Tour De Dork

I haven't been doing much exercising and, like everyone else, have decided to turn things around for the new year.

On Wednesday night I noticed that the local gym was having a cycling promotion and thought that would be right down my alley. You have to ride the exercise bike at the gym varying distances, three times a week for 6 weeks. No problem.

They also accumulated your time over each of the "stages" and had a prize for the fastest riders. Even better !

Except....week 1 is from the 25th to the 31st, which gave me two days to get the first three rides in....AND the gym closes at 1 pm on New Year's Eve.

Undeterred I figured that I could ride two courses last night and one course this morning at 6 am.

I got to the gym last night with about 1 hour before close and looking at about 45 minutes of ride time. The first course was only 3.5 miles in distance so rather than waste time on a warm-up, I figured I'd get right into it. When I was fit ( and younger) I could hold 300+watts for an hour, so I'd just do this first course at 275 watts, a modest pace, get through the first course as a good warm-up and then really light it on first for the second ride.

I sat down, hit start and started pounding away at 275 watts. " Hmmmm, something must be stuck", I thought and looked around. No, nothing was stuck. Apparently in the couple of years that I've stopped riding seriously, 275 watts has become difficult.

Undeterred I pressed on holding 275 watts and watched my heart rate go up 155....165.....172.....173..... the last mile I was up out of the saddle grunting and dumping waves of sweat on the poor old man out on a leisurely ride on the bike next to me.

Finally I stopped the clock at 9:40 and lay slumped over the bike, making a spectacle of myself, and doing my best to not throw up all over the gym floor.

Before I could start the next course I had to find someone to take dowm my time. After some searching I finally found the guy who works there spotting someone, " Hey can you give me hand ?"

" Can you wait until after I'm done spotting this guy ?", he asked.

" I really can't", I said, " I have to do another ride and I just need you for a second, I"m sorry."

So the guy stopped what he was doing and followed me back to my bike, " What seems to be the problem ?" he asked.

" There's no problem.", I said, "I just need you to record my time so I can do course number two."

" Huh ?", he looked at me funny

" For the Tour De Gym...my time....I want to ride a second course, can you please record my time ?", A pool of sweat was, literally, forming around me and I was still panting.

He raised his eyebrows, sort of smiled, and raised a finger. " Hang on", he said, and walked into the back room.

He came back with a three ring binder and asked, " THIS Tour De Gym ?" he asked pointing at the cover of the book which read TOUR DE GYM.

" Yeah, EXACTLY !" What was this guys problem ?

" THIS Tour De Gym ?", he asked a second time, except this time, with a big smile on this face, he was pointing at the bottom part of the cover which read....

starts JANUARY 25, 2010.

" Yeah ", I said, " exactly."

They applaud...

...then go to work on Monday.

Merry Christmas

No Sophia its FIGGY pudding....FIGGY....with an "I" not an "A".

Merry Christmas

Out with the old king, in with the new

It looks like a big ole Bush-Obama Alley-Oop.

Bend over America.


Barack Obama, a once-in-a-generation political talent whose graceful conquest of America's racial dragons en route to the White House inspired the entire world, has for some reason allowed his presidency to be hijacked by sniveling, low-rent shitheads

The point is that an economic team made up exclusively of callous millionaire-assholes has absolutely zero interest in reforming the gamed system that made them rich in the first place.

Typical night

After some stressful days I was really looking forward to a quiet Monday night spent watching Allen Iverson's return to the Sixers.

Around 7 pm, after organizing the kids, checking their homework, feeding them, cleaning up the kitchen, and the half dozen other things that need to be done, I settled in and watched the introduction to " You Six-ahhhhs Stahhhh-tahhhhs !"

Right before tip-off my daughter informed me that she needed me to edit a paper she wrote. I told her that it would have to wait but was informed that (a) it was due the next morning and (b) it was about her pledge to not do drugs and delaying the process might lessen her committment to a drug free lifestyle. ( she's effectively manipulative like that)

She after 10 minutes of instruction I finally got her to email to me so that I could edit it on my laptop and still watch the game....and of course finish the online poker tournament that I had open and read my emails.

So still hanging onto some sense of relaxation I started editing the document when the boy walked in, " Hey awesome Iverson !" and plopped down next to me. He started his usual routine, figiting, tossing a ball up and down, chewing on the fingernails and sticking his head in front of my screen to see what I'm doing and reading aloud ( alternately) the anti-drug screed and my hole cards usually in the form of a question.

" I'm committed to a drug free lifestlye... ( shuffle)... Jack - seven you should bet right ?..( toss the ball)..alcohol is bad...(knock something over)..why did you fold ?...(pick a wedge)... Oooo Iverson just scored, isn't he on Memphis ? Hey where did the poker screen go ?"

Its like living with an epileptic Alex Trebek.

Finally I couldn't take it, " GO OVER THERE AND STOP MOVING !"

I finished the email and sent to my daughter. Of course she couldn't get the printer to work.

I went over to the printer, started working, and a face appeared two inches away from me cheek to cheek, " Hey, do you know what the problem is ?....(shuffle)....Did you check the printer cartridge ?...( bounce, bounce)....Is there paper in it ?..."

" OUT ! GET OUT ! GO UPSTAIRS !!!!"

" Geeze,. what's wrong with him", and the boy headed upstairs.

I just about got the printer working when I heard SMASH..." OW!" and my daughter and I ran upstairs to find glass shards everywhere and the boy bleeding and running his hand under the kitchen faucet. " Ummm, I cut my finger"

He had been tossing a Christmas ornament around like a ball and in broke in his hand.

" GODDAMMIT !", I started freaking out. " GET OVER HERE."

I threw two band-aids on the kid and my daughter started in on me, " Did you put neosporin on it ? Mom says if you don't put neosporin on it that its going to get infected ? I saw you didn't put in on, he's going to get and infected finger, Yourgoingtogetandinfectedfingeryoubetterputsomeneosporiinthererightnow...or I'm telling Mom !"

That's when I really lost it. I started screwaming and speaking in tongues and chasing kids around. When my wife finally got home she found noe kid hiding in the basement, the boy in the bathroom off the kitchen, and me on the kitchen floor with a dustbuster picking up glass and talking to myself.

" What's going on....", she started...

" DON'T ASK !"

That's when I heard the following. FLUSH.......FLUSH.......FLUSH......"UH-OH".

" Open the door"

" I don't want to open the door"

" OPEN the door"

" I really don't think its a good idea that I open the door"

" OPEN THE DOOR"

" OK, but I don't think that its going to go well"

The boy, holed up in the bathroom, had decided that rather than run the risk of having to deal with the maniac outside the bathroom, that a more reasonable solution to running out of toilet paper was to tear up a toilet paper roll and wipe with that. He hadn't accounted for the "flush factor".

I left him with a trashbag, a pair of gloves, and a plunger before I left for the bar.

So What

Why do you think Myrtle Beach has all those strip clubs and Cialis sponsors all those PGA Tour events.

Golfers are horny baby...yeahhhhh.

Pretty much everyone knew this was going to be the story 4 days ago. Can we all move on now ? **



** Unless my wife is reading this, in which case I find this whole sorrid afair to be disgusting.

A. I.

I like how he breaks it down like a cross over right around 2:37

surprise reaction

Anytime everyone is mad at you you've done something wrong...
unless you're a politician...
then if everyone is mad at you, you're probably doing something right.

I watched Obama's speech tonight as a bit of a skeptic. He's been a disappointment to me so far.

But I was plesantly surprised but what he had to say. What I like was him making some definative committment to transparency, the settings of deadlines, and broad vision. I still don't believe that he's likely to deliver, but it was nice to see such a significant departure in rhetoric.

So my first trip was over to Fox to see them lambaste him. Those guys barely made a stink. Then O'Reilly came on said a few words and spent the rest of the time talking about the hair style of the chick who snuck into the White House.

Then I went over to MSNBC and pretty much everyone over there half heartedly busted Obama's balls. Olberman couldn't even get excited.

i think perhaps he's stumped them all with reason.

Strap yourselves in

52 hours sober

something has to give

hide your women and show shovels

this is almost a haikuu

For all you sucker MC's perpetratin a FRAUD

You're the kind of guy that girl ignored
I'm drivin Caddy, you fixin a FORD

while waiting for parent teacher conferences..

...I saw this in the hall.

I laughed through the whole conference.

smooth criminal

Starbucks was empty ( or so I thought) today and I walked in giving the girls behind the counter the usual rash of shit, " get me my coffee...what's taking so long ?!" which is typcial of the friendly banter I have with my dealers...I mean coffee vendors.

I went back and forth with the girl at the counter until we were interrupted by some laughing. A good looking professional woman ( professional is in buisness woman...not prostitute so far as I could tell) was standing next to me laughing started chatting me up. We exchanged plesantries and out the door she went.

When I turned back around to get my coffee the girls behind the counter started howling. " SHE WAS TOTALLY TRYING TO PICK YOU UP !"

get outta here

" NO WAY MAN, AHAHAHAH, you were totally getting hit on"

So I turned back around to see the woman walking to her car and began to laugh with the girls.

Then I had an epiffany. I realized girls weren't laughing at HER...the girls were laughing at US.

Along the dividing line of "hip" there are cool young people and bungling has-beens...and I was on the wrong side of that counter.


Starbucks: The coffee is the $2. The shattered self image is free !

Don't Cry For Me Argenina

I woke my son up the this morning singing the theme to Evita in my best Ricky Riccardo voice.

" DON'T CRY FOR ME ARCH-IN-TIIIINE-JAAAA"

" ok I'm up already "


" THE TRUST IS I NEVER LEFT CHUUUU"


"cut it out !"


" ALL THROUGH MY WILD DAY AND MAD EXISTANCE "

" shut....up"

" I KEPT MY PROMISE "

" your so friggin weird "

" DON'T KEEP YOUR DEEES-TENSE "

" mooooooooommmmmmmmmmmm !"

Before my wife could yell at me for stirring up trouble or accuse me not knowing that Evita was a woman is said "Lucy, you got some 'splainin' to do! " and walked out the door.

I suspect they're changing the locks right now.

Losing my grip

I played with my father and uncle over the weekend at a beautiful but difficult course in New Jersey.

10 minutes after parking my car, I realized I was in New Jersey. 4 Italians stood on the tee trying to cut and light their cigars while 45 carts full of Asians patiently waited to go off the first tee. Finally the starter came out and suggested the gentlemen consider teeing off.

The four guys, of course playing from the back tees, proceeded to boomerang four balls into the woods and spent another 10 minutes calling the starter a motherfucker and blaming their shots ( not on their horrible swings) on being rushed off the tee. And you know these are the same 4 guys who would have called the starter a motherfucker if he wasn't chasing the people ahead of THEM.

Of course they never played their balls in the woods, but instead dropped four balls in the fairway as compensation for this grave injustice. I suspect they were lawyers and or Catholics.

Using duct tape and kite string I cobbled together a 40 on the front nine and headed into the back with the hope of breaking 80 on a really challenging course.

On the par 5 12th hole I hit a great drive and was sitting at the 200 yard marker with the hope of reaching in two and going either eagle or birdie when my approach shot clipped the tip of the thinnest, barest, single branch hanging just over the edge of the fairway and the ball dropped just short of the green. OK, fine then....no worries...I'll just chip it on, one or two putt and get out of there.

The area around this particular hole looked like the front lawn of the White House. As far as you could seen in every direction was a vast ocean of perfectly groomed, emerald green grass. The entire area was unblemished except for one spot....one singular silver dollar size spot of bare dirt in the entire expanse of land between the tee and the green...and it was the spot diretly under my ball.

Now I was getting a little bit pissed off.

Between myself and the hole was a sand bunker, and behind the hole was some deep rough. I needed to pick this ball off the dirt patch, clear the bunker, but have enough loft so the ball wouldn't roll off the back and into the deep grass. Its wasn't impossible but it was going to necessitate a very good shot.

I took a calming breath and addressed the ball. I locked in and drew the club back slowly and.....WHIRRRRRRRRR......CLUNK....WHIRRRRRRRRRRR. Right in the middle of my back swing, the cart girl came buzzing around and evergreen tree full speed and right past me. CLUNK my ball went on a line drive over the bunker, past the hole, and disappeared off the green in 4 inches of thick rough on the other side. Furious, I spun around to say something, but she kept going by with a smile and a wave. She headed over the the next hole to sell some beer to the guys ahead of us.

The bitch was wearing a Yankees hat.

So now I"m really steaming but all is not lost. If I could somehow get the ball onto the green I could still possibly get a par and at least a bogey. And that's the torture of the game - from eagle to bogey from 10 yards out. Again I tried to calm myself and stay in the moment. My ball was sitting down in the grass and the only way to get it out of there was to make a daring play. Despite a short distance to the hole, I had to open up the face, make a full swing, and get under the ball. Anything more than that and I would go over the green. Anything less than that and the ball would only move a few inches.

I took a half dozen practice swings to build my courage, got comfortable and addressed the ball. I drew the club all the way back and coiled myself for a full swing.....WHIRRRRRRRRRRRRR.....CLUNK. Right at the apex of my swing that Derek Jeter loving bitch came flying by again. My club slammed into the ground a good half foot behind the ball and the chunck of dirt went next to the hole while my ball moved about an inch and a half.

Angrily I spun around to see her driving off into the distance. Insane with rage I lifted my wedge over my head like a tomahawk and in an act of defiance hurled it at the cart. Now I recognize that I'm crazy, but I'm not criminal. I threw the club at the girl, but she was a good 30 yards away in a cart going 10 miles per hour. I've done enough 5th grade math problems concerning trains leaving New York and Boston to know that by the time my club got to where she was, she'd be another 30 yards away oblivious to my outburst.

What they don't factor in for 5th grade is that the train leaving Boston might suddenly stop if the conductor mistakes your yelling " Bitch !" for you yelling " BEER !"

What had been an outburst of protest was turning into criminal assault at 20 yards and closing. The wedge spun end over end, implausibly on a dead trajectory for the Yankees logo. My father and my Uncle, who up to this point had simply been observers were about to become accomplices and suddenly, thankfully, they started screaming.... " GO ! GO ! GO !" and vigorously waving at the girl to get moving.

" Wha...?"

" GOOOOOOOO ! For the love of christ, GOOOOOOO !"

The girl was oblivious to her fate, but the look on my fathers face and he started waving and running across the green must have been enough because she hit the gas and started moving again.

SMASH...the club hit the back of the lunch cart portion of the vehicle with a crash. The girl paused again, look around confused, and drove off.

My hope is that she assumed it was an errant ball, but just to be safe I tipped her $6 the next time around. And I congratulated her on the Series.

Enough about Floyd

Every morning my newsfeed informs me of Floyd Landis' standing in the Tour of Southland or whatever meaningless race is going on in the southern hemisphere.

Besides the absurdity of listing the result of anyone else besides the leader, it made me consider, " who the hell is Floyd Landis ?"

He gets treated as cycling royalty and gets mentioned as a rider of the same class as Contador and Armstrong, but really, what has the guy accomplished ?

The ONLY year that they guy achieve ANYTHING is 2006...the year he got caught cheating.

Other than that his two biggest results are a win at the Tour of Algarve...booya...and a local USCF event, the Boulevard Road Race...which includes as a winner Heath Blackgrove who ironically enough is winning the our of Southland although no one outside of his mother actually knows about it.

And this is the fundamental problem with limited punishment for a cheating peice of crap like Landis. He's a guy who cheated the sport, then cheated friends and family out the their money with his bullshit legal defense fund, and who took resources away from WADA and USADA's ability to catch other dopers while the dealt with his bullshit appeal after appeal.

And in the end, riders like Oscar Piero, Heath Blackgrove, and countless others scrape together a living in cycling anonymity - while Landis continues to prosper and financially benefit from the exposure garnered ONLY through results and notoriety he achieved while cheating.

OK, silly picture time courtesy Marcie (thanks!)

This Is Water - DFW

In the day-to-day trenches of adult life, there is actually no such thing as atheism. There is no such thing as not worshipping. Everybody worships. The only choice we get is what to worship. And an outstanding reason for choosing some sort of God or spiritual-type thing to worship -- be it J.C. or Allah, be it Yahweh or the Wiccan mother-goddess or the Four Noble Truths or some infrangible set of ethical principles -- is that pretty much anything else you worship will eat you alive.

If you worship money and things -- if they are where you tap real meaning in life -- then you will never have enough. Never feel you have enough. It's the truth. Worship your own body and beauty and sexual allure and you will always feel ugly, and when time and age start showing, you will die a million deaths before they finally plant you.

On one level, we all know this stuff already -- it's been codified as myths, proverbs, clichés, bromides, epigrams, parables: the skeleton of every great story. The trick is keeping the truth up-front in daily consciousness. Worship power -- you will feel weak and afraid, and you will need ever more power over others to keep the fear at bay. Worship your intellect, being seen as smart -- you will end up feeling stupid, a fraud, always on the verge of being found out. And so on.

Look, the insidious thing about these forms of worship is not that they're evil or sinful; it is that they are unconscious. They are default-settings. They're the kind of worship you just gradually slip into, day after day, getting more and more selective about what you see and how you measure value without ever being fully aware that that's what you're doing. And the world will not discourage you from operating on your default-settings, because the world of men and money and power hums along quite nicely on the fuel of fear and contempt and frustration and craving and the worship of self.

Our own present culture has harnessed these forces in ways that have yielded extraordinary wealth and comfort and personal freedom. The freedom to be lords of our own tiny skull-sized kingdoms, alone at the center of all creation. This kind of freedom has much to recommend it. But of course there are all different kinds of freedom, and the kind that is most precious you will not hear much talked about in the great outside world of winning and achieving and displaying. The really important kind of freedom involves attention, and awareness, and discipline, and effort, and being able truly to care about other people and to sacrifice for them, over and over, in myriad petty little unsexy ways, every day.

This Is Water, David Foster Wallace

How do you stack up ?

Remember the President Council on Physical Fitness tests you did in school as a kid ? Yeah the ones where you could just about do all the stuff except for the pull ups...and then you'd get pissed because the all the girls had to do was the flexed arm hang.

Anyway I looked those up yesterday.

Standards for 17 year old to meet the 85th percentile

Boys
55 sit-ups in 1 minute
8.7 second shuttle run
6:06 for the mile
53 push-ups ( not timed but continuous)
13 pull-ups

Those friggin pull-ups got me AGAIN !

Here the link for all the standards.

Home Run

IOZ consistantly hits it out of the park

As benedictory aphorisms go, "every vote counts" is right up there with your mother telling you that everyone is special and your coach reminding you that it doesn't matter if you win or lose, it's how you play the game. Obviously some poeople are more special than others, and no one remembers the sportsmanlike conduct of Dallas in Superbowl X. The conceit of representative democracy, particularly when linked to state capitalism, is that procedural participation makes citizens into shareholders. There is a certain truth to this. But just as getting a yearly proxy statement and invitation to the annual meeting does not confer upon each small investor even marginal influence on the direction of GE, or whichever, nor yet does the franchise offer citizens much more than a semiannual opportunity to pretend that they matter, should they so desire. And, hell, that is part of the bargain. The small investor becomes a shareholder in order to gain benefit even though he holds no particular authority, has no say, exerts no influence, and bears no special responsibility. He's just along for the ride, but for the PR purposes of our so-called free markets, we are willing to entertain the ritual but un-literal truth that each shareholder is an "owner." Meanwhile, most shareholders haven't even got so direct a link as the independent investor, but simply gain by membership in some larger, institutional investment pool, some mutual fund or pension plan or what have you. Our democracy tracks similar lines via voters and affinity groups, and so long as the percieved value of our tiny shares is on the increase, we are content; when it decreases, we are not; but at no point do we have any say in the decisions made by those who actually own the joint.

and now your funny picture

funny pic of the day

There's happy...

Then there's Little Kid Happy