Whaddya Know?

Am I the only who hasn't seen An Inconvenient Truth because I'm afraid I can't handle the horror of the ice caps disappearing and out of control weather? I guess that makes me an ostrich. Whether I pay attention or not, the future will arrive. Of course, by ignoring it, thinking it's other people's problem, thinking I'm doing as much as I can and laying the problem at Bush II's feet, I absolve myself. I don't think this is entirely irrational, but it is irrational not to watch a nonfiction film because I'm afraid the truth will be too much to bear.

Similarly, as the mideast plunges deeper and deeper into war and chaos, I mostly scan the headlines. "Israel Hints at Full-Scale Attack" and the like are enough for me. I glean that the situation is devolving by the second and leave it at that. Would knowing more about the situation help? Or would it just help me perform better in debates about whether such and such action is justified? Will I feel better or worse being fully informed? Is it always desirable to be fully informed?

Run

I just got off the treadmill not ten minutes ago. My face will be red for the next half hour or so. Because I did a one-day guest membership at the gym in the bulding, I had more time than usual for the treadmill.

4 miles. 34:18. Or, approx 8.6 mph. Not too bad.

I want to be able to do 5 miles at a clip when I work out so I can participate in more races. I could have done 5 today, but it would have really wiped me out... By January, I want to be doing 5 miles in 40 minutes. That's pretty reasonable, and I think would even put me in position to do longer races from time to time. If only my tweaked quad would fully heal...but it never will. I can feel it when I run and when I don't. As long as it doesn't stop me from working out, I'll live with it, even if it increases my recovery time a bit.

Weight-lifting-wise, I am looking forward to having access to the SJU fitness center. I've been hitting the weight room only 1-2 times a week for the past year, which has mostly maintained the modest gains I made before that, but I ain't getting any stronger. I'm looking to build the weight room and running into my class sked, so that it's like clockwork. If I set it down here, I hope I'll have that extra little bit of incentive.

Bench: 180x5
Incline: 140x5
Bicep Curl: 35x12
Tricep Pulldown: 60x10
Pullups: 10
Dips: 10x3

As of now, I max out around 150 on the bench, and need to stick to 30 and lower on the curls to keep the proper form. I can't do more than a few pullups and have always wanted to be able to rip a bunch off. And dips are just crazy good excercise.

These are the big ego excercises. I need to start recording my progress again. Withou logging this stuff, I feel like I get stuck in a rut and can't tell how much (if any) progress I'm making).

All right. Enough meat head stuff.

Dictator in Chief

Across the country, people are suffering under the thumb of a cruel overlord. In the city, as they walk past the open doors of storefronts, lobbies, and loading docks, they are taunted with too-brief tastes of air-conditioned freedom. Even the breeze is unwelcome; abrading with flame, even in the shade.

Here in the city, we're forced into some contact with the heat. Most of us have to walk to/back from the subway, to work, to play, and we have to endure the airless ovens sometimes called subway platforms. In comparison, there are a fair amount of burban folks who only encounter the elements in the parking lot: at work, at the store, at home. Going from inddor garage to indoor garage, one could cut out contact with the outside air almost entirely. Maybe we're just preparing ourselves for a not-too-distant time when upper nineties are the norm. But city or suburb or country people who work in air conditioned offices and return to air conditioned homes have nothing on those who work outdoors. Construction workers, road crews, hot dog vendors, panhandlers, etc. They can't escape the heat. Imagine being a firefighter, having to wear all that gear in this heat, and then rushing into a burning building. Then there are the many without any AC at home. They can't afford it, or their building's wiring can't handle it. For them, it's a time of going to the movies and dropping by the Met, I guess.

I sometimes think: "How did people manage before the advent of air conditioning?" For one, many more people died during heat waves. I think a secondary explanation is that you can't long for what doesn't exist. And, if you never have AC, you may better acclimate to the heat over the course of the summer, instead of exposing yourself to large temperature swings.

Released

I had a full weekend. Full enough even to update this neglected little journal of mine.

It started out well enough with a game of softball in which I inched closer to being able to pull the ball with power. As a Little Leaguer, I never really learned how to hit properly, and only swatted at the ball, unable to hit to left field. It took me some time of picking up a bat again as an adult to understand that I must pull the bat through the zone turn my hips to generate power, and turn my rists over as I swing through the ball. Unfortunately, though I know how to do it, and the ball is as big as a grapefruit, I usually ground out to the third baseman. One of these days, I'll hit it out to left. (I can hit it out to right no problem.)

I then toured prospect Park by bike with my Little Brother. We even hooked up with a couple kids he knew from school and rode the interior paths a bit with them, looking at a moss-covered pond. Not only that, but I taught them all how to skip rocks on the water. They were all impressed by my facility: I made a rock skip four times! These kids as well as a couple of girls we ran into posed the question to my little that I was grateful he had to answer: "Is he your dad?" Now my little is black and I am not, so I am clearly not his biological father, but I guess father is the likeliest supposition to a child who sees an adult playing with a kid. In the case of the girls, they pressed him long enough that he was forced to admit that his father was in prison. "He's filling in for my dad," was my Little's formulation. I was both a little proud and a little discomfited by this statement because I am so conscious of not interfering with the father/son bond, even if they are separated by prison. With the two boys we rode around with I stepped in to say "I'm just a friend." Once again, when I had to bring the day's activities to a close, my Little became petulant, saying "It's not fair." I try not to become irritated with him for acting out a bit (he usually sees whether he can push me to stay longer by lagging behind or some such), remembering how valid "it's not fair" seemed to me when I was young, and how frustrated it made me when I received the reply: "life isn't fair." True but cruel, I guess. He said to me before I left him at his door: "I hate my life, it's so boring." He feels restricted at home and when we go out and have fun together I think the contrast between the undifferentiated days that make up most of his life and what he knows is possible becomes difficult to bear.

That's a lot of space and only half a day. Plus, we saw Nacho Libre, which was almost too much fun to bear.

I feel unequal to the task of discussing in-depth the loss of my front wheel for my bike (which I left next to my car), the endless driving I did that evening to try to recover more than one lost item, or the hike I took with my father the next day.

So I will end simply by saying that I cannot imagine the pain of having a father who will be in jail most of my life, though I can imagine a lot of pain.

Cut to the Quick

I finally got a haircut. It feels so good to have summer hair again. Sometimes I wish I was bald so I wouldn't have to get haircuts anymore. That would be a relief. Every time I have to get a haircut, I keep forgetting for like a month, and then when I go I feel stupid becuase I I don't know how my hair's supposed to go. Today the lady asked me if I just wanted a buzzcut and I said sure and she was done in like five minutes.

I'm pretty itchy now, though. She didn't use the hairdryer like sometimes they do to blow the hair off my neck.

I think I'll go back there maybe pretty soon. The lady who cut my hair would sort of press up against me when she was cutting my hair, and it was kind of like what I imagine having a girlfriend feels like. But I won't ask her out or anything. I'll just call and make an appointment with the card she gave me, and just get a haircut.

Plus, since it's Supercuts, if I go there 8 times, I get one haircut for free, which is a pretty good deal, really.

I hoe everyone who reads this is doing real good. Things are just the same as usual, but I actually feel better than usual today. It's probably because when you get a haircut, you almost look like a different person. Even Vijay said looking good there Glen when he saw my haircut.

Replay

Have you seen the trailers and posters for Adam Sandler's latest turd, Click?

What an original idea! A remote control that lets you control life! That would be incredible. You could prevent fights with your wife, take revenge on your tormentors and watch breasts bouncing in slow mo. This I've learned from the commercials. I'm guessing this magical remote will also help him reconnect with his family and learn an important lesson of life. In the end, he won't need the remote, becuase he'll be able to value what he has.

If the whole disaster wasn't frightening enough, Chris Walken has further marginalized himself by playing Christopher Lloyd playing a mad scientist.

Is this really the best you can do people? A fifth grader could have written this film!

If anyone sees it, please file a report. I, for one, will stay in and watch Punch Drunk Love.

Healthy Suspicion

Just a little question in lieu of a full-fledged post:

When did the pronunciation of diabetes change?

All my life, I had thought people were afflicted with something pronounced "die-uh-bee-tees".

Now, commercials tell me, there are new products available to treat "die-uh-bee-tiss".

All I want to know is "why"? Unlike other words, such as "Uranus" that have had their pronunciations shifted intentionally, I can deduce no reason for this seemingly artificial change. Have there always been two pronunciations? Is it a regional thing?

I don't know why, but every time a certain radio commercial promises relief from "die-uh-be-tiss", I cringe.

Always Later

Well, I guess I should of wrote sooner, but I don't know, nothing's really happened. It's the same thing. you know. I go to work, Vijay yells at me, I try to be nice to people and do a good job, I come home and watch TV or sometimes make a model or something. I was thinking, it would be grate if I could get a job doing that, but I'm prolly not good enough at it reall. Because I've seen some models that some people have done that are perfect, like just like the real thing. I can't do that, but I am pretty good at it.

I don't go by the JetStop. I'm too embarrassed. I don;t think I'll ever find anyone who likes me.

I haven't been sleeping to good. I don't know what's the matter. I feel really tired, and I go to bed, and then I can;t stop thinking about the station and the JetStop and my car, and just a lot of stupid stuff that doesn;t even matter. It makes me mad because none of the stuff is really important even, but it stops me from falling asleep. I was even late to work last week. I hate being late.

Plain

If exuberance is good and drunkenness is exuberance, I have, in my youth, had more than enough positivity for a lifetime.

If madness is bad and chaos is madness, I had, before I knew words, enough negativity for a lifetime.

If boredom is bad and equanimity is boredom, the rest of my life looks plain.

Garden to Garden

More than one person has helpfully told me that moving is widely regarded as one of the most stressful of life's major events. Which actually makes me feel a little better about going nuts over the upcoming move.

I have been in my present location for longer than any other place I've ever lived by more than double. Before this seven-year stretch in Carroll Gardens, I had never lived anywhere longer than three years. Now, I'm having to say goodbye to a home that has been a comfort and haven to me. I find myself missing the smell of the place (when trash or kitty litter are not dominant) in advance of the move. I have been packing things into boxes, taking down a comic mural I had done years ago, and thrusting the place into a chaos I realized last night it would never recover from.

It is actually a bit hard for me to accept that already the chance to see the apartment as it has been for my years there has passed me by. Beginning packing didn't seem like a big thing and before I knew it, the apartment didn't look so much like home anymore.

It honestly makes me a little heartsick. I sat on my stoop for a while last night after taking out load after load of junk, soaking up the street that has been mine for so long. The trees, the brownstones and stoops, the quiet.

Kew Gardens will be something new. It's a wonderful neighborhood and a great apartment. But I am going to miss you sorely Carroll Gardens.