October 6, 2010
I don’t even know if I should do this anymore but it feels like it’s the right thing to do. It’s the right thing to do, but HOW? Where are the words? The ideas are here and everywhere alright, but how do I put them together and make sense. I don’t know. Reading and rereading my previous entries didn’t really help, on the contrary it was a bummer reading ME. I will continue to soul search for this purpose. There’s so much to write about but just as there are so much, there seems none. But I’m here and somehow it feels good to be here and make an attempt to begin again. To “begin again” that sounds like a lot.
October 3, 2010
O…my…..Go…lly!!! Where is kenmore? Hey buddy, where ya at?
Was it 10 years? Twenty? It’s been a very long time. But I’m still here.
May 24, 2008
The noble ruins of men lie buried here
You are strong men, good men.
Endowed with youth and much the will to live.
I hear no protest from the mute lips of the dead.
They rest; there is no more to give.
So long my comrades,
Sleep ye where you fell upon the field.
But tread softly please
March O’er my heart with ease
March on and on
But to God alone we kneel.
May 1, 2008
For a good while now I’ve been wanting to own this piece of bike-maintenance equipment. It’s good to have, especially when care for a road bike is priority. With this tool, bike maintenance comes very easy and practical. After a long ride you just break it open, pop the legs and arms, hang the old bike on it, and, bam! Pretty convenient, huh? It’s just so much easier to clean and sort the bike that way.
It’s really nice.
And very expensive too. Way too expensive for me
Well, there’s this place called Home Depot. One day while there looking for paint I stumbled across a device, some kind of equipment that people use to hang stuff on or something, in the garage or shop. I thought of my road bike and, well, it didn’t really take too much to make out the gist. So …aha!
Spent $7.99 on the poor thing. I reckon, with a duct tape and a couple of nails, I got myself a bike stand, or some kind of bike-repair stand.
I was gonna say solution, but what the hey, “passion” reads better. or fashion?
The kid saw this and he says to his old man, “whoa, cool, dad, I guess you don’t have to buy that bike stand at the bike shop anymore”.
April 4, 2008
This brown-haired chick that I saw a few times at Lake Murray* around October last year running a 7 min/mile pace, I saw her again today. She’s pregnant. And running.
How does she do that, run? She ran as though her big belly didn’t matter. She ran as though her life depended on it, as though her baby’s depended on it. Not as fast as her normal pace — about a minute and a half slower — but she’s running. I thought about going up to her to touch the thing, you know, poke her belly to make sure it wasn’t pillow or something else. But here’s the bummer: I got “chicked”. Y’all dudes out there, y’all know what that means right? For those who don’t, it means a dude getting passed, overpowered, or beaten, by a female in a race. That wasn’t a race really — she just made sure I felt she was in one. And won. I’ve been chicked quite a few times on the road bike. Especially out on the hills here in SD. With them chicks being lighter and all, and with the hi-tech super light carbon-fiber, titanium, what-have-you, expensive bikes (my excuses). Sure, why not. But running?
So on this one hill with a decent gradient, I’m plodding, laboring, huffing and puffing. My heart is about to detonate so I’m slowing down about a hundred meters before the top. Then I hear flapping sound of rubber shoes behind me and so I look behind. Pregnant runner from out of nowhere with a belly soo out there, doing her tiny-little-but-crazy-fast-leg-turnover pace. I’m like, what the…! She gets alongside me, then ahead of me, and then way ahead of me. Oh, it felt like there’s a monster rain cloud unloading directly on top me at that moment.
I got chicked. By a “pregnant chick”!
I must be in a very bad shape. Believe me, I spent half an hour at the parking area agonizing over whether or not I’m going to try and qualify for Boston. For the first time in my life the words “boston marathon” bother me a lot.
*my usual spot for long runs on my days off other than sundays. I’m with da kid on such days. The run happens in between dropping off da kid at school and picking him up later. I also go there to fly fish, or just fish.
March 30, 2008
I think two days ago, the kid calls while I was at work to tell me what he just saw. He knows not to ever call me at work except in emergency cases. Well, as it turns out, he says it wasn’t an emergency but he wants to let me know what it was about right away. He saw a couple of alligator lizards “fighting” just outside the doorstep. He goes, “Dad, you gotta listen to this, I saw two alligator lizards fighting outside, dad!” Now he’s saying this absolutely convinced the two lizards are locked up in some graceful demonstration of lizard fight. “Uh, dad, this one smaller lizard is on top of this other bigger lizard and the smaller llizard is biting the bigger lizard on the neck!”
I felt so odd all of a sudden. Or maybe awkward. Watching cartoons and bad black-and-white comedies with him right now would be a lot better than this conversation. I know from watching too many discovery Ch shows and animal planet shows that this wasn’t the case of two lizards fighting. Na-a
I wanted to lay it out to him straight. That the bite was a “bite of love” and not a fight bite. “Hey, son, you gotta listen to this, those two lizards, they weren’t fighting at all. They were having sex, okay. And what is sex? okay, check this out, sex is two people, or in this case, two animals, lizards, okay, of opposite sexes, having a really good time, okay? And why are they having a really good time? Gosh, I don’t know, maybe he thinks she’s pretty, okay, and she thinks he’s all right and so they get married, okay, and have plenty of sex out on peoples’ doorsteps. You understand…”
See, I didn’t dare go there. Mama mia. Leave that to his mom. Kids are brutal when their brains get stimulated. With this kid here, he can ask questions. In this subject, I see myself in some kind of traumatic ambiance. Call me less a dad, it’s okay.
“For sure, no doubt, son!” I say to him instead. “But next time you see this, get a glass of cold water and splash them with it, okay?”.
Of course the rebuttal: “But why dad?” That usually means he disagrees and wants further explanation.
I suck at this.