I ran a 5k and... I won!

Okay, okay... if you ask the race organizers, or any of the 24 people who had times lower than mine, they might say, technically, I didn't win.  However.  I ran a goddamn 5k.  And I ran all of it.  And I did it for my mom.  So... I won.

It's called the Son Run and it's only in its second year and it benefits uninsured cancer patients.  I'm sure if you're reading this you know me personally and you knew my mom personally and you know that she was an uninsured cancer patient.  If you didn't, now you know.

We're 34 minutes short of my mom's 62nd birthday.  Who gets old and dies before their 62nd birthday?  It seems that 62 should be an age when people are looking at retirement... retirement is really close and it's like a second youth.  A time that you finally have the time and the money to do all the things you dreamt of doing your whole life but didn't because of money or kids or time or whatever.  Also, the time you begin to have grandkids, possibly the greatest thing about having kids.  My mom missed out on all of that.  She never retired, she just went on disability.  She was diagnosed when her first and only grandchild was two.  She didn't get to really relish being a grandma because she was always too sick.  I remember not being able to leave him with her because she was too weak to lift him out of his crib.

This isn't intended to be about my mother's illness or death or what she missed out on. I may have had a glass too many of pinot noir.  This is intended to be about my triumph in running the 5k.

I learned a great deal from my mom.  I am similar to her in many ways.  My dedication to my health is not one of them.  She wasn't terribly unhealthy, but she never took a proactive stance towards her body and her health.  Sometimes I resent her for this.  Sometimes I think if she had taken better care of herself, she wouldn't have gotten cancer and wouldn't be dead.  This is one of the reasons I have become increasingly dedicated to preserving my health.  In a way, I did learn it from her.  I learned it from her in more of a "what not to do" way.  The strange thing is, she died of lung cancer, but she quit smoking when she got pregnant with me, over 25 years ago.  Admittedly, my obsession with my nutrition/exercise is largely due to vanity.  But I can't exclude the effect that watching my mom get treatment, fight, and ultimately fail to prevail had on me.  As God is my witness, I will do whatever I can to ensure my son will never go through with me what I went through with my mom.

So, back to the 5k.  I've only ever run one once before, and I was drunk then and I think I walked most of it.  So I consider this my first one.  Sure, I work out often, but whenever you require your body to do something new, no matter what shape it's in, it's going to throw a fit.  And throw a fit my body did.  My ankles ached before we left the parking lot.

As I circled the loop, with my eardrum-damaging earphones in on high volume, listening to The Givers with their workout-inspiring single, "Up Up Up", I thought of my mom.  Fortunately, the energy it took to keep my legs in motion limited the cognitive power of brain, almost to the perfect point of simple, clear thoughts without the cloud of overthinking and overanalyzing which usually impedes my thoughts.  So, I thought of my mom in simple terms.  I thought of her face; I pictured her smiling face at the finish line with a look of pride.  I imagined her looking down from heaven, proud of me for running this race.  Proud of me for running the race of life I run every day out of dedication to myself and to my son.  I thought of her health and why I do the things I do to take care of myself; largely out of respect for her.  I thought of the one-year anniversary of her death which passed last month and her second birthday I will spend without her.  That's tomorrow, which makes all of this all that much more relevant.  I thought of my sister.  Certainly, she is not the only family I have left, but she is the closest family, save my son, that I have left.  I miss her deeply, especially during these difficult times.  I often wish she were here with me to share them with me in a way she just simply can't over the phone.

I finished the race.  I did it.  I did it without any help from anyone; I did it based on my own strength and determination.  I see it, a bit, as a metaphor for my life.  I run and I run and usually I feel like I'm not getting anywhere and a lot of the time I want to quit and I don't see the point.  But I keep going, for whatever reason, whether it's my son or my mom or my sister or my man, and once in a while there's a small victory, like a finish line where strangers cheer for you and someone hands you some water and a raffle ticket.  Of course, in real life, after that small victory, you hardly get a chance to catch your breath before there's a new race to run.  Sometimes, I feel like I'm running two or three races at once, and if I finish one, there's another waiting to begin.  However, this small victory this morning, in running and finishing my first 5k in 29 minutes (7th in my age group, yeah!) was a symbolic victory for me.  I'm encouraged that I can run and finish any race whose start line is placed in my path.  And, goddammit, I'll do it for the right reasons and with my head held high.  And... go!

Tetsa River (originally posted 5/27/08)

Tetsa River Campground is where I write from tonight. There is, of course, no wireless internet here, in fact, there is no electricity or running water for that matter. There are horses, though, trees, and a babbling little creek. I decided to try something different tonight, that is, I decided to stay at a B&B in the middle of nowhere instead of a cheap motel in a creepy city. And I'm glad I did. It's beautiful here. Quaint and rustic. This compound has cabins, a little store, above which are the B&B rooms, even gas pumps ($1.60/liter!!! Glad I filled up in Fort Nelson). There are horses everywhere, including a tiny baby one.

Not much to write about today. Again, 13 hours and over 600 miles, and I haven't even crossed out of British Columbia yet. God, this place is huge. The terrain today, however, was much more uniform. It's as though the geography knows it has plenty of space to spread out, stretch its proverbial legs, and it does just that. It's in no hurry to cover mountains, valleys, forests, and fields all in the span of a few hundred miles, as areas such as Colorado must, if they are to preserve their topographical and ecological diversity. It has thousands upon thousands of miles to make gradual, almost imperceptible transitions between landscapes.

Anyway, I will have to track down some internet tomorrow, in order to post this. I think they will turn the water and electricity back on in the morning, but I doubt internet will come on with it. But I like it here and if there wasn't such a strong draw further westward, I might be tempted to camp out, so to speak, for a while.

28 May 2008; 8:30 a.m.

Holy crap! They do have wireless here! And friendly old cowboys and homemade cinnamon rolls. Paradox Paradise.

Prince George, BC... (originally posted 5/26/08)

... is a very disconcerting place. I covered two countries today, and not no sissy more-like-a-state-than-a-country European countries, we're talkin big North American countries here, real countries. 600 miles. 13 hours. I'm tired. Prince George freaks me out. I can't wait to leave. Why are all the hotels booked up? Creepy.

600 miles, 13 hours, and two countries, not to mention about a half dozen different types of terrain, provided a blossoming opportunity to make my recently-endeared observations. Which I did. Unfortunately, the very same factors that made today so rich also rendered the mind weakened and beat down to a point of near collapse. Thus, I must now recluse into this cheap hotel room, distancing myself from any type of intriguing or enthralling narration of the day's adventures. Apologies for that.

Just a few of the more interesting things that happened to me today:
1. Got pulled over north of Seattle for having studs in my car. The tire kind, not the man kind. Got off anyway.
2. Canadian people are very friendly. Except, of course, border patrol. Still, no problems there.
3. I'd forgotten how beautiful Southern British Columbia is.
4. Everything is flooding. Lakes, rivers, the bowls of normally-dry meadows. Seems this is not a problem confined to Western Colorado. Probably the same causes. I saw a horse grazing on algae in a fenced-in swamp, presumably it used to be his paddock.
5. Found myself driving the wrong direction on a street in downtown Prince George. More accurately, a fellow driver found me driving the wrong direction on a street in downtown Prince George. I assumed all the streets in downtown Prince George were one-way, just like all the other streets in all the other downtowns (they call them "city centres" here) in all the other towns all across the country... wait, this is Canada. Everything is backwards (read: everything makes more sense) here. This was, of course, about a half an hour ago, and my delirium is, even now, I think, fairly evident to you, dear reader.
6. I spent too much money on the Comfort Inn last night, so I've resolved to stay in cheaper motels from here on out. I can't imagine why I would have paid $60 for a crappy continental breakfast... Well, maybe because the Comfort Inn was a lot less creepy than the PG Hiway Motel in Prince George. Actually, even the Days Inn was creepy here. I think there is just an air of creepiness in this city which... well, creeps into everything in or around it. I hope I don't leave here reborn as a creep.
7. I noticed a billowing plume of smoke about 50 miles outside of Prince George, and when I finally got here and began driving down the hill into town, there was a big building all ablaze. There were people who drove up the hill just to see it and had traffic stopped all the way down the hill. Cops had to come and "move along, there's nothing to see here" everyone. I should turn on the news and see what that was. I hope no one was inside...

Seattle (originally posted 5/25/08)

... is where I am now. I spend a good deal of time thinking on things while I'm driving, making observations and such, so I figured I would share a few of the less embarrassing or private ones. I woke up this morning in a little town in Montana name of Dillon (yes, there is also a Dillon, CO, but the similarities end there). I then drove to Butte, which is a strange, unassuming, almost naive (from what I could tell driving around, I never actually got out of my car there) city. It's overlooked by beautiful, but I couldn't tell how beautiful because they were capped by low-ceilinged clouds, mountains, and I think it might be called Butte because of the orange-colored rock-quarry looking thing that guards the city from the west. Butte is all casinos and churches. Downtown (they call it "Uptown") Butte had about 10 historic brick buildings, of which nine were churches and one was a saloon. I spent most of my 30 minute-visit to Butte driving around calling "coffee," which is how I look for things. I think it's probably a good thing I never found a traveling companion since some of my habits, not the least my habit of looking for things by calling their name (it works more often than you'd think, though it did not work for my passport... yet), could be construed as annoying or maybe even abrasive. I finally found some coffee at "Hot Shots" drive-through espresso. Not delicious, but coffee nonetheless.

So that's Butte, MT. I drove through about 10 other medium sized and about 50 small-sized cities today but I'm tired and so that's all you get to hear about. Anyway, Butte was where I spent the most time and made the most observations. My mind is far more keen and alert at 9:30 a.m. than it is at, say, 6:30 p.m., at which time I was in George, WA, at the Gorge Amphitheater hoping to run into Nick. I didn't actually expect to find him among the thousands of people there, but needed a break so I went and hung out outside the entrance to the music festival and watched the hippies and goths and emos stream in to see Death Cab for Cutie anyway. The Gorge is a pretty cool venue, sitting right on the top of this huge, well, gorge, which the Columbia River flows through.

Good Things

Given the complete and utter crap being vomited at us by the R&B industry in recent years (I'm looking at you, Black Eyed Peas), I have all but completely given up that this industry has a future in producing quality music.  Save a few throwback acts (Sharon Jones & The Dap-Kings, Fitz & The Tantrums), which arguably could be garnering their success only by pulling from vintage styles (which isn't to say that doesn't work beautifully), I thought there was nothing worthwhile coming out of that segment of the music industry.  So, it was by complete accident that I stumbled upon Aloe Blacc. And by "complete accident," I mean that David Dye told me about him. Thanks again, Dave!

It's been a long time since a song actually caused me to have to fight back tears (in the gym while working out, no less), but Aloe's "Mama Hold My Hand" just got me. Right there. This song is about on the mother-son relationship from childhood all the way through mom's last days. Yeah, so, got me in the crier on several different levels there.

This guy writes these clever, uplifting songs and then delivers them in a way that channels* Bill Withers' lyrical cynicism ("Hey Brother," "I Need a Dollar," and "Life So Hard") or Brooke Benton's molasses-smooth vocals. 

The album title "Good Things" is appropriate for this upbeat, positive album.  I love the song "Green Lights" because it acknowledges a good day, when I, for one, am guilty of only taking note when I have a bad day.  I like to listen to that song and remind myself to feel some appreciation when I'm having a good day.

The title track is another with a decidedly positive tone.  It's a break-up song, but it's not about heartbreak, it's about recovery and growth.  This song needs to be the final track on every break-up mix anyone makes anywhere... ever.


Other notable tracks include the Velvet Underground cover "Femme Fatale," the hit single "I Need a Dollar," and "You Make Me Smile."  Aw, hell.  They're all good.  "Good Things" is good stuff.  Check it out.... Oh, man.  "Mama Hold My Hand" just started.  I've listened to that song so much that the opening bars alone now pluck a heartstring for me.  Like a Pavlovian response.  Ohhh, it's so good....



* There.  I used the term "channels".  I hate it when music reviewers use that term, but I felt it's a sort of rite of passage, so I did it.  Won't happen again.

Dualakoo

The old woman is dancing.  Sitting down, but still, she is dancing.  Allen would love this - hold on - let me just discreetly film this for him.  There.

I'm at the bar.  This is unusual for me.  I'm half-drunk.  Not quite as unusual for me.  A local band is playing.  "Wait," I ask Annika, "isn't that Matt Lincoln?" as it dawns on me why we're here.  We went to high school with these guys.  Oooohhhhh.  I get it.

I'm listening to the band playing mostly Sublime and Ben Harper and Oasis covers.  They're not half bad, and I feel like if they went out on a limb and wrote some originals, they could go somewhere.  And by somewhere, I mean I'd play them on my radio show.  More than listening to the band, however, I'm watching the people around me.  So this is the bar scene, I think.  It occurs to me that people my age attend the "Bar Scene" to meet potential mates.  Most of these people aren't my age.  Most of them are late college age, I think.  Maybe that's just cause I'm here with my sister, who's "late college age".

Or maybe it's because most of them are absurd.  There is a woman standing near the bar.  I can only see her from the back.  She is wearing a sparkly black and pink satin camisole.  It has some sort of busy Far East print on it.  That's the pink. The background is black.  There is a hot pink bow in her hair, which makes me think when she turns my way I'll see a girlish face, to go with the bow.

The band plays a honky-tonk-type song called "I'm Drunk".  I like it until I notice that an obese woman sitting at the bar in a hot pink shirt is lifting and dropping her breasts in time with the music.  I feel sick.

A beautiful girl sits near us.  She is thin, only slightly curvy, in that way that only very young women who've never had children are.  She has sharp features, striking blue eyes, and straight, dark hair, worn in an A-line cut.  I think she is perfect.  She is sitting on the lap of an oddly proportioned young woman who is also wearing her hair in a more defined A-line, except her hair is dyed purple and white. Weird.

I'm slightly chilled and still wearing my (yogurt-stained) black wool pea coat, even though I put on a nice "work" shirt for the occasion.  Looking around some more, I realize almost every young woman is wearing a sleeveless or short sleeve shirt, as though they are welcoming the warmer weather that is beginning to come upon us.  As though they are anticipating the dog days of summer which will be here all too soon.  Why?  Why would you welcome that?  I understand enjoying the mid-60's we've been having lately, but who could possibly want the 100+ days that are to come so soon? 

The table next to us is a contradiction in itself.  It doesn't match the rest of the bar.  Of course, there is the dancing old woman.  But she is not accompanied by other dancing old women, as you may expect.  She is accompanied by one other old woman, two middle-aged women and a middle aged man.  They are enjoying themselves.  I'm confused.  Are these women taking their grandmother out for one last hooraw before she dies?  I mean, this woman is enjoying herself.  She's wearing a silky green sleeveless shirt, something I might wear, actually, and, oh, God, now she is dancing with the middle-aged man.  They are standing now and this ain't your grandmother's get-down.

There is a young man sitting at the table nearest the band.  He could be extremely good-looking.  He has nice features, a "chiseled" jawline, and a trim body.  Too bad he's wearing his facial hair in that unfortunate new style, the "chin strap".  Why, oh, why?  It's almost as bad as the "bump-it" that women wear in their hair.  He's speaking to a woman with a very exaggerated "bump-it".

It is too loud to talk.  We're sitting right in front of the speaker.  I suggest getting up and turning it the other direction but no one seems to think the guitarist would like his speaker pointed towards his head.  Oh well.  The only way to effectively communicate is via text message.  My sister is texting me.

A girl sat down at our table a while back.  I'm pretty sure LeeAnna and Annika know her.  She is adorable.  I can't stop looking at her.  She has dark hair, tied back with a sparkly fake purple flower. but with short bangs and a curly section framing the right side of her face.  She has big eyes and is wearing a lot of makeup, but it looks good, defines her eyes.  She has a cute little dimple in her chin and a... monkey...? tattoo on her bare shoulder.


The young woman with the purple hair shrieks.  I think the place is on fire for a moment, but then I look up and see that she is racing across the room to embrace another young woman.  I am irritated.  She probably saw that person yesterday.  Even if she is her long-lost sister for whom she has been searching for years, such a reaction is inappropriate in a public place.  Why the need to demonstrate the strength of your friendship?  Is it because you feel insecure in most of your relationships?  Do you need everyone in the bar too know that you, too, are loved?


LeeAnna shows me her text.  It says, "Doesn't Zondra remind you of Jessica Ruf?"  LeeAnna is hip and knows that when communicating via text in places that are too loud to communicate vocally, you don't actually send the text message.  You just show your cell phone screen to the recipient, so they can read the message directly from your phone, no air waves required.  Like passing notes.  I assume everything my sister does is hip since she is younger than me and is still in college and seems to have more friends than I do.

I try to respond, "Who is Zondra?  Also, who is Jessica Ruf?" but I accidentally send it.  She receives it and accommodates me by actually sending an explanatory reply.  Apparently Zondra is the girl with the purple flower sitting across from me.

The woman with the bow gets a drink a turns around.  She is old; or looks old, and the age in her face only makes the bow in her hair look misplaced, which in turn makes her matching shirt look misplaced.  She is old - maybe older than me, alone, and very sad.  Her bow aggravates me now.  Her hair looks greasy, her body malproportioned.  Everything is wrong with her now, but I suspect it's all just that damn little bow.  How is it that Zondra's flower is so intriguing while the woman with the bow's bow is so disgusting?

The band sings a song about Colorado.  It might actually be an original.  I don't know, but it makes me feel proud to live in Colorado.  They sing a line about how water starts here and everyone else is drinking our toilet water.  Annika and LeeAnna and I accidentally over-analyze it and soon we've concluded that, actually, we're drinking everyone else's toilet water and we probably are drinking the dirtiest water since everyone else gets it after it's gone through dozens or even hundreds of water-treatment centers.  How many water treatment centers are there between here and the head waters of the Colorado?  Two, maybe three?  Ewwww...

The woman with the bump-it speaking to the handsome (save the chin-strap) young man is pregnant.  I feel bad about judging her bump-it.  Hey, just washing your hair when you're that pregnant is an accomplishment.  I admire her for finding the energy to bump-it her hair even though I hate the way it looks.

The beautiful young woman with the dark hair and perfect body moves from her friend's lap to a chair of her own.  She has sweat stains and I am reminded no one is perfect. 

I think about all these people and how I relate to them. I believe I'm older than most.  I believe I live a different lifestyle than most of them.  They all seem so consumed with appearances that they make these ridiculous accommodations like bump-its and chin-straps and pink bows and purple hair flowers and dark make-up and for some of them it works and they look lively and beautiful and happy but for most of them it doesn't work and they look too old and tired and used up. I no longer enjoy the bar scene and the noise and the strangers.  Come to think of it, maybe I never did.  Maybe it's not age.  Maybe it's personality.  In any case, I close my tab and make my sister give me a ride home since I can't tell whether I'm too drunk to drive or not.  I'm happy to give my son the good night kiss and cuddle I promised him before I left and to finally crawl into my warm bed with my warm man and fall asleep, half-drunk and contented to spend most nights at home with my family and not at the bar seeking easy lays or quick drunks or happiness or whatever it was that everyone there who looked so unhappy really wanted.

I'll Kiss You Forever

Oliver and I had the following conversation in the car today (honestly, this happened):

Oliver (after I kissed him): Mom!  Don't kiss me... forever!
Me:  I will kiss you... forever!  Even after you're grown up I'll kiss you.
Oliver:  When I'm 19, I'll be soooo tall, you won't be able to kiss me.
Me: Well, then, I'll get a chair, and I'll stand on it so I can kiss you.
Oliver: I'll be sooo tall, you won't be able to kiss me when you stand on a chair.
Me: Well, then, I'll get a ladder, and I'll climb to the top of it so I can kiss you.
Oliver: Then I will jump so high in the sky, you won't be able to kiss me.
Me: I'll get a hot air balloon and fly up and kiss you.
Oliver: I'll get a airplane and fly away so you can't kiss me.
Me: I'll get a helicopter and chase you in your airplane and kiss you.
Oliver: I'll get a car and drive away so fast, you won't be able to kiss me.
Me: I'll get a rocket and chase you in your car and kiss you.
Oliver: I'll get a hotwheels and drive so fast, you can't kiss me.
Me: I'll chase you in your hotwheels in a train engine, and kiss you.
Oliver: I'll get a rocket and fly to the moon so you can't kiss me.
Me: I'll get in my space ship and fly to the moon and kiss you.
Oliver: Then I will run away and get back in my ship and fly away all over space so you can't kiss me.
Me: Then I'll get in my ship and chase you all over space and kiss you!

Then we got home and I kissed him again.

Blog!

I started a blog!  Why?  Because I hate free time!

I intend this blog to be a music review blog, but I imagine a lot of my other random musings will creep their way in.  So, if you're interested in reading about my black thumb, my unwilling debut in the rental real estate industry, my incredible talent for cooking, my partially successful dieting, my exercise routine (or "How I Developed the Healthiest Addiction Ever"), how being a mom is awesome, or Alexander Hamilton's biography, stay tuned.  Oh, and I may throw in an occasional tidbit of free tax advice.  Watch closely, you wouldn't want to miss those gems.

I intend my first bit of writing to be a review of Middle Brother's debut album, Middle Brother.  For those of you who don't have your finger on the pulse of the music industry like I do, Middle Brother is a alternative country band made up of John McCauley of Deer Tick, and what's-his-face from Dawes and the guy from Delta Spirit.  Both Dawes and Deer Tick have been quite active in the last year or two.  Deer Tick released two dynamite albums back-to-back in 2009 and 2010, Born on Flag Day and The Black Dirt Sessions.  Dawes released their self-titled debut in 2009.  I know nothing about Delta Spirit, but given Matthew Vasquez's promise shown on "Middle Brother," they're on my "to check out" list.  The trio took time off from their full-time gigs in early 2010 to record this stand-up album.

Okay, so, Middle Brother.  Those of you who are familiar with Deer Tick's work will immediately recognize John McCauley's gravelly, twangy voice in about a third of the songs.  A quick look through the liner notes will indicate that the writing credits go to the three bandmates approximately equally, but their styles meld so fluidly that it's nearly impossible to pick out the song's writer just by listening.  The vocals, however, are another story.

John McCauley's melancholy, even despairing, tone, exhibited so keenly on "The Black Dirt Sessions" is present throughout, even in the funny, upbeat title track (which I can't wait to play on the radio so I can say, 'Here's the title track from the self-titled debut album by Middle Brother, this is "Middle Brother," off of "Middle Brother"').  This commentary on birth order could only be written by a middle child, and McCauley and Goldsmith share writing credits on this one, along with a one "Jonny Corndawg".  The tune is peppy but the story is about the inadequacies and failures and mediocrity felt by a middle child.  Even the half-assed applause closing the song emphasizes the unavoidability of the narrator's loser-dome.

"Middle Brother" covers enough ground regarding unrequited love ("Blue Eyes") and breakups ("Daydreaming," "Thanks for Nothing", "Theater") to make you think these three songwriters have experienced suffering beyond their ages (none has reached age 30, don't quote me on that for Vasquez though).  None stands out like "Million Dollar Bill," however.  Goldsmith's feeling, the poignancy with which he describes the shock and loneliness of losing a love, almost makes me want to have a break up just so I can experience that kind of pure, absolute emotion, even if it is heartbreak.  Goldsmith, Vasquez, and McCauley switch off vocals and each emotes his verse with such sincerity that you can feel his yearning and want to dive into the song to ease his pain.

As a huge John McCauley fan, I had high expectations for this album and have not been disappointed. The collaboration among three of music's most promising rockers is no gimmick.  Listen closely, you wouldn't want to miss the poeticism displayed by these three talented young musicians.