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.
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