Best Movie Ever (perhaps)

I saw Race Across the Sky last night, a documentary about the mountain bike race by the same name. It was fantastic. I would recommend it to anyone who can travel back in time to yesterday to watch it. (It was only in theaters one night only.)

There are very few times that I cry - when I listen to organ music, when I hear stories of dogs dying, when people make fun of my mustache, etc. However, I may have cried while watching this movie that documents not a 100-mile mountain bike race with more than 12,000 feet of total climb, but a triumph of the human spirit. How can you not cry as you watch a 65-year-old man with two new prosthetic knees be stopped at the first checkpoint because he did not make the 4-hour cutoff?

In cycling there can be a lot of douchery - what with the leg-shaving and $18,000 carbon fiber superbikes - but you can't have anything but love and admiration for the participants as they struggle through the Race Across the Sky.

Uh, apparently I don't know how to imbed YouTube videos. ... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hpf1LHfLz0o

Growing pains

I am growing a mustache.

I am doing so for several reasons. (1.) I want to be Magnum PI for Halloween. It will be a trial run to see if I want to be Magnum PI for the rest of my life. As if there is any question in my mind. (2.) I feel that mustaches run in my family, and who am I to sever these familial ties? (3.) If mustaches don't make a comeback now, I am afraid they never will. Like the fedora. I feel that I need to do my part. (4.) I have wanted to for years.

The goal:


Current status:


Wish me luck.

Seattle, let me count the ways

Seattle is lovely. Granted I have only been here during the summer, the brief non-rainy season, but it has been nothing but delightful in the time I have been here. I had a tough time when I first moved from New York since, by default, I was successful and trendy simply because I lived there. Regardless of how much money I made (not much) or how many celebrities I partied with (none), I lived in New York, which made me important. At least it made me think that other people thought I was important, which is all that being important really is.

But then I moved to Seattle. Now I am in a city that is remarkable for few things - Jimmi Hendricks, Microsoft, Starbucks - and infamous for others - ceaseless rainfall, incessant recycling. No one is impressed when you say you live in Seattle. No one is jealous, there is no Sex in the City, no Housewives, no CSI. (Grey's Anatomy doesn't count. Neither does Frasier.) Kind of disheartening, I know. However, it requires that I form my own opinions and not rely on others'.

It's probably the same difference between dating a hot girl and dating a homely one.

And, as I said before, it is lovely. It is surrounded by water, but is not on the ocean. I have never understood why people consider the ocean beautiful. It is just a straight line on the horizon. Where is the beauty in that? No, Seattle is surrounded by water surrounded by mountains, so while you get the beauty of water views and shipping yards and sailboats, you also get a horizon accentuated with mountain ranges and snow-capped peaks. Makes a much better screensaver than the ocean would.

The residential streets of Seattle are fun to drive on (for you lucky suckers with cars). They have tight little roundabouts at intersections. And instead of speed bumps, they have three semi-roundabouts on a straight stretch of the road - one on one side, then one on the other, then one back on the other side, forcing you to ess around them. It just seems like a much more charming way to slow down than driving over a big plop of pavement.

Seattle has pine trees. The problem with leafy trees is that they lose their leaves. Sure they are beautiful in the fall and smell good in the Spring, but in the winter they are sad and dead-looking. Pine trees stay beautiful all year round. And fortunately there is enough ivy and leaves around the city to still make the Fall look like Fall, but not so many that once the leaves have gone that the whole place looks desolate.

And then there are the hills. Hills are are great. I don't know how I could go back to living in a flat city. Everywhere you go you get a new view. It is like building theater-style seating into the city. It's an intense workout running and biking up hills. It's a roller coaster driving down them. They act as easy landmarks to find yourself, lest you lose yourself. Love the hills.

It has two floating bridges. How much cooler are floating bridges than suspension bridges? Much, much cooler. It's kind of like being on a boat. A long flat boat that doesn't move. So kind of a boring boat, but a boring boat is more fun than an exciting bridge.

I've heard anecdotally that Seattle has a good music scene, although I have yet to confirm this personally. Maybe I'll consult Wikipedia for proof later.

Seattle is a nice city to ride a bike in. That is more important to me than it is for some, but I think that bike-friendliness is generally an indicator of overall friendliness. I admit that it is no Portland or Berkeley, but it makes for a pleasant commute and for relaxing rides on the weekends.

It gives you all the excitement of a big city (professional athletics, big-name bands, etc.) paired with the charm of a small one (the Puyallup Fair gets more hype than anything I have seen in my time here).

Seattle, I approve. You're not as sexy as New York, not as glamorous as LA, not as political as DC, not as hip as San Fran, not as hippie as Portland, not as gritty as Chicago, not as proud as Boston, not as colorful as Miami, but you make me happy.

It is good that man should be alone

NOTE: Mom, don’t worry. I’m talking about my living situation, not my philosophy on marriage.

So for those of you (all three of you that read this blog, that is) who don’t know, I now live in Seattle. It’s a lovely place and I have enjoyed the month and three days that I have been here very much. People are generally nice and the weather is generally good, although I know that will soon change. The weather, not the people that is … hopefully.

And something else that is lovely - I live alone in a one-bedroom apartment on Queen Anne. Now, when I first decided to live alone, I was somewhat hesitant. I was concerned that my pure, uninhibited natural man would take over and I would spend my nights wallowing in dirty laundry and running around in my underpants eating Oreos sloppily dipped in curdled milk. That has not happened - not yet, at least.

In fact, I am much more productive and clean than I ever was living with previous roommates. Perhaps it is because I have no one to blame my mess on. Or maybe it is because I have to prove to myself that I am all growed up. Or, mst likely, it is just because my apartment seems so new to me, and it is always easier to take care of things when they are new. Like why we love babies and not 15-year-olds.

Another concern that I had moving into an apartment alone was that I would become (more) introverted and (more) asocial. It is almost impossible to avoid human interaction when you have roommates, hard as you may try. So without that interaction natively built into my living situation, how would I cope? Would I watch Friends reruns late at night to pretend they were my own?

Well, it may be too early to tell. However, what I will say is that I want what I don’t have. That is simply how I am wired. When I have a salad for lunch, I wish I had an avocado BLT; when I have an avocado BLT, I wish I had jalapeno poppers; when I have jalapeno poppers, I wish I had a glass of milk; etc. Not just for lunch, but for life.

So when I come home to an apartment full of roommates, I only want to escape them and have some time alone. I want to isolate myself so that I can have what I don’t have - a place to call my own. But now, when I come home to an empty apartment - just me and my Craigslist couch - I want to be with people. I want to reach out and touch someone. This is very good for me, and something that I have had a hard time doing at other times in my life.

Living alone, as I have experienced it thus far, is a good thing for me. It makes me want to be with people more. And it gives me time to do other things best done privately.

I'm Angry on the Inside

The list of reasons that I blog is extensive. To practice writing something other emails, to wake up the next morning to see if anyone has commented, to boost my sex appeal, etc. At the top of that list has to be the ability to passive-aggressively complain about the times that I have been abused.

I ride my bike to work. I enjoy it. Every morning that I get on my bike I am like a kid again. Often the only thing that drags me out of bed in the morning is knowing that after I shower and pretend to comb my hair, I get to ride my bicycle. Even if I dread every other part of my day, at least I as I ride for 25 minutes to and from work. It is faster than taking the subway, and I always get the best parking spot in the city - locked to the sign post directly in front of my building. I only have to take 7 steps before I am through our revolving doors and on my way to work. Life couldn't get better.

But today the building manager told me that I can't lock my bike in front of the building anymore. I threw the kind of fit that I throw - first by agreeing to do whatever I am told, and then nervously trying to stand up for myself and eventually walking away in the middle of a semi-coherent sentence.

The best answer that he gave me was that I'm not supposed to lock my bike there. I don't really know what that means. Here's what I do know:

• It is not illegal to lock your bike to street signs as long as you don't block the sidewalk or cover the sign itself.
• The sidewalk is public property, not owned by the building.
• The building owner does not allow bikes inside, so I cannot take my bike in with me.
• If I don't lock it up outside my building, I will just lock it up outside the building next door, then making it another building manager's problem. That's like picking up your dog's poop and throwing it over your fence into your neighbor's yard.
• The month of May is National Bike Month. Have a heart.
• I have been locking my bike there at that sign post for almost a year now. Doesn't that give me a legal right to continue to park there? Come on you lawyers, help me out.

Anybody who hates bikes hates childhood memories. And anybody who hates childhood memories has no soul. Why does my building manager hate childhood memories? I don't know. He is from the Bronx, so maybe he never rode a bike.

I heart New York, kind of

I haven't written much about New York. The city is fascinating, it really is. Perhaps even more fascinating, in fact, than Rexburg. I would like to list my ten favorite things about New York, so please indulge me.

I am not sure why I feel compelled to list these now, but maybe it is an attempt to convince myself that the Tony-NY romance is still alive. The honeymoon is definitely over, but maybe the flame of romance can yet be re-kindled.

1. 5pointz graffiti in Long Island City, Queens - Every day that I ride the 7 train, which is every day that I don't ride my bike to work, I ride past this place. It is a city block which is comprised of several warehouses, entirely covered in graffiti. It is right next to the MOMA PS1 contemporary art center and a fascinating urban art hub. I should go take a closer look, but graffiti and barbed wire scare me.
2. Softball in Central Park - I probably like this because it represents the warm summer evenings and because I enjoy kicking picnickers off the Great Lawn. Also, it is the kind of thing that you tourists just can't do. They can't come to New York for a weekend and be on a softball team.
3. Old Jewish guys - They are just delightful.
   
4. Williamsburg on Shabbat - It is like stepping into a different world. As you walk down the street, it is all a flash of payot and kolpik. (I don't really know those words, I just Wikipedia'd them.) Women and men walk on different sides of the streets, and I wonder if I am proud or ashamed to be a Gentile.
5. Street Meat - The best deal in town. With the recent Swine Flu "outbreak," perhaps I should steer clear of these vendors, but I can't help myself. The meat is undercooked, the utensils are flavored with the grease of chicken past, and the cooking surface is peppered with the same airborne particulate that makes the air unfit to breathe, but it is wonderful. Give me a falafel over penne ala Vodka (is that a fancy dish? I hope so ...) any day.
6. Girls that wear short skirts and stilettos on Friday nights regardless of the weather - They make the rest of us feel warm in the winter.
7. Bike messengers - I am biased because I love bicycles, but I'm not sure if the city would be the same with out bike messangers. They are dangerous and embody the "I live dangerous" attitude that everyone has to have to a certain degree to live in New York. Their disregard for crossing traffic and common sense is amusing.
8. Knicks fans - Just because the only thing they hate more than losing is winning, because they know that it won't last. The same can be said for Jets and Mets fans. It's such a bitter way to live life.
9. The guys who work on Wall Street - Proof that you can make a living out of being a frat boy.
10. Halloween - Adults dressing up like children. It's charming, really.
11. The F word - I found it highly offensive at first, and took it personally any time I heard it, but I now find it quite endearing and remarkably diverse. It is a word appropriate for work and play, for love and hate. I would totally start using it if I could do it without giggling and blushing.
12. Garbage, garbage everywhere - You have no idea how many times I have had to stop and get plastic bags untangled from the gears in my bike. The willingness to cope with the ubiquity of garbage is part of what it takes to live in New York. You don't care, you don't complain, you just step over it and keep on walking.
13. BET - Did you know that they actually have advertisements for shows on BET on the uptown and Bronx-bound trains? I always wonder if I am lost when I start to see more and more BET ads. Of course, I have never watched an episode of Harlem Heights, so maybe I should try it before passing judgment.
14. Exposed brick - New York loves its exposed brick. Not sure why, but we love it. Having an apartment with exposed brick is the holy grail of deliberately unfinished walls. You stare it for hours and call your mom to tell her about how bricky and exposed it is. Again, not sure why.

So 14, not 10. I guess you make me smile, New York. But I still hate you for charging me $900 in rent and for having so many potholes.

Longer than it looks

Last Saturday I ran the Salt Lake City marathon. Although I did not win - disappointing, I know - I did finish. Going in my goal was to come across in under four hours, which is a fairly common marathon goal. I missed that goal by just over a minute, at 4:01:15 according to my timing chip. I'm not complaining, though, because after 26.2 miles, turns out my time didn't matter that much to me. It probably means a lot to other people who were further from dying in a pool of tired sweat. But to me, all I wanted to do was cross the finish line and eat a Creamies. (That was one of the sponsors. Chocolate ice cream popsicle after a marathon. It seemed like a good idea to someone, I guess.)

The course was pleasant, and the weather almost ideal for marathoning. The first half was cooler, about 50 degrees, with no wind. After rounding the 13-mile marker - at about 1:57 for me - the clouds blew away and the air started to heat up, but nothing more than 60 or 65 degrees. It made for a beautiful, excuse-free day for a run.

I am a heart-rate runner. It is a more consistent measure than running on pace alone since pace highly varies depending on GPS accuracy, and since it is easy to over-exhert yourself trying to maintain a pace when other variables are in play - elevation, heat, hills, etc. For the first half of the marathon, I kept my heart rate at a fairly even 147-148. After that, I wanted to push myself up to about 155 and then, with 4 miles to go I planned on "throwing the hammer down" (as I referred to it in my head, amused) to about 165-170, depending on what was left in the tank. It was especially amusing since my last four miles felt like I was trying to tow a truck and "throwing the hammer down" in reality was just maintaining an 11-minute mile.

What amazes me about marathons are the people who run them. Mainly the ones who run faster than I do. Like the 60-year-old women who run it in three and a half hours. Or the 250-pound cleidsdales that cruise on by down the home stretch. They just blow my mind. Our bodies are just miraculous. That's what I told myself as my hamstrings started to seize and my vision started to blur.

When I burst (kind of) across the finish line, it was amazing. It was almost as surreal as the time I ran my mom's new Jetta into a Hastings signpost or as walking through the Boise airport when I got back from Brazil. I am so happy I decided to do it. I wish I would have won, though.