Movie Review -- John Carter

According to the Internet (which is never wrong), the movie "John Carter" has been a monumental flop, at least in the US. It cost something like $250 million to make, and has been seen by about 17 people. Well, 18 now, I guess, since I went to see it over the weekend.

The movie is based on one of my all-time favorite books, and has been out for months now. Why did I wait so long to see it? Well, basically because the previews made it look bad. Oh, there was never any doubt that I'd have to see it; it was just a matter of whether I wanted to pay $12...or $2.50.

Yes, movie fans, I can say that it was worth $2.50.

First, let's acknowledge the challenges faced by the filmmakers. The story was written nearly 100 years ago, but since it was set in the 1800s and on Mars (aka "Barsoom"), this is not a problem at all. The tough part is that Edgar Rice Burroughs wrote a whole mess of books about the adventures of Carter and his Barsoomian counterparts, so the screenwriters would have to decide which of the stories to tell within their ~2-hour time limit.

There's also the matter of the 4-armed green Martians (the "Tharks"), the great white apes, the flying boats, and the 6-legged monster guard dog you'd have to create with CG. And then you have to choose an actor with the proper heroic looks, and a beautiful woman capable of playing the "incomparable" Dejah Thoris, Princess of Helium.

Those are some rather hefty challenges.

The good news is that they pretty much nailed a good percentage of them. The bad news is that the few misses really hurt the film. But let's start with the positives.

Lynn Collins, who plays Dejah Thoris, has a very pretty face. I had envisioned the character as being a tad more athletic, and wearing more, um, flattering outfits...but overall I'd have to give her a passing grade.

The Tharks—the betusked, 10-ft tall, four-armed green goomers, were almost exactly what I had imagined. With the vocal talents of Willem Dafoe and Thomas Hayden Church, the Tharks seemed appropriately fierce, and though there wasn't much time spent on exploring the intricacies of their nomadic culture, it rang true enough. And the guard "dog", Woola, also met my expectations (except for his unfortunate tendency to defy the laws of physics.)

The Red Martians weren't really red, making John Carter's "whiteness" seem entirely unremarkable. But they had red tattos, so I guess their hearts were in the right place. And I enjoyed the actor who played Kantos Kan, and felt he was also authentic. The city of Helium was well-rendered, and the costuming (other than the aforementioned lack of visible flesh from Dejah Thoris) was just dandy.

The scenes featuring a young Edgard Rice Burroughs were a pleasant surprise; I had thought the filmmakers would cut those sequences for sure. But they worked well. I was also pleasantly surprised to see Bryan Cranston (aka Seinfeld's Tim Whatley) make an appearance. And I'll concede that the changes made to the "cave" sequence didn't really harm my enjoyment of the film.

And there was plenty of action.

I suppose I could complain about the white ape fight, and how it resembled "Attack of the Clones", or how the Thern influence in the conflict between Helium and Zodanga didn't match my memory of the story at all. I'll let those slide. But some of the other stuff did irritate me to the point of complaint: The antigravity flying boats had freakin' wings for some reason. This made absolutely no sense, since their lift and navigation were provided entirely by repellant rays. And the single-person flyers made the exact same sound as Anakin Skywalker's pod racer, which also seems like a stretch.

Throughout the movie, I also had the vague fear that JarJar Binks was going to make an appearance, but thankfully that never happened.

Anyway, I suppose you can nitpick any movie about minor details. The reason Barsoom was dying, for example, was not adequately explained. And folks who had not read the books may have been confused by the sudden language shift since the telepathy concept was so vaguely referenced. The resolution of the conflict between Tars Tarkas and Tal Hajus was just plain wrong, and Carter's elevation to the post of Warlord of Mars should probably have waited for a sequel or two. And what's up with Dejah Thoris being the planet's leading scientist for some inexplicable reason...where did that come from? Sigh. But none of these issues was a fatal problem for the movie.

There were three things that really bugged me. I'd be interested to hear from other fans of the books to see if I'm off base here; but I was most disappointed for these reasons.

1. The big one: I didn't like John Carter.
   
   I'm not sure who I'd have chosen to play the role. Robert Downey, Jr. could pull it off, I'm sure...but I think I'd go for somebody like Collin Ferguson. In any case, I'd give him a shave and a haircut; this guy (Taylor Kitsch) comes off like too much of a metrosexual hippie. Perhaps the chicks dig him, but I'm betting he doesn't connect with any of the straight males in the audience. John Carter is supposed to be a man's man...not a cross between Johnny Depp and Fabio. Geez.


2. The chemistry and tension between Carter and the incomparable Dejah Thoris wasn't as fun as I'd have liked. Part of the appeal of the books is that Carter just blindly does what's right without thinking about it. He's clueless about women, and befuddled by the over-the-top incomparable-ness of the Princess. She's attracted by his studliness, but frustrated by his lack of social insight. The book's description of the awkward byplay between the two is what makes you root so hard for them to get together. In the movie, though, that chemistry and conflict is muddled at best.


3. Perhaps this qualifies as merely another nit, but I expected excellence from the swordplay. In the books, John Carter is the best swordsman on two planets, and there are plenty of scenes where his skill and stamina are described in detail. It's all fine that he can wade into a phalanx of bad guys and impart carnage in a flurry of quick edits filled with flying body parts. But there's no class to it. Nothing to admire. John Carter is a heroic and cultured gentleman, not merely a brutish survivor. The movie did not get that point across.

So, did it suck? Well, no. Not completely. Despite my criticisms, I have to say I enjoyed it, and will probably see it again. It's WAY better than the Antonio Sabato travesty that preceded it. But it could be done better. I hope somebody gives it a try.

Anyway, I apologize for boring those of you who don't care a fig about swordfighting on Mars. If you do, though, go ahead and rent this movie when it's available. And if you enjoy reading rousing good stories, then get yourself a copy of Burroughs' "A Princess of Mars", and spend the next several months with the series, absorbing adventures on Barsoom with John Carter and his friends. It's good stuff.

Thanks for dropping by, and have a great day!

Springtime Ruminations

The smell of fresh cut grass is in the air!

Yesterday, I overheard two consecutive conversations about how much the speakers were looking forward to working in their yards and/or gardens. As the weather warms, most people relish the prospect of planting stuff, of applying tender loving care to lawns, flowers, and landscaping. As the days get longer and the world turns green, it's instinctive for people to want to bond with Nature by tilling the soil and enhancing the world's aesthetics through carefully-designed applications of horicultural skills.

But not me. And I suspect this provides us some insight as to why I'm single.

The first panel in the graphic above provides additional insight into the same question. (The remaining panels relate to the first one, but not to the remainder of today's topic. Can you deduce the connection between the frames? Answer below. Don't forget that you can click on the picture to see a larger version.)

Anyone who knows me well can attest to the fact that I'm not "normal." The well-known psychology expert Rocky Balboa would describe me as "mentally irregular." I happen to prefer the terms "unique" and "interesting", but the fact remains that my brain doesn't work like yours does. While this does not impede my ability to function, to have friends, and to hold down a job, it does make it statistically unlikely that I'll ever find a compatible woman. And it occasionally causes confusion at swim practice due to the fact that my definition of "fun" is not universally accepted. Oh well.

Anyway, the marigold and fertilizer displays at King Soopers got me to thinking about these things, so I thought I'd horrify you with additional insights into the non-standard world in which I live. Read on...if you dare.

• I don't particularly like the smell of grass. I don't enjoy mowing, spreading fertilizer, or using an edger. And though this confession may get my Manly Man ID card confiscated, I'll also admit that I do not get a thrill from using a weed whacker. I know that all guys are supposed to love power tools, but sorry...I just don't. The only exceptions are chainsaws, flamethrowers, and ice augers; and even then only when used recreationally.


• I'm not into building stuff. I suspect this stems from my hideous failure in the Cub Scout Pinewood Derby so many years ago, but the fact is that I seem to be lacking the handyman gene. My brother is an expert in all of that stuff, so I assume that he received my genetic allocation of construction skills. (It's no wonder my parents always liked him best.)
  
  Oh sure, I have done a limited number of successful home improvement projects over the years. And I'll admit that I did feel grand satisfaction in those few jobs that were completed without a trip to the emergency room. But if you give me a choice between wielding a hammer and pounding a computer keyboard, I'll opt for the data entry chore every time.


• I am oblivious to interior design. Bare apartment walls or expanses of vacant carpet do not bother me in the slightest, and I confess that I'm a mite bewildered by people who feel compelled to cover every inch of every surface with adornments. I am not opposed to artwork, especially if it inspires you in some way. (I'm thinking Jimi Hendrix or Farrah Fawcett posters, "Hang in there" cats, and the like.) But my underdeveloped sense of aesthetics leaves me unmoved by random displays of pottery, textiles, or shellacked agricultural products. Sorry.


• I don't get the appeal of Oprah, Dr. Phil, Justin Beiber, et al. I harbor no particular animosity towards them, I just don't grok their appeal. Instead, I find myself drawn to things that ensure a life of chastity, such as science fiction, slapstick, and corny parody.
  
  And that brings us to the graphic at the top of this post. I would really like to see the movie "John Carter", from which the first panel's image was taken. The previews did nothing at all to make me think it's a good movie...in fact, I'm expecting it to be horrible. But I loved the series of books it's based upon (written by Edgar Rice Burroughs, the same guy who created Tarzan...who was played onscreen by champion swimmer Johnny Weismuller, etc etc), and therefore feel compelled to see it, regardless of its cinematic quality. But as much as I would like to make it a romantic date-night experience, what chick in her right mind would accompany me?
  
  (That's a rhetorical question, folks. Don't bother to respond. I can do the math myself.)

So, did you get the connection among the other graphics? They're all "Carters." The second frame features famed Presidential Brother Billy Carter, who had a brand of beer named after him, and died of pancreatic cancer in 1988. Frame three is Carter Pewterschmidt, father-in-law to Peter Griffin on the TV series "Family Guy." Fourth is country singer June Carter, who is probably most famous for being married to Johnny Cash. And finally, we have Baseball Hall-of-Fame catcher Gary Carter, who sadly died of brain cancer a few months ago.

And I guess our puzzle provides another pretty obvious example of why I can't get a date to see a movie about a guy who fistfights giant apes on Mars. My brain involuntarily does things like lumping country singers, cartoon characters, baseball players, and peanut farmers into a single category. Perhaps I could get some sympathy for the curse of having to deal with such randomly-firing synapses, but then I'd still have the whole "looks like Paul Sorvino with the flu" disadvantage to deal with. Sigh.

Anyway, you normal people definitely do have my admiration and respect. I shall continue to envy the sensorial joy you derive from your yardwork, etc, and I wish you an entire summer that overflows with the smells of greenery and plant life. Get outside to enjoy it, and have a great day!

Presidential Visit

I heard on the radio this morning that President Obama is going to be in Boulder this evening. They said he's campaigning for the youth vote by promising them cheaper student loans as part of his overall "Let's have taxpayers pay for stuff that isn't viable in the marketplace" program. If he's smart, he'll also promise he'll legalize marijuana and phase out automobiles in favor of skateboards.

He's staying overnight in our fair state. And that reminds me of a story:

The late 1970s were interesting times. John Bonham was still alive, Michael Jackson was still black, and martial arts movies had taken the country by storm. My good friend Steve Smith was what we called an "early adopter", meaning that he was one of the first to latch onto whatever fad was coming into fashion. He's the guy who would buy a Betamax while all the prudent people would wait for VHS. He would pay $500 to have the latest new electronic calculator, when everyone else would buy the same model a few months later for $100. While most of us bought cars like Pintos and Camaros, Steve bought an Italian sports car and Italian leather racing gloves. We may not have looked cool, but we got where we were going -- while Steve spent a fortune having his piece-of-crap Alpha Romeo towed to gas stations because it wouldn't run. (He looked great standing beside the road, though.)

Anyway, Smitty was also a voracious absorber of cultural trends, and when the Kung Fu craze arrived, he immediately adopted the persona of Kwai Chang Caine. (OK, sometimes he was a ninja, or perhaps a samurai...but if a situation called for a menacing pose or an accented philosophical platitude, Steve was definitely our man.)

Our story begins when Smitty learned that President Carter was staying at a hotel in downtown Denver. Being in the neighborhood, our hero decided that it would be interesting to go visit the fellow. Many of you may not know this little fact, but to be recognized as a legitimate groovy Italian sports car driver, you must first take an oath to be supremely cool at all times. This means that you MUST don the leather gloves, even for trips to the Circle K. If the top is down and the temperature below 21°C (69.8°F for you non-European peasants), you MUST wear a scarf. If you wear a hat, it MUST be tilted to a precise angle, and your shoes MUST be shined. Etc etc. This means that carrying your wallet in a back trouser pocket is quite forbidden, because then your posture would be off kilter by just enough to ruin your totally-hip sports car driver image.

Ergo, Steve did as he had always done -- he put his wallet in the glove box to ensure perfect driving posture. As he pulled up to Carter's hotel, he knew he wasn't planning to buy anything -- he was just making a visit -- so he left the wallet in the car. As he entered the hotel, he noticed a couple of dark-suited and stoic looking fellows in the lobby, and assumed they were Secret Service. They glanced at him, but he used his ninja skills to appear innocent as he stepped onto the elevator, alone.

A little experimentation showed that the elevator was programmed to skip floors 7, 8, and 9. Therefore, Steve figured, the Prez was likely on the eighth floor. The only logical course of action was to go down to 5, get off the 'vator, and try the stairwell. And sure enough, the door to the stairs was unlocked. As silently as he could, he eased the door open, slipped through, and gently closed it behind him.

He expected to find the doors to the 3 forbidden floors locked, and wasn't planning to do anything but go up and then back down. But since this was a mission of reconnaissance, he saw no reason not to apply his ninja stealth skills to the operation. He took off his Italian sports car driving shoes, assumed the "silent sloth" pose, and proceeded to carefully and quietly ascend the stairs on all fours.

It was slow going, but patience is among the ninja's most prized virtues. Inch by inch, step by step, our hero made his way silently upwards.

Unfortunately, he learned that it doesn't matter how quiet you are when the Secret Service agents are standing right there in the stairwell. When Steve peered around the rail to look at the next landing, he couldn't help but notice the .38 pointed directly between his eyes.

The agents promptly hustled him into one of the hotel rooms and began the interrogation. Knowing he was innocent of any intent to harm the President, and having a spotless academic and legal record, Steve at first enjoyed the process. It seemed like a bit of a lark, getting to hobnob with actual top-drawer government agents. He figured he'd be released in a few minutes and allowed to go on his way.

But his wallet was in the car.

He began to think about the situation from the perspective of the G-men. Here you have a kid without ID, creeping up the stairs like an Asian, claiming to have a 100% generic name like "Steve Smith"...well, what would YOU think? It certainly would look at least a little suspicious. So it was at this point (about an hour into his confinement) that he began to feel a bit less ninja-like, and a bit more like someone who could easily be made to disappear. He had told no one what he was doing; if these guys truly thought he was a threat, he began to believe that they could make it so he never again saw the light of day.

Fortunately, since he was telling the entire truth, his story remained consistent with each repetition. And I suspect the agents were good enough judges of personality to recognize that he was indeed just some trend-driven doofus who watched too much television and sometimes got lost in the land of make-believe. They eventually escorted him back to the Alpha, verified his identity and his squeaky-clean police record, and let him go.

Strangely, though, he held onto the stupid car for a couple more years. And he still wears leather gloves when he drives. But to the best of my knowledge, Steve has never again crawled up a hotel stairwell when the leader of the free world was staying there.

Of course, I don't know what his plans are for this evening...

So, that's the story. I hope you've learned a few lessons, such as: Don't mess with the guys with badges, don't forget your wallet if you're playing ninja, and for goodness sake, don't buy European vehicles.

Anyway, thanks for listening to my tale. If you see Steve, be sure to ask him for additional details...or about one of his many other daring adventures. He'll be happy to tell you. Have a great day!

Busy Weekend

Springtime in Colorado can be positively glorious, and this weekend was a prime example. The bright blue sky simply begs you to get out and play!

When Tanner was a kid, this would be the kind of weekend that would see us over at the vacant lot trapping grasshoppers to feed to our pet tarantula. Or perhaps we'd go over to the playground to play catch or give each other silly athletic challenges. ("Climb up the slide, go down the ladder with your eyes closed, then run backwards through the swings in a slalom course, and then do 12 pushups, all under 40 seconds", etc.) Or perhaps we'd go camping, play tennis, or maybe just do a hike in the woods.

But now that the boy has moved to Bill Gates country, I seem to have redefined "play" mainly as "long workouts". Weekends certainly do offer the opportunity to beat myself up in a variety of ways. That's cool -- it's obvious that I could benefit from improved fitness...but I also have to find time to squeeze in all the other chores that fall upon the so-called "responsible adult."

Saturday morning began with a good bike ride. I joined my training buddy Kim for a climb up Deer Creek Canyon and onto Highgrade Road. He had to be back early, so we cut it short and didn't make it all the way to the top, but it was still a good workout. As we rode, he recounted the highlights from his recent trip to Hawaii, including an impressive triathlon performance, a rough-water "adventure" swim, and various sightseeing excursions. Since my vacations typically consist of not-so-exotic locations like Highlands Ranch, or an annual trek to the wastelands of Kansas, seeing his suntan and listening to tales of swimming butterfly atop cresting ocean waves...well, it made me pretty jealous.

(I am thinking of going to Omaha this summer. That's almost as cool as going to Hawaii, isn't it? Isn't it?)

After the bike ride and some time spent trying to figure out the best application of the Body Wrench, it was time for my next appointment. As part of my involvement with the American Patriots History Association (APHA), I had scheduled an interview with a WWII vet named Larry Smith. An energetic and articulate gentleman, Mr. Smith was willing to share the stories of his service as his unit battled their way across France and Germany, liberating numerous towns and concentration camps as they pushed the Nazis back.

An expert mechanic, Sgt. Smith was responsible for the 71st Infantry's transportation; he and his team kept the trucks running during their march--including a stretch of 59 straight days of combat. The greatest benefit from participating with APHA is the chance to meet these true American heroes and to be able to do our small part in honoring them for the sacrifices they all made for the rest of us. But I also love the fact that I get to learn about all the things you don't normally think about; such as the challenges of finding enough gasoline to keep the units mobile, and bartering goods and services with locals and other units to obtain what you needed to get the job done. Then there are the dangers faced by the brave men who stay behind to repair a broken down vehicle unprotected, as the rest of the troops move on ahead.

Anyway, it was the first time I had actually performed an interview all by myself, and thanks to Larry's helpfulness and good nature, it went pretty well. It made for a great Saturday.

On Sunday morning, I went up to Red Rocks to run a few steps. I started with 4 non-stop sets of stairs, and am assuming the total time of 29 minutes is my new PR. Then I ran a bleacher snake from the bottom to the top in a time of 32 minutes. I think I was faster when I was trying to keep up with Kim and Reynold, but at least now I have an established recorded time.

If I'm going to run the bleachers like that, though, I definitely have to get there earlier. By about 7:30am, it starts to get very crowded. Some folks hop straight up the bleachers, some do pushups on each row, and some are just sightseeing, so there are plenty of disruptions and distractions. I love seeing all the stud athletes out there, though -- it's an inspiring place to be on a Sunday morning, no doubt about that.


After the bleachers, I ran around in other parts of the park. Yes, I still have my mechanical problems (as you can see in the photo) -- I can't seem to keep my torso vertical. I ran right past the deer you see at the top of this post; they didn't seem bothered by my huffing and puffing at all.

I timed it so that I could be back at the Ridge for swim practice at 9:00. I wasn't particularly fast in the pool, but did work hard. By the end of the workout, I felt satisfied that I had exercised enough for the weekend. The rest of the day would be relaxed and restful.

Well, not entirely. I walked to the grocery store to get more ear drugs and some fresh salad fixins. I did my household chores, started work on the veteran video editing, and caught up with my bookkeeping. Do I miss hunting grasshoppers and hanging out on playgrounds? Sure I do; and I especially miss the conversations with Tanner -- he always has an interesting perspective on every topic. But with weather like this, gorgeous workout venues, and friends to inspire me, I have nothing to complain about. My Spring is off to a fabulous start. I hope yours is, too.

Cholesterol

By most measures, I'm a pretty healthy guy. I exercise regularly, avoid exposure to harmful substances (secondhand smoke, sunlight, fissile uranium, government bureaucrats, etc), and I try to eat at least one piece of fruit each week. I weigh far less than Orson Welles did at my age, and I am constantly playing Minesweeper to keep my brain cells engaged. My youthful appearance and Ferrigno-esque physique would make you think I'm the poster boy for robust vitality...but my doctor might argue otherwise.

Back around the first of the year, the blood analysis they did during my annual checkup revealed that my choloesterol numbers were a tad high. I am pretty sure it was simply residual elevation from my stressful days at Lockheed Martin, but the doc wanted to blame it on innocent elements such as pizza, nachos, and ice cream. I'll admit that those items have played a significant role in my nutritional routines for the past few decades, but I remain convinced that neither pepperonis nor chimichangas could possibly cause any harm.

Nonetheless, I agreed to try to cut back on the cheeses for a couple of months. I would also attempt to increase the ratio of plant matter on my plate, and would rely less upon products manufactured from pigs and cows. If after three months my cholesterol hadn't declined, we would explore other options. My follow-up blood draw was scheduled for Friday.

I don't particularly mind having them take blood, especially if the technician is experienced. But I'm not a big fan of having to fast for 12 hours, which is a requirement for this particular set of tests. It wouldn't be quite so bad if I could get stuck and drained immediately upon awakening, but it never seems to work that way. I had to do our "Fun Friday" swim practice, and then wait for another hour for my appointment time to arrive.

I used the time between swim practice and bloodletting as an additional opportunity to exercise a little bit, trying to ignore my hunger. I parked at the clinic (still not open), and went for a nice long walk. I have no idea if swimmin' and walkin' affects the cholesterol numbers one way or another, but I sure as heck didn't want to sit in the waiting room reading Modern Pregnancy or HiLights for that entire interval. It was a gorgeous day outside, and so I savored the opportunity to wander the neighborhood.

The extraction went smoothly. I'm not sure why they needed to fill so many of the little tubes with my hemoglobin, but the stuff pumped out quickly and I was bandaged and release within 10 minutes of my arrival.

I'll get the results next Friday. And then it's decision time. If the numbers are still high, I'll have to decide if I want to get medication for my condition. If the numbers have come down, I'll have to decide if I have the discipline to continue to avoid all my favorite cuisine and keep on eating rabbit food. If cholesterol has gone UP, well, then I'm blaming it on my recent lack of hot fudge sundaes...and I do know how to correct that situation.

I shall share the results next week. In the meantime, I'm planning to ride my bike up Highgrade Road on Saturday...so we'll have to see how the climb is affected by not having the blood they took out for their tests.

In the meantime, enjoy the spring weather, and have a great day!

New Stuff

It's always exciting when packages come in the mail. I got two of them yesterday!

The first was a spiffy new swim cap from the USMS "Go the Distance" program. If you track your yardage on their "flog" site (Fitness log), they send you free stuff when you achieve certain milestones. The first reward is a swim cap when you complete 50 miles in the calendar year. Thanks mostly to the 100 x 100s workout, I passed that milestone at the end of January...but I'm just now getting the cap. They're not real quick about it, but I guess they DO eventually deliver.

My next "reward" milestone is 250 miles, which I'll probably reach in early June. I'll get a Nike drawstring bag for that one (whoo hoo!). The goal for the year is to log 500 miles (and get a free swimsuit), which I should be able to do because of the extra yardage I'll pile up when the Chatfield pond opens.

Anyway, the USMS GTD flog page also lets you track your other workouts (running, walking, cycling, lifting, etc) as well as your weight and resting heart rate. I know that most of you probably already have some sort of tracking system for your workouts, but if you're looking for a different method, well, here's an online option that's easy to use and gives you stuff. I think it's pretty cool.

The other online thing that I'm endorsing today is Active.com's "Schwaggle" shop. I don't sign up for many email lists, and as I've said in many previous blogs, I think all email spammers should be tortured with dental drills and blowtorches before being hung to death in the public square. But Schwaggle send me great offers on stuff I can actually use. I've bought a GPS watch, compression socks, and biking gear through their program, usually at about half the retail price. They also offer unbelievable deals on nutriton products, athletic clothing, and even the occasional race entries.

My latest Schwaggle purchase was the "Body Wrench", the odd-looking pipes-with-wheels contraptions shown in the photo above. I had been looking for something to target the knots in my legs and upper back, and this thing looked like it might work. My existing foam roller and "thumper" massage unit definitely have their uses, but they don't really help me release the kinks in very specific muscle locations. I'm hoping the Wrench's solid round rollers might do the trick.

And if rolling my back and legs across the thing isn't value enough, you're supposed to be able to use them to do core-strengthening exercises, too. If you hold the pipes in a push-up grip and roll the devices outward or forward, you have to really work your gut to keep from falling over. Sounds like a great idea.

Will I do all the exercises they recommend on the accompanying DVD? History would suggest not. But you never know. It might be fun. And because I have these chronic tension areas, you know I'll be using these doodads for stretching and recovery...so maybe I'll be motivated to do actual work with them as well. We'll see.

Anyway, thinking about new gear so soon after ranting about recycling made me wonder about the lifespans of swimming equipment. I know that some items can last a LONG time -- I'm using hand paddles that are at least 20 years old, and they work just fine. My good friend Bob McKenry still uses the same foam pull buoy he used in college, and since Bob was born before the invention of fire, well...that sucker has to be centuries old.

But people are buying new gear all the time. So what happens to all the old stuff? When I was swimming at KU, we all practiced flinging kickboards across the pool. One fellow became an expert at throwing his board up to the ceiling, kicking it before it hit the ground, and then catching it on the rebound. (This was probably the inspiration for the game of hacky-sack.) I never did understand how he could do that...or why he spent so much time perfecting such a silly activity. But I do wonder if any of those old kickboards still exist? Are they still in the supplies cage at the school? Or have they all migrated to a landfill somewhere?

Many of you won't believe this story, but it's absolutely true: During the early years of Wichita Swim Club's outdoor long-course pool, our kickboards were actually made of wood. I'm not sure what kind; I think they were heavier than pine, but probably weren't oak or anything. If I remember correctly, they were about an inch thick, 18-inches wide, and about 2 feet long. It hurt if you got smacked by one of those solid planks. They floated well enough, I suppose, and we put in plenty of kicking miles while holding onto the clunky things. During breaks, though, we also built makeshift rafts out of the things, and even tried to stand on them. It didn't work that well, but you couldn't even attempt such projects with today's wimpy styrofoam boards.

My guess is that the wooden kickboards were donated to the team by the Buck Alley lumber company. There were a bunch of Alley kids who swam with WSC (including at one time, Kirstie, who later achieved the American Dream of acting in a movie with Steve Guttenberg), and I think they were all related to Buck in one way or another. I had a minor crush on Beth Alley at one point, and Mike Alley lent us the Giant Laser Cannon we used to destroy airplanes in "Dr. Thunderfinger." Anyway, I would bet that every one of those kickboards eventually rotted after being eternally waterlogged.

My most vivid memory of those boards is when Neugent brought his car onto the pool deck so he could tow us across the pool for "kickboard surfing". That story is documented here. If for no other reason than that, I hope those boards were disposed of humanely.

Anyway, I plan to wear my "50 Mile" cap at the Chatfield pond this summer, and I plan to use my Body Wrench to get both ripped and loosened. And speaking of Chatfield, don't forget that Waterton Canyon is supposed to reopen on Monday. Maybe if the Wrench helps me fix my stupid crappy reatarded hamstring, I'll be able to start running long distances and can get into shape. We'll see. I'll definitely let you know how it goes. In the meantime, enjoy the spring rains, and then have a great weekend!

Random Thoughts

I have no particular passion about saving the planet. I'm pretty sure the Earth can take care of itself. I'm also quite certain that unless the Commies really do have a "doomsday machine", the environment will remain tolerable for human habitation throughout my lifetime.

And in the long run, Mother Nature will take care of all the recycling herself. After all, we're not really creating anything new on this planet -- we're just moving the existing molecules around. So, until the Sun goes nova or we let the Sith build Death Stars in our neighborhood, I'm pretty sure our rotating globe will go on about its business.

Still, I see no particular reason to send stuff to a landfill if it can be reused. I do recycle, not out of any fear of the wrath of Gore, but because it just seems logical. Why go to all the expense and trouble of digging new cardboard mines in the Andes when there's a buttload of the stuff just sitting in my kitchen? Why kill wildebeests for their polyethylene terephthalate juice when I can simply throw my Dr. Pepper bottles in a bin and let some enthusiastic truck driver return them to the factory? As long as it's as easy to recycle as it is to fill up the dump, well, hey, I'm all for it.

But that's just background. Today's story actually begins a few hours before sunrise on a pleasant spring morning, just a few days ago. I had just finished chopping some celery and coring an apple, and wanted to take the unusable organics out to the trash can. Since the recycle bins are right next to the dumpster, it makes sense to do both chores at once, so I tied the top of the garbage bag and reached over to grab the recycling bin. I noticed something; the recycle bin contained three times the volume of the trash bag.

Since I habitually empty them at the same time, it means that I discard thrice the recyclable material as trash. It wasn't always this way, but I suspect I passed the equilibrium point quite some time ago. Is this now the typical ratio for American waste?

Well, if it is, then I have a question for you, my friends. Why do the apartment complex recycle barrels only have one tenth the capacity of the stupid trash dumpsters? Is it just this way at my particular apartment complex, or do all multi-family communities have this problem? The recycle bins overflow long before the weekly trucks arrive, but the dumpsters always seem to have enough empty space for a hobo, his Christmas tree, and a family of racoons.

Anyway, the point I'm trying to make here is that human beings can be highly illogical. The inappropriate sizes of waste containers provide just one example. But here's another: As I was walking out to dispose of my refuse, I heard a couple of different sets of wind chimes tinkling in the slight breeze. Clinkety dingety plink! OK Dudes, this is just wrong. At 4am, the only sounds you should hear are the rustling of leaves and the distant howl of coyotes. Perhaps if you listen closely, you might pick up the sound of an overnight trucker shifting gears on C-470, but you should NOT be able to hear one stinking thing from your neighbor's apartment.

I know what you're thinking: What about the dingus who empties his trash at 4 o-stinking clock in the morning? Don't worry -- I am very quiet when I dispose of my recycling at that hour. Sometimes (like when the barrel is empty) I actually remove each item separately and gently lower it into the bin so there are no impact noises. But even if I were to unceremoniously dump the whole kaboodle, it would be over in 1.5 seconds. Wind chimes, on the other hand, can go on all frickin' night!

This is not an argument about whether their sounds are euphonious. It's about common courtesy. If you live in an apartment complex, you have an obligation to keep your audio footprint to a minimum. I get up earlier than most people, and I would like nothing more than to start my day with 100 decibels of Blue Öyster Cult...but I don't. I even cringe at how much noise my electric razor makes, even though I doubt any of the neighbors could detect it even if they pressed a stethoscope against my wall.

In my opinion, you are more than welcome to listen to tuneless tinkling if you want to. Heck, if you don't own wind chimes, you have my blessings to dump your silverware drawer onto the kitchen floor if you're into that sort of "music". Listen to rap, Yoko Ono, or Joe Biden speeches if you want to -- just don't do it on your apartment balcony while people are trying to sleep.

Anyway, I'm just glad the chimey-ding folks are a couple of units away from my place. I'm not so lucky with the two yappy pitterpattering dogs in the building though -- they're right above me. Sigh.

So what the heck -- as long as I'm in Andy Rooney mode, here are a couple of other things that have bothered me lately:

• My ETD (Eustachian tube dysfunction) is back. I'm hearing those weird phantom crinkly noises in my right ear again. The drugs they gave me did make the condition disappear for a while, but they also gave me a cold, so I'm not that anxious to just go back on medications. I'd prefer they miniaturize a crew of scientists to go in my ear canal with lasers to zap the problem, but unfortunately, that technology doesn't seem to be available under my healthcare plan.


• Taco Bell isn't open early in the morning. This had never bothered me before; I rarely eat breakfast at fast food places, and when I do, my choice would usually involve the word "McMuffin". But I recently received a coupon for a free breakfast burrito, so I planned to stop by the Bell on my way to work. But I went out of my way to drive by three different restaurants, and not one of them was open at 7am. The door stickers said they opened at 10:00. My friends, 10:00 is lunchtime, not breakfast. Geez. And trust me, it's not good to start your workday with an unsatisfied burrito craving. This particular coupon did NOT generate customer goodwill.


• Do I have other complaints? Sure. People don't use their turn signals. I never win Lotto. There's nothing good on TV. Kelly Rosenthal never returns my phone calls, etc etc. TANJ.

OK, enough old-coot ranting. I promise that my next blog will be about training or competing or something, and will keep the whining and griping to a minimum. At least that's the plan. Have a great day!

Classics

Extra bonus trivia question: Which panel of this picture has a connection to Olympic Gold Medalist Mark Spitz?

As for yesterday's topic, it appears we have consensus on several elements required for classic television. One is "interesting characters with interesting relationships". Panel 1 shows Dr. McCoy undergoing a potentially fatal mind-enhancement procedure to absorb the knowledge necessary to perform brain surgery on Mr. Spock. Although Spock and McCoy constantly insult and belittle each other, their relationship is in reality a close and caring one. Neither would hesitate for a single second to risk his life for the other.

Of course, you could point out that they're Star Fleet officers, and would therefore risk their lives for any crewmate (or civilian for that matter)...and that brings up another topic that often feeds into the classics: heroic behavior. We may explore that topic in more depth in some future discussion, but for now, let's just say that it's an element that inspires viewer interest and connection.

While Wally and Eddie may not go as far as risking their lives for each other, they certainly do go out of their way to look out for each other. "Leave it to Beaver" definitely spotlights the values of friendship and caring. And decency.

But how do those elements fit into Green Acres? Well, I think it's pretty obvious we have interesting characters. There's not a single person on that show who isn't blessed with a completely unique set of personality traits. From Arnold Ziffel to Sam Drucker, each Hootersvillian brings his own style and charm to the group. And though Oliver often expresses frustration during his interactions with his neighbors, you just know he wouldn't trade his farm life for anything. He loves the land and what it produces, and he also loves the people who appreciate the wonders that shoost forth from the soil. Why, I can almost hear the fife playing just thinking about it.

And of course, no discussion of Green Acres would be complete without acknowledging the value of good writers. The dialog consistently sparkles, and despite being a bit bizarre at times, the conversations always seem true and sincere.

Some have theorized that the character of Cyrano Jones (the guy who sold tribbles) was based on Mr. Haney, but I am unable to confirm this. I'm pretty sure, though, that Wesley Crusher was modeled after Eb.

Anyway, that brings us to the last panel. Dragnet definitely showcases heroism, decency, and good writing. And although you don't really get the impression that Friday and Gannon are the kinds of friends who take family vacations together, you certainly see the strong bond they have as a working team.

And that brings us to our swimming connection. Jack Webb was not only an outstanding actor, but also an accomplished producer. With partner R. A. Cinader, he brought us a show called "Emergency", which offered Mark Spitz his first acting opportunity. You see, after his Olympic triumphs, Spitz was courted for his potential as "the next Weissmuller". Both Weissmuller and Buster Crabbe had successful acting careers after achieving fame as champion swimmers...and Spitz had the handsome face and bounteous mustache that could easily catapult him into the ranks of athletic Hollywood legends. There was talk of a new Tarzan franchise, possible Westerns, or maybe some sci-fi roles.

The only problem was that Spitz couldn't act. At all. Webb gave him a shot on Emergency, but even us hardcore swim fans came away from that show saying "Spitz is terrible!" I wish I could find the clip on YouTube to show you how absolutely abysmal his performance was, but I guess for now you'll just have to take my word for it. It might have been the worst celebrity cameo ever!

And that kinda gets me close to the last "classic" TV element I wanted to mention. For a show to become a classic, it cannot rely on an idiot to be the main plot driver. The utter stupidity of Gilligan, Darren Stevens, Laverne and Shirley, et al may be amusing enough to keep their shows on the air for a fairly long run, but since the plots couldn't exist if even ONE of the show's characters had an ounce of sense, it becomes impossible to explore the grand themes that enable shows like Star Trek to embed themselves into our very souls.

Seriously, don't you think the Professor would've poisoned Gilligan the very first time his pinheadedness wrecked a rescue? Don't you think Endora would've turned Durwood into a newt, despite Samantha's protestations? (Actually, I suspect Sam would've turned him into a newt herself. The guy's a total dweeb-a-saurus.)

And don't go throwing Jethro Bodine at me, either. First of all, his initials stand for "Boy Jeenius", and he does have a sixth grade edjykayshun, so his superiority to Gilligan is documented beyond argument. But more importantly, the daily lives of the Clampett-Drysdale consortium are interesting on their own merits, and provide fuel for drama and humor even without Jethro's forays into double-naught spying or fry-cookery. His occasional deviations from conventional thought processes truly do show creativity and free thinking, and often enhance or enrich the lives of those around him. Gilligan's every action, on the other hand, causes widespread destruction and threatens the existence of all the island's inhabitants. There's no comparison. Jethro's cool -- Gilligan sucks.

Anyway, that leads me to my next question for you: "Which TV character do you think is most like you?"

I feel a kinship with Jethro, of course, because we both have that misunderstood jeenius thing going on. But he's a handsome strapping lad and a millionaire international playboy, while I'm just a poor average swimmer doofus. At the same time, I feel a kinship with Mr. Spock in that I recognize how illogical humans can be (more about that tomorrow), and also have a connection with Hank Kimball in that I understand what it's like to have your friends suggest Ralph Monroe as your perfect romantic match. But none of those is my true doppelganger; I'll have to give it more thought.

But dude, iIf you think you're an exact clone of James Tiberius Kirk, then don't bother responding -- I already can tell you that you're delusional. (Captain Pike? Well, maybe.) But if you think you're the spitting image of Theo Huxtable, Cliff Clavin, or perhaps Al Borland's mom, then definitely let me know. In the meantime, have a great day!

Unexpected Opportunity

Most distance athletes probably already know this, but it doesn't hurt to be reminded every now and then:

"Don't schedule any appointments for immediately after you anticipate finishing your outdoor workout."

That's one of those rules that goes along with "Take enough food and fluids" and "Don't even think about doing a bike ride when it's 20 freakin' degrees outside." You never know when you'll have a flat tire (or other equipment problems), get a blister on your toe, or have a close encounter with wildlife or something.

I suppose if you're in Oklahoma or Georgia, you also have to prepare for Deliverance sodomites or inbred constabulary...but the last thing I was expecting on Saturday's ride was to be ordered to ride an extra 10 miles by the Jeffco Sheriff.

The ride started out pleasantly enough. I left well after the sun was up and was dressed warmly, anticipating that I'd shed layers as the day heated up. None of the Foothills Cyclists wanted to accompany me, so I rode from home down to the Deer Creek/Wadsworth Park 'n Ride on the off chance there might be a group of riders I could tag along with. Alas, I was destined to ride solo for the day.

It wasn't one of my faster rides. I'm not sure why, but I just wasn't that peppy. Guys would pass me, and I couldn't latch on...not even for a moment. I proceeded up the hills at grandma pace, a bit upset at my own wimpiness, but determined to enjoy the beautiful day and beautiful scenery regardless.

And it was a gorgeous morning. Cool enough that I didn't suffer from the long pants and long sleeves, but warm enough that my fingers and toes were quite happy. There were breezes, but nothing problematic, and the automobile traffic was minimal. Other than my own lack of power, I had no complaints whatsoever. It was fun!

I only rested at the schoolhouse long enough for a pit stop and a couple of rapidly-snarfed oatmeal-raisin cookies. The CityView loop was also slower than I expect from myself, but also pleasant and pretty. But when I hit the top of the last climb in their neighborhood, I found myself really looking forward to the downhill. I knew I had the one other short climb from the firehouse back up the first section of Deer Creek, and the South Valley Park hill...but I was mentally prepared for those, and knew that I had just enough remaining energy to get myself home. I was tired, for sure...but I'd make it.

Or not.

About a half mile from the firehouse, there was a roadblock. A sheriff's deputy had his SUV sitting in the middle of the road and was turning folks around. I rode up and chatted with the officer for a bit, and he explained that there was a housefire down the road and they were keeping people out of the area for safety. The fire was contained, he said, and they expected to have it extinguished soon...but he wasn't sure when they'd reopen the road.

Hmm. "Anywhere from 10 minutes to a couple of hours," he said. So my options were to wait there for an indefinite period, or to ride back up the hill I had just descended, loop up onto Hwy 285, and ride down the freeway back to TinyTown. That route would add about 10 miles onto my ride (bringing the total to around 50 miles), and would mean that I'd get home an hour or so later than I had originally planned.

Well, heck, the whole point of being on the bike was to get some exercise, right? I was already tired, and didn't want to do any more climbing...but I didn't want to just sit there, either. I turned around and went back up the hill.

I did make it home in time to get cleaned up before the Veterans Interview I had scheduled for the afternoon. But I was whupped.

Somewhere along the way, though, I found myself thinking about these folks:



My question for you is this: What makes these TV shows classics?

I mean, you can watch Star Trek (or Beeve, etc) over and over again, and they're still enjoyable. But most programs grow stale after one or two viewings. Why is that? And specifically, why is Star Trek TNG (ie, Picard's series) tougher to get through on multiple viewings? I loved the show when it was first on, but I probably will not watch each episode seventy bazillion times like I've done with Kirk and his pals. Why?

Let me know what you think, and I'll share my opinions in a future post. And while we're at it, what other shows do you think we'll still be watching 50 years from now? Seinfeld? Scarecrow and Mrs. King? Tenspeed and Brownshoe? What?

I look forward to that discussion. In the meantime, have a great day!

Triskaidekaphobia

Tomorrow is Friday the 13th.

Some people get freaked out about that. I'm more afraid of today -- I have a bunch of proposal concept papers due, and am afraid I'm not going to have enought time to edit them properly. I really enjoy this part of the job, but because of the time constraints, it does tend to stress me a bit.

Why do I enjoy editing these documents? Because I work with some off-the-charts smart people who come up with utterly fascinating ideas about energy technologies...and I get to read about their inventions long before the topics reach the eyes of the general public. This round of submittals includes revolutionary ideas for more efficient fuel cells, new types of high-capacity batteries, and even a cheaper way to manufacture lighting panels. I won't bore you with the science behind all these concepts (mainly because my understanding of it is just the teensiest bit fuzzy), but I'm not kidding when I say that some of these ideas could have a HUGE impact on the world.

The only problem is that these mad scientist-type guys spent their high school years surrounded by beakers and test tubes rather than English textbooks. In most cases, they are more than happy to let me worry about telling their story on paper -- they just want to get back to their calculators, graph paper, and plasma machines. Therefore, I have a LOT of work to do to get these documents ready to upload to the government.

Tomorrow? I plan to relax. Friday the 13th should be a most excellent day for me.

But the question of the day does relate to that topic. What are your phobias?

Oh, I'm not talking about fear of snakes, brussels sprouts, Rosie O'Donnell, or large Asian men with hats. Those are universal. I'm looking for something interesting. Something unusual. Let me know.

Are you afraid of Christmas trees? Orange shag carpet? Incumbent Senators? Grapefruit spoons? What?

I'd also be happy to write about any superstitious behaviors you might have. Do you have to adjust your ballcap after each pitch? Rotate three times before getting in bed? Perform the "Pull my finger" gag at each and every party you attend? I'd even be interested in habits such as taking your vitamins in a specific sequence, or eating your chocolage cream pie from the crust end rather than the pointy part.

As for me, well, I happen to be completely normal in every conceivable way, so I have nothing to write about regarding my own idiosyncrasies. I must rely upon all you weirdos for material. Please don't disappoint me. In the meantime, if you enjoyed the "plasma" link song above, check out the video below. And good luck on Friday the 13th!

Better

Saturday's ride almost killed me...but Sunday's ride was fantastic!

The starting temperature was 30° warmer than it had been when I left home on Saturday morning...but I still carried all my frostbite protection supplies. It was quickly obvious that I wouldn't even need long sleeves, and by the time we reached Highgrade Road, the sweat was beginning to pour.

Ain't Colorado grand? One day I'm colder than Bredo Morstøl, and the next day I'm Johnny Storm. Geez.

John (pictured above with his daughter Erin) set the pace for the climb. I tried my best to keep up with him, but he reached the Pleasant Park schoolhouse well ahead of me. As always, I enjoyed some cookies and Gatorade (and much-needed rest) while our group reconnected. Then we headed back to Deer Creek Canyon via CityView, where I discovered that my legs were pretty well shot. I did great on the downhills, but had to go full granny on any remaining climbs. Even though the others were riding another several miles, I peeled off at South Valley Park and headed home for a nice healthy pizza and an afternoon of chores.

But man, it was good to be back on the bike without freezing my kneecaps off. And speaking of which, how did we do on the puzzle?


The answer is "Wyn". My first urge was to assemble a "winter" montage, but I got a little freaked out by the images I found of Edgar Winter, so I took another angle. You see, the connection is the Winter Warlock (the chilling fellow pictured at the top of the previous post.) Not only does he perfectly represent the idea of frozen apocalypse, but his voice is provided by the talented Keenan Wynn. So, I guess you could call him the "Wynn-ter Warlock", right?

Anyway, Mr. Wynn's real face is featured in the first panel of the puzzle, as he appeared in the role of "Bat" Guano in Dr. Strangelove (see clip below.) Next to him is Wynona Judd, who is apparently a mildly popular country singer (though personally I find her nearly as creepy as Edgar Winter). The fellow with the trumpet is jazz artist Wynton Marsalis, and the building on the right is the Wynkoop Brewery. The Wynkoop was the former stomping grounds of Colorado's current governor, and has the distinction of being one of the few places in LoDo in which I've actually had a beer. As for my connection with Marsalis, well, I played trumpet in my high school marching band, and once performed the theme from Hawaii Five-O, which isn't really jazz, but hey -- you try hitting all the notes while counting off eight steps for every five yards, OK?

In any case, the riding season is well underway, and I am expecting to be able to forego parkas and mittens for the remainder of my Triple Bypass training. At least I hope so. But however it goes, I'll be sure to share it with you. For now, sit back, grab a refreshing bottle of Coke, and enjoy the Guano clip below. Have a great day!

Vanilla Ice

When I sent out our weekly "Foothills Masters Cycling Team" email to announce Saturday morning's ride, I received a larger than usual number of "No way!" and "You guys are idiots!" responses. Hey, dudes, my calendar says it's Springtime, so I didn't think a 6:30am start was unreasonable at all.

Perhaps I was mistaken.

Laurel had early morning commitments and wanted to finish the ride by 8:30. And you know me -- I'm a morning person -- I prefer to do my exercise before the day gets ruined by all the coffee-addict zombies who start crowding the streets once the sun comes up. I figured I'd just bundle up a little more than usual, straddling that thin line between "too cold at the start" and "too hot once I really start working." I put on a couple of pairs of socks, multiple layers of shirts and pants, and made darn sure I had my running gloves all snugged up before I left home.

Two things were working against me. One was my poor memory; I am sure that at some forgotten time in the past, I was well aware that temperatures below freezing were not conducive to comfortable bike rides. Somehow this fact had escaped me -- I looked at the weather report and thought "Hey, it'll be into the 30s in a few hours. No problem."

In the 30s is warm? Was I thinking in Celcius? Or was I forgetting that bike riding and running have completely different temperature-to-clothing ratios? Whatever the reason, idiocy prevailed.

The second (and ultimately decisive) detriment was that the ride would begin with a significant downhill leg. From Ken Caryl heading north, the C470 bike path plunges into a deep valley. This lowland is a great place for a golf course and coyote dens, but is a recipe for frostbite when an idiot on a bike goes flying down the hill at 30 mph before he has done any athletic warmup at all. (Can you say "wind chill"?) The icy airstream stripped what little body heat I had generated, so by the time I started up the WalMart hill, I was already hypothermic.

I knew Laurel and the others would be waiting, though, and I kept repeating my morning mantra: "It'll warm up when the sun rises. It'll warm up when the sun rises." I kept riding—with one hand on the bars and the other tucked into my armpit, and then would switch (which is one of those activities that definitely deserves the "Don't try this at home" label.)

Oh, I could go on and on about the suffering I endured, as well as the macho posturing I attempted to convince myself that I could handle the fact that my core temperature was heading toward the single digits. I tried my best to stoke the internal fires by riding hard, but the cold air rushing by robbed me of heat faster than I could produce it. The sun finally did come up, but when I realized that I could not stop shaking and was riding at about half my normal speed, I knew it was time to throw in the towel. Laurel (the only other swimmer brave enough to show up for the ride) was intelligently bundled up, and had ridden on ahead. She probably thought I was right behind her, or assumed that a short wait would be all that was needed for me to catch back up. But I wasn't coming. I pulled over at the park's boat check shack, assumed a fetal huddle, and snarfed down all the food I had with me.

The extra energy (and shelter from the building) helped me to warm up slightly. But when Laurel returned a few minutes later, it was obvious to both of us that I was not likely to overcome my heat deficit without a source of external warmth. When she offered to abort the workout and drive me home, I didn't hesitate. We'd still have to ride 3 miles or so to get back to her vehicle, but it seemed a better option than just standing by the road shivering and whining.

It took food/fluids, a hot bath, and several hours of fingertip agony before I felt functional again. I still haven't gotten over my shame about my total lack of adherence to the Boy Scout motto, but I hope I've learned a valuable lesson about acceptable temperature zones for biking. Again.

Hmm. Since I'm obviously senile, I guess I'll have to ask you, my friends, for help. Next time you see me jump on my bike when the temperature is in the 20s and I'm planning to start by coasting downhill -- please slap me. Hard. Thank you.

In the meantime, can you figure out the connection among these images? And for extra credit, explain how this particular collection was inspired by the frigid winter tale I've shared here? Good luck, and have a great day!

Preferences

I haven't received a lot of feedback on our discussion of talents. I think I have fixed the problems with adding comments (though they still go to a review queue so I can filter out any obscene or communist rantings), so please feel free to let me know what you think your best talents are.

I really do think the happiest people are the ones who figure out what their one thing is, and then are able to pursue it with passion. My problem is that I'm scattered; I can't seem to stay focused on any one thing. The only element that is always a part of me is swimming, and I know it will as my central balance point. Perhaps my one thing is to try to spread the word about what a great sport swimming is.

But no discussion of talents and gifts would be complete without a discussion of my son Tanner. I know that every parent thinks their kids are geniuses, so I'm probably no different than everyone else when I go off and start bragging about the dude. But how the heck such an amazingly talented person arose from my genetic material is destined to remain a mystery.

All I'll say for now is that I'm supposed to receive a copy of his new band's latest album later this week. I can't wait. Some of Tanner's music isn't exactly in line with my tastes, but it's always innovative. Listening to him play has been one of the greatest joys in my life.

Unfortunately for me, he moved to Seattle about 6 months ago. God, I miss him.

Oh, I talk to him on the phone regularly, but it's not the same as actually being in the same room with him. I'll go to Washington for a visit sometime soon, and will be sure to blog about it when I return.

Anyway, the point I'm trying to make is that in addition to different skills, we each have different tastes, as well.

Some things are universally loved, like s'mores and Heather Locklear. But other things may appeal to a more limited group. For example, some people actually seem to enjoy the hideous cacophony of gangsta rap or U2, while others prefer Huey Lewis and the News.

Here's an example: I have included links to a few different versions of the same song. The one in the YouTube window here is by a world-renowned vocal artist, and is universally acclaimed as a work of genius. The second version is the one Tanner recorded when he was in high school. Click here to listen. And then if you're a complete drug-addled hippie (like Peter Frampton), well, you'd probably prefer this rendition.

The point I'm really trying to make is that all of the actors in the panel at the top of the page consistently make really crappy movies. I'm not saying they can't act; I'm just saying that if I'm going to pay good money to go to a show, I'd much rather invest in "Snakes on a Plane" than in some Oprah-endorsed snooze-fest that gets nominated for Academy Awards.

I would never assert that every movie has to have nonstop action to be good. I enjoyed the dialog in Princess Bride, for example, and there's plenty of witty banter in every single Three Stooges short. But seriously, what has Jerard Deppardoo ever done that was the least bit entertaining? That's all I'm asking.

In the meantime, I'll leave you with a clip that I would choose as a prime example of Oscar-worthiness. Writing, acting, costuming, and deep philosophical thought: It's all right here. Enjoy it, and have a great day!

No Más

It's official; I'm not running the Denver Marathon.

I joined my brother at the track last night, intending to do our weekly sprint workout. As I warmed up, it became obvious that my chronic hamstring tightness wasn't going to disappear, and that I'd have to run with caution to avoid further injury.

Oh, I did run the workout (main set: 8 x 400 on 2:30), but was never able to stride normally, and barely made the sendoffs. Pat left me in the dust -- but that happens even when I'm healthy. I did feel I achieved some training benefit, but probably not all that much. Still, it was a beautiful, warm evening, and it's always good to be outside. I enjoyed myself the best that I could.

But as I struggled through the laps, I found myself thinking about the one running goal I had for the summer -- completing the Colfax Marathon -- and I realized that it would take a miracle to achieve it. I am not saying that I don't believe in miracles (hey -- I buy Lotto tickets, don't I?), but even if my hamstring was suddenly and mysteriously cured, there's just not enough time between now and May 20th to do the training I'd need to do. Sigh.

I only entered the race because my pal Kim had signed up for it. Being smarter than me, he did a detailed analysis of his summer schedule a few months ago and realized that his training opportunities would be better suited to doing the half-marathon instead. I, on the other hand, continued to have faith that sitting at a desk all day and running a handful of miles each week would somehow convert my overly-buoyant body into a lean, mean, Ethiopian machine. But last night I realized that with just 6 weeks to go and a hamstring as tight as Ted Nugent's safari bow, it just wasn't going to happen, miracle or not.

Besides, I want my summer to be fun! I want to be able to hang out with my friends, enjoy my swimming and bike riding, and maybe even take in a movie every now and then. I'd like to visit Tanner in Seattle, do some camping up in Park County, and play the guitar enough to get my fingertip calluses back. Heck, even my blogging would be threatened if I decided to devote myself to a sport I have no talent for to begin with.

I am reminded of my favorite quote from Sugar Ray Leonard: "We're all given some sort of skill in life. Mine just happens to be beating up on people."

Some fortunate people (like the fellow to the right) are blessed with prodigious talent in multiple areas, but most of us must find a way to be content with a few skills that we can hopefully leverage well enough to live happy and fulfilling lives.

What are MY skills? Well, there are the obvious ones (pizza chef, self-haircut expert, and pace-clock interval calculator)...but there are probably some others. For example, I usually know which option to pick when the spell-checker makes suggestions. I make other guys look good just by standing next to them. And I know that despite Commie assertions to the contrary, Quadrotritacle was not inwented in Russia.

So, what are YOUR unique talents? It's probably a good question to ask once in a while. I think the luckiest people in the world are those who find their talents and passions early, and pursue them with enthusiasm. Are you one of them? Do your daily activities align with your natural gifts? I hope so.

Anyway, the point is that any running I do from this point forward will be for fitness, weight management, socializing, or (if my legs DO heal up at some point), fun. I'm just not going to stress about it. I'll just keep slapping on the BenGay, doing my stretching exercises once a month or so, and spending the majority of my exercise time doing sports I actually enjoy. Wish me luck, and have a great day!

Recovery

I don't seem to recover quite as quickly as I used to. I'm still kinda tired today, even though I didn't do anything strenuous yesterday. I'm wondering if my age has something to do with it. I know I don't look it, but I'm actually over 30. Yeah, I know...amazing!

It should be an interesting summer. I'm hoping to ramp up my training in all areas, and I need my body to recover quickly after each workout. I've been trying to eat healthier food, and will continue to supplement my training with good nutrition. Time is always the missing element, though -- It's tough to prepare gourmet healthy meals when I also have to waste time with stuff like work and sleep and paying bills. Oh well, I'm sure I'm not the only person who faces these challenges.

Anyway, if you do have time for cooking, you might want to follow my friend Erin's blog at http://divatasticgladiator.com/. She is always posting some delicious and creative recipes that feature great food for athletes.

In other news, I am happy to report that my training buddy Kim Clemens successfully completed the Lavaman Olympic-distance Triathlon last weekend. I'm sure he's bummed that he missed our recent snowstorm, but unfortunately, his schedule required him to stay in Hawaii a few more days, where he'll be forced to hang out on the beach, drink beer, and listen to ukulele music. Poor guy.

My other best training buddy (Reynold) is currently on his way to the North Atlantic to commemorate the 100th anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic. His wife is representing Denver's own Molly Brown House and is writing a blog about the adventure. Check it out at http://www.chasingmolly-mytmcjourney.blogspot.com.

What I want to know is whether Reynold will wear his bowler hat for his summer run training. I'd imagine it would keep the sun off your head and make an impressive fashion statement at the same time.

As for me, well, I find that I really want to get out on the mountain trails. The reason I know this is that we received a bunch of crates at work yesterday, and they're temporarily stored just outside my office. They smell of fresh-cut pine, and every time I walk past them I am reminded just how much I love the smells of the forest. I'm thinking I might try to run the Deer Creek canyon trail after swim practice on Friday. Anybody want to join me?

For now, though, I'm just hoping to get a lot done at work, and then get to bed early tonight. Those of us in the 30+ age groups need our rest.

Have a great day!

Hill Training

What a great weekend!

Friday started off with the usual thrills -- our "Fun Friday" morning swim practice. I can't imagine that any swim team, anywhere, gets more enjoyment out of their workouts than we do on Fridays. If you don't already swim with us on Friday, well...you should.

I also had a most excellent day from a social standpoint, and I also got quite a bit of work done. I did have one little glitch at the office that required brief attention, but it turned out to be nothing of concern. By evening, we had confirmed our bike riding plans for Saturday, and I got a good night's sleep.

I needed it. I got my butt kicked on Saturday morning.

Our "Foothills Masters Cycling Team" selected the dreaded Lookout Mountain as our VTP for the day. (For you non-cyclists, VTP stands for "Venue of Torture and Pain".) Since we are training to go over the Continental Divide, I suppose it makes perfect sense to ride straight up an insanely steep road...but that doesn't mean I didn't question my own sanity during every single agonizing turn of the pedals.

I do love the views, though. There are spectacular vista around every hairpin turn, and frequent visual reminders of just how far you've climbed. It's almost as if you're looking straight down on the city, feeling somehow superior to the tiny insignificant citizens driving around down in the valley.

Christine and Laurel were kind enough to wait for me. They claimed that they were working hard, but somehow managed to continue a cheerful and relaxed conversation as I was gasping for every precious molecule of oxygen I could grab. There's no way I could utter a single word, much less discuss summer schedules and camping trips.

Those two are animals.

Here's an elevation plot of the loop we did. It's from a very cool website called Map My Ride. (There's also a "Map My Run" site.)



I especially love the automatic rating of "Category" climbs (shaded in gray). The Cat 4 segment is going up Rooney Road, and the Cat 2 is Lookout Mountain itself. The site's definitions of the categories crack me up: Cat 1 is "really hard", Cat 2 is "not quite as hard as Cat 1, but still pretty hard", and so on. Not exactly Spock-like precision here. (I'm sure they're defined in more detail somewhere, but I'm not going to look it up right now.) Anyway, anything steeper than Lookout Mountain is probably outside my comfort zone right now.

But if I keep riding with this group, I'll definitely get better at climbing. As for the downhills, well, I do OK on those. There were many spots where my teammates were pedaling downhill while I was holding the same speed by coasting. I guess I'm the beneficiary of something called "gravity-friendly morphology". I thought that was a pretty cool advantage until I found out that it just means "Dude, you're fat!"

Oh well. I've gotten used to being called "aesthetically divergent" (ugly) and "socially ingenuous" (nerdy)...so I should be able to deal with the fact that my personal gravitation field is stronger than any possessed by the svelte young athletes with whom I ride. On the uphills, it's all about Power-to-Weight Ratio -- but going down, it's about pizza and ice cream. At least I have an advantage somewhere.

We'll probably do Highgrade next weekend, and will check out whether any of that route was hit by the fire. Let me know if you'd like to join us. In the meantime, enjoy our little April snowstorm, and have a great day!