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On Friday I heard the news that John McCain had picked a running mate, a relatively young and relatively inexperienced woman not generally known to be in contention.Then I saw the photos and thought: "Jeez, this IS a surprise. I had no idea that Andrea Zuckerman was even being considered...."
Some good "separated at birth" photos are available at PerezHilton.com and the Fresno Beehive.
This may not help us sell any more shirts, but it was fun to make anyway.
Thanks to all who commented on the "Runners for Obama" t-shirt idea. After several false starts, I have succeeded in getting the shirts made. For details, please go to runners4obama.com.
I thought Robert Redford's butchering of the English language had reached its limits with the message featured in last fall's Sundance catalog, but the 72-year-old actor/director/producer/environmentalist continues to explore new frontiers in word-splicing.
The early-summer 2008 catalog included a mind-bending rumination on Austin, Texas that was expertly analyzed by Bullet-Proof Glace. Note BPG's characterization of the Redford style: "Bobby Red welcomes you into each catalog with the meandering stream-of-consciousness thought patterns of Kerouac crammed into the stunted sentence structure of Hemingway told through the sepia-toned lens of nostalgic Hollywood."
Now let's move on to the most recent catalog message:
This book squares on my favorite area of the country, the southwest. Hot chilis, margaritas, loose clothing, Latin American and raw pioneering energy blending into color and song. I had a Bultaco once. It was hot and quick. So quick I got separated from my seat while trying to forge a stream.
Enjoy the heat.
To BPG's trenchant commentary I'll add just one additional point. By referring to his magazine-like catalog as a "book," Redford made me wonder whether he was talking about the catalog itself or some coffee-table tome advertised within it. With most bad writing, I can read at least one full sentence before I'm thrown from my Bultaco, so to speak, but in this instance I was bucked off in only two words!
I guess the raw pioneering energy is too much for me.
How do you keep your reusable plastic sports bottles from becoming totally disgusting? It's a question I'm finally facing after many previous months (years?) of avoidance.
Sub-question 1: Should I put my bottles in the dishwasher?
Some manufacturers (such as Ultimate Direction) say that their bottles (as opposed to the tops) are dishwasher-safe. However, in my experience, flexible plastic things often get distorted by repeated visits to the dishwater. Any distortion could compromise the fit between the bottle and its top, leading to leakage.
A second possible reason to avoid the dishwasher concerns the much-hyped leaching of chemicals from the bottles. Assuming for the moment that leaching is indeed a legitimate concern, basic physical chemistry would suggest not to keep bottles filled with fluids longer than necessary (more time = more leaching) and not to let the bottles get hotter than necessary (higher temperature = more molecular movement = more leaching; P. Westerhoff et al., Water Research 42: 551, 2008). Perhaps less intuitive is the recent finding (H.H. Le et al., Toxicology Letters 176: 149, 2008) that polycarbonate bottles increased their release of bisphenol A (BPA) after exposure to boiling water and subsequent cooling. To me, this suggests that the high temperatures of the dishwasher might alter the bottles in a way that promotes leaching even after the bottles have cooled off.
Bottom line: I've stopped cleanng my bottles in the dishwasher.
Sub-question 2: How can I get my bottles clean without using the dishwasher?
A bottle itself can easily be rinsed with warm, soapy water, of course, and the sides and bottom can be scrubbed with a brush if necessary. Cleaning the top is harder, though.
I've found that a fair amount of grime can be removed by running a moist paper towel around the inward-facing surface of the top. And then there's the "nipple" -- the part that you drink out of. It's hard to gauge the contamination in there, especially since the tops are often black. What I've done recently is: put some soapy water in the bottle, put the top on, invert the bottle, and vigorously move the nipple in and out so that water is forced back and forth through it. When I turn the bottle right-side-up again, I inspect the water remaining in the bottle for tiny chunks, a clear (though disgusting) sign that the nipple is indeed releasing its contaminants.
"You know that part of a wedding where the pastor says, 'If anyone knows of a reason why this couple should not wed, speak now or forever hold your peace'?"
"Um, yeah...." The question from my undergraduate research assistant caught me off-guard, coming as it did in the middle of a discussion on doctoral dissertations.
"Does that sort of thing happen at people's Ph.D. defenses?"
I think he was just kidding, but I love the idea.
Weddings, by design, chug slowly and verbosely toward a foregone conclusion. Although the guests invariably opt to hold their peace, except in soap operas, the invitation to do otherwise provides a moment of delicious tension while everyone wonders whether some crazy uncle or besotted friend might derail the ceremony.
Doctoral defenses, like weddings, are long, wordy, and devoid of drama; the candidate knows that he/she is going to pass. All of this is as it should be. But why not put the person's destiny on hold for a few extra seconds while the audience is offered a chance to contest the awarding of the degree? Wouldn't it be fun to imagine rival scholars emerging from the woodwork in such situations?
At the very least, this change in protocol might cause more Ph.D. defenses to be featured in soap operas.
August 11th through 17th was the first week in which I've ever run a full 100 miles.
There's no great significance to this "milestone"; the numbers just happened to add up that way. And if anyone else out there is planning their first 100-mile week, I don't especially recommend my approach, which was as follows:
Monday: Ran home from work via Capitol Hill, including the usual time-trial segment (10th & Roanoke to 14th & 15th) in 21:02, then the neighborhood loop with Lucy. 7.6 miles.
Tuesday: Ran home from work, then the neighborhood loop with Lucy. 6.7 miles.
Wednesday: Ran to work. 5.8 miles.
Thursday: Ran to work. Later, ran home, then the neighborhood loop with Lucy. 12.9 miles.
Friday: Ran home from work, then the neighborhood loop with Lucy. 6.6 miles.
Saturday: Slow, self-supported run around Lake Washington (starting and ending at home). 55 miles.
Sunday: Out and back on the Chief Sealth Trail with Phil in the baby jogger. 5.4 miles.
Or, to put it more succinctly: easy, easy, easy, easy, easy, hard, easy.
I did the Lake Washington loop (using a route recommended by TWBC.org) as a sort of feasibility study. I wanted to assess whether I might do well in a 24-hour race like Ultracentric. If I ran slowly enough, with regular walk breaks and copious food and fluids, could I finish the loop with the sense that I could do it again if necessary?
The answer on this particular Saturday was a resounding NO. Of course, it didn't help that the temperature hit 90 degrees that day, but the long and the short of it is that I had a moment of clarity about eight hours into the run. I thought: "Not only has running -- one of my all-time favorite activities -- ceased to be pleasurable over the last couple of hours, but eating -- one of my other all-time favorite activities -- has ceased to be pleasurable as well. What exactly am I doing out here?"
I did finish the loop, but, three days later, I'm still hobbling around, a minute per mile slower than usual. This week's mileage will probably be about 50.
The last parenting book I've read -- OK, the only one -- says not to bother with potty training until a child is at least two years old. But Phil, now just shy of 22 months, has already logged solid progress in this area. He's seen what older kids do and, with minimal encouragement, is imitating them rather successfully.
Our day-care provider says that, in her 20 years of working with small children, she's never seen anyone actually use the potty at such a young age.
Does that make him a smartass?