I used to run this semi regular feature called "Randumbness" about, as you would guess, various random and dumb things going on. It was a nice page filler. You thought you were getting actual carefully constructed content. Instead, you were getting fluff, filler, time wasters. I'm not saying this to foreshadow this post. I'm just saying the post title is Randumbery and if you can put 2 and 2 together....well, we'll both be pleasantly surprised at your cognitive skills.
Banned On The Run
…Now with 96% Less Handsome!
There is a new Banned On The Run podcast. Go there and hear it now. Do that and you can be just like me! (i.e. Bewildered, confused and wondering what the hell happened…followed by feelings of shame and regret. In other words, like a typical Friday evening with Mickey’s malt liquor.) One thing you won’t hear is me. I took my handsome and didn’t phone in with it. I was too busy using my handsome powers to battle global warming.*
Though I’m not there, the other three do a great job of being….present. I’ve always felt their strongest attribute is attendance. Go hear their attendance! I believe the subject of running is even broached haphazardly on one or two occasions. Matt has promised a $20 gift card for the winner of the podcast contest.
Still thrivin’
Like many others, I also received a free thriv shirt in the mail. I had every intention of writing them a nice review. But then I see that every Tom, Dick, and Ian got one and already wrote a review so, really, what’s the point? However, since they gave me a free shirt, I’m going to at least mention them and link to their site. I might even do it twice.
Here’s a nutshell review. Generally, the first quality I look for in a running shirt isn’t bamboo. That’s what I look for as a torture device when presented with the hands and fingernails of prisoners. ** So, trying to sell me on BAMBOO IN YOUR RUNNING SHIRT! wasn’t as eye grabbing as Marketer McAdman probably originally envisioned. My nipples, upon hearing this proclamation, pulled a full turtle and tried to force a concave areola situation.
However, the shirt is soft. Like obscenely soft. Like I’m-pretty-sure-I-committed-a-sin-with-it soft. Mmmm, soft as a….oops, sorry, I prematurely metaphored.
In sum, it was a cool shirt. Comfortable. Nice to run in. My nipples came out of their shell. However, I’m a big time sweater. If I was a huge fat guy, I’d be the type that sweats when I eat. I already sweat eating Sweettarts. The shirt absorbed the sweat but didn’t really wick it away. So, a few minutes into the run, I have a large ole sweat stain in the middle of my chest. No big deal to me but those that like their sweat to fly off onto the pavement – or person – behind you, you may be outta luck.
Well, there, I guess I did review it after all.
Looking Ahead
Future races! No Boston? No problem. Marathons are like opinions.*** There’s no trouble filling up my dance card. The endless possibilities for 2010 are doing the ‘white man weeble’ inside my head. Bayshore Marathon in May? Yes, please. Perhaps this is the year I do the Dances with Dirt 50k? How about a return trip to Chicago, my favorite city, in October? A runner with a blank calendar and a race schedule is a dangerous thing.
If you are a race and desperately want a special appearance from Nitmos, better get your request in now!
Suck it!
Seriously with the vampire movies. They suck. And they don’t suck blood.****
The Refattening
Usually, this is the time of the year when I begin to rebuild my Cheeto Layer. Halloween always kicks off the cold weather refattening. But, oddly enough, I’m actually in peak running shape right now…with no race on the schedule. Go figure. You’d think 45 mini sized Butterfingers in two weeks would add a pound or two…
* It’s working!
** My weekend volunteer work.
*** Which are like assholes.
**** You need this footnote? They suck ass, okay?
Friday, November 20, 2009
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
The Basement
So about that blog….
Things have changed around the Nitmos basement.* You may have noticed that I don’t blog much anymore. Maybe it’s the cobwebs and lingering smell of water leaks past rotting my brain. Or maybe it’s the instant access to my extensive cereal collection. Whatever, the ole blog has settled in somewhere south of dog walking and Yes, Dear reruns on the list of work distractions.
In the office, things were beige. And boring. The only link to anything non-work related was the interwebs. Somehow, Blogger had escaped their tight fisted site clamp down. So, being a man incapable of concentrating on anything for longer than 4 ½ minutes at a time, this blog and its compatriots were a perfect match. I make you laugh. I chuckle awkwardly at your feeble attempts to make me laugh. Then, I click away and bound down the distraction superhighway to the next destination all the while surrounded in beige and the distant murmur of interoffice conversation.
But the dynamic has changed now.
The beige is gone. The walls are a shade called “marble pedestal” which, I think, suits me perfectly, no? ** My dog sleeps at my feet as I work. I smell basement mold instead of Cube Farter’s ass burps.***
It’s too quiet in the basement so I’ve taken to flipping on the TV for background noise. The TV is behind me so, unless I twist around, I can’t actually see what is on. But I hear the not-so-distant murmur of flimsy plot development…with a laugh track. The channel of choice? Why TBS, of course. All of the 90’s classics! My new office is filled with Zack, Screech and Slater from Saved By The Bell, The Fresh Prince, Greg and Kim of Yes, Dear, Raymond and his crazy mother that Everybody Loves, The King of Queens and his bitchy wife, and baritone-voiced Bill Kurtis telling me about various American Mysteries (this is on A & E but I’m allowed one channel change.)
Now, through-out the day, I learn valuable life lessons served to me in bite-size comedic one liners lasting no more than 23 minutes….unless Zack drinks and drives, in which case it may require two episodes for us to reach the climatic moral.
In short, what I’m saying is that blogging is no longer my primary time suckage. I run. I dog walk. I eat cereal at odd hours. I listen to bad TV. You’ve all been replaced by Yes, Dear. And you, over there lurking but never commenting, you’ve been replaced by According to Jim. And Vanilla? He’s Robert from Raymond…which makes me Raymond.
Because, as we know, everybody loves Nitmos.
Happy trails.
* office
** If you don’t have an image of me as Discobolus ready to throw, then you haven’t been reading this blog for very long. You have lots of homework.
*** Which is a draw I think. I sometimes miss his game of Guess My Lunch.
_________________________________
Race update. I’m swirling with emotions right now. I’m a cyclone of disappointment and relief. You see, I had every intention of running the 2010 Boston Marathon…in my heart. But my head – and more importantly, my wallet – have been warring over the idea for months. I’ve dumped lots of family cash into running over the last few years and I was hoping to squeeze out one more big expense. If only the mean ole bankers weren’t in charge of the world….
Through apathy, the decision was made for me that I will not be doing Boston next spring. Registration has closed. I’ve known it was coming but I chose inaction. Which is a bit passive aggressive no? So, I’m relieved that the battle within is over. I will save money. My banker will be happy. Disappointed I am (in Yoda speak) at the conclusion. However, I think it’s probably the decision I think is best at this time.
But there will be other years…another Boston down the road.
Things have changed around the Nitmos basement.* You may have noticed that I don’t blog much anymore. Maybe it’s the cobwebs and lingering smell of water leaks past rotting my brain. Or maybe it’s the instant access to my extensive cereal collection. Whatever, the ole blog has settled in somewhere south of dog walking and Yes, Dear reruns on the list of work distractions.
In the office, things were beige. And boring. The only link to anything non-work related was the interwebs. Somehow, Blogger had escaped their tight fisted site clamp down. So, being a man incapable of concentrating on anything for longer than 4 ½ minutes at a time, this blog and its compatriots were a perfect match. I make you laugh. I chuckle awkwardly at your feeble attempts to make me laugh. Then, I click away and bound down the distraction superhighway to the next destination all the while surrounded in beige and the distant murmur of interoffice conversation.
But the dynamic has changed now.
The beige is gone. The walls are a shade called “marble pedestal” which, I think, suits me perfectly, no? ** My dog sleeps at my feet as I work. I smell basement mold instead of Cube Farter’s ass burps.***
It’s too quiet in the basement so I’ve taken to flipping on the TV for background noise. The TV is behind me so, unless I twist around, I can’t actually see what is on. But I hear the not-so-distant murmur of flimsy plot development…with a laugh track. The channel of choice? Why TBS, of course. All of the 90’s classics! My new office is filled with Zack, Screech and Slater from Saved By The Bell, The Fresh Prince, Greg and Kim of Yes, Dear, Raymond and his crazy mother that Everybody Loves, The King of Queens and his bitchy wife, and baritone-voiced Bill Kurtis telling me about various American Mysteries (this is on A & E but I’m allowed one channel change.)
Now, through-out the day, I learn valuable life lessons served to me in bite-size comedic one liners lasting no more than 23 minutes….unless Zack drinks and drives, in which case it may require two episodes for us to reach the climatic moral.
In short, what I’m saying is that blogging is no longer my primary time suckage. I run. I dog walk. I eat cereal at odd hours. I listen to bad TV. You’ve all been replaced by Yes, Dear. And you, over there lurking but never commenting, you’ve been replaced by According to Jim. And Vanilla? He’s Robert from Raymond…which makes me Raymond.
Because, as we know, everybody loves Nitmos.
Happy trails.
* office
** If you don’t have an image of me as Discobolus ready to throw, then you haven’t been reading this blog for very long. You have lots of homework.
*** Which is a draw I think. I sometimes miss his game of Guess My Lunch.
_________________________________
Race update. I’m swirling with emotions right now. I’m a cyclone of disappointment and relief. You see, I had every intention of running the 2010 Boston Marathon…in my heart. But my head – and more importantly, my wallet – have been warring over the idea for months. I’ve dumped lots of family cash into running over the last few years and I was hoping to squeeze out one more big expense. If only the mean ole bankers weren’t in charge of the world….
Through apathy, the decision was made for me that I will not be doing Boston next spring. Registration has closed. I’ve known it was coming but I chose inaction. Which is a bit passive aggressive no? So, I’m relieved that the battle within is over. I will save money. My banker will be happy. Disappointed I am (in Yoda speak) at the conclusion. However, I think it’s probably the decision I think is best at this time.
But there will be other years…another Boston down the road.
Thursday, November 05, 2009
Contorted Hamlet
It’s getting cold out. Just cold enough where I have to actually give a moments thought to the age old Shakespearean paradox : To short, or not to short. Or something like that.
40 degrees. Constantly. Just chilly enough where you’ll be pretty cold for the first few miles in shorts but pretty warm during the last few miles if you wear pants. What would Hamlet do?* Here’s several reasons, prefaced in the great Hamletian tradition, why I hate cold weather running.
The Slings and Arrows of outrageous bloggers…
I hate putting the wind pants on. First, it covers my legs and, fuck, I got nice man legs. I think a few of the more masculine ladies would even be pretty envious. These babies should be high kicking somewhere on Broadstreet rather than covered in nylon and trapped in heat and sweat on a lonely mid-Michigan road. I don’t care if you think less of me since I dared to suggest that I’d make a terrific show girl. I’m comfortable and confident in my me. Besides, it’s not the fantastic legs that should open me up for scrutiny. It’s the lipstick.
To run, perchance in long pants. Ay, there’s the rub…
Second, I can’t stand the clichéd swish-swish sound of the pant legs as they rub against each other during the initial stages of the run. Probably not a problem for the less developed hamstring set amongst us but, for me, very annoying. Then, half way through, the pants are clinging to your legs with moisture and you entertain thoughts of stripping down right in the middle of the sidewalk and tossing them aside. And then being arrested (again) for indecent exposure.
To grunt and sweat under a weary run…
Third, it’s all about the nipples, man. They get cold when the wind blows head on. I’m not a turtle, little fellas, you can’t come back inside. Stand strong. Stand proud. This time of year reflects my nipple length/mileage inverse relationship. The longer the nipples grow the fewer miles I log. One or the other; you can’t have both. Sure, I’d love to be the guy with one inch nipples knocking out 50 miles per week but it’s not gonna happen. Rage on Midwest fall, rage on. At least give this fella some tassels.
And lose the name of action
Finally, I am a runner. That is what I love. That is what I shall do. Though the thermometer drops, the pants raise, the nipples extend, I will not die by the cold steel sword of winter.
To short, or not to short? It makes no difference. Either way, I’ll be out there running. It’s a simple answer. I will not be deterred. Hamlet, what an indecisive wimp. You can’t make up your mind and then you go swinging swords and flinging poison? Someone has ish-you's.
He wasn’t a runner.
Happy trails.
* Besides stab and/or poison any and every body after a prolonged period of introspection.
40 degrees. Constantly. Just chilly enough where you’ll be pretty cold for the first few miles in shorts but pretty warm during the last few miles if you wear pants. What would Hamlet do?* Here’s several reasons, prefaced in the great Hamletian tradition, why I hate cold weather running.
The Slings and Arrows of outrageous bloggers…
I hate putting the wind pants on. First, it covers my legs and, fuck, I got nice man legs. I think a few of the more masculine ladies would even be pretty envious. These babies should be high kicking somewhere on Broadstreet rather than covered in nylon and trapped in heat and sweat on a lonely mid-Michigan road. I don’t care if you think less of me since I dared to suggest that I’d make a terrific show girl. I’m comfortable and confident in my me. Besides, it’s not the fantastic legs that should open me up for scrutiny. It’s the lipstick.
To run, perchance in long pants. Ay, there’s the rub…
Second, I can’t stand the clichéd swish-swish sound of the pant legs as they rub against each other during the initial stages of the run. Probably not a problem for the less developed hamstring set amongst us but, for me, very annoying. Then, half way through, the pants are clinging to your legs with moisture and you entertain thoughts of stripping down right in the middle of the sidewalk and tossing them aside. And then being arrested (again) for indecent exposure.
To grunt and sweat under a weary run…
Third, it’s all about the nipples, man. They get cold when the wind blows head on. I’m not a turtle, little fellas, you can’t come back inside. Stand strong. Stand proud. This time of year reflects my nipple length/mileage inverse relationship. The longer the nipples grow the fewer miles I log. One or the other; you can’t have both. Sure, I’d love to be the guy with one inch nipples knocking out 50 miles per week but it’s not gonna happen. Rage on Midwest fall, rage on. At least give this fella some tassels.
And lose the name of action
Finally, I am a runner. That is what I love. That is what I shall do. Though the thermometer drops, the pants raise, the nipples extend, I will not die by the cold steel sword of winter.
To short, or not to short? It makes no difference. Either way, I’ll be out there running. It’s a simple answer. I will not be deterred. Hamlet, what an indecisive wimp. You can’t make up your mind and then you go swinging swords and flinging poison? Someone has ish-you's.
He wasn’t a runner.
Happy trails.
* Besides stab and/or poison any and every body after a prolonged period of introspection.
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