Any Wannabe's out there?
I love sports. I watch football, a little soccer, a little baseball, a little tennis, and sometimes even golf on tv. My new favorite magazine is Play in the Sunday NYT, although I do draw the line at Sports Illustrated because of the copious ads of half clad women. Sometimes I want to be an elite athlete. It is not about self esteem, well maybe it is . I wonder what it would be like to perform all of these physical feats, that come naturally to some. There is something inherently watchable about sports, and sport movie. Champions or underdogs, there is so much to root for and there is always some personal demons that through physical strength and skill the protagonist is forced to deal with them.
On Saturday morning, cartoons were all reruns. When I turned to HBO there was "Major League 2." Now why would I get sucked into this schlock? Well, I had seen one and three, so it was perfectly logical to watch number 2. Okay, let's say it was bad, but there was a moral to the story, keep real to the person you are and you can win.
Later on that weekend, I was lazing on my favorite couch, I somehow got suckered into watching another baseball movie. This one was called "61." The story of 1961 and the homerun derby between Mickey Mantle and Roger Maris. At the end of the movie, I found myself crying. Yes, crying. That sweet cry girls have at sappy movies that make us happy. Some girls enjoy emotional tear jerker standbys like "Terms of Endearment," "Steel Magnolias," and "The Notebook." For me, its snippets from sports movies: like when Ray Hobbs tells Pops that all he ever wanted to do is to play ball, when Rocky gets his eye cut, when Lou Gherig has to take his first sick day, when Moocher takes the bike in a futile effort to stay in the race, even when Danny Glover tells Tony Danza that he has an angel on his side.
This memorial weekend, Evil Twin #2 and her boyfriend visited Boston. More importantly, they came to run the "Boston Run to Remember." ET#2 had originally convinced me to run the half marathon with her. However, she opted for the five-miler in a toe to toe race with her boyfriend. I, on the other hand, having already paid the full entrance fee for the half marathon, and having a strange need to always get my money's worth, decided to run the half marathon alone. Although we had different start times, we arrived toogether at the convetion center early. We chilled at a table when I see one of my mortal enemies pass by, so now my personal sport story is complete. I am an undertrained underdog with a rival. So I feel pumped, I am full of vim, Japanese energy drinks, competitive bile, and a happy attitude.
As the run goes along, fatigue sets in early. The sun is out strong and saps my energy. Running along Memorial Drive at the 5 mile mark, I see the elite male runners running back towards the finsih line. They were beautiful sinewy specimens floating down the black pavement. In contrast, my breathing is labored, my face feels hot because I cannot sweat, and I am whining about the pain in my pinky toe. But I kept moving.
As I doubled back and headed to the finish line I saw my mortal enemy wave hello. I flicked him off. I was hot and tired and creativity in a split second was not happening. He did not see it, so it was wasted. I trucked along desparately searching for shade.
Somewhere along the Longfellow bridge, I fell apart. I did not want to be here any more. I was tired and I hated the fact that people kept passing me. I could not move faster. I wondered about those beautiful sinewy men and women who seemed so graceful as the ran. I thought it when a man who was about 50 pounds overweight in a once burgundy t-shirt huffed and puffed right by me. The finishline seemed so far away.
At the finish line, I was spent, salty and a little dazed. Someone yelled my name. It was someone I work with: a russian guy in charge of the proteomics facility. He gave me a big hug and kissed me on my cheek. Suddenly, all negative feelings went away. I had finished the course, I was happy and proud. Then I saw ET#2 and BF. They got me water and ET#2 took the timing chip off my shoe. We all walked to the bus together.
Maybe the love of sports is seeing others or yourself do more than you think you can. That there are good guys and bad guys. That the protagonist gives 110 percent even when it would be eaisier to give up. That in the end there is a comraderie with your team mates, your friends and your rivals. I can feel my eyes welling up....okay not this time.
Monday, May 28, 2007
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Monday, May 21, 2007
Podcast obsession
I took a little hiatus from blogging last week. No reason really, just a small shot of apathy. I started to write last Monday on the joys of strappy sandals (which I will never wear), a treasured sunset, a racous bachelorette party and 11 half clad running Adonises. But for some reason I could not bring myself to finish it. Maybe because I have been distracted by my newest obsession: the podcast.
Yes, I know I am a little behind the times. Podcasts have existed for awhile now, but I feel there has been a lot more material, that have recently cropped up, worth listening to. I listen to the NPR regulars such as: "This American Life," "Fresh Air," and "A Prarie Home Companion."
However, my favorites are audio versions of "Real Time with Bill Maher,""The Jim Leher News Hour," and "Bill Moyer's Journal."
And although I do have a iPod, I prefer to listen to these podcasts over my computer. I plug in my speakers and listen while doing experiments, cleaning my room, or even as background noise to do mindless paperwork.
My podcast obsession has grown out of an older obsession of comedy tapes, audiobooks, and talk radio. Back when I had a job and a commute, I used to listen to Howard Stern , Imus or Monday morning Quarterback, a local sports show. On our cross country trip, I made my sister listen audiobooks when it was my turn to drive, which she still insists caused her to deep drowsiness. Even as a little kid, I listened to Bob Newhart on an old cassette, over and over again.
These new podcasts even provide a nice alternative to television. News and poltical commentary is a little more palatable without the constant stream of images. A reduction of sensory stumulations. Now, I have this strange habit of sleeping with my computer. Instead of leaving the TV on sleep, I listen to a podcast. Bill Moyer's soothing southern drawl is perfect companion to my Temazapam/Ambien.
We will see how long this obsession lasts and how crazy I can drive V, by listening to all these podcasts in the lab. So until next week this is Evil Twin #1 signing off....
Yes, I know I am a little behind the times. Podcasts have existed for awhile now, but I feel there has been a lot more material, that have recently cropped up, worth listening to. I listen to the NPR regulars such as: "This American Life," "Fresh Air," and "A Prarie Home Companion."
However, my favorites are audio versions of "Real Time with Bill Maher,""The Jim Leher News Hour," and "Bill Moyer's Journal."
And although I do have a iPod, I prefer to listen to these podcasts over my computer. I plug in my speakers and listen while doing experiments, cleaning my room, or even as background noise to do mindless paperwork.
My podcast obsession has grown out of an older obsession of comedy tapes, audiobooks, and talk radio. Back when I had a job and a commute, I used to listen to Howard Stern , Imus or Monday morning Quarterback, a local sports show. On our cross country trip, I made my sister listen audiobooks when it was my turn to drive, which she still insists caused her to deep drowsiness. Even as a little kid, I listened to Bob Newhart on an old cassette, over and over again.
These new podcasts even provide a nice alternative to television. News and poltical commentary is a little more palatable without the constant stream of images. A reduction of sensory stumulations. Now, I have this strange habit of sleeping with my computer. Instead of leaving the TV on sleep, I listen to a podcast. Bill Moyer's soothing southern drawl is perfect companion to my Temazapam/Ambien.
We will see how long this obsession lasts and how crazy I can drive V, by listening to all these podcasts in the lab. So until next week this is Evil Twin #1 signing off....
Sunday, May 13, 2007
A Few Perfect Moments
The Bridge Incident
A few Tuesdays ago, the day started off poorly. Another fight with my advisor of some sort. So it was a relief to have to make the commute to Cambridge to teach class. The class itself ended on a fantastic note, in which the students had paid attention and informed V and me that they had learned a lot this past year. On that teaching ego high, I decided to walk back home instead of taking the bus. The weather was amazing, a spring day that was warm enough to be comfortable in a hoodie sweatshirt only. Being a little hungry, I stopped by Herrell's and ordered a double scoop of banana ice cream. MMMM....delicious. As I walked towards the JFK bridge, I hit every walk light. I was in the walking zone, but when I was on the bridge I had to stop. The sun was setting at it colored the Charles and the building along them golden red. The water was still reflecting the golden images. I looked towards the City of Boston with my ice cream in hand and the stillness was broken. About a dozen (some shirtless) muscular men ran by me. These twenty something Adonises were dyed by the golden sun too, but they were too swift to find any fault. Beautiful.
Shoes
I admit to fulfilling so many stereotypes. I admit that my X chromosomes get the best of me. I admit I like shoes and even better than shoes are shoes on sale. On Sunday, I went to Filene's Basement. And although I am supposed to be saving my money to buy a new bicycle I could not help myself but browse amongst the many racks of discounted designer clothing. In the shoe department, I picked up a pair of teal strappy kitten heel sandals. They made my feet look skinny. When I flipped them over the sticker read an additional 75 percent off. Fantastic.
A few Tuesdays ago, the day started off poorly. Another fight with my advisor of some sort. So it was a relief to have to make the commute to Cambridge to teach class. The class itself ended on a fantastic note, in which the students had paid attention and informed V and me that they had learned a lot this past year. On that teaching ego high, I decided to walk back home instead of taking the bus. The weather was amazing, a spring day that was warm enough to be comfortable in a hoodie sweatshirt only. Being a little hungry, I stopped by Herrell's and ordered a double scoop of banana ice cream. MMMM....delicious. As I walked towards the JFK bridge, I hit every walk light. I was in the walking zone, but when I was on the bridge I had to stop. The sun was setting at it colored the Charles and the building along them golden red. The water was still reflecting the golden images. I looked towards the City of Boston with my ice cream in hand and the stillness was broken. About a dozen (some shirtless) muscular men ran by me. These twenty something Adonises were dyed by the golden sun too, but they were too swift to find any fault. Beautiful.
Shoes
I admit to fulfilling so many stereotypes. I admit that my X chromosomes get the best of me. I admit I like shoes and even better than shoes are shoes on sale. On Sunday, I went to Filene's Basement. And although I am supposed to be saving my money to buy a new bicycle I could not help myself but browse amongst the many racks of discounted designer clothing. In the shoe department, I picked up a pair of teal strappy kitten heel sandals. They made my feet look skinny. When I flipped them over the sticker read an additional 75 percent off. Fantastic.
Monday, May 07, 2007
The End of Another Era
Deep depression is starting to set into my soul. I keep telling myself that I am a person above material things. Do you know that old moral dilemma: would you save a precious work of art or a pet from a burning building if you could only save one? If I was in that burning building, I would choose the dog (but not a cat, I would let the cat die). But yet, as much as I know things are just things, I could not help myself from growing attached to a few material items.
This Saturday my bicycle was stolen. My very beaten lovely bike was taken. I bought it used when I first moved to Boston 7 years ago. A black road bike with a welded steel frame. When it was built in 1978, it had been a semi-sweet ride. When I bought it in 2000, no one wanted it because hybrids were all the rage. I even remember the sales guy telling me to just shell out an extra $150 and he would set me with a brand new bike. But it was love at first sight, with my rusted piece of crap. Over the years, I had poured much of my meager earnings into this bike. New brakes and up-top brake handles. Kevlar tires for the Boston streets. An aerodynamic seat that was far from comfortable. Just this past year, I switched I put in a new gear mechanism to make it a single speed bike. It was perfect for the city.
But my attachment to my bicycle (former bicycle sniff sniff) is more than just one of me putting my money and time into it. It was in fact a part of me. During the warmer months, I rode it all around town. I felt free from constraints of the MBTA. I would glide in and out of traffic, making record times from one place to another. And I would get that occasional voice mail and email from friends having spot me on my bike. "Thar she goes," I imagine them saying as I whip by them. B used to tell me that when he saw me from the window of the C-line T, I made him laugh because it looked like I was racing the train. Well, I probably was.
I talked to my sister yesterday. "Guess, you will have to buy another one, " she said. And then I realized that it just wasn't just my persona on a bike that I will miss, it me on that bike: my 1978 black Motobecane with gold lettering, single gear, piece of junk. I liked the fact that it was incredibly heavy, and its greasy chain left marks on all of my jeans. Its steering was never centered, so I always had to tilt on my right side. It was quirky.
Goodbye, my dear bike. I hope your new owner will glide around town on you, wash you on Sundays, and make sure to tune you up once a year. I hope he/she will make sure you are never stuck in the rain, but try to use you on a daily basis. I enjoyed our time together. Wish I had taken a picture of for this post.
This Saturday my bicycle was stolen. My very beaten lovely bike was taken. I bought it used when I first moved to Boston 7 years ago. A black road bike with a welded steel frame. When it was built in 1978, it had been a semi-sweet ride. When I bought it in 2000, no one wanted it because hybrids were all the rage. I even remember the sales guy telling me to just shell out an extra $150 and he would set me with a brand new bike. But it was love at first sight, with my rusted piece of crap. Over the years, I had poured much of my meager earnings into this bike. New brakes and up-top brake handles. Kevlar tires for the Boston streets. An aerodynamic seat that was far from comfortable. Just this past year, I switched I put in a new gear mechanism to make it a single speed bike. It was perfect for the city.
But my attachment to my bicycle (former bicycle sniff sniff) is more than just one of me putting my money and time into it. It was in fact a part of me. During the warmer months, I rode it all around town. I felt free from constraints of the MBTA. I would glide in and out of traffic, making record times from one place to another. And I would get that occasional voice mail and email from friends having spot me on my bike. "Thar she goes," I imagine them saying as I whip by them. B used to tell me that when he saw me from the window of the C-line T, I made him laugh because it looked like I was racing the train. Well, I probably was.
I talked to my sister yesterday. "Guess, you will have to buy another one, " she said. And then I realized that it just wasn't just my persona on a bike that I will miss, it me on that bike: my 1978 black Motobecane with gold lettering, single gear, piece of junk. I liked the fact that it was incredibly heavy, and its greasy chain left marks on all of my jeans. Its steering was never centered, so I always had to tilt on my right side. It was quirky.
Goodbye, my dear bike. I hope your new owner will glide around town on you, wash you on Sundays, and make sure to tune you up once a year. I hope he/she will make sure you are never stuck in the rain, but try to use you on a daily basis. I enjoyed our time together. Wish I had taken a picture of for this post.
Friday, May 04, 2007
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
New York, New York (Part #2)
WARNING: This posting may not be the most accurate account of events. It may be inaccurate because of my vodka tonic induced vision, my hyper-dance-happy-ass-grabbing ways, my writing a second/third hand accounts of the night, you get the picture.
After a pretty tame, but entertaining 24 hours it was time to boogie down. The party to-end-all-parties was at the No Malice Palace, a bar in what used to be called Alphabet City. A neighborhood that was once filled with crack dens and homeless junkies, was now full of chic bars. At nine pm, the place was still very quiet. ET#2 and I, staked a our place in the back. Some friends had already arrived. We chatted a bit with everyone.
I scared the crap out of Kentak3's friend E. He had arrived with his with his wife. As he scanned the room for a familiar face, and attempted to walk out I yelled "E, this is the right party. I don't think you remember me, I am ET#1." He had this puzzled look which he shook off quickly. "Of course, ET#1. This is my wife L." We had not seen eachother in 9 years. We talked about his life as a surgeon, he made googoo eyes over his wife and L and I chatted about what E was like before her.
But that encounter with E was indicative of how much of the night went. I scared lots of people with my overly friendly voice. I talked to some of ET#2's New York friends. I chatted with Manolo's friends. I made new friends at the bar who apparently bought me many drinks throughout the night. It was his birthday too.
Okay so I admit it this is when details of the night start to get a little fuzzy. I left the outside porch area because I felt the need to dance. The music was quality 90's hiphop. And so I shook my groove thing, drank whatever someone passed to me, and danced some more.
By this time most of the party moved inside, because the outside porch area was getting too loud. I have this image in my head of twirling around my head and seeing, ET#2, Kentak3, Evil, Mr. Shoulders, E and L, standing in a line drinking their libations. ET#2 and B told me the next day that apparently I was a little grab happy. Grabbing what you may ask, why the male gluts who were dancing with me. One boy in particular seem to be in my interest a European names Gu. The next morning I confirmed with ET#2 that he was the best looking man on the dance floor, although his sexual orientation was up for grabs. Literally. I was okay with that. I just needed to confirm that I did not lower my standards after too many vodka tonics.
When I decided to take a little break from the dance floor, I saw a friend of mine from grad school. P came with his brother. I was so happy to see him because, P, as a general rule, avoids loud places. We chatted for a while, and I scared his poor brother.
Then back to the dance floor. Flirted with the DJ. More drinks. More bemused looks from the Columbia gang.
At about 3:30am it was time to leave. We all congregated outside the bar to say farewell. I might have fell asleep/passed out while giving Manolo a hug. But let's be realistic he is soft like a teddy bear, and he makes a good stand nap stand. Someone went on a hunt for my purse. Luckily, ET#2 was holding it the whole time.
Thanks to ET#2 BF, we got to ET#2's apartment safely. The next morning at 8:30am I heard ET#2 get up. Crap. I thought. I was not in the best of shape, but I had to get up because I assumed ET#2 wanted to go running. I came out of the room and said, "I'll be ready in a minute."
ET#2 glared at me. "Don't go be ridiculous." She went back to bed. I spent the rest of the morning shivering from alcohol withdrawal in front of the television watching "Madagascar" in Spanish.
Eventually, I recovered and ET#2 and BF got out of bed. The Evil Twins went down to Broadway to catch a showing of "Curtains." We were by far the youngest people in the sold out theater. A blessing really, because the theater was a little too cold and old people have no qualms about complaining to management.
I met up with B, S, and C and it was another road trip this time back to Boston. Spring break had reinvigorated me. Let's summarize: 4 bars, 7 meals, 15 alcoholic beverages, 10 hours with a baby, 48 hours with friends, met up with at least 11 old friends, 9 years since I had seen some of them, 1 slightly damaged car, 1 Broadway show, 4 miles walked, 5 hours on subway, 6 hours total sleep, and 1 very happy ET#1.
After a pretty tame, but entertaining 24 hours it was time to boogie down. The party to-end-all-parties was at the No Malice Palace, a bar in what used to be called Alphabet City. A neighborhood that was once filled with crack dens and homeless junkies, was now full of chic bars. At nine pm, the place was still very quiet. ET#2 and I, staked a our place in the back. Some friends had already arrived. We chatted a bit with everyone.
I scared the crap out of Kentak3's friend E. He had arrived with his with his wife. As he scanned the room for a familiar face, and attempted to walk out I yelled "E, this is the right party. I don't think you remember me, I am ET#1." He had this puzzled look which he shook off quickly. "Of course, ET#1. This is my wife L." We had not seen eachother in 9 years. We talked about his life as a surgeon, he made googoo eyes over his wife and L and I chatted about what E was like before her.
But that encounter with E was indicative of how much of the night went. I scared lots of people with my overly friendly voice. I talked to some of ET#2's New York friends. I chatted with Manolo's friends. I made new friends at the bar who apparently bought me many drinks throughout the night. It was his birthday too.
Okay so I admit it this is when details of the night start to get a little fuzzy. I left the outside porch area because I felt the need to dance. The music was quality 90's hiphop. And so I shook my groove thing, drank whatever someone passed to me, and danced some more.
By this time most of the party moved inside, because the outside porch area was getting too loud. I have this image in my head of twirling around my head and seeing, ET#2, Kentak3, Evil, Mr. Shoulders, E and L, standing in a line drinking their libations. ET#2 and B told me the next day that apparently I was a little grab happy. Grabbing what you may ask, why the male gluts who were dancing with me. One boy in particular seem to be in my interest a European names Gu. The next morning I confirmed with ET#2 that he was the best looking man on the dance floor, although his sexual orientation was up for grabs. Literally. I was okay with that. I just needed to confirm that I did not lower my standards after too many vodka tonics.
When I decided to take a little break from the dance floor, I saw a friend of mine from grad school. P came with his brother. I was so happy to see him because, P, as a general rule, avoids loud places. We chatted for a while, and I scared his poor brother.
Then back to the dance floor. Flirted with the DJ. More drinks. More bemused looks from the Columbia gang.
At about 3:30am it was time to leave. We all congregated outside the bar to say farewell. I might have fell asleep/passed out while giving Manolo a hug. But let's be realistic he is soft like a teddy bear, and he makes a good stand nap stand. Someone went on a hunt for my purse. Luckily, ET#2 was holding it the whole time.
Thanks to ET#2 BF, we got to ET#2's apartment safely. The next morning at 8:30am I heard ET#2 get up. Crap. I thought. I was not in the best of shape, but I had to get up because I assumed ET#2 wanted to go running. I came out of the room and said, "I'll be ready in a minute."
ET#2 glared at me. "Don't go be ridiculous." She went back to bed. I spent the rest of the morning shivering from alcohol withdrawal in front of the television watching "Madagascar" in Spanish.
Eventually, I recovered and ET#2 and BF got out of bed. The Evil Twins went down to Broadway to catch a showing of "Curtains." We were by far the youngest people in the sold out theater. A blessing really, because the theater was a little too cold and old people have no qualms about complaining to management.
I met up with B, S, and C and it was another road trip this time back to Boston. Spring break had reinvigorated me. Let's summarize: 4 bars, 7 meals, 15 alcoholic beverages, 10 hours with a baby, 48 hours with friends, met up with at least 11 old friends, 9 years since I had seen some of them, 1 slightly damaged car, 1 Broadway show, 4 miles walked, 5 hours on subway, 6 hours total sleep, and 1 very happy ET#1.
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