Google Hassle

Google locked me out of my mailbox and blog because of "suspicious activity." I wish. They wouldn't accept my security question or anything. After hassling with them, I'm now back blogging, but have nothing to say.

See?

Link to Odd Aussie Story

Trout of Luck or Strange things happen in Oz.

Ten rules for writing fiction | Books | guardian.co.uk

Good, bad and indifferent advice, but the most important one is discipline - and coffee with fruit pies. Ten rules for writing fiction | Books | guardian.co.uk

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Boozy ape sent to rehab

Behold the reprobate chimp.

Curling Right Up

In honor of Paul Rugg's fanatical devotion to the sport, buried in his archives somewhere.

h/t: bowserandblue via Amy Kane

Hot From the Steam Room

After a long drive down and back to Riverside County to visit my cousin, I stopped at the pool on the way home. As I finished kickboarding, a hot Russian chick, early twenties, dove in. She wore a pastel mini-bikini bottom and a blue tube top that didn't match. (But who cared?) Sticking close to her was an old guy, mid-60s, whom I thought might be family or determined to make a big fool out of himself.

In the steam room, I had the place to myself and stretched out sore shoulder muscles. Suddenly the old guy and the Russian chick entered. She had on Day-Glo Crocs that cut through the steam like lime-green fog lights. Taking a seat nearby, they started talking as if I weren't around. The old guy had an American accent, but kept his voice low. Meanwhile, she's laying out intimate life details in almost perfect English:

"Then, after school, I moved from Russia to California, Marina Del Rey. My boyfriend came over next. I helped him with his paperwork to get a Green Card. I was totally dedicated to him, then I found out he was cheating on me the whole time. I couldn't believe it."

Was the American with the INS? CIA? An old horn dog trying to pick up a gabby Russian chick in a mismatched bathing suit? Did she confront the boyfriend? Busted vodka bottles, Slavic threats shouted in the language of their motherland? A struggle? A blow struck with a thick, depressing book by Dostoevsky?

Three boisterous guys entered and broke the mood. The Russian chick clammed up. I hung around and did a few more shoulder exercises, but she was done, sweating in silence with her glowing Crocs.

I've marked the time of the incident. Friday, I'll go back. Hopefully, they'll be more. But if there isn't, there will be steam. Yes. Plenty of steam.

Link to Pasadena Marathon Recap

Emil's marathon recap.