Laziness pt. 10

Do not taunt Happy Fun Ball

There's gonna be a chain fight tonight

Here's a fun little 25 item thing that's making the rounds on Facebook. The idea should be fairly easy to figure out but for the slow lane, the idea is give 25 random facts about one's self. I suppose since chain letters, etc. gravitated quickly to the interwebs it's only fitting they're clogging up more specific parts therein now too. This is what passes for interpersonal communication these days. Fortunately, this didn't come with some warning to make this list or we'd shoot this dog or your house would explode. On the contrary there was no sales pitch, hard or otherwise, just the want to expose hitherto hidden facets of one's life to complete strangers. The modern world. It's just more of the unity, happiness and down with our bad selves that is the mankind these days. Those of you fortunate enough to be my 'friend' on Facebook can view it there as well so you're actually getting two for the price of one. Alternately, this could be considered getting shanghaied twice for the negative Nellies out there.

1. I began playing the drums at 5; the guitar at 18.
2. I can carry on a conversation in French, provided I am speaking to someone under the age of 5.
3. In 8th grade I made my literature teacher cry (NOT Mrs. Abbott, local folks).
4. I have an odd fascination with early 70s counterculture radicals/revolutionary groups.
5. I've kept a handwritten journal (date,release,store,price) of every music purchase I've made since 2000.
6. I have 4 vinyl copies of Close to the Edge by Yes but only 3 cd copies.
7. I refer to a collection of songs as an "album" regardless of whether it's a cd,lp,tape,mp3.
8. I have a blog because I felt the main area the internet needed improvement was in the "self-centered ramblings about nothing in particular to a disinterested audience" department.
9. My 12th grade Pre-Calculus teacher proclaimed me "cynic of the year". As if.
10. I fell asleep during Close Encounters of the Third Kind when I was 4. I suspect I wasn't the only one.
11. I generally abhor stand-up comedians.
12. I think it should be law that all comedy clubs are named Yuks and funnymen (but not women), yuksters.
13. The first concert I went to was Barry Manilow in 1981 on his "Barry" tour. I still have the shirt and tour book. My parents took me. It was in-the-round and I loved it. My status as a Fanilow ended shortly thereafter thanks to the early days of MTV. We parted on good terms though.
14. To date I've run 3 marathons and 4 half-marathons.
15. I've collected over half of the Nurse With Wound list thus far.
16. I'd like to move to England or possibly France. I know there is no danger of me actually doing this however.
17. I don't eat vegetables.
18. I've never run across any group of 'old' men living it up, being free and having a generally grand time in a convertible whilst simultaneously discussing their, uh, man problems. Admittedly, I don't get out all that much.
19. I am firmly convinced that the first 45 seconds of Abba's "Dancing Queen" make the greatest opening in pop music history. (sub comment: Abba is the greatest pop group of all time. The end.)
20. I honestly had no problem with Ewoks in Return of the Jedi.
21. I crossed the street at Piccadilly Circus in London with George Lucas. He's a small man, btw.
22. I occasionally lament the lost art of letter writing.
23. I saw Jimmy Page at Abbey Road Studios and didn't take the opportunity to meet him because I was too stunned at my own luck.
24. I wear tennis shoes/trainers to work because I'm a rebel.
25. I've been to 6 countries, 45 of the lower 48 states, baseball games at Fenway Park, Camden Yards, Turner Field, a Georgia Tech football game at the Meadowlands in NYC and even Disney World 20 times. But I've never been to me.

Like Dylan at the movies

First things first. Yes, I have seen Legally Blonde. That question was raised anonymously (though I've a sneaking suspicion who was asking) in the comments section of my previous post; the tone of the inquiry implying that I would find Ms. Woods exploits somehow unworthy of my hard-earned dollar and time. Furthermore, most would probably suspect that any admission of viewing said movie would be accompanied with a half-hearted excuse that I really had no choice, i.e. it's on pretty much weekly (which it is) or I was forced to watch it for God and country (which I wasn't).

No, the truth is far more basic: I like Reese Witherspoon. Ever since Election (still the best thing she's done), I've always had a soft spot for her. Not so much that any screen time for her is mandatory viewing for me however dreadful the movie, mind. If nothing much is going on and the movie looks decent enough, then why not?

However, the first Legally Blonde sated my appetite for the Elle Woods saga. It may be surprising but after it was all over I really didn't have any lingering questions regarding Elle, Bruiser or anyone else found therein. It's not that I didn't care, well, actually it is. Obviously I was in the minority. Though the sequel's producers sweetened the pot with the always welcome Bob Newhart, I have thus far stood my ground because we all have to take stands, however unpopular.

Speaking of movies, since it was Saturday night and there was really nothing much else to do, Marisol and I decided the movies was as good a place to be as any. Like going to the vet the other day, this was also a good idea since everyone else decided to take some Hollywood magic. Lucky us. Since there was nothing in particular we wanted to see and time was tight, we were somewhat restricted in our choices. Fearing the 3-hour, Brad Pitt snoozer, Benjamin Button, was our only option, I was relieved when Marisol reminded she had already seen it. Phew. But since we were hell bent and determined to see something,anything that left Paul Blart, Mall Cop to entertain or at least pass the time.

Even though the flick had started five minutes previously, I had a hunch that we could still pick up on any plot intricacies. Yes, I have great expectations. Plus, I figured since the theater would most likely be totally empty we could yell at each other from opposite sides of the room about how comfy our seats were. That's always great fun. To my surprise the theater was packed but we did manage to find two seats together smack dab in the middle and only had to step over 6 people to get there.

As with Legally Blonde, I'm guessing this is about the point where most readers hereof will settle in expecting a far too lengthy, snide discourse on all thing wrong with the movie. Prepare to be disappointed: it was decent enough.

That's not to say that it's headed for my all-time top 10; heck, it's not even the best movie I saw last week. For what it was and what it set out to do, however, it was fine. That is to say it was admittedly silly and for the most part a curse-free, family film. Cinephile that I am, I'm not of the opinion that every movie has to make some grand statement on the human condition or stretch the possibilities of cinema. Sometimes explosions and a running man on fire is just cool. Not to me, mind, but the point remains the same. So to speak. Frankly, most people just want to go to the movies to forget their problems for a bit and be entertained. A valid sentiment to which, I hasten to add, I completely agree.

My problem with most of the movies Hollywood produces is that they are less than honest about what they are. A movie like Paul Blart, knows it's a lightweight family film and tries to be nothing else, firmly adhering to the John Belushi/Chris Farley mantra of, "Fat man fall down make funny." No annoying irony or winking nods. Go in, hopefully laugh, go home. Yes, some of the jokes could have been stronger and the idea of gymnastic mall-robbers, even for a movie of this type, is pushing it, but the audience seemed to enjoy it and even this comedy snob chuckled occasionally.

Unlike all those gawful flicks that seem to showcase the current disposable stud (usually a Wilson brother) and the current disposable heroine (usually Kate Hudson or yes, even dear Reese) and that seem to serve no purpose other than to reflect how stupid Hollywood actually thinks we are. You know, the mismatched pair who can't stand each other but over the course of several unrealistic 'realistic' circumstances decide they can't live without the other. There's much hilarity and some life lessons ensue, and it's all executed with a knowing, condescending tone: this is dreck, we know it's dreck but you'll go see it because we're making it. You love us. Admit it. Essentially, the movies as a study in the cult of personality.

Of course, I'm probably just partial to Mall Cop because Paul Blart was an ugly dude who ultimately gets the cute girl. Sorry for ruining the ending.

It's hot so you can tell it's working

One of the many great aspects of having a couple of cats is the occasional trip to the vet. Though they're somewhat infrequent now (annual shots, weigh-in) I suspect as the felines creep up the age-o-meter, those visits will be a little more often. For now, however, I'll enjoy breaking out the pet jet only when shot time rolls around. Considering the mere sight of me walking in with said pet jet immediately sends Missy into the latter stages of total frenzy, this is probably just as well.

While I'm not the busiest of bees, I do have more preferable ways to spend an afternoon besides struggling to get a frightened cat, claws out, into a carrier. I suppose some would call this pet stress and probably suggest taking the animal in for therapy. These same probably also dress said beloved animal up in seasonable attire--how cute, Santa Claws or, if you prefer, Santa Paws--and can't figure out why everyone avoids them in the supermarket.

But since Monday was a holiday and I do my best to make the most of everyday, I figured I'd take Patty Hearst in for her shots. This was a good idea. Of this I am sure since every dog owner within a 100-mile radius had the very same idea. In a moment that would make Carl Jung proud, amazingly, they all woke up Monday morning and said that indeed I should carry Patty in for shots. Obama had already united us even before taking office. And since they didn't want us to feel alone, they'd come along with their mongrels in tow as soon as said mongrels got finished mangling shoes, digging up flowers or being the general nuisance that mongrels are. Yippee. So there Patty and I sat with each arriving dog larger than the last. Perhaps they ate all the little ones on the way. It goes without saying I was the only one representin' with a cat.

I understand folks love his/her dog(s) and are eager to show everyone how well Rover can bark on command or lick his own package. But sort of like screaming children in public, no one really thinks it's as cute as the owner/parent does. I'm not being mean that's actually a scientific fact. That polite smile, chuckle or even small talk is masking annoyance on the level of a paper cut: it doesn't really hurt; it's going to go away pretty quickly, but for that brief moment one might as well have a stake sticking through one's heart. Perhaps that's just me.

I know, everyone thinks his/her particular dog/child is different and folks really do enjoy seeing such displays. Why else, so goes the logic, would anyone ever leave home? Beats me.
But after an hour of such fun, Patty had retreated as far into the back of her carrier as she could go. The waiting room was so full that even our remote corner had begun to fill.

And then the one small dog that had yet to be eaten arrived.

To make matters worse, he was 'dressed' in winter attire that oh so cutely matched his owner's outfit. Like, OMG! It's Elle Woods and Bruiser from Legally Blonde 1 and it's not entirely necessary sequel Legally Blonde 2: Red, White & Blonde. Apparently, Ms. Woods pooch had gotten out and roamed an unknown neighborhood as dogs do; Ms. Woods thought this an accident and not the escape attempt it most certainly was. Nevertheless, we all were relieved after the separation of undetermined length ended. Me especially. But since this was an unknown (read: icky) place with, you know, like, germs and stuff, Ms. Woods figured she'd better bring her Bruiser in for a checkup.

While not altogether an unreasonable idea, I'm confident that Bruiser came in contact with no other animal during its excursion; had he met even another flyweight, Bruiser would have almost certainly requested his opponent end his meaningless existence. Even dogs in sweaters have pride. But that was the past and now could Ms. Woods skip ahead since she's not from here and you know, gosh, there's all these big dogs here. Gosh, indeed.

I understand the laws of nature, food chain, etc. but I generally have no need to see proof firsthand. This time, however, I must admit there was a little part of me that was anxiously awaiting a demonstration on the circle of life. After all the waiting and the barking and licking, I was pretty much determined that the only way Elle and Bruiser were going ahead of everyone else was on a stretcher. But I would have felt bad and Patty would have seen me cry. Plus it would have been messy. On the upside, we were already at the vet so there wouldn't have been that whole waiting-on-the-ambulance awkwardness.

Then the vet gods smiled and I wasn't forced to make some sort of Sophie's choice between Elle or Bruiser. Patty was called next and by the time we got out they were gone. I didn't hear any real commotion coming from the waiting room so I'll presume that whatever went down did so in a quiet fashion. And that's really the best anyone could ever hope for.

Laziness pt. 9

Andy's currently in Japan and has been there for nigh on a week. Actually, it's a little over a week and there's still more to go. What this says about the extreme lengths he will go to avoid a pregnant Millicent is another issue for another time. I don't really know when that time would be, mind, because I can't imagine one suddenly deciding to discuss our present in one's future. But then, I'm sure those oft-mentioned pioneers couldn't imagine those magnificent men in their flying machines. And we all know how that turned out.

Because he's a reasonably plugged-in dude, Andy took a camera. Because we're Americans, Japanese culture is funny to us. Probably funny to them as well. If not, I would suggest the land of the rising sun just wait a few more years. They've misappropriated every other annoying part of our culture, I can't imagine irony is too far behind. And now all one needs to know about Japan in three pictures.

Japanese law requires all subjects to flash the peace sign in all recreational photos. Perhaps guilt over that whole WWII bidness, I don't know. Coincidentally, this particular monument commemorates the spot where the last two Japanese tourists to not flash peace signs were crushed by a falling boulder. Needless to say, Andy doesn't know these people.

If the writing wasn't so tiny it might would be possible to read the sign. As best I can tell is says "Home of the Sushi Earthquake". I've no idea what that is, but given that the mascot appears to be a stingray with a catfish head, I can only presume it's something to do with genetic engineering or mutation. Or a pachinko parlor. And no, I didn't realize Japan drove on the wrong side of the road either. (Dedicated to MB)

All lot of big name actors head over to Japan to shill for products. Something about wanting that extra scratch but being too 'idealistic' to lower themselves to be mere pitch men in the good ol' U.S. of A. That why I respect Tom Bosley more than Brad Pitt. Actually, there are several reasons but they have nothing to do with this picture.

That Georgia pitchman? None other than heavily made-up, former Friend, Matt LeBlanc. And Georgia? The world's first soft drink made from squid and bull testicles. Now in Diet and Caffeine Free varieties. Note Andy's correct use of the peace sign.

All in a Mouse's Night pt. 3

A brief word about my mindset on these long runs. Maybe I'm different but when I running, particularly the actual marathon, I don't think in terms of x miles is the distant between this place and that place or only 7 more miles to go; I just think in terms of mile to mile and stop when I get back to the finish.

I hit the 20 mile mark at 3:38 which, for me, meant I'd been running as close to a perfect race as possible. Felt great, no trouble and thought I've got this thing licked. Breezed by mile 21 and mile 22 wasn't too bad either. Then somewhere between miles 22 and 23 I hit it: the wall.

Runners, particularly marathoners, dread it. Most know it's coming and hope just to survive it somehow. It's the point at which one feels as though another step is impossible; the notion of finishing wholly stupid. The only option is to quit, then and there. Needless to say, it's the part of any marathon that requires the most mental stamina and unfortunately, usually happens when one is at one's weakest. In past marathons, I'd gone at a slow enough pace that I never really hit the wall per se. Which is to say, I was tired the whole time.

This year, I hit it big time and staggered through MGM, seriously contemplating calling it a day. I got slower and slower and the doubt began to creep in. I kept thinking that if I could only take a break I'd be OK. That turned to wanting to lie down for just a bit. That turned into wondering if I could make it to the exit at MGM.

I did.

Barely.

I guess the race official there must have sensed the fix I was in and asked if I needed help. I mustered up the energy to say I just needed to rest a minute. He suggested the nearby bench and before I had the time to care had called the EMTs for assistance. I did feel a little nausea but nothing major and really just wanted to sit down and do nothing for a while. A fellow sitting on the bench saw my GT shirt and gave me a "Go Jackets" thinking it would spur me on. I muttered "Whatever" and started telling myself that I really wouldn't be bummed if I didn't finish.

Shortly thereafter Randolph Mantooth arrived telling me I was whiter than my cap. A cap, I hasten to add, that is sufficiently white. He took my pulse and BP and asked if I needed "real" assistance, i.e. should we get the stretcher or perhaps the meat wagon. I told him no that I just wanted to rest a little more. He then asked if he could go and like some lovesick 16 year old girl, I asked him to please stay. I'm surprised I didn't ask him to hold me. Heck, I may have considering my state. The whole while the race continued on and people cheered the runners on. Some even cheered me on sitting on the bench. Even in my disillusionment, I appreciated the sentiment but thought it was a bit pointless.

"Hey, you're doing awesome, white as a sheet, just sitting down, The race is passing you by but you awesome. Way to go kiddo!"

I honestly don't know how long I was stopped but it probably was in the 40-minute range given my final time. But I did finally get to feeling better, probably the best I'd felt since about the halfway point. I asked the Randolph, who was probably thinking of all that lives he could be saving instead of chilling with me, if he thought I should finish or just quit. He told me to walk the rest of the way and I started back out slowly, figuring that even if I walked I'd still do better than the first year, and I would have.

Strangely, as soon as I started back, I really started feeling good and thought I might could run a little more so that's what I did. Hey, I'm going to make it and getting back in my groove when my cell rang. My Dad using his college degree and advanced life skills had calculated that on my pace, I should have crossed the finish line, oh about 45 minutes ago. Hesitant to stop, I quickly told him I'd stopped but was going good now and almost to mile 24.

I realize I'd had a bit of a break but the last 2.5 miles were as effortless as the first 2.5. Perhaps due to said break, but in my two previous marathons I found miles 23-26 to be among the easiest. Beats me.

Regardless, it was still a glorious site to come back into Epcot in mile 25 and around World Showcase. The park was open at this point and it's surprising how little interest was paid from passers-by. Sort of like, "Oh there's a bunch of idiots running. Ooh, honey, there Italy." Things picked up as we got back to Spaceship Earth and mile 26. In a nice touch, they had a gospel choir singing. I'm not sure what they were singing and really didn't care enough to stop. They could have been singing Genesis "Supper's Ready" with Mr. Steve Hackett sitting in on guitar and I wouldn't have stopped; I was just glad to see them because it meant I was almost done. I rounded the corner and there it was: the finish line. That moment I'd been dreaming about since September, high-fiving Chip and Dale and crossing that line. As an added bonus, they had Pinnochio and Lilo & Stitch this year too.

My time wasn't as good as I'm capable, but who cares? I finished. It also happened to be about 10 minutes faster than last year which was a nice bonus.

Final time 5:36.

I did it!

Patty Hearst tries my medal on for size.

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.

----------

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.