Category Archives: Blogging

When I’m Injured

So, I am injured. I think it’s a stress fracture. In my head. Okay, that’s not true. It’s in my foot. My running foot. Well, I actually run with two feet. That is to say, both of my feet. Needless to say, I am going crazy. It’s not fun. I love to run. It makes me happy. And while I am living, I aim to maximize my happiness.

Injuries are like happiness assassins. They’re like “oh, you like to run? Yeah, well, take that!” POW! BOOF! SPLAT!

And then I’m injured.

And no, I am still young. Don’t you dare.

And no, I don’t do too much. That’s plain ol’ poppycock.

Right now, I am running in my mind. It’s soooo nice in here.

Shit.

Jessica says that I should lay on the bed, on my back, and rotate my legs and arms so it “feels” like I’m running.

I told her to stuff it.

Because, you know, we love each other.

A sampling of that love:

Facebook back and forth

Happy running, idiots.

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My Mt. Whitney Hike, Broken Down Into Annoying Anecdotes

I hiked Mt. Whitney on Sunday with my cousin Josh. It was pretty great. But I won’t describe this experience in lengthy prose. What I will do, however, is break down the timeline of our day, along with specific observations and thoughts annoying anecdotes I had along the way.

12:50am: Awake. Put on shoes, rolled up sleeping bag, waited for Josh’s phone alarm to wake him at 1:00am.

1:45am: Driving to Mt. Whitney portal. The pine tree fragrance of the mountains is lovely.

1:55am: Commence the hike. Josh and I both note that the moon is nowhere to be seen; that it’s incredibly dark outside.

2:15am: I ask Josh for the fourth time if the bears are likely to eat our faces.

2:15am: “If you’d stop rubbing peanut butter on your face, they won’t,”Josh responds.

2:25am: I notice Josh claps his hands or says “hey!” near bushy areas.

2:25am: I think, ‘must find something to talk about, to keep bears away,’ and start singing the theme song of Have Gun, Will Travel.

2:30am: Fear of bear attack dwindles as I see other headlamps (other hikers) along the hiking trail.

2:45am: There are a few creeks we cross with rocks interspersed as makeshift bridges.

2:47am: I slip into water, my foot partially wet. Josh asks if I need extra socks. I say no, thinking my SmartWool socks will kick ass.

2:48am: They do. They do kick ass.

3:30am: Discover tree with penis. Guffaw.

4:00am: Encounter first campsite. I think they may be pansies. But I can’t tell.

4:30am: Hit the start of the most grueling part of the hike: the switchbacks.

4:40am: Find that the storm that hit some six hours before had dropped some light snow and hail.

4:41am: Find that light snow and hail is slippery.

4:45am: Curse my New Balance trail runners with the 1,000+ miles.

4:50am: I notice that I’m flatulent, and Josh tells me that’s what happens when you get into higher altitudes.

4:51am: I smile and tell myself that he is not lying to me; that the reaction is normal.

5:25am: Switchbacks continue, and I think that they are not at all that bad.

5:26am: Much better than the music band of the same name.

5:28am: First glimpse of moon in the sky. Just a little thumbnail, mildly brighter atop its softened circular home.

5:35am: Josh and I take our 15th 1-minute break for Clif Bar/trail mix/peanut butter sandwich sustenance.

5:37am: We take our first two Advil. For the headaches. The headaches, Josh says, that are “normal.”

5:37am: Normal? This is normal? My head pounds, and I think my heart might be in there too.

6:00am: We reach the end of the switchbacks.

6:05am: The view is incredible up here, I think. Orange marmalade on the edge of burnt toast.

6:22am: Headaches linger. Two more Advil.

6:23am: It’s windy! The wind, and the temperature of around 30 degrees, doesn’t help the headache.

6:37am: The sun is coming! The sun is coming!

6:38am: Drat. Now I can witness the bears rip my face off. No, no, they’re not up this high.

6:39am: Right?

6:42am: I munch on a hardened, cold peanut butter Clif Bar.

6:49am: We commence traverse horizontally to reach final push upwards to summit.

6:52am: Behind us, there are two hikers. I think they are following us. Stop following us!

6:53am: I recognize that the thought is delusional

6:54am: But what if it’s just your way of keeping your mind occupied? Like telling stories.

6:54am: Yah! That’s it! Congratulates self.

7:27am: Must. Use. Wag. Bag.

7:27am: Narrow trail, hikers aplenty. No place to make the Wag Bag Sag.

7:35am: The hail/snow looks like Dippin’ Dots.

7:48am: I can see the top!

8:00am: We make it to the summit. I find suitable place to fill the Wag Bag.

8:00am: I feel like a soldier in the trenches. Only if Poo Powder were invented then.

8:05am: My hands are bloated. My fingers, like little sausages. Ew. I hate sausages.

8:10am: We take pictures. It’s beautiful. A few intermittent clouds and blue skies.

8:27am: Commence our return trip. I borrow Josh’s jacket he had in his pack. It’s red, large, like a ballroom gown.

8:45am: Passing many hikers on their way up. One guy is shirtless. I don’t know why.

9:15am: We seem to be moving aside for every ascending hiker. It’s getting annoying.

9:16am: I take note of the fact that 98% of them have hiking poles. Are they needed?

9:58am: Take a break at the top of the switchbacks. Cashew, almond, dried cherry snack.

10:15am: In the light, everything looks so much grander. The trail, so much longer.

10:35am: Sweating, we take off our jackets, and I slip back into my soccer shorts and t-shirt.

10:50am: Still hiking down the switchbacks, Josh tells some fool to stop cutting the trail; that it ruins it.

10:52am: He doesn’t care and continues to cut the trail. But the rocks are so loose in there. He could kill someone! Jerk face.

11:00am: Reach the bottom of the switchbacks. We chew Juicy Fruit and sing about how it’s going to move us.

11:05am: On a rock, in the sun, a used wag bag bakes.

11:10am: My hands still bloat, and I wish for a cold cup from Yogurtland.

11:37am: The cold creek water refreshes my sun-beaten neck and face.

11:38am: Scratch that. It may be cold creek water and chipmunk feces.

11:50am: Josh climbs atop penis tree. I take picture. It’s precious.

12:27pm: Going downhill hurts the knees. I feel mildly old.

12:38pm: We hit the final set of switchbacks before the end. We cheer.

12:57pm: Gosh, this is taking forever.

1:25pm: Some guy tries to glean some information from us in the most retarded sentence structure ever.

1:42pm: Josh’s blue Ford Escort is in view!

1:58pm: Arrive at the Whitney portal. We finished!

22 miles total. 12 hours. Elevation gain of roughly 6,200 feet. Summit elevation of 14,500 and change.

Evidence:

It's dark and the bears are attacking!

Pretty Views Along the Way

Our Shoes Made It!

Josh and I Are Happy to Have Made It

Proof!

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Scooby Finds His Wee Wee

So, we have a dog. His name is Scooby and he’s a black Labrador. At four and a half, he’s still very much a puppy, at least in his excitability and playful mannerisms. When I met Jessica, Scooby hadn’t yet reached the age of one. With that said, I can rationally say that I know Scooby well.

I know what he likes and dislikes. I know that he loves to chase rabbits with the sole intention of playing patty cake, or some such innocent tete-a-tete. I know that he loves to retrieve the tennis ball, and then keep the ball in his mouth until he’s certain that the other dogs aren’t cherry picking to get to the next toss first. I know that he was once scared to jump into the Dobson pool, but has since shed that fear, thanks to my patient instruction. Now, he’ll jump, but not before he crouches to ensure he’s propelling himself into the pool with the least amount of air time possible. I know that he loves to get as close to the bed with Jessica and I as possible without actually laying on the bed (a rule mandated by myself; but a rule, mind you, that is often broken in moments of weakness, or moments in which Jessica chooses Adorable over Non’s Allergy Monster). This usually results in half of his body laying on the bed, with his lower half on the floor beside the bed.

Mostly, I know that he is fond of me, as I am fond of him. But the other day, my perception changed.

Scooby and His Ball

I was in the house, and the dogs (Scooby, Scooby’s mom Lilly, Schein, Gamble and Watson) were outside. I looked through the window to see what they were up to, only to find the most revolting thing I’ve ever seen. Before I get to that, I’ll say this. As a young lad, I had to initiate a conversation with my mother for the purpose of asking her to keep the noise level down in the–ahem, cough, shudder–bedroom. It was traumatic, and may have been a repressed memory if she hadn’t laughed and told me that my “grandfather was having sex all the time; and he’s an old man!”

And so, as I peered out into the backyard, I found Scooby humping (I use this term in an attempt to propel the act to some elementary, perhaps easily forgotten level; sadly, it’s already failed) Schein. I must point out that Schein is Scooby’s aunt. His aunt! Okay, incestuous relations aside, the image was still very much awful. But allow me to explain further.

You see, in this moment, we parents (yes, he’s my boy dammit) get a bit irrational, emotional, exaggerating in our interpretation of events. To others, it’s simply a dog humping another dog. That is, they say, what dogs do. But no, I say! Not Scooby! Not the innocent playful pup that I know so well! In that moment, Scooby was not responding to boredom. He was raping his aunt. With his incisors showing and everything. In that moment, Scooby was an aggressor. And, to make matters worse, my mind filled with all these sick thoughts of Scooby doing this regularly, like he’s trying to hide it from me, like he knows that it’s wrong but he just can’t stop his sexual urges.

But I say, it can’t be! Scooby is fixed. He doesn’t even know what’s going on down there! And yet, in my head, he knows exactly what he’s doing. Scooby is his name no longer. Scooby the Rapist, forever he will be.

Shudders.

I love you Scooby. I always will. Even if I know now that you recognize your wee wee.

*Note: While I am surely exaggerating this experience (yes, I know that dogs hump), there is truth to the irrational, emotional reaction that I had.

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Blog Stats in 2010

This email was sent from WordPress. Isn’t this cool? Anyhow, I aim to best this in 2011. Happy blogging everyone!

The stats helper monkeys at WordPress.com mulled over how this blog did in 2010, and here’s a high level summary of its overall blog health:

Healthy blog!

The Blog-Health-o-Meter™ reads Wow.

Crunchy numbers

Featured image

A Boeing 747-400 passenger jet can hold 416 passengers. This blog was viewed about 4,900 times in 2010. That’s about 12 full 747s.

In 2010, there were 137 new posts, growing the total archive of this blog to 203 posts. There were 184 pictures uploaded, taking up a total of 32mb. That’s about 4 pictures per week.

The busiest day of the year was November 7th with 102 views. The most popular post that day was The Walking Dead, the Graphic Novels and Upcoming TV Series.

Where did they come from?

The top referring sites in 2010 were facebook.com, thecobblestoneaddress.blogspot.com, en.wordpress.com, mail.yahoo.com, and google.com.

Some visitors came searching, mostly for the walking dead graphic novel, the walking dead amc, walking dead graphic novel, paprika, and walking dead.

Attractions in 2010

These are the posts and pages that got the most views in 2010.

1

The Walking Dead, the Graphic Novels and Upcoming TV Series August 2010

2

Married Amidst Chirping Birds, Literary Centerpieces and Felt Flowers June 2010
7 comments

3

The Author November 2009

4

Christopher Hitchens on Anderson Cooper 360 August 2010
3 comments

5

Out Of Print Clothing, and My Atlas Shrugged T-Shirt July 2010
2 comments

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