All in a Mouse's Night pt. 2

Winter has not so suddenly arrived around here. Hard to believe a couple of weeks ago this time it was 70 F with folks moaning about the hot weather. Last night it was 18 F and is so supposed to be around 10 F tonight. Now people are moaning about the cold. I figure God would have said Himself a lot of whining if He made us humans impervious to the weather. Of course, we'd surely find something else to complain about. Probably that the weather never changes. And some ambulance chaser somewhere would probably offer to file suit on behalf of the humankind. And then the smiting would begin.

Or people would be forced to run marathons, which reminds me...

So after a not terribly hectic, but still quite fun, morning and early afternoon in the Magic Kingdom, we called it a day and headed back to the room for the remainder of the day. Since my annual pass was still valid, it wasn't really much of a financial loss for me. It was a personal loss, however. Nothing like leaving the happiest place on Earth shortly after lunch to spend the rest of the day lying around a hotel room.

Stacy, the inescapable, ever perky, always-on-the-go guide to the top 7 must-see attractions at WDW tried to keep me entertained visually. Her's is a noble quest that I always enjoy checking in on. However, since WDW hasn't updated her channel in 3 years I know she's still going to find those "pretzels und bier" in Germany and that she really gets a hold of that shot on the 12th tee. Noteworthy, perhaps, is that the reference to free water-powered wedgies at Typhoon Lagoon (her comment after finishing Summit Plummit in previous versions) has been removed.

Guess they charge for those now as well.

Andy would say they charge for everything else.

Being as the marathon started at 6 am, we needed to be on the monorail a little after 4 am. All of which meant we had to wake up a little after 3 am. A time in which I rarely am awake and if am, not really eager to hit the trail for a easy 26.2. But duty called, and I was a bit surprised at how ready I was to get up and go. By the time the monorail arrived at Epcot, I had completely forgotten it was the middle of the night.

Of course, they had the parking lot lit with enough flood lights to land an air force squadron, huge video screens blaring all manner of stuff that no one seemed to be paying any attention to and a sound system whose bass could be heard before we exited the monorail. I suppose it's all designed to WAKE YOU UP!!!

Even though this was my third marathon and I knew what to expect before, during and after, I'd be lying if I said as the monorail glided into the station I wasn't wondering just what the hell am I doing? With all the training, motivation and excitement there was really no need for worry. Still, whenever I get there it's hard not to consider, however briefly, that I probably should have spent the previous months pounding my shins with a hammer and then I wouldn't be in this mess. Thankfully, that always quickly subsides, and I was on the verrrrrrrrrry long walk to the starting line before I knew it.

Although the official start of the marathon is at Epcot, it's actually at the far end of its parking lot so there's about a 1/2 mile walk to the actual starting line. The logic being that if one's about to go 26 miles what's another 1/2 mile; plus, it's actually a good way to get warmed up and loose. For once, I was actually timing the start right so I only had about 5 minutes to stand around doing that stupid looking hop/bounce/jiggle folks do when they're trying to look like their serious athletes. That usually goes into a few stretches that probably do more harm than good and then before you know it, out comes the big 4 (Mickey,Minnie,Goofy & Donald) to tell us that this is there property and get off it immediately.

And with a countdown, a couple blasts of fire and some fireworks, we're off. Perhaps fittingly, if not accurately, Deep Purple's incredibly rocking "Speed King" comes on my headphones just as I get underway.

In previous years, I've been in the middle of start which meant spending the first couple of miles dodging walkers and those who forgot a marathon was longer than a 100 yard dash. Not that I'm a speedster or a smart runner by any means but I do go faster than a walk and try to pace myself. However poorly.

The big deal about running Disney, aside from the fact that one is running a marathon, is the course takes runners through all four parks. The drawback, for some, is that there's some plain old boring road in between. It's not that big of a deal to me since I run out in the country on plain old boring roads. I figure that if I can make it 20 miles with just me and my music, I can certainly keep away the boredom when there's throngs cheering me on and I'm always surrounded by fellow runners. The way the race is set up, there's a park about every 5 or 6 miles so there's always the thought that if I can make it to the next one, I know I can make it further. Runners are in each park for about a mile which, needless to say, makes that mile seem a breeze. Or so I'd like to think.

But first up is Epcot. Since it's well before the park opens and still very much dark, aside from a few cast members and some characters there's really no one cheering us on. It's early enough in the run that this doesn't really make much of a difference. If you're in trouble in mile 2 or 3 of a marathon it's going to be a long day. Nevertheless, every little bit of encouragement helps and I always wonder if Disney politely 'suggests' their workers be there to cheer us on. The course takes us up past Spaceship Earth (the giant golf ball to neophytes) and to the edges of World Showcase before Mulan tells us to get out of China before the government arrests us for being freedom loving folk. I can only imagine what the reds will think about the dude several minutes behind me carrying old glory. Yes, really.

And after Epcot, there's really not a whole lot save for some water stops and marching bands. And a group of wacky folk dressed wackily (I don't know how else to put it) blaring Who Let the Dogs Out. A song, I have never had the desire to hear. Especially now. Thankfully, Deep Purple drowned them out.

The big moment of the whole marathon is the run through the Magic Kingdom which is around mile 10. We come up Main Street U.S.A., turn left into Tomorrowland, swing around the Mad Hatter's Tea Party where Alice, Tweetle Dum and Tweetle Dee give a wave and suddenly we're in Fantasyland. As with Epcot, the park is still closed so aside from cast members and characters, there's no one there. Even though I don't really have to think about such things, it's still pretty odd to see a place that in only a couple of hours will be packed with throngs of people and activity, more or less empty and dead.

In previous years this had been where I'd started to sag a little, but I was at full strength this time. Zooming through Cinderella Castle then through Frontierland, we're backstage before we even know it. This is the part of the course that gets the most complaints because it's just a two lane road for several miles and no spectators are aloud back there, but again, for me it's like running at home. I would prefer if the course didn't take us past the water treatment area around mile 16, but even that didn't get to me this year.

Around mile 17, the course heads into Animal Kingdom and even though they try to liven things up with characters and such, the fact that one has been running for the better part of 20 miles begins to take effect. I no longer care if Donald is wishing me good luck or screaming at me for being an idiot. I just know he's in my way and my excitement over taking pictures long ago subsided. After running by Mt. Everest and into Dinoland we're backstage again headed towards the parking lot. By this time, I admit I was starting to sag and even though the weather wasn't warm, the cold sponges passed out at the water stop was a godsend. Particularly since it was warming up and the next 5 miles is, for me, the most difficult and wide open.

To be continued...

All in a mouse's night pt. 1

I really did have the best intentions of getting around to things yesterday but life, duty and the desire to really do nothing much intervened. Therefore everything got pushed back a day. One of the many trials of modern life: apologizing for working instead of goofing off. Fairly certain this is a condition exclusive to latter 20th/early 21th century western world as I can't really imagine, say, the folks laying the transcontinental railways given to such nuisance. "Gee, Mr. Stanford, I know you really want that golden spike driven tomorrow but, well, I got to tell my homestead this pointless story of how when I was milking the cow I laughed myself silly over the slipperiness of the teat. It was quite ribald."

Sounds funny to us moderners but that is the way conversations back in the day went. I've seen movies. Plus, I'm pretty sure every sentence included the word "teat". I think it was a law or something that has positively nothing to do with WDW, marathons or me...

My original plan for Friday morning's departure was to depart, erm, Friday morning. This I managed a little before 8 am with my Dad riding shotgun in his large, American, gas-guzzling SUV. One positive of the bottom falling out of the world economy is at least now we can go back to driving everywhere again with little regard for gas prices, mileage or pollution. All that nonsense about smart cars, hybrids and such can get pushed to the back of the closest again like so many last winter's sweaters.

Until we can afford to care again and vow no more for the umpteenth time.

So anyway, instead of being scrunched up in my little krautmobile for 7 hours, my Dad had so much room that he occasionally climbed over the seats just because he could.

A rather uneventful drive down actually. No wonder there's so many awful, unnecessary songs about life on the road; we've all our steel horses to ride and sometimes when I'm alone all I do is think too. Indeed. When not reflecting on the 'wisdom' of those grizzled road dogs, the time was passed guessing what song would come up next on my ipod whilst my Dad was in his own little world listen on headphones to David McCullough's 1776 book on cd. I'm sure Bon Jovi and Kid Rock can well relate and have found themselves doing much the same. Maybe they'll write a shitty song about that too.

True, these are the times you can't replace, but after all these years, we've pretty much had our fill of bonding and both need our "me" time. Nevertheless, during the trip a good 15 minutes or so we actually engaged in something approaching conversation. That's cumulative, of course. "Me: You want to stop. Dad: No, I'm good. Me: OK." Six or seven repetitions later and, shazaam, we were in Disney.

We headed first to the big, super-bang, go blue jean expo to pick up my race packet and number. Every race I've ever been to always tries to make the expo as some sort of can't miss big deal--we've got speakers and everything! Yay, a symposium on running. Guess the strippers went to the insurance convention down the street.

Technically, the expo is can't miss since that's where the packet/number pick-up always is. The reality is always much less can't miss: a giant room with a gazillion people trying to fight their way through endless hawkers of running paraphernalia and booths for upcoming races towards the check-in. An exclusive to Disney's expo is the wine tasting. An non-free exhibit, that has always struck me as rather odd on several different levels none of which I shall dwell on.

After getting all that tedium out of the way as well as snagging my now customary "I Did It" shirt, we headed towards the Grand Floridian Hotel. Though it's one of the big 3 Disney Hotels (Contemporary and Polynesian, the other two) and is considered the crown jewel for the resort, it's my least favorite of the three. It's very large and very plush. Even very lush, but I'd rather stay at the Polynesian as it feels more 'Disney'. We all have our crosses to bear.

Early Saturday was spent at the Magic Kingdom because, kidless or not, I couldn't bear the thought of being at WDW and doing nothing but staying in the room. I'm not Andy, you know. It's amazing to me, and probably everyone else, that after nearly 20 trips there over the years I enjoy all that hullabaloo as much now as then. The rides have lost none of their fun and though I can recite practically every spiel from every attraction, it's all still exciting.

For the most part, save the race cars. I admit the appeal of driving some glorified lawnmower at speeds up to 7 mph around a guided track has lost some of the appeal. Particularly when I'm being yelled at by some cast member half my age for bumping the car in front. Sorry, I have so little control over my rebel tendencies.

There's always the fun of guessing just how long a cast member has been on the job by the zeal he/she puts into everything. Admittedly, even I would have trouble putting on the faux British accent at The Haunted Mansion to tell folks to move away from the "blood red carpet" to the "dead center of the room." after 8 hours of screaming kids, sullen emo teenagers and their annoying parents. Weep not for them, though. They do get to wear snazzy costumes and can always pass the boredom off as method acting. Some of us only have blogging.

Plus, as cynical and cold-hearted as I am I really do get a kick out of seeing people forget about all the junk that clutters up living in the modern world and just enjoy being with their kids, or even being kids.

Perhaps it's just my biological clock ticking.

To be continued...

Laziness pt. 8

I suppose a marathon is anything but laziness, still, them's hows I play it. I'll get around to recapping my marathon weekend tonight or tomorrow, but for now just enjoy a couple of pictures that prove I was there. Or I did it. Or I'm insane. Or far too old to be a non-Furry and still want to take pictures with folks in giant mice costumes. Bonus points: spot the hole in my shirt in the photo above. Minnie had just planted one on me. Sorry, MB, still trying to find that photo. Mickey clearly annoyed at her but nonetheless jazzed to see I'm a proud supporter of WFMU.

Did the marathon in 5:36, which beat last year by about 10 minutes. Was on a 4:30 pace until Mile 19 and was still on a 4:50 pace until mile 23 (this is darn near peak for me in a marathon) and then time became very quick and I became very tired. Didn't do as good as I could have but, who cares, I finished. Those were goals 1-8. Goal 9 being staying out of the medical tent, check. And Goal 10: beating last year's time. Great weekend overall.

But running with scissors would be dangerous

Way back in the dark ages of 2005, on a trip to WDW no less, I turned Bonnie Dearest (her snazzy new name on here) on to the comedic stylings and geniusity of The Best Show on WFMU, a comedy/talk/music show on the best radio station in the world, WFMU. Eager and adventurous listeners should click on the link. More than likely most will immediately begin to question my judgment on such matters but just know that on this issue I am not wrong. Sort of like the adage that gets tossed out in church every so often: The Bible says it, I believe it and that's seals it. Putting aside, of course, that as far as I know there's no mention of any radio station, awesome or otherwise, in that somewhat legendary tome; it's generally concerned with slightly more weighty matters which is just as well. While I would agree that most involved with radio these days should be put on trial for general crimes against humanity, eternal damnation as punishment would probably be a tad much. If only slightly.

Anyway, BD somehow somewhere along the way became quite the fan of TBSOWFMU and began occasionally calling in with reports on life in the northern hinterlands of Georgia. Her standard opening of "Hi Tom, this is Bonnie from Georgia," a reassurance that regardless of what happened before or after her call, that night's show would be a "W". And suddenly she found herself getting Facebook friend invites from unknown folks the world over, fellow FOTs (Friends of Tom), all eager to give some sense of meaning and purpose to their otherwise meaningless and purposeless lives. Kicking her coolness up several notches, BD's familiar refrain is placed front and center at the beginning of every show in the opening montage.

Awesome.

The bottom line in all of this is that, although it was scant, there was the slight chance that one could approach BD's status as hipsteress eminence. As the official bearer of bad news, let me inform the world, that scant hope has now vanished forever.

Out of the blue, BD has received a personal email from the comedy genius, titan and comedian of comedy, Patton Oswalt!!!!! I normally despise exclamation points, but in this case feel they are more than warranted.

Patton is coming to the 40 Watt in February. We all figured we should go because, well, he's, a comedy genius, titan, etc. Short of the birth of a child, there's really nothing better we could be doing that night, and even that would only be for a first born. Subsequent children are really a bit old hat, be honest. Anyway, BD emailed Tom asking about the show and out of the blue, Patton himself emails her back and puts us on the guest list. Therefore, BD, me, Seth (her brother) and Seth's wife will all be living off the fat of the coolness of BD. Marisol doesn't remotely care about such matters and as such will be absent. And thanks to Patton for always bringing it.

That's in February though. More immediately is this weekend. I got my final run of the training out of the way yesterday. 2 miles that hardly even seemed worth it, but nevertheless provided me with a sense of accomplishment for, at least, completing another training cycle. I generally don't pat myself on the back over so matters, feeling if I can do it anybody can, but it's tough not to feel a little pride over starting and 18-week program and seeing it through.

My Dad and I will be heading out for WDW Friday morning and should get there sometime mid-afternoon. Though this will be the first time just the two of us have been and it will be different, I suspect the pull of all things Mouse will be too great and I'll squeeze in the maximum amount of rides time I can.

Regardless, the marathon starts at 5:50 a.m. Sunday and the weather is supposed to be perfect for a change. If the previous years are any indication I should be finishing at some point in the 11 o'clock hour. In other words, when more sensible east coast people are going to church, brunch or just rolling over.

P.S. Not sure whether I'll take my laptop so there may not be any updates until I return of Tuesday but by all means continue to check back and read the same hilarity over and over.

Several odd moments prior to going to the post office

Suddenly it's very windy. Like Chicago windy. Real nail-down-the-small-animals-on-the-porch kind of wind. So I would presume that a front is moving through. Perhaps I should be flying a kite though as child I was never really into such matters. Even back then, the idea of standing in some wide open space watching some oddly shaped object dangle in the wind seemed rather tedious. Unless it was an effigy of some sort, of course. That was always good fun.

Or would have been had I ever had the privilege of witnessing any fervent political/social displays. Not surprisingly my fair burg doesn't have too much drama of that nature. I think former Georgia governor Lester Maddox came through here at some point on his way to somewhere, but that was simply a matter of routing. It had nothing to do with the need for him to throw his ax handle around though I'm sure he would have been up for it as well. Lester did love to whop things back then. It was a different time, I suppose. When "problems" could be "solved" with whopping sticks, fire hoses and attack dogs, giving the rural south an even worse name than its supposed more refined capitals.

My Dad saw Maddox years later in a McDonald's. No words were exchanged or any knowing nods given. Nor was there any incident. Like the air, Maddox simply was there and then he wasn't. Nevertheless, I occasionally amuse myself with the idea of him pitching a fit to the cashier because his Big Mac was not up to par, jumping up and down, getting more red-faced by the second. "Don't you know who I am? I used to beat you people back in my day. Now give my grands some gift certificates 'fore I goes and gets my ax handle upside you head and whatnot."

Because I tend to sweat the small details, I suppose it's only fitting that I would find such minutiae equally interesting. An interest, I suspect, that will reach no farther than from my head to my toes. Still, it must warm that old racist's skeletal remains to know that one day he would be the subject of, possibly, the most obtuse, arcane and all around random post in the history of the world and universe. Let it not be said that even in death Lester Maddox is not useful for something.

The necessity of teaching seals basketball

Thus begins marathon week. In the hubbub that was the past few weeks with its myriad wedding, parties and anything, the current supposed stated purpose for this blog kind of got pushed to the side. Which is not to say I didn't keep up my end of the bargain on the running side, I just neglected to inform any interested of how things were progressing. If one feels one was shortchanged in my lack of useful information in this particular field, apologies. I would quickly add, one probably should lower their expectations and consider getting out more.

An abbreviated version of those times, fill in as appropriate.

Today I ran (x) miles.

It was (good/bad/neither).

Boy, I am an amazingly (good/bad/stupid) runner.

The weather was rather (hot/cold); I wished I had (burned/not burned) those tires to (combat/accelerate) global warming.

Golly, I hate aggressive dogs and believe they should all be (shot/run over).

The chafing on my nipples, inner thighs and buttocks is (excruciating/bearable/a silent shame that thankfully no one will ever know about).

I (can't wait to get out there again/am contemplating feet amputation to ensure I never do it again).

Etc.

The long and the short of it: it's all over but the real deal itself. I finished up my Saturday runs with 8 miles on Saturday, coming in at 1:10. Not my fastest but according to my running journal, about 90 seconds faster than the same one last year. Some would call that progress and I suppose I might as well too.

The big Disney vacation that this was sort of the centerpiece for has fallen through somewhat. Instead of Marisol, Buster, Bonnie, Anna and anybody else that wanted to cheer me on, it's down to just me and my Dad. A week of (some would say) overpriced joy and fun has been reduced to a weekend surgical strike, much of which will be spent in the cozy confines of my posh room at the Grand Floridian. Whee. Andy would say that as much as I'm paying for the room, I'd better damn well stay in it and enjoy it as much as I can, maybe even flush the toilet a few extra times just to stick to the mouse. But then, he's allergic to fun.

All this is not to denigrate the old man. I've yet to run a race, big or small, that he hasn't been with me all the way from the start of training until the finish line. Since the finish line tape has long since been broken by the time I get there, he's pretty much my reward. Again, whee. Plus, he's a decent enough travel companion and, aside from the snoring, all right to be around. Nevertheless, I don't care how banging my pompadour, shiny my leather jacket or how many packs of smokes I have rolled up my sleeves, it's pretty damn impossible to look cool riding "It's a Small World" at 35 with just my Dad.

I had just about given up all hope for an overdose of fun and excitement this go round. Then, there comes late word that the one and only Poppie (88 and still going strong, thank you) is toying with the idea of going because "a change of scenery would be nice." His logic (not mine) is that he can sit in a room at WDW just as easy as he can here. So fingers are crossed that we'll be able to get an audience with the Mouse. That picture would no doubt be a keeper. Poppie perched on his Rascal and my Dad looking on indifferent/bored. And then me. Weeping.

Huzzah for the happiest place on Earth.

You had me at Caress of Steel, The Necromancer pt. 3 Return of the Prince

Some leftovers from the holidays that were.

1. Andy didn't get his floor mats because Santa hates him. That, and AutoZone didn't have any with the Tasmanian Devil on them. He almost got some mud flaps with Yosemite Sam telling all comers to "Back Off". But those would have just looked stupid.
2. I gave two copies of Mamma Mia! (the exclamation point is a registered trademark, btw) as gifts. To two males. Neither of which is gay. Weird, eh? My Dad loved it so much he went and bought him a 5.1 setup just so he could sing along in, uh, 5.1. Buster has made Marisol watch it pretty much every night since he got it. I generally avoid Marisol's house of late so as not to infringe on all that mother/son bonding.
3. Santa's reindeer summer in Greenland as does the right jolly ole elf. And the Mrs. So says a letter left by the man himself for Camille's offspring. Also, the reindeer do not like to have their picture taken, making it quite fortunate that there happens to be a random photo of 9 reindeer somewhere up on Flickr that was found relatively easily by a certain someone on a certain eve a week or so ago. My resume continues to grow. In addition to being general courthouse flunky, I'm now go-to-guy in times of moderate parent/childhood crisis.
4. I managed to avoid all televised Christmas programming for the first time in 35 years. This was not really a goal as such, but just the way things worked out. Of course, if I really need to view Rudolph or remember A Year Without Santa Claus, I can just buy the DVD for $10 at Target and watch them on May 16 if I so chose. Contrast that with years ago, when I frantically searched the TV guide for any/every Rankin-Bass,Peanuts,Disney and whatever else production, scared that if I missed a one of them Christmas would be ruined since I'd have to wait another bloody year to see them.

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New Year's was spent with 60,000 possibly drunk yahoos awaiting Tech to show up for their football game. They never did and promptly got their collective asses handed to them by LSU. Being as our seats were in the corner that just happened to see positively no action, I spent most of the first half staring at the back of the two douches (douche'?) who felt they could better complain about things standing up. Die-hards that they were, they left at halftime. I spent most of the second half staring into space and wondering what song was going to come up next on my ipod. A fun activity, yes, but not really one I care to spend $75, drive two hours and be around said drunk yahoos whilst doing.

Once things got out of hand at the game, i.e. with about 10 minutes left in the 2nd quarter, there was the temptation to catch the remaining 5 acts on the giant Lil' Wayne bill over at Phillips Arena. I may not have known any of the performers or any of their undoubtedly fine contributions to culture, but figured they were probably having more fun than I was. And I can follow the inevitable instructions to "wave my hands in the air like I just don't care" and then "scream" just as easily as some white teenager from the suburbs. Thanks to Yo!MTV Raps, I have years of practice at that sort of thing. Of course, I wasn't worried about being shot whilst at the football game. Yin/yang, etc.

So for the first time in ever or at least since I've kept up with such things, I didn't see the ball drop in NYC. So I can't relay how lame Secrest was or how edgy Kathy Griffin was or answer how Dick Clark still does it after all these years. I can guess though. Respectively: Quite, not really and salt water taffy. Nope, at precisely 12 am I was almost to Conyers on I-20 with Black Oak Arkansas playing on the ipod. Surely, I must win some sort of pathetic New Year's prize for that. Like a life, or good taste or something.

Interesting note about travelling on New Year's Eve, not a whole lot of traffic from 11:30-12:30 so it seemed as good a time as any to open the Jetta up. I think I made it to 85 mph before the excitement became overbearing. Speed + rockin' '70s boogie = too much for your beloved correspondent. Thankfully, some calming Belle & Sebastian came on next. Otherwise, my heart would have exploded. It's tough living life on the edge.