SAT 10/10: Long Run/Walk ~4.75 miles, including a circuit of Lake Merritt. 40sec/20sec walk/run pace. Felt great. And both Lexi & the Monkey ran barefoot to see what it was like. Awesome. Shoes are evil.

Saturday night I did a private party and didn't get to sleep in my own bed till 0300. Then out the door by 0745 for a corporate picnic Sunday. That took a bit out of me.

MON 10/12: 30 min training session. 40sec/20sec walk/run through a nice, safe, bedroom community. Found a park close by that we were not aware of. it has a nice big wall were the monkey can play handball and get his New York on.

Evening run, after dark. We gots us some reflective gear, including bright yellow/reflective caps with red blinkies on the back. One of the things we're liking about Oaktown is that you have to somewhat go out of your way to not do hill training. That flat parts will be easy by the time March comes around.

POWER TO YOU!

Pirate's workout diary.

If you are having any sort of sub-par day...

If you need even the slightest modicum of up-cheering...

Or if you just need a massive infusion of boom-de-yadda into your day...

WATCH! THIS! VIDEO!



Life: Pretty fucking cool.

[EDIT] More

He wants a pair of Vibram Fivefingers
OH BABY, does your Buccaneer-American want a pair of those. Why?

Two words. Jack Hawksmoor


Jack Hawksmoor, Homo Urbanus, God of Cities.

Jack Hawksmoor does not wear a special costume.

Jack Hawksmoor does not wear a necktie.

Jack Hawksmoor does not even wear a collared shirt.

Jack does parkour.


And the beings that kidnapped Jack repeatedly as a kid (and turned him into a super-human that talks to and draws strength from cities) put traction treads on Jack's feet so he can always be in direct contact with the sidewalk/rooftops.

I think near-barefoot parkour in shoes like those would be heaven. When the monkey dreams at night, he's Jack Hawksmoor.

And every morning, kettlebell monkey wakes up a bit fitter.

---

Unfortunately, I've heard that people with a 2nd toe longer than their big one might have fitting problems. Gotta try a pair on and see how they work.

George Takei and his partner Brad Altman, that is.



That's because California's high court rejected ignorant, cruel, hate-filled, bigotry based in cherry-picked religiosity and, instead, chose equal rights and responsibilities for our citizens.

Go, California!

Just shy of 10 years in, I contend that marriage is about finding someone for whom all the uphill work with rocks of varying size rolling downhill at you is worth it.

Anyone who sells you that "Find the perfect person and everything works out happily ever after" crap is quite possibly:
-Single
-A moron
-Unhappy and wants to fuck things up for others with bad advice
-The most boring, unengaging person you have met this month.

Also, George Takei, being Japanese-American, may have studied Judo while he was interned in a concentration camp* by his fellow American citizens as a kid.

It certainly helped in dealing with knucle-dragging mouth-breathers like Tim Hardaway.



I wanna send them flowers in a big, nekkid-Tim-Hardaway-shaped wreath!

---

* Yes, I specifically use the term concentration camp in reference to the Japanese-Americans' citizens internment by their own government.

The Nazis didn't invent concentration camps. The US used internment of civilians without trial against the First Nations people here, then exported the same "injun-fighting" techniques to The Philippines. The British coined the term during The South African/Boer War, then used the technique in Ireland throughout the 20th century.

Auschwitz et al were death camps. Murder camps. Genocide camps. I would never minimize the reality of that history. But language matters, the words we use matter.

And looking back at our own history, calling crimes by their proper names is the first step on the path to not repeating them.

Overcome any obstacle...



Previously in O,DIKTO:
-After watching rugby, American football seems silly

-If Jackie Chan were French and 15 years younger...

-Dr. John, thank you for reminding me to wear ear plugs

---

* Traceur: Feminine form of Traceur: One who practices the sport of parkour.

Okay, after that (as ginmar put it) "Lord of the Flies with Geometry" post, how about something uplifting and positive? Something to flush out the mental ick like a big, YouTube-shaped neti pot for the consciousness.

Improv Everywhere, whose self described purpose is to "Create joy and chaos in public places", went about turning a little league baseball game in Hermosa Beach, CA, into a big league event, all without anyone from either team or their parents knowing about it. Outside of the league commissioner (who provided details like batting order and players' nicknames), only the agents of I.E. who filled the (normally empty) stands knew what was going on.

I present to you Improv Everywhere, "BEST GAME EVER!" (Make with the clickety-click and read the write-up. The details are brilliant.)



Humans. NOT ALL OF US SUCK! YESSSSS!

I present to you Turkish Wrestling.

[*lexica510]

Okay, I'm back, have had a day or so to re-orient from the road.

First off, Team-LexiMonkey suffered a massive comm disruption near the beginning of (and extending through) my road trip. Essential comm re-route was established, but that still left Pirate mostly off-comm the whole week.

kshandra, ratswallow, & twistedcat, I would have loved nothing more than to get together with y'all when I was in your towns, but scheduling would have been a total mess, and I was pretty wrung out for a whole lot of this, my first outing of this sort.

Next road trip, for sure!

Okay, so. Amgen Tour of California.

Learned more about bike road racing than I ever have before. Having satellite uplink with motorcycle cams, and all the riders "lojacked" with a GPS unit was cool because with the Tour Tracker you could see a realtime map of where the racers were, and how severe was the climb ahead of them, race stats and positions, all on several big screen TVs spread around the tent. How anyone summoned enough caloric output to care about bike racing without those is beyond me.

I learned that the "break" is the group of riders that is "away" from (a.k.a. in front of) the "peleton", which is the main body of riders. If a group of riders falls back from the peleton, they are an "echelon" (which is, I believe, French for lazy, punk-ass bitch).

Also, the tradition of handing out cowbells to EACH AND EVERY FUCKING PERSON ALONG THE RACECOURSE AND HAVING THEM RING THEM EACH AND EVERY TIME A RIDER PASSES...

Two words: less cowbell!

ATOC-'08, last day (Pasadena)
Originally uploaded by Spiritualmonkey.

My motto for this week was New day, new city, same bar. Sacramento, San Jose, Pasadena, Santa Clarita, they all look pretty much the same from the inside of a VIP tent. Solvang looked like Denmark (or a town-shaped Danish theme park) and San Luis Obispo looked (from the weather) like Seattle.

Now, it rained almost all week but DAYUM, that was a rainy day. Between the nastiness of the hills, the torrential downpour, and the stomach virus running through the pack and their support caravan, big props to the riders who finished the race after the SLO stage.

Actually, I was really glad none of us got electrocuted given how deep the thick-electrical-cable-lined gutters ran with swift-moving rain water. I mean, not that there was ANYWHERE that qualified as "dry", but the degree to which there seemed to be no place other than under inches of flowing water to run all those big, thick cable coursing with 'lectricity was something to be noticed and remarked upon.

I consoled myself with thoughts of "The riggers know what they're doing, the junctions are weather-tight... and if we go down, they're gonna fry along with us."

Brought the Ivana the 12kg Russian kettlebell on the road. Fucking-A, she was perfect. Didn't get to workout with her every day, but I did most days and she's right at home in a hotel room.

Also, my beloved lexica510 made me a meditation mala out of hematite beads right before I left. It works out to about 10 minutes worth of zazen. My sweetie rocks. I may not have swung the iron every day, but I got up and sat almost every day. That probably helped more than I gave it credit for.

There was this dude with a helmet that had a MASSIVE rack of antlers attached to it. Had to be a 10- or 12-point set, ~3.5' across at the widest point. Every day, he'd be waiting near the summit of one of the hill climbs and start running along side the racers as they pedaled by. There were also the "guys with big colored wigs" and a Catholic bishop keeping pace some days.

I kept watching to see if he was going to slip, fall forward, and spear a rider off their bike. The antlers guy, that is. Although i supposed a crozier 'twixt the spokes would ruin someone's race too.

ATOC-'08: Good Luck Socks
Originally uploaded by Spiritualmonkey.

I packed every pair of underwear in my dresser drawers... and only the socks on my feet. For a week on the road. Luckily my road-roomie Joe had a couple a spares he hit me up with. New Yorkers in California stick together that way. ;-)

Also, I mentioned my plight in passing to my friend Mickelle while she was unpacking in... whatever city we were in that night. She'd packed her bad-luck socks on the trip and by pawning them off on Pirate, they became my good luck socks. :D

PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE... Next year, pick ANYTHING ELSE to play except the disco/techno version "Star Wars Imperial March". I had visions of long lines of stormtroopers with their helmets bopping like so many white-armored Butabi brothers.

All I can say is THANK ELVIS for the espresso station in the tent being open before my call each morning. Those cats probably made more lattes and mochas for staff than guests. But we needed it more! ;-)

To the person who left a used diaper on top of one of the barrels holding up the tent for Mickelle to find: YOU SUCK! Happily, my lucky socks seem to have warded off that unsavory discovery from my path.

There were these two chicks in black whose job is was to be photographed planting a simultaneous fake kiss on both cheeks to whatever rider was getting honored (stage winner, yellow race-leader jersey, "King of the Mountains" points leader green jersey, etc) on the awards platform each day.

And all I could think of was "How objectifying. Ceremonial sexual favors from hired women as reward for athletic success. Oh yeah, document that for posterity."

Really now, sending a hooker back to his hotel for a handjob sincerely seems both more dignified, and honest. Put the jersey on his back, give him a bouquet of flowers, fine. But the awards bimbos kissing the rider for the camera is... irritating in it's unspoken symbolism.

Plus, I saw no hunky beefcake guys kissing cheeks for the camera on the one day they had a women's race.

Pomegranate-raspberry beer. Mandarin orange-grapefruit beer. Just because you can bottle something does not mean you should bottle something.

Had a priest come up to the bar one day and asked for a glass of red wine. "I guess technically I could change the water..." he said with a grin.

"But Padre, you're off duty. No need to strain your professional capabilities" I winked.

And by the way, naming the wine "Red Bicyclette" is just... "Red Bicycle" or "Bicyclette Rouge" would have been fine. But the Franglish... ugh.

A hotel is to be judged on several axes, but amongst the most important are How late is the jacuzzi open, How many bartenders/runners/cooks/baristas/etc (along with beverages) will it hold, and how heated is the outdoor pool?

It was a DAMN cold run in the rain from my room to the jacuzzi in San Jose, but SO worth it. And the pool was also nice & warm. Oooooh, baby swimming suspended in that amniotic bath was soothing.

SLO, Jacuzzi was again soothing and civilizing, the pool was... bracing. Brrr, back to the jacuzzi! But in both Sacramento & Santa Clarita... DISABLED JACUZZIS! Baaaaaaad!

The Jacuzzi in the Pasadena Hilton worked... but I was so exhausted by then, I could barely make it down the street to the end-of-tour pizza party. And I spent what little tips I made in the jukebox, and what few calories I had left on the dancefloor.

Over all, I like working road-trips. But I like coming home even more. Next time, I've got notes on how to have a smoother time, what essentials to bring and what you can leave. And for sure, hooking up with the locals when I have a working comm!

And if any BBC people who were on the trip read this, y'all are my gang. Can't wait to get on the road again with y'all.

Previously in O,DIKTO:
The monkey's bells got seriously rocked!

Wooden baseball bats splinter and break, sending blinding shards eye-ward. And they do it often, so they're expensive as well as dangerous.

Aluminum bats sound like shit. Plus they dent and die too.

Looking for an UNBREAKABLE baseball bat?

Meet the Brooklyn Smasher (and her lighter/shorter sister, Crusher).

Here's an article on the genesis of these injection-molded polypropylene bats (PDF). On the self defense angle, some interesting points. With an aluminum bat, if you swing and miss and hit something hard, you're going to get a bone-jarring resonance up into your arms as the hollow metal bat vibrates like a tuning fork. Not what you want in the middle of a fight for your life.

With a wood bat, because of the splintering issue, people who intend to use it for defense tend to wrap the whole thing tape, and then it becomes exclusively a weapon in the eyes of the law. Hey don't argue with me, tell it to the judge.

With the Brooklyn-series of bats, both of those problems disappear. Take a look at the picture of the Smasher under the wheel of a pickup. It's also impervious to the elements and will never rot or crack or fade. And if you have one of these under your bed with a glove and ball when that intruder comes a prowling...

"Officer, this stranger appeared in my house and I grabbed my baseball bat. My friends and I to the batting cage for exercise twice a week, that's why I keep it handy."

Once again, rwx hips the monkey to massive buckets of win-filled awesomeness. :D

NYC Ratkillers vs. Ottowa



Must.
Start.
East.
Bay.
Bike.
Polo.
Team.

Seriously. We've got a women's roller derby league already. Bike polo is SO the kind of thing that is made for the kind of 2-wheeled freaks we have here in our slice of NorCal. And there are teams up in Cascadia to play away games with.

M.S.E.B.B.P.T!

Oh man, lexica510 is gonna kick my ass when she reads this.

Two words: Bike Polo!



Bike Polo. FUCK YEAH! Sign the monkey up! Dude, I'm totally seeing a tattoo of a bike wheel with crossed polo-mallets. Arrr!

From "With Malice":

Barry Bonds, meet Sadaharu Oh. Mr Oh holds the professional baseball home run record.

How many? That would be 868. Yes, there have been times when I’ve been dismissive of that record, given it was attained in Japan, but that was before I realised the essence of yakyu, and now that Japan’s proven itself to be of major-league-quality, well… I feel justified in being dismissive of Mr Bonds attaining 755. Hank Aaron? Well, he did his feat with out … ummm… ‘chemical assistance’. Far more impressive.

I worked all night long and walked in the front door of the apartment building as dawn was breaking.

Wow, interesting night. For a hosted bar at a party on a Sunday night, we did pretty damn well tips-wise, considering we had something like 38 bar stations plus barbacks, bussers, and coat-checks on our team as well. It was some manner of baseball-related party. I hear there's some kind of "all-star" game being played...?

But DANG, Sunday night party? Don't you people have jobs? I mean, I'm not complaining in the least about generous tippers, go-go dancers in MLB outfits, neo-circus ladies doing trapeze and whatever that long-silk-scarf-from-the-heavens act is called (YE GODS, the asses on those women could crack walnuts!), and the sea of bosoms & cleavage sweeping past me in waves all night long. Just a bit surprising, I guess. :D

Why do I think I'm suited to being a bartender? Because I kept getting people coming back to my bar saying: "You're our favorite bartender! We saw you dancing and came to get drinks from you!" Okay, I mostly (but not exclusively) get that from women. But I enjoy what I do (in addition to being good at it) and I think it shows.

Also, I LOVE having people come up to my bar and say "Mix me something, surprise me." Because 9 times out of 10, the result is "Wow, that's delicious! What is it?"

Had one hottie come back for the same drink over and over after one of those last night. 2pts Skyy Citrus, 1pt triple sec, splash of sweet & sour, splash of lime juice, shakety-shake, strain into cocktail glass, orange slice. Doesn't have a name, but she loved it and had about 4.

Also, normally cash in the tip jar is the preferred manner of demonstrating one's appreciation for the bartender, especially when requesting favors above and beyond. But when a pretty lady in a skintight, near see-through dress displaying oceans of cleavage leans exhibitionistically forward over the monkey's bar and says "Jack & Coke, please. And could you make it a strong one? *BATS LUXURIOUSLY LONG EYELASHES*"...

As she sauntered away with her beverage that could lift a Volvo, I discovered she looked as good from the back as from the front. I actually took an order, knelt down, grabbed 2 Bud Lights from the chill-tub, cracked them, and handed them to the guy who ordered them without making eye contact. He chuckled as he saw what I was watching. ;-) (Don't try this at home, I'm a professional!)

Yes, I flirt shamelessly with the patrons. At least, the ones you can tell are into it (which generally means letting them shoot first). When the girls get all tarted up to party, it seems only polite to admire. If they didn't want to be admired while working up a sweat on the dance floor, they probably wouldn't be wearing clothes that say "Gaze upon me and lust, for tonight my friends and I par-TAY on display!" When they approach the bar dancing, I dance back. Not only is it a fun, pleasant, and aesthetically uplifting way to spend a shift, it's good for tips. Besides, ain't a one of them lexica510.

I SO need to get a job in a gay bar. Probably not in 'Frisco (the market's clogged already), but somewhere East Bay. I bet I'd make BANK.

Evidently Alyssa Milano was at the party, but if she wasn't getting a drink at my station or writhing around 30' above the dance floor wrapped up in Paul Bunyan's white silk scarf, I didn't see her.

Skyy vodka was the sponsor of the evening. And while the Skyy reps were pleasant and cute, I fucking hate when we have to rename drinks for the night. If you want me to make sure I say "Here's your SKYY & SODA" or "two SKYY AND TONICS, coming right up", sure. We're a crew of mercenaries and tonight, Skyy is the paymaster.

The "Skyy All-Star", fine. Skyy Vodka Citrus, pineapple juice, shaketey-shake, strain into a rocks glass w/ ice, finish with splash of soda water and an orange slice. Don't know that it's got another name, so the All-Star works.

But a Skyy martini is a perfectly descriptive and existing name. So calling it a "Skyy Grand Slam" is just stupid and I just couldn't bring myself to call it anything but a Skyy Martini*. But I was jazzed that the Skyy reps came to my bar a couple of times, ordered the nightly specials, and were pleased with my mixology. Making the sponsor's reps smile because you made a good drink with their product is always a positive thing.

The party ran till 2am. And 38 bar stations & associated gear and product do not quickly break down and get loaded on to trucks. So it was 4am before I got cut loose and headed home. I think I remember making coffee for Lexi when I got in as she was just getting up. Then I passed out on the bed and woke up this afternoon. And actually, I'd rather stay working till 4am than get off at 2am. At 2am, there are no after-hours places (legally) in California. At least if I stay on the clock till 4am BART will be opening up and I can take that rather than the all-nighter bus. The all-nighter is convenient, but the train is more comfy.

My feets hurt.

---

* Actually, when most people order a "vodka martini", what they want is chilled vodka served "up", a.k.a. in a cocktail glass. A Martini has vermouth in it. And I would never scoff at a patron who gives me that "Extra-dry, just wave the vermouth bottle in over the glass" bullshit. Not with the "outside voice", at least.

But you've bought into fashionable silliness that stems from early 20th century practices and products that don't really relate to contemporary cocktails. Grow up.

Cast iron, shaped like a pair of dead, darkened lungs. Love it!


The sign says it all. But I wonder what the Risk Management Office on campus thinks about that.

EDIT: It's been pointed out to me that that has to be a modified sign. Guess I should have listened to the voice saying "The risk manager at that school may as well start writing those checks. They can fill in the names of the students with broken bones later." ;-)

OMFG, this is off the wall hilarious. Make with the clickety-click and read about the conjunction of NCAA men's basketball and military-style psychological warfare. (Free reg site, but you can get around it with Bugmenot.com)

I'm especially fond of the New Zealand All Blacks and not least of all because they do a Maori Haka (ceremonial challenge/dance) before the kick-off (That and they've got the best team colors anywhere.)

Save the goofy touchdown choreography, the celebration of "Me".

I think I much prefer the "We" celebrated in Ka Mate or, the new haka created just for the All Blacks, Kapa o Pango. Here's the choreographer explaining the new haka. Note: That's NOT a throat-slitting gesture at the end. ;-)

I just love to watch the opposing team just stand there, arms around each other, just watching as the All Blacks do their thing. That's gotta suck, watching the other team get all worked up into a frenzy while you just sit there and wait.

The only thing cooler than one team doing a haka is the other team answering with their own Sipi Tau. Go, Tonga! I bet that must have actually been pretty cool for the Kiwis, to actually get a response in kind, rather than just a line of players glaring at you. Great stuff.

via metafilter.com

EDIT: More rugby teams in dueling pre-game hakas

Recently, retired NBA bigot Tim Hardaway came out with some vehement, bilious, hate-filled, anti-gay ranting. For the record.

And George Takei has responded.



For the record:

GO SULU!

GO SULU!

GO! GO! GO SULU!

Well, the wipe-&-reinstall has helped the Model-T G3 gumdrop big time. While youtube vids are a bit jerky, it works. And then Pirate gets to watch stuff like "Pride Fighting Knockouts":


Boo-yaa!

A bit disappointing is Youporn. It's all in WMV format. And Quicktime really is much better.

Oh well. Gotta go search up more bam-smackity videos. Oh, and this Bas Rutten guy, someone's gonna get arrested for assault with a deadly weapon following his bar-brawl advice.


Seriously, MUCH better street-defense advice that WON'T get you on trial for attempted murder can be found at No Nonsense Self Defense. Of particular interest was the part about defending yourself in court. That old saw about "I'd rather be judged by 12 than carried by 6" is fine and dandy, but when the prosecution is telling the jury about how you picked up a beer bottle and smashed in someone's skull in a bar brawl, they very well may not believe you when you say "I felt in danger for my life". And prison shower rape is a downer.

I'd particularly recommend his section on women's self-defense. Lots of WSD advice can end you up behind bars because the instructors' assumption is that the student is the victim of a violent attack, so whatever she does in defense is OK. And some things that are taught in WSD classes can definately end you up before a jury on trial for your freedom.

McYoung's advice is on how to be aware and avoid dangerous situations in the first place. About 10% of his advice is on physical confrontation because if you've gotten to that point, your first fuck up was was not avoiding the situation. He details the kind of physical places that isolate you and leave one open to attack, as well as the physical signs that someone is ramping up to do violence (luckily, even badass bad guys can't go 0-60 violence-wise at the flip of a switch. This means you can recognize the signs before they attack and evade.)

So... back to searching for MMA vids online.