MidlifeRambler

Everyday I'm Shufflin'

2012-02-16T06:30:00.000-08:00

I think I owe the Wife an apology.

She's been addicted to Angry Birds since the day she first got a smartphone. She's beaten every one, perfected every level, and eagerly awaits each new installment - I'm sure she knows the release dates better than she does our children's birthdays.

(Honey - If you're reading this, it's just a euphemism - I'm not serious. But December 21 & 26, OK?)

But I think I have to eat some crow on this one.

The other day The Boy introduced me to Plants vs Zombies. And now I can't put it down.

Me, a guy who:

Doesn't like most video games unless there is a sport involved or things are getting blown up,
Makes fun of his Wife for the "Stupid Pig Game",
and Doesn't have a green thumb to save his life,

Can't stop tending a virtual garden where my plants grow with harvested sunshine and fight off the unstoppable army of the teeming undead. I'm excited when my efforts unlock a new fungus that freezes all the Zombies in their tracks.

This is going to be tough.

Tell me how it sounds, okay?

*Ahem*

Honey -

From the bottom of my heart, I'm sorry - I won't laugh every time you express frustraion with Avain/Swine relations. I won't poke fun at you when you curse openly in public because you tapped the screen at the wrong time. And I won't complain anymore when the light from your phone keeps me up because you want to "Finish this level before you go to sleep".

I apologize - I understand now.
I know where you are coming from.

Now - could you please get me another cup of coffee? I would, but I'm busy dealing with a herd of screen-door carrying corpses.

Thanks.

That'll work, eh?

Later.

Gym Dandy.

2012-02-15T08:16:00.000-08:00

I'm trying to make a decision, and I'm stuck.

Don't worry - it's not Speedo vs Shorts at the beach - I wouldn't submit you to that.

It has to do with my Gym.

(For those of you who live in a Big City or have any sort of commute, stop reading now. I'm going to be talking/bitching about distances that seem trivial/hilarious to you, and you are going to want to slap me.)

My Gym is a 10-15 minute drive away from where I live. (10 from where I live, 15 from work) It's kind of old, kind of ghetto, but I like most of the people (The ones I don't want to stab) and the cost is right. Let's not forget, I've named all the Treadmills.

There's a new Gym that has opened in my neighborhood - it's a 3-minute walk from where I work, and maybe 10 from my house. It's a nice new shiny Gym, full of new weights, never-been-used equipment (except the cardio stuff - although that's nice too.), and I could have 7-day a week, 24hr access for $5/month more than I'm paying now.

I'm stuck.

I went and tried it out. (I didn't tell my current gym - is that cheating?)

Things I Like:

Location, Location, Location.
24 hour access (Current gym doesn't open until 8 on weekends - doesn't work for me)
Lots of equipment.
Ocean View while on any cardio equipment - (because TV is boring and the ocean is awesome when it's stormy.)

Things I Don't Like:

The Changerooms - or lack thereof. They have a washroom, and a one-stall shower/changeroom. What if it's busy when I have to shower on my lunch workout? I'm fucked.
Not a ton of open floorspace. I'm not planning on doing cartwheels or anything, but you do need ample room to stretch/etc.
No tanning booth. I'm not Jersey Shore, but I like slowly conditioning my bone-white skin for summer running.
Only 2 Treadmills. For Fall/Winter running this is a huge thing for me.

So I'm kind of on the fence about it.

The other thing about my Gym is the relationship I have with some of the staff there - it's nice to be known by name, treated well, given discounts/freebies, and I'm not sure how long it would take to develop that at the new Gym. (With my sparkling personality, not long, I'm sure - but still..)

I'm not in any hurry to make a change - but the fact that the new Gym is so close just taunts me.. It's unfair.

Help me, Readers - you're my only hope.


Blogger in a Galaxy far, far away.

Later.

Perception vs. Reality.

2012-02-14T11:13:00.000-08:00

Happy Valentines Day.

These are the things that Corporations think will make my Wife happy today:

Flowers
Chocolates
Diamonds
Candy Hearts
Cards
Hot, Passionate, Wildly Acrobatic Sex.

These are the things I know will make my Wife happy today:

I let her sleep in.
Coffee was waiting when she got out of the shower.
I made the kids lunches, and hustled them off to school.
As we speak, laundry is being done, dishes are done, and the vacuum cleaner has traveled all the way to the far reaches of the house.
I made Thai Coconut Chicken last night. (Tuesday is Subway night - 'cause Valentines Day or not, the Kids still have their sports.)
I speed read through this. And I'm working on my handstands.

Really, after 15+ years of marriage, what more could you ask for?
(Okay - I know she'd like the diamonds, but she'd frown on me selling one of the kids to get them.)

Later.

In the Long Run: Treadmills are Stupid.

2012-02-13T05:21:00.001-08:00

This is the second installment between Triple T and myself documenting our Long Runs.

How I imagine I look at the gym.

The victim this week? Treadmills.

Treadmills are like Tim Tebow: Some love them, some hate them, and others are completely indifferent and wish everyone else would shut the fuck up.

While not in love with them, I'm familiar enough with the ones at my local gym that I have given them all names. (If you haven't guessed already, I probably need some help.)

With the weather being shitty, and it being well-documented that I'm a child-like whiner when it comes to being cold, my long run this week was done indoors while the wind and rain pummeled outside. Believe me, when I read about the weather Triple T runs in, I feel like I should turn in my man-card, throw my shoes into the river, and take up competitive donut eating full time.

But I digress.

We had a beautiful sunny day earlier this week, and I was able to corral the Boys onto their bikes while I hit the track. Much to my surprise, I blasted through 12 laps (3 miles) in just over 21 minutes. Feeling buoyed by this accomplishment, I wasn't disappointed by having to do my 7-mile run indoors when, in normal British Columbia fashion, outside went from sunny to fucking horrid in record time. Heck, I even figured I'd do a couple of extra miles just because it would be fun.

God, I'm a retard sometimes.

When I hit the gym, I was crushed to see that my usual treadmill (referred to in a previous post as "My Baby") was occupied - and by a walker, no less. I resigned myself to jumping on The Mistress (get your head out of the gutter - not as exciting as you'd think). As I was tying my shoes, He-Who-Walks-At-Gym decided he'd had enough of his blistering 3.2Mph pace and gave up the treadmill I wanted.

(Okay, treadmill haters, I can hear you saying "When's the last time you had to wait for someone to get off the road, huh?" - point taken.)

I jumped on and started getting into the Zone.

Of all the Long Runs I've ever done on a treadmill (the longest was 16 miles), the Zone is essential to prevent losing your mind to inescapable boredom - looking at the ass of the guy on the stairclimber in front of me isn't as fun as you may think.

The Zone wouldn't come.

For some reason, the minute I got just over a mile in, I became The Most Popular Guy In The Gym. For the next half hour, people I know kept coming in, stopping by, saying hi, and asking questions. When you're running outside, if someone wants to talk to you they either have to forcibly stop you or try and keep up. At the gym, every single lazy asshole who wants to say their two cents strolls by, leans on the machine and starts to espouse their worldview.

The good part was that it did take my mind off the clock and keep me distracted enough - not Zone levels, but close - they probably inadvertently helped my pace, as it was like I was running faster to try and get away from them.

Once I was left alone, the rest of the run proceeded smoothly. When you hit that moment on the treadmill when the right music is playing (Kings of Leon), you're running the right pace (7.2mph), and the finest set of back-dimples in the gym gets on the stairclimber in front of you, time just seems to fly by.

The endorphins were just from the run - that's what I'm going to keep telling myself.

Next week's Long Run is scheduled to be a 10-miler - my first double-digit run of this training program. I'm hoping that I won't have to do it on the treadmill, but if those conditions can come together again (minus the chatterboxes), it won't be too bad.

Check out how Triple T did with her battle against the machine here.

Later.

5am

2012-02-12T06:55:00.000-08:00

5am sucks.

The youngest Boy has a Hockey game at 6:30 this morning, so being the outstanding Father/Husband/Human being that I am, I volunteered to be the first one up and get coffee/breakfast/whatever ready and get everyone else up after.

Did I mention I don't get to go to the game, and that I could have slept in almost right up until I have to go to work? (Why yes, I would like a pat on the back, thankyouverymuch.) There must be some sort of special honorarium I can receive for all this, right?

5am sucks.

It doesn't suck when it involves rolling out of bed, putting on running gear and hitting the road or gym - by the time you are fully awake, you have the adrenaline/endorphins to counteract the fact that it's really fucking early.

Just the right amount of caffeine.

Right now I'm fighting the desire to go back to sleep with coffee and sheer determination. Thank God I don't have a cat - if a warm fuzzy furball was cozied up in my lap right now, I'd probably slip into a coma right at the keyboard. Great blog post that would be, eh? Witty banter followed up by hflsfpsfspjj;lkkjkkkkkkkk. (Those of you who say it would be an improvement can kiss my ass.)

5am sucks.

Later.

10,000

2012-02-11T17:29:00.000-08:00

Hopeful Google AdSense revenue.

10,000 visitors.

That sure does seem like a big number for a tiny little blog whose owner mainly bitches about life, talks about running, and whines that "Topless Tuesday" hasn't become a national holiday.

In honour of the 10,000th visitor to this small corner of the digital arena (that's where we fight to the death for pageviews), I'd like to present a short list of places that I'm sure have had MORE than 10,000 visitors:

- Madonna's Vagina.
- The McDonald's right outside the exit to the Fat Camp.
- The Google Image Search results for "Naked Midgets Juggling Cats".
- The bathroom at Niagara Falls.
- Gene Simmons's penis. (I don't want to speculate on the duration of each visit..)
- That hole in the wall outside the Grotto at The Playboy Mansion.
- The Port-a-Potties at the Boston Marathon.

See?

In the grand scheme of things, 10,000 isn't really a lot.

But there is one difference - I glad each and every one of you stopped by - that can't be said for Gene Simmons's visitors.

Here's to the next 10,000.

Later.

I Feel:

2012-02-10T14:35:00.000-08:00

Punishable by Death.

That the look of amazement most people give you when you say you've just run for an hour straight is worth whatever discomfort the run may give you.
That if I had to choose between giving up my morning solitude of coffee, news, and Internet or a testicle, I'd be limping pretty badly to one side.
That as much as I agree that the founder of Lululemon should be honored for his contributions, I don't think "Distinguished Entrepreneur" cuts it - I'm thinking "Saint".
That if you use the last of the toilet paper roll and can't be bothered to change it, you should be drawn, quartered, cut into small pieces and mailed to all the other assholes who just "can't be bothered".
That despite the previous entry, the loss of 20 pounds hasn't affected my level of jolliness yet. I'm not at Santa-levels, but I'm not a fucking grouch either.
That after all the years of "exploring" with only a paper map and a backpack, pretty soon Dora's going to end up on a milk carton. I, for one, blame the parents who let their kid hang out with a monkey.
That the only thing 3-D will add to Star Wars is to make the Luke/Leia kiss even more awkward. That, and Han's crotch bulge will be prominent in every shot because he's got balls bigger than two Ewoks.

Two Ewoks: Perfect for snacks!
That the way people anticipate and get worked up about the next release of an iPad or iPhone takes me back to how teenage-me used to get excited about the prospect of "Second Base".
That, after forgetting to sign in at the gym this morning, having the girl behind the counter say since I'm "so forgetful" she'll check to make sure I'm wearing underwear next time is both creepy and a compliment.
That my level of frustration when dealing with the general public is well documented, and the fact that I haven't ever actually stabbed someone should earn me some sort of award.

Later.

Audiology.

2012-02-09T14:28:00.001-08:00

Headphones.

My kingdom for some headphones.

(It's not much of a kingdom, mind you, but it smells nice and is really low maintenance.)

Why the headphones? Because the fucker sitting across from me at the lunchroom table won't shut the fuck up. Blahblahblahblahblah - seriously, there's so much inane drivel pouring out of this guy's mouth that it's making me want to take one of the little plastic spoons in the drawer and rupture both eardrums just to have some relief.

Now the schmuck is going on about the Royal Family and their role in our Government - he's completely fucking wrong but I don't want to correct him because it means getting involved with the flow of verbal excrement that oozes from his mouth-hole. However, the cashier he's trying to explain this to is absolutely enraptured.

If I could just find some headphones, I could put some music on and pretend they are both singing along to the Foo Fighters instead of polluting the air with audio retardation. I'm feeling dumber just being in the same room.

Do you think jamming an electrical cord into my phone and then sticking the two prongs into my ears would work?

It's worth a try.

If no one hears from me in the next day or so, just look in the lunch room for the charred corpse with a smile of relief on his face.

Later.

/Rant

2012-02-08T19:37:00.001-08:00

Tonight at work I had a lady (I use the term loosely, here) get incredibly irate with me at the cost of her Nectarines. She couldn't believe that fruit would cost so much. (Just so you know, they were $4.99/lb - normal for this time of year.)

I had to remind her that the product was out of season, came from Australia, we're in Canada, and was in limited supply, hence the price. It's the same reason your Raspberries, Blueberries, and such cost more in the dead of Winter.

She just couldn't get her head around the idea. "I'm sure I could go to the Okanagan (B.C.'s fruit & veggie country - kinda like Napa, California) and get them cheap!" she exclaimed to me - and in my incredibily polite manner I told her that the Okanagan was 500 kilometers away and it was colder there right now than it is here.

She still didn't get it.

I think that people have forgotten what "In Season" means - and that when the revolution comes, or the Aliens, or if the Mayans were right, then this lady's biggest problem sure isn't going to be her fucking Nectarines in Febuary.

/end Rant

Later.

Jared's Best Friend.

2012-02-08T11:22:00.000-08:00

In my family, Tuesday night is Subway night.

Because of the way our schedule rolls, Tuesday night is especially hectic - from the moment the kids are out of school, there's always something going on. Hockey, Karate, stopping by the Grandparents, Homework, and one of us being at work until 5 or 6 means that dinner is the one thing left out.

So we hit Subway before heading home.

Before you scream at me that I'm feeding the corporate machine, understand this: in the town I live in, the only quick and easy places to eat are all places like McDonald's, DQ, A&W, or some Chinese Food place. I'd rather eat a tad healthier than that, and we don't have a deli right around the corner, or even a little Mom and Pop place to go - if we did, they'd be closed at 7pm like the rest of town usually is on a Tuesday.

We do have 3 Subways.

We always go to the same location, because it's always the same guy working there. Every Tuesday for the past six weeks, Lennon (I asked his name) has been behind the counter crankin' out the sandwiches.You know how on their shirts it says "Sandwich Artist"? Well, in all the years I've eaten at Subway, this is the only person I've come across who fills the role. Perfect food, fast, and the friendliest service every time we are there. I was so impressed with his work that I emailed Subway Canada and the local Franchise Owner to tell them how impressed I was with the job the guy does. (I praised the sit out of him.)

What I'm used to at Subway..

So you can imagine my disappointment last night when we walked into our favorite location to see someone else behind the counter. MyWife even looked at me and asked if I still wanted to eat there. Considering anything else would add 50 grams of fat and 600 calories to the evening, I said we'd just try it and see.

Sandwich was okay - service was brutal.

Mr. Surly Bastard behind the counter was a complete letdown. In a job that asks you to find out what the customer would like on their sandwich , and then put said item on the sandwich, you really shouldn't make it seem like an imposition when their child asks for extra lettuce. I wanted to reach over the counter and shove a banana pepper into his eye.

What I got last night.

My only consolation was that Lennon had either been handsomely rewarded for his efforts with a night off - or maybe some sort of exotic vacation, I don't know - but I hope it's short, because last night just wasn't the same.

Come back to us, Lennon, come back.

Later.

Lopsided.

2012-02-07T10:57:00.000-08:00

*When doing a Google Image Search for "Lopsided" it's astounding how many pictures come up of Tara Reids boobs.

I need to get another Tattoo.

I was talking about it with the Sidekick yesterday, and I was thinking about it when I got out of the tanning bed at the gym today as well.

(Don't make fun of the tanning bed. Getting my porcelain-like skin ready for the spring/summer and outside running takes time and dedication - and getting to listen to this while standing in a lighted tube is awesome - I'm just thankful no one can see me rockin' out in there.)

...but I digress.

As I was getting dressed after my workout/~~rock concert~~ tanning session, I assessed my tattoo situation - I have two at the moment and they are both on my right side.

The one on my chest is the Japanese kanji for "Love" - got it at 19 after my heart was torn out and smashed. Oh, teenage angst, I don't miss you one bit.
The one on my leg is for my marathon - I've always had plans to add to it, but that got sidetracked since I haven't ran a full Marathon since. (I'm hoping for this fall.)

So as you can see, I've completely ignored the left side of my body. Is it because I'm right handed? Is it because I think I look better from the right? Was I really not paying attention?

I do want to get something involving the kids, or maybe something that shows yet another one of my addictions. The Blogger logo shaped like a coffee cup? (I'm kidding - I'm not retarded.)

It's going to take some thought - or else a lot of Gin and some poor decision-making.

We'll see.

Later.

In the Long Run: Shit We Eat.

2012-02-06T06:00:00.003-08:00

This is the first post in mine & Triple T's Monday Long Run Blog Experiment - The first subject - Gels.

I'm not the biggest fan of gels, but GU has something that just might interest me.

Peanut Butter.

I've tried gels exactly twice, the first being the Comox Valley Half Marathon 2 years ago, and the second was during my first full Marathon - The 2009 Royal Victoria Marathon. Both times the gel was used as more of a mental support aid than a fuel. I will be trying one on my Long Run this weekend as part of my collaboration with Triple T on documenting our Long Runs.

Until a support worker on the side of the road pushed one into my hand, I'd never even seen a gel. Sure, I'd read about them, but being a middle-aged guy with the mind of an 19-year old, I figured I was invulnerable and that taking something mid-race to help me finish was showing weakness. Looking back, I swear my balls were bigger than my shoes.

I didn't even use the gel from my Half - I'm sure I could find it in the box with all my racing bibs and finishing medals (it would still be good, right?)- I mainly just held it in my hand, like Linus's security blanket, until I crossed the line. As I said, my mentality at the time was that I didn't need it, but the inner hoarder in me who can't throw away anything free kept it juuust in case.

The second time, during my Full, was completely different. I held onto the gel just like in the Half - keeping it in reserve - but in the back of my mind I didn't think I'd need it.

But need it I did.

You see, with the training program I was following, the longest long run you did pre-race was 23 miles - I guess they figure the adrenaline and everything else on race day will keep you revved up enough to make the final 5km alone. So when I hit somewhere around 24-ish miles, my body was wondering what the fuck was going on - weren't we supposed to have stopped a while ago? Why were my feet still moving? Isn't there a chair around here somewhere?

As I feel things start to shut down, I realize that I'm holding the gel in my hand - you know, the gel I picked up around the 10K mark, and have been holding clenched in my hand for the last 18 miles? I looked at it like it was my salvation - the gel will do it! The gel will supercharge me like nitrous into a racecar - I'll burn through the last two miles like Vin Diesel burns through scenery in every Fast & Furious movie. Shit, this packet in my hand will make me a temporary Kenyan.

I ripped open the package and smooshed it into my mouth. I'm not sure how the rest of you do it, but I don't think there's any graceful way to eat one of these things while running - so I smooshed it.

Hand-warmed chocolate gel tastes exactly as you think it would.

The results weren't what I expected, either - instead of the Speedy Gonzalez burst of energy and dash to the finish I hoped for, all I got was a bad taste in my mouth and the same feet I had before. The only improvement in speed was that I ran a little faster to the last water station hoping to flush the flavor out of my mouth.

So as you can see, the thought of gels during this training regimen is one of avoidance - but if you recall anything you've read in this blog, it's that Peanut Butter can do no wrong in my eyes. My thought with GU's Peanut Butter gel is that it will be like shoving the inside of a Reese's into my mouth - and that is something that the former fatty in me just can't wait for.

Note: The above was written in advance of my Long Run/ Gel combination - everything below was written after my 9 mile run. (It was inside, on a treadmill - because I have a cold and I'm a pussy.)

Things I learned today with Gu:

My local running shop doesn't have Peanut Butter in stock right now - I won't shame them by publishing their name - I just want them to know how I died a little inside.
If you think that guy at the gym who grunts, drops weights, and swigs from his protein shake between sets looks like a douchebag, imagine how the guy slurping down chocolate pudding on the treadmill looks.
I run on an empty stomach - always have. Not being sure when to use the gel, I downed it at about the 5Km mark. Once again, let me state that when not amidst a pack of runners doing the same thing, eating a gel makes you feel like a tool and that everyone is wondering "What the fuck is that guy doing?".
Once again, no Kenyan-like burst of speed - my main reaction was an intense desire to brush my teeth.
After Mile 6, I did feel something - It's called "My guts churning mercilessly".
During a run, I make it a point to stop only once - it's called "At the end of the run." - unfortunately with today's run, I had to pause for a bathroom break at Mile 7 - are you supposed to count that in total time ran?
I think that Gu should include Imodium in their ingredients in the next batch they make. (Is that TMI?)
I should thank them, though - the last 2 miles were ran at a blistering 8'13"/mile - probably because I was lighter and also because the thought of stopping again horrified me.
When leaving the gym, the sweet girl behind the counter kindly pointed out that I had "pudding" on my face - maybe GU should also provide a napkin, or else maybe I should walk when I try these things (Yeah, right.)
That Triple T would have it made - I live in the pristine wilderness of B.C., and were I to just discard my used GU packet willy nilly, I'd be breaking all sorts of eviromental regulations - but she lives in Chicago - so in my mind, there's a dumpster or burning hobo barrel every kilometer she can throw hers out in. (I remind people I only know of Chicago through Movies and Television...)

Speaking of Triple T, now that you know how my run went, go check out hers...

Later.

Intro (otherwise known as The Tale of Triple T.)

2012-02-05T06:00:00.005-08:00

Triple T - waaay better profile pic than mine.

A long time ago, lost in the mists of time (two months), I wrote a post about possibly using Cats for firewood. I got two comments on that one, both positive - I guess it goes to show you how people on Blogger feel about cats.

As I am wont to do whenever any of you comment, I follow your profile back to your blog to see what you are doing - it's not stalking because I'm not actually outside your house, so don't be scared.

I followed one of the links back to Triple T.

The first thing I saw was a post about her Thanksgiving, and I figured that I had stumbled across a Blogger Soccer Mom - you can't swing a cat around this place without hitting one - but it was a later post where she threatens to cut her husband for not answering his cellphone (among other offenses) that made me stop and reassess the whole thing.

I then spent the next hour entranced in the way she puts together a sentence.
You know those people who make it seem like writing is the easiest thing in the world? She's like that - my envy at how she can smack out an interesting, funny, on-point post effortlessly made me keep checking back daily. (Then I figured out how to follow people on Blogger and now I let Google do it for me.) The fact that her descriptions of Dog: The Bounty Hunter made me actually watch the show speaks to her apt description of Tits, Hair, and the Chapman Clan.

A couple of weeks ago, Triple T approached me with an interesting offer, and I'm totally going to rip this off from her because she explained it a thousand times better than I ever could in her blog:

"I started following his posts and quickly learned that we although we lived 1,806 miles (that's 2905 kilometers) apart, we had a bunch in common. We're both runners, we're both Gemini's (I'm exactly two weeks than MLR) and we both suffer from cold sores.

On our face. Not on our naughty bits.

And just one or two weeks ago, I realized we were on almost the same schedule for our long runs. And here's how we're different (try this to the tune of Ebony and Ivory, like Stevie and Frank did it in that classic SNL sketch):

I run outside, he runs indoors.
It doesn't matter which coast,
We both have sores.
His race is in March
Mine, in May
We'll share our stories with you
Every Mon...daaayy.

Okay. We promise not to collaborate on any lyric writing. But we will tag team on some Monday-issued posts that talk about our training long runs. The actual format ... well, we don't know. How we'll technically pull it off? I leave it to MLR ... he's a black belt at Google Fu. Will there be swearing. You bet your sweet ass there will be.

Check in every Monday and see how we're doing on our long run adventures as we work towards our 13.1 and 26.2 events in March and May, respectively."

See? See how easy she does it?

The minute she mentioned writing about our long runs in a He said/ She said kind of deal, I was sold.

So please - Check back Mondays and see what's going down in this cross-border conflagration.

Later.

Tagged.

2012-02-04T09:41:00.000-08:00

I've been Tagged.

Sarah Problem? at Run, Running, Runner "tagged" me, and since she's a fellow runner and I'm not a complete asshole, I'm going to comply.

See? This is why Blogger is way more fun than Facebook - politeness. Those fucking heathens out in Facebookland, with their pokes and Farmville shit, can kiss my ass.

Ahhh, civility.

So to comply with the Rules of this thing,I have to post the rules:

~~Do not talk about Fight Club~~. Post these rules
You must post 11 random things about yourself.
Answer the questions set for you in your tagger's post.
Create 10 new questions for the people you tag to answer.
Go to their blogs and tell them you’ve tagged them
No stuff in the tagging section about "you are tagged if you are reading this." You have to tag 11 different people!

Rules Posted? Check.
On to the next part:
11 Random Facts about Me:

I was born in the Yukon - the frozen tundra of the north.
I'm a Twin - 3 minutes younger than the guy who crawled out before me.
I used to be athletic, became a porker, and after age 35, lost the chub.
~~I would stab a hobo for a donut~~. I really like pastries.
My Dad taught me how to shoot a pistol and rifle at age 8.
I lost my oldest brother to AIDs when I was 23.
Midgets used to freak me out, but thanks to Peter Dinklage and Game of Thrones, I think they are pretty bitchin'.
I drink at least 4 huge travel mugs of coffee a day.
I have two tattoos (chest and leg) and would love to have more.
I used to manage a McDonald's and my Wife is a former Drive-Thru girl.
I can correctly use chopsticks to eat Chinese Food, and pick up small, icky items off the floor is necessary.

Sarah Problems? Questions for me:

1. What is your middle name? Love or hate? Richard - Hate because it's always shortened to "Dick".
2. Truth or kindness? Kindness - The truth can be twisted - true kindness can't be faked.
3. Workout in the morning or night? I hit the Gym or Road between 5:30 -6am - I guess if you are coming home from the bar, it's still night.
4. If you could cure 1 single disease - what would it be? Cancer - even though I lost my Brother to AIDs, Cancer has touched more people in my life.
5. always lose or never play? It's better to try your best and lose than to never play.
6. end hunger or hatred? Hatred - If we all get along, the food will take care of itself. Sharing is Caring.
7. what is your first childhood memory? I'm 39 - I can't remember anything before I was six - so probably skating on the roads -you have to live in the Yukon to get that one..
8. what is your 'power' song? It varies - right now, "Fans" by Kings of Leon.
9. 3 bad habits? Too much coffee, I talk too much, and I can't read just one book at a time.
10. run fast or run far? Run far fast? Distance over speed - The Zen of running works for me.

Now I have to list My 10 Questions for the People I'm tagging:

Favorite Alcoholic Beverage?
Technical Gadget you can't live without?
Favorite Movie that you like but everyone else hates?
If you could have coffee with one person, living or dead, who would it be? (You can't pick me, even though I know you all want to.)
Quote that you find inspiring or funny?
Porn: Scourge of society, Ok in the right doses, or just can't get get enough?
Worst Job you ever had?
E-reader or Actual Book?
Why do you blog?
Biggest Guilty Pleasure?

And here's who I tagged:

From the Mind of a Mad Man
This is Not My Beautiful House
Going the Distance.
The Best of Me
Canadian D-Gal
Antiquarian Miss.
Butch Country
Adventures in Reality.

Why not the 11 requested in the rules? Because being on my followed list is only for a select few - and since I'd like to know more about all of these people, they made the list. (I know, sneaky, eh?)

Later.

Spellacious Nightmare.

2012-02-03T09:06:00.000-08:00

I was typing up another post, (not this post, but a different one - waaay funnier, believe me.) and I noticed something that bothered me.

My fucking spelling has become atrocious.

For a guy who likes to think he's quite verbose, (c'mon, I just used "verbose" and "atrocious" in, like, TWO sentences - it's like I was born with a dictionary in one hand and a thesaurus in another - Mom was VERY uncomfortable that day.) this shocking inability to correctly type whatever words my brain is spewing out is very disconcerting.

Seriously - the preceding paragraph had so many spelling errors that Blogger's spellcheck wanted to put me into "Crayon" mode. Now that's scary.

Blogger would prefer me to use this method.

Right now I'm blaming it on the tiny laptop keyboard, too much coffee and the fact that while my mind moves at approximately 213mph, my fingers move considerably slower. (Don't worry about the fingers, ladies, they do just fine...)

If I combat the coffee with NyQuil, and maybe actually learn to touch type, then the mistakes will not be so glaring and I won't see smoke billowing from the back of the laptop when I hit the "Check Spelling" button. (It gets tiring seeing those squiggly red lines under every second word.)

We'll see.

For now, just know that the glory you read everyday is all natural, but like the abs of the Spartans in 300, there's been just a bit of digital enhancement.

It's also what I wear when I type - you're welcome for the visual.

Later.

Android Whore.

2012-02-02T07:19:00.000-08:00

So PC Magazine thinks that because I own an Android phone, I'm a slut.

The article says that if you're looking for love on Valentine's, go for an Android user as we are more likely to put out on the first date, have a one night stand, and never call again. They make me sound like an insensitive asshole.

I can do well enough on my own, thank you very much.

Typecasting people based on their phones? How gauchè. (Is that right? My French is fucked.)

I'm Canadian, I run, I drive a beat-up Volkswagen Golf and have an Android phone. Okay, PC Magazine, based on that information, what can you tell me about my penis?

Ha! Got you there!
(Let's just keep any penile-related stuff between you and me, okay?)

While my phone does say a lot about me, it also has pictures of my Wife and kids on it, so there goes part of your theory - I obviously had more than a one-night fling with the Wife - although the missus may be interested to know I'm so easy...

...like she'll be shocked.

Later.

Breaking the Color Barrier.

2012-02-01T09:06:00.000-08:00

Today, I crossed the 3106 mile mark on my Nike+ Sportband.

I had no idea why Nike chose that number, but then my innate Canadianism kicked in and I realized it was 5000km - this feat has moved me from the grandiose color of "Purple" to the (I imagine) more elite color of "Black".

I feel like a refurbished Kenyan.

I'm not sure if Americans get to progress on the color meter at a more rounded number, like say 3000 miles, or if they just stare at the screen and think that the Nike guys are either crazy or smoke a lot of pot while designing their website.

I was already in the Purple category when Nike rolled out their color idea, so the change doesn't mean to much to me - except that thankfully everything on the Nike+ website no longer has a purple tinge to it.

It just seems "Manlier" now, right?

But as you can see, my January totals aren't too bad.

22 Runs, 93 miles, and my average pace is 8'47" - I can be happy with that, as it feels like an improvement from when I got back on the horse, so to speak. (Or Moose - I'm Canadian, remember?)

We'll see how it progresses in February, and if I can be just as pleased going into March and my Half.

Another plus - there was no Mabel today, and My Baby purred like a kitten. (For those of you who think that sentence sounds retarded, just read my previous post and all will be made clear.)

Now I'm heading to Hockey, and then I'm going to get to spend some quality time with the couch.

Really, could you ask for a better day?

Jackie Robinson wishes he was me.

Later.

Mabel & The Seven Treadmills.

2012-01-31T11:16:00.000-08:00

I ran into a Mabel today.

I'm sneezing and sniffling, so for today's run I packed up and headed to the gym to hit the treadmill. I'm not going to risk having a cold or worse fuck up my training for the Half - I'm selfish that way. (Or a wuss - call it as you see it.)

The thing about my gym, if I haven't mentioned it before, is that it only has 7 treadmills - and much like the seven dwarves, each of them has a different "personality" that can be summed up in what I call them:

Oldie - This treadmill was born during the jögging (Scandinavian pronunciation) phenomenon of the 70's. When I run on it I get the feeling that it wants to tell me about how running was harder "back in the day" and tell me to "hit the sauna" afterwards.
Corpse - This is Oldie's brother. I have never seen this one in working order - I swear the "Out of Order" sign on it is older than my kids.
Skipper - Although it sounds like Barbie's younger sister, (don't ask how I know) this machine is can only be used successfully by either a double-dutch team or the ghost of Terry Fox.
Grinder - Grinder is deceptive - When he's set at walking speed, he's quiet as a mouse. The second he goes to any sort of faster pace the sound of gnashing metal teeth and screech of protests are enough to make everyone in the gym stop and stare. Grinder became who he was by having a 6-foot-4, 245 pound slab of muscle pound on him at 9.5 to 10mph about 5 days a week - if there's a hell for treadmills, Grinder's there.
Looker - there's nothing wrong with Looker - perfectly fine treadmill, if you like being directly opposite the huge fucking mirror. I know it's weird, but I can't watch myself run - I have a vision of perfect posture, excellent stride, and flawless complexion when I run. Seeing the sweaty, flawed realism takes me out of my game.
The Mistress - This is the newest treadmill at the gym. works good, bright and shiny, has all the bells and whistles. I would run the shit out of this one of it wasn't for...
My Baby - My Baby is the cremé de la cremé of the gym treadmills - perfect position (can't see myself run), on the end of the line (no squeezing in between treadmills), and has never broken down or missed a day. (I have busted out a 12 mile run on this thing in the dead of winter - this treadmill is connected to my soul.) I guess because of where it is, not a lot of people like to run on it - except me - and most people know it as "my" treadmill.

Well, everyone except Mabel, that is.

I don't know if her name is Mabel and I don't care - she's 100 years old (Ok, maybe 60) and all she does is walk on the treadmill. - no incline, no increase in speed, no effort exerted at all beyond hitting the "Start" button.

And she was doing all of this nothing on my treadmill.

You think that she would have gone for Oldie - I'm sure she probably knew the original designer - or even tried out Looker for a better view of herself and the TV's - (did I mention that she was watching 100 Huntley Street? I think I should.) but no, she chose My Baby for her leisurely stroll.

I sucked it up and only ground my teeth a little as I went to The Mistress and did my run. It's a good treadmill, but it's not the same. And with Karma being what it is, Mabel's walk finished at exactly the same time as my run. I estimate that she maybe did one mile to my four - I was tempted to go run a couple miles on My Baby just to let her know I was there.

I appreciate that Mabel is getting out there and trying to stay in shape - if she had even attempted something more than a walk I'm sure that my bitterness would be much less. I swear if she had been reading a magazine while walking I don't think I would have been able to contain myself.

Does that make me crazy? Is that intervention on the way?

Whatever - I'm going to give it one more chance tomorrow - but if she's heading to the treadmills at the same time I am, I can't be held responsible for my actions.

Later.

Dear Cinnamon Toast Crunch:

2012-01-30T09:43:00.004-08:00

You've got to talk with someone in your marketing department.

Because something has to be done about this monstrosity:


The eyes burn into my soul.

Seeing that face on the carton while I'm stocking your product on the shelf was quite the shock to my system. Anytime I walked by it afterwards I could feel it's beady eyes staring lustfully at me - it kinda creeped me out. I can only imagine the horror on a child's face when they grab the box expecting to see the whimsical gaze of Tony the Tiger or Captain Crunch, only to be confronted (and dangerously damaged) by this vision of cereal gone wrong.

I won't even say what it's gaze implies about the milk in the bowl.

I recommend you check the desk of the person who designed the box - I'm sure it's full of kinky pictures, whips, and quite possibly a Meth lab.

Later.

Grand Ad-sperations

2012-01-29T09:32:00.002-08:00

After hearing how a fellow Blogger made 3 whole dollars in one day from Google AdSense, I decided to turn ads back on on the blog and start swimming in some of that fat Google cash.

What I imagine they're raking in.

I figure that since I've already surrendered my privacy to Google and entwined them in my life so much, (Blogger, Gmail, Google+, Picassa, Google Reader, Google Docs, I even own an Android phone) that one more step into the "Don't Be Evil" camp can't hurt, can it?

Google - totally not watching me pee.

Besides, if I whore myself out (Ad wise, that is) for 3 dollars a day, in six months I can have a Garmin paid for. (Or a Nike+ GPS watch - if either company wants to give me one to "review", I'll give my unbiased opinion while softly holding it and calling it my "precious".)

I'd stab a Hobbit in the eye for this.

So I made peace with myself and whatever deity watches over me, and clicked the necessary boxes to have ads all up in your grills.

And nothing happened.

Damn you, Google.

First the snub on Blogs of Note and now this? There's just big blank spaces where my money making ads should be. I want to have a post about T-shirts and see a huge fucking ad for the Mr. T fun doll (circa 1986) up there. I'll even take one of those slutty American Apparel ads - even though they make me feel funny in my pants.

Nothing's more Basic than an erection.

I'm sure I'll have to go on some epic quest through FAQ's and to tell the truth, I'm quite ready to slay whatever virtual dragons needed to make this Ad-thing happen. Any task, no matter how Herculean the effort, will be accomplished. (Outside of running outdoors in the Chicago winter - I'm not that hardcore.)

I'm willing to accept the fact that I'll never be Blogger's "darling" and suck up to the right people enough to make the Blogs of Note, and I understand that you've used the "Next Blog" button to bury me in the middle of a pile of Christian Soccer Mom blogs, but don't do this - don't take away my chance to have a piece of that sweet Google pie.

Filled with hopes, dreams, and porn.

Come on, Google - we can totally make this a win/win for both of us, right?

Later.

App-rehension.

2012-01-28T17:40:00.000-08:00

I don't know why teeth are involved in this picture.

I hate deleting apps.

I have a real issue with getting rid of something that I think I might need sometime in the future. Even if it's something I don't need, I'll sometimes keep it just because I don't want to have to re-download it again. (How lazy can you get?) God forbid if it's something I paid for, but don't use anymore - I'm keeping that shit forever.

You have no idea how many times I've stared at the screen on my phone, just debating whether or not to delete something - and since the neat-freak in me likes to have a clean home screen, I've got apps I don't use tucked away into folders I don't need, on screens I don't look at.

I think it would be cool if there was some sort of garage sale for apps - some place where you could get a couple of bucks for that Poker app you don't play anymore, and pick up a better (if slightly used) music app that would work better for, oh let's say running.

Somebody come up with that, 'kay?

I would, but between running, working, and spilling my life out online I'm kinda busy.

...and maybe someone can come get rid of that Fart Noises App I have on my phone - I just can't bring myself to let it go, and I think it's time to cut the cord.

Later.

Day Off.

2012-01-27T15:52:00.001-08:00

There's a problem when you go to the same gym as the people you work with.

You know how sometimes you just want to go there and do your thing, and not talk to anyone? Maybe because you don't have time, want to stay focused, or maybe just because you have a huge fucking cold sore on your face? (That last one was from a while back.)

Good luck. Work people always want to talk. And at 6 in the morning, the last thing I want to talk about is work. I'm going to be there in 2 hours anyway, so why don't we talk about work while we're at work? Isn't that a crazy idea?

The other downfall is if you take a day off.

I didn't workout this morning. I didn't go for a run, either. I opted to take that extra hour of sleep and cherish it, hold it, love it, and vow to never let it go. Unfortunately, the alarm clock went off anyway and fucked that up, so I got up and went to work.

When I got to there, I had the work/gym people all over me - "Where were ya?", "Skipping workouts, eh?" - shit like that. I wanted to take my pen and stab them in the eye.

I'm glad they are there for motivation, but someone missing ONE day does not constitute falling off the wagon. I don't need an intervention. Someone needs to explain to them (with extreme prejudice) that "rest" is also part of a workout. I'm down 15 pounds and my speed is slowly coming back, and if they think I'm going to jeopardize that, they are crazy.

Luckily for them, I'm as cheerful as a Smurf on ecstasy once I strap on my "Customer Service" face, so no one got hurt - and since I'm running 7 miles tomorrow and all of them are wusses who whine about anything over 5K, they can kiss my ass.

Wow - I've just re-read what I've typed, and I guess I'm a dick when I don't get my exercise high in the morning. Who knew?

Maybe I do need that intervention after all....

Later.

Axe to Grind.

2012-01-26T19:11:00.000-08:00

During my de-stress run at the gym last night, I noticed a couple of things:

The average age (compared to the mornings, when I usually go) is down by about 30 years. I don't think there's more testosterone and acne located in any single place anywhere else in town.
These people stink.

It's not the natural, musky, "working hard and sweating buckets" odor that you'd expect in a gym, (although that's there too -it's a gym, after all.) but the sickly-sweet spray-can smell of Axe deodorant/body-spray/whatever.

I swear these guys were swimming in it.

Ahh - the smell of cat pee on rotting wood.

It wasn't like some guy doused himself when he got out of the shower - they smelled like that while they were working out. It was like a can exploded by the weight rack, and only the douchey-looking ones got hit. The fact that there's really no women in the place make me wonder who they were trying to smell good for - were they hoping that some stray woman would stagger into the gym and be entranced by the fresh-from-the-can pheromones they are throwin' down?

The odds of that happening are about as likely as me suddenly beating the average Kenyan in a foot race.

I think they need counseling - someone to tell them that less is more, and that quality is better than 3 cans/$5 at Wal-mart.

I'd do it, but that means I'd have to submit myself to that stench for an even longer period - and that ain't going to happen.

Thank God for mornings.

Later.

Twofer.

2012-01-25T16:53:00.001-08:00

I woke up this morning with grandiose plans.

I ran for 5km, went home, got the kids off to school, had breakfast, and was just about to head to the rink (I had the gear in the car and everything!), when my Mom called and the day went to shit.

It's personal stuff that I'm not going to disclose here, but let's just say my plans for a de-stressful day were fucked. I spent the rest of my day dealing with it until it was time to get the kids, and then their stuff had to take priority. It's still not settled, but its manageable, at least.

I was a fucking bottle of stress and all of a sudden the Wife had a great idea - she looked at me and said "Why don't you go for a run? You'll feel better."

The woman is awesome, I tell ya.

I just got back from my second run in 12 hours, and I feel pretty fucking great - it's not booze or chocolate, but the endorphins have me feeling pretty good.

And right now I'll take that.

Later.

*come back tomorrow when I return to my regular level of awesomeness.

Seat of All Knowledge.

2012-01-24T12:32:00.000-08:00

I post more pictures of toilets than I do of my kids.

In the circles I travel in, I'm kind of known as a bright guy. Not Einstein-level smart, but the type of guy that people usually come to with questions because I either know the answer or know how to find it. I'm that guy you know who knows a little bit about a lot of stuff.

(Remember that roommate you had who kicked your ass every time Jeopardy was on? That's me.)

I have a secret to confess - it's not schooling that filled my head full of information;

There were no long hours of study in the library;

I don't peruse Wikipedia on a daily basis;

I just have a huge collection of Bathroom Readers.

You remember books, right? The thing people used to take to the bathroom before smartphones were invented?

While I don't have every single Bathroom Reader - I have a lot. What started out as a inside joke for a stocking stuffer at Christmas years ago has turned into a twice-yearly easy gift for anyone that knows me. It's a guarantee that if there is a wrapped, brick-like object under the tree or beside the cake, someone has bought me a Bathroom Reader. (Unless, you know, they bought me an actual brick - but that would just be weird.)

I usually break convention and read them outside the confines of the bathroom, but I'm still able to soak up all the information - I don't think there's a direct correlation between the two.

I like them because they wrap up useful information in a format that is entertaining and not strenuous to read - I guess they figured if you were reading their books in the bathroom, you were straining enough already. They also cover a wide variety of topics that I wouldn't normally read about. Sorry to disappoint any Americans out there, but most of what I know about your history comes from these books and Hollywood.

For years, I thought this photo was pretty accurate.

There is one drawback to the knowledge that gets gleaned from these tomes: it's running into someone who knows the same information because they got it from the same source.

I was having a conversation the other day at work, and the subject got around to Bananas - I work in a grocery store, what do you expect? - we were talking about crops, rotation, suppliers and such, and I quoted a couple of statistics and facts that I had read about in the Bathroom Reader I got for Christmas. As soon as the words left my mouth, one of the guys I work with looks a me and says "Hey - I was just going to say that! I've got that Bathroom Reader too!" - we had a pretty good laugh about it.

So the next time you come across some who seems to be a bit of a know-it-all, don't hate them or be in awe of their intellect - just understand that they read something other than US Weekly or the shampoo bottle while they are going about their business.

Later.

*Uncle John's did not pay me or give me anything to write about Bathroom Readers - if they want to, I'm totally cool with that. I believe the term is "Blogwhorin".


Two Ewoks: Perfect for snacks!