Some of you have been wondering why I haven't put up a new post in a while. Actually, I just made that up because no one has inquired at all... Now, some of you are going to respond to this post saying, "Yeah, Bart, I was wondering." Or, "Sorry Bart, I just had twins." Or, "Sorry Bart I just broke up with my girlfriend." Or "Sorry Bart, I've been really busy blogging and then reading the comments on my blog." Don't give me your pity and don't give me your excuses. Excuses are for the weak. And I shalln't be happy with you.
(And yes, I just said shalln't... that's a contraction. If you take Shall and Not and put them together you get shalln't. Common knowledge. Anyone with a 5th grade reading level knows that. And if you're not yet in 5th grade... you shouldn't be reading my blog, it definitely isn't appropriate for innocent minds. In fact, you shouldn't even be on the internet. What do YOU have to do on the internet? You're eleven. Go play with G.I. Joes, get muddy, and break some windows.)
Sidenote: I'm seriously going to be the coolest dad.
I've had a serious case of writers block. My usual free-flowing genius in my saggital suture (yes, the noun) has been replaced by some idiot who decided he likes to worry about life. So I decided to write about not being able to write. Ironic? I think so.
My writing process usually goes like this:
1) Toss and turn sleeplessly for hours while my brain fumbles accross meaningless ideas and scenarios and topics.
2) Flip on my reading lamp and scramble exhaustedly for a scrap piece of paper and a pen.
3) Scribble whatever nonsense entered my head or is now entering my head as I lick the pen tip for more ink.
4) The next day, sort through the chicken scratch and find some way to connect it all.
Then I post it for everyone's enjoyment. Then, sometimes, I re-read what I wrote and realize that no one in their right mind would enjoy this and that I am wasting precious moments of time that you, and I, will never get back. Then sometimes I re-read it just so I can say I doubley wasted extra precious moments of time. And then I realize I enjoy it.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Run through a Forest... Run!
Everyone these days say they like to run… but I’m a little skeptical. It’s supposedly the way to ‘recharge’, ‘connect with nature’, or ‘get away’. But I’m really not seeing how you can do any of those things with jabbering earbuds and a portable jukebox strapped to your arm. If you like to run so much, why do you need music?
I argue that running and running with music are two different things. Is running really that boring that you have to fill your already cluttered mind with guitar riffs and clean vocals? Whatever happened to the all-natural distractions: the sound of your sneakers pounding the pavement, the slightly blurred, bouncing landscape, the yells from the passenger windows of passerbyers?
The last time I ran just to run… September. My distance: 2.1 miles. My time: probably longer than 20 minutes. (I’ll admit I stopped to walk for a block… it was somewhere in-between mile one and mile two.) Overall it was a nice run. No U2 in my ears. I really felt like I could focus on my form and concentrate on my breathing. (There’s no way I would have noticed my wheezing, coughing, or gasping otherwise.) But I can only handle myself talking to myself for so long… I realize now that I get kinda annoying after about 15 minutes. That’s when I knew it was time to head home. Well, that and the death-cramp in my left calf.
But honestly, I like to run… if there is some sort of ball involved. Volleyball, croquette, foosball. (Yeah, you just try and play foosball without your heart jumping out of your chest. Really good exercise.) I just feel like there’s some purpose if there’s a ball involved. Think about this: you find a random guy running down the street with his Ipod in, then give him a football and put a 6’5” 240 pound linebacker behind him… you just watch him pick up the pace on that mile split.
Another confession: I did run track in high school. That’s a sport that is almost worse than cross country. Not only do you have to run, but you have to run in circles. Like a dog chasing his tail. I remember my coach wanted me to run the 800m. That’s half a mile, two laps around the track. My response, “But coach, I already saw everything the first time around.” The farthest I ever ran was 400m, one lap. In track, this is the farthest distance one can run before being bored to tears.
But I was good at my lap. I was so good I came in last place at the State finals. That’s right… dead last. Now, 51 seconds is pretty fast… but 48 seconds is faster. I also ran the 100m high hurdles and the 300m intermediate hurdles. Why? I have no idea. (I blame Willie and Bret. I should have done pole vault with Russ.) I fell more times than Steve Urkel. It was like I had a magnet secretly inserted behind my knee cap. It was exhausting, falling down and then getting up.
I should have played soccer.
I argue that running and running with music are two different things. Is running really that boring that you have to fill your already cluttered mind with guitar riffs and clean vocals? Whatever happened to the all-natural distractions: the sound of your sneakers pounding the pavement, the slightly blurred, bouncing landscape, the yells from the passenger windows of passerbyers?
The last time I ran just to run… September. My distance: 2.1 miles. My time: probably longer than 20 minutes. (I’ll admit I stopped to walk for a block… it was somewhere in-between mile one and mile two.) Overall it was a nice run. No U2 in my ears. I really felt like I could focus on my form and concentrate on my breathing. (There’s no way I would have noticed my wheezing, coughing, or gasping otherwise.) But I can only handle myself talking to myself for so long… I realize now that I get kinda annoying after about 15 minutes. That’s when I knew it was time to head home. Well, that and the death-cramp in my left calf.
But honestly, I like to run… if there is some sort of ball involved. Volleyball, croquette, foosball. (Yeah, you just try and play foosball without your heart jumping out of your chest. Really good exercise.) I just feel like there’s some purpose if there’s a ball involved. Think about this: you find a random guy running down the street with his Ipod in, then give him a football and put a 6’5” 240 pound linebacker behind him… you just watch him pick up the pace on that mile split.
Another confession: I did run track in high school. That’s a sport that is almost worse than cross country. Not only do you have to run, but you have to run in circles. Like a dog chasing his tail. I remember my coach wanted me to run the 800m. That’s half a mile, two laps around the track. My response, “But coach, I already saw everything the first time around.” The farthest I ever ran was 400m, one lap. In track, this is the farthest distance one can run before being bored to tears.
But I was good at my lap. I was so good I came in last place at the State finals. That’s right… dead last. Now, 51 seconds is pretty fast… but 48 seconds is faster. I also ran the 100m high hurdles and the 300m intermediate hurdles. Why? I have no idea. (I blame Willie and Bret. I should have done pole vault with Russ.) I fell more times than Steve Urkel. It was like I had a magnet secretly inserted behind my knee cap. It was exhausting, falling down and then getting up.
I should have played soccer.
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