Stupid rain

Stupid rain.

Stupid stupid rain, first it ruins my run this morning, then it ruins my one freakin’ day to goof off outside.

Stupid, stupid rain.

Not many miles

This week I was weak. I only ran 9.5 miles: 2 miles on Tuesday, 5.5 miles on Thursday, drank myself stupid on Friday (I planned that, by the way), tried to go bouldering on Saturday, ran just over 2 miles on Sunday (today).

I’ve stopped taking my vitamin supplements, and it seems obvious in retrospect that my lack of energy is tied to the lack of nutrition. I’ve started taking them again, and I’ll see how my exercise goes.

Two weeks until the Mt. Tabor Challenge. Hoo-boy, that’s going to be a killer.

Non-morning

I run better in the morning. I don’t know why. I just do. I’m so much stronger, able to just keep running, able to dissociate myself from thinking about what I’m doing, able to breathe properly.

I did two miles tonight. Not great, had to walk some, couldn’t breathe. Bah.

Now I’m sitting here, in the dark, bathed in the cool soft glow of my iBook’s screen, listening to Mr. Colin Molloy sing “Clementine”. I’m now a big fan of The Decemberists. The songs are literate, ironic, slightly twisted, and generally sad, even when the tune is upbeat and catchy.

OK, time for bed. G’night.

More motivation please

I need to run. I should be running right now. Two days ago I ran the “Three Parks” loop and nearly died, but managed to finish it with an absolute minimum of walking. Two days ago, I planned on getting up early today and running at least 3 miles. Then I went out with someone on Monday evening, and stayed out late, at least too late to get up at 4:30 AM today and be in any kind of shape, and so decided to run tonight after work. All day long I could feel my energy level dropping, and the excuses came out in my head: “Run tomorrow morning! It won’t change your schedule that much… You’re too tired to run. You don’t have to run 3.5 miles, you can just run 2 miles… don’t run, go home, go to sleep, you need it… if you don’t have dinner that’s the same, calorie-wise, as running… don’t run…”

Dammit. I’m not going to give in to the negative voices. I’m going. I’m already dressed for a run. I drank plenty of water. It’s a beautiful warm evening outside. I just have to get up from this couch and go out that door…

I’m going. See me go? I’m gone.

New home

All moved in. At least, all my stuff is here. None of it is where I want it to be, not to mention where I expect it to be.

But I’ve got InterWeb, and a bed for when I’m sleepy, and something to eat when I wake up, and clothes to wear. The rest will sort itself out in time.

Oh, but no music. I can’t remember how I had my iPod hooked up to my stereo. No music, no life. I want my music!

Qwest begins to piss me off

I hate moving.

I have been moving boxes of stuff out of my old apartment all day long, and yet it still looks like I live there.

Bah.

In other news, Qwest is still a pain in the ass. I decided, since I was moving, I wanted to pare down my phone bill a bit. I thought it would be nice to just have the cell phone, but keep my landline number (got to preserve that 503 area code, plus that way I wouldn’t have to change as much stuff on my checks and business cards). I figured it would be complicated, but since both my cell and my landline are through Qwest I figured it was at least feasible.

Sometimes I’m so naive.

So tell me if this seems overly complicated: They had to split the landline and the cell phone into two separate accounts, generating two different bills. For some arcane reason, that put a 24-hour hold on my account, where they were unable to make changes (like, for instance, putting in a request for the landline number to be switched to the cell phone, or disconnecting the landline number). Of course, 24 hours isn’t really twenty-four consecutive periods of 360 seconds; it’s doled out as “business days”, which, due to the looming Memorial Day weekend on which I had the misfortune of attempting this technological feat, means that they can’t touch my account again until Tuesday.

The phone rep, Devin, said that when he got back in the office on Tuesday, he would personally make sure that the order went in to “port” my number from landline to wireless. He repeated this several times, almost as if he were trying to reassure me that it would actually happen. Instead it had almost the exact opposite effect.

Let me rewind that for you, in case you missed it: Qwest, one of the pre-eminent telecom companies in the entire Free World, a telecom whose market capitalization on the New York Stock Exchange is over six and a half billion-with-a-B freakin’ United States Economic SuperPower dollars, has to have a flesh-and-blood human being make sure that an order for a phone number to be switched from one account to another. Gee, I can’t wait until they start using actual computers to do this stuff. That makes me feel real good, that, in this day and age of computerized automation that my billing and orders for new service are dependent on the memory of a minimum-wage phone monkey after a three-day weekend. Can you spell “nifty”? ‘Cause I sure can’t.

At any rate, assuming that the CSR remembers to put in the order to “port” my number after imbibing brewed hops and barley and meat cooked in sauce while watching highly specialized cars drive in circles all weekend, then it only takes another three or four days before the number is actually switched.

And then, and only then, can they, the mortal men and women dutifully slaving away while holding off the future automation of telecom services, disconnect my landline completely, probably by having some strong-backed soot-covered ape in the bowels of the Qwest headquarters’ machinery at 1801 California Street in Denver, Colo-freakin’-rado turn a giant metal wheel, thereby closing the massive steam-driven valve that will eventually result in shutting off the dial tone twelve thousand fifty-eight point six miles away, in my apartment in rainy south east Portland, Oregon. Maybe, if I’m feeling generous, I’ll call up CEO Barry Allen (Holy shit! Isn’t he the Flash? You’d think he’d know a thing or twelve about speed!) and casually mention to him that there are these things called computers, see, and even the slowest of them can calculate millions of times faster than a human brain…

New CIO

Hee, hee, hee!

I just ran out to the bathroom to change into my “I read your email” shirt… and when I came back, I walked right past Becky, the new interim CIO for Multnomah County, and she looked right at my shirt and gave me a vacant clueless smile, like she had NO IDEA what it meant.

Maybe she’ll ask me to remove it or cover it up for being offensive?

Going out to a show

Saw a show last night.

The Decemberists were playing at the Aladdin Theater, with The Places and The Long Winters opening for them. I mentioned this before… surely you remember.

I wasn’t that impressed with The Places. Amy Annelle’s voice was alright, but the tone of the music was melancholy and plaintive. Also, the girl couldn’t enunciate worth a damn and mumbled her way between songs. I picked up just that she’s local to Portland and was glad to be playing at the Aladdin. She introduced a three part song, each part having a name, well, except for the middle part which was untitled, oh, and the middle part was dedicated to the guitarist from Rush who was in jail for some drunk driving charge… or something… I dunno. I lost track in there somewhere.

The Long Winters, however, rocked and rolled. John Roderick puts on a great show. Their songs are so upbeat and catchy, and they got the normally-dour Portland crowd (Why is it that Portland music fans don’t dance?) up and out of their seats. A group of girls in the audience had apparently baked cupcakes and were imploring Roderick to eat one… He eventually did, although he was wary about the cupcakes being “laced… with hard drugs.” When Roderick found out that the cupcakes had been made with soy margarine he mused that that was “a very Portland ingredient.”

The band was minus their occasional member Sean Nelson, who provides harmonizing vocals and keyboards, but between Roderick’s lead vocals and guitar and Eric Corson’s bass and Michael Shilling’s drums… they weren’t missing much. And thankfully the LSD cupcakes didn’t kick in during the set. I just hope the band made it through the night all right…

I had only heard a couple of songs from The Decemberists from their label’s (Kill Rock Stars) website, and didn’t pay much attention. However, seeing them perform live is an entirely different experience. A five-piece band, led by Colin Molloy, they play literate, catchy tunes with a strong violent theme flowing through them. Their songs are full of catchy pop hooks but laced with references to war, weapons, soldiers, combat, blood, bullets, and sexualized violence. An intriguing combination and deadly to witness. Molloy seemed pleased at the crowd and happy to be playing, even though the band was still working out their stage presence and changes, and trying out new material. Molloy even took over Jenny Conlee’s keyboards for the new song.

The audience ate it up, and my companions and I were agreed that we would be seeking out their CD. Check them out if you get a chance…

Shame

I’m so disappointed.

I ran this morning, five miles. And then I gave blood at lunchtime. It’s the first time I’ve given blood since, y’know, losing all this weight. I was hoping that I would get all woozy and light-headed.

But I didn’t. Dammit.

And it took me longer to fill up the bag than normal. Guess my blood pressure has dropped. Or something.

Shuffle

Been listening to my iPod on “Shuffle by Album” mode. I call it “jukeboxing” — just letting it serve up CDs in some random order. Letting it do the work. OK, I am a little more selective than that. I have a playlist of my Favorite Albums; everything that’s a) a full CD (not just single MP3s that I’ve downl– er, obtained elsewhere), and b) that I’ve rated 3 stars or higher.

So far today I’ve heard:

Good stuff, good stuff.