Under the weather

I've never been able to figure out why "under the weather" means "not feeling well", but here I am again: under the weather and under my afghan. This wouldn't be particularly interesting to me or anyone else, but if one were to scroll back to last year's archives, he or she would see that it was about this same time that I was laid up, watching Olympic curling.

The worst part is that the weather I've been under since about midday Thursday has been nice. I could have been getting in some training rides, if I'd been able to draw a full breath without triggering a coughing fit. For now, though, it seems like enough of an achievement just to be sitting upright and typing on the computer.

Which brings me to something I meant to post earlier but didn't feel well enough to bother with...

More bathroom humor

Just when I thought I'd heard it all, someone went and upped the ante.

I was at work and decided it was time to return my first three cups of coffee to the wild. Almost as soon as I entered the men's rest room, I could hear music coming from the handicap-accessible stall—tinny, like someone was listening on headphones and had the volume cranked up loud.

Stomp-stomp. CLAP! Stomp-stomp. CLAP! We will... we will... ROCK YOU! Sing it!

And he did, sort of under his breath, tapping his feet. But not clapping. If he'd been clapping, I think I might have been tempted to sell tickets.

When worlds collide

As I sat down in front of the TV to drink my first cup of coffee and send a thank you note to a fellow blogger for her MS 150 sponsorship, I noted that the tube was still tuned to CMT, where I'd been watching an interview with Larry the Cable Guy, yesterday. There was Ricky Skaggs, looking ageless, paired off with Bruce Hornsby, not so much. I like Ricky's bluegrass, so I lifted my thumb off the remote and was rewarded with a rousing cover version of an '80s classic.

Rick James' "Super Freak".

The earth shifted slightly on its axis, and I felt the same sort of disorientation as the first (and only) time I heard Leslie Gore doing her rendition of AC/DC's "Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap" or The Oak Ridge Boys covering "Carry On Wayward Son" (both from the When Pigs Fly compilation).

I think I'm awake now.

One for Shoesie Badoozie

As promised.



Things you should know about this footwear:

• These boots were made for walkin'--not scootin'. The only boot scooting I ever did was when I found myself in such a crush of humanity that I was unable to take a full step. Not so much a scoot as a shuffle, really.
• Like Anne's, my feet have grown a bit since I bought the boots over 15 years ago.
• Unlike Anne, I'd still wear them if they fit. I've lost about 1 1/2" in height due to my degenerative disks and could use the elevation. And wouldn't it be easier and less humiliating than having to change the information on my driver's license?

My first MS 150

Donate Online!

As I mentioned in one of my earlier posts, I'll be riding in the Sam's Club MS 150 (Dallas) on May 5-6, 2007. Over two days, we will ride 150+ miles. Starting from Frisco, Texas, we'll ride to the Texas Motor Speedway on day one. The next day, we'll start at the Speedway and end at Sundance Square in Ft. Worth.

I'll be riding with The Wheeler Dealers, an MS 150 team founded in 2005 by my friend Bob. I'm pleased to be riding with them this year, not just because they have so much fun but because I've seen firsthand the debilitating effects of multiple sclerosis. You see, Bob's wife, Gerry, has secondary progressive MS and has been confined to a wheelchair for the past eleven years.

Turtle and I first met Bob and Gerry in 2002, and each year we've seen Gerry lose a little bit more of her mobility and strength to the effects of MS. She's a lively, outgoing woman who handles her disease with aplomb and courage, but it's tragic to see her increasingly become a prisoner of her own body.

Then there are our friends Barb and Joe, another couple who both suffer from MS. Joe was diagnosed first, and was already using a motorized wheelchair to get around, by the time we met him. Barb is able to walk using a cane, but has an entirely different set of symptoms than Joe's.

MS is a wasting disease that presents itself differently in each of those afflicted with it, and it takes away dignity and mobility. If I can do a little something to help by just riding my bike—because I can ride my bike—then I'm in.

But I need your help. If you feel, as I do, that finding a cure for MS is a worthy cause, I hope you'll help me to meet my fundraising goal by sponsoring me in this year's MS 150. It's easy to make your donation online, and it's tax deductible. It doesn't even have to be a lot of money. $10? $5? Every little bit helps. And if you know others who might be interested in helping out, please refer them to this posting or to my official MS 150 donation page.

Thank you.

The web we weave

More than a decade after my first faltering attempts to get connected to "those internets" using Spry's Internet In A Box, I've become a little jaded about the wonder of the web's interconnectedness. But every once in a while, I still find myself marveling at how Al Gore's creation has brought the world closer together.

Case in point: I was working my way through my blogroll and several twists of the rabbit hole later found myself at Pink Ginger's Sketch of Life 珂琳随笔: Why Must I Eat With the 2 Sticks ??. A native of China who doesn't take eating with chopsticks as a given? Mon Dieu! Who would have dreamed of such a thing?

As a fledgling Foo-let, back in the '60s, it was not uncommon for me to find myself scowling into a plate of chipped beef on toast (a.k.a., "s--- on a shingle") or staring down the barrel of a stuffed green pepper. On those occasions when I dared to think I might simply wait Mom out and sneak away from the table, she was quick with the standby admonition that so many of my generation heard: "There are starving children in China who would love to have that food."

"Can't we just send it to them?" I said, taking a philanthropic tack. But Mom wasn't buying it.

"How do you know that Chinese kids even eat this kind of... of... stuff?" I parried, hoping a social studies/world geography approach might work. It didn't.

In the end, I tended to find myself sitting alone at the table, mournfully picking my dinner into smaller and smaller pieces in the vain hope that they'd go down easier that way. It was at such times that I wondered if some Chinese kid was sitting at his table, with something I liked on his plate and wishing he could find a way out of eating it.

I wish I was a Chinese kid, I thought. 'Cause if I had to eat with chopsticks, it would be a whole lot easier to get away with dropping a lot of this stuffed pepper on the floor for the dog to eat—and get away with it.

The inner nerd

Thanks to okkernoot.net blog for this:

One of the most frightening things about your true nerd, for many people, is not that he’s socially inept—because everybody’s been there—but rather his complete lack of embarrassment about it.

- Randy Waterhouse in Cryptonomicon

Look to the future

Over on Write Lightning, Deb suggests an interesting visualization technique that might be used in clearing away emotional clutter when one is faced with a decision. The short of it is this: you imagine walking in to a house, then into a room where you sit with an older, wiser version of yourself and discuss the situation.

Some of you may recall from one of my earlier postings that I have not been, historically, a huge believer in visualization techniques; but I've been trying to decide whether I really need this [some nondescript luxury item that won't distract from the point of the narrative], or if it's my inner child whinging down the aisle of the virtual toy store, so I gave it a whirl.

I walk up to the stoop*—my imaginary old folks' home has a stoop—and knock politely on the front door. No answer. Old Foo must have his hearing aid turned down again, I think, so I try the knob and find the door locked.

Curses.

I take off my t-shirt, wrap it around my knuckles, and clench my teeth as I punch through one of the door's glass panes. No burglar alarm (not that the old codger could hear it if there were). Older and wiser, my hindquarters.

After reaching in and unlocking the door, I step into the foyer, grimacing at the sound of crunching glass and feeling guilty about scarring the hardwood floor. I make my way toward the living room and spot my older, wiser self. He's sound asleep in his chair, with a crocheted throw pulled over him and a laptop computer on his lap. Tropical fish swim across the LCD display, uninterested in my arrival.

"Old Foo?" I say, tentatively, not wanting to startle him.

No response.

"HEY OLD FOO!!"

The old fart duffer jumps, blinking his eyes, disoriented. "Huh? Wha--?"

His eyes focus and I see recognition dawn in them.

"You! GET OUTTA MY HOUSE, YA LITTLE BASTID!!"


Seems I'm 0 for 2 in the visualization exercise department.

* n. Chiefly Northeastern U.S. - A small porch, platform, or staircase leading to the entrance of a house or building.


Now playing: Kansas, Song For America

Cartoon Network ad campaign bombs

Over the years, I've pretty much stopped tuning in to Cartoon Network. With the exception of South Park, which I'll occasionally watch when Turtle's out of the house, most of their offerings are either insultingly mindless or far too arty and hip for an old fart like me. Or both, maybe.

I stumbled on Aqua Teen Hunger Force once while flipping channels and found it to be pretty stupid (or maybe too hip), so I'll admit I don't really "get" the show. Maybe that's why I can't imagine what the show's creators were thinking when they decided to promote it by planting suspicious black boxes all over Boston and other cities.

"It is outrageous, in a post 9/11 world, that a company would use this type of marketing scheme," Mayor Thomas Menino said. "I am prepared to take any and all legal action against Turner Broadcasting and its affiliates for any and all expenses incurred."

The 1-foot tall signs resembled a circuit board, with protruding wires and batteries. Most depicted a boxy, cartoon character giving passersby the finger — a more obvious sight when darkness fell.

Link (AP, via Yahoo! News)

Nice.

Now playing: Trevor Rabin, Can't Look Away