Perpetual Nomads

It’s -°12 F outside. At 2:00 in the afternoon, the is already making its descent. Natural light has a yellowing hue, even when its not filtered through our windows. I don’t want to go out, but if I stare at this screen any longer, I’ll lose my god damn mind.

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I stared at Crossfit’s workout of the day–run 5K. Then I stared out the window–winter storms. Ugh.

A conundrum has haunted me since I started this workout regimen. It seems to emphasize working out in groups or pairs–even the website wants you to post your load, time, reps, etc., for all to compare. The idea is simple: comparison is there to motivate. Competition is supposed to be healthy.

But I’m not a competitive guy. I don’t post my stats. I work out alone, in my dank mudroom, every day.

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For the first time in over 5 years I have a dishwasher. It’s an absolute blessing–my soft delicate hands hate the feel of grime. The dishwasher frees me (and, vicariously, Jamie) from this burden.

Yet it concerns me greatly and I didn’t know why…until now.

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I would love to turn this into a metaphor for the eternal struggle of man. A symbol of the secret male desire to conquer and to be victorious. I’d like to lay my heart out there and say that, in a way, I feel that we all are Brett Favre, and that Seattle represents all that is unholy.

But no.
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I’m going to England in 2009. Wolverhampton, to be exact, to partake in the 2009 Tough Guy race. I haven’t competed in a competitive sport since 2nd grade, and my prior fitness regimen has been piece together from random tidbits, but it seems like a good excuse to go to England–in January.
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Part 1: Almost Two Years Without Winter

Those not privy to living in snow should understand that Nat King Cole was full of shit. Of course he was dreaming of a white Christmas…in Los Angeles! Everyone dreams of a white Christmas when they aren’t shoveling it off the walk. There’s a reason for those high suicide rates in Scandinavia.

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I don’t know what you could possibly do with this information. However, ABC News has compiled the “lost valuable” reports to the Transportation Safety Administration (TSA) and sorted them by airport. General Mitchell ranks 31st in the class of “Medium Hub”.

I’m not sure what you could do with this information, but I’m going to try and keep from checking my bags if my itinerary goes anywhere through Ft. Lauderdale Hollywood Airport.

October 5th, 2007

Note: Part one of this saga can be found here.

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The discussion with the rep started out well. Norm liked her and the clacking of keys continued unabated for a long amount of time. Our sextuplicated, triple-stamped forms were all in order, and it looked like we were clear to go. “So, where’s your guys’ return ticket.” the rep asked.

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November turns all conversations to deer hunting season. “When”, “where”, and “how” are the questions that circulate at smoking pavilions and coffee machines, not “if”. It was always uncomfortable for me when I worked here, not because I was ideologically opposed to someone else killing their own deer, but because I had nothing to talk about. It was as if someone was asking me about a party I wasn’t invited to–or that I had elected not to show up for. (more…)