Monday, February 18, 2013
No, this isn’t a case of good intentions gone awry down McDonald’s way. I just finally got off my duff and volunteered at a food pantry’s community kitchen, here in the Ann Arbor area. Got to make a salad, during the process of which I realized there a tiny bit of my wrist that hurts from playing volleyball on the weekend. It’s very much a “not a big deal” type pain, as I didn’t even realize it was hurting in the three days since I’d played. But apparently, the squishiness of a tomato firm enough not to give way immediately before a sharp blade was enough to reveal that adjutant to the radial nerve, and set off its jangled endings.
Of course, I’m more or less blindly blaming volleyball, as it’s the only thing I did on the weekend that caused potential offense to a wrist bone. The previous weekend, I’d played twice, and playing pickleball a couple of days later, I noticed that my wrist was a bit weak when trying to hit a backhand. I figure it’s the same thing here, though it still doesn’t rise to anywhere near the ten lines I just spent explicating the non-issue.
In addition to salad, I also got to mop and sweep the floor and scrub out the massive spaghetti pot wherein the evening’s main course was prepared. I figure I’ll go back, eventually, though I might check out the organization’s warehouse operation the next time I offer them a bit of my time. Or the food runner role, which apparently entails going out on a truck to collect donations. It’s not the same as The River back in Madison, but it’s something to do. Kind of mad at myself for not having done anything of the sort during the two months since I moved.
After leaving the kitchen, I wandered back to my car, which I’d parked at Ann Arbor’s West Park, and decided to honor the sign that said parking was for “park business only.” Took a wander through the park, eventually exiting onto 7th street, walking to its intersection with what I thought was Catherine street, but turned out to be Miller Avenue – I’d forgotten about how Catherine is renamed Miller west of Main – and wandered east until I came to the park’s east gate, a simple arch marking the position of a staircase down to the main park. Descending the wooden steps, skirting the baseball diamond, and hopscotching through the mud bog that transforms into a community garden in the summertime, I returned to my vehicle, and proceeded to go to the gym. The walk was over 20 minutes, so of a distance greater than a mile.
Today’s wog at the gym was 2 miles, in intervals of 3 laps walking/6 running/3R/7R/5W, in a time around 27-28 minutes. I didn’t formally pay attention to the time as I went along, instead trying to run for 5 minutes at a time. I actually ended up jogging 6 minutes at a time, with the first half mile proceeding at a slower clip (6 laps/6 minutes), and the second jog squeezing in an extra 1/12th mile lap into the same 6 minute time frame. I didn’t stop jogging the second time due to tiredness; instead, my feet just started whinging, demanding that I slow to a walk. So I did, finishing out the second mile, and, if you included the stroll in the park, the remainder of a 5k distance.
I kind of hate the fact that I’m actually thinking in those terms, even as I stumble towards making that sort of thing (running a 5k) an actual goal of mine as opposed to this amorphous, “wouldn’t it be nice” pondering.
And on that note, here’s the Beach Boys for your listening pleasure.
Sunday, February 17, 2013
Spied Reese's Pieces at the gas station and resisted, just punning on the fact that the fishy astrological sign kicks into gear in a couple of days, rather than any precipitous fall off any bandwagon. Either that or referring to the fish I had at dinner, some whitefish that wasn't so white by the time I got done frying it. 'twas delicious, even in spite of the bone that tried to spear me in the gums. I suppose I can't blame it, as I was chewing on its home at the time.
In a old school mode tonight, looking at photo albums of days long gone, brought on by the blc "high school pic as profile" request. Hence the new profile pic (assuming I've managed to upload it by the time you read this). Also liked the pic below of me with my mom from some time in 1976
Skipped the gym today, will hop on the exercise bike at some point between now and midnight. Just finished up watching The West Wing on Netflix, and it seems like the next series is Star Trek: the Next Generation, which I've been dabbling in for a bit. In the middle of the second season now, and I can't wait until Dr. Crusher gets back.
Though the blog title recalls a Faith No More song, I'll save that band for another day, and instead share a track from a band I've been spinning today, Paradise Lost. With their album "Gothic", they gave a name to a metal subgenre, one they are still practicing these days. But their road took a couple of twists and turns before settling back into the groove they invented. One of the detours took them into a electronic direction influenced heavily by Depeche Mode, and it produced one of my all time favorite songs, the title cut on their "One Second" album. For me, "One Second" is just a perfect track, with its memorable melody driving a visceral mood, a hint of menace and an abundance of sadness combining hauntingly to pack an emotional wallop into its three and a half minutes.
Saturday, February 16, 2013
Isn't that what this trip is about, anyway? Figuring out who and what we are, where we belong, physically, mentally? Yeah, I'm stumbling and bumbling now, but eventually I'll be rumbling, just a matter of fine tuning the engine of my life, finding the right fuel.
In the meantime, I suppose I'll just keep heading to the gym, eating more or less decently, trying to keep the physical side, which I do feel like I have some semblance of control over these days, in check. Today's trip to the gym was for volleyball, and accordingly, my forearms are sore tonight. Didn't wog, haven't done any of that since Tuesday, but perhaps tomorrow. Looking at the descriptions of C25K programs, they seem to feature intervals of running and walking, with increasing stretches of running. Other than the one occasion I went 9 laps (3/4th mile), I haven't run more than 6 laps in a row, so it's possible that I've only done a continuous 5 minutes on that one occasion. I think I'll try that, whenever the next time is.
For the record, the blog title is courtesy of the band King's X, it's a song from the "Faith Hope Love" album.
If you're not already familiar with this band, you owe yourself the favor of checking them out. A few links are below. As tough as it was to choose which ones to share, I just spent the last two hours listening to King's X and watching Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. Pretty solid evening, I'd say.
From their softer side, the gorgeous "Goldilox":
"The Difference": www.youtube.com/watch?v=3bxF3
On their rocking edge, "Over My Head", Went with sharing the fun official vid of the song, but if you like it, definitely check out a live version or two.
"It's Love" - ultra cheesy video, but in my book, it's between this and "Out of the Silent Planet" for the quintessential KX song, the best merger of their various facets
My two faves of theirs hail from the introspective end of the spectrum, with the tortured "Cigarettes" standing alongside the psychedelic "A Box" atop my rankings:
Friday, February 15, 2013
I’m sick of myself. For a whole host of reasons that I typed out and then erased because I don’t feel like sharing (yes, an inability to ask for help is on that list).
The job thing, that probably plays a huge role in why this is bubbling out now. Third time mentioning it in a blog this week. You know, I’m looking back over those blogs and it feels like I put something up every day, and not just a pic or a single link or one line, at least a few thoughts strung together, and I manage to never say anything useful.
This, despite striking out 90% of what I’ve typed, despite how redundantly pissed off I got while typing it out…this was almost useful. Almost. But not quite.
First three songs below illustrate and fit the thoughts described above. In the process of listening through them when I jumped onto youtube to get the links, the wretched mood of the day started dissipating.
Songs 4-7 don’t necessarily fit the theme of this blog, they’re just dark, aggressive tracks that I like, that it occurred to me to listen to while re-editing this. They’re not wrong when they say listening to music you enjoy can help alleviate bad moods. Doesn’t really alter the underlying dissatisfaction with who I am, what I am, where I am. But for the moment, at least, I feel more like curling the dumbbell I see on the floor rather than kicking it. And that’s a good thing, because I don’t think my toes would win the fight with 20 pounds of iron.
Clawfinger, “I love to hate myself”(title lyric is from this track) www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y3DLK
Clawfinger, “Sick of Myself” www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xrptv
Pantera, “War Nerve”, www.youtube.com/watch?v=j2wge
Meshuggah, “Autonomy lost/imprint of the unsaved/disenchantment” www.youtube.com/watch?v=OXoLL
Nevermore, “Engines of Hate” www.youtube.com/watch?v=pMYwP
Emperor, “I am the Black Wizards” www.youtube.com/watch?v=YgQRR
Entombed “Left hand Path” www.youtube.com/watch?v=D6exw
Thursday, February 14, 2013
No, I’m not bitter. That’s only been the case once, really, even though I’ve been unattached far more than not on Valentine’s Day, a celebration of a guy getting lynched and beheaded. Okay, maybe twice on the bitterness front. One year I got dumped just three weeks prior, so that one was a given, and the year after, there was residual angst. Anyway, I get to spend a cheap day doing nothing while other guys lay out a pretty penny on flowers (with prices jacked up 2 or 3 times) and candy and various other sundries.
I’m always amused by the tales of huge workouts and careful eating resulting in weight gains, as contrasted to laissez faire food choices and minimal exercise leading to losses. I’m pretty sure we’ve all been there, at one point or another. I’d like to think it all evens out in the end, leaving the real scale movement to the combinations that make sense (ie better food and exercise equals losses, and, I suppose, vice versa).
Today’s a “I just don’t wanna” day, in terms of exercise, or getting to the gym. Still have 4-5 hours to remedy that before the gym closes, see if I can roust myself. If I need an excuse, I’ll point to my right eye. I poked myself in it yesterday, and while no damage was incurred upon the eyeball itself, I somehow managed to scratch the outside of the eyelid in three spots. One of those, “You don’t realize how often you touch your face until you cause (very minor) injury to one of the spots that gets hit over and over and over again” incidents.
Going to the favorites well with music today, the last couple hours spent listening to Rush. Thought I’d share an instrumental with you folks, “La Villa Strangiato”. It’s subtitled “An Exercise in Self-Indulgence”, which might cause eye rolls amongst non fans who already view these Canadians’ work as self-indulgent. To which I have a 6 word rejoinder: Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. And that might be the last time you see me reference that institution positively. Although, if I ever make it down to Cleveland to check it out, I reserve the right to repeat that statement.
Last thought, it was 9 years and 1 day ago, 2/13/04, that I went skiing for the first and only time in my life. I bring this up because a couple of years ago, I found a receipt from that day, as well as liability waiver I’d signed, on which I listed my weight as 165 lbs. That’s my goal for the end of the year. Ten years after that day, 2/13/2014, I want to weigh the same as I did on 2/13/2004. Or less. I guess I wouldn’t mind that, either.
And now I’m having flashbacks to the year 2000, during physical therapy after ACL surgery, when I hopped on a scale with my withered leg, and it showed 158 lbs, and the nurse expressed surprise, saying she never would have guessed I weighed that much just looking at me. The whole skinny fatness thing, pounds hidden in the trunk while the arms/legs/face looked ok. Years later, the face, at least, had caught up with the reality, leading, in part, to my popping in here.
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