I didn't get to the gym tonight. I went last night. Instead of resting, I felt like a lump so at around 11:30pm I put on my running togs, pulled on a watch cap, stuck my MiniDisc player into one sock, my keys in another, stuck them onto my hands, and hit the road.
Since the rentals of the fine singles down at the Thompsons boat center is discontinued for the season, I am now spending a heck of a lot of time at the WSC.
If you have never been to Hawaii for an extended stay, lived there, grew-up there, or live there, the following will be basically meaningless, unless you're Mark or Leigh, who Grokked it all right away! Aloha!
Here, with Susan Stamberg's footnotes, is the recipe she reads on the air every year: Mama Stamberg's Cranberry Relish Recipe
When I wrote a blog post about what Mark thought I knew, my friends added a bunch...
I asked Mark to put together a list of all the sort of arcane knowledge that he never hesitates to call me about: to plumb my depths of arcana. To follow, the list
First image from my webcam.
History was made on September 29, 2002, when Miss Nicole Wilson acted as peacemaker between 'the old boyfriend' and 'the new boyfriend' at a pot-luck gathering fabricated to be a comfortable and soothing 'Meeting of the Boys.'
According the Journal, Science, the probability of Nicole Wilson being both cute and smart is infinitesimal.
No matter what Flash-blinded web monkeys would have us believe, the Internet is a text-based medium: especially its major discussion forums (IRC and Usenet) where people from all over the world can interact and share information.
As reported by Nicole Wilson, I started running again -- after ten years -- on Sep 24, 2002
When I realized the import of what was going on, I called Michelle Nolan, my recent Ex, and told her that I was jumping into the Jeep and dashing back over to Dupont so that I could collect her from her 10th floor condo, right up the street from the State Department and relatively close to the Executive Branch. And she lives in a Studio apartment, one wall of which is glass. And she lives with our dog Suzi.
Upon returning to the Grotto, my pad, I joined Kate and Isa on the blue Ikea loveseat. They were hunched over, squinting at the little Sony 19" TV with all their might. The room was dark. Kate told me my mom had called to tell me what was going on. When she called, Kate and Isa had turned on the TV. Neither of them watches. Only my obsessive NPR-listening kept me informed as returned from Michelle's.
I returned to the Hill, and was rounding Lincoln park, on 11th Street, SE, and I heard an enormous, muffled, but distant blast. There were rumors on the radio that there was a bomb at the State Department. Michelle works at the State Department.
I must have spent some time with Michelle, as she was under the weather, because on my drive back from Michelle's pad in Dupont, I had the windows rolled down and Morning Edition on the radio. It was then that I heard about the 0850 and 0904 crashes into the World Trade Center. First into the first Twin Tower (as I knew them) and then the second, respectively.
A year ago this morning at 0719, 11 September 2001, I woke up with Michelle. Michelle had recently moved out of our shared apartment and into her new condo in the Chandra Levy building in deepest, darkest Dupont, Washington, DC, US.
Thanks to Michael McLay and GWU, we have a place, a time, and a date for the next Zope Python User Group Meeting. The next ZPug will meet on Saturday, 21 September, 2002, at the Tompkins Hall of Engineering on the GW campus. Rejoice!
I just returned from grabbing my my morning coffee. I usually stop at Starbucks for a Venti Americano. I believe its a few shots of espresso and steaming hot water. I drink it black. The obese woman ahead of me exited the store, at 9am, with a Venti Gargantuan Iced White Mocha Chocolate Frapuccino with whipped cream and chocolate sauce.
Another sweet missive from our globe-trotting Golden Child, Miss Kate Turner. Kate is on her way back soon, from an extended stay in India. In both the palacial homes of friends from Washington, as well as in a Yoga Ashram as an acolyte Yogini. To follow is her latest email to the posse list.
Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Mark, happy birthday to you. How old are you now? How old are you now? As old as a Sow, now? Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you, you live in a Zoo, you look like a monkey and you smell like one too.
I am responding to Nicole Wilson's article entitled "Gyms- Too Gay or To Gaze?" wherein she compares the gym culture of Washington, DC, and Annapolis, MD.
Squeak Squeak! The Rat is dead! Which old Rat? The Wicked Rat! Squeak Squeak! The Wicked Rat is dead.
Well, blissed out in NYC is all I can say.
There is a study I heard reported this morning on NPR that explored the effects of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) on New Yorkers and then on the rest of the nation.
I am freshly home from ten days in the UK. Most of the time was spent in Oxford while attending a conference at the University; the rest was spent with delightful friends nearer to London.
Kuna is such a delicious dreamboat of a little Country Italian cum French Provincial restaurant run like a family joint by the charming and inspired Chef Mark Giuricich.
Because Miss Sarah Connerley and I have been unable to hook up, we met this morning with Miss Michelle Nolan, my darling ex, Miss Kate Turner, my housemate, and Mr. Jonah Bernier Crawford, to enjoy my specialty: homemade crêpes.
I have been going to the gym like a maniac over the last few months. I can see my scores on the Erg improve and I can see a lot more musculature. I felt pretty good about my progress until I accepted an invitation to go on a walk with Nicole Wilson.
I started taking pictures seriously as my dad's shadow at around 9 or 10. As of 2002, that makes my career as a photographer 23-years-old.
There is no way that a 1st world country like the USA should, in such a time of prosperity and economic success, not be willing to assure that all her people are healthy, happy, and wise.