I just rode my bike home in the pouring rain. It made me feel dirty and tough. I liked it! I had two heckling incidents earlier this week (The first on Monday: "Get on the sidewalk, bitch! Get the f^@k off the road!" Followed by lengthy honking and hand waving from a gold Altima. The second today: "Hey, baby. I'll teach you how to riiiiide." followed by hip gesticulating and air humping from a gross man at a gas station) that made me hate riding my bike. Almost made me throw in the towel, in fact.
But then I got to whiz past idling cars at rush hour as steam rose from my overheated body and that was awesome! Plus, other cyclists chat with me through Shadyside when I'm not panting. I feel like I could get used to this, enjoy it maybe!
We'll see if I still feel that way later tonight after Corey and I ride to and from Belvedere's for 80's night. Does a helmet go with a side ponytail?
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Discomfort
Yesterday I rode the 500. I have said before that I think the 500 is more filled with babies than the 71A. Wednesday afternoon was no different. There was only one available seat: in the very back in between 2 toddlers yellowed with Cheez-it. They were super cute. They each had little Yankee hats and matching polo shirts. The older one stared out the window and picked at his Band-aid. The younger one burbled and kept pointing at my arm.
I was smiling so much my face hurt, because this kiddo was so cute. He thought my watch was really interesting. He kept trying to play peak-a-boo. He kept clapping his hands and then laughing hysterically, as if to say "I know you wish you were covered in Cheez-it, too. You're silly!"
Then, out of nowhere, his grandmother spanked the crap out of him. "Don't you bother that lady!" she said. The kid, being 2, forgot and started poking my watch again. I had the timer running to see how long my journey was taking in the traffic. I think he liked the flashing seconds. But the grandma kept spanking him each time he flirted with me.
I got so uncomfortable. I wanted to move seats, but I didn't want the grandma to think I was upset with the kid and spank him more. I didn't know how to indicate that it was her corporal punishment and not the Cheez-it crumbs making me antsy.
I just sat there judging her, old and gray taking care of three children under 5 (she had the third baby asleep on her lap) after a long tiring day. But she was spanking that little boy who was just bubbling over with child joy. Should I have said something to her on that crowded bus? Should I at least have said "He doesn't bother me at all"?
When they got off the bus, I saw the two toddlers holding each other's hands to cross the 4-lane street because the grandmother's arms were full of the sleeping baby and the diaper bags and packages. I know I have absolutely no comprehension of their difficult life. But I don't think I'll ever understand the amount of despair it must take for someone to hit a small child like that.
I was smiling so much my face hurt, because this kiddo was so cute. He thought my watch was really interesting. He kept trying to play peak-a-boo. He kept clapping his hands and then laughing hysterically, as if to say "I know you wish you were covered in Cheez-it, too. You're silly!"
Then, out of nowhere, his grandmother spanked the crap out of him. "Don't you bother that lady!" she said. The kid, being 2, forgot and started poking my watch again. I had the timer running to see how long my journey was taking in the traffic. I think he liked the flashing seconds. But the grandma kept spanking him each time he flirted with me.
I got so uncomfortable. I wanted to move seats, but I didn't want the grandma to think I was upset with the kid and spank him more. I didn't know how to indicate that it was her corporal punishment and not the Cheez-it crumbs making me antsy.
I just sat there judging her, old and gray taking care of three children under 5 (she had the third baby asleep on her lap) after a long tiring day. But she was spanking that little boy who was just bubbling over with child joy. Should I have said something to her on that crowded bus? Should I at least have said "He doesn't bother me at all"?
When they got off the bus, I saw the two toddlers holding each other's hands to cross the 4-lane street because the grandmother's arms were full of the sleeping baby and the diaper bags and packages. I know I have absolutely no comprehension of their difficult life. But I don't think I'll ever understand the amount of despair it must take for someone to hit a small child like that.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Aches
My fingertips are on fire. I blame wedding season. My cousin played the flute beautifully in my wedding and says I now owe her for hers. I am picking up my violin after a 6-year hiatus. It's amazing to me that I played that sucker for 15 years and didn't think twice about my rock hard fingertips. I must have been walking around with little pebbles on my left hand. How did I ever sense temperature or feel texture?
I discovered on opening my violin case that my bow had exploded. When I took it to the fix-it man, he told me I had mites in my case. Tiny creatures living in my violin case snacking on the horsehair in the dark for half a decade. "Just vacuum your case and leave the whole thing open in the sunlight," he told me. You better believe I vacuumed that case. Now the whole getup sits on the floor beneath my office window. I am never closing it ever again.
I never thought I would want to play the violin again. I assumed I would begrudgingly practice for Meredith's wedding and then close it all up tight. It's amazing, though, how comforting it feels. Perhaps because I'm a rugby masochist now the finger pains give me joy? Something happens where I feel the music coursing through me and I just want to go, go, go until I am out of rosin. And then I notice that the strings are in fact causing my fingers to crack and bleed so I have to stop.
While Corey was in a wedding this weekend, I spent some time schmoozing with his friend's dad, who is a violist. We talked about my finger pains. He gave me advice, like don't practice more than 20 minutes at a time until I get my callouses back. He had nothing to offer about the mites, though.
At the reception later, I danced with all of Corey's friends (because he does not dance) and one of them had baby-smooth hands. A bike rider! Where were his rhino hide hands? As my pebbles sprout to the surface of my left hand, the palms of both hands are starting to get a bit course from my commute. It seems I am destined to enjoy only those activities which make my hands and feet feel as if they have been soaked in battery acid. Maybe passionate people weren't meant to have soft skin.
I discovered on opening my violin case that my bow had exploded. When I took it to the fix-it man, he told me I had mites in my case. Tiny creatures living in my violin case snacking on the horsehair in the dark for half a decade. "Just vacuum your case and leave the whole thing open in the sunlight," he told me. You better believe I vacuumed that case. Now the whole getup sits on the floor beneath my office window. I am never closing it ever again.
I never thought I would want to play the violin again. I assumed I would begrudgingly practice for Meredith's wedding and then close it all up tight. It's amazing, though, how comforting it feels. Perhaps because I'm a rugby masochist now the finger pains give me joy? Something happens where I feel the music coursing through me and I just want to go, go, go until I am out of rosin. And then I notice that the strings are in fact causing my fingers to crack and bleed so I have to stop.
While Corey was in a wedding this weekend, I spent some time schmoozing with his friend's dad, who is a violist. We talked about my finger pains. He gave me advice, like don't practice more than 20 minutes at a time until I get my callouses back. He had nothing to offer about the mites, though.
At the reception later, I danced with all of Corey's friends (because he does not dance) and one of them had baby-smooth hands. A bike rider! Where were his rhino hide hands? As my pebbles sprout to the surface of my left hand, the palms of both hands are starting to get a bit course from my commute. It seems I am destined to enjoy only those activities which make my hands and feet feel as if they have been soaked in battery acid. Maybe passionate people weren't meant to have soft skin.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Cars Are Coffins
My co-worker came in to work today with some road rash. She had crashed her bike on the cobblestones down town. This started a whole barrage of car accident tales from my co-workers and all the students. I heard the following stories:
Student 1: Dude, I got hit in a hit and run before. This car hit me so hard, and the driver just...he or she just took off. It took me like five minutes to find my boot! It knocked me right on out my Timbs!
Student 2: I was walking up DeSoto you know, outside Children's Hospital? I checked both ways and there was no car. Then I started text messaging and a car hit me! Like in the movies! I rolled up onto the hood and hit the windshield. I was just laying there thinking "Oh my God, I just got hit by a car." Everyone started laughing at me.
Co-Worker 1: I was riding my bike in Colorado and I got drive-by Super-Soakered. It knocked me right off my bike! Have you ever been Super Soakered? If they pump it hard, that can be like a garden hose.
Co-Worker 2: I got drive-by paint balled! I was walking along at night time and they just started shooting at me from the car. Those suckers hurt.
What made this sharing session even more wonderful was that at its conclusion, we tutors helped the students compose cultural analysis essays about Flavor of Love. I love my job.
Student 1: Dude, I got hit in a hit and run before. This car hit me so hard, and the driver just...he or she just took off. It took me like five minutes to find my boot! It knocked me right on out my Timbs!
Student 2: I was walking up DeSoto you know, outside Children's Hospital? I checked both ways and there was no car. Then I started text messaging and a car hit me! Like in the movies! I rolled up onto the hood and hit the windshield. I was just laying there thinking "Oh my God, I just got hit by a car." Everyone started laughing at me.
Co-Worker 1: I was riding my bike in Colorado and I got drive-by Super-Soakered. It knocked me right off my bike! Have you ever been Super Soakered? If they pump it hard, that can be like a garden hose.
Co-Worker 2: I got drive-by paint balled! I was walking along at night time and they just started shooting at me from the car. Those suckers hurt.
What made this sharing session even more wonderful was that at its conclusion, we tutors helped the students compose cultural analysis essays about Flavor of Love. I love my job.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Red Beard the Savior
This is a pirate's tale of risk and danger, thrill and rescue on the high seas. It ends in romance and involves an attack by a barracuda, I kid you not.
Once upon a time, Red Beard the Pirate took his captive princess on a treacherous voyage in the rocky seas, amidst a fiery hurricane. The sea was rough that day, my friends. The wind roared and the watercraft, the USS Sunfish, galloped across the waves. Red Beard laughed into the gale and told the princess to open up the sail. "Let out the sheet!" he bellowed.
Red Beard grew addicted to the speed of the craft. He chased the wind with abandon and, noticing a shift in the breeze, shouted "Coming about!" The boom jerked to starboard and the princess, pale and frightened at her first sailing misadventure, was not quick enough. The craft capsized, spitting the princess and the pirate into the ocean.
The princess remembered the warnings of the snorkling instructor the day before: These waters are infested with barracudas! Look out! She clung to the bow and screamed as the keel floated away from the ship. Red Beard's reflexes kicked in and he acted in a flash.
He threw off his pirate hat and pirate sunglasses and dove into the depths to save the keel. The princess shrieked as he coerced her from the bow, where she clung like the prow of a ship. He grabbed the keel, heaved a mighty grunt, and righted the vessel. As the sail popped into the sky, the boat bobbed happily again on the water.
Red Beard clambered into the ship and secured the sail. He retrieved his tri-corn hat and glasses and reached out to the princess, who was near death with fright. Barracudas began to circle the ship, waiting to sink their teeth into the delicate flesh of the princess. With one arm, Red Beard pulled the princess aboard and grabbed the rudder. As she swooned in the bottom of the boat, he looked into the sun and turned the boat for shore. The foamy sea splashed after the lovers as they sailed into the sunset, headed for paradise together after their near death experience.
Translation
We went sailing on a sunfish one day when it was really windy. I didn't tack fast enough when we came about and the boat capsized. I was scared of barracudas and forgot to hold onto the keel. Corey swam after it, fixed it, and righted the boat with one fell pull. He yanked me aboard and sailed me to safety before the Sandals rescue boat even got out there to check on us. My hero!
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