Stories and cigarettes...

...Ruined the lives of lesser girls...

I like it when you walk though my door.

Today I ate by myself at the Turf. I love the Turf. I had veggie kababs, rather than the usual steak, for a change, and I took my god-damned good time about them. They were accompanied, of course, by a Jamesons (neat) and a Bass... and why not? I sat back in that booth-- for I decided, though I was flying solo (as Jason the bar back put it) that I would sit myself down at a table-- and I cooked my kababs and ate them with a great, big grin on my face. I. Love. This. Place. I love the people here, and I love the atmosphere.

It was nice to have an evening to do whatsoever I please, but all the same, I like it when you walk through my door, and tonight, I walked in alone.

Just something I thought you should know.

sad news...

Monday afternoon my friend's sister in law suffered brain death after a week of surgeries and complications as a result of a ruptured aneurysm. She was 31 and had 2 children, aged 10 and 6. The family has donated her organs according to her wishes. They will go to over 150 people in need of transplants.

As anyone who has racked up hospital expenses knows, health care in this country can add up. Even with some coverage, five brain surgeries and over a week's critical care has taken a toll on what is now a single income family. Some friends have mine have started a collection site here. Kim's story and the family's journal is here for anyone who wants more information. I had the pleasure of meeting her on a handful of holiday events and other occasions. She was a very nice lady.

The Casey Special...

A-train and I went on a run around the Venice golf course today. It was going to be the standard 3 miler that I directed my friend to when she was visiting LA, with the addition of an offshoot up a very steep hill about a mile in, that Casey liked to add on. I was not looking forward to that part. I had declined to tell my friend to add it to the otherwise flat course because:

A. She was unfamiliar with the neighborhood and I couldn't think of how to describe the route accurately enough for her to follow.

B. I didn't want her to hate me when she got back.

ARA ran the course the opposite way than Casey and I used to, opting for counterclockwise ("My House, my run!"), and the hill he took me on was a much longer, gentler out and back at the top of the course, rather than the short, steep, off the side one. I mentioned that I was expecting the other hill, to which he replied simply, "Yeah, that hill's silly."

Damn straight.

It was a 2-fer for us, having done about 20 on the bike this morning, and I was mildly uncomfortable the whole time, and approaching serious distress when we kicked down the pace in the last mile or so. It was nice, though, to run with someone who's been considerably more regular about it than me for the past 5 odd years, and probably has a better sense of pace. Unless Easy-A was seriously sandbagging, I think I'm still able to keep up.

We ended the run at the park just past his house, which means running all the way back to the starting point and stopping there to walk the block to the grass. This is a practice I usually avoid, preferring to declare the block or so before the start point as "sacred ground" not to be run on when returning. It's silly, but it always unnerves me to run all that way back. You can't mess with 5 years of daily habitual conditioning.

We did some striders in the park-- the first speed I've tried in over 2 years. I felt heavy, be it from the extra pounds, or just from feeling a little bloated after sucking so much wind, but the speed felt good, and my knees feel fine.

I did some other things today, but it was sunny, and relaxed and those are the best parts. A good Sunday.

We Got Snakes!

...on a mothafuckin plane!

You can see more about this here.

You can read more about this here.

the possibilies are endless.

Travis

No more bad food. No more pills. ... Every muscle must be tight.

I am driving north. The car is low slung, but not fast though I've got momentum. It makes steady progress through a day and night, always forward, never stopping until the fuel gauge is low or my eyes fight to stay awake. It is dirty and old, but well cared for. It is oiled and tuned. Parts are replaced when need be, but still it is old. It may go near to forever. It may die tonight. The car is life. I am headed north.

This is what sets me in motion: a phone that never rings, rings; no message; no caller ID, but I feel the anticipation. I want it to be someone, but I can no longer place who. I don't want to think about this so much, and so I am driving. Tomorrow there should be a job to go to, and bills to pay, and it's not quite too late to go back to that, but something feels set in motion, and that something means the lap-top from work doesn't get returned, the rent check never makes it, and they hock my worldly possessions in a yard sale to cover debts. What should feel crazy about this feels fine, as I endlessly extend my finger to the back button on the CD player and listen to the same 4 minute song for the 6th hour. I'm not talking about going away forever, just long enough to make real trouble for myself. I'm headed north.

I've thought too much about what I shouldn't be thinking about, and I know what it is. There is a feeling I want, it doesn't have a name, but it is nevertheless distinct and desirable. I know when I last felt it, I know who I felt it with and I know what is tied to it. It is not the woman I want, it's the feeling, and knowing I can no longer have it with her, but will associate it with her until I find it elsewhere, I am putting as much distance between myself and her as possible at 89 miles per hour. I hit a rough patch. The shocks are dead and the car rattles, and for a minute I worry about blowing the tires, but they are new, and filled to the right pressure, and will probably last far longer than the rest of the car. The only thing to really worry about out here is cops. I'm the fastest thing on the road, through endless ugly towns and manure scented farmland, but this is because I'm the only thing on the road that doesn't have 18 wheels or a horse trailer hitched to the back. The occasional car does pass, and when it does, it passes quite quickly. At least there are others breaking the law more flagrantly than me. There is some comfort in this.

The engine is loud, but it sounds ok. My rattling seat is the only thing keeping my ass from falling asleep. I play with the windows, adjusting the rush of air into the car to keep me awake. I don't know where I am going-- where I will stop-- but I am headed north.

Or am I headed home? Am I dreaming, and only the car and the highway and the endless song on the radio are reality? I am headed South, yes, and my desire to feel something I haven't in over a year pulls my thoughts past my house, down the road to a barstool in the corner by the jukebox. I could keep going south, past my driveway, past the canyon and the lights and into the back lot where I'd park it, and open the door to the corner and see who's there. I almost do, but then there's home, there's sleep, there's an early workout tomorrow. I've got to get that in. I've got to be sensible; take care of myself; get back in shape.

Every minute must be tight.