Not once in 14 miles of Nordic walking this weekend did I hear one person ask, “Hey, where are your skis?”
That’s because I had the little, white earbuds of my iPod stuck in my ears.
Oh I saw the lips move, but I didn’t hear the comments (which ceased to be funny the first time I heard it; seriously it is a dipshit thing to ask).
Although I must say, getting out on the trail early Sunday, I didn’t even see anyone’s lips ask where my skis were. I met like a dozen people I know, but they were out exercising too, and didn’t stop to bother me – nor did I bother them.
However, I did get stopped twice.
“ThomG can you explain this wild new thing called Nordic walking?”
Which I was all to happy to explain. That’s what happens when your face is in the newspaper 52 weeks a year.
(If it bothered me, I’d stop setting foot on the river trail. But it doesn’t, so I don’t.)
I suppose it’s rude to seal yourself inside a bubble of music only you can hear, but I still said hello to everyone I passed.
If anyone knows how to disable the sound-dampening function on the iPod, I’d like to know.
In 2005, an asshole in Louisiana sued Apple, saying the iPod and other mp3 players were inherently defective because makers don’t provide sufficient warning that hearing loss could result from listening.
Used to be, an iPod would deliver like 115 decibels; now, however, it is a lot less.
But – and this is the Libertarian in me – if I want to go deaf by the time I’m 60 by listening to Mclusky sing “Lightsaber Cocksucker Blues,” or the Dead Kennedys screaming “Too Drunk Too Fuck,” isn’t that my perogative?
So, John Kiel Patterson, here’s your fucking common-sense warning: If you’re listening to music on your iPod, and the sound coming out of the earbuds is physically uncomfortable, turn the volume down.
This has been one random weekend.
On a whim, I moved my bedroom from the master to the (former) stepdaughter’s room. My next project is to remove all the wallpaper in the master and repaint.
But after I got everything into the other room, I’m seriously liking the setup. It reminds me of a loft I had in Memphis.
It has an economy of space that I quite enjoy. We’ll see. It’s a lot darker (and quieter) in the new room. We'll see how the master turns out (it'll be green too, but a softer shade).
And yes, I have a bed frame, but it is old and makes a shitload of noise when two people are wrestling around on it (if you get my drift). Enough that it seriously throws off the rhythm.
I’m building a platform bed this summer (another cool home-improvement type project).
I went to mass (and not because of the previous statements), and got singled out by Father Ed again (for my birthday). And when I took communion, he winked, gave me the host, then laid his hand on my forehead and said a short prayer.
Granted, I know I need a lot of spiritual help – I’m not entirely bankrupt, but somewhat short-changed – the stares I got walking back to my pew were uncomfortable.
Then I went to buy groceries.
I had plans to go out, but I looked in my fridge. And determined that man cannot live on condiments (and a brick of Velveeta) alone.
So instead of a night on the town, I dropped $152 on wholesome staples (except for the ice cream, which was buy on get one free, so I got homemade vanilla and some mandarin orange sherbet), got a $20 back so I could get a haircut and spent $40 at the Safeway gas station (spend $50 and you get 10 cents off each gallon of gas).
And got seriously anxious about dropping that much cash in that short of time.
OK, I have to eat. It has been hit-or-miss for some time, and after getting seriously dizzy Saturday afternoon, I knew I needed to do something. But chissakes.
I blew the budget.
And that lead me to this new spending dilemma: Every pair of shorts and pants I own either will crumple themselves around my ankles – or can be tugged down to my ankles – if not for my belt (which in October was cinched at the first hole; now, I’m cinching it at the fifth hole – and I am headed for the sixth).
I’m going to need to buy all new pants and shorts.
So I've decided to eat right.
And bake my own bread.
Seriously. Ever looked at the ingredients in a commercially baked loaf of bread? I think I’d be better off drinking a cocktail of household chemicals and chewing on sawdust.
I don’t want to avoid bread. But I want it to count for something.
So I’m going to bug my neighbor, who bakes all her own bread, for some help.
To save even more cash, I have decided to dump my land telephone line and just go with the mobile. Everyone (except for the telemarketers) calls the mobile anyway. And I can’t for the life of me figure out why I’m spending $43 a month for a land line.
I also seriously contemplated dumping the satellite television (but came to my senses and will keep Dish, but dump a lot of the programming).
Well, that’s enough randomness. I’ve got to clean Casa de Sacramento, but still leave time for a cruiser bike ride.
And have a barbecue.
And maybe watch a movie.
It’s all (randomly) good.
4 hours ago