Change Up.

There are 2 things I like to have with me when I run:

1. Music - Not always critical, but nice to have.
2. Phone - When you are doing 10+ miles on back roads or wherever, it's nice to have in case I have trouble or am needed.

My problem is I don't like to carry both.

Don't even mention a pack or belt - hate running with those, so they are out of the question completely.

Thus I feel my only solution is a phone that combines the two. As much as I would love an iPhone, it's just not possible - both to buy the phone and to pay for the data usage I know I would accumulate. I'm also on Telus Prepaid, so my selection is fairly limited.

I've decided to go with the Samsung Slyde that Telus offers - it's got an mp3 player, camera, and 1400 other features my current phone doesn't have. I also like that I can put whatever size microSD card in there to hold whatever music I want. I looked at the other phone they have and it just didn't grab my attention. Plus, a guy at work has this phone, and I helped him set it up, so I know how to use it. (Okay, I haven't sold you on the phone, but I've sold myself, and that's what counts.)

I'm going to go get it tomorrow - turns out London Drugs is having a sale on them, and I can get it for $40 dollars cheaper than at the Telus Mobility store.

Change is good.

Shiny, tech-y change is better.




Later.

Request.

Dear Homeless Man on the Seawalk:

For the love of God, please put a shirt on. I know it's summer, and the weather's gorgeous, but you have to think of other people at a time like this. For me to come around the corner by the park and be confronted with your fat blubbery man-tits splayed out for everyone to see not only made me gag uncontrollably, but I almost stumbled and fell - which would have prematurely ended my run.

Now I'm just assuming that by your disheveled, ragged appearance that you are homeless - If you are the fine owner of one of the oceanside mansions that dot the area, I would just ask that you step inside and fetch a shirt, or maybe have your butler do it. If that wasn't the case, maybe you could dig something out of that shopping cart full of shit you were leaning against.

As an aside, I just like to say that you must be the most resourceful homeless guy I've ever seen - most people with addictions such as yours are skinny and malnourished - for you to be as . . rotund as you are only hints at your ability to procure food. I wish you could have conjured up a shirt and maybe some deodorant, but I guess they aren't as high on your priority list as beer and whatever you get out of the dumpster.

If you get a chance, dig in the one behind Canadian Tire - maybe they threw out a tarp or something you could use. It just might have the coverage you need.



Later.

37

1. Atomic Number for Rubidium - 37
   
2. "Normal" Human Body Tempurature - 37° C
3. Holes in the mouthpiece of a rotary phone - 37
4. Number of times Elaine slept with Jerry on Seinfeld - 37
5. Number of plays Shakespeare wrote - 37
6. Seconds it took the Hindenburg to burn - 37
7. Height of the "Green Monster" at Fenway Park, in feet - 37
8. Number of Miracles in the Bible - 37
9. Dicks that Dante's girlfriend has sucked, including him - 37
10. First irregular prime number - 37
11. Characters available for use in personalized license plates - 37
12. Vertebrate in the tail of a Tyrannosaurus Rex - 37
13. Miles equal to 59.5 kilometers - 37
14. Numbers on a French Roulette Wheel - 37
15. Skeletal muscles used to move the Human hand - 37
16. Percentage of men that fantasize about their coworkers - 37
17. Points in a perfect bridge hand - 37
18. Cast members in "Les Mis" - 37
19. Weeks "Thriller" was #1 on the Billboard charts - 37
20. Elephants Hannibal had with him on his conquest of Rome - 37
21. Number of times Monica Lewinsky was cleared to enter the White House after she stopped working there - 37 (wink, wink)
22. Seconds from sighting of iceberg to collision with Titanic - 37
23. Yards in first touchdown pass in Super Bowl history - 37
24. Genes in the Mitochondrial Chromosome - 37
25. Percentage of an AMC Pacer that is glass - 37
26. Alphabetically, where the Casanovas are in my Zune artist listings - 37th
27. Twitter's rank on Alexa's Top 500 sites (as of today) - 37
28. Black Eyed Peas ranking on Amazon's Bestsellers in Music - 37
29. Year Nero (Roman emperor, not Star Trek villain) was born, AD - 37
30. Number of unidentified radio signals received from space - 37
31. Number of the Dease Lake Highway in northern B.C. - 37
32. How many times I stared at Google while typing this out - 37
33. Number of angels dancing on the head of a pin, at any given time - 37
34. Pounds of spices in the World's Largest Meatloaf - 37
35. Tracks in a collection of Beethoven's Symphonies -37
36. Number of minutes it takes, at minimum wage, to earn enough to by a Big Mac - 37
37. Years since I was born - 37

Yep - it's my Birthday today.
Punch and Pie, people - Punch and Pie.



Later.

Buck MotherFucking Rogers.

What's one of the greatest birthday gifts a guy from my generation could get?

(Unless you guessed the A-Team Van or the General Lee, you'd have to pick this.)

Buck Motherfucking Rogers.

You see, of the fabled geeky tv shows from my childhood, two of them stand out from the fog of memory. Battlestar Gallactica was one, and Buck Rogers was the other.

After Star Wars came and blew our minds in 1977, there had to be something to fill the void that was left until George Lucas stopped counting money and decided to make a sequel.

Buck Rogers filled the void.

I was at that age where I was old enough to appreciate Buck's stranger-in-a-strange-land quandary, and yet still naive enough to wonder why Colonel Wilma Deering made me feel funny in my pants.

The show had everything: humor, action, a hinted at sexual tension between Wilma and Buck, and a fucking robot that walked around carrying another robot like Flava Flav wears a clock. (The fact is, I think Flava owes Twiggy & Dr. Theopolis a shout out for the inspiration.) Combine that with different hostile alien races and exptic worlds, and it was enough to keep me sitting four inches from the T.V for a hour once a week.

Big props to The Sidekick for picking this gem up for me for my Birthday - even bigger props for giving it to me early as he won't be here on the fabled day.

I can't wait to sit down and watch my childhood appear again before my eyes in all it's chessy glory. What I can wait for is the uncomfortable dream of a three-way with Deering and Twiggy I know is going to happen.



Later.

Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder.

Holy shit - I've really let this place go.

For it to be the 23rd and I've only done 7 posts? It's almost like I've developed blogging habits similar to the Sidekick's. I better pick up my socks.

My reasons for not posting aren't that hard to understand - life tends to catch up to you every once in a while, and certain things tend to fall by the wayside. I have to admit, when I look at spending my time, lately I've chosen going for a run or to the gym over blogging.

And notice my mention of the Sidekick - he's yet another reason for my lack of online activity. Picking his sorry ass up from the ferry at 12:45am and then driving an hour and a half back home, combined with the beers until 1am the next night and poker until midnight on the third evening, made for a span of days where I barely glanced at a monitor - and I'm happier for it.

(Memo to Sidekick: Rickard's White? Excellent beer. The amount we drank that night? Not so good. But fuck it - I had a blast.)

But everything in life is cyclical, isn't it? So no worry, my friends - soon will be the days of multiposts and rambling stories - as soon as I sit my ass down.


Later.

Curse The Radio.

I curse public radio.

I curse the radio in general, be it at the gym, the car, or at work.

Why?

Because it got this song stuck in my head. The Fucking Jonas Brothers






And that's just unfair.
Catchy, lighthearted pop, but unfair nonetheless.

Now I have to scrub my brain with some hardcore Death Metal. (That's the audio equivalent of an SOS pad, right?)


Later.

The One Test You Can't Study For..

Tonight at work, I sold a 17 yr old boy a home Pregnancy Test.

He was nervous, wild-eyed and visibly shaken.

As I handed him the bag with his receipt, I said "Hope it works out for you, brother."

The "Uh-huh" and blank stare I got back told me everything I needed to know about his hoped-for results.

Tough break.


Should have sold him a box of condoms, just so he won't have to be back again.



Later.

Stand Alone Dad.

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

I Feel:

1. That swallowing a bug while you're running, albeit a fine way of ingesting protein, isn't a pleasurable experience anytime.
2. That when I decide, on a hot and sunny day, to run a winding 5-mile loop on lonely roads instead of on the Seawalk full of women in their summer best, I'll need help.
3. That I need help.
4. That the worst thing in the world isn't being at work on a gorgeous, sunny day - it's all the fucking people coming in, telling you exactly how awesome it is outside.
5. That it's a bad thing that I thought that Bea Arthur and Dom De Luise were already dead, and thus was doubly shocked to hear of their deaths.
6. That Star Trek was a fucking awesome movie. And that's not just my inner geek nerd-gasming, either.
7. That having the lady walking behind me jokingly grab my ass as we're leaving the theater was a little bit disconcerting.
8. That I can understand her desire to do so. I'll admit, for a guy, I've got a great ass.
9. That watching playoff hockey when your team isn't involved is like having sex in a raincoat.
10. That, yeah - that didn't make sense to me either.

Later.

Youth and Young Manhood.

Happy Birthday, Sidekick - you beautiful son of a bitch.

Now before you go wondering why I would call my best friend by such foul terms, let me tell you that I have only the utmost regard for the man. He is, after all, the Hetro-Lifemate.

The reasons I call him beautiful are as follows:

• He's not completely fugly. There are women out there who find him attractive and charming. (Go figure.)
• He's got the soul of a saint, the heart of a poet, and the penis of a miniature schnauzer. (I'm calling the last one by what I heard through the grapevine. I have no first hand knowledge of this.)
• He's been my rock, my backup, my confidant, and my moral compass.
• He just received tickets to the Kings of Leon concert in Vancouver and asked me to go.

Oh yeah.

Lets look at that last one for just a second. Savor it, soak it in.

(Pause)

The Fucking Kings of Leon! Sweet Mary Mother of God and All that is Holy - The Kings of Leon.
For me, right now in my musical evolution, this is one of the top 3 bands I would Give My Left Nut to see. (Please note that the Sidekick did not ask for said nut, nor did he make any mention of my nuts as a form of currency.)

Thank God he gave me 3 months warning - now I can make sure I have the time off, the cash, and build up my stamina for the event.

Hold on a sec - I have to wait three months to go to this concert? Every day is going to be like molasses, endlessly dragging on until the day of the show.

Curse you, Sidekick - for giving me the musical equivalent of Blue Balls - I can go, but I have to wait for it. I'll have a stereophonic hard-on for the next 98 days.

God, my Zune is going to take a pounding.


Thank you, Sidekick - even with the wait, I still think you're one beautiful, glorious bastard.


Happy Birthday.




Later.

Swineful Behavior.

No, this isn't about swine flu - it's about me being a pig.

Sure, I got up and went to the gym today. Lifted weights, ran for a half hour, tanned - but then six hours later, I blow it all.

For some strange reason, I just demolished:

• A Peanut Butter sandwich
  
• Two sticks of pepperoni
• Chocolate Muffin
• Glass of Chocolate Milk

And that was after my lunch and hour ago - in which I had a healthy, fulfilling sandwich. (Mmm Turkey.) I think I know the culprit: boredom.

It's not that I'm bored, really - I'm hanging with my two Boys, so nothing is really boring. It's just that with the rain and wind we're inside - and even playing with them, there's some downtime, and they eat some snacks, and there's all this shitty food laying around, so...

I do it to myself.

It's easier when I can take them out and do something with them - it keeps me busy as well, and not being around all the shitty food is a plus.

But now I'm feeling guilty, and have already begun to plan my "revenge" workout for tomorrow in my head.

Yes, I know - I need help.

Don't worry about the binging - it's when I start purging that you can call in the shrinks...



Later.

Disco to Disco, Round 2.

Today was a glorious day to run.

The sun was shining, the birds were singing, yadda yadda yadda, I decided to repeat one of the runs I did last year: Disco to Disco. I haven't ran it in 6 months, so why not, eh?

I actually added on about a half mile - I started from my house instead of WP Disco, so the distance to OR Disco was actually 9.77 miles - but what does it matter, right?

Even with the extra distance, I improved on my time from last year - I did the 9.77 miles in 1:14:00 as opposed to the 1:21:00 I did last year. It may not seem like much, but believe me - in running, seven minutes is a long fucking time.

And next to almost being clipped by some bastard trying to pass three cars at once by the Driftwood, it was a great run - no issues, legs felt good, and I even had energy left to bullshit with the guys at the store until my ride came and got me.

I think I won't wait another six months to do it again, though - as the summer progresses, I could see this being something I do probably every two weeks - with my goal being to run there and back (19.54 miles) before I do my half marathon in October.

That'll be a post worth blogging about.



Later.