Surfers Point Marathon Retrospective

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 Hindsight is 20/20, Fella

Yes, yes, but it's invaluable when assessing a race. First off, I'm jazzed to have:

A. Finished.

B. Finished ahead of my goal time. (5:30 or five hours and thirty minutes.)

C. Finished eight minutes ahead of my goal time. (5:22:49)

A set time helped me focus and not just in training. Without one I'd have settled for "just finish the wretched thing." (In the later miles, that temptation paced in the back of my mind, then settled in by the fire for miles 21 to 24.) Or else the more diabolically commercial "just finish the wretched thing and write a little book."

Loop Courses Have Issues 

Which is saying I have issues with loop courses. I didn't before. But then I'd never run one for a marathon. Every pleasing downhill grade must be run uphill twice. In the case of Surfers Point, the longest uphill grades were on the return trip. It was psychological. I kept thinking, 'I've got to do this again."

For slower runners such as myself, everyone passes you more than once. With multiple races and a wave start, runners from the half-marathon zipped by. Fast 10kers showed me their heels. Fortunately, zero 5kers left me in the dust. This constant passing triggers a hurry-up gene often experienced while driving. You must concentrate to suppress it and remain on pace.

watchfit.com

On the Subject of Pace

 I went out too fast. I knew I went out too fast. Prior marathon experience taught me I couldn't "bankroll" fast miles early for slow miles later. I'd risk bonking, missing my goal time, shuffling across the finish line, an abject example for the young. Yet I did it anyway. My half-marathon time was 2:33 instead of 2:45. During the latter miles of the race I felt myself grinding to a halt like a car running out of fuel. The virtue of patience should be exercised in the marathon's first half, then assess. 

Training Woes 

All self-inflicted. I didn't run enough days during the week. My cross-training fell away. My chi running form decayed at longer miles and I addressed the matter haphazardly. I didn't include enough pace miles in my long runs. And I neglected to generate enough faster miles in the form of tempo runs or track sessions. 

Nothing above detracts from my warm feelings. But should I attempt another marathon—unclear today—all these points would be addressed.

And I am writing a little book on my 13-year quest to complete 26.2. 

nicepng

Prostate Cancer Real Talk Speaks

Men, Get Prostate Cancer Testing! 

El and Shay lay out the facts about prostate cancer. Hear from El's surgeon Dr. Kundu and learn more about one of the biggest killers of men.

Prostate Cancer Real Talk

Nam Killed Kurt Over Time v.3

Photo: Life Magazine. Kurt's unit patrolled these hills. (Mutter's Ridge and the Rock Pile.) 

Some veterans die in battle while others return home to perish on the installment plan. My friend Kurt passed away in 2003 from liver cancer. He went quick, maybe a hundred days. The cancer was partially brought about by PTSD-inspired drinking coupled with hepatitis from a bad blood transfusion he underwent in Vietnam. Kurt could have skated on that particular war, but extended his enlistment in order to fight. Serving in Marine Recon, he won a Navy Commendation medal for helping his unit battle clear of an ambush.

Several Purple Hearts later, Kurt joined an ultra-secret outfit that probed the Ho Chi Minh Trail in Laos. Hacked out of the jungle, the Trail was a highway for the North Vietnamese to funnel men and supplies into South Vietnam and Cambodia. Because of our odd political posturing, Laos was officially off-limits to U.S. ground forces. That meant Kurt and his unofficial comrades were forced to ditch the bodies of their dead. The fallen would be listed as "Missing in Action in South Vietnam." It always bothered Kurt that families would be denied the closure of burial—or the recognition of bravery from a schizophrenic government.

A good portion of Kurt's post-war years were spent in alcohol and drug-fueled rage and self-destruction. In time, he made peace with his past. Little by-little, Kurt cut a trail over to serenity from which he rarely strayed. Despite a Master's Degree in electronics, he took a job driving a truck and fixing vending machines. (Kurt worked well unsupervised.) Getting married, buying a home, his last ten years were good ones.

I was a pallbearer at Kurt's funeral. He received a Marine Corps color guard, taps, and a view of the 2 Freeway stretching below in the distance, flowing past Forest Lawn Cemetery on its way to Eagle Rock. (Transportation played a big role in his life.) I recall Kurt when I drive past and often wish he could call down artillery on erratic drivers.

This Veteran's Day Kurt came to mind. And while he's at peace, I send prayers and best wishes to those still struggling with the silent baggage of war.

Happy Veteran's Day to all who served.

(This is a 2014 repost from Veteran's Day 2010 reposted once more in 2021.)

Google Doodle Veterans Day Joke

I'm guessing that reducing the sacrifice of many to a mawkish ideological poster is a jest of some sort. In truth, I'd be surprised if anyone in Google served in the military. Hence, they would know zero about the importance of unit cohesion. Somehow I don't feel honored by this. 

Happy B-Day to the Marine Corps

Update: Ten years have passed since this post. Make it 246 years etc. Each year on this date—circumstances permitting—units will have a cake. The birthday cake is cut by the unit's oldest and youngest Marines, signifying that the Corps continues on.

236 years of shooting people and breaking stuff on behalf of the United States of America. In 1950 10,000 men of the First Marine Division were surrounded by 120,000 Chinese troops near the Chosin Reservoir in North Korea. Below is a trailer for a 2010 documentary detailing the Marines' fight to break free. An amazing tribute to amazing men.

 

I Finish a Marathon After 13 Years

My Finishing Time

As Winston Churchill once said: "If you're going through Hell, keep going." Achieved my goal of finishing in a certain time. That helped keep me going several times. Training is over for awhile. What ever shall I do now with all my extra time?
 

Obligatory Pre-Marathon Gear-on-the-Bed Shot

Not Really His Bed—A Fold-Out in a Back Room

Well, now it's serious. We leave tomorrow morning for our drive to the coast. Then its pick-up my gear pack including race number, check into our hotel, off to evening Mass, then a fine pasta meal. The end of Daylight Savings allows me a spare hour of sleep, but I won't. The pre-dawn hours bring with them a complicated dance wherein my wife drops me off at a shuttle bus location then goes back to sleep, then finds a parking space and walks to the finish line for my arrival around 5 hours and 30 minutes later. 

So that's it. Thirteen years have passed since I prepared to run a marathon. Pain, operations, depression, quitting running for good, stupid injuries when I didn't quit running for good, learning a complex way of covering ground that didn't stress my bad knee. It seems surreal, big. Part of me wants to stay in bed Sunday morning and not race.

But I've come this far. I want to see how it all ends.

So You Want to be Creative?

 Contains thoughts I often have on the writing life.

Better Chapter

Last Training Run

 Taper Complete for Surfers Point Marathon

That's that. Ran four miles yesterday and will run no more until Sunday's race. My emotional state has been in flux: catastrophe—glittering success. But I'm confident now. Over the intervening years I've recalled a lot about distance running, learned more about chi running, and lost a great deal of weight. (Down to 220 pounds from 260 back in January.)

The weather is slated to be sunny and mild. Ocean views throughout. It's been a long, long time, but I'm prepared to run another marathon. 

chihealth.com

Learning to Be Ineffective

 

Learning360online

Strategic Delay in Play

Here's a stunning revelation: I've gradually reached peak efficiency in teaching myself how not to finish writing projects. A recent shelf cleaning expedition uncovered a dozen first draft novels, novellas, long short stories over 5k words. Leafing through my canon I read a lot of rough but quite serviceable material. 

My pattern is to complete the first draft. Then let it simmer. Then start something new. But I never seem to return to the original draft. Plus I rarely outline, leading to me following each new shiny plot point or character so that the original tale no longer fits the new story that has metastasized into something unwieldy.

I've got hundreds and hundreds of pages, tens if thousands of words, and only a handful of completed works over the last five years. This writing malady started awhile ago, but it's really picked up steam since 2016.

The answer to more completions is not drastic: Do a simple outline. Then focus on the next word, sentence, paragraph, page, chapter. Staying locked on the process of story telling is more important than front braining a slew of new plans, approaches, and goals. 

I return now to culling my backlog. 

Old School Cops Spoof

Prehistoric parody of Cops using Star Wars Imperial Storm Troopers. Really nails the cop talk.

Alex Derevin

Outlining a Novel

 

Or a long short story. I've been experimenting with author William Miller's outline method. Designed for fast-paced action tales, this pulpish approach zips you along the writing trail as you construct your story scaffold. Having fun with the darn thing. 

Twenty-One Miles Run and Done

 

Rose Bowl courtesy of Pasadena City College

Down in the arroyo where the Rose Bowl sits it was a southern California cold morning—41 degrees. I wished I'd brought gloves. Very nervous over whether I'd finish today. My chi running form was off. My feet burned from prior long runs and body parts hurt which shouldn't have.

Since I'd be running over rocky terrain, I waited until the dawn's early light arrived. As in times past, I focused on breaking the run into segments: six miles south, down and back to my starting point, along the Arroyo Seco Channel—a fancy name for a concrete flood control canal. Then a three mile loop around the Rose Bowl. Then two miles down and back to the south. 

After topping up my water belt bottles, it was north for five miles of mostly uphill running. Past the Devil's Gate Reservoir, past JPL, up into the Angeles National Forest. I encountered old Team in Training pal CJ bounding south along the trail. We chit-chatted briefly, then I pushed on to the Elmer Smith Bridge. From there it was five mostly downhill miles back to my Rose Bowl Lot K starting point.

Devil's Gate Reservoir courtesy of KCET

Adjustments to my chi running form really helped. But as my feet have grown with age, I found my shoes weren't large enough to handle foot expansion. This resulted in bruised toenails and, later, an emergency purchase of larger shoes. Also, the GU gel replenishing my glycogen tastes very treacly after a time. Gummi bears didn't seem as effective as back-in-the-day when I trained for the Phoenix Marathon. I need to quickly revamp my road menu. Two more long runs remain for assorted testing purposes.

Boy, did I ache the rest of the day. I'd forgotten about ice baths. Twenty-one miles marks the longest training run since a pair of 22 milers logged while preparing for the 2008 Eugene Marathon.

So now the Surfers Point Marathon seems real. My goal has been adjusted to five hours and thirty minutes. I've acquired a hotel room and need to wrap up a few more athletic loose ends. But after thirteen years, it seems I'll finally get a crack at another 26.2.

Ricky and Morty Began Somewhere

 

Comic Ryan George investigates the genesis of a popular animated TV series.

Screen Rant

Adam Carolla's Roommate Greta Thunberg

 Adam plays straight man to a great Greta Thunberg impersonation.

Adam Carolla

Twenty Mile Run Tomorrow

Medical Island

 

This will decide whether or not I tackle 26.2 next month. My chi running form—good enough for 3 and 4 mile runs—tends to fall apart at longer distances. I've been focusing on my form, but there may not be enough time left before race day. So I'll proceed as long as I safely can. If it feels like Mr. Injury has again come a'calling, then I'll cut it short, eat my entry fee, and work on my form. It'll take a bit longer than anticipated, but I'm finishing another marathon. 

I contemplated my first 20 mile run a mere 15 years ago.

Failure as a Growth Step

 After mewling in my last post, I found this video by Dr. Alan Goldberg. Good advice on how to deal with setbacks. I intend to follow his worthy counsel.

 

Competitive Advantage

Awful Training Run

wallpapercave.com

A sub-par 18 mile run yesterday. I made rookie mistake in hydrating, energy, pace, you name it. I spent the day depressed. If certain issues with my running shoes aren't resolved, I'll need to push back my marathon. A mess, I tell you.

Surfer's Point Marathon Update

 

Yes, November 7th, a Sunday, will see me once again attempt to master 26.2 miles. For the last 12 years I've been searching for a method of running that didn't cause me knee pain. If you have time, peek at this, or this, or this, or this, or this or this. My orthopedist tried talking me out of ever trying to run again. But I knew better. Such high hopes I had. I assumed I'd be knocking out another marathon sometime in 2010.

Today I'm into my longest runs. This Wednesday, I'll run 16. Then the following weeks will see long runs of 18, 13.1, 20, 10, 8, some speed work, then the marathon. I'll know my goal time more exactly after my half-marathon run. Right now it appears a finishing time of five hours and eleven minutes is doable. It's exciting. I'd forgotten so much. Like nipple guards. 

More soon. 

So Long, Norm Macdonald

 This guy made me laugh. I'm sorry to see him go so soon. Below is a clip from a longer piece on how Norm would approach the job of being a serial killer.

CureofQuarantine

9/11 Recalled 2021

 

K called from Florida, "Planes crashed into the World Trade Center and one of the towers just fell." Unemployed in Los Angeles and half asleep at 7:30 AM, I shuffled downstairs to the TV, past Joy as she prepared for work. At first, all I saw was a dirty cloud obscuring southern Manhattan. Then a stunned announcer said the second tower had just collapsed. Joy joined me, work forgotten as we learned of the attack.

Other friends phoned throughout the day. Paul Rugg speculated about the pilots of the doomed aircraft, certain they weren't Americans forced to crash. TJ, a Vietnam vet, was incensed at the footage of jubilant Palestinians with their candy and AK-47s. He wished he could gift them with a nice buttering of napalm. In a grim mood, I agreed.

Watching TV and power-chewing Nicorette, I mostly felt numb — except when the subject was jumpers. Then I felt horror. Go to work, sip coffee, joke with your pals, then decide whether you'll suffocate, burn alive, or leap a quarter mile to certain death. Questions of etiquette arise: jump solo or hold hands with a co-worker? Perhaps several of you link arms and form a chain, finding courage in numbers. Or do you clutch a table cloth and step into the air, desperately hoping it slows your fall?



The journey takes ten seconds.


Air velocity rips away your shoes.


You explode on impact.


I will always be haunted by the jumpers of 9/11.


Oceans of paper were blasted from the towers, filling the New York sky like the Devil's ticker tape. Invoices and wedding invitations floated down to gray sidewalks.

My friend Cathy, who worked in D.C., reported chaos as the government sent everyone home at once following the Pentagon attack. One jammed intersection turned scary as a man leaped out of an SUV brandishing a pistol and attempting to direct traffic.

Being murdered is not a heroic act, though it can be. Flight 93 passengers fought back and died, saving many more in their sacrifice. North Tower Port Authority employees rescued over 70 people before perishing.


There were many heroes that day.

My sister Mary Pat and I had dinner at a coffee shop. She was passing through town, leaving a job in Mountain View, CA to return to Phoenix. Depressed by the day's events, our meal was not jolly.

Later, Joy tried to give blood, but the hospital was overwhelmed with donations and refused.

Vulnerability, grief, dismay, anger.

Such a beautiful morning with a sky so blue.

(Photos from: Little Green Footballs.)

Repost: Sept. 11, 2008

Update: Strange to reread this. TJ died in 2009 and K passed away just over a year ago. My wife, Joy, and I are doing well, as is Paul Rugg who now rides the train. 

Repost: Sept. 11, 2013

Update: I had cancer surgery last year, but recovered. My wife is doing well and my sister battles her own health woes. I have not heard from my friend Cathy in a few years.  Paul Rugg continues riding the train in addition to being a voice over machine.

Repost: Sept. 11, 2015

Update: Paul Rugg's daughter was not quite two years old on 9/11/01. Now she is a freshmen in college. I have retired from TV animation writing, though, as stated elsewhere, I find retirement to be indistinguishable from unemployment. (Save for a small annuity.) And very soon, I shall ride the train to see my sister. (Explanatory post t/k.)

Repost: Sept. 11, 2017

Update: Ten years have passed since I composed this post, 17 years since the incident. Alas, the greatest hit to our nation continues to be a colossal security apparatus that can't seem to function without monitoring everyone's communications, then lying about it. I'd rather not comment on airport theater. Still, my wife remains gainfully employed and I'm racing to complete a dystopian thriller by Christmas. Amidst the great events, the little things carry us forward.

Repost: Sept. 11, 2018

Update: About to publish a softcover version of my prostate book. Meanwhile the Afghanistan Forever War continues. I refuse to believe that for almost 20 years, there's been no better way of fighting the Taliban than sending billions to Pakistan to provide hiding places for them while they infiltrate Afghan government forces and assassinate our advisors. The Byzantine Empire lasted over a thousand years battling multiple enemies on different fronts, employing a combination of diplomacy military prowess, and strategic alliances. With the entrenched, consequence-proof dimwits we have infesting Washington D.C., we'll probably end up surrendering to the Taliban.

Repost: Sept. 11, 2019

Update: How odd to stand on the threshold of twenty years. Given the riots and chaos of the pandemic, the blithering repose of local government re. small-business-killing lockdowns, the event is passing with barely a mention. If I hadn't spotted a NatGeo special on the Twin Towers, I might've forgotten myself. Interesting health issue, with cataract surgery, an upcoming new crown—for a tooth—and the results of a biopsy for skin cancer. Paul Rugg works on a Henson TV show, and his daughter nears the end of her undergrad studies. My sister continues on with NPR in the unburned portion of the Pacific Northwest. I will publish a book of my short stories by Christmas. Joy's work will soon restore her full pay, slashed during the lockdowns. Since South Dakota never locked down at all, shouldn't their population be deader than the Sioux at Wounded Knee? Not all experts are experts.  

Repost: Sept. 11, 2020

Update: 

What I wrote sarcastically in 2019 came true. A devastating mortifying defeat. 

Repost: Sept. 11, 2021

Top Ten Raymond Chandler Quotes from The High Window

 Hard-boiled Noir, huh?

librarything

I'd never read this particular Phillip Marlowe tale, but am enjoying it immensely. Absolutely loaded with fun descriptive Chandlerisms:

1. "She had eyes like strange sins."

2. "Below his eyes . . . there was a wide path of freckles, like a mine field on a war map."

3. The blonde sobbed in a rather theatrical manner and showed me an open mouth twisted with misery and ham acting."

4. "We looked at each other with the clear innocent eyes of a couple of used car salesmen."

5. ". . . and a granite coffee pot that smelled like sacks in a hot barn."

6. " He had a sort of dry musty smell, like a fairly clean Chinaman."

7. "From ten feet away she looked like something made up to be seen from thirty feet away."

8. "My face was stiff with thought, or with something that made my face stiff."

9. "[Net curtains] puckered in and out like the lips of a toothless old man sleeping."

10. "Out of the apartment houses come women who should be young but have faces like stale beer; men with pulled-down hats and quick eyes that look the street over behind the cupped hand that shields the match flame; worn intellectuals with cigarette coughs and no money in the bank; fly cops with granite faces and unwavering eyes; cokies and coke peddlers; people who look like nothing in particular and know it, and once in a while even men that actually go to work. But they come out early when the wide cracked sidewalks are empty and still have dew on them."

brainpickings.org

So Long, Ed Asner

 

Behind the Voice Actors

Sergeant Mike Cosgrove (who also used the name Ed Asner) is gone. Freakazoid's pal and law enforcement chum has cashed out his life chips and departed this plane of existence. 

Ed was fun to work with, bummed cigarettes off the crew, and never seemed thrown by the often surreal dialogue he was called upon to read. I wish his family peace in this troubled time. 

Adieu, Ed and may you know eternal rest involving offbeat wholesome fun.

ZuccoloX

First Double Digit Run in 13 Years

 

finsmes.com

But how? 

You're fat, old and injured!

Excellent points, all. But first a bit of crowing: they said it couldn't be done—running any distance. (At least one orthopedic surgeon uttered as much.) And for a over a decade he appeared right. But last Wednesday, I ran ten miles thanks to chi running and a generous assist from the weather.

Starting near the Pasadena Rose Bowl I loped up into the Angeles National Forest above Jet Propulsion Labs to the fabled Elmer Smith Bridge. The round-trip took me 2:12:03. I employed a modest 3x1 run-walk ratio ala the Jeff Galloway method. 

But Los Angeles is blazing hot in August!

Generally, yes, you're correct. But around 7:30 AM the mercury hovered under 70 degrees. An overcast morning with grayish marine layer, there was also a fine light breeze. I was loaded down with water and Gatorade, Gu gel, and salt tablets. Only my sunglasses proved unnecessary. 

On the last few miles I encountered a thin misting rain. It stopped suddenly as if chided. 

1075

Just like the old days, huh? 

(There's a reason you're a minor heading.) So much to relearn. My feet burned on the last mile, a sign of inadequate shoe padding. The net uphill of the first five miles exposed my training. By contrast, the bridal trails of Griffith Park are mostly flat dirt with gentle rises, not the rolling terrain, patches of rocky ground and abrupt rises of Wednesday's run. Also, I sensed a need for more weekly miles, with emphasis on tempo runs. Increasing mileage can be tricky in the midst of training.

But a corner has been turned. I'm comfortable enough with chi running to cover longer distances. I'm still integrating the run-walk method, but the efforts show promise. In addition, my weight has dropped into the 230s, a plunge of around 30 pounds from January. 

Rummaging around, I found an old pair of trainers that should wear better on the trails until I can buy new distance running shoes. 

 So then: a short three miles today, rest tomorrow, then 12 miles on Wednesday.  

Wickipedia

Another Fine Rout

 

phukettimes

Political commentary isn't my usual forte, but for the second time in my life I watch America scuttle out of a foreign policy disaster. Here are a few scattered thoughts.

America is back . . . to the 70s

In 1975, I was still in the service, stationed on an air base in South Carolina. I recall the veterans around me numbed by the televised chaos as the South Vietnamese struggled to escape their country's fall to North Vietnam. Years later, I visited Vietnam and Cambodia. Speaking to inhabitants, I learned what people endured under the communists.  Awful things. Genocide, for one.

As an interesting comparison, the U.S. congress back in the day cut off all aid to South Vietnam. Lauren Zanolli writes in History News Network: 

"Historians have directly attributed the fall of Saigon in 1975 to the cessation of American aid. Without the necessary funds, South Vietnam found it logistically and financially impossible to defeat the North Vietnamese army. Moreover, the withdrawal of aid encouraged North Vietnam to begin an effective military offensive against South Vietnam. Given the monetary and military investment in Vietnam, former Assistant Secretary of State Richard Armitage compared the American withdrawal to “a pregnant lady, abandoned by her lover to face her fate."

The cash spigot was never turned off in Afghanistan. Including Iraq, AP lists:. 

 

"Estimated amount of direct Afghanistan and Iraq war costs that the United States debt-financed as of 2020: $2 trillion.

Estimated interest costs by 2050: Up to $6.5 trillion."

A Tale of Two Armies

ARVN troops@militaryimages.net

At the very least, the South Vietnamese ARVN (Army of the Republic of Vietnam) went down fighting at Xuan Loc. I recall the battle and the last stand of General Le Minh Dao's 18th Division.

As for the 300k strong Afghan Army, ferocious when it came to shooting their NATO advisors, they forked over their weapons to the Taliban like scolded children handing over firecrackers to the cops. After twenty years of nation building, that is what our gasbag generals, greedy contractors and dim-witted politicians could produce . . . other than assurances that everything was going according to plan.

Now the Fun Starts

The Taliban are already going door to door with kill lists and shooting pilots, interpreters, and anyone else that backed the kleptocrat Ghani. Incidentally, he never struggled to escape. Ghani simply departed ahead of the crowd. Perhaps our fey elites will invite him to Aspen or Davos. With billions siphoned off in American aid the former Afghan president is, no doubt, almost as rich as the late Yasser Arafat—a man who never needed a lesson in fleecing globalist rubes.

Lessons learned?

One gets the impression that our political and military establishment are already reviewing the catastrophe. The failures are clear. They will never be repeated.

The next nation we build will have mandatory Drag Queen Story Hour.

Vromans

Our bright caring elites know what is important.

A Salute to Athletes Who Didn't Quit

I know this subject. 

I know when I've run well and I know when I've listened to that little voice in the back of my head telling me I've done quite enough for the day. It's a moment lasting an instant when you must choose between believing your training or responding to a play-it-safe voice that smothers dreams. 

Training for a marathon in November, I've been battling the quits in hot temperatures. My times, to be frank, suck. But I've continued on as new inspirations emerge.

In Tokyo today . . .

. . . a woman competing in only her third marathon . . . 

. . . in eighty-degree temperatures . . . 

. . . against Kenyans . . . 

. . . became just the third Yank lass to medal since 1984. 

Molly Seidel ran like a champ, pushed the pace, and stayed in the hunt for gold and silver until the very end. At 2:27:46 - only three hours ahead of my fall projected finish time - Bronze Medal Molly displayed the heart that inspires even an elderly, injury-plagued marathoner such as myself.

swimsuits.com

Speaking of grit . . . 

. . . Allyson Felix won her eleventh medal—seventh Gold—in the 4 x 400 meter relay. She surpassed Carl Lewis to become America's top Olympic medalist. Dating back to 1996, Felix has notched her medals in between a difficult childbirth, brutal losses, and, at 35, the hour-glass draining fast on elite speed. Allyson's unquenchable perseverance and mental toughness rated her those eleven trips to the podium.

Atlanta Black Star

As for me . . . 

. . . maybe I'll add another day to my running week. 

Gymstrodamus Wrong?

 A coy oily header. But where might this fellow be incorrect in a world where 60% of locked down U.S. businesses never reopened and Jeff Bezos, Big Phrama and their dear friends in government are swollen with cash like pufferfish? 

American Eric

The Babylon Bee Reimagines John Lennon

 Such a tasty subject, the mocking of communism, yet so few diners. The Babylon Bee examines the fruits of Marxism in this touching parody tune.

The Babylon Bee

Prostate Cancer Real Talk #3

 El and Shay tackle the issue of why Afro-American men are more susceptible to prostate cancer. Doctor Adam B. Murphy joins them in exploring the topic.

Prostate Cancer Real Talk

Manson's Acting Skills Often Overlooked

 My friend Ken sent this along. It's from The old Ben Stiller Show and is a parody of Lassie with a surprise replacement for the collie. Pretty darn good. Ad warning.

suedejones

Xi Jinping's Stand-Up Comedy Act

 When not threatening to vaporize Japan, the President of the Chinese People's Republic likes to stay sharp honing his stand-up comedy chops. Over the years, Xi Jinping has worked up a killer set which he polishes during open-mike nights at various Beijing night spots. Here's a smuggled out sample of Jinping at Club Five-Year Plan riffing on current events.

Now, comrades, the comedy stylings of . . . 

qz.com

"Whoa, thank you. This place is based. I gotta say: this club is almost as much fun as gang-raping a Uighur. You heard me. Yeah. Someone once asked me why I never bring a stool on stage like certain other comics. I told 'em, 'You try sitting with Joe Biden's head up your ass.' Whoa, yeah, you guys are quick. This crowd is sharper than the scalpel at a Falun Gong organ harvesting. Hell, yeah. Someone stop me. I'm a mad man.

What else is happening? Crazy week. Crazy week, isn't it? I met with the leaders of the Taliban. Did you see that? Yeah. I mean we've actually got a few things in common; like watching the United States scamper away in defeat like a little girl—Vietnam, anyone?— and kicking the shit out of Christians. Other than that, the Taliban smell like goats in a cess pool. Whoa. Did I say that? Somebody build a shower in that country. Puh-leeze.

Man, I should've gone to the bathroom before I came up here. I'm leaking worse than the Wuhan Lab. Come on. That was funny. Check your social media scores. This whole club is getting downgraded. That's better. Yuk it up. And don't forget to tip your waitresses. They all dodged forced abortions. Lucky ladies. Wild stuff, huh?

Okay, time to hit the old Belt and Road. And remember, when life hands you lemons, beat a Tibetan with an ax handle. Goodnight, everyone.

Freakazoid Friends at Warner Bros.

L. to R.: Joe Leahy, Jonathan Harris, Paul Rugg, and I

 Rummaging in some old files and scrolled across this photo circa 1997. Note my stylish collarless shirt. I never really thought about moments such as this because I was always looking ahead to the next job. Now I realize my work at Warner Bros. was the most fun I've ever been paid for. Not that my current life isn't fun. But I'm not paid for sitting around—though that is no longer universally true in California. I wonder who took this?

Editing Diversity Pleases Chi Com Censors

 Money talks and the LGBTQ walk as comic Ryan Long exposes Hollywood hypocrisy. 

Ryan Long

Fiction Writing Update and The Social Dilemma

trainerbubble.com

Trapped once more

 I used to update my writing more often. Ah, well. I'll start by reporting that the allure of social media/YouTube is just as addictive as intended. Among other spots, I've described the cloying allure of the Web back in 2017,  in a book revue and in a post complaining about Facebook. Just the morning I woke up late and started zipping around news sites and watching old Soprano videos instead of working. I have a twelve minute grace period. After that, I vanish into the online time-suck. 

And fiction writing? 

One helpful method is to reduce the time I write. Less seems to be more. This will increase in subsequent drafts, but for now my second volume of Hallow Mass inches forward two hours at a time. Depending on the amount of dialogue, that produces between one and four pages. I finish refreshed and less tempted during difficult periods to bolt intoWeb surfing. More updates soon.

BTW:

As mentioned earlier this year, take a look at The Social Dilemma. They really nail the built-in addictive nature of social media, smart phones, etc. 

Also 2018's The Creepy Line. 

Top Ten Google Corporate Quotes

 

logodesignteam.com

(You might say I'm biting the hand that feeds me, but let's see if the big G has a sense of humor.)

Top Ten Google Corporate Quotes

1. Small groups of people can have a really big impact by monitoring your opinions.

2. If you're not doing something crazy, you're not living in San Francisco.

3. If you can't change the world, change the algorithim.

4. Always deliver more than the intelligence agencies ask for. 

5. Have a healthy disregard for differing opinions.

6.  Solving big problems is easier when you sell everyone's information.

7. To many rules stifle James Damore.

8. Our Diversity, Inclusion and Equity policy spells DIE.

9. We're optimistic about technology making the world a better place for the super rich.

10. Do no evil, unless you're helping Communist China.

pngimg.com

Idaho Speaks to New California Residents

 A good press conference parody. Boy, does this guy look like an Idaho governor. 

joeinert

Libertad Cuba!

The commies are shutting down social media. Go Cuba!

Meridiano

Prostate Cancer Real Talk Interviews Author JP Mac

El and Shay Allen want you to know all about prostate cancer. So they interviewed a prostate-less man such as myself. We discuss my book and various subjects of interest to those facing this most common of male cancers. The podcast is 43 minutes in length, but chock full of helpful tips. Give it a listen!

Prostate Cancer Real Talk

Happy July 4 2021

Let that old freedom ring!

rd.com

Yet Another July 4th Run

A pleasant Independence Day to my fellow yanks. As in July 4 weekends past— 2007  2010   2015  2019 — I exercised today, this time at a Rose Bowl 5K. This one's been circled on the calendar since I signed up in March. My time today will be used in planning training runs for an upcoming marathon in November. Yes, I've signed up for the Surfer's Point Marathon out in Ventura. An ocean-front run on a flat course in low temperatures —I'm hoping. While thousands enjoy the LA Marathon, a thousand or less will run two loops to a chorus of breaking surf.

As for today, I slept poorly last night, nervous about the race. I'd trained to break 33 minutes, specifically a goal of 32:59. But I didn't want to leave my bed and the air conditioning. My wife was joining me today and we drove out to the fabled Rose Bowl in Pasadena. One thing about arising early for a run are the spectacular dawns. Alas, my windshield snap doesn't do the sky justice.

So no pre-race goodie bags, technical tee-shirts, and timing mat sensors located in the race bib. All the race volunteers wore pink shirts. A group of assisting ROTC students in mostly forest camo also wore pink shirts. Someone should tell them that pink is a terrible tactical color. Hopefully, its just a fad. 

A group of Arab students from USC stood in a knot laughing and joking as the national anthem played. Of course, the sound system was anemic and many of the surrounding Americans also laughed and joked and took selfies. But general applause erupted at the conclusion of the song. So maybe we'll go another year without replacing the Star-Spangled Banner with Cardi B's "Wap."

Started out fast and wanted to quit after fifty yards. Then I wanted to slide over to the far right hand side of the course and walk. I was breathing hard but not gasping and felt I could hold the pace. The temperature at 8:00 AM was nearing 80 degrees. I know every dip and bump and rise in the route around the Rose Bowl, so I was able to relax somewhat and focus on my chi running form. I felt slow. People were passing me. Past mile 2, I passed a few people, picking up speed on such downhills as existed. In the final stretch, a 28-year-old guy blew past me, but I managed to tie him at the finish line. 

A pleasing time of 31:51.

I waited for wife Joy to wrap up and it was off to breakfast. Now I'm happy I got up and happy I didn't slow down or walk and happy I raced today. 

 

A Pleasant Canada Day

 An edited repost from six years ago.

With dominions, provinces, and a House of Commons, our northern neighbor proudly celebrates the Constitution Act of 1867 when three provinces were linked to form one country. Read more here. In honor of their day, I present "The Maple Leaf Forever." (Incidentally, this is an excellent song to blast when the neighbor kids crank up the rap too loud.)

Before He Was Spongebob

Years before voicing the role of the loveable undersea sponge, comic Tom Kenny portrayed evil clown Binky in Shakes the Clown. LANGUAGE WARNING. 

Mike Wright

D-Day Today!

 

The Guardian

Seventy-seven years have passed since the Allies invaded Nazi-occupied France. Given the hollowing out of our military with Critical Race Theory, how many soldiers would risk their lives today on behalf of a society marinating in racism? Sorry, France Who are we to liberate you when our own society needs a complete revolution? Maybe brush up on your German.  

A Farewell to Lucky the Viral Dog

 Voice actor Paul Rugg reflects upon the arrival of chihuahua Lucky into his life, bidding the wee canine a fond sic transit a year after its passing. I should get a eulogy this good.  

Paul Rugg's Froynlaven

Prostate Cancer: The Real Talk Launches

 

Prostate Cancer: The Real Talk starts speaking today via the wonder of podcasting.  Listen as cancer survivor El and wife Shay interview doctors, authors and other survivors as they explore the varied facets of prostate cancer—diagnosis, treatment, recovery, post-op life. Also on Facebook  and You Tube. 

(Just so you know, I'm a guest on a later show discussing my book: They Took My Prostate: Cancer-Loss-Hope which qualifies me neatly.)

Prostate Cancer Real Talk

Smoking Hot Stock Market Tips

Some of my favorite investment advice from comic Ryan Long. (Note: A pesky commerical up front. Endure for five seconds until the Skip Ad button appears. Then enjoy.) 

Ryan Long

Memorial Day Book Sale!

 Good Books for .99 Cents or Less

For This Weekend, "Less" Means Free!

AetherCzar

Author Hans Schanz, man, scientist, scribe is once again opening the literary floodgates and offering readers the opportunity to glut themselves on a wealth of titles. Go. Glut. I won't judge. 

Memorial Day Memories Redux

(Originally published in 2013, based off a 2009 post. The day remains as solemn today as it was then.)

This Memorial Day I again think of Kurt and T.J.

Imagine you knew a man from Cleveland, Ohio.

This man had one sibling, an older sister.

During Vietnam, he volunteered for dangerous assignments, operating far behind enemy lines.

After the war, he battled drugs and alcohol.

Eventually, he sobered up and went to work for a vending machine company.

For many years, he traveled in a van around Los Angeles fixing coffee and soda machines.

Now imagine you knew two men with the exact same history.  (But different vending machine companies.)

I was honored to have been friends with a pair of guys whose backgrounds meshed in such odd intimate ways. Once I introduced them at a party, figuring they'd have lots in common, but after a few polite minutes they separated.

They'd experienced stranger things.

Kurt served in Marine recon. Based out of Khe Sanh, he operated in Laos along the Ho Chi Minh Trail on operations so secret that the Americans who died there were never officially acknowledged. Kurt had extended his service to go to Vietnam. He was wounded twice, decorated, and returned home only to be attacked in a bus depot by a man angry over the war. (The man didn't fare well against Kurt who beat him into a fine mist.)

T.J. originally fought with the 12th Infantry near Dak To. He loathed the eerie randomness of combat—here one second gone the next and decided his odds would be better in the  LRRPs (Long Range Reconnaissance Patrol). Instead of waiting to be hit, TJ  crept around North Vietnamese base camps in the Central Highlands making the enemy nervous. He returned to serve out his last few months at Fort Knox, conducting tours of the U.S. Gold Reserve. One night while watching a TV show he started shaking and broke into tears.

Years would pass before he learned about PTSD.

In 2002 I made a business trip to Vietnam. I brought Kurt back a little Buddha and some red clay from Khe Sanh. TJ collected Buddhas so I picked him out a honey in Saigon: a big, fat happy Buddha, smiling like he'd just won the Power Ball,  holding up the Pearl of Knowledge.  
  
In the end, Vietnam finally claimed them both. Health and psychological problems shortened their lives. But they did the best they could with a bad hand and I value the times we had together. 

This weekend I remember them and all who gave their lives in service to the country.

(Based on a post from 2009.)