If you go down to Willow Farm

Another brief bout of housecleaning to start. For reasons known only to the phone gods, there has been no land line service to my current place of residence since Friday. Though said gods were notified Friday, they've not found it within their means to correct said disruption. Due to the overwhelming popularity of me and my family, I was unaware there was a problem until Andy called on Friday and told me. Therefore, a long-winded way of saying if you need to actually speak to me, try my cell until further notice. If one doesn't have that number or easy access towards getting it, a safe bet that there is no need for that one to be in contact with me. Never fear, we'll always have the internet.

And Paris.

Saturday morning found me out and about doing my best to cover 17 miles on foot. As expected, the first 13 were actually relatively easy. The last 4 were...how you say...a bitch. I altered my route a bit this time and in so doing added a few longer, steeper hills for later in my run that I'd never covered. I knew this would make some difference but I really felt like things hit somewhere between mile 14 and 15. I was able to finish the whole 17; alas, my time wasn't quite what I'd hoped, 2:51. The main thought and motivation getting me through the final couple of miles being the sooner I get home, the sooner I can throw up and feel better. Motivation comes in all shapes, sizes and colors and I never want to deprive myself of a well-earned reward, however unpleasant. This particular bit of motivation turned out to be exclusively clear water and red Powerade. Fortunately, my pre-run bagel didn't get it on the disgorging fun.

Eww, yuk, gross, etc. Moving on...

It was a relatively uneventful, typical weekend for the most part. I spent the bulk of the post-run Saturday afternoon lying on the couch, attempting to fall asleep. Most attempts failing due to Mses. Missy and Patty Hearst deciding then was the appropriate time to pounce on one another or me or both. Saturday night was mine and Marisol's usual thing with added bonus trip to Bed, Bath and Beyond.

I'm probably not the first to notice, but the look on every male face therein was amusingly similar: pretend to be enjoying the BB & B experience, coupled with the fierce determination not to leave the side of the accompanying wife,lady friend,sister,daughter. Fear of appearing one of "those" people, trumping the rather obvious reality that other people, "those" or not, couldn't care less when surrounded by all the plush, frilly and stainless steel joy that is BB & B.

Not being all that into the decorating/home scene nor being on the receiving end of too many shower invites, BB & B is not a place I frequent a whole heck of a lot. Were I ever in the market for an easy omelet maker, various items of cutlery, sheets or all manner of fluffy things, I would, however, reconsider my self-imposed ban. Or at least I would suggest someone possibly think about picking up those items for me at just such a place. I suspect that will be a part of their new marketing campaign. Bed, Bath & Beyond: the store that one dare not speak its name.

Weep not for me. I picked up the new Genesis box set. It was my duty and privilege because I am an unabashed prog rock geek and Genesis, before they became the somewhat icky hit-making machine were one of the lord, god, kings of the genre. Everything I know about giant hogweeds, moonlit knights, T.S. Eliot's The Wasteland and the end of the world I learned from those records. It's not a stretch to say that I've learned more about art and literature from my record collection than I ever did from any formal schooling. Again, it's easy to see why I was so popular during my teenage years. Even though I know these albums better than almost any in my collection, and have multiple copies of each to boot, I spent the rest of Saturday night and all day Sunday excitedly digging into the box as if I'd never heard a mellotron before. An experience, I'll wager, most readers hereof have never had and wonder what I'm on about. Oh well.

Needless to say, it was a good weekend.