August 2008 Archives
Musically, the rest of the summer has been discovering unknown Stones gems on the Underground Garage, listening to the Kaiser Chiefs sing "Ruby" over and over and over, and an unfulfilled intention to put on the Barbarians and listen to Moulty shout out his signature tune for the first time in years. Perhaps today . . . .
First, what the well-decorated apartment looked like in 1924. In the pre-vacuum cleaner days, they apparently put out as many things to collect dust as possible. Since it looks pretty much like my great great aunt's parlor, I can smell it from here.
I found this on Frogsmoke.com, the definitive site for gallophiles, but the direct link is from Googlesightseeing -- as the Google Street Views van goes by, a rollerblader loses his balance, to be captured for eternity on a Paris map.
From Strange Maps, confirmation that the America I live in is not the America the rest of America lives in: regional breakdowns between "soda" and "pop."
Finally, from Found, the best to-do list ever. Sorry, Adam, you're history.
Cool weather in August? I'll take it. The days have been just beautiful, the nights cool and crisp -- it's like September in July. Or something like that. Had a great camping trip over the weekend, got several girls safely in and out of the kayak, built sand castles, and just had a nice couple of days lying on the beach. Today it was time to make up for the lack of riding by taking on Taborton Road, my favorite new climb. Like a dinosaur, flat at both ends but a big climb up the middle. Perfect day for it.
I'm not asking any questions.
In general, road kill counts have been low this year, another side effect of $4 gas, no doubt. All those critters getting through the summer means that much more carbon dioxide they're breathing out, and more global warming, so I've adopted an official policy of no longer swerving to avoid squirrels. Just doing my part to save the planet.
Unfortunately, the men's road cycling race came very early (Sammy Sanchez took it), and so did the women's (and unfortunately Kristin Armstrong, who was getting some nice recognition in an ad campaign from sponsor Cervelo, had a small crash in the extremely wet conditions), so there's just the time trials to look forward to tomorrow, and that's it for the road events.
Stayed up stupidly late last night to watch the men's gymnastics team struggle for bronze with a display that wavered between awe-inspiring and inept. These mistake-based sports, with subjective scoring based on your screw-ups, take a crazy toughness to shake off the missteps.
This hail was much smaller than last time, so it hurt considerably less. But man that cold dowsing does the legs no good -- turns them into painful wood, in fact, so that even if I hadn't had fish swimming in my shoes, I'd have started the slog home. Made my legs ache all night, and I'm not sure they're entirely recovered this morning. When endurance athletes complain about the little things like an ache here or there, it's because every little thing takes an edge off your performance. Suddenly being 8 pounds heavier, 15 degrees colder, and slightly bruised by the ice falling from the sky can really take the edge off.
As for the lightning, I decided to apply the theory that if I kept on moving, there was much less chance I'd take a strike. It was all I had to work with. Please don't tell me I'm wrong.
Even with all those days to work on it, the task exceeded the time, so for now she's still living without things like curtains or doors, and now I'm running out of momentum and wondering why she really needs a door, anyway. I would have hoped that after 17 years in the same house (oh. my. god) I'd be done blaming the previous owners for the conditions of things and would have moved on to blaming myself . . . but honestly, what the hell did they do to these doors? Under the '70s era latex paint, which lifted up like a bad sunburn, the crazed varnish covers marks that could only have been made by a toddler with a disc sander, and that I'm now left wondering how to get out, 'cause regular sanding is hardly touching them. Oy. But the last bit of painting of the trim got done today, so the dropcloths can come up, the furniture put in some approximation of how it's going to be, and we can move on to refilling the room with all the junk that is now distributed throughout the rest of the upstairs. Not that I mind having two violins and a bass guitar in my bedroom, but they don't leave much room for my bicycle or skis.