Sitting in front of me in homeroom was this quiet and nondescript guy named Tom.  It was clear to me that he wasn't the most popular dude in school.  He wasn't unpopular, either, just someone who kept to himself.  In that first day, he helped me get my feet under me and, while he never became a good friend, he was quite a good acquaintance.  Because of him the year didn't turn out too badly, in fact it was quite memorable on many levels.

I recount this because I ran into Tom today in Bethesda, as he quietly works in one of the nondescript high rises on Wisconsin Avenue for a mortgage company.  I've seen him once or twice in the past, and talked with him at our high school reunion 5 years ago, and can only surmise that he's a bit of a loner making a decent living who has a good family around him, and seems to be doing fine.  We made some small talk, and I know I'll see him again sometime, in downtown B-town.

Next time I'll be sure to thank him for helping me out, way back when.

A Tuesday in February

If you can make any sense of the pics and captions in my previous post, good for you.  This Blogger interface and I aren't getting along to well right now, with respect to the old graphics and text. 

In a few minutes I'll be spinning on the bike watching the T of C, nice and easy.  I'm still feeling the load from the last week in my lower body, so this rest week is most welcome.  Sunday night I got in a solid eight, something I haven't done in a long time.  Sound sleep is never overrated.

Every once in a while I run into my friend Chris C. in Bethesda, who rides for Silver Cycles, though doesn't race much anymore.  I think his brother still races, though I don't know him.  Chris and Ben L. helped me out when I first started this cyclocross thing a few years ago--they showed me a few skills and I picked it up pretty quick.   I'll always remember that and now I pass along that knowledge gained whenever the chance presents itself.  Despite road riding and racing, we concurred that 'cross is where it's at, especially because of the TIME factor, which is a vicious reality as it is already near the end of February (remember seeing Levi go down in last year's Santa Rosa stage at the T of C within 3K of the finish?  Seems like yesterday.  Time do fly).

Anyway I saw him this morning and we shot the breeze for a while, then headed off to work.    It's always a good thing to run into those that we meet on the road in our everyday lives, since, while cycling is what links most of us, over time it becomes less important as we discover the different facets of our personalities.

So it's been a quiet week at work so far, and work on Monday felt like a Saturday due to the holiday.  Today was relatively quiet too.  Let's see if the rest of the week follows suit.

Ta ta for now.

Catchin' up

I noticed that recent posts have been bereft of photos, as this medium allows for great opportunities to express myself through the eye of a lens, though this expression is now ubiquitous and devalued as every handheld gadget allows every Tom, Dick, or Harry to be a "photographer". More on my photog snobbery in a later rambling...

Anyway, here are some snapshots that have been piling up in my phone...

Gratuitous bike shot after Rockburn 'cross race.

Phone booths in the East Wing while waiting for my beloved at the Hopper exhibit. Two observations: 1. You just don't see these things anymore and 2. These particular phone booths are keenly designed in the manner of the rest of the East Wing--no afterthought here.

While looking for a West German set screw for my Mom's towel bar, I spotted this bathroom setup at Union Hardware: TV in your mirror, neon lighting in your vanity. Only $14,500. God save us.

Or how about an aquarium integrated into the vanity…fish in a fishbowl in a sinkbowl…Go

d save us part deux.

Me and my nephew…in motion.

Christmas night, after the carnage of present opening has been swept away. It has been said that cats are living sculpture. The only photograph in this sorry bunch.

Our view at M&T during the Steelers Ravens game.

One week later, the shrine to SuperBowl hopefuls---only to be dashed that same night.

Pomegranate seeds--yet another brilliant example of nature's candy. My sister showed me how to "shell" them without dyeing one's hands (and everything within spraying distance) pink. Submerge pomegranate in water, peel out seeds, voila.

Underground sewer connection on Call Street SE. OK during the day. Don't go at night.

The Metro. I'm always amazed by the simplicity of the tunnels coffers.

Someone didn’t edit…

The season is nigh...

Actually, it is upon us, if one counts the training races at Tradezone today.  Except I wasn't there, but may as well have been, as the blog recaps are vibrant and animatedly detailed.  See the local clearinghouse for the D20 racing scene for some good reading.  Thanks Mike!

Instead, I caught the BP ride at the intersection of Macarthur and Clara Barton and rode in spirited fashion with a decent group.  We rode hard and I felt strong, a fitting end to this cycle.  The upcoming rest week coincides with a visit from my cousin and her family from NYC.  She's an actress who actually had a bit part in one episode of The Sopranos, but that's a story for another time.  Well OK, actually if you remember Dominic's wife in Season 2 Episode 5, in which Furio has to prove himself to Tony by making a statement when he and ChristoPHA make a collection at the tanning salon, that's her.  Unfortunately that statement entailed the beat-down of my cousin and her "husband".

I digress (I'm such a namedropper).  Anyway, as I was time trialing along Macarthur to make the catch I was able to see through the trees down onto the Clara Barton Parkway and saw a small pack slightly ahead of me on the CBP.  Again, another opportunity to observe the landscape of the roads we ride on weekend after weekend.  This was a cool vantage point.

Which brings me to my 2 part rant for the day.  As I passed a group of riders in the opposite direction on Macarthur, I waved to acknowledge their presence and pay some respects to fellow riders out on the road.  Crickets may as well have been chirping as that acknowledgement was not returned.  Now, I get it when your hypoxic, or focused on the wheel in front of you, or actually don't see me.  I don't get it when you DO see me and don't make a gesture.  Are we such hard men that we can't recognize the camaraderie that is inherent in our pursuit?  Are we too cool for school?  Give me the finger if you want, I don't care.  Just something.

All right then.  Numero dos:  While the former complaint is directed toward the sociopathic nature of a very small minority, this one has dire ramifications if the worst were to happen.  I cannot stress this one enough.  QUIT CROSSING THE YELLOW LINE.  We all do it, and it's stupid, and we all know it.  These training rides are not a controlled race situation.  I don't think any of us want to see a headline in the Post similar to today's, which, while altogether different in the situational sense, is a distinct possibility in the tragedy sense if we keep on doing what we do. 

There.  Got that one off my chest.  Sorry to end on such a downer.

Three stooges

"Twas a good day for riding today. According to the N2 regulars, Kay and Jeff showed up on the tandem and gave the group a pacing that is not the usual fare. I'm sorry I missed it, as I've been feeling like a tandem motorpace would be an excellent addition to the training repetoire.

As for me, I've been putting myself through some training paces in a structured manner that I have never done before. Short of actually having a coach, I'm following a plan that I've created from the umpteen plans that one sees in the various mags and rags. This is the third week in my cycle, next week, blessed relief. Ergo I did not meet my N2 mates this morning as my late workout last night tuckered me out to the point that I was getting out of bed at about the time that the group was rolling past the Travilah store.

A parenthetical comment, if you will, about the indoor training methodology: While Instant Netflix is a Good Thing, trying to do miccroburst intervals while watching Dave Chapelle live in San Fran is, while entertaining, not so good for training. Macrobursts of laughter, while always welcome, are not quite timed well enough to syncopate with regular huffing and puffing.

So instead I rode with my friends Kemal and Scott, the former of whom is my cyclocross partner in crime and has not ridden for approximately 407 years, thereby rendering him a shadow of his former self. It is not often that he sees me up the road; it is mostly the other way around. The latter fellow is my colleague at work, quite strong, and the Big(gest) Lebowski fan I know.

Our ride went thusly, from a posting today on the Bicycle Place listserve, as scribed by Kemal:

Johan "Beer Me, but make it Belgian" Maisto
Scott "WWM" Wilets
Kemal "I Hate the Cold" Tuncer

All three attended; all three were late. Zone 1 ride, massive amounts
of espresso, red lined only at the end when we saw time (as defined by
the Mrs.) running out.

Johan sported the retro wool. Scooter sported the retro slicker and
movie lines. K3 sported the retro bike. Yup, about that exciting.

I only add that Scott and I redlined it up Ross Road hill, along the ridge, and to the Nature Center turn as well, and there were a few other moments of manhood measurement, but not the usual plethora that defines most of the group rides in our area. What was most striking was just how blue the sky was in the early afternoon as we can feel that spring will soon awake from deep slumber.

Got home and helped my son apply the decals to the P-40B Flying Tiger that he assembled and painted himself. After the first 12 pointed star on one wing, he knew the drill cold and only needed help with the gaping maw of the tiger teeth, as this decal was a slick, slippery, wrinkly, tricky one that needed to be applied just so, as it is the piece de resistance. For his first model, I am proud. Other evidence that spring is around the corner: we spent a good half hour throwing 4 seam fastballs and digging a few out of the dirt. "Play ball!" is right around the corner.

As has been the case lately, my daughter and her friends have been flitting from house to house, so I don't see them much as I am a foreigner in their world of Webkinz and American Girl dolls...suffice it to say she is happy. As was my wife, who had finished a day-long first aid course that she's required to take for Girl Scouts...

Once again, a great day.

Tone of voice

When I went to vote on Tuesday, the computer screen told me that I was "Non Partisan" and gave me a limited slate of school board members to choose from. That was it. I realized that, in our current electoral system, I have chosen not to classify myself (mostly to avoid the irritation of political junk mail and telemarketing). While the system does not allow me to vote on a national level in our primary season, it gives me a sense that my choices are not beholden to any particular group.

In the same way I approach writing in this here blog. Unlike a journal or a "diary" the audience is both known and unknown. Should I be didactic and pontificatory? How about reflective in a melancholy kind of way? I could certainly be journalistic and report on the happenings of my personal history. Or rant in anger about some horrible injustice to befall mankind, such as the exclusion of brown M&M's from the world of candy. Sometimes I come off as too critical, sometimes too mealymouthed. One day what I think is funny is most definitely NOT 3 days later, and sometimes the opposite occurs, though not intentionally. It's my perceived audience that influences me and ultimately tempers what I have to say.

Which is not too much, at least today.

It was a left/right-brain kind of day (actually the last two days), where I spent the majority of the time tweaking floor plans for a 130 unit apartment building that we're designing. Like a giant game of chess, each move affects future moves in ways I try to anticipate, only to find out later that I've got to undo a bunch of decisions based on those earlier ones. It's not just if or how the flow of space works, it's how these decisions are affected by building structure, building systems, building codes, and building aesthetics. It's a technical exercise that requires quite a bit of flexible creativity, which, to me, is the essence of the practice of architecture. And the audience is the end-user.

So as the week comes to an end work has been busy and rewarding. Another rest week awaits around the corner for my "training" as I've been flogging myself on the bike indoors pretty regularly the past three (42 of the last 49 days on the bike, but who's counting...) Instant view Netflix is a GOOD THING.

So enough rambling. We've got a nice fire in the 'place and it's time to enjoy that.

Long commute

It took me an hour and fifteen minutes to get from Bethesda to Silver Spring tonight.  A little bit of ice on the road and the whole world goes to hell.  What a doozy.  Ouch.

On the way home I talked with one of my buddies from college for about a half hour--he lives in Leesburg and was travelling at 1 MPH from Tysons, so at that rate he should be home the day after tomorrow.  We caught up, blathered on about our favorite team that we need to love but now are growing to NOT love...I related to him that when I was in Pittsburgh this weekend and the sportscasters were beside themselves about the Penguins' other superstar, Yevgeny Malkin, the couldn't help but get their digs in on the 'Skins as they reported the Zorn hiring.  Smirking, the one sportscaster asked rhetorically just what in blue blazing tarnation is going on down in Washington (old south/folksy American slang is purely license on my part - that's not Pittsburghese).  Once again, a laughingstock.  And not unearned, either.

I was pressed into service to help with some election volunteering at school, so I helped break down the bake sale (scoring some chocolate covered strawberries for the effort) and helped a blind woman vote--no I didn't press any buttons, just got her to the registration table and the election volunteers did the rest...While she got to the election site via Metro car(?) I realized that she couldn't get home, so my son and I dropped her off at her place (a block away, but may as well have been 10 miles in the rain, resultant thin sheet of ice and her inability to see).  When we dropped her off and I was helping her out of the car, the car started sliding down the slight  incline of her driveway, much to my alarm.  A small patch of non-slick concrete halted the slide as I was clambering around the car to control it, and all ended well.  Some good karma for the day.

And so ends the evening, after a decent hour and a a half on the trainer which included 2 15 minute intervals at threshold.  Note to self:  A Clockwork Orange is tough to watch while putting forth effort.  Next time, maybe a documentary, like Supersize Me or something.

Priorities again

"If I don't see them by the time I get to Tuckerman, I'm turning around and riding in the park" I said to myself Saturday morning as I motored past the meeting point, Conn Ave, Cedar Lane, Grosvenor, all the usual catch spots.  I had, as has been the usual pattern, a late start.  A late night and the requisite reluctance to leave the warm bed contributed, but I rolled out anyway, knowing that if I didn't ride in the AM it would be curtains for riding the whole weekend, since I was off to Pittsburgh in the late AM.

Sure enough, the group was ahead of me toward the top of Tuckerman and I put in a solid interval to make the catch.  Not bad, I thought, this was something I wasn't able to do much last year, as my miles were so inconsistent.  The Glen rollers were quite manageable as well and I made it to the store with more people behind me than in front of me, so that was good too.  The standard chatter with Eric, Kay, Kathy, Karim, Luis, Scott A, Mark, Phil, Paul, and others who I see but don't always remember but still enjoy talking too while waiting for the re-group and then we were all off again.  While the rest headed to Poolesville and the standard route, I headed back via Glen since I needed to get back for the trip.

Every once in a while it's a healthy change to ride backwards on a familiar route, as you see it differently (obviously).  The view from the Glen rollers going south (or is it east?) really reveals the partial ridgeline that we ride on and the descent to the creek we cross on the one lane bridge.  The DC Velo ride was heading toward the store as I headed away, about 20 of them in a tight pack.  Instead of following Glen, I rode up to Democracy via South Glen, another insiduous little climb that punched things up a bit.  A quick roll home and I had a decent 2 hour ride with good intensity to start the weekend.

Got home, packed up, dad picked me up, and to Verona Pa we went.  Easy drive up.  Great dinner at the Cafe Naples with Grandma.  Even got in a nap before dinner.  Sunday morning after church we met my relatives for brunch where I had a capacole omelette (where have YOU been all my life?).  I will be making this at home on a regular basis.  Another hour of visiting and then we headed back.  It was so windy at the Somerset rest stop that the door nearly came off the hinges when I opened it.  Spending some mellow time with my dad was just what I needed, too.  He tried out a speech on me that he's giving downtown on Monday, for timing and cadence, and it was good to exchange feedback.  We caught up on family stuff too.  

My dad had said to me last weekend "Wanna come with me to see your grandmother before I leave?"  To which I replied, "Well, no."  Then I thought she's 94, my dad and mom are off on a 6 week trip to the other side of the world, I do worry about my Dad driving 4 hours by himself, and all I care about is "training" for "bicycle racing" since my life is oh so incomplete if I can't fulfill this ridiculously obsessive pastime that fuels strange behaviors so patiently tolerated by my family.  I reconsidered as the week wore on.  I thought about how incredibly selfish this was, how the time we have can never be recouped, and that it's important to seize these opportunities when they arise.  I called him up.  "Sure, I'll go.  But can we go at 11?  I wanna get a ride in..."

(In)consistent

Almost 2 weeks since I last posted. The need to post to this blog thing, while gratifying, becomes a persistent voice in the back of my head that turns into a nagging whine. I had gotten used to writing regularly for the last few months, so an almost 2 week hiatus makes me feel a bit...um..stopped up. When I used to write in sketchbooks and journals my inconsistency was only evident to me. Now I know it's evident to all three of you.

As a vehicle for staving off short term memory loss, the wheels have come off these past two weeks. The routine has been so rote that the days just blend into each other. Let's review:

February is always busy at home, busier, it seems, than normal. We all retreat into our cocoons of busy-ness, to the detriment of enjoying each other, or listening, or just talking. But at least we're all together eating dinner and doing homework and all the other things that we do.....

Work is work. We looked at some new office space for a move later this year. We've been in our space for almost 7 years and it's time for a change as our firm has grown steadily since then. Sometimes I feel like a bookkeeper rather than an architect, but that makes the designing/drawing part of the job that much better. Kind of like riding indoors all week and thirsting for the outdoor rides on the weekends.

We were reviewing a set of drawings with the owners and contractors on this big job on Georgia Avenue in DC. Someone asked "What's wall type number 11?" I replied "It's the loudest one." Talk about a joke falling flat. None of them had seen This Is Spinal Tap.

Future work is a constant source of worry, since our business is indirectly tied to the mortgage fiasco. I've always said that if we don't have the next jobs lined up while we're working on our current ones, then we're in trouble. So far we have some things in the works, so we're not in trouble. Yet.

Training's been great. I've tried following a set plan as a framework, and it's working in that it's enjoyable and not drudgery. Of course, when I know I've got a sufferfest on the schedule, it still takes longer to get on the bike and get it done, though the end result is always a good feeling. For the first time in many years I'm actually consistently training as opposed to weekend warrioring through the year.

The Giants and Patriots gave us a SuperBowl that we won't soon forget. We watched it on a friend's projection T V and had bad football food and good wheat beer. The fact that a room of Redskins fans could cheer a division rival so vociferously is a testament to how good this game was. Now we sit back and watch our own team 's ownership continue down the road of bad decisions. At least some of the commercials were good, but I really miss the CareerBuilder.com monkeys.

Meanwhile the Caps crawled into first place (who woulda thunk?) but they're stinkin' it up right now against Carolina. One of the things I love about hockey are the names...Carolina's captain is Rod Brind'Amour...what a cool name. At one point early in his career he played on the 1987 Flyers, a team overflowing with cool names: Ilkka Sinisalo, Peter Zezel, Ron Hextall, Craig Berube, Pelle Eklund, Scott Melanby, Kjell Samuellson...I love names with disonant consanants.

After a morning ride tomorrow with the N2 crew I'm off to Pittsburgh with my dad to visit my grandmother. Mom and Dad are going to the Philippines for almost 2 months, a trip that always rejuvenates my mom, as she really doesn't like winter. So I figure that this is a good time to catch up with my Pops.

Next on Life of Frites: Hamburgers 2 days in a row. Good idea?