knox snooze

Succotash my Balzac, dipshiitake.

See ya

Thursday, February 23
I've moved. It's permanent. I think. Not that I don't like blogger...it's just that...ok, maybe blogger gets on my nerves a little.

Update links (ha!), bookmarks (pfft!), and RSS readers (you must be kidding).

gutrubber.org

Here's to the good times.

Mmm...eggs

Tuesday, February 21

Mmm...eggs
Originally uploaded by ashby.

Sometimes we get eggs from a friend of ours who has a bunch of chickens. He told us that the egg on the left is small because it is from a young hen. He didn't tell us anything about the hen that laid the egg on the right, but judging from the size of it, I'm guessing it was laid by the hen that walks funny.

I don't even feel kind of guilty

Monday, February 20
Not that it surprised anyone, but I didn't run Saturday. After blistering myself with longer-than-ever-before runs on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, I decided that it would be smart to take Friday to rest from running. And to resume drinking and smoking, apparently. Yes, cigarettes. They keep me warm.

When I climbed out of bed on Saturday morning, I looked out the window and felt immediately vindicated in staying home. It was less than 20º and there were maybe three or four places in the yard where actual ground was visible. By that, of course, I mean itsnowedd like mad. And still was. And somewhere in Strawberry Plains a bunch of tougher people than me were much,muchh colder than was absolutely necessary. Of course, they also had $20 of mine, but if that was the cost of staying in a warm living room, then it was well worth it.

When I finally got around to running again, it was Sunday. It was still cold, and I only got about a half-mile before vicious shin-splints took over. I don't know if they were technically shin-splints (which somehow seemed to always be the *out* injury of anyone who didn't feel like running when I played basketball and soccer), but it was approximately as comfortable as colliding shin first with the metal frame of the bed. Repeatedly. I finished up in the gym on an elliptical machine and a stationary bike. I don't know how long shin-splint thingies should be rested in order to heal, but I'll give them a week or so.

Holy shit, that was inane. Congrats on still being awake. As your reward, read some Paul Ford, who is America's leading genius.
What have I learned in the last 10 years? A partial list: My family is normal. Everyone toadies, and remorseless fuckers prosper. The minute anyone tells you that they want to create their own Algonquin Round Table, but with bloggers, run. Run. Also, if you can spend any time napping in a field on a summer day when you are youngerÂ?do so. That can be the place you visit in your mind when you're standing on a crowded subway, stooped with back pain, sweating like your pores are water-piks, while a beggar in stained and drooping sweatpants yells in your ear.

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone

Friday, February 17
My wife is or soon should be on her merry little way to D.C. for the weekend. She and a couple of friends are having a roadtrip weekend. They actually have a personal and important matter to attend to in them parts, but from where I sit - alone, no companion but Tivo and Ye Olde Internette - they're out having fun whilst I have none.

What my wife is seeing right about now: a sign that says 'Welcome to Virginia.'

What I just saw: A note I left myself this morning, 'EMMA BENADRYL TONIGHT'

Not only are my prospects for the evening way lamer, but apparently I have the syntax of a caveman. Also, I'm pretty sure I'm not going to run tonight. Or in the 10k tomorrow. Me sad.

So...what to do? It's been a while since I've been to the bar before dark...hmmm.

Shin thingies

Thursday, February 16
I've been running a lot more than usual this week. This has happened because a) I miraculously DON'T lose weight when I DON'T run and b) because I have registered for a freaking 10k for this weekend.

Yes, I know. Blame drugs.

The race isn't some "Cancer Bad, Running Good" deal either. This is no fun run 'n' walk. This is a race. With race-organization certification and whatnot. Sure, some people might be having fun while the run it, but those people are crazy. But they're loony in a very in-shape kind of way. Whereas, I am very sane, and all which that implies in the current context (fatness).

But I've been cranking out the miles this week. 3 Tuesday. Almost 5 last night. But they aren't in continuous runs. They're more like Tivo-style runs, which is how everything works in my brain now. I run for a mile or so, get really tired of it, pause, and pick back up after about 30 seconds. Unlike Tivo, however, I have no fast forward. I've checked.

So, here I am, less than 36 hours until a whopping 10k, and I can't put together more than 2 miles at a time. I'm worried. I'm coming up with all kinds of excuses why I can't run. Bronchitis. Pink eye. Shin splint things. Oooh, I know: obesity.

But I'm still going, even if I don't run. I mean, I already paid for this thing, and I'm getting a free t-shirt whether they like it or not.

But it's from Sweden

Friday, February 10
For my wife's birthday last weekend, we went to Atlanta. It's not our favorite town, but it's got places to shop that we don't. Like IKEA. And the Lennox Square Mall, which is hidden in a tear in space-time between some toll road and The Container Store (it was right here, I swear). We shopped, we stayed in a hotel, we saw a fecking brilliant show. And we did it. IT. Ill-freaky-na-na. In a hotel.

Good weekend.

We had only been to IKEA once before, though we had lusted after it from afar on the internet and in ReadyMade. The first time we went, we went just because we felt we should, you know. Because it was there, and we were within a four hour drive of it. I actually had the thought that I didn't want this to be like the Rock and Roll or NFL halls of fame, both of which are within 45 minutes of my hometown, though I've never seen the innards of either. No, IKEA is an icon of an aspect of my personal culture that, unlike professional football or rock and roll, cannot be ignored: cheap furniture.

The first time we went, it was fun. A field trip. Ooh, look how huge the place is. Oh, they have a nice little cafeteria. Wow, lots of cheap stuff. Everything is so wonderful. Look, I just shit a rainbow-covered pony.

The second time, the time of which we must now speak - nicht so gut.

Having rented a massive car for hauling our inevitable newly-acquired shit, we set out - rosy-cheeked and drunk with the heady prospect of dragging a metric ton (tonne?) of unassembled entertainment center out of some Swede's big blue-and-yellow warehouse. No, that isn't a euphemism. We knew how wonderful and enlightening IKEA could be. We wanted to be there again, but this time with money. Oh, how foolish we were.

There is a kind of purchasing fever that overtakes you when you're in IKEA. The alluring, cleverly designed (ooh, look this table folds up into a paperweight) and entirely unrealistic mock-ups of living spaces they have throughout the store. Living in 327 square feet. Living in 493 square feet. Clean lines, cubbies for everything, coatracks that morph into sewing machines, homes built in total defiance of the laws of physics. But no one I know could live in them. There is no room to, you know...be a slob. Where are the couches whose cushions are actually just bags of dirty laundry that I rotate out only when I scrape together enough cash for a bottle of detergent?

Wow, that's brilliant.

Of course, we also got what we wanted. An entertainment center of damn-near NASA proportions. You know, because we have a DVD player AND TiVo, which take up tons of space. There is a lot of sad empty shelf space on it now. We put all of our DVDs on it. Wireless router and cable modem. Our dozen or so remaining VHS cassettes. Um...phone books. A computer. There is so much damn space left on this piece that I'm thinking about leasing it out. Seriously. You have any shit you can't find a place for in your apartment? I've two whole freaking drawers that I haven't even touched. Although, I am thinking about keeping the dog in one.

But we're back. We bought so much stuff last time that we had to leave two chairs at my friend's house in Atlanta, which I am picking up tomorrow. And I'm already starting to get IKEA shakes. I don't know how I'm going to make it, being that close again, but with no money this time.

Maybe I could pawn some stuff.

Readymade time killa

Friday, February 3
Sweet, Readymade has a blog now. Because I was running out of things. You know...things.

What are they called again?

Oh yeah, distractions.

Colibri

Thursday, February 2
This looks pretty cool. Even though I still don't know entirely how it works, I've had some serious Quicksilver-jealousy since becoming a regular 43Folders reader. Perhaps it's the great name, which reminds me of browsing through gift shops at the beach, wishing I knew how to surf (or look like I did, more accurately). Maybe it's the prettified Mac-fu interface. Maybe it's because it seems like anytime Merlin needs something impossible, he whips out the Quicksilver and it obeys. Over-nuked your burrito? Slash-bash-Quicksilver-Timetravel.exe, and you're good.

Oh, if only I knew what the hell I was doing...

Anyhow, Colibri is trying to bring similar desktop ninjitsu to the rest of us. And best of all, it can be installed to a USB drive, for those of us in defcon 7 cubicle-lockdown. Which I am. But don't tell.

p.s.
I think this might be the linkiest post I've ever written.

Take a lap

Last night's running was a bit of a disappointment. After getting from less than a mile on Sunday to two miles on Tuesday evening, it was kind of a downer to feel totally whipped after about a mile and half last night. I didn't really eat much yesterday, though (gasp), and I intend to attribute the distance drop to that. Mostly because it justifies my conspicuous consumption today, which already includes: an egg and sausage sandwich, half a dozen fig newtons, an apple, and a Diet Dr. Pepper (yes, I'm getting a sex change).

The upside of last night's running, though, was that I had new shoes. And not just some cheapest-pair-I-could-find from a hilariously named sporting goods store; no, these are from The Runner's Market. Which makes them better. And probably more expensive.

They were a replacement for the sad joke I'd been running in since Sunday. I have a pair of old trail runners, but I left them at a friend's house in Virginia. Which is good, because I do all of my trail running at his house. Well, at least as much trail running as I do here.

At the Runner's Market, I was helped by a girl who was determined to sell me some shoes. It wasn't the old-school hard sell. Not "What's it gonna take to get you into a new pair of Asics" spiel. No, this was a new one. She laced up a pair and after I had them tied, she told me to go run in them. Like, outside? Yes. Around the parking lot. Go.

So I did. Four pairs of shoes. Four mini-laps in the parking lot. No wonder I couldn't go two miles.

Baby steps

Wednesday, February 1
My freaking legs hurt so much today. It's not a good kind of I'm-finally-getting-in-shape pain. It's more of an I'm-seriously-considering-double-amputation pain.

Someone is very slowly driving bits of glass into my shins.

This is the hard part, right? Right? Tell me I'll feel better tomorrow.