It's slightly after 7 AM. I just woke up. The temperature is low, but the sun is shining and the electricity is still on.
I'm sore in a few places, so I stayed home from the gym today. This means that I got 10.5 glorious hours of sleep last night.
Good morning, world!
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Blackout
I woke this morning at 3:30 to lashing rain, a lightning storm, and a lack of electricity. Fearing a puddle in the foyer, I grabbed a towel and ran to put a stopper at the door, then relaxed as the power came back on.
Then it went off again, this time for the rest of the night.
I don't sleep well once disturbed, and for the next hour and a half, I lay in bed, wondering whether 1) we would have any tornadoes, 2) we would get power by morning, and 3) it would be worth it to go to my intended 5:30 step class. At one point, I turned on my laptop and decided to play on Facebook to numb myself back to sleep, only to realize that, ha, the wireless router was also out with the electricity.
I must have slipped into a doze around 4:30 or so, because I woke again, this time with significantly less pep, when my Jeeves clock roused me at 5. Seeing no change in the power situation, I packed a change of clothes, shampoo, and a hair dryer in my gym bag and headed for the Rec. Class was good, even before caffeine, but the best part was being able to dry my hair afterwards.
My dad met me in the foyer upon my return, fully dressed and with our dinner table votive in his hand. I figured then that it would be one of those days, and began nursing a Coke.
Then it went off again, this time for the rest of the night.
I don't sleep well once disturbed, and for the next hour and a half, I lay in bed, wondering whether 1) we would have any tornadoes, 2) we would get power by morning, and 3) it would be worth it to go to my intended 5:30 step class. At one point, I turned on my laptop and decided to play on Facebook to numb myself back to sleep, only to realize that, ha, the wireless router was also out with the electricity.
I must have slipped into a doze around 4:30 or so, because I woke again, this time with significantly less pep, when my Jeeves clock roused me at 5. Seeing no change in the power situation, I packed a change of clothes, shampoo, and a hair dryer in my gym bag and headed for the Rec. Class was good, even before caffeine, but the best part was being able to dry my hair afterwards.
My dad met me in the foyer upon my return, fully dressed and with our dinner table votive in his hand. I figured then that it would be one of those days, and began nursing a Coke.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Alabama moment
My mother graciously re-upped the family's membership at the Hoover Rec this weekend ($240/year is the senior family rate - that covers me until May, and then it's only $100 more for me to continue on the plan), so now I can sweat in relative comfort. Granted, treadmill running is boring as hell - I kept looking at the distance indicator and comparing it to lake laps, and wondering what was taking so long - but it beats having to run around in three layers, sweating through your gloves and wishing for June. The good parts about the gym are the weight room, the likes of which I haven't seen since I left Edinburgh last August, and the classes, which I'll try tomorrow. Come on, doesn't 5:30 AM Cardio Step sound like a great way to wake up?
Anyone?
Anyway, as I was driving home this morning - it's only a five-minute trip - the SUV in front of me came to a halt, and I peered around to see what the hold-up was, thinking it would be a cat.
It was a possum. Honest to God, it was a possum, just taking his sweet time crossing the road.
They do exist in Hoover. Fancy that.
Anyone?
Anyway, as I was driving home this morning - it's only a five-minute trip - the SUV in front of me came to a halt, and I peered around to see what the hold-up was, thinking it would be a cat.
It was a possum. Honest to God, it was a possum, just taking his sweet time crossing the road.
They do exist in Hoover. Fancy that.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Long weekend
For the first time since I started kindergarten, I had Presidents Day off this year. Staring down a long weekend is always fabulous, especially when you're coming off a week of dress rehearsals, one of which was on Valentine's Day. I'm sorry, but there's something horribly depressing about Requiem practice on Valentine's Day. It just doesn't bode well for my love life, ya know?
Anyway, we did our two Brahms concerts (3 of 5 stars, according to the Birmingham News critic, but he's a jerk and sits too close...and he only ragged on the sopranos and tenors, anyway), and by Sunday, I was ready for a day of rest. We had a farewell soup and sides luncheon for Sarah, who's off to rock Midland, Texas in a Ron Burgundy sort of way (She's kind of a big deal. People know her.), and I went to bed that night eagerly awaiting the next morning, when a group of us would make a pilgrimage to the Unclaimed Baggage Center in Scottsboro.
What, you may ask, is the Unclaimed Baggage Center?
It happens all the time - your luggage doesn't meet you at the carousel. Sometimes, if it's my sister's bag, it ends up on the wrong continent. Other times, it winds up lonely and discarded, and then the airlines sell it to this group in Scottsboro. They then dissect the bags, dry clean and tag as needed, and open the goods up to the waiting public.
I kept hearing "Schadenfreude" in my head all weekend, but swore I was doing my patriotic duty for Presidents Day by improving the American economy. As it turned out, however, the joke was on us.
Let me tell you a little about Scottsboro, Alabama. It'll have to be a little, because honestly, there's not much to say. Scottsboro makes Fort Payne look like a booming metropolis. It's tiny. It's tucked up near the Tennessee border, about 30 miles from I-59. Unlike Fort Payne, it doesn't even have a band or a claim to global fame - all it has is the Unclaimed Baggage Center.
We didn't know this when we set off, so Jason, Brandon, and I were looking forward to the excursion when piled into Jason's car for our day trip. After a pit stop to take pictures of Brandon's smashed car (including one of her hugging the car goodbye), we set off, stopping only for gas and for lunch in Fort Payne. Don't you love little restaurants where everyone stares at you as you walk in the door? Still, they make a good cheese sandwich.
Somewhat satiated, we headed out into what can only be described as God's country, hoping for bargains. What we found was, to put it mildly, disappointing; the place was rather like a flea market with a high price point. Granted, they had some jewelry and a few fur coats, plus a selection of iPods, a couple electric guitars, and two saddles, but the only thing any of us bought was a paperback, and that cost me a whopping $4.36.
There was one bright spot, however. They had this:
Anyway, we did our two Brahms concerts (3 of 5 stars, according to the Birmingham News critic, but he's a jerk and sits too close...and he only ragged on the sopranos and tenors, anyway), and by Sunday, I was ready for a day of rest. We had a farewell soup and sides luncheon for Sarah, who's off to rock Midland, Texas in a Ron Burgundy sort of way (She's kind of a big deal. People know her.), and I went to bed that night eagerly awaiting the next morning, when a group of us would make a pilgrimage to the Unclaimed Baggage Center in Scottsboro.
What, you may ask, is the Unclaimed Baggage Center?
It happens all the time - your luggage doesn't meet you at the carousel. Sometimes, if it's my sister's bag, it ends up on the wrong continent. Other times, it winds up lonely and discarded, and then the airlines sell it to this group in Scottsboro. They then dissect the bags, dry clean and tag as needed, and open the goods up to the waiting public.
I kept hearing "Schadenfreude" in my head all weekend, but swore I was doing my patriotic duty for Presidents Day by improving the American economy. As it turned out, however, the joke was on us.
Let me tell you a little about Scottsboro, Alabama. It'll have to be a little, because honestly, there's not much to say. Scottsboro makes Fort Payne look like a booming metropolis. It's tiny. It's tucked up near the Tennessee border, about 30 miles from I-59. Unlike Fort Payne, it doesn't even have a band or a claim to global fame - all it has is the Unclaimed Baggage Center.
We didn't know this when we set off, so Jason, Brandon, and I were looking forward to the excursion when piled into Jason's car for our day trip. After a pit stop to take pictures of Brandon's smashed car (including one of her hugging the car goodbye), we set off, stopping only for gas and for lunch in Fort Payne. Don't you love little restaurants where everyone stares at you as you walk in the door? Still, they make a good cheese sandwich.
Somewhat satiated, we headed out into what can only be described as God's country, hoping for bargains. What we found was, to put it mildly, disappointing; the place was rather like a flea market with a high price point. Granted, they had some jewelry and a few fur coats, plus a selection of iPods, a couple electric guitars, and two saddles, but the only thing any of us bought was a paperback, and that cost me a whopping $4.36.
There was one bright spot, however. They had this:
It's Hoggle, from that Bowie classic, Labyrinth. (Thanks, Roadside America, for taking a picture!) The puppet arrived in someone's suitcase and has lived there ever since. Go figure.
Frustrated, we tried the knock-off unclaimed baggage store across the street. This proved to be a mistake, as the proprietor was of the surly, probably-has-a-gun-under-the-desk variety, and the best item for sale in the shack was a giant box of Tampax. Doesn't get much better than that, I suppose.
Tiring of this exercise in futility, we got back in the car and headed home, planning to reconvene that evening for pub trivia. As I was driving back to Hoover, I couldn't believe I'd failed in my mission to acquire cheap goods. On a whim, I pulled into the TJ Maxx parking lot - I'd only been in once before - and took a look at the women's racks. Half an hour later, I emerged with a black Dana Buchman sport coat and a khaki linen Tahari jacket, for which I paid only $175. If I'd been at Saks, they would have set me back around $825, so I felt pretty good about myself. I'll be going back to TJ Maxx.
Trivia was fun but for the cigarettes, to which I am annoyingly allergic. We only missed one point all evening, but so did three other teams, one of which had fewer players and thus won. If only we'd known that a Black Velvet is Guinness and champagne, we wouldn't have had this problem.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Evil empires and all that
As a Republican Southern Baptist from Alabama who spent the better part of her undergraduate Sundays at Mass, doesn't care about her friends' orientations, wants to see women in the pulpit, and has a fairly strong conviction that the world is, in fact, more than 6,000 years old, I've been associated with various evil empires for most of my life. This week, it pays off.
Along with the preceding, I'm also a bred PC user. I grew up with an IBM my parents bought from the Spiegel catalogue, a computer with 5 1/4 and 3 1/2 drives but no CD reader, a sweet little machine running on an 386 processor with glorious Windows 3.1. My mother instructed me never to push the Delete key, as she was afraid I might remove something important. Consequently, I got cozy with Backspace.
My school computers were even sadder than what I had at home - they had actual boot diskettes, and you could only access SimCity through DOS. We had a few Apples floating around, but I never used those but for Oregon Trail and Scarab of Ra. Now those were some good times.
Around sixth grade, after I complained that my friends were teasing me because we didn't have a color printer and my mother realized that this newfangled AOL 3.0 needed more space than the old computer could give, we got a spiffy new one with Windows 95 and the Aptiva software package. It even had a CD-ROM. I loved that thing, and then I got my first laptop, a Gateway Solo that weighed about 10 pounds, and forgot all about the PC. Since then, the family has upgraded and I've been through two more laptops (a giant Averatec and a much smaller Vaio), and I spent many of my college vacations troubleshooting issues with the family computer. I've done things in the registry no novice should be allowed to do, but everything still seems to be working, at least for the time being. (We do need to re-up our anti-spyware software, after all.)
Suffice it to say I've seen my share of frozen screens, error messages, and the Task Manager, but I can't help it - I love my Windows, and I love my PCs. Don't get me wrong, Apple's products are intuitive and shiny, but there's somehow less of a challenge when the icon jumps up and down, practically screaming, "Pick me, pick me, you moron! Click the button!" These Apple features have come in handy, however, as I've been forced to jump in and use them at work since my college internships.
And yet, beginning tomorrow, some of my department's Macs will be replaced by - gasp! - Dell desktop computers. The staff isn't too pleased to be losing their Macs, especially since almost no one is comfortable with PCs, but we're all going to PC training on Thursday to get us on the same page.
The Mac tech called me today to see which programs he'd have to transfer to my new computer. While I had him on the phone, I asked how useful the three-hour PC seminar would be, since I already know my way around XP. "You're going to be bored for quite a bit of it," he said. Good times.
Other than that, today was a mixed bag. I had a great impromptu lunch with a friend at Urban Standard, a relatively new cafe/coffeehouse on the north side that has the best grilled cheese sandwiches I've ever tasted (they come with balsamic dipping sauce), but then I had a mall pretzel for dinner. I found a copy of Live at The X Lounge III at What's on Second for $2, but I fell down a few stairs on my way to purchase it. I had to drive to Brahms practice in a monsoon, but I saw a fox running across the road when I was leaving work, and that made it all better.
Along with the preceding, I'm also a bred PC user. I grew up with an IBM my parents bought from the Spiegel catalogue, a computer with 5 1/4 and 3 1/2 drives but no CD reader, a sweet little machine running on an 386 processor with glorious Windows 3.1. My mother instructed me never to push the Delete key, as she was afraid I might remove something important. Consequently, I got cozy with Backspace.
My school computers were even sadder than what I had at home - they had actual boot diskettes, and you could only access SimCity through DOS. We had a few Apples floating around, but I never used those but for Oregon Trail and Scarab of Ra. Now those were some good times.
Around sixth grade, after I complained that my friends were teasing me because we didn't have a color printer and my mother realized that this newfangled AOL 3.0 needed more space than the old computer could give, we got a spiffy new one with Windows 95 and the Aptiva software package. It even had a CD-ROM. I loved that thing, and then I got my first laptop, a Gateway Solo that weighed about 10 pounds, and forgot all about the PC. Since then, the family has upgraded and I've been through two more laptops (a giant Averatec and a much smaller Vaio), and I spent many of my college vacations troubleshooting issues with the family computer. I've done things in the registry no novice should be allowed to do, but everything still seems to be working, at least for the time being. (We do need to re-up our anti-spyware software, after all.)
Suffice it to say I've seen my share of frozen screens, error messages, and the Task Manager, but I can't help it - I love my Windows, and I love my PCs. Don't get me wrong, Apple's products are intuitive and shiny, but there's somehow less of a challenge when the icon jumps up and down, practically screaming, "Pick me, pick me, you moron! Click the button!" These Apple features have come in handy, however, as I've been forced to jump in and use them at work since my college internships.
And yet, beginning tomorrow, some of my department's Macs will be replaced by - gasp! - Dell desktop computers. The staff isn't too pleased to be losing their Macs, especially since almost no one is comfortable with PCs, but we're all going to PC training on Thursday to get us on the same page.
The Mac tech called me today to see which programs he'd have to transfer to my new computer. While I had him on the phone, I asked how useful the three-hour PC seminar would be, since I already know my way around XP. "You're going to be bored for quite a bit of it," he said. Good times.
Other than that, today was a mixed bag. I had a great impromptu lunch with a friend at Urban Standard, a relatively new cafe/coffeehouse on the north side that has the best grilled cheese sandwiches I've ever tasted (they come with balsamic dipping sauce), but then I had a mall pretzel for dinner. I found a copy of Live at The X Lounge III at What's on Second for $2, but I fell down a few stairs on my way to purchase it. I had to drive to Brahms practice in a monsoon, but I saw a fox running across the road when I was leaving work, and that made it all better.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Taking the scenic tour of Birmingham
I realized somewhere around mile 10 of my half-marathon today why the iPod was invented. No, it wasn't so listeners could have their entire CD collections at their fingertips. It was so runners coming down off a hilly course and flagging with three miles to go wouldn't get that perennial classic, "Running on Empty," stuck in their heads.
Man, I missed my iPod.
I had heard headphones were allowed at Mercedes, but when I checked over my race instructions last night, I found otherwise. Reluctant to leave my Queen at home but unwilling to risk having my iPod confiscated, I left it behind this morning and decided to run my first distance race without music. Considering the last time I ran anything without music was ninth grade, this development only made my stomach knot more tightly.
I'm going to be honest, I was nervous going into this race today. Prior to this morning, I'd hit the half-marathon point exactly once, and that was a) on a flat course, b) in December, and c) before I was out for the better part of a month with an injury. Suffice it to say I was feeling under-trained already - hey, I've really only been running since October - and rumors were circulating about the course. Mercedes is a Boston qualifier, and they make you work for it. Birmingham's anything but flat, though you wouldn't know this from the Vulcan 10K, which has only one decent hill. The Mercedes course, on the other hand, is bitchy. The city's fine, but around the fourth mile, you hit the bottom of Greensprings, which is a solid uphill mile. Following that ordeal (the band at the top helps you on), you hit Valley, which undulates, and then the road descends (briefly) into English Village. Once in the Village, you head for the hill and start making the trek back into Birmingham proper. By mile 9, the worst of the hills are behind you, but that's small consolation when you're running on empty.
Undaunted (and blissfully unaware of exactly how demanding the course is), I was dropped off downtown at 6:15, bib pinned in place and chip strapped to my shoe, and spent most of the following 45 minutes waiting in bathroom lines. When better than 3,000 people are racing, there are long bathroom lines, especially for the women. We just can't be rushed. While waiting, I happened to notice that at least a quarter of the people around me had earbuds and iPods, and thought unkind things about reading the race rules. Slipping out of the waiting area just before 7, I entered the chute between the 9- and 10-minute mile groups, and waited for the 7:03 (don't ask) gun.
The first few miles were largely flat, and everyone seemed to be doing well, even the asses who had been smoking stogies in the chute before we started. Several people laughed when we came upon the first portalets and found racers lined up outside, but the biggest shock of the morning, at least for me, was looking down and seeing that the ex-Marine-type beside me was running barefoot. Some people just feel that need to be a little more hard-core than everyone else, I guess.
We left town, heading for Greensprings, and then the yells started - "Man, I love this hill! Yay, Greensprings!" - which were most definitely facetious. I didn't allow myself to walk on that hill - we were only four miles in, after all - but I was a bit shaky at the top, and midway down Valley, I gave up and walked for a few minutes. This pattern continued for most of the remaining hill course, running as far as possible and then walking to recover, but I wasn't the only one who hit the steep English Village hill, looked up, and said, "Ah, screw it, I'm taking my sweet time on this one."
To keep us from collapsing, refreshment stands had been set up at nearly every mile, and the small army of volunteers was busy handing out water, Powerade, gels, and bits of fruit as we passed. I became fond of those stands very quickly, and so when I saw one on the south side of Birmingham, I picked up the pace, hoping for another drink. Then I got close enough to hear them, and realized this stand was passing out Twinkies and beer. Something tells me it wasn't an official stop on the route.
Finally, wet, cold, and more than a little crusty, I crossed, got my medal and finisher's shirt, picked up a banana and couple of Powerades, wrapped myself in glorified aluminum foil to stay warm, and met my mother and Sarah, who had come down to watch me finish. It took me two hours, 12 minutes and change from the gun start to finish - the chip results aren't up yet - but by the gun time, I was the 493rd woman to cross. I'm not winning cash any time soon, but I finished respectably, and that was the goal in the first place - just finishing.
I changed clothes, hit the after-party, and discovered, once again, that I don't do well with food after a long run, no matter how good the barbeque sandwich tastes going down. Skipping the Michelob and the massages, I called my poor mother, who made her third 20-mile round-trip to Birmingham today, and went home before I could be sick or pass out. Once back at the house, Mom gave me a most welcome massage, and then I curled up on my bed, slightly sweaty clothes be damned, and didn't move for two hours.
It's 9 PM, and I'm going to bed. Something tells me I'm going to be a bit on the stiff side at 6:30 tomorrow morning, but there's no time for that - it's Brahms week.
Man, I missed my iPod.
I had heard headphones were allowed at Mercedes, but when I checked over my race instructions last night, I found otherwise. Reluctant to leave my Queen at home but unwilling to risk having my iPod confiscated, I left it behind this morning and decided to run my first distance race without music. Considering the last time I ran anything without music was ninth grade, this development only made my stomach knot more tightly.
I'm going to be honest, I was nervous going into this race today. Prior to this morning, I'd hit the half-marathon point exactly once, and that was a) on a flat course, b) in December, and c) before I was out for the better part of a month with an injury. Suffice it to say I was feeling under-trained already - hey, I've really only been running since October - and rumors were circulating about the course. Mercedes is a Boston qualifier, and they make you work for it. Birmingham's anything but flat, though you wouldn't know this from the Vulcan 10K, which has only one decent hill. The Mercedes course, on the other hand, is bitchy. The city's fine, but around the fourth mile, you hit the bottom of Greensprings, which is a solid uphill mile. Following that ordeal (the band at the top helps you on), you hit Valley, which undulates, and then the road descends (briefly) into English Village. Once in the Village, you head for the hill and start making the trek back into Birmingham proper. By mile 9, the worst of the hills are behind you, but that's small consolation when you're running on empty.
Undaunted (and blissfully unaware of exactly how demanding the course is), I was dropped off downtown at 6:15, bib pinned in place and chip strapped to my shoe, and spent most of the following 45 minutes waiting in bathroom lines. When better than 3,000 people are racing, there are long bathroom lines, especially for the women. We just can't be rushed. While waiting, I happened to notice that at least a quarter of the people around me had earbuds and iPods, and thought unkind things about reading the race rules. Slipping out of the waiting area just before 7, I entered the chute between the 9- and 10-minute mile groups, and waited for the 7:03 (don't ask) gun.
The first few miles were largely flat, and everyone seemed to be doing well, even the asses who had been smoking stogies in the chute before we started. Several people laughed when we came upon the first portalets and found racers lined up outside, but the biggest shock of the morning, at least for me, was looking down and seeing that the ex-Marine-type beside me was running barefoot. Some people just feel that need to be a little more hard-core than everyone else, I guess.
We left town, heading for Greensprings, and then the yells started - "Man, I love this hill! Yay, Greensprings!" - which were most definitely facetious. I didn't allow myself to walk on that hill - we were only four miles in, after all - but I was a bit shaky at the top, and midway down Valley, I gave up and walked for a few minutes. This pattern continued for most of the remaining hill course, running as far as possible and then walking to recover, but I wasn't the only one who hit the steep English Village hill, looked up, and said, "Ah, screw it, I'm taking my sweet time on this one."
To keep us from collapsing, refreshment stands had been set up at nearly every mile, and the small army of volunteers was busy handing out water, Powerade, gels, and bits of fruit as we passed. I became fond of those stands very quickly, and so when I saw one on the south side of Birmingham, I picked up the pace, hoping for another drink. Then I got close enough to hear them, and realized this stand was passing out Twinkies and beer. Something tells me it wasn't an official stop on the route.
Finally, wet, cold, and more than a little crusty, I crossed, got my medal and finisher's shirt, picked up a banana and couple of Powerades, wrapped myself in glorified aluminum foil to stay warm, and met my mother and Sarah, who had come down to watch me finish. It took me two hours, 12 minutes and change from the gun start to finish - the chip results aren't up yet - but by the gun time, I was the 493rd woman to cross. I'm not winning cash any time soon, but I finished respectably, and that was the goal in the first place - just finishing.
I changed clothes, hit the after-party, and discovered, once again, that I don't do well with food after a long run, no matter how good the barbeque sandwich tastes going down. Skipping the Michelob and the massages, I called my poor mother, who made her third 20-mile round-trip to Birmingham today, and went home before I could be sick or pass out. Once back at the house, Mom gave me a most welcome massage, and then I curled up on my bed, slightly sweaty clothes be damned, and didn't move for two hours.
It's 9 PM, and I'm going to bed. Something tells me I'm going to be a bit on the stiff side at 6:30 tomorrow morning, but there's no time for that - it's Brahms week.
Saturday, February 09, 2008
One of those weeks
Ever have one of those weeks in which it feels like you're running on a treadmill and can't find the red emergency button?
To summarize: work, Brahms, proofreading, vote, doctor, work, emergency baby shower gift, House, proofreading, get Brahms score bound, work, proofreading, work, mix crabmeat dip, finally get a 20-minute run in, finally get back to Duma Key, which I haven't touched all week, work, bake crabmeat, dinner party (thanks, Jerry!), more Duma Key.
And...breathe. I'm going to the pre-race expo in a bit, then out for fro-yo with Sarah. Then I'm coming home and taking it easy, because tomorrow's race starts at 7:03, and I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I'm going to wake on the hour tonight. And that just sucks.
Next week: nightly Brahms practice, then two concerts. We were supposed to be at the Alys Stephens Center for our first rehearsal with the conductor on Monday night, but we got bumped by the Indigo Girls. That's fine by me; Briarwood's a heck of a lot closer than the ASC.
To summarize: work, Brahms, proofreading, vote, doctor, work, emergency baby shower gift, House, proofreading, get Brahms score bound, work, proofreading, work, mix crabmeat dip, finally get a 20-minute run in, finally get back to Duma Key, which I haven't touched all week, work, bake crabmeat, dinner party (thanks, Jerry!), more Duma Key.
And...breathe. I'm going to the pre-race expo in a bit, then out for fro-yo with Sarah. Then I'm coming home and taking it easy, because tomorrow's race starts at 7:03, and I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I'm going to wake on the hour tonight. And that just sucks.
Next week: nightly Brahms practice, then two concerts. We were supposed to be at the Alys Stephens Center for our first rehearsal with the conductor on Monday night, but we got bumped by the Indigo Girls. That's fine by me; Briarwood's a heck of a lot closer than the ASC.
Sunday, February 03, 2008
Super Bowl commercials
The best part of the game -the advertisements.
Bud Light: Jackie Moon
Bud Light: Caveman party
Bridgestone: Running over Richard
Bud Light: Jackie Moon
Bud Light: Caveman party
Bridgestone: Running over Richard
Whistlestop tour
This weekend has to go down as one of the briefest home visits in collegiate history.
Stuck in Chicago when her flight was cancelled on Friday, my sister made it home around 10:45 Saturday morning. Twenty-three hours, a shopping trip, and a salmon-and-field-peas birthday dinner later, we drove her to Nashville for her grad school interview tomorrow morning. A strange weekend, certainly, but it was great to see the kid again.
We made it home at 5 PM, just in time for kickoff. I don't particularly care for football, and I have no great love for New York, but I was so psyched to see that touchdown pass with two minutes to go. (Actually, I looked up just as they announced it - I began reading Stephen King's newest during the second quarter. I said I don't care for football...) Oh man, why can't Yale play like that?
Actually, Yale did play like that. They played like the Patriots to Harvard's Giants, only much, much worse...
Stuck in Chicago when her flight was cancelled on Friday, my sister made it home around 10:45 Saturday morning. Twenty-three hours, a shopping trip, and a salmon-and-field-peas birthday dinner later, we drove her to Nashville for her grad school interview tomorrow morning. A strange weekend, certainly, but it was great to see the kid again.
We made it home at 5 PM, just in time for kickoff. I don't particularly care for football, and I have no great love for New York, but I was so psyched to see that touchdown pass with two minutes to go. (Actually, I looked up just as they announced it - I began reading Stephen King's newest during the second quarter. I said I don't care for football...) Oh man, why can't Yale play like that?
Actually, Yale did play like that. They played like the Patriots to Harvard's Giants, only much, much worse...
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