Work(ing Title)

This morning I’m calling on all six of you (ok ok, three of you) to help me choose a pair of spectacles. I need a style counsel and the best I’ve got is you lot, so don’t go letting me down.

While I don’t often wear glasses, my ability to resolve things from a long distance seems to have become more impaired in the past few years. I have no doubt that all of this time spent porn hunting working has done a number on my old blues, so now you’ll be seeing the bespectacled me quite a bit more often.

As you can probably tell, the tortoise-shelled frames are winning in my own personal election. This is probably because I would rest better in the knowledge that a hideous, harmless, friend-to-girl-and-boy like a tortoise was slaughtered in order to make me appear more intelligent.

Please do click the ‘comment’ link at the bottom of this post and chime in. I love hearing from anybody, and I don’t ever entirely trust myself with decisions of taste - remember when I laid out that girl in grade six?

One final note: keep in mind you can click on any of these photos to be taken to the appropriate Flickr page. From there you should be able to click the little ‘All Sizes’ button to go into full pore-counting mode.

Now show how much you care about our troops and vote!

A prince of Los Altos died in Iraq on Wednesday. I can’t claim to have known Will, though I knew his older brother Jon. I saw Jon for the first time in ages on at the Pat’s this past New Years Eve, and it was fantastic to hear how his life had progressed. He lives in Portland now, and I was very much looking forward to riding down to visit with him.

Now though, I honestly can’t imagine how to speak with him. I don’t know if it’s appropriate to try and talk about Will with him, or whether I should just hide from the pain I feel for him and not address his loss. My best wishes go out to the Siguas, as I can only hope that we can scrape some of the grief off of their plates.

Thanks for being around Will, “Maybe we’ll meet again someday…when the fighting stops.”

i stalked you tonight. I’ve spent more time on Facebook in the last two hours than I probably ever have before. I watched Armageddon, which has this part in the finale where I cry every time, so that probably wasn’t the smartest thing. Oh and the whole evening has been lubricated courtesy of my boss’s holiday gift of the ingredients necessary to make a Buzz Aldrin, which hits like a stray heat-shield tile on re-entry.

I’ll go back to the gym tomorrow which should help take my mind off of you, but our conversation this weekend didn’t do me any favours. I can’t stop thinking too far into the future, so hopefully I can focus on work and exercise to steal away my attention. This is the dark side of my geekiness; it’s far too easy to keep an eye on you even when we’re far away.

Next month I’m going to Hawaii for an off-schedule birthday celebration for grandpa, concluding with me spending my birthday on a flight back from Hawaii to Washington. Hopefully that’ll pass with a minimum of celebration as I’m not interested in a whole pile of focus on my own life.

If we can each distract ourselves with our day-to-day lives, then hopefully that will pass the time quickly and we can come out the other end of this in the right way. That’s the only hope that keeps me from sleeping all day, because at this point I can’t wait to be a year or more into the future.

I wore my favorite pair of undies today. They’re impossibly comfortable and flattering at the same time. However getting dressed at the gym tonight I was struck by a serious issue.

While my initial thought was to throw out all of my old collection (I can’t in good consience donate used underwear), I worry about losing this special experience. If all of my undies are like this don’t I then run the risk of losing this special feeling of wearing my ‘favourite pair’ once every month or so?

So the question then becomes do I attempt greatness by investing in a fleet of excellent undies, or do I simply allow this pair to maintain its superstar status?

On Friday afternoon I went to the gym to go run. First off, by ‘run’ I of course mean moon-run, courtesy of my local neighborhood elliptical trainer (impact is for fattie losers). Now then, the prequel here is that I got into the gym once last week while I was back in town and decided that instead of lifting heavy things I’d run. While I only ran for 30 minutes, it was the most effortless activity I could remember.

Friday proved that wasn’t some sort of fluke, as I ran 13 miles in two hours. after that long I has compelled to stop not by any pain in my joints, nor exhaustion of my muscles or lungs. No friends, my nipples were in such searing pain I had to stop (fuck you very much Charles Darwin–couldn’t have discovered something with a quicker pace could you?).

Saturday morning rolls around and after beginning the process of sluffing old and unwanted clothes, I hit the space-bricks again. This time I wanted to take it slightly easier in order to preempt any injury, and so ten miles was had in 80 minutes. The rest of the day was spent with laundry, and then a Han Solo Film Festival evening (Empire and Serenity). Oh and there was a bit of self surgery that night to deal with a blister that made a cameo appearance on my foot.

Yesterday I watched Back to The Future* with my late breakfast, did something (?), and then had a late lunch before heading back to the gym. This was a deliberate test mind you, and the results were as I suspected. My stomach cried foul before I would’ve otherwised stopped, but my more aggressive pace did let me rock out eight miles in 45 minutes.

Starting this morning the goal is to run 15 miles every day for a week. On Rini’s suggestion I’m going to break it in half, which will allow for some better muscle recovery, plus I can lift heavy things in the evening session. If I can keep up that kind of pace, I should be able to donate more clothing than I thought!

*Every time Marty goes changes time, he ends up slamming the DeLorean into something to stop. First it’s the Mr. Peabody’s barn (which according to the speedo he hits at around 40mph), and then he hits the movie theater upon returning to the glorious 80’s.

Are the benefits of a paintless, stainless steel car really that great? How can he keep slamming into buildings at near freeway speeds and then just drive away? How did I not notice this during any of the previous 497 viewings?