26 December 2008
23 December 2008
22 December 2008
hooray!! winter solstice has passed!
and we can only go up from here.
time to go pack for detroit city!
time to go pack for detroit city!
15 December 2008
zero dollar - that is how many I have
I have absolutely NO motivation to ride the trainer right now.
Every day seems unrealistically filled with tasks to accomplish.
The nights come fast, the daylight slipping through my fingers while I sit bound in my office roundicle as if it were a cell.
Work only lets up long enough to make sure I've not lost consciousness before reapplying the pillow to my face.
The bicycle that I have strapped into the trainer is a "B" frame (if I dare ascribe to it such a lofty title). I cannot seem to get it properly adjusted in order for it to feel "right." The "A" frame was sold off because it has always been too small. The only redeeming quality of this new set-up is that the rear shifting is flawless. Astoundingly so, in fact. The chain hunks into gear at the slightest tease of my shift lever regardless of its trajectory up or down the cassette. But let us not get ahead of ourselves -- there is only so much joy (and very much irony) that can be found in perfect shifting on a trainer-bound bicycle in one's living room.
I eat far too many cookies.
One might deem this to be enough motivation TO ride the trainer but I assure you that in my world delicious cookies only serve to motivate me into eating more delicious cookies.
I can literally hear myself getting fatter.
When I bend forward, where there once was one small roll of belly fat now reside two.
I haven't done any serious exercise since the state cross champs.
This weekend will mark 4 full weeks.
I can't stand the idea of getting onto the trainer right now.
I can't stand the fact that I haven't yet.
Every day seems unrealistically filled with tasks to accomplish.
The nights come fast, the daylight slipping through my fingers while I sit bound in my office roundicle as if it were a cell.
Work only lets up long enough to make sure I've not lost consciousness before reapplying the pillow to my face.
The bicycle that I have strapped into the trainer is a "B" frame (if I dare ascribe to it such a lofty title). I cannot seem to get it properly adjusted in order for it to feel "right." The "A" frame was sold off because it has always been too small. The only redeeming quality of this new set-up is that the rear shifting is flawless. Astoundingly so, in fact. The chain hunks into gear at the slightest tease of my shift lever regardless of its trajectory up or down the cassette. But let us not get ahead of ourselves -- there is only so much joy (and very much irony) that can be found in perfect shifting on a trainer-bound bicycle in one's living room.
I eat far too many cookies.
One might deem this to be enough motivation TO ride the trainer but I assure you that in my world delicious cookies only serve to motivate me into eating more delicious cookies.
I can literally hear myself getting fatter.
When I bend forward, where there once was one small roll of belly fat now reside two.
I haven't done any serious exercise since the state cross champs.
This weekend will mark 4 full weeks.
I can't stand the idea of getting onto the trainer right now.
I can't stand the fact that I haven't yet.
13 December 2008
25 November 2008
there vs. their
Maybe you should take the quiz.
Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to hit up the difference between who's and whose either.
I'm not saying... I'm just saying.
Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to hit up the difference between who's and whose either.
I'm not saying... I'm just saying.
24 November 2008
random
After dinner A said that if I didn't put up a new post, people would stop reading my blog. What I want to know is who's reading this lame-o blog?? So, without further ado, here are a few images I dug out of iPhoto (which sucks, btw) to... well... keep whoever you are from never reading my blog again. Enjoy-
Brothers don't shake hands! Brothers gotta hug!!
Safety first -- I wonder if it's reflective for the night crowd, too...
Despite being taken on a shitty camera whilst driving, this is one of my all-time favorite photographs.
Give a girl a bicycle and you will be dumped. Newton's little publicized 4th law of gravity. The more effort you put into the bike, the swifter the verdict.
How can you know this was not taken in Nebraska? Hints: this is the dash of a 26' Penske truck; no, the instrument cluster is not frozen.
My favorite spot in the twin cities.
OH NO!!!!
Brothers don't shake hands! Brothers gotta hug!!
Safety first -- I wonder if it's reflective for the night crowd, too...
Despite being taken on a shitty camera whilst driving, this is one of my all-time favorite photographs.
Give a girl a bicycle and you will be dumped. Newton's little publicized 4th law of gravity. The more effort you put into the bike, the swifter the verdict.
How can you know this was not taken in Nebraska? Hints: this is the dash of a 26' Penske truck; no, the instrument cluster is not frozen.
My favorite spot in the twin cities.
OH NO!!!!
19 November 2008
#s
It's been more than six years since I last dreamed in numbers.
In 2002, during my last semester at Madison, I was a student in Professor Byrd's Logic course. I found a great deal of satisfaction in the proofs we worked week in, week out. I think -- nay, I know -- these exercises appealed to the same part of me that insisted socks be put on juuuuust right as a child, that meticulously applies handlebar tape at precise and even widths to my bicycles, and that relishes freshly "made" bed linens before turning in each night.
In the final weeks of his course, Prof Byrd assigned each of us a super-proof of sorts with which to grapple as part of our final exam. Of course, I immersed myself in this proof, sorting out sections and bits while riding to work at the shop or sitting at Einstein's on State Street chewing bagels. And then came the night before the proof was due; our group met that evening mulling over our efforts line by line but no one -- including me -- had achieved resolution.
Late that night I rode home, tired and stuck on this seemingly irreconcilable proof. I went to bed and slept poorly. I dreamed in numbers and figures and lines of proofs. I awoke early -- something like 4am, well before the sun -- and lay on my back staring at the ceiling and working through our proof. All of a sudden whatever I had dreamed, whatever my mind had worked out in my sleep came together in a solution to the elusive proof! Eureka! I fumbled for a pen and a notebook and started scribbling furiously in the dark. I was elated. I had sorted out the answer.
I passed on the shower, dressing quickly to allow for maximum transit time before the exam began at 8am. It must not yet have been 6am but I wanted to make damn sure that nothing was going to stop me from delivering my proof in time to get credit for it. I grabbed the bike and rode into campus aiming straight for the Helen C. White Library above which was perched the philosophy department.
I knew that Professor Byrd was often in his office early mornings and I held my fingers crossed riding up the elevator that that day was no exception. Success! He was indeed present. I handed him my proof, tired and a bit delusional from all the proof-crunching. He quietly looked it over, page by page, for what seemed an eternity. Eventually he looked up, grinned and before he even spoke I felt everything in the world was right.
I truly miss that class, Professor Byrd and most of all the proofs. It was something at which I excelled in spades and I loved that about Logic. It made sense to me -- it fit with the way I think about the world. It was neat and appropriate and everything had it's place, you just had to figure out where it all went.
Maybe some day I'll get to return to logic. Perhaps I'll become a Logician. I don't really know what Logicians do or even whether this is even a viable profession -- I mean, I can't imagine a great need for Logicians in the world but who knows. Perhaps there's something else. For now, I'll stick with bicycles and get my kicks from elaborate spreadsheets.
In 2002, during my last semester at Madison, I was a student in Professor Byrd's Logic course. I found a great deal of satisfaction in the proofs we worked week in, week out. I think -- nay, I know -- these exercises appealed to the same part of me that insisted socks be put on juuuuust right as a child, that meticulously applies handlebar tape at precise and even widths to my bicycles, and that relishes freshly "made" bed linens before turning in each night.
In the final weeks of his course, Prof Byrd assigned each of us a super-proof of sorts with which to grapple as part of our final exam. Of course, I immersed myself in this proof, sorting out sections and bits while riding to work at the shop or sitting at Einstein's on State Street chewing bagels. And then came the night before the proof was due; our group met that evening mulling over our efforts line by line but no one -- including me -- had achieved resolution.
Late that night I rode home, tired and stuck on this seemingly irreconcilable proof. I went to bed and slept poorly. I dreamed in numbers and figures and lines of proofs. I awoke early -- something like 4am, well before the sun -- and lay on my back staring at the ceiling and working through our proof. All of a sudden whatever I had dreamed, whatever my mind had worked out in my sleep came together in a solution to the elusive proof! Eureka! I fumbled for a pen and a notebook and started scribbling furiously in the dark. I was elated. I had sorted out the answer.
I passed on the shower, dressing quickly to allow for maximum transit time before the exam began at 8am. It must not yet have been 6am but I wanted to make damn sure that nothing was going to stop me from delivering my proof in time to get credit for it. I grabbed the bike and rode into campus aiming straight for the Helen C. White Library above which was perched the philosophy department.
I knew that Professor Byrd was often in his office early mornings and I held my fingers crossed riding up the elevator that that day was no exception. Success! He was indeed present. I handed him my proof, tired and a bit delusional from all the proof-crunching. He quietly looked it over, page by page, for what seemed an eternity. Eventually he looked up, grinned and before he even spoke I felt everything in the world was right.
I truly miss that class, Professor Byrd and most of all the proofs. It was something at which I excelled in spades and I loved that about Logic. It made sense to me -- it fit with the way I think about the world. It was neat and appropriate and everything had it's place, you just had to figure out where it all went.
Maybe some day I'll get to return to logic. Perhaps I'll become a Logician. I don't really know what Logicians do or even whether this is even a viable profession -- I mean, I can't imagine a great need for Logicians in the world but who knows. Perhaps there's something else. For now, I'll stick with bicycles and get my kicks from elaborate spreadsheets.
16 November 2008
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