Since there haven't been any comments to this blog other than the one I left, I'm going to keep writing with things that are of interest only to me. I'm sure you've all heard of my Nalgene bottle saga, here's the last of it. If anyone has a bottleless lid, I'll take it off your hands.
The first picture illustrates the horrible scene I encountered when I learned the root cause of the burning plastic smell in my house. As much as I wanted to believe it was coming from outside I knew it was only a matter of time before I found the melted corpse of something plastic. Since I don't clean my kitchen very often, it was days before I came across this poor lid.
The part of the story this picture doesn't tell is where the lid fell through the bottom shelf of the dishwasher so it was impossible to get to the dishes on the bottom. I had to take the jaws of life (kitchen scissors) after it to access my ice cream bowls. It would be days before I had the gumption to break the rest free but at least I could have my evening bowl of Fudge Tracks.
The next picture is the disfigured remains of the lid. It's a damn shame. Can I get a moment of silence for my homie that went down in the struggle? Jim, please, just a moment of silence.
The moral of the story here is relatively self-explanatory, but I'll explain it to you in case you missed it. Do not, under any circumstances whatsoever, leave your ice cream bowls on the bottom shelf of the dishwasher if you're going to be washing your Nalgene bottles. I've also found that the pouring shield for a Kitchenaid mixer has a similar response to the heating element. I wonder if there's a connection.
May God have mercy on your souls,
Judge Sunshiney Ass
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Science Experiment Gone Oh So Wrong
Monday, August 28, 2006
Jim Goes Down
Howdy Folks, I wasn't able to make it to this run personally, but I got the unbiased run report straight from the fingertips of Theresa. I've taken a few liberties with format, but have not changed the text one iota. I've included the e-mail responses as well so that you may feel the love. Enjoy!
Holy freakin news flash Batman!!
During this morning's run the unmentionable happened! Take a seat folks cuz this is big.
Bad Jim must've been a tad fatigued from yesterday's run, when he exerted a huge amount of energy talking the ear off of the New-Guy-Whom-We-Will-Never-See-Again. In typical BJ fashion, Jim started up with the poor soul seconds after we started; "What's your name? (feigning interest). I'm Jim, they call me Bad Jim, but they're all wrong. I'm really quite nearly perfect and I take these guys on the most interesting runs they've ever been on........." You get the idea. The Jim autobiography channel was in full swing. Generally he starts with the present and works backward chronologically, covering every Jim-significant event in his life, with barely a breath between paragraphs. It should be noted that I've know Jim for over 6 years and I've only made it back to the 3rd grade with his retrospective. Ogle murmured to me that we'd never see this guy again before we'd even gone back 2 weeks! "Oh, then there was this b-i-i-i-g controversy about who would pay for the towels first. The loser would have to wrap them all................" he droned on, mile after mile. New Guy started to look dazed. Nancy Ogle stumbled and fell, then several minutes later rolled her ankle and went down again. She said she didn't know what happened, she was just telling New Guy (NG) about the history of the Boulders and down she went. NG quietly said to Jim, "I somehow feel responsible." This sent the group into spasms of laughter and inquiries as to if he was a Mr. Wonderful in Training. "Well..." he started to reply, when BJ jump-started his motor mouth and was off on another story...."That's ok, let me tell you how they treat nice guys. One night I was running with these 2 ladies, and it was dark, and they had headlights and I didn't, and they set an ambush for me. Oh it was terrible!! They jumped out from behind this tree here, and YELLED at me! After all I've done for them! A travesty I tell you, a travesty!" Poor NG tried several tactics to distance himself from the rambling runner. He slowed down, Jim slowed down, he sped up, Jim slowed up. Finally he resigned himself to his fate. You could see it in his posture, he just sagged. Nogle observed that at this point all he could probably hear was the 'wah,wah,wah,wa wah' of Charlie Brown's teacher.
But I digress.
This morning we started off, Nancy, Bruce myself and Motor Mouth. It was your typical Sunday run. Bruce was tired and had a false start right at the beginning. The terrain was not fit for a recent sprained ankle and at one point we found ourselves trotting through 6 foot high cornstalks like something out of a movie scene. Bruce said he felt like he was in a carwash. Nancy was wildly flailing her arms in front of her, trying to beat her way through the seaweed-like, choking stalks. Jim was babbling away, as usual, completely oblivious to the group's distress, once in a while yelling, "TRAIL!!", as if we'd fall for that remark. Theresa took to yelling, "field!" just to remind him that a trail is not defined as the space between 2 rows of corn. After we'd been underway for about 40 min. Jim thought he'd be a smart aleck and take us on a winding single track that eventually popped out about 75 yards from the point we'd gone into the track. 10 minutes into it, it happened. He tripped over a tree root, that had been spray painted a bright neon orange to alert bikers/runners!! Down he went, like a rock! Folks, he was SPEECHLESS!!!! So were we for that matter. We could hear the birds chirping, the wind in the tree tops, and the pitter patter of rain on the canopy above us, he was so quiet! He sat there for far less than the allotted 3 minutes, set his jaw (after informing us all that he'd heard something snap), got up and strode off. We followed. After a few minutes he started jogging again, but was still unnaturally quiet. Nancy broke the silence finally by saying that she'd figured it out. She was getting an unnecessary amount of attention due to her baseball sized ankle, and Jim was feeling threatened. Hence the spill. You could tell that broke the ice because Jim started off again, slowly to be sure, but he did build up speed. "That's right, it isn't all about you Nancy, it's about me and my needs, and I need to get you people out of these woods. Now I've just snapped the bone in my lower leg, but I know that if I don't suck it up and lead you out, that you'll all be stranded here for days. When I was a sophomore in high school I took a trip to Acapulco, Mexico. I had to resuce the whole group of us from a gay pick-pocket that was on the bus we took after we got off the plain in Madrid......."
Sandwiched there, somewhere in between the running saga of Jim's Amazing Life is the news of the century. Jim went down.
Editor's Note: This story was used with permission from Granny Apple Run Reports Syndicate&trade.Jim Strikes Back
Don't worry, I'm recovering well in the ICU. After weeks of therapy I will once
again be fearlessly leading you on adventures of a lifetime. Until then flowers,
gifts and hot meals can be delivered to 60 Williamstown Road in care of "Bad Jim". I love you all.
~Bad Jim
Editor's Note: Right. I'll leave something hot and steamy on your doorstep.Jim's Mouth Puts Him in the ICU
Only Jim would imagine himself in the ICU after a mere broken leg. I'm thinking he's in the ICU because he was talking the ears off of the ER staff and they took preventitive measures ( mallet to the side of his head to shut him up) and the results bought him a bed in ICU. David, can you get the scoop when you go to work tomorrow?
~Theresa
I hope you found this story enlightening and enjoyable. I know I did, the snot on my monitor and coffee on my keyboard will attest to that. Sorry I missed the run.
Saturday, August 26, 2006
The New Guy Cometh
It's been a while since I've run with the Crazy Running Group but like riding a bike, the ability to banter comes right back. For a long time now I've felt that what this group needed more than anything (excluding therapy) was a blog. The e-mail depictions of runs are fantastic for getting the truth out to the masses quickly, but don't lend themselves to easy compilation in the event of a book deal. As you may have noticed, this is entry #2 already. Check!
Yesterday's e-mail inviting the entire Berkshire County running community to a run organized by Nancy also included a Saturday morning run in the Boulders. If you read my recount of yesterday's run, you'll know that not even Mr. Wonderful showed up for the run. I was in the area on [ahem] other business, so I joined her, but that's another story. Anyway, this morning's run was at 7:00 from some obscure church hidden in the twisty neighborhoods behind Sherwin Williams. You need a freaking decoder ring to navigate that rat's nest of a street layout.
As I pulled into the parking lot, I saw a vehicle off to one side. I parked next to it and saw that it was Paul. Paul is a regular with the Thursday Night Run in Kennedy Park, and the Saturday 6:30 AM Run in Richmond, but has never tempted fate by running the the Crazy Running Group. When asked how he heard about this particular run, he mentioned Theresa's e-mail but said he had gone to the Richmond run at 6:30 and nobody else showed up. "So we were second choice" someone blurted out, to which Paul quickly responded "Yeah, a distant second". Oh Paul, you'll make such a nice addition to the group.
Not unlike the keen eye you use to look over your house when guests arrive - the one that notices little things like the pile of cat vomit you've been stepping over for days and have come to accept as something that belongs there - I kept my mind's eye open for certain things we've come to take for granted, but that might seem odd to a newcomer. For example, Rule #1 of trail running is to wait at intersections for the whole group to catch up so nobody gets lost. Physical contact is often required because you can't always assume people saw which way you went and you don't want anyone bitching at you for leaving them behind. Anyway, about 30 feet into the run, nature gave Paul a jingle and he had to whiz. It may have seemed odd to him that I stopped with him and placed my hand on his shoulder while he took care of business. As a courtesy, I barely even watched. Once Rule #1 was further explained, he understood.Caring for the Granny Apple
Ever since her return from Iceland (right, there's a whole country made of ice? I don't believe it. Do they live in gingerbread houses there?) Theresa's been recovering from some marathon. Since "Iceland" is outside of the US of A, they undoubtedly use that newfangled measurement system, the Metric System. That means a marathon is only 26.2 km, which translates roughly to 16.279925237 American miles. I've broken wind for longer than it takes to run that far. Anyway, we were taking turns running with Theresa so she didn't get lonely or slip and break a hip. I hear that runs in her family.Paul Gives Mr. Wonderful a Run for his Money
Throughout the run, we would hear things coming from somewhere in the woods that sounded like Mr. Wonderful was talking, but he was nowhere to be found. "Who keeps saying and doing all of those wonderful things?" It turned out that it was Paul. Now, let me back the story up a few months to help set the stage for what will undoubtedly send Mr. Wonderful into full-fledged wonderfulness...
When your humble narrator was dubbed "Judge Sunshiney Ass", Mr. Wonderful - completely out of character - complained that it took him years to get a nickname while I waltzed in and got one within months. To reuse a saying from the last post "Don't hate the player, hate the game". It's not my fault, sometimes the nickname just finds you.
Back to the story. At one point I was taking my turn tending to Granny Apple, covering Bad Jim's shift while he pinched a loaf in the woods. Paul and Nancy were leading the pack about 20 yards ahead (thats 18.288 meters, Theresa) when Nancy "I don't remember the last time I fell" Ogle slipped and fell on her ass. It was the right cheek to be exact. No sooner did her heiny meat make contact with the stone than Paul proclaims "I can't help but to feel responsible". We helped Nancy up, reset the OSHA sign to "0 Days Since Nancy Fell in the Woods", waited the compulsory 3 minutes for her to recover and pressed on. Sure, Mr. Wonderful would have offered to brush the dirt from Nancy's ass, but I don't see him taking responsibility for a terrain-induced slip. Paul was dubbed "Mr. Wonderful Jr."
Not only did poor Mr. Wonderful (soon to be Bruuuuuuuuce again) have to work for years to earn his name, but now a newcomer saunters in and commandeers it. Sure, Paul has to show up again to be considered a real member of the group, but the nickname's waiting for him. He'll even have his own towel at Lea's house.What's the Rule on Salamanders?
Sensing that there is a rule for absoultely everything, Mr. Wonderful Jr. asked what the rule was on the orange salamanders scattered about the trail. Being such a Wonderful guy, he instinctively assumed that you were supposed to avoid them at all costs. Bad Jim quickly chimed in from his position as the FRB, Front Running Bastard (Theresa, I used the acronym!!!) and suggested that there was actually a point system associated with the salamanders:
Should you manage to step on two salamanders mid-coitus you would receive 200 points. If you squashed them reveling in their post-coital afterglow you would receive only 100 points. "How can you tell if they've finished?" you may ask. Simple - one will be snoring and the other smoking a cigarette.The EMS Commercial
Oh, the commercial... The run began with the theme music of an EMS commercial playing softly in the background. Having read the memo, Paul, Bad Jim and I all showed up in our Burnt Orange EMS Techwick shirts. If you listened carefully you could hear the narrator in the background saying things like "EMS Techwick, strong enough for a man but we'll sell it to anyone" or "EMS Techwick: Badass Gear for Badass Dudes (cut to shot of Bad Jim's shoe squashing a pair of newlywed salamanders)".
So that's about it, friends. All told the ran lasted about 80 minutes, but between Nancy's tush-buster and her other assorted twists and sprains, plus constantly having to wait for Granny Apple we probably only ran about 20 minutes of it. What's most important is that Mr. Wonderful Jr. was able to join us. Hopefully he'll do his homework assignment tomorrow and press Fred for details.
That's all I have to say about that.
-Judge Sunshiney Ass
And it Begins...
There I was, sitting in the parking lot overlooking the girls' soccer practice. Carefully camouflaged in my Subaru station wagon mom-mobile, nobody would expect me to be a perv just waiting for a chance to help with an errant ball. "Here you are sweety, I believe this belongs to you." Nope, I had my shades on, teenager-attracting Dave Matthews Band on the Hi-Fi and Gatorade in the Nalgene bottle. All I had to do was wait...
The next thing I know, Nancy is knocking on my window. "Oh hey Nancy, I was ... just ... about .... (noting her running gear) to go for a run. You too?" Phew, the short shorts and sneakers helped corroborate my story; now I just had to actually run to remove all suspicion from my story.
Okay, some of that may or may not actually be true, but it's a good way to break into a new blog. The real truth was that Nancy had been crying in her SUV over how nobody would show up to her run. The telltale mascara streaks had dripped onto her thigh-high snakeskin running boots, the trail of sob-snot had reached her lower lip; it was evident that Nancy was upset. She even had Theresa send out the e-mail as if she were the one organizing the run in the hopes that anyone, anyone at all would show up. Being the nice guy that I am and not wanting to have to register as "an offender" in yet another state, I ran with her.
It wasn't long before we came across a dog yapping behind a screen door. This remound (past tense of remind for you illiterate folks) me of a CoolRunning thread I read earlier in the day about what to do in the event of a dog attack. There are different schools of thought on this; I'll offer the ones I have found to be the most effective then I'll continue with the story.
1.) Be the Alpha Male (ladies have to hide behind the men). Stop and look the dog right in the eye, and command him to "STOP!". 95% of the time the dog will respect the fact that you are the alpha and will actually stop.
2.) Bust out your pepper spray. This technique works well but has the one flaw that you must be close enough to the dog to actually hit him in the eyes. At this point his teeth are on either side of your jugular and you've disabled yourself by spraying your own eyes. Remember people, gun control means using both hands (De La Soul reference).
3.) Not be the slowest one. This technique has been called many things over the years but relies on the simple fact that when giving chase, a predator will feast on whichever of the prey it can sink its teeth into first. This is especially effective when being chased by several predators, as they will not respond to "Alpha Male" commands.
Jim.) WWJD? "Oh dear, a canine is chasing us. What would (Bad) Jim do?" Since Bad Jim uses his full mental capacity to talk about himself, change conversations to include topics he knows about, tell stories praising his good qualities and so on, he relies on instinct for every other aspect of trail running. His natural instinct in a dog/bear/wild turkey/cougar attack is to rely on Tactic #3. In the rare event that he might not be able to escape completely unscathed, he will rely on Tactic #Jim, quite simply: push someone down and run. Tactic #Jim can also be modified to include any of an assortment of sayings as you run from the soon-to-be victim: "Peace Bitch", "Oops", and "Don't hate the player, hate the game" all come to mind.
So where was I? Oh yeah, after relaying the entire thread to Nancy who certainly didn't give a rat's ass (thanks for listening though), she started to say "I've never been in that situation..." [insert the loud, deep bark of an untethered man-killer]. Instinctively, I put myself directly into harm's way, preparing to command the dog to stop or at least allow it to gnaw my delicious neck meat while Nancy escaped. Fortunately they had one of those electonic dog fences around the property so the dog stopped well before the first drop of pee hit my sock.
After that, we dodged large trucks heavily laden with logs and road construction machinery. I almost stepped into a snake den hidden by a bale of hay. It turned out that there was no snake den there, but I would have certainly stepped right into it if there had been.
When we returned to the cars, the girls soccer practice was nearly wrapping up. Thanks a lot Nancy, I missed the whole thing. I bragged about my new Nalgene bottle complete with sippy-cup insert. I was so excited about this sippy-cup thing because I usually spill half of my drink all down my face and onto my chiseled abs (which makes the mascara six-pack enhancement lines run). In a quick demonstration of my awesome new toy, I proceded to dump Gatorade all down my face and shirt. It turns out that there is still a limit to how far back you can tip the bottle before it comes out the air-hole side of the sippy-cup thingie. Stupid sippy-cup thingie should have come with a warning. What if I was drinking bleach? I would have ruined my new shirt!
Well, that's all I have to say about that. My ruling is final.
-Judge Sunshiney Ass
Who We Are
The Real Running Friends is a group of Berkshire County runners who, despite having varied backgrounds, have somehow found eachother. You may find me referring to this group less formally as the Crazy Running Group. I'll leave that story for someone else to tell; they were crazy long before I came along.
I was standing naked in the shower this morning, picking pieces of sock and other detritus from my toenails when I had an epiphany! I've lived right here in Berkshire County, USA for over six years now and have, until today, been unable to figure out what the hell is wrong with everyone. I was thinking up humorous ways to describe the people in the Crazy Running Group when it dawned on me that this group is the running analog to the movie/book Fight Club. Instead of bloody knuckles and black eyes you'll find bruised egos, broken bones and emotional scarring so thick it shows through the skin.
In one scene in the movie they were threatening to remove the testicles of an older gentleman in the men's room of a fancy restaurant as Brad Pitt narrated. He spoke over the scene describing how they were the people who "mow your lawns, cook your food, drive your cabs, wash your clothes", etc. This scene really made me think, and as I was removing a hunk of lint from my blackened toenail it dawned on me that what was wrong with Berkshire County as a whole was not that our taxes were too high, our stores too ghetto or our homes too quaint. It was something more fundamental; that people from the Crazy Running Group are in influential positions. We have parents, nurses, teachers, highschool coaches, doctors, business owners (including a liquor store, the heathens), nuclear submarine engineers, and so on as card carrying members. Jeez, announce one well-organized trail run outside the county and lock the gate behind these delinquents. And do it on a Sunday when they should be in church anyway just to really drive the point home.
So anyone wishing to be notified of future runs should contact Theresa (I won't publish her e-mail address here) to be added to the list. Should you later decide that this was all a big mistake you will continue to receive e-mails on an hourly basis regarding people you don't know and topics that seem insane. Your best bet is to not let anyone know where you live, see what you drive or find your phone number until you're certain you can tolerate this bunch. And for God's sake, if you live near a trail keep your mouth shut unless you want to be awakened at 6:30 in the morning by muddy people banging on the door demanding coffee, Diet Pepsi and donuts, and fouling up your plumbing with reckless abandon.
Did I miss anything?
-Judge Sunshiney Ass