| Since I'm remembering my junior high years, I thought it might be cool to make my school's colors the theme for today. Of course, the hues of green and yellow - gold they called it - were much more hideous than those displayed here. Blech! I hated wearing any kind of uniform for that school. But they were better than the colors paraded by another local junior high, whose colors were - get this - orange and brown. Hahahaha! Man, I might have hated our colors, but I felt embarrassed for those kids from that other school. |
Today I violated a house rule: I opened and prepared a highly coveted, and expensive, package of macaroni and cheese alone; that is, Dave didn’t get to eat any.
On the phone to him, confessing my crime, he suggested (sentenced me) that I should go get some more. Unh. No. "Tomorrow," I said. Everything is best left to tomorrow. "It’s a holiday and the place might be closed," he reminded me. OK, OK.
I got into some street-worthy clothes and made it out the door around noon - a little later than I would’ve liked considering everyone goes to lunch around that time and from then onward the streets are pretty crowded. An hour later I trotted into the bowels of Itaewon where I hoped to obtain some of that golden synthetic feast-for-two by illegitimate means. The streets were quiet in this area frequented by the US military’s finest, as the riffraff doesn’t start showing up for a few more hours.
I managed to score two boxes of the cheesiest, some refried beans, and a box of Pop Tarts for at least 200% more than the retail price in the States. Total trip time: 3 hours. Is it worth it? You bet.
~~~~
My friend Tom (the scientist) provided his own idea as to why my shirt won't stay put when I exercise:
I have a theory on why your shirt keeps sagging in the back and climbing up the front - wind. The wind is hitting you from the front, therefore pushing against you and thereby pushing the shirt against you. When people jog, people tend to bounce up and down. Since going down is easier than going up, people tend to bounce down a little faster, thus creating a little more friction against
the wind, so the wind pushes a little harder *up*, thus making it seem like the shirt is climbing up.
Of course, your argument for high friction boobs is also very applicable. Except that when I run I get the same problem and I would be depressed if I had boobs. It would mean overweight!!! Eeeek!!!
Yes, but what about your butt? Could it be your butt tugging at your shirttail?
~~~~
The impromptu mac & cheese mission left little time to do much else today, actually. I had all these brilliant plans of getting lots accomplished on the computer, but my little violation foiled all that. I did manage to get a couple of photos scanned and uploaded to my Korea pages, not to mention touching up the ones already there.
Can you tell that lethargy has set in? I used up all the gumption I had to get to and from the black-market and now I’m just a lump. Sorry - nothing thought provoking here today. I have in mind that I want to write about hair soon, but I just don’t have the energy to type in all the words in my brain right now. There is a pile of dishes and a dirty kitchen trying to get my attention. But I’m more worried about the impending jog this evening. I’m thinking my sore hip oughta be excuse enough to call this a rest day. Clap on. Clap off. How old am I? Old enough to have a sore hip from jogging I guess. I’ll blame it on an uneven, paved trail. Yeah. Being out of shape has absolutely nothing to do with it.
Ooo, which reminds me:
Heard Madonna’s Papa Don’t Preach on the radio today, which inspired a serious flashback to age 14, when the song was all over the air waves. It was the summer, and for whatever reason, I didn’t spend a lot of time with my friends. Instead, I biked nearly every day the same route around Beach Dr - I think the mileage totalled around 20-25 miles full circle. I must’ve had nice legs back then. This was in the days before helmuts were ubiquitous and when I openly displayed my walkman, which was blasting loud. These days I’d be harassed off the road by other bikers for such safety violations.
The sparkling reflection of the sun on Puget Sound that summer is burned into my memory. Sometimes, when I think of the times in my life when I was the happiest, I remember those rides. The music in my ears, the exhilaration of movement, and the freedom of the road - these things gave me peace… and self-esteem.
I’ve scarcely ridden since.
|
future
past
index
|