AOL Meditation Channel

Mary Pat, my extremely healthy sister, has years of experience as a dj as well as programming old and new radio. She was recently hired by AOL to cobble together a meditation channel. Here is the result. The channel premiered yesterday and I was so relaxed from listening that I forgot to post. So close your third eye and soak in the serenity.

Freakazoid DVD Season Two Box Art

Segment director Troy has alerted me to Freakazoid! season two box art. Leonard Rhombus appears on the back cover, portraying a vapor trail. Rhombus never shied away from challenging roles, often appearing as cacti, hills, and once a stagnant pool.

Internet Speculation from 1981

Think of Twitter or Facebook or some other aspect of current technology. Now imagine 28 years have passed and you've found an old news report speculating on where Twitter might be going.

h/t: Hot Air

St. George HS and the Vienna Boys

I was just contacted by an old high school chum. Oakner and I attended St. George in Evanston, Illinois through our sophomore year and hadn't spoken in geological eons. Our school name was the Dragons, and while St. George teams had suffered due to declining enrollment, underage drinking was in a boom period.

Oakner and a group of us called the "Vienna Boys" (named after a Clark Street hot dog stand and not a European choir), ran around the north side of Chicago between Clark Avenue and the lake, and from Howard Street south to Devon, having interesting and informative teenage adventures. Often we'd drink beer, ride public transportation, throw up beer, get kicked off public transportation. Once on a bus during the winter, I vomited up a half-dozen tangerine slices, still intact. I just missed an old woman's foot. She gave me a disgusted look, "If y'all can't hold yore liquor, you shouldn't drink." Great advice which I eventually followed decades later.

Oakner assured me most of the old group doesn't drink very much, if at all, and they hardly ever ride public transportation. In any case, I'll be back in Chicago this February for a cousin's wedding and can't wait to see them. At the very least see Oakner, who figured largely in many youthful events, found his way over time, met a great woman, and now runs a small restaurant out in the 'burbs.

Whatever happens, no tangerines, that's for sure. They're the devil's fruit.

Letter from My Health Insurance

Knebler-Moore Health Net.
Your Well-Being is Our Only Concern, but Never Our Complete Responsibility

Notice of 2009 Benefit or Coverage Changes

Coverage for Spouse - Due to changes in the IGM brought about by state and federal KOBA and GESRULE administrative findings, your spouse will no longer be automatically covered inside a hospital, but may receive treatment in the parking lot provided the lot is uncovered and outside the hospital.

Electronic Issuance of COE/IOC - Information has been added to the ASG under provisions of the Policy and Plans Benefit Certificate stating all future COE/IOC electronic issuance's must be issued electronically. We're not sure what this means, but it is binding.

Injury From Jelly Jars - Plan will no longer cover injuries from jelly jars, either flung or ingested.

Routine Physical Examinations - Visiting a doctor in person has been deemed superfluous. All examinations will now be performed at designated banks by untrained window clerks who are qualified to deposit your co-payment.

Bureaucratic Language Deceny Act - No unfair, wounding jokes about bureaucratic language and/or decisions will be permitted. We're people too. We love and have dreams. Our children laugh as merrily as yours. If we're cut, do we not bleed? If we bleed are we not covered by Knebler-Moore Outpatient Provisions in compliance with ARVESTI and CGI administrative rulings? So, please, be compliant — or we'll crush you like a rotten peach.

Phoenix Odds and Ends

Teammate Chris ran an outstanding race, finishing his second marathon in three hours and thirty-three minutes. He'll be assistant coaching the team next season and should do an awesome job. I told him to run everyone into the dirt the first week, then build up the survivors. He may have his own plans.

Two girls were out on the marathon course with a tiny horse about the size of a medium dog. It's good to see kids working in garage labs, altering animal DNA and creating fun mutants. It could become the 21st-century version of a lemonade stand.

A two-year girl on a bike with training wheels pedaled onto the course, zipping across the path of several fast runners. Luckily, there was enough distance that they didn't have to veer. The child finished first in her division: Unsupervised Kids Under Five Scaring the Crap Out of Adults.

Adios, Winter Team

Last practice today at the Rose Bowl. Coaches, support staff and a few Phoenix runners proudly wore their medals for our 3-mile victory stroll in the drizzly rain.

This team was assembled ala carte at information meetings held last summer in Arcadia and Pasadena, in libraries, and REIs; people joined who had relatives and friends suffering from leukemia, while others just wanted to sample marathon running. The team ranged in age from 70-year-old walkers to 20-something cheetahs who ran fast enough to peel paint off cars. Training started August 9th, with temperatures in the 80s. Looking back at photos on the team website, there are faces I hardly recognize, drop-outs after a few practices. It seems longer ago than it really was.

As teams go, the 2008/09 San Gabriel Valley Team in Training Winter Team sustained more than its share of injuries. Not only first-timers overdoing it, but many coaches and mentors also sustained various levels of ouch. Some dings healed, while others nagged. How injuries might behave race day lay on the minds of Phoenix full and half-marathoners last Sunday.

Beautiful race weather in the Valley of the Sun, 40s in the early morning, reaching the 70s by mid-afternoon. I was getting over an illness, hadn't slept well, and hadn't spent a great deal of time on my feet running or walking in five months. So I figured to bounce around the course using the brand new, fresh-out-of-the-box, light rail system.

At 7:40 AM, the marathon surged off, all seven thousand strong (with 22,000 running the half-marathon an hour later). I took the Metro east to 44th St. and walked north to reach the marathon half-way point. I passed a TNT couple stranded on 44th by an oafish cab driver who'd told them it was the half-marathon start line. They hailed another cab, but I'm not sure if that was good. Hopefully, they didn't end up in New Mexico.

Walking up to mile 14, I started back along the course to intercept one of our walkers who might need help making the cut-off. (If you're not across the 13.1 mile mat in 4 hours, they pack it up, put it back in the crate, and you're out of the race.)

A steel band near the 13-mile marker struck up a peppy version of "Brazil." Shortly after, the marathon pace convertible cruised by, filled with passengers who sprawled as if they'd been drinking all night, languidly waving to onlookers. Behind the pace car came an open truck jammed with photographers, looking like tourist cattle. They, in turn, were followed by a pack of hard-running Kenyans. I'd found the race.

Kenyans were followed by a few very fast guys, then a few more, then three very fast guys running together, then the lead pack of women runners, a few very fast women running solo, regular fast men and women with lots of space between them, then the first pacer holding up a red 3:00 hour sign, behind which surged the running masses.

Around mile 10, I found our walker, Kim, moving at a good pace. (I checked behind, looking for the sweeper truck. All clear for now.) Though a kind, energetic person, Kim has a laugh like a Halloween witch. And loud. She'd cut loose every now and then and it would startle me like a bucket of ice pitched over my head. Coach Dave arrived and convinced a group of teenage cheerleaders to yell, "Go Kim Possible!" They did, Kim laughed, and I jumped.

We made the cut-off, but not by much. As Kim followed the marathon down Oak Street, street crews were already plucking up orange traffic cones prior to reopening 44th. I saw a huge street sweeper advancing along the marathon route, yellow lights whirling, gobbling up discarded water cups like a jumbo Pac Man.

Heading back down 44th, I passed through the half-marathon, jumped back on the train, and headed for mile 25 near Sun Devil Stadium in Tempe.

Steve, Brittany, Inez, Vanessa, Lindsey, Hutch, Elizabeth, Caroline, Roman, one after the other, I ran or walked them to the finish line. Elizabeth was a trip. She wanted to run fast and break 5:30, stop and quit, or walk in all at the same time. (I think she broke 5:30.)

Many had been injured during the season, reinjured during the marathon, but all made a commitment to themselves to finish no matter what.

By the time C.J. shuffled past, I was spent. Our campaign manager Tiffany was cheering everyone in around mile 26. I found a flat rock near her and sat down. Kim finally made it past near the 8:00 hour mark. The staff packed it in. A few of us caught the train back to our hotel. I was out cold early.

Our victory walk ended back in the parking lot of the Aquatic Center. There was a brief moment where a few participants and the core of coaches and mentors stood in a circle, trading final marathon stories. But Tiffany, Dave, Karla and Pete all needed to attend an information meeting and recruit new members. (First practice for the summer season is next Saturday.) They split. A few others went to breakfast, and the rest strolled to their cars in twos and threes as the Winter Team dissolved for the last time. All that remains are memories, photos and medals, soon to be hanging on closet hooks.

Other matters call, so I won't be a part of Summer 2009. But if circumstances permit, I'd like to marathon coach again. Seeing regular guys and gals rise to the challenge of the distance inspires me in the face of my own adversities.

Now if I could only run again . . . .

Ocean View

Gimli holds 5lb. weights in each hand when he hikes. On our Wednesday trek he complained they were too light and perhaps it was time for ten pounds. I'm cranky carrying a 20-ounce water bottle, so I said, "Sure. Why not? Then you won't feel so weak." An overcast afternoon, we started up a moderately steep fire trail. Soon Gimli veered off onto a path that quickly lost all interest in staying visible, vanishing into a rock pile that rose up several hundred feet and required hand-over-hand climbing.

'What's he doing with those stinking weights now?' I wondered, but didn't ask because Gimli might get distracted and drop one on my head.

As we reached the summit, Gimli stated he lately had more energy. For 18 years, he'd worked eight hours a day, five-days-a-week at a warehouse moving crated auto parts. Afterwards, he'd roam the hills with 5lb. weights in each hand. Thanks to his layoff, he now has only hills and weights. And running the level stretches of trail. (In deference to my tender knees, we didn't do that.)

Kiley and his 50-mile trail run came to mind. "Hey, Gimli, you ever think about doing a trail run?" I explained how they're held in difficult terrain along narrow trails such as he already favors. Then I mentioned Kiley's April event.

He thought for a bit, then: "Okay. Sure."

Gimli thought I meant he should run Kiley's 50-miler.

"Maybe ease into it with something shorter," I suggested. "And you won't have to carry five-pounders."

He smiled. "I could go faster."

"God knows how fast."

We stopped atop Mount Olympus. Sunlight pierced the cloud cover, seeming to ignite a portion of the distant Pacific. Moving slowly, a container ship plodded across the sea through the light back into gray. I see why Gimli likes it up here.

So I'm checking out a 9K trail run in Malibu. If my knees agree, I'll join Gimli on the course. Otherwise, I'll be support. I'm curious to see how he'll do in competition. I think Gimli will rock.
On the trail down, Gimli asked if I knew where he might buy a ten-pound weighted vest. Clearly he felt his torso could be working harder.

Race day - March 8.

I Promise . . .

. . . another hiking post on Griffith Park, a fat Phoenix marathon post, a post on my plans to begin running again, and a commitment to smile at dwarfs, Cuban or not.

Shareholder Letter from Gannon Macaroons

Dear Mr. McCann,

Thank you for many years of patient investment in RS Gannon Macaroons, makers of fine macaroon products and derivatives. As we leave behind a rocky 2008, I wanted to provide you our thoughts on the market and how it has affected the overall value of your shares.

Ha, ha, ha, ha. Oh, I'm sorry. This is serious. Several indicators point, heeheeheeheehee. Wait. Wait. Give me a minute. Hrmmm. There.

Historically, recessions such as the one we're currently in have lasted, oh, hahahahahaha. Bwaaaahahaha. I . . . I . . . 'Value?' Haha. Monopoly money has more value than your shares. BWOOOHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Oh, what a stuffing you took! You were shagged and bagged and dry humped by leopards! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Please maintain a long-term view.

Sincerely,

Ottis Frah,
Chief Executive Officer
RS Gannon Macaroons

Welcome Katie

Old chum Katie has joined the Blogspot family. A fine mural artist, (museum curator, and Jill-of-Many-Trades), you can check out her work at Dreamscapes.