We've been mostly non-drinkers lately - since before Christmas we've drank on maybe 6 or 7 occasions at most, and those always on weekend nights.
It's been something of a challenge - though I'm pretty sure by now that I'm not an alcoholic, I *do* like my beer, and its effects (up till the next morning anyway), very much, and I miss it.
Between that, no smoking indoors, no cable TV, no computer access, new place, and keeping the cats inside, life is very different at the Miller homestead lately. There are benefits and rewards, but they appear rather slowly -- had lunch with friends last Friday, and they were the first people to say I've lost weight, and that was really (really!) inordinately gratifying to me. Terrie never thinks I'm overweight. I know I am overweight.
Christ, I rode my bike 60 miles last week and over 50 so far this week, and of course have been getting that steady exercise for almost a year, and till now have had no visible sign that anything is different from the days of drinking 9 beers every other night, not exercising at all, smoking two packs a day, eating fast food frequently, and (perhaps most insidious) living with the daily prospect of being Larry Morrow's right-hand man at SBT.
I've not been happy with my body for almost ten years now; thru my first 35 years or so, I was skinny, and always thought of obesity as a sign of laziness, ill-health, maladjustment, and then there came a day when I looked in the mirror and was recognizably FAT myself! Irregular spates of exercise, at times, have started to work, but I never kept at it. Biking is obviously not the best thing for reducing the belly (non-drinking definitely is, though!), but slowly but surely, the cumulative effect is working.
Now I face a bachelor party and the prospect of drinking (tomorrow) with mixed feelings. I've looked forward to having (many) beers on this day, and probably will...
Friday, April 20, 2001
Took the bike in for tune-up yesterday; it's raining anyway. But I miss my morning ride and the feeling of accomplishment in getting another 15 miles behind me... I'll get it back Sunday, and hope to ride most days next week (and pass 1000 miles), preparatory to VACATION in the DESERT and GETTING MARRIED!
There's a new kind of handlebar post I'm going to try; it allows for an angular adjustment, giving up to two inches of additional height.
I drove some of the backroads on the way home last night. Orchard Station Road is pretty cool; it turns back on itself among some pretty impressive hills (the map doesn't really do it justice). Maybe I'll try it on a weekend.
Donuts; the place where I get my morning latte sells them, and there's always a fat person coming in and buying bunches, carefully selecting the custard- and jelly-filled, and/or old-fashioned, chocolate, sprinkles, glazed, and whatnot. There was a time (1973 or 4, I guess, when I had quit high school and moved to live with friends in Michigan), when I lived just down the street from a donut shop, and I'd count my pennies and go there first thing in the morning to get freshly-made donut holes (2 cents each!). Still warm from the oven, they were delicious to me at the time - among my favorite "foods" - now the smell almost makes me puke sometimes. I can't think of much of anything else for which my taste has changed so radically. I suppose it's a good thing - I don't NEED to be eating donuts!
Python (2000): Sometimes you think you "want to see a bad movie," but you may find that what you REALLY want is to see a GOOD bad movie. The tendency to show off and overdo it when panning a truly crappy can of film like this is well-documented; I will avoid that here, like I should have avoided this movie. But then I note in the IMDB reviews that some moron calls it "V. tongue-in-cheek, (with cheesy FX and hammy acting.)" I didn't get that sense from it at all. Cheesy effects, yes; hammy acting, yes; tongue in cheek? The actors in this movie that I've seen in other (also cheesy) movies have ALWAYS been hammy. Casper van Dien? Puh-LEEZ!! William Zabka? Leaves a trail of bacon all the way back to Karate Kid! Sean Whalen as the deputy in this stinker is the only one whose hamminess bore any trace of his tongue being anywhere near his (upper) cheek... One star (out of ten) for unintentional humor, killing Van Dien early, and educational value -- what NOT to do in a movie.
There's a new kind of handlebar post I'm going to try; it allows for an angular adjustment, giving up to two inches of additional height.
I drove some of the backroads on the way home last night. Orchard Station Road is pretty cool; it turns back on itself among some pretty impressive hills (the map doesn't really do it justice). Maybe I'll try it on a weekend.
Donuts; the place where I get my morning latte sells them, and there's always a fat person coming in and buying bunches, carefully selecting the custard- and jelly-filled, and/or old-fashioned, chocolate, sprinkles, glazed, and whatnot. There was a time (1973 or 4, I guess, when I had quit high school and moved to live with friends in Michigan), when I lived just down the street from a donut shop, and I'd count my pennies and go there first thing in the morning to get freshly-made donut holes (2 cents each!). Still warm from the oven, they were delicious to me at the time - among my favorite "foods" - now the smell almost makes me puke sometimes. I can't think of much of anything else for which my taste has changed so radically. I suppose it's a good thing - I don't NEED to be eating donuts!
Python (2000): Sometimes you think you "want to see a bad movie," but you may find that what you REALLY want is to see a GOOD bad movie. The tendency to show off and overdo it when panning a truly crappy can of film like this is well-documented; I will avoid that here, like I should have avoided this movie. But then I note in the IMDB reviews that some moron calls it "V. tongue-in-cheek, (with cheesy FX and hammy acting.)" I didn't get that sense from it at all. Cheesy effects, yes; hammy acting, yes; tongue in cheek? The actors in this movie that I've seen in other (also cheesy) movies have ALWAYS been hammy. Casper van Dien? Puh-LEEZ!! William Zabka? Leaves a trail of bacon all the way back to Karate Kid! Sean Whalen as the deputy in this stinker is the only one whose hamminess bore any trace of his tongue being anywhere near his (upper) cheek... One star (out of ten) for unintentional humor, killing Van Dien early, and educational value -- what NOT to do in a movie.
Thursday, April 19, 2001
Okay, here's another old-fogey thing that you always hear.
In my lifetime, I've witnessed an information revolution that has profoundly changed the quality of (north american and western european) life.
When I was a kid, we got maybe five TV stations reliably, and we had radio and records. And books.
Now, we still have all that, AND we can potentially get hundreds of TV channels clear as a bell, or we can go to a nearby store and choose from among thousands of VHS and DVD recordings. We have CDs, tapes, minidiscs, MP3s (all of which have contributed to a revolution in re-releases of stuff that was rare on LPs).
Potentially, at a moment's notice, you can develop an interest in Dwight David Eisenhower, find a huge amount of biographical info on the web, and see and hear him speaking though he's been dead for 30 years. You can see and hear Dori Seda (if you can find "Gap-Toothed Women"). You can view the Marx Brothers' home movies, see interviews with their grown-up children, see George Fenneman talking about Groucho behind the scenes on the "You Bet Your Life" game show. You can take in a full live performance by Jimi Hendrix as if it was happening now and you were sitting on the edge of the stage. And you can do it all within an hour of deciding you want to.
Why this came to mind? We watched the documentary "Satchmo" last night, and I recalled hearing that he had died in 1971, and knowing almost nothing about him. How extraordinarily fortunate we are, to be able to see him in action on a videotape now! To be able to stop and rewind to see part of it again. To feel, in a very real way, that we *know* Pops now, almost as if we had met him -- and better, maybe, than some of his biggest fans during his heyday ever got a chance to know him...
Further, we can record our own lives in ways that simply weren't available a generation ago. When I was a kid, my stepdad had a super-8 movie camera - revolutionary in its time (and the source of much of the "home-movie" material you see in these documentaries) - and he could film us, take the film in, and get a movie back in a week or so. Now, I can film something and view it immediately afterwards on my TV. As a musician, I can record myself playing several instruments at once through the magic of digital overdubbing, burn it on a CD, and write and print the liner notes in color, producing a product that's virtually indistinguisable from what you buy in a store, all in a matter of a couple of hours.
It is nothing short of miraculous, the information that's available to us today via all sorts of media.
And kids these days, they just take it all for granted, don't they. :-)
In my lifetime, I've witnessed an information revolution that has profoundly changed the quality of (north american and western european) life.
When I was a kid, we got maybe five TV stations reliably, and we had radio and records. And books.
Now, we still have all that, AND we can potentially get hundreds of TV channels clear as a bell, or we can go to a nearby store and choose from among thousands of VHS and DVD recordings. We have CDs, tapes, minidiscs, MP3s (all of which have contributed to a revolution in re-releases of stuff that was rare on LPs).
Potentially, at a moment's notice, you can develop an interest in Dwight David Eisenhower, find a huge amount of biographical info on the web, and see and hear him speaking though he's been dead for 30 years. You can see and hear Dori Seda (if you can find "Gap-Toothed Women"). You can view the Marx Brothers' home movies, see interviews with their grown-up children, see George Fenneman talking about Groucho behind the scenes on the "You Bet Your Life" game show. You can take in a full live performance by Jimi Hendrix as if it was happening now and you were sitting on the edge of the stage. And you can do it all within an hour of deciding you want to.
Why this came to mind? We watched the documentary "Satchmo" last night, and I recalled hearing that he had died in 1971, and knowing almost nothing about him. How extraordinarily fortunate we are, to be able to see him in action on a videotape now! To be able to stop and rewind to see part of it again. To feel, in a very real way, that we *know* Pops now, almost as if we had met him -- and better, maybe, than some of his biggest fans during his heyday ever got a chance to know him...
Further, we can record our own lives in ways that simply weren't available a generation ago. When I was a kid, my stepdad had a super-8 movie camera - revolutionary in its time (and the source of much of the "home-movie" material you see in these documentaries) - and he could film us, take the film in, and get a movie back in a week or so. Now, I can film something and view it immediately afterwards on my TV. As a musician, I can record myself playing several instruments at once through the magic of digital overdubbing, burn it on a CD, and write and print the liner notes in color, producing a product that's virtually indistinguisable from what you buy in a store, all in a matter of a couple of hours.
It is nothing short of miraculous, the information that's available to us today via all sorts of media.
And kids these days, they just take it all for granted, don't they. :-)
0.0.
Rain last night; left the bike here and got a ride home. Rain forecasted for the rest of the week, I think. Still, got some fifty miles from riding Saturday, Monday, and Wednesday, so doing okay.
Old guy (1) at the coffee place this morning, to some other guy (2): "How many senses do you have in your brain?"
Guy 2: "Well, I think there's at least five..."
Guy 1: "Senses like taste and smell."
Guy 2: "And there's the sixth sense, like perception..."
Guy 1: "You got it... there's a seventh sense too."
Guy 2: (More hemming and hawing, not all that interested in this conversation with a stranger.)
Guy 1: "There's COMMON sense. And there's an eighth sense, too."
Guy 2: "I don't know what that one is."
Guy 1: "HORSE sense."
Guy 2: "Well, not everybody has that sense."
Guy 1: "You know what horse sense is?"
Guy 2: ...
Guy 1: "It's knowing stuff about horses."
Me: "Horses have the sense to not gamble on humans."
Guy 1: "I used to have a horse. I really respected that horse. And there's the (something sounding like 'remora')... (trying to drag me into his enthralling conversation...), I bet THIS guy knows what it is."
Me: (Leaving as quickly as possible) "See you guys."
I imagine he'd have gotten eventually to the "Sense of HUMOR," as perhaps the ninth or tenth sense... But counting common sense and horse sense as two separate things is a bit questionable (because horse sense, in typical usage, is NOT 'knowing about horses'). And really, counting either as a SENSE, parallel to sight, hearing, touch, is a stretch. But this is what makes up small talk for the old guys who don't have much to do, and who sit at the coffee shop in the morning, trying to engage strangers in conversation.
The subtext is that Guy 1 is a wise and witty and interesting man, and whether or not his listener is hanging on every word, his words are worth hanging on, though the thoughts behind them have been expressed better a thousand times...
What other senses can we think of? A sense of futility, perhaps... A sense of shame.
Maybe another sense is the lack of sensation, where things just have no effect at all.
I feel a tremendous sense of sadness when I see these old men who've spent a lifetime working toward this kind of retirement, and I hope they are finding some sense of fulfillment in those moments at the coffee shop...
Rain last night; left the bike here and got a ride home. Rain forecasted for the rest of the week, I think. Still, got some fifty miles from riding Saturday, Monday, and Wednesday, so doing okay.
Old guy (1) at the coffee place this morning, to some other guy (2): "How many senses do you have in your brain?"
Guy 2: "Well, I think there's at least five..."
Guy 1: "Senses like taste and smell."
Guy 2: "And there's the sixth sense, like perception..."
Guy 1: "You got it... there's a seventh sense too."
Guy 2: (More hemming and hawing, not all that interested in this conversation with a stranger.)
Guy 1: "There's COMMON sense. And there's an eighth sense, too."
Guy 2: "I don't know what that one is."
Guy 1: "HORSE sense."
Guy 2: "Well, not everybody has that sense."
Guy 1: "You know what horse sense is?"
Guy 2: ...
Guy 1: "It's knowing stuff about horses."
Me: "Horses have the sense to not gamble on humans."
Guy 1: "I used to have a horse. I really respected that horse. And there's the (something sounding like 'remora')... (trying to drag me into his enthralling conversation...), I bet THIS guy knows what it is."
Me: (Leaving as quickly as possible) "See you guys."
I imagine he'd have gotten eventually to the "Sense of HUMOR," as perhaps the ninth or tenth sense... But counting common sense and horse sense as two separate things is a bit questionable (because horse sense, in typical usage, is NOT 'knowing about horses'). And really, counting either as a SENSE, parallel to sight, hearing, touch, is a stretch. But this is what makes up small talk for the old guys who don't have much to do, and who sit at the coffee shop in the morning, trying to engage strangers in conversation.
The subtext is that Guy 1 is a wise and witty and interesting man, and whether or not his listener is hanging on every word, his words are worth hanging on, though the thoughts behind them have been expressed better a thousand times...
What other senses can we think of? A sense of futility, perhaps... A sense of shame.
Maybe another sense is the lack of sensation, where things just have no effect at all.
I feel a tremendous sense of sadness when I see these old men who've spent a lifetime working toward this kind of retirement, and I hope they are finding some sense of fulfillment in those moments at the coffee shop...
Wednesday, April 18, 2001
936.0.
The new overland route is similar in profile to my old 3.6-mile ride (other than being more than 4 times longer, and actually pretty much entirely different). Fairly long, fairly flat stretch down a main road, turn off onto side road with hill-dip-hill, then back onto main road with minor hills. It's a nice pleasant ride, and safer than the shorter (by 2 miles) option and shorter (by 6 miles) than the safer option. The hills are good; they break up the monotony, and the downhills give me a chance to stand (on the pedals) and/or rest a bit from constant pedaling.
And it's getting warmer. I switched gloves and removed the "topless hat" ear-warmer thing halfway, and came in coated with salt from sweating and cooling.
I need to do more stretching. Knot in my shoulder/neck won't quite go away.
O Brother Where Art Thou (2000): Great movie, and easily the best Coen Brothers film since Raising Arizona. George Clooney is the anti-Cage, going from action hero to comedic brilliance. Extra bonus, it was showing at the matinee price ($4.50) at "our" theatre. Wish I'd read the Odyssey before watching this so I'd know how closely it follows. The faces these guys make, especially the "Delmar" character (Tim Blake Nelson)!
A group of about ten teenagers came in and sat in front of us right before the movie started, and I thought, "oh boy, there's the end of us getting to hear the movie," but I was pleasantly surprised to find them quieter than the couple to our left (who had brought a full-length denim coat, apparently only for the purpose of saving seats in the middle of the row ["denim seat-saver by Laura Ashley"] such that there was this coat laying across the seats with no attending humans right up to the beginning of the movie, and then there was a folded coat thrown haphazardly into the empty seat next to me throughout the movie, and while sorely tempted, I did NOT dump any pepsi or butter-flavored popcorn onto it). The kids were well-behaved. My first thought when they filed in was, "why don't they go out and do drugs like *I* did when *I* was their age?" And then I thought of yesterday's blog, and thus suspended my intolerance...
The new overland route is similar in profile to my old 3.6-mile ride (other than being more than 4 times longer, and actually pretty much entirely different). Fairly long, fairly flat stretch down a main road, turn off onto side road with hill-dip-hill, then back onto main road with minor hills. It's a nice pleasant ride, and safer than the shorter (by 2 miles) option and shorter (by 6 miles) than the safer option. The hills are good; they break up the monotony, and the downhills give me a chance to stand (on the pedals) and/or rest a bit from constant pedaling.
And it's getting warmer. I switched gloves and removed the "topless hat" ear-warmer thing halfway, and came in coated with salt from sweating and cooling.
I need to do more stretching. Knot in my shoulder/neck won't quite go away.
O Brother Where Art Thou (2000): Great movie, and easily the best Coen Brothers film since Raising Arizona. George Clooney is the anti-Cage, going from action hero to comedic brilliance. Extra bonus, it was showing at the matinee price ($4.50) at "our" theatre. Wish I'd read the Odyssey before watching this so I'd know how closely it follows. The faces these guys make, especially the "Delmar" character (Tim Blake Nelson)!
A group of about ten teenagers came in and sat in front of us right before the movie started, and I thought, "oh boy, there's the end of us getting to hear the movie," but I was pleasantly surprised to find them quieter than the couple to our left (who had brought a full-length denim coat, apparently only for the purpose of saving seats in the middle of the row ["denim seat-saver by Laura Ashley"] such that there was this coat laying across the seats with no attending humans right up to the beginning of the movie, and then there was a folded coat thrown haphazardly into the empty seat next to me throughout the movie, and while sorely tempted, I did NOT dump any pepsi or butter-flavored popcorn onto it). The kids were well-behaved. My first thought when they filed in was, "why don't they go out and do drugs like *I* did when *I* was their age?" And then I thought of yesterday's blog, and thus suspended my intolerance...
Tuesday, April 17, 2001
919.8.
Like the Donner Party and Death Valley expeditions, I found another overland route (but only from Petaluma to Sebastopol, and I didn't eat anyone).
Roblar Road, home of the world-apathetic Washoe House (home of the Questionable Buffalo) cuts west over to Petersen Road, which cuts north to Blank Road and 116 - coming out just west of the treacherous hill with no shoulders.
While Roblar is almost more dangerous than 116, it has the benefit of less traffic. And Petersen gives me a nice good-sized hill with a great view from the top - something I got routinely on my old 4- and 6-mile rides, but that's been oddly missing from these 14- to 20-mile routes.
This route is approximately 16 miles, making yesterday a 35-mile day. Perhaps from the past two weeks' exercise, perhaps from that last five miles I didn't have to do, this was MUCH easier than the 40-mile day last Tuesday.
Gap-Toothed Women (1988): Les Blank's documentary, I've been wanting to see for ages, for one reason only: Dori Seda. The video store in Sebastopol is awesome for stuff like this. While the rest of the movie seemed interesting, I was impatient and fast-forwarded to see, for the first time, Dori - a person I know well from her comic art - living and breathing and speaking. She died at 37, shortly after this film was made, but I treasure the small amount of work that's available, and it was a HUGE treat to see her and hear her speak for the first time. Her drawing style is exquisite, her writing style confessional but always humorous. Be warned, the comics are mostly "Adults Only."
At the video store, something like Sonic Youth "Death Valley '69" was playing - fuzz-heavy, two or three repetitive chords, strangled feedbacky lead guitar - and a new-agey couple was looking at new releases near me. She (irritated): "This music is driving me crazy!" He (sarcastic): "What music?" I think they actually went up and complained, because the music stopped and was replaced by something from the Beatles Anthologies.
People: if you were supposed to learn one thing from your youth and subsequent "growing up," it MIGHT be that "your taste" is not necessarily synonymous with "taste" in general. When you were a kid listening to whatever you listened to, and your parents said "THAT's not music," did you never vow to yourself that you wouldn't be that way when you grew older? Did you not think to yourself, "I'll be more understanding"? Here is one of those golden opportunities where (per Will Durant), "History teaches us that nothing is often a good thing to do and always a clever thing to say."
Maybe that little incident sums up, to some extent, my dislike for new-ageyness. Many new-agers are as intolerant (in the opposite direction) as any 'sudden-baptist' racist slob from the 60s. It's not whether they're right or wrong, it's that they're so unshakeably CERTAIN of their rightness (real or not), in every little thing, and so ready to condemn what's outside of their little bubbles. Even if the entire inside of your bubble is sweetness and light and milk and honey, it's unhealthy, incestuous, suffocating, and limiting to stay inside that bubble and condemn all that is non-bubble-icious. What started in the 60s as a lovely and sincere commitment to open-mindedness has mutated into a variety of the same closed-mindedness against which they once rebelled. Now, their minds are closed against anything that's outside of their mutated definition of "open-mindedness" !
And while I'm quoting, how about this:
"The whole problem with the world is that fools and fanatics are always so certain of themselves, but wiser people so full of doubts."
- Lord Bertrand Russell (05/18/1872 – 02/02/1970); Welsh philosopher
>Sigh.<
Like the Donner Party and Death Valley expeditions, I found another overland route (but only from Petaluma to Sebastopol, and I didn't eat anyone).
Roblar Road, home of the world-apathetic Washoe House (home of the Questionable Buffalo) cuts west over to Petersen Road, which cuts north to Blank Road and 116 - coming out just west of the treacherous hill with no shoulders.
While Roblar is almost more dangerous than 116, it has the benefit of less traffic. And Petersen gives me a nice good-sized hill with a great view from the top - something I got routinely on my old 4- and 6-mile rides, but that's been oddly missing from these 14- to 20-mile routes.
This route is approximately 16 miles, making yesterday a 35-mile day. Perhaps from the past two weeks' exercise, perhaps from that last five miles I didn't have to do, this was MUCH easier than the 40-mile day last Tuesday.
Gap-Toothed Women (1988): Les Blank's documentary, I've been wanting to see for ages, for one reason only: Dori Seda. The video store in Sebastopol is awesome for stuff like this. While the rest of the movie seemed interesting, I was impatient and fast-forwarded to see, for the first time, Dori - a person I know well from her comic art - living and breathing and speaking. She died at 37, shortly after this film was made, but I treasure the small amount of work that's available, and it was a HUGE treat to see her and hear her speak for the first time. Her drawing style is exquisite, her writing style confessional but always humorous. Be warned, the comics are mostly "Adults Only."
At the video store, something like Sonic Youth "Death Valley '69" was playing - fuzz-heavy, two or three repetitive chords, strangled feedbacky lead guitar - and a new-agey couple was looking at new releases near me. She (irritated): "This music is driving me crazy!" He (sarcastic): "What music?" I think they actually went up and complained, because the music stopped and was replaced by something from the Beatles Anthologies.
People: if you were supposed to learn one thing from your youth and subsequent "growing up," it MIGHT be that "your taste" is not necessarily synonymous with "taste" in general. When you were a kid listening to whatever you listened to, and your parents said "THAT's not music," did you never vow to yourself that you wouldn't be that way when you grew older? Did you not think to yourself, "I'll be more understanding"? Here is one of those golden opportunities where (per Will Durant), "History teaches us that nothing is often a good thing to do and always a clever thing to say."
Maybe that little incident sums up, to some extent, my dislike for new-ageyness. Many new-agers are as intolerant (in the opposite direction) as any 'sudden-baptist' racist slob from the 60s. It's not whether they're right or wrong, it's that they're so unshakeably CERTAIN of their rightness (real or not), in every little thing, and so ready to condemn what's outside of their little bubbles. Even if the entire inside of your bubble is sweetness and light and milk and honey, it's unhealthy, incestuous, suffocating, and limiting to stay inside that bubble and condemn all that is non-bubble-icious. What started in the 60s as a lovely and sincere commitment to open-mindedness has mutated into a variety of the same closed-mindedness against which they once rebelled. Now, their minds are closed against anything that's outside of their mutated definition of "open-mindedness" !
And while I'm quoting, how about this:
"The whole problem with the world is that fools and fanatics are always so certain of themselves, but wiser people so full of doubts."
- Lord Bertrand Russell (05/18/1872 – 02/02/1970); Welsh philosopher
>Sigh.<
Monday, April 16, 2001
903.7.
That's a 19.3-mile ride this morning (plus about 8 miles on Saturday with Terrie out'n'back on the bike path). 6:40 to 8:20, averaging roughly 13 mph (when I look down at the speedometer, I'm usually doing something like 13.7 mph).
I think I shaved the mile off by (a) staying on Sebastopol Road after the bike path and (b) taking Sierra Avenue instead of Railroad over to Cotati. Kind of disappointing to not get the whole 20 though...
Not much doubt now that I will pass 1000 before the wedding, or at least well before a year of owning the bike. It's actually very satisfying to be chunking these larger-mileage days. Better than the old 8 miles per day, and I can miss a day or three and still feel like I've gotten reasonable exercise for the week in total.
Still below freezing when I start out these days (31'F on the clock in Sebastopol as I was waiting at the stoplight at the corner of 12). Difficult, during the spring and fall, to dress for the morning cold and bring clothes for the afternoon warmth as well as my work clothes. Maybe I should get the panniers and all -- or just get a trailer like that one guy here at work (not). I look forward to those upcoming summery days when I can get a little bit of tan along with my exercise -- but that gets old too, without the natural coolant of frosty air.
Still kinda casting about for things to do around the house (besides e.g. drinking and smoking). Reading quite a bit, and sleeping what seems like too much (but maybe I needed it). That kind of sleeping is what I've done in the past when overcoming addictions (such as the aforementioned Blow), and/or being very depressed. Not sure what to do about it, other than to keep getting plenty of exercise between... Really wanting to drink some nights, and then pretty happy I didn't, later. It's a roller coaster, and I suppose it'll resolve itself over time, but meanwhile kinda antsy much of the time. Think I'll just start going to more movies - seems to take up enough of the evening that I get past that what-to-do stage. On the one hand, don't think I'll ever go back to the every-other-night drinking I was prone to, say, a year ago. On the other hand, not really seeing enough benefit to non-drinking on the weekends - and indeed, haven't drank on a school night since before christmas, and for what it's worth, we've only drank five or six times since then, even on weekends. Seems like pretty successful moderation to me.
50-hour weeks have not so far materialized at work - really hasn't been necessary so far. I stand ready to work 14-hour days as necessary, but so far they're really not. Still, there's enough to do to fill up a 9- or 10-hour day. Speaking of which...
That's a 19.3-mile ride this morning (plus about 8 miles on Saturday with Terrie out'n'back on the bike path). 6:40 to 8:20, averaging roughly 13 mph (when I look down at the speedometer, I'm usually doing something like 13.7 mph).
I think I shaved the mile off by (a) staying on Sebastopol Road after the bike path and (b) taking Sierra Avenue instead of Railroad over to Cotati. Kind of disappointing to not get the whole 20 though...
Not much doubt now that I will pass 1000 before the wedding, or at least well before a year of owning the bike. It's actually very satisfying to be chunking these larger-mileage days. Better than the old 8 miles per day, and I can miss a day or three and still feel like I've gotten reasonable exercise for the week in total.
Still below freezing when I start out these days (31'F on the clock in Sebastopol as I was waiting at the stoplight at the corner of 12). Difficult, during the spring and fall, to dress for the morning cold and bring clothes for the afternoon warmth as well as my work clothes. Maybe I should get the panniers and all -- or just get a trailer like that one guy here at work (not). I look forward to those upcoming summery days when I can get a little bit of tan along with my exercise -- but that gets old too, without the natural coolant of frosty air.
Still kinda casting about for things to do around the house (besides e.g. drinking and smoking). Reading quite a bit, and sleeping what seems like too much (but maybe I needed it). That kind of sleeping is what I've done in the past when overcoming addictions (such as the aforementioned Blow), and/or being very depressed. Not sure what to do about it, other than to keep getting plenty of exercise between... Really wanting to drink some nights, and then pretty happy I didn't, later. It's a roller coaster, and I suppose it'll resolve itself over time, but meanwhile kinda antsy much of the time. Think I'll just start going to more movies - seems to take up enough of the evening that I get past that what-to-do stage. On the one hand, don't think I'll ever go back to the every-other-night drinking I was prone to, say, a year ago. On the other hand, not really seeing enough benefit to non-drinking on the weekends - and indeed, haven't drank on a school night since before christmas, and for what it's worth, we've only drank five or six times since then, even on weekends. Seems like pretty successful moderation to me.
50-hour weeks have not so far materialized at work - really hasn't been necessary so far. I stand ready to work 14-hour days as necessary, but so far they're really not. Still, there's enough to do to fill up a 9- or 10-hour day. Speaking of which...
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