More Pie

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Went to a screening of American Pie 2 with Dan tonight. We have a tradition of getting out to see trashy comedies, and this continued the run. Fairly predictable humor--less of a story arc than the first film and more a continuous string of jokes which peters out by the end. But along the way, good fun. It will do well next weekend at the box office.
Last Sunday Bill and I went out to WOMAD. Not sure what that stands for, exactly, but basically it's a world music festival. We caught Peter Gabriel and the Afrocelts. A very northwest type of concert. Henna tattoos, rose tinted glasses, that scene. We were trying to watch the concert (Gabriel had his daughter accompany him vocally, which was nice) this crazy character we dubbed Charles Manson (because of his physical resemblance to that serial killer) pranced around making an ass of himself. Climbed a tree and started throwing leaves on people. Then pulled a flag out of the ground and started waving it around. Took a water bottle and sprayed everyone. Talked loudly and incoherently while Gabriel played. Bill and I were becoming quite annoyed, but Manson found this group of folks to play to: a series of couples with their children, all tripped out on acid. They passed around the eyedropper once or twice, maintaining their chemical imbalance and dancing around all crazy. If they passed the eyedropper to one of their young children, or god forbid their one of their babies, I would have lost it.
Made me think that hippies are not necessarily any more noble than working stiffs like myself. They can be just as degenerate, as much of a drain on society.
David and Jenny at work shared this Amazon customer review with me today, and it's classic. I can't believe it's serious, but then again...
It's a review for The Magnificent Seven:
1 of 107 people found the following review helpful:
One out of Five Stars Rip off of a classic western, January 28, 2001
Reviewer: A viewer from Palm Beach, FL USA
This movie seems to be a scene-by-scene copy of one of my favorite movies-"Magnificent Seven". Magnificent seven is a classic movie that has been copied many times, but I didn't know westerns were popular enough in japan to be copied. Not a bad copy but doesn't hold a candle to the original!
At least 106 out of 107 of our customers pass film history 101 here.
Looking for an alternative to Napster now that the lawyers have throttled it? I just started using Audiogalaxy, and while its interface takes a bit of getting used to, it worked like a charm for me last night.
Joannie's somewhere in Europe. She got to see the last stage of the Tour. I'm jealous. Considering doing a Tour, um, tour next year.
Pop under ads are driving me nuts. At the end of a session browsing the web all those open browser windows are like lint. There must be a name for them. Surf dandruff? Still, looking at how much press and traffic X10 has received, it's pretty unbelievable. At the right price, it might not actually be as bad a marketing campaign as it appears. I should dig into it one of these nights when I have a few minutes of free time and figure it out.
Peter is marrying in Prague next week. I want to go so badly, but plane tickets are so expensive and hard to come by. I'd love to be there to see him walk the aisle, and to see a bit of Prague. Maybe my frequent flier miles will come through for me at the last minute? Peter, I'm working on it! BTW, Peter, that's the coolest wedding invite I've ever received. Very spare--even, dare I say it, bauhaus, if I knew what that meant. German industrial design. Chic.
This whole Condit/Levy thing creeps me out. Do old politicians in D.C. really stoop as low as to prey on interns half their ages? Read an interesting article, I think in the NYTimes Magazine, about how the environment in that capitol--politicians working long, lonely hours late at the office, and young, impressionable girls away from home--breeds many such affairs. I wonder if the Amazon work environment is conducive to inter-office romance. I probably shouldn't even send my mind down that alley. Okay, I won't.
Someone the other day corrected me when I said we should add a question about sex to a market research survey.
"You mean gender."
Um, no. I didn't even stop to think about it at the time, but I just realized that people don't have gender, pronouns do. People have sex. Just to set the record straight. As Austin would say, yes please.

Booked

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BTW, now that I'm done cycling, you better book me soon. My open dates are going fast. I'm out with a different person every night. A few lunch appointments remain in August, but weekends are nearly sold out through September. Call now! My popularity is at its zenith! Soon, the novelty will wear off as people realize I'm no more interesting after the 1000+ miles of cycling than I was before it.
Runaway shoes dot com! Runaway shoes dot com!

Back from black

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Simplest solution when an electrical device fails you? Unplug it, then plug it back in. Duh. All the same lights on my cable modem are still on, but now it works.
Quick recap of some random events in my life. Last Saturday morning, I woke up at around 7:00am (correction, my roommate woke me up) and I went out with thousands of crazy people to wait in line for the Mariners game which wasn't scheduled to start until 1:05pm. Why, you might ask, would you do something like that on a Saturday morning?
Green, baby. Do a search on Ebay.com for "Ichiro bobblehead" and see what comes up. Not too shabby for a silly ceramic doll. Actually, I think I will hang on to mine, as the whole Ichiro story is a pretty amazing one. Someone, though, has to do a case study and try and trace when these things became hot. Maybe Malcolm Gladwell can do a tipping study on this. Completely wacky, in the tradition of cabbage patch kids, beanie babies, Tickle Me Elmo. If you own one and the prices on these hit $200 or something, sell immediately. They'll be worth the price of a memory in a few years. That's either a lot or very little depending on what you're in it for.
BTW, I finally saw Ichiro get a hit (3, to be exact) and the Mariners win a game.
While in line, I read from The Bit and the Pendulum. Remember in an earlier blog when I wrote that it's harder to forget than to remember. Turns out it's true! There's a physical explanation for why that's so! Let me see if I can summarize the physics from the book's explanation: Rolf Landauer, an IBM computer physicist, did a study of the idealized limits of computing efficiency. At the time, it was thought that you could build a computer that required no energy to compute, that you could slow down calculations more and more until no friction would be generated and the computer could compute on infinitely. Multiply two numbers, and you don't need to remember the original two numbers, you just need to remember the answer.
What Landauer realized was that the mere act of forgetting the original two numbers requires energy. Any act of forgetting requires energy. Landauer computed that the energy to forget a single bit requires an energy loss roughly equal to the energy possessed by a bouncing molecule.
See, that's why it is so hard to forget certain things, like the girl who got away, the death of your first pet, the loss in your high school sports championship...these are big memories, that cost so much to let go.
Okay, I'm probably butchering the math, but I read about Landauer's principle and it had a beautiful elegance as an explanation. Those points, where math and memory, science and emotion intersect? A beautiful thing.
Saturday afternoon, with my newfound freedom from cycling training, I reconnected with friends. Betina ("Bean") and I went over to check out 24 Hour Fitness, a new health club which had just opened up (I should note, not before I set her to sleep yet again so that she left me sitting on the curb for half an hour--gotta figure out how to be more interesting to her). We ended up signing up as domestic partners to get a family discount. That club reminds me somewhat of Bally's, with their aggressive sales people, but you can't beat the hours. I tend to work out at late hours of the night. Just don the headphones and pump the metal under the fluorescent lamps, viewable by all from the street, through the large windows. Edward Hopper painting Nighthawks today would depict me as such, on the bench press, Bean on the elliptical cycle. Quietly sweating.
I haven't lifted weights in months. Just been cycling like a hamster. Lifted the last two days, and I can't move my arms.
The web presents opportunities for new forms of entertainment. Like the graphic novel Broken Saints. Interesting stuff. True, Flash websites requires plug-ins that not all users have or know how to download, but there are also people who don't have checking accounts and keep all their money in jars under their beds. No reason you have to service them.
You know how people always say "Bom chicka bom bom!" as a linguistic cue to denote:
a) porn film music
b) hanky panky
c) general sexual naughtiness
Well, imagine no longer. Now there's Fluffertrax. Oh yeah.
When's the last time you visited the memepool? Go. You already got your 15 minutes in the gene pool, there's nothing you can do about that now.
Thanks to the fine folks at Soundtracks.net, you can now figure out where that music comes from the next time you hear a familiar ditty from a movie trailer. For example, I watched the trailer for The Musketeer, then e-mailed Dan Goldwasser of Soundtracks.net, and about five minutes later he had streamed the trailer and informed me that the music in that trailer was from Plunkett & Macleane. So then I browse over to Amazon.com, listen to the sound clips on RealPlayer, verify the tracks are correct, put the CD in my shopping cart, put the DVD on my Netflix rental list, and an impulse which started when I caught a familiar tune in a trailer in a movie theater (and was later reinforced when Eric told me over a dinner at Cedars that he had seen the trailer and loved the music) turned into potentially a transaction and eventual much listening pleasure in the comforts of my bedroom. Isn't life in the 21st century great?!? Just a few years ago, the identity of that musical melody from the trailer would have haunted me for weeks, fading from my memory eventually, but not before leaving me with a sense of longing and frustration.
I'm all over the place today. For example, this from IMDb studio briefs:
"David Hasselhoff is planning to return to his role as the Knight Rider in what he is calling an "absolutely big feature film," according to the British entertainment website Popcorn. "We made the deal on Friday," said Hasselhoff, who leaped from his TV success with a talking car 15 years ago to even greater success with the syndicated babes-and-brawn series Baywatch. Popcorn, an Internet publication produced by Britain's Carlton Communications, indicated that Hasselhoff is planning to add digital special effects to the Knight Rider movie. "We're talking about doing it a little bit like The Matrix," he said. And the late Edward Mulhare, who played Hasselhoff's boss in the TV series, will be brought back from the dead "as a hologram," the actor said."
Huh? A bit like The Matrix?!? I'm not sure what's scarier, that or the thought of Edward Mulhare as a hologram.
And this, from the latest issue of Entertainment Weekly, the best entertainment magazine out there:
"People don't want to see me having sex... I'm the queen of kiss, foreplay, dissolve.' And then the 'Whoo! Good morning, tiger.'"
--Julia Roberts on the dearth of sex scenes in her movies, on
Entertainment Tonight Online.
Very true.
Also, more than one person has noted that it has been a pretty disappointing summer for movies. Lots of high profile films, but very few good ones. Lots of people ask why there aren't more great movies put out. Two important things to note:
1) It is very difficult to separate art from commerce. Even films deemed to be arthouse films that make it into theaters only do so because someone somewhere thinks it will make money. The fact that any movie gets made, considering many cost well over $100 million, could only happy if an economic question was asked and answered before or soon after the artistic question was broached. Why so many sequels? Risk mitigation. No need to spend lots of money re-branding Jurassic Park or explaining the concept to folks. They know what they're getting. Rush Hour 2? More Chris Tucker wisecracking, Jackie Chan buttkicking. Matrix 2. And 3. American Pie 2. Men in Black 2. Stuart Little 2. Nutty Professor II.
Sure, you can laugh at the success of N Sync, Britney Spears, Who Wants to be a Millionaire, Survivor. Scoff at the lowbrow entertainment. But economically? Makes a ton of sense. Mass entertainment, to appeal to a wide range of people, needs to be simple, viral, annoyingly catchy. The economic model is high volume, low margin (low quality?).
Of course, if you're a lover of fine art--original paintings, black and white silent films, for example--be prepared to pay a premium to find it, experience it, own it. But don't complain. If you truly think it's superior to mass entertainment, it should be worth the cost to you, n'est pas?
How many artists would work for free, really? I've learned one thing in life. Being rich is no guarantee of happiness, but extreme poverty usually leads to suffering of one sort or another.
2) Acting is much better today than in the past. Seriously, watch some really old films. Overacting was part of the art back then. "Why I oughta knock you silly!" is the kind of dialogue common in films back then. Sure, Keanu Reeves is no Laurence Olivier, but he had his equivalents, and then some, back in the day.
Like mind benders, math puzzles? Me too. Take on some smart folks from IBM on these brain twisters.

Temporarily out of service

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My cable modem at home has been down the past couple of days, and getting the cable company to fix the service is no easier than getting them to fix cable TV service. So I haven't been touching my website for a few days. Never have time to blog from work, and I'm too impatient to log in with my work laptop from home. I've gotten used to having my home PC always on, and with a cable modem you're always connected to the net at high speeds. Logging in with a modem off a laptop is so 1999.
I would complain, but then you read a story about All Pro offensive lineman Korey Stringer dying from complications from heat stroke during training camp and you count yourself lucky to be alive and kicking. Go hug someone today.
I'll be back up with blogging and the website in a few days, hopefully, if the cable company gets their act together.

RAMROD

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The night before RAMROD, I spent all this time preparing two sandwich bags filled with food and supplies. Clif bars, sports drinks, GU, spare tubes, CO2 cartridges, bike tools, etc. And then Tim came by to pick me up, and I left the two bags on the kitchen table. Noonan!
But of course, I didn't realize this until much later, so let's not jump ahead. Tim picked me up on Wednesday night, and we drove down to Enumclaw. Jesse's knee had acted up so he had to drop out, leaving just Tim and I from our original RAMROD crew of 6 or 7. It's another reason the ride is so challenging--it actually takes out riders before they even make it to the starting line.
We stayed overnight in Enumclaw, in a room in a building Erynn Petersen owns down there, right above some store shops. Tim and I were amped up for the race, and we had a hard time settling down. The room was dominated by a huge pool table that she and her husband had just had resurfaced, and we shot a few games and cooked a huge heaping of pasta to carbo load. We slept in two bunk beds at the end of the room, and I felt like I was a pro racer on the road, sleeping in a dorm.
At that point, I realized I had forgotten some of my food and supplies, and I had to avoid a sense of panic. I still had two spare tubes, and I could just eat more food at the rest stops. Still, little mistakes like that the day of a big race can be mentally distracting, minor frustrations that cause you to panic. Fortunately, I managed to fall asleep, and after what seemed like 10 minutes of sleep we were up. It was just after 4 a.m. on Thursday, and the registration desks were open. We dressed, carried our machines out, and drove over to the start line in the early morning dusk, when all is grey, subdued, and chilly.
We signed in, pinned our numbers on our jersey, and walked to the start line. Because the ride followed a somewhat dangerous course, each of our numbers had a start and finish tag. At the start line, they'd rip off the start tag to note that we had departed. If they didn't rip off a corresponding finish tag at the end of the race, they'd know to send out the search teams to look for the missing rider at the bottom of a cliff or ditch or something like that, the race volunteers explained. Oh.
And then, we were off. I wore the yellow jersey of DogDog.com that my STP team bought me the year before, hoping it would bring me the same good luck I had experienced the year before. Tim and I were frozen as we hit the farm roads out of the Enumclaw fairgrounds. A dense morning mist hovered over the fields we passed by, and occasionally we choked on the pungent odor of cow dung.
We eventually caught up to a fairly fast pack and latched on, and soon we were cruising. I tried to keep my heart rate under 150, but the adrenaline was pumping and I was over 150, occasionally touching 160. Not sustainable, but it's hard to hold back when you're full of energy. We were cooking at speeds over 21 mph for a good two hours or so, all the way to the base of the climb to Paradise.
Then, suddenly, I couldn't turn the pedals over anymore. It felt like I had popped. I was near the front of the paceline with Tim, and then I pulled out to the left to drop back. I moved back a few spots. And then back a few more. And then I lost contact with the first part of the paceline, and our entire line shattered, and Tim was gone. I started panicking. I hadn't even ridden 50 miles, and I had already hit a wall. Soon I was alone. I crossed the entrance into the park and entered the woods. The climbing had begun.
I staggered into the first rest stop by myself and met up with Tim again. I told him to continue on without me. Then he felt my tires, front and back, and said the back tire felt flat. I gave it a squeeze. It was flat. No wonder it had felt so difficult to turn the pedals over. The curse of the flats had bitten me again. The local mechanic helped me to fix it up, and I set off again. Tim had left with a group ahead, and I tried to keep a steady pace. I knew it would be difficult to catch the pack by myself. I knew I had over 5000 feet of climbing ahead to reach the top of Paradise, and I just wanted to make it over the top. RAMROD contains two major climbs, Paradise and Cayuse, but I wasn't even thinking about Cayuse yet.
I realized, as I moved along at about 7mph, that I had never even climbed more than 250 feet at a time. 5000 feet would be some 20 times higher than the highest climb I had ever done. It would hurt. My legs were still burning from trying to catch folks with my flat earlier, and the thought of not being able to finish crossed my mind for the first time. Slow and steady, slow and steady. I tried to find a steady tempo that would leave me heart rate below 160. Stronger riders started passing me regularly, but I resisted the temptation to stand out my saddle to pursue. Only 50 miles into the ride, I had changed my goal. I wanted to finish, and I didn't care if I would be the last rider in.
The climb took ages. I had to drop into my lowest gear, and still I could only turn my pedals over at about 65 to 70 rpm. My butt was more sore than normal, and I kept squirming on my seat to try and find the position of least pain. Fortunately, the view around me was so beautiful it took my mind off the physical suffering. The sun had finally poked its head out, and above me I could see the snow covered peaks of Rainier. The mountain itself is so massive from up close. It inspired awe, maybe a bit of fear. Every fifteen minutes or so I could pop my ears, like on an airplane. That's how high up we were.
When I finally made it to the top, I had to pull over in the Paradise parking lot and take my shoes off, my feet ached so much. Bike shoes are intended to be very snug, almost like rock climbing shoes or ballet shoes, so that as much of your legs' movements are transferred to your pedals. The sacrifice is that as your feet swell, they ache. This was as high as I would be all day, and I felt relief that I hadn't cramped up, but my entire body was not happy.
After a short break, I managed to force myself back onto the bike for the first big descent, the reward for the long climb. It would be one of the longest descents I had ever done, and soon I was up to 39-40 miles per hour, just flying. My legs were so tired I could barely keep my pedals at 3 and 9 o'clock, and I hung onto my handlebars for dear life over grates and irregularities in the road. Descending is exhilarating and frightening. One bad turn and you could be projected over the edge off a steep hill to who knows what. At the same time, passing riders on a descent, cutting corners as sharply as possible--there's nothing like it. It's about as much fun as you can have on a road bike, other than passing folks on the hills.
At the bottom was a rest stop, where I ran into Tim for the last time during the ride. My legs were sore to the core now and I was just barely past halfway done with the race. I tried not to think about Cayuse. Then, right out of the rest stop, I flatted. This time, I had to pull over and fix it myself, and I felt myself losing my cool as rider after rider passed me on the side of the road while I spent fifteen minutes or so putting a new tube on and trying in vain to get it up to minimum pressure. I couldn't get the tube up to 130 psi with my frame pump, but I had no choice but to go on with a semi-inflated tire until I ran into a support vehicle with a floor pump.
The next thing I remember is beginning the ascent up Cayuse, a shorter hill than Paradise in elevation, but much tougher because of the grade. This time, I struggled to stay between 6 and 7 miles per hour, and the sun was now beating down through a clear sky. I unzipped my jersey all the way down and tried to keep the sweat out of my eyes.
I was suffering. Various pains would appear out of nowhere during the ascent, and each time I tried to stay calm and wait it out. First it would be my quads, then my right hamstring, then my right shin, then my left. My right foot throbbed. At one point, I pulled over and took my right shoe off and tried to massage the pain out of my foot. My bike started to wander around the road a bit, my body too weak to keep it straight. Halfway up, I stopped to have a volunteer shower me with cold water.
Finally, the peak of Cayuse. The torturous climbing was over, though 44 miles still remained. A banana and a swig of water, and then I started bombing towards the finish line. Most of the last leg was downhill, and I was able to keep my speed up around 20 mph for a good portion of that time. I was pleasantly surprised with how much energy I had left considering I'd ridden most of the day alone. I never really found a cyclist or group moving at the same pace, so it was a long, lonely day in the saddle.
So I finished. Twelve hours total, of which about 10 of them consisted of ride time. I averaged about 15.5 miles per hour, and in total I covered about 157 miles. My average heart rate? 141.
Bill and Scott called to congratulate me, which was nice. After suffering most of the day alone in the mountains, I had this insatiable need to download.
The whole ride was more than I was prepared for, especially the two climbs. Basically, it was like a stage of the Tour de France, only longer. The climbs were pro-level grade. I was proud of myself for finishing, and more in awe of Lance Armstrong and other professional cyclists than ever before. I can't imagine doing that day after day for three weeks as in the Tour de France.
Next year, I may do it again. I didn't climb that well, and if I did it again I'd want to be in a position to attack on the mountain climbs, as opposed to hanging on for dear life. But for now, the training and suffering is behind me, and I look forward to getting back to life.

Super D

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D (Derek) is in town for a visit today and tomorrow. We tried to get tickets to the Mariners game tonight but it was sold out, and we couldn't find a single scalper with a pair of tix. The Mariners truly are a hot ticket this year. Unbelievable. Makes me think that it's going to be a madhouse this Saturday on Ichiro Bobblehead day. Sang and I may have to sleep out, which would not be pleasant.
We ended up grabbing dinner at Harvest Vine and just hanging out. It's too bad he can't stay longer. That summer he stayed with me in Seattle, I explored more of the Northwest than I have in the few years since. He's a catalyst.
Lance Armstrong generates enough power riding in the Tour de France for three weeks to power his entire hometown of Austin for two hours and eighteen minutes. The entire town.
Joannie, you'd better be studying hard for the bar!
Tomorrow I head off to Rainier in the evening to sleep out near the start line for RAMROD. And then, Thursday, I ride. I'm not as confident as I was last year going into STP. In part because I had more time to ride last year, perhaps because I don't have a large team surrounding me this year. But the challenge is exciting.

Epic racing, and Nate (i.e. Why I blog)

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If you've never watched cycling on TV before but were curious about whether or not it could be interesting, watch Stage 13 of this year's Tour. That's the most exciting stage of cycling I've ever seen. A little of everything. Frenchman Laurent Jalabert attempting a solo breakaway. Francois Simon trying desperately to keep the maillot jaune (yellow jersey). All the crazy race fans along the sides of the climbs. Ullrich's team isolating Armstrong and trying to put him in trouble. Kevin Livingston, once Lance's mountain lieutenant, now riding for his main rival Ullrich. Armstrong's teammates Heras and Rubiera somehow coming up with the effort to reach him at the bottom of the last climb to help launch him on his final attack. Ullrich falling off the side of a mountain on a descent. All the race leaders in a pack at the front. And of course, Armstrong's final attack to capture the stage, and his salute to the sky in memory of his fallen teammate Fabio Casartelli. Awesome stuff.
The highlight of my weekend was getting a totally unexpected guestbook signature and e-mail from Nate, my old high school buddy, debate partner, fellow New Order fan, minivan transporter, sometime tennis doubles partner, and the glue that brought some strange folks (including myself) together in high school back in Naperville. He found my website in Google, and that makes all this weblogging and website work worthwhile. I've had so many people just stumble across my website recently. It's very odd, very 21st century. But I now have many more e-mail penpals, and I'm glad to be suddenly plugged back in to all these people's lives, like Nate, Shanon, Cindy...
He filled me in on the high school reunion I missed. I guess they sent the invite home, but no one's there now to receive it. That's too bad. I was looking forward to attending my 10 year HS reunion and seeing what everyone was up to now. Fortunately, Nate's a journalist and thus a good storyteller and managed to fill me in on some folks I knew back then. A very long e-mail, I might add, which I enjoy receiving. Every since e-mail replaced paper, I've stopped receiving nice long letters. The long personal correspondence is a dying art form. They contain a personal touch that is missing in the 3-line e-mails or the one-line e-mail jokes and retorts that seem to indicate that the sender is too busy to bother with composing full sentences or punctuating or sharing anything else of substance.
Anyway, Nate, welcome back.

Bonk

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Tough day in the saddle, and out, today. Got up to meet Jesse and Tim, got in my bike gear, packed up all my stuff, got a few feet out of the driveway and my back tire was flat. The Lieberman curse had bitten me from long distance! I always get flats when I ride with Tim. So I had to drop everything and throw a new tire on. I quickly called Jesse on his cell phone and left a few messages...
"Jesse, I've got a flat!"
"Jesse, I'm fixing my flat, don't leave!"
"Jesse, I just finished fixing the flat, I'm on my way."
"Jesse, I'm on the bridge, I think you guys left."
Damn, I missed them. Like being isolated on a mountain stage in the Tour. I've had more flats this year already than I had all of last year. I'm not sure what the deal is. It's getting in my head, though. I keep looking down when I ride whenever I feel the slightest vibration through the frame.
It was a grey day out, so I took my rain jacket. Decided to do the Lake Washington Loop (I really need to learn some new rides). Started off great. Around to the top of the lake and then up the big hill, I was feeling strong. I went up the hill spinning at about 75 rpm, a lot faster than I've taken it before. A good sign. Ran into Sam Wheeler driving his kid around in Kirkland. Then, just into the South Lake Washington Loop, I flatted again. It broke my rhythm completely and just pissed me off. Had to change the tire again. What's worse, I was stuck by some swarm of mosquitoes, and they ate me alive. They were swarming me like gnats. I had to put on my rain cape just to prevent from losing too much blood.
I started up again, but I was still upset and couldn't find any rhythm on the bike. My heart rate was up, and I was paranoid about the rear tire. It took me until the other side of the lake to get into a rhythm again.
I wore the yellow jersey out today and everyone I passed would shout "Go Lance!" I don't think I'll wear it again. I'm not worthy. I can't decide if it's a tribute to him or just pompous, but I'm leaning towards leaving it in the closet.
Then onto Mercer Island, and on my way back around, my front tire flatted. @#*&$%!!
Then, about 10 miles or so from home, another big problem. Out of water, out of food, and I knew I was in trouble. Blood sugar was dropping. Maybe, just maybe, I could hold on until home.
I bonked.
For those who don't know what bonking is but have heard the term in Powerbar commercials, bonking is what happens, primarily to endurance athletes, when they burn through all the glycogen in their muscles, or something like that. Basically, you use up all your muscles energy stores because you haven't eaten enough. I had eaten three Clif bars, 3 Clif shots, and a few sports drinks and that was it.
Bonking is a horrible feeling. It's not a sharp pain. You just feel like you have no strength, and you start becoming light-headed. At first your stomach feels empty, and then it just falls asleep, like the rest of your body. Across I-90 I felt my left leg cramping up. I crawled up the last hill to my house in the penultimate gear (I always save the granny gear these days--one must maintain some source of pride).
Then I ate like a horse and lay on my sofa like a corpse for a few hours.
At night, I rallied for Lynn's birthday party out in Belltown, but devoid of food, a few large margarita's left me reeling and the oppressive heat in some dance club (Down Under?) drained me of my energy. It had been a while, but the night did conclude with a foggy cab ride home.

Hot stuff

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Traffic to my site ticked up in a big way last week. I'm not sure why. It got me to thinking. Most people probably hear more about me via the weblog than over the phone or in person. Not surprising, considering how many of them live far away or how little time I've been spending with folks here in Seattle. Very odd, this weblog thing. You can't really be totally honest--don't know who's reading, and I'm not really an exhibitionist like Madonna. It's like the neighborhood newsletter. Try and be positive, but if you're going to rant, beat up on no one you know.
You voyeurs!
It's okay, keep reading. Half the time I write in it because it's faster and easier than jotting down notes to myself on paper.
One of the most user-unfriendly reports of all time is the credit card bill. I got mine and noticed some random $4 to $8 charges from random places like "Brouhaha Venice Beach CA." What the heck is that? A restaurant? A newspaper stand in an airport? Some random porno site I stumbled across by mistake ("I swear, I though www.hotstuff.com was an online chili sauce e-tailer!")? In English please! Something like Brouhaha--Italian restaurant on Venice Beach? And then you call the credit card company and they put the burden of proof on you to challenge the charge or they stick it back on your card.

T-minus 6

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I saw this story in the AP newswire and couldn't help thinking that there's some wonderful story behind this, and we may never hear it. Who knows, it could be something like The Score.
"Warhol's portrait of Lenin stolen
BERLIN (AP) - A portrait by Andy Warhol of Vladimir Lenin has been stolen from a warehouse in the German city of Cologne. The blue portrait - one of series of Lenin portraits by the Pop Art pioneer dating from 1987 - was packed and ready for shipment at the warehouse, owned by an art transportation firm. Employees noticed last Friday that it was missing, police said Tuesday. It was unclear how the theft occurred. The work was valued at $652,000. It had been sold to a private collector by a gallery owner in Munich, Germany."
Such a small world. Phil, my old consulting bud, is now back in consulting in Chicago and happens to be in the same office as stepbrother James.
The Sopranos will now have a fifth season, as HBO showed David Chase the big bucks. Unfortunately, season four won't be here until June or possibly September of 2002. Sigh. It will be a long winter.
After the Indian Hills Cinerama theater in Omaha Nebraska is demolished, The Cinerama here in Seattle will be one of two remaining theaters in the U.S. capable of showing Cinerama format films. Too bad there aren't too many of those floating around anymore. I count myself lucky to have seen Lawrence of Arabia in 70mm there, but recently I've run into several audio problems there. Very surprising.
Last night we took Bill out for his birthday. Gathered a crew at Baccano's for a dinner. I didn't coordinate the surprise too well, as Bill showed up first and caught a bunch of folks trickling in. A good time was had by all, though the service was ridiculously slow. A true European dining experience.
Found out Jason's wife Jamie quite Drugstore and is hanging out now, taking tennis lessons, watching Oprah... I've gotta admit, it sounds pretty nice.
I'm getting a haircut today, flipping through Vanity Fair, and I read in an article about Marky Mark that he has a third nipple. I can't help wondering, I wonder where the hell it is. Do they put makeup on it if he has to take his shirt off for a scene? They're remaking Charade (the Cary Grant, Audrey Hepburn flick) with Marky Mark and Thandie Newton in the lead roles. I'm not sure how I feel about that. No, I am. Mark is entertaining, but Cary Grant? I don't think so.
6 days until RAMROD. Alright, I tried avoiding the subject, but when Mount Rainier stands in the road before you, how do you ignore it? Gotta put in my 100 miles tomorrow. Almost as unpleasant as that is the thought of getting up at 6 in the morning on a Saturday. Gotta just hang on for one more week, and then reclaim my social life.

Lance wins at Alp D'Huez!

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All day he stayed at the back, looking almost like he was in trouble. And then, at the base of the Alp, he gave Ullrich a look back, turned it on, and just separated from everyone else. Unbelievable stuff. At the finish, he punched the air with his right fist with a defiant expression.
The premier endurance athlete in the world does it again, putting 2 minutes on Ullrich. Still not in yellow yet, but it's only a matter of time if he maintains this kind of form.

Genes

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The theme of the day is genes.
I read an excerpt from Richard Dawkin's The Selfish Gene and found the whole premise of the book fascinating. Organisms don't use genes to reproduce. Instead, genes use organisms to propagate themselves. I am being used by my genes for their dirty mission of propagation. I am a mere puppet of pollination.
Well, all I have to say is, my genes are doing a lousy job.
I think the uber tennis genes conspired to get Steffi Graf and Andre Agassi together. Now they're close to success--Graf is pregnant with Andre's baby. Whoa, now if there was ever a kid who was in risk of having oppressive tennis parents. Of course, with Andre's hand-eye coordination and Steffi's athleticism, the kid will be jump roping with the umbilical cord as soon he or she is out of the womb.
The amazing genetics in Lance Armstrong were lucky when, with the aid of some serious chemotherapy, he survived a bout with testicular cancer. And managed, with the help of modern medicine, to preserve some of his sperm before the intense treatment so that he could have a baby with his wife Kristin after he recovered. Well, tomorrow is the first mountain stage of the Tour, and it's time for Lance to go to work. Heras and the other boys of USPS have to launch him off the front, and the stage ends with the incomparable L'Alpe D'Huez. I'll be glued to my set. It's moving day. It's going to be fascinating to see if Lance can put everyone away like he's done in the past. He looks strong. We'll see.
If Napster had genes, they would be upset. The government has managed to take it down, amazingly. I now realize that any sites that want to replicate Napster's business model legally will have serious issues because the courts and the music labels will come down on them with tremendous resources. The only way Napster can be replaced is with something distributed across the citizens of the Net. The music is still out there in the form of CDs, and the software to turn music into MP3s is still available. All that's needed is the software to link people up, to present a front-end interface that allows for easy search and retrieval. Unfortunately, it will take a Robin Hood to create it, because there isn't much money in that direction now, what with the courts breathing down Napster's necks, and the music labels hogging all their music for themselves. The digital music efforts by the music labels right now are pathetic and will take years to perfect. Micropayments will help, but until then, I mourn the extinction of Napster. It's actually reduced my music purchases, though the labels would never believe me.
The genes for movies of the Final Fantasy genre are not in good shape. The film, which took $113 million to make, only pulled in $11.4 million this weekend, despite opening with $5 million on a Wednesday! Ouch. It finished in fourth place behind Legally Blonde, The Score, and Cats and Dogs. I was surprised Legally Blonde finished first, as I hadn't seen any trailers for it. I was not surprised Final Fantasy had a relatively weak opening:

  • The trailers did not impress me with any recognizable storyline or human characters I should care about. What is the story about, anyway?

  • Most of America was not familiar with the video game. Only gamers, but I think all of them watched it on Wednesday. That left the rest of the world, which mostly could care less about watching some teenage boy cartoon (at least that's what it was perceived to be.

  • The graphics in the trailers on TV looked okay but it's difficult to convey amazing graphics through TV or print

  • Yes, it's impressive that they fully animated a human character, but while that's technically impressive that doesn't really matter to the average moviegoer, who wants to see interesting, realistic characters, and the ones in Final Fantasy still can't compare to live actors

  • American adults are skeptical about the idea of serious animated films. The average American adult thinks of animated films as being for kids, or being comedies with adult sensibilities, like Shrek. I bet Final Fantasy performs much better in Japan, where anime and manga are highly respected as serious storytelling mediums.


Having said that, I will probably go see Final Fantasy because I do think animation can tell serious stories, and I find the technical achievement to be a milestone in film history.

Weekend with sprinkles

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I find it easier to remember than to forget. Is it always so?
Ralph Ellison said that all novels are about minorities. The minority of the individual. I think that's how I feel about my life.
Totally unexpected, a weekend for small reunions. Spent morning/early afternoon with old roommate Scott on Saturday. Had dim sum in the International District and caught a flick. Missed the movie we wanted to see so settled for the next one showing, Kiss of the Dragon, which turned out to be horrible. I'd seen everything else at Pacific Place. Poor Scott. Fortunately, he's a good person to see a bad movie with, as we spent the whole time cracking ourselves up over the painful dialogue and filler scenes.
Then, a surprise visit from Aunt Wan-Li and Uncle Tom and cousin Julius this weekend. So spent some time showing them the city this weekend, though they were very capable tourists, covering a lot of the city with a few tours. They hit probably ever major sight and probably know more about the city than I do. I certainly ate well, probably too well, in their company.
Audrey called and while my relatives were out on the underground tour I jumped out to watch The Score with her. A much better movie than KOTD, though it plays more like acting class than a seamless film. Everything around the three actors, the other supporting cast, the scenery, the storyline, seems to be secondary to watching the three of them act. I would have liked to see Marlon Brando play his character as flamboyantly gay, as he was rumored to want to do. I'm glad the camera stayed above the waist, though, as the other rumors about him....well, we'll just leave those alone. I reviewed both of those films, if you're curious.
The only negative of all these unexpected social calls this weekend was that I didn't get out on my bike except for a few hill repeats Saturday late afternoon. Will have to figure out some way to get out and put in a long ride this week somewhere around the business trip to L.A. Marathon bike riding is not an easy hobby to fit into a regular work week. Thankfully, today was a rainy day. I actually quite enjoy this type of weather--real rain sprinkling down in a steady rhythm. Days like this, I like to curl up on the sofa and read, listen to some music, write.
Airline frequent flier programs are so overrated. I have almost 200K miles on United and I tried in vain to book a flight, any flight, this weekend. Those miles are worthless unless you happen to have some amazingly flexible schedule and can just leave anyday over a huge window of time. The only benefit of mileage programs is that you get to board those metallic sardine cans before everyone else so you can suffer a little longer. I should cancel my darn Mileage Plus credit card, it's worthless.
Suddenly, I can't print in IE. The error message?
An error has occurred in the script on this page.
Line: 539
Char: 2
Error: Invalid argument
Code: 0
Res: res://C:\WINNT\system32\shdoclc.dll/preview.dlg
Gee, thanks a lot. When computer programs screw up like this and serve up such cryptic error messages, usually I just uninstall and reinstall the application.
Lance showed great leadership the other day in the team time trial, choosing to wait for two of his teammates after their fall, and choosing to take nearly 1 km turns at the front of the pace line instead of just rotating through like everyone else. But today's stage has put him 35 minutes back of the leader, though none of the folks in today's massive breakaway is expected to be a GC contender. I think it will take him until Friday or Saturday in the Pyrenees to regain the jersey. He's going to have to work hard this year...it's much more competitive than last year, which is great for cycling.
I hung up my newly cramed Crouching Tiger posters today, and I also hung up the prints I purchased in Spain from the Musee Thyssen Bornemisza. Gives the room a bit of a new feel. I raked my arm across the edge of a frame while working and didn't realize until later I'd opened up a gash on my arm and now I have a streak of blood across my sheets. Damn. On a positive note, I like the way the art looks hanging up on my walls.
I realized today, I'm one of those types of folks who has a definite streak of mainstream taste in him. Most movies put out are junk, but damn it I can't keep myself away from a darkened theater.
Visiting our homepage today, I realized one of the weaknesses of Amazon's recommendations technology. Because I bought a travel guide for my trip to Spain, I've been recommended travel guides to other countries by that same publisher. Of course, it's not likely I'll travel to France and Italy anytime soon. Taking recommendations to the next level will require lots of work. I still never feel like any website out there truly takes into account all my diverse tastes. There are plenty of sites that can take three or four of my purchases and recommend a cluster of related products, but none that will take into account all my tastes.
I guess that's because I'm a minority of one.
[Note: Of course, at Amazon you can refine your recommendations by excluding items from the recommendations technology or changing your ratings, which is a step above most other sites. Those curious to try a site which is trying to take recommendations to the next level can try Media Unbound, which attempts to not pigeonhole you as an R.E.M. lover but to further distinguish among people who like one type of R.E.M. album but not another. Unfortunately, after completing a long but interesting demo, I was recommended a lot of songs off albums I already own. Still, it creates custom playlists which serve as useful radio stations when I'm doing long hours on the computer.]

Ichiro curse

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I am the kryptonite to Ichiro. I went to the Mariners-Giants game today, and once again I saw Ichiro go hitless. I haven't seen him get a hit all year, and that's probably only happened to him a few times. That's the third time I've jinxed him this year. Oh yeah, the Mariners have lost all 3 times I've visited Safeco, and that's pretty odd considering they've only lost 25 times all year.
Bill is unbelievable at that game where they show a picture from some famous player's youth. He always gets it right away. Today it was Jeff Kent and Bill nailed it without a clue.
Beijing won the 2008 summer Olympics today. Istanbul got shafted and came in last with only 9 votes as compared with Beijing's 56. Some folks think the Olympic committee should have denied Beijing again as punishment for their human rights abuses. I'm somewhat on the fence about it, but something tells me sending thousands of hungry reporters to China will force them to clean up their acts. Still, it's eight years away...a lot could happen in that time. Maybe it will be a non issue by then. Plus a boycott is still a possibility.

Finally, victory

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Damn, I just lost another post. I hate when that happens. Blogger needs an autosave function for me.
We finally won our first softball game of the season tonight. We're like 1 and 9 or something like that. We finally had nearly our full team out, and a guy or two here or there made a huge difference in our pitching, defense, offense. We're actually not all that bad. Our best players just haven't showed up all at once this season. I hate losing. We celebrated with beers and burgers at the pub on Mercer and engaged in the type of conversation that only happens in the company of other men. The kind that would get us fired from work in a different setting.
My arms are tiny from all that cycling. The softball bat felt heavy in my hands. I will have to hit the gym after RAMROD is over.
My knee is still a bit sore but I think I'll give it a spin tomorrow. I realized that I haven't been getting enough sleep with all the miles I've been logging. When you ride a lot, you need more sleep, and I've been getting less sleep. I was so exhausted this morning after the trip to L.A. yesterday I was tempted to drink coffee. I'm going to make sure to get my ZZZ's these next two weeks leading up to RAMROD. I can't believe it's just around the corner. I admit, I'm intimidated.
Lance is in decent shape in the Tour, but Ullrich looks very strong this year. Jan probably has more talent than Lance, but Lance has the iron will. Should be a great battle in the mountains. Team time trial tomorrow...if you have OLN, watch it! Beautiful stuff.
Lyle Lovett tomorrow. Think, before Benjamin Bratt (and I believe after Kiefer Sutherland) there was Lyle. Julia, why so fickle?
Our CEO Jeff shared the love with two purchases of sci-fi books by Frederik Pohl the other day. It sent me back to fifth grade(?). I won our class fiction contest and the reward was spending a day with other class winners in the company of Mr. Pohl, a resident of the Chicago suburbs. He read the last paragraph from my story to the group. I remember it was a horror story, about these creatures that escape from a meteorite that crashes in the countryside, eating a few farmers and animals along the way. Why did I write a horror story? I never showed any interest in horror before or after that. Very odd. I must have been disturbed by something. It's buried there in my psyche somewhere. Like my memory of Frederik Pohl. Odd, to have these submerged memories dregged up from the bottom of the lake like that, still blinking. If Jeff hadn't bought those books, would I have ever remembered that incident again?
Summer's in Seattle are always so busy. Barbeque's, concerts on the Pier (three already...I can't keep it up!), basball games, softball, volleyball at Greenlake, cycling, running....and, um, weddings. I have a wedding every weekend in September now. That's nuts! Five weddings to go this year still. Unbelievable. People are getting engaged and then married just a few months later. Polly just sent me the link to their marriage website today.
Bill is going to score us some tix to New Order at the Gorge...yee-ha!
Mark is going to business school next year and is cruising all over Europe right now. I'm jealous that he's going to get a break from the work world, but I don't think I could go to business school. I don't think I could seriously study business at this point in my life.
Read a hundred or so pages of Killing Pablo on the plane yesterday. Pretty quick read, though not as much of a pure page-turner as Black Hawk Down.
Karen's European tour is almost over. I'm really glad she went over there and toured those cities. She's seen more of Europe than I have already.
I look at pictures of kids before the age of like three, and they all look the same to me.
Ken and Derek both might come out and visit in the next month. That would be fun. Haven't had visitors out here in Seattle in a long time.
All sorts of people from my past have just recently dropped me e-mail. It's very odd.
I can't write a full paragraph. My mind can't string coherent sets of thoughts together right now. Stop.

Breakable

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Rode this morning, and my knee acted up big time. Doc says I have some fluid buildup in the knee. It's stiff, sore. Ramrod is going to hurt. Doc things I can make it if I stop pushing big gears up the hills. I didn't tell him I'm already pushing some pretty low gears.
Medication he gave me was powerful. I took some, passed out briefly, and had some crazy visions.
Did a 70 mile ride Saturday with Gilia and her husband Aaron. I've logged over 300 miles since returning from Spain, and it might just be a case of too much, too fast. Still, mortality is humbling.
One oldie that made good: Goran in Wimbledon. Wow. Saw him lose to Andre in the Finals at my uncle's place in Taipei, a long time ago. His win makes me young, in a way.
Off to L.A. tomorrow for a business trip. I hate flying.

Independence Day

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July 4 fell in the middle of the week this year. Strange. Yesterday, as our nation celebrated its independence, Bill and I got up early and rode the ferry over to Bainbridge Island. He hadn't ridden much all year and gamely proposed we do the loop there. I hadn't been there since my first big ride of the season, Chilly Hilly. This time I was better prepared, though I'm still a bit sluggish on the hills. I may just never be a lithe climber. Saw lots of houses for sale, though I don't think I could live there. At the end of our ride, we ran into the Bainbridge 4th of July parade and fair, and I had a hot beef and onion sandwich that was just what I needed at that time.
On the ferry ride back, Bill and I were in front, half asleep, when we heard the ferry blast its horn several times in succession. Bill wondered what that was all about. And then we noticed a sailboat dashing madly across our path under motor. We chuckled to ourselves, thinking, "What idiots."
Later, in the evening, we cruised over to Laura's for a fourth of July pre-party. Parking is hell in Seattle on the fourth. Then we trekked out to Dan's boat in Elliot Bay Marina. As we sat in his boat, waiting for darkness and the fireworks, Dan recounted a story from earlier that day. Turns out he had been over to Bainbridge the night before on his sailboat with Lori. Then, in the morning, they had been cruising over to Seattle when they got in the path of a hard-charging ferry. Those idiots had been Dan! Bill and I could not stop laughing over that coincidence. Seattle has become much too small.
So much going on. Hard to keep track of it all. I shall tick it off CNN style:
Noted local celebrities Todd and Juli plan to wed September 21. Socialite Aaron Rova threw them an engagement party at which yours truly attended and saw many famous faces. Just yesterday, on July 4, yours truly was asked to be a groomsman. Holy smokes! Was, needless to say, quite honored and can't wait for the big day.
My dad decided to accept early retirement from Lucent and is now in search of a teaching job. Huge life change for him, but I know he will make a great teacher of computer science, physics, math...he's gotten three kids through those subjects, and trust me, it wasn't always easy. I'll always remember when he sent me a suggested solution to a difficult physics problem over e-mail, using ASCII art to draw some force diagrams. Awesome. I've got to finish going over his resume and cover letter--wild!
Toni met a boy in France. A French boy. Named Phillipe? Philippe? As soon as she left me and went off to Nerja. A few days with him, and she's ready to marry him, I think. Love is in the air, all around me, but I am the boy in the bubble. Crazy, single American woman meets mysterious French guy in Spain. Who writes this stuff? I am the catalyst. Single woman, just spend some time with me, just a little, and I guarantee you will meet a guy (not me) that you will just adore.
Karen is traipsing around Europe somewhere. Last check she was in Germany. I have no idea where she is now. I just heard about her plans as I left for Spain, and I returned and she was off on a three week backpacking jaunt. Youngest children have the boldest, strangest ideas. I tell you, Sulloway was right on.
Joannie is studying for the bar. I think of the bar, I think of Tom Cruise in The Firm, working by day, studying on his own time, and getting the best score (second best score in the movie, I think) in the state. C'mon Joan, no pressure.
In sports, the Cubs are still in first place but have no offense.
My new favorite phrase (don't ask me where it came from): yee-ha!