Johnny Frites

Back to school night

2010-09-16T23:50:00.003-04:00

Or should I say back to blogging night. Two months since our pick-up game under the lights of Blair HS, and another one just two weeks away.

I guess I haven't felt the need to write much lately. But in keeping with my propensity to forget the life that passes by like shooting rapids, I should jot down a few of the highlights (not too many lowlights) of the past coupla months.

On the weekend that I left the soccer field that night (or pitch, as we call it due to the need to provide the affectations of World Cup parlance once every 4 years), I started digging in the yard. Flattening a mound, shall we say. When we moved into this ever-changing house 11 (!) years ago, the interior was acceptably appointed but the exterior needed lots of work, and work we have done. The back patio has been a mosquito infested bog with backsloping concrete into an areaway that we never use anymore and tends to flood in heavy rains. A large raised garden surrounded by dry laid stone was smack in the middle of the concrete patio slab, someone's idea of bringing landscape and hardscape together in a most clumsy manner, as the negotiations required to get to the grill involved stumbling down 2 oddly placed steps and avoiding the stones. So that Sunday I started moving stones and dirt, making sense of the yard that had been a cluttered mess.

Six weeks later we had a party upon which many of our friends ate and drank merrily on or near six tons of bluestone dust, 400 square feet of flagstone, 2 glass block window panels, low voltage lighting, a buried areaway, and a revamped subgrade drainage system from the roof. We did it ourselves, and much credit needs to go to the patient family, who put up with the mess for a good chunk of the summer. Pictures in a future post, since I'm lazy right now. We worked morning and evening, weekend days and whenever we could squeeze it in. Throw in a family vacation to the Outer Banks, as is our routine, and various other things that I forgot since that's what I tend to do, and it was a great, no, actually a GREAT summer.

What else...turned the corner on playing the guitar, thanks to my partner/teacher/high school kid named Adam who happens to live in this house...got in some miles, but not a lot, due to the patio work, but definitely benefitted from the cross-training effect...went to another family reunion at Deep Creek Lake after a day and night at Lake Holiday with friends, in which my friend Mike LOST HIS WEDDING RING IN THE LAKE but then IN AN IMPROBABLE TURN OF EVENTS HE FOUND IT ON THE SANDY LAKE FLOOR because that's just the way life has been treating us...set up the 'cross rig with Campy 1 x 10 (sooooonice)...watched the cats slack off in the rodent killing department...participated in an impromptu IPA tasting session with our neighbors...figured out how else I'm going to tear apart the house this fall to "improve our quality of life"...lost about 5 lbs. per month since June in my effort to get down to a manageable weight so that I can stop getting dropped on hills slightly bigger than speed bumps...and changed the way I eat, what I eat, and how much I eat, which means that I will need to refresh the old wardrobe soon, which is money I'm happy to spend...and got to see lots of my friends at Susanna's Back to School Night tonight. Don't ask me what I learned about their curriculum. I think it was something along the lines of homework blah blah blah deadlines blah blah blah due dates blah blah blah [euphemisms endemic in school chatter] blah blah blah. It was all very nice to hear, but I was more jazzed by seeing all of MY friends, who(m?) I see every year at this function.

And of course, the patio isn't done yet, but it's SUBSTANTIALLY COMPLETE.

A bit of footie

2010-07-16T23:25:00.003-04:00

Last time I played competitive soccer was back in '58, when I was a wee college lad on the intramural pitch. Couldn't quite make it to the college show, as they say, nor was it even an option. Soccer was a a game to dabble in, and now that I understand it better I wish I did more than dip my toe in.

So now, by word of mouth, I got to play with 29 other like-minded old geezers on a lit high school field, in the humidity of the post earthquake DC suburbs. Only some of them did play high school and college ball, and those of us who didn't were only saved by the fact that we're all in poor soccer shape, which makes it easy to hide the poor skills because no one can finish plays the way we once did or like to think that we can. If only...

A couple of pulled hamstrings and tweaked knees tonight, but not as bad as the dude who tore his ACL last time they did this. I'm feeling pretty good right now, but I'll be thinking differently in the AM.

So in about a month we'll do it again, before the maelstrom of the fall routine sets in. I can't wait.

Stan the man

2010-06-28T23:02:00.004-04:00

Didn't know you too well.

Seems like you lived a full 48.

Your knives were things of beauty. Shiny, sharp, wood grips that showed the beauty of the grain.

On that one ride, I was singing Story Of My Life in my head; I pulled up to you and you were actually humming THE SAME SONG. From now on you will be in my head when Social D comes on the radio.

Snuffed out, just like that. One too many beers? Texting while driving? Driving while talking? We'll never know. You were doing everything right on the bike, on the road, right place, right time.

Only not at that moment.

Requiescat in pace.

Some fine pitchin'

2010-06-08T23:06:00.003-04:00

In no particular order, in the last few weeks since I have chosen to jot down thoughts I have gone to Akron to visit my sister and her family, checked out the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland, fixed their fence, ate a Primanti Brothers Cap and Provie sandwich in Pittsburgh, visited my grandmother's grave in Braddock, hung out with my cousin from Brooklyn, her family, and 3 of their friends, hosted 3 dinner parties with some friends, saw Neil Young at DAR, saw the doctor who told me I needed to "make some changes", rode my bike a few times, watched Susanna score a goal in her last game in the Takoma Park rec league (now she's joining the Catholic Church of soccer leagues), watched the building that I have been working on for the last 4 years grow another story (roof slab to be poured this week!), made an unfortunate staff change at work, celebrated the graduation of our neighbor's son who looks like the Flying Tomato, almost went to Miami for the AIA Convention, and saw Steven Strasburg (live) make his auspicious debut as a Washington National.

I think it's safe to say that he'll have a slightly better baseball career than I ever had.

Eureka...sort of

2010-05-17T22:31:00.003-04:00

So I'm taking a shower in my "substantially complete" bathroom on Saturday before the 2nd of two parties this weekend when it hit me.

Ever since I started working in the field of architecture, I've collected bits of paper filled with data, sketches, all sorts of information that was immediately important at a particular moment in that slice of my career. I've collected it in 3 ring binders, file folders, magazine holders, piles...then the internet happened and I've got a digital version of this pile of bric-a-brac that we all recognize as the unorganized "Favorites" or "Bookmarks" bar. My own memory serves as the organizational traffic cop that determines to which projects these bits of information are connected.

The beauty of the field I work in is the relentless accumulation of knowledge based on practical problem-solving, puzzle resolution, iterative design flow, and plain old curiosity. The problem has always been to compile it all into a searchable, accessible reservoir of information that isn't a pile of useless paper or an unnavigable sea of web addresses.

I think I'm onto something. I'll just organize this "data" into some sort of "base". Oh yeah. That's been done. So instead I can just scan everything and have electronic versions of paper cluttering up various drives. Or I can organize my favorites bar. Stop laughing.

So I took a little bit of that and a little bit of this and created this:

The Elusive Binder

I figure I've been blogging for some time now and the format lends itself to a flexible, expandable, searchable, editable document that I can access from anywhere. I can even add anecdotal comments that will trigger synapses that will open up memory currents that will feed my creative lobe so that both of you can read more utter scintillation on this blog. My favorites bar can shrink and be filled with more important things like how to pitch a tent made of ham or quick access to the activities of Chad Vader, day shift manager.

Like all of my compulsive organizational tendencies, I wonder how long this will last. Two blogs. Wow, that's livin'.

The better team

2010-05-12T22:32:00.006-04:00

Two weeks ago tonight we sat in disbelief as we saw Montreal take apart the Caps in the first round.

Tonight we sat in awe as they did the same thing to the reigning Stanley Cup champions.

When my sister and brother in law (Caps season tix holders) watched the dwindling minutes of the home loss two weeks ago, the Habs fans in their section were shaking hands with Caps fans, and told them (in accented French Canadian English) that the better team did not win.

I beg to differ with our northern neighbors, as the better team did win that night, and tonight against the Pens. Perhaps the more talented team did not win, but certainly the better team did.

Now that I've watched 14 straight games featuring the Montreal Canadiens, I am invested in their future success. Here's to adding a 24th (!) Stanley Cup banner to their rafters.

Crazy boys

2010-05-10T22:06:00.006-04:00

"It takes a special kind of craziness to be a professional athlete", so sayeth my wife, who is married to a doughboy who eschews all kinds o' pain.

While I hold these lunatics in high admiration, I am glad I don't have to earn my paycheck with these sorts of "workplace hazards", like:

Losing eight teeth in the first period, getting your roots trimmed, and coming back into the game in the third period (with about 100 stitches in your mouth). "It's the playoffs", he says.

Or take a puck in the face FOR THE SECOND TIME IN A SEASON.

Breaking a collarbone or clavicle while training or racing, and figuring out how best to prepare for the Tour de France, less than two months away.

Takes a certain type I guess.

The epitome of smooth

2010-05-06T22:24:00.007-04:00

Pay particular attention to 0:17 to 0:25 of this vid:

Cyclocross dismount/remount at race speed on road shoes on cobbles (fercryinoutloud!!!) and doesn't miss a beat. Oh and he won the race too.

Also of note is the Mike Green-like mohawk (but with added mullet effect) hairdo on his mechanic who sighs relief.

Fabian Cancellara, man and beast.

Remember when?

2010-05-06T08:08:00.002-04:00

It was way back in April of 2010, way back when (remember the good old days?) the Washington Capitals were the best team in the EN-tire NHL, finishing out the last week of their storybook season against the Bears of Beantown. Adam's friend Andre got an extra ticket to the game, so the two of them went downtown to watch the Caps take apart the Bruins (it was actually a close overtime win for the hometown boys). I drove down to pick them up, and I waited as the red-clad throngs left the arena with a promising spring of playoff hockey. We had, after all, re-acquired my favorite Slovakian defenseman in a late season trade for 2nd round action (he was injured). Sorry I didn't get to see you this spring, Juice.

I even saw one of my college/racing friend and his girlfriend as they were leaving too. The boys met me at the car and we headed home, talking about the game. Andre actually plays hockey, and he's a great kid. Parents and older sister are good people, too. So then Andre drops the bomb that later that week he's going to Children's Hospital to get one of his heart valves replaced. HOLY COW. I figured that once he recovers from that he'll be able to play hockey again, but apparently the doctors are recommending that he doesn't do strenuous activity anymore. That's quite a shattering realization when you're 15, and he puts on a brave face every day. As it turns out this was his third major heart surgery in his short life, and maybe not his last. He is in my thoughts often.

So after yelling at the Dallas Ave ruffians yesterday I saw him standing in his driveway a few houses away and checked in on him. He can't do a whole lot for another week or so, and we chatted briefly. Then it dawned on me that the Caps gave him a gift that was better than anything they would've done this spring. By losing like CHOKING DOGS in the first round, they spared Andre's heart from any additional stress as he recovers from this surgery. No need to tax that muscle anymore, we can wait for spring of 2011 for that.

Speaking of the Bruins, here's one of many of their stellar ads. Kay I know you're not a hockey fan but I think you'll like this.

Chain tension

2010-05-05T22:56:00.005-04:00

While I was bloviating yesterday about how great single speed bikes are, I forgot one minor detail. Chain tension.

Almost had a "call home to get picked up" type of day, as my chain came off not once but twice. These ENO eccentric hubs, while very cool, are finicky if you don't get the rotation dialed in properly. Second time was the charm.

And it was nice to have some of the clubmates stop by as I was resetting the whole smash on the side of the road, as Paulie V, Karim, and Phil P. were out on this beautiful afternoon.

I was also thinking that the hipster fixie and single speed culture that has been hijacked by the big manufacturers is akin to stone-washed jeans, "distressed" furniture, and most things retro. Did you hear that? That was late 2007 calling me to ask for its cultural criticism back. I don't have new thoughts.

Back to the commute. Two blocks away from home the Dallas Ave ruffians were running willy nilly through the streets, so as I watched them traverse the street with oncoming traffic for the third time I made sure to yell at them in my best grumpy voice that next time I saw them making bad decisions I'd call their parents. Last thing I want to do is call anyone's parents, but I fully expect a call if my kids do something to sully themselves.

I do enjoy yelling at other people's kids, though. Something about making them feel that there are eyes on them all the time, even when they think they're pulling one over on us. Takes a village, right?

Hipster script

2010-05-04T22:30:00.009-04:00

There's a bike shop near my office that sells reaaalllly expensive bikes, but then again, most shops do. In the effort to capture as much of a broad marketshare as possible, bike shops jump on the bandwagons that bring in the cash. While feeding fads in the short term, the products are so contrived as to be date stamped by their own style.

Fixies have been on the fringes of cycling since the eighties, when Kevin Bacon made courier chic, well, chic.

[Even though his "fixie" had a freewheel body, but that's like Bruce Willis using Pacific Bell telephones at Dulles Airport...details, details]. In the past 10 years or so fixies and single speed bikes have been in vogue as "edgy" ways to ride two wheels. I can't hold a candle to the written social criticism surrounding this culture, so I won't even try.

My teenager just entered his third year of teenagerism, so we decided to get him a bike that doesn't require the seatpost to be way past the minimum insertion point and a drivetrain that is orange with rust. As he rides his bike to school everyday and spins around the neighborhood just as often, a new ride was, and is, the perfect gift. We settled on a single speed Bianchi which is delightful in its simplicity and will give him years of service--the drivetrains and suspension systems of bikes geared (get it?) toward the Axe smelling crowd usually results in creaky, maladjusted, dilapidated bikes within a year, and that's just criminal. The best thing about this ride, though, is the non-obnoxious style of the bike itself. It's a Bianchi. It doesn't sport the dominant color, Celeste #227, though there is a small highlight on the top tube and the graphics are classic Bianchi bold. World Championship stripes at a few key locations. It's a bike that's meant to be ridden and used.

It doesn't have this:

Or this:

The suffocatingly unctuous cursive graphics on the Pinarello, coupled with the track bars and the half rubberized grips and the color coordinated deep rims on the Raleigh scream "phony baloney". I could go on and on, but that's done to so much greater effect here. And actually the bikes are overall not that bad, there's just something so irritating about the marketing efforts behind the designs...

Adding the Bianchi to our family stable made me re-think the configuration of one of my bikes, the one that I built when I succumbed to the fixie fad about 4 years ago. I converted my old Giant Cadex racing frame into a fixed gear machine with an Eno eccentric hub and some bullhorn bars. I enjoyed riding it for awhile. I perched on it and took the picture, with the sun behind me, of my shadow that is the masthead of this here blog. But then I didn't ride it for a long time. It just wasn't quite the right bike for itself.

Until last week, when I added a single speed freewheel and converted the stem and bars to their original configuration. Now it's a sweet singlespeed commuter, and suddenly I'm commuting again, on the bike. Which may be the domino that tips a bunch of other dominoes that may straighten some things out personally for me, since the last 18 months or so have been weird, as I have written. Or not.

Regardless, it's a great feeling to be able to commute to work on two wheels in the same amount of time as it takes in a 4 wheeled cage, with that much more clarity due to a short spin before and after work.

Not a good way to end

2010-04-28T23:04:00.005-04:00

Groundhog day???

ed. note: I can't strikethrough on this dopey blogger word processing "application", so apologies for the italicized boldness masquerading as parenthetical asides.

Les Habitantes march into DC and steal one (series). Not a good way to start the Stanley Cup run (or end a first round upset which results in a meltdown of historic proportions).

Jaroslav Halak was a stone wall for most of the game (series).

Alex Ovechkin (Semin & Green) was (were) barely there tonight, as all the left-handed sticks of Habs defensemen seemed to always be in his (their) way (and all the d-men too).

Ouch. (OUCH)

Hoping this trend doesn't continue

2010-04-28T08:18:00.003-04:00

I majored in history.

I've been a Caps fan since the mid-eighties.

They now face yet another Game 7 in a series that should not have gone this long.

Historically, though, it doesn't look promising. See the cogent recap of their 7 game series collapses here.

Here's to hoping that history doesn't repeat itself tonight.

Hit and run

2010-04-27T22:11:00.007-04:00

On my way into work today I was at the light on Connecticut Avenue where the Cap Crescent Trail crosses. Just sitting there, waiting for peds and cyclists to cross. It is a heavily travelled commuter arterial, and since it's a long green light, people are happy to dash across when their turn comes around.

Except for the young woman on the Trek road bike who was beginning to cross (in the crosswalk, with the walk signal in her favor) when suddenly she was tapped by a car that was turning right to go north. Not hard enough that she was thrown off her bike and severely injured, but hard enough to force her to unclip her pedal and put out her foot to make sure she didn't go down softly. Certainly enough to raise her adrenalin level, as the next thing I saw was the woman carrying her bike across the street while yelling at the driver who was pulling away.

Technically that was a hit and run, and it happened so fast that the victim didn't get a license number. I know this because I immediately pulled over to see if she was OK, and I asked her about the exchange. No "Are you OK?" or "I'm so sorry". Instead it was "You were in my way." I don't think I would be thinking clearly enough to get a plate number if some doorknob had the gall to be miffed at me for inconveniencing their right turn.

I told her I used to wrench at bike shops for a living and did a quick once-over. Her wheel was toast, but barely rideable once I opened up her rear brake. She headed out after thanking me for stopping, rear wheel ka-klunking down the trail.

It bugged me for the rest of the day that someone could be so callous as to "tap" a cyclist with their car and not think that there could be any repercussions at all. Worst case scenario ends in death; in this seemingly minor incident a rear wheel is ruined, trust that one is safe in a crosswalk with a favorable signal is eroded, and someone is driving away in a two ton behemoth thinking that cyclists are all assholes.

I hope the 20-something woman in the Washington Broomball League t-shirt on a mid level Trek road bike had a better day after that crappy start.

Not a good way to start...

2010-04-15T22:14:00.003-04:00

Les Habitantes march into DC and steal one. Not a good way to start the Stanley Cup run.

Jaroslav Halak was a stone wall for most of the game.

Alex Ovechkin was barely there tonight, as all the left-handed sticks of Habs defensemen seemed to always be in his way.

Ouch.

Easter Sunday

2010-04-08T22:41:00.004-04:00

There’s a guy I work with every once in awhile whose career revolves around making sure that sewage gets from where it starts to where it needs to go in a manner that does not attract undue attention. Usually this work is just once of the many things that Joe the Plumber does, but this particular guy doesn’t assemble pipe or solder fittings or install water heaters. He spends his days clearing out sewer lines by jetting water at high pressure through clogs; using medieval style cutting heads on the end of his jets to cut through nasty debris; and checking his work with a camera that scopes and locates lines far underground and tells us what condition they’re in. The resultant video tapes (now he uses DVDs), known as “dirty movies”, are invaluable to property owners and landlords that need to maintain the arteries of crap, as nothing defines squalor more than sitting in 2” of filth because the orifices in your waste pipes are overwhelmed with, well, waste.

He is an interesting character, Robert is. With a Scottish brogue that is not nearly as thick as Groundskeeper Willie’s, he still talks about extracting DEbrree from pipes with a glint in his eye, as if the relief exacted from the operation is actually a release of pressure in his own body.

He’s done quite well cleaning and filming sewer lines, and the most tedious part of his job is cleaning his equipment. I’d say it’s constantly being covered in filth, but that’s just me.

I wished he was at my parents’ house on Easter Sunday.

While we were cooking and cleaning up after the feast, my mother and brother in law were furtively active in the basement, having mentioned that there was a minor stoppage in the wash basin that takes the discharge from the clothes washer. Nothing a little Drano couldn’t fix, so things seemed fine. Until we went downstairs and saw that the dishwater wasn’t going down the drain, instead it was overflowing the basin and creating general havoc on the floor. The kitchen sink sewage wasn’t getting past a clog just past the wash basin in the basement, so it was going into the only catch basin it could find, and Drano wasn’t working.

So we bailed the greywater into buckets and dumped it all into the toilet, continuing to do so as dishes were washed upstairs, and seeing how Drano splattered on my shirt creates neat new patterns, though not nearly as fun as tie dye. The next day the plumber came and used his electric snake to power past the clog, and everything is running clean again.

Turns out that the DEbrree in the pipes, which is usually loose, greasy, and in a more liquefied state in normal house operations seemed to calcify and harden over the past few months, as both of my parents were on the other side of the world while we were all being buried in snow. While we would periodically check the house to make sure that the mail wasn’t piling up and the roof wasn’t caving in, virtually no water ran through the waste lines. Therein lay the source of the clog—usually on the dirty movies we see a diaper or tampon or some other not-supposed-to-flush object as the major culprit, but in this case, a general lack of activity gummed up the works.

Much like the human body. Keep those wheels turning. Your veins, arteries, and heart will thank you.

Easter Saturday

2010-04-07T23:45:00.008-04:00

We never bought a video game console until the Wii came out. It was a way to save myself from myself, as I was a bit of an arcade rat as a teenager and was addicted to Defender, among other games.

Those graphics are so AWESOME!

So now we have a Wii, and no doubt we all have seen innumerable YouTube videos showing the destruction wrought by inadvertent handling of the Wii remote (which is why they have straps now, which should ostensibly be used). Very funny in a "haha boy that's funny I can't imagine what it must feel like to have a piece of disposable electronic equipment become toast" sort of way.

Well that destruction visited our house this weekend. Being Easter weekend and all, families converged on our abode to visit and relax, eat and drink, and have the good times that families have, often magnified by the holiday (Thanksgiving comes to mind). So my nephew was bowling against my teenager, the latter of whom rolled a gutter ball (WHO ROLLS GUTTER BALLS IN WII BOWLING???) but that's another story which will be played out later in life, as he will be irreparably damaged by my criticism from failing in one frame of a fake video bowling game.

I digress. My nephew, who (or is it whom?) I love very much, and is named after me (only in his first name, and I think that was not intentional), was rolling some intense frames against Mr. Gutter Ball. His younger sister, who has a propensity to bother him in a most exacting manner, pushed him, which threw him off his motion and led to the unfortunate loss of grip of the remote, amidst much yelling and other consternation. Since none of this happened in slow motion, the resultant sturm und drang became the highlight of the day, as John was quite upset about destroying our TV and at one point would have gladly exchanged his sister for the TV. Therein lay the daily lesson where we told an 8 year old the major differences between people and things, and how they cannot be equated, and that his uncle and aunt were not really angry, because accidents happen. He's the type of boy that needs to process these thoughts and emotions for awhile before moving on to the next adventure.

So here's what the destroyed TV looks like now:

I know. If my iPhone had a better camera function, one would still not be able to see the tiny scratch a bit northwest of the centerpoint of the screen which looks so innocuous to the naked eye...until you turn on the TV, thusly:

Pretty cool. The emanation of the impact point is quite evident here. Unfortunately it's kind of hard to watch hockey and the Tur day Fraaaance when the technicolor dreamcoat is draping the screen like some sort of psychedelic Etch-a-Sketch.

So after everyone left I thought briefly about Lenten sacrifices (briefly) and then went to Best Buy and bought a new TV. I've been meaning to get one, as my eyes have been failing me as I age, so the obvious solution was to spend the money I would put into glasses on a new hi-def instead.

Priorities, ya know. You can't live a solid life without 'em.

First time ever

2010-04-06T22:17:00.003-04:00

This may be the spring of firsts. It also may not, but I am guardedly and cautiously optimistic.

Caps beat the Pens tonight, and by doing so swept them in their season series for the first time ever. First time they've earned the President's Trophy too. And while they were at the 1998 Cup finals, they will hopefully celebrate another first sometime in June.

It'll take 3 divisional and conference series sets to get there, but I am guardedly and cautiously optimistic that it will happen.

It's already been 5 years...

2010-04-05T00:17:00.006-04:00

Tour of Flanders was yesterday. The Ronde Van Vlaanderen. I happened to turn on the live stream when Boonen and Cancellara made their escape and battled it out over the last 40K. Didn't watch the rest 'cause it was Easter Sunday and we needed to leave for church. Such is the life of a lapsed Catholic.

Such a great race, and emblematic of the Belgian mania for hard racing.

Went back to the archives to find a posting I placed on my club's listserve about my journey to see these classics:

From April 2005:

I thought I'd share a few of my experiences from my recent trip to
Belgium. As some of you know, I was able to coordinate a family trip
to Belgium on the exact week as the Tour of Flanders, Ghent Wevelgem,
and Paris Roubaix. My wife had lived in Belgium as a teenager and
always wanted to go back to visit. Her spring break was 2 weeks
before our trip, the kids' spring break was a week before the trip,
and mine was whenever I wanted SO WE DID IT WHEN I COULD SEE 3 SPRING
CLASSICS EVERYONE ELSE'S SCHEDULE BE DAMNED. Oh, and the family
vacation was fun too.

I'm not THAT selfish, but if you ever get the opportunity, go to
Belgium and see a spring classic, any spring classic. I met
Americans at every race, the Belgian fans were passionate and
friendly, and the locals in Roubaix (which is a decent sized city)
were helpful. We stayed in an apartment in Brussels and I took the
train to small towns that were way off the beaten path. If only we
had a train system in this country that was as efficient...oops, this
country is about 50 times the size of Belgium, so that's asking a bit
much.

The way it broke down was I saw the finish of Flanders, the start and
finish of G-W, and the finish of P-R. Without renting a car or being
in a British cycle tour, seeing starts and finishes was pretty much
the way to go, because you can see the riders up close, the team
cars, the buses, the mechanics, etc. There's also plenty of food
(frites and waffles and bratwurst type sausages) and beer and more
beer. I got some decent video, and in Wevelgem while I was waiting
the finish we watched local amateurs compete in a circuit race
through the small downtown area.

It was a Belgian week, as Boonen won the big ones and Nico Mattan won
Wevelgem emotionally only miles from his hometown. The scenes after
the races was controlled chaos, as the riders would book back to the
team buses, leave the bikes for the mechanics, and get on. If there
were no media obligations or other distractions, that bus was outa
there once it was loaded up. The Discovery bus was always at the end
of the line, ready to roll.

Some of the Americans I met were there to watch the races or ride
parts of the courses...I mostly met families; a father/son combo from
South Carolina that wore matching Postal kits; a traditional unit
from Houston (both former Cat 4's) with 2 year old boy and 6 month
old girl tagging along; fresh out of college dude with mom and dad
from Wisconsin, drinking beer and riding parts of the Tour of
Flanders course. I also met a guy from somewhere in the midwest who
was studying climatology and went to the finish at Flanders because
he had never seen a race and wanted to check out the fuss. He
noticed that I spoke English and that I was gesturing with a Flemish
guy about how to get to the finish from the train station, so he
tagged along. So as we walked to the town sponsoring the finish, the
three of us could communicate because I spoke English and bikin',
Flemish guy spoke Flemish and bikin', and climatologist spoke English
and Flemish. So by the time we got to the finish area Flemish guy
went to look for his mates and we watched the last 50K on the giant
diamond vision screen and saw Boonen roll in to the roaring crowds
and the Flemish lion flags and banners. WOW.

Got many more stories, but I thought I'd fill you all in on a pretty
cool trip, one that I've wanted to take since I saw this mag called
Winning with Sean Kelly on the cover winning Paris Roubaix--it's
everything I thought it would be.

Yeah it was pretty cool. Five years ago already. Time do fly.

Bruuuuuuce!

2010-03-13T12:45:00.011-05:00

Sometime in 1975 or thereabouts my dad took me and some other Cub Scouts to the Cap Centre to watch Washington's hockey team play the Atlanta Flames. It was not memorable except that it was a giveaway day, and the team doled out wooden hockey sticks with the old Caps logo on a red stick. I think I broke the stick that week playing street hockey in the alley with Bobby Blanchard and Rusty Strasburger and it's now just another bric in the brac of my memory.

I'm not into autographs or collectibles, and most of the stuff they give away at pro sports games is cheap junk anyway. What we get out of going to games is that opportunity to be at a communal event with thousands of others. While the hassle of getting to sports venues often taints the entire experience (Redskins at Raljon), going to the Verizon Center on the Metro is by far a great journey, both bland in routine and giddy in anticipation for the event, lately the event being a Caps game.

So when I'm not lucky enough to get a ticket from my friends/family (thanks Kurt, Bill, Tim, Justin, and the boys at Meridian Construction), I get to watch it at home with the fam. And while we pretend to be knowitalls about a game NONE of us have ever played, we are unmatched in our knowledge of the nuances of the DC metro areas most talented dramatic actor, Bruce Boudreau:

Notice the timing as he leans back when he sees the "cup holder" here. OK for his first attempt.

Since he's a Canuck, listen for the "eh" here, at about 0:21. This one in particular is pretty lame, since there's not enough Bruce.

"There just aren't the words". Much better.

"I'm what you call 'fiscally conservative'." Definitely on the upswing.

and of course, "You HAD me at no problem." When we start mixing in pop culture references to popular movies, we're definitely trending upward.

The rest of his ads are nothing to shake a stick at.

Karen thinks I watch too much TV. Yathink?

Debacle

2010-02-16T21:53:00.009-05:00

Some say that the definition of insanity is to approach a situation the same way every time and expect a different result. My current definition of insanity is to approach a lifestyle challenge in a manner that I KNOW will result in a less than positive outcome, all the while expecting a more rosy result.

To wit: A few days ago, I participated in the GamJams CompuTrainer Throwdown at Conte's Bike Shop in Bethesda. This was a Saturday morning, typically spent on the road with a group of like minded individuals spending quality time on two wheels. Of course, the snow and, previous to the storms, apathy prevented me from getting in some quality road miles, and I've been limited to some spinning on the trainer indoors, with no real structure or purpose other than trying to keep the legs moving.

When it comes to "preparing" for "competition", that doesn't really cut it.

Without going into any details, my performance was pretty abysmal. It was worse than even I thought it could be, even though I enjoyed (???) the process, the geeky technology, the ability to "virtually" race, though the sucking was a reality. And what's almost comforting is that I knew it going in, and knew that I would be up against some pretty motivated people, whose strength was not so much drawn from their fitness but from their sheer desire, or will, to be uncomfortable for a short time. The guy I raced with beat me by 3 minutes, an almost 10% difference in this short course. Seemed like a nice fellow, certainly new to this aspect of the sport (told me he raced BMX, so not that new), and definitely more energetic. Wish I could've offered him a greater challenge, but I didn't. On the bright side, I got to see James P. and Dave K., who rode in the earlier heat, two of many that I've met over the years due to this shared interest.

The benefits gained from getting to know a few new people with similar interests on a cold Saturday morning far outweighs the insanity that I sometimes put myself through as I spin my hampster wheel. I think that there's a strange logic to extracting acquaintances and cementing friendships out of this strangely sociopathic sport. Kind of like how a heat pump works: it extracts heat out of the cold air to warm the interior of a house via the compression cycle. Whaaaaaa? I don't know either. It just works that way.

Maroon Seven

2010-02-09T22:05:00.004-05:00

I'm sitting at work today, after a (not unexpected) long commute in due to the constriction of lanes because of plowed snow, and I get a call on my cell from a number that I don't recognize.

"Hi Johnny, sorry to call you at work. It's Tom H......."

"Tom H......." Flashing through the dwindling memory bank. Nametoface, nametoface, doesnotcompute.

"Maroon Seven" he says helpfully.

"What's UP Tom!" He rides a maroon colored Seven, a beautiful titanium steed, and when I'm riding on a regular basis, I see him once a week, at least. Although he and I usually see each other in silly lycra costumes with dopey looking styrofoam lids, fat old geezers (or soon to be) who just like to ride, sometimes fast. Takes a few more clicks to recognize my riding buddies, especially out of context, but it comes through.

Anyway he called for some professional advice about the worrisome pile of snow on his roof, about to get more worrisome with the abundance that is falling as I type this. He wanted to know if he should risk climbing on his roof to get as much as he could off before more piles on. I got the particulars ('60's rambler, trussed roof), and told him he was probably OK, but I'd check around with my colleague and a couple of structural engineers, as collapsed roofs tend to happen when epic snowfalls occur.

The short answer was that he has nothing to worry about until the snow gets to about 4' deep on his roof and it starts to rain. The nice thing about building codes is that they account for serious record-breaking conditions upon which to base simple life-saving design principles--in our area it's snow loads of 30 pounds per square foot for basic wood construction, and even hillbilly construction complies most of the time. OK so there were a few collapses around the region, but they were mostly flat roofs and there are exceptions to every rule, especially when you're dealing with gravity. Just look at my gut.

So of course I HAD to use my bicycle wheel analogy about trusses, in which the individual members (2 x 4 studs or 14 gauge wires) are flimsy but when integrated and properly connected and made rigid via a diaghram or tensile construction, they are incredibly strong structures that resist vertical and lateral loads very efficiently. Kind of like the Washington Redskins, though they aren't integrated or properly connected at all.

Back to Tom. He's a pretty amazing guitarist:

Double treat

2010-01-19T23:48:00.005-05:00

Two Caps games in two days. That doesn't happen often, but I'll take those opportunities when they come. Same goes for seeing old friends. My friend Tim was at both games, and having only seen him a coupla times in the past decade, it was great to catch up twice in a week.

The best thing about old friends is the ability to just pick up where we left off once before.

Tim and I used to train together. Not in an overtly serious fashion, but working in a bike shop with him and putting in some road miles, going to a few races, it adds a dimension to friendship, like any shared experience. So after finding our different paths, we would always have something to talk about when we would see each other at weddings or when he was in town. He kept on training, and eventually became a Cat 2. I kept on eating and would be a Cat 6, if that category existed. Category 2's race with professionals. 'Nuff said.

Icing on the cake was that the Caps won both games.

19 years ago...

2009-12-22T21:18:00.004-05:00

we had a big party after a Saturday church service. Lots of friends and family were there to share a grand time. Then we went for a short weekend trip out of town so that we would be home again for Christmas, as all of our families were still around and we didn't want to miss the fun. We had our whole lives ahead of us.

Good times continue to be had by all. We have the rest of our lives ahead of us, and we're happy to be able to share that with the two freeloaders that live with us...

Inane football on Monday night

2009-12-21T22:15:00.004-05:00

This is why I don't have a career in professional football, or any sort of football, for that matter:

Two seconds left in the half, Redskins-Giants on Monday night. It's an ass-kicking, plain and simple. Redskins have a chance to get on the board with a chip shot field goal. Easy-peasy, lemon squeezy. Three points is better than nothing.

So as they line up, in the middle of the snap, the holder (who is the punter) stands up and the ENTIRE line shifts to the far left side of the field (all except the TE, who assumes the responsibilities of snapping the ball). WOW!!! I'm such a sucka for gadget plays, I'm thinking that this will work and miraculously the 'Skins will regain the mo that they have so comically lost all game. It seems so obvious. Overload the left side, overwhelm the G-men, and suddenly we're on the board with 6 points. I'm all amped up, thinking that this will complete the trio of trick plays my boys in red have presented to us, the gullible fans, this season.

Only problem is that the very first gadget play, in the first game of the season, came against tonight's opponent, the New York Football Giants. So it's not as if they weren't expecting SOMETHING.

Back to the play. Commandant Coughlin decides to call a time-out, so as to make a minor adjustment. I would assume that he figured that his opponent would kick the FG, and we're off to the locker room.

But no. Redskins pull the same trick out of the bag, only this time the Giants line leaves a few guys back during the shift. Like 4 of them. Meanwhile, I'm thinking WOW!!! This thing could work! as the ball is snapped, the linemen, untouched, overwhelm the punter turned QB, who throws a desperation lame duck toward the end zone, only to have it intercepted and almost run back for a TD. That would have been a 10 point swing, a comedic touch.

Isn't the definition of insanity to do things the same way and expect a different result?

Timeless weekend

2009-12-20T22:05:00.005-05:00

Weekends are usually reserved for running errands, attending mandatory events related to family (sports, social, or otherwise), and (hopefully) recharging after a typical suburban middle class drone 40 hour work week.

Unless it snows 20 inches.

Then the cars stay put, we sit around and spend time with each other, catch up on so many things that we're typically "too busy" to do, and have a lazy good old time. Time goes by the wayside; the days are much brighter due to the reflecting sun on the snow, and I quite possibly gained a few lbs., given the amount of food I consumed. Gotta keep the calories up to fuel the shoveling. I would insert the perfunctory photo of the snow covered landscape here, but we've all been bombarded by the endless accounts on the local news, so there's no need. I've never seen such happy meteorologists.

For its uniqueness, this was a great weekend.

Good words from the Hammer

2009-12-17T23:45:00.004-05:00

Perhaps one of the highlights of my professional life happened earlier this week, when my former studio critic/professor, known fearfully as the Hammer, as in Sledgehammer, paid me a simple compliment about the work we're doing on a joint project.

Architecture school was rife with instances of cutting criticism of work that one labors over for a seemingly long time and then pins it up on a wall for judgment. Even the name of the process, the design "jury", conjures images of exposing oneself to frank comments with little regard for feelings or acknowledgement of hard work. Everyone knows that the process is difficult, and no one cares about the "suffering", since it really isn't. What counted was the final product, and more often than not it was pretty crappy, since we were all students.

So we developed a thick skin, and those who didn't either didn't finish architecture school or went on to become insufferable prima donnas. Lots of THOSE in our field, to be sure. The scant praise that many of us received, especially from the Hammer, grounded us well and ultimately served us in a good way. I like to remind others that our work is just Tab "K" in a development binder, a single piece of a multi-piece puzzle that is the development of a building within an urban fabric that has to be paid for somehow and approved politically and bureaucratically.

So a simple "you're doing a great job" from an 84 year old acclaimed modernist, on a project we're collaborating on, was a great way to begin one of the last weeks of a tough year.

The tangled web we weave

2009-12-10T21:39:00.005-05:00

December brings many an evening of glad-handing and back-slapping with colleagues, competitors, clients, contractors, CAD jockeys, civil engineers (soft "c" there) and all other types of people beginning with the letter "c". The holiday parties abound, and there's some good munchies to be had at these shindigs.

So tonight I went to a 20th anniversary open house of a firm that we collaborated with on a major project last year. It was a beneficial relationship, as we were beholden to the design architect and did not have to worry about paying other engineering consultants, as we WERE a consultant as well. Unfortunately the project went by way of the economy earlier this year, and when its reiteration surfaced, most of us were left out in the cold as a result of the new partnerships forged and requisite financial re-arrangements.

The following run-on sentence describes just one of the tangled webs we weave, thusly:

Last year we joined forces with an architecture firm that needed manpower to complete a large senior housing and multifamily housing apartment project with a public agency that had to demonstrate to the State that they had financing to make this thing happen so they commissioned us to complete the construction documents in such a way that it was like putting the cart before the horse (which it was) and after a long fall/winter of producing documents the rug was pulled out from under us as the economy went south and the public agency needed to find another development partner to make the deal work (which they did) although it did not include the original design team, as a matter of fact the team chosen was a client that I actually had an active project with and they chose one of our competitors to redesign the project leaving me with that feeling of a knife in buried to the hilt in between my shoulder blades that generated the question "WHY?" which will never be answered but I don't care anymore as life is too short and I have moved on and in the meantime the architect who we collaborated with is now working closely with a consultant who once worked closely with my business partner on other projects and is now going in a different direction and I don't know if there is any subtext to that (there probably is--isn't there always?) and in the meantime I rushed off to my son's band concert where I saw a construction manager who locks horns with my business partner on a fairly regular basis but is such a good guy that I try to keep work separate from socializing, though that's often unavoidable, so the upshot of all of this is that I get to see all the players at these parties and we all make nice, despite some awkward moments and suppressions of things we think but don't say.

I'm good at making nice. It's gotten me far.

Capital Cross 2009

2009-12-08T23:29:00.009-05:00

This will be short.

I first got hooked on CX watching this race, 5 or 6 years ago. The next season I put together a 'cross rig and did Charm City and this one, and cyclocross is now the thing I do.

Unless I'm not that into it.

This past Sunday being the last race of the season (exceptin' fer Cross My Heart on Super Bowl Sunday), but that's technically "next year", I dutifully attended this one knowing that my legions of fans would be there, and who am I to disappoint? As I went to registration to get my number, I saw 2 people go down hard in the icy parking lot, riding no faster than I was walking. I sidled up to the friendly (but cold) volunteer, handed over my license, and said, with a smile, "Just put me down for DNF. It'll save everyone some time." So she told me not to sign my release and asked her fellow volunteers just how to register a known result for a registrant who somehow could foresee this result. "Just a joke" I said. She didn't laugh, but then again she was stuck registering a bunch of certifiable loons who thought that "racing" in these "conditions" would be "fun".

The course was actually much more rideable than the parking lot, and after kitting up and pinning up I pre-rode through the muck, learned which lines to pick through corners, and familiarized myself with a course I've raced at least 3 times in the last few years, although under entirely different conditions.

It didn't do much good, as in the middle of the first lap I found myself off of the beaten track on a fast, icy section and went down, not so hard that it hurt but with such little control that I found myself oversteering every turn afterwards and being tentative in places I usually let rip. After almost going down again on a benign spot near the start/finish I just packed it in. Officially DNF, first race didn't finish this year. My mind was not willing, and in all honesty neither was the body. Here's a little taste of the fun:

Special thanks to Bill, who has been filming this fine stuff all season. My crash was almost in the same exact spot as that shown in the lower left corner at about 4:43 of the video, by the guy in blue, though I was already quite a bit behind Bill at this point. Don't quite know what I was thinking.

And of course, thanks to my friends who show up to watch us slog on through. And of course, my boys who I see on the odd Sundays in the fall--Kemal, Neil, Jeff, Paul, Jim, Steve, and everyone else. It's always a great time, even when it's not.

Next year is just around the corner...

Speaking Spanish to an Italian...

2009-12-02T23:38:00.012-05:00

I had one of those experiences this week conversing with an engineer about emergency generators, you know, the discussion about something you just know a little bit about with someone who knows every detail about the subject. You sort of understand, but you don't really, so you go for the big picture, but the engineer doesn't GET the big picture, as the details are what are important to them. So we end up talking at cross purposes sometimes, and simple conversations can turn difficult.

In the late spring I joined a group of musicians to jam with various stringed instruments. As I am a virtuoso with all of three chords, I usually disappear into the background pretty easily and just try to strum along, knowing that my hopeless technical deficiencies will be easily covered by the group and my somewhat healthy sense of rhythm. The only problem was that this group was much more of the folk music variety, and people were showing up with dobroes and lap steel guitars and zithers and one two-stringed thing that I had never seen nor heard before. The only other guitar in the room was a friendly dude who could finger and flat pick like nobody's business, and he talked to me about tuning down and other things I just don't really know. We weren't even through half a song when I packed it in. So some days you hear a language which sounds somewhat familiar but you just don't really understand what's being said.

I know this has nothing to do with this, but this was really freaky a coupla nights ago--while our boy Alex was getting suspended by the NHL for an inopportune knee on knee hit, two Panther teammates had an accidental altercation...

Black Friday ride

2009-11-27T23:09:00.004-05:00

There were only 16 people on our ride this morning, a manageable number that enables some good social interaction early, and given our collective post-gluttonous condition, we all agreed on an easy pace. The absence of ego-induced muscle flexing made for a relaxing ride, and the paceline was the smoothest it has been in many months. Then again, I haven't been on this ride much this year, so what do I know? Suffice it to say that the smaller number (there are usually 5x as many riders on this popular ride, and it usually happens on Sundays) enabled a smooth rotation all the way down MacArthur to the top of Old Angler's.

The classic 2 column rotating paceline is a simple process, though one that is often disjointed and sometimes dangerous, especially with large numbers on board. Broken down into more discrete groups, we can benefit from the efficiencies of this practice, and miles tick along with less effort. This is not new, and much is written and conveyed about how to ride a paceline properly, but the competitive nature of group rides often transforms these models of windbreaking into mini battles for position, which benefits no one. Today, however, was different. Nice job, boys and girls.

Thanks Abe.

2009-11-24T23:26:00.005-05:00

Back in 1875, this building was erected on F Street in northwest DC. The LeDroit Building was a prominent office address, well known for its high ceilings, large windows, and stately presence.

Based on this picture, this area of downtown DC was relatively vibrant, in the '60's and '70's, based on the styles in this photo. Soon after it became seedy, and hanging around that area anytime after 6PM was not a good idea.

In the mid '90's, when I was humping any sidejob I could to earn some extra cash, I did some sidework for an old school crazy architect who had space in the LeDroit Building. The short walk from the Gallery Place Metro station to his studio was always risky, especially at 10 or 11 PM when I would head home. The space was as vintage as his methodology--he didn't own a computer, he drew everything pencil on vellum, beautiful stuff. The craft of drawing was as important as the instructions his drawings provided, and I learned a ton in the short time I worked with him. I am certain that his cranky style bred his isolation and he paid me as much for helping him produce about 3% of his drawings as for just listening to his rants. My favorite quote from him originated from a call he received from an ex-colleague, who wanted to hire him for a short but complex contract job up in Pittsburgh. "But what about all of your hotshot young kids who could do the job on CAD?" he asked. The response: "Do it on CAD? There's not enough TIME to do this job on the computer." I will digress for a moment, as I was discussing with my staff at work today that the craft of drawing, conveying, and understanding the graphic narrative of making an instruction set for buildings is buried under layers of technical noise brought on by CAD, an incredible tool that, when used poorly, reduces the act of visual communication to relentless data input and management.

Back to the LeDroit building. It was renovated in the late '90's, and it is now the Spy Museum. While it's still a good idea to be wary of one's surroundings, the threat of imminent physical harm in these parts has certainly lessened in the past decade. It would not have enjoyed its current renaissance had it not been for the vision of a man who dumped millions of dollars of his own money into not one but two arenas in the DC area, the Capital Centre and the Verizon Center. Chinatown and its environs are a much better place for the city now thanks to the generosity of Abe Pollin, who was also instrumental in bringing the NBA and the NHL to DC. Much will be written about his passing in the local papers tomorrow morning, and I just wanted to remember him briefly for his largesse, as he did much to make the city a better place. Rest in peace, Mr. Pollin.

Following directions

2009-11-17T22:22:00.005-05:00

To simplify it to its most basic components, I get paid to make instructions. Not unlike the graphic notations that come in the flat boxes of IKEA furniture or the organizational components that we buy at Target, I produce documents that enable people to make spaces in which to live and work (or both).

Sometimes these instructions are so nebulous, vague, or lacking in the proper narrative that the process of putting together a "kit of parts" becomes a joyless chore. Why didn't they do this or it would be easier if or buttheads don't know what they're doing are the tamer things that we utter and grumble as the process of assembling lurches forth.

On several levels of increased magnitude, the plans and specs for a building are complex instructions that require vigilant coordination of disparate elements. If we do our job properly, the owner and contractor are only calling us useless hacks some of the time. When things go south, it's no fun, like so many of life's conflicts. Mix in varying levels of people involved in development, construction, design, management, authorities having jurisdiction, and the end users, and we have a veritable chaotic stew. It's actually pretty miraculous that buildings get built, they tend to be safe, and they can be pleasing.

Aside from creating these instructions, we're always solving problems, like little puzzles, in this quest to provide solutions. The current crisis at the office on one of my projects is a disturbing lack of water pressure on a condo project, which is more complex than it sounds. But like so many things we deal with, the complexity is due to the layers of noise added to the process by those who don't always follow instructions too well. It may well be that parts of the instructions are deficient. Whatever. The important thing is that the problem be solved, which ultimately may come down to turning a few valves or clearing out a few obstructions...

More to come when this thing is resolved, because I sense that the energy spent trying to get to a solution will far outweigh the energy not spent in ensuring that it wouldn't be a problem in the first place.

Nick vs Nik

2009-11-12T20:38:00.007-05:00

Just learned how to embed videos in a blog.

Whoop-dee-doo.

Gotta be careful, as posting too many vids can be as interesting as talking in great detail about dreams, or discussing fantasy football, or describing how epic D & D character roll-ups are, or showing baby pictures, or or or.

I'll stop here.

Off to the Caps v. Wild game. It's not often that you see two Nic(k)las Backstroms play each other, so you take those opportunities when they come.

Me and the Mayor

2009-11-11T21:19:00.013-05:00

OK so we've seen that Sr. Fenty, the mayor of the good city of Washington, is in the news for various P.R. gaffes. In his zeal to "get things done" and "live a normal life" he has succeeded in ruffling feathers thusly:

1. He shunted some public monies slated to develop parks and playgrounds throughout the city via the DC Housing Authority to contractors with whom he had some long term personal relationships. This end run allowed him to avoid the pesky oversight (aka "approval") by the DC Council, resulting in more anger amongst the politicos, as they were still miffed about his odd refusal to share Nationals and Bullets tickets. Why anyone would be angry about not getting to see mediocre sports products...oh never mind. Notice how they like to call his friends "frat brothers"? Ya know, a coupla words and suddenly there's cronyism.

2. Training on his bike with his mates from DC Velo and other local clubs in the middle of the day has raised the eyebrows of the humorless press, who ominously intone about running red lights, slowing down mid-day traffic, utilizing valuable police resources, and taking long lunches on the saddle. This is fodder for local newscasts and LooseLips in the City Paper, so we're in for a juicy few weeks of mayor and cyclist bashing. Yay. My only request for these "journalists" is to GET THEIR FACTS STRAIGHT about cycling, the law, and minding one's own business before they prattle on about how weirdos in spandex are interfering with their right to "use the roads that we pay for with taxpayer dollars".

So here's where it gets interesting, because 3 weeks ago I may have tipped the first domino in the whole sordid "mayor who rides a bike at lunchtime and funnels work to his friends" controversy, also popularly known as "MWRBLFWTHF gate". It's a mouthful, I know, but we'll get used to it, as the local press will surely use this moniker freely as they get to the bottom of things. Rolls right off the tongue. So here goes.

At the end of the process of converting a sow's ear into a silk purse, as they say, I often attend ribbon cutting ceremonies for rehab projects that our firm completes. I've mentioned before that the gratifying aspect of my work is seeing how we can literally change lives by improving the living conditions of the working poor (and working not-so-poor, and non-working poor, etc). The culmination of design and construction efforts is a show often attended by the mayor or whatever muckety muck happens to be running the jurisdiction of our projects.

Three weeks ago, in the Fairlawn neighborhood of southeast DC, we waited for the mayor to show up at the ceremony. The usual bunting and balloons festooned the newly landscaped front lawn of the building, a tent with food, drink, and TV cameras waiting, and small throngs of people rounded out the scene. About an hour after the scheduled time, the mayor pulls up in his SmartCar and wades into the "crowd", shaking hands and looking past each person, looking to the next gladhand. As he looked my way and shook my hand, I greeted him with a reminder that we had met at a groundbreaking ceremony this past April at yet another project. My hook at that time was a remark "Hey I ride with some of your friends". He stopped, looked at me, and we engaged in some conversation about the riding scene and some of our mutual acquaintances.

This time there was a flicker of recognition, as the bike was our common bond. So I pressed him further and asked him to bring the family out to DCCX that upcoming weekend. he politely declined, citing a busy schedule, and that he prefers riding on the road, etc. Maybe next year. Great talking to you, time to move on. So he stepped up to the podium, gave his remarks, toured a unit, and began to make his exit.

(Unfortunately for the mayor, this is what he missed)

On his way out, he needed to make the obligatory stop in front of the cameras, so as he (seemingly reluctantly) made his way to the news crews, he passed by me again. But he stopped, shook my hand again, and engaged in some more bike banter, asking my name, and talking cyclocross. As we chatted, I felt this odd sensation of quiet descending around us. Couldn't put my finger on it, but it was odd. We finished our short chat again, and he began talking to the talking heads. I left the site and headed back to work.

So later that evening I saw that his site visit was the lead story on Channel 5, not because the press wanted to focus on his interest in housing, but because the DC Housing Authority/Parks and Recreation scandal was brewing. Seems that while we were talking, it got quiet because, I don't know, maybe the newsies were trying to figure out who I was, and did I have anything to do with this "breaking news".

Look closely in the background and there's a renovated slum. It's much better than it used to be, really. Happier people live there for sure, and the intercoms actually work.

I give myself too much credit. What really happened is that they heard us talking about riding bikes and they decided to go jump on another "scandal". I know that this station hates the mayor, but c'mon. This piece is about as amateur as they come.

The list of suck

2009-11-08T21:31:00.004-05:00

Last week was pretty rough at work, as the economy continues to drag us down. Gotta institute furloughs again, despite a brief respite.

"Managing expectations", a well overused term, was in force last week. It's amazing how one's attitude can be affected by the spin that is placed on the information you share with a client, coworker, contractor, or partner.

So while I was being harangued by a client before the weekend about details that were important to him (those that I had honestly not even perceived to be important), I had a mini epiphany, of sorts. I decided that when I meet with him later this week I will bring a list of things that give owners heartburn and angst (read: change orders that result in cost overruns). This is a list that I have compiled over the years that highlights my lowlights. By itself, in black and white, it is a list of suck, a compendium of abject failures that trumpet the wanton spending of other people's money because the architect didn't foresee every unforeseen circumstance. By itself, it is a vehicle for despair, as it represents glaring deficiencies in seemingly simple operations, i.e. leaving out one line in a drawing set that literally cost a client $30,000.

But that's what professional liability insurance is for.

That said, I can hold this 3 page (or thereabouts), black and white list of suck against the massive volume of work that we did get right, several thousand units of affordable housing, some of which were nasty slums, all over the metro area and into PA, WV, and NC. This 3 pager up against stacks and stacks of photos showing revitalized buildings and new construction looks pretty meager and unimportant. So I'll happily add that missing 3-way hallway light switch to the list, knowing that this inconvenience is a small price to pay for living in a clean, modern, and safe unit.

It's all about perspective. After all, that list of suck is now a checklist to make sure I don't go down that road again.

Next blog

2009-11-05T22:08:00.005-05:00

Every once in awhile while I'm noodlin' around I'll hit the Next Blog button at the top of the page and drop into someone else's world, if only for a few seconds, just to get a taste of what's out there.

Flipping through the pages at not quite Coverflow speed on iTunes, just enough to see the general subject at hand, a photo, or the language it's written in.

Sometimes this linear meandering ends abruptly, as the Next Blog button disappears.

Other times it moves along briskly, and you realize one cannot scratch the surface of the surface of the 10,000 new weblogs that are generated DAILY. Not that you would want to.

One more thing. Not to end on a bummer note, but the mother of a friend of a friend is losing her battle with cancer this week. I don't know the friend or his mother, but I'm familiar with their story, and my friend is going to be with them on this sad weekend. So my thoughts are with them.

Connections

2009-11-03T21:42:00.005-05:00

Since November of last year I've reconnected with a bunch of old friends via The FacceBoooooook (that's Italian for Facebook), and boy it's been fun. Really. Both K and I have been lucky to have had the experience in life of growing up in multiple places (that was the hook that got me and K talking when I first met her) since our dads both worked for the US Govt (military and Foreign Service). So besides my cousins who are all over the world now, I've got friends from 2 elementary schools, 2 middle schools, 2 high schools, college, grad school (the failed attempt), the bike shops, architecture school (the successful attempt), the career, my riding buddies, my neighborhood friends, and the friends that we have come to know by what our kids do (and where they are schooled) who are all, in some way, back in touch via FB. Pretty amazing, and the memories have been flowing.

The old fashioned (that is, e-mail) way of communicating, however, yielded an interesting exchange this last week. My packrat freshman year in college hallmates started sending out scans of pictures, missives, screeds, and other such gimcrackery to a select few of us, just to stir up the old recollections and for a few yuks. Two weeks ago, totally unrelated, one of my hallmates when I was an R.A. in college started commenting anonymously on my blog, making reference to some people and stories that made me realize it wasn't spam. The guessing game began, and it was fun for a while, but I figured that since these comments happened on the same weekend as Homecoming, there may be a connection. A quick conversation with my sister in law, who was also AT homecoming, yielded the answer, and just for fun I posted one of the pics that my friends had sent me last month.

Turns out that some guy who raced at DCCX with me (though I didn't see him, since he passed me once in the first lap and lapped me somewhere near the end, though I must have seen him twice, from behind) recognized the pic as the BROTHER OF SOMEONE HE WENT TO HIGH SCHOOL WITH. Some quick email correspondence confirmed this, and I'm still shaking my head at the coincidental events that yielded me:

1. A reconnection with a couple of college friends that went beyond the "friending" process on FB.

2. A new acquaintance who I will now see every coupla weeks in the fall at CX races.

3. One more person who reads this blog, for a total of 3 readers!

When I was a kid I watched this BBC show called Connections. Not that this is nearly that complex, but still...

Which John?

2009-10-26T19:32:00.004-04:00

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

2009-10-26T09:39:00.004-04:00

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

2009-10-08T22:42:00.002-04:00

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

2009-10-02T22:20:00.003-04:00

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.

Sick daze

2009-09-30T21:31:00.002-04:00

About 4 years ago I was coaching my daughter's soccer team, and by virtue of the league she belongs to, those of us who coach often referee the game after ours. It was a cold, wet, October morning. Happened to be a Sunday, so actually it was early afternoon - no games on Sunday mornings, due to church. Since I don't go anymore, that Sunday ritual has been replaced with the group ride, which is a communal and spiritual event unto itself.

Based on the way I felt that day, I probably didn't ride. I was really weak, haggard, and suffering from a bad cold. I wasn't that spirited during our game, and my dad thankfully took the kids to his house so I could ref (if aimlessly walking around a muddy field with a whistle falls under that category) the game and then I dragged my butt home. By that point I was really wiped out, worse than I had felt in a long time, and I half watched the Redskins trounce the 49ers, which they were bound to do, as SF fielded a sorry team that year (compared to the Detroit squad that was to be an easy win this year...oops). I guess I called my parents and told them to keep the kids for as log as possible, as I was in and out of consciousness all afternoon. By the time everyone convened at home, I was a sorry lump of goo and truly sick.

I didn't go to work all week--by the time I finally figured that I needed to go to a doctor (for a second time), half the work week was gone and the diagnosis was finally made, which was pneumonia. Having never had this malaise, I didn't realize the extent to which the body just tells the mind that "you can do whatever you want, but we ain't going anywhere". The meds and antibiotics started beating it back immediately, and by Monday I was rarin' to go, and went to work.

At about 9:45 Monday morning I said to everyone: See ya later, I'm going home. And I did, where I alternated sleeping, sitting on the couch, reading the paper, and doing Sudoku puzzles for the next 4 days, with some increasing increments of work daily. It blew me away that the body just said "I'm done for awhile. I want, nay, NEED some rest." I guess I had been burning the candle at both ends blah blah blah, so it was sorely needed.

By the time I was back at work full time I had lost 15 pounds, and looked a bit drawn, but I was definitely rested. Four years later, I'm sitting here after 2 forced days off, as I have this virus that has travelled from my head on Sunday to my chest on Monday to my intestines on Tuesday, so by now it's pretty much gone. I mostly rested, with some work remotely from home, but once again the body tells the idiot what needs to be done in order to keep moving forward.

It's funny because 2 weeks ago, right before the CX season opener in Baltimore, I felt a twinge in my back. I haven't been riding as much as I usually do this year, but my volume has increased in the last couple months, so I thought it was strange that the muscles were feeling a bit strained in the lower back. As I moved a bowl--not a toilet bowl, or a large ceremonial urn, or even a big clay pot--from the counter to the cabinet, this effort to put away a clean cereal bowl resulted in a PULLED MUSCLE in my lower back. I gimped around the entire day, slept stiffly, and then raced the next day, thinking I would regret it later, but as it turned out it was not nearly as debilitating as I had originally thought. The back pain lingered through the week, extended by running and riding some more and racing again this past weekend, but only enough to remind me that I'm getting more creaky.

If only I would listen more.

Can't sleep

2009-09-16T02:30:00.002-04:00

Sleeping is an activity that I can say I have much God-given talent. So much so that I would be a well-paid professional at such an endeavor, if only we were paid for doing nothing. It's usually no problem to lay on my snow white pillow for my big fat head and wrap myself in the arms of morpheus. A little "Big Time" reference to the Peter Gabriel set.

Until now. It's 2:34 AM and instead of tossing and turning I'm just browsing and typing.

Tomorrow (or today, as the case may be) will be a lethargic one.

Fall is here

2009-09-12T19:55:00.005-04:00

Labor Day weekend has come and gone, the kids are in school, and we're settling into the routine of the fall. A few changes here and there. Another cycle of seasons, the year will pass again, and we will carry on.

A few things of note:

We crashed the family reunion with the Pittsburgh cousins on Labor Day Sunday with our Caps gear on, much to their collective chagrin. After the emotional hugs and kisses that accompany reuniting with several generations, we had to give and take as is the norm in American sports culture regarding our allegiances to these groups of millionaires that seem to take our minds off the mundane trappings of life. Hockey season is less than 3 weeks away!!!

Kids are out of the house by 7:30 AM, which means we can get to work early or on time or both. No more bus stop action. Much more independence for everybody, and for teens and 'tweens, that's a GOOD THING.

There are glimmers of potential projects coming back to life in the construction industry and housing market, which means that we can focus on design, production, and normalcy at work, instead of worrying about where (or who) the next cut is going to befall. We're not out of the woods yet, but we're seeing light at the edges of the forest.

I'm about to put some Tektro 720's on my CX rig. I'm tired of the tentative braking power I'm getting with my current Tektro set. Looking forward to no more shuddering and no more squealing. Not that this will make too much difference at Charm City next weekend. The cyclocross season is upon us!

Polished off some Guinnesses (Guinni?) with our friends up the street, catching up on all the goings on around the block (and environs) while the boys jammed downstairs and the girls did their own thing. The band is sounding tight. We all agreed that this has been a crappy year, with the unusual toll that cancer is taking on people we know and love. Which means that these evenings sitting around and catching up with the people we love need to happen more, not less.

Found a sweet balance point during my last interval today on my ride. I was doing 2 sets of 3 min on and 2 min off, and in that last 3 minute rep I found the point at which I was hurting but not blowing up...I need to listen to the body more instead of looking at the meter.

Ten minutes a day on the guitar is tons better than 20 or so minutes once every couple of weeks. It's amazing how the muscle memory gains traction with repetition instead of wishing it so. I told my friend Bill that I've got the E shaped barre chord down, so the barre-ed F is actually easy for me now when just 3 weeks ago it represented a tortured mangle of fingers. Next challenge is the A shaped barre for the B chord, which is starting to become less uncomfortable. Bill, who is quite an accomplished musician told me that barre-ing a B chord separates the men from the boys. Manhood, I am at your doorstep.

And a few other things that will reveal themselves to me in the days ahead, as they always do. It's been a decent start to the fall--much better than the weird days of this past summer.

Derek and Eric

2009-08-30T21:50:00.003-04:00

The group ride thing has not been a high priority lately, as my perceived lack of conditioning quickly turns such rides into more solo affairs. So instead of being on time for the traditional Saturday morning N2, I roll out at a more leisurely pace and figure I'll see who I see on the roads and maintain some sort of reasonable tempo. I'm a pretty social person, so this streak of introvertedness (introversion? introvertishness?) is somewhat strange.

Saturday turned out to be a great day, and a solid ride. One my way I met up with my friend Derek, who I haven't seen in person in a long time. I see him at least a couple of time a week on TV, though, and we became friends as I stuck with him when he had "a day without" and he returned the favor when I had a flat one time. We became familiar as one does in these group rides, learning snippets of the lives of the people around us. We caught up some, and I figure I'll see him more now that I'm back on the bike fairly regularly.

Toward the end of the ride I started chatting with Eric, a guy out on his own loop. He was pretty strong, and we talked about taking advantage of the time out on the road. He called these 2 hours on the bike "his peace". I peeled off and headed home, thinking about these old and new acquaintances, realizing that the two wheels beneath all of us were the common threads of 3 different lives and lifestyles, but that which tied us together for a few minutes on a Saturday.

Bounty

2009-08-22T22:50:00.004-04:00

I am lucky to be married to the granddaughter of a real farmer.

One of the rituals of summer has been a trip up to pick berries (black and rasp) at a farm in Biglerville PA. The harvest of nature's candy is then canned into jams at my in-laws place in Carlisle. On the way back, stops at an orchard and farmers market yield silly amounts of peaches, plums, corn, and apples. Add that on top of our very own summer vegetable harvest, and the countertop looks like this (the double sink is full of peaches and apples):

I do nothing to contribute here, other than eat. If the end of days is nigh, we will have plenty of jam and fruity snacks, and veggies to see us through.

Back to the grind

2009-08-16T22:17:00.002-04:00

The annual family vacation to the Outer Banks of North Carolina is now in my rear view mirror. Good recharge time, got a lot of sleeping accomplished. I think I resolved lots of things, but many more questions were raised in the process. I guess life's done if you are no longer asking and answering questions. My backlog means I've got lots of living to do.

Three women

2009-08-06T22:40:00.005-04:00

This is a major downer of a post, so go away. You've been warned.

I've alluded to the fact that I've been going through a rough patch lately, mainly having to do with narcissistic thoughts and selfish tendencies that don't amount to much more than irritating background noise and a clouded vision of where I am and where I've been.

It is so miniscule compared to the events of this week, in which real sadness, raw and expected, took place on three separate levels, among the thousands of other losses that take place daily. Cancer claimed the lives of 3 women who are connected to me in disparate ways. The ex-president of the Philippines, the wife of a blogger I don't even know, and my friend's mom.

I think I met Cory Aquino once, when I was younger, as my parents were friends with that family and spent some time with them during their exile in the U.S. Couldn't really get to know them when we lived in the Philippines because Ninoy was in jail. Kind of hard to have a Sunday BBQ when the husband is incarcerated for "treasonous crimes". When he came back to the Philippines he was immediately assassinated, and 3 years later his wife became president. Because of her efforts an entire nation rose up against a tyrannical little man and provided hope for democracy movements in other countries. "People Power" is a household term that is due to her persistence.

Susan in this guy's wife and mother to 4, from all accounts, good kids. His blog was the first I ever read and got me started on this online journalizing. Her fight against this wasting disease provided a platform for her husband to raise awareness and money - over $500,000 so far. Over 2,000 comments in the posting of his wife's passing attest to the care that this awareness has garnered from the electronic community. Far better tributes to this family can be found here and here, among other places for sure.

Mrs. A is my neighbor and friend's mom, who just passed this week. She's the only one of the three that I really know, and not that well. But I do know her through her daughter, who is one of our dearest friends, whose love for her own family spreads to ours daily, as our kids are fast friends with theirs.

Three different women, all loved by casts of thousands, all taken by this awful disease. Eight years ago three other women I know fought and beat cancer, and I am thankful for the fight that my mom, my aunt, and my sister in law undertook.

I hope next week will be better.

A sound decision

2009-08-03T22:17:00.005-04:00

So I was with a client yesterday at the DDOT kiosk at DCRA in downtown DC helping her fill out some permit applications, chatting about work. She mentioned to me that her staff is dwindling, as people are finding different paths to their lives and moving on. I casually mentioned "I've made a personal decision that will greatly relieve some accumulated stress in the upcoming months." She shot me this look of guarded apprehension, not knowing what would come next. Leaving my job? Getting separated? Skipping off to the Canadian Rockies? I could tell her wheels were turning because she works for a Boston based non profit that is known for high turnover, is completely intense, and is coming off a divorce.

"I won't be coaching my daughter's soccer team in the fall or spring." She looked at me with just a little bit of derision, probably figuring that this is a minor blip compared to work, relationships, and life; so minor that it doesn't warrant much consideration. Don't blame her one bit--it really doesn't seem like much.

Until you do it, and ladle it on top of work, relationships, and life. Having coached kids soccer for over 4 years, it's really not difficult at all. What's hard is managing the time, between games and mid-week practices and communicating with all the parents, including those that don't have the greatest command of English (glad I know Spanish), or somehow insist on following the schedule of another team and calling me repeatedly wondering why the team isn't at the field.

So the fall suddenly feels a bit more open. We'll still go to the games, cheer them on, enjoy the other families and the moments too. It's a bit of found time that will keep on reappearing every week.

Back on the bike

2009-08-02T22:20:00.003-04:00

My new ritual (3 years running now) is to rent a bike at Kitty Hawk Cycle Company so I can get some miles in when I'm not frolicking at the beach with everyone. I guess I'm supporting the local economy, since I choose not to bring my own bike down, which, while extremely possible, is a pain in the ass.

I called Mike on Friday to ask him to reserve a bike for me, to which he replied he couldn't have one for me until Sunday, since his cycle works Sunday to Saturday, and we get there on Friday. So I'll miss the Saturday group ride...big deal. Until he says "But I'll lend you mine, so you can ride on Saturday". He rides a 53, I'm typically a 54, so for a day I'm golden. Now THAT'S how to guarantee repeat business.

To riff on the word repeat, it's now time to repeat riding daily so that I can get some respectable miles in before Charm City (seven weeks away) and the ensuing 'cross season. It's finally clicking, even though I'm still slow and have no snap, I'm ready to train seriously again. I guess I needed a 9 month layoff to resolve some other things jangling around, and this will start fitting together again.

Saturday was a great ride in the park with Kelly and Trevor, after which we were joined by Lee, Carol, and George. I was way late for the N2 and thought I'd pick it up on the return leg, but I'm glad I missed it as this edition featured 4 riders down, with three to the hospital. No major injuries, but definitely a bummer for those affected. Riding with Lee is a bonus, since I haven't seen him on the road in a long time, and look forward to some more time riding with him.

Sunday was one of those clarifying, intensely mellow affairs which featured a good soaking pretty much from the start. Warm summer rains are great to ride in, since senses are heightened more acutely than normal. Rooster tails and road grit in the eyes, sweat mixed with rain, a little more space between each other. And funny, too, when you have to tell the guy in front of you to not use so much detergent next time he washes his kit--the suds coming out of this guy's shorts made his hindquarters look rabid.

Later in the afternoon we rode to Wheaton Park with a group of girl scouts, a short little trip that only took out one little brother, as he couldn't quite negotiate a sharp turn at the bottom of the hill on the trail. Got up quick, though, and I reassured him that crashing on wet pavement is a helluvalot better than dry. He'll probably feel it in his bones tonight, but at least he won't be sticking to the sheets.

45 years...and counting

2009-07-24T23:52:00.003-04:00

One day in July of 1964 a man got on a plane in Argentina and made a long trip north, to the west coast of the U S of A. He then boarded another plane and skipped across the Pacific, via Hawaii and Guam, to arrive in Manila, the Philippine Islands. Tracking northward from the southern hemisphere and then westward across a vast ocean was a long trip in those days...long, not so comfortable, noisy, bumpy, as jets were only in commercial air service for 6 years by this time. In the two trips I've made to the Philippines in the past 10 years from the east coast I've always counted on 30 hours, real bed to real bed. It's a tiring trip even now, and considering that this man travelled the two legs of a triangle to get there, it must have been even more taxing then.

Arriving in Manila wasn't the end of the journey, however. He still had to negotiate a flight to one of the Visayan Islands by going to the domestic terminal in the sweltering heat, the unruly crowds, the strange smells and cacophonous noise. The stewardess on the plane passed around a basket which had a hand lettered sign requesting that all firearms be deposited for the duration of the flight--you'll get your gun back when you land. The last leg of the trip was coming to an end.

Several days of parties welcomed this stranger to a strange land, a loving family willing to take him in, dozens of siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles, and relatives of the woman he was to marry. They met in college here at Georgetown U, fell in love, and decided to spend the rest of time together. The wedding was beautiful, and from all accounts a lavish party. I only see it from the black and white filter of the wedding album that my sisters and I would look at when we were younger.

But while virtually every wedding that I know of is populated by relatively equal numbers of family from both sides of the aisle, this man was literally the only person from his family at his wedding. It was financially not possible for anyone in his family from Braddock Pa. make this trip, and while finances were a major limitation, I'm certain that the culture shock and journey into the unknown was as much of a deterrent. Travel just wasn't very facile those days, and certainly not for such a long distance to such an exotic place. His best man was one of my uncles, and in case he got cold feet legend has is that one of the relatives known for his proclivity to be less than faithful to his wife had a car and plane on standby for an escape. I think this was exaggerated family lore, and due to sound decision making on dad's part I am able to recount all of this.

This is a staggering concept, to travel such long distances, to commit so fully to someone that you trust that you willingly leave the umbrella of safety and comfort that your own family offers. To become a member of a new family halfway across the world required an enormous leap of faith and a journey far more precipitous in what was then unknown.

Thanks Mom and Dad for making that leap, and HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!

Ouch

2009-07-21T23:48:00.004-04:00

I've never been a good descender. My panic speed is low; I hit 49.8 MPH coming down into Charlottesville from Crozet 21 years ago, almost to the day. That's the fastest I've ever travelled on 2 wheels, and I couldn't quite get it up over 50 as the bike started feeling odd, and I backed off.

It was a great summer of training, riding, racing--I was done with the charade of graduate school, in which I learned that I'm much more of a history buff than a historian. I also realized that year that if I wanted to teach in the public school system I would have to spend another year or so learning stuff that I thought I already knew. These were necessary lessons that diverted me from a life of academia and enabled me to satisfy the urge to own a bike shop out of my system. A couple more years of that and I realized that it was just retail, and I didn't want to work on weekends, or fix other people's bikes, or sell.

So instead I became an architect, which means that I (sometimes) work on weekends, sell professional services, and grind along like everyone else. I'm paid to draw and solve problems, sometimes getting to design some pretty cool stuff.

So back to descending. The skill required, the lack of fear, the ability to trust centripetal forces and coax your center of gravity into the right position, to clamp your knees onto the top tube to quiet the shimmy at 45 MPH+, to quell the gnawing thoughts that just one stone can turn your knifelike profile into an uncontrollable wobbly mass of skin on pavement, all of these qualities I don't quite have nailed down. I do most of them well, but not well enough to make up time lost on a climb, which is guaranteed, since it's even harder to lug two bucks worth of body mass around on a bike these days. My mind is weak, and I can't convince the rest of me to take those chances anymore.

Which is why watching Jens Voight's crash in today's tour stage so chilling. Probably the hardest man in the sport today, he was helpless when body and bike conspired to collapse under him while thundering down the Petit Saint Bernard. I've never seen anyone SKID ON THEIR FACE at 55+ MPH. I hope to never see that again.

He's a tough dude. He'll be back. Not in this race, but soon.

Movie night

2009-07-17T00:25:00.002-04:00

It's been a while, but we did the movie night thing, preceded with beers and eats at the local pub. Finding a slice of time during the summer evenings to just hang out with some friends.

We usually meet in Silver Spring, but The Hurt Locker is on limited release, so we saw it in Bethesda. Worked out for me, as I stayed late at work to finish a proposal and joined the boys before the late show.

Walking to the theater from the pub we saw a big raccoon dumpster diving in one of the street garbage cans, right next to people eating dinner al fresco. I tried to get a picture of the little beast, but he was too quick for me. I should have gotten pictures of the horrified diners who watched Rocky slink back into the storm sewer.

Intense movie, that Hurt Locker. Awesome, actually.

Skim coat

2009-07-15T23:20:00.003-04:00

One more layer of mud is all I need before getting to paint this thing. The bathroom that just won't end actually has a light at the end of its tunnel. Nothing like the pressure of a shindig at our place this Saturday eve to kick me into subcontractor mode. It's not like our half-finished family room isn't hillbilly enough--at least the bathroom will have all of its pieces and parts painted and trimmed...for the most part.

Kind of like the situation at work lately. Lots of things half done, not quite finished, and since there is little work on the horizon it seems that finishing projects translates into looking down the steep precipice of who knows what. But we gotta finish to send out invoices, so the machine trudges along.

Sad news from one of my friends in architecture school. One of our profs succumbed to brain cancer after battling the cancer that had started in his lungs. This guy was quite cerebral, entertaining, imposing, and quirky, qualities that I always admired. He taught theory and was a great critic, always intertwining Italian modernism and Renaissance/Baroque architecture, among other things, when commenting on the dreck that we presented to him as we stumbled along, learning in lurches. I'll always appreciate his discussion of the "moment" on a facade, that instant when the composition finds its balance, is inevitable, and just right. But even more memorable is the mundane moment at the Circuit City, when the salesman was showing him just how vibrant this TV was, he interrupted him and said "I don't care what it looks like when it's on. I only care what it looks like when it's off."

RIP, Tom Schumacher.

Getting dropped

2009-07-12T23:33:00.003-04:00

It's been a woeful year for me on the bike, if all I'm looking at is numbers. Otherwise it's been OK, as the few that I have logged in this year have all been memorable, in their own ways. By now I usually have a couple of thousand miles in my legs (based on 100 mile weeks over 6 months, give or take a few low mileage or no mileage weeks). The weekly club rides are never a problem when my base is laid.

I MAYBE have 350 miles in this year, if I'm charitable. It's no wonder that I'm being dropped like a bad habit on rides that normally are easy. In recent years (and especially when I tried to race), getting dropped was usually a trigger of increasing self-doubt and teeth gnashing which begat all kinds of lame conversation with whoever would listen to the self-loathing. As I hate to hear that as much as the next person, I try to clam up when the discussion of in-season form comes up during the small talk. It's all hollow.

Getting dropped often this year, however, has been kind of liberating. I'm not going to be involved in the animated competition that takes place during the rides because I simply can't hang right now. This is a brutal sport, in which one needs to train consistently hard just to suck. Riding alone gives me ample opportunity to resolve things bangin' around my head, of which there has been a lot of activity lately.

A couple memorable moments from my few rides this year, and lessons learned.

1. Don't eat 4 chorizo breakfast burritos before riding from Herndon to Silver Spring via Poolesville. The demands of the GI tract are much louder and more irrational than most human urges, and certainly harder to control voluntarily. I started that ride with arm warmers; I no longer have those in my wardrobe.

2. When embarking on the annual century with the intention of riding only half of it, I plan on paying attention to where I am so that I don't end up riding 20 miles shy of the 100. While I didn't bonk, I cramped in muscles that were buried in other muscles, numerous times. Stupid is as stupid does.

3. Realize that getting dropped in places where I used to lose contact when I started riding seriously again 5 years ago is because I'm at about the same form now that I was then.

Duh.

MORE FUN/BLACK SUN

2009-07-10T23:43:00.013-04:00

One of the most worn cassettes that I played in the '82 Corolla over and over was my 90 minute Maxell with the third and fourth albums by X on each side. More Fun In the New World was more slickly produced and therefore more commercially successful, but the one that sticks with me, speaks to me, marks a shift in the way I looked at things and never gets old was Under The Big Black Sun.

I was a freshman in college in 1984 and my hallmate was practicing his bass on "The Have Nots", the last song on the album. Something about the dischordant harmonies was oddly attractive, and soon addictive. I could turn this passage into an homage to John, Exene, Billy, and DJ but suffice it to say that there's enough of that out there. While their first two albums were even more raw and energetic, there was something about Black Sun that allows me to discover something new every time I hear it. From these 4 albums X put together a set at the 9:30 Club last month that just may be the last time they all play together as a band. I'm glad I got to see them, after many failed attempts.

This is especially helpful when I'm in one of those morose funks that I find myself in every once in a while, about "lost opportunities" and "what could have been," despite the fact that I have everything I want in front of me. Just writing also helps me process these green thoughts, and two solid days of riding this weekend should dispense of the rest of the accumulated flotsam and jetsam of the feeble mind.

That ability to dissipate the negative energy has been missing for much of this year, so that's gotta change now. And 'cross season is just 2 months away.

Pandora's box

2009-07-09T23:56:00.002-04:00

Look, don't look. A simple choice can alter one's day significantly.

Sometimes it's better to let sleeping dogs lie.

This is purposely cryptic to remind me of a lesson I learned today. I've found that looking back over this journal has done what I originally intended it to do, which is to stave off memory loss that is part and parcel with the accretion of years that seem to glide past with ever increasing frequency.

So one day I'll look back, read this entry and remember what it's like to lose perspective for about half a day.

Idiots

2009-07-01T21:01:00.002-04:00

There is a bike lane on Woodmont Avenue in Bethesda, the portion that is one way with a gentle curve and a nice consistent 3-5% grade in the direction of travel. Before the bike lane was painted, it was a common sight to see cars swooping down into the lower Bethesda business district (also known as Snootytown or Caucasia) at speeds higher than warranted. Our office is perched above these lanes, perfectly positioned to watch the mayhem unfold. Other than a few fender benders, we've seen nothing worse.

That will change soon, especially if idiots use the bike lanes and roadway in ways that I am seeing with saddening regularity.

Typically people roll down this bonus lane in the direction that the arrows are pointing, something one learns early in life. Instead I see, on a daily basis, certain people "salmon" up the lanes opposing the established traffic route, which are determined by

a. the established vehicular traffic pattern on a one way street

b. the painted markings which do not require literacy skills to understand.

Clowns are putting their own lives in danger, and even worse, the lives of cyclists rolling down the lanes in keeping with the direction intended.

But what I saw today (though not the first time) were two cyclists salmoning up the bike lane, and where it ended (or began, if moving in the proper direction of travel), chose to continue riding against traffic IN THE VEHICULAR LANE WHILE THEY COULD HAVE USED THE SIDEWALK FOR A SHORT STRETCH (oh that's right--not cool to ride on sidewalk--and actually lot legal in some places, but certainly more legal than riding against traffic...). Stultifyingly and astoundingly stupid, as while their actions have a direct relationship to their proclivity to maim or kill themselves, by their actions they add another brick in the wall of hatred between vehicles and bikes, making it harder for the rest of us.

Not to say that I never do stupid stuff on the road, I'd like to think that I have about half or even one ounce of awareness. Not a lot, but something...

Staycation

2009-06-30T21:33:00.004-04:00

It was such a great week that I can only frame it with the proper reference points to keep it all in order...as in what I ate all week.

It has become a ritual that after the kids are done with school I take a week off to stay at home and just hang out. Kind of like going to the beach, although we have no outdoor shower.

Last year during my week off we sketched a shack for the back yard and built it, roofed it, and painted it. It has served us well this year by being a place where we could store some stuff, do what kids do, and have the odd guest break his arm while shimmying the "balcony".

This year we had no such grand plans, as I scheduled my LEED exam for the end of the week, almost at the last possible moment before they those crafty folks at the US Green Building Council rolled out the next (more expensive, more difficult, and more jumpthroughhoopish) version yet.

Instead we decided to go to the pool as much as possible, or play with friends (kids, that is) as much as possible. I studied while they all frolicked about. It worked out well, since this was the type of test that required repetitive drilling of factoids that are easily referenced in books or on the interwebs.

Monday at the pool: the popcorn was salty and the fruit Mentos were very fruity. Shakes at Potbelly's before the movie were divine.

Tuesday & Wednesday were much of the same. Doin' a whole lot of nothing, though I had to work a coupla hours each day...the only low points of the entire week.

Thursday: The cultural event of the week featured a trip downtown to see the Marine Symphony Orchestra at the Monument. But first a phony baloney "Belgian" meal at Gordon Biersch which was punctuated by fire alarms set off by the hellions at the booth next to us. Dad got a serious talking to by the frustrated wife and ate his salad with his brim pulled way down low while she stalked off with one of the toddlers. Note to this restaurant: Steak frites are not supposed to come with a spicy sauce...

Friday: Our kids and their kids play Wii at their house while we go to a real Belgian joint. Karen had real steak frites, we all shared an order of real moulle-frites, and I had a green peppercorn sea bass dish garnished with a fried prawn that I am still thinking about--the fried prawn, especially. This crustacean treat was so lovingly crispy that it crumbled, nay, melted in my mouth. The company was fab as well, and it sure is nice to let the inmates run the asylum every once in awhile so that both sets of parents could enjoy a fine night out.

Saturday the rest of the family vacated out of town to join the in-laws and I joined the club century ride to Sugarloaf, only expecting to complete a forty percentury. But by the time we reached Sugarloaf Mountain I realized that I had hit that mileage mark and in a continuance of poor decision-making I rolled up and over the top of the hill, knowing I would pay dearly on my return trip home. Good thing there were provisions at the bottom of the climb--gels, bagels, bars, and tons of water allowed me to limp home for a cool 82 mile ride with some memorable moments. Awesome people on this ride, too.

The original plan was to go to a work related BBQ, then a graduation party for a neighbor's daughter, and then my annual get together with the high school in the Philippines crowd. No BBQ due to the extended ride, but the rest of the evening and push through into the wee hours could be described thusly:

Flank steak slices

Curried chicken slices

Shrimp in lime juice

Salmon with a ridiculous glaze

Crispy fresh veggies

Sumptuous fruits

Beer

And that was at 5:30 PM.

Then I got to the party. It was on like Donkey Kong:

BBQ prawns

Steamed seafood, corn and potatoes

Jello shots

Sea salt brownies

More beer

On Sunday we saw the O's-Nats game in B-more. Boogs BBQ featured a horseradish sandwich with roast beef, and I was, for about the 11th time in 4 days, in heaven.

Other highlights: my sister and her fam (with their new pooch) came down to visit, and I passed the exam, so all is well.

It was a grout Father's Day

2009-06-22T09:32:00.002-04:00

Six months ago I tore apart my downstairs bathroom to create a more useable space with a shower that wouldn't leak, a sink that was bigger than a teacup, and a toilet that didn't require one's knees to be hovering around one's ears when administering the number two (or one and two, if you happen to be a female of the opposite persuasion).

The sink and johnny have been operational for a few months now, and I just got around to finishing the tile work this weekend in the shower. Repetitive manual labor puts my mind into rewind where I plumb the depths for memories of previous years based on the cues of current actions. This is an especially therapeutic activity, especially while I'm on a long ride by myself.

So as I was spending Father's Day morning grouting the tile (instead of riding) I began recalling the grout grafitti in the bathrooms at the UMD Arch School studios. Tiny pencil lettering in the architectural style, between tiles at about eye height if you're facing the wall, which you'd better be doing if you're at the urinals. Pretty benign stuff, like:

"Three strikes and your grout"

"The Grout Gatsby"

"When in doubt, leave it grout"

"Writing on grout is not alout"

"Little Mary was short and stout; she didn't grow up, she grout"

Seeing these on a daily basis for several semesters seals them into the memory vault, to be sure. Much better than the racist and misogynistic crap that I see in the Port-o-lets at construction sites, but even some of those authors are creative, though misguided.

Best construction site San-i-john grafitti I've seen in recent years:

"Sink too low. Soap too hard."

Released

2009-06-17T23:02:00.002-04:00

Every spring the tyranny of kids' sports monopolizes my time in ways that always seem more severe than last year, or last season. Once the final game is over and we go our separate ways, I miss the structure that the seasons gave to the late spring, even after grousing about lost time and and and. This year it was soccer and baseball, overlapping. It doesn't help that I coach both teams, because my mantra is as long as my daughter wants to play, I will be there to coach, cuz that's how I've always envisioned this life.

Except that this year I came to the realization that I can't do overlapping seasons. Spring soccer doesn't cut it anymore, and next year it will be soccer in the fall, baseball in the spring.

So baseball finally ended tonight, at Blair HS's softball field, under the lights. Playing on a groomed diamond, permanent bases and pitching rubber, and smooth outfield grass, evenly cut. If one were to ask me in the middle of the third inning how things were going, I would have stated that the season was an unmitigated disaster, with only 1 win and a group of talentless misanthropes who didn't care about developing skills or being a team. Wow that would've been harsh, no?

But in the error-laden world of Major 60 baseball, in which 10 & 11 year olds play almost to the same rule standards as kids several years older, things do change. Ask me the same question one inning later, in the middle of a 6 run rally to cut the opposing team's lead to 4 runs, and I'd say that this team is on the rise and what a way to end the year, with kids that found ways to eke out that last effort to make the last game fun. Amazing kids who suddenly were interested in the game because they saw that their efforts were finally paying off, drawing walks when they needed to, stealing bases, and getting key hits. Manufacturing runs, closing the gap, and having a blast. If only they could be consistent, but that will come in time. Like the way my son's team plays, in which I was just a spectator, as they were coached by much more able people.

So now I can focus on other things, as I've always thought that my summer vacation starts when school and sports for the kids end. Maybe I'll ride more, finish business around the house, play the guitar more, relax more, write more. Summertime in the city.

Last Friday I was released from yet one other time monopolizer. The Stanley Cup was hoisted by the Pens, and now I'm not watching hockey 3 nights a week. That's a lot of found time too.

My next board

2009-05-29T23:50:00.003-04:00

Two weeks ago tomorrow I attended the retirement of two of my professors at the UMD School of Architecture. It was a great event, filled with an entire cross section of the different eras of students that these two excellent human beings got to teach, over the past 30 years, and I owe much of my personal success to their prowess. I made sure I told them that, in the moments that I was able to steal to speak with them personally, as they were in great demand by the multitudes of former students who no doubt had similar sentiments.

The characteristic that always struck me about these men, in addition to their being extremely honest and blunt, was the security they had in their own personas. There were no airs, no sociopathic tendencies of self-centered egomania, no insecurities as to how they were perceived by others. They were true to themselves, and urged all of us to do the same.

It was a series of speakers in the late afternoon and a dinner in the main studio, with drinks at the traditional studio bar beforehand. The cool aspect of the studio space at UMD is that it is a double height space in the center, with two levels of studio and classroom space at the perimeter. The corridor serving the classrooms served as exhibit space for work presented as well as a viewing space into the studios below, a dynamic space to be sure. Legend has it that when the school was designed the double height space, which is not efficient use of campus building resources, was to be a "lab" for full height wall sections and the building of construction detail mock-ups. Other than the full size bar for Friday post studio happy hours and the annual monstrosity of construction of "sets" for the thematic Beaux Arts Ball, it really was a large gathering space for the community that we were in.

As it turned out, the pieces of various communities were there two weeks ago to celebrate the careers of these two remarkable men, and the school had urged us to show them what we had done in our careers. We were asked to feature some of our work in a format that they asked us to use, for continuity of display, and the night before the party I created my 24" x 24" board of some of the work I've done in the past 16 years of practicing architecture. Doesn't do justice to try to compress that amount of work in a small board, but it was a cool exercise and got me to think about what my next board will look like in 15 years. The exercise itself was a great way to turn a page and reset my attitude a bit. Thanks Ralph and Karl for everything.

Speaking of resetting, I almost reset my hand through a wall tonight, after spending 4 hours fixing our washing machine. We made the mistake of sticking a $10 Ikea rug in the wash this week, not knowing that when the rubber backing of such Swedish tapestry encounters water it transmogrifies into approximately 2,100,456 rubber particles of the exact size to wreak havoc on the filtration and pumping systems of front load washing machines. I know this now because after spending a buck fifty on an appliance repair dude today we were presented with the same sopping mess of the remaining particulation that he was not able to extract on his site visit. He warned us that this may happen. So I call him on a Friday evening, and he walked me through the repair, not knowing for sure if I would just throw my hands up in the air and call him back to finish the repair himself.

It was really a case of disconnecting some hoses, cleaning out debris, and reconnecting. It was the reconnecting that almost did me in. Spring clamps are quite simple, unless you're trying to connect hoses/piping that require one to be triple jointed and sporting an extra hand. After much gnashing of teeth and expletives, I did what any mature male would do.

I laid on the floor and wept. Not really, but I was frustrated. I did lay on the floor, though.

It finally all came together and laundry is now humming. Fixing laundry machines won't be on my next board, but at least I finished something this week.

Massimilliano

2009-05-26T23:53:00.006-04:00

The Giro d'Italia is on its final week, and what a race it's shaping up to be. Even though I'm not riding much lately, the bike is still a part of me. It's the whole reason I started this blog, as a matter of fact.

My family often makes reference to how many bikes I own, so here's the official story:

When I was a teenager I rode around my village in the Philippines on my Schwinn Caliente (with the revolutionary, at the time, Front Freewheel system), dreaming of cycling glory as an Olympic sprinter. Lest anyone think I was actually in a "village" in the wild, it was a gated community wedged between horrible slums, a sprawling outdoor mall shopping complex and expressways with wicked traffic, the likes I have never seen since leaving the islands. Metro Manila is legendary for its congestion, sprawl, and pollution, and it's no longer a pleasant city (but it sure was fun as a teenager).

When I got back stateside, I bought a Peugeot PH10S with a Maillard "Helicomatic" freewheel, an impressive machine for a 17 year old. I thought I was the dude, what with my esoteric French machine, and considered myself quite the cyclist. Little did I know that there were kids like Greg Lemond and Andy Hampsten on the other side of the country who really were something, and I was nothing. As I got to understand racing, I put on a set of 32 hole Sun hoops with some Avocet baldies and I felt like it was a whole new bike. Pretty soon I was "spinning" and before I knew it I became a full fledged elitist bike snob.

Enter the era of my workhorse ride, my Cilo 600 Aelle. I bought it from a local shop, and shared the tragic memory of the dude who sold me the bike here. It was a great bike, and I logged many miles on it for about 5 years, until I bought a Serotta Nova SL in lieu of an engagement ring for my wife to be. Let's just say she didn't really appreciate that but she stuck with me, a feat of strength that awes me to this day. My Serotta was sweet, but, as my wife so aptly put it, was the "glamour girl" as opposed to the "girl next door" Cilo. And if anyone knows me, girl next door is much more my style. Even hanging a different manufacturer for every component, while gimmicky, didn't really make it as nice a ride as the Cilo. I raced on it for a couple of years and hung it up after I started architecture school. Somewhere in there I joined the mountain bike rage and bought a bright yellow Specialized RockHopper.

While I worked at College Park Bicycles during arch school, I built enough wheels one summer to earn a ride of my choice, and I chose a Specialized StumpJumper FS, a beautiful hardtail that now sits in pieces in my crawlspace, as I had to cannibalize it to build my first cyclocross bike. But I'm jumping ahead. Before I chopped up this MTB, I quit riding altogether for about 13 years.

I got fat.

After designing a house addition for my friend, I entered the carbon fiber realm and was back on a Giant Cadex, then bought a Look KG461, after which I burned more cash on my Eddy Merckx CHM (dream bike since I started reading Winning Magazine), and built an Outback 'cross bike with cannibalized bits until settling on a cheap sweet Raleigh RX1 (not glam) 'cross bike that does the trick. The preceding sentence includes a life change of 30+ lbs weight loss, a far better overall attitude, and loyal patronage of a local business since 2003. Supporting the local shop is what I like to do. The Cadex has become my fixie (built a wheel with a cool ENO eccentric hub to convert the vert dropout into a usable fixed gear machine), which I don't ride nearly enough.

Throughout this entire thread I found that I needed to disabuse myself of the notion that I was any good, as my racing career features no podiums and a scant 3rd place in a training race, among equal amounts of pack finishes and DNF's. So you'll never see my name on any top whatever lists, other than the lower half of BikeReg results listings.

There is a silver lining, though. I discovered that my namesake races for some lower level pro Italian squad and actually gets results. Sometimes he even shows up in CyclingNews, and is quoted, even. In some cases, his team actually depends on his skills. And his name is Massimilliano, to boot. With alliteration like that, what's not to like? And this guy's a true paisan, not some third generation paper tiger like me. I have been tracking this man's results, as it will give me the faint impression that my name can be synonymous with a cycling career, even though the resemblance is non-existent, except for the fact that he has limbs and a head, just like me.

He's not in the Giro d'Italia, this year, though. Even after a concerted effort to "let him ride" before last year's Giro. Pity.

Rockin' the red

2009-05-25T23:08:00.002-04:00

Last year, when my favorite hockey team clambered back into a semblance of a playoff team, with hope springing eternal and fans jumping back on the bandwagon, the marketing wizards foisted this catchphrase on us. In tandem with the back to the futuristic retro logo and color scheme, rockin' the red was what we did. Now they're playing golf, and this phrase takes on a different meaning.

As I emerged from the waters of Lake Holiday this weekend, my friend Mike (and host of the weekend festivities) looked at me and said "You're rockin' the red!" He was referring to my pronounced torso, which used to be a pasty, doughy color. It is now bright red due to the fact that my first foray into summer sun is, without fail, sans sunscreen, save for the obligatory wave at my neck and (maybe) my shoulders. While I snoozed on the fine white sand (trucked in from afar, as it is a "beach" on a lake) on Sunday, I was encouraged by various members of the entourage to apply some sunscreen. As I hate to be disturbed in the onerous task of ensuring that a maximum number of sandy particles maintain their position under my prone form, I lazily slathered on some sunscreen on my chest. The resultant "tan" is an amoeba-shaped island in an angry sea of crimson. If I had really been on my game I would have cut out some concentric circles out of construction paper and carefully placed them on my belly to see if I could generate some publicity for Target. Family beach vacation is only 10 weeks or so away. It's good to have goals.

This Memorial Day weekend was quite relaxing, though, as we hung out with Mike's family and another family at their house on Lake Holiday, which is north of Winchester VA. In years past I would take this opportunity to bring the Eddy with me to ride in some real hills while everyone was frolicking in the water, but this year I just didn't get it together. I've been riding pretty consistently for 5 years--I've taken quite a long break (almost 6 months) from a cycling routine, which is too long, really, but clearly necessary because I'm just now figuring out that I want to get back on the bike again. Last time I gave up riding competitively I pretty much gave up riding altogether...for 13 years. Won't happen this time.

What's cool about these friends, though, is that we've known them for years in the context of our kids: school, sports, scouts. Beyond that we've gotten to be close, and we begin to influence each other's lives in subtle ways. Growing up with friends from childhood and through our earlier (pre relationship/marriage/kid) years, the influences are much more overt. The reason I can strum a guitar almost competently is because I've spent enough time with Mike while hanging out at games and school events and parties to understand that it's never too late to start something new. Mike is a talented dude, and he makes the things he does seem rather easy, so I find it less daunting to try these things myself. To try to start something that you've always wanted to do takes you back to an earlier time in life, when things were more exciting because the future was less known. Even now the future is still always unknown, but we've established patterns that set our routines in ways that can be stultifying, so learning how to play a guitar (something I've always wanted to do but never did) is now a pleasant adventure.

Floating in a canoe on a fresh water lake with whichever of the nine kids is along, hanging on for dear life on the Super Mable as we're being dragged across the lake at upwards of 25 MPH, cooking and eating ginormous amounts of food and drink with friends who feel like family, cleaning up the aftermath of an overflowing toilet with these same good people, watching all the little people battle it out on the docks with super-soakers while we sit on the deck and soak it all in, creaming the house champion at Wii Super Mario race something or other, sitting on the beach with a cold one in hand...all of this makes for a memorable Memorial Day weekend. So much so that I don't think I thought about work once, other than to tell some stories.

I can almost play "Drunken Angel" by Lucinda Williams now after watching Mike play it last night. I may be feeling the effects of rockin' the red this weekend, but it was worth it.

Moving on

2009-05-14T22:37:00.003-04:00

We had just finished some soft toss drills, fielding drills, showing the kids how to slide into bases without killing themselves, and the obligatory baserunning to end practice last night. I kept everyone busy and moving through the action to take my mind off the fact that I was missing the first period of Game 7, in which the Caps would vanquish the Pens and move on to the conference finals. I was wearing my Backstrom shirt (not jersey--no way am I shelling out 2 1/2 bills for an oversize sweater), a red beacon on the green field.

When we ended practice the kids gathered round my phone as I pulled up the score, only to see my face fall as it read 2-0 Pens after the first period. We gathered the equipment, scattered home, and by the time I walked in the house (about 1/4 mile from the field), it was already 4-0 and Varly was on the bench. 5-0 5 minutes later. Game, series, season over 3 goals ago. Brutal.

During the post-game shake Ovie told his arch nemesis Sid that he hoped they would go on and win the Cup. Little did I know how much this small sentiment represented an attitude shift that I experienced earlier in the week.

The reason I love hockey above almost every other sport, despite the fact that I've never played it and can hardly skate 10 strides without hugging the boards is because of the immense respect that these guys have for each other despite the naked and chilling aggression that they display on the ice while the competition is on. Winners shake hands with losers at the end of each series in a manner that is not customary in most sports, save international pro soccer matches, when they actually exchange jerseys.

In the past the Penguins have always seemed to have the Caps number, especially in the playoffs, an irritation that has grown into an unhealthy anger on my part toward the team of my father's home city. I actually start enjoying hockey less because I'm focusing on wishing that teams would lose rather than win--if my team can't get there, why should anyone else? That's just bitter thinking, and in the end it's really not that important, just a diversion in the grand scheme of things.

I realized that through understanding this dynamic that some negative vibes that I have been immersed in at work really don't have to be that way. In my ongoing relationship with my business partners I have developed an unhealthy anger with one of them based on some historic patterns that have developed after working 14 years together. On Tuesday a simple request on his part became a dispute that had me questioning why I was doing this anymore, a sentiment that has entered my mind many times of late. I brought home my unpleasantness to share with my family, a sure way to win more friends and influence people. In the past I resort to getting on my bike to work out this angst, but lately that hasn't been a mechanism to work these things out, for some unknown reason (that's part of the problem). Instead of keeping this bottled up, I decided to write my partner a personal email to air some stuff out. I've always thought that these types of emails are risky, because they could be misinterpreted blah blah blah but this one flowed and felt right, so I hit "send" without regret.

It's as if a new page has turned since Tuesday. Everything is cool now. I realized that the layers of negativity had clouded my perspective and taken out the joy of what I do. Simple things--I haven't been enjoying what I have and have been worrying about what's unimportant.

So the Caps had a great season, went farther in the playoffs than last year, and lost to a better team, who deserves to go all the way. The rest of the playoffs will be incredible.

Go Pens go. Never thought I'd utter those words.

Good luck charm

2009-05-05T21:26:00.002-04:00

Her head was adorned with peach fuzz, and since she’s a "hot sleeper", her little chrome dome warmed my cheek as I listened on the radio as the Caps beat the Sabres to move on to the Stanley Cup Finals in May of 1998. She was my good luck charm, parked on my chest, snoozing while I fretted, no bigger than a large loaf of bread.

Now she is tall and athletic, long blond hair, and a quick wit. She knows EXACTLY how to bother her brother, as all little sisters do so proficiently. She wears her Backstrom t-shirt when the Caps games are on and understands the game unlike many her age. Last time the Caps won a playoff series, she was portable. Now she scoots around the neighborhood to hang with her friends, she closes gaps on the soccer field with astonishing speed, and elementary school is almost in her rear view mirror.

Caps are up 2-0 against the Pen-goons. She may not watch all the games with me, but when she does, they tend to win. Coincidence? I think not.

It's been a while...

2009-05-04T22:19:00.002-04:00

since I’ve posted, a direct result of ennui and entropy, a sure fire guarantee for listless living, lately. I didn’t mean to alliterate (twice), but it just came out that way.

I’m now out of my funk that began late last summer, at least I think I am. I was sitting at the SF airport when I first wrote this, waiting for my flight home from the AIA Convention. Last time I wrote in an introspective way I was in LA with Karen, about 6 weeks ago. It was that trip that sparked the idea of this trip. I’ve been practicing architecture for 15 years, immersed in it for almost 20, and have rarely justified the time or expense that is required for me to look outside myself and learn from this incredibly rich and robust group of people.

Let’s just say that now I’m jazzed, and I see the opportunity to act upon some inspiration that has been revealed to me by scraping away the layers of bad juju that have accumulated over time, due to myopia and pessimistic thinking. I can already feel those dominoes starting to fall and by this time next month I will have finished the bathroom, added on a porch, lost 20 pounds, landscaped the entire yard, written a bestseller, and saved the economy. Not to mention learn how to make sushi.

Goals are nice, no?

LA is enormous

2009-03-21T11:53:00.003-04:00

Obama slept here. That's what they told Karen when she was checking in at the RSA conference here in LA.

It's been about a decade since we've gone anywhere by ourselves for more than a night. It's been a great trip so far, and this is the first time Karen's been to Cali, other than an overnight at LAX many years ago.

We rented a car and headed north up the PCH. Stopped in Ventura for lunch, bought some strawberries and oranges in Oxnard at a roadside stand. I began my quest for the perfect fish taco in Ventura, where, while not perfect, it was outstanding. Tried to get back to west LA via Mulholland Drive, but were turned around at the top as a big yellow gate after a few miles on the unimproved road told us we weren't going any further. Beautiful views, though.

Spent yesterday at the Getty and driving around LA (Hollywood, the Sunset Strip, etc) and hit Long Beach to meet my cousin and her boyfriend. Dinner and drinks at Shoreline Drive, catching up with family news--always a great time with great people.

So now I've got a free day as Karen presents her paper and sits on the panel. Now I'll continue where we left off, explore a bunch of places that I've always wanted to see but are off the beaten path. The thing I most love about cities is not the cultural landmarks as much as the way the city's grid (or lack thereof) is affected by the topography and demographics. And fish taco stands.

Chronic Tacos here I come.

Getting back to regular

2009-03-04T22:12:00.005-05:00

It's been a weird winter, and my significant level of inactivity, coupled with the turbulence that determines whether or not we will all be gainfully employed in the near future has created a Twilight Zone effect not felt since...I'm not quite sure.

Since 2003, I "got regular" again by getting back on my bike consistently, shedding close to 40 lbs (I really let go and ventured into tub of goo-hood for about a decade), and letting those endorphins course their way through. Since I'm "all or nothing" in my approach to living, the intensities of riding, training, and sometimes racing burned brightly for a few years and fizzled out in the late fall of last year. I haven't ridden much at all since late November, not even on this hampster wheel machine or that one.

One wonders why these things happen, but it's pretty easy to see how this motivation waned. A kitchen renovation, busy Christmas season, a bathroom renovation, crappy weather, and oh yeah the current global financial situation which is threatening many a livelihood like the sword of Damocles tends to put an exercise and lifestyle activity on the backburner. Certainly the opposite would have a beneficial effect, but it's an inertia that I haven't been able to (wanted to?) overcome lately.

To put it in perspective, a recent issue of Bicycling mag reviewed the latest Eddy, a real beauty that was all tricked out with Campy Super Record and and and. After getting through all the flowery bike review language (which can easily, with few changes, be substituted with restaurant review prose and no one would be the wiser), the price of the machine is revealed. A staggering $12,500. I don't often guffaw loudly, but this was an exception. I love me my bikes, especially my own Eddy, but not 12.5K worth. I could buy a small team's worth for that price. Not gonna happen.

Anywho, I'm getting the itch to ride again, and it's no coincidence that the days are getting warmer and the sun is staying out longer, especially after daylight savings kicks in this weekend. So maybe I can actually reverse the trend of muscular atrophy and pear-shapedness and get back out on the road with my friends, comrades, and countrymen. Spring is right around the corner.

Like a ton of bricks

2009-02-21T23:09:00.002-05:00

It isn't supposed to be this way. Parents should not attend the funerals of their children. That's not fair.

I was sitting at home tonight, nursing a nasty head and chest cold which began on Thursday. Standard Saturday afternoon TV fare, the reruns of movies we've seen, sports, and crappy reality shows. Mindless blather to relieve the stresses of the earlier part of the day and the latter part of yesterday.

We had attended the viewing (ashes in an urn), funeral, and wake of a close friend who died last week. The outpouring of support and compassion has been amazing, and will surely help the family get through these tough times. During Mary's battle with cancer I lived in blissful, hopeful ignorance and hope that all would be well in the end, just as I had when my mother, sister in-law, and aunt fought and defeated cancer a few years ago.

Instead, her time was severely limited when the diagnosis was made. So limited that we all thought today's events would have already taken place last summer. I knew this in the back of my mind but refused to accept it, so when she made heroic advances at recovery over the summer and fall months I figured that she was beating this thing once and for all and everything would be back to normal once again. So when Mary's health declined once again after the New Year, it became clear to us that she had battled for and won an extension of her life so that she could prepare her family for the next journey. Even when I heard that Mary passed away last Friday I felt sadness but relief that she could rest in peace, finally.

The community gatherings to celebrate her life were appropriately sad and bracing. The grieving was open and raw, but music was a big part of the service to celebrate her memory. So tonight I picked up my guitar and tried to emulate my friend Mike's rendition of Harvest Moon that he played at the funeral service, and suddenly the flood gates opened. I had been holding it in for many months, knowing that the inevitable day would soon be upon us, and it all came out, uncontrollably cathartic.

The only good thing about having a bad cold is when you spend an hour bawling, your face doesn't look any different.

Bass trio

2009-02-19T23:31:00.004-05:00

We were watching This is Spinal Tap this weekend after hanging out with the cousins. My cousin's husband, who, like me, has seen this flick umpteen times, noticed something that I had never noticed.

Everyone knows the "This one goes to eleven" line--it's entered our consciousness and is a part of pop culture. And the umlaut over the "n" in Spinal Tap is also obviously funny. But the thing that slayed me when we saw this again was during "Big Bottom" we noticed that Derek Smalls had a double bass. A four stringer and a...four stringer. When the camera panned over to Nigel Tufnel, he had a bass guitar too. And David St. Hubbins rounded out the trio with another bass.

Guess you had to be there.

Cortlandt Street Station

2009-02-16T20:15:00.005-05:00

We spent the weekend in NYC, visiting with my cousins who live in Brooklyn. We spent the time being with my cousins, seeing friends (one of whom I haven't seen in 16 years), and spending an entire day walking around Midtown, the Lower East Side and Brooklyn. We started the journey with a trip to Ellis Island to see what our great grandparents and grandparents went through to get here about a hundred years ago.

It was all a great time, full of memories that stem from the fullness of the weekend and the inevitable frictions of hanging out with family. In our zeal to accommodate everyone's plans we found ourselves stepping on each others' toes in ways that became comical. Mix in some overtly deferential communication styles amongst all of us who are hard-headed and convinced that our way is the right way. Layer that on top of my cousins' opinions of where the best pizza to be had can be found or how to get somewhere (which way is fastest? or cheapest?). The funniest moments (though frustrating at the time) could have come straight out of an I Love Lucy episode, involving a car service car and a bus (and its surly driver), with movements that could not have been choregraphed better. Describing it here won't do it justice--it will live on in memories.

One other unintended detour, however, gave me a bit of closure on something that has been on my mind since September of 2001. I have a macabre obsession with the events of the 11th, starting with Why and How and going back to Why again. I've always wanted to see the site with my own eyes, knowing that pictures and TV images don't demonstrate the peripheral scope that being there provides. Since I design buildings for a living, understanding how buildings react to outside forces (or in this case, how they fail), is an endless source of fascination. How people react to buildings under stress is similarly fascinating, since building codes are written and revised as a direct result of tragic events. I was hoping to see "Ground Zero" to understand the physical magnitude once and for all.

I called an old friend from architecture school, who told me to get on the R Train from Park Slope and get off at Court Street, where I would visit and catch up on 16 years of time gone by. The train rolled past Court Street without stopping, and before I knew it I was on the Manhattan Bridge. I got off on Canal Street in downtown Manhattan, jumped across and waited for the R to come the other way to get back to my intended destination. Sunday evening train schedules and routes get weird due to repairs, etc. I was along for the ride.

As we rolled (slowly) back to Brooklyn, we went through a station that looked like it was under construction, when in fact it was deserted, dusty, and spooky. This was the Cortlandt Street Station, the closest one to the Twin Towers, with what looks like the dust and debris from that day still resting on the tiles and rails. Riding through it, listening to the aching screach of the train's wheels on the tracks raised the hair on the back of my neck, since above me approximately 3000 people died in the span of an hour when two buildings failed based on forces that they were not intended to withstand. It's actually not closed due to the collapse--now it's closed because of the construction of the new WTC, but the effect remains the same for an outsider like me.

I got to see Ground Zero, finally, but not from where we are used to seeing it. It's no longer so important that I see it again. But this:

the Brooklyn Bridge at dusk...was awesome.

Friday the 13th

2009-02-14T00:14:00.002-05:00

It was not the best day of days.

The dwindling economy is finally taking a toll on our office. We're cutting back in ways that we don't want to, but have to. The hard decisions are upon us, and it's not fun. But we'll get through it.

This is all is dwarfed by a far larger sadness, the news that we have been preparing for about a dear friend, a mother, a wife, who succumbed to a battle against cancer tonight. Her husband and three kids will be supported by all of us in their new journey without her. They are strong people, a strong family. They will get through this.

Rest in peace, Mary.

Closing dinner

2009-02-12T23:04:00.004-05:00

Our client (on one of our jobs) treated all of us (who worked on the project) to a "closing dinner" at OYA downtown. Very nice. Good feelings all around, drinks were flowing, the food was great (though sparse as is typical in haute cuisine), and we cemented some relationships.

This is an intense, hard charging group of people. Type A personalities all around. Many feathers ruffled during many meetings as the project took shape and we marked our respective territories. Animated and sometimes angry conversations about process and product, telephone conferences with bad connections, crossed e-mails, unyielding government agencies, and high levels of stress. Not to mention an extremely slow cashflow (not unlike molasses in January).

Recognizing these difficulties that enabled the project to proceed to construction made tonight's dinner that much more enjoyable. Things can get done when you work together and work toward a common goal which will ultimately benefit a large number of people. It's not always smooth, but if it was, everyone would be doing it.

Three times in one month

2009-02-03T21:55:00.007-05:00

Most of the impetus to write this blog centered on the local racing scene and my somewhat half-hearted involvement in the fringes of the fringe. I've been reading race accounts for a couple of years now, vicariously enjoying the scene through the eyes of people I don't really know but have gotten to know, some through riding and racing and some through reading their writing. Dabbling here and there in a few road races and crits the last 4 years to justify the existence of my USAC license (almost wrote USCF) and jumping wholeheartedly into cyclocross so I don't feel guilty about NOT putting in a base these past 2 months--"my season starts in September, see".

This past Sunday was the Proteus race in College Park. Two months ago it sounded like a grand idea--a 'cross race in February kinda shakes things up a bit and gave me something to shoot for. The weeks melded into one another this past January, with lots of fam in town during Christmas, house remodeling ongoing, work prospects dwindling, and this inauguration thing happening--the bike really has been an afterthought recently. It's hard to sustain the intensity required to train on a road bike year round, especially when life gets in the way. I don't know how some of my peers do it, but they manage somehow.

So on Saturday night when I was getting the bike ready, I realized that I had been on the bike as many times in January as I had gone to Caps games--three. I thought better of entering the race and went to support my clubmates (we're not a team, really), two of whom were trying cyclocross for the first time. A bunch of us were there with cowbells and we made a lot of noise "and etcetera". I think we've got two new converts. So I'll swing my leg over my ride soon enough and get back into the routine...no need to force it now.

Swinging legs over the boards is another thing altogether. I got Row B seats next to the Caps penalty box for all three of these games, opportunities that I could not pass up. I happened to be at the right place at the right time, with a friend who knows a friend who gets these tickets at a ridiculous discount, so ridiculous that I don't want to touch the golden goose. From this vantage point one can truly appreciate just how big, how fast, and how skilled these athletes really are. From this proximity I watched their eyes and could see how their skates interfaced with the ice surface--these are skills that I can't really fathom. You just can't see these nuances on TV or from seats that I would typically pay for.

Semin leading the breakout against the Red Wings...

Three Caps in the sin bin...

Schultzie battling the Bruins...

Ovechkin gathering speed against the Lightning....

Good dog...really

2009-01-27T23:58:00.003-05:00

Sunday night I dropped of some food at a friend's house. His wife is very sick and we figured that this is a small way to support their family. K cooked up a storm.

They have this beautiful brown dog named Indy. Only problem is that Indy wants to eat me whole every time he sees me. So after spending some time visiting, I cautiously planned my slow, deliberate moves toward the door so as not to startle the good boy.

Silly me. He had his wary eye on me the whole time he was chewing his rawhide bone. I wasn't even able to lift my arse 3" off the chair before he was upon me. I figured that this was a perfect opportunity to take a series of photos of what it may feel like to be a rawhide chew toy.

Not much to say about bikin'

2009-01-22T22:37:00.002-05:00

I started this here blog as a result of reading other cycling related blogs, figuring that it was a good way to write about something that was mildly interesting. My only internal caveat was that I wouldn't bog any readers down with details of my "training regimen". Other thoughts:

Race reports? Why bother? I hardly race anymore.

Architecture and criticism? Too esoteric.

Detailed diary of my boring life? Too personal and too, well, boring.

The music I listen too and try to play? God help us.

Family chronicles? Too much potential for being a long drawn out and insufferable Christmas letter.

Angry vitriol about the complaint du jour? Tiring and ubiquitous.

Politics? Come ON. We're in Washington.

Caps, Redskins, Nats, Bullets? OK in doses, but I don't think I've ever written about Les Boulez.

Back to the bike, though. Not much to say because I've ridden less these last couple of months than usual, and it hasn't been bothering me too much, other than the weight creeping back on the bones. That will change soon. Always does.

In the end this b-log is once again a vehicle for me to chronicle what's going on, and is a broad mix of the list above, which is OK. This doesn't have to be about anyTHING in particular. And with all of my friends coming out of the woodwork through FaceBook and LinkedIn lately, as well as getting calls and texts and emails every once in awhile, I can use this thing to tell some stories in an indirect sort of way. With people I haven't seen in a long time, I reckon that they barely know me anymore in the same way that those who stumble upon this one do.

The power of music

2009-01-20T22:20:00.002-05:00

In the inauguration proceedings today there was a musical interlude between the V.P.'s swearing in and that of our new President. It was a simple instrumental involving a piano, clarinet, cello, and violin, by well-known musicians. Except for the first of this list, I never had any interest or education in these instruments.

Maybe it was the moment, but as they played this simple piece I realized just how beautiful these notes sounded and just how moving this moment in time was. There are times when sentiment overcomes me, like the time that my sister's future father in law, at their rehearsal dinner, showed slides of my sister and her future husband as they grew up. I don't remember the music, but it was exactly appropriate. On an anniversary of John Lennon's death, I happened to hear Garrison Keilor sing a rendition of "Imagine". There is something about the intersection of time and music that can strike a chord within me that opens the floodgates. This doesn't happen often--when it does, though, it's burned in my memory forever.

As today's performance ended I realized that my face was awash in happy tears.

A few minutes with Kent

2009-01-19T10:35:00.004-05:00

"Is anyone from out of town?" A pretty boy reporter from Channel 4 (or 6?) in New York saw us just south of Union Station as we made our way back to the Metro on Sunday. We had spent the afternoon hanging out on the Mall, taking in a couple of museums, the concert, and the pre-inauguration atmosphere with my cousin from NYC and her family. Karl and Lyd were approached by this younger version of Kent Brockman and said they were from Brooklyn. Kent then asked them if they were at the concert and if they felt any "energy" in the city. Just checking out the Mall, hangin' out with family. Clearly this was not "newsy" enough for young Mr. Brockman, who dismissed them disdainfully with a "We're done here, thanks."

Weak.

What they should have said was: It was a unifying event...we felt at one with the crowd...I'm full of hope and promise...the crowd galvanized us...we're witnesses to history...this is bigger than us...once in a lifetime...insert cliche here...blah blah blah

That's what they're looking for, these hackneyed quotes, and then they tell us what we're supposed to feel. I know they're doing their jobs, but there have to be more significant stories to follow. Just enjoying the day with people close to you just isn't news to them, and thankfully it shouldn't be.

The wall

2009-01-15T23:44:00.004-05:00

It's an imposing wall, that which defines the edge of Union Station and 1st Street. Thousands pass through it every day as they trudge to the various office buildings just west of Union Station. There's a portal at the street level that leads Metro riders from the familiar brown hex tiles of the subway to the granite curbs of DC, a passage from darkness to light which is rote to many.

When I go through that opening I am always reminded about why I'm there--most of the time it's to go to DCRA, just a few blocks away, to meet with someone regarding a building permit or resolve a problem or negotiate or beg and plead. The only time I tend to get involved with permit processing is when there is a snafu of some sort. It's a delicate process, as I find myself schmoozing, cajoling, and being humbly deferential to people who have a certain degree of ability to make or break someone's day or week or year. Sometimes the task at hand is as imposing and seemingly impenetrable as the wall. Sometimes the portal yawns wide open and I'm successful in my task for the day.

I was a highly paid permit runner this week. There nothing like the unyielding intransigience of an entrenched bureaucracy to illuminate an otherwise dreary day. And cold, too. The wind was cutting through me as I walked (glad I wasn't on a bike) toward DCRA in my quixotic quest to procure building permits for this project that is about to close on its construction contract. I spent a lot of time in the waiting room, hoping to catch a glimpse of one the reviewers; getting an audience with a supervisor to move the permit along; making just enough small talk to get what I need to done. Acting like a vulture and really speaking my mind with this workforce, however, will only result in achieving little--they can give me the proverbial finger by simply ignoring me, and there is no recourse on my end.

The way these things work is that building permits are just one of the many items that lenders require for this gateway to open--until now everything we have done is on paper, and once these closing docs are signed we can start watching the construction unfold. Which is why this whole process is fraught with irony. These are existing buildings that require major interior alterations and very minor exterior work. Permits have taken over 6 months to go through the various agencies, and this is with the involvement of a third party peer reviewer, a development "ambassador", a permit service, a civil engineer, an Owner's rep, and the cherry on top, me. I got tons done this week--after spending 3 days at DCRA and many other billable hours writing letters and securing deals, we still aren't out of the woods. I've done everything that I can do.

As I passed through the portal to get back on the Metro, I figured that things should come together tomorrow, assuming everyone involved does exactly the right thing. If they don't, the project could tank. And it would be a shame if it does go belly up due to bureaucratic shortcomings, given the fact that I've put over a year of work into this thing. Hopefully we're able to climb over this wall. Tomorrow will tell.

Permit service

2009-01-12T23:31:00.002-05:00

A current misnomer in my business is the term "permit expediter". By hiring a company which purports to "expedite" building permits, one would think that there is a secret passageway through the horrific caverns of municipal building departments that is only known to the expediter. Paying the fee will unlock the secrets and illuminate the path, and projects with such benefits will have their ticket stamped so contractors can then build them.

For financiers of affordable housing projects in a shaky economy, building permits are proof that the borrower is in a position to make good on their commitments to spend the lenders' money. No building permit = no financial closing = no project = I don't get paid. So it's in my best interest to make sure those permits happen.

Based on my experiences of the last 10-12 months, however, I have determined that expediters should change their description of their work to "permit babysitting", or the more proper business usage of "permit service", as they fill out forms, stand in lines, and monitor progress. That's about all they can do, as cajoling reviewers to move their piles along is as effective as pushing on a rope. Some are better than others, and some are less ethical than others, and some are outright liars. Their business is based on trafficking speculation of when other people beyond their locus of control will finish their work. It's a step short of insanity.

Despite these shortcomings, we're at the tail end of a permit process that is on the cusp of being successful. It's been an amazing pain in the ass, and one that is making me re-think how we do business with these regulatory agencies. Talking clients down from ledges is not my idea of fun, as millions of bucks hang in the balance when Jack Permit Reviewer lets things pile up and the Public Space fiefdom doesn't agree with approvals from the water authority who insists on looking at drawings only on the third Tuesday of a month with 27 or less days in it...unless you happen to be Nationals Stadium, and the whole building department flops like Willie Stargell trying to steal second base. No problems getting a permit there.

But I ramble on because I received quite a shock today on a job whose permit I'm monitoring through a development company that offers permit services (not expediting). When I called to speak with my main contact there, an older dude who I've worked with the past 4 years, I expected the usual bantering and exchange of Christmas and New Years good wishes. He was always interesting to speak with because he answered questions with questions and had a particular cadence and tone of voice that reminded me of what a real life Jedi would be like. I got used to his style after awhile and we established a good working relationship.

I am referring to him in the past tense because when I asked to speak with him the receptionist said: "I'm sorry, he's deceased." WHHAAT?? I asked why, how, when, etc. Didn't get much info, spoke with his associate who is handling my project, and didn't really care about the project at that point. He was an older guy, private, had a family, and just got sick and never got well. He died sometime in mid-December.

Rest in peace, Carl.

Wasted weekend

2009-01-12T00:05:00.004-05:00

Actually, it was quite productive. I spent virtually the entire day with Hank plumbing the waste lines in the downstairs bathroom, which involved tearing out much more plumbing than I had originally anticipated. But working with him is an exercise in efficiency--he knows just exactly what needs to get done and does it. And I know just enough to do the menial stuff while he's doing the heavy lifting--as a result the old water and waste piping came out and we installed the new stuff by dinnertime. The rest of the evening was spent with Susanna watching the Caps drop one to the Habs with :21 in the game while Adam was jamming with his band and K was at a play with her friend. Boudreau's quote: "He (Jurcina) should have hit him instead of looking for the puck between his legs". I love this coach. To be fair, Jurcina was the filling in the screw-up sandwich, as Alzner let the Hab by him and Johnson let the shot trickle through his pads...

We should have a working johnny and sink by the weekend when my cousins join the rest of the world in overrunning our fair city for the inauguration--the shower tile work won't quite be done.

Here's some of the old stuff:

And here's the new configuration...

So no ride on Saturday--it was crappy out anyway, and Sunday morning was wet and I had to go to work to put out a small fire and help Mom move some furniture. The rest of the fam visited extended fam in Herndon, so as is my custom I joined them later in the day by riding out there, a process that includes a destination rather than an out and back, which is more palatable when time is tight. And those 35 or so miles today may have well been 135, since I've been off the bike most of the winter now and have the legs of a withered old coot.

The road back to the routine is slowly becoming smoother.

Impenetrable

2009-01-09T23:27:00.002-05:00

I just bore witness to one of the most outstanding goaltending performances that I've ever seen in hockey, and I didn't even watch the whole game.

Steve Mason of the Columbus Blue Jackets stoned our Caps 3 nil. NOTHING was going in, and when they beat young Mr. Mason honestly, the pipes had his back. After Stecks missed the open net wide left, his next check was one of frustration--I'm sure the CBJ defenseman on the wrong end of the hit is still feeling it. Even K, who normally doesn't pay attention to any of the sporting events that her husband and offspring watch, looked up from whatever she was doing to comment on the ferocity of Steckel's check.

It was bound to happen--only their 2nd loss at home this year. They're not the SJ Sharks, but they're getting close.

I love watching hockey during the winter days...

1 point 2 tons

2009-01-05T22:40:00.004-05:00

That's about how much weight I gained over the past few weeks. Didn't do much riding over this Christmas/New Year's vacation. Didn't really want to either, a form of ennui that strikes me every once in a while, when I feel that riding is an indulgence rather than something that can actually contribute to eliminating such tendencies. When I'm in this state the inertia is huge--overcoming it becomes a workout in itself. But I did get out a coupla days, though, and I can feel the routine settling back in.

One of the major (though unintended) activities that I attribute (rationalize) to the lack of road time was the demolition of our downstairs bathroom. A tiny space, 4' x 7', laid out such that one's knees are about one's ears when sitting on the throne. When we had 3 amazonian au pairs in 3 years, I often wondered how they fit in that tiny space, but they managed.

I started busting out the ceramic tile shower surround on New Year's Eve Day. My hands were sliced and diced by the time I was preparing the New Year's Eve feast. Note to self: do not prep food with garlic, lemon, and salt after such activities. Walls came down the next day, and I was able to get huge hunks of tiled wall out and barely avoided a hernia. By the time Hank and I loaded, hauled, and dumped this pile of rock wall, plaster lath, plaster, ceramic tile, mudset, and the associated rotten framing members, we weighed in at 1.2 tons. That's 2400 lbs of debris out of a 180 cubic foot space.

Now it's opened up, and Hank will re-plumb, reframe, and re-wire the space while I'm at work this weekend, and then I'll hang/finish the drywall, tile, paint, and install the fixtures over the next couple of weeks. Then we'll be back in business with a 2nd bathroom that actually works and I can actually shower down there after coming in from rides rather than scaring everyone away in my schwadey costume. Excellent.

River Road

2008-12-24T00:46:00.003-05:00

Usually on our anniversary we take the day off and do something cultural and eat something lavish. The romantic escapade ends with last minute shopping for Christmas.

Since our work schedules prohibited this interlude on the appointed day, we planned on doing all of that today. That is, until the 60" water main broke in Potomac/Bethesda and washed away our best laid plans. Thinking we would be without water (and we were, as the faucets featured a trickle), I ran to Safeway to stock up on some H2O.

We still went out, shopped, ate, and even looked at some tile for the kitchen before coming home to the kids, who had their Christmas vacation bonus of 2.5 hours, as the County shut down all schools due to the broken water main.

But we got everything done that we wanted to, and got to spend some time with each other. Double bonus--I'll take that whenever I can.

Hoping that both of you have a merry Christmas...

Happy Anniversary

2008-12-22T23:48:00.000-05:00

Tonight marks 18 years of marriage. 18 is quite a number--the number of years before the passage to adulthood, as it is hard to believe that some kid is now allowed to vote after existing for as long as we have been married. On an completely non romantic and non reflective note, it is the jersey # of one of the best base stealers in the '80's MLB (who happened to have an 18 year career), the number I wore playing baseball in my glory days. I would be remiss to not mention that, while 18 is not a prime number, it is close in its coolness. And marriage is quite a cool thing, especially this one. Without Karen I can confidently say that I wouldn't be where I am today.

Little did I know 18 years ago tonight that I would be playing Christmas carols with the entire fam while sitting around our suburban enclave...on a guitar, no less, an instrument that is slowly becoming less unnatural to me, after wasting 8 years of my parents' hard earned caiiish on piano lessons when I was a non-practicing imp. K and S on the piano (duet), A on the sax, and me strummin' along. On the last run through we actually sounded decent, but we're not (and never will be) the von Trapps.

Great weekend of getting things ready for the Christmas cavalcades. We went to the annual party at Mike and Diane's place, a party that has morphed into a showcase of musical and lyrical talent. It's become a tradition that more and more people perform, and we and our neighbors did our annual butchering of some Christmas carol in the manner of relating to local life and times, and it was well-received (so well-received last year that the evite poll required us to create a new song). Hanging out with our friends, kids running around being kids and teenagers, and plenty of good stuff flowing. It was, as usual, a great time.

When Mike turned 40 a couple of years ago, he had an "Open Mike" (get it?) night party, where all of us were to perform some sort of musical number. Paul and I decided to "explore the space" since we "had a fever" and that was that. Another great party. They're all memorable, especially when kids break their arms at them.

These are the parties that we went to when we were the kids, watching our parents let their hair down a little while we were hanging with our buddies and trying to figure out how this all fit together. Then we started having them as teenagers while our parents were in the inner recesses of the house, venturing out only to show that they were still boss, but trusting us enough. Then of course the group house parties where the neighbors call the cops because we're too loud, or the beast from the hills stalks one of your housemates because he gave him the hairy eyeball. Then parties turned into "soirees", when we were young and sans kids, but less raucous and more mellow because we were more "mature." And then we didn't have them for awhile because the house becomes the domain of the napoleonic tyrants who don't care that your're no longer cool, since now it's ALL ABOUT THEM. And then they get older and we can let our hair down again, although some of us don't have any of that anymore. And the cycle begins anew.

Sad anniversary

2008-12-21T09:20:00.003-05:00

I was cleaning out my garage yesterday and wrapping up some final trim work with Hank, the contractor, when I saw some rare activity across the street. Our neighbors who had left their house mysteriously a couple of months ago were getting their mail and checking up on some things.

I ran across the street to greet them. We exchanged warm hugs, handshakes, and Christmas greetings. I asked them where they went, and what's been up, knowing that the answer was directly related to the tragedy they experienced last year. As Laura started to speak I could tell that the words were not coming easily, so I told her to say no more and we redirected the conversation. David is working at Dulles Airport now, so they've moved to be closer to family and work. Their grief is still raw, and staying in that house is no longer an option. We exchanged phone numbers and promised to keep in touch, but after they sell the house I'm afraid we won't see them again, as we're a part of that sad memory too.

Green thoughts

2008-12-19T21:56:00.004-05:00

Earlier today, driving back from a meeting in Elkridge MD with one of my co-workers, we were discussing non-business stuff as it's as good a time as any to get to know people better, especially those you spend 40 hours a week with. Somehow the conversation turned to '80's music, specifically the Smithereens, a late '80's/'90's formulaic garage style group that cranked out AOR radio fodder (is that repetitive?). I saw them at the Fairfax County Fair in 1991, and missed them at the Herndon Fair last year. No matter; see them once, and that's all you need to see, though they were definitely solid. And grim, too, in their lyrics about relationships and memories. And Pat DiNizio--check out the Mavic cap.

Their album Green Thoughts is in heavy rotation in my playlist even now, as a 43 year old guy who tries to see the approach of the latter years through the eyes of a 23 year old...music has that way of staving off the inevitable ageing process. The title song is all about envy, an emotion that I would say is my Achilles Heel. There's something about that insecurity of greed that highlights many memories of life, as bad memories can stand out as boldly as good ones. It's always a puzzle to me as to why jealousy exists when I'm, simply stated, a pretty satisfied person. But it's there, as green thoughts that cloud my judgement and color my views from day to day, without pattern.

Don't know how or why, just it's there every once in a while...

//Green thoughts come around

every now and then

When they bring you down

Run away while you still can//

Great song, especially the harmony on the the last chorus.

Polly wants a cracker

2008-12-18T22:29:00.003-05:00

The day ended well, with belly full of great catered Asian fare. Caps win again (Varlamov the young 'un stoned the Blues in the net), and it's Thursday, just days before we take a break from the grind.

The day started, though, with what could have been a confrontational meeting with a client who specializes in micromanagement. A couple of nights ago I logged into my work email (first mistake) to take care of some minor business. I had to respond to an incendiary email from this client, though my finger hovered over the SEND button for a while since I'm no proponent of email wars and pissing contests. I've always believed that email is a prop for people who can't say in person what they really want to say, and is often the refuge of chickens. At that point I didn't care, and knew I would be seeing this guy today and tomorrow, so I sent it anyway, knowing that I may regret it later.

Didn't regret it, and let's just say that this person was chastened. Everthing was cool today, though the meeting was longer than anticipated, and everything is backed up at work again. By the time I got back to the office, I was a real grump, and was reminded of some Christmas office shindig that I was invited to by my partner. Didn't wanna go. Too much work. Just chill out and go already, he said. So I did. And had a very relaxing evening. The food was awesome, catered by Raku, and enjoyed by all. As it turns out this was at a consultant's office who shares a connection beyond work.

About 3 years ago, while I was cuising back through Kensington on the N2 with the usual suspects, I was talking with Mike D about work and life, the small talk that fills in the gaps after a decent base mileage ride. He's a pretty strong rider, and a good guy too. Small world moment, as we found out that his wife was the same person I had been dealing with on a very successful project in which she was the landscape architect. Since then her company has provided us services for landscape design, and it's pretty sweet work. Enjoying some holiday cheer with some other professionals in my field is yet another benefit of this relationship.

One last thing that indicates a return to some sense of normalcy: I literally dusted off my guitar (construction dust is still everywhere), tuned it, and started learning "Polly". Just a bunch of power chords, and I've always wanted to learn it, so there's no time like now. I just need to get back on the bike and everything'll be crackin'.

Tapped out and ramblin' on

2008-12-16T22:00:00.003-05:00

So my buddy asked me today why I haven't posting much lately.

I'm pretty tapped out. All of my visceral moments have been exhausted in the past two months at work. We're juggling demanding clients, a dwindling economy, skittish job prospects, unyielding bureaucracies, and cashflow that is more of a trickle than a, well, flow. Couple that with clients who are holding on to their money instead of paying us for services rendered, thus continuing the domino tipping that forces us to delay paying our consultants for services they've rendered in good faith. Non-profit developers, while noble, are not liquid. Their visions are often not congruous with our need to stay in business. But they're our clients, so we work with what we've got.

On the upside, we were humming like a well oiled machine for the deadline we just wrapped up today. For the first time in many moons we generated a synergy that has made the process not only bearable but somewhat pleasurable. We're ultimately paid to make instructions for contractors to build buildings. Boiled down, it's graphic communication to be understood by all. Too much nebulous information, and it's obtuse. Too little useful information, and it's useless. Too much useless information, we're just filling up paper and covering our asses. The key is to synthesize the information in a way that the plans are transparent in their ability to communicate. A good set of plans is worth umpteen times more than the fee required to generate them. And therein lies the rub--a good set of plans looks like anyone can do it.

Kinda like racing a bike (or not, as has been my MO of late). Looks easy. How hard can it be? They're just pedalin' and yakkin'. Some morning radio guys were raggin' on us this morning--one of them lives in Kensington, near Beach Drive, the place where "the freaks in lycra turn into their own personal Tour de France" and "take their lives into their own hands". This all stemmed from the news release of the NYPD copper who assaulted the Critical Mass rider this past July--if not for YouTube the cyclist would have been in a heap of trouble, not the cop (who really put himself in a heap of trouble). Ask George Allen what he thinks of YouTube. If not for viral video he may have been the prez. But I digress--the point of this paragraph is that we're hated on the road by more people than we think, and many people probably think the Critical Mass rider got what he deserved just because he was riding a bike. It doesn't help that Critical Mass flaunts its "subculture-ness" and doesn't apologize for it--it just sucks that we become the objects of scorn, derision, and sometimes violence because of it.

I'm done. I'm also too lazy to link to that video. It's there on YouTube. While you're there check out the video that prevented yet another good ole boy from possibly becoming our next pres...

Affirmation, baby!

2008-12-08T23:54:00.003-05:00

Monday night football is on, and as I watch the talkers go on and on, I think back to the days when Tony Kornheiser's radio show was at its best, when the listeners riffed on whatever was on TK's mind that day. One of the best examples of this was when he mocked Stuart Scott's unflappingly self-aggrandizing story of playing pick-up ball with none other than Michael Jordan. After dishing MJ a (so says Stu) sweet assist, Jordan points at Stu as they go back up court, acknowledging the play. To which Stu Scott says "Affirmation, baby!" This became fertile ground for endless humorous mockery, as the more talented listeners to TK's show riffed on this one for weeks on end, finding ways to crow "affirmation, baby" any way they could. So much so that some dude started a Tony fanboy blog with this title.

I guess we do this blog thing to feed that part of our yearning, to be recognized by others, especially those more skilled than we are , in our particular endeavor. In my own egomaniacal way I had an affirmation baby moment when I received mention in this guy's blog, an incredibly prolific writer and relentless rider, a dude who captures the visceral nature of racing, training, and the camaraderie that accompanies it in prose that flows.

In his description of the cyclocross scene, I'm one of the many he thanks for making his season a memorable experience. Life got in the way yesterday, preventing me from getting out to Reston for my second favorite race of the 'cross calendar. I made a donation to the cause with my entry fee, but my new kitchen and dining room needed to be cloaked with 3 colors. It looks great.

Glad to be a part of that bigger picture, Jim. It's been a pleasure seeing you out there, so keep on keepin' on and we'll see you on Super Sunday in College Park for the last gasp of this 2008 season.

Shapers

2008-12-04T01:02:00.003-05:00

Here's an opportunity that I don't indulge too often..a little bit of appreciation for the mentors in my life. I'm amazed at how much I learn about other people and ultimately myself just by watching how they do things and how they react to the daily grind. What they say or don't say, how they react, how they lead, how they follow, and how they communicate. There's no magic bullet here--I guess it's how I receive their leadership or choose how to listen to them.

Since most of what I get paid to do relies on graphic communication, I've spent the last few weeks and especially the last couple of days honing my craft of conveying the details of how the skin of a building cloaks its frame. Mundane stuff, to be sure, but the personality of the designer is often transmitted through the steel, concrete, bricks, and mortar in ways that are amazingly subtle. Buildings can speak volumes, especially if they're well-conceived, efficiently executed, and contextually solid.

We are who we are by the way the people around us affect how we change our own lives. On a daily basis, that makes for some pretty rich livin'.

Bombs away

2008-12-02T23:19:00.002-05:00

I'm glad I don't feel the need to be tethered to office e-mail. The constant use of handheld devices to access e-mail, while very much a part of our lives today, is one thing I feel the need to rail against, should anyone care to listen.

If I had read the bomb in my in-box moments after it was sent, I would have been a basket case all weekend. It was sent on Friday morning, Day 2 of the National Eating and Shopping Weekend of Excess (US NESWE, for those keeping track at home). My naps throughout this special holiday would not have been so fruitful.

As it turned out, I read it on Monday morning. The net effect was an increase in my already high heartrate, since the first day after any relaxing long weekend is stressful in itself. Set the tone for the day. Much angst was expended in anticipation of resolving this small situation, which essentially was well-placed criticism of some drawings that didn't quite meet the expectations of the client.

The resulting meeting that I had today regarding said e-mail was surprisingly pleasant and cooperative, once again corroborating my thoughts that electronic correspondence written in haste does nothing to lubricate the wheels of communication, rather has a negative effect, even though this is not always intended.

Just goes to show that a new day is just a turn of the page, and always a chance to start fresh. Things are never as bad as they seem, especially after a nice snooze.

At least I didn't accidentally shoot myself in the leg at a nightclub, like this guy.

Catching some zzzz's

2008-11-30T22:51:00.002-05:00

I laid myself down on the floor, and the heat enveloped me and ushered in a host of daydreams. It was the most relaxing moment of the Thanksgiving weekend.

Life of late has been work at work, work at home, spend time with the family when possible, and fit in a ride or a race around the edges. The kitchen is substantially complete as of today, most deadlines at work are done, and we're re-ordering our abode (savagely decluttering is another way to put it). The family obligations that accompany the holidays also require an energy that is quite depleting even though we are ostensibly relaxing.

So in the wake of repeating the repetitive redundancy of the daily routine, I found myself at my parents' house over the weekend, after a waffle breakfast cooked in part by my dad (a monumental event in itself), with the sounds of family catching up wafting in the background. I laid down on the living room floor, which is radiantly heated. Amazing relaxation washed over me, and I started sawing some wood, as they say.

It was a short nap, but the essence of vacation. It's not often that we get respites like that one. Needless to say I didn't do much riding either, just a short jaunt on Friday with some of the boys.

Lots has been goin' on

2008-10-26T23:54:00.002-04:00

and I'm pretty tired lately. The renovation is going on schedule, and I hung the entire ceiling this weekend, something I wasn't planning on doing, but once I got started it was pretty systematic. Ten sheets of drywall overhead can cause Chaplin-esque moments as I'm trying to control dead weight directly above me with 2 deadmen who sometimes have minds of their own. I figured that if I hung it right then finishing would less of a pain in the ass, but there's no avoiding that either way.

Mixed in a 'cross race today (DCCX) and had a great time, but given my abject lack of training, especially a dearth of interval work, I cramped massively toward the end of the race. When I finished it was all I could do to rub these cramps out, as they were in opposing muscle groups and relief on one side was met with pain on the other.

So that's it. Work is work, it's Sunday, and here we go again.

Little by little

2008-10-07T23:28:00.004-04:00

The office move is substantially complete, though I still have some boxes to finish unpacking. The volume of work is steady but reducing in intensity, and the space is arranged in such a way that we can see virtually everyone in the studio, with no major visual blockage. There's some cool volume to the space that really feels different than a standard office floor. It's going to turn out quite a bit better than I expected.

The open plan has its downsides, too, as I was on a phone call and everyone was giggling in a way that became irritating, and I almost resorted to the old "Hey let's cut this out and get back to work because we're too busy to laugh" speech, the standard management mantra. Until I saw the source of the amusement, an image of the newest father in the office proudly holding his day old infant in his arms. Only this infant had the photoshopped head of another poor bearded soul in our office, an image so unsettling that my irritation dissolved into peels of laughter that joined the chorus. There were no innocent bystanders here. I still laugh thinking about it, and was in tears as I was describing it to the fam at dinner.

I asked the perpetrator of this heinous and hilarious crime not to post the image on the wall as I will not be able to suppress laughter if I were to look in that direction, which is and will be often (pardon the butchering of the pluperfect--or is it subjunctive?). Next source of entertainment will be one these cool Air Hogs Havic Heli's buzzing around.

Don't eat spicy Thai food for breakfast.

2008-10-06T20:49:00.004-04:00

What is the deal with the UPS ad campaign, the whole "Whiteboard" scheme, with mullet boy pitching their wares? As far as seven heads go, this may be more of an elongated pageboy cut. Regardless it's ugly, and memorable. Certainly successful in that regard.

MNF is on in the background, and it's mellow in the house tonight. Yesterday while the 'Skins were flaying the Eagles (YEEHAW) the game was on in the background while we installed a beam into the new opening, did more demo, framed the peninsula wall, and traced and reconfigured all of the 1950's era and 1980's remodel era wiring through the kitchen and dining room. I use "we" in the royal sense, as I was a glorified laborer amongst real pros. Hank the contractor is a true craftsman, an amazing magician with tools, always working, always moving forward. My brother in law Bob is a meticulous electrician, also hard-working and efficient. By watching and observing their ethic I'm able to continue to shape mine. In addition, despite the small talk and banter that accompanies these all-encompassing tasks we seemed to work well enough together to not have "pass me the tape" or "grab this end" be part of the conversation. Much of this was unspoken and the work went smoothly.

What wasn't going smoothly was the tempest in my intestines (2nd Sunday in a row now) which I think was bought on by the lingering bug in the house as well as the Thai Basil Chicken (with extra hot peppers) that I had for breakfast before everyone arrived. Good thing I didn't ride. By the time I retired for the evening the full blown chills and cramping was underway, and when I closed my eyes under the 3 quilts that I crawled under all I could see was a psychedelic millieu of vibrating color. This did not bode for a good night's sleep.

Needless to say I cut short my day at work after my son's school called me around mid-day and told me that my son was sick. After picking him up I laid down to "rest my eyes" and next thing I knew it was 4:30 PM. I guess the rusty chassis is trying to tell me something...

Sunday morning

2008-10-05T08:50:00.004-04:00

Typically on a Sunday morning, especially one so beautiful in the fall as this, I'm out on the bike. In the past five years since I got back on the saddle it's become a ritual touchstone of the weekly cycle. Lately, during 'cross season, I'm headed to a race (about 5-6 times a season). The usual comment at the end of the ride to the disparate group of friends is "Have a great week", knowing that we'll see each other on the next Sunday ride. It's a comforting routine, and helps reset my attitude for the coming week.

So when I'm sitting on the computer writing about riding while I should be coming out of Rock Creek Park with 100 others, it feels a bit strange. I was planning on a shorter ride today, since Hank and my brother in law Bob are coming today to help me remove a masonry pier and reset a beam to keep this kitchen renovation ticking along. On a free day we can get a lot done.

Instead when I woke up I felt like I had been run over by a truck. Two of four humans in the house are fighting serious head/chest colds, and I'm not one of them, thankfully, yet. After a long road ride yesterday, soccer, and tearing out the subfloor to prep for the hardwood (in addition to some more wall demo), this morning my body said uncle while my mind planned on joining some neighbors for a spin into the park and a rendezvous with the Sunday group until about 10, when the calvary was to arrive to conquer this pier.

So here I sit, with intentions of a younger, more energetic man belied by the creaking, aching body of reality. Can't do it all. Oh well.

Back on the road

2008-10-04T00:09:00.003-04:00

The morning is open tomorrow--lately I've put in a short ride since soccer season is upon us and take out the 'cross bike just to open up the legs a little...

Tomorrow is an afternoon game so the itch to get back on the road bike needs to be scratched. It'll be nice to feel fast again, to stay out for more than an hour or so, since riding the cross bike on pavement, while a good workout, is not quite the same. Definitely plush, though.

Lumber Liquidators in the late afternoon, then me and my SkilSaw will get acquainted again as we do a number on the old flooring and subfloor in order to usher in the new hardwood. Sunday will be more demo, this time of the vertical nature. The portion of the wall that used to be the exterior (before the addition was built in the '60's) is right smack in the midst of circulation. Tearing this out won't be easy, as the brick and block load bearing masonry construction of the '50's makes for quite sturdy construction. That's what 10# sledgehammers are for.