I've been meaning to post about the Santa Cruz Half Marathon, even though it's already an ancient, sweaty memory.
Highlights include the beautiful ocean views, the friendly crowd, and the fact that I managed to finish without dying. Lowlights include the heat, losing my sweet new running cap, the amount of horse crap on the trail, and the fact that I was too busy trying not to die to appreciate the beautiful ocean views.
The first eight miles felt great, then I realized my legs were about to stop working if I didn't slow down. So I missed my goal of beating my time from last summer's San Francisco Marathon, but I did do better than my first try at the Nike Women's Marathon.
Bib: 965
Age: 29
City: SF
Place: 876 out of 1558
Finish: 2:11:36.2
Pace: 10:03
Soundtrack: Big Soul, Jurassic 5, Ministry of Sound, Mary J. Blige, The Roots, Automatic Duo, Damian Marley, OK Go, Mos Def, MC Solaar, Madonna, Amy Winehouse, Lady Sovereign, Lauryn Hill, Moby, Moloko, Outkast, Edwin Starr, Blackalicious, The Disposable Heroes of Hiphoprisy
April 28, 2008
April 21, 2008
Something to read, something to watch
Read: More about the April 9 poetry and judgment fest known as the Literary Death Match, Episode 8.
Watch: A remarkable talk by a brain scientist about what she discovered during her own stroke. I was thisclose to studying neuroscience, so the technical parts fascinated me, but her insights about how our brains and bodies translate the world are even better. (Warning: 20 minutes long and there's a real human brain onstage. But: totally worth your time.)
Watch: A remarkable talk by a brain scientist about what she discovered during her own stroke. I was thisclose to studying neuroscience, so the technical parts fascinated me, but her insights about how our brains and bodies translate the world are even better. (Warning: 20 minutes long and there's a real human brain onstage. But: totally worth your time.)
April 20, 2008
Grandes dames
Last Friday, I saw the documentary Young at Heart for two reasons: It takes place in my hometown, Northampton. And it stars a group of elderly rock 'n' rollers known as the Young at Heart Chorus, whose annual performances were one of the highlights of my childhood.
It's a magical movie, and not just because of all the long shots of the same Main Street I spent 16 years wandering up and down, or the scenes at the hospital where I was born (half a block from the house on North Elm Street where my family lived for six years).
The members of the chorus—ages 70ish to 90ish—are by turns insightful, hilarious, and inspirational. There's nothing like watching a 92-year-old lady flirt with the cameraman, then learn the words to "Should I Stay or Should I Go?" It changed my perspective on what talent means, and reinforced my belief in the power of performance to sustain energy and spirit.
Like my own Savta says, you have to keep growing new dendrites to keep your mind alive. She came to visit a couple of weeks ago, and all 88 years of her are vibrant. During her short stay, we went to an Annie Leibovitz exhibit, lunched in an outdoor garden, drove to the beach, watched a movie, and met friends for dinner.
Savta is beginning, much to her frustration, to have some medical problems. But she handles them gracefully and has no intention of letting them slow her down: She and a friend have booked tickets this fall to see the fjords, complete with Elderhostels. I hope the Norwegians can keep up.
On the other end of the spectrum, my Grandma Rosa is in the hospital in England right now with pneumonia. She lived in her own home for nearly 90 years, and until recently spent her days almost unassisted. Alzheimer's is taking its toll, though, and we finally have to admit she's older than she ever let us realize. She's in my thoughts all the time.
I understand and appreciate how unusual my grandmas are, and how lucky I am to still have them around. They're the original Young at Hearts—if their amazing genes hold out, I expect to live just about forever.
And I can promise you we'll all go down singing.
It's a magical movie, and not just because of all the long shots of the same Main Street I spent 16 years wandering up and down, or the scenes at the hospital where I was born (half a block from the house on North Elm Street where my family lived for six years).
The members of the chorus—ages 70ish to 90ish—are by turns insightful, hilarious, and inspirational. There's nothing like watching a 92-year-old lady flirt with the cameraman, then learn the words to "Should I Stay or Should I Go?" It changed my perspective on what talent means, and reinforced my belief in the power of performance to sustain energy and spirit.
Like my own Savta says, you have to keep growing new dendrites to keep your mind alive. She came to visit a couple of weeks ago, and all 88 years of her are vibrant. During her short stay, we went to an Annie Leibovitz exhibit, lunched in an outdoor garden, drove to the beach, watched a movie, and met friends for dinner.
Savta is beginning, much to her frustration, to have some medical problems. But she handles them gracefully and has no intention of letting them slow her down: She and a friend have booked tickets this fall to see the fjords, complete with Elderhostels. I hope the Norwegians can keep up.
On the other end of the spectrum, my Grandma Rosa is in the hospital in England right now with pneumonia. She lived in her own home for nearly 90 years, and until recently spent her days almost unassisted. Alzheimer's is taking its toll, though, and we finally have to admit she's older than she ever let us realize. She's in my thoughts all the time.
I understand and appreciate how unusual my grandmas are, and how lucky I am to still have them around. They're the original Young at Hearts—if their amazing genes hold out, I expect to live just about forever.
And I can promise you we'll all go down singing.
April 15, 2008
Judgment day
Last Wednesday afternoon, the Olympic torch passed through San Francisco on its way to undisclosed locations in other countries. Downtown was intense—thousands of people, with the crowd divided about equally between enthusiastic support and boiling anger about the event and its significance for China and Tibet.
The mayor kept changing the torch route while it was being run, so nobody had any idea what was happening. Every so often, a huge wave of people would start sprinting toward the part of town where they thought (or heard third-hand via cell) the torch would go next. It basically turned into a giant, frenetic game of Red Rover.
To give you a sense of the scene, there are photos over at the Business Casual Shutterbug.
That night, I was part of a three-judge panel at the latest installment of Opium Magazine's Literary Death Match. Jane Ganahl (literary merit), Alan Black (intangibles), and I (performance) sat on a big squishy couch and rained down opinions on the poetry of four excellent readers.
Yes, all four were good. That must be some kind of record—most poetry readings are at least 50% excruciating. But these guys made the magic happen. I felt like I needed a gimmick, so I talked about the writers like they were bands: a passionate punkster, an angsty/intellectual indie rocker, a folkie, and a seasoned crooner whose spectacular eyebrows sang backup.
After a couple of elimination rounds, the two finalists played a spirited championship round of "Poet or Madman?" If that sounds easy, try putting snapshots of Shel Silverstein and Charles Manson side by side sometime. Then pick out who looks more literary and who looks more like Mr. T.
The mayor kept changing the torch route while it was being run, so nobody had any idea what was happening. Every so often, a huge wave of people would start sprinting toward the part of town where they thought (or heard third-hand via cell) the torch would go next. It basically turned into a giant, frenetic game of Red Rover.
To give you a sense of the scene, there are photos over at the Business Casual Shutterbug.
That night, I was part of a three-judge panel at the latest installment of Opium Magazine's Literary Death Match. Jane Ganahl (literary merit), Alan Black (intangibles), and I (performance) sat on a big squishy couch and rained down opinions on the poetry of four excellent readers.
Yes, all four were good. That must be some kind of record—most poetry readings are at least 50% excruciating. But these guys made the magic happen. I felt like I needed a gimmick, so I talked about the writers like they were bands: a passionate punkster, an angsty/intellectual indie rocker, a folkie, and a seasoned crooner whose spectacular eyebrows sang backup.
After a couple of elimination rounds, the two finalists played a spirited championship round of "Poet or Madman?" If that sounds easy, try putting snapshots of Shel Silverstein and Charles Manson side by side sometime. Then pick out who looks more literary and who looks more like Mr. T.
April 09, 2008
April 08, 2008
Foiled, with a chance for redemption
I got up at 6:15 this morning to run. It's my usual time, but I didn't sleep that well and felt sluggish. But there's a half-marathon this weekend, so I rallied myself into some clothes. NPR said, "It's colder than you think out there," so I added a scarf and hat. The air did wake me up, at least.
Got to the gym in the wind and near-dark to discover it was locked. Weird. No sign or anything. Annoying, but it was too cold to run outside, so I went home again. Called the gym around 7 to see if they're closed this week for cleaning or another legit reason, and the front-desk guy answered. "Yeah, I was just late. We're open now."
An hour late to open your business during workout rush hour? Time to invest in some kind of newfangled alarm clock. I like my grubby little neighborhood gym, but still.
Too awake to go back to bed, I decided to fix my bathroom doorknob. The screw was loose and it seemed like tightening it would work, except it didn't. I tried a few different screwdrivers for a while, then gave up. Tossed it in my bag to take to the hardware store.
Getting off the train, I remembered I had a coupon for a free yogurt/granola cup at Jamba Juice. Maybe that's my reward for getting up early for nothing. But they must have handed out those coupons pretty liberally, because the line stretched out the door and along a full city block. Free stuff is great, but that's not worth it. I have yogurts at work.
In fact, I just had one, because I'm waiting for the second round of May bluelines to arrive. Our production office in Chicago usually posts the PDF before we get here, but two of the files we transferred late last night got lost somewhere in the server ether.
Oh yeah, and there are fruit flies invading my kitchen. Just a handful, but it's still not cool to relive 7th-grade bio class in my nice clean apartment. This guy in Kentucky says to capture them using a paper funnel and cider vinegar, so we'll see if that works.
On the upside, I have hot tea to drink and the hardware story was open early. If Safeway has cider vinegar in stock during my lunch hour, it might turn out to be a decent day.
Got to the gym in the wind and near-dark to discover it was locked. Weird. No sign or anything. Annoying, but it was too cold to run outside, so I went home again. Called the gym around 7 to see if they're closed this week for cleaning or another legit reason, and the front-desk guy answered. "Yeah, I was just late. We're open now."
An hour late to open your business during workout rush hour? Time to invest in some kind of newfangled alarm clock. I like my grubby little neighborhood gym, but still.
Too awake to go back to bed, I decided to fix my bathroom doorknob. The screw was loose and it seemed like tightening it would work, except it didn't. I tried a few different screwdrivers for a while, then gave up. Tossed it in my bag to take to the hardware store.
Getting off the train, I remembered I had a coupon for a free yogurt/granola cup at Jamba Juice. Maybe that's my reward for getting up early for nothing. But they must have handed out those coupons pretty liberally, because the line stretched out the door and along a full city block. Free stuff is great, but that's not worth it. I have yogurts at work.
In fact, I just had one, because I'm waiting for the second round of May bluelines to arrive. Our production office in Chicago usually posts the PDF before we get here, but two of the files we transferred late last night got lost somewhere in the server ether.
Oh yeah, and there are fruit flies invading my kitchen. Just a handful, but it's still not cool to relive 7th-grade bio class in my nice clean apartment. This guy in Kentucky says to capture them using a paper funnel and cider vinegar, so we'll see if that works.
On the upside, I have hot tea to drink and the hardware story was open early. If Safeway has cider vinegar in stock during my lunch hour, it might turn out to be a decent day.
April 02, 2008
JetBlue vs. Virgin America
Round 1: Virgin America
SFO to JFK
Duration: 4h35
Pro: Actual tasty meals served on-board. Never underestimate this perk when you're stuck in a carnivorous airport at dinnertime. After security, there was—for real—no vegetarian food I could take to go from anywhere. Except yogurt and Fig Newtons. Trust me, more than three Fig Newtons aren't an experience you want to have. 5 points
Pro/Con: Domestic VA flights use the international terminal. It's shinier (+1), the accents are cooler (+1), and it's easier to reach from BART (+1), but the security line is epic and moves much more slowly (-1). 2 points
Con: Same little back-of-the-seat-in-front-of-you TVs as JetBlue, but with fewer channels, and they kept pixelating and cutting out. In the lame media player, the jazz playlist wouldn't just keep rolling—I had to hit the play button for each song. This is why Steve made iPods. -2 points
Pro: But you could order food and drinks through the screen and pay at your seat with credit. No carts blocking the aisles to wake you up and offer you peanuts you don't want. 1 point
Pro/Con: More leg room than Delta, American, etc., but not as much as JetBlue. 0 points
Customer Service: Nondescript. I heard a horror story from a coworker about their rude phone service, though, so I'm docking them in solidarity. -1 point
Total: 5 points
Round 2: JetBlue
JFK to SFO
Duration: 6h45
Con: We took off late, but only 20 minutes, and strong headwinds traveling westward aren't the airline's fault. 0 points
Pro: So. much. legroom. And there was nobody in the middle seat. 2 points
Con: The snacks are free and better than peanuts, but they're no caprese sandwich with an orzo salad that I can order through my TV screen. -1 point
Pro: Hundreds of working channels, including one that shows nothing but reruns of America's Next Top Model. (Yeah, what of it? I read for a living.) Last time, I found a Pop-Up Video marathon. 5 points
Customer Service: Tied with Southwest for friendliest ever, but JetBlue gets the top spot because the attendants aren't cloying and don't wear ugly shorts. 1 point
Total: 8 points
JetBlue wins!
But VA is a fine alternative, since they also fly direct cross-country and the tickets are super cheap. It's fair to say that both these airlines kick the collective ass of all the huge conglomerates and their overpriced, squished, three-stop flights to the East Coast.
SFO to JFK
Duration: 4h35
Pro: Actual tasty meals served on-board. Never underestimate this perk when you're stuck in a carnivorous airport at dinnertime. After security, there was—for real—no vegetarian food I could take to go from anywhere. Except yogurt and Fig Newtons. Trust me, more than three Fig Newtons aren't an experience you want to have. 5 points
Pro/Con: Domestic VA flights use the international terminal. It's shinier (+1), the accents are cooler (+1), and it's easier to reach from BART (+1), but the security line is epic and moves much more slowly (-1). 2 points
Con: Same little back-of-the-seat-in-front-of-you TVs as JetBlue, but with fewer channels, and they kept pixelating and cutting out. In the lame media player, the jazz playlist wouldn't just keep rolling—I had to hit the play button for each song. This is why Steve made iPods. -2 points
Pro: But you could order food and drinks through the screen and pay at your seat with credit. No carts blocking the aisles to wake you up and offer you peanuts you don't want. 1 point
Pro/Con: More leg room than Delta, American, etc., but not as much as JetBlue. 0 points
Customer Service: Nondescript. I heard a horror story from a coworker about their rude phone service, though, so I'm docking them in solidarity. -1 point
Total: 5 points
Round 2: JetBlue
JFK to SFO
Duration: 6h45
Con: We took off late, but only 20 minutes, and strong headwinds traveling westward aren't the airline's fault. 0 points
Pro: So. much. legroom. And there was nobody in the middle seat. 2 points
Con: The snacks are free and better than peanuts, but they're no caprese sandwich with an orzo salad that I can order through my TV screen. -1 point
Pro: Hundreds of working channels, including one that shows nothing but reruns of America's Next Top Model. (Yeah, what of it? I read for a living.) Last time, I found a Pop-Up Video marathon. 5 points
Customer Service: Tied with Southwest for friendliest ever, but JetBlue gets the top spot because the attendants aren't cloying and don't wear ugly shorts. 1 point
Total: 8 points
JetBlue wins!
But VA is a fine alternative, since they also fly direct cross-country and the tickets are super cheap. It's fair to say that both these airlines kick the collective ass of all the huge conglomerates and their overpriced, squished, three-stop flights to the East Coast.
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