Ok, first, it's hot. I'm on the 'Hood right now at the marina and the strongest breeze is coming from the fan that cools my laptop. I just flipped on the instrument panel. Here are the data:
Wind Speed (True): 1 knot
Wind Direction: WNW
Air Tempurature: 91 degrees
Water Tempurature: 61 degrees
Speed: 0 knots
Oh, and the temp down here in the cabin? Don't ask. Still, it's better than being in the basement of the In Law House where Mrs. GVB is pretending she is fine after suffering through gum surgery. Ouch.
Second, Cap'n Ron and I have planned a long ride for tomorrow. I hit the bike shop today and spent my kids' college fund on some new clothes and tools to get the Fuji back in line. 800 miles into her young life and she's starting to complain about a few things. Has anyone seen the new Giant All Carbon race machine? Wow. Dear Cap'n, I need a raise. Or a job. Seriously...sexy bike. The Fuji is getting nervous.
The Seattle SuperSonics are sold. Hmmm. Does anyone care? I couldn't resist turning on sportsradio this week to listen to Bill from Tukwilla vent about how Howard Schultz has sold out the city of Seattle and how we should boycott Starbucks. Duh. I was pleasantly surprised by the caller from Everett who blamed the democrats for the Sonics impending move to Oklahoma City...Sure, if Dino Rossi had won the election the Sonics would be playing in a new crystal palace. Right.
Professional Basketball is the worst of the worst. As entertainment it is akin to watching reruns of MASH: interesting and nice as a diversion when there is nothing else to do, but really not something you go out of your way to do. The game has devolved into thuggery. It has lost all drama. The players are mostly distant pricks that you couldn't even imagine saying hello to. The salaries are obscene. The tickets are unaffordable. But mostly...who fucking cares? We live in a world where the New Orleans Jazz became the Utah Jazz. Jazz? In Utah? The Charlotte Hornets became the New Orleans Hornets. What? Now the New Orleans Hornets play in Oklahoma City? What? I am actually hoping the state and city tell the new Sonics' ownership what they want to hear: Fuck You. We're not building you a new arena. Go back to Oklahoma. We have MLB, NFL, and NCAA Division 1. We don't need your shit.
The Good Ship Parenthood sails again on Tuesday for waters north. A couple of days at Rosario, where it appears The Colleague and her family will be recreating as well (small world, much?) and then off to the Gulf Islands for the remainder of the trip. This means a blog blackout, of course, but the training will continue. Trail shoes and swimming trunks. There are lap pools at Rosario and Poet's Cove, and great running routes on all the islands. Updates to come.
The Math Dude and GVB will hit the links in Portland at the end of August. In theory we are there for a college-related retreat. In reality it is 36 holes at Heron Lakes and Pumpkin Ridge. And, it looks like a dinner and many cocktails with Ralph-o-Matic are in the works. Add a screaming southbound trip in the A3 and the end of the month is looking good.
RPD is still alive. He was last seen moving into the high-rent offices on campus. I hope the neighbors (me) don't piss him off too much. You know how much I like to listen to my 50 Cent while I grade papers, right?
Oh, and the youngest GVB child turns 3. Happy Birthday you little monster. Now stop hitting your sister.
New Bike Review
6 years ago
3 comments:
Actually, RPD is dead (at least his legs are). Ran Rattlesnake to McClellan Butte this morning and, while it was not as hot on Iron Horse as you report, it was miserably hot, humid, and mostly still. At least (and I never thought I would say this) the sun did not make it through the clouds. Sixteen miles. Get to mile 11.25 and there is coach: "How you doing?" Me "Fine" Coach "Good. Run back DOWN to the nine, come back up here again, and then go down there (the twisty single track that takes you down to the parking lot). Me "OK". All I can say is that ice baths are WONDERFUL and one of my kitties almost joined me. I could not convince Mrs. RPD to join me, small tub.
High rent district is right. My new office is half the size of my old one and an excuse to get rid of 9 years of office detritus. At least I get to see the sky again.
Isn't 50 Cent a little passe? I mean you've been listening to the same tunes for at least a year. ;-)
Oh yeah, Happy Birthday to the little monster.
50 Cent is never passe. And all of my academic neighbors (including the self-appointed English department matriarch) just LOVE profanity laced, misogynistic, violent Gangsta Rap.
Your run sounds brutal. Remind me to turn you down when you invite me on one of those.
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