Hello, It's Me.

Blogger's Block

2008-07-18T21:06:00.000-05:00

It has been so long since I've said anything that now I don't know what to say.

Thoughts For The Day

2007-05-29T15:06:00.000-05:00

There are 2:

1) What is wrong with people who drive under the speed limit? Especially on 2 lane roads... on perfectly dry clear days. They need to be removed. Somehow. From society. Or at least plucked off the roadways. Forever.

2) What is up with fruit flies? I don't understand them. They aren't there at the grocery store when you buy your fruit. But they just magically and annoyingly appear after about a day. And they hover around your fruit bowl and your garbage can where the banana peels are. And they bug the shit out of you (or at least they bug the shit out of me). And then eventually they disappear somehow. Until the next time you go to the grocery store and buy more fruit. WTF??!

That's it.

Today's Soapbox

2007-05-16T11:34:00.000-05:00

I hate John Aielli. He is insufferably arrogant and trite and narcissistic and annoying. I can't stand him. What makes him think we give a shit about his mundane personal life and banal ruminations. And what makes him think we want to hear every single version of a given song that has ever been recorded? Or that we want to hear every song that has anything whatsoever to do with some obscure theme that he thinks relevant. And if he talks about his stupid blog one more time, I think I will lose it. For realz. Why can't KUT subscribe to a good music show, like, "Morning Becomes Eclectic"? Pay attention, John. That's how the pros do it. I hate John Aielli. Hate. Him.

Ami's Journal

2007-05-04T11:42:00.000-05:00

When I used to live in the midwest, I had a basement. It was like having a whole other house underneath my house. In it, I was able to store all the stuff I kind of wanted to keep but didn't use regularly. Or at all. It was also a great place to toss things that were messy but I didn't feel like putting away just before company arrived. Now I don't have a basement and all those things have been insidiously filling up my house and garage for years. The clutter has been increasingly stressing me out. I just made an appointment for some guys to come haul away all my crap. I know I'm paying someone else to throw away some things that are pretty nice and could be somewhat valuable. But right now, having the space is much more valuable to me than having the stuff. I don't miss a single thing about living in the midwest. Except for having a basement.

Ami's Journal

2007-04-07T09:40:00.000-05:00

I have tons of projects to do around the house. Whenever it's sunny out, I rationalize not doing them by telling myself I'll do them when it's rainy and cold and gross outside. Today it's rainy and cold and gross outside but I still don't feel like doing them.

Ami's Journal

2007-03-31T20:52:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I went to the store and got some groceries. I bought a jar of some fancy kind of cinnamon applesauce that looked really good. I could hardly wait to try it when I got home. But when I went to open the jar, the lid wouldn't budge no matter how hard I tried to turn it. I used the dish towel to get a better grip but it still wouldn't move. I ran it under hot water but that didn't work either. I banged it on the counter but still, no luck. I had to take periodic breaks when my hands hurt too much to keep going. But then I'd go back to it after a few minutes to try again. After about half an hour of this, I started wondering if I was just going to have to take it back to the store and tell them I couldn't get it open. That seemed kind of ridiculous though. Not to mention embarrassing. But I didn't want to throw it away unopened either. In a fit of exasperation, I decided to try one last time. I gave it everything I had. My hands were burning and my face was red from pushing the lid as hard as I could. Finally it yielded and I got the jar open. I tasted the applesauce. It was pretty good. But not that good.

Ami's Journal

2007-03-29T15:06:00.000-05:00

I routinely run in the morning before work. But this morning I got a late start. It was really warm and humid outside. As soon as I got home from my run, I had to hop in the shower and get dressed in a hurry so I could make it to work on time. When I got out of the shower, I was still sweating. I waited as long as I could to try to cool off before I put on my nice work clothes. But I was still sweating a little when I got in my car to go to work. It reminded me of what summer in Austin is like.

Ami's Journal

2007-03-27T17:21:00.000-05:00

Last weekend I went to Washington D.C. to visit my sister and meet up with a friend of mine who was there for a conference and who I hadn't seen for a long time. I stayed in a hotel room with my friend but I didn't get any sleep because she kept me up every night with her loud and erratic snoring. At one point, when she got up to go to the bathroom, I said to her, "man, you are snoring like a freight train!" She said, "good, that means I'm sleeping." I thought that was a really mean thing for her to say given how sleep deprived I was by then because of her. When she fell back to sleep and started snoring again, I had to fight a strong urge to smother her with the extra pillows.

Ami's Journal

2007-03-20T16:49:00.000-05:00

Today I wore a pair of shoes to work that I had only worn once before. As I was walking from my car to my office building, I noticed that the heels on the shoes felt funny. I remember thinking that I had noticed the same thing the only other time I had worn them before. When I got to the exit of the parking garage and was on the sidewalk just about to cross the street to get to my building, I slipped on something and fell. I got up right away and a woman getting out of her car nearby said, "are you all right?" "Oh, I'm fine," I said while trying to recover at least a modicum of dignity. Then the woman said, "your heel is broken." And I looked down to see that indeed it was. I decided to go home quickly to get another pair of shoes. But first I had to hobble back to my car with only one functional shoe and blood dripping from both knees. So much for dignity.

Ami's Journal

2007-03-17T14:37:00.000-05:00

This week there is a huge music festival going on where I live that takes place every year. People and bands travel here from all over the world and pretty much take over just about everywhere in town. It's easy to tell who is part of the whole thing. They all seem to be trying really hard to look cool and trying even harder to seem like they're not trying. In theory I think the music festival is a neat thing and I want to be excited about it. But the reality of a lot of it makes me want to hurl. Even so, I have managed to see some good shows and score a ton of swag and booze without paying one red cent for any of it so I guess it's not all bad.

Ami's Journal

2007-03-15T18:54:00.000-05:00

Once a year, Starbuck's gives away coffee for free. Today was free coffee day at Starbuck's. When I got to work, my whole office building was being evacuated for some reason and everyone had to go wait outside. I decided to go to Starbuck's to get my free coffee since there is one only a block away from where I work. By the time I got to Starbuck's and ordered my coffee, I was pretty excited. The girl at the counter said, "that will be $1.62." I said, "I thought today was free coffee day." Then she said, "that doesn't start until 10:00." I ended up paying for my coffee because I didn't feel like going back in an hour just to save $1.62. I will try to remember to wait until 10:00 next year though.

Ami's Journal

2007-03-12T07:27:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I had plans to be really productive and get a lot done. By the end of the day, however, I realized that it was time to go to bed and I had not accomplished much. I tried to rationalize that it was because of the lost hour due to daylight saving time. But mostly I knew that I had just been lazy.

Ami's Journal

2007-03-10T16:28:00.000-06:00

Today I went to Barton Springs for a while. On the way home, I decided to stop at the grocery store to get a few things. When I got to the store, it occurred to me that I didn't have my wallet. I did have $15.00 in the console of the car though. At the checkout counter, the guy rang up my items and they came out to $15.66. I told him I only had $15.00 and needed to put something back. But he said, "don't worry about it, I got you covered."

Ami's Journal

2007-03-09T11:17:00.000-06:00

Click here for the backstory to Ami's Journal. (nice how I linked from my blog to my blog, huh?)

Here is post number 2:

Today is trash collection day in my neighborhood. I was really tired last night and went to bed early. Just as I was about to fall asleep, I realized that I had forgotten to take the trash can out to the curb. I got up and put on the shoes near my bed, which were the dress shoes I had worn to work. Then I went outside in my pajamas to take out the trash. After I got back into bed, I had a little bit of a hard time falling asleep.

Ami's Journal

2007-03-08T19:18:00.000-06:00

When I was an undergraduate student at the University of Wisconsin - Madison, there appeared in the weekly student newspaper a comic strip called, Jim's Journal. It was created by Scott Dikkers, who is one of the founders of The Onion.

It's difficult to describe Jim's Journal. It's really just a description of the mundane features of everyday life as told from the perspective of the protagonist, Jim.

Unlike The Onion, which is overtly crass and smart and funny as hell, Jim's Journal is understated and soft and quiet. It, too, is humorous but in a dry-as-a-bone and subtly poignant way. People seem to either love Jim's Journal or they just don't get it. I love it.

Here is an example of some representative Jim's Journal comic strips. (Click on the arrows to the right of each strip to scroll through them...)

It surprises me how often I am reminded of Jim's Journal by incidental things that people say or little vignettes of everyday life. It occurred to me recently that a good way to keep up my now almost defunct blog when I don't have anything profound to say might be to post a Jim's Journalesque entry. But mine, of course, would be Ami's Journal, so as not to violate any copyright laws. And also because my name is Ami.

Unfortunately, Ami's Journal will not have illustrations to enhance the text. But all posts will be based on actual events. So that's pretty much it by way of explanation. Here's the inaugural entry:

Today I took my secretary out to lunch. When we got to the restaurant, I suggested that we eat outside because it was a nice sunny day. My secretary said she had never eaten outside before and was a little freaked out by it. I laughed and told her that it's great to sit outside and that I couldn't believe she never had before. A little later, while she was eating her salad, a big grackle took a poop right on her head. "I don't know if I like eating outside," she said.

Thought for the Day

2007-02-18T16:33:00.000-06:00

Marathons are grueling masochistic pain-fests for which we pay good money to participate. What's up with that?!

Thought for the Day

2007-02-11T15:35:00.000-06:00

Dishes, laundry, and housecleaning are thankless never-ending jobs for which we don't get paid.

On Writing and Living...

2007-01-14T12:44:00.000-06:00

Okay, here goes…

I just read “Bird by Bird” by Anne Lamott. On its surface, it is a book about writing. But really, it is a book about living. She is a little too freaky religious for me overall, but she is a good writer and I like so much of her outlook on life and her expression of it. With respect to writing, she says to try to write at least, I think it’s 300 words each day. Without counting the words of something already written, I have no idea how much that is, so I’m just gonna try to write for at least 15 minutes each day. Or at least most days. Here goes today’s effort, which is really cheating as I’m mostly culling quotes from her book that I like a lot…

I want to be sure I know where to find these little gems because they are well worth looking over again and again.

Here is a poem in her book that I love since I often have these same feelings of paranoia, like everyone is talking about me or ganging up on me or like they all know something that I don’t or they know the very worst parts of me and the disastrous fate I will suffer because of my shameful and inexcusable thoughts and deeds..

It’s always comforting to me to realize that other people, and maybe even most other people have these same thoughts that I have – these same thoughts that have me convinced that I am certifiably crazy. So I guess we’re either all crazy together or none of us are crazy. Either way, I find it comforting. This poem is by Phillip Lopate, who I’ve never heard of before. It goes a little something like this… (actually, this is how it goes exactly):

We who are
your closest friends
feel the time
has come to tell you
that every Thursday
we have been meeting
as a group,
to devise ways
to keep you
in perpetual uncertainty
frustration
discontent and
torture
by neither loving you
as much as you want
nor cutting you adrift.
Your analyst is
in on it,
plus your boyfriend
and your ex-husband;
and we have pledged
to disappoint you
as long as you need us.
In announcing our
association
we realize we have
placed in your hands
a possible antidote
against uncertainty
indeed against ourselves.
But since Thursday nights
have brought us
to a community
of purpose
rare in itself
with you as
the natural center,
we feel hopeful you
will continue to make unreasonable
demands for affection
if not as a consequence
of your disastrous personality
then for the good of the collective.

I love this poem.

Here are some other passages in the book that I like a ton and should re-read on a regular basis.

“To be engrossed by something outside ourselves is a powerful antidote for the rational mind, the mind that so frequently has its head up its own ass – seeing things in such a narrow and darkly narcissistic way that it presents a colo-rectal theology, offering hope to no one.”

Here’s another idea she presents in the book about remembering how, or perhaps learning for the first time, to trust your gut. This really resonates with me.

“You get your confidence and intuition back by trusting yourself, by being militantly on your own side. You need to trust yourself. … Don’t look at your feet to see if you are doing it right. Just dance. You get your intuition back when you make space for it, when you stop the chattering of the rational mind. The rational mind doesn’t nurture you. You assume that it gives you the truth, because the rational mind is the golden calf that this culture worships, but this is not true. Rationality squeezes out much that is rich and juicy and fascinating. Sometimes intuition needs coaxing, because intuition is a little shy. But if you try not to crowd it, intuition often wafts up from the soul or subconscious, and then becomes a tiny fitful little flame. It will be blown out by too much compulsion and manic attention, but will burn quietly when watched with gentle concentration. So try to calm down, get quiet, breathe, and listen.”

I think that’s what I need to do most of all – calm down, get quiet, breathe, and listen…

Here’s another good one:

“You can’t get to …[the truth] by sitting in a field smiling beatifically, avoiding your anger and damage and grief. Your anger and damage and grief are the way to the truth. We don’t have much truth to express [or experience] unless we have gone into those rooms and closets and woods and abysses that we were told not to go in to. When we have gone in and looked around for a long while, just breathing and finally taking it in, then we will finally be able to [be ourselves] and stay in the present moment.”

This one is geared toward writing, but applies to living too, as does most of this book:

“Try to write in a directly emotional way, instead of being too subtle or oblique. Don’t be afraid of your material or your past. Be afraid of wasting any more time obsessing about how you look and how people see you. Be afraid of not getting your writing done. If something inside you is real, we will probably find it interesting, and it will probably be universal. So you must risk placing real emotion at the center of your work. Write straight into the emotional center of things. Write toward vulnerability. Don’t worry about appearing sentimental. Worry about being unavailable; worry about being absent or fraudulent. Risk being unliked. Tell the truth as you understand it. If you’re a writer, you have a moral obligation to do this. And it is a revolutionary act – truth is always subversive.”

I don’t consider myself a writer. I just like to write. But I think we all have a moral obligation to be true to ourselves and to risk vulnerability by venturing straight into the emotional center of things, even though it’s scary as hell.

This one might be my very favorite. I need to read it over and over and over…:

“Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people. It will keepyou cramped and insane your whole life.”

Hopeless Romantic

2007-01-03T20:33:00.000-06:00

Those who know me know that I come across as a fiercely independent and fairly jaded, if not cynical person.

But those who really know me know that beneath my relatively tough and often guarded exterior lies a sensitive girl who is basically a hopeless romantic.

I recently came across this poem by Wendell Berry, which so adeptly expresses that unpredictable and inexplicable but amazingly powerful and profound surge of love that occasionally comes over us for someone who we have known well enough and long enough to have relegated, for the most part, to the comfortingly familar.

THE WILD ROSE

Sometimes hidden from me
in daily custom and trust,

so that I live by you unaware
as by the beating of my heart,

Suddenly you flare in my sight,
a wild rose blooming at the edge
of thicket, grace and light
where yesterday was only shade,

and once again I am blessed, choosing
again what I chose before.
_______________

Sappy or not, I think this simply elegant piece is the perfect expression of this beautiful and remarkable slice of love.

Inner Peace in a Word

2007-01-02T09:06:00.001-06:00

Balance.

Difficult to accomplish in a world that is never static.

But always worth the continuing effort.

Balance.

Seriously, that's it - that's the ticket.

The Year of the Dog

2007-01-02T07:18:00.000-06:00

At first I was contemplative and even a little bummed about the prospect of yet another seven years behind me.

But then I started thinking about how there's reason to believe that this new year might be amazing - the best yet.

I know that if I want things to be good for me, it's up to me to get out there and make it happen. So that's what I'm gonna do...

Yeah, this is gonna be a great year!

New Year

2006-12-29T10:20:00.000-06:00

I never quite know what to make of this time of year. Specifically, the new year. On the one hand, it seems like a natural time to reassess our lives and resolve to make positive changes for the upcoming year. But on the other hand, it's really just an arbitrary line that has no significance other than that which we have given it. The clock is always ticking and just because the second hand passes over the 12 on what we call new year's eve, does that really mean anything? Are things after that passing of the second hand really any different? Should they be?

In general, the impetus for humans to engage in self-analysis comes from direct trauma of some sort. We tend not to think too much about how things are going or what we might do differently when we are doing well. But New Year's is an exception to this general rule. It's a time when we feel that we're supposed to take a look at things whether we're experiencing smooth sailing or tumultuous seas. I guess it never hurts to engage in introspection and to re-establish perspective but for some reason it feels like there is a lot of pressure to do so at this time of year in a way that seems overwhelming and unrealistic and like a recipe for failure and disappointment.

Even just the words themselves conjure up images of a shiny happy new year filled with optimism and prosperity and good health and happiness and broad new horizons. While we all hope for those things, is it really realistic to think that we can somehow create them through resolutions simply because the second hand has shifted past the 12 once again? I don't think so.

What we can do, however, is to look at our lives as a whole and instead of focusing on how we can have more or be better or push harder, we can take stock and be grateful for what we already have. I hate Sheryl Crow, for reasons obvious to those who know me, but there is one line in a song of hers that I really like. (She must not have written it). It says, "it's not having what you want; it's wanting what you've got". Not that there isn't always room for improvement, but for the most part I think we'd all do better on New Year's and throughout the year spending less time worrying about having what we want and more time wanting what we already have.

And on that note, Happy New Year, everyone! (especially Mike L. and Mike W. and Bill and Angie for reading this)

Christmas in Santa Fe

2006-12-25T12:00:00.000-06:00

Merry Xmas, Everyone! (esp. Mike W. and Mike L. and Bill for still checking this thing)

2006-12-19T06:26:00.000-06:00

Blogatross

2006-10-05T21:18:00.000-05:00

I'm sorry!!! I've been a terrible blogger. I promise I will update this thing soon. And when I do it'll be good. Or not. But please bear with me and keep checking back...

Life is so busy lately.

ACL Festival Recap - The Good, The Bad, and The Bloody

2006-09-22T16:26:00.000-05:00

Last Friday, Saturday, and Sunday constituted the 5th Annual Austin City Limits festival at Zilker Park here in Austin, Texas. Not coincidentally, it was also my 5th ACL Festival. And I have to say it was a seriously good time. Albeit a seriously punishing good time.

THE MUSIC

I'll start with the music since, after all, ACL is primarily about the music. And there was a whole lotta music going on, much of which I got to see and/or hear including all or some of the shows by:

* Gnarls Barkley
* Cat Power
* Thievery Corporation
* Ray Lamontagne
* John Mayer
* Van Morrison
* Ben Kweller
* Nada Surf
* TV on the Radio
* The Shins
* Aimee Mann
* The Raconteurs
* Brazillian Girls
* Willie Nelson
* Matisyahu
* The New Pornographers
* The Flaming Lips
* G.Love & Special Sauce
* Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers

Best of the Music - There was way too much good stuff to cover it all here. These are just the highlights that really stood out:

Flaming Lips: These guys put on the best show of all, in my opinion. They sounded amazing, were super into the scene, played lots of crowd-pleasers, and actually put on a real razzle-dazzle show complete with dancing santas and balloons and confetti, etc. It was a kickin' good time with lots of crowd participation. A festival highlight for sure.

Raconteurs: Jack White is a force of nature and a force to be reckoned with. I prefer the White Stripes to the Raconteurs, but Jack White clearly holds his own wherever he goes and these guys rocked the fest. Sounded amazing. Must. buy. disc. Oh - and his plaid pants and wicked hair were the bomb.

The New Pornographers: I wasn't sure if Neko would be with them or not since she's touring on her solo album now too. But she was there and therefore they sounded great and put on a solid show.

The Shins: I know every song of theirs and they kicked out a sing-along-set that made me smile.

New Discoveries - one of the things I like best about ACL Fest is discovering new bands that I hadn't heard before but hear at the festival and find out I like a lot. Last year it was The Frames. This year it was Brazillian Girls (thanks, Mike L.!) and TV on the Radio. Keepers for sure.

Worst of the Music:

Ben Kweller. Not because I don't like him. To the contrary - I love his stuff and he was one of the acts I was most pumped to see. Not because he sounded bad. He didn't - he sounded amazing. So why?, you wonder... Because he got a fucking bloody nose which caused him to start late and finish half an hour early! Now this guy is young and he's married. In fact, he's a brand new father. He seems to have his shit together and doesn't strike me as the cocaine type. But, then again, his allergy story didn't ring true. I mean, who the hell gets a bloody nose from allergies? And it's not exactly like it was dry out. I think the relative humidity was over 200% that day. And even if he did need to stop playing to control the bleeding (the tampons he shoved in his nose didn't seem to do the trick), why did he have to bail with 30 minutes left in his set? Have you ever had a bloody nose that lasted more than 5 minutes? Fine - take a break for 5 or even 10 minutes and then get your ass back out there and give the people (me!) what they want!!!! I don't mean to be an unsympathetic and callous bitch. But I can't help it. That's just who I am.

The Shins aftershow at Stubbs: I guess I should have done a bit more research about what time this so-called aftershow began and ended. I left ACL after Van Morrison and made a beeline through the crowd to my bike. Then I rode to my car that was parked at my friend's house in Bouldin. Then I drove home. On the way I quickly stopped to pick up the cute 27-year-old who I had met at the fest. I dropped him off at his car on 10th St. and kept motoring for home. I ran in, grabbed my bike off the car rack, tossed it in the house, saddled Otis up and took him for a jaunt around the block and then I was off again to the Shins show. 5 minutes later, I had parked and was walking to the door. It was pretty late, but it was, after all, an after show so I hoped I'd be okay and they'd still be going. As I walked super-fast from my car to the entrance of Stubbs, I could hear them playing. Aaaah - they sounded great! I know this song! So with an even bigger spring in my step, I continued toward the gate, now singing in my head and even more excited to see the rest of this show. But as I rounded the corner onto Red River and was almost there, the song ended. And I heard the lead singer say, "Good Night, Austin!" And as I got almost to the gate, I realized I was swimming upstream as a forceful tide of satisfied Shins fans made their way out. To go home. Show over. Bummer. (But they played the next day at ACL so at least I still got to see 'em).

THE WEATHER

Last year's ACL was the closest equivalent to hell I've encountered here on earth in terms of record-breaking triple-digit infernal temperatures that felt more like being in a convection oven than in a beautiful park. But that wasn't all - the hellish heat was combined with a pervasive and apocalyptic dust that managed to seep into every orifice and stifle all breathing. Certainly this year's festival was exponentially better by comparison, but then again, the 9th ring of hell would be better by comparison. This year, the dust was not a problem. And for that I'm grateful. The heat and humidity, however, were turned on in full force. I spent my days soaking wet with sweat and covered in a thick and sticky layer of grime. What can I say? That's just how it was. It has become part of the ACL tradition, frankly. I don't think it would feel quite right if the weather were actually cool and bearable for ACL. But I'm definitely willing to give it a try.

THE PEOPLE:

One of the things that I like best about this festival is that it's in Austin. And the people in Austin are a laid back and cool bunch. Everyone seems to get along and be cool. Even when in crowded situations under oppressive heat. In any other city, there would be fights and shoving and yelling in such settings. "You can't leave your blanket there if you're not on it!"; "Fuck you, asshole"... But not in Austin. Here we just want everyone to have fun and enjoy the music and the festival. We respect everyone's right to just do their own thing and whether you're on your blanket or not, we'll try as hard as we can not to step on it as we make our way through the sea of people to try to find our way to the mixing board to meet our friends. I love it!

Meeting up with friends can be a challenge at ACL fest. I usually go with a friend or two each year but have made tentative plans to meet up at the festival with about 10 more friends, many of whom are with their own different groups of friends. This can be a daunting and difficult task. But it's all good. Especially with the use of text-messaging and landmark flags. "10 feet behind the pirate flag to the right of the sound board" would be all it takes to find your peeps. I'd like to take this opportunity to thank all those suckers who lugged around giant flags all weekend that I could then use as landmarks for my friends. Yo! Thanks! Y'all were so helpful. The other funny thing about trying to hook up with friends at ACL is that it seems so hard to find the friends you're actually looking for sometimes, but almost inevitably, you end up randomly bumping into all kinds of people you know, haven't seen in ages, and hadn't even been aware were going to be at ACL. I've run into people in past years from other cities who were just there for ACL and who I hadn't seen in years. Yet it took me 30 minutes to find the friend I was trying to locate even though we were standing 15 feet from eachother and texting constantly. It's pretty funny and cool. And just one of those ACL things.

The other thing about ACL is that it's really easy to meet new people. And let's face it - there are some seriously good-looking people there who are pretty fun to meet if only just to stare at between songs. I met a smokin' hot guy from Canada who was going to school in Ireland. Holy shit that guy was hot! Really nice, too. And a cute 27-year old boy and I struck up a conversation during John Mayer's set. He thought I was 25. Even though he was cute and smart and funny, I mostly love him for thinking I was 25. Granted, it was dark by then, but still...

Even when you're not meeting people, just watching people at ACL is worth the price of admission. Everyone is represented there. Truly the good, the bad, and the random. I saw everything from a guy in tweed wool pants and a sweater (picture heat index close to 100 degrees, super humid, and full sun) to women parading around in only bikinis (tops and bottoms) to a guy who was wearing some sort of crazy crocheted overalls that were super tight. And everything in between. Just reading T-shirts while weaving through the crowds was a fun pasttime. Good stuff. Much better than even the airport for people watching. And so many more people to watch.

THE AMENITIES

To summarize the VIP amenities in a word, they RAWKED!!! Seriously, the VIP grove was like a little oasis outside of the fray of ACL. There were big shade trees and adirondack chairs all over. Central Market catered lunch and dinner every day with offerings such as grilled salmon with rosemary roasted potatoes, salad, corn on the cob, fajitas with rice and beans and flan, bbq with all the fixins and banana pudding. Every day there was also happy hour from 3:30 - 5:30 during which local restaurants offered various treats. Teo's was there with gelato plus Lambert's and Austin Java and many others. The selections were tasty and changed daily. But really all day was happy hour in the grove since the free wine, beer, and my favorite - Tito's - bars were open all day each day for thirst quenching libations. But there was more! Milk & Honey spa was there offering bandanas dipped in ice water w/peppermint oil for cooling off and they had free massages and smoothies and all kinds of other swag. But the best part - rivaling even the Tito's bar - were the air conditioned restrooms complete with flush toilets, mirrors, sinks, soap, and baby wipes.

I was the only one of the friends I went with who had a VIP pass so I would frequently sneak off to enjoy my extra amenities while they waited in line for a filthy port-a-pot. At one point, however, I waited in the plebe beer line with my friend, Katie. While we were waiting, I regaled her with the litany of creature comforts available for the asking in the VIP grove. When I mentioned the Tito's bar, the guy in line ahead of us turned around and asked me where it was. My friend said, "oh, she's talking about the VIP grove." The guy then looked at me and said, "how did you get to be a VIP?!", to which my friend merely replied, "she isn't". And my friend is right. Really I'm not. But I was for the weekend and it sure was nice! Now I have to work on my friend to make sure I get another one next year. It's like flying coach after having gone first class... now I'm spoiled and there's no going back.

Til next year!

This Weekend in Six Letters...

2006-09-15T09:41:00.000-05:00

ACL VIP!

Let the fun begin...

Running Revolution

2006-09-08T07:37:00.000-05:00

It's strange how life works. How, inevitably, our moods and attitudes about things change over time. Often these shifts occur so gradually and subtly that by the time we notice the differences, we can't identify their origins.

I can think of many example in my own life experience. But the one that's on my mind now is running. I started running about ten years ago and always really enjoyed it. It was such a fun way to lose myself and push myself and be alone and be social and just be.

At first I only ran around my neighborhood with a friend. Then I started straying farther from home and adding on miles. After that I began to dabble in organized runs and races. Eventually I found myself crossing the finish line with 26.2 miles in my wake. And then I started coaching other runners to help them discover the joy of putting one foot in front of the other quickly and repeatedly. I went from assistant coach to head coach. Then I coached 2 groups simultaneously for a while.

And before I knew it, running for me had changed. It wasn't fun anymore but felt more like a chore - something I had to do for others; something that was sucking up time I desperately needed for myself. And once running ceased to be my means of relieving stress and taking care of myself, I was left without a substitute. I found myself feeling frustrated and cranky and disconnected.

Even during this time, I kept running. Although I scaled back my mileage significantly. And I never looked forward to my runs like I used to. Actually, I dreaded them. And all the while I was painfully aware of how much I used to love running and how much I used to get out of it. But I couldn't figure out how to get the good parts back. Or even why or how they went away in the first place.

I thought about it a lot. And I spent a lot of time trying to make sense of it all. All the while I continued to reluctantly meet my running buddy at the trail as usual and go through the motions of running, albeit slowly.

And then, seemingly suddenly, after a couple of months of trudging along, mile after miserable mile, I had a good run. And then another. I started to not only enjoy my runs but I actually found myself looking forward to the next one. Instead of having to push myself to run a couple of days a week, I now have to force myself to take a day off from running once a week. And on those days off, I miss it!

It's strange how life works. How, inevitably, our moods and attitudes about things change over time. Often these shifts occur so gradually and subtly that by the time we notice the differences, we can't identify their origins...

I Win!

2006-09-05T19:37:00.000-05:00

I called my sister tonight to tell her a funny (but gross) story about the guy next to me in my bikram (hot) yoga class yesterday who kept farting without seeming to make any effort not to. (You know, like really old people do, except this guy wasn't really old) My sister still appreciates this kind of story even though she's well beyond the age at which she should. (That's why I love her).

At first, I reached her voicemail and just left a message telling her to call me because I had a funny story to tell her. Then, shortly after that, she called me back from her cell phone.

Before I had a chance to start recounting the story of the flatulent yogi dude, my sister immediately said, "I'll have you know I'm just now leaving the office and heading to the gym. Add an hour and feel sorry for me." (she lives in D.C. where it's an hour later than it is here).

I immediately retorted, "Well I just got home from the office too so subtract a zero from your paycheck and feel even more sorry for me!" (she makes a ton of money)(I don't).

She then quickly relented and thanked me for making her feel better.

"Ha ha! I win!", I gloated.

I did win, didn't I?...

Pod People

2006-09-04T12:14:00.000-05:00

Sometimes more than others, I notice how futuristic our world has become. I remember when I was a kid in grade school, we used to speculate about what things would be like in the year 2000. We hypothesized about "people-movers" and small rounded cars that ran on electricity.

It's strange how "progress" just happens when the average joe isn't paying any attention. Somehow, without our even noticing, the future insidiously manages to seep into our everyday lives before we even realize what's happening.

Now we all take "people-movers" and hybrid cars for granted. And so much more. We are constantly being bombarded by electronic ads and bar codes control almost everything. We can communicate with others across the globe in seconds and we are able to find information about anything immediately with the mere push of a button. People spend their time walking around and talking on tiny phones which they can also use to surf the web or take pictures. It's kind of crazy if you stop to consider it all.

I'm not sure if all this "progress" is really for the best. Everything is a tradeoff and I think we give up certain things by agreeing, even if only by our acquiescence, to live this modern lifestyle.

But the one thing I am sure of is that the ipod is one of the single best inventions ever. I mean it - ever. Almost exclusively, I use mine for running and cycling. That said, during those times, I don't just like it but I actually have grown to need it. In all honesty, I would rather go on a long run with a broken leg than without my ipod. Yes, it's true.

Like the clothes in my closet, my playlists change according to what's current and my taste at any given time. That said, there are some classics that will never grow old and will always form the backbone of my collection including some old Replacements songs, the Cure, Wilco, REM, Beastie Boys, the Gourds, U2, and yes - even some Steely Dan. I'll admit it.

Music, like nothing else, has the power to profoundly affect my moods. While Thom York might be the perfect CD choice for settling down with a glass of wine at the end of the day, the tunes selected for my ipod serve to give me energy and urge me farther and faster as I run or ride. Which songs do that for me at any given time is subject to change since I get tired of some and excited about others at different times. As one song loses its ability to give me a charge and inspire me, another takes its place.

Right now, some of my current favorites on the ipod include: Arctic Monkeys - I Bet You Look Good on the Dance Floor; White Stripes - Seven Nation Army; OK GO - Here It Goes Again; Modest Mouse - Float On; RHCP - Dani California and many others.

Depending on my mood, how hard I'm pushing, and what else is on my mind, I may or may not listen to lyrics while I run or ride. Sometimes it's just the rhythm of a song that motivates me and keeps me going. Other times I focus on the lyrics and think about them and what they might mean.

There are so many great lyrics out there. But let's face it, some really stand out. I think it's fair to say that the most classic lyrics of all time come from the song, "Big Mouth Strikes Again" by Morrissey. And, in particular, the lines that say:

Sweetness, sweetness, I was only joking
When I said by rights you should be
Bludgeoned in your bed

No matter how hot or spent I am during a workout, that one always makes me grin. And that's worth a lot - whether you think it's progress or not.

Ashes to Ashes

2006-09-01T20:40:00.000-05:00

I was supposed to go to a birthday party tonight, but I ended up having to work late. My friends called me when they were leaving but I was still at the office and told them to just go ahead without me. By the time I got home, I didn't feel like joining them.

Instead, I decided to finally go to the vet's office to pick up Paddington's ashes. When I returned from Seattle, there was a message on my home machine telling me they were ready. Every day since then I have thought that I really need to go pick them up but, for some reason, I have been putting it off. I guess I still don't want to believe that he's gone and I knew that picking up his ashes would make it that much more real.

Plus I didn't know what to expect at all and I was kind of scared. I've been familiar with the concept of cremation since I was a kid and long ago I decided that I want to be cremated after I die. But I didn't know, nor had I ever really thought about, the specifics of what the actual ashes are like.

In movies, you always see people with these tiny urns that are supposed to contain the ashes of the characters' loved ones. I remember watching an episode of Nip/Tuck not that long before Paddi died. In one scene, they went out to the ocean to scatter the ashes of a character who died on the show (the woman with whom Sean had the affair). In that episode, a bunch of people were there and they all tossed the ashes into the ocean for a long time. I remember thinking, "jeez - how the hell many ashes could there possibly be from this one woman?!" I guess I assumed that something about the process reduces everything down and I really thought I would just get a tiny little urn in which Paddi's remains would be housed.

Part of the reason I didn't want to pick them up before now, in addition to not wanting to face the reality of his death, was that I've had a lot going on in the evenings since I've been back and I was concerned that if I picked them up on the way to somewhere else, the lid to the urn might fall off and the ashes could spill or otherwise be damaged in the car.

When I finally picked them up tonight, it was strange. I've been doing well recently and have been focusing mostly on all the good times and adventures he and I had together and how lucky I was that he lived as long and healthy of a life as he did. I haven't cried at all lately - not since the first few days after his passing. But when I got to the vet's office, it all came rushing back to me and the tears returned.

The girl behind the counter handed me a big shopping bag. It was super heavy and contained a rather large box. I guess I shouldn't be surprised since Paddi was a big dog and weighed almost 100 pounds. But I suppose since I was expecting the tiny urn like in the movies, the size and heft of the box really shocked me.

It's very strange too to think that it's Paddington in that box. I mean, in one sense it is him, but not really. I haven't opened the box yet. I guess there is some kind of urn inside the box but I don't think I'll open any of it until I'm ready to scatter his ashes.

Even as I've been putting off picking them up, I have been thinking a lot about what I would eventually do with Paddi's ashes once I had them. I've decided that I will take Otis on a road trip to Guadalupe Mountains National Park over Christmas to scatter them there - in the mountains. Paddi and I were there in 2001 during our year of VW travels together so it's a meaningful place for us. Plus Otis and I have not yet taken a road trip and this will be a neat chance for us to do so and have some adventures of our own.

The weather will be nice and cool at that time of year so we can camp along the way. And if we feel like it, we just might spend New Year's at the Thunderbird in Marfa.

Then, in a brand new year, we'll come back home and go about our regular business, I suppose. Proper respects having been paid, and the proverbial torch having been passed.

Gone but never forgotten. And forever loved.

Otis the Protector?

2006-09-01T07:50:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I wonder whether Otis would protect me if I were ever in harm's way.

He's not a super heavy sleeper so if there were an intruder, I think he would at least wake up to see what was going on.

However, I fear that even his best intentions to protect me could probably be very easily derailed by the prospect of a good belly rub.

Wet Hot Dog!

2006-08-29T07:38:00.000-05:00

Otis after this morning's run.

Normally I don't like running in the rain but this morning I LOVED it! Probably because it's such a novelty.

Otis loved it too. Probably because he's a lab.

Hot Dog!

2006-08-28T19:50:00.000-05:00

Otis after this morning's run.

Perspective

2006-08-27T16:49:00.000-05:00

I woke up last night in a cold sweat. I'm not sure why it hit me when it did, but for some reason I realized that, in the process of weeding out a bunch of old paperwork last week, I must have thrown away the ticket for my ACL Festival 3-day pass. I have turned my house upside down repeatedly but it's nowhere to be found. Even though I still have super old ticket stubs from shows I went to years ago. Those are the things I should have thrown away. But instead I threw away the one ticket I need and for which I paid (quite a lot of money, I might add).

I have been to ACL festival every day of every year since it started and I was really getting excited to go again this year. It has become kind of a tradition now and I planned to keep it up as long as I could if for no other reason than when I was really old I would be able to tell my grandkids about how I went to ACL Festival for every day of every year since it started and they would think I was the coolest grandma ever.

At first I was sure I'd find it. But I didn't and still haven't and now I don't think I will. I've looked everywhere. Then I was angry and frustrated. After that I became hopeful when I remembered a friend who had earlier offered me an extra ticket he had purchased before he moved to Phoenix. But I later found out he has since sold it so I returned to being bummed. But when he told me that he was able to get a replacement ticket last year after his never arrived in the mail, I became hopeful once again. After perusing the website, however, I'm left feeling pessimistic. And pissed. No, livid. At myself. But before too long, all that anger and frustration turns into something that feels more like defeat. And resignation. I guess I just don't have the energy to stay very angry for very long these days.

I'm trying to keep perspective too. I know there are all kinds of really horrible and tragic things going on in the world and that in the big scheme of things this is totally insignificant. I mean, people are dying in Iraq as I type and there are all kinds of victims of crime and disease and disaster. Real loss is not the loss of things, but the loss of loved ones or abilities or potential. I know all this. And it helps to remind myself of what's really important.

But even knowning all that, I still can't help kicking myself and feeling pissed. D'oh!!!

Washington

2006-08-22T07:52:00.000-05:00

I leave later today for a short trip to Seattle that I've had planned for some time.

To amuse and entertain you while I'm gone, I leave you with this. Although it is (loosely) about our forefather Washington rather than the state to which I am headed, it is, nonetheless, well worth your time.

It has been around for a while now and you may already be familiar with it. But watch it again. Like Uranus jokes, it never grows old. And like a bad car wreck, once you see it, it becomes difficult to turn away. Although we know we should.

However, I should warn you, if you're trolling blogs from work, you may want to turn the volume down before you watch. Unless you've already clicked on the link before reading this caveat, in which case you're probably already packing up your desk while your boss hovers over your shoulder.

Sorry 'bout that. But look on the bright side - nice long weekend for you too!

Back in a few days...

School Days

2006-08-21T20:42:00.000-05:00

Remember your first day of kindergarten? I remember mine. I was really scared, but my mom promised me that if I made it through the whole day without crying, she'd buy me the big huge box of Crayola crayons - you know, the one with all the possible colors including Burnt Sienna. And I did it! (never underestimate the power of bribery).

My best friend from college has twins who started kindergarten this week. Damn, that makes me feel old. But how cute are they??!!!

Workout Week In Review

2006-08-21T08:11:00.000-05:00

Monday - Ran 3.5 miles
Tuesday - Ran 4.1 miles
Wednesday - cried
Thursday - Ran 4.5 miles (Greenbelt)
Friday - wallowed
Saturday - napped
Sunday - Rode 40 miles
Monday - Ran - 3.5 miles

Good Grief

2006-08-19T17:37:00.000-05:00

Well, actually the grief part really sucks. But sometimes traumatic events serve to remind us of how lucky we are to have truly good people in our lives.

I am amazed by all the support I have received over the past few days from family and friends and colleagues and neighbors and even strangers. It's remarkable to me to realize how many people got to meet Paddi and know firsthand how special he was. Others didn't know him personally, but anyone who knows me or anything about me knows how special he was to me.

The overwhelming and heartfelt outpouring of kindness over the past few days really has helped me feel better. So thanks...

...for all the beautiful flowers:

...and the pretty plant:

...and the delivery of still-warm cookies and milk:

...and all the wonderful cards:

... and for stopping by the house with goodies including groceries and ice cream and beer:
(Blogger won't let me upload the beer photo - grrrrr - so you'll have to use your imagination.)

...and for taking me out for pizza;

...and for the many calls to see how Otis and I are doing;

...and for the tons and tons of incredibly supportive and reassuring messages and kind words. Below are just some of them:

Oh, no... Ami, I'm so sad for you and Otis. Know that you gave him a wonderful life. Know that he lived happily each and every day to keep you company and be your constant companion. Know that he thrived on your love and devotion to him. Know that your essence of being is forever positively touched and affected by him, and vice versa. Know that he understood the gravity of your painful decision and accepted it. Know that there is nothing for which you must be forgiven. My heart aches for you and Otis. May you find peace with what has transpired and comfort for this difficult loss.

i'm so sorry to hear about Paddington. i loved your stories about him, and he always looked like a character in pictures, and knowing you a little and how you felt about him, i kind of feel like i knew him. it also brings back all sorts of feelings for me, so i can only imagine how you feel. i just know he had a really good life with you, and that's what's important

Ami, I keep thinking about you and Otis and hope both of you are recovering from your loss. Our pets are so dear, and it's always so painful whenever
it happens. One is simply never prepared.

I am sorry to hear about Paddington. What a sweet dog. However, we all have our time and I am very comforted knowing he had such a loving mom and companion for his whole life. You were really great to him and he simply could not have
been a happier boy.

Ami, so very sad to hear. My condolences. I know he was a very special friend

Ami, you're the best thing that ever happened to Paddi, and I'm sure right now he's wagging his tail as he's smiling down on you. Let him be one of your guardian angels...If you need ANYTHING at all, just let me know...

I am sorry for your loss -- truly. I am also, on the other hand, so
happy that you had the opportunity to have such a great pet and the two of you had such a wonderful bond and great times together. That's quite a gift.

i'm so sorry for your loss. it kills me to hear that, so i can only imagine how sad you must feel.

oh, ami, that is so sad. i am sorry for your loss. i know otis will provide more than enough for you to handle in the coming years. enjoy your time with him.

We are so terribly sorry to hear about his passing. He was adorable and we are all going to miss him so much. I am sure you are heartbroken. He was a faithful friend. Otis will be lonely too. Let us know if he needs Gracie to come over and cheer him up sometime. She has slowed down a lot and I dread the day you have just experienced. I want to give you a big hug and cry with you.

Ami, I am so sorry!!! I am giving you a big, big hug. I know that this had to be extremely difficult. Hang in there.

please know that I am so sorry. Lots of things to be said, but most importantly, you know that you gave Paddi the absolute best life he could have had. You were the best companion and friend possible, as was he.

Oh Ami, I'm so sorry. I do know how special he was, and always will be, to you. And you were even more special to him, giving him the best life any dog, or anyone, could ever dream of. Know that I'm sending you a lot of love, and am saying an extra thanks that we got to share Paddi's time here on earth.

I'm sorry to hear about Paddy. He was a great dog. I'll be thinking about you and Otis, as it is no small thing to lose such a friend

Ami, I am so sorry...I can't even imagine how you feel. You were such a great mom to Paddington.

I am so sorry to hear about Paddi. I know this must be a horrible time for you right now and you probably don't want to talk to anybody, but I just had
to tell how sorry I am, and how hard this is hitting me. I was surprised at the intensity of my reaction, but I've been bawling like a baby since I heard. I started thinking about how sweet Paddi is and how much you meant to each other and how very sad you must be. I thought of your trip around the country together in your van, and how we used to love it when he came up to the office. It was like it was his office, too...

Oh no!!! Dear sweet Paddinton. I'm so so sorry. Sometimes putting a pet to sleep is the best thing for them. I wish we had such compassion for people! That is really sad!

Thanks everyone.

Crying Til I Laugh

2006-08-18T09:24:00.000-05:00

Leave it to my beslubbering swag-bellied maggot-pie of a sister to be able to make me laugh even when I'm this sad.

Just the Two of Us...

2006-08-17T17:08:00.000-05:00

Today I stayed home from work and spent the whole day with Otis. We started out with our usual morning run on the Greenbelt with our running buddy. I thought about not going, but felt like it would be good for me and Otis to try to maintain some sense of normalcy. And I'm glad we went.

The rest of the day we just kind of hung around and didn't do much other than snuggle. Well, at first Otis wouldn't hold still long enough to snuggle in any traditional sense. It was more like I laid on the floor with him while he climbed around on me and shoved a filthy deflated soccer ball in my face. Still, it was somehow comforting and nice.

I can't tell if Otis misses Paddington or even knows he's gone. At first I didn't think he'd care because recently, when Paddi and I were in Corpus and Otis was at "camp" by himself, I called to check on Otis. I asked if he seemed to miss Paddi since he had never been boarded on his own before. I was told, without hesitation, that he didn't seem to miss Paddi at all and was having a grand old time playing and making mischief as usual. So I figured that animals must not be like people and maybe Otis wouldn't have to go through a grieving process like I do.

But now I'm not so sure. Last night when I went to bed, Otis didn't settle down the way he normally does. Instead, he went to the place where Paddi usually sleeps as if looking for him to say goodnight. Then later this afternoon, Otis seemed less waggy than usual even when I tried to sound cheerful and play with him. Maybe he was just sleepy. But he sure looked sad to me.

Celebrating Paddington

2006-08-16T14:45:00.000-05:00

Only my gratitude for having had Mr. Paddington in my life as my best friend for all these wonderful years supersedes my sadness for his absence now. And I am so thankful for Otis, whose big kisses and constantly wagging tail are tremendously comforting to me even in the face of this kind of overwhelming sadness.

Below is something I wrote in May just after Paddi's 12th birthday party. I don't know what else I can say today.

Well, tonight was Paddi's traditional birthday party at Redbud. As usual, there was a good turnout of friends and pooches and it was a super nice evening. Overall it was a success, but poor Paddi had such a tough time getting around because of his arthritis. He did great while he was in the water swimming, but it was very difficult for him to maintain his balance on the rocks when he was out of the water. And it was really difficult for me to watch him as his quivering hind legs constantly threatened to give way.

I can't bear to think about it, but I suspect that this is Paddi's last birthday. The new meds don't seem to be helping and I fear he's in pain much moreso than he lets on. I'm going to order him a harness that goes around his hips and to which the leash attaches in order to support his rear end while he walks. I sure hope this helps. If you don't have a dog - and maybe even if you do - you probably won't understand this, but Paddi is such a huge part of my life and has really been the only constant in my life for the past twelve years. I can't even imagine life without him.

I picked Paddington out of a litter of puppies the day after he was born. Then I went to visit him every day (sometimes more than once a day) (okay - sometimes even more than twice a day) until I could take him home. I remember how tiny he was - his whole body was about the size his nose is now. His eyes were closed at first. And on the day they opened, they were bright blue. He was wiggly and squiggly and snuggly. When he came home he was a ball of energy. I was studying for the Bar exam so I was always home with him. I took him for frequent walks and was able to keep my eye on him to make sure he stayed out of trouble (unlike Otis who made up for it by getting into all kinds of trouble as a pup).

A lot has changed over the years since Mr. Paddi came into my life. I was married and living in Madison, WI then. I was a different person then too - so busy trying to create a successful marriage and a successful career that I forgot to just be who I was. I did that for long enough until one day I didn't even know who I was. Or what I wanted. And that's when the bottom fell out.

I remember when things fell apart and I ended my marriage, I was a complete and total wreck and I felt like a horrible dog mom. I didn't know what to do about Paddi. I could barely take care of myself, much less him. But my ex couldn't take him since he was in an apartment. I ended up keeping Paddi, who patiently stuck by me even when, for days on end, I did little more than cry and sleep. Gradually I began to pick up the pieces, but I couldn't quite reach my equillibrium staying where I was and doing what I was doing. I decided that what I really needed was to extricate myself from everything and everyone and just spend some time on my own just being me. So I sold my house and my car. I took a one-year leave of absence from my job and bought a VW camper van. And I took off on my own, but not alone. Paddington came with me. And I wouldn't have done it without him.

He and I traveled all over the U.S. and Canada for the better part of a year. I joke around now about how my dog is better traveled than most people, but it's actually true. That was in 2001 and Paddi was 7 at the time. He was the perfect age for such an adventure. He was old enough to chill out when I was doing my own thing, but young enough to stick with me on hikes of any length and over any terrain. He even saved us on a long desert hike in White Sands, NM by retrieving his portable water dish that had blown away without my realizing it. I can't imagine a better traveling companion than Paddi. He was happy no matter what and loved discovering new places and meeting new people as much as I did.

A lot has changed since then too. After our travels we moved to Austin. Then, when Paddi was 9, I decided to get another dog. Everyone asked me if I was getting another dog for Paddi. "No", I said. I really do believe Paddi was perfectly content being an only child. "I"m getting another dog for me", I told them. And it was true. I wanted to get another dog while I knew Paddi had lots of good years left so that he would bond with the new dog and I would too. I wanted us to develop as a family so that, someday, in the very distant future I hoped, when Paddi moved on to whatever comes next, I would have already bonded to another dog and I'd know that Paddi also loved that dog. I got another dog so that the new dog would intersect with my and Paddi's life and so the new dog would help me keep some of Paddi alive even once he was no longer in this life.

And we three have bonded indeed. Paddi and I are both absolutely crazy about Otis. And, well, Otis is absolutely crazy. He completely idolizes Paddi. Otis and Paddi are inextricably linked. As am I to both of them. And that will always be true. And for that I'm so grateful.

There's so much more I could say and I'm not sure why I'm saying any of this now. Paddi's gimpy and sore, but his spririt is still great. He's not ready to go, but I guess I'm just becoming aware that, at some point, in the not too distant future, in all likelihood he will be. And I want to be there for him like he has always been for me. No matter what. I want to make sure I do the right thing for him. I owe him, at the very least, that much.

So today is bittersweet - celebrating Paddi's birthday with the recognition that it may be his last, but with gratitude for having been lucky enough to have him in my life for as long as I have and with all the love that is possible.

Paddington Larson (May 21, 1994 - August 16, 2006)

Just Doing It

2006-08-15T08:24:00.000-05:00

Monday - Run 4.1 miles
Tuesday - Swim 1 mile
Wednesday - Run 4.0 mile (trail)/Cycle 5 miles (to work)
Thursday - Cycle 21 miles
Friday - Cycle 5 miles (to work)
Saturday - Cycle - 51 miles
Sunday - Run 6.5 miles (treadmill - yuck!)
Monday - Run 3.5 miles
Tuesday - Run 4.1 miles

Shame On Me

2006-08-13T17:12:00.000-05:00

Today I did something shameful. Something I swore I would never do. I'm so appalled that it is difficult for me to write about it. They say, however, that confession is good for the soul.

But before I confess, I must share with you the reasons for my transgression. I know this will sound like a lame excuse, but I just couldn't take it anymore. It's the heat.

Normally the heat here doesn't bother me. I'll ride my bike in the middle of the day when the mercury is in the triple digits and all my biking buddies call me crazy and refuse to join me. I made it through all of last summer with no air conditioning in my car. (my car has black leather interior) (smart, I know). It didn't even bother me that much. (well, the 3rd degree burns on the backs of my legs were a bit of a drag).

For the most part, I even kind of like the heat. But today for some reason, I had had enough.

Maybe it was because I've been wallowing in it pretty much nonstop all weekend. Yesterday started with a 50 mile bike ride. Then I went to a BBQ that was outside and could be best described as a sweat fest. With mosquitoes. After that, I attended a friend's birthday party. When we arrived at the hosts' house, I was excited and relieved to see that this shindig was an indoor event. From the preceding BBQ, I was already as gritty and sweaty as an AT through-hiker and I couldn't wait to get inside the cool air conditioned goodness of my friends' house. When we walked in, however, much to my dismay, I quickly saw that the place was packed with people, but the air did not appear to be conditioned at all. Quite the opposite - it was outrageously and stiflingly hot.

At one point, I all but blacked out. I couldn't hear what anyone was saying including the people talking to me - all I could see were mouths moving and hot air being emitted into the already inferno-like space surrounding me. Finally, in my peripheral vision, I saw a fan oscillating across the room. Like a beacon in the night, it drew me near. I took off, mid-conversation, to make my way through the hot-air-spewing crowd so I could claim a spot in front of the fan. Whoever was located by the circulating air would be my conversation partner for the rest of the evening - I didn't care if it was Osama himself - I was all about the fan. And it was a good move too. Within minutes, my sweat had dried and I was able to see straight again. But it was still bloody hot in there.

Then this morning I went kayaking for a couple of hours. I took the kids of some good friends of mine and I ended up doing all the work of paddling the three of us around Redbud Isle and back. (the kids are 5 and 8 and not only didn't help with the paddling but actually dragged their paddles in the water, thereby making my job even more strenuous) (but they were very cute and loved the turtles so it was worth it). It was hot out there by the time we started and even hotter by the time we finished.

Later in the afternoon I tried to take a nap, but various things woke me up repeatedly. Finally I decided I should go for a run to try to wake up and also to get some more miles in. But I couldn't bear to run outside since it was, by then, the heat of the day. Not only couldn't I bear to run outside but, by that point, I couldn't even bear to be outside at all. So that's when I did the unthinkable.

I drove my car to the gym to run on the treadmill. The gym is 4 blocks from my house. I am pathetic.

But before you judge me, you should know that I have already been punished for my misdeed by some apparently immediate form of environmental karmic retribution. As if 6.5 miles on the treadmill weren't torture enough, after I got home and showered, I noticed that the house seemed kind of warm. I looked at the thermostat and it was blank. No A/C. Normally I'd be freaked out and panic-stricken and totally clueless as to what I should do to fix it but this has happened before. I knew exactly what needed to be done. So I spent the next 45 minutes in my attic bailing 5 gallons of water out of the overflow pan of my air conditioning unit with a turkey baster.

When I finally emerged from the attic, dehydrated and covered with insulation, I took the dogs outside for their evening walk. Although the temperature was still hovering right around 100, it actually felt cool to me.

The Elixir of Life

2006-08-11T07:58:00.000-05:00

Hi, my name is Ami. I'm a javaholic.

Tripping

2006-08-10T06:55:00.000-05:00

I love to travel. There is something so exciting to me about exploring new places. Of course some places are better and more exciting than others, but I like seeing anything new.

I love to see every part of a place too, not just the shiny parts meant for tourists. I seek out the neighborhoods where the real people live and even the underbelly where the danger lies (within reason). In fact, for the most part, I stay away from the shiny parts. They tend to look alike no matter where you go. And the people in those places tend to be ugly Americans doing and seeing only what they are told to do and see. I want to experience what's real and unique and interesting and local.

My very favorite places are those that are far away from people and traffic and the modern world. Immersing myself in nature is the best way to reconnect with myself and what's truly important. It's the best way to lose all the petty concerns and frustrations that seem to accumulate over the days and weeks between vacations. Nature is the best therapy and it provides immediate results.

I'm fortunate in many ways, one of which is that I've had the opportunity to do a lot of traveling in my life. I lived in Italy for several months and have traveled all over Europe. I've also done extended traveling all over Mexico and Canada and the United States.

But I haven't taken a big trip in a while. It has been too long. And I have an ever-growing list of places I have not yet seen and would love to visit. Lately I've started feeling antsy and ready to do something big. At least as big as I can manage within the confines of my life and obligations right now.

I'm going to Seattle again next week, but I go there often and know that whole area well. That doesn't feel very big at all.

I'm supposed to go on a sailing trip with some friends in the British Virgin Islands in November. (On a 38 foot Island Packet). That will be fantastic, I'm sure. But it's not quite big enough.

And I'm going to Guatemala with my dad in Jan. I'm itching for something bigger than that too though. Something that I plan and that takes me somewhere I really want to see in a way that really lets me see it.

For me, the best way to travel is with my best friend or a very select small group of friends or sometimes on my own. You won't catch me with an organized tour group or guide. The perfect trip consists of about 85% hard core adventure and 15% cush.

Here are the frontrunners on my list for the next big trip (in no particular order):

* Traveling all over New Zealand and Australia in a VW camper van
* Backpacking a 2-week stretch of the Pacific Crest Trail
* Kayaking in Alaska
* Exploring Chile and Argentina, esp. Patagonia

Since I don't go with organized groups, these things require a fair amount of planning on my part. But that's part of the fun. And this is how it always starts...

Texas French Bread and Corn Fruit*

2006-08-08T13:08:00.000-05:00

So is it Texas bread or is it French bread? Aren't they mutually exclusive? Calling it Texas French Bread doesn't make any sense if you think about it. But then again, I'm probably the only person on earth who has thought about it. Sigh.

Name notwithstanding, they do make really good bread. Especially their whole wheat sourdough. Holy crap that stuff is good.

Yesterday morning I realized that I had tomato, avocado and turkey at home, but no bread. This prevented me from making a sandwich to take to work before I left my house. Skilled problem solver that I am, however, I was able to come up with an alternate solution. I went home for lunch and, on the way, I stopped at Texas French Bread to buy a loaf of their whole wheat sourdough bread.

My new very favorite sandwich in the whole wide world consists of these ingredients and only these. By the way, don't F it up by adding or subtracting or substituting anything. You'll think you can do it better or cheaper, but you can't improve on perfection. Just trust me on this. Here's what you do:

Onto really good whole grain bread (preferrably TFB whole wheat sourdough), mush up some fresh avocado on once slice and, on the other slice, spread that super expensive greek yogurt (the name of which I can't remember right now)(yes, I'm too lazy to go find out). I know you're thinking, "what? yogurt on a sandwich? Is this girl totally whacked?" And the answer is yes, I am totally whacked, but not because of the yogurt. So just try it. But you must use this fancy Greek stuff - that's very important. (but not so important that I'm willing to go to the kitchen to see what it's called). Anyway, I think you can only get this stuff at Central Market or Whole Foods and it will make you recoil the first time you see how much it costs, but it is so damn good and much thicker than regular yogurt. It's a texture thing mostly. But it tastes really good too. Don't, and I repeat - don't try to use regular Dannon or similar yogurt - it won't work. And, this should go without saying, but I'll tell you anyway, only use the plain kind of yogurt. The flavored kind would be nasty. Duh.

So, are you still with me? The rest is much more basic. Just slice up some fresh tomato and add some deli sliced turkey - the good kind not the nasty pre-packaged stuff. No honey mesquite chipotle barbecue pastrami flavored turkey either. Just some nice oven roasted turkey or, if you insist, you can get smoked. Sprinkle a little black pepper on the whole works and then put it all together. Slice it on the diagonal. Unless your mom was a rectangle slicer, in which case you may slice it straight across. However, please be aware that triangles taste better and I strongly suspect are better for you. And there you have it. The perfect sammich. Mmmmm.... turkey sandwich (said like Homer Simpson with a small dribble of drool running down chin).

I hope I don't get burned out on this delicacy. For a while, way back when, I used to eat turkey sandwiches for lunch every day. We used the nasty kind of turkey back then though. You know - the slimy prepackaged kind that uses turkey parts unknown and unpronounceable. One day, I just couldn't eat it any more. I couldn't choke down another bite of turkey. I had burned out on turkey. Much like my recent workout burnout. Perhaps I'm genetically predisposed to burning out? Anyway, years later, it is now appealing to me. Especially this master rendition of the turkey sandwich. It is elegant in its simplicity. Good and good for you. And it's pretty too. You know you want one now...

But really all that has nothing to do with this story other than to explain, in the most long-winded way conceiveable, why I stopped at Texas French Bread to buy a loaf of bread. Here's the real story. (although it's not much more interesting than the preceding backstory) (don't say I didn't warn you).

So I walked up to the counter and ordered my loaf of bread. I have bought it at this location before, although I don't get it often. I started to get slightly anxious when I noticed that there were no sourdough whole wheat loaves visible in the bins of bread behind the counter. And, sure enough, the woman at the register turned to ask the sandwich makers on the other side of the store if there was enough whole wheat sourdough to sell me a loaf. They said no.

"What?!", I exclaimed. "How about half a loaf?", I said in a slightly shrill tone that smacked of desperation. She turned to the sandwich guys and gave them a look as if to say, "this crazy lady won't leave me alone. Can you please sell her half a loaf if only just to get her off my back?". But the sandwich makers, who were taunting me by making sandwiches on that very bread as this whole episode unfolded, would have none of it. They cold-heartedly said, yet again, "no".

Then the clerk turned to me and declared, "We don't sell loaves of that kind of bread. We just use it for making sandwiches."
"But it's listed on your sign as one of the types of bread you sell by the loaf", I retorted while pointing up at the big blackboard sign behind her. She too looked at the sign, which clearly listed my desired purchase as a viable option. But she merely shrugged and said, "Well, we don't sell it here".

WTF?!!! I didn't say that. But I did think it. Then, in an effort to appease me, she offered to sell me a loaf of regular whole wheat bread instead. It was like offering baby aspirin to a crack addict. (or something)(okay, it was nothing like that) But the turkey and avocado and tomato were waiting at home and I didn't have time to make another trip somewhere just for bread, so I conceded and bought the second best option. With a visible pout, I reluctantly exchanged my money for the inferior loaf.

As it turns out, the bread was pretty good, and the sandwich was still mighty fine. I'm convinced it would have been better with the sourdough whole wheat bread though. And I still don't know if the loaf I wanted or the loaf I ended up with was Texas bread or French bread. That still makes no sense.

I never thought about it before this incident. And now that it's off my chest, I probably won't ever think of it again. But you will. Every time you pass a Texas French Bread.

Oh - and here's one more little stupid thing that you can now be perplexed and slightly annoyed by as much as I am (which is not much). Have you seen that Randall's ad that's playing now on TV? It's all about summer fruits and how it's peak season for fruit and how Randall's has the best fruit, blah, blah, blah. All the narrative talks about is fruit. And they show all these photographs of delectable looking blueberries and cherries and watermelon and peaches. ... And corn.

Corn isn't fruit, is it?

Need I say more?

* NOTE: If you aren't from this area, this post will make no sense to you. Even if you are from this area, this post might not make any sense to you. But please humor me and read it anyway. Leave lots of comments. It's important to talk about these pressing issues. So go ahead, don't be shy.

Hurts So Good

2006-08-07T11:49:00.000-05:00

No, don't get all excited - this isn't a smutty post.

Finally, after weeks of barely and unenthusiastically slogging through minimal running miles and not riding or swimming at all, I'm back to actually looking forward to and enjoying this stuff!

Sunday - biked 56 miles
Monday - swam 1 mile
Tuesday - ran 4.1 miles
Wednesday - biked 18.25 miles
Thursday - 5 mile trail run
Friday - off
Saturday - ran 4.1 miles and paddled 8 miles
Sunday - biked 30 (super hilly) miles
Today - ran 4.1 miles

Gee - I wonder how I got so burned out in the first place?

But it feels so good (masochistically speaking) and it's finally fun again (masochistically speaking) for the first time in a long time.

Hallelujah!

I Was Just Talking About You...

2006-08-04T12:20:00.000-05:00

I hate it when someone tells me they were just talking about me with someone else but won't tell me what they were saying. I also hate it when someone tells me they think I look like someone else but I don't know the person who I apparently look like.

We can't possibly be objective about ourselves. So how do we ever really know who we are?

We know who we think we are. And who we'd like to be. And it shouldn't matter what other people think. But doesn't it? After all, if how we see ourselves is substantially different from how others see us, then who are we really? Will the real Slim Shady please stand up?

I often wonder about this. How do I think of myself? How do others think of me?

Am I pretty or ugly or fat or thin or funny or obnoxious or athletic or smart or pretentious or accepting or shy or tall or short or elitist or sexy or fun or sarcastic or outdoorsy or lazy or active or eager or ambivalent or blonde or brunette or happy or dark or social or guarded or beautiful or exotic or ordinary or noticeable or invisible or unique or cliche or sweet or petty or intellectual or affected or outgoing or boring or exciting or hot or cold or bright or analytical or spontaneous or sensitive or generous or reliable or flaky or serious or impetuous or young or old thoughtful or callous or cynical or romantic or conventional or open or repressed or wild or reserved or demanding or forgiving or crazy or sane or extroverted or introverted or charming or desireable or genuine or faithful or responsible or immature or grounded or insightful or empathetic or available or realistic? Or not?

I think I know who I am. At least I know who I think I am. But who am I? Who are you?

No! Sleep! Til Corpus!

2006-08-01T20:27:00.000-05:00

Work took me to lovely Corpus Christi for a couple of days last week. Although I've been to Port Aransas and Padre before, I had never spent any time in Corpus. Now I see that all this time I wasn't missing much. If anything.

But a change of scenery is always nice and I love to explore new places so as far as I was concerned, this was actually a pretty good gig.

I decided to take Paddington with me. Paddi and I spent almost the entire year of 2001 traveling all over the U.S. and Canada in a VW Camper van. Since then, however, our road trips have been few and far between. So this was a great excuse to pack up and hit the road. Just the two of us. Just like old times.

My car does not need any gratuitous miles on it. Not does it have a CD player. So I decided to rent a car for our little journey. I asked for a compact car, but ended up getting a behemoth of a vehicle. They said it was an SUV but it looked more like a megavan to me. Whatever you call it, the thing was cavernous and truly heinous looking but it worked quite well for our purposes.

Paddi made it in just fine with the help of his trusty dogramp.

This monster of a vehicle had 2 rows of seats in the back. I folded the rearmost row of seats down to make a nice little nest for Paddi. The rental contract clearly stated, "no pets" but Paddington is really more like a kid to me than a pet, so I was pretty sure that provision didn't apply to him. Just to be on the safe side, however, I covered said nest with blankets. Looked pretty cushy back there too from what I could see as I drove.

I left Paddi in the car while I checked into the hotel. Although I knew they allowed dogs, there was some fine print that mentioned something about only accepting dogs up to 20 pounds. If the need arose, I was prepared to argue that Paddi is really the same as five 20-pound dogs. And there's no limit to the number of 20-pound dogs. So what's the problem, huh? But, thankfully, the issue did not arise. When I walked in the front door with Paddi, nobody said anything. They just stared at the arthritic moose of a dog lumbering across the lobby. I think they're more used to seeing little dogs. Perhaps it has something to do with the 20 pound rule?

In general, but not without exception, hotels that allow dogs are not the swankiest of places. Let's just say that the hotel in which we stayed was definitely not an exception to that general rule.

But it did have a nice view.

And a pool.

We like to travel light, which requires a certain amount of resourcefulness. I always ask my friends if they use the plastic liner that comes with the ice bucket in hotel rooms. I tell them that if they don't, they really should. That goes for you too. Here's why:

While I was at work, Paddi mostly rested. At least as far as I know.

But in the mornings and when I got home from work, he was ready to go for a walk. (Food and water dishes are optional, but we never leave home without his favorite bone)

Although the crazy thick humidity made retrieving difficult.

In the evenings, we hung out, relaxed, and watched some TV. Like any self-respecting male, Paddington took command of the remote control.

Just as we started getting used to our new routine in Corpus, it was time to hit the road and head back to Austin.

We had a good trip, but what they say really is true. There's no place like home.

Ew - What's That Smell?

2006-07-31T18:31:00.000-05:00

We were staying some place that had a bunch of rooms off of a common hallway area. I'm not sure if it was a hotel or a house or a hostel of some sort. And I don't know where we were. It was nighttime and everyone was asleep. I was sharing a room with a bunch of other people. I'm not sure who they were. Maybe friends? Perhaps strangers?

At about 3:00 a.m., I awoke to this horrible smell. I mean, it was really awful. The kind of smell that permeates everything and makes it impossible to breathe. The kind of smell that burns your nostrils, chokes off your air supply, and causes instant and constant queasiness. I had to get out of that room. So I got up and went into the hall to get some fresh air.

Wherever it was that we all were, my mom was there too but she wasn't staying in my room. She was in the room across the hall. I guess I must have woken her up when I came out of my room because, shortly after I entered the hallway, she came out of her room to see what was going on.

"What are you doing, Ami?" she said, groggily.
"I had to get out of there," I told her, "There was this horrific smell and I just couldn't stand it anymore."
"What was it?" she asked.
"I have no idea", I said.
Then she said, "you're right - it does smell really terrible in here."

And it did. The whole hallway where we were standing smelled excruciatingly putrid like it did in the room I had just evacuated.

My mom then hesitated and looked at me accusingly. "If it smelled bad in there and you came out to the hall and now it smells bad here," she said, "it must be you".
"It is not me, Mom. There is no way", I said. But even as I said it, I was thinking to myself that she did kind of have a point. How could it have smelled so bad in the room and only once I came outside did it now smell equally bad in the hallway, I wondered. And while I continued to defend myself and deny that I was the source of this other-worldly stench to end all stenches, my mind was whirring trying to figure out what the source could possibly be and, even more importantly, how I could escape it.

Then I became oddly aware of the transition between trying to figure it out in my dream and figuring it out for real.

I sat bolt upright in my bed with the horrible realization that this nightmare wasn't just a bad dream. And I looked over to confirm my worst suspicions.

Sure enough, Otis had another "upset stomach". All over the rug.

Are You A Triathlete?

2006-07-30T14:37:00.000-05:00

I went for a bike ride today and ended up running into some people I know in Buda where we all conincidentally converged at a convenience store to get more PowerAde. I knew one of them from my running group, but I don't know any of them very well. We all chatted for a bit and then, at one point, one of them asked me, "are you a triathlete?"

I didn't know what to say.

If I haven't done a triathlon since the 2005 CapTex Tri and haven't done any serious swimming since then, am I still a triathlete?

I'm just coming off of the longest case of burnout I've ever experienced. This is the longest I've gone without doing or even being signed up for a race. I'm not sure why I got so burned out. Just too much for too long with no real breaks, I guess.

I tend to be an all-or-nothing kind of person so it's often difficult for me to regulate my activities. When I feel good and I'm into it, I tend to go all out and overdo it. Most of my friends think I'm nuts because of my crazy activity levels. (at least I think that's why...) And I've always secretly kind of liked that.

But this pattern over a period of years caused me to end up with this serious case of burnout. And this serious case of burnout caused me to take a serious break during which I just barely managed to maintain my running.

I wasn't able to relax and enjoy the break either. I just felt shitty and wished I could get my motivation back. I wanted to want to do what I've always done. But I couldn't. And I didn't.

Now I'm feeling better and am finally actually excited about running and biking again. And I want to get back in the pool too. It feels good to be doing this stuff again because I want to and because I enjoy it rather than just going through the motions because I feel like I'm supposed to.

So am I still a triathlete? I guess it doesn't matter what you call me. Whether I'm a triathlete or not, I'm finally starting to feel good again. And that's all that really matters.

Strange Bedfellow

2006-07-25T13:06:00.000-05:00

Otis is not normally allowed to sleep in the bed. However, because I knew I would be taking Paddington on a short road trip and Otis would be at "camp" by himself, I made an exception for a couple of nights.

During the day, Otis is a very, very, very active boy who craves attention and loves to play.

But at night, especially when he's allowed up on the bed, he usually settles right down.

I don't mind having him sleep in the bed with me once in a while. Although it can be somewhat disconcerting to wake up and see this:

Or, even worse, this:

The Bleeding Season

2006-07-23T17:45:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was my first visit to Costco. Ever. I managed to spend an insane amount of money on all kinds of shit I have never wanted and don't need. Much of what I saw there I never even knew existed. That place is amazing. In a horrific kind of way.

I am now the proud owner of a lifetime supply of toilet paper, paper towels, coffee, Lara bars, pomegranate juice, blueberries, and Soft Scrub. I don't smoke, never have, and never would, but I found myself tempted to buy a lifetime supply of Nicorette gum just because it was such a good deal. They had to put my stuff in 2 carts. And their carts, like the store itself, are mutantly large. It was an embarrassing display of consumerism the likes of which I rarely engage in. You should thank me for helping the economy. Significantly and single-handedly. With a mere swipe of my credit card. (It's all in the wrist). Please just help me make sure they send the remaining coffee with me to the nursing home when the time comes.

Normally I can't stand shopping malls or big warehouse stores like that. I find them overwhelming and they tend to suck the life right out of me. But this trip was really fun. Not because I bought 2500 sheets of printer paper or a variety case of Sam Adams' beer, but because of the fact that I went with my friend Christy and her kids. Christy is one of those awesome people who just is who she is. She doesn't tailor her behavior to her audience - she's just unabashedly her funny and irreverent self all the time. And I love her for it. This quality of hers makes her tons of fun to be around in general, but it's especially hilarious to see how she interacts with her kids.

Her youngest son is 7 and he is super cute and sweet. (of course I think so because he told me I was "so cool"). Her oldest boy is about 10 and he's also a really great kid. (but not quite as cute as the 7-year-old who recognized my coolness). The younger of the two is a serious little talker. After about ten minutes had elapsed during which time he never stopped talking even seemingly for long enough to breathe, Christy just looked at him and said, "blah, blah, blah" while making her hand talk like a puppet in front of him. Then she said to him, "You know, every single second doesn't have to be filled with talking." He responded by laughing and repeating "blah blah blah" over and over again for a while. I don't think that was quite what she had in mind. But they both laughed about it.

Then later, when the boys got a little rambunctious in the frozen foods section (nothing obnoxious - just normal kid stuff), she announced to them, "In a minute, you are going to drive Mommy straight to the crazy factory." Then she asked them, "Do you know how to drive?" After that, she uttered a deep sigh of resignation and proclaimed, "Oh, never mind - I'll just take a cab." The people in the aisle alongside us were laughing out loud at that one. As were her boys. As was I.

Their whole family is about to leave for vacation in the Cayman Islands for a week. (and she still managed to buy over $100 worth of crap at Costco, which made me feel better about my triple-digit bill). I asked the kids what they were going to do while they were on vacation and they both said, "nothing". I said, "really? nothing? Aren't you going to go snorkeling or diving or fishing?" And they said, "no, nothing, ask mom!" They seemed genuniely excited about the prospect of doing nothing. Then, in order to corroborate their story to me, they turned to Christy and asked her, "Mom - what are we going to do on vacation?" Christy replied by rattling off a list of fun-sounding activities. The kids said, "but what are we going to do on the beach?" And Christy said, "a whole lot of nothing" Then she turned to me and explained that she's trying to instill in her kids an appreciation for the joy of doing nothing. I thought that was pretty funny. And I wish her luck with that one. I can tell you right now, from what I witnessed at Costco, it's not gonna happen.

But the funniest thing was, at one point relatively early into our almost 3-hour tour of the behemoth warehouse that is Costco, my friend's kids started getting on her nerves and she, without so much as lowering her voice a decibel, told them, "remember to give Mommy a break. This is the bleeding season. I'm not wearing this bracelet for nothing!" Then she held up her wrist for them to observe. She was wearing a bracelet made of scrabble letters which spelled out the word
B-I-T-C-H. How great is that?! Her kids seemed to totally understand and appreciate the whole bleeding season concept too. They even toned down their antics a bit after that. At least for the next few minutes.

I know they sound crazy and they are, but only in the best way. In the event that you're concerned and tempted to call Child Protective Services, don't bother - there is nothing to worry about. Christy and her husband have been married for 13 years and they have an unusually great relationship. Her kids are remarkably smart and well-adjusted. They have a dog and a cat and a really cool house. There is absolutely no need to worry about any of them. The only thing to worry about is how I'm going to find one of those bracelets for me before my next bleeding season.

Jesus

2006-07-23T12:02:00.000-05:00

I met a friend for coffee and breakfast tacos at El Chilito this morning. I decided to walk there from my house with Otis. On the way, we passed a church that appeared to have just finished a service. The parking lot was full of people who were dressed in their Sunday best and heading for their cars.

One man was already in his car in the parking spot that was closest to the road. I saw him backing up into the lot so he could then pull forward into the street. He didn't see me. And he didn't look before he pulled out of the lot and into the road just as Otis and I were walking by on the sidewalk in front of his car. It scared the shit out of me. I literally had to grab Otis and run fast to get out of his way. If I had been looking the other way and hadn't noticed him, I would be in the hospital right now. Or worse. He pulled out pretty fast and came really close to hitting us.

After I ran to get out of his path I turned around, incredulous, and shouted at him. I would think, in a situation like that, I would have said something like, "What the Fuck?!!!?". But I didn't. Instead I shouted, "Jesus Christ, Mister!" Which is strange since I don't even believe in Jesus. And ironic since the whole thing happened in a church parking lot on a Sunday. It was kind of funny too because everyone in the parking lot stopped walking to their cars. They just stood there and stared at me and Otis and at the truck that almost hit us as it drove away.

Then, farther along our walk on the way to breakfast, I saw a VW Camper van that wore two bumper stickers. One said, "Jesus, please save me from your followers." The other said, "I found Jesus. He was under the couch."

In just a few minutes, I went from shaking with fear to shaking with laughter. It turned out to be a good Sunday morning after all. For a heathen like me, anyway.

Back in the Saddle Again

2006-07-22T13:53:00.000-05:00

After a seriously long phase during which I was super burned out and just barely maintaining my running, I am (I hope) finally getting my groove back.

109.4 miles on the bike this week. 53 of which I just returned from (the Dam Loop).

Except for the flat tire, it was great. Thank goodness for the good samaritan cyclist who helped me change it. (helped = completely changed the tire and put the wheel back on when he was finished).

Even the intense heat radiating off the blacktop felt good. Kind of like Bikram biking.

I don't think this leaves much room for doubt about my status as a masochist.

Bring on the heat and the hills! I'm back! (I hope).

Fo Shizzle

2006-07-15T09:26:00.000-05:00

My sister is the bomb. She is crazy funny. She went to undergrad at University of Michigan and has her MBA from Fuqua (Duke's B-school). She lives in D.C. and works a super high-powered job. She also makes a shitload of money, and drives a car that's worth more than my last 3 cars put together. She's older than I am, but you'd never know it. Here's a portion of an email she sent me this week:

Go to Gizoogle .It's a Snoop Dogg underground version of Google and it is HILARIOUS. Do a search on it. Click on the
Textilizer up top. You can shasizzle any text and turn it into Snoop Dogg speak. So every once in awhile, when we have a presentation to prepare, I shasizzle it. And I give my team Wu Tang Clan rappa names.

Of course, since she is older and, therefore, ostensibly wiser than I (although I have my doubts about that), I (occasionally) feel compelled to listen to her sage advice. So I checked out the site she recommended.

In doing so, I made an important discovery. Although his singing ability is the subject of some debate, there is no doubt that Bob Dylan is a master lyricist. But when you mix Dylan with the Dogg, now that's pure genius. Fo shizzle.

She was workin in a topless place
And I stopped in fo` a poser jiznust kizzay lookin at tha side of her face
In tha spotlight so clear.
And lata on as tha crowd thinned out
Is just `bout ta do tha same,
She was pimpin' there in biznack of mah chair
Said ta me, "Dont I kizzy yo name?"
I muttered somethin underneath mah breath,
She studied tha lines on mah face.
I mizzy admit I felt a shawty uneasy
When she bent D-to-tha-izzown ta tie tha laces of mah shoe,
Tangled up in blue.

See whizzay Im say'n?

Getting Old Sucks

2006-07-13T21:08:00.000-05:00

I took Paddington to the vet today to get a shot for his arthritis and a blood test to monitor his liver and kidney function and check his thyroid levels. They had to poke and prod at him forever to find a vein from which they could draw blood. Ultimately, after stabbing him all over with the syringe needle, they were finally able to get some from his neck. Poor fella.

I still won't admit that Paddi is old, but I can no longer deny that he's getting older. And that he has considerably slowed down over the past few years. He has also developed a fair number of special needs and restrictions that he never had before.

He recently decided he hates senior dog food and won't eat it without the addition of gravy. (so now, of course, Otis won't eat his food without gravy either)

He can't go for long walks anymore, much less runs, and he requires the use of a ramp to get into and out of the car.

He takes more daily medications than a diabetic octogenarian.

His hind legs and hips are weak and can't be relied upon for support at times.

And although he's clearly still exceptionally handsome, he has undergone some changes in physical appearance (and smell) over the years as well.

He now sports a gray beard and eyebrows.

He has lumps and bumps and warts all over his body and head.

His teeth are mostly rotten and his breath smells unfathomably atrocious.

He can't seem to stop panting and and he chronically drools like Niagra Falls.

But he still likes to play ball every morning and he still perks up at the word "treat" (or "food" or "eat" or "play" or "ball" or "walk" or "out" or "camp" or "kitty").

He's always happy to see me when I get home and will always give me a kiss if I ask for one.

He still appreciates a good chin scratch or belly rub and he totally understands the value of snuggling.

The thing is, it doesn't matter to me how lumpy or slobbery or high-maintenance or stinky he is. I couldn't possibly love him any more than I do.

And while it may be true that getting old sucks, it's still a whole lot better than the alternative.

So carry on, Mr. Pad and keep getting old(er). Good boy.

Really - It's Nothing

2006-07-11T06:50:00.000-05:00

I was pretty much out of groceries yesterday.

So I decided to run to HEB during lunch to grab a few things.

I very rarely drink soda.

But for some reason I found myself craving a root beer.

So I bought a six-pack of diet Hansen's "Creamy Root Beer".

When I got home, I poured one over ice.

While drinking it, I looked more closely at the can.

On it were a number of claims:
No Carbs
No Caffeine
No Sodium
No Preservatives
Calorie Free
Aspartame Free

Then I looked at the nutrition information.

I realized that I was drinking nothing. The Seinfeld of sodas. The absence of anything.

Even more disturbing was my realization that I had paid $2.99 for nothing.

But the worst part was that it tasted like shit. "Creamy Root Beer", my ass.

Sunday

2006-07-09T15:24:00.000-05:00

Here's what is on my "to do" list for today:

do laundry
clean house
clean car
office work
return phone calls
return emails
mow lawn
pay bills
buy groceries

Here's what I did today:

Why Always On The Rug?

2006-07-07T19:15:00.000-05:00

I took Otis running Friday morning as usual. We went with our usual friend and ran our usual route at our usual pace and Otis swam at his usual spot. Everything was pretty, um, usual. Except for one thing. Otis pooped no fewer than five times along the way. The thing is, even if he already goes once in the back yard before we leave for the trail, it's totally normal for him to go again on the trail. Once. On a good day, maybe even twice. Even three "stops" isn't necessarily cause for concern. But on Friday, I was concerned. Five times?! That's a lot. Even for Otis. I began to wonder if somehow he managed to eat an All-Bran bar when I wasn't looking. Hmmm... But then again, Otis has been known to eat pretty much anything that either fits in his mouth or can be broken down to fit in his mouth so I knew the culprit could have literally been anything.

I also knew that, since I had been home sick from work on Wednesday and Thursday, I absolutely had to be at the office all day on Friday. And I knew chances were good that I'd come home to the unmistakably horrific odor that can only be emitted by Otis when he has an upset stomach. But really, nothing could be done so off I went.

And back I came, at the end of the day, with a sense of foreboding and a fear of opening the door to what I just knew would be that indescribably repulsive wall of stench. I started sniffing as I opened my car door in the driveway to see if I could already smell the horror that was sure to come. Nope. I smelled nothing. Yet. My hand trembled as I unlocked the door. Slowly I opened it a crack. Again, nothing. But, then again, I had been sick with a cold all week. Finally, I opened the door wide and entered the living room. By then I would have known for sure. But there was nothing. Everything was fine.

Whew! I breathed a huge sigh of relief and, so as not to push my luck, I quickly went to the back door to let my good boys outside. Otis reluctantly went out, quickly peed, and then repidly returned to the door beseeching me to let him back inside. Paddington wanted no part of this backyard outing at all and he remained in the house in the cool A/C. Okay, fine. I figured we could chill for a while and then go for a walk a bit later once it cooled off some more.

So I went about my business and looked through the mail. I got something to drink and flipped through the Chronicle. The phone rang and I chatted with a friend for a while. Then I noticed that Otis seemed a little antsy. So I went to let him out once again. But he just stood at the door looking at me as if to say, "aren't you coming?" Um, nope - I wasn't going. So we both stayed in. And I continued to talk to my friend on the phone. In the other room.

But after a while, I noticed a smell coming from the living room. No. It couldn't be. He just had two opportunities to go out! He never came to get me and hadn't barked or anything. I got off the phone and walked into the living room where, much to my dismay, I saw and smelled what could only be described as - well - use your imagination. It was worse than that. Three separate brown piles surrounded by runny brown liquid stench with drips trailing between each pile. And the piles weren't just in the living room. The first one was, but the second two were in the dining room. All were on the rugs.

I live in a cute bungalow that was built in 1933. It has all the charming features of an old house including big wood-trimmed windows, a cute old-fashioned built-in telephone stand, and hardwood floors throughout the house. I have a few area rugs, but most of the floor space is wood. Otis must have gone to great lengths to avoid the wood and make it to the rugs before he relieved himself. UGH!

So I spent the next hour or so cleaning. And scrubbing. And rubbing and deodorizing. And scrubbing some more. Finally, things seemed under control. And the house didn't smell like shit anymore. At least not that I could tell. But, then again, I had had a cold all week...

The next morning I was grateful to have made it through the night with no drama. I got up and took a deep breath. No foul odors. I let the dogs out in the back yard for their morning pit stop. I would get my bike stuff together and take them for a walk after that. A few minutes later, I let them back in. A few minutes after that, I notice a really foul odor that hadn't been there before. WTF??! I looked around and noticed that Paddington had gone into the bedroom and along his path, he had left paw prints. Brown paw prints. Brown super smelly paw prints. Paw prints of poop. Apparently, he must have stepped in some poop in the back yard and tracked it into the house. Across the kitchen floor and directly onto the wool rug in the bedroom. UGH!

More cleaning. More scrubbing and rubbing and deodorizing. By the time I finished cleaning, I was exhausted and running late to meet my biking buddies.

I have tried, over the years, to be a good and considerate dog owner. I never let them stay outside to bark and disturb the neighbors. I don't let them chase cats or jump up on little kids (if I can help it). I almost always have bags with me to pick up the poop they deposit on the lawns of others. But I admit I've been lazy at times and haven't always done the right thing. On occasion, I have left their "presents" lying around for others to step on. So I realize that karma probably dictates that I deserve to have to clean up my own dogs' poop from my house on occasion as a sort of payback. And I'm okay with that. All I want to know is why? Why must it always be on the rug?

Word Processing

2006-07-06T09:15:00.000-05:00

I don’t know exactly why, but the process of writing can be so cathartic. When I have feelings swirling around in my head – whether they’re feelings of confusion, anger, lust, frustration, sadness, anxiety, rage, pain, or any of the many combinations thereof, I always find it helpful to reduce the feelings to words. Somehow they’re easier to reckon with when they’re laid out in front of me in black and white on a page. It gives them form and reins them in so they feel less overwhelming. It helps me break them down instead of allowing them to break me down.

I usually don’t feel the urge to write about my happiest and most joyful feelings. Those are the feelings I like to share in person with friends or family or significant others or even strangers. I want to build on the good feelings with someone else. When I’m happy, I want to talk about it. But when I’m upset, I need to write about it.

The recent accessibility and popularity of blogging has been great for me and folks like me who understand and value not just the written word, but the whole process of writing itself. Blogging gives my writing a format and a forum. Through blogging, I can literally put my thoughts and feelings out there. Then I can, much more easily, move on. I can also get comments from others who read what I write. Some are from people I know whose opinions I already respect. Or don’t. And some are from perfect strangers who found that some part of what I said resonated with them for some reason. It makes me realize that, no matter how different we may seem from one another on the surface, fundamentally we’re all in pretty much the same boat. Which makes me wonder why it can be so difficult to find that other person who resonates with us in a way that translates into life long love. But that’s another blog for another day…

Even before the word for or concept of blogging existed, I used writing as a way of dealing with my strong feelings. Way back when, I would write things down in a spiral-bound notebook. Then, when computers came around, I’d write by typing. It didn’t matter – the benefits came from just getting the words out so they could help me make sense of my feelings.

I do most of my writing now via blog. I don’t mind and, in fact, I rather like sharing my general musings with others this way. I find this kind of writing to be gratifying. And I enjoy the feedback.

But there’s another kind of writing. It’s reserved for areas that are too personal for me to want to share with others. Usually, these areas are so personal that it’s difficult for me to share honestly about them even with myself. Often this kind of writing has to do with a certain person or relationship in my life that is causing me significant consternation of some sort. And even though my writing in these situations stems from my feelings about another person, it is in no way for that other person. This writing is for me. It’s between me and myself and I’m the only one who gets to read it.

Often the impetus for this kind of writing is feelings of anger and hurt. I want to lash out at someone and hurt them back. But I know that that would only make things worse and leave me feeling worse. I know that I’ll only feel better if I take the high road. But still, I have all these feelings swirling around and making me crazy. I need to get them out so I can let them go. I know some people who will write emails they never send in these situations. But I don’t want to take any chances that the email I write will somehow inadvertently be sent. So I use my plain old-fashioned word processing program for this kind of writing. And, like I said, this writing is usually born out of anger and hurt related to someone specific. This pattern has helped me develop an intuitive and easy system for storing these documents. They are saved, in my hard drive, almost without exception, under “Fuck you (name)".

I rarely, if ever, go back and read them later even though I do keep them. The whole point is that I don’t need to re-read them because once I process these feelings as words, they are out. And I am free.

Progress

2006-07-02T07:36:00.000-05:00

For reasons I have not been able to figure out (although lord knows I have tried), I tend to be attracted to the people who are not good for me.

I find these people exciting and sexy and crazy-intriguing. And on a certain level, interacting with these people is hot and passionate and intense, which seems really great.

But deep down, where it really counts, they don't make me feel good. And being with someone who doesn't make me feel deeply good isn't good. I am certain it's not what I want.

But still, I am totally drawn to them.

I used to make all kinds of excuses for them that would allow me to perpetuate relationships that I knew, deep down, weren't right for me and weren't what I wanted. I would tell my friends about what a prick he was and that I knew I shouldn't keep going out with him. Yet I would continue to go out with him.

It is, after all, extremely difficult to distract the moth from the flame.

But now it's different. I'm different.

I'm still attracted to these same guys. And they're still bad for me.

But now I don't make excuses for them. Now I am much more accurately and quickly able recognize them for who they are - not who I wish they were. And now, once I have that recognition, I am able to get out. And move on.

I'm still not exactly where I'd like to be ideally. Ideally I'd be really attracted to a really good guy.

But still, this feels like progress. And that feels good.

White Trash

2006-06-25T10:29:00.000-05:00

I have been spending a lot of time on Town Lake this summer. Not just on the trail as usual, but actually out on the water in a scull or a kayak. And I love it. It's such a fresh and different perspective of the whole city. I love seeing the dogs coming at me as they chase balls and sticks by Auditorium Shores and the undersides of the bridges I've crossed over hundreds of times. I like seeing the skyline of our little city rising up from the water and shoreline trees. I can see the runners and bikers next to or above me along the way. And it's really cool to be among the snakes and birds and turtles and fish that have their own life on and in the water.

But what I don't like is the trash. And there's so much of it floating in the water and all along the shoreline. I suppose it blows in from overflowing garbage cans on windy days. Some is probably deposited by careless boaters. I wonder if it starts in Lake Travis and Lake Austin before it washes into Town Lake.

Most of it is white. Either because it started out white or has been bleached out by the powerful rays of the sun over time until it ends up white. Whatever its color or origin, it's ugly and out of place in this gem of a natural area that we are fortunate enough to have smack dab in the middle of our city. Maybe it's inevitable precisely because it is in the middle of an urban area.

Anyway, I have a habit of picking up any trash in my path as I paddle or row by. I'll put it in my boat and take it back to the dock with me where I can throw it away. I don't go out of my way to get to each item of trash I see, but if it's along my trajectory, I pick it up. Yesterday I returned from a paddle with three water bottles, one (plastic) vodka bottle, a beer can, a Frito bag, a styrofoam cup, a plastic cup, a shoe, and a plastic grocery bag in which I put everything before I threw it away at the dock.

Probably the thing I love best about Austin is its eclecticism. I guess I'm an explorer by nature and I absolutely love looking around and discovering cool new things. Sometimes it's a new restaurant or bar I haven't tried yet or it can be a new park or trail or neighborhood or band. Each has its own character and each feels like a new little treasure. Many of my friends who have always lived in Austin have never even heard of, much less been to, some of the places I've discovered. I've been here now for almost 5 years and I'm still exploring and coming across cool new little finds.

Yesterday, on the lake, I found a new one. I paddled from Mopac to Longhorn Dam. Just before the dam is a small island in the middle of Town Lake. As I approached the island, I heard a loud cacophony coming from the trees and bushes there. As I hugged the island's shoreline, I could see that it was absolutely thick with what must have been hundreds if not thousands of these really cool birds. They looked like small herons, but they were white with tan on their heads. I'm not sure what kind they are, but they're not egrets and certainly aren't your average seagull. They were really cool and they were everywhere all over this island - each tree brach was packed with them. I didn't notice any other kind of bird there either, just these white heron-looking ones. It was as if they had staked out this island as their very own.

I watched them for a while before I set off to paddle back to my starting point. And on the way back, I thought about how odd it is - the juxtaposition between all those white birds and all that white trash on Town Lake

Canine World Cup

2006-06-23T06:32:00.000-05:00

Otis longs for the day when there's a canine World Cup.

He often finds himself thinking about how, when that day comes, he will lead the Labradors to certain victory.

Paddington, on the other hand, is rather indifferent.

You see, he is much more of a hoops (or even tennis) man.

Paradox

2006-06-22T19:22:00.000-05:00

I want you.
What? You want me back?
Oh. Well, now I'm not so sure...

I wish for intimacy, but I won't let you in.
I need companionship, but crave being alone.
I seek perfection, but won't be outdone.
Please leave me messages even though I don't feel like calling you back.
You have to be dynamic even though lately I'm too tired to keep up.

My mind is made up. But then again...

I want a better life, but I love my life now.
Would it be better with you?
Will I ever let myself find out?

What am I looking for anyway?
Does it exist?
Even if it does, will it make me happier?
Will I find it?
Do I really want to?
Have I already?

An Incomplete Truth

2006-06-22T06:54:00.000-05:00

I had the day off today for Juneteenth day.* Seriously. Well, I was supposed to have the day off, but I agreed to take a project for someone else, so I ended up working for 5 hours. But I get comp time for it so that's cool. Anyway, after I left the office, I met some friends at the Alamo to see Al Gore's new movie, "An Inconvenient Truth". I had been curious to see him and see what he had to say and also to see what it would be like to watch a feature-length film of a slide show about global warming.

And I have to say that overall I thought it was really well done. Al Gore comes across as this sympathetic and passionate (yes, you heard me right - Al Gore - passionate) crusader who is fighting the good fight, largely on his own. His purpose seems to be born of true altruism and concern rather than politics and he manages to exude substantially more charisma as a lecturer than he did as a presidential candidate. He did a great job of explaining the phenomenon of global warming in a way that can be easily understood by even the biggest dunderhead; refuting alternate theories that argue global warming is not even an issue; and articulating why it is significant to everyone all over the planet NOW. For all those things, I give him an A.

But I left the theater feeling incredibly frustrated because of what he failed to do. (I also left feeling super cold - why are theaters always so over-airconditioned? That just adds to global warming, btw). Anyway, what was so frustrating to me was the fact that he did such a good job making his case that global warming is an enormous and acute problem that must be and can be rectified NOW if people (yes, you) wake up, accept the truth, and DO something, but he didn't follow through to explain specifically what needs to be done. He vaguely alluded to certain things such as using the political process, driving more fuel-efficient cars and less often, and using energy-efficient applicances, but he didn't spend more than a few seconds on just a cursory mention of those things at the end. Then, at the very end, in what seemed like credits, he listed a website (www.climatecrisis.net) and other things that can be done to help with the problem of global warming. The problem with that was that everyone was already leaving the theater. Probably because is was so freakin' cold. But also because that stuff didn't come on until the movie appeared to be over.

So really, Al did a commendably great job of convincing us of the existence and enormity of the problem that is global warming. He got us all riled up about it and primed us to be ready and anxious to do whatever it takes to address this crisis. But he stopped short of giving us the tools to do what needs to be done. It's like finally getting home from the Houston Ikea with your Swedish-named stereo cabinet all excited to put it together only to rip open the box and find out that there's no custom allen wrench or instructions and you're too inept to figure it out for yourself. Okay, that's a bad analogy. Really it wasn't anything like that and I'm not sure why I even thought of that. But still, it was really frustrating.

I wish he had talked more about what people can do. I already try to bike to work when I can (ahem, when I don't have a perpetually flat tire, that is) and I try to turn off lights and use compact fluorescent bulbs and not buy overpackaged stuff, etc. etc. But I know I can do more. And I'm smart enough to be able to figure out other things I can do to help the problem. And I'm interested and engaged enough to do them. But the lowest common denominator in this country is really low. I'm talking scary low. Like, how low can you go? Then look down from there. Granted these people probably won't ever even see this film, but for those who do it would be nice to give them some concrete things to think about as they drive home in their gianormous SUVs. *Sigh*

*written on 6/19.

Running vs. Cycling

2006-06-12T11:54:00.000-05:00

I started road riding before I started running. But I love both and have been doing both regularly for a long time now. And I've gone through all of the same phases in each sport. At times, I've been super fast and felt invincible. Other times I've been slow as molasses and it felt like a struggle even then. At times I have enjoyed or even depended on going with friends or groups, but other times I have needed to be by myself. Sometimes I've reveled in the purity of the activity and allowed it to clear my head and cleanse my soul. But I've also let my desire to excel suck the joy out of what I was doing.

Someone asked me once which I like more - running or cycling. I didn't have a ready answer, but it got me thinking... And now, even after some thought, I still can't answer that question because they each offer things that the other doesn't.

I like running because it is simple and, on a good day, can free me like nothing else. Running is just about me and the machine that is my body. Although I have managed to spend a lot of money on running-related gear over the years, the only thing that is really necessary is a good pair of shoes. Well, and a good sports bra. But that's really it. The rest of the "stuff" is entirely optional and in many ways not even recommended. And because running is so simple, it's completely portable. I never pack for a trip without including at least one pair of running shoes in my suitcase. And my best exploring of any place is always done while I'm wearing them.

I guess I must have a bit of masochist in me too because I also really like the aspect of running that forces me to summon up from deep within the vast amounts of sheer will that are required to keep my body going even as my mind does everything in its power to convince me that I can't. It's like a battle within myself and some days it's hard to predict the outcome. But every finish feels like a victory - whether it's a race or a tough hill workout or a recovery run with Otis. Hell, just lacing up my shoes feels like an accomplishment some days. And I'll take it.

I also respect running because it's tough. And there's no cheating or in-between. You can't coast or glide to recover - you're either running or you're not. And the difference between the two is all up to me. I like that. Even though sometimes I hate it.

What about cycling? Although it shares many similarities with running in terms of being an endurance sport that, on a good day, can really help me relax and clear my head, I still think it is more different than it is similar to running. Cycling allows me to travel. Far. And see the world. On my bike. Under my own power. Which is pretty amazing if you think about it.

The longest run I've ever done was 26.2 miles. I will rarely bother even going for a ride that is less than 30 miles. I can cover 100 miles on my bike in about 6 hours. I can see a lot in 100 miles.

It's undeniable that cycling is more complicated than running in terms of the equipment required. And consequently, it is more expensive and there are greater opportunities for obstacles such as flat tires, broken chains, and wrecks that can ruin a good ride or worse. But I still marvel at the simplicity of a bike. And I love that I can travel on my own time in my own direction at my own speed without burning any fossil fuels or making any noise. It's just me and the road and my legs moving the pedals for miles and miles and miles.

When I ride, even when it's wicked hot out, I create a breeze and it feels good. I can eat and drink to refuel while I ride without it bouncing around in my stomach and making me feel sick like it does when I run. And I can coast down a hill to recover. Even though it does kind of feel like cheating.

So I don't think I can say which I like best - running or cycling. I'm just grateful that I don't have to choose.

Free Online Dating Advice - Part Two

2006-06-07T20:47:00.000-05:00

So now that we've gone over photos, let's talk about what to say in your profile or, perhaps more importantly, what not to say. This can be tricky in a way because let's face it - everyone wants to seem cool. But the thing is, not everyone is cool. And if you aren't, it's going to be evident sooner or later so you might as well be up front about it. But don't despair - just remember that the same theory applies to you uncool people as it does to the (most unfortunate) folks out there who look like Yoda - surely out of the millions and millions of people on this orb we call earth, there must be at least one or two who will be attracted to you notwithstanding your utter lack of anything resemling cool. Granted they might not live on this continent, but hey - beggars can't be choosers. That brings us to the first rule:

Be honest (sort of). What I mean is that it's okay to put a positive spin on things, but don't outright fabricate stuff that's wholly untrue. For instance, if you've only taken one trip in your whole life and it was 9 years ago and only to Abeliene, but you enjoyed the hell out of it and are dying to go again, you can get away with saying that you "love to travel". Chicks dig that, btw. But if you have only taken one trip in your whole life and it was to Abeliene, don't say that you spent 3 mos. in the Australian outback. It's like your parents taught you - something resembling honesty is always the best policy. That means white lies are okay as long as you don't tell blatant bald-faced lies for which you can easily get caught. Your parents did teach you that, didn't they?

There are also some specific areas that are included in most profile templates, that can be difficult. Religion is one of those areas. I am amazed at the number of good-looking guys who are complete Jesus freaks and whose profiles are more preachy than the Vatican on a Sunday. If you are a complete Jesus freak, then I guess it's best to be up front about it and scare us normal people away right off the bat so we don't all waste each other's time by emailing and meeting. But if you aren't all "Footloose" and pious, it's important to make sure your profile doesn't come across as if you are. Here are some things that are likely to scare away anyone who is not a religious zealot:

- mention God more than once in your profile without the word damn adjacent to it.
- discuss the importance of Jesus in your daily life.
- discuss the importance of Jesus at all.
- divulge that you attend Church regularly.
- divulge that you attend Church at all.

Just sayin...

Another area that can be difficult to address accurately on your profile is your body type. After all, what does "slender" really mean? And, these days, isn't "average" really obese? Here are a few foolproof and accurate ways to figure out what your body type really is: Take a look at tag on the pants you wore today. If the number that corresponds to the waist size is larger than the number that corresponds to the inseam length, you are not slender. If the number of your chins exceeds either of those numbers, you are not "average", but rather what is diplomatically referred to as "thick". (You may recall your mom using the term "husky" - same difference). And just because you played soccer in high school, that does not make you "athletic" now. Look in the mirror, people. Be real.

There are certain things to avoid discussing in your profile to keep you from seeming not just uncool, but like a completely pathetic loser or a total cheeseball. Here are some of them: No matter how lonely you are or how long it has been since you last got laid, don't - and I repeat don't talk about how lonely or desperate you are on your profile. It does not make you seem sensitive and vulnerable. It makes you seem desperate and lonely, which is creepy and pathetic. Ain't nothing sexy about that, fellas. Seriously. Nothing. Keep it to yourself or tell your Dungeons and Dragons buddies, but don't put that stuff in your profile. And while it is true that most women love the idea of a romantic guy, your babbling on and on about holding hands on the beach at sunset with that someone special just makes you come across as uncreative and super cheesy. Ew.

Another big area in which you can either draw potential dates in or ward them off in a hurry is your ability to demonstrate that you can write, and therefore presumeably speak, standard english. I don't mean to sound all snooty and overeducated and elitist even though I am. And I don't know what other women do when they get emails that say, "your cute and whitty and we have alot in common. We should definately chat somemore", but I know I promptly hit the delete button and will occasionally mutter something disparaging under my breath as I do such as, "dumbass". Come on guys - it's not that we need high fallutin' multisyllabic words to be impressed. Shit, I'm impressed with anyone who knows the difference between it's and its or who can spell correctly. Hint: it's called spellchecker - use it!!! This really does matter. (Unless you're super hot and/or rich, in which case we don't give a rip whether you can spell your own name).

So in summary, just be sure to create an image of yourself that, even if not appealing, isn't completely repulsive. And keep in mind that the little things often count in a big way. (Unless you're rich and/or super hot, in which case you can say whatever you want and you'll still be appealing to all the golddigger chicks or needy women with no self esteem). So go edit your profile! What are you waiting for? You can thank me later.

More Lessons to Come...

Starting Over

2006-06-06T20:33:00.000-05:00

I remember when I first began running. It was about 10 years ago. I lived in Madison then and I would run with my next-door neighbor 3 mornings a week before work. We ran year 'round - even when it was 20 below zero with snow on the ground and pitch black out. I secretly liked how die-hard it made me feel. We didn't go far - only about 3.5 miles each time. And I didn't know anything about running other than that it was fun and a great way to stay in shape. I didn't have a GPS to track my speed and distance or a heart rate monitor to check my zone. I just ran. At first it was really tough. I remember feeling like I was going to keel over after just a few blocks when we first started out. But then, without my even trying, I got better and faster and it got easier to breathe even as I added on more miles.

There have been times in my life when I was a pretty good runner too. Never super fast, but fast enough to feel proud and to place in my age group (well, once anyway).

And I've run pretty consistently since then and have gotten progressively more into it. Now I own a Forerunner and a Polar and I subscribe to Runners' World and Running Times and the RunTex home page is one of my favorites. I've run a billion races and for the past few years I've coached other runners. But somewhere along the way I got burned out and seem to have lost touch with the simple joy of running. I miss the days when I would just go out with my neighbor because it was fun and something I enjoyed rather than one more area of my life about which I feel pressure to excel. And the ridiculous part is that I'm the only one exerting that pressure, but I'm not sure how to lose it and just run.

My burnout caused me to cut back on my running and try some new things like climbing and rowing. And I started biking a bit more than usual. I like all those things but I still miss running. The way it used to be. Just relaxing and fun. No pressure. Now, because I haven't been running as much and also because of the recent onset of summer weather here, I'm finding it difficult to run very far, let alone fast. And it really bothers me. I know I need to just start over and go for shorter runs until naturally, over time, without my even trying, it just gets easier again. Rationally, I know it will, but I still want to just pick up where I left off since I know I was there before.

Maybe forcing myself to start over will help me get back in touch with the things about running that drew me to it in the first place. Yeah - maybe that's it. If I can just figure out how to lose the pressure and let myself start over.

Man, as powerful as a body's musculature can be, it is the brain that controls everything. It can strengthen the weak or cower the strong. I know most things come down to mind over matter, but how do we get a handle on the mind?

"Killer on a Leash"

2006-06-05T22:37:00.000-05:00

I just walked Otis though my neighborhood. We usually don't go this late, but I didn't get him out for much exercise today and thought it might be nice to take an evening constitutional with him. We came across a guy kneeling down building something in front of his house. Otis, in his exuberantly friendly way, went up to the guy and licked his face even though he (Otis, not the guy) had a paper cup in his mouth that he had retrieved from the curb along the way.

Fortunately the guy was good natured and laughed genuinely about the whole thing. I said, "be careful - he's ferocious. Can't you tell?". And the guy said, "Oh yeah, for sure - killer on a leash." Which is pretty funny if you know Otis.

Free Online Dating Advice - Part One

2006-06-03T08:32:00.000-05:00

Now that I've finally, albeit sheepishly, admitted that I've tried online dating, I feel compelled to offer some online dating advice to all you guys out there. Granted, these are just my own personal thoughts and opinions and you are free to take or leave them, but I highly recommend you take them. If you want a date with someone who isn't a total freak, pathetic loser, or complete idiot, that is.

Today's lesson is all about photos - whether to post and, if so, which ones.

PHOTOS: Yes - you really should post them so all the hussies can see what you look like. Let's face it (sorry 'bout the pun) - physical appearance plays a role in the whole chemistry equation. Perhaps it's shallow, but it's true. You can be brilliant, witty, compassionate, and charming as hell, but if you look like Yoda - I'm sorry - I won't go out with you. Even if you do look like Yoda, however, you should still post a photo. This great big world of ours is filled with people of all different shapes and sizes and just because I (and most women) wouldn't give you the time of day, I bet there's at least one or two women out there who are totally turned on by Yoda and will be thrilled to see you among their matches. So go for it.

Some things to consider when posting photos include the following:

* Recency - I don't care how much of a hottie you were when you were 27 if you're 53 now and have a beer gut the size of a pregnant woman who is three weeks past her due date. Please only post recent photos. That's only fair, don't you think?

* Clothing - Unless you have a serious six-pack goin' on, do not post any shirtless photos. You should wait until we know you and already like you before you expect us to do so in spite of your pasty white, hairy, squishy chest/abs. Also be aware that, even if you do have a great body, posting a shirtless photo makes you seem narcissistic. But don't let that stop you from posting a shirtless photo if you happen to have a truly hot bod. We love those pictures even if we conclude from them that you're a narcissistic prick.

* Sunglasses - Everyone looks good in sunglasses. You could be brilliant, witty, compassionate, and look like a total stud in sunglasses, but if you look like Yoda when the shades come off, I'm sorry, but I won't go out with you and I'd like to know that up front. So feel free to post a photo in which you're wearing your best pair of Oakleys, but be sure to add at least one or two where your real face is visible sans shades. After all, eyes are the windows to our soul. Whatever. Just don't be wearing sunglasses in all your photos, okay?

* Other women - Many of you post photos of yourself with other women. Some of you white out or blur the faces of these other women. Please don't do that - it's creepy and nightmare inducing. I have mixed feelings about the "other women" photos. In one sense, it's kind of lame and makes us wonder what you're trying to prove and who these other women are. Are they your sisters? wives? mothers? paid escorts? But we women tend to be a catty lot (meow!) and I have to admit that some part of me does like to see what kinds of women you hang out with. So this one is your call, but don't put your wedding photos up. That's just plain tacky. Can you say, "delete"?

* Other friends - Some of you post only one photo and it's of you with one or more of your friends. The extra friend photos are fine as long as there are at least one or two of you alone so we can tell which one is you. Imagine how awkward it would be if we only saw a group photo and guessed incorrectly which one was you. We could be emailing back and forth little flirtations and smiley faces with the person we thought was you, but really was your hot best friend. Only to find out when we finally meet you for a drink that you look like Yoda. It's called the feminine, not masculine mystique, people. Don't keep us guessing.

More lessons to come...

Online Dating - General Musings

2006-06-02T09:53:00.000-05:00

Okay, this is really a tough one for me. I hate the whole idea of online dating. I guess, when it comes right down to it, underneath my well-educated and rational exterior, I'm just a hopeless romantic.

I want a model-hot guy with bright blue eyes, dimples, and an infectious smile who has a graduate degree in some area that will save the world, loves to travel, has at least one Lab, a great old house in central Austin, and my taste in music, who is funny and sweet and thoughtful, and who grew up with sisters (so he understands as much as can be understood about women and how to deal with our mystical (read: random) nature), to see me at the grocery store (preferably Whole Foods or Central Market) and sweep my off my feet by buying me flowers or a latte or some of those kick-ass looking ancho chocolate truffles. Or even just asking me out for a drink at the checkout line without resorting to some super cheesy pickup line.

Anyway, therein lies the problem - I'm romantic and hate the idea of online dating, but I"m also ridiculously picky and, I think, probably pretty unrealistic about what I really want or can expect.

So here goes - I admit it - I have tried online dating on and off for a while now. And I've thought a lot about the whole phenomenon in an effort to figure out why I hate it and why, in spite of my hatred of it, I continue to try it on and off. I haven't come up with all the answers, but a few things have become clear to me.

First of all, it is just plain difficult to meet quality people for dating purposes in the "real world" these days. And the older one gets, the more true that becomes. For me, most of my close friends are now married and some have kids. Or they're in serious relationships. Either way, they're not thinking much about setting me up with their friends, most of whom are probably married or in serious relationships anyway. I sure as hell wouldn't date anyone in my office; I'm not big into the bar scene; and even when I'm tempted to try to strike up a conversation with a hot guy at the water stops on Town Lake trail, I generally chicken out. (Plus I'm all sweaty and smelly and it's probably not the best time for a good first impression anyway).

And I know it's not just me. Everyone who is single talks about how it's difficult to meet quality people in the absence of online dating. And maybe the whole creation of computers has made real life meetings that much more difficult. In a way, I think it has. After all, it's a lot easier and much less risky to post a missed connection on Craig's List than to actually talk to the object of one's attraction at the time of the real world encounter. Or maybe people are just so busy now that they find it more convenient to "people shop" online than to make an effort in the real world. Hard to say, but the trend definitely seems to be toward an acceptance, if not expectation, that single people these days will at least try the online dating avenue. And I know that. So why am I still so sheepish to admit that I've tried it?

I've also come to realize that online dating is really just the opposite of "real world" dating. In the real world, if we're attracted to someone, say at the grocery store, it's all about chemistry since we know nothing about that person other than what they look like and what we can discern from other cues like what they're doing/buying/wearing/saying when we see them. But we know nothing about their personality or values or background. They could be smart and sweet and politically compatible or they could be total assholes with whom we have nothing in common. And it takes engaging with that person to determine if the substance behind the initial chemistry is appealing enough to cause us to continue our attraction. Or not.

Online dating is just the opposite. We can get a sense of whether someone is educated, liberal, outdoorsy, active, etc., but we have no idea about whether there will be any "chemistry" there until we meet in person. I guess we can weed out a lot of people who we think we wouldn't be interested in online before we ever bother meeting them. But maybe we're wrong. Maybe we'd hit it off perfectly if we met in person even though we dismiss them based only on their profile. The same is true for real life encounters. We don't take a second look at lots of people, some of whom could be soulmates if we gave them a chance. So really, online and real life dating are just opposite ends of the same thing. It's still that meeting in the middle that's determinative in either case, no?

The other thing that has become clear to me is that someone should make a documentary about the whole online dating world. I have all kinds of ideas for one, but no knowledge whatsoever of filmmaking. Which is too bad b/c my documentary would be hilarious and hugely successful.

Blog Conundrum

2006-05-18T17:14:00.000-05:00

Here's the thing - most of my friends who blog (not just you, Bill) are writers. Or students. This means they have free time during the day during which they can write. But I don't have that time. And in the evenings I"m either out or beat or both. So, in the interest of saving time, I have been blogging on my myspace page instead of here. And I've been pretty faithfully keeping it up too. But that blog space sucks. The pages look like crap and I don't think you can post photos. (Can you?)

For whatever reason, I like to check my myspace page though so I figured it would save time to blog there instead of here. What to do? How'd you find this one anyway, Bill?! Are you some kind of CIA spy? It's more than a little freaky, you know.

Anyway, in the unlikely event that you are reading this and are so incredibly bored that you want to read my other blogs, then check out www.myspace.com/atxami

It's all very exciting. Really. (not).

Who Doesn't Love a Puppy?!

2006-05-04T16:40:00.000-05:00

I just got home from taking my puppy, Otis, for a walk around the neighborhood. I live in a really nice, laid back, eclectic 'hood full of charming 1930's bungalows with bright rambling gardens and old Volvos parked out front. The folks who live here tend to be open minded liberal hippies with an anything goes attitude. That's why I was so surprised and then appalled when we walked by a man weeding his garden along the way. Otis, in his inimitable way, went up to give the guy a kiss. Granted, Otis is HUGE. And granted, his kiss is really like being smothered by a giant drool-soaked wash cloth. But still. This guy just deepened the furrow in his brow and muttered, "get that damn thing away from me." Jeez, mister! That "damn thing" is a sentient being. Not only that, but he's adorable and doesn't have a harmful or malicious bone in his body. Next time I walk by that guy's place, I'm going to encourage Otis, aka "that damn thing" to take a gianormous shit in his garden. So there.

Blogging With A Purpose

2006-05-02T19:44:00.000-05:00

Throughout my life I have tried, on and off, to keep a journal. My mom keeps a five-year diary and has for as long as I can remember. On any given date, she can look back through her diaries to see what she did on that day in years past. It's pretty cool. She doesn't write much - basically just her activities for each day.

I want to keep more of a journal than that. I want to write down my observations and feelings; I want to vent my frustrations and articulate my aspirations; I want to discover my motivations and overcome my shortcomings. Perhaps my expectations are too high? In any event, I never seem to be able to keep it up. A week or two I can do, but after that it always seems to drop off. Maybe I'm too all or nothing and can't seem to pick it back up if I miss a day. This is a problem I tend to have in general. But maybe keeping a journal could help. Although that begs the question, no?

Anyway, I've been reading some blogs of friends of mine and was thinking that perhaps I should have a theme to my blog. For instance, one friend writes mostly stuff about Austin in his blog. And a woman I know writes about her experiences running and racing. Maybe if I narrow my focus, it would be easier to know what to write about. That was my intent when I first signed up for this thing. I figured it would be more likely that I kept it up if the scope of my blog were well-defined and relatively narrow. But when it came time to name my blog, I didn't want to restrict myself to one topic. After all, the purpose of keeping a journal - at least for me - at least ideally - is to learn more about myself. So, like I've done so many times before, I guess I'll just try again to see if I can write about whatever I feel like writing about and do it regularly. So there you go. Hello, it's me. That's a great Todd Rundgren song, by the way, in case you didn't know.

Hmmm... guess I'll say a bit more about today. Today is Tuesday, but it felt like Monday. I went out last night so I was wasted tired this morning when the alarm went off at 5:45 a.m.. Usually I run w/my running buddy on Mondays and Wednesdays, but yesterday I was in San Antonio for work, so we ran today instead. Just the 4.1 mile Town Lake loop, but it was tough. I'm still sore from the weekend - metric century on Sat. and hike followed by rowing followed by paddling on Sunday. Plus I ran Monday morning before I left for San Antonio so Otis (you'll hear lots about him - he's my yellow Lab pup) wouldn't be bouncing off the walls all day while I was gone. Anyway, the run was slow going, but it's always good to go.

See? I"m getting bored already. I don't really have anything to say. That's it - this will be a workout blog unless I have something else I want to say. That will be a good compromise between focused blogging to give me direction, but open journaling for those (rare) times when I have something worth writing.

Right now I need to go to Petco to buy more canned dog food since Paddington's new thing is that he won't eat his normal dry food unless I put something special in it. (You'll hear lots about Paddi too. He's my chocolate Lab and he'll be 12 on May 21). Anyway, I need to go to Petco, but Scrubs is on in a minute. I"ll go after that. And clean the house. I swear.