Maybe it's just the four fillings I had installed this morning, but I feel somewhat ornery today. The stupid people are getting to me.
I live and work near Broadway, but on two very different stretches of it. The one near home is wide, relatively traffic-free and well prepared for bikes. The stretch in town isn't. Inevitably, on the lunch walk down the hill away from the campus, I see someone coasting down the middle of the righthand, northbound lane. Today there were two kinds of riders.
The cool rider: This kind rides a fixie. I will admit, I have an innate dislike of fixie riders. Some of them are actually pretty capable, but too many are like the helmetless undergrad I saw today. She was pedalling with all her might going down that hill, but the cars were creeping up behind just the same. In about three seconds, she'd meet with one of the many intersections downtown. Someday she might meet with an actual car.
The athlete-in-training: Full team kit, of course. At least this one's got a helmet. I have some serious problems with these guys, too, especially just south of Iris. Today's athlete gets fewer dork points than the cool rider, because he's got gears. With a sufficient run up to the hill, he actually maintained the 30 mph speed that most cars are going downtown. Still, there are better ways to get north and south in this town.
On a happier note, a driver actually stopped by me this morning to tell me I'd dropped a glove about a quarter mile back. Long live the nice, non-stupid people !
Monday, February 23, 2009
Sunday, February 15, 2009
A happy, guy-free Valentine's day (my version)
On Saturday, someone asked me if I was one of those Valentine's Day haters. I said I prefer to think of myself as a non-participant. I could go on for a while about how I don't believe in any holiday that encourages you to feel guilty for not spending extra time and money to prove your love for someone on a designated day. Shouldn't that be a regular occurrence? After all, one day doesn't absolve you for the other 364. And if you don't happen to be half of a couple, it seems you're supposed to either drown your sorrows with your fellow singletons at the nearest bar, or go with them to the nearest bar to publicly lambaste the last one who did you wrong . Either way, the bar seems required. Yeah, whatever. I found other things to do.
Get a massage: OK, so it was one of those regularly scheduled ones, but it's still a nice way to start the day. And those gym classes are really beating me up, anyhow.
Have a nice meal: Any time I head to Denver, I feel compelled to eat at Watercourse, since it's the only restaurant around where I can eat anything on the menu. This day I tried the biscuits and gravy and got my favorite moo-less milkshake. Another nice thing about dining solo is being able to skip the long wait and eat at the bar. Sure, they were having some special, fancy dinner in the evening, but I always like the morning ambiance better.
Go shopping: Let's be honest. I loathe shopping, especially for clothes. I've shopped at vintage clothing stores and thrift shops since the ninth grade, partly because they're the only places I have any chance of finding pants that fit. I only value clothes in as much as they keep me either warm, dry or not naked in public. My bikes seem to destroy my work clothes at an alarming rate these days and I make it worse by creating big, bleached spots that are more noticable than the chain grease. So I take a biannual trip to a really big thrift store on South Broadway, steel myself for the hour or so that'll get sucked out of my life and start foraging in the aisles. Really, though, how can I complain about a trip that nets me pants that will fit after I dry them on "hot", three shirts, a book, a CD and a pie pan for twenty bucks?
Enjoy the beauty of your surroundings: On the way home from Denver, the sun was just managing to break through above Eldo Canyon and it seemed as though the light was shining down just to spotlight the gorgeous scene. By the highway, the black cattle scattered in the field were sharing their space with a giant flock of Canadian geese and, in the middle of their flock, was one white goose. Maybe he was an albino, or maybe he was a stray adopted by the flock. Made me happy in any case. So did the stencil of the white raven on the lamppost in the parking lot by Petsmart. White birds all over.
Not a forced, hot house flower or box of dull chocolates in sight, and, yet, still a good day.
Get a massage: OK, so it was one of those regularly scheduled ones, but it's still a nice way to start the day. And those gym classes are really beating me up, anyhow.
Have a nice meal: Any time I head to Denver, I feel compelled to eat at Watercourse, since it's the only restaurant around where I can eat anything on the menu. This day I tried the biscuits and gravy and got my favorite moo-less milkshake. Another nice thing about dining solo is being able to skip the long wait and eat at the bar. Sure, they were having some special, fancy dinner in the evening, but I always like the morning ambiance better.
Go shopping: Let's be honest. I loathe shopping, especially for clothes. I've shopped at vintage clothing stores and thrift shops since the ninth grade, partly because they're the only places I have any chance of finding pants that fit. I only value clothes in as much as they keep me either warm, dry or not naked in public. My bikes seem to destroy my work clothes at an alarming rate these days and I make it worse by creating big, bleached spots that are more noticable than the chain grease. So I take a biannual trip to a really big thrift store on South Broadway, steel myself for the hour or so that'll get sucked out of my life and start foraging in the aisles. Really, though, how can I complain about a trip that nets me pants that will fit after I dry them on "hot", three shirts, a book, a CD and a pie pan for twenty bucks?
Enjoy the beauty of your surroundings: On the way home from Denver, the sun was just managing to break through above Eldo Canyon and it seemed as though the light was shining down just to spotlight the gorgeous scene. By the highway, the black cattle scattered in the field were sharing their space with a giant flock of Canadian geese and, in the middle of their flock, was one white goose. Maybe he was an albino, or maybe he was a stray adopted by the flock. Made me happy in any case. So did the stencil of the white raven on the lamppost in the parking lot by Petsmart. White birds all over.
Not a forced, hot house flower or box of dull chocolates in sight, and, yet, still a good day.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Gym class for grown ups
For the past few weeks, I have been voluntarily showing up for drop-in fitness classes at the rec center. Most often, I have been subjecting myself to one hour of something called "ski/sports conditioning," which is funny, since I don't actually ski. Now I was never part of any team sports in high school or college (or ever, for that matter), so I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Today I have a much better understanding of things like suicides and lunges. I also know why the people squatting against the wall for three minutes are whimpering. Jumping rope has become a kind of torture.
I also gave step aerobics a try, but, in spite of a childhood spent in a dance studio, I just couldn't pick up the steps fast enough. I probably should have given it more than one night, but it was just wasn't for me. The weight lifting class was a little better, but I found there's a little nerve on my right side that puts my arm to sleep any time I rest the bar there. Neat. My arms aren't used to lifting much more than cats, so I had the fewest plates (5 kg only) in the class. I guess I should be happy that my arms were still a little shaky the next day, since that should mean they changed at least a little, right?
Hopefully all this will amount to something come summer and racing season. In any case, I've stressed a few new muscle groups and have come up with a plausible excuse for my monthly massage.
I also gave step aerobics a try, but, in spite of a childhood spent in a dance studio, I just couldn't pick up the steps fast enough. I probably should have given it more than one night, but it was just wasn't for me. The weight lifting class was a little better, but I found there's a little nerve on my right side that puts my arm to sleep any time I rest the bar there. Neat. My arms aren't used to lifting much more than cats, so I had the fewest plates (5 kg only) in the class. I guess I should be happy that my arms were still a little shaky the next day, since that should mean they changed at least a little, right?
Hopefully all this will amount to something come summer and racing season. In any case, I've stressed a few new muscle groups and have come up with a plausible excuse for my monthly massage.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Kentucky Fried Seitan
I was inspired by the seitan buffalo wings that Walt posted a while back, but afraid of the atomic sauce, so I asked for his quick and easy seitan instructions and turned them into a different fake chicken part. I'll call them nuggets. Seitan turns out to be incredibly easy to throw together and a little gluten goes a long way. I was originally looking for something to eat with buttermilk biscuits and, not wanting to deal with gravy and pseudo-sausage, I could only envision red and white striped buckets of fried chicken parts and little cups of cole slaw (yeah, I ate my fair share of chickens when I was young). I found a recipe online that promised lots of crunchy coating and absolutely no nutritional value.
I've never been very good at frying things, probably due to an aversion to high heat and the problem of used cooking oil disposal. I reassured myself by using the deepest pan I could find and, after a quick search, learned that my local recycling center will take my sullied oil and give it to folks who will turn it into bio-diesel, so the local converted VW's will have something to run on. No more excuses - it was time to fry.
The recipe seemed to call for an awful lot of yellow mustard, which I never have in the house, but I decided to follow it to the letter just to see how it came out. I learned that you don't want your batter too thick (drips globs all over the stove top) and you should always watch your hand's altitude when you're dropping things into a fairly shallow pool of hot oil (it only hurt for an hour and now I get new skin).
After the heat kicked in, they really did start to look like a familiar fried food. Actually, depending on the shape of the seitan chunk, they looked like a couple of fried foods; could've been clams, fish sticks, nuggets, or just about anything under that sizzling, golden batter. Fortunately, they just tasted like chicken. Well, at least like what I remember of chicken. I will admit to having consumed one piece of fried chicken parts on the way home from the yurt trip (somehow just potato logs from Safeway didn't seem like enough dinner), but seitan is definitely a different beast. The inside is kind of a uniform tan color and the texture is a bit chewy, but I swear they could pass for a nugget at any fast food franchise. You probably don't want to know how little chicken is actually in those nuggets anyway.
Best of all, after getting all soggy in the fridge for a few days, they crisped right up after a few minutes in the toaster oven last night. Seitan seems to have tons of other potential uses, so I will experiment a bit more this winter in hopes of adding a bit more protein to the diet. Of course, a little extra fried stuff is always good, too.
I've never been very good at frying things, probably due to an aversion to high heat and the problem of used cooking oil disposal. I reassured myself by using the deepest pan I could find and, after a quick search, learned that my local recycling center will take my sullied oil and give it to folks who will turn it into bio-diesel, so the local converted VW's will have something to run on. No more excuses - it was time to fry.
The recipe seemed to call for an awful lot of yellow mustard, which I never have in the house, but I decided to follow it to the letter just to see how it came out. I learned that you don't want your batter too thick (drips globs all over the stove top) and you should always watch your hand's altitude when you're dropping things into a fairly shallow pool of hot oil (it only hurt for an hour and now I get new skin).
After the heat kicked in, they really did start to look like a familiar fried food. Actually, depending on the shape of the seitan chunk, they looked like a couple of fried foods; could've been clams, fish sticks, nuggets, or just about anything under that sizzling, golden batter. Fortunately, they just tasted like chicken. Well, at least like what I remember of chicken. I will admit to having consumed one piece of fried chicken parts on the way home from the yurt trip (somehow just potato logs from Safeway didn't seem like enough dinner), but seitan is definitely a different beast. The inside is kind of a uniform tan color and the texture is a bit chewy, but I swear they could pass for a nugget at any fast food franchise. You probably don't want to know how little chicken is actually in those nuggets anyway.
Best of all, after getting all soggy in the fridge for a few days, they crisped right up after a few minutes in the toaster oven last night. Seitan seems to have tons of other potential uses, so I will experiment a bit more this winter in hopes of adding a bit more protein to the diet. Of course, a little extra fried stuff is always good, too.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Sleeping foxes, suicidal bees and January goatheads
Some times you have a really good day and other times the day has you. I've been eating lunch by the pond in the nice weather this week and keeping an eye on the bees. I'm not sure if they're ill, depressed or just really stupid, but a large crowd of them has been hovering just above the water at the edge of the pond and then dropping down to their icy deaths. I fished a handful out yesterday and set them on the flagstone to warm up, but I'm pretty sure some of those same bees ended up back in the water, because there were about a dozen unrevivable corpses floating on or near the ice today.
While I was looking mournfully at the bees this afternoon (because, let's face it, if we run out of bees, we're screwed), someone else was a few feet away watching the foxes sleep. He let me know as he got up to leave, so I went over there to stare at them for a while and make myself feel better about the bees. Foxes are weird animals - in my mind, they're closest to a cat/dog hybrid. These two were just having their nap interrupted by the grounds crew, but seemed pretty chill even with someone close by, poking in the shrubs. Unfortunately, the smaller one has a very badly damaged back leg, but she didn't seem too phased by it. I, on the other hand, was now bothered by the bees and the broken fox.
I figured grabbing a video and some thai food on the way home might make the day end a little more pleasantly. Somewhere between the video store and the food, I picked up a goathead in my front tire. I thought I might have just enough air to get home, so started pedaling anyway. I was still about a mile short when the goathead got pulled out and the rest of the air went with it. Oh, well, it was still at least fifty degrees, so not a bad night for a walk. After stuffing the ailing bike in the garage and promising to fix it tomorrow, I noticed a suspicious trail of drips leading from the garage back to the road. I feared my car had gone and done something dumb on its own, but, no, it was my dinner leaking from the cracked plastic container in the bike basket. You could probably find my house tonight by following the drops of green curry from town. I didn't even bother to look and see how much had ended up on the bike.
So, finally home, remains of dinner dumped in bowl, ready for some sci fi on dvd. But wait, my computer no longer seems to have a media player. Must have gotten dumped with so many other programs last week. The short version is:
So this day is over by about 55 minutes. Time to get some rest and see what tomorrow has in store for me...
While I was looking mournfully at the bees this afternoon (because, let's face it, if we run out of bees, we're screwed), someone else was a few feet away watching the foxes sleep. He let me know as he got up to leave, so I went over there to stare at them for a while and make myself feel better about the bees. Foxes are weird animals - in my mind, they're closest to a cat/dog hybrid. These two were just having their nap interrupted by the grounds crew, but seemed pretty chill even with someone close by, poking in the shrubs. Unfortunately, the smaller one has a very badly damaged back leg, but she didn't seem too phased by it. I, on the other hand, was now bothered by the bees and the broken fox.
I figured grabbing a video and some thai food on the way home might make the day end a little more pleasantly. Somewhere between the video store and the food, I picked up a goathead in my front tire. I thought I might have just enough air to get home, so started pedaling anyway. I was still about a mile short when the goathead got pulled out and the rest of the air went with it. Oh, well, it was still at least fifty degrees, so not a bad night for a walk. After stuffing the ailing bike in the garage and promising to fix it tomorrow, I noticed a suspicious trail of drips leading from the garage back to the road. I feared my car had gone and done something dumb on its own, but, no, it was my dinner leaking from the cracked plastic container in the bike basket. You could probably find my house tonight by following the drops of green curry from town. I didn't even bother to look and see how much had ended up on the bike.
So, finally home, remains of dinner dumped in bowl, ready for some sci fi on dvd. But wait, my computer no longer seems to have a media player. Must have gotten dumped with so many other programs last week. The short version is:
- computer randomly turns off firewall and lets in a couple bad things
- computer is hauled to work to be "cleaned" for future use
- one week later I realize my wireless connection is down and the nice man at Qwest says a replacement modem is in order (and will be there in four days)
- the next morning I realize my photo editor and other Adobe and Macromedia programs are gone, along with my owner's manual for the stupid computer
- new modem arrives and we get to step 9 before the installation stalls
- another nice man at Qwest says "it's not us, it's you" and suggests reinstalling the ethernet driver
- I learn how to install ethernet driver while piggy-backing on random neighbor's unsecure, semi-strong wireless signal (seriously, you should encrypt that, but thanks)
- internet/wireless capability magically restored, probably didn't need new modem
- lastly, discover that Dell Media Experience was also thrown out in the great cleansing and, according to Dell forum contributors, is gone forever unless you have the Tools CD that Dell felt should only be given to very special people
- figure I can get over my dislike of Bill Gates enough to use Windows Media Player, only to find that I now require a DVD decoder that I've never needed before and that'll be $15 (wtf!)
- break down and pay online and start watching videos at 9:30 while eating my cold dinner
So this day is over by about 55 minutes. Time to get some rest and see what tomorrow has in store for me...
Monday, January 19, 2009
Winter takes a holiday
Based on reports from friends and family on the west coast, in the Great Lakes area and on the east coast, I'm pretty sure I know where winter is spending its days off. Fortunately for us, we've been given a reprieve and are making the best of the 60+ degree weather around here. On Sunday the roads were full of bikes and happy people. It felt just like one of those first nice afternoons in spring when you can leave the house with just two layers and feel confident you won't lose any extremities. Maybe it was the temperature or maybe the long weekend, but the riders out there were in the mood to smile. Sure, some stayed in their own private zones, plugged in to their pods, but mostly there were goofy grins, hearty waves and hellos from one side of the road to the other.
Even the non-cycling residents took advantage of the sunny day. Along the way I passed a herd of horses galloping through their pasture, nipping at each other, a camera-shy hawk on the lookout for lunch, and the bison out doing, well, whatever it is that bison do.
The cats have been lounging on the deck till it gets too hot (the south-facing spot was nearing 80 degrees at ten this morning) and I managed to get a couple walls painted in the bedroom. I've had to retrieve some screens from the garage to so I can get the windows open. Don't think I've ever had to do that in January. For those of you still enduring high temps in the teens, you may want to stop reading now, lest you think I'm torturing you on purpose. Tomorrow I'm wearing shorts.
Monday, January 12, 2009
That was not two inches
Before I went to bed, I heard "one to two inches." At six this morning, I heard "one to two inches." Clearly, that last one was spoken by someone in a room without windows. The mountain bike was stuck behind the car, I was running late, I took the road bike. An interesting choice, to be sure. But not a wise one.
I gave up at Norwood when my glasses wouldn't stop fogging up and threw my bike on the bus. The bus, full of high school students, brought me as far as Alpine, where it proceeded to get stuck. The doppelganger bus behind us tried to pass and managed to get just a little bit farther and then wound up perpendicular to the street. I have no idea what happened to bus no. three. We all got off. I got to work somewhat damp, but happier than most of those drivers who were sliding around in their autos.
The ride home was somewhat less treacherous, but only because I benefitted from someone else's experience. To the kind but unfortunate mountain bike rider who called out a warning about the ice at the High Street intersection, thanks. I'm sorry that you had to hit that super shiney patch of black ice, but, without your help, I would have done the same and made a much louder crash. Hope the bruises heal quickly.
I gave up at Norwood when my glasses wouldn't stop fogging up and threw my bike on the bus. The bus, full of high school students, brought me as far as Alpine, where it proceeded to get stuck. The doppelganger bus behind us tried to pass and managed to get just a little bit farther and then wound up perpendicular to the street. I have no idea what happened to bus no. three. We all got off. I got to work somewhat damp, but happier than most of those drivers who were sliding around in their autos.
The ride home was somewhat less treacherous, but only because I benefitted from someone else's experience. To the kind but unfortunate mountain bike rider who called out a warning about the ice at the High Street intersection, thanks. I'm sorry that you had to hit that super shiney patch of black ice, but, without your help, I would have done the same and made a much louder crash. Hope the bruises heal quickly.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)