Look closely, you'll see luck in my eyes.

So one of my greatest annoyances at swim practice is not being able to see the pace clock. Yes, it's true: although the clock is giant, with its big old analog face there on the wall, not more than 10 feet away, I can't see it.

Part of this is because some genius designed the pace clock so that the minute hand, which no one uses for anything, nice and big and visible from a great distance. Then the aforementioned genius made the second hand, the only hand anyone ever looks for, nice and thin. Thanks, genius.

But the other reason is that my vision is BAD. I'm near-sighted and I have increasing astygmatism in both eyes, especially my left. I used to wear contacts before the astygmatism got bad, but before long the nice cheap lenses just didn't work anymore, adn I decided I would rather be able to see well, even if I had to wear glasses all the time.

So for several years--maybe 5 or 6--I've only worn glasses. I even have prescription sunglasses, which, you may recall, saved my butt when I was in Italy last summer and the left arm fell off my regular glasses.

But back to the point: the last time I did an open water swim, I forgot that I no longer wore contacts. If you are an open-water swimmer, you know that one of the great challenges of such a race is spotting the buoys efficiently, and so staying more or less on course. The trick is to learn to spot the buoys while you breathe, so you can more or less not break your stride--I mean your stroke--to allign yourself. (I personally do not recommend the method of simply drafting off someone else and hoping they know where they are going. In my experience, they do not.)

So you can imagine my surprise and dismay when I realized that, thanks to my contact-free eyes, I could not see any of the buoys, even if I came to a dead stop. And then you may sympathise with me as I paddled directionless around Lake Hartwell, hoping I might find a buoy. This might not have been so bad were it not a race, and were it not a 5000-meter race. Or, for me, perhaps a 6000-meter race.

But enough of the self-pity. I had pretty much just gotten used to this as something that would make my swimming life tricky. I try for the wall lane when I'm swimming alone, so I can be closer to the clock, and during masters practice I'd come to rely on the kindness of strangers and teammates to tell me when the interval had come around. If someone I'm training with wants me to help with their stroke, I run and get my glasses. And at meets I just wear my glasses between events, tucking the little arms behind my ears under my cap. Looks dorky, but it works.

I've been thinking about swimming again in that open-water meet, though, and about the fact I can't buy cheap sunglasses and expect to see out of them, and I decided to try the contacts again. Turns out the technology has improved quite a bit, and the astygmatic lenses are a lot cheaper than they used to be, and supposed to be easier to use.

Today, my friends, I am wearing for the first day my new test pair of lenses.

I had forgotten how much clearer the world is through contacts. Sure, my glasses were great, and they're easy-on easy-off. But as I was driving home today, I could see all the little individual leaves on the trees from the road. I had to be careful not to drive off the road looking at how different trees have different shaped leaves. And as is always the case with a new prescription, or a switch from glasses to contacts, my depth perception is a little wacky. Driving along in my 1993 Honda Civic, I felt so much closer to the ground than before.

So tomorrow morning will be the big test. Will I be able to get the things in my tired eyes at 5 a.m.? And then will I be able to read the pace clock?

Stay tuned.

Somebody's gotta go back and get a whole shitload o' dimes....

A few years ago a friend of mine suggested that we tax our vices. Spend an hour aimlessly surfing the web? $5 in the tax jar. 30 minutes blown on a computer game? $2. 2 hours in the evening surfing TV channels, but not finding anything worth that wasted time? $5. Her goal was to save up for laser eye surgery. I was saving to pay for my half-pay full-year sabbatical. The funds never did pay for the high ticket item, but it was an easy way to save money to do something constructive with, and somehow attone for the wasted time.

Katie P. on Basic Juice recently suggested a similar way to indulge your palate when it exceeds your means: the "wine fund." I don't have the designated jar she mentioned, but I do have a change cup, so what the hey.

When I called the PP at work to ask where the coin rolls were, he pointed out he had a change cup of his own on his dresser, that I could add it to the mix.

Then you're in that inevitable situation where you're close to a full roll on a few denominations, so then it is time to scrounge through the change pockets on purses, bookbags, and then out to the car to raid the ashtray collection of dimes and quarters.

An hour later: $80.50. Now to decide how to spend it.

T-minus 5 days, and definitely counting.

If you're wondering what the T stands for, then you haven't heard me whining as much as the PP has. In fact, the PP lives with a whole crew of whiners. The cats whine constantly, and I whine almost constantly.

So getting back to the T: it stands for TAPER, which is what I get to do starting Friday. I CANNOT WAIT.

These last several weeks have been my biggest weeks of the year, when you combine yardage with intensity, which unfortunately I have been doing. I did not beat my weeklong yardage record (21,200) this week, but I only missed it by 600 yards. (Actually, had I been aware of that, I might have put in an extra 700 today, just for grins. Actually, not for grins: for pain.) That means that my weekly average (last week was short thanks to the rec center closing for Easter) for the last 4 weeks is 18,900, which is just what it should be. And my weekly average since I recovered from being sick (7 weeks) is 17,650. That is OK too. I don't have the strength in my fingers to punch enough calculator buttons to tally my yardage since the season began last August, or I'd bore you with that information, too.

But the point of all this is, I'm tired. Tired of playing the game. Ain't it a freakin' shame?

Friday Random 0: PHEW! Edition

No tunes for your imaginative delectation today. Sorry about that.

Why, you ask? Because I had a computer FREAK-OUT today. Basically, there was a corrupted index on my drive, which "disk check" found and repaired when I ran disk check upon restarting the machine. Then, when it finished powering up, the files in that index, the files which contain the results of this entire academic year's labor, the files that include the output of a lot of annotating, proofreading, reproofreading, contemplating, reproofreading, e-mailing with my collaborator about, and reproofreading, were . . .

GONE.

So that sound that you probably heard even where you were at about 8:21 a.m. EDT was the sound of my gut falling out of my body and into the center of the earth.

And, so that you don't need to spend even another minute feeling (you are so empathetic) as I did for about 6 hours of my day, I'll tell you everything was recovered with no loss of data. Nevertheless, I spent the intervening hours figuring out what parts of those files I had in recoverable form elsewhere (on my memory stick, in printed form with or without written comments on them, on my collaborator's hard drive, etc.) and saying YOU DUMBASS!!! WHY DIDN'T YOU BACK UP YESTERDAY? OR LAST WEEK? OR THE WEEK BEFORE THAT?

Because sometimes I am an dumbass, that's why. And this was one of those time.

So now it is 5:43 pm EDT, and I am sighing great relief. The files were recovered. The files now exist in at least 5 places. I have printed clean copies of things. I have purchased a new external hard drive to use for backing up my files. I have not had as many scotches as I would like to have, because in about 20 minutes I'm going swimming, but that's OK. The scotch will be here when I get home.

Meanwhile, I'm going to go extra-random on your asses by presenting this Friday's Random 10 on some other occasion--it will be a surprise, and perhaps (as a result) even more random.

I know you are hanging on the edge of your seats.

Spiritual Death

Ian Williams wrote:

To which part of American culture do you assign "spiritual death"? And I don't mean the obvious ones. For me?

- Dockers™ pants
- all-afternoon happy hour at Ruby Tuesday's
- Kevin Federline listening to his own music
- the Lice Aisle at Wal-Mart

Maybe these are the obvious ones, but I'd say:

- Tooth whiteners
- Cosmetic vacations
- Payday advance service
- televised poker
- Weekend at Bernie's 2

How about you?

Psych sheets are up!

The folks at USMS have posted the psych sheets for the 2006 SCY nationals. After a lot of anticipation and fretting (let's be honest) it is exciting to see who and how deep the competition will be in the W 30-34 category--who has entered, who has aged up, etc. There are 1,270 swimmers registered in the meet, and 55 women altogether in my age group. And in my events: 16 in the 50 FL, 9 in the 200 BR, 25 in the 50 FR, and 15 in the 100 BR.

You might think that seeing that I am in pretty good shape in my target events would make me calmer, but it doesn't. It freaks me out.

I start my taper on the 28th of April. I leave for Coral Springs on 10 May. I train and check things out on 11 May. On the 12th and 13th, I race.

Now, if I could just get my nerves settled in the meantime.

Where were YOU?

Tim asked: "So I have to ask: where were you when you discovered Arvo Pärt?"

I remember distinctly, Tim: I first heard his music on a tape from you, By the Waters of Babylon. If you have forgotten what was on this tape, the way I have with many a mix I have made, it is a beautiful collection of contemporary classical music, probably the some of the first of that that I had heard. It includes "An Du Wassern zu Babel" and "De Profundis" and "Pari Intervallis." In the liner notes, you recommended Te Deum, which I went out and bought.

But now for the where part, which stuck with me, even though there obviously were some "wheres" where I listened to your tape first.

I brought home the Te Deum CD, and I was very excited to listen to it. Then it was one of those Ann Arbor afternoons that broke out in a tremendous thunderstorm, and I was absolutely conflicted about whether to listen to the beautiful storm or the beautiful CD.

Pärt won out, and now that music always has violent weather in the background.

And incidentally, in those liner notes you also said, "You must get a copy of Górecki’s Symphony #3. I did, and you were right.

This whole story means, though, that really this question comes back to, where were YOU?

And Dear Reader, if you’re a Pärt listener, where were you?

Friday Random Rules

Joe asked: "What is the origin of your strange and wonderful 'Friday Random 10' lists?" and I realized I had gotten sloppy about posting the rules.

It is a strangely addictive game I heard about from a few places, but mostly from Jarrett House North, who plays religiously--now estaminet does, too. Although I do not know the exact origin of the game, here is some speculation.

I am a fan of ritual, especially communal ritual. This one helps me mark the end of the workweek--hallelujah.

Saturday, I mean Friday Random 10: buh Bah buh, buh Bah buh Edition

So even though my university does not recognize Good Friday as a holiday, the PP's company does, and I don't teach on Friday, so we get a long weekend. How great for us--could not come a moment too soon.

So I'm doing the Random 10 on the early side, so I can get on with my holiday (which, unfortunately, does not include skipping swimming).

Do you know, it is supposed to reach 88 degrees here each of the next 3 days, and maybe 90 on Monday? In April. This is the part of global warming I could do without....

1. Pärt: Berliner Messe: 5. Veni Sancte Spiritus; Tönu Kaljuste, Tallinn Chamber Orchestra, Estonian Philharmonic Chamber Choir (Te Deum)
2. "Bieggarajorri" (Weathervane), Wimme (Nordic Roots: A NorthSide Collection)
3. "Fair," Ben Folds Five (Forever & Ever Amen)
4. "The Wild Wild Sea," Sting (The Soul Cages)
5. Stravinsky/Auden: "Recitative: Nick," John Cheek (bass), Orchestra of St. Luke's Robert Craft (cond) (The Rake's Progress)
6. "Jingo," Santana (The Best of Carlos Santana)
7. Vivaldi: Concerto for 2 mandolins (RV 532): 3. Allegro, Trevor Pinnock and the English Consort (8 Concerti)
8. "Remember the Mountain Bed," Wilco and Billy Bragg (Mermaid Avenue, Vol. 2)
9. "Over the Moon," Pere Ubu (Worlds in Collision)
10. "Verso il terzo millennio," Giorgio Gaber (La mia generazione ha perso)

What doesn’t kill me almost kills me, or Why An All Breaststroke Practice Is A Bad Idea.

Yow. Our swim coach is still on spring break, so it was yet another create-your-own-practice day. I did not make my practice up, but instead did an old favorite from SWIM magazine, which used to be a membership benefit of USMS.

First I did our usual masters warm-up, which is 600 yards, broken into 300 swim, 200 kick, 100 drill/swim. Then I did the breaststroke practice from [I don’t remember the date of the issue, but I’ll fill it in here once I look it up]:

700 WARM-UP (yes, I know—2 warm-ups!)
200 swim, alternating free and breast by 50s
300 scull: 6 x 50 scull drills with freestyle kick (windshield wiper drill, etc.)
200 kick, on your back, breaststroke kick in streamline

2000 MAIN SET: MANY DRILLS
4 x 50 body dolphins: “press the T (i.e., your chest)” on each dolphin kick, keeping your hands in front and at the surface
4 x 100 body dolphins, but with a fast, powerful breaststroke pull every 3rd kick
4 x 100 body dolphins, but with a fast, powerful breaststroke pull and kick every 3rd kick
8 x 100 breaststroke “kick to a glide,” keeping your arms extended for 1 full second before beginning the next stroke
8 x 25 breaststroke sprint, trying to keep some glide at the front of the pull

400 COOL DOWN

That means 3700 yards all told, and MAN is it a tiring practice. I had gotten halfway through the 8 x 100 and I said to the PP, who was getting out of the pool to go to work, “I don’t think I can do 4 more.” He looked all sympathetic at first, like he might say, “That’s OK, honey. You’ve worked your ass off already,” but then he said, “Yes you can,” and enlisted the other swimmer who was there this morning to motivate me by cheering for me during the rest of the set. She was terrific and did just that. Then I was so proud of myself for not being a wuss that I had to go ahead and do the 8 x 25.

Anybody want to guess how ready for breakfast I was when I finally was done showering and dressing and driving to work? Peanut butter and jelly never tasted so good. And coffee!

Fauna.

So yesterday evening the PP and I were heading out to a reading at a bar in town, and while I was waiting for him to come out of the house, I was standing there looking at my azaleas.

My azaleas, as will come as no surprise to you, look like this:

So I'm standing there, looking at them and at the bumblebees who are doing their Flight-Of-The thing around the blossoms, and then I see something that initially is playing along with the "I'm a Bumblebee" routine, but the more I look, the more I see that it is not. It almost looks like a hummingbird, but smaller--very different body shape from the bees. But with a distinctly striped tail. And hummingbirds don't have antennae. And then, when it flew away, it buzzed close to my head, and I could tell that its buzz had a very different pitch from that of the bumblebees.

I've been wondering since then, what in the world this could be.

Turns out that a call to my mother was all I needed. I had barely launched into my description of the miraculous creature I had seen in my garden, when she said, "Oh. That's a hummingbird moth."

Of course.

Specifically, it was a Snowberry Clearwing Hummingbird Moth. Here is what it looks like when its wings are not humming:

That photo comes from this page, where you can also see a photographic narrative of its life cycle. Here is an even cooler photo narrative of the emergence of a White-Lined Sphinx Hummingbird Moth.

Ow ow ow.

MAN, did swimming feel bad this morning, or what?

Here's a hint: it's not what.

I guess the big yardage this weekend (6200 Saturday + 5000 Sunday, for a week's total of 21,200--my biggest swimming week since I started keeping track 9 years ago) is still with me. I know I was still feeling it yesterday--for instance when I was driving home from the post office and had a hard time holding my arms high enough to steer. And that was far surpassed when I showered and had to wash my hair. Ow!

But I thought maybe by this morning I would be recovered.

Wrong.

The kids' swimteam is on break this week, so we don't have a coach. We're starting later (6 instead of 5:30) which rocks, and since we're not doing as programmed a practice, I was able to knock out 3000 yards in less than an hour. Makes a big difference not to take much rest--but that is only possible when the intensity is low, which for me Oh Yes Oh Yes it was.

No place for beginners or sensitive hearts.

A while ago I remember Cooks Illustrated did an article about perfect smoothies. Unfortunately for me, their perfect recipe was made with milk, and my insides can only tolerate so much dairy. I like to use yogurt in my smoothies, so there is some protein, but if I add milk to that, I have a miserable day.

Sorry. More information than you needed, I know. But the point is that ever since I started making smoothies for breakfast four or five summers ago, I have been trying to figure out what liquid to add so that they don't have the consistency of oatmeal.

Juice.

Sure, you can use rice milk or soy milk, but those always make the flavor just a little odd. Though if you don't mind the slightly odd flavor, and the slightly brownish tint (which I think tends to ruin the bright freshness of the smoothie), then soy milk is your answer, given all its nutritious goodness. Rice milk doesn't seem to add much, I've found, except a little milki-that-is-not-milk-ness.

But apple juice (and probably white grape, though I've not tried that) keeps the fruit emphasis, and you don't use enough to mask the flavor of the real fruit in there. Also the juice adds a little sweetness so you don't need to add sugar.

Also, using frozen berries (that you buy frozen or freeze yourself) means you don't need ice, which can thin out the whole thing.

Here is a decent mixture. I often double it.

1 banana
1-2 cups frozen berries (blueberries or mixed)
1/2 cup apple juice
3/4 - 1 cup plain yogurt

Then blend the hell out of it. Feel free to play with the proportions to suit your preferences. Play with seasonal fruits. Play with frozen fruits (frozen mango chunks were disappointing un-mango-ish). When it's peach season around here, then peach is the answer.

Because I could not decide between Sade and Rob Thomas, there is no musical accompaniment. Sing to yourself.

Garden Update. NOW! with a picture

More stuff in the ground. Plants growing. Very exciting.

The plants I put in in mid-March are growing well. The buttercrunch and romaine lettuce is starting to look like lettuce instead of seedlings. The buttercrunch heads are getting all wavy but rounded, and the romaine heads are starting to coalesce, too. Even the arugula that I planted from seed has progressed to the point where there are real arugula leaves visible, not just the seed leaves. I have tried watering those seedlings more regularly than I have in the past, in the hopes that they will take off. We shall see.

The bad news is that nasturtiums are not that cold-hardy, and a low temperature one night mostly did them in. Two pulled through, and have sent up new umbrella-like leaves, but the plants are way behind where they were when I planted them in March. Sigh.

On Friday as I was driving to work, I was think, "Hmmm. The last frost date for this zone is 15 April. The weather forecast looks clear of frost until then, though, so I should be getting some more things in the ground." Usually the PP and I drive out to Park Seed to buy tomato plants and herbs and random other things, but it is a bit of a haul: really the errand eats the whole day. And with planning to swim both days this weekend, I could not see how that was going to happen. But they have such good plants, so I was having a dilemma. But then, when I came out of my workshop, I found that the horticulture students were having a plant sale. Hooray! I buzzed over there and a few minutes later I had spent $18 for 18 plants: 8 tomatoes, 2 bell peppers, 3 basil, 3 arugula (in case the seed-planted stuff doesn't work), and 2 cilantro.

Yesterday it rained like mad, so today I planted. All but 2 of the basil went in the raised bed, and it is now full for now (until the lettuce, cabbage and broccoli is harvested). There are 2 each of 4 kinds of tomato: Park Improved Whopper, Brandywine (the best tasting tomato ever, but an heirloom and a little vulnerable to South Carolina weather), Mr. Stripey (also an heirloom--I have never tried this kind before), and Carolina Gold (a yellow tomato). I'm interested to see how those all do.

Some of the plants are still a little tippy from the transplant + watering shock, but this gives you a sense of things:

(And that's not a bad looking white azalea back there either!)

Precisely how my ass was kicked yesterday.

I should be doing some grading, so I'll have a jump on that but let me just say this first: ow ow ow ow ow.

I slept so well last night, because of my big swim yesterday and also I am using a brand-new set of earplugs, which means, What outside world? Snoring, meowing, car engines, meowing--all are outside my world. That rocks.

But STILL, I am hurtin'. Not so much that my muscles are sore, but I just still feel tired. So much of my training usually happens in the morning, and having a big afternoon swim means I still feel it the next day. I hope I will be over by 2:30 when I go and do it all again.

Here are the two big main sets from yesterday (in yards):

MAIN SET #1
6 x < 150 (50kick/50drill/50swim) + 100 swim fast
odds = breaststroke
evens = freestyle
[these were on a rest interval: 20ish seconds after the 150 and then 30ish seconds after the 100]

MAIN SET #2
6 x < 100 smooth free swim + 3 x 50 swim descend
odds = 3 x 50 breaststroke
evens = 3 x 50 freestyle
[these were on a 1:40 for the smooth free and then 1;05 for each of the 50s]

These were excellent training sets for me, as both emphasized quality swimming into the second half of the 200 breaststroke, which is the event that I need the most work on before May. In the first set, the 150 of mechanics (which are the same stroke as the 100) kind of simulates the fatigue you feel from the first 100 in the 200. Then you can really work to keep the pacing and stroke quality up in that fast 100. In the second one, 100 smooth free is kind of a recovery but kind of not, since I had to keep up at least a moderate pace in order to have a little rest before the 50s. Then the 50s descending are like the 2nd 3rd 4th 50s of the 200.

In all it was a great workout. Total yardage 6200, which was enough for me, thank you.

So now to see what the pain is like today....

Commitment.

Last night I noted that I am certifiable, and now I can tell you I am committed.

Specifically, in addition to having made my hotel reservation a few months ago, and having registered online a couple weeks ago, the PP and I have now also purchased our airline tickets to Fort Lauderdale and made a rental car reservation.

In short, there is no backing out now of my plans to compete in the US Masters Swimming Short Course Yards National meet.

Ack!

I'll compete on two different days: on Friday, 12 March I'll race the 50 fly and the 200 breast. Then on Saturday, I'll swim the 50 free and the 100 breast. The 50s are in there as warm-up events, so that I can get my jitters out before the events I really care about.

Check out the aquatic center:

The downside is that my swimteam is mostly an age group team, and based on the public school schedule, they are on spring break for the coming week. So that's when our coach gets a much-needed week away. But that means I'm on my own during one of the more crucial weeks of my training.

The good thing is that I think I have roped a fellow swimmer into helping me through this stint, so that is good. He was our masters coach briefly, before our present coach could arrive but after the previous coach had left. I also swam with him some a couple years ago, before I was swimming with the age-groupers but when I wanted a little extra than our 3-days-per-week masters practice was offering. So I like him, and he is very knowledgeable. I go swim with him in about a half an hour, so before long I will be exhausted, but also more fortified with a plan about how to handle the next few weeks.

Wish me luck.

Friday Random 10: OMG! Edition

OMG! OMG! I almost forgot one of my favorite things to do of a Friday--and not just because pressing "RANDOM" on my mp3 player (or secret device, as I prefer to call it) allows me to see the word QUEUING, a word I don't get to see enough.

My excuse is that today I was at a workshop getting certified. It is kind of like Black Angus Beef. For some reason waitstaff at our favorite restaurant always insist on saying that the steak special is "Certified Black Angus Beef." Who certified it? And does Black Angus beef really taste different from other kinds of beef that I don't know that name for?

But anyway, like the beef, I am now certified to be something I already was, but that's OK, because the workshop itself was a pleasure, and that's not a bad way to spend a Friday afternoon.

But OMG! OMG! I had almost forgotten the Friday Random 10!

1. Patrick Doyle: "Let this acceptance take," Sir Simon Rattle and the City of Birmingham Orchestra (Henry V soundtrack)
2. "Speed the Traktor," 2 Mustaphas 3 (Play Musty for Me)
3. "Mamma Mia," ABBA (Priscilla, Queen of the Desert soundtrack)
4. "You and Me and the Moon," The Magnetic Fields (Get Lost)
5. "Miracle," Swati Natekar (Essential Asian Flavas)
6. Arvo Pärt: "Pregando (Lamentate - for piano and orchestra)," Alexei Lubimov and the SWR Stuttgart Radio Symphony Orchestra, Andrey Boreyko (Lamentate)
7. "Rainmaker," Maura O'Connell (Stories)
8. "High 5 (Rock the Catskills)," Beck (Odelay)
9. "Nortada + O Malhao," Rui Junior o o que som tem? (Exploratory Music from Portugal, a Wire sampler)
10. "Whenever, Wherever," Shakira (Laundry Service)

Have a great weekend, whatever you're listening to, and whether you're certifiable or not.

Musica di ciclismo.

I hope you're all sitting down as you read this because I have surprising news: I got on my bike on the trainer on Monday.

Granted, it was hard to find it under all the dust, and I almost could not remember how to pedal (forwards or backwards?).

But finally I did ride the trainer for a half an hour. I was a little worried that if I went further than that either my head would explode or the stars would fall from the sky or at least I'd end up really sore the next day.

And it was really fun! I could remember then why I used to like to ride my bike so much, and even did not mind the trainer if I had decent music. I admit it: I have this experience a lot, where I get on the bike, have a great time, remember that I like it, deal with the sore crotch, ride a few times and then don't. I am not sure why it happens. Well, I have some theories, but that is not what I am going to write about.

What I am going to write about is music and stationary cycling. For a very short time, I taught spinning classes, and apart from yelling directions at people, what I really loved was that Spinning combines sweating and DJ'ing. What a great thing! The idea is to put together a musical program to accompany the workout you have in mind, and the music is supposed to allow different paces but also encourage specific activities (climbing, sprinting, etc.)

Ever since then I keep one part of an ear open for good cycling music.

Lately, as some of you know, I cannot get enough of the gypsy rhythms, and it turns out--you will maybe not believe me at first--that polkas make great cycling music. Why? Because of the repetition of the musical theme, and the way that they often either get faster or more intense, which makes them perfect for my favorite stationary cycling game, "Another Notch!" I admit I took the name from Emeril, but it is just so perfect: you start off at a pretty easy pace, but each time the tune comes around (perhaps on the guitar), you crank you rear derailleur up ANOTHER NOTCH.

Cyboc has been thinking lately about running music. He asked me if I make running mixes, which I don't much, since I can't really run these days, but here is a cycling mix from a couple (um I mean 7) years ago. Maybe it is time for a new one.

Swimming to the Pain, Part 2

Good thing I went into this morning's practice with SPEED = PAIN AND FATIGUE in my mind because oh MAN did it kick my ass. This is par for the course for Saturday mornings, since I swim with the age-groupers, but this was a real doozy. Perhaps part of the problem is that I had skimped a bit on Saturday practices when I was sick and after, and then there were a couple of meets in there, but still.

It is the main set that is of interest, although please remember this came after 3000 yards. Also please forgive me for forgetting the intervals, but I can tell you I was getting about 5-10 seconds rest early on, until the coach took pity on me:

500 free swim
1 x 150 IM fast (which I swam 25 FL / 25 BA / 50 BR / 50 FR)
400 free swim
2 x 150 IM descend 1-2
300 free swim
3 x 150 IM descend 1-3
200 free swim
4 x 150 IM descend 1-4

Apparently this is a set Janet Evans used to do. (FYI: the kids' free swims were 600/500/400/300.) I tried to really push the 50s of breaststroke in the IMs, since it is that stroke that I'll race at Nationals. And as we moved into the descend part (where each 150 is supposed to be faster than the previous one), I tried to think about the parts of the 200 breaststroke race, and treat the 50s of BR as if they were parts of that race. But my coach was also on me for not kicking enough on my freestyle (which was a problem in my 200 FR at the last meet).

According to the coach, I managed to descend the last 4 x 150, cutting about 5 seconds each time through. I was astonished to hear that, because all I could think about was "fly back breast free" and then trying to race the breast. And trying to move my legs enough during the free to keep him off my back.

The whole practice was 6800 yards, which is plenty for me, thank you. The excellent news is that the PP got a beautiful berry tartlet from the Fresh Market yesterday, and now he's frying up some sausage. Saturated fat be damned!

Friday Random 10: Just One More Minute Edition

Sorry for last week's hiatus from the Random 10. I blame the swimmeet.

So here is this week's, in which I'm indulging before I get back to work after a late lunch break.

1. "Sabrosa," Beastie Boys, Ill Communication
2. "We Are Detective," Thompson Twins, Greatest Hits
3. "Tabla Vin (Destination Mix)," Dayz Trippers, Punjabi Lounge
4. "Tears of My Tracks," Billy Bragg & the Blokes, England, Half English
5. "Drinkin' Wine (Spoodee Oodee)," Hank Williams III
6. "You Just Haven't Earned It Yet, Baby," The Smiths, Louder Than Bombs
7. "Miss Chatelaine," k. d. lang, Ingenue
8. "Slow Hot Wind," Block 16, The Outernational Sound
9. Stravinsky: The Firebird: 1. Introduction, Charles Dutoit and L'Orchestre Symphonique de Montreal
10. Vivaldi: Concerto in C, RV 425: 2. Largo, Christopher Parkening (guitar) and the Academy of St. Martin-in-the-Fields, The Christopher Parkening Collection: Vivaldi, Warlock & Praetorius

So on that peaceful finish I leave you--back to work.

UPDATE: The eleventh song, you wonder? "Rattled" by the Traveling Wilburys. And after that Vivaldi Largo, I am rattled indeed.

No really, I'm getting back to work now. Seriously!

Through a glass, darkly

I imagine that even if you weren't already a fan of Peter Gabriel's music, and (at least for some years in the past) a devoted and regular listener of his music for Martin Scorsese's film version of The Last Temptation of Christ, you would have seen amazing things at last nights performance of PASSION by Moses Pendleton's dance group MOMIX.

But if you had lived through that music, putting it in its context of a story about Christ's Passion, then taking it out again, wrenching it into other tales and letting it breathe as music that is about nothing but rich and melodic just as itself, then the whole experience had another level, like those amazing and sometimes disembodied motions onstage were wending their way into some part of yourself that you thought was already etched in pretty solid.

The dance part of the performance was a combination of dance, acrobatics, and play. There were segments featuring interlocked bodies that magically before your eyes turned into single beings with entirely too many arms and legs. There were parts where a skirt or an umbrella or a flexible pole or a gauzy veil was as much a part of the body as the legs and arms. Sometimes the performers wore next to nothing, other times they were shrouded in brilliant red robes. At one point a dancer performed with a long ribbon (like in rhythmic gymnastics), and the ribbon was like an extension of her body or a force enclosing it or motivating it. In some parts their heads and faces were bare, and in others they were covered, making each human form blend imaginatively into all the others on stage. The bodies moved and leapt like frogs sometimes, their legs even splashing onto the stage like frog bodies seem to. In one a male dancer suspended on a looped trapeze started as Leonardo's ideal man, slowly changed into a crucified Christ, and then embodied a series of absolutely excruciating agonies of martyrdom, accompanied by two women in glowing red robes, who initially seemed to be hanged by their trapezes, then evolved into whirling adorations. And everywhere the performance used precise lighting to mask and unmask figures.

And all this took place behind a scrim onto which changing images were projected--close-ups of sunflowers, a detail of a Greek or Roman painted vase featuring an athelete in flight, a row of enormous Buddhas, a Bronzino portrait of a face, Michelangelo's David's belly button, a modern painting of 2 faces broken into spiralling ribbons, violent clouds, a death mask, a glass pyramid, a group photograph of soldiers, an almost demonic looking Minoan snake goddess. Those images, combined with the precise lighting of the figures, let the dancing interweave with the pictures, the motion become part of the stasis, the human part of the artificial. Light and shade in the projected images allowed through differing amounts of light from the stage, so sometimes the dancers faded into the pictures, or sometimes the pictures seemed to watch over the performance on the stage below.

This was ultimately not a show rooted exclusively in the story of Christ's passion: it draws together different stories, different traditions, different attitudes and concerns. Bear all things, believe all things, hope all things, endure all things. All this in a way that lets you forget where the boundaries of music, bodies, images, time are, even while reminding you of the enormous translucent boundary between you and the performers. For we know in part, and we prophesy in part. But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away. When during the curtain call the scrim is knocked to the floor like yet another veil or screen in the show, and you can remember that what you have seen has been on the other side of that boundary, in that realm where art is and sometimes you are, it brings a tremendous sadness, that awareness that where you have spent the last 72 minutes is a place of your past, and that your returns there can only be but partial in your ever-fading memory.

The Hard Truth

I was reading tonight in Smoke on the Water: A Swimmer's and Coach's Guide to Developing Mental Toughness (by Dr. Alan Goldberg) about what it takes to develop yourself to your peak. He has some very useful and important points about mental training--and why that is as important as physical training when it comes to competition. I have at recent meets been practicing what one of my coaches said to me recently, "No negative talk on the deck." I was tending to crack self-deprecating jokes before races, and he made it clear that in so doing I was only helping my competition. And Dr. Goldberg seems to agree with that, going on to point out how important it is to control the way you respond to potentially stressful things. The stress is only in your mind, not in the situation, he rightly says.

But after those chapters, you get to Chapter X (kind of like Chemical X, I reckon). Chapter X comes down to this: "SPEED = PAIN AND FATIGUE."

Oh great.

He says, and I fear he may be right, "Pain and fatigue are NOT the enemies! They are the allies on your quest to become a winner. Start today to use them that way."

Oh great.

I guess I know what I need to do at practice tomorrow.

Recovering

On Monday I was on a roll: I worked like mad all day, the first day like that in quite a while. And this while facing the supreme challenge of 2 cats trading shifts of walking across my desk and standing on my work. I am mighty! I felt terrific, and I told the PP when he came home from work that I have so much energy when I have not swum 5000 yards/day for two days running!

Then a very good swim practice on Tuesday morning, including some quality repeats on 50s of breaststroke. We did a set alternating a 200 Y free at a moderate pace with a 50 choice FAP (that's "Fast as Possible"). We did it 4 times, and I managed to hold 40 seconds for each of the 50s. Looking back at my entirely too anal training log, I see that we once did a similar set, although 6 times through, and that I did not manage anything like that consistency. So i was pleased with that, and got what is likely some important feedback from my coach toward the end about the pacing of my stroke for a 50. I tend to wait too long after my kick to start my pull, I guess from trying to pace 200s, but (not surprisingly) that is not how to swim a 50. So that was helpful.

But then a busy day at work, and the net result was REALLY TIRED this morning, even though I slept like a rock last night (not usually the case).

So how relieved was I when we had a great recovery practice today? It was like my unconscious mind had sent a highly urgent telepathic message to the coach.

But the rough part, of course, is that after even a shortish yardage and pretty low intensity practice, I am wiped out. I guess I haven't fully recuped from the meet.

Swimming to the pain.

This weekend was the 2006 Palmetto State Spring Short Course Yards Championships, the final meet I compete in before Nationals. As has been the case so many times before, this was a kids' meet, but with a new twist: it was a "prelims and finals" meet instead of a "timed finals" meet. Just a few words' difference, but so very much difference.

In a timed finals meet, you swim each event once, and all the times of all the swimmers in the various heats are compared to determine the winner and runners (ahem, swimmers) up.

In a prelims and finals meet, you swim the event once in the morning to qualify for finals, and then if you do qualify, you come back in the evening and swim it again to see who won.

I did not win, but I did make it back for finals in two events.

On Friday morning I swam the 100 BR and 200 FR. I was decently happy with the 100 BR time, which was only a few tenths off my best. My coach declared it a good morning swim, made some suggestions for improvement (quicker in and out of the walls, quicker turn-over in the first 50), and I figured I might get a best time in the evening. The 200 FR was about a second off my entry time, but it was a good swim for me, with a good pattern of splits, although I should have been more aggressive coming into my turns.

Then I went back to our friends' house (where we were spending the weekend), ate some lunch, watched a bunch of tv, and took a nap.

I was surprised in the evening by how quickly the events moved: it seemed I could not get my brain to keep up with the activity. I got up to the blocks feeling pretty good, ready to swim a best time. The race felt good, like everything was going as it should and like I was swimming fast. I was shocked and disappointed to see that I had added a second to my morning's time. "Welcome to prelims finals!" my coach said, and he was right. I had not bargained on how tiring that much competition in one day would be. My total yardage for the day was 4900 yards (that includes warm-ups and cool-downs), and while such a distance or longer is not unheard of in practice, I have never done that kind of yardage at a meet.

When I woke up the next day at 6:15 a.m., to get ready for the day's competition, I was SO TIRED. It was not encouraging to know that at 6:15 p.m. the night before I had not yet swum my race. Memo to myself: 12 hours recovery time between events is not enough.

But I was ready to get my head together to swim, although I was dismayed to find that my team (of about 6 swimmers) was sharing our warm-up lane with another team (of about 7 swimmers). Thirteen people in a lane would be tough enough, but they were doing A DIFFERENT WARM-UP. The chaos got to me, and I got out before I tore off some poor kid's head. I finished my warm-up on my own, but it was all a little disconcerting.

I raced the 50 FR, coming in a tenth off my best, even though I was really treating that swim as a warm-up for the 200 BR. The 200 went ok, but very slow--about 4 seconds off my best. I really pushed the last 50, though, to the point that my arms and legs were losing feeling. My coach pointed out that I took out the first 100 too slow, and that I needed to tighten up the last 2 fifties even more. When the results from the morning came back, I was listed as the first alternate for finals, and I was hoping and praying--and really ready to offer bribes--that none of the kids would scratch, thereby forcing me to swim. But one did, so off I went to rest and recuperate in time for the evening's finals. The difference this time was that some of our friends had come to see the meet, and we all went out to lunch and had an absolutely hilarious time. Then they went off to troll around Greenville for the afternoon, while I watched women's basketball on tv and napped.

My goal for the evening swim was to swim to the pain: the morning swim hurt a lot, and I figured that if I could do that again, then I would have the confidence to give the race everything at Nationals, knowing that I would survive it. To make an increasingly long story short, in my evening swim of the 200 BR, I cut 4 tenths off my morning time, swimming a far better race in terms of my splits, and not even taking too awfully long on my turns. I felt great swimming it: I took the first 100 out much faster (about 2 seconds), but did not add so much time in the last 100 to undermine that. And to see my friends' faces in the bleachers afterwards was great, even though I finished last, beaten by fifteen 15-19-year-olds.

As I was heading to the lockerroom for my fourth shower in two days, a woman stopped me and said, almost sternly, "How old are you?" I replied, sheepishly, "34." She raised her hand, gave me a serious high-five, and said, "Good for you. You've got balls."

Damn right I do.

COMPLETE RESULTS
FRIDAY
100 BR: Prelims: 1:19.70 / Finals: 1:20.85
200 FR: Prelims: 2:31.46
SATURDAY
50 FR: Prelims: :30.69
200 BR: Prelims: 2:56.88 / Finals: 2:56.45

Phone is ringing, O My God

My latest mix is up at Art of the Mix. A little themed gig, chock full of hoo-ha.

Balkan Beat Box & Matisyahu

You may be disappointed to learn that I had never tried to scalp tickets to a show before. I guess I am one of those prim people who works their ass off to get tickets ahead, and if they haven't got 'em, doesn't go. But no more. I am a new person.

I had planned my whole trip to Asheville because I wanted to see Balkan Beat Box and Matisyahu. Especially Balkan Beat Box. But then I dragged my feet buying tickets, not realizing what a phenom Matisyahu had become, and the tickets sold out.

But given how much of my recent life has had a Balkan Beat Box soundtrack, I couldn't let the prospect go. So I convinced the friend I was staying with to come along and we stood in the sad little line hoping to get any extra tickets that came about. Meanwhile I tried to work the line, but mostly I got heckled by punk-ass kids who had their tickets and weren't parting with them. About this moment I noticed that all the guys trying to scalp tickets were, well, guys.

Great.

So I went back to the line, but I realized what I had that none of those punk-ass guys had, that I could use to score a ticket. Yep, you guessed: a regularly paying job. I could offer more than they would, and fuck it, what is money for?

45 minutes of standing in line later, we had scored two tickets and were inside.

Balkan Beat Box did not disappoint. They did not bring as big an ensemble as Storsveit Nix Noltes did, but they had a couple of sax players along with a raucus guitarist, and the two main guys, one wearing and playing a drum and rapping, and the other doing percussion and whatever one does with a laptop to make the pre-recorded sounds come out.

The energy was enthralling, and even the (largely punk-ass) kids who had never heard of them got into the rhythms and the dancing. how can you resist, really?

And then like all opening acts--well, really only the good ones--it was over all too soon. For me, that 50 minutes or whatever was well worth the price of admission.

What I had not bargained on was what it would be like to witness (and I choose that word deliberately) a Matisyahu show. I knew that he performed highly spiritual reggae music, and that he brought to his music the energy of his faith along with his long interest in beat box and reggae music. OK. And his studio record is pretty interesting--absolutely compelling (although I am not the biggest fan of reggae or always of religiously infused music) but now that I have seen the show, I see the record gives absolutely no flavor of the intensity of his live show.

Because there is something surprising, maybe even if you're not in North Carolina, about seeing a traditionally dressed Hasid singing reggae. And then giving a brilliant spontaneous skill sample of his beat boxing, on his own and then in dialogue with his guitarist. I confess: I am a devoted fan of hybridized music, and this is no exception, but even that cannot account for the power of the show.

That power came from these amazing--seemingly fleeting, seemingly eternal--when he would launch into these glorious bursts of song, a desperately rising burst or lyricism amidst the otherwise fairly regular structure of the music. His voice had that perfect clarity that comes with the higher registers of male singing, carrying a real beauty and purity that you just don't find elsewhere in the vocal range of either gender. So I found myself standing there, dumbfounded, enthralled, not even wanting to dance or yell or do anything that might distract me from that perfect beauty.

Storsveit Nix Noltes

So what is a spring break for if not to deafen yourself on the beautiful sounds of cello, stand-up bass, trumpet, trombone, accordion, and even a little guitar?

Monday night I saw Storsveit Nix Noltes (the Nix Noltes Big Band) at the Orange Peel, and frankly it was everything a person could hope for. Especially a person who had hoped that Santa might order the SNN CD for her from Smekkleysa, but was disappointed. Of course, a person might understand such a decision on Santa's part, since combining the cost of the CD with shipping from Iceland (by sleigh or otherwise) makes it an expensive purchase. So the trip to the Orange Peel was a fact-finding mission, if nothing else--a chance to see whether the purchase would be a good one.

It would be. And it was.

Much of the music was the rollicking gypsy-infused hullaballoo that has been propelling me lately, wrapping brass sounds with a little accordion underlay, and all sustained by luscious strings. And good and rough around the edges. But just when you discovered some ancient, genetic material that let you move your hips in ways that rock music discourages, the band would settle into a gradual build into "Griska Lagid," starting with those rough, low strings. The song started out of what seemed like instrument tuning, with the lights dimmed and blued a little, and all of a sudden you could see that the trombone-player (in one of those wonderful northern European zip-up brown wool sweaters with a snowflake pattern on it) was wearing (because really it is not "holding") a tuba. Glorious night--a tuba!

And there at the souvenir counter were copies of Orkideur Hawai, sold for half the mail-order price--and no shipping!

I was not very excited by the main act, but it was fun to stand right behind the cello player from SNN and listen to it.

I understand from the owners of Harvest Records that Storsveit Nix Noltes has a new album coming out soon. Maybe it will be more widely available. Meanwhile, I am struck that with the purchase of Orkideur Hawai, I now have three very different recordings of the piece Gankino Horo. I will need to learn something about it, and then write a comparison.

Charms of music and female chit-chat.

Interesting rumination on the institution of marriage by Alta L. Price at 3quarksdaily. Apparently the piece was sparked by a Darwin exhibition at the AMNH, which included among other items this Pro/Con list he made at the age of 29:

The list, neatly folded down the middle and not-so-neatly scrawled in pencil on paper, read as follows, with the heading centered on the page, “Marry” on the left, and “Not Marry” on the right:

This is the Question

Marry

Children (if it Please God)
Constant companion (and friend in old age) who will feel interested in one
Object to be beloved and played with. Better than a dog anyhow
Home, & someone to take care of house
Charms of music and female chit-chat
These things good for one’s health—but terrible loss of time
My God, it is intolerable to think of spending one’s whole life, like a neuter bee, working, working, and nothing after all—No, no, won’t do
Imagine living all one’s day solitary in smoky dirty London House
Only picture to yourself a nice soft wife on a sofa with good fire and books and music perhaps
Compare this vision with the dingy reality of Great Marlboro Street, London

Not Marry

Freedom to go where one liked
Choice of Society and little of it
Conversation of clever men at clubs
Not forced to visit relatives and bend in every trifle
Expense and anxiety of children
Perhaps quarrelling
Loss of Time
Cannot read in the evenings
Fatness and idleness
Anxiety and responsibility
Less money for books etc.
If many children forced to gain one’s bread (But then it is very bad for one’s health to work too much)
Perhaps my wife won’t like London; then the sentence is banishment and degradation into indolent, idle fool

Marry, Marry, Marry Q.E.D.

Read her reflections.

What George Mason?

In an effort to STOP READING EVERYTHING on the internet about UNC's loss yesterday, and why it's all good, and why this time we really can look forward to next year, I'm going to respond to Brumaire's tagging me with the List 4 meme. This is a real moment for me--my first tagging. I'd like to thank my parents, and the Academy and well, OK I'll shut up now.

4 JOBS I'VE HAD
1. My present job which I probably should not name;
2. Writer of dunning letters for a slightly sketch collection agency;
3. Stocker of cat litter, hairspray, and plastic containers you probably don't need;
4. Heater-upper of microwavable hamburgers and popcorn, distributor of gummi worms and sweettarts, counter of cans of coke and mountain dew--all for the children and idle adults at our community pool.

4 MOVIES I COULD WATCH (and have watched) OVER AND OVER AGAIN
1. Hannah and Her Sisters
2. Monty Python and the Holy Grail
3. Raising Arizona
4. and, of course, Star Wars

4 PLACES I'VE LIVED
1. Here
2. Here
3. Here
4. Here (more or less)

4 TV SHOWS I LOVE
1. Law & Order
2. Law & Order
3. Law & Order
4. Law & Order: CI

4 HIGHLY REGARDED and RECOMMENDED TV SHOWS I HAVEN'T SEEN:
I don't even know what is out there that is good to watch because I only watch re-runs.

4 PLACES I'VE VACATIONED
1. Here
2. Here
3. Here
4. Here

4 OF MY FAVORITE DISHES
1. Carciofi alla giudia
2. Gnocchi alla romana
3. Fiori di zucca ripieni
4. and for dessert, a 3-way-tie between Île flottante, Nanaimo Bars, and the ubiquitous paczek

4 SITES I VISIT DAILY (or almost)
[oops forgot this one at first]
1. New York Times
2. ropeadope
3. XTCIAN
4. ESPN.com

4 PLACES I'D RATHER BE RIGHT NOW
1. Among those who already have tickets for Balkan Beat Box and Matisyahu
2. Rome
3. Rome
4. Rome

4 NEW BLOGGERS I AM TAGGING
1. estaminet
2. Rebecca Sela
3. JHN
4. 150 mg of happiness

Fucking George Mason.

I guess I planted.

Another beautiful day today: highs in the mid-60s and clear. PP and I made a trip to our local nursery in search of a plant that can live on fluorescent light alone (for his office) and more things for our garden.

On Friday I had finished up with clearing the raised bed, and planting the Red Drumhead cabbage and red kale, and adding some worm squirt I had purchased from the organic farming students: that all went pretty quickly as I listened to Part II of the Friday Random Infinity.

Today we picked up some lettuce (buttercrunch and romaine), broccoli, and herbs (lemon verbena, sage, oregano, and thyme), and I got those all in. We moved some beautiful sweet compost from the pile into the raised bed and also around the herbs in their bed. The PP raked leaves out of the bed where the herbs live (a larger flower and shrub bed), and together we intervened in the death match between the English Ivy and mint. (I mentioned that last year I did not take the greatest of care of the garden. But I did notice this death match in action. The action got less exciting when winter came and the mint died back anyway. Ultimately we sided with the mint, which is now starting to poke its fragrant little heads out, and ripped out quite a lot of ivy.

Most of my gardening happens in the raised bed, a lasagna garden measuring 4 feet by 8 feet. My father, the PP and I built it a few years ago. If you’re not familiar with the lasagna principle, essentially you are building a compost bin into which you will plant your garden, after it stews for a few months. You start with newspaper at the bottom and layer leaves, grass clippings, manure, compost and other good organic material. Cover with dark plastic to attract heat and let sit for several months. When you uncover it, presto! The little worms had done their work, and instead of layers of stuff you have dark, sweet, rich soil.

If you do not live in the upstate of SC, or in some other similar region, then you don’t know how amazing it is to encounter such a thing. The indigenous dirt is less dirt and more material for throwing very red pots. During droughts, the ground pretty much feels like pottery, too: rough on the little plants trying so hard to force their roots down for some moisture.

So my lasagna bed is a joy. I hardly need to dig in it: I can just move the soil around with my hands, releasing little bursts of organic sweetness as I work. The faded strings from 2 years ago still mostly are nailed to the bed’s frame, marking off the 1-foot-by-1-foot squares I use for Mel Bartholomew (and his beard)'s ass-kicking Square Foot Gardening approach to getting a lot of produce out of not much space but also with not much work. Apparently the broccoli matures in 75 days!

Friday Random 10: Touch the Puppet Head Edition

Hallelujah, here comes spring break, since I don't teach on Fridays like some people. My only goal today was to clear some decks, so there would be no red pens for me for at least a week. Goal accomplished. Now it's just article-writing, concert-going-to, tickets-trying-to-scrounge, swimming-in-a-prelims-finals-meet, and planting to look forward to.

I don't know how it is where you are, but where I am it's time for early spring vegetables to go in. Part of the process is clearing out the raised bed, which I let lie fallow last year, since we were traveling so much during the growing season. I have cleared about half the bed, and I hope to finish up today. So far I've got nasturtiums and calendula transplants in, and I've sown a good bit of arugula. Today I'll put in red kale and "Red Drumhead" cabbage. It's 70 F and sunny here, with low humidity--a great day for this kind of work.

And there is nothing like playing in the dirt to clear the rest of the decks and convince myself that for the next 10 days or so, my time is really my own. How great is that?

1. "Walk, Billy Abbott," Willie Proctor & the Sea Island Singers, Southern Journey, Vol. 8: Velvet Voices
2. "Like a Prayer," Madonna, The Immaculate Collection
3. "Put Your Hand Inside the Puppet Head," They Might Be Giants, They Might Be Giants
4. "Lost Ones," Lauryn Hill, The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill
5. Issa Bagayogo, "Tounga," Timbuktu
6. "Cindy Tells Me," Brian Eno, Here Come the Warm Jets
7. Prelude No. 2 in C-sharp minor, Op. 3 (Rachmaninov), Alexis Weissenberg, Rachmaninov Preludes
8. Prelude No. 3 in D minor, Op. 23 (Rachmaninov), Alexis Weissenberg, Rachmaninov Preludes
9. "Pay Me," Joe Armstrong & his group, Southern Journey, Vol. 13: Earliest Times
10. "The Titanic," Bessie Jones & her group, Southern Journey, Vol. 8: Velvet Voices

Can Cindy or anyone else tell me what the odds were of 2 consecutive tracks from the Alexis Weissenberg Rachmaninov recording coming up in succession? Together with 3 tracks from the Southern Journey albums? I'm starting to think my player is making its tastes known.

I feel good. I feel better than James Brown.

Today I went to the gym for weights, and apart from having to back off a little on the amount of weight, after not lifting for about 4 weeks, it felt great. Part of this is just feeling WELL--like I can push myself without paying for it for four days afterwards. Part of it is springtime, and how it is getting lighter in the morning, and I don't have to wear heavy fleece to practice. And of course working on getting stronger.

But another part of it is feeling like I had a good meet at the Dynamo St. Patrick's Day Invitational (detailed results here). It is amazing how much more pleasant Masters meets are than kids' meets. Not that I don't enjoy getting my ass smacked up and down the pool by teenagers, or being constantly reminded that my hips aren't 16 anymore. Those are great feeling all around.

But Masters meets are a blast. People are not in a big hurry all the time, because there is plenty of time to get out of the pool before the next heat. Some people dive from the blocks; some don't. Some people swim butterfly with a breaststroke kick. Some swim backstroke during the 500 free, and there is plenty of time for them to finish. Some people are so freaking fast it knocks you down, and some are just out for fun. Some people are ripped, some aren't. And on Saturday a woman beat the American record in the 50 free in the women's 80-84 age group, and on Sunday they made a big announcement, amidst much applause. How cool is that?

This was the PP's first meet in over a year, and he had 3 personal bests--in 50 FR, 100 FR, and 200 BR. I was really struck at this meet by how much stroke technique he has learned in the just 4 years that we have been swimming masters. Must be nice to be such a natural athlete. And despite much anxiety and gnashing of teeth on his part, he did not finish last in the 200 IM (and others of us did not even swim it...).

I had an OK meet. As I expected, my longer events were slow, and I think that was from being sick and so out of the pool so much in the last month and a half. But I had personal best times in the 100 IM and 50 BR, so that was exciting. Both were my last events on a day--had I saved up too much during the rest of the day? I had hoped for best times in the 50 FL and 100 BR, but in both I had some errors. For example, you are supposed to kick right after the start on butterfly, but Noooooooooo, I was coasting along as if it were a breaststroke start. I'm not sure how much time that cost me, but I do know that I missed a 2nd place in that event by .06 seconds!!!!! And I think I took out the first 50 of the 100 BR too slow: I noticed during the race that I was coasting a little too much, and sure enough my split for that 50 was about a second too long. As I keep re-learning, failure is feedback, and feedback is the breakfast of champions.

SATURDAY'S RESULTS
200 BR 2:57.93 (1st)
50 FL :33.36 (3rd)
50 BR :36.88 (2nd)

SUNDAY'S RESULTS
500 FR 7:02.31 (4th)
100 BR 1:20.55 (1st)
100 IM 1:16.80 (3rd)

Friday Random 10: "Whistle While You Work" Edition

I was going to call this the "Early Morning Edition," but then I realized that some people could rightly point out that if that's what I think of 8:35 a.m., I don't know from early morning.

All I meant was that this is earlier in the day that I would normally endulge in the random music fest that I look forward to every week. You see, usually I'll wait until I hit a lull in my work, then come on air, announce the aforementioned lull, hit the RANDOM button my player, and list away. But not today. Today I am doing it as I sit down seriously to work. I justify this by pointing out that the PP and I are heading to Atlanta this weekend for a swimmeet, so this afternoon will be spent in more entertaining ways than punching buttons. And by adding that fixing errors in an editted text is even MORE captivating than textual editing itself.

Furious multi-tasking!

So there. It is not your job to ask any more questions, but just to accept it.

1. "Cry Me a River," Griff, Bang All Night (ooooh the back-up singers!)
2. "Hip Hop Lover," En Vogue, Funky Divas
3. "I'm Gonna Live Anyhow 'Til I Die," Miles & Bob Pratcher, Southern Journey, Vol. 3: 61 Highway Mississippi
4. "Piece for Solo Flute," Dead Can Dance, Toward the Within
5. "City of New Orleans," Willie Nelson, 16 Biggest Hits
6. "Primary," The Cure, Staring at the Sea
7. "Serenade No. 11 in E-Flat," K. 375: Adagio (Mozart), Orpheus Chamber Orchestra, Wind Serenades K. 375 & 388
8. "Postlude for Piano," Gideon Lewensohn, Odradek
9. "Truth Hits Everybody," The Police, Message in a Box
10. "Without Love (There Is Nothing), Ray Charles, His Greatest Hits, Vol. 2

What the list never quite conveys is what it is like to listen to this, to live it for an hour or so. I'm feeling all cool because I love Griff's rendition of "Cry Me a Lover," when my ego is slapped in the face by "Hip Hop Lover." Then an abrupt change back to roots music with track #3. I remember that for several years I could not make a tape without Dead Can Dance (can you hear me?) but that I never picked up this flute piece. Then I get a little woozy thinking about greatest hits records through tracks 5 & 6, then as I listen to track 7, I wonder how it is that the Random 10 usually picks the slow movements. Seriously. I remember that I should listen to Gideon Lewensohn more, because that postlude knocks my socks off, in its quiet insistence. Then blammo, the truth does hit me too. For a while I consider ending it there, because it is such a fine ending, but how can you resist a quiet reminder from Ray, even if we are back to the Greatest Hits dilemma?

Have a great weekend, everybody, without too much hitting by the truth.

All my problems solved.

I want one.

This may be the only way Jarrett or I is ever going to have that Dog-Faced Hermans song.

Santa?

Heh.

Be safe, you know. Don't cuss.

Feeling nostalgic for the old home place? Want to travel to a bunch of neighborhoods without leaving your desk? Well now you can. As you might guess, there's a real tendency toward urban, but that's life, I guess. Me, I like hanging with my man Marco in Virginia Beach: check it out.

Yo man, how was your blackout?

Whew! That was weird. I had this dream that everything had gotten nicer, even me. I was walking through the streets of my little town and I had this overwhelming sense of peace, like everything was OK. And in a way it was: my cat had come home, there was no war going on, UNC had beaten Duke in Cameron, there were good restaurants and dance clubs all around me, and they were all playing my mixtapes!

But when I woke up, it was all a dream. Well, almost all of it. Duke delenda est. Heh.

Vittung huskamatonga.

My friend who warned me about the Pledge Woman says this is Finnish for "fucking unbelievable." Of course, he never taught me how to spell it and I don't understand the diacriticals in Finnish so I'm probably wrong there too. But either way, that phrase is the only way to describe this.


See? They can't believe it either. But they don't know how to say so in Finnish.

Change everything about yourself today!

Today I received a spam message advertising diet pills, and that is how it began.

I thought, By Gum, they're right. I should do that. Starting with my blog. Maybe that will make me thinner.

Friday Random 10: Between "Marx" and "Marzipan" Edition

Lately all I do is grade grade grade, and that doesn't look like it's going to end anytime soon. So I might as well make this set of midterms more enjoyable with a

FRIDAY RANDOM 10:

1. "Introitus" Mozart Requiem, Herbert van Karajan and the Berlin Philharmonic
2. "Ninna Nanna 2002," Pietra Montecorvino, Napoli Mediterranea
3. "Everywhere," Billy Bragg, Don't Try This at Home
4. "The Short Answer," Billy Bragg, Workers Playtime
5. "Tanguedia III," Nickodemus and Osiris, Astor Piazzolla Remixed
6. "A Hard Day's Night," The Beatles, 1
7. "Introspection (Calm's Outerspect Mix)," Jazzanova, Jazzanova Remixed
8. Ponce: Concierto del sur: II. Andante, Sharon Isbin (guitar), José Serebrier, New York Philharmonic, Rodrigo/Villa-Lobos/Ponce: Guitar Concertos
9. "Get in Touch With Us," Lil' Kim f. Styles P, La Bella Mafia
10. "Here Today," Mice Parade, Obrigado Saudade

Did the player know what a perfect opening it was giving me for the task at hand?

Fridays.

I know some of you have jobs where Friday is still part of the grind. For me, Fridays tend to be days I reflect back on the week as I try to tie up some loose ends and recover from sleeping too late.

So if today is your day of reflection, have a look at the Velveteen Rabbi's response to hearing a reading from poet Rachel Tzvia Back. And if today is not that day for you, set her post aside for a day you can relish it.

I even have the hair-do.

You scored as FBI's X-Files Division (The X-Files). You are part of a super secret section of the FBI. You also have the very cool status of "Special Agent". You believe in many conspiracies and know the government is covering up way too much. Now if only you could the Cigarette Smoking Man to stop providing you with the second-hand smoke.
Your Ultimate Sci-Fi Profile II: which sci-fi crew would you best fit in? (pics)
created with QuizFarm.com

I feel like taking all my clothes off (and dancing to The Rite of Spring)

Don't ask me why: I can't tell you. But suffice it to say that someone I care about very much just called with some very good news.

Share the joy.

I feel for you, O My People!

The only way to explain the spike in hits for this humble blog today is....

PACZKI DAY!

So happy Paczki Day to you and yours. Those of you living in Michigan are having a happier Paczki Day than those of us in upstate South Carolina, where there is narry a paczek to be found.

Can't you just hear the tears and lamentations, beating of breasts and tearing of hair?

Looking through my site meter today it is one after the other: "fat+tuesday+paczkis" and from the non-Poles "fat+tuesday+donuts" or "Polish+filled+donut."

Then, of course, the sad, sad, saddest of them all: "paczki+calories." And I feel for you, O Lovers of the Great Jelly-filled Delight! According to buzz-killa Dr. Peter McCullough, M.D., Medical Director of the Beaumont Weight Control Center, "A typical five ounce paczki contains about 420 calories, 25 or more grams of fat, and is loaded with refined carbohydrates which are directly converted into fat." radiospike has more depressing data, but a brighter spirit (and a very tempting photo!):

The more modern idea is to see if you can physically digest 620 calories in less than two minutes. Hamtramck's famous bakeries supply Paczki in the thousands that day to Detroiters of all nationalities. Take them to work! Take them home! Take them to Texas!

But you know, ultimately it is not the calorie-counters I feel most sorry for. No, no. It is the people who type into google or yahoo "colorado+paczki" and "paczki+greenville" and "order+north+dakota+paczki." These are the poor displaced souls, desperately searching the internet for what most eludes them. I feel for you, O My People.

And if anyone knows a source for mail-order paczki and can get me the info before next February, I'd be so very grateful.

O, to be in Morningside Heights!

More than 15 years ago, I found myself obsessed with the vast array of "L'homme armé" masses from the Renaissance.

I tried collecting them on CD, but this was early enough in the days of CD that lots of early music had not come out that way yet. I managed to find Dufay (Hilliard Ensemble, EMI) and De La Rue (Ensemble Clément Janequin, harmonia mundi) and Josquin Desprez's "super voces musicales" (Pro Cantione Antiqua, Archiv), but I had to resort to a cassette from a music teacher for his "sexti toni". Erato put out a L'Homme Armé disc (featuring the Boston Camerata, the Boston Shawm and Sacbut Ensemble, and the Harvard Radcliffe Collegium Musicum, conducted by Joël Cohen), but although it featured the original anonymous tune on which the masses were based, and one fifteenth-century setting by Robert Morton, the rest of the music was more general early "music of war and peace" of the album's subtitle.

Now I read that Cut Circle from Boston "performed a chimerical Mass--a sort of 'Armed Man' mixtape--composed of movements by Dufay, Busnois, Ockeghem, Regis and Josquin." AND that "This Sunday at Corpus Christi Church in Morningside Heights, the superb chorus Pomerium will perform Ockeghem's Mass in full."

If you have always wondered why this little tune about fearing the armed man and arming your own bad self made its way into so masses (50+ and counting), or what the song was about in the first place, read the article. Meanwhile, if you're anywhere near the Corpus Christi Church, go hear this concert and tell me afterwards how it was.

p.s. If you don't know what all the fuss is about, check out the audio clips.

Speaking of productivity...

... my new mix is up at Art of the Mix. Some folks might recognize some lifted tunes. The usual offer of copies pertains.

Not Getting Things Done.

Jarrett is trying to be more productive. I am trying to be satisfied with less. It is no news to anyone that I have been sick, because I have been broadcasting that news far and wide (but trying to keep the little phlegmlets to myself). A colleague of mine expressed sympathy yesterday, saying, "Yeah, it's hard when you suddenly don't have the energy--especially when you are so used to getting things done by force of will."

Bingo. A bonus 25 points for her.

So here I am on a Friday. Oddly, it's a lot like last Friday, where I am tallying my week's achievements: I taught 2 classes (had to cancel 2), managed to shower on most days, graded a batch of papers, evaluated an essay for a journal, had two good workouts, and emptied the dishwasher at least once. Oh yeah, and I reorganized my TODO stack. David Allen says that sometimes you need to just download all those free-floating gotta-do's clogging your brain into a sophisticated framework of files and action lists. The editorial review for his book says that his system

starts with the exhortation to take every unaccounted-for scrap of paper in your workstation that you can't junk, The next step is to write down every unaccounted-for gotta-do cramming your head onto its own scrap of paper. Finally, throw the whole stew into a giant "in-basket."

I'm with you so far, David. But some days you need to dump that whole "in-basket" into the circular file. I'm thinking of those items that have been sitting in my private in-basket for over a year now--and wondering, will I ever do these things?

No. Trash them. Kill all the brutes.

Then start over.

Today I am turning over a new leaf, and it is called "How Not To Measure My Success Based On Productivity Alone."

My seminarian friend says this is a first step toward enjoying the moment, getting a grip on life. Do I need to tell you how many times she has been right?

So part of today's plan is letting this afternoon be a rest time (oh yeah, and a trip to the doctor), a recognition that pushing is not making me well. Or happy. Or thinner.

And it all starts with the Friday Random 10, which once again goes up to 11:
1. "Floret silva," from Carl Orff's Carmina Burana, perfomed by The Cleveland Orchestra, conducted by Michael Tilson Thomas.
2. Mr. Vegas, "Pull Up" (a cappella), Misch Masch (whoo! That was an abrupt transition!)
3. Les Negresses Vertes, "Orane," Mlah
4. Mambo All-Stars, "Tea for Two," the soundtrack to The Mambo Kings
5. Pink Floyd, "Time," Dark Side of the Moon
6. Sting, "Children's Crusade," The Dream of the Blue Turtles
7. Stereolab, "Cosmic Country Noir," Margerine Eclipse
8. Wilco, "I'm a Wheel," A Ghost Is Born
9. "Kyrie," from Arvo Pärt's Missa Syllabica, from Beatus, performed by the Estonian Philharmonic Chamber Choir, conducted Tönu Kaljuste
10. "Largo" from Vivaldi's Concerto for Flute in G minor, "La Notte" (RV 439), performed by the English Consort, conducted by Trevor Pinnock (album: Eight Concerti)
11 (because the transition was too fine). k.d. lang and the Reclines, "Three Cigarettes in an Ashtray," Angel with a Lariat

Oh poor me.

OK, it has officially been more than four weeks that I have been sick, off and on, thinking I am not, but then (I learn after a busy day or a hard workout) not. This week it is more on, but then not so on that you don't wonder if you're being a big wussy for taking a break.

Do I even need to tell you that this is wearing on me? Or how poorly I am adapting to this idea that if I push myself it will only make me sick again? Or what I would give you if you would make my throat not sore? And did you know that the only thing worse than being sick is having to grade when you're sick? Why is it that so many of my bad-luck incidents get combined with grading?

All right: that is the end of my self-pity diatribe. You may return to your regularly scheduled lives.

Get plenty of deferments / Learn to shoot a gun.

Treat yourself to this. At least now we know where the undisclosed location is.

Friday Random 10: "Got To Let It Show" Edition.

Came to a breaking point in the work (That's right, folks, I'm actually writing again!) and I don't feel like playing Text Twist today, and that in itself is amazing. Besides, the cat is lying on the far side of the monitor, instead of between me and the keyboard, or on top of the numeric keypad, or between the keyboard and monitor. And there has not been enough time since the lunch I just ate that I can yet risk the core exercises I need to do (because the lunch is better in the stomach than out). And the laundry is happily spinning in its machine--no folding to do yet. And we all know that it is too early in the weekend to start the pile of grading and too early in the day to crack a beer.

So given that it's Friday, you know what all that means: the time has come for me to break out of my shell.

1. Diana Ross, "I'm Coming Out"
2. Giorgio Gaber, "Destra - Sinistra"
3. Diana Krall, "The Look of Love"
4. Breakestra, "Cramp Your Style"
5. Clifton Chenier (the king of the bayou), "Pepper in My Shoe"
6. Rickie Lee Jones, "Running From Mercy"
7. Nanci Griffith, "It's a Hard Life Wherever You Go"
8. Al Green, "Let's Stay Together"
9. Propellerheads, "You Want It Back"
10. Faye Wang, [one of those songs I don't know the title of]

Thank you for your immediate attention.

DEAR YOPLAIT, DANNON, AND ALL YOU OTHER PEOPLE WHO SEAL YOUR YOGURTS WITH FOIL:

Is it so fucking much to ask that you could find a way to seal your yogurts so that when a person opens them they do not get yogurt blowback all over their nice work clothes?

Huh???

Ooh-la-la la la-la-la-la-la.

Your V-Day gift from me is up at The Art of the Mix. Sorry it wasn't available in time for last-minute frantic gift purchases, but maybe that's all for the best. All the same, if you want one, lemme know.

XX

It's that time of year again, when the PP and I decide which sports we would do if we lived where there was snow and if we had a shot at going to the Winter Olympics. We're both thinking that the US Virgin Islands might be our greatest hope for that second item, but we still have the snow problem.

Admittedly, the Winter Olympics come at a perfect time of year. We are both completely wiped out, and ready to pass some time on our asses--so let's watch skiing! We even watched the Opening Ceremonies--or most of it. The PP was afraid of the fiery skaters, since he figured they had to be wearing backpacks full of acetylene, and that seems plain dangerous--even for Italians. And if you have pin-striped hair, as Jim Lampley does, then you should not wear a pin-striped suit.

It has been fun to see shots of the parts of the city that I found closed when I was there back in July. I missed the Gates of Hell, apparently.

Four years ago we determined that I should be a speed skater, since I already have the enormous legs. We tried a little roller blading, which is a lot of fun if you don't run into hills. Well, maybe those of you with downhill skiing experience would not be so daunted by the hills. Plus I totally freaked myself out during a weaving skating experience at a local conference center with good paths when I realized as I was flying along that I was about to encounter some little steps I had forgotten about. I jumped down them, and all was well, and all manner of things was well, but it spooked me.

This time, I'm going for the Nordic Biathlon: I figure cross-country skiing could use those big quads, too, and even though the sport is huge in Europe, it's not so big here, so I wouldn't have to worry about the Michelle Kwans of the world petitioning at the last minute to take my spot on the team. The PP has decided on skeleton, because he can't abide the skating costumes, and if you're going to haul ass down an ice track, why not do it face first?

It's Day 3, and we are both already sick of the media coverage that is all about whether someone who thought she was going to get the gold is disappointed because she blew it on one of her ski runs. Disappointed? It's the Olympics, for fuck's sake. And the front page of the NYT and the local paper both feature time-lapse photos of the great Kwan dive in yesterday's practice. What no one has mentioned is that it's the marketing team at Dos Equis who really blew a shot at gold this year.

Queuing all tracks ... please wait.

Don't be fooled: you think you are over your cold because you can manage to be out of bed for more than 20 minutes at a time. You go about your day--try to do your job, even get back into the pool. Then nearly 2 weeks later you still feel like ass. Take it from me: there is not much you can except to embrace the post-nasal drip.

Well, that, and list your Friday Random 10:

1. Jethro Tull, "Aqualung" (Aqualung) (Is it some kind of song that the first track to pop up contains one of pop music's few references to nasal congestion?)
2. Led Zeppelin, "No Quarter" (Houses of the Holy)
3. The Beatles, "Honey Pie" (The Beatles)
4. The Village People, "Go West" (The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert)
5. Celeste Mendoa y los Papines, "Papá Ogún" (Cuba Classics 2)
6. Tony Bennett & Ray Charles, "Evenin'" (Playing with My Friends)
7. Lyle Lovett, "You Were Always There" (My Baby Don't Tolerate)
8. k. d. lang, "One Day I Will Walk" (Hymns of the 49th Parallel)
9. Artur Pizarro (piano) Rodrigo: "Estampas (4) andaluzas, for piano: Barquitos de Cádiz (Rodrigo: Piano Music, Naxos)
10. Mississippi John Hurt, "Blue Harvest Blues" (Avalon Blues: The Complete 1928 OKeh Recordings)

I bet your random mix could not be as mainstream as mine!

You don't really care for music, do you?

New mix up at Art of the Mix. You can see it was partly inspired by last Friday's Random 11, and a few other randomizing sessions, where I heard some conversations among tracks I would not have thought of.

If you look at all those names and diacriticals and don't recognize them, then do some exploring at North Side: tracks 2, 9, 12, and 19 all come from their recordings. Hedningarna is a Swedish group, and this song comes from Karelia Visa, an album (recorded with two Finnish musicians) chronicling a "visit" to Karelia, a disputed region between Finland and Russia. Väsen is also Swedish, and Troka is Finnish. Tapani Varis plays the Jew's harp: it still surprises me how comfortably that instrument speaks to the didgeridoo. Back in the mid-90s I couldn't make a mix without some of these folks or their ilk.

Tracks 13 and 14 are both from Tzadik albums. I've written about the Charmings before.

As for the Argentines, see my tribute. (Track 6 is from the album of Piazzolla remixes.)

And thanks to freeman for introducing me to Les Claypool.

Friday Random 11: I wouldn't live there if you paid me to.

I was going to go to the gym today, but fuck it: I am still not feeling completely well from last weekend's phlegmatic deluge. Instead I'll give a little work-out to my Zen Touch, and jump on the Friday Random 10 bandwagon.

But mine goes up to 11!

1. Talking Heads, "The Big Country" (More Songs About Buildings and Food)
2. King's Consort, Vivaldi: Concerto in F major, RV 97, 2. Largo (Concerti con molti istromenti)
3. Matthew Herbert, "Fiction" (Goodbye Swingtime)
4. Daniel Barenboim, Beethoven: Piano Sonata, No. 17 in D minor, Op. No. 2 "The Tempest," 2. Adagio (Piano Sonatas 14, 26, 17)
5. Taraf de Hardouks, "Green Leaf, Clover Leaf" (Band of Gypsies)
6. Philip Pickett & the New London Consort, "Alte clamat Epicurus (CB 211)" (Carmina Burana, Vol. 1) NOTE: do not confuse this recording from the original manuscripts with the Carl Orff piece.
7. Glenn Gould, Variation 17 (Goldberg Variations, 1955)
8. Django Reinhardt, "Minor Swing" (The Best of Django Reinhardt)
9. Talking Heads, "City of Dreams" (Sand in the Vaseline, disc 2)
10. k. d. lang, "Tears Don't Care Who Cries Them" (Shadowland)
11. Dogs Die in Hot Cars, "Godhopping" (Please Describe Yourself)

Given that my player presently holds 9,926 tracks, I would not have bet on 2 Talking Heads tracks coming up this quickly. But given how good the Carmina Burana and Matthew Herbert and Django Reinhardt and Taraf de Hardouks all sounded together, I'm already beginning a new mix.

Have a fine weekend, your own selves.

Which is worse?

Perhaps you can help me and the PP resolve a dispute, which raged last night while we were drinking wine at a local establishment and waiting for our food to come.

This place has had its share of auditory identity crises: its soundtrack began as cool jazz, and not smooth jazz mind you, but some good stuff. Then the owner decided he wanted the place to be more relaxed, not competing with the more upscale places in town, so he casualified the menu, and switched to CDs of The Eagles. One time lately they were playing Talking Heads. But last night it was some kind of probably satellite Lite Rock.

The PP challenged my characterization of it as Lite Rock, but that is not what was really at issue over dinner.

What was at issue was who was lamer, Hall & Oates or Phil Collins. Please note as you deliberate that we are not talking about Phil Collins of Genesis, but Phil Collins solo. And I was not really thinking about Phil Collins of the song about his drowned friend and the person who did not help. I was thinking of "One More Night" and "Sussudio" and "I Wish It Would Rain Down" or whatever that song is called and "A Groovy Kind of Love."

A what kind of love?

"But did you ever own a Hall & Oates album?" the PP asked, as if this would intimidate me into admitting he was right. I said I did, he said he did too, and then said "See??" which I did not. He later added that they were just "smarmy."

But Phil Collins was so cliche, I said.

The PP gave me this look.

So, Dear Readers, what do you think?

It's so hard to choose.

I came across this, reposted on Ian Williams' blog. Heh. So of course I had to check it out. Worth it. Then the big question is, which one do I steal and post on my blog? This one or this one, for a little self-deprecating irony? Or this one, in recognition of the act itself? This one, because it may be true?

No way. It has to be this one: