My new favorite red wine is actually one that I have liked for….a year? Two years? I don’t remember when I first tried it, but I know it was at Emily’s house, and I know I’ve had it more than once at her house. So thanks, Emily, for 19 Crimes.
They make a cabernet sauvignon, too, but since I rarely like those, I go for the blend. It’s very good. You should try it.
John’s bike is pretty old. He’s had it at least since 1998, when he used it to get to his summer job in Connecticut when we were in school, and he probably had had it for a while at that point. (I’ve only had my bike since 2004, I think.) Anyway, sometime last week, he noticed that one of his pedals was coming loose. It was wobbly, and he couldn’t tighten it with any tools he has. There’s a bike shop right by our gym, so we biked over there after work today, figuring we’d go to the gym once the pedal was fixed. Of course, the pedal fell off about halfway there, and you just can’t ride a bike with only one pedal (John tried), so we walked the rest of the way (it wasn’t far). Naturally, fixing it is not as simple as replacing the pedal, so John left the bike at the shop. I think they have to order some parts – his bike is either old enough or non-standard enough that they just don’t have whatever it is he needs. Still cheaper to repair than to buy a new bike, though.
This would be necessary if either of us were capable of running….grumble grumble grumble.
Well, yes it would. We bike to get places around here. Never mind.
(Grumble).
I usually get annoyed when I skip a day on the ol’ blog here, but I can’t be mad about skipping yesterday. I didn’t plan to skip – I thought I’d be back home in time to get it done – but it was late because we were out having adventures and doing fun things and taking LOTS of pictures. I can forgive myself for that.
None of the pictures you’re about to see have been edited, mostly because I don’t really know how to do that, and I’m too lazy to bother with it. The signs all over Crater Lake National Park say that the water is so blue because it’s all rain and snowmelt and because it’s the deepest freshwater lake in the country. It was incredible. I didn’t want to look away. Of course, I did look away because who would believe we were there if we didn’t take pictures? I love being a tourist.
I can’t help but like this one, even though we could be ANYwhere since you can’t really see the lake.
It was hard to leave, even after our hike. Oh yes – we hiked. In our infinite wisdom, we chose one of the strenuous hikes, meant to take 2-3 hours and gain over 1000 feet in elevation. In our defense, there were only two hiking trails within walking distance of where we parked, and the other one was easy and seemed to follow the road we’d just driven down. BOR-ing.
If you squint, you can see the Crater Lake Lodge in the upper center part of this picture, which is where we started. I think we were about halfway when I took this one.
The temperature was in the 70s, and we were working hard, so we were plenty warm, but there was SNOW on the ground. Not everywhere, certainly, but we had to climb through a slippery melting snowbank to get to the top. That was the scariest part. Well, coming back down through the snowbank was the scariest part.
We did reach the top, though. Here we are on Garfield Peak, 8000 feet above sea level. I don’t know how many feet we were above lake level.
And here’s another terrible selfie (it was really bright out, okay?).
I think I might have to make that one my profile picture for ALL of my accounts.
John wants to run down this meadow. I’m willing to bet it’s steeper than it looks.
I think I took this next one on the way back down.
Here we are, tired and happy and soon to be very hungry.
We left about 6pm (we got there around after noon, close to 1, I think), but it’s 2 and a half hours away, so it was nearly 9 before we got back to Cottage Grove, and after 9 before we ate. Almost midnight when we got home, still had to shower (covered in sweat and sunscreen – totally gross), and we’re only a little bit sore today. Our gym has a hot tub. We may be heading there this afternoon.
I discovered Paw My Gosh today. Lots of puppy videos, as if the internet needed more of them. Actually, with the news lately, maybe the internet does need more. The blog part is somewhat cutesy, but the videos are cute. Did I really just write that? That’s terrible.
Enjoy!
CNN is not the greatest news source out there, and despite where you might think this sentence is going, I’m not providing an exception here. The article I’m linking to isn’t news. It’s helpful, and it’s health-related and general happiness- and stop-hating-the-world-related, but still not news.
How to stop being annoyed by life
My tolerance for petty bullshit is, as you can probably tell by my phrasing, LOW. So is my tolerance for incompetence, willful stupidity, and intolerance. I can still be patient with people. I’m still patient with LOTS of people. I don’t seem to have as much patience, though…and then I get irritated…and then I get frustrated…and if I’m lucky, I remember to stop and wonder just what I’m so irritated about. Is it important? Does it matter? Can I do something about it? I’m rarely that lucky (to remember to stop and think), but I think I’m getting better about it. Things like that article help. Sitting in a chair in the backyard for a few minutes during the workday helps. Reading helps.
Why am I not reading? I’m pretty much always asking that question.
So I was thinking about all that on my bike ride this afternoon, pedaling along the path by the river, enjoying the sunny day and the stiff breeze that made me work a little harder, when BAM! Something small and sharp and OW PAINFUL IT HURTS hit me in the upper arm. I never saw it, it was gone immediately, like it bounced right off, but it felt like I’d been stung. Can you get stung at that speed? Can a bee or a wasp or some other flying (I assume flying) insect hit you at just the right angle at approximately 15 mph to sting you and then get away? I shouted a few things, maybe startling a duck, and pulled over to look. It did kind of look like a bee sting (although the last time I was stung was on my knee in Chesapeake Beach in 1985 or ’86, so how would I know what it looks like?), and there was a tiny dot of red in the middle, and it hurt like crazy. I considered going home, but I was mostly done (6 miles left!), so I figured I’d keep going unless it started to hurt more or I started to go into anaphylactic shock. (WordPress doesn’t think “anaphylactic” is a word. Screw you, WordPress, I spelled it right on my own!) Would I recognize anaphylactic shock? If it started, would it be too late at that point to get home? Why was I worrying about this? I didn’t die when I got stung when I was 6, so I’m probably not allergic to bee stings now. Shut up and bike.
So, yeah, I think I got stung. It stopped hurting as much, the swelling started to go down and spread out, like more of a welt, and now (an hour later), there’s hardly anything to see. I think I’ll live.
Moral of the story: I didn’t get angry or irritated or frustrated by it. No, that’s a TERRIBLE moral and has nothing to do with anything. Getting stung by a mystery insect on a bike ride is not in the same category as the things that annoy me. What’s to get annoyed about? Nope, this story only barely escapes being a non sequitur, and it’s only a sequitur because the bee sting literally followed my thoughts on that article. It’s a LITERAL SEQUITUR.
I’m running late today. I thought I had all the time in the world, but I just finished working, and I need to shower, and I only have 40 minutes before I need to leave for my massage this afternoon (yes, I have a massage scheduled). I don’t like the thought of being all rushed and tense when I show up for my massage, but I suppose when you’re rushed and tense, a massage is a good thing to have. Of course, I’m only tense because I’m rushed – why am I still typing? Gotta run!
I’ve known for a long time that I can’t listen to music with words when I’m working because I end up typing what I’m hearing (or singing along to) instead of, you know, work stuff. Apparently, this is also a problem when blogging. Or it could just be that I don’t have anything specific to say today, so I’m easily sidetracked. I was going to write something about Pokémon Go (I saw teenagers playing in the park today, I think), but that went nowhere, mostly because “I saw people playing it” is all I have to say, and then there was something about boiling eggs and having one explode in the pot every time, but really – where was I going with that? Nowhere, according to Regina Spektor, who was determined to have me type about breaking her heart instead of exploding eggs. It’s not all about you, Regina! Sometimes it’s about being unable to boil eggs correctly. I gotta go talk to Julia Child.
Ignore the random people in this picture. I think it’s a cool sign.
We were THIS close to the track….
…and it was a beautiful day.
And look! The women competing in the heptathlon getting ready for their 200m race. Butts in the air…
Pushing off the blocks…
Burst of energy at the beginning of a short, fast race.
Check it out! It’s Maggie Malone, she of the cool name and the world-class javelin-throwing arm.
And HERE is a picture that shows all three of the men who will be running the 5000m race for the US in Rio. You can see Lagat (check his bib) and the other two are in Chelimo (in the Army shirt in front) and Mead, in the green shirt behind. I took that picture because I was that close. Such a cool day.
Yesterday was the coolest day. We went to the next to last day of the US Track and Field Olympic Trials at Hayward Field (home of Prefontaine and Bill Bowerman), and it was INCREDIBLE. It’s highly unlikely we’ll ever watch the actual Olympic Games in person, but yesterday, we got to watch the best track and field athletes in the US compete for a spot on the US Olympic team – those were actual Olympians, and it was unbelievable to watch. I mean, I’m saying this even about sports I don’t care about and know nothing about, like the high jump and the javelin throw. Those were neat to see (and the woman who won the javelin throw has the best name – Maggie Malone), but we were really there for the running events. Us and everyone else, really. The place was packed by the time the men’s 5000m final started. Watching an Olympic (near-Olympic 5K) is NOTHING like watching a neighborhood 5K. There were 16 men competing, and since we didn’t know anything about any of them, we decided to cheer for the oldest guy, Bernard Lagat, who is 41 years old and holds the American record at this distance. I got video of them coming around during the first lap.
I forgot to mention that we had AMAZING SEATS. We were right in the center of the long straight stretch of the track, on the starting line side (behind them – we could see butts in the air at the start), IN THE FIFTH ROW. We were on the wrong side for the finish, but we could see plenty.
My plan was to get that video (accomplished), then conserve my battery (I was down to 13%) and get another short video as they came around for the final lap. That first lap was relatively slow, and I wanted to be able to contrast that to the effort they’d be putting in on the final lap. On a track, a 5K is 12 and a half laps long, so I had plenty of time to watch a few laps and then get ready to record again. The race was crazy exciting. Two guys were out front at first, but they tired out and didn’t end up staying in front. Then there were another two in front (way out front), and then, right at the end, everyone else started catching up. The guy we were cheering for, Lagat, was in the middle of the pack the whole time…right up until that last half-lap, when he SURGED AHEAD AND WON. The 41-year-old won the race. It was incredible, and I was screaming my head off and then his face crumpled in happy tears and so did I. I was highly susceptible to those athletes’ emotions yesterday. So was the lady next to me.
Anyway, I’d have video of that last lap (or at the least the part right in front of us, like in the earlier video – I had every intention of cheering, not recording, as they headed to the finish), but my phone chose the moment I pressed the record button to crap out on me and tell me my camera crashed. SO ANNOYED. This is the last disappointment I’ll take from you, phone.
You can watch official video of that last lap (like I just did) here. If you pause the video at 41 seconds and squint, I think you can see John (grey jacket and his hat) and a blur that might be me, 5th row. Or I might be imagining it. But we’re there!
It was so cool. Honestly, seeing this in person was one of my top five reasons for moving to Eugene. Tomorrow I’ll post some of the pictures I took.
I heard the loudest cat in the world the other morning. I was sitting at my desk working when some cat started meowing. It was so loud I thought it was in the room with me for half a second. (It wasn’t.) I checked outside both office windows, but didn’t see a cat. I checked the backyard – no cat (unusual, considering how often we see cats in our yard). I eventually found it, sitting on the hood of our neighbor’s car, facing our living room window (which is as far away as you can get from my office), yowling its head off.
I meowed at it. It meowed back, and that was the end of the conversation. Maybe it just needed someone to acknowledge its existence. You exist, kitty. Now shut up.
It’s raining, and there is no wind at all (apparently), so the rain is falling straight down. It’s a little eerie actually – looks robotic. John’s metronome isn’t helping the feeling.
Oh, that’s better – it’s slanting northwest now.
The temperature dropped yesterday. Today is the second day of highs in the 60s, and we’re not expected to hit 80 again until late next week (and then only barely). This is weird. Good, I think, but weird.
Hey, weather. That’s fascinating, sure, but it’s all I’ve got today. It’s Friday, work is over, and I think I’m going to take my book, open a window, and read in a comfy chair while listening to the rain. And John’s metronome.
It’s better than paying attention to the news.
Getting out the door to go the gym was a bit of a production today. I broke a nail putting on my shoes. Where are my clippers? They must be upstairs. Nope, not upstairs. Oh, here they are in the downstairs bathroom. Now where’s my nail file? Not in the downstairs bathroom. Upstairs? Nope. Maybe I’ll use John’s. In his office? Nope. Upstairs? Nope. Never mind. Skip that part. Okay, I’m going to listen to music on my phone. Where are my headphones? John, have you seen my headphones? No. Not on my desk either. Upstairs? Nope. Could they be in the car? Nope. Oh, they’re in my purse. Fine, I’m ready to go. Got my headphones, my phone, my keys. Out the door, lock the door, grab my bike….where’s my helmet? Back inside, helmet’s in the basement.
That’s what?…four trips upstairs and one trip to the basement in about three minutes. Who needs the gym?
It is my fate in life to always have songs I don’t really know stuck in my head. It’s always the songs that I know one line of, or if I’m lucky, maybe the whole chorus. Right now, it’s “Do you know the way to San Jose? La la la-la la la, la-la la-la, la-la la-la,” followed immediately by “Do you know the way to San Jose? La la la-la la la, la-la la-la, la-la la-la,” OVER AND OVER AND OVER.
Make it stop. I don’t know the rest of the words, I don’t really want to know the rest of the words, and I just want to read my book about a spaceship captain trying to get her abandoned spaceship back into space without Dionne Warwick’s help.
The universe is letting me down. Three summers ago, I got all excited about this tap class I was going to take. I went to the first class, it was great, and then the instructor had a family emergency and the class got cancelled. Major bummer. Shortly after that, we got busy with moving and everything, and then we got here, and I looked into tap classes again. It’s hard to find adult tap classes for beginners, and I’d rather not join a class with toddlers. I found a studio that offered exactly what I wanted, called, and they told me that the class would start in July. Great! So excited. I remembered this past weekend, checked their website – yup, beginner adult tap scheduled to start this very Tuesday. As in TODAY.
So, TODAY, I called. I wanted to be sure it was actually starting, find out how much it was going to cost, what I should wear, if there’s anything else I should know….and the answer to the last bit was yes. There was something else I should know, and THAT is that the class is NOT for beginners. Apparently, there wasn’t enough interest, so it’s an intermediate class, continuing where the class from last spring left off. I have learned that I cannot fake my way through an intermediate dance class, so that’s out. I left messages at a couple of other places, but there just aren’t very many. The university and the community college aren’t any help, either.
Frustration is my new state of being.
John finally got to take me flying. We went up early this morning, before the winds picked up for the day. We were up for an hour, just long enough to tool around and sight-see a bit. The airport is about 15 minutes south of Eugene, so we started north, flew over the house and a little past, then headed farther south to Cottage Grove, where we flew over Will and Christina’s house, and then back to the airport. It was fun! Of course it was fun.
There is a place nearby that will deliver salads to our door. They’ll deliver other food, too, but they have these really good entree salads, and we can order them and eat them and feel virtuous and lazy at the same time. Best of both worlds.
Delivery is a dangerous thing. I could easily become a hermit. Let my hair grow long again, stop talking to people, have all our food delivered, stay inside and read all the time…it wouldn’t take more than a gentle nudge.
Of course, I say this after having spent the better part of the last two days outside around people, with plans to do the same tomorrow. I don’t mean it, and yet…I may be reacting to too much socializing.
I’ve been listening to the audiobook of Lawrence Block’s The Burglar Who Counted the Spoons for the last week or so. I like the burglar books, but this is not one of the better ones, plot-wise. There’s some fun character stuff, but also a few unnecessary diversions and a couple of truly stupid characters. It passed the time, but it all became worth it this morning with the name of a cheese store, mentioned in passing during prep for the denouement (fancy word!): Sweet Suffering Cheeses. I laughed out loud, startling the homeless guy I was riding by. I hope it’s a real store.
Wait – nope. Doesn’t appear to be real. Quick! Someone go open a cheese store and name it that.
Our neighbors have a dog. He’s a 6-year-old Great Dane named Merlin, and he has a great bark. I met him the other day in their driveway.
I recognize the dog. I know his name. I know his breed, and I know his age. It’s been a couple of days since his owners, our neighbors, told me that information.
I’ve talked to the neighbors at least five or six times, including the day I met their dog. The first two times, I got their names.
I do not remember their names. I do not remember where they lived before they moved here. I do not remember what they do for a living. I’m positive we talked about those things.
The next time I see them, I’m going to have to tell them that I’m that guy. “I’m sorry. I’m the person who remembers dog’s names, but not people’s names, and I feel terrible about it, and what are your names again? I’ll write them down this time.
Oh, and we work from home every day, so if you ever want someone to let Merlin out or take him for a walk, we’d be happy to do it.”
I actually did say that last part when I met the dog. I think they were genuinely interested. John thinks they think I’m crazy, and why would they let their new neighbor (who they don’t know at all and whose name they probably don’t remember, either) into their house?
I’VE GOT BLISTERS ON ME FING…palms. The tops of my palms, right under the fingers. Does that part of your hand have a name? Doesn’t have the same ring to it, regardless. I tried the rowing machine today. Only 15 minutes, but I’ve got four blisters that hurt like hell. I won’t be doing that again.
Today was a Thursday that felt like a Friday. Disappointing to find it wasn’t, but at least tomorrow really is Friday and we have a three-day weekend! Are we doing anything for the 4th of July? Who knows? It’s enough not to have to go to work.
Speaking of work, I actually did work that felt useful today. Most days are all meetings and crisis management, and I never feel like I’m getting anywhere (which is why it’s so stressful). Today, though, EVERYTHING was down. All the websites we host, all of our test websites, our ticket tracking system, our phone system, our network – EVERYTHING – was down. Everyone in the office was sent home because the office didn’t even have internet. It came back up around 1pm, and everyone came back to work (and I went back to putting out fires), but in the hours between 10 and 1 (eastern) today, I researched and started to create a new writing test we’re going to use on job applicants. I’m completely over the TERRIBLE grammar three-fifths of my team displays, and I won’t hire anyone else with bad writing skills slide because we weren’t on the lookout for it during the interview. Everything my team does, all of our communication with our customers, is written. It HAS to be good.
So anyway, it felt great to actually work on something that can be completed and put to use. We’ll start with applicants for my team, but I think (because I think highly of myself) that HR will adopt it for the company hiring process.
Moan moan moan, bitch bitch bitch. I just scrapped two paragraphs of complaining about not being able to run. You can thank me later.
Instead, I’ll treat you to a few minutes of the nonsense that lives in my brain. Fun.
Ready? Here we go.
“Shake Your Groove Thing” is the last thing I heard before I got out of the car today, so I’ll be randomly shouting “yeah, yeah” for the next several days. I know I’m supposed to think of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert when I hear it, but I always go to That 70s Show first, then Drew Carey, then Priscilla. [Edited to point out that those are links to YouTube videos (fun), not IMDB (boring).] I’m sure that means something about pop culture, and probably isn’t a positive for me, but since I end up with all three, I’ll call it a win. I don’t like how Priscilla is spelled. Makes me think of cilia and pisces, and I get stuck with uncomfortable images of slimy sea creatures with lots of legs or maybe tentacles. Unpleasant. I would never name someone Priscilla. What kind of a nickname would she have? Prissy? Awful. Silly, but spelled Scilly? Or Cilly? Please no. And if she spelled it Scilly and wrote it down that way, she’d get called “Skilly”. No matter what version of her name she used with people who know her, she’d become one of those people who gives a fake name like Jane or Carol at restaurants and coffee shops because people never say or spell her name right. True story: I once gave my name as Alice at the IHOP in Ashburn. I figured that was an easy one. Easy to say, easy to spell.* I glanced down at the list and saw that the hostess had spelled it “Alys”. Can’t win. And the problem with fake names is remembering which one you used. You can miss your table (or your coffee) that way. Hasn’t happened to me yet, but I usually take the even easier way out and make John give his name for us. Works every time.
And scene.
*No exaggeration: I typed “slepp” instead of “spell” three times before I got it right.