Musical
We saw a show in Lake Placid called 5 Guys Named Moe. It's one of those shows pulled together around a bunch of songs, these being songs performed and in some cases written by Louis Jordan (much to the disappointment of some of our party who thought it would be songs of Charles Jourdan, the French crooner). It's not really much of a show. A guy alone in his apartment feeling sorry for himself and 5 guys named Moe jump out of his radio to help him get a handle on his life, make up with his girlfriend, etc. I'm not sure what it is they do to help him, aside from sing a lot of fun songs. Any show that has Ain't Nobody Here But Us Chickens is ok by me.
One of my favorite things I ever saw on TV was a bit on Candid Camera where they had a whole diner filled with singers and musicians (all hiding their instruments) and when an unsuspecting customer said something they all break into a musical number, like in a show. The waitress starts singing to him, people in booths take out violins and horns and an accordion, and other customers start to dance. Too bad life isn't really like that.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Unlimited Edition
I was walking through town today and saw what was called a "limited edition" poster. What exactly does that mean? Is there such a thing as an unlimited edition poster? How could that happen? It reminds me of some traditional advertising phrases. My favorite is "fresh-picked," as in "made with fresh-picked vegetables." Well, of course the vegetables were fresh when they were picked. Or hearth-baked. Hearth, of course, meaning oven. Where else would you bake something?
I was walking through town today and saw what was called a "limited edition" poster. What exactly does that mean? Is there such a thing as an unlimited edition poster? How could that happen? It reminds me of some traditional advertising phrases. My favorite is "fresh-picked," as in "made with fresh-picked vegetables." Well, of course the vegetables were fresh when they were picked. Or hearth-baked. Hearth, of course, meaning oven. Where else would you bake something?
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
The Demolition Derby at the Essex County Fair
My wife and I went to the Essex County Fair. We couldn't coerce the kids into coming with us, so they went to the movies. I've always been a sucker for these kinds of things, but fortunately nobody else in my family is, so we rarely go. I don't know why I like them so much. I don't play the carnival games because I once read a book that explained in great detail how the odds are stacked against you. The rides are typically not that exciting and I always question the maintenance practices, and the carnies are not usually people you'd seek out for company. But it's always people watching beyond compare. Nobody dresses up for a county fair (except maybe the 4-H club baking contest types). Everyone's in their natural state and seem to be really there, as opposed to being one place and thinking about being somewhere else, as us metro area types are wont to do. It makes me feel like I'm really in the place I'm visiting, which makes me feel calm and grounded.
The attraction of this fair was a demolition derby. For those not familiar with these, a bunch of guys and gals drive a bunch of old junker cars with no windows or back seats into a contained area. On the count of 3 they begin to bash these cars into each other at whatever speed they can muster and continue until only one car can still move. These used to be on ABC's Wide World of Sports from time to time, back in the day, and they were always one of my favorites. Most so-called sports don't look like nearly so much fun.
My wife is a superb photographer, and she wanted to shoot the whole thing, from preparations through the event. We nixed buying a grandstand ticket as too limiting, and in all likelihood the grandstand was more pleasant to look at than to inhabit. It was whitewashed with a big fading red metal roof that oozed beaten down authenticity. But it was packed with a few hundred people, many of whom were eating french fries smothered in gravy. So we walked through the gate into the infield to where everyone was preparing their cars or heckling whoever was doing the preparations. An example of such preparations was the guy banging on the hood of his car with a sledge hammer to flatten out a bend. He then got up on it and started jumping up and down. There was an audience of about 10 guys for this, all offering advice, not all serious. It was clear that we did not belong in this area and equally clear that nobody could care less that we were there. I must say that this takes a bit of the fun out of sneaking in somewhere.
My wife went to do her photo thing. When she does this my main job is to not be in the photographs or in her way, so I steered away from her and just looked. As I was watching the Adirondack Trash Service Demo Team (they all had shirts) it occurred to me that I was sticking out like a sore thumb. It hadn't really occurred to me just who it was we were going to be hanging out with and I do not own the requisite outfit (trucker hat, t-shirt with either the name of a garage of a borderline obscene saying on it, loose, knee to calf-length denim shorts, hemmed or cut off and some kind of boots, shoes or sneakers the color of the dirt). Just so you can picture this, I was wearing a light blue and white horizontal striped Hugo Boss crew neck tee, stone J. Crew shorts, and bright white running shoes (brand new for the triathalon).
On one hand, these were not people I was really going to mingle with. I've been in a few places and can say that it's hard to find purer white trash than in upstate New York. On the other hand, I was there with them and they were fine and I was the one who looked stupid and out of place. This made me feel very alone and even to question my worth as a human being. Well, not really, but I did feel like a total outsider. I felt more at home in Paris where people ask me directions all the time and unless they speak English I just have to shrug.
I watched a pallet carrier picking up wrecked cars and loading them onto a flatbed (there'd been a round of this before we arrived). It was a little hard to tell the competitors from the aftermath, but finally a few of them lined up and it was time to start. We got a spot by the fence in with one of the "teams" and watched 12 cars drive into an area about 25 feet by 200 feet, closed off by movable concrete barriers. I always though it'd be fun to have a car that you could crash into a barrier and not care. The surface was soft dirt. The cars were all painted with numbers and company names and with shout outs to friends and family, living and dead, and snappy sayings like, "Hit me here." Then the countdown and a huge racket (so loud!) and off they went, smashing into each other left and right.
I remember from my viewing days that the strategy was to ram with your rear because the radiator was the weak spot, and once the radiator is smashed, the engine dies soon after. However, an alternate strategy uses the fact that the front end is heavier to so demolish the rear of the other car to the point where the wheels can no longer turn. It's fun to watch a car try to move (and on soft dirt it can) when the front wheels turn but the rear wheels do not.
One other guy had a car that ran fine but he was pushed at an angle so tightly into a corner that he couldn't move. He kept trying to go back and forth to extract himself, showering those of us close to him with dirt. A few of the others were disabled quickly, mostly by Bill, the guy in car 43, who was moving much faster and with more obvious glee than anyone else. Eventually #43 died too, but not without smashing his lone remaining competitor and claiming first prize for his aggression. It turned out that we were standing among Bill's buddies and he got cheers and backslaps when he came over holding a trophy and a check.
We then watched them drag all the wrecked cars out of the ring, after people had loaded all of the car parts in through where the windows had been. It was mostly bumpers and fenders, but there was a wheel attached to half an axle as well. And then they drove another dozen cars in and did it all over again. The highlight of this one was one car that pretty much had it's entire rear end knocked off, except for the wheels. We were a bit concerned for the driver. The safety equipment in these cars consists of a seat belt and a couple of bars inserted in key spots to keep the roof from collapsing if the car rolls (none of them did). To compensate, there were 4 fire engines and 3 ambulances waiting trackside. But everyone was okay and eventually someone won.
There was one more "heat," though heat implies that there's a final and of course all the competitors' cars were destroyed, so I'm not sure how that would work. Everyone in the grandstand stayed put, but we left.
My wife and I went to the Essex County Fair. We couldn't coerce the kids into coming with us, so they went to the movies. I've always been a sucker for these kinds of things, but fortunately nobody else in my family is, so we rarely go. I don't know why I like them so much. I don't play the carnival games because I once read a book that explained in great detail how the odds are stacked against you. The rides are typically not that exciting and I always question the maintenance practices, and the carnies are not usually people you'd seek out for company. But it's always people watching beyond compare. Nobody dresses up for a county fair (except maybe the 4-H club baking contest types). Everyone's in their natural state and seem to be really there, as opposed to being one place and thinking about being somewhere else, as us metro area types are wont to do. It makes me feel like I'm really in the place I'm visiting, which makes me feel calm and grounded.
The attraction of this fair was a demolition derby. For those not familiar with these, a bunch of guys and gals drive a bunch of old junker cars with no windows or back seats into a contained area. On the count of 3 they begin to bash these cars into each other at whatever speed they can muster and continue until only one car can still move. These used to be on ABC's Wide World of Sports from time to time, back in the day, and they were always one of my favorites. Most so-called sports don't look like nearly so much fun.
My wife is a superb photographer, and she wanted to shoot the whole thing, from preparations through the event. We nixed buying a grandstand ticket as too limiting, and in all likelihood the grandstand was more pleasant to look at than to inhabit. It was whitewashed with a big fading red metal roof that oozed beaten down authenticity. But it was packed with a few hundred people, many of whom were eating french fries smothered in gravy. So we walked through the gate into the infield to where everyone was preparing their cars or heckling whoever was doing the preparations. An example of such preparations was the guy banging on the hood of his car with a sledge hammer to flatten out a bend. He then got up on it and started jumping up and down. There was an audience of about 10 guys for this, all offering advice, not all serious. It was clear that we did not belong in this area and equally clear that nobody could care less that we were there. I must say that this takes a bit of the fun out of sneaking in somewhere.
My wife went to do her photo thing. When she does this my main job is to not be in the photographs or in her way, so I steered away from her and just looked. As I was watching the Adirondack Trash Service Demo Team (they all had shirts) it occurred to me that I was sticking out like a sore thumb. It hadn't really occurred to me just who it was we were going to be hanging out with and I do not own the requisite outfit (trucker hat, t-shirt with either the name of a garage of a borderline obscene saying on it, loose, knee to calf-length denim shorts, hemmed or cut off and some kind of boots, shoes or sneakers the color of the dirt). Just so you can picture this, I was wearing a light blue and white horizontal striped Hugo Boss crew neck tee, stone J. Crew shorts, and bright white running shoes (brand new for the triathalon).
On one hand, these were not people I was really going to mingle with. I've been in a few places and can say that it's hard to find purer white trash than in upstate New York. On the other hand, I was there with them and they were fine and I was the one who looked stupid and out of place. This made me feel very alone and even to question my worth as a human being. Well, not really, but I did feel like a total outsider. I felt more at home in Paris where people ask me directions all the time and unless they speak English I just have to shrug.
I watched a pallet carrier picking up wrecked cars and loading them onto a flatbed (there'd been a round of this before we arrived). It was a little hard to tell the competitors from the aftermath, but finally a few of them lined up and it was time to start. We got a spot by the fence in with one of the "teams" and watched 12 cars drive into an area about 25 feet by 200 feet, closed off by movable concrete barriers. I always though it'd be fun to have a car that you could crash into a barrier and not care. The surface was soft dirt. The cars were all painted with numbers and company names and with shout outs to friends and family, living and dead, and snappy sayings like, "Hit me here." Then the countdown and a huge racket (so loud!) and off they went, smashing into each other left and right.
I remember from my viewing days that the strategy was to ram with your rear because the radiator was the weak spot, and once the radiator is smashed, the engine dies soon after. However, an alternate strategy uses the fact that the front end is heavier to so demolish the rear of the other car to the point where the wheels can no longer turn. It's fun to watch a car try to move (and on soft dirt it can) when the front wheels turn but the rear wheels do not.
One other guy had a car that ran fine but he was pushed at an angle so tightly into a corner that he couldn't move. He kept trying to go back and forth to extract himself, showering those of us close to him with dirt. A few of the others were disabled quickly, mostly by Bill, the guy in car 43, who was moving much faster and with more obvious glee than anyone else. Eventually #43 died too, but not without smashing his lone remaining competitor and claiming first prize for his aggression. It turned out that we were standing among Bill's buddies and he got cheers and backslaps when he came over holding a trophy and a check.
We then watched them drag all the wrecked cars out of the ring, after people had loaded all of the car parts in through where the windows had been. It was mostly bumpers and fenders, but there was a wheel attached to half an axle as well. And then they drove another dozen cars in and did it all over again. The highlight of this one was one car that pretty much had it's entire rear end knocked off, except for the wheels. We were a bit concerned for the driver. The safety equipment in these cars consists of a seat belt and a couple of bars inserted in key spots to keep the roof from collapsing if the car rolls (none of them did). To compensate, there were 4 fire engines and 3 ambulances waiting trackside. But everyone was okay and eventually someone won.
There was one more "heat," though heat implies that there's a final and of course all the competitors' cars were destroyed, so I'm not sure how that would work. Everyone in the grandstand stayed put, but we left.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Renting
It's a dream of mine to own a house in Lake Placid, though it doesn't look like it's going to happen anytime soon. So in the meantime we rent.
We've always rented houses on the smaller lake here, called Mirror Lake. The village of Lake Placid, like a majority of the lake towns here, is not on the lake it's named for. Saranac Lake sits on the shores of Lake Flower, Tupper Lake isn't on a lake at all. And Lake Placid is on Mirror Lake.
It's odd spending 2 weeks in someone else's house. Many of the rental houses here are truly set up for the task. There's a full array of sturdy stuff for the renters and all the good stuff is squirreled away in a couple of locked rooms and closets.
The house we're staying at is clearly not primarily a rental property. The owner's stuff is everywhere, there's no touristy information to be found, and nothing's locked up. We've found at least 5 junk drawers full of assorted stuff. This makes it kind of homey and kind of curious too. How do you have a kitchen without measuring spoons? Why are there over 100 sandwich plates and 8 bowls? Why 3 kitchen cabinets full of glasses? Why are there large open boxes or trash bags in 3 different places, and for that matter, why are there 3 garbage pails in the kitchen? I wonder if every time they have something in their regular home that they don't want or need anymore they just deposit it here.
And then there's the eternal question. Why are all the doors so squeaky? I can't remember the last time I rented a place and didn't have to run right to the store to get WD-40. Every single door in this house squeaked loudly when we arrived. I'm proud to say that none of them do now.
It's a dream of mine to own a house in Lake Placid, though it doesn't look like it's going to happen anytime soon. So in the meantime we rent.
We've always rented houses on the smaller lake here, called Mirror Lake. The village of Lake Placid, like a majority of the lake towns here, is not on the lake it's named for. Saranac Lake sits on the shores of Lake Flower, Tupper Lake isn't on a lake at all. And Lake Placid is on Mirror Lake.
It's odd spending 2 weeks in someone else's house. Many of the rental houses here are truly set up for the task. There's a full array of sturdy stuff for the renters and all the good stuff is squirreled away in a couple of locked rooms and closets.
The house we're staying at is clearly not primarily a rental property. The owner's stuff is everywhere, there's no touristy information to be found, and nothing's locked up. We've found at least 5 junk drawers full of assorted stuff. This makes it kind of homey and kind of curious too. How do you have a kitchen without measuring spoons? Why are there over 100 sandwich plates and 8 bowls? Why 3 kitchen cabinets full of glasses? Why are there large open boxes or trash bags in 3 different places, and for that matter, why are there 3 garbage pails in the kitchen? I wonder if every time they have something in their regular home that they don't want or need anymore they just deposit it here.
And then there's the eternal question. Why are all the doors so squeaky? I can't remember the last time I rented a place and didn't have to run right to the store to get WD-40. Every single door in this house squeaked loudly when we arrived. I'm proud to say that none of them do now.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Make Your Body Move
I did something yesterday that I'm struggling to sum up in an adjective. Exhilarating? Difficult? Crazy? A bit of all those things, but the only word that really captures it is "triathalon."
Technically, this is what would be known as a mini-triathalon. You swim 400 yards, bike 12 miles and then run 3 miles. They have these things every Monday night in Lake Placid through mid-August. Last year I didn't find out about them until the day before the last one and I had neither run nor swam at all that summer. So I chickened out. This summer, although I'm not in nearly as good a shape as I was last summer, I did swim a bunch of laps and even ran a few times so that I could participate. I even did all 3 in succession once.
So here's the experience. Before we even get there, I look in the paper and see the results from the prior week. I know approximately how fast I can do this, about 10 minutes for the swim, 45 minutes for the bike and 30 for the run and about 5 minutes for changes. This puts me about 10 minutes behind that last person (out of 8) in my age group to finish. There were a few older women who were a bit slower, but that's it. I manage to convince myself that this would give me the 9th best time of all the many 50-59 year-olds in Lake Placid, which is pretty good. So I arrive for sign-up and there are about 150 people there, of all ages and mostly very fit looking. I sign up and they scawl a number on my arm and leg and give me a bathing cap with a number on it as well. Many people are wearing official-lookng triathalon gear and a bunch have wet suits (!) on. At this point it's about 45 minutes until the things starts, so I arrange my towel, bicycle and related equipment, and running shoes in neat (for me) little piles and then spend the next 40 minutes fretting.
I had decided at this point that I was gooing to be that guy in the Olympics who comes staggering into the arena 20 minutes after everyone else has finished and the crowd give him a standing ovation. My wife thinks that's funny and is very supportive of my going ahead and doing this.
So it's finally time to start. We begin with an open water swim. I like swimming in lakes, though the water is often cold. I do not, however, ever try to swim for distance and/or speed. I tried swimming for exercise a few years ago but gave it up quickly. I am, let's just say, a competent swimmer. I can swim. But swimming for exercise is the most boring thing in the world. Swimming is only interesting to the extent that the fear of drowning keeps your mind active, but if you're in a pool that fear vanishes much to quickly to sustain interest. The only exercise I like less than swimming is Stairmaster. Whose idea was this, to simulate walking up stairs? Who likes doing that? I always figure if I dislike doing something in real life, I'm not going to enjoy simulating the activity on a machine.
Anyway, off we go, 150 of us diving into the lake, which is not too terribly cold. I try to go out nice and easy, but with all the adrenaline of the start and the energy required to avoid kicking feet, I find myself pretty winded after 100 yards. This is not good. Swimming laps, you can always pause and take a breath as you turn. Not the case in open water. So I spend the next 300 yards trying to breathe. Now, not being able to breathe is interesting, so I'm not bored on this swim. I figured in advance that I could do breast stroke for a bit if I couldn't keep doing the crawl, but breast stroke is very slow, even if you're good at it, and I wasn't expecting to do 300 yards of it. So once the good swimmers clear out, I start doing the backstroke. It's easy to breathe when you're on your back, but it's hard to see, which is also not boring. I bump into one person, but mostly I notice that the dozen or so people behind me have observed what I'm doing and many of them start doing it as well. I keep churning away and after a very long 10 minutes, I find myself back on shore.
I'm wet and breathing very hard and my wife is cheering me on and random people are saying "good job!" and my daughter is yelling at me not to walk up to my bicycle because everyone else is RUNNING. I succumb to the pressure and trot. I dry myself enough to get my shirt and my bike shoes on and off I go.
Before I signed up for this, I was wondering what to wear. The guy who runs the events told me that triathalon shorts were best. They're like bike shorts but with light padding so you can swim and run in them. I was startled to find out that I had accidentally bought a pair of these a couple of years ago, thinking they were just lightly padded bike shorts. But in fact they are easy to swim in and not too bad for running either, once you get over the fact that you don't wear anything under them. This makes perfect sense, intellectually, but back in the day we called this "going commando" or "freesyle" and I never got into it.
The bike ride was fine. It's a variation of a route that I've done many times before. I know all the hills and know I can do them. There's a road that runs along the Ausable River for about 4 miles and it is probably my favorite place to ride in the whole world. So I'm loving it, but there's always a little voice in my head saying, "This would be great if I didn't have to run 3 miles when I'm done with this." I got through the ride, even the one hill that I despise (it ends at a traffic light so you climb climb climb and then you have to stop.
I arrive back, get words of encouragement and a kiss from my wife and put my running shoes on and I'm off again. I haven't run this route because I don't run. I used to run but I've gained a bit of weight and lost a bit of cartilage in my knees and flexibility in my muscles, so it's not really fun anymore. So all I know about the course is that it goes along the lake, which is flat, and then up Mt. Whitney Rd. I make the assumption that Mt. Whitney Rd. goes up, which turns out to be correct. It's a mile of steady uphill. The nice thing about this is that it's downhill coming back. I've always liked courses that are downhill for the second half. I actually pass 2 people during the run and one person passes me near the finish line and then I'm done.
It took me exactly an hour and 30 minutes (unofficially). The swim took 10 minutes, the ride took 45 minutes and the run took 30 minutes. My daughter is blown away by the precision of this and I'm pleased to have finished. I'm sore and tired but not beyond comprehension. And so I've done it. I didn't wimp out and I even didn't finish last.
I did something yesterday that I'm struggling to sum up in an adjective. Exhilarating? Difficult? Crazy? A bit of all those things, but the only word that really captures it is "triathalon."
Technically, this is what would be known as a mini-triathalon. You swim 400 yards, bike 12 miles and then run 3 miles. They have these things every Monday night in Lake Placid through mid-August. Last year I didn't find out about them until the day before the last one and I had neither run nor swam at all that summer. So I chickened out. This summer, although I'm not in nearly as good a shape as I was last summer, I did swim a bunch of laps and even ran a few times so that I could participate. I even did all 3 in succession once.
So here's the experience. Before we even get there, I look in the paper and see the results from the prior week. I know approximately how fast I can do this, about 10 minutes for the swim, 45 minutes for the bike and 30 for the run and about 5 minutes for changes. This puts me about 10 minutes behind that last person (out of 8) in my age group to finish. There were a few older women who were a bit slower, but that's it. I manage to convince myself that this would give me the 9th best time of all the many 50-59 year-olds in Lake Placid, which is pretty good. So I arrive for sign-up and there are about 150 people there, of all ages and mostly very fit looking. I sign up and they scawl a number on my arm and leg and give me a bathing cap with a number on it as well. Many people are wearing official-lookng triathalon gear and a bunch have wet suits (!) on. At this point it's about 45 minutes until the things starts, so I arrange my towel, bicycle and related equipment, and running shoes in neat (for me) little piles and then spend the next 40 minutes fretting.
I had decided at this point that I was gooing to be that guy in the Olympics who comes staggering into the arena 20 minutes after everyone else has finished and the crowd give him a standing ovation. My wife thinks that's funny and is very supportive of my going ahead and doing this.
So it's finally time to start. We begin with an open water swim. I like swimming in lakes, though the water is often cold. I do not, however, ever try to swim for distance and/or speed. I tried swimming for exercise a few years ago but gave it up quickly. I am, let's just say, a competent swimmer. I can swim. But swimming for exercise is the most boring thing in the world. Swimming is only interesting to the extent that the fear of drowning keeps your mind active, but if you're in a pool that fear vanishes much to quickly to sustain interest. The only exercise I like less than swimming is Stairmaster. Whose idea was this, to simulate walking up stairs? Who likes doing that? I always figure if I dislike doing something in real life, I'm not going to enjoy simulating the activity on a machine.
Anyway, off we go, 150 of us diving into the lake, which is not too terribly cold. I try to go out nice and easy, but with all the adrenaline of the start and the energy required to avoid kicking feet, I find myself pretty winded after 100 yards. This is not good. Swimming laps, you can always pause and take a breath as you turn. Not the case in open water. So I spend the next 300 yards trying to breathe. Now, not being able to breathe is interesting, so I'm not bored on this swim. I figured in advance that I could do breast stroke for a bit if I couldn't keep doing the crawl, but breast stroke is very slow, even if you're good at it, and I wasn't expecting to do 300 yards of it. So once the good swimmers clear out, I start doing the backstroke. It's easy to breathe when you're on your back, but it's hard to see, which is also not boring. I bump into one person, but mostly I notice that the dozen or so people behind me have observed what I'm doing and many of them start doing it as well. I keep churning away and after a very long 10 minutes, I find myself back on shore.
I'm wet and breathing very hard and my wife is cheering me on and random people are saying "good job!" and my daughter is yelling at me not to walk up to my bicycle because everyone else is RUNNING. I succumb to the pressure and trot. I dry myself enough to get my shirt and my bike shoes on and off I go.
Before I signed up for this, I was wondering what to wear. The guy who runs the events told me that triathalon shorts were best. They're like bike shorts but with light padding so you can swim and run in them. I was startled to find out that I had accidentally bought a pair of these a couple of years ago, thinking they were just lightly padded bike shorts. But in fact they are easy to swim in and not too bad for running either, once you get over the fact that you don't wear anything under them. This makes perfect sense, intellectually, but back in the day we called this "going commando" or "freesyle" and I never got into it.
The bike ride was fine. It's a variation of a route that I've done many times before. I know all the hills and know I can do them. There's a road that runs along the Ausable River for about 4 miles and it is probably my favorite place to ride in the whole world. So I'm loving it, but there's always a little voice in my head saying, "This would be great if I didn't have to run 3 miles when I'm done with this." I got through the ride, even the one hill that I despise (it ends at a traffic light so you climb climb climb and then you have to stop.
I arrive back, get words of encouragement and a kiss from my wife and put my running shoes on and I'm off again. I haven't run this route because I don't run. I used to run but I've gained a bit of weight and lost a bit of cartilage in my knees and flexibility in my muscles, so it's not really fun anymore. So all I know about the course is that it goes along the lake, which is flat, and then up Mt. Whitney Rd. I make the assumption that Mt. Whitney Rd. goes up, which turns out to be correct. It's a mile of steady uphill. The nice thing about this is that it's downhill coming back. I've always liked courses that are downhill for the second half. I actually pass 2 people during the run and one person passes me near the finish line and then I'm done.
It took me exactly an hour and 30 minutes (unofficially). The swim took 10 minutes, the ride took 45 minutes and the run took 30 minutes. My daughter is blown away by the precision of this and I'm pleased to have finished. I'm sore and tired but not beyond comprehension. And so I've done it. I didn't wimp out and I even didn't finish last.
Friday, August 08, 2008
Best Thing Ever
How did I not know about this?
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/08/07/technology/personaltech/07basics.html?_r=1&scp=1&sq=power%20tools&st=cse&oref=slogin
How did I not know about this?
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/08/07/technology/personaltech/07basics.html?_r=1&scp=1&sq=power%20tools&st=cse&oref=slogin
Olympics!
The Olympics begin tomorrow. The opening ceremonies are tomorrow night. I'm curious to see if I can stay awake until the end. Until a few years ago the ceremony was mostly the parade of athletes and then a display of national pride by the host country followed by the lighting of the torch. Now it's like a long performance art piece, but with the TV people explaining what's going on. If you need TV people to tell you what's going on, it's not very good performance art. Four years ago, any time I heard Bob Costas refer to the "child of hope" or something like that, I'd make involuntary retching noises. I seem to remember there was ice skating involved. Or maybe that was the winter olympics. Man I'm getting old.
The Olympics begin tomorrow. The opening ceremonies are tomorrow night. I'm curious to see if I can stay awake until the end. Until a few years ago the ceremony was mostly the parade of athletes and then a display of national pride by the host country followed by the lighting of the torch. Now it's like a long performance art piece, but with the TV people explaining what's going on. If you need TV people to tell you what's going on, it's not very good performance art. Four years ago, any time I heard Bob Costas refer to the "child of hope" or something like that, I'd make involuntary retching noises. I seem to remember there was ice skating involved. Or maybe that was the winter olympics. Man I'm getting old.
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
Reassurance and incipient disaster
I just read that Mary-Kate Olsen said she had nothing to do with Heath Ledger's death. I just wanted to make one thing clear: neither did I. I presume from the context that they had some kind of relationship, but lacking the necessary background to know that, it seemed like the most random bit of quotery I can recall seeing recently. It reminds me of Chevy Chase on the original Saturday Night Live Weekend Update. "this just in, Generalissimo Francisco Franco is still dead." Same goes for Heath Ledger, may he rest in peace (though I highly doubt that will happen).
I also just saw that they found over 100,000 gorilla's living in a "gorilla paradise" in the Republic of Congo. To quote the great philosopher Don Henley, you call someplace paradise, kiss it goodbye.
I just read that Mary-Kate Olsen said she had nothing to do with Heath Ledger's death. I just wanted to make one thing clear: neither did I. I presume from the context that they had some kind of relationship, but lacking the necessary background to know that, it seemed like the most random bit of quotery I can recall seeing recently. It reminds me of Chevy Chase on the original Saturday Night Live Weekend Update. "this just in, Generalissimo Francisco Franco is still dead." Same goes for Heath Ledger, may he rest in peace (though I highly doubt that will happen).
I also just saw that they found over 100,000 gorilla's living in a "gorilla paradise" in the Republic of Congo. To quote the great philosopher Don Henley, you call someplace paradise, kiss it goodbye.
Sunday, August 03, 2008
New Restaurant
Went out to dinner for my wife's birthday last night, to the brand new Parc restaurant on Rittenhouse Square. It's a new Stephen Starr restaurant, and as such has a clear theme. This one is a Paris bistro. Having been in Paris a few months ago, I can report that it is a perfect knockoff. It looks like it's been around for 100 years, even though it opened 2 weeks ago. This strikes me as an interesting job, making something brand new look old. Parts of it, of course, can be accomplished simply by furnishing with old things, including mismatched chairs and bathroom fixtures with age-cracked porcelin. But it would seem like at least something in the place has to be bought new and made to look old.
There were only a couple of things that seemed different to me. First there's the size. This place is immense. It must seat 500 people. It's easily twice the size of any place I've ever been in Paris. The second thing is the noise. I'm not sure that I've ever been in a louder restaurant. My ears were ringing for an hour after we left. The waitress (a third difference is the service was very friendly) had to come to both sides of a table for 4 to take our order and I still only heard half of what she said. The wine steward told me that they'd hired an acoustician to try to improve things. The food was excellent, though, and I'd definitely go back.
I should also mention that the people eating and drinking there (and it was packed, inside, outside and at the bar) were the most attractive group that I've seen in a Philly restaurant. It made me feel much better looking than I really am just being there. When we came out there was an orange Lamborghini two seat convertible sitting at the curb. I'm sure I'd be even better looking if I was driving that thing.
Went out to dinner for my wife's birthday last night, to the brand new Parc restaurant on Rittenhouse Square. It's a new Stephen Starr restaurant, and as such has a clear theme. This one is a Paris bistro. Having been in Paris a few months ago, I can report that it is a perfect knockoff. It looks like it's been around for 100 years, even though it opened 2 weeks ago. This strikes me as an interesting job, making something brand new look old. Parts of it, of course, can be accomplished simply by furnishing with old things, including mismatched chairs and bathroom fixtures with age-cracked porcelin. But it would seem like at least something in the place has to be bought new and made to look old.
There were only a couple of things that seemed different to me. First there's the size. This place is immense. It must seat 500 people. It's easily twice the size of any place I've ever been in Paris. The second thing is the noise. I'm not sure that I've ever been in a louder restaurant. My ears were ringing for an hour after we left. The waitress (a third difference is the service was very friendly) had to come to both sides of a table for 4 to take our order and I still only heard half of what she said. The wine steward told me that they'd hired an acoustician to try to improve things. The food was excellent, though, and I'd definitely go back.
I should also mention that the people eating and drinking there (and it was packed, inside, outside and at the bar) were the most attractive group that I've seen in a Philly restaurant. It made me feel much better looking than I really am just being there. When we came out there was an orange Lamborghini two seat convertible sitting at the curb. I'm sure I'd be even better looking if I was driving that thing.
Saturday, August 02, 2008
Hello again
Yeah I know I haven't written anything for a while. There's a good reason for that. I really haven't had much to say. It doesn't take much to get my brain whirling, but there hasn't been much of anything since we got back from Chicago. My days wrap around my daughter's health and it keeps everything within a pretty small range of activity.
Yeah I know I haven't written anything for a while. There's a good reason for that. I really haven't had much to say. It doesn't take much to get my brain whirling, but there hasn't been much of anything since we got back from Chicago. My days wrap around my daughter's health and it keeps everything within a pretty small range of activity.
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