So would anyone care to buy a share in my boy Sander's adventure* in Brooklyn? Hit the link and watch the short video.
There are still some available and the situation has improved since the CNN interview. I have impeccable sources.
Communal capitalism......you gotta love it.
* He's the kind of bloke that can make a trip to the dentist an adventure. Trust me.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Friday, July 24, 2009
Earth,Wind and Fire (in my lungs)
I decided to terrify the wildlife by going for a run this morning. The state park where I inflict this terror is a bit west of the city and elevated enough to be cool (even in July) early in the morning. Low clouds and light drizzle made it cooler still and it was downright chilly at first in my running togs. I had the place to myself.
The first mile from the car park to the campground seems easy enough but it is cunning and patient. It whispers to me.
"Yeah...g'wan there now and burn it up going downhill at first....you'll learn."
A Captain's Guard of old growth flanks the dirt trail. Their boughs interlocking and forming a verdant canopy above me. Like old friends grasping each other by their arms they offer me shelter in their ancient greeting. I pound down the path with the all the tact and grace of a 1970s Cylon. The forest empties ahead of me.
Just before the campground the terrain tilts very definitely upwards and the rain comes downwards with equal certainty. The broad ,deciduous leaves continue their generous protection and very little of the rain reaches me. A single, fat drop strikes the inside of my wrist and a silver sliver of sensation arcs across to my spine and shivers its way to my brain. I am alive now.
A brief levelling-off through the campsite allows me to lift the head and pull back on the shoulders. My breathing is getting laboured and I need to look up and breathe properly. The path now becomes a glorified coyote trail and the footing is getting treacherous. A dendritic maze of rills and streamlets break off a swift flowing creek and forces me to jump from rock to rock for a bit before acquiring the path again.
I'm well into the second mile now and the path goes near vertical for a while. This isn't running. It's climbing at a high rate of knots and it's pure murder. The trees are doing me a kindness by keeping the rain off but I'm soaked in my own sweat anyway. I pass the point where I wanted to lie down and wait for Death last week . I don't feel like that now (give me five minutes) so I mark it as progress and plod on.
My lungs are on fire and my heart wants to batter it's way out of my chest but my legs are better today. I keep going. A short plateau before the final gentle climb brings my heart rate down reassuringly quickly and I lope along sucking in great,grateful lungfuls of the cool,misty air. I guess I still have those long lungs. The trees start to thin out near the summit and I emerge into an Alpine meadow that would have a spectacular view if it wasn't shrouded in a cloud. I am elated. An easterly breeze is pushing the cloud cover up the hill behind me and random zephyrs boom around my ears like a drunk opening drawers and trying to be quiet about it.
I begin the last mile. It's all downhill from here and contrary to the end I find it to be the hardest part of the run. A momentary loss of concentration here on the mist-slicked grass could have you tumbling down that hill. The constant 'braking' is hard going and my thighs are getting to the point my lungs were earlier. It wouldn't take much to do yourself a mischief here and it might be days before someone would find you. Or what was left of you after the bears were finished.
Eventually the trail loops back to my starting point. I climb a stile and am deposited back at the Captain's Guard. I slow down now to a sort of determined trudge for the last 1/4 mile back to the car park. I emerge from the cover and the meek, dove coloured clouds seem almost apologetic for releasing their payloads upon me.
I turn my face to the sky and smile.
The first mile from the car park to the campground seems easy enough but it is cunning and patient. It whispers to me.
"Yeah...g'wan there now and burn it up going downhill at first....you'll learn."
A Captain's Guard of old growth flanks the dirt trail. Their boughs interlocking and forming a verdant canopy above me. Like old friends grasping each other by their arms they offer me shelter in their ancient greeting. I pound down the path with the all the tact and grace of a 1970s Cylon. The forest empties ahead of me.
Just before the campground the terrain tilts very definitely upwards and the rain comes downwards with equal certainty. The broad ,deciduous leaves continue their generous protection and very little of the rain reaches me. A single, fat drop strikes the inside of my wrist and a silver sliver of sensation arcs across to my spine and shivers its way to my brain. I am alive now.
A brief levelling-off through the campsite allows me to lift the head and pull back on the shoulders. My breathing is getting laboured and I need to look up and breathe properly. The path now becomes a glorified coyote trail and the footing is getting treacherous. A dendritic maze of rills and streamlets break off a swift flowing creek and forces me to jump from rock to rock for a bit before acquiring the path again.
I'm well into the second mile now and the path goes near vertical for a while. This isn't running. It's climbing at a high rate of knots and it's pure murder. The trees are doing me a kindness by keeping the rain off but I'm soaked in my own sweat anyway. I pass the point where I wanted to lie down and wait for Death last week . I don't feel like that now (give me five minutes) so I mark it as progress and plod on.
My lungs are on fire and my heart wants to batter it's way out of my chest but my legs are better today. I keep going. A short plateau before the final gentle climb brings my heart rate down reassuringly quickly and I lope along sucking in great,grateful lungfuls of the cool,misty air. I guess I still have those long lungs. The trees start to thin out near the summit and I emerge into an Alpine meadow that would have a spectacular view if it wasn't shrouded in a cloud. I am elated. An easterly breeze is pushing the cloud cover up the hill behind me and random zephyrs boom around my ears like a drunk opening drawers and trying to be quiet about it.
I begin the last mile. It's all downhill from here and contrary to the end I find it to be the hardest part of the run. A momentary loss of concentration here on the mist-slicked grass could have you tumbling down that hill. The constant 'braking' is hard going and my thighs are getting to the point my lungs were earlier. It wouldn't take much to do yourself a mischief here and it might be days before someone would find you. Or what was left of you after the bears were finished.
Eventually the trail loops back to my starting point. I climb a stile and am deposited back at the Captain's Guard. I slow down now to a sort of determined trudge for the last 1/4 mile back to the car park. I emerge from the cover and the meek, dove coloured clouds seem almost apologetic for releasing their payloads upon me.
I turn my face to the sky and smile.
Monday, July 20, 2009
R.I.P. Frank McCourt
I heard Frank was doing a signing at a local bookstore about 10 minutes before it began. The store was run along the lines of a Prussian military academy and we were all issued with little laminated cards with a number on it. The run was limited to 400. I had 399(I am NOT a number!). We were limited to two books each and there were plenty of cries of "Schnell!" and "Raus!" flying from the staff to keep us shuffling forward.
This was way back in the Long Ago (Sept. of 1999) and I was much fitter and....er..blokier than today so I wasn't too pushed about the wait. This wasn't the case with the rather elderly lady in front of me. Now I wasn't too sure if she was trying to escape the wait (Frank wasn't really playing by the rules and was taking his time with people,having little chats and posing for pictures) or flee from me but it was evident she wasn't going to get her book signed.
"Tell you what. Give us your book and I'll get it signed. I'll give you my office address. If you want it just come by some day and pay me for the book. If you don't then I'll get an extra signed copy. How bad?"
It turned out she (Her late husband was a senator and author and she had two sons in senate fights last November) lived about 5 mins from the office and was delighted at the possibility of escape. A bit of a win-win. Or so I thought.
I hadn't reckoned on the Book Nazis.
The lily-livered and faint hearted began to fall out of the queue and after no more than a hour I found myself in range of the desk. This was when the eagle-eyed staff member lamped my three copies of 'Tis
"I'm sorry (she was about as sorry as I was Jean-Luc Picard) but Mr.McCourt will only be signing two of those."
"Right. I know this is going to sound a bit mad but there was a honest to God little old lady in front of me and.."
This was when something very strange happened to her voice.
'Ah sure. Now where would we be without the little old ladies at all, at all'.
What.The.FUCK??? was she mimicing me?
I snapped away from her. raised my hand and shouted over at Frank.
"Oi. Frankie!! Any chance you'd sign another one for an aul' skin from Limerick?"
I was beckoned over to desk and ushered into the Presence.
"You from Limerick?"
"I am. Sorry about the books like but yer wan was giving me grief ."
"Wherabouts in Limerick kid?"
"Er...Moyross."
"Fair dues.Don't mind those fucking eejits. So what do you do here?"
"I'm with the Irish Peace Corps"
"Da wha'?"
"Irish Peace Corps. We're helping drag West Virginia into the 20th Century"
"Fuck off *Laughing* You'd want to hurry up for yeerselves."
This was how Frank McCourt and I defied the Book Nazis. The little old lady got her copy. I got mine (in 2005 he hooked me up with copies for all the kids) and he got a laugh.
Rest easy Frank. You lit a candle and I love you for it.
xx
This was way back in the Long Ago (Sept. of 1999) and I was much fitter and....er..blokier than today so I wasn't too pushed about the wait. This wasn't the case with the rather elderly lady in front of me. Now I wasn't too sure if she was trying to escape the wait (Frank wasn't really playing by the rules and was taking his time with people,having little chats and posing for pictures) or flee from me but it was evident she wasn't going to get her book signed.
"Tell you what. Give us your book and I'll get it signed. I'll give you my office address. If you want it just come by some day and pay me for the book. If you don't then I'll get an extra signed copy. How bad?"
It turned out she (Her late husband was a senator and author and she had two sons in senate fights last November) lived about 5 mins from the office and was delighted at the possibility of escape. A bit of a win-win. Or so I thought.
I hadn't reckoned on the Book Nazis.
The lily-livered and faint hearted began to fall out of the queue and after no more than a hour I found myself in range of the desk. This was when the eagle-eyed staff member lamped my three copies of 'Tis
"I'm sorry (she was about as sorry as I was Jean-Luc Picard) but Mr.McCourt will only be signing two of those."
"Right. I know this is going to sound a bit mad but there was a honest to God little old lady in front of me and.."
This was when something very strange happened to her voice.
'Ah sure. Now where would we be without the little old ladies at all, at all'.
What.The.FUCK??? was she mimicing me?
I snapped away from her. raised my hand and shouted over at Frank.
"Oi. Frankie!! Any chance you'd sign another one for an aul' skin from Limerick?"
I was beckoned over to desk and ushered into the Presence.
"You from Limerick?"
"I am. Sorry about the books like but yer wan was giving me grief ."
"Wherabouts in Limerick kid?"
"Er...Moyross."
"Fair dues.Don't mind those fucking eejits. So what do you do here?"
"I'm with the Irish Peace Corps"
"Da wha'?"
"Irish Peace Corps. We're helping drag West Virginia into the 20th Century"
"Fuck off *Laughing* You'd want to hurry up for yeerselves."
This was how Frank McCourt and I defied the Book Nazis. The little old lady got her copy. I got mine (in 2005 he hooked me up with copies for all the kids) and he got a laugh.
Rest easy Frank. You lit a candle and I love you for it.
xx
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Intermission
Today* is the first anniversary of my very first ever surgery. And what a debut surgery it was. I've been in two minds about even mentioning it. One mind says
"So Dr.M had a rummage around your bits and knocked out a new set for you. So what?"
The other one sort of screams
"You have got to be fucking kidding me. It's your real birthday.Bitch!"
Now we have a string of celebrations in our house at the end of June/start of July so it's not like we need another one. At the same time it was a pretty significant event. It's not like I'm going to pretend it never happened.
What I am certain about is this. The surgery was the easy part. It didn't 'make' me a woman. Nor did it mark my defection from the world of Men. Both of these were achieved without the use of a scalpel. To attribute such things to surgery is false.Yet,for me, the operation was an absolute must. I knew in my heart that surgery itself would not grant me happiness but rather the freedom to pursue and achieve it. The last 12 months have been the living proof of my theory. None of this makes someone who chooses not to go under the knife any less 'genuine' or committed. We all have our own trail to blaze.
The hard part is moving in to your new life without the excuses. Without the built-in reason to suck. Freedom from that all-consuming compulsion and focus had me behaving like those trained pigeons you see in India. They are so accustomed to the chain they cannot conceive of life without it and behave as if they are still in fetters. I say 'had' and 'like' because I'm like so over that phase. Plus I'm no fucking pigeon.
To those who helped me close Volume One last year I offer my heartfelt thanks and love. If it seems I'm a little slow in opening Volume Two bear with me for a while longer. New shit is about to come to light.
* July 15th. I posted just after midnight on the East Coast but it's still the 14th on the other side of the country (where Blogger must live). Pesky time zones.
"So Dr.M had a rummage around your bits and knocked out a new set for you. So what?"
The other one sort of screams
"You have got to be fucking kidding me. It's your real birthday.Bitch!"
Now we have a string of celebrations in our house at the end of June/start of July so it's not like we need another one. At the same time it was a pretty significant event. It's not like I'm going to pretend it never happened.
What I am certain about is this. The surgery was the easy part. It didn't 'make' me a woman. Nor did it mark my defection from the world of Men. Both of these were achieved without the use of a scalpel. To attribute such things to surgery is false.Yet,for me, the operation was an absolute must. I knew in my heart that surgery itself would not grant me happiness but rather the freedom to pursue and achieve it. The last 12 months have been the living proof of my theory. None of this makes someone who chooses not to go under the knife any less 'genuine' or committed. We all have our own trail to blaze.
The hard part is moving in to your new life without the excuses. Without the built-in reason to suck. Freedom from that all-consuming compulsion and focus had me behaving like those trained pigeons you see in India. They are so accustomed to the chain they cannot conceive of life without it and behave as if they are still in fetters. I say 'had' and 'like' because I'm like so over that phase. Plus I'm no fucking pigeon.
To those who helped me close Volume One last year I offer my heartfelt thanks and love. If it seems I'm a little slow in opening Volume Two bear with me for a while longer. New shit is about to come to light.
* July 15th. I posted just after midnight on the East Coast but it's still the 14th on the other side of the country (where Blogger must live). Pesky time zones.
Thursday, July 09, 2009
Rock Ness Monster
Apologies for the crappy cell phone video quality but this boy is too cool for school.
Wednesday, July 08, 2009
R.H.I.P.*
My car was looking a bit more squalid than ususal when I parked it in front of the Security Forces building. It had received a precision bombing run from a pack of winged vermin earlier in the day. I was on post to attend a squadron meeting and for some reason the four towering cadets in front of me were not being screamed at by NCOs or bashing the square.
It wouldn't be the first time I caught a few youngfellas arsing a crafty fag.
One of them looked like he swallowed the smoke whole when I rolled up.
Trying to break the ice another one flapped his arm at my car.
"Looks like you'll need a car wash Ma'am."
The words were barely out of his mouth before the other three began the inaudible moan that would turn to "Stoopid muthafuckah" as soon as I was out of earshot.
"Splendid idea Cadet! The four of you should have it done in no time. Carry on."
They did a good job too.
* Rank Has It's Privileges
It wouldn't be the first time I caught a few youngfellas arsing a crafty fag.
One of them looked like he swallowed the smoke whole when I rolled up.
Trying to break the ice another one flapped his arm at my car.
"Looks like you'll need a car wash Ma'am."
The words were barely out of his mouth before the other three began the inaudible moan that would turn to "Stoopid muthafuckah" as soon as I was out of earshot.
"Splendid idea Cadet! The four of you should have it done in no time. Carry on."
They did a good job too.
* Rank Has It's Privileges
Saturday, July 04, 2009
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