For me, it's all about the little things. Here's a small list of things that made me really happy today.
1. New book smell.
I bought some new books using a gift certificate and I have to admit that there's nothing that compares to the first time that I open to a middle page and put it up to my nose to take a deep breath. I love the way books smell. I love their heft, the way they feel so tangible in my hands. I'm intrigued by the new reading devices, but for me nothing will replace the crackle of spine glue and the thrill of actual page turning.
2. The first warm days of spring.
Living in California we get those odd days during the winter that are warmer than others, but there's something about the herald days where you can tell that spring is on the way. It's a new touch in the air (you can tell I'm all about how my world feels) and it's a sense in the air like you're walking through a cloud. The warmth actually surrounds and encompasses you instead of just being a factor in the sunny weather.
3. Air guitar/drums/record scratching
Maybe it's my inner rockstar/dj that has me so in love with the imaginary instruments but it's just plain fun to pretend like you're rocking out. Or in our case, for real rocking out. This activity usually leads to some pretty awesome dance parties and I am always a fan of those.
4. Cardigans
Maybe it was the excitement of the first warm day but I could trade in my winter coat for a cardigan. I love that. Cardigans make me feel smart for no apparent reason, especially when paired with my glasses and a scarf. At that point I might as well sign of to read on "This American Life" and hang out with NPR roadies.
5. Blasting Gogol Bordello on the lab stereo
It's Saturday shift and we pretty much do whatever we want. Including commandeering the stereo for once and banishing soft rock at least for a day. If I hear 'On the Wings of Love' one more time someone is going to pay.
Like I said, it's all about the little things in my life.
Saturday, March 05, 2011
Friday, February 25, 2011
Not a Food Blog- blog
I love food. I love food probably more than the average person. I love eating food, cooking food, shopping for food, playing with food, reading about food, all of the above! But, I am slightly perplexed regarding food. Not that food itself is the confounding element, but rather it's what I like to call the "sexification" of food in (dramatic music), food blogs.
Apparently in the last ten years food got really trendy. I think it has something to do with the surge in the green movement, but instead of living in a culture where food is demonized as the cause of all our health problems, we are bombarded with messages of how cool food is. And now that food is really sexy, everyone wants a piece of the pie, so to speak, with the easiest method of indulgence being the now ubiquitous food blog.
Now I'll drink the kool-aid any day and say that I love a good food blog, especially when I'm feeling extra creative (or not) in the kitchen. Many times a quality food blog will have thesaurus whomping adjectives and pictures that kick your salivary glands into high gear, but then there's the food blogs that are just, well, lacking. I freely admit that much of my skepticism and critical attitude towards food blogs comes from the fact that I hate the term "foodie" but that's a completely different topic.
What irks me the most about the cornucopia of food blogs is that it seems like everyone has a food blog these days. Just because you can list off several types of ethnic cuisine and consider yourself to be a gourmand doesn't mean you can write about food. Food is incredibly hard to write about. I know a guy is incredibly intelligent and articulate, who has just graduated with an MBA, and has a food blog about taco trucks. This was probably the last person I ever have pinned for this, yet there it was staring out at me from my computer screen. Unbelievable.
Think about the best meal you've personally ever eaten and all the emotions that came with that moment. In reality, it just sits there on a plate and it's difficult to convey with words exactly what a good meal is doing to you. If you've ever watched one of those shows where someone is describing their favorite meal, their descriptions are almost always accompanied by footage of the describer closing their eyes and scrunching their face while simultaneously rubbing their fingers with their thumbs. That expression and action is the epitome of what you are trying to bring across in food writing.
While many food blogs are honestly trying, they just can't quite get there. I don't knock people for having a passion for eating well or loving their food to the point of obsession, but can we cool it with the food blogs?
That is at least until I figure out what the deal with pomegranate is...Seriously.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
The Nerdiest Team in the League
It's no secret that the Giants are fighting for a spot in the playoffs and I'll admit that I'm recent to join the throngs, but I've come to the conclusion that if there's any team that a nerd like myself should be cheering for it's the Giants. Here's a few reasons why.
1. Tim Lincecum is a freaky dude
Everyone knows he has two Cy Youngs, he also has a dog named Cy, long hair, and apparently a freaky pitch style (though I couldn't tell the difference), but lets get down to it, this pitcher more reminds me of the guy in the back of class etching crazy drawings into the desk rather than hucking scorching fastballs. I mean, the long hair, the cooky smile, the overall gangliness. I'll admit there's a bit of a nerd crush there but it doesn't change the fact that he's got a lot going for him in regards to being an awesome pitcher. Everyone loves the unexpectedly talented freaky looking nerds.
2. "What's it to ya??"- The 'curse' of the nerdy name
It's like the Johnny Cash song laments, life ain't easy for a boy named Sue, but in this case, life may not be easy for a boy named Aubrey. Or Buster. So here's another reason to be a fan of the Giants or to be fearing for your life if you happen to be on the opposing team. It's probably safe to assume that somewhere in their childhood both Aubrey Huff and Buster Posey decided that they weren't going to let unusual names keep them down. What better way to make your mark on the playground or silence your bullies than to become really, really good at something. And in their case it was baseball. Buster being probably (at least what they say) the best rookie this year and Aubrey looks like a bull waiting to be let loose. No seriously, I once saw him punching another player from sheer happiness after a play.
3. Panda Hats are Freaking Awesome
Third baseman, Pablo Sandoval is nicknamed "The Panda", and some genius decided that it would be awesome to sell panda hats at the games. When I say genius, I genuinely mean genius. These panda hats are hillarious, especially when seen gracing the domes of everyone from tiny tots to big, burly, manly men. No one looks bad in the panda hat. No one.
1. Tim Lincecum is a freaky dude
Everyone knows he has two Cy Youngs, he also has a dog named Cy, long hair, and apparently a freaky pitch style (though I couldn't tell the difference), but lets get down to it, this pitcher more reminds me of the guy in the back of class etching crazy drawings into the desk rather than hucking scorching fastballs. I mean, the long hair, the cooky smile, the overall gangliness. I'll admit there's a bit of a nerd crush there but it doesn't change the fact that he's got a lot going for him in regards to being an awesome pitcher. Everyone loves the unexpectedly talented freaky looking nerds. 2. "What's it to ya??"- The 'curse' of the nerdy name
It's like the Johnny Cash song laments, life ain't easy for a boy named Sue, but in this case, life may not be easy for a boy named Aubrey. Or Buster. So here's another reason to be a fan of the Giants or to be fearing for your life if you happen to be on the opposing team. It's probably safe to assume that somewhere in their childhood both Aubrey Huff and Buster Posey decided that they weren't going to let unusual names keep them down. What better way to make your mark on the playground or silence your bullies than to become really, really good at something. And in their case it was baseball. Buster being probably (at least what they say) the best rookie this year and Aubrey looks like a bull waiting to be let loose. No seriously, I once saw him punching another player from sheer happiness after a play.
3. Panda Hats are Freaking Awesome
Third baseman, Pablo Sandoval is nicknamed "The Panda", and some genius decided that it would be awesome to sell panda hats at the games. When I say genius, I genuinely mean genius. These panda hats are hillarious, especially when seen gracing the domes of everyone from tiny tots to big, burly, manly men. No one looks bad in the panda hat. No one.
Wednesday, January 06, 2010
Ar-teez-in-ul: So you made it by hand, eh?
Over a cup of coffee, plate of crepes, and an apple this morning I was really wishing that I had the talent to take really artsy pictures of my food to post on my blog. It seems like all the other food and lifestyle blogs have really great photos of handmade food or similarly crafty items. They always have perfect mood lighting and shot in close detail so you can see the time and effort it took to produce the items. But then I realized, in an epiphany of sorts, that really it's about whether or not you actually had to use your hands in the process, whether or not some modicum of skill was necessary.
You almost never see pictures of manufactured stuff. It's never, "Check out this box of wheat thins I picked up at the store. They're so good!" It's always, "Rolling out the cracker dough by hand using my antique rolling pin I cut them into squares, mismatched due to my lack of experience, and baked in my own oven only to smother them in hummus afterwards."
Don't get me wrong, I'm a fan of making stuff by hand. A big fan, even. It's not for nothing that I spend hours pouring my efforts into loaves of bread, practicing making pasta on my new machine, or other such endeavors in the kitchen. It's more satisfying to me to have something that I've made myself and I know exactly what's in it. But it can get out of hand.
It seems we've become so used to machine production of everything in our lives that when it's made by hand, it automatically becomes better and highly prized. This is the world of artisan production, in simpler terms, making stuff by hand. Here in Sonoma County people are crazy for artisan stuff. Wine, cheese, food, clothing: if it's made by hand and can claim that artisan stamp, then it's good stuff to Sonomians (not a real moniker, I just made that word up).
It confuses me though, that on one hand some artisan products (like food) are highly prized while others are looked down on. What about all those artisan meth dealers? The guys who cook the stuff in their backyard sheds? They made those drugs by hand, can't we call that artisanal drug making? Or how about those guys who were mailing out pipe bombs a few years ago. Sure, they were dangerous and caused a lot of harm, but they were artisanal! With the fervor that some are devoted to only buying handmade, you'd think they'd have a broader sense of the word. I'm not saying I do, I just don't buy into the hype.
Sometimes when I'm successful in coaxing a loaf of bread out of my bowl of flour and yeast I remember that people have been this for thousands of years and the fact that I'm semi-able is not remarkable. Making stuff by hand is not new, and maybe we shouldn't treat it like a subculture of defiance against "The Man", we should just keep in mind that everyone used to know how to do this stuff. It's not so special as we think, just unusual in these times.
You almost never see pictures of manufactured stuff. It's never, "Check out this box of wheat thins I picked up at the store. They're so good!" It's always, "Rolling out the cracker dough by hand using my antique rolling pin I cut them into squares, mismatched due to my lack of experience, and baked in my own oven only to smother them in hummus afterwards."
Don't get me wrong, I'm a fan of making stuff by hand. A big fan, even. It's not for nothing that I spend hours pouring my efforts into loaves of bread, practicing making pasta on my new machine, or other such endeavors in the kitchen. It's more satisfying to me to have something that I've made myself and I know exactly what's in it. But it can get out of hand.
It seems we've become so used to machine production of everything in our lives that when it's made by hand, it automatically becomes better and highly prized. This is the world of artisan production, in simpler terms, making stuff by hand. Here in Sonoma County people are crazy for artisan stuff. Wine, cheese, food, clothing: if it's made by hand and can claim that artisan stamp, then it's good stuff to Sonomians (not a real moniker, I just made that word up).
It confuses me though, that on one hand some artisan products (like food) are highly prized while others are looked down on. What about all those artisan meth dealers? The guys who cook the stuff in their backyard sheds? They made those drugs by hand, can't we call that artisanal drug making? Or how about those guys who were mailing out pipe bombs a few years ago. Sure, they were dangerous and caused a lot of harm, but they were artisanal! With the fervor that some are devoted to only buying handmade, you'd think they'd have a broader sense of the word. I'm not saying I do, I just don't buy into the hype.
Sometimes when I'm successful in coaxing a loaf of bread out of my bowl of flour and yeast I remember that people have been this for thousands of years and the fact that I'm semi-able is not remarkable. Making stuff by hand is not new, and maybe we shouldn't treat it like a subculture of defiance against "The Man", we should just keep in mind that everyone used to know how to do this stuff. It's not so special as we think, just unusual in these times.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Eat, I must.
Between sessions of launching myself off diving boards and logging miles on the pavement this fall I slogged my way dutifully through my first formal nutrition class. A prerequisite for nursing (and pretty much any health field) I was introduced to the finer points of medical nutrition therapy and met again the USDA recommendations for a healthy diet. It's not the first time I've heard this information, anyone who's been through health class in public school has been subjected to the rigors of what to eat, how much to eat, and what to do if you eat to much.
But for some time now I've been struggling with the big agency of what really constitutes a healthy diet. America is notorious for being a "melting pot" society, an overly used descriptive phrase if there ever was one yet one that still accurately describes our situation. However our blessing of diversity and government mandated policies regarding our food has manifested itself in a food culture that has basically become a display of the magic of product processing.
Biologically humans are driven to two ends: reproduction and eating. It's wired into our evolutionary centers to feed ourselves and pass on our genes and we honor millions of years of fine tuning every time we sit down to a meal or smile at a pretty partner. But while we've placed extreme care in selecting the right mate it seems like for many of us choosing what we consume has taken a back seat. How could we have let eating become a chore instead of the life-sustaining activity that it really is.
There is a tangible feeling to consuming simple foods. Clean water, fresh baked bread smeared with plain butter, crisp fruits, vegetables roasted within an inch of their lives, and meat coaxed into flavor spectrum with just herbs. It's a beautiful thing and there are few activities more pleasurable than enjoying good food.
But it's rare that we really take the time to appreciate the foods we have. In a system designed for mass production and additives I'm forging, and foraging, a path to good tastes and simplicity. I love eating and food way to much to listen to government recommendations any longer and subject myself to "diets".
So I challenge myself to eating for life again. Not eating for a diet, not eating for a vision or a cause. I'm sick of hearing about how I should go organic to avoid pesticides or save the planet. I don't want to be a foodie or a chef. I just want to eat and nourish and enjoy what I'm putting into my body. To tap into that deep seated part of myself that is connected to the act of feeding for life. It's going to be a fun trip.
So thanks for the memories USDA recommendations, but I think I'll figure this one out on my own.
But for some time now I've been struggling with the big agency of what really constitutes a healthy diet. America is notorious for being a "melting pot" society, an overly used descriptive phrase if there ever was one yet one that still accurately describes our situation. However our blessing of diversity and government mandated policies regarding our food has manifested itself in a food culture that has basically become a display of the magic of product processing.
Biologically humans are driven to two ends: reproduction and eating. It's wired into our evolutionary centers to feed ourselves and pass on our genes and we honor millions of years of fine tuning every time we sit down to a meal or smile at a pretty partner. But while we've placed extreme care in selecting the right mate it seems like for many of us choosing what we consume has taken a back seat. How could we have let eating become a chore instead of the life-sustaining activity that it really is.
There is a tangible feeling to consuming simple foods. Clean water, fresh baked bread smeared with plain butter, crisp fruits, vegetables roasted within an inch of their lives, and meat coaxed into flavor spectrum with just herbs. It's a beautiful thing and there are few activities more pleasurable than enjoying good food.
But it's rare that we really take the time to appreciate the foods we have. In a system designed for mass production and additives I'm forging, and foraging, a path to good tastes and simplicity. I love eating and food way to much to listen to government recommendations any longer and subject myself to "diets".
So I challenge myself to eating for life again. Not eating for a diet, not eating for a vision or a cause. I'm sick of hearing about how I should go organic to avoid pesticides or save the planet. I don't want to be a foodie or a chef. I just want to eat and nourish and enjoy what I'm putting into my body. To tap into that deep seated part of myself that is connected to the act of feeding for life. It's going to be a fun trip.
So thanks for the memories USDA recommendations, but I think I'll figure this one out on my own.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Brow Crinkling
It seems like every day there is something that I discover that just confuses the hell out of me. I don't know if it's because I'm more aware now of variety after spending two years in isolation, or if it's really because there is some crazy stuff out there. Really, I have no idea. But here's a short list of things that cause my brows to come together in a look of confusion. Real "crinklers" as I like to call them.
1. Coke Zero
What's the difference between Diet Coke and Coke Zero? Maybe I've just completely missed the boat on this one, but it seems like it's the same product under two different names. Both offer a zero calorie version of delicious addictive Coke, so what could be the underlying difference? At first I thought it might be the taste. But after trying both (yes, I did a taste test) I found they were pretty similar to the point of not having any real difference. They both had an after-taste, they both were bubbly, they both were brown. Meh, at the end of the day I'm not really impressed by Coke Zero.
2. Shake and Pour Pancake Batter
Have we really gotten this lazy? Seriously? I have a hard time reconciling this one in my head let alone bringing myself to actually try it. Part of the fun of pancakes is the chemistry like trial and error of making the batter in a big bowl. Is it too thin? Too thick?? You'll never know if you're just shaking it in a jug! But I guess props to the company for bringing back the jug. Many foods are better from jugs. Just not pancakes.
3. Vampires
I go away for five minutes and pop culture goes insane for vampires. Every where you look there's some kind of new show or movie or book or teen hyped sensation over blood suckers. Oh, and that one Tyra show where she had "real" vampires on. (Pretty much the only channel I got clear reception on the island showed the Tyra Banks show. Stop Judging.) She had this one guy who slept in a coffin and this other girl who said that because she stayed up all night and slept all day then she was a vampire. I knew guys in school who had that sleep schedule. And they weren't vampires. Just engineers. Seriously, this whole entertainment theme needs to stop.
4. Lady Gaga
This seems pretty self explanatory.
5. Vanilla Oreos
This just goes against nature. Oreos by definition are chocolate, and on the rare occasion that I actually eat an Oreo I want one that is going to bring all the nostalgia and delicious-ness that only a chocolate double-stuff can bring. If I'm going to eat it, I'm going to do it right. None of this vanilla junk. Bring on the chocolate!!!
1. Coke Zero
What's the difference between Diet Coke and Coke Zero? Maybe I've just completely missed the boat on this one, but it seems like it's the same product under two different names. Both offer a zero calorie version of delicious addictive Coke, so what could be the underlying difference? At first I thought it might be the taste. But after trying both (yes, I did a taste test) I found they were pretty similar to the point of not having any real difference. They both had an after-taste, they both were bubbly, they both were brown. Meh, at the end of the day I'm not really impressed by Coke Zero.
2. Shake and Pour Pancake Batter
Have we really gotten this lazy? Seriously? I have a hard time reconciling this one in my head let alone bringing myself to actually try it. Part of the fun of pancakes is the chemistry like trial and error of making the batter in a big bowl. Is it too thin? Too thick?? You'll never know if you're just shaking it in a jug! But I guess props to the company for bringing back the jug. Many foods are better from jugs. Just not pancakes.
3. Vampires
I go away for five minutes and pop culture goes insane for vampires. Every where you look there's some kind of new show or movie or book or teen hyped sensation over blood suckers. Oh, and that one Tyra show where she had "real" vampires on. (Pretty much the only channel I got clear reception on the island showed the Tyra Banks show. Stop Judging.) She had this one guy who slept in a coffin and this other girl who said that because she stayed up all night and slept all day then she was a vampire. I knew guys in school who had that sleep schedule. And they weren't vampires. Just engineers. Seriously, this whole entertainment theme needs to stop.
4. Lady Gaga
This seems pretty self explanatory.
5. Vanilla Oreos
This just goes against nature. Oreos by definition are chocolate, and on the rare occasion that I actually eat an Oreo I want one that is going to bring all the nostalgia and delicious-ness that only a chocolate double-stuff can bring. If I'm going to eat it, I'm going to do it right. None of this vanilla junk. Bring on the chocolate!!!
Thursday, September 03, 2009
Been down that road before. Seriously.
I've written about running before on this blog and I'm sure that some of my other posts were much more poetic than this one is going to be. Those that came before were probably written from the pleasant perspective of just having run a race or dreaming of the time when I could fly down a road feeling totally comfortable and making it look easy. I have come to find out that running is not easy for me.
Sometime in the middle of last summer I decided in my head that I would run a half-marathon sometime in the next year. This was coming at a point when I was barely making it three miles down the road. How I expected myself to pull off thirteen miles was beyond my comprehension, but somewhere in my head some part of my brain decided it was doable. This was the same part of my brain that says that springboard diving was a good idea. Yeah, it's gotten me into trouble before.
This year I decided to make good on my promise to myself and set my sights on running that half this fall. That was back in early June and I decided on the Wine Country Half-Marathon happening October 11th in Healdsburg. At the time, October seemed like an eternity away. I counted the weeks, planned out my schedule, and decided that I really was going to commit.
And so far I've done pretty good. I'm keeping to the plan, maintaining solid runs and squeezing more miles out of my body than I had previously thought possible. I've abandoned the idea of finishing with a time goal. I simply want to finish. I want to finish so bad that it's consuming me. I realized a few days ago that I am roughly six weeks from tee-off (so to speak) and I am partly excited but mostly scared out of my mind.
I know I'm preparing for it, but the distance so beyond me right now. Trying to do this on my own without any running partners is a challenge. I have to rely solely on my own determination to keep pushing when I want to quit. Tim said to me one morning as I was heading out the door that my mind will give out long before my body will. It's no surprise that I repeat that to myself when I'm feeling the mental pain and pushing myself.
I'll be happy when this is over. I can feel my body changing but I am still a little haunted by the person who's never done something like this before. I still feel like I'm biting off more than I can chew, that I really am destined to be the fat kid in the corner who gets picked last in gym and gets pounded with the dodgeballs anyways.
I don't know what lies beyond the half, but I'm willing to find out. I guess that's what keeps me going.
Sometime in the middle of last summer I decided in my head that I would run a half-marathon sometime in the next year. This was coming at a point when I was barely making it three miles down the road. How I expected myself to pull off thirteen miles was beyond my comprehension, but somewhere in my head some part of my brain decided it was doable. This was the same part of my brain that says that springboard diving was a good idea. Yeah, it's gotten me into trouble before.
This year I decided to make good on my promise to myself and set my sights on running that half this fall. That was back in early June and I decided on the Wine Country Half-Marathon happening October 11th in Healdsburg. At the time, October seemed like an eternity away. I counted the weeks, planned out my schedule, and decided that I really was going to commit.
And so far I've done pretty good. I'm keeping to the plan, maintaining solid runs and squeezing more miles out of my body than I had previously thought possible. I've abandoned the idea of finishing with a time goal. I simply want to finish. I want to finish so bad that it's consuming me. I realized a few days ago that I am roughly six weeks from tee-off (so to speak) and I am partly excited but mostly scared out of my mind.
I know I'm preparing for it, but the distance so beyond me right now. Trying to do this on my own without any running partners is a challenge. I have to rely solely on my own determination to keep pushing when I want to quit. Tim said to me one morning as I was heading out the door that my mind will give out long before my body will. It's no surprise that I repeat that to myself when I'm feeling the mental pain and pushing myself.
I'll be happy when this is over. I can feel my body changing but I am still a little haunted by the person who's never done something like this before. I still feel like I'm biting off more than I can chew, that I really am destined to be the fat kid in the corner who gets picked last in gym and gets pounded with the dodgeballs anyways.
I don't know what lies beyond the half, but I'm willing to find out. I guess that's what keeps me going.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
The funny thing about stereotypes is that they're built on some truth.
I know I shouldn't be doing this, but right now I am feeling an incredible wave of regret. This past spring I was rejected from every graduate program I applied to, even though I worked really hard to make myself an attractive candidate. At the time I wasn't devastated by the news, but for some reason it's stinging now more than I thought it would.
I applied in science writing programs, one of them at UC Santa Cruz. Every year UCSC publishes the works of their grads, and for the most part they're all very good. Actually, they're all very good. The only fault I can find with them is in the inclusion of short biographies of the student writers at the bottom of their stories. If I ever want to feel inadequate as either a scientist or as a writer all I need to do is to read these bios.
I read one tonight for a guy who is a dead-ringer for Jason Schwartzman, and whose ego is unrivaled. He declared that it was Nobel laureate who told him he should be a writer, egging him on in a passion he'd carried since childhood. As if the endorsement of a Nobel winner makes him a certifiable genius, he at least assumes it gives him the liberty to take head shots wearing corduroy jackets and collared shirts, tilting his head as if to say, "Yeah, I'm smarter than you."
I hate this guy. I feel it deep down in a place I don't even like to think about and it really doesn't feel good. It doesn't feel good when I'm struggling to find work and trying to go to school while trying to make new friends and get back into life. I hate this guy for his pretentious picture and his ability to succeed where I so blatantly failed.
Maybe that's what's pissing me off the most about it.
I applied in science writing programs, one of them at UC Santa Cruz. Every year UCSC publishes the works of their grads, and for the most part they're all very good. Actually, they're all very good. The only fault I can find with them is in the inclusion of short biographies of the student writers at the bottom of their stories. If I ever want to feel inadequate as either a scientist or as a writer all I need to do is to read these bios.
I read one tonight for a guy who is a dead-ringer for Jason Schwartzman, and whose ego is unrivaled. He declared that it was Nobel laureate who told him he should be a writer, egging him on in a passion he'd carried since childhood. As if the endorsement of a Nobel winner makes him a certifiable genius, he at least assumes it gives him the liberty to take head shots wearing corduroy jackets and collared shirts, tilting his head as if to say, "Yeah, I'm smarter than you."
I hate this guy. I feel it deep down in a place I don't even like to think about and it really doesn't feel good. It doesn't feel good when I'm struggling to find work and trying to go to school while trying to make new friends and get back into life. I hate this guy for his pretentious picture and his ability to succeed where I so blatantly failed.
Maybe that's what's pissing me off the most about it.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
If I were meant to fly, I'd have wings
First off, I am not your textbook definition of an athlete. If you really held me down and threatened it out of me I'd call myself a runner more than anything else, but really my gait probably more resembles an awkward shuffle than anything else. But it does the trick. Growing up I wasn't particularly physically inclined, I played my fair share of softball and managed a good time out of that, but once I got to high school I was entrenched in band and was more apt to spend my time studying or playing music than anything else.
The last few years I've been flirting with sports participation, explaining my most recent devotion to running from point A to point B, but in the last few weeks I've stepped it up in ways I never thought I would. This term at school I decided, mostly on a whim than anything else, to take a springboard diving class. I have no idea what possessed me to do this. I am not fond of heights, let alone jumping off them. When I told a friend of mine what I was going to be doing they said, "You know pirates used to make people walk the plank as punishment," I guess he meant the diving board was my personal form of the plank.
And it was with that in mind that I found myself on Monday standing with my back to the pool on the end of the board and the diving coach literally 6 inches from my body. He wanted me to do something completely against my self-protective nature. He was telling me to reach up over my head, look at my hands, and reach back towards the pool. The theory was that by doing so I would execute a passable back-dive, something I'd never done before. To say that I was terrified was an understatement. If I had been wearing pants I'm sure I would have peed them. Being as it was it was rather anti-climatic to pee your bathing suit I settled on some shaking breaths instead.
He counted to three and when I starting tilting a little bit he sped his voice up and started saying, "gogogogogogo". I wanted to punch him, and I'm sure I could have if it wouldn't have ended up with me being dropped into the pool anyways. Sure enough upon leaving the board I suddenly saw the water coming up at me. Rapidly at me. I had barely enough time to think, "Shi-" before breaking the surface, my eyes completely open.
Flashing back to my favorite movie as a kid where the heroine went blind because she dove into a pool of water with her eyes open I surfaced and gasped for air while making sure my eyesight was still intact. I could see the coach laughing from the board, the other students on the deck trembling a little in fear but smiling at my success at not killing myself. My eyes and brain stung from the sudden onslaught of chlorine, but all in all I was intact.
Maybe the constantly facing my fears part of class will cause me some personal growth or something along those lines, but for now I'm just hoping I can avoid shaking pool water out of the back of my skull after back-dives. Then we'll consider it a win.
The last few years I've been flirting with sports participation, explaining my most recent devotion to running from point A to point B, but in the last few weeks I've stepped it up in ways I never thought I would. This term at school I decided, mostly on a whim than anything else, to take a springboard diving class. I have no idea what possessed me to do this. I am not fond of heights, let alone jumping off them. When I told a friend of mine what I was going to be doing they said, "You know pirates used to make people walk the plank as punishment," I guess he meant the diving board was my personal form of the plank.
And it was with that in mind that I found myself on Monday standing with my back to the pool on the end of the board and the diving coach literally 6 inches from my body. He wanted me to do something completely against my self-protective nature. He was telling me to reach up over my head, look at my hands, and reach back towards the pool. The theory was that by doing so I would execute a passable back-dive, something I'd never done before. To say that I was terrified was an understatement. If I had been wearing pants I'm sure I would have peed them. Being as it was it was rather anti-climatic to pee your bathing suit I settled on some shaking breaths instead.
He counted to three and when I starting tilting a little bit he sped his voice up and started saying, "gogogogogogo". I wanted to punch him, and I'm sure I could have if it wouldn't have ended up with me being dropped into the pool anyways. Sure enough upon leaving the board I suddenly saw the water coming up at me. Rapidly at me. I had barely enough time to think, "Shi-" before breaking the surface, my eyes completely open.
Flashing back to my favorite movie as a kid where the heroine went blind because she dove into a pool of water with her eyes open I surfaced and gasped for air while making sure my eyesight was still intact. I could see the coach laughing from the board, the other students on the deck trembling a little in fear but smiling at my success at not killing myself. My eyes and brain stung from the sudden onslaught of chlorine, but all in all I was intact.
Maybe the constantly facing my fears part of class will cause me some personal growth or something along those lines, but for now I'm just hoping I can avoid shaking pool water out of the back of my skull after back-dives. Then we'll consider it a win.
Friday, August 14, 2009
change...can ya spare it?
I don't know how many times I've changed this blog, the layouts, the pictures, the tone, the themes. Bah. It's getting old. I even remember those days when I thought I had important things to say. Now I just realize that whatever I say is important pretty much only to me and at the end of the day that's an okay thing. There's a certain arrogance about blogging, about putting your thoughts out into the world. Or as much of the world as the two people who have ever read this are a part of. But goodness knows I love those two people...
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Tears
Today was definitely a tears day. I ran a 5k this morning and it was hard. Hotter than I'm used I had a hard time through the entire thing. I've got a long way to go before October. I'm figuring to run the Kenwood footrace on the 4th of July, I haven't decided on the distance though. It depends on how I'm feeling and the training I've been able to get in.
I'm hoping this month to get back into the swing of training. I'm also figuring maybe I should stop paying attention to what's going on with my watch. I get really stressed about the running a race that i forget that I really have fun when I'm out there on my own. So I have to get back to that mindset.
I'm hoping this month to get back into the swing of training. I'm also figuring maybe I should stop paying attention to what's going on with my watch. I get really stressed about the running a race that i forget that I really have fun when I'm out there on my own. So I have to get back to that mindset.
Tuesday, March 03, 2009
it's come time
I am leaving the island in a few weeks to start a new chapter. I'm moving to Northern California and it's going to be so good. I'm in the process of finding a place, a job, and a car. I'll be moving by the end of the month.
Sunday, November 02, 2008
october in a nutshell
So the month has come and gone without a single word from me. Sorry about that. Hopefully I'm not still just writing for myself on here. But I wouldn't blame you if you'd completely abandoned me, figuring that I had moved on to something better. Truth is that I was just caught up in life as I knew it. I was studying for the GREs (which are now over), on vacation, and spending time with Tim.
Now I'm back on the island and finishing the last bits of my applications, the dreaded essays! I've been wracking my brain for ways to write these things, but it's a lot harder than I thought it was going to be. You'd think that it would be easy to explain why you want to follow the track you want to. I get thrown for a loop when I look at past profiles of students who've gone through one of the programs and most of them have PhDs and masters degrees and here I am trying to get in. I wonder if I'm kidding myself.
I certainly hope not.
Now I'm back on the island and finishing the last bits of my applications, the dreaded essays! I've been wracking my brain for ways to write these things, but it's a lot harder than I thought it was going to be. You'd think that it would be easy to explain why you want to follow the track you want to. I get thrown for a loop when I look at past profiles of students who've gone through one of the programs and most of them have PhDs and masters degrees and here I am trying to get in. I wonder if I'm kidding myself.
I certainly hope not.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
4 weeks to go...
So the next few weeks are going to be insane. Here's a rundown of the schedule in relation to today.
2 weeks: Going to a wedding and really looking forward to getting off the island for a weekend and making a little trip.
3 weeks: Biology GRE. Super nervous, but have a good handle on the material and my scores are improving so much compared to where they started. Just have to read a ton more of my textbook and I'll be fine.
4 weeks: General GRE. I'm very anxious about this test. I think it's affecting my sleep as I have been waking up every couple hours during the night with my head buzzing and little relief available. I'm hoping it goes away once the test is over but we'll see as it will probably continue until I get my results. Still trying to improve my scores but it's hard as the test is a little tricky. It's starting to really get to me how nervous I am for this exam. The day off is going to be very stressful.
2 weeks: Going to a wedding and really looking forward to getting off the island for a weekend and making a little trip.
3 weeks: Biology GRE. Super nervous, but have a good handle on the material and my scores are improving so much compared to where they started. Just have to read a ton more of my textbook and I'll be fine.
4 weeks: General GRE. I'm very anxious about this test. I think it's affecting my sleep as I have been waking up every couple hours during the night with my head buzzing and little relief available. I'm hoping it goes away once the test is over but we'll see as it will probably continue until I get my results. Still trying to improve my scores but it's hard as the test is a little tricky. It's starting to really get to me how nervous I am for this exam. The day off is going to be very stressful.
Tuesday, September 09, 2008
why
I wish that I could properly explain why I run. It doesn't make any sense why we would engage in such an activity. After all, it hurts, it's exhausting, and there's no real reason for anyone to run anymore. But when I really get to thinking about it why I put myself through such physical torture (appropriately enough the meditation happened during a long hill) I came to a realization. While there are countless other sports out there that require all kinds of technical ability or skill or even specific physical attributes, anyone can run.
But not everyone runs. There is of course the appeal of the elite, the runners that glide over a course, making it look effortless. But the elite are human. They suffer along with the rest of us. While they may be able to go faster, they certainly feel the same pains that we mortals do. Just like there is a shadow chasing many of us down the road, pushing us on beyond the burning muscles and ravaged lungs, every runner knows the feeling of wanting to quit.
Maybe it's some kind of insanity, punishing yourself that way, but there are moments of supreme bliss when you run. If you can get it just right, you can transcend your physical motion and exist completely in your head, absorbed in your thoughts. Your breathing and body move like a machine and for a few blessed moments you don't feel the pain anymore. That's what I run for.
Not to mention there is a feeling of accomplishment that I chose to get up in the morning and run my miles. If I finish nothing else that day, I've at least done something that most people think is beyond their capability.
But I think the more important reason of why I run is to prove to myself that I can. I am my own biggest critic. Out of all the people in my life, I think I am the one with the most doubt about what I am capable of. If I can convince myself on a daily basis that I can by running, then every dry heave, short breath, or tear is absolutely worth it.
But not everyone runs. There is of course the appeal of the elite, the runners that glide over a course, making it look effortless. But the elite are human. They suffer along with the rest of us. While they may be able to go faster, they certainly feel the same pains that we mortals do. Just like there is a shadow chasing many of us down the road, pushing us on beyond the burning muscles and ravaged lungs, every runner knows the feeling of wanting to quit.
Maybe it's some kind of insanity, punishing yourself that way, but there are moments of supreme bliss when you run. If you can get it just right, you can transcend your physical motion and exist completely in your head, absorbed in your thoughts. Your breathing and body move like a machine and for a few blessed moments you don't feel the pain anymore. That's what I run for.
Not to mention there is a feeling of accomplishment that I chose to get up in the morning and run my miles. If I finish nothing else that day, I've at least done something that most people think is beyond their capability.
But I think the more important reason of why I run is to prove to myself that I can. I am my own biggest critic. Out of all the people in my life, I think I am the one with the most doubt about what I am capable of. If I can convince myself on a daily basis that I can by running, then every dry heave, short breath, or tear is absolutely worth it.
Monday, September 01, 2008
glass ceiling?
I was scanning the news this morning when I noticed a story about Oprah featuring olympic athletes on her first show of the season. One woman in the story was quoted as saying that Oprah is more inspiring than Michael Phelps because she "shattered the glass ceiling for women." I disagree with this statement for a few reasons.
1. I've never really believed that there is an actual glass ceiling. Maybe this comes from the fact that I was raised that you can do anything you want no matter what sex you are. While my mother always told me that brave girls can do anything, I firmly believe that she would have said the exact same thing if I had been born a boy. Which leads me to my disbelief in an actual glass ceiling. We ourselves are not bound by any restrictions that others place on us. It's only you that can impose this barrier to advancement that keeps from moving forward.
2. I don't believe that Oprah is so inspiring. Maybe this is because I come from a family whose women have traditionally been on the more "hard core" side of life. As we put it, they could be plowing the field, stop to have a baby, and keep on plowing. These were women who came over the mountains in wagon trains and were the first settlers in parts of Oregon. I can't help but look to these women as more role models than a woman whose ambitions have led her to become so self-righteous.
3. Why is that Oprah is lauded while we tend in a pinch to forget those women who had to fight in their careers to even be recognized. Think about the women 100 years ago, and before, who may have been brilliant writers, scientists, teachers, mathemeticians, engineers, etc. Those women that fought for an education, fought for jobs, fought to follow their passions, and were not recognized in the slightest even though they managed to carve out their own places of success. Just because could light cigarettes with one hundred dollar bills doesn't make her shatter worthy.
1. I've never really believed that there is an actual glass ceiling. Maybe this comes from the fact that I was raised that you can do anything you want no matter what sex you are. While my mother always told me that brave girls can do anything, I firmly believe that she would have said the exact same thing if I had been born a boy. Which leads me to my disbelief in an actual glass ceiling. We ourselves are not bound by any restrictions that others place on us. It's only you that can impose this barrier to advancement that keeps from moving forward.
2. I don't believe that Oprah is so inspiring. Maybe this is because I come from a family whose women have traditionally been on the more "hard core" side of life. As we put it, they could be plowing the field, stop to have a baby, and keep on plowing. These were women who came over the mountains in wagon trains and were the first settlers in parts of Oregon. I can't help but look to these women as more role models than a woman whose ambitions have led her to become so self-righteous.
3. Why is that Oprah is lauded while we tend in a pinch to forget those women who had to fight in their careers to even be recognized. Think about the women 100 years ago, and before, who may have been brilliant writers, scientists, teachers, mathemeticians, engineers, etc. Those women that fought for an education, fought for jobs, fought to follow their passions, and were not recognized in the slightest even though they managed to carve out their own places of success. Just because could light cigarettes with one hundred dollar bills doesn't make her shatter worthy.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
....kids are crazy
Just a reminder that I am in now way ready to start a family, I've been watching a girl from Two Harbors for the last day and all I want is some time to myself. I mean, the kid is around all the time. And that's what happens when you have a kiddo. Plus she doesn't like bees. Or at least freaks out about them every time they come within six feet of her. And she wanted to talk about make up and stuff..............yeah.
Maybe I'm super burned out by the whole summer and the last thing I needed was to babysit for part of the week. I mean, I could be taking a nap during the several hours that I'm expected to entertain the little nugget. Granted she's a nice enough girl, has a lot of spunk, curious, all those good things, but I just didn't really want this I guess....Can I send her home early? Probably not. Actually definitely not.
Well, here's to looking forward to fall when I'll be able to proper study for the GRE, stop teaching the same things over and over again, and really get some time off. Yay fall!
Maybe I'm super burned out by the whole summer and the last thing I needed was to babysit for part of the week. I mean, I could be taking a nap during the several hours that I'm expected to entertain the little nugget. Granted she's a nice enough girl, has a lot of spunk, curious, all those good things, but I just didn't really want this I guess....Can I send her home early? Probably not. Actually definitely not.
Well, here's to looking forward to fall when I'll be able to proper study for the GRE, stop teaching the same things over and over again, and really get some time off. Yay fall!
Monday, August 18, 2008
breaking in the tri
Every year the alumni from camp come back for a weekend of reminiscing and reveling. Included is the alumni triathalon, a collection of swim, kayak, and run stints. Around a half mile swim, half mile kayak, and 2.6 mile run of fun. Last year I didn't think I was capable of finishing, so at the time I decided that this year I was going to do it. And I did.
Except there was a point in the course where I almost threw up. And then where I almost sat down and stopped. There were moments when I didn't think I could do it. On the back half of the run I couldn't find it to finish. There was to much road, I was to tired, my legs hurt to much, I'd never done anything like this, I wasn't fast enough, I was to fat, a million different things going through my head telling me to stop. What was I doing anyways? Why was I putting myself through this?
About a half mile from the finish I stopped and stopped over, my hands on my knees and tears welling up in my eyes. It wasn't a super hard course. Certainly nothing like what real competitors come across. But I was beat. I'd been had. I'd somehow convinced myself that I was capable when I obviously wasn't. I closed my eyes as tight as I could and took a deep breath. When I opened them again I was staring at my grandpa's dog tag laced into my left shoe. I keep it on my running shoes to remind me to never give up.
Never give up. Even if I came in dead last in the middle of the night I should not give up. I reached down and tapped the tag with my finger, giving the old man a hello but I'm sure he was right there pushing me down the road. I stood up, pushed my shoulders back, and started my way down through camp towards the pier.
I cried when I broke the make-shift toilet paper tape, I cried when I went back to the house to change. I cried when I realized what I'd done. I'd almost given in to that voice in my head, the one that's kept me back, the one that's acted out of fear. But in a horrendous moment of physical weakness I'd mustered what courage I had left in me to ignore that voice and press forward.
Today I'm proud of myself for shutting off that switch and listening to the tiniest glimmer that I could do it. I can see the pride in my eyes when I think about it, know that I may have been at the back, but I am one step closer to shutting up that voice in my head that's been saying 'I can't'.
Except there was a point in the course where I almost threw up. And then where I almost sat down and stopped. There were moments when I didn't think I could do it. On the back half of the run I couldn't find it to finish. There was to much road, I was to tired, my legs hurt to much, I'd never done anything like this, I wasn't fast enough, I was to fat, a million different things going through my head telling me to stop. What was I doing anyways? Why was I putting myself through this?
About a half mile from the finish I stopped and stopped over, my hands on my knees and tears welling up in my eyes. It wasn't a super hard course. Certainly nothing like what real competitors come across. But I was beat. I'd been had. I'd somehow convinced myself that I was capable when I obviously wasn't. I closed my eyes as tight as I could and took a deep breath. When I opened them again I was staring at my grandpa's dog tag laced into my left shoe. I keep it on my running shoes to remind me to never give up.
Never give up. Even if I came in dead last in the middle of the night I should not give up. I reached down and tapped the tag with my finger, giving the old man a hello but I'm sure he was right there pushing me down the road. I stood up, pushed my shoulders back, and started my way down through camp towards the pier.
I cried when I broke the make-shift toilet paper tape, I cried when I went back to the house to change. I cried when I realized what I'd done. I'd almost given in to that voice in my head, the one that's kept me back, the one that's acted out of fear. But in a horrendous moment of physical weakness I'd mustered what courage I had left in me to ignore that voice and press forward.
Today I'm proud of myself for shutting off that switch and listening to the tiniest glimmer that I could do it. I can see the pride in my eyes when I think about it, know that I may have been at the back, but I am one step closer to shutting up that voice in my head that's been saying 'I can't'.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
3 miles, 31:52
Back on the road after defeating the flu and I feel pretty good this morning. Two weeks off did a world of good for my health and I'm ready to get back to work. Despite it being colder than normal last night it was still a pretty hot run this morning. I've found that I have to get out before 6 (mostly it's 5:55 but that's still pre-6!) or else I just get to hot on a run. Maybe it's a mental thing. Some would say so. Tim certainly would.
We went to Avalon over the weekend to see Kenny Loggins, but couldn't get in. So many shenanigans ensued. It was great fun though. Took a bunch of pictures, but here's Tim and I in front of the Casino looking like a regular couple of tourists.
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
one-upping myself
I think I outdid myself this week.
Every Tuesday we have an activity called MLV where we march down the pier and then jump off in full uniform. After frolicking in the water for a few minutes we climb up onto the temporary ez-docks and proceed to engage in dock wars. Dock wars is pretty self explanatory. If you're standing on the dock, someone is going to try to push you off. So you should push them off first. Simple as that.
But here's the catch. As is predicted, most people don't want to go in the water. So it becomes a bit of a fight. Some fight more than others. For reasons unknown to me, I decided to throw off people who fought the most. And throw them I did. Typically the senior staff (18+) join together and dominate over the junior staff, bowling them off the docks and generally kicking ass and taking names.
Being the short person that I am, I tend to think that I am taller and so therefor decide it would be a good idea to pick fights with people who tend to be bigger than me. I tend to be pretty successful in my battles by employing a strategy of dropping the person to the deck and then shoving them in. It's worked quite well in the past.
There is a downside though, and that is that I tend to get pretty roughed up. I think I need to lay off next week because this week I am covered in bruises, I can barely life my arms up, and I have a huge gash on my knee. Not to mention my broken toe was smashed again yesterday and someone heeled me in my right foot leaving a giant bruise in the middle of my foot.
Yeah, probably time to back off.
Every Tuesday we have an activity called MLV where we march down the pier and then jump off in full uniform. After frolicking in the water for a few minutes we climb up onto the temporary ez-docks and proceed to engage in dock wars. Dock wars is pretty self explanatory. If you're standing on the dock, someone is going to try to push you off. So you should push them off first. Simple as that.
But here's the catch. As is predicted, most people don't want to go in the water. So it becomes a bit of a fight. Some fight more than others. For reasons unknown to me, I decided to throw off people who fought the most. And throw them I did. Typically the senior staff (18+) join together and dominate over the junior staff, bowling them off the docks and generally kicking ass and taking names.
Being the short person that I am, I tend to think that I am taller and so therefor decide it would be a good idea to pick fights with people who tend to be bigger than me. I tend to be pretty successful in my battles by employing a strategy of dropping the person to the deck and then shoving them in. It's worked quite well in the past.
There is a downside though, and that is that I tend to get pretty roughed up. I think I need to lay off next week because this week I am covered in bruises, I can barely life my arms up, and I have a huge gash on my knee. Not to mention my broken toe was smashed again yesterday and someone heeled me in my right foot leaving a giant bruise in the middle of my foot.
Yeah, probably time to back off.
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