Cult TV

The continuing good weather made Kempas practically meek. She even wanted to play fetch for the first time in weeks. I've also discovered that she's placated by roasted pig ears, a bag of which Your Parents kept near her food and treats.

I made fajitturitos last night and we ate ice cream while watching a PBS special on the Berlin Airlift. Yes, we're old and boring. What about it? We also caught a first-run episode of The Nine, a much-hyped ABC show they yanked after just two months. This was Your Sister's favorite new show. I suspect the producers were given the chance to end the series and wrap up the various subplots and the mystery of the bank-hostage situation. This was the best episode of the series so far, and I look forward to catching ti with Your Sis until its end.

Speaking of canceled shows, TV Guide has again cataloged what they consider the best and most lasting cult shows ever, and it serves its purposes: It makes me angry, happy, and content all at once. It's definitely flawed, and let me illustrate why.

If a cult show is hugely popular, does it lose the cult status? The Simpsons audience is definitely cult-like in devotion, but it made money almost from the get-go. It's never been an underdog or generally ignored. Is "cult" determined by the dictionary definition that its audience is loyal to a fault? Because if loyalty is the big determinant, then we have to include soap operas that have lasted since the radio-drama days. Guiding Light, a show I watched with my grandmother from ages 4-14, made its broadcast debut before World War II.

No, I think we have to say that cult shows attain the status by having the most singularly devoted audience, the folks who will mold their lives around that series to the point that they create a daily vocabulary rooted in the show's dialogue and keep themselves sequestered from the mainstream as a matter of pride. So, in this case, cult shows are the ones with the geekiest posse.

Now, I attend conventions, so I see the geek in his primal habitat. I also see the knick-knacks, bootlegs, costumes, and materials related to all hot franchises. So I can label these series with their fan-demanded con presence.

*Denotes newcomer to the list (this means someone got bumped from the previous listing to make room for this inclusion).

30) Strangers with Candy (1999-2000)*
Only if we consider that it starred Steven Colbert and Amy Sedaris. That makes it cool. It spawned a movie that fared as successfully as its namesake series. In other words, they both tanked. This show isn't held in such reverence as The Young Ones or The State or even the Upright Citizens Brigade.
I have spoken: Doesn't belong. Con presence: Absent.

29) Absolutely Fabulous (1994-2003)
Not sure how cult this is. It almost singlehandedly sparked BBCAmerica, and it had an American spin-off AND it was recreated in the later seasons of Roseanne. Instead of alluring geeks and nerds, it attracted the gay and postmenopausal.
I have spoken: Borderline inclusion.
Con presence: Absent.

28) Stargate SG-1 (1997-2007)*
A show that survives cancellation because of fan activism is indeed a cult show. Doesn't mean it's worth the effort, however. It has none of the charm of the movie that inspired it, and it's powered almost solely by fanbase lust for the guy who played MacGuyver.
I have spoken: Yeah, definitely. Con presence: Growing steadily.

27) H.R. Pufnstuf (1969-1971)
The most bizarre of the Sid & Marty Kroft works that included Banana Splits and Land of the Lost. So many kids shows are alleged to have been inspired by drugs. This show absolutely was. There is no question those Krofts were high as space kites.
I have spoken: Yeah.
Con presence: Occasional.

26) Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman (1975-1978)
Yes. Yes yes yes. A send-up of soaps that managed to be spooky and funny and enthralling. I'm proud of TV Guide for remembering this one.
I have spoken: As a blip on the cultural map, it defines "cult show." Con presence: Never.

25) Firefly (2002-2003)*
Considering its pedigree (Joss Whedon created Angel and Buffy), this sci-fi Western should have been greeted by loving throngs. But it didn't. It was yanked after about two months, but did spawn the big-screen movie.
I have spoken: If "cult" automatically equals "sci-fi," yeah, it belongs. Con presence: Impressive. Most impressive.

24) Twin Peaks (1990-1991)
Only because the show (which started with giant ratings) lost its audience as it unfurled its mystic underpinnings. Also, once the network demanded the Laura Palmer murder be solved, the show lost direction and collapsed. But at its apex, it was maybe the coolest show ever on TV. It heralded the major trends of the '90s: serial killers, the revivals of lounge music and burlesque, "shows about nothing," and the Pacific Northwest fashions that grunge helped make popular.
I have spoken: Fuck yes. Con presence: Weak.

23) Dark Shadows (1966-1971)
A vampire daytime soap opera? That's cult with a capital CULT.
I have spoken: Good Lord, yes. Con presence: Only in bootleg DVDs.

22) Doctor Who (1963-present)
The British Star Trek, even though it predates the American show. A must-list series.
I have spoken: A no-brainer. Con presence: Fair.

21) Freaks and Geeks (1999-2000)
Only because its creators have proven so hot at the films. They made Knocked Up and 40 Year Old Virgin. But on its own, it's just My So Called Life for the social outcasts.
I have spoken: I say thee nay. Con presence: None whatsoever.

20) The Avengers (1966-1969)
Campy as hell and a blast to watch even today. Also, Diana Rigg's Emma Peel was the ur-cheesecake for geeks and nerds. Her smart sexiness eclipses any of the crumpets on then-contemporary American TV sitcoms like I Dream of Jeannie or Gilligan's Island. Only Julie Newmar's Catwoman was as blatantly filthy and magnetic.
I have spoken: Yes. Con presence: Negligible.

19) Quantum Leap (1989-1993)
There were two shows that benefited from the burgeoning Internet: this and The Adventures of Lois and Clark. Those two ruled the chatrooms, listservs, and alt.net areas as TV cults drifted online to morph into larger clubhouses. This show ruled online fan-fiction for years before Buffy, Xena, and Star Wars/Trek took over.
I have spoken: Yes, but would this show exist if not for Back to the Future? Con presence: Mild.

18) Veronica Mars (2004-2007)*
The next-generation Buffy suffered on the small networks just as Buffy and Angel did. It's cancellation would cement it as cult, but a rumored spin-off would take advantage of the loyal viewers. I'm not sure if the show was popular because of the writing or the cheerleader cuteness of the lead.
I have spoken: I'd pass. Not all quick fizzing shows can be cult-worthy. Con presence: Absent.

17) Beauty and the Beast (1987-1990)
An inexplicable hit that reminded folks that fantasy reliant on romance can win a big following. While Vincent the Catman may have been the geek hunk, the romance was the obvious draw. Once Linda Hamilton's character died, so did the series.
I have spoken: Yeah, but now we're all embarrassed to admit we watched it. Con presence: Invisible.

16) Babylon 5 (1994-1998)
The most successful attempt to make a new Star Trek actually started off as a Star Trek spin-off. But creative disagreements lead to this show splitting from the still-developing Deep Space Nine, and so sci-fi fans had two similarly premised shows at one time. It took advantage of a singular creator vision and appreciative winks at its audience (for example: Star Trek's Chekov appears as a vaudeville-quality villain). The show is still sparking novels and DVD films, 10 years later.
I have spoken: Yeah. Con presence: Steady.

15) Family Guy (1999-present)
More than any show, it benefited from the series DVD experiment. Even though fans could watch this on Cartoon Network, they bought the DVDs with such fervor that FOX brought it back from cancellation and used it to linchpin Animation Domination on Sunday nights.
I have spoken: Not as good or as cultish as The Critic.
Con presence: Rare.

14) Battlestar Galactica (2003-present)*
It should have failed utterly, but it emerged smart and sleek. The more cerebral sci-fi fans found a great action show, and the action crowd were given plenty to munch on between the top-notch space battles.
I have spoken: If ratings and critical success disqualify a show from "cult" consideration, this shouldn't make the list. Con presence: Barely.

13) Mystery Science Theater 3000 (1989-1999)
If they had more money and a larger production staff, this show would never had worked. Because it was powered by smartass, pop-culture-loving theatre nerds, it spoke our language from the start. And the change in leading characters created a debate crucial in the continuing conversation about a cult show.
I have spoken: Yes. Hugs all around. Con presence: Fading.

12) Pee-Wee's Playhouse (1986-1991)
The rare show that entertains everyone. Goofy and energetic and delirious.
I have spoken: That indecency arrest helped the show fade too soon and remain dear to so many. Con presence: Nil.

11) Jericho (2006-present)*
Much, much too soon to say, honestly. It was saved from cancellation by fan uproar, but really what else did CBS have to run, another CSI or reality game show?
I have spoken: No. Not yet. Con presence: None whatsoever.

10) Xena: Warrior Princess (1995-2001)
How many action shows can boast a lesbian-majority audience? How many bad girl TV characters softened their act while retaining their initial charms? How many people remember this was a spin-off of Hercules?
I have spoken: Yes. Con presence: Respectable.

9) Twilight Zone (1959-1964)
Even people who never saw the series know what it's about. So good that, despite the multiple VHS and DVD compilations, the SciFi Channel still runs marathons on major holidays because mainstream folks will tune away from football, parades, and celebrity concerts for spooky and humanizing stories of ethics and irony. The best show that proved sci-fi never had to be campy or goofy to be popular.
I have spoken: Honestly? No. It's too influential, too popular. Its status of "cult show" is an honorary degree from the adoring masses. Con presence: Virtually none.

8) The Simpsons (1989-present)
This isn't a cult. It's a force of nature. If this is on the list, why not I Love Lucy or Andy Griffith?
I have spoken: It's a cult show only because my parents would never watch it. But generation gaps don't make a cult series. Con presence: Mild. You can get Simpsons merchandise anywhere.

7) The Prisoner (1967-1968)
Maybe THE cult show. People still talk about it because they're trying to decipher it. Is it smart and surreal or slapdash and hollow?
I have spoken: Ask around. Most people have no idea this show existed. Con presence: Equally below-the-radar.

6) Monty Python's Flying Circus (1969-1974)
Again, a generation gap made this show cool for high-school kids for 30 years. Memorizing the scripts is a rite of passage across the country. But if I hear it quoted on cooking shows, is it really "cult." Isn't it just fringe? No, it's much too influential. The original Saturday Night Live cast worshiped these guys.
I have spoken: Arguable.
Con presence: None.

5) Lost (2004-present)*
Too early to tell, but much like Twin Peaks, it got weirder and weired and lost more and more viewers. The season-series experiment almost makes the audience go online or see the DVDs to stay up-to-speed. The many, many mysteries keep the rabid fans talking on virtually a daily basis.
I have spoken: Maybe. maybe not.
Con presence: I've only ever seen two people dressed as characters, and that was me and the missus.

4) Farscape (1999-2003)
Not all failed sci-fi shows earn or deserve a cult following. This muppet-heavy series swiped its villain's design from the Borg and takes attention away from Red Dwarf or Lexx. There's no excuse for this to be so high on the list.
I have spoken: Fuck, no.
Con presence: Invisible.

3) Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1997-2003)
A show great in pathos, humor, emotion, and bad action scenes. And it never got its due from the TV award shows. Too good to stay around, really. But if you hate emo vampires, this show and Angel will drive you to drink.
I have spoken: Definitely.
Con presence: Colossal.

2) The X-Files (1993-2002)
It started as crap, became glorious sci-fi, and sank back into crap. It insulted the audience with extended illogical plotholes and a film that promised to change everything and ultimately altered nothing. It provided pin-up fodder for guys and gals, giving something for them to talk about when not discussing the awesomeness of Cancer Man or the depravity of the Peacock Brothers.
I have spoken: Yep.
Con presence: Spotty.

1) Star Trek (1966-1969)
The cult show. It bombed in the ratings and stayed alive solely through barely connected fanbases across the globe. The show wasn't a success; it's philosophy was. It sired a true cult of common humanity.
I have spoken: The definitive cult series once upon a time. Now it's a franchise. Con presence: Massive massive massive.

Gigantic Picture of the Day
The mysteries of Boba Fett's armor solved. Now THIS GUY is cult.

Studio 86'd

The weather was much nicer yesterday, and Kempas was in a proportionately better mood as well. I took care of the animals and the house fairly quickly. Your Sis made a steak-and-potatoes dinner using some of our homegrown taters.

We inhaled the rest of the poundcake while watching the first of our TiFauxed Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip episodes. We have about 10 to go. The show took a definite new turn once it was obvious that ratings were not going to rocket up to the level commiserate with all the hype and budget the show enjoyed. This second block of shows is all about romantic comedy subplots instead of broadcasting strategies, and this is obviously a tact to draw in female viewers. Then again, if you're romantic leads are Josh from West Wing and Chandler Bing, it's not likely you'll pull in piles of dreamy-eyed gals. Not when they have to compete against Dr. McDreamy for romantic/professional series hunks.

I dug the show muchly. Great cast, great writing, great premise, and, most important, great pacing. You have to pay attention, and pop-culture geeks were rewarded with shotgun blasts of allusions and references. This may be why the show floundered, not the scheduling or show-biz focus. This wasn't a background-noise show, and 10 p.m. may have been too late in the evening for the mainstream audience to lock onto a lightning-banter series. The network scuttled its chances by providing two similar shows, along with 30Rock, and viewers clearly chose the lighter, goofier show. I haven't seen it.

Your Sis doesn't share my infatuation with Studio 60; she vocally derides Amanda Peet's lack of range at every commercial break. And she's right. But Peet has real purty hair, so I cut her some slack. The show makes me laugh out loud, and I genuinely like all the cast members. No one distracts me with their shtick. On the contrary, the fake skit show's cast are all genuinely funny people.

Sarah Paulson, who played the religious Harriet Hayes, should be on SNL and headlining. She routinely busted out impersonations worthy of a late-night series (Holly Hunter, Nancy Grace, Juliette Lewis). It's quite amazing: A series revolving around a skit show with an impossibly gifted comedienne actually found such a performer. I have a theatre crush on her.

The whole series comes out on DVD in October, and I'll probably buy it even if we do finish the series within weeks of it hitting the shelves.

Picture of the Day
Hot nuns.

Rescue Ranger

It poured as I left work and arrived at Your Parents' house. I also found Kempas trapped on the tree next to the gardening shed and barking her head off. She had wrapped her chain around the ivy. I got her out, but it was a scene out of a Western where the cowboy gets the calf out of the brambles and back to the herd. And then she wouldn't eat. There's no telling how long she had been that way. The neighbors who expressed such concern the first week Your Parents were gone apparently didn't check on her to see if she needed help. I also emptied the litter boxes into the giant, rolling trash can and left it next to the driveway. It's heavy enough to keep from falling over, I think. The rain has fallen with enough power that the lake is almost back to pre-drought levels.

We had Kathy, Travis, and the baby over last night for wings and fries and rasslin. Your Sis said she talked to you earlier in the day. We're making a date for them and me to see The Simpsons Movie while Your Sis minds the baby. I feel positively un-American because I haven't see the film yet.

Your Sis and I made a cake Sunday to prove that I don't destroy them with my recipe interpretation. We had our first bites last night, and it did indeed turn out well. It's a lemon, poppy seed pound cake. I can see myself making a cake at least once a month. It's fun and somewhat tasty work.

Picture of the Day
Someone pimped out a mouse to look like a NES controller. If it didn't mean sacrificing the scroll option, I'd want one.

Art

Because of Belle Chere, we got out of work early, and I zipped through the house checklist. Kempas was pissed that she didn't get more face time. I got home early enough that we caught the fourth Die Hard at the local theatre. It's good. Maybe the best sequel. Definitely better than the second, but much slicker than the third.

I ran Saturday morning for the first time in two weeks, and boy did it feel like it. Also, it rained. It rained all weekend, so I was very glad we had no intention of attending Belle Chere. I took pictures of Your Sis for new drawing material in the below style. We had a disappointing supper at a local place (they served up buffalo wings by giving me the fried wings separate from the sauce). We watched the commentary track for the Chicago DVD and did the same the next night for Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, yet another quality Robert Downey Jr. film no one saw.

Pictures of the Day
I stumbled onto a new art style. I was working on a self-portrait for a new mix CD. Unlike my usual PC artwork, I worked in b/w. It was more of a drawing than a painting. Illustrator allows you to use a pencil tool that can create shapes. You can then assign those objects an interior color and a border color. This is the drawing with no filled objects. There are shapes, but they are empty.


And when I had finished, I flipped the interior art/outline assignments. It gave the artwork a more organic look, and it was surprising. I hadn't noticed the potential of the style before. It wasn't automatically complete; I had to adjust the color assignments further to make a cohesive picture, but it became something I hadn't made before. I think I can sell this. I think I can make actual art with this.


In the (Geek) News
San Diego's Comicon is over, and these are the biggest mainstream bits:

+ Bootleg footage of the Iron Man trailer. This is what it's like to watch video at a con.
+ The teaser for the Batman Begins sequel.
+ A small marketing video for the Indiana Jones 4 film also introduces a returning face to the franchise. The revelation is about 3 minutes in:

Me vs. Dog

Because the landscaper is building a more elaborate walkway in the backyard, a pile of bricks sits between the tomato plant garbage can and Kempas's house. I arrived yesterday to find Kempas's chain stuck in that pile and the dog going batshit. There was nothing wrong; she just couldn't get loose. A neighbor girl was trying to pet her and somehow didn't think to enter the yard to free her. I got her extricated and talked briefly with the girl. She says Kempas is barking throughout the night, and Your Parents are keeping her outside at night when they're home. Maybe they were trying to get the dog used to being out while they were gone. She was so freaked that I had to take her for a walk to exhaust her energy.

I'm glad I only have another week of this. I appreciate how much Your Parents helped us with the car, and it doesn't much time to visit the house after work, but I have no answers for Kempas except to feed or walk her into submission and leash her to keep the fence intact. It's not my dog, and I'm limited in my options. Actually, the one problem is the fence. The answer to that problem is to remove the wood and install a metal fence along the carport. I haven't seen Kampas dig her way under the fencing. That would keep her in and let her walk the entire back yard.

We ate at the local Japanese steakhouse again and followed it up with dessert at Jason's. We tried out a new USA show called "Burn Notice." As a new series, it's still trying to find its footing. It feels thin, but potential is there.

Picture of the Day
The poster for the upcoming Sweeney Todd. It will be a musical, like the original show. But it won't be based on the recent revival-update of the show.


In the News
It sucks to be a sports fan right now. Football has Michael Vick, Beckham missed his US debut in soccer, the Tour de France is falling apart, wrestling is still dealing with the Benoit tragedy, and an NBA ref may have swayed the outcome of playoff games. Baseball sees Barry Bonds just two shy of breaking the home-run record but the steroid allegations may erase that before it becomes legend.

Bite the Borders

Your Sister suspects the landscaper has moved Kempas around or even unleashed her as he works on the backyard brick path. Seems likely. I found Kempas leashed but with much more reach than she had Tuesday night. She was able to reach the fence and chew it again. I shortened her chain just in case the leash length was the problem. But I don't think it was. I don't mind her getting a supervised break from the leash but not if she's going to walk right over and chomp the fence. That's the very reason why she's chained to begin with.

We made another dish with the new potatoes, and we so far haven't contracted a form of tuber-culosis.

We'll avoid the upcoming Belle Chere, but we might attend the Montford Players' performance of Cyrano DeBergerac. I managed to stay clear of R&J.

Picture of the Day
The official site for the fall Beowulf movie is one. It's made in the same way as Polar Express: motion capture of actors at work. It looks a bit Shrek-yin design, but I like everyone involved.

Closing the Book

Normalcy reigned at Maison Bullock when I arrived. The workers had fixed the mailbox and frame, planting them where they belonged. Inside was all the mail we had missed since Thursday. The crew is now finished digging in front of the house and seems to be moving around the corner to the street running parallel with the driveway. I unleashed Kempas briefly to untangle the chains. She seems to be eating now. The cats are not eating all the food I leave for them, thankfully, because they might explode any day now.

Your Sis made a dinner using the potatoes we plucked last week. They tasted just like they should. I couldn't believe I was eating something I grew. Everyone should grow a garden. We'll probably plant corn and some pumpkins before the end of August.

I finished up the last Harry Potter book last night. It's a tight conclusion to the franchise, touching on all the previous books and rewarding readers who paid attention. It's impenetrable to new readers though. It follows the formula of the previous books -- each installment is a mystery quest surrounded by a giant conspiracy -- but offers exposition a'plenty to tidy up all the loose ends. A lot of characters die, and some of those deaths are affecting. The author recently said she's considering making an encyclopedia based on all her histories and notes she didn't reveal in the series. I'm now curious to see the newest film, but the Simpsons film has priority.

Picture of the Day
And they fix mailboxes.

Strange Events at Your Parents' House

1) The landscaper removed the plywood from in front of the wooden gate. He then reattached it exactly as I had, but with new screws.

2) There has been no mail delivered because the road construction has blocked off the mailbox from the street.

3) And now the mailbox and the ivy metal frame are both in the new trench. I can't tell when the workers were last on site, and it's possible that the recent rains washed them down there. I assume so. I can't believe they'd just leave them and work around them. I left a note in the cab of the backhoe asking if they'd remove them, and whether there was any chance they'd reinstall them. There's no note at the house serving as a warning of possible lawn damage, and no messages left from the city saying as much. If the mailbox and frame are still down there tonight, I'll call the city offices tomorrow to complain. That's also when I'll call the post office to politely request all the mail the carrier has apparently kept instead of putting inside the front door. Your Parents leave, and everything goes bizarro on me.

I fetched my suitcase -- newly smudged and smelly -- from the airport.

My eyes are shot from weekend reading, traveling, and massive office copy-editing, but I'm still trudging the new Potter book. Just 200 pages to go.

Picture of the Day
A new pic from the upcoming Iron Man film. This weekend, the nation's largest comic convention promises to announce and unveil material to make us all crazy with impatience for the next year or so.

Flying by Plane and by Broom

Your Sis drove me to the Greenville Airport to take advantage of a $50 ticket straight to Tampa, where my friend Rebecca was getting hitchified. I had a flight scheduled the next day also from Tampa, but it wasn't until I arrived at the Greenville airport that I realized Tampa has two airports. Esther, who you met at our wedding (she was the photo wrangler), offered to pick me up when I arrived, and we had to make sure we were talking about the same airport. The one commonly referred as the international airport isn't officially called the international airport. The other one is. And they're about 20 miles apart.

The Warrendorfs and I ate at a Carolina-style BBQ joint they found, and the fare was right close to what we're used to. Your Sis called me as I ate a BBQ sandwich to say she had locked herself out of the house with her common habit of not carrying keys. It bit her in the butt the one time I'm out of state. She hired a locksmith, but he couldn't pick our locks and had to break the garage lock to get inside. He's supposed to install a new lock this week. Esther and I went to the hotel and chatted with Rebecca while she got ready for the ceremony.

The hotel provided all the wedding and reception material, including the bouquet. We watched her get her hair done, do her make-up, complete her dress ensemble, and take casual pics with the official photographer.

Becca gets her hair done.

The camera's batteries and the iPod batteries were apparently killed by the airport x-ray machines. I got maybe ten pictures with four brand-new batteries. I offered my hotel room for Esther's babysitters and son during the wedding. About five hours later, the party wound down, and the Warrendorfs left for their condo across the bay. I talked to Your Sis, who used the weekend to work on school stuff and catch a play with a college pal, and hit the bed after midnight.

It storms in Tampa often and loudly.

I got up at 5:30 to catch a taxi and hit the appropriate airport. I gave myself plenty of time and found myself without new reading material. I read Watership Down on the flight down; Your Sis, I'm convinced, wants me to bawl after reading every book she hands me. I picked up the new Harry Potter book after all. I knew the airport stores would have them, and they all had many, many copies. And many, many passengers were carrying them around.

The flight out of Tampa was overbooked, and I only got aboard when some folks traded seats for later flights. The Atlanta to Greenville flight was complicated by numerous get changes (four within 15 minutes) and a tarmac delay of about half an hour. One of the gate attendants asked me if Potter book was for her. She was a cute, black woman about 25 years old, and she single-handedly destroyed the stereotype of adult Potter readers. Also, Delta misplaced my luggage. Your Sis met me at the airport, and we had a late lunch with My Parents. We also gave them our first handout of garden potatoes. Delta called to say my luggage could be driven to our house after flying into Asheville, but I arranged to pick up the suitcase on the way home from work.

We snacked for dinner and watched the third X-Men film DVD. By the time I had gone to bed, I had read half the Harry Potter book (so far: very dark, very charming). This morning, I am a zombie, but I look forward to wings and fries tonight.

A Dream Fulfilled

After driving around the block twice to get in the right lane for Marrimon Avenue, I noticed the Exxon sign at the 240 off-ramp: "30 Flavors of Ben & Jerry Pints."

I've looked for the Steven Colbert's Americone Dream for months now, stretching back to winter. I remember the timespan only because Colbert gave up sugar for Lent and couldn't eat the brand-new product. It's not available in Mayberry. We check every Sunday when we get groceries. Nothing. Your Sister finally found a pint when she attended the AP workshop and emailed me a photo of her find. Rightfully, she gobbled it all up before she could return home. She said she liked it fine, but come on, it's Ben & Jerry's. Only the rare Roof Shingles & Raspberry could be turned down.

The Exxon sign gave me hope. I parked next to a beater with a dead-flat tire and found the ice cream cooler wedged between the fridges for beer and wine. And there they were. Two pints. I snatched them, paid, and put them in my lunchbox cooler to stay intact until I got home after feeding the pets. Yes, I could have bought them on the way home, but that would mean turning left just before the offramp intersection, and that seems impossible.

I got home and showed them to Your Sis, who finds herself craving chocolate as only a 30ish woman with an active reproductive system can. We stashed them in the freezer to enjoy after supper. After waiting a half hour following my standard stir-fry, we indulged. And now we are down to a half-pint (cue Little House music). We ate it while watching the last half-hour of X-Men 2, a film that holds up remarkably well compared to a slew of subsequent comic films.

It tastes very good. It's an outstanding vanilla with pieces of chocolate-dipped waffle cones and caramel swirls. I normally hate vanilla, but Your Sis has exposed me to it over these past seven six years, and I appreciate it more. This isn't my new favorite flavor, however. It's no Brownie Batter. But it is a good alternative that I wish we had more access to.

Speaking of Your Parents' house, I'm checking their mail for a UNC notice. Nothing is there yet, but you did get something from Edward Jones. I shook it, and it sounded like doubloons.

We watched the final round of VH1's World Series of Pop Culture, and it was shockingly easy. The first category involved naming Simpsons's characters. Major supporting guys like Milhouse and Otto too, not the Nutty Professor Guy or Lionel Hutz. The final question asked for the cast of Little Miss Sunshine, and it's an easy question as well except for that one teenage kid no one knows. And that's what eliminated the losing team. But, otherwise, I think I could win this with two planks of wood as my team members. You, Your Sis, and me? We'd clobber them all. Total victory.

We did not eat any potatoes, but we did sprinkle fresh garlic on the salads. It's very mild fresh from the garden. We're going to dry the rest in the attic.

I pack tonight for the Tampa wedding. I fly down Saturday morning and fly back Sunday morning. I don't think I'll have much chance to whoop it up before waking up early for the ride home.

The Potato Fairy

A road crew is working in front of Your Parents' house, and I arrived there to find Kempas asleep in her house. That never happens. I think the construction noise kept her awake. She still doesn't seem to understand that she has a longer leash now.

I got home to find Your Sis sporting a new shorter haircut and plucking garlic bulbs. We discovered some plants had taken root all on their lonesome early this year. A recent newspaper article prompted her to harvest them this week. I had wanted to check on some potatoes, and so I went to yanking.



Harvesting potatoes is pretty easy: You grab the stalks and gently tug the plants free. Then you shake the dirt off the taters and pluck the edible ones. Then you gently dig into the surrounding ground to find any taters that may have snapped off during extraction. Some stalks still had the original seed potatoes attached and intact. Some seed quarters had decomposed to jelly, and I suspect they were eaten by grubs. I pulled up less than half of the garden because these stalks had the least amount of support and had fallen over. They were snapping and yellowing, and I feared the stalks wouldn't feed the potatoes anymore. So up they came. I finished with about five pounds of potatoes. A lot of the plants yielded tiny potatoes that might work as salad crutons. We'll allow the rest to grow a bit longer, and we might eat some of these tonight. Some of the ones I plucked were split, suggesting the soil was missing some nutrients. I suspect I didn't plant the seeds far enough from each other.


It's the first thing I've planted and grown. It was like Christmas. "What did I get? Did I do this right?" I made potatoes!

Wayward Box of Books

By now you know about the failed box shipment that seems to have gone to Switzerland instead of Snazziland. We received the shipment Monday but were confused by the packaging. Your Sis discovered she recycled it when we put books in the M-bags. I had to correct folks at the post offices in Mayberry and Asheville when they think I said "Switzerland." I'm not surprised that the local office bungled this; they're unreliable, and I've sent items from Asheville to increase my chances. I recall the woman who helped us prepare the M-bags. She was not a joy to work with.

We finished Return of the Jedi last night, and man, does it collapse into a pile of failure when the Ewoks show up. It's a Wrong Turn from which the film never recovers. The film does have a great space sequence as the ships buzz about the Death Star, and the Darth/Luke confrontation makes for some nice moments.

Picture of the Day
This is what the package looked like when it arrived.


In the News
I put off a news update for a while now, but a blog about things you already know about is a flimsy offering.

The all-night Senate debate IS political theatre, as the Republicans claim, but theatre is an essential part of politics. The Democrats can't get a successful withdrawal vote before the September report by the general overseeing the occupation. But recent testimony by the former surgeon general about the administration editing Cabinet reports casts doubt as to the credibility of what the general might say. The administration will play this one of two ways: either things are so good, that we can't stop now or things are so bad that we can't stop now. There will be no withdrawal of troops before the 2008 election. It will benefit none of the presidential candidates, and the administration doesn't seem to care about the success of the party once it leaves the White House. The recently leaked intelligence report on Al Qaeda is a double-edged sword for the people in charge too. It say that after everything we've done in Afghanistan and Iraq, the group solely responsible for hitting us in 2001 is virtually unchanged in strength or resolve. It allows the administration to say their efforts must continue unabated, but it throws into further doubt the efficacy of anything they choose to do.

+ + +

The Harry Potter spoilers are apparently up on Yahoo!'s front page. I'm not looking, but I'm resigned to the truth that I will know what happens in the book before I read it. The entire book is reportedly online in a few formats; one is a batch of photographs of each page. I'm online virtually all day; it's impossible for me to remain ignorant of the events for a month or so. Your Sis gave me Watership Down to read, and I should finish that before picking up another book. I also don't have much interest in the new film. This is the first to be released after I read the source book, and I admit that the absence of certain material discourages me from watching. So I've achieved that level of fandom for the books.

Kempas and Leia Are Leashed

I found Kempas chained but stuck behind her house. I rescued her right after she peed on the chain in what I assume is an accidental statement of her confinement. I added the new length of chain and tied her to the fence running along the back of the yard. She can still get in her house and get her food, but she can't reach the plywood or the wooden fence.

It appears the weekend petsitter only took care of them on Saturday. Kempas had almost no food, and she never eats that much when Your Parents are away. The cats also had no food, and their litter boxes were piled with remnants. I can tell she was there at least one day because she used a pill cutter for the dog drugs. I'm not tempted to take care of the pets during the weekend, but I wonder what the effect of missing one day's drug treatment will do to Kempas.

Regular night otherwise. We had wings and fries but abandoned wrestling for the commentary track on Return of the Jedi. I clearly remember how affected all we young male fans were by the metal bikini. But watching last night, I realized that it's not only quaint but wildly incongruous to the entire franchise. It doesn't belong. I didn't notice until Fisher said it, but Leia says almost nothing while she's wearing the thing. And that kills the original charm of the character: She was a smartass tomboy, and as soon as the writers steer her toward sisterhood/romantic interest, she becomes another boring film heroine while the boys fight the larger battles. Shame. In addition, because Lucas had no idea how to yet present a young jedi, Luke has all the appeal of a mop. He has one moment of life: when R2 shoots him the lightsaber on the Jabba skiff, Luke catches it, ignites, it and his eyes come alive, like he just found his favorite toy. Otherwise, Luke is a dud. If there were no Han or effects, this film would be unbearable.

Picture of the Day
Never know what you'll find in the grocery store. To be fair, the package says it's fake animal placenta. A placebo-enta?

Robot Sentinels of DIY Justice

Another outdoor dinner on Friday. We're making Jason's our regular pre-weekend haunt while the weather holds out. We get rain just about every day even though we're in a technical drought. The potatoes are gonna get yanked up within the week, maybe the day I come back from the Tampa wedding.

I ran Saturday, completing three miles for the first time since July 4. A lunch at Pescado Burrito followed. It was good; I chose the beef over the fish. Your Sis wants to take you there the next time you visit. We drove down to Target for more school clothes for her, a new running top for me, and more closet organization materials for her office. I stopped by Lowe's to buy more chain for Kempas. The weekend caretaker didn't call, so the dog must still be chained and OK.

We attended a cookout held by some new friends, and we met a slew of new people. The host is trying to get me to run with them along the Davidson River. I dunno about this; these are big guys, muscular and former military. I am an illustrator with a well-worn PS2. This has slapstick written all over it. The cookout was fun, and Your Sis estimated that I drank a half-gallon of beer. We had to leave when the sight of the firepit flames made me dizzy.

Sunday was a zombie day of staggering as my body tried to process the beer. The weekly frappuccino was a bad idea. Your Sis continues her office reformation, and I took it easy. We cooked leftovers from our own cookout and watched the commentary track for Empire Strikes Back. I noticed a few things:

1) There's no reason to show the Emperor in this film. He should have remained a mystery. I also prefer the Alec Guiness performance in the Vader chamber over that of McDiarmid, even thought the latter matches the third film's Emperor.

2) After watching the prequels, one might assume that Yoda and Ben don't care about helping Luke reach his potential so much as taking down Vader in ice-cold revenge. The training scenes on Dagobah now feel like Yoda is sharpening a blade more than helping Luke evolve. And now that I think of it, The Matrix has the same feel. Morpheus only cares about Neo because the latter's success would validate his faith in the Oracle. Neo himself means nothing to Morpheus, and all the training bits are really Morpheus's way of kicking the tires.

3) The film moves quick. So much happens, and it moves well. That's a good editor and director combo. You can definitely see how well Ford and Fisher get along. She especially adds a lot of nice touches as Solo outsmarts Leia at every turn. I love it when she talks to herself when he leaves the cockpit after saying "I ain't got time for anything else."

4) Great lighting. There's a red undertone subtext throughout to suggest the danger that always surrounds the heroes.

5) When the admiral's body is dragged off by a bridge crew, you can clearly see him stand up on his feet even thought he's supposed to be dead. Vader should reel around, bark out the order to stop, and force choke the guy just to make sure. "OK, he's done. On your way. Now, where was I? Oh, yes. You're in charge, Admiral Bullsye. Best of luck. Update your will."

6) Luke is a cypher; the film gives no reason to invest in him. You have to remember what he went through in the first film to care about him.

7) Helluva movie.

Picture of the Day
On the way home Friday, we noticed that someone had pimped out one of the walk-sign control boxes to look like a robot. I advocated raising money by auctioning off the rights to each box to a local artist so they can decorate them. I wonder how many people will notice this and how long the robot can stay together. I also like the idea of a robot crossing guard at each intersection.

Extra Innings

Your Sis came into town with me yesterday and killed time while I was at work. We met for lunch and settled on the Cottonwood Cafe, a narrow bar eatery near the Jolie Rouge. Wasn't bad. We took care of the pets after work, and Kempas was still there, still chained. She didn't want to eat the medicine pills; she normally holds out for a while before giving in. But this time she was resolute. I had to pry open her jaws and pop the pills down her throat. She wasn't too upset by this. I really need to run this weekend. I haven't been able to since Monday.

We met up with teacher buddies to catch the Tourists play the Athens Greenjackets last night. We got box seats and enjoyed a great view along the third-base line. Great weather, great crowd. The game went past nine innings, and the Tourists came from behind to win with a two-out walk-off grand slam. That's worth the price of admission right there. The $1 beers didn't hurt either. We got home after midnight, and I feel less like a geezer.

Picture of the Day
Hellboy by Duncan Fegredo, one of my favorite artists.

Lassie: Caged Heat

I went to Home Depot and used the last of my gift card balance to buy 20 feet of chain and three screw clips. I measured out the span of the chain from a gate post and secured the other half to Kempas's collar. She thought we were going walking, and I felt guilty about drastically reducing her stalking grounds so I took off the chain, attached the leash, and walked her. We returned, and I put on the chain when I de-leashed her. She seemed to take it well. I hope to find her still attached to the fence when I feed the pets tonight. I left a note explaining the need for the chain to the woman feeding the pets on the weekends. Kempas can get inside her house, and I moved the water and food to be near her. For what it's worth, the emergency plywood barrier seemed to at least severely curtail her damage to the wooden gate. If she does bust loose of the chains, I can still go back to the plywood option.

Picture of the Day
Multiple Batgirls. The heart races.

Dog Anger

Kempus is eating the fence again. I noticed some destruction Monday night and a bunch more yesterday. It was so dramatic that the neighbor walked over to make sure I noticed it and addressed it. I have two options that solidified between then and now:

1) Board up the fence so she can't gnaw her way to directionless freedom. I did find a piece of plywood in Your Dad's gardening shed (the one that house the mower and fertilizer), and, after about a half hour of searching, I found the drill and screws to affix it to the gate. This is a stop-gap measure. The entire wooden fence lining the carport will need to be boarded up. I've measured the space and my car's capacity, and I think I figured how what size planks to buy and where to screw them to the fence. But this depends on her not simply chewing through that to get to the fence.

2) Chain the dog. I can buy a length of chain to keep her away from the wooden fence but within reach of her doghouse. I'll just move the food and water. This is cheaper, but it's also a bit cruel. She'll lose the walk of the yard. This option is the more attractive. It's easier, quicker, and, even if she digs under the metal fencing, she won't be able to run about and get hit by a car.

I hate this. This anxiety-sparked destruction has gotten old, and I feel personally responsible for the dog's behavior . I worry that she'll sit and bay endlessly as she pouts about her limited range of motion, but I don't have to hear it, to be frank. The neighbor did offer to drop by the yard and pet and walk Kempus, which is nice of her. She also offered plywood, but that would oblige both me and Your Dad to them, and I can't speak for him to agree to that.

Picture of the Day
A picture of the beginning of the July 4 race. If you squint hard enough, you still can't see me. I'm way in the back.

Pet Care and Mysteries

The first day of feeding pets was uneventful except for the dead mouse on the front walk. I scooped it up with two sticks and heaved it into the woods. We drove to their house the back way on Saturday, and yesterday was the first time I had gone by the lake in months. It's down by half. It's looks like a sinkhole gurgled the water away. It's a shock. Our town doesn't have this level of drought. We still regularly see drenched rabbits in the yard.

Some wrestlers were on Larry King and Nancy Grace last night, discussing the Benoit case. The King show was at least an attempt at discussion. King, however, is an old horse that needs to be put out to pasture. The assembled wrestling guests were articulate and likable. The Grace show was high comedy as she did her best to channel hollow outrage while washed-up performers blamed Benoit's employer. One used the alloted time to advertise his wrestling school. The whole thing is still a shock. I never thought I'd see Benoit appear on the cover of People or the Enquirer. And certainly not for these reasons.

EDIT: Forgot to mention that I came home to find Your Sis frantic because our local senile post office failed to deliver three checks for the car, the mortgage and the cell phones. She was greatly displeased. She took care of it all over the phone.

Motion Picture In the News of the Day
While a number of online folks my age where chomping at the bit to see Transformers, a good number of them left the theatre talking instead of a trailer for a film so far called 1-18-08. Online, it's called Cloverfield, and it's produced by the Bad Robot team that made "Alias" and "Lost." It appears to be a Blair Witch-style monster movie. I'm very curious. Rumors are flying around. Is it another Godzilla film? Is it aliens? Is it -- dare we dream-- a big-budget Cthulhu movie featuring H.P. Lovecraft's most famous monster from his early 1900s horror stories?

Hodgepodge

We stayed home Friday and ate a curry dish. Twas good, and I stuffed myself on it. Your Sis's desk finally arrived from Office Max. It took a week to receive a 48-hour delivery.

I tired to run Saturday and fell apart less than a half mile from the end. I don't understand it. I wasn't beat up from the 5k, and I haven't put on weight. I should have been able to do it.

We took Your Parents to the airport Saturday afternoon after going over their house maintenance and pet car schedules with them. We then went to the big mall so she could buy school and vacation clothes. I discovered hat men's clothing is now randomly sized, depending on the perceived sizes of the target customer. Or everyone else is getting huge. Or every store is copying Abercrombie & Fitch to demand we wear eight to 12 layers. I bought three shirts in Small. SMALL. I haven't worn Small since I went to high school. A huge dinner ensued, possibly to help me fit into large clothes. Your Sis bought -- brace yourself-- a skirt.

I mowed on Sunday after something I never do: laying out in the sun. I grabbed the Sunday NY Times and read until I was rosy. I don't want to go to the July Florida wedding with a farmer tan. Your Sis finished assembling her desk late yesterday. It looks right nice. Slinky, even.

All gum pain is gone, and I'm off the drugs entirely. I'm drinking beer again to make up for that.

Picture of the Day
A still image for the upcoming Where the Wild Things Are film. Looks sharp.

Babies and Pain

I knew I'd be achy after the race, but I didn't realize how that ache would compound during the day. By the time I got home, my gums, calves, and arches were killing me. We had a leisurely dinner outside a local place with one of those continuing conversations that stretches over four hours. Your Sister's good for that. Not that she's long-winded. I tried my first duck dish in about 20 years, and it was just soft enough for my throbbing jaw to handle. Also, the beer helped.

We discussed babies again and arrived at the mutual conclusion that, no, we don't want a baby just for the sake of having a baby. And we may never have kids. We started later than most, and we're too involved in our new marriage and careers to shift everything to raise a child. We don't care about social obligations toward family expansions, and we don't care for the current politicalization of childrearing. We'll have them or adopt them when we want them. I think too many people have them for every other reason except "want."

We will make this stand, however: Public schools. Kids have to develop social comprehension and callouses. They can't merely live in a world of convenience, of parent-approved interaction, information, and safety. Public education, aside from being very fine instructional outlet of intelligence harvesting, also makes one savvy to his environment. For most people anyway; there are those who either blithely or pathetically hover outside socialization. Yes, there are bullies and crime and cruelty and unfairness. But it's better to learn how to react to that before one reaches the age of legal drinking.

I took a hydrocodone pill. That helped me sleep through the night, but I'm foggy this morning. I couldn't remember if I rinsed out my hair just a few minutes after shampooing it. Maybe I shouldn't have drunk that beer beforehand. On the other hand, I did sleep, and I feel much better today. I might run tomorrow; I have no excuse not too, and now I should begin pushing myself to greater distances. I want to cut another five minutes off my run time at the next race.

Picture of the Day
Ooo, arty.

Juy 4 Break

This isn't hyperbole: Ratatouille is the best movie of the year.

I saw it Tuesday night, with a lot of kids and some adults who laughed at the slapstick, but I found myself engaged in a film to a level I haven't in a long time. It's ingenious, charming, and more than once deeply emotional in a clean, overpowering manner.

Brad Bird, the screenwriter/director, made The Incredibles work so well, but more importantly he crafted Iron Giant, a film that remains in the my tiny hierarchy of perfect stories. Also, it has a scene that never ever fails to make me blubber like a child. Ratatouille has such a scene -- distinct in set-up and wallop -- but nonetheless suddenly wrenching. It got me and Your Sis, and we agreed afterward that we didn't see it coming and were still surprised it worked so well.

Aside from this scene, the film is a love letter to cooking and kindness, specifically how the latter can stretch too far and be withheld too often. It has a very slow beginning despite some top-notch animation, but once we get past the first 10-15 minutes, the movie moves to Paris, and comes alive. The kitchen scenes are masterpieces of choreography, direction, and timing.

Surprisingly, the rat isn't talking that often nor is he specifically onscreen. The film moves from character to character very well, but more important, it works a specific formula with novelty. When we encounter the Meet Cute, the Crisis of Friendship, and the Calamity from All Sides, they happen organically and credibly. And whoever roped Peter O'Toole into playing the food critic should get a raise.

I thoroughly enjoyed and adore this movie.

We had a free dessert at a local hidden restaurant, free because a waiter tripped Your Sis right out of her shoes.

But Wednesday was the race.

I slept horribly the night before. I took a Naproxen and two Advil to numb my raging jaw pain but woke up several times. I got out of bed before my alarm went off at 6:20. I ate two bananas and had a small OJ before stretching. I got to the race at 7:20. There were already many more folks than at the Halloween race, and most of them were from out of town. The registration line was eight to ten-people deep, but I walked right up to the pre-registration line for my bag of goodies and race number (29). Another table had our timer chips and t-shirts (note to self: offer to design their shirts).

As I was pinning on the number and affixing the chip, I saw folks loosening up in several ways: sitting and chatting, jogging, stretching prone on the parking lot of the town resource center (which serves as the tailgate market in the summer), running hard on the small roads around the lot. There were casual runners, people of various muscle definitions, and a few birdlike marathoners. The race was again taking place in downtown and was timed to jumpstart the holiday street festival. I discovered that the best thing one can do right before a run is to poo. The majority of runners visiting the two porta-johns, and the sheer number delayed the lines and forced the organizers to cut the lines off so the race could start on time. I heard this just as I was exiting the john, and, yes, I felt like I could run a few extra miles.

I recognized and chatted with a few people as we congregated at the start area. I was about 15 yards away from the starting line and chatting. The organizers were instructing us via a megaphone, but we could hear none of it. I had the advantage of familiarity with the route. It was the opposite of the Halloween race. Jailhouse Hill -- the soulcrusher -- was now an downhill for us just after the race began. But, more important, I ran the majority of this route before I switched to running on the campus. Those people who didn't know the geography were going to be shocked by the last mile of the race: It's all uphill, and it's steep. But this was traditionally the first mile of my almost daily run through town.

The crowd was so deep, and we were limited to one road lane, that when the gun fired, I had to stand and wait for those ahead of me to move so I could at least jog. And then I was off.

The first 100 yards was uphill, a significant slope that starts at the beginning of the library lawn. The starting line was at the library itself, halfway up this grade. Unfortunately, this was also the boundary for the street festival, and vendors had already set up their tables along our route. And I mean on our route because we suddenly had a bottleneck where the tables sat in our road lane. This was not fun to navigate, and I had to kick into a lower gear to push up the crowded hill. The slope levels out right at the main downtown intersection, and then you drop like a rollercoaster down Jailhouse. We sounded like floppy-footed horses. I noticed then the wide variety of ages. I was behind a smattering of college-age folks and some 60-year men. Beside ran a kid about ten years old. I was in the back half of the pack, and I concentrated on stride and breath. I wanted to pace myself for the last mile.

The turn onto French Broad is a pleasant flat stretch, just a bit after Jailhouse levels out. But French Broad is long, and it contains two hills. The first you can almost see from the turn. But the hill at the end, where the road meets Park, is a sudden, heartbreaking incline. I heard people spot it and grown in despair. It was before the first incline that I started to pass people. Some simply gave up and walked. Some were slowing down to what I assume was their race pace after bursting out the gate. An older man who settled into a pace was breathing very hard and clopping his feet. I was a little worried, and then he started blowing snot rockets, and I decided that not only was he OK, but he also needed more space, so I moved ahead. I noticed the ponytails of the college girls right up ahead, and this is some small way gladdened my heart as ponytails do. But this was nothing compared to the thrill of passing them once we got onto Park. I had a smooth pace, almost a jog really, but it was consistent, and I again knew this territory.

I knew when to relax my breath and when I needed to bellow my lungs around hills. I also knew when to run by focusing on my thigh muscles instead of the feet. I found myself right behind a kid who was flailing along in exhaustion. Couldn't have been more than eight. And his parents had cruelly dressed him in a thick polo shirt and dress shorts. If he was running from a fire in the church bathroom, he would have looked normal. Here, he might as well have been escaping explosions or zombies. I felt bad for him. I had my running shirt with extreme wicking action and my running shorts. I was also bolstered by fantastic weather. It was maybe 60 degrees with no wind. I was enjoying this climate as I passed Flailing Child.

Park is a winding road with some rises and flats. It's a nice street to run at a cruising speed. Nothing dramatic. When it ends, you're halfway home. I hit the intersection with the Greenville Highway and took inventory. Breathing was OK, legs were a little sore. I think I had a toe blister or maybe a cut from a toenail. Systems were nominal.

The highway leg is maybe 50 yards, and then we turned on Gallimore. Now, it was here that the organizers offered the race's water station. They didn't have this at Halloween. Nice gesture, horrific execution. The station was a cardboard box sitting at roadside with a woman filling up cups. One woman with a jug of water standing next to a box about a foot tall. We couldn't simply stick out our elbow, grab a cup, and maintain our stride. No, you had to, if able, squat at a full clip, snag a cup, rise, and continue running. Or you could do as one woman did and run orbits around the jug woman while she poured a cup, anxiously yelling out "It's almost ready!" Then she take the cup from her hand and joined the race again. Me, I don't drink when I run. But other folks may have needed that, and this is where the organizers failed them.

Gallimore dips a bit, but otherwise its a deceptively rise. Again, I'm passing some folks along the way but rarely being passed myself. Gallimore has a hard curve to the right, lined with trees so you don't know what awaits you: a high dome. I slowed my pace a bit because this immediately precedes the last bad mile. It was here I caught up to a mob of runners -- some kids, some surrendering teenagers, some surprised thin marathoners. We also started to collect by-standers applauding us on, including three cyclists. If I had the time and breath, I would have asked one of them if I could rent their bike for the next ten minutes. The dome levels out right as Gallimore connects with Broad, and this the last real leg of the mile. This is all uphill. This is my road. Literally. I live less than a mile other direction. I make the turn, and note that vehicles have slowed to a crawl behind some of the runners ahead. They're blocking the road, and we have to file onto the sidewalk to run past them.

Here's what Broad does: It slopes down for about 20 yards and then goes up hard. It dips to a brief bowl about 200 yards later, again goes up hard for a half mile, and then it becomes a sly grade. Its very easy to relax after leveling off, ignorant that you're still shoving your way uphill. This is a quad-killer. Your only inspiration here is the cemetery across the road, and it's fantastic for me. I got it better than they do, I can run harder. Up I go. This always reminds me of Six Feet Under.

Unfortunately, stupid, stupid people are standing on the sidewalk watching for friends. They aren't even gesturing to move aside for the runners, and I practically ram one clueless woman backward. I'm also managing to pass runners who are starting to suck wind. A clutch of college gals passes me a bit up the road, and I don't mind. I feel OK. I'm getting tired, and I've w0rked my lungs like pedals, easing up and goosing them on this incline. But there's no side pain at all, and I have zero pain from the wisdom teeth extraction. This is as good as it can get for me, the casual runner. Behind me, I hear a man coaching his son along the way. "Almost there, Patrick. You can do it. Two more minutes. Hardest part's behind us." I saw Patrick earlier. He's as tall as my navel, and he was about to crumble before we left Gallimore. He was one of the kids who would run a while, walk, run a while, walk. I passed him and others about four times before I hit Broad.

When Broad bleeds toward downtown, the road widens, which again helps us spread out from the jerk who's blocking the sidewalk with his dog. But the asphalt bends toward the gutter so strongly that I'm afraid I'll roll my ankle. I drift back to the sidewalk. The route then turns between the library and the unitarian church, and an organizer informs us we only have to "run 200 yards and turn left for the finish line." And now I'm starting to wind down. It's here, I made it, and I didn't walk one step. I ran it all.

Speaking of running, when I run at the college, I always make myself open up the throttle for the last quarter mile. I have an OK jog stride, and it's pleasant to find that notch and work along the college paths. But I love to flat-out run. And that's what I do to end these training runs: Crank up the elbows, throw forward the feet, and push. Sometimes I'm on fumes, sometimes I got power. I never know until I start that last bit. This is where I make up for cruising in earlier spots of a run.

When this road meets South Gaston, the spectators are loud and cheerful. This is where everyone gathers to see the finish. The road leans upward behind the library, and a blue inflatable finish arch sits about 100 yards up. I've paced myself to this point. I turn onto Gaston, and I tell myself to run. I ask myself what remains. And, honest to God, It's like I found another gear.

I'm flying. I'm zooming. I'm passing people like they're standing. Some are; the spectators, but also the dogged racers chugging themselves along, looking down at their feet and forcing themselves farther. Me, I'm making a jet stream. What I hear changes from "you can do it, you're almost there" to "wow, he's really running." And no one is more surprised than me. It actually gets quieter as I approach the line, and a little voice in my head says three things at the exact same time:

1) You should have started this earlier.
2) This feels unsportsmanlike to the other runners. They're struggling here. Look at that guy. He's about to collapse. He's gotta be about 50. That woman has the back of a distance runner, and she's toiled to get up these hills. She's gotta be from out of town. She didn't know what this would be like. You're mocking them with this outburst. You should be ashamed.
3) "Whose house? Run's house!"

I keep it going -- with an accompanying giddiness, probably what all these kids felt half an hour ago -- until I cross under the arch. The chutes quickly shoot left, and I hop to a stop before I crash the barriers like a skier. I make eye contact with one woman praising me on the finish. Yeah, so there. This is my town. This is my street. I've run this leg since September. I can't run a half marathon, but I can run this.

An organizer collects our timer chips, and I didn't see the finish timer anywhere. I learn later it was hidden among the chute-standers. I grab an orange and water from the recovery table and walk back to my car. I feel like a million damn dollars. I grab my camera only to learn the batteries have died. I meet up with some of those I talked to beforehand, and we talk about the fireworks later on in the evening and meeting up for that. I find the times printed and posted about a half hour later. I am tagged as the 119th person to cross the line at a time of 28:53. Five minutes better than my Halloween run. I can definitely live with that, and now I know I can do a bit better if I kick into that gear sooner. I'm already thinking of the next race. And now I have to go home, wake up the wife, and have a decent breakfast.

She's already up, to my surprise, and we snag stuff at the bakery before hitting the grocery store for cookout materials for tonight. We drop those back at the house and go right back out to Asheville. I grab new camera batteries, and she gets an external CD driver for her school laptop. She piles up on books at B&N, and back home we go. I spend the remainder of the day in a weary euphoria.

We make a poundcake from scratch while watching the Twilight Zone marathon. That bakes up OK (my first cake), and I start the grill. The lighter fulid reliant charcoal fails me, and I cool them off enough to load on the quick-light coal, and they combine to make a superheated pyre. Everything cooks very quickly. Kathy and Travis come over for a dandy dinner and we head out to the college to catch the fireworks. The racing folks are there and confess they laid low after running. I confess I'm hopped up on frappuccino.

And when I go to bed that night, it's with a sudden and almost painful collapse. This morning? Yeah, I feel it in my calves. But if I had to, I'd run the race again tomorrow.

Picture of the Day
The closest I could come to Simpsonizing myself at the movie website.

One Day To Go

A break in the rain allowed me to run yesterday, and I clocked my best time yet -- 26:40. That's just seconds under my previous best, but considering the mouth pain, I'm happy with it. The race is tomorrow.

Your Sis made lasagna so I'd have soft food. It's great. I hope we have the leftovers tonight. We couched ourselves for some TV and reading. After I verbally picked on a cat, she thought she'd get back at me with a gentle poke at my cheek. Right where a tooth used to be. I had to laugh it off before doing something stupid. But I was tempted. Sorely tempted, one could say.

We bought our flight tickets and room reservations for Washington. We leave in just over a month. I. Am. Gassed for this.

Moving Picture of the Day
I'm not saying the dentist visit was necessarily like this. I'm not.




In the News (after a hiatus)
Commuting Scooter Libby's sentence is stupid and wrong and wrong and stupid.

First, it tells the country that the federally prosecutor did a bad job, a job so bad that it required presidential action to correct. Second, it allows the GOP to again rail against what it deems "activist judges" who so cruelly apply judgments against those found guilty by a jury. Third, it further cements the notion that the executive branch is a corporate clubhouse. Fourth, it keeps the CIA agent scandal alive in the middle of a campaign cycle. Fifth, this action states that impeding an investigation warrants only a light sentences, an inconvenience at best. That gives ammo to the Democrats to say that the president hopes any further obstruction charges are brushed aside when former associates deny testimony in future investigations against the administration.

Drug-Induced Weekend

We met up with Kathy and Travis for dinner at the steakhouse. I ate gingerly. Just fries and mac & cheese. The two of them couldn't believe I wasn't wearing an ice pack or downing pills like Pez. I traded out the pills before I slept and slept no better. So it's not the hyrdo- or oxy-. It's the codone. After waking up really, really early, I stayed awake enough to try a run. I managed to start right at 8 (the same start time as the race Wednesday), and I completed a 5k run within 28 minutes. No side pain, no shortness of breath. Either the drugs cut my usual run discomfort, or I've lost enough weight to make a difference. I tried to forgo pills at all today to clean out my system. My heartrate is elevated, I sweat at night, and I'm impatient. I don't want this.

We had breakfast before shopping for new office desks for Your Sis. She's redoing her office, and it involves a floor-to-ceiling demilitarized zone. I ate-- again, gingerly-- at another restaurant but it included small burgers. My mouth feels like I have to cloves on either side. My upper jaw is not a problem at all. I did have to take an Advil to cut the lower jaw pain, and I'll take two tonight before going to bed. I can syringe the back of my mouth with warm water to clean out the wounds starting tonight. I might get to brush again by Monday.

I developed a fever Saturday night and stayed in the sick bed. I was fine the next morning after Naproxen and Advil. Also got my first full night of sleep since Tuesday. We tried to buy a desk at Office Max and were told the one she wanted must be special ordered but does include free delivery. Should arrive Tuesday. I did not run Sunday, but I'll need to today, rain or no rain. And it's rained very day for a week now. We found out Travis and Kathy's buddies will run, and I'll join them if I can keep their pace. They are very healthy, fit folks. Luckily, they'll run with their 12-year-old daughter, and she might slow them down enough for me to stay with them. We're hoping to hold a cookout with everybody for dinner.

The potato plants are blossoming with tiny white flowers.

We decided to try Washington, DC for our hopefully annual summer vacation. We bought travel books and checked out a bed-and-breakfast online. I've never been.

I finished off Stephen King's Cell this weekend. It's light-weight king horror, like he tried to slip on the old horror-maven clothes, and they didn't quite fit. His novella Gingerbread Girl in the latest issue of Esquire is a better read.

I ate homemade pizza and soup with just a bit of mouth pain. Again, the cheek gouges are worse than the extraction sites.

Picture of the Day
It's rained so much that the neighborhood is crawling with rabbits looking for dry ground.

Groggy

Your Sis delivered KFC for me last night. The mashed potatoes and gravy are always divine, but getting an actual meal was the highlight of the day. I can't sleep through the night, and I suspect the oxycodone is acting as a stimulant for me. I awake about six hours after the last dose, sweating and alert. I'm going sans pills tonight. I also gave up on the elevated pillow; I can't sleep that way either. I'm still taking the anti-inflammatory though.

I'm at work again and feeling OK. A little tired, of course. I plan to run tomorrow. I have less than a week before the race. I emailed the race organizers asking for a race map as we have yet to know where we're running. That's kinda crucial. They pulled this last year too, and runners veered off course.

Picture of the Day
Sunset over the Pacific.

The Day After

The anesthetic screwed up my short-term memory. Your Sis insists I was chatty and cracking jokes just after the operation, although I recall none of it. She thinks this is adorable; I think it's a bit spooky. I also have the knowledge that we went to CVS for the drugs (the lovely, magic drugs), but I have to take her word for it. I do vaguely remember us going into the local bookstore to kill time between submitting and receiving the prescriptions. I looked at the graphic novel section and bumped into a few endcaps, but it's all swimming like a dream. The few hours of our return home are fractured too.

I ate some Jello, mac and cheese, grapes, and tomato soup. I swapped my gauze a few times. We watched some House, and, well, something else I can't remember right now. The anti-inflammatory pills work the best so far. I started to nod off around 8:30, with the sun still up, for crying out loud. I slept until 2:50 a.m. and couldn't sleep for another 2 hours. I swapped some more gauze before going under and woke up around 9:30 this morning. The pain is virtually gone except where the lower gum scars touch the lining of the mouth. I'm still groggy, but I intend to go back to work tomorrow.

In the News
Egyptian archaeologists claim they found Hat-Shep-Shut, the influential pharaoh queen . According to the NY Times, "scientists said this was the first mummy of an Egyptian ruler to be found and 'positively identified' since King Tutankhamun’s tomb was opened in 1922." I remember reading about her in art history classes. She has quite the legacy.

+ + +

The Benoit coverage is dwindling as all anyone can do is wait to see what drugs may have been in his system. The murder-scenario rumors are disturbing as they are all based on wild speculation. One says the son, hopped up on human growth hormones, killed the mother.

Removals

A Mexican dinner followed by ice cream, and then I couldn't eat until after the procedure. After eating, we watched the Tuesday night wrestling show. It started with Vince McMahon deflecting criticisms of Monday's tribute to Benoit. He said the details that have come to light mean Benoit's name will not be mentioned again on the WWE, and the following show would help with getting past by being entertaining. And it was, I suppose. The networks are gunning for the "roid rage" angle, but the WWE wisely points out that this murder-suicide stretched over three days, demonstrating deliberation and not the tell-tale sudden outburst. The cable news networks found two out-of-work performers to poo-poo the WWE, the expected workload, and the use of steroids to become successful.

I'm still trying to reconcile the words "Chris Benoit" with the news. My mind can't grasp it. And occasionally, I have the urge to breakdown again, for the entirety of this horror. The press conference details were gruesome and clearly point to Benoit as a deeply troubled person. I put away my Benoit shirt and action figure. When I unearth them again in a few months, I may burn them. I can't enjoy what this man was, not when his character was so indistinct from himself.

I am devoid of three wisdom teeth.

I managed not to eat anything for 13 hours before the operation. I decided on using the knockout drug, administered through an IV. I sat in the chair and the plugged me in. I was given a blood pressure cuff, a finger pulse monitor, and three EKG patches. They stuck a needle in me and then hooked that up to the IV drop. It was saline initially, but then the dentist added some syringes of drugs to it. I first felt it in my empty stomach and then the back of my head. I don't remember anything after that. I was out within 30 seconds. I woke up cleanly with a mouthful of gauze 45 minutes later.

Your Sis drove us to the CVS for the prescriptions (Oxycodone and anti inflammatory). I took out the gauze and had soup and Sprite. My tongue was a dried out wad, and my lower lip is dead putty. It made drinking and sipping difficult. I took my first Oxy and am now changing out the gauzes after 30-minute applications.

I feel clear-headed, but my lower left tooth area hurts. It feels like a jaw ache. But otherwise, I feel OK. I'll post teeth pictures later.

Horrible and Sudden News

EDIT: I won't be online tomorrow as I am having wisdom teeth yanked out. Might be away Thursday too.

One of my favorite wrestlers has died, and police are calling it a murder-suicide.

Chris Benoit was one of the guys who, in the mid '90s, brought a new degree of realism and intensity to rasslin at a time when it was flush with cartoony characters and gimmicks. He was a product of the fabled Stu Hart Dungeon, a basement training center run by the patriarch of Canadian wrestling. Benoit was small and quiet, and that kept him from advancing beyond the midcard for many years, but the fans took to him because he never coasted through a match or a feud. He always showed up ready to play, and his matches would often steal the show from the main event, even if it included Hogan or Rock or Austin.

I first noticed Benoit when he moved to WCW, the Atlanta-based national promotion. The organization had the financial backing of Ted Turner and later Time-Warner and was able to sign and maintain a huge roster at high salaries. Benoit and his smaller compatriots were deemed the "Vanilla Midgets" backstage by the larger boys who ran the show. They were considered unmarketable because they relied on performance and choreography instead of catchphrases.

It wasn't until the bloated budgets and diva tantrums threatened to sink WCW that Benoit was given the world belt. But because the talent had largely soured on the management and backstage hierarchies, Benoit and his popular running buddies walked out the door not 24 hours after he won the title. Management let them, saying anyone who wasn't happy at WCW could leave with no financial entanglements. Within a month, they were on the WWF and working in a significant storyline.

Benoit was placed against the Rock for his first singles feud and worked the main event on consecutive PPVs. He held the tag belts and the Intercontinental title before finally getting the WWF belt in 2004. This was not long after he was sidelined for a year with spinal fusion surgery; his hard style of performance had ground away at his neck. But even after that, his style remained the same. He never changed his repertoire. He had just been moved to the WWE-owned ECW roster to capture that group's world title and bring respectability to a floundering franchise. He was going to win the belt this past Sunday.

But he no-showed, saying he had a family emergency. Word spread that his one-time tag partner in Canada had died, and it was assumed he was taking time off (even from a world title win) to pay respects. But late Monday, he was found dead along with his wife and son in their Atlanta home.

Even plugged in online as I am, I heard nothing of this until I turned on the weekly Monday show. It was supposed to be a three-hour special devoted to the storyline that owner Vince McMahon had died in a car bombing. We were going to see a cloying tribute to the character and watch as the feds investigated the matter backstage. But when 8 p.m. rolled around, the show began instead with the now-traditional memoriam screen, and it was naming Benoit.

The screen then cut to an empty Texas arena where the show was supposed to broadcast live. Vince was in the ring (the first time he'd appeared onscreen since his character's apparent death) to say the show had been canceled, the storyline has been halted, and the next three hours would pay video tribute to Benoit who was found dead in his home along with his wife and son. I thought initially the family's plane may have crashed on the way to the Canada services. During commercials and match highlights, I checked online. The Atlanta paper would say only that the family had not been shot to death. Message boards claimed that Benoit had told the company that his wife and son were coughing up blood. But today, the paper quotes police as saying he killed them then himself, and the eventually released details will be bizarre.

It's a shock. I'm used to seeing sudden announcements of wrestler deaths. So many of them die after their hearts give out after years of steroids or painkillers. But this obituary is eclipsed by the circumstances. Benoit dead after killing his family. I don't know the guy, had watched him perform for about ten years, but the news hit hard, abetted by the fear that this would be an ugly story, and apparently it is.

His was the first wrestling shirt I ever owned. I still have it. Unfortunately all the performers whose shirts I bought are dead now. And everything I liked about the guy will be overshadowed by what ultimately will be announced about his death and especially those of his family. His wife was in the business too; that's how they met. It became a funny scandal: They were put together by a writer who was also her husband and Benoit's onscreen rival. The story dictated that they would fall for each other and team up against the husband. Then it happened for real. She left the writer/wrestler and took up with Benoit. They got married and had a son. He was seven when he died. Benoit had just turned 40.

Benoit's best friend Eddy Guerrero died within the past two years. His heart failed him after he cleaned up from drugs. Eddy was a fantastic ring performer. He had the gift of gab Benoit lacked. His death was a shock as well, but this is different because of the offscreen events. And I feel horrible for Chavo, Eddy's nephew and fellow wrestler. He's lost Eddy and Chris within such a short time, and the latter through an apparent domestic tragedy.

I'm sleepwalking through the day, saddened and burdened by the whole damn thing. This will do nothing to help the mainstream image of the business, and that's an anathema to everything Benoit tried to give it inside the ring.

Go, Team Venture

I rented two films for the weekend, Nacho Libre and Children of Men. Nacho is a kids film, through and through, complete with random fart sound effects. Mildly disappointed with this one. I decided later that Children of Men looks like something Your Sis might like; I put off watching it until she got back.

I mowed on Saturday, cleaned up, and hit downtown. I perused the library periodicals, paid the water bill, tried unsuccessfully to order a coffee behind a pack of elderly tourists (suddenly we're swarming with them), strolled an art gallery featuring works by my first painting teacher, and bought lawnmower sparkplugs and peppercorns. When I got home, I vacuumed the house, cleaned the stove (gas ranges get very messy, much to my surprise), did the laundry, and composted the old leftovers. I'm so fucking domestic.

I rewarded myself by watching the Season One DVD of Venture Brothers, a cartoon that got so much right at the very beginning. It didn't have to find its footing. I have no idea how well this cartoon would work for people who didn't watch Johnny Quest cartoons though. I drew a bit to flesh out the revamped cat comic and went to bed during a terrific thunderstorm.

A wrong-number call woke me up tragically early Sunday morning, and I decided to try to run. And I failed miserably. I ran the opposite direction on the campus, thinking the change of view would enliven the now-routine run. I had initial trouble with the stopwatch function on the iPod, I had to pee almost immediately, and I never found my stride. I was aching within two laps and couldn't complete the third. I bombed out. I suspect now that I was sunburned and dehydrated. It's humiliating, honestly.

I slunk home, cleaned up, and went back out for groceries. As I approached the Starbucks booth, the barista started to recite my usual order. But I had already decided to make a change and shocked her with my order of the double chocolate chip frappuccino. Never had it before and now I may never drink anything else. It tastes like chocolate cake batter. I almost bought Your Sis a welcome-back cake but thought better of it. She's eaten travel food for a week; she may want healthier fare.

She did arrive around 4:30, and she immediately showered so we could go out to eat. OK, there was a small nap in between, but then we hit the pub. And she decided she wanted a cake (argh!), and we picked up a red-velvet half cake from the grocery store as we watched TiFauxed House and Jeopardy.

Picture of the Day
Harrison Ford on the set of the upcoming Indiana Jones film. My reflexive notion is that they waited too long. I remember selling the last film's VHS when I worked at Wal-Mart during my senior year of high-school. Remember the line "it's ain't the years, it's the mileage?" Sometimes it's the years. Indy looks small. Thin, reedy. This is the shrinking of all mature men. This is not what I want to see from my pulp hero. Should they have found another Indy? No. I would rather they made a big-fat CGI film and let Ford voice his character.