Which John?

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

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

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

DCCX 2009

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

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

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

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

Tacchino is next!

Revenge flicks

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

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

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

Friday night fun

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

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

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

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

Sick daze

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

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

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.