While discussing a mix-tape competition at lunch today, the subject of Rickrolling came up. I sheepishly confessed that in high school I'd been a huge fan of Rick Astley and knew all the words to "Never Gonna Give You Up" (plus others, like the classic "Together Forever").
One of my co-workers looked at me incredulously and said, "You're the only person I know who knew who Rick Astley was before Rickrolling started."
I haven't felt this old since Lisa asked me who Cyndi Lauper was.
The half marathon this morning went really, really well. I finished in 2:15 - a few minutes longer than it took me last time, but I'm still thrilled with the results. Once again this year I got all choked up running through Times Square - TIMES SQUARE! I ran through TIMES SQUARE this morning! - and had to consciously regulate my breathing as I ran across 42nd St. to the West Side Highway.
This afternoon I napped and read the paper and did yoga, all things I would normally do on a Sunday afternoon. Then I ate two bowls of ice cream, because I ran 13.1 miles this morning.
A few months ago Sirrah! asked me if I considered myself a runner. "Nah," I scoffed, "I just run when I'm training for something. I'm not really a *runner*." This morning, however, I really felt like a runner, which was kind of strange and cool. I wonder if that feeling will stick around. I hope so.
8/4/08: Updated with my splits, for posterity:
Mile 1: 10:38
Mile 2: 10:42
Mile 3: 10:29
Mile 4: 9:55
Mile 5: 10:27
Mile 6: 10:20
Mile 7: 9:59
Miles 8 & 9: 20:14 (I forgot to split at Mile 8 in Times Square because I was so engrossed in the awesomeness!)
Mile 10: 10:30
Mile 11: 10:35
Mile 12: 10:31
Mile 13: 9:54
The last 0.1: 1:00
This weekend I'm running the NYC Half Marathon. It's on Sunday. At 7 a.m. That's right, I'm going to start running 13.1 miles (that's 21.1 km for all you metric-lovahs) at 7 in the MORNING, and hopefully be finished before you wake up. In fact, if I'm quiet, I can slide right back into bed without you even noticing I was gone. I promise to shower first.
The half marathon also marks the halfway point in my training (holy smokes!) AND, with your help, I'll be well over halfway to my goal of raising $4500 for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society.
If you've been thinking about donating but then also thought, "What's in it for me?" well, friend, wonder no more. A few weeks ago I purchased a pair of grey shorts. At the time I wondered to myself, "Self, why don't I have any grey shorts? Only black. Weird, I think I'll go for it!" So I did. Then I ran 8 miles in them. Then I remembered why I don't have any grey shorts, and it has to do with sweat. Unflattering sweat. Still unclear? OK, it's unflattering CROTCH sweat.
If my fundraising tally hits $2500 before Sunday, I will run in grey shorts, AND post a post-race picture. It may not be quite as appealing as other fundraising ploys I've seen, but trust me that it's hilarious, and will likely cause me embarrassment. And aren't hilarity and embarrassment the two key tenets of the internets? Oh, and porn.
Donate here. Or here.
And here: http://pages.teamintraining.org/nyc/nikesf08/gilliang.
This is why I might have to get cable this fall.
Update: Joe E. Tata is joining the party, too. GOOD TIMES. I just hope Gabrielle Carteris is too busy looking after her grandchildren to sign on.
Or, Ambition + Temperature = Reality
I had grand plans to run home from work tonight, plans which were thwarted when, about 3 miles into my run, I realized that it was 99°F even along the waterfront, and that crossing the tourist-laden Brooklyn Bridge and running up fume-y Atlantic Avenue in that heat was really going to suck. So I cut my run short after 4 miles.
Fortunately I sweated enough to still feel hardcore.
Training update: I ran 10 miles last Saturday, a totally beautiful run starting and ending in Prospect Park, and across both the Manhattan and Brooklyn bridges. The weather that morning was perfect, and I felt great. Tuesday night I had another hill workout, which wasn't exactly *fun* but I (and my calves) survived.
Overheard in the men's room after tonight's Ani DiFranco concert:
"We made it, guys. We earned some major street cred." Pause. "Use it wisely."
I'm a longtime spender at Zappos.com, often ordering 4 or 5 pairs of shoes at once, sometimes with multiple sizes or colours of a particular style. Free shipping! Free returns! More often than not, Zappos upgrades your shipping so that you order one day and the next day you get that magical email: "You have a package - please pick it up at the front desk." I love being able to sort by style, colour, and even heel height. In short, I'm really fussy about shoes. Zappos has been there for me through many changes of season, during which I inevitably become anxious about such decisions as whether or not to show my toes at work (currently yes) and whether I should buy boots with a heel (undecided).
Enter Piperlime, at whose email I scoffed when I first received one a year or two ago. "Oh, that's cute," I thought smugly, "Gap is trying to compete with Zappos with a shoe site. It'll never work." But I didn't unsubscribe, and eventually this year they got me with an email about trendy summer gladiator shoes.
The truth is, no matter how picky I am about footwear, I'm no fashionista, and I'll take all the help I can get. It didn't hurt that I'm keen on sandals that are a) flat and b) cover much of my feet, so the gladiators are already up my alley. But to have some sort of fashion expert reviewing the shoes and giving me suggestions seemed like a good idea, and I ordered a few pairs. When the shoes arrived, Piperlime's packaging charmed me: The inside of the shipping box is printed with Piperlime's sweet limey logo, and the invoice comes tastefully tucked into a lime green envelope. To top it all off, each shoe box came wrapped in brown tissue paper secured with a green lime sticker. Sweet times!
I decided to keep only one of the three pairs, and the other two pairs have been languishing in their boxes for the past month or so, because I vaguely dreaded the process of going to the website to print out a return label (which I keep forgetting to do at work, where I have access to such essential items as a printer). Today I finally decided to at least package them up so I could print the label on Monday and I was delighted to discover a self-adhesive return label IN THE BOX! Zappos, take note.
Now that I have a cool pair of summer sandals, I'm almost looking forward to deciding whether to get mid-calf or knee-high boots this Fall.
In honour of Canada Day, UFF proudly presents a brief installment of Canadianisms: The Expressions Edition.
Expression #1: Had the biscuit
Meaning: Is broken or no longer working (electronics), has gone bad (food), is dead/dying (plants, pets). I read somewhere that during wartime, the mattresses placed outside a first aid tent were called "biscuits," and when a soldier died he was placed on the mattress - hence he'd "had the biscuit." It's more commonly attributed to the host used in the Catholic sacrament for the dying.
Usage Example 1: "My watch stopped working again. I think it's had the biscuit."
Usage Example 2: "These cherries have had the biscuit. I'm going to throw them out."
Usage Example 3: "That hydrangea's had the biscuit. I guess that's what happens when you forget to water it."
Expression #2: Fucking the dog
Meaning: It's not what you think! To fuck the dog simply means to waste time. I don't know the origin because I'm old enough to know better than to Google "fucking the dog," but by all means knock yourself out (and don't blame me if you're forever scarred).
Usage Example: "My hard drive at work finally had the biscuit, so I fucked the dog all day."
Happy Canada Day!
Tonight as I was making treats for tomorrow's festivities I was reminded of a conversation I had whilst in Waterloo back in April.
I was there for young Charlie's first birthday, and as I had been charged with baking his cake, I brought with me my usual cake-decorating implements, including my offset spatula:
As our post-party hangovers were subsiding and I was packing up my belongings, I asked Dr. & Mr. Sirrah! if either of them had seen my offset spatula.
Sirrah!: No, I haven't seen it.
Greg (rooting through the drawers and holding up an offset spatula): Does this look like yours?
Me: I think that's mine, unless you guys have one like that.
Greg: I thought we did. Sirrah, do you know if this is our offset spatula?
Sirrah!: I thought that was a French lifter.
At that point, as it often does, the conversation deteriorated rapidly:
Me: Hey baby, let's try the French Lifter later.
Greg: I think I threw my back out performing the French Lifter last night.
Dog: Ooh, yeah, I love it when she does the French Lifter.
Sirrah! (rolling her eyes): I thought that's what it was called.
Back, then, to tonight, when just as Dog was leaving to meet his brother for a drink, he saw me holding the infamous utensil. "Ooh," he said, "had I known you were going to get out the French Lifter tonight, I wouldn't have made other plans."
Strawberry Shortcake
Originally uploaded by Kitty LaRoux.
Last weekend I made the first of 2008's pilgrimages to California. We arrived at SFO to unusually warm weather, and after a stop for the most delicious burrito in the world, or at least North America we drove down Hwy 1 through Pacifica to Half Moon Bay. We stopped on Hwy 92 to buy strawberries, which were advertised at $6/box. We both thought it was sad that we could get California strawberries cheaper in NY right now until we learned that a box didn't mean what we thought it meant - it meant SIX of what we thought it meant! Six dollars garnered us a half-flat of sweet, ripe berries the size of small apples, which we couldn't even finish in our short stay (though not for lack of trying). Above: Possibly my most delicious birthday cake ever.
As you may have deduced from my most recent Flickr pics, I was in Canada last weekend to do some recruiting at my alma mater, visit my peeps in Waterloo, and run a 10k.
Dog & I flew back from Buffalo and when a handy email from Orbitz alerted us that our flight was delayed an hour we decided to detour through Niagara Falls. Yeah, we just decided to stop and see the Falls, like you might stop to get gas at a Shell station. Just like last year when I used to occasionally go for a run at lunchtime - across the Brooklyn Bridge. Oh and tonight after work, I'm going to swing over to a little venue around the corner from my office to see a band play - just the band that pretty much defined my high school musical experience.
Then tomorrow morning? Oh, you know, we're flying to San Francisco for a wedding and to celebrate someone's (ahem) 34th (dear god, how did I get so far past 30?) birthday (it's on Saturday, in case you're keeping track of these things - express shipping will still get my gift here on time, even!). And I was informed last night that I will need to take Monday off work and change my Sunday evening flight to Monday afternoon. Can do.
At the very least, two 5-hour flights mean plenty of time for writing, in particular for finishing the draft posts I've started in the midst of all this wonderfulness. Stay tuned.
Sunny Defeats the Rhubarb!
Originally uploaded by Kitty LaRoux.
Rhubarb slayed by 77-year-old woman wielding a sharp knife. Details at 11.
P.S. More verbosity coming soon, I promise. In the meantime, there are a whole bunch of new Flickr pics available for your viewing pleasure.
More Options
Originally uploaded by Kitty LaRoux.
Thanks so much for all your comments!
I dropped off a CD of pictures to be printed yesterday, and last night my photography teacher emailed me with another set of her faves. Anyhoo, if you still have it in you, let me know what you think of these.
Candidate for Photo Exhibit
Originally uploaded by Kitty LaRoux.
I know I know... lots of pictures around here, not enough writing! I promise a real post this weekend, but for now your comments would be much appreciated. I've been taking a photography class at Photo Manhattan and on Tuesday night we have an exhibit! How fun! Anyway, I get to show 6 photos that I've taken over the course of the... course, and these are the candidates. Click that link to go to Flickr and view the collage, and click any photo in the collage to be taken to the original. Anything else in the Portraits set is fair game as well. I'm kind of partial to ANTM*. Note that all the photos will be printed in black & white for the show.
P.S. If you want to come, the show's on Tuesday, June 10 at 8 p.m. at 51 West 14th St, #2R. There are a couple of extremely talented photographers in my class, so swing by. It's free, and there will be food & booze!
Dog: our little hunter just caught a mouse!
G: SHUT UP!
did she eat it?
Dog: nope
well, she had it in her mouth
carried it to the bedroom
held it
held it
wait for it
dropped it
and it was there stunned and she was just watching
G: then what?
Dog: i put an empty strawberry thing over it
now it's outside in a little cage
while i decide what to do with it
G: let it go!
what would you possibly do with it?
Dog: should i throw it over a neighbor's fence?
G: no
Dog: i'm not going to fricassee it, bebe.
G: just let it run away
don't throw it!
it's been traumatized enough!
Dog: not throw
i just mean put it somewhere where it's more likely to end up in someone else's house, rather than our own
G: believe me, it isn't coming back
Back in April I planted seeds: Two varieties of heirloom tomatoes, mini sweet peppers, and jalapeños. Given that I haven't grown anything from seeds since Mr. Stumpf's grade 3 class and internet research that suggested I was starting a few weeks late, I didn't know if the seeds would even sprout.
But they did.
I went away for a weekend a couple of weeks after I planted them. Before I left I moved the tray of peat pucks that housed the tiny green sprouts into a sunny window. At the airport I bought a Martha Stewart Living that advised I should ease the seedlings into direct sunlight, maybe for an hour or two a day to start. Oops. I half-expected to find them brown and withered when I got home, but they were fine.
I was really excited about these seedlings. I called them my "little dudes" and sometimes in the morning I asked them if they needed water. (And sometimes Ken answered on their behalf, in falsetto, "Yes, we do. But don't give the peppers too much; they have no self-control." Hee.) At one point I mentioned to a friend that I'd planted seeds, and he thought I meant figuratively. I laughed, but when I thought about it, the idea didn't seem so ridiculous. I've moved three times in the past year and lived with roommates - strangers, really - for six months. As a result I had a lot of pent-up nesting to do. I liked that planting seeds - literally - could be symbolic of putting down roots and growing into my life for a little while.
I'd planned to plant the sprouts outside when they were a few inches tall, then did some more research and found out I should wait until they were a little bigger. I kept them in their tray in the sunlight and as a few started to develop their first set of "true" tomato leaves, I planted them in small pots. The rest stayed in their incubating peat pucks on the sunny windowsill, growing.
This week it looked like more of the seedlings were ready to be planted, so on Wednesday morning I got up early and carried the tray of earnest young plants out to the backyard to move them into their new homes: Plastic flowerpots filled with fresh potting soil.
Then, on the way outside, I dropped the tray.
Most of the peat pucks fell out of the tray, and many of the tiny plants were decapitated, leaving them no leaves with which to photosynthesize. My careful labeling of the tray with stickers was ruined.
I surveyed the damage - dirt on the floor, of course, littered with tiny stalks no bigger than blades of grass but that seconds before had held the potential to become tomatoes and peppers and, more importantly, the potential to become proof that I could do this thing, that I could plant seeds and put down roots and cultivate whatever grew from them.
In that moment I felt overwhelmingly like I'd failed. As I picked up the pieces part of me wanted to just sweep everything out the door and start over some other time. Instead, I halfheartedly rescued a few survivors, probably about half the plants I'd started with, and moved them into the waiting flowerpots.
Yesterday afternoon I called my friend Lee to wish him Happy Birthday. I don't think he's ever been home when I've called on his birthday - I always sing to his voicemail. Despite about ten years of this tradition, I missed last year, and this year I was a day late. After I finished my enthusiastic, off-key serenade (to his voicemail, of course), I apologized for my general lack of communication in the past 18 or so months. "It was kind of a busy year," I explained. "I got divorced, moved, and changed jobs." I paused. "And I'm really happy now."
It turns out I planted a few other seeds along the way, some without even knowing it. And they're doing splendidly. 
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