The Diary of a Madman: The Introduction

As I mentioned in a previous post, a couple of my buddies and I took a roadtrip last weekend to the strange and amazing lands located to our South. After last year's roadtrip to Chi-town, this year's quick sojourn to the land of the Confederacy for a weekend appeared, atleast on paper, to be a mere trip to the corner store compared to last summer's 18 hour trek out west. For this trip, our numbers decreased from five to three as we cut away some of the proverbial fat in order to become a lean mean roadtripping machine of all-stars. (Actually, I think we were the only one's who could go away last weekend.) Whatever the reasoning, this trip's cast included:

The Faithful Steed-- a Gold 1989 Volvo Wagon that started our voyage with approximately 298,400 miles to its credit as well as several odd noises. (more on that later)...(PICTURE PENDING AT THE TIME OF PUBLICATION, she is sensitive about being photographed.)

The Driver--














One, Mr. Bob Jingle, a fellow Nutmegger and patriot, who during his formative years was no stranger to the wrong side of the law incurring an unmatched portfolio of moving violations while tearing through the streets of little town Connecticut. Thankfully, in recent years, the Bobber has rehabilitated his driving record while still maintaining the same killer instinct that made him fully qualified to lead our trip.

The Navigator--














The Dirty Diz, a former Flanders All-Star and a man with an unmatched sense of direction, cartography, and a lethal ability to find an alternative route around any traffic jam. Some say that the Diz has ice running through his veins as he remains calm in the most stressful of situations on the open road. In truth, the Diz's talents are the direct result of numerous family roadtrips that he endured as a youth during which he promised to himself that when it was his time to hit the open road, he would not make the mistakes that haunted his family's past trips.


The Dude in the Backseat--














And here is where I come in as part trip manager, organizer of the backseat and trunk areas, drink bitch, and the general source of lunacy, unnecessary commentary, and all around non-sensicality (inventing words). While seemingly not as important as the driver or the navigator, who some would argue that without the roadtrip would never occur, I maintain that my position is just as critical to the overall success of any roadtrip as I am the provider, who ensures that the driver and the navigator maintain their mental edge even after hours of driving while still managing to keep the mood light enough to thwart any challenges that threaten to derail the entire trip. Most importantly, I maintained the position of scribe taking down all the adventures that we endured along the way.

The Mascot--














E "Mother Fucken" T, my faithful confidant and friend, who has traveled with me on almost every trip that I have made since I discovered him in the attic of my childhood home many years ago. Throughout this voyage, he remained our faithful icon who sat silently on the dashboard never looking at the road ahead but rather staring silently back at each us analyzing our souls as if to see whether or not we had the internal fortitude and mental strength to complete the quest at hand.

And so on Friday, April 7, 2006 around 6:30 PM, this team of all-stars left to explore the South with no real goal or destination other than the outside hope to see the Faithful Steed pass the 300,000 mile benchmark by journey's end...

Over the next couple of days, I hope to transcribe these adventures here so that you, my faithful readers, can get a flavor for what happens when three young men, a 17 year old car, and a plastic icon stop being polite and start... their roadtrip at 6:30 on a Friday evening in New York City i.e. the height of rush hour traffic...

Some Happy Thoughts

As I ran home from work today, I realized that I am a pretty happy camper these days. While it is true that I have consumer debt beyond my means, educational debt that will take me until I am put in the ground to repay, a job and career that I feel sucks the life out of me on a daily basis, and a nasty case of gas.... BUT I AM HAPPY...

And as such I figured that I would let you know what exactly has made me currently not mind living:

1. Baseball is back-- I know that I love sports and I know that it takes up too much of my life but yesterday, I stayed home from work and was able to catch the first Red Sox game of the season. As a result, I got to hear the first musings of the year from Don Orsillo and his partner in crime, Jerry Remy. Then, later that night, I got to watch the Yanks and their crack team of retards explain to me what exactly makes Yankees Baseball so much better than everything else on earth including cancer research, feeding the hungry, and striving towards world peace. But none of their cock smokery mattered because I realized that I would be able to watch my favorite sport for the next seven months or so... Moreover, it meant that all of the months of speculation are now over as the Red Sox finally get to play some real games and see exactly what the moves made during the off-season mean in terms of their success in 2006.. and so I was happy... (mark this one down, the Sox should piss me off soon enough.)

2. The Lights FINALLY Came Back On-- For the past several months, I have been running at night. Everyday when I get back from work, I put on my shoes, shorts, and top of choice and head out into the darkness to log my miles. To be quite honest with each of you, the fact that I have been spending most of my time running without the sun has started to bug the shit out of me. I mean I was getting downright depressed and I quickly was moving towards not being able to deal with another dance in the dark. Come to think of it, I probably saw that damn owl because he realized that I was becoming part of his nocturnal fraternity. And so, although I had to lose an hour of sleep in order to achieve my new found light, I might be the happiest person on earth that our clocks were moved ahead one hour last weekend so that I can now run during daylight hours. (A little sun never hurt nobody... actually that is not true at all... wear sunblock kiddies.)

3. Spring Has Sprung and People Are Nicer?-- It happens every year, the weather starts to warm up and people appear to lighten up a little bit and actually exhibit some emotion other than bitter bitter contempt when they encounter their fellow man. For example, just today on the run home, I experienced this thawing of human emotion as I received several smiles as I ran by people walking on the sidewalk we shared. Just months ago, I am sure that these were the same people who were trying to drive me into the street, the snow, the ice, the pits of hell, and anything else they could force me towards in order to abruptly end my run. But today, it was all smiles.... as well as some fine young gentleman actually cupped his cigarette when I ran by in order to avoid smoke heading my way... and so I guess maybe some of my faith in you bastards has been returned... (not all, some... we have a long way to go here people...)

4. One Word: ROADTRIP (that may be two words)-- That's right, this Friday, me and two buddies leave the confines of Gotham for points unknown in order to simply drive and get away. I have been on mini-roadtrips before but this weekend will be my first real trip where we could seriously end up anywhere... actually since we all have to work on Monday, probably not anywhere but we have nothing planned. It should be fun as we set our sights for warmer climates.. and hopefully the car will not break down and we will not have to eat each other to survive.. but then again, if that happpens, this blog would become a hell of a lot more interesting...

So there are some things that have made me happy lately... Oh I left out the fact that my half marathon this weekend turned out to be a giant success as me and one of my training buddies stuck 7 minute mile pace for the entire thing... now we just need to get faster, stay injury free, and focus... as there are eight weeks to go, we have a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it's dark, and we are wearing sunglasses... HIT IT... (and yes, I probably used that line before in one of my posts but GOD DAMN, it is a great line and a good one to end the night on...)

Later.

Rules of the Road

So months ago I started this little entry and then promptly forgot that I had started writing it until yesterday when I looked through my posts to see if had any drafts that I needed to finish. Funny thing is that even though I forgot about the damn thing, during every run that I have done since that time, I have thought about how I need to write about some general rules that I think that everyone should follow in terms of running. I mean its the least that I could do... so here is what I wrote way back when along with some new little bits and pieces...

(Cue the flashback noises from Wayne's World)

Today, while polishing off a quick three mile run through what has become the arctic that is New York City (remember, I warned everyone that the weather would soon bite us in the ass), I thought of some of the do's and mostly don'ts regarding running that I often want to bestow on people that I observe out their getting in their daily jaunt. As such, I decided that I would write them down and share my eternal wisdom to the world. I mean it is the holidays so here is some holiday cheer... (clearly I wrote this sometime after Christmas which is exactly around the time, i was trying to kick my extensive meth habit. As such, I blame the meth for me not remembering that i started this months ago.)

Rule #1: If You Can't Run, DON'T!!!!

Running is not for everyone, there are those that can and as I witness on a daily basis, there are those that simply cannot. And you know exactly who you are, cannot'ers, you are that overweight gentleman that I see each day doing some kind of fat man two step down the road at a pace that equals the speed of a normal human's walking gait OR you are the woman that I see each day who appear to be running like deer in slow motion bounding down the road absorbing every single step with the entirety of their bodies.

So to you and to the rest of the running disabled out there, I submit this simple plea, PLEASE STOP RUNNING...Now to backup a little bit, I am not saying that you never should run nor am I faulting you for attempting to run but the fact of the matter is that you are truly hurting your body more than you are actually benefiting it at this point. Mainly because running is a very very harsh activity physically. As such, your body is not going to like you very much if you continue to force your body to run because it cannot handle the constant pounding (insert porn joke). Further, this is why you probably feel like shit the day after you running and subsequently grow to hate running. Furthermore, there are plenty of lower impact activities that you can do that are not running and will benefit you and your body more like biking, walking, or using that elliptical thingy at the gym. (The one I fall off of when I use it.) Point is don't run atleast until you get in better shape and can handle running. (Yes, I am a running snob.)

Rule #2: Do Not Defer to Your Fellow Man's Own Decision Making When Running i.e. Don't Trust Anyone

So if you actually are one of the people that I will allow to run, the next rule basically means do not defer to anyone else's judgment or anticipate what anyone else is going to do while you are running. This means that if you see a biker coming towards you, do not assume that this person is going act rationally and move away from you and allow you to continue running in the direction in which you are running. I know from experience dude as I have been almost runover, sworn at, and basically run off the road by my friends on two wheels. I believe this mainly has to do with the inferiority complex that most bikers have towards running becuase they know that by biking they are simply cheating themselves out of a real workout since they can coast as much as they want. AND don't give me all that I really work when I am going up hills because I usually pass your douche bags when I am running.

Similarly, do not trust any of the cars that you see on the road because no matter what you think that they are going to do, they will do the exact opposite. Funny thing about this part of the rule is that at some point this winter, I failed to listen to my own rule and almost got totally douched by some dude from New Jersey. Basically, how it went down was that he had stopped at a stop sign while I approached on foot. At this point, I assumed (incorrectly) that he saw me and that I could run in front of his car. Clearly, I was mistaken as he started to move forward as soon as I was directly in front of his car. Then, a woman screamed and I jumped backwards barely missing getting runover. And why did this happen? BECAUSE I TRUSTED MY FELLOW MAN.... TRUST NO ONE WHEN YOU ARE RUNNING.... NO ONE.

Other caveats to this rule that I will not get into are bikers bike cause they cannot run and run against traffic so you see the person's face before they kill you.

Rule #3: Do What You Can to Support Your Fellow Runners

This is going to be my final rule for the evening mainly because I know that no one is reading my pathetic ramblings. And actually the last rule is pretty simple, respect the people who are out there running. No matter what I do and where I run, I always make sure that I waive hi, clap, nod or whatever when I see a fellow runner out there working the pavement because I know that at some point, I will need this kind of support on one of my runs. (I even do this for the people I discussed in Rule #1 because no matter what I may think that are doing i.e. dying, aggressive walking, or plodding, they are still essentially running.)

Now this rule finds it origins back in New England where I became a runner. Back in NE, everyone and I mean everyone greets fellow runners when they see them out on the streets. I mean I could be running 20 miles and feeling like death, I will still give a what's up to whomever I pass. Similarly in Tennessee where I spent some time running last year, everyone including cars driving by do that little one finger raised salute when they pass someone on the road including me running. Of course in New York City, everyone is too cool to give a hi or whatever mainly because we don't want to exhibit any type actions that may actually show that we care for anyone else but ourselves. Sure after 9/11, New Yorkers loved each other and went out of there way to show this love, but things have cooled enormously in Gotham since that time.

Sadly, when I first moved here, I too became an introvert and ignored my fellow brethren in the running society avoiding eye contact and any type of greeting. Instead, I coldly shuffled on alone in my own private running pain cave. BUT I am happy to report that since my recent running kick, I have decided to say FUCK IT and now greet every runner that I meet out on the City streets like a madman. Sure this causes uncomfort in some and pure terror in others, but I know that running kharma has a way of catching up to you sooner or later and I would rather appease the running gods rather than piss them off. As such, if you notice some bearded homeless guy running like he is being chased by the cops but waiving when he goes by, that's probably me in all of my running insanity.

So those are the rules. Do what you will with them but remember if you choose to ignore them, someday one of these rules will bite you in the ass while you are out on a run.... and then you will remember how Uncle Rain Delay once warned you about the rules of the road... Now if you will excuse me, I have to go back loving the way I run.

This is going to suck...

Before I post a real post later this evening, I figured that I would cheat a little bit in terms of something that you actually want to read and provide a little self progress report i.e. a quick update on my training for the big marathon in Burlington, VT in May. (I am also doing this because Mr. S. emailed me asking about the traing and that reminded me that I have not said a word about it in a month. For those that don't know, Mr. S. doored me about three years ago in a 10k and I secretly vowed to make sure that I was always in shape to run any race that he was in just so that he did not woop my ass again. Not that I am ashamed that he beat me, but I am ashamed that I talked a big game before and then had it handed to me for 10 kilometers.)

ANWAY, I now sit about 9 weeks or less off from the big dance and from what I can tell this is truly going to be a tough goal in qualifying for Boston. Although I never doubted that it would be, I also never really appreciated exactly what i am going to have to do in order to toe the line in April of 2007 up in Beantown as a qualifier. I mean I have to run really really fast.

Now, to some of you out there right now, you may be saying to yourself or outloud at the computer, "No shit man... it's a marathon that you are trying to run at 7:15 mile pace... and that just sounds impossible..." OR others of you are saying, "You are a crazy fucker and we want you to die." Now, I am not sure where that second perspective works into this whole puzzle, but I agree with the sentiment that I should have previously appreciated the true magnititude of what I was getting myself into before I started this whole training program. But the thing was that I trained for a marathon before and that in all honesty was not that bad. Now, however, with a track workout and a long run each week that has to be fast, training has started to really open my eyes to what I am going to take on in a few months. All I know is that no matter what I am going to be in serious pain and may go to the hospital by the end of it. So I have that to look forward to...

As for the training, I have run a couple of 16+ mile runs with one that I averaged 7:30 per mile, which I was mildly impressed with although it caused me the fear that I wrote about in the paragraph above. I have been basically laying fire to the track each time I step on it. As a result, even though though I may have some trepidation about what I have gotten myself into, qualifying for this bad boy may be in my proverbial wheelhouse...as long as I keep running... and running... and RUNNING...

of course the reality is...

It's still gonna suck.

My New Conundrum

The more i read about this Barry Bonds thing and the new book, the more I cannot shake the feeling that I am in someway suffering a huge case of denial about Lance Armstrong and what he did to win the Tour de France. I mean I am a fan of Lance, but isn't there the same type of paper trail and even a drug test that demonstrates that Lance cheated in order to win atleast his earliest tours? How do I totally believe that one did and yet ignore the facts when it comes to the other? I guess it has to do with the personalities involved with Lance being the survivor and Barry Bonds being a huge piece of shit. But at the same time, I feel like a hypocrite because I am simply choosing to ignore or even to consider the questions relating to their honesty about cheating from one but blindly proceeding on my ultimate path to crucify the other in my final act of ultimate condemnation. And sadly deep down, I think that they both probably cheated and no matter how much I would truly like to believe that my favorite athletes could do no wrong, I have to face the fact that deep down they are flawed like the rest of us. Actually probably more than the rest of us because their successes and failures are judged on a dailly basis by their performances under the pressure of the public eye. As such, I would guess that most would feel like they needed to stop at nothing in order to be successful. While weirdly I totally understand that feeling on an adult level, something deep down still feels that just like when Clemens and Boggs left the Red Sox I am heart broken as my idyllic view of sports and the athletes who play them is further shattered. Actually I think now they are simply grinding the god damn glass into the carpet.

Owls, Beaches, and the Trial of Miles

In Once a Runner, the book's protaganist refers to the Trial of Miles, a phrase he uses to basically described his personal history of running during his college career and how through it all no matter what crisis he faced, he ran. I am not currently going through a crisis, but I find myself looking more and more forward to the runs that I do each week as a way to refocus and meditate on what is going on in my crazy little life. Plus, sometimes like last weekend it serves as a nice little sojourn down memory lane. (It also helps that I am getting in killer mileage with 33 miles run last week in total.)

As I have a lot recently, I spent the weekend at my parents' places (old and new) in order to finish off the great family move that has featured them moving from their old house into a brand new shiny one. As such, I decided to vary from my planned long run, which was to be 16 miles this weekend to two shorter runs of around seven miles. This decision proved to be very sensible since this weekend featured some of the coldest of the season. (Once again, this is Popstar's fault.)

For the first run, I ran a loop that I have done since I was a wee little babe that brings me along the town's coast line through the mansion section and back home. It is relatively flat with only two real hills, but a great run nonetheless as I pass many of my old friends' houses and various places where I used to create problems for myself as a teenager. Saturday's version featured extremely cold temperatures, a bastard of a wind, and several aches and pains. Regardless it was nice opportunity no matter what the conditions to zone out and revisit this little run.

For the second run, I mapped a route through the woods near my old and new house to get to the state park nearby where my high school cross country team had its home course and where I spent many summers and winters either running the trails or cross country skiing when the weather cooperated. Also, this run brought me to my favorite part of the world, a little dock that juts out into the marsh in the state park where I feel most at peace. And yes, I am listening to John Denver right now.

The run went off as planned, and it was nice to run up the boardwalk through the pavilion, and into the woods. The best part of the entire run, however, occurred right at the outset while I was on the first trail near my house. As I was approaching a dense section of pines that creates a very dark section of trail, I saw out of the corner of my eye something flying out of no where. Now, I usually see birds and other various creatures, but the shear size of whatever the heck this thing was made me slow down and try to figure out where this thing went. Then as I saw a large gray head looking out from behind a tree craining its neck to get a good look at me, I realized this flying enigma was a good old fashioned owl, something I had never seen in the wild. (Actually after research at home, I saw a Grey Horned Owl, the second largest owl in the owl lineage and the largest of the eared owls.) And then, as soon as the owl realized that I was looking at him, he took off above me finally landing in a classic owl perch in the trees.

I thought about the significance of the owl during the remainder of my run and continued to think about it the remainder of the weekend and up until today. And while I still cannot figure out if it really means anything in terms of the effect the sighting may have on my life, it once again reaffirmed my need to get the hell out of the City someday and settle myself in an area where I can atleast hope to see another owl.

Trial and shizzle

So the last couple of days have been spent picking my first jury. It was a really interesting experience in that I basically spent two consecutive days in a room with complete strangers trying to figure out if they were the right fit for my case or if they were simply lying with the answers to my questions waiting to screw me once the trial started. It was an intensely mentally draining experience in that I essentially tried to read minds while looking interested at the same time. Plus, you cannot let them see you sweat as the saying goes... Is that even a saying... Anyway, after three days of trial, here are some highlights:

1. The 82 year old woman who sat their patiently in silence with no expression on her face until it was her turn to be questioned and then, when it her moment to shine...took us on a uniquely magical voyage involving her professional soccer player nephew, her job at a respected library, and the daughters that abandoned her (apparently) by moving to Colorado and getting married... But you know what, she was the most lucid person in the room at any point over the course of the two days.

2. The cranky old news editor who sat in the front row with a giant scowl the entire time he was in our presence.. or as my friend would say like the face a woman would make if she smelled a fart while she happened to be sucking on a lemon. Anyway, bitch pants sat there and judged the entire time until I asked him if he had any opinions about this great City of ours. His response, "I have many many opinions..." When I asked if he would like to discuss them outside, he informed me that it was his Constitutional Right to express them in the room. (I believe this falls under Amendment 9 or is that Article III) We topped this conversation off with a rousing game of All Lawyers Lie, which usually involves saying something about how all lawyers are liars. (the game stuck to form.)

3. Finally, today, before my case settled (ruining the ending), I had a conversation with the plaintiff's own son who informed me that he goes to the park by near my house where he practices karate and punches the concrete handball wall with different types of blows. He then asked me if I ever ran by the park in the morning, and if I knew what he meant by how he was punching the wall. Needless to say after the case settled, I ran from the court room hoping that he did not ask for my number or wait for me outside the office to follow me home. I will never run by the park again atleast not between the hours of 8 and 12 in the AM...

So that was that, the case settled, but I got to pick a real life no bull shit jury of 7 women and 1 man. Not sure how it would have all worked out if we had taken this thang the distance, but I am sure there will be more down the road. Atleast for now, I can relax, have a beer, get some sleep, and focus on running again.

No Mile Inside

As part of my training for this damn marathon, I have made a private and now public vow that I will not run a single mile of my training inside. Now this is not some source of inane pride (well it kind of is) or because I think I am better than everyone else (I am and way better looking) BUT more because as I have discussed to a point that it makes me numb to repeat it that I HATE THE GYM. Further, this is not to discount those that run indoors, PAF just ran 10 miles on the treadmill the other day mainly because she is a crazy crazy hard core chica, who needs to run a marathon to prove her real hard coreness(sp?). Anyway, the point being is that I don't care how cold it is outside or whether it is raining, snowing, or some crazy wintry mix of fucked up precipitation, I will be outside.

As such, this is exactly what I did yesterday the day after the BLIZZARD of 2006, which for the record, I blame on Popstar, who just started training again for her second marathon and thus doomed us to an awful remainder of the winter. Anyway, I went out and ran six miles while many of my fellow New Yorkers complained about puddles of melting snow or tried not to bust their tailbones on newly formed ice. Similarly, I went out on Saturday before the storm broke and got in a quick 14 miles just to make sure that good Old Mother Nature did not mess with my training schedule. Sure, I took Sunday off, but that was some serious snow, and anyway, I get Sundays off. BLOW ME.

And this is how I will continue to train through hell or high water, outside where it is only me, my music, and your mom... I mean the elements...

One Week in the Tank

So the training program has officially started, and I am happy to report that after the first week, I am easily in better shape both physically and mentally than I was when I ran the New Jersey Marathon back in April of 2005. I mean last week I absolutely crushed each of my runs as I cleared 30 miles for the week. These runs included a great 11 miler that I did back home in the Nutmeg State. Actually, I think that the run back home was fast mainly because it was run almost exclusively along Long Island Sound.. I love me some water... and it definitely beats running through the streets of Brooklyn and the odors that I constantly encounter. Not that they are bad, but they are pungent and sting the nostrils...

Of course, none of my early success would be possible if the weather was not cooperating like it has this winter. Now, I don't know if the recent weather is the result of the excessive use of AquaNet during the 80's, a sign that the apocalypse is upon us, El Nino, or simply a run of really great luck with this weather. Whatever the cause, it has made what would be a terrible winter of training into an enjoyable experience. Last winter, I distinctly remember days where I would go out, run, and with every step, all I could feel were the icicles that were forming in my lungs. Now, compare that to this winter, where I can count on my fingers, the times that I have had to run with my long pants on as I have been out there pounding the pavement for the majority of the winter. Hopefully, this weather will sustain its warmer pattern, and I hope that I did not just jinx everything. If I did, I apologize, and please feel free to send me tuperware containers containing your shit, you vengeful sons of bitches...

So for now that is all I got. Nothing really interesting, funny, or even thought provoking.. instead I am simply a man, who is running like I mugged someone in hopes that I will qualify to stand on that line in Boston on Patriots' Day 2007.

And now, back to Jack Bauer and his horrible horrible day.

I'm Not A Homeless Guy But I Play One On TV

Tonight is beard trimming night at the old Rain Delay residence. I grew a beard for the first time when I was studying for the Connecticut and New York Bar Exams during the summer of 2003. I figured that cutting out the need to shave and maintain any semblance of non-dirtbagness would allow me to focus more on the task at hand i.e. avoiding studying as much as possible. Sadly, my current job had other ideas about the beard as they called me in for not one but two final interviews during that summer. (It makes you feel really good about a company's desire to hire you when you end up getting a job after a total of five interviews... I am still not sure how I ended up getting an offer, someone must have died or something.) Due to my numerous trips to New York that summer, I soon scuttled my plan to be the bearded wonder.

The concept of growing the beard, however, stuck reemerging during the Red Sox momentous run to their first World Series title in 86 years during the fall of 2004, and since that time, I have been bearded for more time during the year than I have actually been clean shaven. What can I say, I thoroughly enjoy my beard, and I intend to continue to remain this way for the foreseeable future even when Johnny Damon has shaved his beard and trimmed his locks to join the hated Yankees. (He's a mercenary, the Sox knew it when they originally got him so there is no reason now to be angry about it... fucken Judas.)

At the present moment, however, the Winter of 2005-2006 version of the beard has gotten a little out of a control and at the hinting of my bosses at work, the scared looks of passersby on the streets, and the weird offers of food and spare change from complete strangers, I have decided that the old beard needs a little bit of a trim job... But since I am all about sharing and caring these days... remember its hugs not drugs kiddies, I figured I would post a picture of the beard before the clippers are taken to it and it becomes a shadow of its former self.. so here it is in all of its out of control glory...

What's in a Name

For the last couple of years, I have used the pen name or nom de plum, Rain Delay, to write on this blog, while playing Halo, or generally whenever, I do not feel like using my real name for something. I believe that the name provides me with a degree of entertaining mystery as the character that is Rain Delay has a level of freedom that I lack in my real life. Also, it is a nifty way to prevent my parents from ever finding this blog. Once again, I repeat that anyone who tells them that I write this thing will be asked to pack up their things and report to the principal's office where you will be fitted for a new pair of shoes to help you swim when we drop you in the East River. (get it, I am going to make sure you drown.)Anyway, while I have used the name frequently, I have never officially explained what the name means and why if you know me, the name is completely appropriate. (Note: I do not count the numerous times that I have told this story to my friends while intoxicated. Nothing is ever official when the booze is involved.)

It all started back in law school when my buddy, who we will call Tito, described my inability to get ready to go out or basically to do anything that required leaving my apartment in a timely fashion as a Human Rain Delay.

For those that do not know, rain delays happen in baseball and other sports when it rains too much, your team does not have a dome or atleast a retractable roof, and thus the game is appropriately delayed for the rain to pass. You can usually tell if the game that your team is supposed to be playing in is experiencing a rain delay because:

A. There will be a notation on your television that there is a rain delay.

B. Thurmon Munson will be at bat against Bill Lee; or

C. If you are at the game, there is a massive tarp on the field, and it is raining.

(I cannot believe I just explained that.)

As for Tito's observation, I cannot disagree with him and would like to formally apologize to him for forcing him to endure this little quirk of mine for three years of law school. It is not so much that I am high maintenance or that I take a long time to get ready. (My friends will disagree with that last sentence as there are stories out there of me spending a solid half an hour or more to find the perfect t-shirt for the evening. Of course, those stories are nothing more than rumors or hearsay, and I will deny that they ever happened.) Rather, I have the inexplicable talent of creating numerous little tasks that I must complete before I am able to leave my residence. These tasks and their completion, of course, seems totally rational and mandatory to me while being utterly nonsensical to anyone who is involved in getting me out of the house. I guess I am a little obsessive compulsive, but I can promise you that I will not enjoy my brunch or my evening out if I do not clean up all the clothes in my room, wash the dishes, pick up all the red fuzzy carpet droppings, or do whatever other task that comes to mind before I leave the house. They just have to be done, this is not negotiable.

So there it is, as Tito so aptly once noted, I am the human rain delay, a character that is not so much a super hero put on this earth to save the world, but rather, a source of endless frustration for all who I consider to be my friends. Now if you will excuse me, I have to go make sure that I turned off my space heater for the thirteenth time today.

Just for reference

Here is the training schedule that I am taking on... Any distance below is in miles, I don't understand the metric system.

BASE WEEK (JANUARY 16, 2006 TO JANUARY 22, 2006)

M-OFF T-4 W-5 Th-5 F-OFF S-10 S-3

Total for the Week: 27

WEEK ONE (JANUARY 23, 2006 TO JANUARY 29, 2006)

M-OFF T-6 W-5 Th-5 F-OFF S-10 S-3

Total for the Week: 29

WEEK TWO (JANUARY 30, 2006 TO FEBRUARY 5, 2006)

M-OFF T-6 W-5 Th-5 F-OFF S-10 S-3

Total for the Week: 29

WEEK THREE (FEBRUARY 6, 2006 TO FEBRUARY 12, 2006)

M-OFF T-5 W-6 Th-5 F-OFF S-12 S-3

Total for the Week: 31

WEEK FOUR (FEBRUARY 13, 2006 TO FEBRUARY 19, 2006)

M-OFF T-5 W-6 Th-5 F-OFF S-12 S-3

Total for the Week: 31

WEEK FIVE (FEBRUARY 20, 2006 TO FEBRUARY 26, 2006)

M-OFF T-5 W-6 Th-5 F-OFF S-14 S-3

Total for the Week: 33

WEEK SIX (FEBRUARY 27, 2006 TO MARCH 5, 2006)

M-OFF T-6 W-6 T-6 F-OFF S-RACE S-3


TERMS NEEDED TO UNDERSTAND THE REMAINDER OF THE PLAN:

Progression Long Run: Basically you are supposed to start to pick up
the pace with forty minutes left in the run so that your last thirty
minutes look like this: 10 minutes at marathon pace (MP) +20 seconds,
then 10 minutes at MP +10 seconds, and the final 10 minutes at MP.

Tempo Pace: 10 to 15 seconds slower than your 10-k pace.

Strides: Plan to do 10 X 100 meter pickups after one of the easy runs
each week.


WEEK SEVEN (MARCH 6, 2006 TO MARCH 12, 2006)

M-OFF T-4 W- $ T-6 F-OFF S-% S-3

$ = 3 X 1.5 miles at tempo pace with a steady half mile between repeats.
%= Steady Long run of 13 miles at 10% slower than MP.

WEEK EIGHT (MARCH 13, 2006 TO MARCH 19, 2006)

M-OFF T-6 W-$ T-6 F-OFF S-% S-3

$= 2X2 miles at tempo pace with a steady half mile recovery between repeats.
%= Progression long run of 16 miles

WEEK NINE (MARCH 20, 2006 TO MARCH 26, 2006)

M-OFF T-4 W-$ T-8 F-OFF S-% S-3

$= 4 mile tempo run
%= Steady long run of 15 miles at 10% slower than MP

WEEK TEN (MARCH 27, 2006 TO APRIL 2, , 2006)

M-OFF T-4 W-$ T-8 F-OFF S-% S-3

$= 3X2 miles at MP, with a steady half mile recovery between repeats.
%= 10k race

WEEK ELEVEN (APRIL 3, 2006 TO APRIL 9, 2006)

M-OFF T-4 W-$ T-8 F-OFF S-% S-3

$= 3X2 miles at MP, with a steady half mile recovery between repeats.
%= Progression run of 18 miles

WEEK TWELVE (APRIL 10, 2006 TO APRIL 16, 2006)

M-OFF T-4 W-$ T-8 F-OFF S-% S-3

$= 3X2 miles at MP, with a steady half mile recovery between repeats.
%= Half-marathon

WEEK THIRTEEN (APRIL 17, 2006 TO APRIL 23, 2006)

M-OFF T-4 W-$ T-8 F-OFF S-% S-3

$= 3X2 miles at tempo pace, with a steady half mile recovery between repeats.
%= Progression long run of 20 miles

WEEK FOURTEEN (APRIL 24, 2006 TO APRIL 30, 2006)

M-OFF T-4 W-$ T-8 F-OFF S-% S-3

$= 5X2 miles at MP with a steady half mile recovery between repeats.
%= Steady long run of 16 miles at 10% slower than MP

WEEK FIFTEEN (MAY 1, 2006 TO MAY 7, 2006)

M-OFF T-4 W-$ T-5 F-OFF S-% S-3

$= 3X3 miles at MP with a steady half mile recovery between repeats
%= Progression log run of 22 miles

WEEK SIXTEEN (MAY 8, 2006 TO MAY 14, 2006)

M-OFF T-4 W-$ T-5 F-OFF S-% S-3

$= 2X4 miles at MP with a steady half-mile recovery between repeats.
%= Steady run off 15 miles (i shortened this from 18)

WEEK SEVENTEEN (MAY 15, 2006 TO MAY 21, 2006)

M-OFF T-5 W-$ T-4 F-OFF S-% S-3

$= 15 miles with the last 8 to miles at MP.
%= 2X3 miles at tempo pace with a steady half mile recovery between repeats

WEEK EIGHTEEN (MAY 22, 2006 TO MAY 28, 2006)

M-OFF T-4 W-$ T-3 F-OFF S-2 S-MARATHON

$= 8 with last 3 miles at MP.

Where Has The Time Gone

So once I used to write on this sucker pretty regularly and then, the transit strike happened, the holidays came and went, and I slowly neglected my little blog more and more... and instead I developed an unhealthy and often criticized addiction to Anchorman.

But thankfully, I have found some time this evening while watching Hour Three of the 24 to get in a quick update and to announce a new direction and the plans for the next coming months for Putting Myself Out There.

Here is the update:

1. The transit strike: man did that really blow. I had to walk to work four miles in the snow up hill while barefoot. At least that is what I am going to tell my grandkids when I get old and pop out some young spankies. Enough has been written about the strike but all and all I thought it was a nice although cold opportunity to realize how much we depend on mass transit and yet how we each can survive when it disappears. Now, go hug each other...

2. Holidays: this year's Christmas festivities really stepped it up a notch. Not only did we each receive a lot more gifts than usual due to some unknown mutual fear of underbuying that gripped each us before the actual day, but also, we got a little crazy with the holiday libations. I blame the second part of that sentence on my mother who introduced a little drink called the Poinsettia to the mix. Basically, this drink as originally described was supposed to be a sublime combination of champagne and cranberry juice. My mother, however, decided to up the ante and add her own ingredient, vodka. Needless to say, it became readily apparent that as the evening progressed mom's secret ingredient became the evening's holiday cheer as all involved became quite intoxicated. Happily, mom's little creation kept us laughing long into that cold winter night... Man, ever since I stopped writing, I have become really really soft... I will take my skirt off now.

3. Moving: my parents are moving out of our childhood home. Man, does this one suck. This past weekend, I spent my time cleaning out both the attic and the basement and I will be back next weekend further emptying my home of childhood memories. It has been a truly difficult process as we are cleaning out a house that we have lived in for 21 years. It is definitely hard not to get nostalgic during the course of the whole thing and wonder if they are doing the right thing. I love my parents' new place, but I wonder if it will ever be quite the same. I guess they say that we will have to just make our new memories there. We shall see.

4. Running: today is the first day of my marathon training and also a great segue into the new focus for a lot of what I will be writing here in the next couple of months. As I stated a long long time ago, I love to run, and over the course of the next 18 weeks, I will be devoted to running the fastest marathon of my life. As such, I plan to write often or atleast weekly about how training has been going along with a splash of high comedy that is my daily encounters. We shall see how it all works out, but I think with a new focus, I may be able to post on a more consistent basis as I am sure you will love to hear about how much I hate the training that I am doing and how much pain I am because of it.

Soon enough my fragile little flowers.. soon enough...

Back in the USSR

Well here we are face to face a couple of silver spoons.. or maybe christmas has passed and I once again start to wonder why I ever left the Nutmeg State. I mean we all love where we grew up and yet love the fact that we never ended up like that kid who is the local firefighter and the bouncer at the tavern, but at the same time, I love my town. There is the running on the beaches, the cheap bars downtown, and the scores of ladies I get to reintroduce myself too who now are fat while I stayed skinny, actually not true but I cannot seem to get over the rules of engagement that defined my high school years. But in the end, I loved being home, and wonder why the concrete playground I currently live in is ever worth it. From what I have gathered, I am ready to have deformed children that cannot run a mile, but know why the Bodaga has cornered the all natural skin cream market... for this i am afraid..

Blueprints for an Ark

Tonight, my team won its second basketball game of the season... so to celebrate, we went out for a little liquid celebration in order to recap our night of basketball domination... Drinks were drunk and tales were told... And I left in a cab around midnight to trek back to Casa de Rain Delay... Arriving home around 12 + 15, I entered and prepared for bed with only a hapless knocking to disturb my plans.. When I opened the door, my landlord (or the better half), Maria, appeared and informed me that there was a pipe problem that had reintroduced itself this evening. (The same problem that reared its angry head during the Thanksgiving Break.) And after some investigation, I realized that the questionable fortitude of the ceiling above my bed had once again lost the war (not the great one) and dumped that fine liquid life into my room.... an inch of it... As such, my landlord and i just spent the last hour drying out my apartment and piling wet articles of clothing to be washed and dried in their basement... I love my life... I love kharma... And I just need to know what the fuck a cubit is...

A Little Promotion Never Hurt Nobody

In my life, I have come to the realization that I have some of the most amazing friends in the entire fucking world, who on daily basis do some really amazing shit. As I once wrote in an email, they find the time to use their creative talents for good instead of boredom.

Recently, two of these friends namely Savage and Bob Jingle of blogging fame entered a short film competition where they were given a genre in this case a western and had to make an entire short film using that genre from shot to edit to print in one weekend. Not surprisingly, the film they created called Hashslingers is now a finalist in this national competition. What can I say they do good shit...

Anyway, here is where the promotion comes in as they need your votes America in order to achieve their ultimate goal of World Domination. (Sure, they are both brilliant and evil....)

So do me a favor and yourselves, go to this site and vote for my friends... or don't and then, I will piss on your front lawn and send you shit in a tupperware container for Christmas....

Da Bears

The Chicago Bears are having a phenomenal season.

Now for those that follow along, one would think that since I am a Sox fan, I should also be a big fan of the Pats. Well, to be honest, where I grew up in CT, there was not a single friend that I had who had the Pats as their favorite team. Back then, the Giants ruled... or you simply liked some other team like the Cowboys or the Raiders. No one was really a Pats fan mainly because they sucked.

Of course, all of that changed when the Pats made the Super Bowl in 1985. Then, suddenly like all those Chicago White Sox "fans" this year, Pats' fans emerged from the woodwork acting like they had been there all along. I, however, did not understand... here was the team that no one ever talked about or watched. I mean here was the team that had SUCKED... why were these people now drinking the Kool-Aid.

And so, I decided to support the 1985 Bears. Now, there was a team. They had the greatest defense of all time... Jim McMahon and his fine producing head bands... Sweetness... The Fridge... Ditka... and of course, the Super Bowl Shuffle. Long before the Idiots on the Red Sox of 2004, Da Bears were the rock stars of their sport, and I loved them. (Plus, it helped that Dad loved the Packers, and a little rivalry between a father and a son is always a healthy thing.)

Now, twenty years later, I am still a Bears fan. Sure I love when the Pats win or the Giants have a great season like they are having (the Jets suck), but the Bears are my team so until they win again, I will not experience that true satisfaction of my football team winning the Big One.

Maybe this is the year... GO BEARS!!!

The Road to Boston

Back in April, as I wrote about, I ran the New Jersey Marathon. I was very content when I finished in 3:36 and change, but in retrospect, I was far from satisfied because I knew that although the completion of those 26.2 miles was tremendous source of pride, I had another goal that still needed to be completed in order to fully satiate my marathon jones i.e. qualify for the Boston Marathon.

The Boston Marathon, which this year is being held for the 110th time, requires that its participants meet a time standard in order to be able to compete in this event. While it is true that in recent years, individuals have been able to run without meeting a standard by getting in through some kind of charity exemption, I firmly believe that the only way I will ever run this event is by meeting the qualifying time set for my age group, which is 3:10 or 7:15 per mile. There is no other way that I will run this event because I want to train my ass off, run like a mad man, and meet the qualifying standard so that I can run the Boston Marathon in April 2007.

Now, back in the day when I was young (I'm not a kid anymore), qualifying for Boston would have been something that I probably could have done in my sleep, but currently, after gaining a little weight and failing to maintain a running routine, this goal is going to require some hard core training. As such, in order to accomplish this goal, I have selected the Vermont City Marathon, which will be held on May 28, 2006, as the race to lay down the gauntlet and let the proverbial shit fly. The race itself seems to feature a healthy amount of crowd support, a decent course, and 3599 of my closest friends to help me with this task. Additionally, in the next week or so, I have to develop a training plan that will require me at its peak to run 40 miles or so per week while hopefully, shedding 15-20 pounds in the process. (I need to be fast and quick and not lumpy and slow.) Moreover, as I wrote about a week or so ago, I have convinced a couple of my buddies from my high school crew team and who have each ran an Ironman or two themselves to train and try to qualify with me. (strength in numbers or just suckers for pain?) Finally, I have written this entry as a way to hold myself to this goal because for some reason when I put my plans in life out here for public consumption, I tend to actually follow through with them.

So there it is... I am locked in... I registered for Vermont tonight and have already run three times this week... I will keep you posted.

Time Management

Before leaving work this afternoon around 6 or so, I polished off my fourth bottle of water for the day. This is nothing unusual as I tend to drink more than my share of water and have done so for as long as I can remember. What can I say, I am constantly thirsty and can feel a noticeable difference when I have not consumed my 300 gallons for the day. (come to think of it, maybe, I am aqua man.)

While this has never changed, my ability to gauge when I will need to urinate after consuming the water in question is currently completely out of whack. I used to be able to figure when this need would arise right down to the appropriate nano-second for the commencement of operation urination. But lately, I have been forced to either break out into a full fledged sprint to the bathroom or to do this weird uncomfortable shuffle speed walk that maximizes my speed while minimizing any potential accidents in order to avoid explaining to my entire office, why at 28 years old I have pissed my pants like Miles Davis. (wait that is not the line)

Today was no exception....because after polishing off the bottle of water at my office and riding the subway for ten minutes, I found my fat ass shuffling mightily through the streets of Williamsburg, sweating and praying that I would get home before the mother fucken dam broke in order to avoid being the subject of millions of hipster blogs writing about the fat guy, who was sadly incontinent. Thankfully, today like all the times prior to today, I managed to get home without incident and successfully completed the self-evacuation process... Take that you hipster scumbags... Go back to Colby.

What is more worrisome and brings me pause is when did I lose the ability to gauge my need to pee or why have I suddenly started the practice of shuffling from the subway to my apartment praying that all hell does not break loose?

What has caused my constant mismanagement or misdiagnosis of when I will next need to urinate?

Is this just a sign of things to come? Should I just go out and by the Depends right now? I mean I am not necessarily ready for the adult diaper, but if strapping one on means that I will not be struggling to avoid public embarassment, I may have to look into it.

Or maybe, I could simply drink less water, but that seems like a horrible idea. I mean what if there is a drought or if the entire water supply is contaminated?

I guess for now, I will simply have to increase my vigilance of monitoring my internal warning system while simultaneously developing new and creative ways to get to the nearest restroom without incident in order to keep my present prestigious streak alive...

Insomnia Sucks

I knew it was going to happen this evening, and I did everything that I could to try to avoid it including going for a seven mile run and then having a couple of beers earlier this evening. But as I sat there in my bed, my mind started racing and I started thinking and like clockwork, my insomnia kicked in.

Now, I am actually pretty sure what I have is not insomnia since more often than not I have no problems falling asleep, but when this happens, it means that I basically will not be falling asleep until well into the morning hours. This lack of sleep would not be so bad if I could just lay around tomorrow but since I have to be at work bright an early, tonight's bout is putting a giant crimp in my plans for a productive work day. And unfortunately, once my mind goes on one of its wonderous rides, there is nothing I can do except sit there and lament about how I cannot fall asleep.

And what am I losing sleep you may ask? Well, actually tonight, there is a veritable catalog of things on my mind. First, I am thinking about my deposition tomorrow in which my witness, a police officer, is going to be deposed. This is case in which my officer went up to a vehicle in order to perform an arrest, at which point, the driver of the car, in which the plaintiff was a passenger, slammed the vehicle in reverse in order to flee and subsequently flipped the sucker. Of course, the plaintiff has sued for a variety of reasons and blamed the City for all of them. Now from my experience, I know that tomorrow is going to be an absolute war since my witness will have every aspect of his life called into question including but not limited to his morale character, personal intergrity, and age of onset (last part is not true, but I would not put it past my opposition.) As such, it is my job to make sure this does not happen and to protect my witness. So i got that on my mind...

Next, I have to write papers to oppose a motion in which all the other parties want to pin blame or liability on the City because the plaintiff sat in his chair at work (a City agency), reclined, and the chair snapped. Of course, this is the same chair that his fat ass had been sitting in for six months prior to the date of the accident, but of course, you guessed it, WE ARE TO BLAME. The best part about this case is that the accident happened in 1987 when I was in 4th grade. I am beginning to think that there should be a law preventing me from defending any cases that involve incidents which occured before I had pubic hair or atleast liked girls.

Finally, I have decided to throw in a glass of mulling over my life and all of its decisions just for good measure and in case, I decide not to think about my immediate plans for tomorrow...

Hopefully, by writing all of this down, I will now be able to fall asleep in the next hour or so or else I may be back here in an hour writing about the Red Sox 2005 season, porno, and people I hate...

Actually, I will most likely just whine about not falling asleep.

Idle Thoughts Regarding Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Loneliness

What up fuckers!!! I know that each and everyone of you stopped checking my page out weeks ago when I went on a bit of a hiatus, but I am here to announce that I am back atleast until I decide to disappear again. I wish I had a great excuse or some crazy story to tell in order to explain why I decided to lay low for awhile like I went to rehab, robbed a bank, or did both. Unfortunately there are not any great adventures nor are there any excuses, I just kind of got bored with writing for awhile... I guess like my life, my blog is meant to have its ups and downs i.e. periods of writing and periods of abandonment.

However, I am back...until I become a cheesehead... (that's coke slang people)

So let me cover some thoughts while I got my proverbial groove on...

1. First and foremost, I just want to take a moment to comment on how incredible the weather has been for the majority of November. I was actually going write about this about a week ago because as I have stated in the past, I hate when people complain about the weather. Mainly because, there is nothing you can do about the weather so when you wake up in the morning just make the best of it. Granted this is coming from the kid who did crew for 10+ years of his life and thus rowed through sleet, snow, lightning, and rain, LOTS OF GOD DAMN RAIN.... And sure people certainly have a good faith basis to complain when it rains for eight days straight like it did a few weeks ago as thoughts turn to basement's flooding, sky lights leaking, hairdo's frizzing, and small dogs and children floating off into the abyss (not a hurricane joke), but in the end, it's rain not the end of the world. Of course if the world ends because of rain in the near future, I will be the first one to be blamed or maybe it will be that mother fucker who writes the Farmer's Almanac, I mean, he probably knows the end is near already.

But in November, we have experienced what I would describe as pure bliss. I mean the days and nights have been warm extending Indian Summer well into what should be a colder times. As a result, I have been able to actually get out there and do many more runs outside with minimal layers. In fact it has been so unseasonably warm that many of the entrants in the New York City Marathon held two weekends ago struggled to finish due to the heat that slowly gripped the day.

Anyway since the majority of us spend our time bitching about the weather, I figured I would simply say thank you, weather, for the a nice patch of November you have provided us. We will soon hate you when we have twelve inches of snow on the ground.

2. A quick congratulations goes out to my buddy, Bob Jingle, who has been going through an extraordinarily busy and stressful period in his life as he is currently trying to edit a short film, appear at gigs for his burgeoning comedy career, write for his video game magazines, work, and OH YEAH, be married. In fact, today, BJ and the wifey are celebrating there second wedding anniversary... As I have said in the past, I am not there yet, which is probably for the best since I am fucken nuts, but Bob and Ms. Jingle are perfect for each other so cheers to them. (Atleast until the next time, Ms Jingle yells at us for smoking while she is drunk and smoking in her kitchen with the window open.)

3. A new entry to the world of blog can be found here. This old friend is a law school pal of mine, who slowly but surely has reappeared in my life since I moved to this great City of mine. PAF's recent entry about debt is spot on as right now I am well over one hundred thousand dollars in debt mainly due to school and my obsession with the illegal infant slave trade. (I figure the FBI/CIA or whomever is out there already got tabs on me so why not throw out some real bull shit for them to chew on.) The thought of my own personal debt makes me want to vomit most of the time, and it is great to know that I am soon going to have sell my soul or possibly all my worldy possessions simply to break even someday. At the very least, I will have to sell out and go for a big money law job, something that I am really looking forward kind of like how the Jews look forward to the return of Hitler. (I am sure that PAF is now happy that I plugged her blog while making a Hitler joke.)

Anyway, check her out or rather read her blog. (She has a boyfriend, people, don't check her out, perverts.)

4. In sports news, I am planning on running a Spring marathon with a couple of buddies from high school, who I rowed with as youths, pronounced UTES. These guys basically run Iron Man competitions in their spare time so I am sure that I should do just fine against them. Actually, I have always been the faster of the three in road racing mainly because I am lighter than they are, but we shall see. I believe that our collective goal may be less about beating each other and more about qualifying for Boston, but I am sure it all goes out the window once we get on that line. Good luck suckers! And you know what they say in Occum...

5. Finally, a special person in my life is running their first marathon this weekend. Judging by the weather, it is hard to say what to expect, but I am confident that they will finish and thus accomplish a long time goal of theirs. I wish you the best of luck, but I am sure you will not need it.

To conclude, I guess for now that is all I got. I am trying to simplify alot of different aspects of my life as I approach the less than eight months to go mark for my current job. Honestly, although this job has provided me with many many opportunities and great experience, I am pretty burnt out and thus, am just trying to muscle through until next August. I think this burn out more than anything has really put a drain on any sort of ambition that I may have to write, run, or do anything that I actually find enjoyable.

I am doing my best to try and shake this case of the blahs... and as I do, I will try to keep writing about my adventures, which should be increasing tenfold during the coming holiday months... I mean atleast then I will have my family to make fun of right?

Further, I am planning on cooking my first ever turkey for my family for Thanksgiving, an idea that seemed to be a solid about a year ago but now as the big day approaches has created panic attack inducing anxiety... or is that anxiety that is panic attack inducing? Thankfully, my goal is simply not to kill the entire clan, maybe we will just have to sacrifice one to the turkey gods...

Till later... I am Lord Vader... nerd.

Sheepshead Bay III: Rock Bottom

Sadly, instead of actually going to the deposition, I decided that since it was well after one in the afternoon, I could simply find the nearest bar and spend the next hour or so in order experiencing some hard drinking with my Russian brethren. (Yes, there is a little Russian in me..chuckle, chuckle...) In reality that is not what happened, but like Sylvestor Stallone or the last couple episodes of Seinfeld, I want to squeeze as much fucken juice out of this series of entries as I can even if it means that no one has read my blog in weeks.... which is actually very true.

Anyway, after the Dunkin Donuts, I arrived at the location of my deposition and immediately found myself in the home of this 300 + pound gentleman and his equally portly wife, who had managed to decorate their apartment as only people who are of that size can meaning that they had EVERYTHING.. including but not limited to excessive amounts of exercise equipment, game systems, electrical equipment, and um... oh yeah BOXES... just boxes of whatever EVERYWHERE... along with substantial water damage.. a bed in their living room.. and no care for where they hung their laundry out to dry.

And since, I was fifteen minutes early, I got to spend my time talking to these people... who of course were the nicest couple on the earth... which is why I feel really bad about what I wrote in the paragraph above...I mean as I sat there, they told me their entire life's stories while continuing to make sure I was ok, needed food, water, or anything else i needed including their first born if they felt it would make me happy... making it worse was the fact that the witness himself was a man of failing health but endless spirit.. And so there I sat in the middle of Sheepshead Bay feeling like I was visiting family instead of performing the arduous task of an off site deposition...

Of course, my sympathy ended when my opposition finally arrived twenty minutes later and announced that there was no court reporter ordered meaning that the deposition could not go forward...Which when taken a step further is why I went back to this same household a week later last Thursday and experienced the same charm but a veritable indifference to my surroundings...Really you lose all the magic of a harmless Brooklyn adventure when you are forced to reenact the same sojourn you took into the outer limits the week before... And the coffee is just not the same.

Thankfully, the deposition was held, and I am happy to report that I dominated my opposition so much that by the end, I was just asking the questions for him. (this is NEVER a good thing) And while, I do not have a great message to leave you with, I have to admit that I enjoyed my time in Sheepshead by the Bay... well atleast the first time...

I am a bad person.

Intermission

While I want to bring you Part III this evening, I am slowly but surely losing steam so instead, I figured that I would bring to you my commentary on a commercial that I have seen lately and thought about during my second screening of Harold and Kumar.

The commercial is the one where the grandmother is sitting by herself in her kitchen waiting for either dinner or maybe she is waiting to be taken to the hospital to die... anway, she is clearly waiting for something... And the voice over says something to the affect of "Don't worry just tell your grandmother that you were smoking pot or getting high instead of coming over for dinner..." (for the record that is the worst paraphrase ever.)

Anyway, the gist of this PSA is that this imaginary grandchild has placed smoking weed over and above spending time with the living dead, i mean grandma. And that this has caused something horrible to happen to her. Now instead of just assuming that this was the craziest commercial ever, I actually did a quick google search on this before I started to write this entry and not surprisingly the stoners of the world, which at various points in my life, I have been a card carrying member, have commented on this commercial in only the detail that weed can invoke.

Now although many were funny, my favorite had to be the one that questioned the actually reality of this commercial in that there is not a stoner on the earth who faced with the possibility of a full on meal from grandma as the commercial depicts would have missed this meal. Instead, they would have smoked up and then headed over to grandma's house to eat the shit out of that meal. Trust me on this one, I have done it... I mean I know someone that did... But truly, this is exactly how I felt about this commercial because either the kid smoking the sticky icky would have been there chowing down, or he never would have scheduled dinner with grandma in the middle of a school week. (For those that do not know, high school kids would only schedule this meal for a Sunday afternoon.)

And in reality, is this what pot leads to, I mean from what I can recall and it is not much, I usually spend most of the times that I have smoked pot sitting on a couch playing video games, and sure I might have forgotten some plans but those plans were expendible. And really what affect does missing dinner have on grandma, I mean are we supposed to make the leap that once you fail to appear that grandma torches her house and then heads out and murders the entire town of Grandma? Well, I did a search for that story and surprisingly, I just ended up on IMDB reading over 100 reviews of B horror films that were all made in Kansas.

So I guess until the point comes when grandma ends up going on that statewide killing spree due to the bastard grandkid smoking a joint, we can all ignore this commercial. And maybe those that made it, can focus on how if you are on a high school budget with a weed problem that pretty much is all the money you have or how the walk from your couch to the kitchen when stoned is actually the pot world equivalent of running a marathon.

Sorry grandma.

Sheepshead Bay II: Stranger in a Strange Land

So to continue my tale of woe, I rode the Q into the deepest and darkest parts of Brooklyn. I was told that where I was going I would be some where near Coney Island, which basically meant that in terms of my knowledge about Brooklyn, I would be somewhere between the middle and FUCKEN NO WHERE. I do know that on my way, I went over the Manhattan Bridge, which is otherwise known as the Bridge I have never used. During this voyage, I believe I went through some parts of Brooklyn where I easily could have found a convenient way to get shot by just getting off the train and being white. (I am not being racist as that was not the intention of that comment, there are just places in Brooklyn where it is very easy for your ass to get SMOKED.)

Interesting note: most of my trip was on a subway car that was above ground. Now, I am not sure how most people feel about this but to me, it is always weird when I am on a subway ca above ground. I mean I love it, but for some reason, I feel like I have done something wrong or am somehow betraying my fellow man because instead of smelling urine and sitting in darkness, I am actually smelling urine but the sun is shining in. It fucks with a person I guess.

Anyway, I finally arrived in the Bay after a good half an hour on the train and found myself in Brooklyn's own Russian enclave. I mean everywhere I turned there were signs in Russian and the name Vladimir was the only name that appeared on any of the Real Estate signs. But yet no signs of either sheep or their heads. Surprisingly, I had a pleasant walk from the subway station to the location of my deposition albeit 20 minutes. Apparently the MTA feels that since this is the land that time and the thawing of the Cold War forgot, only one train within a thirty minute walking distance is sufficient. Of course this is the same MTA that thinks that suspending trains during the Holiday Season on the weekends nonetheless is easily justified especially when it is the only train that gets me and people like me from Brooklyn into Manhattan and vice versa...I love them guys....Thankfully, the only thing that saved me from turning around, going back to the office, and savagely beating my boss who sent me out into Siberia was the Dunkin Donuts that I found located right next to the location of the deposition. And one extra large Hazelnut Coffee black, I was a happy little camper...

And even though, I will be posting the next part of this saga in just a bit (read: years, it could be years).... I end El Douce right here...

Promises Promises

I apologize for not getting a part two out for my story, but I am off to catch a train to Hartford, CT. There I will be watching my schools of higher learning, UConn and Rutgers, face off in a football game for the ages. As such, I will finish the story on Sunday.

I am off like a prom dress.

SHEEPSHEAD BAY IN THE HOUSE(Part I)

So this AM, I woke at 8:15 in order to prepare for my great adventure to the Sheepshead Bay area of Brooklyn or Eastern Long Island as they probably call it out there. In order to achieve my goal and after performing my morning ritual of OCD like tendencies. (is the coffee pot off, did I turn the space heater off [shit it's summer], what about the AC, all of which are performed because I firmly believe that I will somehow cause my entire house to ignite in some blazing inferno of Hell), I entered the NYC underground in order to make my journey to this morning's deposition. If you recall from this morning's post, I was going to be part of a deposition where our retired custodian was going to kill my chances of winning as his final FUCK YOU to the City of New York and the Board of Education. And the reason it was at his house and that I was not defending him is that since he was retired, we no longer were his employer and thus, plaintiff could subpoena him at any time in order for us to lose our attorney-client privilege.... as such, he was basically a hostile witness scratch that, he was a hostile witness.

Anyway in order to get to his place, I had to take the L train into the City to Union Square and then head back into Brooklyn over the Manhattan Bridge on the Q train. The estimated time from stophop.com or whatever the hell it is called was an hour and half, which made me extra special happy at 1 AM this morning.

So I finally left my house at 8:50 AM to get to this place by 10. I knew that I was probably cutting it close or would be late but I always think those trip planners are plus or minus an hour on their estimated time predictions. Plus, the sheet said I was only in reality traveling 8.9 miles.

Needless to say, I made it to Union Square by 8 and even successfully transferred to the Q... which is where I leave this entry for now...

I have to get to a Deathcab for Cutie concert.... and yes, I am Seth Cohen.

It's Like That

And that's the way it is...

I hate alot of things in life. I hate how I have to head to Sheepshead Bay tomorrow in the AM for a deposition of some guy who is basically going to house the case I am going to try to defend at some point during trial... and I hate how I am never going to meet someone who actually will appreciate what the fuck is going on in my head.. I mean for CHRIST'S SAKE, I am a mother fucken genius....

But really for the last year, one of the things that I have hated on almost a daily basis is the St. Louis Cardinals who since losing to the Red Sox last year have been bitching to everyone including Tony LaRussa's mom about how they would have beat my boyz if they had a healthy pitching staff. (REALLY?) Finally tonight, I have news for those Bud swigging ass fuckers.... YOU'RE TEAM CANNOT WIN WHEN IT MATTERS... I mean you just lost to the Astros and last year you got swept... meaning that there is no World Series title until atleast 2006... and yet, each year, you were the team to WIN IT ALL... So Cardinals' fans have another Bud or whatever beer company is based there and built their mansion on the plant to achieve tax exemption, and wait till next year....

Oh and enjoy when they blow your stadium up this year... I am really sad you could not bring the title home... and by really sad, I mean eat my ass... LOSERS...

Official New Yorker

Well it's official, on October 6, 2005, I went into Manhattan to the DMV Express or whatever it is called near Madison Square Garden to obtain my official New York State Driver's License.
It was a sad day because I knew that by the end of my trip to the DMV, I would no longer possess a Connecticut State Driver's License, which I have held in different versions since I was 16 years old. Now to some, it may seem a bit odd to lament about the turning over of a license, and all of the other events of my life in the last nine years.

Now originally, I had intended to make this voyage into the Big City early in the morning of the day after my birthday. However, I soon realized after I woke massively hungover and with a very puffy face that the trip was probably best taken at some point in the afternoon so that I did not look like I had just been released from Central Booking. Anyway, I finally made my way over there around 2:30 in the afternoon still a little groggy but figuring that any sense of numbness I was experiencing would simply serve to lessen the pain that I would experience once I turned over my old friend.

Now, even though most DMV stories are true tales of woe that involve long lines, the loss of hours off of one's life, and much cursing, my experience was relatively painless probably because I was there on a Thursday during the middle of the day. Anyway, I filled out a form, passed an eye test, and then got my picture taken... all within thirty minutes of stepping in the door. After which I was given a number and told to wait until called... Soon I figured my old license would be a thing of the past and my new license would be in hand...

When was my number was called, I jumped from my seat immediately proceeding to the counter. Once there, I paid my money and forfeited my old license... and in return, I was handed a slip of paper... I looked at the paper, and then at the woman behind the counter, and then back at the paper. Clearly realizing my confusion, the woman informed me that this was my temporary license and a new one would be mailed to me within two weeks. AND clearly, she had to be joking I thought to myself as I had just surrendered something near and dear to my heart and now was being told that in its place, I would have a piece of paper that looked like the registration for the car that I no longer owned. Unable to defend myself and simply stunned, I walked out of the DMV, head hanging, and grasping the piece of paper that would serve as my means of identification for the next two weeks... wishing that I was back in the Nutmeg state where I would have left with my friend that very day... a man without a photo identity...

Thankfully, I am happy to report that today I received my new license in the mail....and not a day too soon as I was getting very tired of trucking my passport around with me in order to serve as my means of access to all thing 21 and older... While this multi-color style license with my picture that makes me look more like a member of the population of Riker's Island than a resident of Eastern Strong Island (Brooklyn) will never replace my old one from the glorious Constitution State, I can now officially and unequivocally state that I am a New Yorker...

A Really Bad Idea

A group of my friends and I have formed a symposium of sorts in the universe of Blog... Although we would love to think that our new endeavor will have a tremendous effect on the human race similar to the Enlightment, we actually just hope you print off the new things we write before you go and take that dump at work.

Check it here.

MIA Excuse

It is time to come clean to you my fine readers about the real reason behind my recent inactivity with the good old blog and quite frankly this is a little hard to say... Alright I will just come clean and say it... I am not an attorney... It's true I have been lying to you all of this time... But really it was not my fault because in fact, I just found out that I have never been attorney and was simply living a life of deception and lies... A lie that I am not dealing that well with that at the present moment...

So what am I if I am not an attorney, well actually, I am a Department of Sanitation worker or as the career is more commonly known, "A Garbage Man." It's true, I am a Garbage Man.

Now you may wonder how a writer of my superior intelligence and intellect has been fooled for so long into thinking that I had a career as an attorney. Well that my friends appears to just be an impressive case of DENIAL. I mean I swear that each day, I wake up, put on my shirt, tie, and even pants if I am feeling frisky and then head to the office to practice the law. I even go or atleast I thought I went to Court each week to argue before a Judge calling him, "Your Honor."

Apparently, however, all of this is a classic case of misinterpreting my own reality, which I realized over the course of this very week while remaining in my office (I think that is what it is called) till around ten each evening. As I sat at the "desk," I realized that each day when I went to work instead of actually practicing the law, I was in fact cleaning up other peoples' garbage or SHIT. In fact, I have been spending so much of my time lately proceeding in this manner that I have begun to leave my own garbage strewn around the office in the hopes that some other poor soul will come in and take up the task of cleaning up my refuse.

And sure this is simply a blatantly obvious metaphor for my actual career, but in fact, it is my reality. I mean each day, I go in to discover another SHIT bomb has gone off in some file that I am dealing with that is solely the direct result of the inability or general incompetence of one of my co-workers or former members of the office. And as stated, I have to be consumed with saving that person's ass because at this point, it has been reassigned to me in order to limit the amount of damage their leftover shit can cause. As a result, my own shit keeps piling up and there ain't shit I can do about it. (pun intended, bite me)

Therefore, I am left with only one conclusion that I am no longer an attorney, and instead, I am member of the Department of Santitation, Department of Environmental Protection, or whatever agency has the responsibility to ensure that the large piles of shit that are accumulating my office and probably the world do not affect the live's of others.

SHIT!

Disclaimer

Just a quick disclaimer before I actually write something real tonight, I am starting to hit the point where I fear that I am repeating myself as I could have sworn that I discussed some of the crap in yesterday's entry numerous times before. Now, I think that really my reason for thinking this has to do with the enormously crappy memory that I have developed due to my "recreational activities," but I figured that I would apologize for any redundancies before I write much more.

A WEEK IN DELAY

For the last week, I have been trying to find some time just to write something or anything. I mean last week was my birthday and although all celebration should have ended on the 5th of October or possibly the morning of the 6th, I decided at some point last week to continue my celebration until some time early Monday morning of the 10th after I completed a pub crawl in the Lower East Side with my partner in crime, Dirty D. While at times, I viewed the events of the last week to be in direct contradiction to my 30 day fast from alcohol, I have come to conclusion (whether right or not) that I am going to have weeks like the one I just had as I am a creature of excess, and as long as a week does not progress into two weeks or more, I should be just fine. The key as my wisest of friends has told me when I recently entered this little slump is to remember that at the end of the day, moderation is what we are striving for and I am confident I can achieve that and so much more... Anyway, my present consumption aside, let me get to some shizzle that has been on my mizzle... (or mind, I have been playing a little bit too much Grand Theft Auto-San Andreas lately)

1. Happy Birthdays go out to Popstar and Pamarama. Today is the DOB of the Popstar while tomorrow, Little Sis Pamarama blows up the birthday scene with the big 25... HOLLA....

2. Work is killing me. I really have nothing to add other than there is NO REASON for me to have come home at ten o'clock tonight as this makes me want to write on this damn thing about as much as it makes me want to ask my roommate, the Jewish Journalist, to take a giant dump on my chest. (albeit a kosher one... and just so it is clear, The Roommate is actually a Jewish Journalist working for a jewish tell all rag in the local metropolitan area.. and although I think the experience he is getting is worth it to him, the constant appearances at crazy Jewish wine parties, cheese tastings, and being exposed to the dirty Jewish political underworld during his weekends nonetheless is starting to really wear on him... I think he may even be converting to Catholicism soon.. I'll be here all night tip your bartenders.)

3. In baseball news, the Sox were eliminated from the playoffs and thankfully so were the Yankees. Now as Bob Jingle has so deftly analyzed in his recent piece, the Sox lacked essentially everything that got them there in 2004, but at the same point instead of dwelling on the decisions that the Sox made this year, I prefer to look at what they did not do and why this means that they are going to win the World Series in 2006. Essentially it all boils down to the fact that the Red Sox unlike their arch nemesis the Mother Fucken Yankees did not panic this year meaning that unlike the Yankees they did not sign every possible pitcher and/or sucky outfielder on the market in hopes that these second rate morons would somehow make the other 200 + million dollars the Boss spent on that shit force of a lineup win a World Series and thus make the season a success.

REMEMBER THE YANKEES SIGNED HIDEO NOMO TO A MINOR LEAGUE CONTRACT... Repeat that to yourself seven times and then remember that he was last effective sometime during World War II when he was flying kamikaze missions in the Pacific... yeah I said FUCK HIM... and judge me....

But back to the point, the Yankees essentially rebuilt an entire pitching staff with Randy Johnson as their number one starter before the entire season started and ended with Randy Johnson and I think the announcers from the YES network as their pitching staff. Now the Red Sox proceeded in similar fashion except that when the wheels came off somewhere in the middle of the season, Theo did not necessarily panic instead he started to use some of his younger guys, made a couple of economical moves, and essentially told the entire Red Sox Nation that we were either going to win with the guys we got or it was the proverbial wait till next year. And I guess the Red Sox kind of split the baby on this one in that they made the playoffs but in the end got swept by the Chi-Sox, who were far superior in the areas that mattered i.e. EVERY POSSIBLE FACET OF THE GAME.

And you know what, I am kind of ok with the overall outcome for the season because I think that by the end of this year, this team was very very tired due to all of the off-season brew ha ha of being the World Champions for the first time in 86 years and thus, saving an entire part of the country from being losers for the remainder of their lives and dying bitter and alone... (actually, Sully, you are still dying bitter and alone.. because you are WICKED RETARDED but that is because you never graduated from Revere High School, you tool. Ok I will stop the simpleton Masshole jokes.) And they still won 95 games... i mean that is unbelievable...

Now, maybe it is true as Bob Jingle constantly reminds me that the Sox may have been better off with Pedro and Derek Lowe, but the problem is that for so many years the Red Sox wasted their off seasons through with the inability to make any moves by the likes of Lou Gorman and Dan Duquette... And since Theo just won us a World Series, I am willing to give the son of a bitch a pass on the season because I believe that in the end, the Sox will be better off without both Pedro and Lowe. (Plus, Pedro's stats from this season are all bull shit anyway now that he is in the NL since he gets to face the equivalent of the ballboy and the dude that throws batting practice every time through the lineup...while Lowe has spent his time in LA screwing the Weather Girl or whomever that bimbo was WHILE SUCKING BALLS.)

And then there are the Yankees, whose fan base awoke this morning to headlines of the pending apocalypse as Big George is soon going to unleash the fury that only he can on the ball club with the entire coaching staff, the GM, and many of the players possibly seeking employment elsewhere after the season. AND you know what, he got exactly what he deserved because instead of building a ball club with a certain character like the teams of the late 90's and the Sox of 2004, he basically tried to replace character by simply spending more money. AND yes that was the problem with the Red Sox to some extent but I feel that the Sox are in a far better position to be successful than the Yanks who are looking to make wholesale changes.

And finally, I am happy because I got to shave and now can get some real honest to god sleep and possibly even a date (ah that is unlikely)...

And now, I get to experience the sleep that I so writefully deserve...

Oh and by the way, A-Rod BLOWS!!!

October 5, 1977

Is the day that I entered this world.

Today, I am twenty-eight. I am not sure what if any significance this age has, other than in fact I have aged another year. I don't necessarily feel older, but I guess that I actually am older. I mean everyday that we live, we are technically older than we were the day before as this is how the aging process works.

I am not sad about turning twenty-eight like some people get because they are yet another year closer to turning thirty. Yes, I am closer to thirty, but in reality, there is no reason why because I am older that I have to act or behave in any different manner than I did when I was twenty-seven or even when I was twenty-five for that matter. The changing of one's age does not necessitate a change in one's life or impose some trumped up requirement that we have to suddenly become adults. Life has a funny way of making you an adult when you least expect it so I am not in any rush to force my life down that path.

This evening, I will celebrate this momentous event by watching some baseball with friends, an event similar to most of my evenings in this City. There was no evite sent out and no big hullabaloo planned because I tend to feel guilty if I force people to do anything huge for my birthday. As such, I am not big on making today any more of a deal than it has to be and so friends, baseball, and beer will be more than sufficient to observe the day of my birth.

Happy Birthday Old Man...

Man School

So I am back in Brooklyn after spending the weekend recharging back home with the rents. I had a great time in seeing my mom and dad as well as being able to head out to some of my old haunts. (Shaddy local townie bars.)

Possibly, the highlight of the weekend was the time that I spent at Man School attempting to earn my Man Badge. For those that do not know, Man School is where you go when you attempt to do some type of manual labor whether it be the fixing of a car, chopping of the wood, or any other activity that requires sweat being expended. Since I have moved to the City, Man School, basically, has been out of session because there are limited if NO opportunities to take any of its many courses.

BUT in the wild world of New England, Man School is always in session, and thus, today, I had the opportunity to re-gravel my parents' driveway by filling up a wheel-barrel with little tiny rocks and then spreading them over the entire driveway. This task was necessary because my parents are selling the house of my youth and moving to a gated community (read: Old Retirement Place of Doom). As such, they are trying to spruce the place up to increase the market value, and hence, I found myself shoveling stones today.

And you know what, I loved every minute of it. I mean as you all I know I run a ton, and thus, I have a unusual aversion to the infliction of personal pain. And as I once told a girl who I was trying to get to date me (and failed miserably at doing), I enjoy pain. Scratch that, I love pain because I think that through pain, you are able to gauge the exact amount of energy you are utilizing to complete a certain task and thus can truly calculate your productivity. PLus, there is a sick endorphin rush that comes along with pain. (I am twisted what can I say.)

As a result, today's activity made me feel like I actually accomplished something tangible. And sure, I realize that this task may seem to be mundane to some and a pain to others but at the same time, I loved it if only because it got me away from frittering my life awat in front of a computer screen practicing the law. And so I feel an immense sense of accomplishment as a result of the Man Badge in Gravel Shoveling that I earned today and you can judge me if you want but that Man Badge is mine forever.

Race Results

Well I ran the 5k this morning and finished in an acceptable 19:51, which is right around 6:30 mile pace and earned me 16th place overall. The time is a little off my goal for the race, which was sub-19:00 but considering that I have not worked in any speed work yet, I think this is a great starting point. Hopefully by the time I run my next race, a five miler in Central Park at the end of October, I should be able to run the same pace but for two additional miles.

Popstar, on the other hand, did awesome as she got third place in her division and a prize. (some kind of shampoo hair product..) Even more impressive about her performance is that she did this only days after going on meds for strep throat. She is a stud, what can I say...

Anyway, now we are off to a local dive bar to watch the Sox...

Till later....

Update from the Mothership

So I find myself this evening writing this entry in secrecy from the Constitution State in the house of my youth. As I have stated previously, my parents have never been privy to any of my mindless babble, and I intend to keep it that way for the foreseeable future meaning if I find out that one of you ass ponies tells them, I will gut you like a fish.

Anyway, I have come home for a little relaxation and some quiet time with my parents, who I have not seen since some time in late July. I actually realized this fact today and have grown more and more angry with myself throughout the evening for letting that amount of time pass between my visits to see them. I really do enjoy their company because they make me smile and laugh with their constant "We Have Been Married Forever" bickering. Moreover, I thoroughly enjoy their unending questions about why I do not have a girlfriend or their bottomless stories about parents of classmates from my high school class, who they have seen around town and are wondering how I am doing.

Since I have been asked these questions and told of these inquiries for the last ten years now, I typically respond in the following manner. First, to the single guy question, I inform my parents that I do not have a girlfriend because I want to live life of a hermit, write a manifesto, and die alone. Then, when told who has been asking about me, I tell my parents that if anyone asks again about how I am doing that they should tell them that I am currently incarcerated and plan to kill again once released. Each of these responses usually results in my mother shaking her head and telling me that I just need to open my heart and stop being so cold.

Now, I really do love my mother and my father, but in reality, there is a method to my madness with these responses above and beyond the obvious of screwing with my parents. First, I do not really have the answer to why I am single, and I intend not to really search for that answer because I have a feeling as to that question, the more one looks the less one finds. BUT as to the people, who are being nosey and inquiring into my BIZNAZ, well they can simply fuck off because these people do not really care about how I am doing. Instead, they are asking these questions in order to get my parents to talk about me so that these other parents can then prattle on for fifteen to twenty about how little Joe is getting married and has a great supervisory position at Pfizer. It is a classic case of parental child flaunting, and I am not going to let my parents get wrapped up in this sham of conversation. Instead, I want them to avoid it as I am trying to protect my innocent parents from being pawns in this evil game of duplicity. Moreover, Joe was an asshole in high school and is probably an asshole now, who contributes little to nothing to society or even his own existence other than he probably now pees sitting down. (Not sure how that helps things but if you knew Joe , it would all make sense.) As such, my parents need to realize what the end game is here, accept the fact that Joe sucks, cut bait, and tell Joe's parents to eat shit! OR instead, simply tell them that I am in jail. Trust me there is no greater conversation killer than informing someone that little Rain Delay, whose life seemed to be so full of promise back in high school, is currently doing 15 to 20 and having his ass pummeled daily by Big Earl.

But to get back to the matter at hand, I have come home to hang out with the rents and experience some classic days of Autumn as discussed by my main man, Bob Jingle. There is no better season in the world than the Fall and no better place to experience it then in New England. (Just trust me on this one, it is not up for discussion.) Plus, I get to watch the Sox face the Yankees with my dad, which is always killer even though tonight he only made it to the seventh before sleeping. And finally, I get to hang out with little Miss Maggie, the family English Setter. (Yes, I am from New England and yes, my parents own a yuppy dog, deal with it.) Anyway, Mags has become the third child in my family being spoiled rotten by my parents, and since, I cannot own a dog in the City, I too baby the shit out her when I get home.

But for now I must get to sleeping as tomorrow looks to be a big day as I make my return to the road racing circuit with a 5k in the morning.. then, it looks like baseball, beers, and babes for the remainder of the day... I hope to get another post in before the weekend is out, but if I do not, I promise on Sunday evening, I will try to fill you in on the weekend that was here in Southeastern Connecticut.

Now I to sleep in a twin bed that is way to small for me.... Ahhh it's so damn good to be home!!!

Like the Wind

Apparently tonight is the night that Fall has decided to make its dramatic 2005 debut here in New York City as this evening featured unusually cold temperatures and a pretty kick ass wind. Of course, New Yorkers responded in their usually manner by immediately dressing like they were attempting to survive a god damn blizzard. For all of their bravado and tough guy outer appearances, New Yorkers have to be some of the weakest and lamest creatures on the planet when it comes to the weather.

Now, I will give you that it is decently cold outside right now and the wind is unlike one that we have seen yet this year BUT that is no reason to be sporting winter hats, gloves, and even scarfs... all of which I saw today while I was running through the streets of Brooklyn in shorts and a long sleeve t-shirt. While I admit that New Yorkers are not used to the rough and tumble of the hardened New England winters of my youth that made me into the fall and winter adoring human being that I am, they are still New Yorkers, who are considered by many to be the toughest, the brav est, and the finest that America has to offer and thus should be able to deal with a little bit of a chill in the air.

And plus, it was not even that fucken cold outside... I mean use that shit when it gets really cold out like in the middle of January when the wind blasts down the avenues and the temps fail to get above 20 degrees. Otherwise, if they keep up the current rate of dealing with the cold, New Yorkers are probably going to be lighting themselves on fire as soon as the temperature dips below freezing... And although they may piss me off sometimes, even I cannot advocate massive acts of personal arson (that is arson to one's person)...

So buck up New Yorkers, take off the hat, gloves, and even that ultra hip scarf you got in Soho... Find yourselves a sensible jacket and maybe even another layer if you're feeling frisky... and then, get out there and brave these conditions... trust me it will be ok... and if it is not, I will be here to criticize you.