MUI

I’ve come up with a great idea for a new invention: the MUI Prevention Modulator. What is it? Well, it’s a device that attaches to one’s computer, kind of like a Breathalyzer, that checks your blood alcohol level if you’re attempting to send email after, say, midnight. And locks up the keyboard as necessary. Because otherwise you’re thinking you’re totally fine, sit down to write something oh-so-profound, and come up with this:

“Especially since these (us) whoever we were procab;l don't have an appropriate appointment.

Thanks shouln not on somethingt that is not yet whatever.

Seriously - in spite af bethonghoose tha at the tihe.

O
, sotr whatever you ferl haffflne bitle, ahatlebe,e.”

What I like about this the fact that there are seemingly coherent moments – “don’t have an appropriate appointment” – that still make no sense. It’s also great that I use actual sentences of gobbledygook, complete with (punctuation) and the like. Yeah, that makes all the difference. Thank god I apparently got distracted and padded off to bed before actually sending anything. With the MUI (Mailing Under the Influence) Prevention Modulator I wouldn’t have to worry about such things. On the other hand, perhaps the above is just a sign, yes, a sign – that I could make my living writing instructions for, say, the Thighmaster people. I had to order a new one since my old one fell apart after being in the pool too much, and here’s part of the helpful instructions provided: “With one hand on each handle hokl your Thigh Shaper out in tront of you in a go degree angle rlexing the Thing Shaper loward your body.”

“Thing Shaper”? Hey, I may not be the most fit person on the block, but that’s going a bit too far.

I now also understand why I’m still single. Behold, just one of the scintillating conversations I had with a random guy at the bar on Friday night:

Guy: Hey, why don’t you join my cousins and I as we ruggedly play some football at my vast palatial estate this weekend? At my palatial EMPTY estate, that is, sigh. I’m just looking for the perfect woman to go through life with. You’re stunning, by the way.
Tasha: The only sport I pay attention to is hockey. Do you play hockey?

Guy: Well, I did play until a devastating knee injury that I sustained while rescuing a puppy from a burning building. But I occasionally still get out there on the ice.
Tasha: Hmph. My team needs people for the summer. Think you can handle it? After all, we did win our CII division last summer. We’re that good.
Guy: Whatever you want, gorgeous. I’ll make it work, I will.
Tasha: Hmm. Give me your number, I’ll let you know. About the hockey, that is. I’m not trying to pick you up, you know.
Guy: Why not? Hey, so how about this weekend?
Tasha: (walking away muttering) Things to do, things to do……..

And this:

Another Guy, looking at Tasha with a hopeful expression on his face: Can I buy you a drink?
Tasha: Do you play hockey?
AG: Well, no, technically no, but I’ll learn, fast. I’ll get lessons from a pro, and I….I……
(sound of his voice fades away, as Tasha walks away muttering)


In the meantime, Annette had already honed in on one guy, chatted, danced, dazzled, and gotten engaged with a wedding date all set, while I was still looking around the bar for more likely prospects. By the way, Tim or Tom or whatever the hell your name was, whose name and number I wrote on a tissue…….umm, don’t expect that call anytime soon. I woke up Saturday morning with the sniffles, and couldn’t get up for fear my head would go rolling across the floor so, well……

ouch....

Had a great time yesterday...but that all changed as i came closer to my car and saw something was sticking out of my door handle....as i come closer i start to realize what it is. Yes....it was a parking ticket....overall a fun night...cant wait for another outing!!!!!

Adaptation

(Nicholas Cage as Charlie Kaufman, staring at a blank page, trying to write)

Charlie Kaufman: To begin... To begin... How to start? I'm hungry. I should get coffee. Coffee would help me think. Maybe I should write something first, then reward myself with coffee. Coffee and a muffin. So I need to establish the themes. Maybe a banana nut. That's a good muffin. Okay, write for an hour…no, half an hour….then coffee and a muffin.
Charlie Kaufman: Do I have an original thought in my head? My bald head. Life is short. I need to make the most of it. Today is the first day of the rest of my life. I'm a walking cliché. I really need to go to the doctor and have my leg checked. There's something wrong. A bump. If I stop putting things off I would be happier. All I do is sit on my fat ass. If my ass wasn't fat I would be happier. I wouldn't have to wear these shirts with the tails out all the time. Like that's fooling anyone. Fat ass. I should start jogging again. Five miles a day. Really do it this time. Maybe rock climbing. I need to turn my life around. What do I need to do? I need to fall in love. I need to have a girlfriend. I need to read more and prove myself. What if I learned Russian or something, or took up an instrument. I could speak Chinese. I'd be the screenwriter who speaks Chinese and plays the oboe. That would be cool.

------------

(Tasha at gym, putting on iPod and heading upstairs to treadmill)

Tasha: Okay, you know the rules, no music until you’re actually running. Hold it, hooooold it…….(gets on treadmill)….does warming up count? Yes.
T: (Audioslave) Think I heard this song on Grey’s Anatomy once. Maybe not. I wonder if they’re actually killing off Meredith Grey. Duh, on a show called Grey’s Anatomy? Don’t think so. Okay, can drink now, only every……10 minutes. No, 5.
T: “Let’s Get it Started.” Ah, my theme song for IMMOO. Hope I’m not too sick of it by then. (gazing out window) Man, those cars out there are dirty – glad I got mine washed today. I’ll probably get locked inside later when the doors freeze shut. At least people won’t keep brushing my ass – “oh, you must have gotten salt on you getting out of the car.”
T: Hmm.
T: Wonder how long it’ll take to get dirty again.
……
T: Ah, that Rockefeller song. I hope this isn’t the 15-minute version. Can have a drink after this song……..come on…..okay, what the hell are you people singing anyway? Try English next time.
T: Great, the remix version. Taxi! I’ll forward to the next song just this once. Chili Peppers, fine. Hey, is my shoelace untied? What the……ack! Crap, I almost clotheslined myself on my iPod headphone cord. Great, that would have been juuust perfect. Need water……3 minutes to go, shit.
…………
T: Okay, almost at 45 minutes….that’s practically 60, might as well go an hour. Nice even number. Sounds like I actually did something. The Fray. Cool tune. Hey, I’m kinda getting my second wind here. Feels like I could actually run forever.
Stupid Tasha: Yay! Keep running! Hour and a half!
T: Hmm….NO, none of that. Then tomorrow I’ll have shin splints. Aching feet. Gout. Be sensible for once.
Stupid Tasha (sulking): You suck.
T: Damn, my feet hurt again. What’s with these stupid socks – how come all of them are so scratchy on my delicate feet? Can’t they make soft, comfy ones? Like, say, out of…..cashmere? Yeah, that’s it. Cashmere. I don’t want to lose any toenails – I HAVE to wear all my strappy sandals this summer. How can I wear cute sundresses without espadrilles and the like? Impossible.

T: You know, maybe the Princess nickname wasn’t ironic after all. Thanks Kev. No wonder you didn’t respond when I asked about it. “Oh, err, my internets has been down. Yeah, that’s the ticket, no internets. I can’t even get onto The Google. It’s awful! I’m beside myself!” Right.
T: Starrfadu – cool song by them, though kind of slow. Maybe if I run double time? Okay, why don't I just put a stick in my eye instead. Heart rate at 176, wonder if that's normal. That would suck if my heart exploded.
T: Okay, 58 minutes, can I cooldown the last 2? No, that’s pathetic. At least run the whole hour, lazyass. Wonder if anyone would notice if I had a heart attack. Probably not. These are students; they live permanently in SelfAbsorptionLand. Get real.
Stupid Tasha: Hey! You’re at 5.5, at least run 6 miles!
T: ……ohhhh-kay. Sure. 6 it is.
Stupid Tasha: Weeeeeeeeee!
T: Damn, now I have to keep going. This is the longest half mile in creation. And so much for second wind. Kind of tired. 3 Days Grace tune on – can’t stop during this song, that would be lame. Feet hurt, feet hurt, feet hurt. Stupid socks.
T: 6 miles, ohmygod, done. Whew! Let’s see, that means for IMMOO, I just have to do that…….times…………4+.
T: Shit.
T: Shit.
T: Shit.

DIBS !!

A Chicago tradition. Shoveling your parking spot and then reserving the spot.

Gettin' Huge

Did weights yesterday. In the words of Kenny Bania from Seinfeld, "I've been working out Jerry, gettin' huge."

But!

There is an I in contraire.......and *I* for one will be far, far away from ol' Shark Bait and Mr. Peabody here, who will apparently be so busy arguing over the etymology of the words "team" and "triathlon" and any others that might have the letter "I" in them, they'll drown. Kind of like chickens looking up when it's raining.
Not that I'm comparing any of my illustrious teammates to feathered fowl in any way. Oh no, never.


smoochies,





Princess

Au Contrare

There is an I in triathlon though! =) We are all in this together, I'll be on the same ferry as you and in the same water, I'll just be wading a few feet away while waiting for the race to start.

there is no I in team Ryan!

Ryan, hello, team event here! Don't you remember what your coaches used to tell you...there is no I in Team!!! I thought we were all in this together!?!

Take a guess where I'll be waiting for the swim start

I can guarantee you it won't be next to Carolyn (see below), I'd hate to up my chances, but thanks for taking one for the team Shark Bait!! =)

why my fear of sharks is totally logical

so, i know you have all said that there is no reason to be scared of sharks in the bay and also there are so many other swimmers out there that the chances of me getting picked out of the bunch is slim to none.

now, let me tell you why you are all wrong. you will quickly learn that i am the one that always has the random shit happen to her...the one that if something is tossed into a crowd of people i will be the only one hit.

today, after parking my car in the garage on Madison street downtown, i proceed to start walking down madison the short two blocks to my office. as i'm at the corner of madison and lasalle, out of no where i get nailed in the head! i scream, people run over to see if i'm ok. in the crowd of people standing there during rush hour, i'm the only one who gets nailed with a chunk of ice falling off the top of the building. yep, my friend who was right next to me didn't get hit, no one else got hit, just me. you can all stop laughing now. i'm fine, i have a lump on my head and my scalp is a bit cut up, but no big problems.

so, today's episode, which is not the first time something like this has happened to me, just reaffirmed my belief that if something random is going to happen in a crowd of people, i'm going to bear the brunt of it all. as a result, my fear of sharks and getting attacked is completely logical in my book based upon this theory!

have a great day everyone!

I see crazy people

Feeling rather distraught yesterday at the vision of Annette’s poor little sea monkey Chip, gasping his last as he piteously reaches for his tiny baseball cap, I decide to head to the gym to run away from this vision and everything else that plagues my soul. So I’m on the treadmill at the gym, iPod blaring, lost in my own little world, when out of the corner of my eye I notice someone get on the treadmill next to me. Okay, fine. I like my space, but I guess this is okay for a while. Besides, I had rather foolishly upped my speed to match the cadence of my current song, so I’m trotting along like a hamster on a wheel, trying to not cough up a lung or two.

Now, while I’m a big fan of MSU (Making Shit Up), some things are simply beyond even my feverish little imagination to conjure up. So I kid you not when I tell you that I’m startled by guy-next-to-me, who suddenly starts doing his best Rocky imitation, punching the air. Yes, as if he’s boxing.

Even better, this is accompanied by sound effects. Puf! Bam! Bif! I feel like I’ve been sucked into a Marvel comics book. I look at his screen to see how long this might continue, as it’s just a wee bit distracting, and see he’s on…7 minutes? Good god, this could be lengthy.

But then, just as suddenly as it starts, it’s over. Apparently the Rocky routine was to help him ramp up at the end there, because he stops running at 8 minutes, cools down for 2, then goes off on his merry way. I briefly contemplate trying the Bif-Bam-Pow routine myself, test it out for any potential usefulness, but then I decide no, some things require the proper surroundings, like a boxing ring, or maybe a hockey rink. Some other time.

Speaking of hockey, I have no idea why every time I’m out on the ice, I hear a lot of mumbling about my elbows. Last night it was like a little Greek chorus. Look, people, what else do we have elbows for if not to knock people out of the way??

Please. Suck it up. As I tell the 5-year-olds to whom I teach skating each week, there is no whining in hockey. Ever.

Valentine's Day... Chunky Style

Chuck, I have given that gift in the past, and it has done wonders for a Valentine's Day celebration. Excellent suggestion.

With regards to Monkeys of the Sea... I was the one kid in my hood that got suckered into the pet rock scheme.

DAMNIT!

The thing wouldn't do anything. Nothing at all. Wouldn't move or roll over. Just sat there all day long... like a... rock.

I am currently subscribing to the Pet Rock Triathlon Training Plan.

Nothing is happening.

For Max a/k/a Zhivago

Omar Sharif legal woes online here

Last minute Valentine's Day gift

Perfect gift

This blog makes me laugh

Good video. No, I don't know who they are, but it's funny.

I don’t know if I can take it… Memories of an African childhood

I had a farm in Afrika, at the foot of the Ngong hills…

As a child, growing up in deepest darkest Africa surviving on a diet of porridge and flies (ok they were raisons, but my mom would call them flies), we would on occasion (special birthdays or Christmas) get comic books smuggled out of the US of A. As Tasha mentioned the Sea Monkeys were advertised on the back of every one. For years I dreamt of the happy time, when maybe I too could have these little creatures be my friends.

Years went by, I’d see the ads and dream of my own little family, but for years it was not to be.

Finally the corner store which was 3 days walk away (about 30 minutes by truck) got Sea Monkeys. Though I was 22 and one would think past Sea Monkey appreciation age, I worked ‘till I could afford a little family of my own.

Days went by (ok, not really, I walked to the nearest ATM to withdraw the funds required for my purchase), as I worked I continued dreaming of the little family. Maybe there'd be a little Sea Monkey boy, I’d call him Chip and I’d get him a baseball bat so that he could play with his friends, and compete in the world Sea Monkey baseball tournament – held in his own little fish bowl where his happy little sea monkey family could cheer him on.

I purchased the sea monkeys followed the instructions, days went by (this time it was actually days) and nothing happened…

My dreams were crushed, all hope for Sea Monkey happy days lost.
Hope faded and another little African child was disappointed. I agree with Tasha, stop the madness, Rise Up! !

Not only are they ripped from their home separated from their families, but they are freeze dried, packaged and shipped to far off lands.

Years later after leaving the mother land, I ended up in Baltimore where a friend of mine, after hearing the story purchased another freeze dried family, this time they lived! Yes, they lived! !
You can only imagine the happiness and cheer, until an unfortunate accident sent their home flying though the air, it hit the wall, little Sea Monkeys everywhere. My last glimpse as tears welled up was of my adopted family on the floor. Little Chip was reaching for his baseball bat, as he gulped struggling to catch a breath of water. There was nothing I could do.

That is why to honor his memory I started spending as much time as I could in the water. In short that is how I started the long route to triathlon.
For me, Sea Monkeys have everything to do with Triathlon.

If you can’t beat them join them, if we can’t stop this horrendous trade in scrimpy families. I think we should start selling Sea Monkey triathlon gear, we could find sponsors to advertise on their teensy weensy sweaters and we could even advertise in the triathlon magazines.

Who’s with me?

Rise up!

The pictures looked so enticing – happy water creatures, frolicking in their underwater castle, festooned in their tophat splendor and crown-and-scepter finery. The ad even promised “a bowlful of happiness! Instant pets!” Right. Because a bowl of miniscule BRINE SHRIMP makes for such great pets! Yes, I’m talking about the great snake oil of my childhood, the Sea Monkey.
Advertised in every comic book known to man, promising hours of entertainment with delightful “pets” that looked like little humanoids, but jollier. And then to save up one’s hard-earned money and actually buy the kit, only to discover that one ended up with a bowlful of murky water. No frolicking. No tophats. No hijinks or shenanigans. No Suzie Sea Monkey enjoying herself at the Sea Monkey Circus. My friend Lisa actually boiled the little things to death – the instructions said to put them in a warm spot, so she put them on the stove. Which didn’t seem warm enough, so she turned on the burner. Oops. The trauma is still as fresh as if it were yesterday.

So it’s bad enough that in MY youth we were tricked into falling for this scam – but imagine my surprise when I discovered that they’re still selling these things……oh, but now, apparently, brine shrimp have their own little adventure tours.
Yes, complete with telescopes, and attired in trendy khaki shorts. But wait, there’s more! They also go SCUBA DIVING, with little snorkels and fins and, don’t forget the oxygen tanks – because of course creatures that live underwater need those.

Sea monkeys apparently have more of a social life than I do.



I say, enough is enough. It is time to stop the madness that is the Sea Monkey. Stop yet another generation of children from weeping piteously in their cereal as they look for those tiny crown-wearing, happy-smiley, adventuresome creatures in vain. Just say no. Because then there’s also the Sea Monkey’s point of view. If we’re crushed beyond belief, what about them? I believe this picture captures the horror that is the typical sea monkey’s life. And as the artist put it: “In this painting, I wanted to explore the devastation felt by the "Sea-Monkey" himself at the moment he realizes he's nothing but a common brine shrimp. He identified so much with his proud existence as a highly evolved Simian of the Sea and even thought he was better than the others because he wore 3 little ironic fezes on top of his crown in order to stand out from the millions of others.”

And you thought baby harp seals tugged at the heartstrings.

The relevance of this topic to anything tri-related is that our happy team has been coming up with nicknames for ourselves, and it has been determined that Chuck will henceforth be known as C-Monkey. And thank you SO much, Ryan, for suggesting that mine be “Kick Me” – I’m glad to see you gave up that idea when I informed you that that was SOP for me.

Kinda takes the fun out of it, I know.

Why haf you shrunk this man?

So one minute there’s Chuck trying on his dinosaur costume for the Beater Bike Classic, next thing you know, *poof*, he’s become his very own Mini-me!


I suspect gypsies. Someone had better figure this out, pronto, because it’ll be all I can do to haul my own sorry self across the Bay. Pulling the mini-Chuck along in some kind of watercraft might be a bit too much.

no need to worry :)

Tasha, that's pretty funny. I realize that the compilation of the posts are rather bad and now looking back make our relationship look a little strange, however Webber is a great guy and knows that sometimes I just need a little push to get going. He claims that I'm a worry wort and that I out think myself (which I know I do), so he knows that I can do these things and then just gives me the little push that I need to get over the mental block! However, in regards to the taking a photo rather than helping me up, he was in the chateau bow-wow for that one! He claims it was a kodak moment and it was hysterical, i told him it wasn't hysterical from my view! In the end he did help me up, but 3 snowboarders who had stopped to take a break by where we were on the mountain all said, "Dude, look, he is taking a picture rather than helping her out!!! Woah dude, I can't believe that!" Although there were moments I thought he was trying to kill me, it was a fun trip and to answer the question, no changes in insurance policies otherwise I would really have to rethink things!! Ha-ha!!!

Things that make you go hmm…..

Carolyn, call it a hunch, but I think there might be some correlation between this earlier comment of yours:

…"on my honeymoon while snorkeling saw a shark, shoved my husband towards it and went swimming the other direction to save myself.”

and these more recent ones:

“Here is one of my lovely falls and you can all thank my lovely husband for taking a photo of my stuck in the snow rather than helping me up!!!”

“Then I saw this sign..."Hell's Basin is a professional basin. There is only one intermediate run on this basin...Hell's Fire. This area is for experts only." I show Webber the sign and say, no way am I going on this...he tells me not to worry…”

“Then they decided that tree skiing would be fun. I told them I didn't think I was up for it, but they said just to follow…so, i survived that part…then they decided it would be fun for me to try a jump or two...”

Umm, have there been any changes to your life insurance policy of late? I’m just sayin’……