Stupid Inspirational Jerks As some of you may know, I'm an off-and-on bicycling enthusiast. I also own one of those funny-looking types of bike called a recumbent, which I love with an almost religious zeal. Not to bore you too much, as you are likely to come across a recumbent rider in person at least once in your life, and he or she will most likely bore you to death with the advantages of recumbents over those other inferior bikes. This is also the same argument as Macs versus PCs. Just substitute 'Macs' for 'recumbents' and PCs for 'bikes'. And since I'm also a Mac user, this should show you that at least I am consistent in my delusory assertions. At any rate, I love my 'bent, because it is so comfortable. I'm past loving pain for pain's sake, and truth be told, I was at best a lukewarm disciple of it. So I don't see any reason to put up with sore shoulders, neck, and the worst result of riding upright bikes, the dreaded seat-butt (or crotch, to put a fine point on it). So if you get a chance to ride one, give it a go. I've ridden far more miles in the last eight years because of this bike, because after a layoff I don't have to endure three weeks of pain in order to begin to enjoy riding again. Plus I can see more on my 'bent, blah, blah, blah-I'm boring myself now.

But the preceding paragraph is only context for my actual point. I've begun riding again, just 10 miles a pop over the last couple of days, to see if my cardiovascular system will actually leap out of my body and choke me to death in a rage over its neglect this last, oh, two years or so. And I'm getting a little older, so I was worried about being able to ride 100-200 miles per week to and from work. After suggesting to myself that that might be an unrealistic goal, I had to go and read this. I'll spare you having to read it, because it's dry, but here are the high points:

1) This guy won Bentrider Online's contest for the most miles logged in one year.*
2) He is 54 years old, and has only been riding bikes of any kind (during his adult life) for seven years.
3) In those seven years, he has logged 165,000 miles.
4) In four of those years he averaged 28,000 miles each year riding only nine months.
5) His longest one-day ride is 412 miles. 412 miles in 24 hours.

So, he slacked off this year and racked up only 22,000 miles. I also infer from the interview that he rode those miles over the entire year, and not just nine months, the big layabout. Even so, that is over 423 miles a week, all 52 weeks of the year. And he's 54. He's obviously kept very fit over the course of his life, but that is impressive. Maybe 50 is the new 40.

But, in conclusion, I hate you Rand Milam, for being so selfishly inspirational, and in the process, robbing me of all of my excuses. Curses be upon you!


*I think the contest was weighted for age, since the first paragraph notes that at least one person logged over 28,000 miles.  ¶ 14:02 1 comments

  Postscript Gloria, from this post was fired on Monday for something that happened the previous Friday (the same day the linked story took place) for something unrelated. But her state of mind probably didn't help, as it was related to her behavior.  ¶ 22:56 0 comments

  Superbowl Sunday I decided to stay home for the Superbowl rather than go to a friend's house, because I thought it would be easier to manage my kids while watching the game instead of risking watching the game somewhere where it was not recorded (meaning TiVo), and where I might have to tell my mostly non-football watching friends to shut up so I could watch the game. Perhaps it wouldn't have been necessary, but I didn't feel like going out anyway. Plus I wanted to buffer at least 30 minutes or so of the game, so I could fast-forward through play challenges, announcer chatter, and commercial re-runs during the second half of the game.

An hour before the game I embarked on a three mile walk, so as to better earn, or at least feel less bad about, my impending three hours of sloth. Turned out they weren't that slothful, but they were calorie-intensive (on the intake side, unfortunately), so it was good that I burned off 100 or so of the 2000 calories I took in.

The kickoff of Superbowl XL was at 1523 Pacific, and I began to watch from just that point on my recording. In the previous two weeks I avoided almost all of the pre-game hype, and for the last few years I haven't started watching until the official kickoff time, which actually turns out to be the official time of the coin toss for initial possession, but that doesn't annoy me unduly. I decided to be purple in my choice of game day comestibles (pardon the stupidly flowery language, but it's late and I'm tired), purple being a compromise between my so-called red state and blue state sensibilities. So I would have beer and peanuts as a snack, but they would be Trader Joe's honey-roasted peanuts, and the beer would be Chimay Blue. Halfway through the game I had to start dinner, which was another good reason to pause the game and let more precious buffer accrue. Dinner would also be purple, as I had steak, but it was Steak au Poivre and fresh artichokes. I cheated on the potatoes, as they were a frozen new potato package I also got from Trader Joe's. But it was pretty good. It was my first attempt at Steak au Poivre, and I must say it turned out pretty well. It was also fairly easy, although the de-glazing of the pan and reducing the sauce requires attention. Sadly, I couldn't get the cognac to light in the pan, which annoyed my twin girls no end. Dessert was also from Trader Joe's, this time in the form of a house-branded cheesecake. It too was good. But cheesecake has to be pretty bad for me to find it irredemable.

The big game itself was enjoyable, if pretty sloppy. I wanted the Steelers to win, but didn't have much stake in it, my affinity for the Steelers being mostly residue from my '70s childhood in Arizona. We had no team of our own, and the Steelers were dominant that decade, so they became My Team. This hardened when my stepfather announced his love of the evil Cowboys. It was only a friendly rivalry, or as close to a friendly rivalry as a Steeler and Cowboy fan can have, at any rate, because I love my stepfather a great deal. What I'm trying to get across is that the rivalry wasn't some sort of surrogation of some larger emnity. In fact I regard my stepfather as more of a father to me in many ways than is my biological father. That's a story for another time. But we were talking about the game, I think. Anyway, it was sloppy and it was disappointing that Jerome Bettis didn't score a touchdown, but it was cool that he got a ring. He is alleged to be both a very nice guy and a decent human being.

Oh, and there were commercials. None of them made much impression on me, but I remember that a couple were funny.  ¶ 00:00 0 comments

  Sometimes You Just Can't Believe You're There For It I witnessed a conversation the other day while at lunch with a few co-workers, which ranks as the single funniest conversation heard in the context of work since I took my current job. It was also discomfiting toward the end, but mostly funny. I don't have a perfect memory, but it went something like the following. I haven't exaggerated anything, but some things might be slightly out of sequence.

Cast (some names have been changed to protect the embarrassed):

Linda, a very nice and gregarious, but nerdy systems administrator.
Gloria, an attractive and fashionable project manager.
Herb, a smart and good-hearted IT dude.
Me, your humble narrator, who may or may not have any redeeming features.

The conversation took place in a popular chain restaurant, whose name rhymes with "Billy's". Linda and Gloria had been chatting when met at the restaurant by Herb and Me, who had taken a different car. The two women kept talking uninterrupted while waiting the 10 minutes for a table, and then until well after seating. After some acknowledgment of Herb and Me, came the following exchange.

Linda: So, what's with the tattoo on your back?

Gloria: It's-wait, how do you know I have a tattoo?

Linda: Have you seen Wedding Crashers?

Gloria: No.

Linda: It is so funny. Vince Vaughn's character is talking about tattoos on women's backs, and he calls them "bullseyes". [laughs]

Gloria: 'Bullseyes'? What does that mean?

Linda: You know, they're like a bullseye for the guy.

Gloria (genuinely mystified): How? What are you talking about?

Linda: You know, like when they're, you know, having sex with you and...

Gloria: How is it a bullseye? I don't get it.

Me: I can't believe this.

Herb laughs nervously and looks like he would rather be anywhere else.

Linda: You know, for when a guy is...

Gloria still looks completely confused. 30 seconds elapse.

Linda: I'll tell you in the car.

Gloria: Well my tattoo is an [language and culture I've forgotten] saying which means [something else which I've also forgotten. I think it had something to do with the concept of peace, though]. But how did you ever see it?

Linda: I saw it one day at work because your lower back was bare.

Gloria: What? My lower back was bare?

Linda: Well, yeah, because you wear such tight clothes.

Gloria: I wear tight clothes!? [To Me] Do I wear tight clothes?

Me (struggling to seem cool and professional): Well, I've only seen you about three times since you've been here [meaning the company where we work, not at rhymes-with-Billie's], but no, I don't think your clothes are too tight.*

Linda: But I thought you knew that, since you're so fashionable and wear such daring stuff. I thought that was the look you were going for. I don't know how to dress, myse-

Gloria (starting to look worried): "What I was going for"? So I dress too sexy?

Linda: Well, I thought that was the point, like when you wore that see-through blouse that day.

Gloria (incredulous): What!? When did I ever wear a see-through blouse!

Linda: [describes blouse which I won't recount here since my man-brain wouldn't properly record the details]

Gloria: It was see-through? [Getting visibly upset] Why didn't you tell me?

Linda: I thought that's what you were going for. You're so daring.

Me (to Herb): You don't call me when things like this happen? C'mon, buddy!

Herb laughs and continues to look like he would rather be anywhere else.

Gloria (face darkening): So I dress like a whore.

[Now here's where it gets very interesting. While I'm stunned that Linda hasn't already peeled off from this topic by now, what she does, or rather doesn't do, next blows my mind, and makes this a rare thing to witness.]

Linda: No. Well, you dress sexy, because you're fashionable.

Gloria: So I dress like a whore.

Linda: But you look so good. And I know you wear thong underwear.

Me (to Herb): Man, I wish this place sold popcorn.

Gloria (blushes): What? How do you know that?

Linda: Because I've seen them sticking out of the top of your hip-huggers.

Gloria (exasperated): Why don't you tell me these things!

Linda: Because I thought that was the look you were going for; it was intentional. I wish I could dress that way.

Gloria: Like a whore.

Linda: You're so daring.

Gloria dabs eyes with napkin. It's subtle, but I can tell she's crying.

Me (grabs Linda gently on the arm to get her attention): Linda, do you know what the first law of holes is?

Linda keeps talking to Gloria in the same vein.

Me: Linda, do you know what the first law of holes is?

Linda (finally stops and looks at Me): What? What's a 'law of holes'?

Me: When you're in one, stop digging.

Gloria looks miserable and uncomfortable. I can tell that she's still upset because she gets up and puts her coat on well before we're done paying the check. Ever the joker, I try out-

Me (points at Gloria's coat, which is a perfectly respectable and tasteful coat): That is totally inappropriate.

Gloria just stares at Me.

The End.

I think this had a happy ending, because Linda told me later that she and Gloria had "worked things out" in the car. So my astonishment and glee at watching someone other than myself absolutely auger into the earth's mantle in the misreading of someone while in conversation with her will not necessarily be punished by eternity in Hell. Lest you think I am heartless, though, I do feel really badly about seeing Gloria cry. And I really hope that she knows that I was not laughing at her (because I was laughing). Right now I'm mulling over whether to go and talk to her and make that clear. I've hesitated because Gloria seems very sensitive (if you couldn't tell that from the story above) and sometimes going and 'clarifying' things with sensitive people will just make things worse, usually in one of two ways. The first is if they didn't think you were laughing at them in the first place, so once you go and "explain" yourself to them they will then realize that the situation was such that an observer could have viewed them as an object of amusement and/or ridicule. So in your attepmt to clarify things and make them feel better, you've instead opened up a brand new Vista Of Hurt and Humiliation. Good work, Mengele. The second way bringing it up could make it worse is by bringing it up again, which for them simply brings back a bad memory that they can't do anything about. Nice going, gregarious and loquacious scab-ripper. Why don't you just bring up her puppy that died when she was six. Any time you want shut the hell up, fat boy, would be a big help.

Oh, and later when Herb and I were driving back from the restaurant and I reiterated my displeasure at him for not calling me over to his work area when his female co-workers are wearing see-through tops, he said calmly, and this is an exact quote: "it was no big deal. She was wearing a bra underneath, so it wasn't like you could see nipples or anything." Now that is one cool customer, my friends. Or maybe one super-gay one.**



*She does, in fact, wear form-fitting clothes. But nothing too tight. That I've seen, at any rate. Which may not count for much.
**Just kidding. He has a long-time girlfriend and seems about as straight as could be.  ¶ 22:02 5 comments