If all goes according to plan, we've got a pretty big weekend ahead of us. I'm already looking forward to work on Monday. It'll give me a chance to relax.
Tonight, the fine students of the school Jen works at are putting on a production of "The Laramie Project". I'm actually really looking forward to it since the school is pretty well respected for their Drama Department. Plus, it's just good to support the students, so even if it sucks we'll still get to feel like better people for investing in the future of Central Ohio Community Theater. Ten years from now, we'll stumble drunkenly into the Medieval Times and I'll get to yell "I knew that jouster when he was in high school!"
After the play, it'll be time for laundry. This will be awesome.
Tomorrow morning we're up early to go for our favorite hike. We're hoping to get to Hocking Hills around 8:30 or 9:00 so we have the park pretty much to ourselves. It's always worth the trip, and with all the rain this week it should be a challenge too. We'll take extra clothes, but if I go face first into a mud puddle I promise to post a pic. Otherwise, if you want to see what Hocking Hills looks like, you can check out this post .
We should be able to get back around noon, we'll clean up and head to my brother's place out in the country. Once there, we're going for yet another walk while looking for mushrooms. It's really just an excuse to have something to do, and if we find some mushrooms, all the better.
(Note: We will be searching for edible varieties that do not contain psilocybin. We're thinking of something good to go with grilled chicken, not tripping balls. I think most of you know me, but just in case I wanted to get that clear. Previous postings (that may or may not be fiction) may cloud the issue, so...there you go. No tripping for Pat Robertson's Lust Puppet.)
Once we have loaded up with what I am sure will be no mushrooms, we'll head back and hang out at my brother's place for the night. I plan on sitting around the fire pit and puffing down a delicious Cohiba.
Sunday morning/ afternoon will be a run to The North Market for locally grown grocery goodness (and other alliterations) followed with some shopping. Jen and I are both in dire need of clothing that doesn't have to be kept in place with straps and buckles. After that, we're off to see The Reverend Horton Heat at The Newport Music Hall.
I haven't been to the Newport in years, but back in the day I saw the majority of my shows there. It is a dump. The bathrooms usually have three inches of standing water in them, it's a bit smelly and stuffy, and will probably one day burn to the ground because of electrical problems, but it has a warm place in my heart. It's historic because it's the oldest continually operating rock club in the US. The place holds less than 3000 people legally, but has been visited by Pink Floyd, The Stones, and pretty much everyone else you can think of.
It's not that I'm super into seeing The Reverend (although it'll be fun), but I won the tickets from the good folks at WCBE and will make good use of them.
So, I'll check in next week and list all of the stuff that we didn't do that we thought we would. I might have to swap something out for some Mario Kart time.
Showing posts with label super jock. Show all posts
Showing posts with label super jock. Show all posts
Friday, May 9, 2008
Monday, April 28, 2008
Bits of Tid
A new Portishead album hits tomorrow. I burned a leak of the new disc over the weekend to check it out and cannot wait to buy it this week. Seriously, ya'll...support the artists financially that you believe in. They have enough people taking money out of their pocket, they don't need you doing it too.
---
Today is Mario Kart Day for me and mine. Tonight should be full of high-speed hi-jinks (after working out, cleaning the kitchen, and playing with the dogs, of course). The fifteen minutes I actually get to play are going to be amazing...I can feel it.
---
Speaking of the dogs, I had to drop them off for grooming this morning. We generally like them natural looking, but break down and have them fluffed and puffed a few times a year. It's always a nightmare, because our dogs are generally ill-behaved. Otis believes everything he sees at the vet's office (where we have them groomed) belongs to him, and as such, pees on everything if you let him. He's an eleven pound dog when we get to the office, but by the time we leave I think he weighs two pounds due to fluid loss. I don't know where it all comes from.
Our other dog, Lucy, barks. I know you're thinking, "No shit, she barks. She's a dog." But, just like there are people that take a simple thing from life and focus and explained on it, elevating it to an art form, there are dogs that do this as well. Lucy is one such creature. While not discerning, Lucy's barking is no simple disgruntled yelp. Her bark pierces and echoes. It slices through the air and rattles around your head several minutes after the actual barking is done. She barks at dogs, televised or real, cartoon or actual. The other day, she actually growled at a picture of herself that came up on our computer's screen saver. Genius.
So, between trying to keep her quiet enough to talk to the groomer and praying to God that Otis doesn't piss on my leg out of frustration for me not letting him claim the Reception Desk as his own, my morning kind of blew. I think the groomer heard my instructions, but if I pick them up tonight and they have mohawks, the dogs will have no one to blame but themselves. For the record though, I would be totally down with some mohawks.
---
It was a beautiful day yesterday, so we headed up to Mohican State Park to go hiking. It was a good day. We climbed a Fire Tower to check out the valley and took a relatively short four mile hike. Saw some deer and acted like idiots. I haven't checked out the pictures yet, but if there's anything worthwhile, I'll throw them up here later today.
That's all I've got.
---
Today is Mario Kart Day for me and mine. Tonight should be full of high-speed hi-jinks (after working out, cleaning the kitchen, and playing with the dogs, of course). The fifteen minutes I actually get to play are going to be amazing...I can feel it.
---
Speaking of the dogs, I had to drop them off for grooming this morning. We generally like them natural looking, but break down and have them fluffed and puffed a few times a year. It's always a nightmare, because our dogs are generally ill-behaved. Otis believes everything he sees at the vet's office (where we have them groomed) belongs to him, and as such, pees on everything if you let him. He's an eleven pound dog when we get to the office, but by the time we leave I think he weighs two pounds due to fluid loss. I don't know where it all comes from.
Our other dog, Lucy, barks. I know you're thinking, "No shit, she barks. She's a dog." But, just like there are people that take a simple thing from life and focus and explained on it, elevating it to an art form, there are dogs that do this as well. Lucy is one such creature. While not discerning, Lucy's barking is no simple disgruntled yelp. Her bark pierces and echoes. It slices through the air and rattles around your head several minutes after the actual barking is done. She barks at dogs, televised or real, cartoon or actual. The other day, she actually growled at a picture of herself that came up on our computer's screen saver. Genius.
So, between trying to keep her quiet enough to talk to the groomer and praying to God that Otis doesn't piss on my leg out of frustration for me not letting him claim the Reception Desk as his own, my morning kind of blew. I think the groomer heard my instructions, but if I pick them up tonight and they have mohawks, the dogs will have no one to blame but themselves. For the record though, I would be totally down with some mohawks.
---
It was a beautiful day yesterday, so we headed up to Mohican State Park to go hiking. It was a good day. We climbed a Fire Tower to check out the valley and took a relatively short four mile hike. Saw some deer and acted like idiots. I haven't checked out the pictures yet, but if there's anything worthwhile, I'll throw them up here later today.
That's all I've got.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
We Have Rules for a Reason, Damnit!
The novelty of owning bicycles is gone now, and we're getting more and more serious about riding. While we haven't gotten out tons yet, we find ourselves watching the clock and wanting to beat our previous times. There was a hill that we had to walk part of the way up our first outing, but now we own it. (By "Own It" I mean we pedal slowly huffing and puffing our way to the top cursing anything that moves. Fucking chipmunks.)
It's still really fun though. That part hasn't changed for us at all. It's great to be outside, riding through the trees. Sure, you have to make yourself ignore the highway hiss from time to time, but it's not like you're in the middle of nowhere. In fact, not being in the middle of nowhere has other issues that come with it too.
Our first couple of outings were when the weather hadn't really turned yet. We were out there with a handful of others who were sick of their couches and treadmills and were ready to get out and about. Now though, as the weather warms and the evenings are longer, the multi-purpose trails in the Metro Parks are getting a bit crowded. Not overly crowded yet, but you have to keep an eye out so you don't mow down a family of three when doing 20 mph down a hill.
The main trail that we go to has the left side dedicated to bike traffic, but people drift in and out of lanes taking up the entire paved surface. Normally soft spoken, Jen (who generally leads), had a hard time speaking up to let people know we were passing on the left.
"Ah hem. On the left." she'd stage whisper.
Now though, the bike trail is Jen's trail.
"Passing on the left!" she says loudly as she buzzzes the newlyweds.
"This is the bike lane, buddy." she declares to the Hispanic gentleman who was so confused by the site of two bikes barreling down on him that he froze in the middle of our lane, unable to move left or right.
We encouter the occasional jogger who refuses to give up the lane, even though they're jogging the wrong direction and on the wrong side. I pity these men and women who unwittingly open themselves to unrequested direction.
"Simple-minded motherfuckers, every one of them!" she says drinking from her bottle of water while I lift the bikes back onto the rack, still trying to catch my breath.
It's not that my wife is mean. Far from it. It isn't even that she likes to strike fear in the hearts of the unsuspecting as she passes them so fast and close they can smell a trace of the perfume she wore to work that day. My wife simply believes rules were meant to be followed because they are there to protect us all. She believes this so deeply, she is willing to share her beliefs with anyone who may even look suspect of riding clockwise on the counter clockwise path.
I laugh at her on the way home, picking at her for the improptu "education" she was dumping on park-goers. She remains steadfast in the idea that the next time those people go to the trail, they'll keep in mind what she said and will stay on the walking path. Over a period of months, traffic will flow evenly and smoothly and we will all commune with the outdoors together in harmony.
It's this distance between reality and her ideas that makes Jen fun. She lives in that gap, hoping to bring everyone over to her side. Not just at the trail, but in most things. Recognizing the parallax, but choosing to ignore it, she treads on with her perspective of how it should be and just hopes that enough people will come around to see it her way.
I hope everyone on that trail knows how hard she's working to keep them all safe. She's exhausted.
It's still really fun though. That part hasn't changed for us at all. It's great to be outside, riding through the trees. Sure, you have to make yourself ignore the highway hiss from time to time, but it's not like you're in the middle of nowhere. In fact, not being in the middle of nowhere has other issues that come with it too.
Our first couple of outings were when the weather hadn't really turned yet. We were out there with a handful of others who were sick of their couches and treadmills and were ready to get out and about. Now though, as the weather warms and the evenings are longer, the multi-purpose trails in the Metro Parks are getting a bit crowded. Not overly crowded yet, but you have to keep an eye out so you don't mow down a family of three when doing 20 mph down a hill.
The main trail that we go to has the left side dedicated to bike traffic, but people drift in and out of lanes taking up the entire paved surface. Normally soft spoken, Jen (who generally leads), had a hard time speaking up to let people know we were passing on the left.
"Ah hem. On the left." she'd stage whisper.
Now though, the bike trail is Jen's trail.
"Passing on the left!" she says loudly as she buzzzes the newlyweds.
"This is the bike lane, buddy." she declares to the Hispanic gentleman who was so confused by the site of two bikes barreling down on him that he froze in the middle of our lane, unable to move left or right.
We encouter the occasional jogger who refuses to give up the lane, even though they're jogging the wrong direction and on the wrong side. I pity these men and women who unwittingly open themselves to unrequested direction.
"Simple-minded motherfuckers, every one of them!" she says drinking from her bottle of water while I lift the bikes back onto the rack, still trying to catch my breath.
It's not that my wife is mean. Far from it. It isn't even that she likes to strike fear in the hearts of the unsuspecting as she passes them so fast and close they can smell a trace of the perfume she wore to work that day. My wife simply believes rules were meant to be followed because they are there to protect us all. She believes this so deeply, she is willing to share her beliefs with anyone who may even look suspect of riding clockwise on the counter clockwise path.
I laugh at her on the way home, picking at her for the improptu "education" she was dumping on park-goers. She remains steadfast in the idea that the next time those people go to the trail, they'll keep in mind what she said and will stay on the walking path. Over a period of months, traffic will flow evenly and smoothly and we will all commune with the outdoors together in harmony.
It's this distance between reality and her ideas that makes Jen fun. She lives in that gap, hoping to bring everyone over to her side. Not just at the trail, but in most things. Recognizing the parallax, but choosing to ignore it, she treads on with her perspective of how it should be and just hopes that enough people will come around to see it her way.
I hope everyone on that trail knows how hard she's working to keep them all safe. She's exhausted.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Mmmmm...More NASA Powder Please!
When fat people lose weight they become like children, measuring in fractions. Where a little girl might refer to herself as seven-and-a-half, a fat woman will tell you that she has lost 34.8 pounds. Everything is measured: Water ¾ cups. 1 packet nutritionally enhanced choco-flavored NASA powder. 100% daily balance. 30 minutes bike riding while watching Family Guy. Three sets of fifteen.
Like anytime you are getting involved in a new way of life, a vocabulary is learned. Most of the terms and words associated with weight loss are well known by all, but only fat people and the ones who work with them seem to use them on a regular basis.
I imagine it being the same for any group of people that come together while sharing an experience. Writers, homosexuals, kite enthusiasts, Scientologists, pedophiles and joggers all have invented languages and customs. Those who are new learn quickly or are left feeling out of the loop, grasping for common ground while trying to absorb what they can.
These are the things I’m thinking as I sit in a room full of people each week, all of us battling our weight. We sit in a waiting room that is ironically small with a matching ironically small television that struggles to capture a local channel with its brittle bunny ears. I try to watch the television that usually is tuned to the Columbus news while stealing glances at the people who share the room with me.
We share the indignity of the waiting room, taking turns talking to the dietician and the doctor, then getting our approval to continue with the program for another week.
“How are your bowel movements?”
“Having any muscle cramps?”
“Any changes in your medication?”
“Keep up the good work.”
One more week of transformation. In my mind I’ve ripped of Thomas Harris and started calling it “The Becoming”.
I am…becoming.
Like anytime you are getting involved in a new way of life, a vocabulary is learned. Most of the terms and words associated with weight loss are well known by all, but only fat people and the ones who work with them seem to use them on a regular basis.
I imagine it being the same for any group of people that come together while sharing an experience. Writers, homosexuals, kite enthusiasts, Scientologists, pedophiles and joggers all have invented languages and customs. Those who are new learn quickly or are left feeling out of the loop, grasping for common ground while trying to absorb what they can.
These are the things I’m thinking as I sit in a room full of people each week, all of us battling our weight. We sit in a waiting room that is ironically small with a matching ironically small television that struggles to capture a local channel with its brittle bunny ears. I try to watch the television that usually is tuned to the Columbus news while stealing glances at the people who share the room with me.
We share the indignity of the waiting room, taking turns talking to the dietician and the doctor, then getting our approval to continue with the program for another week.
“How are your bowel movements?”
“Having any muscle cramps?”
“Any changes in your medication?”
“Keep up the good work.”
One more week of transformation. In my mind I’ve ripped of Thomas Harris and started calling it “The Becoming”.
I am…becoming.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
