Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Good night, Nora.

Since I have waaayyy too much to share about the Nicaragua trip, I'm going to do what I do best:  multi-task and write this quick, interim post before I start blogging about that.

I'm back.  Malaria-free - which was questionable for the last 2 days.  I'm feeling 90% at 5:30pm on Wednesday, so I've already messaged my trainer and will be there promptly at 6am tomorrow to get this rice and bean butt back in shape.

When I picked Liv up from Bball at 4:45pm after speeding home from Toledo meetings, I found my final paper from my final class in the mailbox.  Graded.  I'm sure most of you know the class was on Esther.  Almost too good of a setup to be true for, well, you know. 

I may have a few feminist tendencies and opinions, but I assure you I kept most of them to myself in an effort to go out with a bang.  Straight A's thus far (and by "A's," I mean two have some marking after them - clearly due to those profs battling Parkinson's causing a slip of the pen).  Much like my customers do when I hand them a proposal, I flipped to the last page.

Woman-hating, arrogant, multi-lingual know-it-all.  Would it kill the guy to give a solid A? 

10 classes.  7 regular A's and 3 A's given by diseased-stricken professors.  3.895 in a Master's program.  On a 4.0 scale.

Seriously?  What is my problem?  Especially after being where I was recently?  I'll tell you.

Subjectivity.  He gave me an A- sheerly because he could.  There were no tests, no multiple choice answers.  There was no black and white anything except the text within those little ten chapters about a woman who outsmarted all the men around her.  And although I used the 15 required references, I "focused on Fox's commentary too much," - Fox being not only brilliant, but outlining the antithesis of my Parkinson Prof's dissertation. 

Oh, and I used "trenchant" in place of his preferred "sarcastic."  No comment.

But guess what?  I AM DONE!  Woo-hoo!  First call tomorrow?  Registrar's Office so I can get the real diploma mailed to me.  I'll love it when "You've Got Mail" enters my mind.  Speaking of...Nora Ephron died.  Not that I am happy about that, however I am encouraged by her writing.  It wasn't that great - all very conversational in style and the only thing she said of any interest was with regard to her divorce and some interesting men she dated afterwards...which means...

Someday, while wearing a Boston Marathon jacket, I will be writing that book after all.  Maybe I'll call it "4.0."

Glad it's only Sleepless in Seattle these days.

Wednesday, June 13, 2012

Unwanted

Yesterday when I went downstairs to the former man-cave, I noticed something.  It smelled a little funny and the running sock I had just put on was wet.  Great.  Water.

Roughly a quarter of the cheap carpet-over-concrete was soaked.  Using my sage-like troubleshooting skills, I deduced it was coming from somewhere.  I also quickly deduced it was taking way more time to figure out than I cared to allot to something so stupid.

Neighbor Phil:  Hello?

Me:  Have I mentioned your being retired is fantastic, or that you're my favorite neighbor?

Phil:  Parker and I will be down in a second.

He's the guy that has (in no certain order): 

  • Shown me how to use a string trimmer.  They sell string separately, you know...in different colors.
  • Shown me how to use a snow blower.  I feel like a bad ass after that whole thing is done.  A frozen, sweaty mess is always good for the psyche.
  • Laughed at me for not having the patience to learn how to use a zero turn mower.  Really?  Those side steering sticks are as useless as the ones on the Ellipticals at the Y.  Plus, I don't chew tobacco.
  • Ridden shotgun in our other neighbor's car to bring my car home from a pool hall.  Oops.
  • Called me when his wife had a headache to find out if her iPhone was at my house or in the street somewhere between our two abodes.  Her oops.
  • Corrected my grip, back swing, and every other thing I (according to him and my 92) was doing wrong on the course.  I do love golf.
  • Watched a chick flick with his wife and me on NYE, after whipping up some delicious appetizers and making sure the straw in my wine glass never clogged.

And...he's the guy that came down yesterday with his son to tell me I had a pinhole leak in my main water line.  One that obviously had been leaking for at least 2-3 weeks and needed immediate plumbing help.

Two air-movers later - along with one industrial-sized dehumidifier, $480 bucks, and a suggestion from a 12 year-old that I should make that room into a "woman-cave" so I would know about these things sooner - and I'm all set.




Monday, June 11, 2012

Spiderwoman Kate

I just completed my final paper in my final Bethel class.  Well maybe that's not entirely true.  It's my final class until I start up Master's Degree # 2.  I'm still completely convinced some future commencement ceremony will provide yellow sashes and a super summa Latin title.  Ridiculous they do not.  I smell a provost petition my next go 'round.

The class is on the Book of Esther, and obviously we had to pick some topic within that short narrative to expound upon.  So, I picked characterization.  How could I not?  Delving into what makes people tick is what makes me tick.  Understanding people's backgrounds, life experiences, wants, needs, desires, fears...all of it.  That woven web is the beauty of life, really.  Including, I suppose, all the spiders that get caught in the never ending stickiness...

I used to be afraid of spiders.  Now I have an uncanny knack for spotting them from afar, trouncing them, and sending them swirling down plumbing pipes back to the sewer where they belong.  With all the other venomous losers.

Wait, wait, wait!  That metaphor is so cellophane even I can't stand it!  Just pretend you had no idea what I was talking about. 

(I really do dislike spiders, though.  As well as most of the metaphorical ones.) 

Back on point.  Characterization.  Yes, that.  As I was writing my final paper, dissecting Queen Vashti's reasoning behind telling King Xerxes to go ___________himself when he commanded her to parade around buckcherry naked in front of a bunch of drunken men, I realized it reminded me of my favorite former TV show - Lost

(Btw, I did provide fair warning that my thought process is kind of hard to follow occasionally, therefore I have no feelings of shame or empathy right now).

Lost was a character study.  While it had twists, turns, invisible friends, tailies, Others, other-Others, incest, aliens, and a whole slew of additional totally normal subplots, the overarching theme was one of what makes people tick.  What binds people together.  What causes people to manipulate.  What attracts people to one another.  What becomes understood between people.  What goes unsaid between them.  You know...all the crap that kept me coming back week after week.

I miss that show terribly.  Kate, the female protagonist, had this thing-ish for Sawyer, but it was really only so she wouldn't have to face her real feelings for Jack.  Sometimes she was annoying, but mostly she was cool.  She knew more than she gave herself credit for.  Really I bet she figured the whole thing out inside the first season, even though she alleged to be confused throughout the remaining ones.

Lost has been off the air for a while now although it feels like forever.  Which means, I guess they're off the island and back to their fake little pre-plane crash lives while I'm pretending to be satisfied with watching Modern Family in its place.

There's definitely no Jack on that show.  Or anywhere else.



Saturday, June 9, 2012

On a Break

Finally.  A salad, glass of Riesling, and blogging. 

This is a break in and of itself from a final 15 page paper and presentation which are both due on Thursday.  Thankfully, it is the very last class.  I'm not sure my Hebrew-Greek-Aramaic-German-English speaking professor would pass me if he and I had to put up with each other any longer than that.  Last Thursday I said, "You know, I'm really not a feminist.  It's just that you give me no other choice." 

Literally, the man vacillates between his regular voice and about 12 other dialects.  Fine.  Annoying but fine.  Until he starts using his "female" rendition - specifically mimicking Esther and Vashti.  It's this high-pitched, little girl, "Help Me!  Help Me!" kind of voice, his smug face making it even more appalling.  He knows by now how totally offensive this display of weird is, and he (along with the rest of the class) always looks over at me for a reaction in the midst of his gong-worthy stand up routine.  I've had plenty to say, plenty to push back with, and plenty of big blue eye rolls.  Which all adds up to a 10% A for class participation. 

Ph.D. J.E.R.K.

Anyway, 4:30 on Thursday can't come soon enough.  The Master's diploma will be mailed to replace the fake one I received  in April.  A break from class is just one of many that I sorely need and am about to take.  After a lengthy crying jag (made instantly better by a soothing and comedic voice who knows me well) earlier, I decided my downsizing starts effective pronto.

First, the house stuff.  From the stupid man-cave to every nook, cranny, and closet in this place - it's going.  I simply don't need it all, use it all, or want it all.  Well, maybe the shoes.  But aside from the shoes, I'm downsizing.

Secondly, my communication.  Seriously you ask?  Yes, seriously!  I am on an official monk-like talking sabbatical.  And it is exactly in this spirit why I will not elaborate any further.

Thirdly, yeah...thirdly.  Here it is.  Running.  (Now are all the tears understood?)  My heel just can't do it. 

This left heel problem has been going on since stinking March.  It's not working and the more I try to run through it, the worse it gets.  Even had it scraped again on Wednesday.  It was THE WORST scraping I've ever had. 

I made it clear to Tom that he needed to fix it once and for all, which apparently was code for try and rival a bone marrow biopsy on the pain scale.  That part was successful; the once and for all part was not.  I stayed off it Thursday and Friday with the intent of running 15 this morning.  Got through a not so impressive 8 before I had to bail.  Epic fail.

So here I am, still feeling slightly off-kilter at my newfound downsizing.  Going from a constant hundred miles an hour to coasting at Sunday driver speed is kind of terrifying.  But I know I can do it because I have to.  I'm long overdue and sick of being stuck in between gears.

Nicaragua, cross training, and a clean house...here I come.  Just don't ask me about it because I'm not talking.

For at least a week.

Sunday, June 3, 2012

Post-Cleveland Moi

So it's officially been 2 weeks since the Cleveland marathon.  I'm happy to report that not once have I looked upon that race with any regret.  Fine, maybe once the typical, "wth happened to you at mile X?!" popped into my mind, but for some strange reason I've been super content since then.  In crack-addict fashion, I signed up for the Monumental in Indy on November 3rd.  One.  More.  Time.

Seriously.  Just one more.  (Blogs can be fiction too, people).

Yep!  Back at it.  Worked out at AR a few days after I got home and ran even sooner.  That's always a good sign of how race ready you were - the recovery period.  Much more accurate than the finishing time, I think.  Maybe I'll write Boston a letter.

Anywho.  Did a long run yesterday at a pretty good clip with the group.  I'm a much better runner when I don't think about what I'm doing.  I just go.  And talk.  Until that forces me to realize what's happening with the wind I'm sucking so then I just listen.  I wish I had the freakish genetic propensity to do like, 3 marathons in 3 weekends.  I actually know someone who did that.  Jury's still out on him since I beat him in one of those aforementioned races.  He PR'd the second one and then turned right around and PR'd his PR.  Double jerk. 

All kidding aside, it's runners like that who inspire the rest of us trying-to-be-athletes to do better.  To keep pushing.  To go harder.  And to never give up on whatever our goals may be.  It's a way of life, and if you ask me (which clearly you do since you're reading this), it's a good one.  There are a lot of other ways of life that could be chosen instead.  For example, you could choose not to exercise at all, not to be a productive member of society at all, not to take chances at all, not to learn from mistakes at all.

All of those examples among countless others are totally foreign to me.  Wasteful.  Sissy-ful.  Instead, we ought to be embracing the times in our lives when we did stupid things (Oh...you didn't?  Now that's fiction...), dissect them in an introspective manner, and be the best "us's" we can be.

Pretty sure my best me is sub-3:40.  Like 3:39:59.  Give or take not at all.

I've loved Cleveland since I was a little girl.  It's always given me stories to tell. 

Still do...still does.