Can You Spare A Quarter

There are always people begging or busking outside the bank near my place. This is in a country where you can get a $1000 bill from an ATM, and $200's are so common you can use one to buy a pack of gum.

Hasn't it occurred to them that no one is going to be coming out of there with something small enough that they'll be willing to part with it?

"Hey, man, it's okay... I can make change..."

At Least They Say Good-Bye

I haven't been everywhere. I suppose, if it comes down to it, that I haven't even been most places. But so far, I'm nominating Switzerland (maybe I should say Geneva) as having the worst customer service on the planet, except for the fact that they often say "hello" when you arrive and "good-bye" when you leave.

There are exceptions; every once in a while someone does something right. But it's rare.

Today was a typical example. I have been looking for a bag or backpack for camera stuff. I went to the biggest camera shop in town, called Photo Hall, to check it out and to ask about the price of a little adapter guy that magnifies an image by 2x.

Now, I can preface my story by saying that this: when I first purchased my camera, I was looking at online prices in Switzerland to try to shop wisely. I know that it's more here than in the US, but it wasn't too much of a difference. So I went into the aforementioned Photo Hall and told a guy what I was going to buy. I showed him the prices I could get it for in Zurich, and said that if he'd match the price, I would like to buy it from him.

He took my sheet, opened up his price list, wrote down the list price next to each of the prices on my sheet, did the total and handed it back to me, without saying a word.

"That's it?" I asked, "you won't move at all?". He just shook his head. I laughed, congratulated him on losing a sale but maintaining his honor, hoped almost sincerely that he would be able to make his rent payment out of his extra stored-up honor at the end of the month, and found the door.

So, my expectations weren't too high today.

First of all, the lens adapter thing (called a teleconverter). I went in and asked for the price, just out of curiosity. He looked at me suspiciously:

"For which lens?"

"Huh?" I was a bit surprised... I didn't think that there were multiple versions of it for different lenses. But I told him the lens I wanted to use it with.

"It doesn't work with that one," he said, "that lens only works with this teleconverter." And he pointed to another one (1.7x instead of 2x) that they happened to have in stock.

"Uh, no," I replied, "it works quite well with the 2x. I've seen the pictures."

"With autofocus? No, I don't think so".

I just shook my head. "What's the price, monsieur?"

Now, I can understand that, in technical issues, "the customer is always right" is a dangerous mantra to live by. But "the customer deserves a sliver of respect" may serve these guys well. In this case, I don't know if he was lying or just ill-informed, but he was most certainly wrong. I pity the people who go to this shop for advice without having done their own homework.

The good news, for me, is that they did have the backpack I have been wondering about in stock. I had a chance to try it on, see how the construction was, and check out how things would fit inside. Then I took a look at the price:

$540

Yes, you're reading that right. It's for a backpack... a backpack I can buy online for $150 or $160 pretty easily in the US or Canada.

I thought about asking for a discount, but decided I'd had enough fun for one day. Maybe I'll go back and inquire about it next week.

"Good-bye!"

9,000

Hey, we just passed 9,000 visitors. Thanks for reading, everyone. I think that when we get to 10,000, I'd like to have an ice-cream party.

Montreux 2008

Looks not bad this year: I'll be seeing Paul Simon, Sheryl Crow, and Alicia Keys.

I'll say hi for you.

Before You Knew Me...

... I was a fairy princess.


Crap: there it goes again.

No, that's not some bizarre confession, and no, you won't find related pictures on the internet. But it's a line from a Faith Hill song that I've had going through my head, on and off, for a month or so now. It's pretty catchy, and it's fun to sing.

Unfortunately, that results in me singing it. But mostly just the one line that I remember.

This wouldn't be so bad if I would "sing" it and not sing it. But there are no moderating factors here... I don't imagine it, don't kind of hum it. I sing it, with the words, out loud.

Tough to explain to people who don't know the song.


Oh well. In other news.... well, I don't have a lot of other news. I've had a cold for the past couple of weeks that, somehow, the little chick has managed to avoid (hooray, little chick!). I'm still wearing spring clothes, and spring is still not showing up. And I've tried red sauerkraut, but am not entirely happy with the results.

How have you been?

Blue Suede Shoes

Well, I got some new shoes in Prague. One pair are blue suede driving shoes. I like them, because I didn't have anything quite like that before. They're quite blue, so I didn't figure they would be every day kind of shoes, but they were inexpensive enough that I'm quite okay with that.

Spring has been resiting here, and so I've taken a bit of a new tack: I am dressing for it, in a (so far futile) attempt to force its hand. Today, that translates into a light striped shirt and the aforementioned blue shoes.

[EDIT] And pants. I'm also wearing pants. [/EDIT]

Now, I think it's interesting how you (and by "you", of course, I mean "I") get used to the shoes you usually wear. I have a pair of skate shoes (Vans) that, on occasion I pull out. They are the closest thing I have to white runners, with the exception of my actual running shoes, which only make an appearance when I'm running. They're not Seinfeld-white exactly - more like grey - but lighter and a bit more bulky than most of my shoes. I was wearing them when we were in Prague, actually (figured they would be quite weather-resistant), and I kept getting the feeling that I had these two foreign objects swinging around underneath me.

I'd be walking along and all of a sudden kind of catch myself:

"What the...? Oh yeah... those are my shoes."

Pause to collect thoughts.

"Okay."

Keep walking.


Now maybe this doesn't happen to you. Or maybe you're just not entirely comfortable admitting it on the interweb. Either way, I find that when I'm wearing unfamiliar shoes, they have a way of distracting me.

So today, as I've been walking in my BSS, I have noticed something I should have perhaps come up with before I purchased them.

They make me feel like I'm wearing slippers.


I'm pretty sure it's the color. The shape is not that different from many of my other shoes, and they are regular, old-fashioned lace-ups, so there is no hush-puppy/slip-on kind of ambiguity going on there. They're just a rather vibrant blue.

One not usually found in footwear. Or, at least, adult footwear.

Oh well.

Spring... where are you?

Read It/Spring Is Here!

One of Sydney's comments about reading sporadically made me realize that I do that, too. Actually, "sporadic" would be generous. I'm really bad at remembering.

I have good intentions; I also have about 800 bookmarks.

Anonymous seems to have picked up on this early on and figured out a way to automatically generate email feeds from her blog when there are new posts. So, I see those. But for those of you who do this kind of thing, what do you suggest? How do you read mine?

I would prefer a format that collects them all in one page, rather than loading each blog in another tab or something. Full text (with pictures, if there are any) would be good.

Ideas?


And, in other news, it was snowing yesterday, but it's definitely spring. The new shoes are out, and it's looking good... the kind of inverted pyramid-shaped heels from fall are gone. Skinny heels are back, baby! Now we just need to get rid of this rain/snow/cold...

Pictures

The sun was out yesterday at lunch, so I decided I should be, too. I hope you like them; you can see the rest here.

Blunt

Blunt (definition):

1. Having a dull edge or end; not sharp.
2. Abrupt and often disconcertingly frank in speech.
3. Slow to understand or perceive; dull.
4. Lacking in feeling; insensitive.

James Blunt:

Yeah, he pretty much checks the boxes, too. Maybe not #2 so much, now that I think about it. And there should be something about intolerable amounts of whiny, mid-tempo, acoustic-guitar based songs about people dying/falling out of love/losing their minds/honestly I stopped listening after the first one in there.

The good things about this concert:

• I was there with a friend who, should her current career fall apart, seems well-suited to some kind of crisis intervention work.
• The opening band, The Hoosiers, was pretty fun. Very bouncy. Also, they ran across the stage completely naked (but covering up their saucy bits) after James' set. I'm guessing it's because it was the last show of their tour together, but maybe they do that every time. In any case, it's the most interesting thing that happened while he was on stage.
  
• Blunt's drummer hauled. Actually, the whole band was quite good.
• The girl in front of me not only had great eyes and wonderful cheekbones, but also had the good grace to turn around frequently.
• There were a couple other girls close by who, in every slow song (and trust me - there were a lot of them) would put up their hands with their fingers curved over and their thumbs extended down, kind of in the shape of a heart. Yes, we love you, James. Except that, after a little while, they would kind of relax the posture and it would look more like two zeros instead of two hearts. Less passionate, but perhaps a shade more accurate.
  

There was one point where he stepped away from the mic, and all I could hear was the sound of heavily accented French girls singing, instead of him. At first, I thought, "hey, I came here to see the man, himself". Then I realized that it was just a lot more pleasant with them singing. Eventually, he came back.

I cried.

And if that's not an indication of my high level of musical satisfaction, here are a couple other tidbits:

• By the fourth song I was using my phone to catch up on my email.
• I didn't buy a tee shirt.

I would warn you not to go see him, but this was the last show of the tour. But next year, don't say no one ever told you...

Happy Birthday To Me, Part II

Well, we had a MNB listening session last night to choose some new tunes. It was not an easy affair. I've been on a country kick. Our bass player figures that Motown is the key to get people dancing. Caro has an ear for b-sides and rarities, and our singer doesn't trust anything that isn't on top-40 radio. Here.

Not a lot of overlap, there.

But, they surprised me with a little birthday celebration. Caro brought a cake, Helen a bottle of champagne, and we had a little party, MNB-style.

Now, when I was in Canada at Christmas, my aunt was kind enough to give me some "candles" that have been legendary in our family for some time, but that I had never before had the pleasure of experiencing.

I have "candle" in "quotes" because they are mostly plastic, and about the size of stubby pop can. I put one on the cake last night, and lit it. And, to our shared delight, it shot up a sparkler about a foot into the air. The sparkler lit the mini candles (about... oh, nine of them?) that were on folded-up leaves above it, and then the leaves dropped down, making it look like a rather explosive lotus flower. The leaves started to spin, and a cheerily electronic version of "Happy Birthday" began to play.

And play.

And play.

And play.

Eventually, I took it outside and put it on my window ledge. It seemed reckless to throw it into the street, I didn't want to keep it inside, and, besides, there is a pigeon who has been visiting the little chick and I, and sitting there. At first I thought this would be grand, and a wonderful chance for her to see a bird at close range. Then I realized that, should I decide to open the windows this summer, it may be a little too close, and quite likely messy. I speculated that perhaps this rather spiky lotus-thing would help him stay away.

Nathan, upon arriving home, mentioned that he had gotten up at about 2:30 to have a good cough, and noticed that it was still playing. Crazy, we said.

The party was... about 8:00 last night. And it's now about 7:00 today. And Nathan just opened the window to check, and it's still playing.

Happy birthday to me.

Happy birthday to me.


That pigeon is never coming back.

Vote For Me

[EDIT]

The took my pictures away, and I don't know why. I did not take the dog pictures. I think that, perhaps, it's too late to vote, anyways.

Sunshine

The sun was shining yesterday, so I grabbed my camera and took a walk. Didn't get a lot, but I took a few that I'm happy with. You can see the others here.

It Was the Best of Times; It Was the Worst of Times

And, as usual, it's all about clothes.

I had been thinking, while I was in the Czech Republic, of my "I Survived Dance Camp" tee shirt. Katie had found a vintage store she was rather fond of, and I mentioned that I usually go to a shop in Calgary that could not really, even very charitably, be described as vintage. Or even "second hand". It's "used", plain and simple.

There is a lot of crap there. If you don't mind (and I don't) going through 300 hangers to find one shirt that you couldn't get anywhere else, it's a great place. And I have some wonderful, wonderful shirts that I've picked up there. While I was reminiscing about some of my favorites, I realized that it had been ages since I wore the simple black tee with white lettering kind of scrolled along it: I Survived Dance Camp. Now, since I've turned into a dance machine, some of the irony has worn off, but it's still a fantastic shirt. I wondered where it had gone.

And there was another one I had been missing, too. It has the brother from Napoleon Dynamite in kind of a crudely-drawn coat of arms, and in a banner scrolling above and below his picture, it says "I'm training to become a cage fighter". I saw the shirt before I had any idea of the movie, and, even so, it was the funniest thing I had ever seen on something I could wear. I lent it to Josh when he used that movie as a theme for one of the YFC service projects that he organized. To be fair, it took him a while to get it back, but I seem to have forgotten when he did, because I asked him about it just a few months ago.

Anyways, I decided to go through my tees today to see if I could find "Dance Camp" and, sure enough, "Cage Fighter" was right there with it. Wonderful, wonderful news. And Josh, if you're reading, I'm sorry for not remembering that you had given it back. I shouldn't have doubted you.

Thus ends the "best of times".

On the other end of the fashion-induced euphoria spectrum, I seem to have lost my favorite boxers. Now this both troubles and puzzles me. Troubles, obviously, because they were my favorites, and I'm sad not to have them in my life any more. Puzzles, because, unlike an umbrella, or a book, or a scarf, it seems like underwear should be a rather difficult thing to misplace. It's not like I'm taking them off indiscriminately, deciding that it's a bit too stuffy, and leaving them on the bus seat next to me.

I'm not sure where they could have gone.

While we're still trying to nail down the finer points of the terminology, the little chick's fascination with panties is such that, if she came across them, she wouldn't have hidden them somewhere. I'm quite sure she would have brought them promptly to my attention.

So, I haven't given up hope, but I'm not sure what else to do. I even checked on the back of the door in the little bathroom.

Nothing.

Rats. I guess I'm going to go train to be a cage fighter.

Vibrate

I should have paid more attention in marketing classes.

I've had several people in the last week come up and say, "hey, I saw your pictures - why aren't you doing this professionally?" One was a colleague who said I was really wasting my time in what I'm doing now. I've never been so flattered to be told that I shouldn't be working where I am. Not that that happens frequently... I'm sure you know what I mean.

I'm not sure, though, how to get to that next step. Some things are clear:

• I will not do portraits of children at Walmart
• I won't accept the hours and mobility that are needed to be a real photojournalist - besides, my desire to portray a slightly idealized world (the one I live in, actually), rather than absolute reality would get me in trouble there
• I will not sell pictures of kittens

Past that, though, it's much more murky. How do I make a living at this? Weddings? Maybe. Portraits? I'd love to, but that's going to be a fairly small market for the kind of work I want to do. "Art"? Well, that would be fantastic, but I'm not at all sure about how to get started.

Other than taking the pictures.


So here's the thing. When we were in Prague on the Saturday, and I saw that there was a little bit of sunshine, and had seen a bazillion people out the night before so KNEW that the streets would be full, I was excited.

Very, very excited.

And once I got out there... had my music going, had my camera in my hands, and started to make pictures (which is what photographers call it, and a slightly more intentional term than "taking" pictures, I think), I was ecstatic. I was almost dancing. I had a huge smile on. I wanted to sing, to run around, to somehow let everyone around me feel the way that I was feeling.

In some ways, it seems rather unnatural to be this excited about anything that doesn't involve beef, getting kissed, or A BRAND NEW CAR! But that's the way it is for me: it makes me feel alive, makes me vibrate, brings out beauty and hope and wonder all around me.

Part of me thinks it would almost be wrong to be able to get paid for that.


So I'm not sure what's next... start entering contests, I guess. Figure out what kind of market exists, especially in Calgary, where I'll be living soon. Make some good, large prints to get a better idea of how my pictures are working off of a PC screen. See if I can get in touch with other people who do this, and do it well.

If you have any ideas, I'm open.

But even now, I'm still smiling. It's just beautiful.

Prague - The People

Okay, here's the next (and final) set. The people ones were tough this time... not enough light to really get the sharp focus I wanted with the gear I have. There were some that turned out nicely, though. You can see the rest of them here.

Prague - The Design Pictures

Okay, the people are still in progress, but here are a few to get you started. Enjoy!

You can see more here.


.

Oz

I think I wish I was Australian.

The hostel we're at here in Cesky Crumlov has Australian managers (at least for now... they're traveling, and just took the job for a couple months to tide them over until they head to France), another Australian couple there, and a fifth Aussie guy.

And they are all so friendly it just about frightens me.

I've heard "Yeah, no worries, Darryl!" about a thousand times in the last two days. And every time, it makes me smile. They joke around, they smile constantly, they use words that, I'm sure, they are making up on the spot. They have nicknames for everyone, as well as for a good number of inanimate objects, too. They say things like "yeah, mate, I have to go for a run... had some sugar, need to burn it off!" that are just wildly entertaining. Really, if you're planning to just burn it off, why bother in the first place?

When we arrived, I was pissed off. There was supposed to be someone here to meet us when we arrived. There was a sign on the door saying that reception was open until 8, and, at 7:30, there was nobody there, except for a couple of girls staying in the hostel who, kindly, opened the door and let us in. The managers had left a phone number on the door that was, unfortunately, missing a number. Didn't work.

Once we got in, I dug around a little bit, and found a paper on a noteboard with the wifi key, so I logged on, got online, and found the right phone number. So I called, and there was no answer. I left a message. But would they get it? Would they be back? Who knows... at least we were inside. But I figured that between not being there, leaving a phone number that didn't work, and then not answering it when we did call them, these guys had a couple strikes against them in my book when we were to meet.

So when they arrived, I was ready to tangle. But I was almost immediately disarmed by the Shawn and Tamara greeting me like a long-lost friend, apologizing for the mix-up, clearly being mortified about leaving the wrong number, and then treating me like I was staying at their house. They had been bowling, with the other Aussies staying here. Within 30 seconds all was forgiven, I was ready to go for a drink with them, and silently bemoaning my lack of an accent.

Add that to the many other Australians I have known and loved in Geneva, and I think that I want to go there. Other than the heat and the bugs and the seemingly large number of animals, plants, and creepy-crawlies capable of killing you that are native to that big island, I have a humch it might be my kind of place.

Prague, Day 3

I'm really, really tired. Good day. Bought ceramics. Ate vast quantities of pork.

Must sleep now.

Prague, Day 2

So, much of the communist era seems to have vanished without a trace.

I've been a little disappointed, as we walked around Prague and took a long bus ride out to Cesky Krumlov tonight, that the architecture and scenery aren't more... well, something. I could be in Austria, when I look around Prague. I could be in Germany as we drive through the countryside. I just don't feel like it's defined, somehow.

Thankfully, though, we found a little slice of the old communist heritage when making our way to the bus station.

As we looked at metro ticket machines, we were faced with the (unfortunately) usual dizzying array of choices. How many zones? Hard to say, since they weren't marked on the map. How much time did we need? Probably the short one (20 minutes) but it could be close. The machines were full of cryptic messages (like O+B, C) which didn't seem to match up to anything on the map or information board. Oh well. We decided to buy and hope for the best.

As we headed down onto the platform, one of my friends looked at the validating machine.

"Do we need to stamp them?" she asked.

"No," I said, heading for the escalator, and conscious of the time it would take us to get to the bus station and find out how to get the right bus, "that must be for passes, but when you buy them time-limited from the machines you don't need to validate them."

We got to the bottom of the long escalator, and two men in blue uniforms approached us, asking for our tickets. We showed them, and they looked them over.

"Not stamped" they said, turning them over and pointing to some almost-legible print on the back of the ticket. "See? English - ticket not valid. Passport, please."

So, it turns out that the "don't need to stamp it, it's dated from the machine" is only valid in every other country I've been to. I'd done a lot of metroing in my time, and I'd never seen anything like this. They had picked us out because of our suitcases, I'm sure. True Czech hospitality.

My mind flashed back to a guy I started talking to at the airport before the flight. He runs a software company (for macs, by the way) out of the US, but lives in Prague since he can work online and be anywhere he wants. He said it's nice, but can be a little hostile: Czechs don't really like foreigners.

In Calgary, there are people at the airport to help you out if you're not sure what to do next. They're old, and they wear white hats. They don't take your money. But the rules are a little different in Eastern Europe.

I reluctantly handed over my passport and we headed back up the escalators - where they showed us a poster listing the fine for riding on the metro with an invalid ticket: 700 CZK, or about 50 CHF/$.

Ouch.

There wasn't a lot we could do. At least they also pointed out, several times, that the tickets we were using were only valid for 5 stops (something we hadn't seen written anywhere prior to that). Wonderful. We were paying a fine on tickets that weren't even the right ones.

But, that's part of traveling. So we paid, we bought new tickets, found our way to the bus station and started on the aforementioned journey through vaguely generic countryside. We have a couple of days to explore Cesky Krumlov, and it's reputed to be beautiful, so I'm excited to see it.

I'm especially happy, because it's small. We can walk.

As far as I know, they don't ticket foreigners for walking.

Prague, Day 1

Well, we're here, I can pick up a wifi signal in my room, and have 5 minutes before I need to get breakfast. So, first impressions:

• It's strange to be in a place with snow again
• Judging from the ride from the airport, speed limits are not highly enforced here, yet
• People walk on the highway. Strange, in a "wow, I wonder what's going to happen" kind of way
• I remember now that I don't know any Czech at all. Not please, thank you, yes, now, numbers... nothing. It lends me a certain innocence that is, I think, refreshing
• I hate dealing with other currencies. Math. Yuck.
• My old bass player is here on business. I hope I get to see him.
• There are fences or wall around everything. There must be a lot of dogs.
• They have illuminated clocks hanging from some of the street lights. I think that's a wonderful idea, even if it did come from the communists.
• I wonder if it's too late to get tickets to a hockey game.
• To compensate for not knowing their language, I have also not learned anything else about the Czech Republic before coming here. We're going to another city, tonight, called Cheskie-something. I don't know where it is, and if I lose Troy and Katie I may actually die here.
• The lights over the river last night were beautiful. I can't wait to get pictures.

Got to go!

A Vicious Cycle

Some of you are going to be disturbed to read this. I'm sorry. But I'm going to write it anyways.

Every once in a while, I get in the mood for hot dogs.

The problem is that there isn't a good way to buy them so that they just work out. I have found dogs and buns that I like that come in multiples of six. Jalapeños aren't a problem - if I have those left, I can eat then with other things. Same for ketchup, mustard, and cheese. Sometimes I add fried onions (preferably sweet and purple, but I'm not too picky).

The killer is the sauerkraut.

I usually get done with about 12 dogs and find that I'm about 80% of the way through the package of kraut. What am I going to do with the rest of it? There's nothing else I eat it with... if I knew where to get decent pastrami I would try that, but I don't think that's such a genevois specialty.

And if I get another 6 dogs, I won't have enough.

Which means I have to buy another package.

It's like that musical thing where, if you play in 3/4 and I play in 4/4, we end up matching our downbeats every so often. And if one of us was going to trade over, that would be the moment. The problem is, this misalignment of the universe results in me eating a lot of hot dogs.

Now, I'm not opposed to eating the same thing multiple times in a row. In fact, if I make a big batch of something, I will sometimes freeze it, but just as often eat it until it's gone. (As a side not for anonymous, I would say that is a remarkable evidence of non-pickiness). But with hot dogs, I have this small inner voice saying that, at some point, enough is enough.

In fact, what usually stops the cycle is not actually running out of dogs and kraut at the same time.

It's looking down after I've taken a bite, and going, "what part of what animal could they make something like this out of, anyways?".

Yeah, that about does it.

Hey, I'm off to Prague for a while. Not sure if I'll get a chance to update while I'm there, but should have something worth reading when I'm back. Ciao!

Grafitti Day

For Caro, and Troy, and whoever else has been somehow waiting until it returned before they would visit again (at least, with a mac).




I really do.

Truth In Advertising

My dish soap is "Waterfall" flavor.

After several uses, I am not convinced that it's based on a real waterfall.




Thinking of trying to get my money back and buying "Summer Meadow", instead, except that that occasional whiff of manure may turn out to be a poor choice. It's hard to know stuff like that in advance, you know?

Where Are You?

It's interesting seeing how some of the demographics of people visiting TYC changes over time. For a while, Mac users were almost half of the visitors. Lately, they're down to 15%. Directly related to me not posting enough pictures? You be the judge.

Anyways, Canada and Switzerland have usually been about equal in terms of their percentage, but that seems to be shifting:



I'm not sure how to take this. Am I losing my Swiss appeal? Gaining momentum before my move back to the Great White North? Not talking enough about cheese?

Oh, and if you're reading from Italy - can I come and visit you?

Modesty

The little chick has been working on using the toilet. She did it quite a while ago, for a few days, and then lost interest and really didn't want to try again. She's decided now, though, that it's time, and she's doing very, very well.

On the first train-ride home with me after she began, she told me she wanted to show me her underwear. I explained that it was wonderful that she wasn't wearing a diaper, and I was very proud and very excited and we would be sure to marvel at her diaperless-ness once we got home, but that the train was not a great place to do that. Still, it was beautiful.

And I thought it was interesting, that both kinds of modesty - whether or not it's okay to be naked and whether or not it's okay to brag about what you've got going on - are learned, or, at least, develop over time.

Yeah, I know.... you were expecting some kind of catchy phrase or, at least, a point at the end. I don't have one. I just thought it was interesting.

Does Anyone Else Find This Frightening?

MyHeritage: Family tree - Genealogy - Celebrity

Running

I went again today. It's been a while, and even though I've lost a lot from last time I went, it felt good. And it gave me time to think:

Things I like about running:

• Feeling good (eventually)
• Looking great (more or less immediately, but some of that may be psychological)
• Being able to do stuff like carry the little chick around without getting tired
• Feeling like my shoes were a fiscally sound investment
• Good excuse to carbo-load - hello, spaghetti carbonara!
  

Things I don't like about running:

• Sweating
• Not being able to sing
• That point where it feels like someone is trying to separate your rib cage from the rest of you with a dull, rusty knife
• Sweating in my clothes
• Being far from a shower while sweating

Yeah, I guess that about sums it up. Down with sweating, but three cheers for fitness!

Run, Fat Boy, Run

Okay, I don't think it was in the running for an Oscar. If it has "cinematic masterpiece" on the back cover, I'd check the small print.

But it's beautiful.

I would tell you what it's about, but the only ways that I could describe it would make it sound predictable and one-dimensional, and it really wasn't. I'll tell you this:

it made me laugh out loud

it made me want to hug the little chick

it made me wish I had an Irish accent

it had the best fight scene I've seen in a while

it made me happy to be alive


And if that's not reason enough to watch a movie, I don't know what is. Okay, maybe that and having Angelina Jolie (which it didn't), but still. Pretty good.

Extreme

I remember the first time Korey played them for me... we were in high school, and I thought he was crazy. I didn't get it.

But I've loved them ever since.

Korey's tastes have changed since then, and mine have, too, but this has been one group that I just keep going back to. Especially their first album, Pornografitti. It's a concept album about a boy who goes through varying ways of trying to find fulfillment... sex, status, power, materialism... before discovering the pitfall of sin and self-centeredness. He tries to find a way out of being who he is, to be who he knows he should be, and the story turns to redemption and love. It's quite the album.

And it hauls.

It's heavy, it's funky, the guitar-playing is beyond belief and it MUST be listened to at a pretty substantial volume. When I listen to it, I swagger like a very, very happy drunk man. This morning it took me 40 minutes to walk to work. I went once, trying (with some success) to control my desire to air-guitar - or at least make guitarist-face - at the good parts. And there are a lot of good parts. The problem is that, once I got there, there was another great song on, so I had to keep walking and air-drum my way through two more tunes. Finally, I danced my way back in time to get to my meeting.

But just barely.

Now, I got some new filters for my in-ear monitors (they collect the ear wax, which, it seems, I produce quite a bit of) and all of a sudden I can hear the sizzle of the cymbals and the crush of the bass drum again.

It's beautiful.

You really should listen to it.

More Mindy

I wasn't planning to take time for this this weekend, but when the muse calls, I listen.

A little more me with Mindy Smith, here.