LOOK AT THE DATE

Here we go – a “resolutionary” charging into the future on a mission to… to … …???

Oh yeah – to write every day month year more than I did last year. Hell – just words right? I can do whatever I want with them. I can be a smartass or a dumbass or a wiseass or a jackass or just an ass – or not. This should be easy-peasy.

I’ve certainly shown my proficiency at the written word in all of the journals I have stored around the house. They’re scattered around in all shapes and sizes, with all manner of inspirational cover.  Opening them is like an adventure in… blank pagery. Somehow they don’t do a good job of reflecting my good intention. The intent of converting brilliant thought through the use of language. Expressing my artistic talent through painting mental pictures with exquisit arrangement of words and phrases. I could swear I did that in those journals… a couple of them have writing on a page or two. Must’ve used crappy ink on the other pages and it faded away. I have a couple blog posts on here but they are fairly crappy, so somebody else must’ve hacked me and made entries here. WTF is an ice cream chef?

Anyway – here it is – the new blog. Spillage from an overflowing brain. Hmmmm – somehow a picture of a backed-up toilet just came to mind. Oh well let it flow – the picture is painted.

Where am I? Sitting in Connecticut facing a transitional time. Ending a longtime career and excited about heading out on a new adventure. Getting old… probably actually already old, but not sad about it. Embracing most of this aging thing except the diminishing physical stamina and ability. Actually like being old. You can fart and nobody bats an eye – they just endure and accept it in preserving your dignity. Afterall, – you’re old and you probably can’t help it. Truth is, I’m still completely and firmly in control of my emissions and choose to fart sometimes just to make everyone uncomfortable. I can also dress inappropriately and nobody says a word! I can show up in plaid shorts, a aloha shirt, black sox, sandals,  and a red straw hat OR dressed up like 50 Cent the rapper and it’s just ok. Nobody laughs or comments you’re just an old-timer and proably don’t think about being cool, sexy, or bad-ass. Between deciding what to wear and whether or not to fart – I’m having a blast. The downside is being dismissed as “just an old man who wants things old school”. Old doen’t equal stupid, bigotted, ignorant, unsavvy, or closed-minded. Fighting that, is a pain in the ass, but I hold my own.

So where does this go and what does it accomplish? The second question fiirst. At the very least it constitutes my 2014 annual blog entry. Aiming a bit higher; it is the 1st quarter report for 2014. Shooting for the moon; it is the January entry and the first monthly installment. Weekly or daily? C’mon man – I’m not Aristotle or Socrates – what could I possibly have to say about anything that often?

Now for the second question. Where does this go? Well… I started out talking about my proficiency at consistent writing. Depending on your definition of consistency, this is part of a string of random mind-dumps (there’s that over-flowing toilet again) which are woven through my computer presence. WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT MEAN? It’s called rhetoric… a means of convincing someone I just said something meaningful and important when I actually said nothing. I don’t know where this goes. I’ve already met my resolution – to blog more than I did last year. This may be as far as it goes… we’ll see.

ICE CREAM CHEF

 
SO here I am at a retirement seminar – learning how to transition back to the… du dun duhhhh… civilian world.  Coming up on the magic number in a couple years – at which I get the boot.  No consideration for my expert ship handling or the fact that I can dance a ship of any size through a hurricane and bring my crew home safe and sound.  Nor does the fact that I have knowledge and experience to advise our top leaders have relevance… no old man it’s just time to go now.  I’m good with it and excited about what might be next.  I have big aspirations – just need someone to let us use their driveway to park the school bus in – we’ll hold up a blanket when we’re showering off with your garden hose and ask that you separate "the good stuff" out of the after meal scrapings and set it out on the porch for us (saves the noise of rummaging through your trash cans).  Might need to borrow some aluminum foil periodically to repair window coverings.
 
Anyway – this class is designed to help us figure out what we want to do when we get out.  There’s resume writing and all sorts of stuff.  After 30 years of malingering, living off your taxes, and eating up Coast Guard food – I’m right back where I was the day I enlisted.  Clueless and poor with a bleak outlook for the future.
 
I was ecstatic when we were given the aptitude test which would show what career field we were suited for.  You know – one of those, choose what best describes you; bubble in 100 circles (press hard to get through the carbon); now separate the papers without tearing them, add up the 10 columns, put the numbers in the box and in the book, graph your answer, now add the shaded areas and divide by 361; put these answers in the boxes on page 5; now take the first letter of the words in the three columns containing the highest numbers and write them on the top of your paper.  These are your career designator letters!  WOO HOO – I did it all right and didn’t need to ask for another test. We then formed groups by 3 letter designator.  There’s a class of about 30 or so – and it’s notable that I am the elephant in the room.  I try to sit off to the side and stay pretty quiet and don’t answer a lot.  It’s because I am a direct assistant to "THE ADMIRAL" who’s the boss of all these people.  And I have power to do pretty much anything I want.  Being in class with me would be kind of like being in an AA class with George Bush – just a bit awkward.  That’s what I meant by "elephant in the room" for those of you thinking I meant fat, grey, wrinkly, big-eared, or large trunked.  Anyway – I waited patiently for the group with MY three letter code to get called and form.  Alas – I was the last one sitting – so everyone assumed I must have been sleeping again when she called out my letters.  But upon closer inspection – seems I was the only one with that particular letter set.  The groups were told to talk among themselves and discuss common characteristics and the instructor just told me to sit down – (at which point I started talking to myself).  I was a bit embarrassed by the whole thing – but figured with my knowledge, time, and experience – I probably am in  a more intellectual group than my shipmates.
 
The 3 letter code also can be referenced in a book which gives specific career fields the person is suited for.  I waited until after class to look mine up.  I was thinking it was probably going to list Pope, President, Prime Minister, Disciple, Saint, King… you know stuff like that.  Wouldn’t you know, I had a very hard time finding my letters – even with alphabetical listing.  Finally though – there they were!  Only 3 career fields listed – Assistant Prep Cook, Pastry prep chef, and Ice cream chef.  WHAT THE F…?   So – I’m suited to assist a prep cook – the guy that hands the bacon to the cook, makes your toast; and after a lot of training, spoons the carefully measured pile of grits onto your plate.  Meaning I get to carefully remove the bread from the package and hand it to him – get the bacon from the fridge and hand it to him – and wash the grits spoon after he drops it on the floor.  PASTRY PREP CHEF?  WHAT?  Maybe I get to air up the cream puffs – so the CHEF – can do whatever the hell you do to cream puffs,  ICE CREAM CHEF?  Who cooks ice cream?  Maybe this means I can work in the back end of a mobile ice cream distribution vehicle (aka ice cream truck)?  This is a nightmare – this is how my mother said I would end up.  I had more skills than this when I joined the Coast Guard – I’m regressing!  At least I could bag groceries back then.  I checked a couple of other things to make sure I wasn’t missing anything. I do not, apparently possess the qualities needed by a circus clown.  I also seem to miss the boat for my dream field (I have no aspiration to be a rock star, movie star, famous athlete, or world leader) – it would be a dream come true to be a traveling carnival technician AKA CARNEY!  I know it would take work – I have all my teeth and would have to do something about that.  I gave up smoking some years back and would have to retrain at that.  I also am not currently abusing any substance, legal or illegal, but willing to give something a shot.  I can and do look kind of creepy and once allowed to sprout my head of white hair – I should make a scary movie quality gypsy!
 
Lesson learned I guess.  See what happens when you follow instructions and don’t cheat?  I also wonder… was my mom a descendant of Nostradamus?  How could she see this coming?  I always wondered "What does a lazy old lout look like?"  It’s in the mirror…  Joyce is gonna be pissed.  She wasn’t fond of the Carney idea – but I’m fairly certain Ice Cream chef isn’t her dream guy either.  My resume should be pretty easy to write… untied a million zip ties from bread wrappers; know how many slices of bread go into a sandwich; know which side is up on a turn-over; never squeeze éclairs too hard; understand the difference between a fudgesicle and an ice cream cone…
 
Soon I’ll have to start job hunting.  At least now I know where to look and I can set realistic goals.  I’m hoping Billy Currington’s new song spurs an upswing in employment of beer drinkers.  I, like Billy, am pretty good at drinkin’ beer and committed to getting better.  I was practicing real hard when I joined the Coast Guard.  My mom and Joyce both thought it to be a silly pursuit and a waste of good brain cells.  I tried to explain that I was killing off the BAD brain cells first – but they weren’t buying it.  Fortunately I culled the herd and my lone remaining brain cell is apparently immune to alcohol.  Of course it is also very temperamental, moody, and lazy – it also tends to wander and is easily distracted by anything shiny or naked. 
 
If any of you have noted any particular "aptitude" in me you think the test might have missed – I’d appreciate a call or note.  School buses ain’t cheap – and I’d really hate to have to settle for a short one just because I failed a skills and talents test.  In the meantime please pay your taxes, vote for anything the Coast Guard wants, and know that I am not SLEEPING in my office – I am in serious contemplation of the problems that challenge our nation and strategizing (with my eyes closed for better visualization) ways to protect our coast from all enemies, foreign and domestic.
 
If anyone has a good ice cream recipe – please share it…

HAMMERS AND HULA HOOPS

Weird training week. Had to do some work on the bikes. If you know me or are related – at this point your brow is furled and you are worried. I am the son of a man whose mechanical feats include – setting the house on fire; setting a car on fire; installing a new muffler and tail pipe which wrapped tightly around the axle upon moving the car; blowing up a dryer after spending the day wiring it for a 440 outlet (or maybe 220 – is there a difference?); getting stranded on the roof after his artificial leg fell off while fixing our TV antenna; and building the original rooftop carrier for a car – out of wood. In this case the apple lays right directly under the tree. When you see me with tools you should do one of three things, punch me and knock it out of my hand (not a good idea if it’s a power tool like a chainsaw); run – because something’s about to get WRECKED; or call 911 because somebody’s about to get hurt (probably me but I did once nearly amputate one of the kids fingers accidentally). But bicycles are different for me – I have a relationship with bikes. I can tear down a bike to the smallest pieces and put it back together, with only a few parts left over. I understand bikes and know how to get them going. So 2 of our stable of 4 needed work and I set out to fix’m. Joyce left with brow furled and worried look. She kissed me and hugged me like it was our last goodbye. Usually she only lets me use the Playskool plastic work bench and tools (except the hammer) when she isn’t home – but she reluctantly let me keep at it when I promised no electricity and no hammer (even though it’s my favorite). I spent the day pleasantly tinkering and time flew by. Next thing I knew there was Joyce home from work! She looked around nervously (searching for the hammer no doubt) and sighed when I seemed unshaken. I didn’t get the bikes fixed. But here’s how I see it. I was 50% successful. That’s not bad! A baseball player who hits 50% is hitting .500 and is considered a king! Michael Jordan only shot 49.7% career and look how we think about him! I say 50% of my bikes still work so I’m pretty darned good. Some will want to point out that 100% of the bikes I worked on are broken – but that’s just cynical statistics manipulation. It’s not rocket science or brain surgery for crying out loud! You know who said "You’ll miss 100% of shots you don’t take."? Me neither – and if you can connect how that’s even slightly relevant to my argument – let me know. Anyway – saved the best tool for last. It’s that wallet sized piece of plastic I give to the bike fixer guy to get them rolling again. Once I dropped them off and got the estimates, we resumed training with deep breathing exercises. That was after we cleaned up – after Joyce shot soda out her nose and mouth , which came after I told her how much it would be to fix the bikes. Anyway it wasn’t her road bike – nothing wrong with IT except some scrapes, smudges, and hurt feelings from it’s scuffle with the trolley tracks. We found an article about a training program that makes you smile! Merisa Tomei is featured on the cover of one of the fitness mags claiming that hula hooping is great exercise AND fun AND you smile while you do it! NOW that’s something – rather than our teeth gnashing, moaning, sweating, scowling norm. Plus – unlike fitness balls – you can’t fall off a hula hoop and it can’t explode out from under you. So we plunge ahead towards the big ride. Hula lessons, the beach, and fun (I’ve been training for the fun part – I can down a whole bunch of Landshark before passing out now). Joyce is working hard on smiling through pain – I help train her by testing her patience – it’s a work in progress. May have a team forming. We have 5 of us signed in for sure so far and we’re growing. We have an RV and a REAL bike mechanic. If we could sign up a beer guy and someone who could tow a 220 pound guy and his wife for 150 miles – this would be perfect! In the meantime we’ll keep training. Bikes will be fixed this week…

INTERVALS

Training continues, focusing on conditioning and strength Varying the routine so we don’t get burned out on riding (and/or falling). This morning was intervals and weights. Intervals are basically where you do something that sucks at a simmer and then make it really suck by bringing it top a rolling boil for a short time, then back down to low suck – then back up to rolling boiling suck. It’s supposed to increase aerobic capacity and up your lactate threshold. Aerobics are little creatures like amoeba. When you try to run or do strenuous stuff they squeeze the crap out of your lungs and jump on your heart like a trampoline – until you stop. Lactate is acid that juices up your muscles – in case the aerobics aren’t getting through to you – the acid bathes your muscles causing excruciating pain and eventually hardening like cement so you freeze up and collapse. Intervals wake up your aerobics and stir up your lactates until you sprint, at which point they team up to punish you! So we strive to train our aerobics and cool our lactates and make working out suck less. The dogs of course love this as it appears as chaos and great dog fun. First you trot along and then GO CRAZY – fly out to the end of the leash – run like the wind – jump and spin – woof and growl – and back down to a trot… and then do it again! All while the silly humans grunt and sweat and gasp. So I turn up the iPod and get rolling. Up to the first sprint and I look at Sparky and say – GO! She starts off running and I think I hear her say something. When we come back down to jog/walk I pull out my earbud and ask – “Did you say – YOU SUCK?” She rolls her eyes, shakes her head and says “I said BLUE DUCK” “What does that mean?” I ask. She says – “You didn’t see it?” Just shake my head, put my earbud back and get ready for the next sprint. GO! I hear something AGAIN! “Did you call me a bastard?” “C’mom!” she says “I was singing and the song said PLASTERED.” “What song was that?” I ask. “Do I quiz you about your music?” she replies. Turn my music down and get ready for the next round. GO!!! NOW THAT’s IT! “You called me dickweed – I heard it clearly!” “I was pointing out the particular species of weed back there… dickweed.” “DICKWEED? C’mon – that sounds like something I’D make up.” “Quit being a child” she chides. Now I’m not a botanoligist or plantologist – so I really can’t argue whether there really is such a weed – so I say… “Show me a dickweed.” She points in the direction of the grass and says – it’s mixed in with the grass – not hard to find around here – dickweed.” I just decide to let it go and keep on working out. But as we get moving again – it’s MY turn. Now she pulls out her earphone and says “Did you just call me a bitch?” “C’mon now dear – I was merely pointing out the DITCH – wouldn’t want you to fall in!” She lets me get away with it but then I have to stop her again! “WHAT?” “GRASSHOLE! I said GRASSHOLE – that’s what I call DITCHES.” she shouts. Nearing home now and as we hit the driveway she takes off her iPod and says – “You better have said duck pooh.” I just grinned and said “Whatever you think you heard dear.” Tomorrow is physioball – it gives the neighbors a break from us shouting at each other in the street at 530 AM. The dogs love chasing the balls and licking our faces as we lie where we fall off the balls. I’m not sure what it’s good for…

THERE’S NO FALLING IN BIKING…

First it’s important to note that I would stand in front of a speeding tractor trailer to keep my Spark from getting hurt.  I’d ride off a cliff rather than have her fall.  BUT… yesterday I reconned a good training route around New Orleans.  It’s not an easy place to find a safe ride.  We studied it hard and decided on a route I thought would keep us safe and on relatively smooth road (another very hard thing to find here).  We set out with the promise of a good ride and a plan to finish up at Cafe Du Monde for beneighs.  Ride to the ferry went well and we were warmed up and ready to roll.  Next part of the ride was on neutral ground on Canal St.  Pretty spacious and you just have to dodge street cars.  There’s plenty of room.  The Neutral ground is basically a big cement median – probably 40 feet wide.  There’s a good strip down the middle to ride and stay away from street cars.  Need to keep an eye out for crossing tourists and turning motorists at turn arounds.  Stop for the traffic lights and it’s all good.  Only caution I gave Spark was – stay away from the street car rails.  They’ll grab your wheel and pitch you off your bike.  They’re basically just train tracks set into the cement.  40 feet of cement – maybe 20 inches of which is street car tracks.  Warned – "if you have to cross them – cross at a right angle."  40 Feet cement – 20 inches of rail.  Stay away from the rail.  Don’t ride near the rail.  The rail will grab your wheel and you’ll fall.  Did I mention I’d throw myself into burning fire for Sparky? It all went well – we had to cross the rail a couple times but did so at right angles – no problem.  Coming to the end of the neutral ground and getting ready to jump to the street.  That went swimmingly!  One quick dodge around some poles and we’ll cross the street.  There’s a vagrant passing me on a mountain bike (formerly someone elses mountain bike) but he dodges to the other side and Spark (riding behind me) should be fine.  Then – CCCCRRRRAAAAASSSHHHH!!!! – I heard and prayed that Sparky had somehow knocked the vagrant over or he had just fallen (sorry homeless guy – did I mention I’d drive 100mph into a brick wall for her?).  NOpe – I spun around and there she was crumpled in a pile under her bike.  What did I say would happen if you rode in the rails?  40 feet of open cement – 20 inches of rail.  I’ll give you that the poles took up 2 feet – so 38 feet of open cement 20 inches of rail.  She was getting up as I got back – looked to have gone down pretty hard.  I DID NOT SAY "What did I say about the rails?"  I DID NOT SAY "What were you doing riding in the rails?"  I DID NOT say "38 feet of open cement and you decided to ride in this 5 inches?"  I DID check her over and see how she was.  I REALLY hate it when she falls or gets hurt.  I couldn’t understand why she was riding in that 5 inches where the rail was – I think I mentioned that if you ride there – you’ll fall.  So the ride ended – both of us shaken – her a lot worse than me – and she was also hurt and I wasn’t sure how bad.  Turns out good – road rash and some bruising.  She didn’t think she hit her head – but upon futher inspection of the old brain bucket – she had.  That’s about the thousandth time I’ve seen someone saved by that silly bike helmet.  Been hit by cars 3 times – first time – no helmet – no memory of what happened and likely laid unconcious for a time alone.  Next two times – had to replace the helmet – other wise minor inuries – but without the helmet?  Might be even more silly than I already am.  So we limped home – her limping more than me.  I stayed quiet – because all I could think of to say was – "40 feet of cement – 20 inches of rail.  If you ride in the rails – you’ll fall."  She’s fine now and back to training.  I have to admit I have the baddest chick in the world!  Many would probably quit and say no more.  Today’s training lesson – " stay away from train and street car tracks – they’ll throw you off your bike." AND wear your helmet – unless you like the thought of ME pushing on your chest and locking kips with you to help you breath until EMS gets there.  NO HELMET?  Ride with somone else…  By the way – we went straight home… did not pass go… did not collect $200 or get any benieghs – Sparky was bleeding and sore – and I had my tongue clenched between my teeth.  I was afraid if I opened my mouth, out would pop… "40 feet of cement, 20 inches of rails – don’t ride in the rail – use the other 38 feet adn 4 inches."  I thought I would look pretty funny covered in powdered sugar with cafe au lait dripping off my head, and beneighs sticking out of my bike shorts.

DRINKING HEAVILY

Head out for a quick exploratory ride.  Fill two water bottles and out the door. Ride the levy along the mighty Mississippi.  Flyin’ along bewteen 15 – 20 mph – I must be in great shape!  There is that voice in my head saying "You’re not that good jackweed – it’s downhill and wind’s at your back." But what does THAT voice know anyway?  Once I hit the turn around point – I discover a couple of things.  The voice was absolutely RIGHT and I left my water bottles at home.  I actually knew I’d left them a couple of blocks from home but thought it wouldn’t be a big deal.  Now that my lips were sticking to my teeth, my tongue was swelling and sticking to the roof of my mouth, and that brown sticky stuff was forming around my lips (what is that stuff anyway?), – big deal.  I pondered dropping off the levy and stopping at the liquor store with the barred windows and armoured door.  Pictured myself walking in " Eh-cue me d’ ya ha any waaehh?" The clerk looks up from his copy of Hip Hop mag, busts a gold toothed grin and says -"Motherf’r you betta git yo tights wearin’, bucket headed, Lance Armstrong lookin’ self otta her’" "Bu I dy-in o first mifta.."  "Yo gonna b dy-in o’ lead poison you don’t git movin’ out dat doe’ " as he pulls a shotgun out from under the counter.  Decide to move along – thirsty – but not yet THAT thrirsty. Pedal along thinking about how Solomon licks the dew off the grass as we jog in the morning.  He trots along and drops his head every few steps licking lqiuid off the grass as he goes.  It’s late afternoon and all the dew is probably gone… but it’s a thought.  I decide to take a rest.  Gazing out over the river I ponder dipping my hand into the muddy water and grabbing a sip.  It’s fresh water and I could walk right down next to that fisherman taking a leak next to the chemical plant… maybe not. I sit trying my best to work up some spit.  Finally I succumb to the temptation – I bend down and lick the grass.  At that moment I see someone walking a dog and remember that Solomon also pees in the grass.  Now I realize I was right all along – the dew is long gone and I have no way to spit the grass from my mouth or face.  I also believe the blades of grass have sliced my tongue open.  I clamber back up onto my bike and resume my limp home…pedal a few strokes…coast…pedal…coast. Finally home, I fall of my bike, stagger through the house, out the back door, and grab the hose.  I put the hose in my mouth and open the spigot wide open!  Once I finish choking down a couple of gallons, I walk in the house with water spilling from my nose, and running down my chin onto my water soaked self, and gulp down the water bottles I left sitting next to the door before I left.  I believe I’ll add them to my pre-ride checklist next time.

LIVIN’ IT UP

Great day.  Had some "Home Blend" coffee…  Got some work done… sat out on the veranda (It’s the closest thing we have to a veranda here in NOLA) and watched da dogz play.  Worked out with my favorite workout partner.  Wasn’t particularly a cheery workout – but now that it’s done?  GREAT!!! Livin’ it up as we can down here.  Not our favorite place … so far…  BUT we’ve been to "not our favorite places" before and they turned out good.  Change is on the wind and in our heads.  Not sure what changes yet – but 5 years ago we were sitting in a nice ranch just south of Tallahassee and I was Captain of my own ship!  7 years ago I was marching and running around with my Army pals at Army camp in El Paso – while the family was takin’ care of bsuiness in NJ.  Last year we were in Key West – living large and spending lots of time on our dock.  SO this won’t last forever either.  That could be good or it could be sad.  Can’t picture being too sad looking at NOLA in the rearview – but we felt the same way about Key West when we left the first time 24 years ago!  Well… it’s Tuesday and we have to go get CAKE so we have something to eat while we watch the Biggest Loser tonight. Love to knock around with Sparky.  The dogs are giving us the "don’t you two have something to do so we can sleep?" look.  We have to use what littLe time off we get together wisely – so we’ll go shop!  The alternatives are clean house, do laundry, pay bills, wash the car, fix the bikes… Shop it is!!!

KENYANS AND THE EASTER BUNNY

 

Got up yesterday morning feeling like a cheetah; ready to run the race and WIN!!!   Avoiding mirrors – which do not always accurately reflect the person or animal you think you are (and having no need to be reminded of being a pudgy white-haired 50 something) – I lithely made my way to wake up the young male cheetah and my mate the mother cheetah.  Ducking obscenities and thrown pillows from both, I slunk down and lapped up some water and nourishment before heading out to the plains.  We 3 cheetahs  ambled through the 22,000 strong herd of Whodats, unnoticed and unacknowledged for our graceful speed.  At the sound of the gun our hearts leapt and we were off with everyone unaware that they were about to be consumed by the Pierce cheetahs.

 

Have you ever wondered about how people train and prepare for races?  I, for example, lace up my running shoes early morning, leash up my two boxers – one of which is an "anytime, anything" dog and the other who is NOT a morning dog and requires some encouragement (teeth gritting whisper yelling)to leave her warm bed.  We are very careful to not disturb Joyce – she trains on an alternate training schedule which DOES NOT include early morning runs.

 

Let’s contrast that with some Kenyans.  The Kenyans – get up earlier in the morning look down at their running shoe-like feet and head out to find some gazelles (to my knowledge there aren’t many boxers in Kenya).

 

I run around a quiet secure military base – dragging my quirky – want to smell everything and pee on stuff – dogs.  The Kenyans – grab the draft of the leaping gazelles and are off on a non-stop glide. Kenyans DO NOT have to stop and scoop poop.  I am generally (as long as I stay inside the fence line) a consumer in the food chain – nothing hunting me or smacking it’s lips for a taste of me here.  Kenyans, on the other hand, are a few links  lower in their chain.  They are actually a menu item for some of the local wildlife and need to be alert and fleet of foot.  The Kenyans are breathing in fresh unfouled African air – while I’m stuck breathing whatever’s still smoldering from out in the hood or rolling in from across the river.

 

    

 You can start to see some inequities here; the disadvantage of being a runner in this country.  Sparing the details of the run – we were beaten by the Kenyans.  In a twisted turn – they were beaten by an Ethiopian – who had the training advantage of disciplined diet.  We – the Pierce cheetahs – were interfered with from the start by Whodats that wouldn’t get the heck out of the way and some who had the audacity to run faster than us.  Of course there were also the running Whodats pulling the coolers full of Jell-O-shots and PBR.  IN the end we settled in behind a couple of tie-dyed skirt clad college girls dressed as Easter Bunnies.  They set a good pace and despite what Joyce accused – I didn’t even notice their bunny tails.  Hooters has good wings, Playboy has good articles, and – those girls were running a great pace – I never notice the tails.  My story and I’m sticking to it.

 

SO we made it – ran every step.  Longest run ever for Joyce and it was great to do it with her!   That cheetah thing?  I decided I like sloths – they’re cool and I CAN beat them.   As far as the Kenyans and Ethiopians?  I suppose I could trade in my boxers for gazelles, maybe start running out in the ‘hood with money hanging out of my pockets or dragging raw meat (pit bulls)and maybe get the speed of a Kenyan.  But you know what?  The Kenyans can outrun lions all they want – I’ll stick with chasing bunnies.

 

HAPPY EASTER and I definitely BELIEVE – in the EASTER BUNNY!!!

 

LEAVING KEY WEST

We got a laptop!  How we got it, is embedded in the following spew – so if you care – read on.  If not hit delete and have a great day – it was good hearing from us.  You ever watch a dog throw up?  There’s a process to it… a ritual.  First there’s the realization that something is amiss in the lower regions of the body.  Either it starts making funny gurgling sounds or maybe it just doesn’t feel right.  The obligatory sniff and examination of the belly yeilds no clue and the feeling’s gettin’ worse.  Now Rover’s given a look – it’s time to get up and start panting because something isn’t right and this could end bad!!!  Time to go and find a human.  On the way to the human – druel starts – along with frantic tongue licking and swallowing. BUT swallowing seems to trigger a REEEAAL bad thing.  Now comes the inchworm thing – back to front – undulating like trying to squeeze toothpaste out of a tube.  Here comes that darned human…  yelling "NO, NO, NOT ON THE CARPET – get outside!!!"  Eyes bugging, every muscle sqeezing the inchworm crawl, and frantic licking and swallowing the dog just stands in front of you until… BBLLLCCHHH…there it is.  Now, there stands Fido over the remains of what he probably shouldn’t have eaten awhile back… and there’s the look… "Boss something real wrong just happened and I’m sorry…"  Hanging his head and does one of the grossest things we can think of " Here boss I’ll clean it up…"  NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!  
 
So what in the hell does this have to do with this laptop?  Well my head is full of stuff.  Kind of like a dog’s stomach.  I collect lots of stuff – not always stuff that means anything or has any relevance.  And sometimes I have to purge – sometimes that stuff rolls around in my head like rancid milk.  Up until now I had to go find a computer – not always practical or readily available.  I could store it – but that isn’t practical because sometimes my thoughts are like big ugly bugs the dog ate.  They need to get OUT!!!  So often I’m left talking to myself and spilling thoughts randomly as the mood strikes – a little strange by some people’s measure.  NOW I have an outlet!!!  There’s NO limits to where I can write from… which has Sparky a bit concerned.
 
BUT from you’re perspective – I could be that inchworming, lapping, licking, swallowing dog and you’re yelling "NO GET OUTSIDE!!!"  BLCH!!!….Well here it is.  There’s a delete button up there somewhere – just use it if you need.
 
TRAVELOGUE: KEY WEST to NOLA
 
Left Key West Friday early afternoon after the all hands award ceremony at work.  OK OK – that’s not true – the PLAN was to leave Friday after the awards ceremony – BUT – the awards ceremony was Thursday and I wasn’t done getting my crap together until around 5PM Friday (who made that plan anyway?).  So instead we left before dawn on Saturday morning to head up the Keys and watch the sunrise.  OK – that isn’t how it happened either.  The sun was well up by the time we started the crawl up the Keys and we were late enough to have lunch in Key something.  The trip was slow and reverent as we tried to break free of the gravity of Key West.   I also was kind of worn down from having 5 going away parties, drinking a years worth of Landshark, and at some point having shots FORCED down my throat!!! I had to drive through some thick fog.  Of course Jimmy sang us out of the Keys as we pondered what was and what will be.  Key West in the rearview – NOLA out the windshield.  Gotta go check out the area "Down Around Biloxi" and check out life "off towards New Orleans".  

We made it through the Everglades without getting eaten by a gator (Sparky’s measure of success).  Inched up the west coast and crested the Skyway while the sun was still hanging a fist or so above the Gulf.  Spent a couple of days in Clearwater – doing mainland stuff like shopping at Target and Walmart.  Good thing here was that I wore Joyce down.  Answered every question "I
don’t know dear.  If I had a computer I could tell you."  She finally tired of it and got me this here laptop… writes pretty good I think.  Then it was on to Pensacola where we spent the night with friends before heading off towards New Orleans.  We gained an hour back!!!  Got a do over!!!  What if we could take that hour and have any hour of our lives back?  What would you chose?  My answer comes up fast –  but can’t share – it’s stuff that comes out while lying on a couch telling the headpoker about your childhood- it remains best kept tucked away in a dark corner in my brain cell.  But wouldn’t it be something?  Spark and I spent our do over – staring out the windows on I-10.
 
Pulled into the Big Easy and got our house.  Now we’re mired in packing boxes and paper, arguing about what goes where, and trying to find the nearest damn mini-mart!  Getting lost a lot and trying to understand the local lingo.  Working to shrink things down to rational size.  3 years in Key West changes your perspective and makes things "up here" look real big and scary.  If you saw Hoosiers you saw the coach measure out the basketball court in the championship arena to show his team, that even though it looked like a giant monster sized placed, it was, in fact just a normal sized basketball court.  Well we’re busy laying out that tape and convincing ourselves that NOLA is just another place, even though it looks much larger than Key West, and we’ll do fine.
 
Couple of lessons learned so far.  The house here is big enough to have "ends".  Like we can be at different ends of the place – and there’s an upstairs.  The dogs need to do some normalizing.  They have a hell of a time figuring out where we went when we left a room.  Sometimes when we call them from another room – they just won’t come – I think they’re frustrated and tired of trying to guess where we went.  In Key West we were all at the same end of the house because we only had one end and – it was almost like one room divided. 
 
OH!!! We also learned that it will be a "bikable" commute – BUT – NOLA is a city and outside of the French Quarter is city traffic and our Townies don’t do so well there.  WHEEEW!!! that was quite an intense experience I think we made the news. "Two unknown idiots tied up traffic in the business district today by BIKING" on Poydras St.  The rebel cyclists angered and frustrated shocked drivers as they pedaled down the busy city steet.  They eluded police as they ducked onto side streets and were last seen heading toward the French Quarter.  New Olreans police initiated a "Chartruese Alert"  – which is the Amber Alert system color for idiots.  Motorists should report sightings of the bicycists to NOLA police and should not approach the pair as they’re obvioulsy unstable.  They should be considered stupid and hazardous.  The man and woman cyclists were riding run down bikes one detective called "Conch Cruisers" – apparently a type of bike riden down in tiny Key West.  The woman had some type of demon strapped to the front of her bike, and both people were wearing helmets and flip flops.  Citzens are reminded that for MANY REASONS it is unsfae to ride bikes through downtown neighborhoods and on busy NOLA streets."  We’ll chalk that up as a once in a lifetime thing and consider thank God for giving us a second chance at life.  No tire tracks or bullet holes on either body – one more piece of evidence that God does watch out for fools. 
 
SO that’s it from the laptop for now.  My head feels much better after getting that all out.  Time to go try to find that damned Target again… it sucks having too many streets and more than one way to get to things.  I miss U S 1 – where the one stands for one way in and one way out!!! Hard to get lost in that world!
 
By the way, Jimmy doesn’t talk much about the opposite of Conky Tonkin’ or tell us how to have fun leaving the Keys…  so just like our heroes Lenny and Bella – we remain "…quite a pair of pioneers" but we’re a bit lost on what we’re doing right now.  Conky Tonkin’ was a blast though!!!

We’ll be back…

BIKES DON’T BELONG HERE

As I was riding down Duval today, I stopped and waited for a hurried tourist and her husband to step out in front of me and cross the street (we can all relate).  I offered up my nicest smile and nod to the visitors.  The woman gave me a disgusted sideways glance while declaring to her husband and making sure it was loud enough for me to benefit too, "Bikes don’t belong down here!"
 
I paused to retrieve the piece of tongue I had bitten off and rode on.  Decided to take a trip ’round the island and ponder the wise stranger’s proposal.  Maybe she was right, maybe bikes don’t belong here.  I’ve always had a spooky feeling that bike stores and bike rental places were purveyors of evil and promoters of moral corruption.  Selling machines that run to the flowing movement of the lower body.  Encouraging people to use something that can easily stir up endorphins.  How can we ever become completely paralyzed by obesity and oil dependence so long as we encourage human power?
 
As far as I could see down Duval, I counted around 20 bikes – there were surely tons more – I just couldn’t see past the cars.  There was a line of 15 or so cars and trucks obediently starting and stopping at the command of the traffic lights.  As I glided past the line of cars I thought; If we took just those 20 bikers and put them in cars – we could completely fill the space between the lights and use Duval Street much more efficiently.  If some of those cars had locals in them – we could have later opening times at all the businesses since we would be enjoying more time sitting our our air conditioned bubbles – staring at the car ahead while listening to the radio – while waiting in line to find a parking space – so we could get to work to make money to pay for gas and parking. 
 
As I cut off Duval to some of those deserted side streets and alleys where us pesky locals live and travel, I thought; maybe we could get our own traffic chopper.  It would give our local radio stations more to talk about and report.  If all of us that ride bikes, get in cars – we’ll have some real traffic to talk about – maybe we can get GRIDLOCK – we could rename it Conch-stipation!
 
If we got rid of bikes we could trash the bike lanes.  We could widen our streets!  I’m sure the folks on Southard and Fleming would gladly give up some yard to widen the streets.  We could 2 lane them, increase speed limits, rid the neighborhoods of those pesky bikes, and have more cars!
 
As I scooted past the Southern Most Point monument, I realized how rude of me it was to pass all that traffic.  I should certainly wait my turn!  How distracting it must be for the tourists, trying to get a peak from their cars or standing in the street blocking traffic, to have me breeze on past.  I was starting to get it… this is no place for bikes!
 
Cruising through the neighborhood around the Casa Marina, it hit me that we could do away with all of the bike racks in town and maybe, since we’d need more parking, we could knock down some of those stupid old pirate houses the Conch Train people talk about and build some parking lots. 
 
Down past Higgs Beach and the Rainbow Pier the picture became even clearer!  If we get rid of bikes – maybe some of those people down there – (you know the ones that hang around the picnic tables and drink and sleep and stuff) would go away – since they wouldn’t be able to get around on bikes anymore.
 
Hitting South Roosevelt along Smather’s, the fresh breeze and salt air hit me.  I felt sorry for myself and knew that if bikes were outlawed, I’d be behind the wheel of a car and not getting all wind blown and sticky.  I guess it must really stink trying to get pictures of the ocean and beach with all of us bikes in the way.  Heaven forbid you have to open the window, let out all the A/C and get that sticky, smelly salt air in your car!
 
Coming back along North Roosevelt I had the epiphany of epiphanies.  I caught sight of a stingray gliding along in the shallows – right there alongside where I was riding!  I recalled the day I came by there and a fisherman pulled a 3 foot barracuda out of the water and laid him across the sidewalk.  This is dangerous – what if I fell and landed on the stingray or barracuda (we’re all now sadly aware of the damage stingray barbs can do)!  I looked at the long line of traffic backed up at the light on Roosevelt and recalled the throngs of tourists clogging Duval!  They certainly weren’t in the dangerous position I had put me and my bike in.  Right then and there I committed to throw my bike in the water and get in my car and drive everywhere from now on.  Bikes do not belong here. 
 
Having my mind and eyes opened by that wise tourist – I imagined her snorkeling the reef and declaring "Fish don’t belong here".  It’s a great and freeing line of thought – imagine yourself touring the Amazon and enlightening the local tribes – "Trees don’t belong here!"  Or maybe on safari in Africa – "Animals don’t belong here!"  You gotta love our tourists and be thankful they see most of the island from the safety of of a cool car.  Otherwise – some of those un-named cross town back streets might be crowded with wobbly gawking out-of towners – slowing us down from getting where we’re pedaling too.