“You know how we all hate irony now? Whimsy is even worse because it pretends to be sincere. It is the opposite of sincere. People who are not secretly dying of terminal illness in a movie just look silly blowing bubbles on a date because they don’t know what to do with their hands, or do everything like they’re being secretly Instagrammed. A girl wants to get to know a guy, not be part of the Facebook status he’s ginning up underneath his fanciful hat.”—
So I ran 3 races (two 10k and one half marathon) in the span of 5 weeks. I also attended a wedding in between, so now I am spent. I'll be spending the next month doing living room yoga, biking to/from work, running shorter runs, and swimming on weekends (some friends have pools! hooray!). Just wanted to say thanks for being a good running buddy. Let's try to keep each other going! I would love to see you do a half this or next year :)
One of the things that has really struck me throughout this tour is how many people say something along the lines of ….I’m not ready for “that.” “That” might be a 5k, half-marathon, marathon, triathlon, Ironman, etc. My question is this, When will we ever be ready?
We are never ready. I wasn’t ready for my first 5k or the ironman. If we are waiting to be ready for something, we will be waiting forever.
A little inspiration for a humid June morning.
The flip side to this is — as someone who hasn’t been running that long and has been sidelined twice with injuries — sometimes you really aren’t ready, and you need to know yourself well enough to know whether you’re not ready because you’re not psychologically ready, or you’re not ready because you need another few weeks to recover from that stress fracture.
Speaking of: I had had pain in my left hip, which I’ve mentioned a couple times, and I’ve started doing Yoga Journal podcasts at home in the mornings — 20 to 40 minutes a day, usually one energizing/”morning” sequence followed by some hip openers, and my pain is now completely gone. I don’t think I’m ready for the half-marathon I thought I was going to be able to do in a couple weeks, but I’m back to running three miles or so two to three times a week, and hope to ramp it back up again very soon. I think I’m ready.
“R: I don’t know how to be mean.
K: You don’t need to be MEAN, just be direct.
R: How about “Sorry not this week, I’m super busy! But maybe another time and I’m really glad we’re friends.”
R: Four no’s is a clear sign, and the last part is obviously sarcastic.
K: You’re like that horse that you bring to the water and it won’t drink, or whatever. Drink the mean water.”—
“On Monday, the FBI announced that after years of focusing on Bulger, it was launching a new initiative aimed at daytime TV viewers. It began airing a 30-second public service announcement in 14 cities across the United States urging people to be on the lookout for Greig, a dental hygienist who was devoted to her appearance, had plastic surgery in the past, and frequently had her hair cut and teeth cleaned. The spots aired during daytime shows, including, “Ellen,” “The View,” and “Live with Regis & Kelly.”—Whitey Bulger surrenders in Calif. after 16 years on run - The Boston Globe
“I remember coming to L.A. for the first time and meeting Gwen Stefani and how gracious and wonderful she was, and then meeting another favorite artist of mine and what a cunt she was. It ruined my dreams of that person, the cunt, and I will always be a fan of the person who was gracious.”—
Nothing new here,I was taking the A train to the beach in the 1960’s! We also had burger joints, ice cream shops and McNulteys-the place to be on the weekends, even in the winter. These urbanists are just so “cool” but if it will bring back Rockaway beaches then great!
(except mom, you probably had at least three of your little sisters in tow, so you know…)
“One summer, a friend and I walked from the East Village to Central Park with only $5, our MetroCards, and one tube of chapstick between us. We saw a man with a giant snake, at least five different street fairs, several burbling fountains, outdoor art, a handful of shirtless runners, a crazy lady screaming at no one, a goat wearing a diaper, and a Chock Full o’ Nuts.”—
A lot of What We Are Talking About Today reminds me of that 30 Rock episode. You know the one. I don’t think the issue is that women “should” or “should not” write a certain way when profiling probably-not-that-interesting male celebrities; if you are a woman, and you want to write about who you date or you want to write cute on the internet or be twee or whatever, that is fine with me! Do you! It’s that it makes it seem as though this is the way that women should cover men in the national media, by being cute and nonthreatening and, in fact, incapacitated. It has become a bit of a trope in men’s magazines lately and it makes me more than a little uncomfortable.*
* With all the appropriate conflict of interest caveats here – probably most important, that I am friends with Edith.
“The ferries are free until June 24, then will cost $4 a ride, about double the cost of a subway trip. Mitchell Moss, director of the Rudin Center for Transportation Policy at New York University, said some straphangers might be willing to pay extra for a more reliable commute. “Waiting for the G train can be an infinite experience,” Mr. Moss said. “Four dollars is a bargain compared to the one-hour wait for the G train.”—
“Then the poor manager is besieged by resumes when he posts a job—awww!—and then? He must “spend $150 for each drug test.” (Which: stop doing that?) Mercy. It’s hard to find a reason why anyone in America even wants to work!”—There Will Never Ever Be Jobs Again | The Awl
“At the original Mondrian in West Hollywood, the restaurant off the lobby is not a business attached to the visage of a television personality. It is instead a branch of Asia de Cuba, the prolific restaurateur Jeffrey Chodorow’s wildly successful Caribbasian fusion restaurant. Critics line up to speak ill of many of Mr. Chodorow’s forays into the restaurant game — his ill-considered attempts at space-ship-themed Basque trattorias, his Rumjungles and Kobe Clubs. But credit where it is due: when a customer slides into an Asia de Cuba and eats food that is slightly salty, slightly sweet, crisp, maybe fiery and generally made better by a huge drink placed on the table by someone attractive, it will likely be as it was the last time and the time before that, running down the years. Guests at the Mondrian on Crosby Street might do well to note the address of the Asia de Cuba in New York: 237 Madison Avenue; (212) 726-7755.”—
The Overnight Spot: “We stayed at this place called Fernwood—it’s a campground, but we stayed in a cabin. We made a campfire at night and did these light drawings—we got all crazy with the flashlight and camera. It became obsessive because we wanted to get our words just right.”
Ohhh yes I stayed at Fernwood when I went to Big Sur and it is really a magical place.
Lately I seem to be having the same conversations over and over again, or rather the same subjects inflicted upon me by otherwise well-meaning and friendly people. They can be split into about four categories: How are you? How are you really? (concerned look) How’s Work? (what is the correct answer here – my to-do list?), and How Is Your Book? (as if a book is like a pet or a child that must be watched over constantly and is a source of constant amusement: “It’s fine.”)
At first I thought that this was partly my fault, being someone who is reserved and thus making other people responsible for starting the conversation while I gaze twenty feet into the distance, generally content to enjoy camaraderie in a quiet, detached sort of way, but now I don’t think so. It’s New York. There is the feeling of being constantly interviewed, and never giving sufficiently satisfactory answers.
The only solution is to master the art of the non-answer. Find someone like Anthony Hayden-Guest or some old socialite at a party and ask them how they are, and receive a delightful non-response. As well as it could be, eh? Just peachy, yeah? Absolutely fantastic.
The other solution is to immediately turn it back on them. “Oh, you know, the same! But what about YOU?” We are in the minority here; most people love to talk about themselves and are just waiting for someone to give them an opening. That is the secret of journalism!
“The real message of “Friday Night Lights” is a message about the joy of little things: the awkward thrills of a first kiss; the strange blessing of an unexpected rainstorm on a lonely walk home from a rough football practice; the startling surge of nostalgia incited by the illumination of football-stadium lights just as the autumn sun is setting; the rush of gratitude, in an otherwise mundane moment, that comes from realizing that this (admittedly flawed) human being that you’re squabbling with intends to have your back for the rest of your life. If “Glee” is about expressing yourself, believing in yourself and loving yourself all the way to a moment of pure adrenaline-fueled glory, then “Friday Night Lights” is about breathing in and appreciating the small, somewhat-imperfect moments that make up an average life. It’s not hard to see why “Glee” would be more popular right now, but its moment, like the moment of glory it celebrates, feels likely to come and go. Recognizing the impermanence of such moments, “Friday Night Lights” embraces the rough edges, the fumbling, the understated beauty and uncertainty of the everyday.”—How Football Players Got Trounced by ‘Glee’ - The New York Times Magazine
“And I was trying to turn off my computer but I was also boiling water to make the cornmeal mush but didn’t realize that your teakettle is electric (duh! I’m so dumb! Duh!) and doesn’t really need to be heated on the stove so there was a small, VERY small fire, which I put out immediately but I unfortunately also didn’t realize that the fire had heated up the native American cookie cutters and covered them with this molten plastic so when I picked up this one particular Navajo symbol it really burned my fingers and I flung it into the air and it flew through the air and hit Jacob in the forehead and essentially burned the symbol into his forehead. And the symbol is that of. And the symbol is that of. And the symbol is that of the Navajo “whirling log,” which is a sacred image of an equilateral cross with its arms bent at right angles? Which yes, does, yes, look like a swastika, yes, it is a swastika but isn’t technically a swastika because it actually originated, as we know, as a native American symbol before it was usurped by the Nazis!”—
“Former vice presidential nominee John Edwards was indicted Friday on federal campaign finance charges for allegedly using campaign donations to conceal an extramarital affair while he was running for the White House. The case of USA v. Johnny Reid Edwards contains six counts, including conspiracy, four counts of illegal campaign contributions and one count of false statements, according to the Associated Press. The indictment was returned in the Middle District of North Carolina Friday. The criminal charges came after plea negotiations between lawyers for Edwards and the Justice Department did not produce an agreement, people familiar with the talks said. A federal grand jury in North Carolina has been examining Edwards’s role in funneling money from political donors to a former campaign aide, Rielle Hunter, allegedly to cover up an extramarital affair the two had while Edwards was a campaigning for the 2008 Democratic presidential nomination for president, people with knowledge of the investigation have said.”—
I went to the Death Cab for Cutie show last night at Bowery Ballroom and I wrote about it for Rolling Stone. Little-known fact, unless you have been in my bedroom: I have a Death Cab poster from a show they did at the Troc a million years ago. I keep it as a reminder of … something.