Which John?

This is so inside so as to be un-understandable to virtually everyone but this guy:

I don't have a goofy pic of the OTHER John, so this will have to do. Heard you (which John? or both Johns?) ran into my bro in law and sister in law at Homecoming and caught up. Hope you had a great time--my 20th was a memorable blast.

By the way, the above pic comes courtesy of the Shamrock Mafia, all of whom are busy scanning incriminating and embarassing information to disseminate via the interwebs...

DCCX 2009

My second year doing this race--a real carnival atmosphere, though the frites weren't nearly as good. The honey crisp apples were ridonkulous. Fourth race of the year, and I'm just treading water.

That was a hard race, and I just couldn't lay down any power where I needed to. Made for a slow slog. Paul passed me twice (once in the first lap, and then once when he lapped me), and Neil gave me some good words as he blew my doors off while also lapping me. Even the remounts weren't working today, but all the other technical stuff was no problem, other than the utter slowness...there was that one little piece of banked turn near the staging area, just before the asphalt, where you just let the bike rip around it and you feel the centripetal force STICKING the wheels into the turn--just getting to do that 5 times a year is worth the effort.

All indicators point to a distinct pattern in the old CX resume here--14 races in 5 years, many top 125 finishes, a coupla DNF's. That would be "trending downward". But who cares, since the highlight of the day was invoking the brilliant dialogue in "Dude Where's My Car" when Kemal asked me what number he was and I did the same...Dude. Sweet! Dude. Sweet! WHAT'S MY NUMBER?

After that it was nose to the grindstone, the smile from amusing ourselves with silly lines from silly movies turning into a frown of "why the hell do I do this anyway" turning back to a smile when everyone is there at the end with cookies and cowbells. It's a good addiction, and glad to have some cool people to share it with.

Tacchino is next!

Revenge flicks

I've always been fascinated by the vengeance narrative in the movies. I guess it's a deep-seated emotion that is shared by many, probably formed way back when by experiences with who knows who. One thing that K and I don't share is a love of cinema - earlier in our marriage, every once in awhile I would go to the movies with some friends or by myself, knowing that her time was much better spent with books, as she is a voracious reader. There's a lot more control with books, she reasons, as you can skip uncomfortable parts or just put them down altogether.

A few years ago I saw Breakdown --it was one of those flicks that had improbable action scenes interwoven with extreme tension and the yearning for justice to be meted to the antagonists, with extreme prejudice. Very satisfying, in a primal way. Since then and before then there have been great revenge flicks that far exceed that one in quality, but for some reason that one really stood out, as some of the hillbillies who ran amok reminded me of some of the not so nice folk who populate the road on 4 wheels while I'm on 2.

I just saw the preview for this one. I think we all have the desire to, sometime in life, pull the strings of fate like this guy does.

Friday night fun

Ahh, to be a ruthless capitalist. There aren't many times in life when you get to really put the screws to your own kith and kin, and enjoy it to boot. By the same token, there are few opportunities to nail your own dad hard, make him squirm and feel the pain that only the helplessness of financial ruin can bring about. To the victor belongs the spoils, lessons all of us learn the easy way or the hard way.

Of course I'm talking about Monopoly. While K lay in bed under the grips of the virus that struck me down earlier this week, the kids and I resurrected the ritual game, one we haven't played in awhile. The Rangers-Pens game is on in the background featuring the pugilistic ex-enforcer of our Washington Caps wearing the colors of the Broadway Blueshirts, providing a pleasant backdrop for the main event. As always the game starts out slow, but soon the deals start rolling and we develop our properties and then the money is changing hands and suddenly someone has to mortgage everything to pay rent on Kentucky Ave for 600 clams, and then the game is over, feelings are hurt, and laughter ensues. Of course we all get over it quickly, since the next game's victor is usually this one's big loser.

Every version of this game has house rules. Besides the standard "Free Parking" jackpot that is a de facto adopted rule throughout all cultures, our unique take is that if your token so much as TOUCHES the red part of the Jail (in other words, if you literally cross the line into jail from "Just Visiting"), then you get to spend the next turn in the Big House. Veeeeery literal.

If anything is accomplished, I think I've taught the kids that being nice in Monopoly is just no fun. The guilty pleasure is knowing that raining phony monetary blows on their heads really doesn't amount to anything other than passing some time on a Friday night with the people you love, even though they'll do anything to give you the shaft if the dice rolls their way.