I caterwhomped at 5:30. The air was blue. Like the blue of juxtaposition. Outside no crickets did _______. I might have sensed a bird but is this a Murakami story? No. What if I threw in a talking monkey? No. Juxtaposition. What is that? Clive, tell us.
Clive: “You throe one thing than another you end up with a third lose thing that is different that the first two things once the right time passes. Like when I make beer at the house.”
Thank you, Clive.
Mark picked me up to go try the 10k. We drove to Indy.
I said, “Mark, you used to always get lost but now you have GPS and never get lost.”
(Mark’s GPS voice is this sexy Australian. It made me want to meet her and play Scrabble in some cafe in Guam.)
I said, “We are going to run this motherfucking 10k.” Or something like that. Something from the throat and heart and left foot.
The day dawned sunny/cold, little wind. I would say the day was like a bleeding fish.
Why did the Indiana State Museum charge us for parking? You don’t charge runners for parking. I felt bad since I didn’t have any money and so Mark had to pay $4. That breaks a driving etiquette rule, folks. The person NOT DRIVING pays for parking. That’s obvious. So I felt badly about that one.
ON YOUR MARKS GET SET GO!!!
I tucked into some fast ones, dropped hammer at 3-5, reeled in some folks. Finished arms pumping like a goat.
After I finished I cheered Mark home. I yelled, “Come on, Mark!” He finished strong. I like to see a runner finish strong, that attitude, like, “Not only I am going to finish this race, but I OWN this race!”
You can look up results here if you are just bored.
Mark ran his first 10k. He finished 235 out of 1700. I am/was proud of Mark. He ran the race in 50:40.
I ran my many-teenth 10k. I finished 11th out of 1700. I am/was proud of me. I ran the race in 38: 07.
After the race we played Disc Golf.
Then I went with some friends and ate a metric ton of Japanese food and drank a metric ton of sake. Here the debris. I like photos of debris. Wait, the debris photos were lame like dog collars. Ok, what about during the glutton?
I look at this and think:
1.) I need a haircut. I look scruffy and/or freakish.
2.) My two year old is on an iphone. At two years old!!!
(Hi, I’m two and cannot interact with humans, la-de-la….)
Cute kid though…
Today’s mail!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Oh my. Disc nerd alert.
(Holy shit check out this Crystal Z Buzz!!!!!)
Crystal Z Buzz
Crystal Z Buzz
Crystal Z Buzz
I’ll throw one like Tim Donaghy. I mean throw it FAR.
[My favorite sushi was the yellow tuna. I can’t explain that color of yellow. Uh, Clive…
Clive: “Mee maws hands. They shake like that the sky this man painted. I remember the highway said they would buy so much of maws land for the big Dysberg out there to the airport and needed dirt would make her a pretty pond but she said go strait to hell. Then they just come back anyway. Grandpa said they had domane. They never built that pond neither.”
Thank you, Clive.]
I need to go run 20 miles today.
Ever year I try to win this flash fiction contest where you get a case of beer. For two years I have been a finalist. This year? Finalist again, but no suds.
The Red Room is out. I am in there. It be sweet like Book Fairs and muddy shoes.
Red Room full of Bill Kushner, Jayne Pupek, Maurice Oliver, Lewis Warsh, Changming Yuan, Ruth Altmann, Stephanie Gray, Nicole Cartwright Denison, Leonard Gontarek, Andrew Mossin, Lydia Cortes, Lynn Levin, Meg Pokrass, Elizabeth Thorpe, Miriam Kotzin, John Grey, John Vick, others.
Odd little story by S.H. Gall over at decomp. Good work with tone, with wistful thought, with brick lodged in the head. Also S.H. Gall is a cool name.
The man references the Zippin Pippin! Well done, sir. (Alex blog here)
“You’ll buy a funnel cake,” Jessica says, “take two bites, say it’s too sweet like you always say, and throw it away like you always do.” She’s mad about last night, when I microwaved a hot dog wrapped in tinfoil; it left a blur of electric blue and a trail of flames.
I have these business ideas. Like today, I was thinking, “Singing corn dog.” A singing corn dog. People like corn dogs and they certainly like music. It would be like a corn dog ipod or something. You would carry it proudly like a torch, all the while your favorite song drifting on the air like corn dog essence, like fried oil or fried pig or fried corn flour tunes of glow. I think it’s a winner idea.
Late at night I watched Amy Winehouse London 2008 in HD. Never do that. She was drinking beer and slurring songs and picking her nose and wrecked out her wonderful mind. I couldn’t imagine being in that audience. Most interesting were the looks of all the professionals dancing and playing instruments behind her. It was like the loud kid in class who sits on the front row and shouts out all these crazy answers and the kid never gets that EVERYONE BEHIND YOU IS STARING AT YOUR HEAD IN A WEIRD WAY.
The musicians has this look like, “Play your instrument, smile, don’t notice the slurring, stumbling singer. Don’t notice. I need this paycheck.”
You want some of me?
Clive, what do you think of farming?
Clive: “He says a farmer gets it bad both ways. A farmer sells the beans and corn for what people say . The farmer buy the seed for what the people say. Thats how he means both ways. Aint no reply my grandpa says. A man can’t punch a big system. Grab it down to normal size.”
OK, Clive, getting all political!
Love you, man.