A Big Transition

Because.

On Tuesday morning, I was an unemployed writer just trying my best to not let the days slip away.  I kept making sure I was doing some writing, going to the gym, searching for paid work, fighting a malaise that had been growing larger every day over a full year.

On Wednesday morning, I was a production accountant for a blossoming company, waking up at 5:30am, navigating a 12-hour work day, getting home to eat only two hours before I had to go back to sleep.

No longer could I cook dinner.  I had to wake up even earlier to water the plants.  I had to rearrange my workout schedule.  And, OOPS!, what about the blog???

The shift in energy has been very jarring.  During the week I missed my MacBook Pro, my writing desk, my Taste Offs, and my wife (not necessarily in that order).  I didn't miss all of the political 'news' and sports 'news'.  I didn't miss our crazy old neighbor who shouts at the top of her lungs when she talks, with her door open, her television roaring at full volume, all day.

I knew the work environment was going to be challenging, but I underestimated the degree.  I'd spent most of the past year by myself.  Now I'm surrounded by dozens of people non-stop.  And some of those people, apparently, have no interest in treating me like a human being.  Welcome back to The Industry!

I am uncomfortable with a lot of this.  But I am aware that most of my gripes are due to this abrupt lifestyle change.  Am I a little over my head in the job?  Yes, but I can do the work and I can do it well with a minimum of external obstruction.  Am I excited about the largest paycheck I've ever gotten?  Yes, but I know what I'm selling of myself is very valuable.  Could things have continued the way they were?  No.

For financial and emotional reasons, there needed to be a change.  Honestly, it's important for me to know my services are needed by employers.  And I have gotten what I'd asked for:  A very needy job.  Now it's time to provide.

How does the change effect this blog?  Well, in theory, I'll feel less guilty about buying whisky.  :D  I'm working out a blogging schedule for myself so that I can post with frequency and consistency.  Diving for Pearls gives me joy.  Meeting people through this site continues to be wonderful!  Many thanks to everyone who stops by to read some of my musings.  They are continuing.

I did promise a whisky report this weekend.  Well......I did a Taste Off last night that turned out to be a pleasant surprise.  I'm spending some time today writing it up.  You'll see more about it soon...

A concrete hike

The other morning I was out of sorts from the moment I woke up.  A number of negative circumstances had gotten the better of me.  I realized quickly that the usual trip to the fitness club would not help me straighten out my mind.

So I decided to go for a walk.  A long walk.

Using the fun walkjogrun site, I mapped out an extended voyage.  I wanted straight lines that I could follow without a map or a GPS.  I decided on walking to the tip of Seal Beach Pier and back.  Approximately 10.18 miles.

The wild card that hovered above the walk was the weather.  It was 90-95 degrees that day.

In 90+ degree weather, ice maintains its molecular structure better than I.  I sweat more than anyone else I know.  I don't tan, I crisp.  I dehydrate easily.  I have epic bouts of heat stroke (which occasionally include hallucinations).

Sounded like the perfect opportunity to test some of my boundaries.  So I applied sunscreen and strapped on a backpack with water, dry snacks, my cell phone, and a notebook.  And I walked.

It was nice to cross many miles of Long Beach that I'd never seen before.  Lots of parks, unique houses, and waterfront.  It was remarkably quiet everywhere, except inside my head.  But I didn't want to think, I wanted my head to be clear.  I hadn't eaten much that day, so I thought that maybe between the heat, the exertion, and the lack of sugar/calories I would be able to access an empty zone of consciousness.  But instead, the hamster in the creaky wheel inside my head was given a dose of amphetamines.  And on he charged.

Physically, the first 5 miles were pretty easy.  Seal Beach's Main Street was really nice.   By my count there were three Irish pubs, two pizza places, a Greek food stop, an Italian deli, a barbecue joint, a wine bar, a diner, two bakeries, 320 Main, and two antique shops.  All in three blocks.  It was a nice mid-point.  The pier was relatively clear.

I stopped for a snack, some water, and a look around.  The waves were roaring in nicely.  Lots of tanned skin and bikinis.  Some creepy black seagulls.  And lots of fishing poles.

And that's when I felt the blister on my left food and the throbbing ache in my right knee.  Jesus, I'm getting old.  Concrete is unforgiving on the muscles, tendons, joints, and bones.

Early on the walk back, I tried to take a shortcut, but wound up being rerouted backwards.  That added another third of a mile to my trip.  I figured that was some sort of metaphor.

Focusing on the road in front of me and really getting inside of the pain developing in my right knee, emptied me out.  The last two miles were silent, everywhere.  The exhaustion felt right.  It wasn't like struggling at the gym, because there one's just running in place.  There's no "F**k it, I'm done," here.  I needed to get home.

I may have alarmed some ladies walking their dogs.  Here, I was bearded (and not neatly so), stanky, in scuffed up clothes, and a little wobbly on my sticks.  Had I seen me, I probably would have gone out of my way to avoid me.

When I got home to the air conditioning, I stripped off my shoes and socks, and listened to my wife tell me about her day.  Okay, I didn't listen (sorry).  I watched her talk and thought about how much I loved her.  Her crazy-ass unemployed husband just went for a day-long journey by foot to some random place and came back limping and weird.  And she didn't even skip a beat.  It was just another day living with MK.

All those things that troubled me weren't gone, but they were sorted through, alphabetized, and filed in the right place.  There was less fission, but more Friday.

I didn't get sunburned.  (I assume) I hydrated appropriately.  My knee needed 48 hours before it was willing to do its job without complaint.  Though the pain made my body feel older, my brain felt younger.

I'm not sure why I'm posting this.  I have no pictures to prove this happened.  I have no sarcastic rejoinders.  It was just something I did.  And something I'll do again.

Happy Friday!

Woke up at 6am this morning to go for a run.

F**k.

How'd I ever do this every morning for three years?

After that, I've got nothing left today, so here's the week's recap.

1. Wedding anniversary
2. Kitchen remodling finished
3. Guests from Sweden stayed with us for three nights.  With baby!
4. Interview with employment agency.
5. Started running again. (See above)
6. Basketball season over.
7. No new Mad Men. :-(
8. Still not paying attention to the election.
9. A truck driver was sentenced to a six-month prison sentence for stealing 180 bottles of Hankey Bannister.  Why?  Just make him drink the Hankey.  That's punishment enough.
10. Zing!
11. And finally, I'm starting to thin out the collection of DVDs I've amassed over the years.  Have plucked 20+ of 'em from the bunch.  May rid myself of more.  If I could sell off my CD collection, I'd do so as well.  Too bad I threw away everything except the discs.  Craigslist here I come!

Finally, may all your weekends be like this:

GREAT beer. (Source)

Strep Throat in April? What?

Don't really know how one gets strep throat during a 70-80 degree April.  Especially "one" who spends most of his time indoors by himself.

*earthquake just hit, unrelated but awesome*

I'm going to blame it on the scumbags at the gym whom pick their noses, wipe their asses, blow snot rockets, rub their junk, pick their asses, and wipe their noses without a proper washup afterwards.  And then lift the very same weights I do.  Now I can't kiss my wife for a week.

I just switched to a larger, cleaner, newer 24-Hour Fitness, but that doesn't mean that the majority of the members f**kers are any less likely to break all of the 30 Simple Rules.  That's why I wash my hands thoroughly after every workout.  Maybe I should turn into one of those Purell junkies after all.

I've been trying to figure out what to eat, since I can't even swallow water without a stabbing pain.  So here's my list thus far:

Things to eat when you have Strep Throat:
Nothing - probably not the best option
Yogurt - antibiotics prevent the growth of good bacteria in your stomach, yogurt provides some of that missing good stuff naturally
Soup - as close to broth as possible
Whisky
Smoothies (w/protein) - but be careful, the cold stuff may feel good but the resulting ice-cream headache will punish your brains
Oatmeal - but not the thick kind
Maple Syrup - helps the medicine go down.  I'm kidding.  Sorta.
Chip dip without the chips - desperation takes over
Bowl of melted butter, BBQ sauce, honey, and tears of self pity - eat your shame with a spoon

Yeah, that's about it.

There's a lot of drinking of things like water (important) and hot tea which you'll swallow as your throat cries "F**K!" just like you do when you stub your pinky toe on a chair leg.

Good.  Times.  Now everyone, wash your hands.

I should post this at the gym

Happy Tuesday!

30 Simple Rules of Fitness Club Etiquette

1.  Looking at yourself longingly in the mirror while the 25-lb weights sit at your feet does not count as "using" the weights.

2. Share the weights.  Thus, do not take six different sets of free weights to your corner and claim that you are "using" them all "right now".

3. Do not opine on politics with an Outside Voice while in the locker room.

4. Do not opine on politics at all.

5. Do not slam the machine weights.  The unenforced sign that reads "Do not slam the machine weights" isn't just posted to cover up a crack in the drywall.  You will break the machine, which will ruin the workout routine for hundreds of people.  Returning the weights slowly to their original position works your muscles and IS PART OF THE WORKOUT.  If you can't lift the weights appropriately, use less weight, Tough Guy.

6. Wash your jockstrap.  This year.  I'm serious.

7. When that woman says that she doesn't need you to spot her, don't force the issue.  No means no.  If she wanted you to straddle her head while she lays down, she would have provided a more overt invitation.

8. Don't smell like garlic when using the elliptical next to mine.

9. Slamming your feet into the treadmill tread while you run is not proper running form.  It slows you down.  It tires you out quicker.  It will likely bring on joint or ligament injury very quickly.  And it's loud as f**k.

10. Swinging your entire body around while using the elliptical heightens your chance of injury and wears you out quicker, but is totally appropriate if your headphone song ROCKS.

11. There's grunting and then there's Grunting.  Capital 'G' Grunting is like a tramp stamp.  It broadcasts that you didn't receive enough attention from your father.

12. If you flex and grunt at yourself in the mirror, your human being membership will be revoked.

13. Standing next to a cardio machine and using your Outside Voice to talk to an exercising individual for thirty minutes is inappropriate.  You are disrupting everyone else's workout and you are not working out.

14. If you sweat profusely, wipe down the goddamn equipment when you're done.  Sweat is the equivalent of urine and often smells worse.  Wipe the bench.  Seriously, wipe it.  I still see your nut sweat stripe on it.

15. Be judicious with the Purell.  Do not bathe in it.  Aside from strengthening the most aggressive 0.1% of existing bacteria, you are also suffocating everyone around you in a cloud of ether.

16. To women who choose to wear tight shorts that barely cover the cheeks and a boosting brassiere instead of a sports bra:  There are infinite permutations of gymwear, but you chose clothing that accentuates your sexuality.  Thank you, you've made my 7am workout much better.

17. Farting:  Cropdust responsibly.  And away from me.  Nothing ruins the last rep of a military press like a sulphuric barbecue air biscuit.  Someone's going to get hurt here, and it'll probably be me.

18. Farting:  On a treadmill, acceptable, but only if you're really running hard.

19. Farting:  Woman on the elliptical next to me......that's your eighth one in five minutes.  Go to the f**k to the bathroom.

20. After finishing your bowel movement in the restroom and before using the fitness equipment, wash your hands.  There's poop on them.

21. Don't stand outside a fitness classroom and stare at the people taking spinning/yoga/kickboxing.  They are exercising.  You are not.

22. If the equipment you are using breaks, then please tell a fitness club employee.  And blame it on the D-Bag from Rule #5.

23. If you are talking on your cell phone for more than ten seconds, every person at the gym is allowed to "accidentally" clock you with a 50lb. dumbbell until you end your call.

24. If you are spraying mucus onto your elliptical screen (because you can't bother to cover your sick hole when you cough), then you should not be in public.  Go home, but wipe down the machine before you leave, lest you desire two broken kneecaps to go with your influenza.

25. When you finish a set on a machine and see at least one person waiting to use the same machine, do not remain there and take out your iPhone to watch Two and a Half Men before your next set.

26. If someone asks, "Can I work in?"  The correct answer is, "Yes."

27. Do not sit and read the newspaper at the machine between sets.

28. If you leave your sweatshirt on the only remaining weight bench as you take a ten minute cropdusting stroll around the gym between sets, I am allowed to rifle through its pockets.  And then toss it aside.

29. My god, flush the toilet.

30. Share, be considerate of others, don't use your Outside Voice indoors, cover your mouth, wash your hands...  If your 5-year-old grandchild can do these things better than you, then maybe she should be welcomed into society and you should be ushered out.

Hangover

FROM:

TO:

What is a hangover?

From the NIH-published Alcohol Hangover: Mechanisms and Mediators by Robert Swift, M.D., Ph.D. and Dena Davidson, Ph.D.:

A hangover is characterized by the constellation of unpleasant physical and mental symptoms that occur after a bout of heavy alcohol drinking. Physical symptoms of a hangover include fatigue, headache, increased sensitivity to light and sound, redness of the eyes, muscle aches, and thirst. Signs of increased sympathetic nervous system activity can accompany a hangover, including increased systolic blood pressure, rapid heartbeat (i.e., tachycardia), tremor, and sweating. Mental symptoms include dizziness; a sense of the room spinning (i.e., vertigo); and possible cognitive and mood disturbances, especially depression, anxiety, and irritability. The particular set of symptoms experienced and their intensity may vary from person to person and from occasion to occasion. In addition, hangover characteristics may depend on the type of alcoholic beverage consumed and the amount a person drinks.

From Wikipedia:

A hangover is the experience of various unpleasant physiological effects following heavy consumption of alcoholic beverages. The most commonly reported characteristics of a hangover include headache, nausea, sensitivity to light and noise, lethargy, dysphoria, diarrhea and thirst, typically after the intoxicating effect of the alcohol begins to wear off. While a hangover can be experienced at any time, generally speaking a hangover is experienced the morning after a night of heavy drinking. In addition to the physical symptoms, a hangover may also induce psychological symptoms including heightened feelings of depression and anxiety.

And concisely phrased by the Mayo Clinic:

A hangover is a group of unpleasant signs and symptoms that can develop after drinking too much alcohol.

It can start before the night is over.  It can hammer down in the morning.  It can pin a body down onto the carpet, dizzying the universe.  It can seize one's neuro-receptors and make one weep while listening to syrupy pop music and sitting in traffic.  The more religious-minded of us see it as cosmic punishment for our pleasures.  It feels like failure.

They set up shop in the brain with greater ease the older that brain gets.  I drank irresponsibly for at least three years of undergrad, hangover-less.  Then the morning after graduation, the lead-heavy beast seized me up into its raging grasp and squeezed my brains until nightfall.  But now, after my second glass of red wine the headache sneaks in and nothing is fun anymore.  Yet those red wine aches are mere squeaks compared to the nerve-shredding toxic spills of the morning after a lovely party-night.

Everyone has their own remedies.  To some folks, a good puke does wonders.  Bloody Marys for others.  Or a greasy cheeseburger with a fried egg on top.  I used to go for a long run to sweat it all out......TEN YEARS AGO.

I've actually only had two hangovers since I've been a married man.  One of them was this weekend.  You see, normally, a couple glasses of whisky and I'm set.  But my dearest wife and I decided to check out a local sushi place as well as an Irish pub (both walkable!) and......we had cocktails here at home before it all began.  It was a great night.  It was a terrible morning.

---

Here's a list that I made when I was feeling like a sweating lump of coal with a headache:

Things that are good for a hangover:

Cold Water

Vitamins

Powerade

Quiet early-era Miles Davis (volume low)

Fried potatoes (any kind)

Dominoes Cheesy Bread - OH MAN I JUST FOUND OUT ABOUT THIS STUFF

Club Soda

Beer - Just one or you're starting up a whole new problem

Dinner for breakfast, Breakfast for dinner

Football on TV

Sunglasses (indoors)

Curling up on the floor

Antiques Roadshow Marathon

The magical nap - The one where you fall asleep at 11am and wake up at 1pm

Other people's pity

Blogs

Things that are bad for a hangover:

Light

Dark

Sound

Consciousness

Sweat

Gravity

Constipation

Fire Ass

Fire Trucks

Harleys

The bad nap - The one where you fall asleep at 11am & wake up at 11:15am, feverish

Brushing teeth - It hurts, it hurts

Nodding head "Yes"

Shaking head "No"

The smell of day-old spilled liquor

Loud avant-garde Miles Davis

Physical intimacy beyond "Hi."

Weeping

---

There really aren't any consistent remedies, though hydration and zinc can go a long way to letting your body repair what you'd just f**ked up.  What you can do is avoid the hangover in the first place.

How to avoid a hangover:
Don't drink
Hydrate between drinks
Pick your poison - None of this beer-then-whisky-then-vodka-then-wine-then-gin-&-tonics
Stay away from mixers - All of their sugars contribute to the impending horrible crash
Don't do shots

Don't get old
Cut your head off

Drinking is a lovely thing.  There's no need to be physically punished for it.  Sexually?  Maybe.  Ere, I digress.  It's about treating yourself right.  Having a glass of great single malt scotch is treating yourself right.  Drinking everything that's wet and within arm's length is not treating yourself right.

Since you're reading this blog, you know that I like a malt beverage from time to time.  So I don't say this lightly:  Drink Responsibly.  Don't punish yourself over a love of the good things.

Thursday was L.A. Sports Day

Albert Pujols is taking his talents to Long Beach (adjacent).  As a Yankees fan, this provides no heartburn since the Yanks couldn't even beat the Angels before this.  As a baseball fan, I really dig this because now I can actually watch the sport's most exciting robot play every day!  If you don't think that he's a robot, I have a bridge I'd like to sell you.  He broke his forearm last year and was back in the lineup two weeks later as noticeably a better player.  I'm just going to repeat that.  He broke his forearm.  He healed in less than two weeks.  Then he was an even better player.  That's what the media will tell you at least.  He didn't heal at all.  They just replaced The Albot v4.1 with The Albot v4.2.  I'm interested in how the v5.0 model will perform.

DEAR GOD, HE'S MONSTROUS!

The contract is daft.  Not the $254M.  Compared to other salaries out there and his actual value, the yearly salary is reasonable.  What's cracked is that it was for 10 years.  My qualms have nothing to do with the unsubstantiated rumors that he's been lying about his age.  Future Pujols models will be unable to play the field, so he'll be restricted to DH within six years; maybe fewer if he can do what Jeter can't and surrender the glove before the fielding gets embarrassing.  So, for most of the contract they'll have a part-time player (which is what a DH is, value-wise).  Hasn't baseball seen this happen before.  You know, recently.  This year.  Alex Rodriguez, anyone?

The Angels also picked up CJ Wilson for five years, $77.5M.  Wilson has been a starter for two years and is already 31.  I'm just happy the Yankees didn't pick him up.  The Angels will have great starting staff with Weaver and Haren and Wilson.

But they'll also have a 2012 payroll of over $180 million.  That means that we'll see at least three teams (Sawx, Anaheim, and Phils) in the $160-$180M range next year.  Meanwhile, the Yankees' payroll in 2012 will be what it was SEVEN YEARS AGO.  So I guess there will be four evil empires now.

---

Tangent: Owner Jeffrey Loria busted out the once-a-decade Marlins Credit Card, signing Jose Reyes and Mark Bueller Buehrle to cushy multi-year deals.  This time he's gambling on a new stadium and swapping out the dreaded "Florida" for the less-dreaded "Miami" to bring in more fans.  Reyes is a great signing, as long as he's healthy.  We'll see if he brings in the local Dominican demographic that Loria desperately wants in his seats.  Buehrle, on the other hand, probably won't sell more tickets but should hang a couple more Ws up in the standings.  Still, these two guys aren't enough to take the NL East.  Even if Josh Johnson is healthy all year, they'll be lucky to tussle with Atlanta for the Wild Card.  And if DC's youth turn out to be half as good as the hype, the Marlins may not move anywhere in the standings.

---

Tangent:  When I lumbered into the condo building's elevator this morning at 6:45am on the way to the gym, I was engulfed in the scents of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies AND brownies.  Then the doors closed and the elevator descended.  It was a pleasing experience.  As far as erotic sensory experiences go, it was a ★★★½.

---

Tangent: iTunes awarded Tiny Tower as the best game app of 2011.  I have Tiny Tower.  It requires no skill and has not a hint of complexity.  And I don't mean that in a Zen way.  I mean that in a "barely holds your attention while you sit on the toilet" way.  I should know.

---

The Lakers gave up Pau Gasol and Lamar Odom for CHRIS PAUL.  He gets all caps because he is awesome.  And there are rumors floating, like oh so many methane-loaded turds, about an LA-Orlando trade based around Andrew Bynum and Dwight Howard.  If that goes through, the Lakers will run the table...... for the regular season.  And the playoffs.

They don't even need Howard.  Even with Bonehead Bynum playing occasionally, the CP-Kobe duo is monstrous.  It's perfect if you think about it.  Kobe wants the ball on every single play and CP is the best passer in the game.  As you can tell, my knowledge of on-court strategy is vast.  Vast.

"Esta bien."

This a reverse-Sheffield situation for me.  In 2004, I was a Yankee fan, but could not stand Gary Sheffield.  And then they signed him.  There was a lot nose pinching when he came to the plate in pinstripes.

[Wow, now I'm remembering that Yankee team.  By 2005 they'd picked up Sheffield, Randy Johnson, and Kevin Brown.  F***.  I guess I was just rooting for the uniform.]

Conversely, I'm not a Lakers fan (Go Clips!).  But I am a Chris Paul fan.  I wish the Clippers had traded for him, but they have no good pieces to deal--

BREAKING NEWS! (okay, it was breaking news when I started writing this last night)  The majority of NBA owners have blocked the trade.  Wow, what has happened to David Stern?  He's more like Daniel Stern now.

Here's the scoop: The Hornets are owned by the NBA, which means that each team owner has an equal share in the ownership.  This was supposed to allow the Hornets' general manager to deal openly with other teams, like any other GM.  But because this hurt some billionaires' feelings, as there was worry about the Lakers carrying an all-star team, they shotblocked this deal.  Stern clearly has no control over the owners and he handled the lockout like a fool.

And now a classic snippet from this morning's media blitz:

"I don't want to speak on the basketball side, but that particular one was weighed against Chris Paul's continued presence in New Orleans," Stern said in New York at the NBA's offices.  

NBA spokesman Tim Frank said Thursday the deal was blocked for "basketball reasons." The league owns the Hornets and is trying to sell the club.

So, um.  What?  Yes, let's not speak about the basketball side since you're the commissioner of Whack-A-Mole.  But then your spokesperson said that the deal was blocked due to the basketball side.

Well done.  Keep up the good work.  And to conclude, "Morons. I've got morons on my team."

Spin class

A couple months ago, as a little bit of a change of pace, I decided to try out the beginners' spin class at my gym.  I'd heard tales of vomiting and blackouts during folks' first spin session.  I thought, "Really? How hard could this be?"

Here is a lightly fictionalized account of my first spin class, interpreted in the style of Twitter:

@kravitz_hubris Minute 1. This song the instructor’s playing is great!

@kravitz_hubris Minute 3. This is kinda hard.

@kravitz_hubris Minute 5. My legs have stiffened completely but the 2 pedals create a perpetual motion machine so I can’t stop!

@kravitz_hubris Minute 7. I have sweat through my towel.

@kravitz_hubris Minute 10. I have sweat through my second towel.

@kravitz_hubris Minute 15. Is my heart supposed to hurt?

@kravitz_hubris Minute 20. Guh. Calf muscles. Trying to pull away from body.

@kravitz_hubris Minute 25. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain.

@kravitz_hubris Minute 26. I’m supposed to be OFF my seat?

@kravitz_hubris Minute 32. Someone here has sh*t their pants but has continued pedaling.

@kravitz_hubris Minute 33. That person is me.

@kravitz_hubris Minute 37. Instructor has put on a song that never ever ever f*cking ends.

@kravitz_hubris Minute 42. The song is still going. Does sweat hide tears?

@kravitz_hubris Minute 47. It’s still going. I look up at the instructor for a sign. She’s the demon from Jacob’s Ladder.

@kravitz_hubris Minute 51. The world. So dark.

@kravitz_hubris Minute 52. So this is how I’m going to die. Not during the best shtup of my life...

@kravitz_hubris Minute 53. ...nor while trying to finish a 20x20 @ In 'n Out nor taking a bullet for the Dalai Lama…

@kravitz_hubris Minute 54. …no, I had to die during beginners spin class @7:30am on a Tuesday morning. Congratulations, a**hole.

@kravitz_hubris Minute 60. Two nice grandmas help me off my bike. Then they scurry away cuz I smell like a fertilizer truck collided w/ the rotten meat van.

@kravitz_hubris Minute 62. Cold floor nice on cheek. mmmmmm

@kravitz_hubris Minute 77. Fitness club had to call wife to pick me up. Wife pretended to not know me.

@kravitz_hubris Minute 83. I sleep now. Back to the elliptical machine tomorrow. :)

The March, documented

Jesse and Nick have posted the pictures on this site. BUT, since the site has 220+ pics, I thought I'd sum them up for you with the following 14. The links below will/should open in new windows:

The beginning.

I am not being dramatic. I am applying sunscreen.

Jesse and I pondering mile 3.

The fourth member of the group didn’t fare so well.

So we ate him.

We’re so awesome in our hats that they had to call the fuzz.

The camera caught us in the middle of our marathon musical number.

The question we’ve been asking ourselves.

These guys totally beat us by four hours.

Approaching the inevitable dirt storm.

The victory dance: Pic1, Pic2, Pic3

Thank you.

Kravitz finishes a marathon!

Yeah, really. At this point I have very few photos to prove that it happened. Just some cruddy camera phone pix. I'll put them up on this post.

One of my marching partners, Nick, took real quality photos and I'll post them as they arrive, later on. (UPDATE: May be able to post these today...)

Jesse, Nick, and I drank the night before. Probably not recommended. We loaded up on dried fruit at an Albertsons. Here's a pic of Jesse giving up on the automatic check out machine.











After about 3 hours of broken sleep we woke up at THREE THIRTY. Probably not recommended. Got to the base at 4:30am. The march didn't begin until 7:15. I don't remember much about the time in between. Except maybe the sunrise on the Organ Mountains that surrounded us.











We started our walk at 7:17am. There were over 5000 marchers. 90-95% of them were military. That should have been a hint. The first 1/2 was uphill. Some of the ground was paved, most wasn't. We took breaks for snacks and leaks. I swapped shoes and socks out at mile 10. And again at mile 19. It seemed as if a lot of people were not finishing, most of them being military. I am not tougher than them, I just wore more comfortable shoes. They had to march in their boots.











The toughest part was the wind. Wasn't warned about that part. Hopefully, I'll have some pics of this at some point. Having dirt blow heavy into one's face for most of 11 hours does not make the travel easier, nor make the time pass quicker. It also makes one brown from head to foot.

My $7 hat was pretty money. My worries of sunburn were unfounded as I applied sunscreen on 6 separate occasions. I held up better than I thought. Until mile 20.

Mile 20 to 22, dubbed the Sand Pit, is a cruel joke. It's not just uphill, it's UPHILL. In sand deeper than your foot. Did I mention the wind? My back gave out about then. Then my knee. Then my feet. I was on the verge of turning into a whiny child. Didn't want to do it anymore. But then I did it anyway. And then, before mile 23, the land led downward. And it was a numb mindless walk/limp to mile 25...

...when we opened up a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. That was awesome. I credit Jesse with that idea. We were delirious at that point anyway. Some of the marchers shouted support. They were just thinking of that great cold beer waiting for them at the other end.

And we finished. We bought beer. It hurt to walk. We got home and collapsed on the floor. Here's one of Nick's blisters.

I got 10.5 hours of sleep. Jesse and Nick slipped in and out of consciousness over a period of 14 hours. It seems as if I got out of it with the fewest injuries and blisters -- not because I'm tougher, but because I had the lightest backpack. The balls of my feet are bruised, but recovering. It still feels like I have dirt in my lungs.

And just to be funny, I went to the gym this morning.

Bringing Up The Rear

On Sunday, I will participate in the Bataan Memorial Death March (in honor of the soldiers who survived the original trudge through the Filipino jungle), a marathon for the crazy and the Enlisted. And probably the Enlisted Crazy. It goes the 26.2 miles around White Sands military base / missile range. The road isn't paved and often goes up and down hills and sand dunes.

I'm not running it. I thought I was cracked, but apparently there are people who are broken. I'm walking it. My buddy Jesse has done this three years in a row. He's not a runner. In fact there's a story (which he probably started) going around out there that he once smoked a pack of cigarettes while walking it. Anyway, he finishes about dead last every year (actually he finished 744 out of 745 in '07). Though I won't run it, I plan on finishing one place ahead of him.

Before you ridicule a man for walking a marathon, just think of the last time you walked 26.2 consecutive miles through the desert. Okay, the time your car broke down outside of Primm, Nevada, and you walked to Vegas doesn't count. There are no strippers and free drinks at the other end of this march. Which is unfortunate and they should consider that marketing ploy. I mean the soldiers who survived the original march would have appreciated it back in the day.

My only concern is staying burn-free and hydrated. I've packed my backpack like a champ. Surviving this means I get to post reviews of the second two Lubitsch Musicals next week.

Which brings me to my viewing of Cosi Fan Tutti on Wednesday night. "All Ladies Do It" as the English title goes. Going into depth about this flick would absolutely violate my PG rule on this site. Instead, I'll speak of it vaguely.

The director, Tinto Brass, has about a half dozen similarly-themed films available in the US DVD market. They're always about sexually-liberated women who would sooner share their love than share their pasta. Like Russ Meyer was aesthetically obsessed with the tops of women, Brass is obsessed with their bottoms. Normally in his films a naked female posterior makes the rounds about once every 5 minutes. In "Ladies", there may be more time with cabooses on screen than not. It's as if the last vestige of Brass's sanity vaporized and leaked out of his cigar smoke. Either he's on something or he's onto something...

Unfortunately, this is not one of his better films. (Note: Brass's productions walk a fine line between "films" and "movies". I'll admit I show a bias towards ridiculous European films over ridiculous American movies. Additionally, productions that show a lot of flesh are visually bribing me to call them "films" and often get their way.) This one lines right up next to Miranda, maybe a half cheek higher. The unrated Caligula, which was only partially his, is a nauseating wind blossom of Bacchanalian brilliance. And Transgredire has more flirty charm, prettier faces and places, better plotting, and darn it if it isn't sexier. It's still not what one would consider brilliant, but a little whiff of obsession goes a long way.